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writing-mlm · 5 months ago

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The Price of Losing

Summary: Being sucked into a video game world because two Doom’s are trying to take over the world is bad enough. But dealing with a try-hard support who hasn’t lost since this started is beyond crazy, thankfully Lin has the perfect way to break that streak. Pairing: Lin Lie x Male!Reader Wc: 5.6k tags/warning: canon-level violence, porn WITH plot, jealous Lin, sex as a bribe, mating press, riding, finger sucking, degrading said as praise, healers being yelled at, I spent way too much time looking at Hydra and Tokyo-2099 maps for this, powers based on Raven (Dc comics) a/n: hiii people in my phone, take this smut as my peace offering

“Thank you,” Storm smiles as you use the darkness to suck the life from the enemy team, using their life force to heal your team. Iron Fist, Venom, Cloak, and Captain America fall to the ground as you let them go, their bodies slump on the ground. Hawkeye and Wanda quickly finish the ones you didn’t kill, leaving the domination point filled with only your team. You watch as their bodies time out, your shoulders dropping as you get a couple of seconds to relax. Floating, you cross your legs and heal yourself. Venom has been diving you for the past twenty minutes and you didn’t want to overwhelm Jeff with healing you.

You didn’t mind being into an alternate universe, although you’d been mostly retired from the whole hero scene up until that point. It’s been six months of this, some weird video game where you were sometimes picked to play against other heroes from different universes. Or was it timelines? You couldn’t keep up— didn’t, if you were being honest.

It was nice, although you’d been stuck with your main role being a healer. You certainly weren’t known for your healing back home, but you did heal exceptionally well. You grin as you check your cuff, twenty-zero-thirty-eight with almost thirty thousand healing. With your whole team having a giant zero next to the number of times they’ve died, you guess you were well-suited to being a healer.

Well, not Jeff. He always died with the enemies he swallowed instead of spitting them out for some reason.

“My ultimate is ready!” Storm calls, her voice echoing through your earpiece.

“We only have ten seconds left, you should wait!” You warn, looking around for her, and find her at the entrance of the enemy team, ready to press the button. “We’ll go into our final match before they get here.”

“But I hate going into overtime!” Hawkeye groans, checking his quiver as more arrows appear from thin air. Rolling your eyes, you watch and listen as Galatca starts her countdown. As she does, you see the other team rushing towards the point. Iron Fist rapidly punches to launch himself forward while Rocket is using his jetpack to try and back it before time runs out. Unfortunately for them, they’re just a second too late as the round ends with you face-to-face with Iron Fist.

He huffs as time slows down, the air blowing into your face as you wink before being transported to the waiting room of the next map.

“Who has their ultimates ready?” Bucky’s voice drowns out the sound of him rolling his metal arm. “I’m at sixty-eight,”

“Full,” You reply after checking your meter.

“Me too,” Storm nods.

“Ninety,” Wanda sighs. “Hopefully Cloak doesn’t vanish his team again,” You hum, looking around for a water bottle in the throne room. They’re usually hidden around somewhere.

“Ten,” Hawkeye frowns. Jeff barks something and then spins, water splashing around as he does.

“It’s full,” You translate for him and he jumps, throwing a healing bubble at you to confirm. Bucky nods as you get a small speed boost, using the time to scratch the bottom of Jeff’s chin. His back paws rapidly hit the floor and you coo before hearing the countdown starting up.

“I’ll stay in the back line. If all six touch base I’ll pop my ult,” You tell them as everyone stands at the entrance.

“I’ll keep their tanks off of you,” Wanda promises.

“Me and Storm will push them back, Hawkeye should stay in the rafters and pick off anyone who gets past us.”

“Sounds good to me!” Hawkeye agrees and the doors open. Jeff gives everyone a speedboat and you all push towards the middle room.

The Hydra map is the Frozen Airfield, so while Hawkeye takes the side entrance to get to the balcony the rest of you take the hallway straight there. By the time you get there, you hear Rocket's feet pattering against the metal and Captain America’s heavy footsteps. He’s such a pain in your ass, but hey, at least he can’t knock you off of the map this time.

From the corner of your eye, you see Dagger talking before Captain America gives a confirmation nod.

“Cloak and Dagger are about to ult,” You warn, using the darkness to push Squirrel Girl back. You haven’t spotted Iron Fist yet but you see Venom swing down from the other balcony.

“Got her,” Storm says and leaves the point to deal with her. Knocking down Rocket and Squirrel Girl with your darkness blast ability, you give Wanda a little extra healing as she deals with the Venom desperately trying to nab you. Finishing the two off, you glance around to see if anyone needs healing. Storm is coming back from an eliminated Cloak and Dagger, getting healed by Jeff who’s happily waddling around.

“Iron Fist has his fist shoved up my—“ Hawkeye cuts himself off as he jumps from the balcony, rolling to your side as you rapidly heal him. Reloading, you and Hawkeye tag team Iron Fist just as he pops his ultimate, thankfully, though, Storm notices the crowded point and pops hers, too.

Pulling everyone from the enemy team closer to her, you work on healing the others while the enemies get picked off. The point gets claimed just as Storm goes back to normal.

“Fist is back at zero, then. But Cloak and Dagger still have theirs ready,” Bucky reminds everyone as you watch Jeff place down scattered bubbles.

“I think Cap just got his, too,” Hawkeye sighs. “I saw his cuff turn gold.”

“That’s fine,” You shake your head. “Bucky has his and I still have mine. Wanda should’ve gotten hers by now, too,” She only nods, flexing her red magic as a confirmation.

“Wanda should use hers if more than three of them come at once. Everyone else needs to cover her so she doesn’t get eliminated before she finishes it.” Bucky instructs.

“I’ll go to the balcony, that way there’s less time for them to react,” She offers and flies up. Jeff joins her, sitting and waiting to heal her as you hear them running up. Stepping off of the point, you dip over to see who’s heading over before they can see you.

“Cap, Cloak, Squirrel, and Rocket.” Bucky nods and then gives Wanda the signal. She nods just as they step through the doors. She pops her ultimate while you corral them forward, keeping them from running away with the help of Bucky’s arm. You can hear them firing her but the sound of Jeff’s rapid healing outdoes them before they all fall, waiting for their timer to run out.

“We should team up more often,” Hawkeye grins as you’re finishing up Wanda’s healing. “This is fun!”

“You’ve made it halfway!” Galacta announces and you confirm on your cuff.

“Venom behind you!” Bucky warns and you fly up, dodging his ultimate while Hawkeye rolls to the side. Healing him as you fly down, you see Bucky and Wanda dealing with him. You still haven’t spotted Iron Fist but you know he hasn’t disconnected, so he’s probably lurking around somewhere.

“Squirrel Stampede!” Isn’t as scary when Bucky shoots the swarm of squirrels until they’re gone. But what comes next only makes you groan.

“Us against the world!” Moving out of the way as Cloak and Dagger go barrelling across the point, you and Jeff heal the others while also trying to find an untouched spot on the point. By that point five of them are on the point— all six when Venom lands on it. You could use your ultimate, but there’s no guarantee they’ll all die from it. It only lasts five seconds so once it’s up, you rush back to the point just before they take it and use your ultimate with your team rushing in front of you to act as a barrier.

“Heaven and Purgatory swarms you!” You shout before the point is covered in a field of darkness. Six confirmed kills appear on your cuff and the points capture progress goes back to blue.

“Good timing,” Bucky nods while Hawkeye pats your shoulder. Nodding, you watch as the map shifts, opening the large window to your left. With Jeff’s ultimate ready he could get another team wipe before you’ve fully captured the point.

Sensing something behind you, you fly up and watch as Iron Fist locks onto you. Cursing, you fly about before being forced to land, sending darkness blasts at him before you can fly again. Jeff is rapidly healing you as half of his punches land. Wanda is slowly ticking away at his health but Venom slams her away.

“You’re almost there!” Galacta announces.

“Armed and Dangerous!” Landing again, you see Iron Fist land too before Bucky slams into him. He fires twice before you see his cuff light up. “Again!” Falling into a healing bubble, you help the others heal while you rub your chest. Had this been a real fight you bet he would have broken your rib cage. Bringing the other teams health down, you watch as Bucky keeps reloading his ultimate.

“I’m glad he’s on our side,” Hawkeye whispers and you nod, watching as he eliminates Squirrel Girl before returning to the point.

“We’re going to push for the last ten percent. Hawkeye, Storm, and Jeff cover point,” Nodding, the four of you rush to the enemy spawn point and wait for them to respawn.

They stare at your team, talking through the red walls and you watch as they split into groups.

“(Y/n), you take Iron Fist and Rocket. Wanda, you have Venom and Squirrel. Leave Cloak and Cap to me,” Sharing a look with Wanda, the two of you split up and you extend your darkness towards Rocket and Iron Fist. You’ll deal with Rocket first, his healing can get pesky when he’s only healing two people. Pushing him into the air, you fly up and push him to the edge of the map. He nearly falls but uses his jetpack at the last second. He’s almost eliminated, though, so one darkness stream and he’s falling off the map.

“Aht aht,” Iron Fist grins before roundhousing you into the wall.

“I’m low!” Wanda warns and you grit, trying to find her but Iron Fist blocks your view.

“Find a healing pack,” Bucky says, his gun echoing in the air. “Or run to Jeff,”

Flying up to put distance between the two of you, you throw out darkness but he remains on your ass as you land. You watch as your health quickly declines and push him away, running back to a nearby healing pack. He follows closely, managing two punches before you dive and start attacking back.

“Pure Chaos!” He doesn’t look back as Wanda wipes nearly half of his team. He could’ve easily eliminated her from his spot, with just two leaps but instead, he dips behind the wall so he’s out of her radius and backing you into a corner. His focus is on you as the two of you play cat and mouse until you see his cuff glow that familiar golden color. You’re no longer on any cooldowns, you could fly or use your spray but he’d catch up too fast.

“Aw shit,” You grumble, your back pressed to the wall while he grins, going to press it before time slows down.

“Another perfect victory!” Sighing, you slump and watch as he tosses his arms up.

You don’t watch as the MVP screen plays, skipping to meeting up with the team and heading out of the arena to the dorms.

“Who won?” Spider-man asks as he sees the twelve of you leaving the portal.

“We did,” Wanda smiles. “The other team put up quite the fight, though.”

“Lemme guess,” Ironman smirks. “(Y/n) MvP?”

“It was a close call,” You shrug. “I had one more kill than Bucky,” The man in question rolls his eyes and you watch as another team gets called into a fight. All you know is that you’re not in the group they called so you head up to shower.

—

Two knocks echo throughout the mostly empty apartment as you’re watching your dinner get made. Pushing off from the counter, you open the door and stare at Lin. He’s out of his costume and in a simple compression shirt and sweats— it’s the only loungewear available so you’re in the same attire.

“What’s up, Lin?” You ask, letting him inside. He walks inside, looking around the apartment that’s nearly identical to his, and then spins on his heels to face you. Everyone agreed that while out of the dorms, it’s strictly Code Names. Unless you’re someone like Bucky who would prefer to not be called the Winter Soldier. You just never had a hero name, public identity, and all that jazz.

“You’re a try-hard,” He says, arms crossed over his chest. “I checked your stats, you’ve lost zero games since you’ve gotten here. Who does that?”

“I don’t try,” You shrug, taking your food out from the weird machine. It’s probably bad for you but it’s also the only food available, so you make due. “I’m just that good.”

“You don’t get tired of winning?” He follows you into your living room, standing at the edge of your couch.

“Winners get gift baskets, I love gift baskets.” Gesturing to the basket of fruits and sweets, you hear him sigh. Looking at him, you grin and roll your head to the side. “Are you just pissy that you lost against me again?” Instead of replying, he huffs and stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“We could make a deal,” He proposes. “You lose and I’ll give you something you want,”

“We don’t exactly have the luxury of having items here,” You remind, gesturing to the lack of items everywhere.

“You know we’re neighbors, right?” He continues and you nod. You live at the end of the hallway with your only direct neighbors being Lin to your right and Adam in front of you. “Our bedrooms are against each other and the walls are pretty thin,” He makes a face and then waits for a beat. You lick your lips as you try to connect the dots he’s clearly trying to lay down. You do a lot of odd things to pass your time, he could be talking about the fact that you’ve been creating shadow versions of everyone to play card games for all you know.

“I don’t see your point,” You roll your head to the side while he sighs and licks his lips. Lin takes a moment before he speaks again, having to think carefully about his next words.

“You lose our next match and I’ll fuck you.”

“Deal.”

He blinks, unable to think of anything to say while you laugh.

“Sorry, did you have a speech ready?” He shakes his head and scratches his neck.

“I just didn’t think you’d agree so fast…”

“You’re hot and I’m horny, I see two willing participants. I’ll take the stain on my perfect record. I also would’ve done it for a gift basket, I heard everyone gets different types.”

“I prefer the sex,”

“Great, can’t wait to lose.”

—

The agreement had all since left your mind as you’re queued into a game with Lin nearly two months later. You’d have ten matches in between then, the excitement gone and replaced with your small yearn to constantly win.

Okay, winning was amazing! You’ll agree, there’s a rush in seeing that victory screen and seeing the basket on your kitchen island at the end of the day. Losing was just… you don’t know, you’ve never lost before.

Thankfully, this isn’t another domination game. It’s Convergence, which you thought was the same as Convoy for about ten matches before Dr. Strange explained that with Convergence, you needed to capture the point before the object could move.

Glancing at your team as you load into Spider-Islands, you find yourself as the only healer. Peni, Groot— who technically does heal, it’s just no one ever goes to his healing walls—, Venom, Punisher, and Thor. It would certainly make for a lovely match against… you check your cuff and bang your head on the wall. Iron Fist, Mantis, Loki, Bucky, Namor, and Luna Snow. That’s three healers— one of which can shapeshift as his ultimate.

It’s fine, shaking your head, you move up the staircase as the countdown stairs. You imagine Namor has his little octopus— one of which is definitely shooting ice— just waiting and Loki has his clones just waiting. The doors open and sure enough, you hear your teammates taking rapid damage.

“Thanks for the healing,” Punisher grunts as he’s pushed back into the base.

“You ran without looking, dumbass,” You grit, healing the teammates who didn’t push back. Groot hurriedly places a wall between the octopus and helps Peni place down her web traps. There’s a thump from the hallway to your left and you see Iron Fist slowly walking over. Taking a step forward, he watches as your hands glow black before he taps his earpiece, telling you to turn it off. Doing so, you continue to heal since he’s at a good distance.

“We had a deal,” He reminds you and your face scrunches.

“What fucking— oh, the fucking,” Your hands drop and he nods. “Fine, because Punisher pissed me off and half of my team are real assholes about getting healed.” He laughs, looking out of the window as your teammates continue to get dogpiled by his team. He sees them shouting for you, begging and cursing you for heals. Instead, you walk further into the hallway and take a seat on the soft couch.

“I didn’t think you’d follow through,” He admits, closing the doors that surround the room. You get nervous, shifting in your seat as he closes the final panel door and the sounds of the fight are muffled below you.

“I’m a man of my word but I can always back out,” You muse and he looks at you, nearly daring you to get up and fight. “Please, you couldn’t take me,” Crossing your ankles, you watch as he stalks over to you, leaning down to your height.

“I was close last time,” He hums and then pins you to the couch. Rolling away, he grabs your ankle and pulls you back, using the momentum to grab onto your thighs with both hands. Gritting, you watch as he sits between your now open legs and prop yourself up on your elbows.

“I’m only not fighting back so I don’t eliminate you,” You defend, ignoring the twitch in your leg as he squeezes them.

“Y’know what?” He grins and leans down, his lips brushing against your ear while you shudder. “I’ll find you after you get the convoy to the first point.” He’s up in an instant and slipping through the exit. Huffing, you drop down and turn your comms on again.

“I was getting backlined by Iron Fist,” You explain, joining the team after they barely made it a full meter. Group healing, you see Iron Fist jumping back to his team in the distance.

“I see it was a tie, then,” Thor points out and you shrug, fixing your cape over your body.

“We called for a rematch,” Sitting on top of the robotic spider, you push the other team back, bringing them down to half while Punisher finds a perch for his turret. He grumbles something about finally showing up and you roll your eyes.

“Thor, push Magik. Peni, why haven’t you put down your spider things yet? Groot, Luna likes using the side entrance so you should block that.” You quickly list off, falling back into the fight with ease. Normally, as a support you don’t give directions but man, does this team need it. Letting the robot as Peni stands next to it, you work on bringing their healers low.

“Your powers are mine!” Loki shouts and you see a clone of yourself on the roof to your left.

“Punisher, nine o’clock, before he uses my ultimate!” You tick away at his health before Punisher finds him just as you see Loki pop the ult. Dipping into a building, you manage to pull Peni and Groot in with you but the others get dived immediately. “He’s low,” You tell them, leaving out and landing the final hit on Loki.

While he killed half of your team, he fully healed his team and you huff, checking your own status. It just needs two more seconds before you can use it, so you heal Groot while waiting for the other team to all huddle together. Sure enough, they all do and you see them all rushing towards the convoy. Punisher sets up yet another turret, this time on the back portion of a roof.

“Groot, can you box them in a little?” You ask, dodging an attack from Luna. He nods and you watch as they get pushed together before pulling back just enough that the team could get healed and the others would get eliminated.

“Heaven and Purgatory swarms you!”

“That’s six!” Galacta announces as you see the six kills register on your cuff. “You’re almost there, don’t stop now!” The convoy is three meters away and when you join Peni on it, it speeds up enough that you reach the checkpoint before the other team can respawn.

Sitting on the robot, you watch as the door opens but catch the green and yellow outfit from the top of the stairs. He motions with two fingers and you grin, slipping away from the fight.

“You’re eager,” He teases, using his hand to open your cape and looking down at your suit. His hands wander a little while you turn off your comm yet again, sparing your team a glance as they get jumped by the others. It’s like once they all got into the team they all forgot the powerhouses they normally were and suddenly sucked.

“They’re the worst right now,” He slides open the door and pulls you inside, dragging his nose up your neck.

“Mhmm,” He licks a stripe along your neck and you hold onto his shirt, whining at the contact. “Let me prep you,” He whispers as the door closes behind the two of you. Nodding, you let him drag you to the middle of the roof before he pushes you down to your knees.

Staring up at him, he grins and cups your jaw, running his thumb up and down your cheek with one hand while the other removes his belt, careful to not let the red ropes hit you. It falls to the floor with a thud before he’s on his knees in front of you. He leans in, sealing his lips against yours while his hands go from your face down to your thighs. He finds a good grip on your flesh as you grip his hair, leaning closer to him and biting down on his bottom lip.

Iron Fist moans into your mouth as your knees lift from the floor and your back is placed on the floor in one fluid motion. The kiss doesn’t break as his left-hand wanders from your thigh, pulling at your pants until he finds what he’s looking for. Once he does, he smiles into the kiss and pulls away to get a good look at you.

He doesn’t look away from you as he grasps the loose fabric of your pants, his hand wrapping around your dick print before he slowly strokes it. Watching him with fluttering eyes you cover your mouth to keep yourself quiet. He coos before removing his right hand from your thigh and scooping your hand, lacing your fingers together, and pinning it above your head.

You can hear the fight below you, your heartbeat rising when you hear Punisher setting up a turret in front of the door. He notices too and glances over, seeing the man’s outline, and looks back at you with a shit-eating grin.

“Please,” You gasp, chest rising with your heavy pants. “Iron,” He starts squeezing in between his strokes and you arch into him, rutting against his hand. You feel his thumb roll against the tip as he watches you, waiting for more of those delicious reactions before kissing and sucking along your neck. Grabbing the back of his head, you push him closer and continue to rub yourself against him.

“Call me Lin,” He whispers against your chest, kissing you through the thin fabric. For a second, he lets go of your dick to pull your pants and underwear down to your knees in one motion. Your dick slaps against your stomach before it stands and he rubs his thumb over the tip again. Briefly, you hear Punisher getting eliminated but the door he was in front of thankfully doesn’t get destroyed. Feeling the weight above you lessen, you look towards Lin as he settles between your legs.

“Lin, fuck,” You pant looking down at him as he smears your pre across his fingers before slipping his hands lower. The one that was holding your wrist moves down and holds your hips down as he pushes his index finger inside. Wincing, he apologizes and kisses your inner thigh. Slowly, he adds a second finger and starts making scissoring motions until you begin moaning. For good measure, he adds a third and peers down at your hole clenching around him.

Hiding your face in your shoulder, you use your now free hands to stroke yourself before he slaps your hands away.

“Don’t touch yourself, just lay there and take it.” He stretches you one last time before pulling his fingers out. Whining at the loss of contact, he grins and pulls his pants down. He spits into his hand and pumps himself while lining himself up with your hole, the tip rubbing against you with each stroke. Wiggling your hips down to chase the feeling he presses harder until you stop. “You’re that desperate to let your team know what you’re doing up here?” He grins and slowly pushes inside.

“No,” You whine, shifting as you try to quickly adjust to him inside of you. He watches your reactions carefully, using the hand that once held you down to dip under your shirt and rub against your skin. He feels your heart thumping against his hand, your nipple hard due to the contact and you moan, rolling your head back. “I don’t care if they see us,”

“Oh, really?” He laughs. You nod as he tests the waters, rolling his hips against yours. “I didn’t think you’d be into that,” There’s no reply to him aside from a strangled moan and your hands slapping the floor, finding something to hold onto. With you adjusted, he slips his hands back under your legs and presses down against you, his hips snapping as his breathing gets jagged above you.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you find yourself at a loss for words as he bottoms out. His dick drags inside of you, curving and prodding at your insides with each shallow thrust. The fabric of his shirt rubs against you, the smooth fabric feeling like heaven paired with the way he’s fucking you.

“More,” You plead, breathless under him. He snickers from above you, lifting himself up, and starts a brutal pace. He’s lifting your lower half up from the floor with each thrust, his thighs slapping yours each time he digs deeper inside.

“Losing just to get fucked,” He grunts. “How would your team react knowing their precious healer is getting— hugh — dicked down above them?” He doesn’t expect an answer but he also didn’t expect you to moan louder at the thought, your dick twitching in the air. “You’d like that, huh? Getting caught and letting them know you threw the match because you’re a horny bitch.” He grasps your face, squeezing your cheeks until your lips puff out and drool slowly pools out from the corner. He uses the hand that didn’t prep you and sticks his fingers inside your mouth.

“Mhmm,” You nod, sucking his index finger while looking into the whites of his mask. “Wanna get caught,” He nearly whimpers and watches as your dick twitches faster, cum spurting out and landing on your black shirt and the floor.

“Oops, guess you made a mess,” He chuckles, his thrusts getting sloppy and his hand moving from your mouth down to your hips. He can’t figure out what to do, his hands squeezing at the flesh before they trail up the side of your body. “Fuck,” He moans, leaning down to grab your face again. He watches you as he cums inside of you, still thrusting as he empties himself. You’re letting out broken noises as he does, your legs slowly lowering to the ground as he comes to a stop.

