#MAT Mock Test

[mbauniverse4]

https://www.mbauniverse.com/mat/mock-tests/mat-mock1

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

I Don't Hate You (1)

Wanda X Reader 18+

Summary- As you were about to knock on her door you heard what sounded like a groan. You froze at the door. Did you hurt her badly in training? Was she in pain? Steve was going to kill you. Oh god you had fucked up. “Fuck Y/n, right there please,” the witch moaned and you realised. Oh.

Warnings/Tags: Smut 18+ MDNI- Enemies to Lovers?, Dom Reader, Top Reader, Praise, Sub Wanda, Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Oral sex, Multiple Orgasms.

This is an old fic I found from my ao3 so the writing quality isn't that good, apologies but I don't have the time to improve it.

General Master List | Chapter 2

You hated her. She hated you. That was the only thing you and Wanda Maximoff could agree on. The rest of the team had no idea what happened to make you hate a certain witch so much but by the way you acted towards her they could tell it must have been something big. So here you were currently sitting in the kitchen of the Avengers compound with a scowl on your face as Wanda had just entered the room.

“Can’t you just try to be civil with her?” asked Natasha who was your best friend. The spy had been there when they rescued you from Hydra and helped you understand your abilities and control them so you couldn’t hurt anyone else. Natasha was the only person you willingly told about your past. The testing, the abuse, the torture and the stripping of your humanity really did a number on you but you managed to get through it. You had to. With an annoyed look, you turned to the redhead and met her eyes.

“I’m sorry Nat but I just don’t trust her,” you said for what felt like the millionth time. The whole team wanted you two to get along but that was quiet hard as you were both strong independent women who could be annoyingly stubborn. The spy dropped the conversation with a huff and continued to run by old mission files with you. During this you found yourself looking out for a certain brunette and you couldn’t help it. You thought it was just your paranoia acting up as that was a habit you couldn’t shake but you didn’t miss that other odd feeling you felt when looking for her.

“Y/n? Wanda? A word please,” spoke Captain America and you audibly groaned at the names called. You heard her mumbled something under her breath and you just help yourself from being a dick.

“What’s wrong darling?” you sarcastically retort.

“What do you think?” she spat out, her accent thick.

“I think your thinking about having to spend time all alone with me,” you started with a smirk and she just raised her eyebrow at you, “Trying your hardest to keep that little mind of yours from thinking about being under me.” Thanks to your abilities you heard her breath hitch and knew you had riled her up.

“As If I would want to be under you,” she growled but you could see the way her legs slowly squeezed together. You loved teasing her because it always worked and well if you were being honest you had definitely thought about her being under you. The woman was gorgeous! She had a stunning body from all her training, she could kill men twice the size of her and she never backed down from a challenge. How could you not fantasize about her? It would be like some amazing fanfic where the two people who hated each other would some reason have amazing hot sex and maybe fall in love.

“Keep telling yourself that darling,” you said. You were about to tease her even more but a firm grip on your shoulder stopped you.

“Go now,” ordered Natasha and you saluted at her in a mocking manner and walked down the hall to follow the captain and witch. You couldn’t stop yourself and your eyes wandered lower until they reached the brunettes behind. You quickly averted your gaze once you released what you were doing.

“So what’s this for Grandpa,” you joke as he leads you to the training room. You jump up onto the pile of mats to sit on while he just rolls his eyes at the nickname. You and Steve were close as you both shared the super soldier serum but yours was more enhanced.

“You and Wanda will be sparring partners from now on,” his tone serious and you just laughed.

“You think she could fight me?” your voice shocked. “Wow I’m officially hurt Captain,” for dramatics you placed your hand on your heart and acted as if he had shot you.

“Get down Y/n,” he grumbled but you listened as he was still your friend. “You are going to spar with each other and settle your differences otherwise you are both banned from missions.”

“What?” you and Wanda both asked in unison.

“You heard me,” his tone stern, “Now sort this out so we don’t have to listen to anymore arguing.” With that said he left the room and slammed the door making you laugh.

“What’s so funny?” she snapped while tying her hair up and getting in a fighting stance. You looked her up and down unconsciously before clearing your throat.

“Looks like you’ll have plenty of time to be under me darling,” you purred and launched yourself at her. She dodged a few of your punches but you noticed how she put way to much weight onto one of her legs meaning if you swiped at her other-

“Fuck,” she shouted as her back hit the mat and you climbed on top of her to pin her down. You moved her hands over her head while moving your hips to straddle hers. Your faces were inches apart and your smirk was predatory. You looked deeply into her ocean eyes and wondered has she always had such beautiful eyes? You watched as her breathing started to pick up as you moved to whisper in her ear.

“If you want to be under me just ask,” you purred. “I’m sure I could make you scream,” your tone was sultry and as you pulled back you saw her eyes dilate so much only slivers of the green were left. You chuckled at her reaction before getting of her and waiting for her to get back up. You let her make the first move this time and quickly avoided her incoming attacks. You read her movements and analysed her techniques before predicting her next moves. You knew Natasha had trained her mostly so she had learned the spy’s skills but they just weren’t as developed as hers. Once she lifted the weight on one foot you knew she was going to swing her foot at you so you moved back and caught it with your hand. You flipped her over as she was now off balanced but made sure to put a hand on her back before she hit the mat once again. You hated her but that didn’t mean you were going to purposely hurt her. You weren’t like that anymore.

“You really do like being on your back for me,” you teased as you pinned her once again.

“Shut up,” she said with her accent coming out strong. “I’m getting a drink.” You gazed at her as she drank from her water bottle. From where you were you could see the light showing off the sweat that was dripping down the column of her neck and slowly trickling its way to the valley of her breasts. The sight of her was intoxicating and you couldn’t help but stare. You managed to look away before you came off as creepy and she returned to you a few moments later.

“Ready to be beaten again?” you taunted and she just rolled her eyes before throwing a surprise punch. You were impressed but it didn’t work as you countered it and swiped her off her feet once again.

“Wow you really are falling for me,” you joked and she groaned in annoyance. The two of you continued to spar for another hour until Wanda finally called it quits as she was getting annoyed. She managed to land a few hits on you occasionally but would always end up underneath you. When she stormed out of the training room you assumed it was out of frustration as you had being egging her on for ages. However Wanda left in such a hurry as the wetness between her thighs was becoming too much.

Once in her room she quickly shed her self of her sweaty workout clothes and laid down on her bed in nothing but her underwear. She didn’t get why you hated her so much. The only reason she acted the way she did to you was because that’s how you treated her. Wanda pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind as she moved her hands along her sculpted body. Sparring with you had awoken something in her. Yeah sure she had thought about you multiple times while pleasuring herself but to actually be under you and be so close? It had her wet within seconds. Her nimble fingers found themselves teasing her nipples through the fabric of her bra before she moved to unclasp it and throw it somewhere into her room. She pictured you above her, your hands teasing her nipples as she moaned under you. Your name falling out of her lips like a prayer as you took her desperately in her bed. One of her hands moved from her breast to slip underneath the fabric of her underwear and start rubbing circles into her clit. She wondered if you would be dominating during sex as you had that cocky personality or if you were really just a brat who needed to be tamed like she was. She hoped you would take charge and make her scream like you promised. She found herself getting unbearably wet between her thighs as the coil in her stomach started to tighten. She slipped in two fingers and thrusted at a leisurely pace imagining they were your fingers and you were teasing her for being such a brat this morning. Her hips bucked every time her palm brushed her clit and soft whimpers left her lips. She didn’t even notice that she was moaning your name as she edged closer and closer to the edge.

“Y/n,” spoke a voice and you whipped your head around. It was Steve great. “Why did Wanda look so annoyed after training with you?”

“I don’t know maybe because all she did was get pinned to the floor by me? I’m sorry Cap I really am but she’s too easy to fight!” you exclaimed and he sighed in frustration.

“Then why don’t you try and help her improve!” he said and you looked at him confused.

“Isn’t that your job? Or Nat’s?” he pinched the bridge of his nose at you and huffed.

“It’s yours now ok?” he said in a serious voice and you just groaned. Why God, why? “Also you can go check on her and apologise for being so rough on her in training,” his voice left no room for arguing so you mumbled stuff under your breath before leaving to go see the witch.

“God Y/n,” she whimpered as her fingers hit her g-spot repeatedly. She was a wet mess by now and she didn’t care. The image of you pounding into her with a strap on was doing wonders for her and she was so close to coming for a second time.

As you were about to knock on her door you heard what sounded like a groan. You froze at the door. Did you hurt her badly in training? Was she in pain? Steve was going to kill you. Oh god you had fucked up. “Fuck Y/n, right there please,” the witch moaned and you realised. Oh.

Wanda curled the two fingers inside her and rubbed tight, fast circles into her clit with her other hand bringing herself right to the edge. With a final thrust she came with a guttural scream and trembled on the bed as her orgasm washed over her. She laid on the bed panting after having two of the best orgasms of her life. Who knew you turned the witch on that much.

You remained frozen at the door as you had just heard Wanda moaning your name and had just orgasmed at the thought of you. Every single ounce of confidence in you went flying out of the widow as Wanda just came thinking about you. You knew you had to see the witch otherwise Steve would definitely ban you from missions so you did the only thing you could think off- make dirty jokes while talking to her.

You knocked three times on the door before saying, “Hey Wanda, I’m sorry for going so hard on you in training I just thought you would have liked it hard and rough.” You could hear an embarrassed noise from through the door and quietly chuckled. “Anyway I can’t wait for you to come tomorrow.” Wanda groaned loudly into her pillow and dreaded training with you tomorrow.

The next day you and Wanda met for training you had decided to wear a tight fitting black t-shirt that showed off how defined your body was as well as slightly curvy. You certainly didn’t expect Wanda to turn up in tight leggings that hugged her ass perfectly and a small sports bra that made her chest look bigger. You had to control yourself as she swayed her hips towards you. There was a glint of mischief in her eyes and you could tell she was going to be a brat.

“Hey Y/n,” her tone sultry and accent thick.

“Hey Wanda,” your tone equally seductive. “Did you have fun last night?” You saw how she blushed and thought this was going to be easy.

“I did actually,” she murmured, her face inches from yours. “I did what you said I would.”

“And what was that darling?” the nickname slipping from your lips.

“Thinking of you,” her voice raspy. You raised an eyebrow at her boldness but let her carry on. “I thought of what it would be like to be under you,” she stepped closer to you and moved to a fight pose. She made sure that in the position she was in her breasts would be pushed up and it would give you a clear view of them. “To have your hands all over me,” she threw a punch and you easily dodged it but grabbed her arm and flung her over you. She landed on her back with you onto and her eyes dilated. You could see how flustered she was and how her thighs tried to squeeze together. You moved apart her legs with your hands, spreading her out for you before crawling above her and putting your knew in between her legs. A soft moan left her lips at the contact and you stopped advancing on her. It felt so wrong to have her here on the floor of the training room.

“Do you actually want this?” you asked in case she didn’t for some reason.

“Yes,” she gasped out. You pressed your lips against hers and heard her moan into the kiss. Fuck she was addicting. The taste of her lips, the sound of her whimpers, the smell of her perfume. You couldn’t get enough of her. You pulled away and saw how her eyes fluttered open, her lips chasing yours. A small peck on her lips was placed before you pulled away for good to stare at her.

“Not here darling,” you panted out on her lips. Her nose brushed yours and you so desperately wanted her now. “My room or yours?”

“Mine,” she whispered and you moved off her and pulled her up. You pulled her close to murmur into her ear.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” you nibbled on her ear lobe. “Go.” Swiftly she left the training room and you chuckled as she fumbled with the door.

Around five minutes later you knocked on her door after making sure no one would see you. As soon as the door opened a hand made its way to the collar of your shirt and she dragged you into her room. Wanda pressed you against the door and reattached your lips together in a hungry kiss. You groaned into her mouth as her body became flush with yours. In one motion, you switched the positions and trapped her body between you and the door.

“If you want to stop just say,” you panted out while resting your forehead against hers, “I won’t judge and will stop as soon as you want me to.” She smiled before lacing her hands through your hair and pulling you in for a bruising kiss. Your knee made its way back between her thighs and she took this as the chance to grind along it. Your hands moved from beside her head to massage her chest before pulling down the sports bra revealing her chest. She gasped as the cold air met her nipples while you just let out a low chuckle. Your fingers rolled and pinched her nipples as she sighed against your lips and grinded her core on your toned thigh.

“Please,” she whimpered as you moved your kisses to her neck. You sucked hard onto a spot on her neck where everyone could see as it and felt her buck her hips especially hard.

“Oh you like that darling?” you teased. “Do you want everyone to see your mine? To see this and think of me and you?” you bit down on another part of her neck and soothed it with your tongue before moving to her chest. Your name fell from her lips as you took a breast into your mouth and worshipped it. With a pop you let it go before moving onto the other.

“Y/n,” she whined, “Please I’m so close. I need you to,” she moaned out before you cut her off with your lips.

“Need me to what?”

“Touch me here,” she guided one of your hands to between her thighs and you instantly felt how wet she was.

“You’re so wet for me,” you growled out and she moaned at the tone of your voice. You rubbed her through the fabric of her leggings and felt her getting extremely close. “Do you want to come?” you felt her nod against your shoulder and you tsked her. “You’ve got to use your words if you want to be a good girl,” she moaned at the words. “Good girls get to come.”

“Please let me come,” she whimpered and you felt bad for what you were about to do but it would be worth it. “I’m so close,” as soon as she said that you picked her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around your toned abdomen. She whined as you placed her on the bed as she was so close to coming. Once she was on the bed you knelt by the end of it and reached for the waistband of her leggings. You looked at her in the eyes, asking the silent question, and waited for her to say yes. She nodded but you tsked again so she said, “Yes. Please!” You laughed at her neediness but continued to pull the remaining clothing off her skin. As you unveiled the soft, smooth skin of her legs you groaned quietly as she was breath-taking.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered while moving her legs over your shoulder. You peppered open mouthed kisses in between her thighs before leaving a few bites to leave as a reminder. “Is this what you wanted?” you murmured into her skin. “To be spread out and wanting for me?” your hot breath sent all sorts of pleasurable feelings throughout the witch and a low moan left her lips. “Desperate for my touch?” you finally gave in and took her clit into your mouth. Her hips jerked at pleasure so with one of your hands you held her hips down. The show of strength made Wanda feel even more aroused and a new gush of wetness pooled between her thighs. Your tongue licked between her folds while your free hand moved to circle her clit. You thrusted your tongue into her dripping core and felt her clench around you. Wanda was already extremely close from before so it only took a few thrusts of your tongue against her walls and a few rubs of her clit for her legs to wrap around your head. Her legs trembled as she came with a long string of moans, her back arching beautifully and chest heaving from the intensity of it. Once she had rode out the last of her aftershocks you switched your tongue with your fingers and easily slipped two into her.

“Oh fuck,” she moaned as her hips bucked as best they could under your grip. You started a fast pace of moving your digits within her while your mouth sucked and licked around your extremely sensitive clit. It took only a minute or so for the witch to cry out your name out as another orgasm washed over her. You waited once again for her to calm down and tested to see if she could handle another. You worked her up slowly this time and her hands unclenched the sheet in her hand and tangled in your hair. You made her come another time before deciding she had enough and it would be too much for another.

“Are you alright?” you whispered as you moved back above her body. She sighed out a yes before pressing her lips against yours. The brunette moaned as she tasted herself on your lips before pulling away.

“Do you want me to?” she asked breathlessly and you shook your head.

“Its ok,” you said after pressing your lips together once again, “You’re tired. Go and rest.” You moved to her bathroom to grab a towel so you could quickly wipe her down and clean her up. Once you were happy she was alright you went to grab her clothes and put them into a wash basket before passing her some comfortable clothes to wear. You heard her call your name so you turned around to look at her.

“Stay?” she had hope in her eyes and for some reason you felt like you couldn’t deny her. You crawled into the bed with her and felt her move close to cuddle you. This felt weird for you as you had never expected to do this with her but it didn’t feel wrong so you went with it. “Y/n?” you hummed in response, “Why do you hate me?

“I don’t hate you,” you admitted. It was true. You never hated Wanda you were just scared of what she thought of you. When she went into your mind all that time ago when she was with Ultron you were still a new member of the team. You hadn’t done much to remove the ‘red in your ledger’ as Natasha phrased it and you assumed she just thought you were evil. “I just thought you would see me as a monster. I pushed you away because you saw all of me and it just….scared me I guess.” She removed her head from your chest to look at you in the eyes.

“You’re not a monster Y/n. And I never thought that of you.” She pressed her lips onto yours and this time it felt different.

“I’m sorry for how I treated you,” you whispered against her lips, not meeting her eyes.

“I’m sorry too,” she cooed and you finally looked at her, “But to be honest I was just mad at you. I had a huge crush on you and you just wanted to push me away.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m yours now,” you said and you saw her raise her eyebrow, “Well that’s if you still want me.” She answered you by kissing you passionately on the lips and pulling you closer.

“Of course I do.”

[itsnesss]

𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 | kwon jae-sung × fem!reader

summary | you hate him. you hate him with every fiber of your being… until you end up on top of him on the mat, his breath mingling with yours. a challenge, a fight, and an attraction impossible to ignore

warnings | enemies to lovers, intense rivalry, smut, explicit content, few (next to nothing) preliminaries, p in v, un unprotected sex

word count | 2.0 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The dojo was almost empty at this hour. Most people had already left after training, but you were still there, throwing punches at the heavy bag with a fury that hadn’t faded since the fight earlier that day.

"Still here?" The last voice you wanted to hear echoed behind you.

You turned around, finding Kwon Jae-Sung leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His sharp eyes scanned your stance with the same intensity he always used when looking at you.

"It’s none of your business."

"It would be if you actually knew how to throw a decent punch," he replied with a smug smirk.

You hated him. Hated the way he always had something to say, the way he looked at you like you were a challenge he was waiting to conquer. Since you had joined the dojo, Kwon had been the thorn in your side, never missing an opportunity to show he was better than you.

"I don’t need your opinion," you snapped, landing another punch on the bag, harder this time.

"Yeah, you do," he said, stepping closer. "Your technique sucks."

Your eyes narrowed. Who the hell did he think he was?

"You want to prove it?" you challenged, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

Kwon smirked, as if he had been waiting for this. Without another word, he walked onto the mat, tilting his head in a way that said *come here*.

You didn’t hesitate. If there was one thing you enjoyed more than arguing with Kwon, it was the chance to wipe that arrogant smirk off his face.

Both of you took your stances, sizing each other up.

"I’m not holding back just because you’re a girl," he warned.

"And I’m not holding back just because you’re an idiot."

No more words. Kwon attacked first, launching a kick that you barely dodged. You countered with a strike to his torso, but he blocked it effortlessly, as if he had already anticipated your move.

