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w1w2 · 1 day ago

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The Price of Affection

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Minatozaki Sana x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 7k

Synopsis: The boundaries between what is given and what is taken begin to blur. In a game where emotions were never meant to exist, one question remains: how long can desire masquerade as indifference before everything falls apart?

Req by Anon

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Sana never kissed her.

Not once.

No matter how many nights Y/N spent tangled beneath her, no matter how many times Sana’s hands claimed her with an ease that left her breathless, no matter how completely she unraveled beneath her touch, her lips never found Y/N’s mouth.

It was a boundary unspoken, a rule neither of them had ever acknowledged, but one that was upheld with an almost rigid precision. Sana’s lips traced the curve of her throat, the sharp edge of her jaw, the fragile dip of her collarbone. Her hands moved like they had mapped Y/N’s body long before ever touching it, like they had memorized the places that made her shiver, the softest parts of her that yielded too easily to the way she pressed, pulled, took.

But no matter how close they became, no matter how thoroughly Sana consumed her, she never kissed her.

Never there.

Y/N told herself it didn’t matter.

Told herself that it wasn’t important, that it was simply another unspoken rule of their arrangement, a line drawn so neither of them would forget what this was, what it wasn’t. And yet, she couldn’t ignore the way it lingered in the back of her mind, an absence she wasn’t meant to notice, a silence where something should have been.

Because for all the ways Sana possessed her, there was always something held back.

She could be touched, but she could never reach.

She could give, but she could never take.

And when it was over, Sana always left.

There were no whispered words in the quiet moments after, no arms wrapping around her, no soft breath against her skin as the night stretched on. Instead, there was only the shift of the mattress, the rustle of sheets sliding away as Sana slipped out of bed with the same composure she carried everywhere else, as if nothing about this, about them, was ever meant to last beyond the moment.

Y/N would lie still, her body cooling where Sana’s warmth had been only seconds before, her heartbeat settling into something hollow, something restless. And in the silence, she would listen, the soft sound of retreating footsteps disappearing down the hall, the quiet click of a door closing behind her.

She never stayed. She never hesitated.

And Y/N never left first.

That was how it always was. How it was supposed to be.

She had agreed to this, had stepped into this world with her eyes open, had understood the terms of what she was offering and what she was receiving in return. She had known, from the very beginning, that this was not love, that it was never going to be love.

It had been a few months since Y/N had stepped into Sana’s world, since she had willingly allowed herself to become something kept, something claimed, something that wasn’t hers to own but belonged to someone else entirely.

The transition had been jarring at first, like slipping into a second skin that didn’t quite fit, suffocating in its unfamiliarity. The weight of expensive fabric draping over her body, the taste of wine she could never afford, the sensation of standing beside a woman who commanded rooms with nothing more than her presence, all of it had felt foreign, like a life she was only borrowing.

But now, she had adapted.

Or at least, she had learned how to exist within it.

The expensive restaurants, the weekend trips, the charity galas, they had all become routine. She no longer stiffened when a dress worth more than her monthly rent was handed to her without so much as a glance, no longer hesitated before slipping into the backseat of Sana’s car, no longer questioned where they were going or why, because it never really mattered.

Sana called for her, and she came.

That was how it worked.

And Sana was consistent. Cold. Controlled. Unyielding.

She never wavered, never broke the rhythm of the carefully structured existence she had built. She remained as distant as she had been the very first night, never asking more than she was willing to give, never offering anything beyond what had already been agreed upon.

Except she wasn’t.

Not always.

Y/N wasn’t sure when she first noticed the shift.

Maybe it was the way Sana had started lingering in bed a little longer than before, her breath warm against Y/N’s shoulder, her fingers barely brushing her skin as she lay there, unmoving, even after Y/N expected her to leave. A pause. A hesitation. Something fragile in the quiet between them.

Or maybe it was the way Sana had started watching her, not with detachment, not with that careful calculation Y/N had grown so used to, but with something else, something almost… curious.

Or maybe, maybe it was the way Y/N had caught her once, just once, hesitating at the doorway before she left, standing in the dim glow of the hallway light as if something had momentarily anchored her in place, something that flickered too quickly, too fleeting for Y/N to decipher before Sana turned and walked away.

It wasn’t much, but it was something, and it left Y/N wondering. Was she imagining it? Or was something changing?

She didn’t have an answer. Not yet.

But that was before she saw it.

The first crack in the armor.

The moment was so small, so fleeting, that Y/N almost didn’t notice it.

They had just left the gala, stepping out of a world where crystal chandeliers hung like constellations over rooms filled with the rich and the powerful, where laughter was crisp like the clinking of champagne glasses, where Sana had moved effortlessly through the crowd, playing her part with practiced ease. Untouchable. Composed. Perfect.

And Y/N had stood beside her, playing her own role, wearing another dress she hadn’t chosen, slipping further into a life that still didn’t feel like it belonged to her.

The city outside was quieter than the one they had just left behind, wrapped in the dim glow of streetlights, the occasional car passing by, its headlights cutting through the silence. The heels of Sana’s designer stilettos clicked against the marble flooring as they stepped into the lobby, the sound sharp, deliberate, another reminder that she was a woman who never rushed, never faltered, never lost control.

And then, Y/N saw it.

A stray cat.

A small, scrawny thing, curled up near the entrance, pressed against the cold glass of the revolving doors. Its fur was dull, patchy in some places, its frame too thin to belong to a well-fed city pet. It lay still, unmoving, save for the lazy flick of its tail, eyes half-lidded in exhaustion.

Something about it hit her all at once.

She knew this kind of exhaustion.

She knew what it felt like to curl in on yourself, to take up as little space as possible in a world that had no place for you.

Y/N slowed, her breath catching slightly as she took a hesitant step forward. She had always had a soft spot for strays, for the forgotten things of the world, the ones left behind, the ones that didn’t belong. She wanted to reach out, to crouch down, to offer something, anything, but before she could move, before she could even turn to Sana, she moved first.

Y/N froze.

Without a word, without hesitation, Sana stepped forward, lowering herself into a graceful crouch, the silk of her gown pooling around her like liquid moonlight. There was no reluctance, no flicker of disgust at the thought of dirt or fur marring the expensive fabric, no moment of hesitation.

She extended a hand, not to touch, not to startle.

Just to offer.

A test of trust.

The cat flinched slightly, but only for a moment.

And then, slowly, cautiously, it leaned forward, pressing its small head against the warmth of Sana’s palm.

Y/N stopped breathing.

Because this was not the woman she had come to know.

This was not the cold, untouchable force who carried herself like she was made of something sharper than the rest of the world, who never gave more than what was required, who never let herself be seen as anything but composed.

Sana’s fingers moved with a kind of careful reverence, trailing lightly along the cat’s thin frame, her touch impossibly gentle, as if she understood something about fragility. As if she had held something fragile before and had learned how to be careful with it.

Y/N had never seen her like this.

Her expression wasn’t calculated. Her movements weren’t controlled.

For the first time since she had met her, Sana didn’t look like someone untouchable, someone impossibly distant, she just looked human.

And it was over too quickly.

Sana exhaled softly, so softly that Y/N almost didn’t hear it, and then, just as suddenly as she had crouched down, she pulled away.

The moment broke like shattered glass.

She rose to her feet without looking at Y/N, without acknowledging what had just happened, without offering an explanation. She said nothing, not about the cat, not about the way she had touched it, not about the quiet tenderness that had flickered across her face, too fleeting to hold on to.

But as she strode toward the waiting car, the picture of indifference once again, she paused, just for a second. And then, in a voice so effortlessly composed it could have been mistaken for a passing thought, she spoke.

"Call the concierge," she murmured to one of the hotel staff standing near the entrance. "Have someone take it to the vet. Make sure it’s taken care of."

Her tone didn’t waver, didn’t soften, didn’t betray a single emotion.

To anyone else, it was an order, simple and efficient, nothing more than another task to be handled, another problem to be solved.

But Y/N knew better.

She had seen the way Sana’s fingers had trembled, just barely, when they skimmed over the cat’s fur. She had seen the way she lingered, the way she hadn’t pulled away immediately, the way she had allowed herself that moment.

And now, as Sana slid into the car beside her, her posture as impeccable as ever, her gaze fixed out the window as if the whole thing had already been forgotten, Y/N remained quiet.

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t point out the kindness hidden beneath the command. Didn’t ask why Sana had stopped in the first place.

But she knew.

And as the car pulled away, leaving behind the city lights, the hotel, and the stray cat that was no longer alone, Y/N realized something she hadn’t before.

Something was changing.

Y/N noticed it in the way Sana started remembering things. Things she had no reason to remember.

It was the way, one evening, after a long event that had drained Y/N to her very core, she had collapsed onto the couch beside Sana, her body sinking into the cushions, exhaustion pressing against her bones. She hadn’t meant to say anything at all, but the words had slipped out, murmured into the quiet space between them, more to herself than to the woman sitting just a few feet away.

"I used to love this one book when I was younger," she had murmured, barely aware that she was speaking aloud at all. "But I lost it somewhere along the way. Never got a chance to replace it."

It had been a passing thought, a piece of nostalgia that meant nothing, words she had already forgotten by the next morning.

But then a week later, there it was.

Waiting for her.

She had come home late, exhaustion weighing heavy in her limbs, barely having time to take out her keys before she noticed it, a package, sitting just outside her door. Wrapped in crisp, expensive paper, a small card resting on top, her name scrawled in familiar, careful handwriting.

Y/N’s stomach twisted as she bent down to pick it up, fingers tracing the neat folds, the weight of it solid in her hands.

Inside, the book.

New. Pristine. Untouched by time.

Her breath caught in her throat. There was no message inside, no grand gesture of explanation, just the undeniable presence of something she had once lost, placed back in her hands as if it had been waiting for her all along.

There was only one person who could have sent it.

And Y/N didn’t know what to do with that. She told herself it was just Sana’s way of keeping her comfortable, satisfied and entertained.

But there was nothing extravagant about this.

This was personal.

Sana had listened. She had heard something Y/N hadn’t even realized she was saying.

And then, there was the time Y/N had made an offhanded comment, so fleeting, so insignificant, about how much she hated white roses.

"White roses always feel like mourning," she had muttered at one of the endless, lavish parties Sana had taken her to, pushing a bouquet aside on the dinner table. "Like a funeral. Like something is ending."

Sana hadn’t responded. Hadn’t even looked up from her wine glass.

So Y/N hadn’t thought anything of it.

But then, she had walked into the penthouse for the first time in days, expecting to find things exactly as they had always been arranged in Sana’s place.

She had stopped mid-step.

Because the usual arrangement of white roses, the same ones that had always sat near the grand dining table, pristine and untouched, was gone.

In their place, a new bouquet.

Not roses.

Peonies.

Deep, rich in color. Full and alive. The kind she had once mentioned, long ago, that reminded her of warmth. Of something safe.

And just like before, Sana said nothing.

But Y/N knew.

Then, there was the night she got sick.

It had started as nothing. A dull ache behind her eyes, a scratch in her throat, the kind of exhaustion that Y/N had long since learned to ignore. She had pushed through it, dismissing the warning signs, convincing herself that she just needed sleep, that by morning, she would be fine.

But by the time the sun had set, her body had other plans.

The fever hit her hard, leaving her shivering beneath too-thin blankets, curled up on the worn-out couch she had owned since college, body aching in protest against even the smallest movement. Her phone buzzed somewhere in the room, but she barely had the energy to register it. Whoever it was, it could wait.

Sana wouldn’t call for her tonight.

She could be sick in peace, let the fever run its course, and by the time Sana reached for her again, she would be fine. She would be ready.

At least, that’s what she thought.

Until she woke up hours later to the sharp, persistent ringing of her doorbell.

The sound dragged her out of sleep, her body still sluggish, still unbearably heavy as she forced herself upright. Her head spun. The room was too warm. She barely remembered falling asleep at all. What time was it?

The doorbell rang again.

Y/N groaned, pushing the tangled blankets off her as she stumbled toward the door, one hand gripping the wall to steady herself. Her stomach twisted, who the hell was at her door at this hour?

She unlatched the lock with unsteady fingers and pulled it open, squinting against the harsh hallway light.

A delivery driver stood there, looking mildly impatient but otherwise unbothered, holding up a large brown paper bag.

"Delivery for Y/N," he announced. "Paid for in advance."

Y/N blinked at him, sluggish. She hadn’t ordered anything.

Confused, she took the bag with trembling hands, mumbling a quiet thanks before shutting the door again. The scent of warm broth and steamed rice curled into the air, filling her small apartment with something comforting, something unfamiliar in a way that sent a strange chill down her spine.

She placed the bag on the kitchen counter, hesitating.

As she turned back toward the living room, her eyes landed on the coffee table, and for a moment, she thought the fever was playing tricks on her.

A bottle of medicine sat neatly beside the glass of water she had poured earlier.

Her stomach twisted.

She hadn’t left it there. She hadn’t bought it. And yet, it was there, placed with careful precision, as if someone had set it down and stepped away without wanting to be caught.

Something in the air shifted. Her apartment wasn’t disturbed, nothing was broken, nothing was stolen, but it felt different, just enough to make the fine hairs at the back of her neck rise. Not wrong, but not untouched either.

Her heart pounded as she turned toward the couch, spotting her phone where it had slipped between the cushions. The screen flickered to life as she reached for it, her sluggish, fevered mind struggling to focus, her limbs still heavy with exhaustion. The notifications blurred for a moment before sharpening into something that made her breath catch.

Three missed calls. One message.

From Sana.

Her thumb hovered over the screen, hesitation curling around her ribs, something fragile and unsteady pressing against her chest. She already knew what it would say. But knowing didn’t stop the way her stomach twisted as she opened it.

"Take your medicine and I’ll see you in a few days."

That was it. No questions. No unnecessary words. But it was enough.

Her pulse thrummed, her gaze shifting back to the coffee table, to the bottle of medicine sitting there, silent proof that she hadn’t imagined any of this. That Sana hadn’t just noticed her absence, she had acted on it. She had come. She had let herself in.

Her fingers tightened around the phone, the cold metal grounding her as her mind tried to catch up with reality. Sana had been here. She had crossed a threshold she had never crossed before, stepping into Y/N’s space, into her world, one she had always kept separate, one Sana had never cared to know.

But she knew now.

Y/N could picture it too easily, Sana standing in this very room, sharp eyes scanning over the crumpled blankets, the unfinished glass of water, the phone she had ignored, taking in everything without a single word. She wouldn’t have panicked. She wouldn’t have let herself. But she would have noticed. She would have stood here, silent and calculating, making a decision before slipping away, leaving behind nothing but the weight of her presence and the quiet reminders that she had been here at all.

The medicine. The food.

Y/N exhaled slowly, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead, trying to steady the thing unraveling inside her.

She should have been angry. She should have felt violated, unsettled, irritated by the fact that Sana had let herself in uninvited, that she had taken it upon herself to intervene when Y/N had never asked her to. But instead, something warm and sharp twisted inside her, something she wasn’t ready to name.

Because this wasn’t just about control.

This wasn’t just obligation.

And Y/N didn’t know what scared her more, the fact that Sana had noticed she was gone, or the fact that, for the first time since this had started…

She wanted her to stay.

It was dangerous, the way she was starting to see Sana differently.

Because no one else did.

To the world, Sana was a force, a woman who moved through life with effortless grace, untouchable in a way that wasn’t just about wealth or power, but something deeper. She was a presence that commanded attention, someone whose name alone carried weight, whose silence spoke louder than words, whose gaze could hold an entire room in place.

She was admired, envied, revered, but never known.

Never touched. Never understood.

But Y/N? She was starting to understand.

Because she had seen it. The moments that slipped through the cracks, the tiny fractures in the polished veneer, the quiet hesitations that no one else seemed to catch.

She had seen the way Sana’s fingers trembled, just slightly, when they brushed against the stray cat’s fur, her movements careful, reverent, as if she were afraid of startling something fragile. She had seen the way she pulled her hand back too quickly afterward, like the moment had caught her off guard, like the tenderness had slipped out before she could stop it.

She had seen the way Sana’s breath hitched, so faint, so barely there, when she lingered in bed longer than she meant to, when the warmth of another body pressed into her side, when the sheets felt too soft, too real, too much like something she shouldn’t want. She always left before it could mean anything. Always pulled away before the weight of it could settle.

And Y/N had noticed.

She had noticed the way Sana hesitated in doorways, as if standing on the edge of something she wasn’t ready to cross. The way she would start to speak and then stop herself, swallowing words before they could form, holding them back like secrets she had never learned how to share.

And now, she couldn’t stop noticing.

She couldn’t stop seeing the cracks beneath the surface, the moments where the mask slipped just enough to reveal something real, something aching beneath it all.

Something that made Sana feel less like a storm, less like an untouchable force of nature and more like a person.

A person who had spent too long pretending she didn’t need anything.

A person who had spent too long alone.

And Y/N wanted to know her.

She wanted to know the things Sana refused to say, the thoughts she buried beneath cool smiles and careful distance. She wanted to know what would happen if Sana let herself stay for once, if she let herself be known.

She wanted to see it all.

That was dangerous and Y/N should have known better.

She should have known that hope was a dangerous thing, that allowing herself to believe in something, in someone, was like walking willingly into a storm, knowing she would get caught in the downpour.

But it had been impossible not to believe.

Because Sana had started to change. Not in grand, sweeping gestures, not in ways that anyone else would notice, but in small, quiet ways that mattered. The kind of things that crept up on Y/N before she realized just how deeply they had settled into her bones.

Maybe it was foolish, but Y/N let herself believe.

That despite how this started. Despite the rules. Despite the silence where words should have been, there was something real between them.

So when Sana asked her to come to the dinner party, Y/N said yes.

Not because she had to. Not because it was expected of her.

But because she wanted to be by her side.

The venue was breathtaking in the way that all of Sana’s world was, a place built on quiet opulence, where wealth was stitched into the very fabric of the walls, where chandeliers dripped in gold and crystal, where laughter was light and effortless, belonging only to those who had never known hunger, never known struggle, never known anything but excess.

Y/N had grown used to places like this.

She had learned how to move through them, how to blend in, how to let the expensive dresses and diamond-studded jewelry serve as armor when the weight of it all felt like too much.

But tonight felt different.

Because tonight, she wasn’t just another beautiful thing in a room full of beautiful things. Tonight, she was here with Sana.

And it meant something.

At least, she thought it did.

The evening passed in a blur of conversation and champagne, of clinking glasses and careful smiles, of Sana’s presence at her side, grounding, steady, constant. People looked at her, the way they always did, but this time, Y/N didn’t feel like she was on display. She felt like she belonged.

Until she didn’t.

It happened so quickly that at first, she thought she had imagined it.

She had been standing beside Sana, their bodies close but not touching, listening to idle chatter from a group of men who reeked of wealth and arrogance. The conversation had been meaningless, a series of carefully curated pleasantries, until suddenly, it wasn’t.

Until one of them, some man whose name she hadn’t bothered to remember, whose suit was worth more than her tuition, whose voice carried the sharpness of someone who had never been told no, laughed, tilting his glass toward Sana with an easy smirk.

"I see you’ve brought another one."

Another one.

Y/N barely had time to process it before he kept going, voice dripping with amusement, like this was nothing more than a joke to him.

"You really do have an eye for them. I swear, you always pick the most stunning things."

The word lodged itself in Y/N’s throat, sharp and cold and suffocating.

Things.

Not people. Not someone.

A thing.

Another beautiful thing Sana had acquired. A prize. A possession.

She waited for Sana to correct him. To say something. To acknowledge her.

But Sana only took a slow sip of her wine, saying nothing at all.

The moment stretched, the laughter carrying on around them, the conversation moving forward as if Y/N wasn’t standing there, as if she wasn’t hearing every word, as if she wasn’t waiting for Sana to tell them they were wrong.

