#Flip Key Blade

[hongchuankey]

Do You Know The Flip Key Blade

A flip key blade is a type of key commonly used for modern vehicles. Unlike traditional keys, which are solid and rigid, flip key blades are designed to fold or retract into the key fob when not in use, resembling the shape of a pocketknife or switchblade. This innovative design offers several advantages in terms of convenience, portability, and security.

Despite their advantages, flip key blades may require occasional maintenance and replacement, especially if the folding mechanism becomes worn or damaged over time. Fortunately, many automotive locksmiths and dealerships offer key cutting and programming services for flip keys, allowing owners to easily obtain replacement blades or repair damaged ones.

[yuons]

ᯓ million dollar — ot7

syn when the members spend their (unlimited) money on you. (1770 words)

pairs richboy!members + reader | cw mentions of money petnames — mlist navi

notes richboy members are having a chokehold on me lately

LEE HEESEUNG

“take as much time as you want, love”

earlier that day, you were scouring your closet for a decent dress. flipping through the same five for the past hour.

your boyfriend, grumbling about how you should get back to bed, watched as you pick up the same clothes. his eyes never leaving your figure, staring up at you through the mirror you were using to look at the picks.

heeseung slowly got up and hugged you from behind, burying his head on your neck. kissing your shoulder blades up to the back of your ear.

“do you need a new dress, love?”

after very few talking from heeseung and much more complaints from you, he somehow convinced you to get ready.

and that is how you’ve ended up in one of the famous streets in your city. lined up with the prettiest boutiques and malls.

heeseung wrapped his hands around yours and walked to a favorite store of yours. remembering how you’ve ever mentioned how badly you wanted to go back and buy something from it, months ago.

walking in, your small pout turned into the biggest, heart-pounding grin he’s ever seen. he bit his lip containing his own smile and dug out his wallet.

“spend it all on anything you want, baby”

PARK JONGSEONG

as a musician, looking at instruments is like strolling through heaven. admiring all the small intricate details engraved.

jay loved his guitars like it was his own child, he understands what it’s like to spend thousand and even more on just a single guitar. not that it would do anything to his bank.

you’ve never really asked jay for anything for as long as you’ve been dating. rather using your own money to buy whatever you want than letting your boyfriend buy it for you.

it wasn’t like jay didn’t want you to buy things using his card, he actually offers it most times than not. it was you who never lets him buy anything for you.

“use my card to buy the groceries, babe”

you refused to take his card whenever you could. because of this, jay has learned to pay without you knowing. usually when your back is turned or when you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom.

right now, your boyfriend is tagging along with you as you browse through the island of pianos; ranging from yamaha to bluthner.

you stopped abruptly as your eyes fell on a piano that had you immediately captivated, from the design of the lid to the shape of the pedals, you thought it was the most beautiful piano you’ve ever seen.

when you were admiring the piano, trying out the keys and sitting on the soft cushion of the chair. you failed to realize your boyfriend had silently called the seller and slid his card. smiling down at your frowning figure.

“it’ll arrive by tomorrow morning, love”

SIM JAEYUN

“but you look so good in these, babe”

opening your apartment door with a click, the lights turned on to greet you with the copious amounts of packages laid on your living room.

the packages were of different sizes and stacked side by side. what’s worse is that you can’t remember buying all of the things you did, having to open up each package to know what and when you bought them.

you called up your boyfriend, who had brought in all of your packages earlier in the day when he paid a visit to your unit to pick up a small bag you forgot to bring.

“i seriously need to go on a ban”

“no you don’t baby, besides, you use my card when you buy anything” jake says, laying his head atop yours as he turned on a movie an hour ago to stop your fussing.

“that’s not the point, jake. i need to stop buying random things online. i can’t keep flooding my bedroom” you sigh.

“then just put the things you don’t like anymore in my apartment, you’ll have more space that way” jake smiles down at you, kissing your temples.

that was one week ago. somehow, he had convinced you to ‘accompany’ him on a late night rendezvous to prada. it was all fine at first when he was just looking at the suits. but now, he’s trying to convince you to buy two pairs of their new summer series glasses.

“i can buy this next time, babe” you finally say, sighing, after letting him talk about all the new luxury pieces of the summer set, desperately trying to talk his way into letting him buy you one.

“oh” he trails off, a sheepish grin creeping up on his face “about that, i’ve already paid”

PARK SUNGHOON

as a person who always loved the mountains, you find yourself spending weekends driving up one usually catching the sunset. this was already a routine even before you met sunghoon.

and now, you still kept up that routine whenever you weren’t too busy, your boyfriend always opting to tag along despite his complaints about being too tired. he wouldn’t actually pass up an opportunity to be with you.

you always loved traveling, within the city and during long holidays, out. liking the feeling of driving past the roads and seeing the scenery once the mountains come into view.

when sunghoon found out about this interest of yours, he started searching up for places with the most beautiful mountain sceneries. over the past years, he’s taken you to numerous countrysides and mountaintops inside and outside of the country.

even when you say it was fine if you were to only travel within the country, he loves seeing the way your eyes widen adorably during a gorgeous sunset that would rarely happen in-country. that’s why, the moment he tracks down a specific date that you both were going to be free for at least three days, sunghoon would immediately book a ticket to whatever country he’s been searching up.

on a random afternoon, sunghoon knocks on your bedroom door, walking in your apartment. as you open the door, there he stood with a big suitcase and that sweet smile of his.