“They’ve made it halfway, stop them!” Glacata announces in his ear and he huffs.

“They still haven’t lost?” You ask and he shakes his head, slowly pulling out. Checking your cuff, you see they all have at least six deaths and groan.

“Round two?” He asks and you easily agree. “Ride me?”

“I think you just wanna see my face,” You quip and he shrugs, sitting down on the floor table cushion. His back pressed against the wooden panel wall while he slowly pumped himself. You watch as the tip of his dick disappears under his skin before getting pulled taught when he pulls it down. He lets out breathy moans while you’re climbing on top of him. He unclips your cape, letting it fall down his legs and you fling it to the side.

Holding his shoulder with your left hand, you grab his dick and slowly align yourself. He inhales sharply as his cum drips from your hole and spreads across his dick before you sink down on him. Slowly rocking back and forth, you look up at him and kiss his neck. You feel his pulse under your lips, how he’s straining himself to remain composed.

“(Y/n),” He strains, hands gripping your ass as you start moving faster.

“Yeah, Lin?” You ask, looking up at him from the red spot you’re leaving under his ear.

“Don’t stop,” He moans, guiding your hips into a better position. His hips buck into yours erratically, still not fully recovered from the first orgasm. Through your cuff, you hear the countless healing pins before grumbling and tossing them to the side. Lin snickers through his parted, glossy lips.

“You feel so good, Lin,” You breathe, hanging your head as he’s reaching deep inside of you. His tip hits your prostate more in this position and you swear to Khonshu or Bast that you’re never going to leave his dick.

“You’re so cock hungry it’s easy,” He coos, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb as tears bead on the side of your eyes. “Next time— fuck— next time you’re in your room, touching yourself, just knock on the wall. I’ll come and make you feel this good again, yeah?” Rapidly nodding, he pulls you closer and kisses you.

“It’s the final ten seconds!” Galacta announces and you gasp while pulling away. Checking his cuff, you see the timer rapidly going down and let out a strangled groan, rocking your hips faster against him. He helps you, picking you up and slamming you down on his cock in ways that make you scream.

“We’ll have to keep fighting until we find a winner!” Stopping on his dick, you feel yourself cumming again, this time you manage to do it at the same time. Slumping against his chest, you pant while he tosses his head back, also trying to catch his breath.

Carefully, you peel yourself from him and lazily put your pants back on while he does the same.

Finding your cuff, you slip it on and check the Overtime meter. It was slowly going down, so maybe another minute before the match would end. Slinging your cape back on, you feel Lin wrap his arms around you before pulling you into his chest.

“What?” You ask, turning your head to face him. He just grins and shrugs, nipping at your ear.

“Armed and Dangerous!” Briefly, you see Bucky launching into the air and hope he lands all his kills.

“Nothing, just making sure you don’t leave.” He hums, squeezing your ass before giving it a small tap.

“Again!”

“I’m a man of my word, Lin. You’re teams gonna win,”

“Again!”

Checking the meter again, you see it rapidly going down and find that Bucky has completely wiped the team.

“Well, you can’t expect to win ‘em all…”

—

“Fuck was that about?” Frank pushes your shoulder as you’re transported back to your team. None of them catch your dazed look as you fix your cape over your cum stained clothes. “What happened to your streak?”

“Rough day,” You shrug. “Win some, lose some.” He grits but it is just a game after all, so he calms down and follows the rest of the team back to the portal. You see Lin halfway, getting chewed out by Bucky for being awol for the whole game, unaware that Lin is still trying to fix his belt. His eyes catch yours through his mask and he winks, making a call-me motion before you turn and head into the dorms.

“I cannot believe you lost!” Doreen gasps as you head inside.

“Can’t be perfect all the time,” You huff through a smile. “It won’t happen again, though.”

“It definitely will,” Lin appears behind you, subtly grabbing your ass again. Chewing the inside of your mouth, you watch as Doreen laughs before moving over to the others. Everyone else is completely unaware of his actions even as he pulls you into the elevator, roughly kissing you before the doors even fully close.

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ceyanabbiolo · 1 month ago

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CONTRACT // C.S [14]

Summary: Christopher Sturniolo, a 26-year-old billionaire CEO, agrees to a strategic marriage with Aurora Devereaux, the 21-year-old daughter of his rival, to save his company during a crisis. Raised in a cold, arrogant environment, Chris is used to control and detachment. Aurora, a final-year fashion student, is forced into the arrangement by her powerful father and struggles with the fear of losing herself. As the two navigate their unexpected marriage, they begin to confront emotional walls and develop a connection that challenges everything they thought they knew about love and trust. But with their families’ influence looming, will their bond be strong enough to survive—or will it fall apart?

Warnings: smut. (fingering, blowjob, humping, making out). slight angst. crying.

wc: 5883

Chapter 14: We Can Meddle About

Chris and I had spent five unforgettable days in Greece. Tomorrow morning at 10 AM, we’ll be flying back.

New Year’s Eve was something out of a dream—we spent the countdown in Fira, the capital, surrounded by lights and music in the town square. Everything shimmered with celebration, but all I remembered was holding his hand as fireworks burst in the sky above us.

New Year’s Day was quieter. We stayed at the villa, curled up on the couch, watching movies, trading lazy kisses, and simply existing in each other’s warmth. I hadn’t felt that kind of peace in a long time. Not with everything going on.

For our final night, Chris had brought us to Lycabettus Restaurant. We sat on the open-air terrace, the Aegean Sea stretching into darkness just beyond the cliffs. The restaurant's golden lights cast a warm glow around us, and the soft sound of waves below filled the silence between bites.

I glanced across the table at him, that familiar, relaxed look on his face. “I don’t want to leave yet,” I admitted softly, resting my chin in my palm. “This trip felt like hitting pause on everything else.”

Chris let out a low chuckle from across the table. “As much as I hate to disappoint you, ma, I think it’s time we have to head back.”

“I know,” I sighed, offering a mock pout. “Real life’s waiting to punch us in the face.”

“Maybe…” I started, tracing the rim of my glass. “Maybe we can come back. Again. Just us.”

Chris’s fingers brushed mine again, slower this time. “Maybe… after the wedding,” he said, voice quiet but deliberate.

I blinked, looking up at him. “After the wedding?”

He held my gaze. “Yeah. Maybe we can come back then. No pressure”

“Chris,” I said, tilting my head at him. “That’s five months away.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah? So?” He leaned back, fingers still lightly tracing mine. “It’ll go by fast. You’ve got your show coming up, then school wraps up... and then it’s us.”

There was a strange comfort in how he said it—like everything that felt so uncertain could still fall into place. I let out a breath. “Five months isn’t that long when you say it like that.”

I wasn’t going to lie, I was everywhere in my mind. The reality of this trip was that it was only a momentary escape.

I looked back up at Chris, a certain question floating in my mind—one I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer to.

“Can I ask you something?” I said quietly.

He met my eyes, his expression softening. “Of course.”

I hesitated, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “I know we like each other now. I mean… we’re close, and it’s real, but—” I paused, searching his face. “Do you actually think this is going to work? Like… in the long run?”

His brows furrowed, clearly caught off guard.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

I looked away, letting out a soft breath. “I mean, if this were a regular relationship-no, no contract, no engagement deal—would we even be this far in? We'd probably still be in the early stages. Figuring things out. Instead, we're getting married in five months. Sometimes I wonder if we skipped the part where people actually decide if they’re right for each other.”

Chris didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened just slightly, and he leaned back in his chair, eyes flickering over me like he was trying to read between every word I’d just said.

“So… what are you saying?” he asked finally, voice low. “That you’re not happy? Do you want out?”

My heart sank a little. “No—no, Chris. That’s not what I’m saying.”

I reached across the table, my fingers brushing his. “I’m not saying I want out. I’m just being honest. I care about you. A lot. But sometimes I think about how fast all of this is moving. And how much of it was decided before we even had the chance to just… be. Us.”

Chris leaned forward, his voice suddenly hard. “Aurora, I need you to get something straight.”

His tone made me sit up a little.

“I don’t give a damn how this started,” he said, eyes sharp. “You think I’m here playing fiancé because of a contract? No. I don’t waste my time like that.”

I opened my mouth, but he didn’t let me.

“Maybe at first, sure. It was nothing, but now? I’m in it, and I’m not the type to half-ass something once I’m in. So, no—I don’t sit around wondering if this is gonna work. I’ve already decided it will.”

He paused, jaw tight. “You don’t have to feel the same. But don’t question where I stand.”

I could see his whole demeanour change, and it made me suddenly regret my question, and I felt uncomfortable.

“I didn’t say I don’t feel the same way…” I mumbled, eyes fixed on my lap.

Chris didn’t respond.

I heard him call the waiter over and quietly ask for the bill. A few moments later, he stood up and told me we were leaving.

Earlier, I’d thought about suggesting we walk back to the villa—just to soak in our last night here. But now, I kept that to myself. All I wanted was to get back and disappear into a dark room somewhere.

I didn’t fully understand why he got so worked up. But deep down, I knew—Chris hated having his loyalty questioned, especially by people he cared about.

The car ride was quiet. I kept my eyes out the window while he stayed on his phone. At one point, I peeked over and saw he was texting one of his brothers—probably Matt, judging by the name at the top of the screen.

My fingers were fiddling with the edge of my dress, heart heavier than I wanted to admit. I wasn’t trying to upset him. I just wanted to know where we stood—for real.

When we got back to the villa, Chris paused near the entrance, turning to me briefly. His expression was unreadable.

“I’m heading to bed,” he said flatly. “Make sure you’ve got everything packed for tomorrow.”

Before I could respond, he was already walking away, disappearing down the hall to his room. No goodnight. No glance back. Just silence and distance.

I stood there for a moment, letting the quiet settle around me before dragging myself to my room. I peeled off my dress and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water roll over me, hoping it would wash away the tight knot in my chest. It didn’t.

Afterward, I slipped into a thin silk nightgown and towel-dried my hair before settling into bed. I picked up the book I’d brought for the trip—a romance novel I’d been looking forward to for weeks—but the words blurred together, refusing to hold my attention.

Every few seconds, my eyes flicked to the door. Waiting. Wondering.

Was he still mad? Would he even come talk to me tonight? Was I overthinking everything? Fuck.

I had half-expected him to come into my room tonight, like he had for the past three nights, but the villa was too quiet now, too vast and empty. It felt cold in a way that the warm Greek air outside couldn't touch. I set the book down on the nightstand, my mind far too restless to focus on anything.

I tossed and turned, staring at the ceiling, trying to push thoughts of Chris out of my head. But the more I tried, the more they lingered. Eventually, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore—I needed to see him.

I threw the covers off and stood up, walking down the hall to his room. My heart was pounding, and I hesitated just outside his door. After a few moments of uncertainty, I knocked softly.

"Chris?" I called quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

There was no answer.

I knocked again, louder this time.

"Chris?" I repeated.

Still nothing.

I stood there for a moment, defeated, my hand lingering on the doorknob. What had I expected? That he would be waiting for me on the other side, ready to pick up where we left off? I sighed, turning to walk back down the hall.

But just as I took a few steps, I heard it—my name.

"Aurora."

I turned, startled by the sound of his voice. Chris stood in the doorway, wearing a grey sweater over a plain black tee, his hair still damp from a recent shower. He looked tired, but something about his eyes told me he hadn’t been sleeping much either.

“You okay?” he asked, his gaze drifting over me, searching. “Do you need something?”

I shifted on my feet, suddenly unsure of why I’d even come. “No. I’m fine,” I mumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, my voice quieter than I intended.

He raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t look like it.”

I looked down, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve. “I just couldn’t sleep. That’s all.”

A beat passed between us, heavy but not tense. I could feel his eyes still on me.

“Come here,” he said quietly, gesturing with a tilt of his head.

I walked over slowly, stopping just a few inches from the wall, unsure of what to expect.

After a beat, I finally asked, “Are you mad at me?”

Chris looked at me—looked—and I caught the slight flare in his nostrils before he exhaled through his nose.

“No, ma,” he said, voice firm. “I’m not mad.”

“Really? You seemed pretty upset earlier,” I added, trying to get him to open up.

“Yeah,” he said bluntly. “I was.”

I waited, but he didn’t leave it there this time.

“I just don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head. “Why is it you are always having second thoughts?”

My brows pulled together. “It’s not—Chris, I’m not having second thoughts.”

“Yes, you are,” he snapped, not angrily, but with a kind of heat that made me straighten.

“You said it yourself—��Do you actually think this is going to work?’ That’s not nothing, Aurora. That’s you doubting us. Again.”

I opened my mouth, but he didn’t give me time.

“You always act like I’m the one who kept pulling away, who was unsure—but now that I’ve made up my damn mind, now that I’m actually here, it’s like you’re the one constantly questioning everything. Me, this engagement, if we’re real.”

His jaw tightened, chest rising and falling heavier now.

“I don’t get it,” he said again, quieter this time, but with more weight. “You wanted me to care. You wanted me to choose you. I did. But the second I do, you start pulling back.”

“I’m not pulling back, Chris…I just wanted to know,” I said, my voice quieter than before, hands slightly shaking at my sides.

He stared at me, unmoving. The space between us felt dense, like even the air was holding its breath.

“Know what?” he asked, his voice low but sharp. “That I’m not gonna leave? That I’m not faking this? That I’m not just in this because someone told me to be?”

I swallowed hard, unable to answer fast enough.

“Because if you don’t know that by now, I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.”

My chest tightened. “That’s not what I meant,” I murmured.

His eyes were colder now, less soft, less patient. “Then what did you mean?”

I looked away, focusing on a spot on the floor, trying to find the right words.

“I just—I’ve never had something like this,” I said. “Not something that feels like it could actually matter, and it scares me that maybe I’m the one who’ll ruin it.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he stepped closer, not touching me, but close enough that I felt the heat off him.

“You’re not the one ruining it,” he said, voice low and tense. “But you questioning me like that? It makes me feel like I’m the only one all in.”

I looked up at him finally, eyes meeting his.

“You’re not,” I whispered, barely getting the words out as the weight of everything crashed into me. My chest tightened, and before I could stop them, the tears started slipping down my cheeks—slow, quiet, stubborn.

Chris noticed instantly. His expression shifted, the tension in his jaw easing as he reached out and gently cupped my cheek. His thumb brushed away a tear, his eyes fixed on mine with a quiet intensity, no longer guarded—just open.

“What do you want, Aurora?” he asked, voice low but firm. “Do you want to be with me?”

I looked up at him through glassy eyes, my breath caught in my throat. My lips trembled as I tried to respond, but all I could do was shake my head at first—not in denial, but in disbelief at how much I did. Then the words finally broke free.

“Yes,” I said, my voice breaking. “I do.”

Chris’s grip on my face tightened just slightly—not in anger, but to anchor me there, to make sure I didn’t look away.

“Okay then,” he said quietly, wiping away the remaining tears with his thumb. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek, “Be with me,” he murmured against my cheek.

I nodded, barely, my breath hitching. I looked at him, really looked at his steady gaze, the tension still resting in his shoulders, the way he was holding back.

Chris leaned in, kissing me slowly—softly, and deliberate, like he wanted to make sure I felt every second of it. His lips moved against mine with a kind of patience that made my chest ache, as if he was trying to say everything he couldn’t with words.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, our breaths mixing in the stillness between us.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, voice low but serious.

I looked up at him, surprised by the question. His eyes searched mine, steady and intense, like he needed the truth more than anything else.

“I do,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I really do.”

He nodded once, his hand still resting at the back of my neck. “Then stop fighting me,” he said. “Stop pulling away every time.”

I blinked slowly, the sting of his words lingering, but not in a cruel way. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. He was asking me to meet him where he was, to stop hesitating.

“I’m not trying to fight you,” I said.

His lips found mine again—firmer this time. No hesitation. Just him and me, like the weight of everything had finally been shaken off, even if only for tonight. I kissed him back, letting myself fall into it. Into him.

His hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, pulling me impossibly closer, while his other arm wrapped around my waist, holding me firm against him.

I melted into it, my fingers gripping the front of his sweater. His kiss deepened, rougher around the edges now, like he couldn’t get enough. His mouth trailed down to my jaw, slow and hot, then to the curve of my neck, leaving a trail of heat behind.

“Chris…” I breathed, my voice barely a whisper.

He paused for half a second, his mouth hovering near my skin, chest rising and falling fast. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, voice hoarse, lips brushing against my collarbone.

I shook my head, the words catching in my throat. “Don’t.”

That was all it took.

He pulled away for a moment, his breathing still heavy, then took my hand firmly in his.

Without a word, he led me out of the hallway and down the stairs, his grip never loosening. The villa was dim, quiet—only the soft hum of the waves outside filled the silence.

“Where are we going?” I asked, glancing at him as we stepped into the living room.

“My bed’s a mess,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with a faint smirk. “I was packing.”

Before I could react, he guided me toward the large lounge chair facing the glass doors that looked out at the sea. With one gentle push, I landed against the cushions, big enough for both of us. The cool fabric contrasts with the heat rushing up my neck.

He hovered above me, eyes darker now, jaw tight.

“Here’s better,” he muttered, before leaning down again—this time, slower. More deliberate.

He leaned over, hands on either side of me, “You’re driving me insane, you know that?”

His gaze dropped, lingering for a moment where the hem of my nightgown had ridden up, just high enough to reveal the curve of my thighs and the soft lace of my underwear.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “So you don’t wear anything under these little gowns,” he murmured, voice low, teasing.

He leaned in, his hand grazing the bare skin just above my knee. “I always wondered. You walking around the house like that—had me guessing since the first night you moved in.”

His words sent a heat rushing up my spine, especially when his fingers traced along the edge of the fabric.

“And I like it,” he muttered, brushing his lips against mine again.

My body was starting to get this needy feeling, the same one I felt a week ago, the first time Chris went down on me.

He sat up slightly, his eyes trailing down the length of me. He took his shirt off, probably for more comfort. Gosh…he was hot.

“Take it off,” he said, voice low.

I looked up at him, caught off guard. “What?” A slow, lazy grin pulled at his lips. “Your gown. Take it off.”

“I–” my cheeks turned red. I didn’t have anything on other than my underwear. I don't wear a bra to sleep.

“I’ve already seen most of you, beautiful,” he said, lifting the hem of my gown slightly. “No need to be shy.”

I shifted, tucking my feet beneath me as I slowly rose to my knees. My eyes stayed on his while his gaze stayed locked on mine. I lifted the gown over my body, pulling it off in one motion. Now bare, my chest exposed, I watched as his eyes finally dropped.

“fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?” I asked, instinctively covering myself, a sudden wave of insecurity washing over me.

Chris immediately reached for my wrists, gently pulling my hands back down.

“Don’t ever hide yourself from me, Aurora,” he said, his voice firm but low.

He leaned in, kissing along my collarbone, then lower, his lips lingering just above my chest.

“May I?” he asked, eyes flicking up to meet mine—asking for permission.

I gave a small nod, breath caught in my throat, and the moment his mouth met my tits, a quiet moan escaped me.

A stray thought crossed my mind—God, this would feel amazing during my period.

Chris leaned down, placing a final kiss on each of my tits. Next, he removed my underwear and put it to the side. My wetness on display for him–my inner thighs sleek with arousal.

Chris suddenly pulled back slightly, his hand still wrapped around mine. I looked up at him, confused. He held my gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Touch yourself”, he said, his voice low but steady. “Show me what feels good to you.”

I blinked, caught off guard by his request. “Chris,” I said with a nervous laugh, unsure if he was serious.

But his expression didn’t change—there was no teasing in his eyes, only quiet patience. “Show me what you do when you’re alone,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand. “At night, when it’s just you.”

A flush crept up my cheeks. I looked down, then back up at him. He placed my hand on my chest, slowly dragging it down my lying body. His gaze never leaves mine.

He guided our joined hands down slowly, stopping just at the center of me. My breath hitched when he pressed my palm gently against myself. The warmth of my touch startled me—and yet, his steady presence beside me grounded the moment.

Chris didn’t say anything, but the way he was watching me—attentive, calm—gave me a quiet confidence. I didn’t feel embarrassed. I didn’t feel pressured. I felt…understood.

So I didn’t pull away. I let myself keep going.

I felt the pressure buildup in me. My eyes started to shut on their own, but from the slight opening I was able to see Chris looking down at my hands moving.

My legs started trembling, a familiar sensation down from my stomach. I needed something more.

“C–Chris…” I gasped, my voice barely a whisper as my hand slowed, finally stopping. “I–I need you.”

He looked up at me then, eyes dark but focused entirely on my face.

“You need me, ma?” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he gently took my fingers and brought them to his mouth, tasting the traces of me with a quiet kind of reverence that sent a shiver down my spine.

He placed his hands on me, finally. I let out a soft moan of pleasure when his slightly rough hands moved down to my aching clit. He slowly rubbed his thumb in circles.

“o-oh my gosh…Chris,” I let out a whimper, my back arching off the lounge chair.

He stopped rubbing but instead took his index finger and put the tip of it into me, “This good?” he asked. I nodded, and he shoved the whole thing into me.

I let out a cry of pleasure, his finger inside my walls feels amazing.

His fingers started to pump in and out of me, stretching my walls out perfectly–hitting all the right spots. “Feel good, princess?” He asked, his free hand caressing the side of my thighs.

I couldn’t speak, I just started to nod frantically, whispering to him to go faster.

I felt the knot start to form in my stomach.

“G-gonna cum..” I managed to speak despite the pleasure. My back arched against the lounge chair, and I felt the knot in my stomach feel like it was about to burst.

Chris’s fingers moved with unrelenting precision, and the moment he murmured, “Let go for me, baby,” I shattered beneath his touch.

My orgasm came crashing. The feeling is making me stutter.

I let a minute go by, letting the feeling subside. I felt amazing. His touch was amazing.

“You okay princess?” he asked me, his voice caring. I nodded, feeling the comfort and warmth of his embrace.

I nodded, my eyes drifting from his face down to the outline beneath his pants.

Chris started to move off me, but I gently caught his hand.

“You’re forgetting something,” I murmured, glancing downward.

His eyes followed mine, and a gentle smile tugged at his lips. “I didn’t forget anything.”

“Then let me,” I said, my voice soft but steady as a wave of confidence rolled over me. I reached for the hem of his sweats, pulling him gently back toward me.

Chris caught my hand, stopping me with a quiet firmness. “You don’t have to, Aurora.”

“I want to,” I replied, gently moving his hand away.

He exhaled, his resistance faltering. “Aurora…” he said again, but this time it came out more like a breath than a warning—like he was trying to convince himself.

I pulled his pants and reassured him, “It's okay”.

He nodded slowly, his breathing deepening, the tension between us thick in the air.

“Okay then,” he murmured, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Stand up.”

