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zarameraki · 10 days ago

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♡₊˚❄️₊✧ 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗯𝘀𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗰𝘂𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝔭𝔱. 𝟐 ♡₊˚❄️₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 king sukuna x his little queen 𖥔 lots of plot with porn 𖥔 TRUE FORM SUKUNA!!!! 𖥔 he only has eyes for you 𖥔 you're his beloved 𖥔 girl dad sukuna 𖥔 he’s doing his best 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 smut

: ̗̀➛ words: 7.6 k

: ̗̀➛ notes: read part one here. so i’ve been MIA because i tried to kms and got admitted to a psychiatric hospital, but now im back after months. they should’ve kept me in there for real after i told my therapist i wrote sexy fics about toji and sukuna. she gave me a notebook to jot down ideas. im doing better now tho. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy. IVE ALSO MADE AN INSTAGRAM SO GIVE ME A FOLLOW ON THERE: zarameraki

Sukuna grew weary of the infiltrator’s incessant cries.

For the past twenty minutes, he had remained perched upon his throne while Uraume interrogated the spy who had managed to breach the palace walls and infiltrate his chambers with the intent to assassinate both him and his pregnant queen.

Of course, Sukuna had sensed the presence of an unfamiliar body within his palace beforehand. He’d swiftly guided you through a concealed passageway into a secure chamber designed for handling imminent threats. As his dutiful wife, you bid him farewell with a good luck kiss, forming a chuckle from him as he departed.

Luck was unnecessary for Sukuna.

He epitomised mercilessness, an ominous force. A vile creature, insatiable for bloodshed, whose dominion rose atop a mountain of vanquished enemies. With a mere gesture, he could lay waste to entire lands; with a mere inclination of his head, shatter bones like brittle twigs. A fleeting gaze held too long invited swift death as he tore out throats without remorse. The unnatural power coursing within him was a burden to his psyche, yet a boon to his physical prowess. So long as his subjects quivered in dread, offering obeisance at his feet, yielding without question, he would ensure their safety.

Uraume delivered a kick to the assassin's face, sending the last of his teeth flying. “Enough with the fabrications. Speak the truth. Who hired you?”

“T-There was no name,” he whimpered, cradling his bruised face. “But he claimed she once dwelled within these walls, a concubine of His Lordship.”

Sukuna arched an eyebrow, skeptical.

“Most concubines were reassigned as palace servants months ago,” Uraume interjected. “The remainder were eliminated by His Lordship's orders. None of them would dare linger beyond the palace walls.”

“It may have been her brother—though I cannot be certain! Whoever he was, he harboured a deep thirst for vengeance.” The assassin let out a startled cry as Uraume strode past him, heading towards the throne.

Kneeling before Sukuna, they awaited his command.

Sukuna, idly resting his cheek on his knuckles, lowered his hand and gestured through the air. With a swift motion, the spy's body tore asunder, each half flying to opposite ends of the chamber. “Summon the families of the slain concubines.”

“As you wish, my Lord. It shall be arranged by nightfall,” Uraume replied.

“Tomorrow morning will suffice. I intend to spend the remainder of this night with my wife.”

Sukuna rose from his throne, his regal robe flowing around him as he straightened its sleeves.

“Her Ladyship is nearing the hour of delivery,” Uraume noted. "Shall I summon the physician?”

Sukuna’s glare bore into his loyal confidant. “That should have been arranged moons past.”

With a deferential nod, Uraume bowed. “Forgive my oversight, my Lord. I shall soon ensure the healer's attendance.”

He waved a dismissive hand as he descended the dais. “See to it. And have this mess tidied. Dinner shall be served in my quarters within the hour.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Sukuna strode out of the grand throne room. Subjects halted in their tracks, heads bowing low in deference as he passed by, their voices muted in respectful acknowledgement of their sovereign's presence. Only once he turned the corner did they dare to resume their activities.

Inside his chambers, Sukuna waved a hand, parting the wall to reveal the entrance to a hidden room. There, you lay serenely upon the bed, your gaze fixed upon the ceiling, one hand tenderly cradling your burgeoning belly.

At the sound of his approach, your head lifted, and you greeted him with a quizzical tilt of your head.

“Sukuna?”

A faint smirk played upon his lips as Sukuna settled beside you, his touch gentle as his hand caressed the curve of your stomach.

“Has everything been resolved?” you asked, peering up at him. “For once, you're not drenched in blood.”

Sukuna exhaled heavily, cupping your cheek before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Do you recall the vow I made to you on the night we conceived?”

How could you possibly forget?

No servant dared cast an admiring glance upon his wife, for fear of losing their sight. Those who dared to whisper even the faintest rumour about you had their tongues severed as a warning to others. Every morsel of food and sip of drink intended for your delicate lips underwent Sukuna's personal scrutiny, for he would allow no poison to touch you. Despite your protests and concerns, he reassured you of his immunity to toxins, claiming his blood flowed with an otherworldly power, not bound by mortal frailties. Any questions into the nature of his mysterious abilities were silenced by filling your mouth with a spoonful of nutritions.

That was the one question forbidden by Sukuna.

Yet despite the unanswered enigmas shrouding your husband, you pledged your unwavering love to him. He was not merely your husband; he was your sovereign, your protector, and soon, the father of your unborn child. With no other in this world, you clung to him as your sole anchor.

Each night, he reminded you of his undying devotion, promising to pursue you even beyond the veil of death, across the cycles of existence. For you, he would defy even the divine, should they dare to intervene. You belonged in his domain. You belonged with him.

“My handmaids think it’s a boy,” you murmured, fingers tracing the intricate patterns on his wrist. “They claim boys kick the most, citing it as natural male behaviour—aggression, they say.” As if on cue, the baby stirred within you, a kick rippling through your belly.

“A true reflection of his father, no doubt,” he remarked with a laugh. “Though, I have my doubts about it being a boy.”

You blinked, considering his words. Sukuna's intuition often surpassed that of mere mortals. A grin tugged at your lips. “Could it be a girl, then? Oh, how I would love a daughter. Yet, a son would be just as precious, wouldn’t he? Especially in royal circles where the preference for a male heir runs deep.”

“Perhaps I ought to curtail your visits to our neighbouring kingdoms if they continue to fill your head with such nonsensical notions,” Sukuna clipped out.

Suppressing a giggle, you countered, “Regardless of speculation, I prefer the gender to remain a surprise.”

“It’s a trifling concern,” Sukuna murmured, his hand moving in gentle circles across your swelling abdomen. “I care not for the gender of our child. Should it be a son, then so be it, I suppose. If it’s a daughter, I’ll rid my kingdom of every male soul, regardless of age. I’ll compel whatever god there is to craft the perfect husband for her. None of those wretches outside will befit her.” He laid a hand on your stomach, a tender smile gracing his lips. “Isn't that so, my little dove?”

You couldn’t help but sigh at his oversight. “My heart, what part of 'I want the gender to be a surprise' did you fail to grasp?”

Sukuna's expression remained impassive. “Speaking purely hypothetically, of course.”

Frustration brewed within you, though it dissipated instantly as you beheld his striking face. Your lips melded with his in a drawn-out kiss until the sudden movement of your unborn child interrupted the moment. “Swear to me you'll refrain from indulging in bloodshed and conflict until our hypothetical daughter comes of age.”

“I cherish you above all else, but that vow is one I cannot uphold.”

“Sukuna . . .”

“This realm teeters on the brink of chaos, my love. Without intervention, it will crumble to ash.” He brushed a lock of hair from your brow. “Tonight's events were but a glimpse into the shadows that surround us. You and our hypothetical daughter are the very heartbeat of my existence. Understand that my presence here is necessitated by . . . bloodshed and conflict.”

You sighed into a helpless smile as you propped yourself up against the headboard. “Come here, you gargantuan child.” Sukuna nestled his head against your chest, his hand resting on your swollen belly to soothe the restless movements of your child. You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, your fingers threading through his thick locks. “Will you ever find peace?”

“I find it when I am with you,” he whispered.

“What if I were not—“

His head shot up. “Don't even entertain such thoughts, or I'll confine you to this room until dawn breaks.”

You rolled your eyes, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. “Oh, spare me the theatrics. Can you blame me? Being with a child does strange things to a woman. Just last week, I found myself in tears over a wilting flower.”

“My foolish woman, we are in the depths of winter,” he pointed out with a chuckle.

“It was an indoor plant,” you grumbled.

Sukuna buried his face in the curve of your neck, his warm breath tickling you. “You are utterly ridiculous.”

“You married this ridiculousness.” You felt his smile against your flesh, which soon turned into a trail of soft kisses along your collarbone and up to your jaw. “Can we return to our own bed now?”

“Not just yet,” he replied, reclining back and drawing your head to rest upon his chest. “Close your eyes. I'll wake you for dinner.”

You nestled closer to his warmth, contentment spreading through you like a soft caress. “As you wish, my stubborn husband.”

In a handful of days, your hypothetical daughter transformed into flesh and blood, her cries echoing through the palace as Maki entered the world.

Sukuna’s vigilance was split between safeguarding his beloved queen and their precious newborn princess, while relentlessly pursuing the malevolent siblings of one of his slain concubines who had orchestrated the assassination attempt on his family.

Whispers of the king's insatiable thirst for vengeance spread like wildfire among the populace, especially after witnessing the gruesome spectacle of the siblings' heads displayed in the bustling market square by the hand of Uraume, a chilling proclamation of Sukuna's wrath.

But as the bundle of joy was placed in his arms, swathed in the finest silk, the laws of his duties as a ruler dissipated like mist in the morning sun.

In that moment, all that existed was the delicate perfection of his daughter. His gaze fixated on Maki’s tiny features: the pursed lips, the struggle of her eyes to glimpse the world, the wisps of dark hair crowning her head, and the miniature hands that scarcely encircled Sukuna’s finger. Never before had anything held such sway over him as his wife and newborn daughter.

Overwhelmed by emotion, he sank into a nearby seat, the gravity of his responsibilities momentarily forgotten. Conditioned to never betray emotion, he found himself gasping for breath, tears withheld, as he cradled the precious life entrusted to his care.

Responsibility pressed upon him like an iron crown. In the corridors of his mind, ancestral expectations whispered. He was to sire an heir, a son to carry on his legacy. But fate, in its capricious dance, had blessed him with a daughter instead.

Sukuna’s overprotective instincts kicked into overdrive.

You were weary from the labour of birth and the demands of Maki’s nursing. Rested in peaceful slumber, Sukuna found himself adrift in a sea of uncertainty. What was the appropriate course of action? How should he cleanse the babe? Engage in playful antics to soothe her cries? Such simple tasks bewildered him, for his nights were consumed by the burdens of ruling and his days by the watchful eye over his weakened wife.

He couldn't bear the thought of anyone else tending to his daughter. The handmaids, no matter how loyal they seemed, were met with suspicion. Only Uruame was strictly ordered to partake in the sacred rituals of nappy changes and soothing Maki’s cries.

As months turned into a full year, every detail was meticulously attended to, from the softest silk robes to the most enchanting toys, all chosen with the utmost care. Sukuna spared no expense in creating a haven for his daughter, a chamber dedicated solely to her.

In his eyes, she was a priceless jewel to be cherished and protected at all costs.

“Say ‘Papa’. Look here, watch my mouth. ‘Pa. Pa.’ Now you try.” He sat upright, gently bouncing Maki on his knee. Despite her tender age of one, he was resolute that her inaugural word should be a tribute to his role in her life. “Come now, little dove.”

Maki erupted into a fit of giggles, responding with a string of incomprehensible babble instead.

“Spoilt brat,” he muttered under his breath.

“My Lord, forgive the intrusion upon your moment with the princess. But we must address our pressing matter,” Uraume interjected, sweeping an arm towards the little servant boy who remained prostrate before Sukuna. “Young Okkotsu, you know well that laying a hand on the princess is forbidden. Regardless of any permission granted by Her Ladyship, you are strictly forbidden from any interaction with either of them.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. I’ve only just begun my duties in the palace kitchen. I assure you, it won't happen again,” the dark haired boy stammered.

Sukuna rose from his throne, his gaze piercing as he paced down the dais, encircling the young man. “What say you, my dove? Shall we sever his fingers for sullying your cheek?”

Yuta’s breath hitched in fear.

He halted in front of him, Maki nestled against his chest, her laughter tinkling like delicate bells. “Seems we have a consensus—”

“Sukuna!”

The throne room doors swung open, revealing you striding in, your robe billowing behind you, and your hair tousled from the rush of searching for your husband and daughter.

“Seven days without meals,” Sukuna declared.

Uraume seized the boy, dragging him across the carpet, but you intervened, halting their advance.

Instead, you knelt down to the child’s eye level, inspecting him for any harm. Sukuna’s displeasure simmered. He detested your softness toward the servants, loathed your belief that a hint of compassion wouldn't poison their loyalty. You possessed the skill to wield a dagger against a true threat, yet kneeling for a commoner was unforgivable in his eyes.

“Ensure that he is provided with all his meals,” you reiterated to Uraume. Sukuna’s confidant glanced back at him, but you held his gaze unwaveringly. “I stand as his equal, Uraume. If I decree that you must feed this boy, then you will do so without question.”

Sukuna shot you a glare, a flicker of admiration hidden within the depths of his eyes. Your defiance had always allured him, even as he enforced reminders of your place. Yet, your role as his queen, bearing him a healthy child, and resolute acceptance had softened the edges of his once cold heart.

His crimson gaze shifted back to Uraume, a silent command passed between them. With a single nod, the debate concluded, and Uraume ushered the boy out of the throne room, the guards sealing the doors behind them.

You strode toward Sukuna, gathering Maki into your arms, cradling her gently. “How can you be so harsh to a child?”

“And how can you permit a commoner to lay hands upon our daughter?” Sukuna retorted.

“I did what any compassionate person would do. That child was simply curious, my heart. I couldn't just turn a blind eye.”

Sukuna’s fists tightened. “Compassion has its place, but not at the risk of our daughter’s safety. She is our most precious treasure, not to be touched by just anyone.”

You sighed. His overbearing nature suffocated you sometimes. “She’s also a child, Suku. She deserves to know kindness, not just the confines of your paranoia.”

“Paranoia, you call it? You dare undermine my efforts to protect our daughter?” Sukuna’s eyes blazed with fury. “I will not have her exposed to the dangers of this world, especially not by the likes of some—some servant. That also happens to be a boy.”

You held your ground. “I understand your concerns, but she cannot grow up in isolation. She needs friends, freedom, and experiences beyond these palace walls.”

He scoffed. “I will not subject her to such frivolities. She will learn strength, resilience, and loyalty—qualities befitting a ruler, not weakness.”

Your heart ached at his words, knowing the wounds that had shaped his beliefs. “And what of her happiness, Suku? Will you deny her that, too?”

“Her happiness lies in her safety, in the certainty that no harm shall befall her. I will not compromise on that, no matter the cost.”

Your hand trembled as you reached out. “Maki is not just a creature of your realm, my heart. She is our daughter, born of both our blood. She deserves to experience the richness of human connection.”

Sukuna’s expression hardened, his features carved from stone. “Human connection? Do not presume to lecture me on such trivial matters. I am no mere mortal to be swayed by sentimentality. You speak of frailty, woman. I am the embodiment of power.”

“And yet, you chose to bind your fate with a mortal. Do you not find irony in that?”

Sukuna turned away, his silhouette casting a shadow over you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, realising the futility of your arguments. “Very well, Sukuna. But remember this . . . a cage, no matter how gilded, is still a prison. And one day, she will yearn to spread her wings and soar beyond your grasp.”

He laughed, but the sound sent shivers down your spine instead of bringing comfort.

“Foolishness seems to be your forte, my love,” he sneered. He turned, his eyes burning with a heat that licked against your skin, as if the very oxygen had caught fire.

You found yourself inching backward, heart pounding with fear.

“Do you truly believe this palace is a prison after all I've sacrificed?" His voice rose, filling the chamber with its thunderous echo. “After enduring your relentless disobedience, after granting you the gift of our daughter, you dare to question my intentions?”

His form seemed to physically swell with anger, towering over you like a wrathful titan.

“If you find my protection stifling, then leave!” he spat. “But know this, wife, you will never escape my reach, for as long as you draw breath, you belong with me.”

“Suku . . .” Your breath caught in your throat as your husband’s face contorted, a grotesque abnormality sprouting from his right eye. Flesh twisted and warped, resembling a charred mass, obscuring his cheek. With horror, you watched as two slanted eyes formed, including a third, ominous orb below his left eye, and a strangled gasp escaped your lips.

“What was it that I asked of you during our initial meeting?” A rough, primal growl rolled through the chamber, like a beast stirring in the dark. The robe around him stretched out, a pair of formidable arms tearing out from his sides. The room quaked under his power, setting off Maki's frightened wails.

“Sukuna, cease this madness at once!” you cried out.

With a sudden burst of energy, his robe tore apart, exposing a mouth that seemed to slither its tongue across his torso. A shudder of horror ran through you, and Maki's cries grew, mirroring your own inner turmoil.

Desperately, you begged for Sukuna to regain control over his monstrous form, but his colossal hand seized your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze—gazes. “Tell me, my love, does the face before you stir fear within your heart?”

The question he had asked in the past had you answer swiftly. He was not only your husband, but also a father to your newborn daughter. He was your protector, your stronghold. You would love him even if his body bore scars, just as he loved the ones marring your back.

“It does not, Sukuna. The fear of your appearance holds no dominion over me.” Your hand found its place over his chest, where his heart pounded at an inhumane speed. “You are beautiful.”

“Papa,” Maki whimpered.

You tore your eyes from your husband and at your crying daughter who kept repeating her first ever word.

Sukuna’s hand slipped from your chin and reached for Maki, but his eyelids drooped, and his body swayed unsteadily.

“Su—”

Before his name could escape your lips, he collapsed with a resounding thud, sending shockwaves through your body and causing Maki to freeze. Both of you watched in horror as your protector lay unconscious on the ground.

Sukuna’s eyes felt like boulders had been placed on them, lifting up and down for a minute straight.

A familiar touch was brushing through his hair, caressing his cheek and the side of his neck, then back to his hair. A kiss laid at the corner of his mouth, and like a fable princess, he was woken from his slumber.

Your worried face came into view. The curtains around your bed were drawn, allowing only a sliver of light to shine on his wife’s face. “My heart . . . are you feeling better?”

His hand pressed firm at the nape of your neck, drawing you close until your face was buried in the hollow of his throat. He shut his eyes, though it did little to quiet the riot in his chest.

He had let his temper slip.

He ought to have held his tongue, silenced you with a kiss, humored your plea for a simple life—for your daughter’s sake, if not his own.

But he hadn’t.

And for that, he could never forgive himself.

Worse still, he could not recall your expression when you first laid eyes upon the thing he became, the thing he had kept hidden save for battles.

“I owe you an apology.” In all the months of your marriage, he had never once needed to say it. He had been careful, always ensuring you remained at ease, that you would speak to him without hesitation. “I offer it now, with all my heart, beloved.”

You swallowed hard. “I was frightened for you.”

For you. Not by you. Sukuna pressed his teeth briefly into his lower lip, then, without ceremony, gathered you into his arms.

Your quiet sobs trembled against his skin as he pressed a series of unhurried kisses to your temple.

“The Ryomen bloodline was damned in my great-great-grandfather’s time. We were wrath and ruin incarnate, unrepentant in our nature. The gods, in their infinite wisdom, believed a curse might quell us—some cruel trick of flesh meant to break our line. Instead, it only honed the beast within. My grandfather, my father, and now I . . . we were made for destruction. Trained for it.”

You leaned back, studying the face of a man who called himself a curse and found, beneath all his thunder, something painfully, unmistakably human.

“You are not your father. Nor the men before him,” you said. “Perhaps your heart does not beat like mine, but that does not mean it does not know kindness. I have seen you with our daughter, Sukuna. Whatever you think yourself to be, I know the truth: you are a man. And you are mine. No matter what shape you take, I know my Sukuna would never harm us.”

“Never,” he swore.

A small smile ghosted your lips as you kissed him twice. “I love every piece of you. You are the love of my life, Sukuna Ryomen. So do not dare take yourself from me. From her.”

“Never,” he said again. “Gods, I wouldn’t dare. You are the very reason I wake with purpose. How could I—” His lips met yours, a fleeting press as if to confirm you were not some cruel illusion. He gathered you close before shifting you beneath him, trailing kisses along the elegant line of your throat, your collarbones, your shoulders.

Then, with great reluctance, he paused. “And our Maki? She is safe, yes?”

“Quite. Uraume is tending to her in her chambers.” You brushed a knuckle across his cheek. “Tell me, did you happen to catch her first word?”

Sukuna blinked.

The question unsettled him, not because he knew the answer but because he did not. His mind, a tumult of devotion and regret, had been wholly occupied—by you, by the mere movement of your lips, by the reminder of his child’s cries. That he had missed such a moment . . . he loathed himself for it.

“What . . . what was it?”

You tapped his lips twice. “Pa. Pa.”

His breath caught. “Papa? She said ‘papa’?”

“Indeed. A grievous betrayal, I must say. Nine months of suffering, only for my own daughter to spurn me at the first opportunity.”

Sukuna pressed a hand to his chest, as though to steady the heart he barely acknowledged as his own. “And she recognized me? Even as I was?”

You tilted your head, amused by his astonishment. “You are her father, Suku, in whatever shape or form. It is this she knows.” You patted his chest, punctuating the thought.

He exhaled, forehead resting against yours. The world quieted, and together, your thoughts turned to Maki—your little dove, safe and sleeping. “I swear to you, my anger will never rule me again.”

“Darling, we are bound to argue.” You laughed softly, though he remained grave. “Only, do try to contain yourself in front of Maki. That is all I ask.”

“And so it shall be.”

You drew him close, allowing his head to rest against you as your fingers idly traced the line of his spine.

“Question,” you murmured.

“Speak.”

“If anger is not the sole catalyst, is there some means by which you might exert control over your cursed form?”

“Yes. I am capable of it,” Sukuna replied, lifting his head to regard you. “I have merely refrained from doing so for some time, which is why the shift rendered me unconscious. Though, I have summoned it on occasion for interrogations.”

You tilted your head in feigned indifference. “Interesting.”

“What is?”

“That extra set of mouth on your stomach.”

He studied you for a long moment, suspicion flickering behind his eyes. “My love—”

“No.” You cut in swiftly. “I assure you, whatever it is you’re about to suggest, I wasn’t thinking it.” A pause. “Not in that way.” Another pause. “And even if I were, it is hardly any concern of yours.”

He raised a brow. “It is my body.”

You pursed your lips, choosing instead to focus on some distant point in the room, as if that might shield you from the heat creeping up your neck.

Unmoved, Sukuna reached out, turning your face back toward him with a single finger. “Are you asking me to bed you in my cursed form?”

“N—”

“Do not lie to me.”

A long, measured sigh escaped you. “I would hardly phrase it that way.”

“But you would phrase it.”

“I am merely suggesting that it might be worth exploring.” You met his gaze with a touch of defiance he claimed to find irritating. “It is, after all, a part of you.”

A smirk played at his lips, and you refused to indulge him with a reaction.

“Well,” he drawled, stretching as though the mere thought of exertion exhausted him, “once I have gathered sufficient strength, your body shall be my first conquest. How does that sound?”

“I suppose I can endure the wait,” you said. “A few weeks isn’t too long.”

“Weeks?” Sukuna laughed in your face. “My love, I shall be in perfect condition by tomorrow morning.” His hand found its way between your thighs, fingers pressing against your sensitive spot with an unmistakable intent. “Tonight, however, I believe some preparation is in order. After all, I do expect you to accommodate both my cocks.”

Your eyes widened. “They come in a pair?”

He grinned, quite pleased with himself. “One for your cunt, one for your ass.”

You exhaled, considering the sheer audacity of the man before you, and the undeniable thrill that curled in your stomach. “In that case, I’ll see to it that Maki is well-fed early. It would be a terrible shame to be interrupted.”

A low chuckle rumbled from him as he pulled you into a kiss, his hands making quick work of your robe. Whatever lay ahead tomorrow, he was clearly intent on ensuring you were well prepared.

Maki caught a snowflake in her gloved hands, wriggling in Sukuna’s arms. He watched her, entertained, noting the red flush of her cheeks and the way the sun deepened the warm brown of her eyes. Their morning walks were a ritual—one he maintained while you rested.

She frowned as the snowflake vanished.

Sukuna’s patience with the elements was already thin, but this was outright betrayal. Useless, transient things. Could they not amuse his daughter for more than a breath? With a sigh that could have toppled lesser men, he strode to a pile of snow, scooped up a handful, and set about rectifying nature’s failure. If the heavens were incapable of producing a snowflake that lasted, then he would simply make one himself.

“Papa!” Maki’s delighted cry rang out as he presented his creation. She accepted it without hesitation, and immediately began gnawing on it.

Sukuna watched with equal parts pride and dismay. The girl had a warrior’s spirit, that much was clear, but she also had the terrible habit of treating everything as a potential meal.

“Not for eating,” he informed her, plucking the half-destroyed snowflake from her grip. She scowled at him, the beginnings of a royal tantrum brewing. “What?”

Maki made a noise of protest, reaching for her prize.

Sukuna merely held it out of her reach, watching as she squirmed in his arms like an enraged kitten. He huffed out a laugh, shifting her higher on his hip. “A fine little tyrant you’ll be,” he muttered, tapping her nose. “We’ll work on your taste in delicacies.”

