#don’t look under the cut don’t look under the cut don’t look under the cut

[kooyabooya]

ENTROPY

m reader x karina // 13k words

“It’s a stupid bet, Karina.” 

Karina lifts an eyebrow, only at certain points in conversation where she thinks your opinion is highly invalid. 

“No, it isn’t. You didn’t even let me properly explain,” she tells you, “All I want is a favor. Not a bet.” 

“It’s still asking a lot from me when I’m already dealing with your bullshit.” 

She sighs, leaning back on the counter. You’ve got a hand to your hip and an expression on your face that says: “fuck off six ways back to Sunday,” That’s how these usual briefings go, the quick dump or fill-in of whatever the fuck is worth sharing in each others’ lives. 

Instead, she raises her hands up in surrender, lips pulled inward. “Fine. Would it be better for me to come back to you on this sometime later?” 

“Can I suggest not having you bother me ever again?” 

A snort, then a cackle is what she gives. So, you roll your eyes because you know that it's always, always a tell-all for disaster. 

“Oh honey,” she says, patting your shoulder while you look over to see her running off to do her own thing, “You’re gonna be stuck with me for a long time. You just haven’t seen it yet.” 

–

To bring things up to speed: you didn’t know what the fuck you were thinking when you brought Karina along as your roommate. 

At first, things were great. 

The living styles were well complimented. Separate rooms, similar schedules, the usual activities you’ve done together for fun. Even the chores were assigned (though by second nature and good habits). This small space was well put to be a slice of home away from home whilst going through the ranks of college. 

She invited some of her friends and classmates over from time to time; some of which you had a partial interest in. Sometimes you’re out with Karina’s setups, other times she’s the one that’s out and about while you were holding the fort down. For the most part, life was easy having your best friend since middle school hang around with you. 

Still, no issues to mention whatsoever. 

But then- 

“Do you have a minute?” 

It’s 8 pm on a Saturday and Karina’s coming to you for her regular yaps and endless rants since the girl just talks and talks and talks. 

You curse at yourself at times for always being the listener.

“Yeah,” you say, closing your laptop on the kitchen island when she rounds the corner, coming to your side. “I don’t have anything, so I’ve always got time.” 

You’re hoping that it isn’t anything out of the ordinary; from the looks of things, all signs seem to point that way. She’s in her sports shorts with one of your (stolen) t-shirts - the collar cut off highlighting her shoulder - hair tied up and in glasses, you automatically assume that she isn’t going anywhere. 

“Remember when I brought up that thing?” 

“What thing?” 

Then it hits you: that thing. 

You had your fingers crossed that she would forget about asking you for whatever she needed you for. Sucks that she had a good memory - not only that, you’ve made yourself reliable for her so many times before; turning her down was simply an impossibility. 

Not all heroes wear capes, sadly. 

Karina slaps your shoulder, easily seeing through your mask of sarcasm. 

“Don’t act dumb, genius. That ‘thing’ was just coming along with me for once.” 

Her brows furrowed, the corners of her lips tracking back across her cheeks. You can’t say no let alone ignore the poor girl. 

“You know me with outings,” you reason, sensible. In most cases like these, Karina comes to you out of others to bring up her issues, her dilemmas; her self-inquisitions, as she would like to call them from time to time. And usually, they’re straightforward. This should be an easy cakewalk. “I’m all for it, but what’s the point when you force me to be more sociable when you’re dragging me around?” 

“Because maybe you’re the biggest pussy I’ve had the misfortune of being with.” Karina huffs, arms crossed and face left in distress. She examines you so closely under her microscope that it’s borderline invasive - but you don’t tell her that. So you twine your fingers in between each other and return the laser-focused stare she’s giving you, taunting almost along the lines of - look, if you’re gonna be convincing, you gotta do better than that. 

All she does is throw a shoulder shrug, awkwardly -  dropping them so fast that you’re putting everything in your willpower to not notice the subtle bounce of her chest. 

Her palm faces up toward the ceiling, hoping for a response. You purse your lips out to spite her. She has to deal with your bullshit head-on, tragically. 

“It’s always the work, gym, eat, sleep, do more work at home, and repeat. All the fucking time. So bland and-” 

You tilt your head the more her insults fill your ears. 

“You disgustingly piss me off.” 

Her fingers press on your forehead when you give the subtle eye smile and smirk combination, finally pushed over the edge now she doesn’t want anything to do with you. She paces around the kitchen and you can see her eyes dart over at the corner. 

She won’t leave you alone. 

Not until she gets what she wants. 

Besides, you’ve learned that Karina isn’t very good at persuading people to do something. Though eventually- 

“Why didn’t you just say you’re inviting me to go out for a night?” You ask, knowing that the bluntness is one of the few ways to bring Karina back around once she’s done with her tantalizing tangents. “You wouldn’t be here going crazy if you just told me-” 

“Because you’re the one who can’t seem to get it through your thick-ass skull in the first place!” She exclaims, first underneath her shirt that reveals some of the skin on her waist, the ends of her panties now apparent the more her boxer shorts keep slacking off her hips. You can’t afford to stare. You know you can’t. 

The recurring cycle of interest: keeps coming back to haunt you. 

You concluded or accepted the fact years ago that Karina was never meant to be yours. Yet- she would always come to you whenever she had boy problems or wanted your opinion on what she should wear or do with every single one of her crushes she ever had throughout her life, hiding the fact that you wanted to be one of them at some point. 

All those wet dreams, fantasies, the fake situations of romance you’ve deluded yourself into - those kinds of things had to be channeled into something else to fill the space. 

You’ve kept it cool. Sometimes, in between the bleeding weeks, where she’s roaming around the house in the shortest pair of shorts, the tightest of tank tops, the curves way more present when she’s light on the balls of her feet, you eventually broke and resorted to that trusty old lotion and sock combo behind the door to your room. 

With a girl dressed like that, and those tits filling up your brain- 

(You’d be committing perjury holding yourself back for as long as you did.) 

“Okay, for the last time,” says Karina, hands stacked and her feet crossed. “All I ask is for you to just get out of the apartment for once, and have some fun. Is that hard?” 

You shake your head. “No, of course it isn’t.” 

Karina nods, content. She takes off her glasses and puts it on the marble counter, her pretty lashes batting with those violet-black eyes of hers. “There. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” 

And there she goes, tapping your forearm while you nod in agreement; does a little hop in place like some cute bunny, her shirt loose and flowing and moving everywhere. She’s such a fucking bitch. So shameless. This girl’s attitude will be the death of you. 

She’s shaking her fists up in the air, doing some cha-cha move. The shirt isn’t doing her justice for her fucking breasts. 

Then she leans in, close. Her breath grazes your face and neck. She scrunches her nose while you’re ‘shooing’ her away; aware of the message and her point. Karina then steps back, tying a knot to her shirt, making her figure a lot more apparent. By some crazy form of timing, you turn your body towards her, freezing in place while the shirt molds around her chest, her waist - you’re clenching your jaw and gritting your teeth behind your lips since you wonder if she’s doing it on purpose. 

The imagination. The possibilities. 

“C’mon,” Karina says, reaching for your hand and tugging it, tilting her head up and angrily pouting. For fucks sake, the slightest resistance of pull makes those mounds bounce in place. You’re sick and twisted; she’s the sole reason to blame. “I want you to be my plus one.” 

“Had I not already said yes?” You’re asking, swearing under your breath. The ‘plus one’ role is a direct translation to ‘hey, i’m going to get fucked up tonight, and i want you to be there on standby to carry me home or even dd, okay?’. You remember from past experiences that it also means that being with her is a dice roll of what kind of Karina you have to deal with: the kissy Karina, the pissed-off Karina, the Karina with the ‘carry me home with the eyes that say fuck me until I can’t walk’ attitude. 

Sigh and roll your eyes back, it’s burned into your memory anyway. 

Putting it in layman’s terms wasn’t gonna cut it. Being honest isn’t gonna change her mind. You could get the King of England to threaten her for a price on her head and she’ll still find a way to get it overturned. 

As nicely as you’d want to be, it can only hold for so long. 

Karina isn’t the kind of person to throw you into the fire right away -no, she’s smarter than that. 

“You did,” she says, shaking her head side to side, moving her shoulders along since you’ve put her in a good mood. You’re trying to decode the action to the expression, connecting the dots possible if she’s fucking around or being genuine. Give into the preaching and encouragement that if you did go with her you’d have your fun with someone like her carrying half her energy - okay, you have a type; nothing wrong with that, but still. “Why? Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts already?” 

You have a hand up along with your mouth open; Karina’s a bit dense to think pragmatically. 

“What’s it gonna take with you to get off of your lazy ass and live life? When was the last time you and I went out together and did some dumb shit? That was when you had that thing with- who was that one girl? Winter? Or was it Giselle?” Karina carries on, trailing off with you walking not far from her. 

She pulls the hair tie out of her head - after what it seems to be five minutes since putting it on - her head moves to let the messy locks flow and pool behind her back, stretching her arms out before turning left and into her room. You stop at the doorway when she turns around, arms braced to the frame, smirking. 

“You said you weren’t doing anything, right? And you don’t have work until next week, right? So that automatically means that you’re free for the weekend?” 

“Well, yeah. Don’t forget that you went out with me and Ningning for that boring ass movie. So please, if you stop giving me shit for this, can I at least get ready before we head out?” 

Karina groans. “Ugh, why are you so fucking difficult to work with? I’ve set you up with three of my friends so far and only one of them has gotten close to getting in bed with you.” 

“Maybe I’m complicated,” you say back, turning the other cheek and thinking about that specific time not that long ago when she gave you the double thumbs up before being dragged by Winter onto the dance floor at that club near the school. 

“Complicated people don’t put their hands behind their back and let the girl get all touchy with them,” she teases, stopping in the middle of your doorway, shirt off and all she’s got is that jet black bra with the thinnest straps you’ve ever seen on her collarbones, but she doesn’t stop there: “Might I add that you wanted to try your luck into dating again and- hey. I know that kiss with Winter was the best one you’ve had in a while.” 

Karina smiles at your confused expression, hitting a pressure point. You’ve folded for girls before. She was there for some part of the fun. It’s a weakness; playing to your ideal characteristics and all she has to do is play the matchmaker and watch the magic happen. She got close. Almost. The support was unwavering, but you’re still searching. 

You don’t take long to get yourself situated, putting on whatever essentials you felt was right. Karina took a little bit more time to get ready. You know how she is: every part of her outfit has to be thought-out and well-layered if means of raising the ‘down to get fucked’ meter up past the 100-point scale. Sometimes it takes five minutes, other times it takes hours. 

She walks out of the hallway in a simple outfit. A grey tank top and baggy jeans that nearly cover her feet. Her brown leather jacket was the finishing touch draped around her arm, wrist, and fingers shining in her typical jewelry. 

The makeup was light too, a soft blush applied but the main culprit was her lips - and man, they have no right being that plump. 

“You’re staring.” 

A blink and a smirk here. An eyebrow raised soon after: “Are you saying I’m being rude?” 

“No.” 

It doesn’t register in your mind that she’s all up in your space the next second, holding your breath when she looks up to your chin. 

“Is there something that you want to tell me?” 

“Karina-” 

“C’mon, you’ve thought about me that way at least once-” 

“Fucks sake Karina, you’re delusional. I would never. ” 

She nods with a devilish grin, tilting her chin up, humming. You’re breathing out of your nostrils when she backs away, heading over to the door to put on her shoes. Everything that this woman does makes you reconsider the consequences (but hey, you’ve imagined what it would be like for her to wake up in your bed, wear your clothes she won’t think of returning unless you fuck that bratty attitude off her tongue.) A woman like her who can do it all, and you’re holding her jacket once you and her step out of the apartment and close the door. 

Most people would give their praise and high regard for putting up with her for this long because you’ve held out longer than anyone would have imagined. 

You’ve dealt with her energy all these years, the countless shenanigans that you have gone through with her since high school, and occasions where she shouldn’t have dragged you in but still did anyway. There’s a tolerance that one can only take so much of with Karina, and you always fail at that. (Always.) 

She’s too good to be real. 

Later, she’s on the phone, calling and texting her other friends that she planned on meeting up with, waiting out in the front yard while you’re keeping her close - like what a natural bodyguard would do with their assignment. 

“Are you wearing my jacket?” asks Karina, pinching at the pelt. “I was gonna use that for later.” 

“I look better in it,” you muse. “But I’ll give it back to you later when it gets colder.” 

“I’m gonna need it later for my look.” 

“That look you have right now is gonna get you fucked.” 

Karina gives you the same tilt of her head; this time, there’s a slight twinkle in her eyes that looks like the lightbulb just went off in her head. You’ve lit the match within her or signed someone off to their demise waiting for them in the next hour or so. 

She bites down her smile, her ego inflated. “Guess we can put that as a separate bet between us, then.” 

–

Well. 

Fuck.

You realize right away that going out didn’t seem to be a bad idea after all. 

Plus, it’s only been roughly two hours since Karina convinced you to help her out and tag along so now you’re here: a half-full cup of her go-to and watching the sight of everyone having their fun with one other person or in a group. She, on the other hand, has a guy with her - breaking down the awkward wall and playing the act of softening up with the blaring music. 

It’s a steady groove, music flows in her body so elegantly. 

The ambiance alone pounds your eardrums, eyes occasionally getting blinded by the flashing lights coming from the DJ’s stage, dancing her heart away and letting loose because it’s the weekend. She’s not the only one, too. Her little entourage surrounds her, dancing along and giving their attention to Karina - each one of them attractive and dazzling to look at. Karina was never one for the limelight, but once she’s got something going, it never leaves her. 

You can catch yourself getting sucked in the moment you laid your eyes back on her. 

The law of attraction: embodied by Karina. A phenomenon that you’ve learned happens on a weekend basis. Everyone that knows or has met her for the first time, is automatically influenced by her which doesn’t take much for that to happen. Some are joining in for the vibe, while others are trying to lean into her ear and get her attention that way, let their bodies do the talking, and see if she’s willing. 

Bad news, this girl is. You’re treading dangerous waters carefully. 

Moment by moment, every single guy who tries to approach Karina retreat in dejection and defeat. You can see it in their heads hanging in shame, the slanted lips, some make a last-ditch effort to bring her back to the bar for another drink, only to be stopped with the simple raised hand of hers, friends coming along as reinforcements to stop the inquisitions. 

Her eyes lock on to you, watching from afar. Like a lighthouse; a signal and a haven for her to find comfort in. She motions you to come to the dance floor; and to that, you raise your glass in earnest, insisting that where you are right now is fine. 

You keep staring, sipping. 

She’s fixed up her top again to where the curves are much more present than usual. 

So you decide to down your bearings, hoping that the thought of Karina could be swallowed down with ease; her damned smile, head tilts,  the swaying of her body (along with bouncing in some places without a care in the world) to the upbeat tunes until she’ll decide she can’t do it anymore. 

At some point, she’ll have to come get you to join. 

And you’ve accepted that it will happen sooner or later. 

Your shoulder gets bumped by one of the people making their way through on accident, diverting your attention for a second. Then- 

Karina’s out of your line of sight. 

Next thing you know- 

She taps your shoulder, tugging on your shirt. 

“Hey-” 

The words you were going to say were: ‘hey, what gives?’ or ‘something wrong?’; but for some reason, you’re left in a stun lock - a trance. There’s also another thing that you realize right away when she has her arms slithering around your middle and up your shoulders. 

She looks around as you track her head movements, checking for something - ensuring that the coast is clear - you can start to get an idea of what she’s trying to do. Your brows furrow, thrown off by Karina’s stoic expression. It’s impossible to see or understand what’s going through her head, but she nicks her head back towards the dance floor, and you instantly get the message. 

“Need you in here, now,” she mouths, but you tilt your head down to hear her repeat it. She then pulls onto the floor while you’re also surveying the crowd, seeing if there was anything fishy. 

Karina guides your hands around her waist, noticing her fingers twitch as they graze your forearm, hinting that something was off. You’ve been near her before, but not like this. She then bumps into a few people standing behind her, prompting you to pull her back towards you - pressing her body, hand now to your neck, chin resting on top of her head- 

You can deduce that this is not her usual self - the reverberating bass pounding into your bodies and hers serving as this sort of proxy to dance more and think less. 

She scratches the ends of your hair right above the nape, irises burning into your face. You assume that this was the favor that she was talking about: going to the club with her and having a good time? Why the fuck did she have to make it sound so complicated in the first place?

“Stay close to me, okay? There’s this guy that’s been trailing us since we got here. I just need some time - help me out, please.” 

You look over your shoulder, Karina centers herself with her hands cupped around your neck, peering over as well. The strobe light blinds your vision for a second before turning back. “Wait, how can you be sure?” 

“Trust me,” she tells you, expression flat, serious. “You’ve got a good sixth sense about these kinds of things anyway, you’ll know.” 

“But-” 

“Isn’t that the guy you mentioned just now-” 

Karina’s quick to get a finger between your lips, darts her eyes out then onto you. The indication alone confirms all of your suspicions. You can’t even see the poor guy, not when the flashing lights are giving you nothing but snapshots amongst the silhouettes and shapes in the dark. “Look, be cool. You’re safe with me. If he gets close I’ll get in–” 

“No wait- it’s fine. Just leave him alone,” she butts in, leaning her head against your chest so she can hide her face. “This is already good, okay? You did great.” 

You cradle the side of her head when she looks up, tongue caught between her teeth slightly. “No, I want to see what was his deal-” 

“Can you shut the fuck up already?” 

“Karina, I-” 

She pulls your head into hers: locking lips, derailing your train of thought. 

You make a sound in her mouth in response to the confusion, but it stops the bickering you two were doing a few seconds ago. She could feel you pull away, but leans her head up back for more, claiming your lips through the kiss; you swear that you and her aren’t that drunk yet. 

It shuts you up, alright. A moment of reprieve that doesn’t give you any time to think because fuck, this girl is making you second guess every single choice you’ve made in your life up till this point, wondering if you’re ever going to take your golden chance or give Karina an earful when you and her get back home later. 

Your fingers dig into the dips of her lower back, her hands on your cheeks, overloading your senses with her lips, giving you hard teeth and a swiping tongue - no time to think or catch up. 

The rest of the world fades out from your head, nothing between you and Karina putting everything on the line in terms of her feelings - almost like the roles had been reversed with her struggling to believe you had a thing for her and you letting your actions do all the talking.

You’re not thinking about the amount of regret you’ll have once all of this is over. Friends just don’t kiss each other out of the blue. No. Karina fed you the false belief that you’d do anything she’d ask you to do, which is why you’re doing this with her. You think this is all a dream, but you sense everything; that diminishes the present thought right away. 

You’ll give as much passion back to Karina, because it’s what you would do for her regardless:

Follow her lead, and listen to what she says; there’s always something with her that you’re blindly agreeing to. 

Karina pulls away for a moment to breathe, next thing you know her tongue slips past against yours, and your grip on her body becomes a lot less pleasant since she’s unleashed that craving hidden within. 

You touch her teeth, smiling. Her forehead gently rubs against yours, breaking the kiss, when you notice it in your peripheral: 

A girl with a hand to her mouth.

One girl next to her with her hand wound up in her hair, in complete shock. 

The third girl behind the two nodded in approval with a sly smirk. 

Yeji, Ryujin, and Yujin: Karina’s other cute little trio, watching their lovely friends finally have their moment together. 

You look back at Karina, rubbing her bottom lip with her finger, internalizing the taste of you. 

Then the realization settles in. 

“That guy backed away from us,” she tells you, “but I gotta say, you’ve outdone yourself.” 

You glance over to see Karina’s trio watch as said guy turns his back into the crowd, retreating away. 

“What’s the matter? Speechless?” she asks again, finger happily dancing along your skin, and your hands aren’t moving off her body. You’ve never been shy with her, except this one time: right now. 

“Never with you,” you answer, matching her smug expression. “Never.” 

Karina hides her true intention again for a second, knowing that it’ll wither away the more she acts like this. Right, she can say one thing, though her actions are so easy to read from the minute she’s invaded your personal space. 

This girl is bad news in everything.

So you hold your gaze with her, wondering, connecting the dots. Speculating how long she’s been planning for this to happen, to be like every other guy that’s ever tried to get her in their bed or between those legs. Even so, she knows you’re not simple to break, and that’s where she’s got you. “I knew you had to be sure somehow, just didn’t think you’d go this far.” 

“Desperate times, desperate measures.” Karina eyes cross slightly as she stares at you, thumb grazing along your chin. “You were taking too long for my liking.” 

Liking? Surely not. 

There’s no possible way she could-

“What the hell does that mean?” You ask, staring back, tongue tip between your teeth. Your breathing starts to shallow. 

Karina leans into the side of your head, amidst the noise of the speakers and funneling her voice well in your ear canal. “It doesn’t make sense to me, you know. How we’ve known each other for this long, and we haven’t thought of even trying it at least once.” 

She knows where she’s going with this - all those times you’ve ogled at her hoping that she wouldn’t notice - or all of those times where you’ve talked about everything that had to involve life at any given point. You’d hoped that you dodge the question for a little longer. 

Karina’s friends managed to crack it out of you a while back, remembering it well. Her touch on your body has gone gentler, never breaking her gaze on you.

“How come you and I have never hooked up with each other?” 

You freeze. Feel the warmth spread across your cheeks; it’s an immediate catch, and you were praying silently that this was a dream. 

Exposed. Is what you are. 

Though Karina doesn’t falter here. Her eyes shimmer in the dim lighting. Wistful. You’re giving her enough time to figure out where your head was leveled at; like she would understand whether you wanted this or not. 

“Honestly, we could’ve.” You admit, with a sharp inhale. Hoping that the answer alone is enough for her sake. “Like- god, it would’ve been so easy. I wanted-” 

“Is it because you and I are just friends? That’s complete bullshit if that’s what you’re sticking with. I’ve seen you look at me that way before, or with my back turned; goes to show that you don’t have what it takes to get what you want, but I do.” 

You pull her close, and that gets her flustered. 

Both of your hands are on her face, leaning on her, stopping right at the lips, watch her eyelids flutter in anticipation. The thrumming of your heartbeat pounds between your eardrums, until she looks at you dead in the eyes, sliding her hand lower and lower, quirks her eyebrows once her fingers lay land over your pants. 

Your throat bobs, swallowing on nothing. The lightbulb sets off in her head. 

“Would you look at that? Oh my. Honey, you’re just like the rest of them. Try to deny it all you want, but you can’t get the thought of using my body to get yourself off. And guess what? I’d let you.” 

She’s got a key charm in being forward. And you find it to be so fucking sexy; saying things like that with no care for who hears, keeping it blunt and straight to the point; she could talk her way out of a speeding ticket and she really could. Karina was simply being herself, you could point the culprit in the alcohol or maybe her friends, but you’re still caught in her crosshairs and the window of escape is closing fast. 

You don’t do anything to resist the pair of hands at your neck and the seat of your pants - or the fact that she’s yanking your head back to meet hers and you hear all her friends squeal at the mere sight of Karina getting her chance. Everything about this is sensational, a new thing to adapt and learn by the minute. 

Here, when she lets you pull away: “You can do better than that, sweetie. Tell. Me.”

You’ll tell her everything that she wants to hear: how you’ve had a crush on her since high school, how you’ve managed to stay by her side after all these years, the fact that you couldn’t jeopardize what you already had. Besides, the risk of losing her as a lover and a friend was too much to bear, that she isn’t the kind of girl to have sex with because you love her and that will be the end of it all. 

Sooner than later, you’ll tell her that. So to suffice, you say: “I could’ve, believe me. We just never did.” 

From that alone, Karina shakes her head, neither rejecting nor accepting. Her wrists slack behind your neck, bring her waist closer until you’re able to lace your fingers around your arm. You’re nervous at what might be going through her head right now, gnawing your inner lip to keep your mind occupied. 

She looks you dead in the eyes, a twinkle behind them: full of inspiration, desire, hunger, want. 

You kiss her again, because you believe that’s the only thing right to do. “How bout this,” she says, giddy and sultry, “Why don’t we find this out for ourselves?” 

–

This wasn’t the first time you’ve been in this position. 

And certainly, it won’t be the last, either. 

You’ve put up with Karina’s bullshit for as long as you could remember: from carrying her on your back after a long night out to those times of sleeping on the couch since she complained her bed was too stiff and decided to use yours. You can think of one instance of every emotion she has, nothing but fun memories in those moments. 

However, you’ve never been like this with her. 

Until tonight. 

You catch yourself failing miserably in keeping your guard up with Karina. Not when she’s taking every red light as her chance to kiss you in the car, her hand sliding under your shirt and grazing your pants shamelessly. Not when you’ve pressed her tits up against the elevator door and flipped her around kissing you once more so that the camera guy can see, hear her giggle and hum at this new and improved version of you that she’s created. 

It’s all a rush for her, the way you can’t let go of her past the door, pin her hips against the kitchen counter, peel off the layers of clothes starting with her jacket, grasp her breast held captive by the tight holds of her tank top. You raise her on the marble so that she can match your height - make her feel taller, build that ego up, give her the false impression that she’s the one having fun.

Most definitely on the fact that you’ve got her tank top off in record time, gawking at the immeasurable amount of skin along those luscious valleys you’ve classified as her breasts. 

Karina’s head goes sideways, inquisitive. She sees you have your sights set on the prize, all within arms reach. “That’s cute, you’ve been eyeing these babies ever since I moved in, god you’re not that hard to whirl around.” You have your fun at her neck while her fingers are working fast at your pants, sliding her hand underneath the elastic of your boxers- 

“Jesus baby,” she husks, appalled with the curl of your fingers along the length. She thought the bulge earlier was already apparent enough - oh how wrong she was, looking down at the newly claimed prize. “Since when the fuck were you hiding this from me? This is not the same cock I hear you jerk yourself off with now and then-” 

“Just one of my few surprises,” you cut her off, jolting your hips forward when the grip around your girth gets a tad bit tighter. “Believe me when I say this, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” 

Karina wets her lip, biting. 

She’s getting used to the new feeling of this. Of you. Her small hand holds you in place, trying to find the right words to describe or end with. You’re trying to see how far she would go - how much could she take; then, she drives another nail into the coffin: “Fuck. You’re like- really big.” 

You grin, since that’s got enough weight in the words to inflate your confidence through the roof. She twists her hand around while you’re peppering her face with your lips, over and over and over, until she’s completely broken you down and all signs seem to be pointing in that direction. 

You hear her hum in approval, sighing in relief, whisper these praises laced with your name. And when she says your name, genuinely, it comes off in a moment of seriousness - hallowed even. 

She’ll make you plummet into the depths of hell, or raise you to the golden pearly gates above; no matter the difference, you’re falling for one of two ways with her. 

It’s also putting you in a bad position because you know her experiences, what she wants, the mere basics of it. You pull her hips as she twists her hand by reflex, like it has a mind of its own, pumping your length. 

You hate how good she is at working you up. The wonders in sleight of hand: where to curl her fingers, how fast she should handle the strokes, the press of her thumb down on your tip, studying it while trying to figure out where to even start. 

“It’s not even fair at this point,” she tells you, sly smirking while you see her eyes fall halfway, softly laughing as she sees your knees buckle and hit the cabinet beneath her because you can’t respond properly. “You’re gonna take care of me so well. Using this to fuck my brains out.” 

Her smile goes even wider when your head falls back involuntarily, giving Karina the window to leave some marks of her own across your chest. 

Her ankles rest at the back of your thighs, leaning forward to get her other hand on your throbbing shaft, paying attention to your balls, weaving them between her fingers, dividing and conquering to no avail, to turn your mind into a puddle. 

“It’s gonna look so pretty in my ass,” Karina whispers into your ear, leaving more kisses behind, making you feel like you’re on cloud nine. “I bet I could make you cum with just my mouth, my hands. Maybe I’ll give you a tease, spread my legs and let you slip inside right here, since you’re so fucking hard that you could knock me out with this cock, hm?” 

Oh, what in the actual fuck- 

Right out of the gates, this girl is forcing you to be head over heels - to submit and bend to her will; she knows what to preach, her words alone fulfilling every single fantasy you have in the book, to take what’s hers and feed you that overpowering urge above all: to simply ruin her.

Unpredictability is something that Karina takes pride in: going slow at one point, then faster the next, dragging and shortening your breath in every stroke until the pressure becomes too much. 

She nods at her handiwork, sliding off the counter and pulling you by the dick across the apartment. That alone makes you snap and pin her - grab her by the arm and spin her around - press and bend her body over on the couch for a quick second. 

You pull her by the hair and shift her head; forcing her to lean up for a kiss. Flush your hips with hers where the weight of you might make her crumble right away. 