Every exchange of blows was a test of endurance, a battle of wills. Every time you thought you had found an opening, Kwon dismantled it with frustrating precision.

"You’re predictable," he mocked, catching your wrist in a firm grip.

Your breathing was ragged—not just from the exertion but from the closeness. His grip was strong, his skin hot against yours. But you refused to let him see any sign of weakness.

"Oh? And you’re perfect?" you whispered, leaning in just enough for his eyes to flicker down to your lips for a split second.

It was only a fraction of a second, but it was enough. With a swift twist, you broke free and shoved him onto the mat, landing on top of him.

Kwon let out a surprised grunt, his hands instinctively gripping your waist. The position was compromising. Your legs on either side of his body, your uneven breath mingling with his.

"Not so confident now, are you?" you taunted, expecting his pride to make him push you away.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his grip on your waist tightened slightly. His dark eyes studied you with something new, something that sent heat pooling in your stomach.

"I said I wasn’t holding back," he murmured, and before you could process it, Kwon closed the distance between you.

His mouth crashed against yours in a kiss that didn’t ask for permission—it demanded, it devoured. It wasn’t sweet or careful. It was a battle of dominance, of frustration, of something that had been restrained for too long.

Your hands found his hair, tugging harshly as he flipped you over, reversing your positions. Now he was the one hovering over you, his body pressing perfectly against yours.

"You still want to win, don’t you?" he whispered against your lips, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Don’t flatter yourself," you shot back, pulling him into another kiss—this one deeper, more desperate.

Kwon groaned against your mouth, his body reacting to yours. His lips trailed down to your neck, leaving a mark that made you gasp.

"Let's see who gives up first," he challenged, and he didn't give you time to respond.

His hands slid to your waistband, skillfully removing your pants. He didn't give you the chance to protest, even though you knew you shouldn't be allowing this to happen. But you couldn't deny the attraction between you, the need to release all the stress from the training sessions together.

The mattress creaked beneath you as Kwon moved between your legs, caressing you with a pressure that made you gasp. His eyes shone with something I had never seen before, an intense desire that coursed through me from head to toe.

"Do you like this?" he asked, a finger brushing your clitoris.

You screamed at his touch, my body instinctively arching towards him.

"Mmm... I don't know. How about we keep going to see?" you provoked him.

Kwon growled something against your ear and quickly removed his clothes. His erect penis brushed against your thighs, and your breath caught in your throat.

"You start" he ordered.

You nodded, taking his erection between your hands. It was hard and thick, with a slight sheen of sweat at the tip. You caressed it gently, observing its reactions. His eyes closed, a whisper escaping his lips as you wrapped your hand around him.

"Enough... enough already" he complained, and you stopped.

"You want me to aim for it" you mocked, and his gaze was dark and dangerous.

"You're going to regret it" he promised, but you weren't afraid. You made him wait, torturing him with caresses and kisses until you finally sat on him.

His erection entered you with a delicious pain, a sensation that made you gurgle. Kwon moaned, gripping your hips tightly as you began to move on top of him. His eyes didn't leave yours as his body adjusted to yours, his thighs tense beneath you.

"Who do you think is the loser here?" you challenged him, picking up the pace.

Kwon huffed, his gaze growing wilder. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place.

"You wanted to win" he gasped. "So do it".

And you didn't think twice about it. You started moving on him, each thrust stronger, faster. His gasps were music to your ears, his erection brushing against every part of you until you couldn't take it anymore.

"Kwon" you pleaded, your body arching towards him in an orgasm that took him by surprise.

He also screamed, his fingers sliding from your hips to your ass. His erection exploded inside you in a burst of pleasure and pain, his body shaking beneath you.

You remained on top of him for several seconds, catching your breath. Kwon stroked your hair with one hand, something you didn't expect from him. You didn't know what to think, but you didn't care either. You had won this time. At least in something.

"Don't think this is the beginning of something," you mocked.

He smiled slowly, and it was the first time you saw him like that. He wasn't mocking or defiant. It was a slow, sensual smile, and worst of all, he seemed to enjoy it.

"You might be surprised". And he sat down, kissing you softly. But this is just for us. "I don't want anyone else to find out about this" he whispered, brushing his lips against your ear.

"Me neither" you assured him. "This is just between you and me".

And so it was. For weeks, Kwon and you met in the empty gym every night, fighting over who would have control. He was always surprisingly gentle afterward, his hands caressing your skin as if he didn't have to.

You still didn't know what you really felt for him, but you weren't worried. The only thing you knew was that Kwon was a formidable enemy. And also a very promising lover. And maybe, just maybe, you could start to enjoy the competition.

For now. At least for now. Because deep down you knew that the next fight could always be just around the corner. And you didn't know how much longer you could hold on before punching him in the nose. But that would be a problem for later.

[reveryfics]

Sweat

John Walker x Male Reader

Summary: What began as an innocent sparring match between you and John quickly escalated, with John finding himself pinned beneath you, pleading for any contact he could get

A/N: Motivation is lacking hard time right now, so while I attempt to gain motivation have this little pathetic John Walker. Over 3.7k words

TW: Teasing - Praise - Grinding - Clothed - Hand Job - Pathetic John - Minors DNI - Females DNI

The "friendly innocent" sparring match between you and John always seemed to take an unexpected turn. What began as a simple test of reflexes inevitably escalated, fueled by your playful taunts about his "weak punches" and how "slow" he'd become. Even as a non-super soldier, you consistently kept pace, a fact you loved to throw in his face. It always got under his skin, irritating him more than he'd ever admit. The last thing John wanted was his own boyfriend mocking him, even if, deep down, he knew it was just your way of pushing him to his absolute best.

This session was no different; your constant remarks were driving him to distraction. He'd barely landed a single hit in the entire hour you'd both been sparring, and he was on the verge of calling it quits. John lunged with a punch, thinking he'd caught you off guard, only for you to fluidly step out of the way and counter, just as you always did. "You're overthinking it, John," you hummed, your voice a low, teasing note.

John let out a ragged breath, raking a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. He shook his head, retreating to the bench and chugging his water. "Fuck you," he huffed, still catching his breath.

You smirked, arms crossed over your chest. "Pin me against the mat, and you can."

John nearly choked on his water. He looked up at you, and God, even with your hair plastered to your forehead and sweat glistening on your skin like a second skin, he'd screw you right there on the damn mat a million times over. "Is that a joke?" he questioned, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.

"It's a promise." That was all John needed to hear from your lips before he was back on the mat, squaring off against you.

A renewed fire sparked in John's eyes, an intensity you hadn't seen in him all hour. The promise of sex, a tangible reward for victory, galvanized him. He moved differently now, with a newfound focus and coordination. He threw another punch, a feint this time, his body already shifting to sweep your feet out from under you. You caught it immediately; he'd tried that exact move hundreds of times while sparring with others. You were quicker, though, reversing his maneuver with practiced ease, sweeping his own legs from beneath him. John hit the mat with a resounding thud, the breath momentarily knocked out of him.

You stood over him, a triumphant glint in your eyes, and slowly lowered yourself until you were straddling his waist, pinning his hands firmly above his head. "I win," you murmured, your voice a low, husky whisper. "Guess that means I get to fuck you."

John tried to push you off, but your hold was too tight, too secure. He let his head bounce back against the mat, his chest heaving as he fought to regain his breath. He was about to speak, but your lips, warm and wet, trailed down the side of his neck, eliciting a sharp gasp from him.

Gods, John was pure putty in your hands. He arched into every touch, every gentle press of your fingers against his skin, every breath that fanned across his face. He was pathetic, utterly undone, preferring you above him like this, a mere whimper escaping him from a simple touch. He squirmed as your lips brushed against his bare chest, licking and sucking the salty, sweat-streaked skin.

His eyes closed, his mouth hanging open in a breathless whine as your teeth gently grazed his Adam's apple. The hum that vibrated from his throat resonated against your lips, and a slow, wicked smirk spread across your face. This, having John completely and utterly beneath you, was another thing that got you off, an intoxicating sense of possession that left you craving more.

Your hips shifted slightly, grinding down against John’s pelvis, a silent promise of what was to come. A low groan rumbled in his chest, and his hips instinctively bucked upwards, pressing into you. You chuckled, a soft, throaty sound that vibrated through him, and leaned down, trailing a wet path from his neck to the sensitive curve of his ear. "Eager, are we, John?" you whispered, the warmth of your breath caressing his skin.

He managed a weak, almost desperate, "Always for you."

Your fingers, still pinning his wrists above his head, shifted, your thumbs brushing over the throbbing pulse points there. You felt the rapid beat of his heart, a testament to the raw arousal you were igniting in him. You savored the control, the absolute surrender in his body beneath yours. It was a potent drug, knowing you could bring John to this state of breathless longing with just a few touches.

You moved lower, your lips exploring the valley between his collarbones, tasting the lingering salt and sweat. Your tongue flicked out, tracing the outline of his pectoral muscle before dipping into his navel. John’s back arched further, a desperate, silent plea. His fingers, though still trapped, flexed against yours, a subtle tremor running through his frame.

"You said... if I pinned you," John managed to gasp out, his voice thick with desire, "then I could..."

You pulled back slightly, your eyes meeting his, a mischievous glint in their depths. "And you didn't, did you?" you countered, a playful challenge in your tone. "You lost. So now, you're mine to do with as I please." Your smirk widened, a predatory gleam entering your gaze. "And trust me, John, I have many plans."

His eyes widened, a mixture of apprehension and searing anticipation in their depths. He knew your 'plans' were never subtle, and always left him utterly wrecked. He tried to push against your hold once more, a last-ditch, half-hearted attempt at defiance, but it was futile. You were a strong man, and in this position, with him already weakened by exertion and arousal, he stood no chance.

You leaned down again, this time your lips finding his. It was a slow, deliberate kiss at first, tasting of salt and effort, but quickly deepened into a hungry, demanding exploration. John’s mouth opened beneath yours, his tongue tangling with yours in a desperate dance. His body trembled, his legs twitching on the mat, his entire being crying out for release.

You broke the kiss, just enough to gaze down at him, his face flushed, eyes heavy-lidded with passion. "Still think you're slow, John?" you murmured, your voice a husky growl that sent shivers down his spine. "Because right now, you're moving at exactly the pace I want you to." And with that, you began to move against him with more purpose, your hips grinding, building a slow, agonizing friction that promised to push John right over the edge.

You watched, captivated, as John's eyes fluttered shut, his head still pressed back against the mat. His body hummed with a desperate tension, every muscle taut, every breath ragged. You could feel the undeniable evidence of his arousal pressing against you, a hard ridge beneath his shorts. His hips continued to buck weakly against yours, a silent, pathetic plea.

"Please," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper, thick with need. "God, please...touch me. Below."

You felt a thrill course through you at his desperation. He was so utterly, gloriously transparent in his want. But satisfying him immediately wasn't nearly as fun as drawing it out, twisting him just a little bit more.

Without a word, you stopped all movement. Your hips stilled against his, the delicious friction abruptly ceasing. John's body went rigid beneath you, a soft, strangled groan escaping him. His eyes shot open, wide and glazed with confusion, then dawning understanding, and finally, pure agony.

You lowered your head, your gaze fixed on the prominent bulge in his shorts. Slowly, deliberately, you pressed your lips to the fabric, directly over the aching peak of his erection. John gasped, a raw, involuntary sound, his body arching up, trying to meet your touch.

You didn't use your hands, not yet. Instead, you began to tease him with your mouth alone. You ran your tongue over the thick material, tasting the faint salt of his sweat, feeling the hard shape beneath. You pressed your lips harder, suckling gently at the fabric, mimicking the action he craved. John whimpered, a broken, helpless sound that sent a jolt of power through you.

"Please," he begged again, his voice cracking, his body trembling beneath your minimal touches. His fingers, still trapped in your grip, clenched tighter, his knuckles white. "Don't stop... not like this. Just... please."

You pulled back, just enough to look at him, your eyes full of a playful cruelty. A smirk played on your lips as you saw the naked, pleading desperation in his gaze. He was utterly pathetic, completely at your mercy. And it was intoxicating.

You watched him, a slow, predatory smile spreading across your lips. "Such a good boy, begging for me." You leaned in, pressing your lips to the fabric again, this time with a little more pressure, a soft hum escaping your throat as you felt the rapid throb beneath. John's body spasmed, a choked sound caught in his throat as he arched into the contact.

You continued to tease, your mouth moving over the stretched denim, the scent of him, hot and aroused, filling your senses. You kissed, licked, and gently sucked at the fabric, outlining the head of his shaft, then drawing your tongue down the length, tasting the faint salt and dampness through the material. He was a mess beneath you, his breathing shallow, his chest heaving. His fingers, still trapped, curled into helpless fists against your palms.

"Please, please," he whimpered again, a raw, almost guttural sound of pure need. His hips strained upward, desperate for more substantial contact, his face contorted in a delicious agony. "I can't... I can't take this. Just touch me, please."

You revelled in his abject surrender, the sight of him so utterly consumed by desire, reduced to a whimpering, begging mess for your touch. It was intoxicating. You allowed yourself one more lingering kiss over the peak of his erection, drawing out his torment just a moment longer. Then, slowly, with exquisite cruelty, you began to lift your head, withdrawing your lips from his shorts.

John's eyes flew open, wide with panic, a desperate "No!" torn from his lips as he saw your mouth pull away. He bucked against you, a frantic, helpless movement, desperate to recapture the elusive sensation.

You paused, hovering above him, watching the raw anguish flood his face. His hips continued to twitch uselessly beneath you, a testament to his desperate need. The sight of him, so utterly exposed and vulnerable, sent a thrill through you.

"Whining like that isn't going to get you anywhere, John," you murmured, your voice low and even, a stark contrast to his ragged breathing. You slowly began to shift your weight, the barest promise of lifting yourself away. "You want me to touch you? You need to do better than that."

Panic flickered in his eyes. "No! Don't... don't go. Please. What do I have to do? Just tell me. Anything." His voice was hoarse, thick with unfulfilled desire. He thrashed slightly, a pathetic, helpless struggle against your hold. "I'll do anything. Please, just touch me. I'm begging you."

His eyes, still wide and glazed with lust, pleaded with yours. "I'll... I'll help you with yours. However you want. My mouth, my hands, anything. Just... please. Don't leave me like this." He was a broken record of pleas and promises, utterly consumed by the ache you'd so deliberately ignited.

You watched him, a slow, deliberate assessment. The shift in his tone, from desperate pleas to a desperate bargain, was exactly what you wanted. He was offering himself up, completely. You savored the power, the complete and utter surrender in his eyes.

You held his gaze, your own eyes reflecting the raw, animalistic need in his. He was offering up anything, everything, a testament to how completely you had broken him. It was a tempting offer, his trembling promises of reciprocal pleasure. But you weren't quite done with him yet.

"Your erection, you say?" you purred, a slow, deliberate smile playing on your lips. You leaned down again, not to his shorts, but to his ear, your voice dropping to a husky whisper that made him shiver. "I've got an even bigger one right now, John. And it's for you."

You didn't touch him below the belt, not with your hands, not with your mouth. Instead, you shifted your weight, just subtly enough that your inner thigh brushed against the throbbing outline of his cock through the fabric of his shorts. It was a fleeting, agonizing friction, barely there, but enough to make John groan, a choked, desperate sound.

"Whining like a little pup won't make me eager to help you, though," you continued, your voice a soft, teasing caress against his ear. "I need you to show me how much you want it. Not with words, John. I need you to earn it."

You leaned back, a sliver of space opening between your bodies, enough to make him feel the abrupt absence of contact. His eyes were wide, pleading, fixed on yours. His breath hitched in his chest, his mouth slightly open, a silent gasp. He was utterly bewildered, struggling to comprehend what you wanted, what impossible task you might set for him.

"What... what do you want?" he choked out, his voice raw with frustration and an aching desire. "Tell me. Anything. Just don't... don't pull away again." His hips twitched, a desperate, almost involuntary movement, as if trying to re-establish the tantalizing brush that had just been there.

You smirked, enjoying the delightful torment. "Think, John. You're a super soldier. You're supposed to be smart. What's the one thing you haven't given me yet?" You waited, watching the wheels turn in his mind, the flicker of desperation as he tried to decipher your riddle. The anticipation of his dawning realization, the desperate shame that would follow, was almost as delicious as the act itself.

John stared at you, his brow furrowed in a desperate effort to understand. His mind, usually so sharp and strategic, was clouded by the overwhelming surge of raw physical need. He was a man drowning, grasping for any lifeline. "What... what haven't I given you?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. He tried to think, his eyes darting around, as if the answer might be written on the gym ceiling. His body trembled beneath you, a testament to his escalating torment.

You watched his struggle, a slow, knowing smile playing on your lips. It was almost too easy, breaking him down like this. You leaned in again, your lips brushing the warm skin of his temple. "Your dignity, John," you whispered, the word a soft, cruel caress. "You haven't truly begged. Not in the way I want."

His eyes widened, and a flush, not of lust but of shame, crept up his neck. The truth of your words hit him, cutting through the fog of his arousal. He had pleaded, yes, and whined, but he hadn't completely abandoned every last shred of his pride. He, the formidable super soldier, reduced to this.

"I need you to beg like you've never begged before," you continued, your voice a low, insistent hum. "Like your very life depends on it. Like you can't breathe without my touch." You shifted your hips just slightly, the barest whisper of movement, but enough to remind him of the hard, aching presence beneath his shorts. "Show me, John. Show me how pathetic you can be for me."

John’s face contorted, a battle waging within him. The super soldier, the embodiment of strength and control, was confronted with the ultimate surrender. His jaw clenched, a faint tremor running through his body. For a split second, you thought you saw a flicker of defiance, a desperate attempt to cling to the last vestiges of his pride.

But the aching throbbing in his shorts, the unrelenting pressure of your body, the unbearable tease of your earlier kisses on the fabric – it was too much. The need overshadowed everything else. He was a man consumed by fire, and you held the only water.

A shudder ran through him, and his head dropped back against the mat with a soft thud. His chest heaved, a raw, strangled gasp escaping him. His eyes, when they finally opened, were swimming, glazed over with a pathetic desperation that made your own blood hum.

"Please," he choked out, the word barely audible, ripped from the depths of his being. It was a guttural sound, devoid of his usual command or composure. His voice was raw, cracking, as if his throat were closing around the shameful plea. "Please... I'm begging you. God, I'm begging you. Don't stop. Don't leave me like this."

Tears, hot and silent, welled in the corners of his eyes, tracing paths through the sweat on his temples. It wasn't sadness, but sheer, agonizing need. His hips began to buck again, no longer with any pretense of control, but with a desperate, animalistic rhythm, pushing blindly into your crotch.

"I can't... I can't take it," he whimpered, a broken sound of pure helplessness. "Just... touch me. Please. I'll do anything. Anything you want. I'm yours. Just... please. I need you. I need you, please."