I rose to my feet, facing him, our eyes locked for a moment until he sank back into the chair.

His hand rested gently on my shoulder, guiding me downward with quiet intent until I was kneeling in front of him, heart racing.

He slowly lowered his boxers, and when he was fully exposed, my breath caught in my throat. Oh my…he was well, bigger than I expected. Like big, big. His pre-cum was evident at the top. When I looked up, he was already smirking, clearly amused by my reaction. That tease. “Go on, baby,” he said, stroking himself a few times before letting his hand fall away. “Show me how you want to help me.”

My fingers tremble slightly as I touch him, my hands wrap around him, fingers struggling with his skin to properly hold his girth. I was slightly unsure what to do, still being new to this all.

Chris groans sharply, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

“Here,” he rasps, his voice strained “move your hands up and down for me”.

I did as he said.

His head falls back slightly, his thighs flexing, and his hands struggling to hold onto the lounge chair.

“Fuck….y-yes that’s it, ma.”

I watched him curiously. I’ve never seen Chris like this before. In a way, him being in this flushed state made him even more handsome.

Chris groans again, his head tilting back further, his body tensing beneath my touch.

“Go a bit…faster,” he muttered, his voice low and uneven. I hesitated, my thoughts suddenly catching up with me. My hands paused, unsure.

Chris looked down at me, his brows furrowing in concern. “Hey… everything okay?” he asked. “Do you want to stop? Because that’s fine–”

I cut him off and quickly shook my head. “No, it’s not that”.

Hesitated, then looked up at him, nervous but honest. “I just… wanted to ask if you wanted me to…You know, use my mouth?”

His gaze flicked up to meet mine, surprise flashing in his eyes, but it quickly turned into a smirk.

“Are you asking to blow me off, sweetheart?”

I nodded twice, shyly.

“Only if you want to, ma.”

I swallow, heat curling into my stomach. Chris looked wrecked and desperate.

I looked up at him.

“Tell me how to do it,” I said, shyly leaning down to press a few gentle kisses on his tip, his thighs clenched.

“Fuck.”

I parted my lips and inserted him slightly into my mouth. His skin pre-cum hits my tongue.

“Good, beautiful,” he murmurs. “Now, hollow your cheeks for me, and go down a bit more.”

I do as he says, taking him a little deeper, my tongue swirled around, trying to experiment. Chris’s hips jerked forward instantly at that, a hiss escaped his lips.

We began to find a rhythm, and with every passing second, I felt myself growing more comfortable. That heat, that familiar ache, started to stir in me again. Without thinking, I shifted slightly, subtly grinding against the back of my heel for some relief.

Chris noticed instantly. His hand reached out, gently but firmly tugging at my nipple, drawing a gasp from me. “Don’t do that, baby,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Right now, I want you focused here.”

I nod and he lets out a low chuckle, his thumb tracing my lower part of my breast, before letting you continue.

I started to move my hands and my mouth against him now.

“Fuckk, sweetheart- ”

His lips parted, his fingers tilting my chin up slightly, a deep, strangled groan slipped past Chris’s lips as he watched me swallow him.

“My beautiful fiance…you were–urgh–made for me.”

He says, suddenly thrusting himself slowly into my mouth, while I was still working on him as well.

His fingers flex on my jaw, his chest panting. “I’m-I’m gonna cum, ma…f-fuck.”

“Take your mouth off–Aurora…I’m gonna cum into y-you”.

I didn’t though, I kept my mouth on him, and sucked harder, just like how he’d go faster on me when I said I was close.

It worked because with a sharp whimper, he came hard into my mouth. His cum released into my mouth and I swallowed what I could, the rest dripped down the side of my mouth.

Chris took his hand and wiped it, shoving it back into my mouth.

“My perfect girl,” he said, watching me, while he was still subsided from his orgasm.

His striking blue eyes flicked between my face and the way I was still kneeling. For a moment, we just stayed there, the air thick with tension. I shifted slightly, and Chris noticed again.

“Come here, baby,” he said softly, his voice firm but gentle.

He leaned back into the lounge chair, eyes still on me as he waited. Slowly, he reached for my hand.

“Get up,” he said, pulling me gently.

I rose to my feet, and he guided me to sit with him, pulling me into his lap. I was straddling him, his hands steady on my waist, his gaze searching mine.

“You still need me, huh?” he asked teasingly. I nodded immediately.

I saw him take him still hard dick, and bent it onto his chest and looked up at me.

“Sit on it,” he said, nudging me forward. I did just that.

“Now move, back and forth, baby.”

I slowly started to grind my pussy onto his dick. The sensation immediately hit me, and it seemed to hit Chris too. His legs jerk a bit. He put his hands on my hips, moving me himself.

One hand came up to gently cradle my jaw. “My beautiful fiancée,” he murmured.

The words settled into my chest, heavier than I expected—warm and intimate. A knot twisted low in my stomach, not just from the way our bodies were pressed so closely, but from the weight of those words alone.

I looked down at him, and a quiet wave of admiration began to rise in me. There was something in the way he held me—steady, patient, unwavering—that made me feel safe. With Chris, I never felt judged or rushed. When we weren’t fighting, he was my calm, my grounding force. That moment, I realized how deeply grateful I was that he always let me move at my own pace.

“I’m gonna cum a-again Chris” I started to move faster and he started to jutt me against him faster.

“Come with me sweetheart”, he said, his voice just as wrecked.

In a few moments, we both unraveled together, our moans tangled in the quiet air between us. My hands pressed gently against his chest as I tried to steady my breathing, heart still racing. Chris’s release squirted onto his chest.

A minute passed in silence, our bodies slowly coming down from the high. He reached over to the small table beside the lounge chair, grabbing a tissue and wiping himself clean.

Then, without a word, he wrapped an arm around me and pulled me gently into his chest, cradling me against him. His hand traced slow circles along my back, and I let myself melt into the safety of his hold.

Chris’s fingers moved gently through my hair, his other arm still wrapped around my waist. I could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear, grounding me.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, his lips brushing my temple.

I nodded against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the soft thrum of his voice vibrate beneath my cheek. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

He smiled, I could feel it more than see it. “You wore me out too, ma,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “But I got you.”

Neither of us said anything for a moment. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was warm. Full. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath my cheek, grounding me in a way nothing else could.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, his voice low and soft.

I smiled against his chest. “I like it like this.”

“Yeah?” His hand paused, then resumed its slow path across my back. “Me too.”

I felt him rub slow circles onto my back. My breathing started to be normal again.

“You okay, pretty girl?” he murmured, “Did I hurt you at all?”

I shook my head. “No, not at all.”

Chris shifted slightly beneath me, his fingers gently brushing my back. “Come on, baby,” he murmured, kissing the top of my head. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I hummed sleepily in protest, not wanting to leave the comfort of his chest just yet.

He smiled softly, then reached over the side of the couch and grabbed the thick throw blanket draped there. Without a word, he sat up and carefully wrapped it around me, tucking it snugly under my arms, covering me.

I looked up at him, my heart squeezing at how gentle he was. He held out his hand, waiting for me to take it.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he added with a small smirk, “before we fall asleep like this and wake up glued to each other.”

I let out a quiet laugh and took his hand, still wrapped tightly in the blanket. He led me toward the bathroom in his room. His other hand on my back the entire way—protective, warm, and steady. He wasn’t wrong when he said his bed was messy earlier.

Inside the shower, the warmth was immediate. Chris stayed close, his touch slow and gentle. He helped rinse soap through my hair, fingers massaging my scalp with so much care it nearly made my knees weak. When I closed my eyes, he pressed a kiss to my temple, and I leaned into him instinctively.

“This is my second shower of the night,” I giggled.

He smiled down at me, “Mine too”.

I felt… safe. Not just because of how tender he was being, but because I knew, deep down, that I could be fully myself with him.

When we stepped out, he wrapped me in one of the soft towels like I might break. Then he took another and began drying my hair, his hands still so gentle. No teasing. No rush. Just this quiet comfort I never knew I needed so badly.

Chris tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear before pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. I was already dressed in one of his black t-shirts, it hung loose and comfortable on me, smelling like him.

We made our way to my room quietly. I grabbed a pair of underwear from my luggage and slipped into bed, pulling the covers over myself. Chris followed right behind, wearing just his boxers, and slid in beside me.

He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me into his chest. His warmth surrounded me, and I sighed, feeling instantly at ease.

“You’re not done packing,” I murmured sleepily, my voice muffled against his shoulder.

He gave a tired little hum. “I’ll finish in the morning,” he said, already sounding half-asleep.

A thought popped into my head, and I lifted my face a little. “My nightgown and some of your clothes are still in the living room.”

He chuckled softly and kissed the top of my head. “Guess the living room’s seen enough tonight,” he teased. “I’ll grab them later.”

“Mmhm,” I said, nestling closer. “You better.”

Chris just smiled against my hair, holding me tighter. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight,” I whispered, letting my eyes close with his arms still wrapped around me.

This was a trip well spent, with not much meddling.

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS HERE!

[a/n: Who gets the song lyric in the title? If you do your special. Next chapter, soon. Sort of busy this week, but I'm aiming to get stuff out quick. Like, comment, and reblog. mwah] –Ceyana

tags: @loser41ifee @bluestriips @mattsfrenchtoast @slvtf0rchr1s @courta13 @emeraldsturns

(I want to add a lot of people to this tag list, so comment! Don't be shy. kisses <3)

#ceyanabbiolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo #fanfic

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starrysturnz · 6 months ago

Text

baby, it’s cold outside!

pairing. matthew sturniolo x reader

summary. when a harsh blizzard hits boston, matt and y/n get snowed in. with the power out, they brainstorm an alternative way to keep each other warm— and where better to do that than by the fireplace?

warnings. smut; softdom!matt, fingering (fem!receiving), unprotected sex, implied creampie, overstimulation (fem!receiving) if you squint. so much fluff. they love each other so much it’s gross.

word count. 1k

author’s note. sorry i’m posting so late… BUT it’s 10:30pm EST so technically it’s on time. the smut is rushed… this was supposed to be longer but i was traveling today and i didn’t have the energy to keep writing. whatever!! it’s just a blurb! kisses!

masterlist | taglist | starrysturnz’s christmas countdown

“i think that’s enough candles, matt,” y/n laughed, the flickering of the flames reflected in her already shining eyes. “you’re going to wear out the lighter.”

matt glanced up just long enough for her to catch the mischievous grin on his illuminated face, setting the pine-labeled jar down. “it’ll last, baby. i can always go get us another one if it dies.”

“not in this weather, you won’t,” the girl scolded, gazing out the window at the white void and snagging a blanket out of the nearby storage closet. “i don’t care how close the corner store is, you’re not going out in that.” she shivered at the thought, coming up behind her boyfriend and draping the fluffy material across his shoulders. her fingers tickled their way around his waist, clasping tightly and hugging him close so she could relax against his back.

matt’s shoulders jostled her as he chuckled. “c’mon, you know i’m not that stupid. i’d just go next door and ask mr. martínez to lend me one.”

“please. mr martínez hates us. he’d probably let you in just to push you off his balcony.”

turning around in her grasp, matt opened his arms and ushered y/n into his embrace, securing the blanket to cover her frame. “then it’s a good thing there’s four feet of snow on the ground waiting to catch me, huh?” he swiped the tip of her nose with his knuckle, pulling her in to lay a kiss against her forehead.

“whatever. i’m not going down there with a hairdryer to thaw you out. you’re on your own.”

“a space heater would work better, no?” he mused with a smile. “speaking of… we gotta get some heat going in here, it’s freezing. how ’bout a fire, hm? keep us warm ’til they get the power lines back up?”

he felt her nod against his chest. “you do that. i’m gonna go grab the duvet.”

⁺⁎˚

“m-matt…,” y/n whined from beneath him, “please, don’t stop. please.”

“i’ve barely gotten started, baby,” matt spoke lowly, nosing at her flushed cheek, “why would i stop now?”

a breathy sigh filled the space between them, “because you’re evil, and you’re a tease.”

“if i was evil, would i do this?” she gasped sharply as she felt his fingers curl inside her, hitting that special, spongy spot that always left her weak in the knees. his thumb worked hard on her clit, and a shiver shot down her spine; this time, not from the cold.

actually, they were quite warm. matt was the one to suggest they build a makeshift bed by the fireplace, and in hindsight, y/n should’ve known he was scheming for more. but she couldn’t lie and say it was uncomfortable or impractical— the many pillows and blankets beneath her made for a really soft mattress, and she was nothing if not cozy.

but the girl was bordering on impatient. it’s not her fault! it’s just that they’d been doing this for a while now, and the poor girl wanted more. matt’s a giver at heart, and she knew this could go on all night if she didn’t say something.

“matt…,” she whimpered desperately, hands finding purchase in his hair. a dull ache bloomed at the base of his skull as she tugged. “m-matty—”

“matty?” he laughed. “someone’s desperate… poor thing.” his fingers never relented, and it wasn’t long before her first orgasm finally took over.

“oh… oh, my god, matt!” y/n’s voice sounded through the small living room, her hips lifting off of the sheets and grinding into matt’s hand as she started coming down from her high.

“’s right, baby,” he pulled his fingers out, and a whine of discomfort tumbled from her lips. “that’s it, you’re all right. i got you.”

matt took the opportunity to take his girlfriend in. the sight of her beneath him, half aglow in the firelight, laying like an angel in their improvised bed surrounded by candles. he felt like the luckiest guy in the universe.

“baby,” his hand came up to her face, stroking her cheek softly with his knuckles, “you’re shaking.”

y/n’s brow furrowed just so, eyes opening to meet his. “oh… sorry….”

“’s nothing to be sorry about. are you cold? i can grab another log to throw in there, or maybe we have another blanket—”

“i have a better idea.” reaching between them, she palmed him through his calvin kleins.

matt, sucking in a breath through his front teeth, hung his head low as he gathered himself— if he came from one touch alone, he’d never live it down. y/n would make sure he never heard the end of it.

“you sure you don’t want some water first? maybe just a minute to relax a little? i can wait, promise.”

the girl leaned up, pressing the tip of her nose to his. “matt,” she whispered, “please fuck me.”

matt smiled and wasted no time ridding himself of his boxers, almost losing his balance and toppling onto her in the process (she laughed at him and offered no help, naturally). he groaned as he sunk in, swallowing her moans with his mouth, fingers finding her clit once again. a shudder ran through her spine at the stimulation.

“you’re perfect,” he breathed against her neck. wet kisses littered the area, a roadmap of his favorite freckles and blemishes. “what did i do to deserve you?”

y/n wanted to tell him he was born deserving of everything good, but her lips were stuck in a permanent ‘o’ shape. she was putty in his arms, his thrusts jostling her back and forth against the pillows.

“love you… so much, baby,” those the last words she heard before her second high, matt following soon behind her. a few moments came and went before she nudged his shoulder, and matt took that as his cue to ease up.

“i love you, too,” y/n broke the silence. “but i think mr. martínez probably wants us evicted now.”

taglist: @toslayy

#ᨀ☆⠇matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo fanfiction #matthew sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo fluff #matthew sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfiction #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo smut

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socialobligation · 2 months ago

Note

Need... Worried asf monoma x barely alive reader who got their ass sent to the hospital... Shit ton of angst and a fluffy ending and my life is yours unc 🙏🙏

what silence held | n. monoma

the mission went wrong. she didn't make it out whole. he held what was left, whispering promises and apologies into bloodstained skin, praying she'd come back just once more. (2407 words)

neito monoma had always been a figure sculpted from layers of meticulous deflection and purposeful arrogance, a carefully constructed image designed to repel rather than invite closeness. beneath that armor, however, lay an earnestness few had glimpsed, an admiration that had quietly rooted itself deep within him, growing stronger with every interaction he had shared with you—an admiration he kept stubbornly hidden behind sarcasm and rivalry.

but now, standing rigid and hollow-eyed before the stark hospital window separating him from your battered form, monoma felt every carefully laid barrier crumble beneath the weight of profound fear. the clinical white lights cast sharp, unforgiving reflections across the polished floors, illuminating your frail, unmoving figure beneath the sterile sheets. the stark contrast between your vibrant spirit—once so full of stubborn resolve—and the battered body now sustained by machines cut deep into his consciousness, a visceral pain he'd never known before.

your body was a ruin.

blood still crusted around the stitches at your temple, a wound that split your skin down to the bone. your left eye, swollen shut, was purpled nearly black. dried blood rimmed your nostrils. deep bruises bloomed across your collarbone and arms, fingerprints in violent shades of plum and yellow. a jagged gash peeked from beneath the gauze on your abdomen, where they'd reopened you twice due to internal bleeding. a rib had pierced your lung. he'd overheard the doctors say it was a miracle you'd made it to the hospital at all.

inside the room, it was too quiet.

the low whir of the oxygen machine, the faint hiss of air being pushed into your lungs, the soft, consistent beeping of the heart monitor—it should have been reassuring. instead, it felt like a countdown, like a fragile metronome ticking away the seconds you might have left. monoma sat motionless in the corner of your room, the plastic chair beneath him stiff and biting. the rhythmic tick of the wall clock carved into his skull with every passing second, each one sounding louder than the last.

he hated it. hated the silence. hated the way it filled his ears and forced him to listen to the slow, labored breaths you weren't taking on your own. hated the sterility, the scent of antiseptic that clung to the air like guilt. he wanted to scream, but the moment he opened his mouth, nothing came. just the sound of that damned beeping.

monoma sat in rigid silence, watching as your chest rose with the help of the machines, not strength. not anymore. all he could do was sit there and remember. not the good memories. no—the last thing he wanted, the thing he couldn't stop seeing, was how it happened. how you ended up like this. how he let you end up like this.

and then he was back there.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

the air was thick with smoke and ash, turning daylight into a choking haze that painted the battlefield in bruised, sickly hues. rubble littered the ground, the shattered remains of buildings cracked open like bone, and the screams of distant civilians echoed behind the veil of destruction. fires burned unchecked, consuming what little structure remained. it was the kind of scene that stripped away any illusion of heroism—just ruin, blood, and the desperate need to survive.

monoma was bleeding.

he stumbled behind a half-collapsed wall, hand pressed tightly against his ribs, where something inside cracked with every breath. he had copied a quirk minutes ago—strength, maybe, or speed—but the user had gone down too fast, and now the power was bleeding out of him like the rest of his strength. he was running on fumes. his vision was doubled. he was useless.

he was alone.

except for you.

you were still standing. just barely.

ahead of him, through the smoke and flame, you faced the villain who had carved through half your team like wet paper. their quirk was monstrous—pure kinetic manipulation, an ability that turned every limb into a wrecking ball. every punch split concrete. every kick ruptured the earth. the sheer pressure rolling off their body was suffocating.

and you stood in front of it.

you were a wreck. blood soaked your shirt, a dark patch blooming from your side where a rebar had grazed your abdomen. one of your arms dangled slightly off-kilter—dislocated or broken, monoma couldn't tell. your face was almost unrecognizable: your cheek had split open, swollen to the size of your fist, and one eye had completely shut from the bruising. blood matted your hair and dried at the corners of your mouth. your jaw trembled with exhaustion.

but your legs held. barely.

"stay down," the villain growled, voice grating through clenched teeth. "i'll make it quick."

you spat blood at their feet. "you first."

monoma wanted to scream.

you moved first.

you ducked under the first blow. the wind it produced nearly knocked you off balance. you countered, striking fast—a jab to the ribs, a glowing blast of energy from your fingertips—but it only staggered them.

then they retaliated.

their elbow cracked against your jaw with the force of a sledgehammer. monoma saw your teeth snap together hard, blood spraying as your head snapped to the side. you crumpled against a lamppost, rebounded, and charged again with reckless, suicidal momentum.

he wanted to stop you. he wanted to grab your wrist and scream that it wasn't worth it.

but he couldn't even stand.

the villain slammed their foot into your stomach, lifting you off the ground. you flew ten feet and landed with a sound that monoma never wanted to hear again—flesh hitting stone, followed by silence. a wheeze escaped you, thin and wet.

you pushed up on shaking elbows, coughing violently. blood spilled from your mouth. you were wheezing, your breath broken like cracked glass. you reached for the pavement, tried to draw strength into your limbs, but your knees collapsed.

still, you got up.

monoma watched in horror as the villain lunged again.

they grabbed you by the throat and lifted you from the ground. your legs kicked weakly, a final show of resistance. your fingers clawed at their wrist, tearing at the skin, but you couldn't breathe.

they slammed you into a wall.

then the ground.

then again.

you weren't even screaming anymore. just hoarse, rasping gasps.

they punched you in the stomach. once. twice. three times. each hit echoed with a sickening crush. blood streamed freely from your mouth and nose. your arms dropped. your eyes rolled. your head lolled.

monoma could barely see. he was crawling—literally dragging himself across the pavement, nails scraping along the broken asphalt. he left a trail of blood behind him, from his own split skin, from your splattered remains.

you made a noise. it wasn't a word. just something small. a protest. a whimper.

the villain dropped you like a broken doll.

you didn't move.

monoma reached you in time to catch your head before it hit the ground. your face was slack, your eyes glassy. blood bubbled at your lips. he could feel the broken ribs beneath your skin, the sick heat of internal bleeding pressing against your side.

your chest fluttered. barely breathing.

your lips moved.

he leaned in. "don't—don't talk. you're okay. you're okay, just hold on."

your fingers twitched. you tried to raise your arm, but it fell uselessly.

and then, the villain turned.

monoma looked up. he met their eyes—calm, detached, like they were already moving past this scene.

he didn't have the strength to fight. he didn't even have the strength to stand.

but he spread himself over your body anyway, shielding what little was left of you.

sirens in the distance. voices. shouting. too far. too late.

he screamed your name. screamed for help until his voice cracked.

when the others finally arrived, they had to pry his fingers off you. he was still trying to hold your head. still whispering, "she's still breathing," even though you weren't.

they started cpr before they got you on the gurney.

monoma watched the chest compressions. the blood that seeped through the gauze. the oxygen mask they fitted over your mouth. the way your body jolted with every push.

he saw them restart your heart.

twice.

he saw the paramedic shake their head.

he rode in the ambulance. he held your hand the entire way.

and he didn't realize he was still whispering your name until they pulled him off at the er doors, dragging him back as the double doors slammed shut between you.

and he stood there, hands shaking, blood everywhere, not knowing if you were alive or already gone.

and in that moment, monoma broke.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

his body jolted forward, dragged violently back into the present. the smell of blood still clung to his nose, phantom pain still pulsed in his chest where he'd slammed against the pavement. but your hand was still there. still in his. and barely—just barely—you were still breathing.

he stood up suddenly and crossed to your bedside, dragging the chair behind him, the legs screeching softly against the floor. he took your hand into both of his, warming it with his touch, rubbing gently like he could coax life back into you through sheer willpower. his thumbs traced the bones beneath your skin, too sharp now, too still.