You almost feel bad about it, but that thought gets quickly diminished, because Karina knows how much she can handle. She wants to be taken rough, split apart, worship her body like it's some new testament you’ll reflect on in adoration, have her cunt fucked so thoroughly by you that she’ll come crawling back craving for more. 

“How long have you been waiting for this?” Karina grins into your cheek, running her hand up over yours greedily grasping at her tit. “All those slutty things I kept telling you, seems like you wanted some of the fun as well, huh?” 

Okay, she’s not wrong at all. You’ll bank that on the fact that she has most definitely heard you jerk yourself off at night, or the fact you’ve seen her walk out the shower naked but pretend to look the other way. With all those stories of her escapades, part of you wanted to join along now and then. 

So you give her mercy and lift yourself off from her, watch her glance over her shoulder when you’re following her to your room, fingers to the latch of her bra, the garment slipping off and falling to the floor. Her back is hypnotic to look at, and you find yourself chasing after her for another go. 

“This is gonna be bad for you,” she giggles, holding her by the door frame while your hands have a mind of their own, freely roaming across the canvas of her perfect body, sliding up and down and feeling the untouched territory yet to be claimed. “Can’t even stay away from me even for two seconds.” 

She sticks her ass out, dips her head down when you get a hold of her mound, the flesh alone having its little weight to it, graze your thumb over her nipples, pinch it, kiss the back of her neck, and leave another mark. You are going to take your sweet time with her; use your teeth, your mouth, your cock. Anything and everything in your arsenal to make Karina yours. 

It starts with the letdown. Now, we’re at a shuffle - a waltz, a sloppy waltz - until Karina spins herself around while you settle at the edge of your bed, hike up to your hips, rest them there, forearms on shoulders, kissing you once more. 

A gentle moan slips out of her mouth when you finally start indulging yourself in her fabulous tits. Seeing out the amount of fun you are going to have: licking, kissing, biting along the perfect skin. Your mind can’t seem to register the fact that your hands were made for holding them; the fit alone, it feels so nice. 

Fuck, it’s even better once you realize she’s so responsive to the touch. That alone prompts you to add oil to the fire and drop the intimate act for something more primal, hungrier. She does this little shimmy with her upper body, moving her breasts around for your mouth to be caught in between them like two mushy pillows molding around your face. 

Her hand slips under and grips around you again, the friction causing you to bite down on her skin. A fair trade at least - a two-way system - you touch her, she touches you. 

“God, I think I know why you held yourself back with me for this long,” her words heavy and just coherent enough to understand, “maybe I convinced myself that I couldn’t handle you.” 

You laugh into her breasts, her hand on the back of your head, tugging while she hears the hums. 

She sighs, relieved. Like there’s a weight finally off her shoulders. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?” One second later, she pushes your head away, jaw slack, eyes clouded with lust, drunk on the taste of her skin, your hand sliding lower and lower from her waist, the warm surface getting even hotter when you reach her panties, grazing the lace. 

“It’s unreal, I don’t even have to tell you to say anything-” she sucks in a breath at the feeling of your fingers soaking up her slick, swipe your thumb upwards across her clit. “You win baby. I’ll let you have your way. I promise.” She tilts your head up for a kiss, grining her hips down, forcing the groan from you down her throat. “I can give you everything you ever dreamed of having.” 

You don’t even know where to fucking start. 

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you say, hitting the tip of your nose against hers; get a light-hearted laugh out. “I’ll make you regret them.” 

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you tell me what’s going through your head right now? With me on top? I’m all ears.” 

It’s even worse when you see her hand slithering down from her tits. Lower. Lower. The influence already affects you when she brings your hand around your cock, slowly tugging along as she treats herself to such a sight. 

That said sight of Karina playing with herself; sighing, murmuring, tilting her head slightly as her breath shudders at the sound of you groaning whilst doing the same thing with yourself. You see the damage, the marks, the places where you’ll leave more bruises than before. 

You just have to- fucking- look. You have her in such a state that you have never imagined yourself being in, and now that’s realized right in front of your eyes. 

So you tell her exactly how you’ll fuck her. What position she likes the most, where does she want you to take her, how much you’ll twist her mind into becoming more desperate for you and your cock, when you’ll make her cum, rail that poor cunt of hers until she’s sobbing in the filthiest fucking mess possible. 

“I’d be sinning,” you tell her, admittedly. “If I didn’t say that you’ve never imagined me fucking your tits unlike now. Better yet-” 

“And let me guess, you were hoping to God that there was at least somebody out there who could fulfill that desire for you, right?” Karina interrupts, hand still in between her legs, watching you shamelessly jerk yourself off. She sighs, “So original. I think you deserve more than that.” 

Uhm- well- okay, yeah. 

“What, too weird?” You ask right after, breathless, your shaft throbbing around your fingers a tad early for your taste. “Ouch. I get it. It’s fine.” 

“No, no, no,” Karina sighs, licking her lips. Her eyes shine through yours, a supernova unraveling. “I think we can settle with this. You fix me, I fix you. Deal?” 

Who’s to say that there was a chance Karina had the same vision as you? 

–

It’s a freeze-frame moment when the realization hits you for the first time. 

You’re seeing, but still having a tough time believing:

The sight of your cock being swallowed up by her tits, tongue laving at the tip, her hands compressing her chest inwards so that she can hold you there - focus on her lips and listen to the soft moans all lovely and adoring. Your poor cock: leaking with precum mixed with spit and when it’s all slicked up, you’ll put her on her back and make her press her breasts together, slip right back inside the heat and press into the friction. A gift from the heavens, you think. God, you’ll praise and worship them for as long as you live. 

“Shit,” you barely manage, rasping, like it’s some epiphany, as if this was new for her. “Karina, that’s incredible.” 

Her eyes dart at you, lashes flickering. The subtlety alone is near cute, even when her fingers dig into the skin of her tits, pinching at the nipples, tongue hanging out as some of the spit starts to drip over into the cleavage. 

She lowers her mouth right above the tip, seals it around your thick cockhead lightly. “Really?” 

You clench your jaw a little tighter, “God,” you huff, tensing up your hips for the thrust, fucking into the pressure, stare as she moves her tits downward to meet in the middle. “Fuck, yes.” 

“Don’t you suppose that this is good for me as well?” She then asks, dazed. 

“Why- fuck. Why the fuck are you asking me?” You rasp, tone gentle the next second. “Judging how hard you’re pressing, I hope that you won’t let that go to your head.” Karina’s face lights up with excitement, tilts her head down into your hand, smirking as she hears the stable breathing. Her brown eyes - like her tits - are soft, easy; her plump bottom lip sweeps the head of your cock once again. 

She hums as she stares. Chuckles at the mere buck of your hips. Cute. 

“Hmmm, maybe I will,” she accepts. 

You scoff, mixed with relief and with disbelief because Karina’s tits are fucking unreal and to top it all off she’s sucking you off while your cock is held captive between them; though you’re stuck in a hypnosis and that’s the only sensible reaction of Karina that you could give her. “Karina,” you’re seething, “Jesus, Karina-” 

She moves her chest in this side-to-side motion, wiggling her tits like it’s some shameless dance move, proposing. “What’s the matter, baby? All that waiting and you can’t hold it together?” She asks, arms moving inward with her elbows at the bottom line - her drool dribbling down her tongue and into her cleavage in this messy waterfall. “You wanna cum in between my fucking tits, hm? Right in the middle? Paint them white over these red marks you kissed all over-” 

The sound ripping from your throat is an indication of the first layer of your inner wall being broken down. It’s just for show, but she’s taking it literally. She has a knack for talking filthy. Here you are losing it. Her hand holds you by the base and pumps you - rubs your balls for good measure, pushing, soothing, encouraging - and Karina’s eyes shimmer while her mouth shifts, something more shrewd, vicious. 

“You fit so well here,” she gasps, “God, I wonder how it’ll feel when you stuff up my tiny pussy-” 

Your head falls back and you’re swearing. Clenching your fists while your elbows start to slide back. 

“Karina,” you say again, because it’s easier to speak than think. “I’m- I’m,” 

Her lips pout, shaking her head, disappointed. “No. Don’t,” she sighs, “Don’t you dare,” she says next, “please, I want it inside, inside me - in my pretty little pussy, make me feel good, so full, want your - mmm,” you see her eyes close, biting her lip at the idea, whining, “you’ve dreamt of cumming inside me - breeding me, knocking me up for fun-” 

This girl is something else - good on you to match up to her craziness - and you’re biting your lip along with her as well, watching her hand slip under to her clit while she holds your dick between her tits, thighs shaking as she spreads - it’s ingrained into your head, the sight of it. She wants you to breed her, or whatever is remotely close to cumming on her - and Karina will keep on asking for your input of all these things she’s projecting, leave it up to interpretation before acting on it. You’ve never thought you’d see yourself be like this, let alone have Karina act this way all for you. You’ll keep pondering about it long after you’ve had your fill - or her having her fill - it could go both ways for all you know. 

Still. The girl keeps moving. 

“Oh my fuck,” you slip out, different sayings all preaching the same message, “that feels so fucking incredible,” which isn’t enough to describe the present state of things nor does it fulfill the bare minimum of everything either but for Karina’s ego and with her smirk - because that’s how it always was, just feels right. 

“You’ve never said anything about it, but you’re obsessed,” Karina taunts. “This mouth, these tits, they’re all for you - you could have me any way you want,” she keeps her hands moving while her head sways from one end to the other, sighing as her tongue stops at her teeth. “Look at you. I’ve never seen you so desperate to fuck a slut like me and claim her like she’s yours.” 

She presses inward with her tits. You feel your shaft swell even harder. A lift up, then a drop. Repeat. You’re tensing every muscle in your waist as hard as you can. 

“So?” You ask weakly, huffing. “So what, okay- shit. You-” 

Next thing you do is pick up right where you left off. Thrusting into her tits and feel your pace fluctuate to the point that it’s gotten so dirty as you’d imagine fucking her cunt could get, hips smacking skin on skin, into the softness of her breasts, wet sounds and gasps let out through every slap. 

“Right there, cum,” she mutters, irises foggy, straight out of your wet dreams, leaning her neck forward with her jaw hung open so that you can fuck yourself straight into her mouth, look down at your wobbling hips - throbbing and twitching as she drinks in the sight of you nearing that edge. “Fuck my tits like that, cum all over them, wanna feel, wanna hear how much you want me.” 

You say her name, or at least try to. The sound incoherent, broken, and apologetic; just downright humbling. The best thing you can do is make good on your part. Your cock is so deep in between her tits, the messy slick and warmth enveloping you wholly; fingers doing the little adjustments, a rough measure of how her pussy will wreck your dick later - dragging her breasts across the sensitive edges, the lightest touch of her fingers at the top, flicking the underside. It’s too much, too fast, too- 

“God, Karina-” 

“Oooh,” she beams, ecstatic. “Oh my god.” 

Soon you feel yourself spilling everything in the tightest spot of her breasts, mouth slacking as she watches in awe of your cock tensing and erupting your release all over the skin of her chest, her throat. Her chest heaves along with the pulsing, shaking her tits soon after, gently pumping out the remnants of white, squeezing. It’s unholy what she’s doing, eyes glassy and spit slathered across the space, face flushed and chin dripping with your cum; and she lowers herself to where your shaft is in line with her face, pursing her lips - like some money shot - full and getting an appetizer of what’s to come. You ghost your hand to the back of her head, cautiously - the hand between her legs treats to her clit, the other wrapped around your shaft and smacking your dick on her cheek, so it’s a definite premonition come to life: her on her knees and dreamily staring at your dick while she’s soaking up your white hot mess. 

“Aww, well that’s too bad. Couldn’t hold it at the first go. Shame on you,” mutters Karina, grinning and letting out a soft pitiful laugh. 

“You’re fucking insane.” 

“And what are you gonna do about it?” she asks, patting your ass in comfort. She massages her tits right in front of you, the webbing of cum spread across the inner parts of her mounds, in the gap of the heavy curves. “I can’t believe you- God, you came so fucking much.” 

You keep on staring while you’re fighting for the last bits of consciousness left - like if you hit the canvas in a boxing match, and your coach helped you up with counting: one, two, three, four, up, up, up, up; you’ll try to focus on the breathing, take your time, continue to blink while the rest of the world fades out from your vision and all that’s there in the middle is Karina’s sluttiest form fully culminated. That’s all you see: the right angles and curves of her breasts, well sculpted and detailed that you’ll keep observing in reverence. It’s so much to process, the first glance at the scene of the crime, all over Karina, unreal and cute and just- perfect. You’re not dreaming, the nerves in your body overloaded with stimulation to properly conclude that Karina was purely made as a vessel to take limitless loads of cum in and all over her outright beautiful body. 

“Well-” You sigh heavily, a weight lifted off your shoulders. “I’m kinda- ugh. Yeah.” 

But Karina still has you on the palms of her hands, deciding what’s enough on her terms. 

Because one second later, she spreads your legs more and slides her tongue up from your balls and upwards against the underside, then to the tip. She giggles at the feeling of you snapping to attention from the contact, and you sharply inhale at the sensation, ready for more. 

“You should know that you have to deal with me the right way,” adds Karina. “This was just the start.” She then glances down to her fingertips, picking up the cum smeared all over her chest and licks it up, eyes fixated on you with interest while alternating the treatment of her lips to her fingers, to your cock. “Still speechless about my performance?” 

You roll your eyes, flaring your nostrils. “Do you do this with every guy you get in bed with?” 

Karina laughs at that, batting her lashes. “Not really. But if you’re gonna shut me up, make sure it’s with your cock.” 

Her brows light up in excitement when rake your fingers into her hair, pull her back, at the point where she surprisingly gasps. You flick her hand away from your cock, notice her mouth drop lower, expecting you to do as she says: plug one hole up for the time being. 

You don’t do that, though. Your mouth finds hers and it fills the space for the moment. 

A moment where the intimacy reaches the sweetest. In all the right ways, you’re defying her wishes through actions rather than words. Karina forces a high-pitched hum down your throat, clashing her teeth into your face, catching your lip in the midst, pulling. You’re sure she wants to see you hurt - she’s already done that - two can play at that game. 

Your hands slot themselves at the slides of her face, gripping, eager mouth keeping you focused on the task at hand, and it’s second nature when her arms wrap around your neck, lifting her up from the floor. She won’t stop giggling, laughing; the noises a spell of their own, cursing you - an unsaid promise that you’ll give to her even when you’re flipping her around back on the mattress. 

The weight of you two creaks the springs when Karina rolls herself over and finds herself on top of you. You feel her slick folds glide up your leg, the stickiness mixing in with your skin and tainting. Her conquest doesn’t stop there, until she settles the heat over your cock, grinding, the ache alone enough to make you writhe in wanting. 

She flips her head over to one side, breaking the kiss, falling back down for more. Her eyes and yours are both out of focus, panting heavily. She’s fucking unbelievable, a red herring that you had all the wrong ideas for, finally seeing the truest form of her nature being awakened. 

You say something remotely close to your thoughts. 

She looks at you, astounded. 

Sighs. 

You feel her hand cradle your head tenderly. 

Meets your forehead with hers and smiles. 

Tracing a finger to your jaw, pinching the skin soothingly. 

“You’re going to ruin me,” Karina whispers, kissing your cheek. “I hoped it was you to be the last one I try my luck with.” 

You close your eyes because it’s the truth.

Your hand shoots up for the headboard behind you, gripping. She helps grab the other arm and pins them together, captures your lips once more and it’s too intoxicating to fight against. She continues to grind her hips against yours, feel the heat of her cunt and her folds glide above you.

The teasing is insufferable, feeling her warmth wash you over. 

“I’ve waited long enough.” 

The words are at the tip of your tongue, but they won’t come out. 

“I’ve always wanted it to be you,” she carries on, softly laughing as you’re crumbling underneath her weight. “And now, you- and this cock, is mine. Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine.” 

She dips your cock in, sinking, slowly, the inches getting swallowed up in increments. You moan in response, kissing her collarbone. You’ve imagined what it would be like, prayed that one day you’d get the glorious chance to be inside this wonderful heat. It’s something else, like a long reward that you’ve sought out for but it's the fact that Karina’s tight cunt is practically making you choke where you could die and be happy with it. 

“Jesus fuck,” you groan, the fibers in your body tensing. She just sighs, hoists her hips up, and sinks back down again. 

She does it again - and again, and again. The movement alone; painstakingly slow and increasing with every passing second. Her hips seizing yours in place and fucking you like that’s all she’s meant for; like this opportunity was a once-in-a-lifetime moment and she’s going to take every advantage of it. As if she feared you telling her to forget everything about tonight and move on like it’s normal. 

“It’s not even fair, the way you make me feel,” sighs Karina, yielding to the pleasure, head dipping down. “I should’ve known - fuck, I really should’ve known. Why didn’t we do this sooner?” 

Your hips match hers in a dance, unable to answer. Unwilling to, actually. 

Because you’d rather save the words for later and live in the present, her body consuming you at a rate that shouldn’t be humanly possible. The way she rides on top of you, head and shoulders and arms invading every corner of your being, reigning fire. It’s so fucking good - her cunt, the warmth, the feeling, it’s impossible to think straight and there’s a part of you in the corner of your mind that’s jumping for joy. Walls tearing down from within, freeing you. 

If you’re not careful, it’ll be even worse when you’re guzzling your cum into her tight pussy before she even has had the chance to fuck your cock properly. She’s holding you hostage, bounding your hands with hers - a beautiful punishment to undertake. The moans and sighs alternate, complimenting one another as she continues to jut her hips forward and back - back and forward. “I hate you,” she’s saying, “I hate how you had the fucking guts to not let me try.” 

God, it really is pathetic for you. Karina figuratively digging her fingers into every nook and cranny of your brain, making you want - want to lose it, to be desperate, to be the version of you that’s capable enough to go beat-for-beat with her. The groove of your index and thumb settle at her waist, picking up the pace, use the drag of her cunt across your cock, but Karina grasps your jaw, mouthing an ‘ah, ah, ah’ as a consequence for your eagerness. 

Slamming her ass back down, she chokes an utterance out of you, “Fucking- Karina-” 

And Karina hums, letting her lower half do the work. “What’s wrong?” she asks, all innocent and sweet that doesn’t cover her sinful act. Perfectly calculated in her head of how she’s working you up. “What are you gonna do? Fuck me?” 

She took the words right out of your mouth. 

She finally managed to break you. 

You’re not nice about it, either: breaking the little restraint from her hands, hooking your arms underneath her shoulders, turn her over and yank her hips back to yours. 

The gasps. You want more. 

Karina tests the waters again when she breaks free from your grasp, forcing you to push her down on the mattress by the head, claw your fingers into her scalp, raise her up to flush her waist and hold her mouth open, taking account of the newly formed arch in her back - the perfect fucking bell curve. 

She sighs again. Not in shock, no. In relief. Satisfied, ecstatic, excited, as if she’s finally getting what she wants - for you to have enough and put her in her place. “God, yes. Fuck yes. Fucking do it. Do it! C’mon-” 

You slip yourself inside and shut her up for a second, feel her walls clamp around your throbbing member. “Like this?” You ask, snarling into her ear cuff, pulling her by the hair where she won’t even complain about the pain. “Want me to be like this with you from now on?” 

“You have no idea,” Karina says, nodding frantically, the arch of her hips moving backward against you. “How much I needed this from you.” 

Pushing your buttons and limits is what she does best. 

So you grab her by the throat, give a sloppy placement of your mouth at the corner of her lips, forcing her to look up and back. The angle where your cock is embedded rips her apart at the first slam. You’re going to fuck her. You’re going to fuck her ruthlessly. Fuck her cunt so bad like you’ve always wanted to the day she accidentally flashed herself at you and the image of her figure burned into your memory. 

She keens when you bottom out completely, filling her up to the brim with your cock. Stokes coming along easier and easier as the claps of skin start to reverberate around the walls of your bedroom -  thrusting up into her cunt and not giving a fuck about the rest. 

Karina tugs at your hair, finding a place to hold herself together, hips stilling and moving and eventually freezing. You’re up to the plate now, dishing out the real work far better than her. 

You are going to break her. Pound her ass. Bounce her cunt all over your dick, listen to how her breaths shudder and choke in the stale air with every upstroke. Your mind is working double time - trying to figure out how much she can take, where are her sensitive spots and capitalize on the weak points. 

The hints are in her body, you take that into account. She takes in every inch with her cunt, eyes fluttering shut, sighing in complete adoration. Willing to let you pour every ounce of your being onto her; these feelings, these frustrations. A place where you can let your imaginations run wild, her body a sacred temple built to ruin, in all of the harmonious sounds that come out of her mouth, occasional screams to let you know what you’re doing is right. 

When she cradles the side of your head again, staring forward at the mirror placed behind your bed along the wall, she grins, watching you place a kiss along her throat, leaning her head back to deepen the angle, runs a hand over yours, treating itself to one of her tits. “Baby, you can never have enough of me.” 

That earns her a firm grasp of your arms, pulling her closer. She shouldn’t even be able to speak, let alone have this much fun. You push her down back on the bed, hands sliding down her waist, stopping at the indent of her hips, dragging your cock out and yanking her ass back in. “Do you ever fuck your girls like this?” 

“Are you always this talkative during sex?” 

“Not exactly,” her breath hitches when you bend over the swell of her ass, swipe your finger above her clit to tease. “I’m eager- ah, eager to see,” she bites down her moan when you spread her sopping pussy lips apart, feel her leak even more on your cock, “how far you’d go-” 

You’re getting there, that’s for sure. 

Now you’re wondering what else you can do with her hips up and knees spread wide. 

“Stay right there,” you say, pressing a hand down her spine to deepen the arch, her ass getting bigger at your waist, palm full of fine skin, “and let’s see.” 

Her fast shriek registers a second after you smack the surface, the sound mimicking the crack of lightning. 

You slap her ass, impale yourself back in, watch as your cock disappears from your view. 

Karina’s face dives into the sheets, muffling her scream. 

“Big mistake,” you growl, seeking your fingers into the roots of her hair, snatching. You spank her again. 

And again. 

And again. 

The punishment and reward: you smack her ass, fuck into her, feel her body blossom with heat and flushed with crimson; handfuls of sheets or pillows or anything that’s within reach. Her cunt gushes even more, the throaty moans hiccuping as her body convulses more because of the blowback, and she’s still smiling.

“God- oh my God,” Karina pants, fingers back between her legs as she throws her ass back now, completing the motion. “So forceful.” 

You cup the sides of her waist, press your fingers over the blotches of red, skin rippling each passing second your hips flush with hers. The sounds of the smacks and the gentle creaks of the bed are already erotic enough that the spanking in between is just the cherry on top. 

All that Karina has to do in this situation is to simply ride out the wave of pleasure, body slightly jaded through every firm impact of your cock weaving itself inside her cunt, the vice closing in every millisecond. 

“-so good. You’re so good,” spits Karina, eyes cinched shut; a sharp inhale when you reach that spot, body seizing. “K-keep using my cunt, just like that- wanna feel your dick ruck up inside-” 

You’re grasping at her neck, deepening the angle. You want to melt into her, to feel everything. To fill her mind up with nothing but just you. 

“You did this to me,” you grit, pulling her back on your cock; listen to her stutters for an answer. “This is all on you.” 

But she giggles, head swiveling forward and face first into the pillows, but her wailing still breaks through. She comes back up for air soon after. Whatever she can get, “The plan, baby,” she’s telling you, “It was all part of the plan. Always.” 

That twists your mind in more ways than one. Her mouth, her hands, her body, all within arm's reach. You grasp at her tit again, drive your cock back into her cunt, her moans inching up an octave, and the shimmer coming out of the corner of Karina’s eye gives you all the more reason to keep going. 

“I’ll break you until you’ve had enough,” she breathes out, and her face contorts to something remotely pained, “please, for the love of fuck- don’t stop bouncing my pussy on your- fuck!” 

It hits you when you’ve finally worked Karina to stop talking. Breathless. Heaving. You sigh out of rapture, the feeling washing over you like you got dunked in water. A new enlightenment fully realized - the full manifestation of her creation, and now she’s on the receiving end of it.  

You give her two more firm strokes inside her; drag yourself out and rub your tip over her folds. She wiggles her ass in response, tempting you. Having another fill as her cunt clenches your cock once more, slick soaking up your skin until the friction is almost seamless, siphoning every part of your being just for her. 

This angle is dangerous: the way her stomach is nearly flat, you find your bearings above her, pushing in, too deep, holding her by the hips, anchoring, knees apart and at an angle where they would be if she was kneeling on a pew. Instead, you grab one leg, then the other - get your palms full of her waist in supplication as the undersides of the peak of her thighs meet yours, curves rippling on impact, thrust your cock into her open cunt where you’re rubbing all of the spots at once, gliding in so easily where the pace alone really sets itself into place. Her hand tends to one of her tits, hopelessly keeping it in place while you’re hooking her back for that arch and cementing the motion as your own. The time of teasing and playfulness is over, as you’re chasing to make the aches in her body a problem and sever all the nerves in her system until you can visibly see her limbs shudder - fuck out a complaint from her lips to make you stop and not act so greedy about it; but then your mouth is back on her again, hoping to sedate her thoughts as you let your lower half keep up the work. 

Then you sigh something between the space of the lips, an undertone: “You like this, love?” 

A nod is the only response she can give you, mouth parted and unable to coherently say anything in particular, so grab her chin. 

She’s getting there. You know. You can tell. 

“This pretty little cunt, all for me, no?” 

Karina mouths a ‘fuck’, biting her lip immediately after. 

“I’ll use you in whatever way I want.” 

Her hand swoops over and presses your forehead against hers, whining in pure euphoria.

“Let me hear you,” you urge, hand moving up so you can close her mouth, lighten up on the pressure so that she speaks a bit more freely. “I want you to say it.” 

Karina locks onto your eyes, searching for the right words in your head, and you know she will- 

Because Karina knows that she’ll be good for you. Your perfect little fucktoy. A personal slut who’ll always let you have and you know this well enough since it’s taken you this long to finally see it. “Oh baby it’s all yours, it’s all yours, it’s all yours. I promise- I promise that it’s all yours and it’s no one else’s- I promise it’s only yours just keep fucking-” 

To say that your ego was inflated would be an understatement. But man, words can not describe how much you wanted her to scream it out at the top of her lungs. 

Your groaning matches hers in volume, the bedframe not too far off to scrape across the hardwood. You’re pretty sure that the springs will bounce along with your bodies as well. 

“So pretty,” you praise, kissing her. “I’m gonna have this cunt all to myself. Whenever. Wherever-” 

Karina’s head lolls back and up, clutching onto your neck for added support. Heaving as you’re fucking the air out of her and makes her voice have this raspy tone attached to it: “That’s cute. You won’t have to look very far now that there’ll be one room for us to share.” 

You pause, blinking. Your finger moves a wisp of her hair away from her face, her eyes widening and fulll with sparkles. Never in a million years, you’d find yourself to be in this position - inside of Karina - but here we are. No need to move fast when you’ve done the hard stuff already. 

“So what,” you say, picking up a stable pace in her cunt, saving the dissipating control where you can. What’s there to be left said when it’s already shown? “It’s bad news for you because I’m gonna have you every chance I can get.” 

“You wanna let the whole world know how rough you’re fucking me? Be my guest,” she tells you, palm braced to your waist and moving her hips in this body-roll motion, biting her lip as the entity of sin returns in her mind, taking over. 

“I’m too good for you,” continues Karina, light-hearted and giddy, as if she’s not trying to milk every bit of you into her fucking pussy. “And here I thought I knew everything about you.” 

She’s right about that. Fortunately, this is more than just a dream. This is reality. You have endless memories with her as it is, and you’re positive that you’re excited to create more of them with her. 

“I guess you could say this is one more secret kept away.” 

A hand to your face, gentle. Loving. “My handsome boy.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“You are.” Karina breathes with an airy laugh, voice getting hazier. Cock drunk and fucked out of her mind. It’s working. “So hot.” 

“Gonna talk?” 

“Fuck-” she then sighs, hissing, and the smirk fades from her face, something more warm, languid, laid back. Her mind is gone. “Fuck.” 

You nod and give her a smirk of approval. Proud of your latest curation. The girl that everyone wants, only wants you. The beauty in that exclusivity lifts a weight off your head, and you’re far inclined to accept it head-on. 

“How bad do you want me?” You ask, biting down a kiss to push some life into her. Tears welled up at the corners, letting her feel every inch where you could take it. 

