#the sheer MAGNETISM between them

[potato-on-your-head]

listen Emma Swan is morosexual and exclusively attracted to men who are cringefail in one way or another, the most functional person she sort-of dated was probably Graham and even then their first makeout happened after she'd spent the whole day with him while he was having a nervous breakdown. her other flames include a pretend furniture salesman who fake pined after her until she noticed him, a 200-year-old twentysomething conman who taught her how to commit felonies at age 18, and a pirate who flipped from Kitten Thinks Of Nothing But Murder All Day to puppy-eyed pining for one (1) Emma Swan in the course of like a week. she was a goner the moment Killian Jones sauntered onto the scene. she's kicked his ass. she's seen others kick his ass. she watched him get hit by a fucking car. he said the dumbest flirty shit to her until she mashed her face into his from the sheer sexual tension.

it was always just a contest between which brand of moron she was going to pick in the end. she chose to be ride or die for Hot Eyeliner Pirate and we love her for it

you know who else in funny? Neal. I cannot get over how much of a loser he is. And the fact that he thought he ever stood a chance when it came between him and Hook??? Guy Liner McPuppy Eyes? Emma walks into his his line of sight and his world is instantly rocked. Killian Jones would NEVER get engaged to a random woman on the street because he was too scared to face Emma. Also Neal has zero drip. Man is wearing a dirty t-shirt and sweatpants 100% of the time. Hook is in dashing black pirate attire. He’s got a detachable hook for a hand and has alluded to having ~other~ attachments for it as well. Baelfire calls his dad “papa” despite being a grown man. “When I win your heart, Emma, and I will win it. It will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me.” Neal baby i’m so sorry but you could nevvvverrrrrrr

[patchwork-crow-writes]

The Roaring Knight encounter at the end of Chapter 3 is a masterclass at showing you that the REAL protagonist of Deltarune isn't Kris - it's Susie.

This doesn't really make much sense at first glance - you can't even really FIGHT the thing on equal footing without the Shadow Mantle, and to even get that Kris has to go through a harrowing gauntlet and fight a whole OTHER secret boss that doesn't even use the battle mechanics we've grown accustomed to. Kris Suffers to get that item, the one thing that can let them stand up to the Knight's merciless assaults. Hell, the game won't even let you retry if you lose until you have the Mantle in your possession. You would therefore assume that the Mantle belongs to Kris, and that they are the ones who should wear it.

And yet. Even when you don't have this item, who stands up to defy it? Susie. Who stops it from doing... whatever it was trying to do to Toriel, TWICE? Susie. And who gives chase across the boundary between light and dark, across the entirety of hometown, to stop it from abducting Undyne? Why, it's Susie. Her actions are those of a hero standing up to a terrible villain of unknowable power, and she does it without a shred of hesitation, even faced with the very real prospect of being killed.

And if that were it, it'd be kind of boring. But that's not it at all, because the reinforcement of this idea continues into the fight itself. Because if you can keep Susie alive for five turns, she starts monologuing against the boss, telling it how much it sucks and that she'll always have her friends behind her.

The Knight is presented to us as unknowable, invincible, unstoppable. Regular attacks bounce off of its absurdly high HP, it cannot be Checked like a normal enemy, attempts to reason with it fall on deaf ears. And yet, what's the one spell that can meaningfully hurt the Knight, to the point of temporarily disrupting its form? Susie's Rude Buster.

And then, when you throw yourself at the Knight again and again, trying to figure out its weakness, trying to outlast its brutal onslaught, it hits you - the Shadow Mantle does NOTHING for Kris in this fight, but it does EVERYTHING for Susie. Susie's the one doing all the damage. Susie's high HP perfectly compliments the shadow mantle's protection against the Knight's more absurd attacks. Ralsei has no way to meaningfully contribute to the fight at all, and while Kris can use Hold Breath to give the SOUL a boost, their utility begins and ends there. The most that either of them can really do is to act as TP and healing bots for Susie, and to equip weak armours that have beneficial effects, such as the TwinRibbon, Silver Watch, Blue Ribbon, TensionBow and Lodestone - the effects of these items persist regardless of whether the character wearing them is DOWNed or not, and, you guessed it, are equipped not to help them survive, but to allow them to support Susie even when incapacitated.

Then you start seeing it in other areas. Who is it that facilitates change in the other characters - Ralsei, Noelle, Berdly? Susie does, each and every time. She effortlessly upends their own myopic views of the world, defying them to change and be better, without even really realising that's what she's doing - is it any wonder that EVERYONE in the main cast seems to have a thing for her? She's magnetic in the way that heroes are, not despite her brashness and short temper but BECAUSE of them - because she cuts so effortlessly through the FICTIONS that other characters cling to, the stories they tell themselves about who they are, what they can do, and how they ought to be. Susie shatters those preconceptions and offers an alternative - live how you want to live, make the choices that you want to make, and let no-one else ever tell you who you are.

Susie is the hero of Deltarune, and the Roaring Knight's fight encapsulates why perfectly, without ever once drawing attention to the fact. It's sheer genius on Toby's part and I salute the skill with which it conveys those ideas in such an organic way.

[bridalribbon]

　𝜗𝜚　𝓶y method for shifting every time i try　.

(　✶　)　there is no method !

okay, fine, there is a method, but it's going to disappoint everyone who thinks shifting requires some elaborate forest ritual and affirmations repeated exactly 111 times while facing magnetic north. here's my earth – shattering, revolutionary process ( /s ) :

first, i sometimes visualize — and i mean sometimes, because half the time i can't be bothered and it works anyway. i used to use alunir's adhd method as a guide for this, and while i don't follow it religiously anymore, it might be fun or helpful for those of you who need somewhere to start! when i do visualize, it's not some cinematic masterpiece playing in my head with perfect lighting and orchestral scoring. i'm not painting the sistine chapel of shifting scenarios. it's just enough sensory detail to make my desired reality feel more solid and immediate than whatever surface i'm lying on. the scent of coffee that isn't the tesco espresso capsules sitting in my kitchen. the weight and texture of clothes that fit my body differently. voices i want to hear calling my name. get a little delusional with it if you have to. imagine whatever you want. whatever works for you.

second, i assume i'm already there — not hope with desperate fingers crossed, not try with gritted teeth and white knuckles, not attempt to convince myself through sheer force of will. i assume it the way i assume the sun will rise tomorrow, with a bone – deep certainty that doesn't require proof, validation, or a peer review study. it's not a belief i have to maintain or a thought i have to think really hard — it's just a fact that exists in my reality now. don’t give yourself a headache.

third, i'm there, because i was never actually anywhere else to begin with.

that's it. that's the whole method. three steps that aren't really steps because they all happen simultaneously in the space between one breath and the next, like recognizing something that was always true. the visualization is purely optional — it's just training wheels for your assumption, something to help your mind grab onto the reality you know is yours. think of it like the ramp that helps you get onto the motorway, useful but not the destination itself. but the assumption? that's where the real work happens. that's where you stop negotiating with doubt. this is the part that breaks people's brains and sends them spiralling off into reddit comment sections: you don't shift to your desired reality. you realize you're already there and stop pretending you're somewhere else. you stop performing the exhausting theatre of being stuck. every time you worry about whether you've shifted yet, every time you check for symptoms like you're diagnosing yourself with a condition, every time you analyze your awareness like you're conducting a scientific experiment on your own consciousness, you're reinforcing the assumption that you're still stuck here, still separate from where you want to be.

i hope this is helpful, and i'd be happy to elaborate on anything here if needed <3 but seriously, go shift !

[enviedear]

stay, little valentine, stay ｡𖦹° jason todd

🎧ྀི your roommate makes the fateful mistake of passing you, his roommate, off as his girlfriend to his boundary ignorant family. now the both of you are tasked with maintaining a faux romance for the entirety of a dinner at wayne manor—simple enough, right?

wc 4.2k | roommate!jason, lowercase intended, fem!reader, brief mention of booze, cursing, mutual pining, two idiots fake dating…truly what more can i say (a lot, so). please, enjoy my 'funny little valentines' day special ᯓᡣ𐭩

“there’s not enough room in the freezer for the ice trays. either move your booze or enjoy an ice free apartment,” your voice is tinged with annoyance as you stare down your long-term roommate.

he’s laid back on the shared couch, right cushion side, staring back at you with a impish grin on his face, “or, you could finally throw out that cake you bought for your ‘promotion’ party. since, the fuckin’ promotion never happened and it takes up half of my freezer.”

“our freezer.” you add. “and fuck you, i could still get that promotion any day now. i can always unfreeze it—good as new.”

jason seems to be beginning to tune you out as your eyes drift to a new letter on the fridge, stuck on with an ‘i hate gotham’ magnet. the print is fancy, cursive, bold black ink—YOU’RE INVITED—it reads.

“what are we invited to?” you ask, ice tray debacle not at all at the forefront of your mind now. not when you can tell your roommate’s got an invite from his estranged past guardian, none other than bruce wayne.

he hums a reply at first, still zeroed in to the rerun of some prison show. when he finally picks up on your question he sours, visibly, “some idiotic anniversary dinner for dick and kori. we’re not going, you weren’t even invited.”

you pout, “i want to go! why can’t we go?”

jason’s got a stern look on his face now, and you’ve always found it so unnerving how quickly he musters it up—usually so relaxed in your shared domain.

“we’re not going because i told a lie, and if we show up…everyone will know.” he groans, “just drop it, i need a little more time to ride this out.”

suddenly more intrigued, you prance over to him on the couch, flopping down beside him, “a lie?”

“don’t. just drop it.” he huffs at the obvious annoyance on your face, “it’s just stupid.”

“c’mon, we know all of each others ‘stupid’ shit. what was the lie, todd?” you’re being genuine, riddling your appeasement with a sweetly sardonic tone.

finally, after a good minute of staring at a very completive jason, he cracks, “i might have alluded to being in a relationship with you.”

your smile cracks before he even finishes his admission, oscillating between confusion and sheer giddiness—trying to halt the part of your brain that wants to imagine a life where a relationship isn’t such a laughable idea.

you curl your lips to stifle your last giggles before looking back up at him, “why?”

jason shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the question. his eyes dart away from yours, finding sudden interest in the television screen, "bruce kept...asking about my life here. if i was settling in, if i was happy." he runs a hand through his dark hair, "and then, all the others got involved, asking to set me up with people. i needed them to stop asking. and you-" he pauses, scratching the back of his neck, "you were the most believable option.”

you stare at him, unblinking, trying to process his words. "most believable option…” you repeat slowly, testing how the phrase feels on your tongue. a warmth spreads across your chest-whether from flattery or something else entirely, you're not quite sure. "so, what? think i can’t pretend to be your girlfriend for a dinner?" the idea sends an unwelcome flutter through your chest. you curse yourself.

jason's expression shifts, a mix of surprise and something else you can't quite read. "you'd do that?" he asks, his voice carrying an unusual note of vulnerability.

"of course," you reply, trying to keep your tone light and casual. "what are roommates for? plus, free fancy dinner at wayne manor? count me in." you're aiming for nonchalance, but your heart is racing at the prospect.

jason's jaw clenches, a tell-tale sign of him thinking too hard, "it's not that simple. they'll know it's fake. bruce especially—dick and tim too—they’re too observant for their own good.”

"oh please," you wave off his concern, settling deeper into the couch cushions, "we've lived together for what, two years now? we already act like an old married couple anyway. i know your coffee order, you know my work schedule. we share groceries, we fight about ice trays—“ you gesture broadly to the kitchen, "it's practically method acting at this point."

he looks at you then, really looks at you, with an expression you can't quite read. "you'd really do that? pretend to be with me in front of my entire family?"

"of course i would," you say softly, nudging his shoulder with yours. "what are friends for if not to fake date each other to avoid awkward family dinners?" you try to keep your tone light, ignoring the way your stomach flips when he smiles at you that rare, genuine smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"fine." he finally concedes, shrugging his shoulders, "but we need to get our story straight. no holes, no gaps—i figured we'd keep it close to the truth. roommates who gradually realized there was something more." he pauses, then adds, "the best lies are built on truth or some shit, right?”

you nod, and start crafting the imagined romance with jason. over the next hour, you both piece together your relationship timeline—how you first bonded over late night takeout after his patrols, the way you'd patch him up after particularly rough nights, and how somewhere between shared grocery runs and movie marathons, faux you fell for him. or him for you—the both of you can't agree on that just yet.

you try not to focus on how easy it is to imagine, how some of these made-up memories feel more like documentation rather than fabrication.

"okay, and when did we actually get together?" you ask, pulling your knees up to your chest, trying to ignore how invested you're becoming in this alternate reality.

"three months ago." jason answers quickly, too quickly, like he's already thought about this. "after that night I came home really beaten up, remember? you were so pissed at me for being reckless."

you remember that night vividly—how he ever thinks you could forget, you’re unsure.

him stumbling through the window at three in the morning, blood seeping through his stupid jacket. how your hands shook as you stitched him up, how quiet he was, how close his blanched face was to yours. you’d attributed the racing of your heart to fear, but now…not so much.

"yeah," you say softly. "that works."

the rest of the week flies by in a blur of preparation and anxiety, until suddenly it's the night of the dinner, and you're standing in front of your mirror, wondering if you've made a terrible mistake.

you're wearing a deep red-toned dress that hits just above your knee—something you'd bought on a whim (a fifty percent off sale) months ago and never found the right occasion for. jason had given it an approving nod when you'd shown him, which somehow makes you feel more nervous than reassured as you stare yourself down.

"ready?" jason's voice comes from behind you, and you turn to find him adjusting his tie in the hallway mirror. he looks…different. good different. the suit fits him perfectly, and you wonder briefly if alfred had something to do with that. the older man has a penchant for doting over your overgrown battling ram of a roommate.

"as i'll ever be." you manage, trying to keep your voice steady. "but, um, how convincing do you think we need to be?"

jason's eyes meet yours in the mirror, "enough to fool the world's greatest detective," he sighs, "and his army of protégés." he turns to face you properly, and something in his expression softens, but he looks away too quickly for you to discern, "you look really pretty."

"thanks." you mumble, fiddling with your clutch. "so do you. very…boyfriend."

he laughs, but it sounds slightly strained. "that's the idea, isn't it?" he offers his arm to you, "shall we?"

the drive to wayne manor is muted. jason's knuckles are white on the shifter, and you find yourself reaching over to place your hand over his without thinking. he startles slightly, but he doesn't pull away—even keeps contact as he switches gears.

"hey." you start softly, "we've got this. we know each other better than anyone, we live together. besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

jason sighs, his hand tightening slightly under yours. "you clearly don’t know how bruce and tim get at these things. anniversary or not, they'll smell blood in the water if we slip up."

"relax," you assure him, glancing out at the looming trees lining the driveway. "i doubt they’ll care about your relationship timeline when they’re busy fawning over how happy dick and kori are."

jason shoots you a look that clearly says 'don't tempt fate', but his grip on the wheel loosens slightly. "just…follow my lead. and if it gets too weird, we can always fake a medical emergency."

"that...is always an option." you grin, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips when he smiles back.

the manor looms up ahead, and as jason pulls up to the gate, you feel his hand squeeze yours briefly, almost indecipherable.

"last chance to back out." he murmurs.

you intertwine your fingers with his, ignoring the voice in your head that whispers how right it feels. "not a chance, todd. you're stuck with me."

the gates open, and as you drive up the winding driveway, you're unable to shake the feeling that you're about to cross a line you can't come back from. but with jason's hand so warm and relaxed in yours, you're not sure you want to.

jason parks the car in front of the house at the partition, "in case we need a quick exit." he shrugs.

"i think you're too worried, jason. i doubt they'll even question it. you said they wanted you dating anyway, i bet they'll just be happy." your voice is quiet, hand hovering in front of the doorbell.

he sighs, "you don't know these people, they question everything."

before you can reply or try to alleviate his doubts, the double doors fly open. you grab jason's hand in your own and pull him closer, just as alfred sets eyes on the pair of you.

alfred's eyes visibly brighten at the sight of both of you, his normally reserved expression softening into something fonder, "master jason," he greets, a ghost of a smile on his lips, "and miss, how lovely for you to be joining tonight. everyone is very excited to meet you, i fear my few stories were not enough to quell them."

you smile, a real genuine one too, "it's nice to see you again alfred! i hope we're not too late—jason decided to change his tie last minute."

alfred hums and beckons you both inside, "fashionable tardiness, miss. i assure you."

jason, hand now sweaty in yours, chuckles, "he's being nice since you're with me. he's usually irate by my lateness."

you shoot jason a pointed look as alfred continues. "master richard and miss kori have been eagerly awaiting your arrival. their anniversary dinner is a rare occasion they’ve pulled out all the stops for, you see."

jason grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, overachievers.

the sound of multiple voices echos through from a room, and you feel jason's grip tighten slightly. you've heard stories about his family for years now—mostly complaints, occasionally fond remembrances, and everything in between during late night conversations over takeout.

"master bruce insisted on formal dining tonight." alfred mentions, though his tone suggests mild disapproval. you've learned over your visits that alfred much prefers when the family dines in the kitchen.

jason scoffs quietly, "because god forbid we eat somewhere comfortable." you squeeze his hand again, a silent reminder of your emergency exit strategy. two years of living together has given you an extensive library of non-verbal communications.

the dining room, when you enter, is exactly as alfred has described it countless times—grandiose in a way that speaks to old money and older traditions. the table stretches long and elegant, set with what you recognize as the ‘good china’ alfred often mentions.

your muscles tense slightly as you finally notice all of the eyes on you—staring and studying—you have to think before you step.

bruce wayne rises first, and despite all of jason's stories, despite seeing him on tv and in newspapers, you're struck by his presence. "jason." he greets, then turns his attention to you. "we've all heard quite a bit about you from alfred, though significantly less from my son."

you feel jason's posture stiffen, but you're prepared for this. "oh, you know how jason is with sharing things." you say easily, the words flowing naturally after years of defending his privacy to nosy neighbors and concerned coworkers. "though, alfred's probably told you all my embarrassing stories by now."

dick grayson—exactly as handsome as the magazines suggest—breaks into a wide grin. "actually, alfred's been surprisingly tight lipped. just kept saying we should ask jason ourselves." his eyes sparkle with mischief. "which, of course, got us nowhere."

"some things don't need to be broadcast to the whole family." jason grumbles, but his thumb is mindlessly drawing small circles on your hand, a gesture you've learned means he's more comfortable than he's letting on. 

"oh, but this is so wonderful!" a melodic, cheerful voice chimes in, and you glance up to see koriand’r—kori to most—seated beside dick, her vibrant curly red hair catching the light as she smiles radiantly. "you must forgive us for prying, but jason does not often share such…delightful surprises."

"by 'us,' she means her." dick cuts in with a smirk, earning a playful nudge from kori.

"yes, and what of it?" she replies lightly, turning her attention fully to you. "you see, jason is like a tamaranian grisnek—so fierce and protective on the outside, but underneath, he is all kindness and loyalty. how could we not be curious about the person who has captured his heart?"

"great. glad we're all analyzing my personal life at the dinner table." jason mutters, though his hand stays on yours, his grip steady.

"do not be fooled," kori says in a whisper that is anything but subtle, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. "jason pretends to be irritated, but inside, i know he is glowing with happiness."

your lips twitch into a smile despite yourself, and jason sighs heavily, his shoulders sagging with mock defeat. "i think i'm gonna need another drink."

kori leans back, laughing softly, the sound warm and lilting, as she looks between you and jason once more. "you are lovely." she adds sincerely, her tone softening. "and jason could not have chosen better."

tim drake, who you've only seen in passing when he's stopped by your apartment to drop off miscellaneous ‘private’ documents, raises an eyebrow. "yes, it's all very sweet." he hums it almost, tone carefully neutral but eyes sharp, studying you.

"sweet indeed." you agree, letting some of your genuine fondness for jason color your voice. it's not hard to fake being in love with someone when you've spent two years memorizing their coffee order, patching up their wounds, and falling asleep on their shoulder during movie marathons. the hard part, you're starting to realize, might be pretending it's all pretend.

bruce barely looks up from his plate as he speaks again, cutting through your blissful thoughts of jason, “a shame i wasn’t aware you two were involved.”

jason tenses beside you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “yeah, well. guess you don’t know everything, old man.”

bruce sets his fork down with deliberate slowness. his gaze flicks between the two of you, assessing, “i never said i did.” his voice is even, unreadable. “but you don’t bring people around often. that’s worth noting.”

jason scoffs, like he couldn’t care less, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—annoyance, unease, probably both.

jason’s hand finds yours under the table. it’s definitely not a calculated move, not a necessary nor obvious display for the act you’re putting on. it’s just—there. warm and solid, his fingers curling around yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you don’t let go.

dinner progresses with a strange mix of tension and ease. You find yourself falling into natural conversation with dick about your work, while jason maintains a careful distance from bruce's attempts at engagement. still, his hand hasn't left yours, and you're starting to wonder if he's forgotten it's all for show.

"so—how did you two finally get together?" dick asks, leaning forward with genuine interest.

you exchange a quick glance with jason, settling into the story you've rehearsed. "it wasn't really some big dramatic moment," you say, the lie feeling uncomfortably close to the truth. "we just...realized we work."

jason picks up the thread smoothly, his thumb still tracing patterns on your hand. "she was patching me up after a rough night, mad at me for being so bruised," he says, and you can hear the genuine emotion in his voice. "and i just...i dont know—knew, i guess."

tim's watching you both with analytical eyes, and you wonder if he can see through the charade. "that tracks." he says finally. "you two have always been...close."

"speaking of close," dick interjects with a grin, "i think it's hilarious jason used to insist you were 'just roommates', and yet never went on any of the dates i set him up on. i should have known, really." there's a pout on his face, humourous.

you laugh, perhaps a bit too nervously, "well, we were. for a while." the irony of the statement isn't lost on you. you can see jason watching you from your peripheral, face stoic—but his eyes are soft. the way they watch over you, simply affectionate.

bruce, who's been quietly observing, finally speaks. "i'm glad jason has someone looking out for him," he says, and there's something in his tone that makes your heart ache. "he's always been...independent."

jason's grip on your hand tightens almost imperceptibly. "yeah, well, some things change." he mutters, but there's less bite in his words than usual.

the conversation shifts to safer topics—work, current events, alfred's latest culinary experiments. you find yourself relaxing despite the pretense, falling into familiar patterns of banter with jason, finishing his sentences, and sharing knowing looks.

it's during dessert that damian, who's been suspiciously quiet, finally speaks up. "you're good for him," he declares with all the authority of a youngest sibling. "he's less annoying when you're around."

jason chokes on his tiramisu, and you pat his back automatically, the gesture so natural you don't even think about it. "thanks, damian!" you say, fighting back a smile. "i think."

as the evening winds down and dinner ends, you find yourself in the manor's vast library, having wandered away from the group for a moment of quiet. besides, you feel somewhat redundant against their coded phrases and stories. jason finds you, as he always does.

"hey." he speaks softly, coming to stand beside you. "you doing okay?"

you turn to face him, suddenly very aware of how close he is. "yeah, i'm good. your family's...intense, but nice. just like you said."

he laughs quietly, but there's something different in his eyes. "you're amazing, you know that? playing along with all this. you didn't have to."

"i wanted to." you admit, and it feels dangerous how true those words are. "besides, what are fake girlfriends for?"

jason's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read, and for a moment, you think he might say something more. but then dick's voice calls from somewhere far off in the house and the moment gaps.

"we should head back." jason says, but he doesn't move. "before they send a search party."

you nod, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing. "yeah, we should."

but neither of you moves, caught in this strange liminal space where pretend and reality blur, and you're no longer sure which is which. even less sure if you hunger for dreams or waking existence—which is which? for a split second, you want to reach out. you desperately want to feel him—to possibly transfer the devotion you’re still too afraid to admit you harbor.

jason’s breath is staggered, coming out forced and shallow. his eyes, darker in the dim light, are flitting between you and the door—until he focuses in on you, fully. you’re too confused as to why he’s getting closer to you to react accordingly when his lips brush yours.

your first instinct is to furrow your brows, still confused. then, you kiss back. hungrily. confusion still fogs your mind, but nowhere near the way jason does. his lips are chapped, plump, and still tasting faintly of expensive dark liquor. his body cages you close him, hands respectfully at your shoulders. of course the only thing you can recognize is jason.

you err on the side respectfulness—opting to tug him closer by the tie. there’s a flash of the memory of him putting it on, and you can’t fight a small smirk from slipping onto your lips. jason must notice, because he finally breaks away to peer down at you.

“what?” he whispers, panting and staring down at your lips.

“what do you mean, what? we kissed.” you still feel giddy from his kiss, but reality begins to settle into you like a winter chill.

jason watches you closely, his expression a mix of smugness and unease, “hmmm—playing it dangerous.” he finally murmurs, shaking his head.

you arch a brow, feigning derision. “you say that to all the girls, todd?”

he exhales a laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “yeah,” he huffs. “that grand number of...you.”

before you can say anything, footsteps echo just outside the library's door. jason instinctively steps back, widening the space between you just as dick pokes his head in. “there you two are! we were about to send out a search party.”

you smile, pushing down the lingering tension. “sorry. just taking a little tour.”

dick’s gaze flickers between you and jason, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “right. well, come on. we're playing charades—and bruce is actually smiling. you don’t want to miss that.”

jason groans, but he follows you and dick back back toward the others. his hand brushes against yours in the hallway, and for a second, you think he’s going to take it again. but he doesn’t. 

charades is winding down by the time you return, alfred putting away various dry erase boards and markers with the kind of efficiency only a butler can possesses.

kori beams when she sees you, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “lovebrids! you have returned!" she gestures to herself and grayson, "thank you for coming—we would like to extend our support to your relationship.”

jason lets out a little breath, like he wasn’t expecting that—like he isn’t sure what to do with the sincerity. “thanks, kori.”

bruce, too, seems slightly less intimidating now. “thank you for coming—you’re welcome here anytime, both of you.��� he tells you, and it sounds like a rare offering.

something about it all settles in your chest, warm and unexpected. you’ve spent so much time being jason’s person in private—patching him up, watching his back, making sure he gets home in one piece—that it’s almost startling to have it acknowledged in front of everyone else.

goodnights and goodbyes come soon after, and tim catches jason by the elbow before the pair of you can walk out the door, pulling him aside for a hushed conversation. you linger near the doorway, talking with kori and dick, but you can’t help the way your attention keeps flickering back to jason.

when he finally returns to your side, his expression is unreadable. “ready to go?”

you nod, murmuring your goodbyes as you both step back into the night air. jason doesn’t say anything as he leads you back to the car, but his hands flex at his sides.

the drive back is quieter than before, the easy banter from earlier replaced with something heavier, something neither of you seems willing to touch just yet. jason’s grip is tight on the wheel, his jaw set, eyes fixed on the road.

it isn’t until you’re pulling into the familiar streets near your apartment that he finally speaks. “they bought it.”

you huff a quiet laugh. “yeah? i told you so.”

jason’s eyes flick to you for a fraction of a second before he exhales. “thank you, seriously. you were great.”

you glance at him, something warm curling in your chest. “we just make a good team.”

something glints in his expression, something hesitant, something aching. “yeah,” he agrees, voice quieter. “we do.”

the silence stretches between you as he parks the car. you unbuckle your seatbelt, but neither of you make a move to get out. stuck stagnant.

“so, this is was fake...” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

jason’s fingers drum against the steering wheel, knuckles red. “yeah.”

you should leave it at that. you should forget the kiss. you should revert back to just his roommate. you should laugh it off, make some joke about how convincing you both were—but you don't—instead you say, “does it still feel fake to you? us...tonight?”

jason’s breath catches. for a long moment, he doesn’t answer. you almost let doubt seep in.

then, he turns, his eyes dark and searching. “god, no.”

your heart stutters in your chest, and you swallow hard, pulse roaring in your ears. “good. me neither.”

for a second, he just looks at you, like he’s waiting for you to take it back, to laugh it off. but you don’t, you won't. and when he leans in—slow, hesitant, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away—you don’t.

you decide to meet him halfway, instead.

writer’s note .☘︎ ݁˖ all of my thanks to the helpful, @sunnie-angel for being my beta reader for this fic! thank you again for your services—and your sweet comments on this little story, very very happy to have a moot like you !!!

🖇️ masterlist | askbox | recent works

[lighting-and-shadow]

Ikigai, Part 9: Shifting Dynamics

Summary: Old friends, new friends, and two not-so friends.

Ikigai (n.) (Japanese): "A reason for being," the thing that gets you up in the morning.

Trigger Warnings: brief mentions of suicide, romanticization of suicide, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of murder

Part 8 | Part 10 | Series Masterlist | LADS Masterlist

“Have fun.”

