#she got everything and nothing at the same time

[sqgeism]

so i recently read a post about how aglaea represents divinity through humanity's flesh and blood and anaxa represents humanity through the mask of a porcelain doll.

Soooo this has got me very curious, how would anaxa react to his partner (reader) literally being the human equivalent of a porcelain doll? glassy eyes, long lashes, pasty pale/white skin. maybe they even visibly crack in response to stressors/trauma!! ive totally developed this into my own oc and would love to read your thoughts! ty as always

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥, 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 | amphoreus men x gender neutral reader

love mail — hii :3 i'm alive again! i had (married) femme reader in mind but honestly could pass as (still married) gn reader ＼(^o^)／ i suuper love this concept nd i hope it lives up to your expectations, anonnie :D kiss muwa ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ also anaxa's is rly long bc i intended for it to be standalone but added the others in the end ;p they're all (except anaxa) rlly short sorry LMAOAOA characters in order : anaxa, mydei, phainon

from the day anaxa met you, to the day of your wedding, and every moment after — he's learned to be careful. he's always described himself as 'experimental', ready to do it all for the sake of knowledge and further understanding. but when he met you, he couldn't be that. he was fascinated with you in seconds, your porcelain skin was delicate, the kind that shatters because of hands like his. you were his opposite, and ever since he fell in love with you, his treasure.

anaxa had built some sort of.. habit with you. when his sister was alive, she showed him different hairstyles that she wanted. anaxa, the loving boy he was, tried his very best to learn. unfortunately, as you've come to learn, he never got to really do them. his own way of healing from that grief was through you, when you first allowed him to brush your hair for you — he found himself tying it into a beautiful braid. he won't forget the glimmer in your glassy eyes, thanking him so softly that he was sure even his cold, dead heart was touched. you had that affect on him, always have.

but that joy was short lived, as when you smiled- your face cracked. his face drops and so does he, falling to his knees right infront of you as his hands cup your cheek. "what happened? does it hurt? how can i help?" there's a noticeable shift in that indifferent demeanor that anaxa's always seen with.

and that makes you smile more, but the emotion is so strong that it causes you to shatter more. anaxa won't deny that he feels himself a little flustered at such a beautiful display that is your smile, but the cracking isn't stopping.

he eventually learns that you two are alike for different reasons. anaxa's nonchalance to most situations is caused by the fact he's lost all ability to care, he's lost everything that's ever mattered to him — why care about losing anything more? it'll make him just hurt all over again. he never wants to remember what it's like to drown in emotion ever again.

but your still expressions are the way they are because you feel too much. an overbundance of joy makes you smile, pressuring your porcelain complextion and causing it to crack. same with stress, sadness, any form of emotion makes you feel like you're breaking. but you wish to experience every single one deeply, you want to turn into nothing but pieces just to know what it's like to completely, and utterly, *feel.

but around each other, there is a balance. while you were used to a disproportion of emotion, anaxa kept you calm in every situation, but still allowed you to feel. you wouldn't crack, no, but you still felt your heart race every time anaxa kissed your fingers or ran his hand through your hair. and so, you can come to the quick conclusion that you allowed *him* to experience what you have had too much of. you bring him comfort, unease, and affection all at once and he's willing to indulge in it. he doesn't want to completely experience it all, but you let him worry just enough to make something else but a thin line and an empty gaze in his expression.

he adores you, really. he'd punish the stars for ever trying to rival the beauty that is sparkle in your eyes.

he has his head on your lap while they brush through your hair, humming a lullaby while you sit there, unmoving but enjoying yourself in silence. the breeze is cool, the grass is green and the flowers that surround you, mydei, and the little ones make the scene feel straight out of a painting.

mydei's in a similar position, but if you allow him- he'd love to bring you around to meet the children. if you're at all insecure about the way you exist as a person, he's sure that they can help. they're too young to understand or villainize you in any way, they're just.. in awe of you. the same manner that he was. a big, life sized doll? with pretty clothes and brushable hair? they're all over you in a moments notice. and mydei adores every second.

a warrior and his muse, his weakness, his heart. everything that you are mends perfectly into an emptiness inside of him, and you fix the scars that have lingered for him to heal.

phainon's in a similar boat, except he's like the children. he ADOOOORES you. buys you outfits every week, learned to do your hair, sits by your vanity mirror with eyes of pure and utter admiration as you do makeup.. he's soo enamored by you, it's insane. though he does tend to worry that when he makes you laugh (which is a lot, he appreciates it), you start to crack. they do eventually heal, but he's noticed you've become insecure about it. growing a habit of wearing veils or large hats to hide that beautiful face he adores.

he likes to call your cracks 'smile lines', since they tend to happen after you laugh or smile. it's a human thing, but he's trying to describe the similarities to you. he'll tell you that when humans smile all throughout their life, they get smile lines.. and while some are insecure about them, phainon thinks they should be proud. that the aeon's have given them the gift of so many happy, special moments, that they make sure all of the world gets to see it. that they know they've lived a good, happy life. and you shouldn't be ashamed of yours either.

nothing could shatter how perfectly imperfect you are to him. to phainon, you embody his every need and want.

[augusta-in-the-rain]

Fire and the symbolism of hope burning out is a very strong theme in Guy’s story.

The fire that destroyed his home and killed his mother. That fire destroyed not only a house, but Guy’s childhood and idea of safety. We know (from s3e10, ‘Bad Blood’) that the guilt of believing he caused that fire has tormented him ever since. Not only did Guy lose his mother and home in that moment, but he also saw the village turn on him and his sister for no other reason, than that they were inconvenient and would be in the way of Bailiff Longthorn (and later young Robin) taking over the position the Gisbornes held. Everything we know of Ghislaine paints her as a compassionate, caring and conscientious Lady of Locksley, but her goodness and the way she treated the village were not enough to earn loyalty for herself and her children. It’s no wonder that as an adult Gisborne puts such a high value in loyalty, and is so appalled by betrayal.

After the fire forced them to leave England, the Gisborne children spent at least 3 years in France “with nothing to (their) names” (to quote Guy.) They would have been forced to seek shelter with Ghislaine’s relatives, and the relatives would have been under some considerable social obligation to take them in. But I think it’s pretty clear that they were a burden and they would have been begrudgingly tolerated at best.

Guy probably did some squiring during that time, for whatever uncle took them in. Boys of his social station in England would have gone to a different household (usually a relative of family friend, or even a higher Lord who wanted to grant favour to the boy’s family) around 7-10 years old, and serve as pages. They would have moved on to squiring around 14 during which they would be assisting (and mentored by) an older knight, and also train and hone their physical and mental abilities. Ghislaine didn’t get around to arranging this for her son, maybe because he was the only “man” around, with Roger away and assumed dead. A squire would grow into a knight when his training was complete, and when he had his own horse and gear. These were often gifted to him by the knight who had mentored him, but not always. The dowry Squire Thornton gave for Isabella’s hand would have allowed 19 year old Guy to equip himself properly and move on from being a barely tolerated burden with no prospects. Traveling around and fighting at various tournaments would have allowed him to earn an income, and also to hopefully catch the eye of a noble who would hire him. Unfortunately for Guy, that ended up being Vaisey.

Side note for historical context: King Henry II banned tournaments in England for a lot of his reign, but they were very popular in France still. Beating another knight meant you got to keep their horse and weapons, in addition to a ransom for their release. King Henry’s oldest son Henry (known as the Young King at the time) was a tournament celebrity (along with his tutor and friend, William Marshall) and he would definitely have been at the same tournaments Guy competed in. (Young Henry was a frequent presence in tournaments between 1175 and his death in 1183 and I will probably write more about tourneys and what Guy’s experience would have been like, in a later post.)

Burning down Knighton Hall: After Marian punches him and leaves him at the altar, Guy is ready to let her go. But later, when Vaisey sends him to collect Marian and Sir Edward (-‘If they resist, should I use force?’ -‘Get up to speed, Gisborne. Use force anyway.’) Guy’s anger at the way she humiliated him gets the better of him, and he burns down a second house that once represented hope and family for him.

In s2e8 (Get Carter) we revisit the significance of the house fires symbolizing the ending of (a dream for) family and belonging. “If I could take that back… If I could show you the side of me that wants to build a home, not burn it down…”

And finally, in s2e10 (Walkabout) losing Marian would be the bonfire of every hope Guy holds for his future

[babydoll372]

Pleasure

Pairings: older!natasha romanoff x younger!reader (nat is around her late thirties, early forties, r is early 20’s)

Word count: 2223

Warnings: age gap relationship, r is honestly cringe blame that on me alone, sexual insecurities, age gap insecurities, oral (r receiving), r is a virgin, mentions of scissoring, inexperienced!r

Natasha sighed in relief as she closed her laptop, clocking out of her shift and rushing to leave the office before her boss could dive into a long conversation with her. She got into her car and waited for it to warm up, shivering a bit at first and grabbing her phone to call you. She smiled as she saw your face appear on the screen as she started pulling out of the parking lot.

“Hello, my beautiful girl..how was your day?” She glanced over and saw you shrug a bit as you stirred a spoon, she was guessing you were cooking her dinner for when she’d be home.

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” She asked with more worry this time, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip as you stared upon her beautiful, chiseled jawline.

“I’m okay..uhm, how was work?”

“Eh, it was the same as usual. How was your doctor's appointment today? Everything go okay?” Today you had to see your primary care physician for a regular checkup, but it ended up going in a different direction. You nervously released the fact that you were not sexually active, even though you showed your doctor photos of you and Natasha earlier in the appointment. She didn’t question obviously, knowing many different reasons could be of cause, and wrote down what you told her. However, when you explained some worries to her was when she brought it up.

“So you can’t reach an orgasm with masturbation, why not try with your partner? I don’t know if you are waiting until marriage or what not-“

“Oh, no, no, definitely not planning to wait until marriage..I’m just, you know, a bit scared. It’ll obviously, uh..be the first so I’m just worried I’ll embarrass her and myself by feeling absolutely nothing.” The woman chuckled and placed a hand on your knee, patting it gently.

“I personally, and professionally, don’t think you have anything to be afraid of. It will be hard at first to adjust to, it’s definitely uncomfortable having another person see you so intimately and insight different physical reactions, but actually making love is so much different than masturbating, my dear. And I know it’s uncomfortable to hear or talk about, but you don’t need to fear it. I am sure that when the time comes you will be quite pleased, and so will your partner, and if not then I can refer you to a gynecologist and we can go from there, alright?” You nodded at her reassuring words, fiddling with your hands to ease your nerves as now the idea was imprinted into your mind for the rest of the physical. Maybe you really were just inexperienced and couldn’t bring yourself to experience an orgasm, but maybe she would? She had been with multiple women in her years, you zero, considering your age gap, but what if she didn’t enjoy it with you?

“It was fine..uhm, I- I was hoping to talk to you when you’re home about something.” You said, blurting it out before you would forcefully hold it in any longer. It had already felt like years keeping it in for ten hours.

“You don’t want to talk now? Is it serious?”

“I would just prefer talking at home, is that okay?” Once again, Natasha glanced at the camera with worry, trying to read your face in a quick few seconds before looking back at the road.

“Of course it’s okay..I’ll see you at home then?” Usually the call on her way home lasted the entire ride, but you both could feel the heavy tension and knew it needed to end there. You said your goodbyes and about fifteen minutes later, she came home and you greeted her at the door with a kiss. You walked her into the dining room where you had dim lighting and a candle lit on the table. The table was always up against the window looking out to the city, and now it looked even more romantic since it was dark out, and the only lights illuminating the sky were from the homes of other people living their own lives. Along with the candle were two plates of steak and potatoes, making Natasha’s eyebrows raise. Steaks weren’t something you two could afford often, clearly this was an important night.

“Wow, this must be something really important you need to discuss, huh?” She joked, sitting down across from you as you didn’t even laugh. You just bit your lip anxiously as you started to cut your own steak. Usually, Nat would cut your food for you, whether it was meat, pancakes, desserts, or anything else, she’d be the one doing it for you while you happily awaited.

“You sure you don’t want me to cut that for you, baby?”

“I’m okay, I’m not a baby, y’know.” You chuckled, only making her tick her head to the side in worry again.

“I know you’re not a baby, I just like doing things for you. I’m sorry if it came off that way..are you sure you’re okay?” She tried to calmly speak, not wanting to cause an argument of any kind but also getting a bit frustrated at your inability to communicate your problem with her.

“I-…I just don’t want you to think of me as some child, I’m a grown woman and I don’t need anybody to do things for me. And just because you’re older or have slept with loads of women doesn’t mean I’m some incompetent- thing!”

“Woah, woah, woah, what is going on? Why are you treating me like I’m some whore who’s slept with hundreds of women? And why are you suddenly so worried about this?”

“Because I want to have sex with you! And I- I want to be comparable to the, I don’t know, supermodels you’ve been with! And I don’t want you to think you can’t make a move just because I’m younger or because you cut my steak for me..” Natasha covered her lips to hide a chuckle at your obviously wrong guessing, and quickly put on a face of care when you were looking.

“Y/N, that is completely inaccurate! First off, the very few women I’ve slept with were nowhere near supermodels. Second off, you have no idea how badly I want to have sex with you! I have been holding back since we got together because I respect you, not because I don’t find you desirable or hot, it’s just because I’m not going to push you into anything. I do not think you are too young for me to have sex with…and I wish you would’ve come to me sooner about this, sweetheart..” She said as she kissed the back of your hands, smiling at you as you slowly cracked a grin, realizing how foolish you sounded.

“I’m sorry- gosh I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to be so rude, I don’t think you’re a whore at all! I think you’re awesome and the best girlfriend I could ever ask for..who I really hope will still accept my offer to have sex with me for the first time..tonight?” Natasha smiled wide, staring into your eyes as if they were never ending. She nodded as she verbally agreed, and you blew out a breath. You slowly pulled your hands back from her and went to finish your steak so that you two could start soon, however, Nat had different plans. She stood up abruptly and went to your side of the table, turning your chair around to face her and effortlessly lifting you so your legs wrapped around her waist, and her hands were placed on your butt as she teasingly squeezed it. She kissed you repeatedly along the way, having to stop back at the table after your insisting of blowing out the candle, and once you did, she just went for your neck. Any open area of skin she was following with her lips, sometimes leaving small purple marks in its wake. Once she got to the bedroom, she comfortably laid you on the bed and stared down at you, grinning from ear to ear.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?” You bit your lip as your cheeks tinted a deep shade of red, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away. “I am the luckiest woman on this very planet, my love..and I am never letting you go. I am going to make love to you today and every single day after that you let me, because I cannot get enough of you, my beloved..” She leaned down to kiss you passionately before her hands trailed down to your hips, teasing your waistband. She trailed her lips to your chest until you nodded, allowing her to remove your shirt. She grinned, teasing her tongue around the soft, supple plush that was your skin, and sucking softly on your nipples, one and then the other. Your fingers found her hair as your raked through it, humming softly. You felt an ounce of panic rise when you thought back to what you told your physician and how you truly had never felt much pleasure, and you were worried this would be the same. You felt a limited amount of lust from her actions, but you felt loving pleasure.

“Nat..?”

“Hm?” She kept her lips wrapped around her desired object, looking up at you from your chest.

“Do you think you could try, like..rubbing me a bit? Or something like that..please and thank you.” She slowly pulled away from your chest, planning to go back as she grabbed a hair tie from the bedside table and put her long red hair in a bun. She used two fingers to gently caress your clit through your shorts, her free hand on your thigh rubbing soft circles.

“Tell me how that feels, sweetheart. Do you want me to move your shorts aside?”

“May you please? I- it feels close to good but not quite there..“ She nodded, understanding the difficulty you might have for your first time and she pulled the shorts over a bit to reveal your well tailored cunt. You fiddled with your fingers as you watched her face for her reaction.

“You look gorgeous, my love. But you don’t ever need to change a thing for me, okay?” You nodded, biting your lip as you felt her wet fingers draw circles over your clit. She focused on how much pleasure she was bringing you, her free hand moving to your breasts as she fondled them softly, tweaking your nipples playfully. After the same movements and eventually a slightly quicker pace, she wanted to go further.

“Is it alright if I use my mouth now?” She could see your hesitancy and how your legs instinctively closed an inch at the thought of her so close. “It’s alright if you don’t want me to, I just want to make you feel good, this is about you tonight.”

“You-..you can use your mouth, yeah..” She didn’t waste much time and put her hands on your thighs to hold them in place, bringing her tongue to your clit as she followed similar patterns from her fingers. She hummed at the taste of you, making you moan quietly as you gripped onto her hair. You could feel your legs shaking a little bit as you tightened them around her, and she only quickened the pace of her tongue. She rode off of your whimpers, both the quiet and loud, and she watched as your upper body heaved up and down the quicker she went. Her jaw started to ache, but she wasn’t finding it in her to care as she drowned out the pain and focused on your confused pleasure. It didn’t come in a matter of seconds, nor only a few minutes, but she continued until she heard the words she had been desperate to hear.

“Nat-! I- fuck, I think I’m gonna-“ She pulled away for mere milliseconds to respond, not wanting to waste a single moment away from your delicious juices.

“Cum for me- do it for me, baby!” She moaned loudly into your desperate heat as your legs shook even quicker and tightened even further, your body unraveling as you let yourself slip. Your eyes shot wide open as you stared at the ceiling, your orgasmic state washing over you intensely as you clung tightly to the back of your older girlfriends head while you muttered ‘fuck’ over and over under your breath.

She eased you out of your high by delivering slow licks to the sensitive bud until you were whining for her to stop. She slowly got up and removed her underwear before settling in front of you.

“Take all the time you need, there’s no rush..but once you’re ready, I want to teach you something.” She took your hands in her own, kissing them softly as you looked up at her, still in a completely disheveled state.

“What do you want to try?”

“You might’ve heard of it before, it’s called scissoring.” She grinned at the thought alone and ran her hands up and down your thighs, humming at the feeling of your soft skin as she could only imagine what it’d feel like rubbing against hers.

[pitchsidestories]

After the fall II Jana Fernández x Rugby!Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 1711

summary: At a rugby match, Jana’s playful banter with her teammates shifts to worry when her girlfriend is seriously injured on the field. requested

author's note: Hi, we had so much fun writing this opposites-attract romance and hope you love reading it as much as we loved creating it! 💗💗

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

The first thing Jana noticed in the stadium was the fans. There weren’t as many as at her football games, but they were excited, loud, and passionate. Pride surged in her chest; she felt the inevitable sense that women’s rugby would soon see the same kind of rise that women’s football had.

She took her seat, looking out on the pitch, ignoring the chatter of her teammates. Only when they finally sat down beside to her, her attention shifted.

“As someone who comes from the motherland of rugby, let me give you all quick breakdown of the rules.”, Lucy said, relishing the moment.

Ona rolled her eyes at her girlfriend: “Lucy.”

