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webslinger-holland · 14 days ago

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The Color of Sin | Bob Reynolds from Thunderbolts*

Summary: This is Bob’s first field mission, tasked with going undercover alongside you at a high-profile party. The objective is simple: blend in, retrieve intel, and stay invisible. But when the mission forces you into close quarters—and even closer excuses—the lines between cover and craving blur fast.

Warning: NSFW 18+ minors DNI, loads of sexual tension, swearing, explicit sexual content (it's smut), dirty talk, suggestive content, intrusive thoughts, unprotected penetrative piv sex, yearning, mutual pining

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Type: Oneshot

Standing in front of a long gilded mirror, Bob stood awkwardly, wearing an expensive tuxedo and with his hair slicked back. He reflected a man who didn’t quite fit the suit—too stiff in the shoulders, too self-conscious in the cut of the jacket, like someone dressed for a life that didn’t belong to him. The bow tie tugged at his throat, and no matter how many times he adjusted the cuffs, he couldn't get them just right.

Valentina circled behind him like a lioness, heels clicking with the sharp, deliberate rhythm of someone who had better things to do. She gave a quick once-over, unimpressed.

“Jesus, Bob,” Valentine muttered, fixing his bow tie. “You’re built like a Greek god and still manage to look like a nervous teenage boy on prom night."

He didn’t argue. Just glanced down at his shoes, which gleamed too much, like he was trying to disappear into the shine.

"You need to loosen up. I know you're nervous with it being your first mission—" Valentina encouraged him.

His head snapped up. “I’m not nervous."

Val raises an unimpressed brow. “You’re sweating through Armani.”

Before either is able to get another word in, the door behind them opens. His eyes lifted on instinct and his shoulders stiffen at the sight. You step in and the room stops. His eyes find you and stay there.

The red dress clung to you like it had been poured directly onto your skin, silk catching the light with every movement, the slit along your thigh threatening to give more away with each step. The lipstick—same shade—made your mouth look like a secret waiting to be confessed. And yet, it was the way you held yourself—elegant, poised, utterly unaware of the fire you were walking into—that unmade him.

Valentina smirked devilishly. “Ah. There she is.”

You stepped inside slowly, running a hand down your hip as if adjusting the fabric, but you didn’t need to. The dress wasn't made to wrinkle.

“Too much?” you asked, smoothing a hand along the curve of your waist.

Bob shook his head slowly, not trusting his voice. “No. Not enough.” He immediately caught himself. “I mean—it’s… perfect. It’s fine. You look…” His voice cracked slightly. “…you look incredible.”

“Red is the color of sin. The color that makes powerful men stupid." Val gave a smug little smile; her eyes still on her tablet. She finally glanced at Bob who stood beside her and took in his dumbfound look. “Case in point.”

"Remind me again why I can't take any of the others with me instead?" You wondered, not taking your eyes off him. He swallowed thickly. He fiddled with his cufflink for the fifth time in under a minute.

“Well, Walker and Bucky are too recognizable—neither of them can step foot into a room full of politicians without someone clenching their teeth. Yelena got burned on a recent operative and Ava nearly shorted out the last comm set just walking into a building. And let’s not even talk about Alexei," Valentina said cooly.

Your shoulders slouched visibly, not from disappointment but more so from the nerves. This was going to be Bob's first field mission: a simple intel retrieval with low steaks meant to ease him into the line of work.

“Mr. Reynolds is a blank slate,” Val said, tapping her temple. “Most of the world doesn’t know whether he’s dead, missing, or a myth. That makes him useful.”

Bob stood a little straighter at that, like the praise caught him off guard.

“And you,” Val continued, turning to you with a half-smirk, “are the only operative I trust to handle both intel and attention.”

You arched a brow. “That’s reassuring.”

Bob swallows but nods slowly in agreement. You catch a flicker of something like pride flash in his expression—just a flicker—before he glances back at you.

Valentina reached into the inner pocket of her tailored blazer and handed you each a slim, nearly invisible earpiece. Both of you stuff the piece into your ear so it sits just right.

Val’s tone softens, just barely. “The others are on standby. We’ll be watching from the safehouse—cams, audio, thermal, the works. So keep your flirting subtle unless you want Bucky and John to start placing bets.”

You arched a brow. “They’re watching?”

“They’re bored,” Val said with a shrug, already back to typing something on her tablet. "So do me a favor and don't give them too big of a show. Otherwise, I'll never hear the end of it."

The two of you shifted to stand in front of her; your shoulders just barely brushing the other. She gave both of you one final once over, nodding in approval.

"Alright. Your car's out front. Don't mess this up," Val sent you a pointed look of warning. "It's time to steal some expensive intel."

The city lights shimmered below the rooftop terrace, glass railings framing a ballroom bathed in warm golden light. Soft jazz floated through the air from hidden speakers, its sultry rhythms weaving between conversations and clinking glasses. Diamonds sparkled on elegant necks like tiny stars come to earth, and champagne glistened in slender flutes, catching the glow from ornate chandeliers.

The ballroom was a sea of smiles and whispered secrets, but your eyes scanned for the unspoken paths—the staff corridors, the service stairways, anything that would lead you to the hallway Val had mentioned.

The two of you moved carefully through the crowd, trying best to blend in with your surroundings. You effortlessly snatched a champagne glass of a waiter's tray and raised it to your lips.

"Earpiece working?” You muttered under your breath so only he could hear you.

"Loud and clear," Bob confirmed. His voice was velvet. He leaned closer, his hand warm at the small of your back, pulling you in as you slipped through the crowd.

Heading up a short staircase, you slipped past clusters of laughing socialites, nodding politely. With Bob trailing behind you, his gaze flickering nervously from one suited guard to another. You began heading towards a much quieter hallway.

“This has to be it,” you recognized the hallway image from the intel in the debrief. "Follow me."

Bob nodded, swallowing hard and nervously looking over his shoulder half expecting to see someone following. Together, the pair continued heading down the quiet corridor that led towards the private suites, leaving behind the golden glow and champaign glasses.

You tapped your earpiece once. "Yelena, walk me through this."

“The intel’s not just anywhere— it’s in the host’s private suite, third floor, fourth door on the left. You’ll need to bypass the hallway security to get there. There’s a guard rotation every fifteen minutes; timing will be tight.” Yelena repeated through your earpiece.

You glanced at Bob, who nodded stiffly beside you. “Got it. Thanks.”

“Oh, look—" Yelena eagerly pointed to one of the monitors after spotting you. "Hi! I see you.”

"How's the crew doing tonight?" You wonder with a growing smile on your face.

Back at the safe house, the entire team crowded around five monitors that broadcast the live camera feed of the mansion. With Yelena and Ava wearing headsets, their fingers were poised over keyboards. Their eyes sharp and alert.

Behind them, John and Bucky stood with arms crossed, still watching the feeds for any sign of trouble or an unexpected complication.

Alexei, ever the thoughtful one, had brought an elaborate arrangement of snacks and drinks. The faint rustle of wrappers occasionally echoed softly through the comms, prompting a few light teasing remarks.

With a quick glance down at his watch, Bob predicted they were right on time. The guards were expected to be switching positions soon, which meant there would be a small amount of time where the bypass would be left unguarded.

"Next patrol should be coming in two minutes," Yelena's voice echoed calmly through your earpiece. "Your window of opportunity is now."

"Hang on," Bucky leaned over the back of her chair, eyes narrowing at the screen. He pointed to one of the guards leaving his post and heading their way. "We've got an early bird. I predict less than a minute out."

"What?" You froze in your place, suddenly panic spiking.

Yelena’s fingers paused over her keyboard. “That’s not in the schedule.”

"You guys have to get out of there," Ava repeated urgently over the comms. "That guard’s coming straight toward you.”

Not only was there very little time to think of something, there was also nowhere to turn to. The narrow hallway offered no covering, no escape, and no options.

"Shit—" you looked around desperately. You looked to him. "What do we do?"

With eyes locked, and in one impulsive motion, Bob grabbed you and backed you into a nearby wall. Before you even had the chance to react, Bob closed the distance between you. His lips found yours in a sudden, heated kiss—bold, unexpected, and impossible to ignore.

You gasped against his mouth, and he took advantage of it, deepening the kiss, angling his head until he completely blocked your face from view. You grabbed the lapels of his jacket, desperately trying to pull him closer.

His body pressed you flush against the wall, slotting one of his thighs between your legs to keep you in place. The guards’ footsteps slowed, hesitation audible as they passed just behind you—too surprised, too caught off guard to react.

His hands didn’t wander, but held you firmly, anchoring you in place as the moment stretched. His lips moved against yours with a deliberate, demanding softness—first a gentle press, testing the reaction, then sliding with slow, confident strokes that melted hesitation away.

Caught in the moment, a soft involuntary moan slipped from your throat—just enough to remind him, to tether the heat to the reality of the mission. He reluctantly pulled away from you: his face flush, breath mingling, and eyes searching yours.

Back in the surveillance room, the rest of the team fell silent as they watched the entire thing unfold on the cameras. Everyone had leaned in a little too close to the screens, jaws slack, eyes wide, not one of them pretending to look away.

“Whoa—what the fuck—wow.” Yelena sat upright. She looked over her shoulder to see everyone else looking just as stunned as she was. Her lips curved into a slow grin before she let out a bright, disbelieving laugh. "Okay, that is fucking insane."

“Wow! In the middle of a mission?” Alexei said, taking a swig from his beer. “Pretty ballsy.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked. His arms crossed tight. “What the hell is he doing?”

John leaned in beside him, his expression a mix of confusion, disgust, and reluctant awe. “I didn’t know Bobby had it in him.”

“He doesn’t,” Ava cut in smoothly, her eyes sharp as she pointed to one of the camera angles. “Look how red he is.”

They all leaned forward again and squinted, narrowing their eyes toward the feed.

“Oh yeah,” Yelena confirmed, laughing again. “Look at that neck. Bright red.”

Back to the corridor, Bob was still trying to catch his breath. The heat of the kiss lingered on his lips and your perfume was still caught in his lungs. His pulse thundered in his ears.

You were still staring up at him with wide, bright eyes, your chest rising and falling in shallow bursts as you tried to reclaim the air the moment had stolen.

“I—I think we’re clear now,” you said softly, your voice not as steady as you probably meant it to be.

He gave a tight, wordless nod. "Right. Clear."

“Come on, Romeo. Snap out of it,” Yelena’s voice crackled in his ear, full of teasing bite. He blinked once, instantly snapping back to reality. He took a step away from you.

You adjusted your dress, squared your shoulders, and gave him a glance that was unreadable. You kept walking down the corridor, knowing he was quickly in tow.

"Wow," Yelena’s voice purred in your earpiece. You just knew she was smirking on the other end. "Bet you liked that. That was some kiss."

“Shut up,” you grumbled, heat rising to your face

Following the team's direction, the two of you navigated deeper through the corridor, moving swiftly now that the hallway was clear again. It wasn't long before you located the host’s private suite where the intel was being secretly stashed.

You knelt without hesitation, picking the lock with practiced hands. The mechanism gave with a satisfying click and the door creaked open slowly on well-oiled hinges.

Stepping inside, you were immediately struck by the shift in atmosphere. The suite was lavish but sterile, all expensive materials and little personality—dark wood floors, tall bookshelves, a marble minibar. There were signs someone had been here recently: a half-drunk glass of scotch, a coat tossed carelessly on the bed, a laptop glowing softly on the desk.

"I'm not seeing a safe," you observed. You cautiously stepped into the room, surveying your surroundings. Your eyes scanned the space with practiced precision—bookshelf, minibar, side table, bathroom door slightly ajar.

Behind you, Bob quietly shut the door with a soft click and remained near it. He stood rigid, back straight, as if expecting the handle to turn at any moment. His eyes tracked you—every step, every movement, every brush of your hand against the edge of the desk.

You rifled through every drawer, moved books aside to look for hidden panels in the walls, and felt the undercarriage of furniture for buttons. You knew you were running out of time; those guards were going to be coming back any moment now.

"Yelena," you pressed a finger to your earpiece. "It's not here."

"It has to be," Yelena insisted. She flipped through some papers to confirm. "This is the room."

The sound of footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway, along with sounds of people talking. Naturally, Bob's whole body stiffened. His eyes blown wide.

“They’re coming.” Bob whisper yelled in slight panic.

A brief flare of panic arose in your chest. Your eyes scanned the room and landed on the half open door that led to the bathroom. Both of you swiftly moved towards the bathroom, slipping inside the tiled room silently.

You heard the door of the suite twisting from the short distance. Without thinking, you roughly grabbed Bob by the front of his suit and pushed him into the bathtub. He landed with a muffled grunt, arms flailing slightly. One leg hooking clumsily over the edge before he managed to fold himself in.

You climbed in after him, nearly slipping in your heels, and fell into the space between his legs, your front pressing into his chest as you yanked the curtain closed behind you. The suite door creaked open and the voices grew louder upon approach.

Bob made a soft “oof” as your knee jabbed into his ribs, but you covered his mouth before he complained more. You held a finger up to your own lips in the dim light, your message clear: Don’t say a word. Don’t even breathe.

You were practically on top of him—your knees bent awkwardly on either side of him. He wrapped one arm around your lower back without thinking, more instinct than invitation, holding you still as you both sank lower, trying to disappear into the porcelain.

You didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare speak. Didn’t dare acknowledge the way your heart was slamming against your chest.

Both of you listened carefully; your hand instinctively slid away from his mouth. The voices grew louder, closer. The sound of a chair dragging. Some footsteps pacing the suite. Low chatter over their radio.

You leaned in lower without thinking, trying to make yourselves smaller. Bob’s breath ghosted across your cheek. His other hand had pressed lightly to your waist to steady you, but the contact was starting to burn through your dress. You flattened your hands to his chest.

"Secure room’s empty.”

“You sure? That motion detector lit up.” Your eyes grew wide in realization.

“Check the bathroom.”

You barely had time to breathe before he pulled you down flat against him, chest to chest, nose to nose, curled in the narrow porcelain basin. You braced for the moment you'd be caught by the guards.

You held your breath, face pressed to Bob’s throat, barely daring to move. His hand slipped between your shoulders, shielding you like a human shield, his body tense beneath you.

A shadow passed behind the curtain. A guard stood right there.

You felt Bob’s breath warm at your ear, the rhythm of it slowing as he deliberately calmed his pulse. He was like a wall beneath you, steady and solid, even as your entire body practically molded to his.

The guard stood for a moment longer, and then turned.

“Nothing here. Room’s clean.” The door clicked shut.

You stayed still for five long seconds before exhaling shakily. Your fingers were still twisted in Bob’s jacket.

“That was close” you whispered, finally lifting your head.

“You good?” Bob asked, face inches from yours.

You nodded then looked up. Above his shoulder, just behind his head, was a tile in the wall with a faint seam. It was a little odd looking; if you looked too long, it would appear out of place. You froze in realization.

“There it is.” You smiled to yourself.

"What?” Bob tried to crane his head to see what you were looking at.

“This tile in the wall. I bet the hard drive is hidden there. I need—” you braced a hand on his chest to steady yourself, “—I need to get on top of you.”

He swallowed. “Wait! You’re gonna…”

"Stop moving—" you cut him off. "I need to get higher."

Bob blinked once. “Okay. Yeah. Right. I’m listening.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not like that. Shut up.”

You carefully shifted, awkwardly climbing further up his torso, knees on either side of him as you leaned toward the hidden panel just behind the tub. Your dress rode up your thighs, and your balance shifted as you reached over his head, arm stretching to pry the tile free.

He swallowed hard as you leaned over him, the line of your back arched, the soft weight of your thighs braced on either side of his ribs. Bob stayed completely still, only his eyes moving—flicking once down, then forcibly away when he caught a glimpse of lace under your dress.

Bob made a sound deep in his throat—one you could feel more than hear.

“Not looking,” Bob muttered.

"Don't lie," you replied without looking at him. Your fingers scrabbled against the tile. “Almost got it…”

Bob squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled hard through his nose, as if physically blowing the thoughts out of his head. "I’m really not trying to—think about this.”

“I know,” you whispered, voice soft and maddeningly sweet. Your fingers brushed his chest again as you shifted higher. “You’re doing so good.”

“Please,” he whispered. “Don’t say it like that.”

His hands gripping the porcelain on either side of him so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

The tile finally gave way with a soft pop, and your hand darted in to grab the small flash drive. He peeked an eye open.

Without thinking, you strategically placed the flash drive down the front of your dress for safe keeping. It would be tucked securely into the inner band of your bra, flush against your skin.

All the while, Bob watched the movement with wide eyes. His throat went dry and he squeezed his eyes shut again to block his thoughts.

You glanced down at him—still beneath you, eyes dark, breathing uneven. His eyes were closed, brows drawn in painful concentration, like he was trying to slow his breathing through sheer force of will.

“Alright” you said softly. “We got it.”

"Great," Bob commented. Neither of you made any plans to move.

“I should move,” you announced.

“Probably,” Bob rasped, nodding.

Finally, somewhat reluctantly, you finally slipped off of him and climbed out of the bathtub. He exhaled like he hadn’t breathed since you climbed on top of him, then sat up slowly, trying to pretend he wasn’t completely wrecked inside. He climbed out after you.

“You good?” you asked again, smoothing your dress like nothing had happened.

"Yeah. I'm fine," Bob sent you the smallest smile of reassurance. When your back was turned to him, Bob dutifully adjusted himself in his pants and mumbled a complaint under his breath about his pants being too tight now.

The air in the hallway was cooler than the bathroom, but it did nothing to settle the heat beneath your skin.

He kept close behind you—still flushed, still rattled—but focused enough to watch your six as you navigated back through the hallway. The guard rotation had cycled clean, just like Yelena promised, and within two minutes you both reached the service elevator at the end of the corridor.

You hit the call button and exhaled only when the doors slid open.

Inside, the air was stale and dimly lit. The doors closed behind you with a mechanical hiss. Finally, there was a long stretch of silence between you as you stood on opposite sides.

“We can’t pass the checkpoint with it on you,” Bob said quietly, watching you from just a foot away. “They’ll scan.”

You nodded. Your fingers hovered over your chest for a moment, just under your collarbone, unsure how to do this delicately. But there was no time for delicacy.

You reached inside.

The silk of your dress shifted as you slid your hand down, fingertips grazing the edge of your bra. The drive was pressed between fabric and skin, nestled against your sternum, and you could feel Bob watching.

His eyes were locked to your hand, his jaw tight, chest rising slightly faster. He looked like he wanted to look away—but he didn’t.

His voice was low when he spoke. “I can turn around.”

You pulled the drive free with a small gasp of relief. “Don’t.”

He stilled. You looked up at him. His eyes were still right there. Not on the drive. Not on your hand. On the skin of your chest.

Your voice was light, teasing—but your heart was pounding. "Eyes up here, Reynolds."

His lips parted slightly. His gaze lifted, slow and guilty and just a little dazed. Like he wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring. His ears tinted red just slightly.

He swallowed hard. “Right. Yeah. Sorry.”

You handed the little piece of metal to him, fingers delicately brushing against his enough to make his breath catch once again. He stuffed it carefully into the pocket of his suit.

The feeling of the elevator halting and the prompt ding sound of arrival meant there was little time to linger. It didn't take much effort to slip back into the crowd and make a hasty escape.

The engine purred beneath the dark silence of the night. With Bob driving, he kept one hand steady on the wheel and the other was flexing uselessly against his thigh. The glittering skyline was shrinking behind you, reflected briefly in the mirrors before being swallowed by the hills.

You sat in the passenger seat, arms propped against the window ledge and eyes fixed out the window. Neither of you said a word since the elevator.

He stole a quick glance at you before redirecting his eyes to the road ahead of him. "You okay?" He asked.

“Fine,” you said quickly, too quickly.

“I meant… back there. With the kiss. With the whole…” Bob gestured vaguely with one hand. “Everything.”

You didn’t look at him. Just kept your eyes on the passing trees. “You did what you had to do.”

“I didn’t have to kiss you,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.

That made you turn slowly. You narrowed your eyes at him, searching for some hidden meaning behind those words.

His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. His jaw clenched, brow furrowed. The tip of his ear was turning red.

“Is that your way of saying you wanted to?” you asked.

He let out a breath through his nose, somewhere between frustrated and helpless. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I just know my heart hasn’t stopped racing since.”

You didn't know what to say either. He glanced at you—just once, then back to the road.

“I don’t… do this. I’m not good at it.” Bob ran a hand over his face in frustration. You weren't sure what he was specifically referring to: the mission or his relationships.

You let the silence hang there for a few seconds, watching the way his hands gripped the wheel like it was the only solid thing in the world.

"You could... get better at it." You suggested loosely. Bob’s hand twitched on the gearshift.

That was all the encouragement he needed to slow the car down and direct it off the main road. He turned down a quiet side road that dipped into the dark edge of the countryside. The gravel crunching under the tires until the car came to a full stop.

He put it in park and stared ahead, jaw tight. He reached over, fingers brushing yours as he finally turned toward you. His voice was low, rough with something like need.

"Are you sure you want this?" Bob asked, needing the honest truth form you before anything else.

"More than anything," you confessed.

Reaching down, Bob removed his seatbelt and leaned over the console between you. His hand cupped the side of your face, drawing you closer until your lips met in a heated kiss. You gasped against him and he deepened the kiss immediately, one hand tangling into your hair, the other gripping your waist like he’d been starving for it—starving for you.

Somehow, the two of you managed to climb into the backseat together in a tangle of limbs and gasped breaths. The doors stayed locked, the windows fogging over with each passing second. The world outside no longer mattered.

The air was thick with heat and barely-muffled desire. Bob pulled you into his lap like he needed you there to breathe, hands roaming over your dress, along your back, gripping your thighs as you straddled him.

His mouth found your throat, open and warm, as you arched against him. You let your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging when his teeth grazed the sensitive spot beneath your jaw. He groaned low, the sound vibrating against your skin, making your whole body hum.

“You don’t know...” he rasped against your neck, “...how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Then shut up and do it.” You challenged.

His hands fumbled at your thighs, hiking your dress higher and roughly dragging your hips again his pants. Your nails scraped down his chest through his shirt, yanking his tie loose, popping buttons with little care for subtlety.

Clothes weren’t fully shed—just pushed aside where it mattered most. Your hands slid down to his belt, fumbling the clasp until the soft clink of metal echoed in the quiet car. He struggled briefly with his fly and zipper, hips lifting to help slide his pants down just enough to free himself.

Your lips were still pressed to Bob’s when a familiar voice crackled softly in your earpiece.

“Everything okay? The car is stopped—” Yelena’s tone was light but teasing, perfectly timed to snap you both out of your heated haze.

You pulled back, breath shaky, eyes wide in realization. His cheeks flamed a deep red, and he tried to pull his hand from under your dress, but you grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"Don't you dare," you sent him a look of warning. You yanked the earpiece out first, the tiny device nearly cracking in your grip.

Bob followed suit a beat later, ripping his out and tossing it somewhere on the floor of the car like it might burn him.

You kissed him again. His breath hitched as your fingers closed around him, thick and hard beneath your touch, every movement driving a fierce heat straight through both of you. His hips jerked slightly, the friction teasing, unbearable and addictive all at once.

Neither of you noticed the small green light blinking to life on the dashboard. And neither of you heard the faint pop of the car’s built-in comms reconnecting. The team tuning in again unbeknownst to you.

All that mattered to you right now was him.

So you didn’t hesitate. Guiding him, you carefully lined him up with your entrance. The slick heat pooling low between your thighs was a fierce invitation you could no longer resist. Slow at first, Bob slid inside you, filling you completely, every inch stretching and burning deliciously.

A sharp breathy gasp escaped your lips, your nails digging into his shoulders as he held you steady against him. He moved with a torturous slowness, drawing out the moment, letting the tension coil tighter and tighter.

His hands found your waist, fingers pressing hard enough to leave bruises but gentle enough to promise he wouldn’t let go. He guided your movements with precision, hips rising just enough to meet you, watching every flicker of pleasure flash across your face. His eyes never left you—not your mouth, not the way your brows knit together, not the way you gasped each time you sank down on him.

You moved in sync, finding a rhythm that was both tender and urgent, every thrust a raw confession of need.

Then Bob started thrusting up into you—controlled, relentless, deeper. His hands dragged you down onto him in time with each pulse of his hips, and the pace shifted from steady to greedy.

The car rocked gently beneath you, the windows fogged with your breath, the interior thick with heat, sweat, and slick friction. Your gasps mingled with his low groans, the wet sound of your bodies meeting again and again filling the space around you.

His mouth claimed yours again, teeth grazing your lower lip in a tantalizing tease as he deepened his thrusts, driving you closer to the edge.

“You feel so fucking good,” he rasped against your skin, voice cracked and hungry. “So perfect.”

You matched him—grinding, rolling your hips, desperately trying to reach your peak. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer until the world narrowed down to the heat between your bodies.

Your breath hitched, your muscles tensing as the waves of pleasure began to build, coiling tighter and tighter.

“Bob…” you whispered, voice trembling and body falling apart.

He groaned low, voice rough with need. “Come for me. I've got you.”

And you did—your body shuddering in release, breath ragged, fingers clawing at his back as you trembled against him. You cried out into his mouth as your muscles clenched around him, riding it through, pulsing and shaking in his lap.

He held you tight, grinding up into you once, twice—then with a guttural, broken growl, he came, hips snapping up hard as he spilled inside you, forehead pressed against your collarbone.

For long moments, you both stayed like that—entwined, hearts pounding, bodies spent but connected, the silence between you soft and full of promise. You held each other through the waves of aftershocks.

Neither of you moved for a long time. Just the sound of your breathing, the sweat cooling between you, your bodies still locked together. You leaned against his chest to catch your breath.

His arms stayed wrapped around your back, hands smoothing over your spine. You could feel the way his chest still rose and fell beneath yours, how tightly he held you even now. He tried to brush some of his loose curls out of his face.

Finally, softly—his voice barely more than breath:

"Fuck. I think I’m in trouble.”

You smiled weakly against his shoulder. “That was… practice?”

He laughed once—hoarse, warm. “Apparently, I’m a fast learner.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, flushed and shining in the dim light.

“Then I guess you better keep showing up for lessons.” You brushed your nose against his teasingly, releasing the softest gasp when you felt him twitch inside you again.

His lips curved slowly, fingers tightening around your waist.

“Deal.”

798 notes · View notes

dragoneyelashart · 28 days ago

Text

greedy ★⋆˙

smut ୨ৎ warnings: g!p billie, oral (billie receiving), unprotected sex, breeding kink, sub!top billie, daddy kink summary: billie needs a little extra money for the summer, and you decide to let her help out around your house.

wc: 2.6k

you didn’t mean to answer the door like that. well. that’s a lie. you knew what you were doing when you slipped into the bikini this morning, thin straps barely there, the fabric hugging your curves like a secret whispered against your skin. the color, a deep, sultry maroon, made your sun-kissed skin glow, the kind of shade that caught the light and held it, teasing without revealing too much. the top was simple but perfect: a triangle cut that lifted and framed you just right, leaving your collarbones and shoulders exposed to the summer sun.

around your hips, you tied a lightweight, sheer coverup skirt, soft, translucent chiffon that fluttered with every step, teasing glimpses of your bikini bottoms beneath. the skirt hit just above mid-thigh, swaying and shifting in the warm breeze like it was made to move with you, effortless and a little bit dangerous. the whole look was casual, sultry, and absolutely you, a subtle invitation, wrapped in sun-soaked confidence.

you didn’t expect her to look quite so wrecked, though. she stands on your porch like she forgot how her legs work. her hair is messy, loose strands falling over her face, catching the sunlight in wild, unruly waves. she’s wearing a simple tank top, soft and slightly worn, stretched just enough to hint at the lean muscles beneath. her baggy pants hang low on her hips, practical and loose, with the hems just brushing the tops of her scuffed sneakers.

in her hands is a tool kit, the kind she probably borrowed from her dad without asking, and her eyes flicker around nervously, down at her own pants, then back up to you, like her brain hasn’t quite caught up with the way her dick is already reacting to the sight of you.

“i—uh,” she stammers. “hi.”

“hi sweetheart,” you say, soft and amused, leaning on the doorframe just enough to make your chest rise a little higher. “billie, right?”

she nods, but she’s not making eye contact anymore. her eyes flick to your thighs, to your chest, to where the strings of your bikini tie tight at your hips. you can practically feel her getting hard. no, see it, once you glance down.

her pants do a terrible job of hiding nine inches of anything.

“you’re right on time,” you add, giving her a slow once-over. “you want something to drink before you get started?”

“water,” she says, voice cracking just slightly. “please.”

you step aside to let her in. her shoulder brushes yours, and you swear you hear her breath hitch.

she follows you inside like a puppy, quiet, a little too eager, trying not to stare at the sway of your hips as you walk ahead. the kitchen’s cool from the A/C, but her skin’s already flushed. nervous, maybe. or just hot in all the wrong ways.

you open the fridge, bend at the waist just a little more than necessary, and hear it, sharp breath behind you. you smirk.

you hand her a cold bottle of water and lean back against the counter, sipping your own. her eyes are everywhere except your face.

“you sure you’re good to work in this heat?” you ask, tilting your head.

“yeah—yeah, totally,” she mutters. “just, uh… gotta get used to it, i guess.”

her voice is tight, and she keeps adjusting her pants. the fabric’s doing nothing for her anymore—it’s stretched high and obvious over the hard line of her cock, thick and pulsing and definitely not something she can hide.

you let your eyes linger.

she sees you looking, and freezes.

“sorry,” she blurts, color rushing to her face. “i—it just—happens sometimes. i didn’t mean—”

“don’t apologize,” you say, and your voice is low now, smooth like honey over warm skin. “it’s flattering.”

she blinks, mouth slightly parted. she doesn’t move.

“you ever get distracted like this doing yard work before?”

she shakes her head, stiff. “no. never.”

you take a slow step forward. then another. she stays rooted in place, but her eyes are wide now, caught between panic and something needier, darker, lower.

“you’re cute,” you murmur. “do people tell you that?”

she nods. “not like this.”

you smile, wicked. “not when they’re old enough to be your—?”

“don’t,” she says, voice cracking again, this time with need.

you reach out and tug at the hem of her hoodie, lifting it just enough to see the outline of her abs, the pale strip of skin above her waistband.

“what if i do?”

her breath shudders out of her, and you know you’ve got her now. you’ve had her since the moment she walked up your driveway.

your hand grazes the waistband of her shorts, and she twitches.

“this okay?” you ask, even though her cock is straining so hard against the fabric she probably couldn’t speak if she tried.

“please,” she whispers.

you palm her over the shorts, slow and firm, and she nearly folds in half. her hand shoots out to grip the counter behind you like she needs something to hold onto.

“fuck,” she mutters, voice rough.

“you’ve been hard since the porch,” you say softly. “poor thing.”

she whines. actually whines.

you tug the waistband down just enough to free her cock, and fuck, fuck, it’s big. thick, flushed, leaking already. you wrap your fingers around it and she jerks like she’s going to come already.

“been a while?” you ask, pumping her slowly, teasing.

she nods again, rapid and desperate.

“how long?”

“months,” she gasps. “i—I didn’t think—”

you hush her with a look.

“you’re doing so well,” you murmur. “so good for me.”

you drop to your knees, slow and smooth. the tile floor is cool beneath you, but all you can feel is heat, radiating off her, thick in the air between you, pulsing under your skin.

she’s panting now. hands still braced on the counter like she doesn’t trust herself to stand.

her cock twitches once, hard, and you glance up at her with a lazy smile.

“shy all of a sudden?” you murmur, lips barely an inch from her tip.

“n–no,” she breathes, but her voice breaks on the edge of it.

you tilt your head and lean in, licking a slow stripe up the underside. she chokes on her breath, hips jolting forward like she didn’t mean to. her cock is hot and heavy against your tongue, salty-slick from precome, and you hum as you taste her.

“fuck—fuck,” she whispers, like a prayer, like she’s already overwhelmed.

you wrap one hand around the base and take her in, just the tip, wet and swollen and trembling against your lips. her knees buckle slightly and she whines again, desperate and already losing control. you flatten your tongue and let her slide a little deeper, sucking slow and steady while your hand strokes the rest.

“holy shit,” she mutters, eyes squeezed shut. “i can’t, fuck i can’t—”

“yes you can,” you say, pulling off just long enough to murmur it against her skin. “you will, baby. be my good girl c’mon”

you take her deeper this time, relaxing your throat inch by inch until she hits the back. her thighs are shaking, and her fingers curl tight around the edge of the counter, white-knuckled and straining.

you moan around her, and the sound makes her curse, low and guttural.

“oh god” she rasps. “you’re—so good, oh my god—”

you bob your head slowly, rhythm steady and slick. spit gathers at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin as you work her deeper each time. you can feel her pulsing under your tongue, twitching in your hand, already close and fighting it.

she looks down at you like she can’t believe this is real, as if she’s dreamt it before but never dared to imagine it this vivid. your mouth on her. your eyes locked on hers. your lips stretched wide around her cock.

you pull off again just long enough to stroke her faster with your hand, letting her glisten with spit.

“you’re gonna come for me, baby?” you whisper, voice thick and dark. “gonna let me taste you right?”

she nods, frantic. “yes. yes—please—i’m gonna—fuck—please—”

you suck her deep one last time, hollowing your cheeks and humming like you want her to feel it in her bones.

and she breaks.

her whole body goes rigid, and she lets out the quietest, most wrecked sound you’ve ever heard, a broken whimper as her cock jerks in your mouth, thick ropes of come hitting the back of your throat. you take it all, swallowing without flinching, hands never stopping their pace.

you stay there a second longer, licking her clean, letting her breathe.

when you finally pull back, she looks like she’s about to collapse.

you smile up at her, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“good girl,” you say softly. “so sweet for me.”

her knees give just a little, and you catch her hips in your hands like it’s nothing. you watch her try to recover.

she's pink in the face, still trembling a little, like she hasn't come down from it yet. there's a drop of sweat at her temple, her lips parted, breath shallow. you give her thigh a soft pat and rise to your feet, brushing your fingers through your hair like none of it even fazed you.

"now," you say, sweetly, "didn't you have a list of things to do today?"

she blinks at you like she doesn’t speak english.

“you can start with the side gate. it sticks.”

you press a water bottle into her hand, smirk still curling your lips, and gesture toward the back door.

“chop chop.”

she looks stunned. dizzy. her cock still half-hard and damp in her shorts, clearly aching. but she nods and stumbles outside, and you watch her go with a smug little roll of your hips.

you rinse your mouth at the sink, pour yourself a cold glass of sweet tea, and head to the living room. the air feels sweeter now. heavy with satisfaction. you flop down onto the couch and scroll through your phone, every now and then catching glimpses of her through the back window.

she's not getting much done.

mostly she’s just… pacing. fidgeting. adjusting herself constantly. at one point, you see her press her palm flat to the wall, forehead against her arm, like she’s trying not to scream.

pathetic, you think, lips twitching.

but you don’t realize how far she’s slipping until you walk into the kitchen again an hour later, barefoot, glass in hand, and she’s suddenly there, behind you.

you barely hear the screen door shut.

then it’s heat. weight. her, right up against you, her chest pressed to your back, her breath ragged in your ear as her hips grind against your ass, slow and desperate.

“i—i can’t,” she whines. “i can’t take it. please.”

you let out a breath, startled but not surprised.

“billie—”

“please just the tip,” she begs, rutting against you like she’s lost her mind. “just for a second, please, please—i need it, i need it.”

her cock is hard again, throbbing against the curve of your ass. she’s leaking through her shorts, and you can feel it. sticky. wet. your thighs clench before you can stop them.

you turn around, glass thunking against the counter.

“you couldn’t last a full hour?” you taunt, raising an eyebrow.

she whimpers, shakes her head.

“no—no, i can’t—i tried—but you—your mouth—fuck—please let me in, i’ll be good, i swear—”

you glance her over, eyes trailing from her flushed cheeks to the twitch of her hips. her hands are gripping the counter on either side of you now, trapping you between her arms. she’s trembling. full-body, wrecked.