His voice is light, teasing like it usually is. But you can tell there's something more underneath that facade. Even as Sylus hands you his black card, you know there's more there.

He’s unsatisfied with something. He wants something.

It's the way he looks at you. Like he's craving. Hungry. You don't see this side of him often, but it usually comes out during when you need to dress fancy for some party or gathering.

Don't dwell on it. You have work to do.

You snatch his card from him, careful to not even graze his skin. His touch has a way of distracting you. And those kinds of distractions are the last thing you need.

“We shall.”

Sylus gives you a strange look. You just stare on forward, beckoning him to give you the card. Then he chuckles and his eyes soften to that special gaze that makes your heart melt before he hands it over. God are you glad things are at least semi-normal between the two of you.

You lean into Miss Hunter, loop your arms through hers, and begin to walk away.

“Me and Miss Hunter are off. Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on her and make sure she isn’t too good of bait.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Miss Hunter mutters.

“And I am hardly a babysitter,” you smile at her. “I’m merely looking out for my new friend because she’s clearly a trouble magnet.”

Miss Hunter scoffs at you. Sylus just watches the two of you with a smile that speaks to something deeper in you.

“And you? Who will keep an eye on you, sweetie?”

“Everyone,” you reply with a smirk. “Because that’s my job.”

That’s why he called you Gamayun, after all. Because you bewitch and charm people with the words from your mouth. Sometimes you told truths, hidden prophecies and tales of the past. Sometimes you told lies, dark exaggerated whispers and catatraphizing things from the smallest details.

Gamayun wasn’t just an empty promise of Sylus’ love. It's more than that. It’s your story. It’s you. And that’s why you love the nickname so much despite the pain it causes.

You exchange a look with Sylus before he leaves to deal with the traitor. His carmine eyes and heartfelt expression draw you in. For a moment, he’s the siren between the two of you.

But than the god of death that he is, and the origin of your own nickname for him, claws its way to overlap that beautiful face of his. That part of him is struggling to come out right now. He doesn’t want to become that fearsome person, and just remain in his other state.

He stays loyal to his duty, though. Much like you do. You wish you both didn't have to.

You focus on Miss Hunter in order to drown out those thoughts. Watching her go wild with Sylus’ card, after you encouraged her multiple times to do so, brings a smile to your face.

But, at the same time, you can’t help but mentally check out. Your mind drifts to simpler times. Times before you were in love with a taken man and the two of you were just boss and employee.

The hostess of the gala stands out in her intricate blue dress. Crushed seashells along her trim dazzle like diamonds. Her deep blue makeup perfectly complements her pale skin.

Just her getup alone reminds you of the mermaids you've seen in books as a kid. Her flickers make the semblance all the more obvious.

Flashes of tattoos on her face and a scaly tail where her legs should be. They bring with them a hum in the air, and the scent of salt. But they vanish just as quickly as they come.

She's beautiful in both states. Beautiful and deceptively fragile.

Because if someone was just looking at her for the first time with no context, they couldn't imagine the sheer amount of blood on her hands.

Kai is a delicate woman, small and unassuming. But you know better from the stories you’ve dug up and the ones your boss has told you.

”A woman with an ice-cold heart,” all the rumors said. Sylus just said she’s a ruthless cockroach unwilling to die, which he could respect.

She seems so untouchable. You and Sylus make your entrance to her gala, you in his colors and arms locked, yet she doesn’t even spare a glance. She just talks. Talks and ignores all gazes that turn to the new people in the room.

She may ignore your presence, but you can’t ignore hers. Not with that color that bleeds into her thread. Not with the stain of death that hangs upon it.

A dead soulmate, her thread reads. One that took his own life.

It’s the rarest of threads for you to see. Because most tended to follow their soulmates. A soulmate’s love is the most treasured love, after all. And to live without that love isn’t a life worth living in the eyes of most.

Maybe that’s why she has such a vicious repetition? Maybe that’s why she’s known for having such a dead heart? Because people sensed there was something fundamentally wrong with her, much like they do with you.

You chase those cursed thoughts away as soon as they come. They only bring misfortune, and tonight, you need anything but that. You need Kai’s fortune.

”This place is rather stuffy,” you comment loudly enough for the hostess to hear once you’re close.

Kai’s expression doesn’t change, but the look in her eyes do. They shift to one of curiosity and inquiry.

Most people wouldn’t dare to insult a party to straight to the hostess’ face. Especially when said party is being thrown by her. So as you've hopedd, she's drawn to you, even if she's unaware of that.

From what you've researched about her, she is a woman who values honesty. So while it may pain you to be so blunt, being forthcoming is the best way to sway her. That, and if you can find her single weak point.

Because someone like Kai doesn’t do all this without reason. You need to find that reason.

Of course, there were rumors. Secret children. Dying parents. But, seeing her in person confirms only one: a spouse.

Kai doesn’t wear a ring on her finger. She doesn’t even have a tan-line to indicate that she wears one outside of work. It’s her thread that tells you of another. You don't get the details. But this person, this mystery spouse, is kind. With a heart so warm it thawed even Kai's.

That’s who you need to find.

”Apologies, Mrs. Kerr,” you plaster on a genuine smile. “Didn’t know you were so close. I may look like a dragon at the moment, but I assure you, I do not possess the eyes of one.”

You fiddle with the fake, but realistic, horns on your head as you say this.

”Seems you got my gift,” Kai’s voice is smooth, but absent of any emotion.

”Gift, you say? That’s what you’d call this?” Sylus gestures to you and him.

For whatever reason, Kai decided to make her gala themed. Non-humans, to be exact. And you and Sylus are dragons, fiends, according to what she sent you alongside the two invites. Said invite had clear instructions on how you wouldn’t be let in if you weren’t wearing your designated outfit.

You knew from the second you saw the outfits (after getting over you initial shock that she had your measurements for some reason, and knew of your employment under Sylus so quickly) that Sylus wouldn’t be in a good mood during this gathering.

He’s already glaring daggers at anyone who dares to gaze at him for too long. And he’s touched his horns so many times, you’re surprised they don’t have handprints in them.

However, he still manages to keep that same arrogant smirk and carefree attitude. Or, at least, he manages to fake it enough to make it seem that way. You know better due to your power.

Kai seems to know better as well. She keeps her eyes locked onto Sylus as she briefly greets and waves off other guests. Her face remains blank, but her eyes and thread tell of amusement. She notices your boss’ discomfort just like you do.

”Of course it’s a gift, Sylus,” she casually says his first name when others would say it in fear or would just use his last name. “What else would you call this?”

”You don’t want to know what I would call this, Kai,” he spits out her name like it’s an insult.

”You’re right, I don’t. Maybe your new employee can tell me what she thinks of her outfit? Everyone else has just given me the best of compliments, so I’d like to hear something honest for a change.”

The two most dangerous people in the room give you their full attention. You take it in stride, relying on years and years of practice not to shrink under their judging gazes.

Starting to feel like we’re not on the same side, you think as Sylus’ eyes in particular bare into you.

”I find them quite telling, Mrs. Kerr.”

”Telling of what?”

”Telling of your relationship to my boss, and why he decided to drag me here of all place for our first outing,” you give your full attention to Sylus before you continue. “Speaking of which, said boss needs to make himself scarce if he wants this to work properly.”

Sylus tilts his head at you, leaning to whisper in your ear, “What do you think you’re doing?”

”Setting you up for success. Now shoo,” you whisper back into his ear.

”How demanding you are, Miss Negotiator. And here I thought I was your boss.”

Sylus’ tone is the same as ever, but the glint in his eyes tells a different story. One of how he doesn’t appreciate you ordering him around and disrupting your dynamic. One of danger and cautioning you not to cross a line.

You soldier on, “You brought me here to work. So mind your ego, and let me, because she and you clearly have bad blood and I’d rather not have to navigate that all night.”

Rather than taking offense by your blunt words like a normal person, Sylus just gets more amused.

”What makes you think we have bad blood? This could just be our way communicating.”

You scoff, glancing quickly to see if Kai noticed, but she's already back to greeting guests.

”Don’t insult me, boss. Even a blind and deaf person could notice how much you two want to rip into each other.”

A thought suddenly pops up in your head after you say this.

”Why in the world do you want to do business with a woman you clearly despise, and who hates you in return?”

”Ever heard of keeping your friends close, but keeping your enemies closer, sweetie?”

You jab him in the arm for the stupid nickname, one you’ve told him repeatedly not use on you because that sort of nonsense should only be used with his soulmate. He’s ignored you every time, too entertained by your flustered reactions.

”Business requires mutual trust, does it not?”

He laughs. “Not here, sweetie. Here, business can come about merely because two people want to spite someone else.”

He looks you dead in the eye with a sinister smirk, “Or because the desperation to live is just that powerful.”

Sylus finally walks away once he says that. Shivers run down your spine. His words are a reminder of why you’re really here, on why Sylus decided you persuading one of his enemies to work with him was your first task.

He’s measuring your worth. He’s seeing if he should keep you around.

For all that you two joke and banter, there’s always a voice in the back of your head that wonders if he’ll change his mind about sparing you. You may not have known what your old auction house was doing precisely, but there may have been others that died there that were the same.

You’re here to prove that you were different than those buried in the rubble. And prove it you would.

Kai turns back to you, “Finished?”

”Of course, Mrs. Kerr. Apologies for my boss’ behavior. Listening to reason isn’t his strong suit.”

You feel a bit guilty about insulting Sylus, but than you remember his numerous threats during your first week at his base and immediately brush that off.

”I get the feeling you and I know that better than anyone.”

”Tell me about it,” you roll your eyes before schooling your expression to a more serious one. “And now that he’s gone, how about we talk business?”

”Bold one, aren’t we?”

”I was under the impression you valued honesty, Mrs. Kerr. I’d rather not insult your intelligence, and instead would like to negotiate in good faith than deceit.”

”Good faith? From Sylus?” She sneers, the most emotion she’s shown thus far.

”Not Sylus. Me.”

”You work for him. Isn’t that the same thing?”

”If we were remotely the same, I highly doubt you’d give me the time of day.”

”Maybe I’m giving you the time of day because you’re similar,” Kai takes a sip of a drink someone had offered her, frowns, and than says, “Because at least Sylus is never boring. Two of him equals twice the fun, right?”

You laugh, “Two of that man would drive me insane. And I'd imagine that would be the same for you, no?”

Kai shakes her head in humor, face still as blank as ever.

”No, you’re right. Just the image in my head of that is nightmare fuel enough. Two of him means twice the explosions every time we meet, and I don’t think my people would want to deal with that anymore than I do.”

Her words give you pause for concern.

”Explosions? That’s a theme with him?”

Kai gives you a questioning look for you to continue.

”The first time we met he blew up my old workplace. Granted, my old boss deserved it, but still… didn’t think that was an every day occurrence for him.”

”I don’t know about every day, but he tends to explode something every time I meet him. Usually me. Granted, this is usually after we’ve had another… disagreement.”

She sounds proud of herself. That pride is wiped away in a second, and she levels you with a harsh gaze.

”He knows we aren’t friends. Or allies in any capacity. And that we’ll turn a gun on one another for the right price. So why has he sent you to me?”

That ice cold gaze of her beautiful eyes would freeze anyone else. Years of customer service and dealing with others far more trigger happy than her allows you not to waver.

”Because he’s testing me,” you decide not to beat around the bush. “Getting you of all people to work with him will prove my worth.”

Kai isn’t fazed by your words.

”And you think you can do that?”

You shrug. “Why not? You’re a woman of extreme intelligence, and you’ve worked with him in the past for the right price. I just need to find out what price will make you stay and what it entails.”

Silence falls between the two of you. And you almost believe you see the ghost of a small fall on her lips. But her face is back to its usual blank expression before you can even blink.

”Ya know,” there’s a drawl in her tone, an accent leaking out that wasn’t there before. “Most people are never this upfront. Even when being honest or acting in "good faith" like you claim."

”I worked at an auction house before Sylus hired me. Trust me, I’m well aware. But I find such conversation to be desperately dull. Much like most parties.”

”I hope you’re not including mine.”

”We shall see,” you glance around, looking for a certain something for a moment, but you spot your destination easily. “Aw! There’s something to spice things up.”

You gesture to her open bar.

”I wonder who suggested that? It stands out from the usual things at these gatherings.”

”My spouse,” you’re a bit surprised at Kai’s admittance; it isn’t public knowledge that she’s married, after all. “Sylus knows I’m married. And even he didn’t, you’d of all people would’ve figured it out.”

”You flatter me.”

The two of walk to the bar. Many eyes follow you, but no one dares to approach Kai.

You see Sylus in your peripheral vision, sipping on some expensive drink you’ve seen your old boss drink occasionally, and surrounded by people who talk at him. Sylus just looks at them bored out of his mind. His signature smirk is plastered on for appearance's sake.

There’s desperation in those people. For his attention. For his cooperation. For his money. And he just stands there with that familiar, arrogant, expression.

His eyes flicker over to you. You put on an award-winning smile, and that smirk of his deepens to a real one. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand upright.

Because he’s judging you, studying you in ways you didn’t think possible. This is the first job where you had any danger from your own boss; the others hired you under different circumstances.

You brush him off as soon as you get to the bar. You had a plan to enact, after all.

When the woman behind the counter turns to you and Kai, you give her a sweet smile.

”Why not take a break, honey?”

The woman gives you a look. Kai doesn’t react.

”I’ll take over. I was a mixologist not long ago, and I believe your employer wants a drink more to her tastes. You seem tired, and I’d hate to put any pressure on you when I’m the one being so nosy.”

Kai tilts her head at you before she addresses the woman, “Do as she says.”

The woman thanks you profusely, and practically sprints out of the ballroom. You walk yourself to behind the counter, scanning the spread of high quality ingredients with a keen eye.

My old place was never this decked out, you think to yourself as you search for just the right things.

You get to work pretty quickly, Kai watching as you fly around from shelf to shelf. But you avoid any alcohol like the plague. From what you dug up on Kai, and your observations of her thread, she hates alcohol.

Her father drank so much to the point where she had to raise herself and her brother alone. On his rare days of coherance, he'd throw bottles at the siblings, screaming how Kai's brother murdered their mother.

Her soulmate used to use it on their bad days before their death. Alcohol is symbol of dread to Kai, a painful wound that will probably never properly heal.

You can relate to that somewhat, with you aversion to romance. Not on the same level, but that’s what empathy’s for; you don’t need to have the same experience to have an idea of what she’s been through. That, and you can read her soul.

There’s turmoil as she watches you work, curiosity and a bit of fear mixing together to make a cocktail of emotions in her heart. Outwardly, she doesn’t show any of this. Her inner world is locked away.

Another thing you two have in common. You’ve been burned by the world far too many times to trust it with your fragile heart.

And it’s why you’ve been so truthful with her so far. Kai and you’ve been lied to and lying your entire lives. Shedding that skin and becoming someone that isn’t like that for her, someone she can trust… that will do far more good than any savvy business proposal or story.

So you work to give her a flavorful drink she’ll love, reading her thread and working in your experience to create the perfect blend. The second she takes a sip of it once you slide it towards her makes all the effort worth it.

”Not bad, Miss Negotiator,” it’s as much of a compliment you’ll ever get from the woman, and you'll take it gladly.

”Why thank you for the kind words, Mrs. Kerr.”

You give a little bow as begin your next drink. No one’s ordered yet, but some of Kai’s guests are curious and look at you.

The waiters obey your orders, delivering each personalized drink to correct person. An arms dealer here, and a jewel thief there. Each have varying reactions from mirth to shock to almost a little bit of fear over the strange woman who entered with Sylus knowing them so well.

Speaking of your boss, you save his drink for last. Both for the drama and because than that puts him into the spotlight once more. The mysterious bartender and her boss… eyes will turn to the both of you.

But, eyes are apparently already on your boss. And not for anything good. You watch the last waiter go with his drink and spot the towering man in a scuffle. He stands with his arms crossed, clearly having the time of his life. You can barely see him, but that much is obvious.

Now the woman that stands in front of him is anything but that. Her face is scrunched up in ways you didn’t think possible. And judging by how she looks, she’s screaming at him. Her getup suggests a rich heiress, and there’s only one of that here from what you remember of the guest list.

Miss Andrea Crimson, the only child and heir of one of the many gangs in the N109 zone. But the Crimsons were different; they’ve been here the longest, have one of the farthest reaches, and are infamously ruthless to the point where even Sylus and you cringe.

People have died by that girl’s command for the smallest infractions. Her father gives into her every whim. And there were rumors of there being a second child that was pushed out of the family because of her jealousy.

She also has a history with your boss. Once in love him, now full of a hatred you can almost admire for how deep it runs. To Sylus, she’s a nuisance he can’t get rid of; to you, she’s yet another obstacle for you to conquer.

You politely excuse yourself to Kai, who waves you off while sipping her drink. She watches you go, though. From interest in what you’re doing, or the commotion you’re going to, you don’t know. Either way, that little bit of attention she’s paying to you will work out in your favor.

Once you arrive at Sylus’ side, you’re not given much of an opportunity to speak.

”What?” Andrea spits at you. “You his new toy, now?”

That pisses you off. Originally, you were going approach this woman with kindness, respect. A little firmness, but nothing too crazy.

That goes out the expensive, decorated window to moment she addresses you as a toy. Maybe because of that phase you had as a late teen, throwing yourself at anyone as some poor way of getting the love you crave? Maybe because you’ve worked in several places that saw you as a mere decoration?

Or maybe it’s because of what she said says about Sylus? Your new boss is harsh, but fair. Terrifying, yet reliable. And hearing her say that, imply that he treats lives and people so cheap, chips at your very soul.

Moments like these make you wonder if your lack of soulmate makes you care so much, or you were stripped of one because you’d care for others more than them.

”Oh, get a hold of yourself, Andrea. I and many others do not have the time for to interrupting important business because this man would not fuck you.”

That shuts her up quickly. But you’re not finished.

”I get that you’ve gotten everything you’ve ever wanted in life until he said no to you. The drugs. The money that keeps coming despite all your failed businesses. The multiple affairs, some of which whose spouses are here. Even the murder of your own sibling was covered up for you." 

You speak these words with certainty and authority as you get closer to Andrea. Her expression drops, and the blood drains from her face. Her dark skin doesn’t blush, but you can practically feel the warmth from her body.

”How did you…”

”I know more, Andrea,” you speak quieter, in her ear. “I know that you’ve stolen every little accomplishment from them. I know you framed them as the problem child while you were the perfect daughter. I know you stole their voice from them. And I know why you’ve really come here.”

”Why…”

”Do you really want me to spell it out for you? Surely there’s enough of a brain in that head of yours to not want to hear it?"

She trembles, and you relish in it.

”What do you want?”

”Leave my boss and me alone, and I’ll consider keeping my mouth shut. Because you have a treasure trove of secrets that I’ll be happy to spill if you don’t.”

Andrea shuffles away, head still hung up high despite her embarrassment. You can respect her for that much.

A slow clap from behind you causes you to drag your eyes away from her.

”Nicely done, Miss Diplomat,” Sylus’ ever present grin both amuses and frustrates you.

”I wouldn’t have had to do that if you’d have learned to keep that mouth of yours shut.”

”What would be the fun in that, sweetie?”

You internally roll your eyes at the foolish man before you. But, you plaster on your best customer service smile on the outside.

“Anyone ever told you that you’re far too aggressive?” Your tone is sickly sweet.

“Any suggestions I don’t consider are filed under “never heard of it”. Besides, you handled yourself quite well.” 

“Only because I must in order to keep your organization from collapsing and from you being constantly on everyone’s most wanted list. And if anything I tell you to do is in that “never heard of it” file, I will being killing you myself.” 

Maybe your conversations with Kai have made you stupidly bold. You mentally scold yourself for being so… insolent. But Sylus just seems to find the whole thing hilarious, so you relax.

At least you can have fun with your new boss. Even if he does tend to like threatening you. A lot.

“After all that effort you went through not only to get me to let you work with me, but also today?” 

“It’s all a part of my elaborate scheme.” 

“What scheme?”

“One filed under “Sylus is not privy to this.” Deal with it.”

He chuckles at you. Then, his tone takes on a more serious one.

”How do things with Kai fare?”

”Swimmingly, all things considered.”

”And what things are you considering?”

”You,” you say before leaving. You can hear Sylus laughing again as you do.

The journey back to Kai is a quick one, with people already back to their normal business as if nothing had happened. Perhaps because most of them see drama like this every other day.

”Apologies,” you say to Kai as soon as you get behind the bar again. “But I simply could not let such a woman make a scene at your gala. And my boss certainly wasn’t doing anything to stop her.”

”It’s fine. I invited Sylus because he attracts drama and entertainment like that. For some reason, people are too afraid to say things like that to my face."

Because you’re far more dangerous than even Sylus, you think.

Kai’s reputation is even more brutal than Sylus’. Drowning entire companies in deserts. Creating jewelry from the bones of those she’s killed. Driving people to suicide with her voice alone. Even rumors of cannabalism.

The woman is deadly, terrifying. But, for good reason.

”Well… no matter how entertaining he is, there’s a limit to how much I’m willing to stand being thrown at him. He may not be swayed by anyone’s opinion of him, but I sure am.”

Your words are flowery, targeting what you know of what Kai feels towards her spouse. There’s tinges of worry in her thread. There’s brief flashes of her mystery spouse being a doormat, and the fear that incites. Time after time, the person she loves lets their family walk over them.

Your words strike that cold heart of hers. Strike at the very core of who she is, and honestly, who you are: a protector. Because those flowery words weren’t just that. They were the honest truth.

You’re grateful to Sylus. You’ll never say that to his face, but you are. For this new job. For the freedom he allows you. For the bits of kindness he shows like ordering things you like to eat to the base or giving you the latest tools for jewelry making or giving you a rare gem or entertaining your drink mixing hobby.

Because despite how he threatens you, he still manages to treat you well. Which is far more than any of your previous bosses did.

”You care an awful lot for a man you haven’t worked with for long.”

You don’t ask how she knows this. Kai probably has an extensive information network, and she’s not stupid. With her history with Sylus, if you weren’t new, she would’ve met you sooner.

So you don’t ask that. No need to insult a woman who would, without hesitation, smash the glass in her hand to slit your throat and stain her pale skin a deep red. She’s killed over less.

”Do I need a reason to care for another? It’d be a lonely existence without it.”

”Yes it would,” she mumbles with the most emotion you’ve heard from her all night.

Once again, you tap into Kai’s deeper feelings. There’s a sense of loneliness that permeates her thread. An aching, festering, loneliness not unlike your own.

There’s a weight to that loneliness. One of responsibility. One of duty. And one of longing. Again, so similar to you, yet so different.

Part of you thinks that this why your boss and her don’t get along. Because they feel like they’re staring into a mirror.

You, on the other hand, take that similarity in stride. It’s another way for you to connect to your target.

”Why’re ya taking such an indirect approach to getting what you want from me? After all, ya clearly know ye way around getting to know people and their secrets. Why not use mine against me?"

Kai’s voice is back to her usual flat tone. Her body language is lax, but blank. She gives nothing away to normal people.

But you aren’t normal people. You see her thread, a piece of her soul leaking into your field of vision. And it tells you the real story.

It tells of wariness, of woman scorned and burned by kindness in the past. It tells of broke promises and what that did to her family. 

It tells of hopefulness, of her praying that maybe you’ll be different from the rest. It tells of how the logical side of her wants to squash that hope and snuff it out before it can see the light of day.

You appeal to that part of her, “Such methods aren’t needed here.”

”Why?”

”Because a deal made with you that’s not in good faith isn’t a deal at all. And as I said before, I'd rather our deal come out of one of good faith than deceit. That, and because both parties already have bad blood, and you deserve more than some silly scare tactics.”

”Besides,” you laugh a bit. “I doubt such a thing would work on someone like you. Andrea has nothing real in her life, nothing for her to hold on to, hence why I scared her. You do, Mrs. Kerr. And that makes you all the more fierce and all the more respectable.”

”Still on with te flattery, ya?"

She hides it well, but you can tell she has a storm of emotions at how well you read her. Fear for her spouse. A bit of awe at you and your continued boldness. Skepticism.

”It’s my greatest weapon,” you smile. “And it’ll work on you, I’m sure.”

Kai swirls the rim of her drink with her fingertip.

”And why do you believe that?”

”Because you and Sylus ultimately want the same thing: change to the N109 zone.”

Kai finally finishes her drink and turns her full attention to you.

”Why do you think that of someone like me? Surely you’ve heard the rumors?”

You almost laugh at her words. Because despite her coldness, her endless cruelty, and the way Kai carries herself... you know what she really wants.

You know her type well. You know how scarred her heart is. You know how much the child in her cries with every person she protects.

Because why was there no one like her when she was a child? Why did no one protect the little girl who grew up too fast?

”Simple. Because you’re capable of love.”

Kai has nothing to say after that. Her face is still cold. Her body is still relaxed and not giving anything away. But you know you’ve struck a chord with her.

She keeps her eyes away from yours. Perhaps because they’re so expressive despite the icy chill she tries to keep in them?

You follow her eyes. You follow her eyes as they follow someone in the gala, one that walks not too far from where the two of you sit..

They flicker. They flicker like Kai did earlier that night, and the night you first met Sylus. But they don’t show draconic traits like your boss did, nor the scales or tattoos the woman before you did.

No. This person flickers with machines. Armor and mechanical wiring crawling across their skin. Black, deep black, twined with silver. A destructive weapon in their hand.

A voice calls out from them.

”Run X-02,” it calls. “Run.”

You blink, and it’s all gone. Vanishing in a flash, but still so disturbing that it makes you feel nauseous. Because while Kai and Sylus flickers were shocking, they weren’t so… empty.

Devoid of any feeling. A machine. A weapon. A being whose parts were carved out time and time again until nothing remained but the single order to obey.

You could feel your heart pound despite your effort to calm down. You focus on the current details of the person: dark skin, black hair with streaks of silver that remind you of the stars.

No calm comes from looking at them. Because Kai has decided to make them a cyborg for their themed outfit. That, coupled with you and Sylus’ own get up, made you wonder if she knew. If she knew of the shapes certain people's souls once held. If she knew that person was an android once, just like Sylus was once a fiend.

”You seem awfully distracted.”

”Apologies.”

”No, it’s fine,” Kai waves you off, tilting her head before the whisper of a smile appears on her lips. “You’ve had to deal with a lot for your first outing with Sylus. Why not visit the gardens? My spouse takes great care of maintaining it.”

You want to take her up on the offer. To escape into nature and just settle down your thoughts and racing heart. But you can’t. You have a job to do.

”As much as I appreciate your offer, I—“

”I insist. You wouldn’t want to disobey an order from your host, now would you."

”No. No I would not, Mrs. Kerr.”

”Good.” 

She gives you the directions to the gardens. And you memorize them easily.

As you leave your station to go where she commands, you notice her glide her way to Sylus and other guests. And judging how their threads behave, you figure Kai’s in a good mood.

You think about her as you meander around her mansion. Priceless artworks are casually on display in the hallway, all of the same artist. Rafayel. You recognize his style from your auction days.

The second you see the garden, you let out a huge sigh. It’s gorgeous. Sprawling rows upon rows of flowers that you were sure were extinct. 

Towering trees that reach to the sky, their branches home to many birds. You swear you see Mephisto among them.

Whinding pathways that are easy to follow, but you can get lost because of the sheer beauty that surrounds it.

You’re in awe that such a place can exist in the N109 Zone. There’s no sunlight for these plants to gain nutrients from. So how are they growing?

Placing a hand on one of the trees, you dig into them. Plants don’t have souls, or at least, not in the way that humans and Wanderers do. They have no threads of fate. They have no real desires, fears, or secrets.

But you can speak to them on occasion. If they’re old enough.

You’re drawn to one tree, and it’s the one you place a hand on. All you get is the flashing image of the person you saw earlier, the one Kai was staring at and the one whose past emanated such emptiness.

You see them and another tending to this garden. The only thing you can make out from the other is they’re a man and he feels like sunshine. He and the person from the party are what made the plants grows.

You wander further into the garden. Birds chirp. Foxes scatter about. Gentle winds sway. And, eventually, you run into another person. It’s the one from the tree’s memory, and from the party. It’s the former android. They’re crouched on the ground, grass and dirt crawling up their fancy clothes.

The moment you see them up close, you feel bad about your early assumptions and how you let their past life cloud your judgement. Because this person has one of the most beautiful souls you’ve ever seen.

They feel like nature itself. Like all the plants, animals, and maybe even planets themselves have been meshed together to create one person. They’re thread glows with a kind of compassion and gentleness you’ve never seen from another.