Jana chuckled and turned to the English defender: “Are you really trying to mansplain the game that my girlfriend plays? This isn’t my first rugby match, Lucia.”

To emphasise, she dramatically flipped her hair over her shoulder, even though she secretly loved playing into those clashing stereotypes.

Bruna’s eyes widened as she sucked in a breath: “Oof, burn.”

The stunned look on Lucys face was priceless, even if it only lasted a few seconds.

“I’m not mansplaining…”, Lucy started to mansplain but then hesitated, seemingly realising that she was doing exactly that again.

“Wait, you’re dating one of them?”, she asked.

Ona shot her girlfriend an accusatory look: “Tsk, Lucy. I definitely told you that.”

“No, you didn’t.”, Lucy protested.

“Yes, I did. Like three times already!”, Ona insisted.

Jana interrupted before things got out of hand: “Before this turns into a proper fight, let me come back to your question, Lucy. Yes, I am dating a rugby player.”

“Great, now I know that too.”, Lucy said, smirking.

“Do you have any more questions on that topic or can we enjoy the game now?”, Jana asked, eyes already drifting back to the pitch where your team just walked out.

With a mischievous grin, Lucy replied : “Oh, I have a lot more questions, trust me.”

“Hey, Mario and I are back with the snacks.”, Laia interrupted, arms full of chips and popcorn. She and Mario squished past their teammates, handing out food as they went.

“Perfect timing, the game is about to start.”, Bruna grinned, happily grabbing a bag of popcorn from her.

Jana smiled: “Finally.”

The group went quiet as the rugby team huddled for the kick-off. But the silence didn’t last for long.

Lucy leaned over to Jana; eyebrows raised: “So? How did you and rugby girl meet?”

“Long story.”, the younger defender tried to brush it off.

Winking, Mariona replied: “We’ve got time.”

“So, which one is it then? Her? Or her?, the English footballer asked, nodding towards several women she suspected might be the one.

A soft blush coloured Jana’s cheeks as the brunette quietly gestured in your direction:“Her.”

“Nice thighs.”, Lucy remarked, raising her dark eyebrows suggestively, only to receive a nudge from her girlfriend.

Ignoring the teasing tone in the older woman’s voice, your girlfriend glanced at you with a dreamy look: “Yeah… she’s beautiful. And strong.”

“Perfect match.”, Mariona grinned. What she really meant was how lovely it was to see her this happy—with someone who clearly meant the world to her.

 A horrified murmur rippled through the stadium as you went down, clearly in pain.

“Woah… what was that?”, Laia stared in shock.

Jana immediately went pale, muttering: “That was a bad tackle.”

“It looks really bad.”, Bruna admitted quietly.

Watching you—always so strong—now needing assistance from the medical team shattered your girlfriend’s heart: “It does… she can’t go on.”

“Jana..”, Ona said gently.

Jana offered her friend a weak smile, trying to reassure her and smooth away the worry etched across her face: “It’s okay.”

“You’re looking a bit pale.”, the Brighton footballer observed with equal concern.

Jana tried to swallow down the fear.: “I’m fine.”

The rest of the match passed in a blur. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t even recall the scoreline by the end—her thoughts were completely consumed by you.

Relief only came when Lucy stated, matter-of-factly: “Game’s over.”

“Do you mind if I…?”, Jana asked, already rising to her feet, her free hand running nervously through her dark hair.

“Go and look after her,” Ona encouraged, her tone full of understanding.

Jana gave a quick word of thanks and was already on her way, heart pounding against her chest.

Meanwhile, you laid there, dosed up on painkillers. Your eyes weren’t quite open, yet you still sensed her presence: “Jana?”

“Hi, amor. How are you? That looked rough.”, she said, kneeling beside you.

You reached up and softly cupped her cheek with your hand: “I’m alright, don’t worry, corazón.”

“Really?”, Jana raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced by your reassurances.

You liked that about her—despite her girlish appearance, she never took any nonsense from anyone.

Clearing her throat, the rugby physio, Kelly, stepped in and unintentionally broke the moment between the two of you: “She’s on painkillers. It’s a shoulder injury.”

Jana’s breath caught in her throat. A shoulder injury? Her mind raced through worst-case scenarios—rehab, surgery, time away from the pitch. She loves the game. How long will she be out? Will she be okay mentally with all this?

“Oh no.”, she whispered, the weight of it sinking in. Her gaze dropped to your hand resting on the stretcher, and she instinctively reached out to hold it. I should be strong for her. She’s the one hurt. But why does this feel like my chest is caving in?

You gave her fingers a faint squeeze, as if you knew exactly what was running through her mind. And maybe you did.

“It’s not a problem. I can handle it.”, you assured her as nonchalantly as you could manage despite your injury.

Jana gave you a soft smile, her thumb grazing the skin of your cheek: “You need to rest and recover, amor.”

“Your girlfriend’s got a point there.”, Kelly cut in, unimpressed by your display of affection.

You knew that when the physios’ jaw was set and her forehead creased like that, she was fully focused on her players' wellbeing.

Jana nodded at you: “I know what I’m talking about.”

“Oh, I know you do.”, you replied, thinking back to the times you'd seen Jana on the other side of an injury. She was always a full-on professional.

“At least your girls won.”, she added, swiftly changing the topic.

You were already off the pitch, having your shoulder assessed by Kelly when the game ended. But you still heard your team’s celebration echoing into the treatment room.

“They did.“, you smiled, then asked: “Did your girls enjoy the game?”

“I think they did.”, Jana confirmed.

“That’s good.”, you said, smiling even wider.

“Would you like to meet them?”, your girlfriend asked, exchanging a quick glance with Kelly.

You nodded, excitedly: “Yes, of course.”

“Only if you feel okay enough.”, Jana added quickly, a note of worry in her voice.

You pushed yourself off the treatment table with one arm, your other one strapped tight in a shoulder brace at your side.

“I’m okay. Only a bit giggly from the painkillers.”, you joked.

Jana rolled her eyes playfully: “Oh god.”

Janas friends and teammates were waiting outside the stands. You smiled politely as you approached.

Lucy studied you openly, sweeping from your face to your feet and back up again. A smirk tugged at her lips: “So this is Janas girl?”

“I am.”, you confirmed.

“The thighs look even more impressive up close.”, she commented, glancing down at your quads, still dressed in dark blue shorts. You'd almost forgotten you were still in your kit.

For a second, you were taken aback, wondering if that was a normal thing to say or if the painkillers were messing with you. Whatever it was, you decided to take it as a compliment. At the same time, Ona elbowed Lucy sharply in the side.

“Ouch.”

You grinned, studying Lucy the same way she had studied you: “I could say the same about yours.”

“Thanks.”, she said before turning to your girlfriend: “I like her already, Jana.”

“I knew you would.”, Jana laughed.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you girls.”, you said with a warm smile to your partner’s friends.

“Lovely to meet you too.”, Ona replied kindly.

“How’s your shoulder?”, Bruna asked, her tone laced with concern.

You gave it a moment’s thought before answering honestly: “It feels fine now.”

“That’s good to hear.”, Laia said, visibly relieved. “We were all a bit worried—especially Jana—when you went down like that.”

As you were all professional athletes, there was a silent understanding that injuries were just as much a part of the game as wins and losses.

You mustered the bravest grin you could and reassured them: “She doesn’t need to worry about me. That’s just rugby.”

Later that evening, when you and Jana were alone in the quiet of your bedroom, she gently cupped your face in her elegant fingers, her eyes searching yours—looking past the brave front you’d worn like armour all day.

“Amor… how’s your shoulder really?”, she asked softly.

You hesitated for just a second before admitting: “It hurts a bit.”

“Poor girl.”, your girlfriend murmured, full of empathy.

You let out a small chuckle: “What are you doing?”

“Kissing it better?”, she suggested with a grin, her laughter mingling with yours.

The tenderness in her voice, the warmth in her touch—it wrapped around your heart like a blanket. “Sounds like the perfect remedy.”, you whispered.

“I wish it worked like that.”, the footballer answered, her voice barely above a breath.

You gave her a playful smirk: “Trust me on this.”

“If you say so, it must be true.”, she said, smiling as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

“Then kiss me again.”, you asked, your voice tender.

And without a moment’s hesitation, she did—softly, lovingly, like it meant everything.

After your fall on the pitch, something shifted in Jana. She realised she had fallen for you deeper than she ever thought possible. It scared her a little, that kind of vulnerability—but it also made her feel more alive, and more certain, than she’d ever been.

She was undeniably in love with you.

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you write a song to mourn the girl who never chose you

The first time you saw Paige Bueckers, she wasn’t even looking at you.

She was laughing. Head thrown slightly back, her hand resting on Azzi Fudd’s shoulder, a champagne flute dangling from two fingers like it was too easy to hold. The ballroom was warm and loud, filled with half the sports and entertainment industry, buzzing with fame and perfume and polished egos.

You were used to the energy. You’d grown up inside it, learned how to mold your voice and your smile into something marketable. Your last album had just gone platinum, and people kept congratulating you for lyrics they didn’t really understand.

But when Paige turned toward the open bar, she finally looked at you. And it was different.

Blue eyes. Like, stupid blue. Soft jaw. Sharp cheekbones. Confident posture like she didn’t even know what she was doing to everyone in the room. And a little smirk—half curiosity, half challenge.

She slid in beside you at the bar, cool and casual. “Surprised to see you here,” she said, voice low, almost teasing. “Didn’t think music royalty hung out with us college athletes.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Didn’t think basketball players looked like heartbreak in a suit.”

She laughed—full and real. “That’s the vibe I’m giving off?”

“Maybe a little.”

She nodded once, then leaned against the bar, elbow brushing yours. “I’ll take that. I’ve been told worse.”

The conversation kept going. Ten minutes became twenty. Then forty-five.

You talked about everything and nothing, tour life, UConn’s training schedule, fame, pressure, pregame rituals. She told you how she hates losing more than anything, how Geno pushes her even when she’s injured, and how sometimes being the face of something makes her forget who she is underneath.

You told her about feeling the same. How some nights, after a stadium’s worth of people sing your lyrics back to you, you still fall asleep feeling alone.

She was the first person in months who didn’t look at you like you were a product.

You exchanged numbers just before midnight.

“Don’t be a stranger,” you said, like it wasn’t already too late.

She smiled, eyes lingering a little too long. “I won’t.”

Weeks passed. Paige wasn’t a stranger—but she wasn’t exactly yours, either.

It was complicated.

Some nights she’d FaceTime you out of nowhere, hoodie on, hair pulled back, voice soft. She’d ask about your rehearsals or your favorite line in the song you were working on. Other nights she’d go silent, unread messages stacking up like bricks between you.

She wasn’t playing games—not intentionally. She was just scared. You were too.

You didn’t talk about what this was. You skirted the edges, flirted in jokes, opened tiny windows and closed them just as fast. The space between you was full of potential—and landmines.

Still, you craved her.

You watched every UConn game you could, cheering when she made her signature midrange jumpers, quietly holding your breath whenever she limped or winced or got hit too hard. You sent good luck texts before games. She’d respond with a prayer emoji and a heart.

You hated that you wanted more.

You hated that she didn’t know how to give it.

The night you got an idea for a song, it was raining in Berlin. You were alone in your hotel room, lights off, just your keyboard and the low hum of traffic outside the balcony.

You’d just gotten off the phone with her.

Well—tried to. She didn’t pick up. Again.

You stared at the screen for a minute after it went to voicemail. You didn’t even know what you would’ve said if she answered.

You pulled your journal onto your lap, let the frustration spill out first.

i don’t wanna beg for your time but god it kills me when you don’t try you touch me like you mean it then vanish like none of it mattered

Then, you moved to your keyboard. Slow chords. Minor keys. Tension.

Your voice cracked the first time you sang the chorus.

teach me, I wanna understand your love language, babe but you only speak in silence and i’m tired of translating

You stayed up until 4 a.m.

You don’t mean to check her tagged photos.

It just... happens.

You’re on a plane to Tokyo, jet lagged before takeoff, and your thumb is auto piloting its way through Paige’s Instagram. Game highlights, behind-the-scenes clips, interviews where she lights up about basketball but not much else.

Then you see the tags.

A group pic from a house party.

She’s tucked into a corner of a couch, long legs bent, her smile crooked.

Next to her, a girl with bleached hair leans close—too close—like she belongs in that space. Her arm drapes casually over Paige’s shoulder. You zoom in without thinking.

You try not to react.

They could be just friends. You want to believe they’re just friends. But the girl’s comment under the photo says, “My favorite person.” With a red heart.

And Paige liked it.

You don’t like the feeling that follows. That sick, weightless ache in your chest. The way your stomach churns because even if something is happening—you have no right to ask.

She’s not yours.

Not officially. Not out loud. Not in any way that counts when you’re sitting 37,000 feet in the air with a lump in your throat and her ghost in your chest.

You’re so in love with her and she doesn’t even know.

Or maybe she does, and that’s the cruelest part.

She texts you two weeks later.

Paige: Hey. Are you in LA right now?

Yeah. A week. Then Madrid.

Paige: Can I come see you?

You stare at the message like it might burn you.

You say yes anyway.

She books the flight that same day.

When she arrives, it’s raining again. She’s in a beanie and oversized hoodie, clutching a duffel bag like she’s afraid if she lets go, she’ll lose you.

You try to act normal.

But her eyes keep flicking to you like she wants to say something she’s not ready to say.

Dinner is awkward. You ask about school. She asks about your setlist. Neither of you mentions Instagram or the girl in the photo.

You walk back to your hotel under one umbrella.

And somewhere in the silence, her hand finds yours.

It’s soft.

It’s slow.

It doesn’t feel like two bodies crashing together—it feels like two hearts trying to memorize each other in case this never happens again.

She kisses you like she’s sorry.

You hold her like you’ll break if you don’t.

She undresses you with shaking fingers.

You let her because you don’t know how else to say, please just want me back.

After, you lie on your side, watching her breath slow. Her arm is draped over your waist. You think maybe this is what peace feels like.

She whispers, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You turn your head. “With me?”

“With all of this,” she murmurs. “But especially you.”

You close your eyes. You nod.

You fall asleep anyway.

She kisses your temple goodbye.

She squeezes your hand. “I’ll text you when I land.”

You say, “Okay.”

But she doesn’t.

Not that day.

Not the next.

The silence grows teeth.

You send a few messages—just one-liners. You okay? How was your flight?

You never see the bubbles pop up.

She doesn’t block you. She doesn’t unfollow. But she disappears.

You think about the way she said your name. The way her body curled around yours. The way she said she wasn’t ready but came anyway.

And you stay.

You wait.

You stick around.

Even though it kills you.

Because you’re not just in love.

You’re all in.

The second time you wrote more of your song, it’s not even about the words anymore.

It’s about survival.

You sit on the floor of your Madrid suite, legs crossed, guitar on your lap. Your voice is rough from crying. The recording app is open on your phone. One candle flickers near the window.

You start playing.

This time, the lyrics spill out like confession.

say you don’t mean to hurt me, but you do it anyway touch me like a promise, leave me like a phase i keep learning your silence like it’s some sacred phrase i don’t speak your love language, but i pray every day

Your voice breaks on the bridge.

You re-record it five times. It never gets easier.

You call your producer. Tell her you want to finish the track by the weekend. You ask for analog tape. You want the vocals to sound like a voicemail she’ll never hear.

You put your whole damn soul in it.

You leave it on the table like you’re saying, Here. Take it. Take me. Please.

You imagine her listening.

Maybe she’ll cry.

Maybe she won’t even click.

But you had to write it.

Because there was no other way to survive what she did to you.

The moment it hit streaming platforms, your fans lost their minds.

“WHO is this about?” “Y/N sounds like they’re in pain.” “Love Language is a cry for help and I am SOBBING.”

Paige didn’t text for weeks.

You thought that was your answer.

You tried not to care.

Tried.

It’s been two months since you dropped Love Language.

The song is everywhere—radio, TikTok, late-night shows, trending on Spotify. Fans are dissecting every lyric, every breath, trying to guess who it’s about. Some think it's about a past lover. Some think it's a fantasy.

But you know exactly who it’s about.

And you know she knows too.

You just didn’t expect her to actually reach out.

It’s 2:07 AM in Paris. You’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling with one AirPod in, watching muted reruns of The Office on your hotel TV. You’re trying not to think about her. Failing, as always.

And then your phone buzzes.

Paige: i heard the song.

You sit straight up in bed. Stomach flipping like a trapdoor just swung open beneath your ribs. Your thumb hovers over the screen. The message is short, quiet. You can practically hear her voice in it.

You type. Delete. Type again.

i figured you would.

Then nothing. For two minutes. Three.

Paige: is it about me?

Your fingers freeze.

You almost laugh. Like—Seriously?

You don’t want to be cruel. You don’t want to spill all the things you screamed into your lyrics, the months of hurt you swallowed so she could live her quiet, unbothered life.

But you also don’t want to lie.

it’s about the way you made me feel. or not feel. i guess that’s the point.

A pause.

Then she types again.

And this time, it's long. A big blue bubble.

Paige: i didn’t know how to handle any of it. you scared me. not in a bad way. just… you felt real. too real. and i knew i couldn’t give you what you needed. not then. maybe not even now. but i never wanted to hurt you.

You stare at the message until your eyes blur.

You breathe her in through pixels and old pain.

You wait a few minutes, not because you need to, but because your hands are shaking too much to trust yourself.

You respond.

i didn’t need perfect. i just needed honesty.

And then…

you should’ve said goodbye.

The read receipt appears.

She doesn’t reply.

Not right away.

And still… you leave the chat open. Because some part of you— the stupid, stubborn part— still wants her to learn how to speak your love language.

You’re not expecting the knock.

It’s late. You’re in sweatpants, your tour finally wrapped, your house quiet for the first time in weeks. The silence is nice—until it isn’t. Until it starts to sound too much like her absence.

You open the door.

And there she is.

Paige.

Hoodie half-zipped, hair up in a loose bun, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jeans like she doesn’t trust them not to reach for you.

You blink, unsure if you’re dreaming.

“Hey,” she says softly.

You swallow. “Hey.”

She looks tired. Beautiful, but tired. Like she hasn’t been sleeping. Like maybe she’s been listening to your song on repeat at 2 AM the way you used to listen to her post-game interviews.

“You’re here,” you murmur, stepping back to let her in.

“Wasn’t sure I should come,” she admits, brushing past you into the living room. “Didn’t think I’d be welcome.”

You shut the door. Your heart slams like a trap beat behind your ribs.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

She sits on the edge of your couch. It’s awkward for a second—two people who once knew everything about each other, now strangers trying to find a common language again.

Paige breaks the silence first. “I didn’t ghost you to hurt you.”

“You did hurt me.”

She flinches. “I know.”

“I wrote a whole song about it, Paige.”

“I know,” she repeats, quieter.

You cross your arms. “So why now?”