“I should be asking you, how far are you gonna hold out for me?” Karina purrs. “I’ll give you what you want if you let go first.” She tells you, pulling her body upwards and shifting the limbs around before you find yourself sliding back into her where the angle is at her cunt’s hottest point. A spot where you’d never turn back on. 

The pressing of the crease at her knees, legs pushed up high. Your cock is so embedded and consumed by her pussy that you’re having trouble staying upright. 

She then says this mantra - a phrase said differently but its message is very clear: “I’m all yours,” she wails, “I’ll always be yours if you let me- fuck! Only let me have this cock all to myself.” 

It’s happened multiple times before in your life: being wrapped around her finger. But this- this takes the meaning to a whole new level. Her body claims you as its own and you’ll surrender to that discovery for as long as you walk on this earth. 

The strokes keep going, the mindnumbing sensation coming to its fated end - that blissful release and last bits of pent-up feelings of Karina; her cunt a glove, sheathing your cock perfectly with every thrust, clenching around your girth to pump you out. 

You’ve already laid the cards on the table a long time ago or- even now, when she’s seen you in the most vulnerable state, fucking into the mattress so deeply and loudly that you’re not even worried about the potential noise complaint coming from the neighbors. 

She’s calling out your name. Just your name. Nobody else’s. Telling you how to keep fucking her. Hard. Fuck her poor little cunt until you’ve dumped every last bit of your load in her and fill her until she’s leaking out white between her legs. 

“Baby, I can feel you throbbing. Are you gonna cum? Gonna cum so fucking much- Please, I want it. I need it. Just- fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-” 

She loses first. 

And my lord, she’s fucking wrecked. 

You bottom her out and hold her hips in place, cunt quivering and her toes curl and feet in the air, moving with what little mobility they have left because you’re pressing down the underside of her thighs, yelping and wailing and screaming to the point she might break the fucking glass on mirror and windows. 

“Baby. Baby, I can’t fucking move- you son of a bi-” 

Karina’s pussy squelches around your cock, a new layer of slick added to the mix of spit and precum. You pull out halfway and rub her clit at an inhuman rate, feel her liquid sputter out, hit some parts of your body, squirting. 

She’s squirting even more when you’re slapping the head of your cock across her pussy lips, watch her body spazz out and tense up almost like she’s having a seizure or going into shock, blabbering complete nonsense and you’re kissing her harshly on the fine column of her throat. 

You could care less, because all you just want to do is fuck Karina, feel the glide of her cunt become even smoother than before. Read into how her body responds to yours and the mess just gets even more filthier. The sounds- God, the fucking sounds. It’s a perfect harmony. 

The pace steadies with the beat of your heart, thrusting your cock into her cunt and keep her figure moving until she’s able to gather her thoughts, finding the right words along the teeth to where she says: “cum in me, fuck your cum into me,” and the sobs compliments her heaving. “Please, I want it. Give it to me. I wanna be full-” 

It lights a fire under your ass, every ounce of your being finally collapsing. 

You’re managing where you can; burying yourself in the deepest depth of Karina’s pussy, cumming in the hottest point - and the senses and nerves in your body are contracting and expanding in all the right places- 

Your body and Karina’s: finally becoming one. 

Your cock and lips are the sole sources of connection to her as she coos at the multitudes of cum filling her pussy up. 

The embodiment of perfection. The tightness. So snug. You can feel it. Every fiber of your being let out through your release and her small little hole - holding your cock through the pulsing, legs frozen as your arms slither to Karina’s back, exhaling so hard that you’re certain one of your lungs might break. 

“That’s fucking amazing, baby. Oh, baby, keep giving me your cum - I need- I need it, ah. God-” 

You could feel your vision start to blur in and out of blackness, her whimpers and soft moans a gentle sonata, soothing through your high as her fingers grazing across your skin is enough contact to course electricity through you. And you rest your head against hers, taking asylum in the space above her shoulder, hips slowing and breath racked with exhaustion. Her hand rubs against your lower back, massaging the last bits of cum deep while the rest of her body goes limp, sweat glistening all over her skin as if she got baptized, finally blessed with the afterglow. 

“So much cum,” she’s saying, over and over, a prayer in itself, “There’s so much cum in me.” 

You release the restraints of your hands from her body, pulling on her side until her legs start to tangle with yours, cock still wrapped around her pussy, unable to leave or pull out. Her thumb swipes across your eyebrow, tapping the temple. Internalizing the events that occurred just now, reeling away from the pure emotions and the mere point of it all. 

At last, you and her are both drained. Like you’ve gone twelve rounds with her. You’re willing to go one more, because she’ll want that too. 

You’re then combing Karina’s hair down, patting the back of her head while she leans into your chest cavity and showers your collarbones with kisses. She nestles her face deeper when you bring her closer, swooping the sheets from beneath until it covers both of you. 

It’s comforting. This new home. 

It’s everything. 

“Don’t sleep yet,” you whisper to her, kissing her forehead while her eyelids flutter lazily. 

Her head tilts. There’s a slight shake on the ends of her fingertips; she brings them close to her face. You gaze down to see her mouth try to form a few letters - a word - only say nothing at the end of it. 

“It was always you,” she breathes, the projection alone a new belief to instill. Your face shifts to something confused, thrown off. But you’ve repeated and reciprocated the same thing even though most of it was unrequited. “Part of me was worried for like- the longest time, and now-” 

You hush her, her body sinking more into your touch, the warmth encapsulating her like a cocoon. The aches soon settle in and you let the pillowed conversations flow to a more interesting topic. 

–

When the next morning comes around, your mind is doing its best job to make you succumb to the inner machinations of your visions. The effects of the alcohol still present - which explains the partial dizziness, though your memory is kept intact. Most of it feels a bit smudged, like the faint image of a mirage of some haven out in the blistering heat of the desert. Soon your eyes are filled with the endless plane of the ceiling above, and you feel a whole lot lighter- 

The weight pressing down on your arm was no more. 

You arch your back, feel the limited mobility in your lower half, and inhale deeply. 

A prop of your elbow betters your view; realizing the sheets were off your body, your legs slightly spread apart, feel the shocking tingle of nails scratch along your skin, crotch surprisingly warm - not to mention wet. 

Karina looks up with a neat pop off the head of your cock, an airy laugh passing through her lips, slides her tongue up the length before she carries on with bobbing her head between your legs, cock hardening in the heat of her mouth. 

“Jesus fuck-” 

You feel her hand wrap around you, grinning, biting down a patch of skin near the base. She pumps you once, maybe twice, and tilts her face sideways when she sees your jaw slack and lips salivating. 

Well. It's one hell of a way to say good morning. 

“Aw, did I scare you? Well, you better enjoy this because I won’t be waking you up like this unless I feel like it.” 

That’s how all things go, unfortunately. The ways Karina wants you to do these favors of hers.

Except now-

You can bet your ass that you’ll love every fucking second of it. 

[strayingawayy]

i'm all ears...

...the one where minho's there to listen, even when you've forgotten the sound of your own voice.

the night does something to lee minho.

sarcastic comments and playful bantering turn into drowsy, lovesick eyes and lips that are forever pressed to your skin. and you wouldn't have it any other way.

usually, you melt into it. usually, atleast.

but tonight, you are tired.

sweet suffering jesus, you are so fucking tired.

you don’t say it. you don’t have to. minho notices the second he slips under the covers, hair damp, skin smelling like something clean, something warm. his fingers ghost over your jaw, barely there, but still enough to tell.

you’re more tired than you were yesterday.

minho knows silences. he understands the way they settle in rooms, in bodies, in the spaces between words left unsaid. he knows the difference between the silence that means talk to me and the silence that means stay, but don’t ask.

this is the latter.

so he doesn’t ask. he doesn’t press.

instead, he shifts closer, pulling the blankets over you like he’s tucking you into the safest place in the world. and it is, with soondoongdori curled around your lying figure as minho pushes your hair up and presses a kiss to your forehead. a silent promise that he'll be there when you wake up.

and then, just before sleep takes you, his fingers find yours under the sheets. a pinky hooked around yours, small but certain.

i’m here, it says. i’m all ears, when you’re ready.

the weight of exhaustion sits heavy on your chest, pressing into the space between your ribs, curling into your lungs and making it hard to breathe on the nights minho isn't with you. you’re not sure when it started. this endless ache, this feeling of running on fumes, but minho notices. he always does.

he doesn’t ask you to explain. doesn’t tell you that you should rest more, or that you should take care of yourself better. he knows you know all of that already. knows that sometimes, knowing isn’t enough.

so he stays.

somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, you feel him shift, feel the whisper of his lips against your temple.

“sleep," he murmurs, voice like a tide rolling in. steady. certain. home.

and for the first time in what feels like forever, you do.

...

when you wake, it’s to the smell of tangerines and something warm, something sweet. the sheets beside you are empty, but only just, his warmth lingers in the space where he lay, in the pillow that still smells like him as you're greeted by the felines that make his home, along with you.

you hear the soft shuffle of sock clad feet in the next room, the faint sound of a knife against a cutting board.

when you sit up, minho is already there, standing in the doorway with a small plate of fruit in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. his hair is still a little messy, his hoodie hanging loose on his frame, lips slightly pouty and ready to be kissed, should you want to.

"good morning," he says, and there’s something about the way he looks at you, like he’s been waiting for you to wake up, like he’s been making sure the world is soft enough for you to return to, that makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with exhaustion.

he walks over, setting the plate down beside you before sitting at the edge of the bed. his fingers find yours again, slow, careful, tracing the lines of your palm.

“eat first,” he says, because eating was always a priority with him. “then tell me what’s on your mind.”

it’s not a request. it’s not a demand. it’s just him, letting you move at your own pace. letting you have the space to breathe, to exist.

so you do. you take a bite of the orange he peeled for you, let the juice burst bright and sweet against your tongue.

and when you finally speak, when the words finally come, tentative but real...he listens.

like soft paws listen to the steady hum of home.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-two —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.1k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: clearly I am bad at estimating how long this story will take lol

The tray of food crashes to the floor at her feet. Salome gasps. Her hand shoots back, fumbling for the doorknob, and her lips part, ready to call the guard you know is just outside.

"If you call for the guard," you stop her, "I’ll cut deeper."

She clamps a hand over her mouth. "Please—stop! Hurting yourselves is a sin, a great dishonor to the body God gave you—"

“It is,” you agree calmly. You press the shard deeper into the cephalic vein, ignoring the bite of pain. Blood spills in a fresh, startling curtain down your arm, the wound mimicking the severity of an arterial cut. “And she’ll blame you for it. You’re the one she entrusted to watch over us, and you didn't notice we broke one of the mugs."

"I did not think you would—"

"What happens to you,” you cut her off, pointing the bloody shard at her stomach, “—and your baby when the two new child-bearers die because of your failure? Because I will die, if I cut any deeper. This artery,” you lie, tapping the wound for emphasis, “is important. If I finish slicing through it, I’ll bleed out in less than a minute. Not enough time for you to get help. Not even enough to try saving me yourself.”

Her lashes flutter rapidly through a swell of tears. "You could have a good life here—"

"Answer me. What happens to you if I die?"

She swallows hard. "She’ll punish me," she whispers frightfully. "I have seen what happens to those who fail her. She might take my child and I will... never see them. Please, don’t do this—”

"Why should we care about you and your child when you are okay with them killing an eleven-year-old girl tomorrow?"

A flash of shame crosses her face. "I'm sorry. I-I didn't know Maman would want the girl. The offering has never been so young before. But it is God's will, there is nothing I can do to—"

"What you can do is open the cell. Open it and we will kill Maman, then you won't have to worry about anyone taking your baby. But if you don't open it, then we die in here and you will face her punishment."

Her lips part, but nothing comes out. She looks between you and Nereida, eyes darting wildly, fingers twitching against her stomach. 

"Decide before I bleed out!"

"I... I can't," she says pitifully.

With a glance at Nereida, she takes her cue, digging into her vein.

"Open the cell," Nereida urges far more soothingly than you can, blood dripping to her elbow. "We won't hurt you. We want Maman gone, not you."

Salome whimpers under her breath, but her fingers move before her mind catches up, reaching inside her robe to retrieve the key, gripping it like it might burn her. She shuffles closer but pauses, inhaling deeply before finally reaching the door. Her hands shake so violently that the key rattles against the lock. It slips against the metal, failing to match the hole, and your finger twitches when she nearly drops it.

"Mais si elles ne parviennent pas à la tuer..." The whisper leaves quietly, lost beneath the veil. "Sa punition pour moi sera pire."

Then, her hand curls back around the key.

She swallows hard—and steps back.

No. 

You see red.

A growl curls at your mouth and you snap forward, grabbing onto her dress through the bars before she can retreat too far, and pulling her flush against them, her forehead banging into the metal. Before she can scream, you clamp a bloody hand over her mouth and then press the piece of broken mug to her neck with just enough pressure to make her panic. She gasps into your palm, struggling. You dig it harder, forcing her body to turn still and rigid.

"Twix—"

"I tried doing things the nicer way," you speak in a low snarl, veering off the script you and Nereida conjured. Round, glossy eyes stare into yours. "You should have made up your mind before getting within my reach. Now give her the key. I’d hate for my hand to slip."

Another sharp press into her skin wrings a squeak from her, her breath coming out jagged and uneven against your palm. Trembling, she extends an arm through the bars, offering the key to Nereida.

The moment Nereida takes it, she fumbles to find the lock from the outside, her fingers searching blindly. The key scrapes against the metal—once, twice—before a soft click finally reaches your ears.

The door swings open.

You don’t hesitate. Keeping your grip firm over Salome’s mouth, you shove through the opening and swing around to the other side. Before she can react, you force her back into the cell, driving her onto the bed. The veil tears free from her head as you pin her down, your weight pressing her into the mattress, the sharp fragment still poised at her throat. When her legs begin to flail helplessly, you order Nereida to grab them. She clasps Salome's ankles to keep her from bucking you off.

"You were afraid of the wrong person," you hiss, your nose nearly brushing hers. "Maman may have spared your life because she values her baby makers—but I don’t. Answer everything I ask, or I’ll show you just how merciless I can be."

The dishonest threat rolls off your tongue with enough force to make her nod frantically, fear widening her eyes. But what she doesn’t need to know—what you won’t let her see—is the part of you still holding back. Because even now, even as you pin her down and press the shard to a vital piece of her throat, you’re careful. You don’t dig hard enough to damage. You don’t let your weight bear down on the swell of her stomach.

"I'm glad we understand each other. I am going to lift my hand, and you're not going to scream. You're going to tell me everything we need to know about the guards out there."

Her lips are puffy and raw when you set them free. 

"There is only one outside the d-door," she sputters in a whisper. "B-but there are more... more by the... h-homes and the keep."

"The keep?"

"Where they keep the new m-males," she chokes out, snot dripping from her nose.

"That's in the old slaughterhouse, right?"

She nods.

"How many guards are over there exactly?"

"I do not know." At your glare, she rushes out, "B-but there are less after d-dinner ends. Many go to sleep, and switch shifts at sunrise."

You mull over the information, eyes darting across her face. “And the child—the offering? Where is Maman keeping her?”

A terrible look of fear ripples through her eyes. "Only few are allowed near the offering b-before her ascension. 

"So you're telling me you don't know?" you seethe in her face.

She sobs. "I know they... they will offer her to the démons right before the sun rises. The night is when God’s wrath is strongest, but it’s in the morning—when hope ascends—that we seek atonement."

Despite further pressing, that seems to be the extent of what she knows—or she's still withholding. Either way, you're satisfied enough. You rip strips of the sheet, using one to gag her and two more to bind her wrists and ankles. You and Nereida wrap your wounded wrists tightly to stop the flow. Then, you remove her white gown. You’ll need something to wear that doesn't easily mark you as an escapee, but there’s only the one white dress and veil. You hurriedly slip into them, making sure all of your hair and face is hidden, leaving Nereida still in the thin slip. The shoes Salome wears are thin and made of unsupported leather, but they are all you have to tuck your bare feet into.

Salome said there will be fewer guards after dinner. You and Nereida listen carefully to every sound that bleeds through the window. When you hear a few exchanges of bonne nuit, you figure people are starting to retire for the night. You take this as your cue to grip your makeshift weapon. The guard outside the door is expecting Salome to leave at some point, giving you the perfect opportunity to catch him off-guard while dressed as her.

You quietly open the door to the warm summer night, the long gown ghosting around your ankles. As expected, a well-built man leans against the side of the building, arms crossed languidly. No one else is in sight, which brings you some relief. When his gaze shifts to you, he raises a brow.

"Tout va bien, mademoiselle? Vous êtes restée là-dedans un moment."

The last word barely makes it out of his mouth. Within a heartbeat, you spring at him like the head of a snake, one hand over his mouth and the other stabbing his neck with the shard, then sweeping it through the thick of his trachea. A gush of blood oozes out in one thick stream, before he gargles out a strangled choke and turns to dead weight against the wall. 

With Nereida's help, you quickly push his body inside the building to keep anyone from spotting it. 

"Wear this," you usher, already starting to undress him. Like the man who visited you, he's wearing a grey cloak. Though it's too big for her, and bloodied, it will be enough to keep her discreet in the dark, her long hair safely tucked beneath the hood.

Two things race through your mind: the ticking time toward sunrise and the fact that you still don’t know how many more men you’ll have to take out to reach Ghost, Price, and Kyle. The knife you find on the guard adds a small weapon to your shitty arsenal. You have no idea where they could’ve stored the guns and ammo they took from you, or your bow. How you'll manage to fight through a community of cultists without those is a worry you can’t afford to dwell on right now—one step at a time.

After a few minutes of collecting yourselves, urgency pulls the two of you outside, free from the barred enclosure for the first time in almost four days. In the blanket of night, you quickly scan the area, taking in what you’re up against. The community appears fairly spread out, with only six small farmhouses like the one you just escaped from, along with a few larger structures in the near distance—likely where they house the men. You catch a glimpse of a fenced pasture’s perimeter and the unmistakable stench of cattle fills the air. Despite the faint shuffle of hooves and grey plumes of smoke from a few of the chimneys, everything is eerily still, leaving an unnerving amount of quiet for your heart to shatter through.

From what you can see, there aren’t many places to hide Blue, but there could be more to this place beyond what’s visible, especially since the chapel you first saw is nowhere in sight. But none of that matters right now; you need to find the others first if you’re going to have any real chance of saving her and getting out of here.

The next male you encounter spots you first as you make your way up the gravel road towards the barn, the sound of his boots making your hand tighten on the knife's handle. He greets you unassumingly in French, causing Nereida to startle beside you as his shadow approaches. Then he stops in front of her, his shoulders tensing and his hand hovering near a knife at his waist.

"Que fais-tu avec la femelle? C’est interdit!"

Again, you go for the throat, desperate to silence any screams that could cause alarm. You get a good swipe at the base of it, but he is at least a head taller than you, making it difficult to stab fully. He grabs you by the waist, clearly in shock that a veiled female just sprung on him with a knife, but swipes a fist at your face nonetheless. The force spreads through your temple, thrusting your head to the side. 

"Take the knife from him," you hiss at Nereida through the pain, who until now was effectively frozen. She finally moves, using the distraction you've caused as he clutches his bleeding neck, and snatches the knife still hanging at his waist. Once she has it, you leap at the disarmed man again, this time stabbing his liver. With a muffled grown, he face-plants into the gravel, quickly soaking it with blood. 

"The body," she stutters worriedly. "We need to hide it."

You look around, spotting stacks of chopped wood.

"Over there. Help me drag him."

Once the body is heaved behind the logs, you pat him down in search for anything else, but there's nothing.

"Keep that on you," you tell her, and she gives a quick nod, hiding the knife under her sleeve.

You keep following the road up to the fence, your white dress splattered with crimson, resembling the dotted stars overhead. The 'keep' is somewhere by the barn that man said, but you notice smaller buildings to the right and to the left of it. Which one looks like an old slaughterhouse? It's too difficult to tell even when you squint, so you grab Nereida's arm and quickly lower by a bush.

"Watch that one, and I'll keep an eye on this one. Whichever building has more guards patrolling is probably where they're holding them."

"Okay," she whispers, peering around the bush.

Minutes pass. The building on the right has more shadows skirting around it—three guards total. You take a moment to study their movements. One is stationed near the back, the other two at the front.

"I want you to take the one at the back and wait for me. I'll handle the other two."

"How do I take him?" she whispers uncertainly. "He’ll see me coming."

"You’ll come at it from an angle." You point toward a stack of hay. "Sneak over there, quietly. Once you're behind it, circle around and approach where he can't see."

She hesitates, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead. "I’ve never—"

"Never killed anyone?" 

The way she grips the knife, her fingers white on the handle, confirms it.

"These people deserve it, Nereida," you say, forcing her to meet your gaze. "John is in there."

She closes her eyes, and for a moment, the weight of it all presses down on her. When she opens them again, her jaw is set, and her grip on the knife tightens.

After reminding her where to strike, you pause for a moment, watching as she sneaks over to the hay. Then, you move toward the other two, slipping behind a tree for cover, but your foot catches on something and you almost trip, catching yourself against the bark. Your breath hitches and you steal a peek at them to make sure they didn't hear you. No—they are too busy murmuring to each other, laughing in a low exchange.

When you glance down, you spot a shovel half-buried into the ground, its handle sticking out. Carefully, you wriggle it free, having to grit your teeth to fully remove it. This will let you stun one while you deal with the other. Inhaling deeply to center yourself, palm tight over the splintered wood handle, you close in on the two guards.

The shorter one with curly hair spots you just before you take a swing, his eyes widening. The shovel slams into his skull, effectively making him stumble to the ground, but slips from your grip from the force. The other guard whirls around, hand slapping for the pistol at his belt. You deliver three consecutive stabs to his stomach, heart, and cheek. The gun never leaves his waist before he falls dead.

You suck in a gulp of air just as the curly-haired one regains his footing. His head is still heavy from the blow, and before he can draw his knife, you shove him in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground. You pin him easily beneath you, his movements sluggish and weak. The two of you wrestle in the grass, jagged breaths mixing with frantic, scraping nails, until, with a snarl, your knife finds purchase in his neck, stealing the life from his eyes in an instant. You stab him again and again, shaking, until the ticking urgency pulls you back into control. With a deep breath, you steady yourself and wiggle the knife lodged in his trachea, your hands slippery with blood.

"You got death," you spit in a whisper, thumbing his lids shut.

You lift up.

Now you have a single gun.

It is an old thing. Outdated and far from the military-grade weapons Ghost has. It takes a moment to figure out the parts—your fingers fumble for the small magazine, which is stocked with three bullets. You pull the slide to chamber a round with a click and keep it ready in your hand as you circle the building toward the back, praying that Nereida managed. When you find her, she is stood over the man's body, a deep cut oozing on her cheek.

"He saw me," she says, swallowing. "But I did it."

You nod. "We need to hide them before we go in."

All three bodies are hidden behind the hay stacks. You cover them with manure to mask the smell, not wanting a horde of Greys to materialize. You'd spotted a door at the back and hope it may be more discreet then blazing in through the front, given that you don't know who all is in there. Finger ready on the trigger, you hold your breath as you lead Nereida into the old building, instantly met with the rich smell of pennies. The space quickly unfolds into an old butcher house, rusted hooks hanging from the stone ceiling, the air cramped and cold. 

"Une femme? Maman ne voudrait pas de toi—"

The voice echoes in your ear as you round the corner, and then a fiery bullet rips into the owner's chest. Nereida flinches. Another guard comes barreling over, shouting, but you slide the chamber and shoot him in the head.

You don't linger by the bodies, itching to check the first steel door you see. You lower the gun only to pull at the handle, but it won't budge.

"Check him for keys," you motion to the dead guard.

Nereida crouches, hands rifling through his pockets until she yanks free a ring of keys. Her fingers shake as she tries them one by one, the lock stubborn—until, at last, it gives. With a sharp tug, the door groans open, revealing a windowless chamber. In the center, a lone captive hangs from chains.

It’s Price. Shackles bite into his wrists, his bare chest mapped with deep bruises against pale skin. Beaten, but unbroken—his gaze sharp as it lifts to meet yours. Nereida chokes on a sob, ripping the hood off her head and sinking to her knees before him, cupping his jaw.

A weighted baritone manages: "Duchess."

"There is nowhere I will not find you," she croaks. Teary kisses find the corner of his mouth. "I'm here, I'm here."

"How did you—"

"We got out. Where are the others?" you ask.

His jaw grits. "I haven't seen them since they knocked us out."

"They must be here somewhere. We need to move quick before someone notices the bodies."

After finding the small key to undo the manacles, you leave them to each other for the moment, continuing down the hall until the next door. An undeniable pull rises in your chest, something that has nothing to do with the adrenaline rushing through you—something you can’t quite name. But when you open the door, your heart falters with unwelcome disappointment at the sight of Kyle. He looks equally battered, but still aware enough to lift his head as you step in.

"Who are you?" 

You lift the veil.

"It's me," you answer, the words almost lost in the rush of emotions. Only when you fully take in the room do you notice Ari, curled in the corner. They’ve put them in here together. While there are no obvious injuries on the boy, the sight of the open Bible on his lap, and the empty dinner plate beside him, sends a cold shiver down your spine. You touch his cheek, feeling warmth, and reassure him he’s safe.

You release both of them. "Price and Nereida are through the door down the left. I need to find Ghost. I’ll be back."

Kyle rubs his wrists and manages to stand despite his black eye and shaky legs. "I’ll come with you."

"No. I’ll get him." The words come out sharper than you mean to, but you turn away before he can question them.

You are pulled further through the tight, cold hallway, movements turning more hurried as you look around. There are a few more half-opened doors, but they only lead to supply closets filled with whips and metal batons and empty chambers where old blood stains the floors. Something sharp tugs at your heart, and for the first time since initiating your escape, your fingertips succumb to a tremor of fear. 

Where is he?

The hall spits out into a room where dried animal carcasses hang from the walls.

One final door sits on the far end.

The rusted lock resists, swears hissing from your lips—until a sharp kick forces it open.

The smell thickens with fresh blood, and a cold pit sinks into your stomach at the sight of him—bound in chains, his body slumped haphazardly. Unlike the others, he doesn’t lift his head. You rush forward, a shaky breath catching in your throat as you take in the blood caked on his shoulder blades, deep welts splitting through the inked skin. His back, too, is covered in wounds. He looks worse—so much worse—that a bite of anger swells moisture in your eyes.

"Simon, you idiot. What did you do?" The words slip out on a sharp inhale as you lower yourself in front of him. "Simon," you whisper again, silent tears hot against your lips. You thread a hand through his hair, tilting his jaw up with careful fingers. His eyes are heavy, but relief finds you when they flutter open. He’s alive. The reddened whites flicker over your face, unfocused—until something strange sharpens the haze. A flicker of fear.

"It's me, Simon. We're getting out of here."

The brief fear shifts into shock when he recognizes your face, and only after you fumble with the key ring does understanding click into place, causing his jaw to flex. "Where... where is she?"

"I don't know, but we need to hurry. They have her." You undo the manacles, and his body rolls heavily into you, face falling onto your collarbone. You struggle to hold him up, gripping his shoulders without touching the wounds. A low groan bleeds through his teeth, and his eyes flutter shut again. No, no, no. "Please, you have to... you have to get up, Simon. I can't—she's going to fucking die!"

His upper chest rapidly expands with a breath, and he musters the strength to lift his weight off you and slap a hand against the wall. As he leverages his weight up, you help by grabbing beneath his other arm, until a final rush of adrenaline gets him on his feet. Urgency snaps tension into his limp shoulders, and he growls out another, more steady, breath.

"Price," he says.

"He's alive. Come on."

It takes some effort to help him walk at first, but eventually, he manages on his own. You guide him to the first room, where the others are pacing, murmuring in low voices.

"Simon, Jesus," Price mutters when he sees him.

Ghost brushes it off, his eyes narrowing. "They're going to kill her."

"At sunrise," you add, your voice tight. You pull out the pistol and show it to them. "I have one bullet left. I don't know how many more men are in this cult, but we've killed six so far."

"We have one shitty old gun." Kyle growls in frustration. "They took all our shit. How are we going to—"

"We find the weapons. They must have stored them somewhere," Price says.

"We can't just go searching through every building here. We don't have the time," you press. "And how are we supposed to get it back without everyone noticing we're gone?"

"I don't give a fuck about the guns. We find her first," Ghost grits, nostrils flaring. 

"We can't help her if we don't think things through. We can't just start a war with these people empty-handed, Simon," Price says.

"We find her first!"

"Simon," you say, reaching for his arm, but he pulls it away, clenching his bloody fist. The energy radiating from him would scare you if you didn't feel the same way.

