#but by god. there is something. in. the water.

[sinkuna]

୨୧ — The divorce papers had been signed that afternoon, three years of marriage reduced to legal documents and a splitting of assets… That’s how Nanami found himself at the local bar, liquid amber burning down his throat, tie loosened, the weight of his wedding ring suddenly unbearable… 

Then you walked in.

Twenty-one, maybe twenty-two. College girl written in the innocent tilt of your yellow sundress, the way it clings to your waist, your breasts, the hem flirtatiously brushing against your thighs.

You look so sweet, he thought. A drink like the ones the men were buying you would surely corrupt your pretty mouth, but you sipped with an ease that spoke of experience, even when you cringe at the taste, making the guys around you laugh. 

It made him think about his wife -his ex wife now- the last time they made love, when she bit her lips to hold back a moan, as if afraid someone might hear. He wondered what noises you would make if you were on top of him, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrust up into your tight pussy. 

Would you call out his name? Moan like a whore? Would you beg him to go harder? Deeper? Or would you be shy, too embarrassed to ask for what you really wanted, forcing him to take what he wants, making you take it?

He shook his head and knocked back the rest of his whiskey, trying to clear his mind. You were far too young, far too innocent... Nanami looked away... He had no right to feel this way about a female he didn't know, a girl that had her whole life ahead of her.

You ordered something sweet and fruity while he nursed his drink, watching the way you tucked your hair behind your ear. And then, your eyes met his.

He doesn't remember buying you drinks. Doesn't remember the conversation that led to your hand on his thigh, your breath wine-sweet against his ear as you whispered, "I know somewhere quiet."

But he remembers his Lexus. God, he'll never forget the damn Lexus. 

"Fuck-" The word tears from his throat as you sink down onto him, your tight cunt splitty open around his cock like you were made for this moment. The leather seats creak beneath you both, divorce papers scattered on the floor like confetti celebrating his rebirth.

You were so goddamn young, so wet, so eager- everything his ex wife hadn't been in years, and my god... You're so fucking tight it hurts, and he's so fucking thick you can barely breathe around the stretch. Your sundress is hiked up around your waist, his hands fisted in the fabric and your hair- his wedding ring catching strands as he holds you against his body.

"You- mph - you're going to ruin me," His hips jerk up involuntarily, "aren't you?" driving deeper, and you cry out like he's hitting some spot inside of you that only a man like him can reach. He's massive- way more massive than you initially thought, thick enough that your eyes water, that your cunt burns trying to stretch around him. The head of his cock forcing your walls apart, claiming every inch as you slowly take him to the base. 

Nanami can feel you trying to adjust to his size, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each bounce as you babble incoherently- "S'too-m'fuckfuckfuck-sh'too big!!" tears leaking from your eyes, "don' ev-even know -hah - your n-name!"

His name is Nanami, but that doesn't matter... He felt how your pussy clenched at your words. You were getting off on the wrongness of the situation, just like he was. The depravity of it- this older man using your young body, his wedding ring cool against your skin. 

You don't know him, don't care who he is, and that makes this all the more exciting.

His lips crash against yours, swallowing every little noise you make as he ruts up into your heat, the windows fogging up, the car shaking with the force of his thrusts.

"S'doesn't matter," is all he says, his voice low, husky while his one hand guides your hips in a rhythm that makes his vision blur.

The condom stretches tight around him, already straining from how hard he is, how deep he's buried inside your young cunt. He can feel your orgasm building in the tremor of your thighs, the way your breath comes in desperate little gasps.

When you come, you scream. Actually scream, head thrown back like a religious experience, and your pussy clamps down so hard he sees stars. The sensation drags out his own climax, his hips lifting clean off the seat as he empties himself into the latex barrier. 

The condom swells inside you, and you whimper at the added pressure, grinding down like you want to milk every last drop from him. Your cunt spasms around the intrusion, wringing another orgasm from your oversensitive nerves.

Afterward, you collapse against his chest, both of you breathing like survivors... His wedding ring still tangled in your hair... 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It happens again a week later. Then again. And again.

Always his car. Always that same desperate hunger, like he’s trying to fuck the loneliness out of himself. You learn to take him easier, your body adapting to his size, but he never gets used to how perfectly you fit around him.

"Missed this," he groans against your neck as he bends you over in the backseat, your sundress -a different one, pink this time- bunched around your waist, pink lace panties ripped and tossed in the front seat, "Thought about you all week."

His cock twitches inside you, and the way his hands grip your waist possessively, you believe him.

You feel his breath hitch when you start to move against him, grinding your hips back against his, feeling him so deep you could choke on it, the head of his cock pressing so hard- nestled against the opening of your womb. You swear if you looked down you’d see a perfect outline of it stretching out your stomach.

With a cock-drunk smile you can't help but imagine him coming inside you, painting the deepest part of you with his seed. "Mmn, missed this, too, Nanami-san~" you gasp sweetly, the confession falling from your lips before you could stop yourself.

He wants to say more, his tongue heavy with words unspoken- "missed you", "you're beautiful", "god, I can't get enough of you"… He always wants to say more.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he fucks you like he owns you, like your young cunt exists solely for his pleasure.

He never gives you his number, never takes you anywhere but his car, and when he pulls out, the condom is always filled to the brim with his cum- stretched obscenely with your arousal coating the outside.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Three weeks later after he's fucked you stupid in his car, he asks you, "Come home with me tonight." The words are quiet, almost uncertain.

You look up at him from where you’re starting to doze off against his chest, "Your place?"

"My place." His fingers trace patterns on your bare shoulder, "Stay the night."

His apartment is exactly what you’d expected- minimalist, expensive, cold. But his bed is warm, and he fucks you properly there, taking his time to explore your body, to discover the things that made those pretty lashes flutter, those gorgeous lips moan his name., "K-Kento~♡!"

He’s so gentle, so slow, making you come so many times that by the time you finally pass out, the sheets were soaked, his cock still buried deep inside with a condom so full of cum, it nearly split at the seams.

That night Nanami watches you sleep, the way your hair fans out around your face, the little snores escaping your parted lips. He brushes a lock of hair from your cheek, a sudden ache in his chest as he sighs, "What am I doing?" This was wrong, "I'm too old for you," he mumbles, pressing his forehead against yours while gathering you in his arms, "This can't be a long-term thing…"

His voice trails off, the warmth of your body against his pulling him under.

"This can't be a long-term thing," he repeats the words in his dreams, and it sounds like a lie.

In the morning, he makes coffee and breakfast… Actual pancakes, not the instant kind from your dorm.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It becomes routine. Your toothbrush joins his, the spare pajamas in his drawer are yours, and his apartment begins to smell like flowers and the perfume you wear. He drops you off at lectures, picks you up after. Pays for textbooks without blinking. Watches you study at his kitchen table while he cooks dinner, domestic in a way that terrifies him.

Nanami even learns your coffee order at Starbucks- extra vanilla syrup, always, because you're still young and believe sweetness won't hurt you. When the barista flirts with you, his jaw tightens, the way his hand tightens around his own cup. You thought at first that it was just anger, irritation at the line, but-

"Jealous?" You ask as the two of you exit the store, sipping your drinks.

"Why would I be jealous?" He responds coolly, even though his heart is hammering. He keeps trying to tell himself that this isn't an exclusive thing, even if he does call you his pretty girl while you bounce on his cock. It isn't exclusive… even though he bought a new bed to accommodate both of you. A king sized bed, the most comfortable one in the store, because his favorite thing is watching you fall apart beneath him, above him, against him… falling asleep with your scent in his lungs, waking up to your sleepy smile…

You're free to date whoever you want… but the thought makes his stomach churn…

"Beeeecause~ the cute barista was totally hitting on me," You grin, "He even gave me his number on the napkin."

"Oh?" His tone is disinterested, but his jaw ticks, and there's something dark in his eyes when he looks at you.

"Yeah, see," You show him the napkin, and sure enough, the guy had wrote his name and phone number, and-

Nanami stops.

The napkin even has a little note scribbled at the bottom, a flirtatious one saying, Call Me Anytime Cutie ;).

And that's when Nanami snaps.

He drags you back to his car, his grip bruising, and when you look up at him with those big eyes, lashes fluttering innocently… the idea that someone else might touch you like this, might hear the noises you make when you're close, might get to see the look on your face when you come undone, and god, the way you say his name…

Fuck.

He doesn't want to share.

He's become possessive.

And that afternoon he proves it. Has you bent over the hood of his car in the parking garage, splitting you open with his cock while he growls about who you belong to. Your pussy gripping him like a vice, your juices running down the car and dripping onto the cement below as he fucks you harder than he ever has- condom threatening to split around his cock with every thrust.

"Y-Yes!!!~♡," you sob, because it's true. Because somewhere between the first time he made you come and now, you became his completely.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

One morning Nanami comes home after his run, a rare day off, and finds you sitting at his table in the kitchen, dressed only in his button-up, the one he wore to work the day before. Yout hair is still sleep mussed, your favorite mug of his in your hand, and its like his breath leaves him, his heart hammering against his ribs, because for the first time in a long time… Nanami Kento is happy.

He loves you…

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck… This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to be here like this- wife like and wearing his shirt. Greeting him each night he comes home late… 

Shit…

Nanami Kento was completely and utterly in love with you.

The realization hits him like a truck, and his mouth at that moment goes dry.

As you turn to him, eyes still sleepy, he also realizes he wants to memorize this moment, to preserve it forever- the early morning sun casting a beautiful glow on your skin, the soft curve of your bare shoulder. 

"Mornin', Kento," you smile at him, and he can’t take it anymore. He can’t hide this from you any longer. 

"Come here," 

"Mm? What's up?"

"Just-" He can’t speak, not properly, so he grabs your wrist in the most gentle way he can manage and tugs you from your seat, pressing you flush against his body, his hand finding your cheek, thumb tracing your lower lip.

"K-Kento, what are y-"

"I love you."

Your eyes widen, lips parting, and for a second he’s terrified. Worried that this will change everything, and then- 

"I-I love you, too. I just-" You look away for a moment, the sweetest blush spreading across your face- your smile the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, "I just didn’t know how you would- I didn’t want to scare you away…" 

God, you could never scare him away. Never. And a part of him hated himself for ever making you feel that way. That the only reason you didn't tell him is because you thought it would drive him away. 

"I love you," he breathes again, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head, his forehead pressing against yours, "So much. You could never scare me away, darling."

The kiss that followed was everything he's ever wanted. Soft, sweet and loving- everything a first kiss should be, and when the two of you part, he whispers your name against your lips, as if trying to reassure himself that this was real.

That night he takes you in his arms, carrying you up to the king size bed so that he can show you just how much he loves you. To show you just how serious he is about you. 

"No condom tonight," he whispers in your ear, his arms wrapped around you, your legs wrapped around his waist as he pulls back to look at your face. 

"Mn," You nod, "Sounds fun~, but you know I’m-"

"I know… You're not on the pill," he interrupts, the corners of his mouth quirking up, "but we'll just have to deal with the consequences, won't we?"

The consequences… 

He’s never sounded so happy about anything. 

"I want to feel you," he breathes, rolling his hips, slowly, deeply, tenderly as he nudges against your entrance, "want to fill you up properly… Make you really mine," he kisses your cheek, "Make a family."

"Ahhn~♡," the moan that is drawn from your lips as his cock sinks into was music to his ears. No latex, no barrier between your bodies, just thick, bare cock spreading you open. It was indescribable- the way he filled you up, the heat of his length, every vein and ridge rubbing deliciously along the sensitive walls of your pussy. 

"God, you're perfect," he groans, and when his cock kisses your womb, his hips twitch involuntarily. The thought of his seed flooding your deepest parts was far too alluring- painting your walls white, coating the entrance of your womb, the image of your belly round and heavy with his child making his cock throb inside of you.

"Please~♡" gasping as he fills you completely- not just with his cock, but with the promise of something more permanent. 

He cums inside you that night, and every night after, marking you as his in the most intimate way possible. 

This started with divorce papers and whiskey, but it had become something else entirely. Something that tastes like forever and feels like coming home.

[floatyflowers]

Dark! Poseidon x Percy Jackson's Mother! Reader

For: @jeo20-ir

The Montauk air smelled like salt mixed with the thick feeling of horrible tension, as you stood on the porch of the beach cabin, arms wrapped tight around yourself, staring at the restless waves.

Inside, Percy was, preparing for his promised boat trip with you.

He had done it, your boy, your brave, sweet boy, had faced gods and monsters and come out on top.

And he saved you from Hades.

But even as pride filled your chest, there was a heavy feeling of worry.

It had been there ever since Percy's father had stepped back into the picture.

Poseidon.

You thought you had buried the memories of those stolen summer nights, when Poseidon had been just a man to you.

He had laughed, loved, and promised more than he could give.

And....

...then he vanished, leaving you with a warning about monsters, a promise to watch over Percy, and nothing else.

Or maybe something else, like the fact that he killed your friends and your ex-boyfriend.

That's why when he tried to contact you through Percy several times after Percy returned from Camp, you avoided him.

"I'm ready, let's go, mom."

You look at your son as he walks up behind you.

Despite Percy looking like Poseidon, his personality is nothing like the deity of the sea.

And you are thankful for that.

🌊🌊🌊

The boat rocked sharply, the waves suddenly restless and unpredictable, as if the ocean itself was throwing a tantrum.

You clung to the railing, your knuckles white as Percy shouted something over the roaring wind. He had insisted on this trip, a simple mother-son outing on the water to celebrate his latest victory.

You had agreed, wanting to share in his joy, but now your stomach churned with unease.

The sea wasn't angry, It felt like it was watching and waiting.

Another violent lurch sent you sprawling.

Percy's cry of alarm barely registered before the next wave struck, dragging you over the side.

"MOM!"

Cold water swallowed you whole, its icy fingers pulling you deeper and deeper.

Panic clawed at your chest as you kicked and struggled, but the currents felt alive, like they had one purpose.

And then, just as suddenly, the water stilled.

You opened your eyes, and there he was, Poseidon.

He stood like the ocean had shaped itself into a man just for him.

His eyes glowed an impossible shade of green, his expression unreadable.

"I knew you��d come back to me," he said, his voice carrying humor.

"Come back to you?" you snapped, despite the ache in your lungs.

"I fell overboard because of your tantrum!"

You don't know how you are breathing underwater and speaking, but here you are getting angry at your ex-husband.

He stepped closer, the water parting effortlessly around him.

"I had to get your attention, you have been avoiding me for too long, " His hands touching your cheeks.

Before moving down, and grabbing your arms.

"You still look as young and beautiful as you have always been."

You wanted to pull away, to remind yourself of the heartache he had left in you.

But his grip on you is tight, making it painful and almost impossible to escape him.

Before you could retort, a shadow cut through the water above you. Percy.

Your heart leapt, your son had come to you.

But as he swam closer, his eyes locked onto Poseidon, yet instead of the anger or confusion you expected, Percy's face softened.

He nodded once, a knowing smile tugging at his lips, as if this was exactly what he’d hoped for.

Then, with a quick wave and a mischievous glint in his eyes, Percy turned and kicked back toward the surface, leaving you alone with Poseidon.

"Seems our son approves."

Your face twists, knowing very well that Percy misunderstood the situation.

"I don't approve."

His grin didn't leave his face, the water around you pulsing, and insistent on making you stay.

"Come now," he murmured, tilting his head.

"You have read enough of my ancient stories to know I never take no for an answer."

[daniel-oneiroi]

also for the love of god LOOK at your labels

READ your labels! they often list the most common or easiest way to wash/dry something. there are multiple "correct" ways to wash your clothes.

but if it's synthetic, always always try to wash it on cold water ONLY, and dry it on the cool or no-heat setting. hang it up, if it isn't thick like a blanket. indoor air-dry racks that fold are perfect for this, especially if you use the A/C a lot because your indoor air is probably too dry anyways, which is great for clothing trying to dry.

your synthetics, even mixes, are PLASTICS. they break down pretty quick. a lot of plastic clothing is thin to begin with. heat will warp it and cause it to 'break' (tear) faster. hanging them up or drying on cool-only cycle will prolong that.

yes, especially your fully synthetic blankets. they are NOT supposed to "smell burnt" when they come out of the dryer. they smell burnt or musty BECAUSE they weren't supposed to be dried on hot cycles. dry them on medium at most for thicker stuff.

and next time, check thrift stores for sheets and blankets that aren't synthetic at all, so you don't have this problem.

hey. listen. when you use too much detergent in your laundry you aren't making your clothes cleaner, you are making them degrade faster. the machine isn't able to rinse out the entire cup of soap you put in, so some of it is left in the fibers of your clothes. when they dry this makes the fabric stiffer and more brittle, so the fibers are more likely to erode and break. over time this makes your clothes wear out much faster than if they were properly rinsed with minimal soap. you are wasting money by overusing detergent, not just on the detergent itself but the clothes you are shortening the lifespan of.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Anniversary Getaway || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: You and Rafe celebrate your one-year anniversary at a private villa in Mexico, where he can’t resist you.

Warnings: smut!!!

Word count:

A/n: IM BACKKKKKK SEND THRU REQUESTS PLS AND TY

MASTERLIST

The soft crash of waves against the rocks echoed in the distance as the Mexican sun dipped low over the turquoise water, bathing the villa in golden light. The private infinity pool shimmered with every gust of breeze, the air humid and heavy with heat—but not nearly as hot as the way Rafe was looking at you from his lounge chair.

You leaned over the pool’s edge, toes dipped in, your skimpy bikini barely clinging to you after a dip. It was pale yellow—tiny triangles and side ties that had made his jaw clench the moment you stepped out of the bedroom that morning.

And now, one drink in and your skin glowing from the sun and salt, Rafe was a man possessed. “Are you trying to kill me, babe?” he muttered, sunglasses slipping down his nose as he watched the water drip from your thighs. You tossed a glance over your shoulder, smirking.

“What? I’m just enjoying the view.” “So am I,” he drawled, sitting up and letting his drink rest on the side table. “But I’m two seconds away from making that bikini disappear.” You laughed softly, but the sound died when he stood and stalked over. There was something different in his walk—predatory.

You didn’t move, just stayed there leaning against the edge of the pool, ass out, sun glinting off the water on your back. You could practically feel the heat in his stare. He dropped to his knees behind you, hands gripping your hips, thumbs grazing the bows tied at either side.

“You know this is our one-year anniversary,” he murmured, mouth close to your ear. “I think it’s only fair I get to unwrap my present.” You gasped when his teeth grazed the back of your neck, hips pressing into yours from behind. “Rafe—” “Mmh?” he hummed, fingers toying with the tie at your hip. “You’re not seriously gonna—”

The knot came loose with a swift tug, your bottoms slipping just enough to make you hiss. “No one’s around,” he said roughly, voice low and dark with want. “And even if they were… I’d still take my time with you.” He turned you gently, laying you flat on the poolside tiles.

Warmth clung to your skin, but it was nothing compared to his hands exploring your body, mouth latching onto your inner thigh and working its way up with teasing slowness. “Rafe,” you breathed, arching when he spread your legs with ease. “God, you’re—” “Obsessed with you? Yeah.”

His mouth curved wickedly before lowering to taste you, slow and deep and filthy. His tongue moved like he had all night, all week, all year to make you unravel—and honestly, he did. Your hands tangled in his hair, breath catching, head falling back as he groaned into you like he couldn’t get enough.

“Fuck, you taste like paradise,” he growled, voice muffled as he licked deeper. “You always do.” The heat built fast, unbearable and perfect, and before you could fully come down from the high he gave you, Rafe was pulling his shorts down, lining himself up between your thighs right there on the sun-warmed tile.

“Look at me,” he demanded, one hand cradling your jaw, the other guiding himself into you slow and deep. “You think I could keep my eyes off you in that bikini? I’ve been hard since breakfast.” You moaned as he filled you, body arching to meet every sharp thrust.

The sound of skin against skin, your soft cries, his low curses—they all blended with the crashing waves and the soft breeze, like the universe had decided to soundtrack your anniversary with lust and heat.

He fucked you slow at first, eyes locked on yours, but it didn’t take long before he lost control—hips snapping into yours harder, one hand gripping your thigh as he grunted your name over and over, chasing the high he always found buried deep inside you.

“You’re mine,” he said into your neck as you came again, nails clawing into his back. “One year down, forever to go.” And then he spilled into you with a groan that sounded more like worship, kissing you through the comedown, salty skin and whispered promises clinging to the air around you.

[ellwynda]

demons fall for an innocent farm girl .ᐟ

You didn’t mean to charm a demon. Let alone a pack of them.

You were just a farm girl. Wake with the dawn, fetch the eggs, feed the goats, sweat in the field ‘til your hands were raw. You weren’t a mage. Weren’t cursed. You’d never stepped foot in a temple or pissed on some ancient ruin. You just smiled too much. You laughed at things that shouldn’t be funny. You had hay in your hair and freckles on your cheeks and the softness of someone who didn’t know better than to look a devil in the eyes and giggle.

They’d started showing up at night.

At first, you thought it was shadows. A cold wind. A feeling under your skin that made you tug the blankets tighter. Then it was whispers—deep and velvet-thick, crawling through the cracks of your dreams.

“Sweet thing…” “Soft little body, all alone…” “We’ll take such good care of you…”

You’d wake wet. Ache in your belly. Clutching your pillow, thighs sticky with the kind of dream you were too embarrassed to even think about once the sun rose.

The worst part? You thought it was just you.

Too many nights alone. Not enough good men in town. Your imagination running wild. You’d laugh it off in the morning, red in the face, hauling water from the well like it hadn’t felt real—like you hadn’t heard teeth at your throat and claws on your hips and voices growling your name in unison.