“better pack up now, baby. we’re leaving in a few hours”

KIM SUNOO

sunoo knows you more than you know yourself, he’s quick to learn your body language and certain expressions you make.

it’s really hard to lie to him when he knows how to poke at you the right way to make you open up about your worries.

sometimes he just lets you have it, he knows you would at one point tell him about the things you’re going through. he trusts you on that.

but at times, he knows when you need a bit more of a cheer up. sunoo loves spending his money on you, buying you clothes, makeup, accessories. one of the things he realizes is that you love wearing jewelry. finishing up an outfit by adding a necklace or bracelets along your arm. that conveniently also accentuates your features.

he spends alot of time with you picking out sets for outfits you were going to wear for upcoming events. jewelry, he realizes is one of the things that can easily cheer you up, besides himself, of course.

so as the sweet boyfriend he is, sunoo dragged you to the jewelry store despite your sulks. and the moment your eyes laid on the glittering pearls, all of your problems seem to dissipate. just like how your boyfriend had expected.

with a giggle, sunoo starts asking the seller to bring out the full set for you to try on. patting you on the head as you continue to stare at the long rows of necklaces.

“buy whatever you want, okay? after this we can cuddle for as long as you need”

YANG JUNGWON

he would remember everything you’ve ever said to him. you like sweets? he remembers. you like flowery perfume? he remembers. you like that one specific lipstick brand that’s best bought in singapore? he remembers.

it’s not odd to get home to a bunch off boxes filled with gifts and food and random things whenever jungwon’s just went home from a trip anywhere.

anything you’ve said even before you two were dating seems to be engraved in his head like muscle memory. he can be strolling through a street market in japan and a small store would catch his eye, the next moment you would find his hands filled with keychains of a cartoon character you said you liked years ago.

his job requires him to fly countries often and it used to be a problem for you both as it means you can’t really meet him as much. but after years, both you and jungwon still communicate alot. him usually asking to facetime you at random hours of the day or night and sending you pictures of what he was doing.

both of you readjusted quite well to this arrangement and thankfully his work doesn’t demand a long period of time during those trips.

“babe there’s no way i can finish all of this by myself” you laugh seeing all of the things he bought you.

“then we can finish them together” he says, dimples peeking out through the smile “that way i can come by more often”

NISHIMURA RIKI

as days start to get more busy, you and your boyfriend find yourselves going on a short getaway to the outskirts of the city.

he showed up at your apartment one night and pulled you out of it with no explanation. you weren’t going to question him though, letting him take you wherever.

you both ended up on a train station, waiting for the last train to arrive. about an hour later, you landed on a small, but really nice accommodation.

the moment you stepped in the room, riki launched himself on the bed sighing in content.

“i want to live here forever” he mumbles out against one of the pillows.

“we both still have school tomorrow” you sat on the bed beside him, opening up your phone to continue the essay you were working on. only for it to be tackled down a second later, your boyfriend pulling you to lay down beside him.

silence filled the room, only yours and your boyfriend’s soft breathing. riki mumbled something against your hair. you hummed in question.

“let’s get room service” he says. you knew it was going to happen, it always happened. but here you are, sat on the hotel chair with too much food both of you know you can’t finish. he had a habit of buying you whatever he thought you’d like and it wasn’t like he’s wrong. the bowls of food on the table are all your favorites and you don’t even know where to start.

he really doesn’t spend much on things, but he loves going on little getaways with you every once in a while. sleeping on the comfiest beds (besides his or yours) and eating room service. something about it just brings a peaceful kind of silence for him.

© junislqve 2024. liking, commenting, and rebloging are appreciated.

[m0narche]

Cw: Yandere themes, heavy infantilization, mommy kink, forced captivity.

"Oh little one..."

The freezing cold bubble of shock and numbness pops when he reaches for your face to wipe away the messy tears streaming down and you can't even flinch away –not that he'd like that.

"It's okay, shh you're safe, sweet thing. Everything's okay" Each word feels no less heavy and painful than a blade cutting through your tender beating muscle. Your ears are ringing and the world feels so loud, it's just too much. So unpleasant, unbearable –And he would love to tell you that you're too sensitive to survive.

It takes a few seconds of grounding for your hearing to be fully restored, that's when you realize you've been sobbing on his lap the entire time –Ah, that explains the coddling, why he's been bouncing you on his thigh, why his arms feel somehow more like a cage than usual.

"I'm so sorry Mommy had to scare you like that. But you needed to learn your lesson."

Right.

Suguru came home to a broken window since you didn't have time to cover up your tracks. The sound of the keys jigging in the keyhole coupled with his sickly sweet signature call of "Sweetheart I'm home" made your mind go blank and sent your feet sprinting to the woods.

It's honestly very infuriating how he manages to reduce you to a little prey animal. One he is very eager to domesticate.

You didn't get far, of course you didn't. He was immediately hot on your tail. It took him no more than 5 short minutes to pin you down on the wet dirt –with his hand nailing your face to the ground and your hands held up together behind your back, his weight felt more crushing to your soul rather than your body– you felt silly for even trying. And like a switch was flipped you went completely limp, –a little white bunny playing dead on the snow –camouflage. You don't recall anything besides being scooped up and scolded all the way back to the cabin he keeps you confined in.

