#pulse of the machine asks

[bringthekaos]

Hey! Just wanted to say that I'm loving your Divorce Era fics! Finished Pulse of the Machine a bit ago and I'm working my way through the rest. You do such a great job of blending all versions of Viktor's lore - OG, 2016, Arcane - into something that feels natural, exciting, and so very Viktor! And you even managed to incorporate some of the more controversial aspects of his 2016 lore while still maintaining his characterization! (something Riot chose to sacrifice for the sake of establishing the general feel of League's factions). As someone who played League for years and loved OG Viktor, it's so nice to see his pre-Arcane elements being included in the Jayvik community. Your work has been so fun to read, and just- Aaaaaaaah!! Words are failing me! Thank you for sharing your work with all of us! P.S. I hope you do decide to make a sequel to Pulse, since you've set it up so nicely for one! (How do they free Viktor from his condition? What is Renata going to do with that Hexcore-harvested plant venom? What shenanigans do Cait and Vi get up to on their Council-ordered leave? (Love how you write those two together too!))

So sorry this took me so long to answer, but I was literally speechless. Just… thank you so much!!! This means so much to me! I’ve still never played League, I only got into all of this in ‘21 when season 1 came out, but I really did fall in love with Viktor’s (and Jayce’s!) game lore, and did my best to learn all about it! There are elements of both that I love (for instance I adore Talis and lean a little more heavily toward Talis than Gio, but I do still love Gio and his bitter divorced dad energy). And I kinda just melded the two together in a way that I hoped was smooth and genuine, and to know that I succeeded? From someone who has been following the lore long before I ever got here?? It makes me wanna break down and cry with gratitude. I really do wish they had kept the Machine Herald, and I’m still salty about it. And for a while, I was super depressed thinking I could never again write MH because he doesn’t exist anymore.

But then I decided that he’s mine now, haha. I will keep him alive by continuing to write him. Which leads me to the second portion of your ask! I still would love to write a sequel to Pulse, I did have some plot bunnies marinating in my head for it, but I never really solidified it. It was more just a collection of scenes than a fully fleshed out plot. But hopefully one day!! I loved writing Renata, and I would actually also love to work in Naph and Ama, if possible. I’m obsessed with the idea that both those kids took one look at this fucked up, emotionally repressed and lonely asshole and basically did this…

Fucking priceless.

Anyhoo, thank you again for such kind words, you made my whole year already and it’s only February! 💖

[sunlightfeeling]

i don’t remember making this gif 😅

but apparently i did!

…at around 8 in the morning

…on New Years’ Day how bored was i? jeez…

mmm wine… - Takuya, probably

smapxsmap: 2004.6.28

[lcb-pulse]

how are you finding the experience of having a human body

“… I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“But I will admit: I did not enjoy my fragile body. Which is why I took the opportunity to make certain modifications to it— Simply making myself more sturdy, is all. I suppose that has helped me in the long run, considering my slowly worsening condition.”

[buckysleftbicep]

lined up 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, sexual tension, dry humping, dominant!bucky, teasing, rough flirting, dirty talk

summary: bucky teaches you how to play pool. based on this request

word count: 995

author's note: pool is such a hot game, i love it, though i honestly suck at it.

The recreational room was quiet for once. No Alexei bellowing about rematches, no Yelena complaining about the vending machine, no sarcastic commentary from John. Just dim, flickering lights above, the low hum of some old speaker system, and the pool table that sat dead center like an unspoken challenge.

You shouldn’t have lingered. Should’ve kept walking when you saw him there, Bucky in a tactical tee with the sleeves pushed up, his forearms flexing as he chalked the cue with quiet focus.

But you didn’t walk away. Not when his rare good mood hung in the air like smoke. Not when his smirk was already loaded with trouble.

“Ever played before?” he asked, twirling the cue between his fingers so effortlessly it made your pulse skip.

“Once,” you replied, breath catching. “I sucked.”

His smile was slow, knowing. “I’ll teach you.”

Now you were bent over the edge of the table, cue in hand, trying not to squirm under the heat of his stare. You focused on the balls as hard as it was, instead of the way his shirt clung to his chest or how that muscle ticked in his jaw every time you shifted.

“Widen your stance,” Bucky murmured behind you, the sudden closeness making your breath hitch. “You’re too stiff.”

You obeyed before your brain even caught up, spreading your legs just slightly, only for him to step in behind you, boots heavy on the floor, presence unmistakable. His hands landed on your hips, strong and certain, the kind of grip that made your stomach twist with want.

“Here,” he said roughly, “let me help.”

He guided you forward until your body touched the table, the cool felt brushing your forearms as his front pressed against your back. You could feel him, heat and muscle, that dense, coiled strength that made him lethal on the field and devastating off it. The brush of his cock against your ass was unmistakable, and he didn’t even try to hide it.

“Bucky,” you breathed, voice catching.

“Shh,” he said, mouth near your ear, voice barely restrained. “Just showing you how it’s done.”

His metal hand slid down your side, cold against the heat of your skin, until it reached your hand on the cue. He adjusted your grip with slow, practiced movements, but his hips never moved away, if anything, he pressed in harder, grinding just enough to make your pulse stutter.

“Now bend over a little more.”

You obeyed, and that earned you a low, guttural sound. It wasn’t a word, it was need.

“You gotta stop doing that,” he murmured, grinding against you in a slow, filthy motion that made your thighs clench. “You’re making it real hard to focus.”

“I thought you were supposed to be teaching me,” you said with a faint, teasing lilt.

“Oh, I am,” he whispered, hips dragging against you again. “Lesson one: let me fuckin’ focus.”

Your smirk faltered when he pushed forward again, cock thick and hard through his jeans, grinding against your ass with agonising control. You gasped, hands tightening on the table.

“That part of the game?” you managed, voice shaking.

He chuckled darkly. “Only when you bend over the table like that, sweetheart.”

The cue was taken from your hand and dropped behind you without care. His flesh hand ran up your spine, then pushed gently between your shoulder blades until your cheek nearly touched the felt.

“Bucky-" you started, but he cut you off with a quiet growl.

“I’m not gonna fuck you here,” he said, grinding into you harder, his cock sliding exactly where you needed him. “Not yet. Just wanna feel you like this.”

You whimpered as he rocked against you again, the friction obscene. He was fully hard now, thick and heavy, and you could feel every inch of him through both layers of fabric. Your body arched instinctively into him, and he let out a dark, broken groan.

“You like teasing me?” he growled. “Wearing those tight little pants? Bending over like this? Think I haven’t noticed how you look at me during training?”

Your thighs pressed together without thinking, your whole body burning. Then his hand slid between your legs and pressed against your core. Even through your jeans, you knew he could feel how wet you were.

“Fucking soaked,” he muttered, his fingers pressing harder. “And I haven’t even touched you properly.”

“You’re insane,” you choked out, barely holding on.

“No,” he murmured. “I’m patient. If I wasn’t, your pants would already be around your ankles and this table would be shaking.”

The words made you clench, dizzy from the arousal pulsing through your body. His lips found your neck then, hot, rough, biting, the kind of messy affection that left no question about what he wanted. His metal hand squeezed your ass, fingers digging into the flesh with a possessiveness that made you moan.

“You think I’m not dying to fuck you right here?” he rasped. “Right now? But I’m not gonna. Not until you beg.”

You arched against him with a sound that was half whimper, half plea.

“Say it,” he growled. “Say please.”

You shook your head, panting, defiant even as your body screamed for him.

He froze behind you. Then, again, voice edged with steel.

“Say. It.”

Your voice trembled. “Please… Bucky. Please.”

The growl that rumbled from his chest was primal. His hips gave one more brutal grind into you, enough to make your knees buckle. And then, he stepped back.

The loss of contact was immediate and devastating. You spun to face him, trembling, wide-eyed, flushed with need.

“Why-?”

“You’re not ready,” he said smoothly, retrieving the cue like nothing had happened. “Not yet.”

“You bastard,” you muttered, voice wrecked.

He leaned in again, lips brushing your ear like a promise you’d never forget.

“Lesson two’s gonna be about patience, sweetheart.”

And then he lined up his shot, cue tapping the ball like he hadn’t just left you soaked and shaking.

a/n: also after writing this, i asked my boyfriend to teach me how to play pool properly ;)

[dmitriene]

cw: nasty simon.

accompanying your bluecollar mechanic boyfriend simon riley to his work, you do it more often than not, dragged with him to just sit prettily in the corner of the room while he works, staining himself in machine oil while changing it to some poor bloke that barely knows how things work, getting his shirt all soiled with black, absorbing stains, his gloved hands greasy, sinewy muscles pumped with the strain of working day and webbed over with swelling veins, as you glance curiously over every inch of him.

all these things make him messy, checking the fluid levels, rotating tires, repairing or replacing some obsolete parts in people's cars, doing a lot of long talk by explaining some of the curious ones what exactly he did right now, leaving simon's short hair damp with sweat that drips down his forehead, trailing over his angled neck and dipping below his exposed collarbones, shirt outstretched and worn, hanging low enough to expose his chest, right where it's dappled with darkening hairs and layer of softness.

flushed cheeks decorated with patchy stubble and smudges of soot that often mixes with oil simon gets on his gloves, leaving fat smears on his skin as he tries to wipe off the annoying sweat, and it's less for his own comfort than yours, because he leaves his working place here and there to indulge in your uninterrupted attention, walking in closer with his mouth clashing over yours, sloppy with sharp bites and insistent licking of his tongue inside, filthy with loud, lewd sucks that escape from between you, and he moans unabashedly, cock already strained hard.

simon get's you drunk off the taste and smell of him, smoky, sweaty and leaving a tang of metal in it's wake, something to savor when he gets back to work, hearing the distant rumble of another approaching car, leaving you yet again to watch and nibble down at your kiss swollen, spit moisten lips, bothered by the slick that now oozes out of your pulsing pussy to soak in your panties, and he sees it in the way your thighs cross together, lip tucked beneath your teeth, eyes getting that dazed, sweet look he loves to see.

he get's a handful of your perky ass after asking you to give him a screwdriver from a box laying on the floor, making you all but bent down and present your ass in the air for him to smack, small, stinging slap ringing out along with a squeaky shriek you get out, batting his groping, roughened hands away, but the guy simon talked with walked away for a short smoke, so you lean into the teasing touch, whimpering when his fingers catch at your clothed mound, circling, purring at you to wait just a bit more till his shift ends.

folding your body at the back seat of his truck should he close the service shop, your legs dangling in the cramped space, spread open wide and held tight with simon's calloused, digging fingers coiling beneath your bent knees, his body bowed forward, trapping you against the leathery seat and a closed door as his engorged cock rams into the hot, gripping clutch of your drippy cunt, shaking the vehicle from the force of his thrusts, your delightful sobs and mewls answering his molten groans of your name, splitting your hole beyond repair.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[swanlikely]

Current Brainrot: Brat Enabler Caleb!

Author's Note: The poll ended 50/50, so I made the executive (and very self-indulgent) decision to go with Brat Enabler Caleb! because sometimes I just wanna be spoiled, okay? Please check out the artist! (Artist & Her Ko-fi!)

not proof-read! (sorry if there are any errors - let me know and I'll fix it!)

CW: AFAB! reader, pet names, penetration, overstimulation, praise, light D/S dynamics, slight dacryphilia, and 'usage' of his bionic arm.

Caleb loves you like it’s coded into him. Like it’s in his blood, his bones, his circuitry.

He does it without effort, like breathing. Like the pulse of a machine: constant, precise, unyielding.

And he’d give you anything. Anything. Just one pout, one whimper, one soft little “Caleb, please”—and he’s dropping whatever he’s doing to hand it over. A brat’s dream. He doesn’t care if it’s indulgent or excessive or unnecessary. If you want it? You get it.

He’s always there. Cooking your favorite meals with one hand while the other; his right, sleek and gleaming with matte black plating—rests on the curve of your hip as you sit on the counter and sneak bites. That arm, the one people used to flinch at, has never once made you nervous. It’s part of him. Him, who tucks you in like you’re something breakable, who lifts you like you weigh nothing, who touches you with inhuman control and completely human care.

And right now, he’s using both hands: one warm, flesh and blood; the other cool, mechanical precision; to ruin you in the most delicious ways.

You’re spread out under him, legs trembling, body already gone boneless from orgasm after orgasm. You’ve stopped counting. It doesn’t matter. Caleb never stops at one. Or two. Or three.

His thick cock is buried in you, slow and steady, dragging against the places that make your vision flicker. One hand cradles your jaw; his real one, calloused and gentle. The other, his metal arm; is between your legs, thumb pressed to your clit, writing his name into you in soft, pretty patterns.

C. A. L. E. B.

Over and over again. Cold metal, careful pressure, devastating control.

Your skin is flushed, sticky with sweat. Your hands tremble where they grip at his broad shoulders, desperately trying to ground yourself. One of your legs is hooked over his waist, the other shaking helplessly against the mattress, every muscle twitching with the tension he’s building back up in you.

You're crying now, sobbing openly, your voice gone hoarse from how much you’ve moaned and gasped and begged. But he’s not stopping. He’s adoring. Reverent.

“Fuck Pips,” he groans, voice wrecked with how hard he’s holding back. “You’re everything.”

His thumb strokes another letter and you keen, your hips jerking. “Can’t—Caleb—too much, it’s too—”

“Yes, you can,” he coos, leaning in to kiss your parted lips. His tongue traces yours, measured and possessive, like he has all the time in the world. “You can take it. You are taking it. You always do.”

The flex of his hips deepens; calculated, but heavier now. Like he’s letting himself feel just a little more, just enough to tip you further. You feel him everywhere: inside you, against your clit, in the weight of his chest brushing yours, the tremble in his breath. He smells like sweat and heat and you. “You wanted this, remember? You asked for it. And you know I’d never say no to you.”

You grip at his back, your nails catching on the seam where flesh meets metal. He shudders; groans low in his throat, more sound than word.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, burying his face in your neck. “So pretty when you cry for me. So sweet, you were made for this. Made for me.”

You weep at the reminder—how easy it is with him. How good he is to you. The worship, the rapture, the indulgence of it all. The fact that you don’t even have to earn it. You just have to be.

His robotic hand doesn’t falter. Ever. Each movement is exactly what you need, no more, no less. Meticulous. Devoted.

You can feel it building again; your body tightening, coiling, heat spilling down your spine like liquid fire. Your walls flutter around him, desperate and close and so overstimulated. He feels it. He always does.

His voice drops into a growl, desperate and reverent all at once.

“Give it to me. C’mon, Pips—give it to me. Let me feel you fall apart.”

And you do.

You come again; shaking, sobbing, gripping him like a lifeline. Your cries fill the room, gasping and broken, and he keeps moving, keeps whispering, like your pleasure is something holy.

He was bullying your poor sloppy cunt, but in the sweetest way a man could: just enough to make it mean something, dragging it out so every pulse of pleasure felt personal. A gift he was determined to give you again and again, until you had no words left but his name.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “That’s my girl. Mine. Always.”

Only when you’ve gone limp beneath him, body completely undone, does he finally let himself go. His hips stutter, cock twitching deep inside you as he moans your name like a prayer. He stays buried, locked to you, his metal hand stroking your thigh now, pleasant and patient.

He kisses your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your swollen mouth.

“Breathe, baby,” he says softly, like he didn’t just wreck you with love and machinery and absolute, overwhelming need. “You did so good. My pretty girl.”

And even though you’re trembling, tears drying on your cheeks, the only thing you can do is nod: because it’s true.

Caleb would do anything for you. Break himself in half. Hold you together. Build you a new world with his bare hands.

And you would let him.

Because no one loves like he does.

No one ever will.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hi Pookie

I wanted to request A Max daughter one like Max and Kelly had the baby and the reader is like 16-17 (she can drive) and she gets into a really really bad car accident (like so bad she was in a coma or something) and the hospital calls both but they don't answer since they're busy with the baby. they have been neglecting her. Until they called another driver and they went to her and like they lecture Max and Kelly.

Unanswered Calls

Part 2: Answered Calls

Yn gripped the steering wheel with shaky hands, her breathing uneven as she blinked back the sting of exhaustion. The streetlights blurred as rain splattered against the windshield, the rhythmic thudding of wipers doing little to clear her vision.

She was used to being on her own.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t asked. Earlier that afternoon, she had stood at the kitchen counter, bag in hand, waiting.

“Mom, Dad, I have ballet at six,” she had said, shifting her weight awkwardly as Kelly rocked the baby in her arms and Max tried to calm Penelope, who was throwing a fit about something.

Neither of them had even turned toward her.

“I can’t right now, sweetie,” Kelly had murmured distractedly, adjusting the baby’s tiny blanket.

“Ask your mom, I—Penelope, please, stop screaming,” Max had muttered, rubbing his temple as he tried to negotiate with his six-year-old daughter.

Yn had nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She didn’t ask again. She was used to this—being the afterthought, the independent one, the one who didn’t need attention because she never demanded it. So she had grabbed her car keys, not trusting herself to be upset.

Now, barely an hour later, everything was going wrong.

Her tires hit a patch of water, hydroplaning before she could react. The world spun. A blaring horn. The sharp, crunching sound of metal on metal. A shock of pain. Then, blackness.

Daniel was halfway through dinner when his phone buzzed. He almost ignored it, expecting it to be some stupid spam call, but something made him glance down.

Unknown Number.

Frowning, he wiped his hands on a napkin before answering. “Hello?”

“Is this Daniel?” A woman's voice, professional but urgent. “Daniel Ric—”

“Yes, yes, who is this?” He sat up straight, suddenly alert.

“This is St. James Hospital. Your goddaughter, Yn Verstappen, was in a severe car accident. You were listed as an emergency contact. We’ve been trying to reach her parents, but—”

Daniel was already on his feet, chair scraping against the floor. “Where is she? What happened?”

“She sustained significant injuries, including lung trauma. We had to place a chest tube to assist her breathing. The doctors have decided to keep her in a medically induced sleep for a few days to help her body recover.”

His stomach twisted. “And Max and Kelly? Her parents?”

“We’ve called multiple times. No answer.”

Daniel clenched his jaw. “I’ll be there in ten.”

The hospital smelled of antiseptic and something too clean to be comforting. Daniel rushed through the corridors, his pulse hammering in his throat as he found Yn’s room.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight.

She lay there, pale against the hospital sheets, her face bruised, her arm wrapped in gauze. Tubes ran from her chest, connected to a machine that beeped steadily.

A nurse—young, with kind eyes—stood by the bedside, adjusting the IV. She looked up as he entered. “Are you Daniel?”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

“I’m Nurse Emily. She’s stable for now.”

He approached the bed slowly, his heart aching. “Jesus, kid…” He ran a shaky hand through his hair before sitting beside her.

For a moment, he just stared at her. Yn, who had always been so full of life, so determined to carve her own space in a world that never seemed to make room for her. Now she lay still, fragile in a way he had never seen before.

He reached out, brushing her hair from her forehead. “I’m here, Yn,” he whispered.

Emily hesitated before speaking. “You’re the first person who answered.”

Daniel frowned. “What do you mean?”

She sighed. “We called her parents over and over. No answer. No call back.”

Daniel’s hands curled into fists. “They didn’t even pick up?”

Emily shook her head. “Not once.”

Daniel let out a slow, furious breath. Then he pulled out his phone and called Max.

Voicemail.

He tried Kelly.

Voicemail.

Grinding his teeth, he left a message. “Max. Kelly. Your daughter is in the hospital. She was in a bad car accident. Call me back. Now.”

An hour passed. Nothing.

Two hours.

Three.

Four.

Yn remained unconscious, her chest rising and falling with the help of the machines. Daniel stayed at her side, his anger growing hotter with every minute.

When Max and Kelly finally walked through the door, he was ready.

Kelly looked tired. Max looked confused.

“Daniel, what’s going on?” Max asked, frowning.

Daniel stood up slowly. “What’s going on?” His voice was too calm. “You tell me, Max. Kelly. Where the hell have you been?”

Kelly blinked. “At home, we—”

“At home?” Daniel let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Your daughter has been lying in this hospital bed for hours, and you were at home?”

Max’s expression darkened. “We didn’t get any calls.”

“Bullshit.” Daniel pulled out his phone and waved it. “I called you. The hospital called you. They tried for hours. But I guess you were too busy to notice your own daughter almost died.”

Kelly paled. “Died?” Her voice wavered as she looked at Yn. “Oh my God.”

Max took a step forward, but Daniel blocked him. “Don’t.” His voice was steel. “You don’t get to come in here now and pretend you care.”

Max’s jaw clenched. “Of course we care.”

Daniel scoffed. “Do you? Because she drove herself to ballet since neither of you could be bothered. She’s seventeen, Max. A kid. But she didn’t even ask twice because she already knew the answer.”

Kelly looked away, shame creeping into her features.

Daniel continued, voice shaking with anger. “She was alone when the accident happened. Alone when they brought her here. And when the doctors needed her parents, where were you?”

Silence.

Daniel exhaled sharply. “She’s used to this, you know?” His voice was quiet now, but no less furious. “She’s used to being second to Penelope, to the baby, to everything else in your lives. She doesn’t complain. She doesn’t make a fuss. She just… deals with it.” He swallowed hard. “But this? This she couldn’t deal with alone.”

Max ran a hand down his face, guilt creeping in. “I—”

“I don’t want excuses,” Daniel snapped. “I want you to do better.”

Kelly’s eyes filled with tears. “Can we see her?”

Daniel stepped aside. “She’s been waiting long enough.”

Max walked to the bed, his hands trembling as he reached for Yn’s fingers. “Oh, sweetheart…” His voice broke.

Kelly sat on the other side, her hand covering her mouth as silent tears slipped down her face.

Daniel crossed his arms, watching.

They could cry all they wanted. But the real question was—would they change?

And for Yn’s sake, they damn well better.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you. No Part 2 requests, please.

-🩷🎀

[just-aake]

Friends Don't Kiss

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Friends spend time together. They share inside jokes, quiet moments, maybe even late-night movies. And sometimes…they kiss. That’s normal. Right? At least, that’s what Natasha keeps telling herself.

Warnings: fluff, light angst

Words: 4140

“Would you kiss me?”

Steve chokes on his coffee, spluttering mid-sip. He coughs violently, thumping his fist against his chest as he tries to catch his breath.

Across the kitchen, Natasha doesn’t flinch. She stands coolly with a mug in hand, one hip leaning against the compound’s countertop, her expression unreadable.

“You know,” she adds, far too casually, “as a friend.”

Steve finally manages to recover, blinking at her like she’s grown a second head. 

“I’m gonna need a little more context.”

Natasha shrugs, gaze fixed somewhere past him. 

“Just making a point. I’ve kissed you before. We’re still just friends.”

“That was different,” Steve says slowly, carefully, like he’s not entirely sure where this conversation is headed. “We were on the run. It was for a mission.”

“Right,” Natasha nods quickly, seizing on that. “Exactly. So sometimes a kiss doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Steve sets down his coffee, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Did you kiss someone, Nat?”

She scoffs immediately, a sharp breath meant to dismiss the question, but her shoulders stiffen, betraying her.

“No,” she says too quickly, brushing past it. “Why would you ask that?”

Before Steve can press further, the kitchen door slides open.

You step in, pausing just briefly when your eyes meet hers. A flicker of something passes between you—then it’s gone, replaced by your familiar, easy smile.

“Morning,” you say, grabbing an apple from the counter before sliding easily into the space beside her. “You two solving world peace already?”

Natasha’s grip on her mug tightens. Her pulse trips over itself at your closeness, at the casual brush of your shoulder against hers.

“Morning,” she mutters, not quite meeting your eyes.

“You’re up earlier than usual,” Steve returns your greeting while watching both of you now with a curious gaze, noticing the subtle shift in the air. 

You shrug lightly.

“Decided to turn in early last night,” you respond before turning to Natasha. “Sorry, I didn’t see you when you got back, Nat.”

Natasha shakes her head, brushing off the apology.

“It’s fine,” she says simply. 

But it’s not. Not really. She had looked for you last night when she came back from her mission, hoping for your usual smile at the hangar. Instead, FRIDAY informed her you were already asleep. She’d swallowed her disappointment and told herself it didn’t matter.

Natasha takes another sip to keep herself occupied from further conversation. Unfortunately, it seems you have no intention of letting her do that.

“Can I have some?”

Natasha glances at you with a raise of her brow, and you give her a small smile as you nod at the mug in her hand.

“There’s more brewing,” she responds, gesturing to the coffee machine in the corner.

You don’t move her gaze from hers.

“I know,” you grin. “But I want yours.”

Natasha sighs, long-suffering but fond, and hands it over.

You take it with a bright smile in thanks, drinking the last of it with satisfaction.

Natasha watches you as you finish, her lips twitching slightly into the ghost of a smile before she can stop it.

Something about that simple exchange makes the room feel smaller. 

Steve observes you two quietly, picking up on the subtle tension that hums under the surface like a taut wire. You and Natasha have always been close. That’s not new. But something feels different now.

“Well, I’m heading to the training room,” you announce, handing Natasha back the mug and tossing the apple in your hand once before catching it again. “See you two later.”

You’re gone before either of them can respond.

The silence that follows stretches.

Steve leans against the table, watching the doorway you disappeared through before turning his eyes back to Natasha. 

“So,” he says, voice even, “something you’d like to share?”

Natasha scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pivots to rinse out her mug. 

“This has nothing to do with her.”

Her tone is dry and dismissive. But her mind betrays her.

She remembers the way the two of you had been curled up on the couch in the common room just a few nights ago. 

A rare, quiet evening with no missions, no alarms, just shared stories and laughter over absurd field mishaps. Your knees touching hers. Her arm draped along the back of the sofa. 

You leaning closer, head tilted back slightly as you laughed, completely at ease.

Natasha remembers the way her fingers twitched with the urge to touch you. 

How, without quite realizing it, her hand lifted to cup your cheek. 

The moment stretched, her breath caught, and then she leaned in.

The kiss was soft, hesitant in the way that Natasha had not fully comprehended what she had done.

When she does, she goes to pull away when you suddenly kiss her back.

Your hand had come up, anchoring against her shoulder, the other sliding to the back of her neck as you deepened it, slow and sure. 

Then, the elevator chimed.

And the moment shattered.

Instinctively, Natasha pulls back, jumping to her end of the couch by the time the other team members come into the room. 

Next thing she knows, you were swept up by a conversation with Wanda while Natasha sat there frozen, lips parted, heartbeat wild, her hand brushing over her mouth in disbelief. 

The warmth of your kiss still lingering on her skin like a brand.

You never brought it up again.

Neither did she.

And now, days later, she finds herself standing in the kitchen convincing herself that friends kiss sometimes. 

That it doesn’t have to mean anything. That it didn’t mean anything.

“Sure, Nat,” Steve says slowly, watching her a little too closely now. “A kiss doesn’t have to mean anything...”

Natasha relaxes slightly, but before the relief can take hold in her mind, Steve continues nonchalantly.

“…unless you want it to.”

Natasha doesn’t respond. Her jaw sets just slightly as she stares into her empty mug. Then, with a sigh, she curses herself for even asking Steve.

His words just brought up a flurry of new problems for her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

She did it again.

She’s doing it again.

What started as a simple spar at your request had quickly escalated—one move leading to another, until she had you pinned flat on the mat. Her knees straddled your hips, hands locking your wrists above your head with effortless control.

You were both breathless, sweat-slicked skin flushed from exertion.

Then you smiled up at her, teeth flashing, that same teasing spark in your eyes that always got under her skin, and Natasha couldn’t look away. Couldn’t think past the heat in her chest. Her gaze dropped, lingering on the curve of your parted lips as you panted beneath her.

And before she could stop herself, she leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t hesitant this time. It was hungry, claiming, as if making up for every second she hadn’t let herself think about the feel of your lips since that night on the couch. Her grip loosened, hands sliding from your wrists to your sides, fingertips brushing over the sliver of skin just above your waistband.

Like before, you didn’t pull away.

Instead, your arms curled around her shoulders, pulling her closer with a quiet urgency. 

Her mouth moved against yours again, and again—slow, deliberate, until your breath caught and you exhaled her name in a moan that made something in her pulse stutter.

“Natasha…”

Her name on your lips.

It cracked through the haze like a whip.

And she freezes.

Reality slams back in, fast and merciless. 

Natasha pulls away suddenly, breathing hard as her eyes search yours. Her hands lift, hovering like she wasn’t sure where to place them anymore.

“Shit,” she mutters, shaken. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

You blink at her, dazed and confused, lips still parted.

But before you can say anything, the door slides open.