Then you started seeing them.

Always on the edge of the woods. Always when you were alone. Not full form—just flashes. Long horns. Smoke-thick eyes. Black claws curling around tree bark. And the heat.

Gods, the heat.

You’d feel it first. Out of nowhere. Mid-chore, bent over the trough, skirt damp with well water, and suddenly your skin would flush hot and tight, like something had licked up the back of your thighs.

Then you'd turn—and nothing. Just trees. Just wind.

One time, you laughed aloud. “Y’all’re just makin’ fun of me,” you said to the shadows, cheeks red as apples. “Silly little dreams, that’s all.”

You didn’t see the way the trees twitched. How the air thickened. How claws curled deeper into the dirt in restraint.

But you heard the laugh.

Low. Deep. Shuddering. Right behind your ear.

That night, they didn’t let you sleep.

You laid in bed, eyes fluttering shut—and fell. Not into dreams, but into a place beneath them.

A world thick with smoke and velvet. A bed not yours—massive, draped in dark silk, soaked with warmth. And they were there.

All of them.

Three at least. Maybe more. Hard to count with their hands everywhere.

One kissed your neck, tongue dragging slowly up to your jaw as another knelt between your thighs, spreading them with claws so sharp they tore your nightgown like paper. The third one stroked your cheek with fingers that felt too hot for flesh.

They didn’t ask.

They didn’t need to.

Your dream-body was already writhing, already soaked, gasping into the dark as one thick cock pressed against your cunt, hot and leaking, while another brushed your lips, wetting them before sliding in slow.

They took turns.

Fucking you deep, slow, wet—growling praise into your ear, clawing at your hips, choking you just enough to make you moan louder.

“You don’t even know, do you?” one murmured, balls slapping wetly against your ass. “You’re ours. You always were.” “You’ll see. We’ll drag you under. Make you a queen. Breed you full ‘til you’re heavy with demonspawn and smiling.”

And god, it felt so good.

Too good.

You came over and over, body lifted and tossed like a toy between them. One knotted you—deep, pulsing, locked so tight your stomach swelled from the heat of his cum. Another came on your belly, licking it off with a pointed tongue. Another filled your throat ‘til your eyes rolled back.

When you woke?

Sunlight. Birds.

You were in your bed. Your nightgown—torn. Thighs sore. Pussy leaking. You sat up, dazed and aching, blinking at the dust in the air.

“…That was some dream,” you mumbled, face hot.

You didn’t see the claw mark burned into the wood above your headboard.

You didn’t hear the whisper that slipped beneath your door, soft as breath:

“Soon, sweet thing. We’re coming back.”

[saintormentor]

m e a n i e c . s

i n w h i c h . . . chris prolongs your release when you whine, and then gives you four more.

w a r n i n g s . . . orgasm prolonging, multiple orgasms, smut, stomach bulge, degradation, crying, comfort

the sex felt mindless. detached. it was frankly pissing chris off, his movements sloppy and lazy.

your body was trembling, every nerve frayed from how close you were — how unfairly close — when he pulled out without warning. just like that. gone. empty. aching.

you gasped, eyes snapping open, chest heaving as your thighs instinctively tried to close, to hold onto something that wasn’t there anymore. but all you got was the sting of abandonment and the unbearable throb of denied pleasure.

“what the fuck,” you breathed, voice shaking more from betrayal than from exhaustion. “are you serious right now?”

he just stared down at you, dark and unreadable, his chest rising and falling like he was the one on edge. like he was the one about to break.

“you think you get to come that easy after the shit you pulled?” he muttered, low and cutting. his voice was calm — terrifyingly so — and it made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

your jaw dropped. “i didn’t even—”

“exactly.” he leaned in, nose brushing yours, that stupid, infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you didn’t do anything. didn’t apologize. didn’t beg. didn’t even say my name the way i like.” he tilted his head. “why would i let you finish?”

your hands clenched the sheets. tears of frustration welled in your eyes — not from hurt, but from the sheer tension knotted in your stomach, throbbing between your legs like a cruel punishment. “you’re such an asshole.”

“mhmm.” he pressed a single kiss to your lips. “but you like that.”

“i hate you.”

“no, baby,” he cooed, thumbing your swollen bottom lip. “you hate that you need me to cum. and i’m not gonna give it to you.”

you stared at him, burning, furious, unbearably needy — and he was already backing away, wiping himself off like he hadn’t just wrecked you without mercy.

“chris,” you warned, voice breaking. “don’t you fucking walk away.”

he paused at the door. glanced back.

“then don’t give me a reason to,” he said simply, and disappeared into the hallway.

you screamed into the pillow. and shit, you hated how much you still wanted him.

you laid there for a long moment, body still trembling, thighs clenched so tight it hurt. the silence in the room was deafening — not peaceful, not calm, but taunting. it mocked you. echoed your pulse. pulsed in sync with the empty ache between your legs.

your hand twitched at your side. you considered finishing yourself — just out of spite. just to feel something other than the shameful burn of need.

but it wouldn’t be the same. it never was. not after chris. so you didn’t.

you wrapped the sheet around your chest and stumbled off the bed, legs wobbly and weak, more from rage than anything. padding into the hallway, you found him in the kitchen — shirtless, sipping water like he hadn’t just ruined you on purpose. like he hadn’t just played god with your orgasm and walked away whistling.

“you think that was funny?” your voice cracked. you hated that it cracked.

he didn’t even look at you at first. just set the glass down and turned, slow, deliberate, leaning back on the counter. “wasn’t meant to be funny,” he said. “meant to teach you a lesson.”

“about what?” you hissed. “about how to become a fucking lunatic? congrats, chris. i’m there.”

his eyes flicked over you — the sheet, the flushed cheeks, the unsteady posture. “lesson about how actions have consequences,” he said smoothly, walking toward you. “and that maybe next time, you’ll think twice before pretending you don’t care.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but he was already there, tilting your chin up with a single finger.

“you came in here looking to argue. as usual.” he said, voice low, “but all i see is someone who still wants to cum, huh?”

you slapped his hand away. “you don’t get to control me like this.”

“i’m not controlling you,” he murmured. “i’m making you honest.”

and before you could reply — before you could say another word — he grabbed your wrist, spun you around, and bent you over the counter.

“chris—” you gasped, the sheet slipping off your body, heat flooding every nerve.

“you think i don’t want you?” he growled into your ear. “you think it doesn’t kill me not to cum in this messy cunt?”

he pushed just the head in, slow, punishing, and you whimpered.

“this time,” he said through clenched teeth, “you’ll fucking scream for it.”

he didn’t move.

just the tip — barely nestled inside, stretched enough to ache but not enough to satisfy. your fingers gripped the edge of the counter so hard your knuckles turned white, breath coming in sharp little gasps as your thighs trembled.

“chris,” you whimpered, trying to push back against him, just enough to take more, to pull him deeper.

his hand came down hard across your ass. a sharp smack. you yelped.

“don’t,” he warned. “you don’t get to set the pace.”

he rocked his hips — shallow, infuriatingly slow — just enough for the head to slip in and out, dragging against that first ring of resistance. you choked on a moan, back arching, your body betraying you completely.

“this is what you wanted, right?” he murmured, voice low and cruel. “wanted to be put in your place. wanted to be reminded who you belong to.”

“you’re such a dick,” you gasped, eyes stinging from frustration, from pleasure that refused to peak.

he leaned down, chest against your back, one hand wrapping around your throat as he pushed in just a little deeper—then pulled out again.

“and,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear, “you’re dripping all over me.”

you could feel it — the mess between your thighs, the humiliating slickness he was smearing all over with nothing more than the head of his cock. every time he rocked forward, it dragged through you, hot and swollen and soaked.

“please,” you breathed, and hated how desperate it sounded. “chris, please.”

he stilled. stayed right at the edge. unmoving. cock twitching against you.

“you gonna be good?” he asked.

you nodded furiously.

“say it.”

“i’ll be good,” you whispered. “i’ll be so fucking good, i swear—”

but he didn’t move.

he just pulled out again, rubbing himself through your folds like he wasn’t wrecking you slowly, deliberately.

“you think you deserve it?” he asked, now lazily trailing the tip up toward your clit and back down again.

“yes—“

he pressed the head in again. just the head. you bit your lip so hard you tasted blood.

“you haven’t earned it yet,” he said simply, cruelly, and god—you might’ve cried.

he was merciless.

he didn’t push in. didn’t give you what you were aching for, what your body screamed for. no — all he gave you was the thick, swollen head of his cock, nudging just barely past your entrance, then pulling out again. slow. calculated. cruel.

“c’mon,” he murmured, thumb brushing the base of your spine as he kept you bent over the counter. “you’re the one who said you didn’t need me.”

you were shaking, chest pressed to the cold marble, cheek turned, lips parted as you panted. “chris,” you whimpered, the name leaving you like a sob. “please—i can’t—”

“you can.” his voice was low, cruelly gentle. “you will.”

he rocked forward again, just enough for the tip to slip in, warm and thick and teasing right against that oversensitive entrance. he held it there, hands gripping your hips so tight it left bruises.

and then he started to move.

not fully — just that inch, back and forth, shallow thrusts that barely scraped at your walls but somehow still had your legs buckling. the friction built fast. too fast. too much.

“fuck,” you moaned, high and broken, your voice echoing in the kitchen. “it’s not enough—”

“then why are you already close?” he growled.

his grip on your hips tightened, and he kept that brutal rhythm — shallow, deliberate, precise. the tip hit just right, again and again, your swollen, aching walls gripping for more that never came. but it didn’t matter. it was too much and not enough all at once.

he reached forward and slipped his fingers between your thighs, finding your clit with practiced ease. rubbed tight circles, slow and filthy, while his cock teased you open just barely.

“gonna come just like this,” he muttered. “just on the tip.”

“i c-can’t—” your whole body was shaking, voice trembling as tears pricked your lashes. “chris, please—”

“look at you,” he cooed, “crying over a cock that’s not even inside you.”

and that broke you.

your body seized, thighs quivering as the orgasm hit — sudden, sharp, and humiliatingly intense. you cried out, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open and trembling as your walls clamped down around nothing. around just the tip.

he held you through it, fingers working you through every last wave, until you were a gasping, twitching mess against the counter.

and still — he didn’t push in.

“that’s one,” he said softly, brushing your hair from your damp face. “now beg me for the next.”

your breath caught on a sob, your thighs trembling, your core still pulsing around the emptiness he left inside you — or worse, almost inside you. it felt cruel, unnatural, unbearable. you couldn’t stop shaking, body still wracked with aftershocks that hadn’t fully ebbed, and he hadn’t even given you more than the tip.

and now he was standing behind you again, lazily stroking himself, your slick still shining on his skin.

“you feel that?” he whispered, running the head along your overstimulated folds, dragging slow. “you’re still soaking. messier than before.”

“chris,” you whimpered, face turned against the cold marble. “don’t—don’t make me beg.”

“i’m not making you do anything,” he murmured, leaning in. his lips ghosted over your ear, slow and low. “but if you want to come again? you will beg. and if you want me to fuck you—really fuck you? you’ll forget your pride.”

you stayed quiet.

and he pulled back.

“wait—wait!” you gasped, twisting around, reaching for him, tears in your eyes now. frustration, yes. but more than that. shame. need. aching need. “please,” you whispered. “please, chris. i need more. i can’t take just the tip anymore, i swear—i’ll do anything.”

he tilted his head, eyes dark with something mean and satisfied.

“then show me,” he said simply.

you dropped to your knees.

your palms hit the kitchen floor. knees spread, forehead pressed to the tile. it was humiliating. it was desperate. it was exactly what he wanted.

“good girl,” he breathed, stepping behind you again. he dragged himself along your folds one more time, the swollen head catching your entrance. “stay just like that.”

and he did it again.

just the tip.

back in, slow and shallow. dragging, teasing. and now you were so sensitive, your whole body twitched with every motion.

you let out a noise — something between a moan and a cry — as he picked up the rhythm, still not fully inside you, but fast enough to drive you insane. his fingers dug into your hips. your knees started to slide. the sounds were obscene.

“you gonna come again?” he asked, and you hated how proud he sounded. “gonna fall apart with just this?”

you nodded, face still against the floor. “yes—yes, chris, i’m—”

your voice caught again.

this one was even worse than the first. you shattered with a scream, legs collapsing, body going limp as wave after wave tore through you. and still he didn’t push in. still he didn’t finish.

you were crying now. overwhelmed. destroyed.

he leaned over you, kissed the back of your neck.

“that’s two,” he whispered. “you still want the rest?”

you nodded, broken.

he smiled, slow and wicked.

“then get back on the counter.”

your legs barely worked. they shook beneath you, slick with sweat and tears and everything he’d pulled from you without even giving you what you needed. your body throbbed with overstimulation, your thighs sticking together as you tried to move. but you did. because you had to. because when chris told you to get back on the counter, there wasn’t another choice.

you reached up, pulling yourself onto the marble, chest heaving, arms trembling under your weight. your cheek pressed to the cold surface, and your legs dangled, spread open behind you as you barely managed to stay propped on your knees.

you heard him behind you. the quiet smack of skin against skin as he stroked himself, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world.

he came closer.

his hand smoothed up your spine. his other gripped your hip, guiding you into place. “look at you,” he murmured. “ruined. still begging.”

you didn’t speak.

you couldn’t.

and he didn’t wait.

this time, there was no warning. no teasing. no more mercy.

he slammed into you in one sharp thrust, burying himself to the hilt — and your scream was raw, high-pitched, completely involuntary. your back arched, body locking up as the stretch hit like lightning. finally. he was inside. thick, deep, pulsing.

“there she is,” he groaned into your ear, his hand fisting your hair. “this what you needed? is this what you begged for?”

you sobbed out something that might’ve been a yes, your hands scrambling for grip on the counter as he pulled back and rammed into you again. and again. and again.

his pace was brutal. merciless. all control was gone now — his, yours — and he fucked into you like he had something to prove.

your body, already sensitive, couldn’t handle it. everything was white-hot. your vision blurred. your skin flushed. and the noises — the slick, filthy slap of skin on skin, the way you couldn’t stop moaning his name, the way he kept whispering how tight you were, how good you felt around him — it all pushed you higher.

“chris, i—i’m—” you choked out, tears running down your cheeks. “again, i’m gonna—”

“good,” he growled. “you’re not done ‘til i say you’re done.”

and then he brought his hand to your throat again, pulling you up by it, your back pressed to his chest now as he fucked you from behind, fully in, deep and fast and relentless.

your orgasm hit like a fucking explosion.

your scream echoed through the kitchen, loud and desperate and cracked, as your body convulsed around him, squeezing him so tight he cursed under his breath.

he didn’t stop.

not even when you collapsed onto the counter.

not even when you begged.

he just leaned over you, lips at your ear, and said—

“that’s three. now take one more for good measure.”

his hand slid from your throat, down your chest, over your stomach — hot and firm, fingers splayed as he pressed, slow and deliberate, right over that soft, swollen bulge.

“feel that?” he murmured darkly against your ear. “that’s me. that’s how deep i am.”

your eyes rolled back, a guttural moan escaping your lips as the pressure made everything worse — or better — you couldn’t tell anymore. your stomach twitched under his touch, your body already so wrecked you didn’t know where the pain ended and the pleasure began.

he pushed a little harder, palm digging in, and you felt it — the way his cock nudged something deep inside you, the faintest resistance, the unbearable fullness. it was obscene. intimate. wrong, maybe — but your body responded with a helpless clench around him anyway.

“look how far you’re letting me in,” he whispered, lips brushing your neck, his hips still snapping into yours, slower now, but deeper. filthier. “you’re taking all of me. like you were made for it.”

you sobbed something — a yes, maybe. a plea. a prayer.

his thumb circled the spot on your stomach, watching how your body tensed every time he pressed down and moved his hips in sync. like he owned your insides. like you were his to rearrange.

and god, he was so fucking deep.

“i can feel myself inside you,” he groaned, pressing just a little harder. “right here. stretching you out from the inside.”

you were gone. eyes unfocused. jaw slack. nothing in you had the strength to pretend anymore — not to fight, not to protest, not even to beg.

and he knew it.

he slid his other hand between your legs again, two fingers working your clit as he pushed up into you with a devastating roll of his hips, thumb still holding that soft bulge in your belly like he could mark you from the inside.

“one more,” he murmured. “you can give me one more. i want you to come while you feel how deep i am.”

and with his cock buried to the hilt, his hand pressing against your belly, and his fingers rubbing perfect circles over your clit — you did.

your body shattered around him, trembling and clenching and sobbing as the orgasm hit you harder than any before, your thighs twitching, stomach jumping beneath his palm. and even as you screamed, even as your body went limp — chris was still fucking you through it.

your body gave out before your voice did.

you were sobbing — not dramatic or performative, just real, guttural, raw. it tore from your chest before you could stop it, hiccuping around your breath as your limbs trembled against the counter, your face wet with tears, your body wrecked in every way imaginable.

“chris,” you choked out, broken and small. “i can’t—i can’t anymore.”

and instantly, everything changed.

his rhythm stilled. the grip on your waist loosened. and then, so gently it made the tears come harder, he slipped out of you and caught you before you could fully collapse.

“shhh,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you as he lowered both of you to the floor, letting your back rest against his chest. his hand cradled your head. his lips pressed to your temple, over and over. “i’ve got you. i’ve got you, baby.”

you sobbed into his shoulder, hands clinging to his arms like you were afraid he’d disappear. your body still trembled, overwhelmed and spent, but now the ache was emotional — too much, too fast, too deep.

he rocked you slowly, whispering soft apologies, his voice a stark contrast to the one that had ruined you minutes ago. “i’m sorry. i pushed too far. i’m so sorry.”

you shook your head against him. “no… i just… i don’t know why i’m crying.”

“it’s okay,” he murmured. “you don’t have to know. you don’t have to explain anything.”

he pulled a blanket from the couch and wrapped it around both of you, tucking you into his lap like something fragile. his hand smoothed over your thigh, your back, your ribs — grounding you with touch.

“you’re okay,” he said softly. “you’re safe. i’ve got you now. you did so good.”

you hiccuped. “i felt everything. it was too much—”

“i know,” he whispered. “i know, baby. you held it in for so long.”

you curled into him tighter, his arms wrapping around you like a shield, like a balm. and for a long, long while, he just held you. no teasing. no games. just warmth and steady breath, chest to chest, skin to skin.

and when your tears finally started to slow, when the trembling dulled into something quieter, he kissed your damp cheek and whispered again—

“i love you,” he said, barely audible. “even when i have to be mean. even when you cry.”

and somehow, that made you cry a little more. but it didn’t hurt this time.

not with him holding you like that.

you didn’t answer at first.

you couldn’t.

you just let yourself melt into him, boneless and quiet, his warmth pressed against every trembling part of you. your breath hitched now and then, like your body hadn’t fully caught up to the calm. your eyes were sore, your cheeks flushed, and your thighs still ached from how hard they’d clenched. but none of it mattered now. not with the way he was holding you — like you were glass and he hated himself for even nudging a crack.

“say something,” he whispered, voice hoarse, nose buried in your hair.

you swallowed hard.

“you love me?” you asked, voice barely above a breath.

his arms tightened instantly. he shifted just enough to pull you fully into his lap, both of your bodies tucked into the oversized blanket now. he looked down at you with eyes that weren’t cocky or taunting — just stripped. open. bare.

“yeah,” he said, no hesitation. “i do. even when you drive me crazy. even when i get in my own head and pull shit like that.”

your lip wobbled. “you… you were so mean.”

he closed his eyes. exhaled sharp through his nose. “i know. i was trying to prove something. trying to get you to feel how much i need you, even when i don’t know how to say it.”

you pressed your cheek to his chest. “there are softer ways to say it.”

his throat worked as he swallowed hard. “i’ll learn ‘em. if you let me. i just—i get scared sometimes. scared you’ll stop needing me back.”

you looked up at him, eyes still glossy. “chris. i don’t think you realize what you do to me.”

“i didn’t cry because you hurt me. i cried because i couldn’t handle how much i felt. because you don’t just fuck me, you undo me.”

something in his expression broke — softened. he reached up and cradled your jaw, brushing his thumb along your cheek like he needed to memorize every part of you.

“i don’t ever want to make you cry unless it’s from feeling too much love,” he whispered.

you let out a soft, tired laugh. “then you succeeded. idiot.”

he kissed you then. slow. grounding. nothing like earlier — no dominance, no teasing. just lips against lips, like an apology and a promise rolled into one.

you sighed into it, and when he pulled back, you stayed close.

“you want a bath?” he murmured. “or to lie down?”

“just you,” you whispered. “for a little while. just this.”

he nodded, resting his forehead against yours, arms wrapped tightly around your body. “then you’ve got me. all night.”

and this time, when your eyes welled again, it wasn’t from pain or frustration or overload.

it was relief.

[sheerfreesia007]

You, Me & the Deep End

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word count: 2,376

Content warnings: Suggestive, handsy Chan, make out

Summary: On a romantic anniversary trip to Bora-Bora, Chan finds himself completely mesmerized by you, especially when you lounge poolside in a dangerously tempting bikini. What begins as a playful tug-of-war between desire and restraint soon turns into a steamy showdown in the water, where love and lust collide under the island sun.

SKZ Taglist: @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @inlovewithstraykids, @channiesrightasscheek, @kaiyaba

@bookswillfindyouaway, @m-325

Part One: Sunkissed

The bright sun reflects harshly against the cool water as Chan swims lazily in the resort pool. It’s been two years since the first time Chan had been sincere with his feelings for you and kissed you at the pool that one summer. He’s thankful for that day because while he known what his feelings were for you he had never managed to gather the courage to confess or even try to find out how you felt about him. But after that kiss shared between the two of you it was as if you both had just upgraded and evolved your relationship.

