#i thought i responded to this one like a full week ago

[bunnis-monsters]

Hybrid Shelter

Ch1

prologue

chapter 2

warning: milking the cow/bull hybrids, handjob, thigh fucking

summary: after becoming a full time worker at the hybrid shelter, you realize it’s not going to be as easy as you thought.

🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃

Working at the Hybrid Shelter full time was as hard as you thought it would be.

The younger hybrids started fixating on you lately. When you had only been working part time shifts, you only saw them in passing.

Now, every day you walked in, ready to wake them up and get them all fed.

“Mama!”

A puppy hybrid greeted you with a yip, their puppy teeth gnawing in your pants leg as you prepared a few bottles. “Mama, play?”

You gently pulled the puppy hybrid off of your leg, keeping him balanced on your hip. “Not right now, pup. You all have to have your bottle first.”

A few kitten hybrids toddled and crawled around nearby, while an infant mouse hybrid wailed from his crib.

The nursery was a fairly new addition to the hybrid shelter. In the past, only adults had been allowed to stay, meaning occasionally some men with children would be denied shelter.

Now they were both accepted. A few of the babies here belonged to men in the shelter, while others had no parents.

As you fed the infant mouse hybrid, a puppy hybrid knocked on the door. “Is my brother awake?”

Alex was 19, and had been separated from his parents a few years back. His brother was 3 years old, and stayed in the nursery while Alex tried to find work and a stable home for the both of them.

“Yeah, he’s right here.”

The puppy hybrid that had been gnawing on your pants before, Ollie, toddled to his big brother and decided to chew on him instead. “Hey, I told you not to do that…”

Though the older pup scolded the little one, there was no bite behind his words. He picked Ollie up and licked his head, giving him a quick bath. “You will be good for her today, alright? I’m mopping the halls today, so I’ll be close by if you need me.”

You buried the infant in your arms before giving him a diaper change and tucking him back into bed. Privacy was something a luxury when you lived in a shelter, so you tried to give the two some space.

“Okay, bubba. I won’t pee on the floor!”

A nurse took over the nursery once the shelter opened, and you left to begin your other daily chores.

“(NAME)!”

You were nearly tackled by the cat hybrid you had tamed a few weeks ago. “Hey, Midnight. How’s everything going?”

He purred and butted his head against your cheek affectionately, immediately beginning to groom and preen you. “It’s always scary when you’re not here. I don’t like the doctors or the other hybrids.”

That seemed to be relatively common with the abused hybrids. They didn’t like the situation they’d been forced into, having no home left to return to and being abandoned by abusers they still loved.

“You should try getting along with the others, okay? You know next week we’re introducing you to the group, your quarantine is almost over.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, too busy rubbing his scent on you. “Don’t wanna… can’t I just come home with you?”

As much as you wished he could, all employees were forbidden from adopting any hybrids from the shelter. If they wanted to, they’d have to quit.

“You know I can’t… at least not right now.”

You didn’t want to give him hope, but you also knew that the possibility that he could come home with you eventually was the only thing keeping him going.

After he ate his breakfast and you spent some time cleaning his space and making sure he had enough enrichment for the day, you left to continue your chores.

Your first stop was the domesticated hybrid building.

The more common type of hybrid to be abandoned were the domestic ones. Puppies, cats, bunnies, birds, goldfish, and hamsters.

“Have you guys had breakfast?”

Several heads turned to look at you once the door opened. “(Name)’s here!”

The hybrids gathered around you, all sniffing and licking your body and hair. You had grown used to this, and simply waited until they were satisfied before speaking. “I’m assuming you have, considering you all smell like bacon and eggs.”

“Mhm, it was good! Alex said you would be here soon!” one of the puppy hybrids said, his tail wagging furiously.

A goldfish hybrid swam in the pool area, poking his head out of the water. “(Name), you said you’d swim with me this week.”

“I will, Goldy, but it’s gonna be after I finish up with the wild building.”

The cat hybrids rubbed against you as a bunny hybrid relaxed in your lap. “The wild building? I can’t believe you’re still meeting with them every day.”

A week ago, you were tasked with helping to domesticate the wild animals in the shelter. That was no easy task, considering it consisted of big cats, wolves, and other dangerous hybrids that saw humans as a source of food.

“It’s not all that bad, I have a few allies there that keep me safe.”

The bunny hybrid, Momo, huffed and nibbled on your finger. “Wild hybrids will always be wild at the end of the day. Don’t be fooled, they’re only being nice to you so they can get what they want.”

“What do they want..?”

None of the hybrids seemed like they wanted to answer that particular question.

“Well… you all will be getting a new roommate this week. He’s had a tough time, so I hope you’ll remember that when I introduce you to him.”

They all glanced at one another. “We’ve all had a hard time, (Name). As long as he doesn’t attack us, we won’t do anything.”

If only you could promise such a thing. With Midnight, you weren’t so sure.

As you did some minor cleaning up around the building, you were approached by a hamster hybrid.

“Quinn? Something wrong?”

He looked down at his feet, his hands twisting and pulling at the hem of his shirt. “… it’s just…”

The man sighed, puffing out his chubby cheeks. “Isn’t it strange? Lately, you’ve been the only one visiting us every day.”

You blinked, pausing your work. “The only one..?”

“Mhm. Before, multiple female workers would come to check on us. Of course none of them were as personable as you. They came in, asked how we were doing and cleaned up, then left.”

That was rather confusing. You always remembered the entire place brimming with female employees. Though lately, it was rare to spot more than a handful in each building.

“I’m sure we must be short staffed at the moment. Are you looking for any employees in particular?”

He shook his head, looking up at you. “No, we don’t even know the names of the others.”

Quinn left after that, and you pushed that information aside for now. You’d ask your boss about it later, your work came first.

Though as you comforted a small parrot hybrid after a nightmare, you wondered if they had been receiving the same care from the other employees. You knew that there was only so much one person could do, and that everyone’s role to play was different…

But did they even ca-

You shook your head, carefully wiping away the hybrid’s tears before settling him down for a nap. You shouldn’t think about the shelter that way. When you started working there, you saw firsthand how draining it was to work with so many different hybrids.

Perhaps they were all taking a break, and a new rotation of employees would be coming in to fill in for them…

Once the parrot hybrid was asleep, you tiptoed out. The poor thing was nearly your age, but he still needed to be soothed to sleep. His beautiful feathers had been plucked out of stress, leaving bald patches that were covered up by a fluffy sweater.

You had a lot of things to do every day. Your job was to comfort, feed, play with, and socialize the hybrids and get them to the point they could either be adopted, get a job, or be reintroduced to the wild.

It was strange, though. Despite the fact the shelter encouraged each member to strive towards some sort of goal, none of the hybrids there had managed to achieve anything.

They stayed there, stagnant and bored out of their minds.

Perhaps they just needed a little push. That’s what your boss told you he needed you for. Most of the hybrid seemed to enjoy your presence and wanted to impress you!

As you moved towards the farm building, you wrote some notes next to each hybrid’s name.

“(Name), how’s it going?”

You jumped when you were embraced from behind, your cheeks turning red. “C-Cecil, you shouldn’t be outside of your building!”

The white tiger hybrid chuckled, purring as his large, rough tongue licked your hair. He always ended up giving you such a huge cowlick!

“Mmm, I just returned from the infirmary, actually.”

You immediately softened. Cecil had a number of health problems, stemming from the bad breeding conditions that white tiger hybrids were born from.

Although he looked like a beautiful white tiger hybrid with striking grey eyes, his vision was impaired and he suffered chronic aches and joint pain.

Cecil couldn’t live with the other wild hybrids due to his immune system deficiencies, so he stayed with hybrids like him with similar health problems.

“What did they say..?”

A purr left his throat. He knew bringing up his worsening health always meant a little extra time with you. “They think that the organ transplant is working well, and that I’ll be able to eat solid food again soon.”

“That’s great news!”

His cheeks warmed when you patted his head and gave his ears a scratch. “Go rest, okay? I’ll come check on you when I visit the sickbay.”

Cecil watched you go, clutching his chest. He hoped he’d live long enough to someday make you his.

Your next stop was the farm. Outside a few sheep and pig hybrids trotted about, gracing or lying atound in the sun. When they noticed you, they gathered at the fence.

“(Name), right now might not be the best time to… uh… go in there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

The group glanced at one another, and you joined them in the grass. A young lamb curled up in your lap, suckling on one of your fingers as he napped.

In hushed whispers, the sheep across from you began to speak. “Well, no one has been by the farm to milk the bull and cow hybrids. They’re… uh… a bit testy right now.”

You heard a few off handed comments and complaints from your coworkers that had to take care of the cow and bull hybrids, but you never had any problems with them!

“It’s my job to ensure every hybrid here is comfortable, safe, and healthy. If no one else is here to milk them, I’m sure I can handle it.”

Though the other hybrids looked nervous, they didn’t stop you.

Your phone struggled to load the protocol for milking the cow and bull hybrids as you walked in. The sound of frustrated and pained groans could be heard from the back.

“Hello?”

The sounds stopped, an eerie silence falling over the barn. The sudden creaking of the back door slowly opening made you jump.

Before you could call out again, you were pulled into the back.

“(Name)… please… you have to help us!”

You felt arms wrapping around your body… and several long, wet things rubbing against you…

“Beau?”

Beau, one of the new cow hybrids that arrived last month mooed nervously. His eyes were full of tears, and his tongue gave your cheek a lick.

“No one has been by to milk us… it’s been two days, the bulls are angry and pent up, and…”

As he sniffled, you reached out to pet his head. “Hey, it’s okay. I came to take care of that for you. I used to milk cows with my grandpa, he had a farm.”

Beau blushed, his tail swaying. “W-well… with male cow and bull hybrids… it’s uhm… a little different.”

He slowly pulled back, and you finally got to see what was rubbing against you.

His fat cock was poking out, his balls heavy and swollen from the days he hadn’t been milked. It was all coming together now…

It took you a moment to gather your thoughts. You were a professional, and these hybrids were in obvious pain! You needed to take care of them, no matter now embarrassing it may be!

The arousal growing between your legs was the wordy part. It was making you horny, seeing so many cow hybrids desperate for your touch.

“They usually have a machine for us to g-get off with…” Beau murmured, twiddling his thumbs. “Sometimes we can even use it ourselves if we think we need to… but it’s gone.”

Being understaffed was one thing, but the disappearance of machinery that bettered the hybrids’ lives was… concerning. Where had it gone?

You sighed softly, the information finally loading on your phone ten minutes too late. A bucket was placed on the ground, and you slowly reached out to grab hold of Beau’s cock.

His hips bucked as you stroked his shaft carefully, aiming the tip towards the bucket. A whine left his throat, and with a few strokes he came.

The semen smelled like milk, but had a thicker and creamier texture. Your eyes were focused on the tip of his cock, how it oozed and twitched with every touch.

God, you just wanted to take it into your mouth and-

“Ahh, that’s so much better…” Beau said, interrupting your dirty thoughts. You blinked and your cheeks heated up as you let go of his softening cock.

“I’m… glad I could help.”

After milking every cow hybrid, you moved to the bull hybrids’ quarters. There were only three of them, since taking any more on may result in territorial behavior.

The moment you walked in, your skirt was lifted up and a cock was slipped between your thighs.

“Heard our (Name) was coming to milk us ourselves…” Brody cooed, already beginning to fuck your thighs.

“We’re way too big to jerk off, missy. We’ll be using these.”

The three took turns fucking your thighs, their thick cocks occasionally brushing against your wet panties. This wasn’t the correct protocol, what if someone saw? Would you be fired!?

Did you even care when you were hoping they’d pull your panties to the side and fill you with their milk instead of that bucket?

The bulls weren’t easy on you, leaving your thighs a sticky mess before it was all said and done with. You were almost disappointed they didn’t just go ahead and fuck you…

You left the barn, face burning with shame and arousal as you ran towards the staff building.

After a shower, you’d have to continue on with your duties…

If only you knew how your day would progress from there… you may have just gone home.

———————

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[chosolar]

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈ wanna be yours!

gojo satoru x shy!femreader

THIS IS A REPOST

part 1

mdni please! there are sexual themes.

flirty!satoru did his best to respect your wishes but he was losing his mind. with each day passing where he didn't hear from you, his overthinking got worse. what happened for you to distance yourself from him seemingly out of nowhere?

flirty!satoru refused to go out of his penthouse unless it was severely urgent. he would get his groceries delivered or ask either suguru or shoko to buy it for it. The two tried their best to get him to at least walk around his complex but satoru would drag his body weight, making it difficult to even get him up. it got to a point where shoko threatened him that she was going to tell you how disgusting he was being. (as mean as it was, it sure got the job done)

flirty!satoru had his phone basically glued to his hand. constantly refreshing his feeds and checking everyone's stories to see if you would be there in the background. it was his only solace, seeing you happy even if he did feel like he was there was a boulder on his chest that made him feel suffocated.

flirty!satoru who sat up instantly the millisecond he got your text. it didn't matter that it was 2 in the morning, he was responding to your message ASAP.

hey satoru I hope you're doing well. is it alright if I call you? 2:33 am

he replied with a quick "yes of course", and he didn't care if he sounded desperate, because well, he was. he's been waiting for you to reach out ever since he got that text a few weeks ago.

his heart feels like it's going to burst out of his chest, each heartbeat thumps harder than the previous. he watches as his phone lights up with your contact photo and name, the ringtone blasting. within the second ring, he picks up, greeting you with a shaky voice.

"hi satoru," he hears your nervousness through the phone. your voice is nasally and he can make out the soft sniffling, but he stays quiet. "how have you been?"

satoru contemplated on what to say. should he be honest, or should he lie and say that he was doing well without you?

"better now that I can hear your voice." his heart rate sped up as he hears you soft laugh, "how about you?"

you sigh before you answer. "I'm in a dilemma to be honest."

"wanna tell me what it's about?" he urges, hoping he'll get the answer he's been looking for. satoru puts you on speaker and lets his phone drop onto his bed, his full undivided attention on you.

"well it's about you... kinda," you drift off before you continue. "the night before I sent you that text, I was working and someone asked me out."

satoru pleads in silence that this was not going where he thinks it's going. with this anxious feeling creeping up on him again, he doesn't say anything.

his uncommon reticence worries you but you carried on with the story.

"I didn't go out with him if that's what you're thinking of. I like you too much to do that. it just had me thinking because we spent months being more than friends, but am I the only one who feels that way?"

"no of course not!" satoru retorts, "I promise that it's not one-sided. why do you feel this way?"

it took you a few minutes to gather your thoughts, but satoru doesn't rush you. he hears a shaky exhale before you speak up, "I've noticed that you're flirty with everyone. you're not shy with touching other people and it just makes me feel like maybe it's wrong of me to feel special when I'm not the only one you've done these things with..."

flirty!satoru doesn't invalidate your feelings. he acknowledges each and every reason why you feel the way you do. satoru takes his time explaining that yes, he may be flirty and he's quite touchy, but it's different when it comes to you. the things he's done with you, he's never done with anyone else despite him having exes. although it's almost been a year since he's met you, the butterflies have never gone away and that each day his feelings grow.

flirty!satoru continues listing all the reasons why he loves likes you. he assures you that he may look like a fuckboy, he's far from it. he reminisces the time he had suguru psych him up to get your number because he's never had to ask for anyone's number (humble brag from him). he exhales a sigh of relief that the story earned a giggle from you.

flirty!satoru debates on telling you, but decided on keeping his plans of asking you out a secret. he wanted to prove to you that you're it for him and that there's no one else but you. satoru's big on actions speaking a lot more than words, so before he asks you out, he wants you to feel secure.

flirty!satoru posts you on his story constantly!!! whether you're out on a grocery run or a mini road trip for the long weekend, you can always count on satoru posting a soft launch story that has you in it. you don't know it, but satoru also has a secret instagram account, and the only thing he posts on it are pictures of you with the dates on it and a small paragraph of what you guys did that day. he likes to think it's modern-day scrapbooking.

flirty!satoru is obsessed with calling you nicknames, and as much as he loves saying your name - he will never not love calling you sweet nicknames like pretty girl, honey, or baby. satoru's fond of how your cheeks turn red and how you try to cover your face when he calls you any nicknames. it gives him cuteness aggression so bad, he ends up pinching your cheeks!

flirty!satoru can see how your eyes drift to look at his lips when you're talking to him face to face. you think you're so slick with it but satoru's quicker. whenever you do that little triangle trick you saw on tiktok, he leans in so he catches you by surprise. he observes with gleaming eyes as you back up to give yourself distance from him, but he just wraps his arms around you, pulling you towards him as he says, "hmm what was that baby?"

flirty!satoru has to hold himself back whenever he sees a customer come up to you and try to flirt with you. first and foremost, flirting is his thing! and second, he gets so jealous that sometimes he can't contain himself and ends up intervening. he'd make some stupid excuse to get you to leave like "hey I think someone clogged the toilet, can you check it please?" or something like that. you have to clean the stinky toilet but seeing satoru jealous is always a plus.

flirty!satoru is shocked when you made the first move and kissed him one night. it was the fact that you were sober too that surprised him even further. with you on top of him as he's sitting relaxed on the couch, his attention on the tv screen is stolen when you press your lips against his. the kiss, a seemingly innocent peck on the lips, turned into a heated make out session when satoru let go of his inhibitions. his hands roamed all over your body as his lips continue peppering kisses onto your cheeks, your jaw, and even down to your neck. satoru trails his hands from your body to hold your face gently so he can give you a final kiss before hugging you tightly.

flirty!satoru throws out all his ideas of asking you out, and opts for an intimate moment. on a cool wednesday night, he takes you back to his penthouse as per usual. he opens the door and waits to see your surprised face. he boasts that he decorated the place all by himself and even burned himself a few times with the hot glue gun to make the giant heart sign asking for you to be officially his (ngl it sounds like he's proposing but I mean who doesn't wanna marry satoru). obviously you said yes! let's just say that the heart balloons that were hanging and the flower petals scattered all over his living room were everywhere the morning after and cleaning it all up was tedious...... (but at least it was a fun night!)

flirtybf!satoru immediately changes all his profile pictures on every social media he has to pictures with you. his bio? your initials. his stories? all of you. he does not gaf he wants to show you off! the best part is satoru only follows a couple of people — you, suguru, shoko, and a few of his close relatives. satoru wants you to know that he only cares about you and only you. he never wants to and never will make you feel like you're in competition with anyone.

flirtybf!satoru is a no bs type of guy. now that your relationship was out in the open, you've gotten so many dms from other people trying to sabotage your relationship. satoru did not spend almost half a year proving his love to you for some jealous losers to try and break it, so he blocked the people who dmed you from his account and privated it.

flirtybf!satoru loves going on vacations with you, especially if it's a destination you've been telling him about. he'll almost always keep it a secret so that you don't have to worry your pretty little head about anything. costs, booking it off, transportation, he takes care of everything so the only thing you need to do is pack your bags. satoru loves how carefree you are when you're away from everyone else, and it's just the two of you in your own little world.

flirtybf!satoru is insatiable. his sex drive is so incredibly high, you wonder where his stamina comes from since he rarely did any sports. the first time you had sex, he wanted to take it slow because he wanted to savour the time with you. even though you were close when you two were just friends, having sex was a different level of intimacy. satoru wanted to show you that to him, this was not just a fuck that a one night stand will give you, no. it was making love, and he'll spend the whole night — dusk to dawn — just to show you how much he loves each and every part of you.

flirtybf!satoru started working out during his free time. he overheard you telling your friends that you love a man with a sleeper build, and well whatever his love wants, you will get. it doesn't take long until he starts seeing the fruits of his labor. he seldoms wear a shirt when he's home with just you, choosing to just wear a pair of sweatpants that he doesn't bother tying up so you can see the waistband of his calvin klein boxers. even though you two fuck often, he thinks it's so captivating that you still get bashful whenever he's being coy with you.

flirtybf!satoru loves talking about the future with you. he'll often ask you what kind of house you see yourself living in with him, and he'll make sure to get every little detail you're telling him. you've already moved into his penthouse after he begged for days for you to leave your apartment and just live with him. he takes notice of how you decorate and makes a mental note of it. satoru will make sure to say "when we have kids" or "when we're married", because he knows you're his endgame and he just can't wait for the day he's been looking forward to since he fell in love with you.

flirtybf!satoru surprises you with a trip to your dream vacation that you guys didn't get to go to before. the weather was horrendous, so the flight was cancelled but satoru booked another one closer to your birthday. he didn't tell you about it because he had a plan to make your birthday extra special. after you were done packing, he tells you that he'll meet you in the car. before satoru leaves the penthouse and locks the door, he double checks that the engagement ring is packed securely in his bag.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈

hi everyone! I hope this satisfies everyone's request for a part 2 ◡̈ ngl I had to use some moments with my boyfriend because my mind was blanking out and I am prayinggggg that this one is not a disappointment to you guys! again not proofread <3

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈

taglist:

@lvrndkoo @sorenflyinn @realalpacorn @ninani-nanina @msun1c0rn @ourfinalisation @rio-reid-whoreee @staarflowerr @leonesimp @okayiamkassandra @starpachinko @atashiboba @blueemochii @hawkswifie @secrtjncoblog @esperssox @smiling-16 @gojocumslut @apriyada @brethebomb2 @slutoru1207

a few of them did not show up so please let me know if you didn't get a notification ◡̈

[yandere-daydreams]

Screening: Dracula (1931).

