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ilovemarvel97 · 1 month ago

Text

Almost

Wanda Maximoff x G!P Reader

Summary: After a miscarriage, Wanda and Y/N’s marriage is tested by grief.

Word Count: 11k+

Warnings: angst, grief, happy ending

Main Masterlist

---

They say love is patient. But Wanda was beginning to think maybe love had never known the ache of trying.

It had been almost a year since she and Y/N started trying. Almost a year since they’d made that quiet promise, lying in bed with legs tangled and cheeks still flushed from love—“Let’s make a baby.” It was spoken between kisses, the sort of dreamy wish you whisper to the stars when you’re too happy to believe anything bad could happen.

They tried. God, they tried.

At first, it had been beautiful—full of laughter and excitement. Wanda would pull Y/N into her lap, kissing her deeply as they undressed each other. She loved watching Y/N’s eyes darken with need, loved how her body responded so perfectly to her touch. They made love in every room of the house that first month, giddy with hope.

Y/N would hold Wanda gently after, whispering things against her temple.

“Maybe this is the one.”

“Would she have your eyes?”

“If it’s twins, we’re screwed.”

“Wanda�� you’ll be the most beautiful mother.”

But then, the first test came. Negative.

Then the second.

Then the third.

Then a month with no period—hope bloomed, only to shatter.

A false positive.

Wanda started to cry in the bathroom.

And Y/N—Y/N stopped smiling quite as often.

They stopped talking about names. About rooms and colors and cribs. Instead, Wanda began tracking her ovulation like a soldier—rigid, organized, mechanical. No more soft seductions in the hallway. Now it was, “I’m fertile. Come now.” And Y/N would nod, her heart splitting in silence, and take her to bed.

They still made love—but sometimes, it didn’t feel like love anymore. It felt like duty. Like desperation. Still, they held each other close afterward, too afraid to say the truth out loud:

What if this never works?

---

On the 11th month, Wanda stopped looking at the stick before the five-minute timer.

She just threw it on the counter and curled up on the bathroom floor.

Y/N found her there.

She didn’t ask what the result was. She just sank down, pulled Wanda into her lap, and whispered, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you…”

---

It was the end of April when Wanda woke up feeling different. Her body wasn’t sore in the same way. Her stomach didn’t hurt. Her breasts tingled. She didn’t want coffee.

It was small, almost unnoticeable.

But something inside her… shifted.

She didn’t say anything to Y/N that morning. Y/N had already left early for work. She just stood in the kitchen holding her mug, staring at nothing. Then—on impulse—she went to the bathroom.

She took the test. And then another. And a third.

When the timer went off, Wanda sat on the toilet, afraid to look.

But she did.

One line.

Two lines.

Three positive tests.

Wanda didn’t scream. She didn’t cry.

She just sat there—trembling, in absolute silence—as her hand flew to her stomach.

You’re real.

But Y/N wasn’t home.

She wasn’t there to hear the sharp inhale Wanda took, or the soft sob that broke her, or the way she laughed through her tears, repeating over and over, “We did it… we did it…”

She wasn’t there to see Wanda sink to the floor, still clutching the test, rocking slowly, as if afraid to move too much in case the dream shattered.

Y/N was at work—handling emails, laughing with a coworker, pouring coffee into a chipped Avengers mug.

She had no idea that, miles away, the woman she loved was crying in a sunlit bathroom, whispering to the life blooming inside her:

“She’s going to be so happy.”

---

The house was quiet when Y/N stepped through the door that evening.

She kicked off her shoes with a tired sigh, the muscles in her back aching from sitting at her desk all day. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, casting a soft, dusky glow through the living room window. The kind of light that made everything feel like a painting.

“Wanda?” she called softly, setting her bag on the table.

No answer.

She didn’t panic. It wasn’t uncommon for Wanda to be deep in her thoughts, or napping after a hard day. The last few months had been heavy for both of them, and Y/N had been careful—gentle with her voice, her touch, her presence. As if Wanda were made of glass and heartbreak.

She moved through the hallway and toward the bathroom, noticing the faint light under the door.

And then she heard it.

A soft sniffle. A breath caught in a throat. The quietest whisper of, “Please be real…”

Y/N’s chest tightened.

She knocked gently. “Wands?”

The door creaked open slowly.

And there she was. Sitting on the floor. Legs curled to her chest, red-rimmed eyes looking up through a blur of tears. Her hands were shaking.

Y/N’s heart dropped. She was beside her in a second, crouching low.

“Baby, what happened? Are you—did something happen?”

Wanda didn’t speak.

She just reached forward, picked something up from beside her, and pressed it into Y/N’s palm.

Three sticks. Two unmistakable lines.

Y/N blinked down, her lips parting in disbelief. She stared. And stared.

Then she lifted her eyes, her voice barely more than a breath.

“…Is this real?”

Wanda let out a tearful laugh. “I think so. I—I took three. I wanted to be sure. I thought I was imagining it. I still kind of feel like I am.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened around the tests, and she collapsed to her knees beside Wanda, cupping her face with both hands.

“You’re pregnant?”

Wanda nodded.

Y/N’s eyes flooded with tears, fast and silent, before she pulled Wanda into the tightest embrace she’d ever given her.

And there they stayed.

On the cold bathroom tiles.

Wrapped around each other, trembling and breathless and completely overwhelmed.

Y/N kissed her—everywhere. Her cheeks, her forehead, her mouth, her stomach. She buried her face in Wanda’s neck and held her like she never wanted to let go.

“I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “We’re having a baby. You’re going to be a mom, Wands.”

Wanda sobbed harder, her hands buried in Y/N’s shirt. “You’re going to be a mom.”

They stayed like that for a long time—just clinging to each other in the quiet miracle of the moment they thought would never come.

After almost a year of pain and waiting and wondering, they finally got what they wanted.

A new heartbeat. A tiny life.

Hope.

A future.

They didn’t sleep that night.

Not really.

They tried—cuddled under the soft sheets, limbs entwined like always—but every few minutes one of them would stir and whisper, “Can you believe it?” or reach out just to feel the other. Just to make sure this wasn’t a dream.

At one point, Wanda rolled over, placed Y/N’s hand on her stomach, and whispered, “You’re in there… aren’t you, little one?” Then she looked up, tears in her eyes. “She’s really in there.”

Y/N chuckled softly, stroking her hand over the tiny swell that didn’t exist yet but somehow already felt sacred. “She or he—or they—is in the safest place in the world.”

Wanda pulled her closer. “Next to you?”

“No,” Y/N murmured against her lips. “Inside you.”

---

The next morning, Y/N made breakfast even though she couldn’t stop yawning—pancakes with fresh strawberries, because it was Wanda’s favorite. She hummed while she cooked, a hand always drifting down to touch her own stomach, as if she could feel the connection too.

Wanda sat at the kitchen island, still in her robe, watching her with a soft, sleepy smile.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “You’re staring.”

“You’re glowing.”

“Wands, I’m not the one pregnant.”

Wanda grinned. “Doesn’t matter. You’re still glowing.”

They laughed—and then they cried again, out of nowhere, because that’s what happens when your dream finally becomes real.

---

They scheduled their first appointment that week.

Y/N went with her, of course, sitting stiffly in the tiny clinic chair while Wanda lay back for the ultrasound. Her heart was racing faster than Wanda’s. She kept her hand over her wife’s, thumb moving in slow, grounding circles.

The room was quiet. Then came the sound.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Wanda gasped. Y/N froze.

“There it is,” the technician said softly. “A very strong little heartbeat.”

Wanda turned her head to look at Y/N, and the look on her face—pure awe, trembling lips, love radiating from every pore—nearly undid her.

Y/N leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“I hear you, baby,” she whispered, meaning both of them.

---

They told no one at first.

Just held the secret between them like a flame cupped between trembling hands.

Y/N came home early almost every day. She made dinner, brought Wanda snacks, insisted she rest even when she wasn’t tired. Wanda teased her for being overprotective, but her smile said she loved every second of it.

And when Wanda started getting sick in the mornings, Y/N held her hair and whispered soothing things in Sokovian. She didn’t speak the language well, but Wanda said the effort alone made her heart ache in the best way.

They started journaling. One for each of them. Writing little letters to the baby. Wanda’s were poetic. Y/N’s were funny and full of doodles. They kept them in the top drawer beside the bed.

---

One night, weeks later, Wanda lay curled on the couch in one of Y/N’s old t-shirts, her hand absentmindedly stroking her stomach. The bump was barely there, but to them, it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Y/N knelt beside her, rested her head gently against her belly.

“Hi, bean,” she whispered. “Just so you know… I loved you before I even heard your heartbeat.”

Wanda’s eyes shimmered. “Me too.”

And for the first time in a long time, there were no doubts. No ache. No fear.

Just love.

For the life they made.

For the life they shared.

For the life still coming.

---

By the time Wanda reached the second trimester, everything started to feel more real.

The nausea faded. The exhaustion eased. And the bump—finally—began to show.

Y/N noticed it first.

She came home one afternoon with Wanda’s favorite soup and flowers that were slightly wilted but chosen with love, and paused when she saw her wife standing in front of the hallway mirror.

Wanda had pulled her shirt up, revealing a small but undeniable curve.

Y/N froze, her breath catching.

Wanda caught her staring and blushed. “It’s not much, but…”

Y/N dropped everything.

She crossed the room in three steps, knelt down in front of her, and pressed the softest kiss to her belly.

“You’re growing so fast,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Hi again, bean.”

Wanda looked down, brushing her fingers through Y/N’s hair. “You make me feel so beautiful.”

“You are beautiful,” Y/N said without hesitation. “But this? You carrying our baby? It’s—Wanda, it’s magic.”

---

They decided to share the news a week later.

They invited everyone over under the guise of a small dinner—just Clint, Nat, Sam, and a few others. Nothing big. Nothing dramatic.

Wanda wore a soft red dress that clung to her belly just enough. Y/N kept sneaking glances at her like she couldn’t believe she was real.

Over dessert, Wanda stood up and said simply, “We have news.”

Y/N stood beside her, fingers laced with hers, heart pounding.

“I’m pregnant,” Wanda said, voice shaking but proud.

There was a moment of stunned silence. And then—

Shouts. Cheers. Laughs. Hugs.

Clint cried the second time he hugged her. Natasha offered to kill anyone who stressed Wanda out during her pregnancy. Sam brought baby socks the next day, and Tony sent them a stroller they hadn’t even asked for.

It was loud and chaotic and perfect.

That night, as they lay curled together in bed, Wanda whispered, “You think they’ll love her?”

Y/N smiled against her skin. “Are you kidding? She’s already got more family than she’ll know what to do with.”

---

The Gender Reveal

They didn’t want something flashy. No fireworks. No paint-filled balloons.

Just them. Just the two of them.

Their doctor had written the gender on a small card, sealed in an envelope. Y/N tucked it into a book until they were ready.

One rainy Saturday, curled on the couch in matching socks and with a plate of warm cookies on the table, Wanda finally said, “Let’s open it.”

Y/N’s hands trembled as she tore the seal.

She glanced at the paper. Then looked up, eyes wide, glassy.

Wanda held her breath. “Tell me.”

Y/N handed her the card.

It read: Female.

Wanda’s hands flew to her mouth.

Y/N was already crying. “We’re having a girl.”

A sob slipped from Wanda’s chest as she threw her arms around Y/N, holding her tightly. “A girl. A daughter…”

“She’s going to be so strong,” Y/N whispered. “She’s going to have your magic, your heart, your fire.”

“She’s going to have your soul,” Wanda whispered back, pulling away just enough to kiss her. “And your stupid laugh.”

They both started laughing and crying at the same time.

Wanda placed Y/N’s hand over her bump again. “She’s listening. She knows we love her already.”

Y/N pressed her forehead to Wanda’s.

“I would’ve loved her no matter what.”

---

Nesting & Names

Wanda began nesting somewhere around week 22.

Y/N came home one day to find the entire nursery reorganized for the third time.

“Wands… did you paint the crib?”

“It needed to be sage green.”

“It was already sage green.”

“It was the wrong sage.”

Y/N bit her lip, trying not to laugh, and crossed the room. She wrapped her arms around her from behind, resting her hands on Wanda’s stomach.

“You’re nesting.”

“I’m pregnant and chaotic,” Wanda said, exasperated. “And my feet hurt. And your daughter won’t stop kicking my ribs.”

“She’s probably kicking because she inherited your dramatic flair.”

“She inherited your legs. That’s the problem.”

They both laughed, and then Wanda winced with another sharp jab from inside.

Y/N lowered herself to her knees and kissed the bump. “Alright, you. Settle down. Mama needs a break.”

They settled on a name a week later, lying in bed and whispering possibilities into the dark.

When they found it, it just fit—like it had always belonged to her.

Wanda said it softly against Y/N’s lips, and Y/N felt like she’d been kissed by the future.

---

But it didn’t last long.

It all happened suddenly.

Y/N didn’t know how long she’d been asleep when it happened.

But she woke up to Wanda screaming her name.

“Y/N!!”

Then—smack—a sharp slap against her arm.

Y/N jolted upright, dazed, heart pounding.

“Wanda?! Baby, what—”

Then she saw the blood.

It stained the sheets—bright, terrible red—spreading beneath Wanda’s thighs. Wanda was sitting up, shaking, one hand between her legs, her face ashen.

“It’s blood,” she gasped, eyes wide with panic. “Y/N—it won’t stop—I woke up and—oh my god—”

Y/N’s world tilted sideways.

“No—no, no, no, baby—” she threw off the covers and grabbed Wanda as gently but as quickly as she could. “We have to go. Now.”

She didn’t wait for help.

Didn’t call anyone.

She scooped Wanda into her arms—arms that had always been strong, but never felt the weight of the world like this. Wanda curled into her, sobbing, whispering the same phrase over and over:

“Don’t let her go. Don’t let her go.”

“I won’t,” Y/N choked out. “I’ve got you. I swear, I’ve got you.”

She ran—barefoot down the hallway, through the front door, into the night.

The stars blurred. The wind felt sharp.

She didn’t feel anything but Wanda shaking in her arms.

---

Y/N placed her in the passenger seat as gently as she could, hands covered in blood. She buckled her in, kissed her forehead.

“Hold on, Wands. Hold on.”

Then she slammed the door and jumped into the driver’s seat.

The engine roared to life.

And she drove like the world was ending.

Red lights blurred past. Speed limits meant nothing. Horns screamed as she ran intersections, tires screeching across the asphalt. Her hands were shaking. Her heart was a war drum.

“Please, please, please…” she kept whispering under her breath. “Just hold on.”

Wanda whimpered beside her, one hand gripping her belly, the other clutching the edge of the seat.

“It hurts so much,” she sobbed. “Y/N, I’m scared—what if something’s wrong—what if she’s—”

“Don’t,” Y/N said quickly, voice breaking. “Don’t say it. She’s okay. You’re okay. You’re both okay.”

But the truth was clawing at her throat. The blood hadn’t stopped. It soaked the towel Wanda had wrapped around herself. Her face was pale. Her breathing uneven.

Every second stretched out like an eternity.

---

She reached the emergency room and didn’t even park properly. She left the engine running, the door wide open. She ran around the car, yanked open the passenger side, and lifted Wanda into her arms again.

“Help!!” she screamed the second she crossed the threshold. “Please—my wife—she’s pregnant—she’s bleeding—someone help us!”

A nurse sprinted forward. Then another. Voices rose. A gurney appeared out of nowhere.

Y/N laid Wanda down, breathless, shaking.

“She’s twenty-three weeks,” she gasped. “Please—our baby—please—”

“We’ve got her,” one of the nurses said gently, already moving fast. “You did good. You got her here. Now let us take care of her.”

But Y/N didn’t feel like she did good.

She felt like she was losing everything.

She tried to follow them, but someone held her back. “Ma’am—you need to wait here—”

“I can’t—I can’t let her go in there alone—please, please—”

“Y/N—”

It was Wanda’s voice, weak, from the gurney.

Their eyes locked.

“Stay close,” she whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Y/N promised. “I’m right here. Right here.”

Then they disappeared behind the double doors.

And Y/N stood alone in the sterile hallway, hands stained with the most terrifying shade of red she’d ever seen, whispering over and over:

“Please… don’t take her from us.”

---

The Waiting Room

Y/N sat in the sterile hospital hallway, her hands still stained with blood.

Wanda’s blood.

Their daughter’s blood.

She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there. Minutes? Hours? Time had folded in on itself. Every nurse that walked past without meeting her eyes felt like another nail in her chest. Every second without news was a scream inside her skull.

Her phone buzzed. Clint. Natasha. Melissa—her mom. Dozens of texts, missed calls.

She didn’t answer.

She just stared at the swinging doors, waiting for someone to say anything.

Please just say she’s okay.

Please just say she’s alive.

The doctor came out at last. A woman in her fifties, kind eyes, blood on her gloves.

Y/N stood before she could think. “Is she—Wanda—is she okay? Please tell me—”

“She’s stable,” the doctor said gently, her voice calm in the worst possible way. “She’s asleep now. We managed to stop the hemorrhaging.”

Y/N nearly collapsed in relief. Her knees buckled and she gripped the edge of the chair. “Okay. Okay. Thank god. Thank god.”

But the doctor didn’t smile.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, carefully. “Your baby… didn’t make it.”

Y/N’s ears rang.

The world stopped.

“No,” she said.

The doctor’s voice remained steady, but soft. “We did everything we could. She was just too small. There was too much blood loss.”

“No,” Y/N whispered again, louder this time. “No—no, no, you don’t understand—she kicked this morning. She kicked while Wanda was brushing her teeth. She was alive. I heard her heartbeat.”

“I know,” the doctor said, reaching out. “And I’m so sorry.”

Y/N pulled back.

She couldn’t breathe. Her chest was tight, her hands shaking.

She turned away from the doctor and covered her mouth with both palms.

Their baby was gone.

Gone.

The little girl who had a name. A room. A blanket with her initials already embroidered. The daughter they had talked to through Wanda’s belly, told bedtime stories to, sang lullabies for.

She never took a breath.

Y/N didn’t cry at first. Not in the hallway. Not in front of the doctor. Not when she called her mom and couldn’t even speak.

But when she stepped into the empty restroom, locked the door, and saw herself in the mirror—covered in Wanda’s dried blood, in the hoodie she’d thrown on over pajamas, her eyes wide and hollow—

She shattered.

Her knees gave out.

She sank to the floor and sobbed like something feral—like her chest was being split open from the inside out.

Not quiet. Not graceful.

Ugly, desperate, broken crying.

She curled into herself, fists clenched in her hair, teeth biting her forearm to muffle the sound until it tasted like iron.

She had lost her daughter. Their daughter.

The future she pictured, the late-night feedings, the little shoes by the door, the first time she’d call her “Mama”—gone.

She stayed like that for minutes. Maybe longer.

Until a nurse knocked on the door, asking softly, “Ma’am? She’s asking for you.”

Y/N wiped her face. Rinsed her hands. Threw cold water on her cheeks. Looked at herself in the mirror and whispered, She needs you. She doesn’t know yet.

And that thought—she doesn’t know yet—nearly broke her all over again.

But she stood.

Straightened her shoulders.

And walked back down the hall to Wanda’s room.

---

Wanda was awake when Y/N stepped inside.

She looked exhausted, pale, her eyes rimmed red from crying, but alert now. Waiting.

The moment she saw Y/N, she searched her face.

Her voice was small. “The baby?”

Y/N’s throat closed up.

She took slow steps toward the bed, then sat on the edge and reached for Wanda’s hand.

It was cold. Shaking.

Y/N brought it to her lips.

“Wanda…” Her voice cracked. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

Wanda blinked at her.

And then she knew.

“No.” It came out in a breath. “No—no, Y/N, please—please tell me she made it. Please tell me she’s okay—”

Y/N sobbed. Shook her head. “They tried. She was just… she was too small.”

Wanda broke.

A sound tore from her throat—sharp, stunned, animalistic. Her whole body folded inward, curling like she was trying to disappear.

Y/N wrapped her arms around her as tightly as she could without hurting her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Wanda clutched her as if she were drowning. “She was ours.”

“She still is,” Y/N whispered into her hair. “She’ll always be ours.”

And they sat there in the quiet, wrapped in the gravity of what had been taken from them.

Two mothers.

One empty space where their daughter should have been.

---

After that night, Wanda stopped talking to Y/N.

Not fully, at least.

She answered when spoken to, but her eyes were distant, her smile gone. The warmth that used to fill the space between them was replaced with a heavy silence that neither dared to break.

Y/N tried.

She left little notes on the kitchen table. Made Wanda’s favorite tea just the way she liked it. Caught her hand gently whenever they passed in the hallway. Tried to slip her an extra kiss before sleep.

But Wanda’s walls only grew higher.

One evening, Y/N sat beside her on the couch, reaching for her hand.

“Wanda…” she whispered.

Wanda pulled back, shaking her head.

“I’m here,” Y/N said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

But Wanda didn’t say anything.

Just looked past her, eyes shimmering with tears she refused to shed.

---

Inside, Y/N’s heart was breaking.

Every day, she swallowed her own grief whole, packing it away behind a mask of strength.

She couldn’t let herself fall apart—not when Wanda was slipping away.

So she smiled when Wanda glanced her way, even though her chest ached.

She stayed quiet when Wanda needed space, even though the silence crushed her.

She held Wanda close at night, whispering, “I’m here,” over and over, even if the words felt hollow.

And every morning, when Wanda woke still cold and closed off, Y/N reminded herself to be patient.

To be the anchor.

To be the love they both needed.

Even if Wanda couldn’t see it yet.

But the distance grew.

And Y/N wondered how long she could hold it all together before she cracked too.

---

Wanda stopped being quiet.

The silence didn’t last.

It turned into something sharp.