"you always did chase trouble," he whispered again, throat raw. "always leaping into things like you were invincible. i admired it, you know. even when i mocked you, i admired it."

he swallowed, breath shaking. "you make people braver just by standing beside them. you make me braver. and i hate how much i didn't say it before."

his voice wavered as he leaned forward. "you have to wake up. i need you to wake up."

the monitor continued its measured beeping.

and then, in an instant, that beeping stuttered. changed. slowed.

it was like watching a glass fall from a ledge. monoma's head snapped toward the monitor.

then the alarm.

the shrill wail of the machines filled the room, loud and final. flatline.

"code blue! room 308!"

monoma stumbled back as a tidal wave of medical staff poured into the room. hands gripped his arms, pulling him away, guiding him to the wall.

your body convulsed once under the defibrillator's shock. a nurse straddled the bed, counting out compressions as another prepared the next jolt. the beeping was gone. it had been replaced by that long, singular tone—flat and cruel.

he could see the color draining from your face. could see how your limbs had fallen loose, like strings cut from a marionette. you weren't breathing. your chest didn't rise. and he felt something inside him crack wide open.

the compressions were brutal. blood bubbled at your lips from the force of them, smeared across your cheek as your head lolled uselessly to the side. the nurse's hands were slicked in it. every thrust against your sternum echoed in monoma's ribs like he was being punched himself.

"again! clear!"

the jolt lifted your chest off the bed. still nothing.

one of the nurses looked up at another, eyes wide. "her vitals are too unstable. i—i don't know if we're going to get her back."

"we keep going!" another shouted, voice fraying at the edges. "she's young. she can still fight."

but doubt was a living thing in the room now. it crept through the gaping silence between the shocks, through the gory mess staining your gown, through the flatness of your chest.

monoma shoved against the arm trying to steady him. "please," he said, voice low and strangled. "please just—just do something. don't let her—don't let her die."

he was shoved back as they resumed cpr. he could hear bones breaking. could hear his own blood in his ears, roaring.

he was watching you die.

and then.

a single, weak beep.

then another.

the line began to flutter, erratic but blessedly alive. the flat tone faded into silence.

"we have a pulse!"

monoma collapsed into the nearest chair like a marionette cut loose. his hands were shaking violently. he reached for your hand again—still cold, still limp—but now, thankfully, attached to something living.

he didn't speak for hours. couldn't. his voice felt locked somewhere deep in his chest, behind the weight of what he'd seen. what he'd almost lost.

—

days passed in a haze.

he hardly left the room. ate only when someone forced him. he sat beside you, head bowed, whispering things you couldn't hear but said anyway. apologies. promises. secrets.

he memorized the peaks and valleys of the monitor's readout, flinched at every hiccup in the rhythm. he learned the shift rotations of the nurses, knew which ones brought your meds, which one checked the iv. he hated all of them for seeing you like this.

when your fingers twitched, he almost didn't notice.

then, they moved again.

he sat bolt upright. "y/n?"

your eyes fluttered, unfocused. your lips parted. "neito..?"

the breath he exhaled was more like a sob. "you're awake. you're really awake."

you tried to smile. "i feel like i got hit by a truck."

he laughed, broken and soft. "you look like it too. but you're here."

silence stretched between you again. but this time, it was the kind that held weight.

there were things in the air—things he had left unsaid. things you'd never had the chance to hear.

monoma reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your forehead. "there's something i have to tell you."

you blinked slowly, but your gaze was steady. "okay."

"i can't... i can't keep pretending i don't care. you've always meant more to me than i let on. i admire you. i rely on you—" he paused, breath catching. "i love you. i didn't know how badly until i thought you were gone."

your breath caught too—but not from weakness. your eyes softened, a glint of warmth returning to your face.

"i think i've been waiting to hear that for a long time."

monoma swallowed hard, trying and failing to suppress the tremor in his hands. "then i'm sorry it took almost losing you to say it."

you smiled, slow and tired. "i forgive you. but you're not getting rid of me that easily."

he leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against yours. the machines continued to beep, slow and steady. for the first time in days, monoma let himself close his eyes.

"then i'm not going anywhere. ever."

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bettelaboure · 3 months ago

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Hellaurr May i request a g dragon x idol reader where she plays a really dominant badass woman in a movie or on stage for a song or smth and jiyong watches it and just absolutely smitten with it being needy and all for her thank yew 🫶

(Also i love that draft fic you made about ceo jiyong ^^)

CAN YOU BEHAVE? ⊹ Kwon Ji-yong

_______________________________

⊹ WARNINGS suggestive content, dominant/submissive dynamics, sensual tension, language, and mature themes

⊹ SUMMARY you play a dominant, magnetic idol whose onstage power and real-life presence completely captivate Kwon Jiyong. From your commanding performance to teasing him breathless in the backseat of his car, the story unfolds as a slow, smoldering descent into obsession, surrender, and electric chemistry.

_______________________________

The first time Kwon Jiyong saw you, you weren’t walking. You were striding — like you owned the ground, the stage, the air itself.

It was at the MAMA rehearsals. The kind of chaotic day where stylists, dancers, idols, and their hangers-on buzzed around like bees in a storm. But when you stepped onto that rehearsal stage, time didn’t slow.

It stopped.

You were wearing a blood-red blazer—cinched at the waist, nothing underneath. Thigh-high boots with heels that sounded like the tick of a countdown. A pair of sharp, angular sunglasses rested on the bridge of your nose, though you were indoors. You didn’t take them off. You didn’t need to.

The concept was “Scarlet Queen.” A solo stage layered into a high-concept performance piece that barely got past the censors. Three male dancers, shirtless and collared, playing out a narrative of submission. You, the center of gravity, never touched them—you commanded them with a look.

Jiyong, standing in the shadows near the tech booth with a lollipop in his mouth, pulled his sunglasses down just far enough to see you clearly. His hand dropped. So did the candy.

“Who the fuck is that?”

No one answered him. They were too busy watching you.

He didn’t approach you that day. G-Dragon didn’t chase. That wasn’t his thing. But that night, in the back of his chauffeured car, your image played on loop in his head. That gaze. That confidence. That unspoken dare.

He went home frustrated. Inspired. Intrigued. He couldn’t sleep.

By the time the live performance aired, he wasn’t just watching. He was studying. Obsessively.

The moment you walked onstage, it wasn’t music anymore—it was war. Your movements were precise, your choreography lethal in its elegance. You didn’t dance like you were trying to impress anyone.

You moved like a warning.

You sang the first verse lounging on a black velvet throne, legs crossed, mic in one hand like a dagger in the other. When you stood—slowly, like rising royalty—the dancers dropped to their knees.

And then, there it was.

The moment that made every male idol backstage shift in their seats.

You leaned in toward the camera, lips brushing the mic, and purred, “You want to serve me, don’t you?”

Somewhere, Jiyong was already planning his surrender.

Two weeks later.

He wasn’t used to waiting.

But when you strolled into the same Seoul lounge where he and his crew were half-draped across couches and velvet seats, drink in hand, chin high—he realized he'd waited for this.

“Look who it is,” you said, nodding at him like he was the one lucky enough to be in your presence.

He smiled slowly. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I know.”

“You planning on ignoring me all night?” he asked.

You tilted your head. “That depends. Can you behave?”

His lips twitched. “Absolutely not.”

You leaned in just close enough for your perfume to overwhelm his thoughts. “Then maybe you’ll be fun.”

He swallowed hard.

You talked. Or rather, you let him orbit you like a moon caught in gravity. He was charming—of course. But you didn’t lean in, didn’t giggle, didn’t play coy. And the more you didn’t, the more Jiyong found himself needing to fill the silence. Make you laugh. Get a reaction. Anything.

“You’ve got a habit of staring,” you said, sipping your drink.

He tilted his head. “Only at art.”

You raised a brow. “You call what I did art?”

“No,” he said, voice lower now. “I call it a threat. To everyone else on that stage.”

You smirked. “You liked it.”

“I’m still recovering.”

There it was—a flash of something in your eyes. Amusement? Approval?

You leaned forward, slow. “Tell me, Jiyong. Do you like dangerous women?”

“Only the ones who could ruin me.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, leaning back, crossing your legs. “Then I might be your worst idea yet.”

He smiled, but it was thin. Tight. Because somewhere between his fantasies and the conversation, he’d realized something horrifying.

He was already obsessed.

Fast-forward. Two more weeks.

You kept it quiet. No media. No managers. Just... stolen hours. Backseats of cars. Late-night studio visits. A luxury apartment he rented under another name.

One of your favorite games played out in the black leather backseat of his chauffeured Mercedes, the divider up, the city lights flickering across his jaw as he looked at you like you were trouble wrapped in silk.

"You're staring again," you said, your heel nudging his knee as you slid closer, feigning innocence with a slow blink.

"You're straddling the line between teasing and torture," he muttered, his voice husky, his hand twitching where it rested on the seat.

You leaned in, close enough that your lips nearly brushed his. "Then maybe you should punish me."

His breath hitched.

Your fingers slid along his thigh, light and deliberate. "Or maybe you like it. Maybe you want me to keep pushing."

He caught your wrist, grip tight, eyes dark. "You think you’re in control?"

"I know I am," you purred, pulling your hand free, only to slip it under his jacket, fingers tracing his chest. "And you love it."

Jiyong lunged forward, capturing your lips with his. The kiss was rough, all teeth and frustration, but you met it with a growl of your own, hands fisting in his collar as you pulled him deeper into it.

You climbed onto his lap, knees bracketing his hips, the heat between you molten. His hands gripped your waist, grounding himself, while your lips moved down to his neck, your teeth dragging against skin until he gasped.

"I should hate how good you are at this," he murmured, forehead pressed to yours.

"You don't hate it," you whispered, licking a stripe just below his ear. "You crave it."

He groaned, letting his head fall back as you rolled your hips against his.

And in the cocoon of darkness, beneath tinted windows and city hush, Jiyong surrendered to your fire again—just another stolen hour, one more moment where the world bowed only to you.

And you never called him "oppa."

You called him by his name. Jiyong. Low and firm, like it meant something. Like it claimed him.

He loved it.

Sometimes, when you were tangled up in the dark, you would whisper his name in that same voice—dark honey and sin—and he'd melt. Your nails on his back, your teeth on his jaw. One kiss from you and he was wrecked.

Tonight, he waited in your dressing room while you performed at a private showcase—exclusive, invite-only. Only the elite of the elite got in.

He sat on the couch, legs spread, rings tapping against the armrest, scrolling through photos of you online like a lovesick fanboy. You were on every trending topic.

“K-pop’s New Femme Fatale.” “[Y/N] Makes Her Male Co-stars Kneel in Viral Performance.” “Dominance Never Looked So Good.”

He grinned to himself. If only they knew how much of it wasn’t an act.

The door opened.

You entered.

Your makeup wasn’t even smudged. Hair slightly tousled, body humming with leftover adrenaline. And your eyes—those sharp, knowing eyes—locked onto him.

“Enjoy the show?” you asked, peeling off your gloves.

He stood. Walked to you. His hands reached for your hips, tentative—like approaching a goddess.

“You already know I did.”

“Mm,” you mused, letting his hands settle. “You watched every second?”

“I always do.”

Your hands slid into his hair, tugging it just hard enough to make his breath hitch.

“Good boy.”

Fuck.

His knees almost gave out.

You kissed him then—hard, hungry. Your hands fisted in his shirt, dragging him into you. He gasped against your mouth, and you swallowed the sound like it belonged to you.

You stumbled to the couch. You shoved him down and climbed over him, straddling his hips. Your lips trailed down his neck, biting just enough to leave a mark.

“You’re mine tonight, Jiyong,” you whispered.

“Always,” he breathed.

You kissed him again, deeper, rougher. His hands roamed your waist, your back, anything he could touch. You didn’t stop him, but you never let him lead.

Later, he lay sprawled out on your bed, shirt open, mouth kiss-bruised and jaw slack.

You sat beside him, still half-dressed, looking like sin incarnate.

“I don’t get it,” he murmured, dazed. “You make me feel like I’d crawl just to hear you say my name.”

You looked down at him, one brow raised.

“Would you?”

He looked at you.

Then slowly, almost reverently, he got to his knees. Palms on your thighs. Eyes lifted, shining.

“Say it,” he whispered.

Your fingers tilted his chin up. Your smile was slow. Wicked.

“Good,” you whispered. “Now behave.”

And G-Dragon—legend, icon, king—nodded.

Like a man who’d finally found his queen.

Taglist: @redhoodedtoad @mirahyun @sherrayyyyy @sherxoo @dilfismz @breakmeoff @janie-osuih @forevervibezzzz1 @kuinnoa @juliskopf @maskedcrawford @szonyix6277

#fanfic #bigbang #big bang #kwon jiyong #gdragon #kwon jiyong x reader #kwon jiyong scenario #gdragon x reader #gdragon scenario #gdragon bigbang

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w1w2 · 2 months ago

Text

A Contract of Silence

Previous part | Part 12 | Next part

Giselle x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 8k

Synopsis: Jeno doesn’t need a weapon to tear everything apart, as his words cut deeper than any blade, Giselle scrambles to contain the fallout. And how does it feel to lose all control when the truth finally hits? When the past she buried drags itself into the light, and the one person she can't afford to lose is watching?

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The silence that followed Jeno’s words was worse than anything that had come before it. Silence so dense, so suffocating, it seemed to fill the entire warehouse, seeping into their lungs, pressing down on their ribs until even breathing felt like a mistake.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that offered mercy or reprieve, it was the kind that sharpened every fear, every regret, every terrible thought that had been lying dormant, waiting for this exact moment to claw its way to the surface.

Above them, somewhere high in the rafters, a slow, rhythmic drip of water echoed into the vast emptiness, each drop striking the concrete with a hollow slap that seemed too loud, too final, like a countdown neither of them could stop. The overhead lights buzzed weakly, casting fractured circles of harsh white light across the cracked floor, the beams broken by exposed steel girders and forgotten machinery, making everything look jagged, disjointed, wrong. The cold radiated up from the ground beneath them, settling deep into their bones, into the spaces between their hearts and their terror.

Giselle shifted slightly, the motion small, instinctive, her wrists flexing against the coarse rope that bound them. The fibers dug deeper with every movement, biting into her skin like teeth, a brutal reminder that control was no longer something she could even pretend to have.

Beside her, Y/N sat unnervingly still, her body tense, rigid, a statue carved out of fear and stubborn defiance. She wasn’t trembling, she wasn’t fighting, not yet, but Giselle could feel the way she was barely holding herself together, the way her breathing came slow and deliberate, like every inhale was a battle she refused to lose.

Neither of them dared to speak, neither of them dared to move more than necessary.

Jeno didn’t need to say anything else, he just stood in the faint glow of the broken lights, watching them, savoring the silence he had created, the power he held over it. His presence was a weight pressing into the room, heavier than the ropes, heavier than the cold, heavier than anything Giselle had ever fought against.

The only sound was his slow, deliberate pacing, the measured scrape of his shoes against the rough concrete floor, circling them like a vulture waiting for something to finally die.

It was a silence built to break them and Giselle felt it starting to work.

Jeno didn’t rush.

He moved with the slow, deliberate ease of a man who knew exactly how deep his knives would cut, emerging from the shadows without urgency, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark coat, a small, self satisfied smile curling the corners of his mouth like a signature on a death warrant.

There was no rage in the set of his jaw, no gleam of wild anger in his eyes, no. Only calculation, only patience, only the slow, methodical cruelty of someone who had waited far too long for this moment and intended to savor every second of it.

His eyes moved first to Giselle, the disheveled fall of her hair, the stubborn tilt of her chin despite the ropes biting into her wrists, the way her breath came shallow and even, the only sign of the storm roiling beneath the surface.

The corner of his mouth lifted higher, a smirk carved from pure satisfaction.

“Well, well,” he murmured, his voice low, almost bored, the cadence of a man making polite conversation at a dinner party rather than standing over his captives. “Look at you. The perfect Miss CEO.”

His words dripped with mockery, thick and heavy, each syllable settling into the room like smoke that refused to dissipate. He tilted his head slightly, studying Giselle as if she were something pitiful, something broken, something beneath him.

“You really thought you could crawl your way out from under the old man’s shadow, didn’t you?” he mused, his voice syrupy with false sympathy, each word a deliberate push against her ribs, against her pride, against the parts of her she thought she had hidden away.

“You thought if you worked hard enough, polished yourself bright enough, you could scrub the blood off your hands and pretend you were clean.”

Giselle’s jaw locked, her teeth grinding together with the force of restraint, her muscles coiling under the rope so tightly that the fibers creaked in protest. But she didn’t speak, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Silence was the only weapon she had left, brittle and slipping fast through her fingers.

Jeno’s gaze flickered lazily then, sliding toward Y/N like a snake testing the air, and the shift in him was immediate, almost imperceptible, a colder edge slipping beneath the mockery, something sharper, something crueler.

“And you,” he breathed, a near laugh curling beneath the syllables. “You poor little thing.”

He crouched low, slow and easy, bringing himself down to their level, the move unhurried, the smirk never leaving his face. His elbows rested casually on his knees as he stared at Y/N, studying her like a butcher might study the clean lines of a carcass before making the first cut.

“You actually believed she was different, didn’t you?” he said, voice dropping into something almost gentle, almost confessional, like he was sharing a secret meant only for her.

“You thought she wasn’t just another Uchinaga, hiding knives behind her pretty smiles, behind her soft words and hollow promises.”

Y/N didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, didn’t even breathe, it seemed.

But Giselle could feel it, the tension radiating from her, sharp and brittle, a wire pulled so tight it vibrated beneath the surface. Her fingers twitched once, barely noticeable, a ghost of a reaction before she forced herself still again.

And Jeno drank it in.

Every fragile breath Y/N fought to control, every silent tremor beneath her skin, every crack that hadn’t fully broken open yet but was starting to fracture.

He leaned closer, so close that Giselle wanted to tear free, wanted to rip the smirk from his face with her bare hands, but the ropes bit deeper, and all she could do was watch as he whispered.

“It’s a shame, really. How easily people believe in the things they want most.”

His voice was almost kind, almost pitying, almost enough to make you forget it was meant to destroy.

And Y/N sat there, silent and unmoving, but her eyes? Her eyes were screaming.

Giselle held her ground, the coarse fibers of the rope biting mercilessly into her wrists with every subtle movement, the skin there raw and burning, but she didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as blink as she leveled her gaze at Jeno across the fractured expanse of concrete between them.

There was no hatred in her eyes, no rage, no fear. Only a cold, brittle steadiness, the kind of steadiness that came from years of learning how to bleed without letting anyone see.

But it didn’t matter, it was never going to matter, because Jeno didn’t need the spectacle of broken bodies or raised voices to know he was winning. He could see it in the way the silence between them shivered under its own weight, in the way Giselle’s muscles remained taut beneath the bindings, in the way Y/N sat too still, too quiet, like one wrong move would shatter whatever threadbare thing was left between them.

It was all there, plain and devastating, the frayed edges of trust, the silent screams that pressed against the walls of throats, the fragile, crumbling bond they clung to as if pretending hard enough could make it real again.

Jeno smiled then, slow and easy, the kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes, the kind that curdled in the pit of your stomach before your mind could even process why.

He rose to his feet in a single, unhurried movement, brushing invisible dust from the front of his coat with the careless arrogance of a man who knew he had already won, who knew the worst kind of ruin was the kind that didn’t require violence to be complete.

"Family," he mused aloud, almost to himself, rolling the word across his tongue like it was something poisonous he had grown far too used to tasting. "Loyalty, blood."

Each word hung in the air like smoke, heavy and clinging, filling the empty spaces until it was all they could breathe.

"You can build all the empires you want, little sister," he said, the mockery sharpening, slicing deeper with every syllable, "you can dress it up in gold and glass and tailored suits, you can pretend you’re different, better, cleaner."

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his shadow slicing a crooked line across the floor as the broken light swung above them.

"But at the end of the day, we both know the truth."

He turned his head slightly then, his gaze sweeping back to Y/N like a blade catching the light, and his smile curved wider, colder, sharper, something vicious in the simplicity of it, something that made the hair at the back of Giselle’s neck stand on end despite herself.

"Let’s talk about Daddy," he said, voice dropping into something almost tender, almost reverent.

And just like that, the first crack split wide open, running jagged and merciless through everything they had fought so hard to hold together.

The warehouse seemed to tilt for a second, the hum of the lights growing louder in Giselle’s ears, drowning out even the sound of her own heartbeat.

There was no escaping it now, no more pretending, no more salvaging what was left. The truth was coming and this time, it was going to tear them apart.

The world outside the warehouse could have collapsed and neither of them would have noticed. Inside these walls, time stretched thin and brittle, weighed down by the suffocating stillness that wrapped around them like a noose.

Jeno paced in front of them, he carried no weapons, no tools of force in his hands, he didn’t need them. His presence alone was enough to peel back the walls they had built around themselves, brick by crumbling brick.

"You really thought you could bury it," he murmured, almost to himself, almost like it amused him. "All that blood, all those bodies."

He stopped then, turning slowly to face them, and the broken light overhead caught the sharp curve of his mouth, the cruel gleam in his eyes. His gaze shift to Giselle, lingering there, savoring the rigidity of her posture, the iron tight clench of her jaw. Then to Y/N, whose body remained stiff, unmoving, but whose fingers had begun to tremble ever so slightly where they rested against the rough floor.

"Our father wasn’t a businessman," Jeno said, voice low, almost fond, like he was recounting a bedtime story.

"You want to know the real legacy Daddy left behind, Y/N?" he said softly, the words sliding off his tongue with a sickening sweetness that made Giselle’s stomach tighten. His voice was almost gentle, almost coaxing, the way a wolf might whisper to a lamb before sinking its teeth into its throat.

"He built everything Aeri is so proud of," Jeno continued, pacing again, slow, methodical. "The skyscrapers, the luxury, the empire with its golden gates and silk curtains."

Giselle kept her face blank, the way she had been trained to, the way she had survived. But her nails dug into the flesh of her palm where the ropes cut across her wrists, deep enough to leave half moon imprints, deep enough to hurt.

Jeno’s smile widened, sharp and humorless, a blade in the dim light.

"Every deal he ever made," he continued, and there was something disturbingly casual about the way he spoke, like he was listing off groceries, "Every handshake, every contract, every alliance, every penny the Uchinaga name was built on. It was all forged in three things."

He lifted a hand, ticking the points off slowly, deliberately, one by one, each word dropping like a hammer against the already splintering floor beneath them.

"Blackmail."

A finger.

"Bribery."

Another.

"And murder."

The last hung there, heavy and final, soaking into the silence like blood into cloth.

The word shuddered in the air between them. Y/N’s head tilted slightly, the barest flicker of confusion flashing through her eyes, because it still didn’t make sense yet, still didn’t connect back to her, not yet.