“fucking pathetic baby, go on then, just the tip,” you warn.

“yes—yes, just the tip—i promise—”

you grab her hand, drag it between your thighs.

“then make it quick, baby.”

you don’t even get your bottoms off all the way, just push them aside and let her fumble for her cock, already dripping. the moment she slides in, it’s like she breaks.

you gasp at the stretch, even the tip is too much, thick and hot and swollen from earlier, but before you can tell her to stop, she’s already moving. grinding. inching deeper without permission.

“oh my god,” she moans. “you’re so warm, so soaked, i can’t— daddy i can’t—”

“billie—baby—just the tip—”

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry daddy” she gasps, “but i have to, please—fuck—”

and then she thrusts.

hard.

you choke on your own breath as her cock sinks in deeper, too deep. she’s not slow, not gentle, not asking anymore. she’s fucking you like something snapped inside her. like her brain shut off and her body’s only got one gear now: ruin.

you brace yourself on the counter, eyes wide, mouth open. she’s panting behind you, moaning shamelessly, hips slamming into yours like she needs to break you open.

“you feel so good—so tight—i’m gonna lose it—fuck—”

“b–billie, wait—slow down—”

“i can’t,” she cries out. “been waiting so long daddy, tr—tried to be your good girl but —fuck — your mouth, your body, need it—” your knees nearly give out from the force of her thrusts, your legs trembling beneath you, muscles locking and then failing with every brutal snap of her hips. the counter edge bites into your palms as you scrabble for something solid, anything to hold onto. the countertop, the cabinet handle, the slick curve of the sink. all of it feels too far, too smooth, too useless.

and she just keeps going, fingertips slipping on the smooth tile. her cock drives into you again and again, relentless and wild, dragging shocked little gasps from your throat each time she bottoms out. the sound of it, skin on skin, wet and obscene, bounces off the walls like it means something. every slap is a sharp echo, every thrust a gut-punch of pressure and heat. your slick drips down your inner thighs, pooling where her hips meet yours, and she’s using it, gripping your waist like it’s the only thing tethering her to reality, slamming into you so hard the cabinets rattle.

your stomach brushes the counter now with each thrust, the hard granite cold under your skin, grounding you just enough to feel how badly you're unraveling. your mouth drops open, but the only sounds that come out are gasps, high-pitched, desperate little hiccups of breath that feel like they don’t even belong to you anymore.

“fuck, baby, you’re so deep, gosh—”

the words fall out of you, shaky and half-slurred, barely coherent through the moans clawing their way up your throat. your voice wavers, pitch climbing, your whole body twitching with every brutal snap of her hips.

but she’s not listening.

she’s gone somewhere else entirely now, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted, her face twisted in something dark and wild. there’s no trace left of the nervous, soft-spoken girl who stumbled in this morning. no hesitation. no shame. just raw, animal hunger bleeding out of her in every brutal thrust.

the shy energy she clung to earlier has shattered, scattered across the tile floor like broken glass. what’s left behind is something messier, darker, needier. she doesn’t just want you, she wants to own you. carve herself into your body, leave a mark that won’t wash off. she’s gripping your hips like you might disappear, dragging you back onto her cock with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs.

you’re soaked, dripping. stretched so full you feel like you might split open around her. her cock slams into you again and again, thick and relentless, and your legs tremble like they can’t decide whether to hold you up or collapse beneath you.

she fucks you through every word. every gasp. every shaky plea. like she wants to fuck the dominance out of you, needs to. and she does.

bit by bit, thrust by thrust, she tears it out of you.

until all that’s left is the slick sound of skin slapping skin, her ragged breath at your neck, and your whimpering, fucked-out voice breaking as you try to keep up with her.

within seconds, you’re gasping, broken open around her cock, your voice going high and panicked.

“please—too much—slow down—i can’t—i can’t—”

she moans, deep and rough.

“you said just the tip,” she pants, “but you’re taking me so deep daddy, feels so good.”

you’re drooling. you’re soaked. your thighs are shaking and your dominance is gone. completely stripped away.

now it’s you who’s begging.

“billie—fuck baby—m’ gonna come, m’ so close—slow down”

but she doesn’t.

if anything she fucks you harder. relentless. like she’s wrapping her whole body around you, locking you in place with the sheer force of her need. every thrust is deep and perfect, hitting that soaked, sensitive spot inside you that makes your legs kick uselessly under you. you can’t even stand anymore. you’re just there, pinned between her and the counter, your body open and helpless and trembling.

you feel like you’re being devoured. her cock fills you so perfectly, thick and throbbing, sliding through slick heat like she was made for this, made for you.

your moans dissolve into incoherence, little high-pitched gasps and garbled sobs of her name. your nails scrape the counter. your forehead drops to the cool tile. every inch of your skin is burning. every thought in your head is gone.

and billie?

she’s gone, too.

whatever sweet, nervous girl showed up this morning doesn’t exist anymore. she’s feral now, needy, obsessed, completely unhinged in the way she chases her pleasure through yours. her mouth is at your shoulder, breath hot and open, teeth dragging across your skin like she wants to bite. her voice is thick and wrecked, each moan a promise that she’s not slowing down.

“daddy, feels so good” she groans. “so wet, want you to cum for me mama, please”

your orgasm crashes into you, your whole body locking up and then shuddering violently, mouth open in a silent scream. your cunt pulses around her, soaking everything, dripping down both your thighs as your body milks her cock for everything it can give.

she moans behind you, a desperate, needy sound, and her hips stutter. “billie, baby, cum in me, please,” billie’s breath hitches, her hips slowing just enough before she finally releases inside you, warm and heavy, every movement softening as she collapses against your back, whispering “thank you’s” profusely.

you squeeze her gently, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “i think you’ve earned that summer money, princess”

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @iamnicoke @jayjaywetforbils @bittersuitekim @bxllxebxtch @bitchesbrokenpromises @ijustlovemaths @ilovealiceosemann @bilssturns @peytonneilish @chrissv4mp @too-sapphic-to-function @thebluediner @aka-persephone | send an ask or comment if you want to be added to my taglist!

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p5buecks · 6 months ago

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lipstick kisses

paige bueckers x reader

you ask paige to do a tiktok trend with you

no cw just a cutie little fic

in honour of tiktok ~maybe~ getting banned in a few days and because i have a sick obsession with p’s arms

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `

“Paigeeee…” You drag out your girlfriends name as you prop yourself up on her bed. She’s been engrossed in a game of Fortnight at her desk for the past hour but she still gives you the entirety of her attention, hitting the pause button and turning to face you. “Yes baby? What’s up?” She asks, removing the headphones she’s wearing and placing them around her neck. “There’s this trend on TikTok, I don’t know if you’ve seen it but… I kinda want to do it, with you.” You shyly admit.

You and Paige were no strangers to TikTok, both participating in trends often but you had never done one together. Fair enough, you’d never asked but neither had she so you assumed she was against the idea. “What trend? ‘Cause if it’s tripping out, I’m done. I’ve already been clowned-” You cut Paige off with a giggle, “It’s not that P and for the record, I think you trip out just fine.” You reassured your girlfriend before pulling up the trend you actually wanted Paige to do.

She watched your phone screen intently, eyes focused and brows slightly furrowed as she concentrated. In turn, you watched her, looking for any signs of contempt but when the edges of her mouth curved upwards as the video came to an end, you knew Paige was game.

��Sure, let’s do it.” She nodded at you and you couldn’t help but grin, “Really?” You ask, giving her the opportunity to back out. “Do anything for you, you know that.” Paige assures you and you raise your brows mischievously, “Anything?” You get a scoff in response, “Almost anything.”

“You never wear red lipstick.” Paige notes as you carefully line your lips and fill them in with a deep cherry shade. “Doesn’t suit me.” You reply, popping your lips exaggeratedly before turning to face her with with a full pout. “T’does, makes your lips look fuckin’ great to be honest.” You know Paige isn’t lying because her crystal blue eyes are focused on your mouth and she hasn’t blinked once. Mental note: start wearing red lipstick.

Paige tucks her t-shirt sleeve up into the strap of her sports bra, exposing her toned bicep. You swallow hard, not even bothering to try and remain composed. Your girlfriend was hot, she turned you on bad and you loved letting her know just that. “Shit P, might accidentally bite your arm instead of kiss it.” You joked, squeezing her toned muscles. She laughed her usual goofy laugh, nose scrunching up and eyes closing, “Damn, fine by me ma. That’s not going on TikTok though.”

Kissing up the length of Paiges arm, her soft skin under your lips was more difficult than you anticipated. It was a challenge stopping yourself from actually biting and sucking her at her skin. You reached her collarbone and heard her breathing hitch and with each kiss pressed on her, you could feel her heart rate increase.

“Babe, you gon have me actin’ up in sec.” Paige husked, her large hand coming up to rest on your hip as you leaned over her, your lipstick covered lips now reaching her sharp jaw. “There! All done.” You say proudly, leaning back to get a look at your handiwork. Paiges right arm, from her hand all the way up her forearm, over her bicep, across her collarbone and along her jaw was littered with the print of your lips.

You reached for your phone, opening TikTok and as Get You by Daniel Caesar and Kali Uchis played, you slowly focused your camera on Paiges arm and followed the trail of kisses. Paige had her face turned from you but that didn’t hide her signature smirk. You uploaded the video straight away, putting a simple kiss emoji as the caption and while Paige went to clean her arm, you watched as the comments and likes flooded in.

People knew you and Paige were together but neither of you had ever posted something so blatant, this was definitely new territory.

‘living my dream fr’

‘i know paige bueckers bicep when i see it’

‘my fave couple!’

‘MOMS’

‘this called me single in 3 different languages’

‘😳😳😳’

You giggled to yourself and liked a few comments before going to find Paige. You could hear her exaggerated huffs coming from the bathroom and find her with her arm under the running tap, a pile of red stained paper towels next to her. “This shit ain’t coming off.” She groaned, lifting her arm to show you the faded kiss marks, “And I have a match tomorrow.” She continued to scrub at her skin, “I’ll sort it babe, chill.” You tell her opening the cupboard beneath the sink. You had your own supply of products at Paiges for when you stayed over and you reached for the micellar water and cotton rounds.

You gently wiped over Paiges arm until there wasn’t a trace of red to be seen, “Like it never happened.” You say, throwing the used rounds into the trash and Paige pulls you into her by your waist, “You wanna do it again?” She hums into your ear, “What happened to I have a game tomorrow?” You mock her previous moody statement, “This time without the lipstick baby.” She clarifies and who would you be to decline that kind of offer?

hi i guess, thank u for reading! any feedback is welcome and feel free to send me any requests! :))

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers x reader #p5buecks #fanfiction #wlw #lgbtq #lesbian #one shot

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uncuredturkeybacon · 2 months ago

Text

𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which tattoos aren't the only thing that leaves a mark

warning : sexual content included - minors dni

Your dorm smells faintly of antiseptic and coconut oil, dimly lit by a salt lamp you found at a garage sale and a few strands of fairy lights taped haphazardly across the ceiling. Your tattoo machine is humming gently on your desk, neatly cleaned and resting beside a lined-up set of sanitized needles, ink caps, and gloves. You’ve got a system — one that’s been perfected over the last year and a half — ever since your roommate dropped out and you turned her bed into your makeshift tattoo studio.

Under the name Inkling, you’ve built a quiet reputation on campus. No one knows your real name unless they’ve been in the chair. Athletes, musicians, a couple grad students — they’ve all come through that dorm door, usually through hushed referrals and cryptic Instagram DMs. You’ve never posted your face. Just close-ups of fresh ink, your gloved hands, or that one photo of your forearm covered in delicate, razor-sharp line work. That one got shared a lot.

You’re careful. Every DM gets deleted after a location drop. Every appointment spaced out. You’ve seen enough busted dreams to know UConn wouldn’t hesitate to bench someone — or worse, expel you — if they found out.

It’s a rainy Thursday when your phone buzzes with a new DM.

Hey. Someone told me you might be the person to talk to about a tattoo?

The username catches your attention: @/paigebueckers.

You lean back in your chair, eyebrows lifting. The Paige Bueckers. You’ve seen her on campus, walking with her hood up and headphones on. People talk about her like she’s royalty — or a ghost. Never really both.

You heard right. What are you looking for?

The typing bubble appears. Then disappears. Then comes back.

Something small. My first one. Maybe ribs.

I got you. Location’s in your inbox. Delete this after reading.

You wait.

And then — just like you asked — the message disappears.

You hear the knock on your door five minutes early.

Cracking it open just a sliver, you scan the hallway. Empty.

Then you see her. Hoodie up, eyes down, clearly trying to go unnoticed. You gesture her inside, and she slips in quickly.

She pauses in the doorway, scanning the room. Your tall frame leans casually against your desk, arms inked and folded across your chest. You’re wearing a fitted black tank and sweats, fresh from a lift earlier. Her eyes drift, lingering a little too long before she catches herself.

"You're Inkling?" she asks, raising an eyebrow, tone skeptical — but not unfriendly.

You smirk. “In the flesh.”

She blinks. You can see the recalibration in her eyes, like she wasn’t expecting you — tall, masculine, and somehow both rough around the edges and easy to talk to.

“I’m Paige,” she offers, finally meeting your eyes.

“Yeah,” you say, stepping aside to let her walk further in. “I know who you are.”

You gesture to the chair in the corner — clean, covered in disposable wrap, next to your station.

“So,” you say, pulling on a pair of black gloves. “What are we doing today?”

She tugs her hoodie down, suddenly self-conscious. “I was thinking something simple. Maybe… a small cross? Just here—” She lifts the hem of her shirt slightly, revealing a sliver of toned side. “Right under the ribs.”

You nod, already moving to draw the stencil. “Any style in mind? Fine line? Bold? Shaded?”

She hesitates. “Fine line. Clean. Simple. Kind of like… a reminder, y’know?”

You nod again. “I got you.”

Within a few minutes, you’re walking back over with the stencil, eyes flicking up to hers. “You’re gonna have to take your shirt off.”

You say it casually, but her cheeks tint pink.

She hesitates, then pulls her hoodie and tank over her head, folding them neatly and setting them on the chair. She’s in a sports bra, but even so, her posture stiffens a little under your gaze.

You kneel next to her, applying the stencil with gentle precision, fingers cool against her warm skin. “This okay?”

She looks down and nods, voice quiet. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

You pick up the machine, the buzz filling the room.

“First tattoo, huh?”

She nods. “Is it gonna hurt?”

“Little bit. But I’ll talk you through it.”

The needle meets her skin. She tenses at first — a sharp breath — but you keep your voice low, steady, as you work.

“You’re not gonna die. Promise.”

She laughs softly, tension easing just a little.

You fall into a rhythm — machine buzzing, your voice threading in between.

“So how’d you start tattooing?” she asks after a minute.

“Boredom,” you admit. “High school. I used to sketch on my friends with Sharpies. Someone dared me to buy a machine. I practiced on fake skin for months before I ever touched a person.”

“Weren’t you scared?”

“Terrified. But I loved it more than I feared it.”

She goes quiet. You glance up.

“What about you?” you ask. “Why basketball?”

“It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense,” she says softly. “It’s like… the court’s the only place where everything goes quiet.”

You hum in understanding, eyes flicking back to your work. “Same way I feel when I’m doing this.”

There’s a long pause. A comfortable one.

You finish the last line, clean it up, and wrap the fresh ink in clear bandage. You explain the aftercare — gentle washing, no picking, keep it moisturized.

She puts her shirt back on and hands you a wad of cash.

And then, just as she reaches for the door — she pauses.

“Hey,” she says, turning back, biting her lip. “Do you ever give your number out?”

You raise a brow. “That depends. Why do you need it?”

Her eyes flick over your face, a little emboldened now.

“I wanna get to know you,” she says. “Not just the artist. You.”

There’s a moment of quiet — just the hum of your machine behind you, the buzz of electricity in the air.

You step toward her, pulling a pen from your pocket and gently taking her hand.

You write your number on her palm, slow and deliberate.

“Then start with a text,” you murmur, eyes locked with hers. “And we’ll see.”

Two weeks.

That’s how long it’s been since Paige sat in your chair — stiff and unsure, her rib stinging under your needle while your voice calmed her nerves better than she’d ever admit.

She hasn't stopped thinking about you since.

Not just the way you looked — tall, confident, with inked knuckles and a crooked grin — but the way you spoke to her. Like she wasn’t just Paige Bueckers, UConn’s superstar. Like she was just... a girl in your dorm getting her first tattoo.

After she left that night, she stared at your number in her palm for a good half hour before finally texting.

hey. it’s paige. got one on the ribs.

You replied two minutes later.

hey ribs. glad you didn’t pass out lol.

Since then, it’s been constant.

Late-night texts. Memes. Song links. Half-flirty, half-real conversations about childhood dreams, favorite snacks, worst injuries, and best memories. She's gotten used to your name lighting up her screen — even looks forward to it. Maybe too much.

Right now, she’s lying on her stomach in the locker room, phone half-hidden under her forearm as she types out a reply.

P: would you ever tattoo your own face on someone as a joke?

You: only if they deserved it.

She grins, lip caught between her teeth, thumbs already flying over her screen for a comeback— when suddenly—

“Who’s got you smiling like that?” KK’s voice breaks through the quiet.

Paige fumbles, yelping a little and nearly dropping her phone. She quickly flips it over, shoving it under her towel.

“N-nothing,” she blurts.

KK lifts an eyebrow, towel slung over her shoulder, all mischief. “Nothing looks a lot like someone.”

“I was just—” Paige clears her throat, rolling over. “Twitter.”

“Ohhh,” KK says knowingly. “Yeah, same. I always giggle at tweets like they’re cute girls texting me too.”

Before Paige can defend herself, Azzi walks in mid-laugh and immediately picks up the vibe. “Wait. What did I miss?”

“Paige is hiding a crush,” KK sing-songs.

Azzi whips her head around. “You’re texting someone? Wait, is it that tattoo artist?!”

Paige goes red instantly. “What? No— I mean— not like that— we’re just—”

“Oh my God,” Azzi says, grinning like she just won the lottery. “You are! You went once and got hooked. I knew it!”

“She called her ‘ribs,’” KK adds dramatically. “I heard it. They have nicknames already.”

“Ribs!” Azzi cackles. “That’s gonna be her contact name in my phone for you now.”

“Shut up,” Paige mumbles, grabbing her towel and pressing it over her face to hide.

Then Aubrey walks in, adjusting her hair, immediately clocking the chaos. “Why is Paige buried like a corpse?”

“She’s in love,” Azzi says sweetly.

“With her tattoo artist,” KK adds.

Aubrey pauses. “Wait. Inkling?”

Paige lifts her head. “You know?”

Aubrey shrugs like it’s obvious. “Yeah. I got my latest one from her last semester. She’s fire.”

“She’s also hot,” Azzi adds. “Like, if I liked girls? I’d have gotten a sleeve just to keep going back.”

KK snorts. “I’d get her initials on my neck.”

“Okay, enough!” Paige yells, half-laughing, half-horrified. “Y’all are so annoying.”

But she’s smiling — wide, and a little dazed — because maybe, just maybe, she kind of loves that they can see what she’s trying to figure out herself.

Meanwhile, across campus, you’re sprawled across your bed, scrolling through Paige’s latest message with a smile playing on your lips.

She sends you a blurry selfie of her holding an energy drink with a caption:

P: this is either gonna power me through or kill me in the middle of practice

You laugh.

You: if you die i’m tattooing “dumb decisions” on your forehead. with wings.

A pause.

P: can’t wait

Your heart stutters. Not just because she’s flirting. But because she’s still here. Still texting. Still choosing you — even if it’s just messages for now.

And that tiny seed of maybe?

It’s starting to bloom.

It’s just past 9PM when your phone buzzes again. You’re half-asleep on your couch, a late re-run of Ink Master humming in the background, one hand tucked behind your head, the other lazily scrolling through your camera roll.

P: hey! ribs needs a touch-up.

You grin, already sitting up straighter. You type back fast.

You: oh no. your tragic little cross fading already?

P: tragic? wow. ok.

You: come cry about it. you free now?

P: omw.

You glance up, blinking.

She’s coming here. Now.

You toss your hoodie on, adjust your sweats, and quickly wipe down your station — not because it needs it, but because you suddenly feel like everything has to be perfect.

You don’t even know if she needs a touch-up. You think the tattoo healed clean. You remember exactly how it looked when she left — skin flushed, ink crisp and sharp, your gloves ghosting her side as you wrapped her ribs with practiced care.

But if Paige wants an excuse to come back?

You’ll let her use all of them.

Fifteen minutes later, you hear a soft knock.

Three quick taps. Hesitant.

You open the door, and there she is.

Hair tied back in a bun. Hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Eyes flicking up to meet yours with that soft, unsure kind of confidence that’s been growing since day one.

“Hey,” she says, almost breathless.

You step back to let her in. “Hey, Ribs.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips.

“I brought snacks,” she says, holding up a gas station bag. “Touch-up tax.”

You grin. “Bribery noted.”

She perches on the edge of your couch while you prep the machine again, glancing around like she’s trying to memorize every poster, every flickering light string, every shadow you cast across the room.

“So,” you say, sliding gloves on. “Let’s see the damage.”

She lifts the hem of her hoodie, then the tank under it, revealing her side again. She doesn’t flinch this time. Doesn’t hesitate. Just watches you carefully as you lean in to inspect the ink.

You blink.

“Yeah…” you say slowly. “You definitely didn’t need a touch-up.”

“Damn,” she says, tone innocent. “Guess I’ll go then.”

You catch her wrist before she moves.

“Nah. You’re already here.”

The tension builds like a tightrope between you — stretched thin but thrilling.

You lean in, dragging a gloved fingertip lightly over the healed tattoo, eyes never leaving hers.

“You been using the aftercare stuff I gave you?”

“Every night,” she murmurs. “Like a good girl.”

You pause.

You’re not sure who leans in first, but suddenly your faces are too close. Her knee brushes yours. Your fingers are still on her skin. Your heart’s somewhere between say something and kiss her now.

She breaks the silence first.

“You ever get nervous?” she asks softly.

You tilt your head. “About what?”

“Stuff like this,” she says. “Being in someone’s space. Not knowing what happens next.”

You let your hand drop from her ribs, slowly peeling your gloves off.

“I used to,” you admit. “But then I started noticing the signs.”

“What signs?”

You lean back slightly, just enough to make her lean forward — chase the space you left behind.

“Someone shows up without needing a touch-up,” you say. “Brings snacks. Doesn’t take her eyes off you.”

Paige swallows, pulse fluttering in her neck.

“And what do you do when you notice?” she whispers.

You smile — slow, crooked.

“I wait until she makes the next move.”

There’s silence.

Then Paige sets the snack bag aside and shifts closer — until your knees touch again, until the air between your mouths gets impossibly thin.

She rests her hand lightly on your forearm. Testing. Waiting.

“I came back for more than a touch-up,” she says, barely audible.

“I know.”

And then?

You both move at once — like gravity finally gave in.

She almost kissed you.

You know she almost did.

That moment — the way she leaned in, her breath catching, your eyes locked — it was charged. One inch closer and she would’ve been in your lap, her lips pressed to yours, hoodie half-off.

But she pulled back.

Murmured something about practice tomorrow. Smiled that crooked little smile and slipped out like it didn’t shake you to your core.

And now you’re haunted by it.

By her.

The ghost of her fingers on your arm. The scent of her hoodie. The way her voice dipped when she said, “I came back for more than a touch-up.”

You haven’t stopped texting, of course. If anything, it's gotten worse.

P: i keep thinking about that stencil gel. why is it always freezing

You: so u remember the cold gel and not the way i touched ur body huh

P: i hate you

You: no u don’t

She doesn't deny it.

And neither do you.

Three days later, you're bent over your client, your machine buzzing as you work on a chest piece — intricate line work, shaded stars that bloom over his pec like smoke. You're focused, gloved hands steady, music humming low in the background. Your lamp casts a warm glow over your little setup. Three quick knocks. Just like last time.

You look up, brows furrowing. You're not expecting anyone.

You lower the needle and call out, “Door’s open.”

It swings open a moment later — and there she is.

Paige. In joggers and an oversized tee. Slightly flushed like she ran here, hair pulled into a high ponytail, holding a bottle of blue Gatorade like she needed a reason.

“Hey,” she says, eyes flicking around your room. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Her gaze lands on your chair — on the guy sitting shirtless, one arm behind his head, wincing through the sting of the needle.

“Oh,” she says quickly. “I can come back.”

You shake your head, pulling your gloves tight again. “Nah. Stay.”

Paige hesitates… then closes the door behind her and sinks onto your couch, pulling one knee up, tucking her foot beneath her. She stays quiet at first, just watching.

But you can feel it. Her eyes on you. The weight of them.

Your shirt rides up slightly as you lean over the client. Your chain glints in the light. Your forearms flex. There’s a streak of black ink on your jaw from where you scratched an itch and forgot you’d touched the cap first.

You glance up.

She’s staring.

Her lip is caught between her teeth. Gatorade forgotten in her lap.

You smirk slightly.

“You good over there?” you murmur without looking away from your work.

She snaps out of it. “Yeah. Just… observing.”

You don’t push. You keep tattooing. But your voice drops just enough to tease:

“Didn’t know I was part of the show.”

She doesn’t reply.

But out of the corner of your eye, you catch her shifting — crossing her legs tighter, cheeks a little flushed.

When your client finally hops off the chair and checks out the finished work in your mirror, you clean up and walk him to the door, chatting easily. You say goodbye, click the lock, and turn back around.

Paige is still on your couch. Still holding her Gatorade. Still not looking directly at you.

“You sure you’re not here for another touch-up?” you ask, voice low now that you’re alone again.

She looks up finally.

“I don’t think the tattoo’s the part that needs touching.”

Your heart stutters.

The silence swells again, thick and buzzing.

You take one slow step forward. Then another.

She stands up too, meeting you halfway.

Close. Too close.

You can smell her shampoo. See the freckles scattered on her collarbone. Feel her breath on your chin.

But she doesn’t close the distance.

Instead, her hand brushes your wrist as she walks past you — casual, smooth, intentional — and she murmurs over her shoulder, “Text me later.”

The door shuts behind her.

And you’re left standing in your own dorm, slightly ink-stained, jaw slack, stomach twisted up in tension so sharp it almost hurts.

She pulled back again.

And you're starting to think she's doing it on purpose.

It starts with a text.

P: u up?

You: what are you, a guy on tinder?

P: shut up. i’m serious. come to the gym.

You: it’s midnight.

P: exactly. no one will be there. come shoot with me.

You: ...u tryna seduce me with hardwood floors and fluorescent lighting?

P: depends. is it working?

You don’t even respond.

You just throw on your sneakers and a hoodie, grab your keys, and head out the door.

The UConn practice gym is dim when you walk in — only a few of the overheads are on, leaving the court glowing like a movie scene. Quiet. Still. And there she is.

Paige.

Ball in hand, ponytail high, shooting solo from the top of the key. She doesn’t see you at first — just lets the ball roll back from the rebound machine, catches it in one smooth motion, and fires again.

Swish.

You whistle low.

She turns, a smirk already tugging at her mouth.

“About time,” she says, wiping her forehead with the bottom of her shirt — giving you a full view of her toned stomach before it drops again.

You blink. “Sorry, I had to emotionally prepare for whatever pickup line you were gonna hit me with.”

“Oh please,” she tosses you the ball. “You think I need lines?”

You catch it with a grin. “You’re kinda full of yourself, Bueckers.”

“And you are kinda stalling. Let’s see if you can actually shoot or if you just look cool.”

You raise an eyebrow, then dribble once, twice, pull up at the elbow — clean jumper.

Swish.

Her mouth parts slightly.

You shrug. “Told you I was more than just tattoos and biceps.”

She circles you, grabbing the rebound, bouncing it back your way.

“You are full of surprises,” she murmurs. “I didn’t expect you to have form. Or a jumper.”

You shoot again. Another swish.

“You know,” she adds, jogging over, “if I make this next shot, you have to give me a free tattoo.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And if you miss?”

She spins the ball on her finger, grinning. “Then you still give me one, but I pick where.”

You snort. “That’s not how bets work.”

“Shh.” She backs up behind the three-point line, sets her feet, shoots—

Clank. Off the rim.

You break into laughter, hands on your knees. “Yo—so confident. So dramatic. So short.”

“Okay wow, personal attack,” she says, chasing the ball. “We get it, you’re tall.”

“And humble,” you add with a wink.

She tosses it back. You shoot again. Net.

“You're seriously hot when you do that,” she blurts, then instantly freezes.

You pause mid-dribble, smirking. “When I shoot?”

“When you swish,” she mutters. “And like… do that half-smile thing after. You know what you’re doing.”

You walk closer, bounce passing her the ball again.

“Oh yeah?” you say, voice dropping just a little. “What else do I do that’s hot?”

She squints at you, stepping in too. “You wanna play this game?”

“I thought we were playing,” you murmur.

There’s a pause. Just breath and bouncing orange rubber.

Then Paige grins. “Okay,” she says. “Truth or dare, but gym edition.”

You laugh. “Why do I feel like this is about to go off the rails?”

“Pick one.”

You spin the ball on your palm. “Truth.”

She tilts her head. “Have you thought about kissing me?”

You hesitate — not in fear, but because damn, she really jumped right to it.

You take a slow breath.

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “Too many times.”

She swallows. Looks at your mouth for a second too long.

You step back. “Your turn.”

“I pick dare.”

You toss her the ball again. “Hit a three. If you miss, you owe me a date.”

She narrows her eyes. “That’s not a dare.”

“Sure it is. Do it.”

She backs up, sets her feet, deep breath — and shoots.

It arcs high. Hangs in the air. And—

Rim.

Bounces off.

She stares at it like it betrayed her.

You bite your lip, trying not to grin. “Damn. That’s crazy.”

She groans. “That was so close.”

You step up to her, gently take the ball from her hands, your fingers brushing hers.

“A deal’s a deal, Bueckers.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters. “You better take me somewhere good.”

“Oh, I will,” you say, dribbling lazily between your legs. “Just not to another empty gym at midnight.”

She grabs your wrist before you can turn — eyes locked on yours, soft and slow.

“But you’d come,” she says quietly, “anytime I asked, wouldn’t you?”

You don’t even pretend to lie.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I would.”

She lingers. Closer again. Inches. Seconds.

And then, like always — she pulls back.

Grabs her Gatorade. Spins the ball once. Looks over her shoulder with that damn smirk.

“Text me later.”

And she’s gone.

It had been four days since you and Paige shot around at the gym.

Four days since that charged truth or dare, since she missed the shot on purpose (you’re sure of it), since she got all up in your space only to walk away like she didn’t just set your heart on fire and leave it smoldering behind her.

You’d been texting still — the usual flirty banter and late-night teasing. But she hadn’t come by. Not since that night.

So when you hear a knock at your door around 7 p.m., your heart stutters.

Her?

You glance over your shoulder — already gloved up, your tattoo machine buzzing as you finish the shading on a delicate black rose. The girl in your chair is leaning back, her cropped tank pulled to the side to expose her ribs. She’s pretty — short brown curls, lip ring, soft eyes. You've tattooed her once before.

You lower the needle for a moment and call out, “Come in.”

The door creaks open.

Paige walks in.

And she freezes.

You swear you hear her swallow.

She takes in the scene — the girl, shirt hiked up, bra strap slipping down, your hand gliding carefully along the edge of her ribs. The soft music. The warm lighting. Your focused expression.

Her jaw clenches — subtle, but you catch it.

“Oh,” she says, stuffing her hands in her hoodie pocket. “Didn’t know you had company.”

You glance up and smile casually. “Just finishing up. Come in. You can chill.”

Paige hesitates, then steps inside and sinks into your couch, eyes lingering on the girl’s exposed skin.

You don’t miss the way she watches you — the way her knee bounces, the way she tugs her hoodie sleeves over her hands like she suddenly doesn’t know what to do with herself.

“Almost done,” you murmur to your client, finishing the last bit of shading. “You’re sitting like a champ.”

“Wouldn’t be my first time,” the girl says with a playful smirk. “You make it easy.”

Paige’s head snaps toward her.

You don’t look up, but you feel it.

She’s seething.

“Glad to hear it,” you say, smirking to yourself as you wrap the tattoo.

The girl sits up, pulling her shirt back down, glancing toward Paige. “Friend of yours?”

“She’s… someone,” Paige mutters, not looking away.

The girl raises an eyebrow, smiles slowly, and heads toward the door.

“Thanks again,” she says to you, hand brushing your arm on the way out. “You’ve got magic hands.”

As the door closes, Paige lets out a sharp, dry laugh.

“Magic hands, huh?” she echoes, voice tight.

You finally look at her — really look.

She’s not just irritated. She’s jealous.

And trying really, really hard to pretend she’s not.

You peel off your gloves, toss them in the trash, and sit on the edge of your desk.

“Something on your mind, Bueckers?”

She shrugs, eyes fixed on the spot where the girl had been. “Didn’t know you did flirty commentary with your clients.”

“She was being nice.”

“She was being obvious.”

You tilt your head. “So?”

Paige looks at you — and the mask slips just a little. Her lips part, then close again. She shifts on the couch, restless.

“So do you flirt back with all your clients?”

“Only the hot ones.”

She raises her eyebrows.

You smirk. “You didn’t seem to mind when you were shirtless on my chair.”

“That was different.”

“Why?”

She’s quiet.

You stand and walk over slowly, stopping just in front of her, hands sliding into your own hoodie pocket.

“Why, Paige?”

She looks up at you, eyes a little too bright, lips just a little too pouty.

“Because I actually care if you’re into someone else,” she finally says, voice low.

The room stills.

You exhale through your nose, taking a beat before you answer.

“You jealous, Bueckers?”

She lifts her chin. “You’re damn right I am.”

You don’t move — you just look at her. Let her feel it.

“You could’ve texted,” you say quietly. “Could’ve said something. Asked me to hang.”

“I didn’t wanna seem…” She trails off.

“What?”

“Attached.”

You take one slow step forward, between her knees. You don’t touch her — not yet — but you’re close enough for her to feel your presence everywhere.

“And what if I like that you’re attached?”

She blinks.

“What if I’ve been thinking about you just as much? What if that gym night messed me up? What if every time you leave, I want you back in the room five minutes later?”

She stares up at you, lips slightly parted, breathing shallow.

And then you lean down, close enough to feel her breath, close enough to kiss her — but you don’t.

You stop right there, noses brushing.

“Still jealous?” you whisper.

Her hand slides up your side, resting lightly on your hoodie — but still, you both hold back.

Barely.

“Only when I’m not the one in your chair,” she murmurs.

You grin. “You saying you want another tattoo?”

She looks at your lips. “No,” she breathes. “I want you.”

But still — no kiss.

Just that unbearable, perfect tension.

It starts with a simple text from Paige.

P: You busy tonight?

You: Not if you’re finally letting me beat you at Uno

P: Tempting. Come by my dorm? Girls are hanging out.

You: You sure? I don’t wanna crash the estrogen party

P: They’ll like you. I promise. Just don’t flirt with anyone but me.

You: Oh? Am I allowed to flirt with you now?

P: Only if you want everyone to know you’re obsessed with me

You laugh at your phone, toss on your hoodie, and head out.

By the time you get to Paige’s floor, you can already hear music and laughter bleeding through the cracked door. You knock once before stepping in.

It’s warm, loud, and full of energy. Sarah’s lounging on the couch with her socks mismatched. Azzi’s sitting cross-legged on the floor sorting cards. KK’s got her phone propped up against a candle jar, already live on TikTok.

“Heyyyy,” Paige grins, hopping up from where she’s been half-sitting on the armrest. She comes toward you, a glimmer in her eye. “You made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you murmur.

The second you step into the room, every pair of eyes snaps to you.

“Ohhh, so this is the mystery guest?” KK calls, adjusting the angle of her phone. “Wait, wait—come closer, let the live see this. Who is this??”