Anger.

It started small—snapped words, heavy sighs when Y/N spoke. Then it grew. Louder. Unavoidable.

“You don’t get it,” Wanda spat one afternoon after Y/N gently suggested they go outside for fresh air. “You weren’t the one carrying her.”

Y/N flinched.

“I know I wasn’t,” she said softly. “But she was still my daughter, Wanda.”

Wanda turned away.

“Then why does it feel like I’m the only one drowning?” she muttered, almost too low to hear.

Y/N didn’t reply.

She didn’t say that she was drowning—just quieter. Deeper. In silence.

---

It kept happening.

Wanda lashed out in small, sudden bursts.

When Y/N left the groceries in the wrong place. When she folded the baby blanket Wanda had left on the couch. When she touched Wanda’s back too gently, too lovingly.

“Don’t act like everything’s fine,” she hissed. “Don’t touch me like I’m okay.”

“I know you’re not,” Y/N whispered. “Neither am I.”

But Wanda didn’t seem to hear her.

Or maybe she just didn’t want to.

At night, Y/N still whispered, “I love you,” before bed.

But Wanda never answered.

And every morning, Y/N would wake up alone.

---

The nursery was quiet now.

The room they had painted together. The walls once lined with soft stuffed animals and folded baby clothes. The name still hung above the crib.

Some nights, Y/N would find Wanda curled up on the floor in there.

Other nights, she was in the rocking chair, blanket pulled up to her chin, eyes puffy from crying.

She never looked at Y/N when she walked in.

She never asked for help.

And Y/N never said a word—just quietly covered her with another blanket, kissed her hair, and whispered, “I love you,” to someone already too far away to hear it.

Then she’d leave the room and close the door gently behind her.

And go back to bed.

Alone.

---

Grief changes people.

But Wanda didn’t just change.

She hardened.

Whatever soft place in her that used to belong to Y/N—the part that used to smile at her across the breakfast table, or hum while brushing her hair—was gone now.

Wanda became sharp edges.

And Y/N walked barefoot through every one of them.

---

“I can’t even look at you some days,” Wanda muttered one night as she passed Y/N in the hallway, her shoulder brushing roughly against her as she walked away.

Y/N froze in place. “What?”

Wanda turned, voice cold. “You get to just keep being. Keep breathing. Keep sleeping. You still eat. You still shower. You still walk around like you’re okay.”

“I’m not,” Y/N said quietly. “You think I’m okay? You think I don’t cry every time I step into that nursery?”

“Then why don’t I see it?” Wanda snapped. “Why don’t you feel like you’ve lost anything?”

Y/N took a step back, breath shaking. “Because I’m trying to hold us together.”

“Us?” Wanda laughed bitterly. “There’s no us anymore.”

Y/N’s heart cracked.

But she didn’t fight back.

She never did.

---

Some days, Wanda wouldn’t speak to her at all. Other days, she’d throw barbed words like knives.

“You didn’t carry her. You don’t understand. You didn’t feel her kick at night. You didn’t get your body ripped apart for nothing.”

Y/N would just stand there. Swallow hard. Nodding like she deserved it.

One night, after she brought Wanda dinner—softly cooked vegetables and rice, untouched—Wanda stood in the doorway of the nursery and said, without looking:

“Stop pretending you’re grieving. It’s pathetic.”

That one hit too hard.

Y/N dropped the plate.

It shattered against the floor.

And for the first time, she said nothing at all. She just cleaned it up silently while Wanda sat down in the nursery’s rocking chair and stared at the crib like it might still hold a heartbeat.

---

Y/N cried in the shower most nights. Water hot enough to burn. Hand pressed against the tile just to stay upright.

She missed her daughter.

She missed her wife more.

But she didn’t leave.

Even as Wanda kept pushing.

Even as the “I love you”s went unanswered.

Even as she found herself whispering them now from the other side of the closed nursery door.

---

Four Months Later

It had been four months since they lost the baby.

Four months since Wanda had spoken to Y/N with real warmth.

Four months since Y/N had heard Wanda laugh, or reach for her, or say “I love you” back.

In those months, Y/N gave up everything except Wanda.

She stopped going into the office. Told her team she needed time, and when the time stretched on, she just kept working from home—silent, exhausted, going through the motions with the same quiet determination she’d used to survive those endless nights in the hospital.

She cooked. Cleaned. Sat with Wanda even when Wanda wouldn’t speak. Listened when she did—and let every cruel word wash over her like she deserved it.

She held the space around Wanda like a shell—strong, unmoving, unfeeling on the outside.

But something inside her had been bleeding too.

And no one had noticed.

Until today.

Y/N had to go in—just for a few hours. A meeting she couldn’t reschedule. So she called Natalya.

Wanda’s mother had checked in now and then over the past months—gentle calls, awkward texts—but never stayed long. Wanda didn’t want her hovering. She didn’t want anyone.

But Y/N couldn’t leave her alone today.

So she asked.

And Natalya said yes without hesitation.

When the door opened, Natalya was met with a sight she wasn’t prepared for.

Y/N stood there in slacks and a blouse that hung too loosely on her frame. Her collarbone was sharper. Her jaw more hollow. Her skin was pale—washed out like a photograph left in the sun. The circles under her eyes were deep, bruised, and heavy.

But it was her eyes that hit Natalya hardest.

They were black. Not literally—but dark, dull, empty. Like someone had reached into her chest and snuffed out the light.

Natalya froze in the doorway.

“Y/N…” she breathed. “You…”

Y/N forced a tired smile. “Thanks for coming. She’s still in bed. She’s had a rough morning.”

Natalya stepped inside slowly, taking in the quiet house. How clean it was. How untouched the living room felt. No signs of life. No warmth.

“Have you eaten?” she asked gently.

Y/N didn’t answer at first. She just reached for her coat. “There’s soup on the stove if she gets hungry. She probably won’t. But… just in case.”

Natalya’s eyes welled up.

Y/N was halfway to the door when Natalya reached for her wrist, stopping her.

“Y/N.”

She turned.

And for the first time in four months, someone looked at her with something that wasn’t pity or avoidance.

It was recognition.

Natalya’s voice broke. “You’re not okay.”

Y/N blinked, lips parting.

“I’m managing,” she whispered.

“You’re not.” Natalya’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Sweetheart, look at you.”

Y/N looked away.

“If you keep carrying both of you like this,” Natalya continued softly, “there won’t be anything left of you.”

Y/N’s shoulders sagged. Her throat tightened.

But she nodded.

“I know.”

And then she left—quietly, gently—because there was still a day to get through, and someone had to keep moving.

The door clicked shut behind Y/N, leaving the house in a suffocating kind of silence.

Natalya stood still for a moment, hand pressed lightly to her chest.

She hadn’t expected this.

Not the hollow version of Y/N. Not the echoing emptiness of the house. Not the scent of untouched food, or the slight chill in the air from a window left cracked open in a room no one wanted to be in.

Natalya moved quietly through the hallway, stopping in front of the bedroom door.

She hadn’t seen Wanda in weeks—texts ignored, calls left unanswered. And now, after seeing the hollowed version of Y/N standing in that doorway… she knew something was deeply wrong. More than she had realized.

She knocked gently. “Wanda? Sweetheart, it’s Mama.”

No response.

She opened the door softly.

The room was dim, curtains closed, air still and heavy. Wanda lay curled up on her side in the same bed where she and Y/N used to fall asleep laughing.

Now she looked like a ghost—sunken eyes, lips chapped, skin pale against the dark sheets.

Natalya’s heart cracked.

“Hi, moya lyubov’,” she whispered, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. “I came to check on you.”

Wanda didn’t say anything. Just turned her face further into the pillow, a quiet signal: I’m still here, but barely.

Natalya reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear. “Have you eaten anything today?”

No reply.

“I brought some soup,” she said softly. “Why don’t you try a little? It’s still warm.”

Still no response.

But when Natalya stood and returned with the bowl of soup Y/N had made—still sitting on the stove, untouched—she placed it on Wanda’s nightstand and waited.

Wanda didn’t move for a while. But then, without a word, she slowly pushed herself up, sitting hunched against the headboard. Her hands trembled as she reached for the spoon, and for a moment, Natalya wasn’t sure she’d even go through with it.

But she did.

One small bite.

Then another.

And another.

Wanda’s brow furrowed slightly as she chewed. She didn’t look at her mother—just stared blankly ahead.

“This tastes… different,” she muttered after a few spoonfuls. “Did you change something?”

Natalya hesitated. Then said softly, “I didn’t make it.”

Wanda blinked. Looked at her, slow and tired. “Then who did?”

“Y/N,” Natalya said. “She made it before she left for work. She was worried you wouldn’t eat if no one was here.”

Wanda froze.

The spoon hovered in the air, suddenly too heavy.

Natalya watched her daughter carefully. “She asked me to stay with you because she didn’t want you to be alone today.”

“She shouldn’t have,” Wanda murmured, setting the spoon back in the bowl. Her voice was hollow again. “She doesn’t have to keep pretending.”

Natalya’s jaw tensed gently, but her voice remained calm. “She’s not pretending, Wanda. She’s surviving. The same way you are. Only… she’s doing it with no one to hold her.”

Wanda looked away. Her expression flickered—somewhere between guilt and something deeper. Shame.

“I didn’t ask her to stay,” she whispered.

“I know,” Natalya said. “But she stayed anyway.”

“She’s not the one who carried her.”

“No,” Natalya said gently. “But she was still her mother, Wanda. And she loved her, too. Loves you. Still.”

Wanda’s throat tightened. Her eyes shone, but she blinked quickly, forcing them dry.

“You didn’t see her this morning,” Natalya added softly. “She’s… she’s not the same girl I remember. She’s fading, Wanda.”

Wanda didn’t speak.

“She made you soup,” Natalya continued. “Even with nothing left in her. She made you soup and kissed your forehead while you were sleeping, and told me to please, please make sure you didn’t feel alone.”

Wanda’s lips parted, but no words came out.

Just a shaky breath.

And then, barely a whisper: “I don’t know how to reach her anymore.”

Natalya touched her cheek, thumb soft against her skin. “You don’t have to have the right words, Wanda. You just have to try.”

Wanda’s breath trembled.

“She still looks at you like you hung the stars,” Natalya added gently. “Even today. Even after all of this.”

Wanda’s eyes fell to the half-eaten bowl of soup.

She’d been so sure it was her mother’s—there was something softer in the flavor, something careful. It had tasted… warm. Familiar. Safe.

And yet it came from her.

The woman she’d spent four months pushing away.

The woman who still made her soup when she had nothing left of herself.

Wanda reached for the spoon again but set it back down, her appetite fading into guilt.

“I’ve been awful,” she said quietly.

Natalya didn’t argue.

She simply reached for her daughter’s hand and held it, warm and steady.

She didn’t fill the silence. She didn’t try to fix it. She just listened.

And Wanda, fragile and slow, began to speak.

“I think I hate her sometimes,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “And I hate myself even more for feeling that way.”

Natalya’s thumb brushed gently across her knuckles. But she said nothing, waiting.

“She looks at me like she’s still in love with me,” Wanda went on, breath uneven, “and all I can feel is this… this giant, empty, burning hole inside me that keeps screaming, You’re alone. You lost her. You failed.”

Her lip trembled.

“She didn’t carry her. She didn’t feel her grow. She didn’t… know her like I did.”

Natalya’s brows softened.

Wanda’s voice broke. “So when she grieves, it doesn’t look like mine. And I can’t help thinking… maybe it’s because she didn’t know what we lost the same way I did.”

She let out a shaky breath and looked away. “I know that’s cruel. I know that. But it’s how I feel. And every time she says something kind or brings me soup or tries to be strong, I just—” Wanda squeezed her eyes shut—“I want to scream. Because it feels like she’s moved on. And I’m still stuck back there. Still bleeding.”

Natalya’s heart ached.

She reached up and gently cupped her daughter’s face, guiding her to meet her eyes.

“Oh, Wanda,” she murmured. “You may have carried your daughter in your body… but Y/N? She carried her in her heart. From the moment you told her you were pregnant.”

Wanda’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t speak.

“She grieves differently because she has to. Because you couldn’t afford to fall apart, so she did it in private. Quietly. In the shower. In the laundry room. In her silence.”

Wanda’s chest heaved.

“She stayed when you pushed. She cooked when you couldn’t eat. She sat outside this door for hours, Wanda. Hoping for any sign you were still in there.”

Tears began spilling down Wanda’s cheeks.

“She didn’t just lose her daughter,” Natalya whispered. “She’s been losing you, too.”

Wanda broke then—gasping softly, hands covering her face as the sobs finally came.

Natalya pulled her into her arms, holding her the way she used to when Wanda was small and scared of thunder.

“I didn’t know,” Wanda cried into her shoulder. “I didn’t know I was hurting her.”

“I know, baby,” Natalya whispered. “But now you do.”

Wanda’s sobs had softened into silence.

Natalya didn’t let go—just rubbed her back, quiet and patient, while Wanda slowly unraveled in her arms.

When Wanda finally pulled back, her eyes were red, lashes damp, and her voice small.

“Does she really cry where I can’t see?”

Natalya gave her a tired, aching smile. “She does everything where you can’t see. And not because she wants to hide it. She just didn’t want to add to your pain.”

Wanda looked down at her hands, ashamed. “I didn’t notice. I didn’t want to.”

“But you’re seeing her now,” Natalya said. “That’s the beginning.”

Wanda nodded faintly. Then whispered, “Do you want some tea?”

Natalya smiled. “Only if you’ll drink some too.”

---

Later That Evening

Wanda sat on the couch beside her mother, a cup of tea warming her hands.

The living room felt foreign in its calmness. Like it didn’t quite belong to her anymore. So much of the house had turned into a museum of absence—quiet, still, sacred in the wrong ways.

She sipped the tea slowly, grateful for the silence that wasn’t crushing for once.

That’s when the door opened.

Wanda’s head turned instinctively.

And she saw her.

Y/N stepped inside like a ghost.

Her movements were slow, mechanical—like her body had forgotten how to move with purpose. Her eyes were dull, skin colorless under the hallway light. Her bag slipped off her shoulder with a soft thud, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Wanda froze.

She had looked at Y/N every day.

But this was the first time she’d truly seen her in weeks.

And it felt like being struck.

Y/N wasn’t just tired. She wasn’t just grieving.

She was gone in places Wanda hadn’t been looking.

A shell of the woman who used to light up every room. The woman who danced barefoot in the kitchen. Who kissed her forehead while she chopped vegetables. Who once held Wanda through every ache of pregnancy like she’d been made for it.

She hadn’t stopped loving Wanda.

She’d just been slowly disappearing under the weight of being invisible.

Y/N didn’t even glance toward the living room.

She walked straight down the hallway like it hurt to exist, her body stiff and silent.

Wanda felt her tea go cold in her hands.

Her mother didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

Wanda stood up slowly.

And for the first time in four months… she followed.

The hallway was dim, save for the sliver of light pouring out from beneath the bathroom door.

Wanda hesitated before stepping closer, her bare feet soundless against the wood floor. She could hear the soft trickle of running water. Nothing else.

No movement. No voice. Just… water.

She knocked gently.

No answer.

Her hand trembled as she turned the doorknob.

The door creaked open.

And there, standing over the sink, was Y/N.

Frozen.

Her hands rested on either side of the basin, white-knuckled. Her shoulders were hunched, head bowed, water still running in front of her.

Her shirt clung to her back—damp where she’d splashed her face but hadn’t yet bothered to dry it. Her body was still, her breath uneven. She looked like she was holding herself together by sheer force of will.

She didn’t see Wanda at first.

She just stared into the water.

Not moving.

Like if she stood there long enough, it might carry her away.

Wanda’s chest tightened.

This wasn’t strength.

This wasn’t “managing.”

This was someone who had broken so quietly, no one noticed the pieces.

Then Y/N finally looked up.

Their eyes met in the mirror.

For the briefest second, Wanda saw the truth—raw, hollow, exhausted pain.

Then it vanished.

Y/N turned off the faucet, wiped her face quickly with her sleeve, and turned to Wanda with a smile.

But it wasn’t a real smile.

Wanda had never seen it before.

It was the kind of smile worn like armor—a shape pulled onto a face because it was easier than saying I’m not okay.

“Hey,” Y/N said, voice light, too light. “You hungry? I’ll just take a quick shower and cook something.”

She didn’t wait for a reply.

She moved past Wanda like nothing had happened—like she hadn’t just been standing there trying not to shatter.

Wanda reached out instinctively, catching her wrist. Gently.

“Y/N.”

Y/N froze.

That smile slipped. Cracked at the corners.

Wanda stepped closer.

“You don’t have to do that.”

Y/N’s throat worked around a swallow. “Do what?”

“Pretend.”

The silence stretched.

Y/N blinked rapidly, glancing down at Wanda’s hand around her wrist, as if unsure how it got there.

Then she forced another smile—smaller this time. “I’m fine, Wands. Really.”

“You’re not,” Wanda said softly. “And I see it now.”

Y/N looked away. Her breath caught in her throat, but she kept her jaw tight, her spine straight.

Wanda stepped closer. Gentle. Careful. Like approaching a wounded animal.

“I haven’t looked at you in months,” she whispered, voice trembling. “But tonight I did. And I see it. I see you. And I’m so sorry.”

The words hung in the air like something sacred. Heavy. Breaking the silence that had ruled their home for far too long.

But in Y/N’s mind, they floated past like mist.

Because it didn’t matter.

Not really.

She wasn’t the one who needed saving.

Wanda was.

Wanda had lost her dreams, the child that grew inside her.

Y/N? Y/N was just the support beam. Cracked, bent, tired—but still standing. That was the job.

She had no room for grief.

No right to fall apart.

So she swallowed the knot in her throat.

And in her mind, a voice she’d been living with for months whispered the truth:

You’re not the priority.

She is.

You’re just here to keep her breathing.

Y/N forced a nod, not trusting herself to speak.

Then she said quietly, “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize.”

Wanda’s brows pulled together. “Yes, I do.”

Y/N gave her a small smile—one that barely reached her lips. “You were hurting. I understand.”

Wanda reached up to touch her face, and for a split second, Y/N flinched—not out of fear, but out of habit. As if she’d forgotten she was allowed to be held, too.

Her body stiffened, like it didn’t know what to do with tenderness anymore.

“Y/N,” Wanda said, more firmly now, her hand still hovering near her cheek. “You’re allowed to hurt.”

Y/N’s eyes dropped to the floor. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “No. You lost more.”

Wanda’s heart splintered.

“You were her mother too.”

“But not like you,” Y/N said quickly, eyes shining. “She was part of you. She… left you.”

Wanda stepped forward, closing the space between them. Her hand finally rested gently on Y/N’s cheek.

“She left us,” Wanda said. “And I left you, too. I know that. I abandoned you while you were breaking just as much as I was.”

Y/N tried to shake her head, but her body betrayed her—shoulders trembling.

Still she insisted, “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re okay. That you’re—”

“I’m not okay,” Wanda whispered. “And neither are you.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath. Her hands stayed at her sides. Her body didn’t lean in. It didn’t fall into Wanda like it used to.

Because after four months of being invisible, of pushing her own grief into silence, she didn’t know how.

Didn’t know if she deserved to.

Y/N didn’t move.

Didn’t lean into Wanda’s touch. Didn’t brush her fingers against hers like she used to. Her hands hung at her sides like they didn’t belong to her anymore.

Wanda’s palm was warm on her cheek, but Y/N didn’t melt into it.

She endured it.

And that… that’s when Wanda saw it.

Really saw it.

Y/N hadn’t just been grieving alone.

She had been disappearing.

The quiet dimming of someone who didn’t believe she was worth being cared for anymore.

The slouched shoulders of someone who’d been bracing herself to be unwanted.

The forced smile of someone who had decided that her pain wasn’t important enough to be spoken aloud.

Y/N looked so much smaller than Wanda remembered. Thinner. Paler. Eyes duller. Her voice, quieter—not out of gentleness, but out of hesitation.

And Wanda realized, with a crushing wave of guilt, that this wasn’t just the loss of their baby.

This was what she had done.

Every time she turned away.

Every time she said nothing.

Every time she chose her pain and forgot that Y/N had been bleeding, too.

She didn’t just abandon her wife.

She made her believe she had no right to fall apart.

Y/N still stood in front of her—but she was far away, trapped behind months of careful survival, of selfless silence.

And Wanda’s touch, once a safe place, now felt unfamiliar to her.

That was the worst part.

The realization made Wanda’s chest cave in. She choked on a sob she didn’t mean to release and stepped even closer, her thumb trembling against Y/N’s cheek.

“I didn’t see,” Wanda whispered brokenly. “God, Y/N, I didn’t see what I was doing to you.”

Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed. “It’s not about me.”

“It was always about you too,” Wanda breathed. “But I was too wrapped in my own pain to remember that. You were here, carrying everything, and I never even asked if you were okay.”

Y/N gave a weak laugh. “You had enough to deal with.”

Wanda shook her head. “No. No more of that. Stop—please stop pretending that your grief doesn’t matter. That you don’t matter.”

She stepped back just enough to really look at her.

“You stopped smiling. You don’t sing anymore. You don’t sleep. You hardly eat unless I’m unconscious. I—I made you believe you had to be invisible so I could survive.”

Y/N looked at her, eyes wet but unreadable.

Wanda’s voice cracked. “I hurt you.”

Silence.

Then, Y/N whispered, “I knew you needed time.”

“But I needed you,” Wanda cried. “And I didn’t realize I was pushing you out of reach. And now I see you standing here like this—like you don’t even know how to be held anymore—and I don’t know how to forgive myself for that.”

Y/N’s lip trembled. Her breath hitched. But still, she said nothing.

And Wanda realized something else.

Her wife wasn’t just grieving.