She looks up at you, and God—those eyes. That same blue that used to watch you in green rooms, glowing from the side stage, holding your hand under the table at that awards show you snuck into together.

“Because I miss you,” she says, barely a whisper. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Even when I tried to convince myself you deserved someone better.”

You let out a bitter breath. “I didn’t need better. I needed you. And you ran.”

“I know.”

“I kept showing up for you. And you kept disappearing.”

“I was scared,” she says again, but louder this time. Frustrated. “You don’t understand what it felt like to be around you. You walk into a room and people know you. Want you. Love you. I’m just—” She breaks off, hands fisting on her thighs. “I didn’t know how to be enough for someone like you.”

Your voice is softer now. “But you were.”

She looks at you like you just said something impossible.

“You were enough,” you repeat. “Even when you didn’t text back. Even when I cried on bathroom floors because I didn’t know if I meant anything to you. I still saw you as someone worth loving.”

Tears rim her lashes. She doesn’t blink them away.

“I listened to the song,” she says. “Not just once. Over and over. And every time it felt like you were holding up a mirror and I hated what I saw.”

You sink to the arm of the couch, hands close, not touching.

“I didn’t write it to hurt you,” you say.

“I know.”

“I wrote it because I didn’t know how else to grieve you.”

The silence wraps around you both. Thick. Unforgiving. But it’s not cruel this time. It’s honest.

“I’m sorry,” she says finally. “For not calling. For not saying goodbye. For making you think you weren’t worth choosing.”

You sniff, nod. “You’re late, Paige.”

“I know,” she whispers. “But I’m here now.”

That makes you laugh—a small, tired laugh. The kind that escapes when your chest is cracked open and all that’s left is the truth.

“Do you still love me?” she asks.

You don’t answer right away. You look at her. Really look.

The curve of her shoulder in your hoodie. The small scar near her eyebrow from a fall in high school. The way she still curls her fingers inward when she’s nervous, like she’s trying to hold her own hand.

And yeah.

You still love her.

You don’t say it.

You don’t have to.

You reach across the space between you and lace your fingers with hers.

And she breaks.

She leans in, forehead against yours, tears falling freely now. She’s shaking, but she doesn’t pull away.

“I don’t know if I can do this right,” she whispers. “But I want to try.”

“I’m not asking for perfect,” you murmur. “Just… show up. Be honest. Speak my language.”

She nods against you.

And finally—finally—she kisses you.

It’s slow, apologetic, trembling. All breath and ache and whispered forgiveness.

When she pulls back, you hold her face in your hands. “You don’t get to disappear this time.”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t get to almost love me.”

“I love you,” she says, immediately. Fiercely. “God, I love you.”

You close your eyes.

You believe her.

Not because she said it.

But because—for the first time—she stayed long enough to mean it.

[ghostlycamil4]

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝑈𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑂𝑙𝑑 𝑅𝑜𝑜𝑚

★彡[ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴛ]彡★

When Bakugo’s mom told him he had to come home to celebrate his dad’s birthday, he knew he had no way out. Mitsuki Bakugo didn’t ask for favors; she gave orders. And this time, not only did she want her son there, but she made it clear you had to come with him too.

“Don’t even think about showing up alone, Katsuki,” Mitsuki’s voice had boomed over the phone. “She’s part of the family too, got it?”

The plan seemed simple enough: spend the weekend eating, cutting cake, and taking long naps in front of the TV. Nothing too wild. But everything changed the moment they stepped inside the house.

“Alright,” Mitsuki announced as she greeted them, crossing her arms. “Katsuki, your usual room. You, darling,” she said, turning to you with a much softer smile, “you’re sleeping in the guest room.”

“What the hell…?” Bakugo muttered, raising an eyebrow at his mom.

“Got a problem?” Mitsuki shot back, challenging him with a raised brow.

He opened his mouth to argue, but a discreet pinch to his side from you made him grunt and shut up.

“Fine, Mrs. Bakugo,” you said with a sweet smile. “No problem.”

Bakugo shot you a glare as he gathered his stuff grumpily, like a rebellious teenager being punished. He stormed up the stairs two steps at a time, grumbling in barely contained anger. When he opened the door to his old room, another growl escaped his throat.

The room was frozen in time: All Might posters, a shelf full of dusty comics, and in the middle of it all, a tiny bed that, at one point, might’ve been comfy. Now, his feet would hang off if he stretched too much.

“What the hell this is?!” he yelled, throwing his suitcase on the floor.

You leaned against the doorframe, holding back a laugh.

“This is damn a trap!” he complained, flopping back onto the bed. The frame creaked under his weight.

“Oh, I didn’t know it bothered you so much to not sleep next to me,” you teased, stepping into the room.

“Shut the hell up!” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your smile widened. It was hard to take his anger seriously when his hair was all messy from the fall, and his expression looked more like a pouty kid than a fearsome pro-hero.

Without thinking much, you walked over to him and, in one smooth motion, sat down on his lap. Bakugo immediately tensed, like he was about to protest, but his hands instinctively grabbed you, settling on your waist.

“It’s not that bad,” you murmured, running your fingers along his jawline. “Could be worse.”

“Oh yeah? How?” he spat, though his voice had lost some of its edge.

“They could’ve made you sleep on the couch,” you replied with a light laugh, leaning in to brush your forehead against his.

Bakugo let out a low grunt, this time much less irritated, and leaned his forehead against yours. Up close, his red eyes seemed much warmer, glowing with a playful gleam.

The kisses started innocent, just small playful touches on the corners of your lips. But with Bakugo, innocence didn’t last long. His demanding mouth found yours, pulling you into a hungry kiss, full of desperate need. His tongue brushed against yours in a possessive glide, demanding your surrender, while your breaths mixed in soft pants.

His large, warm hands didn’t waste any time slipping down your back, touching you with firm, determined caresses. He grabbed you by the waist, pulling you sharply until you were sitting completely on him, his rock-solid body pressing against yours.

Bakugo let out a low growl of pleasure when his hands moved lower, shamelessly landing on your ass. He squeezed it with force, as if it was his—because to him, it was—molding the flesh between his fingers without a second thought while he continued to devour you with kisses.

“Damn...” he murmured against your lips, his voice hoarse with desire. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

His lips trailed down to your neck, leaving wet kisses and small bites that made your skin tingle. At the same time, his hands kept roaming your curves, caressing you with a dangerous mix of tenderness and barely contained hunger. Especially on your ass, which he kneaded with a devotion that made you sigh in pleasure.

Every time you shifted slightly on him, seeking more friction, Bakugo let out another approving grunt, his hands holding you even tighter, his lips claiming every inch of exposed skin as if he wanted to mark you as his.

The kisses grew more intense, spilling into desperate touches and murmurs full of desire. Your legs still over his lap, your fingers playing with the edge of his shirt while his lips found yours over and over, between soft bites and muffled laughs.

“Damn, you like teasing me.”

“Me?” you responded with fake innocence, leaving a small kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Could it be that you're just too easy?”

“I’m gonna—”

He never finished the threat. Suddenly, footsteps sounded in the hall, firm and way too close. Both of you froze, as if caught stealing in the middle of a crime scene.

Bakugo’s reaction was immediate: his face paled slightly, his eyes widened for just a second—Shit, it’s my mom!—and without thinking twice, he grabbed you by the waist and shoved you off his lap like his life depended on it.

“Hey!” you managed to complain in an urgent whisper as you fell flat on your ass with a muffled thud.

Bakugo barely threw you a warning glance, then put a finger to his lips to signal for silence. Then, like a reflex, he grabbed your arm and dragged you under his bed.

“What the hell, Bakugo!” you whispered furiously, the cramped space making you smack your forehead against one of the low bed slats.

“Shut up!” he hissed at you in a fierce whisper, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and adrenaline.

It was ridiculous: just minutes before, he had been whining about being treated like a kid... and now he was hiding you like a teenager caught breaking the rules.

"I can’t believe this... I’m a damn Pro-Hero, and I’m hiding my girlfriend like I’m fifteen," he thought, sweating cold as he heard the doorknob turn.

The door opened slowly, and who stepped in wasn’t Mitsuki—much to his relief—but his dad, Masaru Bakugo, wearing his usual calm expression.

“Katsuki,” his dad greeted, poking his head into the room without suspecting a thing. “We need to go grab a few things for tomorrow. When you’re done settling in, there’s dinner in the fridge, alright?”

Bakugo nodded stiffly, crossing his arms with all the seriousness he could muster.

“Alright…”

Masaru smiled, about to leave, but then seemed to remember something.

“Oh, and Y/n?”

For a moment, Bakugo nearly had a heart attack. Cold sweat ran down his neck. From the floor, you could see his jaw tighten, his red eyes darting quickly as he thought of an excuse.

“In the bathroom,” he blurted out quickly, as naturally as someone who lies every day.

Masaru nodded, not giving it much thought.

“Okay, see you later,” he said with a friendly wave before closing the door quietly.

Bakugo waited several seconds in complete silence. Only when he heard the footsteps fade completely did he let out the breath he had been holding.

He crouched down, lifting the mattress slightly and poking his head out toward you.

“Can I come out of hiding now, boss?” you whispered sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, but there was a slight curve at the corner of his lips, a smile he couldn’t hide even if he wanted to.

He extended his hand to help you out from under the bed, and when you were standing, you didn’t miss the chance to laugh softly.

“Weren’t you the one who didn’t want to be treated like a kid?” you teased, smug.

Bakugo snorted, crossing his arms like it would protect him from your teasing.

“Tsk! It’s not the same, damn it.” He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his cheeks still slightly flushed. “I’m not giving my mom a damn reason to lecture me all night.”

“Sure, sure…” you moved closer to him with a mischievous smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Still, it was cute seeing you panic.”

“I’m not cute!” he protested with a grunt, but his arms had already slid around your waist, pulling you back into him.

彡[Masterlist]彡

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[batsandbirdbrains]

The one where the team realizes Batman is kinda emo

I just love the idea of season 1 yj robin being antsy an entire training session. He’s fidgety and keeps looking at the time and watching the door. It was weird, and none of them could figure out what the problem was.

Until Batman came in, and Robin darted at him.

“Are we going are we going are we going?”

Robin becomes an impatient toddler, bouncing in front of Batman and hanging off his cape. Batman just has his arms crossed over his chest, a tiny smirk pulling at his lips.

“Tickets secured.”

“YES! Yes yes yes yes yes!” Robin throws his hands up in the air and then does a victory lap around Batman before jumping up and hanging off Batman’s shoulders, shoving his face over Batman’s left shoulder to stare at him. “Which day?”

“Both.”

“HA!”

Robin throws his head back, and the team can’t figure out how Batman never seems to even stumble when Robin pulls him all sorts of directions with his antics.

But also they’re so confused about what their conversation is about. It’s not making any sense at all.

Until three months later, when Robin tells them he and Batman won’t be available the next Friday or Saturday.

“Can’t tell you why, it’s classified,” Robin says, a dumb grin on his face. “Has zero to do with a big concert in Gotham this weekend. Nothing to do with that at all.”

And suddenly their weird interaction from a few months ago pops into everyone’s heads, and the team huddles around Artemis after Robin leaves, her thumbs moving at lightning speed across her phone to try and figure out what concert they could be going to. This is the most personal information they’ve ever heard about Batman, they’re so curious. What kind of music could Batman even be into? They didn’t realize he had a personality.

And they find out it there’s a band in Gotham for two nights that weekend before they move onto the next tour stop in Metropolis. And Artemis even surprises herself with the way she laughs so hard.

Because it’s a totally emo/goth kinda band. Black face paint and everything. Dramatic music videos. A whole schtick. Their fans dress up in similar face paint and over the top costumes and get into heated debates about band lore on Twitter.

And Batman is going to their concert. Both nights.

“Well the guy does dress up like a giant bat,” Wally says, his voice faraway as he imagines what Batman and Robin might be wearing to this concert.

“Robin once said they both wear a black face paint kinda thing under their masks in case anything rips or something,” Conner mentions. “So I can see it.”

On Saturday morning, they’re all lounging around before training, and M’gann is the one who sees pictures online of Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson at the same concert from the night before.

They’ve both got skull face paint on (not the whole face, just enough for the general vibe) and Bruce even has little fangs drawn on. They’re both wearing all black, with studded belts and VIP wristbands. And there’s older pictures of them seeing the same band years ago, with a tiny Dick Grayson sitting on Bruce Wayne’s shoulders.

“Oh my gosh,” M’gann gasps. “Do you think Robin met Bruce Wayne?”

[alotofpockets]

No looking back | Steph Catley x Reader

5k celebration prompt: "Nightmares again?"

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.1k

-----

One miss-step in the first leg of the semi-finals. One goal conceded because of it. One defensive mistake that haunted Steph's dreams that night.

When you woke up you immediately noticed that something was off. Steph wasn't her usual cuddly and cheery self. She was awake already and staring at the ceiling with a serious look on her face.

You turn and cuddle into her side “What's going on, darling?” You ask after you kiss her cheek. “Just a nightmare.” Steph shrugged. “Wanna talk about it?” You tried, even though you knew the answer. “Not right now.” You press a kiss to her cheek again. “That's okay. I'm here to listen when you change your mind.” Steph nods, “I know, thank you. I'm gonna go for a walk with Calvin, to clear my mind.” 

When she stood up to go out with Calvin right away, you knew she needed some space. You stayed in bed a little longer to wake up properly, and then made your way to the kitchen to make some breakfast for everyone.

Calvin's bowl was already set up, and you were just plating your and Steph’s breakfast when they got back. Steph took off Calvin's collar, and he quickly ran to you. “Oh good morning, buddy, I missed you too.” You say giving him a big cuddle. “Come on bud, I’ve got your breakfast.”

The moment you turned back around, Steph wrapped her arms around you tightly. You quickly hug her back, and hold her tight. Moments like this you knew she needed you to hold her until she let go, so you held close until she pulled back. “Thank you for breakfast.” She said after pecking your lips.

In the following days the same pattern repeated. Steph having nightmares, not wanting to talk about it, taking Calvin out to clear her mind, and you have breakfast ready for when she comes back. When Steph would be ready to talk about her nightmares she would come to you, all you could do in the meantime was be there for her.

The morning Steph would leave for Lyon, you woke up to Steph once again already being awake and staring at the ceiling. “Nightmares again?” Your voice is still groggy from just waking up, but you’re genuinely getting worried about her now with the amount of nightmares she has had the past week. 

“Yeah, I keep replaying the mistake I made in the first leg.” You sat up a little to be able to look at Steph while she spoke. “Then I keep seeing all kinds of nightmare situations where I mess up again, and cost us the Champions League. Like a different way I let the team down each time. What if I will be the reason that we lose? I would never forgive myself if a mistake from me in both legs costs us a spot in the final.”

You reach out for her hand, “Darling, you are an amazing defender. An amazing footballer. Everybody makes mistakes, and what happened in the first leg wasn’t even really a mistake. You only misstepped because you were giving everything in you to try and defend that striker.” 

Steph shakes her head, “My everything wasn’t good enough.” You squeeze her hand, “You might not have been able to stop her, but that doesn’t mean that your everything wasn’t good enough. Yes they scored, but you were not the only factor that led up to that goal. Plus you had plenty of blocks after that goal, you fought back until the very last second, and you should be nothing but proud of your performance.” You knew that just your words weren’t going to be enough to convince her, but you could try, right?

“You’ll get back on the pitch Sunday, and you can give it your all again. Take what you learned from the first leg with you, but you’ll keep your focus on the match at hand. No matter the results, I am so proud of you.” Steph stayed silent for a moment while she played with your hand.

“Do you think we can turn it around?” She asks after a while. “Yeah, I do. With the mentality you and the team have, I know you will fight for it until the very end.” That seemed to be enough for Steph as she turned to you and pulled you into a hug. “Thank you, for everything.” You hug her back and let your head rest on her chest, “Always.”

You flew out to Lyon a day later to watch the game live at Groupama Stadium. Arsenal fans had come out in big numbers. The atmosphere from the moment you got there had been amazing. You were sitting with some of the other family members from the girls, chatting while you watched them warm up.

Steph had noticed you in the crowd and sent you a little wave. She seemed well rested, and strong. She had texted you after her training session that she was feeling a lot better, and that having talked about her nightmares had helped a lot. You were hoping that she would be able to fully leave the “mistake” in the last game and focus on this one.

You watched Arsenal come back from a deficit, the whole team was playing strong. Steph played so well. She made some incredible blocks, and was able to play her way out of tricky situations. You were so incredibly proud watching her performance on this top level.

When the final whistle blew your section went wild. Tears sprung to your eyes as you watched the girls run onto the pitch, celebrating the win. Meanwhile you were hugging all the family members of the girls around you, they had done it, and you were all so immensely proud of them.

After the initial celebrations on the pitch the girls were all walking around. That’s when Steph looked for you again. Her face lit up when she saw you again, wearing her jersey proudly. She pointed and waved at you, and you both knew exactly what it meant. 

Down on the pitch you saw Alessia walk up to Steph to pull her along to the stands. You had been sitting next to Alessia’s parents, so Alessia pulled Steph along to go up to you.

The moment she reached you she fell into your arms. “You did it, darling. I am so proud of you.” She smiled into your chest. “No looking back, only this moment.” You lean back to be able to see her face. “Only this moment.” You repeated.

-----

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[marie098887]

"We Could've Been."

Requested.

You were always his favorite, but someone else got there first.

Part 3: Ness, Hiori, Shidou, Kaiser, Niko, Sae,

Requests: OPEN

You were best friends. Close enough that everyone thought it was only a matter of time. You thought so too. But you never confessed.

And eventually, he stopped waiting.

So when someone else asked him out, he said yes, not because he loved her, but because at least she asked.

Now he’s taken. And you're still in his life, acting like nothing’s changed.

🎀 Alexis Ness

He knew. And he thought he could keep you anyway.

He wasn’t clueless.

He knew you liked him. He could feel it in the way you lingered when you said goodbye, the way you laughed a little too soft when he looked at you. He saw it in every text, every late night call you didn’t want to end.

And maybe he liked it a little too much.

You were safe. Familiar. Someone who chose him over and over, without him ever needing to ask.

He built his world around that. Around you.

And maybe that’s why he never confessed. Because if he said it out loud, if he admitted he needed you, and you didn’t feel the same?

He'd lose everything.

So he stayed quiet. Stayed smiling. Stayed close enough to keep you, but far enough not to scare you away.

And when someone else asked him out, confident, pretty, with eyes that never looked past him the way yours did, he said yes.

He thought it didn’t matter. He thought he could have both. He thought you’d stay.

But you didn’t.

You stopped waiting for him after class. Stopped reaching for his hand during scary movies. Stopped texting just to say goodnight.

And the second he noticed, really noticed , it hit him harder than anything ever had.

His girlfriend notices too.

"You still look at her like she's the only one here," she says, trying to sound casual, but failing.

