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lucyrose191 · 10 months ago

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TAME THE WOLFF| T.WOLFF

Pairing; Angry!Toto Wolff x Calm!Wife!reader

Summary; A few scenarios in which Toto is angry and frustrated and you’re there to calm him down and save his poor team from his wrath

Warnings; angry Toto.

F1 Master List

It was no secret that during a race weekend Toto could get a little….frustrated.

Okay, frustrated was putting it way too lightly, the man got way too passionate about his work and when things didn’t go the way they’re supposed to it was like a volcano was erupting in his mind and he just loses all sense of control leading him to his famous actions of smashing headphones.

The Austrian was already intimidating enough with his tall stature and the confidence he eluded but when he was angry he wasn’t just intimidating, he was scary.

The way his dark eyes seemed to turn almost entirely black and how the veins in his forehead throbbed were signs that had the Mercedes team shifting in their seats and the moment he started running his hands down his face was the moment the higher people in the team would get their phones out and call for help.

That help being you.

It had taken a long time for the team to acknowledge the effect you had on their team principle because he never got angry when you attended races but it was when you arrived to races later in the day that they started to see how things changed.

It was one particular day when Toto had arrived to the track already a bit frustrated, whether that was because of your absence or not they didn’t know but the pile up of disastrous events had lead to the team principle throwing things and shouting at the top of his lungs.

Then you arrived.

You certainly hadn’t expected to walk into the garage and be greeted by your husband in a fit of rage and the entire team stood frozen like petrified animals but the sight of fear on their faces had upset you greatly, especially knowing that it was because of Toto’s, quite frankly unnecessary, tantrum.

You walked over to your husband, who hadn’t even noticed you amidst his anger, and gently placed your hand on his arm.

Any member of the team would’ve called you crazy in that moment, walking over to the beast of a man with no fear on your face when he could have easily turned around and launched you across the room without even thinking.

He had been ready to throw a fist at the person who had the gall to touch him before he saw that it was you, his beloved wife looking at him with nothing but love in your eyes even as he was acting like a brute.

The team had never seen him change personalities so quickly in that moment.

You didn’t say anything to him, instead you placed your other hand on his back and guided him away from everyone, you wouldn’t have been able to move him by yourself but he allowed you to guide him away with absolutely no argument.

You opened the door of his makeshift office, saying nothing as he strode straight past you without a glance, steam practically spilling from his ears, you could feel the anger radiating off of him.

Apart from his unsettled shuffling the room was filled with an intense silence as you shut the door, simply watching as his chest rose and fell harshly, you could see that he was trying to calm himself down now that he was in your presence but he was struggling to do so and that was only frustrating him further.

"Sit down," you gently instructed him, nodding towards the small sofa pushed up against the wall of the small room.

He wanted to argue but he stopped himself and did as he was told, sitting down on the sofa he buried his face into his hands.

You walked over to him and wrapped your arms around the back of his head, allowing him to lean into your stomach, you ran your hands through his hair.

"I understand you’re stressed and that things aren’t going the way you want them too but the way you’re shouting is unfair to the team, they are not your verbal punching bag but you’re treating them as they are."

Toto closed his eyes, releasing a heavy sigh, he wrapped his arms around your body to bring you closer.

He knew you were right, you always were and that’s what he loved about you, how you were always there to talk some sense into him.

He didn’t say anything though, he just held you firmly but gently and used your presence to calm him down.

There were many things he needed to be doing right now but he couldn’t find himself to care, right now the most important thing was calming down and spending time with you, no matter how long that took.

When the Mercedes team heard the door to their boss’ office unlock and saw the man himself walk out completely calm with you following shortly after, they were beyond amazed.

It was that day that the members of the team who had your number put you on speed dial in preparation for when an incident like this happened again, which it no doubt would.

"It seems that Toto Wolff is beginning to get a little bit frustrated down in the Mercedes garage."

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the unnecessary commentary that wasn’t helping in the slightest.

Your husband was getting agitated and the nearby team members were nervously glancing in his direction as though they were mentally preparing themselves for him to blow his top.

Instead of waiting for Toto to lose it, you stood behind him and loosely wrapped your arms around him, thumbing at the collar of his shirt.

Everyone around could see the tension immediately release from his body just from your comforting touch.

Toto grabbed one of your hands with his own, stroking his thumb back and forth across your skin, using the motion as a way to ground himself.

The whole garage went silent at the sight of both of their cars spinning off the track in turn 1. What once was going to be a promising race from starting second and third has turned into a disaster in such a short amount of time.

Everyone was utterly speechless as the entire team just sat there staring at their monitors in shock.

But then they actually acknowledged that it was silent and all simultaneously turned towards their boss with confused stares only to see you blocking him from the cameras that were pointing into the garage, leaning down and whispering, what they could only guess were calming, words to him.

Whilst the cameras couldn’t see his face, the team could and they could tell he was, rightfully so, furious as the situation, he wasn’t shouting or throwing things.

He definitely wanted to but he wasn’t.

You weren’t really in the mood to be in the garage today surrounded by so much noise to the point you could barely hear yourself think and the smell of fuel so strong it made you nauseous but you still wanted to support your husband as you weren’t able to accompany him everywhere he went so you settled in his makeshift office on what was possibly the worlds smallest sofa with your laptop sitting in your lap and your headphones placed over your ears to block out the noise from the team outside and the cars on the track.

It had been hours and you were content in the alone time you were getting, it was just you and your music playing in your ears that you didn’t notice the multiple calls you were receiving.

Unbeknownst to you, outside of his office, your husband was kicking off and nothing anyone did or said could calm him down.

The team had never witnessed Toto as angry as he was right now, the veins in his forehead more prominent than ever and whilst most didn’t understand the German words coming out of his mouth, they knew he couldn’t be saying anything nice.

Bono was trying to get a hold of you for possibly the twentieth time and he was still having no luck, he felt the pressure of the teams eyes on him, begging for the news that you’d be coming knowing that he was only one of a few that had your number and the means to find you right now but he wasn’t getting anywhere.

Poor Lewis and George were getting the brunt of the Austrian’s anger and even though they hadn’t a clue of what he was saying, they were starting to question the security of their jobs.

Luckily, a mechanic who had just entered the garage and was completely taken aback by the scene in front of him, awkwardly side shuffled to Bono and questioned what was going on. "He’s acting crazy! I can’t get a hold of Y/N."

"Didn’t she go straight into his office when they arrived earlier?" The mechanic asked.

Bono looked at him in shock and relief before jumping to his feet and wasting no time as he jogged in the direction of Toto’s office.

It was rude but he didn’t bother knocking, he almost cried when he saw you sitting there.

You got the fright of your life as the door burst open but the sight of a frantic Bono caused you to remove your headphones and look at him in confusion.

"Oh thank god you’re here! Toto’s gone mental!"

You released a sigh at his words and pushed your laptop to the side and got up from the sofa. "What for now?"

"I honestly have no idea but if he doesn’t calm down soon then Lewis and George might just start crying and Toto looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel."

The moment you stepped out into the short, narrow corridor you heard your husbands angry German shouting. "Mein Gott," you muttered to yourself.

Entering the main part of the garage you weren’t greeted by a pretty sight at all, Bono wasn’t overreacting in the way he described Toto, Lewis and George and let’s not forget about the rest of the team.

You headed straight for your husband, not acknowledging the looks of relief you saw build on everyone’s faces, especially the two drivers’.

You didn’t even need to say anything to Toto, you just stood in front of him and looked up at him with a stern gaze that soon got him to shut up but his eyes were still blazing with fury as he looked down at you, you knew his anger wasn’t aimed at you, he was just still pent up with emotions.

You nodded in the direction of his office and simply walked away, expecting him to follow after you if he knew what was good for him.

He followed you.

The moment you heard him close the door you turned to him. "This needs to stop."

He looked at you furiously, "how am I supposed to stop when I have two drivers that can’t even get through a lap without crashing into each other!"

"Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Torger!" Your voice cut through the air as you glared at him which soon caused his face to shift from angry to wounded as you scolded him.

"How hard is it for you to simply sit them down and give them a stern talking to, there’s no need for the way you completely blow your top, you’re acting like a child throwing a tantrum."

He was still beyond angry, you could see it in his eyes and the way he shifted on his feet and he was about to retort but you cut him off. "I don’t want to hear you right now, I want you to sit down in silence and calm down before a single word comes out of your mouth."

He pursed his lips, not at all happy but he did as he was told and sat down in the chair behind the small desk, you didn’t spare him a glance as you sat yourself back where you were before Bono came searching for you, pulling your laptop back onto your lap to finish what you had been doing.

It was a good 15/20 minutes later when you heard him get up from his seat and make his way over to you. He sat beside you and rested his head on your shoulder causing you to roll your eyes but a smile grew on your face at his actions, you were glad he couldn’t see it though.

You continued to carry on with what you were doing, letting him decide how he wanted your conversation to go and so it remained silent for a few more minutes with you and Toto simply sat there, him resting against you simply soaking up the comfort of your presence.

He shifted and pressed a kiss to your temple before returning back to his position. "Are you mad at me?" He asked when you remained silent.

You closed your laptop and put it away before shifting the both of you so you were up straight and looking at each other. "No," you told him honestly, "I just wish you wouldn’t let your frustrations get the best of you all the time."

He looked down at your words before looking back into your eyes with a sincere look, "I’m sorry."

"It’s okay," you smiled at him, reaching out a hand to brush his hair back. "We just need to find a way for you to keep yourself together."

"You’re the way," he replied immediately which stunned you and he was okay with that. He pulled you into his arms and you both just sat there.

You could be quite the opposite at times but you were content with that because you would always be there to ground him whenever his emotions got out of control.

#formula one #motorsport #fluff #formula one x reader #f1 fanfiction #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x oc #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff fluff #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff #toto wolff fanfiction #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff x you

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neferaskingdom · 17 days ago

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♡ Are You Always This Forward? | CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

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Summary: Y/n meets Charles at a party, and what starts as a casual fling quickly becomes something more. As their connection deepens and feelings grow, Y/n begins to question— is it really casual? [Inspired by Casual by Chappell Roan]

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A/N: Also comment if you guys wanna be added to the taglist because I've written almost 7 chapters for this series and we're nowhere near done so buckle up

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Part 1 of my Is It Casual Now? series: Masterlist

You weren’t exactly thrilled to be here. The party was crowded, with people spilling out onto the balcony, laughter and music filling the room. It wasn’t really your scene, but your friends had convinced you to come out for a change, insisting that you “needed a night out.”

"Look, if nothing else, you might at least see some familiar faces," one of your friends said, nudging you with a grin. “Rumor has it Charles Leclerc is here.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the little spark of curiosity that flared up. “Oh, please,” you replied with a laugh, though you glanced around the room. “Why would Charles Leclerc be at a random party like this?”

“Apparently, he knows the host,” your friend said, looking around too, as if he’d appear on command. “Besides, you know he’s got a thing for these parties. Always in the photos with some new girl hanging off his arm.”

“Right, the ‘playboy’ Leclerc reputation,” you muttered, trying to sound as uninterested as possible. But the truth was, you knew exactly who he was, and while the rumors weren’t exactly your thing, he was… undeniably attractive.

“Yeah, that reputation,” another friend chimed in, giving you a sly smile. “I mean, look at him—he’s practically a walking invitation for bad decisions. But I wouldn’t mind, honestly.” She laughed, and you joined in, the both of you glancing around in a playful attempt to spot him.

But in the next second, you felt it—a gaze that sent a small thrill up your spine. Your friends were still laughing and joking, but your eyes had locked onto someone across the room, and there he was: Charles, in the flesh, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand. And he was staring right at you.

A rush of heat crept into your cheeks, but you quickly looked away, brushing it off as a fluke. You barely knew him; it was nothing. And yet, a few minutes later, when you glanced back, he was still watching you, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips.

“Look who’s got Leclerc’s attention,” one of your friends whispered, nudging you in the ribs. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was eyeing you up.”

“Stop,” you muttered, laughing it off. “You guys are reading too much into it. He’s probably just looking around.”

“Yeah, right,” she teased, winking at you. “Seems like he’s only looking at you.”

You rolled your eyes, determined to ignore it. But Charles seemed to have other plans because, a few moments later, he began making his way over to your group. Your friends scattered, throwing you quick glances of encouragement, leaving you standing there as he came to a stop in front of you, his gaze warm and entirely focused.

"Enjoying the party?" he asked, his voice smooth, just a hint of an accent slipping through.

“It’s all right,” you said, trying to play it cool. “Wasn’t really planning on talking to anyone new tonight.”

He laughed, the sound deep and rich, tilting his head as he looked at you. “Well, that’s a shame. You’re the most interesting person here.”

“Oh, please.” You shook your head, letting out a soft laugh. “Don’t you have other people you could be charming?”

“Maybe,” he replied, his eyes flicking over you again, “but none of them seem half as interesting as you.”

The boldness of his gaze unsettled you, and you bit your lip, shifting your weight slightly as you tried to keep your cool. He was every bit as captivating as his reputation claimed, and yet you were wary, keeping your guard up despite the warmth spreading through you.

“Are you always this forward?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Only with people worth it,” he said, his gaze unwavering. He took a small step closer, a glimmer of playfulness in his eyes. “So, can I at least buy you a drink?”

You found yourself nodding before you fully realized it. He waved down a waiter, ordering drinks as the conversation between you flowed easily, surprising you. He was funny, easygoing, and each small, accidental touch sent a jolt through you that you tried to ignore.

Over the next hour, you laughed, your body leaning into his as the drinks made you both looser, the edges of the world around you softening. The subtle touches became less accidental—his hand resting on your lower back, the way he’d brush his fingers against yours whenever he handed you your drink. It was heady, electric, and you found yourself drawn to him in a way that felt both thrilling and a little reckless.

“So,” he murmured, leaning in close, his face just inches from yours. “Are you going to keep pretending you’re not interested?”

You laughed, looking away, your cheeks warming under his gaze. “Who says I’m pretending?”

He smiled, his fingers brushing your cheek as he gently guided your face back to his. “I do.” And then he closed the gap, pressing his lips softly against yours.

The kiss was light at first, testing, but when you responded, his hands settled on your waist, pulling you in closer. You could feel his warmth, his heart beating beneath your palms as you wrapped your arms around his neck, the kiss deepening as the tension that had been building between you finally spilled over.

You broke apart for a moment, catching your breath, and he smiled, looking at you as if he was just as affected. “Come back with me?” he asked softly, his voice low and inviting.

Your heart raced, but you nodded, the thrill of the moment drowning out any hesitation. The ride to his apartment was a blur, the silence filled with anticipation, the only sound the occasional brush of his hand over yours. And when you arrived, he barely waited for the door to close before he pulled you close again, kissing you deeply, his hands finding your waist as he guided you toward his bedroom.

In his arms, it felt like time slowed. Every touch, every kiss was filled with an intensity that left you breathless, his lips tracing a path from your mouth down to your neck, his hands warm and steady as he pulled you against him. The night was filled with whispered words and soft laughter, the thrill of his touch and the warmth of his presence pulling you into a heady, dreamlike state. When you finally drifted off, it was with a sense of contentment you hadn’t expected, his arm draped around you, his breathing even beside you.

The morning light seeped through the curtains, and you blinked, slowly becoming aware of the weight of Charles’s arm still wrapped around you. You shifted slightly, thinking you’d sneak out quietly, but he tightened his hold, murmuring sleepily, “Where do you think you’re going?”

You laughed softly, turning to face him. “I thought I’d slip out before I overstayed my welcome.”

He grinned, his hand moving to your waist. “And here I was hoping you’d stay for breakfast.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile. “You really don’t have to play the gentleman.”

“Who said I was playing?” he replied, a playful glint in his eyes. He reached over to grab his phone, tapping in the passcode before handing it to you. “Just in case,” he said, his tone casual but his gaze soft, watching as you saved your number on his phone.

You arched a brow as you handed it back. “Right. As if you’re going to remember to call me.”

He shrugged, smirking. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

With a laugh, you finally slipped out of bed, pulling your clothes back on as he watched you with a lazy, satisfied smile. “Don’t worry, you’ll be hearing from me,” he called out as you left, and you shook your head, chalking it up to morning-after charm.

A few weeks later, you found yourself at another party, the memory of that night with Charles lingering somewhere in the back of your mind. But it wasn’t until you felt a familiar hand on your waist, warm and steady, that you turned and saw him, his grin as mischievous as ever.

Without a word, he guided you down a hallway, slipping into a quiet bathroom and closing the door behind you. “Miss me?” he murmured, pressing you back against the door as he leaned in close, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart raced as you looked up at him, barely able to suppress a grin. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Well,” he replied, brushing his lips over yours in a way that made your knees weak, “I couldn’t just let you disappear.”

Before you could respond, he kissed you, and just like before, the spark ignited instantly. It was the start of something unspoken, casual but thrilling, each encounter leaving you wanting more, yet content with the moment.

The next few weeks went by in a blur. Somehow, Charles found his way into your life again and again, just as casually as that night at the party. You didn’t think too much about it. He’d message you when he was around, a simple “Hey, what are you up to?” that always had a certain charm to it, like he’d genuinely missed your company. You didn’t mind, and maybe part of you even looked forward to it.

One evening, you found yourself back at his place, sprawled on the couch together, a movie playing in the background though neither of you were watching. Charles was close, his arm slung over your shoulders, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him, his fingers tracing light patterns along your arm in a way that felt natural and maybe a little more comfortable than you’d expected.

“So, what happened this time?” you asked, glancing at him. It had become a bit of a game between you two—he’d tell you a funny story or some little anecdote, always skirting around any real details about his life but sharing just enough to keep you intrigued.

“Oh, nothing too dramatic,” he replied with a lazy grin, “just an embarrassing incident in front of the team principal. Tripped over a power cord, nearly brought the whole simulator down with me.”

You burst out laughing, nudging him. “So much for that smooth reputation of yours.”

“Oh, I’m smooth when it counts,” he shot back, his eyes dancing with that familiar cheeky glint as he leaned closer. “I haven’t heard any complaints from you. Also being smooth is more of my teammate’s thing”

You felt your cheeks warm, and you looked away, laughing softly. There was something about him, the way he moved so effortlessly from humor to something more intense, that always had your heart racing. When his hand moved to brush a strand of hair from your face, lingering just a moment longer than necessary, you felt that familiar spark between you.

The kisses started slow, a mix of laughter and warmth as his lips met yours. You’d gotten used to the way he’d go from teasing you to pulling you close, his hands trailing along your back as he deepened the kiss, his touch growing more insistent. Somehow, even though you both kept things light, there was a weight to it, an intensity that left you breathless every time.

But no matter how intense it got, the mornings were always easy. He’d hand you a coffee, tease you about how you liked it, and insist on making breakfast—even if that breakfast was sometimes just a couple of slices of toast or a quickly scrambled egg.

One morning, you woke up with him lying next to you, his arm draped over your waist, his face relaxed in sleep. You tried to slip out of bed, but as you moved, he tightened his hold, his eyes opening just a sliver. “Going somewhere?” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

“I’ve got things to do,” you whispered back, though you were reluctant to move from the warmth of his arms.

“Stay,” he mumbled, pulling you back down, his head finding the crook of your neck as he nuzzled against you. “Just a few more minutes.”

You rolled your eyes but settled back into his embrace, a soft laugh escaping you. Moments like these, the playfulness and ease, were what kept you coming back. And every time he brushed a kiss over your shoulder or laced his fingers with yours under the covers, it felt like he was daring you to let your guard down just a little bit more.

It was a pattern—casual, yet consistent. You never really talked about what you were doing, and maybe that was part of the appeal. There were no promises, no declarations, just the simple thrill of seeing him and the warmth of his company.

Then one night, at yet another party, you spotted him across the room, his eyes lighting up the moment he saw you. He excused himself from his conversation and strode over, his usual smirk in place.

“You just can’t stay away, can you?” he teased, his hand resting on your lower back as he guided you out of the crowded room, into a quieter hallway. His gaze dropped to yours, a familiar heat sparking between you.

“Oh, please,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m here because my friends dragged me out again.”

“Sure,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice. He took your hand, leading you down the hallway and into a closet, closing the door behind him. Before you could say anything, he pulled you into his arms, pressing his lips to yours, and the familiar thrill washed over you, as strong as ever.

“You know,” he murmured between kisses, his voice low, “I missed you.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, really?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, his lips grazing along your jawline, sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re hard to forget.”

He kissed you again, his hands roaming over your waist, your body responding with the same intensity as if this had been brewing since the last time you’d seen each other. The kisses were heated, a rush of warmth and urgency, the world outside fading away as you lost yourself in the moment.

This was supposed to be just casual, just fun. But as you felt the way he held you close, his fingers tracing light patterns on your skin as if memorizing every detail, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—this was starting to mean something more. For now, though, you were content to leave it unspoken, savoring each moment with him as it came.

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omgeto · 1 year ago

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✩ — 4:21am

summary: gojo satoru is a man of his word, and no matter what, he always promised to come home to you.

cw: minor angst, fluffy ending (I PROMISE) this is for all you sad hojoes out there that just want your man home all in one piece.

gojo satoru is a man of his word, and no matter what, he always promised to come home to you. you didn't actually think much of it, until one night, you awake in panic feeling that something's off. you are used to falling asleep as you wait for gojo to come home, but when you check the time and realise that it was later than usual, anxiety gnawed at your heart.

the clock on the bedside table mocks you with its relentless ticking. each passing second only intensifies your unease. you reach for your phone and check for messages or missed calls, but there's nothing. gojo hasn't contacted you since the last heated argument you had before he left for his mission. it's been hours since then.

you can’t even remember what you fought about, it was something trivial, him forgetting to put the milk back in the fridge, or not putting down the toilet seat—it was dumb. it hurts you even more now that the things you were just berating him for a few hours ago, you were begging for him to come back and do one more time.

fighting back the growing panic, you try calling him. his phone rings, but there's no answer. of course there wouldn’t be you knew that he doesn’t use his phone when he was out, but you just had to try, hoping that he’d sent a quick text to say he was just around the corner—but there was nothing.

you couldn’t help but conjure up terrifying scenarios about him. what if he’s injured? what if he’s been chopped up into little pieces and he’s in pain? wanting to call you and he can’t.

you can't stay still any longer, pacing back and forth in your dimly lit apartment. your thoughts are a jumbled mess, and you can't shake the feeling that something terrible has happened. the world outside is quiet, and the darkness feels suffocating.

your mind wanders to the first time you met him, he was persistent immediately when he first laid eyes on you, claiming that he would stop at nothing to get to be with you. and that was true. you wouldn’t give him the time of day, at first, but whenever you were around him doing your ‘hard to get routine,’ he put in extra effort just to get with you.

there wasn’t anyone you could even ask to see if he was okay, since if he wasn’t, who else would be? and there’s a part of you that wouldn’t even want to know, you had to see him, alive and well for all your worries to be gone.

as the minutes drag on, each one feeling like an eternity, you cling to thoughts of him, each memory acting as a lifeline. there wasn’t even any indication that something bad happened to him, but there is something unsettling that you just couldn’t shake.

you could feel him before you could even hear the faint tapping at the door. there isn’t any hesitation as you bolt to the door, dragging a weak standing gojo into a tight hug only pulling away as you hear him softly wince at your heavy touch.

“sorry,” he murmurs, standing with his arm clutching at his lower stomach, slightly hunched over, “i lost my keys.”

“you lost your keys?” you practically yell, “that’s what you wanna focus on right now?” you ask as you look at his injured body. this is the worst you’ve ever seen him, and you could tell that he was in pain from the way his usual breezy smile, isn’t reaching his eyes like it normally does.

you quickly usher gojo inside, supporting him as he limps toward the couch. the dim living room lights reveals a deep gash on his face, and his clothes are torn and stained with dirt and blood.

“take off your shirt,” you order, your face filled with concern as you try and properly assess all his injuries.

“aren’t you gonna buy me dinner first?” he jokes, cringing as you remove his shirt from over his head, trying not to hurt him further.

“this isn’t the time for jokes ‘toru,” you chastise, shaking your head to prevent yourself from getting emotional, “y’know i really thought that—” you sigh, not even wanting to utter the words, since it doesn’t matter as he’s here now, alive.

“i can’t even lie,” he starts, his eyes staring down, avoiding yours. “for a moment out there, i didn’t know if i could live up to my promise to you.” you couldn’t even respond, the fact that gojo could even admit that there was a chance that he wasn’t gonna get back to you, had you panicked.

“c’mere,” he says pulling your into his lap, noticing the stressed expression that has yet to leave your face.

you were quick to jump off of him, but he kept you firm in his hold, his arms wrapped protectively around you. despite the pain he must have been in, his eyes held a mixture of relief and vulnerability as he looked into yours. “satoru you’re hurt.”

but he gave you a reassuring smile, one that couldn't quite hide the pain etched on his face. "i'm okay, really," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “i just need you close right now."

as you settled back into his embrace, you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips, reassuring you that he was indeed alive and home with you, where he had always promised to be.

AN: SO GUYS HOW DID I DO? im not really a drabble or fluffy girlie, as you guys know. but um tada... this is for you all. love ya. If there’s mistakes in there it’s 6am so ignore em please IF THIS IS SHIT THEN IM SORRY I TRIED. But as long as one gojo lover says “emp you’ve mended my little heart” I can die happy

#stampedwithane★#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #gojo angst #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo satoru #jjk fic #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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back2bluesidex · 7 months ago

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Novice - JJK (18+)

Pairing: Pornstar!Jungkook X Fem!Reader

Theme: PWP (porn with tiny plot), SMUT, pornstar au

Wordcount: 3k

Summary: The need of some extra money lands you on a weird job. But you are not complaining, not when you get to fuck Jeon Jungkook.

Warnings: Explicit sex, porn movie shooting, mentions of pros**tution, Jungkook is a smooth flirt, reader is nervous and shy, inexperienced reader, a little bit of flirting, missionary position, unprotected sex. NSFW!!

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

Read the sequel: We Need Practice

Honestly, you have no idea what you are doing here.

You have been zoning out for the past ten minutes.

Keeping your focus trained on what’s waiting for you ahead is a little tough. Especially when it’s 2 degree celsius outside and you are wearing nothing but a thin camisole and flimsy underwear.

Even though the heater is in full blast, you require to have some clothes on your body to enjoy whatever warmth it has been offering.

You question your sanity once again. Are you really doing this? You out of all people? You - the goodie two shoes?

Yeah, the situation has been like that lately.

You are in need of some extra money because some fucker voiced-phised you and you, being dumber than ever, gave them your company card number and pin. Now you owe 200 million won to your company and you don’t even have 10% of the amount to do anything about it.

Right at that time, one of your friends knocked on your door asking for a favor.

“Please, Y/N! You are perfect for the role!” she pleaded.

“What are you even saying? I don’t even have any experience-”

“That’s exactly what we want - a novice.”

And you landed on the deal or role or whatever the fuck it is, in an exchange of 250 million won. By the way, did I mention that they have paid you 50% of the amount already?

It’s good money and a one-time opportunity. All you need to do is to get fucked on camera, get the pay and avoid showing your face around this place anymore.

As simple as that.

Or as simple as you thought.

But now that you are already at the set and ready to feature in a porn movie.. You are rather nervous.

Even though they assured you and added the “blurred-face” term to your contract, it’s nerve-wracking and for multiple reasons.

First, you have almost zero experience of sex. And must I mention that you never had an orgasm in your entire life?

Second, the concept of the film is complicated. There is only one male lead but three female leads (including you). But it’s not poly. The guy plays the role of a male prostitute, who pleasures three different women with three different stages of experience. The first woman is a pro, second one is amateur and third one, you, is a novice.

The first shoot was almost over when you arrived at the set and the cast went to prepare for the second shoot. Hence, you haven’t gotten to see the guy you would be having sex with.

And it’s unsettling.

You only heard his name but couldn’t muster up the courage to search him up. What if you don’t like his face and back off? You will have to repay the 50% of the advance along with a 5% of contract violation fee. And you certainly can’t afford to do that now.

So you held on, arrived at the studio as per instructions, got your clothes and hair done and now you are waiting for them to call you outside.

“Ms. Y/N?” A voice calls you from the door and breaks your reverie. “Let’s go” the staff smiles.

You stand up and follow her outside the green room.

As you approach the main shooting set all you hear is, well, moans and groans. And those get louder and louder with each passing second.

“Sit here.” the staff says. “You can observe what they are doing and prepare yourself in the meantime. We’ll brief you on the scenes once they are done.” she places a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

Too bad, ‘cause you are anything but reassured now.

“So this is how you like to be fucked? Like the bitch that you are? You slut!” the groan of the man invades each of your senses and you are shocked to say the least.

Is this how you are going to be treated here? You think to yourself. A shiver runs down your body when the sound of a sharp slap echoes inside the almost calm studio. Then another, then another. But the woman seems to enjoy it all. Her moans and whines keep getting louder.

You find your throat closing up with fear. Will you be able to enjoy it too? Or will you fuck things up?

You suddenly feel hot and sticky right between your legs. What the fuck? Are you really getting wet? Just with the sounds?

Squeezing your eyes shut you try to think of all the things you can do with the extra 50 million won.

“Great work, guys!” a loud cheer and sound of applause halt your activities. You open your eyes to measure the surroundings.

First you see the female lead coming out of the set with a cloth wrapped all around herself. She disappears with her assistant within seconds, even before you could see her face.

Then the man walks out, wearing almost nothing.

A towel is wrapped loosely around his torso and his bare body is on full view for you to enjoy.

You gulp.

The man is chugging down water as if he has been wandering in deserts for years. Your eyes fall on his Adam's apple at first, then on his glistening collarbones, his built chest, his toned abs, small waist and then on his torso.

Your anticipation makes you gulp again.

When you finally manage to drag your eyes up, you see him already staring and smirking at you.

And fuck! You choke on your own spit because you have never seen a more handsome man in your life.

Initially you thought Jeon Jungkook would be a pervert-looking middle aged ajussi but this guy looks like he is your age.

Your friends would actually pay to get fucked by a guy this hot. But you are getting it all for free? Must’ve saved your country in past life or something.

When Jungkook winks at you, you realize you have been staring at him for too long. And now you feel embarrassed.

Lord! What have you been doing!

“That’s it. I hope you have understood, Ms. Y/N?” The director peeks at you expectantly.

“I guess.. So.” You reply with a lot of doubts still playing in your mind.

“There is nothing to be nervous of,Y/N. We are not gonna send this movie to the Oscars, so you don’t have to think too much about your acting. Just do the bare minimum. Do what you are told. Jungkook will take care of the rest.” He gives you a kind smile.

You nod, reminding yourself that you need money and this is the only way.

“You guys will blur my face right?” you ask him with a low voice.

“We will. You can sue us if we don’t.” he chuckles.

You feel your nervousness and fears subsiding a bit… only to reach the peak in seconds.

“Hyung, are we good to go?” Jungkook appears from one of the green rooms, wearing his casual outfit - a white t-shirt with loose jeans.

He smiles down at you and you struggle to return his courtesy.

“Yeah, we are almost done here. Take care of Ms. Y/N, Jeon. She is very nervous.” the director gestures Jungkook to sit beside you.

Jungkook sits down with a respectable distance between you two and takes a tentative look at you before saying, “hyung, we have some time before the shoot starts right?”

The director nods a yes.

“Then.. let me talk to Y/N for a bit.”

“Yeah sure, go ahead.”

And they leave you alone with your co-star.

“Hey.” Jungkook says sweetly once you are alone in the makeshift secluded space.

“Hi.” you reply with a quiet trembling of a voice.

Jungkook chuckles at that.

“Cute.” you hear him murmuring under his breath.

“This is your first time, I guess?” He asks.

“Yeah and the last time as well.” you reply urgently, avoiding meeting his eyes as much as possible.

His eyes widen at your response, “why so?”

“I just need some extra money. So you know.. It’s a one time thing for me.”

“Oh..” Jungkook breathes out and then says, “then I will make sure it’s something you remember your entire life. I know you don’t have much experience but I won’t push you to do something crazy. I will be gentle, don’t worry. Just leave yourself up to me, relax and enjoy.” with that he rests one of his hands on top of yours and gives you a sickeningly sweet smile.

Now you don’t know how you are supposed to stay calm when your co-star’s mere presence is this nerve-wrecking.

“Okay. Cut” the director screams as you and Jungkook complete shooting the non-sexual scenes.

“You are pretty good, you know?” Jungkook slides beside you as you stand there preparing yourself for the big thing ahead.

“Ah. thanks. You are very impressive as well. I mean three times in a row is no joke. Aren’t you tired?” you reply, finally staring into his eyes.

Jungkook’s big doe, beautiful eyes almost defy the fact that he is in this business. Almost because once your eyes move lower on his body, you’ll have to admit that this is certainly his place to shine.

“I have a record of six times in a day, sweetie.” he smirks at you while winking at the same time. Your stomach flips involuntarily.