She had stopped believing she deserved to be comforted.

Y/N’s eyes were wide, glassy, but distant. She didn’t cry. Didn’t tremble.

She just stood there—quiet in the way people get when they’ve been hurting for too long and stopped believing anyone would notice.

So Wanda stepped forward.

And held her.

Not delicately.

Not like she might shatter—but like someone who already had.

Wanda wrapped her arms around Y/N’s shoulders, buried her face in her neck, and clung to her like a lifeline.

For a long, breathless second, Y/N didn’t move.

Her arms stayed at her sides. Her breath stayed shallow.

It felt like hugging something already gone.

But Wanda didn’t let go.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “Please… let me love you.”

Then—barely audible, barely real—Y/N breathed out, “I’m sorry.”

Her voice cracked around it.

“I’m sorry, Wanda.”

And suddenly her body broke.

She sagged into Wanda’s arms, her knees giving out beneath her, and Wanda caught her as they sank to the cold bathroom floor together.

Y/N sobbed—violently, helplessly—hands clinging to Wanda’s shirt, fingers curled in the fabric like it was the only thing anchoring her to this world.

“I tried,” she gasped. “I didn’t want to make it worse—I just wanted to be strong for you—I didn’t know how else to—”

“Shh,” Wanda whispered, cradling her head against her chest. “Stop apologizing. You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t.”

Y/N shook her head, burying her face against Wanda’s shoulder, still choking on apologies.

“I couldn’t fix it—I couldn’t save her—I couldn’t save you—”

Wanda kissed the side of her head, rocking them gently. “You saved me every day, Y/N. You saved me by staying. Even when I was gone. Even when I hurt you.”

“I didn’t know if I mattered anymore,” Y/N sobbed, the words tumbling out unfiltered, years of strength unraveling all at once. “I didn’t know if you saw me anymore.”

Wanda held her tighter, like she could stitch them back together with just the strength of her arms. “I see you now. I swear to you—I see everything now.”

And she just held her. Let her cry. Let her be small for once. Let her fall apart the way she had needed to for months.

On the cold tile floor, with nothing but the quiet hum of the house and the smell of Y/N’s damp shirt between them, they grieved together for the first time.

No roles.

No guilt.

Just them.

Two women who lost everything.

And still—somehow—found their way back to each other.

---

By the time Y/N’s sobs finally quieted, she was trembling and barely upright, her body drained of everything.

Her breath came in little hiccups, eyes swollen nearly shut, lashes stuck together with tears.

Wanda hadn’t moved.

She held her through every wave, every gasp, every broken apology until the storm finally gave way to silence.

Y/N sat slumped against her, cheek resting over Wanda’s heartbeat, her fingers still clutching the fabric of her shirt.

Wanda kissed the top of her head.

“We can stay here as long as you need,” she whispered.

Y/N shook her head faintly. “No… I can’t… I just—I need to breathe.”

Wanda helped her up slowly, carefully, her own limbs aching from the cold tile. She kept one arm around Y/N’s waist as they stepped out of the bathroom, moving like a single body held together by care alone.

The house was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the lamp in the living room.

And there—waiting on the couch, quiet and patient—was Natalya.

A tray rested on the coffee table. Two mugs of tea, still warm. A folded blanket.

She stood the moment she saw them.

Wanda didn’t speak. Just gave her mother a small, tired nod.

But Y/N froze halfway across the room, eyes wide with guilt.

Her throat tightened again. She rubbed at her face, as if trying to erase the evidence of her breakdown.

“I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely, voice barely a whisper. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” Natalya said softly, stepping forward.

Y/N opened her mouth to say more, but Natalya pulled her into a hug before she could.

Tight. Warm. Maternal.

“I heard you crying,” Natalya said into her hair, “and I still think you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

Y/N’s chin quivered, but she didn’t cry again. There were no more tears left.

Only a quiet kind of grief.

The kind that clings like fog.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Natalya added gently, pulling back just enough to see her. “You loved that baby. You loved my daughter. You never needed to be perfect for either of them.”

Y/N gave a small, shaky nod.

Wanda stepped forward then, touching her back gently, grounding her.

“Come sit,” Natalya said. “I made tea.”

Y/N hesitated—but Wanda led her to the couch, guiding her down slowly.

They sat together, close, Wanda still keeping a hand on Y/N’s knee.

Natalya placed the tea in her hands. “Drink. You’ll feel better.”

Y/N nodded again.

And for the first time in months, someone else held the weight she didn’t know she was carrying.

---

They didn’t speak much after the tea.

Y/N was exhausted—physically, emotionally, spiritually.

The kind of exhaustion that seeps into the bones and makes words feel too heavy to lift.

So when Wanda gently suggested they go to bed, Y/N simply nodded and followed.

Their bedroom was quiet. The sheets still carried the shape of months of separation—Y/N curled at the edge, Wanda lost in the middle. The absence between them had stretched wide.

But not tonight.

Tonight, Wanda didn’t hesitate.

She slipped into bed and reached for Y/N.

Y/N paused only briefly, eyes flicking to her in the dark like she couldn’t quite believe it.

Then, wordlessly, she curled into her.

It was awkward at first—her body didn’t melt into it the way it once did. She was stiff, unsure, like she’d forgotten how to be held.

But Wanda didn’t let go.

She pulled Y/N in gently but firmly, until her head rested on Wanda’s chest and their legs tangled the way they used to.

Wanda’s arms wrapped around her with the care of someone handling something already broken.

And for the first time in months…

They slept in the same shape.

Y/N was out within minutes, her breath hitching now and then as the last of the tears wore off, but eventually settling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Wanda didn’t sleep right away.

She stayed awake in the dark, holding her wife close, and let her eyes adjust to the soft shadows.

That’s when she saw it—really saw her.

Y/N had always been strong. Capable. Warm. Hers.

But tonight…

She was thinner than Wanda remembered. Her cheeks slightly sunken. Her collarbones sharper. The way her back curled into her chest didn’t feel like safety—it felt like retreat.

And her skin—so pale. Was it always like that? Or had the light left her over time, bit by bit, while Wanda was too far away to notice?

Wanda’s throat burned.

She blinked back tears, brushing her fingers gently over Y/N’s arm, her ribs, the curve of her waist.

How had she missed it?

How had she let her wife fade into the background while drowning in her own pain?

Y/N had carried both of their weight in silence.

She had stayed.

She had waited.

And now, lying here, fragile and asleep in her arms, she looked like someone who had given everything away just to keep Wanda breathing.

Wanda leaned down, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and whispered into her hair:

“I see you now. I promise I won’t look away again.”

And as Y/N slept, for the first time, Wanda didn’t think about what they’d lost.

She thought about what she still had.

And what she would do to never lose her again.

---

Wanda woke to cold sheets.

Her arms reached out instinctively, searching for warmth that wasn’t there. Her hand brushed only the worn softness of linen.

Her stomach sank.

The panic came before reason—not again, please not again.

She sat up quickly, breath catching in her throat. “Y/N?”

No answer.

She shoved the blankets back and got out of bed, barefoot, chest already tightening as she hurried down the hallway, calling again, quieter this time. “Y/N?”

She rounded the corner into the kitchen.

And froze.

Y/N stood there with her back half-turned, tank top hanging a little loose on her body, the soft cotton clinging just enough to show how much weight she’d lost. The sweatpants hung low on her hips, tied tighter than they used to be. Her frame looked too small for her clothes—familiar things now draped over unfamiliar frailty.

She had a plate in her hand. A folded napkin on top. Two slices of toast. Scrambled eggs. A few strawberries, cut the way Wanda liked them.

She was just about to reach for the tray.

To bring it upstairs.

Like she had, every single day, for the past four months.

Wanda stood frozen in the doorway, watching her wife quietly go through a routine no one had asked for—but one she had done anyway.

Y/N turned slightly and saw her standing there.

She startled. Just a bit. Caught in the act.

Their eyes met.

It was awkward. Gentle, but unfamiliar.

“Hey,” Y/N said softly, voice still raspy from sleep. “You’re… up early.”

She glanced down at the plate, then gave a tiny, awkward shrug. “I was just gonna bring this to you. Like usual.”

Wanda didn’t respond at first. Her heart was caught somewhere in her throat.

Y/N fidgeted, clearly unsure, her eyes flickering down. “It’s nothing fancy. I didn’t know if you’d want it, but… I made something. You haven’t really eaten in a while.”

She said it gently. Without blame. Without expectation.

Just quietly. Out of love.

Wanda’s voice shook when she finally spoke. “I panicked.”

Y/N blinked, confused. “What?”

“When I woke up and you weren’t there,” Wanda whispered, stepping closer, “I thought something happened. I thought maybe last night didn’t mean as much to you as it did to me.”

Y/N’s face changed instantly—softening into something vulnerable. “Wanda… no. I just didn’t want to wake you. You finally slept. I thought I’d bring breakfast, like always.”

Wanda’s gaze dropped to the tray. Then to the sharp line of Y/N’s collarbone, the way the tank top hung too loosely from her shoulders. How her arms looked thinner now, like they’d carried too much weight for too long.

“You were still taking care of me,” Wanda whispered.

Y/N didn’t respond. She just looked down, a little ashamed.

“Even while I ignored you.”

“Because I love you,” Y/N said, quietly but firmly.

Wanda didn’t hesitate.

She crossed the space between them and wrapped her arms around Y/N’s neck—soft but certain, like anchoring herself to the only thing that had never let go, even when she had.

And Y/N held her.

Without question.

Her arms came around Wanda’s waist, a little too loose at first—like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed.

But Wanda leaned in fully, resting her cheek against Y/N’s shoulder, and whispered, “Please.”

That was all it took.

Y/N’s grip tightened.

She held Wanda like she’d been waiting for this—aching for it. Like her body remembered something her heart had stopped hoping for. Her arms locked around her wife’s back, pulling her close, grounding them both.

“I’ve missed you,” Wanda whispered.

“I never left,” Y/N murmured.

“I know. That’s what hurts.”

They stood there in the kitchen, tangled up in each other, Wanda’s arms around Y/N’s neck, Y/N holding her like something precious—something breakable, but not broken.

And for the first time in a long time, their silence didn’t feel heavy.

It felt like healing.

Y/N’s arms were still around her, warm and strong despite the way her body had withered with grief. And Wanda stayed there, tucked into the curve of her wife’s neck, where everything still felt familiar—safe, even now.

She hadn’t realized how much she missed being held like this.

Not just the comfort of touch…

…but this.

Being loved.

Being known.

And knowing she still mattered enough to be reached for.

Wanda’s fingers curled gently into the back of Y/N’s tank top, and her eyes stung again—not with grief this time, but with something she hadn’t felt in far too long.

Tenderness.

“I don’t know why I couldn’t say it,” Wanda whispered, voice raw against Y/N’s skin. “Maybe I was scared. Maybe I didn’t think I deserved you anymore.”

Y/N’s hand smoothed up her back. “You don’t have to explain. I didn’t need—”

“Yes, you did,” Wanda breathed. She pulled back just enough to see her face, her hand rising to cup Y/N’s cheek. “You needed to hear it.”

Y/N’s eyes searched hers, unsure.

So Wanda said it.

Finally.

Gently. Honestly.

“I love you too.”

The words fell quiet, but they landed with weight—real and grounding.

Y/N blinked fast, her jaw trembling again.

“Wanda…”

“I always did,” Wanda said, thumb brushing softly beneath her wife’s swollen eyes. “Even when I forgot how to feel anything, I still loved you. You never stopped being my heart.”

Y/N exhaled slowly, something inside her visibly releasing.

Not the grief. Not all the pain.

But the fear.

The fear that she had been forgotten. Replaced. Or worse—unloved.

And now, here it was.

“I love you too.”

It settled in the space between them like light returning to a long-dark room.

Y/N pulled her into another embrace—this time stronger, fuller, like she finally believed she could.

And Wanda held her just as tightly.

Together. Finally.

---

Two Years Later

The late afternoon sun poured golden light into the nursery, casting soft shadows across the walls where little stars had been hand-painted long before he arrived.

Wanda stood near the window, gently swaying with their baby boy in her arms. He was bundled tightly in a pale green blanket, no more than two days old, his tiny face relaxed in sleep, mouth twitching now and then with a dream he couldn’t yet understand.

She looked down at him with a love so vast, so fierce, it filled her chest like oxygen.

Then she felt arms wrap around her waist from behind.

Y/N.

Barefoot, warm, steady—pressing in softly until her chest touched Wanda’s back, her chin resting on Wanda’s shoulder.

Wanda leaned into her without hesitation, the way her body always had. The ease of it, after everything, still made her breath catch.

“Hey,” Y/N whispered, kissing her shoulder. “How’s our little man?”

“Still dreaming,” Wanda said, smiling. “He hasn’t let go of my finger once.”

Y/N smiled too, peeking over her shoulder at the small bundle cradled so perfectly in Wanda’s arms. “Smart kid. Knows exactly where he belongs.”

Wanda’s eyes shimmered, full of quiet wonder. “He looks like you when he sleeps.”

Y/N chuckled softly. “Poor thing.”

Wanda elbowed her gently, and Y/N kissed her temple in apology.

The room was quiet for a while—only the hush of the breeze through the open window and the sound of their child’s tiny breaths. Peaceful in a way neither of them had truly known in years.

Wanda broke the silence with a whisper. “I never thought we’d get here.”

Y/N tightened her arms around her. “I know.”

There was a pause.

Then Wanda added, even softer, “But I never stopped wanting to.”

She turned slightly in Y/N’s embrace, just enough to see her—really see her.

And for a moment, she forgot to breathe.

Y/N looked… whole again.

Her color had returned. The shadows beneath her eyes were long gone. Her body, once thin and trembling from quiet collapse, had filled out again—her strength returned, her muscles firm beneath the fitted tank she wore. Her eyes, warm and steady, sparkled with life.

Wanda reached up with her free hand and touched her cheek, smiling.

“You came back to me,” she whispered.

“I never left,” Y/N said gently.

But before Wanda could reply, a small sound rose between them.

Yawwnn.

Their baby stirred in her arms, stretching his tiny fingers with a big, sleepy yawn that scrunched his whole face.

Both of them stilled.

Then melted.

“Oh my god,” Wanda whispered with a teary laugh, clutching him closer. “Did you see that?”

“I think my heart just exploded,” Y/N murmured, leaning down to kiss the crown of their son’s head. “Okay, Eli. You’re gonna have to tone down the cuteness if you want your parents to survive.”

Elian Maximoff-L/N.

Eli, for short.

The name they chose together, months ago—after a quiet evening under the stars where they’d promised never to stop hoping.

And now he was here.

Real.

Safe.

Home.

Wanda smiled so hard her cheeks ached. Y/N buried her face in her hair, arms tightening protectively around both of them.

Their son gave a sleepy sigh and snuggled deeper into Wanda’s chest.

And in that moment—sunlight dancing across the walls, the soft weight of Eli in their arms, and each other held close—they both knew:

This was what healing looked like.

Not forgetting.

Not replacing.

But holding joy and grief in the same breath—and choosing love anyway.

---

Let me know your thoughts in the comment.

#wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wanda marvel #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda x fem!reader #wanda x y/n #g!p reader #wanda maximoff x gn!reader

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yougavememyopia · 8 months ago

Text

Continuation of this. A bit suggestive at the end.

Loser yandere was on his knees, begging for forgiveness. He got ahead of himself. Sucking your fingers like a perverted freak. He looked up at you with glassy eyes, pouting just slightly. He didn't mind your pity. In fact, he wanted it. The worst he made himself look, the more you let things pass.

You sighed, ultimately having no choice but to forgive him. He looked so sad, so lonely. Like a stray puppy begging for attention. Why wouldn't you spare his feelings? He had no real friends. It made sense that he didn't know how to act properly.

Except he did. He was just manipulating you, saying the right things to make you cave and hang out with him. He would speak with a certain depressed tone that would melt your heart, and when you agreed, he would become extremely happy. Cheering and overreacting. A great excuse to excitedly hug you. Throw his arms around your shoulders and get lost in your scent.

He was strangely smart. Using both negative and positive reinforcement. Getting you to say yes to avoid making him sad, and making you feel content by his contagious smile. All part of his plan that'll eventually end with you two happily engaged.

Even if that strategy didn't work, he'd just whine and beg. He knew you couldn't take it. You would glare at him, and he'd feel a strange sensation through his body. Sometimes, he wondered how being hit by you would feel like. Or maybe with your hand wrapped around his throat.

Given how much he bothered you, it was a miracle you were still friends with him. It wasn't all that bad. You somehow had fun hanging around with him, laughing at his silly jokes. He'd take you to so many places. Always making sure you were enjoying your time so you'd come back for more!

When you weren't in public, he'd get clingy. It was obvious he was touch-starved and a big attention seeker. He wanted to have you touch him, get close to him, and pay attention to him. Only him.

"I can't get this stupid button undone... Can you help me take this shirt off? Come onnn, it's way too hot in this room..."

"Look how good I smell. Come on, sniff my neck. It's a new thing I bought. It smells like your favorite!"

"I'm so hungry, and my hands are all tired. Ughh.. Can you feed me a snack? I'll open my mouth wide for you. Aaah~"

He'd still bug you about the kiss. Not ever talking about the incident afterwards. Those few months of reinforcement should've made you softer to him. He should've been able to get you to agree. But you stayed determined to deny him.

"I want a kiss already... Why can't you, my bestest friend, show me how it feels~? All of these movies have one. I'm being reminded of how much of a loser I am every single day." He grumpily said to himself as you both watched a weird horror movie. The scared couple on the screen made out to relieve their stress... or something. It was a strange movie he (purposely) picked.

"Can't you fucking understand?! It'll change this whole relationship. I told you that a million times." You crossed your arms, darting your gaze from the movie to him.

He sighed. You sighed. Then you exchanged a look. "Alright. Fine. You're not gonna stop asking, are you? Just promise me you won't act all awkward after it."

He lit up, nodding eagerly. "Really?! Oh, wow! Thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou! You're the best! Seriously. A life saver~"

"Shut it." You groaned, watching the last bits of the movie with the characters escaping.

"Yes, ma'am. You got it." He climbed on your lap. That made you stiff a bit, looking at him with a confused look. He set his legs on your sides, his arms wrapping around your neck. "How is this gonna work? Can you please do it very slowly?"

"Eh...? Okay. Whenever you're ready." You wrapped your arm around his waist, not knowing what else to do with them. He hummed happily. His face came closer to you, and somehow, you felt nervous. You shrugged it off, letting him kiss you at his own pace.

"Here I go..." he whispered, his nose rubbing against yours.

He pressed a small peck on your lips as if to test out how it feels. Before you could correct him, he kissed you again. This time longer and harder. You squeaked at the suddenness, forced to lean back against the couch as he began to lick your lips, asking for entry.

You reluctantly opened your mouth, and he wasted no time. Pushing his tongue inside your mouth. Lapping at anything he could find. Your tongue brushed against each other, eliciting a moan from him. His hand held the back of your head to keep you from pulling away. Shifting a bit on your lap, whimpering against your lips.

He kept licking your tongue, sucking on it. He moaned again when you finally returned the kiss. His movements were clumsy, making it easier for you to take control. After a minute, he pulled away, panting as he buried his face into your neck. He seemed embarrassed, and so you hugged his waist tighter.

He moaned against your neck. "Ah.. that felt so nice. Mmh, shit..."

"Yeah... you got a little ahead of yourself, y'know. It was supposed to be a simple kiss. I never said tongue was allowed." You pointed out. Rolling your eyes, because you knew he didn't care.

"You never said it wasn't." He sat up to look you, tilting his head innocently. "I would've listened to you if you said it."

"No, you wouldn't have." You mumbled.

"You also didn't say I can't go for another one~!" He leaned in again and captured your lips in another kiss. You protested, hands gripping his shoulders now to push him away. He whined, sucking your lips as if that would change your mind. "But, please, just one more. I still haven't learned the proper technique yet."

You were beginning to understand that he had a different reason for overstepping boundaries. The way he kissed you, the way he tried to savor your taste, the way his pressed his body against yourself. It was like he was trying to devour you. Trying to be one with you.

He moaned loudly when he pulled away. His body was shaking a bit, his eyes dilating. Something pressed against your stomach. You didn't need to look down to see what it was. "Um... Oops?"

#desperate yandere #yanblr #yandere #yandere oc #pathetic men #pathetic yandere #yandere boy #sub yandere #male yandere #male yandere x you #yandere x you #loser yandere

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e1e4n0r5 · 25 days ago

Text

Got a Lil Sugar: Chapter 1

Masterlist

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing: Sugar Mommies Cait & Vi x Sugar Baby Reader

Words: 3184

Synopsis: In dire financial straits, you ask your friend Mel for advice. Unfortunately you have a rocky start.

Warnings: Financial distress, mentions of illness, discussions of sex work, creeps on the internet, lesbian reader has to flirt with men

Notes: Sex work is a very complicated industry with a lot of nuance. There are positives, and there are negatives. This fic does not shy away from the negatives, and there will be times when Reader is uncomfortable. I know this fic is just a smutty piece of fiction, but I don't want to glamorise what can be, at times, a very difficult job. Please read, and enjoy, at your own discretion.

The cappuccino in front of you was the prettiest, most luxurious thing you’d seen all week, all perfect foam and dusted chocolate, served in a ceramic cup you couldn’t afford to break.

You could barely afford the bus ride home.

Across from you, Mel sat with her phone face-down on the polished wooden table, perfectly at ease in her designer coat, and heels that probably cost more than your rent. She smiled faintly, like she always did when she saw you looking at the little gold bracelet on her wrist or the new bag over her shoulder.

“Stop staring,” she teased, blowing across her own latte.

You blinked, snapping out of it. “I’m not. Not like that. I just…It’s nice. You look as nice as always. You look happier too?”