But she didn’t.

And suddenly, Y/N felt cold all over.

It wasn’t the words themselves that hurt the most, it was the silence that followed.

Because for the first time, she wondered if she had been imagining everything.

If all the glances, all the quiet hesitations, all the unspoken things she had started to believe in, if none of it had ever meant anything at all. If this version of her, standing beside Sana, silent, beautiful, just another thing to be admired but never acknowledged, was all she would ever be.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress, the sequins biting into her palm, something bitter curling at the back of her throat.

Because the worst part wasn’t that he had said it.

It was that Sana had let him.

That night, Y/N barely spoke as the driver took her home. She didn’t ask Sana why she had stayed silent, didn’t demand an explanation, didn’t break the quiet that settled between them like a fragile thread stretched too thin. Maybe she was afraid of the answer. Maybe she already knew it.

And maybe, just maybe, she was done waiting for Sana to prove her wrong.

She had been waiting for too long. Waiting to be acknowledged. Waiting for proof that she was more than this, more than just something beautiful to be possessed, something delicate to be admired but never truly seen.

But she was tired of waiting.

And for the first time, she realized she didn’t have to.

Y/N had spent years being overlooked.

She had learned how to move through life unnoticed, how to slip into spaces without making a sound, how to exist in the background as if she had been born to be unseen. It had never mattered before, because blending in had been safe, because being invisible meant that no one could take something from her that she wasn’t willing to give.

But lately, things had changed.

It hadn’t happened all at once, but in quiet, almost imperceptible ways.

A slow shift in the way she carried herself, a newfound steadiness in the way she held a gaze rather than looking away, the subtle confidence that had begun to seep into her movements like ink spreading through water. She hadn’t meant for it to happen, hadn’t expected it, but it was there now, impossible to ignore, curling beneath her skin, unfurling in ways she didn’t yet understand.

Maybe it was the time she had spent with Sana.

Not because of her, but in spite of her.

Because in a world that had never felt like it belonged to her, she had found something that did.

Her art.

And now, for the first time in her life, people were beginning to notice.

It had started small. A quiet encouragement from a professor, a few sketches shared in passing, whispers of things she had long kept locked inside herself. But then there had been an opportunity, a gallery seeking new talent, an open call for emerging artists, a chance to step beyond the confines of her own uncertainty and into something bigger.

For the first time, she had submitted something of her own.

She hadn’t expected much.

But when her piece was accepted, when it stood beneath gallery lights, framed and displayed like it belonged there, when strangers paused to look, when soft murmurs of admiration filled the space around it, it was as if she had been given proof that she was real.

That she was more than just something kept.

That she was herself.

And someone else had noticed.

The gallery owner. Someone older, someone accomplished, someone who saw something in her, really saw her. Someone who called her work fascinating, who lingered beside her as he spoke, his voice warm with encouragement, with interest, with the kind of quiet, measured attention that made her feel as though she were standing on the edge of something unknown.

Someone who looked at her like she was not invisible.

And Sana saw all of it.

She arrived without warning, stepping into the gallery as if she had always been meant to be there, as if her presence was inevitable. And maybe it was.

But this wasn’t her world.

Not here. Not now.

Y/N hadn’t noticed her at first, not until the weight of her gaze pressed against her skin, heavy and smoldering, sinking into her bones before she even turned her head. And when she did, when her eyes found Sana standing near the entrance, watching, silent, unreadable, something inside her twisted.

There was no expression on Sana’s face, nothing that could be deciphered, but the air around her was thick with something unspoken, something waiting, something dangerous in its restraint.

And Y/N felt it immediately.

She felt it in the way her heartbeat stuttered, in the way the warmth that had been curling beneath her ribs turned sharp, edged with something she couldn’t quite name. She felt it in the way she suddenly became acutely aware of herself, of the space between them, of the way Sana had chosen not to move.

Not yet.

But Y/N refused to shrink beneath it.

Not tonight.

So she let herself stay where she was, let herself turn back toward the gallery owner, let herself laugh at something lighthearted, something fleeting, something easy, letting the sound of it drift through the air like defiance, like a declaration.

Let herself exist in this space, wholly and fully, without the shadow of Sana’s presence swallowing her whole.

And when the conversation finally ended, when the gallery owner stepped away, Y/N turned again, only to find that Sana was still there.

Still watching. Still waiting. Still silent.

And Y/N should have known what was coming.

She should have braced herself, should have steeled herself against the inevitable, should have understood that Sana had never been the kind of woman to let something slip through her fingers without consequence.

But even then, she still wasn’t ready for it.

Sana didn’t speak until they were outside.

Didn’t say a word as they stepped onto the sidewalk, the cool night air pressing against their skin, thick with the lingering scent of rain, of pavement, of something unspoken stretching tight between them. The city hummed in the distance, cars passing, conversations drifting, the world moving on as if nothing had just happened, as if Y/N’s entire chest wasn’t cracking open from the inside out.

But Sana was silent.

Silent as they walked. Silent as she led them toward the waiting car, her strides long, measured, precise. Too precise. Silent in the way only Sana could be, when she was trying too hard to seem unaffected, when something was clawing beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.

Y/N should have left it alone.

Should have climbed into the car, let the night end without another word, let whatever this was between them linger unspoken, untouched, unresolved, the way it always did.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

Not anymore.

She stopped, barely noticing the way her heels scuffed against the pavement, barely caring that they were still in front of the venue, that people might still be watching. Her pulse was hammering too hard, her breath uneven, her hands curling into fists at her sides, and Sana still hadn’t looked at her.

"Are you going to say something," Y/N demanded, voice sharper than she intended, shaking with the weight of everything she wasn’t saying, "or are you just going to glare at me all night?"

Sana halted, the only indication that she had heard.

For a moment, she didn’t turn. Didn’t react. Just stood there, spine straight, shoulders stiff, the soft glow of the streetlights casting shadows along the edges of her face.

And then, slowly, carefully, in that way that always made Y/N feel like she was being studied rather than seen, Sana shifted, tilting her head just slightly, her gaze finally locking onto hers.

"Do you enjoy it?" she asked, voice smooth, deliberate. Too deliberate.

Y/N frowned, thrown by the coolness of it. "Enjoy what?"

Sana let the question linger, her eyes dipping, just briefly, toward where the gallery owner had touched Y/N’s arm earlier in the night, his fingers light, lingering, respectful. But that didn’t matter, did it?

Because Sana wasn’t looking at her arm.

She was looking at him. At the memory of him. At the space he had occupied, too close, too interested, too much.

"The attention," Sana said finally, voice soft but sharp, a blade hidden beneath silk.

Y/N felt the words like a slap.

A slow, cold disbelief unfurled in her chest, creeping into her veins like ice, like something poisonous.

"What?" she whispered, barely recognizing her own voice.

Sana’s gaze flickered, just for a second, something shifting too quickly for Y/N to catch it. But then it was gone, buried beneath the weight of something heavier. "He was looking at you," she said, low, measured, certain. "Like he wanted you to be his."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

And then she laughed. Sharp. Bitter. Completely devoid of humor.

And God, it should have been enough to break the tension, should have been enough to let her shove this moment aside, to turn around, to climb into the car and let Sana have her silence, let her keep whatever it was she refused to name.

But it wasn’t enough.

"You didn’t like that, did you?" she asked, voice quiet but biting, the edge of something sharp curling around the words, threatening to cut.

Sana didn’t answer.

And that was answer enough.

Y/N let out a slow breath, head tilting back, staring up at the night sky as if it could somehow steady her, as if it could somehow quiet the storm inside her. But it didn’t.

Because it wasn’t the man at the gallery. It wasn’t the way he had spoken to her, had complimented her, had seen her as herself rather than as someone else’s possession.

It was Sana.

It was always Sana.

"You don’t get to do this," Y/N said finally, her voice quieter now, steadier, even as her pulse rioted beneath her skin. "You don’t get to act like this bothers you. Not when you’re the one who made the rules."

Sana’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing.

"You never let me touch you," Y/N continued, every word dragging out of her like a wound being torn open. "You never kiss me. You never let yourself be seen with me as anything more than…" Her breath shuddered, a sharp inhale that barely steadied her. "This thing that you own. And now, suddenly, you care?"

Sana took a step closer.

Too close.

Close enough that Y/N could feel the warmth of her skin, the sharp inhale of her breath, the heat curling between them in the space that had always been too much and never enough.

"I never said I didn’t care," Sana murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N swallowed against the ache in her throat.

"Then what is this?" she asked, voice breaking, because God, she was so tired. So tired of this endless push and pull, so tired of grasping at something that was never meant to be hers. She gestured between them, between the distance that had always been there, even when they were tangled together in the dark. "Because I can’t keep pretending that this is nothing."

Sana said nothing.

Not a word, not a breath, not even the smallest shift in her expression to indicate that she had anything to offer in return. And somehow, that was what broke Y/N the most. Not the jealousy, not the sharp words they had thrown at each other like weapons, not even the way Sana had pulled her closer only to keep her at arm’s length.

It was this.

This silence, heavy and absolute, filling the space between them like a wall Y/N would never be able to break through.

Because Sana had nothing to say. No defense, no justification, no attempt to make this hurt any less than it already did. No reassurance that Y/N had ever been anything more than what she feared, something temporary, something to be kept but never held, something that was always meant to be let go.

Y/N exhaled, but the breath that left her wasn’t relief, wasn’t acceptance, it was something unsteady, something that fractured at the edges, something that felt far too much like breaking.

The moment stretched too long, too tense, too heavy with everything that had been left unsaid for too long.

Y/N turned, not to leave, but because she couldn’t look at her anymore. Couldn’t bear the weight of that unreadable expression, the sharp line of her jaw, the way Sana stood so still, as if anything more might make this real, might make it something she had to face.

Sana didn’t move.

Not much, not enough to change anything, not enough to undo the silence settling between them like an ocean too wide to cross. But there was a shift, barely perceptible, a twitch of her fingers, a fraction of a breath held too long, the smallest, most fleeting hesitation. And in that hesitation, there was something, something raw, something restrained, something that almost felt like longing, like regret, like the remnants of words she couldn’t bring herself to say.

For a second, just a second, Y/N could feel it.

Could feel the weight of almost. Almost reaching for her. Almost closing the distance. Almost saying something that might have changed everything.

But Sana didn’t.

She didn’t touch her. Didn’t stop her. Didn’t give her anything at all except the suffocating weight of silence, of everything left unsaid, everything she was too afraid to offer.

Just hesitation.

Just that brief flicker of something, a crack in her carefully constructed armor, a glimpse of something Y/N wasn’t sure she was even meant to see, before it was gone, before Sana forced it back down, swallowed it whole, and let the cold detachment slip back into place like it had never wavered at all.

And Y/N felt it.

Felt the way it lingered, the way it dug beneath her skin like an ache that refused to fade, the way it left her standing there, caught between leaving and staying, between hope and resignation, between believing that maybe she meant something and accepting that maybe she never had.

Because Sana hadn’t let her go.

Not entirely. Not enough.

And that was somehow worse.

The realization hit her all at once, the unbearable weight of what this was, what this had always been, what it was never going to be.

A transaction. A role she had agreed to play.

And she had been a fool to think it was anything more than that.

Y/N turned back to her, breath unsteady, something burning beneath her skin. "Say something."

Sana blinked, her expression perfectly composed, like she hadn’t just hesitated, like nothing had cracked at all.

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

"You don’t get to just stand there," she said, voice rising now, too sharp, too raw, too full of everything she had been holding back for too long. "You don’t get to look at me like that and then say nothing."

Sana exhaled slowly, steady, unaffected, her eyes dark in the dim glow of the streetlights. "What do you want me to say?"

And God, that was it, wasn’t it?

That was the problem. Sana didn’t know.

Didn’t know how to apologize. Didn’t know how to admit that she cared, didn’t know how to take the thing simmering beneath her ribs and turn it into something real, something she could hold onto instead of pushing it away.

Y/N let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. "I want you to tell me what I am to you, Sana. Right now. No games, no carefully chosen words, no more of this…" She gestured between them, this thing that had never been enough. "Just say it."

Sana’s jaw tightened. "You know what this is."

Y/N scoffed. "No, I don’t. I really thought I did, but I was wrong, wasn’t I?"

Sana didn’t answer.

And the silence between them said everything.

Y/N inhaled sharply, forcing herself to stay standing, to hold onto the anger rather than the ache. "I must be so pathetic to you."

Sana’s expression flickered, just slightly, just enough for Y/N to see something there, something that looked dangerously close to panic. "That’s not…"

"I must be," Y/N continued, cutting her off, voice trembling now, not with sadness, but with something so much sharper. "Because I let you do this to me. And you were right, Sana. You were right when you made those rules, when you said no emotions, no attachments, no expectations."

Sana’s throat bobbed.

Y/N took a slow breath, then exhaled. "I broke them."

Silence.

Sana’s fingers curled into fists at her sides.

"Did you?" she asked, but the words came too slow, too careful, like she was trying to delay the inevitable.

Y/N held her gaze, steady, unwavering. "Yes."

Something shattered behind Sana’s eyes.

And Y/N let it.

She exhaled, a slow, final thing, and took a step back, then another, until the distance between them was no longer suffocating but freeing.

"This is over," she said, and the words didn’t tremble. Didn’t waver. Didn’t break.

Sana’s breath hitched, but her lips pressed together, her walls slamming back into place so violently that for a moment, it was like nothing had happened at all.

Like Y/N hadn’t just bared her heart.

Like she hadn’t just ended it.

But Y/N didn’t care anymore. Didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t wait to see if Sana would stop her, if she would finally break, if she would finally be the one to reach out.

She turned.

And this time, she walked away.

#kpop imagines #girl group imagines #gg x reader #kpop x reader #twice x fem reader #twice x reader #twice imagines #twice sana #sana x fem reader #sana imagines #minatozaki sana x reader #sana x reader #minatozaki sana x fem reader

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mintyys-blog · 3 days ago

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HEALING TOGETHER— bucky barnes x reader

WARNINGS: PTSD, mention of war

The room was filled with silence, broken only by the occasional cough or the shuffle of papers. Y/N sat at the back, arms crossed tightly around herself, eyes trained on the floor. Therapy sessions had become a regular part of her routine since returning from the war. She didn’t like talking about it, but she knew it was necessary. At least that’s what they told her.

Today was different. Today, the therapist had introduced a new member. Y/N barely looked up as he entered—she didn’t care about any new faces. The room was filled with broken people, each of them fighting their own battles. What was one more?

But then he sat down. The weight of his presence was undeniable.

Bucky Barnes, with his messy hair and haunted eyes, shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He wasn’t the first soldier to walk through that door, but there was something about him that made Y/N’s chest tighten, a knot she didn’t quite understand. He didn’t speak at first, just listened, his gaze distant, lost.

The therapist turned to him. “Bucky, would you like to share something? Anything at all?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “Not really.” His voice was low, gravelly, like he had swallowed years of sorrow. He looked around the room but avoided making eye contact with anyone, his hands twitching in his lap.

Y/N’s heart ached, and without thinking, she found herself speaking. “It’s okay. You don’t have to share.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it felt louder in the quiet room.

Bucky’s gaze snapped to hers, his dark eyes searching hers for a moment before he nodded slightly. Something passed between them, something unspoken but understood. A brief flicker of connection.

The therapist continued, allowing the session to flow, but Y/N couldn’t help but keep glancing at Bucky. She couldn’t shake the feeling that they were somehow connected, as if their scars—visible and invisible—were mirrored in each other. She saw the way he clenched his fists when the conversation drifted to the topic of guilt. She knew that feeling all too well.

⸻

Over the next few weeks, their paths continued to cross in the group. Slowly, Bucky began to open up—just a little. He didn’t speak much about the war, not at first. But there were small moments: the way he would talk about how hard it was to fit into the world again, the days when his nightmares would become too real. Y/N could relate. Her own demons haunted her—silent whispers in the dark, the flashbacks that wouldn’t stop. But she found herself listening when Bucky spoke, his voice a quiet comfort despite the weight it carried.

And then, one evening, after a particularly heavy session, they found themselves walking outside together. Y/N hadn’t planned on leaving the building, but Bucky had offered a quiet “you want to grab a drink?” and something about his tone made her nod.

They didn’t say much at first, sitting on the worn-out bench just outside the building. The city buzzed around them, but it felt as though they were in a world of their own.

“You ever feel like you’re never really here?” Bucky asked, his eyes distant, staring into the night.

Y/N let out a soft sigh, her fingers nervously picking at the hem of her sleeve. “Yeah. Like you’re stuck in the past, even though you’re physically here. You’re… walking around, but your mind’s still back there.” She shifted her gaze to him. “It’s like nothing ever changes. You just go through the motions.”

Bucky met her gaze then, his eyes softening just slightly. “Exactly. It’s exhausting.”

They sat in silence for a while, the weight of their shared understanding settling in the quiet. For once, Y/N didn’t feel like she had to carry her burdens alone. And in that moment, she realized that Bucky, too, understood the darkness that consumed her.

⸻

As the weeks went on, they began to lean on each other more, meeting outside of therapy sessions. There was no pressure, no expectations, just two people who had been through hell trying to make sense of the world they now lived in. Their conversations, once guarded and sparse, became deeper. Y/N found herself opening up to him in ways she hadn’t with anyone else.

She told him about the nights she spent staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep, the flashes of violence she couldn’t escape. Bucky told her about the years he spent as the Winter Soldier, the terrible things he’d done—things he still couldn’t forgive himself for.

Despite their differences, they both understood the cost of war. And that shared understanding grew into a bond neither of them had expected.

But as much as they comforted one another, there were always walls—silent barriers neither of them could bring themselves to cross. They didn’t talk about their growing connection, the way they seemed to find solace in each other’s presence. Neither of them was ready to embrace the idea of letting someone else into their broken world.

One evening, after a particularly difficult session, they found themselves standing on the rooftop of the building. The city sprawled out before them, the sounds of life far below.

“Do you ever think about what it would be like if we could just… forget?” Y/N asked, her voice almost lost in the wind.

Bucky looked at her, his face unreadable. “Every day.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, she thought maybe they could forget together. But then the fear crept back in—fear of the past, of what might happen if they let themselves heal too much, too fast. What if the scars that brought them together would tear them apart?

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” she whispered.

Bucky’s gaze softened. “Me neither.”

They didn’t need to say more. The silence between them was comfortable, and for the first time in a long time, neither of them felt alone in their fight. But the unspoken truth hung in the air—healing wasn’t easy, and neither of them was sure they were ready to take the leap into something more.

But maybe, just maybe, they didn’t have to do it alone. And that thought was enough for now.

As the months passed, the therapy group became more of a lifeline for both Y/N and Bucky. They’d go through the motions during the sessions, but it was the quiet moments between them that spoke volumes. There were no judgments, no expectations. Just shared experiences that neither of them had to explain. When one of them faltered, the other was there to catch them, to remind them that they weren’t broken beyond repair.

One evening, after a particularly grueling therapy session, Y/N found herself standing outside, her fingers digging into her coat sleeves, her breath fogging the cool night air. Bucky had stayed behind for a while to talk to the therapist, something about his nightmares getting worse. She didn’t want to pry, but a part of her wanted to be there for him. Wanted to understand what he was going through.

When he finally emerged, he found her leaning against the brick wall, her eyes distant as she stared out at the city lights. He approached quietly, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. The weight of the night hung heavy between them, a shared understanding that spoke louder than words.

“You good?” Bucky asked softly, his voice a little hoarse from the lingering tension.

Y/N nodded, but it was a lie. The truth was, she wasn’t sure if she would ever be good again. She had good days, sure, but they were fleeting. And the bad days—they had a way of swallowing her whole. Sometimes she felt like she was standing on the edge, ready to fall, but Bucky… Bucky made her feel like she wasn’t so far gone.