“Jungkook, Y/N, are you ready?” The director screams from his seat.

Jungkook raises his thumb to affirm him and then he looks back at you.

“As I said Y/N, don’t be nervous. I will take good care of you, okay?” Jungkook holds your hand again.

His sincere tone really melts your heart.

You nod, “okay.”

You don’t know how things will turn around but you are determined to enjoy it. You will not be seeing Jungkook anymore, anyway. So, why not take the advantage?

“Action!” the director screams.

When you look at Jungkook again, his doe eyes have turned dark.

From now on, you don’t have any dialogue. It’s only Jungkook who will do the talking, you will have to say yes or no as a response.

“So, you want me to fuck your virgin cunt because you are a bad bad girl. Is that right?” Jungkook speaks in a sultry low voice.

Your head starts spinning.

“Yes.” you reply.

He takes a step towards you as you take a step back.

“Oh. you got a voice I see.” Jungkook steps towards you again.

You know he is just acting but you can’t help but feel a burning sensation in your stomach. When you take another step back, your thighs come in contact with the bed.

He pushes on your shoulder gently, making you sit down.

“Then.. let me take care of you.” Jungkook says while sinking down on his knees.

He takes one of your feet in his hand and kisses on top of it. When his mouth wraps around your big toe, your breath hitches.

Were your feet always this sensitive?

He sucks on your big toe briefly, making it tough for you to breathe normally.

“Do you like it?” he asks, looking up at you, lips still close to your foot.

“Yes.” you mutter.

“Good girl.”

Jungkook places a kiss on your ankle next, then on your knee. His other hand kneads on your other thigh gently.

His mouth reaches to your inner thigh and hovers above your skin for a brief second. Then he kisses down, pulling out a moan from your throat.

“Lay down for me.” he requests and you oblige.

Jungkook’s fingers hook on the waistband of your panty and he slowly pulls that down revealing your glossy slit to not only him but to the entire crew.

But surprisingly you are not self conscious. Jungkook has somehow made it feel like it’s only about the two of you. And you like it that way.

“So pretty” he whispers, as if talking to your cunt.

His actions make you leak even more. You suck in a deep breath when you see him, lowering his face down to your pussy.

He places a soft kiss on your folds at first and then licks a stripe along it.

Latching his lips around your clit, he sucks on it. You lose your senses with that. Some incoherent words fly out of your mouth but you know you are not really making sense to anyone, not even yourself.

He keeps performing his ministrations, licking, sucking and occasionally biting down on your clit.

This is the very first time someone has their mouth on your cunt and you never thought it would feel this good.

“Umm.. you taste so good, sweetie.” Jungkook mumbles on your clit.

His tongue probes into your entrance, lapping up all the juices that you leak.

You grab the sheets to find something to distract the overpowering pleasure that Jungkook has been providing you with.

Your knees buckle, caging Jungkook between your legs.

Soon you feel something akin to a finger pressing down on your clit, then drawing slow circles around it, and then the circles are fast.

Your eyes roll back and your throat produces some sounds you never knew you could make.

“Fuck! So tight. I have never fucked a pussy tighter than this” Jungkook groans and it vibrates your folds.

When he pokes into your entrance again, while circling your clit, you find something coiling in your lower abdomen. Something so strong that you can’t contain it anymore.

And you have it. The very first orgasm of your life.

Your juices drain Jungkook’s mouth and chin.

“Fuck, sweetie!” Jungkook stands up, “look what have you done?” he says while climbing on the bed.

He grabs your camisole and tears it in an instant.

Even though you are in your post-oragsm glory, it shocks you regardless. You hear mumbles coming outside the set but then the director seems to say something that shuts everyone up.

As soon as your tits are on display, Jungkook grabs both of those with both of his hands.

He kneads the muscles while his mouth latches to your neck.

There is so much happening at the same time that you don’t know what to focus on.

Jungkook’s kisses drop down to your collarbone, bruising your skin and then to your tits. He wraps his pretty lips around your perked nipples, suckling those as if his life depends on it.

Your moans know no bounds. And you already feel heat building up in your stomach again.

You leave the sheets and grab Jungkook's hair instead. He groans in pleasure.

“You are driving me fucking crazy, sweetie!” Jungkook manages to say, “do you think you can take my cock now?”

“Yes.” you say desperately.

You are actually very desperate to have him inside you already.

Jungkook climbs down the bed and starts stripping. You stare at him as if he is the best mountain view in the world.

Your eyes widen upon seeing his cock and your first thought is if it will fit or not.

“Don’t worry. I will make it fit.” Jungkook replies as if reading your mind.

He then comes closer to you and lines his cock on your entrance. Putting his lips on yours he pushes his length in.

A loud earth-shattering moan comes out of your mouth, which Jungkook swallows immediately.

He grabs one of your thighs and wraps your leg around his torso, your other leg follows the suit. He takes the chance to accommodate his cock inside your hole comfortably. And once he is sure you have adjusted, he starts moving.

At first he is slow but then he starts picking up his pace.

“Does it hurt?” Jungkook mumbles in your mouth, not ceasing to kiss you all while.

“No. It feels good.” you spill the truth.

Jungkook groans at your response, emptying you for a second only to thrust his full length inside you harshly.

You whine.

He pins your wrists above your head and stares at you while fucking you dumb. His eyes are so dark that they demand you to keep staring back at them.

The skin slapping sound makes your head spin and the coil in your stomach starts getting loose.

“I-I am cum-” and before you could finish your sentence, you cum.

It Triggers Jungkook’s own orgasm. He pulls out your cock from your hole, pumps it twice and then spills his cum all over your body.

And all you could do is to stare at him dumbly with your mouth ajar.

“That was so unlike you, Jungkook.” you hear the director talking to your co-star.

Even though you don’t want to eavesdrop, you want to know what was not like him.

“I know, hyung. For the first time ever in my career I lost control.” he sighs “Y/N was… something else.”

Your face grows hot with the complement. But you know you are not going to see him again so it’s better not to think too much about it.

You grab your bag and head towards the exit, stopping to greet everyone on your way out.

“Hey” you greet him with a small voice.

Jungkook gives you a big toothy grin in return.

“Are you leaving already?” he asks, staring at your bag.

“Yes. I- um. Thanks, Jungkook. I really enjoyed it.” You tell him sincerely.

“My pleasure, Y/N. And honestly, I think I enjoyed you a little too much as well.” he replies scratching the back of his neck. The tips of his ears turn pink.

You giggle.

“That’s great. So… yeah. That’s it. I will take my leave now. Bye” waving your hands, you turn your heels to leave.

“Y/N?” but his voice stops you.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe if you don’t mind… Can we exchange numbers?”

“Umm.. maybe we can do that.”

Maybe this deal has more than just money to offer.

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie

#bts smut #jungkook smut #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #bts x you #jungkook x you #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #bts #bts oneshot

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moondirti · 8 months ago

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so.. simon and johnny stopping by a seedy 24/7 roadhouse on their way back home post-op

featuring: established ghostsoap. pregnant fem!reader. alluded kidnapping, extremely toxic attitudes. they’re literally delusional. mentioned death. this verges on dark so please beware!

They’ve driven past it about a hundred times, never having given it more than a passing glance. Who would, really? Nothing about it seemed appealing – in all its sun-bleached paint job and flickering neon signage glory – but circumstances lent themselves to its consideration. What was supposed to be a half-day mission ended up taking two, meaning they haven’t had time to sleep let alone eat. On top of that, a delayed exfil made it so they touched down on base at an ungodly hour. By the time Price waived their paperwork and they got into their car, they were famished.

“Could eat the scabby heid aff a dog,” Johnny eventually groans. He’d tried his best to hang in there, mindful not to be a pest during the hours it takes his partner to decompress after a rough operation, but his stomach kills and he knows Simon’s does too. He only receives a grunt for a response, though the man abruptly steers into the leftmost lane, catching the nearest exit towards the place in his periphery. Cleary meant to model an American diner with it’s fading blue exterior and obnoxious banner: The Dahlia

But they’ve been in worse. They hardly take note of the coffee rings staining their table, or the homeless man who’s taken residence in a corner booth (besides the brief once-over in their threat assessment upon entering). No; they just slot themselves by the nearest exit, scan over the menu and decide to order the quickest meal possible.

Only for things to take a sudden turn when their waitress stops by.

Christ alive, Johnny wonders how you manage to glow under the harshest of fluorescents. Dewy skin. Bright eyes, if not a little sunken at the late hour. Still, you smile and do so genuinely as you waddle to their station, clicking a pen before asking: “And what can I do you for, gentlemen?”

Simon doesn’t look at you immediately, not even when you speak up. He’s too fixed on Johnny, replaying the past days’ events in his head. Revisits the hour where their comms malfunctioned, when he lost touch with his boy and had to fight not knowing whether he was holding up okay. He has trust in him, of course, more bleedin’ trust than he has in earth to keep rotating. Still–

You clear your throat.

His pupils shift to pin you under their scrutiny, only he can’t bring it in him to be as severe as he wants to be. Because, while the first thing Johnny notices about you is your beauty, the first thing Simon sees is your bump.

Obscured by your apron, but still there. Round. Full. 6 months along, by the looks of it.

He’s forced to recall Beth, Tommy by extension. An old working knowledge that comes back to haunt him. At 23 weeks, his sister in law’s pregnancy began to weigh on her. Heartburn. Backaches. Hot flashes that resulted in bouts of dizziness. She couldn’t be up for more than 2 hours at a time, and yet here you are.

What the fuck were you doing in a place like this?

“Need more time to decide?” You ask. Patient. Lovely. If Johnny weren’t so sleep-deprived, so in over his head, he would perhaps realise the subtle hints you were dropping. They’ve been staring too long now, unsettling no doubt. Grimy, each with a tell-tale bump on their waistbands that point to their armament. Simon sans hard-shell mask, but still in a balaclava and eyeblack. Both larger than life and practically alone with you in this isolated place.

It’s Simon who speaks up first. “Fish and chips for the both of us. To-go. Cheers.”

You scribble the order down, pausing to consider. “Coffee? Gotta inform you, it’s drip, bottom of the carafe so it might taste burnt too. Hotplate’s all out of sorts.”

“Aye, just the one. Gae head an’ dip yer finger in it too. Might benefit from a little sweetener.” It takes you a second to process Johnny’s flirt. When you do, though, you visibly blanch, ducking your head to hide your face as you pretend to jot what he said down.

“I’ll have that right out for you.”

And then you scurry off, glancing over your shoulder once you think you’re out of sight. Curious. Flustered.

Simon’s attention refocuses on the scotsman once you’re gone, an eyebrow raised under his mask. His partner is able to read the expressed question well enough: what do you think you’re doing? Strict, but not so much angry as it a press for him to think before he speaks, to balance the scales before he asks something of Ghost that he can’t refuse.

“Dinnae look at me like tha’.” Johnny whispers. “Bonnie lass, isn’t she?”

Simon blinks. “Expecting, too.”

“We cannae leave her here.”

Memories occur in rapid succession. Tommy. Beth. The cherubic face they had brought into the world – little Joseph, who was the first he found dead upon returning home.

He considers Johnny, Soap, this force of nature that wormed his way into his life and sunk his teeth into the rot of his heart, fastened before Simon could even think of brushing him off.

“And here’s that coffee! Your meals should be coming out soon, thank you for being patient.”

It’s a bad idea. Horrible. You could have a partner, a cozy home waiting for you. Nursery already painted. Names already chosen.

What good partner would let you work this shitty job?

It’s a bad, horrible idea. No good for anyone. They’re on constant deployment. They risk their lives on every run. You’d be put in harm’s way yourself.

Not if they hide you well enough. Their house is secluded for a reason.

It’s a bad, horrible, no good idea – but Johnny accepts the mug with a gracious smile and you bloom all pretty, hand inadvertently cradling your belly. Little flower, persisting against all odds. Growing from the fissures of broken concrete. Dignified still. Kind. Strong.

So what if they pluck you from your place? They’ve got somewhere much better for you to thrive.

next part

#this was supposed to be a lil thing #oops #simon ‘ghost’ riley #johnny ‘soap’ mactavish #ghostsoap x reader #ghoap x reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader x johnny ‘soap’ mactavish #ghost x reader x soap #ghost x read #soap x reader #ghost x soap #x reader #x female reader #ghostsoap #ghoap #cod #call of duty

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xwritingdixonx · 2 months ago

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To Kiss or To Kill. | Daryl Dixon |

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Masterlist

Summary: You and Daryl's relationship did not start kind. It did not begin as a friendship that turned sour over a quarrel. It began with fists and insults and continued this way until unforeseen circumstances leave you discovering that maybe Daryl and you were cut from the same cloth.

Warnings: rivals to lovers trope, daddy issues, language, descriptions of fights + bodily injuries, brief mentioning of homophobia, attempted SA, Reader is mentioned to be bisexual.

Word Count: aprox. 10k

Era: Prison to Alexandria

A/n: This is not my proudest work and I definitely think I could've done better with the material but I hope it can still be enjoyed!

Song recommendations: Ultraviolence - Lana Del Ray, Daylight - David Kushner , Sun Bleached Flies - Ethel Cain

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A lemon is sour from the start and rots with age.

The relationship you shared with Daryl could be described as said lemon.

It was nearing the end of summer. And though this meant the end of scorching heat, the winter proved to be a difficult season for survival. This morning at the prison had begun like any other. Daryl, Maggie, and Glenn we’re set out on a run to find any supplies necessary for the growing community. With all the new folk after the fall of the Governor only a few weeks before, it put more pressure on the group in their endless searches.

The town in which the prison resided did not hold many options when it came to scavenging but there was one place not yet explored. Pike County High School, the only high school in the small town of Zebulon, Georgia. Daryl thought the plan was futile. What was he to find in a high school besides dusty textbooks and inappropriate drawings in the bathroom stalls?

But none the less, Rick sent the trio on their way with a list of items in hand.

The school was as Daryl expected. Papers were thrown about the floors. Windows were broken leaving glass shards to crunch underneath their boots. Desks and chairs were thrown about. And worst of all, there was an eeriness that loomed the chaotic halls. But there was something else hanging in the air, stillness.

Maggie banged her gun on the rusted lockers and waited for any walkers to make themselves known. But the silence that followed was so loud you could practically hear the wind gliding through the shattered windows. Daryl took it a step further and threw a chair down the hall, creating a loud clattering noise as it collided with the wall. Yet still, nothing.

"Alright," Glenn muttered, his uneasiness just as high as the others. "Let's get what we need and get the hell out." Glenn pulled the list from his pocket, "Daryl find the nurse's office, take whatever you find no matter how unimportant it seems. Rick asked us to find some good books for the kids." Glenn passed the list over to a very unamused Daryl.

"Guess I ain't smart enough to find some books."

Daryl walked the halls of the school, crossbow in hand, keeping his ears peeled for any movements that weren’t his own. The silence unsettled Daryl for two reasons. There could be someone residing here which would make sense with the absence of walkers. But he could not shake the thought that there were once children who roamed these halls. Kids who were Carl’s age now. Kids who were planning who they wanted to be, and what they wanted their lives to be. But now their dreams were just as grim as these empty halls.

He spotted it as his gaze wandered from the walls to the floor.

Droplets of deep red stained the tile, varying in size and opacity. Daryl dragged his fingers along the droplets, smearing the coagulated blood. The blood was not as dry as Daryl had hoped.

Daryl drew his bow closer to himself, resting his finger on the trigger, and slowing his steps as he followed the trail of crimson dots. They led him exactly where he needed to be, the nurse's office.

The wood door creaked open, the natural light from the windows lighting the room. The scene worsened in the room. There were now blood smears staining the floors, cabinets swung open and drawers left agape. Someone had obviously barged in in a hassle, with desperate need to help themselves.

What concerned Daryl was the adjoined room to the far left, he could not see into the area unless he approached it directly. Keeping his bow up, he proceeded. Just as the tip of his bow peeked its way around the corner, it was knocked from his hands with a single blow.

Daryl had not known what knocked his bow from his grasp but he sure as hell felt the hit to his jaw.

The punch you had thrown sent a throbbing through your right hand, and the tendons in your arm fizzled with the sudden force. The man reacted quickly, grabbing you by both arms and pulling you away from the wall you had been hidden behind.

You ripped an arm from his grasp quick enough to unsheathe the blade on your thigh. The struggle continued, both of you equally pulling at the other in an attempt for dominance while simultaneously avoiding the cut of the blade. Random objects clattered to the ground in the tussle, including an old coffee mug falling and shattering.

The wound you had acquired on your leg was not helpful in this situation. Had your adrenaline not been so high, you would have dropped long ago. While you struggled to keep yourself standing, Daryl was simply shocked at the brute force of the woman in his grasp.

You paused for a moment, your grip on your knife tightening until your knuckles turned white. Just then you were able to look at him. Daryl saw the determination in your eyes. And though there was determination, there also seemed to be a pleading.

But with one forceful shove, you fell back, your leg buckling under you and your head hitting a cabinet.

A painful gasp left you, feeling the poorly done stitches rip your wound open again. Dropping your knife, your shaking hands grasped at the wound on your thigh as you pulled your back up against the cabinets. Your chest heaved with a mixture of adrenaline and pain. The skin on your thigh seared hot, every nerve around the wound throbbing.

Had you been paying attention, you would’ve noticed the man grip up his bow that was now aimed at you. It gave him time to examine you. You did not look dirty and unkept as other survivors had. Your hair was pulled back into a messy braid at the back of your head. Clothes black, all the way down to your boots. Holsters for weapons hung from your hips and thighs. And a pair of dog tags dangled around your neck.

“Daryl!” Maggie and Glenn came rambling through the door, weapons drawn. Daryl held a hand up to them, signaling that he was fine. The school was not one of great size, it did not surprise Daryl that they’d heard the tussle.

With the arrival of two new faces, you made an attempt to grab the blade you’d drop. But Daryl was quick and kicked the blade away leaving your hand to smack against the tile floor. Now left with no weaponry and not even a stable body to defend yourself, you’d figured you’d start begging to them or praying to God.

“I-I just want to leave. I’m-“ The sudden sharp tingle in your thigh cut your words short. You clenched your jaw tight and shut your eyes waiting for the muscle spasm to pass. “You’re not going anywhere on that leg.” Maggie holstered her gun and met you on the floor. There was a hesitation to her but in her heart she knew leaving you would be a death sentence. “My daddy can help you.”

“Maggie…”

“Glenn.” Maggie’s tone was stern, sending her husband a threatening glare.

While Maggie began to ask you questions, she motioned for the two men to scavenge the room. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n…”

Maggie pulled a handkerchief from her back pocket, scooting even closer to you. She motioned for you to lift your leg, “I’m Maggie. That’s Glenn and then Daryl.” She slipped the fabric beneath it, tying it in a tight knot around your wound. You winced at this, resisting the urge to pull her hands off of you.

“How many walkers have you killed?” Your eyebrows furrowed at the question. Had you known you were meant to keep track, you would’ve started long ago. “I don’t…know…a lot?” Your words were stuttered and shaken considering the pain you felt. You saw the man you had just fought glance at you from the corner of his eye. You began to debate if you should feel guilt for attacking him.

“That’s okay,” Maggie gave you a kind smile, “How many people have you killed?” She watched your face falter and your eyes shift to the ground then back to her. “Eight, I think.” Maggie gently nodded, her tone becoming slightly more serious “Why?”

“I’ve been alone for a long time.”

Maggie’s eyes met yours and for a moment, while you held each other's gaze, there was an understanding. An understanding that only another woman could begin to fathom.

Your arrival at the prison was nothing short of chaotic. The run starting as three and returning as four, though a possibility, was not expected.

A man with a beard pulled Daryl aside beginning to hound him with questions, Maggie supported you as you stood while Glenn ran off shouting the name Hershel. Much of everything after that was blurry. You could remember the man with the white beard mainly due to his kindness and gentle touch while he took care of your wounds. And you remembered the name Rick being tossed about in conversation.

"Let her rest." Hershel patted Glenn on the shoulder, muttering him a thank you for his help.

You lay flat on your back, your head and leg propped up with a pillow. You could not say it was the comfiest bed you'd ever laid in. You weren't even sure it was cozier than where you slept the night before. You fought the tiredness away, unsure of falling asleep in an unfamiliar community. But the medicine Hershel gave you made you drowsy. And soon every muscle felt heavy and your eyelids heavier.

You were unsure of how long you'd slept, only being startled awakened by the clank of metal. Rick noticed his mistake immediately pulling his hand away from the door of the cell, now standing with a guilty look on his face. "I'm sorry. I forget how loud these things are." You took a deep breath in an attempt to calm your beating heart. Rick entered the cell, opening the foldable chair Hershel had previously been sitting on.

"Was gonna drop these off for when ya woke up." Rick held up a glass of water and some type of protein bar. You adjusted yourself into a more proper sitting position, sending Rick a nod. As your mind awoke you became very conscious of your lack of pants, pulling the blanket farther up your waist. You were grateful that Ricks seemed to avert his eyes.

"I'm Rick.” His accent was noticeable.

“Y/n.” Just like your own.

“Maggie and Daryl told me a little bit about you but I wanted to speak with you directly.”

Rick held a certain type of authority to him. He spoke to you politely while still holding himself with dominance. A certain awkwardness became present when Rick spent a tad bit too long racking his brain for a question. “M’sorry about attacking, uhm… Daryl.” You decided to cut the awkwardness yourself.

To your surprise, Rick chuckled at your apology. “Please don’t apologize.” He looked at you, still with a smile on your face. “You were doing what you thought was right.” Rick shifted in the metal chair, resting his elbows atop his knees. "Did you serve?" Rick pointed to your neck, "Is that how you learned to fight?" You instinctively reached for the dog tags hanging from their chain.

"No no, they were my dads." You rubbed the smooth metal anxiously, feeling the indents of the letters and numbers imprinted. "I was an only child, only daughter at that, so my dad was rather protective of me... He had me in every boxing or self-defense class he could afford." A chuckle followed your words, reminiscing on the memory. Rick could understand your father's need to protect, having two children of his own.

"Rick." A gruff voice interrupted your conversation. The man named Daryl took up the doorway. When his eyes met yours, he seemed to falter under your gaze. He nudged his head in the opposite direction, asking for Rick to come with him. "Alright." Rick stood from the chair with an exasperated sigh, "Imma leave this right here for ya." Rick placed the water and protein bar on the chair in his place.

On his way out, he turned to you, "Maggie's gonna bring you up some clean clothes and help you get washed up. That alright?" His kind, yet tired, eyes sought an answer. You nodded and muttered a quiet thank you in return.

Your time in the prison since then could only be described as isolating. The injury on your leg kept you mostly restrained to the bed in your newly appointed cell. So, most of your time was spent with Maggie, Hershel, and occasionally Rick coming and going. Maggie cared for you in any way she could, nourishing you with food and assisting you in showering and changing. She had seemed to take a liking to you, as you did her, and you assumed you could now call her a friend.

However, there was another you don't think you could call much of anything.

Maggie helped you outside to the courtyard after you’d expressed that you were going mad looking at the same four walls. She’d left you with the book of Little Women, a blank leather journal, and a blue ink pen. “Holler if you need me, okay?” Maggie gently patted your shoulder before departing to meet Glenn only a few yards away.

Being outside after your imprisonment for the last 5 days, revived something in you. The heat from the sun's rays provided warmth on your skin but the cool breeze prevented you from overheating. You could not remember the last time you'd been outdoors without your head on a swivel or without the fear of being someone's dinner.

You could not focus on your book or your journal with the people who walked about the courtyard throwing glances your way. Everyone had heard about, the girl with the leg injury, with time. Random passers-by flashed you smiles, small waves, or even shy hello’s all of which you felt inclined to return.

“Y/n?” Though the voice was familiar, it did not stop the annoyance of having to put your pen down once again. You looked to the man, “Hi Rick.” Rick gleamed with a smile on his face “I’m glad to see you out here.”

Rick took it upon himself to take a seat at the table across from you making it obvious he desired to continue this conversation.

"Were you able to think about what we talked about?" Rick came by yesterday evening with a proposition for you. He invited you to join in with the group of people who went on runs for the community. Once you were fully healed, of course.

The only downside to this was who your main run partner was to be, Daryl. Rick saw something between you that you weren’t quite sure you saw yourself.

Daryl felt a wave of awkwardness standing behind Rick as he spoke to you. The same awkwardness he felt only a few days before standing in that doorway. Daryl knew of Rick's plans having been talked to about it only a few hours before.

He felt no need for a run partner. He was perfectly fine going about on his own but Rick thought the opposite.

What if something happens to you?

What if you get stuck somewhere?

We can’t afford to send search parties out for you.

All valid arguments from Rick. But Daryl had no desire to hear any of it. His stubbornness made him deaf.

Daryl could very clearly see you now. Whatever dirt and grime washed away revealed a remarkable woman. Your hair appeared soft and your dark eyes almost sparkled with the sun. He could see the definition of muscles on your biceps, highlighted by the short sleeves of your shirt. How you composed yourself screamed confidence as if you knew you were too pretty for a world so ugly.

And it infuriated him.

“Yeah, I uh...I wanna help any way I can.” Rick seemed pleased with your answer though the person behind him did not. You shifted in your seat, feeling Daryl’s eyes burn into you. In an attempt to redeem yourself, you spoke again, “If there’s anything I can do now, I want to.” Rick nodded at this, “We’ll find ya something.”

You could hear Daryl scoff from behind Rick. And though you tried to ignore it, you could not help the sour look you gave him in return. Daryl saw this as an invitation to continue his pronounced distaste.

“Don’t need someone who can’t walk holding me down.”

"Don't need someone who couldn't fight a girl holding me down."

Your response was quick-witted and more degrading to Daryl's masculinity than his insult to your injury. If you weren't mistaken, Daryl's eye twitched.

Rick stood from his seat to begin their exit, knowing the lengths of Daryl's temper. "You ain't nothing I couldn't handle." The chuckle you responded with and the glint of excitement in your eyes at the looming argument tested Daryl even more. "Sure, Daryl."

It was the first time you'd ever spoken his name to him. And he never stopped thinking of it for days to come. The way it rolled off your tongue and sounded with that southern twang. It left him restless at night and irritable during the day.

When your leg had healed and you'd grown tired of cleaning the library or serving daily meals, your first outing with Daryl was set. And it started just as rocky as it ended.

"Ya get bit, I ain't gonna hesitate to put a bullet in yer head."

"Why wait? I'm standing right here."

You remained quiet after that, not wanting to push the tension even more. But even the simplest of questions left Daryl huffing and puffing. It started with you asking how his morning was going. And it ended with you asking why he was such a prick.

It was a silent ride home.

You'd like to think you'd tried to find his good side in those beginning days but you soon began to question if such a thing even existed. Any time you were kind to him, he retaliated with anger. It brought out a certain type of frustration in you that you didn’t know was possible.

Within your time at the prison, you'd made yourself an esteemed part of the community. You used your [now useless] degree in agriculture to help build the gardens and begin the planting of any seeds you could find. Rick took a heavy trust in you and appointed you a seat on the prison council. And you'd shown your skills in scavenging, even when you had Daryl breathing down your neck.

It was difficult to pinpoint exactly when this whole charade started. Perhaps it had started in the nurse's office, in the courtyard, or on your first run together. But it did not matter where it began because there was one thing for sure, there seemed to be no end.

You both had a hold over another, in a way no one else did.

Daryl hated your confidence because he lacked his own. He hated that you were quick to go toe to toe with him. Because many others were too scared. He despised that you were so smart, a college graduate. And he especially hated when you spoke so highly of your father. Because he didn’t have a father to talk about at all.

But there was always a ting of something in all of his hate. Jealousy.

You hated his ego. You hated the fact that he contradicted everything you said. You hated when he called you names. Princess, he’d say or, miss college graduate. You hated that he never even tried to get to know you; to know that you weren’t this pretentious brat he painted you to be. Despite being with each other on a regular basis, there was a lacking of personal connection.

Neither of you truly knew the other. Where did he grow up? Has he ever broken any bones? What was his favorite candy as a child? When did he have his first drink?

Daryl pondered the same of you. Who taught you to braid your hair? You spoke of your father but never your mother, what happened to her? Why the dog tags? Have you ever loved another?

It was a day familiar to all the others. Your hot morning tea whirled about in your mug, your feet gliding gently around the grounds of the growing garden. After all your laborious hours in the Georgia heat, it was gratifying to see the various plants take bloom. Knowing there'd soon be a garden big enough to feed the community gave you satisfaction and perhaps a sliver of peace.

"You comin' or what?"

And there goes another blissful morning pissed down the drain.

Your long braid fell from your shoulder to your back when you looked at the disgruntled man. "We might need to find you a new mattress." You made your way to him, shoving your mug into his chest, "You can't ever seem to find a good side to wake up on." He scoffed, involuntarily taking your mug. The two of you, along with Michonne and Glenn, were set out on yet another run. Not one of great importance nor would it take that long of time but nonetheless it was still time spent around him.

Daryl followed behind you as you continued your way back to the prison, mug still in hand. "Michonne and Glenn are waitin' while yer staring at some fuckin' bushes." It was your turn to scoff, "They're not bushes. It's food. And a lot of fucking work."

Oh, Daryl knew how much work it had taken from you.

In the weeks he'd spent out in the gardens, his eyes worked more than his hands. He couldn't not look. You wore a tank top every day with the same black gardening gloves and dog tags dangling from your neck. The muscles in your biceps were always highlighted from the hours of digging. The blistering sun always had you drenched in sweat leaving your skin constantly glossy. Words couldn't describe the way he felt when it was dripping down your neck and into the crevice of your breast.

He was outraged for the entire three weeks.

"Whatever."

The mug in his hand became very apparent to him. "When the hell ya give me this?" He now strode beside you, approaching the car at the gates. You smiled to yourself, "A while ago."

Daryl would have preferred to ride his bike to avoid being trapped in such a confined space with you. But it was, “A waste of gas” as Rick would say.

You weren’t exactly sure what Daryl had done. But he had particularly did you in today. So greatly that you almost walked home. Glenn had to beg you to come back. Perhaps it was the way he glared at you that threw you over the edge. So cold and hostile. Or the way he stepped all over your feet, cutting you off mid-sentence, always thinking that he was right. You were simply always wrong.

This particular run would change the trajectory of your relationship forever.

You and Daryl had split in the strip mall, deciding to cover more ground separately. The strip was usually overrun with a hoard of walkers but as of late, they seemed to be diminishing one at a time. It had become clear enough to begin digging at the stores it held. Some random clothing stores, liquor shops, a CVS pharmacy, and dead restaurants.

You were rummaging about the pharmacy, most of it already picked through.

Examining the bottle of prenatal vitamins in your hand for Maggie, you heard footsteps. Thinking it was Daryl you spoke. "It's not like these expiration dates even matter anymore." Blind to your danger, you turned to face him.

Before you were given time to react to the two strange men, you were grabbed by the back of your neck, pulling at the nape of your hair, a blade held to the side of your throat. The bottle dropped from your hand, clattering to the floor. You grasped the man's arm attempting to keep the blade from your skin but you'd failed; cuts appeared on the delicate skin.

"Stay." The other man reached for your gun belt, unholstering your weapon and keeping it for himself. You kept your calm but your eyes widened with fear. "Scream and you'll die." The short man with the knife moved it away from your throat, his hand freeing your neck. The other man, who had taken your gun, now had it pointed at you.

It was loaded. You knew because you were the one who'd loaded it that very morning.

"Ya can't just come into the place we've worked so hard to clean up and start taking things...we need some form of payment."

"I have my bag." You offered hoping they would merely steal your things and go. Slowly, not taking your eyes off them, you moved your pack off your back. "There's food and ammo and other supplies." Your bag was snatched from your hands with haste. "Thank you." It wasn't genuine, just taunting.

"But that's not what we want." Their eyes looked at you more hungry than any walker. Once you realize what they meant, tears begin to blur your vision. You could feel them begin to come closer to you. Feeling helpless and too stunned to cry out for Daryl, you weren't sure if you should start fighting or begging.

Daryl heard your continuous screeches from down the way, dropping his bag of clothing. "Y/n!" His feet carried him to you swiftly. You cried his name shoving one man off of you from your pinned spot against the shelves. It was foolish of Daryl to begin shooting so wildly.

Luckily you moved to the floor in avoidance of the bullets, covering your head and blocking your ears.

You kept yourself crouched on the ground, deaf to what was happening around you. Until a hand grabbed your bicep and hoisted you from the ground, "Come on, we gotta go." For once you were relieved to see Daryl.

But you wouldn't be for long.

"We shouldn't have split up!" Daryl shouted. He was walking too fast for you to keep up, as he did at times. You trailed behind him stumbling your way over the branches and leaves in an attempt to make it back to the road with his bike. "You always got stupid fuckin' ideas!" Daryl's adrenaline was still pumping, too ignorant to think of you. He muttered to himself, “Course there was people, walkers don’t just clear out by themselves.”