“Damn,” Sam’s voice calls out as he steps into the training room, towel slung over his shoulder. He pauses at the sight, then lets out a low whistle and smirks.

“Give her a break, Romanoff. She’s already red in the face.”

Natasha straightens back instinctively, only to realize the flush on your face wasn’t from exertion.

You let out a breath of laughter, dragging a hand through your hair. 

“I’m fine,” you say, voice light, easy. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your palm lightly taps Natasha’s thigh—a subtle, casual cue.

She blinks at you, still hovering above, startled by how calmly you are taking all of this. Then she shifts, climbing off with fluid grace, but her mind still reels. 

Why weren’t you reacting differently? Why were you acting like what just happened between you two was normal for friends?

You push yourself to your feet and turn to offer your hand down to her.

Without hesitation, she takes it.

Your grip is warm and steady as you help her up. Before she can say anything, you brush your hand over her shoulder, flicking away the dust from your earlier scuffle. Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, you pat her cheek twice, a gentle, reassuring touch.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you repeat, softer this time.

And then you walk off coolly and composed, leaving her standing there.

Staring.

Processing.

“What the hell…” Natasha mutters under her breath.

Sam moves beside her, picking up a dumbbell nonchalantly like he hadn’t just walked in on something.

“Hey, Sam?” she asks, still staring after you. 

“Yeah?”

“Friends can kiss, right?” she asks. “Like… that’s a normal thing friends do sometimes?”

Sam pauses mid-curl and turns to look at her with a slow grin. 

“What kind of friends you got, Romanoff?” he chuckles. “’Cause I’d love an introduction.”

Natasha doesn’t respond.

Her eyes are still locked on the door you disappeared through, her thoughts a whirlwind of tangled lines she couldn’t figure out how or if she wanted to untangle.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The movie plays on, its flickering light casting soft shadows across the darkened room. But Natasha isn’t watching it.

She’s trying to. Or at least pretending to.

Her eyes are on the screen, but her mind drifts, tangled in thoughts she can’t quite sort through. The question loops endlessly in her head like a broken reel.

Can friends kiss? Should friends kiss? Did it mean anything?

You shift slightly beside her, and the motion draws her out of the haze. Then comes a soft sound—a small yawn, muffled behind your hand. 

Natasha glances down at you.

Your head rests gently against her shoulder, your body curled comfortably into the side of hers. You’ve been like that for most of the movie—close, warm, familiar. Nothing new for the two of you. 

But now, it feels different. Everything feels different.

She tilts her head toward you slightly. 

“We can stop here if you want,” she offers, her voice low. “You’re tired.”

You shake your head with a sleepy smile, eyes barely open. 

“It’s fine. It’s almost finished anyway.”

Natasha studies your face for a moment longer, searching for something beneath your words. Then she relaxes, leaning her head against yours again, letting the rhythm of your breathing soothe her.

But only a few minutes pass before she feels your body grow heavier against her, your breath evening out. She shifts subtly to glance at you, and sure enough, your eyes are closed, mouth slightly parted in sleep.

A quiet exhale escapes her lips.

She lets the laptop finish playing the credits, then carefully reaches over to close it, setting it on the nightstand without disturbing you too much.

As she leans back again, her eyes linger on you, peaceful and completely unaware of the storm still quietly waging inside her.

She hesitates.

You’d probably sleep better in your own bed. Less risk of a sore neck.

“Hey,” she whispers, brushing her fingers lightly against your arm to wake you. “Want me to carry you to your room?”

You stir, eyes fluttering open, still half-lost in sleep. You look up at her, your gaze soft and unguarded.

“Can I sleep here?”

Natasha stills.

The way your face is tilted toward hers makes her heart stutter. You’re so close, lips parted slightly, your breath warm against her cheek.

Her fingers tighten against the sheets.

She should say no. But she doesn’t.

“…Sure,” she says instead, voice barely audible.

You smile in that sleepy, content way that always makes her chest ache, and shift to lie back more fully on the bed, your head finding the pillow beside hers like it’s always belonged there.

Natasha stays seated for a moment, just watching you. Studying the soft lines of your expression. The trust etched so easily into every part of you.

Then your eye cracks open, lazy and amused, and you pat the empty space beside you.

“Come on,” you murmur. “You should sleep too.”

Natasha swallows.

She moves beneath the covers slowly, cautiously, like the sheets might burn her. The moment her weight settles, you immediately scoot closer, nuzzling into the curve of her body with a comfort that’s almost too much.

She freezes.

Her arms hover mid-air, unsure where to land. Her instincts war with her confusion about the situation.

But then you sigh softly, and it eases something in her. She lets her arms wrap around you, tentatively at first, then fully. Her hand rests lightly against your back.

Your body fits against hers like it was always meant to.

Her heart beats too loud. Her thoughts race too fast.

But your breathing, soft and steady, grounds her.

You’re not overthinking this. You’re not avoiding eye contact or spiraling like she is. You’re just there. 

Maybe she is overreacting.

So she presses her lips to the top of your head, just barely a kiss, light and reverent.

And tells herself it’s fine.

That it’s just something friends do.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The corridor outside the tech lab is mostly quiet, the hum of machinery muffled behind glass walls. Natasha had only meant to drop by to check on some routine data upload from her last mission, but she slows as she rounds the corner and catches sight of you through the glass.

You’re leaning against the counter in the lab, your stance relaxed, familiar. A quiet, polite smile plays on your lips as you speak to one of the newer lab techs, who is a little awkward in their stance and clearly trying to flirt.

Natasha pauses at the entrance, something instinctual anchoring her in place. 

“I just figured,” the technician says, nervously fidgeting with their hands, “maybe we could grab a coffee sometime?”

Natasha blinks. Her fingers tighten unconsciously around the datapad in her hand.

You let out a soft chuckle, not unkind. 

“That’s sweet,” you say, your tone warm but edged with gentle finality, “but I’m actually already seeing someone.”

Natasha frowns, her heart skipping heavily.

Since when?

The lab tech falters only slightly, nodding good-naturedly.

“Ah. No worries. It was worth a shot.”

“We could still be friends,” you offer kindly.

They chuckle lightly as they gather their things, nodding in agreement.

“Well, if they mess up,” the tech jokes, “you know where to find me.”

You smile again, a brief lift of your brow.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They leave, footsteps fading down the hall.

Natasha stays frozen for a beat longer, her brain racing as she tries to understand. A strange, unfamiliar tightness lingers in her chest, something sharp and green and burning low.

Why didn’t you ever tell her you were seeing someone?

The question echoes through her like a bruise, throbbing harder the longer she thinks about it.

A few seconds pass before she finally moves, stepping into view from where she’d been half-hidden around the corner. Her approach is quiet, boots soft on the tile, but you look up at the sound anyway.

“Nat, hey,” you greet, still casual, like you hadn’t just said something that made her stomach drop unexpectedly.

Natasha crosses her arms across her chest.

“Were you ever going to introduce me to them?”

You blink at her, brow furrowing.

“Who?”

“The person you’re seeing.”

There’s a flicker of confusion in your expression, your head tilting slightly as if trying to piece together something obvious that you’ve somehow missed.

“That’d be…difficult,” you answer slowly.

Her heart skips again—this time not from surprise, but from something closer to hurt. 

“Why?” she presses, a little sharper now. “You don’t want them to meet your friends?”

Your mouth parts slightly. You study her, eyes narrowing faintly, not in anger, but in realization. 

“Is that what you are?” you ask quietly. “Just my friend?”

Natasha hesitates. Her arms tighten around herself, defensive.

“I thought I was,” she says with a shrug that tries too hard to be casual.

The silence that follows isn’t long, but it feels like it stretches forever.

You nod slowly, the movement small and almost imperceptible. 

“Right,” you murmur. “My mistake.”

And even though you smile, easy and familiar, there’s a flicker behind it. Something small and wounded that vanishes just as quickly as it appears. Like it costs a little more this time to offer it.

“I thought we were something more.”

Natasha’s lips part in stunned silence.

You shake your head slightly, not in denial, just…regret. 

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”

Before she can find her voice, before she can reach out and ask what you mean—what she means to you—you step past her.

“I’ve got to prep for my mission,” you say quietly. “I’ll see you after, Nat.”

And then you’re gone.

The hallway seems impossibly still.

Natasha doesn’t move.

She just stands there, frozen in place, her eyes still on the space where you’d been just seconds ago.

I thought we were something more.

The words echo in her chest like a hollow ring of glass about to break.

Natasha presses a hand lightly to her sternum, as if she could push the ache away.

But it lingers. Deep and burning.

She knew it.

She knows it now more than ever.

Friends don’t kiss.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The hangar is nearly silent at this hour, long past the time anyone should still be awake.

But Natasha is.

She leans against a metal railing in the far corner of the bay, arms crossed loosely, her mind racing in quiet loops. The empty stretch of concrete around her does little to ease the restless energy in her body. She’s been replaying your last conversation for hours now, trying to decipher what it meant, what you meant.

The distant hum of turbines pulls her attention up.

The Quinjet descends slowly, its engines quieting as it settles onto the landing pad. Her spine straightens involuntarily. She catches herself smoothing her palm against her thigh, like she’s bracing for something.

The ramp lowers with a hiss, and then there you are.

You spot her the moment you step down.

Your steps falter just a bit, surprised but not displeased. Your expression shifts into something soft and unreadable before you offer a faint smile.

“Hey,” you greet lightly. “You’re still up?”

Natasha picks up on the subtle wariness in your voice. Not distrust, just a layer of confusion she knows she put there.

“I wanted to talk,” she says, quieter now, her arms unfolding slightly. “If that’s okay.”

You pause. Then, after a breath, you nod.

“Yeah… we probably should’ve had this talk before I went around thinking we were something other than friends,” you joke, a little self-deprecating, but not cruel.

Natasha winces, her mouth twitching. She knows she earned that.

You exhale and tilt your head toward the hallway. 

“Come on. Let’s talk in my room. I need to get this mission stink off me.”

She follows without hesitation, grateful for the return of your usual teasing tone.

“Yeah, you do,” she quips back.

You gasp in mock offense, throwing a look over your shoulder. 

“Wow. Brutal honesty? No mercy, huh?”

Natasha just smirks. “Would you prefer lies?”

“Only the flattering kind,” you call as you enter your room.

Natasha follows in after you with a small chuckle. She sits at the edge of your bed, hands in her lap, waiting as you disappear into your bathroom. She hears the rush of water from the shower and feels oddly tense like she’s waiting for a mission to start, but this one requires emotional precision she hasn’t quite mastered.

When the bathroom door finally opens, and you emerge, a towel draped around your shoulders, skin still damp and fresh from the steam, Natasha’s thoughts short-circuit for a moment.

Her gaze catches on the curve of your neck, the soft line of your collarbone—

She tears her eyes away, scolding herself silently.

This is exactly how things got so muddled.

You shoot her an amused look as you dry your hair with the towel. 

“You gonna stare all night or talk?”

Natasha clears her throat, suddenly focused on her hands again. 

“Right. Sorry. I just…wanted to ask something.”

You toss the towel aside as you nod.

“Ask away.”

She hesitates. 

“Why…why did you think we were dating?”

You blink, surprised at the question. Then you let out a soft breath and sit beside her on the bed.

“Well,” you begin, voice easy but edged with a thread of honesty, “months ago, you asked me to go to the Avengers Festival with you. We spent the whole day together. Just us.”

“I thought you’d enjoy it,” Natasha replies quietly.

“I did. And I was even more excited when I thought you were asking me out on a date.”

You glance at her, gauging her reaction.

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line. 

“Only it wasn’t… to me.”

“Right,” you say, a hint of disappointment in your tone before you continue with a sigh. “But then you invited me to that new restaurant for dinner the next night.”

“You mentioned it once. I thought you’d want to go.”

“I did mention it. To Wanda. I didn’t expect you to remember something I had said in passing.”

Natasha lowers her gaze. 

“I do,” she murmurs.

You smile faintly. 

“Then came movie nights. Every week. Just us.”

“You hadn’t seen any of the classics. I thought it’d be fun.”

“And it was,” you say before teasingly adding as you lightly nudge her shoulders. “Especially learning you know all the lines.”

There’s a pause. Then your voice softens.

“Then…you kissed me.”

Natasha’s breath catches.

“Twice,” you continue.

Her eyes flick to yours.

“Three times,” you correct with a small smile, “if we’re counting the one where you got nervous and bailed halfway through, settling for the top of my head instead when you thought I was asleep.”

Natasha swallows, stunned into silence.

“Well?” you ask gently. “You gonna explain? Because last time I checked…”

You shift toward her, slow and deliberate.

“…friends don’t kiss.”

She searches for an answer. Any answer. But none of them feel true. Not the ones she told herself, not the ones that let her avoid the real thing.

“These past days I've been trying to convince myself that kissing didn’t have to mean anything,” Natasha admits, voice small. “That I could just…”

She trails off.

“Avoid what you actually felt?” you offer, your tone gentle, not accusatory.

She meets your eyes then, and something in her cracks. 

“Maybe I just didn’t want to admit I wanted something more. Because if I did…and you didn’t…”

“I did,” you interrupt softly.

Your hand lifts to her hair, your fingers brushing a few loose strands back, tucking them gently behind her ear.

“I do.”

Her breath trembles.

You stroke her cheek with your thumb, grounding her.

“No more mixed signals, Nat,” you say with a playful edge, though your eyes are sincere. “You’re gonna have to be more direct, or I’ll start thinking I made it all up.”

She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her hands slide to your waist as she pulls you closer, steady and sure.

“Tomorrow night…will you go out with me?” she murmurs.

You grin, raising a brow.

“On a date?”

She nods, smiling now too.

“On a date.”

You lean your forehead against hers.

“Then I’d love to.”

There’s a beat of stillness, warmth blooming in the quiet between you. Then Natasha’s gaze flicks behind you toward the bed and back at you, one brow rising.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

You raise an amused brow.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

You smirk playfully.

“Because, in case you’re unsure…” you whisper, tilting your head closer to hers. “…friends don’t typically sleep with each other either.”

Natasha’s eyes sparkle, a soft smile forming on her face.

“Then it’s a good thing,” she says, drawing you in, her voice a low murmur at your lips, “that we’re not just friends anymore.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: a little something as I procrastinate on my series 😅 thank you for reading!

[bringthekaos]

Hi friend!

So there are two things you need to know about me (in order for this ask to make sense, at least): 1. I love your Jayvik works; and

2. I insist on doing All the Hobbies At All Times and right now that includes bookbinding.

I have just started getting into the hobby and only done a couple of small projects so far but I have a long long list of projects that I want to do, and two of those are Pulse of the Machine and Notes on Reconciliation and Relief. I plan to make copies just for my own personal collection but in conjunction with that I wanted to ask you a few questions:

would you be okay with me sharing pictures of the finished product and/or in-progress photos on my Tumblr and in the Renegade Bookbinding Guild discord?

Would you be comfortable sharing a mailing address with me so that I could send you your own copies of them (whenever I get them made--it could be quite some time, I'm just hoping to line up author permissions in advance so I don't lose steam later on)

Would you be comfortable with me sharing the typeset files with other members of the Guild for them to create copies for their own personal collections?

If you have questions about any of these feel free to ask, I'm an open book (LOL)

OMGOMGOMGOMG YES TO ALL YESS TO ALLLLLLL. I have long wanted to do this with my favorite works, but I know nothing about it and have no clue where to start. I would be honored/blessed/humbled/excited beyond words. I also would love to see the progress (take my instant follow!)

I can’t even comprehend that you would want to put that kind of work into my little fanfiction?? I’m legit trying not to cry with happiness at work rn.

Also… I appreciate that pun haha. Will DM address deets 💖

[girlrotterr]

— "𝑃𝑈𝐿𝐿 𝐼𝑇 𝑇𐒆 𝑇𝛨𝛦 𝘚𝐼𝐷𝛦 𝛢𝛮𝐷 𝐺𝛦𝑇 𝛢𝐿𝐿 𝑈𝑃 𝐼𝛮 𝐼𝑇."

𝑃𝛢𝐼𝑅𝐼𝛮𝐺: gymrat!abby x reader

𝘚𝑌𝛮𐒆𝑃𝘚𝐼𝘚: gymrat!abby headcannons.

𝐶𝑊!: smut . oral sex . shower sex . semi-public setting . switch!abby . fingering

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who, the first time you spot her, it’s through the fogged-up mirror—mist curling in the corners, the harsh fluorescent lights buzzing above. She’s locked into the squat rack, her ragged black tank cutting at the sleeves, blonde braid swaying with every move. You’re in the middle of your set, but something in your rhythm slips. You try to recover, act like it’s nothing—but your heart's pounding. She doesn’t see you then. Not yet. But you notice everything about her.

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who pushes through the last rep with a quiet grunt, lost in the grind, like nothing else matters. Who lets the bar fall to the ground with ease, wiping sweat off her jaw with her forearm, the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. Who stretches between sets, back muscles flexing like they were sculpted from stone.

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who seems out of reach until one day, you catch her watching you—just a fleeting glance, a brow raised, lips curling like she’s trying to keep the smile hidden. You almost trip on the stairmaster. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. The next week, you’re early. She walks in right after you—no headphones, just a soft, almost quiet “Hey” as she passes by your machine, her voice still warm from the workout. Your stomach does the thing.

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who starts picking the machine next to yours more often than not. She leans in during a break, eyes flicking toward your arms. “Tuck your elbow in more—yeah, just like that. You’ll feel it way deeper.” You do. But the real shock is the way her hand brushes yours, just a second too long. She doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t need to. Just backs off like it never happened, leaving you blinking, mind spinning.

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who you catch staring at you now—not through the mirror, but head-on. And when your eyes meet? She doesn’t look away. Doesn’t flinch. Just holds it, like she’s daring you. Like she’s challenging you. It’s subtle. A slow burn, a growing tension. She never asks for your number. Never follows you out the door. 

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby where one night, the gym’s nearly empty, and you’re both stretching in the back corner. The lighting’s softer here. The silence, heavy. “You here every Monday?” she asks, leaning back on her palms, sweat still clinging to her collarbones, eyes never leaving you. You nod, not to sound eager.“Pretty much.” She gives you that crooked smile—half shy, half smug. “Cool.”

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who has you questioning your own self-control as she disappears into the locker room. You wait for a moment, the sound of the gym buzzing around you, and then—without thinking—you grab your things, heading in the same direction. The door closes behind you with a soft click, and the silence that fills the space is thick. She’s there, leaning against the wall, her eyes locking with yours as if she knew you’d come. 

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who, when you don’t say anything immediately, walks up and presses herself against you—just enough to make you feel the heat of her body, the firmness of her muscles, the soft pulse of her heartbeat. She tilts her head slightly, her breath warm against your skin, her lips barely brushing the edge of your jaw. “You’re not shy, are you?” she teases, voice low, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who doesn’t wait for a response. Doesn’t need one. Her hands slide down to your hips like they’ve always belonged there, tugging you in until your chest meets hers. Her eyes burn into yours—sharp, locked-on, daring you to pull away. But you don’t. Can’t. And when she kisses you, it’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s demanding—like she’s taking what she’s already claimed.

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who kisses with desperation, tongue teasing the seam of your lips until you cave with a breathy moan, your body melting into hers. Her hands are everywhere—gripping, roaming, mapping you out like you’re something she’s studied for weeks. She breaks the kiss just to drag her mouth along your jaw, her teeth catching your neck, and when she hears that sharp gasp? She smiles against your skin like she planned it.

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who fists the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head without pause, her gaze sweeping across your bare skin with something close to reverence. “Fuking look at you,” she mutters, voice low, like a growl born deep in her chest. Her palms find your chest, warm and rough, thumbs circling your nipples until they tighten under her touch.

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who dips her head, mouth closing around one nipple, tongue swirling, sucking just enough to make your knees weak. You gasp, hands tangling in her braid, holding her close, steadying yourself. But she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even pause. Her mouth and hands just continue to move in sync, worshipping you piece by piece. She eventually  pulls back, breath uneven, eyes locked onto yours, her gaze hungry, as she tugs her shirt over her head—broad shoulders, carved arms, muscles flexing with every move. She presses against you again, skin to skin, her body full of heat, and this time, her kiss is even slower. Hungrier.

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby whose fingers work fast, unbuttoning your pants with a confidence that makes your breath catch. She pushes them down, and you step out without thinking, now standing in nothing but your underwear—her gaze darkening, chest rising with every breath. She hooks two fingers along the waistband, yanks you close. You can feel her now. The tension. The want. She groans, low and guttural, like she’s barely holding back.

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who lifts you like it’s nothing, carrying you across the locker room, laying you down on the first flat surface she can find. She kneels between your legs, hands running up your thighs, firm and possessive. “You alright?” she rasps, voice softer now. You nod, dazed. “ngh yeah… fuck, ah!”

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who hooks her fingers into your underwear and pulls them down slow, like she wants to savor it—wants you to feel every second. She tosses them aside like she doesn’t plan on letting you wear them again. Her hands push your thighs open, her tongue dragging up the inside of one, hot and slow. You shudder. “Look at me,” she says. And you do—just in time to see her smirk before she finally dives in.

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who eats like she lifts—focused, intense, relentless. Her tongue finds your clit, circles, sucks, licks like it’s the only thing that matters. You cry out, hips twitching, but her arm wraps around your thigh, keeping you steady. Then her fingers join the rhythm—slipping inside, curling just right—and your world starts to blur.

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who lifts her head just enough, her mouth glistening. “That’s it, baby… fuck, you take it so well. It’s okay—cum for me.” she growls, and it isn’t a request. It’s a command. You cum, your body convulsing as you scream her name, your whole body arching off the bench, legs trembling, your pussy aching with intensity. The sound of your cries becomes louder, mingling with the wet sounds of Abby’s tongue still flicking along your oversensitive bud.

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who slows her pace, watching you with something close to awe as she crawls up your body, mouth brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss. She presses her forehead against yours, the heat between your bodies making it hard to think—until the front door creaks open. Someone is coming in.

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby whose eyes widen, hands tightening on your waist as you both freeze, breath caught in your throats. You whisper, “Shower. Now.” And before she can argue, you're dragging her toward the showers—her half-buttoned jeans hanging off her hips, shirt and sports bra left behind. She follows without protest, chest rising and falling like she just finished her last set at the gym, stumbling into the steam-filled stall. The water turns hot too fast, clouding the glass, and you pin her against the tile—hair soaked, droplets sliding down broad shoulders and carved abs.

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who opens her mouth to speak, but you’re already on your knees, licking a slow path up the inside of her thigh. One arm wraps around her hips to hold her steady. “We gotta be quiet,” you murmur, breath ghosting over her. “You think you can do that?” She only nods, bottom lip caught between her teeth—but the second your tongue flicks over her clit, her hips jerk, a soft gasp slipping out. You glance up just in time to see her head thud back against the tile, eyes screwed shut. “Shit…ngh..”

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who really tries to stay still—she does—but you’re ruthless. Your tongue moves in tight circles, then dips lower, back up to suck her clit, fingers spreading her open just to see how wet she is, how messy it’s getting. The obscene sound of it is half-muffled by the stream of water pounding the tile behind you. She bucks hard into your mouth, thighs trembling as she grinds down, chasing the rhythm. Her hips stutter every time your tongue slips inside, one hand clawing at the wall for balance, muscles flexing, abs tensing with every stroke. “f–fuck—” she groans. 

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby whose nipples are hard from the heat, water dripping down every curve of her body as she throws her head back, moaning through clenched teeth. She’s trying so hard to stay quiet, but her body betrays her—hips rolling, thighs squeezing around your head, grinding down on your mouth like she needs to come or she’s going to lose her mind. Your hand snakes up her stomach, fingers grazing her chest, rolling a nipple between your fingers just to watch her shiver. And the sounds—god, the sounds—slick and loud, barely covered by the hiss of the shower. ˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who finally breaks, a gasp caught in her throat, body locking up as she comes, mouth parted in a silent cry, fingers digging into the fogged-up glass. You don’t stop. Not until her thighs shake and her hips pull back on instinct, overstimulated, breathless.

˚. ꒰Gymrat!Abby who slides down the wall, collapsing onto the tile with you, water still pouring over both of you. She looks at you with wide, dazed eyes, lips parted, cheeks flushed.

And just like that, she needs to train harder— to earn the way you screamed her name.

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

What do you think of Phainon in his ultimate form x reader where Phainon is obsessed with the reader? Phainon’s gameplay animations made me go feral they look so gooddd🤍

BLINDED BY GODLY C☆CK !

paring : 2nd form phainon x fem!reader

tws : nsfw／smut, obsession, overstimulation, degradation, messy sēx, sloppy sēx, breeding kink, face fūcking, hair pulling, size kink, knot-like bulge, cōck worship, p*rn with no plot, crying, cūmstuffed, dirty talk, heavy dubcon, marking and crying. mdni.

The air crackles around you.

There’s no warning—Phainon doesn’t ask.

He takes.

The moment you lock eyes with him, you’re slammed into the nearest surface. The heat of his body is blinding, his hand wrapped tight around your throat, hands digging into your skin just enough to keep you trembling. His glowing yellow eyes scan your face, down your lips, then lower—dragging slow and filthy over every inch of you like he’s already picturing you naked, spread out, ruined.

“You’ve been begging for this,” he mutters darkly, dragging your legs apart with one hand between your thighs. “I see how you look at me. Don’t play innocent.”

Your answer dies in your throat when he rips your panties off with one brutal tug.

His hands barely brush your folds and you’re already soaking. He chuckles, low and satisfied, dragging one thick finger up your slit before shoving it into his mouth, groaning at the taste.

“Dripping already. Look at this needy little pussy.”

You whimper, but it turns into a gasp when he flips you around, pressing your chest flat to the glowing floor, hips raised, legs spread wide. He kneels behind you, hands gripping your ass, spreading you open to look.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You were made to be split open on my cock.”

Then it hits you.

His cock—thick, glowing, pulsing like it’s alive—is rubbing between your folds, smearing your slick everywhere. It’s huge. Your walls already clench in anticipation, aching with need and fear. He lines himself up and leans over your back, one hand holding your hips still while the other wraps your hair around his fist.

“You’re gonna take it all, baby,” he murmurs in your ear. “Gonna let me wreck this tight little hole.”

And then—he slams in.

You scream, legs shaking violently. Your pussy is stretched obscenely wide, his cock forcing its way deeper, deeper, until he’s bottomed out and still presses more in with a grind of his hips. You sob into the floor, face flushed and wet, body trembling from the stretch.

“That’s it. Fucking tight. You feel that? That bulge in your tummy? That’s me, baby. All of me.”

He starts thrusting, and you swear he’s fucking you straight into the floor. Your back arches, your thighs twitch, and your pussy makes the nastiest, wettest squelch with every stroke.

“Louder,” he growls, pounding you harder. “Let them hear how messy this slutty pussy sounds when I fuck it.”

You’re a mess—drooling, crying, your voice raw from moaning his name over and over like a broken record. He grabs your waist and slams forward, his heavy balls smacking your clit each time, cock grinding over every nerve inside you until your eyes roll back.

“Fuck, you clench when I talk like that,” he groans, pushing deeper, hips slamming against your ass. “You like being my girl, huh?”

He pulls out suddenly and flips you onto your back, pushing your thighs to your chest and slamming back in with a wet slap. You scream again—high, helpless—as he keeps drilling into you like a machine. You feel your climax hit you hard, soaking his cock as you squirt down your thighs, but he doesn’t stop.

“Oh, we’re not done. Not even close.”

He leans down, pressing your foreheads together, sweat dripping from his hair onto your skin.

“You wanna cum again? You want this cock splitting you apart while I stuff your pussy full?”

Your answer is a desperate, pathetic nod. He grins—sharp and dangerous—and starts fucking you even harder, jaw clenched, abs flexing as his cock drags against your overstimulated walls.

“Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna pump you full until it leaks out for days.”

You can feel it building—his cock throbbing, twitching—until with one final deep thrust, he cums. Hot, thick, endless.

You shriek, back arching, your pussy milking him for all he’s worth. His cum floods you, messy and wet, spilling out around his cock with every twitch. And he stays inside—holding you there, cock deep and heavy, keeping every drop where it belongs.

“Fuck. Look at that. Stuffed full of my cum.”

He pulls out slowly, and you whimper, feeling every inch slide from your fucked-out hole, his thick tip dragging one final orgasm from you as your body convulses.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

He drags you to your knees, cock already hard again, pressing it to your lips.

“Open that pretty mouth, baby. You made a mess—now clean me up.”

You obey.

Your lips are still wet with his cum when Phainon grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back, forcing you to look up at him. His cock rests heavy against your cheek, still twitching, smearing your face with slick and spit.