“I’m okay,” she said, turning to face him with a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Just… tired.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, taking a step closer. His hands were shoved deep in his jacket pockets, his eyes searching hers with that familiar intensity that always made her feel seen in a way she wasn’t used to. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Y/N. I get it.”

And just like that, the walls she’d built around herself began to crumble. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and closed the distance between them, standing just a few feet away. Her gaze flickered to the ground, unsure of what to say, but the words slipped out before she could stop them.

“I’m scared,” she admitted, the raw vulnerability in her voice surprising even her. “Scared that I’ll never feel… okay again. Like, even on the good days, it’s like something’s always lurking beneath the surface, waiting to pull me back down.”

Bucky’s face softened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she saw a glimpse of something that wasn’t just pain in his eyes. It was understanding. Empathy. It was the same look he’d given her the first time they met, the silent acknowledgment that they were both carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders, but that they didn’t have to carry it alone.

“You don’t have to do this by yourself,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “We can’t fix each other, but we can be there for each other. And maybe… that’s enough.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t the grand, sweeping declaration of love she had imagined in her mind, but in that moment, it was everything. He wasn’t trying to fix her. He was simply offering to stand beside her, to walk through the darkness with her. And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she had to fight her demons alone.

She met his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest. There was something unspoken between them, a magnetic pull that neither of them could deny. But still, fear held her back. Fear of letting someone in, fear of what might happen if they let go of the ghosts of the past.

But Bucky… Bucky wasn’t pushing. He was waiting.

Slowly, Y/N closed the distance between them, her hand trembling as it reached out, brushing lightly against his arm. The contact was enough to send a jolt through her, and she looked up at him, her chest tight with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

“You really think it’s enough?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Bucky’s hand slowly lifted, hesitating for a moment before resting on her shoulder. “I do,” he said quietly. “I don’t have the answers. Hell, I’m still figuring things out myself. But I know this… you don’t have to go through it alone. I’ll be here.”

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Y/N let herself believe it. She let herself believe that maybe—just maybe—there was a way out of the darkness. That there was a future where healing didn’t feel like an impossible task.

Bucky’s hand slid down to hers, his fingers gently wrapping around hers in a way that was both comforting and electric. And for a fleeting moment, everything felt possible.

“Let’s take it one step at a time,” Bucky said, his voice steady as he looked down at her with a warmth she hadn’t expected. “We don’t have to have it all figured out right now. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Y/N nodded, her heart swelling with something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time—hope. It wasn’t all at once. It wasn’t a miraculous change. But in Bucky’s presence, she felt like maybe, just maybe, they could both find their way back to the light.

They didn’t need to say more. They didn’t need to rush. In that moment, Y/N realized that healing wasn’t a destination—it was a journey. And as long as they had each other, they might just make it through.

⸻

The next few weeks passed in a blur. There were hard days, days when the memories threatened to drown them both, but there were also small victories. Moments when they’d catch each other’s eyes across the room and share a smile, a silent reminder that they weren’t alone in the fight.

And then, one evening, when the city lights seemed just a little brighter and the weight of the world felt a little less heavy, Bucky turned to Y/N as they sat together on a park bench. His expression was soft, his gaze steady.

“You know,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with something more, “I think I’m starting to believe that maybe we can heal.”

Y/N looked at him, her heart swelling with a tenderness she didn’t know she was capable of. And without a word, she leaned in, pressing her forehead to his, a silent promise shared between them.

Together, they would heal. One step at a time.

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m4y4wasnthere · 3 days ago

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okay i feel so bad because someone requested this but i accidentally posted it before i was done and had to delete the post 😭😭😭

request: johnny x f!reader smut. johnny finds out sodapop likes reader and johnny wants to make sure the reader knows that they’re his.

jealousy

johnny cade x f!reader

warnings: cursing, smut; creampie, a bit forceful, ‘cheating’ accusations

summary: sodapop talking about y/n has johnny go into a jealous frenzy

a/n: this’ll probably be my last johnny smut for while, i wrote alot for him for the past 2-3 days and i just need a break haha 😭

“shes such a doll, you guys wouldn’t believe it if you saw her.” soda said breathlessly as he talked to ponyboy and dallas.

they were all chilling at the DX, soda was on a short break and was bragging about how you guys first met. which was yesterday.

“whatever happened to that chick sandy?” dallas asked slyly with a grin on his face, slowly taking a swig from his cigarette. ponyboy nodded in agreement.

“dont bring up sandy, shes old news. yea yea i thought i loved her but i was dumb,” johnny walked in through the door, “but this girl i know i’ll love.” soda smiled hopelessly.

ponyboy knew about you and johnny. you guys weren’t really in any relationship, but both haven’t hooked up with anyone else either. he decided to keep his mouth shut.

“whatever man, this y/n girl or whatever her name is, can’t be as good as you say she is. you always exaggerate, pisses me off sometimes.” dallas took one final swig of his cigarette and waved bye to the 2 boys, walking past johnny out the DX.

johnny’s eyes flickered to sodapop. y/n? hes talking about her?

“you’ve met y/n?” he asked with a forced smile. ponyboy stayed quiet and pretended he didn’t know anything.

“yup. have you seen her yourself? shes such a dream.” soda chuckled before speaking up again, “y’know my break is almost over, I should probably get ready to go back to work. see you guys later tonight?”

johnny walked out the room without saying goodbye. “whats his deal?” sodapop took a rag and flung it over his shoulder. “i dont know soda. maybe he had a rough day.” ponyboy decided he’d go home. he never understood the relationship between you and johnny, never liked you in that way. but he was happy for his best friend.

he was just hoping sodapop would catch on so he wouldn’t have to be the one to break the news.

you were trying on a new dress you had just got before you heard a knock on your window.

the only people who knew where you lived was the gang, so you assumed somebody just wanted to hang out.

you walked over to it and saw johnny. it was pouring rain, and he was just sitting outside waiting for you to let him in.

“johnny? you came out here in the rain? you’re gonna catch a cold like that !” you opened the window and let him climb inside.

you shut the window quickly and went to retrieve a towel for him.

after a few minutes of letting him dry up, he finally spoke up.

“did you meet soda yesterday?” he looked at you, but you didn’t notice his hard stare.

“soda? ohh, ponyboy’s older brother,” you started to make your bed, “yea, he’s pretty nice to talk to.” you took a pause , “rumors weren’t lying about his face either.”

you meant it as a joke but johnny’s blood boiled.

“you find him cute?” he leaned against your dresser, directly behind you. his eyes gazed up and down your body as you folded your blankets. your dress easing up your thighs had him appreciating your ass.

“i guess alittle, for his age,” you said with a smile. but you were completely oblivious to what trap you were getting yourself into.

before you were finished making your bed, you felt johnny wrap his arms around you from behind.

you giggled as you felt him hug you tightly.

he had his head up against your ear, “you like guys like him?”

you were a bit confused by his question. “well, what do you mean?” you were going to turn to look at him but he held you tightly. you slowly realized what was happening.

“you find him hot, don’t you ?” he bit your earlobe.

your body stiffened and you couldnt help but squirm against him.

“i never said i found him hot johnny, i didn-“

he put one of his hands on one of your breasts, retrieving a gasp from you.

“you like showing yourself off for other guys?” he was still speaking at a low whisper, his breath hot and heavy against your ear drums. you could sense the jealousy throughout his body.

you were flushed up against his back, your body was heating up. breath staggering as he continued to massage your breast, your legs clenched together.

“always wanting to be the center of attention.” he slowly unzipped the back of your flowly dress. “i bet you batted your eyelashes at him, hoping he’d like you.” the dress fell down to the floor.

goosebumps covered your body from head to toe. he was jealous of sodapop.

“i swear i didn’t. i was just being friendly-“

“friendly my ass.” he brought his other hand to your other breast and massaged both of your nipples.

you tried to keep your whimpers in but your body betrayed you as you slightly grinded back on him.

“won’t even moan for me.. you’re such a brat today.” he pushed you flat on the bed.

“johnny i swear i didn’t do anything. i wouldn’t do anything like that ba-“

he cut you off with a slow, deep kiss. his body hovering over yours. you moaned softly into his mouth, cupping part of his face.

he stripped off his jacket and jeans before returning to you.

“you’re gonna be a good girl for me and let me do what i want to you.” he moaned into your lips while groping all over your body.

he kneaded at your skin, massaged, smacked, anything he could do to relive his jealousy.

he slid two fingers into you without warning. you felt his fingers curl inside of you, getting covered in your juices as he pumped in and out.

“soon this’ll be my cock and you’re going to be crying for me to stop.” he whispered into your ear.

one thing led to another and he had you on all fours crying your eyes out, hands gripping the bedsheets, back arched and body full of sweat.

“what’d you say baby? i couldn’t hear you.” he thrusted in and out of you at an unbearable speed. the arch of your back was at a perfect angle for him to hit your g-spot over and over again.

“i- i’m sorry for yesterday, im sorry,” you cried , “im sorry for being such a slut.”

he pulled all the way out and oushed all the way back in. you clenched around him and your voice cracked as you moaned his name.

“yea keep moaning my name baby.” he grunted.

he smacked your ass.

“you need to know who you belong to.” he moaned lowly as he slowed his thrusts in and out of you.

“johnny, ‘m yours.. ‘m all yours, nobody else’s…,” your words slurred as he fucked you through your second high. your eyes rolled as he fucked you faster after feeling you pulsate around his cock.

he leaned down and wiggled his cock against your cervix as he whispered ,“yea y/n, you’re mine. not sodapop’s, not dallas’, you’re mine.”

you broke a 3rd time and mumbled nonsense as you felt his warm cum shoot in you.

you laid boneless on your stomcach, his fingers pushing all the cum back into your pulsing hole.

💛

after a few minutes he climbed into your bed next to you.

“are you okay baby? i know i was a bit rough today. im sorry.”

he stroked your hair softly.

“yes im great.. it was great,” you said breathlessly.

“i just got so jealous after hearin’ sodapop talk about you and i just needed to know you were with me.”

you kissed his neck in response and he cuddled back into you.

#the outsiders #wattpad #female writers #johnny cade x y/n #johnny cade x reader #johnny cade smut #the outsiders johnny cade #johnny cade the outsiders #johnny the outsiders #the outsiders johnny #johnny cake #johnny cade #the outsiders x reader #outsiders

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the0ther-side0f-dawn · 3 months ago

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just a little personal anecdote/ thought dump in the tags..

#so there's this girl i work with - lets call her E. and i used fo work with her mum - lets call her J.#and E is overall v sweet. tho somewhat manipulative and a bit of a princess. ad i guess kind of my friend?#but only kind of bc she is younger and that maturity difference and also im her manager (we used to be the same rank)#but i was like really good friends with her mum - J. like we had v similar experiences and just clicked.#i dont talk to J anymore for several reasons (she stopped working. i got weird - like insecure and whatnot. she moved away).#and E and J do not get along very well #and like J was my friend first right. i was biased by her side of things and disagreements with E.#and tho my rship w J was kind of fucked up and i definitely carry a sadness for how that ended. it doesn't erase #that she was my friend and we got long v well and we clicked and i felt she understood me and vice versa #and similar life experiences and all that jazz etc #and i dont think it ever has occured to E that like me and her mum were actually friends??#bc like we'll be having a conversation and she'll start talking about her mum in a v negative way #and its just so so awkward #bc i know her mum isnt perfect and isnt necessarily fair to her - compared to her sister #but like E is very strong willed and she's still maturing and struggles to see past her own ego #and J is someone who definitely avoids conflict and confrontation but not by giving in - but by stepping back. if that makes sense #but thats why E and J dont get along. neither knows how to reach agreement or compromise #but anyways i understand J and respect her and it so awkward to sit there whilst E whines and trash talks #and it also makes me sad #and we're well past the pointof me saying anything #like a year ago. sure. and there were several times i did say 'hey. i know youre having feelings about this but like ur mum was my friend?#so i think its better if we dont discuss this' kind of thing #but it didnt stick. plus its kind of weird. bc its v much past tense now - like me and J WERE friends.#and like i think E thinks that she and I are good friends. which is also awkward.#bc we were coworkers so yeh. kind of friends by default - small team and o ly young ppl #but she's not rly the kind of person that i vibe with #and ive been making an effort to withdraw bc I'm her manager now and i need professional boundaries so i can do my job well #anyway thats kind of the end of my story #for some context J was previously my manager and briefly also her daughter's manager #and something ive never admitted fo anyone before but you probably picked up on already - i did have such a crush on J

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gillyeowalters · 19 days ago

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Because it is the anniversary of his death, I wanted to share a small story about my grandfather.

Before I knew that I was intersex, I identified as a trans man. And I went the way any trans man has to go if he wants to transition in my country. My parents thankfully were supportive but I was afraid to tell my grandparents. My grandparents were German and lived/were raised during the third reich. While both of them never said or acted in a way that suggested that they had fascist views (my grandfather was until he died part of a leftwing political party), but there still was this fear in me. "They are old, they grew up surrounded by abhorrent beliefs...". And then there was my aunt. Who would constantly claim that my grandfather was homophobic.

The problem was, back then, there were no openly out gay people in our area, so I never got the chance to see my grandfather interact with someone who was queer. So I just believed her. Because she was so insistent on it. And because it confirmed my fears and my brain loves to be constantly afraid.

But I knew I wanted to come out. I had to, eventually, because I had stopped my estrogen treatment (back then, I did not know that I got that because I was intersex) and went on testosterone instead and first physical changes began to show. We all lived in one big house, so my grandparents would eventually notice.

I was so afraid that my father at some point offered to talk to his parents. I waited outside in the hallway that led to their kitchen and listened.

My father explained, easy to understand, that I was going to transition from female to male because I felt terrible in my body. My grandfather asked, "Is that why the child* is so depressed all this time?" I had been in and out of multiple clinics for manic depression at that point. My father gave a yes. And my grandmother made the incredibly selfish comment, "Can't that wait until I am dead?"

Before I even got time to be upset, my grandfather slammed his fist down on the table. I had never seen or heard him do anything like that before. He was a very calm and collected man who preferred to leave the room before he got too angry. "No, it can't wait. The child gets to get well now. And if that is what is going to help, then it needs to be done."

From that day on, he never used my deadname again or used the wrong pronouns for me. Sometimes, he would stop in a sentence to think and remind himself, but he did always address me correctly.

He celebrated with me when my name was legally changed. He built the bed frame for me and my boyfriend's bed when we moved in together, just like he had built the first adult sized bedframe for me when I outgrew my small bed. He drove my boyfriend to his chemo sessions because my grandfather also had cancer and knew how terrifying it was to go alone.

Did he fully understand what it means to be intersex? To transition? No. But he understood that one of his loved ones was suffering and that he could help to alleviate that pain. And so he did.

He taught me calligraphy. He taught me how to sew. He taught me bookbinding. He gave me many gifts.

But the biggest gift he gave me was, that when someone hated me for what I am, I could stomach it. Because this man was willing to unlearn the bigotry he had been taught for decades so he could love me for who I am.

*in my grandpa's dialect it was normal to refer to children as just 'the child' (genderless)

EDIT

I was blown away by how many people have reblogged this post. I believe my grandfather would be very happy to see that he can give some hope and love to others even now.

I do not want him to stay faceless; so here is a piece of art I made for his obituary, with a slightly altered quote added now.

Dahlias were his favorite flowers. Orange ones especially. They reminded him of the home he had to flee from as a child.

#giwa:others #giwa:queer #lgbtqia #lgbtq #lgbt ally #actually intersex #i dont know what to tag this #this just needed to be out of my system

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missdynamighttt · 21 days ago

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hehehe sooo.. pro hero, husband! katsuki not being able to spend time with you took a toll on his agency, so someone said... you two needed to bone.

it had been weeks since katsuki had a proper night at home. pro hero work never let up but lately, it felt like it was eating him—late nights at the agency, barely any sleep, reports, patrols, meetings.

you understood. it was his job, his responsibility, but his stress showed in the way he snapped at people more often, his fuse shorter than usual.

and today? he was especially pissed.

the whole office refused to confront dynamight about it, until some dumbass sidekick, probably sick of his rage-fueled outbursts, muttered under his breath, “tch. man just needs to go home and bone his wife.”

the room went silent.

dead silent.

katsuki stopped mid-step, shoulders going rigid. his head turned slowly toward him, eyes burning like he was about to set the entire building on fire.

"the fuck did you just say?"

the sidekick, to his credit, had the audacity to look innocent. "i mean, you’re obviously tense, and i'm sure she’s—"

he lunged at him. it took three other sidekicks to hold him back as he damn near flipped his desk over.

“YOU'RE FUCKIN' DEAD! BONE?!” katsuki roared, struggling against his coworkers like a wild animal. "say that shit again, i dare you! you think i’m pissed ‘cause i ain’t fucking my wife enough?!”

the whole agency floor collectively held its breath.

the poor sidekick scrambled for an excuse. “n-no! i-i just meant—uh, stress relief! yeah! y’know, intimacy is good for—”

katsuki grabbed a random clipboard and hurled it across him. he missed by a centimeter. “you think i don’t wanna fuckin' go home to her?! huh?!”

“sir—”

“i wanna go home so bad! i wanna see her, i wanna kiss her, i wanna lay on her tits and sleep for the whole fuckin’ day,” he ranted, voice cracking from pure frustration. “BUT NOOO! i’m stuck here writing reports and dealing with dumbasses like you!”

the office was dead silent.

it took a solid ten minutes for him to cool down, grumbling and seething as he rubbed his temples.

but his mind did wander.

to you. to the way he missed your voice. to how fucking long it had been since he held you properly.

to the way he always found you asleep by the time he got home, curled up on his side of the bed, waiting for him.

… fuck. maybe the sidekick did have a point.

katsuki inhaled sharply. then, with wild determination, he grabbed his his stuff, and stormed toward the exit. the agency could handle itself for the night. he had better things to do.

“fuck this. i'm goin' home to my wife."

meanwhile, you had barely settled on the couch, ready to enjoy a quiet evening alone, when the front door slammed open. you jolted, turning toward the entrance just in time to see katsuki storming in—looking like a man on a mission.

“katsu—” you barely got his name out before his mouth crashed onto yours, hot and urgent, like he’d been starving for this. you gripped his shirt as he pulled you impossibly close, practically lifting you off the floor.

you gasped against his lips as his hands cupped your cheeks, tilting your head as he deepened the kiss, pressing his body against yours.

strong hands cupped your face, rough but desperate. his lips were everywhere—your cheeks, your nose, your jaw, the corner of your lips—like he was making up for lost time.

and when he finally let you breathe, his forehead pressed against yours, panting slightly, his hands still gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear.

you were breathless, blinking up at him in shock. “what the hell?”

katsuki exhaled sharply, his forehead resting against yours. “i missed you.”

your brows furrowed. “you left for work this morning.”

“exactly,” his lips brushed against yours again, softer this time. “should’ve come home sooner.”

it was then you realized—he was home way earlier than usual. normally, he'd get caught up in work, buried in reports or dealing with patrols, but tonight…

“wait, why are you home so early?” you asked, still dazed.

katsuki huffed. his fingers slid down to your waist, gripping you tightly. “tch. dumbass sidekick at work said i just needed to fuck my wife to fix my attitude.”

your jaw dropped. “excuse me?”

his lips brushed yours again, softer this time. “so i left early to prove ‘em right.”

your face burned. “katsuki!”

but he was already leaning in again, smirking against your lips. “better get comfortable, sweets. i’m makin’ up for lost time.”

and when katsuki stepped into the office that morning, something was… off.

for the first time in weeks, he didn’t stomp in with a permanent scowl, barking at everyone the second he crossed the threshold. his usual sharp glare was dulled, his shoulders weren’t tense as tense.

instead, katsuki looked, dare they say it—relaxed. his jaw wasn’t clenched, his brows weren’t furrowed, and the usual aggressive boom of his steps was noticeably tamer.

hell, the man even had a post-nut glow so obvious. skin clear, posture loose, and zero unnecessary shouting.

no explosions. no immediate death threats. no one getting yelled at for breathing too loud.

everyone noticed.

by the time he made it to his desk, his coworkers were already exchanging looks, whispering amongst themselves like they’d just seen a miracle.

