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angel-writes-skz-here · 17 days ago

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I'm Yours

Felix x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: A broken heart and former friends with benefits. What could go right? Warnings: SMUT, unprotected p in v (Be safe!) fingering, oral (both rec.) pet names (sweet girl, etc), slight angst if you squint? A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this one!

Tears stream down your face as you flee the shared apartment in the pouring rain. Catching your boyfriend in bed with another girl was not the most ideal way to start your weekend. The two of you had been dating for 8 months; so what’s a girl to do when her heart gets broken?

Go see her best friend.

You knock on Felix’s door rapidly, heart pounding in your chest from the adrenaline. He opens it, noticing your rain-soaked body.

“Woah, what the hell happened to you?”

You can only sniffle in response as you shake slightly from the cold. Felix pulls you inside, bodies colliding as you cling to him for dear life, letting the emotions flow freely as he shuts the door behind you, tears soaking his now damp shirt.

“He-he was with another gi-girl,” you hiccup, arms around Felix’s waist. Felix sighs, wrapping his arms around you.

Felix had warned you months ago when he met the guy that he didn’t like him. And he swore up and down it wasn’t just because you two would no longer have your arrangement.

You and Felix had decided to be friends with benefits almost a full year ago. Both swore to never catch feelings, which you did about 2 months in, but you never told him that. Both of you swore to keep it casual, and if one or the other dated, you couldn’t touch each other. And over the 8 months, it had been extremely difficult for the both of you. You couldn’t be under a blanket together, it was super hard being alone, not that your boyfriend let it happen too many times because he swore up, down, left and right that you and Felix had something at some point.

Something you denied.

When you started dating your, now, ex-boyfriend, it was an attempt to stop your arrangement with Felix because feelings were becoming too involved for you, and how could they not?

He didn’t just fuck you and leave. He would wine and dine you, buy you gifts, both small and large, cuddles and wonderful aftercare after sex, made you feel safe, secure, seen and heard. He made you feel everything a boyfriend should. And yet he was your friend.

“Hey, come on, let’s get you out of these clothes before you get sick.”

Oh yeah, and he was probably the most caring and considerate man you knew. He was never one to rush, never one to ignore your needs, any and all of them. You needed a jacket because it was cold? Done. You needed a different angle for Felix to make you feel good, he’s happy to oblige. You wanted a chill night away from home, he was ready to pick you up within the hour.

You nod and let him lead you to his bathroom where he draws a bath for you, a bath bomb, essential oils, and candles. You go to peel off your wet clothes, but he lightly pats your hand away.

“Let me do it, you just relax.” His low voice drawls. You give him a tight-lipped smile and he slowly, methodically, helps you out of your clothes. You’d seen each other naked so many times, and yet Felix looks at you the same way he did the first time; like you’re reverent, holy, something to admired. As you step out of your underwear, you’re looking down at him as you steady yourself on his shoulder.

He looks up at you, like a man who’s thanking God he gets to be in your presence. Like he’s grateful to simply adore you. Like he’s devoted to you and you only.

He slowly stands up, helping you into the tub. Your foot hits the hot water as you slowly sink down, you can’t help the moan that escapes you.

“Thank you,” you whisper as the water blurs the image of your body for him. He bends down grabbing a loofa, soaping it up, lightly dragging it over your shoulders and down your arms. You relax against the back of the tub, allowing him to take care of you, washing away the stress.

Once he finishes washing you off, he kisses the top of your head lips lingering for a moment or two longer than necessary, before getting up and brining you some clothes. He leaves the room, allowing you to get dressed and blow dry your hair the rest of the way.

When you walk out, Felix has set up a blanket fort and there’s soft music playing in the background. You smile softly to yourself as you see his head pop out similar to that of a cute little gopher.

“You like it?” he asks eagerly, resembling a cute puppy who’s just found something brand new in life; excited and not afraid to show it.

“It’s great,” you giggle as you walk over moving the blanket to sit down. There are snacks, drinks, and a laptop to watch whatever you want.

“Lix, you didn’t have to do this,” you smile at the sentiment. He grins sheepishly.

“Seemed like you needed it. Now, you wanna tell me what happened?” You go into the whole spiel about how you had your suspicions when you found deleted messages on his iPhone between him and some random number. The texts weren’t explicit but they were flirty, how he’d been coming in later and later after work and then finally you caught him in bed with her. Felix frowns when he see’s the tears prick your eyes and he pulls you close, kissing your temple.

“I’m sorry, y/n.” he whispers and you sit with him for a moment, underneath the soft lighting, music still playing softly. Felix begins to hum quietly, a sound that you feel vibrate through you and you close your eyes for a minute, enjoying the soothing sound of his voice.

You move to his lap, arms around his neck, face cradled in the crook of it, breathing him in. He smells sweet; like home.

“I should’ve listened to you,” you whisper out brokenly.

“Don’t do that, don’t blame yourself,” he says as his arms wrap around your body.

“I missed you, Lix.” You whisper in his ear before nuzzling your head against him. He bites his lip- God help him he missed you too.

Every single part of you. He places his lips on your clothed shoulder, a simple show of affection. But he stiffens when he feels you place your lips on his neck, soft, barely there at first, as if the two of you are silently asking each other the same question.

You both pause; the tension between you building. Frozen in time; both of your heartbeats wild.

You pull your head from his shoulder looking into his sweet dark eyes, one’s you found yourself missing when you didn’t get to see them every day. Your fingers comb through his hair, gently as you look between his eyes, your fingers resting in the ends of his hair, delicately playing with it.

Felix cups your cheeks and you lean into his touch.

Slowly the two of you lean in closer, Felix being the one to connect your lips, a soft moan escaping your mouth as he does. It’s soft, slow, and sensual. Your fingers tangle in his hair, his hands resting on both sides of your face.

He tastes just like you remember, sweet like sugar, and yet something that’s so inherently Felix. Your hips shift in his lap, grinding against him and he lets out a deep moan.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he says between kisses. You only tug on his blonde locks slightly, causing him to chuckle.

“Felix,” you say breathlessly. He looks at you inquisitively, a brow arched.

“I want you,” you breathe, arousal and desire flowing through your bloodstream.

“Please,” you almost whimper before he lays you down on your back.

“I missed you so much,” he confesses as his lips start to leave open mouthed kisses down your neck.

“You missed my body, Lix,” you chuckle lightly. Felix tenses, lips stilling on your neck for a moment.

“Felix?” you ask quietly. As if snapping out of a trance he immediately continues, but he puts his lips on that sweet spot he remembers used to drive your insane. He nips at the skin, and you gasp, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers card through his hair. He sucks a mark onto your neck, licking over it after he bites down again.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, desire coursing through your veins as your hips lift up, desperate for friction.

You can feel him smirk against your skin. Felix has decided tonight isn’t just about having you, it’s about making sure you know you only need him. Something about seeing you run back to him tonight made him realize he doesn’t want to play games anymore, and he never wants to see you that upset over some stupid guy again.

His hands slip up under the shirt he lent you, your skin erupting with goosebumps under his touch. He pulls the shirt off your head, revealing your upper half to him, he hunches over, finding your lips in a passionate, hard kiss.

“’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.” He breathes before his tongue flicks out over your hardened nub. You gasp out a moan, feeling his tongue flick gently as he sucks it into his mouth, his hand coming up to play with the other.

“Felix,” you whine as your hips shift up again. He lets your right one go, giving the left the same treatment.

He chuckles against you as he then begins to kiss down your sternum, lips dragging against your skin as he looks up at you through his lashes. A sight that causes you to clench around nothing, a wet and warm sensation being felt between your legs.

Then he gets to the waist band of the underwear he’d let you borrow. His teeth go to it, dragging it down slowly.

He groans at the sight of your body beneath him, ready and willing and to take whatever he’s ready and willing to give it.

“You want me baby?” he asks as your underwear is discarded onto the side.

“Yes,” you squirm as you watch him.

He settles between your legs, taking in a breath.

“God you smell so good,” he breathes, eyes closed and savoring the moment.

“Missed this pretty pussy, these pretty legs, my pretty girl,” he rambles, and he’s not even tasted you yet. You feel the heat rise up your neck at his pet name for you.

“Lix, please.” You lift your hips near his face, and he can only smile. He opens his mouth dramatically, showing you his tongue flattened out, before spreading your folds. He lets out a guttural groan when he tastes the bit of arousal that’s already collecting at your entrance.

“Better than I remember,” he mumbles to himself before his tongue begins working on your clit.

Your back arches as his tongue works in circles, up and down and side to side on your bud, your fingers find his hair, pushing his head deeper into you.

“Fuck,” you whimper as you feel Felix slowly insert a finger and curl it, making the come-hither motion, hitting your sweet spot as his tongue’s speed only quickens.

“Felix,” you whimper, hips shifting. He places a hand on your lower stomach and to keep you from moving too much, tongue doing figure 8’s now as he adds a second finger. Felix relishes in the time spent between your legs, while he knows you and your ex most likely slept together, he’s bound and determined to show you he’s better, that he knows you better. That was the other thing about Felix, he took the time to get to know your body, to learn what makes you tick, learn what you don’t like, and learn what you love more than anything.

“Oh, God,” you moan, eyes rolling back in your head. Felix teases you a little, stopping his tongue, focusing on working your hole.

“No, don’t-fuck-,” you gasp, “do that thing with your tongue,” you plead.

“This?” He asks cheekily before resuming his movements, making you cry out in pleasure as you feel the tightening in your stomach.

“Fuck yes, that, please don’t stop,” you gasp, breathing coming in heavy pants. Felix can sense that your getting closer, feeling the way your walls clench around his digits.

“Come on baby, cum for me.” He encourages in his deep voice, the sound only helping you get to your orgasm. With a few more flicks of his tongue, you’re falling apart, thighs squeezing his head as he fucks you through it, dragging it out as your hips roll. He cleans you up with his tongue, your hips jerking as his nose bumps your sensitive bundle of nerves.

He begins circling your bud again, sharp gasps and whimpers falling from your lips.

“Lix, too-too much,” you gasp as your head digs into the mattress and your hips roll, despite the painful pleasure.

“Ah, God,” you fist his hair, trying to push him away.

“You can take it, baby. One more for me.” He encourages before working your nerves again with his mouth.

You whimper out. He smiles and continues his assault, drawing yet another deep, hard orgasm from you. You’re breathing heavily, aftershocks hitting you as he kisses back up your body, leaving a few love bites on your hips. You bring him down for a passionate kiss, tasting yourself in the process.

The world feels like it stops turning whenever you’re with Felix, that time doesn’t exist, that it’s your world and the other people just live in it.

Felix pulls back to take off his shirt, abs on full display and your hands, like a reflex, reach up to feel them. You notice his smirk and blush as you raise up, kissing his stomach, tongue swiping over his abs every now and again.

You work on his pants, pulling them down, allowing him to spring free. He’s hard, leaking and red from the sheer need of friction and release.

“You don’t have to,” he says but is cut off by the warm feeling of your mouth. Felix falls back, careful not to tear down the romantic scene, as your head bobs up and down, tongue swirling around him, his taste saturating your taste buds.

“Fuck, baby I need you,” he moans with his eyes shut, hand on the back of your head. After a few more pumps of your head, he’s pulling you off, laying you back where you were and hovering over you. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand as you watch him closely.

Felix looks into your eyes, searching for any signs of hesitation.

“Look at me,” he whispers when you get bashful and look away from him. Your eyes meet his as he pushes in, both of your mouths falling open as the sheer pleasure of being connected. Felix stills for a moment, your foreheads resting together.

“Fuck I missed you so much,” he breathes before capturing your lips softly.

He begins rocking his hips, his head falling to your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he grunts as your legs wrap around his waist.

“You don’t need anyone but me, baby.” He whispers, in your ear, “ah,” he hisses, “so fucking tight. Look at how well you take me. Such a good girl for me.” He moans.

“You hear me? I’m all you need, day or night, rain or shine, I’m fucking made for you, and you’re made for me. Ah, fuck,” he groans as he feels your walls clamp down at his words. Your fingers are splayed on the back of his neck as you hold him close, kissing and nipping at his shoulder as he begins to thrust harder.

“Ah, fuck,” you whimper, nails slightly digging into his neck and shoulder.

“So fuckin pretty, mine. You hear that? You’re mine, I’m not letting you go.” He says as his speed increases.

“Say it,” he growls.

“I’m yours, Lix. I’m yours.” You repeat breathlessly, but he swallows the last word with a deep, sloppy kiss.

“My sweet girl,” he says softly as he pounds into you, skin slapping against skin, the air in the fort smelling of sex and sweat.

“I’m close,” you whine as you feel the muscles in your body start to lock.

“Fuck me too,” he kisses you, holding your pelvis up and pounding into you, causing you to see stars as your orgasm crashes into you and Felix groans as he fucks you through it. You cling to him as your body shakes, aftershocks of your orgasm having you frozen in place for a moment, your face in his neck as he hits his own orgasm as you come down from yours.

He groans as his hips thrust sloppily, both of you breathing heavy as his body stops.

“Fuck,” he breathes out before kissing you again. You giggle against him tongues grazing each other softly.

“God you’re perfect,” he says as he pulls away. He slowly pulls himself out of you, both of you shuttering at the sensitivity.

“Oh shit, y/n I’m-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he looks panicked once his senses are back down on earth.

“It’s fine, Lix. I’m on the pill.” You shrug as you sit up on your elbows. He sighs, carding a hand through his hair.

“I’ll be right back, ok?” you nod, face slightly flushed. Your heart is hammering and when Felix comes back, he has a warm wash cloth, snacks and drinks. He proceeds to clean you up, carefully wiping away the mess. Slightly fixated on how it looks dripping out of you.

“Uh, Felix?” you giggle noticing his eyes.

“Huh, oh s-sorry.” He blushes as he continues wiping the mess up, making sure you’re clean. He discards the rag, helping you under the blankets. He grabs a bottle of water, opening it, helping you drink to hydrate, before taking a sip for himself. Felix fits in beside you, letting you lay your head on his chest. For a few moments, the two of you drink in the moment together, his arm around you, his hand on top of yours with your fingers interlocked.

“That was incredible,” you whisper in awe. Felix chuckles.

“You really were.” He kisses your forehead.

“I meant what I said, though.” He says slowly.

“You don’t need anyone else, y/n. Watching you go out with him,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face, “It was torture. I know you’re still hurting, I know it’s gonna take time, but I want to be with you-,” you swallow his words with a deep passionate kiss.

You pull away, the two of you searching each other’s eyes.

“I don’t wanna be your friend, I don’t wanna be your fuck buddy.” He whispers.

“I wanna belong to you, I want you to belong to me. I want us, and I’m willing to wait, work and do whatever it takes to get it, y/n, because I’m crazy about you and I know you feel it too.” He says finally. You look between his eyes before your mouth cracks into a smile.

“We’ve been kidding ourselves, if we think we didn’t already belong to one another, Lix. I dated him because we both swore feelings wouldn’t get involved and they did. So, I tried to back out without having to explain why.” You admit.

Felix grins before kissing your forehead.

“No more pretending. No more games. No more acting like this means nothing,” he murmurs.

“You’re mine and I’m yours.”

Tags: @breakmeoff @thelovelybireader @crystal005

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hayatheauthor · 1 year ago

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Creating Fear in Your Characters: A Writers Guide

Creating authentic emotions is vital for immersive storytelling, which is why I decided to make this series on how to write different emotions. After exploring rage, and sadness it's now time to delve into fear!

Fear is a powerful emotion that can manifest in various ways, from subtle apprehension to paralyzing terror. Here's a guide on how to write fear effectively, covering different aspects of your characters' behavior and reactions.

Facial Expressions

Fear often manifests first in facial expressions, conveying the initial shock or unease. Describe these expressions to immerse readers in your character's emotional state:

Widened Eyes and Dilated Pupils: Show the eyes widening in response to a sudden threat, with dilated pupils indicating heightened alertness.

Tense Jaw and Clenched Teeth: Mention the clenching of jaw muscles or teeth, signaling internalized stress or anxiety.

Furrowed Brow and Raised Eyebrows: Describe the furrowing of the forehead and raised eyebrows, revealing worry or confusion.

Quivering Lips or Lip Biting: Note subtle lip movements like quivering or biting, reflecting nervousness or fear.

Frozen or Stiff Facial Muscles: Highlight moments of fear-induced immobility, where facial muscles become tense and rigid.

Body Language and Gestures

Fear can also be expressed through body language and gestures, showcasing your character's instinctual responses to danger or threat:

Backing Away or Recoiling: Describe your character instinctively moving backward or recoiling from the source of fear, signaling a desire to retreat.

Raised Shoulders and Tensed Posture: Show how fear causes the shoulders to rise and the body to tense up, indicating readiness for fight or flight.

Trembling Hands or Shaking Limbs: Mention the trembling of hands or shaking of limbs, reflecting nervousness or anxiety.

Covering Vulnerable Areas: Describe your character instinctively covering vulnerable areas like their neck or torso, symbolizing a protective gesture.

Fidgeting or Restlessness: Note any fidgeting or restlessness, such as tapping feet or wringing hands, as signs of inner turmoil and fear.

Vocal Cues and Dialogue

Fear can alter vocal cues and dialogue, affecting how your character speaks and communicates their emotions:

Quavering Voice or Shaky Speech: Describe the voice quivering or becoming shaky, indicating nervousness or fear.

Rapid Breathing and Gasping: Mention rapid breathing or gasping for air, showcasing the physical impact of fear on the respiratory system.

Stammering or Hesitant Speech: Note any stammering or hesitant speech patterns, reflecting the character's struggle to articulate their thoughts coherently.

Sudden Silence or Lack of Verbal Response: Show moments of sudden silence or the inability to respond verbally, highlighting the overwhelming nature of fear.

Repetitive Phrases or Vocalizations: Describe repetitive phrases or vocalizations, such as muttering prayers or chanting reassurances, as coping mechanisms in fearful situations.

Reactions and Physical Responses

Fear triggers various physical responses in your characters, showcasing the body's instinctual reactions to perceived threats:

Increased Heart Rate and Sweating: Mention the character's heart rate increasing and sweating profusely, reflecting heightened physiological arousal.

Dilated Pupils and Heightened Senses: Describe dilated pupils and heightened sensory perception, as the character's senses become more attuned to potential dangers.

Muscle Tension and Rigidity: Note muscle tension and rigidity, as the body prepares for action or defense in response to fear.

Nausea or Stomach Churning: Show how fear can lead to feelings of nausea or stomach churning, as the body's stress response impacts digestive functions.

Fight, Flight, or Freeze Response: Highlight the character's instinctual response to fear, whether it's a readiness to fight, a desire to flee, or a state of frozen immobility.

Types of Fear and Emotional Depth

Different types of fear can evoke varying emotional responses in your characters, adding depth to their portrayal and the narrative:

Startle Fear: Describe the sudden, reflexive fear triggered by unexpected events or loud noises, leading to a quick, intense reaction.

Apprehensive Fear: Show the lingering sense of unease or dread that accompanies anticipated threats or impending danger, heightening tension over time.

Terror: Depict the overwhelming, paralyzing fear that arises from extreme danger or horrifying experiences, impacting the character's ability to think or act rationally.

Phobias: Explore specific phobias that trigger irrational and intense fear responses, shaping how your character navigates their environment and interactions.

Trauma-Induced Fear: Address fear resulting from past traumas or experiences, influencing the character's behavior and emotional resilience in present situations.

Verbs and Adjectives for Writing Fear

Here's a list of verbs and adjectives to help you convey fear effectively in your writing:

Verbs: tremble, cower, gasp, quiver, shrink, freeze, recoil, sweat, pant, gulp, shudder

Adjectives: terrified, anxious, alarmed, horrified, shaken, jittery, panicked, petrified

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occamstfs · 4 months ago

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Couples Counseled: Care

Kyle, or rather Ky, endures his own session with Dr. Lucien. Safe to say he'll be coming out the perfect bottom for the top he led his boyfriend to be.

And here's part two! Seems Sean has little need for a masc boyfriend, fortunately turnabout is fair play as Ky becomes the twink he oh so desperately craves. Enjoy this rare twinkification! -Occam

One second Kyle watches the most polished man he’s ever seen escort his boyfriend away. He turns to look at the receptionist whose unwavering smile continues to shine under the harsh light of the waiting room. And then he blinks, and he’s in a small office. He flinches back as he sees the man who led his boyfriend away seconds ago inspecting paperwork in his hands.

While Sean’s response at being found in this unfamiliar place was one of fear and almost immediate attempts to flee, Kyle’s blood is already burning with rage at the surreal situation. “Where the fuck am I!?” Lucien opens his mouth but Kyle shouts once more before the therapist can speak, “You better explain whatever the hell is going on dude- where’s Sean!?”

The doctor gestures for Kyle to sit down and despite his still flowing anger he feels some out of body compulsion dragging him back to the couch. Unwillingly pacified for now, he stares daggers at the therapist and crosses his arms, flexing them to try and burn some of the still coursing energy.

Satisfied that Kyle will give him a moment to speak, Lucien addresses his question, “Sean and I just finished our time together for the day, it was exceedingly productive in fact. In no small part thanks to your splendid answers on the survey Ky.” Kyle pulls at the hair on his arm as he scowls at the doctor, obviously that can’t be right. He went out of his way to make sure Sean would blow a gasket.

Sensing his client’s confusion, Lucien’s smile grows wider as he aims another wrench to throw into Kyle’s mind, “Well now Ky, surely you remember passing him in the hall don’t you?” Kyle’s brow furrows and he prepares to shout that he can’t remember anything from before getting in this room, arms burning with the desire to swing. But then Lucien waves his fingers and in his mind Kyle sees a man.

He feels the heat radiating off the sweaty man’s body, sees his cock bulging through his sweatpants. In the memory he’s pulled close, into the chest of the man with bulging arms and held against hard hairy pecs as a hand is stuffed into his own pants to caress his ass. The beast of a man speaks but Kyle can’t make out what he says, distracted by the deep rumble of his voice resonating through his chest as the man’s massive hand squeezes his barely defined ass even harder.