It didn't even hurt when he savagely slammed you down.

Granted it would be the only time he ever was aggressive or rough with you, it was a moment of desperation, he was frantic to catch the little startled bunny before it hopped away, not that it had a chance to begin with. His excessive coddling must have been what snapped you out of your daze and triggered the panic attack.

"It's okay, mommy's got you now" he continues to shush you quietly "poor thing, you must have been so scared. I'll make sure to properly lock the windows next time, okay?

For God's sake.

You'd think falling on your sword is the smart way to go about avoiding any punishments, but he doesn't even fucking retaliate. He's so deep in his own delusions that he sees your attempt at escaping him as a consequence of his negligence.

It's just so humiliating. You want to yell, scream, hurt him in any way. You want him to understand and you want it to be painful and heartbreaking.

And before you could even move, Suguru notices the shift in your mood and moves to lift up his shirt and shove your face into his plump chest before securing you in place with a firm hand. It feels like putting a swift end to a toddler's tantrum before it even begins.

"I know you're scared, baby. I really do" he coos "But it's alright. Once you finish suckling, mommy will clean you up and put you for a nap, alright?" He starts to bounce you on his lap again, gently this time.

"Tsk- silly little thing, you were just tired weren't you?" More caressing, more touching– so suffocating.

"You're just too little to understand what's good for you".

[wonyowonyo]

Rulebreaker's Rush (P. Chaeyoung / Rosé X M! Reader)

Wc: 7.5k

Y/N, a rebellious running back who breaks rules, gets shy and flees when caught by Rosé, the strict student council president. Their lively clashes ignite a romance, urging Y/N to face his feelings and stop running from love.

A/N: Back to back drops baby, emptying my long overdue unfinished stuffs one by one so tune in for more, as always hope yall enjoyed this one!

The Deimon High sports field pulsed with the raw energy of the Deimon Devil Bats’ afternoon practice. The sun dipped low, casting golden streaks across the grass, while the air crackled with grunts, shouts, and the sharp thud of pads colliding. At the heart of the chaos was Y/N, the team’s elusive running back, weaving through a gauntlet of tackling dummies with the grace of a shonen protagonist dodging a villain’s strike. His legs blurred, his eyes gleamed with focus, and his movements screamed speed. 

“Y/N! Stop daydreaming and hit those dummies harder!” 

Hyem’s voice sliced through the noise, sharp as a blade. The demonic quarterback stood on the sidelines, his hair catching the light, twirling a rifle like it was a toy. A burst of gunfire—blanks, mercifully—punctuated his words, making the team flinch. “You wanna be benched for the next game, ya lousy punk?!”

“N-No way, Captain!” Y/N stammered, slamming into a dummy with enough force to make it groan. Sweat dripped down his forehead, but he flashed a cheeky grin. Surviving Hyem’s reign of terror required two rules: never show weakness, and never get caught breaking the rules. Y/N was a master at the first and an artist at the second.

His mind, though, wasn’t fully on football. Hidden in his gym bag, buried under a pile of sweaty towels, was his latest contraband: a stack of limited-edition Shonen Jump manga, banned on campus for “distracting students from academic excellence.” He’d smuggled them in during lunch, slipping through the crowded halls like a running back dodging tacklers, all while evading the student council’s patrols. Those rule-enforcers were relentless, led by the most terrifying of them all: Roseanne Park or Rosé for short, the student council president, known as the Iron Lady. Poised, sharp-tongued, with a glare that could make a delinquent confess on the spot, she was a legend. Rumor had it she’d once caught a kid with gum and made him write a 500-word essay on oral hygiene. Gum.

Y/N shuddered, adjusting his helmet. Rosé wouldn’t catch him. He was too fast, too clever. As practice wound down, Hyem barked an order for sprints, and Y/N took off, the wind whistling past his ears. His teammates lagged behind, panting, while he crossed the finish line, chest heaving, grinning like he’d just pulled off a heist. Which, in a way, he had.

-

The locker room reeked of sweat, cheap body spray, and the faint glow of victory. Y/N slumped onto a bench, peeling off his pads, his gym bag at his feet. The other Devil Bats were either showering or bickering over who’d landed the most tackles, leaving him a rare pocket of quiet. Perfect. Time to check the goods.

With a quick glance to ensure no one was watching, he unzipped his bag. There they were: three pristine Shonen Jump issues, their covers bursting with colorful heroes and villains. His heart gave a little leap—these were the special editions with bonus art, the kind kids on X were begging to trade for. He’d risked detention for these, and it was worth every second. He could already picture himself sprawled in his dorm, flipping through epic battles while munching on smuggled Pocky. Life didn’t get sweeter.

“Nice work today, Y/N!” Aye, his loudmouth best friend, bounded over, his monkey-like grin wide enough to split his face. “You were zippin’ past those dummies like MAX SPEED, yo!” He mimed Y/N’s run, flailing his arms like a windmill.

“Keep it down, Aye,” Y/N hissed, shoving the manga deeper into his bag. “I’m trying to stay low-key here.”