“She’s a friend,” Paige says quickly, shooting KK a look.

Your eyebrow quirks at friend but you play it cool.

KK waves you over like you’re already part of the crew. “Come sit! Don’t be shy. We were literally just talking about Paige’s secret text buddy—”

“KK!” Paige cuts in, her tone a warning.

“What? I didn’t say their name,” KK teases. “Could be anyone.”

You smirk, sliding into the empty space beside Paige on the couch. Your knees brush. She doesn’t move away.

Azzi greets you with a small, knowing smile. “You play cards?”

“Better than Paige, apparently,” you quip, and she chokes on her drink.

KK cackles from the floor. “Oooh, you got jokes! I like them.”

You glance over and notice Paige is still looking at you — not saying anything, just watching you like you’re the only person in the room. The heat in her stare is something else.

“Okay, okay,” KK says, turning her phone slightly. “Live wants to know who you are. You look suspiciously comfortable over there.”

You flash a polite smile. “Just a friend.”

Paige snorts, and you bump her leg gently with your knee. She doesn't take her eyes off you.

Live chat starts popping off on KK’s phone.

“Who is that???👀” “Is Paige finally boo’d up???” “She’s kinda fine ngl” “They’re sitting HELLA close 😭” “They matching?? Are they matching??”

You glance down at the hoodie you’re wearing — black. Paige’s is black, too.

You lift your eyes to her, biting your lip.

“Matching hoodies, huh?” you whisper under your breath.

“Just coincidence,” she says softly. “Unless you wanna make it a thing.”

Your heart skips, but before you can answer, KK calls out, “HEY. Come on live with us real quick.”

You blink. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You’re already famous in the chat. Might as well say hi.”

Paige gives you this amused little shrug, and Azzi’s smiling into her cup like she knows exactly what’s happening here.

You sigh playfully, scoot over to KK’s phone and lean in. Paige scoots right with you — now shoulder to shoulder, thighs pressed, close.

KK angles the camera toward you both.

“Okay live,” she announces dramatically, “say hello to our very mysterious, very smooth, very not nervous at all guest.”

You nod at the camera with a mock serious face. “Pleasure.”

The comments explode again.

“THE WAY THEY’RE SITTING” “PAIGE IS SMILING SO HARD OMG” “Who is this suave mf I’m in love” “Are y’all dating or what???” “They keep looking at each other omg STOP”

You glance at Paige.

She’s got that look again — amused, glowing, and just a little smug.

You lean closer to the mic. “No comment.”

The room erupts in screams.

You stay on the live for a few more minutes, answering random (safe) questions — what’s your favorite cereal, do you hoop, how did you and Paige meet (you lie effortlessly — “through mutual friends”).

Eventually, KK ends the stream, still giggling.

“That was the most fun we’ve had on live in weeks,” she grins. “You gotta come back.”

“I’ll think about it,” you wink.

Paige gives you a long look as you both settle back into your original spot, her voice low when she says, “You handled that like a pro.”

“Not my first rodeo,” you reply, nudging her leg.

The moment settles in again — comfortable, warm, buzzing beneath the surface. Her pinky brushes yours on the couch cushion.

You don’t move.

Neither does she.

And still—no kiss. Just charged silence, quick glances, and the weight of everything almost happening.

Almost.

It’s late.

That kind of quiet hour where most of campus has gone still, windows dark, the night holding its breath.

Your phone buzzes on your desk.

P: that live earlier… you were kinda smooth ngl.

You smirk, staring at the screen for a moment before typing back.

You: kinda? thought i had you blushing.

P: you wish.

You: come over. prove me wrong.

You hesitate only a second before hitting send. You’ve been dancing around this thing long enough—teasing glances, flirty texts, late-night thoughts.

Tonight?

You want to know.

The reply comes quick.

P: omw.

Ten minutes later, there’s a soft knock on your door. You open it to find her standing there in gray sweats and a white crop hoodie that shows a sliver of skin. Her hair’s loose, no makeup, eyes soft.

“Hey,” she says, voice low, like she’s already matching the quiet.

“Hey,” you echo, stepping aside to let her in.

The lights are dim, a candle flickering on your shelf, casting golden shadows across your dorm. The same chair you tattoo in sits empty now. You gesture to the bed.

“Make yourself comfortable.”

She sits, legs crossing at the ankle, eyes tracking you as you close the door and lock it gently behind you.

“Still think I was only kinda smooth?” you ask, grabbing a bottle of water and tossing it her way.

She catches it, smirks. “I think you’re full of yourself.”

You chuckle, settling into your desk chair. “Nah. I just know how to read a room. And your face during that live?”

“I was not blushing.”

“You so were.”

She rolls her eyes but she’s smiling, teeth tugging at her bottom lip in that way that’s dangerous.

“So what,” she says slowly, “this is your move? Invite a girl to your room, make her talk about her feelings under low light and candles?”

“Only the special ones.”

That gets her. She exhales a soft laugh, cheeks warming in the glow. “You flirt like you tattoo. Confident. Smooth hands.”

Your eyebrow raises. “You thinking about my hands?”

A pause.

She doesn’t look away. “A lot more than I should.”

The tension punches the air out of the room. There’s no music, no noise. Just the sound of your shared breath and the rush in your ears.

You get up and move to sit next to her on the bed.

Close. But not touching.

“What are we doing?” you ask quietly.

She looks at you. Really looks.

“You tell me,” she murmurs.

“I think,” you start, fingers brushing hers slowly, “we’ve been circling this for weeks.”

You turn your body toward her, eyes scanning her expression. “And I think you’ve wanted to kiss me since the night I tattooed you.”

“I almost did,” she admits, her voice barely audible. “That night… when you leaned in.”

You nod. “I know. I felt it.”

You inch forward, just a breath between your lips now. She tilts her head slightly, like she’s inviting it—

And then, just as your lips graze hers, she pulls back.

A whisper of space.

Your pulse stutters. “Paige?”

Her smile is teasing, but her eyes are molten. “Not yet.”

You exhale, not sure if you’re frustrated or even more into her now.

“Cruel,” you mutter.

“Maybe,” she grins, “but now you’re thinking about it more.”

You lean back with a soft groan. “You’re evil.”

She shrugs, smug. “You love it.”

She stays for another hour, curled up in your bed, both of you side by side talking about nothing and everything—what music she listens to pregame, your favorite artists to ink, how she once tried to pierce her own cartilage and absolutely passed out.

You almost forget the burn.

Almost.

Because every so often, she shifts, and her shoulder touches yours. Her leg brushes your thigh. She looks at your mouth and then looks away, and it drives you insane.

When she finally stands to leave, it's after 2 a.m.

You walk her to the door. She hesitates there, hand on the knob.

“Thanks for letting me come over,” she says softly.

You lean against the doorframe. “Anytime.”

Her eyes flicker down to your lips again.

You don’t move.

Neither does she.

Then she leans in, lips brushing the corner of your mouth—a whisper of a kiss, not quite what you wanted, but more than you expected.

A promise.

“Goodnight,” she murmurs.

And then she’s gone.

You’re not sure when exactly she got so deep under your skin, but now you feel it in your fingertips, in the buzz behind your teeth every time her name lights up your screen.

It’s been a few days since that near-kiss.

Too many.

You’ve been playing it cool, trying not to push—waiting for her to make the move.

But tonight?

Tonight you don’t want to wait anymore.

P: gym in 15?

You: be there in 10.

The UConn practice gym is dark, except for one row of overhead lights glowing above the court. Paige is already there, ball in hand, hair in a messy ponytail, wearing a black tank and loose shorts. She looks unfairly good under the gym lights.

She looks like trouble.

“You’re early,” she says, tossing you the ball.

“Didn’t wanna keep you waiting.”

She smirks. “You sure about that? You’ve been making me wait for weeks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Me?”

She starts walking backward toward the top of the key, still grinning. “You’re the one who talks all this game and then freezes every time I get close.”

You follow, dribbling casually. “Please. You’re the queen of pulling back last second.”

“Maybe I just like the anticipation.”

You stop at the arc and shoot. Swish.

She raises a brow. “Okay Steph, I see you.”

You shrug. “I told you I could shoot.”

She gets the rebound and tosses it back. “Let’s make it interesting.”

“What, horse?”

“No,” she says, stepping close, just barely toe to toe. “If I make my shot, you have to answer a question. Truth only.”

You grin. “And if I make it?”

“Same deal.”

“Bet.”

She pulls up from midrange. Net.

You groan. “Alright. Hit me.”

Her eyes glitter. “Have you thought about kissing me since that night?”

You blink. “Is that even a question?”

“Answer it.”

You step a little closer. “Every night.”

She swallows, the moment thick now. Her turn to shoot again.

She misses.

Your ball.

You catch it, holding it between you. “My question.”

She lifts her chin. “Hit me.”

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

She bites her lip. “Because I wanted to see if you’d break first.”

You chuckle, stepping forward again. “Well, congratulations.”

She tilts her head. “Why’s that?”

You don’t say anything.

You just step into her space, close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin. She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something else—

And you kiss her.

No warning. No teasing. Just your lips on hers, firm and hungry, claiming the moment you’ve both been aching for. She gasps softly into it, hands finding your waist like muscle memory, and you deepen the kiss without hesitation, your fingers tangling in her ponytail.

It’s messy and hot and so full of built-up tension it practically cracks.

She pulls you closer, your body pressing hers gently against the padded wall behind the baseline, breath catching as your teeth graze her lower lip.

“God,” she whispers, head falling back just slightly, “finally.”

You grin against her skin. “I was gonna say the same thing.”

She kisses you again, slower this time but no less intense, like she’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth.

When she finally pulls back, her cheeks are flushed and her voice is rough. “You’re in trouble now.”

“Oh yeah?”

She nods, smirking. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

There’s no more pretending now.

No more slow-burn games.

She’s officially yours—and you?

You’re already all in.

She’s still catching her breath when you pull her by the hand—out of the gym, down the empty hallway, back toward your dorm like there’s no time left to waste. Because there isn’t. Not anymore.

Not after weeks of stolen glances, soft hands brushing thighs during shoot arounds. Not after that kiss that tasted like everything she’d been holding back.

You open your door, and she’s on you the second it clicks shut.

Your back hits the wall, her mouth claiming yours like she’s starving. Her fingers curl in the fabric of your shirt, tugging you closer, your hands already sliding up the back of her hoodie and under the hem.

You break the kiss just long enough to pull it off, revealing that toned stomach you’ve been sneaking looks at during practice. She's wearing just a simple black sports bra, but it might as well be lace with how fast your pulse jumps.

“Bed,” you mutter against her neck, kissing the warm skin just below her jaw. “Now.”

She obeys, backing toward it, climbing up without breaking eye contact. You follow, slipping your hoodie over your head, your shirt next, until you’re standing above her, toned arms flexing slightly as you kneel on the mattress between her legs.

She looks up at you like you’re something dangerous. And she wants to get burned.

“Still cocky?” she asks, breathless.

You smirk. “We’ll see who’s cocky in five minutes.”

Her laugh is soft, shaky, the nerves behind her bravado showing for the first time.

You dip your head and kiss her again—slow this time, tongue tracing her bottom lip, hands smoothing up her sides until your thumbs brush just under her bra. Her breath hitches.

“Off,” you murmur, and she arches up for you, letting you slip it over her head.

She’s so soft beneath you—golden skin, flushed chest, and already looking at you like she’s seconds from falling apart.

Your hand ghosts over her stomach, fingers tracing the top of her shorts. “This too?”

She nods.

You slide them down, along with her underwear, slow enough to make her squirm. Now she’s laid out under you, nothing between you but heat and air and the sound of her breathing.

“Fuck,” you whisper, dragging your eyes down her body like a prayer. “You’re so pretty like this.”

Her fingers curl into the blanket. “Then do something about it.”

You settle between her thighs, kissing slowly down her stomach, leaving a trail of heat in your wake. Her thighs tense as you press a kiss just above where she wants you most, but you pull back.

“You’ve been teasing me for weeks,” you murmur, mouth hovering over her, breath warm against her. “You really thought I wasn’t gonna return the favor?”

She whines, hand flying to your hair.

And then you give in.

Your mouth meets her with slow, devastating pressure, tongue moving with practiced ease, teasing her open until she’s gasping your name, hips rising from the bed. Your hands press firmly on her thighs, keeping her in place.

She’s so sensitive, so responsive, each moan rolling out of her throat like it’s been waiting in her chest for days.

When you add your fingers—slow at first, curling just right—she loses it, head thrown back, mouth parted, trying and failing to keep it together.

“Right there,” she gasps. “Fuck—please, don’t stop.”

You don’t.

You keep going until she’s trembling, legs shaking, eyes squeezed shut as she falls apart around you, fingers tangled in your hair like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go.

You only stop when she’s tugging at your shoulders, breathless and wrecked.

You crawl back up her body, kissing her slowly now, her taste on your tongue, your hand resting on her stomach as it rises and falls.

“I told you,” you murmur against her lips. “I don’t miss my shots.”

She laughs, dazed and completely gone. “I’m never letting you near a basketball again.”

You grin. “Then I’ll just have to find other ways to wear you out.”

She’s curled against you now, legs tangled with yours under the warm sheets, skin still buzzing and kissed with sweat. Your arm’s draped over her waist, your fingers drawing slow circles along her back while her cheek rests on your chest.

The silence is thick with something warmer than lust.

You feel her chest rise and fall against you, slower now. Calmer. But every so often she lets out a breath like she’s still recovering—like you short-circuited something in her.

You brush your lips over her temple. “You okay?”

She nods, then looks up at you with the kind of smile that knocks the air out of your lungs. Messy hair, kiss-swollen lips, eyes too big and too honest.

“I’m… really okay,” she says softly. “Like… insanely okay.”

You chuckle and squeeze her waist, pressing another kiss to her shoulder. “Just okay? I’m offended.”

She laughs and hides her face in your chest. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

There’s a long pause after that. A quieter one. One that has her fingers slowly brushing your side, like she needs to touch you to believe this happened.

“So,” she says after a minute, her voice lower now, careful. “Was that… like… a one-time thing?”

You blink down at her.

“What?” you ask, half-laughing. “Paige. I just took you apart on my bed. You think I’d do that and just ghost you?”

She shrugs, eyes still down. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to assume.”

You tilt her chin up with your fingers. “Then let me be clear.”

You kiss her—soft and slow, the kind of kiss that says everything you haven’t dared to say out loud yet.

“I want to keep seeing you,” you murmur against her lips. “Outside of tattoo sessions. Outside of gym rebounds. I want you.”

She exhales like she’s been holding it in for days.

“I want you too,” she says, her voice a whisper. “I have. For weeks.”

You smile. “Same.”

There’s another beat of quiet before she starts trailing her fingers up your chest again. “You’re really dangerous, you know that?”

You raise a brow. “How so?”

“You’re tall. Hot. Mysterious. You make art. And you’re insanely good in bed. It’s not fair.”

You grin and brush her hair back behind her ear. “And you’re a literal basketball god with killer eyes and an attitude. I’m the one in trouble here.”

She grins lazily and leans in again, kissing you like she’s falling into something she doesn’t want to stop.

Eventually, she sighs and buries her face in the crook of your neck.

“Can I sleep here?” she mumbles, her voice half gone.

You answer by pulling the blanket tighter around her and kissing the top of her head.

“Yeah, Paige,” you whisper. “Stay as long as you want.”

#paige bueckers x reader #uconn women’s basketball #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #lesbian #wlw #paige buckets #paige x reader #wuh luh wuh #wnba x reader #‎꙳¤*٭⁎﹡꙳＊ 𝘂𝗻𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗰𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 ＊꙳﹡⁎٭*¤꙳

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monstas1ut · 2 months ago

Text

Rivals For The Pussy

EREN YEAGER x black!reader x JEAN KIRSTEIN

Summary

__Black!reader is a pretty little self made pornstar. To gather more money for her obnoxiously pink room, she gives the opportunity for two men to come fuck her like she’s a little ragdoll.. but what happens when the two men know each other? And not in great light…

Content

__black!reader, female!reader, Jean is an eater, they talk shit about each other while fucking you, anal, creampies, choking, praise, double penetration, oral(sucking dick), one kiss from Eren :) Jean eats your pussy and ass, squirting ofc, hair pulling, dirty talk

___brown skin can be dark, light, medium color.. whatever. brown is brown.. and it's gorgeous

A/n

Please send ideas!

Lightning passed right before your very eyes. That white, crispy line of fire intimidating you. It erupted a Innocent laughter from you, worry all throughout as you tilted your head.

“You two must know each other?” You worriedly spoke, hoping you didn’t spark some sort of issue. How were you supposed to know if these two had anything to do with each other? With the way they were just glaring at each other's deep souls, there was surely intentional friction. But, you had hoped this would pass.

Sure, the two men were staring each other down but you couldn’t help but notice their sexy attributes. Standing in your brightly pink, frilly room were two tall hunks of meat.

It was about two days ago, you could see that your room was becoming a bit boring for you. How funny that was, considering the room had pink lighting, pink carpet, pink bedding and everything else was a shade of pink. Someone threw up pink in your room, and yet you deemed it not good enough. You needed more things, more plushies to be in the background of your naughty videos… More things to dirty up, more things to use while creaming to your heart's content.

With that, you gave a simple but effective solution to your problem. Your fans were rowdy, they begged to have a chance to show you their talents.. how fast they could make you cum, how fast they could get you to give up that pretty little asshole. But, you needed money. So, a bid was practically put on your body. Maybe it was a bit raunchy, but you simply didn’t care enough… as long as they had the money. And all men were easily manipulated with your banging body, so you gained money alright.

40k and 50k

The second you even woke up and saw such money, life as you knew it changed. What crazy things pussy could make a man do. However, the most fortunate thing was seeing that these two men were drop dead gorgeous… even more so in front of you.

“Imma put a bullet in your head the second this is over with..” Eren, that was his name. His eyes were such a pretty color, it sparked adventure and dreams but also dares. He stood at around 6’0 and had dark brown, chocolate colored hair that was halfway pulled back while the rest of his strands fell on his shoulders. As of right now, his face was heavily agitated. His big veiny hands were stuffed deep in the pockets of his grey, soft sweatpants that were untied and revealing just a slight v line on his fair skin. And as your precious eyes trailed up, you could watch how his black tank caressed his core muscles and laid against his bulky wide shoulders.

You could only swallow, fantasies planted deep into your mind as his icy chain jolted when he spoke eagerly. Or when his sharp jaw tensed up.

“Don’t scare her. You damn sure can’t scare me but you’ll scare the pretty lady.. and she’s the one that invited us here dumbass..” Jean, his name was a bit weird off the tongue, however you wouldn’t mind screaming it. He had a sexy goatee, and his lips were inviting. His smirk was more on the teasing side, his seductive eyes even glancing towards you. That’s before he reached out towards you. This man’s arm was veiny, they were so prominent. All you could do was stand there, staring pathetically at his face. He had lighter brown hair, like a tiramisu color and it was a little on the messier side, but it fit him nicely. Just like his shirt, as his shirt was black, more compression type and he also wore sweatpants. However, his pants were white just like his teeth, and his teeth shined just like his diamond earring.

It all caught you in a world wind, especially when you were pulled in front of Jean. The back of your body was firmly pressed against him, a little yelp exiting. You had to realize that Jean was just a tad bit taller at 6’2, but at the same time, Eren’s attitude was heavy.

“Ain’t that right, doll.. tell him to just let it all go.. before I have my hand at fucking you first.” Jean was speaking, and you could feel the deep dark rumble from his chest as he did. Your face was crumbling up in a worried manner, but it was exciting. Were these two gang members? You could only think so… but that was the least of your worries. You were just hoping that wasn’t a gun shoved in Eren’s pants.

Eren looked as if he could snarl like a dog, but his eyes weakened when looking at you. He’s the one that put 50k on what’s in front of him. He put money down on you. Honestly, he figured it was a good investment.. his cock needed to be drained and what was wrong with draining it inside of you?

The two men knew what they were getting into, they both indulged in your videos.. practically knew each video by heart. What timestamp you'd cum, what timestamp you’d spray the screen with your juices. Maybe it was an addiction, but they didn’t want to call it that. How could anyone not be entranced with you? Your pretty, fluffy, little lashes with your glossy lips. Maybe it was your body that squeezed into that tiny little pink two piece. The top had a cute bunny on it with thin straps, it was a cute bralette. That, along with the tiny little shorts that slightly dug in your thighs.. gifting them that plump look.

Pink really did suit your brown skin, they could both agree with that.

“The camera’s been rollin’ for a minute now… I just wanted you two ta’ meet but I guess that’s out the window…” you mumbled, the air a tad bit lighter than it was before, but that’s because you were just pleading Eren with your sweet eyes. “Let’s just have a good time…?” It was the fact that you didn’t even know these men that well, and here you were trying to make them act right together. “Either that or I’m not letting you two fuck me at all..” might’ve been a bit naughty to say, but the way their eyes darted to you was like a bird seeing its prey.

That was all you had to mutter, they figured it might be beneficial for them to speak nothing of the outside while here. Besides, after your shorter form decided to press your knees down into the floorboards, all their thoughts were wiped. There was the occasional glare or two, but the heat of their internal battles were insignificant as your sparkly lips would suck on one plump tip to the other.

You felt like a cute, cheap whore.

Your nails were medium long, pretty little charms on each nail. Eren’s cock had the pleasure of having hello kitty charms wrapped around his cock while Jean had the luck of having Strawberry shortcake. Truly you were cute, the two could admit that without problem. Watching you destroy your own throat to pleasure them was the best thing your fan’s have seen yet.

Saliva was dripping down your chin as your eyes rolled back unwillingly, only slightly choking on Eren’s long, curved cock. It was so pretty and thick, his tip was a bit on the darker side, but pink. It was kissing the back of your throat as your lips grazed the two thick veins that warned you of the danger ahead.

“Shit-…” Eren couldn’t believe the shiver that ran through him, his eyes not leaving your face for a second. That’s until his anger was deep within as he watched your other hand jerking Jean’s cock off. So, he ended up glaring Jean’s way.. but they were both so pink in the face that nothing could come of it. That especially was true when you slowly reached your lips to touch his pelvis. A significant bulge was seen in your throat only for a second before pulling away and spitting on his cock. A little shaky breath left your lips as you began to move your hand back and forth and back and forth… Eren’s lower stomach tightened. He couldn’t believe this sight.

His precum mixed with your drool was dripping from your lips and chin, right down to that pretty cleavage of yours. That’s the problem though, the second you turned your head to Jean, Eren’s strong hand went down to your chest. His hands were rough, but his touch was gentle as he lifted the tiny fabric up off of your breasts. Your precious nipples looked even more amazing in person.

“Swirl around my tip baby, please..” Jean was obviously more relaxed than Eren, due to his teasing personality. He hasn’t thought of the rivalry once after you got down on your knees. And considering your now slightly glossy lips were around his dick, he couldn’t think about much. That pink tongue of yours slowly swirled around in your mouth, abusing his tip which was a light pink. Jean’s cock was more on the thin side but was absolutely long. A part of you was quite happy that he was more sensitive on his tip.

Slurping up the precum that came from him, you just made a soft moan. Jean felt the vibrations rip through, and it made him buckle. It felt so good that he had to grip at your hair. Jean nor Eren were virgins, but neither had such a bad lil thing on their cocks before. They couldn’t believe how horny they were, how eager they were to get their hands on you. They felt like demons. They wanted to rush their cocks into you so badly. So much, that Jean’s grip on your hair became tighter.. and his cock slipped out of your mouth with a soft pop.

The silence was loud, but the lust was like a drug. Eren and Jean’s rivalry peaked at this moment. Their eyes just piercing the others. And you thought they were going to fight again, but the second you opened your mouth to say something, Eren’s cock slipped into your wet mouth. It made you choke, but he slipped out.

“Keep that mouth open for us… we’ll play nice with each other for now..” It began to be clear which man was talking.. and that deep, rough voice was from Eren. “Yeah, just let us use that pretty mouth a little bit..” that was Jean, his slight mocking tone, deep and rustic. They were oh so different, but what they had in common was using you. Their cocks both plunging deep into your throat one by one. First Eren would slip in with that hook of his, then remove it. Then Jean would slip his pole in, and it continued on.

Your pussy began to throb, leaking right through that tiny fabric as your hands moved to their thighs. You began to squeeze at them, being still. They were so close together, their hips moving back and forth as they guided their cocks in your throat without a second thought. Eren enjoyed the way your eyes teared up, the glossy wall fading once you blinked, causing the tears to fall.

“Taking it so well..” Eren whispered, the melodic sounds of your choking just wrapped around his heart. “Don’t grip her hair too fuckin much…” Eren grumbled to the other male that had you choking as well. Jean only huffed, Eren was right.. he kind of got deep into the pleasure. He softly let go of your hair, thinking Eren was being honest. However, Eren just simply wanted you to himself. He moved a bit and grabbed your hair probably even more tighter than Jean had it. It made your pussy quiver, the aggression making you eager for what’s to come.

“Now… How about-…” Eren began as he gripped his cock and slapped it nicely on your tongue. “-you take this dick in your throat again..” he hissed, only giving out such a deep moan from your lips being wrapped around his cock again. He was throbbing so bad, but he could still look Jean in the eye. It was getting a bit hot in here, the two males were breathing a bit harder than they were a few seconds ago. Jean decided it would be best to remove that shirt of his, his muscles touching the air as you were just hoping to get a glance.. but your mouth was filled with the salty taste of Eren’s cock.

“Always gotta hog… that’s alright though.” Jean shot right back, only getting shorter. You could see in the corner of your eye that he was getting lower and lower and he just disappeared.

“Imma eater…” that’s all you heard before your pathetic demise. The fans watching were absolutely delighted. Just to watch two men who were in the spots that they wanted to be in.. it angered them but they needed to see more. They wanted to watch more. And the tension that arose was from Jean completely tearing through those pink shorts. That thick, brown pussy right above him as he slipped right below you.

His goatee didn’t grow from just anything..

God you wanted to look down so bad at his chiseled face, but you had to remember the most jealous one was corrupting your throat. Eren’s hand was now gripping the back of your throat, demanding your attention with a scoff. But maybe he had to thank Jean just this once. His cock experienced the most sensual vibration coming from your mouth. A sweet little moan came from you the second Jean pulled you down and started sucking your glistening clit. Those strong, powerful arms were keeping your thighs down, flexing on pure instinct.

“Fuck… use his dumb ass face baby… keep those sweet sounds coming…” Eren groaned, choking back his own moans as you were more eager for some reason. Your head bobbed back and forth on his length, slurping and moaning like a little toy that loved to be used for money. But it just was so good, you couldn’t care about seeming like a slut, not when Jean was eating you like this… and his nose, it was so perfect.

Your pussy had never been so tingly, so wet, so numb. You could feel how sore your throat was going to become from all the dick in your mouth. Eren’s cock was so much, yet you stuffed it inside your throat hole everytime. It was so tight, he was having trouble trying to keep at it. He did not want to cum first, no that would be ridiculous. He did not want to lose to Jean, and Jean looked like he would lose. He was gripping your thick ass like he’d never touched an ass before. Squeezing it, molding it, spreading it to get more of that juicy pussy in his mouth. He wanted to taste every part of it… all that pink on the inside.

No, you couldn’t take it. Your body began moving on its own. The little attempt you made at grinding on his face didn’t fail. You were moving back and forth and back and forth. You weren’t sure if Jean could breathe, but you knew he was enjoying it from how his grip got tighter. And you just couldn’t keep sucking Eren’s cock.. not when heaven was being sent to you on earth.

“Ahhh-!.. fuckme-!” Your precious moans finally filled the air. Your face was all messy and wet, and a cock was still laying on it. Your tongue came out again, trying to let Eren back in but he just relished in this picture… you were already drunk off the pleasure.

“Jean!… Jean… feels so fuckin good-… gonna make me cum…” you alerted this with all of your pretty whining. A little giggle even erupted from you as you felt his tongue slip right into your hole.. and his tongue was so long.

“Mess his face up baby.. ride him til he can’t breathe..” Eren growled, bending over only to take advantage of that tongue. He took it in his mouth, the sudden kiss making you hornier as you pressed your lips sloppily onto his. You tasted sinful, the tastes of Jean’s and Eren’s cocks mashed into one and he still kissed you.. even if that was his enemy. You felt the tingles, the rollercoaster of a feeling. Your weight was fully on Jean’s face as you rode it, his nose the star of your pleasure.

Your moan echoed against the walls when Eren pulled away from the exotic kiss. His mean behavior turned you on, and you couldn’t help it.. but when he wrapped his hand around your throat? You had to cum.

“Fuck! I-I’m so sorry-!” You gasped loudly, feeling yourself soak Jean’s handsome face with juices. It was like a small explosion gushing onto his face. Jean couldn’t breathe, but he saw the light when you actually lifted up and the sprinklers turned on. His face was dripping, and of course Eren believed that to be funny.

“Damn ma, you just about drowned his stupid ass…” Eren spat out, silently wishing it was true, but Jean, although quiet at first, laughed. “That wouldn’t be such a shit death.” He retorted back while sitting up. The male then wiped his face in a downward motion as you were sitting on the floor, taken aback. Sure, vibrators could do this.. but not in the sexiest way. Your mind was completely hazy, and your eyes were half lidded. To be honest, you were afraid to ask them what was next. Your body was theirs to play with.. and they knew that full well.

Eventually, you felt your body being lifted off the ground with little to no effort. A small squeal coming from you as you realized it was Eren. His face filled with determination and want as he placed you onto the bed. All you could see were two masculine, rival men glaring at each other for the fifth time. However, they were subtly agreeing on which hole was theirs… and you only realized that late. You realized when you were on top of Eren. His muscles were so firm and so nice to lay on, you had to lay your head on him.

Behind you, it was obvious it was Jean.. gripping onto your jiggly ass as it was poked up a bit in the air.

One cock was eager for your pussy lips, the other eager for your pretty little asshole that winked often. The tension was inevitable, and the want was extreme. It all excited Jean so much that he was already leaking precum on your pretty asshole.

“Please.. hurry.. Eren I need you inside my pussy..” this was almost like a cry for help, you needed the naughty feeling to go away. And Eren couldn’t ignore it, you said his name so cutely… in such a needy voice. Only him, not Jean… that’s because you needed Jean in your asshole.

“I’m big baby, gonna stretch you out some..” Eren warned, his hands softly gripping your waist as you went between to grip Eren’s thick cock. It was leaking so much precum that you believed he was going to cum fast.. but that wasn’t the case. A loud gushing sound followed the actions of his dark pink tip pushing past your small lips. He was quite thick indeed, and his cock stretched you out just as nice. “Stretchin’ me out.. fuck- that’s so much dick..” you hissed, barely going down to his pelvis. You were two thirds of the way down.. but that’s when you felt that familiar pair of lips. They were pressing against your tiny little asshole.

“Jean!” You gasped, your pussy instantly getting wetter from the realization. Jean was deep in the crack of your ass, his tongue dipping in and out of your pretty hole. It was helping more than enough as your pussy was opening up more for Eren’s cock to dive deeper. These men, they were turning you into a pure slut. You were so weak, your asshole was getting so excited that it was also opening up from the saliva from Jean. You were so spread open, you could tell your fans were enjoying this too.. with all the loud pinging donations..

“Oh-ohmygod-… I can’t take this-…” you cried, only for Eren to slowly wrap his strong arms around you.. keeping you pressed against him. Jean didn’t stop, his slurping sounds and his eating only making you dive deep into the intoxicating feeling. Your edges were just fucked up, not laid whatsoever any longer. A loud moan exited you eventually, and the two males realized that Eren was now balls deep into that perfect pussy.

“There she goes..” Jean practically cooed, dripping saliva on your asshole before he slipped his big thumb inside of your hole. You weren’t new to a cock being in your ass, but Jean was big enough to cause you trouble… Obviously he knew this from watching your videos so damn much. What horny bastards they were, that’s what you wanted to say.. but here you were, looking like a sex doll.

And with that thumb slipping in and out of your ass, you slowly moved up and then down. Your pretty ass jiggled when you did, and Eren was so quiet. You had to lift your head.. but you could only see his flushed red face, his eyes intense. His hold on you got tighter the second you looked at him. He could feel every inch of your wall, and his heart was beating so quickly at this fact. All he could do was bite back his moans, letting you bounce up and down on his thickness.

Jean might not like Eren, but the way your pussy sucked his cock up was damn near art. The sloppy plops of skin began to get louder the more eager you were. The aching feeling of needing an orgasm was just scratching at you.

“Fuck- dick so good.. oh-.. thank you.. thank you..” you babbled out, moans unable to be kept back, you sounded pathetic. It made Jean’s cock jolt when you sounded that way. He wasn’t in yet, but Eren was.. and he could barely speak.

“She’s saying thank you.. the least you could do is say you’re welcome..” Jean meanly said to Eren, knowing the male was too prideful to moan in a girl's ear, let alone yours. But for some reason Eren was blank minded enough to agree. He let a deep, raspy moan go when he opened his mouth..

“You’re fucking welcome ma.. keep taking it. I know you can.” he couldn’t muster out much, but his words went right down your spine. Jean had a great view of your spine, he could see your pretty little arch. “That’s right love, listen to Eren just this once. Only because he’s right this time..”

Eren wanted to talk shit so badly, however before anything could come out.. he only groaned. He sharply breathed in when you squeezed tight around his dick. Your sweet russet colored face was contorted in pure pleasure, your golden pussy trapping Eren in erotica. You were tightening up because Jean was aligned with your slightly agape asshole. His tip prodding about before slipping in.

“Fuck she’s grippin me..” Eren couldn’t hold back, he moaned out deeply, his hands moving to your hips as he squeezed tight. That’s when he slowly bucked his hips up into yours. His cock followed the movement. Eren was fucking up into your tight death grip, his body able to do as such because he was athletic.

“I can’t take it~… Oh shit~…” it was like you were drunk, partially present in the moment as your asshole stretched open. The more Eren fucked up into you with purpose, the more Jean could slip inside. Jean’s face was filled with need.. he was only a little bit inside but enough to slip in and out. And for once in their lives, the rivals were in sync. Thrust after thrust…

“So much-!… m’gonna cum!..”

Thrust thrust thrust thrust…

“I’m not even in all the way baby…you better hold that in..” Jean pleaded as he felt you tighten up even more than you already were. Jean however, pushed right through. The amazing feeling of your tightest, richest walls against his cock made him feel on top of the world. This whole thing was like a dream, to finally be in this sweet, adorable room filled with plushies of all sorts. Any other time he’d definitely joke about Eren laying down in a bed full of plushies, but they both were getting play from the sexiest girl they knew of.

And damn could you take cock.

You were begging your insides not to cum so quickly, Jean was taking advantage of your slippery goodness.. using it as lube as well as his spit. Mixed together, you were just opening up more and more for his long cock. The urge to just plunge through was so high, but you could now easily take half of his cock.. and that’s all he needed to pound you. Eren had a hold onto your hips, so Jean gripped your waist.

“Best fuckin dick ever..” you drooled on Eren’s right peck. Crying out for dear life as your asshole was being drilled into as well. It was overstimulating, unreal.. and unfair. You got to a point where it was hard distinguishing the two from one another, and they both could see that.

“Who’s beating this pussy up…” Eren teased, his hair sticking to his forehead just a little as he moaned into your ear.

“Y-..ah…Jea-…n-no… Eren..”

It was cute of you to mess up…

“Who’s stretching this asshole out..?” Jean questioned, watching you babble out nonsense before you breathed in loudly. “Jean!..” hearing his name made him shiver.. He didn’t know if he could last as long as Eren was… truly he’d give that to him. But the way you ass recoiled against his pelvis, and the way your asshole puckered around his cock? He couldn’t hold out much longer.

No.. he really couldn’t, and he was ashamed but from what he could see? This pretty brown ass was just the death of him. Jean folded hard, and he watched you bounce back on him ever so slowly. Eren had to stop thrusting upwards because you took Jean’s cock as a dildo. Oh you were gonna milk him so bad.