He laughs it off. Smiles like it doesn’t mean anything. But inside? It’s ugly. It’s raw. It’s him realizing he made the biggest mistake of his life.

Because it was never about having someone. It was about having you.

And he lost you.

Because he was too much of a coward to fight for you when he had the chance.

Now, when he sees you smiling at someone else, leaning into them the way you used to lean into him he feels it like a punch to the gut.

And there’s nothing left to say but the truth:

You were mine. And I let you go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🩵 Hiori Yo

He never said anything. And now he never will.

It was easy with you.

Easier than anything else in his life. No pressure to be perfect. No expectation to always say the right thing. You understood him, the quiet, hesitant parts. The parts he kept tucked away from everyone else.

He thought you knew how he felt. He thought maybe you felt it too.

But he never said it.

And when someone else confessed, bright eyed, determined, promising something simple and sweet, he said yes. Why? He doesn't even know.

You didn’t say anything when it happened. Didn’t blink. Didn’t fight.

So he thought that was his answer.

Now you barely look at him anymore.

You smile less. Sit farther away. Shrink a little smaller every time he walks into the room.

And every time you pull away, it’s like another invisible thread between you snaps.

He tells himself he did the right thing. That he couldn’t have risked it anyway. That maybe this was better, safer.

But when he’s sitting next to his girlfriend, pretending to listen to her talk about weekend plans, all he can think about is you. All the things you never said. All the things he never said.

“You’re real quiet today,” his girlfriend says, laughin’ a little. “You’re always quiet, but today’s worse.”

He smiles, small, hollow. “Sorry, darlin’. Just tired.”

But he ain’t tired. He’s just... empty.

Because he had the chance to choose you. And he didn’t.

And now? He’ll spend every damn moment pretending he’s fine while watchin' the only person he ever wanted slip further away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🩷 Shidou Ryusei

He thought he could outrun the feeling. He was wrong.

He never waited for anything.

Not goals. Not attention. Not affection. If he wanted something, he went after it. Loud. Shameless. Fast.

But with you? He hesitated.

He thought there was time. Thought you’d always be there, laughing at his dumb jokes, throwing an arm around his shoulders, giving him that look that said I get you even when no one else does.

But you never said anything. Never crossed the line. So neither did he.

And when another girl, pretty, bold, right in front of everybody, asked him out, he said yes.

You were there. You didn’t say a word. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look at him.

So he laughed. Shrugged. Acted like it didn’t matter.

But now?

Now every time he’s with his girlfriend, all he can think about is how it’s not you. How her laugh isn’t yours. How her hand doesn’t fit the way yours would have.

He gets more reckless. Louder. Dumber.

Picks fights on the field. Says the wrong thing. Laughs too hard at shit that’s not funny.

Everyone notices. You notice, but you don’t reach for him anymore.

And that’s what wrecks him the most.

“You’re different lately,” his girlfriend says, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “You’re still hung up on her, aren’t you?”

He grins. Big. Fake. Wide enough to show teeth.

“Nah, babe,” he says. “She’s ancient history.”

But when he watches you laughing with someone else someone who isn’t him  something inside him claws and kicks and screams.

He turns away. Runs a hand through his hair. Lets out a breath like he’s laughing.

But he’s not.

Because all he can think is:

I was supposed to be the one you picked. Not him. Not anyone else. Me.

And under his breath, so quiet he hates himself for it

“Fuck.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

👑 Michael Kaiser

He told himself you didn’t matter. He lied.

Kaiser doesn’t lose.

Not games. Not arguments. Not people.

So when another girl confessed, pretty, eager, practically shining under the weight of his attention , he said yes. Easy. Effortless. Barely thought about it.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t chase him.

And that pissed him off more than he’d ever admit.

He thought you’d fold. Thought you’d run after him. Thought you’d finally say the things you both danced around for months.

But you didn’t.

You pulled back slow, steady, leaving cold space where laughter used to be.

And him? He acted like he didn’t notice.

Got louder around you. Smirked bigger. Made stupid jokes about being "taken" now.

"You’ll survive without me, right, Schatz?" he teased one day, flashing you that wolfish grin.

You just smiled. Small. Easy. And didn’t say a word.

That’s when it hit him.

Really, actually hit him.

You weren’t playing hard to get. You were leaving.

And he hated it.

He picked fights with his girlfriend for no reason. Ignored texts. Started showing up late to dates like it was a sport.

“You’re distant,” she said finally, snapping her compact shut. “You still like her, don’t you?”

He stared, that same glare slowly forming on his face.

"Do you know how stupid you sound? Of course I don't. Don't say stupid shit like that again."

And just like that, the conversation was over, though, the tension in the air was still thick.

And later, when he saw you standing at your locker, laughing at something someone else said, not even glancing his way, he felt it in his chest. Sharp. Cold. Final.

He turned away before he could think too hard.

But under his breath, bitter and wrecked —

"Verdammter Idiot."

And for once? He didn’t mean you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🖤 Niko Ikki

He figured it out too late. And he has no one to blame but himself.

Niko noticed everything.

The shift in your voice when you were tired. The way your shoulders relaxed when you were really laughing. The way your hand would hover near his arm when you wanted to touch him but weren’t sure if you should.

He caught all of it. Filed it away in the part of his brain that hoarded everything about you.

And still, he never said anything.

He thought there was time. He thought staying close was enough. He thought he could keep you without risking anything.

So when another girl, sweet, predictable, easy, asked him out? He said yes.

He saw you standing a few feet away when it happened. Saw the way you went still. Saw the way you smiled, tight, almost polite, and walked away without looking back.

He felt it in his chest, heavy and cold.

But he didn’t chase you.

And now?

Now you barely talk. You sit with other people. Laugh at different jokes. Smile in ways that don’t involve him anymore.

He watches it all. Quietly. Every small distance you put between you and him he feels it like a paper cut he can’t stop reopening.

"You’re distracted," his girlfriend says one afternoon, frowning. "You never really look at me when we’re together."

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t even bother lying.

Because the truth is he’s always looking at you.

And now you’re looking somewhere else.

He could’ve stopped it. Could’ve said something. Could’ve picked you, the only person who ever made him want to try harder.

But he didn’t.

And now, standing in a crowded hallway watching you disappear into a sea of people who aren’t him, he thinks:

Smartest guy in the room... and still too stupid to keep you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

❤️ Sae Itoshi

He thought he'd be fine without you. He was wrong.

Sae never believed in waiting.

Waiting meant weakness. Waiting meant wanting. Waiting meant giving someone else the power to hurt you.

And he never let anyone have that.

Not until you.

You were different. You stayed even when he pushed. Laughed even when he was short with you. Found him, really found him, under all the sharp edges he built around himself.

He told himself it was fine. That it wasn’t real. That if you never said anything, it wasn’t meant to be.

So when another girl confessed, all bright eyes and careful smiles, he said yes.

You didn't stop him. You didn't say a thing.

And that should’ve made it easier.

It didn’t.

Now you’re slipping away. Quietly. Slowly. Like sand through his fingers. You still exist in his world, but you don’t orbit him anymore.

You laugh with other people. You lean away when he’s near. You stop waiting after practice.

And he notices. Of course he notices.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t fix it.

Because this is what he chose.

One day, his girlfriend asks him, careful and hesitant, “Do you ever think about her? Still?”

He looks up. Meets her eyes without flinching. And lies.

“No

Because what else is he supposed to say?

That he thinks about you every damn time he opens his phone? That every place you used to walk together feels too empty now? That he loved you,  still loves you, and never said it out loud?

No. That would make it real. And Sae Itoshi doesn't lose. Even if losing you already feels worse than anything he’s ever faced.

So he watches you laugh from across the courtyard. And he says nothing. Does nothing.

And inside, colder and sharper than he’ll ever admit, he thinks:

If I couldn’t have you my way... I didn’t deserve you at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And that's it for this request :) I know I've been gone a bit, college has been kicking my ass not to mention mental issues, but I have a ton of ideas lined up I am excited to write for, and I can't wait to share them all with you all. <3

[howlett-dekarios]

𝚂𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑

▏Trilogy!Logan x Reader

▏Summary: You were the perfect student of Scott's. But after you've came back form university, you've changed and Logan can't stand it.

▏Warnings: dom!Logan | virgin!reader | NSFW | MDNI | big breast | | breast play | slight overstimulation | kinda mean!Logan | unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!) | spanking | Logan calling reader names | male masturbation |

▏Word count: 3,5k

First days in school were a very weird experience for him. Being around so many kids and a few teens who were genuinely interested in studying here. The place itself being some sort of safe space for them. Truly unusual to watch something from so close, or even being considered a part of. Xavier wasn’t pushing him into anything though, rather giving him time to adjust to the new reality. Logan didn’t really feel like matching the whole vibe. Being a responsible adult, an example for youngsters.

He was called by Charles into his office. What he didn’t expect though was to be bumped into on his way in.

“Of course Professor, it will be done as soon as possible-“ A young woman's voice was stopped when her head hit the hard chest of Howlett. Her gaze quickly rose and was met with his unreadable eyes. “I-I’m so sorry Mister..”

“I’m Logan, kid.” His voice stern. “You should be more careful.”

“Yes, of course, I’m so sorry.” She stuttered. This guy wasn’t giving the nicest aura. Big, grumpy and intimidating with the cigar between his lips. “It’s my fault, I-“

“I’m just kidding, kid.” He gave her a teasing smirk, definitely enjoying how she had been panicking just seconds ago. Logan was a bastard who was well aware of his posture. “Nothing happened.”

“Sure..” Her red cheeks made him smirk even more. Are all students like this girl? “Goodbye, Professor, have a nice evening. Same for you Mr. Logan.” And with that she left as fast as possible, embarrassed by the whole situation she put herself into.

“Take care, bub.” His attention focused on Charles again. “Are all of them so scared?” The question was rather sarcastic one.

“I prefer the term of well behaved and polite.” The man in the wheelchair smiled and got back to sorting documents that were stuffed on his desk. “Besides Y/n is one of the best students here. Very smart and well raised young woman.”

“Oh is she?”

“I’m quite positive. She was asking me for the recommendation letter for the university she wants to get into.”

“They can do that?” Logan was honestly surprised. He couldn’t really imagine graduating from such school and being accepted in a ‘normal’ world later.

“It’s not so common unfortunately. Most students prefer staying here and becoming teachers like Jean or Scott. That or move out to the countries where the knowledge about mutant kind is less advanced.”

“They’re running away from reality-“

“Seems familiar?” Charles gave him that knowing look which other mutant already hated from the first day here. Older professor was actually one of the few people who had the ability not to take offense and even mouth back. Old ‘I know everything’ bastard.  “But I didn’t call you here to talk about Y/n performance in studies. You made your decision, Logan?”

Howlett wasn’t dumb, well knowing about what exactly this question was. Him staying in the mansion. If he was ready to fit into school reality. To deal with kids, or worse, with Scott. But what choice did he really have in that matter? It was that or coming back to the shadows. To live from paycheck to paycheck, getting any non-attachment job, vanishing as soon as someone realized who he truly was. And here? As much as Logan hated to admit it, it started to feel like home. Being accepted, doing whatever he wanted without needing to think about being discovered. A stabilization he never thought he really needed.

There was one more thing. He was in debt to Charles. For all the help the old man provided him with getting back the memories. For making it possible to puzzle all his life together. Such sort of debt wasn’t something a man can forget just like that. Or at least Logan couldn’t.

“I’m gonna stick around. No teaching though.” Not yet at least. He wasn’t ready for such responsibility.

“A babysitter then?” Xavier laughed, which only made the other man roll his eyes.

“I can train older ones.” Make himself useful by the skills he has. Not much but could be good to start.

“Very well, so be it Logan.”

And that’s how he officially became part of the life of the mansion.

For the next month Logan hasn’t gotten a lot of occasions to cross his way with Y/n. She was too focused on her studies and getting ready for the university life she planned for herself, and he definitely wasn’t the type to beg her to move her ass and join the training with the rest of teens. He really couldn’t point out why every other member of the team was so fascinated about that girl. Sure, she was nice, kind and smart, but that wasn’t making her anyone special in his mind.

That’s how on her last day in the mansion Logan was indifferent towards her. When Scott and Storm were all teary, hugging her and wishing luck, he stayed aside, watching it from the far corner of the room.

“Mr.Logan-“ Her face made it clear she didn’t know what to say after that.

“Just Logan, bub. You’re a grown up so act as one.” Maybe a bit too rude, judging by Jean killing gaze he felt on himself. “Just do your best there and don’t let anyone boss you around. If all I heard about you from Charles is true, then I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

“Thank you.. Logan.”

“Y/n we need to go, you’ll be late for the tour around campus.” Scott called her after packing everything in the truck.

“I’m coming.” She smiled at Logan one last time. “Sorry for not attending your classes.”

“Yeah, whatever, it was your choice.” He shrugged, patting her arm. “Just don’t bump into anything on your first day there.”

“I won’t-“

“Y/n!”

“Coming!”

And just like that she was gone, starting a new chapter.

It was quite funny how history repeated itself.

After five years and graduating from the university she was once again at home. Talking with Professor about wanting to come back. To help both the school, since she had a degree in psychology so she could help students to understand their emotions, but also to fulfill her responsibilities as a mutant. Charles has always been saying how her mutation was so unique and how much it could serve for goodness.

In those few years she understood where she should be. Who she should be helping. As a successful psychologist it would be so easy to just open her own practice and make good money, but deep down Y/n got the feeling that it wasn’t what would make her happy. Being surrounded by normal people, hearing all the hideous things they’ve been saying about her kind.. it just made it more clear. It wasn’t her world. She wasn’t welcomed in it. She never should’ve left the mansion.

She was so stuck in her own mind that she didn’t notice the body in front of her. Not until her nose sunk deep into someone’s white wifebeater.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I-“

“Old habits die hard, huh?” Deep voice made her realize who exactly she bumped into. Again.

At this point Y/n was sure that the universe is just playing its most hilarious pranks on her.

At first Logan didn’t recognize her.

Those five years changed her entirely. From a nineteen girl who he had only seen with her nose in the books, to a fully grown woman.

Fuck, a very attractive one too.

The upper messy bun, the white shirt and dark shorts which left very little to the imagination.. If the concept of glow up was real, then it sure as hell could be used in her case. He really needed to double check if it was actually her.

“Logan.”

“Y/n.”

They’ve been looking at each other and if not for Charles, it quickly could’ve been awkward.

“Good to see you here Logan, I’ve been looking for you.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Man in a wheelchair smiled and pointed at his student. “Y/n decided to join the team. But she will need a little bit of training before she can go for the missions. I believe your teaching skills could be useful for us.”

“And how do I know she won’t bail it all like the last time?”

“I’ve changed.”

“Yeah, I can see it.” Quite literally. One was sure, if Scott could see his thoughts right now, he would probably beat his ass because none of them were appropriate. “Fuck, alright.”

“Excellent. Welcome back Y/n.”

Next weeks were true torture. Watching her in clothes that wrapped her body tightly. All sweaty and with a face that showed true motivation to win against him. One thing he learned about Y/n was how university indeed changed her. From a polite and shy student, to a bratty and confident woman. Testing his patience limits whenever she opened her mouth.

Every night he was coming back to his room, getting in the shower and getting off to the thoughts of her in his bed. Laid down naked, spread all just for his pleasure. Her mouth finally shut up by his dick inside, abusing her throat. Logan wasn’t certain why it all made him so on edge, but something in her just made it impossible for him to focus. The thoughts of her irresistible.

He couldn’t act on it though. She was too young for him. Being the precious girl of Scott and Charles, the brightest and so perfect student of theirs.

But one evening made him lose it all.

“Always having such a fucking smart mouth bub, huh?” He hissed through his teeth, while having a strong grip around her throat. “Never taking my advices-“

“Maybe I would if you wouldn’t have your eyes on my tits all the time.” She mouthed back, using her power to form a dagger and sticking it into his lower stomach. “You’re always so grumpy, why is that? Haven’t put your dick into anything in a long time?” The bluntness of her words took him completely off guard since Logan was sure about hiding it rather well. 

Those few seconds gave her enough time to pin him to the floor, her legs on his chest and another dagger white energy dagger near his throat.

“I won.” Y/n gasped, clearly out of breath. After weeks of sparrings and constant failures she’s finally made it for the first time.

Her being on top of him was enough for Logan tho. In a second he rolled over, strong arms pinning her to the training matt.

“Get the fuck out.” He groaned, looking into her eyes. He wasn’t playing anymore. “We are done.”

There was no way of him working with her ever again. 

For hours Y/n was debating on how to approach Logan. What she should say, how to apologize to him. She took it too far, using some cheap shitty distraction to win. In reality she wasn’t even sure if Howlett had any interest in her, and judging by his reaction it was clear that he took the offense. The accusation of being unprofessional like this.. it was a really low blow.

That’s why she was currently standing in front of his room, knocking and waiting for an opportunity to say sorry.

What she didn’t expect was to be met with him half naked, wearing some sweats and having wet hair.

“I-I’m.. listen Logan, I’m sorry about what I’ve said-“

He didn’t give her a chance. Instead his big hands grabbed her waist, dragged into his room and pinned to the other side of the closed door.

“Oh, really, princess?” He fumed, his eyes focused on her face like he was really looking for any sign of doubt, not really in a mood to be played over again. 

“L-Logan I’m really sorry-“

“You should be, bub. Using my weakness, like it wasn’t you who have been wearing these tight pants and bras of yours.”

“W-what-“

“Everyone thinks you’re so smart but I see that you don’t have basic instincts, huh? Teasing me every damn time, like you don’t want me to fuck you dumb, and then having the audacity to just spit it in my face.”

“I swear I didn’t-“

“Is that so? Then why can I smell you know, Y/n?”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck his heightened senses. The second he grabbed her she started getting wet, squeezing her legs just to provide any sort of pressure. 

“Logan-“

“I asked you a question, bub.” The threatening tone near her ear made a shiver run down her spine. “But let me ask again. Do you like it Y/n?”

Truth be told, the time she spent with Logan made her realize how handsome the guy was. Strong and cut muscles, the height, and now the chest hair and happy trail going down under the waistband.

“My eyes are here, princess.” He chuckled seeing her struggle.

“Y-yes.” If before she was out of breath, then now it was literally no existent.

“Good.”

And just like his eyes landed on hers. Swallowing her flavor. Devouring any place he could. Quickly the kisses lower to her neck, leaving the trails of his spit and teeth on it. Bruising it like it was his job to do so. 

“Logan!” Her moans were a pure symphony for his ears.

“Legs.” The simple order made her obey, wrapping her legs around his waist like it has always been their place. “Good girl.”

It didn’t take him long to make her a moaning mess. Dropping her on the bed and undressing, leaving her fully naked just as in his scenarios.