Their thread is weaved together by sorrow, love, and hope. And in that love lies someone familiar: Kai. This is her spouse. This is the person she’s willing to do anything for.

Every plan you had for this meeting goes out the window. They stare at you with their tender blue eyes for a moment before they reach into their pocket for something. 

A pen and notepad comes out. You’re left there, just watching this person write something down before they rip off the slip and hand it to you.

”I’m sorry if I frightened you,” it reads. “I’m Alex, and this is my garden.”

Alex stays on the ground. You introduce yourself with your own name, and they nod.

”Can I help you? You seem in need of some assistance.”

Alex blinks at you. You offer a shaky smile. They think for a moment before standing, and you’re able to see into the bushes they were previously sheilding.

A wolf cub, hardly old enough to be away from its mother, trembles in the bushes. Clearly injured—one of its ribs is poking out of its side—,malnourished, and dripping wet. In short, its condition is horrible.

Alex is writing again. You let your palm out from them to give it to you once you see they’ve finished this time.

”I found her a few hours ago on a trip outside the zone. Poor thing was on her own and stuck under the corpuses of her slaughtered family, probably for days. She was unconscious, and her rib ripped through her skin when she woke up in a strange place. I’ve tried calming her down, but nothing seems to work.”

The sorrow in Alex’s words is evident, even if they aren’t using their voice. Their expression falls, eyes downcast and fists clenched in frustration. They’re so open with their emotions. It’s a sharp contrast to their wife’s way of doing things.

”How about I try? You’d have to relay my intentions, but I’d like to think of myself as quite good at persuading others.”

Treating a wolf cub like any other customer or dealer wasn’t something you thought you’d ever do in your life. But, the poor baby needs help. And it’ll make Alex happy.

Already attached to them within 30 seconds of meeting them.

Another paper is put into your hands, "Why?"

”Because I’d hate to see her suffer more. She deserves some kindness after what she’s been through.”

Part of you wonders if you’re still speaking about the wolf cub. And judging by their reaction, Alex thinks the same.

Deep down, you believe the same about Kai. A girl forced to step up at a young age and raise her little brother.

A woman who became a monster to protect those she loves and what remains of her people.

A woman who time and time again has forced herself to carry insurmountable burdens.

And maybe, you too, can relate to this. Maybe you also deserve some kindness after all you’ve been through. And maybe, just maybe… that’s the real reason you got this job.

To distract yourself, you do what you do best: you talk. You talk and Alex relays and repeat. Until, finally, the little cub walks out and into Alex’s arms.

They get to work immediately. You use the little one’s soul to soothe her, guiding the pup to sleep while Alex mends her fur and resets her bones.

They also summon a large falcon to perch on one of their arms. In its beak it carries a milk bottle that Alex lets the little one drink from when you coax her out of a deep sleep.

You two stand in silence for a bit. The falcon occasionally squawks.

It takes the notepad into its beak, and Alex writes, “Would you like to stay longer? I’m sorry, but I really should be heading back.”

”As should I. My foolish boss might be making a mess again.”

Alex smiles, and you both begin your walk back. They still cradle the wold cub in their arms. The falcon flies just slightly overhead. The trees and plants seem to lean and reach out to Alex as the two of you walk by.

More animals begin to join. A white tiger follows closely on their heels. A polar bear walks beside you (and it takes everything in you to remain calm). Both a crocodile and an alligator walk in front of you.

As a result of this, your re-entrance to the party turns many heads. Some afraid. Some in shock. And one enraged: Andrea. She says nothing. She just glares at Alex while they look down in embarrassment.

You reach your boss and Kai quickly. The falcon swoops down again with the notepad, Alex writes, and hands it to Kai. She reads it quickly.

She taps a fork on her glass, "Alright. I'm calling an end to tonight’s gathering. Get the fuck out before I feed you to one of these fine creatures."

Kai pets the head of the tiger and polar bear as she speaks. People hurry out. But the gaze that Kai and Alex give you and Sylus roots the two of you in place.

Kai turns to Sylus, “I’ll work with you.”

He immediately turns to you and whispers. “Seems your first job went well.”

”I told you my method would work,” you grin.

”Aww, but mine’s more effective and time-saving, sweetie. We’ve been here for far too long.”

”It hasn’t even been an hour, you big baby.”

His eyes widen at the insult, "You've become quite bold."

”I just talked to a supposed cannibal who also happens to be someone with a body count many times higher than yours and who’s been killing since she was mostly likely around the age of 5. I’m allowed to have a little bit of attitude.”

”Whatever you say.”

”And about your “method”… mine’s clearly superior to it. And better in the long run. Evidenced by how a woman who hates you is now working with you.”

”And how exactly did you do that?”

”Through her spouse. A spouse you didn’t tell me about,” you lightly gesture to Alex. Kai and them are too busy chatting to notice you do so.

”Forgot to mention them."

"No you didn't," your whisper becomes harsher with annoyance at his obvious lie. "And you did that on purpose."

Sylus' grin widens, "And why do you think that?"

Your own smile mirrors his, “It’s written all over your face.”

Sylus just laughs.

”You finished?” Kai calls out, eyebrow raised.

You two turn your full attention to her again.

”Good,” she continues. “Now, we have one condition for our business deal to go forward.”

Sylus crosses his arms. “And that would be?"

”She will be our communication. Our liaison, so to speak,” and she points at you. You snap back to the present when a hand touches your forearm. It’s Miss Hunter, and her haul of protocores.

“For someone who was so hesitant not so long ago, you’ve spent quite a lot.”

Miss Hunter ignores your words, worry lining her expression. “You okay? You were spacing out…”

Her eyes look you up and down.

“I’m not going to collapse again, sweetie. I’m quite alright.”

You give her a smile to sell the whole thing, your little act. Because what else could you tell her? That you were drowning in memories of a simpler time?

I’m fine, Miss Hunter. Just thinking about the past, before I fell in love with your soulmate and I was just an employee under him.

You couldn’t say that. For so many reasons.

Due to those reasons, you try to focus on the world around you, and anchor yourself in the present. People dancing around you, minding their own business and lost in their own worlds.

You have half the mind to join them. That is until some men start badgering Miss Hunter. And, strangely, you’re thankful for it. They’re a welcome distraction.

You quickly place yourself between the men and Miss Hunter, shielding her from their eyes and their grabby hands. However, you don’t get even a word out of your mouth before a familiar voice interrupts.

“Her schedule’s full.”

Sylus comes up behind the men. They scatter upon his arrival. Their departure allows you to get a good look at your boss. He looks pissed.

Arms crossed tightly against his chest and scowl evident on his face, he watches the men leave you all in disgust. He looks like an animal ready to pounce. The dragon in him is bubbling to the surface, appalled and enraged someone dared to get so close to his treasure.

Will he be that way with me in future? Or is he already that way, raging at the mere idea of me being near his soulmate?

You speak because any more thoughts like that, and you might begin to cry.

“That was quick."

Sylus' expression relaxes upon hearing your voice, “You know how I detest wasting my time on boring things. The meeting was predictably that, so I wanted to speed things up.”

“You sure that’s not because you were worried?”

You say the words in jest, but part of you truly hopes he was worried. Not for you, but for her. For his soulmate. For his destined love. For his sorceress and the only woman worthy of him. Because if that’s the case, well… you have all the more reason to leave.

You can justify that voice in your head that screams at you to run if he cares for her. If he cares for her more than you, that is.

“Worried about what, sweetie? You can handle yourself just fine. And I know a little extra baggage won’t hinder you.”

Miss Hunter, for some odd reason, doesn’t comment on his obvious dig. You give her a look. She looks away, almost like she’s embarrassed.

There’s something going on between them again.

You brush it off. Last time you got involved in their drama, it didn’t end well for you. No use in you sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.

Because of how lost in your thoughts you are, you almost don’t hear Sylus’ next words, “Care to dance?”

You don’t look at him because you expect his hand to be stretched out to Miss Hunter. You do look at her again because she’d need someone to hold her bunch of protocores. But she just gestures her head at Sylus, and you turn to him in confusion.

Sylus hand extends to you . Not his soulmate that carries a mound of protocores.

You hesitate. But something in his eyes compels you to take his hand, so you do so in the next moment. Sylus gives you a precious look as he whisks you away. Miss Hunter gives you a small thumbs up, and you don’t know how you feel about that.

Sylus and you easily fall into a rhythm with one another. Years and years of familiarity shadows all your earlier turmoil. You can just embrace his touch, his scent, and his care with no reservations. Each step to the music, choreographed but comforting.

Sylus leans in to whisper in your ear, “Sherman has been taken care of, Gamayun.”

That brings a smile to your face. A sick, twisted, and evil smile that you tend not to show. But Sherman had it coming.

He betrayed you. He hurt Miss Hunter and took her family from her. He got himself into this mess. And you only wished you’ve could’ve been there to rip out his soulmate thread, one attached to a woman who was long gone.

“Good. You better not have been quick about his punishment. Otherwise, I’m going to have to drag him out of his grave.”

Sylus spins you, and pulls you close for a moment.

“So aggressive.”

“I’m taking your advice: anything I don’t consider is filed under “never heard of it”, and I definitely don’t consider myself aggressive.”

He releases you and you step back.

“Then what do you consider this?”

“My bleeding heart acting up again.”

The two of you step into the back and forth dance again, box steps and making circles around the dance floor.

“Your bleeding heart gets you into far too much trouble.”

“Better than the trouble your loose lips gets us both in.”

“And what trouble are you referring to, exactly?”

“Kai,” you begin to list off. “That old records dealer in Siberia. That one arms dealer in Canada. James.”

Sylus’ face makes a strange expression at James’ name.

“Still hung up on that man?”

“That man,” you tease, speaking directly into Sylus’ ear when you get closer. “Would’ve been quite a help to our business.”

“You sure your interest in him isn’t personal?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he sounded jealous. But a quick glance behind him at Miss Hunter, protocores taken away by some of Onychinus men, gets you to give up that idea.

Why would he be jealous when he has her?

“Guess we’ll never know,” is all you can get out.

You and Sylus dance in silence for a bit longer, a beautiful display of your synergy. You keep looking for Miss Hunter at any given opportunity. Her presence reminds you of your place. She reminds you that despite the inherent intimacy of this dance, you will never get more.

You’ll never get what you truly want.

“You see, this is why I worry whenever your bleeding heart acts up,” Sylus suddenly says.

“Why?”

Your voice sounds airy. You cringe at the sound, hoping Sylus doesn't notice how it wavers.

What is wrong with me?

“Because despite me being right in front of you, your eyes are focused on her.”

You feel so hot. Your head is in such a fog.

“And you care about that because…”

Sylus pulls you in close, closer than any other previous time. You two no longer dance, and his arm is tightly wound around your waist.

When he begins to lean in, your heart pounds and your stomach flutters. It's a thumping bass that drowns out all other conversations and music around you. All you can hear is your heart. All you can smell is his cologne.

All you can see is him.

Warmth flutters and circulates through your body. A warm that whispers comfort and safety. A warmth that draws you into Sylus just as he draws into you.

This warmth calls to you. Beckons you. It smuthers all the guilt, denial, and determination to stay the course.

It says, kiss him, kiss him.

“Don’t you know by now that I adore you?” He mutters into your ear.

The two of you just stare at one another. The world stops dead in its tracks. Because did he really just say that? With his sultry voice that glides over your ears and sends shivers down your spine and makes your legs tremble and causes you to be so very weak? With a softness in his eyes you’ve never before in your life?

No. I’ve seen it somewhere.

It’s how Kai looked at Alex and vice versa. It’s how James would look when he talked about his lost love. It’s how so many soulmates would look at their other half.

But, that couldn’t be true, could it?

Your eyes are deceiving you. Because Sylus is leaning in closer to you. His scent becomes stronger and your body become warmer. You don’t care about anything else around you. All that matters is him and you and your pounding heart.

It’s like you’re waiting for something, studying him to be prepared for what it is. You’re still, as if any movement will scare him off or make him change his mind about whatever he's about to do.

And, for a moment, you swear you see him glance at your lips. You stop yourself from breathing. You, stupidly, lean into him.

Your brain screams at you to stop. Your heart sings for you to move faster, to get what you've wanted for so long. You listen to your heart.

You cup Sylus' cheeks. You tilt your head to the side. And that heart of yours—that foolish, foolish muscle—is so very loud that it consumes all your senses.

All you feel is your heart. All you see is your heart. All you taste is your heart.

What would Sylus taste like?

The thought is indecent. It's a fantasy. It's a trap. It's something you should never want, never think about, never wonder about.

But it's the siren song that pulls you in. It's what makes you tenderly glide your tongue against your lips as Sylus draws you closer.

That seems to break Sylus out of whatever trance he’s in, and his hand leaves your waist. You drop your hands from his cheeks when he does.

And just like that, the warmth in you is sucked away, as if his hands were the supplier of it. Your heart still envelopes you, consumes you. But no longer do you think about the taste of Sylus.

You perse your lips together, your mind conjuring the image of something else pressing against them. You blink several times, still in awe at all that did—and didn't—happen.

Am I… disappointed?

That’s ridiculous. You knew from the moment you fell for Sylus nothing would ever happen between the two you. You knew that, and you told yourself that everyday when your urge to kiss him or cuddle him especially close or flirt with him became too much.

To distract yourself, you ask, “How long until the bombs go off?”

Sylus doesn't seem affected by the strange atmosphere that was between you two. He gives you that familiar arrogant and confident smile.

But there's a glimmer in his eye. A glimmer that tells you so much and so little. You don't dare look at his thread in case there's more confusion there.

“Why do you assume I’m doing that, Gamayun?”

Because, unfortunately, I know you all too well.

“Because it’s you, Sylus. Now, when do they go off? I need to warn Miss Hunter.”

A sudden explosion is the last thing she needs. You couldn't bare to see her buckle under the weight of such panic, of such grief and pain.

Miss Hunter hides her grief well. But, it peaks out occasionally. Sometimes when she laughs just a bit too much. Other times when she looks at Sylus, for some reason.

Her suffering is palpable to everyone at the base. You've all collectively decided to pretend you don't see it and let her shield her fragile heart.

Because, otherwise... she'll shatter. She'll shatter and break and fall apart into so many pieces that not even expert crafters like you and Sylus could put her back together.

And no matter how her existence breaks your heart, you could never—will never—wish such a thing on her. No for any reason. Not even if she begins to hate you. Not even if she turns you in to the Hunter's Association.

And certainly not even when she ineviably takes away the man you love for good.

Sylus' response brings you out of your spiral, “I’ll come tell you when it’s time.”

He brings you close one last time, pressing a kiss on your forehead and murmuring, “I do love that heart of yours.”

You speed walk away. Body and mind in turmoil. Frustration. Embarrasment. Hope.

You can't control yourself. It feels odd, considering how composed you normally are. Control is everything to you. Control is literally your job and your life.

Right now, you're anything but that. You're flustered from head to toe, still feeling the ghost of Sylus' lips on your ear and forehead. You have to actively stop yourself from touching those places.

His lips were so soft. Softer than you ever imagined on those rare days you let yourself indulge in the fantasy of a future with him. How much softer would they have been against your own? Would he kiss you gently with those lips?

Or would he be rough, possessive? Like he's trying to claim your lips as your own?

You feel hot all over again just imagining it: his arm on your waist becoming tighter, his other hand gripping the back of your head, his hot breath against your lips when he dives in for more...

You want to scream at your own vivid fantacies. Thoughts and images so vivid, you can almost feel them.

His arm around you, muscles tensing on your hips as he tries to pull you impossibly closer to him.

His hand on your back, fingers spread wide and holding you in place, but featherlight as to not hurt you.

His other hand on the back of your head, making sure he's getting the perfect angle to kiss you.

His lips on yours, trying to mold them to his. Tongue in your mouth, eyes with blown pupils on you when he backs up for air, and whispered sweet nothings that only you can hear that spill out for a moment before he dives in for more.

For more of you.

What the devil is wrong with me?

Your walk to Miss Hunter feels like an eternity with the company of your delusions.

The moment you’re by Miss Hunter’s side, your embarrassment multiples. You were just fantisizing about her soulmate, her other half, and the man she will one day marry.

She wears a shit-eating grin.

“Sooo, what was that about?”

“What was what about?” You attempt to deflect.

“Don’t give me that,” she rolls her eyes at you. “I may not be as smart as you, but I do have eyes.”

“Don’t insult yourself like that,” your defense of her comes out before you can really think about it.

“You’re dodging the issue.”

She turns to face the dance floor. Or, rather, where Sylus stands near it. Just the sight of him makes you feel all warm and fuzzy again.

”Don’t you know by now that I adore you?”

”I do love that heart of yours.”

And just like that, you’re flustered again.

“Dance with me,” you blurt out, escaping from Sylus’ line of sight and dragging Miss Hunter behind you.

Miss Hunter giggles, grin still on her face. You can practically hear the teasing questions and words that beg to fall off her lips.

Is this what it’s like to have friends?

Your social life took a dive years ago, far before you met Sylus. After your best friends in high school ditched you for each and their new love, reaching out for companionship was… hard, to say the least.

Kai and Alex filled that void for some time. The three of you stopped talking about a year ago for some reason. Kai’s been very quiet in the “business” world since then. And Alex has always preferred to stay out of the spotlight, so you didn’t worry much when they dropped off the grid.

They were, and still are, probably two of your closest friends. People who get not only the lighter side of you—the one with a bleeding heart—but the dark side, the lonely one with a cynical out look on love.

But, as much as you love them, they are anything except normal. Kai’s killed more people than anyone you’ve ever met. Alex prefers the call of nature to the voices of humans. They both carry pains you couldn’t even begin to understand.

You love them. You love Sylus. You love the twins. But, you need some reprieve from your bloodstained world.

Miss Hunter appears to be the key to that. Someone who reminds you of the good in the world, rather than the bad parts you’re determined to destroy. Someone who reminds you of that innocent little girl you once were before you got your powers (ironic, given that she’s more or less a symbol of everything your powers have taken from you).

She’s a kind and gentle soul, one who hasn’t been stained by the world and still believes in good. She reminds you of Alex.

But unlike Alex, Miss Hunter is fierce. Unwavering. And because of that, you couldn’t ask for a better soulmate for the love of your life.

Imagining her and Sylus together still hurts. It still claws into your heart and shreds it without mercy. But, in a little corner of your heart, there’s joy. There’s happiness for your new friend and the man you love.

Because no one else could make each other as happy as the other will. You’ve seen it time and time again.

As for her other soulmates… well, they aren’t your problem. You’ll deal with that problem too once you come to it.

“Still thinking about your boss?” Miss Hunter pipes up, her tone teasing and lighter than you’ve ever heard it.

Yes.

You still feel his touch, phantom imprints. You still want more of his touch, the ghost of his taste still on your tongue. You want more and more and more.

But you will never have it. You need to remember that. All you'll ever have is the dreams and nightmares of that with Sylus.

And your dreams are meant to be crushed. They're meant to be broken beyond repair. Why should someone deemed by the universe unfit for love be able to dream?

Why should they be able to wish, to wonder?

Why am I allowed to live?

“What ever are you talking about?”

Stepping into your usual role is all you can do to make the thoughts stop.

“Seriously? You’re pretending not to know again?”

No. I just don't want to know. I don't want to remember my mistakes and my errors and my stupidity, and my—

“Why don’t just spit it out?” You quip back with a smile.

“Fine,” she huffs as you twirl her. “You and Sylus—well, mostly Sylus—it’s obvious you're in love.”

“You’re still on about that?”

You thought you cleared this up earlier. Your stomach twists at the thought. Having Sylus’ soulmate believe the two of you are in love, and not just extremely close is a problem. A huge problem.

“And you’re still in denial about that? I mean, come on! He looked like he was going to kiss you. I had my imaginary popcorn out and everything!”

“You’re ridiculous,” she giggles as you pull her close. “Preposterous. Delusional.”

“I know what you are, but what am I?” You roll your eyes at her.

“His friend and employee. Not his soulmate.”

The word “soulmate” causes a shadow to fall over her eyes.

“How… are you so sure?”

You want to laugh.

Because I can see it. I see how your souls are tied together. I see how he’ll love you and only you through every lifetime. I see how I’m merely a footnote in your love story.

You, of course say none of that, and can only say, “I just do.”

The cheery and playful atmosphere dissipates between the two of you. You stop dancing and you guide her away from the dance floor to somewhere more hidden. You don’t know what to say.

The airy and warm feeling you had early is gone, sapped away by your own stupid words and your own stupid love. Why, oh why, did you have to do this to yourself?

Maybe part of you loves the pain of a broke heart?

The tap on your shoulder comes as a welcomed distraction.

“60 seconds,” is all his whispers in your ear before he goes off to talk to other people.

For once, you’re grateful for Sylus’ tendency to do big shows of power. The ensuing chaos and combat will keep your mind occupied.

“What was that?” Miss Hunter inquires, tilting her head at you.

“A heads up I requested,” her expression pushes you to answer further. “Sylus has a flare for dramatics. And those dramatics tend to involve explosions.”

You continue in a much gentler tone, “I know an explosion took your family. Springing one on you isn’t very polite, so I asked Sylus to give me a heads up.”

Miss Hunter trembles. You hold her close.

“Thank you,” she whispers, trying to sound brave.

“No need,” you check your phone for the time. “We have about 30 seconds. Ready?”

“Does it matter if I’m not?”

You sigh. “I suppose not.”

The seconds tick down. Miss Hunter’s breath is shaky. You feel her heart pound in her chest. You squeeze her even closer to you. You count each breath, and remind her to stay calm.

Then, it comes. Multiple explosions rock the building. People scream. Some are crushed, while others die in a blaze. Others still are picked off by the twins or Sylus himself.

You don’t focus on them. You focus on keeping Miss Hunter shielded and calm. Her heartbeat is out of control, so you mess with her threads a bit. Just small nudges to keep her tranquil, to remind of her of better times.

The whole thing is done in an instant. Sylus casually walks over to check on her.

“You alright, sweetie?”

“She will be. Give her time,” you snap.

Sylus laughs, sticking his thumbs into his pockets, “I meant you, silly.”

He takes a hand out to flick your forehead when he says the stupid nickname.

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

You brush him off because today has been just a bit too much. Your hear has always been weak to Sylus, but you've never had such real... material in your mind.

You've never thought of how he would kiss you. You've never thought about how he would touch you in throes of such intimacy. You've never let your thoughts get so far.

But that look in his eyes when you two danced. That look he gave you before you went to Miss Hunter... it gives you ideas. Foolish, unrealistic, and dangerous ideas.

“Because I seem to recall you prioritizing helping our guest over your own safety.”

He leans over Miss Hunter who was still buried in your arms, and tilts your head so that he could get a better look.

“Look, your face is bleeding.”

His touch makes you feel hot all over again. It gets worse when you remember how it made your imagination run wild.

You can almost pretend you're somewhere else. Somewhere private. Somewhere where this simple touch on the chin to look at your cuts and bruises could become something else.

Your knees almost buckle. But you hold it together.

“Minor cuts, you fool. I’ve had worse.”

“And that makes that better because…?”

“…Shut your mouth.”

“Or else what? You’ll shut it for me?”

You flush at the implications. Sylus’ smirk tells you that he meant it in the way you’re thinking of. Your heart rate picks up again. You’re warm all over. And there’s this sense of… anticipation and hunger as you stare at one another.

That warmth is back. It begs to take a chance, a leap of faith. It screams at you to just grab his neck and finally have what you've craved for so long.

“Could you please not flirt so close to me?” Miss Hunter mumbles.

You almost scream. But the crushing guilt keeps you silent. Her words remind you of your place, of the line you've been treading far too close to.

You step back from Sylus. Miss Hunter is no longer buried in you, so she doesn't follow.

You ignore her question because you have no way of really responding, “How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” she grumbles. “Let’s finish this.”

You guide her to the rooftop, glancing at Sylus to be sure he follows. He shakes his head.

“I’ll clean up here. You go.”

“I seem to recall that she’s your guest.”

He shrugs, “she likes you more.”

You splutter. Then, you let yourself hug him and whisper in his ear, "Be safe, Morana."

You follow Miss Hunter up to the rooftop as quick as you can. The sharp winds in your face make the burn of emotions dampen down. That, and the giant Wanderer that roars above.

“Stay back!” She yells over the racket, shooting at the foe. “You don’t have an Evol, right?! It’s dangerous!”

“Ever the diligent Hunter, protecting civilian, eh?”

“Now’s not the time for jokes!”

“The only joke here is that you think me,, of all people, need protection!”

The fight against the Wanderer is short. After all, Wanderers were once people. They had souls and threads for you to mess with. So you help her, weaving threads and shooting after she handed you one of her guns.

You hand it back as you walk to the pedestal that held the Aether Core, beckoning her to that the power that belongs to her. And you watch her threads react.

You never really paid attention to Miss Hunter’s Aether Core, not when they were more pressing issues at hand. None of this issues exist now in this moment.

Now, you can. Her glitching threads that emerge from it. The strange energy that flows from it, an energy that seems to call to you. It tries to drag you in, to swallow you.

You don’t know why.

And when the energy from the new core begins to leak out into her, the very universe shifts around you.

You hear her heartbeats, and your own heart seems to sync with it. Thump. Thump. Thump. A resonate of sounds that are so familiar yet so foreign.

And underneath those thumps, there’s a hum. A song. A whisper of melody you’ve never heard before and can’t describe despite how it echoes in your brain.

It’s beautiful.

The sound is like home. Like a gentle kiss from your mother or the safe embrace of your father. Like the boisterous laugh of the twins or the comfortable touch of Sylus.

It brings a tear to your eye. With that tear comes visuals. Planets. Stars. Galaxies. They all lay over your eyes and block the vision of Miss Hunter taking the power of the new Aether Core.

So, so beautiful.

You think you can stay here forever, basking in that wonderful melody and the sights that it brings. But the moment the energy flow into Miss Hunter stops, it ends. A blip in time. A small moment of absolute peace.

Quickly wiping your face before she turns around, you snap out your trance. There’s things to be done, after all.

You do all the things needed to be done: help Sylus and the twins clean up, settle Miss Hunter, and escort her out of the N109 Zone.

“You should come visit me,” she says, bright smile on her face.

“Maybe I will…”

After all, what better fresh start is there than the city of the woman who drove me out? You take my place at Sylus’ side… maybe I’ll take yours in the Hunter Association.

It’ll be a sick, twisted, heartbroken exchange. One not equivalent in the slightest. For how can you compare a woman loved by many to one loved by none?

Author's Note: Also, please go to the original blurb to ask to be added to the taglist (it's impossible for me to keep checking every part every time I update).

2nd Author's Note: How long is too long for a chapter?

Taglist: @eolivy, @rafayelridesfisheatsfish, @animegamerfox, @jasperjokester, @schrodingerskimdokja, @just--crys, @snowdynasty, @shi-thats-kiera, @mansonofmadness, @dwuclvr, @ameilli, @katiedoesstuff101, @everythingistaken00, @napa-the-yappa, @hanaluxx, @lovesick-sylus, @tenaciouszombiewombat, @ladyparamount, @applepi405, @midnight-reverie, @69-gojos-wife-69, @bellagrayson-wayne, @phisen, @idkmanimjusthorny, @munchychuusy, @autumn2534, @poptrim, @sillyfreakfanparty, @zaynesfirefly, @flamedancer13, @thissmartdumbass, @mrsllawliet, @jeondyy, @ssetsuka, @dels-page, @that-lost-one, @johnnysactualgf, @mariquitas-en-verano, @toelady, @sinnamon-bunn, @yesbiaswrecked, @doggyteam2028, @little-rays-of-darkness, @albatrossblue, @vyntheria, @silverianni, @browneyedgirl22, @tiklestar, @beaconsxd, @pepperushia

[misswynters]

𝐗𝐎𝐗𝐎

jinx x fem!bombshell!reader

synopsis: You are a model for (victorias secret equivalent but in arcane universe) and jinx becomes infatuated with you. Known for you bombshell persona and explosive personality, you are the most well known model in all of piltover and zaun. Possibility even watching noxus and the other regions.

warnings: 18+, smut, kissing, smut, wlw , the use of a toy, jinx calls you sugar,

a/n: my first jinx fic <3, also on ao3 (not yet, under doorkiluv)

note | pls give me feedback (and don't only just like but also reblog and comment) this was supposed to be short but it went overboard

𓏲 ˖. ♡ 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐱 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 for Piltover. Too clean, too polished, too boring. The people were all fake smiles and ridiculous hats, and she preferred the chaos of Zaun to its glittering streets. That all changed the day she first saw you. She’d been in Piltover on a whim, loitering in the shadows as she planned her next prank. Explosives in a fancy clock tower, maybe? She hadn’t decided yet. But her chaotic thoughts screeched to a halt when she looked up at the enormous neon screen in Piltover Square and saw your beautiful face.