The two of you had easily slipped into a romantic relationship as if it was the next step in life. And a relationship with you was so effortless, it was sweet, playful and so loving, something that Chan had always dreamed about with you ever since meeting you. He actually couldn’t even believe that you were dating him even after two years, it was just surreal to him but here you both were celebrating two years together in Bora-Bora on a week-long vacation. You had been adamant that you wanted to vacation far enough away from South Korea that he’d be able to relax and enjoy himself without any stress about work. And at first Chan had been unsure about that choice but now as he moved through the water slowly he couldn't deny that it was a good choice and he feels so relaxed and at ease after only a day here with you. 

Today the two of you had taken a tour of Mount Otemanu which had been a lot of hiking in the sun, something that he really enjoyed because he was always active and never really could sit still for very long. Plus the scenery of it was breathtaking and so worth the hike. You, while not being as active as Chan was, had managed to complete the hike without much trouble and had even teased him that ever since dating him you’d grown more active in your life. 

While the two of you had enjoyed the beautiful scenery around you Chan had managed to sneak a couple of pictures of you without you knowing and had even taken a few couple selfies to send to the boys in the group chat. He was quite proud of some of those candid photos he’d gotten of you, you looked stunning and so at ease that it made his chest tighten with love and affection for you.

But now as he kept half of his face submerged in the water and lazily swam from one side of the pool to the other he could feel himself completely at ease. It was almost euphoric how relaxed he felt the stress of his career and daily life just melted off of him, that was until his eyes darted over to where you lay sprawled out on the lounge chair. You had shocked him earlier when you both entered the pool area, while he had quickly shed his shirt and cannon balled into the pool you had set up the lounge chairs to your liking before slowly removing your cover up. Chan’s eyes had feasted on you when you slowly dragged the flowy cover up over your body before letting the material fall to the lounge chair. Your bikini choice this time was a pretty two piece that had a tropical palm design on it in the colors blue and golden yellow, the material was minimal and showed a lot of your delectable skin which made Chan want to thank the bikini designing gods for creating this scrap of cloth. Not to mention when you had turned around and he saw how cheeky the bottoms of your bikini were he nearly ascended to heaven with appreciation and desire for you.

You being none the wiser had simply flopped down on to the lounge chair and stretched out tiredly in the sun. Chan on the other hand hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of you while he stayed in the pool. It had almost become comical how distracted you made him just by laying out in your pretty bikini in the hot sun. Every few seconds his eyes would dart over to you and trail over your sun kissed skin that was on display for him and he felt himself slowly growing more and more excited as desire swirled within him.

Finally feeling at the end of his tether Chan swam lazily toward the edge of the pool where you’re lounging, the hot golden sunlight casting glitter across the water as he moved slowly through it, his body easily slicing through the still water, his eyes never leaving your dozing form. Almost like he was a predator stalking his unknowing prey. He had tried his hardest to stop stealing glances at your body since you shed your cover-up, but now, he’s given up pretending to look away since your body was like a beacon to him.

When he gets closer his eyes drag slowly from your legs to the curve of your waist, trailing along the stretch of skin before alighting on the blue and golden yellow patterned material covering only a portion of your body. He breathes heavily as he notices the way your bikini hugs every part of your body just right, highlighting and accentuating your features perfectly.

”Hey” he calls out to you, his voice low and playful as a sinful smirk forms on his lunch mouth. Lifting your head slightly from the lounge chair you raise your sunglasses from your face with a questioning brow. The two of you stare at each other in a silent moment before a soft smirk flits across your face before lowering your head once more and letting your sunglasses fall back on your face feigning as if you’re about to go back to lounging but you speak up to him with a knowing tone.

“You need something Chan?” You ask sultrily and he takes in a deep breath as the silky tone of your voice immediately pierced through him and gripped the forming pit in his lower stomach in a tight hold. His body felt coiled and taut as if he was ready to attack you, he just needed you closer.

”Yeah…come here for a second.” He says softly in a slight commanding tone that had you raising an eyebrow at him silently. He kept his stare on you not saying anything else and you huffed softly at him with a soft smile on your face before standing from the lounge chair and walking over to the edge of the pool. 

The moment you’re within striking distance Chan is darting out of the water towards you, you’re surprised by his motion and don’t anticipate his move as his large hand grabs your wrist and yanks you into the pool with him. He grins widely as he watches you burst up from the water gasping loudly as water streams down your face and you whirl to him with a heated glare. Laughter pours out of him absolutely delighted in his successful attack on you and getting you closer to him finally.

”Chan!” You snap at him in a scolding tone as you slap water at him which makes him laugh even more. He wipes his face clear of water before quickly slipping through the water and ensnaring you in his arms before pulling you close to his body.

“Couldn’t resist. You looked too good not to touch.” He rasps out to you in a soft seductive tone as one of his hands glides over your shoulder absentmindedly playing with the strap of your bikini top. His finger traces the path of a droplet of pool water as it races from the top of your shoulder down over your collar bone before being soaked up by the material covering your breast.

Huffing at him and rolling your eyes at his words you try to shove at his chest playfully, but he quickly maneuvers you to straddle his hips wrapping your legs around his waist as he begins to move through the warm water. His strong muscular thighs move underneath your butt and your arms wrap around his neck to keep yourself close to him as he holds you while he moves.

”Stop being a perv.” You grumble at him as you try to curb the smile that has stretched wide across your face. Chan’s eyes sparkle with delight before he leans his head closer to yours.

”Oh baby,” he murmurs softly in your ear, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear making you shiver in his hold, “with this body of yours on full display? You’re lucky I’ve kept my hands to myself this long.” His honest words about his desire for you has your lungs stuttering with air that you can’t seem to catch and he smirks smugly. 

You feel the heat bloom between the two of you despite the water surrounding you. He palms your ass with both hands, pulling you snug agianst him and you shiver as you feel how much his palms cover your flesh that peeks out from your bikini. He’s gazing up at you like you’ve hung the sun in the sky solely for him before he leans towards you and his voice drops into something darker, desirous and almost dangerous.

”I swear I’m trying to behave, but all I can think about is peeling that bikini off you after dinner and taking my time with every inch of you.” He whispers against your skin as he leans even closer and trails his lips across your shoulder, his bottom lip catching on your collar bone. You shiver again, breath catching in your throat as his lips trail along your skin chasing the droplets of water that trail down towards the pool water. You shift against him and he grunts softly as your hips drag along his and you know you can’t let him get away with these teasing remarks.

”You really just pulled me in so you could grope me like a horny teenager?” You ask him your voice all honey and heat as your eyes peer at him with a seductive sparkle within them. Chan sucks in a harsh breath before he grins widely at your words while pulling your hips flush with his.

”When the view’s this good, how could I not? You’ve been laying out like a goddess since we got here, acting like I’m not supposed to lose my mind.” He tells you unabashedly. You tilt your head, smiling lazily as you run a finger down his chest. 

“Mmm…you should’ve seen how hard you were staring.” You whisper heatedly to him before peeking at him through your water spiked lashes catching his surprised look. “Oh you thought you were slick huh?�� You tease him knowingly before a smirk slips onto your face. “Oh no, Channie.” You coo at him and he shivers against you, you knew exactly what that name did to him and you were prepared to use it to your advantage. “I could feel your eyes on me honey. You’re not subtle at all. Who are you trying to kid?” You tease him sultrily. “If you weren’t in the water, I bet I’d have seen everything you were feeling.” You whisper to him softly as your finger drags down his chest once more.

Your teasing words finally catch up to him and suddenly his ears are turning pink as his smirk turns into a shy bashful wide smile while his hands on your ass tightens almost unknowingly as he drags you even closer to him.

”You little tease.” He mutters in a slightly embarrassed tone and his eyes avoid yours but you don’t allow him to hide for long as your hand travels up his chest to hook your finger over his chin. You guide his face back to look back at you before you respond to him.

”Oh, I’m just getting started honey.” You say as you roll your hips slowly against his in the water causing him to inhale sharply. His arms move around your waist locking around your body keeping you close as he lets you move slowly against him as he floats in the water with you. “You keep making promises about what you’re gonna do to me after dinner, but I’m starting to think you might not make it that long.” You say teasingly and plant your hips flush against his which makes him drop his forehead to your shoulder.

”You like teasing me, don’t you?” He whispers against your skin and you chuckle softly at him. Your hands trail up his chest and thread through his wet hair pulling his head back away from your shoulder to look at you. You’re both so close that you’ve almost melded together so when your eyes catch his and see the love and desire swirling through his chocolate orbs you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward and capturing his mouth with yours.

The kiss is hungry, wet and leaves the both of you breathless. Your lips glide along his in wet sucking motions as he chases your mouth with his own. Love is abundant between the two of you but there’s also a heat that rises in temperature as you both let your lust control your movements. When you pull away you stay close letting your lips graze against his in a sinful caress.

”Maybe I deserve a little reward before dinner.” You husk out to him while your eyelashes flutter at him. Chan chuckles darkly and tightens his arms around your body.

”Say less, baby.” He says confidently before he’s moving through the water quickly towards the edge of the pool. His hands shamelessly cradle your ass once more and you chuckle breathlessly while swatting him in the chest when you feel his fingers dip under the hem of your bikini bottoms. “I’ll be gentle.” He promises softly as he effortlessly lifts you out of the pool and settles you on the pool ledge. But as you gaze into his eyes you know that’s a lie already understanding the look there. He’s going to absolutely ruin you tonight.

[smutmind]

Goodbye Head ft. Wendy

The agency halls echoed with soft footsteps and muffled goodbyes.

Wendy walked slow, fingers brushing the plastered wall where old tour posters still hung. Thirteen years. From fresh-faced trainee to seasoned idol. Every corner of the building held a whisper of her past—early call times, tearful rehearsals, stolen naps on studio floors. She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

She turned the corner and nearly collided with someone.

"Ah—sorry," she started, then blinked. "Mr. Joon?"

He looked older. Grayer hair. Softer around the edges. But the same calm eyes, always watching without judgment. He stepped back, blinking as if trying to confirm what he was seeing. "Wendy... Wow."

She grinned. "It’s really my last day. Can you believe it?"

"I can’t. God, I remember when you came in with braces and a notebook full of lyrics you were too shy to show anyone."

Her laugh was quiet. "I still have that notebook. Somewhere."

He smiled, but something in it sagged, weary. They stood in the hallway as the silence stretched between them.

"You know," he said, clearing his throat, "I’m leaving too. Retiring, technically."

Wendy's brows lifted. "Really? I didn’t hear. When?"

"End of the week. No fanfare. Just... walking out."

She read his posture—shoulders rounded, tie loose, eyes that avoided hers for a beat too long.

"You okay?"

He gave a low laugh. "I don’t know. Poured everything into this job. Years just blurred by. All the birthdays missed, family I stopped calling back... I don't even have a plant at home to water."

Wendy's smile faded. Her voice turned soft. "I saw it. All of it. You were always the last one to leave. Even when I passed out in the practice room, you were the one who covered me with a coat."

Mr. Joon looked away.

"You gave everything, Mr. Joon. We noticed. I noticed."

For a moment, he didn't answer. Then: "It's strange. You get to the end and realize no one’s there to clap for you."

The ache in her chest surprised her. Wendy stepped closer. Close enough to see the faint wrinkle beside his mouth. Close enough to smell his cologne—subtle, woodsy, familiar.

"That's not true," she said. "I’m here."

He met her eyes.

Wendy tilted her head. "Come on. Just for a second."

She led him down the hall, past the break room she remembered napping in between vocal lessons. The light was off. The door creaked as it opened, and silence wrapped around them like dusk.

Mr. Joon paused inside. "Still smells like burnt coffee."

"And ramen packets," she added.

The hush between them deepened.

She stepped closer, fingers trailing the edge of the table where she used to sit and cry quietly after a bad dance eval. "You don’t deserve to feel alone. Not after everything you gave us."

He shook his head, mouth twitching like he might say something. Then he didn’t.

Wendy touched his hand. His skin was warm, trembling slightly. Their eyes met again, and something unspoken bloomed between them—gratitude, grief, tenderness.

Her voice barely above a breath. "Can I give you something?"

He hesitated. But he didn’t move away.

Wendy knelt slowly, fingers brushing his belt.

His breath caught.

She looked up, her gaze steady. "Let me say goodbye properly."

She opened his belt with slow, deliberate fingers. The metallic clink echoed in the silence. Her palms were warm against his hips as she unbuttoned and tugged down his slacks.

Mr. Joon’s breath stuttered. "Wendy… this kind of service… It’s only ever been offered to higher-ups. The executives, sponsors. Never someone like me. Not once. Even when you were all still under my care, I never—never expected anything."

She smiled gently, her lips grazing the outline of him through his briefs. "Exactly why you deserve it. You were kind. Always. No agenda. You watched over us. You watched over me."

Her voice turned tender, reverent. "So let me watch over you now. Just this once."

She pulled his briefs down, freeing him. He was already half-hard, heavy and flushed, and he twitched when the cool air kissed him. Wendy wrapped her fingers around his base with soft wonder. Her thumb stroked the tip, drawing a sharp hiss from him.

"You’re beautiful, Mr. Joon."

He groaned, looking down at her. She looked luminous even in the dim light—her skin glowing, lips plush, lashes casting long shadows over her cheeks.

Then she leaned in and licked.

One slow drag of her tongue along the underside, from base to tip. He shivered. Her mouth opened, wet and warm, and she took him in—just the tip at first, circling it with her tongue.

"Jesus," he muttered, hand finding the table to steady himself. "You feel like a dream."

Wendy moaned softly around him, the sound sending a throb straight through him. She began to bob her head slowly, each movement smooth, her cheeks hollowing as she took more of him in.

His hips jerked. She steadied him with a hand against his thigh.

"Wendy—God—you don’t have to—"

She pulled off with a pop. "I want to. Let me spoil you. Just this once."

Then she went back, deeper this time. Her throat opened to accommodate him, slick and hot. Her other hand fondled his base, her lips working him with deliberate devotion. She wasn’t rushing—she was savoring. Worshipping.

He gasped, watching her. Her hair brushed her shoulders, catching the dim light. Drool slipped from the corners of her mouth as she took him deep again, again, her eyes fluttering closed with each descent.

Then, she looked up.

She locked eyes with him, mouth full of him, lips stretched wide. And then she moaned again—vibrating pleasure straight into his core.

"Fuck—" he choked. "I can’t—I’m gonna—"

She didn’t pull away. She sucked harder, faster, her cheeks flushed, her eyes never breaking contact. Her nails bit into his thighs just enough to ground him.

And then he came.

He spilled with a long, ragged groan, and she took it all—every drop—without breaking rhythm. Only when he trembled under her touch did she finally pull back, licking her lips, eyes still soft.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smiling up at him.

"Goodbye, Mr. Joon."

[rosemaryhoney27]

Death and Taxes

Title: Death, Taxes, and the Fenton Exception

Gotham was a city used to chaos—supervillains, vigilantes, the occasional alien invasion. But for one day a year, fear reigned over even the most hardened criminals. That day was April 15th—Tax Day.

And there was one man who became a model citizen exactly once a year: The Joker.

“Oh, you can gas the mayor, blow up the zoo, or replace the city's water supply with lime gelatin,” the Joker once told Harley, lovingly licking a stamp. “But you do not mess with the Internal Revenue Service.”

Danny Fenton didn’t get it.

“Why is everyone so freaked out about taxes?” he asked, lazily floating upside-down in the Batcave, sipping a soda. “It’s not like they’re gonna send hitmen after you or something.”

Jason, perched on the edge of the Batcomputer, stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “They literally will, Danny. That’s exactly what they do.”

Bruce, arms crossed and trying to make sense of Danny's W-2s—which were somehow written on ectoplasm paper thank you ghost writer and referenced “liminal hazard bonuses”—grunted. “Everyone pays taxes. Everyone.”

Danny shrugged. “Not me.”

Tim looked up from his tablet, eyebrows slowly rising. “What do you mean, not you?”

“I mean,” Danny said, setting his soda down with a slight fizz of anti-gravity, “the Fentons don’t pay taxes.”

“…You’re evading federal law?” Damian asked flatly, already reaching for the Bat-phone. “Father, allow me to call the IRS.”

“No no no,” Danny said, raising his hands. “We’re not allowed to pay taxes.”

Silence.

“What.”

It took less than twenty minutes for Oracle to hack the federal database and confirm the impossible.

The Fenton family has not paid a single tax in six generations.

There was a note on their file. A glowing, pulsing, red note—signed and sealed by multiple high-ranking officials and stamped with a Department of Defense warning tag. It read:

FENTON EXCEPTION ACT - CLASSIFIED DO NOT ENGAGE. DO NOT CONTACT. DO NOT AUDIT. THEY ARE TO BE LEFT ALONE. [Subnote: In the event of unsolicited contact, consider immediate relocation and witness protection.]

“Why?” Dick finally asked, trying not to sound hysterical. “Why in the actual haunted tax-code hell are they exempt?”

“I dunno,” Danny said. “Mom said something about Great-Grandpa Jack accidentally collapsing a dimension when he filed with the wrong form. The IRS has left us alone ever since.”

“What form?” Bruce demanded, looking more distressed than he had when Gotham was overrun by Fear Toxin.

Danny scratched his head. “I think it was called... uh... Form 66-Ectoplasm-B? Or maybe that was the one that summoned a wraith accountant? Oh, wait—that was Grandma Fenton…”

Meanwhile…

At an undisclosed IRS location deep under D.C., in a steel bunker reinforced with both magic and nuclear shielding, a red light began to blink.

The agents in the room froze.

“Is that…?” one whispered.

“Fenton ping. But it’s passive. Someone looked them up.”

The lead agent, an old man with a cybernetic eye and an exorcism tattoo burned into his hand, swore under his breath and lit a cigar with trembling fingers.

“God help them. Someone in Gotham must’ve tripped the file.”

Back in Gotham…

The Joker, halfway through filling out his Schedule C, saw the alert pop up on his monitor: Fenton Account Flagged – Gotham Search. He dropped his pen.

“No… No no no no no.”

He reached for his emergency bag: clown nose, fake passport, and a one-way ticket to Fiji.

“Harley!” he screeched. “Pack the hyenas—we’re going off-grid! The Fentons have surfaced!”

That night, Batman received an anonymous, trembling message from the IRS:

“Please, for the love of all that is holy, tell your newest ward to never attempt to file a tax return. We still haven’t recovered from the last time. The Department of Dimensional Finance sends its regards.”

Bruce turned to Danny. “What did your family do?”

Danny shrugged. “I mean, one of our fridge magnets is a minor god of debt collection, so maybe that’s part of it?”

Bruce just groaned and added “Fenton Family Finances” to the Batcomputer’s Top Threats—right between “Joker’s Laughing Gas Variants” and “Demon-Summoning TikTok Teens.”

And so, the truth became legend in Gotham:

There are two things certain in life—Death and Taxes.

Unless you’re a Fenton.

Then even the IRS fears you.

[barnesonly]

── ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Lust ˖ ࣪ ⊹ ──

professor!bucky barnes x reader

summary: You’re a literature student. He’s your English professor — brilliant, composed, and entirely off-limits. But the more you write, the more he notices you. And what begins as admiration quietly unravels into something far more dangerous.

word count: 11k

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, mutual desperation, age gap, honestly this part is nothing but smut with a bit of plot (very self-indulgent as i’m ovulating); dirty talk, praising kink, oral (f receiving) fingering, sex, bondage, overstimulation, PiV, unprotected sex, edging.

Part 5 | Previous Part | Next Part

You stood outside his door for a second too long, heart fluttering like you were some giddy teenager on her first date. The hallway was quiet, except for the faint hum of an elevator down the hall and your own breaths as you smoothed your hands down your outfit one last time.

Finally, you raised a hand and knocked.

A few beats, then you heard the shuffle of movement on the other side. The door swung open, and there was James—sleeves pushed up past his forearms, a soft, worn t-shirt clinging to him like it was made for him. His hair was a bit messy like he’d run his fingers through it too many times tonight.

And the way he looked at you?

God.

His gaze traveled slowly—from your face, down your body, then back up again—before that tiny, crooked smile broke across his face. “Hey,” he greeted, voice warm and low, stepping back so you could come in.

“Hey,” you echoed, cheeks already heating as you brushed past him into his apartment.

The door clicked shut, and you took a moment to glance around—the light was cozy and golden, the faint smell of something delicious wafting in from the kitchen.

“You look…” he started, reaching up to rub the back of his neck as if searching for the right word.

You smiled. “I look…?”

“Perfect,” he decided at last, eyes never leaving you.

Your stomach did a little flip at that, and you bit your lip to hide a grin. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

And as he stepped closer, close enough that you could feel his warmth, his hands gently found your waist.

He eased you further into his arms, his hands warm and sure at your waist. That gentle heat of him was dizzying.

“You must be freezing,” he murmured, gaze fixed on yours as his thumbs stroked small circles into your sides.

“Not anymore,” you whispered, hands lifting to rest against his chest. Even through the fabric of his shirt, you could feel the steady, grounding beat of his heart—strong and real.

James searched your face like he was savoring every detail. Then, without breaking the eye contact, he leaned in to kiss you—slow at first, like he was testing the waters. The softness of his lips sent a shiver all the way to your toes, and you melted into him instinctively.

A low sound rumbled in his chest as you kissed him back, hands sliding up to wind around his neck. And god, the way he held you—close but gentle, like you were something precious.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured against your lips, one big hand gliding up your spine to settle between your shoulder blades.