Maki, evidently unimpressed with his wisdom, grabbed a fistful of his sleeve and gave it a mighty tug, glaring at him with all the righteous fury of a child denied.

He grinned. “Oh? You wish to challenge me?”

Her answer was immediate.

She seized his thumb and bit down, leaving a damp little mark on his skin.

Sukuna stared.

Then, after a long, considering pause, he laughed. A rare, unguarded sound, loud enough to shake the winter air. He had crushed civilizations beneath his heel, laid waste to entire bloodlines, and yet here he was, utterly conquered by a girl no taller than his thigh.

Still chuckling, he cradled her closer and pressed another kiss to her cheek in surrender.

“Very well, my sweet dove,” he said. “You win this round.”

Once inside the castle, they dusted off the snow and made their way to his chambers, where you lay beneath layers of fur blankets. As always, Maki would sleep between you both—an arrangement that suited Sukuna just fine. He had long since ensured that no unwelcome presence could enter without, well, ceasing to exist. The barrier fell away with a flick of his fingers as he stepped inside.

Depositing Maki onto the bed, he made quick work of stripping away her winter layers, leaving her in nothing but her nappy. With a wave of his hand, her nightgown rose from the drawer and landed neatly in his palm. Dressing her took little effort, though he prolonged the process with a series of affectionate kisses, which she suffered through with all the dignity of a girl accustomed to her father’s nonsense.

As he changed, he watched her roll onto her stomach and crawl towards you, small hands grasping at the blankets with single-minded determination.

“Mama. Mama.”

You stirred, your body already attuned to the sound of your daughter’s voice. Eyes half-lidded with sleep, you caught sight of her clambering up onto your chest, utterly undeterred by the fact that you had only just woken.

“Hello, my love,” you murmured, shifting her onto your stomach and pressing a kiss to her chilled cheeks. She let out a contented sigh, curling against you as if you were a hearthfire made just for her.

“And how was your morning stroll with Papa?”

Maki gave a tiny hum of acknowledgment before answering, her loyalty evident in the single word she deemed worth saying. “Papa.”

Sukuna smirked. A satisfactory report, indeed. “It was divine as always.”

You lifted your gaze to find him standing in nothing but his indecently loose undergarments, bare-chested and utterly self-assured. The sight did little to temper your appetite. “Good morning, my heart.”

He kissed you first, then the crown of your daughter’s head, as though bestowing a blessing upon his two greatest treasures. “I’m calling Uraume to take her to the nursery so I may have you to myself.”

“You’ll hear no objections from me,” you replied, adjusting your daughter in your arms. “Take her quickly.”

Pleased with your good sense, Sukuna kissed you again before striding out to summon his ever-loyal attendant. Meanwhile, you turned your attention to the tiny creature in your arms, her watchful eyes a precise scarlet mirror of her father’s.

“Nine months I carried you,” you whispered, “and you dare arrive looking just like your papa?” You sighed, dramatic and aggrieved, before pressing a kiss to her downy head. “Ah, but you are perfect, so I suppose I’ll allow it.”

Eventually, Uraume appeared, and carried off the sleeping princess to her nursery two doors down.

You scarcely had time to adjust your gown before Sukuna returned, giving you no chance at modesty before he was upon you, pressing you into the sheets and claiming your lips with his.

Not that you intended to complain.

Then, with a shift as effortless as the turning of a tide, he revealed himself.

His form unfurled, expanding beyond mortal proportions, a presence too great to be contained. Limbs stretched, muscle realigned, skin carved anew by dark markings that wound across his chest, his four arms, his throat. A second mouth curled into a grin at his stomach.

Magnificent. Terrifying. Yours.

Your lips parted, but no words dared forth.

Sukuna tilted his head. “What is the matter, my empress?” His voice was layered now, each syllable resonating with something beyond human. A deity speaking down to the thing that had dared summon it. “This is what you wanted, is it not?”

You swallowed hard. You had asked for this. Had traced curious fingers over his skin, whispered your intrigue, allowed the thought to take root before you could stop it.

And now Sukuna had answered.

Fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your face upward as his lips met yours. The force of it stole the breath from your lungs, sent your hands pressing against the hard plane of his chest. A second set of hands gripped your waist, pulling you forward, caging you against him.

Against all of him.

“Gods,” you whispered as the tongue on his stomach unfurled and gave a long lick to your chest.

“Sukuna Ryomen,” he corrected.

Your eyes wandered down to the tongue slowly swirling around your left nipple. Sukuna’s hand gripped your jaw and forced you to look back at him. His fingers dipped into your mouth, and like muscle memory, you sucked on the digits. He pulled them out, and using his bottom set of hands, he spread your legs out and wide.

A quiet exhale left you as he pushed his fingers inside of you. Your hands cupped his face, thumb grazing over the protruded pair of right eyes that closed at your touch. His palm cupped the back of your head and lifted your face so that your soft lips met his in a chaste kiss. Your arms locked around his neck, fingers threading through the back of his hair.

A low, guttural hum reverberated in his throat. His upper hands anchored you close, one splayed across your lower back, the other curling around your thigh, prying you open as though he were unfolding something sacred.

“You take to my touch as though you were born for it,” he murmured against your mouth. “As though your body remembers me before memory itself.”

Your breath stuttered as his fingers moved within you. Still, you held his face in your palms, exploring the markings. The harsh planes of his jaw, the impossible symmetry of his two mouths, the second set of eyes that shuttered so easily beneath your gentlest caress. He was carved from myth and sin, but melted under your hands like something entirely human.

“Sukuna,” you whispered.

He gave a low exhale. “I have slaughtered men for far less than hearing my name fall from trembling lips,” he said. “And yet . . . I would hear it again, from you.”

When your lips failed you, he slipped his fingers back into your mouth—those same fingers slick from your heat—and your tongue obeyed before thought could catch it. He chuckled then, a sound deep and sharp as a temple bell at dusk.

Grunting, he pulled back just enough to press his forehead to yours. “Let the heavens weep and the earth tremble,” he whispered. “For I shall have you, entire and eternal. Mine, now and beyond the grave.”

With one swift movement, the thick, burning press of his cock jolted you. Your spine arched as he filled you in a single thrust. His lower arms gripped your thighs and pinned you open around him, while his upper pair cradled your back and the side of your face, guiding your expression toward him.

“You were made for this,” he rasped into your mouth. “Every breath . . . every tremble.”

Your hands clung to his shoulders, his skin hot beneath your palms, taut over muscle that flexed with every grind of his hips. You felt him in every inch of you—filling, stretching, splitting you open until it felt like your very form had reshaped around his. And still, he demanded more.

You bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out, but he only chuckled darkly. “No need for silence,” he said. “Let them hear you. Let the palace walls remember how a king takes his queen.”

One of his lower hands slipped up to press firmly against your lower belly, right where the thickest part of him struck. “Do you feel that, my love?” he whispered. “That is where I live now.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt it. His second length. Thick and merciless, pressing against the stretched slick of your entrance just beneath the first. Your breath caught in your throat, and your nails dug into his flesh as your body tensed instinctively.

Sukuna didn’t stop.

He leaned down, one of his lower mouths brushing hot against your collarbone, licking the sweat from your skin as he murmured, “Relax for me, beloved. You can take it.”

The second cock pushed in slowly, stretching you beyond anything you thought you could endure. You cried out—half-pain, half-bliss—as the pressure bloomed into heat, into fullness, into something sacred and obscene all at once. He groaned low in his chest, the sound shaking through both of you.

“There,” he hissed, panting against your neck, all four of his hands tightening around you. “Look how well you take me. All of me. My perfect little vessel.”

Your eyes rolled back as he bottomed out. Both leaking cocks buried deep, pulsing inside you, so full you could barely breathe. And still, he held you as though you were something fragile, something precious, even as he claimed you like a conqueror razing his last battlefield.

Then he began to move.

Just mellow enough for you to feel the shift of both shafts grinding inside you in perfect, devastating sync. Your moans came broken and high, no longer intelligible, lost in the rhythm of his hips and the burning heat licking up your spine. His lower arms gripped your waist tight, keeping you moored as he started fucking you in earnest, the slap of skin against skin echoing through the chamber like a drumbeat of war.

“Mine,” he gritted out, thrusting harder. “Do you feel what you do to me? How tightly you hold me—how you pull me deeper every time I try to leave?”

You couldn’t answer. You could only hold on. Your arms wrapped tight around his neck, your body shaking with every thrust, the stretch now tipping into unbearable pleasure. Each stroke stroked places inside you that nothing else ever could. You weren’t making love. You weren’t just being fucked. You were being filled, over and over, until your mind blanked and your soul cried out his name.

“Sukuna!” You gasped, legs trembling as the heat inside you built to something unspeakable. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he snarled. “You will. You’ll come on both my cocks, and I’ll feel every flutter, every shiver of that sweet cunt. Come for me, little queen. Now.”

You did.

Your release tore through you like fire through silk. You screamed his name, body locking around him, every muscle tightening as your climax rippled through you like a storm. Sukuna groaned, and slammed into you once more, burying both cocks to the hilt as he came, filling you to the brim, warmth spilling inside you like a brand you’d wear for days.

He didn’t pull out or move any further. He only held you, chest heaving, lips brushing your temple as your bodies slowly came down from the frenzy.

His voice, when it returned, was hoarse. “You were born to bear me,” he said. “To carry my heat. My name. My legacy.” One of his hands cupped your face, tilting it upward. “You are not merely my queen. You are the altar on which I ruin myself.”

The bathwater shimmered gold beneath the candlelight, laced with perfumed oils and herbs that clung to your skin in fragrant warmth. You rested with your back nestled against Sukuna’s chest, your body languid, limbs heavy from pleasure and exhaustion. His cursed form, coiled with rippling muscles, dwarfed yours.

He sat in the steaming bath with you between his legs, two of his arms holding you close, the other two gently tending to you: one pouring warm water down your spine, the other cradling a soft cloth that moved tenderly along the curve of your shoulder.

You sighed, head lolling back against his collarbone. “You’re gentle with me now,” you muttered, eyes closed. “Whatever happened to the terrifying King of Curses?”

“Still here,” Sukuna rumbled, voice low and deep in your ear. “He’s simply been conquered by a very small woman with a lovely mouth, and an impossibly sharp tongue.”

A soft laugh rose from your throat. “Careful, my love. That same small woman carried your daughter, endured your tempers, and let you fuck her until she couldn’t walk. You’d do well to show some worship.”

“I am washing your feet.” He nipped your earlobe. “If that is not worship, I do not know what is.”

You opened one eye to look down, watching his massive hand curl around your ankle. The cloth moved in slow circles across the arch of your foot. He handled you like fine porcelain, despite the monstrous claws at the end of each finger.

“I was frightened earlier,” you said quietly, the words slipping from you like ripples in the bath.

Sukuna stilled. The cloth paused. The second set of eyes blinked shut. “I lost control,” he admitted, the gravel in his voice softened by guilt. “There was no excuse for the way I behaved.”

You turned your head to look at him, cupping one side of his jaw, brushing your thumb beneath the lower pair of eyes that closed instantly at your touch. “And I love you—all of you—but I need you here. For her. For me.”

His lower arms folded around your middle. “I am not proud of what I became. Of how quickly I gave in to that part of myself.”

“You don’t need to be proud. You just need to do better,” you said gently, letting your forehead rest against his jaw. “Start by coming on a picnic.”

He grunted. “A king does not picnic.”

“A father does. And I happen to think our little Maki would quite enjoy it now that spring’s almost here.”

“She eats grass.”

“She does not.”

“She tried.”

You sighed, smiling. “Let her try. Let her taste snow, and crawl in the dirt, and pull flowers apart petal by petal. She’ll never know the world if all she sees are the iron walls of your protection.”

Sukuna’s fingers brushed up your side, the tongue at his stomach giving a sleepy little twitch against your spine. “A picnic,” he repeated.

You nodded against him. “A simple one. Just us. No guards. No nobles. Just a blanket, some honeyed rice cakes, and a daughter who insists on throwing half her food at you.”

He let out a long, reluctant exhale. “Very well.”

“Really?” You blinked up at him.

His crimson eyes softened. “I said I would do better. This is me . . . beginning.”

You smiled then, and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Then we’ll go tomorrow. Near the east garden.”

“You will wear that green robe I like.”

“I’ll wear nothing at all if it means you’ll behave.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest, but he only kissed the top of your head.

You nestled deeper into his arms as he resumed bathing you, the water gently lapping against your skin, his monstrous form relaxed for the first time that day.

In that moment, the kingdom could burn, and he wouldn’t care.

Because here, in the bath, with his queen safe in his arms, and the promise of a daughter’s laughter tomorrow, Sukuna Ryomen finally knew what it meant to be at peace.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #zaraswriting #jjk smut #sukuna ryomen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna x female reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna scenarios #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk fanfic

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societyfolklore · 3 months ago

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Oka soo I dare to send in a Bucky imagine <3 Maybe one where you're dating but you're not an avenger, so you sometimes feel not good enough for him even though he always makes you feel special and he loves you more than anything. One time while he's at a mission, you're back at the compound waiting for him, but then also Sharon comes up to you being a bitch again and makes you feel even more unwanted and leave before Bucky returns. Later then he's happily waiting to see you, but frowns when he finds out you're not there. So he calls you, asking you to come over and you reluctantly agree. As you finally confront him with your doubts he immediately tries getting this thought out of you and gives you also his dog tags to prove he's yours forever and it's all cute then and also some soft smut where he tells you how much he loves you ? ♥️

Here we go! Here's our boy making everything better when the doubts creep in and we can shut it down on your own. Title: Yours to Keep

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x SHIELD Analyst!Female Reader

Summary: You feel like your not enough, and when Sharon gets in your head it makes it so much worse. But to Bucky you’re the reason to make it home.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Insecurity, emotional manipulation (from Sharon because she's a mean girl), soft possessiveness, smut, unprotected sex, established relationship, oral (f- receviving), praise, dog tag kink, Angst with Fluff, Romance.

A/N: Something softer for everyone this weekend. Thank you for the ask @wintersoldierchronicles

The compound was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that seeped into your skin and clung to you like static. You sat curled into one of the deep leather chairs in the lounge, knees tucked beneath you, a tablet in your lap. The screen glowed softly, lines of mission data scrolling as you half-heartedly skimmed them, reading intel you’d collected yourself over the past few days. Every enemy movement tracked. Every building layout mapped. Every communication protocol updated and tested.

All to help keep the Avengers safe. To keep him safe.

You should’ve felt accomplished. Proud. Instead, you felt like a ghost in your own home.

No one had said anything, not directly. But they didn’t have to. The looks, the nods you didn’t get in the hallway, the way everyone seemed to talk around you instead of to you. It all added up. They were Avengers. Legends. Gods. And you were… what? Just the analyst who happened to be dating one of them. An ordinary woman in love with an extraordinary man.

And somehow, no matter how often Bucky looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, the thought kept crawling back up your throat like bile: You’re not good enough for him.

You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to focus, tried to chase away the fog settling over your mind. But it was no use. The feeling had been a quiet whisper in the dark for months now, and lately… it was starting to scream.

You had seen the way people looked at Bucky- like he was a living monument to strength and survival. A relic of history wrapped in modern muscle and trauma, wearing his past like armour. People admired him. Revered him. And yet, he came home to you. You, who shuffled files and ran analyses. Who flinched when the training team sparred too close to your desk. Who once got winded jogging down the corridor when your badge lanyard snagged on a doorknob.

What could he possibly see in you that someone like Sharon, like Natasha, couldn’t offer in a more fitting package?

Footsteps echoed lightly down the corridor, the sharp click of designer boots hitting the polished floor like a countdown. You didn’t even need to lift your eyes. That cadence was familiar, the kind that always made your stomach twist with a mixture of dread and forced politeness.

Then came the voice. Smooth. Sweet. Laced with superiority.

“Still here?” Sharon Carter stepped into view, her tone dipped in passive-aggressive honey. She was perfectly made-up, of course, with not a single hair out of place, her sleek suit hugging her figure in all the ways that made people notice when she walked into a room.

She looked you up and down like you were something out of place, something small, insignificant. “Thought they kept the admin staff in the basement.”

It was a joke, probably. One of those faux-friendly jabs that everyone was supposed to laugh at. Except she wasn’t smiling. Not really.

You fought to keep your expression neutral, fingers tightening slightly around the tablet in your lap. You weren’t going to let her see how deep that cut went, not when she was already poised to twist the knife.

You gave her a polite nod, trying not to let your discomfort show. “Just going over the post-mission data. They’re due back in an hour.”

"Must be hard. Being with someone like Bucky." Sharon's smile was the kind that never quite reached her eyes.

“What do you mean?” You stiffened, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the tablet.

She stepped closer, arms folded casually like this was just idle chatter.

"I mean- he’s one of us. Field-ready. Weapon-trained. A living legend. And you… well, you make great coffee."

You swallowed hard. "I do more than-"

"I know," she said quickly, with that same dismissive tilt of her head. "You’re smart. Very behind-the-scenes. Essential in your own way, I suppose. But let’s be honest…Bucky’s built for war. He needs someone who understands that. Who can keep up. Who can be more than just a comfort waiting at home."

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest, each word driving in like a nail. It was everything you'd feared, laid out in someone else’s voice. Someone who was supposed to be on your side.

"He probably misses someone who can actually stand beside him out there," Sharon added with a shrug. "You know… someone who belongs."

The tablet in your hands blurred as tears threatened. You blinked hard and forced yourself to breathe through your nose.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because if you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure whether you’d scream or sob.

So you just stood, quickly and quietly, and walked away- shoulders stiff, throat tight, eyes stinging. You had to get out of there before someone saw you fall apart.

You left the compound entirely, slipping out the back entrance and taking the long way home. Your mind ran in circles the whole walk. What if Sharon was right? What if everyone had just been too polite to say it out loud? What if the only reason Bucky was with you was because you were safe? Easy? A soft landing after years of running and pain?

~#~#~#~#~#~

Bucky came back two hours later, bruised and sweaty but grinning. The mission had been long, much longer than expected. But successful at least. He was covered in dirt and grime, dried blood flecked across one temple, the strap of his weapons bag cutting into his shoulder. His muscles ached, and the adrenaline had long since worn off, but one thing kept him upright, kept him moving: you. The thought of you waiting at the compound, probably curled up with your tablet and a warm drink, maybe looking up every time the door slid open- yeah, that thought had gotten him through worse days than this.

He slung his weapons bag over one shoulder, still covered in dirt and dust from the mission, and scanned the lounge immediately.

“Hey, Sam,” he called. “She around?”

Sam looked up from his protein bar, brow furrowing slightly. “She left a while ago. Didn’t say much. Looked kinda off, though.”

Bucky’s shoulders stiffened. “Off how?”

Sam stood, tossing the wrapper aside. “I dunno, man. Quiet. Real quiet. Didn’t even look me in the eye. Thought maybe she was just tired, but now…” He trailed off, reading the worry blooming on Bucky’s face.

“You think something happened?” Bucky asked.

Sam gave a slow nod. “Could be nothing. But you know her better than anyone. If it’s not nothing- you’ll fix it.”

Bucky’s heart dropped. Something was wrong. You always met him after missions. Always.

Without another word, he turned and pulled his phone out of his pocket, hand still a little bloodied. ~#~#~#~#~#~

You pulled your car over to the side of the road, the quiet hum of the engine the only sound breaking through your spiralling thoughts. You hadn’t made it home. It felt too far. Too final. The space inside your car was tight, suffocating, but it was still safer than walking through the front door like nothing was wrong.

The phone vibrated in your hand again, lighting up with his name.

You stared down at the caller ID like it was a bomb about to go off. You didn’t answer right away. How could you? How could you speak to him when all you wanted to do was disappear?

You were a coward. That much was clear. Running off like that, not even saying goodbye. You should’ve stayed. Faced it. Faced her. But the words Sharon had said... they hadn’t been new. They were just the same cruel thoughts you’d had about yourself, dressed up in someone else’s voice.

You weren’t right for someone like Bucky.

You were just an analyst. A desk jockey. A tagalong to the world of gods and heroes.

And he was... everything.

He was strength and legend and pain and hope, all wrapped up in that scarred, steady way he looked at you like you were worth the whole damn universe. And you? You couldn’t even look yourself in the mirror right now.

The phone buzzed again.

Guilt stabbed through your chest.

He’d just come off a mission. He was probably still aching, tired, maybe even hurt—and here you were, making it all about you. Selfish. So unlike him. He always made you feel like the only girl in the room. One look from him and the world melted away.

You swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in your eyes, and finally picked up.

“Hey,” you said, voice too quiet.

“Doll, where are you?” he asked, voice already softening. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just… needed some air.”

There was a pause.

“You lying to me, sweetheart?” he said gently.

You closed your eyes. He knew you.

“No.”

Another pause. “Come back to the compound. Please. I need to see you. You're scaring me.”

Your chest cracked open. He sounded so… real. So Bucky. You found yourself nodding, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Okay,” you whispered.

~#~#~#~#~#~

He was already waiting by the elevator when you arrived, walking slow, tense loops with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His jaw was tight, lips pressed into a thin line, the lines around his eyes carved deeper than usual. Every few seconds, his gaze darted toward the entrance, like he couldn’t help but check again, hoping- needing- you to appear.

The moment his eyes landed on you, he stopped dead. Everything in him just stilled. Relief hit him like a wave, shoulders dropping, hands unclenching—but his expression didn’t ease completely. No, his eyes stayed cautious, flickering across your face like he was afraid one wrong move might send you running. Like you were something breakable he didn’t dare press too hard.

He didn’t speak. Just opened his arms.

You tried to fake a smile, to smooth the cracks in your mask. But it was shaky, barely there, and he saw right through it. You saw the flicker of sadness in his eyes at the attempt.

You stepped into his embrace slowly, almost shyly, as if uncertain you still deserved it. The moment your body met his, the dam inside you cracked.

You buried your face in his chest, exhaling like you’d been holding your breath since you left the compound.

“Hey,” he murmured into your hair, voice rough with emotion. “There’s my girl.”

You clung to him, fingers twisting in his shirt like you were afraid he’d vanish, afraid this was all a dream that would dissolve when you let go.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked eventually, drawing back just enough to look into your face. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, like he wanted to catch the remnants of that broken smile.

You looked up at him, eyes glassy and aching. “You’re Bucky Barnes. You’re an Avenger. A war hero. And I… I sit at a desk.”

“Stop,” he said instantly, thumb now tracing your cheekbone like he could wipe the pain away.

“I don’t fight aliens. I don’t have powers. I’m just… support staff.” Your voice wavered, trembling like your heart might break in two right there in front of him. “Sharon said you’d get bored of me. That you’ll want someone who can stand beside you in the field.”

His jaw tensed like he’d been struck. A flicker of something dark and cold passed through his expression, steel sharp and silent. His entire body went still.

“She said what?” he asked, voice low and dangerous, but even as the fury gathered behind his eyes, he didn’t let it take hold. He inhaled slowly, grounding himself. Because right now, you were what mattered.

You looked down, ashamed. “Doesn’t matter. She’s not wrong.”

There was a pause. Not long. Just the space of a heartbeat and then the weight of metal settled into your palm with a soft metallic clink.

“Look at me,” he said, voice low but unwavering.

You looked up, surprised by the intensity in his gaze.

“You see these?”

You nodded.

“These?” he said again, his voice thick with meaning as the tags clinked quietly between you. “These don’t just mean soldier. They mean survivor. They mean second chances. They mean you, okay? I don’t give these to anyone. I want you to have them.”

You stared at them, too stunned to speak, too overwhelmed to breathe. They were warm from his skin. Heavy with meaning.

He cupped your face gently, both hands trembling slightly now.

“You’re not support staff. You’re the person I come home to. My person. You keep me grounded. You’re the one thing that’s real.”

Your lips trembled, voice caught in your throat. “Bucky…”

He leaned down, voice husky and sure. “Put them on. Right now.”

You slipped the dog tags around your neck, hands shaking, heart pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears.

“There,” he said, eyes gleaming- not with pride, but with something softer. Fierce, unyielding love. “Now everyone knows. You’re mine. Forever.”

~#~#~#~#~#~

In the hallway, without a word, he scooped you up into his arms. Not rushed. Just worshipful, like you were something sacred he’d been aching to hold all day. You wrapped your arms around his neck, face tucked into the crook of his shoulder as he carried you, his footsteps steady and full of purpose, all the way to his room. Every step was careful, intentional, his hold firm but gentle, like he wanted to shield you from everything that had hurt you today.

He kissed your forehead as he laid you back on the bed, then your cheeks, your jaw, each press of his lips like a vow.

“So beautiful… so smart…” he murmured with each kiss. “Couldn’t do any of this without you.”

His soft kisses pressing into your cheeks, the corners of your mouth.

“You’re everything to me,” he said, pulling your shirt over your head. “Every breath, every second.”

His mouth moved to your collarbone, your chest, trailing down your stomach , while his hand eased you out of your pants.

“You think I don’t need you?” he said between kisses, each one a soft promise against your skin. “Baby, I fall apart without you.”

His mouth moved lower, worshipful and unhurried, kissing every inch of you like he was reacquainting himself with something sacred. By the time his tongue slid between your thighs, you were already trembling.