“Fuck, I’ve been thinking about it for too damn long. Always wearing those tops that are fucking too little and cute for your slutty tits. I imagine guys on campus enjoyed them.” Her nipples were being abused just like the neck before. “But they’re mine now, you get it, bub?”

“Yes, yes, please.” She cried, trying to cover her eyes, both from pleasure and embarrassment.

“Ah, ah, ah, none of this. You can’t act all shy on me now when you’ve been such a bratty bitch all the time, baby.” Logan grabbed her hand and pinned them together above her head, not making it possible for her to do anything else than just take what he was giving. After he was satisfied with his work on the upper parts of her body, he took his pants off and smirked at her reaction. Logan was quite aware of his size being above any normal human, so it wasn’t any surprise. “Never had anything like that, huh? None of your little college boys gave you something like that? But don’t worry, princess, I’ll make sure it fits.”

But before he could enter her, she stopped him, putting her hand on his chest.

“Logan, wait!” Seeing his confused face, she whispered the thing he couldn’t believe was real. “I-I’ve never done it..”

“Come again?” But her reaction to his question ensured him that what he just heard was true. “You are a virgin?”

She nodded, not being able to look into his eyes.  

“Y/n look at me.” She shook her head, afraid of him being mad at her. “I said look at me, bub.” Logan gently grabbed her chin and forced her to face him. “It’s okay. It’s fine, you don’t need to be ashamed. Fuck, you’ve been so confident in your words back there that I thought.. but it doesn’t matter. It’s all good, I’ll be gentle. Just tell me if anything will be wrong, okay?” When she nodded one again, he smirked. “Words Y/n. You have such a smart mouth then use it now.”

“Okay.”

That’s when his member slowly entered her. Inch by inch, Logan was checking on her if everything was fine. The little pain expressions were a natural reaction considering his size, so he was soothing her legs, calming her down by praising how well she was doing.

“So fucking good for me, baby, so tight and warm.”

At first Logan wanted to give her some time to adjust but instead the girl told him to move.

“I want it, Logan.”

And who was he to deny her?

His pace was too slow for his liking, but her comfort was in first place.

“Faster, please.” She moaned, not being able to stand his gentle trust. “I’m not made of glass.”

Oh, she really shouldn’t have said that.

“As you wish.”

Logan grabbed her legs and turned her around, making her stand on all four. Pounding into her relentlessly, like his life depended on it. One hand grabbed both of her, holding them as a lever, making her arch in a way that will never leave his mind. Other went straight to her hanging breasts, squeezing them and overstimulating to her limits.

“Lo! Please, fuck, I’m close.. Lo..”

“I should’ve known that all it takes to finally shut you up is just to fuck you dumb. Such a good pussy for me, keeping herself pure just so I can use it however I want, isn’t it right princess?”

“Yhym, yeah, please, Lo!” Her mind clouded by the overwhelming pleasure.

“Already dumbfounded, how sweet. What would Scott think about you, baby, huh? You think he would be proud of his perfect student to be pistoned like a cheap whore? Just a hole for my pleasure of all the people?”

His fingers traveled from her tits to her clit, making small fast circles which made her legs tremble uncontrollably.

“Logan! I think I’ll-“

“I know, princess, I can feel you squeezing my cock. Give it to me Y/n, milk me so I can know how good your cunt is.” He kept his brutal pace, pounding into her from behind. Feeling how her legs were slowly giving up, Logan freed her hand and slapped her ass, leaving a red mark on it. “Cum on me, baby.”

“Lo! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

It didn’t take much for him to follow her, reaching his orgasm, painting her walls white with his own cum. The trip to the drugstore for the morning after pill will be the first thing needed in the morning, but for now his mind was focused on something else.

Y/n didn’t take Logan as a type of the good aftercare guy, rather betting on the ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’ man. But to her surprise after they both calmed down from their high, he grabbed her waist and cuddled her into his chest.

“You alright?”

“Yes.. shit, it was..”

“I feel the same, princess. You did a very good job.” He smirked, giving her tender pecks full of affection. “I’ll clean you in a second, baby. Also I don’t think you’ll be able to have any sparring tomorrow.”

The teasing comment made her blush, but she knew he was right. It’ll be a miracle if she will be able to walk properly. But it took her a second to realize the true meaning behind his words.

“So… we are cool?”                                                                                                         

It honestly made him smile. But it wasn’t his usual forced grimace. This time that smile was kind, soft and genuine which made her heart melt a little.

“Yes, Y/n. We are cool. Besides, you were right. I was checking your tits all the time.”

They both laughed at that and after a few more seconds in a tight warm embrace, Y/n fell asleep.

Finally after five years of being here, Logan found a good reason why it was worth staying.

BONUS

Their relationship was kept a secret. To Logan it was ridiculous, but Y/n didn’t want Scott to find out, knowing that her former teacher would be furious. He would definitely judge the choices she’s made, especially by choosing Logan of all the guys. So that’s why they’ve been hiding. Stealing private moments, hiding in empty classrooms for quick make out sessions. Sneaking out of each other's rooms in the middle of the night.

But one day, she fucked up.

Charles called the whole for an emergency meeting early in the morning. She was still tired from the entire night intimate session with Logan, that her brain didn’t have any moment to wake up and start working properly. Instead of grabbing her own hoodie, she put on Logan’s which was too big for her.

The whole meeting went smoothly, though she couldn’t understand why Scott was giving her angry glances, at the same time Logan smirking like crazy.

“Nice hoodie, sweetheart.” He finally whispered into her ear, when the gathering was over. The realization hit her instantly like a bullet. 

“I can explain-“ Y/n started.

“Fucking asshole.” Scott only bumped his arm into Logan’s chest on his way out, not wanting to hear it all.

“Well that could be worse.” Another smirk appeared on Howlett’s face.

The next thing she felt was his lips on hers. There was no way he wouldn't use the first occasion to show off his girlfriend. 

▏A/n: Was the first concept writing some sort of teacher's pet fic? Yeah, but then it slightly evolved. Hope you enjoyed it tho!

[berryispunk]

Florida Heat

Chapter 8 of "Rain Down on Me" for the April Showers challenge by @jolapeno

series masterlist

pairing: Frankie Morales x ofc! reader (Summer)

tags: enemies to ???, emotional chaos, Frankie being soft, we're slowly getting there, unresolved tension, one bed trope, all the feelings, they are just idiots

notes: we're almost done with their story. only today and tomorrow and we are fucking finished. thanks so much to every single one of you who sticks around and watch these two being absolute disasters. mwah 💋

word count: ~ 3,7k

Weeks passed, slowly dragging on without much happening at all. 

And yeah, okay, the kiss haunted him a little.

Not in a bad way. Just in that ‘it was always there in the back of his mind’. Lingering in the quiet moments. In the way you’d looked at him after, cheeks flushed and breath uneven, like maybe you wanted to say something but didn’t. In the way you left his car with a quiet, “bye,” and he’d said it back, grinning like a dumbass because he didn’t know what else to do.

You hadn’t talked about it, neither had he.

You saw each other—group stuff, little gatherings, drinks at someone’s place—but nothing private. No alone time, no late-night texts. Just a few glances across rooms that felt heavier than they had any right to be. Every time he thought about bringing it up, his throat got tight. Every time he thought you might bring it up, you didn’t.

So, yeah. The silence stretched and Frankie lived in it.

He lived in it on quiet nights, too, the kind that dragged long past midnight when the house was too quiet and his bed felt too empty. He’d close his eyes and remember how you tasted—like rain and sugar and everything soft he wasn’t supposed to crave. And sometimes, when he was too wound up to sleep, too full of everything he wouldn’t say, he let his hand drift low and thought about the sound you made when you kissed him back.

Shaky, breathless, like it wrecked you a little just as much as it did him.

Yeah, he thought about that, more than once.

He’d stare at his phone sometimes too—the last message from you still sitting there, that dumb little joke about Gary with a typo in it that made you look like you’d been rushing. He never replied, neither did you. But he opened that thread more than he’d admit, thumb hovering over the keyboard like a coward.

What would he even say?

That he couldn’t stop thinking about your mouth? That your pullover was still in his passenger seat, and sometimes he reached for it without thinking—like a habit. Smelling the rain and you in it, clinging to the fabric like if he just held on tight enough, maybe you’d come back.

That he’d already screwed this—whatever this was—up before it even had the chance to start, just like he ruined everything else he cared about?

Until that one Saturday night on Will and Monica’s balcony—their new place, all modern and full of light, the one you and Frankie had helped them move into when you still claimed to hate each other. Back when everything was sharp edges and bickering and you called him “airlift boy” just to get under his skin.

That felt like a lifetime ago.

The last traces of rain still hung in the air, same as all the weeks before, clinging to the heavy summer heat. The whole street smelled like city pavement and leftover beer, thick and familiar. Their group was crammed together outside, loud and buzzing with that half-drunk, half-happy energy that made everything feel bigger, messier, more. Monica clinked her spoon against a wine glass like she was hosting a damn awards show.

“Okay,” she said, eyes shining, “we have something to tell you.”

Will looped an arm around her waist. “We’re getting married!”

“Next month!” Monica added. “We’re doing it at that little hotel in Tempa—by the water, remember?”

Cheers erupted. Someone whooped. Benny shouted something about open bars and second chances, and the group dissolved into chaotic, joyful noise. But Frankie—he looked at you.

And you were already looking at him.

It wasn’t a moment—not exactly. Nothing flashy or loud. Just a breath where the space between you shifted, stretched, and whatever simmered under the surface didn’t feel quite so out of reach anymore. Your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, his didn’t either. And for the first time since that night, something tightened in his chest—not panic, not longing. 

He knew now, you were thinking about it too. About him. The kiss, the not-date. The way you hadn’t really talked since.

And suddenly, forever—weddings, shared lives, big declarations—didn’t feel like some far-off, someday thing. It felt like a mirror held up right in front of him.

And it scared him—knocked him clean off center. Because in that fleeting moment, you were looking at him in a way you never had before—soft, unguarded, without the usual bite or shield. Just you and your beautiful eyes, mirroring everything he felt.

You looked away first, laughing at something Monica said. But your fingers toyed with the edge of your drink, twisting it slowly on the table. Frankie clocked it, filed it away.

Because he wasn’t imagining it.

Something had shifted, permanently, and this time he wasn’t gonna let it slip by.

—

You didn’t even realize you were drifting until Monica caught your wrist, pulling you aside as the others erupted into another wave of laughter.

"You're quiet tonight," she said, voice light but edged with something knowing. "Not your usual ‘roast everyone in sight’ vibe."

You tried to shrug it off, but Monica just raised an eyebrow, waiting. You cracked first.

"We kissed," you said, low, like it might somehow undo it if you spoke too loudly.

Monica blinked. "Wait. What?"

You laughed under your breath, a little helpless. "After the fair. The whole ‘not a date’ thing? Yeah. We kissed."

Monica smacked your arm lightly. "And you’re just telling me this now? Are you kidding?"

Her voice pitched higher, half horror, half delight. "I thought you two were still in the slow-burn, 'I hate you but actually I’d die for you' stage!"

You shook your head, trying to smile, but it didn’t quite land.

"It didn’t fix everything," you said. "We haven’t really talked about it since. And now…"

You trailed off, glancing across the crowd. Frankie stood a few feet away, laughing with Will, his head tipped back in the soft gold light.

Your chest ached.

Monica followed your gaze, quiet for a beat.

"You’re scared," she said finally. "But you don’t have to be. You don’t have to turn this into a joke or pretend it’s not real."

She bumped her shoulder against yours, gentle. "I know he’s a little chaotic sometimes. But he’s steady where it matters. I’ve seen it. And you deserve that. You deserve someone who shows up, even if it’s messy. Especially if it’s messy."

You swallowed hard, a knot tightening in your chest.

Monica squeezed your hand once, steady and sure. "Besides," she added with a wicked grin, "you kissed him after a fair. That’s like, straight out of a romcom. You're already halfway there."

—

It was so fucking hot.

The kind of heat that stuck to your skin and refused to let go. Your shirt clung to your back, your hair frizzed the second you stepped out of the car, and the air felt like soup. Disgusting, unforgivable. And of course, this was the exact moment the hotel decided to be a nightmare.

“What do you mean the reservation’s not there?” you asked, trying very hard not to snap at the guy behind the counter. He blinked at you, clearly already over it.

“I mean,” he said with a customer-service smile so tight it looked painful, “we only have four rooms. And you’re the fifth couple on the list.”

“We’re not a couple,” you corrected automatically.

Frankie standing beside you, made a small, very unhelpful noise that might’ve been a laugh.

You shot him a look that could’ve curdled milk and he froze.

The guy behind the counter raised an eyebrow shaking his head. “Regardless. We can bring up extra towels.”

You stared at him, searching for the punchline. “Towels?” you repeated.

He nodded, a little too quickly. “There’s a king bed in the room. It’s... quite spacious.”

The longer you stared him down, the smaller he seemed to shrink behind the counter.

You turned to Frankie, blinking slowly. “Spacious,” you repeated flatly, one eyebrow quirked in annoyance.

“Look,” Frankie said, clearly trying not to smile, “it’s not the worst situation.”

"It’s exactly the worst situation," you said, feeling the sweat pooling at the small of your back the longer you stood in the hotel lobby. All you wanted was to take a shower and call it a day, but instead you were stuck facing the incompetence of this fucking hotel—and you were the one paying for it. You wanted to cry.

“You’ve slept next to me before,” he reasoned with you.

“That was different,” you hissed.

He looked at you, brows raised. “How?”

You didn’t have an answer. Not one that made sense at least. Not one you were willing to say out loud. Because how was the whole goddamn problem, wasn’t it?

The difference was now you’d kissed him. The difference was now you thought about it at night, during the day, and all the silent moments in between.

The difference was now you’d seen the way his mouth softened when he looked at you, like he remembered too.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned to the counter.

“Fine,” you snapped. “One room. But I’m taking the bed.”

“You’re not taking the bed.”

“Wanna bet?” you bit back.

Frankie shrugged, all maddening calmness. “We’ll share. Like adults.”

You opened your mouth to protest again, but nothing came out. Just heat and frustration. And the kind of spiraling awareness that made your skin feel too tight.

This was going to be a disaster, you knew it, felt it.

And still—your fingers brushed his when he took the keycard. And neither of you moved away.

—

The door clicked shut behind you with a dull thunk, the soft mechanical whir of the hotel AC kicking in like a distant whisper of mercy. At least you no longer felt like melting.

You didn’t move, Frankie didn’t either.

The silence stretched, humid and unbearable. Even the air conditioning couldn’t cut through the heat—Florida in August felt like walking through someone’s mouth. And now you were stuck in it, in this single room, with one man and one bed and an entire kiss neither of you ever talked about.

You dropped your bag harder than necessary.

Frankie wandered in behind you like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with his limbs. His curls were damp with sweat. His t-shirt clung to his back. You didn’t look, you refused to look.

“So,” you said finally, voice dry as hell, “you’re taking the floor.”

He made a noise behind you that might’ve been a laugh or a sigh or some combination of both. “You’re really gonna make me sleep on this carpet?”

You turned around slowly, arms crossed, voice biting and irritated. “Do you want to spoon me all night, Francisco? Is that it?”

That shut him up, for a beat at least.

Then he gave you a look. A slow, unreadable, hot look that made your stomach twist and your breath catch, and God, this was such a bad idea. Sharing a bed with the one man who made your blood boil in more ways than one.

He broke the tension with a shrug. “It’s just a bed, Summer.”

It was not just a bed. It was him and you. And the weight of every charged moment between you, stuffed into 300 square feet of over-air-conditioned disaster.

You crossed to the bed without looking at him and flopped down with more force than necessary. Your arms went wide like a starfish. “Fine. But if you so much as breathe on me in your sleep—”

“I’ll be dead by morning. Got it.”

He sounded amused and you hated that you liked the sound of it.

The room was quiet again. You could hear him moving behind you. The rustle of fabric, the shift of the mattress as he sat down on the other side. It dipped beneath his weight. The closeness of it made your skin buzz. The heat outside had nothing on the heat in here—the kind that came from tension and silence and something still unspoken.

After a long moment, you muttered, “This is going to be hell, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer right away. You could practically feel his smirk before you heard the quiet, amused, “Probably.”

—

It was dark.

The kind of hotel-room dark where everything still glowed a little—exit signs, charger lights, the soft neon spill from the parking lot outside. The AC kicked on in bursts, but it couldn’t do a damn thing about the heat. Not really. Not when you were there. Right beside him. Close enough to hear the rustle of sheets every time you moved.

Frankie laid on his back and stared at the ceiling like it had answers.

It didn’t.

His whole body was tense. Achey. Muscles tight from travel, from the stress of the room mishap, from the million things he wanted to say but hadn’t. From you—from the way you sat cross-legged earlier, arms crossed and eyes full of fire, announcing he’d be sleeping on the floor like it was a threat. From the way you gave in, flopped onto the mattress like the bed was the enemy instead of him.

Now you were right there, inches apart, yet somehow farther than you’d ever been.

Breathing slow. Not asleep—he could tell. Your body was too still, too aware.

He kept his hands folded over his stomach. Kept them there even though every part of him screamed to reach across the divide. He wanted to brush his knuckles down your arm. To feel if your skin was as warm as he imagined. To see if you’d flinch or lean into it.

He turned his head, just enough to see the faint outline of you. You were facing away from him. The dip of your waist, the shape of your shoulder, your hair spilled across the pillow. Messy, sleepy. Perfect.

Fuck, he wanted to touch you.

Not just to fuck you—though yeah, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. About the way you kissed him that night in the car like you meant it, like you’d been holding back for months. He’d thought about it too many nights since. Thought about your mouth, your breath, the sound you made when you finally kissed him back. He’d touched himself to the memory of you. More than once. Quiet nights that felt too heavy, too long. 

He didn’t know what stopped him from texting you again. Maybe it was fear—of screwing things up, of saying the wrong thing. But then again, what was there to ruin if it never even really started? Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t texted him either.

And yet, here you were, squeezed into this painfully small bed. He couldn’t sleep—could barely breathe under the weight of it all: his feelings, the tension, and the thick, humid air pressing down on him like a hand on his chest.

He shut his eyes.

“Summer,” he whispered before he could stop himself.

He didn’t even know what he was asking or if you were still awake. If you remembered the kiss. If you felt it too—this crackling in the air between you, thick with all the things unsaid.

You didn’t answer, but you shifted.

You rolled over slowly, quietly, until he could feel your face turned toward his in the dark. So close now, he could taste the heat of your skin, and it traveled down his spine, the tension crackling between you like a live wire.

“You still think this was a bad idea?”

A long pause.

Then, barely a breath: “I don’t know.”

That wrecked him, because it wasn’t a no and it wasn’t a yes. It was uncertainty and want and hope all rolled into one. It was the closest thing to a confession either of you had managed in weeks, months.

Frankie swallowed hard as he turned toward you, just a little.