You couldn’t help the small, breathless laugh that bubbled up. “That’s funny,” you teased, forehead pressing lightly to his as you caught your breath, “I was thinking the same thing.”

That earned a quiet chuckle from him, lips brushing your temple before he pulled back just enough to look at you properly. “C’mon,” he said, fingertips trailing down your arm as he laced his fingers with yours. “Dinner’s ready. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

You followed him into the kitchen, fingers still tangled with his. The warm light over the kitchen caught the rich tones of the food he’d set out, and your eyes widened a little in appreciation.

“You made dinner again?” you said, grinning as you sat down the table “You’re gonna get me used to this, you know…”

He glanced up at you as he grabbed two plates from the kitchen counter, a little smirk tugging at his mouth. “That’s the plan,” he replied casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your heart flipped.

“Pretty bold of you,” you teased, chin propped on your palm as you watched him move around the kitchen. “Setting the bar this high right from the start.”

James let out a low laugh, setting the plates in front of you before pulling up a chair so close his knee brushed yours. “Guess I’ll just have to keep surprising you, then,” he murmured, voice warm and smooth.

You bit your lip, feeling a flush creep up your neck. “You’re good at this,” you said honestly, gaze lingering on him.

He paused for a moment, eyes locking with yours, and something tender crossed his face. “I’m trying for you,” he answered softly.

Your chest went warm.

The two of you dug in, the occasional teasing comment exchanged between bites, and the easy silence that followed was its own kind of comfortable—one you weren’t used to feeling with someone else. Every now and then, you’d catch him looking at you like you were something special, and every time, it sent a ripple of butterflies straight through you.

By the time your plates were clean, he was leaning back in his chair, hands casually rubbing his stomach as he gave you a satisfied look. “See?” he drawled. “Told you I’d spoil you.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you pushed your empty plate away. “And you’re succeeding.”

He held your gaze a beat longer, eyes dark and warm. “Good,” he murmured, voice low enough to make your pulse jump. “That was the idea.”

You helped him clear the plates, laughing when he swatted your hands away and insisted on washing up himself.

“Guest privileges,” he teased, kissing your temple before turning on the sink.

You drifted into his living room, fingers brushing along the back of the couch as you glanced around. It was warm in here, all soft light and the lingering smell of food and his cologne, and for a second you just stood there, feeling the gentle weight of his apartment around you—how different it was from the chaos of your dormitory.

When he padded up behind you a few moments later, his hands slipped easily around your waist, pulling you back into him. “C’mon,” he murmured against your hair, lips brushing your ear, “let’s get comfortable.”

You followed him to the couch, letting him tug you down onto his lap before shifting you into a cuddle that felt so effortless it made your heart ache.

Your head rested against his chest, legs tangled together beneath the throw blanket he pulled over you both.

“Full?” he asked, fingers idly tracing patterns along your arm.

“Mhm,” you answered, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you soaked him in. Warmth, steady heartbeat, the subtle hum of his breathing—all of it felt like home.

“You okay?” he asked again, softer this time.

You tilted your chin up, lips ghosting his jaw before pressing a kiss there. “More than okay,” you whispered.

And you could feel him smile, hands tightening just slightly around you like he never wanted to let you go.

For a while, you stayed like that, sinking into the quiet. Until you felt him shift just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing your cheek. “You still owe me that homework redo,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement and a promise that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

You grinned, cheeks warm. “Pretty sure I can manage a little extra credit.”

He chuckled, leaning in to kiss you—slow and deep, until you forgot all about dinner, homework, or anything else that wasn’t him.

You finally pulled back from the kiss, breathless and glowing, and James brushed a thumb over your lower lip before leaning to reach the coffee table.

“Wine?” he offered, and you nodded, smiling as he poured two glasses with that careful focus that made your heart flip.

He handed you one and kept the other, his fingers brushing yours warmly. You took a slow sip and then bit your lip, an idea sparking.

“I have an idea,” you said, straightening up a little in his arms.

His brow arched, lips twitching like he already liked whatever was coming. “Oh?”

“Let’s play twenty-one questions,” you suggested brightly.

He paused mid-sip, blinking. “Twenty-one questions?”

You laughed softly at the slight confusion in his voice. “Yeah—it’s a game. Basically, we take turns asking each other questions. Anything we want. Twenty-one total. It’s an easy way to… I dunno,” you glanced down shyly, thumb rubbing along the stem of your glass, “get to know you more.”

His gaze softened immediately, and that smile — that quiet, genuine one you only ever saw in moments like this—spread across his face.

“Sounds like a plan,” he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You go first.”

You bit your lip, feeling bold all of a sudden, and couldn’t help the wicked little smirk tugging at your mouth. “Okay,” you drawled, leaning back a bit to look at him properly. “What’s your favorite sex position?”

James’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, then a slow, deep laugh rumbled from his chest. “That’s your first question?” he asked, clearly amused.

You lifted a shoulder, feigning innocence. “Hey, you said I could go first.”

He shook his head, gaze darkening as he shifted closer on the couch. “Mmm, that’s easy,” he murmured, voice dropping. “Any position where I can look at you… see every little reaction you make.”

Your stomach fluttered at his words, heat rising in your cheeks despite your playful bravado.

“You’re up,” you teased, heart racing as you wondered what he’d ask.

James’s gaze stayed locked on you, dark and warm, his thumb idly tracing the rim of his wine glass

He paused for a beat before speaking, gaze dropping briefly to your lips.

“Tell me,” he asked, each word deliberate, “what’s one thing you fantasize about that you’ve never told me?”

Your lips parted as a shiver ran through you.

You swallowed, feeling your face warm as you held his gaze, your voice a little breathless.

“You,” you whispered after a heartbeat. “Just… you.”

His eyes darkened at that, and the corner of his mouth lifted into that small smile that always left you weak.

“That’s not an answer,” he murmured, voice lower now as he leaned in just a little closer. “Try again. Tell me exactly what you mean.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you held his gaze, heat curling in your belly at the way he was looking at you.

“You really want me to say it?” you teased, fingers sliding up his chest.

„You started this,” he shrugged, voice dropping lower, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Don’t hold back.”

Your lips parted as you took a shaky breath. “Okay,” you whispered, eyes locked on his. “I picture my hands tied above my head, you holding me down, pinning me into the mattress so I can’t move. And you—” you swallowed, heart thudding, “so deep inside me I can feel you for days.”

For a split second, all you could hear was your own pulse in your ears.

Then a dark, almost feral sound rumbled in his chest and before you could blink, he was scooping you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing, lips brushing your ear as he growled, “Oh, we can manage that.”

A breathless gasp escaped you as he carried you across the room, his hands gripping you possessively. The muscles in his arms flexed under you as if he was barely keeping control.

“You mean it?” he rumbled, his mouth so close to your ear that a shiver raced all the way down your spine. “Your hands tied up. My hands on you. Nothing but my voice in your ear and my cock buried so deep you’ll feel me tomorrow?”

Your thighs tightened around him at the filthy, perfect picture his words painted.

“Yes,” you moaned, hardly recognizing your own voice. “God, yes, please.”

“Good,” he growled, pushing his bedroom door open with his shoulder before setting you down gently on the edge of the bed. His hands were already tugging at the hem of your top, gaze burning into yours as he stripped it off you like he couldn’t wait another second.

Your breath caught as the cool air rushed across your bare skin, his hands hot and sure as they roamed your sides, thumbs brushing over your ribs before lifting higher to cup your breasts. Every part of him radiated a kind of desperate control that sent a thrill straight through you, his eyes fixed on you as if he were memorizing every inch.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he breathed, leaning in to kiss the sensitive spot just below your ear.

That dark edge in his voice made your thighs clench as you reached for him in return, hands sliding up his chest to grip the fabric of his shirt. “Then stop wasting time,” you whispered, lips brushing his.

He didn’t need telling twice.

In one smooth motion, he was pulling his shirt up and over his head, mussing his hair before it fell perfectly into place again. The sight of him—broad shoulders, toned chest—never failed to make you ache. “God, you’re unfair,” you murmured, dragging your hands across his bare chest, feeling the warmth of him beneath your palms.

He grinned, low and wicked, hands catching your wrists before you could trail lower. “Patience,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you properly, slow and deliberate, hands skimming to the back of your bra clasp to unhook it with a practiced flick of his fingers.

Your bra slipped away, and he pulled back just enough to drink in the sight of you fully exposed, dark eyes roaming over every curve. “Perfect,” he rasped, and then he was on you again—lips dragging across your collarbone, hands tracing the lines of your waist as if determined to commit every touch to memory.

“Your turn,” you gasped, hands finding his belt, trembling just a little as you fumbled with the buckle. His chuckle was low and dark, lips brushing your neck as he let you work him open, one article at a time.

He moved back just enough to kick off his pants, and you took him in, breath hitching as you pulled him back down over you. Skin to skin, warmth to warmth—your hands roamed his back and tangled in his hair, and there was nowhere left to hide.

He hovered above you, his eyes locked on yours as his hands moved lower to hook under the waistband of your panties. “Lift your hips for me,” he murmured, voice husky and so close you could feel it against your lips.

And as you obeyed, breath held and heart pounding, you could see it in his gaze — nothing but want, nothing but devotion — as he slowly, torturously peeled the last barrier between you away.

As your panties hit the floor, his hands paused, his gaze dark and hungry as it roamed over every inch of you. He moved with purpose, leaning to the side of the bed and pulling a soft silk tie from the drawer of his nightstand.

Your stomach flipped with anticipation as he guided you to lie back, hands gentle but sure as they took your wrists and lifted them above your head.

“Keep them right here,” he murmured. The silk was smooth and cool as he wrapped it around your wrists, binding them to the headboard just snug enough that you could twist, but not too much. A shiver ran through you as he gave one final tug to test the knot, and you felt deliciously trapped.

“There,” he whispered, voice roughened as his hands slid down your arms and across your chest. “That’s better. You look so fucking beautiful like this.”

Your legs shifted restlessly, heat pooling low in your belly. “James, please…”

“I know, baby. I know,” he growled. His hands glided lower, gripping your thighs and spreading them wide until you were fully open to him. The vulnerable thrill of it sent a trembling moan slipping past your lips, and you arched against the bed.

“So responsive already,” he said, eyes locked on yours as he dragged his palms up your inner thighs, thumbs brushing so close to where you needed him most that you thought you might go crazy.

And then, finally—his mouth was on you.

Your entire body jerked against the silk ties as he pressed a slow, deep kiss to your soaked folds, tongue tasting you like you were something sacred. “So perfect,” he groaned against you, hands gripping your hips as he held you still, lapping and sucking until you were trembling and desperate for more.

Your fingers flexed uselessly against the tie as pleasure built higher and higher, every nerve alive, your breath catching in shallow, breathless gasps. “J-James,” you whimpered.

He answered with a wicked, satisfied hum. “That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.”

And with that, his mouth pressed firmer, his hands dug in deeper, and your whole world spun in a dizzying rush of sensation—all while you were tied up and utterly at his mercy.

James didn’t let up for a second. His hands held your hips firmly, his mouth working you with a relentless devotion that had your entire body trembling. Every pass of his tongue sent sparks racing up your spine, and you pulled against the silky restraints, aching to touch him, to bury your hands in his hair—but all you could do was take it.

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he groaned against you, the vibrations of his voice making you cry out, back arching. “God, I could stay right here forever.”

Your breaths were coming in broken, needy gasps as his mouth closed around your aching clit, sucking just hard enough to make you see stars. Every flick of his tongue was perfect, every breath and moan a reminder of just how much he loved making you come apart.

“James, oh my God,” you whimpered, legs trembling and tensing as heat coiled tighter and tighter low in your belly. “Please, please—”

He didn’t even look up, just tightened his grip and doubled his efforts, his nose brushing you as he devoured you like a man starved. “That’s it,” he urged between licks, voice husky and soaked with lust. “Come for me. Let go, sweetheart. Give me all of it.”

Your whole body went taut as the pleasure finally crested, a raw, trembling cry tearing from your throat as waves of bliss crashed over you. Your hips jerked against his face and you felt him groan in approval, holding you even closer as he lapped you through it, taking every last shuddering pulse like it belonged to him.

By the time you finally started to come down, breathless and trembling, he was still kissing you so slowly and sweetly, his hands stroking your hips as if he never wanted to stop.

Your chest was still heaving when James finally pulled back, lips glistening, eyes dark and locked on you like he was nowhere near finished.

Before you could even catch your breath, you felt his hands trail up your trembling thighs, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your skin as if to soothe you—right before two thick fingers slid between your soaked folds.

“Oh, Fuck—James,” you gasped, body arching as he pushed into you slowly, the stretch so good it was dizzying. Every nerve was already so raw and sensitized, the lingering aftershocks of your last orgasm making you clench around him immediately.

“Shh,” he murmured, leaning up to kiss the inside of your thigh, his breath hot against your skin. “I know you can take it, sweet girl.” His gaze was dark with want, his fingers moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had you gripping the sheets like your life depended on it.

“You feel so fucking perfect,” he growled, voice deeper as he began to curl his fingers just right inside you, the slick sound of it making your face burn. “I need to feel you come again.”

Your whole body jolted, breathless little whimpers spilling from you as he worked you, every touch lighting you up all over again. “James, I can’t,” you whined, hips shifting instinctively, the intensity so much you thought you’d come apart.

“You can,” he coaxed, leaning over you and pressing his lips to your trembling stomach. “And you will. Trust me, sweetheart—just one more. Let go for me.” His thumb found your swollen clit, rubbing in firm circles as his fingers kept up their perfect pace inside you.

Your hands tugged uselessly against the ties at your wrists, head tipping back with a gasp as that knot of pleasure built again—hotter, sharper this time. “Please,” you moaned, voice breaking.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against your skin, kiss after kiss branding you as his own. “That’s it, give it to me. Come on, sweet girl… come for me.”

And with one perfect curl of his fingers and a twist of his thumb, you shattered—crying out his name as your entire body tensed, trembling, as another wave of dizzying heat rushed through you. James never slowed, never let up, working you gently through every trembling aftershock as you quivered and whimpered under him, utterly wrecked and utterly his.

Your breaths were still coming in short, trembling gasps when James finally eased his fingers free. You barely had time to recover before you felt him moving over you, broad hands braced on either side of your head, gaze burning into yours like nothing in this world could tear him away.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured, voice raw as he brushed his thumb along your bottom lip. The tie still holding your wrists stretched a little as you arched up into him.

“Yes,” you breathed, already aching for him again.

With a deep, rough sound in his chest, he kissed you—hardand claiming—as he lined himself up with you. The swollen head of his cock dragged against your soaked folds, making your back bow instinctively, a whimper spilling into his mouth.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned into you as he pushed inside in one smooth, deliberate thrust.

You moaned his name, hands twitching against the tie as he bottomed out. Every inch of him filled you perfectly, your walls clenching around him like they never wanted to let him go.

“That’s it,” he rasped, lips trailing down your jaw to your throat as he began to move—slow at first, savoring every inch like he was memorizing you. “Such a good girl.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, dragging him even deeper. Every stroke built on the last, his hips setting a rhythm that was already making your body hum, your breath breaking into sharp little cries against his ear.

“You take me so fucking well,” James growled, one big hand gripping your hip to hold you steady as he rocked into you harder, deeper. The tie around your wrists pulled deliciously taut as you arched up for him, offering yourself completely.

He kissed your throat, your collarbone, every inch of you he could reach as his pace quickened, that careful control beginning to fray.

“God—I can feel you tightening up,” he groaned into your ear, his voice wrecked. “You’re going to come again for me, aren’t you, sweet girl?”

Your answering whimper was desperate and breathless. “James—yes, yes, please—”

That was all it took for him to lose whatever shred of control he’d been clinging to. With a deep, guttural groan, he drove into you harder— his hips slamming against yours, hands gripping you so tightly you could already feel the bruises forming. The tie around your wrists pulled taut as your back arched off the bed, a loud, broken moan tearing from your throat.

“Fuck,” he growled against your ear, his voice wrecked. “I want to feel you come all over my cock.”

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. White-hot pleasure ripped through you, tightening every muscle as your walls clenched down around him. “James—oh God—!”

Your orgasm shattered you, pleasure exploding outward like a wildfire. But he didn’t stop—if anything, your spasming around him drove him deeper, rougher. The slick sound of him fucking you through it only sent you higher, your hands trembling in their bonds as you begged incoherently.

“God, you’re so perfect,” he rasped, breath stuttering as his own pace became erratic—wild and driven purely by need. “That’s my girl—my perfect fucking girl—”

A few brutal strokes more and he was coming too, a deep, feral groan tearing from his chest as he buried himself to the hilt. Heat spilled inside you in thick, hot pulses, his hands trembling as they held you still beneath him, forehead pressed to yours as he shuddered.

Your chests rose and fell together in a ragged rhythm, bodies slick with sweat and your pulse still racing like you’d never catch your breath again. Every nerve in you was buzzing, deliciously spent and trembling, and you felt him nuzzle your jaw with a breathless kiss—still inside you, still holding you like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

He stayed buried inside you for a few more breathless moments, both of you trembling as you came down together. Then he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple before finally pulling out, slow and careful, his hands immediately moving to untie your wrists.

“You did so good,” he murmured, voice still low and husky as he eased the tie away and began rubbing your wrists, pressing soft kisses over the faint red marks. “Such a good girl for me.”

Your body felt utterly spent, your bones like jelly as you melted into the mattress with a sleepy hum. “James…” you whispered, your lips curling into a tired smile as he brushed damp hair back from your face.

“I’m here,” he answered softly. He leaned in to kiss your lips—slow and sweet this time—before sliding off the bed. “Let me clean you up, okay?”

You nodded, feeling so small and cared for as you listened to him move around the room. A moment later, he was back with a warm, damp cloth, his hands so gentle as he cleaned you, murmuring little praises into your skin every so often—“you were perfect,” “so proud of you,” “love you so much.”

When he was done, he tossed the cloth aside and climbed back into bed, pulling the blankets up around you before gathering you into his arms. His lips brushed your forehead as he held you close, one broad hand rubbing slow circles up and down your back.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, making sure you were comfortable as your heartbeat gradually steadied against his chest.

You nuzzled into him with a drowsy sigh. “Mm-hmm,” you murmured. “More than okay.”

He kissed your hair again, then tightened his embrace just a bit—like he never wanted to let you go. “Good,” he breathed. “That’s all I care about.”

Your body felt deliciously wrecked, every muscle spent as you lay tangled up in him. James was rubbing slow circles on your back, lips pressed to the crown of your head, and you could feel his heartbeat gradually return to its regular rhythm.

Still, a sleepy smirk pulled at your lips.

“It’s my turn,” you murmured into his chest.

He shifted slightly, a low chuckle vibrating through him. “Your turn?”

“Mm,” you said, lifting your chin just enough to meet his gaze. Even though your limbs felt like jelly, your eyes had a glint of mischief. “Twenty-one questions. It’s my turn now.”

That made him laugh, warm and surprised. “God, you’re impossible,” he teased, brushing his thumb along your cheekbone. “Alright, alright. Fire away.”

Your smirk softened into something affectionate. You pretended to think for a second, even though you already knew exactly what you wanted to ask. “Okay, Professor,” you drawled, lips twitching.

You paused, tucking your hair behind your ear before your voice dropped into something gentler, more personal. “When was the last time you felt truly happy before me?”

That one hit deeper—you saw it in the way his gaze changed, dark lashes lowering for a moment before he exhaled and searched your face.

And you didn’t rush him. You just stayed there in his arms, warm and spent and so close, letting him take his time.

He was quiet for a long breath, fingertips still moving absently along your back as though the rhythm helped him think. Finally, his lips curved—a softer smile than you usually saw.

“Before you,” he echoed, his voice a touch husky. “That’s… a hard one.”

Your chest tightened at his honesty. You tucked yourself a little closer against him, legs tangled in his as you listened.

“I mean,” he continued slowly, “I thought I was happy. Busy, focused on my career. Doing what I thought was right.” His brow furrowed for a moment, gaze distant as though he were seeing it all play back. “But truly happy? That kind of… real, quiet happiness? That didn’t come until you walked into my life.”

Your heart stuttered, heat rising in your cheeks.

He brushed his thumb along your jaw, gaze locking with yours—dark, earnest, unguarded in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“Before you,” he murmured, “I never had anything that scared me so much to lose.”

Your breath caught at his words. You weren’t sure what to say—it felt like your heart was going to burst—so you simply leaned in, pressing a kiss to his chest and murmuring into his skin. “James…”

He held you a little tighter, lips ghosting your hairline as he whispered, “That’s my real answer.”

You felt the warmth of him seep into you, your fingers idly tracing small shapes over his chest. But a stray thought—one that had been hovering in the back of your mind for a while—finally made its way to the surface.

Your voice was soft when you broke the comfortable silence. “Have you ever been married before?”

He shifted just enough to look at you properly, something gentle in his eyes. “No,” he said, voice quiet. “Never.”

You already suspected as much—you’d noticed the lack of a ring the very first time you’d laid eyes on him—but you couldn’t help feeling curious all the same. “Really?” you pressed lightly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Not even once?”

His brow furrowed, as if the idea had never crossed his mind. “No,” he replied honestly, fingers brushing along your cheek. “Never felt like the right thing with anyone,” he admitted, voice low, eyes flicking away for just a second as a faint flush crept up his neck.

Your lips parted in a soft gasp. God, you hadn’t expected him to look so… shy. It was so rare to see him like this—a little vulnerable, a little unsure—and it made your heart do this warm, aching thing in your chest.