Pairing: Yandere!Chrollo x Reader (HxH).

Runtime: 1.8k.

TW: Implied Non/Con, Obsessive Behavior, Threats of Physical Violence, Slight Gore, and Mentions of Death.

Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

You could feel his eyes burning into you from the other side of the abruptly-too-short table, the chill of the marble slab where it threatened to press into your midriff, but you did your best to ignore both. The table had already been set by the time you were called down to the dining room, a small army of silver platters arranged neatly in the space between you and him. You hadn’t eaten since the night before, but you weren’t hungry. Even if you had been, it was hard to imagine forcing yourself to choke down anything aside from your own anxiety. You were tempted to try your luck with the generously poured glass of wine to your left, but to drink it, you’d have to reach for it, and to reach for it, you’d have to lift your hands from where they were balled in your lap and you couldn’t do that because your hands wouldn’t stop fucking shak—

“Is the meal not to your tastes, dear?”

“It’s perfect,” you responded immediately, beaming. You grabbed the wine glass before you could hesitate, drinking as much as you could stand to. Chrollo’s ever-present grin had taken on a contented lull by the time you set it down. “Remind me to thank the chef before I leave. That is, if I ever actually manage to catch him.” And then, with a forced laugh, “That is, if this storm ever lets up long enough for me to get out of here.”

As if on cue, thunder clapped outside, followed shortly by a bolt of lightning bright enough to cast the dimly light dining room in a vibrant silver haze. You shrunk into your seat, but Chrollo’s dark eyes only seemed to brighten. “I’m honestly surprised you haven’t run into a member of my staff, yet. It’s been… how long? Four days?” Six. Come midnight, you’d be celebrating your week-long anniversary. “I hope you don’t think I’m keeping anyone away from you deliberately. Not that I’d mind keeping you to myself.”

It took everything you had to smile rather than cringe, to laugh rather than bury your face in your hands and scream. A day ago, you would’ve found your host’s nonchalance charming, but it was hard to find someone charming when the thought of meeting his eyes made you feel physically sick. It was hard to believe you’d been so thankful when you first turned-up on the doorstep of his dark, empty countryside mansion, when you realized you wouldn’t be at the mercy of an ancient, self-isolating millionaire but a man around you own age who, as far as you could tell, was as flustered to see you as you were to need his help. You explained that your car broke down about half a mile down the road, and he invited you to spend the night before calling for help at a more reasonable hour. The typhoon had rolled in not long before sunrise, and, well…

Again, thunder crashed and rain pelted the mansion from all directions. This time, you flinched into your seat before you could stop yourself.

It was your own fault, honestly. It’s not like there weren’t signs that something was wrong. Chrollo was charming, but he was off-putting, too. He seemed to treat the concept of personal space as more of a suggestion as a rule, whether that meant seeking you out in the tightest corner of the mansion’s sprawling library just to share a sofa truly meant for, at most, one person or letting himself into your room at night as if he couldn’t tell the difference between two in the afternoon and two in the morning. He claimed to have a full staff, and yet, you’d never run into any maids, butlers or cooks – never saw anyone who wasn’t Chrollo. His clothes always seemed to be either strange or ill-fitting, like he was wearing items from someone else’s closet, and more damningly, he didn’t seem at all suspicious of you, the stranger he’d allowed to stay in his home for nearly a week, now. No offense was particularly jarring, but it should’ve added up. You should’ve noticed sooner.

The only thing you could do, you figured, was bid your time and sneak out in the early hours of the morning. The landlines were down and you didn’t have cell reception, but the next house couldn’t be that far away, and you doubted Chrollo would follow you into the storm. Or, you hoped he wouldn’t, at least. You couldn’t really do much more than that.

“So,” Chrollo went on, and you made a point of nodding and smiling like he’d just said the smartest thing you’d ever heard, “When did you find the bodies?”

Immediately, your expression fell. A second later, you noticed that your hands had stopped shaking, but only because you’d lost the ability to move entirely.

When you finally regained the will to speak, it was all you could do to spit out something pathetically noncommittal. “...I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

“Don’t be shy. I promise, I’m not mad, just curious.” He paused, letting his eyes bore into you. “You left the door unlocked.”

Ah.

The basement door, to be more specific. Calling what you’d found ‘bodies’ might’ve been a little generous, too. What little had been left of each corpse was already so badly deteriorated that it would’ve been impossible to tell which detached hand might’ve belonged to what disembodied torso. That was probably your fault, too. If you’d known to be wary of Chrollo, you would’ve known better than to follow him into the one place he’d asked you not to go, the one place he seemed to always disappear to when he wasn’t breathing down your neck.

“This morning,” you admitted. “I was bored and looking for you. Honestly, it’s kind of embarrassing that it took me this long to realize you were a…”

You trailed off, but Chrollo was more than happy to finish in your stead. “A member of the Phantom Troupe?”

This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from buckling – your mouth falling open as you stared at him, wide-eyed. “Oh my god,” And then, after burying your face in your hands, “I thought you were a fucking vampire, you goth prick.”

That was enough to earn an airy chuckle from Chrollo, any condescension hidden well underneath wry amusement. While you tried to recover, he went on. “I suppose I don’t have to tell you that I don’t actually live here. In truth, I only arrived a few hours before you did – long enough to dispose of the residents and staff, even if getting rid of their remains has been an…” For once, his eyes shifted away from you, skirting to the left. “An ongoing process.”

With a shallow sigh, he pushed himself to his feet rounding the table and falling into the chair closest to you. Dinner, if he’d ever had any interest in it at all, was thoroughly forgotten as he propped an arm on the edge and rested his chin on his knuckles. “I hope you’ll forgive me for not being more upfront. In a line of work like mine, it’s so rare to find an opportunity to play house.”

So, he was a thief. No, it was more than that – he was a world-class thief, with worse crimes under his belt than a handful of homicides and the wrongful imprisonment of one confused civilian. God. This was bad. You should’ve left earlier – as soon as you found the bodies. You should’ve never gotten out of your car at all.

Slowly, you straightened your back, keeping your arms crossed as you glared half-heartedly. “Are you going to let me leave?”

He hummed, drumming his fingers against his jaw. “Now, why would I go and do something like that?”

Your heart sank in your chest. “You’re going to kill me, then?”

“Now you’re just being hurtful.” It was uncanny, how little his demeanor changed prior and post to his confession. If anything, he seemed even more smug – like he was basking in your apparent terror. “As if I could be so wasteful. Besides, I was under the impression that you’ve been enjoying out time together.”

“And I was under the impression that you weren’t a serial killer!” You threw up your hands, agitation quickly overshadowing the worst of your nerves. “Things can change!”

“I suppose they can.” He was so frustratingly calm. If the memory of his dissected victims wasn’t burnt so deeply into your mind, you would’ve rolled your eyes. “And eventually, things will. You don’t think I plan to keep you trapped in this estate forever, do you?”

Rather than dwell on the implication, you moved on swiftly. “If you’re not going to hurt me, you can’t stop me from leaving. The storm can’t be more dangerous than spending another night with you.”

Somehow, his smile only seemed to grow that much wider. “Did you know that the majority of deaths related to natural disasters are from delayed attempts to evacuate? There are all sorts of threats – flooding, debris, sinkholes…” He brightened with each listed hazard, and you tried (and failed) not to picture yourself drowning in muddy rainwater. “Oh, and sickness, of course. Spend enough time in the rain and it won’t matter if you eventually find shelter – you’ll die of pneumonia in a matter of weeks.”

“You don’t know—”

“And, for the record, I said I wasn’t planning to kill you. You never asked about anything else.” He let out a dry chuckle. “I’m sorry, but I sure you understand. It’d just be irresponsible to promise that I’ll never have to, say, dislocate your ankle to stop you from making a very brash, very unadvisable decision.”

“Like calling the cops.”

“Like trying to go outside in a very bad, very easily deadly storm,” he clarified. “You can contact anyone you’d like, but please, try to be considerate. I’m going to run out of room in the basement eventually.”

This time, when you melted into your seat, it wasn’t out of reflex or anxiety, but in a deliberate effort to put that much more distance between him and you. “I… I don’t want to get hurt, and I don’t want to die,” you admitted, taking longer than it should’ve to say something so glaringly obvious. “Tell me what I have to do to make that not happen.”

Yet another clap of thunder. This time, the lightning didn’t so much as tint his soulless eyes. “Straight to the point, as always. I like that about you.”

For the first time, he seemed to hesitate – a pink haze spreading over his pale cheeks as he reached out and laid his hand, almost gingerly, over yours. His trepidation was short-lived, though, only lasting up until the second you tried to pull away and he had an excuse to intertwine his fingers with yours, his grip tight enough to bruise.

“Why don’t we get to bed, darling?”  

[venusalexian]

solet • official little sister

barça femení x teen!reader, alexia putellas x teen!reader

in which you are a very sleepy teen, and Alexia is not the best at communicating

other solet stories

“Hey, Ale! Anything you need us to bring over to yours for tonight?” asks Irene as they move to the locker room after their gym session.

“Huh, for what?” Alexia is only half-listening. She had opened her phone to find your usual daily update in the new family group chat.

At first, you had insisted on having a group chat with Ale and your grandparents so you wouldn’t have to worry about making sure you shared everything necessary with them one by one. Over time, you started using it just to send daily compilations to your grandparents on weekdays and to Ale on weekends when you switched houses.

When Olga found out, she had pouted at Ale and sheepishly asked if she could be in it too, especially for the weeks in which she had to be out travelling. You added her happily, not having thought that she’d want to be in it, still a bit unsure of your dynamic. You had felt warmth at her insistence on being involved in your life. Ale was the happiest about it. Then, during your second or third dinner with Ale’s family, Eli and Alba find out about it and demand to be included. You couldn’t believe how much your circle had expanded in just a few weeks.

[pictures of you with friends and teammates] good day over here! classes were fine and the math exam went well (i think, i hope). lunch was… okay. they could do better :( and training was great! and now i’m getting a snack with the girls before getting the train to ale’s and napping because i’m sooooo tired. hope everyone had a good day too!

Alexia loves these updates and instinctively smiles while looking at the pictures and reading the paragraph with your high-pitched teen voice.

“Ale!” Irene snaps her fingers in front of her face. “For team bonding, it’s at yours tonight.”

Alexia blanches. Right. Tema bonding. At her house. She had agreed to it weeks ago, a weekend in which both Olga and Alba were out of town feeling like the best time to host the craziness of her teammates on a Thursday night.

But that was before. Before a teenager moved into her house. Before her days began to be filled with school notes, teenage drama, and syncing schedules to as much as possible be present for your games and events. Team bonding was not in that schedule.

Most importantly, the team didn’t exactly know yet. She hadn’t meant to keep it a secret. But she wanted things to be calm at the beginning, and not face any input from outside your families about the situation. She wanted you to get comfortable without external judgment. So while the team knew who you were by now, after relentless teasing from the younger players who you were closer to, they didn’t know all of the new developments.

”Um, so… I completely forgot about it. Could we, um, reschedule?”

”No, Ale. C’mon. We have a full schedule for the next four weeks starting this weekend. We need this now for team morale before the upcoming crucial games.”

Irene is right, but Alexia is still reluctant to let go of the protective bubble your life had become.

”Besides, I know you don’t have anything better to do because both your girlfriend and your sister are out of town.”

“Hey! I could have other plans, I have friends, you know.”

”You could, but you don’t. You can’t just back out because you’re tired and the kids are a handful. It’s your turn to suffer through their destructive tendencies while playing videogames.”

“Hey, we aren’t that bad!” Vicky responds to the teasing.

”You scared Bagheera with your yelling so much he did not come out from under the couch until the next day.”

“Slander! Exaggeration!” Jana, Vicky, and Pina continue to defend themselves.

“Okay, okay. Let's get back on track.” Irene exclaims to quiet the locker room. “So in a couple of hours, at your house. Yes, Ale?”

Alexia is distracted again by a new message in the group chat.

[picture of you in comfy sweats, eyes half closed, resting on your bed] home safe. nap time

She is only half-aware of her answer.

“Mmmh, Yes, of course.”

”Great! See you soon Capi!”

Alexia only realizes too late that she has ended up agreeing to hosting the team bonding night. Now she has to prepare for an interrogation. Great.

By the time Alexia gets home, you are still napping in your new room. You look so peaceful, and Alexia knows you have been very busy and tired this week with training and exams. She can’t wake you up now, just to potentially make you more anxious, so she decides to let you sleep and rest. There are still a couple of hours before they come around, either way. There’s time.

She’s wrong.

Before she realizes how much time has gone by, her teammates are already knocking at her door. You are still asleep, and now it’s too late to warn you about it. She sends you a text, hoping that it is enough and that you will see it when you wake up from your nap.

She’s wrong again.

You don’t look at your phone when you wake up. Instead, you come out sluggishly, rubbing your eyes, and walk towards Ale, who is leaning in the doorframe of the hallway that hosts your bedrooms. Your half-asleep brain is ignorant of everything and everyone around the house. On autopilot, you lean completely against Ale and hide your face from the light by smushing it against her shoulder. She rights herself and slides her arms around you into a hug, pulling you more firmly against her chest. This motion is still so new, but is slowly becoming second-nature for you both.

“Hey, solet, good nap?”

“Mmmh.” You press your face harder against her shoulder, not really ready to talk yet, with sleep still clouding your mind.

Ale lowers her arms to let you go, but you whine discontentedly.

“Okay, okay.” She hugs you again, presses her smile and a kiss to your head.

As you slowly come to lucidity,  you realise the context that you have walked into. You turn your head and see over twenty faces staring at you, in shock. And then the team’s questions start, all at the same time. You shriek, wide-eyed and definitely awake now, and run back to your room.

You can hear Ale quieting her teammates and then walking to your room, even though you’ve flopped face-down into your bed with a pillow over your head.

“Hey, solet. All good?” You just grunt in response.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you beforehand. I texted you, hoping you’d see it when you woke up.” You don’t have to glance at her to know she’s wincing. You still don’t uncover your face.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to let you sleep, you’ve been so busy and tired this week.” You peek a bit from your hiding place. Ale still has a sheepish smile.

“It’s okay. It’s your house.” You mumble against the comforter, still not willing to fully come out, but looking at Ale from the side. “Hey, no, that is not what I meant.” Ale frowns. “This is also your space, and it wasn’t right for me to not give you proper notice before they came in. I’m so sorry, solet.”

You remove the pillow from your head entirely now. You really don’t wanna make her feel guilty. Yes, she should have told you, but it wasn’t that bad. There’s still something nagging at the back of your mind, though.

“Are you mad?” You whisper it, scared of the answer. “That they know about this?”

This, you living there, Ale’s increasingly important role in your life, your newfound dependency on her, well, maternal comfort and involvement.

“No. No, solet.” She looks so sad at your question, at your hesitation and evident insecurity. “I did want you not to have to deal with too many people during such a change, but I am happy that they know now. This is special to me, and I’m so excited for them to get to know you more like I have.” Her smile is back to that open, soft expression she tends to have with you. It reassures you just as much as her words.

“Okay. Thank you for apologizing.” You mirror her smile. “Hug?” You turn around and throw your hands out towards her. She doesn’t hesitate to comply.

“So, what’s going on and why’s everyone here?” You ask without pulling away, Ale is playing with your hair, and nothing calms you more than this action.

“It’s team bonding night. I forgot I had volunteered for it a while ago, before you moved in, so it had completely skipped my mind until Irene reminded me at training. I couldn’t say no then. It’s very relaxed, though. We’re just chatting, and the younger ones are setting up their video games on our TV as we speak. You can join us if and when you want. Or I can wrap it up entirely now, I don’t think they’d push against it much now, considering the situation. And if you do join us, I’ll make sure they don’t accost you with an interrogation. It’s all on your terms, vale?”

You pull back a bit from the hug.

“Don’t call it off, it’s okay. I will join you. I mean, they’re your teammates and our friends, right? They should get used to this.” Ale beams at your smirk and new confidence.

“Perfect! Take your time, solet.”

“Yeah, thanks Ale.”

“Oh, and pizza will be here soon.”

You jump out of bed excitedly.

“Pizza! You should have led with that. Come on, let’s go Ale! Let’s go!”

“I should have known the promise of pizza would immediately change your mood.” Ale laughs at your eagerness.

“Pizza is life, Ale.”

“Pizza is pizza, solet.”

Ale also gets up from your bed.

“I’m gonna go and answer some of their questions, and then I’ll make sure they don’t bother you. Don’t feel pressured to come out immediately. You can also just grab pizza and watch a movie in your room or something. Whatever you need, yeah?”

“Yes, Ale. But I promise I’m good now; it was a bit of a shock, but I’m okay. I’ll be right behind you; just let me put something on that is a bit more presentable.”

“Okay, good. I want them to get to know you better.” There it is again, the soft smile that warms you.

She takes her leave, but you stop her one last time as she’s crossing the threshold of your room.

“Oh, and Ale?”

“Yeah?”

“I might have texted Eli and Olga when I was upset right after running into my room.”

Ale groans; she knows her phone must be exploding with another interrogation.

When you come out about fifteen minutes later, there is no dramatic shock. The girls don’t question Ale’s squeeze of your arm as you pass by her and grab a couple of slices from the kitchen. Or her smile and head-shaking as you wolf the slices down before making your way to the couch, where the younger players have finished setting up the console. You’re sheepish as you approach, unsure if they’ll be upset at being left in the dark, especially the ones that still share a locker room with you in the B team.

You have nothing to worry about, though.

Sydney and Vicky just pat the spot between them on the floor that has been covered by pillows, and Jana pushes your shoulders back, making you rest your back on her legs as she sits behind you on the couch. Vicky, Pina, Esmee and Cata are all playing right now, and you join easily in their trash-talking and play-fighting. The controllers are passed around round after round, and you even manage to win a couple of games, which makes you grin and gloat as they tease you. Eventually, the older players join you in the chairs and seats around the couch, and you switch the video games to the men’s game.

You rest more firmly against Jana, who has also started to play with your hair and massage your scalp. The calming motion, the light commentary, and the warm, familiar atmosphere lull you to sleep again, as the taxing week has made you need to catch up on your sleep.

Alexia notices as the game enters overtime. The older players around her grin at how she melts and smiles softly as she sees you so relaxed. Despite her constant public pushback at being deemed maternal to younger players, their friend has truly assumed the role in your life, even if both of you are still hesitant to speak it out loud.

She wakes you up by gently shaking you as the rest of the players slightly clean up the living room from the mess it has become.

“Come on, solet, bedtime for you.”

You should feel self-conscious about the older girls seeing you like this, but sleepiness is once again preventing your awkwardness from jumping out.

“Mmmh, yes, Ale. Night.” You close your eyes again while resting against the couch.

“No, silly, to your room.”

“Too far.”

“Solet you can’t sleep on the floor.”

“Yes, I can, I was just doing so.” You can faintly hear snickering in the back, but you’re not awake enough to care.