He groaned when you gasped, the sound low and reverent. Not just desire but devotion. His tongue moved with slow, deliberate precision, savouring every soft, slick response he pulled from you. He licked a long, teasing stripe up your centre, then circled your clit with a maddening tenderness, his hands gripping your thighs just firm enough to keep you open and trembling beneath him.

He moaned into you, like the taste of you was salvation, like he’d starved for this and finally had permission to feast. One hand slid up your stomach, grounding you as your hips bucked gently, chasing every press of his mouth.

“So sweet,” he murmured against you, voice thick with love, his lips brushing your most sensitive skin. “Taste like heaven. My heaven.”

He didn’t stop. Not yet. Not when you were trembling so perfectly for him. His tongue moved in slow circles, each pass deliberate and precise, coaxing you higher with gentle persistence. His grip on your thighs tightened slightly as your breath caught, his mouth parting you with reverence.

He flicked his tongue softly, then flattened it, letting the heat of him soak into every nerve ending, every gasp. He alternated pressure and pace, reading every twitch of your body like scripture. When he sucked your clit into his mouth and moaned, the vibration made your entire body arch into him.

“You’re not allowed to think you’re not wanted,” he rasped between strokes, his voice wrecked with affection and need. “Not when I love you.”

You cupped his face as he kissed up your body again, pausing to nuzzle the dog tags now lying warm between your breasts. “You feel like home,” you whispered, eyes glassy, voice raw with truth.

When he finally pressed inside you, it wasn’t fast or greedy. It was achingly slow, like he was trying to carve a place for himself inside you, not just in body but deeper. He let out a low, unsteady breath as he sank in, his forehead dropping to yours, his hand tightening around yours like he couldn’t bear to let go.

He didn’t thrust. Not right away. He stayed there for a beat, deep and still, forehead resting against yours as his breath caught in his throat. His hand stayed tangled in yours, his vibranium one anchored at your hip, grounding you both. “I need this,” he whispered. “Need you. Like this. Just us. You make everything quiet.” Bucky needed you to feel every inch, every part of him that belonged to you.

And then he moved like a tide rolling in to soothe what had been broken, to wash away everything that hurt. His hips rolled back with unhurried grace, then pressed forward again in a smooth, reverent stroke, making sure to drag himself along your velvet walls with each motion, slow and devastatingly deep. The way he filled you, the way he moved inside you. Like he was writing his name into your soul with every breathless thrust, imprinting himself where no one else had ever reached. Every motion was a promise: that he was here, that he was yours, that you were loved in the most complete, carnal, and emotional sense of the word.

Every slow push and pull was deliberate, reverent, the kind of lovemaking that felt like a conversation without words. He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your temple, murmuring softly between each breath.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice cracking as you trembled beneath him. “So damn much it hurts. You make me feel like a man. You see me.”

You cupped his cheek, tears sliding down your temples. “You see me.”

He let out a soft, shaky breath and kissed you again, Bucky pouring everything he had into it.

His rhythm stayed slow but insistent, hips pressing into yours with aching tenderness, like he wanted to be memorized, like he never wanted to be forgotten. The friction, the closeness, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever made him feel whole—it all built into something consuming, something soft and sacred.

When you came, your soft cries muffled into the curve of his neck, he held you tighter, like anchoring himself to you, like if he let go, the whole world would tilt. He whispered your name over and over again like a prayer, like a lifeline, like a vow, following close behind you with a quiet, broken groan into your skin.

And you knew, in that moment, that this wasn’t just sex.

It was coming home.

~#~#~#~#~#~

Afterward, he wrapped the blanket around you both, tucking you into his chest like he was trying to shield you from the rest of the world. His metal fingers traced soft, soothing circles against your spine, grounding you in the silence that settled warmly between you.

“You ever doubt your place again,” he murmured, lips pressed to your hair, voice rough with sleep and sincerity, “I want you to remember tonight. Remember how I touched you. How I looked at you. Remember this.”

You nodded against his chest, overwhelmed, your cheek pressed to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Your fingers curled around the dog tags still resting over your heart, the weight of them a quiet promise.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, the words small but certain.

He smiled, eyes closed as his arm tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

“You always were,” he said, so softly it was nearly a breath, but you felt it more than heard it, like a vow etched beneath your skin.

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magnolia-among-the-stars · 4 months ago

Text

twin sized mattress (rafe cameron)

summary: What happens when one moment you’re coming home to change for a secret date, and the next you’re being dragged away to a "wilderness therapy camp" with no warning, no goodbye.

Kitty Hawk isn’t a camp. It’s a prison disguised as a lesson, a place designed to break people like me. No contact. No escape. Just rules, isolation, and the constant reminder that this is my fault.

I don’t know how long it’s been since I last saw Rafe Cameron. Maybe he moved on. Maybe he doesn’t even know I’m gone.

But if he does? If he finds out where they sent me? Then I don’t know who should be more afraid—me… or the people keeping me here. based on this request

word count: 6590

trigger warnings: forced disciplinary camp, isolation, emotional manipulation, toxic positivity, gaslighting, coercion, PTSD-like symptoms, mentions of forced labor, exhaustion, restricted food, physical abuse (in the altercations with the security team)

A/N: i take this topic so seriously because I know that even though Kitty Hawk is a fictional location, there are real camps out here that are doing this. there's a few real impactful documentaries on netflix (among so many others) that talk through the horrors of these programs. Please take care of yourself in reading this - I'm really proud of it but it is a much heavier topic.

I never thought my parents would do it. Truly. I mean, of course I thought it was possible. Hell, they’d threatened it the entirety of freshman year. That was the year John B’s dad disappeared, the year that Kie went off to Kook Academy. It was a rough year for all of us. So sure, they’d threaten the idea if I kept hanging out with ‘that Maybank kid’, if I kept up my ‘attitude’ or my ‘late night sexcapades’ as my mother called them.

I could still see her face, just last weekend in the kitchen pouring another cup of coffee. The night before, we’d been out at the Boneyard having a few beers. I could still see the pinch in between her brow, could still see the tremble in her upper lip as she scolded me. “Keep this up, see what happens. I swear, if I wake up one more time in the middle of the night to find that you are still not home…if I find out you were partying with those criminals - you are done, do you hear me?”

We’d always landed somewhere between Pogues and Kooks, having moved here after my dad took a job in the Coast Guard but living on The Cut to save on moving costs. I’d always found myself at peace with the Pogues, surfing during the summer days and boating in the evenings. It was always lighthearted. Work hard, play harder. I should’ve known it would bite me in the ass someday.

Dripping from the rain and in desperate need of a change of clothes before heading out, I didn’t even have a chance to tug my key from my pocket when the door swung open wide.

A strange man stood in the doorway, staring down at me menacingly. I raise a brow, try to peer around the behemoth of the man. “Am I at the wrong house?” I mumble, backing up a little bit to get my bearings. My back slams into something dense and I turn, noticing another man with his arms crossed. “What the–,” my heart drops to my ass and bile rises in my throat.

It’s a blur after that of hands on skin, flip flops displaced on the wet grass, of screaming and promises and begging. Bruises form from kicking against the car door, from punching against the glass. I get a glimpse of my mother sobbing on the porch as I’m driven away in a black SUV, my father wiping his mouth.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I have just enough time to stare down at the incoming text message. I just parked, let me know when you get here?

I try to quickly press out a response, send an SOS but I’m not quick enough. The man sitting to my left snatches it from my grasp and all hope of escape, of stopping the nightmare of some therapeutic wilderness camp for troubled teenage girls.

______

It feels like too much time passes in the dark of the woods by the time I see the sign, illuminated by solar lighting on the side of the road. Kitty Hawk. The hellscape that Kie’s parents had threatened a few months back. At least Mike and Anna had come to their senses that listening to your child had been the solution to their rebellion instead of a traumatic kidnapping and manual labour. How peachy.

Bigfoot pushes me from the slick leather and out of the car, wrapping a stiff hand around my bicep and all but drags me up the dirt path to a cabin at the top of the hill in the center of the facility. It’s dark; rows of evergreen cabins line the paths through the trees. It’s too quiet, the only sound coming from any direction were crickets and a quiet echo of shouting. Creepy.

Inside the main office, a woman with a toothy tight smile and tired eyes tells me that this is a chance at redemption. “This is a chance to right your wrongs, to really make something of yourself.”

“I’ll pass,” I tell her, nodding absentmindedly at the cat bobble head that sways on her desk. “I should really be getting home…I’ve got a date.”

“You do…with your future.” She covers it with her hand, forcing me to look up at her. Her smile tightens, stretching too far. “And I have high hopes for you,” she says.

“No, like an actual date, it’s important,” I say, blinking a little and frowning. I think of him, sitting out on the beach waiting for my text message. He’s probably looking out at the ocean, watching the storming waves and wondering if I’m blowing him off, if I’ve finally called off whatever it is that we had before things could get serious; before we told anyone anything. Probably wondering if I was coming to my senses. What Pogue would ever want to get into a serious relationship with the Kook Prince anyway?

“Sweetheart, we need you to work with us here. Alright? We can work together to make things better, okay? Can you trust us?” the woman says, leaning forward like we’re friends.

I stare at her for a moment, disturbed by the optimism. “I need to atleast make a phone call.”

She shakes her head, waving to the goof in the corner standing at the ready. “Patients cannot use their phones or have contact with anyone for the first six weeks of the program-,” she continues to rattle off a series of rules. They go in one ear and out the other.

And when Sasquatch finally comes in to drag me off to a cabin, all I want is Rafe’s hands on me instead. And when I lay on the thin mattress on the bottom bunk in the overcrowded girls’ cabin with springs digging into my back, I try to imagine the soft sand underneath me and the scratchings on the plank of wood above the stars. I try not to think about how heartbroken he must be, not knowing that I’d been sent away.

____

Days pass in a daze of survival; of medication trials, gaslighting unqualified therapy and lots of splinters. Between group sessions of talking through our wrongdoings and ruthless workouts to ‘sweat out our sins’, the counselors are convinced that becoming lumberjacks will cure us of whatever illness has caused our disobedience. My hands quickly become calloused from the endless hours of splitting wood with an old axe, my shoulders sore from carrying logs to and from one site to another. There’s no real structure, just ragged breathing and murmurs of toxic positivity quotes that hard work builds character.

No one talks about the horrors of being taken from their homes and families, of the depression that causes them to act out. I watch a girl, maybe a year younger than me, sway on her feet. She’s holding an axe that’s longer than her arm and I worry she’ll hurt herself. I step forward to steady her, slip the axe from her loose grip.

Betsy Sue or whatever the fuck her name is steps back with a wide gaze.

Big Boss Man appears almost out of nowhere and rips the axe from my grasp. He tucks my arm behind my back, like I’m a threat to his stature.

“Threatening a counselor in your first week,” Betsy Sue says, shaking her head and scribbling something on her stupid clipboard. “That’s two weeks in the Reflection Cabin for you. I hope you’ll take that time to really think about how you want your experience here to go,” she says through clenched teeth.

“No, no - I wasn’t even threatening you-, no, get off,” I try to shove their hands away like a scared cat. “She was going to pass out, you barely feed us-,” I grunt as I’m shuffled through the woods, kicking and screaming. They close me inside the dim cabin, leaving me to the dust glinting through slips of light from under the sealed windows. They’re cracked open just about two inches, allowing the cool breeze to seep into the room like a crushed straw. I notice the lack of sheets on the thinner mattress and the state of the dirty toilet. Fuck.

—

It's been days since he’s heard from you. Rafe Cameron wasn’t someone who normally got left on read and yet that alone didn’t even cause him to stop thinking about you. He didn’t know how it happened but he knew that your laugh is infectious. He had never pictured himself settling down and yet, he had thought about what size your ring finger was.

You’d been around Sarah ever since Ward’s death…the first time. One of the annoying Pogues who’d been treasure hunting around Kildare like you were Jack Sparrow and yet, he couldn’t help but search for your face in a crowd. And one late night, long after he and Sarah had agreed to be in each other’s lives, he found you staring up at the stars on the patio. The rest of the Pogues were passed out throughout Tannyhill from a night of partying but you? You were curled up on a covered wicked chair, hair twisted into two lazy braids and hand deep into a bag of cheese puffs.

“The hell are you doin’ out here?” he grunts, looking at the mess your friends had left.

You just crunched away, unbothered by his tone as your dirty orange fingers pointed up at the sky. “Meteor shower.” You held out the bag for him, “Wanna watch?”

Rafe didn’t know what he was doing when he settled down below the wicker chair, shoulder bumping yours as he stared at your dirty fingers holding the big bag. “Those are disgusting,” he mumbles, staring at your profile and the way your lips curled up.

“And?” you said, turning to look at him with a raised brow.

He felt like he could kiss the smirk off of your face. So he tried. And you tasted like artificial cheese and malibu. He swore he fell in love. And then you stood him up, there on the beach a few nights ago. And then he noticed that you hadn’t been around the house with his sister either, nor at the farmer’s market with Kie and Cleo, not even at the marina with the boys.

Were you avoiding him? What the hell had he done to deserve the silent treatment and a no show. It wasn’t like he could just straight up ask Sarah where you were hiding. You’d never really gotten to the point of making it official, of sharing with your friends that you’d done the unspeakable. You’d gotten involved with Sarah’s recovering assaholic of a brother.

It’s not until a few days of stewing later that he decides he can’t take it anymore, that he can’t move on until he’s seen you. That what you guys had felt too real for him to just shrug it off. When he walks into the kitchen though, he’s not expecting the whole clan to be there again. But he counts only six and deflats until he hears their conversation.

“They said she went on a trip to go visit family out of state,” Pope shares, leaning down and shaking his head.

“There’s no way she would’ve left without telling someone something,” Sarah shakes her head, leaning on John B. “It’s just not her.”

“You don’t think they could’ve—,” JJ drags a finger across his throat and gets a few groans, a pinch from Kie.

“JJ, not funny. No, the only thing that they’ve ever threatened her with is–,” Kie looks up at the sound of Rafe’s footsteps, catches his curiosity. “Rafe? What are you doing here?”

“Where is she?” he asks, crossing his arms. Sarah notices the strain of emotion settling into his jaw, his hands tucked into themselves to stop from shaking. She tilts her head in realization, she’s always been too perceptive.

“We don’t know,” she says. “But from the way you’re shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you have something you’d like to share with the class.”

Rafe huffs out a sarcastic noise, somewhere between an amused snort and an annoyed laugh. “Cute, real cute. Your little friend was supposed to meet me out on the beach the night of the storm. Never showed. So, because she won’t answer my calls or texts – you can tell her that she can come out of hiding now and tell me to fuck off like an adult.”

“The night of the–oh my god,” Kie covers her mouth. “Dude, her parents pulled the trigger.”

“I knew it,” JJ shouts, slapping the countertop in confirmation but Kie shuts him down.

“No, listen, her parents told her two weeks ago that one more late night and they were sending her away to Kitty Hawk. That’s the day that we were stranded on Figure 8 because someone-,” she looks at JJ, “forgot to put enough gas in the Snapper.”

Rafe stiffens, guilt washing through him for thinking that you would’ve walked away without a single word. He’s reminded of the soft commentary woven into your conversations; that your parents were absent, harsh.

“You really think her parents would send her away?” John B asks.

“Yes, 100%. My parents got the name of the place from her mom. They’ve been threatening it for a while now. We just laughed it off…”

“Lets go get her,” Rafe blurts out. The whole group turns in confusion at his outburst, watching as he grabs his wallet and keys from the bowl on the counter. He looks like a man on a mission and they freeze. When he realizes no one is moving, he glares. “What are you all looking at me like that for? Do you want to go rescue your friend or not?”

They share a look, a six way silent debate and decide that no matter how strange it is – having Rafe Cameron on your team was better than against.

—

I don’t know how much time passes, unable to tell the difference between sunshine through the dirty windows and the beaming lights spotlighting movement through the facilities. I start to get restless after a day of reflection, pacing up and down the rows of empty bunks and reciting all the joyful things waiting for me outside the doors of the cabin, outside the walls of the camp.

Two days later, one of the fake therapists comes in with another stupid clipboard to chat through my diagnosis. She gives me some mumbo jumbo about defiance and attention-something or other. I’m too distracted by counting the steps it takes to make it around her and through the door. How quickly could I run to the gate and get to the main road…could I flag someone down in time?

I wonder if anyone even realizes I’m gone. Do the Pogues think I’ve just left without a word? Does Rafe? Are they looking for me?

She asks me a question, calls my name.

I run for it. I should’ve tightened my shoelaces.

Stumbling over myself, losing the momentum of surprise, Jack and the Beanstalk easily grasp onto both my arms and shove me back into the cabin. I struggle in their painful grips, swinging wildly to see if I can break free. It’s futile and eventually Beanstock just tosses me harshly to the ground. I lay there longer than expected, stomach aching from my one meal a day. My arms start to bruise from the handling and a hopelessness washes over me.

“I was really hoping you would’ve made some progress but it looks like you’re still unwilling to let us help you,” the woman clicks her pen and tucks her clipboard snug under her arm. “We’ll try again next week, hmm?” She turns to leave, taking the big brutes with her.

I scramble to my feet, desperate to stop the door from closing. The light is snuffed from the room, the heavy sound of a padlock grinds against the wood and I’m alone again. “No, no, please,” I shout, slamming against the sturdy framework.

I didn't get a meal for a long time after that. I notice a subtle shift in lighting outside and if I squat near the two inch opening, I hear a buzzing noise that almost seems like a shift in setting. I scratch a notch in the wood of a bunk post when I hear it. The bologna and melted cheese sandwich is not nearly enough to make my stomach stop hurting and my throat is too raw from screaming to be able to enjoy the meal.

—

The drive to Kitty Hawk is tense and quiet, Rafe’s knuckles turning white at the thought of you being forced from your home. Kie had filled him in on all she’d heard about the program, the mocking website with the sense of community and enthusiasm for growth. It made his stomach churn.

He checks the rearview mirror, ensuring your loyal and idiotic friends are still behind him in the Twinkie. Sarah watches the stiffness in her brother’s movements, the tension in his limbs. She ponders a little, feeling bold with just the two of them in the car. “So,” she takes a sip of water, “how long have you guys been seeing each other?”

Rafe’s head snaps toward her, eyes flickering back to the road as he tries to collect himself. “Seeing who?”

“Rafe, I’m your sister. We may have been at odds for a long time but I know when you’re tucking something away because you don’t want someone to see you vulnerable,” Sarah says. When he says nothing in response, she smirks a little, looks out the window.

“It’s been a few months,” he says, clearing his throat and wiping his mouth. He taps his fist against the steering wheel, frustrated with his honesty. Rafe feels like he’s betraying your trust a little, sharing a secret you both hadn’t agreed to share. “We weren’t official…not yet anyways.”

“But you lo-,” she stops herself, not wanting to scare him off, “you care about her.”

Rafe gives her the side eye, noticing the signage up ahead for the damn camp. “I love her,” he admits, turning into the place. He watches as the twinkie rolls off to the side, leaving just the two of them puttering down the dirt road. He stops for a second, foot hitting the break impulsively. He’d just gotten his sister back in his life, finally getting on good terms with her. Rafe couldn’t lose another person. Not with all that he’d done to make amends. “Are you…are you like, mad?”

Sarah looks at him with a softness that he still wasn’t used to. He didn’t know where she’d inherited such a look, not having been raised with it himself. “Rafe, she’s been lighter and brighter in the last few months than I’ve ever seen her. I’m going to make the assumption that you have a lot to do with that.”

“Really?” He can’t help the smile that stretches across his face, the burning in his cheeks at the admission.

“Yes, really,” Sarah laughs, amused at the site of him being bashful. “And you’ve become way less snappy and more tolerable, so I’m happy as long as you’re both happy.” She covers his hand with hers, smiling “Let's go get our girl.”

He nods, squeezing her hand and starting to drive up to the men walking around in front of the gate ahead.

“So like…do you…have a plan?” Sarah asks, tensing as they wave them to a stop.

“We’re going to buy the camp,” he says, rolling down the window and looking over at her. He looks over the stern man, feeling a subtle rage underneath the surface of his skin. But Rafe is Ward Cameron’s son after all and he knows how to manipulate his way through a deal. He’s made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t be that person anymore, wouldn’t become his dad. But sometimes, the toolbox comes in handy for the greater good.

“This is private property,” the man grunts, nodding to the road. “You’ll have to turn around.”

“We’re here to meet with the director of the camp about an investment deal,” Rafe says, oozing with an authority that Sarah hasn’t witnessed in quite some time. It sends a wave of discomfort over her but she stays quiet, letting him work. “Elliot Calloway?”

“Investment deal? You?” the man says, raising a brow and looking back at the other security.

“Yeah,” Rafe pulls his business card from his visor, flashing it at the guy without care. “My family is pretty big in the development?”

“Mr. Cameron, give me just a moment,” the man’s tone changes, stepping away to radio someone. He comes back after a few minutes, nodding to the gate. “Central building just beyond the parking lot with the buses. Mr. Calloway will meet you there.”

—

I sit against the wall under the windowsill, staring absentmindedly at the door frame. I try to listen for the hum of the lights switching, swaying absentmindedly to a tune stuck in my head. My head lifts at a voice dancing through the wind outside. It’s a newer voice, unique from the roulette of voices that I’d gotten used to in the time since arriving at camp.

The first thought that runs through my head is that the new voice is Rafe. The thought that follows is that I have gone crazy. The voice is gone before I can even stand and try to peer out the window. It would be a waste because I was certain at this point that I was forgotten about, that no one was coming to save me. This was my new reality.

My delusions prove correct because the voice doesn’t come back, doesn’t drift through the window as time passes. What does come back is the hum buzzes and another sandwich – just cheese this time – is slid through the door. The cabin gets chilly as I deconstruct my sandwich on my lap, ripping parts of the bread away and eating slowly to pass the time.

There’s a commotion outside the door and I glance up from the slice of American cheese when I hear the padlock click open, hear the hinges squeal. There’s a stream of light that hurts my eyes as the door is pushed open but it's gone as quick as it came. My shoulders tense as a figure ducks a little, coming closer in the dark of the cabin. I stay pressed against the wall, deciding that a splinter from the unfinished framing is better than whatever the security guard is up to.

“Please, I promise not to try to escape,” I whimper, scrunching my eyes shut in hopes that this is all just a terrible nightmare.

“Well, that’s a waste I guess.”

I blink, eyes straining in the dark to look for a sign that I’ve officially lost my mind, that I’ve started to hallucinate in the solitude of isolation. He’s kneeling down a few steps back, dressed in the classic black uniform of a guard. “Rafe?” My throat tightens, the dam breaking as all the feeling rushes back through me.

“You didn’t think I’d let it slide that you missed our date, did you?” he murmurs, crawling forward to wrap his arms around me, pulling me into his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” I blurt out, tensing against him. I melt into his warm, finally feeling protected in his caring embrace. He smells like the beach and feels like home.

Rafe’s hands slide under me as he tugs me forward, pulling me into his lap. I can’t stop the sobs that wrack through me, trying to cover my mouth so that no one will hear how loud I am. It’s scary how much I had convinced myself that I could survive without softness, without being held in a way that wasn’t aggressive, and wasn't forceful.

“How many days has it been?” I sniffle a little, shaking.

Rafe reaches up to wipe away the tears, cradling my cheek as he searches my face. It’s easy to recognize the frustration in his brow, the tension in his jaw. “It’s been a week but we’re breaking you out of here, okay?” He rises to his feet, picking me up with ease. He takes my hand and guides me to the doorway.

My stomach churns, heart racing as I suck in a breath. Something deep inside panics and I tug at his arm, hesitating in the middle of the cabin. “Wait, wait,” I whisper, staring at him wide-eyed.

Rafe looks back at me, tugging a little on my hand. “Doll, c’mon, we don’t have much time.”

The way he tugs at my hand causes my throat to tighten again and I pull back, like his touch burns my flesh. I hold my hand against my chest, curling into myself. “Rafe…I don’t…” I start to say, losing my breath. “I don’t…what if they–”

“Shhh, shhh, hey–hey,” Rafe steps back cautiously back into my personal space, hands up as if he’s trying to show me he means no harm. His blue eyes are flecked with worry as he takes in my state. “What did they do to you?”

I don’t know how to respond, the nightmare of the apparent week since I’d last seen him dying on my tongue. I open my mouth but nothing escapes me. I look down, feeling so unlike myself.

Rafe steps closer, slowly moving his hands to hold my face again so he can stare down at me. His thumbs smooth over the apples of my cheeks, his skin cool. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here but I promise you, no one comes near you again – okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper, looking up at him.

Rafe nods, gives me a little smile and checks his watch. He looks to the door and starts to move with a little more intention. He can peel the black hoodie from his slender torso, checking his watch one more time. “You trust me?”

I nod without hesitation. “More than anything.”

He steps forward, pulling the hoodie over my head to cover the stupid Kitty Hawk uniform from view. It’s dark only for a moment before I’m staring up at his face again. I’m swimming in cotton, the clothing big enough that it covers my shorts. Rafe takes care as he brushes his hands along my neckline, freeing my hair from the collar. “Alright, here’s the plan. We’re going to head into the woods down by the water…it seems like no one really goes down there. We’re not gonna run, that’s going to draw attention to us,” he rushes to explain.

I can’t help myself, rising up on my tippy toes and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you for coming to get me,” I whisper, fingers poking out to clutch at his shirt. Before he can respond, before he can react - there’s a loud burst of noise outside in the distance. I gasp out as we’re suddenly engulfed in darkness. “Rafe?”