“Aww,” you cooed, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face as you brushed your thumb across his cheek. “James…”

He huffed out a tiny breath that was halfway between a laugh and a groan. “Don’t,” he muttered, gaze finally swinging back to yours, his ears tinged pink. “You’re going to make me feel ridiculous.”

But you just melted more, tugging him closer until your lips grazed the corner of his mouth. “You’re not ridiculous,” you whispered. “You’re sweet.”

He paused, blue eyes searching your face like he wasn’t sure what to do with that, then let out a quiet, shaky breath—the last bit of his shyness slipping into a smile as he bent to kiss you properly this time, slow and lingering, like you’d given him something precious without even realizing it.

You shifted, pushing yourself up just enough to swing one leg over his waist and settle comfortably on top of him. His hands instantly found your hips, fingers spreading warmly over your skin, but you didn’t let him hide.

Instead, you caught his chin gently between your thumb and forefinger, tipping his face up so those bright eyes had nowhere to look but at you.

“Look who’s blushing…” you teased, voice a soft purr as you tilted your head.

He groaned under his breath, lips twitching like he was trying to fight a smile. “I am not.”

“Oh, you so are,” you countered, leaning in until your nose brushed his. “And it’s very cute.”

He gave you a playful, narrowed-eyed look—clearly torn between dragging you back down into a kiss and pretending to be indignant—before his hands squeezed your hips in silent warning.

“You’re gonna regret teasing me,” he murmured, voice rough and fond all at once.

Your grin only widened. “Mm, somehow I don’t think I will.”

And God, the way his gaze darkened at that, lips parting like he was going to say something wicked before surging up to kiss you again, made it very clear you wouldn’t regret a thing.

He pulled back just enough to trail his lips along the shell of your ear, breath warm and deliberate as he whispered, “You still gotta fix that grade, sweetheart…”

Your eyes fluttered at the low rasp of his voice, a shiver spilling down your spine.

“Oh, is that so?” you murmured, hands braced on his chest as you rocked your hips down, slow and teasing.

A rumble of approval rumbled in him as his hands slid up your thighs. “Mm-hm,” he drawled, lips brushing your ear again before catching your earlobe between his teeth. “And I’m going to need some serious extra credit if you want me to change my mind…”

You let out a breathless little laugh, melting into the way he held you, heartbeat already picking up all over again.

“Guess I better work extra hard, then,” you whispered back, tugging his face to yours to steal a kiss—long, deep, and promising exactly what he was hoping for.

You hardly had time to catch your breath before James was moving—hands gripping your hips and lifting you straight up off the bed.

“James!” you squeaked, heart thudding as he hauled you into his arms like you weighed nothing. “You weren’t joking,” you giggled, his hands firm and possessive on the backs of your thighs.

James chuckled low against your ear as he carried you through the apartment—straight past the kitchen, past the cozy little living room, and into his office. The overhead light was off, the only glow spilling in from the hallway and the laptop screen left open on his tidy desk.

“Oh, I never joke about extra credit,” he growled, pushing the office door shut with his heel before setting you down on the edge of his desk like you belonged there.

Your hands clutched the smooth surface as you stared up at him, breath hitching. “So this is how I’m gonna fix my grade?” you teased breathlessly.

His gaze darkened, hands already sliding up your legs, voice impossibly deep. “This is exactly how.”

Before you could say a word, his hands were moving higher, warm and unhurried—savoring the softness of your thighs as you squirmed. “You remember your little essay?” he asked, lips grazing your jaw.

Your face burned as you nodded, hands trembling as they rested on his shoulders.

“Mm,” he hummed, spreading your legs a little further. “The one about my fingers inside you… you writing while I ruin you?”

You could only make a breathless sound in reply.

He kissed the corner of your mouth, then pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. “Good,” he murmured. “Get the laptop.”

Your pulse jumped as you fumbled to reach for it, hands unsteady.

James stood between your knees. “That’s it,” he praised, his gaze scorching as you set the laptop on your lap.

Your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you felt his hands—broad and warm—touch your inner thighs.

“Start typing,” he ordered, his voice a silken command.

And then his fingers were right there, gliding slowly between your folds before pushing into you in one smooth, perfect stroke.

Your hands faltered on the keyboard with a shaky gasp.

“You’re gonna do this properly,” he murmured, his other palm spreading warmly across your thigh as his fingers began to move—slow, deliberate, making sure you felt every inch.

Your breath hitched as he pumped them deeper, your walls gripping him already, your whole body trembling.

“You can do it,” he coaxed, mouth brushing the sensitive skin beneath your ear. “Focus, sweetheart. Tell me exactly what you’re feeling.”

Your eyes fluttered as you glanced at the screen, fingers poised over the keys—but all you could feel was him.

“You want me to keep going?” he breathed, his fingers curling just so—and a breathless moan tore from your lips.

“Yes—yes,” you gasped, legs trembling as you tried to balance the laptop.

He grinned darkly, his thumb circling your clit just enough to make your hands shake. “Then write,” he urged, voice a low, heated murmur. “And don’t stop until I do.”

And as you bit your lip and forced yourself to tap trembling words into the keyboard, his fingers moved faster—filling you so perfectly that your thoughts melted into a dizzy haze of pleasure and filthy sentences.

And he just kept you there, stretched and aching and so utterly his—making sure you’d never forget how this grade was earned.

Your breaths came quicker with every thrust of his fingers, the wet, lewd sound of him working you open filling the darkened office. The laptop wobbled against your legs as you struggled to focus, hands trembling over the keys.

“Such a good girl,” James murmured, his mouth hot at your ear as his thumb pressed firm circles into your clit. “That’s it… don’t stop. Show me what you can write”

Your eyes fluttered, a tiny moan escaping you as you forced yourself to type one shaky word after the next—your thoughts an intoxicating mess of sensation and need. Every curl of his fingers inside you had your toes curling, your thighs trembling against him.

“God,” you gasped, blinking at the glowing screen, breath hitching as a fresh surge of pleasure shot through you.

He held you steady with his free hand at your hip, and his voice was darker now, lower. “So pretty when you’re like this,” he growled. “Writing for me while I make you come undone.”

Your fingers kept moving, tapping out sentence fragments even as your body threatened to give in completely.

James pulled back just enough to trail a slow, teasing kiss along your jawline, his breath warm against your skin. His fingers didn’t stop moving inside you, but the pace slowed—deliberately, torturously.

“Not yet,” he whispered, his voice thick with promise. “I want you aching, wanting. Write for me—tell me what you feel, what you want. Make me see it in your words.”

Your breath hitched as his thumb circled your clit gently, drawing soft moans from your lips. You bit your bottom lip, forcing your fingers back to the keyboard, words blurring together in a delicious haze of need and heat.

His eyes never left you, dark and hungry, watching every shiver that ran through you, every falter of your typing.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice low and possessive. “Pour it all out—your fantasies, your craving. Make me hear your voice even if it’s just on that screen.”

Your heart thundered as you spilled your desires onto the page, each sentence more daring than the last, the words flowing out in a stream of heated confessions and vivid fantasies. Every letter you typed was soaked in the ache curling low in your belly, every sentence a testament to how much you craved him right now.

James smiled, wicked and slow, knowing exactly how much you could take—and how much more he wanted to give. His fingers curled deeper inside you, slow and teasing, his touch masterful, driving you wild but never letting you fall over the edge.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. His mouth pressed to your neck, lips tracing slow, scorching kisses down to your collarbone. “Fuck,” he breathed. “I could never get enough of you.”

The wet warmth of his fingers moved in a maddening rhythm beneath you, your hands were trembling so badly it was almost impossible to hit the right keys, every careful touch against you dragging your focus into a fog of need.

„Good girl…” He whispered. His other hand rested on your thigh, his thumb brushing up and down, soothing and wicked at once.

Your breath caught as you stared blankly at the screen, biting your lip as your body arched into him, greedy for a pace he denied you. Every slick stroke of his fingers made you tighten around him, a soft sound spilling from your lips before you could catch it.

“James,” you breathed, half a whimper, half a plea.

His mouth grazed your jaw as he murmured, “That’s not writing, sweetheart.” His thumb dragged up to circle your clit in a slow, torturous rhythm that had you trembling.

“God—I’m trying,” you managed to gasp as your hands moved back to the keyboard. But it was so hard to concentrate when he felt this good.

“Mm,” he rumbled in approval as you pushed yourself to keep going. “That’s it. Every word you give me is gonna make me go deeper.”

Another languid thrust had your legs shaking, your walls gripping him, and a needy moan broke from your throat as your fingers faltered on the keys.

Your thoughts were becoming a tangled mess—sensations spilling into every part of you as you typed with aching honesty.

He groaned low against your neck at that, his breath hot and uneven. “Goddamn,” he muttered, pushing his fingers knuckle-deep and holding you there until you felt dizzy with it. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Tell me everything.”

You tried to focus on the keys, typing a breathless fragment of thought that didn’t even make sense anymore. Your whole body was so close—you could feel the heat coiling low in your belly, your breath turning sharp as you tilted your hips, desperate for him to give you more.

“James, please—” you whimpered, barely recognizing your own voice as you pushed back against his hand.

And then he stopped.

His fingers pulled back slowly, thumb stilling just as you hovered right at the edge.

Your hands froze on the keyboard. Every muscle in you tensed at the loss, a frustrated moan spilling past your lips before you could catch it.

“I said not yet,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple as you shuddered.

“You’re cruel,” you gasped, needy and trembling as your fists balled at your sides.

A quiet, dark laugh rumbled in his chest as his hands smoothed up your inner thighs again, inching closer at a painfully slow pace.

“Cruel?” he echoed, lips curving as his fingers began to trail upward. “Or just making sure you earn it?”

He gave your clit a slow, teasing flick, and you moaned—hands gripping the edge of the desk so tightly your knuckles went white.

“You thought you could make me crazy with those messages yesterday,” he continued, his breath hot against your ear. “Now it’s my turn.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he brushed his lips along your jaw, thumb returning to stroke your aching clit in small, careful circles—nowhere near enough, just enough to keep you trembling on that perfect, agonizing edge.

“You’re gonna wait,” he whispered, “I’m gonna wait until you’re finished.”

Your gaze drifted back to the screen. Your hands were trembling so hard you could barely hit the right keys, the cursor blinking accusingly at you on the screen as you fought to string together a final sentence.

“J-James,” you gasped, eyes glassy as you finally managed to tap out the last few words, then dropped your hands from the keyboard. “Okay—I’m done,” you whimpered, voice trembling. “God, please.”

He made a low sound of approval, lips brushing your ear as his hands finally eased their torturous rhythm.

“Good girl,” he murmured, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck as he leaned in. “Let me see.”

Your chest rose and fell as you watched him scan the screen, fingers still resting inside you, making every tiny shift of his hand feel like fire. You were a gasping, aching mess—trembling so much you could hardly sit up straight—but your gaze followed his face as he read. Waiting.

And then that dark, knowing smirk of his appeared.

“Mm,” he drawled slowly, lifting his gaze to yours as he gave the faintest thrust of his fingers, making you suck in a sharp breath. “Looks like you missed something in this paragraph, baby.” Another wicked little stroke inside you, slow and deep. “You wanna fix it for me?”

Your lips parted on a shaky moan as you gripped his forearm, too dizzy to even see straight anymore. “J-James, I swear to god,” you breathed, hardly able to do anything but stare at him—every part of you so wound up you thought you might cry.

He chuckled, low and warm, his gaze never leaving yours as he bent to kiss the corner of your trembling mouth. “That’s my girl,” he whispered, fingers dragging deliciously through you again as he nudged the laptop closer, then his hand guided yours back to the keyboard. “One last edit, sweetheart. Then you can have whatever you want.”

Your hands were shaking as you pulled the laptop back toward you. The screen was a blurry mess of text that barely made sense anymore, but you fought through it—gripping the edge of the desk with one hand, the other tapping at the keys as best you could.

“J-James,” you whimpered, voice trembling as he pressed his thumb against your clit, circling so lightly it was maddening. “God, please, I can’t—”

“You can,” he urged in that low, dark tone you loved so much. His lips brushed your ear as his fingers moved deeper, making you gasp. “Focus, sweetheart. Almost there. Just a few words left.”

Your eyes fluttered, heart thudding wildly as you bit your bottom lip, trying to read the sentence through your haze of pleasure.

Somehow—by some miracle—you managed to type a few changes, your breaths coming short and broken as you added the last word.

“I—okay,” you gasped, hands trembling so much you nearly pushed the laptop off the desk. “I fixed it. Please, James —”

The second the words left your lips, his fingers curled inside you in one perfect, relentless motion.

“That’s it,” he growled, eyes dark and fixed on you as his thumb pressed just right. “That’s my girl. Come for me now.”

Your body obeyed instantly—a trembling cry breaking from your throat as white-hot pleasure surged up your spine. Every inch of you seized around him, legs quivering, back arching as your hands grabbed for his shoulders.

„James—oh, God,” you moaned, your walls tightening around his fingers as he kept up that perfect rhythm, dragging every last bit of bliss from you.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured against your cheek, voice rough with his own need as you unraveled. “Just like that. So fucking good for me.” His other hand was firm on your hip, holding you steady while you shuddered around him again and again—his touch never leaving you until you were dizzy, breathless, trembling in his arms.

And when you finally slumped against him, your forehead resting against his shoulder, he kissed the top of your head and whispered, “See? Told you you’d earn that grade properly. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He held you close, arms tightening around your trembling form as your breath slowly evened out against his chest. His fingers gently traced lazy circles along your back, grounding you back into the moment. Every soothing touch was a quiet promise—he was right there, steady and steadying.

“You did so good, baby,” he murmured, voice low and thick with admiration. “I swear, you amaze me every single time. You’re incredible—strong and smart and absolutely… irresistible.” His lips brushed softly along your temple, sending a fresh wave of warmth through you.

You lifted your head, lips curling into a tired, satisfied smile. “Goddamn you, James,” you whispered, voice rough and breathless, but full of affection. “You’re such a fucking freak.”

He chuckled, that deep, rumbling laugh that always made your skin flush. “And you love it,” he teased, dipping his head to capture your lips in a slow, tender kiss that melted away every last bit of tension.

“I do,” you breathed against him, eyes half-lidded with desire and something softer—something like awe. “I love every messed-up, wild, needy part of you.”

His smile softened, the hunger still simmering beneath, but tempered by tenderness as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Good,” he said. “Because you’re stuck with me. All of me.”

You melted against him, heart swelling with something fierce and warm. Here—in his arms, with his hands still holding you close—you felt like you belonged. Not just as his secret, not just as a game or a thrill, but as something real, messy, and loved.

“And just so you know,” you whispered, voice playful but serious, “I plan on making you pay for every single second you kept me waiting.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief and he shook his head in amusement. “Wouldn’t be so sure about it, sweetheart.”

You blinked up at him, breath still shaky, the remnants of your high making your limbs feel deliciously weak.

“Wanna go back to bed?” he asked, voice low and inviting.

“Yeah,” you murmured, pushing yourself up—but as soon as you tried to stand, your legs wobbled violently and gave out beneath you.

Before you could even realize what was happening, strong arms wrapped around you, catching you effortlessly.

“Oh god, what a mess you are…” he chuckled, his voice thick with teasing warmth as he held you close.

You couldn’t help but smile, heart swelling with affection and something deeper, knowing how much he cared—even when you were completely helpless.

He carried you back to the bed with ease, laying you down gently among the soft sheets. His fingers traced soothing patterns on your bare skin as he tucked the blanket over you.

Sliding in beside you, he pulled you close, his breath warm against your temple. “You gonna stay for the night tonight too?”

You hesitated for a moment, heart fluttering, then whispered, “I mean… if you’re fine with that. If you want me here…”

His lips curled into a slow, confident smile against your skin. “Are you kidding me? Of course I want you here. Always.”

He tightened his hold just a little, as if to make sure you felt it—completely and without doubt.

You melted into him, cheek pressed against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. Almost lazily, you tilted your chin up to look at him. That’s when you caught the playful glint in his eye, the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth — that mischievous spark you’d come to know so well.

“What?” you giggled, brow furrowing as you searched his face.

He brushed a stray lock of hair away from your cheek, fingers lingering just a little too long. “It’s my turn now,” he murmured, voice warm and low, “to ask you a question… We were playing a game, weren’t we?”

You couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Oh? Okay… Hit it, Professor.”

He held your gaze, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “Did you go out with Theo?”

Your breath hitched just enough for him to notice, lips catching between your teeth. Of course he wasn’t going to let that one slide.

“I did,” you admitted, voice softer.

He exhaled a quiet, self-satisfied huff as he shook his head—halfway amused, halfway exasperated. “God, I knew it,” he muttered.

“Hey!” you protested quickly, laughing as you swatted lightly at his chest. “It wasn’t a date or anything. It was just a bar hangout—a big group. And anyway, Theo’s not my type.”

That made his brow arch, hands tightening their hold around you. “Oh yeah? And what’s your type, then?”

You fought the grin threatening to take over your face. “Mm… jealous professors,” you teased, voice silky.

That earned you a low laugh from him, deep and rich, his arms curling possessively around you as he pulled you even closer. “Alright, that’s enough,” he murmured into your hair, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Go to sleep.”

Your lips brushed his chest as you smiled, eyes drifting shut in the warmth of him. A soft sigh escaped your lips as the quiet settled around you both and with the quiet hum of the city outside, you let yourself drift into a peaceful sleep.

———

The first light of dawn slipped quietly through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the room. You stirred awake slowly, the lingering warmth of James curled up beside you still pressing gently against your back.

For once, there was no rush to get up—no lectures, no deadlines, just the peaceful silence of a morning that belonged only to you.

Careful not to disturb him, you slipped out from under the covers, feeling the cool touch of the floor beneath your feet.

The apartment was still and calm, the faint hum of the city waking up far below your window. A gentle smile touched your lips as you glanced back at James, still peacefully asleep, his face soft and unguarded in the morning light.

You remembered how he had cooked dinner for you twice now—each meal a quiet promise of care and comfort. The way he tended to you, even in the smallest gestures, made your heart swell. And now, here you were, wanting to return even a fraction of that kindness.

Making your way to the kitchen, you moved with deliberate quietness. You pulled out the eggs, some fresh bread, and a few ripe tomatoes—nothing fancy, just simple things that said “thank you” without words. You filled the kettle, waiting for it to boil while your fingers gently brushed over the smooth surface of the counter.

The soft hiss and pop of eggs cooking in the pan filled the room with a familiar, comforting aroma. You breathed it in, letting it settle into your senses, feeling warmth spread from your chest down to your fingertips. The rich smell of coffee soon joined it, steam curling up from the mug you set on the counter.

You arranged the breakfast on a small tray—golden eggs, toasted bread with a hint of butter, sliced tomatoes glistening with a sprinkle of salt—and poured a fresh cup of coffee beside it. Standing back, you took a moment to appreciate the simple feast you had prepared, feeling a flush of satisfaction.

With the tray steady in your hands, you headed back toward the bedroom. Your heart picked up its pace as you approached the door, anticipation blooming in your chest. You gently pushed the door open, finding James still asleep, tangled in the sheets.

A quiet laugh escaped your lips as you set the tray down on the bedside table. Then, softly, you reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

“James,” you whispered, your voice warm but gentle.

His eyes fluttered open, the slow dawning of awareness crossing his face. When he saw the tray, and then you standing there with that shy, sweet smile, his eyes softened, sparkling with something tender and grateful.

“You made breakfast?” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

“I did,” you said, your smile widening. “You’ve been so good to me. I thought maybe I could do the same for you this morning.”

He reached out, taking your hand in his, pulling you closer to sit beside him on the bed. “You’re amazing,” he breathed. “Thank you.”

James sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face as if to chase away the last fog of sleep. You passed him the tray with a smile, and he took it carefully, the little crinkle at the corner of his eyes telling you how much this meant to him.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he murmured, looking up at you like you’d just handed him the world.

“Of course I did,” you replied, leaning in to kiss his cheek, savoring the scratch of his morning stubble against your lips. “You’re always spoiling me. Let me spoil you too.”

He chuckled, that low, familiar sound that never failed to warm you, and pulled you closer so you were tucked up against his side. “Well,” he murmured, voice rougher in the quiet of the morning, “I’m not going to argue with that.”

He balanced the tray across his lap and took a bite of the toast first, his gaze flicking to you as he chewed. “Mm,” he said around the mouthful, lips twitching upward. “This is good.”

Your heart did a silly little flip at his approval. “See? I’m not just a pretty face,” you teased, bumping your shoulder against his.

“You’re a lot more than that,” he replied without missing a beat, voice so genuine it made you want to hide your face in his chest.

You picked up the coffee and held it toward him. “Here,” you said. “You probably need this too.”

James accepted it with a quiet hum of thanks, taking a long sip as you settled in more comfortably against him. Every little sound—the clink of the mug against his lips, the faint rustle of sheets as he shifted—felt precious in the softness of this morning. Nothing rushed, nothing heavy. Just the two of you, tangled together in a sleepy bubble that neither of you had any desire to leave.

He fed you a forkful of egg without asking, his gaze soft and intent as he watched you taste it. “Good?” he asked.

You nodded, humming around the bite with a grin. “Very good.”

He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, chasing a stray crumb, and your breath hitched at the tender, thoughtless gesture. “You’re too sweet,” you whispered, your voice hushed and a little breathless.

James bent his head, pressing his mouth to yours in a kiss that was slow and unhurried, flavored with coffee and morning and something deeper you felt humming between you. When he pulled back, he kept his forehead against yours, his thumb still stroking gently at your cheek.

Your chest felt so full it almost ached. God, you loved him. Loved him in a way you hadn’t even thought was possible — in every easy morning kiss, every quiet moment like this one. And that was what scared you most.