Ale doesn’t refute you this time. Instead, you just feel her grab your back and legs to lift you. Your head drops to her shoulder, and your body relaxes further in her hold. She carries you to your bed and tucks you in. Tomorrow, you’ll blush bright red at being told about this scene from Sydney, but today you are too tired and content to do anything but burrow further into your bed and sleepily thank Ale.

You’re also too asleep to hear the scene on the other side of your bedroom door.

Ale softly closes your door and turns around to finish tidying and making sure everyone has a safe way home. But when she reenters the living room, all her teammates are just staring at her with the broadest smirks. She should have seen this coming. She’s ushering them out of the door as they hound her with cheeky questions.

“So… we have an official little sister?

“No.”

“Will you be carrying me like that, too, if I fall asleep on the plane?”

“You’re all adults.”

“Can we call you mom now?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Can we call her our baby?”

“She’ll decide that.”

Irene lingers by the door and waits for everyone else to leave ahead. Before closing the door behind her, she turns around to Alexia one last time. 

“You know, it suits you. And you’ll do well, you’ll be good for her, don’t doubt it.”

Alexia really appreciates her words, as a friend and as a mother. She’s probably the person she’s had a more challenging time not discussing her new life with. She just nods, and knows that’s enough for them to understand each other. But Irene doesn’t leave without one last dig.

“Can’t believe you have a kid that’s older than mine, though.”