“That’s our cue,” he says, sliding the hoodie over my head and lacing our hands together. “Once we get outside – don’t stop moving, okay? Head down and don’t let go of my hand, alright?” I nod, trying to ignore the thoughts racing through my mind and how hard my heart beats in my chest.

Rafe turns to the door and squeezes my hand tightly before pulling it open. It’s pitch black outside but I can hear loud shouting. “Tug that door shut, okay?” he says.

I pull the handle to shut the door behind us as we take off down the creaky stairs, trying to take slow breaths as I keep my eyes on the ratty sneakers I’ve been issued. Rafe’s grip is firm as he leads me quickly along winding paths and between cabins as if he grew up at the camp. I can almost see the opening in the trees that leads down to the water when he pushes me hastily behind a cabin.

“What tha’ hell is goin’ on?” he shouts to someone, his voice disguised with a deep drawl.

I worry that they’ll notice he’s not one of them but my shoulders relax a little when whoever he’s talking to sounds like they haven’t stopped moving. “I think a transformer blew, the generator’s old.”

“Where you need me?” Rafe responds, stepping a little out of my view and I have to press against the cabin to stop myself from following him.

“Get the mouthy one from isolation, bring her for count in the mess hall,” the man responds, his voice further away as he leaves the conversation. I taste bile in my throat at his words, breath hitching as Rafe’s ‘assignment’ to get me. There’s a ringing in my ear and I sway, dizzy with fear. I jump a little when his fingertips brush my wrists.

“Hey, hey, you still with me?” he bends a little so he’s eye level. His voice is soft. “What did I promise you?”

“No…” I swallow. “No one will come near me again.”

“No one will come near you again,” he repeats, nodding in agreement. “You ready, brave girl?” I nod, feeling a rush of adrenaline as he pulls me back onto the path and we move at an intentional pace toward the treeline. I can see more flashlights, zipping across the area as we step out of the view of the cabins. I stumble a little, tripping on roots as we move closer and closer to the water. The rough and rocky path turns soft, making it hard to keep a quick pace.

“Rafe, how are we going to get back home? The water is the opposite direction from the main–,” my mouth falls open, seeing the outline of a few small boats beached ashore.

Rafe turns to me once we are at the shoreline, winking. His hands smooth over my waist to pick me up and into the boat. “Duck down, okay?”

I slide down against the seat, trying to steady my breathing as he pushes the boat slowly back into the water and jumping in once we’re floating far enough in the middle of the water. I watch the way he reaches down and tugs on the pull-start with purpose. Panic settles in my bones when nothing happens.

“C’mon,” he says, tugging again. He tries again. Nothing. “Son of a bitch.”

“Hey, what are you doing?” someone shouts from the beach. Flashlights shining over Rafe and along the boat, shouting as Rafe tries again to start the dinghy. I notice the split second of fear on his face as he struggles to tug the pull-start one more time. Coming back to myself, I stand up and shuffle to his side.

His hands are shaking as he frantically tries to start the boat. “Hey, get back here,” a man shouts, water splashing as they rush into the water to catch up.

“Let go,” I mutter, pushing his hands out of the way to grab the handle. I give it one swift tug and breathe out in relief when the engine roars to life. Rafe grabs the helm and quickly steers up away from the man, causing him to stumble into the water behind us. As the camp and the security disappear the further we get, the more weight lifted from my shoulder.

I tuck my face in my hands, feeling shocked that Rafe actually just pulled a near prison break to come get me. My chest rises and falls as I wipe away my tears.

“Hey, are you alright?” Rafe says, fingers stretching over my thigh.

I can’t respond, hearing a low whistling noise over by the shoreline. My shoulders tense until I see six idiots, jumping and waving in front of the Twinkie and Rafe’s truck pulled over on the side of the road. A laugh escapes me as the boys jump onto the weeds, helping Rafe pull us ashore. JJ ushers me out of the boat and the girls all engulf me in a hug, echoing their relief that we’re safe, that I’m safe.

I turn around, seeing Rafe biting at his thumb as he speaks with John B in hushed tones. He turns back to us, catches my eye.

“Hey, we should get the move on…that security could be sending someone along the water to find you,” Pope interrupts, pointing toward the road that leads back to the camp.

“I feel awful leaving everyone else behind,” I admit, still staring at Rafe. “We should call someone.”

“Don’t worry,” JJ says, climbing into the Twinkie, nodding to Rafe. “Your boyfriend has that covered…its a…it’s a good plan – even I can admit.”

I turn to look at Rafe, feeling the heat rush to my face at the word boyfriend. He just smirks, nodding to the truck. “C’mon, I’ll explain on the way.” I look at Sarah, sitting in the passenger seat in the Twinkie. She scrunches her nose, a wide smile on her face.

“Go,” she says, “we’ll catch up to you.”

I turn to his truck where he’s waiting for me with the door open. He helps me up into the seat, standing there as I tug the seatbelt down to buckle in. I’m hyper aware of his frame, so close to me. “Rafe,” I call out his name, pulling him from what looks like a trance. He blinks, big blue eyes looking up at me in a way I hadn’t seen before – in a way that up until a week ago, would’ve scared me.

He nods, swallowing and closing the door so that he can run around to the driver’s side. He takes off down the road, not even wasting time in pulling his seatbelt on.

“Seatbelt,” I murmur as we peel off onto the main road. When he doesn’t respond, I say it again a little louder.

Rafe gives me a look, huffs and begrudgingly yanks it down with one hand. I reach over the bench, taking it from him and pulling it the rest of the way to clip into place. “What a waste this romantic rescue mission would be if you ended up through the windshield in the getaway?” I say, smiling a little as I settle back into the leather seat.

“It was pretty romantic, huh? Who would’ve thought – me, a romantic,” he says. The tension seems to dissipate a bit, the safety of his truck a veil of relief. Inside, we’re just…us. But things feel different from the last time he’d drive me around, taking me for a late night rendezvous to the beach. Now, he’s the guy that ran toward danger to save me. He’s the guy who set a plan in motion to break me out of an at-risk youth facility.

“I did,” I whisper, looking forward as the words strip me vulnerable. “So, what’s this good plan you’ve come up with?”

“I tried to buy the camp,” he says, causing me to look over at him in shock.

“What?”

Rafe looks over at me, grinning. “You heard me.”

“You were going to buy my way out?”

“Hey, contrary to popular belief, I do try these days to go the legal route first,” Rafe says, holding his hand up. “But the director was taking too long to agree to the deal so we hitched this plan to break you out as a backup.”

“So he didn’t take the deal,” I say, turning to look at him. “How much did you offer?”

“Oh no, he took the deal. I gave him a good faith deposit of 250K in a briefcase. The sleazy bastard nearly fainted. I told him I’d–,”

“Rafe,” I hold a hand up, speechless. “A briefcase?”

He glances over at me and keeps going, not phased by my surprise. “Yeah, I said I’d wire the rest of the money over but it’d take a day or so to confirm with the bank but we could make a gentlemen’s agreement. And in the process, he disclosed all the legal troubles he’s been riddled with in the process of closing the deal. Which was bold considering I,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls a tape recorder out with a grin, “Got this from my dad’s office before we left.”

He clicks the play button and we listen as the man discloses a few lawsuits and unpaid debts he has lingering, how much of a relief it will be to get the place off his plate. My mouth falls open as Rafe stops the tape, placing it in the console. “So we are,” he glances over at me, triumphantly, “are heading to the air strip to meet Shoupe and give him this evidence. And while Shoupe works with the SBI to dismantle Kitty Hawk, we’ll be under witness protection until the trial…but you wouldn’t have to testify unless you wanted to. I made sure that Shoupe knew that.”

His words hit me like a ton of bricks. “Witness protection? Where?”

“Wherever you desire,” he looks over with a cute smile, scrunching his nose. “Sarah’s already made the call. Pilot will be waiting for us on the runway. Shoupe won’t tell your parents until we’re situated.”

I’m at a loss for words as I try to take in what he tells me. He glances over at me, face falling a little.

“You…situated,” I stutter out, breathless. I try to process his words, process what he’s done. My pulse races. “Pull over,” I blurt out weakly, palms sweaty as I glance behind us and notice the empty stretch of dark road.

“Are you alright?” he repeats, looking repeatedly between me and the road.

I click the button to release my seatbelt as Rafe turns the wheel in a haste. “Are you sick?” I don’t answer him, reaching up a hand as we pull onto the shoulder. Dust kicks up around the truck as he pushes the stick into park, watching me wide-eyed. “What the hell is hap–,”

I tug his face toward mine, pressing my mouth to his with a fierceness that I’d never felt before. It’s quick and I pull back, breathless as I search his face. It felt like my nerves were on fire as we kissed, fanning an ember into a flame of desire.

Rafe’s pupils are blown as he reaches forward and yanks me firmly back toward him. We lock lips. It’s messy and rushed and passionate. His hands find my thighs, scooping me up so I’m flush against him.

There’s a searing heat and for the first time, it’s clear that it’s not just sexual tension. It’s survival. It’s praise and gratitude. It’s a confirmation that I’m real, and a guarantee of more. We jump a little, pulling apart when the truck horn blares out in the dead of the night – prompted by my ass.

It causes me to giggle, nuzzling into his neck with a snort while sliding from his lap to sit beside him. Rafe combs his fingers through my hair, unable to control his own laughter. I snort again, leaning into his bicep and looking up at him with a loving gaze. “Was it your idea to blow up a transformer?”

“Well that was really Maybank’s idea…but it did the trick,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead and putting the truck back into drive before taking my hand. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

well, i'm in love. if you would like to make a request, i write for all the main characters of obx and you can send them here or let me know what you thought of this story :)

#rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron #obx #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader

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saatorus · 2 months ago

Note

had the brightest idea…sukuna x tattoo artist reader..😪😪

wc: 1.4k

warnings: smut (unprotected sex)

authors note: anon anon anon. i need to pull your head off so i can get access to your brain like kenjaku so that i can give your smart brain a lil smooch. this was fun to write :3

The first time he walked into your studio, he had zero tattoos. Just scars from what looked like getting into fistfights and that sharp, cocky grin.

You didn’t think he was serious. Guys like him—too smooth, too smug—usually just wanted to flirt and bounce. But he picked a design off your wall, pointed to his chest, and said, “Right here. First one. Don’t fuck it up.”

You didn’t. In fact, he looked almost… reverent, watching you prep. Like he wasn’t used to being touched gently.

You assumed he’d be a one-and-done. He was not. He came back the next week, shirt already off when he walked in. “What’s up, picasso shawty. Wanna do my ribs next?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, but you let him sit. Again. And again.

He kept coming back. More tattoos. Bigger pieces. One on his back. One winding around his thigh. Some you designed just for him—your art permanently etched into his skin.

Your studio’s small. One chair. Walls covered in sketches and post-it notes. Half your tools are secondhand, but your work is crisp—clean lines, solid shading. Sukuna never comments on it directly, but he never lets anyone else touch him. Not once.

You pretend not to notice how he watches you set up. The way he stares at your hands like he’s memorizing every move.

He’s always saying dumb shit.

“If I say something filthy mid-session, will you mess up on purpose?”

“If you talk while I’m doing linework again, I’m putting a Hello Kitty on your ass.”

“Tempting.”

You keep it professional for months. Years. But it’s not cold—it’s comfortable. Inside jokes. Dumb snacks during long sessions. Him crashing on your couch once when it got too late. You drawing a fake tattoo on his thigh with sharpie “just to mess with him.”

One night, you’re doing a detailed piece low on his hip. He’s quiet, for once. Then:

“You ever think about how many hours you’ve spent touching me?”

You blink.

“You ever think about shutting the hell up?”

But your voice cracks a little.

The shift is small. He starts showing up without appointments. You don’t kick him out. You start drawing designs with him in mind. You stop correcting him when he calls you “baby” just to mess with you.

One night, it’s late. Like should’ve closed an hour ago late. The shop is quiet, just the soft hum of the fluorescent light and whatever chill R&B playlist is still looping from your phone. You’re cleaning up after a late session with Sukuna—again. He’s lounging in the chair, shirt half-on, scrolling on his phone like he lives here now.

“You know I have other clients, right?” you mutter, wiping down your machine.

He doesn’t look up. “Yeah? You tattoo them like you do me?”

You pause. “What the fuck does that mean?”

He looks up now, real slow. Smirk twitching at the edge of his mouth. “Means you get real quiet when you're working on me. Like you’re focused or… like you’re trying not to think too hard.”

You toss the rag on the tray, annoyed. “I don’t know if you know this, but that’s actually called doing my job.”

“You’re shaky sometimes,” he adds, casual. “Especially when I’m shirtless. Or when I ask for spots you gotta like, get on your knees for.”

You scoff. “You think you’re hot shit.”

He stands. Walks up, real close. “I know I am. But that’s not the point.”

Now he’s right in front of you. Not touching—but close enough that you feel him. Heat off his skin. The scent of his cologne and smoke and something distinctly him.

“You wanna do it or not?” he says, voice low, like he’s done waiting.

Your stomach flips. “Do what?”

“Come on,” he mutters, like he’s tired of the game. “You’ve been looking at me like you want to fuck me since the third tattoo. You gonna keep pretending or you gonna let me fuck you in that chair of yours?”

Your throat goes dry. You stare at him—cocky bastard, red eyes burning into yours, hands flexing at his sides like he’s holding back too.

You don’t say anything. Just grab the front of his hoodie and pull him in. Not your proudest moment professionalism-wise, but he kissed you like he’d been waiting for this.

The kiss is messy. Too fast. All teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. You don’t know who moans first—doesn’t matter. His hands are already on your ass, pulling you in like he’s starving.

You shove him back into the chair. Straddle him. His hands slide up your shirt, palms hot and rough, and he mutters, “Been jerking off thinking about this for months, fuck.”

Your fingers are already at his belt. “Shut up.”

“Not a chance,” he laughs, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna hear how bad I wanted this.”

You sink onto him right there, still half-dressed, the whole thing rushed and reckless. The studio smells like ink and sweat and skin. He’s gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. And you’re riding him like you’ve been needing it just as bad.

No soft words. No slow build. Just the creak of the chair. His filthy mouth in your ear. Your nails digging into his shoulders. And that broken sound he makes when you clamp around him, whispering “Fuck, don’t stop—”

Before you know it, you’re clamping down on him, hard, your orgasm washing in pleasurable waves over you. He follows suit, a final thrust of his hips, emptying his load inside of you.

The only sound is your breathing—still uneven—and the low thrum of the playlist you forgot was even on. You’re half-naked in your own damn studio, still straddling Sukuna in the chair, clothes tugged out of place, skin flushed and sticky with sweat and everything you’d been ignoring for way too long.

You shift off him with a wince. “Holy shit. That chair is not designed for fucking.”

He groans and leans back like he’s broken. “Speak for yourself. I’m thriving.”

“You’re gonna walk outta here bow-legged.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’ll limp home with dignity.”

You tug your shirt back down and start reaching for paper towels, the reality of what just happened catching up to your brain.

“Yo—chill,” Sukuna mutters, standing up behind you and gently taking the paper towels from your hand. “I got it.”

You blink, thrown off.

He gives you a flat look. “I just fucked you in your sacred little tattoo chair. Least I can do is wipe you down…and the damn chair down too.”

You snort, but your stomach flips at the way he says it—casual, like it’s no big deal, but not teasing either.

He gently parts your legs, a grin on his face when he sees himself seeping out of you, wiping the mess clean. You lightly push your foot against his chest when he continues staring and he finally relents, snickering and grabbing your disinfectant spray.

He grabs a fresh towel, sprays down the chair, even gets the floor where one of you knocked over the rinse cup. You watch him for a second—shirtless, pulling on your pants and standing up—shakily— still flushed, watching the glint of his rings on his fingers as he moves. Like this is just part of the routine now.

“Don’t get used to this,” he says, not looking at you. “I just—y’know. Respect the tools.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So what, fucking me is now a line item on your cleaning checklist?”

He grins, tossing the used towel into the bin. “Only if it’s a recurring event.”

You scoff and toss him a water bottle. He catches it midair without flinching, cracks it open like this is just… normal now.

And maybe it kind of is.

He walks back over, presses the cold bottle lightly to your cheek with a smirk. “Still blushing?”

“Still annoying.”

“Still wet?”

You swat him, laughing despite yourself, but you don’t pull away.

There’s a weird quiet after that. Not awkward—just new. Like something’s shifted and neither of you’s pretending otherwise.

You break it first, voice lower now. “So… you still want that piece over your heart?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “If it’s your name? Yeah.”

“You’re so corny. That trend died in 2015.” You roll your eyes, but the smirk tugging at your mouth gives you away.

And when he leans in and kisses you again, actually moving his lips against you with a soft precision, different to how his tongue had been plunged into your mouth just minutes before. He grins—sharp— before uncapping the water bottle.

After a sip of the water, he looks at you over the bottle. “So… you free next week?”

You narrow your eyes. “For what?”

He shrugs. “Tattoo. Fuck. Hang out. Whatever. Don’t pretend you’re not thinking about doing it again.”

You groan. “You are so lucky you’re kinda hot.”

He winks. “And marked up like your own personal sex doll. Admit it—you liked the dick.”

You’re smiling this time. It’s different now. Maybe him being a regular wasn’t so bad at all.

#ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader smut #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader smut #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut #jjk x you #sukuna ryomen #jjk sukuna #jjk sukuna smut #jjk sukuna x reader

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juliettejwnewinesa · 21 days ago

Note

omg hii i legit love your works so much and rn you’re basically my fav writer atm😆😼😼 if you don’t mind i would like to request a seongje fic where reader and seongje is not on very good terms/enemies and then one day they were bickering about each other, and then reader thought it would be funny to insult his skill in bed/his dick lol, and then basically seongje decided to prove her wrong and just fuck the attitude out of her and reader is just crying and whimpering because she’s overstimulated like crazy. I hope you could fulfill my request xixi, just can’t get enough of your workss i could kept reading them forever lol, again thank you so much if you could do it😻😻

Title: "Say That Again"

Pairing: Seongje x Reader

Genre: Enemies-to-lovers, smut, tension, rough sex, overstimulation

Word Count: 10k+

Rating: 18+

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You despised Seongje.

No, really. With your whole chest.

The way he strutted around campus like he owned it, that cocky smirk, his stupid designer fits and unbothered swagger. He was everyone’s favorite, and he knew it. Popular, hot, and dangerously good at playing nice—until his venom slipped through his teeth in private.

Especially with you.

"Could you be any more annoying?" he drawled, sliding into the seat beside you in the library, uninvited as always.

You didn’t look up from your laptop. "Could you be any more irrelevant?"

He laughed under his breath. "You wish I was irrelevant, sweetheart. Maybe then you could stop thinking about me."

You gave him a slow once-over, eyes lingering on his lazy posture and shameless confidence. "Thinking about you? Please. Even if I was gagging for it, I'd never settle for someone who probably doesn't even know how to use his dick right."

Silence.

His grin vanished.

You blinked. "What? Not gonna talk back now?"

Seongje leaned in. Voice low. Dangerous. "You think I don’t know how to use my dick?"

Your heartbeat skipped.

You forced a scoff. "I mean, if the ego's that big, the compensation must be small, right? Makes sense." (LMAO i love myself)

A flicker of something dark flashed in his gaze. He leaned even closer, lips nearly brushing your ear.

"That mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble, Y/N." 😰

You should’ve shut up.

Because now you were bent over your bed, arms pinned behind your back, and Seongje was pounding into you like a man possessed.

"Still think my dick's small?" he growled against your neck, hips slamming into your soaked cunt with bruising rhythm.

You choked on a whimper. "F-fuck—!"

He pulled your head back by your hair, forcing your spine to arch even deeper. "Say it again. Come on, be a smartass."

Your legs trembled violently. Tears blurred your vision. You’d already come twice, and he wasn’t stopping. Not even slowing down.

"I-I’m sorry," you gasped, voice cracking.

"Not what I asked."

His hand slipped between your legs, fingers rubbing harsh circles against your clit.

"F-fuck, Seongje—I can’t—I can’t, please—!"

"You can. You will. You wanted to talk shit, now take it."

Another orgasm ripped through you, white-hot and overwhelming. You sobbed, walls clenching around him as he fucked you through it.

And he didn’t stop.

"Look at you," he sneered, voice tight, breathless. "Crying already? What happened to that attitude, huh?"

You tried to twist away, but he grabbed your throat and fucked deeper, harder, forcing every inch into you.

"You wanted to make jokes about my dick. Now take it. Take all of it."

The overstimulation had you a mess—lips parted, tears rolling, drool slipping down your chin as you whimpered through wave after wave of release.

"Gonna fill you up until you're too dumb to talk back," he spat. "Until that mouth only knows how to beg."

You didn’t recognize your own voice when you cried out again, mind shattering.

He groaned against your shoulder, hips stuttering. "Fuck—look at you, ruined. Say I was right. Say you were wrong."

"Y-you were right," you gasped. "Fuck, Seongje, please—you were right—I'm sorry—"

He bit your shoulder, growling. "Too late for sorry."

You woke up hours later in tangled sheets, sore and marked, his arms around you like he hadn't just wrecked you within an inch of your sanity.

His voice was softer now, half-asleep against your neck.

"Still think I don’t know how to fuck?"

You groaned, hiding your face.

"Shut up."

He chuckled. "Didn’t think so."

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brainmuncher · 4 months ago

Text

Visiting an old friend

The whole way to Bludhaven Danny kept on telling himself that surely he’d made a mistake. He knew he could be impulsive sometimes but flying to Bludhaven on a rumor? He felt like he was a teenager all over again.

It’d been some dumb article he’d found while trying to focus on editing the design of a Fenton battery. It was a Bludhaven paper he’d forgotten to unsubscribe to that sent him a breaking news email. He used to eat up those papers, glad to have any way to see how his old friend was doing, but now it just felt suffocating to remember. He’d almost deleted it without even opening it, but some nagging feeling told him he should open it. He never would've expected to open it to a new blurry photo of a figure in blue, soaring above on the rooftops.

He barely got a couple of sentences into the article claiming that Nightwing could be back before he shot out of his apartment. Ever since that day when he watched invisibly as his coffin was laid in the ground he searched for Dick’s ghost. But no ghost this new could control their appearance that well. Colors were some of the hardest to control after all. So Dick could be… he really could be…

After that, the rest of the flight was much more nerve-wracking. He hadn’t ever met the other bats, but he knew that they could have some interesting rouges. Some kind of convoluted plan might have been behind all of this. Maybe someone was impersonating him? Or maybe some other blue vigilante has taken up Bludhaven… Was one of Dicks siblings taking over the Nightwing name? That last one was quickly shot down though. He saw how distraught the group was, he doubted if they would’ve even been able to touch the suit without breaking inside.

So all that led him to now, standing outside Dicks apartment building. Before they lost touch this was the place Dick told him he could go if he ever needed help. And seeing the lit-up rooms from the outside, Danny knew that at least someone had to have been there.

For the sake of normality, Danny decided to take the stairs within the building to Dicks floor. It definitely wasn’t because he was nervous or anything… it had nothing to do with that at all. Although the stairs seemed to reach the top quicker than he expected.

He walked up to the apartment number that he was told about. A snarky ‘This house has gone 0 days without a pun’ welcome mat sat outside the door. The joke actually helped Danny calm down a bit, breathing in a deep breath of the slightly dusty hallway air before letting it out again. Without further ado, he rapped his knuckles on the hardwood door. Internally he winced at the loud noise. It was much later at night than any normal person would be awake. If someone was here and had a good sleep schedule then Danny probably just woke them up.

A few minutes passed by before his hearing picked up movement in the apartment. One part of him jumped in excitement, while the other sank with anxiety. Was that Dick? Or was it one of his siblings? Damn, Danny should have gone through with this invisibly, that way if it is one of the siblings he won’t have to face them. But it was much too late for that now, he knew that there had to be at least one camera facing him right now. Maybe he can just pretend to be lost? But then why would he climb up so many floors just to ask for directions? He really should’ve thought this through…

Before he could sink any lower into his panic the door let out a click of a lock. Momentarily frozen, he watched as the door slithered open without so much as a creak. To his amazement, the Dick Grayson stood staring back. He looked tired and was dressed in comfortable civilian clothes, but it was Dick. Before anything could be said Dicks eyes went down to look into Danny’s. His eyebrows creased in confusion, no doubt surprised by the random visit.

“Danny?” Dick questioned, his voice sounding a bit rough around the edges.

Danny couldn’t help the disbelieving smile from creeping up on his face.

“Hey Dick,” He spoke, his grin never leaving his face. “I’ve really missed you.”

A small breathy laugh of shock left Dicks lips as he looked down at Danny. He loosened his stance at the door, seeming to relax now that he knew who was there. Danny couldn’t help but feel bad at the scare he must have given the other.

“I hadn’t thought we’d be seeing each other again. It’s been…”

Years, Danny finished in his head. We haven’t seen each other in years.

They initially met on the streets funnily enough. Danny had been on the run from the GIW and Dick had been freshly fired from Robin and kicked out of the manor. Not that either one knew that much of each other at first. Danny had been hiding in a warm corner of a building when Dick bumped into him trying to find a warm place to stay as well. Danny offered for him to stay, not seeing any danger in letting someone around his age stay with him. After that things got revealed slowly, like Dick realizing that Danny wasn’t just homeless, he was hiding. And Danny noticing the odd skills that Dick had and the way the other held himself back in other situations. Slowly their secrets were shared with each other… and they found that they didn’t mind.