Didn’t touch you, didn’t move closer even if everything in him screamed at him to do it. The silence held you both in place while the night stretched on forever, tormenting, relentless.

You didn’t say anything else, or moved, didn’t push or pull away. But Frankie could hear you breathing. Could feel it, actually—soft exhales brushing his skin like whispers, like maybe your mouth was closer than he thought.

He didn’t plan it.

Just reached out, slow and quiet, like you might spook if he did it too fast—and brushed a strand of your hair back from your face. It clung to your cheek, damp from heat or sweat or just the impossible pressure of lying here like this, pretending the tension between you wasn’t real.

His knuckles grazed your skin, soft and barely there.

You inhaled, just a bit too sharply—enough for him to know it affected you too. And that alone nearly undid him.

“I think about it,” he whispered.

He didn’t clarify what, he didn’t have to. You knew.

The kiss. The way you leaned in first. The way it ruined him for anything else after.

Your breath hitched.

Then—so quietly he might’ve imagined it—you whispered, “Me too.”

His hand lingered near your jaw, your skin warm and soft under his touch. He couldn’t stop himself—his thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, gentle and reverent, like you weren’t just a girl in his bed in Florida but something more, something he’d been reaching for his entire life.

You didn’t stop him, just looked at him in the dark, eyes shimmering in the indirect light. 

And Frankie—wrecked, wanting, hopeless—did nothing. He let his hand fall away eventually, lying back against the pillow. He stared at the ceiling like it owed him something he wasn’t sure he could have.

But you didn’t turn away this time. You stayed facing him as you drifted off to sleep. Looking like a fucking painting, one they put in the Louvre. And that—God, that was enough to keep him awake all night.

—- 

Frankie woke up to a cold side of the bed.

The thin hotel sheet tangled around his legs, the sun already too bright through the slats of the blinds, and that same too-thick Florida heat pressing into his lungs. He blinked, sat up slowly, and looked over—You were gone.

A note would’ve been too much. A text might’ve made it real. This fleeting moment of softness between you. Instead, all he had was the faintest ghost of your scent on the pillow beside him, the echo of your breathing from the night before still stuck in his ribs.

You said, me too.

And he hadn’t done a damn thing about it. Idiot.

He dragged himself out of bed eventually. Took a lukewarm shower that did nothing to fix the ache in his chest or the throb of heat low in his spine that hadn’t really gone away since the moment you curled up next to him.

You’d stayed close. You stayed.

And then you left.

It was fine. He wasn’t spiraling about it, not really.

He trimmed his beard, put on the button-down Will had made him promise to wear, and showed up to the hotel garden for the ceremony like he wasn’t unraveling slowly from the inside out.

And then he saw you.

And his entire brain just short-circuited.

You stood near the front, helping Monica adjust her veil with that signature soft concentration on your face, the one you didn’t even know you wore. Your dress—deep green, silky, low-backed and fucking dangerous—clung to every curve he’d only imagined before. And you looked over your shoulder at someone calling your name, just for a second, smiled, and his knees almost gave out.

“Holy shit,” Benny said beside him, not even pretending to be subtle. “She’s hot.”

Frankie didn’t answer, he couldn’t. Just stared, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Because yeah, you were hot.

But more than that—you were you. The girl who acted like she couldn’t stand him but still teased him until he couldn’t help but smirk. The girl who fought him over the worst playlists, only to laugh it off like you didn’t mean it, like there wasn’t some truth hidden beneath every sharp word. Never afraid to call him out on his bullshit. The girl who, after all the pretending, ended up curled into him in the dark, whispering truths neither of you could admit when the light was on.

And now you were in this dress, at your shared friend's wedding. Looking like that.

Frankie swallowed. Shoved his hands deep into his pockets like that could somehow ground him, keep him from flying apart. Because you were standing there arms crossed like you weren’t aware of the fucking chaos you caused just by existing. You looked gorgeous. Infuriatingly, impossibly gorgeous. And it lit him up from the inside out, burned through every last thread of restraint he had left.

He hated that you could do this to him. That after everything—after months of pretending, of sharp words and colder silences—his body still reacted like you were gravity.

You were laughing at something someone said, eyes crinkled, drink in hand, and he hated how badly he wanted to be the one making you laugh like that. You were infuriating. Sharp-tongued, stubborn, a menace to his peace—and the only thing that had felt right in months.

Benny followed his gaze, then let out a low whistle. “You’ve got that dumb face again.”

Frankie didn’t answer.

“She’s not even doing anything, man. Just breathing. And you’re over here looking like she invented it.”

Frankie exhaled slowly, jaw tight. “She drives me insane.”

Benny snorted. “Yeah? I’d say you've been in love with her ever since that party at Santi’s—when you found out she was Monica’s childhood friend.”

Frankie cut him a look, but Benny just grinned. “What? You remember it. You stared at her like she walked off a goddamn movie screen.”

Frankie’s voice was rough, quiet. “I didn’t know what to do with it.”

“And now?” Benny raised a brow.

Frankie looked back at you—your smile, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear like you didn’t know you were leveling him. “Still don’t.”

Benny clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re so screwed.”

Frankie nodded once. “Yeah, I know.”

thanks for reading 💌

next part

main masterlist

most recent work

tags: @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @dendulinka6 @greenwitchfromthewoods @joelsgoodgirl @copperhalfcent @whirlwindrider29 @picketniffler @noovaarq @inept-the-magnificent @kakiki3 @rav3n-pascal22 @matchalov3

[annaswrites00]

We Probably Shouldn’t - Kimi Antonelli

Kimi Antonelli x Rory Bearman (OC)

(1.0k)

Chapter Three

Chapter Two

Chapter One

Summary - Kimi and Ollie’s sister start something they probably shouldn’t…

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻* *

The season was already starting to blur together. Melbourne felt like it had happened a lifetime ago, even though it had only been one week. Now the air was heavier, stickier, the sprawling Shanghai paddock buzzing with its own brand of energy.

Rory tucked her badge lanyard into her jacket as she moved through the crowds, weaving past engineers and hospitality staff. She still wasn’t used to all of it yet — the endless travel, the noise, the feeling like you were always half-lost. But somehow, it was starting to feel a little familiar.

Up ahead, a few drivers crossed the walkway, talking quietly amongst themselves. Rory caught a glimpse of Kimi laughing at something someone said. She slowed without really meaning to. He looked different.. a bit looser somehow, like the pressure of his first race weekend had bled off a little.

He caught her eye for a half-second and gave a small, easy nod. It was nothing formal, nothing awkward. Just the kind of quiet acknowledgment that came from moving through the same circles for years, even if they had barely exchanged more than a few words before.

Rory smiled back before she even thought about it, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she moved on.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻* *

The garages were buzzing, team radios crackling through the open air as engineers moved between tire sets and timing screens. Rory found herself lingering near the Haas setup, scanning the faces around her.

She spotted Ollie near the back of the garage, helmet in hand, joking with a couple of mechanics. He caught sight of her and waved her over with a grin.

“Took you long enough,” he teased as she weaved through the chaos toward him.

“Sorry, your Majesty,” Rory said, rolling her eyes. “Some of us get lost in the sea of identical black polos.”

“You should know your way around by now,” Ollie said, bumping her lightly with his elbow. “Or are you just sightseeing?”

Rory rolled her eyes again, hiding the small jolt of nerves she felt. “Just trying not to get in the way.”

Ollie laughed, that easy, familiar sound that always made her feel a little steadier no matter where they were. He slung an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the back of the garage.

“You’re lucky you’ve got an expert guide,” he said. “Stick close or you might end up at Red Bull.”

“God forbid,” Rory said, making a face.

“Exactly.” Ollie grinned. “You’re welcome.”

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻* *

She hung around the garage for a while, watching the final tweaks before practice. Rory perched on a flight case, swinging her feet slightly, feeling more like part of the background noise than anything else. She liked it that way — observing, absorbing.

When the cars roared to life for the afternoon session, Rory slipped away, making her way to the pit wall. There were a few folding chairs set up behind the main Haas pit monitors — not hospitality, not VIP, but a spot good enough to watch everything happen up close.

She settled in, pulling her jacket tighter against the sharp breeze that swept through the paddock. From here, she could see the pit exits clearly, the rapid-fire ballet of tire changes and timing screens, the low rumble of engines coming alive.

And, now and then, she caught flashes of silver — the sleek Mercedes gliding past in practice laps.

Kimi looked completely at home behind the wheel, smooth and clinical even as he pushed the car to its limits.

Rory tried not to watch too closely.

She failed spectacularly.

It was stupid. She knew it was stupid. He probably hadn't given her a passing thought. But there was something about him that stuck. She couldn’t help but blush thinking about their brief interaction last weekend.

She pulled her jacket tighter again, feeling ridiculous.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻* *

She found Ollie outside the Haas motorhome, chatting with a couple of the crew members. As soon as he saw her, he gave her a lazy wave.

“There you are,” Ollie said, falling into step beside her. “Long day?”

“I should be asking you that,” Rory said with a small shrug, brushing her hair back from her face. Her gaze wandered — and that’s when she saw him again.

Kimi, moving through the crowd like he had all the time in the world. Heading towards the Mercedes motorhome, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, his stride easy, relaxed.

For a moment, Rory forgot how to breathe.

Her stomach gave a small, ridiculous flip. She felt her skin heat under her jacket, a slow creeping warmth that made her hyperaware of the way the breeze caught the edge of her hair, the way her heart seemed to stumble over itself.

She dragged her eyes away before she could get caught staring, pressing her lips together in a tight line.

God...Get a grip, Rory.

But even as Ollie’s voice pulled her back into the moment, the feeling lingered — buzzing just under her skin, impossible to ignore.

“You good?” Ollie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Rory said, her voice a little too quick. She forced a laugh, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Just tired.”

“Sure you are,” Ollie said, clearly not buying it but not pressing. “Let’s grab something to eat.”

They kept walking, and Rory tried to shake the feeling of her heart being in a weird place. Nothing about it was a big deal, she told herself.

But she couldn’t help the little spark of something. She just didn’t know what to do with it.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻* *

More Ollie and Rory!!

I’m really starting to love this!!

🧸ིྀ

[storiesabouteli]

"Too busy being yours..." // Elijah Hewson X Reader!

prompt: you feel uncomfortable with people hitting on eli. even though you trust him, eli, noticing your unease, kisses you (and stuffs) at a party — even knowing how shy you are — to show he's taken.

words: 2k.

...

You couldn't help feeling a little jealous whenever you saw other girls flirting with Eli. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him, or doubt how much he loved you — you knew he was always too focused on you to even notice anyone else. Still, sometimes, it stung a little, seeing so many people trying to catch his attention when you were standing right there beside him.

"You're lookin' deadly tonight.” Eli said, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into a hug. He’d said it before, but honestly, you wouldn’t mind hearing it a few more times. Tilting your chin up, he searched your eyes, silently asking if everything was alright. You nodded. You wanted him all to yourself, but you understood — that promotion was his moment, and he needed to mingle.

"I promise I'll be back in just a few minutes — and then I'll be all yours," he said, sealing the promise with a kiss. Your shy smile made him feel a little more at ease, and you hid your face against his chest, holding him close.

At that, you agreed, giving his waist a squeeze and soaking up the comfort he always gave you. He stuck by your side until you found some familiar faces, still refusing to leave you alone — especially knowing you weren’t really a fan of these parties.

You two weren’t exactly the same when it came to socializing, but it had never been a problem. If anything, he loved having you around, even in moments that weren’t exactly your idea of fun.

The party was one of the many thrown for some artist’s new album — a friend of the boys, as usual. It was cool, honestly, but sometimes it was hard to spot familiar faces, and you weren’t exactly the best at jumping into new crowds. Still, it was always worth it just to have Eli's arm around you, guiding you through the chaos so carefully.

After chatting with Eli for a bit, you ended up on the dance floor, just trying to have a good time with Bobby and his girlfriend.

A few minutes later, just like he promised, he was back. He kissed the top of your head as you stood there, still a little dazed by all the new faces that had shown up, and he thanked Bobby for looking after you.

Eli swore he could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

Laughing under your breath, you moved closer to him, running your hands over his shoulders before asking if he could grab you a drink.

He nodded straight away, smiling like he already understood — especially when he felt the slight tremble in your touch.

You knew he got it. Still, it always felt a little silly, being so introverted that even walking through a crowd of strangers just for a drink felt like too much — like the moment you pictured it, your thirst magically disappeared.

Eli felt a bit stupid for not thinking of it sooner, but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel good that you trusted him enough to ask, instead of just pushing your needs aside.

Then he slipped away to grab some drinks, leaving you dancing with Bobby. It didn’t take long before Bobby had you laughing, feeling light and carefree the way he always made everyone feel — and with him, you were completely at ease. That’s when you caught sight of her — a girl making her way over to Eli, a flirty look in her eyes, flashing a beautiful smile and running her fingers through silky, perfect hair. Instinctively, your eyes followed, even though it was nothing out of the ordinary.

You watched from a distance, Bobby and his girlfriend too caught up in the music to even notice. The girl leaned in, said something to Eli, and pressed an unnecessary kiss to his cheek. Even though Eli did his usual polite shuffle to brush her off, it didn’t do much — a second later, she was running her hand over his, acting like she wanted to hold it while chatting away, absolutely buzzing. You knew you should be used to it by now, but deep down, you felt this urge to storm over and pull her away — maybe not all that nicely. Which, yeah, meant it still got under your skin more than you liked to admit.

You watched as Elijah tried, in his usual sweet way, to dodge her advances, telling her he was with someone. But she wasn’t having it — she kept trailing after him, desperate for his attention. A wave of jealousy and insecurity washed over you before you could even stop it. The music thumped around you, pulling you under, and you tried to look away, focusing instead on Bobby’s girlfriend’s bright smile as she squeezed your hand.

Eli knew he'd made it pretty clear, and he could feel the intensity behind the girl’s gestures. It brought back the way you used to point out how girls would throw themselves at him — always in a plural he thought was far too generous. You never sounded bitter when you mentioned it, just a little baffled that he didn’t seem to notice. Your voice always made it clear you weren’t worried about him taking advantage of it, but it was obvious you didn’t love seeing it happen right in front of you. And now, for the first time, he was seeing it unfold in real time — detailed, undeniable — and knowing you were there to witness it too.

He felt an urgent need to apologize, even though it wasn’t really a situation that called for it — it wasn’t his fault, and you didn’t think it was either. The drinks were completely forgotten as he made his way back to you, his steps steady, cutting through the crowd without hesitation.

When he saw you, that lost look on your face, he could read you instantly — a few years together had taught him the signs: your slouched shoulders, your forced smile, the way jealousy softened your whole expression. He loved that about you — not in a toxic way, never — but it didn’t make it any less painful to see.

"I know it's about me and my own insecurities," you had told him once, curled up in his arms on a night much like this one. "I don’t blame you. I just... can’t help feeling it."

And how that one night, holding you close, thanking you for opening up to him, had been enough.

The thing was, he didn’t want you to feel that way. He’d told you before how clueless he could be about it, and how he had no intention — and never would — of doing anything that would disrespect you.

So why wasn’t he showing that more?

The thought wasn’t exactly a fully-formed one — it was more about wanting to show you he was paying attention, to put an end to the situation as quickly as possible.

He wanted it to happen right away, so he took your hand and led you toward a quieter corner, a little further from the others. His touch was gentle, even if there was a bit of urgency in it.

Still, the adrenaline made everything seem faster. Your eyes were a little unsure as your fingers brushed the back of his neck, lifting his gaze to meet yours. He wet his lips and pressed them against yours with a sigh that felt almost desperate, moving with enough pressure to gently pin you against the wall.

His hands found your waist, holding you there against him, and yours slid down his shoulders in a soft touch.

You two weren’t usually the kind to get overly affectionate in public — at most, his hand would be resting on your back or guiding you by the waist — but god, he needed to make a point.

He wasn’t available.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, your voice small, your faces so close you could feel his breath.

The blue light made his eyes and freckles stand out even more, and his hair was messier than it had been earlier, some strands falling over your face even as you tried to tuck them behind his ear.

He cupped your tense face, gently brushing the hair away from your ear. You heard him moisten his lips and whisper wetly next to your skin.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and you both knew exactly what he meant.

You nodded.

He followed your gaze, catching the girls laughing, clearly finding the whole thing a game — and seeing you look over only seemed to egg them on. Eli felt his blood boil.

"You don't have to prove anything to me, El," you said softly, your voice genuine.

And Eli realized how foolish it was to think that showing he was taken would change anything.

Still, he made a mental note: he’d be even clearer about it next time. Just like he should’ve been from the start.

Taking his time, he ran his fingers down the back of your neck, closing his hand into a fist and feeling the strands of your hair catch in his rings. With the sudden push, your head tilted back and your bare skin was all his.

He brushed his chin against the spot, the baby hairs tickling and raising goosebumps on your skin. It made him laugh, which made your body cling to him, so that every curve was molded to his grip. He licked your neck briefly, as usual for you, and kissed you deeper. Kissing until the tip of his nose sank into your skin. He pulled away briefly, your sighs filling his lungs, and then he grazed his teeth in a light bite.

He sucked your flesh into his lips, lightly and gently, and when he let go he filled the spot with affection. Like a need to release the pain to ease it. You liked it, it was visible as your body softened against his as he held you in place.

Your eyes fluttered, and before they fully blurred, you caught a glimpse of the well-groomed girl from earlier and her friend, both looking visibly annoyed, like spoiled kids. You tightened your hold around Eli’s arms as he pulled you even closer to him. Was it wrong? You couldn't really tell, but there was a quiet satisfaction in knowing it had gotten to them.

"El, I don't think they're watching anymore..." you said in a slow, lazy tone, your voice soft and velvety, and he couldn’t help but smile at how relaxed you sounded. He didn’t mind — as long as you didn’t either.

So he kept going. His fingertips found their way into your shirt, tightening your waist a little and stealing your body heat for himself. He trailed his beard down your neck, moving up to your cheek and kissing you before you could bury your head in his chest, "Think I can make a run for it now?”

He bumped the tip of his nose against yours, pressing his face close until you ended up cupping his cheeks between your laughter. His body was still tucked warmly against yours.

"Sorry," he murmured, voice low and rough. His lips were a little flushed, cheeks too, as he pulled back just enough to get a better look at you. Not that you were looking much different.

You bit your lip, smiling softly at him.

"I know you're not really big on over-the-top PDA," he started, "and... I should’ve listened when you told me girls were pushing it with me. I just said I didn’t notice..."

You nodded. "Well, you weren’t lying about not noticing before," you said, your fingers tracing along his brows before your gaze dropped to the chain around his neck, your fingers looping around it.

And yes, if you had never joked about it, maybe he wouldn't have realized it. He hated the thought of having to make you uncomfortable, so at least this way he could handle it better.