Uncomfortable at being so close to a man he can’t reconcile as his boyfriend, Kyle shakes off the memory and finds himself back in the office. Only now does he notice that he can still feel where the man gripped his ass. He remembers doing so countless times to twinks he found on the dance floor, he remembers doing just that to Sean even! Though as he tries to remember feeling his perky ass bulging in between his fingers he sees his memory change. He feels his boyfriend’s waxed glutes grow hairy as curls lengthen to brush against his fingers as the ass hardens, as his back widens, as he turns around to show Kyle what a real top can do.

Kyle clutches at his head as it stings with a migraine, the therapist ready to move on speaks up, "Everything alright Ky?” he frowns at Lucien’s question, “Can you stop calling me that?”

Lucien feigns shock, “Oh? Is that not what you want to be called? Do forgive me! It’s just what Sean wrote on your form you see.” Kyle just sighs, I guess that’s little bite back at all compared to what Kyle wrote on his form, he grunts in annoyance and motions for Lucien to begin.

Straightening his papers he smirks and proceeds as planned, “Off to the races then! I’m sure you remember question one from filling out the form yourself eh?” He pauses though interrupts Kyle before he can respond, “What is your favorite quality of your partner? Oof your dear there does have quite poorly handwriting, but he says: ‘how much Ky cares’, well isn’t that sweet?”

Kyl continues staring at the therapist who stares back, unblinking. He’s kicking himself for signing them up for the lowest rated couples counselor he could find. Though given that Sean seems to have played along and not promptly come out and harangued him for his answers, maybe he’s not in the dog house after all? It’s just three questions, Kyl figures if he rushes through them they’ll be out of there spick and span and he can apologize for being such an ass to Sean.

Sean… He feels his heart flutter as he thinks of his boyfriend, eyes drifting around the room he rubs his arm as he’s suddenly distracted by how full he is of affection for a man he cannot quite picture. Turning his attention back to the therapist, “Can you repeat that?” Smirking with half-lidded eyes, “Of course! Sean loves how much Ky cares.”

Ky’s tight-lipped grimace twitches as he cannot help but smile, something in his foggy mind shifts mushy with care for a man he wasn’t even willing to go to a single therapy session for. His chest quivers with the intensity of how much he feels. Clenching his jaw he chokes back a sob as his eyes water with guilt. Struck with feeling so intense he can’t understand. As the wall of stoicism he has long defended begins to crumble, he knows something unnatural is happening.

Through gritted teeth, pushing down emotions greater than he’s ever felt he cries out at Lucien, “What are you doing to me.” Lucien just tilts his head with a curious grin, “Why now Kyle, what do you possibly mean?” His pupils shake in his eyes as he’s called Kyle, that’s? That’s not his name? Behind emotion so strong that he can scarcely feel anything, Ky feels some now alien part of himself sealed away. His gruff, emotionally stunted self sealed away as Lucien clears his throat to move onto the next question.

“Perhaps if Sean’s first answer was a little overwhelming we should move on then Ky, hm? What do you hope to achieve from your couples counseling sessions? Decidedly less flattering an answer- ‘wish Ky would lose some weight and clean up a bit’ hrm, ‘bitchs too hairy’ Well a little disjointed but there you have it. What do you think about that, Ky?”

And so Ky learns that his overflowing emotion is not limited to affection and bliss. Too Hairy!? Sean’s always loved his body hair! His hand flies to his chest in indignance as he is shocked by how much Sean’s words hurt him. Looking down at his hairy arm gracing even hairier pecs, he tears up anew staring at fur coverage that now fills him with embarrassment.

As he sits there stewing in discomfort as he has to hold himself back from tearing strands of hair from his skin. Then his mind is awash with a numb fog as the miraculous begins to happen. Hairs covering his chest begin slowly retracting. At first they seem shorn away, as if a razor blade was sweeping through the forest of hair like scythe. But as they continue to retract and disappear, the pale skin underneath is revealed to be smoothing and softening as if he never grew body hair to begin with.

Looking at his smooth chest in wonder he covers his face with a hand and is shocked to find that it is not simply his carpeted chest that has been struck hairless. Under his clumsy fingertips he feels his scratchy beard fading away, teardrops coursing down smooth skin onto a jawline that has not been free from stubble since high school. His free hand goes to his crotch as he feels his pubes retract into a pruned garden and the hair tickling his legs is waxed away. The quivering anxiety in Ky’s chest sinks lower as he feels butterflies in his stomach. Suddenly a strange idea flickers through his mind, ‘Sean will be so proud of me! When he sees how smooth I am-’ and then he shakes it off. The alien thought reminds him of the man watching, of the man who must be changing him, he feels the waning urge to fight back return. Though as he looks at his hands, as he feels his buttery, sensitive skin, he can’t even remember what just changed. Did something change?

His voice cracks and, beneath his notice, he speaks with a tone worlds away from the gruff domineering voice he once knew as his own, “Doctor LucIEN- Ugh- Are you doing something to me? I, I can’t remember,” The doctor scratches his beard, forcing some deja vu through Ky. The memory of him playing with a beard on his own face is clearer than anything. And then his head burns with pain as it changes. Clutching at his own head he grunts as he realizes he was misremembering! That was Sean’s beard, obviously.

Ky fights back a giggle as he quickly recontextualizes the man in the hallway was his boyfriend all along! Seeing a look of reverie on Ky’s new hairless face, Lucien’s grin almost twists into a grimace as he demands the envelope be pushed further, “Did you miss the first part of his answer, do you not think yourself too bulky?” Lucien’s eyes burn into Ky as he shakes his head in disagreement, “Oh? Well Sean certainly seemed to think so.” Turning around the sheet for Ky to read the answer, the once DL man pauses.

Mouth falling ajar, he quietly moans as he watches a hand that he swears has spent countless hours lifting weights suddenly loses its callouses. He sees his palm thin as his bicep almost atrophies. Over a decade of hard work keeping himself strong, broing out at the gym, showing off his strength and dominating other men quickly begins to fade from his mind. After a moment the idea that he would dominate anything becomes laughable, how could he possibly dominate anyone?

Smaller hands fondle his chest as pecs that he was once incredibly proud of follow the route of his thinning arms and body hair and retract. Perky nipples remain as his weighty pecs shrink into nothing, leaving behind something flat, little at all remaining to grasp but skin and the barest hint of a feminine figure that he knows would drive Sean wild. That always has driven him almost mindless with hunger, he can almost feel the man’s grasp on his hips as his waist thins. Moaning at the memory a smile returns to Lucien’s face as he prepares to finish this new couple.

“Lastly, what is something you wish your partner did? Any guesses as to what he wrote?” Caught off guard by being addressed, Ky shakes his head and unconsciously poses. Head tilted and slightly downturned as he awaits what Sean is going to ask of him, already knowing he is more than happy to fulfill whatever it may be.

Even sitting there before Lucien finally seals his fate, he continues to change. Lips grow plumper as he pushes down an urge to flirtily bite them. His jawline smooths and his back arches. The cock that was once his pride and joy shrinks as it is no longer the primary tool of his satisfaction. While just about every inch of his form compacts inward his ass puts on mass, becoming the perfect bubble butt for Sean to do what he will.

“Succinct, your partner simply answered, ‘for him to admit he was mine.’” There’s a tickle in his chest as he finds the statement absurd, Ky is his? Letting loose, the new twink giggles to his heart's content, swaying back and forth as every breath and break between shrill laughter his arms perfectly frame his new thin form, “I mean girl! What are we doing here!?” Limp-wristed hand covering his face as he leans back to laugh, “Sean was so right this is just a waste of time!”

Removing his glasses and performing placation, Lucien raises his hands in mimesis of defeat, “By all means Ky I think you’re right, you and Sean are clearly perfect for each other and have no further need of my services.” Ky stands and stumbles forward, tripping with vertigo from his lower vantage, he starts to spill onto the floor before, from out of nowhere, his waist is yanked by a man towering over him. Lightheaded from the fall, and in general, Ky turns with a grin to see his Sean haloed by the office light pulling him up.

The twink is pulled to Sean’s chest with ease, feet lifted off the floor as the behemoth raises him into a sloppy kiss. Ky giggles as his lover’s beard tickles his face before bending back and winking at the therapist upside down, “Thanks for reminding us we don’t need anyone but each other Doc!” Sean grunts in turn and starts carrying his bottom out the door, the twink waves farewell as the Doctor watches in repose, “Ta ta~”

Ky throws his arms around Sean’s neck as the pair make their way outside of the office. The brute sneers at the receptionist he still doesn’t trust as the lovers the place never to return. Wistfully Ky tries to remember why they came in to begin with, “Do you know why went in there babe?” Sean shrugs and grunts as he feels Ky bounces with his shoulders, bumping a thigh against his crotch, igniting his hunger.

Exhaling like a bull when they make it to the car he throws Ky into the backseat and quickly falls over him. “Babe don’t forget to close the door! We’re in public!” Sneering out at the empty parking lot, Sean obeys and slams it shut before returning his attention to one of the only things that matter to him, stuffing this twink with his massive cock.

The door to Lucien’s office closes by itself as he folds up the surveys and puts them into a file cabinet near his desk. Another couple successfully helped. It shouldn’t be long at all before the pair start creating content and attracting more men to seek his services. After all there’s sure to never be much on the mind of either men besides the next fuck. Surely no one who stumbles across their videos will be able to resist being drawn to changing themselves.

Lucien smirks as he can picture the car rocking in his mind as he wonders where to away to in the meantime. What lucky sod is he to help next, only time will tell.

#male tf #mental change #male transformation #twinkification #twink tf #personality change #reality change #corruption

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onsomenewsht · 3 months ago

Text

And through the clouds, I see love shine

About when, on a Wednesday in a restaurant at Barcelona, you watch it begin again

》 Alexia Putellas x Reader

》 words count: 12.8k

》 fight a losing battle [idiom]: also known as “losing game”, to try hard to do something when there is no chance that you will succeed, a failing effort or activity

Your last relationship ends so badly that you consider abstinence from everything – processed sugar, alcohol, and even people. A period of deep cleansing, as if you could purify every cell of your body, like a celebrity spiraling from rehab to full-blown identity crisis.

This emotional state explains why you find yourself on a one-way flight to Barcelona, all your things crumbled in a backpack. A rash impulse led you to declutter your belongings, a wishful attempt of turning into a completely new person just because your closet is now half what it used to be.

The decision to straight-up flee is rushed and quite terrifying, much like many of your recent choices.

Elena, your best friend since you were barely old enough to share made-up stories and Barbie-like careers, thinks you’re going mental. She nearly cries when you decide to donate your vintage Christian Lacroix jacket, but you’re convinced it’s the only way to get a new lease on life, so she mourns in silence.

The loudest reaction comes from your brother, who, if you could be mature enough to admit it, is the only voice of reason that almost resonates in your head.

Almost.

Despite your stubbornness, you accept the offer of hospitality from one of his university friends, who gives away a spare room. You don’t plan on staying in a hotel for gods know how long, and you certainly don’t have the patience to search for an apartment. You’re not completely out of mind, if they want to help, so be it.

Barcelona is brighter and feels as welcoming as you hoped, though that might just be the nicer weather and the fact you’re far from your problems. And your ex.

The first month flies by in a rush of Catalan cafeterias, art galleries, and little boutiques that refill both your closet and your spirit.

The people here are kind enough to put up with your attempts to speak the language, humoring you since you’re oh-so-sure that eleven consecutive days on a passive-aggressive app have made you fluent.

The places you visit and the ones strangers recommend are loud enough to ignore the voices of reason in your ear that start to sound a lot like your brother’s.

Still, there’s only so much one can do to avoid responsibilities and self-consciousness.

“You need a job”, Ricardo states one morning, finding you in the kitchen eating cold pizza, still in the clothes you wore two nights ago.

Your closet isn’t as limited anymore.

“I’ve saved enough money to enjoy my vacation, thanks for your concern”

“I thought that was the money saved to buy a house with your ex”

“I do not have an ex nor a house to worry about, do I?”

As soon as the pizza starts to taste like regret, you’re ready to end the conversation to sleep the rest of day away.

Ricardo means well, you know that.

He’s a nice guy and a good roommate, but, like your brother, he’s overprotective and likes to gossip a little too much. Sometimes, it’s surprising how much he knows about you. Most of the time, it’s just annoying.

“I want to say– maybe a routine could be good for you”

“I have a routine”, you retort, knowing it’s a fat lie.

You’re out of the bed before eleven only if you didn’t sleep through the night before, wandering around the city with no real destination until something, somehow, catches your attention.

It’s not a bad thing per se, but it’s not a sustainable lifestyle.

“You quit a well-paid accounting job, right?”

“Ricardo, I swear, I’m this close to reporting you for stalking”

His laugh is too loud this early in the morning, but the comfort of bantering with someone who knows you is too familiar to ignore. Even if most of his insight comes from your nosy brother.

They both need to find a hobby that doesn’t involve judging your questionable life choices.

He sips his coffee while studying you, assessing how risky it would be to keep pushing the subject.

Apparently, he feels brave enough.

“My friends’ restaurant could use some help”

You’re not sure if Ricardo downplayed it or if he’s just blissfully unaware, but his friends don’t need some help – they need a miracle.

That’s what happens when you get scammed by your bookkeeper.

Despite not being really familiar with Spanish tax laws and regulation, it’s clear as the day someone exploited every possible loophole in the profitable business run by three way-too-trusting men. The truth becomes evident as you examine their accounting ledger, your frown deepening with each passing moment.

You have been to their restaurant before, and have loved it.

The place is cosy and carefully maintained. The food is prepared by a grumpy man from Puerto Rico named Paco, who, after twenty years in Barcelona, learned just enough cursing in Catalan to run the kitchen. Local bands play live on the weekend and someone’s mom made sure everyone is nice and well mannered. The worn wooden tables are witness of countless shared meals.

Pedro and Paul, the other two owners, can only be described as a comedy duo with a really questionable sense of style and even worse jokes. But they’re nice enough, definitely good company when you have a bad day. They can turn it upside down so quickly, for the better or the worst.

However, Ricardo tells you how much the restaurant means for his friends and the local community, guilt-tripping you into helping them to fix their finances.

The truth is, you love math and numbers so much that a challenge like this excites you more than it’s appropriate to admit.

Hence, you agree to help them for far less money you could have asked anyone in the same situation.

They take it as a promise to make sure the business keeps running and organise a dinner with way too many people to celebrate your help.

“I’ve barely started looking into it, Pedro”, you complain, not used to such enthusiasm.

“¡Cállate y bebe tu sangría!”

You meet Alba that same night.

She’s nice and quick-witted, no one is safe from her clever remarks. It feels nice, the way she makes sure you’re included when everyone seems to forget you’re still learning Spanish from a green bird on your phone, and that, in most conversations, you relate more to vibes than actual words.

Flirting is a universal language, though.

If her hand brushes on your arm a couple of times you make sure to smile and get closer, and if you lean into her with the excuse of needing a translation she makes sure to whisper right into your ear. There’s a note in her voice that makes you feel at ease.

Of course, Ricardo ruins everything.

“I’m starting to think you’re running from tax collectors, not your ex”

It’s a good joke, you know it is nothing more than that. But it suddenly reminds you how messy your life is and how out of place you feel sometimes.

Not just far away from home, but also far away from everything familiar.

A job for a company you hated but paid good money; friends you didn’t see as you’d liked, but who knew damn well when to drag you out of your apartment – and out of your own head. A boyfriend who barely tolerated your love, but somehow always managed to say and do the right things at the right time.

Every morning, you wake up knowing what to wear for work, what numbers to punch into the computer to get the needed results, and how to act to be sure you’re not too much.

You’re not running away from just your ex, you’re running away from your life as known until finding out about the cheating.

“¿Todo bien?”, Alba asks, noticing how you miss the opportunity to jab Ricardo.

It takes you a moment to register her reassuring hand on your arm and the talks moving to a completely different topic.

“Yeah, sorry, just tired”

“You better get used to the Spanish nightlife”

“It’s pretty much all I’m doing so far”, you admit, slowly sipping a beer and making sure your annoying roommate doesn’t hear a word about this.

The rest of the dinner passes without too much trouble, despite not remembering most of the names and following even less of the conversations.

Alba stays close and you blame the spicy food for the way your face reddens when she bids her goodbye with three kisses and a promise to meet up with less people.

“It’s a surprise”, Ricardo comments, his grin spreading across his face as soon as you settle onto the couch to debrief the day’s events.

It’s starting to look a lot like a new routine, a tradition in the making.

“What? Something my brother didn’t mention?”

“¡Ay, claro!”

“I hate you”

“I had no idea Alba is your type”

You have to give credit where due, he displays incredible reflexes. He dodges the pillow you throw at him, your punch barely grazes his arm, and your kick misses his shin by a mile.

To be honest with yourself, you’re not really sure who is your type.

Not even getting in the mind-space to think about your ex, the past relationships you care about to recall all look pretty different. There’s no consistent pattern, not a clear preference in haircuts or any kind of colours, not a style that catches your attention more than another.

The only thing most of your exes have in common is tiring you to the bones and leaving your life making you trust less and less in others.

Maybe you do have a type.

It’s not a date, you both agree on that.

She doesn’t ask about the infamous ex, she’s good company and even a nicer distraction.

But your mind drifts and, as you recount the highlights of how that relationship crumpled in slow motion, it becomes clear as the day you shouldn’t be with someone until you’ve committed to a good therapist.

It’s not fair to anyone, but it’s definitely not fair to Alba.

You kiss her anyway, and she makes you promise to let her be your first date as soon as you’re ready to get back into the game again.

“Ricardo told me your ex is un cabrón”

If not for the possibility of blemishing your otherwise spotless record, you could have shoved Pedro down the hill you’re currently struggling to climb, losing too much dignity.

The guy looks like he had one beer too many, but he’s surprisingly in shape and apparently unaffected by the whole hike so far.

“Am I the only topic of conversation he has?”, you ask, mostly to buy a few more seconds to catch your breath.

“Creo que sí”

You raise the finger as you outpace him to keep going.

The sun has set, casting a warm, golden hue across the clear Barcelona sky. Despite Pedro knocking on your door when it was barely socially accessible to be at someone’s place, it takes the two of you more time than necessary to reach this point of the trail.

Not close enough to the top yet, but definitely too late to turn back without regrets.

It’s mostly his fault.

The view is impressive, and the Catalan knows too many fascinating details to not be amazed by the nature around.

“¿Estás bien?

“Cabrón is a nice word”

“It’s not”

“No, it’s– I mean it’s not a bad enough word to describe him”, you clarify with a faint smile as Pedro slows his pace.

Your final destination is just a few steps away.

It may be the pleasant company, a good friend you’ve discovered in an unexpected place at the most unexpected time of your life. It may be the warm rays of sunshine that tickle your skin or the ache making your legs feel alive. It may be the weight on your chest, the one that crushed good intentions and caused too many sleepless nights, now becoming smaller under a new sense of resolve.

It may be for many different reasons, but for the first time in more than you’re comfortable looking back, it feels better.

“It was a good relationship”

He gives you a moment, sitting on the slightly damp grass next to your sprawled figure.

“It was good, until it was really bad. But it’s hard to do anything about it when you’re doing such an impressive job at hiding all the signs”

“A bad relationship can’t be blamed on just one person”, he tries to reason.

“It can”

“Guapa, mira–”

“No, it can. He was controlling, aggressive, and incredibly talented at making me take all the blame and the shame”, you admit, for the first time out loud, “My only fault was pretending to ignore when I finally saw it all for what it really was”

As you gather the strength to rise to a more dignified position, you almost expect Pedro to hug you or be the over affectionate Spanish stereotype he usually is.

Instead, he’s looking somewhere away in the sky, pensive.

You feel the need to reassure him, “I’m fine now, I–”

“No, lo siento, lo siento”, he turns with a small, yet genuine smile, “We don’t know each other that well”

“You’re hurting me now, I thought we were friends”

“We are, tonta!”

Pedro raises and his large hands, marked with tiny cuts, extend to pick you up. He paves the way down the hill with no words, and for the first time since you meet the man, the silence it’s a surprise.

It’s not uncomfortable, maybe just a little unsettling.

And short-lived.

“We don’t know each well”

“You already said that”

He shoves you playfully, not impressed by your attitude, but used to it.

“Lo que quiero decir es que– you’re a good person, I can tell, even if we don’t know each other for long”

“Don’t get soft on my right now”

“You’re a good person and you love good, you have to keep loving”, he states, so casually, “Once you know love, you should never try to forget”

“At this point, I’m pretty sure you hit your head hard enough to go mental and somehow no one noticed”

“I miss you so much, Elena”

Your phone is precariously balanced on a glass of wine as you cook a recipe Paco scribbled on a piece of paper. In Catalan.

It makes less sense than his finance decisions, but you’ll take it.

Your best friend’s face is half out of frame but you can clearly point out every step of her beauty routine. It’s a grueling and painfully long process, her boyfriend is way more patient than you about it.

But tonight Ricardo is out for his bi-weekly pottery class, and you’re happy to indulge her just for the sake of spending some time together, even if it’s through a screen.

Not like there’s a slight chance you’d say it out loud.

“What are you trying to cook?”, the eyebrow in frame raises skeptically.

“No idea”, you admit, coming to the conclusion the number you’re looking at is five and there’s no way this dish needs so many onions.

“Good, now, let’s track back to your mental instability”

“And you ask why I am in different country?”

The wasp she lets out is so loud, and the silence that follows is so deafening you look at the screen to make sure the call is still on. She can be so dramatic.

“Don’t joke about it, I’m still grieving”

“I’m still alive”

“Barely”, she mutters.

Elena is a good friend, despite the theatrics.

When the world seems a little too much to handle, she turns into a safe space for you to be at peace. When you’re overthinking the stupidest choices, she always has a comforting, new point of view.

To people who don’t have the privilege to know her well enough, she may look shallow and too noisy. The truth is, you’ve never met someone so aware of herself and her life that she perfectly understands how to give due weight to even the smallest things.

And she doesn’t keep quiet, she loves loud and proud.

You learned to hold yourself back. You were forced to.

That’s the biggest lesson she’s still teaching you.

“Just saying, you’re surrounded by hot, Spanish people–”

“Happens when in Spain”

“You’re allowed to have fun!”