“Low-key? You?” Aye’s cackle echoed off the lockers. “You’re about as subtle as Hyem’s gunfire, man!”

Y/N opened his mouth to retort, but a voice cut through the locker room like a katana through bamboo.

“Y/N.”

His heart stopped. That voice—crisp, commanding, with a faint Australian lilt—was unmistakable. He turned, slow as a horror movie victim, and there she was: Rosé Park, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, her student council armband glinting like a badge of judgment. Her long, honey-blonde hair was tied back, and her dark eyes pinned Y/N like a butterfly to a board. Her uniform—blazer, skirt, tie—looked like it belonged on a general, not a high schooler.

“What’s in the bag?” she asked, her tone calm but laced with the promise of trouble.

Y/N’s mouth went dry. His brain screamed, Run! but his body froze, clutching the bag like a lifeline. “N-Nothing, Prez!” he stammered, his voice cracking. “Just, uh, gym stuff! Sweaty towels! You don’t wanna see that!”

Rosé’s eyebrow arched, a single, devastating move that said she saw through his lie like it was tissue paper. She took a step forward, and the air seemed to chill. “Hand it over,” she said, extending a hand. “Now.”

-

Y/N didn’t think. He ran.

His legs sprang into action, bag slung over his shoulder, as he bolted out of the locker room. Manga pages fluttered behind him, spilling like incriminating confetti. Rosé’s voice rang out—“Y/N, stop!”—but he was already halfway down the hall, his football reflexes kicking into overdrive. This wasn’t just a chase; it was a game, and he was the running back, weaving through the defense.

The school’s halls were a labyrinth of lockers, posters, and wide-eyed students. Y/N vaulted over a stray backpack, slid under a teacher’s rolling cart, and juked past a cluster of freshmen like they were linebackers. His heart pounded, not just from the sprint but from the thrill. He was untouchable, unstoppable, the fastest kid at Deimon High—

“Y/N, you’re only making this worse!” Rosé’s voice was closer now, far too close. He risked a glance back and nearly tripped. She was running, her skirt swishing like a cape, her face a mix of determination and exasperation. How was she so fast?! She wasn’t even sweating, her steps precise, like she’d mapped out his every dodge.

Students lined the halls, cheering like they were at a sports match. “Go, Y/N!” a kid shouted. “Bust him, Prez!” another countered. Y/N gritted his teeth, pushing harder. No way was he getting caught. Not today.

He rounded a corner, the courtyard in sight. Freedom! He could lose her in the open, maybe hide in the gardening club’s shed. His legs burned, but he grinned, picturing the manga safe, Rosé left in the dust.

A stray Shonen Jump slipped from his bag, flapping to the ground. Rosé’s foot pinned it before he could blink.

“Got you,” she said, not even out of breath.

Y/N didn’t wait for the lecture. With a desperate lunge, he dove through a side door, tumbling into a storage closet. The door slammed shut, plunging him into darkness. He crouched among brooms and buckets, heart hammering, trying not to wheeze. The bag was still with him, thank the stars, but one manga was gone. A small price for freedom.

Outside, Rosé’s footsteps paused. Y/N held his breath, praying she’d move on. 

Her voice came through the door, low and almost… amused? “You can’t run forever, Y/N. Why do you always make this so difficult?” A pause, then, quieter, like she was speaking to herself: “He’s… kind of impressive, though. That speed.”

Y/N’s brain short-circuited. Impressive? Rosé Park, the Iron Lady, had just complimented him? His face burned, and he pressed his hands to his cheeks, trying to process. Was she toying with him? Or… did she actually notice him? Like, notice notice him? His heart did a weird flip, and for a moment, he forgot he was a fugitive.

Then his foot nudged a mop. It clattered to the floor with a deafening CRASH.

The door flew open, and there was Rosé, silhouetted against the hallway light like an avenging angel. Y/N yelped, scrambling back, but there was nowhere to go. She stepped inside, arms crossed, her expression a blend of annoyance and something softer, harder to read.

“Y/N,” she sighed, shaking her head. “You’re a menace.” She picked up the fallen manga, flipping through it with a frown. “This is what you risked detention for? A comic book?”

“It’s not just a comic book!” Y/N blurted, then clamped his mouth shut. Great, now he sounded like a nerd. “I mean… uh…”

Rosé’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “I should confiscate this and write you up.” She paused, her eyes meeting his. “But I’ll let you off. This time. Don’t test me again.”

Y/N nodded so fast he might’ve given himself whiplash. “Y-Yes, Prez! Won’t happen again! Promise!”

She rolled her eyes, tossing the manga back to him. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”

- 

Y/N stumbled back to the field, legs wobbly, clutching his bag like it was his last shred of dignity. Practice was wrapping up, the team stretching under Hyem’s predatory gaze. He tried to blend in, but his brain was a whirlwind. Rosé had let him go. She’d called him impressive. And that almost-smile? It was seared into his memory like a manga panel.

“Oi, Y/N!” Hyem’s voice snapped him out of it. The quarterback leaned against a goalpost, flipping through a notebook labeled “Blackmail Material” in his jagged scrawl. “What’s with the dumb look? Got a crush on the student council prez or somethin’?”

Y/N’s face went nuclear. “W-What?! No! Shut up, Captain!” He flailed, which only made it worse.