“So fucking good with your mouth,” he snarls, golden eyes glowing hot. “You like being used like that? Just a little cum-soaker for me to ruin?”

You nod helplessly, drool dripping down your chin. You’re cockdrunk—completely. Your legs are jelly, your pussy’s still leaking from the first load, and he hasn’t stopped manhandling you once.

“Not done,” he growls, pulling you up by the hair, dragging your bare body against his. “That sweet little cunt’s not full enough yet.”

You’re laid flat on your back again, thighs trembling as he climbs over you. His cock is hard—again—already pressing against your abused entrance.

“I told you I’d breed you,” he growls, lining himself up. “Gonna stuff you full until you can’t even think. Until you’re mine.”

He thrusts in one brutal stroke, punching a scream out of you as your back arches, overstimulated walls spasming around him. He moans—loud and unholy—grinding his hips down like he’s trying to break something inside you.

“This pussy’s too perfect,” he pants. “Sucks me in like it belongs to me. Fuck, you were made to take this cock.”

You’re crying again—real tears—rolling down your flushed cheeks while he pounds into you. His claws dig into your thighs, pinning them open, spreading you wider so he can fuck you even deeper.

“Say it,” he growls, leaning down to bite at your throat. “Say you want my cum.”

“I-I want it!” you sob, voice cracking. “I want your cum! Please—fill me up again!”

That’s all he needed.

He lets out a low, animalistic snarl and slams in, holding himself there. You feel his cock throb inside you, his cum flooding your womb, hot and thick, gushing out with every spurt. You moan so loud it echoes, your body spasming in another mind-breaking climax as he paints your insides white again.

He stays inside you, panting heavily, glowing wings twitching behind him as the haze of power starts to dim. His claws slowly release your legs, and for the first time, his grip softens.

“Shhh…” he breathes, lowering his forehead to yours. “You did so good for me.”

You blink up at him, dazed, your body twitching with the aftershocks. His cock finally slips out of you with a wet plop, and the mess is immediate—his cum drooling from your ruined pussy in thick strings, pooling between your thighs.

But he doesn’t let you go.

His hands—now gentle—slide under your thighs and lift you effortlessly into his arms. You nuzzle into his chest, still shaking, and you feel it: the shift.

The glow fades. His hair softens to its usual white, the harsh light in his eyes dims to warmth, and the burning wings dissolve in gold sparkles. You’re now curled in the arms of the real Phainon—calm, warm, gentle.

“I pushed too far,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “You’re trembling.”

You sniffle, still dazed, and he cradles you tighter, stroking your hair out of your face.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you now,” he whispers. “Let me take care of you.”

He lays you down on a conjured bed of soft light, wiping your tears with glowing fingers. He presses slow, soothing kisses to your neck, your tits, your tummy—pausing to kiss the swell of your lower belly, murmuring:

“Full of me… just like you wanted.”

Your legs are jelly, your throat raw, and your brain soft, but the way he touches you now—like you’re the most precious thing in the universe—brings your body back to earth. He cleans you gently with light magic, kisses every bruise and bite he left, and tucks you into his arms, nuzzling your face into his chest.

“My beautiful little thing,” he whispers. “You’re mine. Always.”

And with one last sleepy sigh, you nod against his chest, letting him hold you like you’re something to be worshipped.

Because to him—you are.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[szarina]

MY HEART IN YOUR HANDS

a night of his love bore a result. one that you can't escape from. you were still determined to let go of him and put him the story and happiness he deserves even you'll be left with nothing but a body with a shattered heart — Zayne is a another story. He's not willing to let you go when he's already in too deep.

❆ ₊⋆ ──── notes. inbox is open for any inquiries and requests that are related to this trilogy. thank you all for the support and the comments that made the sequels possible. i do apologize that it is rushed and all.

❆ ₊⋆ ──── taglist. @sillyfreakfanparty @chersyluvs @inzanekillian @regalillegal @quillsanddaggers @hebreeee @hi-itsmee @lupitalover @animegamerfox @xaakilove @iluvzayne @dstrctaya @roschea-arts @simpingpandas @auraficial @sill33witheen @popejar @skyline-night @aboobie @youraveragereaders @ssetsuka @nothoughts-justzayne

❆ ₊⋆ ──── content warnings. angst + yandere themes + implied noncon/dubcon + babytrapping + emotional manipulation + pregnancy + ooc zayne + possessiveness + brief descriptions of birth + insecurities + grammatical/typo errors.

READ PART ONE. PART TWO

It's probably a stomach bug or you overate which you always did when you're stressed.

That's what you said to yourself after breakfast when you came running to the nearest sink and hurling the contents of your stomach. The first purge came violently and the bits of your breakfast that wasn't digested by your stomach acid splatters on the pristine white sink of his kitchen.

Zayne rushes to your side. His white coat abandoned in the back of his chair and his sleeves are still rolled up while drawing circles in your back. You coughed up a bit, stealing a glance to him and your throat tightens and your stomach lurches forward. Another wave of nausea hits you.

The sound of the faucet being turned on registers in your brain and you watch as the once contents of your stomach slowly disappears and be washed away in the drain.

Concern was etched on his face. He takes a wash cloth, running it under the cold water flowing from the faucet, giving it a squeeze to wring out the excess water before bringing it to wipe the corners of your lips. His hand holding your jaw while he moves it to inspect your face.

After cleaning your mouth, he asks you a question. “We should go to the hospital.” He calmly says but there's a hint of tenderness in there.

“No. It's not necessary.” Straight out refusing him. It's just nausea, typical. There's several reasons for that but Zayne is quick to refute you. One of the cons of being with a doctor.

“It is needed. Clammy hands, elevated pulse and coldness, it could be a underlying symptoms of an illness. It's better to be sure. Your health should not be overlooked.”

Period. He didn't gave you any chance to refuse him again. He came with you all the way to the hospital and got you settled on one of the private rooms. Not the clinic for walk-in checkups or consultations.

You were kind of glad for the coldness of Zayne's hand while it massage the flesh of your arm. Personally taking your vital signs and doing the blood works while a nurse waits for his instructions. He taps your skin before sticking the end of the needle.

“You will feel a pinch.” He warns, it's not like you needed it. You survived in a fatal car crash and was prodded and wired to different machines.

Blood fills the syringe and he takes it out before putting it on a tray. “I need to get this done as soon as possible.” He orders and the nurse nods at him. Taking the needed information about you and rushes outside. Clearly, they were intimidated by Zayne and whatever he said is the unwritten rule in the book.

“You don't have to pause your work for me.” You surmised, resisting the urge to peel the band aid in your arm where he stuck the needle earlier to draw your blood.

“It isn't ideal but it won't hurt anyone for me to accompany you. Considering you're my patient and future wife. ” He affectionately pets your head. Pulling the chair besides your bed where you sat at. He sits right in front of you.

You ignore the last sentence. It doesn't ease your mind when Zayne is being overly affectionate to you like a housecat when it's near feeding time. Always watching, always close. He takes your hands in his. Marveling the smoothness of your own to his own scarred ones.

“It's going to be fine. Treat it like a another check up. We're only here to make sure you're fine.” His voice calm and assuring. Noticing the small tick when you're worried.

It didn't take long for your tests to come back. It wasn't a nurse who appeared but a another doctor. A woman wearing the same white coat similar to Zayne's, their identification card clipped in the left breast pocket of their uniforms.

Opposite to Zayne's stoic expression, she's bubbly for some reason. “Dr. Zayne.” She greeted the cardiac surgeon. A holographic screen appeared in front of her and with a smile that she fails to keep in doing so, she began to speak.

A sense of foreboding washes over you. You bit your lower lip unconsciously.

“There's no irregularities in the result of her blood tests, Dr. Zayne.” Her sight darting over you and Zayne. She glances back at the screen. “Although, the count of her red blood cells are lower and the white blood cells are higher than normal which is expected since hCG are detected in her blood.”

You didn't like where this is going.

“Congratulations, Dr. Zayne. She's pregnant.” She cheerily announces like it was a privilege to find out the most sought and talented cardiac surgeon is about to be a father.

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes at the sudden revelation. You raise your head to look at Zayne. The other doctor left to give you both privacy at the sudden news. Is that mirth on his eyes? It faded before looking at you but nonetheless it is present. His expression lax.

The memories of what transpired that night sent chills to your spine. You desperately wanted to forget that night but the ache in your body throbs and the hickey he left in your neck stings. You didn't know Zayne was capable of doing that.

“Zayne....” Your voice trails off as you call him. “Is it not to early for me to be pregnant?” Disbelief follows your every word. You meet his gaze. Begging for him to say the truth, that it was only a lie, a fluke, a mistake.

He wraps his arm around you. Your head on his chest and your world crashes when he spoke those words. “Blood results doesn't lie. It's more accurate than any other tests.” He explains. “I am glad that you are fine.” He says with such familiarity, voice gentle and warm. It was much tender than what he used when telling a patient of good news.

There's a flicker of revelry on his eyes as his gaze fixated on the windows before looking down at you.

“You're only pregnant.” He whispers. “It was bound to happen.” His hold on you firm. He presses a kiss at the top of your head. “Don't be so afraid.”

His hazel green eyes darkens as he said those words. “You won't be alone, I'll be by your side — just like I promised.” He murmurs. His arms secured around you, sensing that you're about to pull away.

It didn't bring you the assurance or the words you wanted to hear. Your fingers tightens around the crisp coat of his. Enclosed by your fists, you didn't care if it got wrinkled. All you can think is how you're going to raise a child. Your child with him.

“My parents are back.”

Zayne tells you to get a reaction from you while he loosens his tie. He just got home from overtime at the hospital. A traffic incident got him stuck. He expected that you're already asleep considering your condition but you were wide awake. Poring over the pages of your book.

He sees the furrow of your eyebrows from the reflection of the mirror on the wall. “Is it too soon for them to be back?’ Your voice were flat but for the sake of conversation you try to carry. Zayne ignored the tone of your voice. “The conference ended early.”

He takes off his watch and pulls the drawer to put it. Zayne turns around to see you flipping pages of the book. You didn't even glanced at him. Keeping your response clipped and only mmm's and yeah's. You didn't take the news of your pregnancy well.

It was sudden of course, it only happened that night and weeks later, you are with his child. Considering he monitored all your cycles and since you were under his care, there's a little bit of change in your diet. Foods that are nutritious and rich in boosting your chances of fertility. You didn't suspect a thing.

The night when it happened, he got swept away. Strongly feeling those emotions that he wasn't aware of and he snapped when you said those dreadful words. Why would you leave him now? Don't you love him anymore? He only made his point that night despite your tearful protests that breaks his heart.

He feels a bit guilty about it but was soon relieved. It was necessary. You're not going to leave him, not when you're carrying his child and it would be a shame to your family and there's the risk of you getting shunned. Affluent families doesn't take shame lightly. It was losing face and the honor that was built from time to time. He knows your parents won't agree.

It only happened once — you argued to him. After the test results came back all positive for your pregnancy. He easily downplayed it as normal and you were both a couple. Engaged and waiting to be married. A good time for the upcoming union but your tears told another story. You wanted to leave him and he used the oldest trick in the book. Impregnate your stubborn soon-to-be wife. It worked quite well. Side effect? Your fiancée won't take it lightly and will give you the cold shoulder. Fine by him.

He won't let you go that easy.

He keeps a firm grip on your hand as you both walked in the familiar hallways of the posh restaurant. It was traditional and had lasted through the years despite the frequent Wanderers wrecking havoc in the area. Following the maître d' in where the private room with both of your parents are waiting.

This happened a few times. It was usually you would walk behind him. Almost tripping — trying to catch up his long strides. He never bothered to look behind nor waited for you. Deja vu was the thing you hated. Forcing you to replay all the wasted efforts you put. A reminder that you were always overlooked, ignored. This time you weren't. Walking side to side with his hand intertwined to yours.

Birthdays, graduations and the milestones in one's life are always celebrated here in this very restaurant. Yours and his. It's the little things in life, Zayne's mother would say. It's also the way where Zayne, her son to make him come. Even when he's busy with his studies, he would come. Always the dutiful son that respects his mother's wishes.

On those times, he keeps the facade that you two were both fine. Not realizing that their children in front of their parents are strangers. A relationship strained that it makes family dinners unbearable. You and Zayne both perfected that. Keeping up with appearances.

The room was spacious. A huge crystal chandelier dangling on the ceiling. The light reminiscent of a candles burning in the night, creating a more subdued lightning but still provides the warmth and comfort of the area. It reflects on the cream colored curtains. Glinting on the silver cutleries.

“Here they are.” Is the first voice you recognized upon entering the private room. Your father's voice. Boisterous and good natured just the way you remembered it.

The maître d' politely bowed before leaving the room.

“Finally.” Another voice pipes up and it was Zayne's mother. You can see the slight crinkles on the side of her face. A total opposite of Zayne who keeps the same stoic look on his face.

“My apologies. There's a bit of traffic on our way here. Thank you for waiting on us.” Zayne apologetically nods his head. Light catching on his glasses.

You subtly pried his hand on your plush waist before going to greet your parents while Zayne's parents fuss over him.

“It's been so long, (Y/N). I hope you're faring well.” Your father says before you hug him. “I am.” You lied through your teeth but masked it as something warm to assure your father. You glance at your mother. Stiffly greeting her. The same cold hard stare that scared you and prevented you from bonding with her. You didn't blame her though. She was scared when she almost died giving birth to you. Thanks to Zayne's parents that she was spared from the fate.

“Mother.” Is the only word you can call her but nonetheless, she kisses your cheek. The little bit of affection she can spare to you. Maybe, it's also the reason why you settle for the tiniest of form of affections that were given to you that you're easily contented by it.

The other woman, Zayne's mother approaches you with warm eyes. You can see the lines on her face. A testament that she lived her life on her profession. You adored this woman like she was your own mother. “(Y/N), darling.” She presses a chaste kiss to your cheek.

“You look lovely as always, my dear.” Zayne's mother compliments you. Squeezing the flab of your arm which you didn't mind. “Is my son treating you well?” She whispers discreetly which isn't so discreet since she glances at his son who was talking to your parents. Her eyes wandering all over you and you failed to notice it. She knows.

“Zayne's treating me well.” You repeat her words. Assuring her that her son was nothing but the best towards you. It earned you a kind smile from her.

It wasn't far from the truth but Zayne was nothing like the man you knew since childhood and before the accident. You were used to his indifference but this was the another side you wished you didn't knew. All it took for you was to almost die.

The lines of her face became more prominent as she held your hand. “I can see that and you're doing the same to my son. I've never seen him so tender — devoted.” She smiles a little wider. The kind of smile knowing her child is somewhat happy in a place. “You know how my son is, always a little hard on himself. You've brought the best of him, my dear child.”

The worst. You wanted to correct her but looking at her kind, warm eyes. That looked out after you since you were a kid — you can't bring yourself to the truth. You've brought out the worst in her son.

“I hope so.” You murmured. Lowering your gaze.

You couldn't meet her eyes while telling a lie.

Zayne was putting pieces of different dishes in your plate. Keeping a sharp eye on the sudden change since you started your cravings and you have gotten quite sensitive to certain smells. A frown quirked in your lips meant you didn't like the food. A thin line meant it was okay and the twinkle in your eyes is what you desired at the moment but you will still refuse it with a pout.

He also noticed how you occasionally glare at him. Not hiding your frustrations at him but keeping it subtle not enough to raise suspicions for the elders in the table to pick up your sour mood directed to him.

There's the sound of ice clinking in the glass and a thud. Your father suddenly putting the glass in the table before a chortle left his lips. Highly amused at the scene in front of him.

“Old habits don't die, huh? You're always making sure she's well fed. I'm glad to know you're still taking care of her.” Your father said amused.

“It's the least I can do for her.” Zayne murmured after placing a chunk of the juiciest part of the meat to your plate. He made sure you take a bite out of it.

Another voice joins in and it was Zayne's father. “Ever since they were children, Zayne always keeps an eye on her and that's the time I knew he'll always look after her. My son here always earning brownie points to impress her.”

Funny how the adults see it. That was lie but also half of the truth. The brownie points was after the accident. It was suffocating now. You glanced at him and he still sports the same stoic look on his face.

“So Zayne...” His mother began to speak, her voice serious but there's a hint of warmth on it. “It's rather unusual for you to call us. Is something the matter we need to discuss?” She looks knowingly at the both of you, her stare a little longer on you before looking at Zayne.

The cardiac surgeon that is her son looks at you. His face hidden by the curtain of his bangs. “Yes.” He paused.

Reaching out for your hand and linking to his. The table grew silent including your parents and his. Suddenly aware of the seriousness in his voice. Anticipating for the news that is about to be revealed. The look on his eyes were warm when you stare at him.

“(Y/N) and I are expecting.”

Your heart dropped at his announcement. You can hear your heartbeat ringing in your ears from how fast it was beating. The familiar sensation of bile rising up in your throat surfaces but you tried to contain it.

Of course, he was going tell your parents and his about this pregnancy. This wasn't just a family dinner. He planned it. His parents back in town, knowing their conference was still ongoing abroad. Yours was easy to convince. They were much easier to involve and they trust Zayne more than anyone else in the world.

Zayne's mother is the first to erupt in cheers. “Finally.” She claps her hand in astonishment. You wanted to deny it but you feel bad, not when they are all expecting a grandchild from the both of you. The union will bore the result in no time but there's no wedding have occured, yet.

Before the accident you decided that you were going to discuss this with Zayne. Call of the engagement and you will both proceed in your life without attachments and pretend this awful engagement for the both of you never existed but it was impossible now. You're pregnant. A outcome of that night you badly wanted to forget.

Just when they're still reeling from the surprise that you were with child. It didn't stop Zayne from proposing again, something that you badly wanted to be free from.

“I understand the seriousness of the situation that comes with (Y/N)'s pregnancy since it was unexpected. Considering that it already happened. Will you allow us to marry as soon as possible before our baby is born?” His tone never faltered at those words. It was like reading from a script that he already prepared for. He was sincere and all.

Your body stiffens. Discomfort being etched to your face. “Did we? Isn't this too soon? I was hoping maybe after the baby comes.” You denied. There was no discussion of it or anything at all. You looked at your soon-to-be in-laws hoping they will disagree at the sudden wedding just because you're pregnant. You look at your parents for help too but you were quickly denied.

You tried to pry your fingers from Zayne's hand discreetly but he squeezes it. A warning. “The time's right, (Y/N). The engagement has been so long and it's a perfect timing before the birth of our grandchild. We were all worried that you two aren't planning at all” Your father commented. A bit concerned at your behavior. Your mother remained quiet. Zayne's parents agreed with your father.

“You don't have to worry a thing. Zayne's good for you. He's a good man.” Your father added. It's the start of every misery when it comes to arranged marriages.

“I apologize for springing this up. (Y/N)'s a bit shaken up since it was — we recently known that she's pregnant.” The pad of his thumb grazes your knuckles. His voice apologetic and remorseful enough to convince your parents and his. You really don't know him anymore.

“Oh darling. We understand. It's fine to feel that way. Trust me, everything's going to be overwhelming starting from now but it will be a breeze after you and Zayne are married.”

You pressed your lips in a thin line. Feigning to consider the implication. You glance at Zayne who's been quiet while his mother gently assures you that being married to her son will be the best choice for yourself and for the baby.

Your father must have sensed your hesitation. He reached for your hands. Holding it to his own wrinkled ones.

“I know marriage is not easy as it can be. Take me and your mother but we worked it out. I trust Zayne with all of my heart.” Your father takes your hand in his. “When we received the news of your accident, my heart couldn't take it. My little girl is hurt. Alone and scared without her father and when I knew Zayne was with you. I have never felt so relieved. Someone is looking after my little girl.”

His voice warm and you see your father, your old man — a little bit younger than his age. Like he was at peace that he knew that his precious daughter is in the right hands. Tears brimmed at the corner of your eyes. You did love your father but your relationship with Zayne was the cause of your current misery.

“The baby...” He clears his throat. “My grandchild, consider it as a blessing to you (Y/N). After that inevitable accident and nearly losing your life. Consider it as a second chance to your life with Zayne.”

It was easy for him to say that but could you blame him? He didn't know. You wanted to shake your head in denial. The baby was no blessing. Zayne had put his baby in your womb as a punishment for wanting to leave him.

Everything was a blur to you. Worked it out? Your mother hated you. She can only spare you a bit of her affection. You desperately wanted to reach out to your father. Hoping that he'll listen to your plea but he had entrusted your life with Zayne cause no other man was enough to be with you. Zayne was the perfect husband that every parents wants for their daughters.

The dinner ended after they started discussing about the upcoming wedding. Zayne had excused you both with the reason that you need to rest early. Well wishes were made and Zayne's parents have decided to stay until the wedding.

The excitement was thick that even looking at them made you gag. There wasn't no malice on there cause it was for a good union that both families will be tied just like they wanted. It doesn't settle right with you.

They kept talking. How happy they were for there children being in love and the new addition of the family that will come in the next seven months. Hell, you didn't even knew you were pregnant and Zayne have known it before the tests. Simply because he knows you more than your own.

Uncertainty washes over you. This is not what you wanted. You were ready to walk away from all of this. Be shunned and be a disgrace to your own family. It will hurt but it was better than to be with him. Realizing that the Zayne you always wanted will never be him. There's always the shadow of doubt but alas circumstances changed that. He made it clear.

A gentle melody of the music being played in the radio fills the silence that is engulfing the both of you inside his car. You pressed your palm unconsciously to your stomach. It was still the seventh week of your pregnancy and there wasn't still a bump. The baby the size of a poppy seed sticking to your womb and doubted a baby bump will be prominent considering the natural roundness of your belly pouch. Well as normal people can see it, you're already pregnant.

“You've been quiet for awhile now. Do you want to talk?” He sees you rubbing your stomach. “No.” You answered him before pushing the button besides your seat. The seat reclines before you curled up. Ignoring him while he smoothly manipulates the steering wheel.

You continued to ignore him until you reached his house.

The heaviness of the air lays thick spreading in every corner that it was suffocating. Like the clouds bringing a storm.

“What were you thinking?” The silence of his house settled into you. Breaking it with a shout. The words slipped from your mouth. Your eyes blinks rapidly. There's a rattle of the chains from your sling bag as it hits the cold floor.

“What were you thinking, Zayne!?” You repeated. Your voice a little higher cause you never knew how to scream but someday you'll learn and maybe it was tonight.

Looking at that man who was once so dear to you. The man who you desperately wanted.

“Why would you do this to me? You didn't even want to be married — not to me, at least.” Your fist collided in his chest but he didn't budge. He welcomed it. He welcomed all the anger, the frustration.

“It is needed to be done.” He says without hesitation. A cold hard truth and you hated him for being true and honest with his intentions and feelings.

“Done?” You repeated the word as if your hearing had failed you and you turned deaf.

“How could you!?” You momentarily paused. Your voice quivered as you continued. “I gave you a chance. I was ready to walk away. I-I was prepared to leave anything behind cause I will never be yours. I will never be what you want. I will never be her.” A tear slipped from your eyes. Your body felt cold.

It was the truth. The cold hard truth. You gave up. How could you compete for a woman that holds his heart — his soul. That looking at him will ever remind you of her. That you will always be second. Part of you wished that you should have died that night.

The sight of your glassy eyes, burning with anger and frustration and hurt made his heart clench. It pained him to see you like this. Hurting over for the other woman. Yes, he admits it. He once loved her. Clinged to her existence cause it was the time that he felt that they belonged to each other until he realizes it was only an illusion. A sense of familiarity.

But what bothered him the most is your words. Leave him? Gave him a chance to walk away from this? From you? Why would you say that when you're already with his child. When all he did was take care of you?

He kept silent. His sight flickering between your teary eyes and the belly straining in your sundress. He lets you say it. Scream all your frustrations at him. You were in a delicate situation and he's letting you feel all of it but it doesn't mean he doesn't care. It's better to let it all out than harm you and the life growing inside you.

“I tried so hard for you. I learned things that I know would impress you. I learned how to bake. How to keep it shut. How not to annoy you. It didn't matter. You kept choosing her over me and now you want me? Decide for me? You're guilty. You're fucking guilty!” You screamed at him. Taking a breather because you didn't trust your voice no more.

“That's what you're feeling. You didn't love me! I smiled despite being hurt by you cause I know my place.” A violent sob racked through your body. You shoved him. Putting all the force of your anger and anguish in your hands. You want to hurt him so bad.

“You decided for me. You got me pregnant and you suddenly announced to my parents and yours that I'm pregnant. I — I — I hate you very much! I wished I died that night! I—”

I wished I died that night. Your words bouncing right back and forth in his mind. It rings on his head. The events that happened that night keeps replaying. Bleeding and unconscious. Barely breathing. You wished you died that night and what? Leave him alone in this world?

A frayed rope that was barely holding his emotions snaps, the ends wriggle — too late to realize what just happened.

Then his voice boomed. Akin to a crackle of thunder that shocks your insides that made you shut up. Staring at him wide eyed. The tears continued to spill.

“Enough!” He caught your wrists. Gently wrapped on his cold palms. “Don't you say that words again.” His voice back to the same composed ones. He pulls you closer to his. The scent of his seeping to yours and this is the times where you think Zayne can be warm too.

“Don't you say that words again. I will never let it happen to you again. Don't you ever say that!” He cups your cheeks. There's a slight tremor in his arms before composing himself.

The tears stopped and your anguish was replaced by confusion like you can't believe his words.

“Hate me.” He whispers. “Resent me. Hurt me.” He tenderly brushes the apple of your cheek. “Let me suffer with your hatred but I won't leave you. You are mine. And I will be with you for the madness you have to offer for me. I will take it — accept it — but don't you ever say those words again.” He says softly but there's the firmness to it. Making himself clear.

“You're mad.” Your voice came out unsteady. Disbelief painted in your face.

“Yes, I'm mad. If hatred is the only thing you will have for me in the long run. I will desire it as I desire you because you are mine.” His gaze locked into you. Clouded with darkness or simply madness.

A stray tear trickled down your cheek. Glistening in the trail of path of your still tear-stained cheek. He wipes it with his thumb. His gaze flickering between your eyes and lips.

“What happened to you? You're not the Zayne I knew.” Blinking slowly as try to clear your vision blurred by your unshed tears.

Is he for real? Or you got transferred to another reality where this version of Zayne madly desires you. Sees you for who you are.

There's only the sound of the breathing in each other's mouth. You can't process how to move or how to feel when he's holding you like this. None of you speak. Locked in each other's gazes. You were about to detach yourself from his hold and without a flicker nor a beat — he kisses you without a warning. The kiss that leaves you helpless.

It started out as soft. A tender kiss. The very first kiss you bestow when you didn't see each other for so long then the kiss turned out something as nothing but rough.

Feverish as his lips connected to yours. Pouring all those words that he can't speak of. That even the most sensible of man can be this emotional. Brought by the madness and the intensity of his feelings caused by this woman. His heart beating rapidly in his chest like a bird flapping it's wings wanting to be free.

He holds you close. Closer than he can ever hold. Afraid that if he lets you go — or loosen his grip you'll disappear. Forever lost.

His hand moves from the one holding your cheek to the back of your head and the other descending in the small of your back. Pulling you closer and deepening the kiss that you once lost to.

It was messy. The kind of kiss that all tongues. Dragging into each other. Tangled in desperation that air wasn't even a necessity.

You grip the lapels of his coat. It's the only thing you can hold unto while he keeps you caged in his arms. Leaving you no room to escape from his iron grip.

You were a marionette on his own strings but even he controlled your movements. You can't shut the thoughts running on your own mind.

Zayne's lips were warm on yours. You expected it to be cold but it was devoid of coldness but only the gentle warmth. It tastes like regret and sweet. Bittersweet you describe it.

He's kissing you. Pouring all the feelings he can't say to you and you thought of her. Does Zayne thinks of her while kissing you like this. Imagining it was her on his arms and not some fucked up, insecure woman who begs for attention that no one notices but only when she bleeds.

Still, you kissed him back.

He's not the only one who can kiss you like this. You kiss him while tears pours from your eyes. You didn't stop. You both didn't stop. Chasing each other's lips and tangling each other's tongues. Tasting each other's breath. You're a mess. A fuck up who enjoys being kissed by a man you love who loves another woman.

You dreamt what it was like to be kissed by him. It was sort of granted but it wasn't on your own terms. It was rough. The first night and the first time he kissed you. It was ugly as it can be but still it was a kiss. One that you yearned for a long time. If he wants the hatred you can give to him — then he's sure he will accept all the resentment you have to offer.