Alexia doesn’t correct her, there are no false pretenses with Irene, she knows. 

~~~~~

an:

thank you for reading!

sorry again for taking so long to update, the past month was crazy.

you can check my masterlist for the couple of wips I’ve already planned but I’ll also be super happy to receive requests and asks about it, or any other universes you’d like to see from me :))

other solet stories

xoxo, a.c.

[pinkolve]

Sharing Is Caring

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

Summary: You’re Aaron Hotchner’s daughter who works in human resources, after a few weeks at your new job you finally go to visit your father. He offers to introduce you to his team, and you quickly take a liking to a certain skinny nerd.

Genre: Fluff!

CW: fem!reader, early seasons!spencer reid, second person point of view, one use of y/n, probably ooc aaron hotchner, pretty sure that’s it!

Word Count: 1.0k

A/N: Very short one-shot that I kind of hate!! I was bored and needed something to write so…This was the result of that. 

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

You walk into the bullpen, heels smushing over the carpet. You’re used to your heels being extremely loud, the freshly mopped floors making them clack. You make your way past several desks, people focused on piles upon piles of paperwork. You spot a desk further back, home to the cutest brunette you’ve ever seen. He’s the only one who glances up, making direct eye contact with you. You give him a small smile and a wink. He quickly looks back down at his papers with pink dusting his cheeks. 

You knock on Aaron’s office door. You stand there for a moment before his voice calls out, “Come in!” You push the door open and walk in, shutting it quietly behind you. 

“Hey.” You greet, hoping to get him to finally look up from his desktop. He does, eyes lighting up when he sees you. 

“Hey! What are you doing up here?” He asks, immediately standing from his chair to walk around and hug you. 

“Thought I’d see how you’re doing, plus I don’t have much to do downstairs.” You smile up at him and he shakes his head. 

“I’m sure you have plenty to do, you just don’t want to do it.” He chuckles a little when you nod. 

“Very true!” He pulls away, leaning against the front of his desk. 

“Well, if you really don’t want to do your job, I’m sure the team would love to meet you.” You look at him with wide eyes. 

“No! No, I wouldn’t want to bother them! Besides, I really should do some work.” You insist. But Aaron knows you, and he knows you’re just making excuses. 

“You aren’t going to bother them. They’ve been doing paperwork for nearly five hours straight, I’m sure they’d love a break.” He stands back to his full height and gently grabs your shoulder. “Come on.” He says, pulling the door open and nudging you outside. He follows right behind you, shutting the door and leading you down the small steps. Once he reaches the group of desks closest to his office he clears his throat. The entirety of his team looks up at the sound, all attention on him. 

“Everyone, this is Y/N. She works for human resources, just started a few weeks ago.” Aaron says proudly, smile wide. His team looks at him in terror, none of them have ever seen him smile this big. 

“Nice to meet you! How are you liking the job?” Emily asks you first. You look over at her before answering. 

“It’s nice! I haven’t had much to contribute yet, but I’m hoping that’ll change soon enough.” You answer, a hopeful smile taking up your features. 

“Oh, it definitely will! My first few weeks here, I was practically useless.” Emily assured you. You simply nod at her, having no proper verbal response. You start to feel that social anxiety bubble up inside you, making you feel insecure. You’re about to zone out when you see the brunette boy open his mouth. You can see words tumble out but your ears are ringing. You feel a nudge at your side and you quickly look up, ears clearing. 

“What?” You ask timidly. 

“Reid was asking how old you are.” Aaron says, resting a hand on your lower back. He can see the nervousness all over your face. 

“Twenty-one.” You respond simply, staring back at him. He nods with the hint of a smile, his pink cheeks returning. You stare at him with sparkling eyes, your own smile widening and all anxiety seemingly disappearing from your body. He glances away from you for a second, only to look back not long after. You stare at each other for a while. Spencer should feel uncomfortable, just staring back at someone like this, but for some strange reason you make him feel so calm. 

“Okay, well you should probably get back to work.” Aaron says, cutting off your trance. You look back up at him, shaking your head frantically. 

“Right! Right, sorry! I’ll see you later!” You say quickly, before running out of the bullpen. 

“So, who is that?” Morgan asks, eyebrows raised. 

“What do you mean?” Aaron asks back. 

“Who is she to you? Cousin, niece…girlfriend?” Morgan trails off, hoping to god the last option is out of the question. Spencer looks up at the mention of ‘girlfriend’ , his heart racing. Why was his heart racing? 

“She’s my daughter.” Aaron answers simply, making Spencer’s heart slow down. Morgan stares at him in utter disbelief, the rest of the team shouting at him from different directions. He only laughs before making his way back up to his office, ignoring their begging for answers. 

***

You make your way out of the building, staring down at your phone. The screen mere inches from your face as you try to get an uber. You push open the front door and run into someone the second you exit. You stumble backwards, looking up quickly. 

“I’m so sorry!” It’s him, Spencer Reid. You stare at him with a slack jaw, all words failing you at this moment. 

“No, that’s alright! I wasn’t watching where I was going.” He says, voice cracking slightly. 

“Neither was I.” You reply honestly. “I was trying to get an uber but it’s not working at all.” You look back down at your phone, pouting with furrowed brows. “I really am sorry for running into you like that, I haven’t been thinking properly at all today.” You chuckle a little, rubbing your forehead. Ever since you saw him in the bullpen, it’s like your brain completely shut down. 

“I haven’t either, honestly.” Spencer practically whispers. “My lyft should be here soon…If you want to share?” He proposes. 

“That would be perfect! Thank you so much!” You yell happily. You look at him, smile so wide it pushes up your cheeks. Spencer can’t help but think it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

[hyunebunx]

˖˙ ᰋ ──  our firsts (the one in which hyunjin can't wait to kiss you)

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: i've had this one stare at me for months until i finally got around to finishing it recently. i feel kinda rusty but i hope you'll still enjoy it <3

The thrill of a new relationship was exhilarating, full of euphoria and colorful, restless butterflies that seemed to have materialized out of thin air. Your relationship with Hyunjin was fresh, in more ways than one. You’ve never experienced such intense feelings before, a bond so genuine and invigorating.

You were taking it slow and steady, discovering more of each other with every interaction. How he smelled, how he smiled when he was truly happy, eyes turning into two crescent moons, how he hugged you in greeting, a little tighter each time.

Hyunjin was made of layers you had to contain yourself from peeling all at once, afraid your eagerness would scare him off for good. Kind, compassionate, and with a heart of gold, your new lover was everything you could ever ask for in a partner.

Every new side of him, you haven’t experienced before, was endearing. How his fingers held onto yours, leisurely, before intertwining them when he needed to feel you closer, palm to palm. How his touch lingered on your cheek, slowly trailing down your jaw and neck, almost like he was preparing to kiss you. Which hasn’t happened yet, unfortunately, almost a month into your relationship.

A part of you was disappointed, there was no denying it. But at the same time, you knew his affection was going to be worth the wait. After all, there was no rush, you had all the time in the world.

Tonight was another one of your firsts – the first movie night at your apartment. A comfortable date night spent by the TV, with some good food, a great show, and even better company. An amazing plan in both of your books, your introverted natures meshing together quite lovely.

“Hi, beautiful.” He greets the moment he’s let in, voice soft and tender, smiling brightly as he leans down to kiss the side of your head, spreading his warmth throughout your whole body.

You watch him remove his shoes, placing them neatly by the door before you pull him into a hug by his opened hoodie. Your arms go around his middle while your head rests on his chest. “Hi.”

Hyunjin relaxes in an instant, returning the embrace and squeezing you tighter, as expected. “I – “ You can hear the hesitation in his voice, mulling over his next words as if letting them out would somehow change everything. “I missed you.” He whispers, shy as his face finds solace in your hair.

Flowers bloom in your chest, heart pounding against its enclosure at an alarming pace he was sure to feel resonating through his body. But that was okay because his own was responding in kind. “I missed you too.”

“I’m glad.” Hyunjin says with a little more confidence, finally pulling away and allowing you to see his beautiful face.

You weren’t usually this straightforward, navigating this relationship with as much care as possible, so his boldness was a little surprising. But not unpleasant, if anything you couldn’t wait for him to open up more, to fully bloom into himself around you.

Taking his hand in yours, you then lead him into the living room that has been awaiting his arrival with bated breath, everything set up for your comfort.

You make small talk, asking about each other’s day and what the other has been up to since the last time you met, a week ago. It’s peaceful, the atmosphere light and comfortable as you drift toward one another without much thought, sides pressed together as you browse the selection of movies.

“What do you feel like watching?” You ask, facing him.

Hyunjin shrugs, leaning back into his seat, one of his arms thrown over the couch behind you. “Whatever your precious heart desires.”

Said heart flutters, thumping a little too loudly at being acknowledged in such a way. “The Notebook?”

He laughs, eyes crinkling into two crescents. “Do you want to see me cry? Is that why I was invited over?”

“We can cry together.” You offer, smiling. “I’ve been wanting to watch this one with you for a long time.”

“Why?” He tilts his head, eyes full of fondness as his ears gradually redden. You both knew what the movie was about and the passionate scenes that were sure to have you squirming in your seats, too shy for your own good.

“Because it’s the epitome of romance and true love!”

Hyunjin is beaming, chuckling lowly at the slight pout on your lips that has him give in instantly. “Alright then. Can’t wait to have my heart ripped out of my chest!”

You shake your head, passing him the remote before standing up to get the food you prepared in advance. “That won’t happen while I’m here.”

“Why? You’re going to put it back together?” He teases, neck craned to look after you like a man enthralled.

“Always.”

You don’t notice the surprise that takes over his features as he’s already sporting a smile when you return, handing him a plate before settling next to him, farther than before to ensure there’s enough space to make eating comfortable.

With the lights dimmed, your movie night starts uneventfully, with little to no talking since you’re both too focused on your food to multitask. But little by little, you’re scooting closer, wanting to feel each other’s warmth and hear the unspoken words of affection neither was brave enough to say out loud.

“I’ve drawn this scene before.” Hyunjin murmurs just as you move to snuggle into his chest, instantly accommodating you with one arm draped over your shoulders bringing you closer as if he’s been waiting for this moment. You settle into his embrace like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and not your actual first time cuddling with him like this. Another milestone in your new relationship leaving its mark, a welcomed guest whose sole purpose was to ensure neither strayed away from the path of true love.

“Really?” You tear your gaze from the television just as the characters begin playing around with their ice creams, laughing and being silly before it quiets down as their lips meet over and over again. “You’ve drawn them making out?”

Hyunjin is mesmerized by the faint sparkle in your eyes as he looks down at you, the light from the television caressing your side profile tenderly while not concealing any of your beauty. He’s silent for a few seconds more before his eyes drop to your glossy lips and he can’t help but lick his own, inhaling sharply. “No.” A laugh escapes him against his will, still distracted. “The scene right after.”

You quirk an eyebrow, bravely reaching out to trace his sharp jawline, just as distracted. “What’s so great about that scene? Wouldn’t you have rather captured the climax?”

He leans into your touch, eyelids suddenly heavy as they struggle to keep blinking and not give in to his desires. With great difficulty, Hyunjin feels around for the remote, subsequently pulling you closer as he fast-forwards the movie to the scene of interest, your chest brushing against his while both of your legs slip into the space between his.

Then, with the utmost gentleness, his fingers settle on your chin and move your head towards the screen, silver rings cold against your heated skin. Hyunjin paused the movie at the perfect time—the girl is smiling from ear to ear while her boyfriend nuzzles her cheek, smothering her with endless affection.

“I wanted to capture the genuine happiness on their faces. People are even more beautiful when they’re in love. Just look at them – they’re glowing.”

But by now, you’re back to looking at him, burning the image of his side profile with all of his beauty marks to memory for safekeeping. “So are you.”

Slowly, Hyunjin meets your eyes, releasing your chin. “What?”

“You also glow when you talk about something you’re passionate about. Something you love.”

He’s taken aback, you can tell by the way his eyes widen slightly, mouth parting as he searches for the right words to respond. You’re so close you can see the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he shallows, memorize the way his chest moves up and down with every breath that hits your face.

In this moment, the only ones who matter are you and him.

“You think so?”

“I know so. After all, I’m always watching you when we’re together.”

Hyunjin stills, and so do you as the meaning behind your confession hits you both at the same time.

“That’s impossible.” He eventually shakes his head, tucking some hair behind your ear as his voice drops. “I can never seem to be able to look away when you’re nearby. I would have noticed.”

“Like I notice everything about you.”

His touch is tender, so featherlight that if you weren’t hyper-aware of everything involving him, you wouldn’t have felt it. Hyunjin leans closer, brushing his nose against yours and smiling once your breath hitches. “The way your whole face lights up when someone tells a joke.” Nimble fingers caress your face, eyes staring past your exterior in search of the heart you’ve already presented to him on the shiniest silver platter.

“How you hold my hand a little tighter whenever you’re really happy.” He continues, said hand moving to cradle the back of your head.

“I only get that happy when I’m with you.” You breathe out, allowing your hands to rest on his chest, not looking away in fear of missing the feelings showcased all over his face, ones he still hasn’t found the courage to speak out loud.

Hyunjin looks like he wants to continue, but his eyes keep dropping to your lips, his own inching closer but not close enough to meet yet, silently waiting for your next move. For your approval, your comfort above anything else in the world for him.

When you do the same, your arms wrapping around his neck, he finally caves in.

It’s soft, his plump lips enveloping yours in the sweetest kiss you’ve ever tasted. The ever-patient man takes his time, melting against you as his other hand gently grasps your chin to keep you in place, bringing you close almost like he wants to merge souls.

The only thing you can hear in the quiet apartment is your heart pounding – or maybe it's his? Nobody knows where you end and he starts anymore, intertwined as you get lost in each other. You’ve wanted this for so long, daydreamed about it for hours on end and you’re happy to realize it’s so much better than anything your mind could ever come up with.

A little too soon after, Hyunjin pulls away, blinking as if he just woke up from a daze. His hand drops from your chin, finding solace on your waist as your eyes engage in a silent conversation your mouths couldn’t keep up.

Unfortunately for him, you’re impatient, so after making sure his lungs are filled with the needed air, you make your move, kissing him again. A quiet gasp escapes him as he falls backwards on the couch, cushioning your fall with his strong body, the corners of his mouth curling into an uncontrollable smile against your lips.

Kissing Hyunjin isn’t like anything you’ve experienced before. It’s electric and warm, something out of a movie, like fireworks going off on new years or witnessing flowers bloom for the first time in spring. An out of body experience that transports you to cloud nine the moment you touch him, the moment his hands make contact with any part of your body and leave behind sparks meant to keep everyone else that isn’t him away.

On top of him, you try to hold yourself up with your hands on his chest but he refuses, his arm around your middle keeping you flush against him as his lips teach yours a new dance. You have two left feet but somehow, Hyunjin makes it all seem easy, comfortable, and right like kissing him is an activity you’ve been doing for as long as you can remember.

When you pull away to breathe, he comes back to peck your puffy lips, one, two, and then three times before he’s grinning from ear to ear, the sight blinding your eyes that have gotten used to the darkness around for all of these years.

“Sorry.” He giggles sheepishly when it dawns on him his arm is still preventing you from moving. “I’ve just been waiting a lifetime to do this. I didn’t want it to end so soon.”

By now, your poor heart is nothing more than a puddle, leaking through your whole body and painting your insides in the color of the love that always seemed to overwhelm you, the feelings you could only thank him for. The love that had his name written in every nook and cranny of your existence, the one that marked and has changed you for the better in such a short amount of time.

You could spend a lifetime loving Hwang Hyunjin. And that’s exactly what you planned on doing.

[dcxdpdabbles]

If you have the time I would love an update on Passion for Fashion or on Mr Flavor your an amazing writer love your fics ❤️❤️

Danny wakes to another new mattress, this time accompanied by a machine beeping and another change of outfits. His back and left ribs have a dull ache, but otherwise, he feels fine.

He lays on the bed for a few minutes, noting the difference between the one Oscar had him sleep on and the kind in the cheap motel. It wasn't as firm as the ones in the motel, but it wasn't anywhere near as luxurious and soft as the one Oscar gifted his fairies. This was somewhere in between, which meant Danny was now in someone else's hands.

Cracking open his eyelids as thinly as possible, he carefully glances around, trying to discover what happened after passing out. Danny is pleasantly surprised to find himself in a hospital room with no one around. Not even a ghost.

It gives him enough courage to carefully examine his body. Phantom's healing factor may not be at full capacity, but it seems faster than a normal human's. He pats himself down, wincing in certain areas, but eventually, he deems it well enough to escape.

Without hesitation, Danny reaches up and snaps off the wires connecting him to various machines. He ignores the alarms that go off and the sound of rapid footsteps in the hallways while he limbs towards the window.

He can tell it's sturdy enough not to open for a regular human. Usually, that wouldn't have been a problem, but Phantom's powers were laying doormat, so he does the next best thing. He picks a chair and flings it as hard as possible at the window.

The door to his room is burst open by medical staff just as the chair bounces off the glass and lands with a thump. Danny stares at it for a few seconds. "Ah. I thought that would have at least put a crack in it."

"You're safe!" one of the nurses tells him, hands held up, palms facing Danny in an obvious sign of trying to earn his trust. "You're in Gotham Hospital. You were rescued a week ago and have been receiving treatment while locked in a coma."

Danny squints at her. "I'm pretty sure I wasn't rescued. I broke out myself."

Some medical staff shift uncomfortably on their feet before the same nurse steps closer, words even, soft and gentle, "You were fearless. You should be proud of-"

"Did they delete the footage of my secret formula?" Danny cuts her off, tilting his head. The question stops the woman short, looking unsure how to respond as the rest of the medical staff watch the exchange with pursed lips.

"I'm not sure-"

"Meh." Danny sighs, rolling his neck. He taps his fingers against his chin, considering the consequences of someone finding those videos.

On one hand, Danny will lose his main source of income, but on the other, it won't mean much. Cream sodas were the only drink in this world, but eventually, someone was bound to make the discovery.

It's not like he legally has a right to it, either. Danny hadn't applied for a patent for his soda, and he can't copyright a recipe. Really, the only thing he had going for him was his trademark that one guy who messed up his motel room got him, but even then, if the recipe thief changed the bottle designs, what was he to do?

Danny couldn't afford a house, much less a lawyer, with the money he earned from Mr. Flavor's Soda. He'll just have to keep moving and find out how to call back Phantom.

Rolling his neck to the other side, he flinches as it stiffens up, returning him to the present. Then, he notices the medical staff is slowly creeping closer, shifting in like they are alligators about to pounce on a meal.

Eyeing them and the open door—thankfully one of the big sliding doors, which meant the exit was so much wider—Danny gets an idea. He acts unaware of what they are doing, making sure to plant a ball of his feet to give him good leverage. He needs to push off as quickly as possible.

He places his thumb right under it while his pointer finger lays carefully under his lips. In a quick jerk to the side, Danny forces his neck to crack, using his hand as a turner. The sound that echoes through the room sounds like pasta being crunched. "I guess it's not too important. Not when I'm a ghost."

The lead nurse inhaled deeply before blowing a slow breath. "Why don't we get you back into bed? We need to check you over."

"I'm fine."

"We-"

"When can I leave?"

"That's-"

"Have you ever tasted a rainbow?"

"What-"

"It tastes like sugar and reality warping." The smile that stretches across his face is the same one he made at Sam while under Ember's love spell. It's the most innocent but eager expression he can make, which used to get him out of trouble back home.

In Gotham, it made everyone uneasy. The staff even stepped away from him instinctively, looking far more alarmed than when Danny popped his neck, and a few of them had flinched at the sound.

His smile stretched more. "Would you like to taste the rainbow?"

"I-um-that is." The woman spluttered, glancing around at her coworkers like she was sending S.O.S alarms with her eyes alone. "Why don't we-"

Danny rushed at her, laughter bubbling up in his chest as she scrambled back. One of the male nurses shot forward, intending to meet Danny halfway- his movement suggested some form of training. Military?- but that plan quickly derailed when Danny flipped himself over him.

His body flared with pain that he ignored in favor of dancing out of reach from the multiple hands that tried to grab hold of him. One of them managed to snag his hospital gown, but Danny had no problem thrashing about until it slid off- thank the mighty Ancients that he was wearing some boxers.

He had to slide before the legs of a nurse and flip over another before he could break into the hallway. The hallway was long and narrow, but it didn't seem connected to any visible exit. Danny had only a few split seconds to choose left or right before he went with his gut and twisted towards the right.

He was born right-handed, and before teaching himself to be ambidextrous, his right never let him down. He raced down it as fast as his aching body could take him, which was pretty good, seeing that he was outpacing a group of grown adults.

That male nurse was gaining, though. Danny could hear his footsteps approaching, and the man shouting, "Stop!" as he got uncomfortable near his back.

He will be able to reach Danny in a few seconds, especially since the aches in his body are rapidly turning into pain, slowing him down.

Another problem he didn't consider was the people in the hallway who- like idiots, really- didn't leap out of Danny's way. They just stood there gawking as they zoomed past them. He had to push a woman in cartoon theme scrubs into the wall, shouting an apology as he rounded the corner.

The new area he found himself in had more hospital employees who turned to see the commotion, but all Danny saw was the glass stairs leading downstairs to a seating area. There were groups of people that craned their necks up, visitors' passes tapped to their shirts. A woman speaks into a walkie-talkie, and suddenly, there are blaring alarms throughout the building.

Danny can identify a lockdown when he sees one. Without wasting a second, Danny runs at the railing and leaps.

A scream from one of the onlookers as he slams against the floor below, having the misfortune of landing on a low coffee table. It breaks under his hold, which is only an insult to injury, as he groans. The pain has now flared up to levels he hasn't felt in a long time as Phantom, but his ghostly side still refuses to show its head.

He is half considering lying there and allowing them to capture him when a burst of familiar ice encases his body. The medical staff that had surrounded his crumbled form leaped away with shouts of "Meta!".

Danny raised his hand and stared at the layer of ice in wonderment. His breathing came out in fast-paced huffs as he tried desperately to catch his breath. The ice numbs most of the pain, and it is like all his senses snap into place.

He leaps to his feet, laughing joyously as the rest of the people press themselves into the walls, trying to crawl away from him. Danny doesn't care because he feels like Phantom.

He feels like himself again! He wills his body to be unchained from gravity, throwing himself forward, ready to take flight and finally escape—only to land in a heap on the ground, the ice wrapping around his chest like a suit of armor cracking.

"Oh, come on!" He whines, pushing himself up. He flickers his eyes around the room, landing on a mirror at the desk where a young woman wearing a uniform is frozen in fright. Without a word, he snatches it up and checks his reflection.

It seemed that his ice had changed shape, going from a clutter of ice into a knockoff version of the Ghost Peeler—without the helmet—and his eyes were green, but that's it. He had no snow-white hair, no glowing fractures, and not even his eyes looked inhuman; they just looked like he was born with them.

If anything, it was like Danny was cosplaying.

He gently places the mirror back on the counter, takes a deep breath through his nose, and spins around. He walks right out of the hospital- he had to smash the glass with his ice-covered hand- without a hint of emotion on his face.

They all let him go, which Danny is thankful for since he makes it out of the parking lot before he screams of utter frustration, aggressively flinging his arms around and stomping his foot.

After a minute of throwing a very public, very loud temper tantrum, Danny allows the ice to melt off his body, leaving him dripping and only wearing boxers as he scurries away. He ignores all the looks thrown his way, grumbling under his breath about that stupid tribe that got him into this whole mess until he finally spots someone he knows.