Aye, stretching nearby, perked up like a dog hearing a treat bag. “YO! Y/N’s in loooove?!” He struck a dramatic pose, pointing at Y/N. “The speedy delinquent and the Iron Lady! MAX ROMANCE!”

“Knock it off!” Y/N hissed, tackling Aye into the grass. Aye cackled, flopping like a fish, while Hyem’s laugh echoed like a villain’s. The rest of the team started chanting “Y/N and Rosé!” until Y/N wanted to dig a hole and disappear.

As he trudged to the showers, manga safe but his pride in tatters, Y/N couldn’t shake Rosé’s words. Kind of impressive. He glanced at the Shonen Jump in his bag, its cover hero grinning defiantly. Maybe, just maybe, he could impress her again—without breaking the rules. Or at least, without getting caught.

That night, in his dorm, Y/N sprawled on his bed, staring at a Shonen Jump cover. Rosé’s warning echoed in his head, but it felt less like a threat and more like a challenge. He grinned, heart racing. Game on, Prez.

-

The Deimon High cafeteria buzzed with the midday chaos of hungry teens, a battlefield of clattering trays, shouted orders, and the faint smell of overcooked rice. Y/N slouched at a corner table, his gym bag tucked under his seat, still buzzing from his close call with Rosé Park a few days ago. The memory of her almost-smile—and that “kind of impressive” comment—had been looping in his head like a catchy anime opening. He hadn’t dared smuggle manga since, but the itch to break rules was like a mosquito bite he couldn’t stop scratching. And today, he had a new plan. A big one.

“Yo, Y/N, you sure about this?” Aye whispered, leaning across the table, his monkey-like grin equal parts excitement and nerves. His hair bobbed as he glanced around, like they were plotting a bank heist instead of a lunch prank. “If the Iron Lady catches us, we’re toast!”

“Relax, Aye,” Y/N said, flashing a cocky grin that didn’t quite mask his own jitters. “Rosé’s stuck in a student council meeting. I checked the schedule. We’re golden.” He patted the bag under the table, where a contraband hot plate and two packs of instant ramen—spicy shrimp flavor, the good stuff—lay hidden. The school’s “no outside food” rule was strict, but Y/N wasn’t about to survive on soggy cafeteria katsu forever. This was rebellion. This was freedom.

Aye’s eyes sparkled with admiration. “MAX GUTS, man! Cooking ramen right under their noses? You’re a legend!” He mimed slurping noodles, complete with exaggerated sound effects. “Slrrrp! This is gonna be the ultimate lunch revolution!”

Y/N chuckled, but his stomach twisted. Rosé’s warning still echoed: Don’t test me again. He shook it off, picturing her in some stuffy meeting, far from the cafeteria. No way she’d catch him this time. He was Y/N, the Devil Bats’ fastest running back, master of dodging both tacklers and trouble. Right?

Unbeknownst to him, a snitchy freshman had overheard their plan and slipped a note to the student council. And Rosé Park, never one to miss a beat, was already on her way.

-

The plan was simple: plug in the hot plate under the table, boil water, cook the ramen, and scarf it down before anyone noticed. Y/N had practiced the setup in his dorm, timing it like a football play. But, as anyone knows, no plan survives contact with the enemy—or a faulty hot plate.

He and Aye hunched over the table, shielding the hot plate with their trays. Y/N plugged it in, the faint hum blending with the cafeteria din. The water started to bubble, and the spicy shrimp aroma wafted up, making his mouth water. “Almost there,” he whispered, tossing in the noodles. Aye was practically vibrating, clutching a pair of chopsticks like they were a sacred relic.

Then the hot plate sparked. A tiny, angry pop of electricity, followed by a puff of smoke. Y/N’s eyes widened. “Oh, crap—”

The hot plate shorted out with a loud BZZT, sending the pot of half-cooked ramen flying. Noodles splattered across the table, broth splashed onto Aye’s shirt, and the spicy scent exploded into the air. The cafeteria went silent for a split second, every head turning to their table. Then chaos erupted.

“FOOD FIGHT!” some genius yelled, and the room descended into madness. Rice balls soared like missiles, juice cartons burst midair, and a stray bread roll clocked a kid in the forehead. Y/N ducked a flying onigiri, grabbing his bag and hissing, “Aye, we gotta go!”

But before he could bolt, a voice cut through the pandemonium like a referee’s whistle. 

“Y/N!”

His heart plummeted. There, striding through the chaos like a shonen hero stepping onto a battlefield, was Rosé Park. Her student council armband gleamed, her honey-blonde hair swayed, and her dark eyes zeroed in on him with laser precision. She didn’t even flinch as a stray dumpling sailed past her head. “Really, Y/N?” she said, her Australian lilt sharp with exasperation. “Again?”

Y/N’s bravado melted like ice cream in a microwave. His face burned, and he stammered, “P-Prez! I-I can explain!” But his legs had other ideas. He snatched his bag and sprinted, weaving through the food-flinging mob, Rosé hot on his heels.

-

The cafeteria was a war zone, but Y/N was in his element—dodging, ducking, and diving like he was on the football field. He leaped over a toppled chair, slid past a kid wielding a tray of mashed potatoes, and nearly made it to the exit. Nearly.