He marched onto the blacktop.

"Ya talk big game just to not do nothing to help yourself." Daryl was angrily throwing the green brush off his bike, removing it from its hidden spot in the treeline. "Always talkin' 'bout yer daddy and what he did for ya." Daryl said this more to himself but it didn’t fail to reach your ears.

"Well, where was he now yuh?" Daryl turned around to face you, his chest heaving. Only to catch you in the midst of buttoning your pants. Guilt dreaded him.

You didn't care to hear his insults. And you had no desire to get on that bike and be so close to him right now.

"I.." Words couldn't find themselves in your mouth. All you could focus on was the way everything felt frozen yet moving at an intense speed at the same time. Daryl saw the way you struggled with yourself.

There was a twisting pain within your chest as your panic only grew. "Y/n." Daryl put his frustrations aside, the situation becoming clear to him now. He swallowed down his pride and reached a hand out to you. Before his fingertips could even graise the fabric of your shirt, you took a step back. "No." You spoke gently, looking out to the woods instead of to Daryl; all you could fathom now was the desire to escape.

"Y/n," Daryl repeated more soft, "We gotta go home."

"I don't want to." You turned back to him abruptly. He could see the tears irritating your eyes. Where your hands lay across your chest, you could feel your rapid heart.

"Why not?" Daryl couldn't understand why you wouldn't want to go home. It was safe, it was comfortable. Two things you desperately need right now.

"I can't, I…I can't get on the bike right now." Your frustration with yourself was growing.

Why couldn't you just get on the bike?

Why couldn't you breathe?

Why didn't you listen to Daryl and not split up?

Why was Daryl being so kind to you suddenly? Was it pity? You hated pity.

"Alright." Daryl watched the tears begin to roll down your cheeks. "We can walk, it's alright." There was no way of making it back to the prison on foot before sundown. Daryl knew this. But it was a sacrifice he was willing to make for you.

Daryl gripped the handles on his bike, walking the heavy machine down the road with you in tow. You were seemingly able to calm yourself down. The only thing remaining now was shame. You were embarrassed that Daryl had seen you so vulnerable. And you were even more embarrassed that he had to save you.

All the countless years felt wasted. All that time spent in the ring or on some thin gym mats. All those tireless nights where your father wouldn’t allow you to rest until you got one more. It was a phrase all too familiar.

You knew Daryl was annoyed having to walk, his huffs and buffs gave it away. The sun was beginning to set. "Daryl we can drive." You tried to persuade for the third time. "S'fine."

"Daryl, it's getting dark."

"S'fine!" He shouted back frustrated with the disappearing sun. You stopped in your tracks. "I know somewhere we can sleep."

You could hear the soft sounds of the water flowing down the river bed. The moon allowed a glow onto the water, gleaming with the current. Crickets and cicadas chirped in the night air like music to your ears. Despite the struggles of being in the wilderness alone, nights like this made you miss it.

"What ya doin' over there?" Daryl asked sitting a few feet behind you at the fire. "Nothing."

You pushed yourself from the ground, making your way back to him. Daryl bitterly smoked his cigarette. You didn't need to ask to know why he was so irritated, you could already imagine. Perhaps catching the fish for dinner was what did it. Or the hundreds of pounds of metal he walked for miles. Or maybe he actually was mad about having to save you. Or the simple fact that he was stuck out here with you.

You couldn't pick one.

No words were spoken, just the sounds of the wilderness and the crackling of the fire. It allowed you to think.

You began to wonder if you'd ever actually hated him. Because how could you hate someone you'd grown such an attachment to? How could you hate the person you screamed out for in your time of need? There were countless days where he'd anger you so much you thought you might actually strangle him. But somehow you always went right back. You always met him at the gates or stumbled upon him at breakfast.

Staring off into the fire you began to accept that you all along had been trying [and presumably failing] to win him over. "You okay?" Your eyes looked from the fire to him. His cigarette no longer present, "M'fine." You replied.

Daryl would be lying if he said he wasn't worried about you. Just because he didn't care for you at times, didn't mean he doesn't care about you. "It happened a couple times out on the road. I could handle it then...I just..." You shifted where you sat, "Got surprised today was all." To hear this wasn't the first time but a time of many, gutted Daryl.

You had become more afraid of encountering a man than a walker.

Daryl was never angry with you. He was more angry with himself, unable to protect you from finding yourself in such a situation.

"Wasn't yer fault. M'sorry." Shockingly, Daryl's guilt overshined his ego.

You let out a deep sigh looking back out towards the water. You knew his apology was sincere but you couldn't find the courage to acknowledge it. "I was just thinking about how I miss it out here sometimes. The sounds, the views, the peace."

Your confidence and sharp tongue did not seem present at this moment. Looking back to him, he seemed completely entranced by this newfound gentle side of you. "But that's only one percent of it, isn't it?" Daryl never took his eyes off yours, the fire casting an orange glow within them. "Yeah."

The other ninety - nine percent was the actual survival. All the bloody fights. The permanent anxiety. The sleepless nights due to fear. The painful emptiness of your stomach. The constant blisters on your ankles [that never healed] from running or walking. And the unbearable hopelessness.

"Were ya always alone?" Daryl had always been curious. You shook your head, "No." He nodded his head and looked away, leaving it at that. He had no desire to make your night even more miserable by talking about the ones you'd lost.

"It was just me and my brother for awhile."

"Meryl?"

Daryl furrowed his eyebrows knowing he'd never mentioned him before.

"Maggie's talked about him briefly."

"All nice things?" Daryl asked sarcastically.

"Not really." Your attempt to stifle your laugh was a failure, the smile lingering. But this did not anger Daryl the way you thought it would. Instead, he had his own small smile, scoffing and shaking his head. "He wasn't the best at times...but he was my brother ya know?"

You nodded muttering a, yeah.

Daryl flicked the butt of his cigarette into the dying fire. Knowing this was the first and potentially last time you'd ever speak to another so tenderly again, you continued.

"I was an only child. My mom died in childbirth when I was eight…so I never got siblings."

"M'sorry."

"Don't." You didn't say it to be cruel. You grew up hearing sympathy after sympathy, you did not need anymore. "I was never alone though. I had my Dad. And my aunt and uncles helped take care of me so I was surrounded by my cousins all the time...I guess I did have siblings in a way." A nauseating wave of nostalgia rose in your throat, silencing you for a mere second.

"My mom died when I was young too. 'Cept my Dad was just some drunk asshole, didn't care 'bout nobody but himself." Daryl couldn't deny his slight envy towards you. You grew up with a father who cared for you and your safety. It made him wonder how you'd ended up alone in the end.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't need yer apologies Y/n."

"I know."

The fire was no more. Only red hot embers burning on the rocky gravel. And it made you think that perhaps it was symbolic that the fire was slowly diminishing as your conversation grew more gentle.

A few minutes of silence had passed before either of you spoke again. "Look at us, talking to each other, treating each other like human beings for once." You joked with a laugh in an effort to replace the depressing mood.

You actually heard Daryl chuckle even though he lowered his head in an attempt to hide it. His eyes glanced at you, your own cheeky smile dimpling your cheeks. If this is what having a personal connection with Daryl was, it was dangerous.

Why did it take so long?

Was what you wanted to scream at him.

I could've loved you if you'd just given me a chance.

"Maybe we have more in common than we ever allowed."

Daryl broke eye contact with you, staring down at the glowing embers, chewing on his bottom lip. And he did the only thing he ever learned how to do when he felt something. "Night Y/n."

You didn't know why you expected anything different.

"Goodnight Daryl."

Daryl took his vest off, rolling it up and using it as a makeshift pillow. He turned away from you, his back tauntling in your face.

You stayed up a little while after, too overwhelmed by thoughts to rest. Unbeknownst to you, Daryl could not rest either. In fact, he did not sleep that entire night, only allowing himself ten-minute naps here and there. The only sense of relaxation he felt was when he'd check over his shoulder and see you in blissful sleep. As if nothing and no one had ever touched you.

When Rick asked what'd happened, Daryl lied. Saying you'd been outrun by a hoard and had to crash somewhere safe for the night. The days continued on, and what happened that day was not spoken of again. But there had come an understanding that Daryl and you were indeed, more in-common than ever allowed.

Patrick approached Daryl and you at breakfast as you mapped the run for the next morning. "H-hi!" Patrick greeted sheepishly, giving a small wave to the table. Maggie and Glenn greeted him first. Then you, pulling your attention away from the map on the table to him; giving a polite smile and nod. "Hey Patrick, everything okay?" Rick asked from where he sat beside Daryl. "Yeah..." Patrick was nervous on his feet, awkwardly pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "I wanted to ask Daryl and Y/n if I could join them out there?"

There was suddenly a stiffness in the air. Glances were exchanged between the lot of you. "Patrick I-" Rick scratched his beard awkwardly, finding a response for the boy. Patricks's confidence plummeted. He had spent hours building up the courage to ask, only to be met with stiff glances.

"How old are you Patrick?" It was an odd question for you to ask but it did not come without reason. "Uhmm fifteen."

You rose from your seat making your way over to him as gently as your feet would allow. Come, you spoke gently reaching an arm out to him.

Patrick began to walk with you.

"I was younger than you when my father began to enroll me in fighting classes…a short time after my mother died.”

Pausing your words, you continued your stroll until you stopped just before hitting the grass. "He told me that you could never be too young to be prepared for what the world was to through at you...What does that mean to a little girl who only wanted to play with her Barbies?"

Patrick listened to you intentively, entranced by the way you spoke.

Looking out to the green gardens, you seemed lost in thought for a second. "I don't think your question is outrageous. I just don't think you're prepared." Patrick seemed to understand this answer more, nodding his head.

You knew the day would come when the prison folk grew tired of looking at the same walls and more curious about the world beyond. Especially the children. You'd seen the group of kids over by the fences, close enough to look at the walkers but far enough away for safety. It was often that they were scolded by the adults.

"I know I’m not a fighter. I’m not like you or Daryl or even Carl. But I just wanna…” Patrick paused, “be brave for once.”

You couldn't help but smile at the innocence of the boy.

"You can't go out there knowing nothing Patrick." He had finally begun to accept defeat but the long face and disappointed eyes tugged at your sympathy.

"I can teach you. Just as my father taught me." Patrick's eyes lit up with hope. "Th-thank you Y/n." He gleamed with excitement, reaching a hand out to shake yours. You were truly at a loss of words with no choice but to shake it in return.

You'd spent day after day out in the field with Patrick. You taught him how to block blows, how to hold and use daggers, and much more. He was skittish and shaky most days but he was trying. In place of your days with Patrick, you were skipping your usual days with Daryl. You truly hadn't thought he'd mind much. If anything, you assumed he'd be happy to finally have a break from you.

"I feel like this wouldn't hurt that bad." Patrick commented. Carl was punching the book Patrick held, having begun to invite himself to the practices. Thick index books were the closest thing you'd find to a punching bag. You chuckled, "It hurts more than you'd expect."

Daryl approached the three of you. You could hear his footsteps. You’d recognize them even in the dead of night. They were gentler than normal as if he wished to not disturb. "It hurts more if you have rings on." Patrick looked at you curiously, "Did you used to wear rings Y/n?" You nodded happily. "All the time.”

You turned to finally face Daryl. "Hey." You greeted, taking the last few steps to meet him. "Hi." Daryl looked about, chewing on his bottom lip. "You ain't been showing up for runs." It almost, almost, sounded as if this upset him. "I've been here," you motioned to the young boys, "You know that."

Daryl nodded.

Of course he knew. He saw you every day, always wanting to come over and join but never allowing himself to.

"You really serious 'bout all this?" Daryl nudged his head to Patrick and Carl. You let out a deep sigh. You asked yourself the same question. Was this serious? Did you really plan on taking a kid outside the gates? There was a chance this was all for nothing at all. But what you did know was that it kept your mind at peace and your days busy.

"I don't know. I thought we could at least take him down to the river. It's nice down there, it's not far, would get him outta here for a few hours."

The river.

"Alright."

You sat alone at dinner that night, needing quiet time after hanging out with teenage boys for the majority of your day. You poked about your rice and veggies, still working on the copy of Little Women. "Hey." Daryl greeted. The day was growing late, the sun beginning to disappear from beneath the trees; he'd presumably just gotten back.

"Hi." You looked from your page, secretly happy he was giving you an excuse to put it down. Daryl's eyes looked anywhere but your own. "I-uh...got something for ya." Daryl dug into his front pocket, grabbing the handful of metal. He placed the rings on the table, making their own clattering noise together as they fell.

You seemed bewildered at this. "What...uh." Daryl chewed nervously on his thumb. He'd searched through this town and the next to find them for you, rummaging through old antique stores and dusty jewelry boxes. Picking out the ones he thought you’d like; which could mean nothing at all. “You didn't have to."

"S'fine." You nodded, the smile finally creeping it’s way to your features. "Thank you, Daryl." You were flattered. Flattered to think that for once, he'd actually listened to you. "Do you wanna go get dinner and come sit?" You offered.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

A certain closeness was growing. The arguments slowly became banter. And the war of dominance diminished. You began to work together as partners, mapping runs and brainstorming improvements for the prison. Instead of using your skills against each other, you’d began to find the perfect balance between.

Daryl joined you most days with Patrick. He found that he had no desire to go beyond the gates unless you were in tow.

There were moments when sheer frustration retook hold of you. But never did it reach the lengths as before. It came with reason, with a pleading, instead of merely arguing of who was right and who was wrong.

You turned the rings on your fingers about as you walked to the dining area outside. Daryl was a ways away, smoking his morning cigarette. “Morning.” You greeted, crossing your arms and taking your spot beside him. “Morning.”

The end of summer was near, mornings were chillier than usual but days still hot from the sun. There was a curtain of peace over this particular morning. The smell of Daryl’s cigarette filled your nose along with the morning dew. His presence comforted you. “I think it was around this time last year when you guys picked me up.”

Daryl blew the smoke from his lips, “Yeah, biggest mistake ever.” He joked. This earned a laugh from you. Daryl watched the joy on your face; it scrunched your eyes and accentuated the apples of your cheeks. “Yeah, I bet.”

He couldn’t take his eyes from you and a heaviness weighed within his chest. Because he knew, just as you did, that it was not only friendship lingering. It was more.

“I think I’m gonna go out, make sure the path to the river is clear.” Daryl knew what this insinuated. “We’re taking him out today?” Daryl had begun to hope that all of your time with Patrick was nothing, that it was merely something to fill up the days. “It feels like a peaceful day…” You could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “Besides, Patrick’s not been feeling good, I doubt he’ll even want to go. It’s the effort that means something to him.”

Hmm, Daryl hummed. You nudged your elbow into him, “Keep an eye on him for me, okay?” Daryl hummed in response again. “D…” You nudged him again as if needing a more reassuring answer for your verbal contract. The nickname perked his ears and heated his cheeks. Looking to you, he nodded.

You gave him a thankful smile. “Be safe!” Daryl shouted to you as you began on your way.

Arriving back to the prison you could feel within your gut that something was wrong. The sympathetic eyes that Michonne greeted you with solidified this.

Daryl recognized your footsteps entering the cell block.

“What's happened?" Daryl rushed to stand in front of you, blocking your path. It was eerily silent. “Come on.” Daryl placed his hands on your shoulders trying to turn you away. You shoved his hands from you, slipping past him.

"Y/n.” Daryl could not stop you from continuing on. Your expression was stuck in a state of confusion and shock as your feet guided about the chaotic cell block. It smelled of metallic blood and bitterly sour. Almost as though you'd stuck your nose in a gaping infected wound. When you'd turned your head to glance into a cell, you saw him.

Patrick lay still on the ground, an arrow lodged in his skull. An airy gasp left you, clutching your hands to your chest. It was as if you couldn't take your eyes away. Your eyes still not yet communicating to your brain what you were looking at. But when it did, the only thing you could seem to focus on was the arrow. An arrow.

Daryl watched the realization settle on your features when you turned to him. For once, Daryl felt a sense of fear. And it only worsened when you began towards him.

It was as quick as a breath. You unsheathed the dagger on your hip and aimed it at him.

"Y/n no!"

Daryl caught your wrists, the blade mere inches from his right eye. Though he stopped the blade, your brute force did not stop him from being shoved into the closest wall.

"I told you to look out for him!" You yelled through your glassy eyes.

He had no words for you, pure guilt blocking any defense or insult.

"I had to." You scoffed at this, "I can't trust you to do anything."

"Y/n it's not his fault. It was an accident." Rick reasoned with you.

With his back pressed against the wall, he had fully submitted himself to your wrath. His guilt would let you kill him now if you'd like. His hands around your wrist did not hurt nor squeeze to withhold your strength, they began to merely rest there.

Your rapid breathing began to slow to deep inhales and exhales, ones that moved your entire chest. Your eyes remained steady on his, the world drowning out around you.

While his eyes showed remorse, yours burned with anger; eyebrows furrowed, hot tears slipping down your cheeks.

With one forceful shove, you ripped your arms from Daryl's grasp, his back bumping the cement wall. The dagger made a clattering noise to the floor, having been lost from your grasp in the process. You stood there for a moment looking to Daryl as if waiting for something.

"M'sorry."

His apology only seemed to anger you, your face once again turning hateful. You took a few steps back before making your exit.

When time came to take care of the ones lost, you helped dig their graves; in defiance of everyone telling you not to. Your hands covered in splinters from the blistering wood of the shovel’s handle. The once thriving and growing prison become melancholy, a heavy cloud of sorrow always above.

You and Daryl had not spoken for days. You'd ditched any planned runs that had been scheduled. But without fail, Daryl waited every morning for you, on the off chance you'd join him again. And when you never did, he kept an eye on you from afar.

You had become quiet and distant. He seemed to only find you chatting with Maggie or Glenn and on the off chance, Rick. You were on fence duty every day presumably taking out every bit of anger on those poor dead bastards.

You'd been out there day after day, nothing but water in your system, running off of pure spite and grief. You'd be out there till your adrenaline wore off and your body gave up on itself from exhaustion. If Daryl wasn't mistaken he had spotted you crying on some days; but that bloody pipe never left your hands.

You had begun to wake up earlier than Daryl, always managing to slip away from him just in time. You ignored him at every meal and walked by him as if he was a ghost.

Daryl couldn't deny the itch of missing you. He longed for you to look at him again, to smile at him and call him names. He began to even miss when you yelled at him, as cruel and loud as you could be.

Daryl couldn't continue on like this. You were torturing him.

He had awoken particularly early this day, ensuring he was in the kitchen long before you; knowing you never skipped your morning tea.

Exhaustion was all you could feel. Your body raged against your decisions every day. Your arms were sore, hands red and raw from gripping the damn pipe so hard. But you could not allow yourself to be around him. You couldn't stand to be trapped in those cells, indulged with pity.

Wrapping the strap of the fingerless gloves around your wrist, you wandered into the kitchen. Glancing up, you saw him, stopping your steps. The kitchen was dark on this early morning, the sun not yet fully risen.

Every thought Daryl had vanished from his mind. Every speech he'd rehearsed or apology left him in an instant. He hadn't known seeing you face to face, alone, would leave him so breathless. Daryl could see your exhaustion even in the dim light. Your usually neat braid had been done in haste, it was sloppy and hairs fell messily into your face. The constant emotional distress dragged on your features.

"I had to see ya."

You crossed your arms over your chest, closing yourself off from him. "So you just waited for me here." Your tone was venom to him. Daryl swallowed sharply, second-guessing his actions. "Ya get yer tea every mornin'." It would be flattering to think he'd memorized your everyday routine if it was any other time. But you couldn't find that now.

"Was gonna go out..."

He wasn't. Daryl would only go if you were in tow.

You scoffed at him. Had he truly gone through all this effort just to ask you to join him on a sleazy run?

Your attitude hurt Daryl more than he'd like to admit. "Just wanted to see if ya wanted to come with me?"

You knew why he actually was here. Scratching the skin on your arm nervously, you said, "No Daryl."

“Why the hell not?” Your mouth dropped agape. Astonished at his mere audacity. “Why not?” You repeated back. Daryl looked at you blankly. Should he apologize? Or should he begin his stubbornness rant about all the ways it wasn't his fault? You shook your head, "You're pathetic."

The fire was lit once again.

You'd insulted his ego and his efforts to meet you here. But most of all, you'd insulted any feelings he'd developed for you.

Daryl's face switched from hurt to a hateful glare in a second. You didn’t care to continue on with him, turning and disappearing into the hallway. Daryl’s anger took hold of him as he rushed after you. “M’pathetic?” He followed after you, stomping like a child.

You ignored him, continuing on, letting the door slam in his face when you exited outside. Daryl following suit in your path did not falter. Carol and Rick turned their attention to the commotion.

Daryl and you spewed insults at each other. You'd reached down in yourself, past the grief and guilt, and pulled any degrading thing you could manage to say to him. And he did the same. No words you said could possibly cut him as deeply as his actions cut you.

"I shoulda left ya out there!"

"Yeah I wish you fucking would've..." You took a step closer to him. "But you couldn't because you fucking needed me."

"I don't need you."

"You fucking need me." You repeated.

"Yeah? Then you need me!"

"I don't fucking need you! I never needed you."

Daryl lowered his tone, narrowing his eyes. He was mere inches from your face, your foreheads almost touching. “Ya didn't need me out there, hm?" He watched your furrowed eyebrows falter. Daryl knew he was crossing a line but couldn't find it in his heart to stop. "Where was yer daddy that day, yuh?"

Your glassy eyes looked up at him attempting to form your own degrading insult. "What? Say it, come on say it Y/n." He egged you on.

You only think about yourself, just like your father.

But you refrained, swallowing your words along with your tears. "Fuck you." Daryl watched you walk away, wiping at your face. "Fuck you!" Regret dreaded him. He watched as you continued on, your body shaking from a mixture of adrenaline and tears. He could have run after you then, apologies spewing from his mouth but his stubbornness kept him still.

The prison fell that same day.

Amid chaos and destruction, Daryl could only find himself to look for you. And when he finally accepted defeat, he could only pray that you'd made it out.

You had fled on your own. Fighting your way through to return to the comfort of the wilderness. After a few strenuous days on your own again, you'd found Carol and Tyreese; joining them with the girls. The blisters on your feet had returned as did the heaviness deep in your chest.

You thought about him more than you'd like to admit. And Carol did her part in reminding you of him on the daily. You'd begun to dwell on how you'd treated him in those final days. You’d denied yourself the comfort of his company. You urned for him to be gentle to you once again. To speak to you so deeply and sincerely as he had before. To comfort you amidst your grief. All the draining nights of crying yourself to dehydration, you desired for him to be there.

You’d never been hugged by Daryl but in your mind, his touch would’ve healed a thousand gaping wounds.

"I regret it deeply now." You'd say to Carol.

"I'm sure he feels the same." She'd respond.

A longing for your life to return as it was among those prison walls struck you down every hour of every day. The wish to go back to that morning and accept his offer. To take his hand and go beyond the walls. Maybe one more day together would’ve fixed everything. And you wouldn’t be left with the guilt of leaving things off on a bad note; never to see him again.

The smoke rose above the tree line, only making you more anxious. With Tyreese and Judith safely at the cabin, [or so you thought], you kept guard at the road. Keeping an eye for anyone making an escape.

Kill them if they weren’t one of us. Carol instructed.

But the sound of gunfire made you unsure of anyone’s survival. Fuck, you muttered to yourself out of frustration. You glanced constantly down the road and amongst the trees, hoping for a familiar face.

You turned your last surviving ring anxiously about your finger. A rustle in the woods grabbed your attention. You gripped your gun closely in your hands, stepping towards the tree line. When it was deemed clear, you continued on, your boots crunching on the leaves.

Your ears perked at a sudden snap of a twig. Whipping your body around, you pointed your gun.

Daryl aimed his bow to you, the tip of your weapons mere inches from the other. Your breath caught in your throat. His eyes were tired, his face bruised. But you couldn't say you looked any better.

Both your fingers lingered over your triggers, though neither of you would shoot. Daryl lowered his bow. Looking at you with teary eyes. You lowered your own weapon, looking to him with the same unsure gaze. There seemed to be a mutual understanding that neither of you had the energy to fight. Daryl wanted to reach out to you but the looming fear of rejection didn’t allow him. "Y/n?" Maggie snapped you from your daze. “Maggie?” You rushed to embrace her, discarding Daryl.

The weeks spent on the road proved to be difficult. Everyone grew more hopeless by the day and this hopelessness only grew when it became loss after loss. There was no time to heal from one loss before having to mourn another. First Bob, then Tyreese, and then Beth. You’d glued yourself to Maggie after Beth just as she did for you after Patrick.

Daryl mourned Beth in private. You wanted to be there for him, to provide him a shoulder to cry on. But he’d shut you out, just as you’d done to him. And besides, you never even tried, too focused on Maggie to consider it more than a thought.

You and Daryl had become strangers once again. There was no room for forgiveness, no time to spew apologies to each other, and no space to coddle each other through the pain.

Alexandria came to the suffering group, shining a new light of hope and a more secure future.

But this meant you could not hide from him anymore nor him you. The known could no longer be left unspoken.

You’d slipped away from the main house to the house next door that belonged to the group but was yet to be used. Daryl was first to notice your absence, asking where you’d gone so late. When he was told, the urge to follow after arose.

The front door was left unlocked, allowing Daryl entry. “Y/n?” The house was dimly lit, an amber glow looming from across the room. Daryl saw your figure sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace. A liquor bottle sat atop the coffee table reading, Honey Whiskey, along with an empty glass seemingly for him. The other was in your hand, resting on your thigh. He couldn't help but think how perfectly you the liquor was; bitter yet soothing and sweet.

Daryl didn't know what told him to sit beside you but he did not resist the urge.

Nothing was said, the both of you staring off into the gas-lit flames. Your eyes studied the fake logs that were engulfed by flames, comparing it to how real wood burns. Daryl craved for you to speak to him. He didn't care if it was hurtful. Any words, cruel or no, were better than this silence. "Y/n..."

"I forgive you." Daryl went still. You hadn't given him time to breathe.

"What?"

Just then you turned, your freshly cleaned hair falling over your shoulder. The fire cast a glow on your features; highlighting the bridge of your nose and emoting a sparkle within your eyes.

“I said I forgive you.” It was the gentlest tone you’d ever spoken to him in, almost a whisper.

“I don’t think I had reason to be angry in the first place. I was just trying to blame someone that wasn’t myself.” You reached forward, popping the cap from the bottle and pouring Daryl a glass. You handed it to him, along with a slight smile. It tugged at his heart.

“M’sorry…bout what I said that day. 'Bout your Dad...Wasn’t right.” Daryl swirled the liquor about his glass, wondering where you’d found it. You took a deep breath before speaking on, “My daddy disowned me.”

The dog tags around your neck suddenly felt as though they weighed fifty pounds. It was a burden you carried around your neck every day, hoping the weight would be lifted lighter if you just spoke highly. "Why?" Daryl couldn't help but ask. You hesitated, your mouth gaping but no words following. "Because I loved a woman." You flashed Daryl an insecure smile, unsure of how he'd react. "I lost her about a month before you guys picked me up. That's why I was alone."

Daryl felt a whirlwind of emotions hit him at once.

How many times had he thrown your father in your face like some jealous brat?

��I think I resented ya a lot. Thinking ya had a father that rolled out the red carpet for you." Daryl had found his own courage in a now empty cup. You took note of this, pouring more for him. "I know, D."

"M'sorry."

"I know that too."

After that, a soft silence fills the room. The two of you sit peacefully, content with the weight slowly lifting from the shoulders of your friendship. But there was another topic to relive before you could truly sweep up all of the choked-off fragments and furnish them with conclusions.

“Patrick uh…”

“Ya don’t gotta talk about that Y/n.”

“No, I need to.”

The liquor wasn’t persuading you to talk nor to act a certain way, you’d barely drank any.

A deep sigh left you and you rested your back against the couch. “Patrick talked about his parents a lot. He said that his mom wanted him to be brave…That’s why he wanted to go out, he said that he felt like a coward. He’d always been safe in Woodbury then the prison.” Your words were quick and shaken.

Daryl listened attentively, taking sips of the whiskey in hopes it would calm his mind. “He thought that if he went out, even once, he would be brave… like us.” You motioned to you and Daryl. A smile rose on your face. “He also just really wanted to impress you, he was so excited when you started joining us in the mornings.” You took a sip from your own cup finding strength in the liquid.

“I know you always thought it was silly but…Patrick reminded me a lot of my cousin. He was my best friend until my aunt moved to a different state. I promised to keep in touch but I started college, got distracted, and only saw him on holidays.”

Your words trailed as if unsure of what was to be said.

“Until he jumped off a fucking overpass.” You could feel Daryl’s sympathetic eyes looking at you. “In his note, he said he knew he was a coward but he couldn’t be here anymore.” Your lip began to quiver but you quickly covered it with a swig of liquor. Daryl was left to think while you choked your tears down.

"They were brave." Daryl said in hopes it would relieve some of your guilt.

You placed your glass on the table beside the couch. "And dead they are." The tears could no longer be drowned in whiskey. You covered your face with your hands. Your body trembled violently, sobs racking your chest. Daryl put down his own glass. “C’mere…c’mere please.”

Daryl scooted closer to you, grasping for you to meet him halfway. You met him gladly.

You gripped your arms around him tighter, resting your head on his shoulder. A deep sigh of relief left both of you, melting into the other's embrace. “You’ve never hugged me before." You commented with sadness, your words mumbling against the fabric of his shirt; now wet with tears. "I know. M’sorry.” He could hold you all night if need be, to make up for all the nights he hadn’t.

He smelled of pine from the soap he'd used to wash. But the familiar scent of motor oil and cigarette smoke could never be washed from his skin. At first, it annoyed you. You'd complain that the oil gave you headaches and scold him about his unhealthy habit. But now, no four walls of any house could provide you the safety and comfort of Daryl's broad figure.

You pulled away from him but your hands did not leave him. They dragged down from his back to rest comfortably in his own. Your soft skin caressed his calloused hands. Your forehead rested against his. He did not remove himself from you but merely looked down, avoiding your gaze. "Ya been drinking a lot Y/n, ain't in the right mindset right now." You shook your head, "No Daryl...”

Your nose bumped his own as you scooped your head down, capturing his lips in yours. You taste of the bitterly sweet liquor, your lips still slightly damp from the tears that fell only moments ago. He resists before giving in to his longest desires. It made his nerves feel fuzzy. “I love you.” Your words mumbled against his lips.

The kiss turned from gentle to desirable in time, lips moving in sync together. His hands moved to either side of your face, ensuring to keep you close. You began to lay back, hoping Daryl would follow. He was quick too, ensuring his body weight did not crush you.

Needing a moment to breathe, you parted from him. Your back relaxed against the plush couch all your tense muscles turning to putty beneath him. Daryl's head fell to your chest. He felt your own heartbeat, just as quick as his own. "Love ya too."

Daryl's hands freely wondered you. He gripped your thighs, feeling the jagged scar on your thigh through the thin pajama pants; remembering the day you met. "I fell down a hill." Daryl stopped his lingering hands, "What?" There was a ting of a smile on your face. His eyes sparkled with admiration. "I was fighting a walker and I fell downhill. I think I got stabbed by a tree branch or my own knife, I never knew." You admitted shamefully. Daryl dropped his head to your chest again, chuckling.

His laughter sent vibrations through you, triggering a laugh of your own. You bring your hand to the back of his head, stroking his messy brown hair. “Why don’t you stay here with me tonight?” Daryl lifted his head, the fire dimly lighting the right side of his face. He nodded.

"I'd like that."

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d1stalker · 3 months ago

Text

The Feeling's Mutual | Final Part

Summary: With Logan heading toward the enemy's clutches, you're left alone, questioning if you'll be able to stop her and finally put an end to it all.

ONE | TWO | THREE

Warnings: canon-level violence, death, some logan POV, arguing, angst, fluff WC: 9.5k - MASTERLIST

----

Logan regrets his decision to leave you the moment the warehouse door slams shut behind him, cutting off the desperate cry that echoes from within. The sound of your voice, the look of fear and pleading in your eyes as you begged him not to do this, haunts him even as he forces himself to move forward.

Every instinct in him screams to turn back, to protect you, to face whatever comes together. But he knows he can’t. Not now. Not with what’s waiting for him outside.

The sight that greets him as he steps out into the open is nothing short of a nightmare. A horde of mutants, all gathered outside, bodies tense and mouths practically frothing at the mouth, ready to take a bite. The moment he appears, they spring into action, launching themselves at him with everything they’ve got.

He grunts as the first mutant crashes into him, small bursts of electric energy crackling all around. Still, he doesn’t hesitate. His claws flash out, cutting through the mutant’s flesh with ease. Blood splatters across his face, warm and sticky, but he barely registers it. Another mutant charges at him from the side, and he ducks under the swipe of its tail, driving his fist deep into its chest with a snarl.