“M’gonna squirt..” you coughed, unable to breathe properly as your pretty pussy forced Eren out. The pretty spray of liquid came out on Eren’s cock as Jean let go. Jean couldn’t hold it anymore… no.. not when you squirted from his cock being in your fat ass. His moans were constant, loud and known. He made sure you understood you were milking him and that hot substance was you draining his cock… “ooh-.. fuck- it’s so-.. so sticky..”

Eren felt accomplished, he made it.. He didn’t cum first, but that was something he couldn’t think of right now, what he had to think of was how humiliating it was to have Jean’s cum drip down and down.. slipping just slightly into your pussy and on Eren’s tip. It made him growl almost, but you slipped Eren right back inside you pussy… bouncing away. Your pussy was so creamy now, making loud noises as if it was talking to Jean and Eren.. Eren fucking loved how noisy your pussy was, practically speaking of how perfect this felt.. how nicely it was fucked…

“Cum in me Eren~.. please.. wanna mix y’all’s cum so bad…” moaning out , Eren heard your naughty request. To be fair, it was sexy and nasty. His rival’s cum was already inside of your ass and some in your pussy.. but it was making a white ring around Eren’s cock…

“Eren please!” Your voice was hoarse, and that’s the last thing Eren needed.. For some reason that caused his precious dick to twitch, and that means his cum was painting your walls. He sounded a bit animalistic when he came inside of you, gripping tighter and tighter on your hips as he was begging you to stop bouncing with just his fingers digging in your skin.

You could feel a hotter substance inside now. All from Eren. His was a bit more liquid-like, but it still mixed with Jean’s cum.. your wish inevitably coming true. Two hunks just came in your two holes, both stretched to meet their cock sizes.

It was so sinful to be there, laying with both holes dripping the cum of two rivals… but the fans loved it. You loved it.

#anime x black!reader #black reader #ambw #ambw bwam #aot x black reader #aot x reader #eren x black reader #anime x poc!reader #jean x reader #Jean x black!reader #jean kirsten x reader #jean kirstein x black reader #attack on titan x black reader #attack on titan x reader #aot scenarios #aot x black y/n

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thinkinonsense · 9 months ago

Text

DESIRE ୨୧

logan howlett x mutant!reader

cw: flirty, slightly nsfw

a/n: this was heavily inspired by that scene in the first suicide squad movie where they introduce harley quinn.

"we should all split up before someone finds us." storm tells her team mates as the break into the building.

inside were mutants of all kinds, being hidden and tested on. it was charles plan for the team to get as many as possible and bring them back to the mansion before they can cause any damage.

on the surface, it seemed simple enough. they have done this mission a million times. little did they know that an unspeakable danger awaited them in the basement of the old building.

everyone split up, storm went to the west wing while scott and jean went to the east. logan found his way downstairs, assuming that maybe he could find whoever was running the show here.

beyond the high security metal doors, he can hear the faint sound of an old record playing. the closer he got, the clearer it sounded. nancy sinatra? maybe? logan wasn't quite sure but he figured it was a trap so, he prepared himself for whatever was on the other side.

Way down along the stream

How sweet it will seem

Once more just to dream

In the moonlight

My honey, I know (I know) with the dawn

That you will be gone

But tonight

You belong to me

revealed on the other side is a large metal cage fit for a wild animal. inside was a girl swinging upside down from a line of tied material with her body in an obscene position.

"i've told you before, david..." your voice was angelic to logan's ears. light as a feather. "i don't like to be disturbed after 7."

"i'm not david, princess." logan said, stepping out of the shadows right as your eyes open.

logan's eyes scan over your scandalous appearance. tiny dirty white shorts and matching tight tank top, apparently whoever runs this prison doesn't allow bras either. you twirl down from near the top of the cage until your face to face with the man on the other side.

"who are you, then?" you ask, looking up at him as you hold onto the bars.

"i'm here to get you out of this cage." he says, unleashing his claws, ready to cut through the bars.

"hold it, baby." you purr, reaching out to touch his sharp claws. "don't you wanna play with me?"

"no, we need to leave."

"why should i leave with you? how do i know that you won't put me in another cage?"

even with a slightly dirty face, rings of lavender circles under your eyes, and dried blood on the corner of your bottom lip, logan still thought you were gorgeous. slightly intimidated by your fearlessness to reach out and touch his claws. he imagines that you had seen worse than this.

"tryin' to save you" he grunts.

"i wouldn't picture you as the prince charming type." you giggle, running your fingers up his hairy, veiny, strong arm over the black latex suit.

"i'm not."

logan glares down at you in a way that makes you want to jump his bones. what? it gets lonely being trapped in a cage all by yourself. plus it's not everyday that a handsome stranger wants to help you escape.

suddenly, you grab logan's palm, circling it as your eyes roll back to a dark green shade.

"tell me what you want to do with me." you demand.

this was the moment logan understood why you were held in a cage down in the basement. suddenly, logan's mind feels as if it's being bended and twisting, forcing every ounce of truth out of him.

"we are here to take the mutants to charles xavier's school for gifted youngsters." his voice sounded robotic under your spell.

"charles xavier?"

in a rush of excitement, you release logan from your threshold. he wants to bark at you for invading his mind but seeing you smile made him reconsider.

"so, you've heard of him?" logan raises a brow at you, watching as you hold his hand sweetly.

"of course i have." you answer tracing shapes on the back of his palm. "i've seen him in my visions. been waitin' on him."

visions? what kind of mutant are you? logan asked himself as you spoke.

"too bad i didn't see you in them, though." you sigh, batting your long lashes at him. "wish i had. could've bought us some time to... well, you know."

the teasing flirty tone made logan's cock stir under the tight latex. he felt this overwhelming desire for you fill his head.

"hm... we should focus on getting you out of here first, huh, princess?" he tilts his head to the side, amused by you. "step back."

you obey, walking backwards near your rope. in the blink of an eye, logan cuts through the bars and bends them out enough for him to help you get out. loud flashing sirens go off, slightly startling the two of you.

"guards." you warn him. "they're coming."

logan turns around, claws bare to anyone coming towards the two of you. he steps in front of you, ready to protect like a guard dog. it was quite cute of him, you think. the moment the guards burst in, logan starts attacking, stabbing them ruthlessly.

you allow him to take out a few one by one but as more poured in, you stepped in. your eyes roll back into the same shade of green as a hand raises, some of them fall to their hand and knees, shifting into dogs others were being strangled until they looked blue in the face.

logan couldn't believe it. the only mutant that he thought could rivaled your powers was jean. the room fell quiet except for the record echoing as it replayed.

"it's my favorite song, you know?" you grin as if nothing happened.

"old soul, huh?" logan asked with an eyebrow raised.

"witches are timeless, sugar." you wink, extending your hand for him to take.

logan hesitates but knows he has to get the two of you out of here alive. one look into your starry eyes and he's a goner. logan takes your hand and leads you to the jet, knowing he will never hear the end of it from his teammates.

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heliosunny · 4 months ago

Note

Thoughts on yandere!merman phainon×villager reader? *yeets myself*

Yandere!Merman Phainon × Villager!Reader

The sun hung high over the coastal village, casting a golden glow over the bustling marketplace. The air was thick with the salty tang of the sea, mingling with the scent of fresh bread, ripe fruit, and the occasional whiff of fish. Stalls lined the cobblestone streets, their colorful awnings fluttering in the breeze. You stood behind your own modest stall, arranging jars of honey and bundles of dried herbs, when you saw him approaching.

Phainon was a regular at the market, always dressed in simple but elegant clothes that seemed to catch the light just right. His hair, a cascade of silvery waves, framed a face that could only be described as otherworldly. His eyes, a shade of blue so deep it was almost unsettling, seemed to hold the mysteries of the ocean itself.

“Good morning” he said, his voice smooth and melodic, like the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. He smiled at you.

“Morning, Phainon” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “The usual?”

He nodded, and you handed him a small pouch of dried lavender. He always bought the same thing, every time. You’d never asked why, but you liked to imagine he used it to scent his home, or perhaps to brew tea. He paid with a few coins, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment.

As he turned to leave, something slipped from his pocket—a small, intricately carved seashell. You called out to him, but he didn’t seem to hear, already weaving his way through the crowd. Without thinking, you grabbed the shell and hurried after him.

The market thinned as you followed him toward the edge of the village, where the cobblestones gave way to a dirt path leading down to the beach. The sound of the waves grew louder, and the air grew cooler, carrying with it the faint scent of salt and seaweed. Phainon walked with purpose, his pace quickening as he neared the water.

You were about to call out to him again when he suddenly stopped. You froze, hiding behind a large rock, unsure why you felt the need to conceal yourself. Something about the way he moved, the way he seemed to blend with the sea, made you hesitate.

And then it happened.

Phainon’s form began to shift, his body elongating, his skin taking on a faint, iridescent sheen. His legs fused together, transforming into a powerful, shimmering tail. The silvery waves of his hair seemed to merge with the scales that now covered his body, and when he turned his head, you saw the faint outline of gills along his neck.

Phainon wasn’t human. He was a merman.

You stood frozen on the beach, the seashell clutched tightly in your hand, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it even from beneath the waves. The water rippled, and then Phainon emerged, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in the air was palpable. He moved toward you with an eerie grace, his tail gliding effortlessly through the shallow water.

"You saw"

You swallowed hard, your mind racing. You knew you should say something—anything—to defuse the situation, but your tongue felt like it was glued to the roof of your mouth. Phainon’s gaze darkened as he closed the distance between you, his tail shifting back into legs as he stepped onto the sand.

"You shouldn’t have followed me" He reached out, his fingers brushing against your neck, and you felt the sharp edge of his nails—no, claws—grazing your skin. Your breath hitched, and your survival instincts kicked in.

"Wait!" you blurted out, your voice cracking. "You’re… you’re really pretty!"

Phainon froze, his hand still hovering near your throat. For a moment, there was silence, and then—he laughed. It wasn’t the warm, melodic laugh you’d heard at the market.

"Pretty?" he repeated, his lips curling into a smirk. "Is that really what you’re going with?"

You nodded frantically, your brain scrambling for something—anything—to keep him from killing you. "And—and I taste bad! Like, really bad. You wouldn’t like me. I’m all… bitter and gross. Like old seaweed. Or—or barnacles. Yeah, barnacles. You don’t want to eat me."

"Barnacles, huh?" he said, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. "I’ll have to take your word for it."

He stepped back, releasing you, and you nearly collapsed with relief. But his eyes never left yours, and the intensity in his gaze made it clear that this wasn’t over. "You’re an interesting one," he said, his tone light but laced with something darker. "I’ll let you live… for now. But if you tell anyone what you saw, I won’t be so generous next time."

You nodded vigorously, clutching the seashell like a lifeline. "I won’t say a word. I swear."

Phainon’s smirk softened into something almost playful, and he turned to walk back toward the water. "Good" he said over his shoulder. "I’ll see you at the market tomorrow. And… meet me alone after the day ends. Don’t be late."

And with that, he slipped beneath the waves, leaving you standing there, your heart still racing and your mind spinning.

The next day at the market was agony. Every time Phainon approached your stall, your hands trembled as you handed him his usual pouch of lavender. He acted as though nothing had happened, his smile as charming as ever, but you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the unspoken threat lingering in the air. The other villagers greeted him warmly, completely unaware of what he truly was, and you forced yourself to smile and nod along, keeping your mouth shut as promised.

When the market finally closed and the sun began to dip below the horizon, you made your way to the secluded spot on the beach where Phainon had told you to meet him. Your stomach churned with nerves, but you knew you had no choice. He was waiting for you, leaning against a rock, his silver hair catching the last rays of sunlight.

"You came," he said, his voice smooth and teasing. "I was starting to think you’d run away."

"I didn’t think running would help" you admitted.

Phainon chuckled, "Smart" he said. "But don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you… yet. I just want to talk."

You weren’t sure whether to feel relieved or more terrified. But as he began to speak, his voice low and hypnotic, you realized that this was only the beginning of something far more dangerous.

The tension between you and Phainon was palpable as you stood on the beach, the waves lapping at the shore in a rhythm that felt almost mocking. You couldn’t help but blurt out the first thing that came to mind, trying to lighten the mood.

"Should I, uh, offer you some fish or something?" you stammered, gesturing vaguely toward the water. "You know, so you don’t get hungry and… eat me or whatever?"

"Fish?" he repeated, his tone dripping with amusement. "Do I look like some common sea creature to you?"

"Well, I mean, you are a merman" you said, "I just thought—"

"I don’t need your fish," he interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "And I’m not going to eat you. Not today, anyway."

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off again, his smirk widening. "Honestly, you’re more entertaining alive than you would be as a snack. So stop worrying so much."

You weren’t sure whether to feel relieved or insulted, but before you could say anything else, Phainon’s expression shifted. His gaze flicked over your shoulder, narrowing slightly. You turned to follow his line of sight, but all you saw was the shadow of a figure disappearing into the trees.

"Who was that?" you asked.

Phainon’s smirk faded, replaced by a look of mild irritation. "No one important," he said, though his tone suggested otherwise. "Just someone who doesn’t know how to mind their own business."

You didn’t press further, but the encounter left you feeling uneasy. When Phainon finally dismissed you, you hurried back to the village, your mind racing with questions.

The next day, you weren’t at your usual spot in the market. Phainon noticed immediately, his sharp eyes scanning the stalls for any sign of you. When he didn’t see you, a flicker of worry crossed his face—though he’d never admit it. If you’d revealed his secret, he wouldn’t still be standing here, free to roam the village. So where were you?

He began asking around casually, his charm and easy smile masking the urgency he felt. "Have you seen the seller with the honey and herbs?" he asked one of the villagers, his tone light. "I was hoping to buy something from them today."

The villager shrugged. "I think I saw them heading toward the woods earlier. Maybe they’re gathering more herbs?"

Phainon’s smile tightened, but he thanked the villager and made his way toward the edge of the village, his steps quickening as he entered the forest. It didn’t take long for him to find you—or rather, to find the man who had been watching you the night before.

You were cornered against a tree, the man standing too close, his expression a mix of anger and desperation. "You’ve been spending a lot of time with him" the man spat, his voice trembling. "Phainon. Everyone loves him, but he’s not what he seems. And you—you’re always so nice to everyone. Why can’t you see me?"

You tried to step back, but the tree trunk pressed into your back, leaving you nowhere to go. "I—I don’t know what you’re talking about" you stammered, your voice shaking. "I’m just trying to do my job."

The man’s eyes narrowed, and he reached out to grab your arm, but before he could, a voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Let them go."

Both of you turned to see Phainon standing a few feet away, his expression cold and dangerous. The man hesitated, his grip on your arm loosening slightly.

"This doesn’t concern you" the man said, though his voice wavered.

Phainon took a step closer, "Oh, but it does," he said, "Now, I suggest you walk away before I make you."

The man glanced between you and Phainon, his face pale. Finally, he released your arm and took a step back, muttering something under his breath before turning and disappearing into the trees.

You let out a shaky breath, your legs feeling like they might give out at any moment. Phainon stepped closer, his expression softening slightly.

"Are you all right?"

You nodded, though you were still trembling. "Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for… you know, not letting him kidnap me or whatever."

"You really do have a knack for getting into trouble, don’t you?"

"Apparently," you muttered, rubbing your arm where the man had grabbed you.

"Come on," he said, gesturing for you to follow him. "I’ll walk you back to the village. And don’t worry—I’ll make sure no one bothers you again."

You hesitated, but something in his tone made you feel a little safer. As you walked beside him, you couldn’t help but wonder what kind of mess you’d gotten yourself into—and whether Phainon was really the dangerous one, or if the real threat was lurking much closer to home.

The next day, you found yourself back at the shore, the salty breeze tugging at your hair as you stood beside Phainon. The events of the previous day still lingered in your mind, but there was something almost… comforting about being near him now. Maybe it was the way he’d protected you, or maybe it was the way his smirk softened just slightly when he looked at you.

"So," you began, glancing at him sideways, "am I, like, a pet to you now? Or… what exactly is going on here?"

Phainon turned to look at you, his eyebrows shooting up in amusement. "A pet?" he repeated, "What is in that crazy mind of yours? Do you really think I’d keep a human as a pet?"

"Well, I don’t know!" you said, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "You’re a merman who could probably eat me if you wanted to, but instead you’re just… hanging out with me. It’s weird!"

He laughed, "You’re overthinking this" he said, shaking his head. "I don’t keep pets, and I don’t eat humans who make me laugh. Consider yourself lucky."

You frowned, not entirely convinced, but you let it drop for now. The two of you continued walking along the shore, the sand cool beneath your feet. You bent down to pick up a shell, turning it over in your hands.

"Do you blow this for music?" you asked, holding it up to him. "You know, like a mermaid—or merman—flute or something?"

Phainon glanced at the shell, then at you, his expression a mix of disbelief and exasperation. "Do I look like a sea bard to you?" he said dryly. "No, I don’t blow shells for music. What even goes on in that head of yours?"

You shrugged, grinning despite yourself. "I don’t know! I’m just trying to figure you out. You’re kind of a mystery, you know."

He rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Good luck with that," he said. "I’ve been around for centuries, and I still don’t understand humans."

Before you could respond, Phainon’s expression suddenly shifted. His eyes darkened, and he turned his head sharply toward the water. You noticed the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched.

"Are you okay?" you asked, your voice tinged with concern.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a step back, his gaze still fixed on the ocean. "I need to go" he said abruptly.

"Wait, what? Why?"

But he was already moving, his form beginning to shift as he waded into the water. You stood there, shell still in hand, staring at the spot where he’d disappeared.

"Okay, then," you muttered to yourself, tucking the shell into your pocket. "Guess I’ll just… wait here?"

But Phainon didn’t resurface, and after a while, you turned and made your way back to the village, your mind buzzing with questions. What had just happened? Why had he left so suddenly? And why did you feel a strange pang of worry for a creature who could probably swallow you whole if he wanted to?

The early morning light was just beginning to filter through the trees as you prepared your stall for the day. The market was still quiet, the villagers only just starting to stir. You were arranging jars of honey and bundles of herbs when a noise caught your attention—a sharp, guttural sound that sent a chill down your spine. It came from the edge of the forest, near the shore.

Your heart raced as you followed the sound, your footsteps quick and silent. When you reached the source, your breath caught in your throat. Phainon was there, but he wasn’t the charming, enigmatic figure you’d come to know. His eyes were wild, his teeth bared, and beneath him was the lifeless body of a man. Blood stained the sand, and Phainon’s hands—no, claws—were slick with it.

For a moment, you froze, your mind struggling to process what you were seeing. This wasn’t the Phainon who teased you, who laughed at your ridiculous questions, who walked you back to the village to keep you safe. This was something else entirely.

But before you could think too much about it, your instincts kicked in. You rushed forward, grabbing Phainon by the arm. "We need to go. Now," you hissed, your voice low but urgent.

He looked at you, his eyes still clouded with something primal, but he didn’t resist as you pulled him away from the scene. You led him to a secluded spot further down the shore, where the trees provided cover. Once there, you turned to him, your hands trembling but your voice steady.

"Stay here," you said. "I’ll take care of it."

Phainon didn’t respond, his breathing ragged as he slumped against a rock. You hurried back to the body, your stomach churning as you dragged it into the water, letting the current carry it away. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it would have to do. You then scooped up handfuls of sand to cover the bloodstains, erasing as much evidence as you could.

When you returned to Phainon, he was still in the same spot, his head bowed. You knelt beside him, cupping water in your hands to wash the blood from his skin. He flinched at first but didn’t pull away, his eyes slowly clearing as the cold water brought him back to himself.

"I didn’t mean to… I lost control. The hunger—it’s been worse lately."

"Why didn’t you tell me?" you asked softly. "I could’ve helped."

He looked at you, his expression a mix of guilt and something else—something vulnerable. "I didn’t want you to see me like this," he admitted. "I didn’t want you to be afraid of me."

You sighed, sitting back on your heels. "Well, it’s a little late for that," you said, "But I’m still here, aren’t I?"

He didn’t answer, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. You stood, brushing the sand off your hands. "Wait here," you said. "I’ll be back."

You hurried to the market, grabbing a few fresh fish from one of the stalls. You skewered them and grilled them quickly over a small fire, the smell of the cooking fish filling the air. When they were done, you brought them back to Phainon, holding one out to him.

"Here," you said. "Try this."

He hesitated, then took the skewer, biting into the fish cautiously. His eyes widened slightly, and he devoured the rest in a few quick bites. "This… helps," he said, his voice quieter now. "More than I expected."

You nodded, sitting down beside him. "Good. I’ll make sure you have some every day. No more… incidents, okay?"

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The silence stretched between you, comfortable but heavy with unspoken words. Finally, you broke it.

"My parents… they’ve been urging me to find a partner" you said, staring at your hands. "To settle down. They’re getting older, and they want to see me happy before… well, you know."

Phainon’s head snapped toward you, his expression darkening. "A partner?" he repeated, his voice tight. "And what do you want?"

You shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. But they’re not going to stop asking."

He was silent for a long moment, his jaw clenched. Finally, he spoke "You don’t need a partner. You’re fine as you are."

"I mean, it’s not that simple—"

"It is," he interrupted,"You don’t need anyone else."

You blinked, unsure how to respond. But before you could say anything, he looked away.

"Just… don’t rush into anything," he said quietly. "Not for them."

You nodded, though your mind was racing. What was he implying? And why did the thought of finding someone else suddenly feel so… wrong?

As the sun rose higher in the sky, you sat there beside him, the sound of the waves filling the silence. And for the first time, you wondered if maybe, just maybe, you didn’t need to look for a partner at all. Maybe what you needed was already right beside you.

The days that followed were a strange mix of tension and quiet understanding. You kept your promise, bringing Phainon freshly grilled fish every morning, and he, in turn, seemed more like himself—charming, enigmatic, and just a little dangerous. But there was a shift between you now, an unspoken connection that neither of you dared to address.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourself sitting with Phainon on the shore. The air was thick with the scent of salt and the faint smokiness of the fire you’d built to grill his fish. He ate quietly, his gaze fixed on the horizon, while you fiddled with a piece of driftwood, your thoughts swirling.

"You know," you said, breaking the silence, "I’ve been thinking about what you said. About not needing a partner."

"And?"

"And… I think you might be right" you admitted, "I don’t need someone to make me happy. I’m fine on my own."

"But?"

You hesitated, then sighed. "But my parents… they won’t stop pushing. They’ve even started introducing me to people. It’s exhausting."

Phainon’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his fingers curling into fists. "They don’t understand," he said, "They don’t see what I see."

"And what do you see?"

He turned to you, "I see someone who doesn’t belong in their world. Someone who’s… different. Like me."

"Phainon, I’m not—"

"You are," he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You’ve always been different. That’s why I chose you."

"Chose me?"

He didn’t respond right away, his eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge your reaction. Then, slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. The touch was surprisingly gentle.

"You’re mine. You always have been. I just didn’t realize it until now."

There was something terrifying about his words, but also something undeniably alluring. You’d always felt drawn to him, even when you didn’t understand why. And now, as you looked into his eyes, you realized that maybe you didn’t need to understand. Maybe you just needed to accept it.

"Phainon" you began, your voice trembling, trying to resist some invisible force "I—"

Before you could finish, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both fierce and tender. It was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were dark with something primal, something that made your heart race.

"Stay with me" he said, like a command "Forget the village. Forget your parents. You belong here, with me."

You hesitated, your mind racing. This was madness. He was a merman, a creature of the sea, and you were… just you. But as you looked into his eyes, you realized that maybe madness was exactly what you needed.

"Okay...." you whispered, "I’ll stay."

Phainon’s lips curved into a smile, he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you.

"Good" he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "You won’t regret it."

The villagers noticed your absence, of course. At first, they assumed you’d gone on a trip, or perhaps decided to move to another village. But as days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, the rumors began to spread. Some said you’d been taken by the sea, while others whispered that you’d run away with a lover. Your parents grieved, but they never stopped hoping you’d return.

What they didn’t know was that you were still there, just beyond the shore, hidden in the depths of the ocean. Phainon had built a life for you beneath the waves, a world of shimmering coral and bioluminescent light. It was beautiful, but it was also isolating. You rarely saw other humans, and when you did, it was from a distance, watching as they walked along the shore, oblivious to the danger lurking just beneath the surface.

The villagers never found out what happened to you, but sometimes, on quiet nights, they swore they could hear a voice singing from the sea—a voice that sounded almost like yours. And though they didn’t understand it, they felt a strange sense of unease, as if the ocean itself was watching them, waiting.

But you were far beyond their reach now, lost in the depths with the one who had claimed you. And as the years passed, you became less human and more something else—something that belonged to the sea, to the darkness, to him.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #phainon #hsr phainon #phainon hsr #phainon x reader #phainon honkai star rail

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ethe-realfantasy · 29 days ago

Text

How Simon Ghost Riley falls in love with a civilian visitor… (final) Part VII

(Slow burn, pure fluff, Simon is a big, burly, brooding mess (not really awkward anymore… but kinda shy??), IT FINALLY happens GUYS)

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It's almost 7 p.m. and you are curled up on the sofa, face masked with a thin layer of pink clay and a scrunchie holding your damp hair in a messy bun. A rom-com flickers softly on the TV, but you're only half watching, idly painting your toes a warm nude shade.

Your phone buzzes next to your thigh. When you glance at the screen, you see his name pop up.

Long shift. Haven’t eaten since breakfast. Feel like keeping me company for dinner?

Your heart thuds. It's so him. Short, dry, straightforward. But you can read the tone beneath it. That quiet, steady hopefulness.

You don't even answer right away. Instead, you launch off the couch, face mask half-dry, and run to your bedroom like a girl late for prom.

“Oh god, what do I wear, what do I wear,” you mutter, tearing through your closet.

You pull out a pale cream wrap dress made of a delicate fabric. It's feminine, gentle. You wore it once to a summer wedding and always liked how it made you feel.

Back in the bathroom, you quickly wash off the mask and redo your skincare in record time. You give yourself a quick once-over in the mirror and put on a bit of tinted lip balm. It's nothing dramatic, just enough.

Finally, you grab your phone again and text back:

That sounds like a very serious emergency. I’m getting ready now. Where should I meet you?

As soon as you hit send, you phone buzzes again.

No need to meet me. I’ll come get you.

Your thumb hovers over the screen as you read it again and smile. No emojis or unnecessary words. Still you heard everything in that simple message. He wants to come get you. Your pulse flutters in your throat.

Suddenly, the pale cream dress feels… too polite. Too safe.

You turn back toward your closet, standing in the soft light of your bedroom. And then, slowly, your eyes find it... the other dress. It's a soft blush pink, lightweight silk, with thin straps. Flattering in a way that always makes you a little nervous to wear it alone. It hugs you gently where it should and moves like water when you walk. You once wore it out but didn't like how everyone noticed you.

But tonight? With him? With Simon waiting outside for you, the thought doesn't scare you anymore. It rather excites you.

You slip into the dress, smoothing it down over your hips and check yourself in the mirror. Your hair falls gently around your shoulders now, the tiniest curl at the ends. Finally, you add a touch of perfume.

When you hear his truck roll up to the curb, you don't hesitate to slip on your shoes, grab your bag and walk straight down to him.

As you step out into the quiet evening, the cool air kisses the bare skin of your shoulders. The pavement is still warm from the day, but your heart beats faster with every step toward the familiar dark truck parked by the curb.

At first, all you see is the broad silhouette. His body is resting casually against the truck, the sleeve of his hoodie is pushed up just enough to show a sliver of forearm. You swallow.

Then he turns and his profile comes into view. The sharp line of his jaw, his dark lashes, that unmistakable calm strength in his posture... and then his eyes find yours.

Your heels slow as you watch as his gaze move over you. His gaze is direct, not shocked, but… reverent. Like he didn't expect you to look... like that. Like he can't get enough.

And yet, he doesn't say a word. Simon just stares at you for a second longer and then opens the passenger door. You climb in, pulse hammering behind your ribs. His scent filled the inside of the truck, warm and familiar, something woodsy and clean that lingers in the air. He doesn't speak right away. Instead he lets his eyes flick to your legs as he settles in the truck, then straight ahead again, hands on the wheel.

“Hi,” you say softly, smiling in his direction.

“Evenin’,” he murmurs, finally stealing another glance at you. His voice is quiet.

“You look nice,” you add, tugging your dress down gently over your thighs, suddenly self-conscious.

“You…” he exhales and gives a slight shake of his head, eyes on the road as he pulls away from the curb. “You look incredible.”

You try not to melt into your seat.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he says, after a moment, clearing his throat. “Didn’t really plan anything fancy. Just a place I go after long days. Laid-back. Food’s good.”

“I don’t mind,” you say gently.

He glances at you again, that smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You sure that dress won’t be mad about it?”

You laugh. “This old thing? She’s just along for the ride.”

And when his fingers grip the wheel just a little tighter, jaw working faintly as if to keep a reply at bay, you feel the glow return to your cheeks.

It's going to be a good night.

The truck slows to a gentle stop outside a quiet spot tucked just off a main road. It's unassuming from the outside, the kind of place that only locals know. The smell of grilled something delicious floats faintly through the air even before you step out of the truck.

Simon unbuckles, steps out and shuts the driver’s side door with a quiet thunk. Then, in only a few strides, he is there, opening your door with one hand and offering the other to help you out with the kind of old-school chivalry that makes your breath hitch.

You slip your fingers into his and the second you stand, that dress… it clings. And Simon almost growls. It moves like it's made just for your body.

And it doesn't help that you smile up at him like you don't even realize you are walking around looking like that.

Looking like that in his presence, in public, with that soft perfume and those bright eyes and that delicate laugh already teasing at his better judgment.

He stands close, just a little too close, one hand hovering protectively at your lower back as if he is afraid someone might even look at you sideways. He doesn't say it aloud, but the thought passes through him anyway like a flicker of heat:

That dress should be outlawed. Or worn only indoors. With him. Alone.

And then he exhales and clears his throat, grounding himself.

“C’mon,” he mutters gruffly, still not letting go of your hand. “Let’s get inside.”

You let yourself be led, your heels tapping softly on the sidewalk. You feel light, giddy, even. Like you were just invited to prom by the guy every girl whispered about but no one really knew.

“You’re awfully quiet,” you tease, glancing up at him. “Regretting asking me yet?”

He shoots you a look, a mix between dry, amused and a little dangerous.

“Just tryin’ not to get myself arrested.”

You burst out laughing, elbowing him gently as you step through the front door into the low-lit warmth of the bar. It smells like grilled meat and oak. Soft music plays overhead. No one pays you much attention and still, he stays close. His hand is still pressed lightly against your back.

The dinner is warm and casual, full of easy conversation, little smirks between bites, and the occasional flicker of something unspoken threading between you.

You chose something light, something you could eat without worrying about talking too much or too little and Simon, true to form, ordered something hearty. He is quiet as ever while he eats, but he is still watching you with those sharp eyes that make you feel like he is listening to more than just your voice.

You tell him a little story about the firm, nothing too serious and he chuckles under his breath, rubbing a thumb along the rim of his glass.

“You should laugh more,” you say quietly, tilting your head. “You look way too serious most of the time.”

Simon smirks, eyes flickering up to meet yours. “I laugh plenty. Just… usually not in public.”

That earns him a grin from you and you roll your eyes, setting your fork down.

“Alright, I’ll be right back", you say while you stand up.

As you turn to go, your hand drifts out, almost absently and your fingertips brush along the curve of his shoulder. Just a soft touch. There is barely any pressure. But you linger for one heartbeat too long.

And then you're gone.

Simon blinks and his jaw tightens. He stares at the spot where your hand was just seconds ago. Something behind his sternum tightens, low and hot.

Hell.

He swallows, shifting slightly in his seat, one hand twitching with the impulse to follow you... no, to pull you down into his lap right here in the booth and kiss you like he’s been aching to do all evening. Ever since you stepped out of your apartment in that dress.

But no.

He flexes his hand once beneath the table, grounding himself.

Later... maybe.

God, hopefully.

You step into the bathroom, the quiet clicking of your heels echoing behind you. The corners of your lips are still curled in a smile, soft and warm. You pause by the mirror, smoothing your hands down the sides of your dress, making sure everything still sat just right. Your reflection looks a little flushed, a little too glowy from nothing more than a dinner out, but you don't care.

You touch up your lipstick, take a breath and smile at yourself in the mirror. That little touch.... your fingers brushing his shoulder... it landed. You don't even have to see his face to know it. You felt it in the way his posture shifted. How still he went.

You aren't reckless, but you aren't oblivious either. You knew exactly what you did. And God, the tension he carried in his frame when you left the table, it was enough to make you feel wanted.

You return to the table a few minutes later, gracefully sliding back into your seat and Simon’s eyes are already on you before you even sit down.

“I'm sorry,” you say gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I did not mean to be gone long.”

He shakes his head once. “Didn’t feel long.”

His voice ia low and just a bit rough. His eyes drop to your mouth for a half-second too long. It makes your pulse flutter.

You glance outside, where the city lights bleed into the soft hues of early night and then look back at him.

“Do you want to walk a little?” you ask quietly. “It’s really beautiful out… and I’m not ready to go home just yet.”

Simon doesn't hesitate. He immediately reaches for his wallet.

“Yeah,” he says. “A walk sounds good.”

What he doesn't say, however, is: I need air. I need space between us or I’ll forget myself. I need to remember I’m not supposed to touch you the way I’m thinking right now.

Instead, he pays for dinner and gently guides you outside with his hand just near your lower back. He opens the door for you like it is instinct, like he has to remind the world with that simple gesture: She's with me.

And you? You just smile, glowy, sweet, like you feel all of that too.

The city air is warm, balmy even, carrying the gentle hum of nightlife and late diners spilling out onto terraces. Your heels click softly on the pavement beside Simon’s heavy steps, your bodies walking in rhythm, arms just grazing now and then but never quite linking.

Your conversation is soft and careless and your laugh comes easy with him. He has this way of being dry without being cold and his glances toward you when you get animated... God, they make your heart stutter.

Then, as you turn a corner near a quieter stretch of the street, a voice pipes up behind you.

“y/n?”

You turn, smile already forming.

“Oh! Daniel... hey.”

It's Daniel from the firm. He wears a sharp suit - the kind of law school sharpness. It's almost repulsive. He looks from you to Simon with a polite, practiced smile, but his eyes give him away. He gives Simon a quick flicker up and down, clocking the height, the build and the tattoos peeking from Simon’s sleeves.

“Well, fancy seeing you out here,” Daniel says, hands in his pockets, like he's trying not to look nosy. “Didn’t peg you for the type to enjoy… the more rugged charm of the city.”

Your brow arches delicately and you give him that smile you use in meetings... the one that says: You think you’re being subtle, but you’re not.

“I’m full of surprises,” you say sweetly, unbothered. “This one’s a good one.”

Simon doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. Instead, he just offers the man a quiet nod, his posture relaxed but his eyes razor-sharp. He's watching, reading.

Daniel’s gaze lingers. He is clearly weighing something before giving a short, humorless laugh.

“Well,” he says, “if you ever tire of brawn, you know where the brain trust is.” Then he gives you a small wink. “Good night, y/n. Sir", he says and walks off with too much self-satisfaction in his stride.

You exhale slowly. “Subtle, huh?”

Simon doesn't laugh. He just looks after Daniel for a moment, something unreadable flickering across his face.

“You okay?” you ask, grabbing his arm gently.

He blinks once, then his eyes drop to meet yours. The tension in his body eases.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “He’s lucky you’re kind.”

You smile, leaning in just enough to brush your shoulder against his.

“I know what I’m doing,” you say, quietly, confidently. “And who I’m doing it with.”

That makes him smirk immediately.

Your hand moves without a second thought and your fingers are sliding around Simon’s bicep like it belongs there. Like he belongs to you. It isn't a territorial move.

It is something warmer. You don't care that Daniel saw you with Simon. If anything, that moment only solidified what you want to make unmistakably clear:

This man... he’s mine.