The crowd surged, pushing him back, and he collided with something solid. Not a table. Not a wall. Rosé. Her hand shot out, grabbing his wrist with a grip that was somehow both firm and gentle. “Not this time, Y/N,” she said, her voice low, her eyes glinting with a mix of annoyance and—amusement?

Y/N’s brain short-circuited. They were pressed close in the chaotic crowd, her face inches from his, her faint lavender scent cutting through the ramen fumes. His heart jackhammered, and his cheeks went nuclear. “I-I’m sorry, Prez!” he blurted, his voice cracking like a middle schooler’s. “It was just ramen! I swear!”

Rosé’s lips twitched, a smirk breaking through her stern facade. “You’re faster on the field than you are at escaping me,” she teased, her Aussie accent curling around the words. Y/N’s knees wobbled. Was she flirting? No, no way, she was the Iron Lady, she didn’t flirt, she—

“GET A ROOM, YA IDIOTS!” Hyem’s voice boomed from across the cafeteria. The quarterback stood on a table, cackling, a soda can in hand like a grenade. He lobbed it, and Y/N ducked, pulling Rosé down with him. The can sailed over their heads, exploding against a wall in a fizzy spray.

Rosé sighed, releasing his wrist. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, but there was a spark in her eyes, like she was enjoying the chaos just a little.

-

The food fight ended with a teacher’s megaphone and a lot of detention slips. Y/N, as the apparent instigator, got the worst of it: cleaning the entire cafeteria, alone, under Rosé’s supervision. He stood in the now-empty room, mop in hand, grumbling as he scrubbed broth stains off a table. His gym bag, miraculously noodle-free, sat nearby, a reminder of his failed rebellion.

Rosé leaned against a wall, arms crossed, her blazer slightly rumpled from the chaos. “You know, Y/N,” she said, her tone dry, “if you put half as much effort into following rules as you do breaking them, you’d be unstoppable.”

Y/N snorted, glancing at her. “Rules are boring, Prez. Where’s the fun in that?” He expected a lecture, but Rosé just shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She grabbed a rag and started wiping down a table nearby, her movements precise but relaxed.

He blinked. “You’re… helping? Isn’t that, like, beneath the Iron Lady?”

She shot him a look, half-annoyed, half-playful. “Someone has to make sure you don’t slack off. And don’t call me that.” But her cheeks pinked slightly, and Y/N’s stomach did a weird flip. They worked in silence for a bit, the only sounds the squeak of the mop and the distant hum of the school.

Then he heard it—Rosé, humming softly. It was faint, but unmistakable: the opening theme to Hunter x Hunter, one of his favorite anime. His jaw dropped. “No way,” he blurted. “You watch that?!”

Rosé froze, her rag mid-swipe, her face flushing. “What? I—Focus on cleaning!” she snapped, but her voice was flustered, and she turned away, scrubbing the table with unnecessary vigor.

Y/N grinned, his shyness melting into mischief. “Didn’t peg you for an anime fan, Prez. Got any other secrets? You cosplay on weekends or something?”

“Shut up, Y/N,” she growled, but there was no real heat in it. She flicked a bit of water at him, and he laughed, dodging like it was a tackle. For a moment, the cafeteria didn’t feel like a punishment—it felt like… something else.

-

By the time they finished, the cafeteria gleamed, and Y/N’s arms ached. He slung his bag over his shoulder, ready to bolt, when Rosé stopped him. “Not so fast,” she said, holding out a clipboard. “You’re assisting the student council at the next football game. Crowd control, setup, that sort of thing. Consider it part of your punishment.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “What?! The game? But I’m playing in it!” The thought of Rosé watching his every move—on and off the field—made his stomach lurch. Part panic, part… excitement?

Rosé’s eyes narrowed, but there was a teasing edge to her voice. “Then you’d better behave, or I’ll bench you myself.” She turned to leave, pausing at the door. “And Y/N? No more ramen stunts.”

He nodded dumbly, watching her go, her silhouette framed by the hallway light. As soon as she was out of sight, Aye pounced, materializing like a ninja. “YO! You and the Prez were totally vibin’ in there! MAX CHEMISTRY!”

“Shut up, Aye!” Y/N hissed, shoving him. But Hyem’s cackle echoed from the hall, where the quarterback lounged, flipping through his blackmail notebook. “Heh, looks like our speedy punk’s got a new play: wooing the Iron Lady. Need some pointers, kid?”

Y/N’s face burned as he stormed off, Aye’s laughter chasing him. But deep down, he couldn’t stop replaying Rosé’s hum, her smirk, the way she’d helped him clean. Maybe this game day duty wouldn’t be so bad.

That night, Y/N practiced late on the field, running drills under the floodlights. He fumbled a catch, groaning as Rosé’s face flashed in his mind. How was he supposed to focus with her watching him? He glanced at the stands, half-expecting to see her there, and his heart skipped. Game day was gonna be a whole new kind of challenge.