Jeno saw it, and he smiled.

"He didn’t just climb to the top, Y/N," he said, tilting his head at Giselle like he was admiring a wounded animal. "He clawed his way up. Over the bodies of anyone who got in his way, bought judges, buried scandals,"

His voice dipped lower, colder.

"And when money wasn’t enough, when bribes weren’t enough. He made them disappear."

Y/N’s breathing hitched then, small, sharp, but enough that Giselle felt it more than heard it, enough that the delicate threads she had been clinging to started unraveling in her hands.

Still, Giselle said nothing, she stayed frozen, because speaking would mean acknowledging it, and neither of them were ready.

Jeno took a few steps closer, boots scuffing the concrete like a heartbeat slowing down before the final blow.

"You sit there thinking you know pain," he said, voice almost pitying. "Thinking you know betrayal."

He crouched lower, folding into himself effortlessly, so that he was eye level with them, so close that Giselle could smell the stale cigarette smoke clinging to his coat, the metallic edge of blood that still clung to his skin.

"You don’t know yet, do you?"

He leaned forward slightly, just enough that the worn leather of his coat brushed the floor, just enough that his shadow stretched out and touched the tips of Y/N’s shoes.

"You don’t realize just how deep the rot runs."

His words slid into the cracks between them, filling the spaces where trust once lived, poisoning the fragile connection they had fought so desperately to rebuild.

Giselle wanted to reach out, wanted to shield Y/N from the storm she could already feel gathering, but her body was bound, her mouth was useless, and even if she could have moved, it wouldn’t have mattered, because the knife was already in Jeno’s hand, and he was only just beginning to carve them open.

"You ever wonder what really happened to your father, Y/N?"

The question landed with the weight of a hammer dropped from a great height. The kind of question that didn't ask for an answer, only demanded the breaking that would follow.

Y/N stilled, so completely that it would have been easy to think she hadn’t heard him at all, except for the way her breath stuttered in her chest, just once, so subtly that only someone who knew her like Giselle did would have noticed.

Giselle didn’t look at Y/N. She couldn’t, she stared ahead, unblinking, because looking would mean seeing the moment the blade went in.

Jeno smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Your father," he said, voice almost affectionate, almost gentle, as if he were sharing a memory instead of carving open old wounds, "Was never supposed to be anything more than a silent partner. Useful, quiet, invisible. You didn't know that, right? That our families share a history?"

He began to pace again, not with anger, but with a sickening patience, like a predator circling wounded prey.

"But he didn’t stay in the shadows, did he?" His voice dropped lower, silkier, sliding into the cracks of the room like smoke.

"He started asking questions he shouldn’t have, started looking too closely at things he wasn’t supposed to see."

Y/N’s fingers twitched, a tiny, involuntary reaction, and Giselle felt the way the air shifted around her, the way disbelief and fear and betrayal started to coil inside Y/N like smoke thickening in her lungs.

Jeno's gaze sharpened, seeing it, savoring it.

"He found out what the Uchinagas really were," he continued, almost conversationally, as if discussing nothing more than the weather. "And he decided he wanted out."

He stopped pacing, standing directly in front of them, close enough that Giselle could see the gleam of cruelty in his eyes, the satisfaction of a man who knew he was gutting them slowly, methodically.

"He was going to expose everything," Jeno said, the amusement bleeding out of his voice now, leaving something colder, heavier behind. "Our father couldn’t risk that."

Giselle squeezed her eyes shut for a second, just a second, fighting the wave of nausea that rose in her throat, the memory of boardroom whispers, of locked doors and hurried meetings she had been kept out of when she was young.

"You always wondered, didn’t you?" Jeno murmured, tilting his head, directing his words at Y/N now, like twisting the knife directly into her ribs.

"Why no one ever asked too many questions, why everything was swept under the rug before you could even scream loud enough to matter."

Y/N’s body was still too rigid, too still, like a glass about to fracture under invisible pressure. Only her eyes moved, dark and wide, locking onto Jeno with a kind of quiet devastation that Giselle could feel breaking apart at the seams.

Jeno crouched down again, balancing effortlessly on the balls of his feet, his shadow swallowing theirs.

"Our father took care of it," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, a confessional. The words slammed into the space between them, sucking the air from the room, leaving only a hollow ringing in Giselle’s ears.

"And the best part?" Jeno’s grin widened. "It wasn’t even personal, it was business."

Y/N’s breath hitched, a small, broken thing, but she didn’t cry. She just stared, her entire body wound so tightly that Giselle thought if she so much as touched her, she would shatter into a thousand pieces.

Giselle’s wrists burned against the rope, her fingers numb, her chest so tight it hurt to breathe. Because she had known, not the details, not the name. But she had known their father made people disappear when it suited him.

And she had never told Y/N.

"You trusted her," Jeno whispered, as if delivering the final blow, his voice almost tender now, almost gentle, the way a killer might murmur a lullaby as he tightened the noose.

"You trusted the daughter of the man who had your father killed."

The silence that followed Jeno’s last words wasn’t emptiness, it was a living thing, thick and heavy, coiling through the broken ribs of the warehouse like smoke, sinking its teeth into every raw, exposed nerve he had torn open with surgical precision. It sat there between them, swollen and alive, filling the space that should have been too vast to feel so small, pressing down until even breathing became an act of defiance.

But Jeno wasn’t finished, not even close.

His gaze drifted lazily across the space between them, sliding from Y/N’s rigid form to Giselle’s bound body, lingering, savoring, drinking in the way Giselle’s mouth was set in a thin, bloodless line, the way her fury burned so bright beneath her skin it might have set the ropes on fire if she had only the strength left to ignite them.

"You think she’s innocent?" The words came out almost idly, a man tossing a stone into a still pond just to watch the ripples spread, and though he spoke to Y/N, his eyes never once left Giselle, as if every ounce of his satisfaction depended on watching the guilt crack her open from the inside.

"You think she’s just another victim?" His voice dripped with false sympathy, each syllable carefully honed into a razor's edge.

"Another soul dragged under by the Uchinaga name, too good for the blood soaking into her hands?"

He took a step forward, casual and unhurried, the distance between them shrinking until Giselle could see the hollow shadows beneath his cheekbones, could see the cold gleam in his eyes that said he enjoyed every second of this.

"You don’t know what she’s done," he said, voice low and cruel, and it wasn’t a revelation, it was a promise that what came next would be worse.

Y/N’s eyes flickered, barely a tremor, a shiver at the corner of her guarded mask, but it was enough.

Jeno latched onto it the way a predator latches onto the first stutter of a wounded animal, feeding on the weakness with a feral kind of glee. His voice dropped even lower, softening into something almost intimate, a blade sheathed in velvet.

"Let me tell you another story."

The warehouse seemed to close in then, the broken beams and crumbling walls pressing tighter, the buzzing overhead lights sputtering like dying stars, the drip of leaking water somewhere high above becoming a steady, rhythmic beat, a funeral march for whatever fragile hope still clung between them.

And just like that, the past opened its jaws, dark and merciless, and swallowed them whole.

The rain hadn’t stopped all day. It blurred the city into something unreal, lights smudged into streaks across the glass, streets glossed over like film, the world soaked to the bone and somehow quieter for it. Every honk, every siren, every hum of life felt muffled, as though the entire skyline had been wrapped in gauze and held beneath the surface of something too deep to escape.

Giselle stood near the parking with her coat clinging to her skin, the fabric heavy with rain and the weight of expectation. Water dripped from the ends of her hair, soaked into her collar, and pooled inside her shoes until her toes went numb. But she didn’t move, didn’t shiver, she kept her spine straight and her hands jammed into the pockets of her coat, because she had been taught from the moment she could walk that fear was best buried where no one could find it.

Jeno was beside her, equally silent, equally still, his face drawn in that unreadable way that told her he was doing the same thing, swallowing whatever he felt and turning it into something their father would call strength.

He was nineteen, she was seventeen. Not quite children anymore, not yet monsters.

But tonight would change that.

Their father had summoned them that morning. No warning, no nothing. Just a clipped message and the sound of heels on marble as they were escorted into the office like guests rather than family. He hadn’t even looked up from his paper when he gave the order, hadn’t paused his tea or the idle tap of his fingers against porcelain.

“A simple job,” he said. “You’ll go together. No blood, no mess, just a simple warning.”

He had smiled when he said it, not a real one, not a warm one, but the kind of expression that wrapped around your throat like a chain, sweetened with approval so you mistook it for love. Giselle had nodded, Jeno hadn’t spoken. Their silence had been its own form of agreement, shaped over years of watching what happened to people who hesitated.

It was supposed to be clean, that was what she kept telling herself, like repetition might somehow make it true. They weren’t there to hurt anyone, just to remind a man, some businessman, someone with too much curiosity and too little sense, that the Uchinaga family did not appreciate being questioned.

The man had poked into places he wasn’t meant to see. Their father had called it “loyalty enforcement.” A lesson, a test.

And Giselle, who had never failed a test in her life, had taken the gun when it was handed to her without blinking, tucking it into the inside of her coat like she’d been doing it her entire life.

It was light, too light.

She hated how easily it fit there, hated the absence of weight, like it wasn’t real, like it didn’t matter.

She had looked at Jeno then, just once, searching for something. Reassurance, hesitation, maybe even a crack in the surface of him? But he only nodded, slow and cold, and turned toward the door.

That’s when she understood.

This wasn’t a reminder for the man, it was for them.

A reminder of what their father once said. “You don’t lead unless you’re willing to get your hands dirty.”

She should have said something, should have turned around, should have looked at Jeno and shaken her head, should have walked back into that dripping city and let the rain carry her far from everything she was being asked to become.

But the words had never made it past her lips.

Because beneath the porcelain surface of her expression, beneath the cold, practiced stillness that had earned her her father’s rare nods of approval, there was something louder. Something ancient, something that sat in the hollow of her chest and whispered that this was survival, that silence was the only language anyone had ever listened to in this family.

And so she kept quiet.

She was afraid, not of the man they were sent to threaten, not even of the possibility that things might go wrong, no. She was afraid of something worse.

She was afraid of disappointing him.

Afraid of her father’s voice shifting from pride to contempt, of his gaze sliding right past her like she was nothing. Afraid of Jeno’s compliance, of the quiet, dangerous way he had accepted the order without blinking, the way he always did, the way he had been taught to. Afraid of what it would mean to fail the one thing they had spent their whole lives being trained to do.

Obey.

Giselle’s fingers curled around the inside of her coat, brushing the cold metal of the gun where it lay hidden against her ribs. It was small, sleek, not meant to be used. At least, that’s what they had been told. Just presence, a symbol, a reminder that Uchinagas didn’t make empty threats.

Still, it felt heavy enough to shift the rhythm of her breathing, heavy enough that it pressed against her like a second heartbeat, loud and foreign, pulsing with something she didn’t have a name for.

She had practiced for this, rehearsed every line. She had said them in her mind a dozen times, had folded her voice into something sharp and cool and unimpeachable. She wasn’t here to tremble, she wasn’t here to beg.

She was here to become.

To become someone he could look at and call a leader, to become something he would crown, to become her father’s heir, not just in title, but in blood.

It wasn’t bravery that held her upright, it wasn’t strength. It was necessity. It was the sick, hollow realization that if she didn’t play the part, someone else would, and she had spent too long clawing her way through silence and shadows to let that happen now.

So she kept her eyes forward, her expression blank, her voice buried somewhere deep beneath the weight of everything she couldn’t say.

And she stepped into the dark.

The man they were sent to confront stood hunched beneath the yellow flicker of a dying lamp, shoulders slumped forward, rain soaking through the fabric of his shirt until it clung to his skin. He looked tired, older than the files had suggested with a salt and pepper beard and eyes that darted toward every shadow like he already knew his time was running out.

He raised his hands in slow, trembling arcs of surrender, fingers spread like a man trying to prove he carried no weapons.

“I don’t want trouble,” he said, and even his voice was soft, thinned out by fear, like he was trying to sound smaller than he was.

And for a moment, that was all it was supposed to be.

Giselle watched him, her body stiff beneath her soaked coat, the weight of the gun a gravitational pull against her ribs. Jeno stood just ahead of her, his posture loose, calculated, like he’d done this before. He said nothing, just stepped forward, letting silence stretch between them like a fuse waiting for fire.

But that was when it changed.

A woman, young, breathless, burst from the mouth of a side stairwell, her footsteps drowned out by the hiss of the rain until she was already there, already moving, already too close.

She wasn’t in the reports, no one had mentioned a sister, an assistant or a wife.

“Leave him alone!” Her voice cut through the night like shattering glass.

And then she was running, shoes splashing through puddles, her arms swinging wildly as she threw herself at Jeno, her body fueled by fear, maybe, or love, or something more dangerous than either.

Giselle barely had time to register what was happening.

Jeno reacted first, his arms shooting out to stop her, his voice lost in the chaos, drowned by her cries, by the wet slap of limbs colliding, by the way her fingers clawed at his jacket, her nails raking down his arm as she screamed again and again and again.

It happened fast, but not fast enough to be called instinct.

Giselle moved.

She didn’t remember reaching for the gun, only the shift of her coat, the scrape of metal against her palm, the way the cold seemed to sink into her bones the moment her fingers wrapped around the grip. Her mind fractured, a thousand conflicting commands shrieking inside her skull, but one rose louder than the rest.

Do something.

Her arm lifted, not fully, not in control.

Just up, just there.

The woman shoved Jeno again.

He stumbled.

The gun went off.

And then? The stillness.

Not the kind that follows peace, the kind that comes when time stops moving, when the world forgets how to spin, when the blood hasn’t reached the floor yet, but everyone knows it will.

The woman’s body collapsed onto the pavement with a sickening weight, limbs folding inward as if the force had ripped something from her, something vital, something irretrievable. Her silhouette crumpled into the sheen of asphalt, and for one terrible moment, the world seemed to exhale around her in silence.

Then came the red, dark, thick, too vivid against the gray. It seeped slowly at first, blooming beneath her like ink in water, turning the gathered rain into something tainted, something that mirrored the violence still ringing through the air.

Giselle stood rooted to the ground, the gun still gripped in her trembling hands, its weight no longer just steel and powder but something monstrous. Her arms were locked in place, elbows rigid, shoulders knotted so tightly it felt as though her bones might splinter beneath her skin.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away, not from the woman, not from the spreading pool of blood that kept inching closer to the tips of her shoes. And not from her own hands, pale, rigid, still locked in the shape of recoil.

She didn’t remember deciding to pull the trigger, all she knew was that her finger had moved, that the pressure had broken, and that somewhere in the chaos of voices and motion and fear, she had become the very thing she had once promised herself she’d never be.

Jeno was staring.

His features carved from stone, unreadable, yet threaded through with a disbelief so sharp it bordered on betrayal. His mouth was open, but no words came out, not of anger, not of defense, not even of blame. Just silence, accusing, staggered, as if he couldn’t decide whether to reach for her or step away.

The man, the one they’d come for, didn’t move.

He stood frozen just beyond the puddle of blood, his hands still raised, his face blank with horror. For a moment, he looked like he might fall to his knees beside her, scream, collapse.

But he didn’t.

He just stood there, silent, breath ragged, eyes wide, staring not at the woman on the ground but at Giselle, at the gun, at the mistake that had just rewritten everything.

And then their father arrived.

Not with urgency, but with the slow, measured cadence of a man walking into something he’d already accounted for. His umbrella sliced through the rain like a blade, water sliding down the edges in pristine sheets, his eyes sweeping over the carnage without pause, without surprise, as though the woman’s death had merely been one of many eventualities.

The man was led away by the bodyguards without protest, his steps unsteady, face drained of color, arms still raised as if his body hadn’t yet registered that the danger had passed, or that it never really had a chance to begin with.

Their father stopped a few feet away, gaze shifting between the body and the daughter who had made it. In that moment, Giselle understood that nothing she felt, none of the horror clenching her stomach, none of the revulsion rising in her throat, mattered at all.

Not to him, not to the empire she had just bloodied herself to inherit.

He didn’t speak to her, he didn’t need to.

His verdict arrived like the strike of a gavel, final and sharp.

“Jeno will take the blame.”

The words landed softly, but they cut like bone. There was no hesitation in them, no flicker of uncertainty, just the same voice that had once told her bedtime stories, the same voice that had taught her how to lie without blinking.

For a moment, no one moved.

The rain kept falling, the blood kept spreading. Jeno looked up, sharply, his eyes finding their father’s face first, then Giselle’s. Confusion bloomed there, brief and jagged, before it curdled into something worse.

“You said we wouldn’t have to—” he started, but the rest died under the weight of silence. Their father didn’t even glance at him, he was already turning away, lifting his phone with the smooth detachment of a man making a dinner reservation.

He hadn’t come to grieve, he had come to clean up.

And someone had to be the stain he scrubbed away.

Giselle’s fingers loosened around the gun, but it didn’t fall. It stayed there, cold and trembling against her palm, the weight of it suddenly unbearable in a new way. She wanted to speak, to object, to say his name. But every word felt dangerous, every thought carried the shape of her father’s disappointment, sharp edged and ready to carve her into something smaller.

This was what obedience looked like, not loyalty, not love, just quiet compliance, paid for in silence and survival.

Jeno moved slowly, his shoulders stiff, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscle ticked along the side of his face. His eyes were dry, but not because there was nothing to feel, no. He was swallowing it, sealing it up behind the same walls Giselle had spent her whole life learning how to build. Except now, she could see the cracks in his, see the betrayal blooming in his throat, too raw to name.

She couldn’t meet his eyes, he was going to wear the blood that had soaked her hands, he was going to carry the weight she wasn’t strong enough to keep. Not because he chose to, but because their father had decided he was expendable.

And Giselle, flawless, obedient, built from steel and silence, would be spared.

Her throat burned.

Not with guilt, that would come later, but with shame.

And still, she didn’t speak.

Because she knew, with a hollow, sickening certainty, that this wasn’t about mercy, it was about narrative. Her father wasn’t protecting her, he was preserving the story of the daughter as heir, untarnished and poised and the son as failure, loyal to the end.

Jeno would take the blame, and Giselle would walk away.

But the distance between them would never close again.

Jeno’s voice sliced through the silence, not loud, not sharp, but precise. A scalpel dragged across a wound that had never healed right. It cut through Giselle’s thoughts, through the lingering haze of memory still clinging to the edges of her mind, and dragged her, unwilling and unready, back into the present.

Back into the warehouse, back into the cold.

The air was heavy, too heavy. It pressed down on her chest like a second set of restraints, thick with the echo of things that couldn’t be taken back. Her breath caught somewhere in her throat and didn’t come loose.

She blinked once, slow and hard, the warehouse walls settling back around her like prison bars. The scent of dust and rusted metal filled her lungs, the buzz of the failing overhead lights returned, distant and grating.

Y/N was looking at her.

Not with fury, not yet, but something worse.

Her gaze wasn’t sharp, it was soft in the way a dying thing is soft, slow, stunned, unraveling. Her expression was pulled taut, like she was holding together a thousand pieces of herself with sheer force of will, trying to bridge the distance between the woman she’d trusted and the one Jeno was now laying bare.

Giselle could feel herself fracturing beneath it.

Because it wasn’t a look of hate, no. Hate would’ve been clean, clear. This was the kind of expression that lived between betrayal and disbelief, not fully accepting the truth, but no longer able to deny it.

She wasn’t being judged, she was being grieved.

And that was infinitely worse.

Giselle’s throat tightened, her breath shallowed, her eyes stung, but she refused to blink again. Not in front of Jeno, not in front of her. She couldn’t afford to fall apart, even as the floor beneath her felt like it was turning to glass, thin, cracking, about to give way.

She wanted to speak, to say anything, god, anything. But the words that rose were already rotted, already useless. She could taste the acid of them before they reached her tongue, could feel the way they would twist and decay the second they left her mouth.

She stayed still instead, let the silence stretch.

Because she couldn’t bear that look, not from Y/N, not when she had once been the only person who looked at her like she was worth saving.

Not when Giselle had started to believe it.

“I was thrown into the fire,” Jeno said.

His voice was quieter than before, but something in it had changed. The sharp edges were gone, no more smirking cruelty, no calculated pauses. What remained was stripped raw, every syllable felt like it had been clawed from somewhere deep, from years of silence he’d been forced to swallow because someone else got to speak.

“I was the one they punished.”

His gaze didn’t flicker, didn’t drift. It stayed locked on his sister, heavy, deliberate, unflinching, the way you looked at a scar you couldn’t cover anymore. He wasn’t trying to convince her, he wasn’t trying to convince Y/N.

He was stating a fact, like gravity, like death.

“I paid the price.”

The warehouse didn’t echo. It absorbed his words like a confession it had heard before, one of a hundred sins soaked into its walls. The lights buzzed faintly above them, the rain still tapped somewhere far off, but all Giselle could hear was him. His voice filling every inch of the silence she hadn’t been strong enough to break.

“While you little sis” his hand shot out, fast and sharp, fingers cutting through the air like an accusation that had waited far too long to be spoken “walked away clean.”

The word clean tasted like ash in her mouth.

Giselle’s breath caught mid inhale, her chest tightening until it felt like her ribs might snap. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if the dark behind her eyelids might offer some kind of reprieve, but of course it didn’t.

The ropes cut deeper as she shifted, punishment for even trying to escape the moment, but the pain in her wrists was distant. The real pain was internal, sharp and suffocating, blooming behind her sternum like something alive.

Shame didn’t creep, it consumed. It wrapped its hands around her throat and reminded her of the exact moment she had let herself become what he said she was. There was no retort waiting on her tongue, no sharp tongued deflection, no ice edged defense. Not now, not after everything.

Because Jeno was telling the truth.

He had suffered for what she’d done, and she had let him.

Y/N didn’t move, she didn’t shift, didn’t move her hands, not even the smallest motion, not even the tiniest reach.

And that silence, not the natural kind, not the kind Giselle had come to understand and even find comfort in, hit her like a blow. Because Y/N’s silence had always meant something. It had always been full of presence, of intention, of trust.

Now it was empty, dead air.

And Giselle felt the difference in her bones.

She couldn’t reach for her, not physically, not emotionally.

Not anymore.

And that helplessness? That was what undid her.

Because she had spent her whole life in control, of boardrooms, of silence, of herself. But now, all she could do was sit there and feel it slipping, feel Y/N pulling inward, feel the warmth between them shriveling into something cold and unreachable.

There were no signs, no glances, no shared breath between them.

Just the vast, silent ache of trust breaking.

Slowly, quietly.

Jeno rose slowly, as if every vertebra in his spine were aligning into place, as if the act of straightening was itself a declaration, not of strength, but of inevitability. There was no rush in his movement, no hint of urgency or threat. It was the unhurried, calculated grace of a man who already knew the outcome, who had long since accepted the cruelty of it and now intended to enjoy its execution.