“I have plenty, thank you very much”

A strange smell comes out of the pan as the lid is lifted, prompting you to close it and pretend it’s not even there for the rest of the night. Not planning to call a poison center, ordering takeout is how you opt to end this cooking attempt.

If Elena thinks you paused the video to piss her off, it is on her.

When your best friend’s face pops up on the screen again it’s so serious you’re tempted to hang up for real.

“I mean it in a good way, don’t get me wrong, but taking a leave of absence and flying to Barcelona is the most selfish thing I witnessed you do in forever”

“I’m actually thinking of quitting for good and going freelance”

“See?”, she gushes, although she can’t be taken seriously with a panda-shaped face mask on, “You like to do your nerd-numbers-shit again, you’re trying new things, even if you clearly can’t be trusted in the kitchen–”

“Fuck you, that man can cook, but for sure can’t write”

“You’re making friends, not as amazing as me, but we’ll take it!”

Trying to argue could be useless and, honestly, you have no arguments.

“You’re fine, you’re doing good”, she smiles, and you miss her a little bit more.

This time you say it out loud, and she cries.

The guys are planning something.

By now, you know them well enough to sense trouble the moment you step into the restaurant.

Paco wears a grin that’s almost creepy, a beam blasted across his face, while Pedro is cleaning the tables with unnecessary vigour and his usual commitment is taken to an unusual level.

They’re clearly waiting for something to happen, lingering around as you try to explain to Paul, the musketeer you pointed as the most reliable when money is on the line, how to delay a payment reminder.

“Okay, what is wrong with them?”, you ask, trying to recall a single reason why you put up with these people’s ethics.

You only need one.

“No te entiendo”

“Tú me entiendes perfectamente”

“Your español is getting so good, ¿lo sabes?”, Pedro chimes in, and you’re sure whatever they want, you’re not going to like it.

Paul is usually the voice of reason, the emotionally adult one. Why is he looking at you like he’s about to commit the worst betrayal?

“We were thinking–”

“I’m scared when you guys think”

“We are allies, feminists, and strong supporters of women in male dominated fields, equality–”

“Please, shut up”, you interrupt as if the conversation is physically hurting you.

“Barça is playing the Copa on Saturday. We organise una fiesta every year when they come back, es una tradición”, Pedro cuts in, feeling like the best way to get to the point is to dive straight into it.

“What if they lose?”

“Ellas no pierden”, Paul’s voice is so final you don’t dare to object.

“Cool, fine, why are you acting like this party is something I’ll not like?”

“We pay for it all”

It’s nice.

It is a really nice gesture, knowing how much they care about their community and their friends and apparently the women’s side of their favourite club.

Then you remember they have a huge debt to pay up because an asshole took advantage of their kind hearts and the accounts are just starting to make sense again.

“It’s a good thing”, you admit out loud, “But–”

When Paul starts a passionate rant about the team’s season so far and how sure he is they are gonna win those trophies all over again, apparently setting a new record for the sport itself, it’s not strange to feel thrilled too.

Even Paco joins the excitement at the prospect of adding another title to the collection.

You have been in Barcelona long enough to understand football is a big deal here, and you can’t deny it’s really wonderful to see three big guys hyping up their club – women’s and men’s side alike.

Pedro looks at you like he knows you’re about to crumble.

“They better win then”, you agree, pretending it takes a lot of thinking.

They wrap you in a group hug so welcoming you don’t have the heart to tell them the restaurant can’t really afford to pay out an entire party right now, on a weekend, literally planned for a football team and their mothers.

You’ll make sure the numbers check out later.

You meet Alexia that same night.

Alba makes the introductions, and you shake her hand a moment too late and too long than socially acceptable.

You’re busy shifting your gaze back and forth.

They look alike. A lot. But somehow, they’re also so different.

You make a mental note to dig up some old pictures of a younger version of yourself and your brother.

“She’s the reason this party won’t bankrupt the guys”

“I’ve heard only good things about you”, Alexia admits.

If a slight redness tints your face it’s due to the compliments, not the feeling of her eyes on you, or the way your body seems to jolt awake.

“All lies, probably”, you try to compose yourself – get a fucking grip, “They’re just impressed ‘cus they can’t count to save their lives”

The laugh that leaves the older woman’s lips is the most melodic sound you’ve ever heard. Something in the way her face lights up and her features relax makes your chest ache with a surprisingly comfortable feeling.

A desire to make her laugh again.

And that is what you do all night.

The girls are way too excited – deservedly so, after another title added to their already impressive collection. The live music is loud, the food and the drinks come in flows. You’re too busy to mentally estimate the costs.

When one of Alexia’s teammates decides you’re her new favorite person in the whole restaurant, you’re perfectly fine with it. Just because she’s funny, not because she seems to have an impressive amount of stories to tease her captain with.

When Paul hands you another beer, you sip it without a care of keeping count. Just because you’re allowed to get loose, not because you noticed Alexia is making sure everyone will not regret a drink too much tomorrow.

When Alba drags you to the makeshift dance floor, you let yourself feel the music and the bodies around. Just because the party is definitely worth it, vibrant, not because her sister joins the group at the same time.

You go home, much later than intended, with an unfamiliar feeling prickling beneath your skin and a somehow familiar pair of eyes stuck in your head.

The first time you end up in the stands for a football game is purely by accident.

An unmistakable electric buzz fills the air, lingering all the way from the parking lot to the seats that seem to keep filling. Everyone is smiling and chanting, sporting just two different colours but expressing their support in an unique way.

The games you endured watching on TV to spend a few hours with your brother as a kid can’t compare to the real thing.

You never imagined finding yourself in such a place, but when in Rome. Or, well, when in Barcelona.

It’s all on the Putella sisters, to be honest.

You meet Alba in the most unusual place you could think of, or being yourself in the first place. A sports shop.

Planning to go on the hike a stranger at the restaurant pointed out, you need appropriate trekking shoes. Since the decluttering phase is officially over, you looked up one of those obnoxious places that sell overpriced sports-related shit.

Not the kind of shop you’d picture Alba willingly entering.

“Mind you, I actually like sports”, she objects.

“Do you?”

She giggles as your head tilts in a mocking way, “Vale, I like watching more than doing the sports”

“No way!”

The bags she’s dragging out of the shop are the only thing stopping her from not-so-playfully smacking you. It’s surprisingly easy to tease each other.

She reminds you of Elena, who called this morning to discuss how to act now she discovered where her boyfriend hides the ring. As if she hasn’t been snooping around for months.

Not entirely her fault, the poor guy left the jewelry’s receipt with the car keys at the entrance.

“Are you?”, the younger woman asks.

“What?”

“A sports person”

“My brother used to kick footballs at me when we were kids, the only sport I ever pretended to be remotely interest in”

Her smile dims slightly.

For some reason, that seems to have been the wrong thing to say.

“Have you been to a Barça game yet?”

“What if I’m a Madridista?”

That’s even worse, apparently, since Alba dramatically drops the bags to gasp in shock. Her acting of a heartbreak is surprisingly convincing.

A second voice chimes in out of nowhere, “Don’t even joke about it”

Alexia’s comment is dead serious, you can tell, with just the hint of a grin on her lips as a clear giveaway that she’s more than comfortable teasing a person she barely knows.

You’re definitely not going to complain.

The hat she’s wearing hides half her face, but you can see her lighting up behind it.

“What if I’m not joking?”

“Alba, you said she is a nice person”, the midfielder complains, a huff escaping her lips as she adjusts the weight of the bags she’s carrying.

Did they just raid the whole shop?

“Bold to you to assume I can’t be a nice person and a Madridista”

“Please, don’t fight her on this, she’s gonna be insufferable”, Alba complains, playfully rolling her eyes at her sister’s antics and your teasing.

“No, she needs to be educated. She’s coming to El Clásico with us”

As simple as that.

You find yourself in the home section of the stadium for one of the most anticipated games of the season.

Or that’s what Alexia is ranting about all the way to your seats, going off about the rivalry and basic football knowledge you have to thank your borther for drilling into your brain against your will.

It’s all worth it when her blush spreads across her face as she realises, in the middle of her fourth attempt to explain with yet another example, that you actually do know what offside is.

Alba watches the interaction closely, amused by how easy it is for you to tease Barcelana’s captain and how comfortable she seems to be around you, despite not having known each other for long.

A couple of minutes before kick-off, Alexia returns from wherever she went – one mission in mind. She takes her place on your side, handing you a Blaugrana jersey, “You can’t sit here without wearing the right colours”

Maybe wearing a white t-shirt was a bit too much.

You burst out laughing, opting to put in the item immediately to avoid upsetting the filled seats around you, “How’d you find your own at a men’s game?”

“I happen to be pretty beloved around here”

“Did you hear that, Alba? La Reina is bragging!”

The only reason she doesn’t retort is due to the referee’s whistle announcing the start of the game, followed by a surprisingly enjoyable night with the two sisters.

Summer in Barcelona is nothing like you pictured it.

The streets are filled with tourists, too many people crammed in too little spaces. Complaints about the crowds and the chaos drown out any excitement. You have to remind Pedro that it’s awful, but it’s good for business.

Sometimes, it’s too hot to even think of leaving the comfort of your place. Fans blow in every room because, of course, the air conditioner broke the day it was turned on.

Sometimes, it’s so loud you don’t need to ignore the voices of doubt in your head, subdued by everything that’s happening around you.

Sometimes, it’s exactly the kind of life you can see yourself living.

Your brother came to visit for a week, spending more time teasing you with Ricardo than doing anything else. You hate it, but you missed him too much to complain.

Maybe you pulled some strings to make his dream of visiting Camp Nou come true, just so you could look cool, but then what?

He’s as happy as a kid in a candy store, and all you have to do is endure an overexcited guided tour and bribe Alexia with overpriced drinks the night after. Totally manageable.

Your therapist announces her vacation like it’s not the worst news she’ll be sharing, leaving you with tasks to occupy the time. You dutifully completed them all, never quite managing to shake the nerd label off, and, quite frankly, you pay her too much to not do her homework.

Some tasks seem a little over the top, though – signing up for a dating app is definitely not how you’ll get over your ex.

You started hanging out with a group of passionate excursionists. Perhaps a bit too excited about life in general, but nice enough to follow during their hikes.

Pedro joins when he can, most of the time, someone from the Barcelona team manages to invite themselves.

Since you and María aren’t allowed to be on your own, Ingrid or Esme supervise. It may be an overreaction, but the last time you two were alone, you sprained your ankle and the defender got nasty cuts on her legs before the trip even started, so you can’t really judge them.

If you say Alexia is a better hike partner than most is just to piss María.

That summer in Barcelona makes you miss your family and friends back home a little more than usual, but it’s also the first time in months that you feel like you’re actually living your life – not just letting it flow right through you.

When the new school year starts, Irene and her wife come to the restaurant a couple of times before Paul suggests that you could be the perfect person to help their son with his math homework.

Your attempt to explain that you really are not qualified to teach in a different language goes completely ignored.

They’ve already tried different tutors, and Mateo seems to hate them all. You accept, mostly because of the kid’s puppy-dog eyes.

The two of you fell into an easy routine. Once a week, he would lend you basic grammar school manuals and children’s books to help with your Spanish, and you would explain math to him in the simplest way possible.

It goes well.

Mateo decides pretty soon you’re his new favourite person, and you basically become one of Irene’s as well.

That’s how you find yourself on the sideline during a Barça training session, reading a book about a dog that doesn’t know how to bark while Mateo is too pleased with himself, checking all the math exercises he nailed.

“Good one?”

You raise your gaze, shielding your eyes from the sun enough to point out Alexia’s silhouette.

The weather is still too warm for your comfort, making you question the girls’ mental stability for running lap after lap under such conditions with a smile on their faces.

Sports people are scary.

“You look too good to be someone who just finished training”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Derogatory”, you clarify, pushing your stuff aside so that Alexia can sit beside you on the sideline.

She’s drinking some sort of sport drink like she’s just eaten sand, and this close, she looks human. She’s grinning, enjoying the sun picking at her skin and Mateo’s passionate explanation of the math exercises he’s done all by himself.

The training session is wrapped up, she stays until Irene comes back from the changing room, washed and dressed, ready to take the little boy home.

The blonde lingers a bit longer, talking about books she loved growing up and how she takes management courses when she can. You find out Penélope Cruz is both your favourite actress, but the midfielder acts shocked when you tell her you haven’t watched her favourite film.

That night, you put it on and change the language setting, live-texting Alexia all your reactions.

Halfway through, you’re pretty sure she’s watching it too.

Almost nine months after booking that life-changing one-way ticket to Barcelona, you buy another one to go back home.

With a return ticket in hand.

It’s your mother’s birthday, so you kind of have to.

Recently, she’s been repeating a new favorite line, rambling about the uncertainty of life and the precariousness of old age. She’s barely in her 60s and has less back pain than most people of your generation, but she’s not willing to listen to reason.

You come to the conclusion you can’t lose any more points against your brother in the unspoken sibling race for your parent’s love. So you book the flight, pack a suitcase big enough, because you literally have nothing to wear left behind, and mentally prepare for the investigation your family will conduct.

The tension in your shoulder melts away the moment your brother wraps his arms around you in the airport terminal.

“You grow up so much”

And, just like that, he’s your annoying, stupid older brother again.

“I didn’t miss you at all”

“I can see you holding back tears”

“You’re literally crying!”, you accuse with a grin on your lips, lightly punching him.

“Just wait until mum sees that new tattoo”

The truth is, your mother is too busy peering deep into your soul to care about the tattoo.

It takes two days of constant reassurance that you’re working, eating, and sleeping properly; a ceramic salamander figurine – maybe overpriced, but a gift meant to make an impression; and Elena backing up your story to calm her worries.

Barely enough to get you through the rest of the week unstretched.

“She’s just worried”, your best friend tries to reason, sipping a flashy pink drink that you’re not even sure is made from real fruit.

“I moved to Barcelona, not a war zone”

“Oh, so now it’s permanent?”

The shit-eating grin spreading across her face should annoy you, but you have to admit she has a point.

At first it was just an impulsive decision, an urge to run away from everything and everyone. Then, without really realising it, the Catalan city started to feel a lot like a place to settle in, to let your wings spread wide open.

Now you almost call it home.

The waitress interrupts your flow of thoughts, saving you from Elena’s pointed gaze long enough to be properly distracted by the huge amount of food presented. He leaves with a charming smile, but you’re genuinely too focused on the salty chips to notice.

“Are you pregnant?”, you ask, looking as she almost chokes to avoid comically spilling her drink on you.

“The Spanish heat fried your brain?”

“What? You didn’t even have soft drink when we were underage”

Elena pauses for a moment, weighting if knocking over you the rest of the pink beverage could be worth it. It takes genuine pondering.

She decides to take the highest road.

“Are you dying?”

“Are you taking comedy classes in Barcelona?”

The last time your best friend was this over the edge it was because of a pregnancy scare. First year of university, and her boyfriend at time wasn’t really the guy you’d take home for Christmas. A memory that doesn’t help her case right now.

You slip under the dim lights of the bar, a classy spot where she hangs out with the women from her pilates class. A shiver runs down your back, a bad feeling overcoming deep inside you.

Then, she speaks up.

“I’ve already bought a wedding dress”, she admits, as if she’s confessing a crime, “It’s a size smaller and I have to–”

“Elena, for fuck’s sake, I thought you were actually dying!”

“It is, indeed, a tragedy”

“He hasn’t even proposed yet”

“Details”, she chugs the rest of the drink, smirking and grabbing the last chips you’re too shocked to care about.

The same waitress hovers around your table, drawn in by the loud exchange and your clear distress, “Excuse me, is everything okay?”

He’s young, charming enough for this to be just a gig while he waits and hopes for his acting career to take off. However, he looks genuinely concerned, his gaze shifting between the deep frown and your friend amused grin.

“All good, she’s just dramatic”, Elena points at you with the straw, before delivering the final blow, “And she is single”

The poor boy’s face lights up, naively thinking the commotion was a creative way to play matchmaker.

What a mistake.

You don’t even dignify her with a glance, rolling your eyes before addressing him directly, “Excuse her, she’s panicking because her long-time, overly in-love boyfriend still hasn’t popped the question”

“That’s not–”

“And I’m not interested”, you finish, kind but firm.

He leaves with a nod, cheeks slightly red.

Elena watches him disappear as you sip your own drink, studying you the way she used to when you were confused teenagers who didn’t know how to deal properly with all those feelings and real-life emotions.

“Oh”

The reason you still encourage her goes beyond your understanding.

You’re not starting to question it now, “What?”

“You like someone”

“Elena, I swear–”

“No, no, it’s just–”, her gaze softens as she looks at you, teasing and playful attitude making space for her most supportive side, “It’s good to see you, you know, welcoming back some happiness”

It doesn’t matter how she’s always capable of reading you like a book, like you’re a poem she knows by heart but she’s never tired of.

After all the years and the lessons you’ve learned together, it feels so comforting to know there’s someone out there who deeply understands you. Who truly sees you.

You don’t deny it, you don’t retort to her observation.

That's not the point right now.

You break the promise made to Alba.

Kind of.

It’s early in the morning, the sun has barely risen in the sky, but it’s the perfect time to arrive at the little market. It arrives every two weeks, with vibrant stalls full of everything – though you understand half the things the vendors say. The freshness of the fruit and the unique clothing finds you always manage to come home with are totally worth it.

Alexia is buying vegetables and, judging by the passion she shares with the old lady in front of her, discussing important geopolitical questions.

You enjoy the exchange, taking a moment before approaching.

She jokes about the fact you’re up before the clock even hits double digits, laughing at your retort about fighting with the elderly over groceries.

The footballer suggests breakfast in a cosy place not far from the market, the promise of fresh bakeries enough to convince you.

It’s not a date.

But you walk side by side, bags lightly colliding sometimes, and before you know it, you’ve arrived at the café. Alexia holds the door open, pointing out her favorite pastries. She scoffs, unamused, when she realizes your questions distracted her long enough for you to pay for both your orders.

It’s not a date, obviously.

But you sit at a table in the far corner of the café for almost three hours, talking about everything and nothing. The bubble you find yourself in bursts when Ricardo calls, complaining that you’re late for lunch, despite insisting on making a reservation.

“We should do this again”, she says as she hugs you goodbye, a smile lighting her entire face.

It’s not a date, but it definitely feels like it.

You remembered the promise you made to Alba, to save your first date for her once you feel ready, just a second after realising how badly you wish to go on a real one with her sister.

You refuse categorically to celebrate your birthday at the boys’ restaurant.

They could make a big deal out of it, insist on paying for everything, and you couldn’t let that happen. After months of knowing them and the “Barcelona way” of celebrating loved ones, you can’t let them be in charge of this.

Also, the bills are finally adding up. They can afford it, you can’t let them do it – at least, not emotionally speaking.

So you host a little party at your place – your place, because Ricardo says you basically own it as much as he does after the bathroom’s makeover.

The small kitchen quickly turns into chaos the moment Paco takes charge and ropes Ricardo into helping. Pedro shows up with decorations and a banner that was most likely used for his little sister’s. Paul, however, closes the restaurant that same afternoon, brushing off your protests and reassuring you that your birthday is more important than the evening’s earnings.

You can’t find it in yourself to fight them.

The apartment fills with laughter and a vibrant energy that eases the weight pressing on your chest when overthinking takes hold. Balloons cover nearly the entire floor, raised voices and the scent of spices travel from the kitchen.

Your friends from the hiking group arrive in waves, immediately hitting it off with some of Barcelona’s team. You’ve grown close to a few of them through your relationship with Irene’s family and the one Ingrid and Frido practically forced on you.

Some regular customers from the restaurant also show up, people you’ve grown pretty comfortable with after spending so much time there during the first weeks of taking over the accounting job.

There’s also a nice girl you met at a concert, who Elena stalks on social media to make sure she’s not a serial killer.

Alba and Alexia are the last ones to arrive.

Your life in Barcelona is full of new people, new experiences and adventures.

At your lowest point, you’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be loved out loud.

And those people are the loudest you ever met.

The noise around the apartment subsides just as most of the guests leave. The music is turned down to a minimum, because of the late hour and Pedro’s questionable taste, as he hasn’t let go of the speaker once all night.

The small group gathers around the couch, drinks in hand, still willing to celebrate with you.

“I’m just saying, I think they taste the same”

The entire room erupts in protests at Ricardo’s comment.

“Absolutely no”, Pedro chimes in, seated on the edge of the armchair with a half-drunk beer in hand, “Black olives are made to be a pizza topping, green ones are perfect for everything else”

“What do you even know about pizza topping?”, you interrupt with a grin, “You put pineapple on yours”

Somehow, the complaints grew louder, the room buzzing with indignation.

“What’s wrong with that? Pineapple is a great pizza topic, you’re just too pretentious to admit it!”

“Can we move on from the pizza argument?”

“Oh, no, let’s get into it!”, you wave your hand dismissively, “Pedro, please, tell everyone what you put on first, cheese or sauce?”

“Fuck you”

“You work in a restaurant”, Alba says, her voice laced with disbelief.

“I’m not the one cooking, am I?”

“Thank God!”

The conversation quickly turns on poor Pedro, who now finds himself defending his questionable taste and own belief.

Alexia, who’s been quietly sipping from her glass, looks at the scene with a raised eyebrow before turning to you, relaxed on the couch beside her, “Honestly, I never imagined pizza to be the thing that ends a friendship”

“I’m just happy we’re not talking about pineapple anymore, that’s a sin”

“You started this”, she points out, giggling.

Ricardo shrugs from his spot on the floor, amused but staying out of it for now.

“It’s my birthday, I can do whatever I want”

“Oh, por favor”, Alexia says with a playful roll of her eyes, nudging the paper crown still perched on your head, “This must have cut off circulation to your brain”

You gasp, your dramatic antics in full display, fueled by the time, the alcohol, and, likely, the footballer’s shoulder still brushing against yours.

“You’re just jealous you’re not the only reina in the room”

“Keep dreaming”, Alexia responds with a grin.

The proximity lingers in a way that’s not just playful. It’s comfortable, like an inside joke no one else is allowed in on.

Ricardo watches the interaction from the corner of his eye, his gaze lingering on you and the blonde for a moment longer than necessary. He notices how her cheeks redden slightly, the way you look a little different – softer, at ease.