-

The Deimon High stadium buzzed with pre-game energy, a cauldron of cheering students, blaring horns, and the sharp scent of popcorn and grass. The Deimon Devil Bats were set to face the Ojo White Knights, a rival team with a defense like a steel wall. Y/N stood in the locker room, lacing his cleats, his heart pounding with the familiar thrill of game day. As the team’s star running back, he lived for these moments—dodging tacklers, sprinting for the end zone, the crowd roaring his name. But today, his mind was split. Rosé Park, the Iron Lady herself, would be watching from the stands, clipboard in hand, ready to enforce his “student council punishment” from the cafeteria fiasco.

He still couldn’t shake the memory of her humming Hunter x Hunter in the cafeteria, or the way her smirk had made his stomach flip. Since then, he’d been extra careful—no manga smuggling, no ramen stunts. But the itch to break rules was like a splinter under his skin, and Hyem, the devilish quarterback, knew exactly how to prod it.

“Oi, Y/N,” Hyem called, leaning against a locker, his grin sharp as a switchblade. He held up a small packet labeled “Itching Powder: Industrial Strength.” “Wanna give the White Knights a little… motivation? Slip this into their jerseys, and they’ll be scratching instead of tackling. Kekeke!” His laugh was pure chaos, and his eyes gleamed with mischief.

Y/N hesitated, glancing at the packet. It was a classic Hyem scheme—dirty, effective, and so tempting. “I dunno, Captain,” he muttered, rubbing his neck. “Rosé’s got me on a leash. If she catches me…”

Hyem’s grin widened, like a shark smelling blood. “What, scared of your girlfriend? Man up, punk. You’re a Devil Bat, not a choir boy.” He tossed the packet, and Y/N caught it reflexively, his pulse spiking.

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Y/N spluttered, his face heating up. But the packet felt like a dare, and Y/N’s rebellious streak roared to life. Just a quick prank, in and out. Rosé would be busy with crowd control, right? He stuffed the packet into his shorts, grinning. “Fine. But if I get caught, I’m blaming you.”

Hyem cackled, firing his rifle into the ceiling. “That’s the spirit! Now move, ya sneaky bastard!”

Y/N slipped out of the locker room, heart racing, and crept toward the White Knights’ changing area. He moved like a ninja, ducking behind water coolers and weaving through equipment bags, his football reflexes making him a ghost. The packet crinkled in his pocket, and he couldn’t help but giggle like a manga villain. This was gonna be legendary—

“Y/N.” Rosé’s voice hit him like a linebacker. She stood at the end of the hall, arms crossed, her student council armband glinting like a warning sign. Her honey-blonde hair was tied back, and her dark eyes bored into him, sharp enough to cut glass. “What are you doing?”

Y/N froze, the packet burning a hole in his pocket. His cocky grin melted into a stammer. “P-Prez! I-I was just… uh… checking the… water pressure?” His voice cracked, and he cursed his traitor brain.

Rosé’s eyebrow arched, her signature move of doom. “With itching powder?” She nodded at his pocket, where the packet’s edge peeked out. Y/N’s stomach dropped. How did she always know?

-

Y/N’s mind raced, searching for an escape, but Rosé’s gaze pinned him like a butterfly. The hallway felt smaller, the air thicker, and his usual instinct to run fizzled under her scrutiny. He clutched the packet behind his back, his face burning. “Okay, fine, it’s itching powder,” he admitted, voice low. “But I haven’t done anything yet! I was just… thinking about it.”

Rosé stepped closer, her boots clicking on the tile. “Thinking about it?” she repeated, her Australian lilt sharp with disbelief. “You’re this close to suspension, Y/N. One more stunt, and you’re off the team. Is that what you want?”

The words hit like a punch. Y/N’s eyes widened, his bravado crumbling. Getting kicked off the Devil Bats? That was his life, his freedom, his everything. He pictured the field without him, Hyem’s gunfire replaced by disappointment, Aye’s cheers silenced. And Rosé, watching from the stands, not with that spark of amusement but with… nothing.

“N-No, Prez,” he stammered, his voice softer, raw. “I don’t want that. I swear, I’ll do better. Just… give me a chance. Let me play today. I’ll win it clean, no tricks.” His eyes met hers, pleading, and for once, he didn’t look away.

Rosé studied him, her expression unreadable. The hallway was silent, save for the distant roar of the crowd. Then, slowly, she sighed, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Fine,” she said. “But I’m watching you, Y/N. One misstep, and you’re done.” She held out her hand. “The powder. Now.”

Y/N handed it over, his fingers brushing hers for a split second. His heart skipped, and he yanked his hand back, blushing like an idiot. Rosé pocketed the packet, her lips twitching like she was fighting a smile. “Get to the field,” she said, turning away. “And don’t make me regret this.”

Y/N nodded, bolting for the locker room, his pulse hammering. Rosé’s words echoed in his head, but so did her gaze—intense, but not cold. Was she rooting for him, just a little? The thought made his chest tight, and he shook it off, lacing up for the game. He had to focus. This was his shot to prove himself—to Hyem, to Rosé, to everyone.

-

The stadium was a coliseum of noise and light, the stands packed with screaming fans waving Deimon banners. The Devil Bats faced the White Knights in a clash of titans, the score tied at 14-14 in the final quarter. Y/N stood on the field, sweat soaking his jersey, his breath visible in the cool evening air. Every muscle burned, but his eyes blazed with determination. This was his moment.