You were walking down the runway in a show so glamorous it put Piltover’s polished spires to shame. Wrapped in a shimmering, barely-there gown that hugged your curves, you strode with an air of absolute confidence. Your bombshell persona was magnetic, your hips swaying to the rhythm of the music as the crowd erupted into applause. You gave the camera a cheeky wink and blew a kiss, and Jinx’s brain short-circuited.

“Holy… Who the hell is that?” she muttered, her wide eyes glued to the screen.

A vendor passing by glanced at her. “That’s her. You don’t know? The biggest model in all of Piltover and Zaun. Hell, even Noxus and Ionia are crazy about her.”

Jinx didn’t respond, too transfixed by the image of you flashing across the screen. You were a living firework, a walking explosion of charisma, beauty, and sheer presence. Your bold, flirty persona was a match for her own chaos, and it wasn’t just your looks that had her hooked—it was the energy you carried, the way you owned every moment. From that point on, Jinx was utterly captivated.

Back in her lair, your face became a constant presence. Jinx scavenged every poster, magazine, and billboard she could find that featured you. Her walls were covered in them, glossy images of you smirking, posing, and looking like you owned the world. She couldn’t get enough of you, and it drove her mad in the best way possible.

“Look at her,” she’d whisper to herself, lying on her bed and staring at a magazine cover where you lounged in a shimmering gold corset. “She’s a walking explosion.”

Whenever one of your commercials aired on Piltover’s big screens, Jinx made a point to watch. She’d perch on the rooftops, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as you spoke directly to the camera, your voice sultry and teasing. Sometimes, she’d mimic your lines, laughing to herself at how ridiculous she sounded compared to you.

The first time Jinx saw you in person, she nearly short-circuited. You were in Zaun, of all places, stepping out of a sleek transport at one of the fancier underground clubs. It was rare for someone like you to venture into the depths, but you carried yourself with the same confidence that lit up your photoshoots. Heads turned as you walked through the crowd, a knowing smirk on your lips as if you knew exactly the effect you had on everyone around you. Jinx’s pulse quickened. This was her chance.

She darted through the crowd, weaving between gawking onlookers until she was standing at the bar beside you. Up close, you were even more stunning, your beauty almost overwhelming.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you in a dump like this,” Jinx drawled, leaning casually against the counter. Her nerves were on fire, but she masked it with her usual cocky grin.

You turned to her, one perfectly arched brow raising as you took her in. Your gaze lingered on her bright blue hair and manic energy, and a small, amused smile played on your lips.

“Maybe I like a little chaos,” you replied, your voice smooth as silk. “And you certainly look like the chaotic type.”

Jinx grinned wider, her confidence surging. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m not just chaos—I’m a full-blown explosion.”

The two of you spent the night trading flirty remarks and playful banter, the tension between you crackling like a lit fuse. Jinx couldn’t believe her luck. You weren’t just a pretty face. But you had a fiery, explosive personality to match. You were bold, unapologetic, and just as dangerous as you were beautiful. At one point, she leaned in close, her lips brushing against your ear as she murmured, “So… what’s it like knowing the whole damn world’s obsessed with you?”

You laughed, the sound low and sultry. “I don’t mind the attention,” you said, turning your head so your lips were almost touching hers. “But right now, I’m more interested in you.” Jinx’s heart nearly stopped.

Back at her lair, were things escalated rather quickly. Jinx couldn’t keep her hands off you, tracing every curve and line of your body like she was memorizing you. Her fingers lingered on your hips, her lips trailing heated kisses along your neck as she whispered breathless praises. “You’re even better than the posters,” she murmured, her voice filled with wonder. “Didn’t think that was possible.”

You teased her with your signature confidence, your voice dripping with flirtation as you pulled her closer. “So you’ve been staring at my posters, huh? What did you think about me?”

Jinx blushed, but she didn’t back down. Instead, she grinned wickedly, her fingers tightening on your waist. “Thought about all the things I’d do if I ever got you alone,” she said, her tone low and rough. “And now, I’m not holding back.”

The tension was electric, charged with the crackling hum of her inventions and the intensity of her gaze on you. She had been teasing you mercilessly all evening, brushing her hands against your skin, dropping flirty remarks that sent heat pooling low in your belly. You could feel the mischief radiating off her as she twirled one of her newest creations in her hand. It was a bright, colorful pleasure device she'd been gushing about for days. Jinx loved experimenting, and tonight, you were her favorite subject.

She grinned at you, her sharp, mischievous grin that made your heart race every time. "Alright, Sugar," she purred, tossing the toy between her hands like it was some casual gadget and not something designed to make you lose your mind. "You trust me, don't ya?"

You raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain your usual flirty composure. "You mean to tell me that thing isn't gonna explode?"

Jinx cackled, tossing her head back. "Not this time, babe! Well, probably not. But hey, if it does, at least we'll go out with a bang!" She winked, and despite your hesitation, you couldn't help but nervously laugh. "You're impossible," you murmured letting her guide you to the mattress piled high with pillows and blankets.

"And you're irresistible," she shot back, pressing you down onto the bed with a surprising gentleness for someone so wild. Her hands were steady as they traced over your skin, her fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake.

She leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear. "Let me take care of you, Sugar," she whispered, her voice dripping with sweetness and heat. "Promise I'll make it fun."

The first sensation was the gentle hum of the device she'd created, a soft vibration against your folds that made you arch into her touch. It was colorful and whimsical, much like Jinx herself, with blinking lights and playful patterns painted across its surface. Despite its toy-like appearance, the way it worked against your body was anything but innocent.

Her free hand skimmed over your inner thigh, her touch featherlight and maddeningly slow. The wetness pooling between your legs became impossible to ignore, and Jinx took full advantage, sliding the toy up until it pressed directly against your bundle of nerves. A slick, wet sound began filled the room, the vibrations amplifying the noise as your arousal spread. Jinx froze for a moment before bursting into a fit of laughter. "Oh, look at you," Jinx teased, her eyes bright as she watched your reaction.

"Didn't take much, huh? Bet I could've just touched you, and you'd be melting for me." You tried to retort, but the words caught in your throat as she pressed the device lower, her mischievous grin widening as your body jerked in response.

"Aw, Sugar, don't hold back," she crooned, tilting her head to the side as if studying you. "I like hearin' you. Makes it more fun for me."

Your head fell back, a moan slipping past your lips as she adjusted the settings, the vibrations intensifying. She laughed softly, her free hand stroking your thigh as if to ground you. You buried your face in your hands, mortified but too overwhelmed by the pleasure to stop her. The toy’s vibrations grew stronger, and the obscene wet noises only intensified as she moved it against you, her laughter turning into a low, appreciative hum. “Damn, you sound so good,” she murmured, her tone dipping into something more serious. “Bet I could make you scream just with this.”

Your hips bucked against the toy, your slick arousal coating it and making the sounds louder and wetter with each movement. The lewd squelching only seemed to spur Jinx on, her grin growing wider as she adjusted the settings, sending sharper bursts of pleasure through your body. “Listen to that, Sugar,” she teased, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re a fuckin’ symphony for me. All wet and messy, just how I like it.”

The embarrassment of her words was quickly drowned out by the mounting pleasure, your moans growing louder as the toy worked you closer to the edge. Jinx’s free hand slipped beneath your thigh, lifting your leg to spread you open further.

“Look at you,” she said, her eyes dark with hunger as she watched the toy glisten with your slick. “So damn pretty like this. Could stare at you all day."

Her words made your cheeks flush, though you couldn't focus on embarrassment for long. Every nerve in your body was alight, the sensation of her toy paired with her teasing kisses and caresses driving you to the edge. And then she pulled it away, grinning wickedly at your gasp of frustration. "Not yet, Sugar," she said, clicking her tongue. "I'm not done playin' with you."

She shifted her attention, leaning down to press her lips against your neck. Her kisses were hot and open-mouthed, her teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. You felt her grin against your throat when you whimpered, your hands clutching the sheets beneath you. Her lips found your collarbone, her teeth sinking into the delicate skin to leave another mark.

"Gotta leave my mark," she murmured between kisses, sucking a particularly dark bruise just below your jaw. "Let everyone know you’re mine. My perfect, messy little bombshell.” Her words sent a shiver down your spine, but you hesitated, your modeling career flashing through your mind. "Jinx, I..."

She pulled back, her wide, manic eyes locking with yours. "Aw, don't worry about all that fancy-shmancy stuff," she said, her voice teasing but with an edge of sincerity. "Bet they'll just airbrush it or whatever. C'mon, Sugar, lemme have my fun."

Your protests melted away as she kissed you again, this time harder, deeper, her hands pinning your wrists above your head. The way she looked at you, like you were the most precious thing she'd ever seen, made your resolve crumble. "Fine," you murmured, breathless. "Do your worst."

Her grin was feral. "Oh, babe, you asked for it." Jinx worked her way across your body, leaving a trail of marks in her wake on your neck, your collarbone, and the valley between of your chest. Each one was a testament to her possessiveness, her need to claim you in a way that went beyond words. "You're gonna look so pretty tomorrow," she murmured, her hands and lips everywhere at once. "Walkin' around all marked up, like a damn work of art."

You couldn't even bring yourself to care about the consequences anymore. Her touch was overwhelming, every kiss and bite sending jolts of pleasure through you. She alternated between using her toy and her hands, keeping you teetering on the edge but never quite letting you fall. "Beg for it," she whispered, her voice dark and playful as she hovered above you. "C'mon, Sugar, lemme hear it. Tell me how bad you want me to finish you off."

Your pride wavered, but the need coursing through you won out. "Please, Jinx," you gasped, your voice shaking. "I need you. Please."

She chuckled, clearly satisfied with your quick surrender. "That's more like it," she said, finally pressing the toy back against you. The sensation was overwhelming, and this time, she didn't stop, driving you higher and higher until you finally shattered, a cry escaping your lips as you came undone beneath her. Jinx didn't stop right away, drawing out your pleasure until you were trembling, your body spent and your mind hazy.

When she finally set the toy aside, she crawled up beside you, pulling you into her arms with surprising gentleness. "See?" she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Told ya it'd be fun."

You tilted your head up to meet her gaze, a small smile playing on your lips despite your exhaustion. "Guess I'm stuck with you then," you teased, your flirty nature peeking through even now.

Jinx grinned, her signature chaos in her expression, but there was something softer there, something that tugged at your heart. "Damn right you are. You're mine, babe. Every last gorgeous inch of you." Her fingers danced across your body, tracing the bruises she'd left, her eyes filled with pride as she admired her handiwork. You shivered under her touch, the sensitivity from her earlier teasing still lingering.

"Look at this," she mused, her tone somewhere between awe and glee. "You're a freakin' masterpiece, Sugar. Better than any of those shiny posters they plaster all over Piltover and Zaun."

You couldn't help but laugh softly, the sound weak but genuine. "You think so?"

"I know so," she said firmly, leaning down to nuzzle her face into your neck. "They see the bombshell, the glitz, and the glam, but I get this. I get the real you, all wrecked and perfect just for me." Her words sent warmth spreading through your chest, the vulnerability beneath her usual bravado making your heart ache. You reached up to cup her face, your thumb brushing against her cheek. "You're too good to me, you know that?"

Jinx snorted, pulling back just enough to smirk at you. "Too good? Babe, I'm a menace. But I guess l've got a soft spot for you."

"Lucky me," you teased, letting your fingers trail down to the nape of her neck. She leaned into your touch, her grin softening into something sweeter. "Damn right. You're the luckiest gal in all of Piltover, Zaun, maybe even Noxus." Her playful boasting earned another laugh from you, and she kissed you again, slower this time, her earlier fire giving way to something gentler. The kiss lingered, her lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made your chest tighten.

When she finally pulled away, she flopped down beside you, pulling you into her arms as if she couldn't bear to let you go. You rested your head on her chest, listening to the steady thrum of her heartbeat as your body relaxed into hers.

"Y'know," Jinx murmured, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back, "I used to look at those big, fancy posters of you and think, ‘She's way too good for someone like me!"

You tilted your head up to look at her, surprised by her confession. "Jinx..."

"But then I thought," she continued, her voice growing steadier, "what's life without a little chaos, right? And lucky for me, you're just as explosive as I am." Her words brought a smile to your lips, and you reached up to brush a strand of blue hair from her face. "Guess we make a pretty good match then, huh?"

She grinned, her manic energy shining through even in this quiet moment. "The best, Sugar." As the adrenaline from earlier began to fade, you let yourself sink into the warmth of her embrace, her steady presence grounding you. Despite the chaos that always seemed to follow Jinx, moments like this reminded you why you'd fallen for her in the first place.

banner: @anitalenia

taglist: @blazemaster4014 @st6rship @axoluxy @1nakitofan @redskye11 @cxcilla @evneedshozierrn @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @raspberry-lava @alduinworldeater11 @m00nd0v3 @idk2anym @emmy21842 @ladey @keysmashsstuff @blkmystery

[angrythingstarlight]

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DJt1UWoxhCl/?igsh=M3drNndlcTdsYXQy

This is such a Bucky and sweet Bee thing 😂🥹🥰 like did you ghostwrite or manifest this reel 😅

Bucky and our sweet Bee have been co-conspirators since she was born.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader, daughter nicknamed Bumblebee

CW: Fluff

WC: 1k

A/N: Part of the Bumblebee series.

You have to keep a constant eye on these two because the second you’re not paying attention, they’re up to something. Running off to some store or looking up how much a baby highland cow costs. And how to sneak said baby highland cow into the house.

Last week, you overhead them plotting ways to get you on the jet so they could spring an impromptu vacation to the Maldives on you. Bucky tossed out the idea of simply tossing you over his shoulder and taking you on the jet. Bee approved. And what Bee wants, Bee gets. Or so Bucky told you as he carried you to the plane.

The next night all of you were at a new restaurant, you wait until the orders placed and the drinks on their way to go the restroom. You leave Bee digging through your purse for her stash of crayons while Bucky places a few cloth napkins in front of her.

You're gone for less than five minutes. Just five.

You come back to an empty table and a wide eyed, slightly nervous waiter telling you that your husband and child will be back soon.

Bucky has Bee answer the phone when you call. The conversation is all too familiar. They’ve done this before.

He listens in, ignoring the salespeople rushing around him trying to locate the exact pieces he custom ordered before the jet landed.

“Hi, mommy. I can’t tells you. It’s our secrets. Okays. Yeah. My favorites too. Okays, I tells you a wittle bit. We gonna gets you—waits. Hi Papa. Okays. Mommy, we—we gonna sees you laters. Bye. Loves you.”

She hangs up, leaving you chuckling into your glass of wine.

In all fairness, Bucky doesn’t make you wait too long. The appetizers arrive just as your mobster strolls back in, everyone watching him make his back to the table.

You can’t blame them for staring. There’s something about him that’s magnetic, drawing attention effortlessly. Maybe it’s because he looks so damn good in his dark grey suit, tattoos peeking past his sleeves, and that signature smirk on his bearded face. Could be the way he’s attentively doting on the little girl in his arms that has every woman in this place swooning. Bee is adorable in her fluffy white and pink striped dress, her head tilted back as she talks, a small white bag with a black logo in her hand.

Bee stops mid-sentence when she sees you, a smile brightens her face. “Hi Mommy.”

“Hey sweet Bee.”

Bucky leans down, setting her on the chair next to you, leaning over to sweep his lips across yours. “Hi Malyshka,” he murmurs with a teasing grin.

“James.” Your eyes roll, but he can read you better than his favorite book, he knows you’re happy to see him and that you’re curious about what they did. He gives you another kiss before he takes his seat. His blue eyes flicker between you and Bee. She’s squeezing the bag between her hands, brimming with excitement, he gives her a brief nod.

Bee empties the bag on the table, two small velvet boxes tumble out, one knocks against your plate with a faint clink. “Oops. I gots it,” she says, picking them up and holding them in front of your face. Little fingers wrapped around cobalt blue cloud your vision. “Prise!”

Leaning back, you take one and pop it open. Your heart melts. Just gone in a puddle of sheer happiness. In your periphery, you see Bucky, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, a pleased grin breaking through.

You want to appear unfazed, tease him a bit, tell him he can’t keep doing this. Can’t keep spoiling you like this.

But you can’t. The words won’t form.

Not when you’re gazing down at a pretty bumblebee locket, your baby’s initials etched into the hand-carved wings. Bee snaps open the other box, revealing a heart-shaped locket, lined with gorgeous pink diamonds.

“Its for us Mommy,” she says, switching the boxes and opening her locket. You gently trace a finger over the photos of you and Bucky. These are from New Year’s, you let Bee use your camera to take pictures of the city before the countdown. It wasn’t until later that you found the ones she took of you two. “You loves it?”

“I do.” Tears prick at your eyes as whatever is left of your melting heart warms your chest.

Bucky’s smirk fades into something softer, sincere. His hand brushes down your arm and he rests his chin on your shoulder. “Look at yours Malyshka,” he asks, voice deep and thoughtful.

The locket opens with a soft snick. You recognize the photos. You have them on your desk. Baby Bee and her toothless grin, the one you could never get enough of. Bucky, the night he proposed, looking up at you, the passionate emotions captured in his eyes always make your breath hitch.

“Its perfect,” you breathe out.

“Always is,” Bucky responds, his gaze drifting across your face. He can’t imagine anything more perfect than you. And little Bee.

“Thank you. This is amazing.”

Bee wiggles in her chair, legs swinging. “You welcomes.”

Bucky says nothing, happy to let his baby take all the credit. He places the locket around your neck and does the same for Bee. Topped off with a kiss on the lips for you, one on the forehead for her.

Dinner goes by too fast. Cherished memories you’re going to store away, right next to all the other incredible moments in your life. You take it all in. The delicious food is made even better by the bite or two stolen from each other’s plates. Excellent wine. Bee’s apple juice. Your hand in Bucky’s. His arm around your shoulders. The sounds of the band unnoticed over shared laughter and Bee’s wildly imaginative stories about Mr. Tato and Elmo.

And the heart-shaped locket warming against your skin as the sun sets.

Life is good.

You’ll never be able to stop these from conspiring against you, but you’re about to one-up them. Give them something that can’t be bought in stores.

[starynightskyyy]

Warnings: smut, cnc, choking, mentions of pregnancy, daddy kinks, really intense smut. The first few parts were inspired by a post from @toweranne

Summary: After you tease your mate Jacob for the fifth time by coming to his house in short shorts, he finally snaps.

The air was thick with motor oil, pine, and that unmistakable scent that was just Jacob—earthy, warm, intoxicating. You sat perched on his beat-up workbench, legs swinging, the hem of your shorts riding up just a little higher each time he glanced your way. He was leaning under the hood of his rebuilt Rabbit, shirtless, his bronze skin glowing under the harsh fluorescent lights. Muscles flexed with every twist of his wrench, sweat trailing down the line of his spine as he worked. Jacob emerges from under the hood, wiping his greasy hands on a rag. His eyes immediately find you, a wolfish grin spreading across his face

"Hey, beautiful, you just gonna sit there and watch me work all day?" He stalks towards you, radiating heat and raw magnetism.

“I thought you liked me watching,” you teased. Jacob stepped closer, every movement smooth and predatory, like a wolf circling prey — except you weren’t scared. You were aching. “I do,” he said, voice lower now. “I like it a lot.” His hands found your thighs, large and hot against your skin as he stepped between your legs. The energy shifted — electric, magnetic. You felt it hum through you, pooling in your stomach. “You always wear the little shorts when you come here."

His hands slide higher, fingers digging into your flesh possessively. The rag falls forgotten to the ground as he presses closer, caging you against the workbench

"Mmm, testing my control again?" He leans in, breath hot against your neck. "Those shorts are gonna be the death of me, you know that? Are they for me?” He teased, referencing the shorts. “Maybe,” you breathed, trying not to squirm under his touch. “And if it is?”

Jacob growls low in his throat, his hips pinning you firmly against the bench. The hard outline of his arousal presses against you, making him groan softly

"You want me that bad, baby? Been thinking about getting my hands on you all day…" He trails wet kisses along your jaw.

“I’ve been trying to be good,” he growled, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck. “Trying to take my time. But you make it so hard, baby.” Your hands travelled up his back, nails lightly scraping his shoulder blades. “Maybe I don’t want you to be good.” Jacob froze for half a second. Then — gone. The leash snapped. He crashed his lips into yours, hot and hungry, devouring your breath like he couldn’t get enough.

His hands are everywhere now, frantic and desperate as he claims your mouth. The scent of your arousal is driving him wild, making his head spin with desire "Fuck being good..." He tears at your shorts, literally ripping them in his haste. "You're mine to ruin right now," you groaned. "Fuck, ruin me. That's what I come here every day hoping for,"

Jacob's eyes flash gold with primal need, his wolf nature taking over completely. He grabs your thighs and lifts you up, slamming you down on the hood of his car

"You want it rough?" He yanks down his jeans, freeing his throbbing cock. "Hold on tight, princess." Your eyes widen at the sheer size of his cock. He was huge. How that was going to fit, you had no idea.

Jacob notices your expression and smirks, stroking himself slowly while watching your reaction

"That scared look on your face just makes me want to destroy you more… Don't worry, I'll make it fit." He positions himself at your entrance. You spread your legs wide, your sopping cunt exposed for him to see.

With a possessive snarl, he thrusts into you in one powerful movement, stretching you to your limit

"Fucking perfect…" He holds you down, not letting you adjust as he starts pounding into you. "So tight for me, baby…" Your eyes widened, and you shrieked in pleasure as he filled you up in one thrust. Your walls tried to adjust, but he was railing you before you could get the chance. It felt amazing.

His pace becomes brutal, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the garage

"Taking my cock so well…" He grabs your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you lightheaded. "Such a good girl for daddy…" You whimpered at his lewd words and how well he was pounding you. Your hands gripped his forearms, nails sinking into the bronze skin, leaving crescent marks.

Jacob leans forward, his massive frame covering you completely. The metal hood beneath you is scorching hot from his body heat

"You're gonna cum on my cock right here, on my car. Show daddy how much you love it." He angles his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you. You screamed. You could swear his tip was in your womb from how deep he was in you.

Jacob growls with approval, fucking you through your screams. He lifts your legs higher, folding you in half and pressing your knees to your chest

"I can feel you clenching… You want me to fill you up with my pups? Make you all swollen with my babies?" You tried to speak, but all that came out were moans and incoherent babbles, so you just nodded instead.

He slams his hips harder, pistoning in and out at an animalistic pace, his knot starting to swell. His wolf features starting to emerge more noticeably, fangs sharpening and claws digging into your flesh

"Gonna breed you right here… mark you as mine forever…" His voice becomes guttural, driven by pure animalistic instinct. You gripped his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself. You were so close, the knot in your stomach tightening like a coil, ready to explode.

Jacob's knot fully forms, locking him inside you as he roars out your name. His release hits him hard, pumping you full of his hot, thick cum, mixing with your own juices

"Cum for me… Now!" He bites down on your shoulder, hard enough to make a deep claiming mark, his wolf bite. The bite pushed you over the edge. Your head fell back and you screamed, cumming hard. white liquid oozed from both your bodies down the shiny hood of his car.

Jacob laps at the blood from his bite, holding you close as he pours his seed into you, filling you to the brim. His chest heaves with exhaustion, but satisfaction shines in his eyes as he sees the mark on your shoulder.

"That's my girl… Mine forever." He strokes your hair tenderly, still buried deep inside you, his knot keeping you both connected. You panted, biting your lip. "Fuck, Jake. That was so good."

He chuckles, pulling you up to sit on him. The movement causes his cock to shift, making you gasp again

"Better than usual, huh? Guess you really did want to be ruined today. I should make you come to the garage more often…" He kisses your temple. You smirked. "I'm not opposed to that. Not at all," you said between pants before collapsing forward into his arms.

Jacob returns the kiss passionately, his knot finally starting to deflate, but not pulling out just yet. He breaks away to pepper your face with gentle kisses

"Love you so much, baby girl… I can feel you milking me for more. Such a needy little mate." He looks down at your stomach. "I wonder how many pups I've put in you."

[orellazalonia]

Heart First, Sanity Later

Summary: You, a dangerously chaotic genius with the common sense of a soggy spoon, somehow captures the heart of Bucky Barnes. Despite the constant emotional whiplash, raccoon-related injuries, and deeply cursed inventions, Bucky finds himself falling hard… somewhere between a Capri Sun intervention robot and a vent-related rescue. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: This was based on this post I came across from @ghouljams earlier. Please let me know if you want me to remove any of the information you listed here.

Word Count: 3.4k+

A/N: I had a blast writing this and I am begging on my hands and knees that other people like this as well so I can write more of unhinged reader. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Sequel | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist

Bucky didn’t mean to get attached. In fact, he very specifically meant not to get attached to you.

You, with your wide smile and increasingly concerning decision-making skills. You, who walked into a briefing ten minutes late with a Slurpee, claimed you got “time-displaced,” and then flawlessly identified the year, model, and VIN of a car from a blurry photo Tony handed out. “That’s a 1972 Chevelle SS,” You’d said casually. “But the rims are from a later model. 1976, I think.”

He stared at you. Everyone did.

You slurped. “What?”

Later, Bucky watched you put your phone in the fridge, forget about it, then ask him if he’d “seen a text from 7-Eleven recently.” You didn’t even seem high. That was the worst part. You just… existed like that. All the time.

A living contradiction. A walking cosmic joke. The human version of a browser with 72 tabs open, one playing music, none labeled, and all of them about wildly different topics ranging from “theoretical wormhole stability” to “can ducks feel shame.”

And the worst part? You were insanely good at your job.

When it came to the field, you moved like you’d choreographed every punch in advance. Like your brain hit a switch and rerouted all the loose marbles into sheer precision.

But outside of that? Absolute chaos.

One time you asked if the word “colonel” was a typo because you’d only ever read it.

"Why is it spelled like 'colon-el'?” You’d asked Bucky, eating popcorn with a throwing knife for apparently no reason. “Like. You’re telling me we all just agreed to ignore the 'L'?”

He blinked slowly. “Yes.”

“Sounds fake but okay.”

He wanted to strangle you. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to wrap you in a blanket and take you to a doctor because no one should eat four bananas and not know why their stomach hurts. (“I thought they were like… nature’s snack bars!” You’d wailed from the floor. “Why does nature lie?”)

Still, there was something undeniably magnetic about you. Something that made Bucky keep finding excuses to be around you. Something that made him bite back a smile when you declared, with utter confidence, that “Citizen Kane” was a man’s full name and you “felt bad for him growing up with that.”

Sam had to leave the room. Steve looked like he aged five years. Bucky? He just leaned back in his chair and muttered, “You’re so lucky you’re pretty.”

You beamed. “I know, right?”

And that was just the beginning.

-

Bucky knew it the moment you turned to him in the middle of a high-stakes infiltration and whispered:

“Hey. Do you think raccoons ever get embarrassed?”

He froze mid-step, crouched beside you behind a cluster of storage crates, both of you watching a Hydra compound patrol pace along the wall ahead. Guns primed. Comms live. Two minutes to breach.

You blinked at him, eyes wide and totally serious about the question in the entirely inappropriate setting.

“What?” He hissed.

You frowned thoughtfully, like he was the weird one. “They have those little hands, right? Like… what if one drops its snack in front of another raccoon. Is that, like, raccoon shame? Do they feel judged?”

Bucky stared. He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating. It had been a long week after all.

Then you added, “Anyway, two guards approaching. They’ll pass each other in about four seconds. I can take the left. You want the one with the scar?”

You didn’t even wait for an answer. Your body vanished into the shadows, clean and calculated. Three seconds later, both guards were unconscious and being gently rolled into the bushes like unwanted pizza boxes.

Bucky just stood there, breathing. You terrified him but not in the way enemies did. No, that would be too simple. Because he could fight Hydra, take a bullet, disarm a bomb, but you?

You were something else. A walking contradiction.

You once tripped over your own shoelaces while explaining quantum theory, then beat four highly trained operatives unconscious with a clipboard. You called a Glock a “grippy lil’ pew stick” but recited the Geneva Convention word-for-word because you “liked bedtime reading.”

And tonight was no different.

By the time the mission was done, the intel recovered, and the building cleared, Bucky was sore, bruised, and fully convinced that he was doomed. Because somewhere between the absurd commentary, the flawless fighting, and the way you wiped blood from your brow and grinned at him like you weren’t covered in chaos, he felt it.