It was this kiss he craves — needed. The bitter taste of your regret but there's sweetness above it. Honest and raw that you loved him all this time and you were willing to throw whatever bit of your sanity left for this.

It was addicting. How the fullness of your lips molds into his. The scent of you driving him insane and the feel of your plush body pressed on him. He feels your pulse quicken under his touch. Knows that your heart beats for him and only him.

It's wrong but it feels so right. He couldn't think of her. Not like this. When it's your lips on his. Your touch burning on his skin. Electrifying. Maddening. He will accept this. Learn to embrace it. And when he's in too deep, he couldn't think of her but only you. In his arms. Trembling under his touch while you cried.

Suddenly, the coldness of that lingered on his body melted. Replacing with the burning feeling of your skin. Melting like snowflakes.

The taste of salt in your tears made it addicting. Like the sweets he's fond — tasting the hint of something that shouldn't be there but it's always right. Meant to be there. Everything's balanced. Everything's feels right when it's your lips on his. When it's you who consumed his thoughts.

He will freeze hell for you.

Looking at your glassy eyes and the spit stained lips mix with yours and his. He wipes your tears again. Pressing his forehead to yours and the silence engulfs the both of you with the exception of the gasps taking air again after the kiss.

“You're going to hurt us both, Zayne.” Your voice shaky and pleading.

“Yes, but what is pain when my love for you can endure everything. A love without pain shall not last. And my love for you will be eternal.” He declares without hesitation. That it is the truth and will only be the truth.

Your eyes widens at the depth of the darkness of his words.

“I'll fix us both. I will do everything in my power — whatever it takes. You're not going to leave me and I won't leave you.” His hand holding your cheek descends to your round belly. “Not when our child is growing inside you. Not when you're mine.”

He kisses your forehead with all the love and promise. For a future with you.

That night something broke. A bond that was long forged from ice and a frozen promise. A vow destroyed when his own blood and flesh sprouted inside you. And just like that, he broke the fate of his with a twist of his devotion for the woman in his arms.

The chapel is something out from a dream. A job well done for a kind of rushed wedding. You can see the vibrant hues of wisteria draping over the gables of the chapel. A willow tree in the distance. The air is cool and buds of the flowers are slowly blooming as they sprouted from the damp earth. There's a burst of rain earlier leaving the scent of the soil and the cool breeze gently caressing your skin. It's the weather you want for a wedding. A auspicious day to be married.

Your family insisted per Zayne's flawless convincing, you weren't sure if it was even one. It was the truth coming from him and it was better this way since you're still in the early stages of your pregnancy. Both of your families agreed without a fuss and the wedding day came.

You found yourself behind the wooden doors of the chapel that remains timeless as the years gone by and you can tell that it was maintained. You tried to look up straight ahead as you hear the faint music began to play. The instrumental version of your favorite song from a movie. The doors opened and you think to yourself — it is now or never — or maybe you can run away from this. Save yourself from another heartbreak and disappointments.

You think of the flowers decorated in the pews and how it took the effort to make it pretty for your special day. You recognized a few of them. It's going to be wasted on you. You didn't deserve pretty things. It's not too late. Your conscience told you but as you take your first step towards him — it didn't matter anymore.

During the days you spend thinking about the future as a stupid teenager that carried until your mid-twenties you envisioned your wedding with him. You will be dressed in white and you know Zayne will be handsome in his tailored suit. He's always handsome — you mused to yourself but after years of pining and yearning for him that will never be reciprocated — you abandoned the dream. Some things aren't meant to be.

Then suddenly, you're the one walking down the aisle towards him when you have already given up for this moment. A future with Zayne. A future for the man who noticed you when you knocked on death's doorstep and suddenly — poof — like a flick of a wand or the sudden appearance of a heartbeat in the electrocardiogram after you flatlined — he's marrying you and you doubt him.

He didn't love you. He was guilty for all of this that until this day — by marrying you, he will atone for the misfortune that fell upon you when it's not his fault. You were just born at the wrong time and place, carrying the resentment your mother that placed to you. You can't bring yourself to believe that he truly loves you.

He didn't need to do all of this and he acted like he didn't had a choice to be with her when you gave him the chance. You were willing to walk away! And then when you decided that your tears aren't enough for this relationship to last long, that it wasn't truly you — the heartbeats growing stronger in your stomach tells you how far he can go just to prevent you from leaving him.

Your thought drifted to her, lingering in the back of your mind and surfaces when you're at most vulnerable. A pure soul with a pretty face. Beautiful inside and out. Fearless and gentle to everyone. You were not. You were a thief stealing Zayne from her when you they're the happiest with each other. A coward for letting fear take control of you. Powerless.

The smile plastered on your face strains in your skin. The more you tried to keep it up, the more it numb you. You really can't marry him. You're stealing him from her. You didn't want him to resent you for existing but the gazes of everyone lies heavily on you. The thoughts still screams inside your brain.

And as you take his hand, you can't erase her.

He didn't missed how your eyes flickers between the doors behind you and him. Still contemplating to left after what he had done to secure this day with you. As if it the life he put in your belly isn't enough. That's why a wedding must happen with both of your families as the witness of this union.

Zayne stands there waiting for you, there isn't amiss from his usual stoic expression but his eyes tell something. Certainty. It wasn't arrogance but the confidence that you were truly his.

His gaze fall to the beauty of his bride — about to be his wife. Walking towards him, clutching a bouquet of your favorite flowers. The blues and greens a dedication to the commitment.

The wedding gown beautifully hugs your plush figure. The gentle swell of your belly strains against the fabric of your dress, it wasn't a baby bump but you're getting there.

The draped sleeves of your wedding gown delicately exposes your soft rounded shoulders. A touch of modesty and a tease there. Your hair woven into delicate braids and a silver tiara rests at the top of your head weaved with leaves and small blossoms of flowers. It is what considered a timeless and elegant look.

As you get nearer, Zayne basks in your softer features especially your face. A light make up enough to highlight your features.

It was the face he learned to love, the one he gets to look whenever you weren't looking. Him constantly admiring you from how your round cheeks puff when you're pouting and the fullness of your lips that he founds himself staring at it more than he can count.

There's a slight tremor in your hand as you take his and once you're facing each other in the middle of the altar, the priest beginning his spiel about the sacred vows of marriage and the people staring at the both of you — Zayne knows you will always be his and that is the finality of it.

His eyes remained on you the whole time. Admiring the bride that was about to be his. It didn't deter him how glassy your eyes look, at the cusp of crying. He reaches out to wipe the tear that rolls from your eye. He can hear the small awe of the crowd.

Don't cry. You repeated the words like a mantra. You're going to play in his cards but it didn't stop the single tear from rolling. All of this feels wrong cause it was never yours to begin with.

You keep your eyes on him and behind those piercing gaze of the green of his eyes — does he imagine of her instead of you? Does he think that it should be her standing in your place? That she should be the one dressed in white — them exchanging vows of eternity and not even death will part them and find each other in the next life.

Your chest felt tight and your stomach in a twist. You wished you can blame it on the pregnancy hormones or something cause it's easier to put the blame than take responsibility of your actions. You should have left, instead you waited for him and that was the biggest mistake. You were trapped with no way out.

In the same measured voice, he began to speak of his vows. The intensity is thick that you're the only one who can pick it up underlined with warmth that makes it convincing. He affirms you with those words, tinged with softness that is solely reserved for you. A rarity for those who have heard it.

His eyes never left you. Looking deeply into your eyes while he gently lifts your soft hand before slipping the ring in your finger.

“I do.” The words are hauntingly sickening when it was your turn to say it. Your hands tremble as you take his hand, you were scared that out of nervousness you won't be able to put it but lo and behold it slips smoothly on his scarred finger.

His hands cups your jaw, the coldness of his hands seeps into your skin. The priest have pronounced you both, husband and wife — the kiss is about to seal the union.

You only tipped your face to look at him and then, he's leaning down to you — bestowing the kiss that he's going to be yours.

The eyes, they will never lie. You see the same hazel green eyes of his looking at you and you wonder when he looks at you like this. His eyes soft but holds the composure, a hesitation that once never existed and with the love he made you believe but the love's dubious and the real one was the one he holds for her.

Her. You can't stop thinking about her. Sweet, beautiful her will never be compared to you. You glanced at the doors and for a brief moment you see her. Crying silently while the love of her life — kissing someone who is not her. You closed your eyes in surrender.

And when you feel the slow, soft breath coming from his mouth — you strategically move your face slightly to the side and only for him the corner of your mouth. A shaky breath escapes your lips. Swallowing the bitter invisible pill down your throat.

He remains calm and calculating under the rejection of his kiss towards you. He subtly pulls you closer to him and even when you reject his kiss in your lips, you will still feel his love as he gently kissed your forehead. A devotion that he hopes you'll understand and accept.

Silver Springs.

The place where Zayne took you after the wedding. A cozy place nestled in the middle of the woods with a lake view. Perfect for sunsets and sunrises. A perfect getaway from the bustling crowd of Linkon.

You wouldn't exactly call it a honeymoon and retreat is a more befitting word for it. A three day and two nights to be away from everyone. It was your first day as newlyweds — husband and wife. You didn't need to stay long in this place and Zayne have his duties as a doctor.

You didn't know what to feel after the wedding. Everything was rush from your pregnancy to marriage. You didn't thought of it and suddenly you're in the middle of the woods with your husband. The word is strange in your tongue. Zayne — your husband. The very one who had been so distant to you and he's the one who is constantly hovering over you.

Dusk had settled and Mr. Moon have made it appearance. The night is dark — dotted with tiny stars and the crickets chirped in the surrounding area. For some reason it gave you a peace of mind for a few minutes. It reminded you of the summers spent at the countryside where your siblings and you frolicked over the damp grasses and throwing mudpies at each other. Your mother disapproved but your father was forgiving. Children should be children — he says. You can't even hear a drop of scoldings from your old man.

Zayne's in the other room, putting the bags away. You didn't bother helping him. Already exhausted of what transpired yesterday and you want to sleep for now but your brain didn't allow. Since the beginning of your pregnancy, your sleep schedule was a mess. You were out like a light in the mornings and sometines you stayed up late like a night owl. If it wasn't for Zayne's interfering and making sure your sleep schedule was aligned to what a pregnant woman should have.

The door creaked and it revealed Zayne. Holding a cup of tea that helps you sleep comfortably. He places it on the bedside table.

“You're going to regret all of this.”

You blurt out of the blue. The words were sharp but it's a surrender. He stops in his tracks. His gaze falling down on you. Studying you for a second.

“What do you mean?” He asks evenly but he knows what you're referring to. He needs to hear the words.

Your absentmindedly caress your rounded belly. “Me. All of this.” Your tone bitter. “You're going to regret marrying me and having me to bear your children.” You say without indifference nor a quiver to your voice. Not yet. You're still not cracking.

“I don't regret any of it.” He says as he settled down besides you. The wind rustles the trees outside and crickets stopped chirping. The night falling into the silence.

You move to your side and without hesitation, you crawled towards him. Climbing on his lap, caging his thighs. He didn't react much like he anticipated this one and is relishing on the sudden affection of his pregnant wife.

He leans behind the headboard. Holding your wide hip and grounding you on his lap. Securing that you won't let go after such bold move.

“I won't ever regret of marrying you nor putting my child into you. It will happen in due time and I decided it's the best for the both of us.�� He says flatly — like it was the reason that makes sense.

You remained silent. Reaching out to touch his face and he melts into your hold. Grasping your wrist as you traced the features of his face.

This man. Your husband belonged to her and you're the one touching him like this. Freely admiring how the light dances on his pale skin. The perfectly sculpted face that you think he was made from a god. Those thick lashes arched in novelty. Framing those narrow eyes of his with eyes the color of forest in spring dappled in sunlight.

“You were so out of reach from my fingers. I watched you. Loved you silently. Hoping that one day you'll look at me but you never did.” Your voice trembled. The calmness of your exterior starting to fade away the more you look at him.

“I heard I flatlined.” It was awful, during your stay at the hospital you heard how Zayne was desperately reviving you after your heart stopped beating, sending you into another cardiac arrest and almost had given up until your heartbeat had surfaced again.

“Was it only the time you realized you were truly afraid of losing me or was it I was slipping away from you?” You searched for a bit of emotion on his face but it remained stoic like he was thinking.

“I never feared anything more than losing you.” The fear, the pain, the guilt that wracked his whole being. All that crashes into a single tidal wave. Rendering him powerless to protect you from all the things that harmed you. It was out of his control of what happened to that fatal car accident that it almost costed your life.

It was beneath him. He had never been so useless his whole life. He never wanted to see you hurt again. Lying in the bed — fighting for you life.

“My mistake ks that I had never given you the chance to know you more but now, I have a lifetime to know you and I won't let anything get between us.” He squeezed the plushness of your waist.

“Yeah?” You asked not moved by his declaration. “What about her? You loved her.” Your eyes burn, thinking of her. He watched as the white of your eyes turned red — deeply affecting him that you still think of her when it was you he choose.

“She doesn't hold my affections the same you hold mine.” He says coldly like the entire existence of her was nothing and is a taboo one to speak that will get you cursed. His expression barely cracked. The reserved, calm exterior were nothing to the cold gaze in his eyes. Simmering with the unadulterated devotion and the darkness merging in those depths.

“That's it?” You murmur — unsure, like you can't believe what he said. “That's it?” You repeated again. All his life it was for her. Being a doctor specializing in the cardiology since she was sick, something in the heart. Devoting his studies to understand her condition and he says that like it doesn't matter anymore.

“You built yourself for her, Zayne — you loved her more than anything else and it is this easy for you to say that I'm the one who holds your affection when you turned like this after what happened to me?”

“I did love her but she's not you. She's not the one I married, not the one who's carrying my child. You're the only one that matters and it will be the end for this. We have a future together.” He says without indifference.

“You won't know the extent of my devotions — I will kill for you. Let the world know that you are mine.” He added. The room turns cold as he let those chilling words left his mouth without breaking eye contact. Frost have formed in the corners of the room but he's warm.

He watch as your eyes widens at his declaration. The heavy implications lays thick and it was true. You don't how far he'll go to such lengths for you, to prove that you're the only one. Enough to convince you to abandon the thought that you will always be second.

Kill. The word is strong. Shivers creep down your spine. It doesn't hold any hostility but the thought of him killing for you, scares you the most.

“I save lives and I can take one too — if anyone touches you — let alone a strand of your hair, I'm the last person they'll be looking at. I am capable of holding a knife to someone's throat much as I am with a scalpel. Nobody will harm you as long I am here.” He added.

In which he already did. The paramedics fault to sent the man also in Akso Hospital. The negligence of his drunk driving endangered your life and in the unforeseen future will also put the others. He just ended it. Administering small doses of potent drug that made it look like he peacefully passed away in his sleep.

“I turned you into a monster.” You whispered, about to remove yourself from him but he kept you on his hold.

“You didn't. You made me feel without restraints. Real. This is who I am.” The tone of his voice didn't change while he strokes your cheeks adoringly.

You were on top of him but is Zayne is quick to admonish you to place you beneath him, that he's always the one to be in control.

“My devotion runs deep for you, more than you will ever know.”

This isn't what you envisioned for your future. Forever tied to him for this lifetime. He took the words from your mouth but it doesn't mean it was enough to say it again.

“I will hate you in the long run.” You warned him but Zayne smiles softly at you.

“It's fine. I have enough love for the both of us. Enough for the two little ones.” A faint smile ghosted his lips. Already attached to the twins — to the thought of being a husband to you and a father to your unborn children. He rests his palm to your protruding belly.

He gently switches the position of you both and now you're lying beneath him. Your hair sprawled like dark halo in the pillows. “You didn't kissed me properly in our wedding.”

His gaze lingering on the soft plump lips of yours before looking at your eyes. “I'll be kissing you properly tonight. You won't deny me right?” It wasn't a question for he kissed you and it's not only a kiss he got from you.

It was a real honeymoon after all.

It's the first time in months you have seen her again.

In the quiet afternoon of the corridors in the hospital, dressed in her hunter uniform. You were done for your monthly check-up with Zayne in your side. His crisp white uniform is abandoned for his black dress shirt and trousers paired with his leather shoes. He's not a doctor today but a doting husband to his heavily pregnant wife.

The flowy pale blue sundress did nothing to conceal the pronounced baby bump. Straining against the fabric and it's the only piece of clothing that is providing you comfort. Loose and breathable.

It may the effect of your pregnancy but you weren't the same anymore when you've seen her. There's no more stinging burn in your eyes nor the heaviness in your chest. You felt at peace or you made peace with your emotions towards her. It's not the assurance that Zayne was your husband and pregnant with his child — it is because you surrendered.

There is no point on dwelling with your ugly insecurities towards her and besides you're going to harm your babies in your womb. You were already at risk with your pregnancy and you shall not strain the innocent babies growing inside you.

The thoughts will always linger. Zayne studies your reaction or the possible trigger of a meltdown but he found nothing. He should be assured — relieved but the neutral expression in your face didn't settle right with him and then he noticed — the mask you were wearing.

Well, it didn't last long for the facadé to crack. You were calm but there's still the hurt left in your heart.

He didn't speak of it but he keeps a firm grip to your plush waist. Shielding you from any possible stress that may harm you and the babies in your womb.

They crossed paths again. What once yesterday's silent promise was nothing to today's and future's commitment to you. He didn't spare her a glance not once when in the past he look at her like she's the most precious thing in the world but now, she was only a shadow. A remnant of the past. He couldn't bother not when there's you in his hold, pregnant with his children. A future he looks forward to.

After leaving the hospital, you were both walking in the nearby park in Linkon. The trees were lush with greenery, the pond glimmering from the sunlight reflecting in the water. The grass soft to touch. The weather wasn't also warm or cold just a right touch of being a good weather.

It's been a few paces and the you noticed it, the stares.

Of course, who would not stare at the eye candy besides you holding your hands. If Zayne weren't a doctor he could be a model. Posing on different cover pages of famous magazines dressed in the latest trends of clothing. Haute couture and all that. Walking in the runway. He must be used from all of it. Except he's not the only one being stared at. They're also looking at you and Zayne noticed that.

You were looking more radiant. Lovelier and fresh like a rain drop. The pale blue sundress did your voluptuous curves justice even with your bump. You could be quite oblivious to but not for long.

The stares, they were weighted and when people stares either they are judging or admiring and you always think of former. You weren't a pretty face nor have the body of a model or maybe it's just the bump. That's right the bump and you unconsciously squeezed your hand in his. Anxiety filling the pregnancy brain of yours.

“Is there something on my face, Zayne. They're staring.” You asked him unsure. Pulling your cardigan closer to you.

He turns around to face you. Another curious gaze from a man he catched giving them a sharp look that says back off before looking at you. “No.” His voice tender and assuring.

“It must be the bump or I've gotten too big.” He sees how your eyes turned sad and the tears was already there.

“It's not the bump. It's you.” His voice firm and it kind of scares you.

“They're admiring my wife.” He explains and the sadness were replaced of a assurance. “Don't worry about them. You have me.” He softly murmurs to you and you believe him.

It makes him want to protect you more.

Zayne took you to a nearby flower shop. Where a nice old lady owns it. Keeping in mind to pick the flowers you wanted to plant since you've been eyeing the vacant part of the garden in the house. You didn't need to tell him. He knows. You've also been much open to him, vocal about what you want.

For the twins, you spoke to him one night about how you wanted flowers in the garden. You wanted flowers to bloom for the twins and he's more than happy to fulfill that for you.

“When are you due, dearie?” A voice spoke besides you. A gardening can in their hand while they admire the potted plants near you. Her hair silver, kept into a neat bun. Their eyes kind and she reminds you of the nice grandmas you meet in the hospital during your checkups or anywhere.

“In a few months.” You said softly, your fingertips tracing the petals of the daises. Admiring the other variants of flowers, thinking of what you should plant for your babies.

She laughs in a light-hearted way. Patting her apron smudged with dirt from tending all the plants in her shop. “The little ones are joys, you know.”

Your mood dampened a bit, remembering how you got pregnant in the first place and Zayne notices about to intervene not wanting to upset you further. “First one?” The nice old lady inquired.

You smiled softly as your gaze drifts to your round belly. “Twins, actually.” You murmur.

“Double the blessing at the first try.” She muses, looking at you. “Pregnancy suits you beautifully, sweetheart.”

Your face warmed at the compliment. “Excuse me, dearie. I shall find you a selection of seed packets of flowers you might like for your babies.” She left with a smile and you turned around to meet his gaze.

“You don't need to hover.”

He keep his hand planted at the small of your back and you sighed. This man can be stubborn.

The old lady came back with the seed packets she promised. She noticed Zayne. “You take care of her.”

“I will.” His voice flat while staring adoringly at you.

You both left shortly after getting the seed packets and bulbs of the flowers you wanted.

“I'm staying home for today.” He tells you one morning. The sun were barely up and you were puking your guts out in the toilet. Six months in your pregnancy and nausea have been kicking you harder than ever. Your twins were literally taking up the space in your belly.

“Is that allowed? You're the chief surgeon.” You take his hand as he assisted you in getting back to your feet again and guiding you towards the bedroom.

“My colleagues can handle today's work.” He says it like it's the most obvious thing and if he says so. You don't have the strength to argue nor push him anymore not when you're already resting your head on his chest. The warmth of his body and the coldness of his hands is what you need.

“Mmm...” A small sound escaped your lips as you tried to suppressed the sudden movements of one of your twins. It was kicking your stomach. You raised your head to meet his gaze. “Calm your spawns in my belly.” Groaning as you feel the both of your twins getting more active.

The surgeon put his hand on your belly. Rubbing soft circles around it and the twins immediately settled down. You didn't mean to sound bitter and call your twins — spawn but with your emotions heightened caused by your pregnancy that is your husband's fault. You can't help it.

Triggered by the way you addressed your precious babies — the familiar stinging pricking behind your eyes started and it broke out when you look at him.

“I hate you.” The words slipped from your mouth and then followed by another. “I hate that you put them in my belly without asking me if I wanted them.”

You couldn't count how many time you said you hated him than you loved him still Zayne remains tender with you. He did said he got enough love for you and how will he accept the hatred from you.

He countered it. “I love you.” He murmurs. “I love that you're mine. I love that you're going to be the mother of my children.” Your lips curls up in a pout and quivered as you broke out in sob and he kisses your tears away until you calmed down.

It's not really a big price he needed to pay. He didn't regret his decisions cause it was planned and he only acted upon it. Similar to operations, you can't cut open without studying their condition and Zayne knew that you still love him.

If you should not have still loved him, you would have tried to escape him or hurt the two little ones growing in your belly but you didn't. You loved them, nurtured and took care of them with care. His extensions of devotion.

Even when you screamed and told him how much you hated him — why did you still accept him in your arms when he seeks it or the days where you look for him for the safety of his body he provided you with love and comfort.

Strongly besotted that when you tried to annoy him with your cravings having particularly developed a taste for the brightly orange colors of the carrots that should have been obliterated — he took a bite after you said that “I'm going to eat carrots cause you hate it so you can hate me too.” He long avoided that disgusting excuse of a vegetable and only you can make him eat it — not to spite you but to show that he will never hate you cause the mistake you only did was love him with all your heart.

There's also your pregnancy, he didn't thought about being a father but with you — everything's right. Falling into its rightful pieces.

Some nights, she crossed his mind. Thinking that he didn't truly loved her. He did became what he is today but it's not enough for a reason to stay. To love is to hurt. That phrase didn't justify when his love for her slowly diluted and was filled for you. Filling the cracks of your shattered heart. He only got hurt when he almost lost you — when your heart decided to stop beating.

He was terrified of losing you — of living a life without the sound of your voice or your presence haunting him.

You are his destruction and you shall be only his salvation.

Stained his hands with the blood of he saved and those who harmed you. He will protect you even it cost him what he believes in.

It was all the answers and the logic that he received that he didn't truly loved her cause Zayne only bleeds for you.

The twins came early as expected.

Aurora. His first born daughter and the eldest of the twin came into the world crying her eyes out like a newborn does. Her cries filled the quietness of the hallways and mixes with the storm raging outside.

The other twin — the one that gave all the doctors and nurses including him the scare. It wasn't visible since they were trained to be calm in situations like this. He didn't came crying for he wasn't breathing.

They had tried to all medical procedures to coax his youngest to cry or breath and even with his specialty in neonatal care, it didn't prepared him for this scenario until he sees your weakened state, reaching out for his child — your child with him.

Zayne didn't believe in miracles that it was only the will of the mind and body shall survive in dire straits but a mother's love for her child proves that miracles exist.

He placed your son to your chest and you cradled your unmoving child to your chest. “Mommy's waiting for you.” You whispered. Your voice hopeful — trying not to crack. Gently tapping his back to coax him to cry or breath or anything that he's alive. It was minutes of pure torture but you remained calm, you didn't let the fear of losing your child take over.

You didn't take your eyes off him. Tears are welling up in your eyes but you didn't let it slip and then it happened — a tiny flutter of breath — his tiny fists curls up in your chest. You let out a breath that you didn't know you were holding and the tears fall before you can realize. You let out a choked laugh. Relieved that your baby boy is alive and well.

“Yue.” You call his name and he gave you the tiniest of smiles before his eyes began to open and stares at you with eyes similar to his father.

Outside the storm had passed. Dark skies began to part and to show the moon peeking through the stormy clouds. Shining brightly and fully.

The room is dim. The monitors beep and seeing you in bed brought unwanted painful memories for him. You're not in that situation anymore. You're alive and passed out from exhaustion despite trying to fight it earlier to admire your children.

The twins are resting in their separate bassinet. Already done with their tests and no health conditions were present. Both healthy and thriving.

Zayne loves his children before they were even born but his gaze fixated on his baby boy. The one who didn't cry and breathed not until surrounded by your warmth or hear the voice of his mother.

Similar to him whenever he wasn't near to you. His fingers gently stroke his baby's boy head then whispered. “You shouldn't scare your mother like that.” The baby only stirred, lips twitching as if understanding him.

He looks at you peacefully sleeping. He will never you put with this kind of pain again. He promised to himself. Admiring his wife blissfully vulnerable and beautiful.

“We're together now.” He said before placing a chaste kiss to your cheek.

At that moment with the twins and you resting, Zayne had never felt so complete in his life.

It felt surreal — how you managed to birth your two babies. Peacefully asleep in their separate cribs, dressed in their snowman onesies.

The pregnancy scared you and with Zayne constantly hovering over you adds the anxiety that you weren't going to be a good mother. You weren't even ready to conceived the both of them but Zayne wanted them — wanted to grow in your womb that you will have no means to leave him.

It mirrored how weak you are that you are easily manipulated with no control of your autonomy. Forced to be with his children without the thought how it will change the course of your lives.

Zayne became the cold and ruthless man that didn't know he was capable of. He would rather let you hate him than leave. You screamed — told all the foul words that you knew but he only stands in front of you with cold gaze. Did his heart even break when you told them all those spiteful words?

The nursery was quiet. The walls were pale blue, painted with arctic animals. Penguins in the corner with their black and white feathers, polar bears in their snow white fur and the other wall were dotted with tiny snowman.

It became your haven when everything becomes too heavy for you to carry. What once you despised growing inside you became your comfort. You hated yourself for hating your children when they were inside your belly cause how come you would want something you didn't ask for and when your baby boy came out almost lifeless and brought to life with your warmth — it frightened you.

They lay asleep. A twitch of their lips in there and their body stirring. You reached out gently to stroke your daughter's cheek with your knuckles. Sweet Aurora with her adorable smile. Melting hearts after she was born. She looks like you with your eyes in hers, taking your facial features and you hope she won't take after your personality.

You kiss the pad of your fingertips, pressing it to her chubby cheeks. You teared up a little. Your gaze fell to the other crib where your baby boy rests well he's not when he sensed you. Reserved Yue who only cries when you're far away from him. Always wanting to he with you.

You take him out from his crib to soothe him. Cradling him close to your chest and your baby boy looks at you with his father's eyes. The same hazel green that you didn't know wether to love or hate it but it belongs to Yue. The baby you almost lost. He's a mirror of Zayne. A tiny version of your husband and the resemblance grew bigger every day.

“You know how to scare mommy, Yue.” You whispered in the quietness of the night and his round eyes stares at you — unblinking.

You sniffle a bit. “Mommy won't wish anything but she hopes that you and Aurora would grow up, strong and healthy.” You laugh a bit to yourself. It was every mother's wishes to their children and you're no different.

Then your voice drops lower like you were on the verge of crying — you are but you only smiled. “But I hope you and Aurora won't be like me.” Your voice cracks. “Please don't be like me.” You repeated and your breaks with every word. “Please don't change to be loved — to be wanted.” You don't want a repeat of history. You don't want your children to be in the same pain you had gone through.