It's one of those kids who initially gave him his name. His very first customer, in fact, was standing on his toes and picking into a shop, pressed against the glass display.

Danny walked right up behind him, clearing his throat. "Hey, do you know what part of Gotham we're in?"

" I wasn't doing anything!" The boy spins around defensively only to have his eyes wide dramatically when he takes in Danny's state. He wonders if it's the fact he's covered in some nasty bruises, in his underwear, or dripping wet from the neck below despite no rain that causes such an expression. "What in the world happen to you!?"

"Got kidnapped. Escaped. Got run over and survived. Got hospitalized. Escaped again," Danny lists, smiling his innocent smile again, hoping it will make the kid ask fewer questions. It does the job as the boy looks rightfully horrified. "Where are we?"

"Uptown Gotham," The boy stammers, shaking slightly.

"How far away is that from Old Gotham or Crime Alley?"

"Um, about four blocks that way is Old Gotham. Crime Alley is pretty far."

Danny knows that. He'd gone to Old Gotham for a while to speak to some of the ghosts- and of course, none of these buildings were haunted because that was just his luck. "Thanks. See you around!"

He strolls away, feeling some of his anger calm now that he knows where to go. After a few blocks, he sang his soda theme song again, tapping the beat into the sidewalk with his bare feet. At the entrance of Old Gotham, he even found a donation bin for people to drop off clothes, which he happily helps himself to.

It looks like the seventies threw up in here—or someone cleaned out a long overdue closet—but Danny eventually found a pair of bell-bottom flower-printed jeans that fit and a large fake fur coat he could throw onto himself. The shirts smelled weird and were too small for him, but he found a purple velvet feathered hat that he thought would distract him from being topless.

After placing it on his head, Danny started scatting his theme song, feeling oddly peppy. Now that he was no longer frustrated, he realized how good it was that his ice had appeared.

Sure, his eyes weren't glowing, but the fact they changed let him know he was this close to being Phantom again. He just had to be a little more patient.

He could do that.

[gabseyoo]

CHOCOLATE & COOKIES — SAKUSA KIYOOMI

content: msby!kiyoomi, female reader, established relationship, reader is on her period. word count: 0,9k.

Kiyoomi was washing the dishes when he heard your footsteps shuffle into the kitchen. His head snapped around, a smile already spreading across his face when he saw you in your crumpled pajamas. You looked cute, no doubt about it, but also kind of… dangerous.

“Hey, babe.” He said, his voice soft in a way reserved just for you.

You didn’t respond. No glance, no acknowledgment. You walked straight past him, heading for the fridge like it held the answer to all your problems. The fridge door hummed open, and you poked around with an intensity that made Kiyoomi pause mid-scrub, sponge in hand.

It was one of those days.

Your period had started yesterday, which explained the bad mood that had been building all week. After years together, Kiyoomi liked to think he had learned how to navigate these stormy seas. But the truth? It caught him off guard every time. You weren’t just sensitive—you were sharp, snappy, and downright scary when the mood struck. And the way you ignored him just now? That stung.

What had he done? He ran through his mental checklist. Nothing came to mind, but the tension in the room told him he was still in trouble.

“Hey. I’m home.” He tried again, drying his hands on a dish towel. “I made pasta.”

“I can see.” You muttered, not even looking up from the fridge.

“I got here an hour ago, but you were asleep.” He added, as if offering evidence of good behavior. “Are you feeling better?”

You’d called him earlier while he was at training, your voice strained as you complained about cramps so bad they’d left you bedridden. He’d felt awful for not being able to come straight home.

“No.”

Okay. Honest, at least. He hesitated. Should he just leave it? No, he couldn’t. The air between you was too tense. “Are you hungry? I can serve you a—”

“Kiyoomi.”

That tone. His name. Just his name. No ‘babe’ no ‘love’ no ‘baby’ not even a begrudging ‘Kiyo’. His chest tightened. His stomach sank.

“Yes, baby?” He asked, trying to sound calm.

“Did you eat my chocolates?”

Shit. He froze. The room suddenly felt about ten degrees hotter. For someone as imposing as Sakusa Kiyoomi—a man who made grown athletes tremble with a single glare—it was ironic how easily two things could scare him: insects, and you. Especially you.

“Um. Yeah. There wasn’t much left, so I thought—”

“Why do you always do this?” You slammed the fridge shut with a force that made him flinch, spinning to face him with fire in your eyes. “You always eat my stuff and don’t even replace it!”

“What? I don’t always—”

“First it was my ice cream. Then my oatmeal—you don’t even like oatmeal, Kiyoomi! And now my chocolates?”

“I just wanted to try it.” He muttered defensively, raising his hands as if to fend off your wrath. “I was going to buy more—”

“When? Tomorrow?” You demanded, your voice cracking, and oh no, now your eyes were glistening with tears.

“Baby, no, don’t cry.” He said quickly, his voice laced with panic. “I’ll buy more. Right now.”

“It’s nine p.m.!” You shot back, your voice wobbling but sharp. “Those were from that chocolate shop we like—they won’t be open! What am I supposed to do tonight?”

Kiyoomi froze. You had a point. And the guilt? It was eating him alive. He’d messed up, and now he was watching his favorite person unravel before his eyes.

You sniffled, and that tiny sound hit him like a punch to the gut. Then your face crumpled, and suddenly, you weren’t just sniffling—you were full-on crying. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you gestured helplessly at the fridge. “I just wanted something sweet! And now there’s nothing!”

Oh dear lord. Kiyoomi pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded like a plea for strength. This was worse than he thought. But despite the chaos in front of him, despite the rising panic in his chest, he still found you… heartbreakingly adorable.

He stepped closer, hesitant but determined. “Okay. I screwed up. I’ll fix it. Just… give me a second.”

You crossed your arms, glaring up at him. “How?”

Without another word, Kiyoomi walked over to the pantry, pulling out the bag of fancy cookies he’d been saving for himself. These were his cookies. The ones he didn’t share with anyone. Slowly, he placed them on the counter in front of you, as though offering a sacred artifact. “Here. You can have these.”

You froze, staring at the cookies, then back at him, suspicion written all over your face. “You don’t even like sharing those.”

“I know.” He said softly, his dark eyes meeting yours. “But I don’t like seeing you upset more.”

That did it. Your lip trembled, and you started crying harder. “You’re giving me your cookies?” You choked out, as if it was the most romantic gesture anyone had ever made. “You love these cookies.”

Kiyoomi exhaled sharply, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, you’re more important than some cookies.” He paused, watching you sob even harder as you clutched the bag to your chest and went to hug him. “God.” He muttered under his breath, but there was a faint, helpless smile on his lips as he wrapped his arms around you. 

“I’ll buy you as much chocolate as you want tomorrow.” He promised, gently smoothing a hand over your head. “And ice cream. And oatmeal. Whatever you want.”

“You’d better.” You said with your cheek against his shirt. “But you’re still on thin ice.”

He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “I know.”

You looked up at him, eyes still a little watery but filled with affection. “Thanks, baby.”

There she is.

“Always.” He murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

[lovelettersforthedamned]

Reunion & Betrayal

✰ frank castle x fem!reader, matt murdock x fem!reader (platonic)

✰ summary: frank dissappeared a year ago and you haven't heard from him since. what happens when your closest friend brings you right back to him.

✰ warnings: language, sorta violence, mention of guns, angst angst angst, matt is lowkey a bitch, frank is stupid, canon divergance obvi.

✰ word count: 1.2k

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

saw pookie bear again, and i've had this idea in my head since. there is a potential for a part 2, so lmk if you want that shiiiii. I LOVE FRANK CASTLE!!!

gif by @darlingshane

Living without Frank was hard, but you found a way to get over it. It seemed easy after the long weeks of crying and sulking. You had Matt. He filled your once-dreary days with laughter and even brought you out of your dark apartment for dinner and some drinks.

It felt like living for and loving Frank was a distant memory. One that you have chosen to put to the side every time you went to sleep. Of course, you still loved him, but he left. He didn’t want you anymore, and that was it. 

With Hector Ayala gone and his murderer still unknown, Matt spent all of his downtime searching for them. Whoever killed the White Tiger was skilled. He was quiet, collected, and had his objective in mind. You knew to respect his wishes when he retired from his vigilante activities, but you never told him to stop. 

You could see the urge seeping out of his pores to slip back into the night and fight for what was right. But you knew after Foggy, it was a sensitive topic. So when he wanted to scope out the area of Hector’s murder, you tagged along. None of this was your business, but Thursdays were you and Matt’s happy hour night, you just happened to be there. 

Thanks to Matt’s sensitive hearing, he was able to find the bullet casing in the hill’s storm drain. Your interest quickly fell as he felt the casing, his eyebrows furrowing before handing it to you. Taking it from his hand, you look down and find the Punisher’s logo etched onto it, Frank’s logo. 

It felt like every emotion you’ve suppressed for the last year has reached the surface and flooded your senses. You're silent as you think about what this could mean. The rise of Punisher symbols has seemed to be tattooed on the NYPD, and you couldn’t help but chuckle out a laugh at the thought. “This can’t be him,” you pause and take a deep breath, “right?”

Matt chews on his lip before shaking his head. He doesn’t respond, instead he starts walking. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion before jogging to catch up to him. “You know that I love you and that I would never hurt you,” Matt mutters, his tone serious. 

“Of course,” you look at him as if he’s crazy, “where is this coming from?”

He huffs, “I just needed to ask because you might not say the same answer in about fifteen minutes.” His answer worried you, but with Matt, you knew it was better not to ask questions. 

You followed him to a brick building, the cool streetlight making it look older than it is. Matt leads you to an elevator and pushes the button for the basement, leaving you in a nervous silence. Your heart is beating out of your chest, and Matt knows that yet he still doesn’t say a word to you. 

Pushing the door open, a long hallway with a ceiling full of piping and cables almost acts as your guide to wherever Matt is leading you. Lights are flickering while water is dripping from the walls as you stop at a door. 

MGR OFFICE

Looking back at him, you study his face. He’s emotionless, his lips drawn out in a straight line. “Where are we?” A simple question that only prompts a sigh. 

“You’ll see,” he says before pushing the door open, an ear-piercing screech coming from the hinges. Matt peeks his head in before stepping inside and holding the door for you. 

The first thing you notice is the wall of guns in front of dozens of papers stapled to the wall. The room was in disarray, and it seemed like whoever lived here didn’t mind that. Your back is to Matt as you take a closer look at the details of the papers scattered on a nearby table, “Matt, where in the hell did you take me–”.

An animalistic roar echoes off the cement walls as a blur of a figure shoves Matt into the lockers behind him. “Frank! Frank! It’s me, it’s Matthew.” 

You’re stuck in place as their heavy breaths are the only things ringing in your ear. You can’t help but take a clumsy step back in shock, the sound of your foot dragging against the floor catches both the men’s attention. 

Locking eyes with Frank a year after his disappearance wasn’t something you were expecting when you got out of bed this morning, and yet here you are. His pressure against Matt weakens as he swallows, trying to compose himself. Sniffling, he shakes himself out of his gaze, “What is she doing here?” 

Matt clears his throat, “She’s tagging along.” 

You’re still speechless as you keep your eyes on Frank’s form as he walks away from Matt and to a table deeper within the space. “I thought I told you to keep her safe, red. Now she’s tagging along your devil shit?” Frank pops a pill into his mouth before slamming the container on the table. 

Flinching, you walk towards Frank, a sudden haste in your stride that surprises him after being as still as a statue since you’ve laid eyes on him. And suddenly, you’re face to face, your neck tilting upward to meet his eyes. “How dare you,” your waterline is flooded with tears, but you would rather die than let one slip. 

Giving Frank a shove to his shoulders, you yell, “You told Matt to keep me safe after you left? How fucking ironic.” Your lip quivers as your eyes scan his face. His hair has gotten longer, and that beard is new. “Fuck you, Castle,” you bite your bottom lip as you try not to let your emotions come over you, “fuck you.” 

Turning away from him, you let a few tears fall when he can’t see them. Anger is still clear in your walk when you approach Matt, “Did you know where he was this whole time?” He looks down as guilt washes over him. “Damnit, Matt,” you take a step closer, “did you know?” 

“Yes,” he takes a short breath, “but I didn’t tell you to keep you safe.” 

A sarcastic laugh leaves your breath, you can’t believe it. “You’re joking, right?” You bring your hand to your hip and turn to Frank, looking at him in disbelief before doing the same to Matt. “Good luck with the casing,” you start, “I doubt Frank is going to be of any help.” 

You start to walk towards the door before looking at Frank one more time, “Next time you decide to leave someone who loves you, make sure you go farther than just the city.” You don’t wait for a response as you walk back toward the elevator, your hand covering the sobs that have been waiting to bubble over the moment you saw him. 

Walking home felt like a blur. So much so that you didn’t even feel the hand yanking you into the alley beside you before it was too late. 

✰ author's note: HEY!! long time no see (sorry). but i literally couldn't stop thinking about this idea and i was waiting and waiting and then i got impatient... so here i am!! don't forget to like, comment, and reblog!! love you!!!

[hederasgarden]

Preview: On the Horizon

Summary: You've been pining over your coworker for a while now. He might not have realized but someone has.

Paring: Tyler Owens x F!Reader (with minor Scott x F!Reader)

Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Angst, smut, flirting and asshole!Scott A/N: Thanks to @writercole for the summary. Hoping to have this fic out next weekend!

You brush the sweat from your brow as you surreptitiously watch Scott work beside you. He doesn't seem bothered by the heat, typing away on his computer despite the stagnant air. It makes you long for the cool labs you used to work in before Javi recruited you. Although he'd likely tell you this weather was perfect for a storm, you're miserable. Meteorology wasn't even your field; you were here for your engineering expertise to handle the specialized equipment the team needed to gather their data.

From your vantage point on the tailgate of the truck, you observe the other storm chasers gather around Tyler Owens' red truck. The man in question emerges with a brilliant smile, and beside you, Scott scoffs, annoyed. He hates Tyler, and you're pretty sure the feeling is mutual from the brief interactions you've observed.

"Ass," Scott mutters, returning his attention to his computer.

When you look up again Tyler's gaze falls on you. He grins and winks, pulling down the brim of his hat in acknowledgment. Before you can react, he's turned to speak to one of the young women on his team, giving her his full attention. A hand rests casually on her shoulder.

You wish Scott would acknowledge you like that. You thought things would be different after the night you shared weeks ago, but he'd been quick to dash those hopes the next morning, ignoring you completely. He only seemed to look at you when he needed your tech skills or when you made a mistake. Your cheeks still burn from his last reprimand in front of the team.

Clearing your throat, his eyes briefly land on you before returning to the screen in front of him. "What?" he demands.

"Oh. I was going to get something to eat. Do you want something?”

"Yeah, you know what I like," he says dismissively. When it's clear that's all you're getting from him, you push off the truck onto the dusty road with a soft exhale and head into the gas station.

The air conditioning inside practically makes you groan with relief, and you take a moment to appreciate the cool air.

"You're not melting on us, are you, city girl?" You jump at the unexpected voice, surprised to see it belongs to Tyler. "MIT got you all wound up, huh?” He questions, amused. 

"What?"

"Your boss," he clarifies. 

"Oh, he's um... he's not my boss. Javi is."

"No?" he questions, brows raised. "Well, he certainly barks at you like he is."

Heat rushes to your face as you realize Tyler must have overheard Scott reprimand you yesterday after you miscalibrated one of the sensors.

"If you worked with my team, I'd be a lot nicer," he says.

You stare at him, unsure how to respond to his comment or the flirty tone. Before today you’d hardly spoken, he mostly interacted with Javi or Scott.  You’re saved from answering when the bell on the door jingles and someone calls your name. 

It’s Scott. 

"Owens," he bites out, surprising you when he rests a hand on your shoulder and stands close enough that you feel his shirt brush your arm. Your lips part and your lashes flutter in response. 

Tyler's gaze drops briefly to your mouth before returning to your face with a knowing smile.  "Well, I enjoyed our chat," he tells you, not bothering to acknowledge Scott. "We should do this again, sweetheart."

"What did he want?" Scott demands, move to stand in front of you after Tyler’s gone.

"Oh, nothing. Just... saying hi."

Scott's jaw tenses, and he steps into your space, cupping your elbow. "You shouldn't talk to him," he advises.

When he tilts his head to stare down at you, something flickers in his dark brown eyes that looks an awful lot like jealousy. You glance over your shoulder at Tyler, only to have Scott say your name again, more forcefully. When you turn back around your suspicions are confirmed. For the first time since that night in the hotel room, you have Scott’s full attention and that sends a thrill of excitement through you.

You bite your lip, the beginning of an idea coming together.

Part 1 is now out!

[yanderenightmare]

can we get a part two to wants&needs, like anything at all please, just want to know what happens next, anything is fine please

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ AN: Truth be told, I actually did write this follow-up right after the first one. My original wish was to continue it, but I lost interest. It's not much, but since you asked so nicely...

♡ TW: implied dubcon/noncon, yandere, obsession, kidnapping, captive reader, deteriorating mental state, psychological abuse

♡ FEM reader

♡ P1: Wants & Needs

It’s been a month now, and only a month—one single month since you met your boss and three weeks since he abducted you. 

Time is a funny thing. You never really knew what people meant when saying that, but you think you get it now. He acts as if he’s known you all his life—as if the two of you living together was the natural next step—as if the horror of what happened after you woke up in his bed was the honeymoon, and this, just your homey little life as happy newlyweds.

He brings you flowers when he comes home from work, buys you jewelry and pretty clothes, makes you breakfast in bed, and spoonfeeds it to you since you so often make him cuff your wrists to the headboard. He draws your baths and doesn’t wear a condom when he fucks you because the two of you shouldn’t wait any longer.

That’s how it seems to be for him—but to you, he’s stranger than a stranger. At first, he was Dynamight, the celebrity pro-hero you’d see on billboards and magazines—then your new high-maintenance boss, Mr. Bakugou—and now, the inescapable maniac holding you captive in his house, who gets upset when you don’t call him Katsuki.

Yes, time is a funny thing. 

You thought there would be no end to your fighting back, that you’d pester him about letting you go forever. Realistically, you thought you’d keep it up for at least a full month. But turns out you didn’t even have the stamina to last a week. You’re scared, and you’re tired, and you’re weak, and you’re small—and Bakugou makes it all crystal clear when you decide to act up. 

Bratty, he calls it. 

Time is a funny thing. The outside world has already accepted your disappearance. Bakugou had made you watch it all on the news a couple of days ago—his strategy for making you lose hope and accept the situation, you suppose. The reporters say it was a villain attack at the agency, one of pro-hero Dynamight’s many enemies—and that you were tragically caught in the crossfire. You watched your family cry—watched them lay candles and flowers by the building—watched pro-hero Dynamight swear to catch the villain responsible. The segment was mostly about him after that. You felt like more of a footnote.

Time is a funny thing. The first time he’d undressed you and laid his naked body against yours, you thought you’d never get over the absolute dread of it. But it already feels old. Like some other unpleasant thing you have to do in the day—like a mundane chore—same as washing dishes or getting up early to go to work. It is, in many ways, just what it is.

Meanwhile, your quirk works against you. Suppose it’s somewhat to blame for your state. In the absence of other interference, Bakugou remains the sole source of influence. With no other noise to distort, his message becomes loud and clear—and your eagerness to heed him all the stronger.

In your head, you know you want to disregard him, fight back, run—but your body listens to his wants and needs and responds kindly like nothing would make you happier than to serve. Which is what he whispers in your ear as he takes you. 

Housewife quirk, he calls it.

Time’s a funny thing, and you don’t think it’ll be long now before you come to accept it.

♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BNHA masterlist

[wosospacegirl]

I don't know why I bite - part 1

Summary: Leah Williamson is determined to prove herself as Arsenal’s new head coach. Everything is going according to plan—until Y/n, the team’s latest signing, waltzes in late on her first day with a ridiculous excuse and even more ridiculous charm. Leah is not amused. Y/n is not taking her seriously. And the season hasn’t even started yet.

Warnings: grumpy x sunshine!!!!

Word count: 4.6k

Masterlist

Notes: I turned this blurb into a multi-chapter fic, this first chapters looks a lot like the blurb, but I added more depth to the characters. It was 2.6k before and now it's 4.6k

..

Leah Williamson became a living legend after leading the Lionesses to yet another victory in the Euros 2025 as the team captain and a defender. 

Unfortunately, 2025 was her last year as a professional footballer, after suffering a career-ending injury at the end of the season.

Leah had been an Arsenal player since the age of  9, playing for Arsenal Academy. When she was 17 she signed for Arsenal as a senior and hasn’t looked back since.

Leah never felt the need to work towards an international career. She loved Arsenal, it had been her family club since it was formed. It was a club that valued community and a club that stood up for women and LGBT rights. 

Arsenal was never just a club to Leah. That was one of the reasons she was so completely devastated when she was injured.

It was the Champions League final against Olympique Lyonnais. Leah had the ball and was getting ready to pass it to Beth when something collided with her knee.

One of the players–a younger and inexperienced one– had tried to take the ball, but the girl didn't measure how fast and hard she was going for the ball. In the end, her boot dislocated Leah’s knee.

In the end, Leah ended up in the grass of the pitch, but that time she was never to get up and play again.

It wouldn’t have been as bad if it wasn’t the same knee where she had torn her ACL years ago.

Leah was completely distraught when she got the news. She isolated herself from everyone she knew, finding it hard to discover another purpose in life. 

She didn’t want to talk with Beth, Alex, or anyone else. Her whole life had been around football and she didn’t know who she was or what she could be without it.

In the following weeks after Leah discovered she wasn't going to play anymore she had a complete breakdown. She was home alone, trying to walk to the kitchen when the TV news started talking about her.

Arsenal had released the medic report that stated Leah was going to retire due to a career-ending injury. It was the first report and update the world had of Leah Williamson since Leah was still hopeful that she could recover from her knee.

 She didn't, and neither Arsenal nor the Lionesses could keep a player who couldn't run. 

The news talked about her whole trajectory in football. 

It stung watching her younger self lifting trophies and scoring goals. If only she knew how miserable she was going to feel for the rest of her life.

And that is how Serina–Leah’s formal Manager– stepped in and invited the blonde to some coffee in North London.

“I think I know what would help you,” Serina said, taking a sip of her cappuccino. 

“Are you going to give me a new knee?” Leah asked, a hint of madness in her voice. Everybody thought they could help her, but in reality, half of her friends couldn’t even understand what was going on inside her head.

Sarina ignored Leah’s mood. “Belgium has one of the best Coaching centres in the world. I went there, Renée too. If you could get a Coaching certificate, you could start working as an assistant, or as a youth Manager at Arsenal. You’ve been there since you were a kid, and with your history Arsenal’s management would be mad not to give you a chance.”

“Manager?”

“Why not? You have a football brain, you have good leadership, and people trust you. You are a full package,” Sarina responded. “Just think about it, will you?”

Sarina left the coffee shop, leaving a contemplative Leah behind.

..

“If you need anything, you have my number.” Renée’s voice echoed through Arsenal’s training grounds.

It was Renée’s last day as the head Manager. Three years ago, Leah went to Brussels and got her Coaching certificate. 

It wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be. Not to be humble.

She was already very keen on football. After eight months of entering the Manager Academy, Leah was ready to start a new chapter of her life: Assistant Manager of Arsenal, alongside Renée.

The whole time Leah spent as Renée’s assistant was very productive. Leah learned a lot from the older woman, but Leah couldn’t wait for the day she would be officially named Head Manager, aka Manager.

As an assistant, Leah had some type of power to make strategic changes during a match and give her two cents on matters of hiring new players, but still wasn’t enough.

Leah promised herself she wouldn’t stop until she became the Manager of Arsenal Women. She would build her dream team and be the best manager she could be. 

She would fight her to be as good as Renée and wouldn't make any of Jonas's mistakes. Leah was ready to give her all to Arsenal again, but this time from the sideline.

And that’s what Leah did.

Renée decided to retire, and Arsenal agreed to sign Leah Williamson—the ex-captain of the England National team and Gunner-born—to their team.