"uh…" one of his sidekicks was the first to cautiously approach. “sir. you good?”

katsuki just grunted, rolling his shoulders before cracking his neck. “feelin’ great, actually.”

and that’s when it clicked. a murmur spread through the office as realization slammed into them.

“you boned last night,” he stated, like it was the discovery of the century.

katsuki just smirked, grabbing some files off his desk. “what’s it to ya?”

the room erupted.

“holy shit, i forgot he could be normal—”

“i haven’t known peace in months.”

“oh my god, mrs bakugo katsuki, if you can hear this—thank you for your service!”

someone started clapping.

then, the entire office cheered.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ i think y'all know where this is inspired from but js in case, its from a sitcom named brooklyn 99 where this girl tells her boss he needs to bone his husband lmao😭 hope yall enjoyed!!

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et6rnalsun · 2 months ago

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SHOWIN’ WHAT’S MINE

rafe hates when you dare cover up one of the vulgar hickeys he leaves on your neck while he's deep inside you. he hates it with a burning passion, and would happily let them be permanent just to show everyone that you’re already his.

that’s why every time you do it, he goes crazy.

you climbed into his truck with a small sigh from the rush you had to make to be ready on time, and unconsciously ran a hand through your hair—an action that revealed your strangely smooth neck, without any marks. his blue eyes lingered on that detail as he leaned down to kiss your lips with narrowed eyes, his hand resting on your jaw. “hi, baby”he greeted you, returning your sweet smile with a small one. he couldn't look away from your neck, his gaze darting from side to side because he was pretty sure that somewhere there had to be a hickey he'd left the day before.

“you playin’ at cover up?” he teased, adjusting in his seat. he had no intention of leaving until he understood. you frowned at his words, tilting your head as you took in his uneasy and searching eyes, scrutinizing you like there was something wrong. “what do you mean?” it was a sincere and genuine question, totally lost.

his thumb moved up to trace along your skin, his tongue dragging along his dry lips. “there was somethin’ here yesterday, doll,” he reminded you, pressing a little harder on the spot. “how come it disappeared, huh?”

oh. you let a small giggle escape your lips, and moved your head to give him more room to continue whatever his accusatory touch was. “i need to cover it, rafe. my mom would be so fuckin’ furious,” you huffed, a small pout on your lips as it was the tenth time you’d reminded him of this in a month. “y’know i want to keep it, but it’s too visible” and it was true, the neck was such an easy space to look at, to notice every little detail. and you, your parents' sweet little girl, with a hickey? absolutely not. unforgivable. a painful scandal.

rafe clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head as he stopped touching your neck. “but i don’t care” his head fell slightly to your shoulder, snuggling into you with his arm around your waist. “i really, really don’t care. your mom would understand” his voice was muffled against you, and you could feel his lips dragging down.

“no, rafe, she would never understand. are you crazy? she’d give me a monologue about how i need to have more decency, and how girls my age—“ your monologue of words that he wasn’t even listening to was interrupted by the feeling of his teeth slowly sinking into your soft skin, making your eyes widen briefly in surprise. the sting was stronger as he moved his head to get closer, his mouth closing further around the chosen piece as he switched from biting and licking to straight sucking. “rafe” you tried to stop him, but your hand on the back of his head only pulled him more closer, betraying your words.

his lips, warm and slow, felt too good — with a deliberation that made you lose your train of thought. you felt the heat growing on your skin, a sensation that mixed neediness and the rational side and thoughts. but rafe’s grip tightened on you anyway, not wanting to stop, everything a contrast to the delicacy of the way he left those marks with his mouth, each bolder than the last.

only when he pulled away you took a shaky breath and you looked up at him with big eyes and red cheeks from embarrassment. “tell me it’s not what i think” you murmured in desperation, but his smirk spoke volumes as he finally looked at the sight he truly liked; your marked up neck, barely any normal skin in sight.

@secretlocket @waitforyrlove @sirenedeslily @freshloveee @sosasturns @zweigsangel @sturn777 @carvedtits @sweetestpoetic @sturniolossss @ilovedanielcaesar @jetaimevous @fallbhind @marrykisskilled @lacysturniolorevamp @mattsturniolover @slxtarchive @bluestriips @alesturniolos @rafespreciosa

#rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron x reader #obx x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe x reader

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bettys-redwinesupernova · 3 months ago

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I’M NOT HIM

rafe cameron x fem!reader

( mood board does NOT depict readers appearance !! )

SUMMARY: in which rafe snaps at reader during a heated argument and she flinches, her past trauma resurfacing. rafe breaking the main promise he made to her: to not be anything like her father.

based on an ask i got that i lost </3 i hope the anon who requested it finds this, and this its what you asked for! i’m a little rusty with one-shots so just a short one to ease me into things again! :)

WARNINGS: angst to fluff, arguing, cursing, mentions of past childhood abuse (reader), mentions of a gun/brief mention of violence, trauma responses, crying. (lmk if i missed anything!!)

WORD COUNT: 900 words

THIRD PERSON +

Rafe Cameron wasn’t the kind of man anyone would describe as soft. Not with the sharp edge in his voice, the perpetual storm behind his ocean eyes, and the way his knuckles bore scars from fights he barely remembered. He had spent his life battling demons, most of them inherited from Ward Cameron, and those fights had shaped him into someone who took no prisoners.

But with Y/N, none of that mattered.

Y/N was everything Rafe wasn’t—gentle, warm, full of an optimism he couldn’t begin to understand but adored nonetheless. She radiated light, the kind that made him want to shield her from the darkness in himself. For two years, she’d been his anchor, the one person who saw past the volatile exterior to the man buried beneath. And for two years, Rafe had promised himself that he would never hurt her.

But promises don’t always hold in the heat of the moment.

The argument had started over something Y/N had brought up before: the gun in Rafe’s apartment. She hated it, hated what it represented, and hated the memories it dragged up for her.

“Rafe, I told you,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I don’t feel safe with it here. Please.”

Rafe, already wound tight from dealing with his father’s latest scheme and the growing weight of “the business,” felt his patience snap like a rubber band stretched too far.

“It’s not a big deal, Y/N,” he muttered, pacing the living room. “It’s not like I’m walking around with it in my hand. It’s locked up, alright? Just drop it.”

Y/N didn’t drop it. She rarely did when something mattered to her. “It is a big deal, Rafe. I asked you to get rid of it. I thought you understood how—”

“I said fucking drop it!” Rafe’s voice thundered through the room, loud enough to make the walls seem smaller.

The words echoed in the sudden silence, bouncing off the tension between them. Rafe froze, immediately regretting the way he’d shouted, but it was too late.

Y/N stood there, trembling, her wide eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her lip wobbled as she tried to hold herself together, but Rafe saw the cracks forming.

“Baby…” he said softly, taking a step toward her, reaching out his hand.

She flinched. Actually flinched.

It was like a knife to his chest, sharp and unrelenting. He knew her past—knew about her father’s temper and the way it had scarred her. He knew that shouting brought her back to those dark, suffocating memories.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with panic. He reached out again, but she backed away, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I—I can’t,” she choked out before rushing to the bedroom and shutting the door behind her.

Rafe rushed after her before collapsing onto the floor, pressing his back against the wall beside the bedroom door. He could hear her quiet sobs on the other side, each one driving the guilt deeper into his chest.

He buried his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, baby” he murmured, voice breaking. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to scare you. Please, just… let me make it right.”

Her sobs continued, muffled but heartbreaking. Rafe rested his head against the door, tears streaming down his face. He could picture her inside, curled up in the corner, just like she used to do as a little girl to shield herself from her father’s rage. A place he promised her she wouldn't ever have to go back to.

“I’m not him,” he whispered, as much to himself as to her. “I’ll never be him. I swear. I’ll never hurt you.”

Minutes turned into half an hour, but Rafe didn’t move. He felt he didn’t deserve to move.

When the door finally opened, Rafe almost didn’t notice at first. He’d been staring at the floor, lost in the heaviness of his own shame. But then Y/N was there, stepping out quietly and kneeling beside him.

Without a word, she crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. Her touch was tentative, as if she wasn’t entirely sure she could trust it yet, but Rafe held her like she was the only thing keeping him alive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over, his voice cracking as he clung to her. “I didn’t mean it. I swear, Y/N/N. I’m so sorry.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away. She just held him, letting his warmth chase away the cold that had settled in her chest. Eventually, she pulled back just enough to look at him, her tear-streaked face breaking his heart all over again.

“Please don’t yell at me like that again,” she said softly, her voice trembling.

Rafe cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing away her tears. “I won’t,” he promised, his tone fierce with conviction. “Never again. I’ll get rid of the gun. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. Just… don’t be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Y/N said, her voice barely audible. “I’m afraid of the person you might become.”

Rafe nodded, the weight of her words sinking deep. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, holding her tightly again. “I’ll be better,” he whispered. “For you, I’ll be better.”

In that moment, Rafe vowed to prove it. Not with words, but with actions—starting with the gun.

(dividers by @kodaswrld <3)

betty’s notes ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

ahhhh my first one-shot in FOREVER :’) it’s a short one and really sad and angsty but it felt like the quickest ask to whip out, and angst is easier for me to write atm :)

i’m so excited to start with the other requests, and please don’t stop requesting! i plan on writing most stuff 1,500 words +, this was just a short little ask so please request with as MUCH detail as possible <3

master list will be updated soon! but for now, to keep track of my works check my personalised tags that are below such as: #bettys asks!! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ and #bettys work!! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ or my personalised tags for characters !!

#rafe cameron #drew starkey #fluff #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fluff #drew starkey obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron outer banks #bettys asks !! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚#rafe cameron ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚#bettys work !! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

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andypantsx3 · 1 month ago

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FILLING IN | BAKUGOU x READER ˖˚˳⊹

summary: A production assistant for an erotic arts studio, you think you've seen every ridiculous plot line under the sun. But not even porn tropes can compare to the absurd reality you find yourself in when the on-screen talent drops out, and you're asked to fill in opposite the studio's number one star Bakugou Katsuki. contents: The classic oh-no-the-porn-talent-has-gone-missing-let's-sub-a-rando-in trope, no quirks au, pornstar Bakugou, soft dom Bakugou, gn + afab reader, unrequited-requited crush, slight bondage, descriptions of afab genitalia, nipple sucking, cunnilingus, piv sex, pet names used: angel and sweetheart, porn with surprise feelings, 18+, 8.2k words notes: This is my Bakugou x Reader commitment for @ficsforgaza, and I am sorry it is late enough to also count for Valentine's Day (but also Happy Valentine's Day!!) Additionally, a special thank you to my angel princess @ofmermaidstories for handing me the nerd + pornstar combo when I was worried about Bakugou's characterization. I think this is the only way I could have ever written a pornstar Bakugou that felt right to me. Love you, Mermie.

The studio was churning in chaos by the time you arrived.

The first sign that things weren’t right was Komori, one of your fellow production assistants, propped against the wall outside. Her cellphone was pressed against her ear, and she looked nervous, her foot tapping a thousand miles a minute. She had a thumbnail pressed to her mouth and was chewing steadily through the nail like a rabbit through a lettuce leaf.

You didn’t want to disturb her, so you buzzed inside the studio, only to find the hallways filled with an equally nervous energy. Yaoyorozu, one of the production managers, hovered in the doorway of a dressing room. She looked to be arguing with someone, her normally sweet expression pinched in profile. A small circle of people took up the hallway behind her, shifting apprehensively.

A shrill voice filtered out of the dressing room as you tried to wedge yourself by. “I said I’m not doing it. We’re getting married and we agreed I wouldn’t do this anymore.”

“Bibimi—” Yaoyorozu started.

“Effective immediately. Find someone else,” Bibimi’s voice replied.

You stopped in your tracks, blinking as you turned back to the doorway, peering over Sato’s shoulder.

Bibimi Kenranzaki was one of the studio’s top actresses, the very performer scheduled to shoot the production you were working on this afternoon. The shoot was a Valentine’s Day special, and had already been delayed at Bibimi’s request several times. If you’d understood Yaoyorozu’s previous concerns correctly, today was the last possible day to shoot it with enough time for it to make it through editing to post on Valentine’s.

This was not good.

“Bibimi, of course we would never force you to do something you did not consent to,” Yaoyorozu said patiently. “But you can see how having delayed this shoot many times already puts us in danger of not delivering on our commitments.”

You heard a dismissive snort issue from the room, and peered over one of Yaoyorozu’s slender shoulders. Bibimi lounged across one of the waiting room couches, arms crossed over her chest. An enormous diamond ring you’d never seen before glinted from one of her fingers, clearly the source of today’s change of heart.

Oh, production was not going to be happy.

You winced as you ducked out from behind Yaoyorozu, heading back down the hall to stuff your things into one of the vacant lockers. It was a struggle to fit everything in as today you’d come directly from a lecture—two textbooks the size and weight of cinderblocks choking up all the space in your bag. You would have thought that, considering that a wide swath of the production staff were college students—including several of the performers themselves—the studio would have had a better set up. But it was often a fight to the death to even find an open locker amongst the many other bookbags, and an equally Sisyphean struggle to get the door shut on the tiny cubbies.

Once you finally managed to finagle the door shut on your backpack, you made a beeline for the supply room. Typically, your first task of any shoot was acquisition of about a million pounds of baby wipes and lube, though you wondered if they would be needed today, given the scene with Bibimi you’d just witnessed.

You checked the film schedule posted in the staff entry to find the allotted set room. Then you made your way down the twisting maze halls carpeted with ancient olefin to the set for You Cumplete Me, the obnoxious working title Kaminari had come up with for this particular Valentine’s Day project.

The room was set up like some generic apartment, a large bed with a wire-framed headboard dominating the majority of the space. A cherry wood nightstand cluttered with fake knick knacks stood diligently at the bedside, and two fake windows with their curtains drawn shut overlooked the whole affair, red dressings fluttering slightly in the breeze from a fan.

Most of the production staff was already inside the room, the cameramen and director huddled together in the corner, whispering nervously. You spotted Mina, the wardrobe coordinator and makeup artist, fussing with her phone in the other corner, her various products and brushes spread out across a plastic folding table, looking put out.

“You know if we’re going to be able to sub anyone in for Bibimi?” you asked as you approached her, flopping down in one of the chairs set up at her makeshift dressing table. You arrayed your armful of lube and plastic packs of wipes at the corner so as not to disturb her arrangement.

Mina’s eyes flicked up to yours and she grinned, the upturn of her mouth accented with perfectly-applied hot pink lipstick.

“Komori’s called like ten other actresses so far and can’t get anyone,” Mina answered. “And Shiozaki and Kendo are in-studio but both just got off another shoot so we contractually can’t use them. I think Yaomomo is ready to start shaking people down.”

You winced. Yaoyorozu never lost her cool, but the pressure must be mounting. You knew marketing materials had already been put out on the studio’s website, specifically promising the return of the studio’s highest-grossing star—Bakugou Katsuki—opposite Bibimi.

While Bibimi might be the highest paid actress, Bakugou was the real draw of UA Productions. UA churned out projects that were largely targeted towards less traditional markets—largely women—porn that was often of higher production value, higher quality scripting, and careful coordination showcasing enthusiasm and consent. It also subsequently employed more than its fair share of beautiful men.

And Bakugou Katsuki crowned that pile of performers. Though foul-mouthed and often irascible, he was undeniably breathtaking to behold, both on screen and in person. He was the typical blend of tall, strong, and well-muscled that most UA actors were. But he moved with a singular precision and intention that drove fans wild, and came equipped with bed-rumpled blond hair, mile-long lashes, a surly, pouty mouth, and a facial symmetry that Euclid himself would have wept over.

He was also nearing the end of his doctoral and would not be filming for much longer, you were given to understand. So the studio stood to lose a significant amount of audience trust and money, should this production fall through.

As if on cue, Bakugou Katsuki himself stomped through the doorway. The expression on his face told you he was already well-aware of what was happening with Bibimi, and he was getting annoyed with the hold up. He set a direct line for you and Mina, mouth twisted in dissatisfaction.

Your ears promptly went hot, the way they always did when Bakugou was in your line of vision.

You’d unfortunately had something of a crush on him from the minute you’d become a production assistant at UA, your third year of college. Funds were tight and your masters program loomed large in front of you, its meager stipend like a slap in the face. You’d needed something else flexible, and you’d found UA through the friend of a friend—its proximity to the university, and ever changing schedule of ongoing productions offering the perfect amount of flexibility for your situation.

Bakugou had been there that first day as Yaoyorozu gave you the tour, too. He’d been tucked up on the couch of the waiting room as you passed through, blonde hair rumpled, someone’s lip gloss still smeared at the corner of his jaw. He looked like a soft, relaxed mess—clothes askew like he’d pulled them back on after a shoot and immediately migrated to the couch—though his scarlet eyes tracked intently across the page of an enormous engineering text spread across his thighs. His long fingers twirled a pen absently, tapping against a notebook peeking out from just under the textbook, headphones jammed over his ears.

He did not look up as you made your way inside, but your stomach had flared to life with a sudden flutter of butterflies. You were startled by the pretty set of his mouth, the long lashes that swept over his cheeks as he read, the flex of those long, beautiful fingers on his pen. You had never seen a person so perfect in real life, and the effect was dumbing.

“That’s Bakugou, one of our performers,” Yaoyorozu had told you, leading you through the room. She did not stop to introduce you. “He’s working on a PhD in chemical engineering, and performs once every couple of months for us. He’s—erm—not quite friendly, so we’ll skip the introduction today.”

You’d followed her, nodding obediently, leaving Bakugou behind. You’d dutifully concluded your tour and signed all the paperwork, and met several other members of the staff. It was only when you’d been released from your onboarding obligations that you saw Bakugou again, as you ran out into the parking lot to start your car.

It was raining out, a torrential downpour much worse than when you’d arrived that came down in thick, pelting sheets. Visibility was bad enough that you almost missed the tuft of blonde hair across the parking lot, ducking under the awning of the nearby bus stop.

You knew the route headed back towards your university, and subsequently your apartment, and it dawned on you that Bakugou’s would most likely be attaining his cited PhD at your same college. You felt your mouth twist, impressed. PhD tracks were notoriously difficult to attain at Musutafu University—no wonder Bakugou needed a job that was, for lack of better phrasing, quick and dirty. He probably was drowning in post-grad labs and dissertation materials.

The memory of those long fingers tapping at the edge of his text suddenly flickered again in your brain, and something possessed you as you started up your engine. Before you knew what you were doing, you had pulled your car around into the bus stop bay, leaning out to call out to him.

“Hey—Bakugou, right?” you said, watching as scarlet eyes found yours, narrowing suspiciously. His pretty mouth lifted in an immediate, reflexive snarl, and those broad shoulders squared off, like he was getting ready for trouble.

You cut in, quickly explaining yourself when you realized he had no context for the rando hanging out of their car window at him. “I’m Yaoyorozu’s new production staff. Just joined today. Are you headed towards Musutafu U and do you want a ride?”

A blonde eyebrow lifted. “You’re with UA?” he asked. His voice was a kind of low growl, not unlike the thunder suddenly echoing overhead, and the sound shot through you like a bolt of lightning.

“I—yeah. Just signed the paperwork this afternoon.”

Several spatters of rain dampened your cheeks where you had your head poked out of the window, and Bakugou’s eyes tracked them closely as he leaned in. “Then let’s get one thing straight right off the bat—I don’t fuck coworkers off the clock.”