Alba catches the moment too, still pretending to be involved in the pizza argument. She notices the quiet exchanges and private moments that have unfolded all evening. The way you and her sister have fallen into a different rhythm, a different world.

She’s seen it before.

There’s something between you two, something unspoken, but not quite hidden. She wonders how long it’s been there, how long it’s been that way.

But, like Ricardo, she keeps her thoughts to herself.

The rest of the group laughs, the debate seems to fade into a more relaxed conversation that doesn’t involve food or questionable life choices.

As the night goes on, the teasing continues, but, underneath the surface, there’s something deeper.

There’s the way you lean in a little closer to Alexia when someone says something ridiculous, how your eyes linger on her when Pedro makes a joke and you think no one is watching.

There’s the way Alexia’s knee brushes yours when you laugh, how her fingers dance on your arm simply because you’re close enough to.

There’s the exchange of gazes and smiles, quiet signs of complicity in the loud room.

Ricardo waits to the tune of three days before cornering you.

You mention being a bit homesick after your birthday and the Putellas sisters literally drag you to have dinner with them at their mom’s. Eli is the sweetest woman ever, going above and beyond to the point of making that one pie you mentioned once being your favourite.

The house is filled with memories and tender gestures, a haven of support and a desire of caring for your own that squeezes your heart with a bittersweet beauty. Spending the night there makes it clear how Alexia and Alba were raised, revealing the roots of their kindness.

“You had fun?”

It’s a miracle you don’t drop dead on the floor right there, Ricardo’s voice echoing from the middle of the couch in the dark room.

“Why are you lurking like a fucking killer?”, you shout at him when your heartbeat slows down enough to let you come up with proper words.

“I was waiting for you”

You don’t even dignify him with a response, watching how he’s sipping from a mug like a scene from the shittiest b-movie you can think of.

Crossing the room to sleep the unease away, the guy’s next words make you stop right where you are, “You need to come clean with her”

“What are you talking about–”

“You like Alexia”

It’s not a question, there’s no doubt in his voice.

There’s not a single reason to even try to fight his assumption or your own overthinking.

You reach for the seat next to him on the couch, noticing the second mug just when he offers it to you. It’s a fruity tea you enjoy hot, with way too much honey and not a drop of milk – exactly like the one in your hands.

The silence wrapping around is comforting in a way that makes sense just because it’s the two of you, sipping tea in the quiet darkness of the room.

“I do”, you admit after a while, even if you don’t need to.

“I know”

“That obvious?”

“Yeah”, your roommate confirms with a soft smile.

He doesn’t tease, he doesn’t accuse you of anything.

It’s so typically Ricardo that you feel a surge of affection, a need to embrace him and accepting the support of someone who, in a twisted and brotherly way, looks out for you – and your heart. So you do just that, jumping into his arms without a care of your reputation or of the almost-empty mugs.

The man, despite the surprise of your reaction, is ready to hold you for how long you need.

Turns out, you need it a lot.

“Sorry, sorry”, you say after a couple of minute, trying to pull yourself together, “I didn’t see it coming”

“Me being so observant and clever or you falling in love with Alexia?”

“I’m not in love with Alexia”

“Yet”

He’s lucky the tea is not hot anymore.

“I’m not in love with Alexia”, you repeat.

Not yet, resonates in your head – your own mind betraying you.

Yes, Alexia is beautiful. Yes, you two apparently clicked perfectly right the moment you met. Yes, recently the time together doubled the time spent with anyone else. You can admit you like Alexia, the therapy is worth the commitment and the money put into it.

But being in love?

It’s a good feeling, the one that makes her cheeks flush crimson when your smile catches her gazing. Even better, the one that fills you with pride when Alexia’s laugh resonates in the room because of something you say or do.

It’s an exciting force, the one that unsettles your stomach when she reaches for you just for the sake of touching – of feeling you close. Even better, the one that makes you two sure of finding the other in a room full of people just when needed.

It’s so terrifying close to love, what it’s blossoming.

You want to fall in love with Alexia.

Ricardo raises from the couch, taking the mugs and putting them on the sink to be dealt with tomorrow. An annoying habit you’re sure he keeps up with just to annoy you.

He returns a minute later, “Are you going to do something about it?”

You don’t miss a bit, “Yes”

“Let Alba know first”, he says with a serious note in his voice, “She liked you”

The stadium buzzes with the loud roaring of fans and the sharp, clean scent of freshly cut grass under the rain. Barcelona dominates the pitch, their control of the midfield a suffocating grip as the opponents scramble, desperate for a counterattack.

Between miscalculated slides and short passes, Alexia weaves through defenders in a blur of motion and focused energy. She’s calm when the ball is glued on her feet, sparkling to light, her presence igniting the pitch, as soon as her teammates take over.

Patri finds her captain just outside the box and you lean forward, smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

You may be new to the whole thing, new in the Blaugrana’s home stands, but you learn quickly and you know exactly what Alexia’s movement means.

The shot curves perfectly, the stadium exhales a collective gasp as the goalkeeper’s fingertips fail to reach it. The ball hits the bar loudly, the sound echoing before it flies out of the pitch.

Beside you, Alba lets out a whoop, clapping her hands with a grin stretching across her face, “She’s out for blood”

You laugh, not like anyone could disagree.

Barça is winning by three goals, outrunning the defence and shooting as if they need to score at least three more to sleep peacefully tonight.

The poor goalkeeper will have nightmares for sure.

“She really want to take home that ball”

“She’s playing to impress”, Alba points out, not so subtly.

You chuckle, her remark flying over your head, “She’s just– good, I guess”

“Good? ¡Por favor!”, the younger Putellas scoffs, rolling her eyes, “She’s acting like a ballet dancer out there, doing pirouettes and running around like she has two sets of lungs”

As to prove her sister’s point, Alexia nutmegs another midfielder and executes another perfect movement, clearing the field for Aitana to set up Vicky for a chip goal.

The crowd erupts, but Alba’s attention remains fixed on you.

“¡Mirala!”, she says, pointing at the pitch where the team is hugging and celebrating, “That was another ‘look at me, soy la Reina’ moment!”

“Your sister is the most competitive person I’ve ever met”

“Competitive? Chica, she’s showing off! And don’t even get me started on the way she keeps looking up here, fixing her hair between plays– It’s ridiculous”

You watch as Barcelona’s bubble dissipates and they get back at their positions, Alexia waves towards your seats, her face illuminated by a radiant grin.

Your cheeks flush slightly, a mixture of amusement and something else.

The game keeps on with the same level of excitement, and even more shots on target. They win narrowly, unconcerned by their soaked clothes, lingering happily in the rain to sign autographs and chat with supporters.

Alexia immediately seeks out you and Alba, trying to embrace you both despite your not-so-playful protests. The damp material of her kit clings, accentuating her defined muscles, and your thoughts stray to less innocent territories.

Alba sends her sister to the changing room, accepting the kiss landed on her forehead and watching as you nod like an idiot when she leaves with the promise to be back in no time, her hand lingering on your arm.

“¡Ay, esto es increíble!”, she interrupts your thought flow, tilting her umbrella just enough for a stream of rain to drop on your face.

“Alba!”

“You’re not exactly subtle either, ¿sabes?”

The stadium noises fade into a distant hum. The air between you thickens, the playful banter morphing into something more charged and intentional. Your fingers fidget with the edge of your jacket, avoiding the younger woman’s gaze.

“How long have you known?”, you ask.

“The moment I introduced the two of you, idiota!”, she says, her voice teasing, “But I knew for sure at your birthday’s party”

“Nothing happened between us”

Alba’s smile softens, a gentle understanding dawning in her eyes, “I’m not blind and I know my sister pretty well. And honestly? I think it’s cute, you two glow when you’re together. She likes you. A lot. And you like her too"

Your shoulders relax, “I do. I really like her, Alba”

The wave of relief that washes over you is comforting.

You don’t owe her anything, and Alba definitely doesn’t owe you anything. But it’s good to know this love growing between you and Alexia is real, people around you see it too. People you care about support it.

Your smile spreads naturally on your face when you spot Barcelona’s captain approaching, hair still wet but changed in warm clothes.

Alba doesn’t miss it, nudging you with her elbow just before her sister’s close enough to hear, “It’s good you feel ready to date again, and I’m happy it’s her”

“I’m going to say it just once, so listen carefully”, you stop in the middle of the road with a stoic face, “Please, don’t make me regret our entire friendship”

The grin on Elena’s lips tells you everything you need to know, but you give her the benefit of the doubt. Because she’s your best friend, because she knows how to behave.

But she’s your best friend, and she’s not going to behave.

Her visit is not unpleasant, just unexpected.

It’s barely six in the morning when loud bangs on the front door wake you up and almost scare Ricardo to death. He takes it well enough, greeting Elena and going back to sleep the shock away. You, on the other hand, think of leaving her waiting outside until it’s socially acceptable to show up. Her immediate embrace is a clever attempt to smooth your annoyance.

She booked a red-eye flight for a hit and run, so you take her around Barcelona all day and agree to a late night out in a club Alba suggested you join with some of her friends.

“Relax”, she says, skipping steps like a kid as you approach the place.

“Elena, I’m serious”

“Why are you so stressed? Oh– oh, I know!”

She turns around in her heels, too graciously for someone with shoes so high and such low alcohol tolerance – you two may not be in your early 20s anymore, but you figured pregame was necessary this time around.

Her good resolution of not drinking alcohol crumbled as soundly as it started.

“Is she here too?”

“I don’t know what–”

“This mysterious woman you can’t shut up about, who is so great you have heart-shaped eyes but I can’t know her name”, she interrupts, grabbing you by the shoulder as you approach the club’s entrance.

It’s not like you’re hiding Alexia, or your feelings for her.

She’s a frequent topic of conversation with your best friend, you’re comfortable sharing the moments between the two of you and the way your heart beats at a completely different rhythm around the Barcelona’s captain.

But Elena can be protective, and curious.

All she needs is a name, and she’s going to find out if Alexia has ever got a bad grade in primary school. The teasing for liking a football player? You aren’t ready for that either.

“Yes, she’s here and I need you to–”

“This is the best day of my life!”, she doesn’t even let you finish, leaves you right there, flashing the bodyguard at the entrance a huge smile and sweet talking her way in – even though they have your names as vip guests.

“This is going to be the worst day of mine”, you mutter to yourself, following after her.

The energy in the club is charged with a dangerous combination of freewill and alcohol. The place is packed and colored lights go on and off with the music, bright enough to see who’s in front of you, but not enough to make your decision clear. Not tonight.

Alba sees you first, waving her hand to catch your attention so you join them in a secluded table in a corner of the place.

You don’t even ask how Elena is already seated in the cool leather booth, talking animatedly.

“She’s funny”, Alba comments after greeting you with a hug.

“Don’t believe a word she says”

The younger girl’s laugh mixes with your best friend’s, and you know your fate is sealed when a guy hands her a drink.

You look around the table, noticing some people from Alba’s close circle and some you met in passing at the restaurant or at a Barcelona’s game.

“She’s in the bathroom”

Your body betrays you before a coherent thought can leave your brain, your cheeks redding to the tips of your ears.

“Told you, you’re not subtle”, Alba comments, too amused at your reaction.

As if she knows you’re talking about her, as if a magnetic energy forces your body to get closer and closer, Alexia’s gaze locks with yours as she approaches the table, followed by a vaguely familiar face.

She greets you with a dimpled smile and a welcoming hug, it may look like months passed but it’s been a matter of days. The black top she’s wearing emphasizes her toned stomach, and your fingers itch to trace the subtle sheen of sweat crossing her back – a sign she’s been dancing for a while now.

You’re fashionably late, regardless of the time Alba suggested you to be here. Spanish people are stragglers, you have learned it at your own expense.

“Are you ready?”, the footballer asks.

“For what?”

“You owe me a dance”

“Absolutely not!”, you protest, trying to escape her hug.

“Oh, yes”, she smile, her arm around your waist dragging you even closer, “You made fun of my dancing moves, now you have to prove yours”

Next time, you will think twice before sending the blonde every single comment you found online about a TikTok video one of her teammates posted after a huge win. In your defence, you find it very cute.

The dance floor is filled with people, dancing in fluid movements like you learned Spaniard are comfortable with. A sea of arms fling around, bodies smoothly moving to feel each other. The music vibrates with a bass so deep that your ribs pulses at the same rhythm.

Alexia guides you in a less crowded section, far enough from the table so Alba and Elena can study every single movement, but out of earshot.

You try to ignore the thought of your best friend gossiping with Alba.

Thinking, however, is the last thing you do when Alexia’s hand finds the small of your back, skin waking up by the slight hint of touch.

It doesn’t really matter how you managed to get this close, how the music runs through your bodies with an unmistakable energy and desire to get even closer. Your arms rise to frame the blonde’s face, her grin growing as soon as she notices your reaction.

It’s not like either of you is hiding the attraction, the pulsing needs to be together. To talk, to touch, to be around one another. It’s always been there, you just never acted on it.

“Are they like that all the time?”, Elena asks, still studying the way you seem to speak a different language with Alexia.

“I’m thinking about locking them somewhere until they kiss or whatever”

The disbelief is clear in Elena’s voice, “Are you sure they haven’t kissed yet?”

“If I know my sister, she must be really fucking scared”

“If I know my best friend, she must be really fucking stupid”

The two nod before bursting in a loud laugh, clicking their glasses.

Almost an half an hour later, you find them like that, giggling and talking as if they have known each other for years and not just met. Alexia raises an eyebrow, silently questioning if she needs to hold back Alba’s enthusiasm – Elena is matching it without a problem, and that’s what really worries you.

“And that’s how she ended up with the sister of her blind date”

“That’s not how it happened, at all”, you complain, hitting your best friend’s arm as she decide telling the worst stories possible is the best way to spend the night.

“Must have been a great date”, someone jokes.

“I’m a fantastic date, thank you so much”

“I can confirm”, Alba says with a teasing grin, raising her empty glass as you flip her off with an equally open smile on your lips.

Alexia, on the other hand, straightens up a bit at the exchange, switches her gaze between the two of you, almost taken aback, “You two dated?”

“I told you”, the younger girl retorts.

“I thought you were messing with me”

The change in her posture is subtle, but you’re close enough to feel it. Close enough to notice the way she moves her knee, breaking contact with yours, her fingers toying with the ring on her pinky.

Alba is a bit too drunk to pay attention to the footballer’s dampened mood, not affected anymore by that one date with you so long ago.

She told her sister about it when she first clocked in her interest for you, hoping to clear the way for her to do something about it – a sort of blessing.

Turns out, Alexia’s so sure she was teasing her, lying about it just to annoy her.

Thankfully, your best friend reads in your face the panic and drifts the conversation on a completely different topic.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughs, questionable drinking choices, and more dancing.

Every single attempt of catching Alexia’s eyes fails miserably. She’s not ignoring you, she doesn’t leave her seat next to you, and her touch is light but grounding. Your mind, however, spirals in a way it hasn’t in months.

It’s late when the group decides to call it a day, stumbling out into the cool, damp air of Barcelona. No one is sober enough to even think of driving, the decision to summon taxis rather than risk the roads is unanimous.

A strange intimacy settled inside the car. You and Alexia sit in the back, while Alba, in the middle, sleeps on the older woman’s shoulder with soft snores. Elena is deep in conversation with the Catalan driver, despite not speaking a word of the language. The city lights flash outside, blurred by a light drizzle that you trace with a finger against the window.

Upon reaching Alexia’s apartment, you insist on helping her carry her sister inside, ignoring her half-hearted protests. Your best friend, armed with a winning smile and a ‘thank me later’ attitude, somehow manages to convince the driver to wait for you outside.

The place is quiet when you enter, amplifying the tension that crackled between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s never uncomfortable.

You and Alexia carefully settle Alba onto the bed, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the guest room. Each gentle adjustment of her sister’s blanket, each soft whisper to ensure her comfort, stretched out the delicate balance.

It’s minutes later, right by the front door, that something snaps.

Before you can reach the handle on the way out, the footballer’s fingers wrap around your wrist.

There’s urgency in the way her body feels stirred by an electric discharge all of a sudden, her voice low, “You dated?”

“What?”, your confusion is mostly prompted by Alexia’s distressed tone.

“You dated my sister?”

“No, we– I mean, we went out like one time and I was, clearly, still fucked up by my ex– It’s not like we actually dated or something”

“She said–”

“She was joking”, your hands cupping the blonde’s face seems to do wonder at calming her, but you still feel the need to clarify the situation, “I kissed her, once, then found a good therapist and said to her I wasn’t interested like that”

“Are you interested like that?”

“Alexia, I just said–”

“No, no”, she interrupts shyly, never dropping her gaze, “Are you interested in me like that?”

Despite the voices still filling doubts in your head, kissing her is the easiest, most natural thing to do at that moment.

Her lips are soft, warm, and taste faintly of sweet drinks. Her breath mingled with yours, a shared rhythm in the quiet intimacy of the kiss.

A current of interest, desire, and care pulls you closer. There’s complicity and belonging, mingling with curiosity, and the thrill of uncharted territory.

And there’s Alexia, right in front of you, vulnerable and exposed and trusting enough to lay her emotions in your hands. Making you feel so safe that you don’t even have to think about doing the same.

So you kiss again, trying to convey how sure you are about your feelings. Because the insecurities and the questioning silence when Alexia’s heartbeat syncs with yours and her hand caresses your face.

The sharp honk coming from the taxi outside is the only reason why you separate.

The late afternoon sun drapes over the Barcelona streets as you and Alexia stroll, fingers laced together.

It’s a familiar feeling now, holding hands after a date.

You have explored hidden hikes, shared tapas after her games, and even attended a couple of flamenco lessons. Nothing too different from what you’ve already experienced.

Except, of course, for the kissing.

And there’s been a lot of that.

Your phone buzzes, interrupting Alexia’s recall of Vicky’s last attempt of convincing her to do another stupid trend. You drop her hand, your fingers flying across the screen, muttering in concentration.

The footballer raises an eyebrow, complaining playfully, “Am I annoying you?”

“It’s this stupid bird!”

“Still fighting with ser y estar?”

“I’m sorry, my Spanish teacher is a tease and gets distracted five minutes after promising to help me study”

“She sounds like an incredible teacher”, she counters, too pleased with herself as she hints at your last private tutoring.

Despite your best effort, the other woman had other plans. The sentences she whispered right at your ear, with a raspy voice and a note of teasing in every single movement of her lips, made your resolution crumble in a matter of minutes. The books, not even opened, fell off the bed with a kick of her foot.

You do, however, learn some new words.

Your cheeks flush at the memory, “Shut up!”

“I said nothing”

You ignore her grin, still welcoming her embrace as she pulls you closer to help with the lesson.

“This app is useless! Why do those Spanish animals always do weird things? It’s making me questioning my entire existence”

“Tan dramática”, Alexia snorts, nudging you with her hip, “Why are you even using that thing? You can learn everything you need from me”

“I’m trying to actually learn something here”, you retort, faking annoyance, “Besides, you’re not always available for Spanish lessons. I want to get better, impress the locals”

“After more than a year?”

“Never too late”, you grin, “Just wait, I’ll be ordering in flawless Catalan in less time than it took you to ask me out”

Alexia stops in her tracks at your teasing, taken aback by your admission and by way of calling her out for the stalling after the first kiss you shared. She may have needed a little push then, trying to find the best moment to ask you for a real date to just blur it out in the rush of a late game night you attended.

You continue walking, too focused on the lesson to acknowledge the blonde’s momentary pause.

“Wait, I thought you were taking Spanish lessons”

“Yes, from you and the stupid bird, but I have an actually tutor for Catalan”

“You’re learning Catalan?”

“I live in Barcelona”, you say, matter of factly, but the flush creeping up on your cheeks betrays you.

The truth hangs in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken. It isn’t about fitting in, not anymore. It’s about her.

To understand her better, wrapping deeply into the fabric of her world. It’s commitment, to the city and to a future that you can’t picture without her in. It’s a promise, somehow, to bridge any gap and to learn her culture, her soul.

Alexia’s gaze lingers, the weight of your growing feelings both exhilarating and inevitable.

She told herself she set a pace comfortable for you, respecting your need to get better with loving yourself and trusting others.

But you’ve been ready for this love for quite some time now.

The way you open up with her, hold her after a long day, and gently kiss the creases around her lips when she smiles. The way you not just proudly wear your heart on your sleeve, but you hand out your emotions to be seen. The way you make her feel safe enough to be vulnerable, to be taken care of.

The way you’re learning to love her by learning to love everything that makes her who she is.

A nervous flutter, like trapped butterflies, stirred in your stomach as Alexia catches up to you. You could feel the energy radiating from her, the subtle scent of her perfume, a mix of wood and something undeniably her.

“Estic enamorada de tu”, she confesses, cheeks slightly tinted but her voice so firm, so sure.

“I know what that means”

A smile, genuine and carefree, grows on both your lips. You study her face for a moment, finding nothing but pure care and a force that feels like arms keeping you safe and warm.

Nothing but love.

The way you kiss her is almost too intense for a late afternoon in the streets of Barcelona, but barely enough to convey all the emotions that you discovered and learned to welcome in your life again.

You may not be ready to say out loud you’re falling in love with her too, not yet. But the firmness of your hands on her face, the happiness lightning in your eyes, the resolution conveyed by your kiss.

She knows.

On the day you declare the restaurant officially debt free, Paco lifts you up off the ground, spins you around with ease and plants a loud kiss on your forehead.

Paul’s reaction is a bit tamed, even if he declares he’s going to name his firstborn after you. Still single and hopeless romantic, you’re not sure how much to read into his words.

Pedro cries, of course he does, but he also hugs you in a way that conveys almost too much not to shed a few tears yourself.

It’s not difficult for you to admit you own them more than they own you.

Taking care of the restaurant’s ledger and the guys’ enthusiastic opinion about your accounting job opened a lot of small businesses’ doors. The idea of opening your own office never even crosses your mind, not planning on entangling yourself in a structured system anytime soon. The new apartment you rent has a small room that works just fine as a study.

You will still keep an eye on them, though, not sure enough your finance lessons really drilled in their heads.