Simon feels it too. The way your touch anchors him and the way your body leans just slightly into his as you walk again. Your touch isn't possessive... it's proud. And it has him tightening his jaw for an entirely different reason now. He looks ahead again, but the ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. And when you slide your hand a little more snugly around his arm, he doesn't say a word... he just lets you. Gladly.

You stop by a tiny late-night gelato place. It's one of those hidden gems tucked between quiet cafés and sleepy bookshops, still open with a lazy hum of overhead lights. You order your favorite and Simon goes for something simple and classic: Vanilla... in a cone.

You nearly lose it when you see him.

Not because it's funny, not exactly. But because there is something so… soft about it. This big man, black shirt stretched across his shoulders, eyes still quietly alert as always and yet here he is, calmly licking at a delicate swirl of ice cream like it's the most normal thing in the world. Like he doesn't even register the contrast.

He catches you staring.

“What?”, he asks, without making eye contact.

You bite the inside of your cheek to hold back a grin. “Nothing,” you say, blushing. “I just didn’t peg you as a cone guy.”

Simon takes another unbothered lick. “Didn’t realize there were rules.”

“No, no,” you. “I like it. It’s… adorable.”

He pauses, narrowing his eyes. “Adorable?"

“Yep,” you nod, lips around your spoon, “but in a very masculine, terrifying kind of way.”

Simon huffs through a laugh and keeps walking, nudging your shoulder with his. “Keep talkin’, sweetheart.”

You wander slowly back to his truck, your steps syncing in that easy way again. The night air is mild and the street quiet. You swear you can feel the calm settle into your bones.

When you reach your apartment, Simon parks and cuts the engine, the gentle tick-tick-tick of the truck cooling down filling the pause.

You don't move. You just sit back in your seat and look ahead, one leg folded over the other, your hand still resting near where your dress skims your knee. Simon doesn't rush you... he rarely does. He just watches you from the corner of his eye, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift, still.

The silence isn't awkward. It's full of something unspoken, some charged tether gently tightening between you again. You let out a breath, soft and reluctant. The kind that spoke volumes without a word.

Simon turns his head toward you and just watches you for a second, something unreadable in his eyes. Then he gives a faint nod, quiet and almost old-fashioned, as he reaches to open his door.

You stay still, waiting.

He rounds the truck and opens your door with that same quiet care, his hand reaching out to help you step down. His palm is is warm and steady when you take it. As you find your balance on the pavement, you look up to thank him.

But whatever words you might have said disappear, when the kiss comes. It isn't rushed or wild, but full. Slow. Like you both know it was waiting for the right moment.

He pulls away just slightly, not far, his brow brushing against yours, his breath still mingling with yours in the cool night air. His voice is quiet, nearly swallowed by the stillness.

“I’ve wanted to do that… since I saw you step out in that dress.”

It isn't a confession. It isn't meant to pull you closer or to suggest anything more. It is just the truth, softly placed between you like something precious.

His thumb grazes the side of your hand once before he lets it go.

You walk up the short path to your building side by side, the hush of the late evening wrapping around you like a gentle blanket. When you reach your door, he stops beside you. His hand brushes briefly against the small of your back before falling away, a quiet gesture, not demanding anything more. Just there.

You turn to him, the light from the porch softly catching in your hair. Your voice is a murmur, close and sincere.

“I had a really nice time tonight.”

Simon gives you a slow nod, the corner of his mouth tugging into something almost like a smile. Something just for you.

But before you say goodnight, you remember. “Oh! Actually… I got a call from base this afternoon. I have to be there tomorrow.”

He blinks. “Yeah?”

You nod, shyly. “It’s nothing big, just some planning stuff for the daycare program. But I’ll be on base most of the day.”

For a beat, Simon is quiet, he's thinking... maybe. Then he tilts his head slightly, voice low and unassuming.

“You want some company during my break? We could walk a bit. Around base.”

Your smile is soft, surprised in that delighted way only he could pull from you. “Yeah… I’d like that", you say, eyes glowing with anticipation.

He gives another quiet nod, almost ceremonial in its gentleness and turns to go.

________

You barely have time to breathe that morning.

Your meetings at base run back to back, punctuated by a flurry of notes, quick exchanges with officers and a minor scramble when one of your project folders goes missing for a moment.

You navigate it all with practiced poise, but by the time your break rolls around, your shoulders are tense and your brain is foggy.

You step out into the sun, the wide concrete expanse of base is buzzing with activity, but your eyes scan automatically for one figure in particular.

And there he is.

Simon stands off to the side, leaning with practiced indifference against the side of a truck, hands tucked into the pockets of his cargo pants. His sleeves are rolled up, forearms taut and tan and even from a distance, he looks like the only still point in a moving world.

You smile and approach him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Hey."

“Hi,” he says lowly, with that faint rasp that only came through when he is relaxed. Or with you.

You barely took two steps together when a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

“Well, look who finally managed to drag the Ghost out in daylight,” Soap calls out with a smirk, jogging past you in full gear. His tone is cheeky, but his eyes flick to you with curiosity and just a hint of mischief. “And here I thought you weren’t the type to fraternize on base.”

Simon doesn't break stride. He merely huffs, that short, dry sound that can mean anything from shut up to not your business and lets the comment slide off him like water off armor. Unbothered.

You give Soap an amused smile as he passes, but once he is gone, you grin at Simon as you continue your walk.

“Is he always like that?” you ask playfully.

“Worse,” he says, the corner of his mouth barely twitching. “He’s being polite ‘cause you’re here.”

You make your way along a quieter path that skirts the edge of the training field. The trees offer shade, and the air smells faintly of sun-warmed gravel and old motor oil. You exhale, finally beginning to relax.

Your conversation drifted in and out: light talk about your meeting, him grumbling gently about an equipment issue, the occasional quiet laughter shared like secrets.

When you circle back toward the main building, your phone buzzes with a reminder for your next session.

Simon notices. “You should go.”

You give him a reluctant look. “Yeah. I wish I didn’t have to.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I’ll wait for you after my shift. You’ll be done around six?”

You nod.

“Grab something to eat. Your pick.”

You smile with anticipation. “I like the sound of that.”

--------

By the time you meet up again after your meetings, the sun already starts to dip behind the horizon, casting long shadows across the base. You're was waiting at the curb outside one of the back exits, your blazer slung over your arm, the breeze tugging gently at the hem of your dress. You look at ease now and when you see him approach, that familiar soft curve lifts your mouth.

Simon, still in uniform but with the top half tied around his waist, nods toward the street.

“Hungry?”

“Starving,” you say and follow him without hesitation.

You end up at one of those roadside burger joints that Simon swears have “the best chips in a three-mile radius.” You don't argue, mostly because he looks so damn confident about it. You order greasy cheeseburgers, fries, and two milkshakes, one vanilla, one chocolate. The food comes fast, the kind of meal wrapped in thin paper that immediately leaves stains on fingers and wrappers half-torn open from hunger.

“Okay,” you start, balancing your tray in your hands. “Not that I don’t love the ambiance, but what if we… I don’t know, moved this gourmet experience to the bed of your truck? A little picnic?”

Simon blinks at you, his brow rising slightly. “You want to eat there? In the back?”

“Well, yeah,” you say. “Unless you’re scared of crumbs.”

He gives you a long, unreadable look, then smirks faintly. “You’re cleaning up after.”

You climb into the back of the truck together, making a makeshift seat of old blankets and gear tarps. The food is an absolute disaster: sauce dripping, chips flying, you're trying not to drop ketchup on your dress. Simon tries to eat with the kind of clean efficiency he uses on missions, but you bump into him, laughing as he narrowly misses spilling a dollop of mustard on his shirt.

“You’re a menace,” he mutters, but his voice istoo fond for the words to have any bite.

“You love it,” you quip, licking chocolate shake from your thumb.

He nearly chokes.

At one point, you got grease on your cheek and when he wipes it off with the corner of his sleeve, just a brief, unthinking touch, something warm sparks under your skin. The back of the truck is quiet for a second, the kind of pause that thickens the air. But neither of you moves to make it anything else. Not yet.

Eventually, with bellies full and fingers sticky, you lean back against the cab wall with a contented sigh.

“This was fun.”

“You made a warzone out of my truck,” Simon dead-pans.

You glance at him mischievously. “You’ll live.”

He looks at you for a beat too long, “Yeah. Probably.”

You pack up the trash and climb back inside. While you're brushing the remains of the fries off your dress, Simon is wiping his hands on a napkin with a muttered curse.

Back on your street, the truck idles quietly. You glance over as you slow to a stop.

“You want to come up?” you ask, voice light, casual... almost. But the way you look at him isn't casual at all.

Simon meets your gaze. Then, slowly, he nods. “Yeah. I do.”

And this time, there is no restraint.

The door clicks shut behind you with a soft thud. You toe off your shoes and flick on the hallway light, casting a warm, golden glow over the quiet apartment. It smells faintly of lavender and something sweet, something that reminds Simon of you without even trying.

“Do you want something to drink?” you ask as you walk toward the kitchen, glancing back at him over your shoulder.

He nods, wordless for a beat too long. “Sure. Whatever you’re having.”

You smile and busy yourself at the counter, pulling two glasses from the cupboard and pouring some fizzy drink, something light, something easy. He stands awkwardly in the living room, trying not to fidget while taking in the details of your space again: the throw blanket folded over the edge of the sofa, the little stack of novels on the coffee table. It's soft and feminine. Just like you.

When you return, you hand him a glass and drop beside him on the couch with a quiet exhale. Your arms brush and neither of you pulls away.

Simon looks down at the glass in his hand, then at you.

“y/n,” he says, voice quieter than usual. He turns to you, shifting slightly so his knee presses against yours. “I, uh-” A pause. Then, steadier: “I really like you.”

Your breath catches and suddenly you start smiling.

There is something almost boyish in the way he says it... not unsure, just unguarded. He lifts a hand to your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone like he's afraid you might vanish if he moves too quickly. You blink at him, lips parting slightly, stunned at the softness in his expression. The vulnerability behind it.

A second passes. Maybe even two.

Then you laugh. Not mockingly, but this quiet, flustered, utterly overwhelmed sound that shakes your shoulders. And before he can think, you're on him, flinging yourself into his arms with a kiss so deep and eager, it nearly knocks the glasses off the table.

He catches you, of course... steady and solid as ever, arms folding around you like it was instinct.

The kiss cracks open something in both of you. His hands find your waist, then the curve of your back, your thigh pressing against his as you shift to straddle his lap without breaking the kiss. Your fingers are in his hair now, mouth warm and insistent against his, and he lets out a soft groan, burying himself in the heat of it.

You gasp when he kisses down the curve of your neck, your head tipping back, breath stuttering against his temple. But he doesn't rush you. He doesn't press for more. He just holds you close, your legs bracketing his hips, your bodies flush, tangled and alive.

Your hands tremble slightly against his chest.

“Still really like me?” you whisper, lips brushing his jaw.

He looks up at you with a rising chest and smiles. “Even more now.”

For a while, it's just the sound of your breathing. Soft exhales against skin, the slight creak of the couch beneath you, the quiet fizz of your untouched drink still sitting on the table.

You stay perched on his lap, your arms loose around his neck, your forehead resting against his. You're still close, intimately so, and the warmth of his body underneath yours isn't something you can ignore anymore. Neither could he.

You shift slightly, just enough to adjust your weight... when you feel it.

His body tenses beneath you, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he tries not to react. But it's too late. You feel the full breadth of his response pressed between you, unmistakable in the way he inhales sharply and then goes perfectly still.

You pull back just enough to see his face.

Simon’s ears are already red. His neck, too. His eyes flick up to meet yours for a split second, then away, like he's mortified to have been caught. You feel his hands tighten at your waist a little before he lets them drop to your thighs, a silent apology written in every inch of his posture.

“Sorry,” he mutters, barely above a whisper. “Didn’t mean... I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

His cheeks are flushed now, more than you have ever seen. It isn't often you see Simon, of all people, blush like this.

You blink, caught off guard by just how shy he is and then your lips curl softly, tenderly.

“Simon,” you say, brushing your fingers gently through the short hair at the back of his neck. “It’s okay.”

He looks at you like he doesn't quite believe it or doesn't know what to do with the fact that you aren't recoiling. That you aren't teasing him or making a joke. You're just… there. Warm and gentle and still sitting on his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” you say, voice barely above a breath. “It’s kind of flattering.”

His brows lift slightly. “Flattering?”

You nod. “I mean… I’m blushing too, if that helps", you say, not able to look him in the eyes.

And that earns you the smallest laugh. It's husky, low, still tinged with nerves, but real.

You sit like that for a moment longer, not kissing now, just looking at each other. Like something unspoken settled between you.

Then you lean your forehead back to his, your noses brushing, and whisper with the faintest, cheeky lilt:

“So, uh… remind me why we’re still dressed?”

His laughter bursts out this time, full, sudden, muffled against your skin as he pulls you in tight.

“Because,” he says into your shoulder, still pink in the face, “you’re trouble.”

“And you like trouble,” you remind him, smiling.

“Only when it looks like you", he manages.

Simon tries to steady his breath, but your weight on him, your softness and the way your fingers are idly tracing the nape of his neck, it's all undoing him piece by piece.

You tilt your head just enough to catch his eye again, your smile small but unmistakably wicked. “You know,” you murmur, voice low and teasing, “if this is what happens when I just sit on you… I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I moved.”

Simon lets out a choked sound that might be a laugh, might be a plea for mercy. His hand instinctively tightens on your hip, as if to keep you from moving.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, head tipping back against the couch, eyes closed.

You grin absolutely delighted, and laugh. “You love it,” you whisper near his jaw.

He turns his head then, his mouth finding yours again in a kiss that has more heat now, less hesitation. The air shifts. Everything becomes slower, deeper. Your fingers curl into his shirt. Finally, he moves one hand up your back, the other anchoring you to him like he isn't ready to let you go for even a second.

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imjustreadinglmao · 1 year ago

Text

BLUE

Paring: Azriel x Reader, Lucien x platonic!Reader

Summary: After Azriel and Elain‘s courtship is revealed, their mates, Lucien and Y/N, are left to deal with the consequences. While fighting against Koschei and for Prythian‘s freedom, Y/N has to navigate her emotions and learn how to live with the heartbreak of a one sided mating bond. But what happens when long kept secrets are revealed and everything turns out differently than they thought?

PART I

word count: 3k

A/N: this is part 1 of BLUE. I changed the beginning a bit to fit the storyline. Please be nice this is my first fic :)

Warnings: light angst, unrequited love, mention of childhood trauma/ mention of ãbuse (not described)

part 2

I stir my black tea as Rhysand files through the report I handed him just seconds ago.

The steam from the tea rises, curling in delicate tendrils, carrying with it a sense of fleeting warmth that I desperately cling to.

Rhysand’s office is both grand and simple.

Bookshelves line the walls, filled with volumes on history, strategy, and magic. A fireplace to the right. Above it, a large portrait of Velaris shows the city bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. Feyre gifted it to him last starfall.

Heavy velvet drapes in shades of midnight blue frame the windows, ready to be drawn shut for privacy.

In the distance I can make out the mountains with their snow-capped peaks and the Sidra winding through the valley below.

“I have to say, I’m impressed you were able to convince Devlon so fast.”

I look up at Rhys and chuckle, the sound hollow to my own ears. “It does help if you threaten to cut his balls off and stake them to the wall for everyone to see.”

Rhys lifts a brow and barks out a laugh. “I see.”

I rarely go on missions anymore, choosing to work as an advisor for Rhysand.

Missions used to be exciting, but nowadays I prefer the comfort my room provides. The sense of security it brings is a balm to my soul, now more than ever.

I take this as a sign to stand up and lift my bag from the floor. I sling it over my shoulder and make my way to the door.

“Don’t forget tonight’s family dinner,” Rhysand calls after me. I don’t look back, just give him a thumbs-up and close his office door behind me.

As I make my way downstairs and through the foyer, I spot Lucien strapping on his sword. Presumably getting ready for training, he has always been an early riser.

“How did the mission go?” Lucien doesn’t need to look up to see that it’s me approaching.

I let out a sigh and rub my temples. “Good.” I stop beside him and flop onto the recamier right next to the front door. “Well, as good as paying the camps a visit can get.”

Lucien cracks a smile at that, his amber eyes twinkle with amusement. He knows exactly how difficult it is to convince Devlon of something he isn’t particularly fond of.

“Are you coming to the family dinner tonight?” I ask, my voice betraying a hint of reluctance.

Lucien sheaths his blade and nods. “Feyre will have my head if I don’t show up. I already missed the last one.”

I cringe at the mention of the last family dinner. The memory alone sends a sharp pang through my chest.

———————

I walk into the dining room, ready to face yet another family dinner. I spot Mor right away, radiant in her blood-red gown. The sight of her is always one of familiarity and comfort.

“Hey, got another one of those?” I point to the wine glass in her hand. She arches a brow and hands me one filled to the brim.

“Are we so exhausting that you need liquid encouragement to get through the night?” she muses. I just roll my eyes, trying to hide my amusement.

Right as she opens her mouth to say something, the back of my head begins to tickle. He is here.

I turn around to see Azriel walk through the door, and he is not alone. Elain is beside him, their hands intertwined.

Even though I was expecting it to happen soon, the sight still hits me like a physical blow. It was always just a matter of time till Azriel and Elain decided to go against Rhys‘s order and make their love official.

I‘m glad, Lucien isn’t here to witness this. I can’t imagine how it would be for him.

Since only my side of the bond snapped into place, seeing how in love they are, is somehow… manageable. For Lucien it would be almost deadly.

I look back at Mor, her expression as shocked as mine. “I didn’t know,” she whispers, her face now bearing a look of worry and pity.

To say the dinner is awkward would be an understatement. Nobody really knows what to say after Elain and Azriel walked in holding hands.

I just shove the potatoes on my plate around, too nauseous to eat anything. The lump in my throat makes swallowing impossible.

Cassian clears his throat and points to Azriel and Elain. “So how long has this been going on?” Nesta jabs her elbow into his ribs, which earns her an “oww”, and throws me an apologetic look.

Besides Mor, only Lucien and Nesta know about the bond between me and Azriel. Their concern a constant reminder of the bond I try so hard to ignore.

“Well…” Azriel coughs, noticeably uncomfortable with being put on the spot. “It all happened very quickly. We spent a lot of our nights up and talking and realized we didn’t want to hold back anymore.”

He gazes down at her, smiling. I recognize that look. The realization twists the knife in my heart.

That’s how I look at him.

—————————

“Are you even listening?” Lucien waves a hand in front of my face to snap me out of my haze. His voice pulls me back to the present, but the ache remains.

I rub my eyes. “Uh… sorry. What exactly were you saying?”

He crosses his arms and looks down at me. “I was asking if you wanted to go training with me. But it seems what you really need is some sleep.”

I roll my eyes and stand up. “You know me so well, Lu.” I pat his shoulder and walk out the door. “See you at dinner tonight.”

Velaris is most beautiful at night, but nothing can beat the quiet and peace of the early mornings.

I walk down the high street, greeting some of my favorite vendors with a smile, until I reach the familiar townhouse.

After I officially became part of Rhysand’s inner circle, he offered me to stay at his townhouse.

It had many perks: no rent, right in the heart of Velaris, and an endless wine supply thanks to Rhysand’s "secret" wine cellar.

There is really only one downside.

“I didn’t think you would be back so soon.” Azriel sits at the dinner table eating breakfast. He has his fighting leathers on, probably on his way to the House of Wind for Valkyrie training.

Cassian and Azriel still train the Valkyries every morning. Sometimes I join, but only when Nesta drags me up there.

“Well, sorry to disappoint.” I laugh awkwardly. “I’m going to head upstairs to rest. Say hello to Nesta for me.” The words taste bitter, a poor attempt to mask the hurt.

I turn around before he has the chance to say something else, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me.

Yes, that is the downside. The constant reminder of what I had lost and could never have.

Him.

——————

The dining room buzzes with conversation as everyone settles in for dinner.

Azriel and Elain sit together, a vision of contentment that sends a pang through my heart.

Across the table, Lucien’s jaw is tight, his gaze fixed on his plate.

“Thank you all for coming,” Rhysand begins, standing at the head of the table. “I have an important announcement to make.”

He glances at Lucien and me, a hint of apology in his eyes. “We’ve decided to support Eris in overthrowing Beron.

Lucien and you,” he points at me, “will lead the mission to the Autumn Court.”

A murmur runs through the room. Lucien looks up, his eyes meet mine.

There is a mixture of determination and vulnerability in his gaze that makes my heart ache.

The Autumn Court doesn’t hold great memories for either of us.

But before I can fully process Rhysand’s words, Azriel stands abruptly, his expression dark and tense.

“Why them?” Azriel’s voice is sharp, a stark contrast to his usual calm demeanor. “Why not send someone else?”

Rhysand frowns slightly, clearly not expecting this reaction.

“Both of them have a unique advantage given their history with Eris and the Autumn Court. It’s a strategic decision.”

Azriel’s eyes flicker to me, a storm of emotions swirling within them. “I don’t like it. It’s too dangerous.”

I feel a surge of frustration. Azriel’s protectiveness, though touching, is misplaced and completely out of character.

“What’s your problem, Azriel?” I snap, unable to hold back.

“I’m more than capable of leading this mission. Or do you think I’m not good enough to do my job?”

His eyes narrow, the tension between us thickening. “That’s not what I meant,” he retorts, his voice lower but no less intense.

“I just don’t think it’s wise to send specifically you two into such a volatile situation. You can’t just throw yourself into danger like that.”

My heart pounds in my chest. “That’s rich coming from you. You’re always in danger, always risking everything. How is that different from this mission?”

“It’s different because—” Azriel stops himself, glancing at Elain, who is watching us with wide eyes. He seems to struggle for a moment before finishing, “It doesn’t matter, just let someone else do the mission. You’re an important asset to this court.”

Before I could respond with something I’d surely regret, Elain’s voice cuts through the tension.

“Azriel, stop.” Her voice is calm but firm, a hint of desperation in her eyes. “This isn’t helping.”

Azriel turned to Elain, his expression softens slightly, but the tension remains. He takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. “I’m sorry. I just… I worry.”

Lucien’s gaze hardens, “We’ve faced worse,” he says, a challenge in his tone. “We are capable enough to lead this mission, we don’t need your approval, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel’s jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “It’s not about capability. It’s about safety. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

“Anyone?” I echo, my voice rises. “Or just Elain’s mate?”

The words hang in the air, charged with emotion. Azriel flinches slightly.

“This has nothing to do with Lucien being Elain‘s mate,” he says, though the slight tremor in his voice betrays him.

“But it does, doesn’t it?” My words laced with venom. “If Lucien were to get hurt, it would cause Elain distress, that’s how a mating bond works. And we can’t have that, can we?”

Elain looks down, her face unreadable, while Lucien’s gaze flickers between Azriel and me.

“We all know the risks,” Lucien says more calmly this time, “And we’re prepared to face them.”

Rhysand interjects, his voice low but authoritative. “Enough. We’re all on the same side here. This is a mission we need to undertake for the greater good. Personal feelings need to be set aside.”

I take a deep breath and try to steady the storm of emotions within me. Rhysand is right, the last thing we need is Azriel and me fighting.

Rhysand sits down, his tone final. “This mission is vital. We need to trust each other and stay focused. We’ll discuss this further tomorrow. For now, let’s try to enjoy the evening.”

The atmosphere is strained as we resume our meal. I can feel Azriel’s gaze on me.

Lucien reaches over, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. It was a small gesture, but it meant everything in that moment.

I don’t say a word throughout the whole dinner. Choosing to stay quiet instead of lashing out.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission would change everything.

---

The garden of the River House is a haven of tranquility. Blooming flowers and lush greenery everywhere Elain truly is a talented gardener.

I find Lucien leaning against a stone pillar, his gaze lost in the Sidra's gentle flow.

I approach him quietly, the cool evening air brushing against my skin. “Mind if I join you?” I ask softly.

Lucien looks up, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Of course not. I was just enjoying the peace before the storm.”

I halt beside him, the tension from the dinner still coils tightly in my chest. “Quite the announcement, wasn’t it?”

He nods, his expression thoughtful. “I knew something like this was coming, but hearing it confirmed… it’s different.

Eris must be desperate if he reached out to Rhysand.”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Yes, it’s a lot. I wish Rhys would have told us separately. This topic is already very emotional I really didn’t need Azriel’s… concern too.”

Lucien’s eyes darken at the mention of Azriel. “He’s protective, that’s clear. But he doesn’t have the right to undermine your abilities.”

“It’s not just that,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “His words, his actions… they confuse me. One moment he’s distant, the next he’s overly concerned. I don’t understand him.”

Lucien’s gaze softens, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “He cares about you. He might not be aware of it but you’re his mate, bond snapping into place or not, it’s his priority to keep you safe. That can’t be changed, even if he’s in love with someone else.”

I look away, the garden blurring before my eyes. “It hurts, Lucien. Seeing him with Elain, pretending to be something they’re not. I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Lucien reaches out, his hand covering mine. “You’re not alone in this. We’ve all got our battles to fight, and sometimes the hardest ones are with our own hearts.”

A moment of silence stretches between us, the night air filled with the scent of blooming flowers.

“And what about you?” I ask, turning to look at him. “How are you handling all of this? Eris, the Autumn Court… it can’t be easy for you.”

Lucien’s expression grows somber. “It’s not. But I’ve come to terms with my past and everything my father did to me. I knew this was going to happen. Eris has the chance to change things, to make the Autumn Court a better place. I can’t turn my back on that.”

He smiles at that. “And maybe, when all of this is over, we’ll find some semblance of peace.”

As we stand there, the garden enveloping us in its quiet embrace, I feel a sense of calm settle over me. Whatever challenges lay ahead, I know we have each other’s backs.

—————————

The war room in the House of Wind is filled with dread as we gather around the large oak table.

Rhysand stands at the head, his usual easy demeanor replaced by a grave seriousness.

To his right, Amren sits with her usual enigmatic expression, while Cassian leans against the wall, arms crossed and a stern look on his face.

Azriel is on my left, his gaze unreadable, and Lucien sits across from me, his eyes focused and determined.

Rhysand unfurls a detailed map of the Autumn Court, its forests and strongholds marked with meticulous detail.

“Eris has provided us with information about Beron’s movements and the layout of his court. Our objective is to infiltrate the main stronghold, gather intelligence, and support Eris in his efforts to dethrone Beron.”

Lucien nods, his jaw set. Rhys continues. “We’ll enter through the southern border. Eris has arranged for a distraction that will draw most of Beron’s guards away from the main stronghold. This will give us the opportunity to slip in and meet with Eris.”

Amren leans forward, her sharp eyes assessing the map. “And what about Koschei? He’s been a wild card in all of this. His alliance with Beron could complicate things.”

Rhysand nods in agreement. “Koschei is a concern. According to Eris, Koschei has been providing Beron with dark magic. We need to be prepared for any magical traps or barriers.”

Azriel’s voice cuts through the discussion. “I’ll handle the reconnaissance. I’ll fly ahead and ensure the path is clear before they move in.”

I glance at him, he hasn’t looked at me or said a single thing to me since yesterday. If I didn’t know better I would say he was sulking.

Rhysand continues, “Once inside, our main goal is to secure the throne room and neutralize Beron’s guards. Eris will confront Beron directly. You,” he gestures to Lucien and me, “need to be ready to support him.”

Lucien nods again, his eyes meeting mine across the table. “We’ll be ready.”

Rhysand’s gaze softens slightly as he looked at us. “This mission is dangerous, but it’s necessary. Any questions?”

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the responsibility settle on my shoulders. “What if things go wrong? Do we have an extraction plan?”

Amren smirks. “We have a plan. Azriel and I will be your backup. If things go south, we’ll get you out, girl.”

Azriel nods, his eyes meeting mine. “You won’t be alone out there. We’ll be watching.”

There is a moment of silence as everyone absorbs the gravity of this mission.

Finally, Rhysand speaks again, his voice resolute. “We leave at dawn. Get some rest and prepare yourselves.”

As we all stand to leave, Azriel catches my arm. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” he asks, his voice low.

I nod, following him to a quieter corner of the room. “What is it, Azriel?”

He hesitates, searching for the right words. “I know you’re capable. But this mission… it’s dangerous, and I can’t shake the feeling that something might go wrong. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

His concern should touch me, but I can’t help and feel angry. “I know the risks, Azriel. And I’ll be careful. But you need to trust me to do my part.”

He sighs, running a scarred hand through his hair. “It’s not that I don’t trust you or your abilities. I just… I can’t lose you.”

Before I can respond, Lucien approaches.“Ready?” Lucien asks, his eyes flicker between Azriel and me. I nod, giving Azriel one last look.

“Ready.”

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earlysunshines · 1 year ago

Text

vixen

hirai momo x fem!reader ; pining, fluff, angst, smut

wc: 14.7k

synopsis: when your boyfriend takes you to meet his family the last thing you had expected was to be eyed up and down by his step-sister – and honestly, you’re checking her out too.

warnings: smut!! ; fingering ; oral ; making out against the door, on the couch, in the elevator ; some soft sex ; reader has a *gags* bf ; momo is readers boyfriends’ very hot step sister ; not too happy with the pacing ; pining pining and pining ; brief implied homophobia ; anything else I didn't mention ; not proofread

a/n: i’ve never had a bf ever in my life or even talked to a man romantically so sorry if the whole having a bf part is really bad (lesbian since birth basically)

literally nothing could have ever prepared you for this moment. nothing.

the woman standing right there in front of you, a foot away looking down at you from the door; she’s gorgeous, she’s fucking hot.

you’re meeting your boyfriend's family for the first time after dating for three months, yeah you were nervous about this whole meeting, picking out appropriate clothes for dinner with his parents and sibling. it was normal to feel this way, however, you’re much more nervous as the woman in front of you scans you down.

those cheekbones could have been carved by aphrodite herself, sharp and perfect. her eyes, a dark brown, send a shiver down your spine. her lips are a tempting shade of pink, parting just a bit the more she takes in your presence. she gives you a curious look, you can't help but avert your eyes and your gaze inevitably travels, trailing down her crop top, lingering on the tantalizing glimpse of abs peeking out–

“and you are?” she clears the air, looking you up and down with the same hint of interest.

clearing your throat, you respond, “oh, hi. i’m um, thomas’s girlfriend…”

the word girlfriend rolls off your tongue weirdly in the presence of whoever she is. you’re indicating that you’re taken, taken by… thomas.

“ahhh,” she says so casually, it still makes your breath hitch right then and there, the tremble of her voice vibrating in the air and reaching your ears like a cold brush of wind. then she smirks, and your knees go weak. “you’re y/n? i didn’t know he managed to get with someone so–” she eyes you up and down, smiling wider now. “--striking.”

you don’t know what to say, don’t know how to react because jesus fucking christ the woman of the century has just complimented you. you’ve just met her and weirdly enough she has you like putty.

“momo?” you hear a deep voice shout from inside the house.

the familiar face of your boyfriend appears seconds later, he smiles at you, pulling you in by the waist - you almost trip. and then he kisses you on the lips, deeply. the fact that the woman from before is witnessing this makes you cringe internally, so you pull away for a bit, stopping his advances with a hand on his chest.

“hey, babe, not um, now.” you whisper, earning a strange look.

“oh, okay.” he says dissapointedly. you turn to the side, looking at the woman again. your boyfriend raises his brows in disinterest. “oh, her? she’s my stepsister.”

the stepsister (the prettiest woman you’ve laid eyes on) looks at you again. her eyes go from your eyes to your lips, down your body and back up to your eyes. her brows raise up in interest, amusement – something along the lines of that – before she introduces herself.

“momo.” it’s such a simple name, but it fits her image. you’d love to know this momo more. “it’s nice to meet you, y/n.”

“yeah, likewise.”

she smiles at you, almost like she knows she has you under a spell.

“thomas been treating you well?”

“oh, yeah.” you look over to your boyfriend, he’s rolling his eyes at momo. “he’s great.”

momo snickers, “uh huh, sure. i bet.”

“oh stop that.” thomas says, “you’re being annoying.” he puts his arm around your waist again before tilting his head to the side and winking at you. “let’s go to my room.”

you nod and he leads you down up the stairs, still, you manage to catch another glimpse of momo before you head up. she looks at you with narrowed eyes, complimented by a grin that shows a bit of her teeth.

your clench your jaw before redirecting your attention.

–

the fact that you’re thinking about your boyfriend's step sister more than him the whole time he’s entertaining you in his room is a little concerning.

even when he shows you his stupid trophies and pictures of his lacrosse team, you can’t shake momo off your mind.

momo, momo who’s probably the prettiest person you’ve seen. she looks nothing like thomas, clearly not because if you’re being honest, his visuals don’t have a chance against hers. it’s terrible though, you shouldn’t be thinking this, you can’t.

but even when your boyfriend is kissing you suddenly, sliding his hands up your torso and shifting his lips to your jaw, you still think of her.

–

thomas sits you down at the dinner table, squeezing your hand as you situate yourselves.

thomas’s dad sits in front of him and his stepmom – you assume, she has similar features as momo – sits on the same end of the table.

in front of you is momo, of course.

if you were to lift your head up, even shift your look up, you’d meet her features.

as she sits at the dinner table, engrossed in her phone as she waits for the food to cool down. your boyfriend's parents initiate the conversation, delving into inquiries about your life, your background, your family, etc – basically throwing around questions you’d expected. they come across as warm and inviting, particularly momo's mom, whose voice is sweet and genuine – contrast to thomas's dad's straightforward and blunt tone.

“so, what are you majoring in?” momo’s mom asks.

“public health, i also used to minor in art… but it didn’t really fit.” you answer.

she raises her brows, looking at momo now. “did you hear that honey? she used to do art. my daughter does something in that field, what was it?”

momo looks up and into your eyes, making you shrink in your seat.

“architecture and graphic design.” she says, tilting her head. “what classes did you take when you minored?”

“oh, um, intro to art history and the basics, you know… um…” you start to trail off, watching as the woman in front grins wider.

“that’s cool” she says simply. she thinks it’s cool, this is great.

thomas speaks up, chicken and rice still half eaten in his mouth, “yeah, art is cool but it’s not gonna get you paid.” his tone is judgemental, making you frown. “momo spends all her tuition on classes that teach you how to draw a stick figure on a laptop and make buildings with popsicle sticks.”

momo grimaces. “oh shut up, at least everyone that takes art isn’t an egotistical snob.”

her mom butts in, “hey, let’s not fight at the dinner table in front of our guest.”

thomas puts his hands up in defense. “right, sorry for reminding you that i have a secure job and career coming my way. my bad little sis.” he grins, raising his brows. “y/n has a good path too, not as good as business, sorry babe, but still, good money – at least after you go to medical school or whatever.”

“hey, thomas…” you respond, voice small. he’s unbelievably obnoxious right now. “i think… art is cool momo.”

momo looks at you again after your words of reassurance, smiling. you could be delusional, maybe just a little, but you swear there’s a little flush on your cheeks. you might just be delusional, though.

as dinner progresses, you make a point to compliment thomas's dad on his delicious chicken recipe, eliciting a bright smile from him, probably the first of the evening. momo's mom shares more details about her, capturing your attention more than any information that’s dropped about thomas. you like how momo get’s a little more timid when anecdotes are dropped, you don’t pay attention to any shared of thomas other than the time he got hit by a seagull when he was four. that made you laugh, it made everyone laugh.

the night comes to an end with thomas’s arm around your shoulder, the feeling of it heavy and a little overwhelming, but he’s your boyfriend and you’re in front of his family out for display, so you decide to ignore the weird feeling in your heart – especially the discomfort when momo manages to meet the scene.

thomas is later sent to do the dishes, giving you more time to converse with his parents one on one. they seem to genuinely enjoy your company. his dad's smiles become more frequent, and his stepmom expresses her fondness for you, commenting on how cute and wonderful you are.

you spot momo in the corner of your eye wiping the table down, her tricep flexing when her arm moves forward, the small curve of her bicep prominent when she brings her arm back. you decide – after seeing this sight – that you want to talk to her, alone.

you walk towards her, standing just by the side of the table. feeling the new presence creep in, momo turns to her left, catching you in her vision.

the sight of you there, clad in a loose sweater and shorts, makes her smile a little.