You recoiled, horrified at the conclusion he’d immediately brought himself to. “No! That’s not what I—I didn’t mean like—! I just thought because it’s raining out, you might want—”

“I want you to fuck right off, is what I want,” Bakugou said, crossing his arms over his chest. He made a show of leaning back against the glass wall of the bus stop, its interior papered over with moldering ads. It was a clear dismissal.

You blinked at him stupidly for a moment, mind reeling that your gesture had been received so poorly. But then you realized he hadn’t seen you, in your trek through the staff room during your afternoon tour. You’d only just seen him, and you hadn’t spoken to him besides. Despite your immediate interest in and respect for him, he knew nothing about you.

And he was a pornstar, come to think of it. He probably had had a fair number of creeps proposition him out of the blue. Enough that he was suspicious now, as you might have been, were you in his position.

Your cheeks heated, suddenly ashamed. You nodded, gritting your teeth as you ducked back inside your car.

“Right, fucking off, as requested,” you said, turning your blinker on to move back out into the road. “Sorry to scare you. See you, um—see you at work sometime.”

“Oi—I ain’t fuckin’ scared,” you heard him growl, but then you were turning back out into the street. You rolled your window back up as you sped up, resisting the urge to look back at Bakugou in the rearview.

What a humiliating first impression that had been.

You'd fretted about it for another week before your first official day at UA, and for several weeks more when you didn’t immediately run into Bakugou. When you’d finally met him properly, however, Bakugou acted like he’d never even seen you before in his life, and you somewhat gratefully followed his lead. He treated you like anyone else, with the same kind of universal severity he turned on the other production staff. You discovered very quickly that he was impatient, brusque, no-nonsense. He stalked onto every set with all the latent energy of a nuclear missile strike, and never softened until after the shoot was over.

His general attitude, and your humiliating first encounter should have been enough to turn you off of him. But the occasional glimpse of him after a shoot—rumpled, relaxed, open in a way he normally wasn’t, in the way that you'd first seen him—was unfortunately enough to keep those initial butterflies aflutter.

The fact that he was smart—and annoyingly adept in the bedroom, considering the number of reshoots his costars often needed after they accidently came too early—did not help matters.

“Where the fuck is Yaoyorozu?” he demanded of you and Mina, as he approached you in the set room now.

You met his scarlet gaze, holding very still under his regard.

“She was negotiating with Bibimi just now when I came in,” you told him, cheeks heating as his eyes flicked over you. He had a very direct way of evaluating people, and rarely missed a detail. You hoped your makeup wasn’t smudged from where you’d had your head propped up in your hand, valiantly resisting falling asleep in your earlier lecture.

“Bibimi’s a waste of fuckin’ time,” Bakugou growled.

You rolled your eyes. He couldn’t very well act opposite his own hand, so someone was going to have to fill in.

“Well Mina says we’re not having luck finding anyone else either so Bibimi is your best bet,” you told him.

Bakugou looked down his perfect nose at you. “Anyone in this damn studio could do better than she does.”

You felt your eyebrows raise. Bibimi was popular with a variety of audiences for her exaggeratedly dollish features—you doubted just anyone could fill in for her and look as good. You said as much to Bakugou, and he scoffed.

“‘S not about looking good, it’s about showing that you’re feeling good,” he said plainly, igniting a wave of fire across your cheeks. The flames worsened when he crossed his arms over his chest and you had occasion to notice he was in nothing but a workout tank, his bare biceps flexing enticingly in the studio lighting.

You were thankfully spared from having to form a coherent response by Yaoyorozu stepping into the room. She was tailed by Komori, and wore a troubled expression. She waved an elegant hand that encompassed both your camp in the corner and the directors on the other side of the room.

“Bibimi is unfortunately out. And we cannot use Shiozaki or Kendo. I am afraid we may have to call off the shoot this afternoon,” she said.

“So get someone else in,” Bakugou said, with his usual brisk directness. He turned to face her. You caught the whiff of something light and clean on him as he did so, laundry detergent and recently-applied shampoo.

Yaoyorozu fixed him with an expectant look. “We’ve unfortunately worked our way through the roster of available performers. Unless you know someone else?”

Bakugou stared back at her evenly, arching a blonde brow. “There’re a bunch of extras already here, aren’t there?”

A little shock went through you. Extras. As in the…people in the room right now? Did he really mean the production staff?

Yaoyorozu blinked, apparently taken aback. Then her gaze slid thoughtfully between Komori, Mina, and you. Another little thrill raced through you, like you’d suddenly missed a step. Surely they both could not actually be considering that.

“I’m a hoe but I’m a loyal hoe,” Mina said from next to you, immediately putting up a rosy palm. “Eiji is my one and only, sorry babes.”

Yaoyorozu nodded. “Of course, I would not expect you to violate any commitments you already had to a significant other.”

“I am also seeing someone,” Komori volunteered, a shy little blush sweeping across her cheeks. You smiled a bit at her obvious regard for whoever it was—until you sensed a dozen pairs of eyes suddenly turning to you.

Your stomach dropped—less of a missed step then and more of a sudden push off a cliff.

Worst of all was the pair of scarlet eyes suddenly burning with undue regard in your direction. You stared straight at Yaoyorozu, unable to meet Bakugou’s gaze. You still felt like you might burn up under his scrutiny, like an ant under a magnifying glass.

“I—uh—” you said dumbly, floundering for the right set of words to explain yourself. “Uhh.”

“You seeing anybody?” Bakugou prodded, prompting a fresh wave of heat to your cheeks.

“Well—no—”

“You clean?” he asked.

Your face burned hotter. “Yes, if you must know—-but uh—”

“Then what?” he prompted.

“Is it that easy for you? To just switch partners like that?” you asked. You weren’t exactly a blushing virgin but you still had only slept with partners you had cared for. Bakugou had worked with you for years and never signaled anything beyond dismissal and semi-professionalism—so it wasn’t like he had that same level of interest in you, despite your enormous crush on him. How could he just switch, just like that?

Bakugou uncrossed his arms to settle his hands on slim hips instead, and he gave you another evaluating once over. “Something the matter with you?” he asked. You noticed he did not ask if you thought something was the matter with him. You wondered if your crush on him was that apparent.

“No,” you said defensively. “Just—I don’t know that I’d be any good on camera.”

“You’ve been in videos before,” Mina pointed out, tugging playfully on your belt loop. “You were in Bibimi’s Christmas special a couple years ago.”

“That was different,” you said, staring at her. “I was her evil coworker who sent her running into Tetsutetsu’s muscular arms. I didn’t have to get naked.”

“We can give you time to get prepared,” Yaoyorozu promised kindly. “If you wanted to um, clean up or trim—”

“It’s not that!” you said quickly, waving your arms. Your ears burned. “I just mean I would be shy.”

Bakugou watched you silently for another long moment, his full mouth pursed in thought. His gaze dragged down your body and then back up to your face, and you felt it like a physical touch.

“Then if you forgot you were on camera?” he asked, a rasp in his tone.

You blinked at him dumbly. “If I—forgot?”

“If I made you forget,” he said, flashing a sharp smirk. The arrogance looked so good on him, zinging through your veins like an electric current. Your cheeks and ears flared even hotter, until you thought you might actually be emitting smoke from them.

You tried to form words but seemed to have trouble shaping the proper ones with your tongue, making a series of choking noises before you managed. “There is no way you could—you’re not that good.”

Something hot flared to life behind Bakugou’s eyes, and his smirk curled even sharper. “We’ll see about that.”

“What if Bakugou helps you get over your nerves, and we just try it and see how you do.” Yaoyorozu prompted gently. “Is that something you would be willing to do? Of course we won’t pressure you.”

Your gaze jerked back to her as you startled. For just a second you’d sort of forgotten there was anyone in the room but Bakugou.

“I sort of doubt—but if you really need—I mean I could—try…” you fumbled out.

Yaoyorozu nodded gratefully, looking pleased again. “Alright, then let’s at least try it. Mina please find proper costuming and help get Y/N ready. I will draw up a short contract with the same terms we promise all our on camera talent for you to look over when you’re done.”

You nodded, a little dazed. Had you really just agreed to—?

But then Mina was laughing, grabbing you by the elbow and drawing you out of the room. She marched you towards the back of the studio building where she’d amassed a respectable wardrobe, racks upon racks of clothes. “Alright, this is going to be so fun! I love dressing new talent! It’s always fun to work out what’s going to work with your coloring and style on screen.”

The mention of you doing anything on screen had all the blood draining from your veins, but Mina didn’t seem to mind. She kept up a stream of happy, easy chatter as she pecked around in the racks like a chicken hunting a grasshopper. Eventually she emerged with a robe in a deep pink, slippery and silky and glistening faintly under the overheads.

“Okay so you’re supposed to be a loving couple celebrating your anniversary and looking for ways to spice things up,” she said. “So you’ll be waiting for him to come home, looking delicious in this little slip of a thing. He can unwrap you like a V-Day present!”

Her callback to the plot of the shoot suddenly made you realize there were way more things involved in the project than just being pawed at on screen—and you did not know any of Bibimi’s lines. How the hell were you supposed to deliver any kind of performance?

“Don’t worry about it, I assure you the gears are already churning in Momo’s big brain,” Mina said when you asked as much. She peeled you out of your sweater and jeans, and ushered you into the robe. Cheeks burning, you let her look you over to make sure you were properly groomed for the camera.

Then before you could get cold feet, she bundled you up and shepherded you back into the set room and set to work on you with her various pots of paint and ointments. She worked a couple things into your hair, applied something glossy and sticky to your mouth, and adjusted the fit of your robe to her liking until she pronounced you ready.

Yaoyorozu was already leaning over you by the time Mina released you, laying out a packet of sheets in front of you. She detailed the terms to you in the professional, clipped tone you’d heard her conduct business in before, and soon enough you were penning in your own name in a shaky hand. The strokes looked almost foreign on the page, and you felt a little more than lightheaded thinking about what you’d just signed yourself into.

“So—what am I supposed to do about Bibimi’s lines?” you asked, your voice coming out kind of dry and crackly.

“We’re going to improvise,” Yaoyorozu said. “Bakugou will guide you. Try to respond as best you can to what he says, along the framework of being a couple celebrating their anniversary. It’s most important to capture your intimacy, however, so we can always come back and reshoot any dialog as needed after. You can call him Katsuki, there are no aliases for this shoot.”

You nodded, feeling even more nervous now that all the prerequisites had been completed.

That left Komori waiting for you. She was apparently assuming the duties you’d abandoned by becoming the star of this absurd alternate dimension. She led you over to what had been meant to be Bibimi’s starting mark on the bed and helped you spread your pink robe out enticingly. You almost laughed as you helped her, feeling foolish and distinctly unsexy for the deliberateness of it all.

There was nothing less romantic than half a dozen other people in the room with you, cameras and hot lights trained on you like you were an escaped convict under a helicopter floodlight. You got the impression that it was going to be a monumental task to work up the nerve to even loosen the tie on your robe, nevermind remove it.

Except then Bakugou walked in.

He’d changed, sometime in the half hour or so Mina had had you in her clutches. He prowled into the room in a dark charcoal suit, the consummate businessman home from his generic businessman job.

He looked unfairly good in it too—the close cut of it highlighted how his broad shoulders slashed inwards into a trim waist, and his pants showcased the flex of a strong, hard thigh. He’d acquired a chunky wristwatch in a dark metal, and it glinted dully under the overhead lights.

He looked sleek and dangerous, even though you’d just seen him stomping around in sweatpants not thirty minutes prior. You felt your breath escape you in a whoosh, your heartbeat kicking up as he prowled closer.

“I’m home, angel,” he said, a smoky rasp curling on the end of his voice. Despite the pet name, he sounded enough like his usual self that you almost answered him in turn.

You vaguely remembered you were obliged to playact with him, and you summoned up your nerve. “Hi, Katsuki,” you said. You hoped your voice did not sound too shaky. “Happy Anniversary.”

Bakugou’s scarlet eyes dipped down to your robe, fastening to the spot where it gaped open suggestively over one thigh. Your skin buzzed like a hive of bees was trapped beneath it.

“This my present?” he asked, stalking closer. He snagged the tie of your robe in his long fingers, toying with it speculatively.

“It should be easy to open,” you joked, then almost cringed.

Sexy. You were supposed to be sexy, not goofy as hell. And what happened when he really did try to open it?

A small amount of panic crept up your spine again, seeping into your veins. You did not feel ready to be naked before all of the eyes in this room, nevermind the roving gaze of the internet. What had you been thinking, signing up for this?

Your hand came up defensively to tug the robe tie back out of Bakugou’s hand, only for it to be captured too. Bakugou tugged you up and to him, and your face broke out in another sweeping wave of flame as you felt the hard planes of him against you. He was so warm, and smelled so good up close and you could not even begin to know what to do or where to put your hands—

Before you could ask him what the heck he was doing, however, he brought your captured hand to his mouth. You almost leapt out of your skin when you felt the gentle press of his lips on the inside of your wrist, the careful flicker of a tongue. Those scarlet eyes slid over you knowingly, near enough that you could see tiny flecks of deep purple in them.

His other hand came up to take your chin, his thumb stroking over the side of your jaw. The feeling made you shiver slightly, and it must have been clearly visible because the corner of Bakugou's mouth lifted into a smirk against your wrist. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, every inch of your skin thrilling with the feeling of your longtime crush doing something this to you.

“Think I’m gonna enjoying opening you alright,” Bakugou intoned.

You struggled to remember what he was talking about, giving up almost immediately as his mouth trailed along the inside of your arm. It traced up and up and up, until he was hovering dangerously close to your face. His fingers tightened on your chin, tilting your face up to his.

And then he bent his head, and crushed his mouth to yours.

Immediately, everything else disappeared.

Kissing Bakugou was three thousand zillion times hotter than you could have ever even imagined. You’d sort of imagined that with an attitude like his, he would be all power and impatience. And the power was there, but leashed, somehow. His mouth was hot and shockingly sweet on yours, and his fingers cupped your face to his, holding you there like he planned to kiss you for hours yet.

Your head was spinning by the time he let your mouth free, and the dip of his blonde lashes as he looked you over was extraordinarily self-satisfied.

His hand on your chin went to your robe instead, pulling the collar wide so that he could lower his mouth inside instead, kissing over your throat. You seized fistfuls of his suit, clinging to him, as he mapped a hot path across your shoulder and collarbone, one of his hands coming up to up your chest.

You heard yourself let out a soft hiss as his thumb pressed over your nipple through the silky fabric. Bakugou sucked a careful bruise into the side of your neck as he did it again, letting out a barely audible snort when you jerked in his hold, unconsciously arching into his hand.

“So sensitive for me, angel,” he drawled as his other hand came up to carefully pinch your other nipple.

You heard yourself make a small, choked off noise like a whine, and you could feel Bakugou’s lips pull into an answering smirk against your throat. You didn’t think you had been quite this responsive to a partner before—but something about the careful, purposeful way he was touching you had your blood running quicker in your veins.

Bakugou’s thumbs traced slow, deliberate circles over your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to make you groan. He teased you again and again as his mouth traced higher on your neck.

Within minutes you were panting, a slow, syrupy pleasure dripping down into your core.

Bakugou tugged your robe wider, then bent his head. You felt the tickle of his hair against your collarbone, softer than you would have thought, as his mouth closed over the point of one nipple. The draw of his mouth had you arching up into him immediately, pleasure zinging through your veins.

“Oh my god,” you said, seizing a fistful of that blonde hair.

Bakugou’s tongue teased at the nipple, and you writhed in his hold. Then he did the same to your other one, and you thought you might die. He hadn’t even touched you yet and you already wanted to crawl out of your skin with impatience.

“Katsuki—please,” you heard yourself say, almost distantly. “Katsuki—oh!”

“Please what, angel?” he said into the skin of your chest, before laying his mouth back over your nipple and giving a sweet suck.

“Oh my god—please!” you said, stupidly. Not an answer to his question but you’d forgotten how to string words together, your brain-to-mouth connection running on autopilot.

“Gonna have to be more specific, sweetheart,” Bakugou said, and you heard the relish in it. Your face burned, and you yanked his hair a little more firmly. He just groaned, and then sucked you a little harder.

“Touch me! Please—Katsuki,” you panted out, hips flexing unconsciously with the pull of your nipple.

“Thought this was my gift, angel. I can’t enjoy it how I want?” he asked.

You considered his words muzzily, having no idea what he was talking about. Gift? What gift was he talking about?

Bakugou’s scarlet eyes flicked up to yours, and something in your expression must have told him you had no idea what he was on about. His mouth pulled up into a self-satisfied grin, and he leaned up to kiss you again.

You flattened yourself out against his chest, all but velcroing yourself to him. You wanted to feel every inch of that hard body against you, wanted to climb as far into him as you could. Something gratifyingly hard pressed against your stomach as you kissed him, and he grunted, locking you to him with a muscled arm across your back.

“Want me to touch you, angel?” he asked.

You nodded. A smile played across his lips.

“Get on the bed for me then, sweetheart.”

It took a minute for you to process but then you were scrambling to obey, scrabbling your way onto the bed, turning and watching as Bakugou stepped nearer.

He shed his jacket as he approached, yanking off his tie too and flinging it somewhere behind him. Then he crawled over you, his fingers seizing the ties of your robe as he did. He pulled it open gently, then yanked a little harder until the silk tie slid free.

His eyes picked over it speculatively, then flashed back up to you. A look of intent interest settled over his features.

“You ever been tied up before, angel?” he asked.

You shook your head, even as it swam with the implication. Your skin prickled, somehow growing even hotter. He didn’t mean to…?

“You gonna let me?” he asked.

You rather thought you would let him do anything he wanted with you. The question was barely out of his mouth before you were nodding hurriedly. A shocked laugh punched out of him, and he gathered up your wrists, scooting you backwards until they pressed against the headboard.

He looped the silk around your wrists, gathering it into a series of complicated knots. He moved with a purpose and precision, his movements sure and practiced. You tested the give of the ties when he sat back on his haunches, finding that they held firm, even when you put a little more muscle into it.

Bakugou’s gaze blazed over you, hot like coals. His eyes traced over your body, spread out under him now, your silk robe pooling at either side of you in a pink puddle.

He bent his head and kissed you again, until you were fuzzy with the feeling once more. Then he worked his way downwards, softly biting your shoulder, licking over one nipple, pressing deep kisses into your belly and then indent of your left hip.

A shock of pleasure raced through you when you realized where he was going with this, and you let out an involuntarily little gasp as he hooked your thighs over his broad shoulders.

“Katsuki,” you began, though you had no idea what you meant to follow it up with. Bakugou didn’t wait for you to finish, ducking his head and licking a hot stripe up the cleft of you.

Immediately you arched, thighs flexing under his hands. Your face heated when he laughed again, but any embarrassment was instantly forgotten when he licked over you again, slower and more deliberate this time.

“Oh my god,” you said again, biting off into a groan when his tongue dipped deeper between your folds, flicking up over your clit.

“Yeah, angel?” Bakugou asked, his voice a heady rasp. “You like that?” He layered another open mouthed kiss over you, slow and thorough, until you were arching up into his mouth again.

It would have been evident to anyone on earth how much you liked it from the noises you made, the way you kicked and squirmed with the movement of his mouth. He sucked your clit gently into his mouth, then laved over it firmly as he pressed his fingers to you, the pads of his index and middle slowly sinking into you.

Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head when he gave another slow suck, the feeling almost too much. His fingers pressed deeper into you, easily slipping in with how comically wet you were for him. The gentle suction of his mouth made everything a million times better, everything a million times worse, as he carefully curled his fingers within you. He seemed to immediately find a spot within you that felt like he was touching your clit from the other side too, and the feeling was immediately far too much.

“Holy shit,” you heard yourself say, cutting off into an honest to god whine when his tongue swirled around your clit, just as he teased a finger along you from the inside too. “Katsuki—oh! Katsuki please! Please oh my god oh my god.”