He could tell you weren’t really upset — a little shy about the whole thing maybe, but if it meant seeing you all flustered and cuddly against him like this, he’d gladly do it again.

"Well," he said, copying your tone playfully, "either way, I had to make it pretty clear I’m yours, yeah?"

He brushed his thumb over the bridge of your nose, watching your breathing slow back to normal.

"So, are we really leaving?" you asked, tugging gently at his chain between your fingers. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, nodding.

"I need to finish this night with you," he said.

You nodded back, smoothing out your shirt and skirt before he could tug you by the hand, leading you out into the night.

Your eyes caught the girl's again — the same one from before — but the wide smile that hadn't left your face stayed right there. She couldn't hold your gaze for long, and Eli... Eli didn’t even seem to remember her face.

Somehow, that made his earlier words — about wanting people to know he was with you — feel even more real.

It wasn’t something you had thought about before, but now...

You were really glad he had done it.

[sturniolohoho-side]

FUCK YOU TOO - Part 10

Intro 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

summary: ness is pregnant. chris is DEVESTATED and everything is a mess

c/w: mentions of pregnancy, angst, crying, fluff

not proofread sorry!

Chris POV

You’re sitting on the couch, your hands trembling slightly in your lap. Y/n’s beside you, her gaze fixed on your face, waiting for you to speak. You’ve been holding this in for a day now, and now that she’s here, you can’t keep it bottled up anymore.

You look down at your hands, trying to steady your breath, but the words won’t come. You know this is going to shatter her, and it eats at you. Finally, you force yourself to speak.

“y/n...” You pause, your throat tight. She’s staring at you, her eyes full of confusion.

“You’re scaring me,” she says softly, her voice a mix of concern and something else— fear.

You swallow hard, guilt weighing heavily on your chest. You can’t back out now. She deserves the truth, even if it’s going to hurt her.

“Ness… she’s pregnant. S-she says it’s mine.”

Her face goes pale, her lips parting as she processes the words, like she's waiting for you to say it’s all some sick joke. But it’s not.

You want to say more, to explain it all, but the words choke in your throat. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Wait… you’re serious?” Her voice cracks, and it hits you harder than you expected. You nod, unable to say anything else, everything just sinking in.

She stares at you, her hands trembling in her lap. Silence fills the room, and you can almost feel the distance between you grow.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, y/n. I never wanted to hurt you,” you say, your voice shaky, barely above a whisper.

Her eyes meet yours again, soft but full of pain. “Chris, this... changes everything. You know that, right?”

You nod, your throat tightening. You don’t know what’s going to happen next, but one thing is clear: you don’t want to lose her.

“I’m not going anywhere, y/n,” you say, voice soft but steady. “But I’ve got to figure this out.”

She lets out a slow breath. “I need you, Chris. I don’t know what I’m doing without you.” You extend your arms out and pull her in towards your chest. She buries her face in your hoodie as the two of you tremble in each other's arms. 

You rest your chin on the top of her head, eyes closed. “We’re going to get through this y/n, I promise.”

_________

Y/n POV

You’d never seen him this tired. He didn’t sleep– not really. He got a wink every now and then, but most nights he just lay in bed wearily, looking up at the ceiling. It was the kind of soul-sucking exhaustion that never really dulls.

It was like the two of you plus Ness had been living in some kind of zombie world– nothing felt real. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to become a dad in the future. He did, but certainly not right now, and certainly not in the circumstances it is happening under. With Ness– someone who at this point, just brought chaos into his life.

He told you the other night through bleary eyes and a can of energy drink, “It feels like panic dressed up as responsibility.”

All you could do in those days was hold him close. He was distant most of the time, and he barely laughed with you the same. But when he does hold you tight, and cuddle you to sleep, you can tell he is trying. Trying to stay grounded. Trying not to fall apart.

When Nick and Matt found out, Matt exploded. Pacing, yelling, swearing—he couldn’t believe Chris had let Ness back in, even for a second. It was protective anger, but it hit hard.

You don’t mean to start a fight. You really don’t. But there is only so long you can sit with all this twisting in your chest before it spills out.

“So… you’re just going to take her word for it?” you ask, arms crossed, voice calm.

Chris looks up from the couch, exhausted. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to get the paternity test, Chris,” you say, stepping forward. “You owe yourself that. You owe me that.”

“She said it’s mine,” he mutters. “She swore he didn’t–” He cuts himself off, jaw tensing. “Go all the way.”

You laugh, incredulous. “Seriously? That’s what we’re going with? That’s enough for you?”

“She’s already stressed out, y/n. She’s freaking out and sobbing every day and–”

“Oh, poor her,” you snap. “Meanwhile I’m supposed to sit here and watch you spiral over a maybe-baby with your cheating ex. She drags you through hell and you still choose to protect her.”

“It’s not about protecting her. It’s about—” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “You’re making this worse than it already is.”

You stare at him. “So you’re fine just accepting whatever she tells you. Even if it ruins us.”

Chris stands now, voice raised. “This isn’t about you, y/n.”

Your chest tightens. “Oh, right. Because I’m just the girl standing quietly while you pick up Ness’s pieces again.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither is this,” you shoot back. “You’re not the only one hurting, Chris. I just don’t get the luxury of falling apart because I have to be the ‘reasonable’ one while your ex runs your life.”

Silence. The air between you feels heavy.

“She said it’s mine,” he says again, but this time it sounds less like certainty and more like pleading.

“And what if it’s not?” you whisper. “Then what, Chris?”

He doesn’t answer.

_________

Chris POV

You walk up the stairs wearily, barely able to concentrate. Fuck, it’s been so long since you were able to sleep. Not with everything weighing down on your chest. It had been a couple hours since your argument with y/n, and you felt terrible. You never wanted her to feel less than, or even close to the same level as Ness.

But at the same time, seeing the state Ness was in was heartbreaking. You visited her every day to help her, but pregnancy was taking a toll on her. She was in a constant state of raging emotions, from sadness to anger to just desperation.

The thing was, she wanted you back. So bad. She constantly begged you to take her back.

You always say no.

Every time, without hesitation. But somehow, it never feels easy. Because seeing her like that, so wrecked, so vulnerable, it gets under your skin. Not because you still love her. You don’t. Not even a little.

You approach y/n’s door quietly. It’s half cracked open, and there’s faint light leaking out of the room. You had been sleeping over at her house some days, and she slept over at yours other days.

Knocking on the door softly, you open it slightly to peek inside. 

"Hey," you say, voice wavering.

She doesn’t look up right away. Just keeps her chin on her knees, her arms wrapped tight around herself like she’s holding a bunch of little pieces together.

You stand there for a second, useless, unsure, before finally sitting down at the edge of the bed. 

"I’m sorry," you start, and it comes out rough, dry in your throat. "I should’ve handled everything better. I should’ve heard you out instead of shutting you down like that."

She wipes at her face, but still won’t look at you. You feel a pang in your chest.

"I’m getting the test. After the baby’s born, I promise you that," you say. "But right now… Ness is fucking losing it. And I’m not choosing her over you, I swear to God. I’m just trying to keep her from falling apart. That’s it."

“I don’t think I could ever forgive myself if anything happened…to the baby. I just don’t think I could, and I need to take care of her.”

You finally move closer, slow, like you’re asking for permission without saying it. She doesn't pull away, so you keep going.

"I love you," you say, like it's the only thing you’re sure of. "Not her. Not anymore. I don’t even know who I was when I was with her, but it wasn’t me. This—us—this is the only thing that feels real right now."

Her breath catches a little, just a hiccup of air. I love you. The words echoed in her mind– you’d never said that to her. She looks up with you with teary eyes and wet eyelashes. You reach for her hand, let your fingers brush hers.

"I hate that I made you doubt where you stand. You’ve been here for me through all this shit, and I just... I should’ve made it clearer that I’m here for you, too."

"I’m so sorry," you say again, and you mean every damn syllable.

You get up slightly, lifting her to her legs with you. Slowly, the two of you walk over to her washroom. Past the antique furniture and pretty lamps, the quiet of the night wrapping around you both. There’s a soft click of the bathroom light turning on.

You stand together at the sink, brushing your teeth side by side. A small smile tugs at your lips as you watch her, how she brushes in a way that’s always a little messy, her movements slow and easy like she’s in no rush to get anywhere. You both, eyes heavy with exhaustion, meet in the mirror for a moment.

And you remember that day, when she woke up in your arms, the way you fought over the sink and laughed while you brushed your teeth, and went to the convenience store late at night for snacks you didn’t need but couldn’t resist.

You remember the way she smiled at you like you meant the world to her. And you know now, more than ever, that she does. She means everything to you.

Once you're done, you take her hand and lead her back to her room. The light flickers off with a soft hum, and the coolness of the sheets welcomes you both as you crawl into bed. You pull her close, wrapping your arms around her like you never want to let go, her warmth fitting perfectly against yours.

You spoon her gently, burying your face in her hair, pressing a soft kiss to her head, and for the first time in days, you feel like you're going to have a good night’s sleep.

“Chris?” she whispers into the quiet.

“Yeah?” you mumble, your eyes closing, content.

She’s quiet for a moment, and when she speaks again, her voice is soft but sure. "I love you too.”

_________

Y/n POV

You wake more well rested than you have been for months now. Months– Jesus, it’s been months since this all unfolded, but it felt more like years. Everything moves slowly and with sorrow, and you weren’t even getting the worst of it.

With a groan, you roll over to look at Chris– he’s still dozing peacefully. It was so nice to see him like this. His eyebrows were relaxed and his lips slightly parted.

Carefully, you slide out of bed, not wanting to wake him. The floor is cool under your feet as you pad quietly to the kitchen. The sunlight spilling through the windows feels gentler today, like the universe is finally catching its breath too. You boil water for tea, then change your mind and reach for coffee instead. Strong. Sweet. Familiar.

You’re sipping it at the counter when you hear footsteps behind you. Chris appears, shirt ruffled and eyes still sleepy, hair sticking up a little in the back. He looks so soft like this.

"Hey," he says, voice thick with sleep.

"Hey," you echo, offering him the mug. He takes it and presses a kiss to your temple without even thinking. Like it’s a habit. A good one.

Neither of you say anything for a while. You just lean on opposite sides of the counter, watching the steam curl up from the mug.

"I slept like a rock," he finally says, setting the cup down. “First time in forever.”

"You looked peaceful," you tell him, and you mean it. "Like you weren’t carrying the whole world on your shoulders for once."

He smiles faintly, tired but genuine. “That’s ‘cause you’re here.”

It’s quiet again, but not awkward. Just full.

After breakfast, toast and fruit, nothing fancy, you both drift back into your usual rhythm. He helps you clean up, and at some point he finds a pen and starts doodling on a sticky note, completely focused like a child. You watch him from the couch, curled up with your phone but not really looking at anything. Just thinking.

Everything feels... okay. Not perfect. But real. Yours.

It’s midafternoon when his phone rings from where it’s charging by the TV. He doesn’t even look up at first, too absorbed helping you paint your nails.

He reaches over lazily. Then he sees the name.

Ness.

Your stomach tightens, not out of jealousy, but instinct. Something about the timing. Chris sits up straighter.

"Hey," he answers, tone cautious but gentle. “Everything okay?”

There’s a pause. His face shifts—slight tension around the eyes, his free hand going to his hair. He nods slowly at whatever she says, then says quietly, "Okay. Yeah. I’m on my way."

He hangs up and looks at you immediately. There's no guilt in his expression. Just concern. He already knows you’re not going to question him.

"She’s not due for weeks, but... she said something feels wrong."

Your face tenses in concern and worry. Maybe a day ago, you’d be upset, but you understood now. "Go. Of course."

He lingers for half a second longer than you expect, and then crosses the room to kiss you. A real kiss, slow and certain. Like a promise.

“I’ll call you the second I know more,” he says, grabbing his keys.

And with that, the door swings shut behind him.

You stay sitting on the couch, staring after him.

@sturniolosrtewsexy @sturnbrooke @emely9274 @babytomatoes21 @arianna1342 @gemzyy @namelesssav @chestersturn @ellieluvssturniolos @tits4matt @vanteguccir @luke8989 @matt-sturnioloo @glee2skkii @riggysworld @sturnslux3 @cass-sturn @auttysturnz @oopsiedaisydeer @chrismakesmewet @whore4chris

comment to be added to taglist!

ik this is lowkey ass, and ik its going to get no notes but i just needed to get this out </33

[rachetmathart]

RBYN Cheating?

Oscar: Ruby!

Ruby: Hey Oscar Wh-

Oscar: don't play innocent. I saw you. 

Ruby: What?

Oscar: I saw you kiss Jaune on the lips.

Ruby: *confused*

Nora: Ren come on.

Ren: Nora I don't want to talk right now.

Nora: Ren what's wrong? Why are you upset?

Ren: Don't play dumb Nora I saw what you and Jaune were doing.

Nora: What? What are -

Ren: After all we've been through Nora. I'm sorry about Atlas but kissing Jaune because of that is wrong. And you know it. How could you use him like that?

Nora: *confused* what the f*** are you talking about?!

Yang: Blake!

Blake: I don't want to talk to you Yang!

Yang: Oh so we're playing that game?! Really!?

Blake: Oh don't play victim now! I saw everything!

Yang: Oh so we're lying now?! Okay, I'll bite.  What did I do Blake?

Blake: I saw you kissing Jaune.

Yang: Wait… wait what?

Blake: Don't play dumb now! I saw-

Yang: Woah- woah- woah! Hold the hell up! I saw you kissing Jaune.

Blake: What? No. I wouldn't do that to you or Jaune.

Yang: And I didn't do it.

Nora: Okay so I am confused right now. What is happening?

Oscar: I saw Ruby kiss Jaune.

Ren: I saw Nora kiss Jaune.

Yang: Ruby really?

Ruby: No I didn't.

Nora: Neither did I.

Blake: So-

Weiss: Hey. 

Ruby: Weiss -

Weiss: Spare me the lies, you harlots. How come I saw all Ruby, Nora, Blake and Yang kiss Jaune.

RNBY: *confused*

Oscar: Okay something is off.

Ren: Besides Weiss knowing where Jaune is at all times yeah.

Weiss: *blushes* Shut up.

Jaune: Hi everyone. 

Weiss: Jaune I am so sorry. 

Jaune: For what?

Oscar: Well it seems Ruby, Nora, Bl-

Jaune: Stop. Look where's Emerald?  Where is she?

Everyone else is even more baffled by the demand.

Ruby: Emerald? 

Emerald: What?

Ruby: Can you come here?

Emerald joins the group.

Emerald: What's the issue?

Ruby: Well Jaune want-

Jaune: *kisses Emerald on the lips out of nowhere*

RWYNOL: *caught off guard*

Blake: *blushes*

Emerald: *completely flustered*

Jaune: *let's off* Yep it was you.

RWBYNRO: What?!

Emerald: How did-

Jaune: First you're a bad actor. 

Emerald: Hey.

Jaune: Second, you knew where I was going because I told you after you kept calling me a couple of times.

Emerald: Okay. 

Jaune: But mainly no matter how good of an actor you are, the taste of your lips are the same.

Emerald: Oh. 

Jaune: So. Were you doing all this for a prank or were you-

Emerald: *kisses Jaune in return for a minute*

Jaune: Oh. Um.

Emerald: *blushes* I was… … but I then… I started to enjoy it. A little too much. 

Jaune: … …. ..

Emerald: Anyways girls I'm sorry. I-

Ruby: It's cool.

Nora: Don't do it again.

Yang: Never do it again.

Blake: Live and learn.

Emerald: Anyways I'll be upstairs. Later.

Jaune: Hey Emerald.

Emerald: Hm.

Jaune: *whispers in Emerald's ear and makes her blush even harder*

Emerald: *softly talks to Jaune's ear in response*

Emerald: *walks off*

Ren: Um Jaune?

Jaune: Hm.

Ren: What was that just now?

Jaune: Nothing important. Anyways I'm going upstairs. Later. *walks off*

Oscar: Um… Ruby.

Ruby: I have a movie we can watch together. I’ll forgive you if you bake me some cookies. 

Oscar: Okay.

Ren: The usual.

Nora: Every favor. Extra syrup.

Yang: Wanna just go out to eat.

Blake: Sure, I’ll pay. Want to come with us, Weis?

Weiss: No way I’ll be third wheel. I’ll- *scroll rings and check it*

Weiss: *shocked*

Weiss: Um… you know what I’ll just be upstairs for a moment. Just pick me up something. 

Yang: What do you plan on doing?

Weiss: I got things I want to do. Have fun you two and Ruby make sure to turn the volume up. High.

Ruby: You sure.

Weiss: Positive. Bye. *heads upstairs*

Blake and Yang: *leave*

Yang: Blake is she-

Blake: Mm-hmm

Yang: So does that mean Jaune-

Blake: Mm-hmm. 

Yang: Damn

[redtsundere-writes]

Part 33: Humans

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

Tags: MDNI. +18. Murder. Blood. Cannibalism. Sukuna Ryomen Is The Warning Itself. Nudity. Sexual Display. Vaginal. Fingering. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst. Not Beta read.

Word Count: 4511 words.

Beginning. | ← Previous | Next →

They hadn't even been engaged for a week, and Sukuna was already convinced he lost you. The night before, you'd refused to sleep in his arms, and at dawn, he woke up alone in the huge, empty bed. He had to do something, fast.

He dressed quickly and went straight to the courtyard, sure to find you training. But you weren't there. The surprise was so great that began to grow in his chest. Although his stomach craved food, he decided to search for you throughout the castle. Every corner. Every hallway. Nothing. This was bad. Very bad.

You must have been avoiding him, hiding in some hidden corner, like he had before, when that vulnerability got the best of him. And then he wondered: Was that how you felt at that moment? So alone, so disoriented, lost within the cold walls of that old castle? Maybe... maybe he should give you space. With that thought in mind, he returned to the dining room, resigned to having breakfast without you. But there you were.

Sitting there, already dressed for the day, reviewing a document as if nothing had happened. Seeing him enter, you looked up and gave him a smile. Not just any smile, but one that, far from calming him, completely disconcerted him. Weren't you annoyed with him? Sukuna crossed the room silently, ignoring the bows of his subjects for having their full attention on you.

"Good morning, Sukuna," you greeted him with a smile.

"Where were you this morning?" He ignored your greeting, eager to know the truth.

"Writing the report you asked me." You arranged the papers and handed them to him with a bow.

"You weren't in the library, where were you?" Sukuna inquired.

"In the backyard, I wrote it while Choso was playing with the chickens," you explained.

Just then, Choso appeared from under the tablecloth with a mischievous smile, as if he were playing in the shadow of the table. You picked him up to signal him to sit properly in the presence of the king, a command he immediately obeyed.

"Chickens go buk, buk, buk," Choso clucked.

"Okay, Choso, and what sound piggies make?" you asked excitedly.

"Oink, oink!" Choso replied excitedly.