Your hand rested on his chest, the sweetness of the moment suddenly twisting into something heavier. Because this—his lips warm on yours, the way his touch anchored you, the way you felt seen—none of it could last forever. Not like this.

The harsh reality of it rushed back in like a cold draft through a cracked door: the secret glances across campus, the careful distance in public, all the stolen hours spent behind closed doors hoping no one would ever find out. Every perfect morning like this was built on a shaky, dangerous ground, one wrong move away from collapse.

And god, you hated it.

You hated that you had to hide this. Hated that someone might see and take him away. Hated that he had to pretend you were just another face in his class. Hated the constant, lurking fear that at any moment, someone would notice and ruin everything.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but the knot was still there.

“I wish…” you whispered before you could stop yourself, the words trembling in the quiet room, “I wish it wasn’t like this.”

James stilled, his thumb halting on your cheek, and though you kept your eyes closed, you felt his gaze on you—sharp and searching, like he already knew what you meant.

“Yeah,” he murmured after a beat, voice so quiet it felt like it could disappear in the morning light. “I know.”

The weight of those two simple words broke something loose in your chest.

He eased back just enough to shift his position, straightening so he could wrap both arms around you properly. Before you could say anything, he was gathering you close—hands spreading across your back, chin tucked over the crown of your head as you melted against him.

You let out a breath that trembled, eyes pricking with the sting of tears you weren’t even sure you could stop.

“Hey,” he whispered, one big hand cradling the back of your head now as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck. “I hate it too.”

That confession was a knot in your gut—hearing him say it made the ache feel less lonely, but also more real.

“I hate having to pretend,” he went on, voice low and aching in your ear, fingers tracing gentle circles across your spine as though he could soothe the fear right out of you. “Every time we’re around people, all I want to do is touch you. Every time I see you in class and can’t do a damn thing about it…”

He paused, lips brushing your hairline before he let out a long, shaky breath.

Your own hands slid up, clutching him even tighter as if you could hide in him and never leave.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, and there was something so raw and unguarded in those words that it pulled a small, broken sound from you. “I wish this was easier. I wish I could give you more than stolen mornings and nights where nobody can see.”

You sniffled against him, and he just held you closer—arms solid and warm and utterly steady, like he was anchoring you in place so neither of you would come apart.

“You deserve more,” he murmured into your hair, breath stirring the strands. “And one day—I swear to you—I’m going to give it to you. Just… not yet. But I promise you this isn’t forever. And I’m not going anywhere.”

His hands were gentle as they smoothed down your back, then back up to your shoulders like he couldn’t stand to stop touching you.

“You’re it for me,” he whispered, voice rough with honesty. “No matter how long we have to wait.”

And that was the thing—that deep, steady certainty in him that told you he meant every word.

Your eyes finally fluttered open, and you clung to him like you were afraid that if you let go, the morning might vanish too.

But in his arms, tucked against his chest with his heartbeat under your ear and his hands rubbing your back like you were precious, the ache in your ribs eased just a little.

You finally pulled back enough to look up at him.

His gaze searched your face, and whatever he saw there—the lingering ache, the way your lips trembled even though you were trying to hold it together—made his expression crumple just a little.

“Oh, sweetheart…” The words slipped out like a sigh, and his thumb was back on your cheek in an instant, wiping at a tear you hadn’t even noticed had escaped.

“I hate this,” he murmured again, but this time it was different—his voice lower, rougher, threaded with guilt that made your chest tighten.

“You wouldn’t be going through any of this if it weren’t for me,” he whispered, brow furrowing as if the thought physically pained him. “I was the one who crossed the line first. Who pulled you into this.”

Your breath caught, and you immediately shook your head. “James, stop—”

“You deserve better,” he continued anyway, sounding like he couldn’t help himself, like all the thoughts he kept under lock and key were tumbling loose. “A normal life, someone who can give you all of this,”—he gestured vaguely around the room—“without it being some big secret. Without the risk. Without worrying that someone could take it all away.”

Your hands slid up to his face then, cradling his jaw, forcing him to look right at you. “Hey,” you said, voice trembling but determined. “Stop blaming yourself.”

He swallowed hard, gaze dark with worry as he held perfectly still in your hands.

“You didn’t do this to me,” you went on, thumbs stroking lightly across his stubble. “I chose this too. I want you—I want this—because it’s real. You make me feel seen. Loved. Even when it’s complicated.”

Your throat was tight with it all, with every aching truth you’d held back for too long.

“And yeah,” you whispered, “it hurts sometimes. But I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”

He was so close you could feel his breath fan across your lips—and for a long, trembling moment, all he could do was look at you like you were breaking his heart and putting it back together all at once.

“I don’t want you hurting,” he finally said, voice raw as his hands slid up into your hair. “God, I’d do anything to keep you from hurting.”

“You already do,” you told him, leaning into his touch, heart aching. “Every day you make me feel like I matter.”

And that was enough to make his brow ease, to make him draw you in again—forehead resting against yours, hands cradling you like you were something fragile and invaluable.

“You matter,” he murmured, breath ghosting your lips. “More than you’ll ever know.”

Part 6 💋

tags (tysm for all the love and support, If you asked to be tagged and I didn’t tag you it means I couldn’t for some reason 💔): @iamthatonefangirl @hiraethmae @im-feeling-blue-today @beforemdnight @just4w3irdo @bloodmocha @lovinqbella @its-in-the-woods @muchwita @iyskgd @harrietandcats @shortandb1tchy @luv4kook @grovelingmen @buckybarneswife125 @xamapolax @glitterspark @azrielsgirll @mortallydistinguishedwolf @shaheea @simp4f1 @voidanima @buckytakethewheel @thatsbucknasty @herejustforbuckybarnes @sebastians-love @wntersoidiertk @emcharra @user911224 @stell404 @peanutbutt3rcup @heymydearheart

[syrecjh]

──★🥀་ ̟ !! ִֶָ A Rose for Dynamight

(Another request)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || katsuki bakugo x child reader

It happens on a Tuesday—ordinary, unassuming, the sky painted in shades of gentle dusk as the sun kisses the city goodnight. Katsuki Bakugo walks down the street like a storm in rest mode—brows slightly furrowed, hands deep in his pockets, hero uniform half-zipped from the patrol he just wrapped up. The world shifts around him, people part like water, as they always do. No one dares approach Dynamight unless they have to.

No one... except you.

A little girl, no older than seven, with a bandage on her knee and a rose clutched tight in her small fist.

He notices you too late.

You march up to him like you’ve got a mission blessed by the gods, chin lifted, eyes wide with something dangerously close to admiration. And then, without preamble, without hesitation, you thrust the slightly crumpled rose up toward him and say:

“Hi! I think you’re very handsome. This is for you.”

Bakugo stops in his tracks. Blinks. Stares at you like you’ve just asked him to adopt a dolphin. The city exhales around him, cars humming, people oblivious. But all he can focus on is a tiny human holding out a rose like it’s a medal of honor.

“What the hell…?”

You blink up at him, unfazed. “You can’t say bad words,” you scold, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to lecture a pro hero.

Bakugo’s jaw tics. His ears are going pink.

“I—wasn’t talkin’ to you,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. But when you keep standing there, rose still extended like a sword waiting for a knight’s acceptance, he lets out a breath and—almost awkwardly—takes it.

“Thanks, I guess.”

You beam. Beam.

“And I like your hair,” you add seriously. “It looks like angry cotton candy.”

He chokes. Actually chokes. “Angry—?”

You nod proudly. “Yeah. But in a good way. Like boom! But soft.”

For a moment, Bakugo forgets how to function.

This tiny gremlin just compared his hair to boom-soft cotton candy, and now she’s standing there like she just solved world peace.

And strangely, he doesn’t mind.

He crouches—slowly, carefully—because if there’s one thing he’s learned over time, it’s that kids like you are fragile in ways no villain ever is. “Alright, pipsqueak,” he says, softer now, voice still gruff but not sharp. “Where’s your mom or whoever’s supposed to be watchin’ you?”

You point dramatically toward the tall building across the street. “There! She works there."

Bakugo nods, still crouched there, rose in one hand, brain short-circuiting from being called Boom-Soft Cotton Candy Man, when the tiny menace pipes up again—more casually than should be legal.

“Oh, I snuck out.”

He blinks. “The hell did you just say?”

You shrug, like it's no big deal. “I got bored. They said I could color inside, but I already colored everything. And besides—your hair looked fun.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bakugo mutters, rising to his full height, eyes scanning the building across the street like it’s suddenly grown fangs.

“She told me to wait on the bench,” you add. “But I saw you, and I thought—‘Wow, that guy looks like he eats fire!’ So I brought you the rose. It’s from the flower shop lady, she said to give it to someone who makes you smile.”

Bakugo stares at you, the rose in his hand suddenly feeling heavier than it should. His voice, when it comes, is unusually quiet. “I make you smile?”

You nod. “You looked really grumpy. But now you look better.”

He doesn’t smile—he rarely ever does—but something shifts behind his eyes. Something warm. Like the slow burn of a fuse that doesn’t want to explode. He pats your head—gentle, awkward, but sincere.

“Thanks, brat. You did good.”

You light up again, and for a moment, he wonders what the hell the world did to deserve something as weirdly magical as a kid who gives flowers to scowling heroes.

Then the building doors open, and your mom appears—panic in her eyes until she sees you grinning up at Dynamight like he’s a friend you met on the playground.

Bakugo straightens. You wave.

“Bye, Boom-Soft Cotton Candy Man!”

He nearly combusts.

But the rose stays in his hand, long after you’ve gone.

And that night, for the first time in weeks, it ends up in a glass of water by his windowsill—still blooming. Just like the smile he doesn’t let anyone see.

[sereia4skz]

hey yaya! how are you?? i was wondering if you could make texts/a drabble with ot8 individually or poly (you can choose) where reader got bad grades in their finals and the boys comfort them, pretty please?! if u dont want to, i get it!

thank you so much, sweetie. i love your works <333

drabble | still proud of you

pairing: poly!straykids x reader

genre: comfort

warnings: school troubles

word count: 692

masterlist: A-Side (texts) | B-Side (written)

You try to slip into the dorm quietly, hoping no one notices the slump in your shoulders or the crumpled paper in your hand.

The results had come in today.

And you didn’t just miss your goal, you crashed and burned. It’s like the weeks of late-night studying, the coffee-fueled review sessions, and the breakdowns in your bathroom meant nothing. The grades are staring at you in black-and-white, a bitter confirmation of every creeping doubt you tried to ignore.

“Y/N?” Chan’s voice floats from the kitchen. He’s always the first to notice. “Hey, you back? How’d the results go?”

You freeze.

Then Minho pokes his head out from the hallway, towel draped over his shoulders, hair damp. “You look like someone died.”

That gets the rest of them moving. Feet shuffle, doors open, and suddenly, you're surrounded. Seven pairs of eyes, all blinking at you expectantly, waiting for you to say something that won’t come out.

The paper trembles in your hand. You try to smile, but it falters. “I... didn’t do so well.”

Silence. Then, Jisung’s arms are around you in a flash, warm and tight. “So?” he says, voice muffled in your shoulder. “You’re still amazing.”

Felix steps in next, hands cupping your cheeks gently to make you look at him. “It’s okay, sunshine. You tried your best. That’s what matters.”

“But it wasn’t enough,” you whisper, throat tightening. “I worked so hard, and it still wasn’t enough. I feel so… stupid.”

Hyunjin gently takes the paper from your hand and folds it without even looking. “You’re not stupid,” he says firmly. “Grades don’t define you.”

Seungmin wraps an arm around your waist and leans his head on your shoulder. “Honestly? Finals suck,” he mutters. “But you? You don’t. You’re the hardest worker I know.”

Jeongin pipes up quietly from your other side. “You always help me when I feel dumb about school stuff. Can I do that for you now?”

Something in you cracks at that. You let out a shaky breath, and suddenly your face is buried in Jisung’s hoodie, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you upright. Your chest stings and your eyes blur, and you hate crying but god, it just hurts.

“I wanted to make you proud,” you choke.

A hand starts stroking your back, probably Chan’s. Minho’s fingers brush your hair.

“You already do, jagi,” Minho says quietly. “Even when you’re sniffling into Jisung and look like a soggy tissue.”

“Hyung,” Jisung huffs, but you laugh wetly, just a little.

“Look,” Chan says, stepping in front of you now. “We know how hard you worked. We saw it. We were worried, honestly. You were so stressed. And we didn’t want to push, but baby, grades don’t mean anything to us. We care about you.”

Changbin reaches for your hand and brings it to his lips. “Your worth isn’t in numbers. You don’t have to prove anything. Not to us.”

They start tugging you to the couch before you can even respond. Jisung pulls you down onto his lap, Felix cuddles up on your side, and Hyunjin drapes a blanket over your shoulders like you’re a wounded hero instead of someone who flunked their chem final.

Seungmin grabs your favorite snacks. Chan hands you a water bottle. Jeongin finds the softest playlist and puts it on without asking. Changbin tosses you one of his hoodies.

Minho just rests his chin on your head and holds you still, like anchoring you.

For a while, no one says anything. You sit in the cocoon of them, warm and safe, the ache in your chest slowly dulling under their quiet presence.

Eventually, you whisper, “Thank you.”

Jisung nuzzles into your neck. “Next semester, we’ll help you study, okay? We’ll make color-coded flashcards and give you forehead kisses every time you get a question right.”

Minho snorts. “You help? That’s gonna take hours.”

They all start bickering around you, arguing over who will be the best help. You sit there, wrapped up in all of them, heart still heavy but just a little lighter now.

You didn’t do well on finals.

But they’re still proud.

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue @purplelady85 @velvetmoonlght @inishij @bangchanspineapple @straykids4lifeee

[dearstvckyx]

Sometimes home is a person team - drabble

Your powers — wild, untamed — had lashed out, sending John flying into the wall with a crash that shook the training room. The panic had swallowed you whole, leaving you cowering in the corner, small and shaking, afraid of yourself.

And then he was there. On his knees, pulling you into a hug that wasn’t for him — it was for you. Strong, steady arms wrapping around your small frame as you trembled like a leaf.

“It’s okay,” he’d murmured, voice softer than you’d ever heard. “I’m okay. You’re okay.”

And for the first time, you’d let yourself be held.

Later that same night, it was Bob who found you curled up in John’s military hoodie and in bobs bed — which has become your safe place, to Bob you looked small and exhausted, head resting against his pillows. He sat down on the floor next to the bed, next to you, handed you a mug of tea without a word.

You leaned into him, heavy with relief.

And when he whispered something small — some rambling nonsense about Alexei stealing muffins — your lips twitched.

“…Liar.”

Your voice was barely there, cracked from disuse.

Bob froze, wide-eyed. And then that smile — that gentle, stunned, so-proud-it-hurt smile spread across his face.

He didn’t even tell the others. Just sat there with you until you fell asleep — leaning against his arm.

⸻

The Next Morning

John was glowing.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning back in his chair at the breakfast table like he was telling the story of a grand victory. “She hit me with her powers — slammed me into the wall. But did I freak out? No. I held her. Calmed her down. She let me. First time.”

Yelena rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of her head. “John, we were all there. Stop acting like you saved the world.”

“She let me hold her, though,” he said, grinning, tapping the table like he’d made some brilliant point. “Me.”

Alexei muttered, “He’s going to write poem about it next. Ode to Being Punched by Powers.”

Ava sipped her coffee and didn’t even look up. “It’s seven in the morning, John.”

Bucky groaned into his mug. “I swear to God, Walker—”

Just then, Bob walked in, still sleepy-eyed, hair messy, hands in his pockets, rubbing his back from falling asleep on the floor.

He paused, blinking at the table full of annoyed faces.

“…What’s going on?” he asked, grabbing some fruit from the counter.

“Walker’s bragging that she let him hold her after her powers went off,” Bucky muttered, giving John a look that could kill.

Bob raised his brows. “Oh.”

He casually grabbed a knife, started cutting up the fruit, listening as John kept going — louder now, trying to relive the moment like it was a battle medal.

“Yeah, it was pretty intense. She was shaking, man, but I held her — kept her grounded. It was a big deal.”

Bob kept slicing the red apple he had grabbed, smirking quietly to himself. He dropped the pieces into a bowl already mixed with bananas, strawberries and kiwis, grabbed two water bottles from the fridge, and started toward the door.

But then — as if it just occurred to him — he stopped. Backed up slowly. Poked his head back into the kitchen.

“Oh,” he said, grin soft, eyes twinkling. “But she talked to me first.”

The room went dead silent.

And then he was gone, slipping down the hall with the fruit bowl and waters like nothing had happened, leaving John sputtering behind him.

“Wait — what?!”

“Walker, sit down,” Yelena said, smirking now herself. “You got hugged. He got history.”

And for once… John had no comeback.

[linedbycaro]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 - 𝐃𝐨𝐣𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐭 (𝚸𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢) 𝐩𝐭. 𝟏

“I have a secret” Azzi murmurs.

“Yeah?” Paige barely chokes out, tilting her head to disguise her nervousness.

Azzi crawls over, closing the space between them until she’s beside Paige, Azzi’s warm scent washing over her. She can’t breathe. Or move.

Then Azzi leans in, delicately whispering,

“I want you all the time. But you always stop me before I can say it sober.”

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐎𝐤𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬. 𝐈'𝐦 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐀𝐳𝐳𝐢 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨. 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐂— 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐃!!!!!!!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.4𝐤

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞.. 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐢𝐭? 𝐈 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬.

The music had stopped hours ago, but Paige still feels something buzzing under her skin. The kitchen is dimly lit, solo cups litter the counters, their teammates are passed out in the living room, but Paige and Azzi are not tired in the least.

They're both the kind of hard-core tipsy where everything is funny.

"Okay, but listen," Azzi says, barely able to get it out between hiccuped laughter. She's doubled over so hard she can't finish her sentence. "If—if—if..."

Paige nearly chokes on her water.

"Stop, "I'm gonna—"

Water spews from her mouth and nose, and Paige has to cross her legs and fold over to keep from peeing herself.

They're gone.

Azzi collapses on the floor, dragging Paige down with her.

"Ow—my stomach!" Azzi wheezes, feeling her abs cramp.

Paige can't even respond; she just shakes her head, fist-pounding the floor.

They're laughing so hard it's gone silent—shoulders shaking, faces buried in sleeves. Just on the floor, side by side, hands swatting at each other in some useless attempt to make it stop.

But the hitting just makes it worse.

Which makes them laugh harder.

And God, how Paige loves moments like this, just the two of them. Goofy and connected and so utterly themselves in ways they can't be with anyone else. To be known this loudly, to feel Azzi's presence, it's like home.

And while there will always be a part of Paige that aches around Azzi, knowing she can never fully have her— moments like this make the pain worth it.

Until suddenly, Azzi goes quiet. 

The air shifts, the laughter fades, and Paige feels it before she even looks. She turns her head anyway. 

Azzi is staring at her.

Her face is soft, her gaze is bare. She studies Paige like she's something sacred and rare and desired. Her pupils are blown wide and unguarded—adoring in a way that makes Paige burn.

Azzi gives her a small smile and breathes out a short laugh like she knows she's been caught but doesn't care.

It's easy to write it off as drunk affection. Paige almost does. But there's something in Azzi's expression that feels too steady. Too sure.

It makes Paige's stomach flip and fizzle.

Makes her feel all kinds of things she knows she shouldn't.

And it sobers Paige up a little.

Because Jesus, when Azzi looks at her like that—like she wants her and means it—it makes Paige want to risk everything. Makes her want to throw away all careful boundaries and the restraint she trains herself into in order to preserve their friendship. Not that she doesn't let them slip from time to time. She does.

Sometimes, she can't help but let Azzi look at her, touch her, kiss her in ways she shouldn't. 

Falling into the dangerous game of 'we're just friends who sometimes kiss but never talk about it'—that's Paige's fault. She lets it happen. And it's killing her softly.

"Az," Paige shakes her head, voice slightly raw. "You can't look at me like that when we're drunk."

"Look at you like what?" Azzi hums innocently.

"You know like what."

Azzi shrugs goofily.

"No, I don't. Tell me."

"Az—" Paige shoves her playfully and sits up, leaning against the sink cabinets.

Azzi follows, settling across from Paige. She lets her knees brush Paige's as she leans back against the oven. Her voice comes out slightly slurred like she's trying too hard to sound casual.

"What? I can't help it, so you might as well tell me."

Azzi pauses, her grin faltering.

"How do I look at you, Paige?"

Her voice is so goddamn flirty it should be illegal. 

Paige wants to shove her up against the cabinets and kiss that smirk off her face— unravel her 'til she admits she knows what she's doing.

Instead, she just stupidly gives in to the baited question.

"Like... like you want me," Paige says lowly, almost a whisper. 

"Well... maybe I do," comes Azzi's mischievous reply.

Paige's heart stops, unable to meet Azzi's stare. She wants to believe it's a joke, but Azzi isn't laughing anymore.

"But only when you're drunk. You only want this when you're drunk."

"I do not."

Paige forces a smile. Deflect.

"Whatever, Az."

"No. Not whatever," Azzi protests, trying to get Paige to see her.

And then Azzi tries again, softly.

"I have a secret."

"Yeah?" Paige barely chokes out, tilting her head to disguise her nervousness. Heat pools in her stomach.

Azzi crawls over, closing the space between them until she's beside Paige. The blonde's pulse spikes as Azzi's warm scent washes over her.

She can't breathe. Or move.

This is the thing Paige hates. Feeling like she can't help but let her in. Can't help but let Azzi get under her skin, say unhinged, bold things, and tempt her to believe she means it.