He was utterly, completely undone. His carefully constructed composure shattered, his pride offered up as a sacrifice on the mat. He was a whimpering, begging mess, every ounce of his powerful body trembling, laid bare and utterly at your mercy. The sight, the sound, was intoxicating.

You watched him, truly watched him, as his desperate pleas filled the air. The raw vulnerability in his eyes, the pathetic tremor in his body, the full, unbridled surrender of his dignity – it was everything you had wanted. A slow, satisfied sigh escaped your lips, a sound of absolute triumph. He was utterly broken, completely yours.

"Good boy," you murmured, the words a soft, almost tender caress. The playful cruelty in your eyes softened, replaced by a deep, possessive warmth. You finally released his wrists, letting his hands fall uselessly to the mat beside his head. His arms remained splayed, testament to his exhaustion and utter lack of resistance.

Slowly, deliberately, you trailed your right hand down his sweat-slicked chest. Your fingers brushed over his racing heart, feeling its frantic drumbeat against your palm. You continued down his taut abdomen, each inch of progress an exquisite agony of anticipation for John. He whimpered, his hips twitching involuntarily as your hand approached the waistband of his shorts.

You hooked your fingers under the elastic, peeling the fabric away from his skin. With agonizing slowness, you slid your hand inside, inch by tantalizing inch. John gasped, his breath catching in his throat, his body arching up into your touch before you'd even fully reached him.

Finally, your fingers brushed against the hot, slick head of his penis. It was already engorged and leaking, throbbing painfully from prolonged denial. You wrapped your hand around him, your palm cupping the heavy sack, your fingers closing firmly around his aching cock. A long, shuddering groan ripped from John's chest, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief and explosive pleasure.

"God," he choked out, his eyes squeezed shut, head lolling back against the mat. His entire body went rigid, then sagged, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He pressed himself into your hand, desperate for the friction you were finally providing. "Oh, God. Yes. Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

You felt the immediate surge, the overwhelming heat and hardness beneath your touch. You began to stroke him, slowly at first, then with increasing speed and pressure, matching the frantic rhythm of his whimpers and gasps. He was yours, completely, utterly at your mercy, and the sensation was pure, intoxicating bliss.

You tightened your grip, matching the frantic pace of his hips as John bucked into your hand, his body a trembling testament to his unraveling. His breath hitched in his throat, a low, guttural string of moans bubbling up from his chest, each sound a testament to his complete surrender. You felt the rhythmic pulses against your palm, the escalating tension in his muscles. His hips piston-pumped against your hand, his head thrashing against the mat, lost in the throes of his impending release.

"God... God..." he gasped, his voice raw, bordering on a sob.

With a final, powerful thrust, John cried out, a muffled shout of pure, unadulterated pleasure. He came, a warm gush against your hand and soaking into the fabric of his shorts. His body seized, then shuddered violently beneath you, muscles spasming as he rode the wave of his climax. You watched him, a slow, satisfied smirk playing on your lips, your thumb gently rubbing over the sensitive tip of his now pulsing cock, helping him through the last, exquisite tremors of his high.

Once his tremors began to subside, you slowly withdrew your hand from his shorts, the wetness clinging to your fingers. John, still breathless and twitching from the aftershocks of his orgasm, watched with glazed eyes as you slowly brought your hand to your lips. Your gaze held his as you methodically licked the salty come from your fingers, savoring the taste, making sure he saw every sensual, possessive lick.

A low, satisfied hum vibrated in your chest. You leaned down, your face close to his, and whispered, "Good boy, John."

Then, you captured his mouth in a rough, heated kiss. It was a kiss of triumph, of ownership, of the raw, primal connection that had just unfolded between you. His lips parted under yours, tasting of sweat and his own spent desire, and he instinctively kissed you back with what little energy he had left.

You pulled away, breaking the kiss with a final, lingering brush of your lips against his. Without another word, you rose fluidly from the mat, your own erection still prominent beneath your sweatpants, a testament to the success of your playful torment. You walked over to the bench, grabbed your shirt and towel, and with a casual, almost indifferent air, you headed for the gym doors.

John lay there, sprawled on the mat, his chest still heaving, his eyes wide and unfocused. He was utterly wrecked, breathless and thoroughly spent, watching as you walked out of the Tower's gym doors as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

[click4rainy]

Buff Babe (pt.2)

(Kombat 1 Kast x Buff Fem!Reader)

👽: SHLURRRRP!! Part one here

✅:Proof read

🖇️: Raiden/Kuai Liang/Bi Han/Tomas Vrbada

⚠️: Flirty vibes/Banter/nothing awful tbhhh

Raiden

★ You’re casually dragging one of the heavy training dummies across the dojo, one hand gripping it like a sack of rice. Some of the warriors nearby are already watching, but when Raiden approaches, he halts mid step as he spots you.

★ Raiden’s usually composed, but even he can’t help but admire the strength. His eyes trace the broad set of your shoulders as you effortlessly lift the dummy over your head, setting it out of the way. There’s a brief pause as he seems to reconsider his approach.

★ “I didn’t realize Earthrealm had warriors like you,” he says, rolling his wrists. His voice is polite, but the slight stumble in his words doesn’t go unnoticed.

★ “You don’t get out much, do you?” you tease, popping your neck and back with nonchalance.

★ Raiden smiles softly but doesn’t respond, instead lunging in to start the match. His strikes are quick, precise, and calculated, aiming to keep distance. But the second you close the gap and catch one of his punches mid swing, his eyes widen.

★ You squeeze his fist lightly—enough to make him feel it—and tilt your head. “Careful, Raiden. You might injure yourself.”

★ There’s a flicker of nervous laughter as he tries to twist free, but your grip is iron—you’re not even budging.. “I think it’s too late for that,” he mutters.

★ Gently, you push him back, and he still manages to stumble, balling his fist and opening it a few times, as if to double check his fingers still worked. You quirk an eyebrow. “Did I hurt you?” you ask with mock innocence.

★ “No, no!” He waves his hands quickly, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “I just… need to adjust my approach.”

★You tilt your head. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

★ Raiden clears his throat, his composure slowly slipping back into place as he circles you cautiously. “You’re…admirable,” he admits, his tone soft but genuine. “Most warriors rely on skill or speed. You seem to have mastered both and strength.”

★ You smirk, casually rolling your shoulders as if his compliment were as ordinary as a breeze. “Flattery won’t save you, Raiden. But keep trying—it’s cute.”

★ His steps falter slightly at your words, but he quickly recovers, a faint flush rising to his cheeks. “I wasn’t…that’s not what I—” He stops himself, exhaling sharply before lunging forward again.

Kuai Liang

★ Kuai Liang greets you with a polite nod, his sharp gaze sweeping over you as you step onto the mat. His eyes linger, and the faintest smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

★ “You carry yourself with purpose,” he observes, his voice low and smooth. “This should be interesting.”

��� You arch a brow, stepping closer, the distance between you shrinking just enough to spark tension. “Interesting? I was hoping for intense.” His smirk widens, his eyes flickering with amusement. “Careful what you wish for.”

★ You circle each other on the mat, your footsteps light and deliberate. Kuai Liang’s eyes remain locked on yours, his expression calm but edged with challenge.

★ “Intensity is a fine goal,” he remarks, his tone teasing. “But don’t let ambition blind you.”

★ Your lips twitch into a smile. “Is that concern I hear, or are you just trying to throw me off?”

★ “Perhaps a little of both,” he replies smoothly, stepping closer into range. “Wouldn’t want you to get overwhelmed, after all.”

★ “Overwhelmed?” you echo, feigning offense. “By you? I think I’ll manage.”

★ Without warning, he strikes—quick and controlled, a low sweep of his leg designed to test your reflexes. You easily back step it, of course. His eyes narrow slightly, impressed, but he doesn’t falter. The two of you trade a flurry of blows, his movements precise, yours sharp and unyielding.

★ “Not bad,” he says between strikes, his voice laced with approval. “But you’re holding back.”

★ “Am I?” you ask, your tone coy. You feint left, drawing him off balance just enough to dart in close. “Or are you underestimating me?”

★ The proximity shifts again—his breath brushing your cheek as his arm comes up to block your strike. His smirk returns, smaller this time but undeniably playful. “Bold move,” he murmurs, “but you’ll have to do better.”

★ “Don’t worry,” you quip, your tone as sharp as the kick you send toward his ribs. He deflects it, but his grip slips just slightly—and you use the opportunity to spin and sweep his legs out from under him—a mirror of his earlier attempt.

★ He lands on his back with a soft thud, the breath leaving him in a rush. Before he can recover, you step over him, dropping down and pinning your elbow over his chest. Your face hovers just above his—and you can’t help the triumphant smirk that plasters your face.

★ “Looks like I got my wish,” you say, your voice low and tinged with victory. “That was intense.”

★ Kuai Liang blinks up at you, surprise flickering across his features before it fades into an amused smile. “Well played….” he admits, his voice a bit strained.

Bi Han

★ Bi Han’s not one to show much emotion—unless its irritability of course—but the subtle raise of his brow when you step into the ring speaks volumes. His gaze lingers on the way your arms flex as you adjust your gloves, but he says nothing—just crosses his arms and waits….

★ “You’re quiet,” you muse, circling him.

★ “I don’t need words to fight,” he replies coolly. Though in truth—he was quiet because he was trying to size you up without making it obvious—guess he made it obvious...

★ When the spar begins, his well constructed composure cracks the moment you sidestep his ice blast and grab him by the collar, pulling him in close before sweeping his legs out from under him. He lands hard, a small ‘umph’ leaving him, and for once, the man looks….stunned.

★ “You—” Bi Han starts with a grunt, propping himself up on one elbow. His eyes narrow slightly, but there’s a flicker of something else—intrigue, maybe.

★ You stand over him, hands on your hips. “Problem?”

★ He exhales slowly, involuntarily glancing you over this time—before swatting you away and rising to his feet with practiced grace. “No.” His gaze sweeps over you again, this time more deliberate. “But I underestimated you. A mistake I won’t let happen again.”

★ Despite the stern tone, the slight shift in his stance—how he squares his shoulders and tightens his fists—tells you otherwise….

★ “Oh, good,” you smirk. “I’d hate for you to get bored.”

★ Bi Han’s lips twitch—almost imperceptibly, but it’s there—as if suppressing a smirk of his own. “Careful,” he warns, his voice low as frost begins to gather at his fingertips. “You might begin to think you have the upper hand.”

★ You shrug before cocking your arms, fists up and ready. “Maybe I do.”

★ For the first time, a quiet chuckle escapes him, brief and sharp like the crack of ice. “We’ll see about that.”

Tomas

★ Tomas is friendly by nature, (little cinnamon roll) but the second he sees you step forward, his usual lighthearted smile falters just a bit. His eyes track the way your muscles shift as you stretch, and he awkwardly clears his throat.

★ “I didn’t know we were training with champions today…” he jokes, though there’s a nervous edge to his laugh.

★ “I’m just here to spar,” you reply, rolling your shoulders.

★ “Right—of course…” he gets into position, waiting for your signal to begin.

★ When Tomas engages, his smoke abilities keep him moving fast, but you’re faster in this moment—catching him by the arm and flipping him effortlessly over your shoulder and onto his back. Hitting the mat with a solid thud.

★ He lies there for a moment, blinking at the ceiling. “I think you broke me…”

★ You laugh, offering him a hand. “C’mon, it wasn’t that bad.”

★ Tomas grips your hand, but when you pull him up with one fluid motion, his eyes widen. “Are you sure you’re not a champion?”

★ “Nope. Not yet at least…Just strong.”

★ As the spar continues, Tomas tries to focus, but it’s clear he’s distracted now. The second you pin him again, he groans playfully.

★ “I think I’m in love,” he mutters under his breath.

★ You raise an eyebrow. “What was that?”

★ “Nothing!” Tomas grins, fake coughing while getting up. But as he dusts himself off, there’s a faint blush creeping up his neck.

★ You smirk, stepping back into position. “Careful, or I’ll think you’re going easy on me.”

★ “I’d never do that,” he blurts out quickly, his voice a little too eager. He clears his throat again, trying to recover. “I mean… I wouldn’t. That wouldn’t be fair.”

★ “That’s good to hear. Because I’m just getting warmed up,” you tease, lunging forward to start the next round.

★ Tomas dodges on instinct, smoke trailing in his wake, but you catch the brief flicker of a smile as he circles you. “Guess I’ll have to keep up then.”

👽: part three here

[plum-berry]

Don't Play

Summary: You are an olympic weightlifter who is friends with Paddy Pimblett. You agree to train each other in your respective discipline for fun, but Paddy's roughhousing takes things a step too far. (shameless smut tbh)

A/N: This was originally on AO3, but someone asked me to post the fic here. Your wish is my command! I hope you enjoy <3 I haven't written fanfiction in so long, and I kind of miss it. Low-key might write another who knows...

“Is that all you got, pretty boy?” You playfully tease, shoving your palm into Paddy’s Shoulder.

Despite Paddy being substantially taller and larger than you and having the advantage of being the stronger grappler, there was something fun about messing around with you on the training room floor. He was always careful with you when it came to getting physical in a playful way, even though you found this to be boring.

You had agreed to train with each other even though you were in different disciplines. You competed in Olympic Weightlifting, something you had done since you were 15 years old. You met Paddy at a training event, before his UFC days, and had constantly begged him to show you how to grapple. It had taken years of begging for him to consider it, and he finally broke. You wanted to know what it was like to roll around on the mat, but he was still ever so careful with you.

“I’m only 5 kilos less than you! Stop treating me like I’m made of glass, dickhead,” you whined watching as he easily twisted out of your grip with no retaliation.

He nudges you with his hand, raising his fists in defense, “5 kilos is a heavy difference, love. Don’t want you to break.”

“I’m just curious,” you yell as you attempt to lock your arm around his neck. “I want to know how strong you are. If you could really hold me down.”

Paddy scoffed, expertly rolling you off and tossing you to the ground. “Why? You’ve seen me dismantle men bigger than you. I’d crush you.”

You attempt to grab at his legs, but he sidesteps, gently putting a palm on your forehead and pushing you back. You huff and cross your arms, “Yeah, well I’m not learning much if you just love tap me and call it a day. I want you to stop holding back!”

“I don’t want to go so hard that you sleep, love,” Paddy replies, real concern in his voice. You go to swing at him again, harder this time, but he simply catches your fist in his hand.

“Well, I want you to pin me down and shit,” you muttered, trailing off. Your eyes looked at your first as you tried to wriggle it out, but he remained quiet. Fist still stuck in his hand, you nervously peered back up at his reaction.

He was staring down at you. He took a step closer, his eyes dark. His body filled the space, broad shoulders tensed, jaw set and fist clenched tightly around yours. He felt and looked so impossibly large. You knew this look from watching his fights. If you hadn’t been friends, you might have actually been scared of him at that moment. He was testing you.

He smirked ever so slightly and firmly said, “I’ll happily pin you down, love.”

Before you can really think, your bodies collide and his hands cling to your arms. You try to use his taller frame to your advantage, clawing onto a bicep while desperately trying to get behind him. Paddy uses his strength to grip the back of your leg, sending you both to the ground. Your wish has been granted as he pins you down, hard. You squirm in place, quickly getting frustrated as you try to find a way out.

He grapples you and you inadvertently squeak out a gasp as he applies pressure with his arm on your mid section. His dark eyes soften just a fraction. He leans down closer, his body filling the space between you. The smell of him, musky and clean, like he was sweating through a fresh shower, was overwhelming. You suddenly became aware of a warm, blossoming sensation making its presence known in between your thighs. It was heavy and light all at once, a familiar pang of need. You were turned on.

“Have you had enough, princess?” He mocks you in a sing-song voice, fingers gently pinching at your sides.

You go to push his face out of yours but he grabs your wrist in his large hand, easily pinning it to the side of your head. He was manhandling you and making a joke out of it. You grumble, face red and chest heaving as you try to push up against his larger frame.

“You’re such a dick, Paddy,” you gasp out, still struggling against his grip.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He laughs and grins dangerously at you from above, using his knees to stretch your legs wider as he bends down lower. The thought of his body stretching you open, leaving you no room to escape made you tremble. He was a dangerous man who had you cornered and laid bare for him. He had you where you wanted, but you were a sore loser. You wanted to see how far you could push him.

Before he realizes it, your free hand shoots up from your side and into his armpit, viciously tickling him. Paddy yelps and launches away from you covering his torso with his arms. You laugh gleefully at this, scrambling away from him on your hands and knees.

Suddenly, your ankles are grabbed and you fall, chin thudding on to the mat. He drags you back to him, and he is much rougher this time.

“I don’t take kindly to cheaters, love,” he hisses out at you as he forces his arm around your neck. He pulls you into his torso, your back engulfed by his larger frame. You’re both on your knees before he locks his inner elbow around your neck, choking you, and falling back onto his back. He’s got you in a full nelson hold, locked in tight.

You gasp and shudder in place. An intense red blush painted your cheeks, and you are suddenly so happy he can’t see your face. He had you in his grip and shaking. A predator after its prey.

He instinctively uses his other hand to grab your wrist, trapping your arm. He puts his knees in between yours, spreading your legs painfully again. You whimper at the pain and fall back against him, body pressing into him fully. And you feel it.

His cock was forming a tent in grey sweatpants. You could feel the heat of it burning against your ass. You almost felt like begging. Instead, you carefully wiggled back on it, applying pressure. His elbow tightened around your neck, forcing the air out your lungs, but he released your hand.

His breathing becomes ragged in your ear, short and sharp breaths as you again grind back on him. Your fingers twitched nervously at your sides. You didn’t know what to do.

Paddy slowly brings one of his hands up to caress your side, lips pressed against your ear. His fingers brush against the waistband of your shorts. “Is this okay?”

Your voice is meek and shaky when you respond. “Yes, please.”

A high-pitched whine escapes your throat as his hand lifts your shirt, tickling your sides. The idea that the man who voraciously beats other men to a pulp, gripping you tightly was so intoxicatingly delicious. He could have so easily crushed your windpipes in his grip, and it sent a thrill of shivers up your spine. Teasingly, his hand squeezes and kneads at the small of your belly before slipping under your gym shorts.

Surprised, he slides his fingers through down to your folds. “No panties, eh?”

Your fingers pull his arm back just enough to squeak out, “Fuck you, Paddy.”

“Lift your pretty little bum, love,” he murmurs in your ear, and you do as he demands without a sound of protest. He removes his hand just enough to rip your shorts off and down your ankles. You bite your lip as his calloused hands travel back down from the swell of your stomach to between your thighs. Harshly, he tugs your thighs apart again. You feel vulnerable and small.