“Learn to leave when you're not needed or wanted and learn to stand up for yourself. Mommy will teach you how even she failed to do it for herself.” The first tear came rolling and Yue raises his tiny hands as if to reach you.

You laugh to yourself before leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Mommy's sorry for telling you this, Yue.” You look at your daughter. “Aurora.” You silently call her name. “Mommy does not want her babies to be hurt.”

You wipe the tears using the heel of your palm before gently rocking your baby boy to sleep. You promised to yourself that they won't be like you. A weak coward who can only stand up for their self when it's only too late.

Zayne stilled for a moment when he hears you say those words. He didn't mean to hear it and assumed you were asleep except you weren't and he finds you in the nursery. Sitting in a rocking chair. Rubbing soft circles to your baby boy and then he hears you. Begging and broken.

After all this time you still think of that? That you still live in the past with the pain of his shortcomings but who could ever blame you — you were hurt by his own.

Slowly, he walks towards you.

The weariness of today can't compare to your pain. He holds your wrist — almost startling you and he catches the tear stains in your cheek and the embarrassment that followed.

He kneels in front of you. Reaching to wipe the tear stains on your face before cupping your round cheek on his large palm. “They won't know it. They will be loved the way I loved you.” He says in a calm voice that soothes your very being despite being hurt.

“I won't allow that.” His voice low enough for you to hear and not to disturb the children sleeping. “And you should never believe nor feel that.”

You were about to say something but your lips closed. Waiting for him to speak again.

“You were never meant to feel those things.” Brushing the tears with his thumb. “You're mine and I have a lifetime to spare and the next that you shall never feel these things again.” He assures you before standing up to press a kiss to your lips before his gaze fell down to his son who looks exactly like him. He softly caressed their soft head.

“Yue, Aurora and you shall never be in pain and I will rid everyone whoever tries to harm you all.” It's dark and chilling from how he spoke those words.

You only hoped that his words are true and there won't be a repeat of that again.

[jupiterpilgrim]

Personal Touch

word count: 11K

Park Jihyo x male reader

commissioned fic

You’re watching Jihyo from across the gym, her ponytail swinging as she fumbles her way through another set on the leg press. She’s got those tight black leggings on, the kind that hug every curve, and a cropped tank top that’s already clinging to her skin with a thin sheen of sweat. She’s been at it for, what, twenty minutes now? Maybe thirty? And it’s painfully clear she doesn’t have a damn clue what she’s doing. The weights clank awkwardly as she pushes them up, her form all over the place—knees wobbling, back arched in a way that’s gonna leave her sore as hell tomorrow. She lets out a frustrated little huff, loud enough for you to hear over the thumping bass of the gym’s playlist, and it’s almost cute how pissed she looks.

She’s only been coming here for a couple weeks, ever since her dance trainer—some tough professional with years of career in the industry—told her she needed to build stamina if she was gonna nail the choreography for her group’s next comeback. Jihyo’s not a quitter, you can tell that much. She’s got this stubborn streak, this fire in her eyes that flares up every time she stumbles and gets back at it anyway. But stubborn doesn’t mean she knows jack about working out. The first time you saw her, she was trying to figure out the rowing machine like it was some alien spaceship, yanking the handle all wrong and nearly toppling off the seat. She laughed it off then, but now? Now she just looks defeated, slumped against the leg press, staring at the ceiling like it’s personally betrayed her.

You’ve been keeping an eye on her—not in a creepy way, just the usual scan you do as a trainer, clocking who’s new, who’s struggling, who’s about to fuck up their spine. She’s definitely in the last category. You’ve seen her type before: idols, dancers, people who think their bodies can just magically adapt to anything because they’re used to grinding out rehearsals. But gym shit? That’s a whole different beast, and Jihyo’s floundering.

She catches you looking—those big, dark eyes locking onto yours for a split second—and her lips twist into this sheepish little grimace, like she knows she’s a mess and hates that you’ve noticed. Then she’s back at it, pushing the weights again, grunting through clenched teeth. Nope, still wrong. Her knees are caving in now, and you’re half a second from walking over there just to save her from herself when she finally throws her hands up and flops back, muttering something, probably a curse, under her breath. She’s got a mouth on her when she’s mad—you’ve heard her drop a few “fuck this” bombs already during her solo sessions.

That’s when she drags herself off the machine, grabs her water bottle, and stomps over to the front desk. You’re wiping down a bench nearby, close enough to catch the tail end of her conversation with the gym manager, a chill dude who’s always got a protein shake in hand. “I need help,” she says, voice low, like she’s admitting defeat but still pissed about it. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m gonna break something if I keep going like this. You got anyone good?”

He glances over at you, smirking like he’s been waiting for this. “Best we’ve got is right there,” he says, jerking his chin your way. “He’ll sort you out.”

Jihyo turns, and you’re already standing there, towel slung over your shoulder, giving her a casual nod. Up close, she’s even prettier than you thought—flushed cheeks, a little mole on her forehead, lips glossy from whatever balm she’s got on. She smells like vanilla and sweat, and it’s doing something to your pulse that you shove down quick.

Professional, man. Keep it professional.

“You’re the trainer?” she asks, sizing you up. There’s this flicker in her eyes—surprise, maybe something else—but she covers it fast, crossing her arms like she’s daring you to prove you’re worth her time.

“Yeah,” you say before telling her your name. “I’ve seen you around. You’re working hard, but, uh… you’re gonna snap something if you keep going like that.”

She snorts, but there’s a tiny smirk tugging at her mouth. “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence. I'm having trouble with my dance trainer—she’s been riding my ass about stamina. Said I need to stop gassing out halfway through practice. So here I am.”

“Here you are,” you echo, grinning a little. “Look, I can help. We’ll figure out what you need—strength, endurance, whatever—and I’ll make sure you don’t kill yourself doing it. Sound good?”

She hesitates, chewing her lip, then nods. “Fine. But don’t go easy on me just ‘cause I suck at this. I can handle it.”

You laugh—can’t help it. She’s got guts, you’ll give her that. “Oh, I won’t. You’ll hate me by the end of the week.”

“Good,” she fires back, and there’s this spark between you, sharp and electric, gone as quick as it came. She tosses her water bottle into her bag and slings it over her shoulder. “When do we start?”

“Tomorrow,” you say, already mapping out a plan in your head. “Come ready to sweat.”

She gives you one last look—half challenge, half something you can’t quite read—then heads for the door, her hips swaying just enough to make you wonder if she knows you’re still watching. You shake it off, grab the disinfectant spray, and get back to work. Tomorrow’s gonna be interesting.

—

The gym’s buzzing when Jihyo rolls in the next day, a little after noon. The second she steps through the door, your eyes snag on her. She’s got this energy today—bouncy, almost eager—like she’s actually hyped to be here. Her outfit’s a knockout: sleek gray leggings that cling to her thighs like a second skin, a neon pink sports bra peeking out from under a loose black tank that’s cropped just high enough to flash a sliver of toned stomach when she moves. It’s not like she’s trying to show off, but damn, she doesn’t have to try. The way the fabric stretches over her hips, the subtle flex of her calves as she shifts her weight—it’s distracting as hell. You catch yourself staring a beat too long and snap your focus back to the clipboard in your hand, scribbling some bullshit note about reps to look busy.

“Hey,” she says, striding up to you with this easy grin. “Ready to kick my ass?”

“Born ready,” you shoot back, matching her vibe. “You look like you’re in a good mood. Sleep well or something?”

She shrugs, tossing her gym bag down by the mats. “Guess I’m just tired of sucking at this. Figured I’d at least try to keep up with you today.”

You smirk, setting the clipboard aside. “Big talk. Let’s see if you can back it up. We’re focusing on stamina—low weight, high reps, keep you moving. Think you can handle it?”

“Psh, bring it on,” she says, cracking her knuckles like she’s about to step into a fight. It’s cute, honestly, how she’s hyping herself up.

You start her off easy—bodyweight squats, just to get her warmed up. She’s got decent form here, knees tracking over her toes, but her pace is all over the place, rushing through the first set like she’s racing the clock. “Slow it down,” you call out, circling around her. “Controlled, not sloppy. Feel it in your legs, not your ego.”

She rolls her eyes but adjusts, sinking into the next squat with a little more focus. You nod, satisfied, and move her to lunges. That’s where shit starts going sideways. Her back leg wobbles like a newborn foal, and she’s tilting forward so far she’s damn near kissing the floor. You stifle a laugh—she’s trying, you’ll give her that—but this is a mess.

“Hold up,” you say, stepping in. “You’re gonna faceplant if you keep that up. Here—” You move closer, close enough to catch the faint whiff of her shampoo, something sweet like coconut. “Back straight, chest up. Step forward, not down.”

She freezes mid-lunge, frowning. “What’s the difference?”

“Everything,” you say, and before you can overthink it, you’re right behind her, hands hovering near her hips. “Can I?” She nods, quick and sharp, and you settle your palms lightly on her waist, guiding her into the next step. Her body’s warm under your touch, solid but soft in all the right places, and you’re hyper-aware of how close you are—close enough to feel her shift her weight, to see the tiny goosebumps prickling up her arms. You nudge her forward, keeping her posture steady, and she follows your lead, sinking into a shaky but passable lunge.

“Better,” you murmur, stepping back before it gets weird. “Keep that up.”

She glances over her shoulder at you, smirking. “Bossy.”

“Part of the job,” you fire back, keeping your tone light. Professional. Always professional.

Next up’s the plank, and holy shit, it’s worse. She drops into it like she’s seen it on Instagram but never actually tried it—elbows wobbling, hips jacked up to the ceiling, looking more like a tent than a straight line.

You can’t help it; you snort.

“What?!” she snaps, glaring up at you, her face already pink from effort.

“You’re, uh… architecturally challenged,” you say, crouching down beside her. “Hips down, core tight. You’re not trying to moon me here.”

She mutters something—probably “asshole”—but lowers her hips, trembling as she holds it. Still not great. You sigh and slide a hand under her stomach, just enough to press up gently, showing her where her core should kick in. Her tank rides up a little, and you catch a glimpse of smooth skin, the dip of her waist. And then there’s her chest—fuck, it’s impossible not to notice now, the way her sports bra strains against her, the swell of her breasts right there as she shifts to adjust. You yank your eyes away fast, focusing on her shaky arms instead. Keep it together, man.

“Feel that?” you say, voice steady despite the heat creeping up your neck. “That’s where you brace. Hold it there.”

She grunts, nodding, and you pull back, letting her struggle through it. She lasts maybe ten seconds before collapsing onto the mat, laughing through a groan. “I’m so bad at this.”

“You’re not bad,” you lie, grinning. “Just… unpolished. We’ll get you there.”

The session rolls on like that—you calling out reps, her fumbling but pushing through, and you stepping in closer each time her form goes to shit. By the time you’ve got her on the rower, she’s panting, sweat dripping down her neck, soaking into the collar of her tank. You kneel beside her, one hand on her back, the other adjusting her grip on the handle. “Smooth pulls,” you say, your fingers brushing her spine as you straighten her out. “Don’t hunch—use your legs.”

She’s so close now, her breath hitching slightly as she follows your rhythm. You can feel the heat radiating off her, the flex of muscle under your palm. Her eyes flick to yours for a second—just a flash—and there’s something in them, a spark that’s not about the workout. But you let it go, keep your face neutral, and step back once she’s got it.

“See?” you say, wiping your hands on your shorts. “Not hopeless.”

She laughs, slumping over the rower, chest heaving. “Yeah, well, you’re doing all the work here. I’m just trying not to die.”

You grin, tossing her a towel. “You’re tougher than you look. We’ll keep at it tomorrow.”

She wipes her face, peeking at you over the edge of the towel, and there’s that look again—quick, sharp, gone before you can catch it. “Tomorrow, then,” she says, and heads for the locker room, leaving you wondering if you’re imagining the extra sway in her step.

—

Weeks slip by, and the gym becomes your little world with Jihyo. Same time, same routine—her showing up in those killer outfits, you barking orders, her swearing under her breath but pushing through. You’re hands-on, always right there fixing her stance, guiding her hips, pressing her shoulders back. Each session’s a dance of its own, her body brushing against yours just enough to make your pulse jump, but you keep it locked down.

Professional. You’re good at that.

Thing is, you’re not just spotting her anymore. Between sets, you’re talking—real shit, not just gym banter. She’s sprawled on the mat one day, catching her breath, and you ask, “So, what’s it like being up there? All those lights, screaming fans?” She laughs, this low, throaty sound, and spills about the chaos of it all—late nights, jet lag, the adrenaline high that crashes hard. You fire back with your own stories, nothing glamorous, just dumb stuff like the time you nearly dropped a dumbbell on your foot first day on the job. She snorts, calls you a klutz, and it’s easy like that.

Then it shifts. She starts digging too—casual at first. “You got a girlfriend stashed somewhere?” she asks one day, mid-squat, smirking up at you. You dodge it with a grin, “Nah, too busy fixing your form.” She lets it slide, but the questions keep coming. What’s your type? Ever dated someone famous? You toss it back—ask her about the wildest afterparty she’s been to, if she’s ever hooked up with a backup dancer. She winks, says, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” and you’re both laughing, but there’s this undercurrent now, something simmering.

The flirting creeps in slow. She’ll flex a little longer than necessary when you’re watching, catch your eye and hold it a beat too long. One day she shows up in this deep blue sports bra, all plunging lines and tight seams, and asks, “This look okay? Not too much?” You choke on your water, manage a “Looks fine,” but your throat’s dry as hell because it’s not fine—it’s fucking incredible. She clocks it, smirks, and goes about her workout like she didn’t just set your brain on fire.

It’s a Thursday when she drops the bomb. You’re wrapping up, wiping down the bench, when she leans against it, all casual. “Hey, wanna grab a drink tonight? Nothing big, just… unwind.” Her voice is light, but her eyes are steady, locked on yours. You freeze for a second—Jihyo, the Jihyo, K-pop royalty, asking you out? No way you’re saying no. “Yeah, sure,” you say, playing it cool. “Where?”

“My place,” she says, like it’s no big deal. “Less chance of someone snapping a pic. Eight work for you?” You nod, and she’s gone with a little wave, leaving you standing there, half-dazed.

Eight rolls around, and you’re at her door—some swanky high-rise with a view of the city skyline that’d make anyone jealous. She opens it in this oversized tee and shorts, barefoot, hair loose, looking like a goddess who doesn’t even have to try. “Hey, come in,” she says, and you follow her to this plush couch, a bottle of soju and two glasses already on the table. You’re sipping, talking, and it’s easy again—laughing about her tripping over a cable at practice, you admitting you once flexed too hard in the mirror and pulled something. Then she’s leaning in, her hand brushing your arm, and the air shifts.

Next thing you know, she’s kissing you—soft at first, testing, then deeper, hungrier. You’re kissing her back, hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer. She tastes like soju and something sweeter, and when she straddles your lap, her tee rides up, showing off that perfect waist. “Been wanting this,” she murmurs against your mouth, and you’re gone—brain short-circuiting as you tug the shirt over her head, revealing smooth skin and a black bra that’s barely containing her.

You’re at it for hours—her place, yours, doesn’t matter. She’s a fucking dream in bed, all confidence and heat. The way she moves, fluid and sure, like she’s still got that dancer’s rhythm even when she’s riding you, head thrown back, moaning your name. Her body’s unreal—curves that fit your hands like they were made for you, skin so soft it’s criminal. She’s loud too, doesn’t hold back, gasping and cursing in this raw, desperate way that drives you wild. You’re matching her, gripping her hips, thrusting up hard, both of you chasing that high. It’s messy, sweaty, perfect—her nails digging into your shoulders, your teeth grazing her neck, the couch creaking under you.

After, she’s sprawled across your chest, panting, grinning like she’s won something. “We’re keeping this quiet, yeah?” she says, tracing lazy circles on your skin. You nod, still catching your breath. “Yeah, secret’s safe.”

And it is—for weeks, you’re sneaking around, hooking up whenever you can. Her place after a late-night workout, your apartment when her schedule’s clear. She’s insatiable, pulling you into her orbit again and again. Every time, she’s flawless—arching against you, whispering filthy shit in your ear, unraveling in ways that make you want to worship her. You’re addicted, and she knows it, playing you with those sly smiles and teasing touches. It’s your little world, hidden from everyone, and fuck if it isn’t the best thing you’ve ever had.

—

It’s been weeks since you’ve had Jihyo to yourself—her schedule’s been a nightmare, all rehearsals and promo bullshit, leaving you both stuck with quick texts and the occasional late-night call where her voice is all raspy and tired but still manages to get you hard. You’ve been pent up, restless, scrolling through old pics she’s sent—her in that tiny red dress, or that one mirror selfie with nothing but a towel—and it’s been hell. Today, though, she’s finally here, strutting into the gym like she owns it.

The first thing Jihyo does is head straight to the hallway to store her bag in one of the lockers where the showers are. She’s in this black two-piece set—sports bra tight enough to make you dizzy, leggings that hug her ass so perfectly it’s obscene. Her hair’s up in a messy bun, a few strands sticking to her neck, and she’s got this glint in her eye, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. You’re behind the counter when she walks up, leaning over it just enough to give you a peek down her top. “Miss me?” she says, voice low, lips curling into this wicked little smile.

“More than you know,” you mutter, gripping the edge of the counter to keep your hands off her right there. She laughs, soft and teasing, and you’re already counting the seconds until you can get her alone.

The workout starts normal enough—stretches, some light cardio, you playing it cool while she bounces on the treadmill, every step making her chest jiggle in ways that should be illegal. But she’s not letting it stay normal. She’s brushing past you too close when she grabs her water, her hip grazing your crotch just long enough to make you twitch. Then it’s the squats—she’s facing you, sinking low, holding your gaze like she’s daring you to break. “How’s my form?” she asks, all innocent, but her tongue flicks over her bottom lip, and you know she’s fucking with you.

“Good,” you manage, voice tight. “Real good.” She smirks, turns around, and bends just a little deeper, ass popping out like a neon sign screaming touch me. You’re horny as hell, and she’s matching it—every move she makes is deliberate, dripping with intent.

By the time you’ve got her on the leg press, you’re done playing. She’s pushing the weight up, thighs flexing, grunting these tiny, breathy sounds that shoot straight to your dick. You step in close—closer than you need to—hands on her knees, adjusting her angle. “Keep ‘em steady,” you say, but your fingers linger, sliding up her thighs a fraction, and she doesn’t push you away. Instead, she tilts her head, locks eyes with you, and lets out this slow, “You gonna keep teasing, or do something about it?”

That’s it. The gym’s quiet—late at night, hardly anyone around—and you’re buzzing with this reckless, aching need. “Fuck it,” you say, voice low. “There’s a spot out back—employee storage room. No one’s in there. Wanna sneak off?” Her eyes light up, pupils blown wide, and she’s off the machine in a heartbeat, wiping sweat off her forehead with this sly, “Lead the way.”

You’re quick about it—grabbing her wrist, weaving through the gym like you’re just showing her something routine. Past the lockers, down the hall, your heart’s hammering because this is dumb as hell, but the thrill’s got you stupid. The storage room’s tucked behind a staff-only sign, all dim lights and stacked equipment—mats, spare weights, a busted rowing machine in the corner. You shove the door open, pull her in, and lock it behind you, the click loud in the quiet.

She’s on you before you can even turn around—hands fisting your shirt, yanking you into a kiss that’s all teeth and heat. “Been thinking about this all day,” she breathes against your mouth, already tugging at your waistband. You groan, shoving her back against a stack of mats, her gasp sharp and dirty as you grind against her. Her leggings are peeled down fast—your fingers hook in, dragging them past her knees, and she’s kicking them off, desperate, the sneakers getting in the way, while you shove your shorts down just enough.

She’s soaked—you can feel it when your hand slips between her thighs, rubbing her through her panties before you push them aside. “Fuck, you’re wet,” you mutter, and she just moans, loud and shameless, arching into your touch. Then you turn her around and push her against the mats, leaving Jihyo with her back to you. You line up, push in slow at first, watching her face—eyes fluttering shut, lips parting with this soft, “Oh shit,” that makes your blood roar.

Then it’s on.

You’re fucking Jihyo from behind, her ass bouncing against your hips with every thrust, and she’s loud as hell—moaning like she’s trying to wake up the whole damn building. “Fuck, I missed this cock so much,” she gasps out, voice all shaky and wrecked, her hands braced against the stack of mats like they’re the only thing keeping her upright. You grin, gripping her hips tighter, feeling her clench around you. “Yeah? Well, I missed this pussy—been driving me fucking crazy thinking about it,” you growl back, picking up the pace just to hear her whimper.

Her top’s still clinging to her, soaked with sweat, and you can’t resist anymore. You reach around, yank it up over her chest, and those heavy, perfect tits spill out, jiggling with every slap of your hips. “Shit, missed these too,” you say, half-laughing, reaching down to grab a handful, squeezing just hard enough to make her groan. They’re soft, warm, and you’re losing your damn mind over how good she feels, inside and out.

You’re both going at it hard, the storage room echoing with the wet smack of skin and her breathy little curses, but it’s cramped as fuck against the mats. “Hold up,” you pant, slowing down, “we gotta get more comfortable or I’m gonna bust something.” You pull out—her little whine at the loss almost kills you—and spin around, snagging one of the thick gym mats from the pile. You toss it down with a slap on the concrete floor, kicking some random crap out of the way. Jihyo doesn’t waste a second—she’s on her back in a flash, taking off her panties and the top, legs now spread, looking up at you with those dark, needy eyes, chest still heaving.

You drop down over her, crashing your mouth against hers, kissing her sloppy and deep, tongues tangling like you’re starving for it. Her hands are all over you—nails digging into your shoulders, tugging at your hair—while you grind against her, letting her feel how hard you still are. You break the kiss, smirking, sliding down just enough to get between her thighs again. She’s soaked, glistening, and you’re lining up, ready to sink back in, when something shifts behind you—like a shadow or a vibe you can’t ignore.

Jihyo gasps, loud and sharp, and scrambles to cover her tits with her arms, eyes wide as saucers. You whip your head around, heart jumping into your throat, and there they are—your two buddies, Jihoon and Minho, standing in the doorway like they just walked into a goddamn porno. “What the fuck?!” you yelp, adrenaline spiking, dick still out and everything. You’re half-expecting a fistfight or some shit, but Jihoon’s holding up his hands, all chill, while Minho’s grinning like an idiot.

“Relax, man,” Jihoon says, voice low like he’s trying not to spook you. “We’re not here to fuck you up.”

“How the hell’d you get in here?” you snap, pulling your shorts up just enough to not feel totally exposed. Jihyo’s still curled up, clutching her chest, looking mortified.

Minho jingles a key between his fingers, smirking. “Spare, dude. Perks of being on shift rotation.”

“And, uh,” Jihoon cuts in, scratching the back of his neck, “we saw you two on the security cam. Figured you’d want a heads-up before the boss checks the tapes and you’re toast.”

You blink, brain catching up. “Wait, there’s a fucking camera in here? Since when?”

“Last week,” Minho says, shrugging. “You were off that day. They put it in ‘cause some asshole kept swiping protein bars from the stash. Didn’t think you’d be the first one caught with your pants down.”

Jihyo’s face goes pale, and she sits up, tugging her top back down over her tits. “Oh my God, the footage—if that gets out, my career’s fucking done. Dispatch’ll have my head, the fans’ll riot—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Jihoon interrupts, stepping closer. “Chill, princess. We’ve got access to the system. We’ll wipe it clean, no trace. You’re safe.”

She exhales hard, shoulders slumping, and mutters a shaky, “Thanks, you guys. Seriously.”

You’re still processing, adrenaline fading into this weird mix of relief and horniness that hasn’t fully died down. You glance at them, then at Jihyo sprawled on the mat, and back to them. “Alright, well, since you’re here… might as well let us finish what we started, yeah?”

Minho’s eyebrows shoot up, and Jihoon lets out a low whistle. “Dude, you’re still good to go after that? Balls of steel.”

You shrug, smirking despite the chaos. “Caught red-handed already—what’s the difference now? She’s hot, I’m hard, let’s roll.”

That’s when Jihyo’s eyes flick over to Minho, lingering on the obvious bulge straining against his gym shorts. She tilts her head, lips curling into something mischievous. “Wait a sec—were you two getting off on the show back there?”

Minho freezes, face going red, but Jihoon just laughs, scratching his jaw. “I mean… you’re fuckin’ hot, Jihyo. Hard not to notice.”

She looks at you, that spark back in her eyes, and you’re not sure what’s coming next until she says, “Well, where are your manners, babe? Why don’t you invite your friends to join us?”

You choke on your own spit, head snapping to her. “You’re serious?”

She leans back on her elbows, smirking like she’s got all the power in the room—and fuck, maybe she does. “Yeah, why not? They’re hot. You’re hot. I’m down if they are.”

Your brain’s short-circuiting, but you turn to Jihoon and Minho, who are staring at each other like they just won the lottery and don’t know how to cash the ticket. “Uh… you guys in?”

Jihoon’s grin spreads slow and wide. “Hell yeah, man.”

Minho nods fast, already tugging at his shirt. “Fuck it, let’s do this.”

Jihyo laughs. “Alright, boys, strip down and get over here. We’ve got some catching up to do.”

Jihoon and Minho step up, peeling off their shirts and shorts like they’re racing each other, tossing the sweaty gym gear into a pile by the busted rowing machine. You’re still on the mat, Jihyo sprawled beside you, and you’re all just staring for a second.

“Alright, so… how’s this gonna go down?” you ask, voice rough, trying to wrap your head around the fact this is actually happening. Your dick’s still throbbing, aching to get back inside her, but now there’s two extra players in the game.

Jihyo sits up, grinning like she’s already got it all figured out. “We’re switching it up. You’re on the bottom, babe, lie back. I’m riding you, but I’m gonna stick my ass out for these guys.” She pauses, catching Jihoon’s eye. “Never taken it in the ass before, though, so let’s start slow. Fingers first, yeah?”

Jihoon nods, licking his lips like he’s been handed a winning ticket. “Fuck yeah, I’ve got you. We’ll ease into it.”

You finally get rid of your shorts and Minho’s already shuffling forward, positioning himself in front of Jihyo, his cock bobbing heavy and thick right at her eye level. She doesn’t hesitate—wraps her fingers around it, light but firm, giving it a slow stroke that makes him groan low in his throat. “Damn, Minho,” she purrs, voice all husky and teasing, “this is a nice fucking cock. Thick, too—gonna feel so good in my mouth.”

You’re flat on your back now, the mat cool against your skin, and Jihyo swings a leg over you, straddling your hips. Her pussy’s still slick, dripping from earlier, and she lines herself up, sinking down onto your cock with this slow, deliberate roll of her hips that makes you curse under your breath. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” you mutter, hands clamping onto her thighs as she settles, her weight pressing you deeper inside her.

She leans forward just enough to stick her ass out, cheeks round and perfect, wiggling it a little like she’s daring Jihoon to make his move. He doesn’t fuck around—steps up behind her, hands spreading her ass wide, thumbs digging into the soft flesh. “Goddamn, look at this,” he says, voice low and gravelly, before he spits right on her hole, a thick glob that glistens in the dim light. Jihyo shivers, a little “mmh” slipping out as he rubs it in with his thumb, circling her tight entrance, teasing it open slow.

“Feel good?” Jihoon asks, smirking, and she nods, biting her lip hard.

“Yeah, keep going,” she breathes, already rocking on you a little, her pussy clenching around your dick like a vise.

Up front, Minho’s got his hands in her hair, guiding her down as she parts her lips and takes him in. She starts slow, tongue flicking over the tip, tasting him, before sliding deeper, hollowing her cheeks as she sucks. Minho groans loud, head tipping back. “Holy shit, Jihyo—fuck, that mouth.”

You’re thrusting up into her now, matching her rhythm, the wet slap of your hips against hers filling the room. She’s moaning around Minho’s cock, muffled and sloppy, spit dripping down her chin as she bobs her head. Jihoon’s working her ass with one finger now, pushing past the tight ring slow and careful, and you can feel her tense up, her pussy gripping you even harder. “Relax,” Jihoon murmurs, free hand rubbing her lower back, “I’ve got you, just breathe.”

She does, exhaling shakily through her nose, and you can tell she’s getting into it—her hips start moving faster, grinding down on you while Jihoon adds a second finger, stretching her out. “Fuck, that’s tight,” he grunts, scissoring his fingers a little, and Jihyo pulls off Minho for a second, gasping.