“hi.” you greet, offering a small smile back.

“hey.”

“do you need help with that?” you ask her, “i feel bad just letting you two do the work.”

“i’m almost done.” momo shrugs, then begins to wipe again. “don’t worry about it, you’re our guest y/n.”

you frown slightly, feeling helpless as you stand there, watching momo wipe down the table silently.

“by the way,” she starts, making you perk your head up. “why do you like my brother? how did you two even meet?”

“oh,” you shrink when momo’s eyes meet yours. “my friend introduced me to him when we went out to eat. he made me laugh a lot and, i guess i thought he was cute–”

but wow, if i knew you were even cuter? i don’t know what i’d do.

“--and he’s funny. we went on a few dates later on and now, now i’m here.”

momo hums, looking at you with narrowed eyes now. “well, i’m glad he makes you happy. you guys are cute.”

you respond with a “thanks.” before momo turns to finish off the last side of the table, but before she can do that, you invade her personal space a little. she’s surprised when you’re leaning in, lips near her ear and muttering, “i’m sorry for how he acted earlier, i thought it was really rude, i’ll talk to him about that. i think architecture and graphic design are really cool, my friend chaeyoung is an art major actually.”

when you pull away, faces a hand width apart, the two of you find yourselves staring at each other for a bit. momo chuckles, her smile even wider now.

“wow, you’re really cute y/n. no wonder my brother pursued you.” her words ring in your ear as if you’d been thrown against some giant bell. you find yourself blushing and look away. momo begins again, “it��s fine though. he’s my brother, he’s always like that – it’s how siblings are.”

“right, sorry i just, i thought it was rude.”

“he’s like that.” momo shrugs, “i guess he’s nicer to you than he is with me.”

“oh, maybe.”

she places her hand on your shoulder, her very nice-looking hand with nude colored polish and visible veins running on the top of it. you almost shudder, the contact makes you stiffen up a bit.

“don’t overthink it.” momo suggests, “he’s just a guy. he’s like that, don’t worry, seriously. i’m not going to cry myself to sleep because some 5’7 guy made fun of my major.”

you giggle at her joke and find yourself being pulled into someone seconds later – to your dismay.

“alright, that’s enough of bothering my girlfriend.” he teases, kissing your forehead. “let me drive you home babe, that okay?”

“yeah of course, let me get my bag.” you kiss him on the cheek as well.

momo begins to walk away from the scene and you feel a twinge of disappointment. you kind of hoped to have more conversation with her, but there’s always more opportunity considering the fact that you’ll probably be over more.

part of you has to remind yourself that the reason you’ll be over is to hangout with your boyfriend – not to learn more about momo.

–

you’ve lived alone for a few semesters, the first two being the year you shared a dorm with yeri. you were sent on a scholarship, almost a full ride, so your parents decided to be generous since you pretty much lived out their expectations.

having your own place also meant having a whole living place to do whatever you want. you had a single bedroom apartment to yourself, no bathroom to share, no roommate to bicker with over stupid little things like dishes. sure, it got pretty lonely without your best friend, but she visited often anyway. now that you have your own place, the world is basically your oyster. you missed yeri a good amount of the time – at least she didn’t have to have that fear of walking in on you and thomas getting a little… intimate.

thomas hovers over you, his grunts muffled into your neck as he desperately thrusts into you. it’s not the worst feeling – his dick inside – but it’s definitely worse than the foreplay, which says a lot.

now that you and thomas have more time and space to get hot and heavy, he never takes it for granted, and you’re never against it, wanting your boyfriend to feel good.

and when he cums – not really minding that you didn’t do the same – he kisses you on the lips sloppily, muttering a few curses against your lips while you send your hands down his back, falsely scratching at the muscles he’s worked for as if you’d felt the same sensation as him.

(you like him a lot, really, enough to the point where you’ll fake pleasure.)

“fuck, baby,” he sighs as he flops down next to you, catching his breath. “that was so,” he kisses the corner of your lips, “amazing.”

maybe for you.

“mhm,” you hum, he smiles at you, and it’s kind of cute, so is the ruffled hair. thomas can be cute sometimes.

the sound of buzzing fills the now quiet room. thomas looks over to his left, reaching for his phone, then tenses his jaw a bit. you quirk a brow, turning over to place your arm over him and before you can even ask – he sits up.

“baby.” he turns, looking down at you with an apologetic expression. “i’m sorry, i have this thing to go to.”

“now?” you prop yourself up on one arm, your palm holding your cheek as you question, “what thing?”

“business, you know.” and you for one, do not know. what business does he have at three – almost four – in the afternoon? he runs a hand through his hair before kissing you on the forehead, whispering a, “i’m sorry, i’ll text you later, okay baby?”

“um, okay.” you mumble, looking at him confusedly as he finds his boxers, slipping them on before checking his phone again.

“seriously, i’ll text you.”

“okay thomas, have fun.”

you lie there, your eyes half-closed, listening to the rustling of fabric as he retrieves his jeans and t-shirt. just before he leaves, you hear him mumble a "love you," and then the door shuts, leaving you alone, naked in your own disheveled sheets.

turning over, just enough to let the afternoon light seep through the blinds and into your eyes, you pull the blanket up and over you, engulfing your whole body.

your phone makes a loud ding from the bedside table, prompting you to open your eyes a little so you can check whatever the notification is. you lazily scoot your head over to peek at the screen, reading the words on the screen–

your eyes widen at the “cafe pop up at the park!!! spring flavors!!!” reminder, instantly giving you a burst of energy despite the activity from before.

then it hits you; you haven’t done shit today, nothing at all. waking up with thomas was one thing, but not enough(clearly), and then that movie you can’t even remember the plot of since thomas was too busy eyeing you, feeling you up, rubbing your thigh and fuck, you really wanted to finish that movie. some stupid rom-com that you were invested in, thomas seemed to be interested in something else.

you force yourself up and the blanket falls down to your stomach, your tits out on display now and you can see a faint hickey on the left side of your chest in the mirror across from you. you comb your fingers through your hair, fixing it up before heading to your bathroom.

this is better than being a bum for the rest of the day anyway.

–

the ten minute walk to the infamous park – adorned with beautiful cherry blossoms, blooming tulips, and public spaces to gather and catch up – makes you forget about everything that had happened before.

there are various friend groups around, each holding a cup of coffee with the words “kim’s kaffeine,” belonging to the new cafe that opened months ago, the same cafe hosting a little pop-up to promote their new blend.

once you reach the cafe, there’s already a line – maybe seven or eight people – unfortunately.

still, you decide that it could be worst, considering it’s a pop up and at the newest cafe. recently you had seen a promotion video of the place on instagram, so it’s not surprising that there’d be a wait that would take more than ten minutes.

after scrolling through texts in he groupchat with your friendgroup, looking at their various reels sent and stupid debates on where to hangout next; you look up and finally it’s your time to order. you were here for one thing, that popular latte they’ve been advertising and of course that’s what you had ordered.

it takes about five minutes for the barista to finish up your drink, and when she’s done, she calls out your name with enthusiasm and smiles at you once you walk over, quickly rushing a “thank you!” before tending to the next order.

you swirl the coffee around and take a sip, relishing the taste and considering coming over more often. usually you’d be underwhelmed by foods or drinks that had gained so much attention, but this particular beverage really met your standards.

without thinking, you turn around swiftly and manage to run into a woman. you hear her gasp as soon as you two clash and feel the iced coffee from your drink seep into your clothing.

you look down to see a damp, rosy region on your t-shirt and a few drops on your white shoes.

“oh my god im so sorry–” her voice is laced with panic, and then she looks up, looking horrified when she processes just who she’s run into. “y/n?”

mouth agape and eyes widening, you pause in place as you stare at the woman: momo.

she’s an inch taller, eyes angled downwards in the slightest to meet yours apologetically. she reaches for the pocket inside her blazer, pulling out a napkin before handing it to you.

“momo?” her name rolls off your tongue almost like a question, but also as if you were happy to see her despite the circumstances.

(you are, in fact, happy to see her despite your t-shirt being stained with half your cherry blossom latte.)

“y/n, sorry, i was rushing and i didn’t see you.” her voice is bashful, eyes tearing away from yours as she takes off her blazer, which reveals a black tank top underneath. she hands you the blazer, insisting, “here, take it – for the trouble of course. i’ll get you another drink.”

shaking your head and waving your hand at her, you flash a smile and quickly respond, “no, no it’s fine. it was an accident, no need to–”

“no, please, let me.” momo butts in, “i know the owners, i mean, i was the one who designed the posters and menu after all. i also know the barista really well, she’ll give them for free.”

you can’t really argue with her after that, so you reluctantly nod. “right, okay.”

she puts her hand on your shoulder, looking relieved. your eyes meet her hand, the hand on your shoulder. your shoulder. her hand. on you.

“i’m sorry again, here–” momo puts the sleeves of the blazer on either shoulder before making a little knot, which covers the stain solidly. “this should do it.”

she grins at you, looking proud of her work (she’s done the bare minimum, but somehow cutely) and you can’t help but grin back after seeing her like that. the glasses she has on make her seem a little dorky, which is honestly adorable to you, making your smile grow even wider – a toothy one.

warmth spreads across your cheeks, and you even feel your ears grow a little warm too. “thanks momo.”

momo was right; not only did you get your drink, but it got upgraded from a small to large, with an extra shot of espresso, and it was all free.

she interacted with the barista freely, joking around and even getting teased. the barista had sent you a cheeky look – one which you ignored – when she realized that momo was ordering for you as well.

“one large iced cherry blossom latte! one hot, large mocha!” the barista had shouted soon after. once you and momo had received the drinks, the barista smiled at you widely, eyes moving back and forth between the two of you with a little smirk. “you two enjoy the rest of the evening.”

“thank’s dahyun, see you soon.”

“yeah yeah, thanks for leeching off my business.” the barista jokes, rolling her eyes at momo. “and have a good one, momo’s friend.”

caught off guard, you laugh, “thank you, you too!” before momo reaches for your tricep and lures you away from cafe. you turn around to see the barista – dahyun you assume was her name – waving, adding a little wink to the mix.

you and momo find yourself walking over to a bench, and once you sit down she immediately apologizes.

“i’m so sorry again, i’m so dumb.” she pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. “so sorry.”

“don’t say that, trust me it happens to a lot of people.” you assure, giving her a smile. you take a sip of your latte, smiling even wider as you sit next to her. “thank you for the drink – and the size upgrade. your friend is very sweet.”

“it’s no problem, i mean even if it weren’t for free i’d pay for it. you’re thomas’s girlfriend after all.”

you turn away from her, snickering before you look down at the drink in your hand. “is that all you see me as?”

“what?”

“your brother’s girlfriend?”

“no, not at all.” momo pauses, turning to face you instead of the little boy playing with his dog across the park. “do you see me as just his sister?”

“not right now, no.”

“not now?”

your faces meet each other now after you turn, smug smirks that mirror each other. momo laughs and all you can do is laugh too.

“i mean, last time i just saw you as thomas’s really pretty sister. now all i see is momo, the person who spilled coffee all over me.”

she pushes your shoulder playfully, rolling her eyes to hide how flustered she is after hearing you call her “really pretty.”

“oh stop that.” momo sighs, “i’m sorry, again.”

“apologize again and i’ll spill coffee on you.” you warn teasingly, making momo laugh again.

silence falls over for a short moment as the two of you people-watch. momo sips on her mocha, and you catch her in your peripheral, waiting for her to continue the conversation or say something else.

she’s interesting, you note, with the way you’ve already warmed up to her. she’s a stark contrast from her brother; talking to her is definitely less stressful. you can speak your mind and joke freely.

momo doesn’t look at you when she suddenly asks, “are you doing anything? or did you only drop by to get coffee and go back?”

“oh, no not at all. i’m pretty much free, thomas had something to do so…” you force a smile, pursing your lips together a bit. “why do you ask?”

“i came here to study for a project actually. do you want to accompany me?”

you grin at her, crossing one leg over the other before you respond, “of course,” because what else do you have to do? and besides, momo’s company would be much better than walking around the park alone.

“great.” momo says, then stands, grabbing your wrist and urging you up with her.

–

she leads you down the park, a little deeper where there’s less families and more students trying to study in an area that’s full of sunlight.

the two of you walk beside each other and halfway through the walk momo pulls out a small notepad, then fishes for a pen in her bag. you observe carefully, watching her take notes of her surroundings and sketch small designs of what looks to be some type of public architecture. momo sits you two down by a concrete bench, right in front of a singled out tree that’s surrounded by grass and the wooden trail through the park.

her tongue sticks out as she sketches, then her glasses slip down her nose and you’re quick to push them back up with your finger. momo looks at you in surprise, a small blush painted on her cheeks as she mutters a small “thank you.”

momo’s really cute, which is a little conflicting for some reason.

you’ve been silent most of the time, not really saying anything because momo hasn’t either, and because you’re too busy watching the way her expression’s change as she thinks to herself, finding the purse of her lips and those scrunched brows oddly alluring – and that smile of yours hard to fight back.

“what are you working on by the way?” you ask, which makes her perk her head up in surprise.

“oh, it’s for a project. we’re proposing architectural designs and ideas that might be considered – like, they might actually build it.” momo explains, then scoots over so that your shoulder is touching hers, showing you the notepad. there’s a sketch of the tree and around it are sketches that you can’t really make out. shecontinues, “surrounding it are little sitting areas, maybe to protect the tree and prevent it from deteriorating, i don’t know.” she puts the pen to her bottom lip, thinking to herself again. “there’s not a lot of seating in this particular area because they don’t want to get rid of the natural aspect, but that means it’s not as versatile because people don’t want to stay in a spot thats–”

momo looks up at you, second guessing herself.

you look away from the notepad and back at her, tilting your head in confusion. “why’d you stop?”

“sorry i just– you know, i feel like im rambling.” momo chuckles awkwardly, looking down at her notepad once again. “it’s just something for my class–”

“no, i like it, keep talking.” cutting her off, you reach out for her hand to stop her from closing the notepad. “it’s interesting, and i like your rambling so…”

your hand is on her’s, spiking both your heartbeats. momo gulps lightly, giggling her nervousness off again.

“you’re so strange y/n.” momo teases, smiling down at the pen in her hand. “anyway,”

she continues on about her ideas for eco friendly study areas, small structures and designs that are fit for the elderly and others that are fit for the younger generation. she’s really lively about it too, using her hands ask she talks, her expressions growing more animated.

you find yourself propped up on both hands while you sit, body leaned back as you listen and watch her with stars in your eyes.

“momo.”

she hums, looking up from her notepad. “yeah?”

“are you single?”

she freezes, her cheeks starting to flush as she looks away. she starts to laugh under her breath, shaking her head before responding, “what kind of question is that?”

“just curious.” you admit. “you’re pretty and youre passionate about this and it’s really adorable. i kinda just started thinking if you were single or not because if you are, that would be unbelievable.”

your compliments are like bullets, and you just keep shooting and shooting until her knees and body grow weak. momo doesn’t know how many more shots she can take.

“well, i guess you might not believe me then.” she mirrors the way you sit, then turns her head to face you. “i’m very much single.”

“you’re kidding.”

“no.” she looks away again. “you sound so patronizing right now.”

“hey , hey, i’m not making fun of you or anything – i just think it’s weird that no one has made a move.” you say, and momo looks at you in a way that asks for more. you sit up again, slouching a bit as you rest your elbow on your knee. “you and thomas are so different you know, but you both have one common trait from what i’ve observed so far: you both are oblivious.”

“what?”

you shrug, then state simply, “just an observation.” momo opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. instead, she looks at you again, watching you smirk like you haven’t sent her brain into a swirl. “anyway, tell me more about your architecture stuff.” you tilt your head and laugh lightly. “i think your ramble is much more interesting than anything business related i’ve heard from thomas.”

“business majors…”

“business men.” you correct.

both of you laugh harmoniously, playfully shoving each other in the process and it seriously feels just right.

after getting her number, you discover that she even rambles through text. she shares her thoughts and feelings in a stream of consciousness that makes you laugh. her messages are filled with blurbs about things that have made her happy or pissed her off, the level of openness and expressiveness contrasts sharply with thomas.

her candid messages and pictures, plus the willingness to share her emotions freely make you realize how much you appreciate that quality. you can't help but wish that thomas were a little more like her, it’d make him just as cute.

a few days later, while you’re with thomas, momo gets the courage to ask you out to the park again, sending a little text that reads “coffee? won’t spill it on you this time…” and you can’t help but smile at your screen.

thomas notices the change in expression, raising a brow in suspicion.

“and who’s got my girlfriend smiling at her phone like that?”

you shake your head and grin to yourself. “your sister, actually.”

“momo?”

“yeah, she’s nice.”

he looks at you from the bed, watching you sit back in the office chair in your room as you reply to the text. your fingers tap against the screen, and your smile grows wider with each second. he can’t help but notice the way your eyes light up, the joy on your face undeniable as you exchange messages. his brows crease as he sits up, looking at you like you owe him an explanation.

you look back at him with a confused stare. “something wrong?”

“when did you hang out with her?”

“oh,” your face lights up again. “i went to the park after you left for your business thing, and then she bumped into me and spilled coffee all over my shirt.” your tone reflects the scene like it’s some sort of thrilling story, even though it isn’t – at least to thomas. to you, it was a memory you had thought about a little too much. “it was really funny, she’s adorable, your sister is, haha. anyway– she got me some coffee and we just strolled around and hey, architecture is really interesting! i don’t know why you bashed her that one time at dinner.”

thomas lays back down, rolling his eyes and picks his phone back up again. you tilt your head as he responds, “she’s a loser, you know.” the features on his face contort into something not so short of resentment.

“you’re just saying that because she’s your sister.”

he sends you a weird look, nearing a glare, then adds, “not just that.”

you can’t help but giggle at him, finding the chance to poke at him and tease him. your hand meets your opened mouth as you gasp dramatically.

“you’re jealous.”

“what? no.”

“oh you’re so jealous– that’s adorable!”

thomas loosens up as you laugh at him, immediately making your way over to the bed and pinching his cheek as he pretends to be annoyed by it. you kiss his knuckles, your lips soft on his rough skin before placing his hand on your cheek.

“your sister won’t take me away from you, and besides, this is a good thing! i’m getting along with family.”

he sighs before bringing his arms out and pulling you closer. “yeah, whatever.”

placing your head on his chest, you let him gently rake his hand in your hair, waiting for him to fall asleep.

the signature snoring – loud and honestly, quite bothersome – fills the room, prompting you to fish for your phone blindly. it’s on the table, still there as you left it, meaning momo had been on read. the thought of her being left with the text “read” at the bottom of her own message makes you pout, so you end up with an apology, a response, and a stupid emoji in order to make up for it.

on the other end of the line, momo watches her phone light up, redirecting her attention from the book in her lap.

the contact reads “y/n,” and the mere sight makes momo smile. she picks up the phone, nearly on the edge of her bedside table, and reads your little text. a small chuckle leaves her lips as she fixes the glasses to sit on the bridge of her nose, the frames just barely reflecting your text:

[11:30pm]

y/n:

sorry for the late response :(

your brother is jealous that you’re using my time for him

kidding lol

anyway, coffee sounds great, i look forward to that.

tomorrow in the afternoon? let’s get lunch while we’re at it

sleep tight, momo

😛

momo grins, immediately typing up a response.

[11:33pm]

momo:

let’s meet at kim’s and find our way out from there

i’ll see you there, 3pm sharp

you sleep well, y/n

your eyes had been closed, kind of, just not enough for you to not notice the light from your phone after momo sends her message. you’re quick to grab your phone, your tired features unlocking it and displaying her text in the small default font of your phone. you grin again, placing the phone back on the bedside.

the thought of a little “date,” with momo doesn’t sound too bad, it urges you to fall asleep faster. little do you know, your limbs start to loosen up and your body slowly strays away from thomas’s, turning ever so slightly to the point where it faces the ceiling.

–

sitting down at a small two seat table in front of the cafe, the sun shines down on you in fragments. the sky is adorned with clouds, they’re scattered all over, but not to the point where you might wonder whether you’ll need an umbrella or not.

it’s not even three yet, but still, you worry.

you worry a little more than you should. worry that momo may not show up, won’t give you that smile that shows her teeth, her eyes won’t slim as she does so – and who knows, you worry that it might even rain despite the forecast assuring semi-clouded skies, a faint breeze, and warm, wonderful weather.

without thinking, you fidget with your fingers before fixing the collar of your t-shirt for absolutely no reason.

“y/n! hey!” a voice calls out, heard from your left and just the sound of momo’s voice reaching your ears makes your turn in her direction.

you’re greeted by a smile as she walks over, and then brown eyes drill into you through black frames and it brings a little warmth to your cheeks. you figure it might be the warm weather, the sun shining – but momo seems to radiate much more than what had been forecasted.

“momo, hey.”

she’s wearing a gray tank top that showcases a small display of her tummy – you note that, making sure to revisit the landmark once you get the chance since it’s oddly enticing – and a light flannel over it. hair flows down to her shoulders, she scratches the dip of her collarbone and it moves a strand. for a moment, you wonder what it’d be like to be the one moving her hair out of the way, how soft the skin of hers feels like if you were to just graze your fingers across.

“hi y/n.” she fixes her bangs. “did you order anything yet? you better not have, you know my perks.”

“relax, relax.” you start to stand, chuckling. “i wouldn’t do that to you.”

“that’s what i thought.”

she tilts her head and signals for you to follow her to the line. thankfully, it’s not busy, lending the chance for you two to be those people who stand and observe the menu carefully with expressions that make you both look more considerate about your choices than you really are.

(at the end of these few seconds, you’ll both be ordering something you’ve already had, nothing out of your comfort zones.)

her barista friend isn’t working that day, but momo manages to playfully banter and immediately, the barista present laughs along with her, waving her hand and you hear a faint sentence that guarantees free drinks.

this time you order a small, iced caramel latte, while momo orders an iced white mocha instead.

momo waits with you, standing a little close. you watch the barista intently, zoning out a bit as she steams milk and swirls the metal jug around. the woman next to you finds herself staring at you while you’re distracted, eyes tracing you, cherishing the moment to just look at you.

“i like your face.”

you’re quick to snap your head in her direction, immediately responding with an unbelievably flustered sounding “what?”

momo freezes, waving her hands in the air and trying to fight back the flames of embarrassment that threaten to have her cheeks burning. “no! no, no. that came out wrong, sorry, thinking out loud. i just– you have pretty features and… yeah. god that sounded so weird, don’t take it the wrong way.”

“i won’t, i won’t.” you chuckle, raising a brow mischievously which causes momo to gulp. “but i will be using this against you. it would be funny if both siblings were in love with me, wouldn’t it? his pretty sister drooling because of me, how adorable.”

momo rolls her eyes, shoving you with her own shoulder playfully. “oh shut up. i’m not in love with you.”

“right~ it’s okay momo,” placing a hand over your heart, then the other on her shoulder before you lower your voice and push your bottom lip out teasingly. “don’t fight it, stare at me all day if you’d like, gorgeous.”

“gosh, you’re a handful.” momo groans. “i don’t know how my brohter handles you.”

“he–” you cut yourself off, recollecting every moment shared with thomas.

you struggle to remember when you’ve flirted so… easily. really, you aren’t much of a flirt, but with momo in front of you, looking so good, it’s just relaxing and easy to talk to her; your stupid remarks flow out of your mouth without thinking, but none of what you say isn’t true. and then you start to wonder whether this is morally wrong, flirting with your boyfriend’s stepsister, but really, it’s playful—even if you can’t help but be a little attracted to her.

honestly, you don’t know how thomas handles you either because you’ve never been this teasing, never been so relentless and filled with stupid remarks. the worst you’ve done is tease him for being jealous and maybe call him hot once or twice.

– manages.” you continue, looking away from her. “um, enough about him. let’s… let’s get lunch? i would kill for some cold noodles.”

momo sips on her drink, then chuckles. “whatever you want.”

and then you two end up having more than lunch together, finding yourselves in momo’s car while she drives both of you downtown. the two of you explore shops because hell, why not. everything you do with her that afternoon – and into the evening – is spontaneous.

the minutes pass, and with each store you visit, you find yourself a little closer to momo. your shoulders brush, and your hands accidentally graze each other's skin with every few steps. every touch is like ice water trickling down your back, sending shivers. you start to step in a way that makes your knuckles brush against hers more frequently. there's a pang in your heart, and the thought of maybe linking pinkies, arms, or really anything—anything physical with momo—crosses your mind. the proximity feels electric, and the idea of a small, intentional touch becomes increasingly enticing.

momo is dragged by the wrist into some sunglasses store, following you in while giggles escape from you.

a variety of sunglasses are given to her so she can try them on for you, and each time you look at her with admiration, some sort of pink dusting your cheeks, momo can’t help but laugh and smile like a little kid.

there’s this wall, a wall of tension that’s thinner than thread and both of you are waiting for it to break down – momo’s the one to obliterate it.

she grabs a pair of sunglasses with square-ish frames and tinted, green lenses. you’re standing in the mirror, fixing some strands of hair that fall loose when you feel someone creep up behind you.

momo’s hands reach over your shoulders and one side of her face peeks out from behind you in the mirror. she places the sunglasses she’s brought on your face, fixing how it sits on your nose bridge before placing her hands on your shoulder. momo’s head is still close – even closer when she uses her right hand to tilt your head to the left, facing her completely.

her features become more apparent: the subtle curve shaping her nose, big brown eyes focused on you like a camera about to capture a moment, smooth cheeks, and parted lips revealing her oddly perfect teeth. her rosy lips hold you captive until she gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. your eyes shoot back up into hers—those honey-like eyes that leave you speechless and rooted to the spot.

“these suit you well.” momo says softly. you wonder if your heart is beating louder than her voice.

you’re still stuck in place, faces four or five inches apart when you struggle to mutter out, “oh, thanks.”

momo smirks like she knows what she’s done to you, moving away and taking her hand off your shoulder, to your dismay.

"you should buy them. here, hold on." she presses the edge of her palm against your face, lifting the sunglasses to hold your hair in place. the rush of heat in your cheeks intensifies, and just when you think you couldn’t feel more flustered, she gently pulls out a few strands of hair to frame your face better. “there we go, the green compliments your eyes.”

it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach.

momo pulls away, smiling at you. all you can do is gulp.

“maybe i will.”

her eyes scan you up and down before momo fixes her flannel, then she leaves you in front of the mirror as if she hasn’t just rocked your world.

–

after your first (intentional) hangout with momo, the words “coffee?” and “are you free?” are a common text between the two of you.

from short coffee runs to various cafes after classes to walking in the park at night on a weekend, the two of you become attached quickly.

eating with momo is your favorite thing to do, probably, and it’s really not the food that you like; the way momo stuffs down food like it’s going to grow legs and leave her only adds to your interest in her.

the thing is, momo listens. she’s aware and attentive, and as much as you don’t want to admit it, she’s not a man-baby like thomas. spending more time with her makes you smile, makes your cheeks burn, makes you feel heard and seen. you start to point out thomas’s flaws everytime you’re alone with him the more you spend time with his sister, and it throws you in for a loop.

hanging out with momo is different than hanging out with anyone, really. you’ve noticed that even when she rambles, she’s attentive to you and your reactions, always waiting for a response and reading your features with every word uttered.

even worse, or maybe definitely better; the mention of momo is becoming more frequent whenever you’re with your other friends. they’ve started to notice just how special she is to you. they see the way your smile and laugh come more easily when she’s around, and especially how a natural blush appears on your cheeks whenever her name comes up.

being around momo is wonderful, amazing really – like a fresh breeze that picks you up as if you were a feather.

it’s great, perfect – right until the revelation hits, the one that picks you up and throws you to the ground like some wwe wrestler.

it can’t be, this can’t be.

you’re at thomas’s house, not with him though, instead you’re with momo.

your visits at your boyfriends house become more frequent; you’d spend three or four hours on a free day there and at least an hour would be with momo. sometimes you’d spend all those hours with her.

she sits next to you on the couch in the living room on her phone as you scroll through movies to watch.

here’s another thing you like about momo; she’s the type of person who’ll actually watch a movie, and even better, she’s into the same media you’re into. it’s a completely new experience. she’s someone who cares.

she even puts down her phone when you start the movie, even if it’s one she’s watched before. tonight you’re watching lost in translation for the first time, momo tells you that it’s good. you trust her judgement.

with each minute that passes, the urge to scoot closer grows heavier. from your peripheral, momo doesn’t budge. she’s lounged lazily against hte couch, that impeccable profile of the side of her face trying to steal your attention away from the tv in front of you. her hand rests tantalizingly on her thigh, so close yet so far from simply making contact with you.

and you figure you might go crazy from just sitting there and watching the movie, oddly enough, right until she turns to you, noticing how stiff you are.

“hey, you wanna sit closer?” she asks, you nod like an idiot.

scooting over, your arms press together. she looks at you, scanning your features and you scan right back, eyes stalling at her lips – plump and soft up close – before she turns back to watch that stupid movie.

you wonder to yourself, the ache in your heart is like a slap to the face, is this how thomas feels? is that why he’s so eager to be so touchy with you? because everything he does to you, you want to do it too, oddly enough; you really want your hands on her, to be close in any way possible, and honestly she looks really good. good isn’t even enough to describe what you see right now – what movie were you even watching before?

“something on your mind?” she’s looking at you again now, head tilted down as she looks at you through her lashes and you feel yourself shift your hips involuntarily.

“oh, just zoned out.” you assure, pursing your lips together into a forced smile.

she tilts her head and smirks so that her teeth show, earning a quick breath from your lips.

“is the movie getting boring for you? i really liked it to be honest.”

you shake your head. “no, no, i just– um, my legs–” your legs are tapping up and down against the carpet under your feet. “does the couch have a leg rest? um, there’s just, yeah i just need–”

“it’s broken right now.” momo says, frowning. “i have an idea though.”

“and what is that?”

her grin widens, more teeth showing and you feel that rush of heat in your cheeks again – nothing foreign when near momo.

she abruptly grabs just below your thigh right under where your knee bends, moving your leg up and over to rest on her lap. she taps your other leg – right on your thigh and you swear there’s a small noise that gets stuck in your throat – which prompts you to rest it on her lap as well.

“sit back and relax, i can be innovative.” she jokes.

“whatever miss architect,” you laugh, shaking your head. “you gonna make a leg rest out of your lap for your next assignment?”

“oh, no. this one’s exclusive only to you, lucky girl.” she smirks at you knowingly, then rests her hand on your thigh. turning back to the tv, you’re left speechless, gulping, and tense in your spot.

your teeth trap your bottom lip; you’re head over heels for her, it strikes you like a blow to the stomach.

the flutter in your abdomen, the burn of your cheeks, and all your admiration – it all makes sense now, it’s clear as day the more flustered you get from momo rubbing circles into your skin.

as you two continue to watch the movie, you try not to shift too much in your seat from the weird, hot sensation you feel in the moment. it’s difficult, all too difficult to ignore the concerning rate of your heartbeat or the little pulse in between your legs when momo sinks her hand higher, her skin smooth against your own as she moves it mindlessly, tantalizingly.

you’ve found your answer, the answer as to why thomas doesn’t arouse you or leave you breathless like this. you’re not sure whether it’s a good thing or not.

your mind runs in circles, you feel your head spin, and it stops whirling once it reaches the idea of momo kissing you, hands falling to your skin and leaving you breathless. she’s still in front of you when you daydream of this, and you realize once she looks you dead in the eye, raising her brows.

–

fucked, that’s what you are.

getting fucked? yeah, about to as well, probably.

thomas has his hands around your waist, messily fumbling with the edge of his shirt as he roughly slides his tongue into your mouth.

he’s not a good kisser, not really. his short, sweet ones are nice, the small, rare pecks to your lips are not bad. honestly, you like the quicker ones the most. but right now you can’t really breathe, he’s practically devouring your mouth, not in a good way. you can’t reciprocate the kiss with how bombarded your tongue is, the texture of it all throwing you off so much that you have to place a hand on his chest and push him away for a bit.

he raises a brow, “what?” sounding almost offended, a little annoyed too.

“just,” a sharp breathe leaves your lips, “needed to catch my breath. actually– i just, i don’t know if i can do this right now.”

thomas just stares at you for a moment, then scoffs. you watch him tense his jaw, turning away from you and disappointingly and muttering a small “okay.”

“babe, i’m sorry.”

“it’s fine.” he lies, you can hear the irritation in his voice.

for some reason, you can’t help but feel off when he touches you or shows affection, anything intimate. you can hold his hand and throw on a smile, kiss him quickly on the cheek or anywhere else – only if it’s brief and swift – and go out with him. the thing is, he doesn’t care for that these days and it’s getting more blatant with each passing day. the only time he seems interesting and pays the slightest bit of attention is when it’s heated.

you haven’t felt anywhere near horny for at least a month with him – it’s been dying down since that first encounter with momo.

–

thomas noticed the change in your relationship with his step-sister, finding it off, but not really paying attention to the detail of it until recently. he noticed that the time you’d usually spend with him would be shared with his step-sister – and your lowered (almost nonexistent) libido was the biggest deal for him.

he finds himself pissed, confused, and sexually frustrated. not the best state for a man, not at all. of course, he doesn’t draw it down to square one – him – and instead tries to find reasons for why you’re being so difficult. everything leads to momo, it’s all started since then – everything.

a few days later, he sits beside you on his couch in the basement. his arm is around your shoulder as you two watch the movie – a crime show he likes.

his fingers graze your shoulder, revealed by the tank top you wear.

“baby,”

your turn your head to answer, “hm?”

“you and momo been getting close, huh?”

giggling softly at the mere mention of your name, you nod. “yeah, she’s lovely.”

“sure.”

you punch him playfully on the chest, earning the tilt of his head. he almost looks offended.

“she is! don’t be so mean to your sister.” you emphasize their relation, because siblings are supposed to be relatively nice to one another (is what you assume, because you have none yourself). “she’s so sweet and funny.”

“she’s a leech, you know. not good to hangout with people like that.”

your body faces him more after the comment, you frown. “what?”

thomas looks back at the screen, watching the detective in the show connect different points from the cases he’s been going through. “a leech. her mom married my dad because he’s rich, and now she gets to live comfortably with that stupid, childish career plan of hers. all she does is take.”

“thomas, what the fuck?”

he rolls his eyes and looks at you again, raising his brows and shoving his face closer to you. “l-e-e-c-h. leech. just wanted you to know who you’ve been spending your time with because ever since you’ve met her you’ve been getting so distant and shit. she’s really stubborn you know, and really, i’m trying to protect you babe. not a good influence.”

scoffing, you remove his arm from your shoulder, scooting away from him and looking at the smug smirk on his face in disbelief.

sure, you didn’t know the full details of how they became siblings, but still, that’s fucked to say about someone who’s been so sweet to you.

“what the fuck is wrong with you.”

“it’s the truth.”

“you’re fucked thomas, you are fucked.” you reprimand, “why would you say that?”

“oh sorry, my bad!” he says sarcastically, raising his hands up in the air. “i’m sorry she’s been taking all the fucking time away from you, that bitch.”

you push yourself away from him, standing up. your expression shifts to one of frustration, brows crunched with a trembling bottom lip. he looks at you, raised brows and a shit-eating look that you want to slap off.

“okay, if you’re jealous, i understand that, really. but calling her a bitch? a leech? what the fuck is wrong with you? i know you’re siblings but that’s far.”

he scoffs, then chuckles unbelievably. “what, you defending the person who’s stopping you from fucking me?”

you want to puke. struggling to contain yourself, your hands shake as they ball into fists, and tears prickle in your eyes.