Paddy’s fingers languidly played between your folds, spreading the wetness evenly. He made sure to apply just enough pressure that you squirm. You preen, your hips bucking up and a pretty whine escaping your lips as he circles your clit before pushing his fingers in. Just like that, you’re gone, moaning intensely as your eyes roll back. Your breathing is ever more erratic as he pumps his fingers, languidly spreading the digits at your entrance.

He hooks his fingers, rubbing them along the top of your walls. A noise catches in your throat, and you clench hard. “G-Go back, Paddy, do that again,” you pant out.

Paddy keeps his fingers inside of you in one place and tightens his arm around your neck. He lifts your head back and pulls you in close. Your lips quiver, as do your walls around his fingers. “Beg.”

You could cry at how embarrassing it was to feel this needy, but you oblige, “Please, Paddy. P-Please, do it again.”

And so he does. He drops you back to his chest and ups the pace he was at. You press down, and it’s obvious when you’re going to come. He moves his mouth by your ear and kisses and nibbles, pumping his curled fingers in and out of you. And just like that you come around his fingers, in hot, wet pulses. Before he can pull back, you suck his wet fingers right into your mouth. He runs his fingers over your teeth and then pulls them out with a pop.

He releases you and places you on the ground. You all sit there for a few seconds, dazed and horny and shocked.

You glance abashedly at his hard cock in his sweatpants. You briefly imagine his muscular legs hidden away before scanning your eyes up his body. His stomach is flexed hard, hair is strewn across his pecs. He’s got his strong arms on display, resting his full weight on his legs. He’s staring hard at you through his wispy layers. He’s always had a strong nose and well defined chin, and god, do you want to sit on his face so badly right now. You swallow and shuffle a little.

This hasn’t happened before. Sure, there were longing glances and touches, and you definitely couldn’t lie and say that watching him fight set something off in you. The way he moved with such predatory grace was mesmerizing. You remember the animalistic look in his eyes. He didn’t just fight in the ring, he hunted. His brutality was beautiful.

You run your fingers through your hair before nervously patting it back into place. You sheepishly motion to his cock pressing against his sweatpants. “Do you, uh… want help?”

Paddy doesn’t respond, so you glance up. He’s still staring at you intensely, like he’s sizing you up. He’s hunting.

Then it came. In an instant, before you could even react, Paddy was on you—like a predator closing in on its prey. 

Paddy lunges forward, knocking you on your back. There was a slight smirk, the barest hint of amusement, that sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes never left yours as he quickly closed the gap between them, almost as if his goal was to overwhelm and smother. He was aggressive and quick tearing off your clothes. He had no patience for removing his own, shimmying his pants down just enough for his cock to spring free, hot and heavy and thrumming against your stomach. His cock was just like the rest of him—big, and thick, and angry.

He brought his arms up, trapping and encasing you. He bent down, lips dangerously close and eyes burning into yours. He brought one of his hands up to caress your neck, lips following shortly. He liked to play with his prey.

A high-pitched whine escapes your throat as his hand wraps gently around your throat. Teasingly, he dragged his lips down your throat before biting hard.

“Fuck,” you whimper out into the hot air, hands grasping at his arms. “Please, Paddy, fuck me.” 

He pulled back for a moment, as if to check this is what you wanted before he attacked your mouth with his own, almost violently. His teeth clashed with yours, pulling on your bottom lip just enough to break skin. He pulls back to lick the blood off your lip, moving his hand over your hips, gripping your thighs hard enough to bruise.

You bite your knuckles, knees shaking as Paddy continues to move down you, tasting you with kisses down your navel to your pussy. His palms clamp around your thighs, bringing them to his shoulders as he surges closer. You open your mouth to say his name, but it fizzles out as his tongue darts out, lapping a long stroke across your folds. Suddenly, his tongue finds your clit, and your whole body arches, lightning racing up your spine.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, the tension building to the point of almost unbearable as his tongue pushes up inside of you. You whine in frustration when his mouth withdraws, your heart pounding madly. Gently, teasingly, he rubs his thick shaft up and down your folds. Spit and your natural wetness coat his heavy cock.

“Please,” you beg, eyes closed and sick from desire. He eases your thighs from his shoulders, holding them wide as he gazes down at you.

“Open your pretty eyes, love. I want you to see me fuck you.”

“Oh my god,” you choke out, eyes fluttering open to look at him. “Please, Paddy, fuck me.”

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he rumbles, rutting his hips against your thigh.

You preen at his praise, spreading your legs further for him as he took his thick cock in hand and began to line himself up. He grabs your chin forcing you to look at him as he begins to enter you. 

The air is knocked out of you, he was so big. Your body shudders as he finally drives into you to the hilt, possessing you fully. He tilts his head back to the ceiling and groans low from deep in his throat, a noise that has you clenching around him. 

There’s a small fraction of time where all he does is rotate his hips, relishing in the whine it pulls from you. Paddy kisses your neck, pushing in deep before pulling out and slamming back into the tight heat. You see stars, arching your back, pressing tight against the thick cock drilling into you.

You barely have time to gasp for air before he’s all over you again, pinning you to the floor with strong, sure thrusts and calloused hands. He grasps your throat in one hand, turning your head to the side and dragging his tongue along your cheek, cock pounding into your needy, dripping pussy. You look so good, pliant and needy under the weight of his body. He wraps his arms around your thighs in the bends of your knees, leaning down to drill harder and faster into you. 

He leans back a little to watch his cock disappear deep into you, letting out a deep, satisfied growl as your eyes roll into the back of your head, back arching and fingers twitching. His cock stretches you in all the right places, almost as if he’s pushing up into your stomach. He leans back again and rubs your thighs as he watches you twitch around his thrusts, pink and stretched so good.

He slows his pace, hitting into you with deep thrusts that leave you seeing stars. “Your pussy was made for my cock, princess.” 

You pant for breath, stomach full and thighs shaking. “Paddy,” you manage to choke out between your mantra of high moans. You sound like you’re about to cry.

He pulls out halfway, only to thrust back into you roughly. He must’ve hit the right spot because you gush around him, coming hard with a bright, keening sound. Your body clenches around him in waves, pulling him in, milking his cock.

Paddy curses and slows down for a moment. He takes his hands off your hips and moves them to spread your ass and squeeze, drawing himself deeper inside. You grab desperately at his shoulders, the air knocked out of your lungs. He’s just toeing the edge when he hears your voice, raspy and dulcet in his ear. “Finish inside me, please. I want you to fill me up.”

And that’s it. He bites violently into your shoulder, coming hard, spilling his seed deep inside your pussy.

They stay there for a moment, quiet and sore and tired. Carefully, Paddy stands straight again, slowly pulling his softening cock from your weeping pussy. You wince from the pain of emptiness. Paddy stands there briefly mesmerized as he watches his cum drip out of you. It would almost be enough to make him hard again.

He gingerly leans down to capture your swollen lips in a soft kiss, so different from before that it causes you to whimper against his lips. He pulls back, worried, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

You smile up at him, smoothing his worried brow with your fingers. “No, you didn’t. You were perfect.”

He kisses you one last time as he shimmies his pants up, “Let me get you cleaned up.”

He grabs his sweaty towel from earlier and goes to wipe at you. You push him away, laughing, “You’re sick in the head, Paddy Pimblett. At the very least get me a clean towel!” 

“I’ll be whatever you like, love,” he grins cheekily, reaching into a nearby bin for a clean towel. “As long as you're down for a rematch.”

[extinctlesspains]

Hello , can you write one for kwon when he is encouraging her before a fight? And can you also write when he teaches her karate? It would be so cute, thank you 💗

A/n: AAWWWW YES THAT WOULD BE SO CUTE😭💕

𝐿𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑠: 𝐾𝑤𝑜𝑛 𝐽𝑎𝑒-𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑔

𝐵𝑦 𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠

»»——⍟——««

»»——⍟——««

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐾𝑤𝑜𝑛 𝐽𝑎𝑒-𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: 𝐾𝑤𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑝𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑎 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔

◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆

You stood in the middle of the dojo, squinting at your reflection in the mirror. Your stance wasn’t terrible, but it also wasn’t what Kwon had shown you. He stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching you with an amused glint in his dark eyes.

“You’re trying too hard,” Kwon said, walking over to you. His voice was soft but firm, carrying the authority of someone who knew what he was doing. “Karate isn’t about forcing it. It’s about control and flow. Here, let me help.”

Before you could protest, Kwon was behind you, his hands gently resting on your shoulders. You froze as his presence enveloped you. He adjusted your stance, shifting your weight slightly. His breath was warm against your ear as he explained, “Keep your knees bent, like this. And don’t lock your arms when you punch.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He smirked, his expression softening. “You’ll get it. Trust me.”

With Kwon guiding you, your punches started to improve. After a few tries, you finally landed one that felt… right. You turned to him, beaming with excitement.

“Did you see that?!” you exclaimed.

Kwon smiled, the rare expression lighting up his face. “Yeah, I saw. Not bad, rookie.”

You rolled your eyes. “Rookie? I just nailed that punch!”

“Okay, okay,” he teased, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You’re not terrible.”

You pretended to glare at him, but the warmth in his eyes made it impossible to stay annoyed. He handed you a water bottle and motioned for you to sit on the mats.

“Break time?” you asked, tilting your head.

“For you? Yeah. You’ve earned it,” he said, sitting beside you.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment before you noticed Kwon’s gaze lingering on you.

“What?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, looking away. But then, after a beat, he added, “You’re just… really trying hard. It’s cute.”

Your face flushed, and you shoved his shoulder playfully. “Kwon Jae-sung, did you just call me cute?”

“Maybe,” he said, his smirk returning.

Feeling bold, you leaned closer, your nose almost brushing his. “Say it again.”

His confidence faltered for a split second, his cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. Then, in a quiet voice, he murmured, “You’re cute.”

Before you could respond, Kwon closed the distance between you, his lips brushing yours softly. It was a tentative kiss, as if he was testing the waters, but the warmth of it made your heart race.

When he pulled back, you were both blushing. “That wasn’t part of the lesson,” you teased, your voice breathless.

Kwon grinned, the cocky spark returning to his eyes. “Maybe not, but I think you liked it.”

“Maybe I did,” you admitted, laughing softly.

He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “If you keep practicing, maybe I’ll reward you with another kiss.”

You smacked his arm, grinning. “Then I’m going to train every day.”

Kwon’s laughter filled the dojo, and for the first time, you saw him completely at ease. Training with him wasn’t just about karate anymore—it was about the moments like this, where every lesson brought you closer together.

[amagialp]

HIIII i love your ficsss! could i please request something thats smut? like the reader and konig have maybe been in a sort of situationship and then one day the two of them are practicing sparring and then it turns lowkey smutty 😼😼😼?

you can pick how you make it and how smutty it is, once again i REALLY LOVE YOUR PAGE MWAH XXOXO ❤️

YAY first request <3 and also thank you so much i love you too pookie xx

!!WARNING SMUTTY FIC!! request open ;P

The sparring room was quiet except for the rhythmic sound of bodies hitting mats and the occasional grunt. You and König had agreed to train together, both needing the practice and let’s be honest the excuse to be close.

Your situationship with König had been a maddening push and pull. He’d linger too long in your space, his sharp blue eyes piercing through you, but he’d always stop just shy of something real. Yet his hands would ghost over your lower back when he passed, his massive frame pressing a little too close when you trained. The tension between you could snap steel, and today felt like the day it would finally break.

“You’re hesitating,” König muttered, towering over you with his hands up, ready to strike.

You rolled your eyes, already sweating from the exertion. “I’m testing your patience, big guy.”

His head tilted, the shadow of a smirk curling under his mask. “Testing it, are you?”

You didn’t have time to retort before he lunged. His size made him look slower than he was, but he was all speed and power, catching you off guard. You barely blocked his first swing before he swept your legs out from under you, pinning you beneath him.

You gasped, chest heaving against his. König’s weight pressed you firmly into the mat, his thighs straddling your hips. His hands bracketed your wrists, holding you effortlessly in place. The room was suddenly too hot, the air thick.

“Still testing?” he rumbled, his voice low and dark, vibrating right through you.

Your breath hitched, a wicked grin tugging at your lips despite the situation. “Maybe.”

His grip tightened just slightly, his fingers brushing against your pulse. His mask hung low, so close you could see his lips curl into something almost feral.

“I think,” he murmured, leaning closer, “you’ve been teasing me long enough.”

Your stomach clenched as heat pooled between your legs, the raw hunger in his voice making you squirm. “And what are you going to do about it?”

König didn’t answer. Instead, he released your wrists and slid a hand down to your hip, his touch searing even through the fabric of your workout gear. His other hand tugged the hem of your shirt up, exposing your stomach.

“You’ve been driving me insane,” he growled, his hand slipping beneath the waistband of your leggings.

His fingers were hot against your skin, trailing lower with deliberate, agonizing slowness. You could feel the sharp intake of his breath above you, the fabric of his mask brushing your temple as he hovered close.

“You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me,” König murmured, his voice like gravel, low and dangerous. His fingers brushed against the edge of your underwear, teasing, making you squirm. “The way you touch me when you think I won’t notice... Always testing, always pushing.”

A shiver ran down your spine as his hand dipped lower, fingertips grazing the slick heat between your thighs. You gasped, your hips bucking against his hand. The tension between you boiled over, spilling into the way he pressed his palm against you, his touch both possessive and insistent.

“Scheiße,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tight with restraint. “You’re already so wet for me. You like this, don’t you? Being pinned down, at my mercy.”

“Maybe,” you breathed, though your trembling body betrayed just how much you did.

“Maybe,” he repeated, his tone mocking as he pushed your leggings lower, baring you to him. “I’ll make you beg, Liebling. I want to hear you admit how badly you want this.”

His fingers slipped between your folds, spreading the wetness there as he teased your entrance. When his thumb circled your clit, a sharp cry escaped your lips, and he chuckled, low and dark.

“That’s it,” he murmured, applying just the right pressure as his fingers finally pushed inside you, curling perfectly to hit that spot that made your head spin. “So tight, so perfect. This is what you’ve been wanting, isn’t it?”

Your nails dug into his forearm, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as he worked you open, his pace steady but torturously slow. “König, please...”

“Please what?” he growled, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Use your words, Schatz. Tell me what you want.”

“I want... I want you,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

He let out a low, satisfied hum, his pace quickening as he thrust his fingers deeper, his thumb never letting up on your clit. The sounds he was pulling from you were obscene, echoing in the sparring room alongside the wet, rhythmic noise of his movements.

“You’re going to come for me,” König commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And when you do, I’ll take you right here, on this mat, so you’ll never forget who you belong to.”

The promise in his words, paired with the relentless pace of his fingers, sent you hurtling toward the edge. Your body tightened beneath him, every nerve alight as pleasure built and built until it consumed you, your climax ripping through you with a force that left you shaking.

König didn’t stop, his fingers working you through the waves of your orgasm until you were a trembling mess beneath him. When he finally pulled his hand away, his fingers glistened with your release, and he brought them to his mask, lifting it just enough to drag his tongue over them, his eyes locked on yours.

“Taste so sweet,” he muttered, his voice rough with hunger. “But I’m not finished with you yet...”

LMK IF YOU LIKED THIS!! my request are always open feel free to ask anything ;)

[sleekervae]

Solo Mode [1] jackson wang x fem!oc

Masterlist

A/N: I've had this idea knocking around in my brain for a while, never had the push to write it until Jackson started releasing music again. It's my little birthday gift for myself ☺️ Lemme know what you think!

Pairing: jackson wang/fem!oc

Summary: He's an international pop star trying to outrun burnout. She's a sharp-tongued software engineer who doesn't do feelings. What starts as a no-strings arrangement quickly unravels into something messier, softer, and realer than either of them planned. Between chaotic breakfasts, late-night confessions, and breaking every rule they set, Jackson and Heather find themselves in deep — and neither of them knows how to stop it.

Warnings: strong language, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 1.7k

Heather had been staring at her screen so long her eyes felt like they’d been rubbed raw with sandpaper.

A single red error message blinked in the corner of her code editor like a middle finger. She typed something, rewrote it, deleted it, then typed it again with more force—like that would make the compiler less of a bitch.

The fix was so close. She could feel it.

This patent meant everything. Years of development. Her own codebase. Her design. Her algorithm. Her name. She was going to stamp that shit into tech history if it killed her—and given the four hours of sleep she was running on, it might.

Her tea was cold. Again.

She shoved the cup aside and reached for her headphones, already resigned to another night of silence and circuits.

Then came the bass.

A low, rhythmic thump, like a heartbeat made of bad decisions, started pulsing through her wall.

Heather paused, jaw tightening.

She waited. Sometimes it was just a one-song thing—someone testing a speaker. A music cue for a home workout. A tragic attempt at a sex playlist. She could forgive that.

The song ended.

Another one started.

Louder.

This one had more bass. Thicker vocals. A synth loop that could drill straight into her skull.

Heather yanked off her headphones. Waited.

Male voices joined the music—shouting, laughing. Someone belted a high note and knocked straight into a wall. She heard the distinct clatter of something heavy hitting the floor.

Her eye twitched.

She stared at her code like she could will the function to solve itself. She counted to ten. Counted again. Then shoved her headphones back on and turned up her white noise generator until it hissed like static in her skull.

Ten minutes.

Fifteen.

The wall thumped again.

“Fuck me,” she muttered, slamming her laptop shut.

She marched to the wall and slapped it with her palm. “Shut the fuck up!”

A chorus of mocking laughter greeted her back. The music didn’t stop.

Heather turned in a slow, surgical circle, walked to her front door, yanked it open, and stalked barefoot into the hallway like a vengeance demon in a hoodie. The hallway bulb flickered overhead, as always, and the noise spilled clearer from the apartment next to hers.

5D.

Of course it was 5D. The asshole with the luxury vinyl door mat and people shuffling in and out at all hours of the morning. She’d hardly seen his face. She didn’t care to. Whoever he was, he partied too much, wore too much cologne, and had the kind of deep-pocket PR budget that covered noise complaints like napkins on spilled liquor.

She knocked once.

Nothing.

She banged again. Harder.

The music cut mid-drop.

Muffled voices argued. Something about “just open the fucking door, bro, she’s gonna call the super.”

It swung open.

And standing there—shirt undone, chain glinting, black silk clinging to smooth, a jaw line sharp enough to cut glass, inked skin and an expression too drunk to care—was him.

Heather froze. He smiled, lazy and stupid and pretty. One brow quirked like she’d shown up to amuse him.

“Hey,” he said, drawl thick with booze. “You lost?”

“No,” she snapped, arms crossing. “I’m working. Or I was. Until you and your frat house remix session decided 3 a.m. was prime time for a rave.”

He blinked. Then laughed, low and hoarse and a little off-balance.

“You’re the girl next door.”

“And you're my drunken idiot neighbour.”

He leaned against the doorframe like it might start spinning.

“You always this mean?”

“You always this fucking loud?”

“Only when I have a good time.” he shot back. “You should try working during the day like a normal person.”