“Shit, Jihoon—feels weird but good,” she pants, before diving back onto Minho, sucking harder like she’s channeling it all into him.

You’re losing your mind under her, the heat of her pussy, the way she’s bouncing on you, tits swaying with every thrust. You slide your hands up, cupping them, thumbs flicking over her nipples—hard and pebbled—and she moans louder around Minho, the sound vibrating through him till he’s gripping her hair tighter, fucking her mouth shallow and quick.

Jihoon’s got a rhythm going now, fingers pumping steady, and Jihyo’s ass is loosening up, taking it like she’s been waiting for this. “Ready for more?” he asks, voice rough, and she pulls off Minho again, nodding fast, spit stringing from her lips to his cock.

“Yeah, keep going—want it,” she says, all breathy and wrecked, before swallowing Minho down again, deeper this time, gagging a little but not stopping.

Finally, he pulls his fingers out, and Jihyo lets out this shaky, needy sound around Minho’s dick that makes your pulse jump. Jihoon spits into his palm, a thick wad, and slicks it over his cock—already hard as steel, veins bulging, tip flushed dark. He spits again, right onto her gaping hole, watching it clench and unclench like it’s begging for him. “Alright, baby,” he says, low and gritty, “time to open you up for real.”

He lines up, pressing the head against her ass, and even with all the prep, it’s a fucking fight—her rim’s so tight it barely budges. Jihyo tenses, pulling off Minho with a wet pop, gasping, “Slow, slow—fuck, go slow.” Jihoon nods, one hand gripping her hip, the other guiding his dick, and he pushes—just the tip at first, breaching her with this agonizing, deliberate pressure. She yelps, sharp and raw, her whole body locking up, and you feel it—her pussy clamps down on you like a vise, making you hiss through your teeth.

“Relax, Ji,” you murmur, sliding your hands up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her tits, trying to ground her. “You’ve got this.”

She nods, quick and jerky, sucking in a breath as Jihoon inches deeper, his cock disappearing bit by bit into her ass. “Holy shit,” he groans, head tipping back, sweat beading on his forehead. “Like a fuckin’ vice grip—Jesus.” He’s going slow like she asked, but you can see the strain in his jaw, the way his fingers dig into her flesh—he’s dying to just ram it home.

Jihyo’s got her eyes squeezed shut, lips parted, panting hard as her body adjusts. You start moving again, shallow thrusts up into her pussy, keeping her full from below while Jihoon works her from behind. Minho’s not waiting around—he taps his cock against her cheek, smearing pre-cum and spit across her skin. “Open up, gorgeous,” he says, and she does, tongue flicking out to taste him before he slides back in, filling her mouth again.

Now she’s stuffed—all three holes, proper fucked like some kind of porn fantasy come to life. You’re pounding up into her pussy, feeling the heat of her walls ripple every time Jihoon shifts in her ass. It’s a tight fit—too tight, almost—like her body’s not sure it can handle this much, but she’s taking it anyway, rocking between you, her moans turning into these desperate, throaty cries that Minho’s dick only half-smothers.

Jihoon’s picking up the pace now, still careful but deeper, his balls brushing your thighs as he sinks halfway into her ass. “Fuck, she’s loosening up,” he grunts, spitting again where they’re joined, making it slicker. You can see it—his cock stretching her rim, the skin pulled taut, pink and shiny with spit and friction. Jihyo’s trembling, her tits bouncing with every thrust, nipples hard and dark, begging to be touched. You grab one, pinching it between your fingers, and she arches, a high whine breaking free around Minho’s shaft.

And he is losing his damn mind up there—his hips twitch, fucking her face in short, sloppy thrusts, his cockhead hitting the back of her throat till she’s gagging, tears prickling her eyes. “Goddamn, this mouth—fuck, Jihyo, you’re killing me,” he rasps, pulling out just long enough to let her cough, spit stringing from her lips to his tip, before he’s back in, chasing that wet heat.

You’re synced up now, you and Jihoon—when he pushes in, you pull back, then switch, keeping her full, keeping her guessing. Her pussy’s dripping, soaking your hips, the mat, everything—slick and hot, squelching loud with every thrust. You can feel Jihoon through the thin wall between you, his cock rubbing against yours inside her, and it’s fucking wild—intense, dirty, like you’re sharing her in ways you never imagined.

Jihyo pulls off Minho again, gasping for air, her face a mess—cheeks flushed, mascara smudged, spit glistening on her chin. “Oh my God—fuck, you guys—it’s so much,” she chokes out, voice hoarse but dripping with lust. She’s shaking, thighs quivering, but she doesn’t tell you to stop—just leans forward, kissing you hard, all teeth and tongue, while Jihoon keeps grinding into her ass.

“Too much?” you ask against her mouth, smirking, thrusting harder to test her.

“No,” she fires back, fierce, nipping your lip. “More—fucking give me more.”

Jihoon laughs, low and dark, smacking her ass lightly—red blooms under his palm, and she yelps, clenching around you both. “Greedy little thing,” he says, then slides deeper, almost all the way in now, his hips flush against her. She screams, muffled quick as Minho shoves his cock back in her mouth, holding her head steady while he fucks her throat.

The room’s a furnace—sweat’s dripping off you, off her, off them, the mat slick under your back. Your hands roam her body—tits, hips, the soft curve of her belly—feeling every shudder, every tense. Her ass is bouncing now, Jihoon’s fully in, his thrusts long and slow, stretching her out while you hammer up into her pussy, fast and rough.

You’re all going at Jihyo like she’s some kind of dirty dream come to life, this K-pop diva turned full-on slut in your hands. She’s moaning like a goddamn porn star, muffled around Minho’s shaft, her tits bouncing wild with every thrust, nipples brushing your chest as she rocks between you. Jihoon’s got her ass in a death grip, slamming in deep, his hips smacking her cheeks so hard the sound bounces off the cinderblock walls. “Fuck, this tight little hole—Park Jihyo, man, who’d have thought?” he pants, voice all gravel and awe, like he’s still processing that he’s balls-deep in a K-pop goddess. His thrusts are steady, relentless, splitting her open while you pound up into her pussy, feeling her walls flutter and squeeze like she’s trying to crush you. Minho’s up front, one hand tangled in her messy bun, the other braced against the stack of mats as he fucks her face, spit bubbling at the corners of her mouth, her eyes watering.

“Bro, this is insane,” Minho grunts, pulling out just enough to let her gasp, her lips swollen and glossy, before sliding back in. “Fucking Jihyo—Twice’s Jihyo—like she’s some cheap whore. I’ve been stanning her since ‘Cheer Up,’ and now she’s gagging on my dick.”

You smirk, hands digging into her hips as you thrust harder, making her whole body jolt. “Yeah, well, I’ve been hitting this for weeks, dude. Secret’s been worth it—her pussy’s fucking unreal.”

Jihoon laughs, a dark, filthy sound, smacking her ass again—red handprints layering over her skin. “You lucky bastard! Keeping this goddess under wraps? I’d have been bragging day one.”

Jihyo pulls off Minho with a wet pop, coughing, voice hoarse but dripping with sass. “Keep talking like I’m not here, assholes—I’m the one taking all your cocks.” She grins, then dives back onto Minho, sucking him down like she’s proving a point. You feel her clench around you, loving the dirty praise, the way you’re all losing your minds over her.

“Let’s switch it up,” you say, voice rough, pulling out of her pussy with a slick, obscene sound that makes her whimper. “New holes, new vibes—let’s keep this shit fresh.”

She nods, eager, wiping spit off her chin as you all shuffle around on the mat. You lie back, pulling her on top of you again, but this time you’re aiming for her ass—Jihoon’s already stretched it good, and you want in. She straddles you reverse, facing Minho, her ass hovering over your cock as you spit on your hand, slicking yourself up. Jihoon steps up front, claiming her pussy, while Minho stands close to her face, ready to stuff her mouth again.

You grip her cheeks, spreading them wide, and guide her down slow—her ass is still tight as fuck, even after Jihoon’s work, and the way it grips you as you sink in has your head spinning. “Holy shit, Ji,” you groan, watching her rim stretch around you, pink and shiny, “this ass is something else.” She hisses at the burn, but keeps going, sinking lower till you’re buried to the hilt, her body shaking against you.

Jihoon’s already sliding into her pussy, his cock pushing through her soaked folds, and she moans loud, head tipping back. “Fuck—two at once again, you guys don’t play,” she gasps, voice cracking as Jihoon starts thrusting, shallow and fast, stretching her cunt while you rock up into her ass, slow and deep to counter him. Minho grabs her jaw, tilting her head forward, and she opens wide, letting him fill her mouth again, his tip hitting her throat with a wet gurgle.

Now it’s a whole new beast—her ass is tighter than her pussy, hotter, the pressure unreal as you fuck up into it, feeling Jihoon’s cock rubbing through the thin wall separating you. He’s grunting with every thrust, her pussy dripping down his balls, smearing onto your thighs. “Man, this angle—her cunt’s hugging me so damn good,” he mutters, eyes locked on where he’s disappearing inside her, her lips puffy and slick around him.

Minho’s got her face in a vice, hips snapping forward, his cock sliding past her tonsils till she’s drooling all over him, spit dripping down her chest, coating her tits in this glossy mess. “Look at her, dude,” he says, voice shaky with lust, “fucking Park Jihyo—queen of K-pop—taking it like a street girl. I’ve jerked off to her fancams a hundred times, and now I’m wrecking her throat.”

You thrust harder, making her bounce, her ass cheeks jiggling against your hips. “Yeah, and I’ve been railing her on the DL this whole time,” you fire back, smirking. “You don’t even know—her stamina’s insane. She’s a freak behind closed doors.”

Jihyo pulls off Minho, laughing through a moan. “You’re all obsessed—fuck, keep going, don’t stop.” She dives back onto him, sucking harder, her tongue swirling around his shaft like she’s starving for it. Her ass clenches around you, tighter every time Jihoon slams into her pussy, and you can feel every twitch, every pulse.

The new position’s got her body on full display—tits swaying, sweat streaking down her spine, her thighs flexing as she balances on you. You grab her hips, guiding her up and down your cock, loving the way her ass swallows you whole, the slide slick and hot. Jihoon’s hands are all over her front, pinching her nipples, making her yelp into Minho’s crotch, her cries vibrating through him till he’s gripping her hair tighter, fucking her face with zero restraint.

“Shit, this is a fucking masterclass,” Jihoon says, voice low, almost reverent, as he pounds her pussy, the wet smack of his hips against hers loud and lewd. “Never thought I’d be learning how to fuck from Jihyo herself—K-pop royalty turned cockslut.”

Minho nods, dazed, his hands trembling as he holds her head. “Yeah, man, she’s the dream—those vocals, that face, and now this? Bro, you’ve been living the goddamn fantasy.”

You grin, thrusting deeper, making her scream around Minho’s dick. “What can I say? She picked me first—guess I’ve got the magic touch.” You smack her ass, hard, leaving a fresh red mark, and she bucks against you, driving you even deeper.

“Yo, let’s flip it,” Minho says, pulling out of her mouth with a sloppy, wet sound, his cock glistening with her spit, veins popping like he’s barely holding it together. “I want a piece of that pussy—Jihoon, you take her mouth.”

Jihoon grins, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Fuck yeah, been dying to feel that tongue on me.” He slides out of her cunt, leaving it dripping and pulsing, a slick trail of her juices stringing from his tip to her lips as he steps back. Jihyo gasps, catching her breath, her chest heaving—those heavy tits rising and falling fast, nipples dark and stiff. She licks her lips, smirking, like she’s ready for whatever’s next.

You keep her steady, hands clamped on her ass cheeks, spreading them wide as you thrust up into her, slow and deep, savoring the way her hole stretches around you. Minho’s already moving, stepping up between her legs, his cock bobbing heavy and thick, shiny with her spit and his own pre-cum.

Minho grabs her thighs, yanking them apart like he’s claiming territory, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. “Fuck, look at this—pussy’s begging for it,” he says, voice low and hungry, rubbing his tip against her folds, teasing her clit till she squirms. She’s soaked, dripping down onto your hips, and he doesn’t wait—just plunges in, hard and fast, filling her cunt with one brutal thrust. Jihyo cries out, sharp and loud, her body jolting against you, making your cock twitch inside her ass.

“Shit, Minho—easy,” she gasps, but her hips roll forward to meet him, contradicting her words. He’s already moving, slamming into her pussy with these wet, nasty smacks, his balls slapping her skin, her juices splattering every time he bottoms out. Jihoon’s up by her head now, his dick hovering over her face—hard, flushed, dripping a little from the tip. “Open wide, babe,” he says, smirking, tapping her cheek with it like he’s marking her. She doesn’t hesitate—parts her lips, sticking her tongue out flat, letting him drag his cock across it before he shoves in. She moans around him, muffled and desperate, her hands reaching up to grip his thighs as he starts fucking her mouth, slow at first, letting her adjust.

“Goddamn, that’s it,” Jihoon groans, head tipping back, his toned arm flexing as he holds her head steady. “Suck it good, Jihyo—fuck, your lips look unreal wrapped around me.” Her tongue’s working him hard, swirling around the head every time he pulls back, spit bubbling at the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin onto her tits. She’s sloppy with it, gagging a little when he hits her throat, but she doesn’t stop—just takes him deeper, eyes watering, loving the mess.

You pick up your pace, thrusting up into her ass harder now, matching Minho’s rhythm. Her body’s bouncing between you, caught in this brutal push-pull—your cock splitting her ass, Minho’s stretching her pussy, Jihoon’s filling her throat. She’s shaking, thighs quivering, tits jiggling with every slam, her skin slick with sweat and spit and her own slick. The mat’s a disaster under you—wet patches spreading, the air heavy with that raw, musky scent of bodies colliding.

“Man, this pussy’s insane,” Minho grunts, his hands sliding up to her waist, pulling her down onto him harder. “Tight as fuck, wet as hell—Jihyo, you’re killing me here.” He’s going deep, his hips snapping fast, her cunt squelching loud every time he drives in, her walls pulsing around him like she’s trying to squeeze him dry.

You laugh, rough and breathless, smacking her ass so it jiggles against your hips. “You’re just figuring that out? Been tapping this for weeks, bro—she’s a fucking goldmine.”

Jihoon’s got her hair fisted now, guiding her head as he fucks her face, his voice all gravel and awe. “Weeks, huh? You’re a legend. Fucking Park Jihyo in secret? I’d have lost my mind day one—her sucking me off like this, now I get why you kept it quiet. She’s a goddamn dream.”

Jihyo pulls off him for a second, gasping, spit stringing from her lips to his cock, her voice wrecked but dripping with fire. “You guys—fuck—talking about me like I’m some trophy. Keep fucking me, I love it.” She dives back onto Jihoon, sucking him down hard, her cheeks hollowing, tongue flicking wild against his shaft.

Minho smirks, thrusting deeper, making her moan around Jihoon’s dick. “Oh, she’s a trophy alright—K-pop’s finest, taking all our cocks like a pro.”

You feel her ass tighten at that, like the dirty talk’s lighting her up, and you ram up harder, making her whole body shudder. “She’s been my slut for a while,” you say, grinning, “loves it nasty—can’t get enough. Right, Ji?” You smack her again, and she whimpers, the sound vibrating through Jihoon’s cock till he’s groaning loud.

“Fuck yeah, she does,” Jihoon says, his hand slipping down to cup her jaw, guiding her deeper. “Look at her—those big eyes, that voice, and now she’s choking on me like it’s nothing. Been replaying her ‘Fancy’ fancams in my head forever, and this is a million times better.”

Minho’s hands roam up her sides, brushing her tits, thumbs flicking her nipples as he fucks her pussy raw. “Better? Dude, this is the ultimate—her body’s unreal, pussy’s so tight I can feel him through her. We’re living the fantasy right now.”

The three of you are synced up, a filthy machine—your cock plunging into her ass, thick and slow, stretching her wide; Minho’s hammering her pussy, fast and greedy, her slick coating his shaft; Jihoon’s fucking her mouth, his tip hitting her throat with every thrust, her gags and moans blending into this raw, desperate soundtrack. Her body’s on fire—sweat streaks down her spine, pooling at the small of her back, her thighs trembling against you, her hands clawing at Jihoon’s legs for balance.

She’s close—you can tell by the way her body’s starting to shake, her rhythm getting messy, her moans turning into these high, broken cries that Jihoon’s dick can’t fully muffle. You pick up your pace, slamming up into her ass, your hands gripping her cheeks, spreading them wide so you can watch your cock vanish inside her. “C’mon, Ji,” you mutter, voice rough, “let go—fucking cum for us.”

Minho feels it too, her pussy fluttering around him, and he leans forward, one hand sliding up to her tit, pinching her nipple hard. “Yeah, baby—cum on my cock, let me feel it,” he growls, hammering her faster, his balls slapping her skin, wet and loud.

Jihoon pulls out just enough to let her breathe, her face a wreck—cheeks flushed, mascara streaking, mouth open and panting. “Do it, Jihyo—fucking cum,” he says, voice low and urgent, stroking himself fast as he watches her unravel.

She’s teetering, her whole body tensing—then it hits. “Oh fuck—fuck, I’m—” Her words cut off into a scream, sharp and wild, her pussy clamping down on Minho so hard he hisses, his thrusts faltering for a second. Her ass locks around you, tighter than ever, pulsing like it’s trying to crush your cock, and you groan loud, hands digging into her flesh as you keep pounding through it. Her eyes roll back, mouth hanging open, spit dripping free as her whole body bucks and shakes, caught between you all.

“Shit, there it is,” Minho grunts, his hands sliding to her waist, holding her steady as he fucks her through it, her pussy gushing, soaking him, dripping down onto you. “Fuck—feels like she’s breaking me.”

You feel it too, the way her ass spasms, milking you with every clench, her body a live wire. “Told you—fucking unreal,” you say, voice strained, thrusting harder to chase her high, her cheeks rippling against your hips, the sound wet and obscene.

Jihoon’s watching, stroking himself, his cock twitching as she gasps and moans, her throat exposed, raw from his pounding. “Goddamn, look at her—cumming like a fucking slut on all of us,” he says, then he slides back into her mouth mid-moan, cutting her off, her lips closing around him as she sucks through the aftershocks, her tongue sloppy but eager.

Her orgasm’s ripping through her, relentless—her pussy’s flooding Minho, her ass gripping you so tight you can barely move, her cries vibrating through Jihoon’s cock. She’s thrashing now, caught in this wild, shuddering rhythm, her tits bouncing hard, sweat streaking down her spine, pooling at her lower back. You reach up, grab her shoulders, pull her down onto you harder, making her scream louder around Jak.

You keep your cock buried in Jihyo’s ass, her tight heat pulsing around you after her orgasm, her body slick with sweat and trembling like she’s barely holding it together. She’s sprawled over you, her ass cheeks jiggling with every slow, deep thrust you give her, while Minho’s pounding her pussy like a goddamn jackhammer, his cock slick with her juices, leaving a wet trail down his thighs. Jihoon is fucking her throat with these lazy, sloppy thrusts, her lips stretched wide.

Her climax has left her shaky, but you’re all too far gone to slow down—her pussy’s still spasming around Minho, her ass gripping you like it’s begging you to stay, and her moans are vibrating through Jihoon’s cock, raw and wrecked. You’re thrusting harder, excitement buzzing through you, your hands digging into her hips, feeling the heat build in your gut.

Minho’s grunting, his rhythm getting jagged, his hands leaving red welts on her waist. “Fuck, she’s still so tight—gonna lose it soon,” he pants, his cock plunging deep, her slick gushing out with every hit, soaking the mat. Jihoon’s not far behind, his jaw tight, sweat streaking down his neck as he pumps into her mouth, her throat bulging with every thrust. “Shit, man—her tongue’s working me over, I’m close,” he groans, his grip on her hair tightening, pulling her deeper.

you are close too, that electric rush creeping up, your cock throbbing in her ass, her walls clenching like they’re trying to milk you dry. “Ji,” you rasp, voice rough and ragged, “where you want it? Where you want our cum?” You slam up into her hard, making her yelp around Jihoon, her body jolting, ass rippling against you.

She pulls off Jihoon with a wet, gasping pop. “My face,” she chokes out, voice hoarse but dripping with need, “all of you—fucking blast it on my face.” Her eyes are wild, dark and desperate, locked on you like she’s starving for it.

You nod, pulling out of her ass with a slick, nasty sound, her hole gaping for a second before she scrambles off you, dropping to her knees on the mat between you, Minho, and Jihoon. She’s on the ground now, thighs spread, her pussy dripping onto the floor, tits heaving as she catches her breath. You’re all towering over her, cocks in hand, stroking fast, the air thick with tension and that musky, primal stench of sex. She looks up, smirking through the mess, her sweat-streaked hair sticking to her neck, and it’s like she’s daring you to ruin her.

You step up first, gripping your cock tight, the tip still slick from her ass. “Open up, Ji,” you say, and she does—parts her lips, sticks her tongue out flat, ready for you. She grabs your shaft with both hands, guiding you in, and fuck, she sucks you like it’s her last mission on earth. Her mouth’s hot, wet, sliding over you deep and slow, tongue swirling around the head, flicking at the slit till you’re hissing. Then she goes lower, popping off your cock to lick at your balls, sucking one into her mouth, rolling it with her tongue till it’s drooling with her spit. “Fuck—Jihyo, that’s it,” you groan, stroking the base as she works you, her dedication pushing you right to the edge.

Minho and Jihoon are stroking themselves hard, watching her with you, their breaths short and sharp. “Goddamn, she’s a fucking pro,” Minho mutters, his hand a blur on his thick cock, pre-cum beading at the tip. Jihoon’s grinning, his shaft twitching in his grip. “Look at her go—fucking Twice’s Jihyo, sucking him like she’s thirsty for it.”

She pulls off you, leaving your cock and balls dripping, spit stringing from her lips as she looks up at all three of you, her voice raw and filthy. “C’mon, boys—gimme your cum, fucking cover me, I want it all,” she begs, her tone pure cumslut, hands cupping her tits, pushing them up like a canvas. It’s obscene, the way she’s pleading, this K-pop queen on her knees, and it’s got you all buzzing, cocks throbbing, ready to explode.

Minho’s the first to break—he steps in, grunting like an animal, his hand flying over his shaft. “Fuck—here it comes, Ji,” he growls, aiming right at her face. His load hits hard, a thick, white rope blasting across her cheek, streaking up to her nose, dripping down to her parted lips. She moans, low and dirty, tongue darting out to catch what she can as another shot lands, splattering her forehead, sliding down to her eyebrow. It’s massive, heavy, coating her skin, some splashing onto her tits, streaking across her chest in messy, glistening trails.

Jihoon’s right on his heels, moving in close, his breath ragged. “Shit, Jihyo—open up,” he gasps, and she tilts her head, tongue out, catching his first shot as it arcs over her lips, pooling in her mouth. Another hits her other cheek, thick and hot, smearing across her chin, dripping down her neck in fat globs. She swallows what she caught, moaning soft, her eyes fluttering as it drips off her jaw onto her tits, mixing with Minho’s load, turning her chest into a sticky, white mess.

You’re last, your hand a blur, the sight of her—begging, drenched—pushing you over. “Here it is, Ji—fucking take it,” you say, voice tight, aiming at her face. It hits like a fucking firehose—a fat, pulsing shot right across her nose, bridging over her tongue, then another, coating her lips and chin, dripping thick and slow. It’s endless, heavy, splattering off her jaw onto her tits, blending with the others till she’s a goddamn cum-soaked masterpiece, skin shining, chest heaving.

She sighs, this deep, satisfied sound, her face a canvas of chaos—cheeks plastered, forehead dripping, lips smeared, all of it pooling and sliding down her neck, her tits a slick, cum-streaked mess. She smiles, slow and smug, like she’s just conquered the world, her tongue flicking out to lick her lips, savoring the taste. “Fuck, you guys—look at this,” she murmurs, hands sliding up to her chest, smearing the cum across her tits, rubbing it into her nipples, making them glisten. It’s insane, the way she’s basking in it, this idol turned cum-drenched fantasy, and you’re all just staring, panting, cocks still twitching.

She’s not done—she leans in, grabbing your cock first, licking the sensitive tip slow and deliberate, sucking off the last drops, making you shudder hard. “Mmm,” she hums, moving to Minho, her tongue flicking over his head, tasting what’s left, leaving it slick with her spit. Jihoon’s next, and she gives him the same, lapping at him like a cat, her eyes half-lidded, drunk on the filth. “So fucking good,” she whispers, sitting back on her heels, her hands scooping the cum off her face—thick, gooey strands—spreading it over her cheeks, her chin, her tits, till she’s coated, glistening, a total fucking wreck.

You’re all wrecked too, chests heaving, the mat a disaster—sweat, cum, her juices everywhere, the air heavy with it. She looks up, grinning, her face a work of art, painted white and dripping, and you can’t believe this is Jihyo—Twice’s leader, now your cum-soaked secret, kneeling there, satisfied as hell. “Fucking perfect,” she says, wiping a finger through the mess on her chest and sucking it clean, her smile wicked, like she’s just won the dirtiest game imaginable. You’re all just standing there, exhausted, awestruck, watching her revel in it, this moment burned into your brains forever.

The storage room’s now a fucking crime scene—sweat, cum, and the echoes of pure filth still hanging in the air as you all come down from the high. You glance at each other—Minho wiping his forehead, Jihoon running a hand through his damp hair—and there’s this unspoken agreement that you can’t just walk out like this.

“Shower time,” you say, voice rough but casual, pushing yourself up off the mat. Your shorts are halfway across the room, crumpled in a heap, and you grab them, not bothering to put them on yet. Jihyo sits up, stretching, her tits jiggling as she moves, cum still dripping down her chest in slow, sticky trails. “Yeah, I need to wash this off,” she laughs, wiping her face with the back of her hand, smearing it more than cleaning it, then she starts to pick up her clothes scattered on the floor. Minho and Jihoon nod, grabbing their own gear, and you all head for the gym’s locker room, a quiet buzz of exhaustion and satisfaction trailing you.

The showers are down the hall, past the empty weight racks and cardio machines, the gym eerily quiet now that it’s late. You each peel off what’s left of your clothes—your shorts, their gym tanks—and pile them on a bench. The water kicks on with a hiss, steam rising fast as you step under separate showerheads, the cold tile a shock against your feet. The hot spray hits you first, pounding your shoulders, washing away the sweat and grime, the faint ache in your muscles melting under the heat.

Jihyo’s in the next stall over, her silhouette visible through the frosted glass divider, water cascading down her curves, sluicing the cum off her skin. You hear her hum, soft and low, some Twice melody she’s probably sung a thousand times, and it’s almost surreal—minutes ago she was begging for your loads, now she’s showering like it’s just another day. Minho’s scrubbing his arms, soap suds bubbling up, muttering, “Fuck, I needed this.” Jihoon’s across from him, water pounding his back, grinning like an idiot. “Best shower of my life.”

You soap up, lathering your chest, your junk, feeling the grime slip away, the hot water working miracles. Your legs are still buzzing from holding Jihyo up, your arms sore from gripping her tight, but you’re refreshed, lighter, like the shower’s washing away more than just the sweat. You rinse off, the water turning cloudy for a sec as the last of it swirls down the drain, and step out, grabbing a towel from the stack by the wall. It’s rough, gym-issued, but it does the job—drying your hair, your back, your balls—till you’re dripping less and feeling human again.

Jihyo steps out next, towel wrapped loose around her, water still beading on her shoulders, her hair slicked back dark and wet, the sneakers already on. She looks fucking radiant, cheeks flushed from the heat, skin glowing like she didn’t just get railed by three guys in a storage closet. Minho and Jihoon follow, towels slung over their shoulders, shorts back on, hair damp and messy. You all linger for a minute, the steam curling around you, the vibe easy but charged, like you’ve all shared something monumental—and you have.

Minho and Jihoon glance at each other, then at Jihyo. “Be right back,” Minho says, jerking his chin toward the staff room down the hall. “Gotta handle something.” They duck out, leaving you and Jihyo alone for a sec. She’s drying her arms, smirking at you, and you lean against the locker, watching her. “You good?” you ask, casual but real.

She nods, grinning. “Better than good. That was fucking wild.” Her towel slips a little, showing the curve of her tit, and you catch it but don’t stare—professional, sort of. “You guys are something else.”

Before you can reply, Minho and Jihoon are back, stepping in with this chill energy. Minho’s got his hands in his pockets, Jihoon’s rubbing the back of his neck. “All clear,” Minho says, looking at Jihyo. “Security footage—wiped it clean. No trace of anything. You’re safe.”