“I have everything under control, Renée. You know I’ve been wanting your Manager position for a long time.” Leah said with a smirk. “The only thing you have to worry about is your wife and daughter, alright, mate? You’ve already done a lot for Arsenal.”

Both Leah and Renée were wearing Arsenal’s matching outfits. They had just left a small farewell party in the Arsenal’s event room; almost all players were there to say their goodbyes to Renée, and of course, welcome Leah into her new position.

Leah had to give a speech, her first speech as a Manager. She was very nervous but didn't show. She wanted the team to know she was a strong, determined and of course, caring Manager. 

“Still, Williamson, if you need any help, tips or even a friendly shoulder, just know that I’m here,” Renée insisted. The older woman was carrying a box in her arms, the outside having Once a gunner, always a gunner written on it.

Leah stared at the box, she had seen Renée packing things up in her office earlier that day, carefully putting pictures, books and even newspaper articles about Arsenal inside the container. 

It being full meant that Leah’s new office was officially ready for her to take in.

Both women walked through the front door of the Arsenal Training Grounds, and a cold breeze met Leah in the face, making the women shiver. Renée looked at the busy street ahead of her until she pointed to a black Audi A3. 

“That’s mine, guess I’ll go then,” Renée said, a bittersweet smile on her face.

There was a woman and a little kid in braids waving in front of the cars. Renées’ family had come to pick her up. Cute.

Before Renée could walk, Leah hugged her. “Thank you for everything, If I ever need you, I’ll give you a call, I’m serious” Renée hugged the blonde woman back before heading to her car.

 Before she could open the passenger’s door she turned to Leah.

“Don’t forget about the new girl coming in tomorrow, Leah. You’ll have to show her around and everything, plus she’s not from the UK, so—”

“Renée don’t worry!  Y/n is coming tomorrow at 9 am, I have everything planned out,” Leah rolled her eyes playfully.

“Alright, alright,” Renée said. “Now it’s all with you, kid.”

Leah watched as the ex-Arsenal manager got into the car and left.

Now that Reneé was gone and Leah was officially alone, she couldn’t help but feel a slight insecurity growing in her chest. She was the one responsible for the team now, her players relied on her. 

She needed to be firm, trusted, sincere and caring. She was the face of the team and she needed to do a good job. She needed to be focused only on Arsenal for now. 

She already had made her name known as a player, now she was going to make her name known as a coach.

Leah Williamson. New Manager, now official.

It was embarrassing to admit but Leah Williamson giggled and skipped toward her office. 

It was the best day of her life. Definitely.

Ok, maybe the second day. 

Nothing compared to winning the euros.

..

Leah thought her first day as Manager would be unfazed. What could go wrong? It was her first day as manager, of course, but it wasn’t like she was completely new to it. She knew the corridors with the palm of her hand, she could name every staff member's family member, and she knew every crack that needed to be fixed and every lamp that needed to be changed. 

Leah bleed Arsenal 

Leah still had the same players from last season–no one had retired or changed clubes–half of which were her former teammates and friends. The players all had their routine schedule with gym time, physio, drill and pitch time.

Nothing changed. Leah’s day was going as planned on her Google Calendar.

“I need this first day to go perfectly. No mistakes,” Leah muttered to herself, closing her eyes for a moment. “I need to prove to everyone that I can handle this. And I will”

But then, Y/n happened.

Y/n, the newest Arsenal signing of the season and the only change of the team.

It was 9:37 am and the girl was nowhere to be seen. The cold bit at Leah’s lips, numbing them, and the tips of her fingers ached from the chill.

Leah was losing her mind. She had the whole day planned. A meeting to go through, hours of tactical footage to analyse, and a schedule that should have been running smoothly–until Y/n ruined it by being late on her first day.

Leah was waiting alongside the media team to greet and officially meet Y/n for the first time. But instead of focusing on the introduction, she was standing in the cold, fighting the urge to scream.

Leah didn’t participate a lot in Y/n’s hiring; it was mostly Renée doing the work of checking her statistics and all the bureaucracy of recruiting someone from another country. She didn’t even agree with Renée at first, she couldn’t see why Arsenal needed another defender.

“Arsenal needs a sweeper,” Renée had argued during one of their meetings. “Someone who is fast, and logical but not aggressive. This kid Y/n is great for the position.”

“She’s young, just finished playing in college football,” Renée continued. “Think of her as your Alessia Russo, but as your four.”

Four being the last defence position in Football.

“Leah, we really have to get going, we need to take solo photos of the players, maybe when Y/n gets here we can try to make a small welcoming video, or something,” Clarice, the media director said as she looked at her watch. “I mean she is very late, and we have so much to do—”

“Yeah, of course, Clarice, you all can go. If she arrives, I’ll give you a call,” Leah said, impatience clear in her voice, but not wanting to also ruin Clarice’s plans for the day, she still had to do pictures with Beth, Lotte and Vic.

Leah was alone in the car park, tapping her foot against the pavement.

How can someone be late for their first day of training? It was clear to Leah that Y/n didn’t care so much about being the priciest Arsenal hiring in the last 10 years since she didn’t worry about actually coming to training.

When Leah signed as a senior in Arsenal she made her mom drop her off 3 hours earlier. She literally helped the staff open the Arsenal training grounds with how early she was.

Leah walked around the car park and looked at her watch. 5 minutes. Leah would wait 5 more minutes and if Y/n wasn’t here, she would go inside, into her office and let the new girl fend for herself.

 Leah was busy and she needed to watch a bunch of matches to study Arsenal’s future opponents, but instead, she was here waiting for this girl like a fool.

9:42 am.

Leah turned around, heading to the door and feeling stupid about waiting on someone who was not coming. At least now she could do some tactical work against Chelsea. 

Before Leah stepped into the building, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and turned around slowly, not enjoying the non-welcoming physical touch. 

She locked eyes with a girl.

Y/n.

Leah, for some reason, was expecting to find the girl in full footballer mode, perhaps with her hair tied back, or dirty clothing from an intense match, but Leah was not expecting to find a very… cute girl instead. Leah had only watched the videos Renée sent of Y/n on the pitch, so she was rather surprised to see the new girl didn’t naturally have grass all over her hair.

Y/n was wearing what looked to be five layers of clothing and a coat which was way too big for her. She was wearing very inappropriate shoes for the light layer of snow accumulation on the floor. 

It was like Y/n didn’t know how to dress for cold weather. It made Leah angry, for some reason. Maybe she was just grumpy.

Before Leah could blink, the new girl began rambling.

“I am so, so sorry, ma’am,” Y/n quavered, quickly pulling her hand away from Leah’s shoulder as she noticed the frown forming on her face. “You see, my cat ran away, and I had to chase after him and that took me twenty minutes, and then I took the wrong Tube—”

“Huh?” Leah cut in, her frown deepening. The girl was talking way too fast. “Your cat…?”

“His name is Ball,” Y/n explained. “He's orange. You know how orange cats are.” 

Leah frowned even more. The girl in front of her had a strange habit of saying whatever popped into her head. And what was that about orange cats? Since when did colour determine a cat’s personality? Leah wouldn't know–she was a dog person through and through.

And what was she saying about the orange cat personality? Leah didn’t know the colour of a cat mattered. Leah was through and through a dog person.

A heavy silence hung between them.

“What are you on about?” Leah questioned exasperated, crossing her arms.

Y/n fumbled for words. “Ball ran away and that’s why I am–” Y/n glazed at her phone and gasped. “–oh my god, so late!”

Leah sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She should probably be more focused on the girl’s lateness, but one thing was bothering her more.

“Ball? Your cat’s name is Ball?” 

Leah blinked. Once. Twice.

“Uh–football?” Y/n tried weakly. “Okay, forget it, I am so sorry for being late!”

Leah already knew three things about the girl standing in front of her:

She was disorganized and had too much energy, the worst combo.

She had a cat. A cat named Ball.

She was confused.

Leah wasn’t particularly fond of her so far. Maybe with some tough training, she’d be easier to deal with.

“You made me waste half of my morning here,” Leah said sharply “Don’t let it happen again.”

Leah turned on her heels and headed for the Arsenal training grounds. Behind her, she heard footsteps and the squeak of Y/n’s shooed against the pavement. Leah clenched her jaw. The sound was enough to make her want to rip her own shoes off.

“I–I’m sorry, and of course, it won’t happen again, ma’am” Y/n apologized, looking down at her feet.

Leah stopped in her tracks so suddenly that Y/n nearly bumped into her. Leah turned, her gaze was cold.

“Don’t call me ma’am.” She snapped. “It’s Williamson”

Today was supposed to be a good day, Y/n thought. She had written down on her planner everything she needed to do in order to get to the club in time. 

She had printed the map of the Tube so she could get around easily and not get lost, but of course, it didn’t work out and now her new Manager was clearly pissed at her.  

And of course, the woman angry at her had to be THE Leah Williamson, one of the most skilful defenders of all time and one of Y/n’s biggest inspirations. Y/n even had a poster of Leah in her dorm room–and maybe in her teenage bedroom as well.

Y/n had just graduated from her college in biology. The only reason she was able to get a diploma was because she had the opportunity to be an international student-athlete in the USA. It wasn’t easy being away from home and managing a social life with school and football, but she made it work.

Y/n biggest dream was always to play in a good and competitive league after she graduated. She got a handful of offers in the USA Women’s League, but she didn’t want to be in America anymore, she also didn’t want to go to her home country, so that’s why she screamed when she got the proposal from Arsenal.

Renée had first sent her an email asking her if she had any interest in playing professionally after finishing college. Y/n replied right away, telling her that she pretty much had no other choice: football was her one and true passion.

After that first interaction, Renée and Y/n exchange a few more emails. Y/n sent Renée her whole university’s league statistics, as well as some game tapes.

Renée replied that she was excited to have the girl on their team. They used Facetime to talk about important things, like calendars, dates and salary.

Oh, the money. It was more money than Y/n ever had in her entire life. Yeah, it didn’t match the man’s team, but it was way more than she made while working on the weekends as a baby and pet sitter.

Y/n was trying to see the bright side of this situation. She was in a new country, had her own apartment, and she had signed with one of the best teams in the league. 

She was so happy but so terrified of joining Arsenal. Arsenal was a club with history, it was a big club with deep roots in all of London and the UK as well. 

Y/n was grateful that Renée had seen potential in her, she wasn’t bad or anything, honestly, she had a way of tackling without getting fools which was impressive. But from now on her teammates weren’t going to be college girls like her, she was going to be surrounded by world-class players.

Was she good enough for that? Maybe she was just good at college football. Her manager said she was talented and skilful, and her Manager back in college said she had promising features. But it all depended on her now, could she do it? Could she fill up some big girl boots and show good football on the pitch? Y/n would have to wait and find out.

She was sure of one thing: Leah’s treatment of her wasn’t very welcoming. Yeah, maybe she was late and maybe she called her ma’am. She had messed up, but did Leah really need to walk in front of her a few feet away as if they were social distancing?

When Renée talked through her about her signing she did say she wasn’t going to be in the position as Manager much longer, she just hadn’t said Leah was the one stepping in. 

Not that Y/n was mad, she did deserve it after being almost an hour late, she just wished Renée had stayed a little longer to actually give her a good and warm welcome.

“Walk faster,” Leah said, turning her head around, frowning on her face. “We have the whole building to see.”

Does she ever smile? Y/n didn’t think so.

Leah Williamson didn’t look so grumpy on screen

“Sorry,” Y/n said, stepping up the pace.

Y/n was off to a hard start.

Leah was a grumpy Manager, but it was clear how much she loved the club. She was giving Y/n a great tour despite their bad greeting earlier today, but the snappy comments and impatience attitude were still there.

Should Y/n buy her an apology gift? Would Leha like that? What could she do so Leah wouldn’t be so angry at her? She couldn’t have her manager not liking her on her debut as a senior player! That would be embarrassing.

People had told her before she was hard to be around, too energetic, too forgetful, just too much. She thought it would change when she moved to London, but it didn’t seem like it.

“This is the locker and the changing room. You can grab that one on the left,” Leah pointed at one of the lockers, with no identification on its door. “Basic rules: don’t let your clothes or boots lying around, lock your locker and just keep tidy.”

Y/n hated Leah's tone. It was like the Manager wanted to be everywhere else in the world but here with her. But she couldn’t blame Leah, she wouldn’t enjoy it if somebody kept her waiting for almost 50 minutes.

“Look, I’m really sorry about what happened earlier,” Y/n mumbled, following Leah through the corridors. She didn’t know where they were going. Maybe the kit room? “I’m normally very punctual.”

“Hm,” Leah said, sounding indifferent. “Show that from now on.”

Maybe Y/n was going to cry on her first day after all.

Leah took a turn in the corridor and both women were in front of a white door, with “Medical Room” written on it.

The room was fairly normal, having a couple of physios and massage tables. It looked like the place hadn’t been used today, since the tables were all made. A few Pilates objects were scattered around, making the room seem more lived in.

What really caught Y/n’s attention were the photos on the wall. Y/n took a step closer to the wall, leaving Leah behind her.

Kyra and Alessia were smiling, both receiving messages from an older woman, whom Y/n guessed was the physiotherapist. Kim Little was right next to the girls’ pictures, wearing an air cast and using a crutch.

Vivianne Miedema and Beth Mead lay on a massage table, holding hands as they smiled for the picture. “ACL couple #1”, written just below it.

Next to it was a picture of Leah, a few years younger — maybe she was Y/n’s age — running in her arsenal kit. “Leah’s first run after ACL”, written in the same way as Vivianne and Beth’s photo.

Y/n felt her heart ache for Leah. Y/n was young, but she remembered how the football world was talking about how much Leah was trying to be back after her ACL tear. Ironic how it wasn’t even that injury that ended her career. 

Leah did everything available, every new therapy, and nothing worked. Sure, she could walk and even run for small periods of time, but she would never come back to football again.

Y/n wondered how Leah felt having to look at that picture every day. Memories of a time that would never come back.

“This is obviously the physio room,” Leah said, breaking the awkward silence that had formed. “I’ll email you the medical staff's schedule. If you ever need anything, you can just talk to them, they’re great”

“And if you need any medical speciality  that we don’t have here, Arsenal will book one for you at the closest clinic to your house,” Leah continued.

When Y/n turned around to talk to Leah, she didn’t expect her to be so close. Their bodies bumped together, making Y/n lose her balance and stumble forward. If things weren’t bad enough, she stepped right into one of the exercise objects on the floor.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the impact of her head on the wall. But it never came.

Leah was faster.

One hand gripped Y/n’s waist, the other cradled the back of her head, steadying her before she could fall;

“Careful!” Leah muttered, almost like a warning 

And that’s when it hit her

A soft scent–strawberry and… vanilla? It quickly found Leah’s nose, she breathed it in for a second too long before she realised she was holding Y/n’s hip a little too tight.

Y/n opened her eyes, meeting Leah’s gaze just for a second. 

They were frozen in place for a moment.

Y/n’s breath hitched. Leah’s body was pressed against her and she could feel its warmth, well, as much as she could considering Y/n was wearing seven layers of clothing.

Leah’s breath ghosted over her skin. Too dangerously close.

“Hey Mary could you see my knee—”

Y/n and Leah were met with Katie McCabe, her green eyes staring at the two women in confusion.

“Oh– hi?” Katie said. Y/n could swear she heard teasing in the Irish woman’s voice. “Am I interrupting something?”

“What?! No, of course not.” Leah blurted, taking her hands off of Y/n’s body abruptly, if it wasn’t for Y/n’s years of training balance not to get tackled to the floor so easily, she would have fallen again, that’s for sure. 

“I was just showing Y/n’s physio room, but Mary wasn’t even here…” Leah seemed defensive now, looking everywhere but at Y/n or Katie.

“She almost fell,” Leah continued, overexplaining herself and pointing at Y/n accusingly. “She tripped on this thing,” Leah lightly kicked the equipment, it was just a rubber ball. 

Y/n would laugh if Leah didn’t seem so nervous all of a sudden. 

“You know I hate when things are left lying around and–”

“Leah.”

“Yeah?”

“You are rambling,” Katie said, making the blonde close her mouth.

“Why don’t you go do some manager things and I’ll finish the tour with her, yeah? It’s Y/n, right?” Katie offered her hand to Y/n, shaking it firmly. “I’m Katie.”

“Hi, yeah I’m Y/n, so sorry this is how we met,” Y/n said, looking down. “Guess I’ll just go with her if that's okay—.”

“More than okay,” Leah mumbled. “Bye, McCabe, I’ll see you at training.” 

Before Y/n or Katie could respond, Leah had already left the room, a frown on her face.

Katie was a way better host than Leah, showing all the places in the facility without making the young girl feel like a chore. The Irish woman couldn’t help but notice that Y/n wasn’t as happy as new players usually were when they first visited the club, so Katie asked what had happened.

“She hates me,” Y/n confessed as soon as they got to the pitch, the last place on the tour.

Y/n didn’t know why she was venting to Katie McCabe. The Katie McCabe, but she seemed nice enough and Y/n was tired.

“Who?”

“Williamson.” Y/n mumbled “I was late earlier, and everything went south after that. I don’t know how I’m gonna get her to like me, or well, tolerate me, at least”

Katie placed a comfortable hand on Y/n’s shoulder. “She doesn’t hate you, she is just grumpy like that, Leah doesn’t like it when things don’t go the way she planned, she’ll come around.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Of course, it’s your first time at Arsenal, but it's also Leah’s first time as our manager. She never had a new player before; you are her first. Renée was the one handling the greetings and initial meetings with the players. Leah will understand that other people don’t always react in a way she expected.”

Y/n hoped Katie was right.

..

Notes: Please like, share and let me know what you think! Feedback is important and makes me want to write even more. :D

Read more of my work here -> Masterlist

[kjsfandoms]

Secret Santa

Eddie Munson x Reader

Description: Mrs. O'Donnell's yearly Secret Santa finally went well this year for Eddie Munson

Word Count: 870

------

Each year Mrs. O’Donnell had the idea to have her class take part in secret santa. Whether you liked who you got or not, you had to participate. It was a grade. As for Eddie Munson, someone who didn’t give a single fuck about his grades and shitty classmates, always managed to skip it for the last two years. This year though, he was way too determined to graduate to care about any of that. Plus this year it was different. Y/N was in his class. 

The two had never actually spoken to each other, but they would always steal glances at one another. There was something about her that he was so drawn to. That’s why he was secretly hoping he would get to be her secret santa. He’d finally get a reason to talk to her.

But alas, luck is never on Eddie’s side. He reached into the Santa hat that had the class names inside and pulled out Tina’s name. ‘Great.’ He thought to himself. He watched as the hat got around to Y/N as she went to pull out a name. He didn’t see the name, but he most definitely did see how she didn’t look his way. ‘There goes my chances.’

—

The day of secret santa Eddie walks into class holding a little gift bag with some candy. No way was he actually going to try getting a genuine gift for these assholes. He sat in his seat as the class started to pile in. 

“Alright class, now that everyone is here you may all hand out your gifts.” Mrs. O’Donnell says, wearing that stupid cursed santa hat.

The whole class starts moving around and Eddie makes his way over to Tina’s desk. He places the bag down without a word, knowing she wouldn’t want to speak to him anyway. Eddie makes his way back to his seat and slouches down into it. He knew nobody would actually care to give the freak a gift, so he reaches into his bag to pull out his notebook full of campaign ideas, deciding to work on that instead. 

From the corner of his eyes he can see the chair beside him being pulled out. To his surprise, it’s Y/N. 

“No way you actually got Tina a gift.” She smirks and sits down.

“Nah, just some candy. Didn't even try.” Eddie says calmly, even though he is internally screaming right now.

Y/N lets out a small laugh in response and then reaches down to her backpack. “Well, in case you were wondering why I’m here, I am in fact your secret santa.” she says as she pulls out a little gift box and then an even smaller gift box sitting on top.

Eddie is in so much shock he doesn’t even respond and lets her place the gifts on his desk. She doesn’t seem bothered by his silence and instead smiles and says, “I didn’t really have the money for an actual gift, so I made you some stuff instead.”

He reaches forward and grabs the smaller box first. He opens up the top to reveal a bracelet made out of guitar strings with some added charms of a skull and spider. “No way. This is so cool!” Eddie says through excitement, nearly jumping out his seat. Some students looked over at his mini outburst, but he couldn’t give a single shit right now. “I thought you might like that.” Y/N says with a grin, happy to see him enjoying his first gift.

“How’d you know I play guitar?”

“Well, it wasn’t hard to guess," she says as she looks him up and down, "but I did see you at the music store in the mall a few weeks ago buying some new guitar picks. That’s what gave me the idea for your next gift.”

Eddie had almost forgotten that there was another gift box sitting in front of him. He slips the bracelet onto his wrist and then reaches to open the other gift box. This time, he was truly at a loss for words. He reached into the box and picked up a little mini bouquet made out of wires for stems and guitar picks as the petals.

“Do you like it?” 

Eddie looks up almost in disbelief, “Do I like it? What kind of question is that? Y/N, this is insane!” He twirls the three flowers in his fingers to inspect them even more. Dark red and blue picks held together by hot glue, and even had some green picks as leaves. 

He looks back up at Y/N, trying to contain his smile, and says, “I have to get you something now. These are way too good for me to not get you anything in return.”

“Eddie, it's fine. It’s a part of the game, you don’t need to get me anything.” Y/N replies, also trying to contain a smile.

“No, that’s so unfair! C’mon, just one gift. I’ll even let you pick. It can be anything, well, almost anything. I’m on a tight budget here, but you get my point.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“How about a date?”

Up until this moment Eddie had never given a damn about Mrs. O'Donnells, but holy shit was he sure thankful for her right now.

"A date it is."

[dismalflo]

how did it begin again?

Remus lupin x fem!reader who have their first date after their reconciliation ✩ 1.3k words

this is technically a part two to this story but can be read as a stand-alone.

cw: exes to lovers, fluff, reader is overwhelmed, Remus is a sweetheart

an: wrote this purely because I love a happy ending.

The past few weeks have been the warmest you’ve felt in a long time. You’ve got your friends back, an effervescent group of the loveliest people you’ve ever known, and the world no longer feels as lonely as it did just a month ago.

And, of course, there’s Remus. Slowly, both of you have been chipping away at the lingering frost that still clung to your relationship, even after agreeing to give things another shot. You’re at a point now where being together in a group feels completely natural again—where the two of you no longer feel like a delicate subject that everyone else has to tiptoe around.

It’s strange, getting to know someone all over again, especially someone you used to know like the back of your hand. But it also feels like coming home—like the valleys and pathways are familiar, even though they’ve shifted slightly in your time apart. He’s still the Remus you remember—kind, caring, fiercely loyal—but now there’s something new about him. Fresh mannerisms, unexpected interests that intrigue you in ways you didn’t expect. And as you notice these changes, a quiet thought lingers in your mind, a hope that he’s just as captivated by the new version of you as you are by him.

You’re brought out of your thoughts with a knock on the door. You’ve no doubt that it's Remus, punctual as ever for your date. The first since your reconciliation. You give yourself a once over in the mirror, to check everything is in its place, before giving a nod to your own reflection. 

The walk to the door of your small flat feels immeasurably long, and your nerves seem to peak just as your hand touches the door hand. A deep breath, and you pull the door open. 

There he is. Remus, standing there with one arm folded behind his back, dressed in a green shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, paired with a simple pair of slacks. You can’t help but admire him. His smile widens when he sees you, eyes lighting up as if you're the only person in the world.

"Hello, gorgeous," he says, stepping forward and leaning down to place a soft, respectful kiss on your cheek. "You look stunning, dove."

You flush, a smile tugging at your lips as you respond, "Thank you, and you look very lovely yourself."

His arm shifts from behind his back, and with a subtle flourish, he presents a bouquet of flowers. You don’t even look at them right away, too absorbed in the warmth of his gaze. Instead, you simply meet his eyes, your face breaking into a wide smile full of affection as you take the flowers from him.

"Would you like to come in while I put these in water?" you ask, moving to avoid his gaze, already turning toward the kitchen, pulling a vase from under the sink.

Remus doesn’t answer right away. He simply follows you, leaning casually against the counter, a soft smile still dancing on his lips as he watches you. His eyes never leave you, and that smile never fades.