“fuck you, thomas. fuck you,” is all you can say. he's unbelievable, absolutely terrible and it’s clear as day now, if comparing him to momo didn’t make it apparent already. he's so fixated on this one thing, his lust-driven desires – not even bothering to deny how fucked up and in the wrong he is.

“it’s true.”

“you know what’s true?” a tear rolls down your cheek before you poke the inside of your mouth with your tongue angrily. “now that i think about it, maybe i spent so much time with momo because she liked being around me, actually took interest into my wants and needs and interests unlike you. you’re really this mad? because i don’t want to makeout with you every two seconds? because i’m – if not before – repulsed by your dick inside of me? for fucks sake thomas, you’ve made me cum like three times total. fuck you.”

he stands up, oh now he’s offended, all from the mere mention of anything sex-related. he walks up to you, looking down at you with a disgusted, angry look.

“you’re so lucky y/n. you know there’s a line of girls waiting for me and it’s a fucking privilege to be with me like this. i’ve been so goddamn patient with you and your fucking priorities. you want to insult me because you don’t feel good? yeah, sounds familiar don’t you think? so all that shit coming out from your mouth–”

your hand comes into contact with his cheek, making a loud clap in the process.

thomas’s eyes widen, his face turned and angled at the ground.

his cheek burns, and he presses his hand to his skin. he looks at you in disbelief, watching tears fall and fall until you’re staring at him with trembling features and visible regret – not from slapping him, but for putting up with him.

“we’re fucking done, fuck you thomas, fuck you.”

“you bitch –”

you scoff, turning around and running up the stairs.

the bag you had brought is still in the living room, but the last place you want to be is in the same house as thomas – his house – so you’re rushing towards the door, opening it and slamming it close once you’re out.

tears continue to fall, you wipe away at them desperately and sniffle a bit. you can’t be crying over someone like him, you can’t.

momo pulls up to the house in her car, only to spot you storming out with a disappointedg, bothered expression.

she stops just in front of the driveway, you spot her too. your nerves seem to settle, and surprisingly; you’re relieved just to see her from the window rolling down. immediately, your tears stop flowing down your face, your nose is less runny, and you quickly compose yourself.

“y/n?”

“can i get in?” you stop her before she can really question you, ask why your nose is pink, why your eyes are a little red and watery, or really the evidence of a post-crying y/n. “can we just–” you speed over to her car. “get out of here.”

momo shifts the car to park immediately. “yeah, of course, where to–”

“just drive.” you say, opening the door and settling in the passengers seat. “please.”

“okay.”

momo does what you’ve practically ordered her to because one: you’re a mess. and two: she would do a lot of things for you. as soon as you’re situated in the car with your seatbelt buckled, momo shifts the stick to “drive” and presses down on the gas.

she turns over to you swiftly, only to see you looking forward with a dazed expression.

momo drives, well, somewhere. she takes the bigger road and finds herself turning into random neighborhoods, glancing over when she hits stop signs to see you looking out the car window. when she’s had enough, the red light at the busy intersection giving her a little time to pry, she places her hand on yours.

your head shoots in her direction, your eyes locking onto hers. she takes in your post-crying face, noting the remnants of tears but also the effort you made to appear relatively normal again. it's a stark contrast to the vulnerable state she found you in outside her house.

before momo can ask you anything – you beat her to the punch.

“we broke up.”

momo lets out a breath. “oh gosh, y/n, i’m so sorry–”

“don’t be, your brother is a terrible person. i’m just, sorry for myself. i can’t believe i put up with him.” the light turns green, momo steps on the gas again. “can you take me home?”

“yeah, yes. of course y/n.” she looks at you again, giving you a comforting smile. you manage to smile back.

she shuffles her hand so that your fingers intertwine, squeezing subtly to offer comfort. she drives one-handed for the rest of the way to your apartment, her thumb rubbing against your skin absentmindedly, providing a soothing, repetitive motion that grounds you both in the moment and really, you feel much better already.

she reaches your complex, then parks in the designated lot. you lead her over to the elevator, then to your place. you left your bag at thomas’s house, but luckily, your keys were still on you.

you two are inside in no time and momo simply watches you flop onto your couch, leaning your head back into the cushions defeatedly.

she sits down next to you without asking, and without any warning, you place your legs on her lap like you’ve done before. momo watches as you close your eyes, relaxing into the material beneath you. she gently rubs her thumbs along your thigh, comforting you with the small, soothing motion.

“he got mad at me because i didn’t want to fuck him anymore.” you speak up, opening your eyes and watching momo nod. “he’s an asshole.”

“i know.” momo agrees, “he’s terrible.”

“why didn’t you warn me?”

“y/n,” she begins, then sighs. “i’m not a homewrecker. plus, he’d whine to his dad like a man-baby.”

“fuck him.” you groan. “i can’t believe i fucked him. he’s pathetic.”

the tone of your voice slowly simmers down to something more casual, shifting from the brink of tears to general insults. momo continues to soothe you with her touch, her thumbs still rubbing gentle circles on your thigh, providing a steady source of comfort.

“do you feel better?” she asks you again.

looking at her, you’ve honestly just pushed aside the events from before. she’s here with you and that’s all that matters.

“yeah, thank you. you’re so sweet to me.”

she chuckles softly, then her expression shifts to a pout as her phone buzzes. glancing at the screen, she bites her lip nervously. curious, you scoot closer and catch a glimpse of the notifications: one from "mom" and another from "thomas."

“they’re going to be on my ass, especially my brother.” momo frowns. “i should go before thomas bothers you more, i’ll try to diffuse the flame.”

her hands leave your thigh, and disappointment washes over you, making you pout as well. she gently moves your legs off her lap and stands up, her eyes scanning the texts with a stressed look on her face.

she makes her way over to your door, it renders your heart weak. the one person you need with you is momo, especially now, you need her.

“momo, stop, wait.”

you pause her, and she turns around, her eyes meeting yours. for a moment, you both just stare at each other, eyes locked in an unspoken exchange.

she’s a step away from you, you can tell she doesn’t want to leave you alone here. she grips the phone in her hand tightly.

your eyes steal a glance at her lips before your own our on hers.

she reciprocates immediately, her hand finding the base of your neck as you two exchange a kiss. when you pull away, she looks at you like you're insane—right before pulling you back in by the waist and closing the distance again.

the timing is awful, but so right at the same time.

her lips are just as soft as they look, just as you had imagined. she brings her hand to your cheek as you desperately grip onto whatever she's wearing. she smells like peaches, and her lips taste like them too. you kiss her again and again, pushing her against the door. then, with a sudden move, she grabs you by the waist, turning you both around and pinning you against the door instead.

you can’t help but groan, feeling your breaths grow heavier as soon as she swipes against your bottom lip, curving her fingers to tilt your jaw up. you two exchange saliva for a minute, tongues against each other, exploring and savoring each other before momo pulls away, halting everything.

“y/n, wait.” she says breathlessly, “i– i have to, you know, go.”

“i need you here with me momo. i need you.” you move over to peck her again, holding the base of her neck.

to fight the urge to go on, she looks away from you. “you’ve just broken up with thomas, i– i can’t. and i have to resolve things, i’m sorry.”

“momo, are you serious?”

you want to cry. she can’t leave you, she’s the only thing you need right now, the one person who can ground you after everything that’s been going out. she’s the reason you went out more, started exploring new places and everything about her screams that she’s the one you should’ve been kissing and loving this whole time.

“i wish i weren’t.” she looks into your eyes. “i’m so sorry.”

–

momo doesn’t text you the rest of the night and you have no clue what to do with yourself.

you lay on the couch, unable to pick yourself up and go to your room. the ceiling is the only thing you can see and momo’s the only one on your mind. you lift up your hand for the first time in a while, bringing two fingers to gently settle on your lips, lips that momo kissed.

god, everything about the kiss was fulfilling, it was perfect.

the thought of staying in your apartment alone all night kills you, especially with so much pent up inside of you. you reach out for your phone, unlking it and scrolling through your contacts to find someone who can listen: yeri.

–

momo grits her teeth as soon as she steps into the house.

her mom watches her angrily storm through the hall. “thomas is in his room.”

she rushes up the stairs, practically knocking the door open with how aggressive and angry she is in the moment. she watches thomas lay there, on his phone like nothing had happened.

he spots momo and looks up like he’s just been pestered. “yes?”

“what the fuck happened between you and y/n?”

he yawns, then puts his phone down.

momo bites down on her teeth, clenching her jaw. just the sight of him there makes her thoughts scream at her to punch him in the face, but momo doesn’t, because that’s something an immature, impatient man-baby would do; that’s what thomas would do.

“she dumped me because i insulted you, guess she can’t handle truth.” he laughs like it’s a joke. “fucking bitch slapped my–”

“don’t call her a bitch.”

“oh? what’s this? defending the bitch now?”

momo moves her lower jaw in an attempt to suppress her anger. “fuck you, seriously. you’re an ass you know?”

“you’re an even bigger one for being the reason y/n wouldn’t fuck.”

she can’t believe what she’s hearing. you were right, you were so right. all he is is a lust-driven prick who’s the reason some of your hangouts with her have been you complaining about him. he’s never really loved you, not at all.

momo wonders how someone who’s dad had been able to treat her mother right, could love her wonderfully and provide so well, could have a son like this. the sight of thomas after hearing what he’s said – especially about you, calling you a bitch and all – makes her sick to the stomach. it’s difficult to hold back from punching him in the face and kicking him where he’d suffer the most.

he perks his head up. “oh, forgot to mention: picking up your brothers ex-girlfriend after they’ve broken up isn’t the best look.”

“i don’t care what you tell your fucking dad, he actually has morals and a heart. you’re a snob.”

“you’re a desperate little bitch, i knew something was going on between you as soon as she had hung out with you the first time. y/n is a fucking homosexual because of you.”

“or maybe it’s because your tiny ass dick can’t satisfy her, or the fact that you’ve never treated her well, you selfish fucking– ugh.” momo stops right there because it’s no use wasting all her anger on thomas, he’s just a guy after all.

“well, you’re a fucking whore. if anything happens with you two after, i wouldn’t be surprised. all you are is desperate and jealous, getting with her would prove that.”

she watches him poke his tongue at his cheek, then leaves the room, annoyed and frustrated.

momo considers texting or leaving a call, but decides to drop it, afraid of saying something she shouldn’t say or making things worse due to her emotional state.

–

the two of you see each other two days later because momo’s conflicted, wanting you to take time for yourself, and you are simply someone who’s longing for a person you’ve recently realized you’re in love with.

the whole time away from her is grueling even though she had texted you.

when both of you meet for lunch you fight the urge to hug and kiss her.

she looks wonderful walking into the small sit-down restaurant, a tank top – your weakness when it’s on momo – and sweats on. she’s stunning, especially those lips of hers that you can’t stop staring at because you’ve had the privilege and lucky chance to kiss them.

momo on the other hand fights back the urge to kiss you too, because after her anger had fizzled out, that had been the only thing on her mind prior to seeing you at the table for two.

“hi.” momo greets.

you force a smile. “hey.”

she sits down in front of you, then looks at the menu in front of her. “is everything okay?”

“it’s alright.” you say, only alright because one: your ex boyfriend is a fucking bitch and two: momo hasn’t been there when you needed

sure, it was relatively very strange to move on so quickly from your whole thomas situation, but it’s justified because hell, you’ve basically been dating momo simultaneously without realizing you had been in love.

and now that you’re aware, so aware that it keeps you up at night, you’re hoping for something to happen.

“have you talked to thomas?”

“i’d rather not. he’s not worth my time.”

she looks up at you again through her eyelashes. “you’re right.”

“momo,” she flips through the menu and you focus on each movement. “i really want to kiss you again.”

“y/n, you just broke up with your boyfriend.”

“if this is because of me dumping thomas then throw it out the window.” you respond sternly, almost mad and it catches momo off guard. she looks at you with surprise, stopping her little act of trying to act uninterested.

she can’t give in; it would only prove thomas right. yet, what you feel is genuine, and what momo feels isn’t born of desperation. the time she’s spent with you has nurtured her admiration and her growing affection for you. momo cares deeply about you, and her feelings are sincere, not driven by a sense of urgency or lust like your ex-boyfriend. she can’t recall the last time she enjoyed someone’s company so much or wanted to be with them constantly. from the start, she sensed something different about you—how you made her ponder at night, made her blush, made her fall head over heels for you.

you continue, “because kissing you was the best thing to happen to be, even after everything that happened – and that says a lot. momo, i’ve liked you for probably so long and i’m a dumbass for realizing it just now, so please, please just consider it.”

“y/n, i’ve thought about it ever since.” her response earns the raise of your brows. “i’ve dreamed about doing that since our first encounter, and i wish it were in a better situation, so let’s just… take it slow from here.”

taking it slow is a much better option than anything that involves cutting her off, so you smile and nod.

–

the rest of the day is spent with her, both your uncovered feelings allowing you to fully bask in each others presence without anymore concealing. it feels right, talking to momo about everything you’ve felt recently and simply being around her.

and then you both find yourselves glancing too long at each others lips but not commenting on it, despite the easy going time spent together, there’s a thick tension hanging in the air.

the tension is even worse when momo drives you back to your apartment complex, and even heavier when you two step into the elevator.

momo is not a woman of her word. she wanted to be the bigger person by “taking things slow,” but she can’t fight back the urge when you’re alone together, your features drawing her in.

“oh fuck this,” momo groans, pulling you by the wrist and turning you to face her. you look more beautiful than anyone she’s ever seen, your lips are calling her name.

before you know it, momo’s planting her lips on yours and you melt right into it.

“what–” you gasp when you pull away, “happened to taking it slow.”

“fuck that, i can’t if it’s you.”

that’s how you find yourselves stumbling out of the elevator into the empty halls, eager to savor each other’s presence after the arduous forty-eight hours apart. you manage to make your way to your apartment door, fumbling with the key as momo kisses the edge of your jaw, both of you entering messily, unable to keep your hands off each other like horny teenagers in the janitor's closet in highschool.

every kiss that followed felt like cool raindrops during the burning summer day. it’s electrifying, all of it, really.

you’ve never felt this satisfied. nothing really processes other than the pounding pulse from in between your legs, and momo’s lips bruising your own as she pins you against the door after it’s closed. crazy with want, you let her do anyhitng, let her kiss you anywhere.

she’s in control when your tongues find their way back to each other, fingers bruning as they tighten against your skin, squeezing on it just above your hip bone. she kisses like you’re going to leave her grasp any minute, holding you close and pressing herself against you.

she starts to trail down to your neck in a way that thomas has never done before. she’s not attacking your skin like a desprate, thirsty dog, but like someone who knows what they’re doing. she definitely knows what she’s doing, the way she earns all these gasps and whines proves it.

“wait,” you gasp, then she pulls away, only to watch you hurriedly taking off your top. “continue.”

she chuckles before leaving opened mouth kisses against you, simultaneously moving you two to the couch.

her fingers render you weak, like putty in her hands while you desperately grip at her hair. she moves you over and sets you down on the couch, gazing as she towers over you.

“you’re so fucking gorgeous,” momo slides her hand down the side of your torso. “you know that?”

“stop, you’re so– fuck you.”

momo giggles before kissing you again, then retreats from your lips. your arms are around her neck, playing with strands of her hair before she asks,

“you’re okay with this, right?”

you giggle against her lips before pecking her again. “momo, i don’t think anyone has made me this weak – espseically thomas – i’m so wet it’s almost embarassing.”

“oh yeah?” she says teasingly.

“just shut the fuck up and fuck me already.” you rush out.

momo grins against your lips as she kisses you again, and then you feel her hand trail down to your sweatpants. you gasp loudly when she slips her hand inside, pressing against your panties, and you break away from her lips in surprise.

“you are very wet.”

“thanks,” she presses harder which earns a twitch and a gasp, “s-smartass.”

her fingers slide your panties to the side of your folds, giving her access to slide up and down with ease. you can’t help but whine lowly at the feeling, biting your lip to conceal your excitement.

she inserts two fingers in, making your head shoot back into the cushion of the couch. you curse when she thrusts in, your walls pulsiate around her, clenching.

“fuck,” she bites her lip. “you feel so good.”

you gulp roughly. “you– shit momo, keep that going.”

you gasp audibly the more she fingers you, the repetition of her name making her smile against you as she kisses your skin. she’s blazing against you, your bodies so hot against each other despite the clothes in the way. you grip her hair, close your eyes, and shift your hips up the more she pleases you. your back arches, momo keeps you situated in place with her free hand, then slides it over to palm your clad chest.

“m-momo, fuucckk–”

momo feels you grip her shoulder tightly and watches you throw your head back. your legs close around her when her palm hits the nub above your folds again, and then she moves her palm in a circle over your clit aggresively, earning one last cry from you before your mind goes blank.

you let your head rest back for a while more as you catch your breath. you feel momo massage your thigh as you come down from your high. momo presses more kisses on your neck, letting her hand trail up your body and reach your head, raking her fingers through your hair.

she pecks your jaw. “how was that?”

“holy shit,” you sigh, bringing your head back up to look at her. momo’s pupils are dilated beyond oblivion, and her flushed skin prompts you to bring a hand to caress her cheek. she looks adorable, even after she’s made your legs shake. “so good.”

she laughs and it’s like angels singing from above. you might melt.

“let’s clean up together, if you’re cool with that.”

you blink. “like, shower together?”

“yeah – unless that’s too forward!” she catches herself. “sorry, maybe too forward, i just want to make sure you’re okay and–”

momo is cut of when you kiss her, and then you pull back. she feels your thumb graze her cheek.

“it’s perfectly fine momo.”

“okay, and then maybe if you want we can get food or something,” she begins, brushing her fingers against the skin of your shoulder. she moves over to play with your hair and looks at your lips. “or if you’re too tired then we can just sleep.”

you pull her in for another kiss, that’s all you can really answer with for now. she reciprocates, following the slower tempo of your lips.

you part from her. “i think i just want to kiss you more for now,” then you catch yourself. “wait, i haven’t even done anything to you yet, oh my god–”

“no, no. i’m already pleased enough hearing you say my name so much.” she assures teasingly. momo presses a kiss to your nose before mumbling, “let’s go with what you want.”

“you’re so lovely.”

“thanks y/n.”

a hand finds it’s way to just below momo’s jaw on her neck, and momo’s hand slides down to the skin on your rib.

you smile, momo smiles.

you kiss her, she kisses back.

–

a groan leaves your mouth when you wake up. you feel someone clinging onto you and look down to see a face that brings a lazy smile to your lips.

momo’s head is on your shoulder, features pointing to the base of your neck. her breath is warm against you, and so is her body, and so is your heart.

you rake a hand through her hair and she starts to shuffle against you.

“y/n?”

“oh, momo, sorry to wake you.”

“no, i kind of woke up earlier.”

“are you lying?”

“no, not at all.”

she lifts her head up and you meet the messy hair framing her face, puffy cheeks, and partially squitned eyes. she’s adorable, you note, just naturally so.

your bodies are naked, flushing against each other under the sheets because momo got needy and wanted to hear you screaming her name again. of course you didn’t complain, because if anything, you wanted it too.

momo’s attentive to everything she does, and you find out that she’s like that with what she does to you. with every motion, touch, and anything intimate, she’s making sure you’re into it, making sure you’re left gasping and whining under her. she’s aroused from you feeling good, that’s all it takes for her to be wet herself.

her eyes meet the skin above your chest. “that hickey is pretty dark.”

“and who is responsible for that?”

momo rolls her eyes. “let me give you some more.”

you’re not arguing against that.

it’s ten in the morning, both of you had just woken up and momo is slipping under the blanket. her head makes its way in between your legs and the thrill of not knowing what she’s doing under the blanket makes you blush. and then you feel a hand on your upper leg, her fingers ticklish adn making you giggle.

you let out a loose groan when momo licks up your entrance, the grip on your legs grows tighter. momo’s tongue moves inside you, then tends to your clit; her tongue moves in ways that has your voice ringing out, reverberating in the room.

and when you cum, so wonderfully when it’s momo who’s making you do so, you shake and arch even as momo keeps going. she slows her tempo down before kissing the inside of your thighs, seconds later she peeks out the covers and you can’t help but laugh at the way she emerges.

“we’ve just woken up and you’re already wet.”

you scoff playfully, ruffling momo’s hair. “again, who’s fault is that.”

“mine but,” she hovers over you before kissing your lips. “you like it.”

she sits up now, straddling you in a way. “now let’s get breakfast, eating you out is great but my stomach might yell soon.”

you laugh at her. “you’re like a vacuum.”

“well who else is going to finish your food, y/n. be grateful. besides, you like that too.”

–

you like momo a lot, that’s for sure.

you like the way she asks how you are, how she listens to you, and how she’s given you aftercare for the first time since the first time you fucked thomas.

momo’s like a breath of fresh air. it feels different being with her, like a wild animal feeling tenderness and care for the first time – different, calm, and nice. the more you spend time with her after this, going on more dates and rambling your tongues off until you’re both tangled up and passed ou ton the couch; you can’t help but realize that she’s who your time belongs to.

she’s nothing like thomas, light years away from being any similar to him. it’s satisfying watching him watch the two of you bond like you should, his presence reminds you that momo’s the upgrade you need, and he can’t do anything about the fact that he’ll never compare to his step-sister.

—

–

it’s a few months later after your first encounter with momo – almost two months after you slept with her – the two of you walk with your arms linked through the same park near your place.

she orders you coffee and you fish out pastries from your bag to share. she leads you to the same place that she had brought you to when you had first met, sitting the two of you down in front of the same tree.

momo pulls out her sketchbook, you lean on her when she unlinks arms.

“y/n,”

you peer at her curiously. “yes?”

“remember when i was talking about that design when we first met? the little seating area around that tree right there.” she points over at the little area where the tree stands. “it was for an assignment, but i tweaked some of the model and idea, looked over at some materials and–”

“what are you getting at?”

momo’s smiling big, so big that all her teeth show and her eyes almost close.

“they’re going to add it.”

“what?”

“it’s happening, we talked to the park management and they really like my idea.”

your eyes widen and jaw slacks open. momo laughs as you hug her pulling away and then kissing her on the lips proudly.

“oh my god? oh my god. momo! i’m so proud, oh my gosh…”

she giggles before kissing you again. “thank you baby. i actually wanted to thank you.”

“what?”

“if it weren’t for you who listened to all my stupid rambling and listened so well, i don’t know if this would’ve happened.” momo begins, looking down at the paper and pen in her hands. then she looks at you with those big eyes of her, softening upon meeting your features. “and i know so much has happened and you’ve always been so great and–”

she pauses, inhaling deeply.

“i just love you so much.”

she’s sitting there, looking at you with so much emotion, and you feel like a star in the sky has just been picked out and placed right in front of you.

“momo, i love you too.”

if the world fell apart right this moment, you’d cling onto momo like your life depending on it. your hands find their way to her cheeks, you hold her face in your hands like she’d crumble if you let go – then, you kiss her, soft and sweet.

she moves her hand out of the way and you gasp.

her cup of coffee tips over and leaks over, creating a palm sized stain on your coat. you watch as momo’s face contorts into one of panic, and then she picks up the cup, moving you away from the spill. you can’t help but laugh; you’re laughing at how she reacts to the situation, but also how perfect it is considering how your first time spent together – alone – had happened.

“i’m so sorry.” stars litter her eyes when she says it, you simply pull her in by the collar and kiss her again.

“you’re perfect.”

#twice x reader #kpop x reader #twice imagines #momo x reader #hirai momo x reader #hirai momo #momo smut #twice smut #twice momo

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heizlut · 1 year ago

Note

corrupted creampie with Cyno mmgh-

when will it be my turn😩 i love cyno, i can do so much for this so here goes:

Best Friends

cw: manipulation, corruption, creampie, dubcon, kinda dark

tags: sub fem! reader, scummy dom!cyno, mostly proofread

nsfw under the cut

m!list here

⌁₊˚⊹ ⌁₊˚⊹ ⌁₊˚⊹ ⌁₊˚⊹ ⌁₊˚⊹

You had always been such a studious girl, having graduated at the top of your darshan in the Akademiya. You naturally became close with Cyno during your time spent there as he loved the way you stuck to the rules, unafraid of making reports to the Matra when you took note of people who broke them. You were so proud of him when he told you he was taking over as General Mahamatra, giving him endless praises and support.

Cyno wasn't one to show much emotion, keeping his expressions neutral and his voice monotone. But when it came to you, something inside him stirred to life. Something that shouldn't be there that twisted his thoughts and brought heat to his loins. Cyno wanted to ruin you.

A knock sounds on Cyno's door and his sharp gaze shoots to the source. His tense body relaxes when he hears the sound of your voice coming from the other side, "Cyno! Hurry and let me in, I'm soaked!" His lips twitch at the thought of you being soaked, wishing you were saying such a thing in sexual desperation for him rather than literally being drenched by the pouring rain outside. "Coming", his usual tone of voice as he pads over to the front door. He opens the door to see you completely wet from the rain and moves to the side, letting you in.

You shiver as you step in and smile gratefully at him, giving your thanks. Cyno hums in acknowledgement, not trusting his own voice at the moment as his cock comes to life in his pants. Thank the archons for that slip of purple cloth that hid his bulge in his shorts... Your sweet laugh breaks his thoughts and he looks to you as you smile at him, "Sorry for making your floors wet. I didn't realize it was going to rain or else I would've asked to see you another time." Fuck, you were too innocent. The fabric of your clothes clung to your body, emphasizing each curve, the roundness of your breasts, and the curve of your ass.

You tilt your head slightly with mild concern, "Cyno? Are you okay?" Cyno blinks and tries so very hard not to let his eyes wander, "Mhm. How about you take a hot bath and I'll let you borrow something of mine to wear?" You smile, but shake your head, "You can just give me a towel. I don't want to impose or cross a line with you." Cyno frowns a little. You always stuck to rules, never one to even toe the line. He used to love that about you and he absolutely should still love that about you considering his position in Sumeru, but now... Now he wanted to send you careening over that line.

"I don't want you to get sick. I'll start the bath and leave out some clothes for you to wear when you're done", he says cooly, trying to remain indifferent as always. You begin to protest, but one pointed look with his scarlet eyes made you snap your mouth shut. A hint of a smile plays on Cyno's lips at your compliance and he leaves the room to fill the bath with hot water for you. You follow him almost like a lost puppy, dripping water falling from your body to the floors. Cyno digs through his clothes and pulls out a simple white t-shirt and looks to you with an unreadable expression, "This is the only thing that might fit you. I would give you pants, but they would be too big." He holds the shirt up to your shivering body, "The shirt looks like it'll be big enough to keep you covered."

Your cheeks flush the prettiest shade of red at the idea of only wearing your best friend's shirt and nothing else. The blush of your cheeks doesn't go unnoticed by Cyno who feels immense satisfaction. He folds up the shirt and hands it to you, his hands grazing yours as he does so, "The bath should be ready now." You look at him with such a cute expression that makes that sick feeling in him grow. Cyno shouldn't want to corrupt you, but he so desperately wanted to see you writhe underneath him. What expressions would you make then...?

You clear your throat awkwardly to bring Cyno back from his thoughts. He startles slightly and immediately lets go of your hands that held his shirt, "Sorry...", he mutters. You just give a small smile, feeling more concerned about why he was spacing out so much today. You knew your best friend would tell you if he felt inclined to, so you didn't push. You turn and head into the bathroom, shutting the door. You peel your wet clothes from your body, leaving them in a little pile on the floor as you step into the steaming bath.

Cyno paces in his room trying to will away his boner, trying to keep his dark and lustful thoughts at bay. HIs head snaps up when he hears the bathroom door open. You peek your head out from behind the door and look at him, flushed with embarrassment, "I...I'm coming out now." You were so fucking cute and his cock throbs for you under his clothes when you step out timidly, pulling at the hem of his shirt that fell right below the curve of your ass. Cyno fights the groan that is clawing at his throat.

You can't even look at him when you make your way to him, too embarrassed about the whole situation and the shirt that truly didn't leave much to the imagination. This was so inappropriate in your mind and you fumble over your words, "S-sorry again for inconveniencing you and getting your.. floors all wet...and-" You're cut off when Cyno reached forward and twisted a lock of your wet hair around his finger. Your eyes meet his and he speaks gruffly, "Don't apologize." He lets the strand of your hair fall back into place, "Should we continue with our original plans?"

You just gawk at him for a moment, trying to process your thoughts and feelings, "Hmm? O-oh, yeah, let's do that." You lead the way back to the main room of him home and seat yourself on the plush green chair, pulling at the hem of the shirt once more. Cyno sits across from you, almost studying you as you fidgeted. He lets out a sigh, "Let's have a drink. You clearly need one." You laugh a little, "It seems that way doesn't it..."

Cyno moves to the cabinets, taking out a bottle of snake wine he had been saving and pours it into two glasses. He hands you one, to which you thank him politely and he moves back to his seat. You take a tentative sip, your eyes widening at the taste. A ghost of a smirk on Cyno's lips as he watches you take a longer drink. By the time you'd finished your glass, the strong wine was messing with your senses and it felt...good. You felt more relaxed despite the fact that you were sitting across from your best friend wearing his shirt that hardly covered you. The same best friend who protected you always, but now wanted to feel your tight walls strangle his cock.

You fake a pout at Cyno, "I need more, 's empty..." You tilt and shake your glass to display just how empty it was. He chuckles softly at your cute mannerisms and hold his untouched glass of snake wine out towards you, "Here, have mine and I'll refill the empty glass." Your eyes light up like you were a child in a candy store, reaching out to take the full glass from him as you speak in a sing-song tone, "My best friend, always taking care of me~" Cyno's eyes hold a glint of something dark and lustful as you take the glass and sip from it; looking especially cute and naive.

His scarlet eyes linger on your body then make their way back to your eyes, "Come sit with me. You're far away." His voice was monotone and collected as usual as he speaks to you. You tilt your head so cutely at his words, "But there's no room in your chair?" Cyno felt so fucking dangerous, wanting to split you apart on his cock right here, right now. But he didn't want to scare you. He wanted this to work. He pats his thigh, "Come here. There's room." Your lips form a little smile as your eyebrows raise, "Is that okay with you?" He gives you an incredulous look, "I wouldn't have suggested it if I wasn't okay with it. Now come here."

You chew at your lip as you rise from you seat, glass of wine in hand, and you make your way to him. A groan nearly slips from him when you settle into his lap. Cyno snakes an arm around your waist, keeping you close to him, doing his best not to rut up into you. You wiggle against his bulge as you make yourself more comfortable and you suck in a breath, eyes wide as you look up at him, "There's something..." Cyno shushes you, "Don't pay me any mind. I'm fine." Oh, he was so far from fine right now... Your bare pussy was pressed against his hardened cock and you were too dumb to realize what you were doing to him.

He does his best to control himself as you sip your wine and chatter on about your day. You eye flit to his hand that was now slowly making its way up you thigh and closer to the hem of your shirt, "Cyno?" He shushes you again as his fingers trace little shapes against you skin, steadily moving under you shirt now. Your cheeks heat up again, unable to tear your eyes away from the outline of his hand making its way up to your breasts. You let out a little squeal when Cyno squeezes one of your breasts, "What're you doing?!"

Cyno takes a deep breath as his hips begin to rock underneath you, his hand massaging your breast and toying with your nipple, "Shh, let your best friend decompress, yeah?" "F-friends don't do this...", you say softly as your breathing begins to pick up and your arousal starts to make a mess on his pants. Cyno pinches and rolls your nipple between his fingers, "Friends might not. But best friends do..." Your mouth forms a little "O" as your drunken mind decides that what he's saying must be true. He was always brutally honest, so why would he lie now...right?

He moves his hand back out and takes your glass from you, setting it on the table in front of the two of you. Cyno's hot breath fans against your ear as he speaks, "Arms up." Your hesitantly raise your arms and Cyno drags the shirt over your head and tosses it to the floor, leaving you completely naked in his lap. You felt so exposed, but your thoughts melt away when he brings you closer, pressing little kisses against your shoulder and neck as your naked back meets his bare, tanned chest.

As he continues leaving kisses along your skin, Cyno's hands spread your thighs apart, "Always such a good girl following all the rules... Never bending or breaking them..." He trails off for moment as his teeth sink into your skin, making you gasp. He licks at the mark and chuckles, "You'll follow all my rules, won't you?" You turn your head a little to look at him nervously, "Your rules?" Cyno gives a slight smirk, "Mhm. You wouldn't dare break the rules that come from the General Mahamatra himself, right?"

You take too long to answer and slaps your sticky cunt, "Answer me." Your breathless as you nod, your voice coming out shaky from both nerves and arousal, "I-I wouldn't break them... That would be... wrong." Cyno practically purrs at your answer. You were too naive and too much of a good girl to ever dare to break a rule and he would use this to his advantage exponentially. He brings two fingers to your lips, "Open." Your lips part for him and he pushes the fingers inside. You instinctively begin to suck on them, wetting them with your saliva.

Cyno hums in satisfaction and pulls them out, watching as they glisten in the light, "Let me play with you." Before you can ask what he means, his wet fingers push into your tight pussy, making you moan as your head falls back against his shoulder. He slowly pumps his fingers in and out, then scissors them to stretch you out. The slick sound coming from between your legs made you dizzy and he presses upwards to your g-spot. A pretty whine falls from your lips as your eyes flutter shut. Cyno removes his fingers from inside of you to play with you little clit, circling it with the pads of his sticky, wet digits, "Your pussy is so good for me. Have to get it nice and ready for my cock..."

You whine pathetically when he stops and holds the same two fingers to your lips again, "Clean them. Want you to taste how sweet you are." You take his fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his fingers as the taste of your own arousal fills your senses. Cyno takes them out and begins to pull his leaking fat cock from out of his pants. You're in a daze when he pats your ass and gives you another command, "Turn around and face me." Without a second thought, you turn so that you straddle him. His cock throbbing in anticipation against his abdomen. Cyno takes your hand and places it on his length, "This is what you do to me. Take responsibility."

Your pussy clenches around nothing at his words as you wrap your hand around his lightly tanned cock and pump it languidly, mesmerized by the way the pre cum leaks from his flushed tip, "Do best friends do this too?" You asked to shyly that it makes him twitch in your hand, "Yes, and they do so much more." You lock eyes for a moment, the heat of his gaze is so intense and you can't help but want more. Wanting to make Cyno happy and not wanting to go against his commands.

Cyno grips your hips, "Lift up and put my cock in." You obey, of course, lifting yourself up just enough to position yourself over his length. He raises an eyebrow when you hesitate, hovering over him. The look alone made you feel like you were guilty of doing something wrong so you immediately sink down onto him. Cyno's head falls back against the cushion of his chair as your tight, wet walls engulf his cock. "'S too big, Cyno", you whine as your face twists in pleasure. "You can take it", he growls as he thrusts up into you, making you cry out.

The grip he has on your hips tightens as he fucks up into you cute little cunt. His balls slap against your ass as he hits the deepest parts inside of you. Slapping skin, slick squelching, and grunts and moans fill the space as he fills you, "Look at you taking your best friends cock so well. Gonna let me fuck you all the time, right? Wouldn't want to disappoint me or break a rule, right? You're too good for that." "Uh-huh... I'll always be good! Don't wanna get in troubleeee", you cry as he pistons his cock in your cunt.

Cyno lands a smack on your ass and you clench hard around him, creaming on his cock. He growls at the sight of your white cream making a sticky mess at the base of his cock and dripping between his thighs. It's enough for him to be catapulted to his own end as a deep moan comes from his throat, "Take it. Be a good girl and take it all." His cock throbs wildly as his thick ropes of cum fill your sweet pussy. You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his neck as his forehead rests against your shoulder.

His cock twitches a few more times before it finally settles. You both are breathless and sweaty, neither of you wanting to move from your position. You look into Cyno's scarlet eyes, face flushed from everything that happened. Cyno looks at you lips then back to your gaze, "Can I kiss you?" You blink in confusion. He had just fucked you and he was asking if he could kiss you? "Do best friends do that?", was your cute reply, genuinely wanting to know so you didn’t break any rules. He chuckles at your naivety, "Yeah, best friends do that too."