Her shoulders relax, a little breath slipping out. “Fuck, thank you—seriously. If that got out…” She trails off, shaking her head, but then smiles, big and bright. “You guys are lifesavers.”

Jihoon laughs, leaning against the wall. “Nah, you’re the legend here. That was unreal—like, thank you. Never thought I’d be saying that to Park Jihyo after… well, that.”

Minho nods, smirking. “Yeah, hands down the craziest shit I’ve ever been part of. You’re fucking incredible.”

“Well, good news—we can do it again sometime. I’m down if you guys are.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, a grin tugging at your lips. “Oh, hell yeah, I’m in. No question.” Minho and Jihoon are quick to agree—Minho with a “Fuck yes,” Jihoon with a “Count me in, any day.”

“It was unforgettable,” Jihyo says, her voice softer now, reflective. “Like, I’m still buzzing from it. By far one of my best experiences.” Then she removes the towel, not caring about the presence of either of you and begins to get dressed, she opens one of the lockers to take out the bag she stored there earlier and takes out a hoodie, putting it on over her gym clothes. After finishing, she adjusts her bag on her shoulder, ready to head out, but there’s this glow about her—exhausted but alive.

You sling your own bag over your shoulder, stepping closer. “You know, Ji, this is a hell of a way to boost your stamina. You were a fucking beast today—killed it. I’m telling you, a few more rounds like this, and you’ll be unstoppable on stage. Choreo won’t stand a chance.”

She laughs, loud and bright, the sound bouncing off the lockers. “Oh, you think this is my new training regimen? Fuck cardio—give me three cocks and a storage room, right?” She’s joking, but there’s a spark in her eye like she’s half-serious. “Honestly, though—if this is what it takes to get tireless, sign me up. I felt like I could go all night.”

Minho smirks, grabbing his keys off the bench. “Shit, you basically did. Your dance trainer gonna wonder why you’re suddenly out-dancing everyone.”

Jihoon’s already at the door, turning back with a grin. “Yeah, tell her you’ve got a secret weapon—three trainers putting you through the ultimate workout.”

You all crack up, the vibe loose and easy now. Jihyo adjusts her hoodie, pulling the hood up, ready to slip out unnoticed. “For real, though,” she says, looking at you, then Minho, then Jihoon, “you guys are the best. Let’s make it a thing—whenever the schedule’s clear, we’re back here.”

“Deal,” you say, fist-bumping her, the others following suit. “Next time, we’ll push you even harder—stamina training, level two.”

She winks, stepping out into the hall, her voice echoing back. “Can’t wait, boys. See you in the next session.” You watch her go, that sway in her hips still lethal, then head out yourselves, the night air cool against your skin, a fresh contrast to the heat you’ve just left behind. You’re all grinning, buzzing, already counting the days till round two with the goddess Jihyo—your dirty little secret, and the best damn workout of your lives.

[romerona]

Ethera Operation!!

You're the government’s best hacker, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to be thrown into a fighter jet.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Awkward!Hacker! FemReader

Part II

You knew today was going to suck the second your alarm went off and you briefly, genuinely, considered faking your own death.

Not in a dramatic, movie-worthy kind of way. No, more like… vanish-into-a-data-breach, throw-your-phone-in-the-ocean, start-a-new-life-in-Finland sort of way.

But instead, you got up.

Because apparently, national security outranks your crippling fear of flight—not that it makes the simulator any less hellish, with its cold metal, stale coffee, and that faint chemical tang of fear.

You were strapped into the rear seat of a flight simulation pod, hands locked in your lap like they might betray you at any moment and start mashing random buttons. You exhaled slowly as your eyes flicked across the control panel. So many switches. So many lights. Half of them blinked like they were mocking you. The other half were labeled with words like “altitude” and “engine throttle” and “eject.”

Great.

You adjusted your headset as the technician’s voice crackled through. “Sim will start in thirty seconds, Doctor. We’ll be monitoring vitals and control input from the tower."

You forced a nod, even though your stomach was already trying to escape through your spine. Your breath fogged the inside of the visor. You clutched the tablet tethered to your vest like it was a stuffed animal and you were six years old again.

“Try not to scream this time,” came Cyclone’s voice through the comms, calm and flat like he was asking you to pass the salt.

You offered a shaky thumbs-up that somehow felt more like a surrender flag.

The sim operator spoke next, voice crackling through your headset once again. “Doctor, your objective is to remain conscious, keep your hands away from the panel, and activate the Ethera interface when prompted. We’ll simulate turbulence, evasive maneuvers, and mild G-force changes. Ready?”

No. Never.

“...Sure.”

The sim lurched forward with a roar, and your whole body snapped back into the seat. You let out a startled “whuff!”, eyes wide, heart in your throat. The room around you—walls disguised as sky—blurred as the machine banked hard to the left.

“OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGOD—”

There was no gentle start. No soft acceleration to get your bearings. Just a violent jolt forward, and then you were climbing—straight up, like gravity had been turned into a weapon and pointed directly at your lungs.

Pressure slammed into your chest. The world outside the cockpit blurred. You couldn’t hear anything except your own heartbeat.

“WHY ARE WE TILTING—”

“Initiating evasive pattern,” came the tech’s voice, calm as ever.

The sim jerked again, this time into a sharp roll. The world flipped sideways. Your ears popped. Something primal in your brain screamed: This is how you die.

Your ears were ringing. Your pulse thundered against your ribs. Somewhere beneath the pressure and panic, you could hear the tech’s voice cutting in again—calm, detached, and utterly unhelpful.

“Doctor, you need to deploy the program,” he said. “Fifty seconds. Starting now.”

Oh, shit, you couldn’t even see straight.

Your breath came in short, shallow gasps as the simulated jet banked hard to the right, pressing your spine into the seat like it wanted to keep it. The G-forces made your vision tunnel, your stomach lurching somewhere around your throat.

Your hand fumbled toward the tablet mount, fingers shaking so hard they were basically useless. You tapped the corner of the screen. Missed. Tapped again. The jet jolted. The tablet shifted. Your palm slammed into the side instead of the input.

Forty seconds.

The Ethera prompt blinked up at you—green, glowing, go—but it may as well have been a mirage. You squinted through the dizziness, swore under your breath in three languages, and tried again.

Thirty-five.

The turbulence kicked again, harder. Your chest seized. The tablet slipped slightly in its latch. You tapped the input.

Too late.

“Simulation failed,” the system announced flatly. “Target missed.”

Everything halted—the motion, the noise—everything except your pulse, which pounded on like it hadn't gotten the memo.

The sim pod cracked open with a sharp hiss, releasing a rush of cool air that hit your sweat-slicked skin like a slap to the face. You didn’t move. For a second too long, you just sat there, fingers clenched around the armrests like they were the only things keeping you from unraveling completely. The silence pressed in, thick with the weight of your own embarrassment, humiliation settling low and heavy in your gut like a stone.

Your fingers fumbled at the release on your helmet, hands still trembling from the G-forces and adrenaline. The inside of your mouth tasted like copper and failure. You tugged off the headset next, wires dragging like they were reluctant to let go. Everything felt too loud and too quiet at the same time.

Your boots scraped against the cold floor as you shakily swung your legs out, and there he was, Vice Admiral Beau Simpson, standing with arms crossed, expression carved from steel.

You wanted to disappear into the floor.

He didn’t speak right away. He just looked at you. Not angry. Not even disappointed. Just… calculating. Like he was already assessing the cost of putting you on a real jet.

“I missed the mark,” you said first, because silence felt worse. “I know.”

Cyclone gave a short nod, like that much at least didn’t need explaining. “You froze.”

You exhaled slowly, willing your heart to stop trying to beat its way out of your ribs. “Yeah.”

His eyes didn’t waver. “You had a job. Not to fly. Not to fight. Just to stay calm. Deploy your program.”

“I know.”

“And you failed.”

You stood on legs that didn’t feel like they belonged to you, one hand gripping the edge of the simulator for balance, the other still clutching the edge of the tablet even though the prompt had long since vanished.

“If this had been real,” he continued, “that satellite would still be feeding your government false intelligence. That jet would’ve been intercepted. And you, Doctor, would’ve been dead, and so would've your pilot.”

You flinched. Not visibly—hopefully—but the words hit harder than they should have. You stared at the scuffed metal floor, heart thudding against your ribs.

“You’re not a soldier,” he said. “And you’re not trained for this. That’s clear.”

You opened your mouth—maybe to apologize, maybe to defend yourself—but he raised a hand, cutting you off with one sharp motion.

“That’s not an excuse,” he added, voice sharp. “It’s a reality. One you’ll have to overcome, and fast. I don’t expect perfection but I do expect progress. And I expect you to walk into that sim tomorrow knowing what you did wrong—and ready to fix it.”

You blinked hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. “Yes, sir.”

Cyclone gave you one last look—disappointed, but not hopeless—and then turned, then paused, glancing back.

“And see medical,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “You’re pale as hell.”

Then he walked away, boots echoing down the corridor, leaving you standing there with a spinning head, a shattered ego and the feeling of wanting to curl up and cry.

As you moved to make your way toward medical—because yes, apparently nausea, disorientation, and a near-death experience weren’t enough on their own— you skidded to a stop just short of slamming into a very broad chest.

Of course. Of course, it was him.

The handsome, mustached pilot. The one who’d handed you your tablet like it was a glass slipper, back in the briefing room. The one who hadn’t laughed when you dropped it, but definitely thought about it.

His hair was slightly mussed, curls pushed back from his forehead like he’d run a hand through them one too many times. He held two water bottles, one in each hand, like he wasn’t sure if he meant to stay—or if he’d just pretend this was a casual “what a surprise” moment if anyone asked.

You froze. He straightened.

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than you expected. A lot softer than earlier. Less smirk, more... sincerity.

“Uh… hi,” you said finally. Nailed it. Pure elegance.

His expression didn’t change much, maybe just a flicker of amusement at the corners of his mouth. He held out one of the bottles. “You looked like you could use this.”

You hesitated—more from surprise than anything else—then took it. You took it, fingers brushing his as you did. His skin was warm—too warm for how cold you felt. You tried not to notice.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, unscrewing the cap with hands that still trembled, ever so slightly. The water was blissfully cold against your throat, but it did nothing for the embarrassment still curdling in your stomach.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentler than you expected.

You hesitated, then tilted your head in a noncommittal shrug. “Define okay.”

A ghost of a smile touched his face. “Not crying, not puking, not passed out? That’s the general baseline.”

You cracked a reluctant laugh. “Oh, sure, I’m totally thriving.”

He nodded once, and the silence settled again—less awkward now, more… charged. The kind of quiet that hummed between words. The kind that made your skin feel too tight.

He looked like he might leave, but then he didn’t.

Instead, he shifted his weight, adjusting his grip on the second water bottle like it was some kind of anchor or maybe just something to do with his hands while he said, “You weren’t terrible in there.”

Your stomach jolted—sharp, unexpected. Like missing a step on the stairs. Heat bloomed beneath your collar, crawling up your throat as your fingers tightened around the plastic water bottle.

“You…” Your voice cracked a little, and you cleared your throat. “You were watching?”

God. No.

Why did you ask that? Why would you ever want confirmation?

His expression shifted—just slightly. Not quite sheepish, not quite smug. Just something in the middle.

“I was passing by,” he said, entirely too casual.

You groaned softly, dragging a hand over your face. “Fantastic. I didn’t just humiliate myself in front of the brass. I also had an audience.”

“Don’t take it personally,” he said, his voice laced with something between amusement and sincerity. “We’ve all been there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “In a classified sim seat with national security riding on your ability to not pass out?”

He grinned wider. “Well. Maybe not exactly there.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you take another sip of the water.

“You’re not supposed to get it right the first time." He said, "No one does. You think the rest of us were born knowing how to pull 7 Gs without losing our lunch?”

You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t believe him—maybe part of you even did—but because if you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure if it would come out as a laugh or a cry.

He noticed.

“You know, most people don’t get in the backseat of a fighter jet without years of prep. You? You've got a couple of days, a tech background, and a pulse. That’s it and you still got in. That counts for something.”

You stared at him. “Why do you even care if I mess this up?”

He looked at you then, long and quiet.

“You built something that could change the world,” he said with an easy shrug. “That kind of genius doesn’t come with an eject handle. So yeah. I care.”

You looked away fast, suddenly too aware of how warm your cheeks were.

He leaned back again, casual as ever. “Besides, if I'm the one you are gonna fly into enemy territory, I’d rather know you’re not gonna scream the whole time.”

You snorted. “I’ll scream quietly. Into my elbow. Like an adult.”

He chuckles and you looked at him. Really looked at him. Still in partial uniform, flight suit unzipped to the waist, sleeves tied and hanging loose around his hips. His shirt clung to his chest, slightly sweat-damp at the collar, and that damn mustache made him look both out-of-place and weirdly grounded at the same time.

He wasn’t just handsome. He was kind of infuriatingly steady.

“Can I—” You paused, surprised by your own voice. “Can I ask your name?”

His brows lifted, just slightly, like the question had caught him off guard. But then he shifted forward and extended a hand—open, easy, completely steady in a way that you most definitely weren’t.

“Bradley Bradshaw,” he said. “But most people around here call me Rooster.”

You blinked. “Rooster?”

A grin tugged at his mouth, soft and lopsided. “My call sign. It’s a long story.”

You hesitated for a beat, then reached out and slid your hand into his.

His palm was warm—really warm—and calloused in a way that made you feel every inch of the difference between your worlds. His grip was firm but not overwhelming, grounding. Like he knew exactly how much pressure to apply without overdoing it. His fingers curled around yours with quiet confidence, like this was nothing, like it didn’t send an unexpected little jolt of awareness all the way up your arm.

Your hand was smaller than his, your skin cooler, trembling just enough that you hoped he didn’t notice—but something in the way his thumb shifted, just the tiniest bit, made you think maybe he did.

You weren’t sure how long you held on. Long enough to register the strength in his hand, the steadiness, the solidness of someone who lived in the sky but was somehow more grounded than anyone you knew.

“Y/N L/N,” you said finally, your voice softer now. "But I guess you already knew that.”

He gave a small nod, his eyes not leaving yours. "You're hard to forget,"

You didn’t let go right away.

Neither did he.

Then, as if realizing the moment was hanging just a second too long, you both released at the same time—too quickly. Like a secret exchanged and immediately tucked away.

You took a half step back, pulse thrumming in your throat, fingers still tingling from the contact.

Bradley, however, didn’t step away immediately instead, he lingered for just a second longer, watching you with a look that wasn’t teasing or cocky or smug. Just something quiet and steady, then he smiled—small, crooked, the kind that didn’t feel all that teasing but still carried that glint of mischief behind it. The kind of smile that said he saw more than he let on.

“You’ll get it,” he said, voice softer now. “Not today. Maybe not tomorrow.”

His eyes flicked to yours, and something about the way he looked at you—like he meant it, like he believed it, made your chest tighten.

“But you will.”

You opened your mouth, unsure what you were about to say—maybe thank you, maybe don’t say that unless you mean it—but the words never quite made it past your lips.

Because Bradley gave you one last look, a flick of something unreadable in his eyes, then turned down the corridor, water bottle still swinging lazily from his fingers while you stood there for a moment, then finally exhaled. “Okay,”

Days went faster than you were ready for.

You hadn’t slept much. Not from fear exactly, though there was plenty of that still hanging around like a ghost in your chest—but more from the afterglow of adrenaline. The kind that leaves your body tired but your mind racing.

You’d replayed Bradley's words a dozen times. You’ll get it. You weren’t sure if they’d stuck because you believed them… or because you wanted to.

But when you arrived at the simulator bay, you were expecting to meet with Cyclone, just like every other day, but he wasn't there waiting for you.

It was a new pilot.

She stood near the simulator controls, arms crossed loosely over her chest, already in her flight suit, her expression somewhere between mildly unimpressed and genuinely curious.

“You’re my new project, huh?” she said as you approached.

You blinked. “Um. I—guess so?”

“I’m your point of contact now,” Phoenix said, nodding toward the simulator. “Cyclone thought a different approach might help. And I volunteered.”

You tried not to look too relieved. But you were. God, you were. Cyclone, well, he was rough, for lack of better words, Rooster had been kind, yes, but his presence was a lot. Intense. Distracting.

Phoenix, on the other hand, had that kind of practical, no-nonsense confidence you could actually lean on. She didn’t feel like a storm waiting to happen. She felt like structure.

“I’m Lieutenant Natasha Trace,” she said, extending her hand. “Call sign’s Phoenix.”

You shook her hand, your grip steadier than yesterday—though your palm was still a little clammy, and you were pretty sure she noticed.

“Y/N,” you said, then added with a tired smile, “Doctor. Uh, the nervous one.”

Phoenix huffed out a short laugh, a glint of something sharp but not unkind in her eyes. “I read your file.”

She stepped back, folding her arms as she leaned one hip against the edge of the sim console. Her stance was relaxed, confident, comfortable in her own skin in the way only someone who’d already proven themselves a hundred times could be.

“I also watched your sims,” she added, voice casual.

You winced, your smile turning into a grimace. “Oof. That bad?”

She tilted her head, as if considering how honest she wanted to be. Then gave a light shrug, eyes steady on yours. “I’ve seen worse. A lot worse.”

You let out a low hum, arms crossing loosely over your chest in mock thought. “That’s… reassuring.”

“Isn’t it?” she said, with just enough of a smirk to make you feel like she was on your side. “You hadn't passed out nor puked. You followed instructions until your brain short-circuited. Classic first-timer move.”

You laughed under your breath, surprised at how easily it came.

She finally looked at you then—steady, knowing. “We’re not here to make you into a pilot, Doc. We just need you ready for the mission. The rest? We’ll cover you.”

Something in your chest loosened at that.

Support. No condescension. No sharp edges. Just a quiet kind of strength you could lean against.

“Thanks,” you said. “Really.”

Phoenix nodded once. “Let’s get you in the seat.”

Inside the simulator, everything felt smaller than you remembered.

Not physically—just heavier. Like the air had thickened, like the walls had learned your fears from yesterday and decided to lean in a little closer.

You sat in the back seat again, the tablet already secured to its mount beside your right leg. Your fingers hovered near it, not quite touching, like it might bite. You could already feel your heartbeat in your palms.

“Straps secured?” Phoenix’s voice crackled through the headset. Her tone was crisp, even, the kind that didn’t rise to meet panic—it smothered it before it started.

You exhaled and gave a tight nod, forgetting she couldn’t see it. “Y-Yeah. Good to go.”

“All right,” she said. “We’re starting slow. Just basic turbulence patterns. No evasive maneuvers, no tricks. You’re not here to impress anyone. You’re here to breathe, and press a single button when I tell you.”

You nodded again, this time speaking aloud. “Sure.”

The sim hummed to life around you, and your body tensed automatically—like it remembered what came next, even if you swore it wouldn’t be that bad.

“Relax your shoulders,” Phoenix said, as if she felt the stiffness from her end. “You’re holding tension like you’re about to punch the air.”

The screen in front of you blinked to life. The sim took you airborne, but the motion was slow this time—steady, like a calm climb on a commercial flight.

You forced yourself to breathe out slowly and unclenched your jaw, trying to follow her lead. The shaking wasn’t nearly as bad as the previous day's simulated madness. No rolls. No sharp drops. Just steady pressure. Unnerving, but survivable.

Your eyes flicked to the screen.

The prompt glowed softly. Ethera. Standing by. Timer: 02:00

“This is just a systems check,” Phoenix said. “You don’t have to engage. Just keep your eyes on it. Notice the screen, your pulse, your breath. You’ve got time."

The pod dipped gently into a banking curve. You swayed, stomach flipping. "Keep breathing, Doc."

You gripped the edge of the seat, fingers twitching. “This still counts as breathing, right?”

“As long as you’re not blue in the face, yeah.”

You smiled—barely—but it helped.

The Ethera interface activated on the mounted tablet in front of you. The same prompt, The countdown. You glanced at it and your heart gave one uneasy thud.

“Don’t rush,” Phoenix reminded you, voice even. “One thing at a time. Don’t try to win. Just try to finish.”

You nodded again, reaching out slowly—deliberately—and tapped the screen to begin the simulated deployment sequence. The code began to unfold, and the sim didn’t break into loops or chaos. It kept going. And you were still breathing.

Your hand trembled slightly, but you stayed focused, eyes on the sequence as it loaded in steady green waves. The turbulence passed. The sim steadied.

“Ten seconds,” Phoenix said. “You’ve got it. Keep it locked.”

You kept your hand on the panel. You didn’t blink. The screen counted down.

3… 2… 1…

Deployment successful.

The soft chime of success echoed in your headset.

“Target received,” the system confirmed.

You blinked, then blinked again. “I… I got it?”

“You got it,” Phoenix said, the faintest edge of pride in her voice. “Nice and clean.”

You slumped back in the seat, suddenly aware of just how hard your heart had been working. Your eyes stung—not from panic this time, but from sheer relief.

“Doctor,” Phoenix said after a beat. “That was not bad.”

You couldn’t help the grin that broke across your face, exhausted but real.

And when the pod finally powered down with a gentle thunk, and the hatch hissed open, you realized you’d done the whole thing without white-knuckling the seat.

You’d finally made it through.

Phoenix was waiting for you, arms crossed, leaning one hip against the console like she’d known all along you’d handle it.

You stepped out, legs a still stiff, but your head was clear.

“Not bad,” she said, and this time her smile wasn’t just professional. It was small, but real. “No ejections. No nausea. No hysterics.”

You let out a dry laugh, breath catching on the edge of it. “Just mild existential dread.”

She shrugged, cool as ever. “That’s standard issue.”

Then smiled—really smiled—for the first time since this whole classified, terrifying, completely-out-of-your-depth mission had begun. The kind of smile that pulled dimples you hadn’t felt in days.

“Thanks,” you said again, quieter this time. Not just for the training, but for not making you feel like a burden.

Phoenix nodded once, like she already understood all of that.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” she said. “We need to move faster. Real evasive sequences. Simulated pressure. Maybe even some yelling.”

“Yours or mine?”

She smirked. “We’ll see who breaks first.”

You laughed again—easier this time—and for the first time, it didn’t feel like you were pretending.

By the time the week came to an end, you and Phoenix had become friends.

Not in the polite, nod-in-the-hallway kind of way—but the real kind. The kind built through shared silence in the simulator bay, through low chuckles after a successful run, through Phoenix’s calm voice in your headset, cutting through the static and the fear. She never coddled you. Never sugarcoated anything but she never made you feel less, either.

There were moments where fear absolutely took over—where your breath hitched too high in your chest or your fingers trembled too much to find the prompt in time and there were other moments, rarer but growing, where you managed. Where you pressed the button, where you kept your head above water.

Phoenix never made a spectacle of either.

When you panicked, she talked you down, when you succeeded, she just clapped you on the shoulder, tossed you a bottle of water, and said, “Told you. You’re getting it.”

And somehow, that meant more than any standing ovation ever could.

By Friday evening, you had survived four more simulations, logged two successful Ethera deployments, and stopped referring to the ejection lever as “that red death stick.”

Progress.

“You coming to the Hard Deck tonight?” Phoenix said casually, already slinging her duffel over one shoulder as you both headed toward the lockers.

You blinked at her, caught off guard. “What?”

She paused mid-step, turning just enough to glance back at you with that crooked grin she reserved for moments like this—half dare, half invitation.

“The Hard Deck,” she repeated, now walking backward toward the hangar doors. “Bar. Pool tables. Bad decisions. You in?”

You stared for a beat too long, processing.

The Hard Deck.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. You’d heard about the place in passing—mostly through muttered comments and laughing threats. It had sounded like a local haunt. Loud. Messy. Full of people who knew exactly what they were doing and didn’t care that you didn’t.

“Wait, is that—like, is that a thing?” you asked, trailing after her. “Do people… actually go?”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow like she wasn’t sure if you were messing with her. “Only the ones worth talking to.”

You hesitated.

She paused at the doorway and tossed the final hook. “You’ve survived a week of sims, didn’t puke on anyone, and haven’t cried once. That makes you officially less pathetic than half the new guys. You’ve earned a drink... So?

Your brain, naturally, tried to stall. A bar? With actual people? And more pilots? But your mouth moved faster.

“Uh—yeah, sure,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before your usual social panic could hit. “I could go for a drink.”

Phoenix gave a little nod, like she’d already known your answer. Like this was the inevitable next step in whatever strange, reluctant journey you’d found yourself on.

Then she jerked her chin toward the exit, already on the move.

You hesitated. “What now?”

She didn’t stop walking.

“You go back to wherever you’ve been hiding, put on something that doesn’t scream ‘high-stress lab goblin,’ and I’ll swing by in an hour.”

You blinked. “That specific, huh?”

Phoenix half-turned, walking backward again like she had a personal vendetta against stationary conversations. “It’s a bar, not a Senate hearing. No briefing, no simulations, no threat of fiery death. Just drinks. Loud music. Maybe pool. Probably bad flirting.”

And with that, she was gone—leaving you standing in the middle of the hangar, sweaty, slightly stunned, and suddenly very aware that you owned exactly one outfit that wasn’t issued or work-adjacent.

Oh no. Now you actually had to get ready.

A/N:

Heyyyyy, OMG the support for this story is wild, thank you all so so muchhh!! I honestly did not think it would get this much attention, my first draft was actually a Charlie's Angel reader lol, but I'm so happy you all enjoy this version. I did try to make it as realistic as possible, after all reader does not like to fly I can only imagine being put in her position, so she being frozen out of fear and not completing the mission feels real, at least to me.

And my apologies it took me so long to put it out. Part III is already in the works, so I think it will be out soon.

Thank you all so so much for the support and the comments and reblogs, really.

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[traffys-heart]

one piece men + sex toys | nsfw

alr so this got way out of hand. originally all of these were supposed to be short paragraphs per man but they turned into small short stories. the lengths vary and the tone changes in each one but i hope u guys enjoy (∩˃o˂∩)♡

characters: monkey d. luffy, roronoa zoro, vinesmoke sanji, portgas d. ace, sabo, eustass kid, killer, trafalgar d. law

cw: lowercase, afab! reader, vibrators, fingering, dildos, female masterbation, fleshlight, drinking, blindfold (on reader) , handcuffs (on reader), vaginal sex, biting, sex machine, mention of anal, dildo receiving oral, body pillows, virgin! loser! law, no beta

cw nicknames used: atta girl, lady, chic

monkey d. luffy

u and luffy were resting in your bed, enjoying some of the rare leisure time the crew had. u were reading a book robin lent u while he laid over ur lap, lazily soaking up some warmth. he had been fishing w usopp and chopper earlier when he got kicked our of the group for 'free balling' some sashimi and eating chopper's catch raw. eventually he got too bored of staying still and began to shift around on ur legs, deciding to move his hands around ur sheets.

his nimble fingers moved in patterns, drawing random shapes until he came across a bump in between ur blankets. it was sort of in the shape of a slender pill bug which excited him. pulling the mysterious shape out, it was in fact not an insect but something pastel and smooth. this both disappointed and intrigued him.

“hey what’s this pink thing”

ur novel flew across the room faster than usopp’s legs when he sees a new island. u attempted to grab the small vibrator out of ur captain’s hands, horrified of the situation u had found urself in. while u and luffy have been in a loose romantic relationship for a while neither of u had made any moves into sex territory, so the prospect of him finding ur vibrator was very unprepared for.

unluckily for u before u could take it back he had inspected it closer and came to a realization on his own. his own cheeks becoming a faint red color to match the ribbon on his hat.

“oh i know what this is. i think sanji’s magazines w naked people had one of these before”

u weren’t exactly surprised at his exclamation, but also a little peeved considering u were hoping to exit the uncomfortable situation by lying to him about the actual use of the toy.

“do u want me to use it on u?”

if ur eyes could bulge out like a rubber hose cartoon character ur sure they would have bc that was the last question u expected him to ask. his eyes sparkled with something akin to hope and paired well w his cheeky smile urging u to say yes.

u hesitated on ur answer so luffy tried to provide further explanation.

“sanji says girls use these to feel good, yea? well we’re together and i wanna make u feel good. so u shouldn’t have to use this alone, i’ll be there w u”

cursing and praising the pervy cook u nod ur head, feeling heat rise to ur face at his proposal.