Mel quirked a brow, amused. “I’ve got a new Daddy, he’s so nice. Actually cute, too.”

You laughed at that, because she always said it so breezily, like it was just another line on her résumé.

Mel Medarda: Professional Sugar Baby of 5 years, references available on request, glowing reviews.

When the barista swung by with the cheque (because this place was fancy enough that you didn't have to pay up front) Mel waved you off when you reached inside your bag. “Oh no, sweetheart, this is on me,” she said. “New Daddy’s footing the bill. He’d be so upset I let you pay.”

You smiled and said ‘thank you’, but something in your chest twinged as she signed the receipt, even though you knew you couldn’t afford the drink anyway.

“Mel…” you started, watching her tuck the receipt away.

“Hmm?”

“How…How did you get into this?”

Her head tilted slightly. “Into…?”

“This,” you gestured at her designer coat, her perfect nails, the delicate gold decorating her wrist. “You know…Being a Baby. Or whatever you call it.”

That got you a full grin. She leant back in her chair, drumming her nails on her coffee cup in amusement. “Why so curious?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “I need money.”

Her face immediately sobered, sitting forward again.

“My rent’s due in three days and I'm more than half short. They're putting it up next month too, and I don’t have the new difference leftover each month. My account’s barely holding two figures as it is. Plus, my bills are almost overdue; the insurance company is gouging my pay for the medical bills, and the interest is constantly climbing…” You rubbed your temples, stressed tears starting to form in your eyes.

Her face softened. “Angel, I could help you-”

You shook your head firmly. “No. No, absolutely not. I’m not taking your money.”

“Well, how much do you need? I’m doing really well-”

You couldn’t help but scoff lightly. “Six figures, Mel. And I don’t just mean 100k.”

Her hands clenched around her mug. “Fuck cancer.”

“Well, I did,” you smiled. You toasted your cups together in celebration of the battle you fought for two years and ultimately won.

But it was time to finally swallow your pride.

“Things are just really bad right now and I don't know what else to do. Plus, I’ve always kind of wondered what it’s like. You make it look so…”

“Easy?” Mel supplied, laughing. “It is, most days. But it won’t be at the start,” she warned.

You sipped your cappuccino just to have something to do with your hands.

“Do you think,” you ventured, “Someone like me could even do it? I mean, I don’t have a designer wardrobe or whatever.”

Mel studied you for a moment, eyes a little sharper now. Then she shook her head with a low chuckle. “Oh, angel, being a Baby isn’t about already having all the pretty things. That’s what they’re for.”

She leant in across the table, her voice becoming warm and gentle as she held your hand. “I’ll help you. Show you the ropes, set up a profile for you, coach you through it.”

Your heart skipped a little. “I’m serious,” you said quietly. “I really need the money. I trust you.”

Mel grinned like the cat who caught the canary, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “You’re going to be just fine. Let’s finish our drinks and then go back to your place. We’ll get you started tonight.”

The door to your apartment stuck, like it always did, and you had to give it a little shove with your shoulder before it finally swung open.

“I always hated this place,” Mel groaned, stepping inside behind you and glancing around. “Why did we let you move in here?”

“Don’t,” you muttered, kicking your shoes off and placing them on the wobbly little shoe rack by the door. “It was all I could afford when I moved.”

She shook her head, looking at the cramped living room with its thrift store couch, second-hand rug with a hole in it, and one too-small window that barely let in any light. “We’re getting you out of here. Alright,” she said, setting her tote down on the coffee table, “Let's get to work.”

You sank into the couch and opened your laptop, as Mel sat elegantly beside you, already pulling out her phone and opening an app.

“Rule number one,” she started, holding it up like a teacher, “This isn’t a dating app. You are not here looking for a girlfriend, or a wife, or your soulmate. You are here to provide companionship and affection – and maybe more, if you’re comfortable – in exchange for being financially taken care of. Period. It’s okay to like the people, but do not get attached.”

You nodded, leaning in as she scrolled through an app.

On her screen was a slick, clean-looking interface with profiles. Every profile had photos, some with nothing but a name, others had a few teasing lines. You catch glimpses of headlines like “Looking to spoil someone special”, “Discreet arrangements only”, “Full sex services available”, and more than one bio that makes your ears burn.

Mel started showing you how it worked – how to set up your own bio, how much detail to give, what pictures are best to use, and how to keep your boundaries crystal clear from the start.

“So, to start off, you should include a close-up photo of your face; a full body shot; something a bit sexier but not too much; then – now, don’t freak out about this – your feet too.”

You gawked at her. “My feet?!”

She shrugged. “Feet is one of the most common kinks out there. I know Babies who only do feet content, and they’re loaded.”

“But I don’t want to do…Foot stuff,” you grimaced.

She raised an eyebrow. “What if someone offered you $100 just for a single photo?”

You paused, remembering the numbers on your debt spreadsheet. “Okay, feet too. Got it.”

Mel chuckled. “What’s your age limit? Realistically speaking. Not necessarily for full sugar, but what could you realistically be comfortable with chatting to, or going on dates with?”

“What’s yours?” you asked.

“I don’t have one. There are some lovely widowers out there who just want companionship. It might be worth leaving it quite high, but it’s up to you. Plus, you can also choose what you’re willing to provide based on age when you talk to people.”

You had to admit that was reasonable. Plus, you weren’t really in a position to be choosey. “Okay, no limit,” you adjusted the setting on your new profile.

“And – here’s the hard question – are you willing to include men?”

You couldn’t help but grimace.

“I know you’re a lesbian, sweetheart, but if you’ve got bills to pay and medical debt to work through, could you face sending some flirty messages to men if it earns you some spoils? Plus the majority of Sugars are men, you’d be cutting off a huge portion of potential benefactors.”

You pondered again, wringing your hands together. “Just messages?”

“Remember, you can always choose how you interact with each person individually,” Mel advised. “It’s your choice. But what if you come across a man wants to give you $50 a day for a sexy photo? You could always tell him that you won’t want to meet up in person.”

You weren’t happy about it, but you ticked all the boxes for sex and gender.

“Never say you’re ‘open to anything,’” she warned, clicking through a few examples. “Even the most confident, experienced Babies have limits; everyone has limits. Manage their expectations from the start. Next: be sweet, be charming, but also make sure they know that you know your worth. No desperation, no haggling, and always let them come to you. You’re doing them a favour by letting them take care of you. If you say a photo is $100, it’s $100; not 80, not 75. Do. Not. Haggle,” she said firmly, wagging her finger at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at that. “Got it. No hagglers.” You were quiet for a moment, watching her scroll and type as a message came through on her profile. Then, hesitantly, you asked, “How do you tell the real ones? You know, from the scammers and the creeps?”

Mel actually grinned at that, like she’d been waiting for you to ask.

“Good girl,” she said approvingly. “That’s rule number two. Trust your gut, and don’t believe anybody who promises big money right away. Someone offering 10k for your first date and another 10k every week after that? Not real. Real Mommies and Daddies don’t flash cash in the first message. They ask about you. They care about what you want. They respect your limits. Scammers, on the other hand?”

She snorted, flipping through her inbox and showing you a couple of examples: ridiculous promises of thousands a week just for texting, requests for bank info before even meeting, weird links they say you need to click in order to get paid.

“Block. Block. Block,” she said with a tap of her manicured finger. “Anybody who pressures you to move off the app too soon? Block. Anybody who can’t spell ‘allowance’? Block. Anyone who complains about the vetting process? Block. Remember: the good ones want to be vetted. It shows them you’re being safe.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little at her attitude: sharp and sure, like she’d done this a hundred times.

Mel noticed your look and smirked. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said softly. “You’re just really good at this.”

“Damn right I am.”

She pointed to your laptop and nodded at the empty profile. “Alright, sweetheart. Time to write your bio. Start with something sweet: one or two lines about you, what you’re looking for, and what you want in return. Be honest but keep it classy.”

Mel helped you write your bio and choose pics from your gallery – though you did have to take a fresh feet pic, cringing the whole time. By the time Mel finished tinkering with your profile, you were already emotionally exhausted.

“See?” she purred, nudging your shoulder with hers as you sat side by side on your sagging couch. “That’s a good start. Sweet, just a little flirty, and clear about your boundaries.”

You swallowed, rereading the words she helped you craft.

Looking for someone who knows how to take care of what’s theirs. I’m attentive, affectionate, and eager to please. Not looking for one-night stands. Photos/videos/voice notes available for tips. Open to discussing arrangement details once vetted.

Mel winked at you as you hit “Publish” on your profile and grinned at the little blue tick that came up next to your name once the system finished checking your details. She got up and poured the two of you a rum and cola – both ingredients the cheapest the store offered – to celebrate.

And then, not five minutes later, the first messages started coming in.

She stayed with you for another couple of hours, lounging with her legs curled up under her, one perfectly manicured finger flicking at your screen now and then to help you compose polite declines or playful replies.

hi bb u like cashapp? – Block.

Can I send you pics? – Block.

I wanna own u – Block and report.

But there were a few nicer ones – men and women who seemed polite enough, who asked how your day was going and didn’t jump straight to nudes or numbers. Mel made you save a few of them to look at later, and for a little while, sitting there next to her, you even felt a little excited.

When Mel’s phone buzzed with a sharp little chime, her expression shifted into something sly. “That’s my cue,” she said, gathering up her coat. “New Daddy’s taking me out tonight. Are you going to be okay? I’ll call you later when I get home.”

You nodded automatically, though the pit in your stomach was already forming as you watched her leave.

“You’ve got this, sweetheart,” she said at the door, hugging you tightly and kissing your forehead. “Just remember what I told you. Don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, and don’t you dare settle for less than you deserve.”

And then she was gone.

The quiet in your apartment felt loud after that.

You curled up on the couch with your phone and tried to keep up the same energy Mel had drilled into you – polite, charming, firm – but after the first few hours on your own, it all started to wear you down.

So many of the messages were gross. Or pushy. Or straight-up insulting.

You should be grateful for whatever I give you

girls like u don’t get to make demands

Send pics now or I’m blocking

Come over tonight and I’ll test drive you

You blocked. And blocked. And blocked again. But each one chipped away at you just a little more.

And before long, your eyes were stinging, your throat tight, your stomach rolling.

For the first time you let yourself wonder what your parents would say. Not that they’d spoken to you in years. You couldn’t think about them. You couldn’t let the guilt and shame settle in and fester. You didn’t deserve that.

You looked back to your laptop again. Messages kept pouring in.

A new one blinked at the top: Baby, you’ve gone quiet. Can I spoil you a little more?

You stared at the words for a long time, fingers hovering over the keys. Your cheeks burned, but your bank account was growing, and your rent was due.

So, you took a breath. And you typed back:

Yes please, Daddy

The next morning brought more messages.

You woke up to the little notification bubble glowing on your phone screen – 48 new messages overnight, some payments made to your new cash app account that Mel had told you was safe for Babies to use.

You read through all the messages, your mood already feeling conflicted.

Most of them were basically the same thing: Good morning, gorgeous. Did you sleep well? Hope you have a good day. I sent you $20, did you get it?

Which was nice. But then you got the others:

What would it cost to see that body without the dress?

How much for a quick video of you moaning my name?

Why don’t you show me those tits and I’ll send you something

Some of the spoils in your account were for small requests - $10 for a video of you brushing your teeth. $30 for your skincare and makeup routine. $10 for a little ‘outfit of the day moment’. All of those you fulfilled as you got ready for work.

On the bus to work you scrolled through the rest of them, trying to keep your face neutral despite the stranger sitting beside you who definitely glimpsed over at your inbox.

You started typing out polite no’s, or simply blocking the ones that made your stomach twist.

By your lunch break, you already felt frayed.

One man had offered $100 if you filmed yourself ‘doing something fun’ with a pillow between your thighs.

You didn’t want to reply to that one. But you had bills to pay, so you messaged back with some clarifying questions – how long did he want the video? What did he want in it? What exactly was he looking for?

Your coworkers chatted around you at lunch while you anxiously picked at your crappy sandwich of cheap bread and even cheaper jam, trying to shake the hot embarrassment off your skin.

When you finally got home that evening, the weight of the day hit you all at once. You dropped your purse on the couch, sat down at your little kitchen table, and buried your face in your hands.

The screen of your phone lit up again and again as you left it face-down on the table, little dings marking incoming requests, compliments, and demands.

You felt dirty. And tired. And angry with yourself for feeling dirty, when you knew this was exactly what you’d signed up for.

Your phone buzzed again, and you forced yourself to flip it over. Another message:

Princess, you there? Don’t leave me hanging. I already sent you the money. You owe me.

Your chest tightened at that word. Owe.

You shoved the phone away and leaned back in your chair.

You were glad Mel couldn’t see you now, sitting in her your apartment, blinking back tears, feeling smaller than ever.

You whispered to yourself, “You need the money. You can do it.”

But even then, you weren’t sure you believed it.

You stood under the spray of hot water far longer than you needed to.

The steam clung to the cracked mirror, the air thick and wet, and still you lingered, scrubbing your arms, your neck, your chest like you could somehow wash off everyone else’s words.

You felt gross. Not so much for what you’d actually done – a few tame photos of your neck and feet; a breathy little voice note moaning someone’s name; one leg shot that you’d agonized over before finally snapping it and sending it. That wasn’t so bad, you told yourself. It was more how fast people demanded, and how entitled they sounded, and how you found yourself agreeing just to get the money.

Because you needed the money.

Halfway through rinsing your hair, your phone buzzed on the sink. Again.

You leant out of the shower to glance at the screen, water dripping from your elbows. Three more payments had come through. You sighed.

When you finally stepped out and wrapped yourself in a towel, your inbox was a mess again, dozens of new messages blinking at you.

Did you get my last request??

Don’t make me wait, girl

Show me something real this time, not just a tease.

I’ll double it if you send me something dirtier.

The words made your stomach tighten, and you put the phone down again to finish getting dressed into your softest, cosiest pyjamas.

You sat cross-legged on the couch, hair still damp against your shoulders, trying not to cry. Your fingers hesitated over the screen for a long time before you finally opened your inbox again.

Chapter 2

Taglist: @sevikas-whore, @djstinkyfartz, @jinririz, @abbyandcaitlover, @ayuxiru, @bebeluvvv, @youdoyou-andiwilldome, @kittymrtnezz69, @wyprettylilone, @jlb20416, @autisticratbagtm, @theoreticalfreak, @riotstemple29, @zaunite-516, @zmbieeee, @godhatesgoodgirls, @yoyo-w, @milanyas, @unknownomgg, @bella-but-not-hadid444, @marvelwomenarehot0, @nenoino, @opalundercover, @beggingonmykneesforher, @qlelwow, @loneliestafterparty, @flowersareup, @niceminipotato, @fruitfulfashion, @dut1fuldyk3, @youngtastemakerfart, @trinityobsessesovatings, @barmaideneeveewrites, @c1sne, @geminideathrose, @nuianced-tck-enby, @all-things-lilac, @m0ss-gremlin

#got a lil sugar #arcane #vi arcane #arcane vi x reader #arcane violet #vi x reader #caitlyn kiramman #arcane au #caitvi #caitlyn x reader #caitvi x reader #arcane caitvi

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deardiarywrites · 3 months ago

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dealing with the blues : how to manage negative emotions and more ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა rotting vs resting

i know how upsetting life can be sometimes. you want to get better but something happens and life just keeps pushing you down, and you fall further and further into a rut. and because of that, you start to feel even worse. "why am i not doing as good as the others?" , "why am i so xyz?" , "why am i not like her?" etc etc. cmon my love. this isn't the time to compare yourself to others and feel even worse but to slowly dig up the soil, and find out what is actually going on. ♡ just take a day off, babe seriously. sometimes you just need to let yourself be upset and be unproductive yk? there is nooo shame in being unproductive as hell for a day or two. take your time and have a good break. now talking about breaks, we have a problem. are you really resting or rotting? RESTING makes you feel good, happy and energised ROTTING makes you feel guilty, unproductive, sluggish a lot of the times, instead of resting and recharging our minds, we are feeding our minds with lots and lots of brainrot, indulging in bad habits in the name of "resting", avoiding important work etc which in return make us feel even worse! well, resting isn't supposed to do that, right? resting is supposed to recharge you, get you ready to fight again. so next time you choose to 'rest', be mindful. do not indulge in things that you know will make you feel worse. doomscrolling is not resting. stalking your friends is not self care. intentionally avoiding important work is not self care. binge watching series by wrecking your sleep schedule and then feel guilty abt being on your phone all day is not self care. self care and resting is doing things you love which will nourish your mind and distract you for a little while, so that you can take a step back and just be aive for a bit.

an example of a day off could be smth like this ( just an example, please remember that everyone's life is different and so is yours. adjust accordingly ) : ʚɞ do not set any alarm, let yourself wake up naturally and when you do, pick up that book you have been meaning to read for a long time. ʚɞ have breakfast ʚɞ do 1 thing you really love and which makes you super happy (dancing, singing, acting etc) ʚɞ talk to someone or write abt how you are feeling ʚɞ try to create smth. a quick diy project, a lil sketch, crochet, a new dance move, a song cover, a poem, a video, photography etc ʚɞ do 1 imp work which you have been putting off (homework, stdy for a test etc) ʚɞ delete instagram for a bit and surround yourself with positivity. use tumblr, youtube, pinterest instead. ʚɞ go outside, even for just 5 minutes. ʚɞ maybe call up your friend/s and play smth ʚɞ take cute pics of urself ʚɞ maybe post smth cute on tumblr wink wink ʚɞ have a cute night ritual and then go to bed. ₊⊹ monitor what you have been consuming lately what you feed your mind and body actually matters (lol what a shocker). so tell me, have you been eating well? sleeping well? surrounding yourself with positivity? or have you been consuming content which further degrades your mental and physical health? try to replace unhealthy junk with healthy stuff. fix your fyp, choose "not interested" for posts which no longer resonate with you. declutter and reorganise. i really, really suggest trying a quick digital detox for a day. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ talk to someone who you feel safe with. you can even text me, ill try my best to respond <3 please talk to someone when you feel upset, communicate bbgs, communicate! even if it is hard and uncomfortable. if you feel like you have no one to talk to, talk to a stuffed animal or a tree or yourself. let those thoughts and feelings out, don't hold them inside your body. release them. observe them. try to understand them. but never let negative emotions become a part of you. they come and go, like any other emotion. you will be just fine. even when it feels like it is the end of the world love you always,

@deardiarywrites

#healing #becoming that girl #self improvement #self love #thatgirl #study motivation #lana unreleased #lana del rey #coquette #pink pilates princess #glow up #girlblogging #love #confidence #self care #manifestation #mental health #self concept #girlhood

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owe-143 · 1 month ago

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✩Dating Zoey hcs!✩

A/N: She's such a cutieee. i love her yall. ty for requesting!!

Warnings: uhh not proof read ☝🏽

Fluff☁⭐

Zoey x Huntr/x!Reader

Requested by: @cherrii-11 !!

>Zoey was likely the first person you bonded with when joining Huntr/x

>dating her is an absolute blast. never a dull moment

>you both work on songs for the group together

>Always hugging you/ holding your hand

>due to her people pleasing tendencies, she will try to impress you in anyway she can

>doing things for you and such (even things you can happily do yourself)

>gets worried that she isn't enough for you

>yall have self care days--painting each others nails, hair styling, massages etc!!

>you two eat everything before performaces

>she's sooo in love with you bro

>biggest yapper on the planet. so like just listen to whatever she has to say

>she will obvi listen to you talk for hours

>you both watch sad kdramas, cuddle and cry over them😭😭

>If you both are rappers, you'll def have rap duets together

>finds the positive in every negative situation

''This colour looks so bad on me'' You sigh,glancing away from the mirror. Zoey shakes her head. She moves you back in front of the mirror before, speaking

''It is not bad. The colour is something different and makes you look 1000 times more unique''

>Nicknames she calls you: sweetie, pookie, her soulmate yk??

>Will be SCREAMING for you if you have a solo performance. She is crazy supportive

>she's just a really awesome person to be around in general, so dating her is a blast!!

#kpop demon hunters #kpdh #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpdh x reader #huntrix #huntr/x #huntrix x reader #rumi #zoey #mira #rumi x reader #zoey x reader #mira x reader

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myntrose · 4 months ago

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12:39 am - the only thing that fills up Caleb's mind is you

Caleb would be the type of guy who wouldn't really care about what was being said of him. Yes, he's charming, charismatic, and very easy on the eyes. But no matter what is being said to or about him- either positively or negatively- he really just doesn't care.

After all, how does any of these things that said about him matter if it isn't being said by you. God, he could be on the other side of the room as you, having a totally different conversation with someone, but the moment you even make a slight mention about him? He's standing a bit taller, paying no remark to whichever irreverent person is in front of him, completely driving his focus onto you and your words and your face and-

yeah, he can't help but only think of you.

Not only is his mind just filled with you, but he also keeps track of things about you as well.

You two would be walking around the grocery store. He's pushing the cart, letting you ramble about your day while picking whatever food you want off the shelves. When in the snack isle, you'd point out ones that you like, some you don't, and some that you have never tried. While this was you filling up empty space with conversation, Caleb is memorizing and making a mental list of everything you've said. The next time you're having a bad day, just know to expect Caleb with the exact snacks that you said you enjoyed, even if you don't remember saying that you did.

He'll hear about the latest fashion trend from his subordinates, or the newest cafe that's opened up, or a game that recently game out. All those things go from one ear out the other. But when you're both lounging at home together and you bring up any of those topics ? He's suddenly buying you that new top you've mentioned, creating reservations to that cafe, or pre-ordering that game so that you can be one of the first people to play it. As long as you're interested in something, Caleb will be interested in it too.