It’s then that you finally allow yourself to look at the flowers properly—not just a blur of color in your peripheral vision, but the delicate petals in full view. They stop you in your tracks. They’re your favorite. He remembered. After all this time.

A sudden, embarrassing pressure rises in your sinuses, a sting behind your eyes, and you feel his gaze searing into the side of your face.

“You remembered?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling just a bit as you fight to keep the tears from spilling over.

“Of course I did,” he replies, his voice steady and simple, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like knowing you, learning about you, and holding onto those little details is the easiest and most treasured privilege he’s ever known.

A sob tears through you then, and you flush with shame. It’s not sadness that overwhelms you, but the enormity of Remus—the weight of him, of how much he means, of how much you’ve truly missed him, beyond all the hurt.

Remus looks visibly panicked now, moving toward you, his hand hovering in the air as if unsure whether to reach out to you. Unsure whether he’s allowed to touch you now, as the foundations of your relationship are being slowly rebuilt.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” he rushes, his words tumbling out so fast it’s as though he can’t apologize quickly enough. “I never would’ve gotten them if I knew they’d make you cry.”

You shake your head, quickly wiping your face with the back of your hand, trying to steady your breath. "No, Remus, it’s not... I’m not upset, it’s just... it's just that you remembered. It’s—" You swallow hard, trying to find the words. “It's a lot, y’know.”

You step closer to him then, taking the initiative to wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him into a warm embrace. He follows suit immediately, arms wrapping around you. 

The softness of his touch grounds you, and the scent of him—something familiar, comforting, like the gentle blend of books and rain—soothes the overwhelming rush of emotions. You hold him tighter, allowing the tension in your body to melt into the safety of his presence. He lets you take the lead, his hands resting gently on your back, his thumb stroking soothing circles.

“Thank you, for the flowers, Rem.” you murmur.

“Anytime, lovely girl.” 

You pull back just slightly, looking up at him. For a moment, you both stand there, silent in the quiet of the kitchen, until Remus can’t stand it any longer.

“Please... can I kiss you?” His voice is thick with need, desperate, like a man starving, asking for the one thing he craves more than anything.

You swallow, the question hanging in the air between you, thick and heavy. It feels like both an invitation and a promise.

Your breath hitches as you meet his gaze, the warmth in his eyes both comforting and thrilling. You want this—want him. You don’t have to think twice about it.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath.

And then his lips are on yours. It’s slow at first, tentative, as if he’s giving you the space to decide whether you really want this, whether you want him again. His hand rests on your cheek, thumb brushing over the skin there, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. The kiss deepens, though, slowly, as both of you realize the other isn’t pulling away, that this isn’t a mistake. It’s exactly what you both need.

The kiss is everything you’ve missed and more—familiar and new, soft yet demanding, as though he’s kissing away the distance between you, erasing the gaps of time that once felt so painful.

When he pulls back, just a fraction, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing a little uneven, a contented smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His hand lingers on your cheek, brushing the stray hairs away.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper, as though he’s afraid to disturb the delicate moment between you.

You nod, unable to speak just yet, still caught in the softness of the kiss, the warmth of his presence. The world outside seems to fade into nothing, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel truly, completely at home.

“I’ve missed this,” you finally murmur, your hand resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“Me too,” Remus replies, his voice thick with emotion. “More than you know.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! <3 i appreciate all feedback

[ilovewomenfr]

just take your shit and go

click before reading

ex!abby, bottom!reader

men dni!!!! NSFW

cw: pretty vanilla, fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), praise kink, make up sex, idk what else

a/n: yall i thought i would be done this on tuesday. ive been so busy this week w work and life ive barely had time to write. this one’s a bit short but i had to get this idea down. i might improve it some time in the future. not proofreading and i kind of dont like it but thats ok. also requests are open as always. AND THANK YOU FOR SM SUPPORT ON YOU ARE SUCH A NERD! I GENUINELY WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT. xx.

you and your ex broke up two weeks ago, a huge fight blew up between the two of you which is why abby is at the door of your apartment, backpack slung over her shoulder, to collect the rest of her things. when you answer the door, you see abby’s gaze rake over your body.

“seriously abs?” you scoff at her, looking down at your abby’s baggy t-shirt, “do i get my shirt back?” she asks as she rolls her eyes at you, gesturing to the band tee. “oh. uh. yeah. i guess” you respond in a quiet tone.

“do you want a drink or something?” you offer and abby shakes her head, her blonde braid moving along with. the braid she would only take out at home when she was with you. the braid you used to tug on when she was drunk off your pussy to see her half-lidded blue eyes. you lick your bottom lip at the thought before shaking it away.

“are you gonna let me come in?” abby asks in a slightly annoyed tone. you get out of the doorway and allow her to come into the apartment. “most of your stuff is on the couch,” you mumble as you point over to the piles of things you threw onto the couch in a blind rage the night she left.

“aw how sweet of you to put everything on the couch for me.” abby says sarcastically, resulting in an eye roll from you. “just take your shit and go.” you grab a couple boxes and put them on the coffee table. you watch as she starts packing away her clothes into the boxes, standing awkwardly. “so this is it then?” you ask,

“what do you mean?”

“all it took was a fight.”

abby walks over to you, crossing her arms and resting her weight on her hip, “you were the one who told me to get out and never talk to you again, if i remember correctly.”

“because i was mad. i didnt actually expect you to go.” you look up to her eyes, trying to find any trace of resentment, but you find none. instead you still find love, “why are you looking at me like that?” she puts her hands on your waist, instinctively your own arms wrap around her neck. “im not looking at you like anything.”

“you are.” you play with her braid, “you’re looking at me like you still care.” she leans in and kisses you, catching you by surprise. the kiss is full of longing and desire. the way she holds you makes you feel as though a fire is stirring within you. she pulls away and sighs, walking back to the couch and sitting down.

“youre so confusing. i mean you tell me to go then dont want me to go? then you dont even text me for two weeks and when you finally do its because you want my stuff out of the apartment.” you nod, knowing you’re in the wrong here. “but i still care about you y/n.” abby leans back on the couch, practically beckoning you to come and sit on her lap.

you make your way over to the couch, sitting in silence as the both of you look at each other, tension growing in the air. “im sorry. i shouldn’t have told you to go.” you apologize, breaking the silence. “i shouldn’t have left.” her voice is softer than before, her hand find its way to your knee and her thumb brushes soothingly along your skin. the apology hangs over the two of you, and once again your eyes meet. abby’s eyes have a look of desire in them, one you know all too well. that’s all it takes for you to climb over and straddle her.

her hands find your hips immediately, “i’ve missed you, ya know.” you say gently, “prove it.” your hands hold her face and you kiss her again, sensually and slowly. abby’s hands run up your back to your hair trying to deepen the kiss. you part you lips and your tongue meets hers. you almost moan at the familiar taste, but you pull away instead, “does that prove it?” she lowers you onto the couch so you’re below her, “haven’t proved it quite yet.” she murmurs as she captures your lips once more. her hands slide up under your shirt as your tongues dance together, palming and squeezing your breasts, the simple action resulting in arousal shooting down to your core. she captures your moans with her mouth, before planting kisses down your neck, suckling the sweet skin.

moments later both your clothes are on the floor as abby kisses your inner thighs, “abs please” you beg, “i need you.” she looks up at you, “mm look at you begging for me, so needy, huh?” she goes back to sucking and kissing your thighs and you push her head towards your soaked pussy, “abbyyyy please.” you beg, “hm? what do you need pretty girl? need me to eat your pussy?” she nudges your clit with her nose eliciting a needy whine from you. “fuck, just eat me out already! please!” your begs are desperate now, your aching cunt waiting for attention. she pulls your legs over her shoulders and laps your slick, the sensation drawing a shiver from you. your hands clutch her hair as she begins sucking your clit, “fuck abby yeah” the moan is involuntary and in response you feel the vibration of her own.

youre a complete mess under her by the time the knot in your stomach snaps, your release dripping out of you pussy and onto your thighs. abby just keeps going, lewd sounds leaving you and echoing around your living room. she slips her fingers into you and curls them, your back arches as she repeatedly hits your g-spot, “so fuckin pretty when you’re falling apart baby” she murmurs softly. she uses her thumb on your clit and it’s like you’re on top of the world, your cries are becoming pornographic at this point and it’s just egging her on, “yeah, you like my fingers filling you dont you?” she nips your hip, “mmhh yeahhh. fuck baby ‘m gonna cum!” she keeps hitting your g-spot and the pressure building up inside of you reaches its peak, you feel your legs shaking as you cum on her fingers, “youre doing so good for me baby.” she lets you ride out your high on her before sliding her fingers out, “fuck i missed you so much abby” you say, she kisses you, “i missed you too”

tags: @jamiesturniolo

[michimichim]

author’s note: yes, yes i wrote 8.2k of pure filth and sin. yes i did that. and you would do it too, for a check?!🧍🏾‍♀️

ningning x g!p reader -> you were so adamant on never crossing the line between coach and client. what changed??

Lucky me

The metro hums steadily, its wheels grinding against the tracks in a low, rhythmic growl that vibrates through the floor and up into your legs. The air is cold, mixed with the distant scent of someone’s coffee and the crisp, sterile smell of the train itself. You’re slouched in your seat, one earbud dangling loosely, the other playing a muted TikTok audio with your duffel bag sitting heavily between your spread feet.

You swipe lazily through your feed—a dog singing Expresso by Sabrina, a chef flipping pancakes, a man tumbling mid-spin—when your screen suddenly goes silent. A notification slides in from the top, muting the video.

For a moment, you think it’s probably Ning announcing she’ll be late again, her schedule bleeding into yours like it does at times.

“the companys gyms closed come to my place instead … i still want my session :( ”

You stare at the message, your thumb hovering over the screen. The gym’s closed? Since when? You tap the notification and type back, “Why’s the gym closed?”

Her reply comes almost instantly, as if she’d been waiting for you to ask. “not the owner idk.”

You let out a small laugh. Typical. You send back a thumbs up, followed by, “Address?”

The response is swift, as expected. An address pops up. Before you can click out of the chat, your eyes catch the last message from her—a view-only-once photo she’d sent a week ago. You hadn’t responded, but the image lingers in your mind like a stubborn song.

It was late that night, after your workout session. She’d texted you out of the blue, asking about squat positions. You’d rolled your eyes, knowing full well she’d already mastered the form. But then the photo came through—a view-only-once shot of her hips, the curve of her waist accentuated by the dim lighting. Her skin had looked soft, almost glowing, the faint shadow of her sports bra strap cutting across her back. The caption read: “sooo sore.”

You hadn’t replied. You never did. But the image stayed with you, popping up at the most inconvenient times—like now, as you sit on the metro. You shift in your seat, bouncing your legs lightly as the train slows into the next station. The address she sent isn’t too far—just five stops past the gym. You exit the chat and pull up the map, double-checking the route. 

You’ve been Ning’s fitness coach for a little over three months now. When she first walked into the gym, you didn’t recognize her—not that you would’ve, anyway. You don’t keep up with pop music or the latest celebrities. But even then, there was something about her that made her hard to ignore.

She’d strutted in wearing a pink tracksuit that hugged her figure a little too perfectly, the zipper pulled down just enough to reveal a sliver of a sports bra underneath. Her hair was styled in loose waves, and her makeup was flawless, as if she’d just stepped out of a photoshoot rather than a workout session. She carried herself like someone who knew exactly how much space she deserved to take up, a cold confidence bordering on arrogance.

Yet, there was a playfulness to her too, something appreciative in her eyes as they swept over you, lingering for a moment too long on your arms, your shoulders, your stomach. It wasn’t subtle—the way she looked you up and down, as if judging you but couldn’t quite decide if she approved.

“Are you my new trainer?” she’d asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a practiced ease. Her voice was light, almost teasing, but there was an edge to it, like she was testing you.

Far from impressed, you’d nodded, your tone flat. “If you’re Ning, then yes.”

She’d smirked, as if your indifference amused her. “Lucky me,” she’d said, dragging out the words like she was savoring them.

At first, you thought she’d be like most of your clients—rich, entitled, and quick to quit when the workouts got too hard. But Ning surprised you. She showed up consistently, pushed herself harder than anyone you’d trained in a while, and never complained. Well, almost never. She had a habit of backtalking, questioning your methods with a snark that made it clear she was just trying to get under your skin.

And she did. Not in the way she probably intended, though.

It wasn’t that you were affected by her. You weren’t. But you noticed things—the way she’d “accidentally” brush against you while reaching for a water bottle, her fingers grazing yours just long enough to make you wonder if it was on purpose. The way she’d stretch in front of you, her movements slow, as if she were putting on a show. The late-night texts she’d send, asking about workout tips you’d already explained a dozen times, only to follow up with a photo that had nothing to do with it.

You told yourself it was harmless. That she was just being Ning—playful, flirty, and a little too confident for her own good. But you couldn’t deny that she had a way of testing your patience, of pushing boundaries you hadn’t even realized were there.

Like the time she’d placed her hand on the small of your back, her touch light but lingering, as she leaned in to ask a question about her form. Or the way she’d laugh at her own jokes, her eyes sparkling as she looked at you like she knew something you didn’t.

You didn’t let it get to you. You couldn’t.

The elevator doors slide open, and you step into the hallway, the plush carpet muffling your footsteps. The air smells faintly of vanilla, mixed with the crisp, clean scent of expensive cleaning products. The walls are lined with modern art, the kind that looks like it costs more than your monthly rent, and the soft hum of the building’s heater system fills the silence.

You follow the numbers on the doors until you reach hers. The gold plaque beside the door reads “Penthouse A” in sleek, minimalist font. There’s muffled music coming from inside—a rap song with a heavy bassline that thrums through the door. Adjusting the strap of your duffel bag, you knock twice.

The door opens almost immediately, as if she’d been waiting on the other side. Ning leans against the frame, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s dressed in a white top that stopped just below her navel and a pair of booty shorts that hugged her curves in a way that felt almost intentional. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, a few strands framing her face, and her lips curved down as she takes you in.

She tilts her head, her gaze trailing slowly from your hoodie to your navy blue shorts, lingering for a beat too long on the exposed skin of your legs. “You know it’s freezing, right?” she says, her voice lilting with mock concern, though the glint in her eyes gives her away. “Did you even check the temperature before leaving the house?”

You shrug, the movement loose and unbothered. “I run hot,” you say, your tone dry. 

Ning steps aside, her arm brushing against yours as you pass her. The contact is brief, almost accidental, but her lips curve into a small smile as she closes the door behind you.

The living room stretches out before you, bathed in the warm glow of a single floor lamp. The city glitters through the windows, a painting of lights blurred by the faint condensation on the glass. A yoga mat lies in the center of the room, flanked by a pair of dumbbells in front of the t.v. The air carries a faint sweetness—vanilla, maybe—mixed with the crispness of clean linen.

“Nice place,” you say, toeing off your shoes before dropping your bag by the mat.

“Thanks.” Her voice floats from behind you, light and airy. She moves toward the kitchen, her steps unhurried, the soft swish of her shorts brushing against her thighs. The muffled bass of a rap song pulses faintly in the background.

She opens the fridge, the cool light spilling over her face as she glances over her shoulder. “Can I get you a drink?” Her white nails tap lightly against the door, a casual rhythm that matches the beat of the music. “Water? Tea? Something stronger?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine.”

You kneel by your bag, unzipping it with a sharp tug. The sound of Ning rummaging in the kitchen fills the silence—the clink of glass, the soft hiss of water from the tap. When you glance up, she’s leaning against the counter, a glass dangling from her fingers.

“You sure you don’t want anything?” she asks, her head tilting slightly. The light catches the curve of her neck, the faint sheen of sweat already glistening at her collarbone.

“I’m good, love,” you say, pulling out the resistance band. The material stretches taut between your hands as you test its give, the snap of rubber sharp.

She hums, low and noncommittal, “Love,”  before pushing off the counter. “That’s new.” Her footsteps are soft against the hardwood as she crosses the room, glass still in hand. She sets it down on the coffee table.

You hum back distractedly. Dismissive.

“So,” she says, turning to face you. Her arms cross over her chest, drawing attention to the way her top rides up just enough to reveal a winking jewel nestled in her belly button. The light catches the piercing, sending a faint glimmer. “What’s the plan for today?”

You stand, the resistance band still in hand, and gesture toward the mat. “Warm-up first. Then we’ll work on your core.”

Her lips twitch, like she’s holding back a laugh. “My core, huh?” She steps onto the mat, slowly , savoring the way your eyes follow her. She pauses, tilting her head slightly, her ponytail swaying with the motion.

“What do you think of my progress so far?” she asks, her voice light but laced with something sharper. Without waiting for an answer, she turns around, her hands resting on her hips as she glances over her shoulder. The curve of her waist dips into the swell of her hips, the fabric of her shorts clinging just enough to emphasize the shape of her ass.

When she turns back around, the outline of her breasts is unmistakable, the peaks of her nipples pressing against the fabric as she shifts her weight slightly. Her stomach is taut, the faint shadow of muscle definition visible beneath her smooth skin. Every movement she makes—the slight arch of her back, the way her shoulders roll as she adjusts her stance—draws attention to the lines of her body, lean and sculpted but undeniably soft in all the right places.

You step closer, the resistance band still dangling from your fingers. Your eyes trail over her body, oh so slowly, taking in what you hadn’t let yourself linger on before. 

You don’t rush. You take your time, letting your eyes roam over every detail, every inch of her. 

When your eyes finally meet hers, she’s still looking at you, lips parted slightly, like she’s waiting for you to say something. Anything.

You don’t disappoint.

“You’ve got the kind of body,” you say, pausing, your voice low and steady, “that makes me want to skip the workout and just fuck you right here on this mat.”

For a moment, she freezes. Her lips part slightly, a soft inhale catching in her throat, and her eyes widen just enough to betray the shock she’s trying to hide. 

She then bites her lower lip—plump, teasing, the kind of mouth that makes you wonder how much work she could put into something if she really tried. The glint in her eyes sharpens, flickering between shock and something darker, something intrigued.

But before she can regain her footing, you’re already pulling away. Your face smooths into cool indifference, like the last five seconds hadn’t just happened, like you didn’t just knock her off balance and leave her scrambling for control. Let her chew on that for a while.

The corner of your mouth twitches, barely noticeable. You lean back, exuding nothing but ease, like you weren’t the one who just set fire to the air between you.

“Let’s get to work.” The sharp clap of your hands slices through the tension, final, dismissive.

For a beat, she doesn’t move. Then, a soft, breathy laugh escapes her—equal parts incredulous and amused. She tilts her head, smirk curling slow and taunting. “That’s it?” she says, her voice thick with mock disappointment. “No follow-through? Figures.”

The taunt is obvious—bait, a challenge wrapped in condescension. She’s used to winning, used to having people scramble to impress her. She’s trying to make it sound like you’re the one who can’t keep up.

You don’t take it.

Instead, you pick up the resistance band, rolling it between your fingers, your grip tightening just slightly. Follow-through? She’ll get it. Just not the way she’s expecting.

“Warm-up first,” you say, tone all business, as if you hadn’t just said something filthy enough to make her breath hitch. “Then we’ll hit your core.”

Her eyes flick to your hands, then back to your face, her smirk deepening like she’s already imagining ways to make you crack.

Good. Let her try.

The workout begins, and it doesn’t take long for Ning to start pushing boundaries.

During side lunges, she sways her hips with every rep, exaggerating the movement just enough to make you notice. The curve of her ass so fucking alluring as she dips low, her shorts riding up with each motion, teasing more skin than they cover. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

She glances over her shoulder, catching your eyes flicker—just for a second. Her lips curl, slow and knowing.

“Am I doing this right?” she asks, voice drenched in faux innocence. To drive the point home, she arches her back ever so slightly, her sports bra straining against her chest.

You twist your lips. “Lower your stance,” you say, voice flat, unreadable. But when you step in to adjust her form, your hands hovering just over her hips, you don’t miss the sharp inhale she takes, the way her breath catches for half a second before she steadies herself. The heat radiating from her skin, even through the fabric, doesn’t go unnoticed either.

She doesn’t make it easy.

During planks, she shifts her weight, her body trembling just enough to make it obvious. As she lowers herself a fraction more, her cleavage pushes forward, a bead of sweat tracing a slow path down her collarbone.

“This is harder than it looks,” she says, voice breathy, teasing. You catch the flicker of amusement in her eyes, the way she’s barely biting back a smile.

By the time you move to resistance band exercises, she’s fully committed to the game. She stands in front of the mirror, positioned just right so she can watch you watching her.

The band stretches tight around her feet, her thighs flexing with the effort, shoulders rolling back. Her breath comes slow, controlled, her lips parting slightly as she exhales. But it’s the way her gaze flickers—to your mouth, just for a split second—that makes your fingers twitch.

“How’s my form now?” she asks, her voice dipping lower, threading with something suggestive. She already knows the answer.

“Better,” you say, tone even, detached. But the slight clench of your jaw betrays you.

And she sees it.

The workout is over, but the tension lingers—thick, heavy, undeniable.

You're sprawled out on the couch, legs spread, back sinking into the cushions, muscles still burning from exertion. Sweat clings to your skin, cooling in slow, sticky trails. Your breathing is heavy, labored, chest rising and falling in deep, steady pulls. Across the room, Ning isn't much better—her shirt damp, her skin glistening under the low glow.

The only sound, aside from your breathing, is Flo Milli playing low in the background—sharp beats and cocky lyrics.

You watch her. Unapologetically now.

Ning stays stretching on the mat, rolling out her shoulders, arching her back in a way that puts her body on full display—whether it’s for you or just because she knows you’re looking, you can’t be sure. She tilts her head as she leans into a side stretch, her hair sticking to the damp curve of her neck, her breath coming out in slow, steady exhales.

Your fingers tap idly against your thigh. But the pressure between your legs is a different story—half-hard, pressing against the fabric of your shorts, aching just enough to make you bite down on the inside of your cheek.

Ning’s eyes flick toward your lap. And for once, she doesn’t smirk. She just watches back, lips slightly parted, chest still rising and falling with exertion.

“Look at me,” you say, voice low, firm.

She does.

And then—

“Take your top off.”

Ning doesn’t hesitate.

She shifts, languidly, sitting up on her knees on the mat, her hands sliding over her thighs as she straightens. 

Her gaze stays locked on yours as her fingers hook under the hem of her top. She drags the fabric up over her stomach, revealing inch after inch of glistening skin, the defined lines of her full waist, the swell of her tits beneath the tight compression of her bra.

She peels it off in one slow motion, arms raising above her head, back arching slightly as she pulls the damp shirt over her head. The movement makes her chest lift, makes the slick skin of her stomach tighten, and you catch the way her breath shudders as the air rushes over her overheated body.

The shirt drops to the floor.

She sits there, on her knees, looking up at you, her white sports bra dark with sweat, clinging to her like a second skin. The fabric outlines everything—the perky buds, the goosebumps.

Her fingers trail absentmindedly over her thighs, nails scraping lightly over damp skin as she holds your gaze, her chin tilting up just enough to look like a challenge.

Your fingers stop tapping against your thigh.

And then—

"Come here," you say, voice rough, thick with something that coils tight in your stomach.

Ning's lips curve, slow and taunting, but she doesn't move. Not yet. Instead, she shifts her weight forward slightly, tilting her head. "That all?" she asks, voice low, teasing, her eyes flickering down, then back up again, like she's daring you to give her something more.

Your patience is razor-thin.

"Now," you say, sharper this time.

And this time, she listens.

Ning moves.

Slow. Cat-like.