They fall one by one, but there’s no satisfaction in it. These aren’t enemies; they’re victims, Shadowmind’s marionettes.

Another one slams into his side, driving him back a few steps, and Logan snarls as he jams his claws through its chest. Still, they keep coming. He’s fought worse than this—he’s fought against himself—but the sheer number of mutants bearing down on him begins to be overwhelming.

He can feel the weight of them pressing in on him, the force of their combined strength pushing him, inch by inch. He fights them off with everything he has, each slash of his claws sending one after another to the ground, but it’s just not enough.

A particularly large mutant grabs him from behind, its arms locking around his chest, effectively crushing him. Logan grits his teeth, muscles straining as he tries to break free, but he then something—or someone—slam into his legs, knocking him off balance. He stumbles, and before he can recover, more mutants pile on top of him, their weight dragging him down.

“Get off me!” he yells hoarsely with exertion as he thrashes around, but still, it’s no use. They are like a tide, and they’re dragging him toward the location of the underground tunnels, where he knows she is waiting.

It’s like he can feel the ground shifting beneath him as they drag him closer to the entrance of the tunnels, the air grows colder, darker, more unsettling. With each passing second, he’s pulled further from the warehouse, further from you.

When they reach that damn metal grate it’s quickly pushed to the side, and he's roughly shoved down into the hole, grubby hands forcing him into the depths. He lands hard on the damp, uneven ground of the tunnel system, the impact jarring his bones, but he doesn’t let the brief pain slow him down. He clambers to his feet, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement.

The remaining mutants surround him, forming a barrier between him and the way out, and Logan knows he’s trapped. He knows that there’s no way out except forward.

“Wolvie!” He hears, the voice a sing-song echo through the tunnel in false excitement. “Back so soon? You just couldn’t stay away, could you?

“What do you want, Lorna?” he growls, using her real name deliberately, trying to strip away the power she’s claimed for herself.

She steps out of the shadows, but she doesn’t answer his question right away. Instead, she lets the silence stretch, her predatory gaze fixed on him as if she’s savouring the moment.

“I want what’s mine,” she says finally, dangerously. “And you… you’re part of that.”

Logan’s claws twitch, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t take the bait. “You’re delusional,” he spits.

“Am I?” she replies, her tone laced with false innocence. She takes a step closer, her eyes never leaving his. “You and I… we were made by the same people. We’re two sides of the same coin, Wolvie. But there’s a difference between us.”

Nostrils flaring, he tries to keep his breath coming in controlled, measured beats as he fights to keep his mind clear, focused. “The difference is, you let them turn you into this, even after their downfall.”

Shadowmind’s laughter is sharp, biting, like the crack of a whip. “You think you’re better than me?” she hisses. “I fought back. I never let myself get corrupted by them. But you?” A laugh rips from her throat. “You were just waiting there, ready to be useful, weren’t you? Just a good little weapon, eager to please.”

Logan clenches his jaw. The words hit their target, but he forces himself not to react, not to let her see the impact. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“Oh, I think I do,” she purrs, her voice softening with false sympathy. “You didn’t fight back. You let them break you, turn you into their perfect killing machine. You were more than willing to do their dirty work, weren’t you? All those years, all those lives… They didn’t mean anything to you.”

His breath hitches, just for a moment, but it’s enough. Shadowmind’s eyes glint with satisfaction, sensing the crack she’s been looking for. “You couldn’t wait to sink your claws into anyone they pointed you at. But the worst part? You’re still that same weapon. All your talk about being better, about being in control… It’s all a lie, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” he growls.

“And what about that little sidekick of yours?” she continues, her tone shifting to one of mock pity. “Knifey, you called her? She’ll never see you the way you want her to. How could she? You’re nothing but a relic, Wolvie. Too much baggage, too old, too damaged. She’ll realize it soon enough—she’ll leave you behind, just like everyone else.”

Logan’s hands clench into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fights to stay grounded. He knows what she’s doing—knows she’s trying to weaken him, to break him down until he’s vulnerable enough for her to control. But it’s working. He can feel the doubts creeping in, the old fears and insecurities clawing their way to the surface.

“You’re a failure, Logan,” She whispers, her voice slipping inside his head, bypassing the physical world entirely. “You’ve always been one, too. You can’t save anyone, and you won’t save her. All you do is destroy. That’s all you’re good for.”

“Stop it,” he snarls.

“You can’t escape your past. No matter how many times you try to change, no matter how hard you fight, you’re still the same broken weapon they made you. You’re nothing.”

His vision shakes, the darkness of the tunnel closing in around him as her words seep into his mind, pulling at the edges of his sanity. He can feel the walls he’s built around his mind starting to crack, the strain of keeping her out taking its toll. She’s pushing harder now, digging deeper, little by little, weakening his defences, until she can take control.

“You’re alone, Logan,” she pushes. “And you’ll always be alone. Because of who you are, what you are. You destroy everything you touch. You bring pain and suffering to everyone you care about. That’s why she’ll leave you.”

His heart pounds in his ears, the sound almost drowning out her voice, but not quite. He can feel the line between reality and nightmare beginning to blur, her words fading the edges of his perception, making it harder to distinguish between the two.

“You can’t break me,” Logan says, veins in his neck bulging at the amount of effort he's exerting, the fight inside him burning bright despite the wickedness closing in. “You’ll never break me.”

Lorna’s laughter echoes through the tunnel, haunting. “We’ll see about that, Wolverine,” she whispers, her voice dripping with malevolent glee.

----

The days after Logan sacrifices himself to the horde of mutants blur into one long stretch of despair and frantic thinking. You know he did it to protect you, to keep you safe, but the only thing it does is leave you feeling utterly alone and powerless. All you want to do is follow him, tear through those mutants and drag him back, but the door that closed so resolutely behind him now feels like an impenetrable barrier.

Self-sacrificing asshole.

You spend the first few hours pacing back and forth across the warehouse, your mind spinning with distressed ideas and plans that you know, deep down, are impossible. You think about sneaking back into the tunnels, maybe finding a back way in, using the element of surprise to take down Shadowmind before she can do any more damage. But the more you try to piece together a plan, the more you realize how futile it is. She could be hiding anywhere in the shadows of those damn tunnels, and if she has another group of mutants waiting for you... Every time you think you have a workable strategy, it falls apart under the weight of too many unknowns.

At one point, you even consider trying to bargain with her, offering yourself up in exchange for Logan’s freedom. But the idea of putting yourself at Shadowmind’s mercy again, knowing first-hand how she twists minds and breaks people, makes you regret contemplating it. And you know Logan would never forgive you if you did something so reckless, and let’s say if she agreed to the exchange, there’s no guarantee she wouldn’t just find a way to end you both.

So, you spend your days trapped in a cycle of despair and frustration, your mind constantly racing to find a way to get him back. Hardly sleeping, your nights are filled with restless tossing and turning, your thoughts consumed by images of what that wicked woman might be doing to him.

Is she torturing him, trying to break his spirit? Or is she forcing him to relive the horrors of his past, using his memories against him? Thinking of him suffering, of him being twisted and corrupted by her influence, leaves you feeling hollow and sick with worry.

You try to distract yourself, to keep busy in the warehouse, but everything reminds you of him. After all, it’s his place. The silence is deafening without the sound of his heavy footsteps, the gruffness of his voice cutting through the stillness. Even the small, mundane tasks feel impossible without him there. You find yourself flailing around in the kitchen, your attempts to cook a meal turning into a disaster. You can’t remember how he managed to make everything look so easy, his hands moving with ease as he salvaged your attempts at dinner.

You stand there, staring at the mess you’ve made, feeling utterly useless. In the few short weeks you’ve known him, you always relied on him to help you with something, to have your back in a mutant-encounter, to steady you when you stumbled. Now, without him, you feel like you’re falling apart.

At night, when you’re laying in bed—his bed—the thoughts never stop. Your thoughts wander, wondering how he’s holding up, whether he’s still fighting, still resisting. Or if he’s already succumbed to Shadowmind’s control. You absolutely despise the idea of him being forced to kill, to hurt others, knowing how much he loathes the things he’s been made to do in the past.

A small, treacherous part of you can’t help but hope that, if nothing else, Logan will find a way to end it. That he’ll kill her before she can break him, before she can twist him into something unrecognizable. You know it’s a dangerous thought, but you cling to it all the same.

She deserves to be punished.

If anyone can survive her, it’s Logan. If anyone can find a way to stop her, it’s him.

Yet, as the days drag on, that hope begins to fade. The longer he’s gone, the more your fears grow, until they consume you entirely. You imagine him locked in a battle of wills with her, his mind being torn apart, and it almost drives you to the brink of madness. You feel like you're unraveling, piece by piece, the threads of your sanity slipping through your fingers as you pace the warehouse, waiting for a sign, any sign, that he’s still out there.

The silence stretches on, building up to a crushing weight. Every time you hear a noise outside, every creak of the building, every gust of wind, you freeze, your heart leaping into your throat, hoping against hope that it’s him, that he’s somehow found his way back to you. But each time, you’re met with nothing but disappointment and the hollow emptiness that fills the space where he used to be.

You sit by the door for hours, just staring at it, willing it to open, willing Logan to walk through it and tell you that everything is going to be alright. That he’s beaten her, that he’s stronger than her. But the door remains closed, the warehouse eerily still, and your hope continues to wither away.

Just go. Help him. Do it yourself

These thoughts begin to swarm in your head. You realize that it’s been too long. If Logan were to do something, anything, he would have done it by now. For all you know, he could be chained up to those cold, damp walls, waiting for you to save him.

Steeling yourself, you take a deep breath, gathering every ounce of courage you have left. You turn toward the door, ready to throw it open and march back into the madness, when suddenly, it swings open on its own.

And there he is. Logan stands in the doorway, his frame filling the entrance, the light from outside casting shadows across his face. For a moment, you’re frozen, disbelief warring with overwhelming relief.

He’s back. He’s here.

“Logan!” you gasp, rushing toward him, your feet barely touching the ground. “Oh my gosh, you’re back. Are you alr—”

But your words are cut off as his hand latches around your throat with a vice-like grip. Kicking the door shut behind him, the breath is driven from your lungs as he swiftly turns you around, slamming you roughly against it. Pain radiates through your back from the impact, your mind reeling, struggling to understand what’s happening.

“What—” you manage to choke out, but the words die in your throat as you feel the sharp edge of his claws pressing against your stomach.

Your eyes go wide, your mind a blur of shock and disbelief. This isn’t your Logan. It can’t be. Yet before you can process it, before you can even react, the claws extend with a sickening shink, and you feel them pierce through your flesh, cold steel sinking deep into your abdomen.

A strangled cry escapes your lips as the pain explodes through you, white-hot and searing, radiating out from where his claws are buried in your stomach. Your hands fly to grab his wrist, trying to push him away, but there’s no strength in your limbs, no fight in you. Your legs give out, and you slump against the door, held up only by the grip he has on your throat.

You try to speak, try to ask him why, but the words won’t come. All you can do is stare up at him as the reality of what’s happening sinks in.

There’s no recognition in his eyes, no hint of the man you’ve grown to care about. He looks at you as if you’re nothing, just another target, just another obstacle in his path.

“She… she got you?” you whisper, the question barely a breath, your voice breaking under the weight of your pain and confusion.

There’s no response. Hatred burns in his eyes as he pulls his claws free from your body with a slow, deliberate movement, the pain doubling as they slide out of your flesh. Blood pours from the wound, soaking through your clothes and pooling at your feet

You can feel your body beginning to mend itself together, until only a lingering ache remains, but the pain—oh, the pain—is still there, deep and throbbing, both physical and emotional.

Logan steps back, his claws dripping with your blood, his expression unchanged. The realization that you’re going to have to fight him slams into you like a fucking bus, and the thought of hurting him again makes you hesitate.

This is Logan. The man who’s fought beside you, who's trained you… But now, he’s under her control, and this version of him is not going to stop until one of you is down.

Trying to shake of the pain, you raise your hands in a defensive stance. “Logan, I don’t want to hurt you,” you plead, your voice trembling. But he doesn’t respond. He just charges at you.

You barely dodge the first strike, rolling to the side as his clawed fist collides with the metal door. Your mind is screaming at you to fight back, but your heart is in turmoil. Every move you make is half-assed, conflicted, as you struggle to reconcile the need to defend yourself with the deep, aching reluctance to harm him.

“Please!” you cry out, dodging another swipe that comes dangerously close to your throat. “You have to push against this!”

This isn’t just a fight—it’s a mirror image of the horror you lived through not long ago. You know exactly what he’s feeling, the suffocating darkness that grips his mind, the tight grip of control that leaves him impotent to resist. Shadowmind’s influence is a force of sheer will, a crime against everything you are, twisting your thoughts, your actions, until there’s nothing left of you but a weapon in her hand.

You remember the way it felt, how every fibre of your being screamed to stop, to fight back, but your body moved on its own, driven by her malicious intent. The guilt, the helplessness—it had nearly broken you. And now, here you are, facing Logan, who’s trapped in the very same prison.

The roles have been reversed, and the bitter irony of it a sick joke.

Hopelessness eats at your insides as you’re backed into a corner, your mind racing to find a way out of this without hurting him. He gives you no choice. He’s faster, stronger, and without the hesitation that’s holding you back, he’s going to overpower you if you don’t act.

He comes at you again, claws aimed straight for your heart, and you finally react on pure instinct. You grab his wrist just in time, using your strength to twist his arm away, the momentum sending him stumbling back for a brief moment. But it’s not enough to stop him.

“Come on, snap out of it!” you shout. You hate this—you hate every second of it. But you can’t let him kill you, and you can’t let Shadowmind win.

He doesn’t respond. All he does is attack, faster this time, his movements a blur. In a desperate move, you finally manage to knock him back, sending him crashing into a table. For a moment, he stays down, breathing hard, and you take the opportunity to plead with him one last time.

“Logan, I know you’re in there,” you say, eyes filled with tears. “You have to fight her. I don’t want to hurt you… I can’t.”

But when he rises again, there’s no sign that he heard you at all. He jumps in your direction once more, and your heart shatters as you realize that there’s no choice left.

----

Lorna’s mental assault is relentless.

“Just let go, Logan,” she hisses, a poisonous whisper that slithers into the cracks of his defences. “You can’t fight me forever. You’re not strong enough.”

Logan grits his teeth, nails digging into his palms as he struggles to keep her out, to hold on to the last shreds of his sanity. But it’s been days, and the gaps are widening, spreading like spiderwebs through his mind, and he can feel her starting to slip through, her presence growing stronger, more oppressive.

“You’re weak,” she continues. “You were always weak. That’s why they made you into what you are—a weapon. Because you were never good enough to be anything else.”

His vision blurs, the world around him fading as her voice fills every corner of his mind, pushing out his own thoughts, his own will.

“Why keep fighting, Wolvie?” She ponders. “You’ve fought your whole life, and what has it gotten you? Pain. Loss. Loneliness. Just let go. Stop fighting. It’ll be easier that way. You’ll finally have peace.”

Her voice is all he can hear now, all he can feel.

“That’s it,” she whispers triumphantly. “Give in. You know you want to. You’ve always wanted to. Just let go. Let me take control.”

With one last, brutal push, she forces her way in, her power crashing through his mind. Logan gasps, his body going rigid as she seizes control, her will overriding his own, drowning out his thoughts, his memories, everything that makes him who he is.

He feels her in his mind, filling every nook and cranny. There’s no room left for him, no space to fight back.

“Good,” she purrs, “Now, do what you were made to do. Kill her.”

His body moves on its own, driven by her desires. He turns, face stoic, as he begins to move toward the warehouse, where you’re waiting, unaware of the danger that’s about to strike. The chains around his mind tighten, pulling him along, guiding his every step.

Kill her, he hears again, and he obeys without hesitation. He’s powerless. And as he reaches the door, his hand reaches for the handle, the final barrier between him and his target, the woman he’s been ordered to kill. The woman he…

But the thought never completes itself. Lorna’s voice, dark and seductive, wraps around his mind once more, tightening the chains, binding him to her.

“Do it, Logan,” she whispers in anticipation. “Show her what you really are.”

The door swings open, and Logan steps inside, his eyes locking onto you. And as he closes the distance, there’s only one thought left in his mind, one command that drives him forward.

Kill.

----

The clash of skin against skin fills the warehouse as you and Logan engage into heated combat. Every movement, every strike delivered, but there’s an anguised edge to your attacks—one that comes from knowing you’re fighting someone you care about, someone who, under different circumstances, would never lift a hand against you.

But these aren’t different circumstances. This isn’t the Logan you know. This is Shadowmind.

Your body moves with the skill Logan taught you, every nerve on high alert as you parry his strikes and counter with your own. It’s a brutal dance, each of you trying to find an opening, but despite everything, the fight is even. You’re giving as good as you get, but you know deep down that his experience, his brutal history, gives him the advantage.

He fights as if he’s been doing this his entire life—which, of course, he has. You can see it in the way he maneuvers, the way he anticipates your strikes, even under her influence, the muscle memory doesn’t lie. Still, you keep going, keep pushing yourself to maintain your ground. Each hit he lands, your body heals, the pain sharp but temporary. You use your strength to block some of his strikes, to push him back, but he’s insane, his jabs coming faster, harder, until you’re struggling just to keep up.

Somehow you manage to sweep his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. But before you can capitalize on the moment, he rolls forward, moving on all fours as he reaches out and grabs your ankle. Then, he yanks you to the ground with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs. The impact reverberates through your body, and for a moment, your vision blacks out.

You try to scramble to your feet, but he’s quicker. He’s on top of you immediately, his weight pinning you down, his hands wrapping around your throat. You gasp, your hands flying up to his wrists as you struggle to breathe, to fight against the crushing pressure.

“Logan, stop!” you choke out, clawing at his hands, your nails digging into his skin. You know he won't stop. Not when he's under her control.

The world around you begins to fade around the edges, your vision shrinking as the lack of oxygen sends you spiraling into darkness. You can feel your strength diminishing, your body growing weaker as your lungs burn, desperate for air. Your hands slip from his wrists, falling limply to your sides as your muscles give out, your last reserves of energy draining away.

You don't think your healing factor will allow you to survive this.

Just as your eyes begin to roll back into your head, just as you’re on the verge of passing out, something in him shifts. His grip loosens, the pressure on your throat easing slightly, and you see a flicker of something in his eyes—something human, something familiar.

In an instant, Logan’s hands release you entirely, his body going rigid as if struck by an unseen force. His wide eyes stare down at you, processing what just happened—what he just did. His breath comes in harsh, ragged gasps as he looks at his hands, the hands that were strangling the life out of you not even a minute ago, and then back at your face, colourless and gasping for breath. The horror spreads across his features like a slow, creeping shadow, and with a choked gasp, he falls to his knees beside you.

“Fuck,” he mutters frantically, running a shaky hand through his hair, his fingers trembling as if they’ve just been burned. He looks lost, terrified, as if the reality of what he’s capable of is crashing down on him all at once.

“You have to go,” he says in barely more than a hoarse whisper. “You need to get the hell away from me.”

You force yourself to sit up, ignoring the searing pain in your throat, the way each breath feels like it’s dragging over raw, jagged edges. Your vision is still hazy, the space around you spinning slightly, but you manage to shake your head, reaching out to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “No. I’m not leaving you.”

The moment your hand touches him, his body jumps. It's as if your touch is the last thing he expected, the last thing he deserves. He flinches away from you, his eyes wide, but then it changes.

His expression hardens, the panic in his eyes melting into anger. “I’m not givin’ you a choice,” he spits out. “Leave before I hurt you even more.”

Deep down, you know he’s saying this to protect you, to push you away before he loses control again. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less. The fact that he isn’t even considering your help, that he’s so determined to shut you out, feels like a betrayal.

“Hey, stop,” you begin. “Let me help you.”

He shakes his head violently, standing up abruptly, towering over you with a clenched jaw. “You don’t get it,” he snarls, the desperation in his voice now masked by a biting anger. “I almost killed you! I could have—”

“But you didn’t,” you interrupt, pushing yourself to your own feet, making him look you in the eye. “You stopped. You fought her off.”

“For how long?” he snaps back, frustrated. Not with you, but with himself. “How long before she gets back in? How long before I lose it completely and—”

“And what?” you challenge, “And kill me? Logan, if she’s in your head, you need me here. I’m not running away just because you’re scared.”

“Scared?” He practically growls the word, his fists clenching at his sides. “You think this is about being scared? This is about keepin’ you alive! You have no idea what it’s like, what she’s doing to me—”

“I know exactly what it’s like!” you shout, your frustration finally boiling over. “I was under her control too, remember?”

“It’s different with me!” Logan barks, his voice echoing in the small space. “I’m not like you! I’ve got too much shit in my head, too much darkness, and she’s feeding off it,” he takes in a heavy breath.

You run your hands down your face, exasperated. “Why are you insisting on doing this alone? First you leave me to sacrifice yourself or whatever that was, and now you’re just gonna do the exact same thing again? It didn’t work the first time and it won’t work the second. We need to do this together!”

“Remember when I told you this wasn’t a partnership?” he snaps as he struggles to keep his composure, the battle raging within him evident in every tense line of his body. “When I said I needed to figure out what was happening? Well, I did, and guess what? You’re not involved. This is my burden, and I’m telling you to go.”

“You’re being so fucking stubborn!” You yell, trying to break through the walls he’s building around himself. “You don’t need to push me away in order to protect me. That’s not how this works!”

His face twists in irritation. “I’m dangerous! I’m a goddamn ticking time bomb, and she knows how to set me off!”

“Then let me help you defuse it!”

You’re beginning to take a step toward when when you see it—the twitch of muscle below his right eye, then his left, and the scrunching of his brows. His face begins to contort in pain, and a cold dread settles in your chest as you begin to realize what is happening to him.

She’s not listening to you, Logan hears her voice return in the back of his head, a small whisper.

She never will.

His hands fly up to his head, gripping it tightly as if he could physically tear her of his skull.

You’re useless, the words seep into his thoughts.

You were always just a weapon. Nothing more. Nothing less. And now you’re nothing.

Each phrase pounds through his skull, each whisper amplifying in volume until they’re not whispers anymore but screams. His body begins to tense, muscles locking up.

She won’t want you. It’s a ceaseless litany designed to break him, to shatter the last of his resistance once more. His vision wanes, black edges creeping in as Shadowmind’s influence digs deeper, rooting itself back into the darkest corners of his mind.

“Run,” he chokes out, voice strained, barely recognizable as his own. The command is laced with urgency, with the knowledge that if you don’t, he won’t be able to stop what’s coming.

But you hesitate, unwilling to leave him like this. “Logan, I can’t—”

“RUN!” he roars, the sheer might of the word almost knocking you back. Then, every emotion drains from his face, wiped out in an instant, leaving behind that same expressionless mask you saw when he first attacked you. The last shred of control he had is gone.

You don’t need to be told again. You turn and bolt for the door, and as you sprint out of the room, Logan’s world narrows to a single point of focus—the voice in his head, now no longer just whispers but a deafening roar.

He’s coming for you, and there’s nothing left of him to stop it.

----

Your heart pounds in your chest as you run, the fear and adrenaline fueling your every step. You’re going as fast as you can, the world around you blurring into streaks of colour as you race down the street, but no matter how fast you go, you can hear him—hear Logan—right behind you.

His footsteps are heavy, persistent. The sound of his grunting ricochets off the buildings and into your ears, and you don’t need to turn around to know he’s moving faster than you’ve ever seen before, Shadowmind unleashing some berserk mode within him, and you know this won't end until he's caught you

You dart around corners, leap over obstacles, trying to put as much distance between you and Logan as possible, but it’s no use. And when you do finally glance over your shoulder, he’s there, closing the gap with terrifying precision, his eyes fixed on you.

Your thoughts race as quickly as your feet, desperately searching for a solution, a way to escape. Where can I go? What can I do?

And then, like a bolt of lightning, an idea hits you.

With a sudden burst of determination, you swerve sharply, changing direction on a dime. The abrupt move nearly throws you off balance, but you recover quickly, setting your sights on the entrance to the underground tunnels—Shadowmind’s lair. You can feel Logan’s presence behind you, so close now that his breath is practically on the back of your neck, but you force yourself to ignore it.

Approaching the metal grate, you lift it up and throw it to the side as fast as possible, and leap down into the darkness. There’s no time to catch your breath. You sprint through the dark, winding passages of the tunnel, your feet pounding against the cold, uneven ground.

Behind you, Logan’s pursuit is unending. The sound of his claws whipping through the air is horrifying, but you can’t afford to slow down, can’t afford to let fear overtake you. You have to keep moving, have to find Shadowmind before he gets you.

Her voice slithers through the tunnel with cruel amusement, a taunt that weaves itself out from the shadows. “Did you do it, Wolvie? Did you kill her?”

It sends a surge of anger through you, a hot, burning rage that fuels your steps. Your voice reverberates off the walls as your scream, “Shut the fuck up!”

You can feel her presence ahead, the oppressive weight of her mind starting to press down on you too, and the need to end this—to end her—drives you forward.

Finally, you see her. She’s standing at the end of the tunnel, her silhouette illuminated by a light that seems to radiate from the very walls. Her eyes gleam with malice, a psycho grin playing on her lips as she watches you approach. It’s as if she’s been expecting you, waiting for you to come to her.

Without hesitation, you lunge for her, but just as you’re about to reach her, Logan intercepts you, his body slamming into yours from the side with brutal force.

The impact sends you crashing into the opposite wall. Pain blooms along your shoulder, the breath knocked out of your lungs. The rough edges of the room scrape against your skin, and the dampness oozes into your bones as you struggle to regain your footing.

“Logan, I’m not fighting you!” you shout, exhaustion and frustration blending in your voice as you try to reason with the man you know is still in there, somewhere. “I’m going to kill that fucking bitch!” you finish, pointing at the woman standing behind him.

But her laughter fills the air. “Oh no, darling,” she sneers, “That won’t be happening. After all, I have a good guard dog, dont I?”

If looks could kill, she’d be dead tens times over. Your blood boils as you stare at her, the rage bubbling up inside you at the sight of her face. Somebody needs to put her in her place.

“Bet you feel real powerful, huh?” you jeer, voice laced with venom as you take a step closer, your eyes locked on hers. “Getting everyone to do your dirty work for you since you’re too fucking weak to do it yourself?”

Her smirk falters for just a moment, irritation crossing her features briefly, but she quickly regains her composure, her eyes narrowing in dangerously on you.

“Because you wouldn’t survive if I punched you, right?” you continue. “All this power, all this control, and you’re still nothing without someone else’s strength. You’re a coward, Lorna. You haven’t done a single thing without hiding behind someone else!”

The words hang in the air, and you can see the fury building in her eyes, her cool demeanour cracking under your insults. Her fists clench at her sides, her lips pulling back in a snarl as the mask of control she’s been wearing begins to slip.

“Shut up,” she snaps.

“What’s the matter?” you mock. “Is the truth too much for you? Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, you cunt.”

“You know I’m right, don't you?” You press on. “Without someone to control, you’re nothing. You’re just a scared little girl playing with other people’s lives because you’re too weak to live your own.”

She’s seething. “Stop it!”

You grit your teeth, refusing to back down. “You want to get back Logan for hurting you all those years ago?” you shout at her. “When he was just a victim to the same mind control you’ve been inflicting on all those other mutants!”

“That’s not true!” she hisses, but the denial in her voice is thin, wavering. If Logan was himself, he’d think about how you’re getting to her the exact same way she got to him—and he’d be so proud.

“You’re no better than they were,” you carry on. “Making him hurt me won’t change anything. It won’t make you any better than they were!”

“Silence!” Lorna cries. “It’s not the same! He doesn't get to be happy! He deserves to suffer for what he did!

“What he did?” you retort incredulously. “What he did was survive. He was manipulated and controlled! Sound familiar? You’re no different from the people you claim to hate!”

“ENOUGH!” she screams in fury, the word bouncing off the walls. “I’m nothing like them!"

“Are you sure about that?” you ask, tilting your head to the side in faux confusion. "What are you doing right now then?"

The rage in her eyes flare, and her fists are clenched so tightly her knuckles turn white. You wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to attack you herself. But then her gaze shifts back to Logan, and a creepy smirk dances on her lips as she refocuses her control on him.

“Go get her, Wolvie,” she commands, like a queen ordering her knight to battle. His body tenses, and next thing you know, you've become his target once again.

You jump to the side, quickly evading the oncoming threat, your focus never leaving the woman. “This is between you and me, bitch!” you shout.

“Oh, it will be,” she replies, her voice dripping with malice. “If you can get to me.”

You know she must have used her mind-control to speak to him again, because he moves mindlessly, his body blocking your path to her, working as a shield. All you can do is hold back the scream of frustration that’s building inside you as you take in the scene.

The Logan you know is trapped inside, buried under layers of Shadowmind’s control, and the sight of him standing there, ready to protect her, infuriated you.

A humourless laugh escapes your lips. “You think that’s going to stop me?” you mutter dangerously.

The rage, the pain, the fear—it all coalesces into a single point of concentration, you lunge forward, your fist glowing with that molten heat as you pour everything into this final act. As fast and hard as you can, you slam your first into his midsection, just like you had done once before. The sound of tearing flesh and the sickening squelch of your arm piercing through him reverberates through the room.

Grabbing his shoulder with your other hand, you shove him back harshly, using every ounce of strength to close the distance between him and his puppetmaster. The force of your push is enough to drive him backward, your arm still embedded in his torso as you reach toward her. Your eyes lock onto hers, and you see the shock at the realization that her plan is crumbling before her eyes.

Your fist makes contact with her chest, and you drive it in even further. Her mouth opens in a silent scream, eyes wide with terror. Logan’s body jerks violently, his muscles seizing as the control she had over him falters.

She gasps in agony, her power waning, her grip on his mind slipping away like sand through her fingers. It’s like you can feel it—the hold she had on him snapping, her influence retreating like a dying flame, flickering out.

But you can't celebrate yet. The job isn't finished. You yank your arm free from Logan’s body with a savage pull, and the force of your withdrawal sends him staggering to the side, body crumpling to the ground, finally free of her control but too weak to stand.

Lorna’s once smug expression disintegrates entirely, her eyes wide with unbridled fear once she senses her impending doom.

“NO!” she screams in fright, but the sound is pitiful, and powerless. It’s too late. Far too late.

You grab her by the throat, her skin sizzling under your touch, the scent of burning flesh filling the room as she writhes in your grasp, her hands clawing desperately at yours, but you don’t let go. With a single, brutal twist, you snap her neck, ending her once and for all.

Her body falls to the ground, lifeless, and you stand there, breathing heavily, your chest heaving as the reality of what you’ve done slowly sinks in.

It’s done. She’s dead.

As you turn your head to the side, your gaze falls on Logan. Your Logan. He's on his knees, blood pooling around him, his hands pressed tightly against the gaping wound in his midsection that’s slowly closing. His face is pale, drawn, and there’s a haunted look in his eyes, like he’s not entirely sure that he’s free, not entirely sure that he deserves to be.

He tries to speak, but the words seem to catch in his throat, his eyes glistening as he looks at you like he’s seeing a miracle. “Knifey,” he finally manages to say, his voice hoarse.

You take a step toward him. “It’s over, Logan. We did it.”

Logan’s gaze drops to the ground, his shoulders slumping as he shakes his head, the weight of everything that’s happened pressing down on him. “You did it. I almost…” He trails off, his hands shaking as they drop to his sides, stained with his own blood. “I almost killed you.”

“But you didn’t.” You affirm, crouching in front of him.

He doesn’t respond, his mind spiraling further into the abyss of self-loathing. “It’s my fault,” he mutters. “I let her do this to me.”

Shifting to your knees, you reach a hand out to rest on his arm. “It wasn’t you. Just like it wasn’t me when I was under her control. This was Shadowmind’s doing, not yours.”

He shakes his head, his hands coming up to tangle in his hair as if trying to tear away the thoughts that are consuming him. “It’s not the same,” he strains. “I was so close, if I just pushed against her harder…”

“No,” you say firmly, this time pulling him into a hug, your arms wrapping around him tightly. “You’re not to blame.”

“I hurt you,” he whispers, leaning into your touch. “I became the monster I’ve always been”

“You’re not a monster,” you murmur into his ear, “It’s over, she’s gone.” All you can do is try and erase whatever lies were put into his head. “I’m here, you’re not alone.”

Logan clings to you, the his actions pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket, but your words slowly start to filter through the haze that Shadowmind left behind. They’re so different—so completely opposite—from the venomous lies she used to break him down.

Where her voice was cruel and cutting, twisting the knife deeper into old wounds, your voice is gentle, comforting, like a balm to his battered soul.

You’re telling him that he’s not a monster, that he’s more than just a weapon. You’re telling him that you’re here with him, that he’s not alone. Your words wrap around him like a lifeline, pulling him back from the edge, anchoring him in a way that nothing else could.