Eventually, they drifted apart though. Jazz and his friends finally found a way to create him a safe identity and eventually, he enrolled himself in college, deciding to take a break from Phantom for a while. Dick ventured out and created the Titans, even forging a new hero identity for himself as Nightwing. They slowly just stopped talking to one another after that. Not out of malice or anything, but just because they got busy. Life took over. It was only when a life was taken away, that Danny frantically tried to find out what happened to his friend.

But now that he’s here in front of him… He’s noticing the same things he’d seen from when they were on the streets. Dick had bags under his eyes like he was watching the candle burn at both ends and doing nothing to stop it. His clothes weren’t just baggy, they were unwashed. There was a faint toothpaste drop on his shirt that had been attempted to be rubbed off… but to no avail. His hair was shiny with unwashed grease and grime. And his face… He didn’t look like he was eating enough.

Like a truck had hit him, Danny suddenly found himself much less happy than he was before. Something was wrong with his friend. And if the crystae around the grave that Nightwing was supposedly buried were any indication… then…

Danny straightened his stance subconsciously. It seems like he was due a serious conversation with the other.

“Can I come in? I’d rather not have this kind of conversation in the hall,” Danny asked awkwardly, looking around himself as if there was another person that he could see.

To Danny's concern, Dick’s body tensed up at the prospect of letting him in. He swore he saw Dick grimace at that for a split moment before a plastered-on smile was on his face. Nonetheless, Dick opened the door with much less bravado than he would’ve years ago and waved him in.

“Welcome to my abode,” he tried to joke, but the tone felt forced.

Danny didn’t understand why the other had looked that way until he walked through the doorway. While he may be no Kryptonian with insane super everything, he did have enhanced senses. And every single one of those senses went off like a bomb when he walked into the apartment. There were dirty dishes and clothes haphazardly left around collecting mold and mildew. He could see a portion of the Nightwing suit stuffed into a corner like Dick had tried to hide it from his sight. There were more than a few bottles of soda and coffee mugs spread across the room, some carrying a scent that Danny could live without. Then there was a shattered photo face down on the side of the room, glass still spread around the frame like a horrific halo.

But the worst was probably the energy of liminal surrounding the whole place. The emotional energy within it was heavy, grief and desperation covering every inch. Everything just screamed pain pain PAIN PAIN-

Danny had to close his eyes, steeling himself against immediately answering the cry. It went against his very core to go against the cry for help but he knew he’d only make things worse if he dived straight in. Dick wasn’t one to accept help easily. He’d shown that multiple times in his various rants about Bruce’s attempts to help as Robin. Instead, he had to go about this differently.

“Man, you almost outrank me in the messy department,” Danny tried to joke instead.

He turned to look at Dick who finished locking his apartment back up against intruders. Hopefully, his eyes weren’t glowing from the intense cries his core was trying to fight against. Dick seemed to attempt to go with the jab, his smile not looking all there.

“I doubt that. I'm not the one who lost his phone and found it in his shin,” Dick replied, settling himself further into the apartment.

Danny scoffed, waving his hand in the air like he could physically wipe away the comment. Slowly they started to migrate to where the couch was. There were blankets and pillows at the end like Dick would fall asleep there. Judging by the open case files on the table in front of it, he didn't sleep on purpose.

“I actually keep it in my arm now. Much more convenient,” Danny winked, hopping on the couch and letting himself bounce on the spring underneath. “Although I do keep everything else in my haunt. I can make little portals now!”

Without further notice, Danny opened one of the said portals with his hands. As he hoped, although in any other circumstance, he normally wouldn't, a group of blob ghosts were near his things. A couple of them filed through the gap, chirping up at him. However, that sense of play quickly left them as they felt the energy around the place. Silently they flew away, off to do what they do best.

Danny saw a twitch of a real smile for a second on Dicks face. Although it was quickly shut down like a sour memory. Like he was trying to escape it, Dick joined him on the couch, sitting a whole cushion away.

“Should I be worried about them?” Dick motioned his chin towards the silent blobs making their way into his things.

Danny waved them off, still playing into his old impulsivity. He wasn't nearly as bad as he was as a teenager, but Dick didn't have to know that yet. Dick gave a skeptical look at him, watching as one of the blob ghosts swallowed one of the dirty cups whole.

“They're like bottom feeders in a fish tank. At most, you'll just find less dirt around. At the least… you might gain a cuddle buddy,” Danny hummed, watching the same blob from before sneeze and drop a perfectly polished cup back out.

At that, Danny could see Dick turn to look at him in his peripheral vision. Turning to join him in looking right at one another he could see Dick staring at him. Dick held a look on his face that Danny couldn’t uncover. His eyes wandered over Danny’s face like he was searching for something. But the rest remained perfectly blank. It reminded Danny of when they were still teens, trying to see if they could trust one another. Dick had given a similar look then before he'd nodded and sat down to talk. Hopefully this time it'll be no different.

Although, Danny doesn't know how to feel when Dicks face shuts down a little. He can feel the exhaustion in the air. Somehow he feels like he just failed whatever Dick was searching for.

“Danny, why are you really here?” Dick asked finally.

The question was so out of the blue, and the answer so obvious. Danny couldn’t help the way his head tilted in confusion, not understanding why such a thing had to be asked. This wasn’t at all how he had planned for their conversation to go. He had wanted to keep things light so that the emotions wouldn’t make Dick clam up… or lash out. His next words need to be chosen carefully…

“Because I was concerned. One of my good friends just came back from death and I needed to make sure you were ok. Dying isn't an easy thing to process,” Danny spoke carefully, his own experience trickling into his mind.

The words seemed to make Dick even more defensive. It was exactly the thing Danny had been trying to avoid. But despite everything his efforts still led him to this moment. Dick had his guard up, his eyes glaring into Danny’s core.

“Well I'm alive,” Dick spoke with terseness, “so why are you still here?”

“Because I care about you,” Danny reiterated, his confusion turning over into concern. “Dick, you died. That type of thing sticks with you. I'm not about to leave you to deal with that alone.”

Dick scoffed. He readjusted himself on the couch, sliding a bit farther from Danny. At this point, he was almost leaning on the edge. The physical representation of the distance between them hurt more than Danny was willing to admit. He hadn’t had Dick run from him before.

“Ignoring me for years is one hell of a way to show it,” Dick bit back.

A wave of annoyance hit Danny from the comment, but he instead closed his eyes and ignored it. Dick used to do this constantly when they were young. He'd use a healing mental wound to pick at to bring the other person away from his own hurt. Except Dick made the mistake of using it too many times on Danny in the past. He was old enough now to stop and learn from what he was trying.

Letting out a breath of air, Danny looked up into Dicks eyes. He could feel the pain all around him. The wails of someone touched by death echo all around. This wasn't something he could let go. No matter how much Dick tries to push him away, he isn’t going to go anywhere.

“Dick, I'm not asking you to tell me what happened… or even how you came back. I would know more than anyone how painful it can be to relive those memories. I'm just asking for you to let me stay and help you. You're not okay.”

If Danny's words made an impact on Dick, he sure as hell didn't show it. He looked away from Danny’s eyes, instead staring at something far off. His movements seemed almost robotic. Like there was some kind of memory playing in his head that Danny couldn’t see.

“Whoever said I died? I went undercover Danny. Nothing happened. Nothing to talk about.” Dick spoke with a scarily devoid tone of voice, almost like he was reciting someone else.

Danny couldn’t stop the scoff from coming out of his mouth. Dick looked his way again, seeming to be surprised at the action. As if he could simply lie his way out of death. Danny tried the denial shtick. You can only tell yourself it was nothing for so long before you realize that not breathing in your sleep is probably a sign.

“Dick I saw your grave. I don't know the details because I wasn't exactly invited, but I saw the crystae flowers blooming around the dirt. Those only bloom around memorials for the dead,” Danny explained carefully, watching as Dick looked more and more like he'd panic. “Even now I can feel death's touch on you. Your place is soaked in liminal energy… I can feel that you're in pain.”

Danny was a little hesitant to reveal that last bit but knew that Dick would pick up on it eventually. Especially with Danny sticking around, that liminality would only get stronger. That's just how ectoplasm is. It won't stick onto a healthy person unless they've already been exposed to it. Depending on how long Dick had been dead, it might be more attracted to him.

Although now Danny couldn’t help but feel awful about it as he saw Dick flounder. He at least took his time in coming to terms with his death, he should've known an emotionally repressed bat wouldn't be able to handle it all at once. Danny tried to reach out a hand, as something for Dick to physically hold onto to stay in the present. But in a moment of fear, Dick slapped it away. He jumped up from his spot on the couch, never looking at the same spot for more than a couple of seconds.

“Dick I'm sor-” Danny tried to apologize but Dick started to do a panicked angry rambling right over him.

“No! It doesn't count. I didn’t die. My heart only stopped for a couple of minutes. I was fine. Everything is fine!” He tried to reason to himself, his pacing taking a hysterical turn.

Danny winced at that. It doesn't matter how long you die. Ectoplasm doesn't care about that, only that you have some kind of exposure to it. Even in the first seconds of death you already create the energy for ectoplasm in the body. How much was created, and how much was in the air already, is what determines if you become a ghost. It's a natural part of life.

“Dick please,” Danny began again, but was stopped by Dicks piercing stare.

“I didn't die, Danny. I didn't die because that would mean he was right and I can't-”

Dick let out a noise somewhere between a gasp for air and a dry sob. It tore at Danny's core to hear but considering how Dicks reaction to the last time he tried to reach out went, he stayed in place. One of the blob ghosts must have felt his pain, rushing over and chirping into Dicks chest. It caught the other off guard long enough to stop and take a few ragged breaths of air. The blob continued its chirping assault of cuddling into Dicks chest while the other refused to look at Danny. But in that moment Danny couldn’t have felt any more thankful for the blobs and didn't mind if Dick needed a moment. So they sat there for a moment, Dick sitting in his emotions and Danny waiting for him to calm down.

The air was charged with a tone of sorrow. It was the kind that Danny was all too familiar with. It was the kind that left you feeling that there was no chance for your life to be happy again. The kind where everything felt like it had fallen apart all around you with no hope of it being repaired. It tore at Danny’s heart that Dick of all people was left to feel this way. Where were all the people that should be here supporting him? Where was his family in all of this? Surely Danny can’t be the only one to see the pain Dick is in.

“How…”

Danny looked up at Dick who seemed to be at a loss of what to say. He wasn’t looking up at him at all, only absentmindedly playing with the blob curled against his chest.

“How did you get over it?” Dick spoke again, now looking up at Danny with an unsure gaze. “How can you just go on with your life without it constantly playing in the back of your head?”

Danny pursed his lips, knowing that his answer wasn’t one that Dick would like. Just at the action alone, he could see the little hope in the other's eyes die out. He once again turned his head to the blob ghost. With a gentle hand, Dick pets the back of the ghost's body.

“I’ve never gotten over my death. With help from my friends and sisters, I was able to accept it and heal from it… but I can never forget it,” Danny spoke solemnly.

He couldn’t help but notice the way Dicks petting movements momentarily paused at the mention of his support. It sent an alarm of concern through Danny. While he was here he couldn't believe that things could get so bad around here. There was just too much time in the layers of sadness and grime for this to be new. So why hasn't anyone tried to stop it and help? There was a disturbing painting being made before his eyes. For the sake of the heroes on this planet, he sure hopes his suspicion is wrong.

“But I promise you, Dick, that this is not the end. It might not seem like it, but things will get better,” Danny promised, something he didn’t take lightly. “I will be here to do everything I can to help you heal.”

Dick didn’t say anything back for a long time. He simply played with the blob on his chest, flicking its tail side to side in between his fingers. The blob certainly didn’t seem to mind, blubbering little chirps to itself. Neither did Danny, who could see that this was a bit too much at once for Dick.

“Are you still retired?” Dick asked eventually, looking up at Danny with a begging look.

It was one that Danny could recognize. One that was asking for them to try and pretend that nothing was wrong. To give him time to break away from reality and think things over with himself. So Danny let the conversation lead off. It would just be more damaging than helpful to continue on this path. So, conceding to Dicks wordless pleas, Danny let it go.

“Technically. But I wouldn’t mind going back out again if it means I can work with the great Nightwing,” Danny smiled, hoping to bring back the light atmosphere of before.

It seemed to work if the small smile that Dick gave was any indication. Danny hadn’t realized how happy he would be to see a real, albeit small, smile from the other again. Giving a last pat on the blob ghost's head, Dick walked over to where half of the Nightwing suit was discarded.

“Then I hope you still have your spirit,” Dick quipped back, stepping away towards a hallway. “Cause I won’t be going easy on you old man.”

Danny scoffed at the old nickname, jumping off the couch in fake offense. Although it was much too late to say anything about it before Dick scampered down the hall. He could hear a door open and close, signaling Dick is putting his suit on. Danny doesn’t envy the suit that Dick has to put on. Who would’ve thought that putting on a skin-tight suit might take someone a bit?

Luckily Danny didn’t have to even lift a finger. Letting out a breath he let the cold of his core take over, feeling a rush of weightlessness hit him. Knowing that he still had plenty of time to wait for Dick, Danny turned and opened another temporary portal. This time he had opened it directly to his keep, spotting Fright Knight in the distance.

“Frighty,” Danny called into the portal, half laughing to himself as the said knight nearly jumped. “I need a favor from you.”

After years of beating up multiple ghosts, quite a few of the citizens of the realms held respect for Danny. Honestly, it was refreshing to be able to just talk with half of the ghosts he used to fight. While he still held fights with them, cause it’s a form of affection apparently, things had cooled off for the most part.

Which means it allowed Danny to get to know a lot of them better. This is how he found out that Fright Knight was cursed to serve the king. Thankfully with a little help from Jazz studying the books in Ghost Writers library and a surprisingly life-or-death adventure, Danny freed the ghost. This led to Fright Knight giving his servitude to Danny… which kinda undermines the whole point of the adventure in the first place but it wasn’t Danny’s place to judge.

“What can I do you for, Sir Phantom?” Fright Knight asked, getting closer to the portal and standing guard right outside it.

Oh yeah, and had he forgotten to mention the nickname? Yeah, it bothered Danny too. Although he’s learned that there's not much he can do to change it.

“There are some mortals I’d like to keep an eye on. They are the vigilantes of Gotham,” Danny proposed, making it a suggestion even though he knows Fright Knight will just do anything he says anyway. “Could you look over them for me?”

Fright Knight gave a deep bow before stepping through the portal. His extremely tall frame still absolutely dwarfed Danny in size. Which means it was kinda funny to watch him step through a portal that was sized for Danny's height. He's just so used to making a portal no bigger than that that he hadn’t even considered it.

“I would be honored,” The ghost replied, to which Danny nodded with a thankful smile.

“Thank you Frighty. I’ll check in with you every once in a while,”

And with those last words, Fright Knight nodded and disappeared. He tended to be less on the wordy side anyway.

Was it smart to send someone to spy on the bats? Probably not. But chances are, Dick isn’t going to say anything. Unfortunately, Dick had a mentality that he had to deal with things that are hurting him on his own. Whether from a sense of guilt or fear of not being enough, Dick would rather lead himself into the deep end than call for help. So to figure out why he’s been left so hauntingly alone, Danny is going to have to investigate. Thankfully just him going ghost had already scrambled Dicks security cameras, so the entire conversation wouldn’t be noticed.

The sound of a door closing took Danny out of his thoughts. He turned to the opening of the hallway, feeling himself smile at Dick. It’s been a very long time since he’s seen Dick in costume. The last time he saw the Nightwing suit in person it had honest-to-god tassels. He’s honestly really glad that Dick had changed the costume since then. This new suit in front of him was much more sleek.

As he nodded to himself he could see Dick raising an eyebrow at him. He stood much more relaxed than before, a smile that didn't look entirely fake on his face.

“At least you’ve gained some sense of style after all this time,” Danny hummed, finding delight in Dicks scandalized gasp.

“I thought you loved the old costume!” Dick said, trying and failing to smother his amusement with an upset face.

Danny shrugged and folded his legs underneath him. It felt so easy to use his powers like this again. While he wasn’t exactly shy to use his powers normally, his range of them was muted in human form. As he hovered in place, he tilted his head teasingly at the other.

“Sorry, I was so busy staring at your chest that I missed what you were wearing,”

Dicks off guard laughter was the best thing Danny had heard in years.

#danny phantom #dp x dc #my writing #dc x dp #canon became my play dough for this one but thats okay #this is a bit of an old draft that had been left to drift with the other WIPs #I dont have any ideas of continuing #just thought the idea of Danny and Dick being old friends would be fun and then this was born #if anyone wants to take this and run with it with your own ideas that's cool with me #the idea of flowers that only liminals can see that bloom around memorials for the dead is something thats fascinated me since writing this #might draw them sometime :>#hope you all enjoy this!#I barely edited it from what it was in my drafts so I hope its good lmao

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jeszrosse · 13 days ago

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🧬 “Deviation”

MANIPULATIVE!Albert Wesker x Reader | One-shot AU | Reader Unaware | Deep Psychological Control | Obsession-Slowburn

⚠️ Possessive behavior • Surveillance • Delusional Justification • Isolation tactics • No reader realization • Smut • Stalking

🧬 1. [Observation]

It begins, as most things do with Wesker, in silence.

Your first day on the team, you barely warranted a glance in the surveillance feed.

Another lab technician. Another replaceable assistant. Another insignificant moving part.

But then you lingered.

Stayed late. Came early.

Read the case files beyond your clearance level and didn’t flinch at the corpses.

You passed the first test.

Not that you knew there was one.

You thought it was coincidence that no one sat beside you in meetings.

That your access card opened doors you never requested.

That the intern who made a joke about your smile was transferred within the hour.

It wasn’t coincidence.

It was calibration.

He was isolating the variables.

And you, you became an anomaly worth noting.

He began compiling minor reports on your behavior, tucked into encrypted files labeled with meaningless acronyms—justifications for your existence in his system. He logged your arrival times, the hesitation in your speech, the way you handled scalpel trays with a certain… reverence. Clinical on the outside, but with the sharpness of someone who wanted to understand.

You weren’t like the others—those limp, nodding bureaucrats or ambition-hollowed researchers. You read between lines. You saw things. You didn’t ask for approval.

It should’ve been threatening.

But instead, it was fascinating.

---

🧬 2. [Containment]

Wesker doesn’t trust easily.

He trusts data.

Outcomes.

Silence.

But you unsettled the metrics.

You moved differently. You saw things. You questioned protocols he didn’t authorize you to read.

And he watched.

The way your fingers hovered over a scalpel you didn’t need to touch.

The way your reflection lingered in the biohazard glass.

The way your laugh, rare as it was, made low-ranking guards look up.

So he changed the guards.

Restricted hallway access.

Reassigned co-workers.

Built your world to orbit only him.

And still—still you never noticed.

Not when your new desk faced his office.

Not when your login synced with his terminal.

Not when your lunch orders began arriving, already paid.

You thought it was protocol. Efficiency. Company structure.

It wasn’t.

It was obsession.

Even your chair was adjusted—replaced with one designed to support your back based on posture data from security footage. Your lighting changed imperceptibly across weeks, tailored to prevent eye strain and keep you awake longer, sharper.

He scheduled briefings when you were most alert.

Redirected minor crises to ensure you'd report directly to him.

He watched the way you blinked when you were confused.

Memorized the twitch of your mouth when you were about to ask something risky.

Your coworkers left one by one. Transferred. Fired. Reassigned.

Those who got too familiar? Disciplined. Quietly.

You didn’t wonder why your inbox felt so clean.

Why no one interrupted your concentration anymore.

Why the company started feeling like a corridor, narrowing around you.

---

🧬 3. [Degradation]

It got worse.

Or—closer to the truth.

He found himself pausing the security feed just to watch the curve of your spine as you bent over notes.

He rewound your voice recordings, cataloguing the inflections in your “Good morning, sir.”

He deleted the word sir from your tongue in his mind.

He didn’t want your respect.

He wanted your obedience.

Your trust.

Your presence, constant and unrelenting.

You belonged in his space, like air belonged in lungs.

He just hadn't told you yet.

Sometimes, you left behind small things—sticky notes, paperclips, coffee cups. Harmless. Forgettable. But he kept them all.

The mug with a faint mark of your lip balm.

The pen you once clicked while reading virology samples.

A typed memo, crumpled, with a single word scratched out and replaced. "Necessary."

He examined them not with sentiment but calculation.

These were not keepsakes.

These were proofs of proximity.

You were slipping under his skin molecule by molecule, and he needed evidence of your presence in his domain.

But there were moments—dangerous ones—when calculation gave way to something darker.

Moments when you reached for a dropped stylus beneath the lab table and the hem of your coat pulled taut across your thighs.

Moments when you tilted your head to read something over a microscope and exposed the soft column of your neck.

Moments when the feed from the surveillance cameras caught just enough.

He knew every angle of your body from security footage.

The way your blouse sometimes gaped slightly when you leaned forward.

The way you stretched without thinking, unaware of how it framed you.

Unaware of the man watching—memorizing.

It was a weakness.

A flaw in his design.

But sometimes he would watch the footage at half-speed, eyes burning, jaw clenched, and tell himself it was for behavioral monitoring.

That the brief tightening in his chest wasn’t arousal, but concern.

And yet—when you bent to pick up a file one night, alone, late, and the back of your skirt lifted just slightly—

—his fingers had twitched.

Not from irritation.

From restraint.

From the raw, silent thought that he could take you. Right there.

Not in fantasy. Not in dream. But in brutal, clinical, breathtaking reality.

He could fuck you against the sterile counter and no one would stop him.

No one would even know.

But he didn’t.

Of course he didn’t.

He was control. Discipline.

He filed the footage.

Encrypted it.

And watched it again the next night.

Hands behind his back.

Jaw locked.

Throat tight with the sick, hungry coil of desire he refused to name.

You didn’t know.

Didn’t see.

Didn’t feel the weight of a man who no longer saw you as a subordinate or asset—

—but as something already his, simply awaiting the correct time to be claimed.

---

🧬 4. [Denial]

You never caught it, but he looked away first.

Every time.

Every instance your gaze met his, however briefly.

You assumed it was deference. Coldness. That clinical thing he wore like a second skin.

But it wasn’t.

It was containment.

Because the sound of your voice—the precise cadence in which you said “Understood, Doctor Wesker”—lit up some dormant, vile thing in him.

Something untested.

Something monstrous.

He was not above temptation.

He was simply better at dissecting it.

The way you smiled at your coworkers, never at him?

He noticed.

The way you stood just a fraction closer when anxious, fingers tightening at your sides?

He filed it away.

He let others believe you were isolated by accident.

But he'd engineered that loneliness. Curated it.

Suffocated anything that threatened to pull your attention elsewhere.

You never got that offer for project co-lead.

Never received the anonymous gifts left at your desk by interns.

Because Albert intercepted them.

Silently. Strategically.

You didn’t know it was his hand pulling you toward him, only that every direction seemed to fold inward until he was the only constant.

The only man who saw you.

Who understood you.

He watched you trace your notes, watched your lips form silent syllables, and all the while he denied himself.

Denied the heat pooling in his abdomen.

Denied the cruel ache behind every “Goodnight, sir” you uttered.

Denied the nightly compulsion to run simulations of what you would sound like begging.

And when he couldn't sleep, he listened to your voice on the lab’s intercom archive.

Just to hear it.

To pretend.

To substitute control for contact.

And still—he told himself he had not crossed the line.

Not yet.

Because you were still untouched.

Still pure, in the way only someone unaware of their ownership could be.

---

🧬 5. [Possession]

He began to see it in everything.

The way others looked at you—a threat.

The way you spoke about your family—a liability.

The way you said “thank you” when he passed you reports—intolerable.

You didn’t thank him.

You didn’t understand him.

You couldn’t.

But that was fine.

Understanding would come later.

He started curating your tasks more delicately.

Steered you away from field ops, too dangerous.

Assigned you exclusively to him, citing “performance optimization.”

You didn’t protest.

You thought you were being promoted.

But in truth, you were being drawn in.

Woven tighter.

Placed carefully, perfectly, exactly where he wanted you.

In his office.

In his world.

In his reach.

Your name was embedded in his daily reports. Your security log-in pinged his terminal every time you swiped a door.

The other researchers stopped referencing your work without Wesker’s express permission. He had erased your reputation as independent—you were his now.

And no one questioned it.

Not when his gaze burned through the glass walls of the lab.

Not when he stood beside you in meetings like a shadow wearing a tailored suit.

Not when his hand briefly brushed yours while reviewing samples, and he didn’t pull away.

He didn’t need to pull away.

He had already claimed what he wanted.

---

Now, his fingerprints existed on more than your reports.

He’d rewritten your schedule to end near his. Aligned your meals. Synced your lab hours. Even your breaks were subtly shifted, your elevator stops timed perfectly with his descent.

You didn’t see it.

But he did.

Every day you returned to your workspace slightly adjusted—your chair moved back in, your pens restocked, your personal mug rotated exactly one degree counter-clockwise.

“We’re optimizing,” he’d say.

“For your convenience.”

He'd begun accompanying you to biometric checks. At first, a coincidence. The second time, an excuse. By the third, he was inputting your medical logs himself.