Bakugou’s ministrations grew a fraction firmer, and you heard him groan too as he kissed you messily.

“So fucking hot for me, sweetheart. So sweet,” he said, then sucked again, a tiny bit harder this time. His fingers stroked you from the inside, a firm, deliberate rhythm that had you turning your face and muffling a keen into the meat of your arm.

Your hips flexed against his face, wild and uncontrolled, wanting less, more, not enough, too much, oh my god—

“Katsuki!” you cried, as you suddenly hit the crest of your pleasure. Your wrists pulled against their bonds, and the feeling of helpless restraint suddenly made everything feel a thousand times more intense. Every single nerve ending in your body felt like it was on fire, so that even the air of the room seemed too harsh on your skin. You screamed as you rode out your pleasure against Bakugou’s face.

He worked you through it diligently, licking and sucking until you collapsed back to the mattress, panting like you’d just run a marathon.

“Good, angel?” Bakugou asked.

You nodded breathlessly, turning your face to his when he crawled up your body to kiss you again. The taste of yourself on him was both embarrassing and thrilling, but Bakugou didn’t give you much leeway to consider it, kissing you into a stupid, pliant little puddle against the mattress.

You could feel him hard and hot against your hip as he did so, but he didn’t make any move to get inside you yet. Instead, his hands moved over you, slowly teasing you from satiation back into want. His fingers played with your nipples again, pinching them softly and rolling them. It felt like he'd rigged up some kind of wire, leading from your nipples right to your core, that lit the pilot flame of your interest again.

A couple minutes of diligent teasing, and easy, unhurried kisses had you wiggling under him again soon enough. It was only then, when you realized you were unconsciously rocking your hips against Bakugou’s, that he finally sat back to shuck off his shirt and pants.

He was so unfairly beautiful, bared in the bright light of the room. You’d known he was gorgeous, of course, but up close he was something else entirely. He was chiseled with thick muscle, his chest and arms hard and glowing faintly with perspiration. The light and the shadows of the room played over the divots of his muscles with a deliberate care, like he was a painting instead of a man, highlighting him in loving shades. A set of perfect abs trailed down into the hard jut of hip bones over his pelvis, and his cock was just as upsettingly gorgeous as the rest of him. It was thick and full and flush with his arousal, and he wasted no time crawling back between your thighs.

“You ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked. His voice had gone even more gravelly than usual, and it plucked at your core like a string.

“Please, Katsuki,” you said, your voice embarrassingly breathy. You couldn’t help yourself though, couldn’t be ashamed with the easy way your thighs fell apart for him. Your ankles hooked across his back, trying to pull him closer still.

He groaned and surged up over you to grab a condom off the nightstand. He quickly rolled it onto himself in one practiced movement, before immediately pressing himself into you.

He sank in mortifyingly easily, you already half out of your mind with want. He didn’t seem to mind, though—you heard the soft, sibilant hiss of his own pleasure as he filled you, and your robe tugged the skin of your shoulder as he fisted a hand in it, just beside your head.

“Been dying to fuck you, angel,” he said. “Thinking about how hot and tight and sweet you would be for me. Been thinking about it nonstop.”

You made a vague noise of agreement, moving your hips with his as he drew back and pressed inside of you again. The slide of him inside you was mind-numbingly good, the pressure against your stomach as he pressed back in almost sparking stars in your vision. The flex of his abs between your thighs as he found his pace was almost immediately too much for you, and you had to turn your face away. You tilted your face up to his, watching him as he watched you.

Bakugou seemed to read your expression easily, finding the angle and pace you liked incredibly quickly. He slid an arm under the small of your back to angle your hips up into him, yanking you up like you were nothing, and the show of easy strength had your toes flexing and curling against his back.

He kissed you again, catching the sounds of your pleasure in his mouth as he rocked into you. You moved against him, hips bucking, delirious with the feeling of him. Eventually he freed his arm from under you, pressing his thumb to your slit again with deadly precision.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned into his mouth, legs tightening on him as he played with your clit. The almost-too-gentle sensation of his thumb on your clit, coupled with the relentless drive of him inside you had your vision sparking and greying at the edges. His face swam in front of yours, and all of your limbs began to feel shivery, almost too weak to lift yourself into him the way you needed, to rock against him and find relief from the friction.

Bakugou continued to tease at you, carefully pinching and petting. His hips drove into you tirelessly, slapping the bottoms of your thighs, as you strained in your silk bonds, wanting to grab him, pull him even harder into you.

“Katsuki, please please please,” you heard yourself begging. You felt him smile against your mouth, tasted his reply more than heard it.

“You want me to let you cum, angel?” he asked, doing something with his fingers that made your breath catch in your lungs.

“Unhh, yes—please!” you cried, desperation coming over you in a white haze.

You had never—never—been so desperate for anything in your entire life. You didn’t know how Bakugou was doing it, why his touch felt like so much more than anything else you’d ever felt in your life. If he didn’t let you cum you were certain you were going to die, right here and right now.

“You gonna scream for me, sweetheart?” Bakugou asked, his voice raspier than you’d ever heard it. He grit the words out, like he too was on the edge of his own climax, barely staving it off.

“Anything, I will do anything,” you babbled senselessly. “Yes—going to scream for you—Katsuki!”

Bakugou’s gaze was hotter than you’d ever seen it, scarlet eyes clouded with pleasure, glowing like banked coals. “Then you can come for me, angel. Come on, sweetheart.”

“Oh!” you cried in answer, your feet planting themselves on the bed to jut your hips up hard. Bakugou’s thumb pressed hard against your clit, then, firm and merciless, and he fucked into you harder, his pace growing faster, furious.

Your second orgasm hit you like a truck, snapping your spine into alignment, locking all your limbs up as if in rigor mortis.

“Katsuki!” you wailed as you writhed against him, clenching and fluttering around him as you sobbed.

“Oh fuck,” you heard him say, and his hips stuttered. You realized he was coming too, fucking into you sloppily and disjointedly as he rode out his own pleasure. You arched and spasmed with him, clawing uselessly at the silk that bound you, twisting in blissful agony.

When you finally came back to yourself you found yourself slumped on the bed, Bakugou’s weight pinning you down into the mattress. His chest was slicked to yours with sweat, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of it against you as he caught his breath.

“That good, angel?” he asked, his voice heady with satisfaction.

You nodded, absently turning your face back up to his for a kiss. He granted it, kissing you almost possessively. He looked soft and rumpled, just the way you'd always liked him, and something in you purred with satisfaction at finally getting to have him like this for you.

Gradually, you became aware of other sounds in the room as you came down from your high. Quiet murmuring and the sounds of shuffling met your ears, the shutter click of a camera lens slicing through the atmosphere like a knife.

A sudden shock raced through you when you realized you and Bakugou were not alone—and you were on the set of a porn film, half a dozen eyes glued to you just over one of Bakugou’s thick shoulders.

A porn film. You had been shooting a porn film!

“And cut!” you heard the director’s voice ring out, like a bucket of water dumped over your head.

You tensed up beneath Bakugou, mind racing. Holy shit, he had actually managed to make you forget, exactly the way he'd promised.

You could tell Bakugou was thinking the same thing as he went to untie you, looking extremely satisfied with himself.

“Told you, angel,” he said, flashing something of a feral grin. You hated how good the self-conceit looked on him.

You went to draw your wrists back to yourself as he let them free. But Bakugou caught them instead, carefully massaging the skin there as if to make sure things were circulating properly. It was a startling note of unexpected care, as was the way he drew your robe closed around you again against the sudden chill of the room.

You found yourself saying wonderingly, “Wow. It was just that easy for you to switch partners like that.”

The thought somehow stung, even though you’d known going into this what you were getting yourself into. Somehow, the latent care and intention with which Bakugou had fucked you had addled your brain, made you think your connection had been something more. He had felt like he had feelings, beyond those mimed for the camera.

But here was evidence to the contrary, plain and simple. There literally was a camera.

Except then Bakugou looked down at you, a frown marring his pouty mouth. “Well yeah. ‘Course it was gonna be that easy when it’s you we’re talking about.”

You blinked at him, not understanding what he was saying. “Uh. When it’s—me?”

A crease came in between Bakugou’s blonde brows. “I said it, didn’t I? While we were fucking? Wanted to fuck you for a long time. Of course it was easy.”

Your stomach dropped, like a rug had just been yanked out from beneath you. “You—have? What? Since when?” you demanded.

Bakugou leveled you with an unimpressed stare. “Since the second time we met,” he said, and your mind flashed back to the way he’d seemed not to recognize you, that second time you'd spoken to him. “Once I realized you did work for UA and weren’t actually a little fucking creep trying to lure me into your car.”

You felt your eyebrows shoot towards your hairline. “Then—? For years? You cannot be serious. You never acted like we were anything other than coworkers!”

Bakugou scoffed. “We fucking were coworkers. And I told you, I don’t fuck coworkers off the clock.”

You blinked again, startled by the level of professionalism couched in the crassess of his statement. It made sense, you supposed, for a pornstar of Bakugou’s caliber to have put boundaries like that in place. Probably everyone in the world would just be dying for a shot at him.

“Wow,” you said, almost to yourself. You didn’t know what to do with this new information, wondered how it was going to be possible to behave professionally with Bakugou at all going forward. It was probably obvious to him how big your crush on him was, given that he’d known all along he could make you forget you were on camera. Given the way you reacted to him embarrassingly easily.

Except then Bakugou leaned forward, putting his face startlingly close to yours. “Emphasis on were, since this is my last shoot,” he said.

You stared at him, wondering if you were interpreting the implication correctly. There was no way he meant—?

“Uhhhh, meaning what, exactly?” you prompted, heart beating just a little bit quicker despite yourself.

Bakugou’s mouth turned up into a gorgeous smirk, and he ducked his head even closer, voice going softer.

“Meaning you’re going to get dressed and I’m going to take us to get something to eat,” he said, fingers playing at the edge of your robe. “And then you’re going to give me that ride home in your car after all. And we are going to do this all over again.”

Flames erupted across your face, sweeping across your cheeks. And you were up out of the bed before you even realized what you were doing, catching yourself on the bedside table as you stumbled.

Bakugou’s laugh chased out of the set room as you raced towards the wardrobe again. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, this time.

Not when your heart felt like it was going to beat right out of your chest. You smothered a smile as you ran down the hallway.

Much like Bakugou had just done to you—it looked like your hopes and dreams were finally lining themselves up and filling themselves in.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou smut #bakugo smut #bakugou x you #bakugo x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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not-neverland06 · 5 months ago

Note

Hey I’m just begging for a fic of Logan with a shy reader that she has a crush on him but thinks he’s never going to fix on her since Jean exists (maybe the reader can make her hair color change depending on the emotion or something

a/n: sorry I haven’t been responding to asks. The new job has officially killed my spirit. But I got to work out finally and do some yoga so hopefully I’ll start feeling more motivated 🤞🤞this one will be shorter

Logan Howlett x X-men!reader (Chameleon)

“Chameleon!” You jump, shoulders flying up to your ears. Almost immediately you can feel the tips of your fingers tingling. Sure enough, when you look down they’re already disappearing. Sighing, you turn around and glare at Scott.

“What have I told you about scaring me?”

He grimaces, raising his hands in surrender. “Sorry, I forgot.”

You roll your eyes and turn back toward your project. “Every time,” you mutter bitterly. You’re not an idiot. You know he thinks scaring you is funny. The whole school does. They all like to see you yelp and blend in with the nearest surface, the only thing visible is your stupid hair.

“You’re, um, turning red.” Scott points to your head and you don’t have to look to know your hair is shifting colors.

You reach over and swat harshly at his arm, “Because you pissed me off! I know you scare me on purpose,” you accuse, jabbing your finger into his chest. He laughs and stumbles away from you.

“Alright, alright, calm down. I was just messing around a little. Look,” he glances down at the lesson plans before you and sighs. “All this will have to wait. Charles needs us all for a mission.”

You huff and shove the papers into your desk drawer. “Alright, lead the way.” You feel Scott’s eyes still lingering on your hair and glare at him. “Move it, Summers,” you demand.

You were already in a bad mood, you didn’t need him making it worse. It honestly shouldn’t be such a big deal for you. You get scared by everyone all the time. You used to enjoy it, enjoyed the way it felt like you all had your own joke. But, eventually, it started to feel less like an inside joke and more like you’re the unwitting butt of one.

Some mutants get amazing powers, like Jean or Charles. Logan’s abilities are incredible, even if he doesn’t believe you when you tell him that. But yours, well, you're better suited as the cheap gimmick of a children’s birthday party than an X-Men. You’re just a walking mood ring that blends in with her environment.

The only thing you’re good for is reconnaissance missions and embarrassing yourself. You don’t know what Charles sees in you. You’ve never understood why he insists you’re such a good asset to the team. Yes, you are good at spying on people, but you don’t need to when Charles has such strong telepathic abilities. You’re essentially useless in a fight due to a lack of regenerative or strength abilities.

More often than not you feel like a child playing dress up, chasing after the big kids. You know the others don’t mean anything bad by it when they tease you into going invisible or laugh when your hair changes. It’s all in good fun. But it doesn’t make you feel any less like easy entertainment rather than a teammate.

It doesn’t help that you’ve got little to no control over your abilities when it comes to Logan. You’ve never had such a horrifically bad crush like this. Anytime he opens his mouth around you, you're fighting off the urge to just go invisible and run away. You feel like you go feral around him. You don’t know how he hasn’t caught onto what the colors of your hair mean when you’re near him.

It’s constantly switching between some odd mix of red and pink when you talk. Which, you know what it means, but you’re praying no one else does. Red can mean angry, depending on whether you’re talking to Scott or not. You know, though, that with Logan it just means you want to jump his bones and you’re hopelessly in love with him.

Thankfully, like the others, he associates red with anger. Which isn’t great for you because that just means he thinks every time he opens his mouth you’re pissed off. At yourself, maybe, but at him, never. It just means when he wears those stupid tanktops you want to dig your teeth into his biceps and never let go.

Scott opens the door to the meeting room and you slide in past him. Charles gives you a brief smile as a greeting. You take the chair at the end of the table, which just happens to be next to Logan - completely coincidental. He gives you a tense smile and you return it stiffly. You tug your hood over your hair, praying he doesn’t notice the red in your strands yet. You don’t want him to think you hate him. You completely prefer that over him knowing how feral you are for him, but it’s not conducive to your slow plan to finally get him to acknowledge you as a sexual partner.

You swear, if your name isn’t Jean Grey, you might as well just be a shapeless blob of nothing. He glances over at her, that smoldering look in his eyes, and you try not to throw up in your mouth. Scott wraps an arm around Jean’s shoulders and they break their lingering stares.

Logan glances over at you and catches the glare on your face before you can get rid of it. He huffs and turns towards Charles. With a sigh, you sink back into your chair and focus on not just going invisible.

“Chameleon,” Charles says your name and your eyes widen. You wonder how much you’ve missed while you’ve been glaring at the back of Jean’s head. “Does that sound alright with you?”

You look around the table for help but they’re all staring expectantly at you. “Sure,” you stumble over the word, racking your brain for any answers. It seems not even your subconscious was paying attention to Charles droning on. “Sounds great.” He gives you a satisfied nod.

“Good. Off to the jet, all of you.” he rolls out of the room and you wait until he’s out of earshot to kick Logan under the table.

He glances back at you, smirking. “Don’t know what you agreed to?”

You purse your lips and shake your head. “Nope,” he gives you a look like he knew you’d say that. You hate how well he can read you when it feels like you’re constantly hitting walls trying to understand him.

“You’re scoping a place out for us. Making sure it’s safe so we can retrieve some information.” You give him a thankful look and he chuckles. “You need to start paying attention, kid.”

You groan and get up from your chair, brushing past him. “I told you to quit calling me that.” It makes you feel like that’s all he’ll ever see you as, some kid invited onto the team. You want him to see you as someone he could have sex with, hopefully, love one day.

He glances past you at Jean. She smiles at him and you fight everything inside you to not roll your eyes and gag at them. She’s holding onto Scott and making fuck me eyes at Logan, which he’s happily returning. This is just too disgusting for you.

You shove past him and ignore how he calls out your name. Your real name. He’s the only one that uses it. For some reason, most people just refer to you by Chameleon. You don’t understand why. They just don’t seem to think of you outside your abilities as a mutant.

You make it to the jet before the others, taking the private time to change into your X-Men suit. If there’s one useful thing about your ability, it’s that it affects whatever’s touching you. Which means, you don’t have to strip naked to go completely invisible. And if anyone is around you, all you have to do is hold onto them and they’ll blend in too.

You’re tugging up the zipper of your top as Logan walks in. He gives you an odd look, sitting on the bench in front of you. “Angry about something?” He asks, gaze darting up to your head.

You drag your fingers over the ends of your hair and sigh. “No,” you tell him bluntly, taking the seat beside him.

His brows furrow in confusion. “It’s red, though,” he points out, his tone colored in suspicion.

You laugh a little, “Red doesn’t always mean angry.” It’s the most you’ve ever confided about your hair colors to him. The largest hint you’ve ever given him that you don’t hate him. You’re worried if he knew how you really felt about him, he’d think you were a little creep.

He slides his arm behind you on the bench, leaning in until you’re practically sharing the same air. You know your eyes are comically large, you don’t even want to know what color your hair is turning right now. “What else does it mean, kid?” He whispers and you don’t even pay attention to the nickname. All you can see and hear right now is him. How close he is, how close your lips are.

You could lean forward an inch or two and you’d be kissing. “Um,” you swallow harshly around the lump in your throat. You don’t even know what he asked you, all you can think about now is kissing him.

“Logan!” Ororo’s voice echoes through the jet and you leap away from him, trying to calm your racing heart. Logan sighs and leans back in his seat, giving Storm a tense smile. She glances at you and laughs, “She’s nearly see-through, what are you doing to her?”

You frown and look down at your hands. Sure enough, you’re going translucent. You let out a silent groan, and tuck your knees into your chest. You take a few deep breaths until you’re one solid form again. It’s so embarrassing when that happens, when you lose control over yourself like that.

But it’s even worse when Logan does it to you. He gives you hope, stupid, hateful hope, for one minute that he might feel something deeper. Only for it to be another joke. You’re a walking mood ring, nothing more than a quick laugh to all of them.

Jean walks up the ramp, her gaze going to Logan first before drifting towards you. “Are you alright?” She mutters, trying not to let the others hear. Of course, Logan can, with his stupid enhanced abilities. “You’re turning blue,” she points out and you roll your eyes.

You can feel Logan’s stare burning holes into the side of your head and it only makes you feel worse. You hate being a joke, but you also hate showing them just how much it affects you. You don’t want to seem like a crybaby that can’t handle a little teasing. But you’d thought coming to Charles’ school meant people would stop poking fun at you. It feels like being dragged right back into high school.

“I’m fine,” you tell her. She doesn’t look like she believes you but she takes a seat anyway. Of course, placing herself right next to Logan, even though her fiancee is a few feet away from her, looking just as hurt as you. They lean into each other and whisper. They’re not even trying to hide it anymore. You let your glare bore into the floor, ignoring how much seeing them together hurts.

The mission had gone well, Logan had been hoping to go to the bar and grab a drink with you. But the second his back is towards you, you’re running off the jet. Logan calls out your name, trying to catch up. You glance back at him, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. He smiles at you and your eyes widen. You go invisible and Logan glances around, baffled.

He calls out your name again but the door ahead of him opens and closes quickly. He can only assume you’ve run away again. You always run away from him. You’re always pissed off at him. He doesn’t know what Jean’s talking about when she says you like him.

Logan’s never met anyone more repulsed by him.

“Would you just trust me?” Jean tells him lowly, creeping up behind him.

His face falls and he turns to her, glaring at her knowing smirk. “She just fuckin’ ran away from me. Pretty sure that’s about as good a hint as I’m gonna get, Jean.”