That thing. The awful, nauseating, heart-clutching feeling.

Affection.

It hit him in the middle of your post-mission debrief, which mostly consisted of you sitting on the quinjet floor, drinking chocolate milk out of a thermos and recounting the entire op like it was a cute story you were telling children.

“And then I was like, Bam! right to the neck, and he just went down like a sack of sad potatoes. Did you see that? You saw that, right, Buck? I did the thing with the kick!”

He didn’t answer. He was looking at you like you’d grown a second head or like how you were the only thing stuck in his head these days. God, you were awful.

You had blood on your elbow and half your gear undone. You were sprawled out on the floor like a sleep-deprived gremlin, and when you looked up at him and smiled, like he was the only person in the world who mattered… He was done. Gone.

“You okay there, Grumpypants?” You asked.

“I think I might hate you,” He muttered, sitting down beside you.

You grinned, bumping his shoulder with yours. “That’s fair. I’m an acquired taste. Like oysters. Or war crimes.”

He barked a laugh before he could stop it. You looked so proud.

“I’m serious,” He said, sobering. “You’re gonna get yourself killed one day. You don’t take anything seriously.”

You just stared at him for a moment, and then, quietly, you said, “I take you seriously.”

The jet went quiet.

And Bucky sat very, very still because somehow, that hit harder than any mission ever had.

You weren’t just funny. Or weird. Or brilliant in a way that made his head hurt.

You were kind. Kind in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Like you saw through the Winter Soldier and the scowl and the kill count, and you still chose to sit beside him, sipping chocolate milk and talking about raccoon shame.

And Bucky Barnes, world-weary assassin, trauma-laden super-soldier, turned to you and realized:

He was fucked.

In love with a person who once confidently said “quinoa” was pronounced “kin-oh-ah” and didn’t believe him when he corrected you.

You looked up from your thermos. “You’re doing the staring thing again. Am I bleeding from the ear?”

“No,” Bucky said, voice low. “You’re just…”

“Sexy?” You offered helpfully.

“…Terrifying.”

You winked. “Same difference.”

And Bucky Barnes, against all logic, reason, and survival instinct, knew he was already in too deep.

-

The next mission had gone off without a hitch… at least, for everyone except Bucky.

A few cuts here, a couple of bruises there, but nothing too serious. At least, that’s what he told himself as he sat on the edge of the quinjet, feeling the burn in his shoulder from a bullet graze. But the moment you walked into the medbay with a roll of bandages in your hand, it was like everything inside him twisted in a way he couldn’t explain.

“Okay, Bucky. Time to let the master do her magic,” You said, flashing that grin of yours, the one that always made his heart do weird, involuntary things.

Bucky blinked, trying to shake the disoriented feeling. “You’re the one who got shot today. Why am I the one getting patched up?”

“Because I’m immortal,” You said matter-of-factly. “Also, I’m not bleeding anywhere you can see, so that’s a bonus.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You’re immortal?”

You sat down beside him, rolling your sleeves up. “No, but I like to pretend I am. You know, like a cooler superhero.”

He winced slightly as you poked at his side. “That’s what I’m dealing with, huh?”

“You love it,” You teased, squeezing out some antiseptic onto a cotton pad.

“You��re lucky I haven’t thrown you out of a plane for this,” Bucky muttered, though he couldn’t stop the faint grin from tugging at his lips.

“Not gonna lie, I’d be mad if you did,” You admitted, gently dabbing at his side. “Also, I’d haunt you. I know how to haunt people. I’ve read a lot of books about ghosts.”

He chuckled, despite himself. “Of course you have.”

“Oh, absolutely. I even have a theory about why the Titanic sank, and it’s completely different from the official one. But I’m telling you right now, it’s not what they say.”

Bucky glanced over at you, eyebrow raised. “This I gotta hear.”

You leaned closer, lowering your voice dramatically as if revealing state secrets. “Okay, so. It wasn’t an iceberg that caused the sinking. It was actually the government trying to erase all evidence of the giant squid they were experimenting on, and they blamed it on the iceberg to cover up the real cause.”

Bucky blinked, unsure whether you were serious or not. “Wait, what?” He asked slowly.

You looked at him deadpan. “You didn’t hear the rumors? They found footage, you know. The squid was huge. It even had tentacles.”

He stared at you, speechless.

"Anyway," You continued, as if you hadn’t just suggested the world’s greatest conspiracy, "What we do know is that my bandage technique is flawless. See this?" You lifted a corner of the bandage to show him a perfect wrap around his side.

Bucky blinked. "Did you just distract me with a giant squid theory while you patched me up?"

“Absolutely.” You beamed at him. “Works every time. Just don’t tell anyone you’re in love with me because I’m not responsible for any heart attacks.”

Bucky froze, his heartbeat suddenly in his throat.

You were still so nonchalant. Still so you, so damn confident and so sure of yourself. It took everything in him not to lean in and kiss you right there.

But then, you looked up at him, and for the briefest moment, that smile of yours softened. “You’re good, Bucky,” You said quietly. “You’ve been through more shit than any of us. But you’re still here. That’s something, you know?”

His chest tightened.

“And you know what?” You continued, your voice so much softer now, like a quiet reassurance. “You don’t have to be a soldier all the time. Sometimes, you can just be Bucky.”

He swallowed, looking at you. “And what about you?”

“Oh, me? I’m a mess,” You shrugged, finally looking away, as if it was no big deal. “I’m just here to make the chaos look cute.”

Your eyes flicked back to him, that familiar teasing glint in them. “That’s my secret. You like it.”

Bucky chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He wanted to say something, wanted to admit something. That little voice in his head kept screaming at him to just say it already, but he was scared. He was scared of how deep you had burrowed under his skin, of how easy it was to forget everything else when you were around.

Instead, he just leaned forward and cupped your face, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “You’re… something else, you know that?”

You blinked at him in surprise, your lips parted, as if trying to process the sudden shift in the air. For a moment, there was a palpable tension between the two of you, like the universe was holding its breath, waiting for one of you to do something.

But then, in your usual way, you broke it, shrugging with a grin. “I know. You’re welcome.”

Bucky’s heart did a weird flip, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to truly relax, just a little. He didn’t want to admit it. Not yet. Not even to himself.

But as you leaned in to finish wrapping his side, your hand brushing his skin lightly, he knew he was already in way too deep.

-

The next incident started with a toaster. Not even a cool toaster. Just a boring, silver Stark-issued kitchen appliance that you were suspiciously proud of. You’d taken it apart and rebuilt it but “better.” No one asked you to. No one gave you permission. You just did it.

“Now it sings the SpongeBob theme when your toast is done,” You explained, beaming as you held up a slice of whole wheat like it was a golden ticket.

Bucky stared at you. “You tampered with government property.”

“Enhanced.” You corrected. “And before you ask, no, I will not apologize. This is the future.”

Then it sang. “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?” BWEEEEEP - Toast done.

Bucky looked like he was praying for divine intervention. “You’re gonna get us all court-martialed over this.”

Two hours later, you were banned from the kitchen, which didn’t stop you from relocating to the common area with your newest project: building what you claimed was a “mousetrap but for anxiety.”

It was made of pipe cleaners, glow sticks, and what might’ve been a dismantled Roomba.

“I call her Deborah,” You said, gently stroking it. “She senses emotional instability and gives you a juice box.”

As if on cue, it whirred over to Bucky, bumped into his leg, and slowly offered him a Capri Sun.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I’m not drinking that.”

“Then she thinks you’re too far gone. She’s very wise.”

Steve walked in, surveyed the scene, and simply turned around without speaking. He didn’t even ask anymore.

Later that night, Bucky caught you in the hallway attempting to climb into the ceiling with a flashlight between your teeth and a jar of pickles under your arm.

“Do I want to know?” He asked, exhausted.

You paused halfway into a vent, dropping the flashlight briefly. “Depends. Do you believe in ceiling gremlins?”

“No.”

“Then I’m doing taxes.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Please. I’m begging you. Come down.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then slowly slid back out like a raccoon emerging from a trash can. “Okay. But only because you asked nicely and not because I got stuck.”

You had absolutely gotten stuck. And the worst part? He was smitten.

Every time you did something completely absurd, which was always, he found himself watching you a little too long, smiling a little too much, wondering what the hell you were going to do next and why it made his chest ache in a weirdly pleasant way.

Even now, covered in ceiling dust and holding a pickle jar, you looked up at him with that infuriatingly endearing grin.

“You’re in love with me,” You stated confidently.

Bucky blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” You popped a pickle in your mouth. “You’ve got that look. Like a grumpy cat who accidentally cuddled someone and doesn’t want to admit it.”

“I do not look like-“

“It's okay. You don’t have to say it.” You patted his chest affectionately. “Your body language screams ‘emotionally unavailable man finds chaotic cryptid and feels things.’”

“I am not emotionally unavailable.”

“You have a go bag, Bucky.”

“…That’s standard protocol.”

“Your toothbrush is still in the packaging.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. You’d won. Again.

“You’re gonna kiss me one day,” You said as you walked past him, pickle jar under one arm, flashlight in your other hand. “And when you do, I’m gonna be so smug you’ll try to throw yourself off the building.”

Bucky stood there in the hall, alone, heart doing its dumb little thudding thing. He hated you. He adored you. And he was never getting that toothbrush insult out of his head.

-

When the big moment happened, It wasn’t a big mission. It wasn’t even a real mission. It was just supposed to be recon.

And yet somehow, you were sitting on the floor of a dusty, abandoned warehouse with a concussion, holding a broken walkie-talkie like it personally betrayed you.

“Okay, but in my defense,” You slurred slightly, “I didn’t know the raccoon had a knife.”

Bucky stared at you, expression unreadable, as blood dripped slowly from your temple.

“You ran into an unmarked building alone, set off three alarms, fell through a skylight, and got jumped by wildlife.”

You held up a finger. “Armed wildlife.”

He ran a hand down his face.

“I swear to God, you are one poorly timed pun away from getting locked in a broom closet until the end of time.”

You blinked up at him. “Kinky.”

He turned away so fast you could almost hear his brain blue-screen. “Jesus Christ.”

But when he looked back at you: your lip bloodied, eyes dazed, hair full of insulation from where you’d crashed through the ceiling like a chaotic Christmas angel, something in his chest snapped.

You were always like this. Impossible. Endearing. Brilliant in the most horrifying ways. A human Wikipedia article with a death wish and a spark in your eyes that made him forget, just for a second, that the world was awful.

And that spark was flickering. Just a little. And he hated it.

“You can’t keep doing this,” He began, voice tight. “You can’t keep treating your life like it’s expendable.”

You blinked slowly. “That sounds fake. I’m clearly immortal.”

“I’m serious.” He crouched in front of you, fists clenched. “You run into every situation like you’re bulletproof, and you’re not. One day, I’m not gonna be there to drag your dumbass out of a flaming building or disarm a guy who has a bazooka made of forks or- or whatever the hell today was!”

“It was a raccoon with a grudge.”

“That’s not a thing!”

You stared at him in silence for a beat, then said, very softly, “You’re worried about me.”

He froze.

“I’m always worried about you,” He said, almost too quiet to hear. “You think I wake up every day wondering what country I’ll have to fly to because you thought jumping off a roof would ‘probably be fine’ if you landed in a bush?!”

You tilted your head. “It was a very fluffy bush.”

”I love you, you absolute menace!”

Silence. You blinked. Then he blinked. Somewhere in the warehouse, a raccoon chittered menacingly.

“…You love me?” You echoed, like he’d just said he wanted to marry a zucchini.

Bucky looked like he might actually combust. “I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“Say it like what?”

“Like I love you. Which I do. But I was gonna do it after, like… dinner. Or when you weren’t bleeding.”

“Is this why you made me tea every time I electrocuted myself?”

“Yes!”

“And why you punched that guy who called me a liability?”

“Also yes!”

“And why you didn’t kill me when I installed motion sensors in the hallway and forgot to tell anyone?”

“I almost killed you.”

You were quiet for a long moment. Then: “Okay.”

He blinked. “Okay?”

You nodded, still loopy but smiling now. “Okay. I love you too.”

He stared. “You do?”

“Yeah. I mean, why else would I let you eat the last cookie that one time? Or give Deborah full permission to follow you around and scan your emotional damage like a clingy Roomba?”

He laughed, just once, short and stunned.

You leaned forward and poked his chest with one finger. “Also, I have a very deep fondness for emotionally repressed war criminals. It’s kind of my thing.”

Bucky groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet. You’re in love with me.”

“I’m regretting it deeply.”

“No you’re not.” You smiled that crooked, chaotic smile that had ruined his life in the best way.

And despite everything, the dust, the blood, the deeply traumatized raccoon now watching you both from the shadows, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was gentle. Just for a second. As if to say, Yes. You’re chaos incarnate. But you’re mine.

When he pulled back, it was silent for a moment. Both of you looking in each other’s eyes before you whispered, “Did you just kiss me in front of a knife raccoon?”

Bucky exhaled slowly, already regretting all his life choices. “God help me. I did.”

[idkyetxoxo]

Cregan Stark - Everyday

Summary - Cregan Stark is the embodiment of power and untamed beauty, a man who commands attention. His wife finds herself utterly consumed by his presence, unable to resist the magnetic pull of her fierce husband. In his arms, restraint is not an option—only surrender.

Pairing - Cregan Stark x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!!)

Word count - 2781

Masterlist for Cregan • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Anytime I'm alone, I can't help thinking about you. All I want, all I need, honestly, it's just me and you.

My husband is nothing short of a force of nature—a man who commands attention with every step he takes. 

I count myself among the fortunate few, graced by a marriage that most maidens can only dream of. 

The stars had aligned for me, for I had found my match in a man of extraordinary strength and heart.

Cregan Stark—he was no mere man. He was a vision of raw power and untamed beauty. 

His presence alone could steal the breath from your lungs. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark eyes that seemed to hold the weight of the world, he was everything I had ever desired and more. 

A fierce warrior, a devoted lord, and a husband who made my heart race with a single glance.

One morning, as I strolled lazily through the snow-dusted courtyard of Winterfell, I was interrupted by a sight that made my pulse quicken. 

There, in the far corner of the yard, was my husband—shirtless, a rarity in this bitter cold. 

I stopped dead in my tracks, mesmerized. His muscular frame glistened with beads of sweat, his movements powerful and controlled as he chopped wood with effortless precision.

I watched, captivated, my heart thudding in my chest. The sight of him, so commanding and yet so intimate in his labour, was nothing short of intoxicating. 

The snowflakes that fell around us seemed to pause, the whole world holding its breath as I admired the magnificent man before me.

Unable to tear my eyes away, I took a step forward, crossing my arms over my chest as I bit my lip, trying to reign in the desire that surged within me. 

"Dear husband?" I called, my voice barely above a whisper, a playful edge to it.

He paused mid-swing, his piercing gaze locking onto mine. A slow, confident smile spread across his face, the kind of smile that could melt stone. 

His broad chest expanded as he took a breath, his muscles flexing as he leaned casually on the massive axe he held, as if the task at hand were no challenge at all.

"Yes, my love?" he asked, his voice rich with warmth, the corners of his mouth still tugging upward.

I couldn't hide the way my eyes wandered, tracing the outline of his chest, the faint glisten of sweat on his skin, the strength in his arms that could easily break wood—or any obstacle that came between him and those he loved. 

"Why have you taken up such a task yourself?" I asked though I knew full well the answer was likely less about necessity and more about the sheer force of his will.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with one hand, still holding the axe in the other, and shrugged nonchalantly. 

"A mere distraction, my sweet," he replied with a gleam in his eye, effortlessly splitting a log in half, the wood yielding to his strength as if it were nothing more than kindling.

"A distraction?" I teased, unable to suppress the playful glint in my eyes. "Or an opportunity to look so... ravishing?" The words slipped from my lips before I could stop them, and I felt the heat of my own words burn in my cheeks.

His brows arched in that way of his, the one that told me he was intrigued—and perhaps a little pleased with my flattery. 

He tilted his head slightly, studying me with that same intensity that made me feel like the only woman in the world.

"Ah, you flatter me, my love," he said, his smile deepening as he set the axe down, clearly aware of the effect he had on me. 

And I, utterly lost in him, couldn't help but relish the feeling of being so completely captivated by the man I had married.

The evening had descended upon Winterfell, cloaking the castle in a deep, silvery night. A chill had taken hold of the air, but inside the great hall, the fire burned bright and warm. 

The room had been filled with lords and advisors, their voices heavy with matters of war and strategy. 

Yet, amid the debates and discussions, there was only one man who commanded the room without ever raising his voice: Cregan Stark.

My husband stood at the head of the table, the very embodiment of authority and strength. His posture was straight, his presence magnetic. 

Every lord, every noble in that room, hung on his every word. Cregan's dark eyes flickered with a sharpness that cut through the noise, and when he spoke, his voice was like the rumble of thunder—low, powerful, and impossible to ignore. 

He was the Lord of Winterfell, and every inch of him bore the weight of that title with ease. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty in his command. His power was undeniable.

I watched him from the far side of the room, mesmerized by how effortlessly he dominated the space, how easily he commanded respect. His every movement was deliberate, his every glance a reminder of the fire and resolve that burned within him. 

His presence radiated strength, and in that moment, I was overwhelmed by the sheer force of his masculinity. He was magnificent, fierce, ravishing, and yet entirely at ease with himself.

When the last of the lords had filed out of the room, their steps echoing off the stone walls, I found myself unable to tear my eyes away from him. 

He stood still at the head of the table, his broad shoulders squared, his posture as proud and powerful as a wolf in the wild. 

The way he stood, so effortlessly commanding and unyielding, made my heart race.

As the heavy wooden doors creaked closed behind the last of the lords, I knew it was my moment. I crossed the room quickly, my footsteps light, almost hurried, as if I couldn't wait another moment. 

Reaching the door, I locked it with a soft click, my pulse quickening as I turned to face him.

Cregan was already looking at me, his brow slightly furrowed in a question. He hadn't moved from his spot, his gaze steady, but there was a flicker of curiosity in those dark eyes. 

His expression was unreadable as if he were waiting for me to make the next move.

I stood there for a heartbeat, the air between us thick with unspoken words. I could feel the heat of the fire on my back, but all I could see was him—my fierce, beautiful husband. 

He was still dressed in his dark furs, the black of his cloak flowing over his broad shoulders, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breath. 

He was the very image of strength, of power, and of a man who had conquered not just lands, but hearts—mine included.

I swallowed my voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the room. "Cregan..." His name fell from my lips like a prayer, as if it held all the reverence and awe I felt for him.

His lips curled into that familiar, knowing smile—the smile that told me he knew exactly what I was thinking. The smile that made my heart skip a beat.

"You seem... eager, my love," he remarked, his deep voice low and almost teasing.

I couldn't help but laugh softly, but it was a sound filled with longing, a sound that came from somewhere deep within. I took a step toward him, my eyes never leaving his. 

"How could I not be?" I replied, my voice thick with desire, my chest tightening with the magnetic pull he always had over me. 

"After watching you command a room full of lords, so fierce and so...ravishing." I paused, the words tasting sweet on my tongue, and then added, "You are something else entirely, Cregan Stark."

He chuckled a low sound that reverberated through me, making my knees feel weak. His gaze softened just a fraction, though the power he exuded never wavered. 

"Is that so?" he asked, taking a slow step toward me, the power of his presence like a wave crashing over me.

My breath hitched in my chest as I felt the distance between us close. I could see the glint of amusement in his eyes, but there was something more—a deep, smouldering heat that burned just beneath the surface. 

He was just as affected by this moment as I was, even if he tried to hide it.

By the time he reached me, my knees felt like they might give way, and still, he hadn't touched me. I ached for it, for him.

I reached out, my fingers brushing the furs of his cloak, feeling the strength of him beneath my touch. 

"You've made me lose all sense of restraint," I whispered, my voice barely audible, yet laden with yearning. I took another step toward him, and now there was no space left between us. 

And then, there was no distance left—my body was pressed up against his, my skin alight with the feel of him. 

His heat seared through the layers between us, and I wanted to strip them all away, feel the raw intensity of him against me, inside me.

Cregan's eyes darkened, and for a moment, I could see the battle in him—between the man of duty and the man who was all mine. 

But before I could speak, before I could beg for more, he moved, his hand gently cupping my face as he leaned down, brushing his lips against mine. 

The kiss was slow, deliberate, and impossibly deep. It spoke of everything we'd kept buried, of the wild, untamed hunger that had been simmering between us all along.

In that moment, I knew. There was no resisting him. Not now, not ever. 

This man—this fierce, ravishing, untamable force of nature—had consumed me. He had captured my heart, my body, and my soul. 

And I would let him take it all.

"I need you," I murmured against his lips, already tearing away the layers of fabric between us, my hands shaking with the desperation that had been building all day. "I need you so bad."

His voice was a dark rasp when he finally responded, the words sending a shiver of anticipation down my spine. "Well, my sweet, I'm in no position to deny you."

In one swift motion, he lifted me effortlessly, his strength making my breath catch in my throat. 

He laid me across the dark wood of the table behind us, his eyes locked onto mine, filled with a possessiveness that made my pulse race. "Not now. Not ever."

"Good," I gasped, my chest rising and falling with every breath as he began to kiss his way down my body, his mouth leaving fire in its wake.

My hands roamed over his torso, seeking the hard, aching length of him. When I found it, I stroked him slowly, the sensation sending a soft moan from his lips that echoed in my very soul.

"Please," I whimpered, my voice trembling with need, my eyes never leaving his as I begged for more.

He nodded, his breath shallow, his expression a mixture of control and the primal need that mirrored my own. 

He positioned himself at my entrance, and the moment he entered me, I felt it—a flood of satisfaction, of relief, of pure, unadulterated pleasure that washed through every fibre of my being.

The rhythm he set was savage, the power of his thrusts unrelenting. Each movement was a slow burn of bliss, a relentless pleasure that stole my breath, that made me ache for more. 

The way he filled me, the way he moved in and out of me with such force, was nothing short of divine.

Loud moans tumbled from my lips as his hips slammed against mine, filling me completely before pulling out entirely, only to do it all over again. 

Each thrust, each pulse, was pure ecstasy. I felt as though I was floating, lost in the waves of sensation, consumed by him.

Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes, the pleasure so intense it threatened to overtake me. He saw them, his gaze softening just for a moment before he spoke, his voice low, rough with need.

"Am I hurting you, or can you take it like that, love?" His words were like fire, fanning the flames that already raged inside me.

I nodded quickly, unable to trust my voice, unable to do anything but surrender.

"Please," I finally managed, the word barely a whisper as I clung to him. "Don't stop."

And he didn't.

The world around me seemed to fade away as he continued to move inside me, each stroke sending shocks of pleasure through my entire body until everything blurred into one overwhelming, scorching sensation. 

My legs trembled beneath me, unable to keep steady, and I gripped the edge of the table for support, but there was no escape from him, from the power he wielded over me.

He was unrelenting, his thrusts precise, building me higher and higher, teasing me with the promise of something even more. 

Each time he withdrew, I felt a pang of longing, a desperate need to feel him deep inside me again, to be filled, consumed. But then he would return to me, faster, harder, taking me to places I didn't even know existed. 

My body was on fire, wracked with pleasure, each motion of his hips drawing me closer to the edge.

"Don't hold back, love," he whispered, his voice dark with desire, pulling me closer, his hand sliding between us to trace delicate circles over my swollen, aching clit. 

The sensation sent a jolt of electricity through me, and I couldn't hold back the desperate moan that escaped my lips.

"Please, please..." I whimpered, my mind lost in the haze of sensation, my body trembling violently.

"Let go, my sweet," he growled, his own breath ragged as he felt the change in me, as I began to unravel under his touch. "I've got you."

And then, just as I thought I might shatter into a million pieces, he pushed me over the edge. A wave of pure, unadulterated bliss crashed through me, my back arching violently as the pleasure consumed every inch of me. 

My body trembled uncontrollably, my legs spasming, my entire being lit up in a way I had never known.

I couldn't stop the cries that spilt from my lips as the climax ripped through me, leaving me breathless, every muscle in my body twitching as the world spun around me. 

His name fell from my mouth in a breathless whisper, my body shaking beneath his touch, consumed by a heat that left me utterly undone.

He didn't stop, didn't give me a moment to recover before he was right there with me again, pushing me further, making me feel things I could hardly comprehend. 

I was dizzy, disoriented, and yet he made me crave more, made me beg for everything he had to give.

When I finally came down from the dizzying high, my body still trembling, I felt like I couldn't stand. 

My legs were weak, shaking beneath me, and I knew there was no way I could move without him. His arms wrapped around me, lifting me gently, as if I were something fragile, something precious, and it only made me feel even more vulnerable, more exposed, more entirely his.

He held me as though I were the only thing that mattered, his touch softening, but the heat in his gaze never wavered. 

I was overwhelmed by the intensity of what had just happened, and in that moment, I was completely, utterly grateful. 

Grateful that someone like him—someone so beautifully, exquisitely perfect—was mine.

I leaned against him, unable to steady myself, my heart still racing. He kissed my forehead tenderly, his lips warm against my skin. 

"You are incredible," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "So beautiful."

I looked up at him, my chest full of wonder, and I felt a soft smile tug at my lips. I couldn't even find the words to express how I felt—how overwhelmingly, impossibly thankful I was for this. 

For him. That he, the man who had taken me to the heights of pleasure, who had made me feel more alive than I ever had before, was here with me.

"You're everything," I whispered, my voice trembling with the weight of everything I couldn't say. 

And in that moment, I knew I would give him every part of me—my heart, my body, my soul—because he had already taken me beyond anything I could ever have dreamed of. 

And he wasn't stopping. Neither was I.

He giving me that good shit that make me not quit, that good shit. Oh, he give it to me, everyday, everyday, everyday.

A/n - This is lowkey feral but like the song—the concept—it's too perfect...the minute the idea formed in my head I basc dropped EVERYTHING to write this so yw xx

Cregan tag list - @veesuguru

[soul-controller]

My ideal body would be bigger, stronger and more mature. You know, the perfect things a daddy has.

The food court was abuzz with life, as families chatted over greasy trays of fast food and teenagers laughed too loudly in between loudly filming content for their social media. Meanwhile, you’re sitting alone at one of the tables – absentmindedly picking through a tray of half-eaten fries as your mind wanders and gaze drifts across the crowd. 

And then, you see him.

He stands in line at one of the busy vendors, a mountain of a man with a body thick with muscle, broad shoulders and biceps on full display due to his revealing tank top. His stubbled jaw is strong, giving him a rugged, mature look despite the hair not having a single hint of grey. Immediately, you could feel how his presence instantly commanded attention.

You swallow hard, your thoughts betraying you before you can reel them in. God, I wish I looked like that. If you had his confidence, his build, his effortless magnetism…dating would be a cakewalk compared to how it was now. No more awkward conversations, no more feeling invisible. Men would want you the way you want. You couldn’t imagine how many guys would easily fall under a man like that’s spell and submit to anything he desired…

The thought barely finishes before something strange happens.

The man suddenly stopped as he went up to give his order to the cashier. Mid-step, mid-action, as if a switch inside him was suddenly flipped. His head tilted slightly, like he’d heard something no one else could. Then, without warning, he turns. His dark eyes lock onto yours with a weight that leaves you trembling.

Your pulse stutters.

You look away, heat creeping up your neck. Shit, did he catch me staring? You brace for some kind of reaction – a glare, a sneer, maybe even some choice words about keeping your eyes off other men. But none of that happens.

Instead, he moves. He heads out of the line, walking through the crowded tables in the center of the food court… heading straight for you.

Your heart pounds harder with every step he takes. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t glance around, doesn’t slow. In seconds, he’s there, standing before you, so close that you can smell the faint spice of his cologne.

He stands there for a moment, as if waiting for you to make the first move. You don’t know what else to do besides stand up and offer up your table as a peace offering of some kind.

But just as you get up on your feet and prepare to speak, his large mitt of a hand suddenly reaches out for you. Instantly, you cower and prepare for some sort of aggression from the man. To your shock though, you feel his hand reach around the back of your skull, with his fingers threading through your messy light brown hair. 

Before you can react, before you can even think, he pulls you in. His lips crash against yours, warm and demanding, stealing the breath straight from your lungs.

The world around you blurs. There’s only the heat of his body, the pressure of his mouth, and the sheer intensity of the kiss on your mind. It’s possessive and sensual, almost as if he’s wanted this just as much as you have.

His kiss deepens, growing hungrier, more forceful. His lips move against yours with raw intensity, his stubble scratching at your skin as he tilts his head, taking you even deeper into it. You barely have time to breathe, barely have the space to think of anything but the feeling of him and his dominance.