He can be hypocritical about this, the way he prioritizes you above anything and anyone else- including himself. He will remind you to drink water every hour or so, even when he hasn't drank water all day either. He would get on you for not eating your meals on time, despite him not doing so too. And heaven forbid you try to hide an injury from him. Caleb would simultaneously scold you, bandage you up himself, he doesn't trust anyone else touching you, and try not to lose his shit all at the same time- even if he was bleeding to death himself.

It's safe to say that you're the first thing Caleb thinks about when he wakes up, and the last thing his mind lingers on when he finally settles for the night.

Life has been far too cruel to the both of you, but Caleb will do everything in his power to make sure you're happy and well. If he were to describe how he felt towards you, Caleb wouldn't immediately say love. No, that word doesn't encapsulate the expanse of his emotions towards you.

Because to him, his love towards you was a hunger so absolute that calling it affection would be belittling. No, Caleb loved you like a beautiful, necessary ruin.

@myntrose 2025 - do not copy or translate

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sprenthecreator · 4 months ago

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IMPURITIES EP. 2 | Kirisute Gomen

Male reader x Sakura x Male character

word count: 8.3k words

tags: anal, face fuck, spitroast, dp

━•✦•━•✦•━

For now, the incident in New York had remained just an anecdote; it hadn't affected your relationship with the girls, either positively or negatively. It had simply happened. Much of it was due to the fact that you were still on tour, and there was no time for trivial matters like that. «The show must go on». That's what you'd told yourself to avoid thinking about it.

Because if you were honest with yourself, every time you remembered that night, you got the urge to make it happen again. But your professionalism was stronger, as was your common sense. It wasn't you who should make that decision; it was them. And if they pretended for the moment that it hadn't happened, you would play along until they wanted it.

A week had passed since then. New York was followed by Washington, DC, and from there, the next stop was Atlanta. Your arrival had been at night. A relief for your body, as you were able to go straight to your room and sleep peacefully, with half your worries already resolved since you'd gotten ahead on your work during the trip.

But in the morning, the problems started.

You didn't know if it was the Atlanta air or something, but that morning everyone seemed to be in a bad mood. Including the girls. You weren't a person who got angry easily, but by midday, you were already feeling at your limit. The venue staff were all idiots. All of them. Not one was spared. And if that weren't enough, there were countless problems at the sound check that tested you as a manager, both your patience and your aptitude.

It didn't end there. The hotel staff were also incompetent idiots, and they also caused you more than one damn unnecessary problem. The most incredible thing was the fact that they had made a mistake in the room reservation, and it turned out Kazuha's room belonged to someone else. It was a huge fucking mess. The person, understandably, was as pissed off as you were. But when you discovered it was actually the Ritz-Carlton's fault, they were forced to solve the problem for you as quickly as possible.

The next day, thank goodness, the problems were minimal. The venue staff had taken note of every technical detail you'd pointed out and resolved them. They were still rude jerks, but at least they did their jobs well. Everything went wonderfully during the concert: impeccable sound, impeccable stage, impeccable logistics, and impeccable performances.

"Good job, yeoreobun!" you said aloud as the backup dancers and the girls left the stage after the encore, handing out bottles of cold water from a small cooler.

Everyone accepted the bottles and headed backstage after removing their in-ear microphones and the heaviest parts of their outfits. You stayed behind for a moment, talking with the production technicians and the setup staff to get everything settled before leaving the area and going backstage with the girls.

There was still a good while until your departure, since you had to wait for the entire dismantling process to be completed and for the girls to change and eat their respective snacks for that evening, as you always did after each concert. You had gone off to discuss some pending matters with the staff, and when it was getting close to time to leave, you returned to the girls.

"Hey, it's time gi..." You noticed something was off as you entered. One, two, three, four... "Uhm... where the hell is Kura?"

They looked at each other, and the common expression was one of ignorance. Of course, knowing them, you couldn't trust them. They already had a history of covering for each other. But it's likely that wasn't the case, and that she was just in the bathroom or something.

"Get your things together. I'll go get her."

The venue was a little bigger than you'd have liked for a search. It was a facility designed for theater productions, so the backstage area had multiple dressing rooms of different sizes at different heights, with the ones on the second floor being the smallest. Downstairs, there was no one, not even in the bathrooms. You hoped that with so many people circulating, someone had seen her, but apparently Sakura had inherited ancient techniques from her ninja ancestors and had used them to vanish. It was too strange, and you were panicking a little. Not too much. Just a little.

Upstairs, things weren't much different. The person you were asking was the person who had never seen a 180cm Japanese girl, blonde, beautiful, and with a body to die for. And you no longer felt panic, but despair. Everything was empty. You only had one dressing room left, and you were already feeling like throwing in the towel and calling HYBE to get a scolding.

Desperate, you placed your hand on the doorknob and opened it. It was pitch black inside; the hallway light wasn't shining in due to the arrangement of the lamps. You squinted—purely out of instinct, not because it would make a difference—and felt along the right wall for a light switch. Nothing there, so you moved to the other one. This time you had better luck. When you flipped the switch, however, you instantly regretted it.

"Oh my fucking god," you sighed.

Sakura, who had previously been hiding very still in the darkness, was pressing her hands against the right wall, her plaid shirt on the floor and her baggy jeans halfway down. Adam, one of the backup dancers for the tour, was standing behind her with his hands on her tiny waist. The compromising position they were in automatically made your blood pressure rise.

"Adam, get lost," you ordered, pointing your thumb outward. "I know the idea wasn't yours."

Adam gave Sakura a nervous glance and let go of her to walk past you and out of the dressing room.

"Are you crazy or something?" you asked as passive-aggressively as you could, while Kura pulled up her pants and grabbed her shirt from the floor. "We're in a fucking public place. Have you lost your fucking mind?"

Kura snorted and rolled her eyes.

"It was just going to be a quickie!" Kura protested with a frown, walking toward you. "No need to make a big deal out of it."

You chuckled in disbelief.

"No?" You raised your eyebrows. "What do you think would have happened if someone other than me caught you? Like, I don't know, someone on the cleaning staff. Word will spread like a freshly lit fuse. Let alone if someone on the damn staff found out!"

"I know!" She snapped, palms down. "Have you ever thought about how I've felt this whole week? With so much fucking shit going on at once. I know my body! I know I need it because I'm a human being, and I need that kind of thing!"

"Kura, it's risky!" You unintentionally raised your voice a little. The stress was taking its toll on you.

"It's the only way!" Kura raised her voice back.

"And against the damn rules!"

Kura couldn't help but laugh as if you'd told a joke. You frowned in confusion as she raised her eyebrows at you.

"Against the rules? You can't be serious."

"I'm so damn serious, Sakura."

"I don't remember hearing you talking about rules last week, manager-nim," Kura took a step toward you, standing two feet away. "When you fucked Yunjin and Chaewonie. Or did you forget my room was next to yours?"

Shit. No, you hadn't forgotten. In fact, you'd been mulling over the matter all week. Anxious about the possibility that she'd heard absolutely everything. You closed your eyes and let out a heavy exhale.

"For God's sake, tell me Eunchae didn't hear anything," you said before opening your eyes again.

"She didn't; she went to her room early. But I did hear you," Kura took another small step closer to you. Now close enough to be able to see her eyes in detail. "Please forget your position and fuck me like I'm all yours," she mimicked Chaewon, with the same moans in between. Then she laughed.

Your cheeks grew hot.

"Sakura, that was a special case," you said, trying to pull your feet out of the mud. "They broke the rules first. They offered me to keep them out of trouble in exchange for..."

"Fucking them?" Kura finished the sentence for you. "You agreed. You could have easily said no, right?"

"Well..."

Kura placed a hand over your mouth and stared at you with those big, pretty eyes.

"You have no excuse," she said, then took her hand away from your mouth. "You deliberately decided to do it. It's your fault."

"Still, it doesn't make it right," you sighed. "I don't want what just happened to happen again, because next time it won't be someone as lenient as me who catches you."

Kura was silent for a moment, as if calculating her response.

"Well, I'm sorry to say, manager-nim, I might keep doing it," she said, and looked you up and down. "Unless, of course, you help me yourself."

For God's sake, not again.

"No fucking way," you shook your head and took a step back. "I won't fall for the same game twice."

Kura closed the distance again and grabbed you by the back of your neck.

"Would you rather be caught by someone I can't bribe?" she asked, tossing both strands of hair behind her shoulders and puffing out her chest so you could notice her beautiful tits beneath her white top. "Or would you rather be the one in charge of satisfying this tight little body?"

Your eyes dropped to her tits, beautiful beneath that tight top, and then to her toned abdomen, with two small moles next to her belly button. You were going fucking crazy.

"Kura..."

"Go ahead, touch."

Kura took your hand and placed it on her tummy. Still trying to resist the temptation, you didn't move your hand, just kept your fingers still as she had you rub her abdomen. Then she had you slowly raise your hand to place it on her right breast.

"Squeeze," Kura murmured.

"Sakura..." you repeated, wanting her to see reason. But from the convinced look in her eyes, you guessed it was too late.

"Squeeze, manager-nim," she insisted.

Against your own better judgment, you did so. But you didn't regret it. Her breast felt soft beneath your fingers, and with the first squeeze, you immediately gave it a second, slightly harder one. Kura's lips curved into a slight smile, and she lowered her own hand to the bulge in your pants to give it a gentle squeeze.

"Do you like it?" Kura asked, rubbing your cock up and down with the palm of her hand. "Well, if you want to have me all to yourself... you'll have to compete with Adam to see if you can fuck me better than him."

"You're in no position to set conditions, Miyawaki," you said, and released her breast. "I could just turn around, walk away, and pretend this didn't happen."

"You could, but you're not going to," Kura countered. "You don't want to. Besides, look how hard you are."

Kura removed her hand so you could see. Your bulge was prominent and hard, easy to notice since you were wearing sweatpants that day.

"Ah fuck," you groaned, annoyed. Sakura, isn't there a better way to solve this?"

"You want to nip this problem in the bud and prevent it from happening again, don't you?"

You pursed your lips, huffed, and stared up at the ceiling. For God's sake, what had you done to deserve such an insolent group of girls? It was as if they were competing to see who could test your patience the best and fastest.

"Your room or mine?"

Kura smiled.

"Mine. I'll tell the girls I'll be sleeping so no one comes near."

"You know Zuha's room is two rooms away, right?"

"That girl will be playing games or listening to music or something. She's the one you least need to worry about."

"Whatever. Let's get out of here. They're waiting for us."

You turned around, turned off the dressing room light, and left with Kura.

The excuse Kura had given the other girls—which you confirmed they indeed knew nothing about her escapade with Adam—was that she got lost in her search for a bathroom. You weren't sure how well the lie had gone down, but no one asked too many questions about it since the venue was large enough to be believable.

You arrived back at the hotel around 10 p.m.

"Girls, please make sure you get enough sleep," you said as you entered the lobby. "The flight to Dallas is early in the morning, and I don't want to see any bags under your eyes. The good thing is that in Dallas you'll have two days off."

The girls nodded without much protest, happy to sleep early since they were visibly exhausted. They went straight up to their rooms, while you stayed behind helping the staff unload things from the vans. From there, you went up as well and took a quick shower before heading to Kura's room.

Outside, right in front of her door, you took a moment to think carefully about what you were going to do. You had allowed yourself to get carried away with Yunjin and Chaewon because specific circumstances had arisen and it was practically impossible for you to refuse the seduction of those two vipers, but now you had time to think about it.

But as you did, you couldn't stop thinking about how good Kura's breast felt under your hand, and how firm and tight her tummy was.

Fuck it. You only live once. And you were already horny.

You knocked on the door twice.

"Come in!" Kura said after a few seconds.

You opened the door, and upon entering, your mouth immediately watered. On the couch directly across from the door and by the window, Kura was lying on her side, in nothing but a pretty cream-colored bra and panty lace set. Every corner of her body was insane: wide hips, tiny waist, beautiful legs, toned tummy, and even nicer tits.

"Hello, manager-nim," Kura said in a seductive tone, leaning on her elbow with her cheek resting on her hand. "Come here. Adam should arrive any moment."

Kura sat up and waited for you to sit next to her before straddling your lap, wrapping her arms around your neck, and crashing her lips against yours, not even giving you time to say or do anything.

As your lips became entangled in a fiery exchange of saliva that didn't cause you the slightest remorse, you left your hands on her small waist and gripped your fingers there. Kura ground her hips against you, rubbing herself against your growing bulge. Her right hand moved up to the nape of your neck and stroked the hair there, then slid both hands to your shoulders. Your cock hardened beneath her, and Kura placed a hand on your chest, lowering it and inserting it inside your sweatpants and boxers, firmly grasping your cock between her fingers to rub it.

"Hmm, you're already throbbing for me, manager-nim," Kura moaned against your lips. "I'm going to undress you. Can I undress you?"

"At this point, do whatever you want, Miyawaki," you replied.

Kura slipped her hand from inside your pants and used both hands to pull your hoodie over your head and off. She then climbed off your lap as you took off your shoes, and knelt on the floor between your knees to remove both your sweatpants and boxers. Her round eyes shone like two beautiful street lights in winter as she freed your cock.

"Oh wow," Kura gasped, and planted her mouth on the back of your cock to kiss and lick all the way to the tip. "You're bigger than you look, manager-nim."

"And you're sluttier," you countered.

Kura smiled, wrapped two fingers around the base of your cock, and swirled her tongue around the tip a few times while looking into your eyes.

"You're right about that," she said. "I may be small and nerdy, but I love a good cock in my mouth and in my pussy. Especially in my pussy."

With that, Kura took you into her mouth, moaning as she took the first few inches between her lips until she reached your midsection. Then she began pumping her head at a slightly rapid pace, pulling you out of her mouth every few seconds to lick and kiss around your tip. As the seconds passed, she sped up, until she was slurping saliva from your shaft.

"Mmm, you're delicious," Kura gasped, moving her hand down your cock and spreading her saliva over it. "Would you help me with my underwear, manager-nim?"

She didn't need to say much more before you stood up, took her hands, and helped her stand up. You wrapped an arm around her waist and laid her down on the bed. You positioned yourself on top of her and intertwined her hands with yours, planting kisses on her neck. From there, you moved wet kisses down her collarbone, and when you reached her breasts, you slid your hands under her back to unclasp her bra and free her very, very pretty breasts.

Without her prompting, you took one of them to your mouth. Kura gasped and placed both hands on your head. She twisted strands of your hair around her fingers, gently tugging as you swirled your tongue around her nipple. Moving to her other breast, you took as much of it into your mouth as you could and sucked on it, licking her hard nipple with the tip of your tongue. Kura, aroused, shifted subtly beneath you, arching her back and grinding against your body.

When you left a trail of saliva on each breast, you allowed yourself to move down to her tummy. Her tight, attractive, firm tummy. Kura moaned when you pressed your lips there and showered it with kisses you were sure you enjoyed more than her. You held her by the waist, moving your kisses down to her lower abdomen and moving closer to where the skin parted with the fabric of her panties, which you grabbed by the hem and slowly pulled down her legs.

"Are you going to eat my pussy, manager-nim?" Kura asked, a finger on her lower lip. "Adam isn't here yet. This is your perfect opportunity to get a little advantage."

"Say no more then."

You took Kura's legs behind her knees and spread them side to side. In front of your face, her beautiful pussy was glistening with wetness. It looked like a real delight, and you didn't hesitate for a second to plant your mouth there and taste it.

The sweet moan Kura emitted when you began licking and kissing between her soft folds sweetened your hearing. Her pussy was delicious. Instantly addictive. You breathed deeply, letting your hunger for her take over so that she would love every second you spent eating her pussy. Within seconds, the room was filled with moans from the petite Japanese girl, who had one hand stroking your hair and the other on her own breast.

"Fuck, you're incredible, manager-nim," Kura moaned, squirming her hips as you gave her clit quick licks.

Your only response was to keep going, looking up every few seconds to watch as you made her melt with pleasure. Kura gave you a harder tug, and she arched her back as you pressed her thighs back and attacked the sensitive spots her moans indicated.

"Right there," Kura sighed, her thigh muscles tensing beneath your fingers. "Oh yes, yes!"

Kura tightened her fingers in your hair and pressed you even harder against her pussy, practically suffocating you against it. Seconds ticked by, and she began to tremble. Until with a loud moan, Kura closed her thighs on either side of your head, arched her back, and came in a series of spasms that gave you an immense satisfaction.

And just then, three knocks were heard at the door.

Kura's thighs moved away from your head, allowing you to lift it. Kura turned sideways to face the door.

"Adam?" Kura asked aloud.

"Who else could it be at this hour?" Adam replied from the other side of the door.

"Come in!"

When Adam walked in and saw the situation you were in, his face turned pale. He quickly closed the door and looked down, embarrassed not by seeing Kura naked, but by seeing you naked. You also had a sneaky suspicion he had no idea you were going to be there at that moment after catching them both early.

"Not a single fucking word of this to anyone, or I swear I'll find out," you told Adam in a perfect English that you knew he understood. "And act like a normal guy, for God's sake. I won't make fun of you if you have a micro-dick."

Adam nodded silently and finally looked up at Kura.

"You're late," Kura said, kneeling on the bed to reach the edge and pull Adam up by his shirt. "Someone already got a little ahead of you."

Kura kissed him before he could excuse himself. Adam didn't protest and wrapped his arms around her. You stayed on the sidelines for a moment, lying on your side and staring only at her back and ass. You understood that the one in charge there wasn't you, but her. So you were going to limit yourself to acting only when she ordered it, directly or indirectly.

Adam's clothes were on the floor in mere seconds. Kura rubbed his cock until it was hard, lowering her lips to his neck and then his chest. She slowly moved her knees back, bending so she could reach his lower torso until she was resting on her hands, her ass raised and her knees apart.

When Kura took Adam's cock in her mouth and shook her ass, knowing you were watching, you knew it was time to get back into the action.

You knelt behind her and placed your hands on her buttocks, squeezing them both. Then you lowered your right hand between them and rubbed her pussy slowly before inserting a finger. Kura moaned with Adam's cock in her mouth. After a few pumps, you inserted a second finger, both with the tips facing down to stimulate her pussy walls as you moved your wrist.

Kura picked up the pace, pumping her lips against Adam's cock with her hands gripping his thighs. He just kept panting, one hand on Kura's head and the other behind his back. The guy wasn't paying you the slightest bit of attention, which you certainly appreciated. The last thing you wanted was to feel uncomfortable because he couldn't just ignore you being there.

Your cock throbbed against Kura's left buttock, aching from how much you needed relief for yourself. So after a few quick pumps with your fingers, you pulled them out and positioned yourself to replace them with your cock, slowly inserting it into her extremely tight pussy. Kura stifled a moan around Adam's cock and pulled it out of her mouth to look at you over her shoulder.

"How does my pussy feel, manager-nim?" Kura asked with a moan, looking up at you with lust-filled eyes as you took every inch inside her.

"Fucking unreal," you gasped, once you were all the way inside her pussy.

Unreal was definitely the best word to describe it. It was the second time in a week that you'd been inside one of the girls you managed, and you didn't know how to feel about it. All you knew was that those three pussies felt like heaven, and their naked bodies were beautiful sculptures that invited you to admire them all night.

And fuck them all night.

With your hands on her tiny waist, you began to move slowly, watching your cock go in and out of her grippy pussy. Kura brought Adam's cock back to her mouth, now moaning around it with each gradually faster pump, growing frantic as you went harder.

"Adam, fuck my mouth," Kura asked after a gasp, jerking him off as you moved with hard thrusts.

Adam gathered Kura's hair behind her head and held it in a ponytail with his left hand. A moment later, he began pumping his hips, close to the rhythm you were setting yourself. Kura couldn't take it all in her mouth, so she was soon gagging on his cock. Despite that, Kura seemed to be enjoying every second, her head still and her pussy clenching around your cock.

Your grip on Kura's waist tightened, and your jaw tensed as you doubled your efforts. A few seconds later, her buttocks became your focal points; you squeezed both of them as you pounded her pussy as hard as you could. Kura moaned again and again, her saliva spilling down her chin and onto the sheets as Adam added fuel to the fire.

Adam now moved to grip Kura's ponytail with both hands, both very close to her scalp, thus pulling harder. On your side, you gave Kura a light spank on her left buttock, making her grunt with pleasure. Her pussy suffocated your cock exquisitely, signaling that she was close to cumming. It finally happened when, after a few more pumps and spanks, Kura squealed with Adam's cock in her mouth and thrust her hips back, her body writhing in spasms.

Kura placed a hand on Adam's lower abdomen and made him stop once her orgasm went away.

"Switch roles," she said, panting. "And put in the effort. I'm testing you with every single thing you do."

Just what you needed. Years of studying and working hard to get to where you were, only for more fucking tests. Great.

Adam pulled out of Kura's mouth, and you pulled out of her pussy. Kura then turned around and lay on her back, her head hanging off the edge of the bed. You climbed off and knelt in front of Kura's face. Meanwhile, Adam climbed onto the bed and knelt between Kura's open legs. He entered her pussy, and you entered her mouth.

Kura took as much of your cock as she could, which was roughly a few inches past the middle of your shaft. You placed your right hand on her pretty neck, slowly beginning to fuck her mouth. Adam had her held behind her knees, both pressed against her body. He wasn't as gentle as you; he was going just as hard as he had been a few seconds ago, even though Kura must still be sensitive.

A little less than a minute passed when you decided to pump as the situation demanded, causing Kura to choke on your cock. Her lips were as closed as possible around your cock, but when she felt overwhelmed, she finally opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, allowing you to use her however you wanted.

Kura, being fucked hard by Adam, tried to moan around your cock, but only gagging sounds came from her mouth. Her saliva pooled inside, soon spilling out and dripping onto her cheeks. Then you increased your speed, fucking Kura's mouth with your clenched teeth and your hands gripping her tits.