She glances over her shoulder, waving Scott away and looping her arm through Logan’s. “You’re an idiot, Howlett.” He scoffs and she swats at his shoulder. “Trust me, I can read minds, remember?”

Of course, he knows she’s got some pretty decent telepathic abilities. But he didn’t think she would so brazenly breach your boundaries. There’s an unspoken rule that the mind readers of the school don’t delve into your brain without permission.

She sees the look on his face and sighs. “I didn’t read her mind. She got drunk a little while ago and told me about her raging crush on you,” she laughs a little at your expense and Logan lets out a short chuckle. You can be a pretty sloppy drunk if they let you go too far. He figures it was one of those girl’s nights he wants nothing to do with. You’d probably let the tight reigns you keep on yourself slip for once.

“She goes red every time she sees me. I don’t know what else that could mean other than she hates me.” Logan isn’t surprised that you’re not taken with him like he is with you. He’s used to the rejection, but it hurts just a bit more coming from you. You’re so welcoming to the others.

You embrace every new member of the school with open arms. Yet, with him, you get angry whenever you see him. You see through his walls, see the rot lurking underneath them. And, rightfully, want nothing to do with him. He understands your reasoning.

Most days he barely wants anything to do with himself. He’s made a lot of bad choices in his life, half of which he can’t remember. But he’d hoped, for one minute, that you might give him a second chance. As much as Jean insists otherwise, he can see the truth of how you feel about him every time you run away.

“Red doesn’t always mean anger,” Jean tells him elusively. It’s the same thing you’d said to him on the jet. It makes his brows furrow in confusion and he glares at her.

“What else could it mean?” He demands sharply, sick of her teasing him with the possibility you might feel the same way.

She bites her lip, looking suddenly sheepish. “I can’t say-”

“Jean,” Logan snaps. He stops her from walking any further, keeping her planted in one spot with him. “Tell me,” he’s sick of the games you’re both playing with him. He just wants some straight fucking answers. How hard is that?

She sighs and looks away from him. “I promised her I wouldn’t tell.”

“And I’m sure you promised you also wouldn’t tell me how she feels about me,” he points out. There’s a sharp tone to his voice, it’s rude but he can’t bother feeling guilty about it.

She can’t meet his eye, a smirk fighting at the corner of her lips. He waits impatiently for her answer, irritation broiling quickly in his gut. He’s about to snap at her again when she finally meets his eyes.

She speaks through a laugh, like what she’s about to say is so ridiculous she can’t hold it in. “She wants,” she cuts herself off with another laugh and Logan groans in frustration. He begins to walk away from her when she yells, “She wants to fuck you!” At his back.

His eyes widen in surprise before he turns back to her with a displeased look. “Are you fuckin’ with me?” He demands, narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously.

She shakes her head and brushes past him. “You didn’t hear it from me,” she warns, tone grave as she leaves the room.

Logan is left standing in the same spot, stunned at the revelation. He’s not sure how much of that he believes. But he doesn’t understand why Jean would possibly lie to him about this. She gains nothing by setting him up for failure. As much as he doubts the honesty behind her words, he’s got no other choice but to trust them.

He heads to the most likely place you’re hiding out. Charles has a private library that’s blocked off from the kids. There are too many first editions in there, he can’t risk any of them accidentally blowing them up. You like to head there when you’re trying to avoid people.

He tries to stay quiet as he walks in, not wanting you to run off again. It’s hard to confront someone who goes invisible whenever she feels like it. He sees light blue hair draped over the back of an armchair. He feels like a creep as he stalks towards you, sneaking and pouncing on you so you can’t run away.

He can’t imagine how Jean ever thought him approaching you would be a good idea. He whispers your name, trying not to startle you. It doesn’t take a genius to see how much you hate when the others scare you. They might not mean anything bad by it, but they have to be blind not to see how much it pisses you off.

You still jump, glancing up at him with a surprised look. He looks to your hair for any tells of how you feel. Some pink weaves its way through the stands but it otherwise stays relatively blue. His brows furrow in confusion, he can’t tell if it’s a good or bad sign that there’s no red.

“How are ya, kid? Ran off pretty quick earlier.”

“Don’t call me that,” you mutter, giving him a brief glare before staring absently down at the book in your hands. Logan kneels beside your armchair, covering the pages with his hand. You huff, giving him an expectant look. “Yes, Logan?” You demand, tone short.

Logan tilts his head, examining you and your body language. You seem relatively closed off, irritated at him or something else. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s never been good with words or trying to express how he feels. He’s more comfortable showing how much he cares for those around him.

Throwing caution to the wind, he lets his hand drift to your wrist and tugs you forward. Your eyes widen as he drags you toward him. The kiss is short, he doesn’t want to push you too much. But it takes everything in him to stop himself from deepening it. All he wants is to pull you into his arms and devour you.

He holds back, parting from you with a low exhale. Your eyes flutter open and he grins when he sees the bright red your hair has turned. “What,” you sputter and stumble over your words. You shove him back and leap to your feet. “What the hell was that?” You demand, voice higher than he’s ever heard of it. “What was that?” You ask him shrilly, again.

You almost seem to be stuck in a loop, blinking rapidly and asking the same thing. Logan chuckles and gets to his feet, he gives you a knowing look and you narrow your eyes at him in disbelief.

“Jean told me.”

Your brows furrow and you shake your head. Realization dawns on your face and you gasp, looking up at him with something like horror on your expression. “No,” you tell him lowly. “She didn’t,” it almost sounds like you’re begging him to tell you otherwise.

He laughs again and your face falls. You start going clear, he can see the bookshelf through your stomach and he sighs. He grabs your hand, holding onto you before you can run again. You don’t even seem to be aware that you’re slowly disappearing from view.

“She’s, uh,” he struggles to figure out what to say to make you feel better. “She’s been coaching me,” he admits shamefully. “Trying to help me talk to you.”

You glance up at him but he can barely see your expression. The only thing reassuring him you’re here is his grip on you and your voice. “What? But I thought that-” You cut yourself off quickly and Logan glares down at where he thinks your face is.

“Thought what?”

You take a long pause and exhale deeply. “I thought,” you mutter, “you liked her.”

“She’s with Scott,” he points out bluntly. He can practically hear you roll your eyes, even if he can’t see it.

“Yeah, I know. But you guys are always whispering to each other and making googly eyes.”

“Googly eyes?” He interrupts, disgust clear in his tone.

“I was wrong,” you continue, ignoring him. “I see that now, but I thought you didn’t care about me.”

Logan huffs, he hates that you thought that. He should have just been open with you from the start. He’s faced rejection his whole life, he shouldn’t have been so petrified of it just because it could come from you. If he’d just manned up and told you earlier, it would have saved you both a lot of time and hurt.

“Kid,” he hopes he’s making eye contact with you and not just staring at some random book. It’s really hard to tell when you go invisible like this. “You’re the only person I care about in here.”

You’re quiet for a long while and he worries you’ve somehow slipped away without him realizing. But, ever so slowly, you start coming back into view. Logan awkwardly averts his eyes from your breasts, he’d been hoping he was making eye contact with you, clearly, he was wrong.

“You mean that?” You ask, and he hates the trepidation in your voice. He’s never been good with words, he doesn’t know how to tell you how much you mean to him. But he can show you.

His hand drifts up your arm, wrapping around the back of your neck and tugging you towards him. You trip over your feet, hands landing on his chest to stabilize yourself. He leans down, hovering over your lips for a moment. He waits until your eyes drift shut and your lips purse impatiently before he finally kisses you again.

He doesn’t hold himself back this time. He pours every racing thought he’s ever had about you, every one of his wanted-to-tell-you-how-he-feels-and-hasn’t moments into the kiss. Your hands slowly curl up into his shirt, wrinkling it and tugging him further into you.

To his surprise, you deepen the kiss, mouth moving over his like you want to devour him whole. He’s sure if he opened his eyes your hair would be a bright roaring red. He smirks against your lips, happy that, for once, he actually listened to Jean. If it gets him results like this, he might have to do it more often.

General Taglist: @evasmlp ♡

Logan Taglist: @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte

@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl @allllium @insomniachox @izbelross ♡

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x you #wolverine x you #logan howlett imagine #wolverine imagine #x-men x reader #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman #anon

2K notes · View notes

7kh · 3 months ago

Text

༉ ease your mind.

cw — wlw. ambessa x f!reader. ambesscock. that’s it that’s the fic. fingering. slight orgasm denial if you squint. pussy slapping. overstimulation. creampie. ambessa loves her stupid little wife (not outwardly said but. yk). ambessa has a huge cock and it almost kills reader (not clickbait!!!)

you stood at the balcony of your palatial-like room, the cold air of the evening hitting your cheeks as your brows furrowed. ambessa sighed at the sight. you were her prized possession, she cleared the rust from you and made you lustrous; now, you were gradually dulling. she couldn’t let that happen. “your performance reflects your effort, little one. you’ve been dragging your feet all week.”

you internally winced at her words. there was no getting around ambessa, no slick tricks or batting eyelashes could conceal how you really felt. “you’re spending too much time in your head. no more of this self-deprecating prattle; you’re fine.” she said finally.

“right..” you exhaled under your breath.

she huffed. if there was one thing she loved about you, it was your compliance. not that it started that way; you had thorns in your words, much to her chagrin. “you disagree,” she noted.

you were a bit too quick to answer, “i do not,”

“no?” she raised an eyebrow at you. another weird shot in your stomach at the slightly teasing tone in her voice. “it’s… it’s silly.” you gulped. “silly.” that was the word you decided? it surprised her even though it shouldn’t. “humor me.”

your eyes briefly flicked to her face for a moment before you looked back down, sighing defeatedly. damn her. “i.. have been dissatisfied with my performance lately. and i fear you have to.” you muttered, you almost thought she didn’t hear you and would coax you to speak louder. but she understood you just clearly. she just didn’t understand why. “so?” you raised an eyebrow at her, looking up at her, continuing as she didn’t let you get the chance to speak yet. “i would have said something to you if i had any grievances. do you doubt my methods?”

mouth slightly gape, you closed it and swallowed again, looking down at the white cement beneath you, “n..no.” ambessa smirked. “no?” she repeated. “then do not waste your brain on such frivolous matters. or do you need a reminder on who exactly you belong to?”

“i-i..” somehow, you were just now made aware of her very close proximity to you. maybe a little too close if you weren’t busy rubbing your thighs together at the mere idea.

“i think you do.”

—

a violent, shuttering breath came from your chest as ambessa’s thick fingers worked amongst your slit, teasing up and down slowly before she rubbed firm yet calculated circles on your clit. gripping the red silk sheets for dear life, and she barely even started. “isn’t this better, hm? a great difference than whatever nonsense you had in that little head of yours.” you sobbed at her teasing, quickly throwing your head back when she added a thick finger inside you. you already felt so full, what more could she have?

you tried your absolute hardest to not squirm and writhe under her when she added another finger, the lewd squelching of your aroused pussy echoing the sumptuous walls. “absolute submission suits you far better, darling..” she drawled while slyly adding a third finger. you nodded dumbly, agreeing to whatever eloquent words she cooed to you. they made your pussy drool hot, creamy juices that made her stomach churn in satisfaction. you pleaded and gasped, her scarred forearm never faltering when your nails dug into it.

to her truimph of having you exactly where she wanted, she removed her fingers, licking them clean shamelessly. messily. like she was sampling piltover cuisine again. except this time it was from your pretty pussy, which automatically made it 10x better than the diplomatic, ‘progressive’ city.

you whine at the loss, bucking your hips up to desperately chase the feeling again until a harsh slap met your cunt, making you squeak and close your thighs together instinctively. “don’t be greedy,” she growled, her blunt hands grabbing the supple skin of your thighs and spreading them wide open for her. you’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so incredibly aroused right now. “good girls don’t get rewarded if they’re inattentive. behave.” she leaned down to say firmly in your ear. you had no other choice but to nod your head, sniffling in compliance.

“your words, girl.”

“y-yes, ambessa.”

“good,” she smirked, leaning up again, lazily undoing her pants with an unreadable expression on her face. she knew you loved this sight of her, standing tall at the edge of the bed as you anticipated for what’s going to come next. it gave you a grueling feeling in your stomach, yet you chased it. chased her. with a scarred hand, she guided her cock out of the tight and inconvenient confines of her pants, mostly, if not already rock hard. dribbles of precum ran from her slit, making your mouth water at the sight, desperately wanting a taste. but not right now. was she twitching from the cool air of the room, or is she just simply built up and found the chance to finally fuck you? it was probably both.

she didn’t even let you breathe before you felt your knees rub against your chest and pulling you further to the edge of the bed, her slick tip sliding up against your slit, making you shudder. “let me show you how i value your excellence above anything else.” she finally sunk her cock into you, inch by inch, making you cry out. she wasn’t even fully in you yet. “breathe,” she cooed, guiding you through it was the least she could do. she held your legs steady as she sunk even further into you, biting your lip to alleviate the slight uncomfortableness. all of this, for you? the least you could do is just sit there and take it.

but, as soon as the pain faded away, you almost instantly became drunk on her cock, every snap of her hips knocked the wind out of you. your pussy salivated on her, smearing on her stomach and thighs and even on the bed, but she didn’t care. in fact, she encouraged it so much she forced you to look down at the sheer mess you were making. you were embarrassed, but the way you felt her cock twitch and hearing her groan when she saw the way she glided in and out of you made it worth it.

she made you pliable. a moldable, sticky mess, like you were designed by the gods to piece together perfectly like a complicated and difficult puzzle. “please, please please..” you whined, feeling her splitting you open. you were so full of her it was like you could fucking feel her in your throat, her cock kissing and bruising you in places you were unaware of until this evening. she was too big, you finalized— yet you could take it, she knew you could. each pant, moan and whine made that very clear to her.

“just fabulous..” she praised under her breath, appreciating how it earned a squeeze and twitches from your dewy, spongy walls. she knew you were getting close, dangerously so. she never relented her pace, having you babble and slur out nonsense, praise for her fucking you so good, thanking her for fixing your silly self-deprecating problems. she simply smirked and exchanged back filth to your slushed mind, but her smirk would slightly falter as she felt herself growing closer to release as well.

“‘bessa, gonna cum, i’m gonna cum, fuck—!!” you were only met with a nod, a final command as you followed it, like always. sobbing helplessly, a final, brutal slam made you gush everywhere, sinking herself down as you came unbelievably hard, your moans borderline whorish when you felt her cum deep inside you, a few shallow thrusts to ensure no drop escaped.

she barely even broke a sweat, yet you were under her fucked out of your mind, thighs twitching in mock-withdrawal in her hands, face ridden with tears and sweat. you were looked a mess, but you never looked more gorgeous in ambessa’s eyes.

her eyes widened softly as your arms wrapped around her neck and pulled her closer to you, but she made no attempt to pull away. she chuckled at your deprivation, rewarding you with a kiss on the side of your lips. “it seems like i hadn’t fail you this time.” you nodded and let out a meek “no” in response. you were too weak to speak at the moment.

you just wanted to selfishly bask in her embrace just a wee longer, wanting your skin to be hers for just a moment.

#⊹ folasade’s work.#ambessa x reader #arcane #lesbian #ambessa x you #ambessa x y/n #arcane x reader #arcane x black reader #ambessa arcane #ambessa arcane smut #sevika arcane smut #black reader #arcane smut #ambessa medarda

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sevsgiirl · 13 days ago

Text

— do the girls back home touch you like I do?

sevika x insecure!reader. men and minors dni.

synopsis: having feelings for the most feared woman in zaun had more cons than it did pros - her being popular amongst women and a regular at the brothel just to name a few. it hurt because you knew with her history there’s no way she’d return your feelings… right?

word count: 5.5k words.

tags: insecure!reader, jealousy, miscommunication, public sex, oral sex, vaginal fingering, porn with feelings, top!sevika, bottom!reader.

it was silly, honestly.

you knew it was a shot in the dark for sevika to reciprocate your feelings. much or less consider you an option on her roster.

sevika gets around. there was no denying that, and you’ve come to terms with it the second you caught these stupid little feelings that just wouldn’t go away. no matter how hard you tried.

you assumed it would. back when silco hired you to be his informant, you saw the opportunity as nothing more but an upgrade from your previous jobs. it’s safe to say, you’ve gone through a lot just to get to where you are now. whether it was scrubbing the floors of a dingy, run-down diner that made jericho’s look like a michelin star restaurant, to going as far as thinking about working at babette’s.

but then silco saw some potential in you that not a lot of people have seen before, and you were grateful for it. a lot of your co-workers were tolerable, just as long as you looked past the carnage of their jobs, it was pretty easy to get by when working for silco because he never really asked you to get your hands dirty.

no, he asked sevika to do that.

you knew she was different from the others the second you laid eyes on her. she remained unyielding in the eyes of catastrophe, she gets the job done no matter how tedious the assignments were, and she navigates through life like an enigma.

you were intimidated by her at first. when she walked into a room, her presence demanded to be felt, crowds of people would always make space for her to walk through and she could silence someone with just the heat of her glare. it was then you understood why she was silco’s number two.

but despite her brooding personality, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards her. maybe it was the allure of wanting something you can’t have, but every time you were sent on a mission with her, this desire to know her better always tempted you. even though you wouldn’t know the first thing to say to strike up a conversation with the older woman, you couldn’t deny that what you felt was beyond just physical attraction. you were intrigued by everything about her.

it tethered the line of obsession but hadn’t quite got there yet, the better way to describe it was infatuation.

she’d occupy your thoughts but not so much to the point that she was all you thought about, but when you did, you had to force yourself to snap out of it before it became borderline creepy, and you wanted to justify your feelings thinking she wouldn’t feel the same in a million years.

not only that, but her reputation precedes her.

you knew your hesitation to make a move stemmed more from just being shy or thinking you wouldn’t get along with the older woman, and it was because her sexual proclivities scared the hell out of you.

again, she gets around, far more than most people. before you worked for silco, rumors regarding his second in command traveled through the streets of zaun in whispers, whether it was good or bad, it didn’t really matter.

one detail that caught the attention of many, specifically those of women, were her frequent nights spent at the gardens. you couldn’t deny that aside from being incredibly scary, so much of sevika’s appeal came from her appearance as well - her tall stature, impressive built, corded muscles, the rigged lines and hard angles of her face. she was just as beautiful as she was domineering.

that’s why it didn’t surprise you that women tend to set aside her notoriety in hopes of sleeping with her, but that doesn’t mean the thought didn’t cause your insides to flare up with jealousy.

as mentioned, you thought about working for babette at one point. when your low paying jobs in the past couldn’t suffice to get you through the week, the idea came to mind on some occasions. but you knew it wasn’t easy work, not to mention your looks paled in comparison to the girls you’d seen working there. all slim waists, toned arms, long legs, big tits and even bigger asses.

you didn’t possess any of the traits that made the girls there appealing.

you just set aside the idea because your ego wasn’t big enough to make you think you were up for the job, and knowing that’s where sevika prefers to spend most of her nights made your insecurities worse.

especially when she’d stroll through the last drop late at night littered with hickeys and bite marks around her neck that she’d let the world see without shame, and how you’d just ogle at them with the ugliest emotions churning in the pits of your stomach.

it didn’t help when silco’s men would poke fun at her for it “damn, was the night that rough? you gotta take it easy on those girls.” they’d joke as a sly grin would make its way on her face.

“they love it,” would be her response, which would earn a roar of laughter from the group meanwhile you’d walk away after eavesdropping, with a heaviness in your chest that wasn’t there minutes ago as you tried to erase the image of sevika indulging herself with countless women.

you understood the intention behind it. you knew it was her way of escaping the stress of silco’s workload, and having sex with multiple women was just as much of a coping mechanism as gambling and drinking was.

that doesn’t mean it wasn’t any less painful to think about, even though you knew you couldn’t have stood a chance.

because how could you? who even were you in the bustling, chaotic world that is sevika’s life? if simply nothing more than just her co-worker?