Just then, there is the faint sound of a door opening and footsteps clanging through the hall. You tense up, two male voices shouting in echoes, one of them vaguely familiar.

"Quelqu'un les a tués ! On doit régler cette merde avant que Maman découvre quoi que ce soit."

"Les putains de prisonniers!"

Before you can react, Ghost snatches the pistol from your grip. The second they rush toward the open door, he launches at them—an elbow to one’s face, the butt of the gun breaking the nose of the other. Price uses Nereida's knife to stab the fallen guard, while Kyle helps Ghost subdue the second one. You only recognize him as the man who made you strip when they forcibly drag him toward the manacles, the sight of his blonde hair making your nails curl into your palms.

"You stupid fucking Brits!"

Ghost strikes the gun into his left eye, making him jerk within the constraints, howling as the socket turns into bloody pulp. 

Kyle grips the man's scalp from behind to hold his head up, while Ghost presses the gun into his cheek, where you notice a wound shaped like a bite mark.

"Tell us where she is," he roars. "Or I'll take the other eye."

Nereida cowers into the corner, holding onto Ari's arm. 

"I don't know!" the man spits blood, and Ghost digs the gun into his cheek, ripping it open further until the bitten flesh hangs as a torn flap, exposed all the way to his eye. The scream that follows feels inhuman. "I swear, I don't—I don't fucking know!"

Fresh blood drips to the floor. Price, much more calm, lowers at the man's side. "How many people live here?"

The man grits his teeth, struggling to answer, "T-thirty males, and six females. Plus the infants."

Twenty-two now, you count in your head.

"And the weapons we had. What about those?" Price questions further.

When only staggered, pained breaths fills the room, Ghost tosses the bloody gun and grabs the knife from Price, stabbing the man's kneecap without hesitation. Another scream ensues, and there is the small itch to cover your ears, but you steel yourself against the wall to keep watching.

"Answer the fucking question." Ghost twists the knife in his knee.

He cries out, more bloody spittle flying from his mouth. "All of the ammo is hidden. Only A-Alexandre knows!"

"Who is Alexandre?"

“Maman's son, he enforces her commands and oversees the males.”

"Where is he?" Price asks, voice hard.

“He… he resides in the work shed, while the rest of us sleep in the quarters within the barn.”

You step forward. "We saw another building outside with just one guard, that must be it."

There is a beat of silence as Price processes the information, giving Ghost a satisfied nod. With pain still contorting his face, the man's eye drifts past Ghost's shoulder toward you. His lips twitch into a faint, bloody smirk that makes your skin crawl. Ghost follows his gaze, snarls, and abruptly slashes the man's throat from ear to ear.

B

It is still dark when Eloise comes to awaken her, though Blue's eyes never once fell shut with sleep. She spent the short-lived night alternating between staring at the crescent moon outside the window, and fiddling with the knitting needles left on the table. There is a new dress in the woman's clutch, beautiful white fabric embroidered with flowers, and a pair of beautiful leather shoes in the other hand.

"See? I told you the dress would be nicer." She smiles and hands it over, as if to offer something to be thrilled for. "You must change quickly. There is a lovely breakfast of framboises and milk waiting for you. Put these on as well." She sets the shoes on the floor.

Blue thinks it strange, to bother feeding her just before her death. Blankly, she asks, "How many people will be there? To watch me die."

Eloise's smile quivers slightly, a slight crack in her composure. "Not too many, I assure you. Only a few of us women, and one or two worthy men. Most are still sleeping." After a pause, she adds even quieter, almost ashamed, "Be thankful you don’t suffer through childbirth instead. It is... a painful thing. Long, too. At least this pain will be honorable and swift."

Blue's fingers tighten around the dress. "Okay. Do you mind if I change alone, please?"

Eloise bows her head. "Of course."

She casts one last gentle glance her way before shuffling out of the room, locking the door behind her and leaving Blue with only the dress and shoes. Once the door is closed, Blue quickly slips the dress on, shuddering as the cold fabric caresses her limbs. It’s more beautiful than anything she can remember ever wearing, and that disgusts her. Swallowing the churn in her stomach, she grabs the needles and sits back on the bed.

The wounds on her feet are shallow, her fingernails only able to pierce the thick skin slightly. Using the needles, she digs into them deeper, trembling from the pain that throbs as fresh blood begins to seep from the soles. She cuts and cuts furiously, teeth gritted, praying it’s enough to soak through the shoes she slips on over the new wounds. She covers the blood stains on the sheet with the blanket, then stands, almost crying out from the agony of walking on her torn feet.

"Please dad," she whispers, closing her eyes briefly, before calling to Eloise that she is ready.

"Is everything alright, miss? You've been in there for a while." "What are you doing with the female? It’s forbidden!" "A woman? Maman wouldn’t want you—" "Someone killed them! We need to fix this shit before Maman finds out anything." "The fucking prisoners!"

[okwonyo]

BEAUTIFUL SCENE 𓈒𓈒 ❪ 日语 ❫

TESTI ────── 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝗍𝗒𝗉𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍.

enhypen who has a crush on fem!rea 12OO fluff non-idol au 但 skinship kissing ❛ REBLOGS&CLICK ❜

지아 ⠀⦂⠀ sruchocopop helped me for this 🍀 it was supposed to be short but oh well ..

HEESEUNG

his body yearns to be close to you— to touch, to feel you. he wants to know how the feeling on his fingers brushing your soft skin feels. therefore, he finds any excuse to do so.

“you have food all over your face,” he chuckles. he noticed it a few minutes ago, as soon as the tiniest crumbs of your bread fell next to your mouth. of course, he stopped eating a while ago, too busy admiring your every move.

“wha’ d’ya say?” you mutter, cheeks round and full of the big bite you took a seconds before. your eyes are glistening with wonder, pure curiosity and wonder— clueless of how cute you are looking at the moment.

his heart beats faster as he reaches for the side of your mouth with his thumb, his body moves completely on his own. he tries to not melt under your gaze, wiping the cream off the corner of your lips, caressing your lips, “here you go.”

⠀ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ﹙ᵕ ᵕ⠀look under the cut ! ♡

JAY

always so gentle with you. his tone is always soft. he smiles gentle, pearly whites showing perfectly as he talks to you. his inner nature always shows off whenever you are with him. his body warms up with chivalry.

your way often crosses the college’s hallways. he is quick to greet you with this lovely smile of his. beyond charming and beautiful.

today, he meets you again. his attention is first one your face, as always, then he peeks at the huge cardboard box in your hands. he doesn’t think before speaking, before moving towards you and telling you, “let me take this for you.”

he knows it already, what are your next words. he starts walking before you can even say, “you don’t have—”

“please, let me do this for you,” he immediately cuts you. the world stops, for you especially, well to hang on lips to say anything.

JAKE

he doesn’t realize it. it is as natural as breathing to him, as if being there—so close to you— is his birth right. you are his only compass, the star that guides him up in the sky.

his breath catches when you respond to him calling your name by turning around. the smile that grows on your face is immediately mirrored by him, “are you following me around?”

he jogs towards you, unable to keep his giggles for himself. “huh?” is the first thing he tells you, registering your question after a minute of staring at your smiley face.

“you are always somewhere close to me,” you chuckle— you don’t seem bothered by that fact. you look more pleased than not and that makes him pleased as well.

he shrugs, immediately following you like a puppy when you start walking to your class. he bumps his shoulder into yours gently, “maybe it’s destiny.”

SUNGHOON

he isn’t really the type to do much just yet. although, he had a crush on you since the day his gaze rested on you, since the first time he heard your laugh. he can’t keep you out of his mind nor his eyes away from you.

he knows it. that as soon as he catches a glimpse of you, it would be impossible for him to look away so soon. not until someone tells him that he looks like a creep— and even then, he wouldn’t be so sure.

he bites his lower lip as he observes you from afar. you look beyond mesmerizing, like everything you do, the simple way in which you sit is attractive. he feels his body being pulled closer by a force he can’t name.

he doesn’t move however. he only tries to not get into a spiral when you bite your pen. he has never seen someone so effortlessly pretty. you seem to think hard, harder than a pretty girl like you should and he wants remedy to that.

his heart skips a beat when your eyes shoot up— immediately looking deep into his. his chest heaves while you hold eye contact. your smirk before looking down on your notes makes him groan. you are teasing him too much.

SUNOO

in his friendly nature, he befriends the girl he finds so gorgeous. he becomes so close to you that he spends his days with you by his side.

he doesn’t think he has hidden his crush on you ever. internally, he hopes that it becomes something more and he never fails to show it. it is you who is oblivious.

he tries, he really does, to make you understand that he wants more than just ‘silly friends’ date’— but it seems that your head is too thick to realize it. he decides to use words, loud and clear: “what do you think of us?”

you seem confused, “us?” if it wasn’t for how cute you look with the small blush coloring your cheeks, he would facepalm.

JUNGWON

he knows you like him too. he just doesn’t understand why you are so sure he doesn’t see you like that. he decides to emphasize, “you and me, us, love!”

this man is always so sweet to you. always showering you in nice words and teasing you a little bit to get a reaction out of you.

“did you try something new with your hair?” he questions you— he is always the first to notice when you try something remotely new. even as little as putting a ribbon in your hair.

a flush creeps across your cheeks, “uh, yeah,” you respond. your voice is tiny and cute— your shyness is seen all over the surface of your face.

“don’t get shy,” he chuckles. he finds it endearing, how easily it is to make you shy. you are not even aware of the effect it has on him, “i didn’t even tell you how beautiful you are yet, doll.”

he laughs when you playfully beat his chest with your fist.

RIKI

he has never been the type to be so happy about such simple things. but he admits that he has been on cloud nine since he successfully got your number.

“i’m doing good,” pops up, accompanied by the cutest emoji. “what about you?” he reads on his phone’s screen. your contact name above the text he just received makes his body vibrate with pure joy and enthusiasm.

he falls on his bed, thinking about an answer to something as simple as this. “i’m doing good,” he types out first. “because,” his fingers tap on the keyboard. “i’m talking to you.”

he immediately puts his phone away. he does everything in his power to think about anything else but your answer— and he fails. he reaches for his phone as soon as he hears a notification.

“haha, you are too cute,” your text says, a kissy face is added at the end. the boy smiles, giggles even. his cheeks hurt from smiling too much and he realizes that he looks stupid, but he doesn’t care. you really manage to make him giddy though the phone.

taglist open + net— @sgz-net

[doeeyedmeanie]

Jason Todd who has no idea what he truly looks like , who describes himself so anomalistically that you’d think he was a victim of himself . He goes into way too much horrid detail, almost memorising each feature as though he was telling an old folks tale about some creature that haunts someplace that no one dare go. His eyes avoid mirrors , photographs of him self..his hands ready to punch or break the thing holding the image of his existence - he’s so sure he’s ugly or horribly disfigured , a part of him still focused on running that the sight of himself strikes some deep hatred and fear inside him. He hates it, hates himself more..the way he can’t look in the mirror or anything reflective or even a photo of himself.

You’ve come home before after one of Jason’s many breakdowns..his hands cut and bleeding , the blood dripping onto broken glass from both the bathroom mirror and and the hallway photos ; he’d run into Batman prior and of course..that deep rooted hatred and fear settled and bubbled to the top . His form of letting it escape being your home..the safest place and now..the messiest place. His tears are staining everything , those sad puppy eyes peering into yours as he mumbles apologies only to be shut down by the softness of your hands on his face and your lips on his forehead assuring him he was fine . You don’t let him clean up..you refuse to of course…you let him cuddle into you after you clean everything up ,telling him you’ll get a new mirror maybe one that you can turn away and that the photos can stay in your office away from him and his mind .

Jason hates hating himself , it used be some sort of protective mechanism..the hatred but now..oh now he wished himself as much as you loved him. He’s learning to..of course , he lets your compliments sit in the air , your hands guiding along each scar and your lips forming that sweet smile you get whenever you see your handsome boy. He enjoys it…you loving him , it’s enough to shut his brains hatred off..especially after a late night when he’s cuddled upto your side , his hand under your shirt caressing your chest , his face buried into your neck as you mess with his hair and soothe him…

Drabble? Broken Jason? I don’t know ☹️I missed writing for him but I am thinking of writing a stalker! Jason Todd x reader ?

[solbaby7]

High For This

pairing: eris x reader

warnings: jealous!eris, swearing, another overindulgent ball hosted simply for conspiratorial purposes, sexual themes, wrote this with the implication of Beron being dead, abrupt ending bc if i didn’t stop there i prolly wouldn’t stop at all, not edited

summary: Eris is a jealous man and you’re determined to see exactly how hot his fire burns for you.

—

“Excuse me?”

Your eyes roll on their own accord, hands fluffing through fresh curls as dark mascara dries on thick lashes. A tinted gloss stains full lips and Eris hates the way his lungs greedily gulp in the sensual oud permeating the air.

Everything in here smells like you and he doesn’t resist the indulgence of looking around to take in the fluffy duvet sheets neatly strewn over the mattress and the cream throw pillows tucked near your headboard. The canopy drapes are tucked to each post, the middle dripping dreamily like clouds hovering in the sky.

You’re meticulous, he notes; every item you own continent in their convenient little homes. “I said,” The tone you hold makes his jaw clench, his body visibly perturbed by your nonchalance while he felt himself slipping deeper into your pull. You barely spare him a proper glance—too occupied in looking over yourself in the floor length mirror. “I have a date so you don’t have to wait for me. We’ll meet you there.”

“A date?” Eris repeats sharply, staring at you through the mirror.

“Is there a problem with that?” You know the answer before the question is even fully spoken, a smug little smirk ghosting in the corner of your lips as you sift through your jewelry box. Rings are slid onto your fingers, gold bands and pretty emerald cut jewels glittering in the faelight. “I specifically remember you saying that you didn’t need a plus one.”

“Because,” Each syllable is drawn out, his restraint slipping as you pushed his buttons with such expertise. “—I already had one.” You read between the lines, a brow raising as you settle in the knowledge that the High Lord had expected you to hang off his arm.

“I don’t recall you asking.”

“It was implied.”

Dark kohl lines your eyes and accentuates full lashes, a pretty blush placed on the high points of your cheeks and such beauty seems lethal when you stare through the mirror. “You’ve never had an issue articulating your wants before—if you desired it bad enough, of course.”

You leave room for a response, trying desperately to mask the flicker of hope beginning to drudge to life within the embers. Centuries of waiting for Beron to no longer be an issue, no longer looming over both of your shoulders and destroying every meaningful moment.

Things were supposed to be different when he was finally dead.

Easier.

Only, Eris had grown more guarded. Terrified that showing a hint of affection would backfire as it had so many times before. He takes his time, smoothening out his tone and compulsively straightening out the neatly folded handkerchief sticking elegantly from the breast pocket of his perfectly tailored suit. “This is not up for debate, bunny. Turn your little friend away and let’s go before we’re late.”

“No.” You shove past him, clutch tucked under your arm and high heels clicking furiously against the hardwood.

It stuns him for a beat of time but he recovers far quicker and Eris all but barks out your name as he exits your door, following a few paces behind with a snarl working its way up his throat. “Get back here!”

“I am not some object that you can just command when you please.” Elegant curls bounce angrily with your every step, jewelry chiming with each little bounce down the stairs. One hand grips at the banister for balance, the tight fit of your dress forcing you to move slower than you’d like. “You do not own me.”

"You're right, bunny. I don't own you but I am your High Lord and you will stop walking this instant."

The immediate fae-like stillness of your form has Eris’ heart thumping with excitement against his ribcage. A perfect mask is painted across your features when you slowly turn on the balls of your feet to face him but nothing could ever quench the fire that burns behind your retinas. “My Lord?”

A noise is hummed low in his throat—pleased or patronizing?—you weren’t sure but judging by that leisurely stride and the special time he takes in looking you over, it has to be a mix of both. “I like that tone much better.” Eris’ hands are warm when he brushes a lock of hair away from your face, fingertips grazing against your neck with such care that you have to suppress the shiver threatening to rake up your spine.

You refused to allow him the satisfaction of knowing how his touch affected you.

Not when he was acting like such an entitled toddler.

“Wonderful,” Venom burns under every word, even if it is wrapped in a sickeningly sweet tone. “I aim to please.”

A smile bleeds its way onto his face, the faelight casting shadows over the handsome contours of his features and frustration forces your fingers to fidget when the intoxicating oud of his cologne engulfs your senses. “I’m thrilled to hear that, bunny.” Eyes narrow up at Eris as you clock that tone of voice—that devilish look burning behind amber irises. “Let’s hope all that enthusiasm helps you survive the night.”

“Funny you should say that,” The way your hand elegantly rests in the crease of his extended arm feels utterly natural, no matter how much contempt is quivering behind the movement. “It’s not me who needs to worry about surviving the night.”

—

Playing the part of the demure, doting date is a million times more difficult than you make it look. Sweet smiles and the inviting shape of your figure brings in more attention than normal—or maybe it was because of who’d been permanently fused to your side since the second you’d arrived.

Eris had never been so on guard, amber irises raking over anyone who came within a five foot radius and most of your time is spent wading the rigid line of his shoulders. “Quit it,” You snap through your teeth, concealing the bite if your words with a bright grin. “You forced me to be here with you and now you’re scaring everyone off.”

“Forced you?” He doesn’t even sound offended—just smug as he motions to your hand curled comfortably around his bicep. “Is that the narrative you’re running with tonight, bunny? How unoriginal.” The body language portrays anything but ‘forced’ and once he’s pointed it out, you’re quick to pull away, snatching your hand back and grumbling profanities under your breath.

“What else would you call it?”

Eris feigns aloofness when responding, refusing to grant you the decency of his gaze and your spine goes ramrod straight when his words sink in. “I’d say it’s no different than when any of the other High Lords attend with their plus ones—though it seems theirs are more well behaved.”

“I’m not some hound who submits to your every command, Eris Vanserra.” Hurt lingers in the words you spit out just loud enough for him to hear. “What the other High Lords have are wives, partners—mates. They’re not cowards; wanting someone and stringing them along.” Tears well in your waterline, grip shaky around the flute of champagne until you abandon it altogether. “You’re wasting my time and I have little patience left to offer.”

You’re forced to walk away before the dam breaks, refusing to wear your heart on your sleeve for it never worked well before. Makes you too vulnerable; too tethered to a male too afraid to return the sentiment.

Balcony doors creak under your touch, opening just enough for you to slip through and close it behind you. For once, you’re grateful for the solitude. Basking in the cool breeze and the comforting smell of fresh flora, you let your eyes slip closed, a single tear falling free and your back bows as you sag against iron railings.

Just a single moment of weakness.

And it’s completely shattered by another presence.

“Want me to kill ‘em?”

You snap up like a spring, neck nearly snapping with the force it takes to turn so quickly. Palms wipe at your cheeks, straightening out the fabrics of your dress. “Sorry,” You quickly flush the moment realization sinks in, eyes taking in the towering Illyrian standing just a few feet away. His hair held in a neat bun at the nape of his neck, burly form slouched in a lounge chair, wings stretched high behind him. “I thought I was alone out here.”

“Looking how you do, I doubt you’re ever really alone.”

You scoff, this hateful, bark of a noise that refuses to be tampered down or subdued. “Not everyone shares your sentiment.”

“Date ditch you?”

“A girl could only dream. No, my ‘date’ is spending his time being a grade A douchebag—needed fresh air before I did something stupid.”

He hums in acknowledgment, a chilled glass of amber liquor dripping condensation down the thick stretch of his forearm. His head cocks to the side when he looks you up and down, making note of that forlorn expression casting shadows across pretty features. “Want to make him jealous?”

You should be ashamed for how abruptly the notion piques your interest. For how quickly satisfaction settles within your bloodstream at the thought of Eris watching you waltz around with this brick wall of a male and his effortless presence. “What’s in it for you?”

“Pretty thing on my arm is prize enough, even if it is just for show.”

There’s a pause where the Illyrian can literally see the gears turning in your head. Outweighing the risks. Mulling over potential consequences.

He can tangibly grasp the exact moment you shove all that aside—too scorned to give a shit about retribution. Too much time had gone into getting ready to waste it all on a male too prideful to cherish the gift wrapped before him. You head nods with finality, one hand outstretched before him. “It’s a deal.”

His hand is warm against your own, significantly larger and riddled with callouses. Tattoos the shade of obsidian is etched into tawny skin, arms rippling with muscles that bulge against the tight fit of formal leather attire. “I’m Cassian.”

“I know who you are.” Hesitation lingers in the set of your shoulders, spine not fully lax though Cassian doubts that’s fully possible with the skyscraper for heels adorning your feet. “Do you know who I am?”

His grin only grows when he stands at full attention, so tall your neck cranes just to meet his eye. “I’ve got a pretty good idea.” Ice clinks against his glass as he offers it to you, lifting the rim to your lips and muttering a soft praise when you drink obediently. “There’s a girl. Drink up, you’ll need the liquid courage.”

Liquid courage. Makes sense when it burns on the way down, easing frazzled nerves and a short temper until your arm slips in the crease of Cass’ elbow like it was a regular occurrence.

He’s confident. Borderline cocky with the way he urges you closer, hips bumping into one another with each step. The closeness does the trick though, a smoldering set of sandy eyes fall on you the moment you’re thrusted back into the fray. “Chin up,” Cassian murmurs softly, lips barely even moving over the words.

You’re led to the dance floor, situated smack dab in the middle. It’s a spectacle but something tells you that’s the whole point when Cassian circles a hand around your waist. The other reaches for your free hand, easing your fingers against his own until you’re palm to palm. “Do you even know how to dance? I don’t recall that being apart of Illyrian curriculum.”

It’s a harmless tease—the jab earning you a laugh so organic that it shows both rows of shiny teeth and a pantydropping set of dimples in his cheeks. “Pretty and funny. You really should consider not being so charming, I have an awful habit of hoarding treasures like you.”

Your head dips, a blush growing along the apples of your cheeks that only grows when Cassian is emboldened, ushering you in closer until you run the risk of stepping all over his toes. If he cares, you can’t tell, too washed up in the feeling of being shown off—proudly at that. “I appreciate you doing this for me. Even if it doesn’t work.”

“Trust me,” Cassian drawls, his gaze far off as he focuses on something behind you. “It’s working.”

He doesn’t elaborate, though he doesn’t really have to when you pick up on a familiar step pattern. Nose catching the earthy scent of spicy cinnamon and nutmeg. Of pine trees and bonfire smoke. “Bunny,” Eris fixates on the Illyrian’s hold on you, the corded muscle in his jaw jumping with the effort it takes to restrain himself from burning Cassian’s hands to a crisp. “Mind if I cut in?”

“This dance is nearly done.”

“And you’ll be finishing it with me.” It’s sick how desire pools in your belly at the possessive tone. How pleased you feel with yourself when Eris all but pries you away from Cass and into his own arms. You barely have enough time to say thank you to the Night Courts General before the eldest Vanserra has whisked you far, far away from those giant wings and the enigmatic wearer of them. “Where’d you run off too? I was worried.”

“Worried about what? That someone else was cherishing what you neglect?” You hum to yourself at the raw guilt that screws up the handsome pout of his mouth. “What’s that saying? One males trash…”

“You aren’t trash. You know I don’t think of you as trash.”

“No, you just treat me like it.” The chattering of guests drowns out your words from prying ears. “Hiding me at the bottom of the bin like you’re ashamed of me or something.”

You’re working yourself up again. Overthinking. Self-depreciating. Resenting. Digging a hole with no means of pulling yourself out but Eris halts that train of thinking with a hand to your jaw. The grip is gentle but firm, guiding you to look him in the eye; insisting you see the seriousness that swirls in the copper tones of his iris. “You are everything to me,” His confession stops you in your tracks. Steals your breath away at you hang onto every constant and vowel like a lifeline. “I wake up everyday just so I can see your face and I lay my head down every night praying that it’s filled with dreams of you—of us. Everything I do, anything I’ve ever done is to ensure your happiness. Your safety.”

“Eris..”

“No, listen to me.” Both hands cup your cheeks, all space eaten up until each breath he exhales in the air you inhale. Two halves of a whole slowly sliding into place. The final pieces of a puzzle connecting as one to fulfill the bigger picture. “You are mine.” Thumbs brush over the curve of your cheekbones, tracing at the slope of your nose and memorizing the shine of your lips. “My woman,” Tenderness leaks from every syllable, sincerity bleeding from every pore until you’re unable to fight back the rushing currents of your tears. “My love, my mate and while I can never promise to be a perfect male, I can vow that I am thoroughly vested in all things categorized as your best interest.”

“If I’d have known dancing with another male was all it took for such a confession, I’d have done so long ago.”A breathless laugh emits, one that softens the stern line of his brow and eases the fear his father engraved in his soul.

Noses brush, lashes kissing until your lips meet his own and all of your doubt is washed away. “I love you.”

“All I’ll ever love is you.”

[heeluvv]

𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐓 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

pairing ೕ yang jungwon x lee heeseung x cat hybrid fem!reader

genre ೕ fluff(?), angst(?), (slight) smut

warnings ೕ smut, mean hee :(, unprotected sex, praise kink, daddy kink, squirting, not member x member (!!)

natty’s notes ೕ mdni, this is not tied to cranky!, hate comments will be deleted.

jungwon had always been soft with you. too soft, in heeseung’s opinion. every little pout, every teasing remark, every dramatic eye roll—you got away with it all because jungwon thought you were adorable. and maybe you were, but heeseung wasn’t the type to let things slide just because you were cute.

“wonnie, you’re spoiling her,” heeseung muttered, arms crossed as he leaned back against the couch, watching as you sprawled across jungwon’s lap, tail flicking lazily. “you let her talk back too much.”

jungwon only hummed, his fingers scratching behind your ears, making you purr. “she’s just playful,” he said, his voice as gentle as ever.

you smirked, turning your gaze toward heeseung. “yeah, seungie, i’m just playful,” you teased, your tone dripping with faux innocence.

but instead of rolling his eyes like usual, heeseung’s expression hardened. “cut it out.”

your ears perked up at the sudden shift in his tone, and you blinked. “what?”

heeseung sat up, his sharp gaze locking onto yours. “enough,” he said firmly, voice steady and dominant. “you’re always running your mouth, always pushing your limits because you know wonnie won’t do a damn thing about it.”

your tail stilled, the usual confidence in your demeanor faltering slightly. “i—!”

“no. you don’t get to play innocent now,” heeseung cut in, his voice unwavering. “you act like a brat and expect him to clean up the mess every time. and he does, because he’s too soft to tell you no.”

jungwon shifted beneath you, his lips parting as if to say something, but heeseung shot him a look. “don’t,” he warned. “she needs to hear this.”

your heart pounded in your chest. heeseung had scolded you before, teased you, even put you in your place a few times—but this was different. there was no amusement in his voice, no playfulness in his tone. this was dominance. this was control. and for the first time, you felt small beneath his gaze.

“you think just because you bat your pretty little eyes and pout, you can get away with anything?” he continued, standing up and towering over you. “you think wonnie’s always gonna be there to save you from the consequences?”

you swallowed hard, your ears flattening against your head. “i wasn’t—”

“don’t lie to me y/n,” he warned, his voice dropping lower. “you do it every time. you push, and push, and push, and then when someone calls you out, you run to him, expecting him to shield you.”

jungwon’s hands on you were still gentle, but even he didn’t interfere this time. because deep down, even he knew heeseung was right.

“so here’s what’s gonna happen,” heeseung continued, his tone final. “you’re gonna cut the attitude. you’re gonna start acting like the good girl i know you can be. and you’re gonna stop hiding behind wonnie every time things don’t go your way.”

your breath hitched, shame creeping up your spine. you felt small, vulnerable, completely exposed under heeseung’s gaze.

“do you understand?” he asked, voice sharp. you nodded quickly, but heeseung wasn’t satisfied.

“use your words,” he ordered.

“yes, seungie,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

heeseung studied you for a moment before finally sighing, reaching out to tilt your chin up. “see? that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he murmured, his voice softer now but still firm.

you bit your lip, still feeling the weight of his words.

jungwon finally exhaled, his arms tightening around you. “you okay, baby?” he whispered against your temple. you nodded slowly, leaning into him, still processing everything.

heeseung scoffed, shaking his head. “you’re lucky wonnie spoils you so much,” he muttered, but there was no real malice behind it. just a warning.

because this time, he wasn’t going to let you run away from the lesson you needed to learn.

the room was still thick with tension, but it wasn’t suffocating anymore. jungwon’s warmth wrapped around you like a safety net, his fingers tracing soothing circles against your back, his lips pressing soft, silent reassurances against your temple. even with his comfort, though, you still felt small, still felt the weight of heeseung’s words lingering in your chest.

heeseung stood a few feet away, his usual confidence replaced with something more hesitant. his arms were crossed, his jaw tight, but there was no real anger in his face anymore—just something unreadable. something you weren’t used to seeing from him.

after a long moment, he let out a slow sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “alright,” he muttered. “i could’ve handled that better.”

jungwon hummed, still cradling you close. “you think?” he murmured, his voice gentle but laced with quiet amusement.

heeseung rolled his eyes, but he didn’t snap back like he normally would. instead, he stepped closer, lowering himself so he was at your level. his gaze was still sharp, still firm, but there was something softer underneath—something that made your tail flick just slightly.