Soon, everything reached a breaking point when Kura gripped the sides of your thighs and dug her nails into them as she came again. As Adam slowed down, Kura slapped your thigh a few times, and you pulled out of her mouth. She took a sharp intake of air.

"You're not allowed to cum inside me until I say so," she said, heavily gasping. "Go on, but do it outside."

When you came back inside her mouth, Kura squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt not to cough as you gagged her with your cock. Adam resumed his thrusts, now bent forward with his fists resting on the mattress. Focused on your own pleasure, you and he fucked both holes vigorously. You were the first to feel the tingling, and you immediately pulled out of her saliva-dripping mouth to stand up and masturbate over her tits.

When you came and your semen began to fall in long strips onto Kura's tits, Adam also pulled out of Kura to stroke his cock, aiming for the Japanese woman's tight abdomen. It took seconds for Kura to become a perfect canvas for the two of you, covered in cum on both areas of her body.

The scene seemed like the perfect ending to a night for many. You might even say it was dream-like. But you knew Kura wasn't satisfied with that, and that the fun had just begun. You confirmed it when she sat up, looked at her cum-covered areas, and looked at you as if nothing had happened.

"Get some toilet paper, manager-nim," Kura ordered, pointing. "I'm not done with you two yet."

Clearly.

In a show of unconditional obedience, you immediately turned around and went to the bathroom to grab the toilet paper roll, gather some around your hand, and throw it to Adam. A minute later, Kura's previously stained body was spotless again after a little cleaning. Just in case, you left the toilet paper roll on the nightstand to the right of the bed.

Anticipating Kura's next move, you and Adam both knelt on either side of her. Kura sat back on her heels and brought both hands to your sides to cup your balls and play with them, gently squeezing and massaging them. She went first to your side and carefully brought your limp cock to her mouth, sucking it slowly with a perfect use of her tongue that made you shudder. Then, while jerking you off with her hand, she moved to Adam's cock to repeat the process.

"Sorry if you're still a little sensitive," Kura lamented after removing Adam's cock from her mouth. "But I need these cocks hard."

Masturbating you both, Kura gently pulled you together and brought your cocks as close together as possible without touching, using her tongue to swirl around your tips while massaging your balls. After a few seconds, she took you into her mouth again. Just a little while each. Until after a few delicate sucks, both cocks were covered in a thin layer of saliva and throbbing.

"Manager-nim, lie on your back," Kura said, then looked at Adam. "You'll sit over there until I say so. You can touch yourself if you want. But don't you dare cum, or I'll send you back to your room with your balls tied with nylon."

Damn. That was messed up.

Adam got out of bed and sat right on the middle seat of the couch, while you lay down with your head resting on the pillow on the right side of the bed. Kura crawled on top of you, her knees on either side of your torso, and kissed you, her tits pressed against your chest. You wrapped your arms around her small frame, one around her waist and the other across her back, feeling her slightly sweaty skin beneath your fingers. Not long after, Kura grabbed your cock and impaled herself on it with a muffled moan against your lips.

Kura began to move her hips in her own rhythm: slow, deep, twisting her hips every time she went down. It felt incredible for you, but it must have felt even better for her. Her hands cradled your face as she kissed you, and you felt her breathing become heavier against yours. You prowled her body with your hands, running them up and down the sides of her torso until you moved down to her ass and squeezed it. Only then did Kura decide to go a little faster.

The need to moan louder made Kura break the kiss and hold onto your shoulders, moving her face a few inches away from yours so she could look into your eyes. Her pretty face was blushing again. She then straightened her back slightly, lowering her hands to your chest to bounce her ass against your cock. It was a skillful control of her buttocks that you certainly didn't expect from her.

"My god, since when can you move like that?" you gasped, moving your hands to her waist. Then you moved one to her right breast.

"I may not be an excellent dancer, but I know how to use my body to my advantage," Kura replied, and moved a hand up your collarbone until you brought two fingers inside her mouth. You sucked on them without hesitation, making her lips curl into a small, satisfied smile.

With her fingers still inside your mouth, Kura planted her feet on the bed and began bouncing on your cock, hard and fast to make it enjoyable for both of you. You noticed your cock making her tight belly bulge, which drove you wild. Kura bounced faster and faster, pumping her fingers in and out of your mouth until she pulled them out, grabbed your chin, and with a hard push down, she came.

Kura collapsed against you and kissed you again, muffling her moans against your lips as she slowly moved her hips up and down. Her tight pussy, contracting around your cock, made you moan as well, in the middle of the kiss. You squeezed each of her buttocks hard, helping her move until her orgasm passed and she climbed off of you.

"Adam, come here. Manager-nim, you know where to go."

Unfortunately, you did.

Reluctantly, you stood up as Adam returned to the bed. You went to sit on the right side of the couch, watching as Adam lay on his back in the center of the bed, stacking two pillows under his head. Kura straddled him, and followed the same process as with you before impaling herself on his cock.

Before Kura came while riding you, you already felt like you weren't going to last much longer, so you decided not to play with yourself too much so you wouldn't return to your room with your balls tied with nylon, just enough to stay hard while you watched the scene unfolding a few feet away from you.

Kura didn't start slowly like she did with you, now considerably hornier than she had been a few minutes ago when she was just refueling her engine. She was going at a slightly faster pace from the start, her hands on Adam's collarbone and her face buried in his neck, peppering it with kisses and hickeys. Adam had his hands around her waist, but didn't seem about to move them anytime soon. He, much to your chagrin, was as still as a mannequin.

But that was to your advantage. If Kura found him boring, you'd end up winning the competition.

Wait a minute, what the hell were you thinking? Were you really that eager to win the pseudo-competition Kura was setting up for herself? You were supposed to be more self-conscious about it; if you won, it would mean that woman would seek you out week after week for sex. That might have seemed ideal, but it wasn't all roses. Yunjin and Chaewon were also lurking hungrily. For now, you were safe, but as soon as you had some free time without worries, you were sure those two would hunt you down like an owl hunts a rabbit in the middle of the night.

And you were thinking of putting another predator on your neck? Had you gone fucking crazy?

No. The truth was, no matter how you tried to convince yourself—with convincing and more than logical arguments—that this was a terrible idea, you were letting your heart win over your brain, because it was impossible to resist those women. No matter how you looked at it. They were always going to win.

A louder-than-usual moan brought you out of your reverie. Refocusing, you saw Kura squatting on Adam's cock. Adam had his hands under Kura's thighs, somehow encouraging her to bounce harder. That was absurd. He thought he could twist the tables to try and gain some control, but Kura was very confident in what she was doing, making sure her body language made that clear without her having to say anything.

The big fumble came, in your opinion, when Kura brought her fingers to Adam's mouth, hoping he would suck them like you. But Adam hesitated and hesitated, until Kura gave up and grabbed him by the neck. She didn't say a word, and she bounced hard just the way Adam wanted her to. They both moaned in unison, and Kura was the first to cum.

You expected her to get off Adam once she stopped shaking, but she continued bouncing on his cock.

"Let me know when you're about to cum," you heard Kura mutter.

She kept bouncing, aiming to get Adam off as soon as possible. Adam gestured not long after, giving Kura the signal. Then, she quickly got off him and then off the bed. Adam frowned in confusion.

"H-huh?" Adam propped himself up onto his elbows, watching Kura walk around the bed to join you on the couch and sit on your right.

"Masturbate and cum on your own," Kura said, not looking at him, her tone of disdain implicit. "Consider it your punishment."

"Punishment for what?!" Adam demanded to know, watching Kura press herself against the side of your body, one thigh draped over yours.

"I don't know, you tell me," Kura replied, her eyes fixed on you, spitting into her hand as she brought it to your cock and stroked it quickly. You wrapped your arm around her body and grabbed her by the waist to hold her closer to you.

"Ugh, damn!"

Adam had no choice but to take care of himself, closing his eyes so he could focus again.

Kura had her full attention on you, her eyes carefully observing every tiny twist in your movements as she moved her wrist at full speed, making you tense your glutes and curl your toes. Her hand slid easily over your sloppy shaft, with practically no friction. You turned your head to look at her, and all it took was the sight of her biting her lip to make you explode.

You bucked your hips and moaned as Kura jerked you through your orgasm. Jets of cum shot out, staining both your abdomen and her hand. Your eyes were closed, but you could hear Adam moaning from the bed, probably having cummed too.

Kura kept moving her hand, amused by your squirming. She paused for a moment, only to resume keep moving it a second later. Seeing you squirming again, she let go of your cock with a giggle and settled back on the couch to bend down and clean you with her tongue herself, under the jealous gaze of Adam, who had also made a mess of himself but was forced to clean you with toilet paper instead of the tongue of a sexy Japanese woman.

After cleaning you, Kura took you into her mouth and finished the job, giving you slow, gentle sucks to leave your cock gleaming again.

Kura sat back on her heels and leaned closer to your ear.

"You're ahead by a landslide," she whispered. "All that's missing is a mere formality to cap it off. So don't screw up."

"Having a blast, huh?" you whispered back. "I've lost count of how many times you've cum."

"It's been a while since I've had this much fun, yeah. And that's your fault. So just accept the consequences."

"My fault? I'm just following orders. If it were up to me, I'd leave you all stranded in the rain," you joked.

Kura raised her eyebrows and let out a laugh of disbelief.

"Hey! What nonsense are you talking about?!" Kura nudged you in the shoulder, making you laugh. "Do you want me to kill you?"

"You're going to kill me from stress one of these days. No need."

Kura rolled her eyes, shook her head, and stood up to face Adam, arms akimbo, her weight on her right knee.

"You can continue, right?" Kura asked. "I hope you learned your lesson."

"Sakura, I still don't know what I did to deserve punishment," he replied, sitting with his back against the headboard. "And yes. I can continue."

"Great, because I have one last little surprise for you," Kura pointed to her backpack, leaning against the side of the bed. "Open the front pocket and take out what's inside."

Adam leaned down and opened the pocket. From it, he took out a small, unopened bottle of lubricant. The shape of the bottle made it look like a perfume.

"Oh wow," Adam raised his eyebrows, reading the label on the bottle. "Uberlube silicone-based lube…" he looked at Kura. "Very naughty of you."

"Give me that."

Kura took the bottle from Adam's hands and moved her legs apart so she could lie on her back on the bed. She spread her legs, her pussy facing you, and beckoned you with her finger. You did so, kneeling to her left. Adam did the same on the opposite side.

"You're going to finger me. Both of you. At the same time," Kura said, removing the cap from the bottle and pressing the spray bottle against her palm several times until it was full of lube. No one could tell you that shit didn't look like a bottle of perfume. "You can do that, right? Or do your fingers need a break too?" She then brought the lube-filled hand to her pussy, sliding her palm down to her butthole and back up.

"No, Miyawaki, our fingers don't need a break," you retorted, taking the bottle from her.

"Great. You'll take my ass," Kura told you, then looked at Adam. "And you'll take my pussy. Be good boys, and I'll reward you before we move on to the final act."

With the bottle of lube in your hand, you grabbed Kura's leg and hooked it behind her knee to the left side of your body. Then you filled your fingers with lube, tossed the bottle to Adam, and brought them to her butthole to play with it superficially, tracing the outline and rubbing it up and down. Adam did the same with his fingers, and unlike you, he put them directly inside Kura's pussy after a few brief rubs.

Kura moaned as the first two fingers entered her, followed by one more. You slowly inserted your middle finger into her tight butthole, moving it around to stretch the hole a little before adding your ring finger. Kura held your arm with her hand, her face slowly twisting in pleasure as both pairs of fingers began to pump in and out of her.

"Oh yeah, I can already begin to imagine how that's going to feel," Kura moaned, holding you both with your trembling legs wide open.

Adam finally did something good for his own neck and poured more lube between Kura's legs, making it easier for both of you. Soon the room was filled with the wet sound of fingers going in and out of those two wet holes at full speed. Kura began to squeal like she hadn't all night, overwhelmed by the new sensation.

"Yes yes yes! Keep going, don't stop!" Kura whimpered, arching her back. When seconds later she came between violent spasms, she looked up at you with teary eyes. "MORE!"

"Jesus, girl. Are you made of steel or what?" you asked, impressed by her durability.

"I haven't had orgasms this good in YEARS, so just shut up and keep going!" Kura demanded, digging her nails into your elbow.

More scared to death than anything else, you and Adam continued pumping your wrists nonstop until Kura came again, now with a few tears running down her cheeks and her whole body shaking.

"God... god..." Kura gasped, her chest rapidly rising and falling. "Both of you, stand at the edge of the bed."

Your fingers left Kura's body, and you stood where Kura indicated. The Japanese woman then turned toward you and leaned on her elbows, extending her feet toward each cock, rubbing them up and down. You also didn't find the skill she had with her feet surprising. But damn, she did an incredible job getting you hard in a matter of seconds, caressing your balls and tips until you were throbbing.

"Reward earned," Kura said. "Now come here and use both of my holes."

Adam was quick to move to the bed with her, lying on his back and pulling her on top of him. Kura positioned herself on top of him, her knees at either side of his waist, just as Adam grabbed his cock and guided it into her pussy. You climbed onto the bed as well, kneeling over Adam's left thigh so you could get a good angle behind Kura and, after lubing up your cock, press the tip against Kura's other hole. Her ass yielded relatively easily, swallowing inch by inch of your shaft until it was completely filled.

"Oh my god," Kura lay very still, her eyes closed, both cocks buried to their full length inside her. "Don't move. It feels... oh fuck. Use me. Fuck me hard."

You and Adam got to work, both of you pumping slowly at first. Adam had her by the waist, his fingers firmly pressed there, and you had your hands on both of Kura's ass cheeks, spreading them to the sides to watch on full display as your cock slid in and out in a deliciously hypnotic way from that ass, which was even tighter than her pussy. Kura went completely wild, not knowing where to hold on. Her moans weren't that loud, but you knew it was only a matter of time before she started making a scene. No sooner said than done, Kura began to scream as you and Adam began thrusting faster and harder, instinctively covering her mouth so as not to alarm whoever passed by outside the room.

Her beautiful platinum-blonde hair soon acted as your grip point. You pulled it into a messy high ponytail, pulling her neck back to slam your pelvis against her ass. Adam wasn't far behind and wrapped both arms around her, holding her tightly and pumping his hips as hard as they could in that position.

"So good, oh my god!!" Kura groaned, clawing at Adam's chest. "Mmmgh!!"

Kura came in a violent maelstrom of spasms that made every part of her slim, toned body tense. More tears fell down her cheeks, more whimpers that evoked pure pleasure. She clung to Adam's shoulders, her hips twitching as you pumped considerably slower.

"Sw... switch holes," Kura managed to say in a small voice. "Manager-nim, stand up and carry me."

You pulled out of Kura's ass and helped her off of Adam, taking her hand as she climbed off the bed with you. Kura wrapped her arms around your neck and jumped up so you carried her in the air, her legs wrapped around your torso. Adam got off the bed and stood behind her, and then he entered her ass and you entered her pussy.

Kura's head fell back and her eyes rolled back as she began to be fucked in both holes again. Her fingers clutched at your hair, and you held her behind her knees as you slammed her pussy harder and harder. A few seconds later, with Adam now also mercilessly drilling her ass, Kura dropped back to rest her back against Adam's chest, her left hand clamped around your neck and her right hand on Adam's head. She came in record time, making it difficult for you to keep her still in the air.

"Cum inside me!" Kura whimpered in the midst of her orgasm. "Fill every corner of my tight holes, please, please!"

Those magic words were like music to your ears, because you'd been longing to do so for quite some time now.

Adam was the first, cumming inside her with a primal growl that made him sound like an animal. Kura's eyelids fluttered as she felt the first load inside her, and her eyes rolled back when, a few seconds later, you exploded inside her pussy with a loud moan.

"Oh yes..." Kura sighed, her head resting on Adam's shoulder, feeling you shoot your entire load into her sweltering pussy, which throbbed around your cock. "I feel so full... so good."

You and Adam pulled out of her pussy seconds later. Both of your thick loads fell to the floor, dripping steadily until they ended up in small pools on the carpeted floor.

Kura, still panting, raised her head to look at you and then at Adam.

"I... I need to sleep. Clean me up and leave me in bed," she said, her hair messy and sticking to her face with sweat.

You stepped back and led her to the bed. Adam and you grabbed toilet paper and cleaned up your respective messes. When Kura was clean and under her blanket, you both got dressed, ready to go. Adam left first after saying goodnight, but before you could, Kura grabbed your wrist and made you lean in to whisper something in your ear.

"Needless to say, you won, manager-nim" she said. "But you better get ready, because you just earned yourself a very thirsty Yokai. God bless you."

#lesserafim smut #sakura smut #izone smut #kpop smut #smut fanfic #x male reader smut #male reader smut #male reader insert #x male reader

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shidoglazer · 5 months ago

Text

nagi seishiro sfw & nsfw hcs mdni ＠shidoglazer

red = nsfw

- he’s like a shy lost puppy whenever he’s with you. ordering food? he’ll stare at you with those blank eyes for you to help him order. you tell him to mop the floor? stares at you with a blank expression since he only ever uses those automatic vacuums.

- but as soon as someone is rude to you, he’ll stand in front of you, putting his hand in front of the other persons chest and say “can’t have that, stop bothering her.”

- he’ll never admit it, but he gets jealous of you whenever you hang out with other boys too much though he’d never admit it since “feeling negative emotions is a hassle”. but trust, when you come home he’ll DEMAND affection from you

- if he scored a goal in any match, he’d look for you in the crowd and give you the SMALLEST smile if he sees you cheering. if you jst happened to be too busy to come that day, he’ll text you right after the match. “did you see my goal?”

- lets you do the talking every time you guys are together, although he looks like he’s just zoning out, he remembers every detail. bethany talked bad about you? he hates bethany for life. melinda defended you? melindas cool until you say otherwise.

- he’s the type to not be able to sleep without you. if you were cuddling the night before, as soon as you wake up and remove his hold from you, he’s stirring awake too and will walk like a zombie to wherever you are to drape his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder or head (depending on ur height).

- and if you’re not there during the night, he won’t even bother trying to sleep. it’ll be a cycle of shifting around and going on his phone, so he just settles to scroll mindlessly on his phone or bombard your phone with texts every 1 hour

- he doesn’t have much money (if we’re saying without reos help), so he tries his best to accommodate for you. he’ll make paper figurines of you and him, pick flowers from the garden outside his house for you and lets you play his video games (even if it means dropping in his online rankings from how much you’re messing up)

- he didn’t realise he LIKED you before you two started dating. he just enjoyed having you around with him, and just happened to be jealous whenever you had guy friends, and just happened to send you tickets to his matches every time there was one. when he told reo about it, he was like “nagi, do you have a crush on y/n?!?” “i guess i do.” “!?!?!?!?!”

- his favourite position would be cowgirl. he likes to be relaxed while watching your face squirm as you clench around him

- if you ask him nicely enough to have him fuck you, he’d definitely get you on all fours, have your ass up in the air for him as he holds onto your hips and pound into you roughly with a good pace, stretching you out. sex with him feels ethereal

- hes not even aware of how big his own dick is, he’s never inspected it closely because.. its weird for him. but its way bigger then average alright, i’d say 8 inches with a thick girth.

- nagi is most definitely a virgin, and since he’s only ever watched a few porn videos to get himself off when pent up, he has no idea what being gentle is, he thought you were just supposed to go right into it, and thats exactly what he did for you twos first time.

- it was SUDDEN. you were on all fours with your face mushed into the pillow when you felt something against your hole, you thought it was his finger to prep you, right? nope. he put all of it in in a swift motion, causing you to gasp and clutch at the sheets tightly while tears pricked into your eyes. “n-nagi!..mmfn, hnngh!! so big!. gimme a warning next time..” he’d lean down, stroking your hair as his hips stay put, expecting that you’d need time to adjust as he placed a kiss on your temple. “i’m sorry angel. ‘told you i din’t know how to do this. you’re squeezing me so tight.” you didn’t know wether to slap him or thank him.

- would not be a fan of public sex. first, its unsanitary. second, it’ll be an issue for both of you if you get caught. if he’s feeling really pent up with you, he’ll settle for whispering in your ear at best. “wait til w’re home baby, mmkay?” then would place a kiss on your temple and go back to whatever he was doing. he’s satisfied knowing you’ll be excited for him the whole day

- eventually, he felt like sex was getting repetitive with you. its not that he was bored or anything, he was afraid if you were bored. so he proposed a threesome with him, you and reo. you were confused, but accepted it anyways. you were on all fours on the bed with reo in front of you fucking your mouth, holding onto your jaw as he thrusted in and out, slapping your cheek softly occasionally, “eyes up here, darling.” while nagi was behind you, fucking into your hole ruthlessly, it was probably the fastest nagi went with you. thats how he realised he really, really, really hated sharing you. he never proposed a threesome ever again.

- was against the idea of oral sex, because he found it unsanitary and quite frankly disgusting. until he saw your glistening pretty pussy all spread out for him, he swore he almost drooled. his opinion quickly changed after he saw your face while he was eating you out, and moreso when you were cumming on his tongue.

- is into breeding/creampies. he didn’t even know about it until one day you came up to him and proposed it to him. he reluctantly agreed to make you happy, and that he trusted that you were on the pill. the first time he did it, he swore he felt heaven. and until now, whenever hes about to cum he’ll lean down to your level, resting his head on your shoulder “g’na cum.. can i cum inside? please angel? y’re on the pill right?” and as you nod and whine, he places a kiss on your head and starts speeding up likes theres no tomorrow.