Azzi gracefully leans in, back arching slightly, breath hot against her ear.

And ho-ly fuck. 

She whispers, delicate and deliberate,

"I want you all the time. But you always stop me before I can say it sober."

Azzi's voice snakes down Paige's spine, curling hot and low. Her brain short circuits. Dizzy. Her pulse screams danger, and her body— well... Let's just say she's ovulating. Impeccable timing. 

Azzi pulls back just slightly.

Enough to look at her.

Enough to where Paige feels like she's sick with how much Azzi affects her.

Danger, danger, danger.

She's in full gay panic mode because now Azzi is staring at her— deadly serious, eyes upturned, lip caught between her teeth like she's nervous.

It's dirty as hell.

And oh so unwillingly, Paige's eyes drop down to Azzi's mouth, plump, full, and slightly parted.

Azzi does the same—waiting, willing, wanting.

Automatically, Paige's forehead falls against Azzi's, letting their noses nuzzle, their breaths mingle. Her hands find Azzi's shoulders. Azzi's fingers brush her cheek.

She lets them feel it for a moment, holds their gaze.

And then Azzi's eyes flutter closed like she knows what will happen next.

And Paige knows what will happen next because she's let it happen so many times before.

A sharp pain clutches her chest.

She's pulling back because she has to. Because if she lets herself fall again, she won't be able to stop. Not this time. She has to control it before she loses everything.

"Azzi, fuck. You have no idea what you do to me. You can't just say shit like that so casually." Paige breathes, voice gravelly.

Azzi's eyes blink open, her spine hitting the cabinet like she's suddenly aware of how close they are.

"I didn't say it casually," she protests breathily. Her voice actually sounds desperate. Pleading.

"No, you say it like it doesn't cost you anything... And it kills me every time. And then we—" Paige pauses, unable to say it out loud. More quietly, she admits,

"And then you get to forget it in the morning, but I never do."

"You think I forget? I don't forget, but you always make me feel like I have to," Azzi mumbles.

Paige blinks. She hadn't expected that.

Hadn't considered that maybe Azzi had remembered every slip, every almost, every kiss—and had been burying it, too.

But- but she never acts like she wants it in daylight. She's dismissive. Has a whole ass situationship.

"You make it feel like something it's not supposed to be." Paige protests, voice on the edge of an argument. Her voice falters, "A-Azzi, you're literally talking to someone right now... a guy."

"I know, I'm sorry," Azzi murmurs.

"Don't be. It's okay."

It's not your fault you don't want me in the same way I want you, Paige thinks.

And then she admits, voice raw and cracked,

"I don't think you understand how hard it is to un-feel things for you. And it scares me because I can never really tell if you mean it."

Azzi, voice barely above a whisper, replies,

"It scares me too—how much I do."

And because Paige physically can't stand being near Azzi another second— Azzi, ever overstepping, casually, or so un-casually, it's hard to believe she doesn't know what she's doing.

Azzi, unknowing to the ways in which she affects Paige, the ways she tortures her— deeply, slowly— Paige can't take the way her presence makes everything ache.

She gets up and walks away.

"If you really want this," Paige says without turning back, "prove it."

Because it's easier to pretend Azzi doesn't mean it. Easier than risking being wrong. 

___

When Azzi wakes up, she blinks. 

She squeezes her eyes shut, replays her conversation with Paige in her head, and opens them again.

You're kidding.

Then Azzi rolls over and screams into her pillow. 

Like fully screams. Until-her-voice-goes-raw screams.

Because nothing— nothing is more confusing than falling in love with your best friend. Who also happens to be a girl. 

Who you're pretty sure is at least a little bit in love with you back. 

Who also walked away from you last night after you literally confessed you wanted her?

Like—hello? 

She had said, "I want you all the time." and, "I didn't say it casually."

Verbatim.

How much clearer could she get?

Okay, fine.

Maybe she gets how it could be a little confusing from Paige's perspective. Azzi is technically kind of talking to a guy.

But it's not like that. Not like it is with Paige. Not even close.

And what even is 'talking' anyway? They hang out a few times exclusively, kiss once, and suddenly there's a label?

The way she feels about Paige- with certainty— it terrifies her. Not just attraction, not just in want, but need. To the point where she can't even verbalize it properly.

Azzi has tried. Even when she wasn't talking to Theo. Been braver in ways she'd never thought she could be. And.....

Was she the problem?

She knows she's being unfair. Talking to Theo, then saying things like that to Paige… it's cruel, even if it's unintentional.

She's just scared. Overwhelmed. Unsure of how someone's even supposed to navigate this.

Paige is the gay one after all. The one who is confident in her identity—in who she is and who she likes.

And Azzi's feels like she's playing catch up. Late to the game. Still trying to figure it out— trying to unpack what liking Paige even means. What it changes. What it doesn't.

Not that liking girls was a bad thing, and if she was really being honest with herself, it's something she'd always tucked away— something that felt too big to really name until now.

But if Paige actually felt the same way, wouldn't she have said something? Initiated the first move instead of just giving in to Azzi's temptations?

Because the kinds of girls Paige attracts—

they're confident. Gorgeous. Sure of themselves.

And Azzi has a sinking feeling she's not like them.

Not what Paige wants.

And it's driving Azzi batshit crazy—not knowing if Paige actually wants her back or just likes watching her ache.

Taunts her with shit like "If you really want this, prove it," like she didn't see Azzi bleeding out— being vulnerable the only way she knows how.

Because Azzi is scared, too. Scared, Paige only ever sees her when it's easy. Scared, the rejection will hurt too much if she says it sober.

She shoves her thoughts down and slides out of bed. Because— joy, she has practice in half an hour. With Paige.

____

Practice goes... pretty much worse than Azzi could have imagined. 

Paige doesn't even fully acknowledge it.

Paige walks in all relaxed, friendly, nods her way like nothing happened and they're back to playing besties. Like she isn't the one who walked away before Azzi could even speak.

During warm-ups, Paige throws a few jokes her way, laughing in that effortlessly charming way of hers. That quirky and smooth and cocky persona that makes straight girls on the internet question their sexuality. How, unfortunately, Ironic.

When they're scrimmaging, Azzi's shots aren't falling.

She feels too quiet.  Like she's not leading in the way she knows she should. Not calling out plays, not making decisions during drills. Just… following.

And Paige is confident. Pulling the team into huddles, encouraging everyone, calling the offense. Talking mad shit to the practice players.

And it hurts because how on earth has this not affected her? Is she really this unbothered? This indifferent?

But then Azzi sees through it.

It's during a water break when Azzi reaches down to grab her bottle—resting beside Paige's like always— and sees her stiffen. Just slightly. Just enough. An involuntary response to Azzi's close proximity.

Paige tries to cover it up, scratching at her shoulder like she's itchy or adjusting, but it's too late. Azzi notices.

After that, Paige avoids direct eye contact. Every interaction too measured. Too controlled. Like they didn't nearly unravel the night before.

When Coach calls for 1v1s, Azzi turns to Paige automatically. Because they always pair up. It's a given.

But Paige doesn't even glance at her. Just sidesteps Azzi seamlessly, pairing with Nika instead. Like it was normal. Like Azzi wasn't already halfway turned her way.

And when they're shooting around at the end of practice, Azzi doesn't just catch Paige looking, she feels it. The weight of her stare, hot against her back. 

She turns.

And there Paige is, gaze unflinching, face unreadable, eyes soft with something that looks an awful lot like longing. But then her expression shifts. It turns blank. Cold. 

Paige turns around and walks out of the gym.

Hot and cold. Push and Pull.

So no shit Azzi is terrified to make a move. 

She heads to the weight room after practice, wanting to get in an extra session and clear her mind. 

And guess who's already there? Paige. Of course. 

But Azzi ignores her. Walks over to a rack on the other side of the training room, and adjusts her headphones. Turns the volume up.

Azzi's actually kind of fired up. Angry at the situation. Pissed they can't get it together and that she played like shit. So, she channels her thoughts into each set. Each press and pump of the dumbbells block out the stare she feels burning into her from the other side of the room.

Azzi syncs her reps to the rhythm of her music. Her arms burn. She blows away a stray curl sticking to her cheek and pushes through the exhaustion.

Lifting makes her feel empowered. And strong. And badass.

And something clicks. 

Azzi Fudd is not a pussy.

And you know what?

Fuck it.

Yeah, what if Paige is being a coward. Maybe she's scared, or hurt, or indifferent, or whatever. But don't they at least deserve to know? Haven't they been dancing around it for too long?

Maybe Azzi is late to the game. Maybe Azzi is only now realizing she's into Paige in a more than friendly way. But now that she knows? Like knows-knows. She's gonna find out hell or high water.

Paige literally taunted her, walked away, and left with a "prove it" and nothing else.

Challenge. Accepted. 

Paige wants to hide? Wants not to believe her? Fine. Azzi'll be more obvious. More bold.

Because it was high time for Paige to Fudd around and Find out.

Azzi waits until Paige is taking a break between sets, elbows resting on her knees, not so subtly observing Azzi through the reflection.

Then Azzi sets her weights down gently and locks eyes with Paige through the mirror.

Smirking ever so slightly, she reaches down to the hem of her shirt, thumbing it. Tracking the way Paige's eyes follow her movement. 

And slowly, performatively, Azzi lifts it up, peeling the sweat soaked fabric from abdomen, arching just slightly as she lifts it over her head, tossing it carelessly to the ground. 

She cocks her head in the mirror, rolling her shoulders back once, then casually thumbs the band of her sports bra to adjust it— flashing the tiniest bit of underboob, nipples already peaked from the open layer of sweat hitting air conditioning.

Her chest is glistening. Her abs are sculpted. Her sports bra hugs her chest perfectly, skin tight and slick over miles of bare, gleaming muscles. 

Azzi tugs at the waistband of her shorts, revealing the v line of her hips, fingers dipping under the material with mock innocence, rolling the top twice for good measure. 

Azzi smiles as she watches Paige's eyes jump from Azzi's back to her frontal reflection in the mirror. Watches as Paige swallows thickly, unable to tear her gaze away. Watches the red bloom across her cheeks when she realizes Azzi has caught her.

Azzi just gives a little tilt of the head. What's wrong?

She puts her headphones back on. Slips into her next set like nothing happened. But this time, each movement— each bend, each thrust is accentuated with taunting calculation.

When she finishes, she tilts her head back, panting, letting out a breathy groan of exhaustion.

She doesn't have to look to know Paige is watching— ogling the way her sweat glistens on her chest and neck, the way the overhead lights catch the curve of her breasts, heaving with each pant.

And then—clang.

She looks over.

Paige, red-faced and scrambling, has knocked over a rack of resistance bands and sliders.

Perfect.

Azzi walks over slowly, each step intentional. She crouches beside Paige, smirking.

"Need help?" She keeps her voice low and sultry. 

"Oh! Uh—sure. Yeah," Paige stammers, eyes everywhere but her.

Azzi picks up a band and tosses it into the bin. "You should be more careful," she says, intentionally brushing Paige's shoulder with a hand. "You could hurt yourself."

"I'm fine," Paige mutters, flustered. The blonde tries to stand but trips over her feet. 

Azzi steadies her. 

One hand grips Paige's bicep, and the other presses flat against her stomach. 

Azzi feels Paige's abs clench.

She doesn't move. Not right away.

Not when Paige is looking at her like that— wide eyed and breath shaky. Azzi lingers. Studies her face, searching for a hint of truth, a hint of something real.

Is she nervous?  Turned on? About to run again?

Paige's throat bobs. Her lips part like she wants to say something. Nothing comes out.

Azzi's gaze drops to her mouth, then back up, corner of her lips twisting.  Then she leans closer until there is barely an inch of space between them.

"You don't seem fine." Her voice is a syrupy calm.

Then, deliberately, Azzi's hand drags up Paige's body. Fingers working into her arm muscle, palm dragging up her abs, grazing the underside of her chest. And then she stops at the slope of Paige's shoulders. Starts massaging them out.

And Paige just lets her. Breathless. Rigid.

"You seem…" Azzi scrunches her nose as if thinking. Smiles when she lands on it. "Tense."

She drags the word out like she's tasting it. Like she wants Paige to feel it deep in her spine.

"I could help you with that too." Her voice is sweet, like sugar.

Paige blinks. Panting. Her voice is barely audible when she gravels out, "What the fuck are you doing, Fudd?"

Azzi blinks up at her like it's obvious. "I'm doing what you asked." 

I'm proving it.

She watches as Paige's eyes narrow into slits, trying to decode the ambiguity. Azzi smirks, savoring the moment realization flicker across Paige's face— confusion melting into recognition, and then something darker. Hunger. Want.

Paige opens her mouth to say something, maybe to kiss her or confess or tell her off, but Azzi doesn't let her.

Doesn't want her to, not yet.

She needs Paige to want it. Ache for it. Feel it.

Prove it back.

So Azzi steps away, leaving Paige stunned and aching.

She stalks back to her rack. She picks up her Gatorade bottle and lazily squirts it into her mouth. 

She lets some of the liquid drips down the side of her lip, sticky red drops trickling down her chin, rolling down her neck and into the valley of her breasts, disappearing into her sports bra. 

She swallows, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. 

Holds the bottle out to Paige. 

"Thirsty?" 

And Paige Bueckers quite literally darts out of the room. Flees for the door, letting it slam behind her, abandoning her phone, her water bottle, and all her belongings behind her.

Azzi just laughs. 

This was going to be fun.

[happyk44]

[ID: Text reading: And Cain talked with Abel his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him.

And the Lord said unto Cain, Where is Abel they brother? And he said, I know not: Am I my brother’s keeper?

2. Text reading: What is evil anyway, a sad soul infected with devils who take his will, or a man thinking of all his mother’s children he loves himself the best?

3. Illustration. Two figures watch a flaming car from a safe distance. One of the figures is completely yellow, like a bright light. The other figure is dark and shadowed beside them.

4. Text reading: The first thing God made is love then comes blood and the thirst for blood

5. Text reading: Two brothers are fighting by the side of the road. Two motorbikes have fallen over on the shoulder, leaking oil into the dirt, while the interlocking brothers grapple and swing. You see them through the backseat window as you and your parents drive past. You are twelve years old. You do not have a brother. You have never experienced anything ferocious or intentional with another person.

6. Text reading: Brother, my brother Oh, now the darkness comes alive It comes for me and I come for you

7. Text reading: This is my brother and I need a shovel to love him.

8. Text reading: [Roman:] You fucking bastard.

Kendall: I love you, man.

Roman: I fucking hate you.

9. Text reading: They are the same and they are not the same. They are the same and they hate each other for it.

10. Painting. Abel lies on the ground, trying to shield himself with one hand while Cain stands over him, one foot on his brother to keep him down, arms raised and ready to swing his club. The colours of the piece are mostly dark and muted, but Abel is coloured much more lightly, as though a beam were shining down against his chest and face. Cain is heavily shadowed, save for part of his face displaying focused intent, the length of his arm as he prepares to kill his brother, and the leg he’s used to keep Abel pinned.

11. Painting. Abel lies splayed out on the ground. Gripping a stick in one hand, Cain leans against a nearby rock and stares at his brother.

12. Text reading: and I killed my brother I had to and only wish I hadn’t washed my hands in the river the water remembers so long

13. Text reading: I really love you, but I can’t fucking stomach you.

14. Text reading: “If you have a sister and she dies, do you stop saying you have one? Or are you always a sister, even when the other half of the equation is gone?”

15. Text reading: there is something wrong with you

There is something wrong with you that is also wrong with me

16. Tumblr post from @/vampowers dated July 22nd 2023: sibling relationships are so strange… like I love you. You will never understand me in a way that matters. We are the same person in drastically different ways. We are sewn together. We don’t talk. We are attached at the hip. You wish I was never born. Can I call you. Let’s eat together. I forgive you. Etc

17. Text reading: You ask would I have done it for a husband or a child my answer is no I would not. A husband or a child can be replaced but who can grow me a new brother.

18. Text reading: Your sister haunts you. Your sister was wounded, long before she was killed. Your sister has always been wounded.

19. Text reading: Roman: Why do you love trying to hurt me do you think?

Shiv: It’s something to pass the time I guess?

20. Painting. The version of the painting has been cropped. In the full version, three women, anthromorphised depicts of Courage, Despair and Anxiety, hide behind a large rock observing a battle. What is visible in this cropped version is Anxiety gripping her shawl while Courage holds her wrist. Courage leans away from the other two. Despair sits further behind them in the shadows.

21. Text reading: You who I called brother How could you have come to hate me so? Is this what you wanted?

22. Text reading: And Cain says, “When you split me and my brother in the womb, you did not divide us evenly. He got kindness, and I got longing. He got complacence, and I got ambition. I want to kill him sometimes. I think sometimes he wants to die.”

23. Text reading: Who kills their own brother? Well, someone who loves him very much.

24. Tiktok comment from corinne reading, “I was so selfish. I was just a kid. I was so mad. I’m so sorry”

25. Text reading: And what can I tell you my brother, my killer What can I possibly say? I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you I’m glad you stood in my way

26. Text reading: hello, brother, hello? hello in there, brother, can you hear me? it’s a long tunnel to the grave

27. Still from the TV show, Succession. The three Roy siblings - Roman, Kendall, and Siobhan - stand in a room. While they're standing beside on another, there's decent space between the three of them.

28. Text reading: Oh, I could call you names now. List a hundred reasons for why you were awful. But what would that do? Where would it leave me? [highlight] I still loved you. I still have to live with that. [end highlight]

29. Text reading: In the Field, the ground warms as blood seeps into the dirt.

/end ID]

MY BROTHER / MY KILLER

"The King James Bible, Genesis 4 / "Black Leopard, Red Wolf" by Marlon James / "Car Crash" by Jenna Andersen / "Stratis Thalassinos Among the Agapanthi" by George Seferis (tr. by Edmund Keeley) / "You are Jeff" by Richard Siken (1) / "Brother" by The Rural Alberta Advantage / "A Brother named Gethsemane" by Natalie Diaz / "Succession" Script (1) / "You are Jeff" by Richard Siken (2) / "Cain Killing Abel" by Pietro Novelli / "The Death of Abel" by Gustave Doré (1866), recolored / "Lupa" by Matthew Nienow / Succession, S04 EP 10, "With Open Eyes" / "My Sister's Keeper" by Jodi Picoult / “Mirror Traps” by Hera Lindsay Bird / post by tumblr user vampowers / "Antigone", tr. by Anne Carson / "6 ways to draw a circle" by tumblr user filmnoirsbian / "Succession" Script (2) / "Courage, Anxiety and Despair Watching The Battle" by James Sant (detail) / "The Plagues", Prince of Egypt, dir. by Brenda Chapman / untitled poem by tumblr user nathanielorion (1) / "After Abel" by Dante Émile / comment from tiktok / "Famous Blue Raincoat" by Leonard Cohen / "For my unnamed brother" by Toi Derricotte / Succession screenshot / untitled, Sue Zhao / untitled poem by tumblr user nathanielorion (2)

[041ahy]

3 STRIKES

‎‏➤ badboy niki x badgirl female reader

(enemies to lovers trope)

➤ synopsis ᝰ.ᐟ : Their minds were cages, and neither knew how to escape, they hated each other—until hate wasn’t enough. Now it’s three strikes. One night. One chance.

⭑ wc: 3.9k ┆ ⭑ tw !! ➤ Sexual content, underage drinking and smoking, self-harm, physical violence, domestic abuse, toxic relationships, emotional manipulation, profanity, mental health themes, mature language.

⚠︎ This story contains mature and potentially triggering content. Please read at your own discretion. If you are sensitive to any of the topics listed, feel free to skip.

ꪆৎ

“You’re staring again,” YN said, not looking at him. Her lips glistened under the neon lights.

Ni-Ki leaned in, voice low. “You’re not that interesting.”

She smirked. “Then why do you look at me like you wanna ruin me?”

He didn’t blink. “Because I do. Break you. Taste you.”

Her breath hitched. Just barely.

“You wish,” she snapped.

He smirked back. “Keep telling yourself that.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

She looked like sin and she knew it.

Mini skirt, glossed lips, and a strut that made people part like water. But she wasn’t here for the attention. Not really. Not for the music either, or the cheap liquor, or the fake laughs from fake friends.

She always ended up at parties like this—dark lights, loud bass, sweat in the air—not because she enjoyed them…

But maybe, just maybe, he’d be here.

Not that she’d ever admit it. Not even to herself.

And there he was.

Of course he was.

Leaning against the back wall like he owned the damn place, black shirt, cigarette dangling from his lips. Ni-Ki. Always with Jake and Jay, always too cool to care, and always watching like he knew something she didn’t.

Their eyes met.

She didn’t blink. Neither did he.

He smirked. Slow. Arrogant.

And then—

The audacity, he winked.

“Motherfucker,” she muttered under her breath, jaw tight.

She turned on her heel, straight to the table lined with shot glasses. If she had to see his smug face all night, she might as well be drunk for it.

The vodka burned going down. Good.

So did the feeling crawling up her spine.

She was partying like she gave a damn—dancing, laughing too loud, letting the bass replace the thoughts in her head. Her so-called friends were around, glittered and drunk, but YN felt like she was floating through it all. Detached. Sharp edges dulled by alcohol and attitude.

Then she felt it.

That stare.

Hard.

Heavy.

Burning into her skin.

She didn’t look. Wouldn’t. Whoever it was could fuck off. She kept dancing.

But the feeling lingered.

The bathroom reeked of tequila and vanilla perfume. Her heels clicked against the floor as she stepped out of the stall, adjusting her top, patting under her eyes. The mirror told her she looked good.