His voice was always calm. Always formal. Always patient.

But his gaze lingered.

His presence loomed.

And his hands—always gloved—brushed against the small of your back far too often for protocol.

---

And he watched.

From behind glass. From dark monitors. From still frames and slow replays. When your blouse sat a little too low. When your eyes wandered where they shouldn’t.

You were careless with your innocence.

But he would be careful for you.

He adjusted the brightness of the surveillance feed. Zoomed in. Studied the way you leaned too close to your keyboard.

Imagined your breath fogging the screen.

Imagined how easily that breath could hitch. Could falter. Could beg.

You have no idea, he thought.

But you will.

Not yet.

But soon.

Understanding would come later.

---

🧬 6. [Infection]

The final stage was the most dangerous.

You said his name once.

Not “sir.”

Not “Wesker.”

Just:

“Albert…?”

His gaze snaps up from the report.

You’re standing in the doorway of his office, the heel of one shoe slightly kicked back, as if you weren’t sure whether to enter. The folder in your hand trembles slightly—an involuntary twitch you don’t even notice. But he does.

He notices everything.

The breath that stutters in your throat after the name escapes.

The flicker of hesitation in your pupils when his expression doesn’t immediately soften.

The way you shift—defensive, unsure—before you correct yourself:

“I mean—sir. Sorry, I meant—sir.”

But it’s already too late.

The damage is done.

You spoke it aloud.

Not in passing.

Not as a slip of protocol.

Not with bitterness or irony.

But with concern.

Soft. Tentative. Almost gentle.

And that… that is what undoes him.

You don’t know he has a file buried six levels deep into a server no one else can access—labeled with your name, storing every image of you captured on internal footage.

You don’t know he’s wiped out four internal transfer requests that would have pulled you from his floor.

You don’t know he personally selects your meals for team events—ensuring your preferences are always met, even when no one else notices.

You don’t know he’s kept you here, orbiting him, perfectly placed, under the illusion of promotion.

And now you’ve said his name like it belongs to you.

Like he does.

“Sir,” you try again, a nervous laugh escaping you. “Apologies. I—I didn’t mean—”

He stands slowly, measured, the desk separating you like a fragile boundary he’s had to respect for far too long.

“No need to apologize,” he says coolly. “You simply… surprised me.”

But inside? His thoughts are nothing but static.

He replays the syllables.

Not just the sound, but the shape of your mouth when you said it.

He files it into memory. Deep. Permanent.

And he knows—sooner than even you do—that this is the beginning of the end for the illusion.

Because from this moment on, you’ve stopped being a project.

Stopped being a subject.

You’ve become a trigger.

A fixation.

An opening he hadn’t anticipated—but cannot ignore.

You said his name once.

You won’t realize until it’s far too late:

You’ll never say it the same way again.

Because you didn’t know what you’d done.

You didn’t hear it the way he did.

Like it was already yours to say.

Like he wasn’t a god.

Like he was a man.

A man who had already rewritten every security protocol to keep you near.

A man who eliminated colleagues who made you uncomfortable.

A man who—if you ever truly looked—might shatter the illusion of “normal” with one cold sentence:

“You’re not here by accident.”

“You’re here because I designed you to be.”

But you don’t know.

You smile politely.

You offer your reports.

You drink the coffee that arrives on your desk precisely how you like it.

You go home.

You live your life.

While he rewatches your day in full.

While he listens to your voicemails and deletes names from your inbox.

While he studies you like you’re the last unexplained miracle on Earth.

While he reminds himself that love is irrelevant.

Control is what matters.

And he already has it.

---

He’d timed every entry and exit.

He knew how long you took in the restroom.

Which hallway you paused in to check your phone.

What time of day your voice grew tired.

He saw it as clearly as he saw cell degradation under a microscope.

That slow unraveling.

That quiet compliance.

You were adapting.

Your posture had shifted. Subtly. You walked faster when alone. Slower when near him. You dressed differently—more reserved, perhaps without realizing. You avoided eye contact with male superiors.

Wesker approved.

He didn’t speak of it.

Didn’t need to.

The conditioning was holding.

You had stopped asking questions.

Stopped challenging schedules.

Stopped requesting to work from other wings.

You had folded into the environment he designed—one where he was a constant hum beneath your daily routine. Where his name lingered at the back of your tongue. Where his voice set your pace and his silence set your nerves.

---

“You don’t know what you’ve done,” he muttered to himself, watching the security footage replay. While he studies you like you’re the last unexplained miracle on Earth.

There you were again. That exact moment. Your eyes soft, confused, lips parted: Albert…?

He paused the video.

Leaned back.

Let the sound echo in the sterile quiet of his office.

It was not an accident.

Not some sweet slip of tongue.

No.

It was the infection taking root.

Your body catching up to what your environment had long accepted.

Dependence.

Deference.

Attachment.

He could work with that.

Love was messy. Emotional.

But dependence—he could mold.

He could reinforce it, reward it, create just enough tension to keep you needing his approval.

To keep you needing him.

---

(A/N: should I make a part 2??? I mean- I already have it. I just wanna hear it from you dirty sluts;>)

#fanfiction #x reader #fanfic #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker #albert wesker smut #possesive love #stalker au #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil albert wesker #albert wesker x you #albert wesker x y/n #x you #x you smut #smut fanfiction #minors dni #minors do not interact

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bu3ck3r · 3 months ago

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breaking the silence

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

wc: 11.4k

a/n: hi loves here’s the prompt and im so sorry it took so long for me to write it but i was really busy and i just wasn’t satisfied with what i wrote at first so i had to rewrite it and im still not that satisfied but i hope y’all will like it

Paige wasn’t nervous.

That wasn’t her thing. She was confident, always had been. Whether it was playing basketball, working out, or even training some of the best up and coming athletes, she handled everything with ease.

So why was she standing outside this gym, adjusting the strap of her bag for the third time, pretending she wasn’t stalling?

She sighed and shook her head. This was ridiculous. She was here for work, simple as that.

Pushing open the doors, she stepped into the facility. It was a top tier private training center, the kind designed to bring athletes back from career-threatening injuries to the peak of their game. Really nice equipment, therapy rooms, nutritionists, it had everything.

Including, apparently, her.

Azzi Fudd.

Paige had been briefed on the team working with the player she’d been assigned to help, but nowhere in that email did it say Azzi was the sports psychologist on board.

And yet, there she was, standing near the weight racks, holding a clipboard, looking annoyingly beautiful.

For a second, Paige thought Azzi hadn’t noticed her. She was in deep conversation with the athlete they’d been called in to assist—Aaron Williams, a promising young player who had suffered a brutal ACL tear and was fighting to make a full comeback.

Then, just as Paige thought she might make it to the locker room unnoticed, Azzi turned.

Their eyes met.

A flicker of surprise flashed across Azzi’s face before she schooled it into something unreadable. Paige felt her breath hitch. It had been two years since they’d seen each other. Since UConn. Since late night study sessions that turned into them just talking for hours. Since sitting next to each other on long flights, shoulders pressed together, Paige always whispering something dumb to make Azzi laugh. Since that one night, the one they never talked about, where the line between friendship and something more had blurred just a little too much.

Paige should’ve been prepared for this. But Azzi Fudd standing in front of her, dressed in fitted leggings and a zip-up hoodie, her arms crossed, eyes scanning Paige like she was assessing whether this was real or not.

“Didn’t think I’d see you back in a gym,” Azzi said, voice smooth but carrying that familiar edge of teasing.

Paige forced herself to smirk, ignoring the way her pulse picked up. “Didn’t think I’d see you pretending to read that clipboard.”

Azzi huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Still the same.”

“And you’re still avoiding my question,” Paige shot back.

Azzi sighed, finally lowering the clipboard. “I’m the mental performance coach for Aaron. Have been for a couple of months now.”

Paige arched a brow. “Damn. And you didn’t think to warn me?”

Azzi smirked, tilting her head. “Would you have come if I did?”

Paige opened her mouth, then shut it.

Before she could fire back, Aaron walked over, glancing between them. “Wait, you two know each other?”

Azzi answered first. “We went to UConn together.”

“Best friends,” Paige added, her eyes flickering toward Azzi to see if she reacted to that term.

Azzi didn’t, at least not outwardly. “Something like that.”

Aaron let out a low whistle. “Well, this should be fun.”

Fun. Yeah, that was one word for it.

Paige kept her focus on Aaron, running through the first set of evaluations. Strength, mobility, balance, she handled it all professionally. Except for the moments when she was way too aware of Azzi’s presence.

Like when she was stretching Aaron’s hamstring and felt Azzi’s eyes on her. Or when she caught Azzi biting her lip, deep in thought as she made notes, and Paige’s brain short-circuited for a solid two seconds.

She knew she wasn’t subtle, either.

At one point, Azzi walked past her to grab a resistance band, and Paige’s gaze dropped, completely involuntarily, to her waist, then her arms, then back up.

And Azzi saw.

Paige knew because the second she looked up, Azzi was already watching her, eyebrows raised, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Something on your mind Paige?” Azzi asked, her voice light but laced with amusement.

Paige, caught red-handed, rolled her shoulders back. “Yeah, actually. I was just wondering how long it’s been since you picked up a dumbbell.”

Aaron laughed, and Azzi’s jaw dropped.

“You—” Azzi huffed, shaking her head. “You’re literally impossible.”

Paige grinned. “It’s part of my charm.”

Azzi muttered something under her breath, but there was no hiding the small smile that slipped through.

And just like that, the tension they had been pretending didn’t exist started to feel even harder to ignore.

They wrapped up after an hour, Aaron heading off to cool down while Paige and Azzi were left alone near the lockers.

Azzi leaned against the wall, arms crossed, studying Paige like she was still trying to figure her out. “You didn’t tell me you were training athletes now.”

Paige shrugged, unzipping her bag. “You didn’t tell me you were counseling them.”

Azzi’s expression softened. “It helped me a lot, back when I was recovering from my own injuries. I figured maybe I could do the same for someone else.”

For the first time all day, Paige didn’t have a quick comeback.

Instead, she smiled, genuine and warm. “That’s really amazing Az. I mean it.”

Azzi met her eyes, and for a moment, it was just them.

Then Azzi looked away, pushing off the wall. “Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other again.”

Paige watched her go, her heart doing something stupid.

Yeah. A lot of each other.

And that was definitely going to be a problem.

Paige had always been competitive. It didn’t matter if it was basketball, a casual game of horse, or trying to make Azzi Fudd blush. If there was a challenge, she was taking it.

So when she caught Azzi checking her out during a session?

Yeah she was ready.

Aaron’s recovery plan was a grind, and today’s focus was rebuilding lower body strength. Paige was in her zone, demonstrating exercises, correcting Aaron’s form, and making sure the player wasn’t compensating in ways that could set them back.

Azzi was standing off to the side, observing, her arms crossed, her expression serious.

Paige pretended she didn’t notice the way Azzi’s eyes lingered on her, but internally? Oh, she noticed.

And she was about to make it worse.

Aaron was finishing a set of deadlifts when Paige stepped next to the weight rack, stretching casually, making sure Azzi had a full view of her arms.

“Gotta love strength training,” Paige said, flexing a little as she rolled out her shoulders. She glanced over, catching Azzi’s reaction.

Azzi’s eyes flickered down for half a second, half a second too long, before she looked away, lips pressing together.

Busted.

Paige smirked. “What do you think, Az? Solid form?”

Azzi exhaled through her nose, not meeting her gaze. “Your ego is truly something else.”

Aaron, completely oblivious, snickered. “She’s always like this?”

Azzi huffed, shaking her head. “Always.”

Paige grinned. “You love it.”

Azzi didn’t answer, just focused very, very hard on her clipboard, but Paige caught the way her fingers tightened slightly around it.

After wrapping up, the three of them walked toward the facility’s smoothie bar. Aaron was chatting about their progress, but Paige was fully focused on Azzi, who was fully focused on avoiding looking at her.

Paige leaned in a little as they walked. “You know, Azzi, if you wanna feel my arms, you can just ask.”

Azzi actually choked.

Aaron turned, confused. “You good?”

Azzi coughed, waving it off. “Fine. Totally fine.”

Paige bit her lip to keep from laughing.

Azzi side eyed her. “You’re ridiculous.”

Paige shrugged, completely unbothered. “And yet, here you are.”

Azzi had nothing for that.

Aaron, still clueless, shook his head. “Y’all are something else.”

Yeah. They really were.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

Paige was lying on her bed, mindlessly scrolling through her phone when it buzzed.

Azzi: Do you always flirt that much in professional settings?

Paige grinned.

Paige: Only when there’s someone worth flirting with.

Azzi took a full two minutes to respond.

Azzi: Unbelievable.

Paige laughed, rolling onto her back.

Paige: So you admit it?

Azzi didn’t text back.

But Paige knew.

Oh, she knew.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

Azzi prided herself on her discipline. It was what got her through grueling rehab sessions when her own basketball career was on the line. It was what made her a damn good sports psychologist. She knew how to separate emotions from the job. So why, why, was Paige making that impossible?

Aaron’s training session was intense today: heavy lifting, explosive movement drills, the kind of work that left them exhausted but satisfied. Paige was coaching them through the last of their reps, and Azzi was supposed to be focusing on their mental stamina.

Supposed to be.

Instead, she was losing a battle with herself.

Because Paige was in her zone, all confident energy, all muscle and smirks and cockiness.

And Azzi hated that she liked it.

She tried to ignore it. She really did.

But then Paige had to go and push her buttons.

Aaron was mid-sled push when Paige glanced over at Azzi, catching her watching.

Busted. Again.

Paige wiped her forehead with the hem of her shirt, flashing toned abs she definitely didn’t need to show off before throwing Azzi a look.

“Wanna race?” Paige challenged.

Azzi blinked. “What?”

Paige nodded toward the sled. “Me vs you.”

Azzi scoffed. “That’s not my job.”

Paige grinned. “Oh, I know. Just wondering if you still got it.”

Azzi felt her pulse spike. Paige knew exactly what she was doing.

Aaron looked between them, sensing the tension. “Ohhh, this is happening.”

Azzi exhaled slowly. “This is stupid.”

Paige just shrugged. “Backin’ out?”

Azzi gritted her teeth. Damn her and her stupid, competitive ass.

She stepped up. “Fine.”

Aaron counted them off. “Three… two… one—”

They pushed.

Paige was strong, annoyingly strong, but Azzi had power too. She dug in, matching her stride for stride, neither of them giving an inch.

By the end, they collapsed, breathless, tied.

Paige, still grinning, turned to her. “Not bad Az.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, trying not to let her smile show.

When they finished the workout Aaron left first, exhausted. But Paige and Azzi stayed back, cleaning up the space.

Paige stretched, exhaling. “Didn’t know you still had that in you.”

Azzi, despite herself, smirked. “What, thought I got weak?”

Paige’s gaze flickered over her too slowly, like she was definitely thinking something else.

“Nah,” Paige murmured. “never.”

Azzi’s stomach flipped.

She looked away fast. “I should go.”

But Paige just kept looking at her, eyes unreadable.

Azzi turned, walking out before she did something really stupid.

Like kiss her.

Or admit she wanted to.

Azzi had a problem.

And that problem was Paige Bueckers.

She’d spent years perfecting self control, learning how to separate personal feelings from professional situations. But then Paige had waltzed back into her life, all cocky smiles, ridiculous muscles, and relentless flirting, and suddenly, Azzi was failing.

Badly.

And tonight? Tonight was worse.

After their intense training session, the gym was nearly empty. Aaron had left, but Paige and Azzi lingered, tidying up the space.

Azzi turned to grab her water bottle from a bench, and that’s when she felt it.

Paige’s eyes. On her. Lingering.

Azzi froze for a beat, then slowly turned. Caught.

Paige didn’t even look away.

In fact, she smirked.

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing?”

Paige shrugged, completely unbothered. “Just admiring the view.”

Azzi’s face heated. “You’re unbelievable.”

Paige just grinned wider. “No, seriously. Do you even know how good you look in those leggings?”

Azzi’s brain short-circuited. “Paige-”

“I mean, the way they fit?” Paige kept going, knowing exactly what she was doing. “It’s honestly kinda unfair.”

Azzi opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Paige tilted her head. “What? No comeback? That’s new.”

Azzi’s jaw clenched. She could not let Paige win this one.

So she took a breath and fired back.

“You know,” Azzi said, crossing her arms, “for someone who talks this much, you don’t seem to notice that you’re the one getting checked out half the time.”

Paige blinked.

And that’s when Azzi saw it, Paige was not expecting that.

Azzi smirked. “Yeah. Thought so.”

Paige recovered fast. “Oh, so you do think I look good?”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Like you don’t already know that.”

Paige stepped closer, voice dropping slightly. “Yeah, but I like hearing you say it.”

Azzi swallowed. Why was it suddenly hot in here?

She grabbed her bag before she did something dumb. “I’m leaving.”

Paige, still grinning, walked with her. “Uh huh. Sure you don’t wanna keep talking about how good I look?”

Azzi did not answer.

Mostly because Paige was winning again.

And Azzi was in serious trouble.

Paige insisted on giving Azzi a ride home. Azzi should have said no. She didn’t.

The car was quiet at first, just the soft hum of the music.

Then Paige spoke. “So, you really think I look good?”

Azzi sighed. “You’re not letting this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

Azzi exhaled, glaring at the window like it could save her. “Paige.”

Paige grinned. “Azzi.”

Azzi groaned. “Yes, okay? You look good. You know you do.”

Paige smirked, pleased. “And you look good too.”

Azzi glanced at her, surprised. “You’ve already said that.”

Paige nodded. “Yeah, but I really mean it.”

Azzi looked away, fighting a smile.

Because for all of Paige’s teasing, when she said things like that? She meant them.

And Azzi felt it.

Too much.

Azzi had spent most of the ride home trying not to think about Paige’s words.

You look good too.

She should’ve brushed it off. Paige was always flirting, always teasing,it didn’t mean anything. Right?

Except, it kind of felt like it did.

And Azzi was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, she wanted it to.

Paige pulled into Azzi’s apartment complex and threw the car into park. Neither of them moved to get out.

Paige drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. “You gonna invite me up or just leave me sitting here?”

Azzi snorted. “Why would I invite you up?”

Paige shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because you enjoy my company?”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Debatable.”

Paige smirked, turning in her seat. “Nah. I think you like having me around.”

Azzi hesitated.

Because she did. Too much.

Paige’s voice softened. “You ever wonder what would’ve happened if we kept in touch?”

Azzi blinked at the sudden shift in tone. “What do you mean?”

Paige leaned back, exhaling. “I mean, we were close. And then… we weren’t.”

Azzi swallowed. “Yeah.”

Paige tapped the wheel again, thoughtful. “I missed you.”

Azzi’s heart skipped.

She hesitated, then admitted, “I missed you too.”

Paige smiled, slow and real. “See? I knew you liked me.”

Azzi sighed. “Get out.”

Paige laughed, but she didn’t push.

Not yet.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

The next day, Paige and Azzi met at the gym again for another training session with Aaron.

Azzi told herself things would be normal.

Then Paige showed up in a tight black tank top that did nothing to hide the definition in her arms, and Azzi immediately lost that battle.

Paige caught her looking.

And smirked.

“Like what you see?”

Azzi refused to react. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Paige flexed, just to be annoying. “Can you blame me?”

Azzi turned away, muttering, “Unbelievable.”

Paige, still smirking, leaned in. “If you want me to train you, just say the word.”

Azzi ignored the way her pulse spiked. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Paige grinned. “Yeah, maybe for now.”

But Azzi could feel her looking every time she moved.

And maybe… maybe she liked it.

After the session, Paige handed Azzi a smoothie without asking. “Drink. You look tired.”

Azzi huffed. “I’m not tired.”

Paige arched a brow. “Lying to me? Wow.”

Azzi took a sip, because arguing was pointless.

Paige watched her, something softer in her eyes. “Seriously, Azzi. You taking care of yourself?”

Azzi hesitated.

Because sometimes, she wasn’t.

Paige nudged her shoulder, quieter now. “Do I need to start looking out for you too?”

Azzi hated that her stomach flipped.

She covered it with sarcasm. “Oh, great. Paige Bueckers, personal trainer and life coach.”

Paige grinned. “Yes ma’am.”

Azzi shook her head, smiling despite herself.

Because the truth was she kind of liked having Paige in her corner again.

Even if it was dangerous.

Azzi wasn’t stupid.

She knew exactly what was happening between her and Paige. The lingering glances. The teasing that wasn’t just teasing anymore. The way her pulse jumped whenever Paige got too close.

She told herself it was harmless. That Paige was just being Paige, flirty, cocky, impossible.

But then Paige stopped playing.

And suddenly, Azzi wasn’t so sure anymore.

It started with an offhand comment.

Aaron had just left, and Azzi was about to grab her stuff when Paige stretched, arms over her head, tank top riding up just enough to be distracting and said, “You know, I could fix your form.”

Azzi blinked. “What?”

Paige grinned. “Your squat form. It could use some work.”

Azzi scoffed. “Excuse me? I have perfect form.”

Paige laughed. “Oh yeah?Prove it.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “Fine.”

She set her feet, dropped into a squat , textbook perfect, and glanced up at Paige. “Happy?”

Paige tilted her head, amused. “Hmm.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Oh my god.”

Paige stepped behind her, too close.Her hands hovered over Azzi’s hips. “Can I?”

Azzi froze.

Her brain screamed at her to say no, to shut this down before it became something she couldn’t ignore.

Instead, she whispered, “Yeah.”

Paige’s hands landed lightly on her waist.

Azzi forgot how to breathe.

Paige’s voice was softer now. “You’re leaning forward too much. Engage your core more.”

Azzi couldn’t focus on anything except Paige’s hands.

“Try again,” Paige said.

Azzi did.

Paige’s thumbs brushed over her sides. “Better.”

Azzi stood up fast, almost knocking into Paige. “Okay. We’re done here.”

Paige just grinned. “Told you I could fix it.”

Azzi grabbed her water bottle, refusing to meet Paige’s eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

Paige chuckled. “You love it.”

Azzi didn’t answer.

Because maybe, Paige was right.

They left the gym together, like usual. But something was different.

Azzi could still feel Paige’s hands on her.

And she was pretty sure Paige knew it.

The car ride was quiet. Tense in a way that wasn’t bad, just charged.

Paige tapped the steering wheel. “You okay?”

Azzi exhaled. “Yeah.”

Paige glanced at her. “You sure?”

Azzi nodded, too quickly.

Paige smirked. “You’re flustered.”

Azzi groaned. “Shut up.”

Paige laughed, but it was softer now. “Relax, Az. I’m just messing with you.”

Azzi didn’t know how to explain that that was the problem.

Because it wasn’t just messing around anymore.

And they both knew it.

Azzi lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, replaying every single stupid little moment with Paige.

The way she looked at her. The way she touched her.

The way she made Azzi feel like she was always one second away from something she couldn’t take back.

And for the first time, Azzi didn’t think she wanted to.

Azzi wasn’t used to this.

She could handle stress. Pressure. High stakes situations where the difference between winning and losing was a split second decision.

But she couldn’t handle Paige looking at her like that.

Like she knew exactly what she was doing to Azzi.

Like she was waiting for Azzi to break.

And the worst part?

Azzi wasn’t sure she wanted to hold it together anymore.

Paige had always been confident. It was part of who she was. But this? This was something else.

They were in the gym again, another session with Aaron, and Paige was being a menace.

Every time Azzi looked up, Paige was watching her.

Not subtly.

And when Azzi caught her? Paige didn’t even look away.

It was infuriating.

And unfairly attractive.

Azzi tried to focus on Aaron, on the work, on literally anything but Paige’s gaze burning into her skin.

It didn’t work.

Because Paige was relentless.

She stretched, flexing way more than necessary. Smirked when Azzi’s eyes betrayed her and flickered to her arms.

And when she caught Azzi looking, again?

She grinned. “Something you wanna say?”

Azzi rolled her eyes, forcing herself to look away. “I’m ignoring you.”

Paige chuckled. “No, you’re not.”

Azzi exhaled sharply. This woman.

Paige wasn’t done, though.

She leaned in, voice low. Too close. Too warm. Too much. “You know, if you wanna keep staring at me, you could just admit it.”

Azzi turned to face her, fully prepared to shut this down.

But then Paige’s eyes dropped, just for a second.

And Azzi realized, she was doing it too.

For the first time, Paige looked a little…caught.

A little off balance.

And that’s when Azzi did something she never thought she’d do.

She pushed back.

Azzi crossed her arms, tilting her head. “You’re staring too P.”

Paige blinked.

Azzi smirked. Gotcha.

Paige recovered fast. Grinned. “Can you blame me?”

Azzi’s stomach flipped.

She opened her mouth, to say what, she didn’t even know.

But then Aaron called for them, and the moment was gone.

Azzi exhaled. Thank God.

After the session, they walked out together, like always.

Paige was quieter than usual.

Azzi nudged her. “What? No smart comments?”

Paige glanced at her, thoughtful. “Just thinking.”

Azzi raised a brow. “That’s dangerous.”

Paige snorted. “Shut up.”

“You ever think about it?”

Azzi blinked. “Think about what?”

Paige stopped walking. Looked at her.

Azzi’s heart jumped.

Paige exhaled, almost like she was about to say something real.

Then she smirked. “Never mind.”

Azzi frowned. “Paige—”

But Paige was already walking again.