Heather’s smile went razor-sharp.

“You should try choking on glass.”

He laughed again, like she was a feature not a bug. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

“You’ve got ten seconds to shut the music off or I make this an HOA issue.”

“Ooh,” he teased, dragging the word. “Miss Murder Eyes wants to file a complaint.”

“Miss Murder Eyes wants to burn your speaker system to ash.”

He looked like he was about to say something else—something smug—but someone inside the apartment yelled his name and he turned halfway, distracted.

Heather didn’t wait.

She turned on her heel and walked back to her apartment, slamming her door so hard the frame shook.

The music didn’t come back on.

But she knew—knew—this wasn’t the last time she’d have to deal with that walking, talking, open-shirted migraine.

The elevator doors creaked open with all the enthusiasm of a Monday hangover. Heather stepped in, hoodie swallowed around her like a fabric shield, socked feet tucked into Adidas slides, legs bare and chilled under the fabric of worn athletic shorts. She looked like what she was: an exhausted, overcaffeinated, over-it woman one microsecond away from flaying the next person who so much as breathed too loudly.

Unfortunately, the next person was already inside the elevator.

Her fucking neighbour.

Slouched in one corner like a cover model for "Too Cool to Care," he wore a zip hoodie hanging open over a rumpled black tank, grey sweats slung too low on hips that had no business being that sculpted, and—of course—sunglasses. Indoors. At 8:07 a.m.

Her eye twitched. “Are you seriously wearing sunglasses inside?”

He tilted his head lazily toward her. “Heather, right? Good morning to you, too.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

He yawned. Loudly. “I’m hungover. Lights are loud. Your voice is louder.”

Heather jabbed the lobby button harder than necessary. “You're giving 'douchebag' all too well.”

He didn’t blink. Might’ve been the glasses. “That’s funny. Coming from the woman who looks like she woke up after an adderall bender.”

“Fuck you.”

"Not with that attitude."

"Then choke on glass."

He grinned, teeth too white for someone claiming to be that hungover. “Nice go-to. You serving it plain, or should I expect a cube or two for garnish?”

She side-eyed him, deadpan. “I’ll chill the whole damn shard for you.”

He chuckled, low and smug. “Spicy this early in the morning. Adorable.”

She didn’t answer, just crossed her arms tighter across her chest and stared at the floor numbers ticking down too slowly for her liking. The silence stretched thick with mutual annoyance.

“I gotta say though,” Jackson said, breaking it anyway, “you do grumpy better than anyone I’ve met.”

Heather’s jaw tensed. “You’re lucky I don’t code viruses for sport.”

He made a dramatic show of clutching his chest. “Be still, my tragic heart.”

The elevator dinged. Doors opened.

She stepped out first, refusing to look at him.

Behind her, he called out, “Hey, if you want to carve my death sentence into my door, just ask for my full name.”

Heather flipped him off without turning around.

The building lobby was quiet—thankfully. Heather stepped through the glass doors and into the biting morning air, tugging her oversized red hoodie tighter around her. She was barely awake, hair in a high, messy knot, hoodie half zipped over a sports bra, Adidas shorts just peeking beneath the hem, and black crew socks shoved into plastic slides. Not a look she’d ever choose to be perceived in. But caffeine was life or death.

Her phone buzzed. Order dropped off.

She spotted the delivery guy by the curb with a paper bag in one hand and a cardboard drink tray in the other. She moved to intercept, pulling her hoodie hood further over her head like she could disappear into it.

“Hey—Heather?” the delivery guy asked, glancing between the names on the receipt. “And… Jackson?”

Before she could respond, the door behind her swung open with a gust of warm air and the smell of cologne and regret.

“Yo, that’s me,” came the voice she’d already spent too much of her brainpower hating this week.

She didn’t need to look to know.

Then his eyes—well, probably his eyes—shifted toward Heather. “We really gotta stop meeting like this.”

Heather gawked at him. “You order from Mildew?”

Jackson shrugged, plucking his own iced coffee. “Their cold brew's the only thing stronger than my regrets.”

"-- And a protein wrap." the delivery guy read his order receipt.

"Thank you."

Heather grimaced, “God, even your breakfast order is pretentious.”

The delivery guy awkwardly extended both drink trays. “Uh… you guys want to split this up?”

Heather grabbed hers, iced americano with two caramel shots and a tiny pastry bag. Jackson took his with one hand and tore open the bag like it owed him rent.

“You know,” he said, tearing a bite of rap, “you could’ve just told me you wanted to grab coffee together.”

She scoffed. “I’d rather snort sawdust.”

“Hmm.” He chewed slowly, sunglasses tilted as he clearly scanned her from hoodie to socks. “Is that your way of saying this is your morning look? ‘Unapproachable with a hint of homicide’?”

She took a sip of her drink and stared him down over the lid. “This is the look of someone who works. Unlike you, I’m guessing.”

He grinned. “Sweetheart, I work hard enough to afford the noise complaints.”

She turned on her heel. “Try that line again when you’re not dressed like a hungover gym rat.”

Jackson called after her, amused and unapologetic: “Hey! Want me to order you glass with extra ice next time?”

She didn’t bother flipping him off this time. She just hoped the coffee kicked in before she accidentally committed a felony.

Heather cut through the lobby, legs moving with purpose, sipping her coffee like it could save her soul. Her slides slapped the tile with quiet urgency as she beelined toward the elevator. Behind her, she heard Jackson exchange a few pleasantries with the delivery guy—of course he was charming when he wasn’t being a complete walking migraine.

She reached the elevator, thumb jamming the ‘up’ button with a vengeance. A second later, the doors slid open with a slow mechanical sigh.

She stepped inside.

From across the lobby, she heard, “Hold up!”

Nope.

She hit the ‘close door’ button with the kind of speed that could win arcade games. The doors began their slow, deliberate slide inward.

Jackson jogged up, protein wrap still half in his mouth, coffee in hand, sweats slung low on his hips like they were allergic to tension.

“Hey! Heather!” he said around the bite.

She didn’t even look up. Just muttered, “Work hours only, gym rat.”

The doors closed on his groan of disbelief—and, she hoped, his dumb, smug grin.

For the first time that morning, she smiled.

Just a little.

[vee-vee-writes]

Bath time (Raditz x gn!reader)

Warnings: implied smut, mostly sfw

Notes: A short drabble about Raditz returning to his partner for some pampering after a mission off world

“Come on big man, let’s get you a bath. You’re a mess” you mused at your partner. Tousling his bloody mane of once glossy black hair Raditz smirked at you but offered no argument. After being sent to wipe out the locals on a pacifist planet so that Frieza could strip the planet of its resources, all the man wanted was fed, a bath, bed…well maybe a little something else before bed. Though he would hardly admit it where there could be prying ears, Raditz had missed you.

Months spent away from one another were no easy feat for a Saiyan couple, yet you made the best of the circumstances you found yourselves in. After the destruction of Planet Vegeta when you were children, the two of you had vowed to stick together. Two lowborn elites constantly sneered at, mocked, and beaten on by those who considered themselves your betters. Naturally, it had only driven the two of you closer and after many years the two of you made it official.

Raditz was quick to follow as you turned and strode off the launch deck, navigating the twists and turns of the corridors towards your shared quarters. A shared understanding between the two of you meant conversations were left unsaid until you reached privacy. It did not take long before the two of you stepped into the comfort of your quarters, Raditz turning to watch the door seal before he properly greeted you.

But as he made a move to pull you into a crushing bear hug you stepped out of his reach. With a wiggle of your finger, you teasingly scolded him, “Oh no you don’t mister. You smell like you’ve rolled in something that had been left to rot in the sun for three weeks, not to mention you’re covered in blood and God knows what else.” Raditz rolled his eyes, stepping towards you once again but you continued to step away. “I’m serious Raditz, bath now. I already ran it for you, it should still be hot” you turned away heading for the refresher. With a grunt the unimpressed giant stalked after you.

Kicking off his boots and stripping off the rest of his clothing, Raditz turned towards the tub. You were perched on your knees beside the tub with a hand dipped in to test the warmth of the water. Your own armor and boots had been discarded leaving you only in your battle suit. “You plan on getting in too or does only your arm need cleaned?” Raditz teased as he gently stepped around you and settled into the tub.  Returning his jest with a playful eyeroll, you splashed a bit of water his way. “Actually, I figured with how matted that mane of yours is I better help you wash all of the blood out of it.”

Though he did not say it, Raditz’s heart swooned at the thought. It was no secret that the man was proud of the way he looked, especially when one took the time to take in his hair. But he especially loved evenings like these where you doted on him, taking the time to look after him. Laying out a clean battle suit for the next day, feeding, or grooming him were all small gestures that Raditz greatly appreciated.

Raditz was lulled away from his thoughts as he felt warm water pour over his scalp, drenching his hair and dripping down his muscles. It was the beginning of what he knew was going to be the most soothing twenty minutes of his life.

Want to read more? Check out my masterlist.

[tremendouskoalachild]

all the named Sisters-in-training shown in episode 1, in order of billing:

Lila (Chloe Lea)

Theodosia (Jade Anouka)

Jen (Faoileann Cunningham)

Emeline (Aoife Hinds)

Farouz (Hannah Khalique-Brown)

her name is not said in the episode but she does have multiple lines in her introductory scene, is seen in others, and named in the credits.

bits of characterization shown in the episode:

Theodosia, Emeline, and Farouz are sitting together in the library, alone at their table, while all others are full. Farouz is into Constantine.

Theodosia and Emeline are also standing close to each other in Tula's lesson, while Farouz stands by Theodosia before the follow-up test. Theodosia, Emeline, and Jen are the only ones to immediately and confidently answer Tula's questions about the theory of truthsaying, with Jen correctly identifying lying as a survival tactic.

during sparring, Theodosia very casually dispatches Lila. Jen manages to throw Emeline down on the mat. we don't know Farouz's sparring partner but she wins her match too, with a ferocious expression.

Lila and Jen stand next to each other before and after the practical lesson. Jen is unimpressed by the test and unintimidated by Valya. she tells a tale about being sold as a child slave and murdering both her buyer and parents, before mocking the other girls for believing her. Lila has thoughts on Jen's story.

Tula and Valya consider Emeline, Theodosia, and Jen as possible candidates to pair up with Ynez for their studies. Tula suggests Emeline did well on her truthsaying test, though Valya dismisses her as a bad influence, too rigid and pious. Jen is brought up as someone the princess would like for her boldness, but shot down for being too independent a thinker. Tula suggests Theodosia as loyal and an excellent student, plus Valya's favorite.

we also learn that Emeline is not from a noble house, unlike most students; Theodosia was taken in by the Sisterhood when she had nowhere else to turn, and is loyal to them; Lila is Tula's favorite, and Tula expects her to be a natural-born truthsayer due to her lineage. Valya considers Lila weak and scared.

in the dormitory we see Theodosia practice with her knife before bed. Jen and Emeline chat about Ynez, with Emeline calling out the unfairness.

Jen and Lila, who apparently sleep opposite each other, have a chat about their childhoods. Lila was raised in the Sisterhood and doesn't know who her parents are. she intuits Jen's story was partially based in fact.

[mbauniverse4]

[catscidr]

Ok, crowtorre? 10/10. THE 💣 💣 💣 😭 But omg how would he fair with a cat or wolf hybrid reader..

PLS

NOO he would be such a tease!! he’d be so mean!! im imagining cat hybrid reader (bc im biased lol) but LORD he’d be even more mischievous than usual, to the point where you go out of your way to avoid him at all cost if you get that feeling in your gut that tells u he’s going to be particularly annoying (he’s pissed you off so often you eventually developed a sort of sixth sense related to it. a headache radar, if you will)

(prev crowttore post for context)

cw: crow hybrid!dottore x afab!cat hybrid!reader. established relationship, he’s annoying, pure rambling from yours truly so barely even proof read. second half is nsfw, minors dni, scara mentionned once, rough sx, possessive behaviour, talks of breeding, overstim, smidge of aftercare.

“your reactions are entertaining” he’s told you once, his excuse whenever you shove him away from you. ever since then, you’ve tried to keep your reactions to a minimum. give him nothing more than a glare. but you fail. every single time. it’s not your fault he’s so good at reading people!! curse his big wrinkly brain

it’s not all that bad, though. sometimes he helps, like when you have knots in your shoulders he’ll gladly "preen" you and rid you of the pesky tension building up in your aching muscles with his nimble fingers. sometimes he even takes time to brush your tail for you; but that’s not something he does solely for your benefit. he’ll pluck out the fur that gets caught in the brush, and he'll use it for... something. you never asked, and you don’t really want to know (especially considering what he does to people on a regular basis)

but, at the end of the day, being with dottore is a chore at best. he can be a decent partner, but he, for some reason, makes it his mission to get on your nerves everyday. he’ll poke and prod at your ears and tail, “begging” you in a mocking tone to let him run tests on you. he’ll invade your personal space on purpose until you hiss and swat him away, only for him to grab your wrist and taunt you to “try harder than that”.

even if he doesn't go out of his way to irritate you, sometimes you'll just glance at him and get annoyed. maybe that was just a reflection of how little patience you had around him, though.

at this point you’ve lost count on how may times he’s run your patience to the ground (whether on purpose or not), but if there's one thing he's good at its pleasing you. he's smart (though calculating), dexterous, and observant. surely that means that he'll ditch the teasing and be a good boyfriend for you once you go through your monthly heats!

NO. LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER. WRONG!!!!

you'll be writhing in discomfort in his bed, tail all fluffed up and twitching, swiping at the sheets beneath you as you rut into his pillow. you're smearing slick all over the fabric, a mix of curses and whines slipping past your lips.

he refused to take the day off to take care of you when he saw the state you were in, saying something like "you're an adult, surely you can control your urges" with the same, sickly sweet smile he flashes at you whenever you pout at him. he even made sure to give you a kiss after he left your shared flat to go to his lab, something he never does.

and there you were. watching the clock tick, impatiently waiting for him to come home to replace the stupid toys that couldn't even drag one measly orgasm out of you. not a single one. all you could think about was him, him, him.

you could barely smell him on the pillow anymore, since all you smelled was how horribly horny you were. but as soon as you heard the front door open and the familiar sound of his boots stepping on the worn-out "welcome" mat, you swear you felt even more slick drip out of you (if that was even possible)

the second dottore steps into his room and he's at arms length, you grab onto his sleeve and tug him closer. unfortunately for you, your muscles are considerably weaker than usual and you don't even get to move him even an inch closer to you.

he revels in the whines that leave you and in your discomfort. he's both the best and worst person to take care of your heat; he knows what he's doing, sure, but he also knows exactly what to do to keep you right on the edge. both with actions and words.

"why would I help you with you heat, darling? don't you need a fellow feline hybrid to help you?" he coos, slipping his coat off of his shoulders, making you all but drool at the sight of the harness hugging his firm torso.

"no. no, fuck you, i need you," you whine, a pout tugging at your lips as you take in a deep breath to steady yourself. he just smiles, bending down to your level to cup your face in his soft, feathery hands to speak to you in that condescending tone he always uses this time of the month. "want me to call the balladeer to take care of you? i'm sure he'll be delighted to blow off some steam. and he'll be helping you, too! don't you want that? to have his cat cock drilling into you?"

when you scowl, tail whipping against the bed with dull thumps, he grins. of course he would never hand you off to his coworker, he doesn't trust any of the harbingers around you when you're in heat anyways. dottore knows only he can quench your insatiable thirst, but he adores hearing it from you. hearing you whine and beg for his touch, for his cock gives him an ego boost- makes that primal, possessive part of him coo in delight.

and when he finally touches you, black nails scraping against your sticky, sweaty skin, you swear you almost cum on the spot. it would have been embarrassing if it wasn't for the fact that you had been on edge the entire day. at least he was kind enough to make you cum properly with his fingers one time to rid you of that hunger for just a second, enough for him to get rid of his slacks to free his aching, hard cock from its confines.

seeing you beg for him fed his ego and, in turn, made his blood rush down to his second head, you really can’t blame him.

he manhandles you so easily it makes you throb with need, your first orgasm having faded away already, making you ache for him to pull another one out of you. and he would do so oh so graciously, pulling your ass back with a tug on the base of your tail, admiring the view of you on all fours just for him.

“ahh… i’ll never get tired of seeing you like this, waiting all nice and pretty for me. want me to fuck you nice and good, don’t you? breed you full of my seed?” he coos right into your ear, pulsing erection sliding up and down your wet folds, just barely dipping inside of your hole. you hiss, words failing you as you slip a hand between your legs to guide him inside.

and he lets you, smirking at the sight of his stubborn, headstrong partner reduced to a puddle of carnal need. you feel all nth inches of his hard cock fill you up and you cum hard, crying as you finally get what you had been craving for hours. his length all snug inside of you, letting you cockwarm him until the aftershocks of your climax fade and he can start moving in you, fucking you.

it would only be the beginning though, because he always made it his mission to “beat” your heat, so to speak. make you cum on his cock so much you would be pushing him away, weakly tapping his chest and clawing at his back as you plead for him to pull out.

you’ll be pinned to the bed on your stomach as he thrusts into you; sharp, hard plaps echoing in the bedroom over and over again, the bedsheets soaked with your juices and his seed. you can barely even think of running away, brain reduced to mush as he admires the way your ears seem to be glued down to your head, tail flicking weakly in time with his thrusts.

but when he finally takes pity on your poor sore and used cunt, he’ll rub soothing circles on your back as you purr quietly, satiated. for now. he doesn’t bother leaving the room to get a washcloth because he knows you’ll only claw at his arm, pull a few feathers out as a result, and look at him with those eyes that make him want to take you all over again.

he knows you’re tired though, if it wasn’t already obvious by the way you don’t even bother to untangle yourself from the soiled bedsheet you laid on. and he’ll gladly stay with you, keeping his wing spread out over you to keep you warm until you wake up and pounce on him for even more rounds.

[wickedwitchofthegalaxy]

☞𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒞𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝒩𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈 𝑅𝑒𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒☜︎

☠︎ 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝓌𝑜: 𝑅𝒾𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 ☠︎

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: 𝑨𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏(𝑪𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒆𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒔)𝑿 𝑭𝒆𝒎𝑷𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒏!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Physiological Manipulation, Mature Themes, Mentions of Past Events

𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 5.3K

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: This chapter teeters on the edge of transformation, where the promise of something greater begins to feel more like a curse than a gift.

𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈: Soooo this was totally unplanned but I thought I’d give it a go and see how y'all felt about continuing this storyline and possibly expanding it. Let me know what you think!

As always, banners done by @cafekitsune !

Enjoy 🖤

The sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the training room as you wiped your sweat-drenched face off. The room was crowded, more than usual, as trainees gathered in small groups, chatting quietly as they ran through drills.

“Come on, I didn’t even hit you!” Your friend, Lex, called from across the mat, her grin wide as she swung her training saber, trying her best to make the saber move effortlessly. Trying, being the hint word.