His hand lifted, gliding along the fabric of his coat sleeve in a slow, almost absent minded motion, brushing away a speck of dust that wasn’t there. The gesture was small, meaningless, but in the silence that followed his words, a silence stretched taut with grief and betrayal, it felt brutal. That simple flick of his wrist echoed louder than any outburst, colder than any blow.

Then he smiled.

Not wide, not showy, not cruel in the overt way one might expect, it was subtler than that. The kind of smile that barely touched the corners of his mouth, quiet and deeply satisfied. It wasn’t for them, it wasn’t even for himself. It was for the victory, for the fulfillment of something long harbored and hard earned, the kind of smile that only appears when the trap has not only sprung, but done so with elegance.

He had already won.

Not with fists, not with threats, not even with the ropes that bound them. His hands were clean, his tone calm, his clothes unwrinkled and yet the devastation in the room belonged entirely to him.

He had found the one wound Giselle could never bandage, the one truth Y/N could not unhear, and all he had to do was say it out loud, to drag the past out of the dark and lay it, bleeding and undeniable, between them.

That was the genius of it, the elegance. Sometimes, destruction didn’t require violence, sometimes, it only took the truth, spoken at the right time, in the right place, with the right pair of eyes watching as it landed.

He stood inside the ruin.

And breathed it in like victory.

Jeno had been raised like a weapon, sharpened, trained, aimed. From the moment he could walk in a straight line, their father had made it clear. The legacy belonged to him, the empire, built from blood and threat and shadow, had always been his to inherit.

He was the son, the name bearer, the vessel through which power would be passed and preserved.

And he believed in it, believed in the bruises that shaped him, in the cold glances that sometimes passed for approval, in the silence he was taught to revere as discipline. He studied the ledger books and the execution orders with equal precision. He learned how to strike and how to wait, how to control a room without raising his voice, how to smile and let it mean nothing at all.

He did everything right.

Until the night Giselle pulled the trigger. Their father’s favor, once fierce, once unshakeable, shifted. And when it did, it did not drift, it snapped.

Jeno didn’t get a second chance, he got silence, distance. Orders wrapped in apology and the kind of cold betrayal that didn’t require explanation. Giselle would be protected, elevated, groomed to lead. She would be spared the stain of consequence, because she was polished, obedient, pliable in the ways their father needed her to be.

And Jeno?

He would disappear, he would shoulder the blame for the crime she committed, because someone had to fall, and their father had decided it would be him. The son, the soldier, the one who could take it.

What came next wasn’t exile, not really. It was erasure.

He watched from the sidelines as Giselle stepped into the role that was never meant for her, watched her speak in boardrooms with the same voice he once used in war rooms, watched her shake hands and sign deals with the same steel spine she’d inherited from him. Except she never acknowledged it, never once looked back.

And that was what he couldn’t forgive.

Not the mistake, no. But the silence that followed, the ease with which she adapted, the way she carried herself like her hands were clean, like she hadn’t built her kingdom on the bones of someone else’s ruin.

Jeno didn’t want justice.

Justice was too noble, too simple.

He wanted her broken, not bruised, not bleeding, but seen. He wanted the mask to crack, he wanted her to feel what it meant to be discarded, to be stripped of every illusion of control, to sit in the wreckage of her own making and understand the weight of what she’d done.

He wanted her to say it, not for absolution, but for exposure. To admit that she was not untouchable, not innocent, not saved.

That she was just like him.

And now, watching her unravel in real time, watching Y/N recoil without a single word, watching the space between them collapse into something cold and hollow, Jeno didn’t need to raise his voice or lift a hand.

The damage was already done.

All that remained was the silence after the fall, and Jeno knew how to live in silence better than anyone.

Something inside Y/N shifted.

No, something shattered.

Not loudly, not with the violence of anger or the sharp edge of rage, but with a slow, bone deep unraveling. A breaking that began so quietly it almost didn’t register, like a single thread pulled loose from the inside until the entire thing began to come apart.

Y/N had stopped breathing.

She didn’t notice at first. Her lungs simply forgot how, her chest seized, her throat clamped down, and suddenly the air wasn’t moving, wasn’t coming in, wasn’t going out. Her hands began to shake first, tiny tremors at the tips of her fingers that traveled up her arms, into her shoulders, into her spine.

And then the thought hit her.

Aeri hurt people. My father was murdered by their family. The Uchinaga family killed him.

And the person who sat inches away from her, tied beside her, pretending to bleed the same, had known. Maybe not everything, maybe not the name. But enough, enough to have warned her, enough to have told her before it was too late, enough to have kept that last sliver of her world intact.

But Aeri hadn’t.

She had promised "No more secrets." and Y/N had believed she would be completely honest with her.

She loved her.

She had wanted to stop after Aeri pushed her away the first time, when she reminded her that this was just a contract, just convenience, just cold hands and closed doors.

But she hadn’t.

Because Aeri kept doing these small things, like brushing her fingers against Y/N’s wrist during her low moment, like looking at her in crowded rooms as if she were the only thing still in focus, like signing I see you when words were too much.

Y/N had tried to fight it. She had tried to bury the warmth blooming in her chest, the safety she felt when Aeri walked into the room, the way her heart stumbled when Aeri said her name without even speaking it aloud. She had tried to stop the feelings from taking root, but they had already bloomed into something wild and consuming.

She didn’t want to love her.

But she did.

And now that love felt like a knife in her chest.

Y/N’s head dropped forward, chin brushing the line of her chest, her body folding in on itself like something giving under pressure it could no longer bear. A tremor moved through her shoulders, slight at first, like the early shudder before a sob, but it didn’t stop. It deepened, it spread through her chest, her arms, down into her bound hands until it felt like even her bones were vibrating with the effort of holding it all in.

She couldn’t.

The grief was too vast to be named. It didn’t announce itself with shape or sharpness, it simply arrived, all consuming, like water seeping into every hollow space inside her and drowning what was left.

It wasn't a heartbreak, it wasn’t betrayal. It was something deeper, a quiet, total unmaking. Something unraveling from the inside out.

Y/N’s mouth opened, but not to scream. There was no defiance, no gesture for help, no strength left to summon even that. Her body didn’t move, just trembled, barely, like a building trying to hold its structure through the first tremors of collapse.

And then it happened.

The sound came so softly at first it almost didn’t exist, a strangled, breathless thing, half swallowed before it reached the air. Just one fractured exhale, more instinct than intention.

A sound shaped by confusion and survival and pain she had no words for.

Then another followed, rawer this time, heavier, dragging itself up from somewhere too deep to name. Her chest hitched, her shoulders curled inward, and the air she pulled in came out jagged and broken, as though her lungs were trying to cry and didn’t quite remember how.

The sound echoed through the warehouse, thin and aching, too soft to seem real. But it was, it was real. And to Giselle, it might as well have been a gunshot.

Her head turned sharply, eyes widening in disbelief, lips parting but forming no words, only breath, only shock. Because she had never heard that sound before, not from Y/N.

Her silence had always been complete. Not a void, not an absence, but a presence in itself. A structure, a space the world was forced to build around. People had learned to move through it, so had Aeri.

But this? This wasn’t silence anymore.

This was the sound of something sacred being torn away. And what filled the void it left behind was grief.

A sob broke from Y/N’s chest, low and hollow and shaking, as if it had been trapped for years and was only now remembering how to escape. Then another followed, and another, the sound rising in small, uneven gasps that twisted her face and pulled her body forward as far as the ropes would allow. Her shoulders jerked, spasmed, collapsed inward again and again, her breath coming in wet, broken heaves.

Tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked, unhidden. She didn’t try to stop them. Her hands were tied and her heart was shattered and there was no part of her left to hold back the truth of what she was feeling.

Because it wasn’t just that her father had been murdered, it wasn’t just that the Uchinagas had stolen her past and now her future.

It was that Aeri, the one person she had started to let back in, the one she had begun to believe in again, the one she had tried so desperately not to love, had looked her in the eye and chosen silence anyway.

Giselle sat frozen beside her. Rigid, speechless. Her breath too shallow, her mind too loud, her body entirely still except for the slight tremble in her hands where the rope bit into her wrists. She watched the woman she cared about unravel in front of her, piece by piece, with the kind of helplessness that didn’t scream. It wept.

Because she knew.

She didn’t need Y/N to say it, she could feel the words in the sobs, in every hoarse, gasping cry that sounded like they were being torn from somewhere too deep to reach.

You promised me.

You told me there would be no more lies.

I trusted you.

And look what you’ve done.

Few feets away Jeno leaned back against the edge of the table, arms crossed, one ankle lazily hooked over the other as he tilted his head like a painter admiring the final brushstroke on a masterpiece he’d always known he’d finish. His face was relaxed, unreadable, but his eyes were sharp, focused entirely on Y/N, on the sound of her coming undone, on the destruction he had orchestrated without ever having to touch her.

And then, just as her sobs began to quiet, not from comfort but from exhaustion, her body spent, her voice shredded, he spoke.

Soft, casual., almost amused.

“That’s better,” he said, his mouth curving into a slow, satisfied smirk.

There was no escape, no resolution, just the cold, echoing sound of something being broken and the silence that came after.

#kpop imagines #girl group imagines #gg x reader #kpop x reader #aeri x reader #aespa giselle x reader #aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #giselle x reader #giselle uchinaga x reader #aeri uchinaga x reader #a contract of silence

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tarithenurse · 14 days ago

Text

The switch

Fandom: MCU. Pairing/starring: Steve Rogers x fem!reader. Word count: 2969. Content: Body swap, ethics I guess (or lack of it because) smut (fingering, mini-handjob-ish, P in V). A/N: As per usual please like, comment, reblog. Here’s my TAGLIST and my MASTERLIST for more.

The switch

Something went wrong. Some trigger or something had been set off the moment you and Steve entered the small side room to check it out: the door had slid shut and locked, the countdown begun. Then the light had flashed once so brightly you had to shield your eyes, unable to cover your ears then for the horribly whining sound that knocked you to your knees as if it had a physical power more than blasting your eardrums.

Blinking and not seeing anything, you call out for Steve. Your voice is warped and you figure that it’s the noise that’s done a number to your hearing...but everything feels wrong. More so when you blink again and your vision comes back, showing you most of your arms and both your hands.

Not me!

“Steve?!” you call again, painfully aware that it’s not your voice you hear.

“What...?” is the answer. In your voice.

And there you are, looking down at yourself in confusion and horror before meeting your gaze – meeting Steve’s gaze that is now you.

You feel stronger than normal when you get to your feet. Taller too from this point of view.

Reaching down to pull yourself up or rather pull Steve up, you’re baffled by how easy it is to pull him (You? Her? Them?) to the feet.

“What the fuck happened?” you ask.

“We...switched?” Steve has a hard time accepting the facts too.

You nod. “Well...we need to undo it, then.”

You both look around for a way to trigger the event again but all you had done was enter the place. Just then, an explosion rocks the building, reminding you both of the timed detonators you’d been planting everywhere.

“Banner and Stark with have to fix it,” Steve decides, “we’re out of time.”

---

It is surprisingly easy to convince everyone in the Tower of what has happened despite how impossible the whole thing sounds – mainly because the way each of you with your mannerisms just doesn’t match the body you have. You don’t normally speak so confidently, taking charge and giving orders. And Steve, he doesn’t normally desperately try to sit cross legged (which you might have to give up on because it’s squishing something) or withdraw to the corner of the room to avoid people looking at you. Him.

Either way: Banner is more than intrigued, promising to do what he can. Stark seems to be plotting something but whether it is a series of bad puns or something useful is yet to be determined.

“We’ll get right to it,” the inventor promises, patting Banner on the shoulder, “go get washed and stuff, you look like shit after the building almost falling down on you.”

Covered in dust and sweat, you would normally be the first to run off and relax in the luxurious shower...but this time? You look down over yourself (or rather, Steve’s body) and then meet his/yours gaze that’s filled with concern because how is this going to work out?

The others have left the room already, leaving you and Steve alone to figure out the conundrum.

“How...? But...?” Steve is stammering.

You’ve never heard him that hard pressed before but the effect is somewhat softened because it’s your voice and your body doing it. And because you feel the same trepidation.

It’s not like you haven’t looked at Steve: he’s hot and there’s no reason to deny it. But the idea of having to undress as him and lather the body in soap and – it threatens to become too much so you push the thought aside.

Instead you look to the floor. “I trust you.”

“I trust you too,” he breathes out. “But I would feel better if you were there?”

Head snapping up, you scrutinize your own face for any signs that it’s true and finding none of your usual tells of lying at least.

“Oh okay,” you mumble with Steve’s voice.

Walking side by side, you’re struck by the size difference. You’ve never considered yourself short but maybe you should have.

Steve-you glances up at you and sends a comforting smile. It’ll be alright. Somehow.

You go to your room first to gather some clean clothes. Seeing his big hands rummage through your underwear is strange, and sends a pulse of something you’re not familiar with into your groin at the idea of him knowing what you’ll be wearing under your clothes.

Then again: it’s nothing compared to the fact that he’ll be seeing you naked in a moment!

Then you shift to his room, feeling severely out of place. It’s perfectly neat, the bed made with military precision and not a single thing out of place except on the desk which is littered with sketchbooks and pencils – you cast a glance at it and are surprised to find sketches of everyone of the team...but mostly of you.

Stepping over, you pick up one of them. It’s you, deeply engrossed in a book and sitting in the corner of the couch with your feet tugged under you. It’s really good even if it’s just loose pencil strokes and sort of messy. Another is a study of your face, teeth digging into your bottom lip as if you’re thinking or trying to remember something.

“You weren’t meant to see them,” your voice apologizes and you turn to Steve-you who’s wringing the hands awkwardly.

“They’re good. Really good,” you assure him.

Putting the drawings back, you refocus on the task at hand and start investigating the suit you find yourself wearing. There are a lot more zippers and buckles than you at realized at first glance, confusing you as to where to start so you’re happy when Steve-you steps up and silently begins to help you out.

It feels good with the cool air on your skin, as the outer layer is discarded and you’re left with a tight t-shirt and boxers. And socks. Seeing as that’s the easiest place to start, you remove them and then the t-shirt.

You try to look at anything except yourself or rather Steve’s body. You also don’t want to look at yourself, afraid of seeing how uncomfortable Steve must be. Unfortunately that means you’re looking around the room, spotting the reflection of the scene in the large mirror on the wardrobe.

Fuck. Steve is hot.

Something warm coils into your belly but then radiates lower and becomes a throb you hadn’t expected. Screwing your eyes shut, you realize that the shower will be a serious problem and that maybe it had been better if you’d each dealt with it on your own.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks.

You nod, maybe a bit frantically. “Yeah, sure.”

Turning to face him-you, you see he is unzipping the suit after having taken the boots off. He makes a point out of keeping eye contact which makes the movements a bit fumbling.

“Let me help,” you offer, stepping closer.

It’s strange to see Steve’s hand pulling the sports bra over your head. It’s even weirder (and more troublesome) as you kneel to drag down the undies. You can feel the cheeks you currently have blushing and you feel that odd throb in your groin again when your usual feet step out of the underwear so you can lay it aside with the dirty stuff.

“You too,” Steve-you reminds you.

He still hasn’t sneaked a glance at the body he possesses and you are grateful for that. But when you push down the boxers, it’s like something is in the way and both of you glance down just as the elastic fabric lets go of what turns out to be more than a half-hard cock.

“I’m so sorry!” you sputter, eyes wide with horror and shame as you look at the owner of the erection.

“It-it happens,” he waves you off, unsure where to look to himself. “Let’s just...”

You follow the smaller figure, for the first time noticing the sway of the hips, into the bathroom where Steve-you turns on the water. Errant droplets fall on the breasts, making the nipples pucker and you see the twitch in the hands as though they want to wipe the cold away but stop just in time.

“It’s okay,” you mumble, voice raspy and low which sounds way too good for you, sending a new throbbing through you.

“It’s just...not how I imaged it.”

“What?”

Steve shrugs with your shoulders as if trying to hide. “Seeing you naked for the first time...”

It takes a few seconds for the words to sink in. The meaning behind them.

“You have...oh,” you whisper, suddenly a lot more relaxed because you had thought it was only you.

“Sorry, I know you don’t think of me that way but I -”

He never gets further because you turn Steve-you around, grabbing the familiar face and planting a kiss on the lips. A sharp intake of breath. Small hands find your shoulders, your neck, drawing you closer.

And then it happens: just for a split second, you’re back in your own body. It doesn’t hold but it’s enough to become aware of how Steve tastes, how his lips feel on your own. Both of you break off, gasping and looking at each other with wide eyes. Could this be the way to get back to normal?

“Did you?” you gasp.

“Yes!”

Lips meet again. Hasty, messy and with teeth clicking against each other until you both slow down a bit. You got lost in the feeling of it and allow the large hands to slide down your actual back, feeling the goosebumps spread in waves from the fingertips.

Again. A split second or maybe two this time. You in your own body pressed against Steve, his cock twitching against your abdomen. And you feel the heavy need in your core, spurring you on even if you’re back where you belong.

But then you’re not. Once more you’re in Steve’s body, dizzy and frustrated in more than one way.

Maybe that’s why you don’t object when he-you pull you under the water and reaches down to grab the throbbing shaft. You can’t help it – neither the groan you let free nor looking at what is happening.

Pulling down towards the base slowly, the hand looks so small around the cock. It’s mushroomy tip is red and angry, sensitive to the water that’s falling. Going back up, the thumb brushes the downside of the cock-head gently but insistently, making your knees buckle as it sends a pulse of something intense through your body.

“Fuck,” you gasp.

“Want me to stop?”

“No! I mean...no...it’s just...” you try to find the right word. “Intense? Different?”

A smile, sweet but not innocent as you would have expected from Steve even in your body.

“There’s...I always wondered...” he begins but then lets the sentence hang.

You understand him anyways: how does it feel for the other? Now is your chance to find out.

Reaching past, you grab the shampoo and gentle start to wash his or technically your hair the way you normally like it. Rubbing the scalp until you hear a little moan as Steve stands there with closed eyes and hands resting on your now broad chest.

After rinsing it out, you take the soap and lather up the body, feeling the curves in a whole new way and paying special attention to the spots you know are sensitive, causing Steve to whimper softly as you roll the nipples between your fingers for instance.

But where he’s been purring with delight all the time, he falls silent when your fingers reach the V of your thighs, pushing in between the folds to wash there. You can feel a slipperiness that’s different from the water and the soap. Making sure to spread it to the sensitive nub, you circle the clit carefully, allowing Steve to really feel what it’s like. His hands curl into fists on your chest and he lets out a shivering breath.

Slowly, you speed up, rubbing tight circles that match the breathing that speeds up, breasts heaving and eyelashes fluttering.

“I...I can’t...it’s...” he mewls with your voice.

Taking a moment to turn the smaller body in your embrace, a strong arm around the waist for support. You gently slip a finger into the core to gather the abundant slick. It makes Steve’s breath hitch and you can’t help but wonder if you do that too normally.

“Just feel it,” you murmur into an ear as you switch between pumping into the fluttering core and rubbing circles on the clit, “it’s okay...I want you to know.”

He comes with a strangled moan. Legs giving after as pleasure surges through the body and you’re happy you’re strong enough now to hold the weight for you both.

In a flash, you’re in your own body, overwhelmed by the intensity of the orgasm that still is rolling through you.

“Steve!” you cry out. His finger is still on your clit, just pressing but not moving – it’s your body that’s shivering on the digit, creating a minimal friction. “It worked it -”

And then you’re back. Out of breath and hovering over yourself. Steve can’t help but moan as the aftershock hits him.

It’s tempting to continue, to power on in the hope that it will make the switch back permanent, but Steve’s a wreck and you decide to be nice because you would have wanted that for yourself. So you rinse the soap away and help him-you refind the balance.

Then you wash yourself, now less worried about the nudity, and eventually exit the shower where Steve is waiting for you.

Barely towelled dry, you can’t keep your hands and lips to yourselves and it because a messily tangled trip to the bed where you allow Steve-you to push you down before crawling onto you.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” you say, voice raspy with need.

“Don’t stop.”

That’s all you need to hear and you tumble you and Steve over so you’re on top, hips slotted between the plush thighs. You still have a boner, and now you watch as nimble hands guide the head of it to the entrance, sliding it back and forth to spread the juices and make the slide easier. You’re not even pushing in and already it feels good.

“Will it hurt?” Steve suddenly asks, big eyes full of worry.

“It’s a...” you glance down. Yeah. It’s big. But you’ll be careful. “I’ll go slow and you just stop me if it’s too much.”

“Alright. You too.”

Pushing in with your hips you don’t get far before your brain short circuits and you decide it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt in this body. Tight and warm and soft. You’re holding your breath and now you have to let go of it, a ragged gasp that’s echoed from Steve.

“So good,” he mewls.

“Yeah,” you agree.

Pushing in inch by inch, you take your pauses to allow both of you to get used to the feeling but there’s an urge inside you to just...thrust. Pulling back a bit, you test it out. And then again just for good measure. Okay no, this is the best you’ve ever felt in this body as you thrust in and out slowly, sheathing the cock fully and making your body beneath you tense up so prettily. Steve’s holding on to your shoulders for dear life, legs wrapped around your waist.

“Fuck,” you groan.

Something is dragging along your cock, bumps or ridges under the silken smoothness. It feels so good. You can feel something tightening inside you and you instinctively know you won’t last long – too overwhelmed by all the sensations.

“Touch yourself like I did in the shower,” you gasp.

Snaking a hand between your bodies, Steve-you does as you say and is soon out of breath, whining and moaning and begging so prettily for something. Anything. You know that feeling and you’re sharing it with him now, wanting so badly to cum.

“Just a bit more,” you promise, upping the pace.

There’s a flash where everything is different: you lying under Steve who shakes his head at the change. He’s so deep inside you, you can feel his cock kissing your cervix. And you’re right there, right on the edge.

It all changes back but now it’s like a part of you is being sucked inside of your groin and you can’t keep the rhythm going instead you just ram into the sweet wetness that’s gripping your cock so tight until suddenly it all explodes and your soul is being shot out through your dick that you press so deep you can. You can’t see anything, can’t think. Just feel the pleasure as it rocks your body white hot.

“Fuck,” you groan but it’s your own voice and it’s your cunt pulsing around Steve’s cock. It’s you who’s clawing onto he’s shoulders.

Steve isn’t saying anything. As you peel your eyes open you can see that he’s got his eyes screwed shut and lips digging into the plush of his bottom lip. But he is himself and you are you.

For a moment you just lie there, letting the waves of the orgasm and aftershock roll through you while you wait for the inevitable to happen...but you remain yourself and Steve opens his eyes to look at you, smiling shyly.

“That was...damn!” he admits.

“Yeah.”

Reaching up to kiss him, you’re happy that he reciprocates without hesitation.

But he’s frowning when he pulls back a moment after. “How are we going to explain this to Bruce and Stark?” he asks.