“look princess,” he started, his voice quieter now. “i’m not gonna lie to you. i meant what i said. you push too much, baby.” his fingers brushed against your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. “you like to test your limits, and you like to hide behind wonnie when things don’t go your way.”

your breath hitched slightly, your ears twitching.

“but,” he sighed, his thumb swiping over your bottom lip for just a second before pulling away, “i didn’t have to be so damn harsh about it.” you blinked up at him, surprised by the admission.

“i hate seeing you cry,” he murmured, shaking his head. “especially when it’s my fault, princess.” your chest tightened at the nickname, the contrast between his earlier dominance and the quiet affection in his voice now making your heart ache.

“doesn’t mean i’m taking back what i said,” he continued, his tone firmer now. “you needed to hear it. and if you ever pull that stunt again, i won’t go easy on you.”

you swallowed hard, nodding slowly. jungwon pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice full of warmth. “baby, we love you. we just want you to be better.”

heeseung clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. “yeah, what he said,” he muttered, then reached out to cup your cheek, his fingers warm against your skin. “do you forgive me, baby?”

“i do seungie,” you whispered, leaning into his touch. heeseung’s lips quirked up slightly. “that’s my good girl,” he murmured, connecting your lips with his, the kiss gently and filled with love. he guided his lips down towards your neck, softly nipping your skin.

“s—seungie…” you whined out as you felt his soft nibble turn harsh now sucking furiously leaving bright red marks.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

tears poured down your face, slipping past your lashes and trailing down your cheeks in steady streams. your ear twitching at the cute names and sounds that seemed to come out of heeseung as his cock rammed into you at a fast pace, too fast at that. your upper body flat against the couch and your lower half arched, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled them back towards him.

your gaze fell on jungwon as he stroked his hard cock at the sight of heeseung slamming into you. he groaned loudly at the sound of your moans, his cock twitching against his hand as he stroked it steadily.

“f-fuck—! just like that baby..” hee groaned as he wrapped his rough hand against your neck, supplying pressure but not to the point to block your airflow. your eyes fluttered back as you felt yourself clench on his cock constantly, at the fast strides hee was going only made you huge tits bounced, the sight of them being wonnie over the edge.

“o-oh—! s-shit! shit! baby..” jungwon moaned his strokes quickened, getting more intense. he couldn’t edge himself any longer as he whined out soft praises for you, climaxing intensively, his hot cum coating his hand.

“f-fuck..princess”

“d-daddy—! i-i can’t!” you whined out to heeseung as you felt your high coming more rapidly, his thrust stuttering as well. “fuck baby..are you gonna cum for me and wonnie?” he grunted against your ear as he gazed up at jungwon, calling him over.

jungwon walked up to you as he settled himself down in the couch, his figure faced towards and in the midst of it he left soft kisses on your neck as his finger circled your clit harshly. “cum baby..show seungie just how good you are..” his touch only sending you over the edge, the orgasm too intense for you to handle as your whole body shook violently.

“oh f-fuck..won- she fucking squirted..” he groaned loudly, his nails digging into your skin as he reached his high as well, hot cum bursting into you, filling you up to the brim.

“that’s my baby..” wonnie praised you as he kissed you softly.

natty’s notes ೕ not sure how i feel abt this, let’s see if y’all like it. (tysm for showing love to my previous post, ilyg <333) anyways hoped you enjoyed !!

[hivemuthur]

Can I request a fic with Viktor where he see their partner dressed up (for an event, wedding, or whatever), and you know, taking their breath away. They just look too pretty not to touch and so heavy makeout ensues. If you’re comfortable, can you make it spicy?

Hi Anon! I hope it's spicy enough :>

Off, off, off, off With Your Hands

viktorxfemale!reader explicit!

word count: 1,6K

summary: Reader looks good and Viktor learns a lesson. It's just smut y'all. @rennethen beta read this!

author's note: Should I start including what kind of smut you can expect? I never specify (save for some TWs if there are any), but I can start!

—

Clothes are piled up all around you in the cramped space of the dressing room as you try to navigate which ones are in and which are out. At some point, you give up on trying them all on with shoes, trotting barefoot across the carpeted floor.

“This one?” You step out to present yourself to Viktor, who sits in the middle of the couch, looking entirely out of place. His cane is propped up at his side, and he’s sipping tea—courtesy of the nice attendant who took pity on him after the first hour of watching you try everything on.

“I would say that’s a maybe?” he offers weakly, his expression apologetic. But you can see it—the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. Bastard.

“I’m sorry, are you enjoying making me sweat in here?” you scoff, propping your hands on your waist and blowing a stray strand of hair off your forehead. The dress clings to your body, and you don’t miss the way Viktor gives you a slow once-over, his gaze lingering just long enough to make you wonder—if this is a maybe, what on earth will be a yes?

“That’s definitely a maybe,” Viktor mutters, quieter this time, before taking a sip of his tea. He sends you a warm smile, cocks his head, and just stares at you—until you grunt and turn on your heel, retreating to the dressing room.

You kick the pile of discarded dresses out. “Call your nice lady friend and tell her those maybes are a no,” you throw over your shoulder. From outside, you hear Viktor dare to laugh.

And you have no idea what kind of torture this is for him.

Watching you step in and out, the dresses getting progressively shorter, tighter—the necklines plunging deeper, the sleeves slipping further off your shoulders—until he has to cross his legs. The way your hair fluffs around your face, wild and untamed, the way your skin glistens faintly with sweat. The way you work so hard to pick the one, perfect dress.

His resolve has almost broken three times. But he works just as hard to play his cards well.

Still, he’s particularly sad to see one dress from the maybe/no pile return to the hanger—a light blue satin number that hugged you perfectly. He had to bite the inside of his cheek just to say, “Maybe.”

Until.

Until you find the one.

You have no idea where it’s been hiding (perhaps buried under the maybe pile all this time), but there it is. At first, nothing about it stands out—except for the colour. A deep, blood red.

And the moment you slip it on, your suspicion is confirmed—it’s an off-shoulder summer dress, cut so low in the back and at the front that underwear is completely out of the question.

So, you rid yourself of it—but soon become stuck, the dress undone at your back. After a few huffs and puffs, futilely attempting to zip it up with the help of a coat hanger, you surrender. "Viktor, I need a hand."

Silence, for a moment. Then, his head peeks through the curtain, eyes widening slightly at the sight of you clutching the material to your chest, neck craning to glance over your shoulder.

"Zip me up?"

Wordlessly, he hooks his cane over the side hangers and steps behind you. Both of you face the mirror, where you catch a glimpse of his flushed ears. His fingers dip low, brushing over the small of your back. Slowly—so slowly—he slides the zipper up, tracing his touch up your spine.

Your eyes meet in the reflection as he licks his lips, lifts a finger, and gestures for you to spin—a full 360. His gaze never wavers. It skims over your sides, your cleavage, the bare curve of your neck and shoulders. You could swear he’s holding his breath.

Until, mid-spin, he ends up behind you—and you feel that breath, warm against your neck. He leans in, his voice barely above a whisper.

"This one."

And before you can huff out, “Finally”, his hands find your waist and push you back against the mirror with a quiet thump. Palms slide down under the hem and you can feel your ass cheeks spread apart and hot mouth trailing all the way from your shoulder up to under your ear, where Viktor rasps, “Definitely, absolutely this one.”

You turn to face him, and his lips are on yours immediately. His hands, grazing over your hips as you spin, come back to rest on your bum, kneading it and squeezing your cheeks apart, when his finger slides under you knickers and he gasps into your mouth. “So wet, already?”

You chuckle into his face and shoot him an innocent glance. Calculating your next move, you decide, this is not how it’s going to go. All the indignity of over an hour spent sweating and panting while Viktor was sipping his tea and chatting to the clerk—it screams for payback. So, your hands slide down from his neck, down his chest, straight to his belt buckle to undo it with a quiet click.

His mouth hangs open, eyes glaze over your face, and he lets out a startled huff as your hand unceremoniously slides into his boxers and grips his cock. Seizing the moment while Viktor is flustered and disoriented in your grasp, you step behind him, resting your chin in the crook of his shoulder. You give your wrist a flick, and Viktor braces himself against the mirror, palms flat. He speaks your name softly—both a plea and a warning.

“And what do you think you’re, ah—” he muffles his own whimper against his arm, and you smile, seeing his reflection all whimpering, brows knitted together and lids fluttering shut at the lightest swipe of your thumb against the tip of his cock.

“Shh, we wouldn’t want your lady friend to hear, would we?" you coo into his ear. One of his hands shoots up to grab the back of your neck—a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation. Futile, as his head falls back onto your shoulder with another pump of your fist, slow and careful, fingers grazing over his balls. His entire body tenses and flexes under your touch, his left fist balled up against the mirror and you take in the view—throat swallowing hard, exposed, Addam’s apple bobbing as he gasps for quiet breaths, hips jutting up into your palm. Absolutely fucking breathtaking.

“Everything alright in there? Do you need assistance?” came a voice of the clerk and Viktor jumps in your hand, nearly whines, rolling his head on your shoulder to meet your eyes. But you don’t stop. You just slow down, drinking in all the glaring stares he gives you.

“Ah, we’re all good thank you!” you chirp from behind the curtain, a shit-eating grin spreads across your face. “Just a small zipper mishap, we will be right out.”

At which point Viktor’s cheeks are burning pretty pink, his mouth agape as his lips search for yours. He uses his last leverage and pushes by the back of your neck to slot your mouths together, tongue desperately fighting yours, lips closing, sucking, nipping at your flesh.

And as if you haven’t already won this one, you reach with your free hand to expose his stomach, flat palm sliding his shirt up, brushing over his nipples. Your other hand pumps faster and faster, and he shudders, a puppet in your grasp, gives you a grunt that he forcefully tries to swallow back down and comes without making a sound, staring deeply into your eyes, with his mouth hanging open against yours. He paints his belly with one thick splash of cum and before his eyes fall closed, you kiss him deeply. Gently, you whisper quiet praises, and Viktor hums—forgetting where you are and what you were doing before he fell into your trap.

You brush damp hair away from his forehead and indulge in one more glance into the mirror before you—him leaned back over you, stomach heaving with heavy breaths, the pulse in the vein on the side of his neck fast and irregular, cock still twitching in your hand as you guide him down from the high. Lips touching your cheek gently, fingers tangled into your hair. Breathtaking.

Wordlessly, you reach to your purse, resting on a stool next to you, and pull out a packet of tissues. You clean him up as best as you can, given the conditions, and he whimpers weakly, oversensitive under your touch. You kiss him through it before whispering into his ear, “So, you like this dress, do you?”

Viktor chuckles, abashed. “Yes, yes, it’s a very good dress.” He turns to face you and gives you a long, unhurried kiss. “And now that you’ve put me in my place, can we please just buy it and go? I’m not sure I’ll be able to look my lady friend in the eye.” He laughs sheepishly, then winces at the sight of his undone trousers and wrinkled shirt.

“Sure,” you smile, tucking him back into his pants and smoothing the fabric with your hands. “Though I do expect payback, am I wrong?” Viktor smirks knowingly. “Lásko, have you ever been wrong? I can’t recall.”

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Mic’d Up Mayhem

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x !USC girlfriend Reader

Rating: General (Fluff, Light Angst, Competitive Banter)

Fandom: Women’s College Basketball (USC & UConn)

Summary: In a highly anticipated USC vs. UConn matchup, you and Juju are mic’d up alongside Paige and Jana. Only to be mic’d up for both games against each other.... and everyone is enjoying the show

“Alright, y’all,” Juju grinned, adjusting her mic pack as we stretched at midcourt. “Let’s give the people a show.”

“Oh, I plan to.” I smirked, shooting a look across the court where Paige was going through layup drills.

Paige caught my stare, smirking right back before launching a perfect three-pointer. She didn’t even watch it go in. Show-off.

“You always do when she’s around,” Juju teased under her breath.

I nudged her. “Shut up.”

Jana jogged by, adjusting her mic. “Y’all are disgusting already. Game hasn’t even started.”

“Jealous, El Alfy?” I teased.

Jana rolled her eyes. “Let’s see if you’re still talking when I send your shot into the stands.”

“Try it.”

Paige, apparently always listening even if mid conversation with Ice, called from across the court, “Babe, you’re not getting past Jana.”

I gasped. “You’re supposed to support me!”

“I do—just not when you’re lying to yourself, or going against me and fam.”

Juju cackled. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

From the second the game started, Paige and I couldn’t shut up.

“Nice pass, baby,” Paige taunted after I barely got the ball past her defense.

I grinned, catching the ball again. “You want an assist? I can pass you my number.”

Paige snorted. “I have your number, loser. And you text me every five minutes.”

Juju cut in. “She’s not lying.”

I whipped my head around. “Girl, whose side are you on?”

“The side that wins,” Juju shot back, sinking a jumper, sending a wink at me as we moved back to being defense.

Jana jogged past, clapping. “But not for long.”

By halftime, it was a battle.

Paige hit a smooth pull-up jumper over me, then winked. “Too slow, babe.”

I exhaled sharply. “You want me to start playing for real, huh?”

Paige just grinned. “Try it.”

So, I did.

The next time Paige drove to the basket, I bodied her up. Legal contact—barely—but she stumbled.

“Damn,” Paige laughed, catching her balance. “Didn’t know my girl was this aggressive.”

Juju clapped beside me. “Oh, we love it.”

“Don’t hype her up,” Paige groaned.

Jana called, out just before trying to set up a screen for Paige. “She doesn’t need hype. She’s cooking us already, P.”

Paige raised a brow at me. “Oh, word ? Do less talking and more defense Jana.”

I winked. “Love you, baby”

She smirked. “Love you more, I guess.”

Juju fake gagged. “GOD, we get it. You’re in love.”

The game was tight—UConn and USC trading buckets down to the final minutes.

I had the ball at the top of the key, trying to shake Jana off me. She was locked in, waiting for me to drive.

I hesitated, then went for it—big mistake.

Jana timed it perfectly, swatting my shot into the stands. But my momentum was off, and as I landed, my foot twisted awkwardly.

Pain shot through my ankle. “Shit.”

Before I could even process it, Paige was there.

She dropped down beside me, pushing past the trainers. “Baby, you okay?”

I hissed, clutching my ankle. “I—I think so.”

Juju kneeled beside me, concern all over her face. “That looked rough, man.”

Jana hovered behind her, guilt flashing in her eyes. “I—I, you good.”

I shook my head quickly. “It was clean, Jana. Just bad luck.”

Paige, however, was not focused on the play. She was brushing sweaty strands of hair from my forehead, scanning my face like I’d just been shot.

“Babe, you’re scaring me,” I muttered, as she and Juju helped me stand.

Paige exhaled. “Sorry, sorry. Just—you good?”

I nodded. “I’ll live.”

And then, as I fix my semi untucked jersey, my mic pack fall out, the realization hit all of us.

Juju’s eyes widened. “Wait—”

Jana cursed. “Shit, we’re mic’d up.”

I froze.

Paige paled.

The entire arena had just heard us being disgustingly in love.

I covered my face. “Oh my God.”

I managed to play the final minute—adrenaline doing most of the work. With two seconds left, I sank a cold-blooded three, sealing USC’s 80-78 win.

The crowd exploded.

Paige was visibly annoyed, but she still smiled as I limped toward her in the handshake line.

“Good game,” I teased, taking her hand.

She smirked. “You owe me.”

I shrugged. “How about a kiss?”

Paige blinked. “Right here, ma ya sure?”

I grinned, tugging her forward. “Why not? Everybody already heard us acting like lovesick idiots.”

And with that, I kissed her.

It wasn’t long—just enough for the cameras to catch it, for the crowd to roar, for our teammates to lose their minds.

Paige pulled back, dazed. “You’re insane.”

“You love it.”

She chuckled. “Yeah… I do.”

Before I even got to the locker room good, my phone was blowing up.

Juju ran up beside me, showing me her screen. “Bro, look.”

Twitter (X, whatever) was exploding:

@NCAAWNation: Paige Bueckers & Y/N mic’d up while trash talking/flirting is everything I didn’t know I needed

@USChoops: NOT THEM FORGETTING THEY HAD MICS ON LMAO

@WNBAFuture: Juju’s reaction when she realized they were mic’d up is sending me

And then, TikTok.

Clips of our mic’d-up moments were everywhere. Paige saying love you more, me calling her a flirty menace, her full-on panic when I got hurt—TikTok was eating it up.

And, of course, the kiss.

Jana walked by, shaking her head. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

Paige just grinned, wrapping an arm around me. “Jealous, El Alfy?”

Jana groaned. “so glad she kicked your ass not gonna lie,”

Paige smirked down at me. “Eh. I got the real win right here, plus she kicked OUR ass by two points.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re so corny.”

She kissed my temple. “And..”

I barely had time to shower before Paige was waiting outside my locker room, arms crossed, smug as hell.

“You’re taking me to dinner,” she declared, leaning against the doorframe.

I scoffed, finishing the knot on my hoodie. “I’m taking you?”

She smirked. “You kissed me in front of an entire arena, babe. Least you can do is buy me a burger.”

Juju appeared at my side, throwing an arm over my shoulder. “I vote we all go. Y/N paying.”

I groaned. “Why am I paying?”

Jana, walking by, answered without stopping. “’Cause, it'll be pitty dinner to the looser, name Paige.”

Paige cackled. “ouch, but she’s got a point.”

So, somehow, I ended up at a late-night diner with Paige, Juju, and half of our teammates from both teams. The game had been electric, but the real fun? Watching Paige smugly take sips of her milkshake while everyone talked about the mic’d-up chaos.

“You really forgot?” Aubey grinned, nudging Paige.

Paige didn’t even blink. “I was focused on my girl.”

Juju fake gagged into her fries. “I want a refund on my ears.”

I rolled my eyes, flicking a fry at Paige. “You were focused on trash-talking me.”

“And look where it got me,” she smirked. “victory in trash talking milkshake.”

Jana cut in. “Barely. If Juju had missed that shot, it was OT.”

Juju lifted her fork like a mic. “I never miss.”

Paige side-eyed her. “I’ll remember that.”

She was already plotting her revenge for our next match up in two weeks.

The people wanted more, so here we were. UConn vs. USC, round two. Except this time, Paige was locked in. Less flirting. More trash talk.

“I hope you stretched, babe,” I teased, adjusting my mic pack.

Paige grinned. “I hope you practiced your jump shot.”

Juju and Jana exchanged looks. “Here we go again, just dont forget we're mic’d up y'all.”

Paige was relentless.

Every time I touched the ball, she was in my space. I barely got off a shot before she smacked it away.

“Not today, mamas,” she taunted, wagging a finger.

I groaned. “You’re so annoying.”

Juju, running past, laughed. “Says the one who spent the last game flirting.”

Paige just smirked. “I can do both.”

She proved it by stealing the ball from me, driving downcourt, and sinking a three.

I put my hands on my hips, before doing a quick check ball with Juju. “Show-off.”

Paige jogged backward, smirking. “I know.”

Once down the court and getting reader to take the shot for a 2, Paige blocked me again. I swear, she was on a mission.

“That’s three.” She held up fingers. “You good, babe?”

I groaned. “I will be when I get past you.”

“Manifesting, huh?”

Juju clapped beside me. “She needs something, cause gurl you could have made that way before her block.”

I deadpanned. “Y’all suck.”

Jana shouted from the paint, “You still haven’t scored on her, by the way.”

Paige grinned. “Thank you, Jana.”

I glared at them both, Juju snorted. “She’s salty.”

I managed to shake Paige on a screen and hit a floater over Jana.

Paige sighed dramatically. “Congrats, babe. You’re on the board.”

I flipped my hair. “You’re just mad I scored, and it wasn'tagainst you.”

Paige grinned. “Nah, I’ll just drop a three on you next possession.”

And she did.

The game was tight, but UConn pulled ahead. Paige hit back-to-back threes, then turned to me with the smuggest grin.

I rolled my eyes. “Alright, Steph Curry.”

Paige shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”

Desperate, I went for my own three. I followed my form, watched the ball arc—and bricked.

Paige cackled. “Babe.”

I groaned. “Don’t.”

She jogged past, patting my shoulder. “What did I tell you about following your shot?”

Juju, chimed in. “Hate to agree, but Bueckers is right, gotta stick the form and follow ya shot girly”

I roll my eyes , “Judea, who's side are you on bro.”

We fought hard as we could, but it's wasn’t enough. UConn won by six, 90-84 and I was annoyed. Paige, however, was thriving.

She found me in the handshake line, tilting her head. “Dinner’s on me, ma.”

I groaned, softly. “Yeah your turn to get me pitty dinner.”

She grinned. “Love you too, baby.”

I sighed. “You’re so obnoxious.”

Paige leaned in, voice low. “Yeah, but you keep coming back for more.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Another night, another viral moment. This time, Twitter was roasting me.

@NCAAWNation: Paige blocking Y/N three times in a row and then hitting a three on her is top-tier entertainment.

@USChoops: NOT Y/N BRICKING A THREE RIGHT AFTER PAIGE HIT ONE

@WNBAFuture: I need these two mic’d up forever.

@lil_paigey.p: hope no trouble in paradise for those two later...

And, of course, Paige had zero sympathy.

She FaceTimed me that night, grinning. “Had fun?”

I groaned. “I’m blocking your number.”

She smirked. “No, you’re not.”

And, of course, she was right. “But no, good game, P. You did an amazing job”

Looking in the camera with a soft smile, “You fought, hard baby and I'm proud of you for that.” she said as she propped her phone up as she entered the fortnite lobby, with Juju.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[revelboo]

Great monarch Revelboo if I ask you nicely could you please assign me a mech to cuddle 🥰 I can’t decide who I would want to cuddle with the most! Which mechs would enjoy it the most and which would enjoy it but refuse to admit it? ty ty you are the best 👑

Ahh! Love this 💕

Cuddle Time Headcanons

ES Wheeljack

- tries his hardest to convince you that you don’t actually want to cuddle with him. Painfully awkward guy, but he just gives up and allows it if you insist. Secretly loves it even if he’s embarassed

• Optics wide, he freezes when you just climb up into his lap and sit down. Like you belong there. And then you’re leaning into him and he hears Elita and Optimus make noises that sound suspiciously like badly suppressed laughter. Surely you’d rather sit with someone else? No? Embarrassed enough even before you lean into him with a happy little sigh. Venting softly, he loosely drapes a hand against you, freezing when you latch onto a servo and snuggle against his palm. Apparently no one wants to help him and he has no idea why you’ve latched onto him. Chosen him as your protector and safe spot. And okay, maybe it makes warmth spread through him, makes him want to protect you. But they’re all still staring at him and not even hiding that they think it’s funny. They have to realize he’s not cut out for this.

Bluestreak

- aware that he can be clingy, but if you encourage or just don’t tell him to stop, he just wants to cuddle with you.

• Servos flexing because you’d gone to sleep curled in your nest of blankets while he’d been out too late. And knows he shouldn’t disturb you when you look so relaxed, but still slides his servos under you. Hears the soft, sleepy sound you make, head lifting before you realize it’s him and relax in his hands. Lying down curled on his side, he cuddles you up against his chassis and folds his door wings out behind him. Cups a hand against you, chin tucked against his chassis and legs drawn up until he’s curled around you as much as he can. Letting the warmth of you keep the nightmares at bay.

Swerve

- if you give him permission to cuddle or just seek out his body heat, he’s all for it. But the narrative in his head is probably that you’re deeply, madly in love with him, not just cold

• Startling when you drape yourself against him, eyes closed and making a pitiful little noise of misery, he mass shifts for you, arms open wide. “Cold again?” He asks, feeling almost guilty that he’d been cutting down the temperature in his habsuite on purpose just so you’d curl up against him. And you just sprawl in his arms, letting him wrap himself around you. “I’ll file a complaint with Mags, let him know there’s something wrong with the heat again,” he lies, resting his chin on top of your head. And it’s just a little, bitty lie. You understand, right? Getting used to the pulse of his spark just like he’s used to the beat of your heart. And pretending you’re his, that you want to be in his arms. That you know you belong right here.

Jazz

- wants you to read one of your smutty books to him, promising he’ll behave while you sprawl on top of him

• “Hand,” you mutter as he drapes a hand over you, one servo on your butt. “Jazz.” And his crooked grin is completely unapologetic. Even if he’d promised to behave. Huffing, you flip open the book to the page you’d folded the corner of the night before. You swear he likes these cheesy romance novels more than you do as you begin to read to him, relaxing with the feel of his warmth against you, sprawled on him.

Hound

- wants to share with you the vast, green world outside the Ark. To curl up with you by a lake and relax

• “Oh.” The area’s heavily wooded, sun lancing through the leaves to dapple the mass shifted mech in gold as you look from him to the calm lake. Realizing that he’s sharing this with you, something that matters to him and his arms come around you, tugging you back into his frame. And you relax, feeling the heat of the sun and warmth of the mech at your back. “It’s beautiful.” Playing with his servos as his chin rests on top of your head.

TFA Bulkhead

- big, awkward guy. Lets you sprawl on top of him, a big hand draped over you as you both watch TV and whisper (and Sari and Bee both complain)

• Laughing as he slowly goes over backwards and you end up sprawled on top of him, he drapes a big hand over you, head back to watch the TV upside down. Laying your chin on him as a big servo runs between your shoulder blades, you can hear Sari and Bee’s loud ‘ewww’ at you both. It’s not like you’re making out, but they’re carrying on like you are and you reach to touch Bulkhead’s chin. Relaxed and comfortable where you are.

Armada Starscream

- wouldn’t admit that he needs the feel of you, your scent and warmth against him to be able to recharge. If you want to cuddle up against him, he allows it. Won’t ask for it even though a part of him loves it

• Venting he doesn’t resist when you and the mini-cons all sprawl on him. There’s no fighting it at this point, acting as your bed. Suspects you’re only after his warmth, but he doesn’t really mind having you there. Recharges better knowing where you are, feeling your heart beating against him. Because this is as close to home and family as he’s had in forever. Wants to protect this feeling, to hold onto it.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

“This Is Your Fɑult, Weɑsley!” || Fred Weasley ||

A/n: Au where Fred survived

It was a hot summer afternoon, and you were well past your due date. Your belly had grown impossibly large, and you were miserable. Every step felt like you were carrying a Quaffle under your shirt, and the triplets had been making their presence known with relentless kicks and movement.

You were stretched out on the couch, propped up by every pillow Fred could find, groaning dramatically while fanning yourself with an old issue of The Daily Prophet.

“This is your fault, Weasley,” You grumbled, turning your head just enough to glare at your husband.

Fred, who had been attempting to fluff yet another pillow behind you, paused mid-motion, his eyebrows shooting up. “My fault? What did I do?”

You gave him a look. A look that could turn a man to stone.

Fred gulped. “Okay, yeah, fair enough.”

Rosie and Leo were sitting on the floor, flipping through their picture books, while Henry toddled around, occasionally bringing you random objects like his stuffed dragon and a spoon from the kitchen as if that might help.

You sighed, rubbing your belly. “I swear, Fred, if these babies don’t come soon, I’m going to hex you. Right in your sleep.”

Fred gave you an amused grin. “Oh, come on, Bee. You don’t mean that.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Try me.”

Sensing the seriousness in your voice, Fred cleared his throat and grabbed the enchanted mirror from the side table. “Right then, let’s call Mum. She’s dealt with plenty of Weasley-sized babies and she might have some ideas.”

A few moments later, Molly’s face appeared in the mirror, her warm and motherly smile filling the glass. “Hello, dears! Oh, Y/N, how are you feeling?”

You groaned. “Like I’m carrying three fully grown dragons in my stomach, Molly. Please tell me you have some secret Weasley family trick to get these babies out.”

Molly chuckled knowingly. “Oh, love, I know that feeling all too well. You’ve tried walking?”

Fred nodded. “She tried walking across the flat, and Henry tried to chase her, so that didn’t go well.”