- one day when both of you were just pent up, he did it in missionary position. and when he saw his cock bulging out of your stomach, he couldn’t help but to press on your abdomen, feeling how much of him you were taking. he found it so fucking hot. he leaned down to your face level, pressing a kiss on your lips. “y’re so cute, angel. y’r stomachs bulging for me.”

- okay last one i promise. whenever he’s too tired and lets you take the lead, you’ll purposely edge him and this man is a WHINER when he’s edged. he’ll reach out for you and literally start begging. “why’d you stop? don’t stop, i w’s close.. cmon angel, continue please? please baby.” he doesn’t know the concept of edging, just thinks you don’t mean to do it, so he justifies everytime you do so. its cute, really

★ check out my masterlist!

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witherby · 7 months ago

Note

Heyyyyy *leans on expensive car* what are you cooking up for the next mer!reader part?😌

-🌭

Heyyy hotdog 😏 ur about to see it babycakes

Human!Damian x Mer!Reader

Part 8

Masterlist is Here!

It's a very grueling two days of monitoring for you in the med bay. You're kept sedated on a wet gurney so you can be examined for wounds, but there's nothing physically wrong with you. They poke and prod you, take your blood, and run test after test after test to see what could've made you turn so bad so quickly, but those results run clean too.

It's a psychosomatic effect, then. Something is distressing you so much that your body is responding to your mental state. When asked about it, Bruce just rubs his face exhaustedly asks the team to make a new care plan that involves Damian's involvement as much as possible.

When you're deemed healthy enough to return to your tank, they wean you off sedation and carefully deposit you back into the water with a special health monitoring cuff on your wrist.

While you were gone, your castle spire had the top half turned into a removable hideaway in case you got stuck again; it now clicks on and off from the bottom half, a little like a Lego, for your safety.

It takes you a day to fully shake the medicine off, so you spend most of it in a weird daze, but when full alertness returns to you, you pick at the bracelet a while, then tiredly float to the surface to receive breakfast from Jon. And Jon is there like normal, sitting on the lip of the tank with a smile, but he's not the one holding your bucket.

It's Damian.

Damian, who looks at you with wide eyes, like he can't believe you're here and you might vanish if he blinks. Damian, who stands there and stares like you're the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. Damian, who looks just as anxious as you feel. The bucket in his hands is trembling minutely.

It's Damian. He's here. He's here. He's here.

He just stares. You don't know what to do except stare back, locking onto those brilliant, emerald eyes you practically begged to see for weeks. The sudden, unadulterated attention from him makes something twist inside you, and you don't know if it's positive or negative.

Jon clears his throat and quietly calls your name. You glance at him.

"Feeling up for a meal? I've got a couple puzzles, too, if you want them. If you're still woozy from the meds, then that's okay too."

Damian seems to pull himself together and finally offers you the bucket. You hesitate just a moment more, then reach out and take it. The tips of your fingers just barely graze his.

You hold the food to your chest, staring at him. Damian stares back. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and he opens his mouth like he's about to speak.

You quickly turn away and drift a few feet from the tank's edge, starting to eat. His stuttered gasp tells you the message was well-received.

Jon sucks in a sympathetic breath through his teeth, reaching out and squeezing Damian's forearm. "Give 'em time," he whispers. "You've been away a while, y'know? I'd probably feel a little abandoned, too."

"It wasn't on purpose," Damian mutters, eyes burning. He fights it down, refusing to cry when there is nothing to cry about. His old position as primary caretaker was reinstated (albeit, Jon is secondary caretaker, now, but he'll take what he can get), he's no longer barred from seeing you, and he's got another chance to fix this companionship. He just needs you to give him the ability to act on this chance.

He needs to earn your trust again. He can do that. He will do that, no matter the cost.

You're not up for playtime that day, or the day after. When either one of your caretakers mentions getting into a wetsuit, you react unenthusiastically, so they stay out of the tank to respect your wishes.

Damian is visibly distressed by your refusal to engage with him. He uses your name, he offers you toys and treats, and only tries to call you Princess once before you release a low, threatening warble, and does not try again. If he was so upset by being ignored, then fair is fair. Maybe he shouldn't have done it to you. Prick.

The stinging in your chest at the sight of him doesn't get any better, but it also doesn't get any worse. According to your vitals you're stabilizing, but the beautiful florescence of your tail hasn't quite been restored ever since that fateful incident with Bruce pulling Damian away. The missing patches of scales have regrown by now, but your entire color palette seems overall paler. Less enthused and iridescent. Almost defeated, like you've settled into a life of complacency.

The routine adjusts, and you with it. You quietly accept food at mealtimes and half-heartedly engage with toys. During the tours, you go through the motions of swimming idly around and doing basic loops. You no longer press your body against the glass to stare at and admire all the guests. You no longer steal the buckets to make your caretakers dive in and retrieve them. You no longer chirp or chitter or trill.

It's killing Damian, the guilt threatening to swallow him whole. He's tried everything to get you back to how you used to be — old games, sitting and talking to you, even getting into the water to try and play hide and seek — but you are absolutely not interested. Nothing is working.

And when nothing works, he goes back to the basics. He reenters Bruce's office and takes out your files; he pours through them all, page by page, paragraph by paragraph, to scrape together any fleeting idea of how to bring your incredible spark back.

He's flipping through some documents detailing behavior in wild Mer pods when he finds his answer, and he knows what he needs to do.

Damian asks for an hour to speak to his dad. There's an entire myriad of questions thrown at him, most he can answer and some he can't. There's almost shouting, but Bruce manages to cool them both down again. There's a lot of negotiating, a lot of it, but finally, finally, he gets the green light. He leaves his father's office feeling more confident about you than he has in weeks, and it shows.

The following morning, when you drift to the surface to get breakfast, Jon is there with the bucket, and Damian is there with a rock. It's a small thing, barely the size of your palm, but it's beautifully painted. It's not one of the rocks you've had before, meaning he's not re-gifting you something you gifted him.

It's something he made. For you. He made a gift for you.

"Good morning," Damian says, and your eyes snap to his. "I've brought you this. I want...I wanted to express my..."

He sighs, brow furrowing. You tread the water patiently.

"I am sorry," he finally says. "I'm sorry I allowed my father to separate me from you. I'm sorry I started acting like you didn't exist. I was so angry to see Jon replace me that I feared you would not need me anymore."

Your expression doesn't change. Damian swallows thickly.

"Maybe my phrasing is poor. I don't want you to need me. I simply...I care about you a lot. And I did not think you cared as much, so I took to ignoring you almost entirely. But I thought about you all the time. I wondered if these imbeciles were cleaning your tank properly, or remembered that you don't like red snapper when they feed you, or if anyone was playing with you enough."

Damian inches a little closer to the edge of your tank. He holds the rock out to you. His hands are shaking.

"You don't trust me anymore. That's understandable, and a very logical move on your part. But I want to earn it back. I want to prove to you that I'm here to stay this time."

He leans over the edge a bit, eyes locked onto your own.

"I will do whatever it takes to ensure you don't feel alone again."

You pull your gaze away from his and move closer to examine the rock. The bright, rich colors and intricate patterns painted into it make something ease up in your chest. You feel like you can breathe just a little bit easier.

Your hands emerge from the water, rivulets trailing down your palms and wrists, and gently take the stone from him.

Damian's entire body relaxes, relief making a smile appear on his face.

It promptly vanishes, replaced by indignant sputtering when you spit a bunch of water at him. He coughs and wipes his face, then blinks to find you swimming to the bottom of your tank to find the best place to stick your present. You're moving so much faster, so much more energetically than you were before.

"There you are, Princess," Damian whispers into the water, grinning wide.

"...are they gonna come back up and eat?" Jon asks, still sitting with the bucket. "Cause...we can't re-refridgerate this with the other food. It'll have to get tossed."

#damian x reader #damian wayne x reader #mermaid au #damian wayne #🌭

578 notes · View notes

issybee06 · 4 months ago

Text

Look but don’t-

Rex Splode x reader

He needs more fics, it’s a crime there aren’t a lot.

I can hear this image it’s so bad…

🔞

Warning!: smut! Wrap it before you tap it!

…………………….…………………….…………………….………….

“I hate him.”

Mark gave a sheepish smile, lowering his controller into his lap. He watched as you glared at the Guardians of the Globe group chat, at Rex’s stupid input on the last mission and his opinion on how everyone did.

“He’s not even the leader…pisses me off.” You hissed, groaning and tossing your phone on the bed. Dramatically, to also fell onto the bed with a loud groan.

“I just don’t get it! Why the fuck would Robot-” “Rudy.” “-Rudy! Thank you, put this mother fucker on the team!”

Mark pats your back awkwardly, “There pat there pat…I know you hate him, and yeah! I’m not the biggest fan of him either, but he is a pretty great hero.”

You glare at him, sitting up, “his personality sucks, that means he sucks, the “two negatives make a positive” just doesn’t work for this one.”

Mark went to open his mouth, but the sound of your phone buzzing cuts him off. You groan, rolling to grab it, “guess bestie bindings gotta wait, powerpuff, we are being summoned.”

He nods quickly, standing up and in a flash of blue black and yellow he was changed.

Show off

………………………..………………………..…………………………

“Ow…”

The Mauler twins just had to ruin the one day off you guys have had in months, deciding it was a great idea to steal some suped up tech and drag you away from beating Mark at his high score.

You were ducking for cover behind some rubble, hiding from the spray of bullets from one of the Twins. Mark and Eve were taking care of the other one, Rae and Duplikate were getting civilians to safety, monster girl and Rudy were trying to fucking disabled a BOMB and immortal…

Yeah fuck him.

“You okay, hot stuff?”

Fuck me.

Of course this annoying ass redhead was flirting on the job, fucks everything with a pulse this guy. And where THE FUCK has he been??? He’s supposed to be your partner in this mission and he’s been GONE the WHOLE TIME!

“Can you not for like 5 seconds and HELP?!” You yell, getting up from the rumble and jumping back into the fight. He laughs, pulling one of his batons out to turn into an explosive.

“Babe I am helping.” He chuckled, chucking the baton over the gunfire of one of the aromatics the twins stole. There’s a loud “BOOM!” And it rocks the warehouse, the sound causing your ears to ring painfully.

“Fuck.”

He laughed, peaking over the rubble, “see! I helped, I win.”

You glared at him, peaking over the rubble as well and lo and behold one of the twins was no more. He lay on the ground, half his side blown off.

Your jaw twitched in irritation.

“Where have you been? I’ve been fighting BY MYSELF for hours!”

He scoffed, rolling the shoulder of his throwing arm, “relax baby cakes, I had other shit to do involved with this mess.”

You were going to strangle him.

“Really? Cause I seriously doubt that there was something more important than HELPING YOUR TEAMMATE-“

BAM!

Your eyes widen and Rex looks like he might die on the spot. You both turn your heads slowly to the mangled Mauler, gun raised shakily with smoke coming out the barrel. His eyes roll back before subcoming to his injuries and dying.

You swallowed, hand reaching down to your side as you feel the gun shot wound.

Rex stares and winces, “that’s not my fault-”

“OMG ITS SO YOUR FAULT!”

………………………..………………………..…………………………

You winced, the pull of the stitches fixing the hole in your side did not need to remind you you were alive every time you moved. You sighed, throwing another punch at the punching bag.

“Hey sexy.”

Shoot me in the head next time.

You glare at him when he walks in, hands clenching, “why are you here?”

He scoffs, hand over his heart like you had just said the most offensive shit to him, “I live here, Mama, same as you.”

“Yeah, no shit, but why are you here? Hm? In the kitchen at-” you looked down at your phone and frown, “-2 in the morning.”

“I can ask you the same thing.” He smirked, reaching over to take the bottle of beer off the bench and pop the cap off, taking a swig.

Fuck.

You hated him, you reminded yourself as you watched the way his Adam apple bobbed under his tanned skin. His ginger hair loose, his clothes relaxed and comfortable, those stupid fuck boy grey sweatpants-

You flick your eyes up to him as he sighs, wiping his mouth.

“How’s the side?”

You lean back into the punching bag, biting the insult that it was his fault you got shot…but you’d rather not get into another screaming match with him.

“It could be worse, I’m lucky it’s a graze.”

He hums, leaning on the wall opposite to you. He takes another swig, “Robot fix you up well?”

You shrug, “I’m not bleeding anymore…”

He chuckled lightly, raising the bottle to cheers to your health. A twitch in your lips turns to a small smile, damn him.

He takes another swig, “well…your fault for not checking if he was out or not.”

Andddd the moments ruined.

“Excuse me?” Your brows furrowed and he shrugs.

“Yeah, you should have been more prepared, that’s why you got shot-“

“I got shot because someone was distracting me!”

He smirks, one brow quirked up, “I distract you?”

Your mouth clamps shut, glaring at him. He smirks, never breaking eye contact as he licks his lips.

This bitch.

You roll your eyes, pulling the knuckle tape off and walking away, “I’m not playing with you Rex.”

“Oh come on sugar tits-“ sugar tits? “-I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you wanna hear? An im Sorry?”

You spun on your heel, glaring at him, “no! Because I know you don’t fucking mean it! You think this is all a big game! This isn’t college where you can not show up and then try to sleep with everyone!”

He scoffs, playful attitude gone, “hey, I saved your fucking life, instead of yelling at me you should be THANKING MY ASS!”

“THANKING YOU?! ARE YOU JOKING?! ALL THIS IS YOUR FAULT!”

His jaw tightens, his hands clench. He’s vibrating with anger as he looks away, a small “Tsk” sound coming from under his breath.

“You’re a real piece of fucking work (Y/n).”

You glare, walking up to him and grabbing his the collar of his shirt, “fuck you Rex.”

He glares, grabbing the wrist of the hand holding him hostage, “I won’t bring my standards so low as to fuck you.”

His words bite but his look, cheeks warming under his tanned skin, those half lidded green eyes, how his hot breath fanned against your face.

Oh.

You smirked, “are you…get off from us fighting?”

He stiffens, cheeks redder than his hair as the grip on your wrist tightens, “n-no. No, no of course not.”

You bite your lip as you smile, “I think you’re a liar Rex…a really, really, bad liar…”

His breath stutters, and he swallows audibly. You could have sworn there was a whine under his breath…

“Rex…do you have a crush on me…?” You chuckled, moving closer. His eyes go wide, breathing shallow. It was almost comical, the fuck boy stuttering and blushing like an untouched virgin after being degraded-ohhhh.

“Do you…like being degraded? Is that something you enjoy, Rex?” You whispered as your lips began to burst his ear and he moans.

“F-Fuck you…such a damn bitch all the time.” He mumbled out, and he pulled away. He glared at you and your smirking face.

“What? Can’t handle teasing? All talk, hm?” You taught, laughing as you approached him.

He stands his ground, nostrils flaring as you moved into his space again and pressed your forehead to his.

“…you’re a fucking brat, Rex…” you mumbled, “you think you’re so much better than everyone else…like rules don’t apply to you…”

Idea…

You smirk, “you think you can follow my rules…?”

He shivers, mumbling something under his breath. You raised a brow, “what? Can’t talk? It’s usually impossible to shut you up…”

You reach up, fingernails lightly grazing the veins of his arms and causing his hands to twitch, “…yes.”

“Yes what, Rex?” You smiled, lips ghosting under his jaw and he whispered a curse, “I-i can listen…fuck…just don’t…don’t go.”

Sweet mother of-

You bite down on his neck lightly, and he whimpers such a pretty noise you were so thankful you had restraint or this boy would be putty by now.

“Rule number 1…no touching-“ he opens his mouth to protest but a sharp glare from you shuts him up, “-no touching, or I stop and I never do this again. That fair?”

He nods, “okay…? I…I won’t touch you, just please do something-AH!”

Your hand brushes his front, and his hands shake as they hover over your body. You trace him over the fabric of his sweatpants and fuck…he’s not wearing anything under.

Love bites and hickies begin to paint his neck and collar bone, his moans and pleas music to your ears as you begin to palm him slightly.

“Maybe you’re just a fucking slut…or maybe you’re just a touch starved asshole…who knows?” You mused, grasping him and causing him to gasp in pleasure.

“(Y/n)…please, baby, I’m begging you…I-i need you so bad, please please please-“

You giggled, pulling back from his neck to peak his lips, making him sigh softly. When you pull away he chafes your lips, eyes lusty.

“Remember…don’t touch.”

You move down his body, kissing over his shirt as you moved into down south of his body, his eyes never leaving you.

“Y-you’re so pretty-“

You look up at him from your kneeled position, licking your lips as his breath becomes quicker in anticipation.

“…you okay with this?”

Consent is key everyone.

He sobs his answer, fucking done with your tearing, “YES! Holy shit (Y/n) please!”

You laugh, leaning forward to pull the tie of the sweatpants undone with your teeth and he almost cums just from the sight of you like this. He thinks you’re so beautiful…even if you despise him.

You reach up, tugging at his waistband until his pretty cock slaps against his tummy and stains the shirt with precum. You lick your lips, “hold the end of your shirt up with your teeth.”

He quickly grabbed the hem of his shirt with his teeth, holding it up and out of the way. This exposed even more of his muscular torso, the defined lines of his abs and the strong V leading down to his cock. The sight of you eyeing his member so hungrily only served to make him throb harder, a bead of precum dripping from the tip.

He squirmed impatiently, fighting the urge to buck his hips up to meet your hand. He could only imagine how incredible it would feel to have your fingers wrapped around his aching shaft, stroking him until he couldn't take any more.

You slowly trease him, pointer finger gliding and tracing the underside of his cock, memorizing each vein.

“So pretty Rex…”

You lick your lips, smiling as his cock jerked and pulsed beneath your touch, the skin incredibly hot and silky. Rex was leaking steadily now, a stream of precum drooling down to pool on his heavy balls. The musky scent of his arousal filled the air between you as his muffled whimper came up from his throat and he fought the urge to just slam you head onto him already.

He wasn’t used to not being in control, this was killing him. You were killing him.

You giggled, taking him fully in one hand and stroking him at a painfully slow pace. The other hand rested under his heavy balls, cupping them softly. You reach up, kitten licking the tip clean.

Rex let out a choked cry, his back arching as your hand finally wrapped around his aching cock. The sudden heat and pressure was overwhelming, and his eyes rolled back slightly as you began to stroke him with an agonizingly slow pace. He could feel every ridge and vein of his thick shaft sliding against your palm, the silky skin flushed and pulsing with need.

He moaned softy, sound muffled by the shirt gage in his mouth that was beginning to get drenched with drool. His world dissolved into a bright lights and colors as he felt your little pink tongue lapping at the swollen head of his dick. The slick muscle swirled around his leaking slit, lapping up the copious precum that had gathered there.

He was gone the moment you fully took him in your mouth, shuttering as your moaned vibrations sent his brain spinning. He reached up, tweaking one of his sensitive nipples while the other hand fisted his own hair.

Rex could feel the head of his dick kissing the back of your throat with each downward motion, your nose pressing against his pelvis and his dark curls. The sensation of being fully sheathed in your mouth, surrounded by the slick, silky walls of your throat, was pure bliss. He had never felt so overwhelmed with sensation in his life.

His shirt dropped from his mouth and he caught it in his hand, whining, “b-baby, please…c-can I touch you? I-I know you said no but I-I can’t-“

You pull off with a pop, a string of saliva and precum mix dangling from your bottom lip.

“You wanna touch me…?”

He nods, tears of frustration building up, “yes! Fuck yes are you crazy! Please!”

“…since you said pleas-“

He didn’t even give you time to finish your sentence, hand once in his hair tangling in yours and slamming your mouth back on him.

“F-fuck…if I knew…knew you were like this? God. I-I would have pursued you earlier…you’re so good…so beautiful…fuck…” he gasped his praises out, bucking and whimpering as you took all of him.

“I-I always thought you mmm you were hot…I j-just thought you were Marks girl.” He laughs to himself, shuttering, “heh you’re not though…if you are you would be here…with me.”

Your hands grasped his thighs, nails pressed into the meat of his thick thighs. Tears began to well up as oxygen began to run low, spit drowning you as he tightens his grip in your hair.

“C-can we do this again…? Please? I-I don’t think I can-AH-can give you up yet! S-say you’ll stay, ugh-say it?”

You don’t get a chance, his hips hammering your mouth before his muscles tense up and his thighs pulse. He cums hard, thick sticky ribbons shooting the back of your throat as you choke on him. You swallow, gasping as he pulls you off.

He stares at you, eyes blow with lust. He looks like he’s seeing you for the first time and it makes your stomach flip.

Fuck…you might not hate Rex Sloan.

#invincible #invincible show #rex splode #rex sloan #rex splode x reader #rex sloan x reader

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thecr0w · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter One; Fear, Festering.

Ambivalence

chap. 1, ~4.9k words

dexter morgan/reader, in which reader accidentally witnesses her unwitting savior in the act

[tags/cw; see masterlist for full list. noncon, threats of violence, graphic depictions of violence and death, threats, mental health mentions, mentions of cannibalism, reader is in an established toxic relationship with a man (ew)]

chapter two

series masterlist

i’ve thought about this for SO long i want him so bad. at the time of posting this, i haven't slept in almost 12 hours. i apologize if it's not good :( i'll double check it later!

The air inside felt dry, stale and cold, a stark contrast with the hot and humid atmosphere outside the four walls of your workplace. A lousy, tiring part-time job only accepted from desperation. Miami was two-sided like that. A beautiful city, tropical and beaming with life, with a dark underbelly. It felt so weird not being out and enjoying it all. It was hard to, hard to focus on the positives when it felt so suffocating under the negatives. The shitty job, the lame apartment shared with your mediocre boyfriend. Life, this far, was boring. Like you were stuck in traffic with a nice view. Time went slow, rush hour speeding it only barely. By the time your shift ended, it felt like you had run a marathon. The walk home felt equally as draining, your clothes sticking to your damp skin like static-charged paper.