“So, you’re finally letting us treat you with dinner?”, Paul asks, serving you up with way too many pleasantries.

“I already have someone who pays for me”, you retort, playful smirk on your lips.

“¡Ay, I thought you were taking me out tonight!”, Alexia complains next to you, keeping up with the joke as she pretends to not be interested in the food anymore. She can be such a dork.

“Wait, am I crushing a date?”, Alba intercepts from the other side of the table.

“You’ve been crushing our dates since the day we met!”

The laughs that erupt are loud enough to catch the attention of the other patrons, thankfully not really annoyed by the chaos. The truth is that, despite being a menace of a group, it is not like you can drag your friends in any other place without the risk of getting banned forever.

It’s a familiar scene. The restaurant feels like a second home now, one that you built on your own around people that truly see you, support you and never miss a chance to tease you.

So you shake your head at Ricardo’s antics and glare at Alexia when she keeps teasing her sister, effortlessly distracting her with light movements of your fingers on her knee.

The conversation flows between shared memories and inside jokes, carrying the night away until your table is the only one left. Not planning on leaving the place anytime soon. And as you sit there, surrounded by your friends, questionable recalling of stories, and the magnetic pull of Alexia’s presence, you just know that this is it.

This is your life, your love, your chosen family.

Then Pedro has to ruin the moment, persuading everyone you have to make a toast for whatever reason. You try to fight it, embarrassed and quite frankly taken aback by the respect and genuine admiration this people seems to feel for you.

A subtle nod of your girlfriend’s head, her hand finding yours beneath the table, is all you need to indulge with their antics.

“To us”, you say, raising a glass, “To finally getting our shit together!”

Laughter and cheers fill the restaurant, everyone congratulating each other for the most random things and joking around as if life could always be this simple.

Alexia’s hold tightens, her eyes meeting yours. Her face lights up in a way that never fails to make your own heart grow.

“T’estimo”, you whisper, just for her to hear.

Your love is usually so loud. A love that grows unexpectedly, but burns with a fierce and tender flame. But your promises are quiet. A silent acknowledgment of commitment that goes beyond, that stretches confidently into the future.

Together.

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso community #ap11 #woso world #my wo(rd)so

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

Text

Can't Have One Without the Other 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, marital troubles, body insecurity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your marriage is on the rocks.

Note: I asked about husbands and all your hoes said Bucky (with a few Sy's in the middle). I wasn't intending on a whole series but I thnk it would be fun to have husband!Bucky turn a bit desperate.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Living alone is tough. You've always found that it's best to keep a routine. Not too strict, you have to make room for spontaneity. You can't let the days turn grey. Take them one at a time but don't count them.

You haven't been to the cafe in a while. It's been longer since you came alone. Still, the house was too constricting, your home office like a cell, You can get some work done over a cappuccino, maybe even get a bit of pep.

Lately, you've been exhausted and you shouldn't be. You're in bed so early that you're usually knocked out around eight or nine. You fall asleep in the glow of the television, watching some ridiculous syndicated drama. It's just enough to keep your frustration from fermenting.

Routine. Wake up, ready, eat, work, forget to stop for lunch, only walk away from the screen when your eyes are dry and you can't stop yawning, give up on the healthy home meal and order in. Sleep alone with your rings on the nightstand.

You taste the cappuccino and sigh. It's sweet but the delight it brings is bitter. That's the happiest you've been in weeks and it's because of a damn espresso.

You pick up your pen and go back to shading. There's nothing there. It used to be that your work made you smile. Art used to be your haven. Now it's the only thing keeping you from thinking too much.

"Oh, what are we working on?" The stranger asks as he nears your table. You retract your pen and reluctantly look up. "An artist in the wild."

Ugh. You should be flattered. It's obvious the man in his cycling gear is flirting. Or trying to.

"Just work. Need it done by three," you explain curtly, hoping he takes the hint.

"Oh, wow, you get paid for that?"

You hesitate, "um, sure."

"I don't mean--" He cringes, "anything by it. It's good. I just... most people would love to be paid for their passion."

Passion? What even is that? You look down at the panel and shrug. The series needs to be killed. It was well past sense long ago. Now the writer is only writing for the paycheck and you're not doing much different.

"I know you already have a drink but maybe I could treat you to something from the bakery. I love their scones," he suggests.

You have to swallow a scoff. The guy's nice. He's not doing anything wrong. It would be flattering if it was another time, another context. If he wasn't offering to add another layer to padding around your middle. The rolls you can't even call love handles because they only make you hate yourself.

"That's sweet but--"

"But she's married," a deeper voice undercuts.

You flinch. You glance up as Bucky approaches. He could probably hear the awkward interaction before he even entered. You're not concerned about that, but you are unnerved to see him there. To see your husband for the first time in a month without warning.

"Oh, uh," the guy rubs his neck and backs up, eyeing Bucky's metal arm. "Sorry, I--" The man chokes on his tongue and quickly flees, forgetting the bakery treats as he flits through the door. He fumbles outside to unlock his bike and you watch him with a frown.

"He was being friendly--"

Bucky drops into the seat across from you, "to my wife."

"I was about to tell him," you set the pen against the tablet so the magnet snags.

"Oh, about to show off your rings?" He nods to your hand. Naked. You left the bands by the bed.

"I forgot. Late night," you shrug. "You didn't tell me you were on your way back."

"I wanted to surprise you," he leans forward and puts his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together. "Looks like I got the surprise. You're not home. You're here, flirting with bike jockeys."

"I wasn't doing that," you shake your head.

The accusation is scalding. Does he not remember the girl who didn't realise he was flirting for a whole year? Not like he was ever very good at communicating.

"How was the mission?" You ask evenly. You hold back the resent, tamp down on the promises he made that he wouldn't be away that long again. It's not use hiding, he can hear your pulse, but you still do.

He sighs and reaches for your cappuccino. He takes a sip. His thoughts weave between his brows as he tastes it and gulps tightly. Another thorn in your side. He could eat the whole damn display's worth of scones and muffins and not gain an ounce. That small coffee will cling to you.

"Long. Bullshit," he answers. "Good to be back."

You nod. You can't speak. If you open your mouth, it will all tumble out. He won't apologise so why are you going to make it an issue?

"Well, I'm almost done here," you fold over the cover of your tablet. "If you wanna finish that," you point to the cup.

His cheek ticks. He squints. He leans in further and slides the cup back to you.

"'Welcome back, honey. So happy to see you,'" he snarls derisively, "'I love you, husband.'"

The last consonant is sharp. You wince. You shrink in your chair as you keep your hands on the tablet.

"You surprised me, Bucky. Really." You sniff, "I missed you."

He stares at you. That same look that convinced a young girl he was annoyed by her. That assured you he didn't care about those stupid lines you made on paper, the drawings of Victorian figures and fantastical maidens. The one that melted away drop by drop. The ice is back in his eyes. Or maybe this time, it's in yours.

"Miss you too, babe," he pushes himself back in the chair.

You grab your bag and slide the tablet inside. You rest it in your lap and grab the cup. You drain it as the flavour turns sour in your mouth. Bucky huffs and stands before you can.

"Come on," he says, "let's go find those rings."

You stand and hook the strap of the bag over your head. You send him a look, "really, I forgot."

"Seems like," he grabs your hand. "Forgot a lot."

He drags you to the door. You put your head down as you let him. The insinuation in his words strangles you. Is he really that obtuse or is this projection? You're not the one who forgot this marriage.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #drabble #mcu #marvel #captain america #avengers #winter soldiers #can't have one without the other

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

Note

I’m not quite sure if this is too explicit so if it is please feel free to decline, but I was wondering if you could do a poly!marauders x reader who has a past with sexual assault so is kind of iffy and stand offish about sexual inter course? Again, all good if you can’t because it is a touchy subject ! I hope you’re having a lovely day/night !! (p.s. I love your writing so much :3)

Thank you gorgeous, love you <3

cw: trauma response, mention of past sexual assault

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Sometimes you can feel left out. Of the easy way the boys touch each other, the knowingness they have of the other’s bodies, the in-jokes about intimate aspects of their relationship that aren’t secret from you but you’re not a part of. And you know in your bones, in that thrumming, impossible-to-ignore beat inside your ribcage, that you’re not ready to be a part of them, but it still hurts to have something about your boys that’s separate from you. Some part of them you can’t access, and it’s only because you won’t allow them access to you in return.

And sometimes, like now, things go astonishingly well. Sometimes you can let them touch you while feeling nothing but the pleasant warmth of love and lust brewing like a potion in your core. Sometimes you can let yourself tug Sirius closer as he kisses you, can swallow the soft sounds he makes into your mouth without your mind taking you anywhere other than this bed, this boy.

Sometimes you can get so lost in them it feels like the fear can’t find you.

“Okay?” Sirius breathes, setting a tentative hand on the small of your back. He tastes like coca cola, and his lips are a manifestation of every soft and earnest part of him he never shows. “This okay, sweetness?”

You nod fervently, trying very hard not to think as you tunnel your fingers into the featherdown silkiness of the hair behind his ear.

“Yeah?” You’re growing quite sick of all his talking, persistent in your kisses even when Sirius breaks them. His mouth curves against yours, sensing this, and his hand settles more comfortably into the curve of your spine. “Alright, you’re in charge. Just let me know if anything’s too much.”

You make a muffled sound of acknowledgement. Truly, logically, you feel safe with Sirius, the same as you would with Remus or James. It was his idea that you be on top, after Remus figured out that you feel most comfortable when you don’t feel trapped, after James was the one to initiate the conversation on how they can make you feel good while respecting your (admittedly, nebulous and often fickle) boundaries. You haven’t worked up the courage to do anything beyond kissing, and none of them have pushed you. Really, you’ve been the one doing the pushing, wanting more and more from the kissing until it’s turned into this, you and Sirius hiding from dishwashing duty with you on top of him and sucking his face like a dementor.

You grind your hips down into his, and Sirius’ chuckle rumbles through the both of you as he grabs a greedy handful of your ass.

Your breath stills in your lungs.

You still completely, actually, every inch of you rigid, from your bum under Sirius’ hand to your eyes, stuck closed tight. The only part of you that seems to get that you’re still alive is your heart, thrashing wildly inside the bars of your ribcage like it wants to escape when you can’t.

“Shit.” Sirius’ hand flees upward, skimming up your back to safer territory below your shoulder blades. “Shit, sorry, baby. You okay?”

You want to tell him yes, in every physical, objective, important way you’re just fine. But your breath is frozen solid somewhere between your throat and your lungs and it won’t let you speak.

“Sweetheart.” Sirius is starting to sound desperate, though he’s clearly trying to stay calm for your sake. He sets gentle hands at your waist, sitting you up while he eases out from under you. You expect you’ll move like a statue, but your arms move of their own mind once freed, wrapping tight around your middle. “You’re okay, baby, you’re safe. I’m so sorry, I was—I should have asked. I moved too fast, I didn’t mean to scare you. Can you talk to me, please?”

“Sorry,” you manage. Something comes loose inside you. The air comes back to your lungs, you pull your legs up onto the bed, and laughter unspools from inside you like wire long coiled tight.

Sirius doesn’t smile. “Don’t be sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you like that. Are you okay?”

It’s now that James and Remus decide to come and see what you’re up to. At the sound of Sirius’ panic-tight voice, their footsteps hasten down the hallway. James taps on the doorframe and you turn to him so fast your neck clicks. His face is melded by a soft worry.

“Everything alright?” he asks.

You nod, but Sirius must signal something different from your other side, because James and Remus advance towards the bed the way one might approach a feral kitten.

“Are you okay?” Sirius asks again, voice cracking now that the other two are here.

“Hey, it’s alright, love,” Remus says gently. “Maybe stop touching her for a bit.” You hadn’t even noticed Sirius’ hand gripping your leg, but its removal feels like you’ve lost a thousand pounds. You fight back a shiver. “She’s okay. Aren’t you, darling?”

To hear worry in even Remus’ voice is significant. You try to make yours even to counter it. “Yeah,” you agree. “Yeah, sorry, I’m fine.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” James promises, crouching in front of you and Sirius. You’ve nowhere to hide from his melty-soft gaze. “What happened?”

“I went too far.” Sirius’ voice sounds like it hurts, scraping its way out of him. Your heart throbs in response.

You shake your head, insistent and perhaps a touch too fast. “No, it wasn’t your fault. I was—I—I escalated things, and then it just—”

“Take a deep breath,” Remus instructs.

“I’m fine,” you say again.

“Please, sweetheart. Just try.”

You do, for his sake, pushing air in and out of your lungs like you’re trying to inflate a balloon. They won’t get as full as you want them too, but it’s not until you try that your body seems to catch up to what’s been happening. You start trembling all over.

“Shit.” Your voice thickens, tears threatening. “Sorry, this is so stupid.”

“It’s not,” James says. “Can I...can I hold your hand, or are you not ready for that yet?”

“Please,” you squeak out.

He grasps your hand, and you squeeze tightly, breathing until the tears don’t press at your eyes so insistently. You hate that the ugly thing of your past is touching something this good. That it’s hurting people who aren’t you, like it’s a virus you caught and now you’re spreading it.

“It’s really not your fault,” you tell Sirius, turning to him. “I thought I could handle it.”

“I shouldn’t have moved without checking,” he replies in a similar tone. “I’m so sorry, sweetness. I never want to scare you like that.”

You shake your head. “You don’t.”

A dense silence lapses, not uncomfortable but full of things unsaid. James’ hand is warm in yours.

“Hug?” you ask Sirius.

He looks surprised. “Are you sure?”

You nod, extricating your hand from James’ to wrap your arms around his middle. Sirius is tentative at first, palms placed lightly on the high and low points of your back, but when you hold him tighter he reciprocates. You hear Remus whisper something to James. Sirius’ fingers press into your back, the tip of his nose cold where it squishes into your neck.

Sometimes, they make you feel completely safe.

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growth-opportunities · 25 days ago

Note

can you do more more unwilling/forced growth🙏🙏

I can, but I don't think you're going to like it. See, I assume you wrote this because you wanted to read about someone being forced to grow. And, well, the first person I can think of in that scenario whose growth would be most unwanted would be you.

Struggling against the straps that hold your arms above your head does nothing but chafe and bruise your wrists. With a matching set of straps around your ankles, you're not leaving this table until your captor wants it. You have no idea who's brought you to this place, or even where "this place" is. There are no windows, no clocks, just a single fluorescent light overhead and a heavy metal door in the far corner. You nearly drove yourself hoarse screaming for help when you first woke up, but there was no response. Whether the walls were too think or there was simply no one else around you to hear your cries, it hardly matters. You're trapped now, helpless against the person who brought you here.

You don't even know who it is. They're fully adorned in surgical gear, gloves and gown and mask and hairnet, leaving you only their eyes and their forehead as a way to recognize them. You don't even know how high off the ground the slab is, so you have no way of knowing how tall their are, either. It might not even matter; they could be a complete stranger. There are moments, when you look into their eyes, that you think you might know them, but there's no way of knowing for sure. That might just be hope. No matter how much you yell at them, berate them, plead with them, their only response is a brief, pitiful look, and then back to tinkering with their equipment.

A loud, metallic click makes you jump and, as an electric whir fills the room, the machine slowly begins pumping out fluid. Your eyes follow it as it moves through the plastic hose to join the IV drip feeding into your left wrist. Preempting your inevitable protest, your captor places a gloved, surprisingly strong hand on your arm, pinning it in place as the liquid makes its way into your blood stream. Your heart begins to thunder in your chest, panic and adrenaline flooding your system. You want to fight, you want to flee, but you can do neither, just flexing your hand in a vain attempt to grab the plastic tubing.

At first, you think the fluttering in your chest is just from the fear, but it quickly morphs into a sort of pressure and, strangely enough, it doesn't seem to be coming from inside your chest, but on top of it. You pick your head up and look down. Your hospital gown shifts. Maybe its your breathing. You hold your breath, your heartbeat making your whole body tremble. The pressure only grows and, with it, your gown starts to bulge outward. You can feel the thin material dragging over your chest. It feels foreign. It feels sickening. It feels strangely good in a way that you're not ready to admit. You shift your torso, watching the bulge in your gown not just shake, but wobble.

Your head snaps up to your captor, demanding your release, begging to know what's happening to you, but they simply pat your head. You shut your eyes and tell yourself it's a fantasy, a dream, a nightmare. None of this is real. You're at home, in bed, where you're safe and you're definitely not growing a pair of enormous, gigantic-

RRIIIIIIPPP!

TITS!

Your eyes shoot open at the sound of your hospital gown shredding open. When they were just lumps under a paper-thin cover, you could lie to yourself, imagine they were something else. But now you can see them. You can see how they slope upward, soft and full, to a pair of swollen, throbbing nipples. The harsh overhead light creates small shadows in the tiny valleys of stretchmarks that lead outward from your chest. And now that you can see them, your mind has no choice but to finally feel the full weight of them, sitting heavy on your chest. Each deep, panicked breath causes them to rise and fall, to wobble and shift, still steadily growing bigger. You have no idea how big they might be; you've only ever seen tits like this from the front, from pictures and videos burned into your mind. You never thought you'd see them like this, let alone the idea that they'd be your own. An instinct you didn't know you had activates and you attempt to reach our to touch them, only to fail and remind yourself that you're still strapped in.

The first sounds out of your mouth are thin and try. As you swallow, all of the anger and fury in your voice from earlier is gone; only fear remains. "How... how big am I going to get?"

Their eyes narrow slightly and it takes you a moment to realize that their response, behind their surgical mask, is a simple, horrifying smile.

#breast expansion #breast growth #unwanted growth #forced growth #tw medical #tw nc #GO asks

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nyc-tophile · 12 days ago

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𝐀 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 | Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x fem!reader

In the aftermath of a Hydra mission, you find yourself haunted by thoughts—and dreams—of Bucky Barnes, the man behind the Winter Soldier mask. As the truth about his tortured past is revealed through recovered Hydra intel, the emotional weight grows heavier. His final words to you, "I'll find you," echo endlessly in your mind. Now, each day is spent in a quiet state of vigilance, waiting for the moment he returns.

Warnings - 18+, fem!reader, angst, kidnapping, kind of sexual shaming, mentions of torture.

Author’s Note: Thank you all so much for the incredible support with this series! Honestly, when I wrote the first part of this story, I never expected it to do so well. I’m so happy that so many of you enjoyed it! [I did use Google Translate, so don’t fight me TT]

This chapter does have some scenes from Captain America: Civil War included, and Zola is alive in this.

Transtations -

[желание - Longing] [ржавый - Rusted] [семнадцать - Seventeen] [рассвет - Daybreak]

[печь - Furnace] [девять - Nine] [доброкачественные - Benign]

[возвращение домой - Homecoming] [один - One] [грузовой вагон - Freight car]

[Солдат - Soldier] [я готов ответить - I am ready to comply]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑

As the days passed after the Hydra mission, all you could think about was him. His presence lingered in your mind like the ghost of a touch—intoxicating and impossible to forget. He even began to invade your dreams. You’d wake with your skin flushed, haunted by the memory of his hands exploring your body like a wildfire, his kiss still burning on your lips.

After handing over the flash drive containing the Hydra intel to Steve and Fury, the truth came to light piece by piece. You still remembered the way Steve’s face fell as he watched the footage—his once-best friend, Bucky Barnes, being tortured until there was nothing left but a weapon. The silence in the room was suffocating, broken only by the low hum of the monitor and the sound of Steve’s clenched fists trembling at his sides.

And you? You couldn’t tear your eyes away either.

Because that same man—the broken, weaponized ghost from the screen—was the one who now haunted your thoughts, your dreams, and the space between every breath you took.

As the weeks passed, his last words echoed in your mind: “I’ll find you.”

You heard them constantly, like a whisper just behind your ear. Day in and day out, you stayed alert, eyes scanning every crowd, always looking over your shoulder.

Waiting. Waiting for him to finally find you.

It was a cool Thursday morning. You stood in your kitchen, a cup of coffee warming your hands as a sitcom played softly in the background. The smell of breakfast still lingered in the air, your mind was elsewhere.

Then your phone rang, slicing through the quiet space. Wiping your hands on your pants, you grabbed it.

“Steve…?” you asked, frowning. Had you forgotten to go into the office today?

Before you could second-guess yourself, Steve’s voice came through—frantic, panicked.

“He’s here! Bucky is here!” he shouted.

Your eyes widened. The mug slipped from your fingers, shattering on the floor.

“I’m coming now!” You blurted, already halfway to the door. You didn’t wait for a response before hanging up and bolting out of your apartment.

Your legs carried you as fast as they could toward the head office, where chaos had already broken loose.

People were fleeing the building, panic etched into their faces. You pushed through the crowd and the wall of screams, refusing to stop—or even slow down to catch your breath.

Bursting through the main doors, you ran down the hallways, slamming past swinging doors and startled staff. Then, finally, you saw them.

Bucky and Natasha.

Her legs were locked around his neck, her elbow driving into his ribs—until he slammed her hard into a table.

The room was in chaos. Tables overturned. Trays of food were scattered across the floor. Then you saw it—Natasha's gun, lying just a few feet away.

You ran. Picking it up off the ground.

Heart pounding, you turned just in time to see Bucky raise his fist, ready to strike.

Without thinking, you pulled the trigger, aiming at his metal hand. The shot rang out. He jerked, eyes snapping toward you, anger burning in them.

You looked at Natasha and mouthed, “Run.”

In a flash, she kicked him off her.

He staggered back—just enough for her to scramble to her feet. Blood streaked her temple as she gave you a stern nod before darting out the door.

Bucky didn’t flinch. His eyes stayed locked on yours, unfazed by Natasha’s escape. Without a word, he drew his gun and fired as you ran—bullets passing dangerously close to you. You dodged as best you could, but not fast enough. You dove behind a table, heart pounding, and looked down to see your leg bleeding, pierced by a bullet.

Before you could react, a hand clamped down on your shoulder, yanking you up and slamming you to the floor. Pain tore through your body as you hit the ground, your eyes squeezing shut. The gun slipped from your grasp and skidded out of reach.