“We’ll just say it went back to normal on its own?”

“And us?” You can see the concern in his pretty blue eyes.

You swallow. “I don’t want normal anymore, please.”

“Me neither.”

#fanfiction #mcu #reader insert #Steve Rogers #captain america #x reader #fem!reader #Steve Rogers x fem!reader #Body swap #fanfic #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #writing #avengers #body switch #Smut #Steve rogers smut

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deadhands69 · 6 months ago

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*❆ Candy Cane ❆*

MDNI

Loser!Shigaraki x gn Reader

loser!Shigaraki gets a cute Christmas present after you tease him at the tree lighting not explicit, just strongly suggestive [quick read; wc: .9k]

“Didn’t wanna be here,” Tomura Shigaraki’s voice is muffled under the layers of scarf wrapping his face.

“Oh come on,” you quip, grabbing his arm to pull him along with the group, “you'll live.”

If you were anyone else, he would have fought back. Anyone else and he wouldn't be so nervous, tensing under your touch.

But you're you.

So he follows.

Admittedly, you were finding that you don't really want to be here either. Since when were tree lightings so boring?

You find yourself standing in front of a dark tree with a long countdown. Listening to the same music you've heard for weeks now, watching the crowd shuffle around you.

There's not even the thrill of being caught in public, when you're all so bundled up no one could possibly recognize you. You've accepted that the evening peaked when you all bought hot chocolate and candy canes. Now, you just have to get through it.

“Who's idea was this anyways,” you ask from under the balaclava covering your face, “to show up this early?”

“If you don't show up early, you don't get a good spot,” Spinner asserts. “Plus, not everyone here has done something like this. It'll be a better experience for them.”

He's right, you think to yourself. Suck it up for them. Toga and Dabi both had such limited childhoods it’s hard to deny them these fun new experiences. There's probably still some magic left in Christmas, for Toga at least. You doubt Dabi cares too much.

Shigaraki groans next to you. He still looks grouchy. Hands stuffed under his arms for warmth, closing himself off from the world. You know he's probably never been to anything like this either but you can't imagine it means anything to him. Holidays never do, yet even he showed up for everyone else.

Maybe you should reward that and make this a little fun for yourself. He's cute, in a bumbling way, and teasing him had become your biggest hobby lately.

Shuffling slightly to your right, you lean into his arm. He assumes it's a mistake. That you've accidentally bumped into him because what else could it be? He steps to the side, giving you some space that you immediately fill again. Eyes staring into his, half pouting.

There are at least eight layers of clothing between the two of you, but that doesn't matter to him. Your sleeve is touching his.

You're close.

On purpose.

The countdown hits a minute and the crowd begins to shift their attention forward. Well, everyone but Tomura.

His eyes are locked on you. Breathing, forced to appear regular but you know he's an absolute mess in his head.

Through the two thick layers of pants he's wearing, you can still see a bulge beginning to form.

This is too good.

Leaning in even closer, you whisper in a voice you know only he can hear. “Is that a candy cane in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

It's cheesy, absolutely. You know that. But it does the job, his face glowing more red than the lights that just filled the tree in front of you.

Upon returning to the LOV headquarters, the group is determined to keep the party going. Bottles of champagne and sparkling cider are being popped. Jackets are strewn across the chairs and table while everyone peels off their outer layers.

Tomura wanders down the hall, not pausing for a second. He'll come back to the celebration but you know that first he needs to tend to the raging boner you gave him just by standing too close.

You follow him. Something about his demeanor struck a nerve in you. After months of this, you can't deny that watching someone so powerful become so pathetic doesn't do anything for you. Especially when you're the reason for it.

No one notices as you run down the hallway around the corner, catching him just before he disappears to his room. As he turns to see who came after him, you shove him into the wall with a thud.

“That's dangerous. Sneaking up on me. I could have touched you, you know.”

“Tomura, you have three layers of gloves on. What were you going to do?” you laugh.

Reaching towards his face, you begin to unwrap his scarf.

“What are you doing?” he barely whispers, the tent in his pants becoming increasingly obvious.

“Just because it's Christmas,” you answer, making him wait for what that means while you pull the last layer of scarf from his face.

“...and just because you get so cute when you're flustered…” you trail off, bringing your face closer. One of your hands cups his jaw while the other runs through his unruly hair. You can feel his breath on your skin before your lips connect with his.

His lips are sweet and sticky with peppermint. He's obviously never kissed anyone before, moving clumsily but still returning the kiss more than you expected him to.

In something between a groan and a whimper, he bites your lip. Gasping for air while he clutches your shoulders for support.

“I… sorry,” he mumbles before turning to lock himself in his room in embarrassment.

Merry Christmas to you too.

m.list

I love canon Shig but there's something so fun about someone so powerful absolutely losing their shit over you sooo I'm gonna keep writing these

#loser shigaraki #shigaraki tomura x reader #my hero academia smut #shigaraki tomura #tomura shiragaki #shigaraki tomura smut #mha tomura #bnha tomura #tomura x reader #shigaraki #bnha smut #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki #tomura shigiraki x reader #my hero academia x reader #mha lov #league of villains x reader

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marvelousels · 6 months ago

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THROUGH THE STATIC | 1

(pt 2 here!)

authors note — sorry but im just so delusional wishing this was true, i love imagining that my fav characters randomly come to our world and "I DO BELIEVE THAT A MULTIVERSE EXISTS!" i say as i get dragged to the mental asylum.

pairings: jinx x fem!reader (js freinds for now ig)

DISCO! — Nessa Barrett FT Tommy Genesis playing!

The dim glow of the television screen bathed your living room in shifting hues of blue and purple. You lay sprawled on the couch, a half-empty bowl of popcorn resting precariously on your stomach. The credits for the latest episode of Arcane had just finished rolling, and the Netflix autoplay countdown ticked ominously toward the next. But you didn’t hit “Skip Intro.” Not yet.

Jinx. There she was again, center frame in your mind. Her wild, electric energy. Her piercing blue eyes. That wicked grin that danced somewhere between childlike joy and dangerous insanity. Something about her had always captivated you, far beyond any rational explanation. She was chaos incarnate, yet there was a vulnerability beneath her bravado that pulled you in like a magnet. Watching her felt like staring into a storm: terrifying, exhilarating, and impossible to look away from.

You sighed and reached for the remote, ready to plunge into another episode, when the screen suddenly froze. A flicker. Then another. The sound cut out, replaced by a low, staticky hum. Frowning, you sat up, placing the popcorn bowl on the coffee table.

“Oh, come on,” you muttered, hitting the power button. Nothing. The screen stayed on, the image of Jinx’s manic grin distorting slightly as if she were underwater.

The hum grew louder. A sharp crackle followed, and the colors on the screen began to bleed together in a way that made your eyes ache. You got up, hesitant but drawn closer by a mix of curiosity and unease. Maybe the TV was just overheating. Maybe the signal was—

Without warning, the screen flared bright white, and a shockwave of static knocked you backward. You hit the floor with a grunt, shielding your eyes from the blinding light. The air felt charged, humming with an almost electric tension.

When the light finally dimmed, you lowered your arm cautiously. The TV was off. The room was eerily quiet except for your own breathing. Then you heard it. A groan. Not yours.

You froze. Slowly, you turned your head toward the sound, your heart pounding in your chest.

Lying sprawled across the floor, half on top of you, was Jinx.

At first, your brain couldn’t process what you were seeing. She was impossibly real. Her wild blue braids, the smudged makeup around her eyes, even the faint scars on her arms—every detail was vivid, tangible. She groaned again, shifting slightly, and you felt the weight of her pressing down on your legs.

“What the hell?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Her eyes snapped open. For a split second, they were unfocused, darting around the room in confusion. Then they locked onto yours. Blue and intense, just like on the screen, but filled with a raw, terrifying energy that made your breath catch.

“Who the fuck are you?” she demanded, her voice sharp and accusing. She scrambled to her feet, grabbing for a weapon that wasn’t there. Her hands patted down her sides frantically before she cursed under her breath.

You sat up slowly, your hands raised instinctively in a placating gesture. “Whoa, whoa, hold on. I—I’m not gonna hurt you.”

She narrowed her eyes, backing up until her shoulders hit the wall. Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. The modern furniture. The framed photos. The TV. Her expression shifted from defensive to bewildered.

“Where am I?” she muttered, almost to herself. Then, louder, “What is this place?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but no words came out. What were you supposed to say? Hi, welcome to my living room. You’re supposed to be a fictional character.

“Hey!” she snapped, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “I asked you a question.”

“You’re… in my house,” you stammered. “And… uh, you came out of the TV?”

Her brows knitted together in confusion. She glanced back at the darkened screen, then back at you. “Bullshit.”

“I swear!” you said quickly, holding your hands up again. “One minute I was watching you—I mean, watching Arcane—and then the screen freaked out, and you…” You gestured vaguely at her. “You appeared.”

Jinx’s eyes narrowed further, but the initial panic seemed to ebb slightly, replaced by a cautious curiosity. She took a step closer, looming over you with an almost predatory intensity.

“You know who I am?” she asked, her tone somewhere between suspicion and amusement.

You swallowed hard. “Uh, yeah. Jinx. From… Arcane. You’re… kind of famous here.”

“Famous?” Her lips curled into a grin, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you’re a… a character. From a TV show.” The words felt ridiculous as they left your mouth, but there was no other way to explain it.

Her grin faltered. She stared at you, her head tilting slightly as if trying to gauge whether you were messing with her. Finally, she sighed and ran a hand through her braids.

“A TV show,” she repeated flatly.

You nodded. “Yeah. You’re… fictional. Or, you’re supposed to be. I don’t know how you got here.”

Jinx’s expression darkened. Her eyes darted back to the TV, then to her hands, flexing her fingers as if to reassure herself she was real. “Fictional,” she muttered, almost to herself. “That’s… no. That’s insane.”

“Trust me, I’m just as confused as you are,” you said. “But you’re here. Somehow.”

She paced the room, her movements jerky and restless. “This has to be some kind of trick,” she said, half to herself. “Some sick game. Did Sevika put you up to this? Or Silco? Is this one of their mind-fucks?”

“I don’t know who—” You cut yourself off, realizing it was pointless. Of course she thought this was some kind of trap. Her whole life was a series of betrayals and manipulation. Why would this be any different?

“Listen,” you said carefully, “I don’t know how or why you’re here, but I’m not your enemy. I’m just… a random person who happened to be watching TV when you showed up. That’s it.”

She stopped pacing, her gaze snapping back to you. Her expression was unreadable, her blue eyes scanning your face as if searching for any hint of deception. Finally, she sighed and ran a hand through her braids.

“Okay,” she said, though her tone was far from convinced. “Let’s say I believe you. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. What were you supposed to do? You were just an ordinary person. You didn’t have the faintest idea how to deal with something like this.

“I guess… we figure it out,” you said finally. “Together.”

Jinx raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Together, huh?”

You nodded, trying to muster some confidence. “Yeah. I mean, you’re stuck here, right? Might as well work with me instead of against me.”

She considered this for a long moment, then shrugged. “Fine,” she said. “But don’t get any ideas, ‘cause if you try anything funny…” She mimed an explosion with her hands, grinning wickedly.

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it was more from nerves than amusement. “Noted.”

And just like that, your ordinary life had been turned upside down. As Jinx plopped onto your couch, grabbing a handful of popcorn like she owned the place, you couldn’t help but wonder what the hell you’d just gotten yourself into.

Hours later, the reality of your situation began to sink in. Jinx had settled into your living room like a storm that refused to pass, alternating between questioning you about this world and exploring the space with a manic, childlike curiosity. She’d found your stash of snacks and immediately laid claim to a bag of chips, cramming them into her mouth with zero regard for crumbs.

“So this world,” she said around a mouthful of chips, “you’re saying it’s nothing like Zaun or Piltover?”

You shook your head, watching her from the other end of the couch. “Nope. No Hextech. No shimmer. No… well, no war, at least not like yours.”

She snorted. “Sounds boring.”

“It’s… peaceful,” you offered.

She rolled her eyes. “Peace is overrated.”

You couldn’t help but smile. Despite the chaos she radiated, there was something oddly endearing about her. She was a whirlwind of contradictions—reckless yet calculating, wild yet wounded. And now, she was your problem.

“So,” she said, turning her attention back to you, “how do we fix this? How do I get back?”

“I… don’t know,” you admitted. “I’m not exactly an expert on… whatever this is. Reality-hopping? Dimensional travel? It’s way out of my league.”

She groaned, flopping dramatically onto her back. “Great. Just great. Stuck in a world full of… what do you even do here? Sit around and stare at screens all day?”

“Pretty much,” you said with a chuckle. “But hey, maybe it won’t be so bad. You might even like it here.”

She gave you a skeptical look but didn’t argue. Instead, she propped herself up on her elbows, her gaze lingering on you longer than felt entirely comfortable.

“You’re weird,” she said finally, though there was no malice in her tone. If anything, it sounded almost… amused.

“Takes one to know one,” you shot back, surprising yourself with the ease of your response.

Jinx blinked, then grinned. A real grin this time, not the manic, unhinged one you’d seen earlier. For a moment, she looked almost human. Almost.

“Maybe this won’t be so boring after all,” she said, grabbing another handful of chips.

You weren’t sure whether to feel relieved or terrified. Either way, one thing was certain: life as you knew it was never going to be the same.

#arcane #fanfiction #jinx arcane #jinx league of legends #jinx #jinx x you #jinx x reader #oneshot #writing #alternate universe #crossover #reader insert #fem reader

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bloodb3nders · 16 days ago

Text

dvd 002: cardigan.

| toshinori yagi (all might) x fem!reader |

wc: 3.6k

content warnings: same as masterlist

a/n: why is this lowkey goblet of fire core

NOW PLAYING: cardigan t. swift

when you are young, they assume you know nothing

you knew that toshinori yagi will easily become the number one hero. after all, he was easily one of the most powerful kids in your class, smile constantly painted on his face through all trainings, good and bad. even when he'd pushed himself to the brink of exhaustion, he would still shoot you a smile and a thumbs up. even when he didn't win, when he failed, he never ceased to let his upbeat energy die.

but that's not what you made you fall so head over heels for him. no, not the smile everyone got to see, not the bravado you knew he put on when he was scared. but for all those moments in between. the moments where it all falters, and you see him. not all might, but toshinori yagi, the boy who wouldn't leave you alone after your first day of UA, the boy who was constantly trying to make you smile. the boy who shared his hopes and dreams, but also his darkest fears and untold secrets. the boy who makes you run around outside with him when it's raining in the dead of night, dancing in that white t-shirt he fills out almost a little too well, and his old, tattered jeans he refuses to get rid of, no matter how many times you tease him for it.

to most people, they wouldn't be able to catch it. they wouldn't be able to catch the look behind his eyes when he's in a tough spot, to see all the gears turning in his mind, before he shifts back to the boisterous hero he's promised you he'll turn about to be. at first, towards the end of your first year, you felt his radiance, and you wondered if he'd ditch you, now that he was in the spotlight. everyone wanted to be friends with him, because it was obvious to anyone with eyes that toshi was built for greatness.

"you don't have to sit with only me at lunch y'know," you had spoken once, towards the last month before final exams at the end of your first year.

"why would you say that?" he'd responded, voice soft and low, surprise written all over his face, and his face scrunched slightly, as if what you'd said had hurt him.

"well, i know so many people are dying to just talk to you toshi. i'm just saying, you don't have to only hang out with me, y'know? i'll be fine on my own, promise," you'd replied, not daring to look at him, opting to twirl with the end of your uniform skirt instead.

"y/n, i choose to sit with you because i want to. besides, you always wanted to be my friend, even from before people knew what my quirk was," he said, his voice firm, and you glanced at him, looking into his eyes.

"you're my best friend, so of course i'm always going to want to hang out with you," he added, and you smiled at him.

"thanks toshi."

and after that, you were pretty sure you'd fallen for him right there and then.

"dvd 2 it titled UASF, no clue what that stands for," izuku midoriya spoke, popping in the second dvd, the whole of class 1-a on edge as they mumbled in excitement over seeing what the next disc would hold, as the tv flashed to life. UA Sports Festival, appeared in big blue letters, and a grainy image of the UA stadium appeared on the television.

"oh! U.A. Sports Festival! that makes so much sense," momo yaoyorozu spoke as the television flickered, introducing the festival. old heroes, some known and some unknown flashed across the screen, as the students watched the familiar event unfold. despite the decades difference, it was set up mostly the same, three main events, the first two being group events, and the last being duels to determine a winner. the first even began, and the screen flashed to a bunch of students standing on the rim of an expansive lake, all wearing what seemed to be some sort of breathing device on their mouths.

a timer flashed on screen, signaling a countdown as the students seemed to brace themselves to jump into the lake. the students quickly spot a head of familiar blonde hair, as all might stands at the front of the pack of students. "there's that girl again!" mina points out, and there you stand, next to him, a determined look on your face as you prepare for the first event of the sports festival. suddenly, a loud buzzing went off in the air, and dozens of UA students jumped into the lake, and the scene shifted to the numerous underwater cameras planted in the expansive lake.

class 1-a watched on as the students started swimming deep underwater, and as the first set of obstacles appeared. some sort of underwater robots approached them, shooting out ropes to attempt to capture the students. they watched as several students were easily captured, flotation devices immediately activating and sending them to the top, rendering the students unable to compete. cameras flashed around to several more students swimming through the murky depths, avoiding the mechanical tendrils that shot out like underwater lightning. however, it was you and all might who caught their attention the most. despite it being a free for all, you two were relatively close to each other, moving in perfect synchronization, a reflection of your years of training together.

"look! they're helping each other!" ochaco gasped, pointing at the screen as you and all might seamlessly deflected robot attacks while maintaining a constant speed through the water.

the cameras followed as all might powered through a cluster of robots with raw strength, his quirk creating powerful currents that pushed you forward. you suddenly took to the spotlight, using your quirk to manipulate the water around you. you redirected the water around you while simultaneously lifting debris out of your path without even touching it.

suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, a large mechanical octopus-like robot cornered you against some underwater ruins. before it could shoot out a net at you, all might was there in an instant. he created an opening for you, and in an instant, the mechanical robot immediately began pummeling towards sea level, and you raised it up, before bringing your hands down, slamming it down onto three other approaching robots.

"damn, mystery girl is powerful," kirishima breathed, and even bakugo looked somewhat interested despite himself. "she's moving all that stuff without even touching it! her quirk is crazy!" kaminari added.

as the first event progressed, more obstacles appeared. underwater mazes that shifted and changed, pressure zones that could crush someone if they weren't careful, and whirlpools generated by massive mechanical devices. through it all, all might maintained his spot as leader of the pack, but you stayed close behind, using your telekinesis to move through the water with an almost supernatural grace, never falling below fourth place. you were not to be underestimated, that was for sure.

the most impressive moment came when a section of the underwater course began collapsing. massive concrete pillars started tumbling toward a group of struggling students. without a moment's notice, you threw out your hands and caught all six pillars, holding tons of concrete suspended in the water while the other students swam to safety. class 1-a watched your face twist in exhaustion, but despite how strained you look, you pushed forward, refusing to give up an inch of ground to your fellow classmates.

the finish line soon came into view. a glowing archway at the far end of the lake stood, welcoming the students. all might burst through first, water cascading off him as he surfaced with a smile that blinded. you emerged seconds later in third place, just behind a student with a speed quirk who'd barely edged you out in the final stretch. the announcer's voice boomed out, listing off the winner as the camera panned to show him helping you out of the water, his hand lingering in yours just a moment longer than necessary. as soon as you saw the camera come into view, you offered a shy smile to it, throwing up a thumbs up.

class 1-a watched on, completely absorbed, as the scene shifted to the second event of the sports festival.

"the second event will test your strategic thinking and combat coordination!" the announcer continued as the camera showed the students being divided into teams of four. "teams will face off all together in direct combat scenarios. each member is given a number, an amount of points based off how they placed in the previous event. the four teams with the most amount of points advances to the final round!"

the students watched as their teacher was immediately swarmed by classmates wanting to team up with him. after all, very unlike how this same scene unfolded at their own sports festival. but all might was incredible strong, and in this case, being on the strongest student's team seemed like a guaranteed path to the finals. as numerous voices called for him, his eyes glanced passed them, landing on you, awkwardly rubbing your arm as you looked around in search of people who'd be willing to team up with you.

your name slipped from his lips, and your body betrayed you, head perking up in and instant as you locked eyes with him, a brief moment of toshinori on display for you, and only you. "you really didn't think i wasn't going to team up with you? i'm offended if you did," he joked, gripping his chest dramatically, which made you smile in amusement.

"we've been partners for two years straight, don't you want to switch it up?" you offered, insecurity pooling in your chest as you tried to drive down your feelings. him wanting to partner up with you didn't mean he wanted you. not like that.

"no one else i'd rather fight with, mind reader," he said, your nickname falling from his plush lips that taunted you so.

"fine, we can team up," you said softly, and he grinned at you. you approached two other students who'd been overlooked in the initial team-picking frenzy. a quiet girl with a barrier quirk and a nervous boy whose quirk allowed him to turn invisible.

"an interesting team composition," the old commentary crackled through the footage. "the number one has chosen more of a support team rather than going for full power!"

the battle arena was elaborate, including a multi-level urban environment with buildings, bridges, and plenty of cover. all teams would enter simultaneously and attempt to steal each other's headbands with their number of points. combat was allowed, so if you got ko'd, you were automatically down. the catch? if one member of your team went down, you were automatically eliminated.

"it's like they can just predict each other's moves" momo observed as the camera followed your team through the opening moments of the second event.

all might took point as expected, drawing attention with his usual bravado and strength. but what made class 1-a lean forward in amazement was watching you control the entire battlefield from behind the scenes with your quirk. while all might engaged the strongest opponents directly, you were lifting your invisible teammate to high vantage points, all the while moving your barrier-quirk teammate's shields to block attacks from multiple directions. between that, you were hurling debris at enemies who thought they were safely out of reach. it was safe to say, you were amazing.