Molly hummed thoughtfully. “Alright, what about spicy food? Sometimes a strong meal can help things along.”

You made a face. “If one more person suggests curry, I swear—”

Molly held up her hands, laughing. “Alright, alright! Well, dear, there’s always the other method.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Other method?”

Fred’s eyes widened as he suddenly realized where his mum was going with this. “Mum!” he yelped.

Molly, ever the composed matriarch, simply smiled knowingly. “Oh, come now, Fred. You’re the reason she’s in this mess you might as well help her out of it.”

You let out a groan, covering your face with your hands while Fred turned bright red.

Leo, completely oblivious to the deeper meaning, piped up, “Daddy, what Mima mean? What method?”

Fred coughed, standing up abruptly. “Right, well, I think we’re done here Mum, thanks for the help! Lovely chat, really!”

Molly’s laughter rang through the mirror before the connection cut off, leaving Fred standing there looking thoroughly scandalized.

Leo and Rosie blinked at their dad, clearly still curious.

“But Daddy” Rosie started, her big blue-green eyes full of curiosity.

“Nope!” Fred cut in quickly, grabbing Henry and plopping him onto his hip like he was desperate for a distraction. “Absolutely not, conversation over. Who wants biscuits? I’ll get biscuits!”

Leo and Rosie cheered as Fred fled to the kitchen, leaving you laughing until another kick from the triplets made you groan again.

You shook your head, resting a hand on your belly. “Come on, little ones. Any time now. Please.”

With any luck, the next suggestion wouldn’t involve anything that turned Fred the color of a tomato.

The flat was eerily quiet. For the first time in months, there were no little feet running through the halls, no babbling from Henry, no shrieking giggles from the twins. Molly had whisked the children away for a few nights, giving Brooke and Fred some much-needed rest before the triplets arrived.

You, however, were not resting.You were pacing the bedroom, one hand on your lower back, the other supporting your massive bump, grumbling under your breath.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered. “I’ve tried everything walking, tea, even that godforsaken curry Angelina brought over—”

Fred, lounging on the bed with a cocky smirk, cleared his throat. “Well, love, there was one last suggestion.”

You shot him a tired glare. “I can’t believe your mother suggested that.”

Fred shrugged. “She’s got a point, Bee. We do have a track record of being, er, efficient together.” He waggled his eyebrows.

You huffed but couldn’t stop the slight smirk playing on your lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

Fred grinned, standing up and wrapping his arms around you from behind, his hands resting gently on your bump. “I’m just saying if you’re desperate…”

You turned in his arms, raising an eyebrow. “We do need to get these babies moving.”

Fred grinned wider. “That’s the spirit, love.”

And It Actually Works

Hours later, the flat was dim, the warmth of the night wrapping around them as they lay tangled in bed. You were still catching your breath, your body finally relaxed for the first time in weeks. Fred, beside you, was grinning like he’d just won a Quidditch match.

“Well,” he said smugly, stretching his arms behind his head. “That was fun.”

You let out a sleepy laugh. “It was.”

You barely finished your sentence before a sharp tightening gripped your belly.

Your eyes flew open.

Another wave of pressure.

Fred, still basking in post-bliss, didn’t notice at first. “Y’know, I think Mum was onto someth—” a blissful smile on his face.

You suddenly grabbed his wrist hard.

“Fred.”

Fred turned his head, smirk still in place. “Yeah, love?"

Your eyes were wide.

“I think it worked.”

Fred blinked. “Worked...what worked?”

Another contraction hit, and you groaned, gripping the sheets. "Fred!"

Fred sat bolt upright. “Wait. Wait. Now?!”

You let out a sharp breath. “YES, NOW!”

Fred scrambled out of bed so fast he nearly fell. “Right! Right! Hospital! Bags! Where’s my wand—” He spun in circles, fully panicked.

You gritted your teeth through another contraction, rolling your eyes. “Fred. Calm down.”

Fred, not calm in the slightest, shoved on his trousers at record speed. “How am I supposed to be calm?! We just I mean, that was And now THE BABIES?!”

You groaned again, gripping the headboard. “Fred Weasley, if you don’t get me to St. Mungo’s in the next ten minutes, I swear—”

Fred, now completely in survival mode, grabbed your hospital bag, his wand, and carried her into the Floo network and Off to St. Mungo’s

Seconds later, they tumbled into the hospital’s emergency wing, with you gripping Fred’s shoulder as Healers rushed toward them.

“Mrs. Weasley, contractions started?” one of them asked, guiding you toward a wheelchair.

You let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, and you’ll never believe what did the trick.”

Fred, still red-faced and slightly too proud, smirked. “Let’s just say thanks, Mum.”

And as they wheeled you down the corridor, Fred couldn’t help but grin to himself.

Because damn, Molly Weasley really did know everything.

[hazymoonlinh]

Special ring

A draft I have saved for a whole month bruh

Pure fluff

(Phainon x reader)

In conclusion, he bites you.

The two of you were sitting under a tree on a quiet evening, the battlefield far behind for now. Phainon leaned back against the trunk, the sun painting golden hues on his face as he looked at you. There was a calmness to the air, a stillness that begged for conversation to fill it.

Out of nowhere, he asked, “What’s your take on marriage? And love?”

You blinked, a little startled by the question. “That’s…random,” you said, hugging your knees closer to your chest.

Phainon chuckled lightly. “Is it? I’m just curious.”

You rested your chin on your knees, the breeze tugging at your hair. “Hm…I don’t know,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “I don’t think I really trust it.”

That response caught his attention. His brows furrowed, his playful demeanor replaced with genuine curiosity. “You don’t trust it? Why’s that?”

You stared at the ground, your fingers idly tracing patterns in the dirt. “Well…because I grew up in an environment where marriage wasn’t about love. It was a transaction. A way to trade power, secure alliances, or gain something. Most of the marriages I saw didn’t have love in them at all.”

Phainon’s expression softened, though there was a flicker of surprise in his blue eyes. He stayed silent, letting you continue.

“It’s like…love wasn’t part of the equation at all.”

You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow in the open air. “So…I guess I just don’t think I’ll ever have love. And I don’t think anyone would ever love me.”

Phainon’s eyes went wide at that. He sat up straighter, his full attention on you now. “Huh? Why would you think that? You could always try, you know that, right?”

You looked away, embarrassed by his sincerity. “I…haizz…I seriously don’t know. Maybe I’m scared.”

“You think you’re unlovable?” he continued, his voice softening. “Well, you’re wrong. If anything, you’re one of the most lovable people I’ve ever met. You’re kind, brave, and—hell, you’ve put yourself on the line for people who don’t even deserve it. You’ve got a heart bigger than most, even if you’re scared to show it.”

Your breath hitched, his words cutting through the doubts you’d carried for so long.

“And as for marriage or love?” he added, his signature grin finally returning. “Well, if you don’t trust it, I’ll just have to convince you otherwise, won’t I?”

You stared at him, stunned by his confidence and warmth. He smirked at your reaction, leaning back against the tree again. “So, what do you say? Give love a chance, duckling?”

For the first time in a long time, you felt a small flicker of hope. You nodded, the tiniest smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe.”

“Good,” Phainon said with a wink. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Phainon’s grin turned mischievous as he took your hands in his, holding them as though they were the most delicate things in the world. You blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his mood, and before you could question it, he brought your hand to his lips.

The soft press of his kiss on your knuckles sent a jolt through you, your breath catching. But then—without warning—he popped your ring finger into his mouth.

Your eyes widened as his teeth grazed against your skin, the sensation both strange and electrifying. He bit down just enough to leave a faint mark, his eyes locked on yours the entire time. His playful smirk grew as he pulled your hand back.

“This’ll do it for now,” he murmured, his voice a low hum.

You gawked at him, completely frozen, but he wasn’t done. In one swift motion, he tugged you closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Before I find the perfect ring for you.”

Your brain short-circuited. Words failed you as a deep flush spread across your cheeks. “W-w-what? A ring? What are you talking about? You can’t just—what—Phainon!”

He leaned back, his expression utterly smug as he watched you stumble over your words. “Hmm? Something wrong, duckling? You’re looking a little…red.”

“Red? I’m not—no, you—you can’t just say things like that!” You clutched your hand to your chest, staring at the faint mark he’d left as if it were glowing. “A ring? Are you serious? Are you joking? What does this even mean?!”

Phainon chuckled, reaching out to gently tug at a strand of your hair. “Oh, I’m very serious. But don’t worry—I’ll give you time to process. I wouldn’t want you fainting on me.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, but that only seemed to amuse him further.

“Take your time, love,” he added with a wink. “We’ve got forever.” And he gives you a peck on your cheek.

[charmed-quill]

The Bet// F.W x Reader

authors note at end.

summary: Fred Weasley and y/n make a bet: whoever gets a date to the Yule Ball first wins. But what starts as harmless competition devolves into full-blown war.

want to request a fic? CLICK HERE FOR MORE INFO

word count: 6.2k

The Yule Ball had been the only thing anyone could talk about for the past few hours. Every conversation in the common room seemed to circle back to it, who was going to ask who, what everyone would wear, and, most importantly, who would end up going alone.

Y/n sat curled up in one of the cushy armchairs by the fire, pretending to be absorbed in her book. The flames flickered, casting a warm glow over the common room, but she wasn’t really reading, she was listening. 

Fred and George were sprawled across the couch nearby, talking in the way they always did: half-serious, half-dramatic, and entirely too loud.

"Everyone’s gonna be in a frenzy tomorrow morning," Fred said, stretching his arms behind his head.

George frowned, his brow furrowing slightly. "How do you mean?"

Fred waved a hand around vaguely. "You know," he said, searching for the right words, "like... everyone’s gonna be scrambling to get a date before all the good ones are taken."

At that, y/n finally glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "Why would they be scrambling?" she asked, feigning ignorance even though she already knew the answer.

Fred let out a sigh, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Because no one wants to be the last one left without a date," he said, like it was some kind of universal truth. "Gotta snatch up the best options before they’re all gone."

Y/n scoffed, closing her book and resting it on her lap. "Define ‘good ones.’"

Her voice had that familiar teasing edge to it, and she narrowed her eyes just slightly, watching as Fred hesitated for a second too long. He always got flustered when she turned her full attention on him, and she found no small amount of amusement in that.

George, of course, was thoroughly entertained, smirking as he watched Fred try to think of a response.

"You know," Fred said eventually, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Fun ones. People you can actually stand being around for an entire night."

Y/n hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger against the cover of her book. "So what, if you wait too long, you’re stuck with someone unbearable?"

Fred opened his mouth, then shut it again, realizing too late that anything he said now could get him into trouble. George chuckled under his breath, clearly enjoying watching his twin dig himself into a hole.

"That’s not what I meant," Fred tried to backtrack. "Just" He sighed, shaking his head. "You’re twisting my words."

Y/n grinned, leaning back in her chair. "Am I?"

Fred rolled his eyes, but there was no real frustration behind it. It was just how their dynamic worked, Fred talked too much, and y/n made it her mission to make him regret it.

"So," George cut in, glancing between them. "You’ve got a plan, then? Gonna ask someone first thing in the morning?"

Y/n snorted. "Please. I don’t even know who I’d ask."

Fred raised an eyebrow, tilting his head at her. "You’re kidding."

"Dead serious," y/n said, stretching her legs out in front of her. "Haven’t really thought about it."

George let out a low whistle. "Risky move. Someone might snatch up all the ‘good ones’ before you get the chance."

Y/n rolled her eyes but smirked. "Guess I’ll just have to settle for one of you two, then."

Fred and George exchanged a look before Fred gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "Merlin’s beard, George, we’re her last resort!"

George sighed, shaking his head. "Tragic, really."

Y/n laughed, nudging Fred’s foot with her own. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. It’s not like either of you have dates yet, either."

Fred opened his mouth to argue, then hesitated. "Alright, fair point."

George grinned. "Maybe we should be scrambling."

Y/n stretched her arms over her head before smirking at the twins, her book long forgotten in her lap. "I won’t be scrambling," she said breezily. "I basically have to beat the guys away with a stick."

Fred scoffed loudly, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the couch. "As if." He shot her a challenging grin, that familiar mischievous glint in his eye. "I bet I can get a date before you can even say ‘Yule Ball.’"

Y/n sat up a little straighter, the flicker of competition sparking in her chest. She knew that look, Fred Weasley never backed down from a challenge, and honestly? Neither did she.

"Oh yeah?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "You wanna shake on it?"

Fred’s grin widened, his head tilting slightly. "What are the stakes?"

Y/n paused, tapping a finger against her chin as she considered. It had to be something good, something that would really make losing painful.

"Whoever loses has to be the winner’s personal assistant for a week," she finally declared, a smug smile creeping onto her lips. "Anything they need; carrying books, fetching snacks, covering for them when they’re late to class."

George let out a low whistle. "That’s dangerous," he mused, glancing between them with amusement. "I like it."

Fred, however, didn’t even hesitate. He barely took a second to think before sticking his hand out toward her. "You’re on."

Y/n grinned as she clasped his hand firmly, shaking it once. The deal was set.

As she leaned back in her chair, she couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. This wasn’t just about getting a date anymore, this was about winning. And if there was one thing she loved just as much as messing with Fred Weasley, it was beating him at his own game.

—

The next morning, y/n was up before the sun had fully risen, determination settling deep in her chest.

She was going to win this bet.

She was going to win this bet and rub it in Fred’s stupid, smug face.

Her uniform was neat, her tie perfectly knotted, and her shoes freshly shined as she practically bounced down the stairs toward the Great Hall. The air was crisp, and the halls were still relatively empty, most students weren’t quite awake yet, dragging themselves toward breakfast like they were being led to execution.

Not her, though. She had a plan.

Sliding into her usual seat at the Gryffindor table, she ate with purpose, shoveling food into her mouth while her mind worked through her options. She started categorizing potential dates, ranking them from most to least likely to say yes.

She briefly considered asking George, he’d say yes in a heartbeat, if only to reap the benefits of her inevitable victory, but she scrapped the idea just as quickly. Where was the fun in that? No, she wanted to win properly.

By the time the Great Hall had started filling up with groggy students, she had made her decision.

Daniel Scott, a Hufflepuff in her year, was her best shot. It was no secret he fancied her, and she had a feeling he’d jump at the opportunity to go with her. 

Easy.

Just as she was about to finalize her approach, a familiar presence slid into the seat beside her. 

Fred.

He was as casual as ever, hair still slightly tousled from sleep, his tie half done like he couldn’t be bothered to fix it properly. He snatched up her half-full glass of orange juice, finishing it off with a satisfied sigh before turning to her with that lazy, infuriatingly confident smile.

"Are you preparing yourself for defeat?" he asked, setting the glass down with a soft clink. "I take my tea with extra milk, by the way, since you’ll be fetching it for me all next week."

Y/n rolled her eyes. "You’re awfully cocky for someone who hasn’t even secured a date yet."

Fred just grinned wider, leaning in slightly. "Neither have you."

She shot him a smirk, picking up a piece of toast as she stood from the table. "Give it ten minutes."

With that, she sauntered off, feeling Fred’s gaze follow her as she made her way toward the Hufflepuff table. 

Game on.

Daniel," y/n said, her voice sweet as honey as she shot the boy a dazzling smile.

He froze, mid-bite into his toast, eyes widening like a deer caught in wandlight.

This was going to be easy.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go to the ball with me?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, letting just the right amount of charm seep into her voice.

Daniel gulped, his fingers tightening around his fork. His eyes darted around the table, as if searching for an escape.

"I—uh, well—" His face turned an alarming shade of red, and he suddenly found great interest in the surface of the table.

Y/n frowned, confused by his hesitation. This was Daniel Scott. The same Daniel Scott who had stammered through at least three separate compliments about her hair just last week. The same Daniel Scott who could barely meet her eyes without turning pink. There was absolutely no reason he wouldn’t say yes.

Unless

Her stomach dropped as Daniel cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. "I, um, I heard from—uh, someone that you—er—only asked me because you lost a bet."

Y/n blinked, her head jerking back slightly. "What?"

"I just—I mean, it’s fine if you did," Daniel rushed to say, still avoiding her gaze. "I just—Fred Weasley mentioned something about it before breakfast, and—uh—I just don’t want to be anyone’s backup plan."

Her entire body went still.

Fred.

That absolute menace.

Y/n clenched her jaw, inhaling deeply through her nose before forcing a tight-lipped smile. "I see. Well, thanks anyway, Daniel."

Before he could stammer out another apology, she turned on her heel and marched straight back to the Gryffindor table.

Fred was right where she left him, lounging in his seat like he hadn’t just completely sabotaged her. He was halfway through a piece of toast when he caught sight of her storming toward him.

"You," she hissed, planting her hands on the table as she loomed over him. "Sabotage? Really?"

Fred grinned, entirely unbothered as he leaned back. "Oh, come on, love. You didn’t seriously think I’d play fair, did you?"

She narrowed her eyes, fuming. "That was a dirty play, Weasley."

He shrugged. "It was never off the table."

Y/n exhaled sharply, crossing her arms as she reevaluated everything. Clearly, she had underestimated just how far Fred was willing to go to win this bet.

Fine. If that was how he wanted to play, she’d just have to get creative.

And she would win.

—

The Great Hall had been cleared of its usual long tables, the enchanted ceiling above a dull gray as a storm brewed outside. The Gryffindor students, fourth years and above, stood in two separate lines, girls on one side, boys on the other. The air buzzed with hushed conversations, a mix of excitement and dread hanging between them.

Professor McGonagall was saying something about lions and swans, but y/n wasn’t listening.

She was too busy plotting.

Fred’s little stunt with Daniel still had her seething, and if he thought she was just going to take the loss quietly, he had severely underestimated her.

Fred had made his move first, and now it was her turn.

She spotted him cutting across the floor toward Angelina, steps sure and confident. Oh, no. That wouldn’t do at all.

Without hesitation, she swooped in, looping her arms around him and settling his hands on her waist before he could protest.

Fred blinked in surprise before narrowing his eyes. "What are you doing?"

Y/n smiled up at him. "Playing the game."

His fingers twitched against her waist. "And what exactly is your next move?"

She shrugged, shifting slightly as the music picked up. "Haven’t decided yet. But I figured a little sabotage was in order."

Fred let out a huff, his lips quirking. "So, your grand retaliation is stealing me as a dance partner? That’s weak, y/l/n."

"Not stealing," she corrected smugly. "Intercepting."

He chuckled. "Ah, I see. Is that what you were doing with Daniel earlier? Intercepting?"

Her smile tightened as she shot him a glare. "Oh, you mean the boy you so graciously warned about my ulterior motives?"

Fred smirked. "Oh, did I do that? Hm. Must’ve slipped out."

"Sabotage wasn’t part of the deal, Weasley."

"Wasn’t excluded either."

Y/n exhaled sharply, shaking her head as they spun in time with the music. "You really don’t fight fair, do you?"

"Absolutely not," he admitted easily. "And neither should you, if you want to win."

Y/n hummed, as if considering. "Noted."

Fred tilted his head slightly. "So what’s next, then? Surely you didn’t just drag me away from Angelina to lecture me on fair play."

She smiled, slow and deliberate. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Fred eyed her, lips twitching. "Oh, I would."

They moved across the floor smoothly, the space between them filled with unspoken challenges. Y/n glanced at his tie, still barely holding itself together, as if he had done it in a hurry that morning. Typical.

With a smirk, she reached up, fingers deftly undoing the sloppy knot and tightening it properly.

Fred stilled slightly, brow furrowing. "What are you—"

"Fixing it," she muttered, patting his chest once satisfied. "Honestly, Fred, do you even try?"

"Not when I have someone to do it for me," he quipped, grinning.

Y/n rolled her eyes, stepping back as the music faded. "Enjoy the dance, Weasley. I’ve got work to do."

She turned on her heel and strode off, already formulating her next move.

Fred watched her go, adjusting the tie she had just fixed. He shook his head with a quiet chuckle, already anticipating whatever chaos she had planned next.

—-

Fred was feeling good about Amelia Roberts.

Smart, sharp-witted, and completely unaware of his ongoing war with y/n.

She was laughing at something he’d said, her blue eyes twinkling under the candlelight of the courtyard lanterns. Progress.

Fred leaned against the stone railing, flashing his signature smirk. "So, what do you say, Roberts? Yule Ball with me? Best decision you’ll make all year."

Amelia smiled, tilting her head in consideration.

And then

Two warm arms wrapped around his waist from behind.

Fred stiffened.

"Oh, there you are, sweetheart!"

His stomach dropped.

No.

Absolutely not.

Y/n practically melted into his side, resting her head against his shoulder with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times before.

Fred didn’t even have time to react before she turned her sweetest, most innocent smile toward Amelia.

"Oh, Amelia!" y/n gushed, gripping Fred’s arm like he was the love of her life. "I love that you and Freddie are such good friends! Ever since we started secretly dating, I was so worried that people would suspect, but you—" she clasped a hand over her heart, voice dripping with sincerity, "you have been so supportive!"

Fred choked. "What—NO—"

Amelia’s entire expression changed in an instant.

Her smile vanished, replaced with suspicion. "Secretly dating?"

Fred tried to pull away from y/n, but she only tightened her grip, shooting him a warning glance that said if you move, I will make this worse.

Her head tilted slightly as she turned to him, eyes suddenly filled with mock devastation.

"Freddie," she whispered, voice breaking just a little. "Are you ashamed of us?"

Fred froze.

Oh.

Oh, this was bad.

He looked back at Amelia, who now had her arms firmly crossed, her gaze icy.

"No," Fred said quickly, "no, I am absolutely NOT dating her—"

"Freddie!" y/n gasped, turning every single pair of eyes in the courtyard onto them. "I cannot believe you would deny me like this! After all we’ve been through?"

Fred was actually speechless. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again—but nothing came out.

Y/n sighed dramatically, looking to Amelia as if she were the only one who could understand her pain.

"You have to forgive him," y/n said solemnly. "It’s just… so difficult for him. The constant attention, the pressure of keeping this a secret… He wanted to tell people" she sniffled, "really, he did"

"Yeah, I don’t do cheaters," Amelia muttered, already stepping away.

Fred’s entire body jerked forward in panic. "Wait—no, I—"

But Amelia had already turned on her heel and walked away.

Fred stood there, still partially trapped in y/n’s grasp, his brain short-circuiting from what had just happened.

Slowly, his head turned toward her.

Y/n beamed up at him, looking immensely pleased with herself.

She patted his shoulder, smiling sweetly. "Oops."

Fred exhaled deeply. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t," y/n said, sing-songing as she walked away.

Fred groaned, slumping against the railing.

He needed a new plan. Immediately.

—

Y/n had spent the entire morning planning her approach. She’d decided that Thomas Greaves, a quiet but friendly Ravenclaw, would be her best shot. He wasn’t the type to make a huge fuss, and she figured she had a pretty solid chance at getting a yes.

She spotted him just outside the Great Hall, standing near the entrance, looking over a rolled-up parchment, probably last-minute homework. Perfect.

Straightening her tie and putting on her most charming smile, she strode toward him with confidence.

"Hey, Thomas!" she greeted brightly, tucking her hands behind her back as she rocked on her heels. "Got a second?"

Thomas looked up, blinking behind his glasses. "Oh—uh, yeah. What’s up?"

Y/n grinned, already sensing victory. "So, I was wondering if you’d like to go to the Yule Ball with me?"

Before Thomas could even process what she was saying, a familiar arm slung itself over his shoulder.

"Oi, Tommy boy!"

Y/n’s stomach dropped.

Fred.

Of course it was Fred.

"Mate, I haven’t seen you all morning," Fred said, giving Thomas a heavy pat on the back, his voice dripping with fake concern. "Are you feeling alright?"

Thomas frowned. "Uh—yeah? I think so?"

Fred gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "Oh, thank Merlin! When I heard about your—" he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "condition, I thought you’d still be in the hospital wing!"

Y/n narrowed her eyes. "Fred, don’t you have somewhere else to be?"

Fred ignored her, turning back to Thomas with a solemn nod. "Bravest bloke I know," he said. "I mean, most people wouldn’t even show their face after spotted wandrot."

Thomas froze. "Spotted what?"

Fred sighed, shaking his head sadly. "Oh, mate, no need to be embarrassed. Madam Pomfrey said she’d never seen a case spread so quickly. And to think, you’re walking around like nothing happened." He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "Inspiring, really."

Y/n clenched her jaw. "Fred—"

"Though, of course," Fred continued thoughtfully, stroking his chin, "it is highly contagious. Wouldn’t want to pass that on, right?"

Thomas visibly paled.

"Wait—what? I—I don’t have—"

Fred gasped. "Oh no! Did Pomfrey not tell you? I thought she was supposed to give you the full debrief." He turned to y/n, shaking his head. "You’d think they’d at least warn the poor guy before sending him off to infect the whole school."

Thomas took a full step away from both of them, his expression stricken. "I—I have to go—"

Before y/n could stop him, Thomas bolted into the Great Hall like a man fleeing for his life.

She stood there in stunned silence, processing what had just happened.

Then she turned, eyes blazing, to Fred, who stood beside her looking utterly pleased with himself.

"You," she seethed. "Are the worst."

Fred smirked, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Better luck next time, love."

And with that, he sauntered off, whistling a cheerful tune, leaving y/n fuming on the steps of the Great Hall.

–

Fred had been extra careful this time. He had barely spoken about his next move to anyone, not even George, not even Lee. He was playing this one quietly, which, for him, was practically impossible.

But he wasn’t about to let y/n get the better of him again.

That’s why he’d chosen Lily Carter, a friendly and straightforward ravenclaw who, as far as he could tell, had zero history with y/n and no reason to get caught in the crossfire.

It was the perfect setup.

They sat next to each other in Charms, and just as Flitwick turned his back to demonstrate a wand movement, Fred pulled out a small slip of parchment and wrote, in his best and least-sarcastic handwriting:

Oi, Lily, fancy going to the Ball with me?

He folded the note quickly and, with the smoothest flick of his fingers, slid it onto her desk. He kept his eyes trained on his own parchment, waiting, listening.

A pause.

Then a faint rustling as Lily unfolded it.

Fred smirked. This was too easy.

Until—

"Uh… Fred?" Lily whispered, leaning slightly toward him. "Why did you hand me a blank piece of parchment?"

Fred blinked.

He turned his head, looking down at the note in Lily’s hands.

It was completely empty.

Not a single word.

No ink. No invitation.

Nothing.

Fred sat up straighter, now fully awake. "That’s not—" He grabbed his quill, tested it on his own parchment, yep, worked perfectly fine, then squinted at the blank slip. "I—I wrote something, I swear."

Lily gave him a bemused look. "Right. Well, I appreciate the effort, I guess?"

Fred’s brain was scrambling. This wasn’t possible.

Unless—

Oh, for Merlin’s sake.

Slowly, he turned in his seat, craning his neck toward the back of the classroom.

Sure enough, y/n was there, leaning casually on her elbow, watching him with a very self-satisfied smirk.

She lifted her wand slightly, giving it the tiniest twirl.

Fred groaned.

"Y/L/N," he whispered, barely keeping himself from laughing.

Y/n raised an eyebrow as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

Fred turned back around, taking a deep breath.

—

Y/n had planned this perfectly.

She had finally found someone Fred hadn’t gotten to yet, James Dunmore, a charming and easygoing Hufflepuff who was known for being friendly with just about everyone. He was the type who wouldn’t be put off by rumors or sabotage, which made him the perfect candidate.

It was foolproof.

She caught him outside the Herbology greenhouses between classes, brushing a stray leaf off his robes. "Hey, James," she greeted casually.

He grinned. "Hey, y/n. What’s up?"

She exhaled slightly, steeling herself. "So, I was wondering—"

But just as she was about to ask him, the doors of the castle slammed open.

A chorus of heavily off-key voices rang out across the courtyard.

Y/n froze.

Students turned in confusion as four overly enthusiastic first-years in matching pink suits came marching toward her, led by none other than Lee Jordan.

"FRED WEASLEY SENT US TO DELIVER A MESSAGE OF TRUE LOVE!" Lee bellowed.

James took a slow step backward.

Y/n clenched her fists.

Lee gave an exaggerated wave. "Hit it, lads!"

The first-years immediately burst into song:

"Oh, y/n, my darling true," "Your beauty shines, your wit cuts through," "Fred Weasley dreams of you all day," "So please don’t turn and run away!"

Y/n covered her face with her hands.

James looked deeply uncomfortable. "Uh—"

Fred, watching from the entrance, leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed, smirking like he had just orchestrated the greatest act of war in history.