Your eyes shot open as you felt the familiar cold metal wrap around your throat, lifting you off the ground until your toes barely scraped the floor. “P-please… don’t… do this…” You gasped, your voice strained and fading. Your fingers clawed weakly at his wrist before slipping away. Darkness crept in at the edges of your vision—your body growing limp, your mind swimming.

Before you knew it, everything went dark, the pain in your leg dulling into numbness as consciousness slipped away.

When your eyes finally fluttered open, the harsh glare of overhead lights forced you to squint. The ceiling above was unfamiliar—sterile, white, and humming with a soft electrical buzz. A groan escaped your lips as fire seared through your leg.

You tried to move, but your limbs felt heavy—your body sluggish, unresponsive.

You struggled to lift your arms, but something held them in place. That’s when panic surged in your chest.

Where the hell were you?

“Ah, you’re awake!” came a voice from your side.

You turned your head, squinting against the harsh light that flooded your vision, and found yourself face-to-face with a man you didn’t recognize.

“Who the hell are you? Where am I?” you croaked, your throat dry and tight, every word scraping like sandpaper.

The man adjusted his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose, and cleared his throat with unsettling calm.

“My name is Zola — Dr. Arnim Zola. And you, my dear, are currently lying in Hydra’s secret base,” he said, his tone disturbingly cheerful, as if he were welcoming you to a tea party rather than a prison.

Your heart pounded, and panic surged through you, hot and dizzying, until the room seemed to tilt. Your breath hitched, shallow and ragged.

“No… no, this can’t—”

Zola took a step closer, his silhouette sharp against the glaring light.

“Oh, but it is,” Zola said, his voice soft, almost indulgent. “And I must say, we’re quite fascinated by you. So much potential…”

You strained against the restraints—thick leather straps biting into your wrists and ankles, pinning you to the cold metal table.

“What do you want from me?” you demanded, your voice cracking under the weight of fear, desperation bleeding through every word.

Zola’s smile widened, but it didn’t touch his eyes. “Everything.”

He paused, studying you like a specimen under glass. Then, with clinical detachment, he adjusted his gloves, fingers flexing in the tight fabric as he slowly began to circle the table.

“We know you’re the one who had your little... fun with the Soldier,” he said, his tone flat, as if commenting on the weather. “Almost amusing, really — watching how he reacted to you. How he reached for you. How he touched you.”

He stopped at your side, leaning in just enough for you to catch the gleam of malice in his eyes. “Too bad he can’t remember you,” Zola said, mockery dripping from his voice like venom.

You froze, his words slicing deeper than the restraints ever could. Your heart pounded, the sting of heartbreak tangled with terror, making it hard to breathe.

“You should have seen him afterward,” Zola continued, his voice almost a purr. “How his body curled in pain from the torture he endured. All because of you. All because you couldn’t keep your legs closed.”

He hummed softly, as if pleased by the memory, and reached for a syringe, turning it over in his gloved hands.

You watched, helpless, as Zola flicked the syringe, a tiny bead of liquid forming at the tip as air bubbles floated to the top. The image of Bucky — his body broken, curled in agony, tortured because of you — flashed through your mind, a fresh wave of guilt and horror tightening your chest.

Zola’s voice cut through the haze, cold and satisfied. “Don’t worry. Soon, you won’t remember any of this either.”

The room tilted. Darkness crept in at the edges of your vision, your body growing heavy, unresponsive. The last thing you saw was Zola’s smile, sharp and cruel, before the world went black.

You woke again, your body aching. Pain flared down your back, and your leg still burned as if it were on fire. A low groan escaped your lips as you forced your eyes open, blinking against the dim light. Slowly, you rolled onto your back, every movement sending fresh waves of discomfort through you.

It didn’t take long to realize you’d been moved. This wasn’t the same room — more like a cell. The walls were dull gray, cold, and unwelcoming. A single narrow bed sat against one side, covered with a thin, worn blanket. In the corner, a rusted sink dripped steadily, the sound echoing in the silence.

You forced yourself to sit up, eyes squeezing shut against the sharp throb of pain that followed. For a moment, you just breathed, trying to steady yourself — and then it hit you. The reality of where you were.

Swallowing hard, you lifted your gaze and pushed yourself to your feet, moving slowly, every muscle protesting. You braced a hand against the cold, rough wall for balance, each step toward the bars shaky. The metal felt solid and merciless beneath your fingers as you reached them, staring out at the dull, empty corridor in front of you.

Days blurred together, each one bleeding into the next with the same relentless routine. You’d wake to the sound of the door sliding open, only to be served what they claimed was breakfast — a sludge that looked more like blended dog food. Then they’d drag you from your cell, hauling you to Zola’s lab for his examinations, his cold hands and colder eyes studying you like some lab rat.

After that came the two-minute shower — barely enough time to feel human — before you were shoved back into your cell, the metal slamming shut behind you.

You stopped counting the days. There was no point anymore. Time had become meaningless in this dull, gray prison.

Your mind still drifted to Bucky, no matter how hard you tried to stop it. You wondered if he was safe — if he was even still alive. The not knowing gnawed at you, deeper than the hunger or the pain.

You’d learned quickly that questions had no place here. No one answered them. No one even listened. The only sound that kept you company was the low, endless hum of the electrics in the walls — a constant reminder of your captivity, filling the heavy silence that pressed down on you day and night.

Then, one day, the routine broke.

You lay on your so-called bed, staring up at the dull, cracked ceiling, lost in the haze of monotony. But the familiar clunk of your cell door unlocking snapped you out of it.

You looked up, heart quickening, and saw him — the same guard who always hauled you around like dead weight. He stood there, expression blank, his bulk filling the doorway.

“Get up,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless.

You hesitated, brow furrowing. This wasn’t part of the usual schedule. Reluctantly, you pushed yourself to your feet, your body unsteady. Pain flared in your leg, the injury far from healed, but you forced yourself upright, bracing against the wall for balance.

You bit down on your tongue, swallowing the groan that threatened to escape. You stood silently, watching as the guard stepped forward and snapped the handcuffs around your wrists — the cold metal all too familiar against your skin by now.

The guard moved behind you, giving you a hard shove that sent you stumbling out of the cell. In the dim corridor, another guard waited in silence, his face just as unreadable.

Without a word, the second guard turned sharply on his heel and started down the hall. Before you could ask where they were taking you, or why the first guard gave you another shove, forcing you to follow.

When you finally stopped, it was in front of a large gray metal door. You hesitated, your brows lifting in confusion, curiosity flickering beneath the weight of fear. The door groaned open with a harsh metallic grind that echoed down the corridor.

Inside, soldiers stood scattered across the room, stiff and silent, their eyes sharp and watchful. But your attention was drawn to the center — to the glass box that dominated the space like some cruel exhibit.

And then you saw him. Bucky.

He stood beside the box, his face unreadable, his gaze fixed somewhere just past you.

As you stepped closer, you spotted Zola standing beside him, a clipboard clutched in his hands. He glanced up, and the sight of you made a slow, eager smile spread across his face.

“Ah! Finally, you’re here!” he said, his voice tinged with unsettling excitement.

You didn’t answer. Your eyes stayed locked on Bucky — or the man who might have been Bucky. But he didn’t look at you. Not once. Not even a flicker of recognition.

But in that moment, you couldn’t tell if you were staring at Bucky Barnes… or the Winter Soldier.

“Today I thought it would be a good idea to let you in on — or at least watch — some of our training, since you can’t participate,” Zola hummed, pulling you out of your thoughts.

Your gaze finally shifted to him as he set his clipboard down on the table beside him, that unsettling smile never leaving his face.

“Though I suppose it would be interesting to see you try to take on my soldiers,” he added, with a mockery. You wanted to choke him right then and there. His voice — that smug, grating tone — was starting to get under your skin.

The guard to your right placed a heavy hand on your shoulder, steering you toward a chair.

“Sit,” he muttered. You rolled your eyes but obeyed, lowering yourself into the chair. The cold metal bit into you, and your cuffed hands rested uncomfortably behind your back.

“Now, before we start, we have to get your little boyfriend ready,” Zola said, his voice dripping with mockery as he turned and picked up a small red book. A black star stamped across the cover.

If you thought the room couldn’t get any quieter, you were wrong. The air seemed to thicken, the silence pressing down on you like a weight. It felt as if the whole room had frozen — as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for what would come next.

Zola turned toward Bucky, opening the red book with a deliberate, practiced motion. He cleared his throat — that familiar gesture he always made before speaking.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then he began.

“желание. ржавый. семнадцать...”

You kept your eyes on Bucky as the words rolled off Zola’s tongue, each one sharp and cutting. You watched as Bucky’s whole demeanor shifted — his breathing quickened, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“рассвет. печь. девять. доброкачественные. возвращение домой...”

The tremor in Bucky’s body grew worse. His jaw was clenched so hard you half expected to hear the crack of a molar giving way.

“Один. Товарный вагон.”

Zola closed the book, his gaze lifting to study Bucky’s face. His brows arched in satisfaction as he took in the result of his work — the Soldier standing where Bucky Barnes had been.

“Солдат,” Zola said, stepping closer, his gaze hard and unblinking, as if trying to bore through Bucky’s soul.

“Я готов ответить,” Bucky muttered, his voice low, mechanical. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, the only flicker of anything human beneath the surface.

You knew this wasn’t Bucky anymore. This was the Winter Soldier — the weapon stripped of mercy, the man who killed without hesitation, without a flicker of remorse—the man who, with a single command, could snap your neck as easily as breathing.

“Lovely!” Zola exclaimed, eyes sweeping the room before landing on a scarred, buzz-cut soldier, solid, though nowhere near Bucky’s size.

“You. First. You’ll fight him,” Zola said, gesturing toward the glass box.

You watched as the man stepped forward, following Bucky into the enclosure.

You knew Bucky could win the fight easily, but still, fear bubbled in your throat. He looked so different now from the man you’d been alone with. Here, he looked like he could kill anyone without a second thought. But back in that room, when it was just the two of you, he’d seemed like he couldn’t even hurt a fly — like there was always a flicker of hesitation in his mind.

“You’re going to like this,” Zola whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

“Fuck off,” you muttered, eyes fixed straight ahead, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a glance.

You could feel his grin, wide and smug, as if your defiance was exactly what he wanted.

Inside the glass box, Bucky’s stance shifted. His shoulders squared, his metal arm flexing once, slow, deliberate.

“Begin!” Zola’s voice echoed through the hall just as the two soldiers moved.

The other man lunged, but Bucky sidestepped with ease, catching him in a chokehold before he could recover. Before you could blink, the soldier was slammed against the glass, his eyes rolling back as he crumpled to the floor.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. Bucky didn’t even glance your way. His expression was empty, as if the fight hadn’t registered at all.

“Again,” Zola called, clapping his hands in delight. Another man stepped forward — younger, leaner.

Bucky advanced, silent as death.

You wanted to scream, to beg him to stop, but you knew it wouldn’t matter. This wasn’t Bucky anymore. This was their weapon — the Winter Soldier.

It went on for hours. One by one, the soldiers stepped into the box. Some managed to land a hit, two, maybe three, but none left without something shattered. A rib. A jaw. Bucky didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Zola's programming wouldn’t let him.

You watched, heart pounding, as the Winter Soldier moved like a machine—cold, efficient, merciless.

The sight of it filled you with a helpless rage, the kind that burned low in your chest and whispered promises of escape.

You had to find a way out of this place. And when you did, you weren’t leaving without him. No matter what it took, no matter how far gone they thought he was, you’d bring Bucky Barnes back, for both you and Steve.

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that-smallinjured-bowylamb · 2 months ago

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how do you think Riddle, Lilia and Azul would deal with having a wife who is dedicated, sweet, loving and a bit scatterbrained sometimes… but they’re also scary protective, mama bear instincts. Someone hurt her man and she’s gonna end your whole career. . (If they ever have kid together, some fae or human or mer person tries kidnapping their kid, they sneer at the wife and the boys, and wife comes flying in with murderous energy, and scares the shit out of the kidnappers (scared the husbands too). and wife goes over to their kid and hugs them while the kidnappers flee, kid hugs mom, while crying “mama” happily)?

A/n: SRRY FOR THE LATE REPLY I WAS TLAKING WITH SOME OF MY FRIENDS AND COMMENTING ON SOME POST !!! BUT ANYWAYS IVE BEEN DAYDREAMING OF THIS FOR DAYS ON END AND IM SO HAPPY SOMEONE MENTIONED IT !!! THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING AGAIN @nesting-dreams !!!

💋🪽Wifey material, but can still kick ass💋🪽

Characters: Riddle Rosehearts, Lilia Vanrouge [💋🎀], Azul Ashengrotto

Warning ⚠️: slight cussy, Reader could be fem but I'm using "you", reader kicks ass, I'm bad at describing fights helpp, reader taking a slipper and chucks it at a mer (Azul's part), reader does a suplex on somebody (Riddle's part), Reader went full-out on brawling (Lilia's part), OOC bc future, you have a child (scary), and ofc, my Grammer is so indescribably amazing.

Summary: You are a dedicated, sweet, a little bit of a scatterbrained wife. You've sworn to be with him, always and forever, taking responsibility for bearing a child as well, you were such a sweetheart, despite being a little forgetful, he still loves you very much. Oh, and your child as well, "Hehe, silly momma!" [Insert name].

But... what happens if your man/kid gets hurt/kidnapped? Oh, suddenly, those perpetrators are in a boxing ring with you.

Riddle Rosehearts

You and Riddle were a happy married couple, sure you get into quarrels but you've managed to work it out somehow, despite for your scatterbrained-self, you were dedicated and sweet. Slightly protective of him, he didn't really know about that part, really. Especially when you stare into a woman's soul for flirting with him, he didn't take notice at all. So, when he turns around, your there, all sweet and flowery with that cute tendency to forget something or another. He's blushy around you, just like the day he caught feelings for you. And, your child [insert name] really loves you! You're the best momma! So what happens if...

Your man gets hit:

•Riddle was surprised by the sudden punch this guy made. He stood up, wobbling from the sheer impact, pointed his wand (or whatever he could use as a Harry Potter stick)and was ready to say the magic words (Miska, muska! Mickey Mouse!), "Off with your!-" another sudden move. It was you.

•Man's just watched his wife, throwing herself to that man, round-house kicking him, with a straight face. Then suplexing that guy with raw strength.

•He's not sure if he's the wife or nah.

•So, in the end. He has to be the one that stops you from beating the guy to the dirt and turning the guy into a DIY plant (Aye, at least it counts as a breathing organism that you surely took out to harvest).

•He gifted you, [your favorite chocolate in a box and your favorite flowers in a bouquet], [the clothes you've been eyeing out for months in your favorite color], [the food you wanted to try out again bc it was so good], [your favorite limited edition shirt], and lastly the dinner he paid for you.

•...Not before calling the cops on this guy's ass.

When your kid almost got kidnapped:

Listen, you're kid is intelligent, but got SOME of your genetics (Rosehearts blood is strong, damn), the kid was left-handed (<-at least how I picture it, you can imagine smth else, though), smart, and almost mature (<- that is, until you arrive at home and the kid did a 180° switching back to a playful kid), and was almost sweet to every stranger (but gives nasty side-eyes at suitors that tries to flirt w/ you whenever you both go shopping), so imagine to your surprise you see your child being DRAGGED by the arm bc of SOMEBODY (And Riddle is a witness before he could do sht cuz your faster):

Lilia Vanrouge [Hanafubukki PLEASE NOTICE ME 🙏🙏🙏]

•What the fuck. Why does he ALWAYS deliver LATE? And why do you turn into Sonic the Hedgehog whenever something happens?? This, has gotta be from the time you were at NRC weren't you? (Or nah, and it was smth else completely)

•Nvm that. Now he's wondering where you've even learned these things.

• "Mommy!!" Cried [insert name], running straight at you, and you, of course, hugged your child back.

•Man, Riddle loves a good wife that knows how to kick ass. And maybe, he could break the cycle with you.

You and Lilia had a very interesting history together (just imagine with me, okay?) And he could never ask for anything else, when he gets nightmares of the war, you somehow know this, always wake up and stay beside him as long as needed until both of you fall asleep. Always there when he needed help but never spoke aloud about it, and always tending to his needs while he tends to others and yours. You, were his great balance in life, though he never showed the signs he was hurting, maybe it dulled overtime, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. So, you were there, you've helped and that was enough for him. And the two of you had a child, [insert name]. The child took their mischief, playfulness, and maturity from their father. While they've taken your dedication and sweetness from you, of course. But the thing is, you and [insert name] were both forgetful of things. But, don't worry, the three of you can be one, happy, but clumsy of a family. So, when the time some random fuck-ass fae comes to hit/kidnap your man/kid? Nah, I'll win.

When your man gets hit:

•The fae had the audacity to flirt with you, now had enough audacity to hit THE general of Briar Valley? HECKS NAWH. The fact is, either the fae didn't realize it was Lilia or was a drunk. [<-but even so, no one can deal with Vanrouge even if they aren't sober]

•As soon as he was about to retort, you came into his vision...

•And round-house kicking the fae with raw strength, even going as far as to tackle him down, stomp on his crotch, and molly-wap the guy towards the air.

•So, let's do a 2nd marriage but this time he's the bride and you're the groom.

•Hmmmm... That strong ass gorilla-like grip you had there... he's thinking he'll be put into his place if he ever dare to cross you.

•Which, will never happen, of course. (Fortunately.)

•Welp! He's doing the chores this time! Please don't look so stern my dear! You'd get wrinkles if you do! Here, a kiss might help you! *Ignoring the guy who is in a current state of physical and psychological pain.*

What if your kid almost gets kidnapped by a fae?:

Now, I'm not saying your kid might be dumb, but although getting genes from Lilia and all. The kid still has some of your genetic, otherwise, that ain't your kid. So, imagine looking away for 1 millisecond, only to see your kid following a man with candies in his pocket, Lilia had already halted the fae, but that didn't stop you from bolting over.

•When Lilia saw you running over like a mad bull, he knew he had to step aside.

•That fae almost met their creator.

•The fact that your child was encouraging and cheering you on was funny to Lilia. Look at his child, aren't they so cute? Aww! And look!- *You bitch-slapping the fae on the ground.* A strong wife he has! Hah! All of you must be jealous he pulled a baddie. (And totally not trembling in fear)

•So after that, you all went back to being that wholesome family that went out for a very wholesome outing together.

Azul Ashengrotto

To start off, Azul had become a successful shady- business man, you became his wife, then the two of you had a child. Which, uncle Floyd and Jade loved to play with and prank Azul. Oh, but this time? Your genes got HALF of the child and HALF of Azul's. And I'm talking abt appearance. So they kinda looked like you, but in mer version. Not sure if they had your eyes or Azul's eyes bit no matter what, your child has the charm of that of a merfolk from the deep-sea. So what will you do, if your man/kid gets hit/kidnapped?

Your man gets hit:

•In no fucking way did that mer just TAINTED your beautiful husband with that hand.

•So when Azul regains composure and sees you holding a slipper, "Honey... What in the fucking sevens are yoU DOING!?-" *Cue to the slipper at max velocity like it's in a speeding dial to contacting the great sevens up above, then gets CHUCKED at the mer in the face, the air vibrating within vicinity.*

•.... babe, what are you exactly? What if our child has that same strength as you- *Gets interrupted by you hugging him.* "Aww, Zuzu, are you okay? You're not hurt anywhere are you?" ... Yes he's fine, just a little bit shaken... [<-Literally]

•So fast forward to him spoiling you in a way someone gets threatened at gunpoint. It's like your the mafia boss instead of him.

•Yeah, his clients are NOT going to mess with Azul's husband. (Did I say husband? Yes. So is he the wife now? Also yes.)

What if your kid gets kidnapped?:

Your child isn't dumb, nor smart. But your child still has underdeveloped strength, so in comes Azul with his two big-ass blueberry popsicle giants. But before they could do anything, a terrifying aura comes rushing in and Azul froze recognizing it was you, as the Tweels witness a practical murder in glee from the usually sweet and dedicated 'wife' of Azul, wondering if they'll ever find the same type of wife like you.

•Holy sevens, here we go again. Didn't this happened last time?

•You were there, forcing the mer to get tf out of that forsaken water, but even if the mer tried to escape under water, you followed with abnormal strength and speed.

The mer kidnapper: "WHAT THE FUCK IS THATTT????" *He said while swimming away from the oncoming silhouette of an angry mother.*

•Yes, your child is safe. Just witnessing you shoving a rock in the mer's throat, flipping him twice, spinning him across the air, and throwing him upwards into the sky, then blasting his dehydrated ass towards the sun.

•Yea, you were officially the man of the house. Not him, damn.

THE END!

A/n: sorry if it took awhile!!! @nesting-dreams !!

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #my heart will explode from joy #💋MWUAHHH

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frost-queen · 19 days ago

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Drowns the love // part 2 (Reader x Benedict Bridgerton ft. Anthony)

Requested by: @cevansgoodgirl, @chrissisheadisinclouds, @slythetic, @fallout-girl219 Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @floatlosers, @alex–awesome–22, @merlieve, @wildiefleur , @meyocoko , @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23, @melsunshine , @venomsvl, @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedrava-bitch-187, @erikasurfer , , @eliscannotdance, @p0nycurtis, @slythetic, @bitchybananaflower, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @awesomemikaus

Summary: When Anthony loses Siena, he is met up with the reality of his own made mistakes. A wife he cannot return to and a brother who has taken over his duty of loving you. [part 1]

Weep little Viscount man, you’ll never be what is in your heart.

For another night, Anthony had crawled himself to Siena. The woman he spent more time with than his own legally married wife. He hadn’t even made it to the chambers, lingering at the staircase for his night was taking a different turn. Siena arguing with him. His expression was enough.

It was something he did not came for. Bored and unbothered by it. – “It is not surprising in the least.” – Siena’s words reaching him more clear. Making him settle his expression to a more tenting one. – “to know you are only here because you are jealous.” – her smile hiding a sorrow behind the meaning.

“I’m not here because I am jealous.” – Anthony responded, shaking his head. – “Goodbye, my lord.” – Siena’s words final as she spun around. Ready to head up the stairs if only he hadn’t taken a hold of her waist. Holding her back from leaving his sight. – “I am here because I miss you.” – he answered pleadingly.