"she's fighting like four people at once," midoriya whispered in awe as the camera captured you deflecting three separate attacks, eyes glancing around to your teammates.

the cameras showed other teams struggling with to work together. some team members getting in each other's way, losing track of each other, failing to realize when they had the upper hand. but your team moved like extensions of your will, quite literally in some cases, as you used your quirk to guide your teammates' movements and enhance their success.

with three teams out of the running, tensions heightened as your team attacked against two other teams simultaneously. a student with an explosion quirk was raining down destruction from a rooftop while his teammates attacked from ground level. they'd figured out you were running the operations part of your team, and two of them charged at you while the other two made a move to take out toshinori.

with a harsh crinkle in your brow and a look of unshakeable determination written across your face, you threw your arms out in front of you. quickly, you lifted chunks of rubble to create a spiral staircase in mid-air while toshinori ran up it at full speed. your barrier-quirk teammate quickly created a large shield around the two of you, rendering the explosions useless. you shot your right arm out to the side, raising up your invisible teammate who came down with a sickening crunch, delivering a surprise attack from above onto the second attacker. another thwack sounded from the air as toshinori reached the explosion user, effectively knocking him out and taking his headband.

as just five teams remained, class 1-a could see the exhuastion emanating from the students. all might was facing off against the a team composed of pure strength and power. he was quickly attacked by a student with a strength quirk near to his own. the two were trading devastating blows that shook the entire arena, but, to his students' shock, he was slowly being pushed back.

you grunted in pain as your head throbbed with every object you moved. your attention quickly snapped to toshi as he took a sharp punch to his jaw, and your heart fell to your gut as you watched him wince in pain. without thinking, you quickly flung your opponent out of your way, and made a mad dash towards toshi. although you had trained defensively with your quirk far more than offensively, you launched yourself at the strength quirk villain, and unbeknownst to you, your quirk leveled up ever so slightly.

with the determination of a girl trying to save the boy she had a hopeless crush on, which is not to be underestimated, you threw yourself at him, feet first, connecting with his side and blowing him away.

a bell rang out across the arena, signaling the end of the match, right as you stumbled a bit, only to be stabilized by the calming hand of toshi at your side.

"don't worry about me," you said softly, eyes meeting his dazzling blue pair as worry etched into his face.

"team one consisting of toshinori yagi, y/n l/n, xx, and xx, have won with an amazing amount of points!" a voice boomed out as the arena erupted in cheers.

"and now, the moment you've all been waiting for: the final event! individual duels will now be held to determine this year's sports festival champion!"

the tournament bracket appeared on screen, showing the top sixteen students who'd made it through both previous events. all might's name sat at the top of the bracket, while you were seeded fourth.

class 1-a watched on as you stepped into the arena to face your first opponent.

your opponent was the speedster who'd beaten you to second place in the underwater event. he was cocky, and clearly underestimating you. the match was over in under two minutes. the moment he tried to rush you, you threw a hand out, stopping him mid-charge, holding him suspended in the air for a few seconds before gently placing him outside the boundary ring.

"did she just... catch him?" kaminari asked in disbelief.

the second match was more challenging for you, as you were pitted against a student with a duplication quirk. but you were patient, using your quirk to lift all of them up in the air, and you sensed which one actually weighed the most, and quickly slammed him down into the ground, effectively ko'ing him.

meanwhile, all might was blazing through his side of the bracket, though class 1-a caught him glancing toward your matches every so often when the cameras panned towards the student section.

"the semifinals!" the commentator announced as the bracket narrowed down to four students: all might, you, a girl with a powerful energy projection quirk, and the student with the barrier ability from your team.

your were pitted against the energy projector, and it was the most visually spectacular fight yet. she fired devastating beams of pure energy, and you barely deflected them with rogue debris, trying to get close enough to grab her with your quirk. the arena floor became a warzone of craters and floating rubble as you two went all out.

in a sloppy move, you accidentally left yourself ungaurded, and a rogue beam of energy hit you square in the chest, almost pushing you out of bounds if you hadn't forced stopped yourself. head woozy, you looked up, watching as she readied another beam of energy, and you threw your hand out, putting all your focus into the beam, and redirected the blast back at her, pushing the girl out of bounds.

you were breathing hard and clearly exhausted, having pushed your quirk to its limits. "shit, i'm gonna die next round," you muttered to yourself as you made your way off the arena's square.

the other semifinal was far more anticlimactic. all might easily defeated his opponent, one smash and he was out.

the final pairing was all might against you, and boy was class 1-a invested in how this match would go down.

you stood across from all might in the center of the arena, both of you showing the wear from your previous matches. however, it was clear to the eye that you looked far more exhausted than the future number one hero.

"no holding back," you called out, voice hoarse, but still full of determination and excitement.

"wouldn't dream of it, mind reader!" all might called back, bumping his fists excitedly as the match began.

all might flew at you with incredible speed and power, but you'd been watching him fight for two years now, you knew his patterns, his technique, his ultimate moves. you moved into a defensive stance, ripping up the ground in an attempt to allow the debris to slow him down so you could build up some sort of attack.

however, all might continued charging forward at you with a devastating force, while you responded by hurling massive chunks of the arena itself at him or trying to catch him directly with your quirk. however, it was clear he knew your boundaries too, and you needed to be within five-ish feet of someone to catch them. he kept using air waves to push you back, and you found yourself barely making up any ground toward him.

"she's actually managing keeping up with him," shoto spoke, voice monotone as the camera captured you managing to grab all might's ankle mid-charge, sending him stumbling just long enough for you to launch a counterattack.

but, the difference in raw power was undeniable. your telekinesis was incredibly versatile, but it had limits, and all might's strength seemed boundless. as the match wore on, you began to show signs of the mental strain that came with using your quirk so intensively. every so often, you'd rub your temple, and you could feel your head pounding as you tried to concentrate on what toshi would do next.

a particularly powerful smash from all might shattered the entire section of arena floor you'd been standing on, and you were launched up into the air, flying backwards toward the boundary. surely, the match was about to end. with a cry of pure determination, you used your telekinesis to stop your own fall, suspending yourself in mid-air above the boundary line. then, in a display of power that had the entire crowd hollering, you began lifting and hurling every piece of debris in the arena at once.

"she's going, plus ultra," midoriya whispered in awe as rocks, concrete chunks, and metal fragments filled the air in a telekinetic storm centered on you.

for a moment, even all might looked genuinely concerned as he found himself in the middle of what was essentially a localized tornado of debris. but then, he smiled, that bright, invincible smile, and launched himself straight through your telekinetic storm with a jump that cracked what remained of the arena floor.

your quirk was a feat, but you couldn't stop the concentrated force of all might's most powerful attack. the collision of his punch against the debris created a hail storm of concrete as it all came pouring down on you, too much for you to stop all of it, as you were covered in rubble and chunks of rock. when the dust settled, you were unconscious, the upper half of your body free from the rubble, but your legs trapped under some concrete.

"TOSHINORI YAGI WINS THE U.A. SPORTS FESTIVAL!"

the crowd erupted, but the camera stayed focused on all might as he immediately jogged over to you, lifting off pieces of rubble from your body, pulling you out from the cocoon of concrete.

"come on, y/n, wake up!" he willed, and your eyes fluttered open, giving him a weak smile.

"remind me never to pick a fight with you again," you said weakly, and he chuckled, helping you up to your feet.

"what a sports festival!" the announcer boomed medics arrived to check on you and confetti rained down from above.

the screen flashed to the medal ceremony, as all might stood on the top podium, and you on the second-place podium looking tired but proud, a small bandage on your forehead from overusing your quirk.

"hey," toshi called out to you, as the two of you sat on a bench, enjoying some strawberry mochi after the sport's festival had come to a close. you turned your head towards him, capturing his features as you savored the moment around you.

"i always want you by my side, fighting with me," he said firmly, and you couldn't help the smile that broke onto your face.

"always is a long time, toshi," you responded, and he snorted.

"always and forever then."

and when i felt like i was an old cardigan, under someone's bed. you put me on and said i was your favorite

taglist (4/50): @pixelcafe-network @mjuhgydxf @musclefanatica @dick-blender

#all might x reader #bnha #mha #toshinori yagi x reader #yagi toshinori x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #all might #yagi toshinori #toshinori yagi #mha fanfiction #mha au #mha au idea #all might x y/n #all might x you #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #toshinori x you #toshinori x reader

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heartofbusan · 16 days ago

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Damn, I can scarcely allow myself to imagine, but what if, instead of together, jikook had enlisted apart.

Imagine if these past eighteen months, instead of knowing our sweet ones, were together, they would have been separated.

Argh..why am I torturing myself with this train of thought 😩

Imagine how terribly uncertain and afraid we might have been if jikook had spent this time on separate bases. They would have managed, I am sure of it, they are so strong and resilient, BUT WOULD I HAVE?

I think these thoughts just to remind myself how fucking MONUMENTAL it is that they enlisted together. Against all odds, they consciously made a choice, and took the effort needed to choose THEM. To prioritize THEM.

'Mingukkie can't be separated'. Signed: Mingukkie.

*hold me while I grip the wall*

The countdowns are reaching their end, and all these useless anxieties bubble up from time to time. Safe in the knowledge that jikook managed to turn the odds in their favor. My silly fear is nothing when you compare it to the dedication and commitment jikook have for each other's well-being. They know how to take care of themselves and each other. They have either luck or power on their side. It's probably a combination of both.

It is nevertheless such a relief that the time they spent in our blind spot comes to an end. I have to admit that it was more manageable than I could have imagined. They kept us more than entertained and taken care of. From amazing musical releases from the members to insane amounts of content, the knowledge of their companionship made it all bearable. AYS?! was such a balm. My goodness, that show pulled my through because we got to see them together for what was maybe the first time ever like this for a prolonged period of time. And it delivered.

We also got little glimpses here and there of them in the military, small messages to longer letters, a glimpse of the jimin and Jungkook we have always known through the messages relayed back from their military buddies. The autographs and heartfelt well wishes. They never changed.

Who knows, tonight I might even be ready to watch Jimin's farewell live for the first time. It was heartbreak that kept me from doing so before, but knowing that they're about to rock our and their world once again fills me with acceptance. This period is coming to a close.

Time is a thief, and we were robbed of the steady progression of Jimin and Jungkook’s solo endeavors. Robbed of seeing how bangtan would navigate the melding of these new persona's. But the time to do all that is so close, we can almost taste it. Taste how and if Jimin will pick right back up from where he left his crown. Or if he will choose a different approach. We will see if Jungkook really will do a solo tour as the rumor mill predicts. Wouldn't that be something?

It will also mean the end of jikook as buddy companions. However unwelcome thise period will be elemental to their arc as a couple. Maybe years down the road, they will know what it brought them. For now, they will enjoy coming back to us, to themselves, to each other in freedom.

The end is always a new beginning.

I can NOT wait. The tension is palpable. Jikook is coming, bangtan is coming. 💜💛

#jikook #kookmin #park jimin #jimin #jungkook #peak jikook #jeon jungkook #minkook #bts in the military

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honeydippedfiction · 2 months ago

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Love your work so much I would send you a million dollars if I had it! I saw your requests are open so i was wondering if i could request joe x assistant! reader. He has such a frantic life and he needs a cute little assistant to keep everything in order. If you could also make her plus size it would amazing if you’re comfortable writing that💗

ahh thank you so much love! Here it is, sorry for having it sit in the drafts for so long!🖤

Steady As She Goes {JB9}

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Synopsis: In the chaos of fame, Joe Burrow finds unexpected calm in the form of his fiercely competent, quietly unshakable assistant, Y/N Sinclair—a woman who manages his schedule with military precision and his heart with quiet grace. As the noise fades and the season ends, Joe begins to realize that the life he’s chasing might just be found in the stillness she brings.

Warnings: Mild language, References to physical exhaustion/injury (standard for football context), Emotional burnout / mental fatigue, & Brief mention of past illness (non-graphic).

Themes: Slow-burn romance, Found family / emotional intimacy, Fame vs. authenticity, Caretaking (mutual, emotional), Stillness and healing, Emotional growth, Domestic softness, Strong female lead / quietly powerful woman, Quiet moments > grand gestures, & Falling in love with the ordinary.

WC: 2.3k

A/N: part 2?

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• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

In the eye of the storm, Joe Burrow’s life spun faster than any spiral he launched downfield. Interviews, training, meetings, appearances—it was all flashbulbs and countdowns, hotel lobbies and red carpets. He handled it well enough; that was the burden of greatness. But even quarterbacks get tired. Even golden boys need someone to hold the chaos at bay.

Enter her.

She was five-foot-nothing, curvy, competent, and utterly unbothered by fame. Her curls were always pulled into a bun that made her look like she meant business, and her clipboard was practically an extension of her arm. She didn’t flinch when agents called at 2 a.m. or when a jersey mix-up almost derailed a photoshoot. She didn’t care about the glitz or the wins—only the schedule, the dry-cleaning, and whether Joe had eaten something besides protein shakes that day.

She kept him grounded. Reminded him when to rest, when to speak, when to breathe.

Joe never admitted how badly he needed her—not at first. But he felt it. The steadiness she brought into his whirlwind world. The way she filled the silence in a room with warmth, not noise. She knew how to move around him like gravity, solid and constant, even when the whole stadium roared his name.

It started small. She’d leave granola bars in his car, write reminders in his notebook in sparkly gel pen. He started calling her “Coach Sinclair,” teasingly, like she was the only one who really kept him in line.

She never sought attention, never played up the proximity. That’s what made her different. She was his anchor. And in the rare quiet moments, when the lights dimmed and the adrenaline faded, he’d catch himself looking for her. Not for help, not for reminders. Just for her.

One night, after a grueling away game, she was waiting by the team bus, arms crossed, eyes scanning the crowd. Joe saw her before anyone else—head tilted, lips pursed in that way she always did when she was fighting off worry.

He walked up to her, bruised and bone-tired, and said, “You’re always here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Of course I am. You think this circus runs itself?”

“No, I mean... you’re always here,” he said, softer now.

And he realized then, in the quiet hush of the parking lot, that if everything else fell away—if the noise, the fans, the lights vanished—he’d still want to come home to her.

Not because she managed his life.

But because she’d become the best part of it.

The world moved fast around Joe Burrow—too fast sometimes. The rhythm of his life was all quick counts and tighter windows, flights that left at dawn, meetings that ran late, and appearances scheduled back-to-back with little more than a protein bar and a half-lost phone charger to sustain him. Everyone wanted something from him: a comment, a handshake, a win. And he gave it, because that’s what greatness demanded. But even quarterbacks—especially quarterbacks—can burn out.

And that’s where she came in.

She wasn’t flashy. Not like the rest of the people in his orbit who wore designer clothes and spoke in hashtags. She was the opposite. Steady, soft-voiced, with a sharp mind and a clipboard that somehow carried more authority than a coach’s headset. She was plus-sized, confident, with a kind of magnetic ease that made people underestimate her—until she opened her mouth and rearranged an entire travel schedule in under five minutes. Joe hired her after a chaotic press tour in L.A. where his old assistant forgot to schedule a post-game flight and accidentally sent him to New York instead of Cincinnati.

She had walked into his life a week later, wearing black ankle boots and carrying an iced coffee in one hand and a folder thicker than the playbook in the other.

“You’re Joe,” she’d said simply, without awe or fanfare, as if he were just another name on her list. “And you need help.”

He blinked. “I mean… yeah. That’s fair.”

“I’ll start today. If you don’t like how I work, we’ll pretend this never happened.” She held out her hand, firm and unshaking. “Y/N Sinclair.”

He took it. “Joe Burrow.”

She smirked. “Yeah, I got that part.”

Weeks turned into months, and she became something of a legend within Joe’s team. She wasn’t just an assistant—she was a fixer, a keeper of secrets, and, when necessary, a gentle but immovable force.

“Did you eat?” she’d ask before every practice, arms crossed as she leaned against the doorway of the locker room.

“Protein shake,” he’d mumble, already tugging on his cleats.

“Not food,” she’d say, tossing him a granola bar. “There’s real lunch waiting in your car. Don’t make me remind you what happened last time you skipped a meal before drills.”

He’d grin, already halfway out the door. “You’re starting to sound like my mom.”

“Great. Maybe you’ll actually listen.”

But it wasn’t just the way she organized his calendar or remembered the names of every teammate’s spouse. It was the quiet moments—those rare slivers of stillness in the chaos—that she filled without ever trying. She’d sit in the corner of the hotel room while he read over film notes, her laptop open, fingers flying across the keys. She didn’t interrupt. She didn’t need to. Her presence alone steadied him.

One night, after a particularly brutal game—one of those down-to-the-wire losses that gnawed at him long after the final whistle—he found her waiting by the team bus. The November air was cold, cutting through his jacket, but she stood there like it didn’t touch her, arms folded, chin tucked into her scarf.

She spotted him before he even made it halfway across the lot.

“Hey,” she said softly, stepping toward him. “You alright?”

He nodded, but it wasn’t convincing. His shoulder ached. His head throbbed. But more than anything, he was tired in that bone-deep way that didn’t fade with rest.

She didn’t press. She just fell into step beside him.

“You have interviews in the morning,” she said after a moment. “But I pushed the first one back an hour. Figured you might need to sleep in.”

He glanced sideways at her. “You always think ahead like that?”

“Someone’s gotta,” she said with a small smile. “Left to your own devices, you’d probably show up in the wrong city.”

He chuckled, the first real laugh he’d had all day. “You’re not wrong.”

They reached the bus, but neither of them climbed on right away. The players were still trickling in, the staff milling around with clipboards and exhausted faces. For a moment, they just stood in the dim parking lot, the world unusually quiet.

“You’re always here,” Joe said finally.

She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, well, it’s kind of the job, isn’t it?”

“No, I mean…” He shifted his weight, running a hand through his damp hair. “You’re always here. When it’s good. When it’s not. I don’t know if I’ve said thank you. For all of it.”

Her expression softened. She looked at him, really looked at him, and for once she didn’t fill the silence with sarcasm or to-do lists.

“I don’t need thanks, Joe,” she said. “I just need you to take care of yourself. And win a couple games while you’re at it.”

He smiled, but something in his chest tugged hard, like a thread pulling free. Because somewhere between game plans and car rides, between shared coffees and late-night planning sessions, he’d started looking for her even when she wasn’t around. Not out of necessity—but something more.

Later that night, when the bus rolled through quiet streets and she sat beside him with her head resting lightly against the window, Joe turned to her.

“Y/N?” he said, voice low.

She blinked herself awake. “Hmm?”

“When this season’s over… would you ever think about staying on?” He paused. “Not just as my assistant. I mean—traveling less. Maybe staying closer. You could do something here. I don’t know. Something that isn’t just… taking care of me.”

She smiled, eyes soft and a little amused. “Joe Burrow, are you trying to offer me a promotion or a life?”

He looked at her, and the answer was clear in his silence.

“I’ll think about it,” she said gently, her voice like a quiet promise.

And she did.

Because maybe, just maybe, some people are worth coming home to.

The season ended with more bruises than wins, and a weight settled over the team that only time could lift. The locker room emptied slowly after their final game—shoulder pads unstrapped with less urgency, voices lower than usual, no music thumping from the speakers. Everyone felt it. The stretch of months ahead with no plays to run, no film to study. For most, it was a break. For Joe, it was something else entirely.

It was stillness. And he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

The morning after their final game, She showed up at his condo holding two coffees and a paper bag of fresh bagels.

“I figured you wouldn’t leave your bed unless someone physically made you,” she said, nudging the door open with her foot.

Joe squinted at her from the couch, hair wild, blanket wrapped around him like a cocoon. “You're not wrong.”

“Do I ever miss?” she asked, setting the bag down on the coffee table.

He sat up, groaning. “Are you even allowed to be here? Technically the season’s over.”

“Technically, I’m off the clock,” she replied, peeling the lid off her coffee. “But you looked like you needed a human being and some carbs.”

He took the bag gratefully. “You're way too good at this.”

“At bagels?”

“At knowing when I’m losing my grip.”

She didn’t say anything right away. She just sipped her coffee, watching him with the kind of quiet patience most people only pretend to have. Then she said, “You don’t have to be anything right now. You know that, right? No quarterback. No leader. Just… Joe.”

He looked at her, really looked, and for the first time in months, let his shoulders drop.

The off-season moved slower. Joe started sleeping in—not on purpose, just because no alarms jolted him awake. He read books he hadn’t touched in years, caught up with old friends over phone calls that lasted hours, and even started cooking again. Badly, but earnestly. She came over a few times, under the pretense of teaching him the difference between paprika and chili powder. He almost burned the chicken, but she was patient. Laughed more than she corrected. He liked that.

Sometimes, they didn’t talk about football at all. And those were the best days.

On a particularly cold January afternoon, She dragged him to a local bookstore downtown. He didn’t protest, mostly because she’d threatened to revoke his Netflix password if he didn’t get out of the house.

“You need stimulation that isn’t screen-based,” she declared, tugging her scarf tighter as they walked through the slushy streets. “Your brain is going to melt.”

“Honestly, that doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Don’t tempt me. I know where you keep your PlayStation.”

Inside, the store was warm and smelled like coffee and old paper. Joe followed her down the aisles, watching the way her fingers trailed along the spines of the books.

“You always do this?” he asked.

“What? Read?” she teased. “Yes, Joe. It’s a thing people do.”

“No, I mean… take time. Be this still.”

She paused at a shelf, her expression unreadable. “I didn’t used to. Not until I got sick a few years ago. Nothing serious, but it slowed me down. Gave me perspective. Taught me how to find joy in quiet things.”

He studied her face, suddenly wanting to know everything she didn’t say out loud.

“You ever think about doing something else?” he asked. “Something that’s… yours?”

She turned, surprised. “You trying to get rid of me?”

“Not a chance. But I meant what I said—when the season ended. You’re not just good at handling me. You’re good at handling life. People. You could do anything.”

Her eyes softened, but she looked away.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “Sometimes it’s easier taking care of someone else. Gives me a reason to show up.”

Joe stepped closer, voice quieter now. “You don’t need a reason. You’re already enough, Y/N.”

She met his gaze, and for a long moment, neither of them said anything. Just stood in the narrow aisle between the memoirs and the travel guides, wrapped in the kind of silence that wasn’t empty—but full.

Eventually, she cleared her throat. “So, what are we reading?”

“You pick,” he said. “I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t,” she joked. “I read a lot of weird stuff.”

He grinned. “Perfect.”

In the weeks that followed, things didn’t change all at once. But the energy between them did—subtle shifts, tiny moments. He noticed the way she lingered a little longer before leaving his place. She started texting him even when there wasn’t something he needed to do. And when they did talk, it was about real things. Dreams. Fears. Past mistakes. Quiet hopes for the future.

One night, as February snow fell soft against the windows, they sat on Joe’s couch, her feet tucked under her, both of them halfway through a documentary they weren’t really watching. The room was dim, lit mostly by the TV’s glow. She had her glasses on, hair a mess, and she looked so completely at ease that it made Joe’s chest ache a little.

“You ever wonder,” he said, breaking the quiet, “if maybe the best parts of life aren’t the big things?”

She turned to him, eyebrows raised. “That sounds deep. Did you read that in one of your football magazines?”

He smiled, shaking his head. “No. I just… I used to think the wins were everything. The plays, the trophies. But lately, I think about stuff like this more. Just sitting here. With you.”

She looked at him for a long second, the air between them warm and still.

“Well,” she said softly, “if this is the best part... we better not rush it.”

And he didn’t.

Because there was time. A whole off-season of quiet.

And Joe was finally learning how to live in it.

JB9 Taglist: @lilfreakjez, @dasia21, @superanastasia1981, @gg-trini, @wickedfun9, @irishmanwhore

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