The first-years weren’t done:

"The Yule Ball’s coming, don’t you see?" "So say yes, my love, and dance with me!" "Fred is waiting, don't delay—" "Or he’ll cry himself away!"

The entire courtyard was now watching.

James chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, y/n, this—this seems like a lot. Maybe I’ll just—" He gestured vaguely before retreating into the greenhouses at top speed.

Y/n slowly turned on her heel, rage simmering.

Fred grinned at her from across the courtyard.

"Sabotage is such an ugly word," he said smugly. "I prefer to think of this as… performance art."

Y/n narrowed her eyes.

This wasn’t over.

—

Fred was getting too close to winning.

Y/n had already lost three potential dates thanks to his sabotage, and she refused to let him have the last laugh. So, she pulled out her own bag of tricks.

She waited until dinner, when Fred was at his most comfortable, laughing loudly at something George had said while stuffing his face with mashed potatoes.

Perfect.

Sliding into the seat across from him, she leaned in, her tone light and casual. "Hey, Freddie. Have a drink, yeah?"

She pushed a goblet toward him, freshly poured pumpkin juice.

Fred raised an eyebrow. "Awfully nice of you, y/l/n," he mused. "You wouldn’t happen to be poisoning me, would you?"

Y/n rolled her eyes. "You think way too highly of yourself. Drink."

Fred smirked, not one to turn down a freebie, and took a long sip.

Y/n fought to keep her face neutral.

The effects were instantaneous.

Fred blinked once. Then twice. His smirk faltered.

"Y/n," he said slowly. "Why does my mouth feel weird?"

"Oh, no reason," she said, beaming.

George snorted. "What did you do?"

Fred sat up straighter, his hands gripping the table as if he were trying to physically hold back his next words. His expression shifted from suspicion to horror as his mouth opened against his will.

"I KISSED A MIRROR ONCE TO SEE IF I WAS A GOOD KISSER," he shouted.

The entire Gryffindor table went silent.

Fred clamped his hands over his mouth, eyes wild.

Y/n grinned. "Oh, did I forget to mention? That was a Truth Potion."

Fred shook his head violently. "No. Nope. Not happening."

His hands dropped from his face, and suddenly—

"I USED TO HAVE A NIGHTMARE WHERE PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL WAS A GIANT CAT AND CHASED ME AROUND THE CASTLE."

George fell off the bench.

Fred turned to y/n, betrayed. "THIS IS EVIL."

She rested her chin on her palm, enjoying the spectacle. "You started this war, Weasley. Now, tell me, who’s your next target for the Yule Ball?"

Fred tried to fight it, he really did. His entire body tensed, his lips trembled—

"I WAS GOING TO ASK LUCY AINSLEY AFTER DINNER!"

Lucy Ainsley, sitting two seats away, immediately stood up and walked out of the Great Hall.

Fred groaned. "Oh, come on!"

Y/n popped a grape into her mouth, looking very pleased. "Well. Guess you’ll have to try again tomorrow."

Fred glared at her. "I will get you back for this."

Y/n winked. "Looking forward to it, mirror kisser."

—

Y/n was dangerously close to winning the bet.

She had dodged Fred’s last few sabotage attempts, and now she had one final shot, Clarke Roswell, a smart and charming Ravenclaw who had always been friendly toward her. He wasn’t the type to get easily spooked, and Fred hadn’t had time to get to him first.

At least, that’s what she thought.

She found Clarke in the library after dinner, sitting at one of the quieter tables near the windows, scribbling notes on a long parchment. Taking a deep breath, she sat down across from him, flashing her most confident smile.

"Hey, Clarke," she said smoothly.

He looked up, smiling back. "Hey, y/n. What’s up?"

"Well, I was wondering—"

And suddenly, her mouth wouldn’t stop moving.

"WELL, CLARKE, I WAS WONDERING IF YOU WANTED TO GO TO THE YULE BALL WITH ME BUT ALSO I USED TO SLEEP WITH A STUFFED HIPPGRIFF UNTIL THIRD YEAR AND SOMETIMES I STILL DO BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT—"

Y/n slapped a hand over her mouth, horrified.

Clarke blinked. "...What?"

Her eyes widened in terror as she realised she couldn’t stop talking.

"SORRY I THINK I’VE BEEN HEXED BUT I TOTALLY THINK YOU’RE HANDSOME AND THAT ONE TIME IN POTIONS YOU ROLLED UP YOUR SLEEVES I GOT DISTRACTED AND SPILLED MY INGREDIENTS EVERYWHERE AND PROFESSOR SNAPE GAVE ME DETENTION FOR IT—"

Clarke looked deeply alarmed. "Uh—"

"WAIT NO DON’T LEAVE, I SWEAR I’M NOT A WEIRDO, I JUST THINK YOU HAVE NICE HANDS AND I ALSO ONCE CRIED BECAUSE I DROPPED A SLICE OF PUMPKIN PASTRY ON THE FLOOR AND I STILL THINK ABOUT IT SOMETIMES—"

Clarke was already backing away, his chair screeching against the floor as he practically ran out of the library.

Y/n slammed her forehead onto the table, mortified.

A slow, mocking clap echoed from behind her.

She knew who it was before she even turned around.

Fred Weasley leaned against a bookshelf, arms crossed, looking immensely pleased with himself.

"You know," he mused, "I was really hoping you’d start babbling about me, but that was almost just as good."

Y/n lifted her head just enough to glare at him. "You did this?"

Fred smirked, pulling out his wand and twirling it between his fingers. "A little Babbling Curse, just to make things interesting."

"I hate you," she hissed.

Fred grinned. "Nah, you love me. You said so, right before you mentioned that stuffed Hippogriff of yours,"

Y/n grabbed the nearest book and hurled it at his head.

Fred dodged it with ease, laughing as he ran out of the library, while y/n seethed, already plotting her next move.

—

Fred Weasley was in trouble.

It hit him like a rogue Bludger to the chest as he sat at the Gryffindor table, idly pushing peas around his plate. The Great Hall was filled with buzzing conversations, excited chatter about dress robes, last-minute dates, and who was going with whom.

And then, in a single horrifying moment, he realised.

The Yule Ball was two days away.

And he had no date.

His fork clattered against his plate as his brain kicked into overdrive.

He had spent so much time sabotaging y/n that he had completely forgotten to actually secure a date of his own. He quickly ran through his mental list of possible options.

Amelia Roberts? Gave him a withering glare every time they crossed paths after the “secret relationship” stunt.

Fiona Hayes? Still recovering from the boggart catastrophe and actively avoiding him in the hallways.

Sophia Benson? Thought he was in love with Lee Jordan, so that was a firm no.

Lucy Ainsley? Walked out of the Great Hall after his Truth Potion confession and hadn’t spoken to him since.

Clara Whitmore? Witnessed the public marriage proposal and didn’t want to be anywhere near that mess.

Fred groaned, rubbing his hands down his face. He was officially out of options.

But then

His hands froze.

His mind came to a screeching halt.

There was still one person who was available.

Y/n.

He let the thought settle, blinking rapidly.

Technically… technically, she counted.

She was still open. He was still open.

And after everything they had done to ruin each other’s chances? It was almost poetic.

His lips curled into a slow smirk.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

He pushed his plate aside, standing abruptly. George, mid-bite into a chicken leg, raised an eyebrow. "Where are you off to?"

Fred cracked his knuckles, stretching his arms before rolling his shoulders back. "I’ve got business to handle."

George snorted. "That sounds fake, but alright."

—

Y/n was pacing.

She had spent so much time playing defense against Fred that she had completely neglected to actually secure a date for herself. And now, with only two days until the Yule Ball, she was faced with a horrifying truth:

She had no options left.

Leaning against the stone railing of the Grand Staircase, she furiously ran through every possibility.

Thomas Greaves? Avoided her like she carried a deadly curse.

Noah Bell? Would rather transfer schools than interact with her again.

Liam Fletcher? No. Just—no.

Clarke Roswell? Likely in hiding.

James Dunnmore? Won’t even look at her anymore.

Her stomach twisted.

She was completely out of options.

And then, like a lightning strike, it hit her.

Fred.

Her head snapped up.

Fred was still available.

Technically, he counted.

And after everything they had done to ruin each other’s chances? It was almost fitting.

The second she had the thought, she took off down the corridor, pushing past a few startled second-years.

She had to find him.

She sped through the Grand Staircase, dodging a confused first-year, nearly tripping over a moving step.

Where the hell is he?

This was Fred Weasley, he was always around, always loud, always in the way.

But now, when she needed to find him? Now, when it actually mattered?

Gone.

She gritted her teeth, rounding a sharp corner.

He was moving too fast.

His mind was whirling, his options were gone, he was out of time, and his only way out of this mess was y/n.

It was almost poetic.

Almost.

If he had time to dwell on it, he might have thought about how ridiculous it was that they had wasted weeks sabotaging each other, only to end up in the exact same situation.

But he didn’t have time.

Because he was running, and the second he turned the next corner—

CRASH.

It was instant.

One second, they were both charging full speed ahead.

The next

A solid impact, a tangle of limbs, a sharp oof as they collided full-force into each other.

Y/n stumbled back, slamming into the stone wall, hands gripping Fred’s arms to steady herself.

Fred nearly lost his balance, one hand bracing against the wall beside her head to keep from toppling over.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

They were close. Too close.

The impact had sent her stumbling back against the cold stone wall, and Fred, ever so slightly off balance, had caught himself by bracing a hand against the wall right next to her head.

She blinked.

He blinked.

Neither of them moved.

For a long, stretched-out second, the only sound was the distant chatter of students in the corridors, the faint flicker of torchlight casting warm shadows along Fred’s face.

Y/n swallowed. "You ran into me."

Fred exhaled sharply, amused. "I think you’ll find that you ran into me."

She raised an eyebrow. "You were the one running full speed down the hall like a lunatic—"

"You were also running full speed down the hall," he shot back, a slow smirk curling onto his lips. "Where were you headed, anyway?"

Y/n huffed, finally shifting out of his almost-trapped position. "To find you."

Fred blinked. "Oh."

A beat of silence.

Then, realisation flickered across his face.

"You were coming to—"

"You were also coming to—"

They both froze.

Understanding settled between them.

Fred let out a deep groan, rubbing a hand down his face. "Oh, for Merlin’s sake—"

Y/n snorted, crossing her arms. "I hate this."

"I hate this more," Fred muttered.

A charged silence hung between them.

Y/n cleared her throat. "So."

Fred glanced at her, arms still crossed over his chest. "So."

Her fingers drummed against her sleeve. "I suppose there’s really no way around it, then?"

Fred sighed dramatically, as if the very idea of what he was about to say pained him. "Unfortunately, I don’t think so."

She smirked. "Wow. You sound thrilled."

"Oh, absolutely. Overjoyed."

Another silence. This time, it wasn’t quite as combative.

Fred exhaled, tilting his head slightly, studying her. "You know…" he said, more thoughtful this time, "as much as I hate losing, and as much as I hate you thinking you won—"

Y/n grinned. "So much hate in that sentence, Weasley. Sure you don’t have something else to say?"

Fred ignored her. "I don’t think going to the Ball with you will be that bad."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, tilting her chin up slightly. "That bad?"

Fred gave her a slow, lazy smile. "Well. There’s always a chance I might enjoy myself."

Y/n huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "Don’t get your hopes up, Weasley."

"Oh, my hopes are very low, don’t worry."

A pause.

Then, Fred stuck out his hand, looking almost reluctant but also… maybe something else.

Y/n eyed him, amused. "What is this?"

"A truce," he said, though his lips twitched like he was holding back another smirk.

She considered, tapping a finger against her chin like she was actually debating it.

Then, slowly, she took his hand, shaking it once.

The moment stretched just a bit longer than it needed to.

Her palm was warm against his.

Neither of them let go right away.

Y/n arched an eyebrow. "What? Are we having a moment?"

Fred let out a loud groan, instantly pulling his hand back. "Absolutely not—"

"Sounded like a moment to me"

Fred scowled, but his ears were definitely pink. "See you at the Ball, y/l/n."

Y/n smirked, turning to walk away.

"You better dress nicely, Weasley," she called over her shoulder. "Wouldn’t want people thinking I’m dating a total disaster."

Fred scoffed. "Well, lucky for you"

He hesitated.

Y/n slowed, glancing back. "Lucky for me…?"

Fred rolled his shoulders, smirking again, but softer this time.

"Lucky for you, I look good in anything."

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed. i am having some serious writers block at the moment im so upset :(

[okasuka]

woah!

Trapped Together – A mission goes south, and Damian and Reader get locked in a small space, forced to work together until help arrives.

The mission had gone to hell fast. What was supposed to be a simple recon job turned into a full-blown mess when an unexpected security system activated, locking down the building and trapping you and Robin in what seemed to be an old storage closet.

You glared at the heavy metal door as if you could will it open with sheer frustration. “This is your fault.”

Damian scoffed. “My fault? You were the one who tripped the sensor.”

“It was hidden under a damn rug, Wayne!” You crossed your arms, back pressed against the shelves behind you. “Who even does that?”

“A competent security team, clearly,” Damian muttered, arms also crossed, his posture stiff as he leaned against the opposite wall. Not that there was much space between you two—this closet was tiny, and no matter how much you tried, you kept brushing against each other.

You huffed, shifting to sit on the floor with a wince. “Alright, whatever. Batcomputer will notice the lockdown eventually, so all we have to do is wait for backup.”

Damian checked his comm, expression souring. “The signal is jammed.”

“Of course it is,” you muttered, tilting your head back against the wall. “So what, we just sit here and contemplate our life choices?”

“Tt. I could attempt to override the lock if—”

A loud clatter cut him off.

You both froze. The source? The tiny vent above your heads.

Then came the unmistakable sound of scurrying.

“…What was that?” you whispered.

Damian’s expression darkened. “A rat.”

You immediately lifted your legs off the floor. “Oh, hell no—”

Another sound. This time closer.

Without thinking, you grabbed Damian’s arm, dragging yourself against him. The space was already cramped, but now you were practically pressed up against his chest, both of you tensed. His breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away—though, from the way his shoulders stiffened, you knew he was trying to act unfazed.

“You’re afraid of rats,” he noted, voice neutral but with the faintest edge of amusement.

“I am not afraid of rats,” you hissed. “I just don’t like them. There’s a difference.”

“Hn.”

The silence stretched, the only sound your still-too-close breathing. You realized suddenly how warm he was, how his heartbeat was steady beneath his suit. Your grip on his arm loosened, but you didn’t let go entirely.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you grumbled, tilting your head to look at him.

Damian met your gaze, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “You make it difficult not to.”

Your breath caught, pulse stuttering. Was he… flirting? No, that couldn’t be—

Another loud scritch from the vent, and you flinched again, instinctively pressing your face into his shoulder. His hand twitched before carefully resting on your waist, almost hesitant.

“I will ensure the rat does not harm you,” he murmured, voice quieter than before.

You scoffed, but it came out weaker than intended. “So chivalrous, Wayne.”

The moment stretched between you, tension of a different kind settling in the small space. Neither of you moved away. Neither of you wanted to.

And then, of course, the door unlocked with a beep.

You both turned toward it as the heavy door swung open, revealing Nightwing standing there, blinking at the sight of you practically tangled together in the dim closet.

“…Should I come back later?” he asked, lips twitching.

“Shut up, Grayson,” Damian muttered, quickly stepping back—though not before his hand briefly, deliberately, squeezed yours.

Your stomach flipped.

Maybe being trapped with Damian Wayne wasn’t the worst thing after all.

The entire ride back to the Batcave was painfully silent.

You sat next to Damian in the Batmobile, arms crossed, eyes locked on the glowing city outside the window. Every so often, you felt his gaze flicker toward you, but neither of you said a word. Nightwing, meanwhile, was having the time of his life trying not to burst into laughter from the driver’s seat.

“So… storage closet, huh?” he finally broke the silence, barely concealing the amusement in his voice.

Damian exhaled sharply through his nose. “Drop it, Grayson.”

You shot Dick a glare. “There was a rat.”

“And yet, somehow, that’s not the part that made it weird.”

You groaned, sinking further into your seat. Damian stayed rigid beside you, and you could feel the barely restrained irritation radiating off of him. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was embarrassed.

But no, this was Damian Wayne. He didn’t get embarrassed. Right?

By the time you arrived at the Batcave, you were already bracing yourself for the interrogation. Sure enough, the moment you stepped out of the Batmobile, Bruce was there, arms crossed, looking every bit the imposing Dark Knight.

“What happened?” His voice was all business, eyes flicking between the two of you.

Damian stood straighter, falling into debriefing mode. “A hidden security sensor was tripped, resulting in a full lockdown of the facility. Y/N and I were separated from the main entry points and forced to seek shelter in a storage space while we awaited system override.”

You nodded, rubbing the back of your neck. “Comms were jammed, but once the security failed, we were able to extract without issue. Mission was a bust, though—whoever set up that system knew what they were doing. There was nothing left to salvage.”

Bruce gave a slow, assessing nod. “Understood. I’ll have Tim and Barbara analyze the security logs, see if we missed anything. You two—” His gaze lingered, sharp and unreadable. “—did well.”

You blinked. “That’s it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Should there be something else?”

Dick coughed behind you, clearly still holding back laughter. Damian shot him a warning glare before stepping forward. “No. That will be all, Father.”

Bruce seemed to consider pressing further, but after a beat, he just nodded. “Good. Get some rest. Dismissed.”

The moment you and Damian turned toward the locker area to change out of your suits, Dick finally let loose the laughter he’d been holding in.

“You two looked cozy back there,” he teased, arms crossed as he leaned against one of the Batcomputers.

You groaned, peeling off your gloves. “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

“Absolutely not.”

Damian scowled. “Grayson, your commentary is unnecessary.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that,” Dick grinned. “Especially with the way you had your hand on—”

“Enough.” Damian’s voice had an edge of finality, his ears suspiciously red as he turned away.

Dick just smirked. “Alright, alright. I’ll back off. For now.”

You sighed, shaking your head as you grabbed your duffel bag. “I’m going home.”

Damian turned slightly, hesitating for just a second before saying, “I’ll walk you to the Zeta Tubes.”

You blinked, a little surprised. But you didn’t question it. “…Sure.”

As the two of you made your way deeper into the cave, Damian was uncharacteristically quiet. Not tense, not angry—just… thoughtful.

You glanced at him. “You good?”

He exhaled through his nose. “I dislike inefficiency. We were reckless tonight.”

You frowned. “Dami, we handled it fine. No one got hurt.”

“That’s not the point,” he muttered, then hesitated before adding, quieter, “You were afraid.”

Your stomach did something weird.

“…Of the rat?” you tried to joke, but your voice came out softer than intended.

He didn’t smile. “You held onto me.”

You swallowed. “You didn’t let go.”

That made him pause.

The two of you stopped at the entrance to the Zeta Tubes, the hum of the teleportation system filling the air. He looked at you then—really looked at you, eyes unreadable, expression unreadable, but something flickered behind that perfect mask.

You shifted on your feet. “…Thanks, by the way. For, you know. The whole… chivalry thing.”

A beat of silence.

Then, with the faintest smirk, Damian tilted his head. “It was nothing.”

And before you could respond, he turned, walking away, disappearing into the shadows of the Batcave like he hadn’t just left your heart hammering in your chest.

A Few Days Later…

You hadn’t seen much of Damian since the storage closet incident. Not that you were actively avoiding him or anything—but you were also not not avoiding him.

Because every time you thought about that moment—his hand on your waist, his steady presence, the way he hadn’t pulled away—you felt weird. And not in a bad way. In a dangerous way. In a I-think-I-like-my-best-friend kind of way.

And that was a problem.

You sighed, slamming your locker shut at Gotham Academy, only to nearly collide with Damian himself.

You jumped. “Dude!”

“Tt. Overreacting as usual.”

You scowled. “You lurking as usual.”

He smirked, but there was something deliberate in his presence—something focused. His hands were in his pockets, and he looked at you with the kind of intensity that usually meant he was about to drop some life-altering information.

You crossed your arms. “Okay. Spit it out.”

“I require your presence this evening.”

You blinked. “Require?”

“Yes.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly am I required for?”

His expression didn’t waver. “Dinner.”

You narrowed your eyes, scanning his face for any hint of a joke. “Like… a mission briefing dinner or a ‘we’re both too exhausted to cook after patrol’ dinner?”

His jaw tensed, just slightly. Then, evenly, “A date.”

Your brain short-circuited.

“…A what now?”

“A date,” he repeated, just as matter-of-factly as before. “You and me. Dinner. As a couple.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, and for a second, all you could do was stare at him. He, of course, looked perfectly calm—like he hadn’t just casually shattered the entire foundation of your understanding of your relationship.

“I—” You cleared your throat. “I—uh—when did we—?”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he cut in, tilting his head. “Which means you’ve been thinking about it. Which means there’s something to consider. Which means I am correct in assuming there is mutual interest.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “That is a lot of assumptions, Wayne.”

“Am I wrong?”

Your stomach flipped.

You could lie. You could make this weird. You could pretend the idea hadn’t crossed your mind every second since that damn closet.

But… it had.

And he wasn’t wrong.

You inhaled deeply, narrowing your eyes. “Where?”

He smirked, victorious. “Seven o’clock. I will pick you up.”

Before you could respond, he turned on his heel, walking away like he hadn’t just completely upended your reality.

You stared after him, heart still hammering, mind still reeling.

And then, despite yourself, you smiled.

That Evening – Gotham’s East End Diner

You weren’t sure what you expected when Damian Wayne said date, but sitting across from him in a run-down Gotham diner—complete with squeaky booths, dim lighting, and a jukebox that only worked half the time—was definitely not it.

“You picked a diner,” you said, still processing.

Damian didn’t even blink. “Yes.”

“Like. A greasy diner. With milkshakes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

You leaned back in the booth, eyeing him skeptically. “You, Damian Wayne, son of Gotham’s most expensive man, heir to a literal empire, picked this place for our first date.”

“Tt.” He took a sip of water, entirely unbothered. “I assumed you would prefer something casual.”

You frowned, caught off guard. “…I mean. Yeah. But you—” You gestured vaguely at him, still in his usual crisp, well-fitted attire. “You don’t do casual.”

Damian exhaled, setting his glass down. “And yet, here we are.”

You blinked.

Huh.

He really had picked this place for you.

A warmth settled in your chest, and you found yourself smirking. “Alright, Wayne. You get points for effort.”

He smirked back. “As I should.”

A waitress in her mid-fifties appeared at your table, popping gum as she eyed you both. “What can I getcha, kids?”

You hummed, scanning the menu before grinning. “Cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake.”

She scribbled it down before turning to Damian. “And you?”

Damian barely looked at the menu. “The same. But vanilla.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Boring.”

He shot you a look. “Classic.”

The waitress chuckled, shaking her head. “Cute. I’ll be back with your food.”

As she walked away, you realized something.

This was… normal. No mission. No patrol. No masks. Just you and Damian sitting in a diner, ordering food like any other couple.

The thought made your stomach flip.

Damian seemed perfectly composed, but there was something softer in his posture—something almost relaxed.

You tapped your fingers on the table. “So, Wayne. What’s your game plan here?”

He tilted his head. “Clarify.”

You smirked. “You ask me out, you take me to a diner, we eat greasy food—what’s next? A moonlit stroll? A kiss under a streetlight?”

Damian’s lips twitched. “Would you like that?”

Your stomach did a whole thing.

You scoffed, pretending your face wasn’t heating up. “I’m just saying, this is shockingly good execution. Almost like you planned it.”

He sipped his water. “I always have a plan.”

You snorted. “Of course you do.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the hum of the diner filling the background. For once, there was no pressure, no expectations—just easy conversation and unspoken understanding.

And maybe—just maybe—you could get used to this.

Later That Night – Walking Through Gotham

The diner food had been greasy, the milkshakes had been perfect, and somehow, somehow, the night had turned into you and Damian walking side by side through Gotham’s quieter streets. The neon lights of corner stores flickered, casting a soft glow over the cracked pavement.

It wasn’t exactly romantic, but it was nice. Peaceful, even.

You snuck a glance at Damian, who walked with his usual calculated precision—hands in his pockets, gaze scanning the area like he was still on patrol.

“You’re tense,” you noted.

“I’m aware of my surroundings.”

You smirked. “So, tense.”

He exhaled through his nose, side-eyeing you. “I fail to see how observation equates to tension.”

“Observation is good.” You nudged his arm with your elbow. “But we’re off duty, Wayne. You can relax.”

He didn’t respond right away. Then, almost reluctantly, he sighed and rolled his shoulders, loosening his posture ever so slightly. “Happy?”

You grinned. “Very.”

The two of you walked in silence for a bit, the cold Gotham air nipping at your skin. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it did make you tuck your hands into the sleeves of your jacket.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Damian shift slightly—like he was thinking about something.

Then, suddenly, his hand brushed against yours.

You blinked, heartbeat stuttering.

Was that… on purpose?

You glanced at him, but his face remained unreadable. He didn’t pull away, though. Didn’t correct the contact. Just kept walking.

Testing the waters, you let your fingers graze his again.

This time, he did react—by intertwining his fingers with yours.

Your breath hitched.

You looked up at him, half-expecting some snarky comment, but there was none. Just a steady, quiet confidence as he held your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your stomach flipped.

“So,” you said, voice quieter than before. “You’re really committing to this whole… dating thing, huh?”

He glanced at you, smirking slightly. “Would I have asked if I weren’t serious?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “Guess not.”

The night air was cold, but Damian’s hand was warm—steady, sure.

And maybe that was all you needed.

—

When you finally reached your apartment building, you lingered outside, neither of you making a move to leave just yet.

You hesitated, then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him in a hug.

Damian stiffened for a fraction of a second—like he hadn’t expected it—but then, slowly, his arms came up to hold you in return.

He was warm. Solid. His heartbeat steady against your ear.

“…This is nice,” you admitted, voice muffled against his shoulder.

His hand rested against your back, his grip just tight enough to make you feel it. “It is.”

You smiled against his jacket, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

Yeah.

You could definitely get used to this.

Outside Your Apartment – Late Night in Gotham

Neither of you moved.

The city hummed around you—distant sirens, the occasional honk of a car horn, the low buzz of a flickering streetlamp—but none of it seemed to matter. All that mattered was the warmth of Damian’s arms around you, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his hand rested against your back like he belonged there.

You weren’t sure how long you stood like that, but eventually, Damian exhaled softly, tilting his head just slightly so his chin brushed against the top of yours.

“You should go inside,” he murmured.

You huffed. “You’re the one still holding on.”

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t let go, either.

Instead, he just said, “I will walk you in.”

You pulled back slightly to look at him, still holding onto his arms. “Damian, I live here. I think I can manage walking up a flight of stairs.”

His gaze flickered toward the building entrance, then back to you. “…I’ll feel better if I see you inside safely.”

Your stomach flipped.

You bit back a smile. “You’re really leaning into this ‘boyfriend’ thing, huh?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Should I not?”

You shook your head, amusement tugging at your lips. “No complaints here, Wayne.”

With that, you stepped out of his arms—immediately missing the warmth—before taking his hand and tugging him toward the entrance.

He followed without hesitation.

—

Inside Your Apartment – The Doorstep Dilemma

When you finally stopped at your door, the realization hit that you had officially reached the end of the date.

Which meant…

You swallowed, suddenly feeling weirdly self-conscious under Damian’s gaze. He stood close—hands back in his pockets, posture unreadable, but his eyes… soft.

“You’re staring,” you muttered.

His lips twitched. “I am looking.”

“Same thing.”

“It is not.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile creeping onto your face.

Then, silence. Not awkward, but charged.

There was an unspoken question hanging in the air—one you weren’t sure either of you were brave enough to answer.

Damian’s fingers twitched at his sides, like he was debating something.

Finally, he exhaled. “May I—”

Before he could finish whatever thought was forming, you made the executive decision to hug him again.

Because, honestly? That felt safer than dealing with whatever tension was currently buzzing between you.

He tensed slightly—probably surprised—but then, just like before, he melted into it, arms wrapping around you easily.

“…You do this often,” he murmured against your hair.

You smirked against his shoulder. “I like hugging you.”

Damian went quiet at that.

Then, softer than before, he admitted, “I do not mind it.”

Your heart did something stupid.

Slowly, you pulled back, lingering just long enough to meet his gaze. His face was close—too close. Close enough that if you just tilted your chin up—

A breath passed between you.

Your stomach flipped, your fingers twitched, and then—

“Goodnight, Damian,” you whispered, because if you stayed any longer, you might actually spontaneously combust.