A deep, overwhelming adoration blooms in Logan’s chest, spreading through him with a warmth that he hasn’t felt in what seems like forever. It’s counters the cold, empty feeling that he’s been always been carrying around with him, and that takes his breath away. He doesn’t deserve this—doesn’t deserve you—but here you are, holding him, comforting him, tugging him out of the void with nothing more than your presence.

He feels something shift inside him, breaking through the layers of self-loathing and hatred. It’s you—your words, your understanding—that does it, and it makes him realize just how much you mean to him, how much he needs you. For the first time in days, the fog in his mind starts to lift, and he begins to see things clearly again.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Logan brings his arms up around you, returning your embrace. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in the scent of you, the heat radiating from your skin grounding him in the present, in the reality that he’s still here with you. He's not under control.

His heart is pounding in his chest, but it’s not from fear or anger—it’s from the overwhelming gratitude and feelings that are flooding his system.

Without thinking, he presses a soft, almost reverent kiss to your collarbone, the gesture filled with a quiet, aching affection. It’s a wordless way of telling you how much he cares, how much he’s grateful for you, for your strength, for the way you’ve saved him from himself.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You hold him even tighter, your fingers gently tracing soothing patterns on his back. The connection between you feels stronger than ever, as if this moment has solidified those unspoken, brewing, emotions between you. You tilt your head slightly, brushing a soft kiss against his temple in return. It’s simple, but it sends a rush through Logan, making his heart lurch in his chest. The tenderness of it all is almost too much, but in the best way possible.

For so long, he’s been scared to open up, to let anyone see the vulnerable parts of him that he’s kept hidden. He’s always been the one to bear the burden alone, to push people away before they could get too close. But here, in your arms, all those fears seem to fade into the background.

You’ve seen him at his worst—manipulated into a weapon, mindless and violent—and still, you hold him like he’s worth something, like he’s more than just a mutant to exploit. And in this moment, he realizes he wants to open up to you. He wants to let you in.

He feels a sudden, fierce need to protect this—protect you. He wants to try this out with you, see it where it goes. The fear of opening up to someone, of being hurt or abandoned, still lingers in the back of his mind, but now, it’s different. Now, he feels like maybe, just maybe, he’s found something worth fighting for on his own accord. No external influence. Just you.

“Let’s get out of here” you say gently. “We can go back to yours, or mine. I have a bed we can share.”

Logan pulls back slightly, eyes softening at your suggestion. He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek as he looks into your eyes. “Yeah,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a depth of emotion that surprises even him. “Let’s get goin'.”

----

And that's exactly what you do. After the tender moment, you and Logan head back to his place, gathering what little you need and packing up the essentials. He doesn’t say much as he packs a small duffel bag with clothes, some weapons, and a few belongings. You can tell his mind is still elsewhere, likely replaying everything that’s happened, everything he was put through.

Once you’re both ready to go, you finally decide to ask the question that’s been nagging at you since he first came and attacked you. As you zip up your own bag, you glance over at him, who’s pulling on his jacket, and speak up, trying to keep your voice as gentle as possible.

“How… how did she get into your head? How did she… take control?”

Logan pauses, his hand stilling on the zipper of his jacket as he looks at you. You can see shame cloud his vision, but he doesn’t shy away from the question. He lets out a slow breath, leaning back against the wall as he considers how to answer.

“She used my weaknesses,” he finally says. “Lorna knew what buttons to push, what wounds to press on… She knew how to get inside, to tear me down.”

You nod, trying to understand, but it’s hard to imagine Logan having any real weaknesses, at least in the way he’s describing. “What are they?” you ask quietly, stepping closer to him, wanting to offer whatever comfort you can. “What did she use against you?”

His eyes meet yours, and in it, there’s a vulnerability that you don’t think you’ve if ever seen. He hesitates, like he’s weighing whether or not to tell you, whether or not to let you in on the truth of what she did, or what you mean to him.

But then, his expression softens, and he simply says, “You.”

The word is spoken so tenderly, so earnestly, that it takes a second to fully sink in. When it does, your breath lodges itself in your throat, your heart giving a painful thud as you realize the full extent of what he’s saying.

You are his weakness. You are the one thing Shadowmind can use to break him down, to get inside his head.

“Me?” you repeat, almost in disbelief.

“Yeah, you. You’re the only person who has made me feel like more than a damn killin’ machine, and I’m grateful for that. Grateful for you.”

His admission is raw and honest, a reflection of just how deeply you’ve impacted his life, even if it’s only been a few short weeks. You’ve seen the man behind the claws, the heart behind the hardened exterior, and even though you may not have started off on the right foot, being in each other’s presence constantly has allowed you to share sides of yourselves you otherwise wouldn’t have.

You step closer, your hand reaching out to gingerly cup his cheek, feeling the rough scratch of his facial hair beneath your fingers. “The feeling’s mutual,” you say teasingly, referring back to your first conversation together, but he knows you mean it, because it's true. You are just as grateful for Logan as he is for you. He came into your life amidst chaos, and helped you navigate through it.

His support, albeit not always the most straightforward, has been the only thing keeping you sane.

He leans into your hand, a shy smile gracing his lips at the intimacy of it all, while reaching out and wrapping his arms around your waist, bringing you closer into his space. His warm breath fans across your skin, and for the first time in a long while, he feels something other than fear, self-hatred, or guilt.

He feels hope. Hope that he could move past this, live a normal life, one that's not shrouded in violence, manipulation.

“You’re too good for me,” he murmurs.

You shake your head, a small, tender smile playing on your lips as you pull back just enough to look into his eyes. “Nothing is too good for you,” you say with conviction. “You deserve to be happy. No one, including you, can tell me otherwise.”

Logan huffs out a small, almost disbelieving laugh, his gaze dropping for a moment before returning to yours. “You’re stubborn as hell, you know that?”

“Yup,” you say, popping the “p” with a cheeky smile. “But you like it”

There’s a fleeting moment, where neither of you speak, where all you can do is stare at each other. Your surroundings seem to fade away, the previous events already pushed back into the farthest place in your mind. All you can—want—to focus on in the man in front of you.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, you’re both surging forward, crashing into each other with a passion that takes your breath away. The kiss is fierce, all-consuming, a collision of the feelings between you that have been building since the moment he found you on the street, since he told you he liked your smile, since he helped you in the kitchen. His hands are moving instantly, one slipping around your waist, pulling you in even tighter, connecting your body with his, and the other cupping the back of your neck. Your own hands grip the front of his jacket, your fingers curling into the fabric as you kiss him back, pouring everything into it.

It’s not gentle—there’s nothing tentative or hesitant about it. It’s hungry, desperate. You can taste the longing in the way his lips move against yours. Time seems to stand still, and all that exists is this moment, the heat of his body, the pounding of your heart, the way his breath mingles with yours in the small space between you. Each second blends into the next as you lose yourself in him.

Eventually, the kiss slows, becoming softer, more tender. Logan’s lips brush against yours in a series of light, almost teasing pecks, each one lingering just a moment longer than the last. “You’re right,” he murmurs against your lips. “I do like it.”

Your chest swells, and you move your arms so they rest around his shoulders. “I knew it.”

He grins, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re trouble, Knifey."

“Damn right I am,” you beam, stealing another quick kiss, savouring the way his lips curve into a smile against yours. “Too bad you’re gonna be stuck with me for a while, huh?”

Logan lets out a chuckle, the sound vibrating through you as he leans in, fondly nudging his nose with yours. “Yeah, too bad.”

----

A/N: thank you all for reading this series!!

----

TFM Taglist

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@newromantics98

@ayamenimthiriel @fandomsunited @britttzy267 @mainly-me @icantevendood

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hyunj1nsbae · 3 months ago

Text

put in your place | H.H

chapter 2

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : After catching you flirting with another guy, despite sharing your intimate moment at a previous party ,he asserts his control, leading you into a tense game of power and desire. As emotions blur, you must decide whether to surrender to his dominance or reclaim your independence in a dominated relationship.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mean!hyunjin x afab!reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, semi public sex, unprotected p in v (wrap before you tap!) mean hyunjin , degrading,dacryphilia,slight fingering, hyunjin is kinda toxic,recording.

𝐖𝐜: 3.2

*not proofread*

The school day was in full swing, and you were enjoying the attention the new kid — Mark was giving you. His easy charm and flirtatious compliments had drawn you in, and you found yourself laughing at his jokes as you leaned against your locker. It was a nice change, feeling appreciated and noticed.

But even as you laughed, you felt an unsettling awareness prickling at the back of your neck. You glanced over Mark’s shoulder and saw Hyunjin standing further down the hallway, his gaze locked on you. His expression was cold, almost predatory, and it made your stomach twist with a mixture of anticipation and dread.

Trying to ignore the way his eyes were practically burning a hole through you, you forced a smile at Mark, who was still talking, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing just a few feet away.

“You know, we should hang out after school,” Mark suggested, his tone casual but laced with interest. “Maybe grab a coffee or something?”

“That sounds nice,” you replied, your voice a little shaky as you tried to focus on him and not the looming figure approaching from behind.

But before Mark could respond, a hand roughly grabbed your arm, yanking you backward with surprising force. You stumbled, nearly losing your balance, but strong hands steadied you. When you looked up, Hyunjin was glaring down at you, his jaw clenched tightly.

“Hyunjin, what the hell—” you began, but he cut you off. “We’re leaving,” he said, his voice harsh as he tugged you away from Mark, who looked stunned and confused.

“Hey, what’s your problem?” Mark protested, stepping forward as if to intervene. Hyunjin shot him a deadly look, his grip on your arm tightening almost painfully. “Stay out of this, Mark,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“It sure seems like it does,” Mark retorted, trying to stand his ground. “She doesn’t look like she wants to go with you.”

“Doesn’t matter what it looks like,” Hyunjin snapped, pulling you closer to him, his body pressed against yours in a way that felt both protective and possessive. “She’s coming with me. Now.”

“Hyunjin, let go,” you demanded, trying to pull your arm free, but his grip only tightened.

“Not a chance,” he growled, his eyes flashing with a dangerous intensity. “You think you can just flirt with whoever you want and I won’t do anything about it?”

“What are you talking about?” you shot back, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing from the closeness of his body and the roughness of his touch. “You don’t get to decide who I talk to!”

“I do when you’re making a fool of yourself,” he spat, his voice dripping with anger and something else—something darker. “You’re embarrassing yourself, and I won’t let it continue.”

Mark stepped forward again, his expression determined. “If she doesn’t want to go with you, she doesn’t have to.” Hyunjin turned his full attention to Mark, his gaze cold and menacing. “You really think you can protect her from me? You don’t know anything about her—about us.”

“Hyunjin, stop,” you pleaded, feeling the situation spiraling out of control. “Just let me go. We can talk about this later.”

“No,” Hyunjin said firmly, his eyes snapping back to you. “We’re talking about it now.”

Without waiting for a response, he practically dragged you down the hallway, away from Mark and anyone else who might interfere. You struggled against his grip, but it was no use—he was too strong, too determined.

When he finally stopped, it was in a secluded corner of the school, far from prying eyes. He let go of your arm, but before you could say anything, he pushed you back against the wall, his body pressing into yours with a force that made your breath hitch.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear “What’s wrong with me?” he echoed, his voice a low growl. “What’s wrong with you? Flirting with Mark like that? Do you think I didn’t see what you were trying to do?”

“And what exactly was I trying to do?” you challenged, though your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might burst out of your chest.“You were trying to make me jealous,” he hissed, his face inches from yours. “And you succeeded. But now you’re going to pay for it.”

“Jealous?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why would you be jealous? You don’t even like me.”His eyes darkened, and he leaned in even closer, his lips almost brushing against your ear as he spoke. “I never said I didn’t like you,” he murmured, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “But that doesn’t mean you can get away with flirting with other guys right in front of me.”

“Hyunjin—”

“Shut up,” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. His hand moved to your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “You belong to me, and I’m not going to let you forget that.”Your breath hitched as his words sank in, the possessiveness in his voice both thrilling and terrifying. “You can’t just—”

“I can do whatever I want,” he interrupted, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made your knees weak. “And right now, what I want is to remind you exactly who you belong to.”His lips crashed against yours with a force that left you gasping, his kiss rough and demanding. There was nothing gentle about it—no soft caresses or tender touches. This was a kiss meant to claim, to dominate, to punish.

You tried to push him away, to regain some control, but he was relentless, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you closer, pinning you against the wall so you couldn’t escape. The roughness of his touch, the intensity of his kiss—it all left you breathless, your mind spinning.When he finally pulled back, you were both panting, the air between you charged with an electric tension. His eyes were dark, filled with something that looked dangerously close to desire.

“Don’t ever pull a shit like that again,” he warned, his voice low and menacing. “Do you understand?”You nodded, your heart racing, unsure whether to be scared or exhilarated by the way he was treating you.

“Good,” he said, his tone softening slightly, though the intensity in his gaze remained. “Because if you do, I ill just have to fuck it into you next tome“ With that, he released you, taking a step back, his eyes still locked on yours as if daring you to defy him.

You stood there, trembling slightly, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. Hyunjin was infuriating, controlling, and possessive, but there was something about the way he looked at you—like you were his and only his—that made your pulse race in a way you couldn’t ignore.

As he turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the secluded corner, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over. Hyunjin had claimed you, but you weren’t sure what that meant—or what you were going to do about it.

The next few days at school were tense, but the tension was different this time. Hyunjin made sure you knew he was watching you. Every time you glanced around the halls, you found him leaning against a locker or standing at the end of the hallway, his eyes fixed on you like a predator stalking its prey. It was as if he was waiting for you to slip up, to give him an excuse to remind you who was in charge.

You were on edge constantly, the memory of his rough touch and commanding voice playing on a loop in your mind. Even when you were with your friends, you couldn’t fully relax, knowing that he could appear at any moment, ready to exert his control over you again.

And then, one afternoon, he did.

It was after school, and you were chatting with Mark again. The conversation was innocent enough—just a few words exchanged while you waited for your rides—but even that was too much for Hyunjin. You should have known better.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed your wrist with a bruising grip, yanking you away from Mark so forcefully that you stumbled. Before you could regain your balance, you were pulled into a secluded hallway, far from prying eyes. “Hyunjin, what are you—” you started, but he didn’t give you a chance to finish. His hand slammed against the wall beside your head, pinning you in place.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay away from him?” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared up at him, wide-eyed. “We were just talking—”

“Just talking?” he cut you off, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t see the way he looks at you?”

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” you protested, but the words felt weak even to your own ears.

“Wrong?” Hyunjin sneered, his grip on your wrist tightening painfully. “The only thing wrong here is you not listening to me. I thought I made myself clear the other day, but apparently, you didn’t get the message.” You winced, trying to pull your wrist free, but he held on, his eyes darkening with anger. “Hyunjin, please—”

“Please what?” he mocked, leaning in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Please don’t punish me? Please don’t remind me of my place?”

You swallowed hard, your body trembling under his gaze. “I wasn’t trying to upset you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But you did,” he shot back, his tone cold. “And now you’re going to pay for it.”

Before you could react, he grabbed your other wrist and pulled you into an empty classroom, shoving you inside with a force that sent you stumbling again. The door clicked shut behind you, the sound echoing ominously in the small space.

Hyunjin stalked toward you, his eyes burning with anger and something else—something that made your blood run cold. He grabbed your chin roughly, forcing you to look up at him.

“You think you can just do whatever you want, huh?” he growled, his voice low and menacing as he begins cups your breasts— massaging them. “You think you can just smile and flirt with whoever you please, and I’ll just stand by and watch?”

“No, I—” you started, but too deep in pleasure to finish your sentence.

“You’re mine,” he snapped, his grip tightening. “And I don’t share. Ever.”

“I know,” you whispered.”I’m sorry, Hyunjin, I really am.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough,” he spat, his eyes blazing. “You need to learn your lesson. And I’m going to make sure you do.”He shoved you back against the wall, his hands pinning your wrists above your head. You could feel the anger radiating off him, his body tense with barely restrained fury.

“Hyunjin, please—” you tried again, but he silenced you with a harsh glare.“Shut up,” he ordered, his voice cold. “You don’t get to talk right now.”

“You need to be taught a lesson,” he muttered, his voice low and dangerous.

You remained silent, your breathing steady, even as you heard the unmistakable sound of his belt buckle being undone. The soft clinking of metal as he loosened his pants was the only sound in the room, and for a brief moment, you felt your heart skip a beat.

Hyunjin leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “This is what happens when you disobey me.”

He begins to kiss and nip at your neck before sliding his hands down to the waistband of your pants — slowly pushing them down to your ankles,leaving you bare from the waist down. He runs his hands up and down your thighs, caressing the soft skin “open up” he commands.

You bit your lip, complying silently “You need to understand something,” he said, his tone deadly. “When I say you’re mine, I mean it. I don’t care who you think you are, or who you think you can flirt with. You belong to me, and no one else.”You nodded quickly, desperate to appease him. “I understand,” you whispered, your voice trembling.He runs his skilful fingers through your folds causing cute little whimpers to escape from your lips.

He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you in closer. With his other hand, he guides himself into your entrance “good girl” he murmurs into your ear before sliding into you with one slow thrust. You hold back a moan through gritted teeth, attempting poorly at adjusting to his length “it’s okay,” he whispers into your ear “let it all out” he growls, hips jerking forward burying himself even deeper into you.

“Jinnie.. f-fuck” you moan out completely indulging in the pleasure as his dick stretches you out deliciously “I can’t—“ he cuts you off “tell me, do you think mark could fuck you this good?” you stay silent. Moaning in response.

He pulls out leaving you whining at the loss of sensation “tell me,” he taunts enjoying your whines of desperation “do you think he could fuck your brains out like this?” You moan before finally uttering the answer desperate.

“No jinnie .. nobody can fuck me like you do” you whine desperate for Hyunjin to just shove his cock back into you . The sudden shuffling behind you caught you off guard, the noise unexpected in the tension that filled the room. You tried to turn your head, but Hyunjin’s firm grip on your shoulder kept you in place.

“Say that again,” Hyunjin demanded, his voice dangerously calm.You hesitated, unsure of what he meant, until you felt something cold and metallic pressed close to your face. Glancing to the side, you were met with the lens of a camera, its unblinking eye focused entirely on you.

“What?” you asked, your voice wavering despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “Say it,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for refusal. His glare is enough to force you into submission.

“Nobody can fuck me like you, Hyunjin,” you finally said, your voice just above a whisper. “Only you.”

“That’s right,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Only me.” And smirks before shoving his member back into you,thrusting more vigorously than before , filling you up. “Fuck.. so-full” you manage to moan while the man behind you was fucking you senseless. He still had his camera lens focused on you, capturing every moan and every stroke. He buried himself deep into you, his balls thrusting against your clit as his grunts get louder and your moans become more croaked and breathless.

“You wanna let them know how good I fuck you? Hm?,” you were too brain dead and out of it to respond , the pleasure completely taking over you and you could feel your orgasm creeping up “can’t respond? It’s that good right? Take it all slut.” He taunts , he feels you tensing up picking up that your orgasm is creeping up “cum for me princess ,show them how much you love my cock.”

“Ngh..agh h-Hyune ..can’t take it” you cry out, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes “mmm don’t cry” he whispers, kissing away your tears. Hyunjins words, his cock, his teasing, it all became too much and your orgasm began to wash over you in waves. “Ahh fuck, should I show this to mark?, let him know how I’m fucking you like this, making you cum?” You purse your lips together trying to stay quiet but failed, giving into hyunjin.

As you cum around him, he presses down on your clit to prolong your orgasm and pounds into you during your entire climax non-stop until he feels his own orgasm building “fuck, fuck , FUCK” but he didn’t cum in you, instead he pulls out and again shoves the cold camera lense in your face again focused on you before grabbing your head over to his member, dying to release.

“Open” he commands and you obey like his good little whore. He begins stroking his cock watching your mouth open in submission. A moment later, he cums the hot, sticky, liquid landing on your face and in your open mouth “fuuuck” he let out a strained moan pleasure at the feeling before he ends the recording

You start licking at the hot semen that landed on your face moaning at the sweet taste . Hyunjin swabs any that you missed out with his slender fingers and shoves them into your mouth , lewd noises echoing all in the empty classroom. “ are you going to flirt with anyone ever again? Answer me.” He sternly said , awaiting your reply

”no,” you insisted, shaking your head. “I won’t do it again, I promise.”

Then, slowly, he released you, stepping back just enough to give you some space.

“Good,” he said, his voice still laced with a dangerous edge. “Because if you ever pull something like that again, I won’t be so forgiving or gentle.” You wondered, if that was gentle.. then what does him not being gentle look like?

You nodded quickly, your heart racing in your chest. “I won’t, I swear.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice softening slightly. “I don’t want to hurt you. But you need to learn to obey.”

“I will,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I’ll do whatever you want, Hyunjin.”He smiled—a small, satisfied smile that sent a shiver down your spine. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“I’ll walk you home,” he said casually, as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. He opened the door, waiting for you to follow him. You did, your heart still pounding in your chest as you walked beside him in silence.

As you walked home, Hyunjin’s hand brushed against yours, but instead of taking your hand, he grabbed your wrist again, holding it firmly. The gesture wasn’t affectionate—it was a reminder. A reminder that he controlled you, that you belonged to him, and that you would be wise to remember that.

When you finally reached your house, Hyunjin paused at the gate, turning to face you with a smirk. “Remember what we talked about,” he said, his tone almost teasing.

“I will,” you promised, your voice barely above a whisper.

He let go of your wrist, leaning down so his face was inches from yours. “Good,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. He places quick chaste kisses to your temples,forehead and lips and with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing at your gate, your heart pounding and your mind reeling. You watched him go there was something about his dominance, his control, that made your blood heat and your body ache for more.

And you knew, deep down, that this was far from over. Hyunjin wasn’t just a ‘bully’—he was your bully. And whether you liked it or not, you were his to control.

ఌseries master list

#hyunjin imagines #hyunjin x reader #hyunjinsmut #kpop imagines #kpop smut #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin #stray kids smut

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p0orbaby · 3 months ago

Text

We No Speak Italiano

summary: you’ll never miss a day of Duolingo again

warnings: are language barriers and miscommunication warnings?

a/n: based on this request ! also thank you to @onsomenewsht for inflating my ego and helping navigate italian !

word count: 2.1k

Alexia looks at you like you’ve just dropped the biggest bombshell in the history of bombshells. Her eyes are wide, mouth slightly agape, and she’s got that look, like she’s trying to figure out how to assemble a piece of IKEA furniture with no instructions and half the screws missing.

“Estoy embarazada,” you say again, because you’re pretty sure that’s the right way to tell her you’re mortified after spilling your entire glass of wine on her brand-new sofa.

Your high school Spanish teacher would be so proud.

But instead of the expected response, maybe a nervous laugh or string of expletives, Alexia gasps, and her hands fly to her mouth like she’s just heard the Virgin Mary is back for round two. Her eyes flick down to your stomach and back up to your face. The calculation going on behind her eyes is something like 2 + 2 = 5, but you have no idea why.

“I… Oh my God,” she says, her voice all wobbly, like she’s about to cry. “I didn’t… I mean, this is… Are you okay?” She’s speaking in slow, deliberate Spanish now, like you’re suddenly a toddler and not a grown-ass woman who just spilled wine.

You blink at her. “Sí?”

“Madre mía”

It starts with a breakfast that makes no sense.

You wake up to the smell of something cooking in the kitchen, which is odd because Alexia barely knows how to operate a toaster without supervision. You stumble out of bed, groggy, and follow the scent of food.

What you find in the kitchen is nothing short of alarming: Alexia, apron-clad and concentrating so hard that she’s actually sticking her tongue out a little, is stirring something in a pot while a blender whirs ominously next to her.

“Buenos días,” she sings out when she notices you standing in the doorway. She’s all smiles, too bright for this early in the morning, and you immediately get suspicious.

“What’s going on?” you ask, eyes narrowing as you take in the sight of an overfull fruit bowl, a plate stacked with multigrain toast, and what appears to be an entire carton of eggs scrambled and ready to be eaten.

“Sit, sit,” she insists, pulling out a chair for you like you’ve suddenly developed a bad back and need assistance. “I made breakfast”

“You… made breakfast,” you repeat, eyeing the smoothie she pours into a glass and slides over to you. It’s an unsettling green color, like pond scum, and you’re not sure it’s fit for human consumption.

“Sí. You need to start your day with lots of nutrients.” She’s practically bouncing on her toes, like a Labrador eager to please.

You blink at the smoothie, then back at her. “Since when did you learn how to use the Nutribullet?”

She doesn’t answer directly, just gives you an encouraging smile that feels a little too close to a grimace. “Drink up. It’s good for you”

You take a tentative sip, and it’s like drinking liquid grass mixed with what you can only hope is kale. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“No!” She’s almost offended, but there’s a hint of nervousness in her voice that you can’t quite place. “It’s full of vitamins. Good for… energy”

You stare at her, but she just stares back, eyes wide and almost… expectant.

“Okay,” you say slowly, deciding to let this weirdness slide, for now. Maybe she’s on a trendy new health kick. Or maybe it’s an early birthday surprise gone wrong. Either way, you down the smoothie in a few brave gulps, trying not to think about the fact that it tastes like lawn clippings.

Alexia beams at you when you finish, like you’ve just accomplished something monumental. “Bien, bien. Now, sit tight. I’ll get the rest”

She practically skips back to the stove, where she starts piling eggs and toast onto a plate. You don’t even bother asking why she’s suddenly turned into Martha Stewart; you’re too busy wondering if you’ve somehow walked into a parallel universe.

It’s only later, after you’ve forced down an absurd amount of scrambled eggs, that she starts talking about how “important it is to stay healthy” and how she’s “going to take care of everything from now on,” which sounds sweet but also vaguely threatening.

You brush it off, chalking it up to some kind of weird phase. After all, everyone gets weird sometimes, right?

By day two, you’re starting to suspect that something is seriously wrong.

It begins with a confrontation over laundry, specifically, the fact that you’re not allowed to do any. At all.

“I’ve got it,” Alexia says, practically wrestling the basket out of your hands when you attempt to head for the washing machine.

You try to grab it back, but she holds it over her head like some ridiculous game of keep-away. “What is with you?”

“You shouldn’t be lifting heavy things,” she says, so earnestly it makes your brain short-circuit for a second.

“It’s a basket of clothes,” you argue, “not a sack of bricks. And I lift heavier things at the gym every day”

She shakes her head, not budging. “No. Let me do it. Just relax”

You gape at her, watching as she carries the laundry to the washing machine like it’s a ticking time bomb. She’s being weirdly gentle, placing the clothes in like they might shatter if she drops them too hard.

Then there’s the vitamin situation. You’re sitting on the freshly cleaned sofa, flipping through channels, when Alexia plops down beside you with a clatter of bottles and packages.

“Take these,” she says, handing you an array of supplements that looks like it belongs on the shelf of a pharmacy. There are multivitamins, folic acid, omega-3s, and some other pill you can’t even pronounce.

“What is this?” You hold up the folic acid like it’s a foreign object. “I’m not trying to hatch an egg here”

“Just take them,” she insists, pushing the bottles toward you. “They’re good for you”

“I’m pretty sure the only thing these are good for is draining my will to live,” you mutter, but she gives you that look, the one that’s all big hazel eyes and soft smiles, and you end up taking them just to get her to stop hovering.

When you try to go for a run that afternoon, she practically tackles you at the door.

“Maybe you should rest,” she suggests, like she’s trying to steer a toddler away from a busy street. “You know, take it easy for a bit”

“Take it easy?” You raise an eyebrow. “I’m not 80. And since when do you care about rest days? You’re usually the one dragging me to the gym at 6 AM”

She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again like a fish gasping for air. “It’s important to be careful”

“Careful of what, exactly?”

She hesitates, and you catch a flicker of something in her expression, nervousness, maybe? Fear? Whatever it is, it’s weirding you out. “Just… you know, careful”

You’re about to argue, but she gives you a kiss on the forehead, all soft and sweet, and you end up staying in just to avoid making things even more bizarre.

By day three, you’re done. Absolutely, 100% done.

It starts with the breakfast smoothies, again. This time, it’s a vibrant pink concoction that tastes like liquid chalk mixed with berries, and you’re pretty sure it’s the same smoothie you saw in a TV ad for pregnancy supplements once.

When Alexia starts lecturing you on the importance of hydration, while handing you a liter of water with electrolytes, you decide it’s time to get to the bottom of this.

“Alexia,” you say, setting the water down with a definitive thud, “we need to talk”

She glances at you, clearly nervous, and you know you’ve hit the jackpot. “About what?”

“About why you’re acting like I’m a fragile little baby bird that needs to be protected from all the big, scary things in life,” you reply, crossing your arms.

Her face flushes, and she avoids your gaze, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I just-, I want to take care of you”

“I appreciate that,” you say, softening just a little, “but you’ve gone full-on helicopter mode. And it’s freaking me out”

She looks at you for a long moment, then sighs like she’s been carrying the weight of the world.

“You didn’t tell me,” she says, voice soft like she’s whispering state secrets. “How long? I mean… when did you find out?”

You stare at her, a mental Rolodex flipping through every interaction you’ve had over the last few days, searching for the moment when you apparently lost your mind. “Find out what?”

“That you’re…” She trails off, wide-eyed, and then whispers, like she’s on a soap opera, “Pregnant”

There’s a beat of silence. And then another one. You feel like someone just turned off the power in your brain. You’re pregnant? No, no, no. Last you checked, you were just really bad at pouring wine.

“Wait,” you finally say, holding up a hand to stop her from offering you yet another pillow or maybe a foot rub. “Pregnant?”

Alexia’s eyebrows are practically in her hairline. “You said you’re embarazada”

Oh. Oh. Oh no.

“Alexia,” you say slowly, enunciating like you’re the one explaining the IKEA instructions now. “I said I’m embarrassed. Not pregnant. Embarrassed. Mortified. Humiliated because I thought I ruined your sofa with a ten-euro bottle of red”

She looks like she’s buffering, trying to load what you just said. “Embarazada… means pregnant, in Spanish”

Ah, the joys of faux amis, false friends, words that sound like they should mean the same thing but are actually waiting to sabotage you like linguistic landmines. Your high school Spanish teacher can take a hike.

You wipe away a tear, trying to catch your breath. “Alexia… I told you I was embarrassed. Imbarazzato doesn’t mean pregnant in Italian, it means mortified. Humiliated. Just how I felt when I spilled that wine and thought I ruined your furniture”

“Wait,” Alexia says, her brow furrowing in that cute, confused way you’d normally find adorable if she weren’t in the middle of thinking you’re harbouring a tiny human in your uterus. “So you’re not…?”

“No!” You laugh, a little hysterically because, seriously, how did you get here? “I’m not pregnant. We’re both women. How would that even work? I mean, unless there’s something about human biology I missed in school, I’m pretty sure that’s not in the cards for us”

Her eyes widen as the realisation hits, and then she groans, burying her face in her hands. “Dios mío, I’m such an idiot”

You’re still laughing, but you manage to pat her knee reassuringly. “An adorable idiot, but yeah, kind of”

“Well, you did say ‘embarazada,’” she points out. “How was I supposed to know you just meant you were embarrassed?”

You shrug. “Maybe when I didn’t start eating pickles and ice cream? Or asking for your jersey for when the baby arrives?”

“Touché.” She’s still grinning, that big, beautiful smile that makes you forgive her for thinking you were about to drop a baby bomb on her. “So, you’re just embarrassed”

“Yes. Very. And I’m also very much not pregnant. I’m sorry for confusing you”

She sighs, exaggerated like she’s relieved, and you both start laughing again, the awkward tension from the past few days melting away. But there’s still a mischievous glint in her eye, one that makes you a little wary.

“What?” you ask, knowing full well you’re about to regret it.

“Well, since you’re not pregnant,” she says slowly, leaning closer with that flirty smirk you love and hate in equal measure, “how about we do something about that embarrassment?”

She wiggles her eyebrows, and you roll your eyes. “Oh, so now that I’m not a fragile incubator, you’re all over me?”

“Exactamente,” she says, pulling you into her lap with surprising ease, even for someone who regularly benches more than your body weight. “Besides, I have to make sure you’re really not pregnant”

“Alexia,” you say, trying to sound stern but failing miserably when she starts nuzzling your neck, “that’s not how this works, remember?”

She grins against your skin, pressing a teasing kiss to your collarbone. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” You push her back just enough to meet her eyes, raising an eyebrow. “But if you want to keep treating me like a queen, I’m not going to complain”

“Deal,” she says, her voice softening, her hand resting on your cheek. “But next time you’re embarrassed, can you please just say it in Italian, or English?”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to her lips. “Sure, but only if you promise not to freak out the next time I spill something”

“No promises,” she murmurs, pulling you closer, “but I’ll try”

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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samuelsdean · 5 months ago

Text

Flicker

pairing: dean winchester x reader

summary: "can i hold your hand?" you blurted out, surprised by your own boldness. a flicker of surprise crossed dean's face, quickly replaced by a ghost of a smile that sent a jolt through you. "yeah," he said, his voice softer than you were used to hearing. "yeah, you can."

genre: fluff

word count: 1.3k

author's notes: hi! here's another dean fic because i'm having a winchester brainrot after choosing to rewatch the show for the nth time. it's fluff again because i'm a sucker for soft!dean and i like it when idiots who are mutually pining for each other finally hold hands after 9989 years.