And Azzi was left standing there, wondering what the hell just happened.

Later Azzi was laying in bed, replaying every moment.

Every glance. Every word.

The way Paige almost said something.

And for the first time, Azzi admitted it to herself, really, truly admitted it.

She didn’t just like this thing between them.

She wanted it.

And maybe…

Maybe it was time to stop pretending otherwise.

Azzi wasn’t in denial anymore.

She had spent weeks pretending that what was happening between her and Paige was just playful banter, harmless, a game they both enjoyed.

But now?

Now, it was too obvious. Too intense.

And Azzi was so tired of pretending.

It started early next morning.

Azzi had barely walked into the gym when Paige leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking way too pleased with herself.

“Morning pretty,” Paige drawled.

Azzi sighed. “What do you want?”

Paige smirked. “Not even a hello? I thought psychologists were supposed to be nice.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Hello, Paige.”

Paige grinned. “Much better.”

Azzi tried to step past her, but Paige blocked her path, deliberately.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Paige tilted her head. “You seem tense. Need a personal trainer to help loosen you up?”

Azzi scoffed. “I’m fine.”

Paige shrugged, stepping closer, too close. “You sure? Cause you’ve been looking at me like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

Azzi’s stomach flipped.

But she didn’t back down.

Instead, she held Paige’s gaze. “Funny. I was gonna say the same thing about you.”

For the first time, Paige looked caught.

Just for a second.

Then she grinned. “You’re getting cocky Azzi.”

Azzi smirked. “Maybe I’ve been spending too much time around you.”

Paige’s eyes darkened, just slightly.

And that’s when Azzi knew.

They weren’t dancing around this anymore.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

Aaron was in the weight room, stretching before their session, which meant Azzi had a few minutes of freedom. Or at least, she thought she did.

Because Paige was still in her space.

She was lifting weights, deliberately showing off. Flexing a little too much. Making sure Azzi noticed.

Azzi did.

Unfortunately.

Paige caught her staring. Again.

And this time, she didn’t let it slide.

She set down the weights, wiping her hands on a towel and turned to Azzi with a slow, knowing grin.

“You checking me out Fudd?”

Azzi’s heart jumped.

She tried to play it cool. “You’re imagining things.”

Paige chuckled. “Mmm. Am I?”

Azzi refused to let her win this one.

She tilted her head. “Even if I was, it’s only fair. You’ve been staring at me for weeks.”

Paige blinked.

Azzi smirked.

Paige recovered quickly. She stepped closer, so close Azzi could smell her shampoo.

“You’re right,” Paige murmured. “I have been staring.”

Azzi’s breath caught.

Paige’s voice dropped. “And you like it.”

Azzi didn’t answer.

Because Paige wasn’t wrong.

Later that day, they were alone in the office, going over Aaron’s progress.

Paige was leaning over Azzi’s chair, pointing at something on the laptop, but Azzi wasn’t listening.

Not when Paige was this close. Not when Paige smelled this good. Not when Paige’s voice was low and teasing.

At some point, Paige stopped talking.

Azzi turned her head, and suddenly, they were inches apart.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed.

Azzi’s pulse pounded.

Paige’s eyes flickered to her lips, just for a second.

Then she pulled back.

Too fast.

Azzi swallowed. “Paige—”

Paige cut her off. “We should go.”

Azzi exhaled, frustrated. “Right. Yeah. Of course.”

But as they walked out together, she knew it was only a matter of time.

Because whatever this was?

It was about to explode.

Azzi couldn’t deny it anymore. She had been trying to focus on her work, on her client, but everything kept coming back to Paige.

Every time she saw Paige’s easy smile, the way she leaned in when they talked, the way her eyes sparkled when she was excited about something, it made Azzi’s chest tighten in a way she couldn’t ignore. She wasn’t ready to admit to herself that this wasn’t just a fleeting feeling. It had been building for months, creeping in unnoticed.

But the next day, as they walked together to the gym after their session with the player, it was harder than ever to ignore.

Paige was walking beside her, close enough for Azzi to catch the faint scent of her perfume, a mix of lavender and something more, something that felt entirely like Paige. It made her heart race, and she kept her gaze straight ahead, trying not to let Paige see how much she was affecting her.

“So, how’s the day been?” Paige asked, glancing over at her with a playful glint in her eye. She was leaning into her usual teasing energy, but Azzi couldn’t shake the vulnerability that seemed to linger in the air between them.

“It’s been fine,” Azzi replied, her voice steady even though she felt anything but calm. “Busy, but good. You?”

“Same,” Paige said. There was a beat of silence before Paige added, “I’m really glad we’re doing this together again. I didn’t think I’d miss you this much.”

Azzi stopped walking for a second, her heart skipping in her chest. She turned to face Paige, not hiding the surprise in her expression. “You didn’t think you’d miss me?”

Paige’s eyes softened. “Well, maybe I didn’t realize how much I needed this. Having someone who understands me… who gets how I think. It’s been nice.”

Azzi’s breath caught, her thoughts swirling. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Paige reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face. It was a casual gesture, but there was something so intimate about it, something Azzi couldn’t ignore.

Paige’s hand lingered for a second longer than necessary, and Azzi felt the warmth of her touch sear through her. She swallowed hard, trying to regain some composure. “You’re always so… forward,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. “Don’t you ever hold back?”

Paige smirked, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Not really. Why hold back when I know exactly what I want?” Her words were playful, but the intensity behind them made Azzi’s heart race. There was something heavy in the air between them. Something that wasn’t just about their work or their friendship.

Azzi couldn’t take it anymore. “And what is it you want, Paige?”

Paige stepped closer, her gaze steady on Azzi. “I want this..this connection we have. I want us to be… more.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, her thoughts a tangled mess. She didn’t know what to say. She had been trying so hard to pretend that her feelings weren’t there, that she was fine just being friends, but now it was impossible to deny. Her pulse quickened as she stood frozen in place, staring at Paige.

“More?” she whispered.

Paige nodded slowly, her expression softening. “Yeah. More. More than just this. More than what we’ve been pretending this is.”

Azzi felt her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe. The chemistry between them was undeniable, and she could feel the pull between them like a magnetic force, drawing them closer with each passing second.

“I—” Azzi started to say, but before she could finish her thought, Paige’s lips were on hers.

It wasn’t a kiss of desperation or heat, but something deeper, more tender. It was a kiss that held all the weight of their unspoken feelings, all the years of friendship and unacknowledged longing. Paige’s lips were soft against hers,, asking, inviting her to take the leap.

Azzi hesitated for only a second before she kissed back, her hand resting gently on Paige’s neck, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath her touch. The world seemed to disappear as they stood there, caught in the moment. It was everything Azzi had been holding back, everything she hadn’t been able to say or express.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless, their foreheads leaning together in a moment of shared vulnerability.

Azzi smiled softly, her heart still racing. “I’ve wanted that for a long time.”

Paige’s lips curled into a grin. “Same.”

Azzi shook her head in disbelief, but there was a lightness in her chest now, a freedom she hadn’t realized she needed. “You really know how to mess with me, don’t you?”

Paige laughed, the sound light and warm. “Guess I’ve had a lot of practice. You’re just too cute when you try to act all composed.” She winked playfully.

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her smile was soft, filled with warmth. She stepped closer to Paige, her voice quieter now. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

The moment felt fragile, like a delicate thread that might break if they weren’t careful, but for once, Azzi didn’t feel afraid. She didn’t feel like she had to protect herself from what she was feeling. With Paige, everything felt right.

The following days felt surreal for Azzi. It was as if the world around her had shifted just slightly, like an invisible weight had been lifted off her shoulders. After that kiss with Paige, things felt different, better, more open. Yet, Azzi was still trying to figure out what this meant, both for their personal lives and their professional dynamic.

They continued to work with the athlete, pushing through each day with a mix of intensity and subtle glances, the air thick with unspoken words. Paige was constantly teasing her, her playful energy never far from the surface. Every time Azzi caught herself staring at Paige, she quickly looked away, her face heating up with the kind of embarrassment she hadn’t felt in years.

But then Paige would catch her, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “You okay there, Fudd? Something on your mind?”

Azzi would force a smile, trying to maintain her professional composure. “Just making sure you’re not slacking off,” she’d joke, though it was clear the teasing was a cover-up for the unacknowledged tension between them.

They were in the gym one afternoon, the athlete pushing through some light drills. Paige was on the other side of the room, working with the player, while Azzi kept an eye on their progress. She couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly Paige moved, how confident she was. There was a strength to her that Azzi admired, but also something about her presence that made Azzi’s pulse quicken.

As Paige turned and caught her staring, she raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “You’re doing it again, Azzi.”

Azzi’s heart skipped. “Doing what?” she asked, trying to keep her tone casual.

“Staring at me like you’re about to say something,” Paige said, her voice playful but laced with something else, something that hinted at deeper feelings.

Azzi cleared her throat, glancing away quickly, trying to regain her composure. “I was just making sure you didn’t break your own rules.” It was a lame excuse, but it was all she could think of in the moment.

Paige crossed the room, her footsteps light but confident. She leaned in slightly, her breath warm on Azzi’s cheek as she whispered, “You know, you really should just admit that you’re into me. It’d be a lot less confusing for both of us.”

Azzi froze. She hadn’t expected Paige to be so direct. The words hung in the air between them, too close for comfort, and yet Azzi found herself unable to move. There was something intoxicating about the way Paige looked at her, something that made it hard to keep her guard up.

“I—” Azzi started, but the words caught in her throat. Her heart was racing, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts, but she couldn’t find a way to express what she was feeling. Instead, she took a step back, breaking the moment, trying to regain some control. “I’m just… not sure we should mix things up like that.”

Paige’s eyes softened, and for a moment, Azzi could see the vulnerability beneath her confident exterior. “I get it, Azzi,” Paige said, her tone quieter now. “We’ve been friends for a long time, and I don’t want to mess that up. But I also know what I want, and I’ve never been one to shy away from what I feel.”

Azzi let out a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “I don’t know if I’m ready for all of this,” she admitted, her voice soft.

“You don’t have to be ready right now,” Paige said, her voice gentle, reassuring. “I just want you to know that whatever happens, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

The warmth in her words was undeniable, and for the first time, Azzi felt the weight of her own hesitation begin to lift. Maybe Paige was right, maybe this didn’t have to be as complicated as Azzi was making it. Maybe they could still have what they had, even if it meant something more.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

It was the night before their athlete’s championship game, and the atmosphere in the hotel was buzzing with excitement. Paige and Azzi were sitting at the bar, having a quiet drink together to unwind before the big day.

The room was filled with the hum of excited chatter, but all Azzi could focus on was Paige. She was sitting next to her, her leg brushing against Azzi’s every so often, sending electric jolts through her body. They hadn’t talked much about what had happened between them earlier in the week, but it was impossible to ignore the tension that still lingered between them.

“You okay?” Paige asked, her voice low, a smile playing at the corners of her lips as she studied Azzi.

Azzi took a deep breath, trying to shake off the nervous energy that had settled in her stomach. “Just thinking about the game tomorrow,” she said, though that wasn’t entirely true. There was something else on her mind, something that had nothing to do with the game.

Paige tilted her head, her eyes never leaving Azzi’s. “You know, I can’t help but notice how quiet you’ve been tonight.” She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “what’s going on?”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, trying to hide the fact that her heart was racing. “It’s just… this whole situation. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Paige reached out, gently placing her hand over Azzi’s. The touch was simple, but it sent a shockwave through Azzi’s body. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” Paige said quietly. “We can just take things one step at a time.”

Azzi swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to their intertwined hands. She didn’t know what she was waiting for, but the closeness between them was undeniable.

Paige’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Azzi,” she said softly. “Look at me.”

Azzi did, meeting Paige’s gaze, and for a moment, everything else faded away. There was no pressure, no expectations, just the two of them, here, in this moment.

Paige’s thumb gently brushed over Azzi’s hand, and her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke again. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? Whatever this is between us… it’s worth exploring.”

Azzi’s breath caught in her throat, and for the first time in a long time, she felt a sense of peace. Maybe Paige was right. Maybe they didn’t have to have everything figured out. Maybe they could just take the leap and see where it led.

And so, with a soft smile, Azzi finally allowed herself to give in. She leaned in just enough to let her lips brush against Paige’s, and for a brief moment, the world fell away.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

The locker room was alive with excitement. The team had just clinched the championship win, and Paige couldn’t stop smiling. The athlete they had been working with for months had finally broken through, pushing past all the mental and physical barriers that had held them back. It felt like a hard-earned victory for everyone, especially for the athlete, who had fought tooth and nail to get back on the court after a serious injury.

The after-party was buzzing with energy, everyone celebrating their success. Paige and Azzi were both basking in the afterglow of their hard work, watching their athlete bask in their well-deserved spotlight. Paige had her drink in hand, and Azzi, looking impossibly beautiful in a tight, deep brown dress, had already drawn the atttention of several admirers.

As the crowd shifted around them, Paige couldn’t help but focus on Azzi. She hadn’t been able to stop stealing glances all night. Azzi’s dress hugged her body in all the right places, and Paige could feel her heart rate spike every time her eyes lingered on her. There was a magnetic pull between them, one that Paige had never quite been able to ignore.

“You look incredible,” Paige said, stepping a little closer to Azzi, her voice a bit more unsteady than usual. She was trying to keep her cool, but the alcohol and the way Azzi looked in that dress was making it nearly impossible.

Azzi glanced up at her with a smile that was both playful and warm. “You’ve said that like five times tonight,” she teased, but there was something in her eyes, something soft, something more vulnerable, that Paige hadn’t seen before.

Paige leaned in, her voice low as she replied, “Well, it’s true. Every time I look at you, it’s like I’m seeing you for the first time again.”

Azzi’s smile faltered just slightly, her eyes flicking between Paige’s lips and her eyes. “You’ve been staring at me all night. What’s going on P?” she asked softly, her voice laced with curiosity.

Paige didn’t shy away. Instead, she stepped even closer, her chest brushing against Azzi’s. “Can’t help it,” she murmured, her hand lightly grazing over Azzi’s arm. “Every time I look at you, I can’t stop thinking about how damn beautiful you are. You make it hard to think about anything else.”

Azzi’s breath hitched at the compliment, her eyes widening for a second before she let out a quiet laugh. “You’re something else, you know that?” She took a small step back, as if she was trying to process the gravity of Paige’s words.

Paige couldn’t hold back the smile that stretched across her face. “What can I say? I speak the truth,” she said, her gaze intense but playful. She took another sip of her drink, feeling the alcohol ease the tightness in her chest. “Besides, you’ve always made it hard for me to think straight, Azzi.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the honesty in Paige’s voice. “Is that so?” she asked, her tone both teasing and serious. “You’ve always had a way of getting under my skin.”

Paige’s pulse quickened at the words. The tension between them was almost unbearable now, thick with unspoken feelings and long-buried emotions. She took a step forward again, the space between them practically nonexistent.

“Yeah, well,” Paige said, her voice suddenly much softer, “there’s something about you that makes it impossible for me to forget you. You’re always on my mind.”

Azzi bit her lip, trying to suppress a smile. “You’re not exactly helping me out here,” she said, her words coming out slightly slurred. “I’m trying to keep it cool, and you’re making it really hard.”

Paige, now fully aware of how touchy she was getting after a few drinks, couldn’t stop herself. She took a step forward, letting her hands rest gently on Azzi’s waist. “Maybe that’s the point,” Paige said, her eyes softening, the tension between them palpable.

Azzi’s breath hitched, but she quickly recovered with a laugh.

The party was still in full swing around them, but it felt like the rest of the world had faded away. Paige couldn’t tear her gaze away from Azzi, not when she was so close, not when the chemistry was so thick in the air.

Azzi let out a little laugh, her eyes catching Paige’s in a way that made her stomach flip. “You’re dangerous when you drink, you know that?”

Paige shrugged, looking at her with a teasing grin. “I’m just being honest,” she replied. “If you want me to be real with you, I’ve been wanting to kiss you all night.”

Azzi froze, her eyes wide, as she took in Paige’s words. “Are you serious?”

Paige was no longer sure where the alcohol ended and the honesty began. “More serious than I’ve ever been,” she said softly, her gaze intense as she watched Azzi’s reaction. “I want to kiss you, Azzi. Right here. Right now.”

Azzi blinked, clearly caught off guard. “God, Paige, you’re drunk,” she said, though there was a flicker of something in her eyes, something that told Paige Azzi wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea.

“Well,” Paige said with a grin, leaning in just slightly closer, “I’m not the only one who’s been sneaking glances all night, right?”

Azzi’s expression softened, and she let out a sigh. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it either,” she admitted, her voice quieter now.

The words hung in the air for a second, both of them processing what had just been said. Then Azzi, looking a little tipsy herself, surprised Paige by reaching up to touch her cheek, her hand warm and steady.

“You’ve always known how to make me blush,” Azzi said, her voice low, and Paige’s heart leaped in her chest. “I’m just… afraid we’ll mess it up. But damn, it feels like it’s already happening, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe that’s the best thing,” Paige said, her tone flirtatious but also gentle. “We’ve always been in sync. Maybe it’s time we let ourselves have something real.”

Azzi smiled, her eyes soft. “Maybe you’re right,” she said. “But you’re still dangerous when you’re drunk.”

“I’m dangerous all the time,” Paige winked.

Paige looked down at Azzi’s lips, the desire clear in her eyes. The words she had held back for so long seemed to surge to the surface. “You… You always make me second-guess myself,” Paige admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I never knew what to do with what I felt for you. I still don’t.”

Azzi’s eyes softened, and she reached out, her hand gently resting on Paige’s arm. “I’ve always felt it too,” she said quietly, her voice full of emotion. “But I was afraid… afraid of what it would do to everything we’ve built, to what we were.”

Paige swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked into Azzi’s eyes. “I don’t care about that anymore,” she confessed, stepping even closer. “I don’t want to hold back anymore, Azzi. I just want to be around you.”

Azzi hesitated, her breath coming a little faster now. “Paige…” she started, but the words were cut off when Paige closed the space between them, capturing her lips in a slow, lingering kiss.

It wasn’t like the first kiss. This time, it was deeper, more urgent, filled with everything they had both held inside for so long. Paige’s hand moved to Azzi’s waist, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her body against hers. Azzi melted into it, her fingers curling into Paige’s hair, tugging her closer. The kiss deepened, each of them exploring, savoring, like they were both finally giving in to everything they had been resisting. When they finally pulled back, their foreheads rested against each other, both of them breathing heavily.

Azzi smiled softly, her hands resting on Paige’s shoulders. Paige smiled back, her fingers brushing over Azzi’s cheek. “What are we waiting for?” she asked, her voice light but filled with desire

Azzi’s smile widened, and for the first time, she seemed completely at ease. “I think we should get out of here,” she murmured, her lips curling up at the corners. “Before we do something crazy.”

Paige chuckled, her hand finding Azzi’s as they began walking toward the exit. “You’re right.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, a playful gleam in her eyes. “You’re bold when you’ve had a little to drink,” she said with a laugh.

Paige shrugged with a grin. “Guess you’ll just have to get used to it,” she replied, her voice low with a hint of flirtation.

They walked out of the party, the cool night air hitting their faces, and they both knew that things were about to change. They didn’t need to say anything more. The unspoken connection between them was all they needed now.

As they reached the elevator, Paige glanced at Azzi, feeling a surge of affection. “I don’t know where this is going, but I’m glad it’s with you.”

Azzi smiled, her eyes soft and sincere. “Me too, Paige. Me too.”

The door to Paige’s hotel room clicked shut behind them, locking them in a space suddenly charged with anticipation.

Neither of them spoke at first, but the silence wasn’t empty, it was full. Full of all the words they weren’t saying, all the tension that had been building between them since the moment they reconnected.

Azzi stood near the edge of the bed, her eyes never leaving Paige’s. “I’m gonna take a shower” her voice soft, playful.

Paige exhaled a laugh, running a hand through her hair. “I think i need one too.”

Azzi took a step closer, her hands finding the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head in one smooth motion. The tank top underneath did nothing to hide the toned muscle beneath her skin, and Paige felt her mouth go dry.

Azzi smirked at the reaction, tossing the shirt aside. “You gonna just stand there staring, or are we actually doing this?”

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re getting real cocky, you know that?”

Azzi grinned. “Only ‘cause I know you like it.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Paige didn’t hesitate any longer. She reached for Azzi’s wrist, tugging her toward the bathroom without another word.

The bathroom was warm, a subtle mist lingering from when Azzi had turned the shower on earlier. The sound of running water filled the space as they stepped inside, the small room amplifying the intimacy of the moment.

Paige turned to face Azzi, watching as she peeled off the rest of her clothes. Every inch of skin revealed made Paige’s breath hitch just a little more.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “You gonna join me or what?”

Azzi exhaled, shaking her head at how effortless Paige made this seem. She quickly stripped down, feeling the heat of Paige’s gaze as she did.

The moment they stepped under the water, it was over.

The first touch was tentative, Paige’s fingers brushing against Azzi’s skin, tracing droplets of water sliding down. Azzi inhaled sharply at the contact, her own hands coming up to rest against Paige’s waist.

“You’re so beautiful,” Paige murmured, voice barely audible over the sound of the shower.

Azzi smiled, softer this time. “You too.”

Paige leaned in, pressing her forehead against Azzi’s for just a second before tilting her head, letting their lips meet in a slow, deliberate kiss. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was perfect.

Azzi’s hands tightened on Paige’s waist, pulling her closer. The warmth of their bodies pressed together sent a shiver up Paige’s spine.

“Damn,” Paige breathed against her lips. “Been waiting for this.”

Azzi smiled, tilting Paige’s chin up so she could kiss her again, deeper this time. The steam wrapped around them, making every touch slick and heated.

Paige’s hands moved, trailing down Azzi’s back, tracing every line of muscle, every dip of her skin. Azzi let out a soft gasp when Paige’s fingers pressed into her hips, nails digging just slightly.

“Paige,” Azzi whispered, breathless.

Paige groaned at the way her name sounded on Azzi’s lips, pressing their bodies impossibly closer. “Yeah, baby?”

Azzi let out a breathy laugh, leaning into Paige’s touch. “Just… don’t stop.”

Paige had no intention of stopping.

Paige’s strong hand reached out, tracing a slow, deliberate line along Azzi’s damp shoulder. The warmth of her touch sent shivers down Azzi’s spine, igniting every nerve. As water streamed down their intertwined forms, Azzi leaned in and captured Paige’s lips in a searing kiss, deep, unhurried, and filled with years of unspoken desire.

Their kiss deepened, each caress a tender exploration of every hidden longing. Azzi’s fingers danced along the curve of Paige’s neck, pulling her closer until the heat between them grew undeniable. In the steamy glow, they kissed again, more urgently this time, fingers interlacing as they sought to erase the distance that had always lingered between them.

Paige’s hands roamed over Azzi’s ass, feeling the curves of her body that had always captivated her. Every touch was a conversation, every gentle squeeze or lingering stroke spoke of a passion that had been waiting to be confessed. The rhythm of the falling water echoed their soft moans and shared laughter as they exchanged playful kisses along the collarbone, their lips soft yet insistent.

“Tell me you’re feeling this,” Azzi murmured against Paige’s lips as she traced light kisses down her jawline. The intimacy of the moment left them both trembling, their kisses becoming a silent affirmation of everything they’d longed for. Paige’s response was a series of delicate, searching kisses that traveled slowly, mapping the contours of Azzi’s face and expressing a vulnerability that was as powerful as it was beautiful.

In the warm shower, the boundaries between them dissolved completely. Their touches became bolder, their kisses more fervent, each one a promise of the connection they’d always shared. Azzi’s hand cradled Paige’s face as she pressed her lips against hers once more, the passion building with every lingering, heartfelt caress.

Under the steady cascade of water, every kiss, every touch, wove them closer together, washing away the hesitations of the past. In that exquisite, sensual moment, their souls communicated in the language of tender kisses and gentle caresses, each movement a declaration that nothing, not even time, could keep them apart.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

The soft light of the morning streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the hotel room. The air between Paige and Azzi was thick with unspoken words, but there was also an undeniable shift in the atmosphere, a soft, almost comforting tension.

Paige woke up slowly, her head feeling slightly fuzzy from the drinks the night before, but it wasn’t the alcohol that made her heart race. It was the fact that Azzi was lying next to her, their bodies tangled in the sheets, the warm weight of Azzi’s arm resting across her waist.

For a few moments, Paige just stayed still, trying to process everything. The kiss. The touches. The confessions that had been hanging in the air for so long. She had never expected any of this to happen, yet here they were, in the quiet aftermath.

Azzi stirred, her eyes fluttering open. When she saw Paige, a small, shy smile spread across her face, and for a second, Paige’s breath hitched in her throat. The woman she had secretly wanted for years was here, next to her, and it felt more real than anything she had ever imagined.

“Good morning,” Azzi said softly, her voice still a little groggy but warm and full of affection.

Paige smiled, her heart doing a little flip in her chest. “Good morning,” she replied, her voice a little hoarse. She moved closer, resting her head on Azzi’s chest, inhaling the scent of her shampoo, the softness of her skin.

There was a comfortable silence, just the two of them, wrapped in each other’s arms. Paige finally spoke, her words carefully chosen. “So… what now?”

Azzi chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair out of Paige’s face. “I don’t know,” she said. “But I think we’ve got a lot of things to figure out.”