Still unsure if you should touch himself yourself, your fingers curl into a fist as his grip around your head grows firmer. His stubble scrapes along your cheeks and upper lip, a sharp friction that burns in the best way. You chalk it up to the roughness of his face, a delicious sort of rug burn that only makes you more aware of him. But you don’t notice how the irritation doesn’t fade. How a faint, trimmed stubble of your own begins to emerge in response, spreading across your jawline as if mirroring his.

Then his teeth catch your bottom lip. 

Caught off-guard, you initially expect just a sharp nip from the man. As such, your body shivers as this action is then followed by a firm tug.

Pleasure twists through you, edged with just a hint of pain, but you don’t pull away. You lean in, chasing the heat of his mouth, even as he repeats the action several times across both lips. The area tingles beneath his touch, a light sting settling in followed by a strange sort of numbness. As you focus on the pleasurable yet shocking nature of what you’re experiencing, you don’t realize how your body continues to change. Your lips swell, with each kiss and bite reshaping them into something fuller, plumper, and certainly more kissable.

His fingers rake wildly through your hair, gripping and tugging as if he can’t get enough of you. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, your scalp prickling as the strands darken, deepening in color until they’re as jet black as the faint stubble shadowing your jaw.

Then his hands begin to roam.

Large, rough palms press against your arms, gliding down over your biceps. His touch is firm and greedy, as if your body was unclaimed land he wanted to claim for him and himself only. While he does this, the softness in your arms melts away, leaving behind lean defined muscle in his wake. The shift spreads through your chest, tightening and sculpting the area by replacing any hint of flab with toned strength.

He moves lower, hands gripping against your sides as his body leaned forward to press into your waist and hips. A strange weightlessness washes over you, your body subtly adjusting to its new weaker yet toned form. You don’t notice at first though, too lost in the way his mouth and tongue keeps invading yours. But when he suddenly leans down to reach you, angling his body in a way he hadn’t needed to before, something feels…different.

Somehow, you’re shorter now.

Not by much, but enough that the shift was noticeable – if you weren’t so intoxicated by the sight and affection of him.

Then he pulls back, just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are dark, smoldering, filled with something unreadable yet immensely magnetic. Your heart pounds against your ribs as your breath remains unsteady. It felt weird to think about, but you couldn’t help but feel as though your entire body was thrumming with some sort of strange, electric energy.

His fingers trail along your jaw, tilting your chin up ever so slightly. His voice, deep and commanding, sends a shiver through your newly sculpted frame.

“Come with me.”

There’s no hesitation. No second thought.

Your body moves before your mind catches up, heart hammering, antsy and eager to do as he says.

You don’t think. You just follow.

Your legs move on instinct as the bulky man pulls you away from the food court. The world blurs around you – the people, voices, and mundane background of the mall all fading into irrelevance. There’s only him. The warmth of his touch as his thick fingers curl around your own. The quiet confidence in his stride as he pulls you through the corridor toward the men’s restroom and cuts off the father and son who were on the verge of entering the area first.

The moment you step inside, the door slams shut behind you – with him using your body to block anyone else from coming in. 

A rush of air leaves your lungs as your back meets the hard surface. His hands press firmly against the door on either side of you, caging you in. His eyes burn into yours, dark and intense, filled with something raw and undeniable.

“You didn’t think I’d catch you staring, huh?” he murmurs, voice rich and deep. A smirk tugs at the edge of his lips. “Luckily for you, you’re just what Daddy needs right now.”

The words send a shiver through you. A mix of anticipation and something else – pure elation. You’d never thought your days of people-watching and fantasizing would lead to something like this happening. It felt like something straight out of some sort of fanfic or movie!

You barely have time to explore those thoughts though as then, with a low grunt, his strong hands grab the collar of your shirt. You barely have time to react before the fabric gives way with a sharp, tearing sound. Your gasp turns into a startled moan as the cool air of the restroom washes over your pale exposed skin.

“Damn…” He exhales, raking his gaze over you, eyes drinking in every inch. “You’re so fucking hot. And so small. So weak… especially next to me.”

Something stirs in your gut at his words. Although this entire experience was hot as hell to you, there was a flutter of uncertainty.

In hopes of finding answers, you glance down at yourself.

The sight that greets you is…wrong.

Decent pecs. Toned abs. Not bulky, but clearly maintained. It doesn’t make sense. For a second, your mind struggles, an echo of something distant telling you this isn’t how you should look. But then, you decide to consult with your memories for answers. To your relief, you find several familiar ones.

Of course, you look like this. You go to the gym a few times a week, don’t you? Just enough to stay toned, to keep yourself fit, but never to bulk up too much. You loved nothing more than being a twunk – it was exactly what your favorite type of gay men, daddies, were looking for.

As a result, that unease you felt instantly fades, replaced by something closer to relief. Everything makes sense, there’s nothing strange going on at all.

Then his hands are on you again.

Thick fingers trail down your sides, gripping your waist before sliding lower. He grabs a handful of your ass, massaging, kneading, and then squeezing hard.

A sharp gasp leaves you. The pressure is intense, but so is the feeling. A strange sensation, like something swelling beneath his touch. As you awkwardly shift your legs as you feel your shorts growing tighter, your back is slowly being pushed away from the door as your ass fills out. With each second that this hot daddy enjoys playing with your ass, it continues to inflate into a perfect, perky shape. When you went to the gym, this was where the priority of your time was devoted – on developing the perfect ass that could satisfy any man with just how bouncy yet firm it was. You could recall countless encounters with men in the sauna – where they gleefully smacked your ass and grew mesmerized by the way the flesh rippled before sliding their cock in to fill you up with that potent dad nut.

Yet while you took a moment to embrace the changes occurring to you, the other man’s influence didn’t stop there.

Heat pulses through your groin, as your rock-hard, larger than average dick strained against its increasingly tighter confines. To your relief, one of the other man’s hands soon began to investigate the area, struggling for a moment before finally slipping his fingers down beneath the waistband of your shorts. 

An airy moan escaped your plump lips as the pain of your shorts stretching was traded out with relief from the man’s fingers touching the head of your manhood. As you tilted your head back and groaned in pleasure, you found that the man’s touch was making you all forget about the discomfort. Beneath the surface of the shorts though, the pressure was easing not from the man’s touch but from the way your bulge was shrinking and compacting yet remaining rock hard. In an instant, the man’s touch had converted your surprisingly girthly 7” cock to a measly pencil-thin 3.5” nub. To your euphoric mind though, the shift felt completely natural. After all, you were notoriously known as one of the biggest bottoms in the entire state. What good was a fat cock for when you wanted nothing more than to be on the receiving end?

As your body was reaching new levels of pleasure, your legs found themselves tingling and growing incredibly weak. With this strange weightlessness overtaking them, you relied on the other man to keep you upright as he pushed his body closer to you so your legs could grow leaner and provide a steady base to handle such a fat ass. Once again, another burst of shrinking occurred as your legs shortened and caused your stature to shrink down to an adorable 5”6”. By now, the change was undeniable. Besides your face, you were an entirely new person.

Your breath stutters, head swimming. You feel off, but at the same time whole. Like you’re falling into the right shape, the right body and life.

Then his lips graze your ear.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, voice thick with hunger. “The love of my life. I’ve never enjoyed topping anyone as much as I do you.”

A shiver races down your spine, but not from fear. From something deeper. Something familiar.

Then, your body found itself shivering out of control as the man’s gruff voice began speaking Spanish.

You don’t know the words. Or at least—you shouldn’t. You never took Spanish in school and you’ve never experienced the culture besides the occasional song recommendation on Spotify. Yet, the more he speaks, the more you understand.

You pieced together him discussing how unreal this all feels. How he couldn’t believe this was happening. How you’re not resisting at all. And then, softer, more reverent—

“How can you be so perfect? So beautiful? Just like a dream come to life…”

The fully comprehended words sink into you. Into your skin, your bones.

Instantly, a warmth spreads over your body – a golden hue that works with haste in deepening your complexion. You turned to face away from the man for a moment, finding yourself catching a hint of your reflection in the bathroom mirror. You moaned as you found your skin growing darker and richer. 

As your daddy, your partner for the past five years, hoisted up your arms and pinned them against his with his immense strength, you looked down and witnessed how your body hair thickened slightly while darkening to match your jet-black hair. Another rippling effect soon coursed through your body – causing any body hair along your chest, back, and legs to fade away until you were left completely smooth besides your armpits and crotch.

With one final glance, you looked into the mirror – gasping as you found that the face in the mirror had also slightly changed since the last time you saw yourself. Your nose had widened a bit and grown more prominent on your face, while your eyebrows grown thicker yet well-maintained and groomed. Your eye shape had altered a little, but the most noticeable change in that area was how your hazel eyes had darkened to an alluring dark brown.

Without a doubt, the new visage that you saw was one that was undeniably Latino. Although one last vestige of your old self suddenly spoke up in hopes of not wanting to completely lose yourself, it didn’t take much completely for you to give in. Everything that had happened to you, it just felt… right. 

The last pieces of your past self slip away, forgotten beneath the weight of the new body and life.

As you looked towards your man, your thoughts grew cluttered as you lusted for the feeling of his cock in your ass once more. Although your history and memories still felt a bit cloudy, there was luckily one thing you knew for sure at this moment. You belonged to him.

Ever since you met him at your gym one day and eagerly worshipped his ripe pits after a particularly grueling workout, you became his favorite amongst the large slew of boys across the country he had previously accumulated. There was no one else who was better for him than you, almost as if you were personally created just for him… just Daddy’s perfect boytoy to flaunt on his OnlyFans and showcase just how much of a dominant alpha he could be. 

On some nights, you’d have strange dreams where you imagined yourself with the roles reversed where you were the dominant aggressive type. But as soon as you’d wake up and see your hunky daddy loudly snoring next to you, you knew that was just a strange fantasy. 

You wouldn’t want it any other way...

Eager to read more stories like this? Head over to my Patreon to discover tons of more hot transformation fiction including stories like this one!

[r-memberme]

thief | k.m

⎯⎯“You live in my veins,” he murmurs, one hand ghosting down to where she’s already soaked. “Every time I walk into a room you’ve touched, I feel it. Every time I breathe in, I wonder if it’s your scent, or just the memory of it.”

warnings: smut, 18+, he is a pantie sniffer, he is a freak

The door shuts softly behind her—just a whisper of sound—and Klaus is left alone in the hush of her room. The air still holds her warmth, that elusive scent that clings to her clothes, her sheets, the skin of his own hands. He swears he can feel her presence in the dust motes floating in the sunlight.

He doesn’t mean to linger. Not truly. Not like this.

But there’s something magnetic about the chaos she leaves behind—shoes kicked off under the edge of the bed, a sweater slung across the chair, the delicate lace of her panties folded over the corner of a drawer she forgot to close.

A breath catches in his throat.

They’re pale, soft, touched by lavender detergent and something unmistakably her. Still warm, maybe. Still clinging to the ghost of her.

He steps closer.

Fingers hover, hesitating. Not because of shame—he has none. Not with her. But because the moment feels too fragile. Too precious. As if the wrong movement might shatter it.

He picks them up, reverently. Like relics.

The lace is nearly sheer between his fingers, featherlight, and he brings them to his face without thinking—only instinct, only hunger, only the kind of madness that comes with obsession too long denied.

He inhales.

God.

The growl that rumbles from his chest is low, nearly inaudible, but raw with need. A sound not meant for any ears but hers.

The scent of her drives straight through him, devastating and familiar. He sways slightly where he stands, eyes fluttering closed, breath catching on the back of a groan. His grip tightens. He presses the fabric closer, nuzzling it against his mouth, then lower, burying his face in it like a sinner at the altar.

He’s not proud. He doesn’t need to be.

She’s in everything now. In his mouth, in his lungs, in his bloodstream. Every soft breath of her through the cotton and lace sinks deeper into his bones.

His free hand falls to the waistband of his trousers.

Fingers slip beneath the fabric. A sharp hiss escapes through his teeth.

He strokes himself slow, lazy, lost in the sensation, the scent, the image of her wearing them—legs bare, smile sleepy, body warm from sleep. Or better—panting, flushed, straddling him, nails in his chest and whispering his name in that hushed, ruined voice she only ever uses when she's close.

His rhythm stutters.

He chokes her name into the fabric and grips tighter.

And he doesn’t hear the door creak open behind him.

༊*·˚

The hallway is quiet. Too quiet.

She pushes the door open with a soft creak, stepping back into her room with the intent of grabbing her forgotten phone or maybe that book she meant to take with her. But the sight that greets her stills her completely, freezing her mid-step.

Klaus.

Back turned to her. Shoulders tense, hips shifting with a slow, unmistakable rhythm. His head bowed. One hand buried between the folds of her panties and his face—God, his face—pressed against the lace like it’s something holy.

And his other hand…

She blinks.

Oh.

There’s a slow rush of blood to her cheeks. To her neck. Between her thighs. A quick pulse of heat that steals the air from her lungs before she can decide whether this is appalling or fascinating.

She should say something. She should stop this.

But she doesn’t.

Not yet.

She lingers in the doorway, heartbeat thudding in her ears, breath caught in her chest, watching him come apart on the scent of her. It’s so unlike him—so utterly him—this raw, indulgent need made reverent. Like even in his filthiest moment, he worships.

It’s only when his name leaves her mouth, dry and laced with something dangerous, that he startles.

“Klaus…” she murmurs, voice slicing through the stillness. “What exactly are you doing with those?”

He jerks like she’s slapped him—shoulders tightening, hand withdrawing, mouth parting around a curse that never makes it out.

For a beat, he says nothing. Just stands there, caught. Disheveled. Undone in a way she’s never seen.

“I—I didn’t hear you come in,” he mutters, dropping the panties like they’ve burned him, though the damage is already done. His cheeks are flushed, lips damp, hair slightly mussed from where his hand had been threading through it just moments ago.

He tries to school himself. Straightens. Clears his throat.

But his eyes won’t meet hers.

And that’s how she knows she’s won.

“Oh,” she says, drawing out the word like honey, stepping into the room with deliberate slowness. “So the mighty Klaus Mikaelson can be flustered. Interesting.”

He growls low in his throat, but there’s no venom in it. Just frustration. With himself. With her. With the impossible, damning ache still straining against the front of his pants.

“You weren’t meant to see that,” he grits out, voice raw.

“And yet I did,” she hums, arms crossing lazily over her chest, like she isn’t the least bit bothered. Like she isn’t completely, deliciously aware of how much power she holds in this moment.

She tilts her head. Smiles slow.

“Didn’t peg you for the type to get caught.”

“I’m not,” he snaps, then curses again—quieter this time. He runs a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged thing. “Bloody hell…”

She laughs then, soft and dangerous, and steps into his space. Close enough to see the shame and heat battling in his eyes. Close enough to smell herself still clinging to the air between them.

“Next time,” she whispers, fingers brushing over his chest, “just ask for a pair. I might let you watch me take them off.”

He chokes on air. Physically chokes.

༊*·˚

He doesn’t remember pulling her down onto the bed, only the sound she made when he flipped her onto her back—a sound that burned through his spine like gunpowder meeting flame.

And now he’s above her. On his knees, breathing hard, staring down like she’s something divine and terrifying.

His shirt is gone. Hers too. The discarded panties lie somewhere on the floor, forgotten, but Klaus still smells her everywhere—still feels the ghost of her soaked into the fabric, into his bloodstream.

“You don’t understand,” he says again, voice rasped and low, reverent as a prayer and raw as a wound. “You think this is just about lust.”

She tries to speak, but he cuts her off with his mouth on her ribs, dragging open-mouthed kisses up her torso, his hands cradling her hips like she might vanish if he isn’t careful.

“It isn’t,” he breathes against the swell of her breast. “It’s madness.”

His tongue flicks against her nipple, and she gasps, hips rising into him—but he doesn’t give her what she wants. Not yet. He drags it out, tracing slow circles with his tongue, fingers spreading her thighs apart until she’s trembling beneath him.

“You live in my veins,” he murmurs, one hand ghosting down to where she’s already soaked. “Every time I walk into a room you’ve touched, I feel it. Every time I breathe in, I wonder if it’s your scent, or just the memory of it.”

She moans when he dips down and licks her—one slow, luxurious stripe that makes her back arch off the sheets. He doesn’t stop. Not even close.

Klaus latches on like a starving man. Obsessive. Desperate. He devours her with tongue and lips and fingers, like he can’t bear the space between them. She tries to pull him up, tries to beg for more, but he won’t be rushed. Not yet.

“This is mine,” he growls, voice muffled against her. “Every inch of you—mine.”

She falls apart on his mouth once, then again when he adds his fingers—curling inside, working her open, wringing moans from her like sacred music.

When he finally pulls away, his mouth and chin are slick with her, and his eyes are blown wide and wild.

“You still think I was ashamed?” he asks, reaching for her, lining himself up.

She shakes her head, breathless. “No. Not anymore.”

“Good.”

He thrusts into her in one long, aching slide. Her mouth drops open but no sound comes out—only a gasp, and then his name, over and over again like a litany.

“Klaus—Klaus—”

He buries his face in her neck, her shoulder, her hair. Anything that smells like her. He ruts into her with slow, deliberate strokes, hips rolling, her legs wrapped tight around his waist. One hand pins her wrists above her head, the other never stops touching her, worshiping her skin, her hips, the curve of her waist, like he has to memorize her with every pass.

She’s everywhere. All at once.

And he is ruined by her.

When she comes again, clenching around him, he follows, mouth open in a soundless groan, her name broken and reverent on his tongue.

They don’t separate. Can’t.

Because Klaus doesn’t stop needing.

He stays buried inside her, forehead against hers, panting, murmuring things only she hears. Obsessions. Promises. Prayers.

༊*·˚

The room is silent but for their breathing—shaky, uneven, and shared like it's all they have left to give one another. Klaus hasn't moved. He’s still inside her, buried to the hilt, arms wrapped tight around her body like if he lets go, she’ll slip out of existence.

She shifts beneath him, gently, and he groans like it's pain and pleasure in one breath.

“I can’t…” he murmurs, voice hoarse, lips grazing her cheek, “I can’t pull away from you. Not yet.”

She doesn’t ask him to. Instead, she runs her fingers through his curls, the same ones she’d pulled hours—minutes?—ago. He leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed like a beast sedated by affection.

“You really meant it,” she says softly. “About the scent. The… wanting.”

Klaus lifts his head. His eyes, still dark and glassy, find hers. “I crave you,” he says. Not lustfully now, not wickedly—but honestly. It’s a confession more than anything else. “In ways that make me feel like I’ve been cursed.”

She laughs softly, breath hitching. “Is that what I am to you? A curse?”

“No.” He shakes his head, kissing her temple. “A need. A fire. A sickness. A religion.”

His thumb brushes her lower lip, still swollen from his kisses. “It doesn’t go away when you leave a room. It doesn’t fade when I try to sleep. You’ve… invaded everything.”

She blinks up at him, and something in her chest flutters dangerously.

“I’m not ashamed of what you saw,” Klaus adds, quieter. “Only that I couldn’t help myself. But I would do it again. I will.”

Her brows lift, teasing. “You planning on stealing more underwear?”

His mouth twitches at the corner—just the ghost of a smirk. “I don’t need to steal what you’d give me freely.”

She leans up and kisses him, slow and indulgent, and the silence that follows is warm this time. Filled with the soft shift of limbs, the slide of skin on skin as they curl into one another. He kisses her shoulder. Her neck. Her collarbone. Not to seduce—but to worship. To remember.

His voice hums low near her ear. “You smell like home. You taste like sin.”

And her fingers, still tangled in his hair, give a gentle tug.

“Then stay, sinner.”

And he does.

everybody say thank you anon!!! 🤍

[letsnowtalk]

Steady Hands

Nika mühl x fem reader

A/N: i love vetxrookie😜

When Nika got drafted to Seattle she was the happiest girl in the world.

Why?

Because of you.

It started with the clinginess.

You’d been in the league long enough to recognize when a rookie was latching onto a vet out of nerves, admiration, or the sheer need to survive the W. It happened every season—usually faded out by the All-Star break.

But Nika Mühl?

She stuck.

Like gum under your shoe.

Every day of training camp, she was there. Right next to you in drills, mimicking your movements during film, leaning in during water breaks to ask questions with her thick Croatian accent wrapping around your name like a dare.

“Y/N… can I sit here?”

“Y/N, what do you think I should’ve done in that last possession?”

“Y/N, you always tie your shoes like that?”

It was cute, and it was constant.

You hadn’t expected to like it.

But the truth was, there was something magnetic about her. Not just her hustle or her chaotic defensive energy—but her grin, the way she looked at you like you were already everything. Like you had nothing to prove, and she wanted to be the one to know every part of you anyway.

By the end of preseason, she was calling you her vet with a smirk.

“Hey, you gonna teach me that spin move or keep gatekeeping greatness?”

You just rolled your eyes. “Earn it.”

And she did.

Damn if she didn’t.

⸻

Nika didn’t get many minutes to start the season. Rookie dues, rotation depth, coach’s caution. She still fought every damn second she was on the floor. But it killed you seeing her on the bench too long, chewing her mouthguard with that storm in her eyes.

You pulled her aside after a road loss in Chicago, both of you still sweaty, hearts beating loud from a fourth-quarter push that came too late.

“You’re doing everything right,” you told her, pressing a towel into her hands. “They’re just slow to trust. Keep barking on defense. Be loud. Be you.”

Her eyes searched yours. “They listen to you.”

“They do,” you said evenly. “So I’ll talk. But you keep showing them you belong.”

You didn’t expect her to grab your wrist gently.

Didn’t expect her to say, “I’d follow you anywhere.”

Didn’t expect it to make your chest ache like that.

⸻

Things changed after that.

She started getting more minutes. You talked to the coaching staff—not in a “she’s my favorite” kind of way, but in a “this girl reads the floor better than half the second unit” kind of way. And they listened.

Because you’d been here. You’d won. You knew what made the team better.

And Nika made them better.

She got bolder on the court. More decisive. She chased steals like her life depended on it, dove for loose balls that no rookie should sacrifice their ribs for, and still…still ended up in your locker chair after practices like it was hers.

“Nice pass today,” she murmured one afternoon, flicking your knee with her towel. “You looked for me.”

“I always look for you.”

The look in her eyes when you said it? Dangerous.

You didn’t move. Neither did she.

But that line between you—rookie and vet, court and off—it pulsed electric.

⸻

By the Olympic break, she kissed you.

It wasn’t planned. Wasn’t even dramatic. Just a quiet moment after a late practice, the gym dark except for the glow of the overhead exit sign.

You’d lingered. So had she.

She was icing her shoulder, hair messy from a hard scrimmage, her legs stretched over the bench across from you. You were talking low, laughing about how your coach still called her “firecracker.”

Then silence.

Then her soft, “Can I?”

Then the kiss—tentative at first, then hungry. A little clumsy. A lot honest.

You didn’t stop her.

You didn’t want to.

⸻

It stayed private.

Not secret, exactly. Just… yours.

In locker rooms, you kept your distance. On planes, you didn’t sit together too often. But when it was just the two of you—hotel rooms, late walks, 3AM texts when one of you couldn’t sleep—it was real.

She never hid how much she liked you, though. Even in public.

“Why do you cling to Y/N like that?” Tina, one of your teammates, had laughed during a post-game dinner.

“Because she’s my favorite,” Nika said without hesitation, looping her arm through yours under the table. “And she’s soft. On the inside. You don’t know.”

You’d kicked her ankle.

But you’d smiled, too.

⸻

It happened in Phoenix.

Hot gym. Chippy game. One of those nights where everyone was irritated by the refs, the fans, and each other. You were up by six in the third quarter, tension high, when it happened.

Nika went to the rim, got bodied hard mid-air by a vet guard who’d been jawing all night. She hit the floor shoulder-first, skidding with a painful grunt.

You were already off the bench before the whistle.

By the time you reached her, she was sitting up, flexing her wrist, pissed as hell.

You crouched beside her. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “That was dirty.”

Then, as the refs reviewed it, that same guard—too smug, too casual—walked past you both and said something low in Croatian.

You didn’t understand it.

But Nika did.

Her face snapped toward the woman like she’d been slapped.

“What’d she say?” you asked quietly.

Nika’s jaw clenched. “Don’t worry.”

You turned.

“Hey,” you called to the player. “You want to throw shade, do it in a language we all speak.”

The woman smirked. “Just saying hi.”

“Then say it nice,” you snapped.

Whistles blew. Double technicals. Coach yelled. But it wasn’t until the final minute—when Nika stripped the ball from that same player, ran it down the court, and fed you for the dagger three—that it really exploded.

As you turned, your finger already rising in celebration, Nika was there.

Grinning, sweating, bright-eyed—and she pulled you in.

Not for a high five.

Not for a chest bump.

For a kiss.

Right there.

On your mouth.

On the court.

In front of the whole damn world.

⸻

You pulled back too late. The damage was done.

The crowd roared. Cameras caught it. Your teammates froze, then whooped. The bench exploded. And you—

You were staring at her like she’d set you on fire.

“I—” she started.

“You just—” you blinked.

She smiled. “I told you I’d follow you anywhere.”

⸻

It was chaos after the game.

Media storm. Phones blowing up. Headlines in real time: “Storm Chemistry? Mühl and Y/L/N Spark More Than Plays on the Court.”

Coach just raised her eyebrows in the locker room.

“Anything I should know?” she asked.

You and Nika exchanged glances.

“She kissed me,” you said dryly.

“I saw that,” Coach deadpanned.

Then a smile broke out across her face.

“As long as it doesn’t mess with your play, I don’t care who’s kissing who. Just win.”

Nika bumped your shoulder, smug.

“She wants to kiss a winner,” she whispered.

You rolled your eyes.

But you smiled, too.

⸻

The playoffs hit like a second season.

Everything was louder. Sharper. Faster.

You’d warned Nika before it started—told her the physicality doubled, the talking tripled, and that opponents would look for any crack to slip through.

You didn’t tell her to be careful with you.

You should have.

You were deep into Game Two of the second round, playing on the road against a gritty team that didn’t know how to lose quietly(wanna say who but im gonna get cancelled 🤫). You’d taken a hard screen early in the third that left your shoulder burning. The trainers cleared you to stay in, but you could feel Nika watching you from across the floor like a fuse lit too close to the flame.

Then the incident happened.

Fourth quarter. One-point game. You went up for a floater, landed hard, and one of the opposing guards—you’d played against her before, you knew she liked to push—“accidentally” stumbled into your body. Elbow right to your ribs. Followed by a not-so-innocent hand on your hip.

“You okay, baby?” the guard said with a fake little smile, just loud enough to be heard.

You flinched, brushing her off.

But Nika heard it.

And Nika snapped.

Before the ref could even whistle the contact, Nika was there.

“Back the fuck up,” she barked, stepping chest-to-chest with the girl who dared touch you. “You think I didn’t see that weak-ass flop?”

The ref blew the whistle too late. Technical. Maybe on both. You weren’t sure. Because all you could see was Nika’s eyes—wild, storming, locked on the girl like she might swing.

“She’s good,” the girl muttered, smirking. “You scared she’s gonna like someone else?”

Nika didn’t hesitate.

“She already does,” she snarled. “And it’s me. So touch her like that again, and I swear—playoffs or not—I’ll end you.”

Your hand found hers instinctively, grounding her.

“Nika,” you whispered. “Not worth it.”

She looked at you, chest heaving. Eyes still dangerous. But then her fingers curled tightly around yours.

And she backed off.

The ref issued double techs. Coach didn’t even chew her out—just muttered something like “Next time, let her flop. Don’t give the refs ammo.”

But Nika wasn’t listening.

When the huddle broke, she pulled you aside, her jaw clenched.

“She touched you,” she said. “She called you baby.”

You exhaled. “That’s her thing. She does it to everyone.”

“She doesn’t do it to me.”

You smiled softly. “That’s because she knows better.”

Nika’s eyes finally softened. But her hand slid around your waist, slow, possessive, in front of the whole arena.

“No one gets to touch you like that,” she said low. “Only me. Got it?”

You kissed her cheek—quick, hidden behind your hand—but enough for her to grin.

“Got it, firecracker.”

⸻

You blew them out by twelve.

Nika had five steals, three of which came after that moment. She was everywhere—ripping through passing lanes, barking switches, grinning like a menace. The commentators called it emotional fuel. The fans called it chaos. You just called it hers.

Post-game interviews were wild.

“Looked like things got heated out there,” one reporter said, smirking at you both.

“Just protecting my teammate,” Nika said coolly, her arm draped casually over your chair.

You raised an eyebrow. “Just a teammate?”

Nika turned to you with a wolfish grin.