THE WIND HOWLED LIKE A WOLF ON A FULL MOON ON A PERPETUALLY OVERCAST NIGHT. It scoured the dust from the abandoned house's roof, a skeletal silhouette against the bruise-colored sky. The once-white picket fence weathered to a sickly gray, stood like crooked teeth in a decaying grin. The trees behind it, looming and stark, clawed at the sky, their branches whispering secrets the wind refused to carry.

You shivered, the cold a mere whisper compared to the unsettling feeling that prickled your skin. This place, nestled in a forgotten fold of a desolate highway at the edge of a forest, vibrated with a wrongness that made the hairs on your arms stand on end.

"This place feels… dicey," Dean muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind. He scanned the deserted midway, his eyes narrowed in a way that spoke volumes of past encounters with the unsettling.

"Think the rumors were true?" you asked, swallowing hard against the lump of unease in your throat.

The "rumors" were the reason you were standing in this creepy house at dusk. A string of disappearances, whispers of screams echoing in the dead of night, all traced back to this desolate stretch of road. Apparently, there was an urban legend of sorts in the area where a couple would get a flat tire out of nowhere, and with the area being nothing but just a highway and trees, the couple would choose to trek to a nearby house, only for them end up missing right after.

"Why? Are you scared?" A wry smile tugged at the corner of Dean's lips as he teased you. Before you could shoulder-check him for bugging you, he added, "Maybe, maybe not. But sticking together's the best bet we got, wouldn't you say?"

His gaze met yours, and for a fleeting moment, you saw a flicker of something akin to concern beneath the gruff exterior. It was a rare glimpse into the man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Dean Winchester grew up suppressing whatever emotion he had besides his usual cocky demeanor and smirks because he had to raise Sam, his younger brother while hunting whatever it is that crawled out of the depths of hell. And Dean did a damn great job at that, Sam was now off to Stanford.

At that moment, the fear dissipated, replaced by a fierce determination.

"Yeah," you said, your voice firmer than you felt. "Let's get out of here."

He extended his hand, his calloused fingers surprisingly warm against your own. You hesitated for a beat, the implication of the gesture hanging heavy in the air. It was more than just a practical suggestion; it was a silent promise of support, a brief moment of connection you craved with this gruff hunter.

"Can I hold your hand?" you blurted out, surprised by your own boldness.

A flicker of surprise crossed Dean's face, quickly replaced by a ghost of a smile that sent a jolt through you. "Yeah," he said, his voice softer than you were used to hearing. "Yeah, you can."

You laced your fingers through his, the gesture a silent affirmation that went beyond the immediate danger. But for you, it was also a chance for something more, a stolen moment of skinship you yearned for.

As you walked, the wind seemed to whisper secrets around you, the creaking of the dilapidated house a morbid soundtrack. Each creak sent shivers down your spine, but Dean's grip remained steady, a reassuring anchor. You couldn't help but steal glances at him, his profile etched sharply against the dying light. The way his worn jacket barely contained the heat radiating from his body made your cheeks flush.

His hand, usually so quick to let go, lingered in yours. You weren't sure if he noticed the way your thumb brushed against his calloused skin, a silent plea for a little more contact. Maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through your veins, or the way the danger heightened your senses, but Dean felt like a furnace beside you.

Suddenly, a flash of movement in the corner of your eye. A hulking shadow, all wrong angles, and unnatural speed darted behind a boarded-up ticket booth. A guttural growl, unlike anything you'd ever heard, ripped through the air. Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird.

"Did you see that?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the wind.

Dean squeezed your hand, a silent acknowledgment, his hold tightening almost imperceptibly. This time, you were certain it wasn't just the danger.

"Stay close," he said, his voice low and gravelly.

He unsheathed his knife, its silver glinting in the fading light. You drew your own weapon, a wave of nausea washing over you. You hated this part, the constant feeling of being on the edge of a knife.

Stepping cautiously forward, you and Dean crept toward the source of the movement. The closer you got, the more the air crackled with an unnatural energy, the scent of decay thick and cloying. As you rounded a corner, the full horror of the creature revealed itself.

Towering over you was a monstrous figure, its once-human form twisted and warped. Its skin, a patchy mix of worminess and sickly shade, hung greasy. Claws, like sharpened daggers, protruded from its elongated fingers. But the most terrifying aspect was its face. A grotesque mockery of a human, its eyes burned with a bloodshot sclera devoid of any humanity.

The Rougarou, a creature born of insatiable hunger and despair, let out a bone-chilling roar, the sound echoing through the abandoned carnival. It lunged a blur of teeth and wormy skin.

The fight was a desperate ballet of survival. Dean, drawing on years of experience, moved with practiced efficiency, dodging the Rougarou's attacks while searching for an opening. You fought with a mix of fear and determination, adrenaline fueling your movements.

The Rougarou swiped at you with a clawed hand, leaving a searing mark across your arm. Pain flared, but you gritted your teeth, refusing to let it slow you down.

Dean created an opening, shouting, "Fire!" You lunged for your pocket, the familiar weight of the lighter a comfort in your hand. Snapping it open, you flicked the wheel, a flame erupting in the dying light. Hurling it with all your might, you aimed for the Rougarou's chest.

It shrieked, a sound that seemed to tear at the fabric of reality itself. The flame erupted on its body, a blossom of searing orange against the decaying flesh. The Rougarou thrashed, its inhuman roar turning into a desperate, pained yowl. It stumbled back, clawing at the burning fur, an unholy stench filling the air.

Fear, raw and primal, flickered in its eyes. But fear was a fleeting emotion for the creature. It roared again, charging at you with a desperate, burning lunge. This time, you were ready. You rolled to the side, the creature's claws missing you by a hair's breadth. Taking advantage of its momentum, Dean drove his silver knife into the Rougarou's back.

The creature howled in pain, clawing wildly. With a final, earth-shaking tremor, it collapsed, dissolving into a cloud of black smoke that dissipated with a sickly sweet stench.

You and Dean stood there, chests heaving, sweat clinging to your skin. The silence that followed was deafening.

"That was..." you started, your voice raspy.

"A Rougarou," Dean finished, his voice grim. "Nasty sons of bitches."

He reached out, checking the wound on your arm. His touch was surprisingly gentle. "You okay?"

You nodded, a weak smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Thanks to you."

Dean met your gaze, a flicker of something warm passing between you in the fading light. He didn't say anything, but the way his hand lingered on your arm spoke volumes.

Together, you walked out of the abandoned place, the wind whispering through the trees, no longer sounding ominous but strangely peaceful. The horrors you'd faced had brought you closer, forging a bond forged in danger and shared survival. You knew this wouldn't be your last hunt, but for now, you had each other. And in that knowledge, you found a flicker of hope, a warmth that chased away the lingering chills of the night.

#supernatural #supernatural fandom #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #supernatural fluff #supernatural angst #supernatural smut #dean winchester #dean winchester fandom #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x oc

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valsverse · 3 months ago

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‎‎‎‎‎‎⠀⠀(୨୧) STOLEN KISSES AND POMEGRANATE SEEDS⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀. .⠀PAIRING ⠀⟡⠀ percy jackson x child of aphrodite!reader

﹙💌﹚ in which ：as a child of aphrodite, you have a liking for things that are red. roses, pomegranates, percy jackson's lips- wait, what?⠀ ── ⠀ 645⠀requested

THE DROWSY SUMMER SUN bled through the leafy canopy of the oak tree where you and percy sprawled at a weathered picnic table. half-sliced pomegranates littered the space between you, their seeds like tiny rubies glinting in the light, the crimson juice trickling down the oak’s surface, painting it in delicate, sinuous lines of red.

percy moved with practiced ease, his pocket knife flashing as he worked, methodically picking out the seeds for you to savor. slice, halve, pick. slice, halve, pick. you stole glances at him from the corner of your eye, captivated by the way the sunlight played in his dark hair, how his laughter lines carved deeper when he smiled, how his focus sharpened as if each seed were a treasure meant only for you. his hands were steady, deliberate, as he plucked each seed and let it fall into the porcelain, gold-rimmed bowl from which you ate.

breaking from your trance, you nudged him lightly with your elbow. “you know aphrodite was the first to plant pomegranates, right? you ought to thank her later,” you teased, a sly smile tugging at your lips.

percy looked up, his brows arching in exaggerated surprise. “oh? is that right?” he asked, his chin resting on his hand as his knife paused mid-air. his eyes, a stormy sea green speckled with flecks of gold, met yours with an unsettling calm that sent a flutter through your chest—a flutter that had been growing more insistent lately, as if it had a mind of its own. almost annoying.

“of course it is! are you implying otherwise?” you shot back, crossing your arms. you knew he wasn’t, but you seized onto the distraction, anything to escape the warmth growing in your chest.

percy’s smile only curled with a lazy grace as he toyed with the pomegranate seed he picked earlier, his fingers moving idly as his gaze remained fixed on you. he shook his head with an air of dreamy nonchalance, offering no reply, only a sigh that seemed to drift on the air.

“are you even listening?” you teased, laughter laced through your words as you reached out to snatch the seed from his hand. the seed’s cool, slick surface was a stark contrast to the warmth that spread through your fingertips as they brushed against his. percy arched an eyebrow, a mock offense flickering in his eyes, but let you take it, his touch lingering just long enough to send a shiver down your spine. as the tart sweetness of the pomegranate seed burst on your tongue, you caught the glimmer of something in percy’s eyes—an expression that shifted from surprise to delight. his laugh followed, rich and warm, a melody you'd memorized long ago. “what is it?” you asked, pausing mid-chew, the seed still resting on your tongue as curiosity knit your brows together. “what’s so funny?”

"nothing," percy said, his voice thick with amusement as he tried to catch his breath. "it’s just…" he trailed off, his gaze softening as he leaned in, closing the distance between you. "you’ve got a little something…"

before you could react, he tilted his head and swiped his tongue over the crimson stain of pomegranate juice that had pooled at the corner of your mouth with a deliberate slowness, the touch of his lips sending a shock of warmth through you. and then, as if pulled by a force neither of you could resist, he deepened the kiss, the sharp tang of pomegranate mingling with the heat of his breath, the world narrowing to just this—just him.

his hand cradled your cheek as he finally drew back, his breath still hot against your skin. “there, that's better.” he murmured, a soft smile ghosting across his lips as he held up the pomegranate seed you’d claimed earlier, rolling it between his fingers. “you’re right. i really should thank aphrodite later.”

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson x you #heroes of olympus #percy jackson x y/n #heroes of olympus x reader #hoo #hoo x reader #pjo x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #x reader #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson x yn #percy jackson fluff #pjo imagine #riordanverse x reader

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ateliersss · 11 months ago

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Blooming Family Part 3 - He Shan‘t Lose

Pairing: Yautja x F!Reader Summary: Mere two months ago, you returned home after the incident on Earth. Now you were back, ready to indulge yourself and go on the weekly "date night" with your mate. If only your unborn pup had better timing… Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 6,716 Part 1: here Part 2: here Masterlist

⇨ Oh, I missed my Mi‘ytiar.

⇨ I can't believe I finally got this done and I'm able to present this to you. Also, my birthday, guys! God, I'm 20 and I already feel old. Please spoil me with comments, re-blogs and likes.

⇨ Want to join the tag list?

“Be'jaa, go! Go! Good boy.” You laughed as you watched your four-legged companion chase after the trail he had scented.

Hell Hounds, they were called, and probably the closest thing to a pet you could get on Yautja Prime. You learned quickly, after your first encounter with them, that they were similar to the hounds on Earth, and like hounds on Earth, they had one purpose — hunting prey.

Unlike a curious Beagle, a devoted Pointer, or a stubborn Basset Hound, Hell Hounds were more similar to Yautjas than dogs, both in looks and characteristics. But you still could recognize some traits that reminded you of your childhood dog.

You didn’t hunt with Hell Hounds often — it was more special and intimate when it was just you and Mi‘ytiar — but your mate had insisted that at least one of them should accompany you. As experience showed, the two of you had to split up at times; sometimes he also kept in the shadows, high on top of a tree, to watch you hunt on your own. It was simply a safety measure.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t handle the prey on your own. The creatures you hunted were either as small as a cat or as big as a horse. They were insignificant opponents, laughable for a Yautja and not nearly on their hunting standard, but Mi‘ytiar felt different. He didn‘t care how tiny or weak the prey was compared to him.

It wasn't about him, after all.

Those hunts were solely for you, so you could be a part of his culture without him having to worry about endangering your life.

He had been ecstatic when you voiced your wish years ago for him to teach you how to hunt, how to track, and kill as it was custom on his home planet. And even now, after you had exceeded his expectations, he still was immensely proud of you every time you succeeded.

No, Be'jaa wasn’t only there for tracking or for flushing out his targets, but also for guarding. You were in the final stages of your pregnancy, and your strength, your speed, and your stamina had decreased, leaving you more vulnerable should prey ambush you.

Speaking of him, he had been gone for quite some time.

“Be'jaa?” You called, whistled, and waited for a moment for him to return to you.

When you neither could hear him bark, or see him running towards you, you tried calling him again, “Be'jaa?”

And again.

“Be–”

The other half of his name turned into a strained whimper as a stabbing pain pierced through your body, coming from your stomach. You stifled a scream, but when something wet suddenly ran down your legs, a shaky breath escaped your lips.

You knew what this meant.

Your water just broke.

“Oh no. Not now, my sweetling.”

Clutching your stomach, breathing in and out, you slowly approached a tree and practically slumped against it. One of your hands gripped the meaty texture of the tree trunk for support, the other snaked down and between your thighs. When you pulled your hand back, it was coated with the clear substance of the amniotic fluid.

And blood. There was also blood on your fingers, but it was nothing too alarming. When you had been pregnant with Akail, there had been blood too, but it was still an unsettling sight to you.

“Ahhh!” You cried out as another wave of agonizing pain washed through you, your head thrown back.

As much as you had enjoyed the mostly perfect pregnancy, you had completely forgotten about birthing the pup at the end. Maybe you had just pushed the whole thing aside since the mere memory of Akail‘s birth was still able to instill that deep-rooted dread within your body.

You went into labor when both moons were at their zenith.

Mi’ytiar, who had slept peacefully next to you, was hovering over you the second you tried to wake him up.

It took one panicked look from you and he knew what was going on.

He got up from his lying position on your nest and knelt beside you.

You had already pushed the furs you used as a blanket to the side and he saw your legs shining with moisture in the moonlight.

“My water broke.” You faintly answered his silent question. “Our little one is coming.”

Mi’ytiar was on high alert as he knew what that meant.

He tried to lift you into his arms, his mind fully set on bringing you to Cahrein, the healer, but unfortunately, a contraction hit you right at that moment. The pain plus the one you felt as Mi’ytiar lifted you up ripped a heart-wrenching scream from your throat.

It hurt so very much that you punched him out of instinct, an instinct telling you to do anything to stop the pain, hitting him right in the face.

You looked up at him with wide eyes. “Oh God, Mi‘ytiar. I’m so sorry.”

His heart clenched at that.

You shouldn’t apologize. He’d barely felt the impact anyways, your human strength too weak to actually hurt him, but he didn’t deserve to not feel anything.

He should have felt pain, should have been knocked from his feet.

He had hurt you, had caused you more pain than you were already feeling.

You noticed the guilty expression on your mate’s face and grabbed his hand. “It’s okay, tahní. It‘s o–”

You cut yourself off as you pressed your lips together while another contraction hit you.

“–kay. It’s okay.” You panted, “Just get Cahrein.”

Mi’ytiar shook his head determinedly as he placed his free hand on yours, which clasped his other hand in a death grip.

“Cannot leave you.” He growled.

Another contraction made you cry out, “Mi’ytiar, please!”

It took a lot of persuasion for him to finally leave your side to get the healer.

You understood that he didn‘t want to leave you on your own, out of fear something bad would happen to you if he let you out of his sight only for a second, but you needed Cahrein to deliver your son safely.

The healer had gotten to work as soon as his eyes met your tiny, withering body. Putting aside the various instruments he had taken with him — you recognized them from one of your visits where he had shown you which ones he used for births — he helped you to remove the panties that you wore with the little piece of clothing you called nightie, which you had already pulled up, over your bulging stomach, and out of the way.

Usually, you and your mate slept naked with nothing shielding you from each other’s skin, but since you got closer and closer to due-day you wanted to be prepared. You wanted to keep at least a little of your dignity, not wanting to lie completely bare in front of Cahrein.

Even though you knew he wouldn‘t care, taking his job far too seriously for that, your body in all its naked glory was meant for Mi’ytiar‘s eyes and Mi’ytiar‘s eyes only.

With your mate on one side and the healer on the other, you spent hours in indescribable agony.

Mentally, you were so far gone, blacking out for a second here and there. You barely caught how Mi’ytiar was insistently talking to you, or how Cahrein alternately injected you with a transparent and a bright green fluid.

It felt like a miracle when the unbearable pain decreased bit by bit, but not fully disappeared. Your fuzzy mind and your blurry view started to clear.

With the pain now more bearable, you could finally focus on the natural instinct that told you to push.

What you didn’t know was that the following screams and cries woke up the clan in alarm, gathering almost everyone in front of your home, eagerly awaiting the new addition.

This occasion was special, after all. Their fierce and mighty leader was expecting his first pup, something no one had expected to happen. Ever.

The tense uncertainty inside and outside of your home dissipated as soon as the whiny squeals of your newborn pup finally filled the air.

“Such a bad timing, my sweetling.” You mewled.

Tears were gathering in your eyes and you quickly blinked them away. You didn’t know if it was because of the pain of the contractions, which were now four minutes apart, or out of fear of being all alone in a hostile environment.

With your tongue between your teeth, you waited until the pain subsided, fully intending to call for your mate, but when you did, his name only escaped your lips in a short-winded whisper.

It was like you couldn’t breathe.

Biting back a sob, you formed your hand into a fist and hit your chest repeatedly, trying to get yourself to breathe regularly again. And when you thought you had enough air in your lungs, you bellowed, “Mi’ytiar!”

Your breath hitched and tears finally streamed down your cheeks. You bend your upper body forward, towards the tree, and pressed the palms of your hands against the tree trunk. With your head facing the ground, tears left your eyes, and rolled down the bridge of your nose before dripping down the tip to the forest floor.

You were crying and panting, your body clenching every time another contraction hit you.

“Mi’ytiar, please, please… I need you… please, please.” You begged, your voice barely audible.

Contentment.

That’s all you could feel as you adjusted your lying position on the soft fur and the woolen and cotton fabrics of your nest. It was living up to its name as it reminded you of an actual nest, a bird’s nest; just as round but with more comfortable materials. Mi’ytiar had been very picky, something that amused you to no end.

That and the fireplace embedded into the floor, enclosing the round platform the nest was on, kept you warm and cozy.

You and the pup that was sleeping on your chest.

Little Akail let out little purrs while he enjoyed the warmth of his mother’s body that kept him tranquil and happy.

Only ten hours old and he already had such a significant place in this clan and his parent’s hearts.

You hummed quietly to your pup, only looking up from the endearing sight when Mi’ytiar entered your home and came to a halt in front of your nest, taking in the very welcome view of his (tantalizing naked) mate and his newborn son.

“Don’t get any ideas.” You warned him playfully when you noticed his heated gaze racking over your body.

“Back on Earth, some parents hold their babies like this. The skin and warmth forges a strong bond between them and the baby can get used to its parents’ touch.” You explained, your fingers slowly caressing Akail‘s back.

Mi’ytiar only clicked his mandibles in acknowledgment before he started to take off his armor and his traditional clothing as clan leader.

You had to bite your lower lip, reminding yourself of your own scolding words only seconds ago, but you simply couldn’t help yourself. Your mate was a fine specimen, a strong and gorgeous Yautja. You were one hell of a lucky woman.

You watched him get on the nest, now only dressed in his loin cloth, and he moved on his knees towards you.

You wrapped an arm around Akail — still curled up into a ball with his head tucked under your chin and his feet resting on your belly — and got up into a sitting position.

Mi’ytiar grabbed you by your thigh and hip, lifted you up, and pulled you to him so you were sitting on his thighs while your legs were wrapped around the width of his hips.

He looped his arms around you, drawing you into an embrace, so little Akail was now nestled between both of his parents’ warm bodies.

The smile that had grown on your lips since the moment Mi’ytiar had entered your home was now so bright and wide your cheeks started to hurt.

But you didn’t really care. You couldn‘t hide the sheer happiness you were feeling right now at this moment.

You felt movement against your throat and above the valley of your breasts, and when you looked down as best as you could manage, you saw Akail nuzzle his face into your skin while his tiny hand was now lying on your chest where your heart was beating.

You wanted to cry happy tears.

You had never expected to become a mother, never planned on it, never even remotely wanted it if you were being honest, but having your baby now in your arms made every antipathy disappear.

You placed a soft kiss on Akail‘s head, using as little pressure as possible so he wouldn’t wake up.

“He’s perfect.” You whispered and looked up at Mi’ytiar who was already watching you intently. “Are you happy?”

He cocked his head to the side, his chest vibrating when he confirmed, “Happy.”

He felt Akail‘s small body against his own, felt his tiny body press against his every time he was breathing.

Breathing.

A beating heart.

Alive.

He loosened the embrace of one of his arms around your body to reach between the two of you and for his son, his fingers tracing from Akail‘s forehead to the back of his head — there, he had the same scale pattern as his father, only with reversed colors — and from his temple over the hints of dreads on each side of his little head with his thumb.

Akail was indeed perfect, just like his mother, and he loved him with all his heart already, but the price he almost had to pay for having him here…

“I thought I would lose you today.” He admitted, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

You lifted your head from where it had been resting on his chest to look up at him with a small smile.

“For a second, I thought I would never see you again. I thought I would never meet our son." You nodded, thinking about the sharp pain and the feeling of life leaving your body as your pup fought his way out of you. “But Cahrein had prepared me as well as he was able to. He helped me through it. Who knows, hadn’t he injected me with your blood…”

You trailed off when Akail began to stir. You quickly started to rock him up and down, luring him back to sleep.

“He’s a very gifted male. I’ve trusted him with my life since the first time we visited him together after my arrival here so many moons ago.”

You adjusted your arm and its hold on Akail, the other reached up and cupped Mi’ytiar’s cheek. You let your fingertips glide over the scaly texture of his skin and dragged them over his jaw to his chin, down his throat to the middle of his chest.

“He also told me that I would be able to give you another pup in a foreseeable future…”

Mi’ytiar frowned, asking skeptically, “After what you gone through today?”

You shrugged and leaned your head forward, your cheek pressed against his pec. “I’m not talking about now or tomorrow, my love, but someday. In a few years, maybe.”

Mi’ytiar bristled, a loud rumble shaking his torso. “No.”

“No?”

“No.” He shook his head, a very human gesture in your eyes. “You almost died.”

You smiled into his skin. Protective through and through, even when it came to his own offspring.

You were incredibly lucky to be chosen by a Yautja like him.

It was rare for them to be interested in a human. It was rarer for them to treat that human-like an equal instead of a slave or one of many lovers. It was the rarest for a human to be injected with Yautja blood to largely adapt to their DNA and enable life on their planet.

And Mi’ytiar told you himself — you were the only human ever being Life-Mated to a Yautja who carried his offspring and had a similar leading role as him as the mate of a leader; all in one.

You were the rarest of the rarest, a uniqueness, something completely new.

But humans had birthed Yautja-Human-hybrids long before you, most of them more than one or two.

“The next time will be different, Mi’ytiar. My body will be stronger and mentally I will be more prepared.” You told him and peppered his chest with feather-light kisses before you looked up at him again, a loving smile on your lips. “You shan’t lose me.”

You whimpered in relief when you finally heard the familiar growling bark of a Hell Hound.

“Be'jaa!” You called, “I’m… here!”

You felt something move under you and fill the free space between your bend-over position against the tree. You opened your eyes, which you had closed to calm yourself and your breath, and looked down to see the Hound’s face already fixed on yours.

“N‘yaka-de. Get him.” You panted and watched as Be'jaa turned around to run.

When he suddenly stopped to walk hesitantly back to you, not liking the fact he was about to leave you behind who was obviously in distress, you stomped with your foot and yelled, “Be'jaa, fucking now!”

He darted off and you felt a tinge of guilt for lashing out. After all, he was loyal and a surprisingly good cuddle partner.

“Argh!” You cried out when another stabbing sensation almost made your legs give out.

Once again it felt like you were being torn apart, but at least you didn‘t feel like you were closer to death than life like at Akail‘s birth over 30 years ago. You were kind of proud of yourself, actually, considering you were still able to stand.

Yeah, standing against a tree for support instead of lying in your warm and soft nest where you had actually planned to deliver your second pup. You didn‘t want to give birth in an unsafe environment, with no Mi’ytiar and no Cahrein.

But who would have expected that your pup was ready to be welcomed into the world on a hunt?

You did.

You had felt premature labor pains for two days now, but you hadn’t paid them any mind as Akail was born only six days after those pains had started.

But even those pains had felt different in those two days, so why hadn‘t you just listened to your body when it undoubtedly told you “No!” while you answered Mi’ytiar‘s question “Hunt?” with an enthusiastic “Yes!” ?

You knew the answer to that, too.

While women on Earth had to stop certain activities at one point in their pregnancy and were limited in their doings, Yautja females could still follow their everyday lives throughout their whole pregnancy. Meaning, they could still jump from one obstacle to another, chase their prey, and kill it.

Thinking that you were able to do that too had been utterly stupid and arrogant, but you just didn’t want to seem weak. Yes, the clan had accepted you and saw you as one of them, as the mate of their leader, but you couldn’t stop the suffocating need to prove yourself again and again.

It was unnecessary. Mi’ytiar had told you that, Cahrein had told you that, the Females you liked to spend your time with and considered friends told you that and, hell, even a few Males that were close to your mate told you that.

But here you were, crying and groaning when another contraction cursed through your body. You regretted leaving your cozy home, regretted not being pampered by your loving mate in your nest, and regretted leaving your son behind, who had been by your side all the time, hovered over you in case he had to step in should you need anything in your state, followed you around like a lost puppy if you weren’t napping in your nest.

It reminded you of the time when he had been much younger and much smaller. He had been practically attached to your hip and everywhere you went, he was there. He had been such an adorable and shy little boy. Who were you kidding? He still was, but you missed those times anyway. He had grown up too fast.

You were nervous.

With your arms wrapped tightly around your body, you watched the hustle and bustle in the distance. They were preparing for the departure of the five Young Bloods who would soon leave for a faraway world to hunt and complete their initiation into Adulthood.

Among them was your son, your Akail, who would leave you for who knows how long to presumably search for the largest and most dangerous beast and kill it to prove himself.

Just like his father, you thought.

In the first year of your relationship, Mi'ytiar had told you everything imaginable about himself, and one evening about his own initiation ritual. He had told you how reckless and sure of himself he had been as a Young Blood, how he threw himself into danger to impress his clan.

Although that had secured his position as leader, he’d summoned his son the day before to admonish him to proceed with caution, to be logical and strategic, and to not let arrogance control him.

Lost in worried thoughts, you didn't notice as Mi'ytiar approached you, dropped to one knee, and pulled you to his torso with his strong arms. He nuzzled his face into your hair, his mandibles running through it.

He loved your hair. It was just as soft as the rest of you.

“What on your mind, yawne?” He asked.

“I’m scared.” You breathed.

“On your home planet, oomans worry too when child leaves?”

You put your hand on one of his arms that was wrapped around you. “They do, but not like this. On Earth, human children leave the safety of their homes every day to go to school, to learn, and then they will return. In a few hours Akail will leave the safety of his home to finish school, so to say, but will he return?” You told him absentmindedly, your attention still fixed on the ship. “Human parents don't have to fear that particular day when their children go on a journey to possibly get killed just because of a custom.”

You felt his arms tighten around you. “Do not be scared.” He said.

“I can’t help it. I’m his mother.”

Mi'ytiar let out a chuckle that sounded more like a growl than an actual laugh.

“And I his father.” He said and turned you around, not loosening the close embrace. “I trained him well. Made him strong and made him smart. Doubting my skills, yawne?”

Although he had already lowered himself, reducing his height to be closer to you, you still had to raise your head to look at him.

God, you loved his eyes. Even though there were rare variations at times among their kind — sometimes a lighter shade, sometimes a darker shade, sometimes more orange than yellow — the eyes of all Yautja had the same color.

But to you, Mi'ytiar’s eyes were different, even though one couldn’t possibly spot a difference when he was standing next to other Yautja. To you, they were brighter, more intense, more expressive. Or maybe it was just the way he looked at you, with so much gentle affection and love you wouldn't credit a beast of his stature with.

“Of course, I’m not. I could never.”

You suddenly could feel large arms engulfing your body from behind, pulling you into an upright-standing position, and you just let yourself instinctively fall into their embrace.

You knew those limbs, knew their warmth and their strength.

“Mi’ytiar, the pup… the pup is coming.” You panted and dug your fingernails into his forearm.

You felt him move behind you. He lifted you up, his arms supporting your back and the back of your knees as he held you to his torso. He briefly registered how you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck before he took off.

He ran like he never did. At the same time, he was careful not to let your body jolt around too much as he jumped over fallen tree trunks and climbed rocks to reach the Scout Ship while you clung to him.

Every time a contraction hit, he could feel your body tense in his arms and your mouth press against his chest as you muffled another scream.

Oh, how he wished he could take away the pain, but at least it wasn’t as horrible as it was at Akail’s birth.

Mi’ytiar remembered your glistening tears and your little withering body, how you had squeezed his hand so hard that even he had felt pain, and how you had begged both him and Cahrein to stop it. Especially the fear of death in your eyes haunted him to this day.

He had almost lost you — you, his precious human — all those years ago and it had been his entire fault.

The possibility of becoming a father had been zero, non-existent, and at one point in his life, he had accepted the fact that he may be not meant to be a father. He stopped caring and someday just forgot about it entirely. The wish to continue his line like any proud leader faded away and instead he settled for the idea of passing on his knowledge and experiences to the pups and Younglings of his people.

Then he met you, this petite beautiful thing, when he was lounging on a building near an alley. He heard you before he saw you, heard you and them.

They were calling you strange names and were whistling after you before they decided to follow you down the street. Trying to escape them, you took a left turn and quickened your strides as you crossed the alley.

Mi’ytiar, who was attracted by the noises, slid down the rooftop and soundlessly landed on the metal balcony of one of the apartments. Even from the third floor, he had a perfect view of what was happening down in the alley as the men grabbed you, pushed and pulled on you, and he felt mildly impressed when you started fighting back; kicking, scratching and screaming.

The men’s playful, taunting behavior quickly turned fatal when one of them, fed up with your attempts to flee, slapped you so hard across the face that you stumbled back, tripped over your own feet and fell backwards to the ground.

Your screams quickly turned desperate when one of them pushed up your skirt and tore on your panties, mumbling something about teaching you a lesson, while his companions held you down.

At this point, Mi’ytiar knew something had been wrong. Mating between a Yautja male and female consisted of fighting each other, too, but not like this; not with more than one male and not with the female resisting long after the male fought the female into submission.

Your behavior told him everything he needed to know — you weren’t even close to being interested in mating with those males — and before things could get any worse, he jumped down and killed those who forced themselves on you.

By the time four bodies in various morbid states of dismemberment were littering the alley, your whole body was trembling as you stayed on the ground, cowering.

He had crouched down to your level and one of his bloodied claws reached out to touch your face, your horror-widened eyes watching him with caution.

To him, you were what a kitten was to a human. You were so small, he noted, so small and soft and pink. He also thought you were beautiful, contrastive to what Yautja usually thought about your kind. He took you with him that night and the rest was history.

Even though you weren’t a suitable mate, his clan begrudgingly accepted the idea of a human being with their leader. He couldn’t have pups anyway, so why not just let him indulge himself and let him seek happiness and pleasure in other things?

And then, one day, you told him about your wish to carry his pup. He had been excited, absolutely ecstatic, but not about the image of your rounding belly with his offspring — he knew he was unable to have one — and rather about the fact that you were willing to mate with him in a way that could lead to a child. The fact you loved him and trusted him enough was all he cared about.

As much as he loved his son, he should have done something the second both of you learned that you were pregnant. He had been so overjoyed his human mate was extraordinarily able to have his pup that he never thought about possible consequences.

Anyone would have had serious doubts and would have objected because there was no way a human would survive that, but Mi’ytiar didn’t, too blown away by the prospect of becoming a father.

That changed as the day of the pup being due crept closer and closer, and slowly worry and fear set in.