"At this age, they're like sponges; they memorize everything they hear, so watch your language," you asked Sukuna.

Sukuna didn't know what to say. An unexpected warmth welled up in his chest, spreading like a slow fire. He didn't understand what it was exactly, but he knew it wasn't something trivial. It was similar, perhaps, to the shudder he felt that time he saw you with that first dress, so beautiful it hurt to look at you. But this… this was different. Much more intense. Deeper. As if something inside him had been ripped out and, at the same time, healed. Without taking his eyes off you, Sukuna slowly sank back into his chair, as if he feared your words were a cruel joke.

"So you're not mad at me anymore?" he asked hopefully.

"No, I'm still upset that you indirectly called me disgusting," you answered directly. Some servants looked at each other as if to say, "Did you hear what she said?"

"So you don't love me anymore?" Sukuna asked pessimistically.

"What? Why do you think that?" you asked, confused.

"Well... You seemed very disappointed yesterday." He raised an eyebrow.

"And it won't be the last time," you answered truthfully. "But it's normal. Couples argue all the time; it's part of being human. It's something you'll have to accept if you want this to work long-term. If you don’t want to deal with it, just kill me." You shrugged.

You knew perfectly well he would never apologize for what he'd said. Pride pierced his bones like a second skin. So this was the closest thing to an apology you could hope for.

You trusted he loved you. You knew it not from what he said, but from what he did when no one else was looking. He loved you so much that, even when he discovered you weren't perfect, that you weren't invulnerable, he still chose you. He was learning to truly love you, with every imperfection, every crack.

And if you were wrong... if that love didn't exist or faded into the shadows of his silence... well, you also had a plan. One you'd crafted carefully, painfully. A plan you prayed you wouldn't have to use.

"Do you trust me that much?" Sukuna asked, surprised by your unexpected request, but didn't show it.

"Since the first day."

"I trust your decision, my king." "Why?" “Because you always have the last word.”  Sukuna remembered the day your paths crossed, during the harvest more than a year ago. Who would have imagined they would end like this, wrapped in such intimate stillness. Now he looked into your eyes as if everything he had ever unknowingly sought was hidden within them. As if you carried, with unconscious calm, the weight of his world. Warm and serene, your hand rested between his. With a delicacy unusual for him, he slowly raised it and brought it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles.

"You will never regret your decision," Sukuna promised you as he kissed the engagement ring.

You smiled at him. You clasped the knife you had hidden under the table with your other hand and put it back in the pocket of the dress. Luckily, today was not the day.

➽──────────────❥

You hadn't trained much with Mahito lately. Wedding preparations consumed your days, and you could barely catch a break. Besides, each session with him left your body in tatters; it was hard to justify so much pain amidst flower arrangements and menu tests. Yet, there you were, drenched in sweat, facing him once again.

This time they were training in close-range combat, and you'd chosen a wooden bow from the armory, sturdy enough to defend yourself, but not so lethal as to seriously injure Mahito. When he launched long-range attacks, you responded with swift and accurate arrows. But when he closed the distance, you turned the bow into a barrier, a makeshift shield to deflect the blows. Mahito never held back. Never. He fought with the same brutal intensity from the first second until your body decided to give up on you.

In the middle of the exchange, you saw him flinch slightly... and suddenly, he split in two. You didn't have time to think. One attacked from the front. The other appeared on your flank. You tried to take cover, but an unexpected kick caught you in the side. The air was knocked out of your lungs, and you tumbled to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust as you fell.

"You need to be faster to catch up to me," the real Mahito told you as his clone offered a hand to help you up.

"That's what I'm trying to do," you grunted, taking his hand.

You and the Mahitos felt the presence before you saw it. A new, different energy had just burst into the parade ground. It was Esou and Kechizu. You were still struggling to process it. You had children. And not just any kind of children: curses. It shattered everything you thought you knew, not just about yourself, but about the world itself. It was a strange, unnatural dynamic, considering how little you knew about curses. As far as you understood, they didn't have families. They didn't feel bonds like humans. They weren't born with ties; They were born of hatred, fear, pain.

And yet, there they were. You watched Esou and Kechizu closely, scanning them from head to toe. There was something about the way they stood together, the way they looked at you, that challenged the idea Kenjaku had taught you long ago. "Are they really as human as Sukuna?" you thought.

"Mommy!" Kechizu exclaimed as he ran up to you.

He extended his deformed arms, wrapping you in a huge hug. He took the wind out of you, unable to contain his emotion. He curled up to your small body like a giant dog that doesn't measure its own size and just wants to play.

"I can barely breathe," you told him, your voice breaking.

You shoved him hard in the chest, trying to push him away enough to catch your breath. Your lungs burned, compressed by the closeness, by the weight of the moment. But there was no time for more. Suddenly, without warning, Kechizu opened his mouth wide with the clear intention of swallowing you whole. A grotesque, brutal, instinctive act. Your body reacted before your mind: you delivered a precise blow to his lower jaw, forcing it to snap shut.

"That was a good punch, miss!" The Mahito brothers applauded proudly.

The impact knocked him back. He fell to the ground with a dull thud, like a disarmed beast. But he didn't stay down for long. Within seconds, Kechizu was back on his feet, his eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and bewilderment. As if he didn't fully understand why you had fought back.

"Little brother!" Esou ran to him to help him.

"That’s rough," the Mahito clone sneered.

"Why are you hitting him?! He just wanted to eat you!" Esou scolded you.

"I wasn't going to let him eat me!" You complained.

"But you're our mother, it's your obligation to feed us!" the curse argued.

You froze at that statement. Sukuna had brought these curses who had the desire to eat you, and surely he knew it. And yet, he gave them to you to care for as your children. Your hand tightened around the wooden bow. Frustration burned inside you, held back only by a shred of reason. You couldn't kill them. Not yet.

Sukuna needed information, and those creatures possessed it. If you killed them now, you could unleash consequences you weren't willing to face. You'd attract the attention of those best kept out of the loop, at least for now.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to think. If you couldn't kill them... you'd have to find another way to protect yourself. Something more cunning. More subtle. You couldn't afford to hesitate. In this game, the smallest mistake could cost you more than a wound.

"Are you hungry?" you asked them with a confident smile, holding the bow in front of you. "Fine, come to Mommy."

Esou and Kechizu grinned widely, like naughty children who thought you'd finally come to your senses. Without wasting a second, they launched themselves at you with open jaws, eager for a good bite. You decided to apply what Mahito had taught you.

You drew two arrows from your quiver in a single fluid motion. You aimed, not with absolute precision; it was impossible to focus on two targets at the same time, but you didn't need to. Not this time. You released the string. The arrows whistled through the air before plunging into their skulls with brutal force.

If Sukuna had taught you anything, it was to put your enemies in their place. To humiliate them so thoroughly that no one would dare cross that line again. You'd done it with Yorozu and Naoya. It wasn't your preferred method, but it was the most effective. The clearest.

Some of the cursed blood splashed over Mahito and his clone. Instantly, their skin began to blacken, slowly rotting where the liquid had touched it. "Do not come into contact with their blood," you engraved it in your mind.

Esou and Kechizu began to regenerate. Their skulls were reconstructing with grotesque slowness, a dance of flesh and bone that would have made anyone with lesser mettle vomit. You didn't wait for them to finish. You approached quickly and stealthily, the bow still in your hands. And when his eyes opened again, you lifted him up and hit him with all your weight, again and again, until the wood gave way with a sharp crack and broke between your fingers. It wasn't a defense. It wasn't a warning. It was a declaration.

"Mommy!" Kechizu whined between the blows. Esou was still collapsed on the floor.

"You can’t eat mommy. It's forbidden, did you hear me?" You demanded an answer.

"Yes, Mommy," Kechizu stammered, covering his head with his arms, clearly scared.

Conscience instantly consumed you at the sight of your poor son in a fetal position. Even though he had tried to eat you, you couldn't bring yourself to hurt him anymore. You threw the broken bow away and approached him slowly, careful not to let him bite you.

"You're hungry, aren't you?" you asked. Kechizu nodded fearfully as Esou regained his feet. “I’m sure Uraume can prepare something delicious for you.”

“It must be later. I’m already very busy preparing the test banquet, miss.” Uraume interrupted the conversation. “How come I never see when he arrives?” you wondered, surprised by their stealth. “I’m just here to let you know that the king has ordered Esou and Kechizu to come to his office.”

➽──────────────❥

Sukuna finished reading the report you had handed him that morning. Although the content didn't reveal information of high strategic value, it did offer something more valuable in the long run: understanding. You had explained in detail how the commune worked, its social structure, and its internal dynamics.

The central figure was the Judge. He not only mediated conflicts but also distributed tasks equitably for the commune's survival. In essence, he was the one who decided who did what. If someone refused to do their part, they weren't directly forced to do so… but the family received fewer resources. A subtle punishment, disguised as a natural consequence, kept everyone aligned under the idea of ​​the common good.

The commune functioned like a large family. Everyone knew everyone else, and each person knew their respective roles. Within their barriers, they were a closed community, united by necessity and distrust of the outside world. They preferred to trust other humans, even if they didn't like each other, rather than a curse. That natural distrust made them secretive, reluctant to open up to strangers, and even less so to newcomers.

The report was full of useful details, but what really caught Sukuna's attention were the personal bits you'd included, almost unintentionally, as if you were still speaking from the place of someone who had once belonged to that world.

There was an anecdote about the time you mistook sugar for salt and ruined a stew, but your father ate it, pretending to like it, just to spare your feelings. Another recounted how you and Higuruma took care of a family of stray cats for several months. And, of course, the infamous story where you nearly broke Nagi's back defending your sister. That brought a short, dry, but genuine laugh to his lips.

There was an unexpected warmth to those stories. A humanity that Sukuna didn't believe inhabited you. Or rather, that he hadn't wanted to see. He carefully closed the report and put it away in his filing cabinet, as if it held more than just information. It was then that Esou and Kechizu entered the room, heads down, shuffling, and with an aura of shame that filled the air like a bad perfume.

"King, mommy is very mean!" Kechizu exclaimed, annoyed.

"She exploded our heads because we just wanted to eat her!" Esou complained.

"That's because they don't have the right to eat her." Sukuna growled. "She's exclusive to my taste."

This made it clear to them that you weren't someone they could easily take advantage of, so they only had to agree to obey the rules of their new mother and, now, their new boss.

"If you don't like the mother I'm offering, then our deal is off. Which is a shame, since I was very excited to work with you," Sukuna said sarcastically. "Now I have no choice but to get rid of you."

Sukuna was about to throw his hand when both curses knelt, surrendering immediately. They had finally understood that they couldn't complain now that they had entered the castle. This had been a trap to accept a deal where they only end up losing.

"Yes, yes, we want this mommy, my king," Esou said quickly, while Kechizu nodded quickly.

"That's better." Sukuna smiled widely at the satisfaction of putting someone in their place, beneath him. "Now, all that's left is your end of the deal. Tell me, what humans have you seen cross the Impossible Belt?"

"Not many, usually, they're Kamo. They're setting up huge camps to try to enter the Kingdom, but we've delayed them as best we can," Esou replied, while Kechizu nodded along with every word.

Sukuna had expected it. Given his long-standing rivalry with the Kamo, he wasn't surprised that they wanted to reclaim their precious lands and their descendants. He should send more curses into this mini-war they secretly started.

"Sometimes sorcerers we don't recognize try to enter, but we kill them too," Esou explained.

"And the girls?" Kechizu reminded him. At that, Esou shook his head to stop him from saying anything else, his eyes pleading with him to keep it quiet.

"Girls?" Sukuna inquired, sitting upright in his seat to focus his attention.

"Ah, two little girls we wanted to eat. They were carrying a huge backpack full of things. Apparently, they had recently escaped from the commune," Esou explained between stutters, trying to downplay it.

"You ate them?" Sukuna asked.

"No, they smelled horrible. We didn't even want them," Esou explained, still downplaying it. Little girls didn't pose a danger to anyone.

"So that's just why you let them escape?" Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"It's not like we could do much, my king. The Kamo quickly found them. I don't understand how they managed to withstand the horrible smell."

Sukuna pondered this strange situation. How was it possible that two little girls could cross the...? “I left the kingdom. My mother used to take us to the Gojo Kingdom twice a year. My mother, Yorozu, and I used to travel through the lower reaches. It was a rather arduous two-day journey.” He remembered what you had told him before embarking on your first trip together. You weren't the only one to cross the belt with ease. Unless…

“I have two more sisters. Nanako and Mimiko. They're barely 11 years old and completely alone because Yorozu killed our mother.” Could it be? There was no other way. “It's pointless. If they left on the day of the reaping, they must already be in some other kingdom. It may sound selfish, but I'd rather think they're fine than search for them only to be told some curse had caught up with them.” Your words came back to him like a whiplash, a sign from the universe that he was right.

Sukuna didn't know what to do with that information. He held it in front of him like a volatile weapon that could either work for him or against him. On the one hand, his instinct was immediate. He wanted to find you, to tell you to go inspect the Kamo Kingdom before it was too late. But something was holding him back. Now that he knew King Toji was planning to invade his lands after the birth of his firstborn, any false move could accelerate the conflict.

And then there were his plans… He had already delayed them more than he would have liked. Postponing everything again, just now when everything seemed to be moving forward, meant more than a change of date. It meant sowing doubts, opening flanks, revealing that something was troubling him. Rumors would spread like wildfire, and his carefully cultivated position of power could falter.

Sukuna leaned back in his throne, his jaw tense, his fingers drumming on the armrest. He was caught between what he had to do and what he couldn't afford to do. Between the looming war and the promise to serve you for life.

He had to make a decision. And I knew that, whatever it was, no one would come out unscathed.

➽──────────────❥

It had been a while since you'd seen the servants so happy. You'd ordered Uraume to prepare all the dishes that would be served at the wedding as a "trial," though in reality it was nothing more than a carefully disguised excuse to feed the castle with something other than oatmeal and stale bread, as usually.

The dining room was a living feast. It overflowed with exquisite aromas and vibrant colors: juicy cuts of meat, steaming stews seasoned to perfection, platters decorated with exotic fruits that rarely crossed those stone doors. The bustle of conversation mingled with hearty laughter, clinking cutlery, and full glasses.

You were sitting at the head of the table, the place where Sukuna normally sat, watching the scene with a calm smile. Choso rested on your lap, eating slowly from a plate that Mrs. Inoue had set out for him.

Uraume, for their part, didn't know what to feel. They had strict orders from the king: to obey you without question. But unlike Sukuna, blinded by affection, they didn't share his enthusiasm. Something wasn't right with you. You smiled too much, you were too considerate, your gestures were calculatedly tender. Your requests to the king—seemingly innocent—bordered on the absurd, yet they were always accepted without resistance. And most disturbing: your aim. It wasn't normal for someone with so little training.

Uraume didn't trust you. And what worried them most… was that they couldn't prove why. If they went to the king without proof, he wouldn't believe them, or worse, he'd punish them for wasting their time and going against his precious wife. Sukuna was too comfortable in the palm of your hand to listen to reason.

Choso took the last strawberry from the plate, bringing it clumsily to his mouth. He chewed slowly, his eyelids drooping like heavy velvet curtains. Within seconds, his small head tilted to the side, overcome by sleep. It was time for a nap. You wrapped your arms around him and gently picked him up, as if he were the most precious treasure in the castle.

"I'm going to take Choso to his bed for a nap," you told Mrs. Inoue before heading for the exit.

"Let me escort you, miss." Uraume followed you.

The two of you walked in silence through the castle's long corridors. The only sounds were the soft echoes of your footsteps and the muffled sound of your breathing. The dining room was behind you, filled with laughter and clinking dishes; and Sukuna, still preoccupied with his reunion with your new children, seemed to be in another world.

You reached the room with the three single beds, a makeshift space that Uraume had to hastily prepare. You gently placed Choso on one of the beds. He barely moved, deep in sleep, his brow furrowed slightly. You tucked him in carefully, tucking the covers around his sides, as if that small gesture was enough to shield him from the world.

"I know you're up to something," Uraume blurted out.

You froze at the statement, as if time had stopped just to hear that accusation. Yet every fiber in your body responded with discipline. You didn't allow a single muscle to tense, didn't give the slightest hint that the facade was cracking. It was too soon for that.

"Up to something? Like what?" you asked, confused.

"I don't know, but I'm willing to find out," Uraume said.

You knew this moment would come. Sooner or later, someone would begin to suspect your actions. And it made perfect sense that it would be Uraume. They observed with the precision of a scalpel, with the kind of attention born not of hatred, but of pure distrust, cultivated through instinct and experience.

You didn't dislike them. In fact, there was something in his methodical coldness that you respected. But you also knew he didn't like you in the least. And now, listening to them, you understood that it was no longer a suspicion. It was a warning they'd been putting off for a long time.

And yet, you just smiled. With that carefully rehearsed calm.

"What do you think I'm doing?" you asked seriously.

"So you're up to something?" Uraume raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe..." you said, turning your attention back to Choso, dismissing their words.

"I'll find out and tell the king."

Uraume wasn't good at threatening people. Despite having Sukuna as an example for over half a millennium, they couldn't get past that monotonous voice that characterized them so much.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Uraume. That's why you're his favorite servant," you told them with a knowing wink.

"I'm not just his servant, I'm his right-hand!" Uraume exclaimed, defending their position in the castle.

"Lower your voice. Can't you see that your king's son is asleep?" you ordered.

"That child is only your son," they corrected you.

"If he's my son, then he's the king's too. That's how marriage works," you clarified.

You looked one last time at Choso. Luckily, the scream hadn't disturbed him at all. You brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead and tucked it behind his ear. A brief reminder of why you were doing all this.

"I don't know what you think I'm doing, but I can assure you that you and I are doing exactly the same thing. We both serve the king with everything we have and are loyal to his word to the end." You got out of bed and stood shoulder to shoulder with them. "The only difference is that I'll have a crown on my head, and you'll always have an apron around your waist."

You gave her one last smile before leaving the room, serene and measured. You walked past Uraume without a glance, as if their presence were nothing more than a shadow in your path. It was that gesture that ignited the rage in their chest. They clenched their fists tightly, their knuckles pale with tension. They couldn't bear it. That smile of yours wasn't courtesy... it was mockery. A cruel reminder of how far you'd risen in such a short time.

Just a few months ago, you'd been nothing more than a footnote in the castle's history. This was an injustice. Uraume had served Sukuna with unwavering devotion for ages past. They knew every nuance of his temperament, every preference, every latent threat. They knew what was best for him. And you... you arrived with your soft manner, your poisoned smiles, and your skills that didn't match your story. No. It wasn't envy. It was a sense of duty.

They were going to find out what you were hiding. And if it turned out to be an attempt, if there was even the slightest possibility that you posed a threat to the king, you wouldn't just fall. You would pay for every one of your deceptions with the most expensive coin.

Next →

Masterlist.

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