She leans forward, pressing her palms flat against the mat, and starts crawling toward you.

Her hips sway behind her with each measured shift of her body, her back arching slightly, the smooth curve of her waist rolling with every movement. She keeps her eyes on you the entire time—heavy-lidded, dark with intent, burning with something teasing, something so fucking sexy.

That look—it sinks into your skin, into your chest, into the heat pooling low in your stomach. 

Her gaze flickers down for a second—just for a second—to your lap, to where your fingers have already moved between your legs, pressing. She sees it all. The way your hand is pressing against the hard, aching shape of your dick in your shorts. The way your thumb drags along the waistband like you’re debating just how far you’ll let this go.

And fuck, the way she looks at it.

She licks her lips—takes it between her front teeth. Then her lashes flutter as she looks back up at you, her eyes molten, her smirk barely-there but devastating all the same.

You don’t stop.

Your fingers tighten around your cock, your palm pressing down, pleased at the attention. You want her to watch.

She keeps moving.

Every inch she crawls forward, the space between you shrinks, the tension growing thick, charged, a live wire stretched between your bodies. You can feel her heat before she even touches you. The scent of sweat, of skin, of something unmistakably hers, seeping into the space between your knees.

And then she stops.

Right between your legs.

Her hands rest on your thighs, light at first, barely-there touches that only make the burn under your skin worse. She tilts her head, eyes dragging over your face, then down—down to your mouth, down to your hand, down to where your cock is begging for something, anything.

She breathes out, soft, amused.

“So impatient,” she laments, her voice sweet and taunting, her nails dragging the slightest bit over your skin. “Didn’t even wait for me.”

But you don’t miss the way her own breath shudders at the sight, the way her fingers flex against your thighs like she’s trying to stop herself from moving too fast.

Like she’s just as desperate as you are.

Your eyes drag over her, taking in every inch, feeling every emotion—she’s close enough now that you can feel the warmth of her body between your legs, her hands still resting lightly on your thighs, fingers tracing barely-there patterns.

You let her sit there for a moment, just looking. Letting the weight of your gaze settle over her.

“Take it off.”

Your voice is low, even, but there’s no mistaking the command.

Ning tilts her head, her smirk deepening, playful and knowing. But she listens.

Her fingers move to the band of her sports bra, gripping the fabric, pulling it up—deliciously slow, enough to tease you. The damp material peels away from her skin, revealing inch by inch, until it drops to the floor beside her.

Your stomach tightens.

She’s so fucking sexy like this – flushed, glistening, every inch of her begging to be touched. Her breasts are perfect, soft and perky, the kind that makes your mouth go dry and your pulse spike. Her nipples are already hard, pebbled from the cool air—or maybe from the way your eyes drag over her, slow and unrelenting. You don’t know. You don’t care. All that matters is the ache in your hands, the hunger curling deep in your gut, the overwhelming need to touch, to taste, to take.

The way she stretches, the way her hands ghost over her tits, teasing pink nipples, knowing exactly what she’s doing. She rolls her shoulders back, letting herself be seen, and you catch the slight rise of her chest as she exhales, the way her thumb and index pinch her own skin, toying, testing.

You let your tongue swipe over your bottom lip, “You like showing off, don’t you?”

Ning moans, dragging her nails down her stomach, slow and absentminded. “You like watching,” she counters, her voice sweet, teasing, but there’s something darker under it now—something just as sharp as the way she looks at you.

And yet—

She looks up at you through her lashes, lips curving. “Do you like me like this?” Her fingers press a little harder against your thighs, a deliberate shift. “A pretty princess like me, sitting on the floor for you?”

She’s high maintenance, that much is clear. A spoiled little thing who knows exactly how much power she holds in a moment like this.

Your breath comes out slow, controlled, but the fabric of your shorts strains against your cock, already hard and throbbing, the tip damp and sensitive where it presses against the material. Every shift of your hips, every breath Ning takes, makes the coil of tension inside your stomach wind tighter, hotter, until it feels like you’re one touch away from snapping.

God, she’s something else.

And you need to take it up a notch. 

You watch her, a smile spreading across your face as you take her in once more. “You want me to like you like this, huh?” you ask, voice thick with amusement. 

You don’t break eye contact as you lean in, “I do love you like this,” you admit, the truth leaving your mouth like a slow burn. “A pretty little thing on your knees, looking up at me like you want to take my dick. Like you’ll do anything for me to fuck you the way you need it.”

Your hand slides from your thigh to grip her chin firmly, tilting her face up to meet yours. You let your thumb trace the curve of her cheek, dragging down to her throat, “But you’re going to have to work for it,” you murmur. “I want to see you begging. See how far you’ll go to make me want you more. If you can do that, then maybe I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Your eyes trail down her form, “Get ready, love. You’re gonna need more than just a pretty face to get me to give in. Touch yourself." Your voice is rough with desire, leaving no room for backtalk as you lean back against the cushions.

Ning’s breath catches, just for a second. She doesn’t move right away—she lets the moment stretch, lets the silence thicken, lets you wait. But then, finally, her fingers start to trail lower, one hand skimming over your lap, and the other continues its trail down her pelvis, teasing herself just as much as she’s teasing you.

Your eyes stay locked on her, dark, but your hands aren’t still either. One slips inside your shorts to grab at your cock, while the other drags under your shirt, up your torso, under your bra, fingers brushing skin before finding your breast. You toy with yourself lazily, rolling a nipple between your fingers, watching the way her gaze flickers—between your hands, your mouth, your eyes.

She’s breathing harder now, her body tense with anticipation, her thighs pressing together like she’s feeling the weight of your stare everywhere at once.

"Show me how you touch yourself thinking of me."

Her lashes flutter, her fingers finally dipping lower, and the moment she touches her pussy over her shorts, the sound that slips past her lips—soft, breathy, wrecked—makes something tighten inside you, sharp and unrelenting.

And still, neither of you look away.

Especially you. Not when her fingers press gently against her shorts, the outline of her pussy unmistakable, the puffy shape of her lips visible beneath the thin material. She rubs herself at a teasing rhythm that makes it clear she knows exactly how much it’s affecting you.

She keeps her touch light at first—  the fabric clings to her, dampening with each press of her fingers, and you watch as she traces the seam of her shorts, feeling the way the pressure makes her hips shift, seeking something—more, more of her fingers. And more of your dick.

Her breath hitches, a soft sound that carries through the room, and her touch grows more urgent, her fingers pressing harder, making circles over her clit through the fabric. The shallow, uneven rhythm of her breath fills the space between you, and you don’t miss the tremor that runs through her thighs, or the subtle arch of her back as she grinds against her own hand, pushing for more friction, more sensation.

“Like this?” Her voice is quieter, breathless, teasing, but with an edge. It’s charged, heavy, and you can feel the way her gaze locks with yours, so hungry. It’s a question, yes—but it’s also an invitation.

You make a low sound of approval, a soft hum that vibrates in your chest, before your hand pats your lap, the gesture clear. And Ning doesn’t hesitate. She settles onto your lap, her body fitting against yours in all the right fucking ways. You feel the heat of her skin, the warmth of her pussy pressing against you even through the barrier of clothing, and it’s enough to make your cock throb, already hard and leaking against the fabric of your shorts.

She feels it too—the way it presses deeper, pulsing, the shape firm and insistent even through the thin barrier of fabric. Each shift, each subtle movement, each brush of the fat head pressing against her.

The music changes. The sound is light, playful, but charged with an energy that mirrors the way you’re both moving. Ning giggles, something light and teasing as she shifts, her hands traveling over your shoulders, fingers lingering at the nape of your neck. She leans in, brushing her lips close to your ear.

“That’s my song,” she whispers. 

You feel the heat of her words settle between you, but there’s a different kind of heat now—the kind you can feel all over, the way her pussy starts sliding over your cock, the friction just enough to make your hips jerk forward instinctively.

“Let’s fuck to it.” Your voice is quieter, and without hesitation, you press your hips closer to hers. It’s a slow burn, a pressure building, each movement of her hips grinding against you sending shockwaves through your body.

“Let’s record it.” You feel her shift again, grinding just a little harder, her body rocking with the beat of the song. Each movement makes your cock strain against the fabric of your shorts—it feels like too much and not enough all at once, every inch of her body pressing against you, her warmth seeping through the thin material. Your cock is leaking at this point, the tip slick and sensitive where it presses against her clit.


Your hands slide down her sides, fingers digging into the curve of her hips as she grinds against you. She’s driving you absolutely wild. The heat is unbearable, but you’re not done teasing her yet.

One hand slips lower, fingers tracing the curve of her ass before you bring your palm down in a sharp, stinging slap, skin on skin. The sound echoes, and Ning gasps, her body jerking forward against yours.

"Mmm," she exhales, her voice unsteady yet laced with something playful. A slow smile tugs at her lips, and her eyes gleam with mischief as she gazes down at you. 

You smirk, your hand lingering on the warm, reddening skin. “You’d like that,” your voice low and rough, “seeing how I’d fuck you senseless to your songs? Watching yourself bounce on my dick while your own music plays in the background?”

Ning laughs, a soft, breathy sound. She shifts her weight, grinding harder against you, her hips rolling in a way that makes your cock throb. “Wouldn’t you?” she teases, her voice dripping with playful arrogance. “This ass was made to be seen over, and over again.”

“Damn right,” you agree, your fingers digging into her flesh as you pull her closer, your lips brushing against her ear. “And this ass?” You give her another slap, harder. “This ass is fucking. perfect.” 

She moans back, high and needy, and you feel her body tremble against yours. Her fingers tighten around your shoulders, nails pressing into your skin as your hands glide over her waist, fingers curving possessively around her sides. With a firm pull, you guide her hips back—against your hard bulge. 

Ning’s breath catches, a sharp inhale before she tosses her hair over her shoulder. Then, without hesitation, she leans in, lips grazing your neck before sucking softly at your pulse. Her tongue flicks out, tracing a slow, heated path from the base of your throat to your ear, the sensation sending an army of goosebumps all over your spine. And just as the warmth of her breath ghosts over your skin, she moves—hips rolling forward, grinding the cleft of her pussy lips right on the outline of your cock. 

“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” you reply, your voice steady despite the fire burning inside you. 

“Mmm,” she keens, her voice barely above a whisper. “Imagine what else I can do with my mouth.”

You grin, and your hand slides around to her front, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of her shorts, and she gasps so prettily, her hips bucking against your touch. Your fingers tease and tease her fold through skimpy fabric – and damn, is that a thong? – feeling how wet her pussy is. “You’re making me want to skip all that,” you say, your voice thick with desire to fuck her already. “Skip all of it and fuck you right away.”

Ning’s breath crumbles into stuttered gasps, her eyes locking with yours as she grinds against your hand, and you deliberately slide in one knuckle … then the next, the juices of her arousal giving you easy entrance despite the very tight clench of her inner walls. You can feel them fluttering, soft flesh enveloping your finger and almost sucking it in while she keeps at moaning and grinding. 

Your eyes drop to her tits, the sight of her pert nipples, so hard and begging for attention. You don’t hesitate—you lean in, capturing one nipple between your lips, sucking hard, your tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. The sharp gasp that escapes her lips is music to your ears, and you feel her body arch into you, her hands tangling in your hair, pulling you closer.

This close you can taste the salt on her skin, feel the way her breath hitches, the way her hips grind against yours. She bites her lip, a high-pitched moan slipping past her clenched teeth as you switch to her other nipple, giving it the same attention. Her back arches, her body trembling under your touch, and you can’t resist the urge to slap her ass again, hard.

“Fuck,” she whimpers, her voice breaking as her nails dig into your shoulders, her hips rocking against you, desperate for more friction, more of you. “Don’t stop,” she breathes, her words barely coherent, her body writhing under your hands and mouth.

You pull back just enough to look up at her, your lips glistening, her nipples red and swollen from your attention. Your hand keeps sliding over her cunt and the other still grips her ass, squeezing hard. “You like it when I take what I want?”

She nods, her eyes dark with need, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling, her body pressing into yours, begging for more. “Don’t stop.”

You smirk, your hand coming down on her ass again, the sharp sting making her cry out, her body jerking against yours.

“Oh, God…” Ning says, her voice trembling. She lifts herself slightly, just enough to slip her fingers beneath the waistband of your shorts. The elastic drags against your skin as you help her ease them down, before your cock finally snaps free. Her gaze lowers, drawn between your bodies, her lips parting slightly as she takes in the sight of you— dick resting thick and heavy against the flat plane of her stomach, the contrast making her breath hitch.

The hand that had been teasing her pussy, slick with her wetness, moves to grip your cock, the warmth of her arousal coating your skin as you tap the tip against her stomach. Both of your fluid smear across her skin as you tease her. 

“Think you can handle it?” you ask, cockily, your grip tightening slightly as you drag the head of your cock across her skin. The question hangs in the air, as you watch her reaction, your thumb brushing over the sensitive tip, smearing a bead of pre-cum.

Ning bites her lip, her eyes dark with mischief as she brings her thumb to your lips, pressing it gently against them. Her touch is soft, her nail sliding against your lower lip and before you can react, she pushes your hand away from your cock, her fingers wrapping around you instead. Her grip is firm, her thumb brushing over the sensitive head, and it’s your turn to curse, your hips jerking instinctively.

“I’ve seen bigger,” she says, her voice teasing, her lips curving into a smirk as she looks up at you. Right … It makes you laugh, a light, rumbling sound that vibrates through your chest, but the way her hand moves on you quickly sobers you up.

Thick beads of precum meet her fingers as she delves right up to the head, her soft fingertips massaging your aching gland, rubbing the slit with a precision that makes your breath hitch. You sigh, your hand gripping the flesh of her ass, fingers digging into her skin as she works you with practiced ease. Ning moans softly, her thumb brushing light, curved paths under the very tip of your cock, the sensation sending a shudder through the root of you and pushing up a fresh gush of precum—right onto her waiting hand.

She circles your slit, slowly, before starting a slide up and down your length, her palm slicked with your precum. The wet, sticky sound of her hand moving on you fills the room, mingling with the soft, breathy noises escaping your lips. Her eyes never leave yours, her gaze heavy with intent.

“But I bet,” she murmurs, her voice a sultry whisper, thick with mischief. Her thumb pressing against the sensitive underside of your cock, “you’ve never had this kind of pussy in your life.”


Ning’s words hang in the air, but instead of responding, you decide to take matters into your own hands. In one swift, decisive motion, you flip her onto her stomach, throwing her face down onto the couch. Her surprised gasp is muffled by the cushions, but it quickly turns into a laugh—soft, breathy, and dripping with amusement.

“Let’s put it to the test,” you say, your voice low and rough, your hands gripping her hips as you position yourself behind her.

Ning doesn’t resist. Instead, she arches her back, presenting herself to you. Turning her head just enough to catch your gaze, her lips curve to the side, amusement dancing in her gaze. “Mmm, I hit a nerve?” she purrs, her voice lilting, teasing, as she gives the smallest sway of her hips—just enough to taunt, just enough to push you further.

You don’t answer. She titters once again.

You tug your shirt off in one sharp motion, leaving you in just your bra, the cool air brushing against your heated skin. Your hands move to her shorts, fingers hooking into the waistband and yanking them down the round of her ass. The sight that greets you makes your breath catch—a black thong, barely there, framing her ass perfectly. The fabric clings to her, accentuating the curve of her back dips into the rise of her ass, still red from the marks of your palm. The muscles there are taut but soft, the kind that begs to be touched.

“Jesus.” You mutter, marvelling next at the faint stretch marks that curve along the sides of her hips, subtle and easy to miss. 

Ning glances back at you again, her smirk widening. “Like what you see?” she asks, her hips swaying again – she knows too well what it’s doing to you.

Her breathing hitches when your hand settles on her ass, the warmth of your palm so much better than the with the cool air against her skin. You tug the thong aside, the fabric sliding against her slick folds with a soft, wet noise that makes you shiver. 

Her pussy is a work of art, glistening and swollen, the kind of pretty that makes your mouth water and your cock aches. The lips are full and puffy, a delicate shade of pink that deepens to a flushed red where her arousal pools. The folds are soft, almost velvety, parting slightly, begging for you, the wetness coating her thighs and glistening under the light. Her clit peeks out from its hood, swollen and sensitive, a tiny bead of desire that seems to pulse with every shaky breath she takes. 

It’s so perfect, so hers. You want to ruin it in the best way possible.

A firm push of your thumb, and she stretches open, taking your digit with a low, raspy gasp that almost breaks into a moan. Her eyes flutter shut, her face flushing hot as she tries to steady her breathing, but it’s just not possible with the way your thumb plunges deep, exploring her slowly, dragging out with accurate precision.

And when your thumb slides free, she lets out a faint, protesting whine, but you don’t give her a chance to recover. Instead, you bring your hand down in sharp, stinging smacks—one after the other—each one landing on a different cheek with a satisfying crack, the sound mingling with her breathy cries.

By the time you’re done, she’s reduced to a trembling, sobbing cry-baby, her body arching into your touch even as she tries to catch her breath. You don’t let up. Leaning forward, you press your hips heavily against her ass, your cock grinding against her slick mound from beneath. The friction is delicious, the heat of her body searing against yours as you rock against her, light veins rough grinding against her clit.

“You want this dick? Hmm?” you tease, sliding your cock across her slick entrance, the tip catching on her soft, trembling lips. You can feel her warmth, the way her body quivers in anticipation, and it’s almost too much to resist. Ning tenses, her breath hitching as she fights to hold herself together, but her body betrays her. Her pussy is greedy, desperate, and even the slightest pressure has the head of your cock sinking in, her wetness making it impossible to resist. She gasps, a sharp, broken sound, and you can’t help but smirk. That’s how wet she is—how much she wants you…

She can barely speak, much less think on her own.

She wants you. She wants you. She wants you so badly. So blindly, bad!

She’s barely coherent, her mind a blank slate as she arches beneath you, blindly reaching out, her fingers clawing at the air as if she could pull you closer. Her heart pounds in her ears, a frantic rhythm that matches the way her body trembles. A desperate, whimpering sound escapes her lips, and you know she’s lost in this moment, consumed by the need for you. Everything else has faded away—there’s only you, only this. 

A deep, pulsing ache coils inside her, an unbearable emptiness that leaves her trembling with need. It’s maddening—the way she craves you, the way her body betrays her with every shallow breath, every instinctive movement. She’s drunk on anticipation, on the slow, torturous build of what’s to come, until she can’t help but press back, rolling her hips in search of more.

And then—relief, sharp and so good. The head slips fully inside, stretching her open, and a strangled cry spills from her lips. Her walls grip you instinctively, clinging tight, as if trying to hold you there, refusing to let you go.

The sensation is dizzying, your teeth sinking into your lip hard enough to taste copper, the world narrowing to nothing but the slick, suffocating heat of her cunt.

“Hmm, fuck,” you breathe out, a laugh tumbling from your lips—breathless, almost delirious. Slowly, you pull back, just enough to make her feel the loss, before sinking in again. Her walls yield effortlessly, wrapping around you, in a scorching, velvet embrace that pulses and grips, the sensation so intense it sends a shudder down your spine to your toes. You shift, angling your hips just right, upwards, and the effect is immediate—another broken moan spills from her lips, her back arching as pleasure rips through her.

"Aah—slow down, s-slow d—" she stammers, her voice barely a whisper beneath the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

But you’re not feeling generous. Leaning in, your fingers tangle into her hair, tightening at the roots as you pull her head back, forcing her to meet your gaze.

” But you’ve had bigger?" you murmur against her ear, voice dark and edged with something primal. To punctuate your words, you thrust deep, savoring the way her body reacts—how she clenches around you, how her eyes squeeze shut as she cries out your name like a prayer. And Ning just takes it like a champ, her hole suckling at the base of your cock like a good cunt. Like a good whore. “Hmm? Answer me.”

And to drive the point home, you quicken your pace, each snap of your hips merciless, relentless. Her cries grow louder, more urgent, every stroke pushing her closer to the edge. Your grip in her hair tightens as you lean in, voice rough and demanding—

"Answer."

“No,” she gasps, her voice cracking, barely holding together as she struggles to form words. "Hmm—fuck, no, I lied," She reaches back, fingers grasping at you in a desperate attempt to slow you down, but you catch her wrist with ease, pinning it behind her back. A quiet, defeated whimper escapes her, but it only fuels you.

Your other hand grips the soft curve of her ass, fingers digging into heated skin before you drag her back onto you with a sharp, punishing thrust. She screams—high, broken, the sound raw with pleasure and something dangerously close to surrender.

The room is filled with it—the sharp slap of skin meeting skin, the ragged sobs that spill from her lips, the wet, obscene sounds of her taking every inch of you. Your moans. You don’t let up. You can’t. You drive into her harder, deeper, until her toes curl and her entire body quakes beneath you, pleasure teetering on the edge of something unbearably exquisite.

She’s a mess beneath you—shaking, breathless, her thighs trembling, her ass flushed and hot beneath your grip. And you can’t get enough. Not of the way she clings to you, not of the way she tightens around you like she could die if you let her go, like she’s trying to milk every drop from you.

And she really didn’t lie. It’s the best pussy you’ve ever had. 

The distant thrum of music plays in the background, muffled and insignificant against the raw sounds of her pleasure—ragged breaths, gasping moans, the soft, wet suck of your cock inside of her.

You press her into the couch, your weight a delicious burden, pinning her beneath you as you drive into her with ruthless precision. Every thrust forces a choked cry from her lips, her body arching instinctively, desperate to take you deeper as she starts pleading to keep going.

But you don’t.

Slowly, you withdraw, savoring the way her walls clutch at you, slick and trembling, reluctant to let you leave. The sight of her—stretched, quivering, her body begging for more—sends a dark pulse of satisfaction through you.

And then, just as her fingers tighten in protest, you feed her the tip of your cock, slowly fucking into her. The drag is delicious. 

“Oh, look at that." your grip tightens around the back of her neck, pressing her deeper into the cushions as you claim her. The strain burns through your arms and thighs, but you don’t stop. There’s no stopping this. Your hips drive forward with relentless force, each thrust sending shockwaves through her body. "You're so fucking pretty when you're screaming my name, Ning."

Those moans, broken and breathless, feed the fire curling low in your spine. You're close—so fucking close.

For a moment, you pause, chest heaving, grounding yourself in the sight of her beneath you. But Ning isn’t having it. She pushes back onto you, hips rolling in desperation, her body greedy for more. Her moans come in shattered gasps, trembling with need and you can’t help but groan at the sight of her ass bouncing against your hips, her pussy dripping with every thrust. 

“Hmm, you’re so big,” she whimpers, cries, voice raw, breath hitching as she arches her back, taking you deeper. “Oh, fuck!” 

Your gaze is heavy, hooded, as you watch yourself disappear into her, each lsnguid thrust mesmerizing. The sight of her—sprawled out, pussy taking you so greedily—sends a thrill curling through you.

She rolls her hips on the next drag, making her ass jiggle, thighs slapping against your skin as she forces you deeper, desperate, insatiable. It’s like she’s been starving for this, for you, ever since she first laid eyes on you.

A low, guttural moan tears from your throat as you pull back before slamming into her again, harder, faster. The pace turns frantic, all restraint shattering. Ning’s cries pitch higher, her body bowing against the force of your thrusts. Her thighs shake, her ass reddened beneath your grip, and she can feel herself dripping, her pussy throbbing with an imminent release. She’s dripping, throbbing, falling apart beneath you, and when she whimpers your name, voice ragged and desperate, it nearly undoes you.

She’s screaming now, her body writhing beneath you as you fuck her through her orgasm, fucking her like she’s nothing more than a whore, your hands sliding down from her waist, pressing two fingers to her engorged clit, and she can’t even scream, her pussy clenches around you as she comes, her body shaking with the force of it.  You’re right behind, gripping her tightly as you pulse inside her and fill her with your release, the sensation so intense it leaves you breathless.