Panting loudly as he moved up a step to pull her close to his chest. Breath hot on her neck, hand cherishing her low waist with yearning. – “I cannot think of anything else, Siena.” – letting his nose brush up her neck to her ear. Kissing it deeply just below her ear. Siena slowly turned her position, lip quivering.

Before able to respond any more, he breathed loud at her. – “Come back to me.” – his words desperate followed by a deepened kiss. Lasting a few seconds before he felt a shove of her hands against his chest. Pushing him off, making him grasp for the railing by the side, stumbling a few steps down.

Staring shockingly back at her. Her panting slowed down, expression hardening. – “Your position in life remains unchanged.” – she let out. – “And so to, does mine!” – making her statement clear to him. Anthony leaned a bit in, not thinking with his heart.

Gesturing with his hands forwards to grab her by the waist once more. Wanting her kiss once more. – “Your responsibility will always be with your title, above all else!” – her words making him move his hand back. Hearing how serious she was getting. – “You are married!” – her voice raging.

“And… and I shall always be the woman you may love in darkness…” – voice trembling with a slight shake of her head. – “No.” – Anthony protested as she kept her hand up front to prevent him from coming closer.

“but never in the day of light.” – steadying her voice to get it in his head. – “You have made me promises before and I, like a fool, believed them.” – taking a step back from him, knowing she could never take the place of viscountess for that position was already taken by someone else. Sighing loud, she made her final decision.

“I cannot be your fool anymore.” – shoving him off before fleeing up the stairs. Leaving Anthony with an emptiness and a harsh reality. Blinking surprisingly, the reality slowly sunk in. Stumbling back on his feet, he caught the railing for steadiness. Wiping a hand over his face, he wasn’t sure what to do now.

The visit having ended short, he went for the door. For only to return home. With a sunken heart and heavy weight on his feet, he went up the stairs. Leaving quiet footsteps. Reaching the upper floors, he stared into the hallway for a moment.

Consumed by nothing but emptiness. The house-hold sleeping save and sound. Realizing just how cold and quiet a house could be. Taking a deep breath, he pressured on. Returning to his chambers. Opening the door and closing it quietly behind him.

His gaze going upwards from the flooring to the bed. – “Y/n.” – he said in a hushed-tone. Unsure what was settling inside of him, but he felt the need to call out to you. Your name he rarely used. His eyes briefly widened. Not with surprise, for he should’ve foreseen it.

An empty bed. He walked up to it, coming to sit down on your side of the matrass. Moving his hands over his face with desperation. Weep for himself. His boldness stands alone among the wreck. For there seemed to be nothing for him to return to.

Letting his hand rest on the place you usually slept, he stared down at it. Fingers curling inwards with a deep exhale. Eyes closing for the wreckage he had bestowed upon himself. Estranged from his wedded wife. Laying himself down, he stared up at the ceiling.

Slowly turning his head to the other side of the matrass. Greeted with nothing but emptiness. Biting the inside of his lip a bit, he felt the coldness of it creep in his heart. Closing his eyes once more, he exhaled deep. Knowing he messed up. Cursing at himself. Pulling himself back up, it became clear in his head.

The snippets of Siena fading away. Needing to find his wife in the hopes he could find your forgiveness. Heading out of the door, he went back down. Searching the most familiar places first. Panting more loudly by each desperate attempt searching the house.

Shoving the door open to his study, he blinked at the darkness. Staring inside for a few moments. His ears pitching to a sudden sound. Laughter. Laughter coming from outside. Sparking his interest as every fibre in his body, screamed to move. Hastened, he hurried out of his study to go to the backdoors.

Reaching the gardens, facing the cold once more. Coming to a sudden stop hearing the laughter once more. Seeing you lay down on the grass with his brother beside you. The laughter coming from you. – “Y/n.” – Anthony said loud, startling the both of you.

You pushed your upper body up, looking over your shoulder upon your husband. Quickly you got to your feet with a little help of Benedict. Dusting some grass off your dress. You then curtsied at your viscount. – “I did not know you would return so early this night, my lord.” - you said, keeping your gaze low.

“I…” – he gestured hesitantly forwards. Upon hearing how you addressed him so distantly made him gulp nervously. His gaze drifting away to his brother. Seeing how he was avoiding eye contact with him. – “I…I need a word with my wife.” – he spoke, moving his hands behind his back.

Benedict glanced down at you. Gaze settling on you for a moment before taking a step back. – “Of course.” – he said leaving your side. Going over towards Anthony as Anthony approached as well. Both crossing each other with a quick glance.

Anthony approached you as Benedict lingered in the background. Not wishing to return inside just yet. Anthony cleared his throat in your presence. – “You wished to discuss something with me, my lord.” – you said in a dull tone. – “Y/n.” – Anthony responded. Your response was to laugh loud.

Making him furrow his brows. – “I wasn’t aware you knew my name.” – trying to settle down your laughter. – “Of course I do…” – Anthony said with a surprised frown. – “Y/n…” – he began again. Holding your hand up, you stopped him. – May I ask you something, my lord.” – wanting to speak first.

Anthony gestured at you to do so. – “Why did you choose me? Why marry me when you wouldn’t even acknowledge me? Was it a desperate attempt? Did you needed to be rushed to avoid a scandal?”

“No.” – Anthony cut in. – “Then why? Have your mama off your back so you can focus more on the other girl!” – shoving him further away from you out of spite. – “No…no!” – he kept saying in between. – “Don’t lie to me!” – you shouted at him. Trembling with rage and fury. – “Do not take me for a fool, viscount!” – giving him another push back.

Benedict came rushing over once he had heard you shout. – “Are you alright, Y/n?” – he asked, holding your arms to turn you more towards him. Anthony blinked confused at the gesture between his brother and you. You turned more towards Anthony. – “You can have her. All of her, for I do not wish for a life with you.” – you made clear to him.

Anthony’s eyes widened, certainly when he saw his brother touch your cheek caringly. His expression hardening as he grabbed his own brother by his shirt. Ready to throw hands with him. Benedict grabbed his brother’s shirt as well.

“You are taking my wife!” – he called out in aggression. Benedict grabbed him hard by his shirt, pulling him up close. – “This is not my fault, but yours! Her heart was on the line and you messed it up this time!” – he responded loudly. For his brother didn’t needed to put blame on him, but only on himself.

“Stop!” – you called out loud, coming to settle in between. Pulling them apart. – “You chose her! It was always her and it was never going to be me so I accepted that. I’m giving you the freedom to love her in any way you like. I will love the man I want in any way I like.” – stepping back to Benedict to join his side. Anthony could only stare in shock.

“I..I…” – unsure what to say next for he had no one to return to. Lowering his gaze, he knew he messed it up this time. Messed it up pretty bad. Weep little Bridgerton man, You're not as brave as you were at the start. Having lost it all in the process of one. Your boldness stands alone among the wreck.

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changbunnies · 1 year ago

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Scent Of You (18+)

♡ Pairing: Wolf Hybrid!Bang Chan x Fem Bunny Hybrid!Reader x Wolf Hybrid!Changbin

♡ Genre: dubcon, little red riding hood au, fantasy/supernatural au, hybrid au, vague allusions to omegaverse dynamics, porn with plot

♡ Word Count: 7.8k (oops)

♡ Summary: In which a sweet, naive bunny hybrid nicknamed 'little red' becomes lost in the forest at night, and finds herself face to face with the big, bad wolves her grandmother always warned her about.

♡ Warnings: uses the little red riding hood fairytale as a base for inspiration before it devolves into smut, words like "alpha" and other omegaverse terms aren't used but the vibes are There lol

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): dubcon, pet names (though mostly as a title- such as bunny, little red, and sweetheart), the word slut is used a few times, gendered language such as "dirty girl", scent stuff lol, dom/sub dynamics (dom!chan, sub!reader, allusions to switch!bin), a lot of kissing, size difference, size kink (i'm sorry if you're tall just pretend ur small and they're huge because ur a rabbit and they're a wolf fsdgsdf), oral (m + f rec), spitroasting, some manhandling, some banter and mild rivalry between bin and chan, unprotected piv, dacryphilia, multiple orgasms and multiple creampies

♡ Notes: so i intended to take a small break from writing after finishing crave but inspo struck me as i was trying to fall asleep and i NEEDED to write it so i literally shot up and wrote all of this in one sitting in a cold sweat fsdgdsf so here we are, one last surprise upload before my break <3 it's easily the most self indulgent fic i've written to date dfdgh bunny is my fave petname and this is basically just my excuse to be called bunny in a wolf binchan sandwich lmao this is not as proofread as my other stuff given how quickly i wrote it, and it's my first time writing a threesome, but i hope you enjoy! edit: there is now a sequel you can read here !

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

"Please, take care sweetheart. Don't stay out too long," your grandmother warns with a tender kiss to your forehead as you prepare to head out for the day, pulling the hood of your long, red cape up over your head, tucking in your hair and covering your lopped ears.

"I know, grandmother, I know! I'll be back before you know it, I promise," you assure her with a smile, hooking your twine basket into your arm, empty and ready to be filled with treats of the forest.

Your grandmother heaves a soft sigh, as she falls back against the bed, and you give her hand a reassuring squeeze and a soft goodbye before you make your way out of your quaint cottage, a long line of intimidating, tall standing trees before you. Grandmother always worries for your safety, as the woods aren't entirely safe for a rabbit like yourself, but so long as the sun hangs bright in the sky, you'd be perfectly fine.

Really, it's only at night that the woods near your home become truly dangerous, as all manner of nocturnal predators leave their dens in search of their next meal. For a rabbit such as yourself, lingering in the woods at night is assuredly a death sentence; your diminutive stature and weak limbs would cause you to easily fall victim to the beasts that stalk through the forest with the moon's aid.

The only thing on your side would be your speed, but even then it's no guarantee of safety once a predator has you in their sights. And so your grandmother always instilled a proper fear of the dark within you, in the hope that you'd never find yourself in a situation in which you'd have to flee in the first place.

Entering the forest brings with it countless anxieties for your species, but it's not like you can simply not go. The gifts of nature are what sustains you, and you have to enter the woods, even live near them, if you want to have food in your tummy and herbal medicines on your shelves.

As such, you are always very conscious of the amount of time you spend in the forest, only ever entering when the sun is brightly illuminating your surroundings, always careful and alert as you gather what you need. You observe the sun's position in the sky, use it to determine how much time you have left before it begins to set, always heading back well before it starts to sink behind the trees.

And you'd never stay longer than necessary, especially not when you have grandmother waiting at home praying for your safe return! But well.. grandmother is quite ill these days, and you spent more time than you usually would gathering the berries and leaves you’ll need to make her sweet, healing brews of tea.

Soon enough, winter's chill would cause all the greenery to frost and wither, and you wanted to stock up now to ensure you had enough to last 'til the end of the season. It was for grandmother's health! Surely she'd understand and forgive you if you stayed out just a little longer than usual.

But as dusk started to settle over the trees, and you realized how precious few moments of sunlight you had left to make it home with, panic began to accumulate in the pit of your stomach. You tried your best to take deep breaths, to not allow your heart to race– as long as you remained calm, you could get back before dark, you were sure of it.

The more the sun sank however, the more you lost your clarity; you found yourself stumbling in circles, the encroaching dark causing the forest to become unrecognizable, leading you blindly in circles. You'd long since lost sight of the path you always followed home, and the moon and stars, which were normally such a beautiful sight, now came with a sense of foreboding.

It was dark, you were lost, and grandmother was now all alone, probably worrying herself half to death wondering where you could be and if you're even still alive. You continue blindly weaving your way through the trees, just praying that you're moving in the direction of home; you can't afford to hide away and wait until morning, not when a beast could be around any corner.

Using your speed to your advantage, you dart past a near endless sea of trees, praying, praying, and praying the clearing will come into view and you’ll see your cottage in the middle, with orange light from the fire peeking through the windows and smoke billowing from the chimney.

Suddenly you stop, entire body freezing as your hair stands on end, nose twitching as an unfamiliar scent fills your nostrils; someone is near– someone that you should avoid at all costs. It’s so heavy, overwhelming beyond comprehension– the scent of the forest itself is still identifiable, but mixed now with something akin to leather, black coffee, and hot iron.

The scent is actually quite pleasant, so that's not what causes you to freeze; it’s the unfamiliarity that is the true root of the problem, evoking a deep rooted, innate fear response. You know all the “safe” smells– that of other prey animals such as yourself, for instance, are recognizable, comforting, and bring about a sense of calm.

To be met with the unfamiliar is to be met with danger; it means that whatever is near is something you’ve never encountered during your safe treks through the forest, it means that a predator likely has you in their sights. And as grandmother has told you, if you smell them it’s already too late– they’ve found you.

“Now, now, what do we have here?” A deep voice calls, hidden from your sight. Your heart erupts in an erratic rhythm, a chill running down your spine as your eyes desperately search the darkness for the source of the voice. And there, you finally see it– or rather, him. A man, standing much, much taller and bulkier than you, sharp fangs exposed with his smile, fangs that you are sure will be used to rip you apart.

You see pointed ears and dusky blue-silver fur, a long tail that swishes with intrigue and delight, a fur coat with the arms cut off, an exposed chest laden with scars both fresh and faded. He’s a wolf, you realize with dread, the thing you were taught to fear most of all.

You unconsciously take a step back as he approaches, the moonlight illuminating him in a way that evokes both fear and reverence; as beautiful as he is dangerous. “What’s a little thing like you doing in the forest at night, hmm? Don’t you know it isn’t safe, little red?” he says with a sickeningly sweet smile, referencing the caped hood you’re wearing, a gift from your grandmother meant to keep you safe from men like him.

You clutch your basket tighter as your legs begin to tremble, lowering your head and pulling your hood down further, trying your best to ensure your ears and other features are completely covered. He probably knows by smell alone you’re a prey animal, but you vainly hope he’ll let you go if he doesn’t realize you’re a rabbit– a stupid hope, but it’s the only one you have.

“Poor thing, don’t be scared. You got lost, didn’t you, little red?” With each step towards you he takes, you take another step back, until your back meets that of a thick tree, the erratic rhythm of your heart building to a speed you thought otherwise impossible.

“Tell me– where did you come from?” The wolf asks with an intimidating smile full of fang, “I recognize you from somewhere. Where was it I’ve smelled you before..?”

With nowhere to go, caged against the tree as the wolf closes in, all you can do is tremble as you watch him sniff the air, licking his lips as if tasting your scent. Most prey animals are generally the same, but there’s only one place he’s gotten the scent of sugar and cream from..

“Ah, I know,” he says suddenly, smile growing wider as he speaks, “That little cottage in the clearing– that’s it, isn’t it? That’s your home?” You swallow as you timidly nod, your nerves much too frayed to attempt to lie– you’ve never been a good liar anyways, your grandmother having raised you to be honest and good.

“You’re quite far from home, little red. But I can help you,” he offers, but you know better than to trust a wolf– they’re liars, all of them. “N-No, I.. I can get there by myself,” you say, finally finding your voice (shaky and timid though it may be.)

The man hums, seemingly amused by your brave display; he knows how scared you are, can quite literally taste it, but he has to commend you for trying, at least. “I’m not sure that’s true. Do you know which way home is?”

“W-Well, uhm, I.. I– I, I don’t–” you stutter and fumble, and he chuckles, a smug look of “thought-so” clear on his face as he grins at you. His hand finds your cheek, and you look up at him with glassy, teary eyes, heart thumping out of control as he strokes your skin with his thumb.

He smiles sweetly, almost boyishly– a look that would be endearing if he wasn’t a wolf, and you weren’t afraid for your life. His clawed hand travels from your cheek to the top of your hood, and you quickly reach your hands up to clutch the fabric, keeping it fully tugged down in a vain attempt to continue to hide your identity.

The wolf laughs, clearly amused at your reaction. “Come now, little red, show me what sort of ears you’re hiding under there,” he coos and you shake your head, eyes squeezing shut and knuckles turning white as you desperately cling to your hood.

At this point it probably no longer matters what you are exactly– no matter the answer, it’s clear the wolf before your eyes has plans for you that won’t go unfulfilled. But still, your survival instincts are in overdrive, and you can’t help but try your best to protect yourself, even if the endeavor proves to be worthless.

He tugs at your hood, not yet trying to fully pull it off, but rather playing with you– he could easily pull it off in one quick swipe, his claws could tear the fabric to ribbons, but he chooses to instead have his fun, watch you panic and struggle with the hood in your tiny hands.

You look at him, unfallen tears blurring your vision; you don’t know what else to do. Grandmother always said if you found yourself cornered by wolves, your only option would be to run and pray for the best, but is that really the best you can do? And while you’re fast, wolves are faster– you’re sure the man would be able to catch up with you easily, especially given that the moon is his ally and he is likely extremely familiar with the deep woods.

Further still, he clearly stated he knows your home; even if you escape, he knows exactly where to go to find you. It fills you with dread, knowing that even if you do make it home, your grandmother would be there too; and you’d never forgive yourself if something bad happened to her because of you.

It’s an impossible choice you are being dealt– surrender to your fate now, or try your best to flee and risk dragging your precious grandmother down with you. But as he finally tugs down your hood, your white, snow-like lopped ears are fully exposed, and the wolf’s fangs shine as he gleefully smiles, you find yourself unconsciously making a choice– you run, as fast as your legs will carry you.

The cape gets caught and snags on stray branches from the myriad trees, tearing as you continue to run, adrenaline coursing through your veins, chest aching from the erratic, forcefully thumping of your heart, breath coming out quick and harsh.

You barely make it 10 feet ahead through the trees before you’re crashing into something, the sudden impact causing you to let out an involuntary shout as you stumble back and fall ungracefully on your backside. Looking up, tears fall from your eyes when you realize it’s another wolf– shorter than the one who’d cornered you previously, but bulkier, with fur as dark as obsidian and a scent that matches it.

You suspect that he was there the entire time, and you just didn’t notice due to the panicked focus you held on getting away from the blue-silver wolf. “Where do you think you're going, little red?” the new wolf speaks, affirming your fears; he was there for the entire exchange, witness to the moniker you’d been given and now using it for himself.

“Oh Changbin, you caught her,” you hear the previous wolf say from somewhere behind you, leaves and twigs snapping beneath his feet as he approaches your spot on the ground. “Course,” the dark wolf evidently named Changbin speaks, kneeling down to look directly in your teary eyes, “I’d never let such a sweet little thing get away from us.”

He reaches to the side of your body, where your twine basket has fallen from your arms and spilled its contents, all the berries and leaves you gathered now decorating the dirt. “Hmm, most of these are herbal. What a sweet girl you are, gathering until late into the night! Your grandmother must be proud of you, hmm?” Changbin smiles, looking up to the previous wolf once he stands again, your basket in his hands, “Don’t you think so, Chan-hyung?”

The blue-silver wolf that the dark wolf calls Chan hums in agreement, once again calling you a “sweet thing.” Chan offers you a hand to help you stand, and you hesitate, swallowing as your eyes dart nervously between them. Their eyes on you make you nervous beyond just the predator-prey relationship you share; they’re both so impossibly ethereal in the light of the moon, and it makes you wonder if all wolves are such divine creatures.

Maybe that’s why the rest of the forest view them reverently; beautiful, powerful, utterly intimidating in all aspects– they offer no choice from a rabbit such as yourself but submission simply from presence alone. “What’s your name, little red?” is Chan’s next question, and again, you find yourself unable to lie; against your own sense of self-preservation, you tell him your name.

He hums, repeating your name as if testing the way it falls from his tongue before diverting back to his nickname for you. “Let’s make a deal, little red,” the wolf says, still holding out his hand, waiting for you to take it. You finally do so cautiously, letting Chan help you to your feet, your legs still trembling but not yet buckling in the face of fear.

“W-What kind of deal?” you ask hesitantly, looking between the two wolves who smile and lick their lips, tongues ghosting over their fangs as they do. Beautiful, powerful, intimidating, your mind repeats.

“We want to play with you,” Chan says smoothly, the answer coming natural to him, “play with us for a little while, and then we’ll take you home. We promise.” You look at the other, younger wolf who nods, backing the sentiment of his superior.

Here you are, confronted in the deepest reaches of the forest by two wolves, and instead of devouring you they just want to “play”..? What does playing entail with them? You’re not sure how much you truly want to know, but the promise of home dangling in front of you makes you consider their offer despite how foolish it may be.

“You’re not.. tricking me, are you?” you ask, voice small, full of naivety and hope. “Of course not, sweetheart, we would never,” Changbin affirms, even going so far as to pick up the spilled contents of your basket and nestle them carefully back inside– a promise that by the time you’re done ��playing”, you’ll be reunited with your sickly grandmother and able to care for her again.

“You just smell so sweet,” Chan says, his clawed fingers once again tracing over your cheek, “and we’ve always wanted to play with a sweet little bunny like you.” You nervously exhale the breath you unconsciously held when his hand traced your skin, searching his eyes for any sort of deceit.

If you’re being honest, you’re not entirely confident in your ability to tell if the wolves are lying to you– they’re masters of manipulation, after all; lying is second nature to them. Still, you want to trust them– trust that after you play with them for a little while, they’ll keep their promise of taking you home with your basket in your arms and everything you need to get through the winter.

“If you really promise, then.. I’ll play with you,” you answer, and the wolves both smile eagerly, with the elder wolf taking you in his arms, swiftly lifting you up off your feet. You squeak in surprise, instinctively clutching tightly to his fur coat, scared of being dropped.

“Let’s go have some fun then,” Chan grins at you, making sure his hold on you is secure before he starts to move, “but not here. The floor here’s too dirty for you, isn’t it?” It’s a rhetorical question in which he expects no answer; instead he starts winding through the trees quickly, a destination clearly in mind.

You vaguely see the other wolf trailing behind before you squeeze your eyes shut, the blur of trees and wind whipping through your hair and past your ears making you dizzy as you’re carried further and further into the forest, likely towards its center. It takes you a few moments to open your eyes once you’ve realized you’re no longer moving at high speeds; Chan, who still has you in his arms, is now walking at a leisurely place through what you assume is his den.

The smell of other wolves is distinct but distant– evidently, the three of you are the only ones home for the night. It makes you breathe a small sigh of relief to know the rest of his pack is absent, attending to their own matters. It makes you feel safer, somehow; as if you’re not literally inside a wolf's den, at the mercy of whatever it is the two before you want with you.