And to make one thing clear: if you hadn’t been injected with Yautja blood from the beginning — first daily, then weekly, then monthly, until it stopped years ago — you wouldn’t have made it and Akail would have torn you apart from the inside out.

He was glad that Cahrein had kept a cool head and realized that his blood would help you when all other means had failed.

It was like history was repeating itself as he tried to focus on the task at hand — getting you to the ship — and not let the fluid running down his arms and body distract him. He wished he hadn’t dared to look down, to look down and see the blood you were losing, coming from a source that was his fault.

Why did he let you convince him to have a second pup? Why did the mere thought of getting you pregnant again make him so ignorant of your near-death experience? Why did he listen to Cahrein when he told the both of you that another pup was possible? Why did he forget that you weren’t like his kind?

His heavy, thumping footsteps suddenly sounded different, and when you pulled your face away from his chest to look around, you noticed the soft earth of the forest had been replaced by the cold metal of the ship.

As careful and gentle as he could in his rattled state, he put you down on the closest surface he could find — the table used for planning, briefing, and orientation with several holo-maps — and slammed his fist down on the surface. He growled and hissed a few words you couldn’t understand. Your translating earpieces were perfectly fine, but your brain was only picking up the pain shooting through your body instead of noticing any stimuli from your surroundings.

You were so out of it, the tears blurring your view, that you missed the conversation between Mi’ytiar and the holographic image of Cahrein.

“Mi’ytiar.” Cahrein greeted his leader in the customary way of placing his left fist on the right side of his chest while slightly bowing down his head.

“The pup is coming.” Mi’ytiar said without hesitation, straight to the point.

Cahrein rounded the table to stand next to him and he leaned over you to get a better look at you. He reached out to grab your calves to open your legs, but his hands went right through you.

“Pauk. I can’t help her like this. You have to bring her here.”

“No.” You cried out, answering before Mi’ytiar could even open his mouth. “The pup is coming now.”

Cahrein looked conflicted, contemplating about what to do next as he was restricted in his actions. He could already tell that this was going to be hard.

“Mi’ytiar, I packed a Medicomp for emergencies when you said you two would go hunt. Get it.”

You let out a whine when your mate disappeared from your side, which was quickly occupied by the healer who noticed your distress. “Calm, (Y/N), calm.”

“It hurts so much.” You cried out.

“I know.” He retorted and eyed the red fluid running down your thighs to your calves, dripping down your toes. “You need to take off clothes.”

With trembling hands, you started to open the pants-like cloth that hugged your legs like a second skin and circled them from your ankles up to your hips. You struggled with the complicated lacing and cursed as you began to rip on them out of frustration.

Bigger hands replaced yours and when you looked up, you saw that Mi’ytiar had returned and stood between your legs. He used his sharp claws to cut the cords open and he pulled the rest of the garment down. He was more considerate with the bloodied panties underneath and tried not to rip them, although you believed that they were irreversibly ruined.

The first and last time he had torn your panties to shreds, you had scolded him for it after he was done fucking you from behind like a dog in his rut. You didn’t have much of your human clothes left — most of it had been replaced by self-made clothes of local fabrics inspired by their style anyway — but what you definitely wanted to keep was your underwear. So when Mi’ytiar returned to you one day from a spontaneous trip to Earth with a dozen new undies, you had been more than thankful.

Mi’ytiar grabbed your ankles, placed both of your feet flat on the table, and spread your thighs apart, stepping aside for Cahrein to finally take a look at you.

The healer’s holo-image got down on his knees and peered between them at what was happening between your legs.

You wanted to hide and press them back together, but you knew that it wasn’t much of help and just let him do his thing. Instead, you let your head loll to the side and looked at your mate.

Mi’ytiar had his hands in fists, keeping them tightly pressed to his sides, and he watched Cahrein with concern and something else in his eyes. You knew he was worried about you. He tried to hide it, tried putting his true feelings behind the mask of a collected and strong leader and warrior like he always did in dicey situations, but you could see right through it.

“And?” He urged Cahrein to finally give him an answer.

“She is ready. She has to push.”

“What about the blood?”

“Incidental. She has to push.”

So that’s what you did.

Taking a deep breath and gripping the edge of the table for the support, you strained every muscle in your body. The resulting, blood-curdling scream even got the two Yautja to flinch and Mi’ytiar lunged forward. He pried your fingers away from the table where you had been holding on for dear life, and intertwined them with his. You instantly squeezed them and Mi’ytiar let out a surprised hiss.

After a moment, your tense body slumped down. It simply gave up after not being able to endure the pain any longer.

“You need to keep going.”

“I can’t.” You hiccuped, choking on your tears as you shook your head vehemently.

“You can. You did this 30 years ago. It was impressive. I never expected such a tiny creature to survive, but you did. You will again.” Cahrein turned to Mi’ytiar and pointed to the Medicomp. “Take the syringe, take your blood and inject it.”

Rather reluctantly, he loosened the hold you had on him and opened the Medicomp. He rummaged through it, found the syringe, and jabbed it into the flesh of his arm, uncaring of the following pain. You were far more important than anything else right now.

While he filled the syringe with his fluorescent-green blood, Cahrein was talking to you and encouraged you to keep going. He tried to distract you and keep your mind from drifting off to a place of no return.

“Something is wrong.” He murmured after a while.

He had watched Mi’ytiar inject you with three doses of his blood already, but you still were in agonizing pain. You even had lost consciousness twice, something that hadn’t even happened when you birthed your first pup.

You squeezed your eyes shut and only opened them again when the pain subsided a bit. “W-What?”

“You should have started crowning already, but you don’t.”

“Why?” You asked in a long-drawn cry.

Cahrein, for the first time in over thirty years, looked baffled and completely clueless. He couldn’t explain it as he had no idea himself. There had never been complications when the females of his clan gave birth. You were the only exception.

“What are typical problems that arise for oomans during childbirth?” He asked, not knowing what else he could do.

It took a moment until you became aware that you had been asked a question.

“Am-Amniotic fluid e-enters the bloodstream… the u-uterus tears… the ba-baby is in an abnormal p-position… it’s s-stuck…” You offered between pained huffs, trying to come up with as many options as you could think of. “In most emergencies, w-when a natural birth isn’t possible, they d-do a c-section… they cut into t-the woman’s belly a-and get the baby out... and then…”

Mi’ytiar wanted you to stop talking. He wanted you to stop putting images of your cut-open body in front of him. He wanted you to stop making him think of your lifeless form after the pup was pulled out of it.

“You have to incise into her abdomen. I will instruct you.” Cahrein finally said.

Mi’ytiar immediately straightened his back and let out a roar. “No!”

“If you do it, either the pup and (Y/N) survive, or just the pup... but if you do nothing, then they will both die.” Cahrein pressed and eyed you for a second.

You were running out of time.

“I… I can’t.”

He sounded defeated. You had never ever expected to see him like this — so vulnerable, so hopeless, so broken. He was the definition of strength, of courage, of accountability, of resilience, and now only a hollow shadow of the man he was was standing in front of you, thinking about the chance of losing his entire world.

He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t.

How could it be possible for him to live, breathe, without you?

He had a taste of a life he never wanted to leave, a life he wasn’t able to quit, a life only something as extraordinary as you could give him. Not because you were human, although that was probably one of the aspects, but because you were you.

He loved you.

You had taught him that love was the most valuable thing to a person. Love was worth more than anything else in life. It was such a strong, overwhelming feeling no one could put exactly into words until one actually felt it.

And he loved you.

“No, Mi’ytiar… you have to, you have to.” You urged him between panting breaths. “Save our… our baby. Forget me… ju-just save our son… please.”

Mi’ytiar looked down at you as you begged him to do something he wasn’t willing to do in a million years. Cahrein would have hesitated in his stead, but he wasn’t your mate and would have cut into you. Mi’ytiar, on the other hand, could never do something that would harm you.

But he already did, though. He had doomed you the second his seed took.

“Mi’ytiar!” Cahrein barked and pulled the male out of his thoughts.

His body was on autopilot when his hand reached for a scalpel-like tool from the Medicomp.

“Thank you, thank you!” You cried out.

The only thing you felt was relief as your body slowly went numb, tears clouding your view. Everything around you became blurry and Mi'ytiar started to disappear. The world around you grew darker and darker as he set the sharp blade onto your skin and slowly applied pressure, cutting into you until blood flowed onto the table, and down to the floor of the ship, creating a red puddle.

You never even registered the feeling of him cutting you open.

Your body shut down before you could.

continue with the fourth part He Shall Prevail

#predator #predator x reader #predator x you #yautja x reader #yautja x you #fanfic

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arlertwhore · 4 months ago

Text

pairing: paige bueckers x fem! reader warning(s): cheating, straight girl stuff / in the closest reader kinda?, toxic af paige, leg riding, mirror stuff, strap... believe thats it. synopsis: paige and her sadistic ways twist you in-and-out while she discovers just how loyal you are to your best-friend and boyfriend word count: 2.2k Author Note: second draft! written around the time of the draft which'll explain my obsession over her white suit in this. beautiful plot line, not my favourite execution, but i've been getting lots of asks over releasing the drafts so!!! there's so many uncompleted ones HELP.

After a long night out with your best friend Kaia and her girlfriend, Paige Bueckers, you staggered through the front door, the weight of guilt pressing heavily on your shoulders.

Paige's presence in Kaia's life was a destructive force. As Kaia's confidante and roommate, you'd witnessed firsthand the devastation Paige's relentless cheating wreaked on Kaia's heart. Every time Paige hurt her, it hurt you too. Those late nights when Kaia would seek refuge in your bed, pouring out her tears and whiskey-fueled rants about Paige, revealed the painful truth. And as Kaia's roommate and best friend, you were perpetually caught in the crossfire of her 'relationship' with Paige—one that was practically open, only on Paige’s end. You’d listen to their late-night arguments over the phone and witness the tension when Paige came by to pick up her things. It felt as though you were living the relationship alongside Kaia, experiencing every high and low through her pain and anger with her. And despite all of Kaia’s tearful vows to move on and promises to never take Paige back, she always found herself drawn back to her.

You carried her burden in your heart, never able to forgive Paige. To be honest, you hated her—her walk, her talk, the way she bit her lip when she listened to you berate her for how she treated Kaia, how she’d show up unannounced, knowing you’d be the only one home, how she breezed in with a casual, almost arrogant familiarity. Her charm and the fake squeaky-clean persona that deceived so many only fueled your resentment, because you saw through the façade that fooled her fans and everyone who knew her casually.

To you, she was nothing but a tall, blonde-headed casanova who couldn't keep it in her pants to save her life. You hated Paige beyond say, and Kaia knew that well.

Which is why you want to kill her when Paige shows up at your figurative apartment doorstep, prattling on about how Kaia invited her and that she’s NOT trying to win her back—because she already has, simply by doing nothing. You're seething as you step aside and watch her scoop Kaia up into her big arms, clad in a white suit. Tonight was supposed to be a reprieve—a girls' night out to distract Kaia from her heartbreak and give you both a chance to unwind, but Paige’s presence is a crushing blow to that hope. As you fumed while standing in line, awaiting Paige to finish her call, Kaia tries to explain herself, which only makes you more infuriated, alcohol working the opposite way in you at just the sight of Paige and the words of Kaia. “She gave me all her passwords, I check her phone whenever I want, and she goes straight to practice and then back to her dorm.”

You scoff. "Bet you she’s on the phone with another girl right now. Fucking slut." you shake your head. "Hey!" Kaia interjects, "She's changed, Y/N, trust me." she insists, sounding rather unsure of it herself.

When Paige’s celebrity status lets you all skip the line, you’re just grateful for the chance to get more drinks in your system and chase away the unsettling feeling of her presence. Apparently, so is Kaia. Despite her recent assurances of Paige’s commitment and honesty, Kaia clings to her as if her very happiness depends on it while she pounds back drinks as if she’s trying to drown out her doubts. You try to enjoy the night as best as you can, finally tuning out Kaia's emotional jargon and letting Paige handle it. Losing yourself in the drinks, perhaps an hour later, you text your somewhat, kinda, not really boyfriend about how horny you’re feeling. He suggests you go to the bathroom and send him some “cute” pictures.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, seeking refuge from the crowd and loud music, hoping to find a small solace in the distraction he offered. Instead, what you found in the bathroom shattered any remaining sense of calm you had.

Paige, all 6 feet of her, was making out with another girl, her hands tangled in the stranger’s hair. The sight was both infuriating and depressingly predictable. Your heart pounded, feeling betrayal and anger as you burst into the bathroom, your voice trembling with rage.

“What. The. Fuck?” you demanded, your eyes flashing between Paige and the other girl.

They froze, and the other girl looked between you and Paige, confusion etched on her face. You didn’t wait for any explanations. “How could you? You—selfish, manipulative bitch!” you shouted, before turning to the girl. “Get out.”

The girl hesitated, wide-eyed and frightened, but you grabbed her arm and shoved her out of the bathroom, your frustration spilling over. “Go!”

As the door slammed behind you, you turned to Paige, shaking with anger. “When will this end, Paige? When will you stop doing this to Kaia? Enough is enough.”

Paige shrugged, her nonchalance only infuriating you more as she shrugged with her hands before adjusting her suit in the mirror. “This isn’t about Kaia, and you know it,” she said dismissively, notioning. You clenched your fists, feeling a deep sense of betrayal. “Stop playing games. She’s my best friend, Paige. This is about her.” you affirmed.

Paige suddenly turned to you, her blue eyes narrowed as her hand found its way to your waist. “Is it?” she asked, her voice low and taunting.

Before you could react, she turned you around and pressed her body against yours, soft lips trailing a teasing kiss along your left shoulder.

“Stop,” you said, though your voice wavered as your body betrayed your words, leaning into her advances and pressing your ass against her crotch helplessly. “Not again, no,” you try to protest, but Paige's hand slips between you both, rubbing at your clit slowly. “One last time,” she whispers, nipping at your ear, her tone pleading. “Please.”

“Paige, get... fuck... get away from me, I—I can’t.” Your voice is strained as Paige’s other hand gropes your breast through your dress.

“Why not?” she breathed, her lips brushing against your ear. “Still have a boyfriend? Still playing best-friend?” You squeezed your legs together, trapping her fingers in the process and gasping in shock when she pushed her leg between yours, forcing them open.

It’d been so long since you last had Paige that you forgot the stark difference in size and strength. You were like a ragdoll to her.

“Just look at you,” she taunts, and like the slut you are for her, your eyes flutter open again, noticing she’s shifted you to face the mirror, showcasing your helpless, exposed reflection. It was sick — your body pressed against her long, strong leg, the girl moving your trembling frame like a toy as she shifted you across her knee slowly.

You moaned despite yourself, the stimulation making it difficult to maintain your resolve. “You don’t have to lie to yourself anymore. Look how fuckin’ much you like it,” she taunts, watching as you bunched your dress up into your hands, giving Paige a perfect view of your ass as you scooted back and forth, coating her thigh in your wetness.

"Good girl, baby," she coos, controlling your hips with every movement. "Lemme see those tits too, c'mon baby, pull 'em out for me." You groan as you comply, letting your dress fall from your shoulders, and you wiggle your hips, anchoring yourself on the sink counter while you move, letting out a tiny whimper of her name. "Shit, Paige,"

As you tried to scratch the itch, getting it over with and cumming on her expensive suited-up leg you were humping like a desperate animal, the bathroom door suddenly swung open, and Kaia stumbled inside, clearly fucked beyond plain drunkeness. You froze, fear paralyzing you as she swayed on her feet, her gaze unfocused and eyes half-closed. “Can you take me home?” she slurred, her words barely coherent. “I need to sleep.”

Desperate to keep the situation under control, you nodded. “Sure, Kaia. Let’s get you home.” You couldn’t believe how calm Paige looked as she smirked, unbothered and composed watching you. You helped Kaia out of the bathroom, her inebriation making her oblivious to the what had just unfolded, thankfully.

As you returned to your place after a long night out with your best friend Kaia and her girlfriend, Paige Bueckers, you staggered through the front door, the weight of guilt pressing heavily on your shoulders.

You tried to calm yourself, sitting on the couch and sipping tea, trying to make sense of the chaotic night and what you had done again.

The first time it ever happened, you could barely remember, only recalling the extreme confusion the morning after—about your sexuality, why Paige, and how you could ever do this to Kaia.

Paige emerged from the bedroom, her demeanor still flirtatious. “I’m staying the night,” she declared. “I don’t want Kaia to think I’m a bad girlfriend.”

And you were a bad girlfriend just like Paige, cheating on your boyfriend with her once again.

She settled down on the couch next to you, her hand finding its way to your thigh. “You should tell your boyfriend you don’t want to be with him anymore,” Paige suggested, her voice laced with an unsettling mixture of sweetness and command, emphasizing her ability to wield her charm when it suited her.

And speaking of suits, hers is completely discarded, leaving her in only her boxers, a pair of black basketball shorts, and a sports bra.

You glare. “Fuck off, Bueckers. I do want to be with him. I might be a cheater, but at least I actually care enough to be honest.” She smirks, amused at your denial. "Think you're honest? All you do is lie... to me, to Kaia, your boyfriend... yourself," she accuses, referencing the fact that you’ve never truly accepted your feelings for her or the reality of your situation. "The only honest thing about you is this," she whispers, hand sliding down to your cunt, covered in your panties underneath your night robe, rubbing and teasing. "So wet for me," she taunts. You gasp, arching your back and screwing your eyes shut in ecstacy. "Hate you," you murmur, clearly lying, hips grinding into her touch. She's close to you now, in your space, and she whispers, "I bet," before she leans in, capturing your lips with the fervor of a lifetime, like you're all she needs, nothing how she had been kissing that other girl, and you love it. She knows exactly how to break you.

Within moments, Paige has you in your bedroom, stripped, and laid out before her as she retrieves the strap-on she had kept hidden. You raise an eyebrow. It's sinful, raw, and dirty that you even find the courage to ask, "You fuck Kai with that?" and Paige smirks at you, sadistic and enjoying how she bends you past your own morals effortlessly. She shakes her head. "Wanted to," she admits, "but she always breaks up with me before I can."

And with that, she’s back on top of you, sliding her strap into you with effortless ease due to how slick and prepared you are for her.

You could see how Kaia could fall in love with somebody as sadistic, careless, and cruel as Paige. For one, she fucks like a pro, rocking her hips into you with enough force to make you see stars, and second, she is incredibly tender while she does, splaying kisses onto your chest, neck, and whispering sweet nothings to you of, "So good, baby," and "Take it, princess."

You claw at her back once you feel her suckle at your neck.

"Pl-Please," you beg, and Paige grins, flipping you so you can ride her instead. "Please what?" she gibes, holding on to your hips tightly. "Don't leave..." you start, your voice trembling, and Paige cockily responds, "Then tell him it's over." You moan at the reminder of your 'boyfriend', grinding your hips to match her rhythm as she thrusts upward into you. "Any hickeys," you finish, and you see it on Paige’s face—you’ve just given her a taste of her own medicine.

You writhe, watching how her muscles flex as she pulls you down onto her, observing the way your face contorts in pleasure and desperation. It flies from you as you get closer, becoming more frantic and wild. "I leave him, Paige," you gasp, moaning at the feeling of her tongue licking at your nipple. "What're you gonna do about Kaia?"

You forget she’s evil, and she hums against your nipple, sending vibrations through it that speed up your inevitable, impending orgasm. "Fuck you every night like this so she can hear," she promises, grunting as she thrusts into you with increasing force.

"Fuck!" you hate how commanding her words are and how they turn you on. "M'gonna cum, Paige, fuck, I'm gonna—"

A knock at the door interrupts you both. "Hello?" says Kaia, and you bite back a cry, trying to steady yourself in the throes of your orgasm, faltering over on Paige who continues to thrust into you. "Hey, baby!" Paige calls back, her voice feigning cheerfulness.

What Kaia says next leaves you stunned and disoriented, but unable to fully grasp her intent. “Are you guys finally getting along?” MASTERLIST

AUTHOR NOTE #2: Paige’s fucking espys look made me 😭 FUCKKKK bae so fine ugh sry had to get that off my chest. ALSO I left the ending ambiguous on purpose — do you think kaia knows?

Small update: guys there are SO many replies and inboxes YOURE KILLING ME

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pin-k-ink · 7 months ago

Text

possessory // kuroo tetsurou

tw ⇢ rivals to lovers, sexual tension, possessive kuroo, fingering, begging, finger-fucking, locker room sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, getting caught, marking, some yaku x reader if you squint

wc ⇢ 9.3k

a/n: my love for yaku shining through this fic. i’d to bite my knuckles trying to not write a threesome. luckily i’ve already planned something for my baby

The whistle pierced the heavy air like a gunshot, signaling the end of the heated practice match. You barely registered the shrill sound over the thrumming of blood in your ears as you panted harshly, chest heaving from exertion.

Your narrowed gaze remained locked onto the tall, rangy figure across the net - those sharp, watchful eyes that always seemed to glitter with something more feral than simple competition whenever you squared off. Kuroo's lips curved in that all-too-familiar razor's edge of a smirk as he raked his sweat-damp hair back from his forehead in one long pull.

The casual arrogance of the gesture made you grit your teeth against a low snarl. As if he didn't already know full well how obscenely distracting the subtle ripple of his arm and shoulder muscles could be when--

You viciously derailed that wandering train of thought before it could lead somewhere utterly unacceptable. There'd been enough heated incidents between you already without indulging a treacherous fixation on the physical. Even if Kuroo seemed hellbent on upending your restraint at every turn.

"Nice effort out there," he drawled loudly as the teams began separating to their respective benches. "I can definitely see some improvement from the last time we played."

The words were seemingly innocuous enough. But the low, gravelly delivery dripped with Kuroo's typical infuriating condescension. You felt your hackles rising instinctively at the spark of challenge banked in his goading stare.

"You're really working those compliments for all they're worth today, aren't you Kuroo?" you shot back acidly, pointedly raking your gaze over his sweat-soaked jersey with obvious disdain. "Need me to send you a thesaurus so you can freshen up that material a bit?"

Kuroo's eyes flashed briefly at the barbed retort, but the edges of that smirk only deepened further in a way that made your jaw tighten.

"If it ain't broke..." he trailed off with a one-shouldered shrug that you refused to let your eyes linger on.

Just like that, the thick undercurrent of animosity and unresolved tension reasserted itself between you. The energy sizzling in the air took on a distinctly more charged quality, like the first building pressure of an oncoming storm about to break. You could practically taste the torrid stirrings of heat and restless aggression prickling along your limbs.

This was nothing new in the undeniably volatile dynamic you and Kuroo had cultivated over innumerable practice matches and heated encounters. That endless cycle of provocation and denial destined to build towards...what end, neither of you ever seemed to acknowledge. But the friction generated by your clashing wills could be damn near scorching at times.

On the sidelines, you were vaguely aware of teammates shooting knowing looks back and forth, clearly no strangers to the blazing intensity you brought out in each other. Every subtle interaction between you and Kuroo seemed to bleed with unspoken tension and unsettled cravings that simmered just beneath the surface.

It had long been an open secret that your rivalry extended far beyond just the court itself. Though openly admitting as much remained strictly taboo.

Kuroo suddenly moved as if to step closer, an unreadable glint flickering briefly through those penetrating eyes. For a dizzying heartbeat, you thought he might continue provoking this simmering confrontation between you in a different, more incendiary direction.

Instead, Kuroo simply hooked his thumb at you in a deliberately casual gesture dripping with unearned arrogance, as per usual. "Keep telling yourself those little lies, kitten. I've still got plenty of ways to shut that smart mouth of yours that we haven't explored yet."

The heated innuendo landed like a physical blow, stealing your breath as your pulse kicked up a staggering notch. You refused to let your imagination indulge even a second's consideration of what depraved "methods" Kuroo could possibly have in mind. Some lines could never be uncrossed between your rivalry without irrevocably shattering everything.

So you settled for a derisive snort, turning on your heel and stalking away from that dark, all-too-appealing promise burning in his gaze. You refused to be the one to cave first and give Kuroo the satisfaction.

Just like always, the explosive friction between you would remain unresolved. No matter how urgently it simmered and begged for combustion, you would hold the line of restraint...

For now.

The charged encounter hung thick in the air as you tried and failed to shake off the lingering effects of Kuroo's taunts during the cool-down stretches. No matter how you willed your focus elsewhere, you were persistently, maddeningly aware of his presence across the gym floor.

Of the way he moved with that deliberately careless, arrogant swagger - all long, powerful limbs and sinuous grace as he bent and extended through the stretching forms. Every motion seemed calculated to snag your wandering attention, to goad your eyes into tracing the sculpted contours of muscle shifting fluidly beneath sun-kissed skin that glistened with a fine sheen of exertion.

You grit your teeth and averted your gaze stubbornly each time you caught it straying. But the phantom echoes of Kuroo's sinful murmurs about "shutting that smart mouth of yours" reverberated through your heated thoughts in an endless torrid loop.

Unbidden, your mind provided tantalizingly vivid flashes of just what form that insolent threat might take if he ever dared carry it out. You imagined the hot brand of Kuroo's mouth crashing against yours in a searing, breath-stealing kiss born of too much aggression and too little restraint. His calloused palms mapping out every whisper-soft inch of feverish skin as you both finally surrendered to the smoldering madness of your rivalry entirely.

The mental images proved so viscerally potent that you nearly missed the loud clatter of a water bottle being knocked to the floor a few feet away. You startled, cheeks flushing guiltily as you realized Yaku was eyeing you from the next mat over with clear amusement wrinkling the corners of his eyes.

"You're sure looking pretty spaced out over there," he commented far too innocently. "Everything...okay?"

Willing your features back to a carefully neutral mask, you shot your teammate a pointed look. "I’m fine, Yaku. Just still feeling it from the second set. Not sure where my head's wandering."

The lie felt hollow even to your own ears. But Yaku seemed wise enough not to press any further, simply nodding before continuing his regimen.

On the far side of the gym, you caught the briefest glimpse of Kuroo straightening up from his own stretches, running one long-fingered hand through his disheveled hair in a way that really shouldn't have been so distracting. His eyes found yours unerringly through the gaps and bodies between you. You tensed despite yourself, awaiting Kuroo's next inevitable flare of provocation.

For a long, heated moment he simply held your stare in silence, making an exaggerated show of slowly dragging his appreciative gaze over your flushed features and down the lines of your sweat-sheened torso. When next he met your gaze, his expression glittered with an utterly indecent gleam that made your pulse skyrocket unwillingly.

It was like he'd seen straight through your feeble attempts at restraint and composure. Like he knew with piercing clarity exactly where your wandering thoughts had gotten derailed just now, and was silently goading you to surrender that illicit trail entirely. The challenge issued in his heated stare was clear – keep denying this combustible charge smoldering between us and find out just how far I'm willing to push those boundaries.

You refused to be the one to break eye contact first, even as the air between you grew thick and heady. Even as desire bloomed like wild embers in the pit of your stomach in a way it absolutely should never have. Not for Kuroo, not your sworn rival and human catalyst for antagonism on and off the court.

And yet it burned there nonetheless, unconcerned with the rigid compartmentalization your common sense kept insisting upon. That insidious heat threatened to scorch you from the inside if you persisted in denying it outlet through even the most inconsequential of actions.

Another minute ticked by punctuated only by the harsh rasp of your breathing and Kuroo's cat-like observance. His eyes narrowed infinitesimally as if gauging the level of unraveling restraint behind your impassive front. Waiting to see if you would finally be the one to blink first.

You lifted your chin subtly in silent defiance. Daring Kuroo to escalate this latest confrontation between you to more scorching heights if he dared. You'd weathered far worse maelstroms of his undisguised provocation than this before, no matter how potent.

The hard line of his jaw flexed in mild approval at your steadfastness before at last Kuroo's lips curved in a sharply amused smirk. The one that never failed to slice through your serenity like the sharpest of blades.

"Don't hurt yourself, kitten," he drawled suddenly in that graveled rumble of a whisper that carried easily across the gym's stillness. "I know all about holding my breath for the things I really want."

The barely veiled innuendo in Kuroo's rasped words hit you like a physical gut punch, forcing you to strangle down the instinctive flare of molten heat that twisted low in your abdomen. He knew, that insufferable bastard knew exactly what effect his grating taunts had on you despite your best attempts at impassive defiance.

You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste copper, refusing to grant Kuroo the satisfaction of watching you react overtly. But the way his hooded gaze slowly raked over you made it clear he didn't need histrionics to read your body's traitorous responses loud and clear.

Kuroo's tongue swept out to drag deliberately along his bottom lip as you glared daggers back at him. The unhurried, vaguely obscene motion drew your eyes helplessly for a scorching second before you wrenched them away. You could have sworn you heard the low rumble of an amused chuckle from across the gym at your faltering composure.

The sudden jarring impact of a balled-up towel hitting your shoulder made you jolt violently. You whirled with a snarl already curling your lips, half-expecting Kuroo to have somehow slithered closer undetected just to continue provoking you.

Instead, it was simply Kenma eyeing you with that familiar half-lidded look of sardonic indifference - one earbud already dangling loose as he'd clearly sought to disengage from whatever this latest maelstrom of tension was between you and your so-called rival.

"You two need a cold shower or something?" he remarked flatly, seemingly oblivious or uncaring of the molten quality his observation took on. "Cut the foreplay and just fuck already. Could smell the unresolved sexual tension from across the gym."

You choked on a shocked inhalation at Kenma's blunt assessment, heat flooding your cheeks in a dizzying rush. The dull roar of abruptly resumed activity within the gym filled your ringing ears as others seemed to freeze mid-motion at his crass outburst. A quick glance towards the other side of the court revealed Kuroo staring back with eyes comically wide, lips parted around what was probably intended as a reflexive denial.

The awkward tension expanded with each passing second it went unacknowledged until finally Kenma rolled his eyes tremendously and simply stuffed his earbud back in, unmoved. The courts slowly came alive again bit by bit, the disjointed sounds of squeaking sneakers and voices just on the edge of too-loud once more filling the air.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Kuroo straightening his shoulders beneath the weight of your heated stare, almost like steeling himself for your answering volley. But rather than issue another round of barbed taunts, you simply clenched your jaw, grabbed your jersey and spun sharply on your heel to stalk from the gym before anything else could further test your tenuous grip on restraint.

Once in the empty locker room, you leaned against the blissfully solid surface of your locker and allowed yourself a shaky exhale. Your heartbeat felt like it was rabbiting out of control as you ruthlessly quashed the wanton direction your thoughts insisted on straying.

Kenma's crass remark shouldn't have landed with such searing effect, you told yourself sternly. Shouldn't have made your imagination conjure up such deliriously vivid fantasies about Kuroo pressing you up against the cool steel at your back right now as you finally surrendered to--

"Fuck," you growled harshly, pressing the heels of your palms against your traitorous eyes until spots of color burst across your vision.

You couldn't keep allowing your bitter rivalry with Kuroo to careen so perilously close to the edge of oblivion repeatedly. To let your cataclysmic friction continue escalating to such a razor-sharp precipice every time he proved insufferable enough to provoke every simmering frustration and desire boiling over inside you.

No matter how infuriatingly, inexplicably attractive you found the insufferable prick, you simply couldn't keep indulging these...what? Wild, indecent fantasies about him pressing you up against rough tile as you finally --

You took a deep steadying breath to abort that train of thought before it could derail completely off the rails into utterly forbidden territory. Again. Some lines could never be uncrossed between you and Kuroo without shattering the foundations of whatever this frenzied push-and-pull dynamic existed upon.

No matter how tempting the prospect sometimes felt.

The scalding shower spray did little to rinse away the lingering haze of heated frustration still clouding your thoughts. If anything, the punishing jets of water needling over your taut muscles seemed only to amplify the electric tension still humming beneath your skin in the wake of your latest encounter with Kuroo.

You grit your teeth against a low growl bubbling up your chest as your mind unhelpfully replayed the smug curl of his lips around those parting taunts - challenging you, practically demanding you admit some undeniable undercurrent still burned white-hot between you despite your constant denials.

Beneath the thundering spray, your hands clenched and unclenched in a vain attempt to rein in the roiling mixture of bitter antagonism and darker, more primal cravings that invariably got stirred up whenever Kuroo slipped beneath your defenses. You couldn't seem to prevent flashes of slick skin and molten friction from battering against the shattered remnants of your restraint.

The memories felt so viscerally potent in the aftermath of his provocation that you swore a strange staticky charge was building along your limbs. Like thunderheads rapidly converging toward their inevitable lightning strike. Wild, pent-up energy begging for release in an unbridled eruption you knew better than to give voice or form to.

With a sharp exhale, you braced your forearms against the shower tile and allowed the scalding spray to rinse over your neck and shoulders as you hung your head, trying in vain to steady your ragged breathing and derailed composure. Try as you might, you couldn't seem to shake the persistent imagining of Kuroo's larger, rougher hands replacing yours in mapping the slick trails of water over your overheated skin.