Paige looked up at her, her eyes serious. “I know we do. But… Azzi, I don’t want to pretend anymore. Not after last night. Not after everything.”

Azzi’s expression softened, her hand gently caressing Paige’s cheek. “I don’t want to pretend either,” she whispered. “We’ve both been pretending for too long, haven’t we?”

Paige nodded, her heart pounding. She could feel the weight of their history, the years of unsaid words, but now, here in the quiet of the morning, it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

“We have all the time in the world,” Azzi said, her voice warm and reassuring. “Let’s figure it out. Together.”

The sincerity in Azzi’s voice made Paige’s chest tighten with emotion. She smiled, her heart swelling with happiness. “I can’t believe we’re here,” she whispered, almost to herself.

Azzi smiled back, her thumb tracing soft circles on Paige’s arm. “Neither can I,” she said. “But I’m glad we are.”

They stayed in that quiet, intimate moment, not needing to say anything more. Words weren’t always necessary when it felt this right.

A few weeks had passed since that night in the hotel room, and things between Paige and Azzi had shifted in ways that felt almost surreal. They were no longer just two people reconnecting, they were building something new, something real. Something that felt like it had been waiting for them all along.

The gym had become a regular meeting place for them, but it wasn’t just about the athlete they were helping anymore. It wasn’t just about recovery or progress. Now, it was about them, about what they were becoming.

Paige and Azzi had slipped into a new routine, one where they were constantly teasing each other, exchanging glances full of meaning, and laughing at all the inside jokes that only they understood. Their playful flirtation had turned into something deeper, something that neither of them wanted to rush, but neither could deny.

One afternoon, after a particularly intense training session, they found themselves alone in the locker room, the rest of the team having already left.

Azzi was sitting on a bench, stretching out her muscles, when Paige came over to her, a mischievous grin on her face.

“What?” Azzi asked, looking up at her, her expression a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

Paige leaned against the wall, her eyes narrowing playfully. “You look good in that tank top. But I bet you’d look even better without it.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. “You never stop, do you?”

Paige smiled, moving closer. “Why would I? I’ve got to keep you on your toes.”

Azzi tilted her head, a teasing glint in her eyes. “You think I’m not already?”

Paige paused, then gently reached for Azzi’s hand, pulling her up from the bench. “You know,” she said softly, “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.

Azzi’s breath caught in her throat as she looked into Paige’s eyes, seeing the depth of emotion there, the vulnerability she had never seen before. “What do you mean?”

Paige took a step closer, her hand resting against Azzi’s arm. “I mean that I’m all in. No more pretending. I want this. I want you.”

Azzi’s heart skipped a beat. She had known how she felt for so long, but hearing Paige say it out loud made everything feel more real than ever. She smiled softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want you, too.”

The space between them seemed to disappear in that moment, and before either of them could second-guess it, their lips met in a kiss that was soft and slow, full of all the unspoken things they had been carrying for so long. The kiss was a promise, a promise to no longer hide, to no longer be afraid of what they wanted.

As they pulled away, Paige smiled, her forehead resting against Azzi’s. “I’m glad we’re finally here.”

Azzi’s smile mirrored hers. “Me too. We’ve got a lot ahead of us, but I think we’re ready.”

And for the first time in a long while, Paige felt at peace. The future was uncertain, but with Azzi by her side, she knew she was exactly where she was meant to be.

It had been a couple of weeks since they had finally admitted to each other how they felt, and things had only gotten better between Paige and Azzi. Their playful banter, shared smiles, and stolen glances had turned into something deeper, something that was now moving toward the kind of relationship that Paige had always dreamed about but never quite knew how to find.

One evening, Paige decided it was time to take the plunge. She had been thinking about it all week, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was nervous. Sure, she had always been confident, but when it came to Azzi, it was different. The weight of her feelings was heavier now, and she wanted to make this moment special.

Paige found herself pacing around her apartment, running her fingers through her hair and muttering to herself. “You got this,” she muttered, glancing at her phone. It was already 6 p.m., and she still hadn’t called Azzi. She wasn’t sure if she was going to be too forward, but she finally dialed Azzi’s number, trying to keep the nerves from showing.

The phone rang a few times before Azzi answered, her voice soft and sweet. “Hey, what’s up baby?”

Paige grinned, suddenly feeling a little more at ease. “Hey beautiful, so, I’ve been thinking,” she began, biting her lip. “I know we’ve been hanging out a lot, but I want to do something different tonight. I was wondering if you’d be up for, well you know, going on a real date with me?”

Azzi was quiet for a moment, and Paige could hear the smile in her voice when she finally spoke. “A real date, huh? That sounds nice.”

Paige’s grin widened. “Yeah. Dinner, maybe. Something low key. We could do whatever you want, though. It’s just… I want to spend more time with you.”

Azzi laughed softly. “I think I can manage that.” There was a brief pause before Azzi added, “When do you want to do this?”

Paige’s grin widened. “How about in an hour? I’ll come pick you up?”

“I’ll be ready,” Azzi replied with a slight chuckle.

A little over an hour later, Paige arrived at Azzi’s apartment, her heart pounding in her chest. She had chosen a casual outfit, a black leather jacket, a white t-shirt, some silver jewelry and a pair of jeans, something she knew would make her feel confident, yet still look effortless. She rang the doorbell, her palms sweaty from the anticipation.

Azzi opened the door, and Paige’s breath caught in her throat. Azzi was wearing a simple, yet stunning, black dress that hugged her figure just right. Her soft curly hair, falling over her shoulders, and her smile was enough to make Paige’s heart skip a beat.

“Wow,” Paige said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You look… amazing.”

Azzi’s cheeks flushed a soft pink as she adjusted the strap on her dress. “You look really good P” she said, reaching for her purse. “I didn’t think you’d actually go all out for this date.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “You think I don’t know how to impress a girl?” She winked playfully, and Azzi rolled her eyes, clearly trying to hide her smile.

“You’re ridiculous,” Azzi said, but she was laughing. “Let’s just get going before you talk me into something I’ll regret.”

Paige chuckled, offering Azzi her arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. ��I promise, no regrets.”

The night was filled with laughter and conversation, and it felt so effortlessly easy to be with Azzi. They went to a cozy restaurant that Paige knew Azzi would love. It was quiet, intimate, with soft lighting and an incredible menu.

As they sat down, the chemistry between them was undeniable, but this time it wasn’t just about playful teasing, it was about getting to know each other in a deeper way.

“So,” Paige began, taking a sip of her wine, “tell me something about your time at UConn that I don’t know. Something I don’t even know about you.”

Azzi leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “Hmm. Well, I don’t know if you remember this, but when i was freshman, I used to sneak into the gym in the middle of the night just to practice my shots. Everyone was always so busy with their own schedules, but I hated being behind. So I’d go by myself, thinking no one would catch me.” She smiled at the memory. “You were one of the only ones who ever caught me.”

Paige laughed softly, shaking her head. “Of course I caught you. You were always sneaking around, trying to get better. I remember that night so clearly. You were drenched in sweat, trying to make that one shot. I should’ve known then that you were a little bit of a perfectionist.”

Azzi chuckled. “I was such a perfectionist back then. Still am sometimes.” She met Paige’s gaze, her smile softening. “I think I just wanted to prove myself.”

Paige’s expression softened as well, and she nodded. “I get it. You’ve always had this drive. It’s one of the things I admire about you.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow playfully. “Really? You admire my stubbornness?”

Paige smirked. “I admire your dedication. You’re always pushing yourself, even when it’s not easy.”

Azzi grinned. “Well, I’m glad someone noticed.”

Paige leaned back in her seat, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass. “What about you? What’s something about me you’ve never told me?” she asked, her voice quiet and teasing.

Azzi thought for a moment, then leaned in slightly. “Honestly, I always knew you were going to be amazing. You were always so calm and collected. I think you were one of the only people I knew at UConn who didn’t let the pressure get to you. And I could tell you cared so much about everyone, even when you didn’t say much. You’re always the one who listens, always the one who makes sure everyone’s okay.”

Paige blushed slightly at the compliment, ducking her head. “I… I never really knew what to say in those moments. But I always tried to be there for my teammates, for you.”

Azzi’s heart warmed at the sincerity in Paige’s eyes. “You were always there, Paige. Always.”

Paige smiled, meeting Azzi’s gaze again. “I’m glad. And… I’m glad we’re here now.”

The words hung in the air between them, and for a moment, it felt like the world had slowed down. They weren’t at UConn anymore. They weren’t players and trainers, they were just two people, sitting across from each other, sharing a quiet moment that felt like it was meant to be.

“Me too,” Paige whispered, her voice softer than before. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Azzi smiled, and for the rest of the evening, they talked more about their past, their memories at UConn, and everything that had led them to this moment. It was a night full of laughter, warmth, and a connection that was undeniable.

And as they walked out of the restaurant, side by side, Paige knew that this was only the beginning. There were so many more moments ahead of them, and she couldn’t wait to see where it all went.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #pazzi fics #fiction #paige x azzi

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neurotica-tales · 9 days ago

Text

Marked by the Chief (Yandere Hiccup x Reader) (1k Likes Special 1/10)

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You were never meant to linger—just a curious traveler chasing your fascination with dragons, passing through Berk on your way to somewhere else. A week, maybe two. Just enough time to admire the wild skies, feel the wind beneath a dragon’s wings, and move on.

But then you met Toothless—wide-eyed, brilliant, and impossibly endearing. And where the dragon went, his rider followed.

Hiccup Haddock. Chief of Berk.

You didn’t plan to grow close. Didn’t expect the quiet talks in the forge, the shared laughter, the way he looked at you like you hung the stars. Somewhere between dragons and drifting snow, you found yourself tethered—to him.

What you didn’t know was that Hiccup had been tethered to you since the moment he laid eyes on you.

You saw kindness in him. He saw forever in you.

Hiccup tried to be patient. To bury the obsession clawing its way through his ribs. To hide the fire that burned hotter every time you smiled at someone else. But tonight, beneath the roar of the village bonfire and the pulse of sweet mead in your veins, something snaps.

You belong to him. And he’s done pretending you don’t.

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Content Warnings: NSFW, Explicit Sexual Content, Yandere themes Breeding, Dubious Consent, Dark Romance

This story contains explicit sexual content and is intended for mature audiences only. If you are under the age of 18, please do not continue reading. This material is not suitable for minors.

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To find the prequel of this story, click HERE.

Next: Yandere Hiccup Headcanon, Yandere Tuffnut headcanon

To find my master list, click HERE.

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The bonfire roared at the heart of the village square, its flames crackling and casting golden light across laughing faces and dancing shadows. The smell of roasted meat, sweet mead, and pine-sap-soaked timber clung to the crisp night air. It was the kind of warmth that seeped into your bones, even as the cold wind whispered from the sea beyond the cliffs.

Hiccup Haddock stood near the edge of the crowd, fingers curled tightly around a carved wooden cup, knuckles pale with tension he refused to let show. He should’ve been celebrating. Should’ve been laughing with Astrid or challenging Snotlout to another round of dragon racing boasts. But instead, he was watching you.

You sat on a log near the fire, cheeks flushed, eyes glowing in the firelight as you laughed at something Ruffnut said. The way your head tipped back when you smiled—it did something to him. Twisted his insides into something unrecognizable. Something needy. Dangerous.

He’d watched you every day since you arrived. At first from afar, then more boldly, especially after that awkward misunderstanding at the forge. It should’ve embarrassed him, thinking you’d been following him—only to find out it was Toothless who had caught your eye. But it hadn’t. Not really.

In truth, it had excited him. The idea that you might be interested, that you might have already noticed the bond between dragon and rider and been drawn in by it. That maybe—just maybe—you were beginning to see him.

And now, he couldn’t stop.

He told himself he was being careful. Measured. Subtle. That he wasn’t letting this obsession take over. But the truth was, he lived for the moments when your eyes flicked toward him in a crowd. When your voice—soft and thoughtful—curled around his name like it belonged there. When you stopped by the forge and leaned just a little too close to see his latest design.

Every interaction fed the fire he kept locked behind his ribs.

And tonight, it burned hotter than ever.

The party was in full swing. Dragons nestled around the fire’s edges, their low rumbles blending with the music. Children ran barefoot through the snow, chasing sparks from the bonfire. Mead sloshed in every cup, and Hiccup couldn’t take his eyes off you.

You were flushed from the drink. He could tell by the way your movements slowed, softened, the way you leaned into Ruffnut with laughter that sent heat rushing to his face.

He hated how vulnerable you looked—tipsy, unguarded, surrounded by people who didn’t know how delicate you really were. People who might lean too close, say something too bold, brush your arm and think it meant something. People who didn’t know how much you meant to him.

A flare of jealousy twisted in his chest when Eret handed you another drink, his fingers brushing yours. Your eyes lit up in thanks.

Hiccup’s grip on his cup tightened until the wood creaked.

He knew he was being unreasonable. You weren’t his—not really. You had every right to talk to whomever you pleased. But gods, the thought of you smiling at someone else like that—it drove him mad.

He took a long breath. Tried to calm the storm in his chest.

Then your eyes found his across the firelight.

You smiled.

A small, lazy thing. Drunk, maybe. But real.

Hiccup’s heart stuttered.

He raised his cup in silent acknowledgment, hoping the gesture masked the way his hands were shaking.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He pushed through the crowd, weaving between villagers and dragons, his movements more purposeful than they had any right to be. Every step felt like a breaking point.

He found you mid-dance, your arm looped through Ruffnut’s, laughter spilling from your lips as you stumbled through a clumsy spin.

You didn’t see him until he was right there—reaching for your elbow, steadying you as your foot slipped.

"You’re drunk," he said, more a statement than a question.

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed and a little dazed. “Maybe a little.”

He didn’t smile. He couldn’t. Not with the way his heart thundered and his thoughts spiraled.

"Come on," he said gently. "Let me walk you back."

You started to protest, but stumbled again, this time against his chest. He caught you, both hands at your waist, the contact searing.

You smelled like smoke and honeyed mead and cold air. Your breath ghosted against his collarbone.

“Okay,” you mumbled. “You win.”

He didn’t speak. Just turned with you and began to walk.

The path away from the bonfire was quiet. Dark. Only the occasional lantern lit the way. Snow crunched beneath their boots. The warmth of the party faded into distant sound. Behind them, dragons settled for the night, their massive bodies creating dark mounds along the village borders.

He should’ve said something. Anything. But the silence was easier. Safer.

Your shoulder brushed his. His hand hovered near your lower back, not quite touching, but close enough to feel your body heat.

Every step was torture.

You hummed under your breath. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to drink so much. Ruffnut kept refilling my cup.”

He swallowed. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You turned to look at him. “You sure? I’m not making you miss the fun, am I?”

“I wasn’t having fun,” he said. Too quickly.

You blinked.

“I mean—not really. Not without you.”

That hung in the air. Unspoken and heavy.

You looked away. “Eret said the patrol was easy. I guess that’s worth a celebration.”

“Eret,” he repeated flatly.

You didn’t notice the change in his tone.

“He touched your arm. Twice.”

You turned to him, half-amused, half-surprised. “Hiccup… are you jealous?”

His gaze snapped to yours.

“Should I not be?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but something in his expression froze you. Raw. Honest. Desperate.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” you whispered.

His jaw clenched. Not in anger. In restraint.

He stepped closer. Close enough to smell the mead on your breath, to see the gold flecks in your eyes. Close enough that the hunger he’d buried for weeks clawed its way to the surface.

“You drive me crazy sometimes, you know that?”

Your smile faded.

He reached for your wrist, fingers trembling. He had no idea who moved first. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was him. But suddenly—

He moved forward, and his lips crashed against yours.

His mouth was rough. His teeth clacked against yours in that first brutal moment. But then his lips softened, and he curled his tongue around yours. He felt your hands fist in his clothes, pulling him closer. Your nails raked against his chest as you arched into him. Your breath hitched, and he drank it in. Your mouth was hot and wet, and you tasted like sweet mead and berries. He couldn't get enough. He couldn't stop. He wanted to consume you, taste you, drink you in.

No longer trying to be soft or tender, he lifted you into his arms. He cradled you against his chest and carried you towards the steps of your hut. He couldn't wait. He couldn't slow down, but he just had to stumble once—one of the downsides of having a peg leg he suppose—but caught himself with a breathless laugh that died between your mouths.

No sooner had he opened the door, it slammed shut behind him, the sound of the solid wood hitting its frame echoing in the hut. The sudden quiet of the hut enveloped you both, broken only by the hitch of your breath and the ragged sound of his own. The fire had long gone out, but heat bloomed anyway—from him, from you, from the fever in his chest that had finally, finally broken free.

He pushed you gently against the wooden wall, his hands framing your face now, thumbs stroking your cheekbones as if to memorize the shape of you.

“I tried,” he whispered against your lips. “I tried to wait. To go slow.”

Your fingers cupped the back of his neck, pulling him back in.

“I didn’t want to scare you away,” he breathed. “But I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t—not tonight.”

You kissed him again, and it broke the last of his resolve.

His world had narrowed to you. The soft hitch in your breath, the weight of your body in his arms, the look in your eyes. He didn’t even think. He couldn’t. His thoughts had long since frayed under the weight of everything he’d been holding back.

You were in his arms. You’d kissed him back.

He couldn’t stop now.

He lunges forward once again, his mouth crashing into yours. It’s not gentle. It’s not soft. It’s starvation, pure and raw. His teeth clash against yours, but then his lips part, tongue sweeping in to claim yours. You moan into him, your hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer. You need more.

You need all of him.

Your bodies press together, the heat of him searing through your clothes. You can feel his cock, hard and insistent, against your stomach. You grind against him, a gasp tearing from your lips as his hands roam over your body, memorizing every curve, every line.

Clothes fell away piece by piece, careless and trembling. His fingers were clumsy, not from lack of experience, but from too much feeling. Too much need. It wasn’t about lust. Not just lust. It was desperation, devotion, weeks—months—of restrained longing finally clawing its way to the surface. He lifted you like you weighed nothing, carried you to the bedroom upstairs, his mouth never straying far from yours. He doesn’t break the kiss even as he lowers you onto the mattress, his body covering yours, his weight pinning you down.

You love it.

You love the feel of him, the taste of him, the smell of him. You love everything about him. Your hands are everywhere, pushing his clothes off, needing to feel his skin. He breaks away from your mouth, his lips trailing down your throat. He nips and licks, marking you, claiming you. You gasp, arching into him, your nails digging into his shoulders. He groans, the sound vibrating against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“Hiccup,” you whisper, his name a plea, a prayer, a promise. “Please.”

He growls, his lips moving lower, over your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts. Your nipples peak, aching for his touch. He doesn’t disappoint. He takes one into his mouth, sucking hard, his tongue licking and teasing. You cry out, your back arching, pressing more of you into his mouth. He groans, his hand cupping your other breast, thumb and forefinger rolling your nipple until you’re writhing beneath him.

He moves lower, his lips trailing over your stomach, his tongue dipping into your belly button. You shiver, your hands gripping his hair, urging him on. You can feel your arousal, slick and hot, coating your thighs. You can smell it, sweet and intoxicating, and it drives you both wild. He moves lower still, his lips brushing against the inside of your thighs. You can feel his breath, hot and ragged, against your skin. You tremble, your body aching with need.

He looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours as he leans in, his tongue sweeping out to taste you. You gasp, your eyes fluttering closed, your head falling back. He groans, the taste of you driving him mad. He licks and sucks, his tongue delving into you, tasting every inch of you.

You’re so wet, so ready, and he can’t get enough. He slips a finger inside you, then another, his tongue never stopping its relentless assault on your clit. You’re panting, your hips moving in time with his fingers, your body tightening around him.

“Hiccup, more,” you beg, your voice breathless, desperate. “Please, more.”

He grins against you, his fingers moving faster, his tongue licking harder. You cry out, your body convulsing as your orgasm hits you. He drinks it down, his tongue licking up every drop of your pleasure. He looks up at you, his chin glistening, his eyes wild. You meet his gaze—his eyes wide, unguarded and covered in lust—and in that moment, something clicks into place.

Your chest rises and falls with each breath, lips parted, skin tingling with the closeness of him. And you know. Something fundamental has shifted, fragile tension giving way to something inevitable. All those days spent circling each other, trading glances and half-measures, have led to this. There’s no going back now—not with the way he’s looking at you like you’re everything.

Hiccup crawls up your body, his lips finding yours. You can taste yourself on him, and it drives you wild. He kisses you deeply, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming you, possessing you. You moan as his hips grinding against yours, his cock hard and insistent against your thigh. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him into you. He can feel his control slip. He’s trembling, his body shaking with the effort of holding back.

“Fuck me,” you whisper, your voice soft, your eyes pleading. “Please, Hiccup. Fuck me.”

Hiccup doesn’t need to be told twice.

He shifts, his hips moving between your thighs. He can feel your heat, your wetness, and it’s torture. He needs to be inside you. He needs to feel you around him, to hear your cries, to feel your body shudder with pleasure. Without any hesitation, he thrusts forward, sliding into you inch by inch.

A sound tears from both your throats the moment he pushes into you—half-gasp, half-groan—raw and unfiltered. The stretch of him is intense, nearly too much, but it’s exactly what you craved. He fills you completely, thick and hard, fitting like he was made for this. For you. His body still trembles with restraint, his fingers digging into your hips like he needs to anchor himself or risk shattering entirely.

He pulls back, slow, torturous—and then drives back in, harder this time. The cot creaks beneath you, the force of his body slamming into yours echoing through the quiet hut. Each thrust is desperate, like he’s trying to etch himself into your very bones. You rise to meet him, instinctive, your hips tilting to take him deeper. The friction is exquisite, your bodies slick with sweat, the air thick with heat and breathless gasps.

Your fingers claw at his back, and he moans—deep, guttural—like the feeling of you under him is too much to bear. His forehead presses to yours, his breath coming in ragged pants, every exhale ghosting over your lips. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, voice cracked and reverent, like it’s a truth carved into his soul. “You’re mine.”

His pace stutters as you clench around him, and his hand slips between your bodies, desperate to pull you over the edge with him. His thumb circles, trembling, and your cry cuts through the room like lightning. His own release is barreling toward him, his rhythm faltering, hips jerking—each thrust more frantic, more erratic, until all that’s left is heat and want and the sharp, aching need to fall with you.

You’re both spiraling now, tangled together in a frenzy of motion and sound and breath. Every nerve in your body screams, tuned to him. To the way he gasps your name. To the way his hands hold you like a man clinging to the only thing keeping him alive.

And gods, you’re both so close.

He withdraws with a sharp gasp, only to grasp your waist and guide you onto your hands and knees, his touch urgent but careful—like he’s trying not to break you even as he falls apart himself. The shift in position sends a thrill through your body, anticipation coiling hot and heavy in your stomach.

Then you glance back at him—your cheek flushed, lips parted, eyes locking with his—and what you see there nearly steals the air from your lungs.

Hiccup’s gaze burns.

There’s nothing held back now. No softness. No fear. Only hunger. A raw, unrestrained need that’s been simmering beneath the surface for weeks—boiling over now with primal force. He looks at you like a man starved, like he’s waited too long to taste something he was never supposed to have.

And now that he has it, he’s never letting go.

He thrusts into you again, hard, deep, and the sound you make rips through him like a blade. His hands find your hips, fingers digging into your skin like he needs to brand you with his touch. Each snap of his hips drives him deeper, the force of it jolting through you, sending the cot creaking beneath the two of you in a relentless rhythm.

You brace yourself, crying out with every motion—every ragged stroke of his body against yours. He leans over you, one hand sliding up your spine, his chest flush to your back as his mouth finds your shoulder, your neck, your ear.

“You feel—gods—you feel so good,” he groans, voice thick and broken, like he’s unraveling. “Like you were made for me. Only me.”

His words aren’t just lust—they’re possession, devotion, obsession—all twisted into one searing breath against your skin.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes in the tiny hut, wet and rhythmic, mingling with your gasps and his groans. It’s a symphony of need and surrender, primal and carnal, but underneath it all is something terrifyingly tender. Something worshipful.

He’s not just claiming your body.

He’s claiming everything.

“Harder,” you beg, your voice breathless, desperate. “Please, harder.”

He obliges, his hips slamming into yours, his cock hitting that spot deep inside you that makes you see stars. You’re panting, your body trembling, your orgasm building, coiling tight in your belly.

“Come for me,” Hiccup growls, his voice harsh, his body shaking. “Come for me, my love.”

And you do. Your body convulses, your back arching, your head thrown back. You cry out, his name a desperate, pleading sound on your lips. And it undoes him. He thrusts once more, his body shuddering, his release tearing through him. You feel his seed flood into you as he collapses onto you, his body shaking, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

You can feel his heartbeat, his breath, his body against yours, and it’s perfect. It’s everything. He rolls to the side, pulling you with him, his arms wrapping around you. You can feel your heartbeat, your body still trembling. He presses kisses to your forehead, your temple, your cheek. He can’t stop touching you, kissing you, holding you. He never wants to let you go.

You’re his.

His precious traveller from the South.

You are his love, his everything. And Hiccup would do anything to keep you beside him.

Anything.

As his hand drifts tenderly over your stomach, possessive and reverent, a smile curls on his lips—soft, secretive, and utterly unshakable.

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Tags: @cup1der0s

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#minors dni #httyd #male yandere #obsessive love #yandere hiccup x reader #yandere hiccup #dark romance #spicy romance

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