-`♡´-

ur captain’s fingers piston themselves in and out of ur sloppy cunt w cute clicking noises as he holds the vibrator steady on ur clit. u can feel urself becoming over stimulated from the amount of pressure he’s applying on the bundle of nerves. the consistent rhythm of the toy massaging ur clit along w the rough pads of his fingers massaging ur g spot send u to ur climax sooner than anytime by urself.

as u pulse on his hand he watches in awe as more sticky fluids seep onto his palm, coating him in glossy slick. big dark eyes peer up at u and maintain eye contact as he removes himself and licks all of u off his hand. luffy returns the stationary vibrator to ur clit but this time moves spreads ur thighs wider allowing his head to be slotted right in front of ur cunt.

his tongue accompanies the low buzzing sound and u never want to feel good alone again.

roronoa zoro

u and zoro were working out together above deck until u both decided that u needed to take a break. he mostly spent all his time doing weight training that hardly seemed practical while u stuck to more traditional forms of exercise. u left to go hit the showers while he did whatever ppl who only shower once a week do.

after u got out of the showers u noticed the girls room door was already open, but u didn’t think much of it considering it meant either robin and nami had enough of the boys for today or zoro still wanted to hang out.

turns out the latter was true, which was fine, however there were two things that kept u from truly being just fine.

the first of them being that u were still in a towel and needed to both dry off, as well as clothe urself before u could let ur human moss stink up ur room. the second being that as u walked in ur eyes immediately zeroed in on ur dildo in his hands.

one of his eyebrows was already raised but when he noticed ur presence he shot a devious smirk ur way that told u u were not leaving this situation without fourth degree embarrassment.

“i mean i knew u were flexible and all but i didn’t think u had this in u”

ur mouth hung open at his comment, and he gestured the silicone cock closer to u for emphasis. sure u had gotten a toy that was somewhat larger than the average size, but was that not the point of plastic? and who is he to judge u?

“oh please judging by ur reaction u’ve never seen something so big. must be nice to finally hold something larger than a pencil”

his eyes narrow, but squint at the challenge u seem to be presenting.

“yea? and i’d like to see u take half of this without giving up or passing out”

-`♡´-

zoro never considered himself a gluttonous man, however the way u take ur dildo makes him want to consume u. the fat lips of ur cunt squeeze the faux veins of the toy as u slowly shove it inside of u. he swears he can almost feel the way u clench down when the silicone tip rubs against ur sensitive walls.

finally as the base kisses ur ass u let out a small cry from the feeling of being so stuffed. u never had someone watch u as u mounted the dildo before and the prominent hard on in zoro’s pants made it hard to think abt the bet he gave u. the pride inside of u was already fed from successfully shoving the whole thing inside of u, however the shallow breathes from the guy in front of u wasn’t bad either. in small thrusts u started to fuck urself w the toy, bathing in the sounds and smells of lube and sex.

ur vision trailed up when u noticed zoro’s hand slip under the waistband of his pants. when u got a view of his hard cock u almost came on ur toy right then and there.

well, u can’t always be right.

vinsmoke sanji

u enjoyed helping sanji in the kitchen esp when he allows u little tastes of the meal before it’s served here and there. u guys were cooking up a wonderfully savory soup and luffy already had to be kicked out thrice before he ate any of the ingredients. sanji was chopping up some vegetables while u monitored the pot. occasionally u stirred it around and accidentally u splashed some of the broth on his dress shirt.

being the sweetheart he is, he waved it off and told u it was no problem and only asked if u could bring him a new one from the guys room. obliging and feeling mighty guilty u dashed off and went rummaging through his dresser.

to ur surprise u not only found him a new shirt but what u first thought was a flashlight (in the drawer?) however under further inspection found out it was a flashlight. gripping the toy with surprise, u don’t hear the blond come up behind u to retrieve his garment only to be shocked by ur discovery as well.

the looks of horror exchanged by the both of u bounce of the walls of the ship as he stumbles to articulate the words for an explanation.

However, before he can get a sensible sentence out, u take the initiative to step closer with both the fresh shirt and pocket pussy in arms. placing a hand on his chest u attempt to calm him and offer much needed relaxation in his time of stress.

“how abt u loose the stained shirt and i give ur hands a break?”

-`♡´-

sanji’s naked torso bared itself to u almost as deliciously as his flushed out face. his hair was sticking to his forehead from the copious amounts of sweat that ran down his body after u ripped orgasm after orgasm from him. his hips bucked uselessly into the toy despite already being fully flush with the silicone. u were sat on the side of his bed jerking the toy up and down his needy cock.

lube and semen covered his own trail of hair from the base of his shaft to his navel. ur soft hand ran through the mess and in tickling fashion caused his eyes to snap shut and his back to arch into ur touch. he hoped and prayed to the gods above that u would offer the feeling of ur own real pussy to him. how he dreamed of being inside of u instead of his stupid toy, fucking it pathetically each night to ur name.

his eyelids fluttered open when he felt something lacy lightly slap his face. some prayers truly r answered.

portgas d. ace

ace was a regular when it came to the infirmary on the moby dick. technically all u girls were really meant to care for whitebeard, however when u weren’t monitoring his bloodwork, ensuring he takes his medications, and hooking up his ivs, u had fire first ace to take care of.

for a logia user he sure got hurt a lot, cuts and bruises always seemed to appear on his skin despite the ability to easily burst into flames when he needed to avoid danger. u didn’t mind fixing him up, however, he was always a good chat as well as a pretty face to warm ur day.

this particular night a large portion of the crew was celebrating an intense battle they faced. due to ur captain’s large territory throughout the grand line, u often needed to defend islands when rival pirate groups underestimated the older generation’s strength.

booze, greasy food, and music danced jovially around the deck and while u would’ve loved to join in on the festivities, u also had quite a long day.

so u slinked back into ur cabin where the other nurses stayed as well and enjoyed the rare moments of solitude on the ship. ur uniform was replaced w ur evening slip and u snagged an unopened bottle of wine to pair w a book u had begged ace to retrieve while he was away.

dimming a few of the candles that lit the room, u bent over to blow out one further away from ur bed when a large flame shot out of the wick. before utter fear could take root in ur face, however, thick eyebrows and sun kissed freckles smiled back at u from the embers.

ur self restraint allowed u to wait until ace fully completed his transformation to shove him playfully in the ribs.

“i didn’t see u at the party!”

a twinge of guilt was overshadowed by awe when u saw how genuinely concerned ur second division commander looked at u. explaining the situation to him he merely raised one of those thick eyebrows, ran a hand through his dark greasy hair, and shot u a sly grin.

“ah no i get it. sometimes u just gotta rub one out. or in? is that what chics say?”

staring at him w incredulous shock u tried to comprehend how he for some reason interpreted ur words as code for u needing to masturbate. either he got hit in the head one too many times or u were more tired than u thought.

ace walked past u and nudged ur vibrator peaking out from underneath ur sheets. the pretty pink silicone almost glowing the atmosphere u set for the room. ur mouth hung wide open, aghast u made such a mistake of leaving it out like that, and in front of a cremate no less.

he turned back to u and plopped himself on the bed, arms stretched out behind him. patting his thigh with one hand and using the other to remove his hat he gestured over to u.

“c’mon let me take care of u tonight”

-`♡´-

the low hum of ur toy sent perfect waves of pleasure into ur clit and throughout ur body. with both of his arms hooked under ur knees ace easily spread u wide for ur little vibrator to gently massage ur nerves. despite ur begging for a higher setting or his own fingers, he denied ur requests until u orgasmed again in his lap. he wouldn’t even talk to u, he would just suck sweet hickies onto the side on ur neck and collarbone and shake his head no, tickling ur face, when u asked him to go harder.

eventually u felt the knot twist and tighten in ur belly. ur pelvis shifted around in his grasp, attempting to free u from his constricting hold and take control. luckily u were no pirate and ace held u down w no problem, letting u cum all over ur vibrator as u whined abt nothing in particular.

ace removed the toy from ur puffy clit and allowed u a few seconds of respite before plunging his thick fingers into ur welcoming cunt. yknow he actually thinks he’s beginning to understand this whole care taker thing.

“atta girl”

sabo

u really needed to clean ur room. to be honest it wasn’t as bad as koala claimed it was, but u’ll admit w all the missions and paperwork u may have been slacking in the organization department. it was easy to loose track of the lesser important tasks at hand when ur trying to bring down the world government.

ur very lucky ur boyfriend was there to help u tidy up ur place, esp considering how packed his schedule is, the two of u barely spend alone time together as it is.

as u pushed open ur door w ur hip, u already found the blond hunched over ur small desk trying to sort all the stationary u’ve left array over the past few months. sighing u kiss the top of his head and get to work underneath ur bed, dusting off what seemed to be library books far past their due from another island.

tucking those away for future u to worry abt, u crouched next to sabo in his chair. u dreaded looking through ur drawers, quite frankly not remembering what sort of junk u threw in there in the past. u asked him if he could get the left side so u could focus on the right and almost immediately he got to work. guess thats why he’s chief of staff.

while u were rummaging through a bunch of knick knacks, some including memories u happily showed ur boyfriend, sabo also found something of interest.

“hey, u never introduced me to these before”

glancing in his direction u saw the pair of leather handcuffs dangling from his index finger. ur expression switched from nostalgic to humiliated immediately, cursing urself for allowing such a thing to be carelessly thrown in w the rest of this junk.

up until now, u and sabo never used anything besides a bit of lube when it came to sex, so for him to discover something so different of u was nerve wracking. snatching the cuffs back from him, u patiently waited for some sort of reaction from him.

what u were met w was not the disgust or uncomfortable u expected but in fact a ‘wait a minute’ and after a quick jog down the hall to his own quarters he returned w a silk sash in his hands.

“when i first started yknow um, yea, i was nervous to see my partners’ reaction to the rest of the scarring on my body. the blindfold helped me ease them into it, and i guess myself as well”

u didn’t really have any words to share, ur own kink hardly stemming from something as sentimental or sweet as his own. u were glad he felt like he could share something so personal like that, as well as seemingly come over that hurdle, considering it’s ur first time hearing of it. after taking a break on ur room cleaning, the two of u conversed deeper into the topic until u decided to take his hands in urs and acknowledge the looming conversation to be had.

“so neither of us have really discussed toys in our sex life before. if that’s something ur also into, im up for it as well”

-`♡´-

ur arms were raised above ur head and bound together by the thick leather of ur handcuffs. ur chest was forced upwards in this position giving sabo easy access to trail his tongue around ur perky nipples. the silk blindfold deters ur vision so every chaste touch he leaves on ur body leaves u wondering were the next one will be. sweet licks trail up from ur tits to ur collarbone, giving the skin a harsh nip. u cry out from the pressure, shivering from the way it left tingles running up ur spine.

his swollen cock head rubs circles around ur cunt, gathering slick until he’s ready to push in. the feeling of ur heat already sending beads of precum dripping out of his tip. u want him to stuff u with his cock already, the lack of mobility and vision making it harder for u to wait. when he finally allows himself to cave into ur welcoming pussy ur hands want to instinctively grasp his shoulder blades, hindered by the chains.

the afternoon ended up being full of sweat, orgasms, and kink discovery, leaving ur bedroom floors messier than when u started.

eustass kid

kid was always inventing something new, even early into his childhood he enjoyed playing in the scrapyard and putting together whatever he could find. he enjoyed reworking the metal gears and bolts inside of smaller mechanics washed up on the south blue shore and studying their deconstructed parts. his devil fruit only made this hobby of his easier into adulthood.

when u joined kid’s crew he felt the immediate spark between the two of u. it was just something u knew as the magnet magnet devil fruit user. killer told him everyone can actually feel shared feelings and it was called ‘mutual attraction’ but quite frankly he thinks that’s a load of bs. if that was really true than a lot more ppl should’ve made moves on each by now.

either way, excited by ur presence on his ship, he took out most of his exhilaration in his workshop. working on something that would really woo u. not that u needed to be impressed, but he still wanted to make u feel special. what was meant to be a few pieces of scrap welded into the shape of roses turned into a full scale sex machine.

focusing on what would increase ur pleasure to the maximum his contraption would not only penetration all ur cute holes but give him a good show as well. after weeks of progress he really only had a single problem. u guys weren’t together yet.

only after a handful of months and then some did u two officially begin a relationship, what felt like eons of destroying rival pirates and marines w u finally developed into a fully fledged commitment. it had been a while since he had touched that 'gift' he made for u in the beginning, so long he had forgotten it sat in the back of his workshop during ur grand tour.

ur eyes shone w wonder as he showed off all of his private inventions, not yet revealed to the rest of the crew, nonetheless the broader public. his ego felt like a golden retriever puppy brought into a kindergarten class with all the praise u shed him and it was only when u pointed to the strange chair thing that he began to waver.

the design was not exactly discreet, having multiple sex toys and dildos attached to the pistons on the end of the seat. he refused to lie and claim it was something he used on himself, he doubts that would exactly add to his rough and tough persona (no kid we love pegging in this house) so his only option was to awkwardly reveal the truth. u were already stuck w him this far in, surely this couldn't be that bad of a deal breaker.

"soo have u tested it?"

sheepishly he answers with a small "no", that sounds a little too high pitched in his usual rougher scottish drawl.

"then what r we waiting for?"

-`♡´-

it took him a while to fully strap u into the chair and position u perfectly. w enough lube and heavy petting u were successfully restrained, with ur holes stretched just enough to be penetrated easily. siting back on his own stool, kid watched intently as ur cunt began to swallow the smooth head of the dildo. u both decided that the one tapping ur ass would only be used if u could handle the first.

ur legs shake as u take more and more of the plastic inside of u, feeling the intricate and creative ridges on the mold. when one of the ribs presses against a particularly spongey spot ur back arches against the restraints. ur tongue lolled out from the intensity of being fucked by something so non-human and u began to let out moans u don't think u've even heard in porn.

through the reflection of the goggles on his head u could see ur pathetic body twist and turn from getting fucked by a machine. how u loved the mind of ur perverted genius.

killer

u and killer got along as the rational duo in the kid pirates. with ur batshit crazy captain and equally as riled up crew mates both of u found solace in being the only ones without loose screws. it was nice being the sensible pirates in a group of barbarians.

which is why despite killer being first mate and second in command, he often found himself in ur presence. whether it be helping u w chores, asking ur opinion on the next route, or even just chatting abt daily life, the two of u got along better than almost kid and him.

which is why it confused and hurt him to hear that there was something that u haven’t talked to him abt.

this all started when he overheard hip and house gossiping w each other and he noticed ur name drop. walking over he tried to gain a better picture of what they were discussing but noticing his presence the two girls abruptly stopped and scurried away. knowing ur good relationship w the two he doubted it was anything malevolent, however even as first mate what was so secret that even he couldn’t handle it?

the second time he was thwarted by this topic was during dinner. he had cooked a rather impressive large hog for the entire crew, but the pork chops were the last thing on his mind when quincy leaned down and whispered something in ur ear while giggling causing u to blush. while washing the dishes together he asked what her joke was and u dodged the question like he was shooting bullets at u. u always let him in on jokes :(

during the monthly girls sleepover night (u all sleep in one cabin anyways. no one really gets it.) emma challenges u to a truth or dare, absentmindedly u pick dare and all the girls in the room share devious smirks of mischief. a quick conference of whispers r shared and then adjourned before they give u ur dare.

“we dare u to show killer ur little, sorry no actually big secret!”

ur shoulders dropped in defeat as the second u saw their grins u knew ur fate was sealed. u also knew truth or dare was scared on the victoria punk so there really wasn’t any getting out of this either. gathering the designer shoe box from underneath ur bed u trudge out of the girls room in defeat with the sound of high pitched squealing and laughing behind u.

first mate came w some privileges. one of which was not having to share a room w the rest of the crew, save for kid. although kid hardly spent any time in their shared room, usually down in his workshop tinkering away on some new shit. so when u showed up in killers doorway with ur dildo in hand and a prayer he wouldn’t end ur friendship right then and there, at least u knew ur captain wouldn’t have to experience the worst second hand embarrassment of the century.

if u could see killer’s eyes u would assume they were as wide as saucers. before u could continue ur semi-planned explanation he dramatically scanned the rest of the hall for bystanders and then pulled u inside his bedroom, slamming the door shut.

“u actually use that thing? and u put it inside u?!”

“uh yea”

silence overtook the two of u and for the first time u felt the judgement that the both of u normally expressed for others turned on urself. the gravity of ur mistake began to overtake u and shame started to bubble and toil within ur chest.

“i mean, i’m here”

ur eyes flick up to the taller man, unfortunately not only is his statement confusing, his expression is concealed with that stupid mask.

he cleared his throat and tried again. “if u ever wanted to try out a real person that is”

-`♡´-

killer’s thick cock bullied its way into ur cunt, stretching ur walls more than ur toy ever did. the soft stinging left pricks of pleasure after a few seconds and every little shift made u appreciate the heaviness of his shaft. ur mouth was busied on ur dildo, sucking on the squishy plastic and working it down ur throat. u made sure to make a show of taking the next few inches knowing that killer’s intense gaze would be focused on ur lips.

his hand began to massage ur stomach, pressing down and rubbing the layers of flesh separating him from his cock. the pressure felt oh so perfect and u couldn’t help but clamp down on him, especially after his fingers dipped to roll small soft circles on ur clit. killer thrusts shallowly into ur cunt, savoring the way u hug him and practically drag him back inside of u. ur muffled moans reverberate on the silicone and he groans at the thought of u taking him in ur mouth as well.

ur somewhat perplexed ur never bothered killer in taking care of ur sexual needs but ur happy u let him have his way w u that night. after all, it’s the sensible thing to do.

trafalgar d. law

law enjoyed his private space. that much could be seen by anyone who knew him after five minutes. he especially enjoyed keeping his personal collections private. such things range from his coins, sora warrior of the sea comic books, and yes sora merchandise.

there was one person he was willing to show his things to though, and that special lady would be u. he loved going through his glass case of special addition figures and explaining the rarity and backstory behind each one, all while u listened intently. u treated him almost as if he wasn’t a twenty six year old man obsessed w fiction and he loved it.

very few people, (besides the sora fan club) cares to hear about his interests so when u excitedly sat urself down on his bed and urged him to explain to u why sora’s giant robot kinda looks like a bug he couldn’t stop his mouth from moving.

however, he supposed, all good things must come to an end. after all u’ve been so kind to him, but he couldn’t find a well worth explanation to give to u when u discovered his ‘secret’ piece of merchandise.

for starters, he hasn’t used it in a long time. no, after he met u he was smitten and he’s had no need to resort to such things. but it’s not like he was just going to throw it away. a limited edition piece should never be discarded with such ease. law truly thought he would just discreetly hide it and never bring it up.

that is until u decided to go find some extra blankets and pillows for a movie marathon w ur boyfriend and u checked in his closet as he told u, only to find an extremely provocative body pillow of who u think (ur still learning) is pink poison from the antagonists germa 66.

still, deciding the pillow was actually quite soft u brought it out and tried to think of silly ways u can tease law abt ur discovery.

placing the pillow in front of ur face u crept up on him until he finally noticed u and when he did u thought u might’ve scared him to death. his face fell to depths u didn’t think existed and u had to tackle him to stop the devil fruit user from shambling himself out of the situation.

after explaining to him that u don’t particularly care if he likes to fuck pillows w comic book characters on them and he confesses that ever since he met u he’s only ever jerked off to ur image in mind (how kind) u two were able to put the topic at ease.

however a lingering question persists in ur mind.

“so how does a guy like, get off on a pillow?”

still red in the face, law turned to u, hair covering his eyes as he spoke

“um i could show u”

shock hit both ur faces but seeing as u had no apprehensions, u lay down for another explanation.

-`♡´-

shiny lube covered ur entire torso, allowing his hard on to easily glide across ur stomach. ur shirt and bra were long discarded, nipples hardened at law’s insistent pawing and sucking. he was straddling u from above, taking in the sight of u all perfect underneath him. his cock was angry, throbbing, and extremely excited to be this close to a woman for the first time.

when he started to hump ur body, u had to will urself from not reacting to the ticklish movements. next time u’ll have him mount ur ass or something bc the feeling of his cock slipping through the slick on ur belly instinctively made u want to tense up and giggle. law ended up cumming really quickly so it never ended up becoming a problem though. one of his hands reached for a tit while the other went beside ur head so he could quickly press his mouth to urs.

ur teeth clashed together and he gripped the fat of ur breast a little roughly, but god if the whimpers coming out of the this man while he spurted ropes of semen across ur chest weren’t the hottest thing u’ve ever witnessed.

as he pulled away u smiled and reached out to fix some of the hair that stuck to his sweaty forehead.

“hey at least u don’t have to wash any stains outta me”

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Restraint | Bucky Barnes x Reader | Oneshot 1.6k

You rush to Bucky's side when he's hit with a a super serum booster out in the field so that you can...take care...of him.

Warnings: 18+ smut, if you're looking for an medical ethics this isn't it, p in v, oral (m recieving), unprotected sex, orgasm denial, dirty talk. Topping from the bottom a bit? Bucky is restrained/slightly subby Bucky if you squint, but also dominant Bucky. Bucky is horny, reader can't help herself and they're both crazy possessive.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @saradika-graphics

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

“Where is he?”

“Who?” Sam asked, his warning look at Joaquin came too late. 

“Tell me!” You turned on the younger man, “where the fuck have you put him?” 

“He's -”

“No, it's for her own safety,” Sam pulled Joaquin away, trying to dodge around you. 

“Where's Bucky? Tell me - please.” You were desperate, running through the hanger as soon as you heard he'd been hit, you needed to see him- now, needed to know he was okay. 

“I really don't think-”

“Sam I'm going to find him, I don't care if I have to search every inch of this airfield I'll find him. So you might as well just tell me and get it over with.” 

“Fine, but you've gotta leave him to it, he needs to recover and we don't know -”

“Sam!” 

“Upstairs, room 205.” 

You could hear him before you could see him, the sound of metal on metal unmistakable, and then the door to room 205 slammed shut behind a fleeing doctor and his cry of anger was released into the corridor. 

“Bucky?” You pushed the door open again, peering inside. 

“Don't, baby, just go and I'll come to you when -” he cut himself off, thrashing side to side. 

205 was somewhere between an officer's quarters and a hospital room, it was furnished like a bedroom, but away from the mess hall and regular sleeping areas downstairs. You'd expected to see Bucky hooked up to machines, maybe an IV drip, at least a monitor. 

But Bucky was handcuffed to the bed. The vibranium cuffs attached at each corner, spreading his body across the sheets. He’d shed his shirt and leather jacket, but his tactical pants still stretched over his thick thighs, his boots kicking out despite the restraints around his ankles. 

“Bucky, what happened?” 

“Doll, please -” he grit his teeth, jaw ticking, and set his head back on the pillows, “I don't want you to see me like this, go home, I'll come back.”

‘Like this’ was sweating and writhing, veins bulging in his already flexed muscles, sweat forming on his brow. 

“I can't leave you, what happened?” 

“Hit,” he tugged at his bonds again and you noticed red welts forming on his right wrist, "serum booster something, they were trying to - ugh -” he arched up, a vein in his neck pulsing, “enhance, but I - hit. We don't know - ugh - what it will do to me.”

Despite his otherwise out of control appearance, Bucky's blue eyes were clear and pleading. This was painful, you were sure, made worse by his movement in the cuffs. 

“You need to calm down, baby, stop moving.”

“Can't,” he tugged again, rattling the cuffs. 

“Let me help,” you stepped forwarding, shedding the big coat you'd pulled on when you left the house in a hurry. Your nipples pebbled under the flimsy nightdress you'd been wearing when you got the call. Bucky took a deep inhale at the sight. 

“No, no, no - I'm here because I could - fuck, baby, I could hurt someone. I don't wanna hurt you, go - fucking hell you look so damn delicious - go home!” 

But you ignored him. Instead you knelt on the end of the bed and unlaced his tactical boots, sliding them slowly off and setting them to the floor. Bucky kept his eyes squeezed shut. 

It did feel better to have them off though, and he rolled his ankles in relief, despite the cuffs. 

“Better, baby?” Your hand was on his leg and he managed to get out a quick nod before your hand moved higher, higher. He thrashed. 

“Seriously, you have to stop, what if I -” 

“You won't hurt me, you're a good man, Bucky. And look at you.” 

Your hand left his leg, the bed moved and he cracked his eyes open in time to see you settle in his lap. He bucked up, involuntarily he was sure, and revealed in your giggle as you grabbed his tac belt for stability. 

“Hmm, later, Bucky baby. Let me take care of you first.”

Your hands were back, sliding up his chest. He'd put on weight, since moving in with you, coming home to a hot dinner every night, desserts on the weekend, treats on dates. You liked seeing him well and happy. Beneath your hands the feel of his abs was still there, an undeniable strength, but he was so soft too and you loved that about him. The softness that he only shared with you, that he had gained through your love and care.

“Doll-” his warnings were beginning to sound whiny, pleading, and you could feel his familiar hardness growing beneath you now. 

“Just let me look after you,” you repeated, though you weren't sure if this was for him or you.

Your hands grazed higher, over his pecs, brushing your thumbs against his nipples, and up to his tense shoulders. It would hurt, you knew, to have his arms pulled like that. Especially his left, where the vibranium met skin and muscle. You'd massaged that spot enough times to know exactly where to dig your thumbs to make him say - 

“Fuck - I can't -" the cuffs rattled again, his hips driving upwards and knocking you off balance, leaving you in one of your favourite places, sprawled over his chest. He was thick beneath you, spreading your thighs wide, his cock straining against his zipper and pressing up between your legs.

“Bucky - let me take some of that pressure off, I love you so much - I” 

He tipped his head, catching your lips in a bruising kiss. Your hands clutched at his hair, turning his head to the perfect angle, lips parted you kissed him back fiercly in a whirlwind of his desperation and your need.

“We shouldn't - the doctor said -” 

Your hands were gone again, leaving his hair mussed on the pillow. 

“You're mine, Bucky, I won't have anyone else telling us how I take care of you.” 

The zip on his pants was close to splitting and so was Bucky's sanity, back arched from the bed, teeth bared. Slowly you popped the button and lowered the zip, allowing the hard length of his cock to spring free.

Like the rest of him, Bucky's cock was beautiful, thick and ready, the vein running up the side pulsed beneath your palm, precum beading at his red tip. He looked delicious.

“Do something,” Bucky's hips pumped again and again, thrusting up into your grip. You let go and he growled, low and throaty, body straining against his bonds. “Get your hands back on my dick right now.” 

You shivered, lust coursing through your body like fire. "I thought you told me to leave? Besides, wouldn’t you rather have something else?” You teased, leaning forward and licking a long stripe from his base to his weeping tip, gathering his pre-cum on your tongue and groaning lewdly in satisfaction. 

“Fuck!” He tugged again and the bed groaned. “Do that again.” Instinctively, you lent forwards and wrapped your lips around his head, sucking slowly and dipping your tongue into his slit. It was Bucky’s turn to groan now, head tipped back. 

He was thrusting up, trying to get himself as deep into your mouth as possible and - fuck - you loved him like this. Raw and wild and passionate. You had to have him, the need was so strong you could feel your heartbeat between your legs, arousal making your thighs slide together when you moved to sit up. 

“No, no, no, doll, please, what are you doing?” He pleaded, eyes wide in understanding when you climbed up to sit in his lap. 

Bucky’s cock lay hard against his soft stomach, your lips perfectly molded around it to push the tip against your clit when you rocked back and forth. It was delicious, this temptation, the tease. But Bucky was beyond teasing. He needed to be inside of you now.

With one last pull he broke free of the restraints. His hands, vibranium cuffs still hanging from his wrists, went straight to your waist, lifting you enough to impale you on his cock. 

He was so ready, throbbing inside of you, and the sensation of being empty and then so wonderfully full had you clenching around him immediately, teetering on the edge of an orgasm you weren't prepared for.

“No, no, Doll, this was your idea so you can fucking wait for me.” 

You wailed but clenched down, willing yourself to hold on for now.

Bucky set a bruising rhythm, holding you still as he thrust up into you, using your body to chase his own pleasure.

“Bucky I'm gonna -”

“No you're fucking not, you're gonna hold it like a good girl and cum when I say.” His voice was low, gravelly from shouting.

God. You needed it. It was like an electric shock, the power looking for an escape and ricocheting around your body until every muscle felt sore from holding back. 

“I can't, Bucky, I've got to-” you sobbed, tears welling in your eyes from the effort. 

“Cum,” he grunted, holding you down and grinding you onto his cock while your body went tight, light exploding behind your eyes, “look at me.” 

You opened your eyes and met his, dark with lust, and you twitched again, milking him as he filled you in three harsh pumps.

“Fuck,” he dropped his hands to the bed and you rolled off him. 

“Well, at least you didn't get sick from the serum, right?” You flopped back onto the bed. 

Bucky rolled into his side, looking down at you with a grin on his face, hand pumping his already hard dick again. 

“No ill effects, anyway.” He laughed, before sliding back between your legs.