“Lex, you’re a maniac.” Your other friend, Abby, calls out from your side, her face also covered in beads of sweat. She takes deep, dramatic breaths, her back hunched over and hands on her knees as her head falls.

You gave her shoulder a gentle nudge as you passed her, stepping onto the mat.

“You’re getting more and more cocky, Lex. It’s actually becoming quite toxic.” You joke, swinging your own saber around in a quick, fluid motion, mimicking what Lex was attempting to do.

Lex scoffs, watching the way you swiftly twisted the saber in your hand before she blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Toxic? Me? I’m the least toxic person here. I’m like... the chamomile tea of this group.”

“Chamomile tea?” Abby repeats, arching a brow as she dusts off her robes. “Lex, you’re more like... a bottle of spice syrup someone accidentally knocked over into their drink. Chaotic and hard to swallow.”

“Wow, rude,” Lex shoots back, feigning offense as she takes a mock swing in Abby’s direction. “If I was so toxic, wouldn’t I have caused more… I don’t know… damage?”

Abby sidesteps easily, throwing her arms wide. “If we’re talking about damage, I’d like to remind you of the time you thought it’d be a great idea to duel Master Purn to ‘test his reflexes.’”

Lex cackles, the sound sharp and unrepentant. “In my defense, his reflexes needed testing. How was I supposed to know he’d use the Force to flip me into the meditation pool?”

You grin, sliding into your own stance and raising your saber, bringing Lex’s attention back to you. “I don’t know, maybe because he’s a Master and you’re... well, you?”

Lex points her saber at you, her grin widening. “Bold talk for someone who got ‘accidentally’ locked in the supply closet last week. Who was behind that again?”

“Oh, definitely an accident,” Abby threw over her shoulder as she walked around the edges of the mat, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “Totally not orchestrated by someone who thought it’d be hilarious.”

Lex shrugs, clearly unbothered as you both start circling. “Hey, you needed some alone time to reflect. Consider it... a gift.”

You roll your eyes. “Some gift. I was in there so long I memorized the Jedi Code backward.”

“Wow,” Abby says, clapping her hands slowly. “A true scholar emerges. Next thing we know, you’ll be reciting Master Purn’s lectures for fun.”

“Okay, let’s not go that far.” You reply, spinning your saber before faking a quick step towards Lex. She takes the bait and quickly steps back, giving you a small look when she recovers. You grin as you continue, “At least I didn’t blow up the training dummies during practice.”

Lex holds up a hand. “Hey, those dummies had it coming. I was innovating.”

“You overloaded the power cells,” Abby says flatly. “They exploded.”

Lex lunges at you, her saber coming down in a wide arc. You block it easily, the clash of the sabers sending a soft clunk echoing through the room. You push back, stepping into her space as you twist your wrist, forcing her saber downward.

“Come on, Lex, who taught you that move?” you taunt, grinning as she huffs in frustration.

“Give me a minute!” Lex retorts, stepping back and resetting her stance. “I’m just warming up.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” you reply, glancing at Abby, who’s watching with an amused expression.

“Admit it—you’d miss me if I wasn’t here to spice things up.” Lex adds, beginning the circling again.

You follow her lead, as Abby sighs dramatically from the side. “It’s like being friends with a hurricane. A very talkative hurricane.”

“A hurricane with style.” Lex corrects, striking a mock heroic pose.

The banter was easy, familiar—a rare pocket of normalcy in a routine that had grown more intense with each passing week. You could feel the eyes of the instructors watching from the edges of the room, their silent appraisals heavy with expectations.

It had been four weeks since you snuck out to the Underground with Lex and Abby. After the long and painful solo walk home, you had given the two of them a call to let them know you got back to your room before you let the anxiety of the upcoming trials and tests for graduation overtake and consume your thoughts, pushing down anything to do with that man or that bar.

You knew you were close to graduating, closer than most of the others here, and that only made the pressure more tangible. Every step forward felt like a test of its own, every glance from your instructors a challenge you had to meet.

Starting your training late hadn’t done you any favors either. Most Padawans began their journeys as young children—eight, maybe ten if they were late bloomers. At eighteen, you were among the oldest in the academy, and though your peers shared the same delayed start, the stigma wasn’t easy to ignore. It was a constant reminder that you were running out of time to prove yourself.

Before Lex can make another move, the door to the training room slides open with a sharp hiss, and a mechanical voice erupts in the large space.

“Apologies for the interruption,” the protocol droid states, its metallic tone cutting through the lively chatter of the room and echoing off the tall walls. Its polished bronze exterior gleams under the overhead lights as it strides forward. “Trainee Y/N, you are requested to report to the Council Chamber immediately.”

Silence.

You freeze mid-motion, lowering your saber as every eye in the training room turns toward you. Even Lex and Abby look momentarily stunned, the playful energy dissipating like smoke in the air.

“Uh…” Lex starts, lowering her own saber and glancing at Abby. “What’s this about?”

The droid doesn’t answer, its expressionless face making the moment feel draining.

A few whispers broke out among the other trainees, but they were quickly silenced with a sharp look from the instructors.

You shift uncomfortably, a knot forming in your stomach. “Is there a problem?” you ask, directing the question to the droid.

“I am not privy to the Council’s intentions,” it replies curtly, its head tilting slightly as if to gesture for you to follow. “You are to come with me immediately. No delays.”

Abby takes a step forward, her brows furrowing. “We’ll come too,” Lex offered quickly, Abby nodding in agreement as they both moved toward you.

The droid swivels its head toward Lex but doesn’t answer directly. Instead, it turns back to you. “Only Trainee Y/N is required. Please proceed now.”

Lex steps closer to you, her hand brushing against your arm. “Y/N…” she starts, her voice uncharacteristically uncertain and strangely quiet.

You force a smile, masking your own unease. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” The girls exchanged a worried glance, but they stayed where they were, clearly reluctant to let you go.

You nodded, offering them a small, reassuring smile even as your mind warred. You could feel the collective gaze on you as you followed the protocol droid out of the room. The absence of their warmth feels immediate, almost jarring, as if you’ve stepped into another world entirely.

The door hisses shut behind you, leaving the hum of training sabers and soft murmurs far behind. You’ve walked these hallways a hundred times, but now every detail feels magnified, every shadow stretching farther than it should.

The halls are quieter than you’d expected, the usual foot traffic subdued as you walked in step with the droid. “What’s going on?” you asked after a moment, unable to keep the question from slipping out.

The protocol droid doesn’t stop or slow its pace; its polished exterior gleams faintly under the breezeway lights, which is your only form of an answer until its robotic voice speaks up.

“The Council has made a decision regarding your future,” it replies simply, its tone infuriatingly chipper. “How exciting!”

You barely register its response, its tinny enthusiasm clashing with the growing tension in your chest. A decision? Regarding my future? The possibilities churned in your mind as you followed it through the long, polished hallways of the Temple.

The soles of your boots echoed softly against the smooth floor. Each step feels heavier than the last, the sound amplified in your ears like the steady beat of a drum, like each stride was a chance, a choice.

You force yourself to breathe evenly, to concentrate on the familiar surroundings: the intricate carvings lining the walls and the faint scent of incense wafting through the air. The arches and curves loomed larger than usual, their designs etched in stark relief against the soft glow of the lights.

Calm. Control. Focus.

The mantra comes unbidden, but now it felt like trying to hold water in your hands. Your thoughts were as scattered as the low chatter of the trainees you’d just left behind.

The Council’s decision could mean anything—had you done something wrong? The twisting in your stomach tightened with each passing thought as the droid led you around a corner, the Council Chamber doors now in sight.

They appear more daunting than ever; the entangled carvings in the wood glow vaguely, and for some reason this was the first time you had really given it a good look. They seem alive, almost springing with the burden of the decision waiting on the other side.

The droid stops a few paces from the entrance, turning to you with its usual brisk formality. “You may enter. The Council awaits.”

You hesitate, your pulse quickening. For a moment, you think of Lex and Abby, their worried expressions still fresh in your mind. I hope they’re not freaking out too much, you think, a faint smile tugging at your lips before it vanishes.

The heavy doors slid open with the familiar faint hiss, revealing the ominous circular chamber. Your heart rages in your chest as you step inside, the air noticeably cooler.

The semicircle of Council members sits before you, their faces calm but indecipherable. Master Yoda’s small frame is centered among them, barely filling the chair’s width. Beside him, Mace Windu’s gaze scrutinized you with a discreet vigor. Other familiar faces—Obi-wan, Kit Fisto, Plo Koon—flank them, their postures serene and suave while their eyes oozed judgment.

Your steps falter as your eyes catch movement. Seated beside Obi-Wan, arms crossed, is Anakin. His presence was unmistakable, a magnetic pressure that bends the air and shifts the room’s energy, or perhaps just your own. His expression is a collision of smug satisfaction and simmering impatience, the corners of his mouth hinting at something unspeakable.

He wouldn’t be thinking about that right now, would he?

The question roams in your head, but it’s quickly snuffed out by flashes of that night. The scent of bitter blood of the past erupts; you can practically taste it. With a swirl of your tongue, you find it’s not your imagination—the taste of copper is real; you had bit down into your cheeks, the red liquid pooling in your closed mouth.

“Step forward, Y/N,” Master Windu’s voice breaks through the silence, his tone firm but sympathetic as it echoes off the high, windowed chamber walls.

You obey. What else can you do? Taking measured steps, you stand at the center of the room, the Council’s combined stare resting heavily on you. The circle of them feels infinite; their eyes are oppressive as a black hole—nearly strangling, leaving you choking in its merciless pull.

And then there’s him.

Anakin’s eyes are magnets, pulling, trapping, forcing. Though he says nothing, his peering eyes are impossible to ignore. The memories of those eyes—the appetence, the control—crawl over your skin like insects. You resist the urge to recoil, but every step toward the center of the chamber it feels like stepping deeper into his shadow.

Master Yoda begins, his voice low and cracking, as if he were whispering a prophecy. “Decided, your future has been.” His ears twitch slightly as he regards you with wise, ancient eyes.

Your breath catches in your throat, sharp and ragged.

Decided? Already?

You fight to keep your expression neutral, the words and thoughts racing wildly in your mind.

Acid boils up your throat, dissolving the soft tissue it touches, as if your body is rebelling against the air itself. It takes everything in you to swallow it back down.

Master Windu leans forward, his words unforgiving in their clarity. “Your performance has been exceptional, Y/N. The Council recognizes your dedication and skill, and after much deliberation, we have decided that you are ready to take the next step in your training.”

The phrases landed like a gavel.

Ready. The next step.

You blinked, trying to process what this meant.

“You are to be assigned to a Jedi Master,” Windu continues. “A rare honor, especially considering your age and the limited number of Knights available to train Padawans at this time.”

Your heart convulses—a sudden, erratic spasm of exhilaration and disbelief. This is it. I’ve been chosen. The toll of the moment presses hard against you, grounding your excitement, and the master’s next words only bring the cold reality crashing down even harder, the bile rising back into your throat.

“However,” Windu says, the single word slicing through the fragile shell of your nausea as his voice dips, “it has not been an easy decision.”

Your eyes flicker toward Anakin, a mistake. His jaw tightens, the muscle twitching as he shifts in his seat. His eyes trace you—not with curiosity, no, he knows exactly what’s under your robes. He’s cataloging you, committing every movement to memory. His earlier smugness has curdled into something darker, the edges of frustration sensuous against his expression.

“Suggested, Master Skywalker did,” Yoda said, his tone soft but pointed, “that to him, assigned you be.”

Your gut tightens, a vehement twist of nerves, as your blood pummels through you. Your skin suddenly starts feeling unwelcoming, and each breath is a chore, the air scraping against your lungs—a visceral rejection of the words as they take root in your mind.

“But we’re not entirely in agreement on that.” Windu interjects, his hand rising, gesturing broadly around to each of the Council members.

You barely have time to process what Windu’s words might mean before more movement draws your attention.

Anakin’s fingers flex and uncurl against the armrests of his chair. He leans forward slightly, the tension in his shoulders coiling.

“You’re making a mistake,” he says. His voice was hushed and venomous, carving through the space with a lingering chill. “She belongs with me. You all know that.”

Wait—what did he say?

You glance at him, your eyes widening despite yourself. There’s a moment of silence, a heavy pause as the oxygen is eaten up by electric tension. Anakin’s eyes burn into Windu’s, his anger visible, and Windu returns it with a narrowed gaze.

“The decision has been made, Anakin. Your role now is to focus on the war. Not on training a Padawan.” Master Windu’s voice cuts in, his tone stern and slightly annoyed, like this isn’t the first time he’s had to tell Anakin this.

Anakin doesn’t flinch at the rebuke, but his knuckles whiten as he grips the armrests. His shoulders rise and fall with each breath, barely contained fury leaking out in the subtle tremors of his movements. His eyes twist to Yoda’s, “I can do both,” he insists, his voice pointed and more stubborn. “I’m more than capable.”

The Masters exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between them.

“Capable you are,” Yoda replies, his tone taking on an unyielding undertone to his usual laid-back manner. “Ready, you are not.”

Master Windu’s eyes grow empathetic as he tries to find a middle ground. “Anakin, you know we’re considering another master for her. One who has more time and is better prepared for this—”

Anakin stiffens in his seat, his head snapping toward Windu. “No,” he roars, his voice sharper this time, his frustration growing and becoming even more obvious to the other Council members. “You’re shipping her off to sit on the sidelines; she’ll never reach her full potential without the guidance of someone willing to—“

“Assigned you are—to Luther Koth. Final, it is.” Yoda insists, his voice rising and eyes stabbing daggers into Anakin. The whole room seems riled by his defiance, and the feeling seems to be directed at you.

The room tilts slightly as Yoda’s words sink in.

Luther Koth?

You’ve heard the name in passing, but you’ve never met him. The thought is disorienting, a crack splintering through the precarious balance of your emotions.

“Master Yoda,” Anakin persists, his voice rising slightly, and he half-stands, his body looming like a storm cloud ready to erupt. “you can’t just—”

“Enough, General Skywalker.” Yoda interrupts sharply, his eyes burrowing deeper on Anakin, “Strong in the Force, you are, but in check, your influence must be. Your path in the Republic is not to train Padawans at this time.”

“At this time,” Anakin repeats in a low mock, barely above a whisper, as his expression darkens while looking between the Masters. “This isn’t about my ability to focus; this is about her and her future—”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan’s voice is like a whip crack, startling in its incisiveness. He rises from his seat, his hand raised in a silent command for Anakin to stand down. You glance at Obi-Wan, your heart hammering. His posture broadens and his eyes flash with warning as he continues, “This isn’t the time or place for this argument. You know better.”

Anakin doesn’t back down. His gaze flicks to Obi-Wan, then back to Yoda, his jaw tightening further as if clamping down on whatever he wants to say next.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin snaps, his head swiveling back to Obi. His vexation is evident in every muscle, every twitch. He looks like he’s about to snap. “I’m insisting.”

“No, I’m insisting.” Obi-Wan steps forward, his body angled slightly toward Anakin as if preparing to physically block him from advancing. His voice is low and punctuated as he follows up, “You need to step back. This isn’t about you or her right now.”

Your breath catches as Anakin’s eyes sweep back to you, searing into you with an intensity that feels almost physical. For a moment, the room fades—the Council, the chamber walls, even the low hum of air. All that remains is the haze of his stare and the unspoken promise it carries.

What the hell is he thinking?

“General Skywalker,” Windu cuts in, his voice colder now, expression solidifying into stone as he leans forward, like he too is getting ready to physically stop Anakin. “This discussion is over. You are out of line.”

Anakin straightens to his full height, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths as his cold edge sliced through the room. For a moment, it seems as though he might say something else, his lips parting—but then he stops. His breath hisses through his teeth as he crosses his arms. His rage coils beneath his skin, snarling, seething to break free, primed to explode.

You swallow hard, your throat dry as sandpaper. You’ve seen that look before; you’ve seen it up close. You wish you could disappear into the stone beneath your feet, to be anywhere other than here.

“You’re wrong,” he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper, but the words slam into the room, and they’re thick, as if they were made of lead and everyone was being forced to breathe them in. “All of you.”

For what feels like the longest five seconds of your life, Anakin doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He just stands there, his eyes flickering between the Council members before finally settling on you. The room holds its breath.

And there it is again—that unspoken promise.

Your feet feel numb, like you have a gaping wound and are too far gone; the pins and needles feeling of blood loss. If the Council dismissed you right now, there would be zero chance you could pick up your legs and actually walk. That’s what his gaze did; it made your knees jelly and your spine snap in on itself. You weren’t sure if it was the Force or something deeper, nor did you have time to think about what reasons Anakin’s gaze was so different.

He exhales sharply as he lowers himself back into his seat, the large chair scraping against the floor with a dissonant screech. He rolls his shoulders, relaxing them as if dismissing everything that just happened, brushing the entire encounter off, as if the air didn’t crackle with the residue of it.

It's like he’s discarded the weight of the confrontation like a loose garment—yet there’s no mistaking that it’s still there, a rancid pulse between you all, stifling every breath. The others exchange looks, the tense stillness now broken only by the soft shuffle of robes as they all settle back into their seats.

You want to scream; you want to cuss him out like you should have that night; instead, you break the everlasting silence the rest of the council has been stunned into, your voice surprising even you with the confidence it carries behind it.

“If I may,” you state, not waiting for their full attention as you continue, ���I’m honored to be assigned to Master Koth, and I don’t take this recommendation from the Council lightly. I will serve the Republic with everything I have. The stars will bend if those are my orders.”

Shock carves itself into the faces of the Council members, all their eyes dawning in on you. Anakin’s eyes are the harshest; you can feel them burning into the side of your face like twin suns. You keep your focus forward, refusing to turn toward him again.

“Strong words these are. Confidence you show, but prove yourself, you must.” Yoda’s tone carries no reproach, only an obstinate expectation, like the galaxy itself will hold you accountable.

“Indeed,” Master Windu adds, his presence back to the practiced ease that all the generals and masters plaster on their faces. “Serving the Republic is not just a matter of bending stars or showing resolve—it requires understanding, discipline, and the ability to make difficult choices. Master Koth will demand nothing less from you.”

You nod quickly, instinct taking over as you bow your head. “I understand, Masters. I won’t fail.” The words spill out, firm but automatic, and you’ve never been more proud of yourself.

Master Obi-Wan, still recovering from the heated debate, sits forward slightly. His tone softer than the others, but his words carry no less gravitas. “Master Koth is a man of principle and precision. He’s demanding but fair. Under his guidance, you’ll learn to navigate not just the battlefield, but the intricacies of what it means to truly be a Jedi.”