“My teammate. My girl. Same thing.”

The room buzzed.

Your face burned.

But you didn’t correct her.

Because truthfully?

You liked when the whole damn world knew.

———

And the world knowing change much.

You still moved like the heartbeat of the team. Still ran plays. Still mentored rookies. Still had Nika’s back every second she was on the floor.

Only difference?

Now when she stole a pass and pointed to the bench, everyone knew who she was pointing at.

Now when you got subbed out, she always came over first, tossing you her towel like it was a love letter.

Now when opposing guards tried flirting—or fouling—too hard, Nika didn’t hold back.

“You hit her like that again,” she told one during a late-season game, voice cold, “and I hit you back. You understand?”

You had to pull her away, hand on her chest, laughing.

“Nika,” you warned.

She just looked at you. “What? I’m invested.”

⸻

You never expected to fall for a rookie.

But Nika Mühl wasn’t just any rookie.

She was loud and loyal and maddening.

She wore her heart like armor and handed it to you before you even realized you were bleeding.

And you—steady, quiet, the vet who’d seen it all—had somehow found the one person who made you feel brand new again.

So when she looked at you after clinching a playoff spot, hair sticking to her face, eyes dancing, and said, “Come home with me,” you just laughed.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Because the truth was?

She’d been home all along.

—————

Me when nika just exists

[velarisdusk]

I Slept with Someone in Wings of Illyria

A Bat Boys Band AU

word count: 1.5k author's note: i have not been able to stop thinking about bass player az, nor have i been able to shut up about it (exhibits A, B, and C found here lol). i am so taken with bass player azriel that this was originally gonna be a one time thing to get the mf thoughts out of my head, but i may make this a collection of drabbles/one-shots/whatever the fuck. enjoy ! <3 ✦ . AU Masterlist . ✦ ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The room is sweltering, the kind of heat that clings to your skin and wraps around your throat. Bodies pressed together, arms raised, the crowd surges with the beat, their cheers deafening as the final notes of the song fade out. 

Cassian tosses his drumsticks in the air, catching them with a grin as he leans back, his chest heaving from the sheer energy of his playing. His skin glistens under the stage lights, sweat dripping down the sharp cut of his jaw to his bare chest. Rhysand steps forward, guitar slung low on his hips, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, the movement so casual it borders on taunting. 

The three of them are magnetic—untouchable—but your eyes are glued to Azriel. 

The bass still hangs low across his hips, his dark shirt clinging to his chest and arms, every inch of him shining with effort and heat. His hair sticks to his forehead in damp strands, but he doesn’t seem to care. There’s a faint curve to his lips as he looks out at the crowd, their screams refusing to die down even as Rhys steps up to the mic.  It’s Wings of Illyria’s last song of the night, and the air is thick with anticipation.

“Alright, alright,” Rhys says, his voice rich and smooth, but it barely registers over the roar of the audience. He glances back at Az and Cass, shaking his head with a laugh, and you catch the way they all exchange a look—silent, knowing.

Cass twirls a drumstick between his fingers, grinning wide. Rhys throws a wink at the crowd, and Azriel… Azriel holds up a hand, palm out, a subtle watch this gesture that has your stomach flipping. 

And then he steps forward.

The moment his fingers graze the mic stand, the noise dips. He leans in, his lips brushing the mic, and inhales sharply. The sound carries through the speakers, intimate, like he’s right there beside you. The crowd freezes, the energy shifting into something electric, breathless. And then, he chuckles.

It’s low, almost a growl, and it sends a shiver down your spine. For a moment, the room is still. And then, chaos. The screams erupt again, louder than before, like every single person in the crowd had been seized by something primal and uncontrollable.

Azriel laughs, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Rhys and Cass. They’re laughing too, Cassian smacking a hand against his drums while Rhys shakes his head, mouthing something you can’t make out. 

But then Az turns back to the mic. 

Your heart stops as he adjusts it slightly, his hand steady, his expression calm but sharp, focused. The moment stretches, and you swear he looks right at you before his lips part, and his voice spills into the venue. 

It’s not Rhys’s voice this time, not the smooth, cocky tone that usually owns the opening of this song. No—this is something darker, rougher, saturated with a raw kind of emotion that makes your knees go weak. You know this part by heart—hell, you’ve screamed it in your car more times than you can count—but hearing Azriel sing it? It’s like hearing it for the first time. 

He owns it, every word dripping with purpose, with heat. His voice snakes through the room, curling around you, pulling you under. The crowd is a blur, the sound of their cheers distant compared to the way your pulse pounds in your ears. 

And Azriel knows it. He’s fully in control, commanding every single person in the room with nothing but his voice and the intensity in his eyes. When he glances over at Rhys and Cass again, they’re grinning like they know exactly what he’s doing—and exactly what it’s doing to everyone in the room. 

You’re breathless by the time he finishes the verse, and when he pulls back from the mic with that faint, wicked smirk, the crowd surges again, screaming louder than ever. 

You scream too, the sound ripping out of you without restraint, caught up in the heat and the pounding bass still thrumming through the room. But then Azriel’s gaze sweeps across the crowd, scanning the sea of faces, and it lands on you. 

Your breath catches. 

It’s brief, a flicker of his hazel eyes locking onto yours, but it’s enough. Enough to leave you wondering if he’s seen you before—if he’s noticed you at every show you’ve managed to get into, always in your usual spot near the edge of the stage, close enough to feel the pulse of the speakers in your chest. 

And then he turns back to the mic, and your chest tightens all over again. 

It’s the way Azriel shifts his stance—shoulders squared, leaning slightly into the mic as his fingers curl around the neck of his bass—that holds you captive. His voice joins Rhys’s in the next verse, a low harmony that wraps around the melody like smoke, rich and addictive. 

When the lyrics take a turn—something dark and suggestive, dripping with innuendo—you swear he looks at you again. His lips curl just so around the words, and the way his hand moves on the fretboard has your pulse racing. 

It’s stupid, you tell yourself. Ridiculous, really, to think that someone like him would single you out of a crowd like this. But as the song builds to its peak, the heat of his gaze feels too intentional to ignore. And then they hit the chorus, when Azriel takes over the melody for one shining moment, he sings a line that makes your cheeks burn, makes your hands curl into fists at your sides. It’s not subtle. It’s meant to be filthy, meant to tease and taunt, and he sings it like it’s directed straight at you. 

The crowd loses it. You barely hear the screams over the pounding of your heart.

He’s still looking at you when the song ends, sweat dripping from his temple as he lets the bass hang low against his hips, his breathing heavy. Cassian slams his drumsticks against the snare one last time, punctuating the end of the set, while Rhysand tosses his guitar pick into the crowd with a lazy smirk. 

Azriel doesn’t move for a moment. He stays there, on the edge of the stage, as if waiting for something. 

And then he winks. 

It’s quick—blink-and-you’ll-miss-it—but you see it. You feel it. 

Your knees go weak, your grip tightening on the barricade to keep yourself steady. By the time you process what just happened, he’s already turning away, laughing at something Cassian said as they disappear backstage. 

The crowd surges again, desperate for an encore, but all you can hear is the pounding of your pulse. 

Your knees are still trembling as the crowd surges around you, voices raised in chants for an encore. You try to breathe, to ground yourself, but the memory of Azriel’s smirk and the weight of his gaze keeps playing on a loop in your mind. 

And then, just as the noise reaches a fever pitch, you see him again. 

Azriel lingers near the side of the stage, his bass slung over his shoulder now, his hand reaching out to clasp the shoulder of a man in a black security shirt. You watch, heart pounding, as they exchange a few quick words, the guard leaning closer to hear him over the din. 

It’s casual—normal, probably—but then Azriel points.

Directly at you. 

You freeze. Your pulse spikes. There’s no way, you think. No way this is happening. 

But it is. His arm extends toward the crowd, his finger cutting through the haze of heat and lights to land right where you’re standing, gripping the barricade for dear life. The security guard nods, glancing in your direction as Azriel leans closer, lips moving again. 

He says two words, slow enough for you to catch even at this distance.

“Blue top.”

Your breath hitches, your gaze darting down to the shirt you’re wearing. Blue. Not just blue—bright blue, standing out against the darker tones of the crowd like a beacon. 

You look back up, your heart slamming in your chest as Azriel straightens, throwing one last glance your way before disappearing offstage. 

For a moment, you just stand there, frozen, every nerve in your body buzzing. Did that really just happen? Your mind races, replaying the movement of his hand, the way his lips had formed those words. Blue top. 

Your gaze darts around, scanning the crowd. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe you’re losing your mind because surely he didn’t mean you. But your stomach flips again as you realize—no one else around you is wearing blue. Not a single person. 

It was you. 

Your fingers tighten on the barricade. He had pointed at you. You’re sure of it. And then you see him. 

The security guard is cutting through the clusters of venue workers. Your breath catches when his eyes land on you, sharp and direct. He doesn’t say a word, just jerks his chin toward the end of the barricade, a silent instruction. 

[dragoneyelashart]

passenger princess ★⋆˙

smut ୨ৎ warnings: g!p billie, g!p sabrina, semi-public sex, oral (sabrina and billie recieving), fingering, dp, very small plot.. a/n: so....!! not proofread at all... wc: 5.3k

the sunlight streamed softly through the curtains, waking you gently as billie’s hand brushed lightly over your shoulder. sabrina was already awake, watching you with a slow, satisfied smile curling on her lips.

“morning, princess,” billie murmured, voice low and velvety. 

you blinked up at them, still half tangled in the warmth of the bed and the quiet of the morning. the promise of their attention sent a shiver of excitement through you, billie and sabrina had that way of making every moment feel like it was just for you.

“we’re taking you shopping,” sabrina added, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your bare arm. “gonna spoil you rotten. you deserve it.”

your heart skipped. shopping with them wasn’t just errands; it was a ritual, a way they showed their care, control, and affection all at once. you trusted them completely. and you couldn’t wait.

billie’s hand slipped beneath the hem of your loose shirt, fingers brushing along your skin with a possessive tenderness. “dress up nice, baby. we want you looking perfect.”

you nodded, breath catching in your throat. sabrina stood and pulled open the closet, rifling through the racks until she found a soft, flowy dress, a pale blush that would complement your skin. “try this on,” she said with a grin. “think it’ll look amazing on you.”

you slipped into the dress, feeling the fabric slide over your curves, soft and light like a promise. sabrina stepped closer, adjusting the neckline, her fingers lingering at your collarbone.

“you’re ours, baby,” she whispered, voice thick with something electric. “our little princess.”

billie came around the bed, handing you a pair of sunglasses, the dark lenses almost too cool for the warmth buzzing in your veins. “ready to be spoiled?”

you smiled, shy but sure. “yeah,”

billie drove with calm confidence, sunglasses shading her eyes, but you could feel her watching you in the rearview mirror. sabrina’s hand found yours, fingers weaving together, anchoring you in the moment. the soft hum of the engine and the distant city sounds filled the space, but all you felt was the magnetic pull between the three of you.

your first stop was a boutique that looked like it was made for daydreams, walls lined with delicate silk, lace, and satin in every imaginable shade. sabrina’s eyes sparkled as she guided you inside, her hand never leaving yours.

“you’re going to try everything on,��� she declared with a wicked smile. “and we’re going to make sure you’re the prettiest girl in the world.”

you followed her through the racks, heart pounding as she picked out soft bralettes, sheer robes, panties edged with lace, and dresses that made your breath catch. each piece was more beautiful than the last, intimate and delicate, designed to make you feel cherished and exposed all at once.

billie’s voice cut through the haze, calm but commanding. “we want you dressed for us, princess. not for anyone else.”

you nodded, cheeks flushing as they handed you a small pile of silky lingerie to take into the fitting room. sabrina kissed your cheek softly, lingering a moment longer than necessary. “dressed in only the best for us, pretty.”

inside the fitting room, the fabric slipped over your skin like a caress, each piece igniting sparks of heat beneath your skin. sabrina watched you through the crack of the door, eyes dark and approving. billie leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed, the image of quiet control.

when you stepped out, sabrina’s smile deepened, and billie’s gaze sharpened. they took turns guiding your poses, commenting on how perfect you looked, how every delicate thread seemed to highlight the way you belonged to them.

after the lingerie, the next stop was a boutique full of everyday clothes, but even here, billie and sabrina made the experience feel special. they picked out skirts that swished just right, tops that hugged your body without choking it, and shoes that clicked with promise as you walked.

at one point, sabrina tugged you close, her voice dropping to a whisper as she brushed her lips along your neck. “gonna spoil you always, sweet girl”

billie’s hand slid to your waist, holding you steady. “always. no matter what.”

by the time the bags piled high in the backseat, your fingers were tangled in theirs, hearts thudding in unison. you felt utterly spoiled, more than the clothes, it was the feeling of being wanted, treasured, owned.

the ride back was slower, the city blurring past the windows, and the three of you sank into a comfortable silence thick with anticipation.

the bags sat heavy on the backseat floor, full of silks, lace, and all the things they’d chosen just for you. you glanced down at your new dress, the soft fabric flowing over your skin, feeling the weight of their attention lingering in every thread.

billie started the car, the engine purring quietly beneath you, while sabrina’s hand found yours again, fingers tangling together with effortless ease. the sunlight spilled through the windows, warm and golden, as the city slipped away behind you.

sabrina’s voice was low, a teasing whisper meant only for you. “d’you like what we picked out?”

you nodded, breath catching slightly as her fingers traced idle patterns on your thigh.

billie glanced over at you in the rearview mirror, her expression unreadable behind her dark sunglasses. “gonna look like our perfect girl. just for us.”

the air between you thickened, heavy with all the things left unspoken, desires, promises, and the delicious tension of waiting.

billie’s hand slid from the steering wheel to rest on your knee, firm and possessive. the hum of the road beneath you was a steady pulse, matching the quickening beat in your chest.

you swallowed hard, eyes flicking between the two of them, already feeling the weight of what was to come. the day had been full of sweetness, soft touches, and whispered promises—but now, it was time for the recklessness sabrina had teased in the car all along.

your hand found sabrina’s, guiding it slowly between your thighs, the small, delicious thrill of their eyes on you making your breath hitch.

“brina,” you say, turning your head just enough to glance at her. “you’re gonna get billie in trouble.”

sabrina laughs, soft and shameless. “it’s fine,” she murmurs, brushing her fingers along your arm. “don’t worry, baby.”

and you don’t, not really. the sun’s hitting your skin just right, the road’s wide open, and everything feels like it’s going exactly how it should. so you let your hand find hers, slow and easy, and you guide it down, tucking it between your thighs.

she doesn’t say anything, just looks at you like she already knew where this was going. billie shifts in the driver’s seat but says nothing, the only sound the low hum of the engine and the heavy air between all three of you.

you spread your legs, ever so slightly, not trying to make anything obvious. you take sabrinas hand into your own toying with the rings on it before bringing it your mouth.

“baby? what are you doing?” sabrina asks. billie glances over slightly to take notice of what you were doing. you suck on sabrina’s finger, bringing as far down your throat as possible. you push your panties aside from beneath your skirt and guide sabrina’s fingers.

“you’re so soaked princess, and from what hm? didn’t even do anything to you,” 

you whimper out, bucking your hips further. taking sabrinas fingers and placing them against your clit. sabrina stills her fingers, not moving them, yet placing light pressure on it. you whine out loud.

“quiet slut, billie’s trying to drive,” sabrina says leaving a light slap against your pussy.  you don’t listen, however, continuing to whine out, begging for their attention to be on you. 

sabrina gets fed up quickly, covering your mouth with her free hand before quickly pushing her fingers into your tight pussy. 

your eyes roll back quickly, your legs instinctively closing. “tsk, c’mon, first you want to be a slut, and when daddy finally gives you what you want you can’t take it? just being greedy babygirl?” billie says, her eyes still dead on the road, though her hand moves to your thigh, prying them open again. 

“hmm, listen to her billie, just wants someone to stuff her full no matter what,” sabrina says, kissing your neck, leaving marks. sabrina’s fingers begin to fuck into you at a brutal pace. you mouth gapes wide open, hands rushing down to sabrina’s as a plea for her to slow down. “oh? need me to stop, princess?” sabrina says, slowing her fingers. you’re quick to shake your head no, begging for her to continue fucking you. 

by now, you were drenched, thighs trembling as sabrina’s fingers moved with unrelenting purpose, coaxing out every gasp, every helpless sound you tried to bite back. her other hand stayed firm over your mouth, palm warm, fingers laced with quiet control. you felt everything: her pace, her breath against your neck, the weight of billie’s presence in the driver’s seat, silent but suffocatingly aware.

billie’s hand was still on your thigh, steady and firm, keeping your legs apart like a silent command, drawing small patterns. you couldn’t even look at her, not without falling apart completely.

sabrina’s lips brushed against your jaw. “good girl,” she murmured, soft and low, like praise soaked in sin. “taking me so well now. you’ve gone all quiet now, hm?”

you moaned beneath her hand, the sound muffled, needy. your hips rolled in sync with her thrusts, each one hitting deeper, harder. she adjusted her angle, watching you unravel like she was studying the reaction, addicted to it.

billie finally spoke again, voice low and dry. “you hear that, brina?” she asked, her thumb stroking slow circles into your inner thigh. “our little princess’s trying so hard not to scream. poor thing. bet she thought she was in control.”

sabrina chuckled, her fingers curling just right, making you reach back to tangle your hands in her hair. “she always thinks that. until we remind her, too busy being drunk on us.”

you were lost now, mind foggy, body twitching. you weren’t sure who was touching you where anymore, just that everything burned, every nerve sparking alive. your pussy clamped against her fingers, your legs trembling slightly.

“she’s close,” billie said, a hint of a smile in her voice now. “feel how she’s shaking?”

sabrina nodded, her lips brushing your ear. “c’mon cum baby, soak my fingers f’me”

and you did.

you came with a cry that barely made it past sabrina’s palm, body arched and trembling, sabrina holding you through every wave, billie’s knuckles turning white against the steering wheel. the world blurred for a moment, sunlight, sweat, breath, and all you could do was fall into it.

when you finally came back down, sabrina gently pulled her hand away, kissing your temple. billie glanced over, smirking slightly. 

bringing the hand that was next to your mouth, sabrina takes her fingers and collects some of your cum bringing it to billie’s mouth. “taste how sweet our baby is, billie” you watch as billie sucks on sabrina’s fingers. begging so desperately to taste too, your pussy ruts into sabrina’s palm that stilled inside you. 

sabrina takes notice, taking the fingers out of billie’s mouth, and placing them in yours, kissing your forehead lightly. you see billie’s print in her pants becoming more prominent. as you begin to reach over, sabrina begins to fuck her fingers back into you, just at the same relentless pace. 

“careful baby, daddy’s driving, don’t wanna distract her do we now,” you whine, but nod in agreement, letting sabrina fuck you. your head lolled back against the chest, breath coming in short, shallow gasps. sabrina didn’t let up, not for a second. her fingers moved with a punishing rhythm, deep and precise, coaxing out every last tremble from your overworked body. you were already raw, nerves frayed and fluttering like wires sparking beneath your skin.

“you’re still so tight,” she whispered, her lips brushing your ear. “still clenching around me like you haven’t already made a mess all over my hand. so greedy, sweet girl.”

your hips bucked instinctively, chasing the friction, even as every motion sent a ripple of sensation through you so sharp it made your eyes flutter shut. you tried to breathe through it, to calm down, but sabrina knew your body too well. knew how to keep you exactly on the edge where everything was too much and still not enough.

“brina — daddy,” you whimpered, voice cracking as you reached out for something, anything, to ground yourself. 

“shh,” she cooed, her tone low and soothing even as her pace stayed relentless. “you can take it, baby. come on be our good girl, princess.”

billie didn’t say anything more, but you could feel her watching. you could feel the tension coiled tight in her, held back only by the road ahead of her. “you better behave for daddy princess, you know what’s waiting for you at home otherwise,”  billie says, making you giggle. billie glances at you, eyebrow lifted a stern look on her face. “yeah? what’s so funny,”“no —nothing daddy, just that you’re— you’re so hard,” you try to squeak out, while sabrina’s fingers still continued to fuck you, curling in and hitting your sweet spot. 

“watch yourself babygirl,” billie warns.

“you’re such a mess,” sabrina murmurs, dragging her fingers out just to push them back in deeper. “and all for us. look at you, baby. you wanted this, didn’t you? wanted to be ruined in the front seat, all wide open and shaking while the world drives right past. d’you hear how soaked you are?”

you nodded helplessly, your thighs twitching, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from how overwhelming it all was. every stroke felt too deep. every breath felt too thin. you were unraveling again, and sabrina wasn’t slowing down.

billie’s voice came, finally, low and even like a knife slipping through silk. “come on, wanna be our good girl so bad, don’t you babygirl?”

you sobbed a soft “yes,” the sound barely a breath, as sabrina’s palm pressed flat against you, her fingers curving just right, drawing out every last tremor left in your aching body.“then go on, show us how good it feels, cum for us baby,”

you came again, your juices spilling onto your thighs and seat below you, you knew billie would be upset.

“fucking slut,” billie muttered, her voice low and dangerous as she looked down at the mess you’d left across the seat. “so messy you ruined daddy’s car.”

you turned slowly, eyes wide, lips parted as a warm blush crept up your cheeks. “m’sorry, daddy…” you whispered, voice trembling. “didn’t mean to be so messy…”

billie didn’t respond at first, just stared at you over the rim of her sunglasses, jaw tight. the car had stopped now, parked somewhere quiet and out of the way, the air inside heavy with heat and unsaid things. you could feel the storm brewing in her silence.

sabrina slid a hand into your hair from beside you, gentle, almost soothing. “she didn’t mean to,” she echoed, but there was amusement in her voice, like she already knew what came next. “still needs to clean it up, though, don’t you baby?”

billie gave a single nod, then leaned back in her seat. “good girls take responsibility, don’t they?”

your heart pounded at the implication. you nodded softly. “yes, daddy…”

sabrina tugged you gently downward, guiding you between her thighs. her legs shifted just enough to welcome you in, her breath catching slightly when your face pressed close. that subtle tension, that quiet moment of stillness before everything changed—you felt it ripple through her body.

you glanced up, and she was watching you now with dark, hooded eyes. 

“you gonna be good and make up for your mess?” billie asked from behind, her tone clipped but calm—like this was expected of you, routine even.

you didn’t answer with words. you only nodded, slow and obedient, hunger simmering just beneath the surface. slipping your arms behind your back, you lowered yourself toward the seat, every movement deliberate—offering, not just acting.

your tongue met the remnants of your own pleasure, warm against the cooled leather. you licked slowly, reverently, letting yourself feel the humiliation and heat wash through you like it belonged there. like you belonged there.

sabrina’s hand slid into your hair, firm and grounding, holding it back with care that felt anything but innocent. “there’s our messy little thing,” she murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “cleaning up so nicely.”

billie said nothing, just watched you, eyes hooded, the corner of her mouth twitching up.

you kept going, soft, slow strokes of your tongue, until every trace was gone, your mouth tingling, your pride stripped clean alongside the seat. and still, you stayed down, waiting for what came next.

as you licked carefully, savoring the taste of yourself and the moment, you felt sabrina shift beside you. the subtle but unmistakable change, the way her breath hitched, the quickening pulse at her throat. her hand tightened in your hair, steadying you but betraying a growing need.

you glanced up, catching the gleam in her eyes—dark, hungry, and impossible to ignore.

“such a good girl,” sabrina whispered, voice low and thick with something deeper. 

“daddy, need your cock, please” you say resting your head against sabrina’s thigh. billie’s hand now remained on your jaw, forcing you to look up at the both of them. 

“need our cocks princess? want us to stuff you full? hm?” billie taunts, and you just nod quickly, your mind too hazy to recollect anything being said to you. billie nods towards sabrina, gesturing for her to unbuckle her pants. 

your breath caught in your chest, as you see sabrina’s dick spring free, hitting just below her belly button. “bought you the whole fucking store and you still can’t have enough hm? how about make daddy cum, and maybe we’ll think about fucking you like the little whore you are, baby” billie whispers as if it’s a fallen secret into the car. 

you nodded eagerly, breath catching as sabrina guided you gently, but firmly, inviting you closer. billie grabbed your hair into her hands, giving you better access to sabrina’s cock. you kiss sabrina’s dick softly, jerking it a couple times with your hands before taking the whole thing into your mouth.

“good girl,” billie murmured, brushing a knuckle along your jaw. “look at you. right where you belong.”

your breath caught, everything inside you tightening with that ache only they knew how to pull from you. being on your knees didn’t feel like humiliation, it felt like clarity. you didn’t need to speak. you didn’t need to think.

you just needed to be theirs.

sabrina leaned forward now, resting one hand on the top of your head. “you’re gonna make it up to us properly, yeah?” she asked, voice lazy and low. 

you nodded softly, lips parting, hands resting obediently on your thighs as you waited, waited for permission, for guidance, for them.

billie looked down at you one more time, her hand tilting your chin just enough to make you hold her gaze.

“so polite when you’re on your knees,” she said, smiling slightly. “let’s see how long that lasts.”

you shifted closer to sabrina, your breath catching as the heat radiating from her skin pressed gently against your face. your nose hitting her pelvis, as her dick bottomed out in your mouth. her hand tightened in your hair, guiding you with a firm but patient grip that left no doubt whose control this was.

your lips brushed against her, soft and tentative at first, tasting the warm, salty skin that promised everything you’d been craving. sabrina’s breath hitched, low and ragged, her eyes fluttering shut as you pressed closer, your tongue tracing slow, deliberate paths against the veins that made her shiver beneath your touch.

every movement was slow and reverent, your mouth exploring carefully, seeking to please, to show just how much you wanted to be good for her. you felt the tension in her body coil tighter with every gentle stroke, the quiet sounds she made vibrating through you like electricity.

billie watched from the driver’s seat, eyes sharp and approving, the corner of her mouth twitching into a smile as she watched the two of you. 

sabrina’s fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you a little closer as her breath caught again, breath hot against your cheek. “that’s it, baby,” she whispered. “just like that.”

you worked slowly at sabrina, lips and tongue moving with care—but the fire building inside you was impossible to contain. your body trembled with need, hips pressing forward against the hard edge of the car door.

a desperate whine escaped your throat as you ground your pelvis without thinking, seeking friction, craving more. your hands braced against sabrina’s thighs to steady yourself, but the ache was raw and demanding.

sabrina’s fingers tightened in your hair, but instead of pulling you back, she guided your movements with a sharp, low chuckle. “you’re such a greedy girl,” she murmured, voice thick with amusement and desire. “trying to get off while you’re supposed to be good and obedient.”

billie glanced over her shoulder, eyes narrowing in mock reproach but tinged with approval. “is that how you wanna play, princess? trying to fuck yourself, when daddy just let you cum twice?”

you swallowed hard, cheeks flushing bright, but your need didn’t ease. the tension between wanting to obey and wanting to lose control tangled inside you, raw and electric.

sabrina leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “you can misbehave all you want… but you’ll take what we give you, on our terms. understand?”the second you hesitated—breath caught, lips parted but silent—billie moved.

you barely had time to react before her hands were on you, firm and unrelenting. she pulled you up from the car like you weighed nothing, your breath catching in your throat as your body was lifted, your legs scrambling instinctively before settling against her.

“didn’t think i asked for silence,” she muttered, voice low in your ear, like a warning and a promise all in one.

sabrina was right behind, the car door shutting with a quiet click. you caught a glimpse of her over billie’s shoulder, her expression unreadable, calm—except for the flicker of hunger in her eyes. she didn’t say anything, just followed closely as billie carried you into the house.

the door slammed shut behind her, the click of the lock echoing too loud in the stillness. you were already breathless by the time billie reached the stairs, your fingers curling weakly into the fabric of her shirt, clinging to her more out of instinct than anything else.

each step upstairs felt heavy with anticipation. you could feel the tension in her grip, the strength she wasn’t even trying to hide. sabrina’s footsteps echoed behind, slow and steady, like she was savoring your helplessness.

then the bedroom door opened, billie didn’t pause. she tossed you onto the bed in one fluid movement. your back hit the mattress with a soft thud, breath knocked out of your lungs as the world tilted around you. the room was warm and dim, lit with the late afternoon light slipping through the curtains, casting golden shadows across the sheets.

you blinked up, dazed, flushed, and trembling—not from fear, but from the heat simmering through every inch of your body. billie stood at the foot of the bed, staring down at you with that calm, dangerous focus that made your skin feel too tight.

sabrina shut the door behind her and leaned against it, arms folded, gaze slow and indulgent as she looked you over. “still want to be a brat, baby?” she asked, voice smooth and dark. “or are you ready to beg properly now?”

your breath hitched — because you weren’t sure.

not sure if you wanted to rebel or submit. not sure if you needed to be punished or praised. not sure which of the two sets of eyes on you burned hotter, billie’s calm, assessing stare or sabrina’s slow, indulgent gaze that drank in every inch of you.

the bed creaked beneath you as you shifted, heart racing, throat dry. billie moved first, stepping forward with quiet command in her stride, the kind that made your body react before your mind caught up. she didn’t have to say a word. you were already rising onto your knees, wordlessly falling into place.

sabrina pushed off the door with lazy grace, a slight smirk on her lips as she walked behind you. you felt her presence before you heard her — the warmth of her body, the scent of her skin, the electricity in the air around her. your breath caught again, and this time it was from the weight of both of them closing in.

billie stood in front of you now, hands at her hips, looking down at you with something like amusement — something sharper just underneath. “you going to behave now?” she asked.

you nodded, but it wasn’t enough. it never was.