Eventually you are carried into a bedroom– one that smells more of Chan than the other wolf, which leads you to believe this is his room specifically. Changbin doesn’t seem to mind that the “playing” will take place here, a smile still clear on his face as he shuts the door behind himself, locking the door behind him as Chan sets you on his rather large bed.

Your ears lie flat against your head, your nerves eating away at you as you fiddle with your hands. You watch them both carefully, taking note of where Changbin sets down your basket before he meets you and Chan at the bed.

The two of them standing over you makes you feel impossibly small, affirms how much better they are than you in every evolutionary aspect; speed, strength, size– they have it all. And you, one measly little rabbit with no significant qualities in comparison to them, who has no choice but to put her life in their hands if she wants to survive. How unfair.

“Tell me, little red,” Chan starts as he sits next to you on his bed, one large hand enough to cup your entire face and direct your complete attention towards him, “are bunnies as slutty as they say?” Your eyes widen as you gulp in shock, having not expected such a forward, explicit question.

“Yeah, I’m curious,” Changbin follows up, sitting firmly on your other side, caging you in between the both of them, “they don’t say ‘fucking like rabbits’ for no reason, right? So what are you? A slut?”

“I-I’m not!” you sputter out; it’s true that rabbits have a reputation for promiscuity but you live a rather sheltered life with your grandmother– you hardly even know other rabbits your age, much less male rabbits. That being said, you have been a little.. intense during your heats– but you rode those out with toys, not with the help of men.

And you don’t think there’s any shame in promiscuity, but that’s simply not the life you lead; you live modestly, simply taking care of your grandmother to the best of your ability. You barely even have time to masturbate these days– fucking is entirely out of the realm of possibility, as busy as you are.

“But you’ve taken cock before?” Changbin asks from behind you rather shamelessly, and Chan looks at you expectantly, waiting for your answer with a cocked brow. “W-Well, yes, but–” you start and Chan is smiling again, another happy hum leaving his lips. ..Does your virginity status really matter here..?

Your eyes widen again when the reality of what you’ve agreed to clicks, and Chan chuckles at your delayed reaction. “You’re not very smart, are you, bunny? But that’s okay– you don’t need to be smart to have fun, isn’t that right?”

Changbin is the next to speak, his hot breath coming out against one of your lopped ears, his hands tracing your hips, “Mhm, sweet, dumb bunnies are cute, don’t you think? I bet they have lots of fun,”

It’s vaguely condescending, how they speak of you– sweet and dumb, as if your intelligence pales next to theirs, as if you are an object designed for their pleasure and no other. And somehow, it adds to the tremble in your legs, your breath hitching when Chan squeezes your cheeks between his fingers and thumb, forcing your mouth to open.

You overtly whine, the wolf’s obscenely long tongue sliding into your mouth, exploring with another eager hum, his fangs catching on your lip with each kiss. As he kisses you, his fingers tug at the knot of your caped hood, leaving the task of discarding it to the other wolf once the knot is undone.

Goosebumps once again rise on your skin, with Changbin kissing and licking your neck after your cape has been tossed aside, deeply inhaling your scent as Chan continues to abuse your lips with his tongue and teeth. “Chan-hyung wasn’t kidding when he said you smell so sweet,” he whispers against your skin as he continues to trail his kisses down towards your shoulder, “it’s intoxicating.”

It’s shameless and almost embarrassing, the way arousal pools in your underwear despite all preconceived notions of how a rabbit should behave in the face of a predatory animal; but the more they kiss and lick, the more fear ebbs away, and becomes replaced by pleasure and yearning.

It’s been so long since you last felt the touch of someone else, having been stricken to solitary heats since becoming your grandmother’s carer. It almost humiliates you to admit how good their touch feels on your burning skin.

They can quite literally feel your body release its tension, Changbin’s strong arms being the ones to hold you up as you melt into their touch, and the smell of your leaking arousal obviously doesn’t go undetected by either of their noses. Chan pulls away from your lips, a smirk visible on his features when you open your eyes to look at him. “What a dirty girl you are, excited already,” he says, another whine escaping you not only from his words, but from the feeling of Changbin’s teeth grazing your neck.

Chan, who could quite easily rip your dress from your body, instead opts to tug the fabric away much more carefully than you’d have anticipated– perhaps they really mean to return you home after this? Changbin, whose torso was substantially more covered than his elder’s, removes his top, leaving you to feel his bare, muscular chest against your now exposed back.

He wastes no time in latching back to your neck, licking, sucking, teeth grazing the skin, but not biting down– whether to spare you the shame of returning home with the clear mark of a predator, or because he doesn’t have permission from lead of the pack however, is unclear.

Your breasts, which you’ve always considered quite full despite your diminutive frame, easily fit within Chan’s large palms. Their ability to not only make you feel, but look small leaves you dizzy. You should be afraid of how they eclipse your frame with their size, but instead you find it exciting, your brain unraveling everything you’ve been taught about self-preservation in favor of experiencing utmost pleasure from two hulking wolves.

Shame, it seems, has entirely left you, as slick leaks from you easily, drenching your underwear with each touch from their rough hands. Chan’s fingers play with your sensitive nipples, pulling and tugging until you’re writhing against Changbin’s body, who has his own hands tracing your hips and thighs, pressing lingering kisses to any patch of skin he can reach.

Chan lowers himself to take one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, tongue swirling around it as his hand continues to play with the other. Meanwhile, Changbin’s hand slinks around, brushing over your stomach before his hand dips between your legs, rubbing your heat over your soaked underwear.

“Fuck, this messy for us already? You have to feel her, hyung, touch her pussy,” Changbin speaking such filthy words right next to your ear makes you shudder, a whimper leaving from deep in your throat when Chan obliges, his hand quick to replace the younger wolf’s.

Instead of touching you over your clothes however, he opts to completely tear them from your body, in stark contrast to how he treated your dress– you suppose the underwear is less important to remain intact, or maybe he just can’t help it after having gotten this far?

“Oh, look at that Binnie, you’re right,” Chan grins as his fingers rub along your folds, spreading the slick around to create even more of a mess between your legs, “You’re such a dirty bunny underneath, hmm?”

Your face burns red, another whine escaping as shame finally returns to you, your hands reaching to cover your face. The pair of them coo, finding the display cute, whilst simultaneously making their cocks throb– what a treat, to have found a bunny that is both incredibly sweet and effortlessly sexy all at once.

Chan pushes Changbin’s hands away from your body, and quickly turns you around. Your back is now against Chan, and he hooks your legs over his knees, spreading you open for the younger wolf to see. “Let’s give Binnie a look at your dripping pussy, don’t you think he deserves it after being so sweet to you?” More slick dribbles its way out of you, soaking the mattress beneath, a treat for Changbin’s eager eyes.

Peeking between your fingers, you see his dark tail swishing behind him in delight, very clearly excited by the sight he’s met with. “Can I taste her, hyung? I want to so bad,” he asks, licking his lips, his eager, sparkling eyes not leaving you for even a second. “Mm, what do you think, little red? Should we let him have a taste?” Chan asks, and though you can’t see him anymore, you can practically hear the smile in his voice– playful and fun.

You nod quickly, though Chan doesn’t seem content with that response– he tsks, once again grabbing your face and making you twist your neck to look at him. “You gotta use your words, sweetheart, you understand?” You start to simply nod again, but then quickly follow up with a small “yes”, to which the wolf smiles. He diverts your gaze back to Changbin, forcing you to hold the darker wolf’s gaze. “Good bunny, go ahead and tell him, then. Tell him you want him to eat you.”

He can feel your face burn beneath his fingers, and though you can’t see it you’re sure there’s a smug smile gracing his perfect face as he waits for you to properly address Changbin. “I-I.. I want you to eat me, please,” you force yourself to mumble out, not missing the way Changbin’s cock throbs in his torn shorts. With one last lick of his lips, he’s diving between your thighs, looking up at you with a grin, “I’ll devour you, sweetheart.”

You gasp when his tongue licks between your folds, a loud moan unintentionally falling from your lips as he eagerly laps away at you. You can’t help but squirm in Chan’s hold, his legs continuing to hold yours open and preventing them from closing around Changbin’s head.

Changbin moans as he licks and sucks on your clit, as if the act is more pleasurable for him than you; and eventually he alternates between giving his undivided attention to your clit, to sliding his tongue as deep into your hole as it’ll go, letting his nose bump your clit instead.

Chan’s erection digs into your back, sometimes groaning when your squirming and twitching causes friction; but he’s not content to just sit behind you and watch– he wants to add to the fun. So his hands come up to the soft base of your ears, expecting it to be as erogenous of a zone for you as it is for them– and by your reaction, he can tell it is.

Your head falls back against him, and he can just catch a glimpse of your eyes rolling to the back of your skull, mouth hanging open as more moans and desperate whimpers leave you. “You getting close, sweet bunny? You wanna cum?” Chan asks, grinning when you once again quickly nod your head, a near endless stream of whimpery moans leaving you as your high approaches.

“Answer properly,” he reminds you, though his tone isn’t as strict as before– it’s almost playful, amused; he’s having fun. “W-Wanna cum, please, please let– hah– please let me cum,” you beg between harsh breaths, your entire body feeling like a wire on the verge of snapping.

“You heard her Bin, make her cum,” you hear Chan say as he becomes harsher with your ears, his calloused fingers now rubbing in rough circles. Your entire body jolts and convulses as the wire finally snaps, cry after cry of white pleasure spilling from your lips as you release on Changbin’s waiting tongue. He hums as he licks up all you offer him, not separating himself from his spot between your legs until he’s sure he’s got it all and you’re shuddering from the overstimulation.

Changbin takes your face in his hands, pulling you just slightly away from Chan as he drags you into a kiss, his tongue shoving its way into your mouth. Your taste is all over his tongue, his mouth stealing away all the breath you’ve just barely managed to breathe into your lungs after the intensity of your orgasm. Your eyes are hazy when he pulls away, fogged over by lust and needs for the wolves you are sandwiched between.

You just barely register Changbin looking past you to Chan, as if asking what to do next; though the exchange is silent, it seems like Changbin knows exactly where to go from here after receiving a certain look– have they done this before, you wonder?

Changbin scoots back just a bit before grabbing your legs, unhooking them from Chan’s knees before he’s pulling you down, closer to him. You gasp, your head falling straight onto Chan’s lap– well, more accurately to one of his thighs, before he’s closing his legs to act as a pillow for you.

His cock, though still obscured by the fabric of his shorts, is right next to your face and impressive in its size, just as Changbin’s is. The two of them, in almost practiced unison, pull down their shorts, though the task is harder for Chan, who has your head resting on his lap. He still manages well enough, and you’re met with the sight of his hard, leaking cock right in front of your eyes, almost close enough to touch your cheek.

You look up at Chan, who looks down to meet your gaze with a grin. “Hope you’re ready, bunny,” is all the warning you get before you’re flipped around to your front, another squeak of surprise as you’re manhandled to your knees, bent to where Changbin wants you, with your face still squarely in Chan’s lap.

One of Chan’s hands holds his cock at the base while the other reaches under your chin, lifting your face up to look directly at him. “Show me what you can do while you’re taking cock,” he instructs, your body trembling as you feel Changbin’s cock rub between your folds, slicking himself up.

You whine when his cock presses against your hole, Changbin’s hands holding your hips up while Chan’s guide you to take his leaking cock into your mouth. You never imagined you’d be in a scenario where you’re taking in the cocks of two wolves at once, but you welcome the challenge.

Changbin enters you first, the stretch the most intense you’ve ever taken– you can’t help but gasp, the sting pricking up every inch of your body. Chan, thankfully, doesn’t force you to take him entirely into your mouth in this state– he lets you instead kiss and lick the tip, recognizing your need to adjust to a size you’re entirely unused to taking.

They both praise you, though Changbin’s voice is significantly more strained and breathy as he continues his slow push inside your tight heat. Your nails dig into Chan’s thighs for support, and he doesn’t scold you for taking pauses in giving him attention, instead just watching as you squeeze your eyes shut and do your best to control your heavy breathing.

“Big stretch, isn’t it bun?” Chan ends up asking, which causes you to nod with teary eyes. “‘s so big,” you exhale, and Changbin whines from behind you– you wonder if he likes hearing how big he is? You can also hear the loud swishing of his tail, almost like a whip with how quick it snaps from side to side; it’s an undeniable truth that Changbin has been very, very excited to play with you the entire night.

Changbin hisses once he’s fully aside, while Chan takes this time to rub your back in a soothing gesture you wouldn’t typically expect from a wolf. You look up at him, eyes full of equal parts gratitude and lust, and he simply smiles, hunching his back down to meet your lips in a kiss.

“Not fair, I wanna kiss her too–” Changbin protests from behind you and Chan scoffs when he pulls away from your lips. “Your dick is literally inside her Bin, shut the fuck up,” he says and to your surprise, you giggle– Changbin is kind of cute, isn’t he? At least, in a weird, wolfy sort of way.

“Are you laughing at me?” he asks, and you can almost hear the playful sort of pout in his voice. “S-Sorry, didn’t mean to,” you mumble, hoping you didn’t offend him. You take a cautious peek at him from over your shoulder, relieved to find that he’s actually smiling once he stops his dramatic pouting. Cute, you think again, but he doesn’t let you feel that way for long.

He pulls out to the tip and presses back inside in one, swift motion, causing a moan to erupt from you as your nails once again dig into Chan’s skin. “Won’t be laughing by the time I’m done with you, bunny,” Changbin says as he repeats the motion, and it takes everything in you to not utterly collapse onto Chan’s lap.

He hits your spot every time, and you swear you can feel it all the way in your stomach– but Chan doesn’t let you stay idle in your pleasure for very long. “C’mon, sweet bunny, you know what to do,” he says, his hand under your chin directing you back to his own neglected length.

Unable to control yourself much after Changbin starts picking up his pace, you simply open your mouth and stick out your tongue, allowing Chan to enter your mouth however much he wishes to, completely handing your control to him. Changbin’s thrusts cause you to take more of Chan into your mouth than you’d initially take all at once, and it causes Chan to curse, his cock hitting the back of your throat within seconds of entering your mouth.

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to well with tears, and then for those tears to cascade down your cheeks, trying your best not to choke and gag as Changbin, voluntarily or otherwise, forces you to take more and more of Chan’s cock down your throat. You can hardly even breathe between the pleasure of Changbin drilling you from behind and Chan’s cock obstructing your primary airway, but it makes you dizzy in the best way possible.

You feel floaty, every cell in your body knowing nothing but intense pleasure. Chan strokes your head, sometimes petting your ears for that extra burst of pleasure that makes you clench tighter and causes Changbin to curse from behind you each and every time.

Changbin, who is observing the way his cock looks sliding in and out of your tiny hole, gets a flash of inspiration when he looks at your cute, fluffy cottontail. Experimentally, he takes it into his hands, rubbing your tail between his fingers, and you keen, a shiver traveling throughout your entire body.

“Oh, you like that?” he asks, a bit smug as he continues to rub and gently tug at your tail, a loud whine escaping you that is muffled only by the cock lodged in your mouth. Chan can see your eyes rolling back, and decides to double the pleasure, not letting his hands leave your ears for even a second.

Your noises tumble freely now, quick and constant, rising in volume despite how muffled they are. It’s overwhelming being played with like this, but it feels so fucking good you’d never think to complain– you may become addicted to this sensation when it’s all said and done.

You’re so wet and warm, and now squeezing impossibly tight– Changbin isn’t going to last, and you can feel him throbbing and twitching as his pace begins to stutter. “Shit- fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” he whines, letting go of your hip with his other hand to reach under you and find your clit with his fingers. “Cum with me, pretty bunny, c’mon, I know you’re close too,” he says, quickly rubbing your clit between two of his fingers.

Chan guides your head off of him, letting you suck in the breath you desperately need before he’s lifting you up just enough to meet his lips, capturing your moans with his mouth. You cum again with a succession of loud whimpers, your hands squeezing at Chan’s body desperately. “Oh my god, yes, ‘m cumming, c-cumming–” Changbin gasps, his cum shooting inside you in quick spurts, his bottom lip tucked between his sharp teeth as he groans.

Chan lets you fall back to his lap, breathless and almost entirely spent, with Changbin breathing heavily behind you. He pulls out when he finally starts to soften, and you glance behind you the best you can to see him pouting at his elder again.

“You did that to make me jealous!” he accuses Chan in reference to kissing you, and the other wolf simply shrugs with a smirk. “I can kiss you too, Binnie,” you mumble, just loud enough for the two of them to hear.

He whines again, and you realize it’s the first time you’re actually using one of their names. “You should’ve said my name while cumming, bunny,” he grunts as he scoops you up, pulling you back to his chest. “I don’t think she could’ve–” Chan starts to interject, laughing when Changbin glares at him, capturing your lips in a possessive kiss.

They’re not actually fighting over you, but you find the dynamic fun– maybe that’s why they like to share; and you don’t think you’ve ever felt this desired before. Changbin’s tail is swishing again as he kisses you, and you giggle when you hear it– he’s like a puppy, you think; eager, and easily excitable, with a hint of jealousy that makes him fun to tease.

When he pulls away, he looks at Chan and then back at you, “Can you handle one more, sweetheart? Channie-hyung still needs a turn with you.”

“I can take it, I’m a good bunny,” you affirm and they both grin, Chan reaching out to you and pulling you away from Changbin’s arms, into his own. “Such a good girl,” he hums as he lays you down on the mattress, taking his place between your legs while Changbin lays down next to you, rubbing his hand over your soft tummy.

Changbin’s cum is leaking steadily out of you, but Chan doesn’t seem to mind the mess it’s making on his mattress– you've made your own mess of his bed too, after all. He instead uses his fingers to gather up what has leaked and spread it over his own length, using it as lubrication for his own push inside of you.

Changbin presses kisses to your heated cheeks, licking away the tears that fall as Chan starts to push his cock inside you. Chan, who has been entirely composed up to this point, finally breaks just a bit– enough for his breath to start coming out harsher as you feel him twitch and throb inside you.

His tail doesn’t swish as fast and erratically as Changbin’s but it is nonetheless moving happily side to side, a clear indicator that you’re actually affecting him, and he’s not all confidence and smug charisma. “Can I play with you while Channie-hyung fucks you, bunny?” Changbin asks, his hand creeping up to your chest, smiling when you quickly nod at him.

Chan should scold you for not answering properly, but he’s focusing on his own pleasure now– taking your legs into his hands and holding them open while he fucks in and out of you. Changbin plays with your nipples, his hand taking turns between them while the other is used to keep himself propped up to watch.

“You’re making him feel good, can you tell?” he asks, and you look at Chan, who has sweat trailing down his brow and his plump bottom lip sucked between his teeth, face scrunched in pleasure. It makes butterflies erupt in your stomach, and you turn back to Changbin, a small pout on your lips.

“I-I wish I–” a deep breathy moan interrupts your dialogue as Chan hits your spot, but you continue, “I wish I could’ve s-seen you too.” You bet he looked absolutely divine, just as Chan does. Changbin groans, your sentiment evidently having an affect on him.

“God, you’re the fucking sweetest, bunny,” he tells you, leaning forward to kiss you some more, his tongue once again shoving it’s way into your mouth. You tangle your fingers in Changbin’s curly hair as he kisses you, and he whines when you unintentionally tug during a particularly harsh thrust from Chan.

Changbin simply watches your face in awe for a moment when you pull away to breathe and let yourself fall back against the mattress, finding you incredibly cute, beautiful even, even with your hair a mess and drenched in sweat. “B-Binnie, Channie, think ‘m gonna cum again–” you whine, eyes rolling back once more when it causes Chan’s thrusts to become harsher.

“Yeah? Gonna cum again, slutty bunny?” Changbin smiles, egging you on with his voice. You nod quickly, pleas starting to fall from your lips effortlessly, “I-I can, right? Been a good girl, a good bunny? Good bunnies can cum?”

They both smile, endless encouragement leaving them such as “yes pretty, go ahead and cum for us,” and “good bunny, good girl, cum sweetheat.” Changbin pulls you back to his lips as you cum, wanting to kiss you as you cum since he missed the chance earlier, and he eagerly swallows your noises, his fingers finding your clit once more to drag out your orgasm.

Chan as well starts to become louder, his grunts becoming more successive with each thrust, not losing speed even as his hips start to lose their rhythm. He grabs your face and tears you away from Changbin, kissing you in a display that is either meant to make Changbin jealous again, or is simply for his own pleasure.

Or maybe it serves both purposes at once, because as Changbin whines in protest, you can feel Chan smirk against your lips before he’s losing himself again. His groans are muffled against you as his hips stutter once, twice more before he’s spilling inside you, ropes and ropes of cum filling you to the brim.

You reach out to Changbin’s hand, squeezing it in a gesture that is meant to stop his jealousy, and he smiles at you, calling you a “sweet little thing” once more, giving you a peck to your forehead. Your eyes close, not opening even as Chan softens and slips out of you, exhaustion having clearly seeped into every molecule of your body.

“Poor thing’s tired,” you vaguely hear Changbin say as he wipes the sweat off your brow. Chan responds, though it’s hard to make out what he says as you unconsciously slip into sleep, unable to prevent it with how heavy your entire body has become, rest quickly claiming you.

The sound of birds loudly chirping wakes you, and you blink slowly awake, eyes straining as you realize you’re in the sunlight. You sit up quickly, looking down at yourself and then your surroundings; you’re out of the forest proper, in the clearing where your home sits quaintly in the middle. You're dressed back in your prior clothing and with your hood over your ears– barring the underwear you lost.

You’d think last night was a dream if it wasn’t for the fact that you could feel yourself bare underneath your dress; so they really upheld their promise and brought you back home..? You see your basket, sitting neatly in arm’s reach, a small note resting atop the berries and leaves you gathered yesterday that simply reads, “Last night was fun, wasn’t it, little red? Come play with us again sometime,” with a cutely drawn heart at the end, signed ‘Binnie and Channie.’

#skz x reader #bang chan x reader #changbin x reader #skz smut #bang chan smut #changbin smut #werewolf au #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fanfic #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

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