And then, like clockwork, Anakin shifts in his seat. His posture is casual, almost disinterested, but his energy is anything but. His gloved fingers drum once against the armrest before his voice cuts through the Council's focus on you. “She’ll be fine,” he says, his tone deceptively glassy. His eyes flick toward you, and you feel the sting of his stare as he adds, “After all, she’s earned it.”

The words stick to you like barbs, digging into every insecurity you thought you had buried. You didn’t want to think it, didn’t want to have it confirmed that the exact and only reason you’re standing in the middle of the greatest Jedi of this century is because you were a slave for a night.

It’s not praise. Not really.

You feel your heart thud painfully against your ribs, and for a split second, you wonder if this is what a heart attack feels like.

Earned it.

The phrase clings to your thoughts like oil on water. His words weren’t an endorsement; they were a reminder, a branding. A mark that would be with you forever, no matter what path you take.

You hold yourself still, despite your mini heart attack, your lips forcing a polite smile, and the quiet resolve in your chest swells just enough to remind you that you are here for more than just Anakin’s twisted perception of you.

The silence stretches until Master Yoda speaks, his voice cold and drained. “You may go. Prepare for your meeting with Master Koth. Tomorrow, it will be.”

You bow again, a little deeper this time, feeling every eye in the room on you. The finality in Master Yoda’s voice motivates your previously jellied legs into a half jog until the heavy doors close behind you. Even then, you don’t stop, your jog turning into a full sprint. Your arms pump furiously, pushing your body forward.

Earned it. Earned it. Earned it.

His voice—the phrase—is a poltergeist, a haunting in its own right. You try to push it away, but Anakin’s words seem to cling to you, like a shadow you can’t outrun, but you’ll be damned if you won’t try. Your feet put more distance between you and the Council’s chambers, but your mind is still trapped in the middle of it.

As you round a corner, you come face-to-face with your two friends. Nearly toppling over them as their arms secure you, both of them speaking too quickly for your already racing mind to grasp.

“Whoa, slow down, Y/N. What happened?”

“Yeah, are you ok? Did they find out about us sneaking out?”

You want to tell them everything—the drunken spill, the velvet-lined back rooms, the violence, the desire, the new position—but the words never leave your lips.

Tell them! Why are you questioning their intentions? They’ve never betrayed your trust. They’ve never done anything to ever insinuate that they would be anything but forgiving.

“Yeah,” you say, the smile you force out too tight, too strained. “I’m fine. Just… just…”

Tears prick at your eyes, and within seconds both girls are steering you to the dorms, both their arms wrapping tightly around either side of you like a blanket of protection.

The familiar, comforting warmth of their embrace is almost enough to make the tears pour out, but the words still lash at your insides, louder now than before.

Earned it.

Your blood pumps furiously through your veins, pulsing in your ears to the point where your friends voices are muffled, their words a jumble of vibrations. You feel the walls closing in, your lungs shrinking with each breath. But you can’t say it. You can’t tell them everything; you can’t shatter what little remains of your dignity. You need to keep it together.

Lex’s voice cuts through the haze, and though her words are soft, they pierce the growing fog around you. “You don’t have to hide it, you know. Whatever happened in there… you don’t have to keep it all in.”

You stiffen, a rush of panic flooding your chest.

How did she know?

But before you can respond, Abby adds, “We’re here for you. Screw them.” Her voice is quieter than Lex’s and holds a hint of humor but is equally concerned.

You find yourself retreating even further inward, madly trying to build barriers, to lock every detail away where they can't see it. Where you can’t feel it. You want to tell them, to let them help, but you can’t bring yourself to. You don't know how to explain the tangled mess inside you.

Your throat feels tight as you give them a small, weak nod, not trusting your voice to sound anything but broken. “I know... thanks, I just... I need some time.”

They guide you to your bed, sitting beside you and just letting the silence fill the space between you.

But even in your safe spot, next to your best friends and a good distance away from any higher up, Anakin’s words continue to reverberate through your mind.

Earned it.

Each time it echoes, it feels like another wound is being sliced into your back, like the physical embodiment of betrayal.

“Whatever’s going on... we’ll figure it out together.” Lex’s hand rests on your shoulder as she shuffles closer to you. You want to believe her. You want to, but you don’t. It’s like your body is trying to protect something, some part of you that’s still... untouched. Maybe it’s your pride, maybe it’s the fear of being completely vulnerable, but either way, the words won’t come out, and you can’t seem to shake the feeling that your life has just been uprooted in the worst way possible.

Instead, you lie back against the bed, your hands gripping the edge of your blanket, and just stare up at the ceiling.

Abby leans in slightly, her face in your view blurring as your eyes unfocus. “We know something’s up. You don’t have to tell us what happened in there, but if you ever want to talk... we’re not going anywhere.”

The words don’t land as they should. They don’t wrap around you the way they always have. They just make you feel heavier, more guilty. It’s almost worse, in some ways—being so close to the answers you can’t bring yourself to give.

Anakin’s words continue to torment your dazed mind, like a private torture session.

I bet he’d love this. Love to know how completely frozen you were. How fucking pathetic.

You turn your head slightly to the side, staring at the wall as if it could give you some reprieve from the chaos in your mind. But it doesn’t.

Earned it.

With every second that passes, that feeling of being trapped deepens. There’s no escape from his voice in your head, no hiding from the truth that it’s now a part of you. But somewhere, deep in the hollow ache in your chest, something else stirs. A sensation, too fresh to name, but oh so familiar.

It’s the flicker of something perilous, something dark and twisted, something that has been waiting for this moment. You try to ignore it, but it's there now, and maybe it always has been, crawling just beneath your feeble ego. It fills the space in your veins that his words froze with a fever that isn’t entirely unpleasant.

Earned it.

For the first time, you let yourself wonder if there's truth in it. Not the way Anakin intended, not the way he made you feel small, but a different truth, a truth that’s far more unsettling: What if you did earn it? What if everything that happened—that night, the Council, even this—was a consequence of destiny, true destiny?

What if you were already changed, and you just didn’t know it yet?

You sit up suddenly, the movement enough to make them both jump. The words you've been holding back, the questions, the doubts—they spill from your lips as they form in your mind.

“I don’t think I can be the person I was anymore,” you whisper, not meeting their eyes, because you know if you do, you’ll see the pity. You can’t bear that.

Anakin’s words have taken root in you, not just as a form of self-torture but as something far more insidious. A seed planted in the fibers that are you, ready to grow into something more dangerous than any of you can imagine.

Something alters. Not in the room. Not in them. But in you. It’s a momentary flicker, a beam of clarity—a glimpse of a hunger that was deeply buried.

You straighten your back, standing abruptly. You feel the energy change, like a charged current is propelling you forward. You turn and face the two of them, their eyes two pairs of shock and confusion as you speak, your voice more confident and certain than ever before.

“But I feel good. Yeah, I feel great.”

[hitchyboi]

🦴Fleeting Bliss🦴

FINISHED VERSION, Again very sorry to those that saw it before I finished it XD Accident

Nubbins let's himself try a favorite pass time of his twin and it doesn't go so well

Content Warning: Drug Use, Self Harm, Descriptions of gore and violence. Unhealthy family dynamics. Unwell mental health. The usual Sawyer Family Fun

Word Count: 4, 433

Dust covered boots trudged themselves up the stairs of an old farm house. Wooden slates creaking under the added weight threatening to snap, once white paint chipped away and yellowed with age. Nubbins cursed and grumbled to himself as he ascended the steps on a path to his room. Once he shouldered the door open he tossed the ratted pillowcase he used as a sack to the ground. Filled with new treasures and finds that once brought excitement now served as a downer that left a bitter taste in his mouth and caused another wave of pain to surge from the yellowing bruise covering his temple, just over his eyebrow.

Words echoed over and over in his head of the recent beating and berating by his older brother. Hog bitch. Dumbass. Rat bastard. A lowly no good waste of space... Another curse and kick that sent his door closed and he made his way towards the rat eaten mattress in his corner of the room. Falling onto the abused material Nubbins finally felt a scolding trail fall from his eye and down his cheek. Inhaling quickly with an attempt to prevent more from following he pulled a ball of matted racoon fur he kept by his pillow close to his chest. Pressing his face into the fur and welcoming the familiar scent of hot tar and decay. It was a recent find on one of his hitchhiking sprees, the coons' corpse was still fresh when Nubbins found it though rigor mortis had already set in. Giving the animal a permanent position of laying on its side as if merely resting for a moment rather then forever. Nubbins could feel his cheeks burning, blood bubbling under his skin and threatening to break it wide open. Eyes burning and throbbing with hot tears he finally relinquished his hold on with none to see. Buying his face further into his furry friend's body, small bones twisting under the tight grip of his lanky fingers. Dry fur tickling his nose and mixing with his scruff serving as his only form of comfort in the silent house.

Why did it matter so much to Drayton if he visited the graveyard? He needed more supplies for some of the bigger projects he planned on crafting. Those beeves don't even need their bones no more! Or their skin! But Nubbins had many uses for them, they'd just rot away or fall apart if he didn't collect them. They'd just be useless... like him...

A yell ripped itself from his throat as the words grew louder in his head. Pulling his legs up towards his chest, trapping the coon even closer, he tried to hide from it all. Hide from the words, the whispers. The disappointment. The beatings. The eyes, the eyes, how he hated the eyes. Always staring and always glaring. Always looking down on him, belittling him like an ant to be squashed. He wanted to turn those eyes into ones of fear, despair. Eyes that were looking at a nightmare, wet and bloodshot from crying. But there were no eyes for him to change, no victim to mock and torture. Just himself.

A snapping sound pulled Nubbins out of his thoughts, looking down he saw the now severed jaw of his furry friend loose in his hand. "No! No.. no no.. why?" He gasped and sat up, desperately trying to piece the jaw back into place. The detached lip falling back to his lap with each try. The burning in his face returned but from rage this time as the critter kept refusing to listen. Why would the critter choose now of all times to leave him as well? Leave him just like Bobby did when Drayton has to drag his wily ass back home after the first test. Leave him like Sissy did when she decided California was more her taste then home. Why couldn't just one person just stay?! The coon husk was thrown to the other side of the room, hitting the rotted wall with a heavy thud before sliding down to the floor. No doubt breaking more brittle bones. Nubbins glared at the darkened spot on the wall as his fingers twitched and danced, arm still held out in front of his body.

Heated brown eyes slowly trailed from the spot to one of the posters hung up close by. The bright colors and complex images serving as a more pleasant distraction then the dead animal he'd just thrown to his brothers side of the room. That's right.... Bobby came back... he came back in the end. And so did Sissy... they didn't leave him forever. Furrowed eyebrows slowly relaxed as he let his arm drop back to his side, observing the different decorations his brother had added to his corner. His bed has became more a nest of pillows and blankets, the wall was lined almost completely with different band posters he had acquired along with the addition of little colorful lights strung up here and there. They weren't overly harsh as most lights were to Nubbins, they were softer almost like the stars sitting up in the sky. His gaze soon landed on the ashtray kept near his bed with a few pre-rolled joints Bobby had excitedly talked about sneaking past Cook earlier that week. Nubbins has seen Bobby and Sissy smoke together quite a few times now, it was one of their favorite pass times. Even before they had left. Mention that it helps them to relax and Nubbins always enjoyed how giggly they tended to get not long after.

Springing off his mattress Nubbins quickly closed in on his target and grabbed one of the joints, head whipping around to check the closed door. Nancy had called with the news some of Johnny's victims were being a handful and needed assistance. Ending a beating short Drayton has brought Sissy, Bobby and Bubba with him. Forcing Nubbins to keep his ass at home or worse was to come. That.... meant Nubbins has some time to himself until they came back... and he really wanted to feel that level of enjoyment and rest he'd seen on his siblings faces. He didn't want to rot in his mattress is pain until morning again... not when he had an option now. Grabbing a sticker covered lighter and plopping his ass back onto the mattress, he lit the blunt.

Lifting it towards his lips, Nubbins inhaled. Smoke invaded his senses and burned his throat, ripping hacks and wheezes from his chest. Nose wriggling at the burning taste as his body doubled over, Bobby and Sissy made it look so easy. A few coughs here and there sure but they barely reacted otherwise. He could already hear Bobby's cackle at his pathetic attempt, through laughs he'd slap his back in an effort to help alleviate the wracks just past his ribs. Boney knuckles rap against his own chest instead as he straightened himself out, ridding himself from the worst of the coughing fit. Tongue running over cracked lips Nubbins looked back down towards the joint, eyes hardening with determination at the insulting object. He was gonna have a moment... a moment to relax and feel as happy as his siblings did.

It took a few more attempts before Nubbins was able to pull a hit without hacking up a lung. Pushing past the assaulting burn in his throat, like ashes coating the inside and relighting with each intake of oxygen. The bitter and earthy taste on his tongue was near retch pulling at first but grew more tolerable and then Nubbins finally felt a lightness. Like a rush of blood towards his head but instead of pooling and causing mind numbing headaches, the rush didn't stop. Didn't pool. Flowing up and past his head leaving him feeling lighter then ever before. Tipping his head back with shaking lips, Nubbins let the smoke flow back out. Watching the blurred lines float up towards the ceiling, swirling and dancing together at the same altitude he felt. Nubbins' head felt like it had been cracked open, skull split letting everything that's been locked inside and crammed together out. Emptied until there was nothing left but himself. Never had his mind felt so open. As the head rush plateaued he laid back fully on his bed, the soft fabric melting underneath his weight and cradling his body. Idly spinning the joint in his fingers a lopsided grin stretched across his cheeks, no wonder Sissy and Bobby enjoyed smoking so much. Nubbins normally would be pissed off at them for leaving him out but at the moment, he didn't care. He couldn't find a reason to care when he could lay here and continue feeling good instead. Eagerly lifting the joint back up to his lips, Nubbins inhaled more as his free hand slipped under his favorite loose shirt. Scratching the skin along his stomach lazily.

The bruising on his face long forgotten as he continued to watch the smoke dance around his room, moving like a waterfall in the wrong direction. Like how blood would pour out of a piggy's neck after he broke the skin with his pocket knife. Instead of painting the ground with a pretty shades, these flowed up towards the ceiling and probably past. Nancy always mentioned a place up in the sky, perhaps that's where they were going? What was that place again? Nancy always seemed to speak highly of it, something she rarely ever does bout anything. When was the last time Nancy said anything nice about them? About here? Sure she always feeds Johnny's damn ego, how 'perfect' and 'wonderful' her darling boy was. She never talks about home like she does about the sky place. Would she rather be up there rather then here? Grandpa wouldn't like that... should Nubbins wanna go there? He really don't wanna... He can't see how there'd be any pigs or beeves to toy with in the sky. No weird magical place in the sky could be as comfortable as his bed right in this moment. His body felt heavy, sinking further into a stained material as if trying to meld with it. The touch on his skin felt so soft and so comforting, Nubbins needed more of it.

Heaving himself back into a sitting position, Nubbins felt his body was lagging behind. Half a second behind his mind as he grasped the bottom of his shirt and pulled it off clumsily. Dropping the fabric to the side and eagerly diving back to the welcoming embrace of his bed. Wrapping his lanky limbs around one of the stray pillows still intact he had, nuzzling his face into the plush material. A pleasant tingle dancing across his skin from his face, down his arms and along his stomach. His skin felt alive and buzzing, not the usual energy that had him moving and bouncing but a kind he enjoyed just laying in. Laughter easily flowed out his mouth. Nubbins absolutely could get used to feeling like this, get addicted to it... who knew one person was able to feel so amazing. And all it took was smoking some weird plant? It pulled even more laughter from the depths of Nubbins' guts.

A burning licking at the tips of his fingers brought Nubbins' attention back to the joint, now barely a stump worth holding onto. When had he finished it? Blowing a raspberry at the brief disappointment he flicked the stub to a forgotten corner of the room. Aiming towards Bobby's side but he couldn't tell if his aim was successful or not. Sluggishly running a hand through his greasy strands his attention was attracted to the warm red glow of his dark room set up in the bathroom. Vision blurred as his body continued to move in slow motion, Nubbins could feel his heart pick up pace before he even was able to recognize what he was looking at.

Then his blood ran cold.

Eyes... the eyes were back. They were back and staring right down at him, blocking the comforting light and shrouding Nubbins in a thick shadow. It's inconsistent figure buzzing and pulsing like static as it stood at the end of his mattress. Its skin like a burlap sack filled with fleas all jumping underneath the surface, eager to get at his blood. Back pitched forward to loam over the young man. No sound escaped from either being. A bead of sweat dripped down Nubbins brow despite the goose pimples lining down his arms. Why was it here? Why now? Usually.... usually the didn't bother Nubbins until he was asleep. Was he asleep? When did he doze off? His head began to spin as his heart started pumping even faster. And yet... neither figure moved. A challenge to see which broke first. Which would cower and writhe under the pressure and everything was stacked against Nubbins. His throat started to tighten as he stared back into the figures gaze. Two white pinpricks being the only form able to fully solidify. He needed to get away... he didn't want to be stared at again. To be mocked and judged. Body now shaking and matching the pace of his heart Nubbins forced his body to move as quickly as he could. Throwing his blanket up at the figure and scrambling off his mattress and towards his dark room. Knees and palms scrapping against old splintered wood as he ducked inside the bathroom. Grasping onto the sides of the sink, the cold porcelain feeling like a shock to his burning skin. Desperately sucking in as much air he could now he was hidden from the figures' gaze. His chest heaving as he struggled to hold himself upright.

This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to be scared... cowering. He was supposed to be happy. Enjoying a moment why... why couldn't those figures just give him one damn moment! Always lurking in the corner of his vision then disappearing when Nubbins brought attention to them. Like a cruel joke, a game to see how far they could push him. Grandma used to say they were spirits or such.. not meant to do harm but yet they consistently followed, stared, mocked. Tormenting him and enjoying the fool he'd make out of himself at their sights. Nubbins lifted his head to look at himself through the cracked mirror above his sink. In that moment Nubbins' blood turned to ice one more. Heart dropping to the pit of his stomach to be eaten away at by acid. His chest started to heave as his lungs tightened. Looking towards himself in the mirror all he could see were the hundreds of faces surrounding him. Their gazes locked on him much like the figure still lurking within his room. Turning to press his back against the sink he whipped his head around in an effort to find solace. Yet every wall was adorned with moving eyes that thrived in his panic. Pictures he had taken for his own pleasure taking a life of their own, to jeer at their creator. He could hear the maniacal laughter as their one still images followed him. Surrounded him.

His heart hammered in his chest, beating against ribs and threatening to broke them at any moment as his lungs desperately tried to work. Dropping to his knees Nubbins grasped at his chest as his bones tightened around the offending organs, caging them more and refusing their functions. Moist fingers clawed at his chest desperately as he felt the room start to spin around him. Too tight. His chest felt far too tight, how was he supposed to breathe? How was his heart supposed to beat? Every attempt to suck in air seemed to make his ribs squeeze harder. They needed room... He could feel bruises starting to form where his heart was fighting against bone. Skin was snagged by grimy nails as Nubbins slammed his head against the floor. Splitting angry red lines down the length of his chest. Yes... it was too tight inside and he needed air. One way or another, Nubbins needed air.