“use your words.”

“yes, daddy,” you whispered, voice barely holding together. “m’ gonna be your good girl”

“mm,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “we’ll see.”

behind you, sabrina's hands slid up the backs of your thighs, warm and possessive. she didn’t rush. that wasn’t her style. her fingertips grazed along the hem of your skirt before gathering the fabric and slowly pulling it up, exposing more of you to the cool air, to her touch, to the inevitable.

your body trembled with anticipation.

you looked up at billie, the calmest one in the room, the eye of the storm, and she just raised a brow. testing you. letting you decide how far you were willing to go, how much of yourself you were willing to give.

your hands reached for her, gentle and reverent, as sabrina’s grip tightened around your hips. it was like being suspended between two forces, one sharp, one smoldering, both intent on unraveling you.

sabrina leaned in close, her voice brushing against your ear like velvet and warning. “it’s such a shame you misbehaved princess, daddy and i had such a reward planned for you”

you whimper, desperate to have her hands on you again. 

you rested your forehead against billie’s abdomen for a moment, catching your breath, grounding yourself in the steady rhythm of her breathing, in the quiet tension of the room. then, slowly, deliberately, you opened your mouth in obedience.

billie’s fingers tangled gently in your hair, not forcing, not guiding — just there. her control wasn’t in her grip; it was in the expectation. 

and you gave into it.

at the same time, sabrina’s hands moved with more purpose, sliding over your curves like she owned them. you gasped as her grip shifted, stronger now, anchoring you between them, steadying your trembling body.

it was dizzying — giving so much of yourself, offering up every inch, every sound, every trembling breath. you didn’t know where one sensation ended and the next began. billie’s quiet, commanding presence in front of you. sabrina’s relentless, teasing force behind you. and you — strung between them, unraveling piece by piece.

billie stroked your cheek with her thumb, not quite soft, not quite rough. “such a pretty mess already,” she murmured. “and we’ve barely started.”

sabrina chuckled low behind you, her fingers digging into your skin. “she is a mess. look at her, desperate for anything we give her.”

you moaned softly, not even trying to hide it now. your body moved instinctively, shifting closer to both of them, clinging to the contact, chasing the feeling. billie let you, but only just — always in control, always deciding how much she’d allow.

sabrina’s breath was hot against your spine as she pressed kisses there, slow, messy ones that made you shiver. she murmured against your skin, “think our little girl, deserves to have us fuck her billie?”

you whined before billie could even answer, your head dropping forward, forehead resting on her again, as if your body couldn’t contain all the heat, the want, the tension burning through you.

billie’s hand in your hair tightened, just a little. “mm, i dunno, but she’ll take whatever we give her, isn’t that right baby?”

you nodded into her, barely able to breathe.

the pressure built slowly, in your chest, in your limbs, in the air around you. they didn’t rush, that was the worst part. or maybe it wasn’t

every moment stretched out, deliberate and slow, designed to keep you on edge, never quite sure where the next touch would come from or how much control you’d be allowed to keep. you were trembling already, and they hadn’t even fully started.

billie ran her cock along your cheek, featherlight. her presence was steady, almost cool, in contrast to the fire building in your core.

she smiled faintly, tilting your chin up. “say ahh, princess.”

her tone was mocking, but affectionate. the kind of soft that carried teeth just beneath it. you knew she was testing you.

your first instinct was to shake your head. the flush rising in your face wasn’t from heat alone, it was embarrassment, the sense of being seen so completely. you wanted to hide, to retreat from the way they both watched you like you were something to be played with. you wanted to run from the humiliation they wanted you to play into. 

but you didn’t.

because you knew better.

you opened your mouth slowly, breath shaking, eyes locked on billie’s.

“ahh—” you managed, your voice barely there.

and just then, behind you, sabrina moved, pushing her dick into you.

the pressure of her hand on your lower back became firmer, guiding, grounding, and then something shifted, deep and startling, and your whole body arched forward with a soft, broken sound.

sabrina didn’t ease you in. she never did. she set a rhythm that demanded your body keep up. you braced yourself instinctively, knuckles turning white as you clutched at the sheets.

billie didn’t move. she just watched. calm. measured. in control. the contrast between her stillness and sabrina’s intensity behind you made your head spin.

“there you go,” billie murmured. “just like that.”

you whimpered, caught between them, your body a live wire. every nerve was alive. every movement pulled you deeper into the tension that threaded through the room like heat.

sabrina leaned in closer, her breath hitting your shoulder. “you look so sweet like this,” she said, her voice low and ragged. “trying so hard to be good, for daddy and i.”

billie’s thumb brushed your bottom lip again, slow and deliberate. “you want to keep being good for us, don’t you?”

you nodded, unable to find your voice. your body was already answering for you, with every tremble, every sound, every desperate attempt to keep yourself grounded as sabrina’s pace never faltered.

“you’re doing so well,” billie said, almost too soft. “c’mon take daddy’s dick too”

your mouth was open, tongue out, eyes wide—desperate and obedient. you didn’t have to see billie’s expression to know the effect it had. her breath hitched, almost imperceptibly, and her hand tightened ever so slightly in your hair, guiding your movements with steady control.

you swore you saw the flicker of her eyes rolling back, just for a second. that tiny slip of composure only made your pulse quicken. she tapped herself against your tongue, slow and deliberate, each motion a silent command. you counted—three times. just enough to tease. just enough to keep you waiting.

then she pushed forward, and everything else fell away.

her fingers gripped tighter, anchoring you in place as she guided your head — not with force, but with the kind of quiet command that made your spine tingle. like she didn’t need to ask, because she already knew you’d give her everything.

“just like that, baby,” billie murmured above you, voice low and steady. “look at you. so eager.”

you flushed deeper, but didn’t pull away — your body followed her rhythm instinctively, every motion drawing you further under.

behind you, sabrina was losing patience in the best way.

her pace had shifted — no longer slow or teasing. her hips met yours with sharp, heated intent, her hands gripping your waist, then moving up, gliding along your stomach and chest. she groaned quietly when her fingers found your nipples, rolling them between her fingertips until you whimpered.

“you hear yourself?” sabrina whispered, her voice rough in your ear. “all those pretty sounds for us.”

you tried to respond, but it came out as a choked breath — too much stimulation, too much pressure, and yet not nearly enough.

billie chuckled softly. “what’s the matter, princess? thought you wanted this.”

you nodded, desperate, still trying to hold her gaze even as sabrina’s movements threatened to undo you completely.

“thought so,” billie said. “we’re treating you like a princess yet you still keep acting like nothing but a disrespectful little whore,”

sabrina leaned in closer, her breath hot on your neck. “spending all our money on you, just to be a brat huh?”

your whole body trembled. your hands gripped the sheets, your knees barely holding steady beneath you. 

billie’s head is thrown back, as you hollow out your cheeks on her dick. “fuck, baby, i’m gonna cum,” billie said, her voice rough and low as she looked down at you.

your eyes met hers, wide and pleading, mascara smudged beneath them, strands of your hair tangled between her fingers. you held her gaze, breath catching in your throat, as if silently begging her to let go.

that was all it took.

billie’s hand tightened in your hair, steadying you, and with a shuddered breath, she released, her warmth filling your mouth.

you swallowed, steady despite the flood of sensation, your body still trembling from the relentless rhythm behind you.

sabrina’s pace slowed, but there was no easing off the tension between you. her hands stayed firm on your hips, grounding you as the heat inside you flared higher.

her breath hitched against your skin, low and ragged. “fucked you so many times, but you’re still so fucking tight baby,” she murmured, voice thick with everything she wasn’t saying.

you could feel her trembling, the subtle changes in her rhythm telling you she was close. your body responded instantly, tightening around her, desperate to hold on.

“our dirty little girl” sabrina whispered, lips brushing your neck. 

the world narrowed down to the three of you, sabrina’s warmth, billie’s fingers trailing your face,your breath mingling, and your heart pounding in unison. every movement, every touch, was a promise and a claim.

“m’ gonna fucking cum, mama, you gonna let me cum in you?” sabrina whimpered out, fucking you desperately. you nod quickly. 

“yes—yes, please daddy cum in me, please” and that was all it took for sabrina, before she released inside you, painting your walls white. sabrina’s hands smoothed over your skin, softening now as her breath slowed.

“fuck, you’re ours baby, our perfect little girl,” she whispered, voice full of desire and need.

and you believed her. you were theirs. completely.

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

[skeletonxface]

♡ simon "ghost" riley brain rot. ♡

⤷ x gn!reader; smut drabble. MDNI. ⤷ 4.3k word count. ⤷ reader is described without specific pronouns but is written wearing a skirt, with long-ish hair, and has breasts & a vagina.

content warnings—p n v; fingering; oral; public sex/bathroom sex; unprotected sex;

thinking about the 141 partaking in some r and r at the pub. john is musing over a pint, listening to one of johnny's stories that derails from the starting topic half-way through, and now a conversation about all the places to sight-see in glasgow has turned into a dramatic retelling of a high school brawl johnny (of course) triumphed in. 

kyle is chiming into the convo, a little tipsy, but he's always struggled with pacing himself. and he's pointing out all the inconsistencies in johnny's retelling, and tripping the scot up. it's all in fair fun, though. 

then, there's simon and his bourbon. the amber liquid runs warm down his throat when he scans the pub's perimeter and just happens to see you, a complete stranger. and without so much as a crack in his stone-like exterior, he finds himself unable to force his attention away. like two magnets striking together, it's a feeling he hasn't experienced since he was a young wily teenager. back when his emotions ruled over him without mercy, and he was a ticking time bomb of explosive anger. 

except this—whatever he's feeling right now because of you—it's the furthest sensation from rage. he can't place his finger on it. all he knows is that his chest feels wound up tight—like a spring ready to be loosened—and his hands are folding into fists atop the bar surface. 

what the fuck? his breath hitches in his throat as he watches you pick your way through the crowded pub. all he wants is to look at you, and nothing short of sheer force could pull his focus away. 

any exposed skin that peeks out from your night-out attire makes his own skin burn. an itch he hopes (and fails) to ignore edging within him to touch you. too many thoughts racing through his head about how his large hands would feel planted on your waist, his fingers slipping underneath the hem of your skirt, gently twisting around the band of your underwear. how fucking good it would feel to bury his face between your thighs. 

he has to sit straighter in his seat, his shoulders seizing too tight. his dick strains against his jean fly, and it makes him realize how long its been since he's wanted someone. since he's felt a fucking need to be inside them. 

god, he could eat you alive. 

with his hood drawn over his head, the fabric casts a shadow across his upper face, where the remnants of too stubborn black kohl still stains the skin around his eyelids. and he hopes its enough to conceal his unflinching stare. even if some part of him he's long since assumed was dead needs you to notice his rapt attention. 

yet, as you slide onto a bar stool only a few spots down from him, you're casting a glance over your shoulder. quick and harmless while you adjust yourself onto the seat. your eyes catch his and he knows he should look away, but he doesn't. everything in him resists the idea. 

he removes his fists from the bar and onto his lap, where his knuckles rub into the coarse denim stretched over his thighs. he's not nervous; he can't remember the last time he ever felt that way. instead, it's an act of restraint. a way to ground himself and to resist the urge to approach you.

johnny and kyle's voices have long faded into mindless background noise; the whole world swallowed up by your presence. and when you turn away, simon lets loose a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. 

eventually, john heaves himself from his seat and announces his retiring to his flat. johnny, whose two years into sobriety and the designated driver, gathers himself to follow their captain. 

it's only when john claps simon's shoulder does he startle from his stupor, shooting the older man a half-assed glare, which he then covers by rubbing his dry eyes. 

"you comin’ with?" john asked, nodding toward the pub's rustic doors. 

simon shakes his head, stealing a sip of his drink. he hardly pays attention when he responds with something about wanting to walk back to base, instead. and the moment the men retreat outside, reality weighs down onto his shoulders, forcing him to hunch forward. his broad frame like an ominous black shadow in the midst of a warm and bubbly crowd. 

his stare bores into the lacquered grain of the bar top. a few drops of condensation pooling beneath the crystal loosely gripped in his hand. 

your presence—the mere idea of you—feels like a hard wind, tugging him ever toward your direction. but he keeps his head down, focus forward. he doesn't look at you again. he can't risk it. he doesn't know what the fuck is wrong with him, but the mere thought of finding out sets his teeth on edge. 

even while he's off the field, away from the blood, guts, and gore, ghost never truly goes away. he's always there, it doesn't matter if his balaclava is on or off. the only time simon ever makes an appearance is on the off nights when he awakes on his lumpy mattress, sweat dripping off his skin. when the phantom sensation of flames licks at his backside. and the memory of his boot-prints trekking their spilt blood across his brother's house weighs like a mortar shell on his mind. only then does simon burst from the shadows, choking on a gasp and struggling to gather air. 

until tonight. until you. 

his heart beats faster in his chest. a lump that's hard to swallow forms in his throat. 

kyle stands from his seat and mumbles something about a pretty babe, the movement grabbing simon's attention. he watches his teammate slide into a booth-seat beside someone he doesn't recognize. she's a good looking girl, though, with doily curls and a filled out spaghetti strap top, but she's not you. and he finds himself glancing off to the side, disinterested. 

and, like a weaker man than he should be, his eyes seek you out. you're still nestled only a few feet from him, your legs crossed over each other, with your skirt skating up your waist. bare skin only stretching to where the imagination yearns to explore further.

he doesn't feel guilty. not for staring or for thinking about you in the filthiest positions his mind can conjure. the thoughts race through his head of you tangled in his bed sheets, up against the shower wall, bent over his knee... god, what the fuck is he doing?

years of brutal training—of tampering down his most basic instincts—all for what? there's too much energy pent up within him, demanding to be released. his nerves are rigid, his muscles taught with tension, and christ, if he doesn't speak to you soon, he'll lose his mind. 

but then, your eyes lock again. 

the corners of your mouth hitch tentatively higher and—fuck it. simon picks up his glass and shifts over to the seat beside you. your eyes widen, drinking in his size as you look him up and down. then, toward your drink as if you've become suddenly aware of your gawking. 

his mouth shifts in amusement and into something that isn't quite a smile, but it's the closest he's been to one in a long time. 

the conversation starts slow. a simple exchanging of names, a comment about your shared environment. honestly, simon is unsure how to broach some kind of normalcy with you. not while he feels like a raging hormonal teenager. but you're kinder than he expects people to be, and you don't grow uncomfortable when most of your comments are met with silence. instead, you bridge the gap with your own clumsy charm. 

like you're word vomiting onto the blank pages of a journal, you tell him about how nervous you are. this is the first time you've been out in a while—after all, you just recently moved to the UK and haven't had much luck in making friends—and you weren't sure where else to go. all you knew is that, tonight, a cold pint sounded amazing. and he agrees, almost a little too pleased that he decided not to spend his evening bumming around his flat. 

you talk—a lot. but he doesn't interrupt you or make an excuse to leave, so you carry on. you confess that you're drinking soda, not because you're against alcohol, but because you were worried you'd get too carried away tonight. and then you let slip to simon about your shitty ex-boyfriend who was more man-child than partner. the guy who, just a few months ago, you moved out here to be with. a one pump-chump sorta man who never paid much attention to your needs, and—

you stop short of finishing your story, a look of pure horror registering across your face once you realize all you've just said. you're cute, but he'd rather see the way you look when he's buried deep inside of you. showing you what it feels like to be taken care of by somebody else.

then, you lightly fan your face. adjusting the low-enough collar of your top, your chuckle has a nervous lilt, and you apologize needlessly. 

simon notices you looking anywhere but him, and leans forward, intent on fixing that. his bold hand lands on your upper thigh, and his touch is light enough that if you were uncomfortable, you could push him away. but you don't. your shoulders hike higher as your chin angles close to your chest, stare planted on where his fingers splay over your skin. 

that restlessness rises inside of him again, and suddenly, the bar is the last place he wants to be at with you. 

his tongue wets his lips. the gesture is hidden behind the thick knit material of his mask, except it's more of a tick, anyway. and then he's prodding at the cards that you've fanned out before him, his tone low like he's sharing a secret just between the two of you. simon asks if your ex ever did anything more than just jerk his hips for five minutes, and when's the last time you've let someone else make you feel good. 

you're quick to reveal your whole hand; your tone is bashful when you admit that you've been neglected for far too long. but if there's one thing simon's an ace at, it's problem-solving. 

you nod toward the bathroom door with your fingers curled around his, from where they've pressed into the soft meat of your thigh. and then, you're leading him from the stool and toward the back of the pub. towards a single's bathroom.

simon twists the lock shut behind him. 

you're not what he expected. you're better. but he can't help but wonder what sickness resides inside of you, that would drive you to bare yourself so vulnerably before someone like him. his frame dominates yours, his face covered by his signature skeleton print, and every inch of him is completely unknown to you. but you accept him like this, your fingers latching onto his belt buckle with an innate need. 

he grabs your hands, stopping you, and the wide-eyed panicked look you seize him with draws a raw chuckle from deep within his throat. wordlessly then, he pulls the bottom of his balaclava over his mouth, and attaches his lips to your own. your kisses are quick and messy, the space in between each filled with your quiet gasps for air as he backs you against the sink edge. 

your arms loop around his shoulders, and your touch slips under the bunched lip of his mask. he stills, years of caution engrained into the very marrow of his bones. his breathing takes on a labored edged.

when his fingernails dig too harshly into the back of your hips, you whine; your pants for air seep through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. you toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, then, massaging the skin there as you lean in for another kiss. and he gives in with a slump of his shoulders; his frame swallows yours. 

with a quick jerk of his wrist, simon has you spun around, and you have to plant your hands against the laminate sink counter to steady yourself. by then, his crotch is already pressed against your behind. his cock aching to be freed from the painful constraint of his jeans. 

you flip your skirt over your ass to reveal your cotton panties. they're a clean white; straight purity. a groan grinds out from his tight throat. his hands touching, kneading your flesh. he grabs your ass and squeezes before massaging the pained area. his knuckle hooks around your underwear to drag it down your legs. 

his palm settles into the curve of your back, where he pushes down, edging your ass higher into the air. your cunt on full display before him. the chill of the conditioned bathroom meeting the heat between your legs draws small noises from you that sends his head spinning. the muscle in his jaw ticks. 

already tonight, he's shown far too much restraint, and he can't hold himself back any longer. simon's fingers trail down your thighs as he lowers himself onto his haunches, surprising you, before he's pressing his lips to your pretty little cunt. his tongue slides between your folds, the scratch of his barely-there stubble and the wool of his mask rubbing against your sensitive skin. 

fuck. 

you arch beneath his touch, the muscles in your legs tensing. your nails dig into the countertop edge as you tilt your head backward, mouth dropped open with a stolen moan. your breaths snag inside your throat. and in a way that makes him smile against you, you push your rear back and closer to him. 

it doesn't take much for simon to know your ex never fucking dared to do even this much for you, and the thought only eggs him on. if he's only able to have you for one night, he needs to make sure that nothing will ever be able to wash the feeling of you away. 

one of his hands curls around your inner thigh, while the other grips your ankle to ground himself as simon leans in. 

his tongue circles your clit, drawing more and more noise out of you. he stays there, soaking up each gasp, pant, and expletive that drops from your lips. until his eyes dare to climb higher and his focus catches onto the way your hair spills around your shoulders, the yellow-stained ceiling light tracing the strands. but it's not enough, and he wants to see your face. 

you catch your breath when he withdraws from his perch between your legs, but then he's twisting you back around. his hands guide your waist to meet his, his hold on you stern in a way that short-circuits your brain and fills your mouth with spit. 

simon will lean close then, his emotional walls lowering just long enough for him to whisper against your cheek how completely mad you drive him. how it should be a sin for you to look the way you do. like an angel demanding to be ruined is the part that he cuts himself off from saying by trailing hot kisses down the slope of your neck. his teeth nicking your collarbone just for him to kiss the angry skin afterwards. 

just one night—that's all he can give you. it'll be a bloody fucking great one, though. that's for sure. 

cupping your jaw, his fingers span across your cheek, tracing the little skin bumps and natural indents until he stops just short of your mouth. your lips are wet with the combination of both of your saliva, and he waits patiently for you to get the hint. you do, eventually, looking up at him with that wide doe eyed stare as you sink your warm mouth onto his fingers. 

you suck, your tongue dragging along his textured skin, and you don't stop until he pulls his hand away. moving it down and to to your cunt, where he picks up where he left off with your clit. 

a tension chord winds and tightens inside your stomach, yanking and throbbing with heat. instinctively, you push up onto your tip-toes. your ass digging into the sink; the laminate burns cold against your hot flesh. 

your breath sharpens and speeds up. your head snapping backward to droop against the mirror. simon presses closer, his slickened fingers slipping inside you. his large muscular legs inserted in between yours. 

his free arm cages in around you as he leans forward, his body slanted at an angle with yours, and his head lowers between your shoulder and neck. his breath fanning across the skin there. his lips are so close to touching you again, but he keeps back. instead, he steels his attention on the feel of your insides molding to his touch. 

your hands skate down the hump of his shoulders to his midriff, and in a way that surprises him, simon shivers. when you glide your fingertips beneath the hem of his shirt to smooth over the skin on his hips, he gets the urge to kiss you again with your slick still wet on his lips. so, he does. 

his fingers curl inside of you, drawing more and more whines from your throat, when he grips the back of your neck. in complete sync, you tilt your head then to deepen the kiss, your teeth bumping against his in a way that's painful. you've never been one to complain, though, and you grin against his mouth. from where his hand roughly holds your nape, your hair tangles in his fingers and the strands tug against your scalp. a sharp tingling that steals your breath straight from your lungs. 

simon adjusts then, releasing his grip to bring the pad of his thumb to your clit. while he grinds his fingers inside of your pussy, he rubs, and that tightness inside your abdomen grows. you have to clench your jaw to prevent a sob from barreling out, but your face slackens with a silent gasp afterward. a thick wetness slipping down your inner thighs as simon works the orgasm out of you. your cum dribbles down his fingers and between his knuckles. 

your shoulders have rocketed upward, tension shivering in your every muscle, as you ride out the feeling. your hands curl into fists in the soft cotton fabric of his shirt.

you pant to catch your breath before your eyes find simon's. beneath the mask, you can read little of his expression, but there's hardly a need. you can't pin-point what it is about him that's brought you to the situation you're in—all you know is that you need him inside of you, and you'll settle for little else. 

twitchy hands latch onto his belt buckle, and you mumble something about wanting to take care of him, too, while you work to undo his jean fly. meanwhile, simon brings his touch back up to your face, and you take his fingers into your mouth again. the distinct thought that it might please him to do so drives you to taste yourself on his skin.

perspiration dots your forehead, and the thin strands of your bangs matte to your temples. simon pops himself free of your mouth to brush the fly-aways to the side, so he can better examine your face. your slightly agape lips, the soft pinch between your eyebrows, and the small scars that compliment your features. the lowering of your lashes as you focus on freeing his dick from his pants and then waistband, and the wideness of your stare when you take in the full sight of him. 

simon admires it all. 

built like a fridge, it should come as no surprise that his thighs and biceps aren't the only large things about him. and his cock holds a natural curve to it, veins running along beneath the skin. 

simon fists himself, your spit on his fingers wetting his rough touch. but you're quick to interject, spreading your legs further apart. your skirt slips down your lap and you have to wrangle it back upward with a precious smile. 

a burst of aggression pummels through him. an instinctive urge to grab you close and never let go strikes through his body like short bursts of electricity. and he has to breathe hard through his nose to collect himself, glancing to the side with a hard-set jaw and heaving chest. 

"here, let me," you whispered, your soft touches wrapping around his dick to guide him toward your entrance. 

neither of you are in possession of a condom—a thought that strikes your mind only now—but when no one interjects, he slips inside of you with a low grunt. simon kisses you again, and you breathe hard against his mouth. his cock prodding your insides, and—shit, fuck, hell—does he feel good. 

simon hooks his hands under your thighs and hoists you higher, slipping slightly out of you as you wrap your legs around his hips. but then he's guiding your body up and down his length, his biceps flexing against his tight sleeves. 

the noises you make are beyond shameless, melding with his own groans as he fucks into you. what started as a gradual pace becoming more brutal as the ferality he'd felt earlier rears its ugly head. the need to break you over his cock pushing him to thrust further, deeper, faster until you're yelping out. your moans bouncing off the bathroom walls, making the blood in his veins boil. 

when he's close, you're slotted back onto your feet with his dick still warm inside of your cunt. he pulls out to shoot his seed down your inner legs. and simon allows you to lean against him for as long as you need to. your quiet, exhausted noises bringing a breathless grin to his face. 

and despite his better judgement, when you catch his gaze and ask to see him again, he finds himself nodding. even though he should be able to predict how this will end between the two of you, his usual resolve keeps splintering, and eventually he has to force his eyes away from your own. with a hard exhale, he gathers a fistful of tissue from the bathroom wall dispenser. he dampens them with warm water before swiping along your legs, cleaning up the mess you made together. 

he takes care of himself next while you pull your panties back up and adjust your skirt over your lap. once you're both readied, you turn to him, and simon likes how your mascara sweats under your eyes. 

you hand him your phone to insert his number into your contacts. yet, when it comes time for you to do the same, he insists on writing your information down himself. and a gross sensation settles into your stomach then, like sour food you're just waiting to throw back up.

you plaster a smile on, anyhow, and tuck your phone away. already bracing yourself for this to be just a one time thing. 

when simon asks to walk you to your vehicle, you agree, but you're a little quieter than when you first met. something that doesn't go unnoticed by simon. he keeps it to himself, though, and waits for your little car to pull from the parking lot before he begins to make the trek back to his flat. 

the memory of you sits in the forefront of his mind the entire way. even when he scoffs at himself and tries to get his head on straight, his attention yanks back to you regardless. and it takes all of a few hours once he gets back to his home for that restless, edgy feeling to sink into his body full-force. 

for the next week, it stays with him. he does everything he can think of to quell the energy building up inside his chest. such as popping rounds at the shooting range, running circles around base, sparring with johnny in the training room, jerking off in the shower—but nothing cuts it. 

eventually, he starts to feel like he's losing his mind. the urge to pummel something driving him to the gym where his fist can grind into the hard sand of a punching bag. and when that doesn't work either, he finds himself at a loss. feeling far too much like his old self, before the years of anger management classes. 

it's then that simon finally breaks. fumbling his phone out of his sweats pocket, he sinks down onto a bench and retrieves your number. but his mind blanks at the sight of your name and the digits attached to it. he's never questioned himself that much before meeting you, and it's beginning to feel like you've placed a curse on him.

with a sigh, he thinks back to your small mumbling before you entered your car—hope you don't forget about me—and simon wonders how you could ever think he would. 

he's been running himself ragged just trying to get himself to. 

once, twice, once more—he types up various messages, only to delete them a second later. again and again, he struggles to put the mess inside his head into words, until he eventually settles on a simple "hey."

carding a rough hand down his face, he slots the device away before hunching in his seat. what was he thinking? he's a bloody idiot. simon has half the mind to save himself the trouble by blocking your number, but when he fishes his phone out again a second later, his thumb hovers uselessly over the screen. 

he shakes his head, trying to convince himself its for the best, when your notification pops up. and the pressure inside his chest deflates instantly. 

he leans forward over his knees, cell-phone loosely gripped in his hands as he reads your message a few times over. hey, i'm glad you reached out!

it's simple and sweet. a stone sits in his throat.

how you managed to get under his skin in one night, simon has no fucking clue. the one thing he knows for sure, though, is that you're dangerous. and fuck, if he doesn't feel more alive because of it.

notes—don't know what demon possessed me to write this at 1 am, but i need to figure out how i can summon it at whim. damn, four-thousand-words of complete horned-up vomit, i'm dead.