Too good to care.

Until—

There he was.

Leaning against the wall like the hallway was built just for him. Same damn smirk. Same cigarette behind his ear. Same cologne—spicy, warm, and toxic like him.

Ni-Ki.

She didn’t speak. Neither did he. That smirk was louder than words.

“You run from every mirror or just the ones that show too much?”

His voice was low, casual, too close.

YN rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. “Get a new personality. That one’s expired.”

She pushed past him, but his hand shot out—grabbing her arm.

Too hard.

Right there.

On the bruise she’d been hiding for weeks. It wasn’t healing.

She hissed.

His eyes dropped to it.

No smirk now.

He didn’t say a word. Just stared. Hard. Like he saw through her skin, down to whatever was left.

YN yanked her arm back, fury and shame rising like acid. “Touch me again, and I swear to God—”

But she didn’t finish. She didn’t have to.

She walked away.

Didn’t look back. And Ni-Ki?

He didn’t call after her. Didn’t follow.

He just watched her walk away.

And for once, the smirk was gone.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Hallways packed. Noise. Movement. Too many people trying to matter. Ni-Ki sat slouched in the corner of the school courtyard, legs spread, hoodie half-off, smoke curling from Jake’s mouth beside him. Jay was talking shit about someone’s car. Dumb. Loud. Stupid friends. But he loved them.

Then—grip. Hard. On his shoulder.

Before he could react, he was yanked up.

“You’ve got a fucking problem with me, Nishimura?”

Of course.

Him.

The same greasy punk always trying to prove something. Always stepping where he shouldn’t. Blonde highlights, leather jacket, eyebrow piercing that screamed wannabe villain.

Ni-Ki tilted his head, lips twitching. “Yeah,” he said simply, eyes dark. “Your face.”

Then it was fists. Cracking bones. Shouts. Blood on knuckles, laughter in his throat. Ni-Ki fought like he didn’t care about anything. Because maybe he didn’t. The guy landed a solid punch—right across his mouth. Blood. Sharp. Hot. Ni-Ki licked it off his lip and grinned. And then—his eyes shifted.

Her.

Across the crowd, standing still. YN. Looking straight at him. Unmoving. Unbothered. Unblinking. He smirked wider, even with blood dripping down his chin. Raised an eyebrow. Slow. Mocking. Like the whole fight had been for her. She didn’t flinch.

But he knew—she wanted to punch him too.

Maybe more than anyone else here.

And maybe… he wanted her to.

Ni-Ki cracked his neck, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and turned away. Walked off with Jake and Jay like nothing happened. Behind him, the blonde was sprawled cold on the floor. Unconscious. Forgotten.

But that look in her eyes?

He’d be thinking about it all night.

ꪆৎ

He wasn’t even trying to clean the blood right. Just smearing it around with the back of his sleeve like that would fix shit.

Then he heard her.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Her voice—sharp, smug, familiar.

The kind that made him want to choke her or kiss her depending on the minute. Ni-Ki rolled his eyes without looking up. “Didn’t realize I asked for commentary.”

“Didn’t realize you were this stupid,” she shot back, stepping closer.

Before he could answer with something nasty, she grabbed a cotton pad from her bag—God knows why she even had one—and started dabbing at his busted lip like it was nothing.

Until—

“Shit—what the fuck, YN?”

He jerked when she pressed too hard.

“Don’t be a baby,” she said flatly, not even looking at him. “You don’t know how to clean wounds, apparently.”

He glared. She ignored him.

“You like taking hits, but you don’t know how to take care of yourself. Typical.”

He scoffed. “So you do care about me.”

She paused. Brief. Almost dangerous. Then shoved the cotton harder into his cheek. “I care about not watching you die from an infected cut, dumbass.”

He hissed again. She smirked—evil.

By the time she finished, she tossed the bloody cotton away like it disgusted her, spun on her heel, and started walking. Naturally, Ni-Ki trailed after her like the menace he was.

“Didn’t know I needed a nurse. You got any other hidden talents, Princess?”

“Yeah,” she muttered, not stopping. “I can disappear. Wanna see?”

“Feisty. Damn. No wonder I can’t stop thinking about you.”

She flipped him off over her shoulder. He grinned wider.

By the time they reached the school gate, the sun had dipped just enough to cast shadows. Ni-Ki swung one leg over his motorcycle, helmet dangling from one handlebar. He revved it once, loud and proud, before calling out:

“Bye, Princess.”

She turned. Eyebrow raised.

He winked. “Thanks for patching me up.”

Full smirk. Bleeding lip. Hair messy. Still hot.

YN?

She gave him the middle finger. Held it up nice and proud.

“Fuck off, Ni-Ki.”

He laughed—loud and real—and finally slipped his helmet on. As he sped off down the street, dust and attitude in his wake, YN kept walking, and then— Smiled. Just a little. A stupid, small, fucking smile.

ꪆৎ

Home.

If you could even call it that.

The second she stepped through the front door, the yelling hit her like a wall. Her mom’s voice sharp, her dad’s deeper—both slurred, both violent, both full of venom they couldn’t swallow.

Crash. Shouting. Slap.

She didn’t flinch anymore. She just walked past. But it didn’t matter how quiet she moved. The second her dad’s eyes landed on her—

“Look at her—standing there like a fucking princess while we rot.”

She didn’t even look up. Just kept walking.

Didn’t stop them.

“Fucking answer me when I’m talking to you!”

She turned—slow, empty.

Then came the blow.

His hand. Her mother’s shove. Someone’s bottle smashing near her feet.

Familiar bruises. Familiar ache.

She didn’t scream. She never did.

Her room was her grave and her shelter. She locked the door, flicked the light off, and sank to the floor.

The yelling still echoed through the thin walls, but she’d learned to block it out. A lighter flicked. Cigarette lit. She pulled the smoke in like it was oxygen. Let it burn. Her arm throbbed. Not from the hit— From earlier.

From the fresh cut she made last night, shallow and careless. Just enough to feel something. She was numb everywhere else.

YN was bad.

Not because she wanted to be.

Because that’s what life made her.

She drank.

She smoked.

She skipped class.

Her grades were trash.

She vaped between school buildings, kissed strangers when she felt nothing, and laughed when things were too quiet. No one knew what went on behind her locked door. No one knew that being a “bad girl” was just her version of surviving.

And if Ni-Ki ever found out?

She didn’t know if he’d laugh—

Or see himself in her.

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The bass was shaking the floor, lights low and bodies everywhere — but all eyes turned when she walked in. Mini dress hugging her curves like a second skin, smoky eyes sharp, lips glossed and wicked. She didn’t walk — she owned the room. But she wasn’t here for the attention. Her eyes scanned the crowd with purpose.

“Looking for him?”

A voice, low and teasing, pulled her from her thoughts. She turned, already knowing.

Jake.

Messy hair. Dressed like he didn’t try — still looked like a sin.

She smirked. “Maybe. Maybe I was looking for you.”

That made him raise a brow, leaning in. Their faces were close. Too close.

“Is that so?”

His voice was a low purr now, the kind that curled under your skin. YN didn’t back down. She tilted her head, fingers brushing lightly against the hem of his shirt. Flirting? Flaming.

“Wouldn’t mind getting lost in your accent for a night,” she whispered.

Jake let out a deep, throaty laugh —

Then stilled.

“Well, shit…” he muttered. “Looks like we got someone’s attention.”

She didn’t even have to turn, she felt it. That stare.

Burning. Heavy.

She turned her head slowly — and there he was.

Ni-Ki.

Fist clenched at his side.

Jaw locked.

Leaning against the wall like a demon freshly carved from marble —Jealousy radiating off him in waves.

Their eyes met. Locked.

And YN?

She turned right back to Jake. Laughed at something he didn’t say. Let her fingers trail a little higher up his chest. Close enough that their lips nearly touched. Jake? Enjoying every fucking second.

“He’s gonna murder me,” Jake whispered with a grin, eyes still on her mouth.

YN smiled sweetly. “Then maybe you should kiss me before he gets the chance.”

But they both knew. She wasn’t Jake’s. She never was.

And deep, deep down?

Jake knew it too. She was off-limits.

To who?

He didn’t even need to ask.

ꪆৎ

The night was colder than expected, but YN didn’t feel it. Not with the vodka burning her throat and the cigarettes burning her lungs. Stick after stick. Drag after drag. Her heels dug into the gravel as she leaned back against the brick wall, exhaling smoke like it was oxygen. The music thumped through the walls behind her.

The laughter. The chaos. The lies.

She lit another. Took a swig straight from the bottle. Her throat screamed. She didn’t care.

“Had fun flirting with my friends?”

She didn’t need to look. That voice was etched into her bones by now.

Ni-Ki.

She let out a low chuckle. “Aww, baby. You jealous?”

Another drag. “Didn’t think you cared.”

He stepped closer, pulling a cigarette from his jacket, and she caught it — the brand. Same as hers, typical.

“Didn’t say I cared,” he muttered, lighting it. “Just asked a question.”

“Then yeah,” she said, still not looking at him. “Had a great time.”

They stood side by side in the dark, under that goddamn flickering streetlamp, smoke curling between them. No words. Just silence. Heavy. Loud. Dangerous. Until— He turned, and stared. His eyes dragged over her arm — the way her dress had shifted slightly, exposing the bruise.

Bright. Ugly. Raw.

YN caught it. Saw the way his gaze hardened, jaw tightened. She exhaled smoke again and smiled lazily. Like it meant nothing.

“Oh. That?” she said, lifting her arm slightly like she was showing off jewelry. “Dad. Bad aim tonight.”

Ni-Ki blinked. Once. Twice.

Like he didn’t hear her right.

“Are you fucking serious?”

YN snorted. Took another shot from the bottle.

“What, you surprised? C’mon, Ni-Ki. I thought you knew I’m a mess.”

He stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time. Like all the sarcasm was just a shield he’d never noticed was cracked. She smiled again. But this one… it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Still wanna fuck me now?” she asked, voice dripping.

Ni-Ki didn’t answer.

Just dragged in another breath of smoke. And the silence returned. Thicker this time. Like a secret neither of them knew how to hold.

The silence was thick—

Heavy enough to choke on.

“You’re staring again,” YN said, not looking at him. Her lips glistened under the neon lights.

Ni-Ki leaned in, voice low. “You’re not that interesting.”

She smirked. “Then why do you look at me like you wanna ruin me?”

He didn’t blink. “Because I do. Break you. Taste you.”

Her breath hitched. Just barely.

“You wish,” she snapped.

He smirked back. “Keep telling yourself that.”

YN took one last drag, watching the smoke curl like venom from her lips. Ni-Ki turned to her, eyes unreadable under the flickering lamp. Then, slowly—too slowly—he flicked his half-burnt cigarette to the ground and stepped in front of her.

Close. Too close.

“You done pretending you don’t want me?”

Her heart skipped. But her face? Still smug.

“You done acting like you’re not obsessed with me?”

That grin. That fucking Ni-Ki grin spread across his face. He tilted his head, eyes dragging from her eyes to her mouth, to her bruised arm. And then he grabbed her wrist. Firm. Not rough. But firm.

“Let’s go.”

“Excuse me?” she scoffed, pulling back, vodka bottle clinking against her thigh.

He didn’t even blink. Grabbed her hand harder, tugged her toward the curb—toward his parked black motorcycle. She resisted. “Ni-Ki, what the fuck—”

He shoved the helmet over her head, ignoring her shoves, her swears, the bottle falling from her grasp and rolling away.

“If you don’t want me to do this the hard way,” he murmured against her ear, voice dark and filthy, “then I suggest you shut your pretty little mouth.”

And that did it.

Her breath. Gone.

She froze. The air was suddenly too hot. Her thighs pressed together without thinking.

He smirked — knowing.

And got on the bike.

“On. Now.”

So she climbed on. Furious. Breathless. Drunk. Turned on.

“So,” she purred, kicking her heels off at the door. “How many girls have you dragged here, Nishimura?”

He dropped the keys onto the counter, not turning to face her.

“What, jealous?”

“Pfft,” she scoffed. “As if I’d be jealous of the girls who’ve already had your dick.”

He turned then.

Slowly.

Eyes raking her up and down like she was the only girl in the world.

“Trust me,” he said, voice low and sinful,

“None of them made it past the front door.”

Boom.

Her stomach flipped. She hated it.

Loved it.

His bedroom was messy. Cold. Stark. But he didn’t waste time. He pulled open his drawer and tossed a first aid kit on the bed, motioning for her to sit.

“This again?” she rolled her eyes but sat anyway. He sat beside her. Too close. The tension could cut flesh. He dabbed alcohol on the bruise and she hissed, grabbing the bed sheets tight.

“Still terrible at this,” she muttered.

“Still pretending you’re not into it,” he whispered back, pressing harder.

Her eyes shot up to his—dark, half-lidded, consuming. They were too close.

The air? Gone.

Every breath was loaded. Their faces inches apart. His hand still holding her arm. Her lips parted. His gaze dipped.

“Say the word,” he said, voice like fucking molten sin, “and I’ll ruin you.”

And YN?

She just smiled.

“You already are.”

His hand still held her wrist — thumb pressed just below the bruise. Too close. Too long. Too much.

Their breathing had synced without permission.

Her chest rose. His jaw clenched. Their eyes locked like a goddamn battlefield.

“Why are you still touching me?” she sneered.

“Or do you just get off on pretending you care?”

Ni-Ki smirked, cocking his head.

“Nah,” he drawled, voice thick like smoke and sex.

“I just like watching you squirm.”

Her breath hitched — barely — but he caught it.

Of course he did.

“And I really like how your thighs keep fucking clenching every time I speak, princess.”

YN’s eyes narrowed, fire licking her spine.

“In your dreams, Nishimura.”

“Sweetheart,” he leaned in, breath ghosting her lips, “If I dreamt it, you wouldn’t be wearing this much clothes.”

And that fucking did it.

Snap.

She grabbed his collar — sharp, fast.

He gripped her waist — hard, like a promise.

And then—

Lips crashed.

Teeth clinked.

It wasn’t a kiss.

It was war.

Her nails scraped down his neck.

His hands were already under her thighs, pulling her into his lap like he owned her.

“I hate you,” she spat against his mouth, biting his lip.

“Say it again,” he growled, rutting against her like an animal. “Say it while you grind your needy little hips on me.” She moaned — fuck, she hated that she did.

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re dripping,” he whispered darkly,

“Say you don’t want me, but your body’s screaming like a fucking liar.”

Her fingers tangled in his hair, yanking his head back.

“You’re a mistake.”

“Then make me again,” he hissed, lips at her neck,“Let me fuck that hate right out of you.”

And god, their bodies were chaos. Clothes still on, but shifting. Writhing. Heat and heat and more heat. Hands on skin. Mouths everywhere. Every moan had a curse under it. Every touch came with a threat.

“You’re still the same broken girl,” he whispered in her ear, “but I’ll be the one who breaks you properly.”

And she?

She kissed him harder — like she wanted to drown in him just to prove him wrong. Because hate never felt this fucking good.

The second her back hit the mattress, his body followed — pressing down, caging her in, breath fanning across her skin like a warning.

“Still pretending you don’t want this?” he muttered, voice gravel and sin.

“Still pretending you’re not replaceable?” she shot back.

His laugh was low — dark.

His fingers hooked under the hem of her dress, dragging it slowly up her thighs, knuckles brushing skin like a dare.

“If I’m replaceable,” he whispered against her knee,“why haven’t you let anyone else touch you like this?”

She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked.“Because no one’s been as fucking annoying.”

“Liar,” he smirked, sliding the fabric higher, inch by inch.

“You like it when I ruin your night. You love hating me.”

And she did. God, she did.

Because right now, his mouth was on her thigh, biting. Teasing. And she couldn’t breathe. Her hips rolled up on instinct — he caught it.

“See?” he rasped. “Your body’s desperate for me.”

His lips trailed higher. Over bruises. Over secrets. Over places no one else had ever dared touch. And when she moaned — soft, bitten — his hands dug into her thighs like he’d earned it.

“Say it,” he murmured, teeth grazing her skin.

“Say you want me.”

“I’d rather choke,” she hissed. He smirked against her stomach. “Then open that pretty mouth, baby. I’ll give you something better to choke on.”

Her legs locked around his waist before she could stop herself. And then everything blurred. Hands pulling. Mouths crashing. Her dress hit the floor. His shirt was gone. Skin on skin, sweat slick, breathless curses and matching bruises. Her nails left scratches down his back. His hands roamed like he was mapping her body — just to destroy it.

“You think I’m weak?” she panted, biting his jaw.

“Think you’ve got power over me?”

“No,” he growled, lips at her ear.

“I think you’re already mine.”

And when he sank into her — slow, deep, deliberate — They both broke. Because the hate didn’t matter. Not when she clung to him like a lifeline. Not when he kissed her like he couldn’t fucking stop.

“Ni-Ki—”

“Don’t say my name like that unless you mean it.”

“I don’t.”

“Then moan it instead.”

And she did.

Again.

And again.

Their bodies moved like violence, like poetry, like war. No love. Just lust. No sweetness. Just need. But when they collapsed together, limbs tangled in the sheets, hearts hammering and breath uneven— he didn’t move away. And neither did she. Because somehow, in the mess of sex and spite— they found something that felt dangerously close to home.

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She woke to heat.

Not from the blankets. Not from the room.

From him.

His arm was draped over her bare waist. Their legs tangled. Her body sore in all the right places — and his gaze?

Burning.

Ni-Ki laid there like he owned the goddamn morning. That same smug look painted across his stupidly perfect face, one hand lazily tracing circles into her hip bone like they hadn’t just ripped each other apart hours ago.

“You done staring?” she snapped, voice hoarse.

“You done pretending you didn’t like it?” he fired back, tongue sliding across his bottom lip.

She groaned, shoving the covers off her naked body and grabbing the nearest shirt — his, obviously. Oversized, black, and still reeking of cologne and sin. He watched her move — shameless. Like she hadn’t shattered under him. Like she hadn’t clawed at his back and moaned his name like it was her only language.

“Leaving already?” he muttered, arms behind his head now. “Didn’t even get to say thank you.”

“Thank you?” she scoffed, pulling her shorts up with jerky hands.

“For what? The emotional damage?”

“For the best fucking night of your life,” he said casually, eyes heavy-lidded as he watched her bend. She rolled her eyes and turned for the door. But he moved fast — faster than she expected. Suddenly, her back hit the wall, his body caging her in again, eyes dark, lips parted, still breathless.

“You’re not walking out like that,” he said lowly.

“Not after the way you were moaning for me.”

Her pulse jumped.

“Get off me—”

“You sure?” he whispered, hand sliding beneath the hem of her shirt, gripping her thigh, pressing in slowly.

“Because your body’s already begging.”

She tried to glare. She really did. But her hands were already clutching his shoulders, breath catching, lips just a breath away from his.

“We shouldn’t,” she said, but it was shaky. Weak.

“You’re right,” he muttered, lifting her effortlessly against the wall, sliding her up until her legs wrapped around his waist again.

“We really fucking shouldn’t.”

And just like that—

Their mouths collided again. Hot. Messy. Desperate. Nothing soft. Nothing clean. It wasn’t love. Not yet. But it was something —

Something dangerous.

Something they couldn’t walk away from. And when she whispered his name again, half-choked and breathless, he cursed under his breath like she was the sin he’d die repeating. Her nails dug into his shoulders. His breath fanned hot across her lips.

She hated him.

God, she hated how he smelled like sweat and smoke and midnight. She hated how his grip bruised. How his fingers curled around her thighs like he owned them.

“You want this?” he murmured, teeth grazing her jaw, lips ghosting over her throat.

“Say it.”

“I want you to shut up,” she spat, but her hips betrayed her — tilting closer, pulling him in.

“You’re so fucking full of yourself, Ni-Ki.”

“And you’re so fucking full of shit,” he growled back, voice rough against her collarbone.

“But your thighs are wrapped around me again, princess. So which is it?”

He kissed her like it was punishment. Teeth. Tongue. Bruising lips. Fingers rough, yanking the fabric of her shorts higher, just to hear her gasp against his mouth.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was war.

Their mouths clashed, teeth knocking, her hands tangled in his hair, his in the back of her shirt. The heat between them burned, reckless and unspoken, all the tension from every smirk, every stare, every insult— “You act like you hate me,” he whispered, sliding a hand under her shirt, thumb brushing skin.

“But your body? It’s fucking begging.”

“Touch me,” she dared, voice low. “See what happens.”

His mouth curved — dark, dangerous.

“I’ll ruin you.”

ꪆৎ

They never said “I love you.”

Not in the traditional way.

Not with flowers. Not with promises.

They said it through bruised lips and blood-warm hands. Through cigarettes lit in silence. Through whispered insults that bled into kisses.

He held her down — not to control her, but to steady her. She let him — not because she was weak, but because he was the only thing that didn’t lie to her face.

“Can you hold me down for one night, like I got three strikes?”

She asked once, voice quiet in the dark.

He didn’t answer. He just pulled her closer. Laid her chaos next to his. And stayed. They weren’t healing — not completely. But wrapped in each other’s vices, chests rising slow, breath hot with liquor and lust, they found something close.

“I need you to free me, it’s a prison inside my mind.”

And he did — in his own reckless, fucked-up way.

He broke her.

He tasted her.

He rolled her up like northern lights and made her feel again.

Lit up, burnt out… closer to God than we’ve ever been now.

They still cursed. Still fought. Still clawed at each other like survival.

But when the world went quiet, when the lights went low— He was hers.

And she was already gone.

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“Maybe we were each other’s third strike — the final hit before it all burned, but fuck, at least we went down holding on.”

FINISH