Your boyfriend sat on the front steps of your small apartment, cigarette dangling from his lips as he flicked his thumb across the small, bright screen in his hands. His smile faded, however, when he noticed you approaching. He threw his cigarette to the ground, snuffing it out with a stomp.

“Hell have you been? Didn’t call me.”

Your stomach dropped, hands clenching nervously as he looked on.

“I forgot. I’m sorry.” You say, shifting your weight onto one leg.

He scoffed, sliding his phone into his pocket. He sat up, striding to you and pulling you into a loose hug.

“It’s a rough neighborhood out here,” he says, leading you up the stairs and into the house, “You should call me so I can make sure you’re not dead or dying.”

The night was just the same as always. Slow, boring, tiring. A shower, dinner, doomscrolling, then falling asleep in the mattress that never seemed to feel comfortable. An unsatisfying fuck every now and again. God, when had things gotten so dull? When had you allowed yourself to fall into such a miserable cycle? Despite the repetitiveness, it was, in a way, comfortable. It was comforting to know what would happen the next day, easy to prepare for and deal with. Something stable, something reliant.

Work was more of the same, a slow start, busy afternoon, and a slow night. The walk, however, was different. It was cold, a strong breeze blew through, swaying the trees lining the unkempt sidewalk. It passed through your hair, blowing strands in your eyes. With a ragged huff, you shoved your hands into your pockets and trudged onwards. The city was oddly quiet, save for a siren or a honking car every few minutes. Strange. The quietest you had ever had the city, in fact-

Footsteps.

The sound was faint, echoing off the row of houses to the left of you, and it ceased when you stopped to listen. You whipped your head around, chills running up your spine. It was silent, save for the barking of a dog heard in the distance. Nothing. Moths swarming the buzzing streetlight above, cars passing on the opposite road, but nothing to explain the footsteps. The phone felt cold in your hands as you pulled it from your pockets, your boyfriend's name lighting up the screen as you tapped the ‘call’ button. You sauntered forward slowly as the phone rang, and rang, and rang, until it eventually went to voicemail. Calling again now, you’re met with the same dialtone. Your breath quickened, as did your pace, as you walked at a steady speed towards your home.

“Call me next time, babe. I have to protect you, babe. Why didn’t you call first, and babe?”

You repeated his words in your mind and huffed, trying to push back the ever-present fear of paranoia. The wind blew again, stronger, stinging your eyes and immediately welling them with tears. In the silence, through the wind, you heard them again. The faint, pattering noise of someone treading lightly behind you. You shout, this time, snapping your head around again in a vain attempt to identify the owner of the footfall. Darkness, again. This time, you didn’t doubt yourself. You ran, hair blowing wildly as the air rushed past your ears. You ran, and you didn’t stop until you plowed right into your front door. The door swung open just as you thumped against it, tumbling you forward into the wobbly arms of your lover.

“Woah, the fuck? What happened?” He asks loudly, sounding more accusatory than concerned.

You panted, gripping onto his forearms as you looked at him.

“I- I don’t know, I don’t know, I heard footsteps- I got really scared! There was-”

“What are you saying? Nobody would try anything here.” He grunts, dropping your shoulders and slamming the door shut. “Just call me next time.” He adds, reaching for his pant’s zipper as he turns from you. Your stomach drops as you stare at his back, watching him slip past the kitchen archway.

“I did. I called twice, and you told me this was a ‘rough neighborhood’. So yeah, I was freaked out.” You rebuddled, careening towards the bedroom. You begin to peel off your work clothes, kicking your shoes off. He responds, unintelligibly, and you wouldn’t have cared to hear it anyway. The thought of leaving him occurred daily, something you felt an intense guilt for. It felt meaningless to continue being here, with him, but the same would be argued the other way around. What's the point in leaving? You would be doing the same things, just without someone to see every day. Still, you felt an attachment to him. Sure, he may be a dick, but he’s not a dick when he’s telling you he loves you. Not when he slings an arm around your waist at night in bed, not when he makes you laugh and tickles your sides when you’re lying in the bed you share. Your heart flutters when you think about it, but it dies when he slings open the door and stares harshly at you.

“Seriously? You’re just going to ignore me?” He spits, eyebrows furrowing.

“I didn’t hear you.” You pull one of his shirts down over your head.

He snorts. “Yeah. Yeah, whatever.” There’s a damp spot on the hem of his shirt, you notice. He sees you glance at the spot, and covers it with his hand.

“Spilled soap.” He swallows and looks at the one you’re wearing. One of his favourite shirts, an oversized one he bought during a daytrip at the beach. “You look good in that.”

You hum in acknowledgement, sitting on the bed. “Thanks.” The amalgamation of feeling when you think about him is too much, and you fall back on the bed in exasperation. Your eyes sting when he flicks off the light.

“Night. ‘M gonna go eat dinner, love you.” The door makes a soft thump as he closes it, and the sting in your eyes subsides as a warm tear glides down your cheek and into the dip of your ear. Sleep took you quickly, so quickly that by the next morning you couldn’t remember falling asleep. Everything went by in a blur, thoughts of the implications from your boyfriend, the paranoia of being followed, the disbelief that he wouldn’t believe you. Through the next few days, the same thing happened. You’d walk home, from anywhere, and hear the disembodied footsteps behind. Never a body to match them with, and the only times they weren’t there were the two night your boyfriend picked you up from work. He understood, he said to you, he understood why you were afraid. What he couldn’t understand, however, is why someone would be following you of all people.

It was about a month after the initial incident when a man came into the store, narrow, unfeeling eyes locking with yours. He strided forward, towards the counter you attended, and smiled. He felt around at products on the shelves for a while, casting the odd glance to you every once in a while. It was weird, yes, but he seemed well-meaning enough. Maybe he thought you were pretty. The thought was enough to make you smile to yourself. It vanished, though, when you heard him stride toward you.

“Hello there.” He began, glancing at your nametag. He read your name slowly, and you swear you saw a shudder roll down his back. He looked normal, middle-aged and greying. Still, you doubted he meant any real harm. Maybe he was just a little awkward. You were awkward, too. He was tall, lanky in a way that made you think he was active. He started saying something about how he needed to find a specific park nearby, but you could barely focus on what he was saying as he reached a hand forward, fingertips brushing over your skin like sandpaper catching onto carpet. It sent a wave of unsettling panic through you, and you winced.

“Bayfront Park?” You repeated the words.

“Yes.” The confirmation sounded more like a hiss than an actual word.

“It’s just a few blocks down.” You pointed out the window, finger shaking slightly. He remained fixated on you, smile fading slightly, then spreading widely. His teeth were stained with age, and you quickly looked away. He felt wrong all of the sudden, like how it feels to see a warped picture of yourself. It's you, but different. Altered. It made you feel nauseous.

“I see,” He took a deep, shuddering breath before starting again. “You have pretty eyes, did you know that?” His voice felt like having eyes on the back of your head. The complement came from nowhere, causing your eyebrows to raise in surprise. You laughed nervously, looking away and accidentally locking eyes with the impatient woman behind him. He seemed to notice this too, and mumbled an apology to the woman before turning back to you.

“I’ll be seeing you. Thanks for your help.” He turns quickly, striding out the door and never once turning back. It left a sour taste in your mouth, resonating anxiety burning your throat.

What an odd, odd interaction. What kind of weirdo does that? The woman in line seemed to share the same sentiment, tilting her head to the side and letting her eyes speak before placing her items on the counter.

After closing, when the doors were finally locked and you were standing outside the dark establishment, your phone pinged with a half-assed apology text from your boyfriend.

‘Hey, I’m too tired to come out and get you. Walk a different route and I’ll watch your location. I love you!’

‘really?’

‘I worked today. I'm too tired to deal with this, man.’

The artificial light illuminated your face as you read it. Too tired? What kind of boyfriend is too tired to escort his partner home, at night no less, in a neighborhood he deems unsafe? You groan in frustration, shoving the phone back in your pockets and fumbling for your housekey. The metal felt cold as you pushed it between your knuckles, deciding to use it as some sort of lame defense. It barely made a difference in the way you felt, a mix of frustration, anxiety, and betrayal at the fact that he wouldn’t even drag himself out of bed to make sure you got home safe. You clutched it tight in your hand, staring between your normal route and an alley that cuts through the neighborhood. The only option seemed to be the alley, which would throw off the normality in case someone was waiting for you on the other path. You speed-walk to it, glancing over both your shoulders before entering the darkness. Normally, there would be people gathered around areas like this. There weren’t, although a part of you felt off at the fact. About halfway down the alley, just before it ended and opened up into a city-block, the familiar sound of thumping echoed through. The key suddenly felt hot in your knuckles. You whipped around, body turning entirely to face the cause of the sound, the cause of all the fear and paranoia you’ve felt these last weeks.

Your body felt cold, suddenly. There it was. There he was. The footsteps. He went rigid, foot raised as if he froze mid-step. No more disembodied footsteps, no more looking and seeing darkness, he was here now. You couldn’t breathe, air stuck in your lungs with a sharp, sudden inhale that cut its way down your windpipe. His foot lowered slowly, and you could barely make out the lanky figure imposing on you. It was him, it had to be, your stalker and the cause of it all. Realization hits you like a car hits a deer when you realize that nothing stands between you. The alley walls feel too close, and your lungs scream for air. A truck drives by, and you see his unfeeling face in the headlights light refraction. The weird man from work.

You run, dizzy and lightheaded from depriving yourself of air. It burned when you began panting, and you almost wet yourself when you heard his heavy footsteps gaining on you. You let out a noise, something between a yell and a whimper. The wind rushed past your ears, stinging your eyes and temporarily blinding you. The fear of being chased overtook all, and you could barely make out the silhouettes surrounding you in the narrow alley. The end seemed so far, and just when you were about to breach the darkness, you slipped. Tripped over something small and blurry, something you really didn’t care for identifying as you tumbled to the concrete below. Your chin smashed against the ground, teeth clattering. A loud ‘oomph’ and a groan pushed it’s way out of you, and couldn’t help but yell out a “NO!” as you turned to face him from the ground, bleary eyed and wild. At first, you didn’t know what you were looking at. You saw a blur of struggle, someone being thrown to the ground, a large figure pining the other to the ground. The one on top punched the one on the bottom, and then plunged what looked like a pen, maybe a stick into his neck. You jerked at the crack of the man’s skull hitting the ground. The figure raised its head, and you went numb at the sight of something wrapped around his head. His broad shoulders lifted and fell slowly, sweat beginning to darken the v- shaped neckline of what looked to be a henley. You kicked your legs, scooting yourself back rapidly and shooting up. He rose with you, and you watched as he lifted his hand to his face. Another car drove past, lighting the alley for a final time.

He pressed his finger to his lips, and you could see that he had wrapped his entire head with plastic wrap. Blood from his finger smeared over his mouth, and the sight caused a noise you’d never made before to squeeze out of your throat. Before he could move, you took off, legs wobbly and searing with pain from the brutal fall. A trail of something wet and hot glided from your face to your chest, but you didn’t stop to check. You didn’t stop until you reached your door, banging loudly on the painted metal. Sobs shook your shoulders, and you watched your neighbors porch lights turn off as you screamed your boyfriend’s name. You twisted and turned the knob, but to no avail. You pleaded, screamed for him to open the door, and searched your pockets shakily for your housekey.

Finally, the door swung inward, just as you realized that you couldn’t find your key. His face fell from angry, to shocked and confused, then to concern before settling into a mix of the two.

“What the hell?! What happened?! Are you okay?” He yells, snatching you inside the house roughly, pulling you into his chest. You collapse into him, crying loudly. When he finally pulled you off, you saw that you left a mix of blood, snot and tears over his shoulder. He didn’t seem to notice, however.

“What happened? Do I need to call the cops? What happened to your face?”

He shuts the door and pulls you into the bathroom, sitting you on the toilet and leaving briefly. He returns with a towel, a damp and crinkled one you assume was used for the dishes. You can’t understand what he says next, words jumbling together in blurry phrases. Your head hurts, your jaw feels like it’s been stepped on and your knees throb with a pain not felt since you learned how to ride a bike. He runs the wet towel over your chin, and it feels like an open blister. You hiss, a sob releasing from your lips. It’s blurry, after that. You remember begging for no police involvement, remembering how a simple finger to the lips felt like a threat, like a morbid promise. You feel too exhausted and sore, ready to sleep and forget it happened. To forget being chased, hunted. To forget the murder you witnessed.

The subsequent morning felt like a punishment for a crime in your past-life. Memories melded together, all rushing back too quickly to process. You hoped it was just a horrible, realistic dream. It felt like a dream, and you might have tricked yourself into believing it if it weren't for the smear of dried blood smudged across your pillow. Your hand flew to your chin, where you felt the beginning of a large, rough scab. When you finally crawled over your boyfriend’s sleeping form and into the bathroom, the mirror showed the giant scrape going from the middle of your chin to your collarbone.

You winced as you ran a finger over it, noticing the way an ugly purple and red bruise begins to bloom across the delicate skin of your throat. It was ugly, but nothing serious. You recalled how you tripped and fell violently to the ground, chin skidding across rough pavement. The scrape throbbed at the memory. Calling out of work felt somehow worse than everything else, and your boss’ mildly inconvenienced tone while wishing you a ‘get better’ barely consoled your shaky breathing. Almost immediately afterwards, you heard the familiar sound of the bed springs shifting emanating from the bedroom. Out of the doorway comes your boyfriend, sleep surrounding his dark-pitted eyes. He kisses you on the center of your forehead, breath hot and heavy against your skin. He allows you to slip past him, and follows you into the living room.

“I’m sorry about what happened. I should have been there, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He sounds surprisingly genuine. He looks into your eyes, and you feel like you should have never blamed him in the first place. He doesn’t consider the massive bruise on your neck when he hugs you, pressing into it with his shoulder as he pulls you tightly into him. He asks again for you to recall the events of the previous night, and questions if you’d consider going to the police. It goes like that into the night, him asking you to re-state your memories, not even considering the possibility that you don’t want to remember it. It would be easier to pretend it never happened than to deal with the lasting effects of such an event. When you were laying in bed together that night, he kissed you softly and allowed you to fall asleep against his chest. You decided then that you’d stay.

He dropped you off at work the next morning, and kissed your cheek when took his departure. You’d spent at least an hour beforehand attempting to cover the bruise with makeup, but your attempt was obviously not enough. You’d seen your coworker’s brow raise with surprise as you walked in, and you pretend not to notice. You explain it away as a bad fall, claiming to have tripped on your own shoelaces.

“I’m way too clumsy.” You’d said, laughing slightly. She didn’t believe you, but didn’t care enough to push it further. She waved goodbye as you clocked in, and you returned it with more fervor than you had meant to. It was incredibly slow that day, and normally you’d have plucked all your hair out from boredom. Today, you were happy it was slow. You didn’t have to deal with anyone, mainly regulars who knew what they wanted already, and took leave without much of anything else.

You found yourself in the same position a week later, and the incident in the alley felt more like a suppressed memory you weren't sure happened. You were crouched behind your counter, trying your best to scrape off an old sticker from the worn tile below. You cringed at the residue it left under your index fingernail, wiping it on your pants. The door chimed as it opened, and someone stepped in silently. You cleared your throat, knees popping as you stood up.

“Hey, welcome-”

The words died in your throat as you laid your eyes upon the man standing at the door. He said nothing, giving you a slight nod as he scanned his eyes over the store interior. You swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling exposed. You couldn’t explain why he shook you so much, why he was so unsettling, or why you were so nervous. You brushed it off on the simple fact that he was an attractive man. His hands were buried casually in his khaki pants, messenger bag slung over his wide shoulders. His dark-red hair blew slightly under the air conditioner mantled to the wall, shiny with sweat. Thick biceps flexed under the bright-blue button up clinging to his skin, and there was a noticeable wet patch of sweat under his collar. He seemed to feel your eyes on him, because he turned his head and caught your eye. You looked down quickly, pretending to look at the informational pamphlet taped to the countertop. Your cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, and your throat throbbed when you tried to swallow the feeling down. You busied yourself by trying to scrape and peel off the sticky residue on your fingers, not looking up even as another customer wandered in.

The tip of someone’s foot thumped on the counter, and you let out a hesitant breath as you raised your head to greet the man standing in front of you. His hands remained in his pockets, giving you the same curt nod he did when he entered.

You opened your mouth to speak, cleared your throat instead. His lips spread into a tight smile, and he looked over your face quickly, not saying anything. He felt.. familiar. Like you’d seen him before, like you’d spoken with him many times over. You blink up at him, lips parted slightly in thought as you try to recall any reason why you’d know him. It was his turn to clear his throat now, and it embarrassingly startled you.

“Hi.” He said simply, never once breaking eye contact.

“H-hi.” You stammered over your response, a feeling of unease spreading across your stomach.

“Could you help me find something? I’m looking for tape.” His voice is soft, raspy in a way that scratches a part of your brain.

You nod, looking from his imposing gaze to his stubbled jaw. You tripped slightly as you rounded the corner of the counter, cursing yourself quietly. He pretends not to notice. He follows you down the crafting aisle, and you point to the array of tapes lining the hooked stands. You turn to face him, and you’d never felt more uncomfortable to be in the presence of a customer. He stares at your face as if he was trying to memorize every detail, savoring every nervous tremble of your lip and twitch of your nose. You clap your hands together, and he doesn’t react to the noise.

“Got anything stronger? Little project I’m working on.” His voice sounds closer than he is.

“Like.. like duct tape?” You answer, looking away from him and pretending to fix something on the shelf.

“Yeah, like duct tape.” He repeats, smiling in a way that his teeth are visible. It makes you feel warm.

The aisle feels like it’s stretching on when you walk down it, and the man stays entirely silent as he practically glides behind you. A roll of duct tape catches your eye immediately, and you bend down to pick it up. When you stand back up, he’s right in front of you. You bump into his chest and gasp, tape falling out of your grip as you bring your hands to cover your mouth.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were behind me-”

He cuts you off with a hearty laugh, quickly snatching the tape from the floor as he pops up with a sudden energy. Like a switch has been flipped, and suddenly you’re a close friend he’s known for ages.

“Don’t sweat it, I have a habit of not paying attention to the things I do. Hey, I bumped into my coworker this morning and spilled coffee all over him.” He chortles, and tosses the roll of tape into the air like it’s a ball he’s playing catch with. It puts you at ease slightly, and you laugh with him. Still, his eyes see you in a way you’re not sure you want to be seen. He tells you some story of how the coworker almost choked him for it on the way to checkout, but you barely listen to what he’s saying. Instead, you think of the way he looked at you earlier. Present, but distant. Like a mask. He stops on the outside of the countertop, and you shoot him a quick smile while you scan the barcode on the tape.

“Whoa.” He muttered, and his hand suddenly shot forward to your neck. His brow falls as his fingertips trace the faded outline of the bruise and the scrape gently, and a small noise catches in your throat at the burning feeling. He notices, pulling his hand away. You can feel the invisible trail he left, the feeling resonating deeply.

“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just- I mean, I didn’t notice. What happened?”

He sounds concerned, genuinely, but it sounds uncanny. Too concerned for someone you’ve just met.

“Um..” You begin, quickly regaining your already crumbling composure. “..fell.” You muttered.

He clicks his tongue, cocking his head to the side, looking intently at the area before flickering his gaze to your face.

“I’m a detective. Or, well, Forensics, but a bruise like that is more consistent with serious trauma not caused by a little fall.”

Detective? Forensics? You stare at his hands as he talks.

His hands.

Deep, foreboding dread opens a pit in your stomach. You know those hands. You know the pink-tinted fingernails and freckled flesh. The hands that belonged to the man killed the one who chased you, the one who lifted a finger to his lips. The ones you tried so hard to forget.

“Were you pushed?” His tone is different.

You shake your head.

“You know, you can tell me if you need help.” He leans in close. “I can help.” You can smell the aftershave on his skin.

You shake your head again, pushing the tape into his hands.

“My name is Dexter. What’s yours?”

You whisper your name, never once looking up from the tape, now clutched in his hands.

“You can tell me what happened. Do you remember?”

Your head shot up, nearly knocking into his. Remember?

He smiles at that, corners of his lips fliting up in a small smirk.

“Somebody went missing a week ago, last seen in the area. You know anything about that?”

Your eyes go wide, and you almost want to say yes.

“Did you see anything?”

It sounds like a threat. Like he’s asking a rhetorical question, one he knows the answer to and doesn’t want a response for. His voice is deep, resonating in your ears like a bassline in a song. You shake your head again, lips parted and breathing faltered. Your heart beats out of rhythm, and he leans in closer than before. His forehead almost brushes yours, and the proximity made you want to vomit. If it were any other circumstance, maybe you would’ve felt flattered. Seen, flustered. Presently, you felt like he wanted to peel the skin off your bones. Does a rabbit feel like this when it knows it's being hunted?

“Good.”

Your knees feet like gelatine. He pulls a crumbled piece of paper from a pocket on the outside of his messenger bag, grabbing your arm and placing it in your palm. His fingers meet around your forearm. The squeeze is gentle, but it leaves your skin feeling like it’s on fire. Goosebumps erupt up your arm, raising all the little hairs along the way. He doesn’t look at you when he places a neatly folded bill on the register, swiping the tape from the counter. You watch as he leaves, turning to face you one last time, bringing his hand up in an open-palmed wave as the doors swung open for him.

“Call me if you remember anything. It’s a special case, afterall.”

With that, the door chimes as it closes. You take a minute to breathe before you unfold the paper, and written in neat writing are a series of digits, with Dexter written neatly under them. You barely get to the trashcan before bile erupts from your stomach.

#dexter morgan #crowpost #dexter #deaddove #dexter x reader #dexter morgan x reader #cw: noncon #cw blood #i hope y'all like it LMFAO

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