You swallowed hard against the vivid fantasy, against the wanton direction it kept trying to careen down despite your best efforts at restraint. Kuroo's shadowed silhouette would be so infuriatingly at home behind you like this - a predatory prowl straight from your most fevered subconscious yearnings as he pressed himself flush against your back with a low rumbling exhale that resonated to your very core.

The intrusive daydream flickered with dizzying lucidity behind your tightly screwed eyelids. Every slick inch of heated muscle rippling beneath your hands as you pivoted to seal your lips against his in a searing collision of unleashed desire. Kuroo's rough palms branding blazing paths down slippery expanses of soft skin as you arched into his maddening caresses in silent, desperate plea to finally explore those molten hungers to their conclusion...

With a choked groan, you whirled and pressed your forehead against the cool tile in an attempt to forcibly evict your tormentor from weaving his provocation into such a deliriously vivid fantasy. But the afterimage of his taunting silhouette remained burned onto the backs of your eyelids alongside the whispered promise of indecent transgressions, should you ever finally yield to that unchecked inertia carrying you straight towards them.

A dizzying shudder lashed through your overwrought frame as an anxious noise close to a whine escaped your trembling lips. You couldn't do this, couldn't keep allowing Kuroo to effortlessly provoke you to such maddening heights of frustrated longing and combustible lust with only a few heated looks and expertly wielded taunts.

It was like battling the inescapable allure of a riptide, the seductive siren call of its irresistible pull growing stronger and more irresistible every time you slipped beneath its churning rip currents before somehow wrenching yourself back to the surface at the last gasping moment. How long until even the most monumental force of will proved too feeble to keep dragging you back from the brink?

Kenma's crass words about cutting the "sexual tension" echoed unwanted through your whirling thoughts. You tried to swallow back the imagery his crude accusation summoned up, but some details still crept in past your battered restraints.

You. And Kuroo. Tangled up in a fevered, inevitable conflagration of slick heat and molten friction, napalm-bright desires burning until you were utterly consumed in a blast of searing rapture…

With a snarled curse, you reluctantly killed the shower spray - unable to escape your own torturous libido in the steamy confines any longer. Perhaps some fresh air might finally clear your head enough to dull these relentless indecent urges before Kuroo inadvertently provoked you into fulfilling Kenma's crass prediction at last.

The locker room feels oppressively warm and stifling as you emerge from the showers, skin still tinged pink from the scalding spray's futile attempt to rinse away your lingering frustrations. A thin sheen of perspiration almost immediately rekindles across your flushed chest and brow.

You swipe your forearm roughly across your hairline, trying and failing miserably to ignore the way rivulets of water trace tantalizing paths over your collarbones and breasts, down the taut planes of your abdomen. Each shimmering droplet's wake seems to leave pinprick trails of heightened sensitivity in its wake, maddeningly conspicuous against your overheated awareness.

With an annoyed grunt, you pull open your locker and reach for the thin cotton undershirt draped over the top shelf...only to freeze as an unmistakable, heady musk suddenly wafts up to assault your senses.

That rich, earthy, and utterly masculine fragrance feels like a physical blow lancing straight through your already compromised restraint. Instantly, you're assaulted with a barrage of unshakably vivid imagery unlike anything that has plagued you previously beneath the showers.

Kuroo looming over you, eyes hooded and lips parted around harsh exhales of barely leashed hunger. The heat of his solid frame pressing you back against unforgiving chill steel as electric shockwaves of friction build to maddening crescendos between you. His body branded like a searing brand against the sweat-slicked expanses of your bared skin as you arch and writhe beneath the exquisitely rough mapping of his hands, thighs parting reflexively in a wanton entreaty for deeper indulgence—

"Fuck," you snarl, hurling the offending garment across the small space like it has bitten you. Your breath saws harsh and shallow as you recoil from the vivid flashes still bombarding you from all sides.

That obscenely provoking scent...it hadn't been your shirt you'd started to pick up at all, you realize with a delayed sort of horror rapidly turning your belly to soured granite. The realization brings with it a whole separate series of incendiary imagery you are utterly powerless to prevent from sparking behind your tightly screwed eyelids like the world's most sadistic filmreel.

You, burying your face against that thick knit of soft fabric and breathing deeply of the headily masculine notes lingering there. Of salt and skin and vaguely woodsy musk as you try in vain to chase memories of their original source, to resurface those haunting fantasies like some lecherous addict chasing their next molten hit.

Perhaps even allowing one hand to trail slowly down your slick torso, fingertips blazing scorching paths southward as lurid shadow-flashes of Kuroo's sharply angled features fill your mind's eye. Of his heated gaze darkening to feral approval as you unapologetically surrender propriety to slake those smoldering cravings he's systematically and expertly stoked within you past all possible willpower to deny.

With a violence that belies you, you wrench your eyes back open to inspect the contents of your locker more closely. Sure enough, hanging carelessly amongst your own neatly folded pile at the very bottom is one of Kuroo's unmistakable crimson team jerseys. Your fingers spasm against the urge to reach down and tunnel into the temptingly soft knit, to willingly soak in that unholy musk until you're dizzy and molten with the imprint of him in your most forbidden fantasies.

Instead, you squeeze your eyes tightly shut again as a broken gasp rattles from between your clenched teeth. This just keeps getting worse, that tantalizing scent rapidly proving itself your own personal brand of siren's call towards crashing into the deepest pits of sin and self-indulgence—

The sound of an opening door freezes you like a stunned animal in your tracks. Your entire body snaps rigid with tension as your pulse kicks up several panicked notches, utterly dreading whoever might now bear witness to your clear unraveling.

Heart thundering in your ears, you slowly crack one eye back open with trepidation...only to feel the weight lift somewhat as Shizuku, one of your teammates came cautiously around the corner, cheeks slightly flushed in embarrassment.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," she stammers, clearly flustered at having stumbled upon you in this state. "I didn't realize anyone was still in here. I can come back later!"

You wave a dismissive hand before she can retreat, not quite trusting your voice not to come out incriminatingly wrecked just yet. Trying to regain your composure, you attempt to slow your ragged breathing as subtly as possible.

Shizuku nods hesitantly, not seeming entirely convinced as her sharp gaze continues raking over you with growing concern. "Are...are you feeling okay? You look really flushed."

The obvious worry in her tone makes guilt churn unpleasantly in your gut. You can only imagine what sort of indecent, overwrought state she's finding you in right now. A vivid flash of her somehow catching you red-handed while giving in to your wanton urges ricochets through your mind, making you swallow thickly against a rising blaze of heat.

Desperately, you shake your head in an attempt to physically dislodge the utterly unacceptable fantasy before it can take seed. Pushing a tight smile onto your lips, you wave Shizuku forward reassuringly.

"I'm fine, really!" you insist in a voice that thankfully doesn't waver as much as you'd feared. "Just...stepped out of a really hot shower is all. Probably going to head out soon anyway."

Shizuku visibly relaxes at your answer, offering a relieved smile. "Oh good, I'm glad it's nothing serious then!" She steps over to her own locker and begins digging through her gym bag without a second thought.

You let out a shaky breath, using her presence as a convenient excuse to turn your back and refocus on getting dressed and out of here before another intrusive fantasy tries to take root.

You stare at the rumpled crimson jersey with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Of course his scent had to linger cloyingly around the fabric in a way your senses couldn't seem to ignore, even after that shockingly scalding shower.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, you reluctantly snatch up the borrowed top and give it another inspecting look. There's a faint smear of deodorant along the collar line and a few scattered strands of short black hair stubbornly clinging to the soft cotton weave. Unmistakable signs of repeated wear and the masculine essence now permanently embedded into every delicate thread.

Your pulse immediately kicks up as new waves of heated compulsion crest over you at being surrounded by Kuroo's intimate essence like this. But grinding your teeth hard, you resolutely refuse to feed the treacherous undercurrents of want that seem insistent on cresting to the surface at every provocation from him.

No, you're determined to get yourself under control here. To put some distance between the unwelcome distraction he's become and regain a clear head once more. If putting on Kuroo's clothes helps provide any sense of closure regarding these increasingly indecent preoccupations...well, you're desperate enough to try just about anything at this point.

Before your resolve can waver any further, you slide the jersey up and over your head - the soft knit sliding easily over your still-damp skin and clinging to every curve of your torso like a second skin. Almost immediately you're enveloped in the smoky, vaguely citrus-tinged aroma of Kuroo's body wash and deeper musk. The disconcertingly familiar scents seem to drape you in a suffocating veil of molten heat that licks dangerously at the edges of your restraint.

You stagger back a few steps, chest heaving as fresh waves of phantasmic imagery come swarming like sharks to chum. Reveries of Kuroo's heated stare boring into you as he takes in the sight of you in his clothes with dark, burning approval. Images of him advancing with leonine grace, callused hands slipping beneath the loose hem to sear scorching trails over the naked, sweat-slick expanses of your--

With a frustrated growl, you grasp fistfuls of the offending fabric and yank it vigorously away from your sticky skin in a desperate attempt to gain some reprieve. But the damage is already done - the mere suggestion of being swathed in anything bearing Kuroo's personal essence is enough to trigger the instantaneous mental avalanche of indecent cravings and salacious fantasies you struggle so mightily against.

You pant harshly, feeling uncentered and perilously close to coming utterly unraveled like never before. How are you supposed to withstand this constant barrage of molten provocations from your sworn rival? How much longer can you even remain within your own right mind before surrendering to the siren's call towards combustible freefall?

Riding on the crest of that maddening spiral of thought, you make a desperate decision. With horribly shaky fingers, you grab at the button seam of your soaked gym shorts and frantically tear them open. You don't dare look down, don't want to see what sins your hands might inadvertently commit beneath the allure of Kuroo's infused jersey.

Instead, you squeeze your eyes shut tight and exhale a steadying breath as you shimmy out of the last of your clothes. You have to get a grip, have to focus your spiraling thoughts on literally anything else in this instant before you find yourself sleepwalking towards the edge of a point of no return.

It's only once your traitorous, damp gym wear lays discarded on the tile floor that you finally find the courage to crack one lid open hesitantly. When no fresh barrage of illicit visions immediately assault you this time, you gradually allow your death-grip on the jersey's hem to loosen.

There's still no question that wearing this small piece of Kuroo's essence so intimately against your naked skin feels nothing short of debauched. Like you've willingly attired yourself in sin made fabric in an act of lurid indulgence. But whether it's the cortisol dump from your panic, or simply that you've now grown painfully accustomed to the potency of his scent and provocation, you're no longer drowning in the tsunami of wanton cravings from only moments ago.

In fact, the steady drape of the already sweat-dampened jersey now feels refreshingly cool and grounding against your heated flesh. Like the familiar, lived-in scents enveloping you no longer hold the power to summon such incendiary visions - at least not in the sheer vast torrents they previously wrought.

You take a deep, cleansing breath and instantly feel some small fraction of clarity beginning to return. With it comes the growing certainty that letting Kuroo and your relentless rivalry send you careening down such lascivious mental spirals is both self-destructive and foolish.

The hard choice crystallizes with that clear-eyed realization - by putting your own scent and essence directly over his, you can gain back the upper hand in this personal battle toward retaining your restraint. By making Kuroo's jersey unequivocally yours through sheer force of intimate proximity, you neuter its power to continually push you towards mental unravelings of indecency.

You nod decisively at that plan of attack, already feeling some grounded sense of self-possession return.

Your first order of business after dealing with this inappropriately tempting distraction is returning Kuroo's clothes, of course. But damned if you won't savor a small sense of petty victory over regaining sovereignty over your turbulent thoughts and want first.

Then you can return to plotting ways to get deliciously even with your callous tormentor for all the maddening provocations and heat he's incited within you lately...

With your fragile sense of restraint regained for now, you quickly gather up your discarded gym clothes and shove them into your duffel bag, not wanting any more lingering reminders of Kuroo's scent messing with your hard-won clarity.

You move with renewed determination, trying not to dwell too long on the deliciously deviant thrill of simply existing in nothing but your rival's loose jersey while you prepare to leave the locker room. There's no point denying how utterly and deliciously illicit the sensation feels against your bare skin. But rather than unraveling you towards indecency once more, the mere fact that you've asserted control over the intimate situation helps keep those more prurient impulses at bay.

Still...that doesn't prevent the faintest tendril of heated want from curling low in your belly at the unmistakable mental flash of Kuroo's expression should he happen to stumble upon you like this. Of the blazing trail his gaze would no doubt scorch across every inch of visible skin as his eyes hooded with smoldering surprise and primal, undisguised hunger.

You bite down on your bottom lip hard enough to taste copper at that vivid imagining, feeling fresh pinpricks of arousal lancing through you. As always, the merest consideration of Kuroo's intense, provocative presence proves to be like singeing tinder to your subconscious libido - threatening to spark into a conflagration of wanton thoughts and indecent urges if left unchecked.

Shoving down that dangerous trail before it can consume you utterly once more, you quickly shoulder your bag and stride for the exit with as much purpose as you can muster. You're so focused on wrestling back control of your derailed restraint that you nearly crash headlong into Yaku as he rounds the corner, clearly on his way in after practice.

You both freeze mid-stride, eyes going wide as you take in each other's equally stunned expressions. For a longmoment the awkward silence stretches out between you, punctuated only by the sounds of your harsh breathing loud in the tiled stillness.

Then finally, seeming to find his voice first, Yaku lets out a low whistle as his sharp gaze rakes over you in one long, assessing sweep. "Well well...don't you look pretty cozy there, babydoll," he remarks, pitching his tone somewhere between casual observation and wry insinuation.

You feel heat flood your cheeks despite your best efforts, suddenly hyperaware of just how utterly compromising this whole situation must appear to any outside observer. Kuroo's jersey barely grazes the tops of your thighs, leaving the long toned lengths of your legs completely exposed and tantalizingly on display when paired with nothing else.

"Yaku, I - it's not what it looks like, I can explain--" you begin hastily, shame and embarrassment vying for control in your rasping tone.

But he simply shakes his head with a knowing grin, cutting off your flustered protests before they can truly take root. "Don't worry 'bout it, babydoll. Not my business to judge, and it sure ain't my place to cockblock either. Just tell that smug bastard Kuroo I want my fucking jersey back sometime this year if he's gonna be loaning it out like this."

With a wink and a shit-eating grin, Yaku saunters around your frozen form and continues on into the locker room, whistling cheerfully beneath his breath all the while. You can only gape after him, dizzy with equal parts embarrassment, annoyance, and grudging amusement at just how casually he apparently accepts stumbling across what he assumes to be the aftermath of some secret tryst between you and your hated rival.

Yet despite the overall awkwardness of the situation, some profoundly petty part of you also feels an innate thrill at the idea of Kuroo finding out you've been traipsing around in his clothes like some deliciously insolent afterglow.

The thought of watching those sharp features of his cloud over with displeasure and jealous possession lights an undeniable flare of wicked satisfaction in the depths of your psyche. You can't quite smother the devilish smirk that quirks your lips at the mere idea of provoking such spikes of dark territoriality from your arrogant rival over you flagrantly disregarding the "boundaries" between you in such a salacious manner--

Your molten chain of thought is brought up short, however, as another familiar figure comes prowling around the corner with the sort of leonine confidence that immediately sends a frisson of electric awareness zinging down your spine. For a dizzying instant, it's like every scintillating erotic daydream you've been battling lately roars to vivid, lurid life right before your very eyes.

There's Kuroo, strutting in with that same loose-limbed cockiness you've come to expect, likely fresh from pushing his own training regimen to its limits as usual. His practiced ease falters perceptibly as he clocks the fact that you're not only still here, but...well.

You watch with thirsty relish as those piercing amber eyes blow wide in a potent combination of shock and molten male-appreciation - the unmistakable signs of desire and possessive outrage already warring behind them as they blaze over every exposed inch of skin you've left available to his perusal.

"The fuck, kitten?" he finally manages in a slightly strained growl. "You just couldn't resist helping yourself to what's mine, could you?"

You shrug one shoulder lazily, not even trying to feign innocence as you let your gaze blatantly roam over his frame in return. "Don't act so scandalized, Kuroo. It's not like you've never wanted to see me in this state before."

His nostrils flare at your brazen words. You can see the way his throat works as he swallows thickly. "That's a dangerous assumption to be making there, sweetheart," he bites out, clearly trying to regain some veneer of control.

Chuckling lowly, you hook a finger into the jersey's neckline and tug it aside just enough to expose a teasing glimpse of your collarbone and the swell of your breasts. "Is it though? Or are you just getting flustered by how easy it'd be to peel this off me and see what other bad decisions I've made?"

A muscle ticks in Kuroo's clenched jaw at that. He takes a single predatory step closer, movements tight like a compressed spring as his eyes darken perceptibly. "You never did know when to quit provoking things you can't handle, kitten."

You hold his smoldering stare boldly. "Maybe I'm just finally acknowledging things I've wanted to provoke all along."

The loaded suggestion seems to snap the final threads of Kuroo's restraint. A low rumbling growl reverberates from deep in his chest as he surges forward in one sinuous, barely leashed movement. You only have a split-second to react before his broad frame is looming over you, caging you back against the lockers as he braces an arm above your head.

"Careful what you wish for, babydoll," Kuroo breathes in a horribly tempting rasp right against the pulse point of your throat. His free hand skates up beneath the hem of the jersey to sear over the bare skin of your inner thigh. "I'm not feeling too generous with things that belong to me right now."

Any provocation or pithy response dies on your lips as those calloused fingertips drag a scorching trail higher. Instead, all that escapes is a shaky exhalation that Kuroo seems to drink in like a fine vintage as his lips curve in a predatory smirk.

"That's what I thought," he rumbles in that gruff, smoky tone that vibrates through you in delicious waves. "Now why don't you be a good little thief and show me exactly what sins you've been coveting, kitten?"

The low, carnal rumble of Kuroo's challenge hangs thickly between you as that large, calloused hand continues blazing a scorching path up the sensitive inner expanse of your thigh. You can't quite muffle the trembling whimper that stutters up from your chest as those questing fingertips dare to drift ever higher beneath the loose hem of the jersey.

"That's it, kitten..." he purrs in a voice made viscous and ragged by naked want. "No more pretenses now that we've reached the inevitable conclusion of those teasing little games of yours."

Kuroo's free hand suddenly winds into your hair, not quite gentle yet not overtly harsh either as he guides your head back with a subtle tug. The new angle leaves the long vulnerable expanse of your throat deliciously exposed and straining against the first delicate blossoms of bruising kisses he presses there like sin-soaked brands.

"This is what you were begging for all along, isn't it?" he rasps against your feverish skin between each indecent new imprint of his lips and tongue. "All those brazen little taunts and glimpses of temptation you couldn't resist flaunting right in front of me. Like some shameless siren calling out for her reckoning."

His wicked mouth has found that one spot just below your jaw that never fails to rob the strength from your limbs. You tremble violently as Kuroo laves his scorching tongue over that sensitive point in clear exploitation, surrendering a stuttering keen of pure rapture that seems to spur him on like a drug.

"Fuck, kitten...do you have any idea what it took not to lose control and take what's mine with my bare hands whenever you bared your slutty little neck for me?" he growls with heartfelt vehemence even as his free hand continues its molten trek higher and higher beneath the jersey's hem. "How many times I've had to wrestle down the urge to mark every single inch of you in ways you'd never forget just who those sweet little sounds belong to?"

That large, rough palm finally, blissfully finds its inevitable destination between your parted thighs. You shatter utterly at the first undeniable caress of deft fingers slicking through your embarrassingly wet folds. Kuroo growls deep approval at the state of utter ruin you've been reduced to by his carnal words and touches alone.

"Look at you...so fucking needy and desperate for me already," he rumbles with that unholy confidence only a man utterly assured in his dominance can possess. "And to think you tried to lecture me about teasing...you've spent who knows how long just aching to be taken apart like this."

You whine shamelessly, head thrashing against the unyielding steel of the lockers at your back as two thick fingers find your entrance and begin circling in maddeningly light, teasing strokes that scatter every coherent thought to the winds.

"P-Please..." you hear yourself whimper in a broken, debauched rasp that only seems to make Kuroo's eyes blaze darker with fresh coals of sin-steeped possession igniting behind them.

"Please what, kitten?" he demands in that low, ritualistic timbre that somehow reaches straight down into your very core and seizes every hidden erogenous zone in its grip. "Use that messy little mouth and beg properly for what a desperate little slut like you so clearly needs from me."

"Kuroo, fuck- I need you to...I need you inside me, please!" The words tumble from your lips in a heedless slurry of desperation that would have shocked your more restrained self into mortified silence. But here, now, with those large fingers still lazily circling your molten entrance as he raptly drinks in every debased plea, nothing else seems to matter.

In one smooth motion, Kuroo's hand leaves your sweat-dampened hair as he hitches the jersey's hem higher in a wordless command you swiftly obey - until the garment is rucked up to allow his searing gaze full view of the sinful ministrations he's reduced you to. Of just how wrecked and shattered you've become beneath his skilled touches and unrepentant provocations at last.

"That's it, open those gorgeous fucking legs for me and watch just how thoroughly I'm going to relieve you of these indecent little cravings once and for all," he vows in a growl dripping with decadent sin and virile promise.

A single broad fingertip finally, blissfully delves into your soaked folds - breaching the snug walls of your entrance with the sort of languorous, deliberate pace that speaks volumes of the unhurried plans Kuroo has for your ruin. A second blunt digit follows not long after, slowly and carefully working its way deeper into the tight sheath of your pussy, stretching the untouched muscles in the most toe-curling, obscenely exquisite agony imaginable.

"God, kitten, you're so fucking tight..." Kuroo growls, a raw note of lust and male-appreciation bleeding into his voice as he takes in the sight of his fingers buried deep in your fluttering, dripping core. "Just look at how eagerly your slutty little cunt is trying to suck me in even deeper...tell me, are you this starved for my cock, or just that desperate for a good hard fucking?"

"Fuck, Tetsurou, don’t talk like that-!"

You break off in a keening gasp as Kuroo's thumb finds your clit and begins working the engorged bundle of nerves with slow, precise movements. His other hand still holds the jersey's hem up and out of the way, giving him a perfect view of his fingers pistoning slowly in and out of your soaked depths.

"What's wrong, kitten?" he purrs with an evil chuckle, leaning in until his breath scalds hotly against your ear. "You don't like the truth being laid out before you like this? Admit it, you're soaking wet just thinking about me filling you up until I'm the only thing you can think about anymore."

"I-It's not like that, please, you're driving me crazy--!"

"That's exactly the fucking point, sweetheart." Kuroo punctuates his assertion with a particularly vicious thrust that makes you mewl and arch into him. "Now stop holding back and tell me exactly what I want to hear, or I'll keep making a mess of your pretty little cunt until you can't remember how to speak anymore."

Your eyes fly wide open at that threat. "Kuroo, I swear to god, if you don't finish what you've started, I'm going to--"

"What, kitten?" Kuroo growls, teeth finding the tender juncture of your throat and jaw in a savage nip that sends a shockwave of electric sensation straight through you. "Gonna try and fuck yourself on my fingers until you come? Is that what you want, to ride my hand and fuck yourself silly while I watch?"

"Kuroo-!"

"Then go ahead," he commands with a feral, carnal sort of relish. "Ride my fingers and prove how much you need this, kitten. Let me see just how depraved a slut you really are, and I'll give you everything you've been begging for."

"Y-you bastard, I swear, I'm going to kill you!" you choke out as your hips begin bucking up against his hand of their own volition.

But rather than taking offense at your weak insult, Kuroo simply flashes that wolfish smirk that's haunted so many of your lurid fantasies. His amber eyes bore into you with a burning intensity that makes something primal and instinctual twist and writhe within you.

"Oh, don't worry, kitten. I fully intend to fuck you into submission, right here and now, just the way you've always wanted. That is, unless you'd rather beg me on your knees like a good little girl to fill your pretty, empty cunt with my cock and fuck you like the greedy little slut you are."

At his filthy promise, an electric charge zings down your spine and pools like liquid fire low in your belly. You feel yourself tightening around his fingers like a vise, hips bucking wildly in search of that final, elusive threshold of release as Kuroo continues working your clit mercilessly.

"Come for me, kitten," he breathes in a guttural rasp that resonates with something far more fundamental and bestial. "Come for me now."

Like a puppet cut from its strings, your entire body seizes up. Your back arches almost painfully as a scream rips itself from the back of your throat - a sound so wild and animalistic, you scarcely recognize the wanton creature it's torn from.

The force of your climax rips through you with the same white-hot intensity of a lightning strike, making you buck and thrash wildly against the unforgiving steel behind you. The pleasure is so acute, so agonizingly blissful, it's as if every nerve ending has been stripped raw and exposed to the elements.

It feels as if your release goes on forever, wave after wave of unadulterated pleasure crashing through your trembling limbs and wringing a steady, high-pitched keen from the very core of your being. It's only Kuroo's free hand coming up to cover your mouth that smothers the wanton sounds of ecstasy tumbling from you without restraint.

The world narrows to the sensation of his strong, calloused hand pinning you down with easy dominance. To the feeling of his fingers pumping slow and steady within the spasming clench of your oversensitive walls, as if wringing every possible drop of pleasure from your spent body.

It's a full minute or so before the world begins to gradually filter back in through the haze of blissful release. As it does, you become gradually aware of the way your entire body is still trembling with small aftershocks. Of the way Kuroo's dark head is pressed into the hollow of your shoulder, his lips moving as if in prayer as he breathes you in like some rare perfume.

When he finally pulls away to meet your gaze, his expression is almost reverent. "There she is," he murmurs with a soft chuckle, eyes warm and fond as they roam across the slack lines of your face. "I've been waiting a long time to see you looking that undone, kitten."

You swallow past a suddenly dry throat, the last vestiges of euphoria still buzzing through your veins as you try to process the magnitude of what's just happened. Of the way the heat and tension between you has reached its inevitable, combustible conclusion at last.

But rather than being sated or even satisfied by the act, a fresh wave of molten want immediately re-ignites like a furnace in the pit of your belly. Suddenly the memory of his calloused fingers buried inside you feels like an itch beneath your skin that can't be satisfied with anything less than the fullness of his cock.

"Tetsurou, please..." you hear yourself rasp, the need thick and urgent in your tone as your gaze drifts meaningfully down his still-clothed form.

Kuroo follows the path of your gaze with a low chuckle. He slowly withdraws his fingers from your sopping entrance, drawing a soft whimper from your throat at the loss. You're too far gone to be embarrassed by the lewd, wet sound the motion creates, however, too consumed by the sudden, aching emptiness now gnawing at you.

"Easy, kitten, we're getting there," Kuroo soothes, reaching down to deftly unfasten the fly of his shorts. You feel a sharp thrill shoot through you as his large, capable hands free the swollen length of his cock at last, leaving it standing flushed and proud before your rapt gaze.

"Look at that, so greedy you can't even wait for me to take these off properly first," Kuroo chuckles, giving his stiff length a slow, leisurely stroke that makes something dark and possessive ignite in the depths of his gaze. "Tell me, are you going to be a good girl and take all of this for me, hm? Or am I going to have to remind you exactly who's in control here?"

"T-tetsurou..." you manage, already feeling that dark, viscous hunger unfurl within you.

The sight of Kuroo's cock, swollen and rigid with lust, is enough to drive any further attempts at coherency from your mind. All that matters is having the thick, pulsing heat of his cock filling the empty, aching void between your thighs at last.

Kuroo's gaze rakes over you ravenously. He looks like a man ready to devour every last inch of you without restraint. And right now, you'd willingly submit to anything and everything he demanded if it meant feeling the full weight of his cock plunging deep into the molten sheath of your pussy.

"Turn around, kitten. Face the lockers and hold yourself open for me," he commands, already guiding you with firm hands until you're braced against the cold steel. "I'm going to fuck you like this. Gonna make you take all of me at once, and leave you a mess of cum and debauchery. Then maybe I'll drag you home and show you exactly what it means to be mine."

The mere thought makes you dizzy. You quickly move to obey, spreading your legs wide and bracing yourself against the unyielding lockers as you bend over and expose the glistening pink folds of your cunt.

"Please, Tetsurou, I need your cock so bad, please," you hear yourself babbling without a care, so consumed by the maddeningly empty ache inside you, nothing else seems to matter. "Please, just fill me up and fuck me already, I'll be a good girl and do whatever you want, just please!"

Kuroo's responding growl of approval is nearly subhuman in its depth. In the next instant, the heavy, searing heat of his cock is finally pressing into the entrance of your drenched pussy. You choke back a sob as his length plunges mercilessly in to the hilt with one fluid thrust.

For a long moment, Kuroo remains perfectly still. It feels as if every muscle in his powerful body has turned to stone as he struggles to maintain some modicum of restraint. But when you begin clenching around him with short, desperate jerks of your hips, it's like a switch is flipped.

His hands find your hips in a bruising grip, fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to leave marks as he pins you in place and begins thrusting into you with ruthless intent. With the first powerful surge of his cock, all higher functions of thought seem to cease. The only thing you can focus on is the way his length fills you with such delicious friction, splitting you open and leaving you breathless and utterly wrecked.

"Fucking hell, kitten, look at the way your slutty cunt is trying to suck me in," Kuroo groans, sounding dangerously close to his own peak. "Feels so fucking good...can't believe I've been waiting this long to make a mess of you, fuck-!"

His movements are becoming more and more frantic, losing the careful rhythm of his previous thrusts as his hips buck into yours with the frenetic intensity of a wild animal. Every harsh, jarring slap of his pelvis against your ass, every inch of his cock stretching you to the limits, is like a drug straight to your system.

The pressure builds and builds until your body is practically singing with the sheer anticipation of release. Your vision is beginning to go blurry around the edges, the air thick and syrupy as it leaves your lungs in a series of helpless, mewling cries.

Kuroo's large, rough palm suddenly snakes its way around your waist, his thumb finding your clit and pinching it hard as he pounds relentlessly into your tight sheath. You scream as the sudden stimulation sends you plummeting off the edge, your entire body seized by a second orgasm that hits you like a tidal wave.

In the next instant, Kuroo's hips jerk violently against yours, his entire body going rigid as a drawn bow as his release finds him. The sound that tears itself from his chest is guttural, bestial, the kind of noise a man can only make when reduced to his basest, most primal instincts.

You can feel his cock pulsing as he shoots load after load of cum deep inside you, filling your womb and flooding your inner walls with the evidence of his pleasure. You're so far gone, your head spinning and your limbs quaking, it's like floating outside yourself, watching the scene play out from afar.

You don't know how much time passes like that. How long the two of you remain tangled together, sweat-damp and sated and panting as if you've both run a marathon. It feels like ages before you begin to surface once more, awareness gradually returning with each measured breath and the slow, deliberate way Kuroo's hand begins smoothing over your trembling flesh in lazy circles.

When he finally slips free, you can't quite stifle the faint sound of loss that escapes you. But before you can mourn the loss too deeply, Kuroo's already spinning you around to face him, capturing your mouth in a hungry kiss as his arms come up to band around your waist.

"Mmm, I could get used to that," he murmurs as he breaks away, resting his forehead against yours. His voice is still ragged and slightly breathless, but there's no mistaking the languid, decadent satisfaction dripping from his tone.

You chuckle weakly, unable to suppress a shiver as his hand begins idly stroking the curve of your ass. "You really are a bastard, Kuroo. What happened to showing a little self-control, hm?"

"I could say the same to you, kitten," he returns, not the least bit remorseful as his mouth twists into a wolfish grin. "But if you'd really rather be calling me a bastard than moaning my name, well. We can go right back to square one and I'll fuck you stupid again until you're screaming the right name."

"Oh god, shut up," you groan, burying your face in his chest.

Kuroo laughs, a dark, sinful sound that makes your pulse flutter even in the midst of your mortification.

"What the fuck?!"

A new voice rings out from the locker room entrance, making both you and Kuroo freeze mid-embrace. Turning slowly, you see Yaku standing stock-still with a stricken expression on his face. He takes in the two of you, the state of undress, and the obvious aftermath of a tryst with a look that can only be described as a mix of shock, disgust, and mild arousal.

"Seriously, Kuroo, in the locker room? You couldn't find a better place to fuck this shameless hussy?" he complains, making no move to hide the fact that he's blatantly checking you out despite the indignant tone.

Kuroo simply shrugs one shoulder, completely unrepentant. "What, jealous, Yakkun? You can always join us, I'm sure she wouldn't mind a second cock."

"Kuroo, for fuck's sake!" Yaku snaps, throwing his hands up. "This isn't a fucking gangbang! Go get a room somewhere, I'm trying to get dressed here!"

"I don't mind a little audience," you remark casually, reveling in the way Yaku's eyes go comically wide as he processes the implications of your words. "But if you don't hurry up and make a decision, I'll be riding Tetsurou's cock again."

"I can't fucking believe you," Kuroo breathes with a dark chuckle. "First the jersey and now this...you're really not going to give me a break, are you?"

"Nope."

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