His eyes flickered slightly, scanning your face, but he nodded. “…Goodnight, Beloved.”

And with that, you slipped inside, shutting the door before you did something reckless.

Like kiss him.

Later That Night – Sleepless Conversations

You had been lying in bed for a solid twenty minutes, staring at your ceiling, trying not to think about the fact that you had just been this close to kissing Damian Wayne.

But, of course, that was all you could think about.

The warmth of his hands, the way his voice had softened, the way his eyes had flickered down to your lips for half a second before you bailed—

You groaned, rolling onto your side, yanking the blanket over your head. What the hell was wrong with you?

Your phone buzzed on your nightstand.

You hesitated before reaching for it.

Dami: Are you awake?

Your stomach flipped.

You stared at the screen for a second before responding.

You: No, I’m sleep-texting.

There was a short pause before the typing bubble appeared.

Dami: That would be concerning.

You smirked, rolling onto your back as you texted back.

You: What’s up?

Dami: I have been thinking.

Your heart did a stupid little lurch.

You: Oh no.

Dami: Tt. Do not be dramatic.

You: Impossible. What are you thinking about?

Another pause. Longer this time.

Then—

Dami: The moment outside your apartment.

Your breath caught.

You stared at the text for way too long, rereading it at least five times before you finally worked up the nerve to respond.

You: Oh.

Great. Brilliant. Fantastic response.

The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared. Then reappeared. Like he was debating what to say next.

Finally—

Dami: You left rather abruptly.

You scoffed, sitting up.

You: What was I supposed to do? Stand there and stare at you all night?

Dami: I would not have minded.

Your brain short-circuited.

You: …Damian.

Dami: What?

You: Do you realize what you’re saying right now?

Dami: Yes.

You flopped back onto your pillows, gripping your phone like it was personally attacking you.

You: Are you saying you wanted to kiss me?

Your heart hammered as you hit send.

He didn’t respond right away.

The typing bubble appeared. Then disappeared. Then—

Dami: Would that be surprising?

You squeaked out loud.

You: YES???

Dami: Why?

You: Because you’re you.

Dami: And?

You groaned, shoving your face into your pillow for a second before responding.

You: And you’re all proper and composed and disciplined and intimidating.

Dami: Intimidating?

You: You know you are.

Dami: Tt. That does not answer my question.

You exhaled sharply, chewing your lip.

Okay. Fine. Screw it.

You: Because it’s YOU, Damian. My best friend. And if we kissed, it wouldn’t be just a kiss, would it?

The typing bubble appeared immediately.

Dami: No. It would not.

Your chest ached at how quickly he agreed.

Fingers trembling slightly, you typed—

You: And that doesn’t freak you out?

This time, he took longer to respond.

Then—

Dami: Not as much as it excites me.

Your breath hitched.

You stared at the screen, pulse pounding.

Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you typed—

You: …So if I hadn’t chickened out, would you have kissed me?

Your phone vibrated immediately.

Dami: Yes.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, muffling a noise that you refused to acknowledge.

Then—

Dami: And the next time I get the chance, I will.

You nearly died on the spot.

The Next Morning – Sick Day Shenanigans

You woke up feeling like absolute death.

Your throat felt like sandpaper, your head was pounding, and every inch of your body ached. It took way too much effort just to roll over and grab your phone from your nightstand.

Squinting at the screen, you groaned and typed out a message.

You: I think I’m dying.

A response came almost instantly.

Dami: Tt. Do not be ridiculous.

You: No, seriously. My body is shutting down. Tell Gotham I loved her.

Dami: You are being dramatic.

You: I literally can’t get out of bed. This is it. I’m done for.

A short pause.

Then—

Dami: I am coming over.

Your eyes widened.

You: Wait, what??

Dami: I will be there soon. Do not die before I arrive.

You groaned, flopping back onto your pillows. Of course he was coming over.

—

20 Minutes Later – The Cavalry Arrives

A firm knock rattled your door.

You barely managed to roll out of bed, wrapping yourself in a blanket like a pathetic sickly burrito as you stumbled to open it.

Sure enough, Damian stood on your doorstep, looking perfectly put together, not a single hair out of place. In one hand, he held a brown paper bag. In the other, a plastic bag filled with medicine.

“You look awful,” he said flatly.

You squinted at him. “Wow, thanks, boyfriend of the year.”

He smirked, stepping inside and nudging the door shut behind him. “You are welcome.”

You barely made it two steps toward the couch before you collapsed onto it with a dramatic groan. “I told you. I’m dying.”

Damian simply rolled up his sleeves.

“I will not allow it,” he said, marching into your kitchen.

You blinked after him. “…Are you cooking?”

“You need proper nutrients,” he called over his shoulder, already rummaging through your cabinets like he owned the place. “And hydration. And rest. Fortunately for you, I am well-versed in all three.”

You stared. “You know how to cook?”

He gave you an unimpressed look. “I was trained by the greatest assassins in the world. Do you honestly believe I am incapable of making soup?”

“…Fair point.”

Satisfied, Damian set to work.

You, meanwhile, remained face-planted on the couch, listening as he moved around with practiced ease. The rhythmic sounds of chopping, stirring, and the occasional clink of dishes were weirdly soothing.

You must have dozed off at some point, because the next thing you knew, Damian was crouching beside the couch, nudging your shoulder.

“Wake up, Beloved.”

You blinked blearily. “Mmm?”

“I have made soup.”

You cracked an eye open, catching the self-satisfied look on his face as he held up a bowl like some kind of prize.

Your heart melted a little.

“You’re proud of this, aren’t you?” you rasped.

He smirked. “Very.”

He helped you sit up—gently, like you might break—and placed the bowl in your hands.

You took a sip.

And holy crap.

It was… good.

Your eyes widened. “Damian—”

“I told you,” he said smugly.

You slurped down more, warmth spreading through your chest. “Okay, fine. You win. You are officially the best boyfriend ever.”

“As I should be.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue.

When you finished, Damian took the bowl, setting it aside before reaching for the medicine he’d brought. “You will take this.”

You made a face. “But—”

“No arguments.”

You groaned but obeyed, swallowing the bitter liquid with a shudder. “Gross.”

Damian smirked. “Good.”

Then, before you could react, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You froze.

The warmth of his lips lingered, and then he pulled back, his expression smug.

You stared at him. “Did you just—”

He kissed your temple. Then your cheek. Then another on your forehead for good measure.

Your brain short-circuited.

Damian sat back, completely unbothered, as if he hadn’t just left you flustered beyond belief. “Physical affection is known to boost recovery.”

You gawked. “You planned this.”

He smirked. “I always have a plan.”

You groaned, shoving your face into a pillow.

Yeah. You were definitely going to survive this illness.

But Damian Wayne?

He was going to be the death of you.

[kkai-zen]

18+ nsfw, MDNI.

Thinking about big, beefy Simon Riley who just towers over you, all 6’4” of pure muscle. 

He’s a living wet dream. Muscled thighs under blue jeans, broad, veiny hands and biceps for days—God, he’s perfect. You’re lost in a heady daze thinking about what he might look like under all that body armor when he notices you staring at him. 

And that’s how you ended up here. 

“Si-Simon, s’good—ohh, fuck-!” You’re sobbing on his dick, hot and girthy and stretching you out deliciously, leaving an imprint on your stomach.

“Yeah?” Simon tilts your lolling head up to look at him, drool dripping from the corners of your lips. “Needed this, didn’tcha?” His voice is deep and husky in your ear, grunting as he drills you into the wall. 

His cock, pistoning in and out of your weeping cunt at a vicious pace has your vision spinning, and when he pulls the bottom of his mask up to devour your lips, you moan.

When he pulls away, you’re heaving for breath, your sweat staining his clothes. Simon wipes a bead of drool from your lips. “Bloody beautiful,” he breathes. “Need t' show ya just how pretty you are.”

With a deep thrust, he pauses for a moment, letting his length throb and twitch in your dripping heat. You whine as he presses his palm into your stomach, feeling the bulge of his cock. 

You buck against him, desperate for friction, moaning his name with abandon. “Simon please, please, keep moving,” you cry. “Simon!” 

He tilts his head down at you, stripping his clothes off, and your breath hitches when you look up at him—and then down at his now-bare body. 

Hulking muscles shining with sweat and twitching with exertion, you bite down on your lip to hold back a whine. He’s hotter than you could’ve ever imagined.

Broad shoulders, massive pecs, cut abs leading to the dangerous v-line that directs your gaze down to his cock still buried inside you—you have to close your eyes for a moment to stop yourself from creaming on his veiny girth on the spot.

His body is a constellation of scars: bullet wounds, slash wounds, burn wounds. But now, red scratches and bite marks litter his back and shoulders, and he starts thrusting again.

“Good fuckin’ girl, takin’ me so well,” he growls, one hand tightening its grip on your waist, the other coming up to cage you against the wall.

Pressing into you, you can feel his hot breath against your neck through his mask, sending chills up your arms. His musky scent is intoxicating, and you reel at the proximity of his lean, bulging biceps next to your face.

Burying your face into his muscular chest, you’re clamping down on his cock with desperation as you feel your orgasm approaching. “Hnngh- Simon, I’m- close-” you gasp out, nails digging into the taut muscle of his shoulders, cunt fluttering. 

“C’mon, pretty, cum f’me.” he groans, and you see his dark eyes squeeze shut under his mask. You squeal, whimpering his name like a prayer as you feel him finish inside you, clawing at his back as his seed paints your throbbing cunt white. 

You’re dripping slick and cum onto his twitching cock as he pulls out of you, and you collapse onto his broad chest. Sweat sticking your two naked bodies together, you bask in the afterglow of the moment as your pounding heart settles into a steady rhythm, matching his. 

“You alright, love?” Simon whispers after a long moment, placing a large hand on your lower back. “Mhm,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut. “Jus’ tired.” 

The weight of his heavy body disappears from yours for a moment as he slips his clothes back on, readjusting his mask. “Simon,” you murmur, hand reaching out to tug at the hem of his shirt. “Patience, love,” he responds gruffly.

Without another wasted moment, he pulls you into his arms with a gentle ease, throwing his jacket over you. The cloth is surprisingly warm, dwarfing your figure, and you curl into his chest. “Don’t fall asleep on me yet,” he murmurs. 

After a few minutes of walking, you faintly hear the squeak of a door open and close before he settles you into soft, clean sheets. It’s only a brief second longer before you feel the mattress dip next to you.

Simon’s warmth radiates off his skin, and you pull yourself into him. He’s stiff, breath catching as he looks down at you with unreadable eyes, and awkwardly embraces your body. “Needy, aren’tcha?” Simon grumbles.

But with the way he begins to relax under your touch, it doesn’t seem like he minds. 

a/n: i'm so obsessed with this man (𖦹﹏𖦹;)

[mommyslittlebird]

You Look So Good (On Your Knees)

Voyeur!Mommy!Wanda x Daddy!Natasha x Reader

What was supposed to be just a weekly movie night quickly turns into something else when you catch a glimpse of something you weren’t supposed to see.

CW: Voyeurism, threesome, strap-on, flogging, orgasm denial (? A tiny bit?), caught in the act (once again a tiny bit), punishment, dacryphilia, degradation, hair pulling, choking (not really), reader calls WandaNat mommy/daddy

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: This is for @wandamaximoffsbadgirl. Thank you for all your help! I hope this was worth clawing your way under the door. Writing this (particularly the very end) has put me in a total WandaNat x Reader tailspin so expect some fluffy domestic stuff in the coming weeks.

A/N: I kinda sorta definitely double dipped for this fic, and it’s a spin of a different fic I did for a different fandom. But new fandom new crowd, and I figure almost none of you have read my non-marvel work. So the self-plagiarism is strong, but will probably go unnoticed anyway.

“Wanda? Natasha?” You called into the seemingly empty house.

It was Thursday night, your designated movie night with the couple: your long term friends and fuck buddies. They’d given you a key months ago. So, when you knocked and no one answered you just let yourself in.

You set down your bag in the living room, looking for them around the house. Their cars were both in the driveway. They had to be home. After investigating the first floor, you went upstairs. Maybe they were already in the bedroom waiting for you. That is where you always had your movie nights, after all.

You cracked the door open to find them both on the bed, Natasha underneath Wanda in an intense kiss. Natasha was grinding up against Wanda’s thigh, whining and breathless. You could tell by the way her hips were starting to falter, she was close. They must’ve been at this for a while. You didn’t want to interrupt.

You took a step back, trying to quietly shut the door. Maybe you could just wait downstairs until they finished. But before you could click the door fully shut, you heard Wanda’s commanding voice. “Not so fast, little girl.”

You sighed. You’d been caught. You opened the door back up, revealing Wanda pulling herself away from her wife. She looked at you with a cold glare, curling her fingers, instructing you to come to her.

She had you stand between her legs at the foot of the bed. “Did you not think to knock when coming into mommy and daddy’s room?”

“I-I knocked outside! I couldn’t find you! I was just looking for-“ you desperately tried to explain.

Wanda cut you off with a smirk. “Well, you found us.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Oh but honey, you did interrupt,” Wanda explained condescendingly. “You interrupted and now daddy doesn’t get to cum.”

“W-what? No but she was so close! Please let her cum mommy,” you pleaded on Natasha’s behalf. You genuinely felt terrible. You knew what that kind of denial felt like and you would never wish it on anyone, especially not your daddy.

Natasha smiled when you jumped to her defense, joining you and Wanda at the end of the bed. She beckoned you over to her, quickly pulling you to sit on her lap. She wrapped her arms around your waist, whispering into your ear. “It’s okay, baby. You're gonna make daddy cum so good later, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, shivering against her. God, you had hoped movie night would start like this.

“But for right now,” Wanda started. “We’ve got to teach somebody a lesson about knocking, don’t we? It’s your fault daddy didn’t get to cum, so daddy should be allowed to punish you, shouldn’t she?”

You looked to Natasha, who just raised her eyebrows expectantly, and then you nodded. “Yes mommy.”

“That’s our good girl,” Wanda purred, running her hand down the side of your face and lightly pinching your cheek. “Now, daddy’s gonna get you all set up on the bench while mommy goes to get some toys, okay?”

They both stood almost synchronously. Wanda briefly disappeared into the next room while Natasha hoisted you up in her arms, laying you face down on the leather bench next to the bed. She propped the back part up so it turned into more of a seat.

Wanda came from the closet with a long black leather flogger, her implement of choice for this particular scene. She handed it to Natasha, who smiled and gave her a kiss. Wanda sat down next to you, propped up over a seat you were now straddling.

She wiped the hair from your face. “Ready?”

You nodded into the soft, plush leather of the seat. You could already feel yourself easily slipping into that fuzzy space, where all the thoughts, worries, and responsibilities became irrelevant.

Wanda smiled, noticing the way your eyes glazed over. “I need to hear you say it, angel.”

“Yes, mommy,” you said as clearly as you could muster.

Wanda ran the back of her hand down your cheek. You shivered. She was the only lesbian you’d ever meet who always wore acrylics. The sharp point of her stiletto nails on your face sent tingles down your spine. You closed your eyes, losing yourself to the sensation.

You felt the leather tassels of the flogger brush lightly against your back. You whimpered, squirming in your seat.

“You don’t have to count, honey,” Wanda soothed. “Just let go. Mommy and daddy are gonna take care of you. You don’t have to think about anything at all.”

With that you felt the first sharp sting of leather snap against your back. You let out a noise between a whimper and moan. Natasha started slow, each hit a distinct sensation on your back, but as she started to pick up the pace, the strikes became less distinct.

In less than five minutes, she’d made a mess of you. You whined and squirmed against the leather seat.

“Aww sweetheart,” Wanda cooed. “Do you need mommy to hold you still while daddy whips you?” Before you could answer, the blows stopped. 

“Nooo…” you whined. “Daddy keep going. Please I promise I’ll sit still. Please don’t stop.”

Despite your protest, you felt two strong hands pick you from your seat. “I’m not done, princess,” you heard Natasha’s soft voice say. “But you’ve gotta stop squirming or I’m accidentally going to hit you in the kidneys.”

You were lowered into Wanda’s lap, where your legs were forced wider apart in order to straddle her. It made it significantly harder to move. She locked her hand around your thigh to keep you in place. Her other hand gently massaged your hair. “That’s it honey. Mommy will make sure you stay nice and still.”

Her long nails against your scalp were almost enough to make the thoughts fly from your head. “But… But you’ll get hit.”

Wanda chuckled and kissed your temple. “Daddy has excellent aim, sweetheart. I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about anything at all.”

The leather cracked against your back again. It hurt more now that your back was already raw. If not for Wanda’s hand pinning you in place, you might’ve jumped off her lap entirely. You whined wrapping your arms around Wanda.

She cradled your head over her shoulder, gently shushing your cries as she watched Natasha bring the leather down against your back over and over again.

“Mommy…” you whined into her ear. You were trying to ride her thighs like you had ridden the leather seat, but the awkward position prevented you from getting any friction whatsoever. It wasn’t even until Wanda felt drops of warmth on her thighs that she realized why you were whining.

“Aww,” she hummed, “you’re making a bit of a mess on mommy’s lap, baby.”

“I’m sorry, mommy,” you mumbled into her shoulder. “I just… it feels so good.”

“All this just from a flogging, sweetheart?” She teased. She would’ve loved to tease you further, but she was genuinely afraid you’d accidentally hurt yourself if she stopped holding you in place, much less if she had her hand between your legs.

You blushed, burying your face into her neck. “Mommy…” you whined when the leather stung your back once again. “Mommy please…”

Wanda’s heart melted at your words. The combination of your pathetic voice begging her for relief and your frail body in her arms made her want to ruin you in a different way. You were just so vulnerable. It would be such a waste to not take advantage of you in this state. “Alright,” She cooed. “I think she’s learned her lesson, hasn’t she Tasha?”

Natasha chuckled, but she stopped her flogging. “Do you think she’s learned her lesson, or have you just gone soft for a ‘mommy please’?”

Wanda wrapped her arm around your back, long nails still masterfully massaging your scalp. She rocked you back and forth in her lap. “Oh come on Tasha, look at her: getting all pathetic and leaky in her mommy’s lap. Doesn’t it just make you wanna…”

“Throw her on the bed and fuck her into the mattress until the only things in her little head are mommy and daddy?” Natasha finished.

“Exactly,” Wanda smiled mischievously. It was such a marvelous thing that she married someone who was always on the same wavelength as she was.

You were promptly picked up out of Wanda’s lap from behind. You whined, reaching out for Wanda.

“Now now,” Natasha chided. “None of that. Mommy’s not going anywhere. She’s gonna be here with you the whole time.”

She guided you to kneel on the bed, nudging your legs apart. Almost instinctively, your hands were crossed at the wrist behind your back.

Wanda hadn’t exactly planned on binding your wrist, but when you sat so perfectly, so expectantly, she could hardly resist.

“Natasha, would you like to bind this little darling's hands for us?” She instructed.

Natasha smiled, eagerly grabbing a length of pink ribbon and getting to work on tying your wrists together. She so loved tying you up. While a simple figure 8 around the wrists would’ve done the trick, she decided instead on a more complex design that would bind you up to the elbow. She knew she had time. Wanda would require a thorough inspection before she’d let Nat fuck you.

Wanda ran a singular finger through your slit. Her cold rings and sharp nail bumped over your clit as she dragged her hand upward. The sensation caused you to jump and whimper. Wanda just chuckled, bringing her finger lightly up your body until it was at your lips. You took her finger obediently between your lips.

“Do you think your ready for daddy to fuck you, baby?” she asked. “Does this needy pussy want daddy’s cock?”

You nodded, trying not to wince as her rings made their way onto your tongue, filling your mouth with a metallic taste.

“Which of daddy’s toys do you want, huh?” She asked, intentionally pushing down on your tongue so you couldn’t talk. “I’ll think I’ll have daddy use the purple strap. The one with the- what did you call them- the ‘mean ridges’? The ones that scrap against your special spot?”

You whined around her finger, giving her the most endearing puppy dog eyes you could possibly muster.

“Oh sweetheart,” she cooed, “do you not like that one? Maybe you’d prefer it if daddy tied you to the chair and you watched her fuck mommy instead, hmm? Maybe you’d just prefer not to have any orgasms at all?”

You shook your head frantically. You wanted to protest, to promise you’d be good and take that dreaded purple strap, but you couldn’t speak.

She chuckled. “That’s what I thought, baby. You’re gonna be a good girl for mommy and daddy, aren’t you?”

You nodded. She pulled her finger from your mouth and tilted your head up to kiss you gently.

“That’s our sweet girl,” she praised. “Aw it looks like daddy’s finished tying you up all pretty. Can you say thank you to daddy?”

You craned your neck to the side, trying to see her behind you. “Thank you, daddy, for tying me up all pretty.”

Natasha laughed, pulling you back towards her by the ribbon. She kissed you and smiled. “You’re welcome, baby. Can you show mommy your pretty ribbon?”

You attempted to turn around to show Wanda the way your hands and arms were intricately bound behind your back, but Natasha pushed you forward into the mattress. You yelped, surprised by the sudden move.

“A present, wrapped special for you, my love,” Natasha said to Wanda, leaning over you to kiss her wife.

“You always know just what to get me,” Wanda breathed against her lips. “Now go get ready, love. I wanna watch you make our sweet little girl cry.”

Natasha climbed off the bed behind you, disappearing into the next room.

Wanda’s nails were against your sore back, rubbing soothing as you lay in wait. You attempted to sit up, but Wanda clicked her tongue. “No, baby,” she chided. “Stay just like this.”

You felt the bed dip as Natasha climbed back on behind you. Her calloused hands lifted your hips so you were kneeling tall. The angle forced your face even further into the mattress. You couldn’t put your hands out to hold yourself up with them tied up behind your back.

Natasha ran the tip of the strap up and down your slit, pulling a muffled moan from your lips. She lined the toy up with your entrance, gently easing it inside. She threw her head back and moaned as she felt each of the ‘mean ridges’ push into you, then she pushed your hips forward and pulled them back, silently commanding you to fuck yourself as you adjusted to her girth.

The toy was, admittedly, slightly too big for you to manage without any discomfort. The ridges cruelly raked against your inner walls, causing you to wince with each movement. But with time, you were able to adjust to feel only a slight, delicious stretch.

After you’d grown to a moderate pace, Natasha took over, grabbing your thighs and pulling them back to meet her own. You let your body go limp, allowing Natasha to control your movements completely. You were putty in her hands.

“Fuck, Wands you should see her from here,” Natasha groaned, looking down and watching the large toy disappear inside of you over and over again. “Fuck it’s like she swallowing me whole. Needy little cunt. Can’t get enough of daddy’s cock can you?”

You tried to bury your face into the sheets to muffle the noises she tore from you, but you were unsuccessful. Without your hands or your arms, your range of motion was severely limited.

Wanda’s eyes went wide and her face cracked into a smile when she heard the first hiccup of a cry. She leaned forward. “Tasha, hold her up. I want to see her face.”

Natasha reached down and grabbed your hair, pulling your head up so you were face to face with Wanda. She could see the build up of tears in the corners of your eyes and the way your bottom lip quivered, threatening to give way to a sob.

“Aww, sweet girl,” she cooed. “Are you going to cry for mommy? It’s okay angel, you can cry. Daddy’s not gonna stop fucking you even if you are going to be a sobbing little mess.”

Natasha fucked you harder, nearly pulling all the way out before she slammed back into you again. She kept your head up, forcing you to look at Wanda even as your eyes rolled back and your vision went blurry with tears. Natasha wrapped her hand around your throat, grabbing you just under your chin. She braced her forearm against your chest, pinning you upright against her.

The position only accentuated the effect of the ridges, causing them to bump more aggressively against the spongy spot inside of you. “Aww look at how pathetic you look, crying your little eyes out while daddy fills you with her cock.” Wanda teased.

You felt Natasha’s breath hot against your ear. “Tell mommy how pathetic you are.”

You offered little more than a whine in response. Your bottom lip continued to tremble as tears rolled down your cheeks.

“Aww, sweet girl, there’s no need to be embarrassed,” Wanda assured. “It’s just me and daddy.”

You weren’t truly embarrassed, if you were being honest. You honestly felt like a masterpiece: a carefully constructed vision that Wanda and Natasha had crafted you into. But you played coy nonetheless. You had more fun when Wanda told you how pathetic you looked anyway.

“Poor thing,” Wanda taunted, “never learned how to take a proper fucking without crying.” Her eyes never left yours. Everything about watching her wife handle your helpless body drove her wild.

“I’m sorry mommy… I can’t help it… daddy’s cock feels so good inside of me,” you panted.

Natasha felt a burst of heat in her own core. Between yours and Wanda’s words she could feel herself creeping towards the edge. She just needed a bit of a different angle. She released her hold on you, causing you to fall helplessly back into the mattress. Wanda gently turned your head, preventing you from muffling yourself in the sheets.

You cursed. The combination of Wanda’s gentle hands and the new angle that hit all your most sensitive spots had you so close to an orgasm. All it would take was just a little more pressure on your clit. Unfortunately, with your hands bound behind your back, you were completely at their mercy.

“Please…” you begged mindlessly. “Please don’t stop. Fuck daddy. Please never stop.” You felt so certain that if Natasha pulled out of you right now, you’d simply die on the spot.

“You want to cum on daddy’s cock so badly don’t you?” Wanda teased. “But you can’t touch yourself. Poor baby.”

Natasha changed her pace. She could feel her own orgasm building as she felt the pull of the toy’s ridges pumping in and out of you. “Beg for mommy to let you cum, baby. I wanna hear you begging like the little slut you are.”

“Fuck!” you sobbed. The words poured out of your mouth nearly as fast as the tears poured from your eyes. “Please I’m all yours. I’m mommy and daddy’s little slut. Please, you can use me whenever you want. I’m just a little toy for mommy and daddy. Please I just need daddy’s cock inside me forever. Mommy please let me cum.”

“That’s a good girl,” Wanda praised, “begging mommy and daddy to use you like a little toy. That’s all you are right? A toy for mommy and daddy’s pleasure?”

“Yes!” you chanted. “Yes! I’m mommy and daddy’s toy. Please let me cum. Please mommy.”

“I wanna see you cum on daddy’s cock. Can you be a good girl and cum on daddy’s cock for mommy?” She asked.

Natasha curled her arm around your waist, pinching your clit and milking it between her fingers. Your eyes rolled back and your mouth opened in a silent scream as you fell apart.

Natasha continued to fuck you as you came, clenching around the strap. The pulsing put the perfect amount of pressure on her own clit, sending her into an orgasm not long after you.

She steadied herself on your hips, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to regain her composure. She pulled the ribbon, and Wanda watched in fascination as the entire thing unraveled itself. They both chuckled as your arms bonelessly flopped down beside you.

Natasha hooked her arm around your waist to prevent you from simply collapsing when she pulled out. She laid you gently on your side before climbing off the bed. She disappeared into the bathroom, leaving you with Wanda.

You whined as the toy left, suddenly feeling terribly empty. Wanda sat down on the bed next to you, chuckling again as she bent over to kiss your temple. “I know, love. It’s just devastating that daddy can’t stay inside you forever, isn’t it?”

You nodded, whining again as you felt her wipe away the remnants of your orgasm.

“You did so well for us, love,” she praised, adjusting your position on the bed so you rested against the pillows. She pulled up some blankets, smiling as you wiggled in blissful content. “Comfy, honey?”

You nodded, reaching your arms out for her.

She crawled into bed next to you, wrapping her arms around you. She kissed your forehead, earning herself a dopey, blissed out smile from you. She kissed your cheek, licking up what was left of a few salty tears. She moaned at the taste.

Natasha came out of the bathroom, freshened up in nothing but a pair or boxers. She joined you and Wanda in bed, crawling in next to you. She kissed the top of your head. “Are you girls ready for movie night?”

You nodded. “I already promised mommy she gets my movie night cuddles this time, though.”

“What the hell?” Natasha said jokingly, pulling you forcibly into her lap and berating you with kisses. “Daddy fucks you so hard you can’t think straight and mommy still get the movie night cuddles?”

You giggled, squirming out of her kiss attack. “You always fall asleep anyway!”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Because I just fucked you so hard you couldn’t think straight. You wear me out, little girl.”

“Fine, daddy cuddles until you fall asleep, and then mommy cuddles,” you compromise.

“That sounds perfect, princess,” Natasha smiled, kissing you briefly.

You looked to Wanda for her approval. She smiled. “Fine. You can cuddle with daddy for the 20 minutes she’s awake, and then you’re all mine for the rest of the night.”

You wrapped your arms around both of them, pulling them into a tight hug. “Deal.”