A wet sob played for his audience as Nubbins started to tear at his skin with fervor. Nails scraping away layers of skin, only growing more vicious once blood beaded to the surface. It wasn't enough. Tears pricked at the edges of his eyes. It wasn't enough. With a down right feral snarl Nubbins tug his nails into his chest. Breaking past the skin the aiming deeper, pulling and tearing away at what he could. The sound of flesh tearing was dull to his ears, the blood that pooled onto the ground and seeped into his pants a mere afterthought. If a thought at all. He yelled. He yelled and cried until his throat ran raw, threatening to start bleeding and drown him. His body rocked with heaves as drool and bile fell from his lips adding to the stain pool beneath him. A muffled screech came from the confines of his room, the obstructed vowels vaguely resembling his name. The figure... it had to be the figure calling for him, trying to lure him back out. Panic flooded his veins at the implication, screwing his wet eyes shut with a cry. The tightness hasn't gotten any better, he couldn't dig his claws deep enough. He couldn't pull back enough meat to free his heart and lungs. Still they sat confined and strangled behind uneven bone. His arms burned with exhaustion as his body trembled like a possum soaked in the rain. A lightness pulled at Nubbins' head, lifting the pressure in his spine as his body collapsed. Darkness danced along the edges of his sight as he gazed out the doorway back into his room. The murmuring yelling was still droning in the back of his mind.

"Chop..." Nubbins weakly called as a new wave a tears coated his cheeks. The word breaking and barely audible from overworked cords. Vision blurring as familiar sneakers reached the doorframe.

~~

An irritated grunt was followed by the slam of the old wooden door as Chop returned home. Usually the young man enjoyed being drenched in the blood of an innocent victim, delightfully playing with them as they screamed and writhed under his hammer but today the bloodshed barely pulled forth more then a half energetic grin and occasional chuckle. The wellbeing of his twin was all he could focus on. Damn Cook didn't give him a moment to even check on him before dragging his ass to the truck. Chop made his displeasure very evident in hopes it would get him kicked to the curb. Luck just wasn't on the hippie's side this day as the rest of his siblings sat through his incessant complaints. When they made it to Nancy's he didn't waste time in wrapping the problem pigs up as quickly as he could. Nancy was pleasantly impressed with him yet he couldn't care less at the moment for his aunt's rare approval. He started walking. Down that dirt road back towards home with Drayton yelling at his heels for not helping with clean up.

Chop had only made it three steps into the house before he froze with his eyebrows jumping in concern. The house was quiet. A quiet house and Nubbins never coincided. Nubbins was just as loud and energetic as he was, being quiet never was a strong suit of theirs.

"N-Nubbins? Where... Where's ya at?" Chop called into the eerily still home. There was no reply, no response and that worried him more. Nubbins would avoid Drayton, avoid Nancy and sometimes Johnny if he was upset with him but Chop? Bobby? Nubbins never avoided him. Grabbing onto the railing Chop pulled himself up the stairs towards the second floor, knocking against the wall occasionally to announce his presence some more. Perhaps Nubbins was just invested in something and didn't hear him? Like one of his projects. He could faintly make out the sounds of movement coming from their shared bedroom, releasing some of the worry in his shoulders.

"Nubbins! What're ya so quiet for? House was to-to... well it was to yerself. I'da be... I'da be blasting some Iron Butterfly by now! Or.. or some Humble Pie! You know those guys... heh, well they're always good." Chop laughs as he shoulders their bedroom door open. His gummy grin slowly fell as he was met with the sight of an empty bedroom. The usual disheveled mess it's been with no twin in sight. A pungent order hung in the air, the sour skunk like scent mixed with smoke very familiar to the hippie. Blue eyes quickly clocking the roach that laid left on the ground between their mattresses.

"H-hey... hey Nubbins!" Chop called once more, the worry and concern remaking their home in his chest as he walked further into the room. Just barely catching a weak croak coming from the black room. Making a beeline towards the lone sign of life he crossed the threshold. Nubbins laid face down, barely conscious on the wooden slates, his face red and splotchy from obvious signs of crying. Making the birthmark painting the right side of his face almost unnoticeable. Blood and pile stained the ground around him with an arm outstretched towards the doorframe.

Cursing, Chop quickly dropped down to kneel next to him. Hooking his arms under Nubbins' and lifting his limp body up. A multitude of cuts littered the surface of his chest. Blood smeared across his flesh making it difficult to see how deep they went. Guilt starting to chew its way up as Chop propped his brother's body against the tub as gently as he could.

"N-now now, it'll ah... It'll be fine! Ol' Chop's gotcha now. Grandma 'n Grandpa shoulda- shoulda have something!" He gave a pat to his brothers shoulder, noticeably shakier than usual, before sprinting towards the neighboring bathroom. Ripping open the mirrored cabinet to rummage through the collection of poorly kept first aid. Chop winced slightly hearing the glass mirror slam into the wall, Grandpa surely woulda tan his hide if he were close by, that was a problem for later however. Grabbing the desired items Chop ran back to his brothers side and began dressing his wounds. If there was one thing Chop ever would be grateful about getting drafted... learning on the fly first aid came in handy. Some poking and prodding at the blood slick skin thankfully revealed the cuts weren't that bad. For Nubbins at least, little fucker's had plenty worse. Chop didn't even need to use the glue this time.

"Ya know! Heh, Johnny's in a.. in a lotta trouble now!" Chop laughed as he wrapped old bandages around Nubbins' chest, gauze placed firmly against the cuts as he glanced towards his brothers face. Eyelids drooped low but not fully closed as his gaze held a distant glaze. A nervous tongue swipe against his own lips Chop looked back to his task. "Nancy wasn't all happy with the girls he brought back this time. They was.. they was real squirmy too! You woulda had fun chasin' them! Couse she was being a.... a real bitch to us all night too! She- She tried snatching o' Sonny Bono here- Ha!" A small sound. So soft and quickly Chop almost missed it with his own presence but he saw the quick jump of his brother's chest. A small chuckle. Sure enough, distant eyes seemed as far this time as lips twitched to pull a weak grin.

"... Y-you look like an egg without him...."

A blink. And then another.

"I aint no egghead! Just cause.. Just cause I don't got my do no more! Oh! You hush up, r-ratface!" An unserious smack to the brunette's head followed before Chop hooked an arm under Nubbins' shoulder once more. Lifting his brother back to his feet and helping him out of the darkroom. Helping was an understatement. Chop practically dragged him back out as Nubbins' steps were still shaky and uneven. Leaning a majority of his body weight onto Chop which, admittedly, wasn't much. An occasional wince followed closely by a giggle escaped the younger twin as Chop helped him lay back down on his old mattress.

"Is Drayton still mad at me?" Nubbins' voice was a whisper, throat still raw. Chop ran a hand through his wig with a heavy breath, when wasn't Cook mad? Seemed like just breathing these days would set the old man off on any of their asses. Chop would say he was even worse than before he left, just when had he taken that turn? How long did Bubba and Nubbins have to deal with him before Chop came back? Grabbing the forgotten blanket off of the floor and chucking it back over onto Nubbins' curled up form he waved his hand dismissively.

"Probably more mad at a- at a me now." He couldn't quite tell how Nubbins felt with that reaction. Tired eyes stared off with a small hum in the back of his throat. No doubt exhausted from the episode he went through on his own.

"Y-ya know! Walking all the way back here gave me ah... a new idea! For a song! Thinking about calling it Wasteland! Cause like... cause there's no one on these roads, like a wasteland!" Chop grinned widely as he started talking about his newest idea. Turning back towards his side of the room and starting to arrange some things outside of Nubbins' vision. A small tired smile returned to Nubbins face as he listened as best he could, he really was trying but he couldn't deny how sluggish his body felt. How difficult generating enough energy to even blink, a sensation that always unnerved the always buzzing man but with Chops' eccentric ideas as a calming constant in the background. Nubbins felt more at ease.

"And then something like- Like ah... God! Where is god, where is god, where is- and it goes like that a few more times. Something like 8 or 9 times, yeah! Where is god, where is god, where is-" A snore breaking through and interrupting Chops' words redirected his attention towards Nubbins who now laid asleep. Finally at rest for the night. Walking over to his side Chop leaned over and softly placed the abandoned racoon carcass back in Nubbins' arms. Jaw now securely reattached with some safety pins and spare beads.

"I'll tell ya the rest in the morning."

Now... to find a hiding place for the rest of his joints.

(Credit goes to @cemetery-sunset for the headcanon of Nubbins collecting and using animal/human corpses as stuffed animals basically.

Also I pretty heavily referenced my own experiences with sleep paralysis hallucinations for Nubbins' episode. I may have needed to project just a lil bit)

[featheredclover]

Shab-e-intezaar

Oneshot inspired by this word prompt by @arshifiesta

The night of awaiting 

_________

The streetlight burned as dusk coiled around the city of Lucknow. Like a bunch of princes to their favourite courtesan, a flutter of moths were drawn to the light.

Khushi stifled a smile at the impish comparison, as she hurried along the narrow roads of Lakshmi Nagar. 

———

“Amma, I am home” , she said with flourish, dropping her handbag onto the chair and her jootis kicked off elegantly over the mat.

“Hmm”, came the buzz of mild acknowledgment from Garima Gupta.

Khushi huffed out a breath in mock exasperation. 

“What is there in this god forsaken serial that I can’t get you to give your eyes a break for a second? The same old rich man- poor girl nonsense!”

“Hush Khushi!”

She tied her hair into a quick knot, and left for her evening bath, leaving her mother with her precious LED box.

———

“You just have to cook the chapatis baccha, I have made the curry” Garima smiled fondly as Khushi stood bent over the stove.

“Aah! AD break I assume?” She smirked.

“Of course!” Garima laughed, “Love stories…..”

Khushi spun around at her mother’s change of tone.

“They remind me of what your father and I shared”, her eyes misty with memories.

“Lies” Khushi smiled , “Papa wasn’t rich”

“He was rich in his heart! Joke all you want, but one day you’ll realise what I am talking about Khushi. So many proposals have come your way, but I have rejected them for I know that you deserve to marry for love”

“What rubbish! I’ll marry someone who mints money!”

“We’ll see”

And with that Garima was off to the living room again.

If she had paused, she would have seen the tell tale signs of a lie on her daughter’s face. The flushing of cheeks, the biting of lip and the nervous gesture of hands.

Khushi Kumari Gupta was in love.

————

She laid the fresh bed sheet over her mattress, humming an old Bollywood tune. Her room was set in muted tones of pink. She was a magpie in all essence. Her nani’s jewellery, her papa’s books and all the gifts she had ever received, were all stored beautifully in this room.

Her parents had worked hard over the years to buy this flat in the heart of Lucknow. Her papa’s death in that fatal car accident years ago didn’t dim her mother’s will to work. And so Khushi grew up with her mother as the headmaster of a government school, with ambitions of being a teacher herself.

She placed the test papers she had taken pains to correct in a file, and pushed them away on her desk with a sigh of relief.

“Semester exams done!” She said out loud to herself.

Switching off the lamp, she stood up and plunged the room into dimness.

With the strategy of a woman in love, she grabbed a book from her bedside table and walked with measured leisure to the ornate window.

The moon hid behind the clouds as she searched for him. Her fingers flipped the pages, hoping its flutter would bring him to his window. The window framing the wall neighbouring hers.

And then like the bride waiting for the moon on her first fasting, she was assuaged as the clouds cleared and the moon lit up his handsome face, shining the harsh lines of him into light.

“Arnav”, she breathed out as if parched from his thirst. Thirst of the man who had stolen her dreams, her heart and her peace.

“How were the semester papers? By your expression I can guess you are glad to be rid of them”, he smirked wickedly.

“Laugh all you want, but at least I don’t sit hunched over a computer all day!”, she said tongue in cheek.

He smiled, hands lifted up in defeat.

“I am a verified corporate slave”

He took a sip from his cup, his eyes holding her captive.

“Beautiful night”

She shook her head, “You say that every night”

“And I mean it every night”, he insisted, his voice ringing against the dark.

She cleared her throat, “So the heroine and hero got stuck in a lift today”

He chuckled, “I am amused how Garima aunty suffers this everyday”

“Tell that to her,” she grinned.

“That her favourite show lacks originality? No way!”

“It’s cliche! But it works…”

Arnav set his cup aside, resting his forearm on the ledge, leaning over.

“They sell dreams don’t they? We wait all our lives. Some live and lose. But they sell our dreams to us..”

Khushi sighed, “Making the wait bearable?”

“Agonising” his whisper lit up her night.

—————

The staff room was not unaffected by the lazy afternoon. The fan whirred in the corner as the two friends sat hunched together.

“Her wedding was simply stunning! Her dad spent so much.”

She looked on, bored as Payal recounted their colleague’s wedding last week. She had missed it due to her cousin’s wedding the same day.

“Payal! What about the groom? Does he suit Sheetal?”

“Well….he is balding. And he has a paunch. But that won’t matter in America would it?”

“Sheetal had a poster of Salman on her wall”, Khushi mumbled.

“So what Khushi? Life is not a movie. No one is going to get a Salman or Shah rukh. We are going to get nice men with heavy pockets”

“Akash is certainly not just a nice man” she smirked.

Payal playfully smacked her hand, before settling down despondently.

“His mother doesn’t approve.”

“Does that matter? He is willing to fight anyone for you. He got that apartment near the junction-“

“Yes! But I didn’t want him to give up his family. I want him to have everything he wants”

Khushi closed her hand over Payal’s fist.

“He loves you. And if a few sacrifices are what life demands from him, that’s okay. Because how happy he’ll be with you matters the most!”

She smiled, her eyes filled with unshed tears.

“Thank you Khush”, she choked out.

————-

She stood by her window, gazing out at his closed one, her hand drying her waist length hair gently.

 Payal had texted her this morning, asking her to be one of the witnesses for their registered marriage. 

It was happening. After all the hardships, Akash was finally marrying Payal. She couldn’t be more happier for the two of them.

Raizadas were going to lose another son, she thought. Arnav had left the grandiose of Sheesh Mahal two years ago, to live in this humble settlement.

“Just exhausted, Khushi. They wanted to control everything. My life, my soul, my very breath”

She recalled his words with a pang. He had to suffer so much, before he could finally break free.

And now Akash…..

Walking over to her almirah, she looked for her favourite Anarkali. 

White. For purity. For innocence. For new beginnings. 

For Akash and Payal.

She was happy for them. Why wouldn’t she be? She had been a Cupid to their story, nonetheless.

But when her gaze settled on the neighbouring window, she felt a twinge of anxiety. She hadn’t revealed her own heart to Arnav, let alone expect him to return her love. 

She had her share of sleepless nights, worrying that any day now, he will bring home a woman. Her heart will break. And all those unplayed heartbreak CDs in her possession will finally get a chance to echo in her room.

Slipping on a pair of jhumkas, Khushi draped a dupatta over her and walked out to say goodbye to her mother.

———-

“Arnav!”

She couldn’t believe her eyes. Empty tea cups rested on the coffee table. Her mother greeted her with a soft, serene smile.

“Amma-“

“Isn’t it time? Payal will be waiting” , her mother interrupted.

“But-“ , she frowned.

“After all, you'll be late when you reach there”, she turned back to Arnav, “I think you should stay there tonight beta”

“The register office is fifteen minutes from here!”

“We are going to Agra. Did you think the Raizadas would let Akash get married here?”

She stared at him. Unsure of the change in plans, of this tea with her mother, unsure of him and the way he was looking at her.

“It’s a four hour car ride Khushi, you better leave now!” Her mother was now on her feet, almost pushing her daughter out of the door.

“Shall we?” 

Her hand slid into his.

Agra it is.

————

“Please sign here” the grumpy man mumbled.

She looked on as Akash’s two colleagues signed the paper.

“Khushi”, Arnav placed a hand on her waist, pushing her forward.

She took the pen in her hand, muttering a prayer under her breath before noting down her signature.

Joy and claps filled the air as the couple was pronounced husband and wife.

Khushi looked on with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face, as Akash kissed Payal softly, ignoring the registrar’s gasp of outrage.

Love had won again.

————-

She was a romantic. She had always been. Even when she had first visited the Taj Mahal with her mother at the young age of ten, she had found her heart aching at the majestic symbol of love. Shah Jahan’s number of wives or his harem didn’t matter. There was love that thrived beyond graves, and that’s all that mattered.

Khushi soaked in the beauty the monument was, under the cover of the night. Wrapping her dupatta, firmly around her shoulders, she walked beside Arnav, who seemed so deep in thought, she almost felt jealous.

“I never thought it could be more beautiful”, she broke through the silence.

“You love the nights, not surprising”, Arnav smiled.

Rows of trees lined their path, the distant lights illuminated their footsteps, as the breeze swayed.

“Shab-e-intezaar”, he said out loud.

“Shab-e-intezaar? What are you waiting for?”, she asked, puzzled.

He smiled in that mysterious way of his.

Her breath left her as he caught her wrist and pulled her against him. Wide eyed, she looked up at him, pure shock and pleasure running through her whole being.

“This”, he whispered, before his mouth came down on hers. 

His lips were unbearably soft. The slight way he moved against her was driving her crazy. Something primitive rose within her, as her hand clutched his shirt, pressing herself against him firmly.

He was quick to know her. Entangling her within his arms, he tightened his hold.

Breathless she broke away, resting her head against his. She felt his warmth on her nose, before her head was tilted up.

“I love you Khushi”, he kissed her again.

Khushi’s hand tightened on his wrist.

“I love you too”, she whispered back.

Arnav broke into a delicious smile. Holding her hand he stepped away.

Ignoring the sudden bout of shyness flooding her, she held his eyes as if her life depended on it.

He bent down on one knee.

“Happiness found me, while I was leaning against my bedroom window one night. I still thank whatever gods are up there, who brought me to you, Khushi. I am in love with you. With your spirit, your heart, your eyes. I am just a man in love with you”, his voice wavered at the end.

She swallowed thickly, her vision blurring with emotion.

“With the blessings of Garima aunty”, he cracked a wry grin, “I would like to ask you if you want to be my wife? Spend the rest of our lives, no longer separated by walls and windows?”

“I will”, she let out a sob.

She crashed into him, arms entwining around him as he almost tumbled onto the ground.

His laughter filled her ears, and she glanced up at the beautiful Taj Mahal, framed by their night.

Love had found them. After a long shab-e-intezaar.

----------

Hope you liked this story! Dedicated to all those beautiful nights ~ I urge you to look out your window tonight and wish something special for yourself ;)

Let me know what you think of the story! All constructive criticisms welcome ❤️

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