⌁₊˚⊹ ⌁₊˚⊹ ⌁₊˚⊹ ⌁₊˚⊹ ⌁₊˚⊹

a/n: somethin about scummy cyno really does it for me…

#cyno smut #cyno x reader smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #cyno x reader #genshin cyno #genshin impact cyno

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astrologydray · 2 months ago

Text

—💋💋Rising Signs as Style Personas💋💋—

-Aries Rising – The Bold Trailblazer-

• Sporty-chic, lots of red from vibrant crimson to deep merlot. gold jewelry, sneakers & moto jackets

• Loves a statement piece and fearless combos. bold hairstyles, including big hair, wild curls, and hats

Sharp, modern, and slightly androgynous silhouettes, like tailored suits or sporty outfits, can showcase their assertive nature

• Vibe: Off-duty model meets rebel cool

What to avoid:

Frilly or overly feminine styles Unless there are other feminine placements in their birth chart

• Don’t overdo pastels or ultra-delicate looks

Avoid looking “overly safe” or forgettable

Taurus Rising – The Sensual Minimalist

• a style that is both classic and sensual, Loves comfy, high-quality fabrics (cashmere, silk, velvet, leather)

• Neutral tones evoking a sense of comfort and groundedness, earthy luxury, elevated basics, Coquette Core

Taurus risings might go for richer, deeper jewel tones like emerald, sapphire, or amber

• Vibe: Soft luxury. Expensive but not loud

What to avoid:

Avoid cheap-looking or overly synthetic fabrics. Scratchy textures and fast-fashion fads can dull your luxe aura.

• Stay away from chaotic prints—simplicity is your superpower. Don’t chase trends that don’t feel good on your skin.

Gemini Rising – The Playful Trend Hopper

• Constantly changing style: graphic tees, Y2K, funky prints. can experiment with layering different textures and styles

Yellow, orange, green, and white are great choices, as these colors align with their playful and vibrant energy. Blue, especially cobalt or sky blue

• Loves mixing colors, accessories, and eras

• Vibe: It Girl with 6 personalities

What to avoid:

Avoid boring basics or monotone outfits. Minimalist styles with no flair = style boredom for you

Super heavy, restrictive fabrics can kill your “light on your feet” energy. Avoid overly mature or serious looks

Cancer Rising – The Vintage Romantic

• Soft silhouettes, retro-inspired, dainty details

• Classic and Timeless Styles think flowy skirts, lace, and pearl accessories or Bold Colors and Vintage/Retro styles

• Vibe: Cottagecore princess with a nostalgic twist

What to avoid:

Avoid anything too edgy or cold-looking. Harsh lines, aggressive cuts, or cold metals can clash with your softness

• Avoid overly futuristic fashion—you glow in classic, romantic styles. Skip overly stiff or corporate looks that harden your energy

Leo Rising – The Glamorous Showstopper

• Bold colors like gold, orange, and red, as well as patterns, such as leopard print or bold stripes, gold jewelry, high-glam energy. statement pieces, and luxurious fabrics

• Designer logos, animal print, dramatic outerwear, large earrings, bold necklaces

• Vibe: Main character with a paparazzi fantasy

What to avoid:

Avoid blending into the background, neutrals and overly minimal outfits can rob your main character glow

• Avoid anything “meh” or dull—your presence is meant to shine. Don’t be afraid of drama—just avoid looking try-hard

-Virgo Rising – The Clean Girl Chic-

• Structured pieces, monochrome looks, subtle elegance

Clean Lines: crisp and simple silhouette is favored, often avoiding overly flashy or intricate designs

• Loves sets, blazers, and refined neutrals a focus on essential pieces and a cohesive style

• Vibe: The polished Pinterest muse

What to avoid:

Avoid messy, chaotic, or over-layered outfits. Over-accessorizing or clashing patterns can make you feel uncomfortable

• Avoid overly trendy, low-effort looks—your strength is in intentional styling. Sloppy = your style kryptonite

Libra Rising – The Trendy Tastemaker

• Always on trend, perfectly balanced outfits

• Pastels, silk, chiffon, and other lightweight materials, curated jewelry, polished glam, pale pink, and light blue

Shades like lavender, pale pink, and light blue, which complement their gentle and graceful nature

• Vibe: Fashion influencer energy—effortlessly pretty

What to avoid:

Avoid anything unbalanced or clunky. Harsh colors or mismatched silhouettes throw off your harmony

• Avoid hyper-casual outfits that lack polish. Don’t skip details like accessories—your beauty is in the finish

Scorpio Rising – The Mysterious Seductress

• Dark tones, silk, leather, corsets, bold lips. Black, deep reds (maroon, burgundy), and purples

• Loves contrast: sexy + covered, classy + edgy. Subtle Sensuality: Clothing can hint at sensuality without being overtly revealing

Intriguing Accessories: Statement jewelry, striking watches, and dark gemstone accents can add depth and intrigue

• Vibe: Femme fatale who owns the night

What to avoid:

Avoid overly bright, bubbly fashion. Neon colors and cartoonish prints can feel out of alignment

• Avoid exposing too much randomly—it should feel mysterious, not just sexy. Light-hearted styles may undercut your magnetism

Sagittarius Rising – The Worldly Free Spirit

• Boho layers, fringe, bold patterns, comfort meets cool. A flair for the dramatic and enjoy statement pieces

• Think earthy travelwear, vintage denim, cultural inspo. They are not afraid to experiment with different styles, colors, and patterns

Flowy fabrics, maxi dresses, caftans, ethnic prints, and accessories from different cultures resonate with their adventurous nature

• Vibe: Jet-set fashion nomad

What to avoid:

Avoid overly tight, restrictive clothing. Structured suits, bodycons, or stiff materials = outfit jail for you

• Avoid dull, uninspired outfits—you thrive in expressive, worldly fashion. Comfort and freedom are key: don’t fake a look that isn’t you

Capricorn Rising – The Luxe Executive

• Power dressing, clean lines, high-end accessories. quiet luxury.

• Tailored fits, structured bags, black & neutrals like gray, and navy. structured clothing like tailored blazers, column dresses, and shoes with sculptural heels; business-casual

Invest in high-quality materials and design, building a wardrobe of well-respected designer pieces.

• Vibe: Corporate baddie who closes deals & slays

What to avoid:

Avoid anything sloppy or trend-obsessed. Hyper-youthful or chaotic outfits can feel off for your natural poise

• Avoid super busy prints or too many layers. Cheap-looking details? Hard no. You’re all about refined presence

Aquarius Rising – The Style Rebel

• Experimental, futuristic, gender-fluid vibes. Mixing patterns, wearing vintage pieces.

• Think metallics, platform shoes, bold shapes. unconventional choices, unexpected pairings, and a touch of the avant-garde.

Versatile Wardrobe: As their interests are varied, their wardrobe likely reflects that with a mix of styles.

• Vibe: Runway from the year 3030

What to avoid:

Avoid blending in or playing it safe. Basic mall-core or anything too “normal” dims your edge

• Skip ultra-traditional or conservative styles. You were born to break rules—not follow them

Pisces Rising – The Dreamy Drifter

• Flowy fabrics like maxi dresses, tiered skirts, water tones, artistic layering. Pastels, lavender, seafoam green, whites, and light blues.

• Loves soft textures think chiffon, silk, tulle, satin, and lace. sheer details, whimsical looks.

Bohemian and vintage styles: Items with a retro or free-spirited vibe.

• Vibe: Fairycore meets ethereal fashion muse

What to avoid:

Avoid sharp, overly structured silhouettes. Harsh fabrics or heavy, dark styles can drown your ethereal energy

• Avoid looking too “grounded”—you’re meant to float. Stay away from ultra-serious fashion—your magic lies in softness

#astro notes #astrology #birth chart #astro observations #astro community #astrology observations #astrology community #astrology degrees #astro #astroblr #astrology content #astrology insights #fashion

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xiaoguozhii · 2 months ago

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RED LIGHT, GREEN LIGHT! S.JY

2025, ONESHOT — 5K WC. GENRE — yandere! jake, squid game! universe. WARNING — profanity, death, suggestive, force kissing turn dubcon uhhh, implied smut at the end.

NOTE wrote this since january bc of that cute guard scene in squid game lolol. jungwon is my muse and rlly wanna make this about him but for the first time jake rlly does fit the vibe here, so here's my first jakey oneshot :> not reallyyy proofread tho since this is my second blog to let go of my perfectionist habits so expect some grammar errors 🫠 ... still hope u enjoy it ♡

Every single color has its purpose and function.

Blue gives you the oceanic peace. White, an embodiment of innocence and purity. Purple, the symbol of royalty. Yellow, the glory of summer sun. Yet they don't actually exist, we only gave meaning to a bunch of fragmented lights.

Like how we framed traffic lights as the way to maintain order. Red, green, yellow—three distinct lights. Nothing too hard to obey, however no matter how much you enforce a rule, a very simple one at that—some people are bound to defy it. Why?

Because colors don't mean the same for each and one of us. There's no universal meaning to it. Red alerts people, warns them from a potential danger, but for some, it arouses their entire being. It tempts them, like a red cloth dangling before a bull bursting with flames.

And that's what Jake had always been and will always be, which explains why he ended up in this game of death.

In the vast expanse of the outside world, you could encounter countless of faces but he abhorred such tedious task. Lines contorting into what they call expressions. But here you only got two; red and green. He doesn't recognize faces, he sees colors, finding himself reacting to them more intensely, whisked away by it's whims and sways as if it was his calling.

Red was all he had soaked himself in.

However just like every other thing, boredom is bound to follow. Sharp edges now painfully, painfully dull—until a particular person carves it back to it's glory; you.

"Red light!"

Morphing his empty well of eyes with the reflection of your subtle cowering frame. You who were trying your best to put up a strong front. A bright green gym shirt like a flickering traffic light. Your smooth fluff fringe resting above your lashes, terribly failing from concealing the grim reality unveiling itself before your eyes. You stood so bright. Painfully green. A different shade of green, he added with an afterthought.

"Green light!"

Jake observes you clinging to life amidst the exploding fleshes and heads—their blood decorating your pale white face and down your green attire. Oh dear, poor you. Who could've known? Who could've guess?

Those little steps you took—Jake finds it funny how it reminds him of a heart monitor; if you rushed without a care, you'd be dead, and if you stand still for too long, you'd be dead either.

But you were doing pretty well, too well, actually.

Bullets rained one after another.

Drilled into each head—emitting the sound of pure satisfaction.

Jake hums along with melodic rhythm of the children's song, hitting the fallen players with exceeding precision. Yet once in awhile, you were there in his line of sight, begging his eyes to drift to you, and somehow he caught himself spilling the words—go, go, faster, faster,—as his pupil steals a glance from the ticking clock.

You were so small, smaller yet you were still here while all the players with bigger, stronger, and athletic stature had fallen to his hands. He starts to think it'd be a pity to see you dead after surpassing all of them. But you pushed yourself against the heavy wall of air—leaping over the red line—dropping on your knees, gasping for oxygen that has been drained out from your lungs.

The first game is over. And there are still plenty of players—shook to their core after the reality they've been thrown at just a few minutes ago. Their chest heaved up and down in relief. But who knows what awaits them later?

As Jake finishes up, placing his weapon back in the case. Yet he halted, taking one more look at you from the distance. This game—he wonders how long it will take till they get caught? It excites him. Even the players themselves, he anticipates it over what they could bring into the table. Last time one player played a pathetic role of a savior and he even got a bunch of others to side with him, with scripts rolling out of his tongue titled righteousness—he says. It was a sight to witness. Although they pretty much ended up dead after, a futile effort indeed though commended.

Boom! Boom! Boom—off with their heads rolling on the ground! It would make a very good material for a bowling ball. They brought a very compelling twist into this game.

Long after that, barely enough players bring in anything new on the table. Not a daredevil in sight.

But then you came. You were perfect. One might say you're no rare sight; a timid, feeble, fragile young lady. There was more like you, carrying the same image yet there was a glint in your eyes that begs to be unraveled. Countless players had the same goal; money, and why do they need money? That's where a vast array of reasons arise. You need money, but what do you need it for?

To pay your debt? Or to get your debt inexplicably higher? Greed, greed, people never change! Only death awaits. That was what sealed the deal for him, and he was not in the mood to see you get served up on a platter yet. For sure, how long you pique his interest decides how long you live. Because it would be a pity, pity indeed—to have you split open before you he could see your potential. He doesn't want to get your organs harvested yet, to see your limbs cut apart, and organs beating on a platter.

Just a weed in a sea of weeds. Still, it's not the type of face he'd expect to fall into a well of buried money. He didn't expect you'd be the type of face to bury yourself in a graveyard and that is why it compels him to uncover the deepest depths beneath this layer of your skin.

Maybe, you hid something even more interesting things.

It was a gamble, then! Nothing new for the pink guards, really. Just like the bright greens, the pink ones also had their own little game—carving another layer of masochism of playtime. Because sanity is thrown out of the door the moment you step into this madness.

"The second game for today is—Dalgona." The speaker's voice reverberated throughout the innocent childhood wallpaper of the playroom. "Players are required to carve out the shape. ."

A facade so intoxicating it brings a wave of nostalgia. Wishes and promises. Everyone starts to feel, a little too comfortable with the atmosphere. Who could've guess a simple sugar cookie could decide the entire course of your life? Each player settles into their position, and like a little game played by the universes he supposes, he was assigned to be your guard.

Curious he was, to see what shape you've chosen. Is luck still clinging by your side?

Twisting the cover, the shape revealed itself—an umbrella.

Ah, how pitiful—the glimmer of little hope left in your eyes morphs into fear, you've done so well shielding yourself from the rain, but now it is the pathway to your pernicious death.

"The game starts now."

Beep, beep.

The red neon digit ticks down—parallel to the players’ eyes flickering with dread.

He watches intently behind the mask; your hand trembles, yet the death grip on the needle expresses your determination to live. You pierced the honeycomb, carving the edges, slowly and surely. He wonders how it will feel in his hand, should it feel warm—he'll definitely bring it to his cheek to revel in it. But oh, your little expressions accompanied with deep inhales and slow exhales, a little sigh over here and there. The sight of a bead of sweat trailing down your chin from your temple.

A sudden bang brings forth a jolt to your frame.

The first kill.

It is now evident, the face of death inching closer.

And then two.

One more.

And like smashed piano keys—it rambled on, screeching against everyone’s ears, screaming at them to focus, focus, focus!

You struggled, though, struggling immensely from picking up the needle from the soil with your clammy hands. It wasn't faring any better to your ears as how the speaker began to announce the following deaths, and soon after, the players who successfully passed the game.

A sticky feeling latched, crawled across your spine; it was the image of a tiny ball dwarfed by this playroom, and that was you. Whisked away by the whims of fate, and now you're all alone with your eyes shot wide open—accompanied by a little fly feasting on your corpse.

You cried out a no. A desperate, desperate refusal to such a pathetic death.

The fear of your head blown off by the weapon dangling before you. The grip the triangle guard had around it made you gulped down. You slapped yourself, cussing in-between. Time is truly an illusion. But amidst between life and death, you weren't so sure, but—there was another inexplicable weight. Sure, it was death knocking on your door that was pushing you through your limits—but, something else has you on edge. You look up, just a bit, at the triangle mask glued on you. Call it whatever, intuition as they call it—but something's telling you whoever is behind that mask has misplaced his attention—not on the dalgona, but you.

The language of his body was palpable, despite being covered with a thick layer of pink jacket. The tilt of his head, unlike the rigid stance of the other guards, made you uneasy. It's akin to nails screeching against your ears, spikes of nails sticking up and high from the ground. But you had no luxury to pay attention to it right now.

Focus!

You've look at him for the first time. Have you finally caught on? But you didn't just look, no, you gazed into him. Jake swore you made him felt like you've seen his real face that it scratches his heart a little. Just a little. He couldn't help but laugh if that ever happens. He almost felt like a tiny desire to help you there but he knows it's no use when everything is recorded by the mini camera attached to his chest.

So small, so fragile.

Almost, almost.

You just have to win this game, and maybe, just maybe he'll be able to help you soon.

"Player 139, success."

You sucked in a huge lump of air into your throbbing lungs. You've felt alive once more, each breath reminding you that you more alive than ever. While the man before you stood still, watching you as another guard escorted you out. The timer ticks down with one last digit, ending with a zero—and then he finishes up all the players behind him. Each bullet mimicking the thump of a heart—he could hear it, the pattern of his very own, as you've clawed your way into it—clenching his blood into a state of frenzy.

It soon became a little game in his head.

A game of luck and fate, he supposed. How long can you live? How far can you push your luck? Like a bet, like a gamble, like hordes of horses sprinting down the lane of victory. He guessed he’d never be able to leave his addiction in whatever form of betting, and now that form is your life.

The next game are soon approaching. You've done so well surviving on your own, but now, will you be able to share this luck with others in the next game? Or—will your luck get sucked out by the rest?

Jake stood at the entrance with a rigid stance, clasping his weapon—guarding the place as he usually does but his eyes followed your fidgety hands—as you form tight-knit friendships with other players. Too close, he thought, but he knows it's necessary for the next game.

Yet his jaw clenches—hard. It hits him that the last time this ever happened was long, long time ago—when he had lost a great sum of cash before his very eyes.

A loss.

Jake was looking for that perfect time to introduce himself to you but that perfect chance never seems to come around, that is, until just a few hours later when the lights are out—one player notoriously known for running her mouth with no care—were screaming at him for not providing her with basic human rights to the restroom, it wasn't particularly allowed by nighttime for some reasons and he completely intended to ignore the ruckus inside, until you appeared behind her, begging to be let into the restroom as well.

He couldn't just let this precious chance flee away.

It occured to him as his eyes cling to your frame, guiding you and the other player to the rest room—other guards had quite a wild fetish, necrophilia, that is. But insane as he might be, a dead flesh doesn't tickle his interest. However, strangely enough, your hair that you often let down are now tied up in a messy bun, giving him the sight of your neck—riles him up, just a little bit.

You were so close he could catch a whiff of your scent.

So, close, yet so far.

His ears caught ln the running water from behind the restroom.

Should he take the chance now? There wasn't a guarantee you might survive the next game as it goes against your biological nature, but who knows, you might.

It's a gamble, though.

Everything is.. a gamble, in hell.

You and your new friend somehow took an enormous time than needed inside the restroom, he immediately knew what's up but what's the fun in that? Here you are, your voices behind—panicking, dripping with white lies to cover up whatever the two of you were planning but time's up, he pushed in through—catching the scene just as he expected.

Your little friend was nowhere to be seen, and the tap water was left running endlessly down the sink. A pathetic, pointless cover-up.

"I s-swear, it's not me." You gasped—stuttering, raising your hands up instinctively to defend yourself, your eyes following the whims of the gun in his hand. Too cute, you were an exact opposite of what you try to portray in the game field.

Jake's eyes followed the trail up the ceiling—an evidence painfully sticking; a vent pulled open. There's only one answer for this; cheating—and what happens to players who cheat? For a game that promises equality to its players, it's only fair for the cheaters to be eliminated. The barrel clicks, raising it to your eye level now imbued with great dread.

You were swirling in desperation, descending into madness, blabbering as you dropped on your knees—praying for your life. That this wasn't it, this wasn't how you were supposed to meet your end. He thought the same, too, sympathetically.

"You badly wanted to live, huh?" The robotic voice adds to the vehemence to your rampant soul, you nodded—fueled with the enormous desire to live.

Despite the debt you've accrued towards the years, you are still left with hope that you'd be able to settle it all one day, no matter what. But why is it that you're burying yourself in debt again?

Haven't you learned your lesson?

"What can you offer me?"

Cheshire grin graces Jake's lips with the sight of your glossy eyes cutting through confusion. He repeats the same question once more, but a little different this time and strides closer to you with slow steps. You didn't budge one bit, he likes that.

But he needs to see more—pressing your chin up with his thumb, tilting his head ever so playfully.

"Why should I let you live? Tell me why, then I just might, spare your life." Says the guard, "Amuse me."

Amuse? How? You were no joker yourself, even at the times you had to appease someone's wrath—you'd always find yourself failing at it. Comedy was not your forte. Your breathing grew heavy, a weight pressed against your lungs, pressured by the guard's loose frame that was stiff, composed a while ago.

Leaning against the tiled wall, a behaviour unlike any other. Despite being covered up from head to toe, it was as if he was baring himself raw and exposed to you. You could taste his body language on the tip of your tongue—amidst the saltiness of your tears—its intensity beyond sanity.

The fluorescent light flickers in a timed interval, offering a deafening sound that ricochets off the restroom's walls. Your little friend sure is taking her precious time to maneuver around the route, not knowing the real deal is happening here.

You were filled with dread, unable to find answers, stuttering here and there—tight lipped. Panic eyes dart around for answers, for the key to your escape. Until, a distant clattering reverberated from the distance, like platters being ransacked—directly from the vent.

The guard looks up, and you swore you heard the pitch of a sinister tune behind those robotic voice. "Uh, oh."

You gulped down with the arrival of your new friend. Her face mirrored yours—pale and grim—and soon on her knees.

"I want to live."

You blurted out with desperation before she could defend herself—emphasizing each word—catching the guard's attention.

Jake didn't expect this side of you, but he was not at all disappointed—more like thrilled.

And that was all it took.

You clutched your trembling left arm, your hands icy cold as you exited the restroom—accompanied by another triangle pink guard. The door to the lobby opens up, and that was the moment when your shoulders flinched—at the sound of a gunshot beyond the hallway.

Now you're truly, in debt, for good.

Jake's pink suit takes on darker hues, blotted unevenly across his chest and a bit on his mask as he stood there as the circle guards carried the corpse away.

Too amused by the outcome, he'd have to admit. He didn't know you were capable of such trickery, hiding a desperate monster behind those depths of your eyes. He'd begun to wonder how far he can push you towards your edge, to the last bit of your sanity just like his.

"I'll let you live but with one condition."

And that is to bring your best play into this game. The image of your bloodshot eyes widening in inches was a sight to witness. Especially the way your face are decorated with your new friend’s blood.

You were hanging on a piece of thread while walking on eggshells. Whatever you choose, you’d die either way. But you persisted. The next game commenced; the classic tug of war. Yet you survive again, in a game dominated by males. He was almost sure you'd plummet to your eventual death but somehow, someway—that piece of luck seems to cling to your side quite stubbornly. And he wanted to have a part of it, just a bit, or even more—just like the greedy creature he had always been—insatiable, the hunger for more.

As you climbed down the stairs, he could see it—the way your eyes searched for approval, for reassurance that you've amused him well. You were so good, so obedient that he felt like he wanted to sugarcoat his words for you.

If you behave nice and sweet—maybe you’d be alive a little longer. Be obedient as you can, he's just trying to help you, that's all, he promised! Pinky promise? It's just really a very, very fair deal. Envision it—you won't get your head blown off dramatically if you obey him, it's all for your own good.

You nodded, he grinned.

“Good girl.”

He hushes for you to lean closer, and he says it, the golden rule: they.

They?

They're always watching, therefore you should keep yourself interesting as long as you can. Do whatever you think is interesting. Think of it as a comedy play, your goal is to make your audience laugh, right? Easy peasy! If you do it right, then they’ll be kind enough to keep you a little longer. After all, interesting things once a day keeps the dull moments away!

But wait! He caught your arm in his gloved hand—whatever you do, just don't get caught. And my, my! You did not disappoint. Jake felt so proud that he mentored you, fuck, he breathes out. A once pristine fork now soaked in metallic stench, but whose? Your choice of target was truly compelling, how you reached up to that point of decision was a marvel to him.

An old lady and her son.

Oh my god—he was never a believer to whatever deities are up there but you're surely, surely fucked up more than he is. He’d only spoken one word—kill, but alas you've earned it. He could taste the horror on their face from the pool of blood—it screeches as the pink guards placed the corpses on their respective gift boxes.

Then a word arises, planting doubts, feeding worry, and then panic, and as a result you get a crowd of uncivilized humans banging against the cage. And funny it was, all it took was one shot to calm them down. Hush, hush—quiet down.

The old good script came along; equality.

Equality? How hilarious! No matter how many times they went through the script, it's still baffling to see how the sea of faces calms down after that word—almost as if it was a promise. No, and it was a pity. Sure, getting good at the game decides how far you will go but that's not the final rule.

Boredom! Boredom! Do you even sit down for so long for a movie so inexplicably tedious, so boring? No, right? We don't root for a character that brings no interesting story on the table. First, we sigh. Second, we complain. Third, we criticize it. Lastly, we stand up—never again to pick it up. A play with no audience is basically nonexistent. No singer would sing without an audience. Nor an actor without someone to watch.

Does it mean our worth solely depends on how long we keep someone's interest in us? How fucking funny! The world is a comedy play indeed! And you did just that, piquing his interest for so long that he wanted to see more.

More.

Jake knew very well that he shouldn't be doing this. But resisting feels too futile—when he's now right at your bunk bed, at night when all the players have tucked themselves into bed—lulling themselves to sleep before one more game tomorrow.

His feet had dragged him by your side before he could even think twice. Though, he can now—with one step away. But he knows he can't, because one red light does nothing but arouses his desire to go against it.

Tempting.

Getting caught feels so toxic; he thought as he inches closer, his gloved hands brushing past your leg. You caught on so quickly with a tiny squirm, a subtle frown gracing between your eyebrows—he finds it amusing how it deepens with each closer stride his finger took—until you did notice.

The margins of your pupil withered by his presence, sharp edges of a triangle reflected on it. Thick leather covering his hand—now on your mouth at a swift speed. His big frame towering over yours, and you whipped your head to find everyone else deep in slumber.

"Relax," He chides in a pitchy melody. "Just thought you needed a little reminder that you aren't safe yet, from me."

The mask dives in, a dangerous proximity—where he suddenly brushes his free hand on his mask. You gulped down, a curiosity inkling closer.

"Close your eyes." You caught a glimpse of his red lips, "And don't look."

And it crushed against yours—it felt all too vivid and intense. Wet tongue swirling and knotting together. Colliding like stars melting into each other. Your face flushed upon remembering that you were doing this in a place where privacy is nonexistent.

An act of voyeurism.

What would they think of you—a player colluding with one of the guards? Would they think of you as someone conspiring to ruin the game as someone had suggested in the beginning? But it's so cruel, almost too harsh—the way his teeth sunk into your lip, a subtle desperation hiding in-between—as he commands you to return your utmost concentration to him.

You tried your best to suppress your growing desire to moan, the shuffling of the bed, and how your legs tense around from looping around his hips, and all the more—your eyes from parting, for he had warned you that if his face was to be seen—nothing would end well.

And so, you close your eyes harder—fighting against this monstrosity of a desire to see his face, curiosity so insatiable. Would his face be as delish as his lips? Mouthwatering as his tongue? Or as gripping as his hands on your waist. To know that his face would mark your doom brings a sinful thrill, a pernicious temptation.

But maybe, you were a little stubborn. Though, you shut it tight before he could notice. Or maybe, he did notice. You only caught a slight skin, a warm tone near his eyes.

Did he notice? Of course he did. You were never too good in following the rules anyway, he expected that much from you, and that was what he also terribly liked about you—a twist to this repetitive routine in his life. You always defy his expectations, each one better than the last. Perhaps this is what they call a plot twist.

And you were doing too good, too good—he’d afraid. Good thing, no one caught the sinful game you two were in—and was that a good thing? By his definition, no—people will never stop until they're caught. It only intensifies from then on, the stake rising higher and higher.

We're all, after all, an insatiable animals beneath this human flesh. And it comes back everytime the florescent light shuts off, dripping ink obscuring every sense of moral compass. This so-called society can fuck off. We are all too obvious, flickering like a bunch of traffic lights—encrypting a Morse code, praying for someone to notice us, save us.

These signals. We're so obvious but at the same we aren't.

And that's why he wondered why you sent him a signal to meet in the restroom. His question, though, was immediately answered the moment he stepped in.

Perhaps, Jake didn't see to it that far but maybe he did, for curiosity overtakes—of what kind of a cornered animal you would be. Because the saying always goes like this; a cornered animal are the most dangerous of them all.

A swift dash—and it clicks right at his head, and all Jake could muster was a devilish grin—ah, what is this? Are you tired of catching up to his whims now? His gun firmly clasped in your clammy hands, more than glad to help you—planting it just right on his forehead. An image flashed in his head right at that moment, you looked way too familiar—as if you were the notorious player who joined the game twice, dreaming to put an end to this cruel, cruel game. The only difference was that he was with a formidable team and you—alone.

“C'mon, do it." He mimics the doll's rhythm from the beginning, "Will you do it or will you not?”

He sang on like a serpent slithering against your ears. A temptation, or a dare wrapping itself around your neck, urging you, begging you to choose. If you kill him now, only God knows what’ll happen to you after but oh the laughter—it bursted out with the thought of them who were watching, of how their eyes would bulge out on the ground witnessing the scene of a feeble girl overpowering a guard, a male one at that—all by herself.

But you look so damn pretty, so fucking pretty looking all this determined with courage and rage.

Yet his thought process was cut short with a strong grip on his hood—yanking his body on the ground before he could react—and now you are on top of him, taking control and holding him hostage. And all he could say is what the fuck? Just what are you planning inside your pretty little head?

“Take off your mask.”

“That isn't part of our deal.” The triangle mask did no little to cover his body language, “You know I could easily overpower you—”

“Not with a gun to your head.”

“Are you sure you can—” A loud bang causes him to groan, you shot his arm, that is. A very light graze but enough to cause a deep wound. It tainted his pink jacket into a deeper shade—crimson. Right, you are not joking at all. Fuck, you're right—he looks down chuckling. You left him with no choice and so he complied, funny enough—you stopped him right before he could pull down his black mask. You put on his mask back but just enough for his nose and lips bare for you to see.

What exactly are you planning to do? He doesn't know but what you did next was never one of the things he anticipated. It took his breath away, literally—you sucking his lips in—huh? A kiss. It's a fucking kiss, he chanted on in his head, his eyes wide opened as you kept going on. Jake wanted to be the hunter but today it doesn't seem to appear that way. Overpowered with a gun on his head, and a girl one at that—on top of him

The fuck? Is he being assaulted in broad daylight? Shit. For the first time, Jake was dumbfounded by your peculiar actions. Just now, you were trying to murder him and now you're kissing him like he's a free piece of meat?

Your face—he observes intently as you molded his lips into your own; tightly shut, heated cheeks, loose fringe sticking on your forehead due to your sweat, or was it his? He's no virgin nor this was his first kiss. But why is his heart thumping like a goddamn virgin, then? Was it the fact that your lips were sloppy? Rough? Desperate? Needy? It was painfully obvious that was your very first time sucking someone’s lips.

You were painfully, painfully bad at it—evident by the leaking metallic taste on his lower lip. Abusive. But the throbbing pain tasted delicious, igniting something inside his body. Jake’s starting to think that he's a masochistic for relishing in this pain.

More, more, more!

You pulled away.

He groans, aching for more.

“Is it interesting enough?”

Those words caught him off guard, and apart from the fact that you look utterly breathtaking with your red swollen lips, he couldn't properly form a proper sentence with how you're firmly on him—straddling his hip.

"W-what do you mean?" He couldn't believe it that he just stuttered. Did that tongue of yours truly twisted his brain and mouth into an incoherent mess?

"Them." You gulped down.

And that was all it took for him to lose control. A snicker, turns to a chuckle, and then laughter reverberating against the tiles—forming an eerie echo.

Dear heavens, you've taken it on another level, way, way too much for him to resist anymore.

“You know you truly got me.”

With one blink, you found yourself in a pitch black room—dimly lit by a faint round light from the corner. Your back buried on the soft couch, catching you in his strong arms. No time wasted—his lips dive into yours, sucking and nibbling on every depth of your flesh like it was his meal to devour. His eyes commands you, a slave to his spell. Supple, thick skin trapped in-between his long digits..

Sheer excitement rushes in his body as he zips his pink jacket down, slowly but surely, teasing you just enough by stopping a few inches more. His triangle mask obscuring his identity all time finally follows with a whisk of his gloved hands—revealing a pair of intoxicating eyes, adorned with a roof of pretty lashes. His fluffy fringes covered bits of his eyes.

"Do you see me now?"

His true voice speaks for itself, no longer covered by the monotone robotic filter—but bare and raw. The timbre of his voice—too velvet for your ears. He felt human for the first time.

He places his chin on his black gloved hand, leaving only his eyes for you to see. Piercing gaze clinging into your soul as if telling you to run away with him right now, like a hopeless fairy tale. The only difference was this place are no castles for princesses.

Jake put his mask back on, but this time it was not the same—nowhere near the traces of the triangle shape, instead it held a black color, sculpture-like. As if the mask was intended specially for its owner, hugging the corners and depth of his visage. It was as if the mask owned him, not otherwise.

And you were right.

Unlike his predecessors, Jake isn’t that keen in going down the route of the friendly, amiable approach they often took—the role of being a friend to your targets. Make no mistakes, he doesn't bore a single drop of guilt. But in his eyes, it was more of an old cheap trick implemented by each and one of them, yet it never grew stale to the eyes of the VIPs. He couldn't blame them though, after all—the sunken eyes upon realising the weight of betrayal was all too fucking satisfying.

However Jake wanted to try something new; he preferred a different palette, different theme—a more direct approach—a hostile, dominant one where he could play the devil and his target—the sinner. Whatever suited his play style for the day, he'd do very well at it, and he’ll make sure of it.

And you happened to be one of his very long list of targets, he’d teach you and guide you along the ropes but dear heavens! You learned way, way too fast that he couldn't resist taking you for himself. You know, a little treat after all the hard work he’d done all these years. A hundred games—he had hosted hundreds of games for his VIPs and he took an inexplicable pride in them. Each time, the faces they morphed into behind those masks was a pleasure.

However this time, he wanted so bad to be the only one to witness all the things you could do. The only spectator to your play. All the things that play inside that little head of yours.

Jake had always wanted to go fast, but now he wants to go slow. Take his sweet, sweet time to uncover the depths of you. He wanted to see your expressions—the time it took to form those creases and lines.

A brush of his finger against your hair brings tingles to your neck, raising goosebumps across your body, a sensation that clouds your judgement. His body language remains playful, hovering his triangle mask on your face instead.

"I can bring you with me." He says, a light feathery hush at the last word. "All you have to do is say yes."

“Are you testing me?”

Jake leans forward, whispering to your ear. “No one's watching anymore. It's only us now.” He pulls away, "What do you think? The next game is far beyond your luck already, and it seems like I don't feel like pushing through this gamble anymore."

Your hand feels like a separate entity when it inches closer to his mask, digits curling to take the mask off—a growing desire to see those breathtaking eyes again.

But he stops you, gripping your wrist—not too strong, just enough. “Curious?”

You gulped down, nodding.

"If you take it off, there's no returning back." Said he, tint with nonchalance but with a lingering warning. Once you satisfy your curiosity to see the face of this voice, there's no returning back—but what does he exactly mean by that?

You repeated the word. "Are you killing me?"

The boy chuckles. "Silly, why would I? What I meant was—" He draws closer to your ear, but just enough for him to show you a little below his eyes. "Once you take this mask off; the you before me will no longer exist.”

His face may be very well hidden but his body language was all too animated, as if he's wearing his heart on his sleeve unlike his persona as a triangle guard.

It inches closer, this hand of yours—aching, itching to touch, to see, and you did—one whisk down and the image of a young boy emerges. Nothing you'd imagine but definitely did not regret. However you'd do very well to keep it mind; pretty faces aren't always angels.

However the day you submitted yourself to him was the day you've let yourself go. What else was there to be shame about? And God, you caught him off guard again. Eyes wide, hands hasty, bodies collide, fleshes bare—sparking with every contact.

Intoxicating. Madness. Addiction.

It's true what they say, some people never truly change—instead they worsen over time. Bit by bit, until there's no point of return.

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