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

you didn’t think she’d ever acknowledge you outside of work.

you’ve had your fair share of interactions but it was all professional so those don’t count. you were delusional but you weren’t delusional enough to think that your quick conversations about paychecks and shipment were considered bonding.

it wasn’t until an incident transpired in one of her missions where silco asked you to come along, and it so happened that the firelights decided it was a good day to ambush you, sevika and the rest of the team.

you cowered away from the commotion because it’s not like you possessed any of sevika’s combative skills. you were an informant, for crying out loud.

but you weren’t quick on your feet, and when the leader of the firelights threw one of their bombs in your direction you were crystallized in place near the cargos, unable to move.

you knew the crystals would dissolve after five minutes, you were aware of how their weapons worked, but the fear of being unable to move still stressed you out, and as you kept squirming you caught sevika’s eye who was immobilized herself.

one thing led to another, silco’s daughter came up from underneath the airship and began firing at the firelights, grazing you with one of her bullets as you let out an agonizing scream in response.

suffice to say, the mission went horribly and everyone who go out was reprimanded by silco, because of course he’d never put the blame on jinx. while you on the other hand, were hunched over the bar later that night, nursing your sides that were still bleeding due to jinx’s mishap.

thieram was more than happy to help, aiding you with your injury but your pain tolerance wasn’t necessarily high, so every time he dabbed you with the wash cloth dunked in alcohol, you couldn’t help it as you let out a wince, clutching thieram’s forearm.

“I’m sorry,” he said, cringing at your pitiful state “I don’t know how-“

“move it.”

your eyes widened as the shadow of sevika’s tall silhouette casted over you, pushing past thieram while she took the bottle of alcohol and cloth from him. she nodded at you for you to raise your shirt up.

“let me see the wound,”

blushing, you were debating whether or not you should let sevika see you in such a compromising position, but she probably only wanted to help and couldn’t care less about seeing you exposed.

so you did as you were told and let her press her large palm onto your rib where a lot of the bleeding came from.

you hissed, gripping the sides of the bar and sevika cursed “fucking jinx,”

you shook your head “it’s okay, it’s not that big of a de-“

“but it is,” she grumbled “if only she did her fucking job and didn’t lose her shit, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

gulping, you tried not to overthink her choice of words and how she only focused on your injury and not the rest, considering you weren’t the only one who got the brunt of it.

“it’s fine, I’m just worried if the others are tending to their injuries.”

“don’t worry about them,” she muttered “they’re built for these kinds of things, you aren’t.”

you snickered, pretending to take offense “excuse me? are you calling me weak?”

sevika couldn’t hide her amusement, wiping away at the little blood smeared on your lower stomach.

“not weak,” she replied “I just don’t think a pretty little thing like you is meant for this kind of work. you’re not equipped for it.”

“I can look out for myself, you know.”

she hummed, her grey eyes staring up at you “maybe, but still. it’d be better if you didn’t need to.”

you tried not to let her words get to you, and calling you a pretty little thing didn’t help with your growing infatuation. perhaps she was just playing coy with you, you thought.

but then silco continued to let you join in on her missions, and you couldn’t ignore the way your heart fluttered every time she’d ask you to ‘keep close behind’ or how she’d shield you with her massive frame every time danger was imminent.

if she couldn’t trust you to look out for yourself, then she did it for you.

you wanted to excuse it thinking since she’s already lost so much men she didn’t want your name to be crossed off on the list as well. but that doesn’t mean you stopped dwelling on it.

especially when on most nights where she’d catch you in the last drop, she’d ask you to have a drink with her. going as far as to teach you how to play cards when you’d watch her gamble with the rest of silco’s men and how she’d win every time.

“you’re so good at this,” you said in awe during one of her games which earned a chuckle from her.

you were seated right next to sevika, not too close but not too far apart either, that sometimes you’d feel her elbow brushing against yours.

“want me to teach you then?”

“hey, that’s not fair, how come she gets to have you as her teacher while we’re stuck here getting our asses beat?” one of the men she was playing with chided in.

she only ignored him, flipping her cards over to reveal she’s won yet again, making them groan “then play better.” she quipped, turning over to you with a smirk on her face.

you swore butterflies almost erupted out of your belly. she was so smug, but radiant in her victory that you couldn’t even bring yourself too feel bad for the others, if you’d get to see her this way all the time, you hoped she’d win all of her games.

the guy huffed, taking a swig from his beer as he looked up at her, grinning “I dropped by the gardens today, by the way. lily said she missed you.”

you froze as those words left his mouth, but sevika remained ambivalent by the information as she shuffled her cards “I’ve just had a lot on my plate,” and perhaps it was just your mind playing tricks on you, but you swore you caught her eyeing you for a brief moment.

“well, better not to keep those girls waiting. you know you’re their favorite,” the table laughed and sevika couldn’t help herself from joining along.

“ain’t that right,” she said, chuckling.

you gulped, feeling a lump in your throat as you forced yourself not to spew something bitter because really, who were you to act jealous over who sevika chooses to spend her time with?

she may act flirtatious with you from time to time but it’s not like it meant anything. you wanted to set it aside, and tell yourself it was just never going to happen. spend less time with her if you need to.

but as if it fate wanted to play a joke on you both, that was thrown out the window when one night, sevika came stumbling into the last drop all battered and bruised. her prosthetic dangling from her arm in ruined wires while she tried her best to steady herself as she walked in.

instinctively, you rushed to her side and examined her state “sevika, oh my god.”

she groaned “it’s not a big de-“

“like hell it is,” you reprimanded as you told thieram to fetch the first aid kit and inform silco of sevika’s condition.

she was against it but you simply silenced her, pulling up a chair as you pushed her down “you need to be more careful.” you said.

“stop fussing over me, I’m built for these kinds of things. it’s my job.”

“just because it’s your job doesn’t mean you have to be so reckless! you’re more than just silco’s killing machine. you can’t keep putting your life on the line like this.”

sevika remained silent before soft laughter bubbled out of her, making you raise an eyebrow.

“I guess this makes us even.”

“what?”

“from when you got hit by jinx’s bullets,” she said as realization dawned on you “I guess we’re even now.“

you rolled your eyes at that “I’m not doing this because I owe it to you. you’re more than just my co-worker.”

she eyed you, curious “what am I then?”

there was a moment of silence as you knelt down in front of her, staring at the uneven lines of the wooden floorboards, refusing to meet her eye.

“a friend, if you’d let me,” you muttered.

she hummed, leaning against her seat “I don’t do much of those,”

you snickered “you don’t do much of anything really,”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

you realized your mistake but decided to keep it going anyways.

“you’re too guarded. you keep your circle too tight, and I haven’t really seen you out with anyone. romantically, I mean.”

you knew you should’ve kept your mouth shut, but you couldn’t help it.

she was silent for a minute “I didn’t know you kept tabs on whether or not I date.”

you scoffed, although it sounded unconvincing “I do not.”

then there was that god awful smirk on her face again, eating away at you as she cocked her head to the side.

“sure you don’t, princess.“

your mind immediately went haywire because oh god, did she know?

on one hand, you weren’t exactly subtle. even thieram would tease you about it. noticing the way you’d sneak glances at sevika whenever she strolled through the bar and you’d hear him let out a snort from behind the counter.

“take a picture, it’d last longer.” he’d joke while you flipped him off.

but judging by the way she teased you about the idea, you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a part of you that felt a bit hopeful that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance.

because if there was, it wouldn’t hurt to try and seize the opportunity.

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

when silco suggested the group had a day off and to use the bar to their liking for one night as compensation for a successful mission, you were elated. for a number of reasons.

because this is it. this is the moment that you’ve been waiting for, to finally make a move and to squash your fantasies once and for all.

you’re aware about wanting to keep your feelings at bay and to never let sevika know about them, but as the days flew by it was getting harder and harder to stay silent.

especially since the night you tended to her injuries and how she reacted at the idea of you taking an interest in her, and how she didn’t seemed fazed by it, if anything, she seemed intrigued.

it was worth a shot, because it’s better to say you tried than not at all.

so on the night of the party, you went out of your way to doll yourself up for once. your days were normally mundane and your job was tedious enough as it, so you never saw a reason to dress up. living in the under city, going out partying and sleeping with people was scarcely something you ever thought about.

but that doesn’t mean you never anticipated it, and so you went digging under your closet for the handful of dresses you’ve stolen from a couple of boutiques in topside. something you kept for special occasions and this was one of them.

you settled for a black halter dress that stopped below your thighs and also accentuated your cleavage, along with a pair of sheer dark tights that allowed you space to move around freely.

you rummaged through your drawers and pulled out a couple of broken makeup pallets, likely expired, but you didn’t really care as you meticulously dabbed silver eyeshadow on yourself and applied some red lipstick.

you inspected yourself on your mirror and let out an approving hum. you looked nice. you didn’t really consider yourself drop dead gorgeous but when you made some effort to make yourself presentable, the pay-off was worth it.

your chest swelled with hope thinking maybe this will be the day sevika sees you, really sees you. not just as a co-worker, friend, but someone worthy to replace the girls at the gardens with…

with that, you slipped on your combat boots and strode out of your apartment building, walking through the streets of zaun and not minding the lewd comments thrown your way by the men passing by you.

you showed up at the last drop and one of the bouncers, after taking a good look at you, opened the door for you while shooting you a sly grin.

perhaps you’ve outdone yourself, or maybe the people around you just weren’t used to seeing you all dressed up but either way, their reactions stroked your ego. all that’s left now was to just find sevika.

you made your way up to the bar where thieram was busy serving drinks, and he didn’t recognize you at first until you called out to him.

he blinked as he said your name “damn, is it really you?” he chuckled “you look great.”

“thanks,” you said, smiling “I never had the chance to wear something like this before but since silco is in a good mood…”

“and it suits you. everyone’s eyeing you like a piece of meat, I don’t know if you can tell.”

“yeah, well. they don’t matter,” you looked around “where’s sevika, by the way?”

because she was the only one that mattered.

she was the reason why you even showed up looking like this, why you got out of your comfort zone even though these types of settings weren’t your thing, but you tried, because you wanted to prove yourself to her.

thieram turned to the side and pointed to his left “she arrived about an hour ago.”

you stood up and were about make your way towards her when the sight that greeted you quickly stopped you dead in your tracks, all previous excitement dying as you sunk to the nearest stool.

because there, in her usual booth, sat sevika with not one, but two girls cozied up against her sides while one of them was practically sitting on her lap, and the other was kissing along her neck while a cigarillo was dangling from her mouth. making more room for them to grind against her as she whispered in one of their ears, causing the girl to giggle as she grabbed sevika’s jaw and connected their lips.

you took a step back as your chest begun to feel heavy, while the room suddenly felt ten times more crowded as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the scene in front of you because of course, this just had to happen.

how dare you think you had a chance when she went out of her way to bring two of babette’s girls to this blasted party when she already visits them on a regular basis? how dare you think you ever stood a chance against these girls, with their pristine clothing, nicely styled hair and perfect bodies?

you wanted the world to swallow you whole.

“hey, you okay?” thieram asked as your breathing became shallow.

you nodded, harshly swiping the tears that threatened to spill at the corners of your eyes as you walked back to the exit.

“y-yeah, I’m just-“

in your stupor, you didn’t even realize a man was behind you not until you bumped into him, causing him to spill his drink and cuss you out as you started apologizing, creating a commotion.

“I’m so sorry!” you said, your cheeks heating up as you looked around the room before your eyes landed on her again.

but this time, sevika was staring straight at you.

swallowing nervously, you pushed past the sea of people and made your way out of the bar, not even bothering to say goodbye to thieram as you busted through the doors of the back exit, breathing heavily as you slid against the wall of the bar, with your hands on your knees and your tears ruining your makeup.

you should’ve known this was a mistake. you mentally scolded yourself over and over because who were you fooling when you thought sevika would spare a glance your way? even if you dolled yourself up, in the end sevika had countless of women to choose from, and you were never going to be an option. no matter how hard you tried.

stewing in self-pity, you wiped away at your cheeks and stood back up, planning to just head back home and forget the night even happened when the doors of the bar suddenly burst open, making you jump as you whipped around, and your breath hitched when you were met with sevika’s steely grey eyes.

she assessed your frenzied state, staring just a bit longer at your attire, scanning your legs up to your thighs until it stopped at your chest, which was heaving erratically, drawing attention to your cleavage.

“leaving so soon?” she quipped, not hiding the shameful way she was ogling at you “especially when you look this pretty?”

biting your tongue, you tried so hard not to let her words get to you. no. this is what she does, she butters you up and makes you think you have a chance then she turns around and makes you feel like utter shit. this is what she does and you’re not going to sit around making an idiot out of yourself.

“I’m just not feeling good is all.” you said as you attempted to walk past her.

but you were immediately stopped when she grabbed your arm, though her touch was gentle “let me walk you home. it’s not safe especially when you’re out here dressed like that.”

you couldn’t stop yourself, you were filled with so much unnecessary bitterness that as soon as those words left her mouth, you could only scoff before ripping away your arm, causing her to look at you with her eyebrow raised.

“I can handle myself, just go back to those girls that were all over you. it seemed like you were having a great time with them anyways.” you spat, attempting to bristle past her.

however, you gasped when she not only blocked your path but abruptly pushed your body against the wall of the building. not too harsh but with enough force to make you look up at her in compliance.

she towered over your smaller form and took your chin using her prosthetic hand, her metal fingers making you shiver as her breath mingled with your own.

“what’s with the attitude?”

“just let me go-“

“the fuck I will,” she cut you off, her tone harsh “now, I’ll ask again, what’s with the attitude? you’re never like this.”

you clenched your jaw “never like what? you don’t even know me enough to make assumptions of how I normally act.”

“like a bitch is what I’m saying,” she said through her teeth “seriously, what crawled up your ass? you show up looking like this and you can’t even be bothered to stick around let alone have a drink,”

“why should I?” you shook your head “you looked too busy anyways. just forget it and go back to those-“

“what’s with you and the girls I brough-“

“because why waste your time on me?” the dam finally broke, and all your thoughts came flooding out as sevika blinked at you, dumbfounded “you never give me the time of the day even though we’ve been working for so long, and it had to take me getting injured for you to even strike up a conversation with me. you’re always at the gardens and I know it’s none of my business what you do with your time but just…”

you looked to your feet, regret washing in “just forget it. it’s so stupid.”

however, her grip on you only tightened “no, you’re right. it is none of your business, that’s why I want to know why you’re acting this way. I’m not a mind reader, princess. you can’t expect me to know what you want and you haven’t really made it easy either. you think I wanted to wait that long to approach you? talking goes both ways. and you avoiding me so much in the past hasn’t really given me the chance to get to know you. fuck, I even thought…”

you waited for her to finish as she faced away from you “thought what?” you said, your voice merely a whisper.

she sighed as she pressed her body closer to you “I thought you didn’t like me. you never a spoke a word to me but I’ve always noticed you. you’re so good at your job but you only kept to yourself. I just thought you found me and the others too vulgar. I get it. we’re different. but then you had a drink with me and you seemed genuinely interested…”

you inhaled sharply “I was, and still am.”

“then what’s the matter? why are you acting like you’re disgusted with me all of a sudden?”

“it’s not you! it’s just…” you let out a shaky breath “it’s just hard to be around you because I’ve always noticed you too. I was just intimidated but I’ve admired your work ethic, just everything about you really, so much that I even… god, it’s embarrassing.”

“no,” she pulled you closer “tell me,”

you swallowed the lump in your throat, looking away “it’s silly.”

she lifted her flesh hand and pushed away the strands of hair that fell over your face. leaning closer that you felt her lips brush against your cheek.

“you got a little crush on me is what you’re saying?” her mouth quirked into a teasing grin as you groaned, trying to push her away.

“you’re such an ass…” you muttered as her hands slowly maneuvered down to your thighs, and suddenly, she was lifting you by her arms and against the wall as you squealed.

her nose nudged your jaw, leaving a soft kiss underneath and your hands found purchase on her strong shoulders.

“you should’ve told me sooner…” she purred, her voice deep and enticing “it would’ve saved me a hell lot of money from visiting the gardens when I could’ve had you all this time.”

you weren’t given the chance to speak when she suddenly captured your lips in a fervent kiss, making you gasp as she lets out a growl hearing your needy whines.

eventually, you surrendered to it, moving in sync with the frenzied way she was kissing you. almost as if she was just as desperate for this as you were.

you rolled your hips against her torso and sevika lets out a chuckle at your urgency, taking your legs as she wrapped them around her waist.

she took the ends of your dress and pulled them up, tearing your tights down and you let out a whine “s-sev… we’re outside-“

“then let them hear,” her breathing was staggered from all the movement “I’ve waited for this for so long.“

you bit your lip “yeah?”

she nodded, slipping your tights off your legs and discarding them to the side “if you think whatever feelings you’ve had for me was one-sided, you thought wrong.” she kissed your lips with bruising force and you could only moan against her mouth “ever since I laid eyes on silco’s pretty little informant, you’ve always been on my mind.”

her fingers felt down your covered cunt, and you writhed against her palm as she pushed past the waistband of your panties and slowly slid them off, teasing you as your slick met her calloused fingers, making her head spin “you’ve been waiting for this haven’t you, princess?” she asked softly.

you nodded as you begun soaking her palm with your juices, riding her fingers and she parted your folds, thumbing at your clit before she slid one finger in, feeling at your gummy walls before adding a second finger and soon, she was scissoring them in you as your forehead dropped to her shoulder.

jostling in her hold as your body shook, she curled her fingers and started a slow pace that got you moaning her name, and she nodded at your desperate sounds “yeah, that’s it, baby. let everybody know how much you needed this.”

she bent her head down and nipped at your jaw while you humped her scarred hand in earnest “you should’ve fucking told me sooner. do you know how much torture it was to see you walk around the office, all pretty and shy, and not wanting to make a move because I thought you didn’t like me? when all this time your tight little pussy has been weeping for me to fill it.”

you cried out, getting closer to that awaited peak especially when she starts to piston her thick fingers inside you at a maddening speed “I needed this so much, sev. fuck.” you admitted, completely lack of shame.

“I know, baby. now that I know how much you’ve needed this I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” she said and you opened your tear stained eyes to look at her.

“do I feel better than the girls you’ve had before?” you whispered and she nodded, an urgency to it as if she wanted to drill it inside your head that she means every word.

“fuck yeah, baby. I can’t wait to have you in every way that I like. on my tongue, around my fingers…” you let out the most obscene moan at her words “and my cock.”

your orgasm tore through you like a punch to the gut, your mouth falling open into a guttural cry as you creamed against her fingers while she kept curling them inside you, already feeling overstimulated while she talked you through it.

“that’s it…” she said in awe “you feel so good, baby.”

she slowly pulled her fingers out of you and you whined at the loss. but your eyes widened when suddenly sevika planted your wobbly legs down onto the ground and knelt down in front of you and started lapping away at your soaked pussy, her pupils blown wide as she began cleaning you up.

once she was done, she stood up and helped you into your underwear, breathing heavily before connecting her lips with yours. you melted as you tasted yourself on her tongue and the kiss was warmer, gentler this time.

she pulled away, leaning her forehead against yours “let me take you out?”

it took a while for your mind to process her words, still fuzzy from the aftermath of your orgasm but once it sunk in, you could only chuckle as you smiled up at her.

“usually you’d ask that first then try to have sex with me in an alley…”

there was a playful glint in her eyes “what can I say, I couldn’t wait any longer.”

you hummed, cupping her face as you drew her in for another kiss.

“yeah, me neither.”

#sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #arcane #arcane smut #wlw smut #arcane fanfiction #lesbian #sapphic #dividers by fairytopea

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