Hyem barked the play, his grin feral. “Y/N, you’re up! Run the Ghost, and don’t screw it up!” The “Devil Bat Ghost” was Y/N’s signature move, a fake-out that left defenders grasping at air. Y/N nodded, adrenaline flooding his veins. He glanced at the stands, spotting Rosé near the front, her clipboard clutched tight, her eyes locked on him. His heart thudded, but he channeled it into focus.

The ball snapped, and Y/N exploded forward, the world slowing to a heartbeat. The White Knights’ linebackers charged, massive and unrelenting, but Y/N was a phantom. He spun left, then right, his feet barely touching the ground, leaving one defender sprawling. Another lunged, arms wide, but Y/N faked a cut, his body blurring in a perfect Devil Bat Ghost. The crowd gasped as he slipped through, a streak of red and black, the end zone in sight.

A final defender loomed, a mountain of muscle. Y/N gritted his teeth, pouring every ounce of speed into his legs. He juked, twisted, and leaped, diving over the defender’s outstretched arms. The stadium erupted as he landed in the end zone, the ball clutched tight, the scoreboard flashing:

Deimon 20, Ojo 14.

Y/N rolled to his feet, panting, the crowd’s roar washing over him like a tidal wave. Aye tackled him in a bear hug, yelling, “MAX TOUCHDOWN!” Hyem cackled, firing his rifle into the air. But Y/N’s eyes flicked to the stands. Rosé was still there, her clipboard lowered, her lips parted slightly. Was that… awe? Her gaze met his, and for a heartbeat, the stadium faded, leaving just them.

-

The game ended with a narrow Deimon victory, the Devil Bats mobbed by cheering fans. Y/N stood on the field, sweaty and exhausted, but grinning like he’d conquered the world. His teammates slapped his back, Aye chanting “Y/N! Y/N!” like a hype man. But his attention drifted to the sidelines, where Rosé approached, her boots crunching on the grass.

She stopped in front of him, arms crossed, her expression a mix of sternness and something softer. “You kept your word,” she said, her voice cutting through the post-game chaos. “No tricks. And that run…” She paused, her eyes flicking over him, taking in his dirt-streaked jersey and wild grin. “Your speed’s incredible.”

Y/N’s face lit up, his exhaustion forgotten. Rosé Park, complimenting him again? His heart did a backflip, and before he could stop himself, he blurted, “W-Wanna grab ramen sometime? Y’know, legally?” His voice cracked, and he winced, expecting her to shut him down.

Rosé blinked, caught off guard. Then, to his shock, she laughed—a real, warm laugh that made her eyes crinkle. “Only if you stop running from me,” she teased, her Aussie accent curling around the words like a melody. Y/N’s jaw dropped, his cheeks burning. Was she… flirting? For real?

Before he could respond, Aye’s voice boomed from behind. “YO! Y/N’S SCORING OFF THE FIELD TOO!” The wide receiver struck a dramatic pose, pointing at them, while Hyem cackled nearby, scribbling in his blackmail notebook. Y/N spun, mortified, shouting, “Shut up, Aye!” but Rosé just shook her head, her smile lingering.

“Go shower,” she said, turning to leave. “You smell like a locker room. And Y/N? Don’t think this gets you off probation.” But her tone was playful, and as she walked away, Y/N caught her glancing back, just for a second.

-

Y/N trudged to the locker room, still buzzing from the win and Rosé’s words. His teammates were in high spirits, reenacting his touchdown with exaggerated flair. But Hyem and Aye had other plans. They cornered him near the showers, Hyem’s grin downright evil.

“So, lover boy,” Hyem said, flipping open his notebook. “Need help sealing the deal with the Iron Lady? I’ve got ideas. Rig the scoreboard to flash ‘Y/N <3 Rosé,’ maybe some fireworks…” He trailed off, cackling as Y/N’s face turned beet red.

“NO! Leave her alone!” Y/N yelped, flailing. Aye piled on, slinging an arm around him. “C’mon, man, we’re your wingmen! MAX SUPPORT! Gotta make the Prez swoon!”

Y/N shoved them off, grabbing his towel and sprinting for the showers. “You’re both insane!” he shouted, but their laughter chased him. As he stood under the hot water, washing off the game’s grime, he couldn’t stop smiling. Rosé’s laugh, her challenge to stop running—it felt like a new play, one he was dying to run.

Outside, Aye and Hyem schemed, their whispers drifting through the locker room. “Give it time,” Hyem muttered, smirking. “That punk’s already hooked.”

Later that night, Y/N lay in his dorm, staring at the ceiling, the Shonen Jump from his first run-in with Rosé on his desk. Her words—incredible, stop running—played on repeat, mingling with the roar of the crowd. Probation or not, game day had changed something. He grinned, heart racing. The festival was next, and with Rosé watching, he’d have to play his best game yet—on and off the field.

-

The Deimon High school festival was a kaleidoscope of chaos and joy, the campus alive with flickering lanterns, sizzling yakisoba stalls, and the laughter of students weaving through the crowd. Y/N trudged along a bustling path, lugging a heavy box of paper cranes, his usual swagger dampened by the weight of his latest punishment. Rosé Park, the Iron Lady of the student council, had sentenced him to festival prep after his itching powder stunt at the game—a step up from the cafeteria cleanup, but still a blow to his Devil Bats pride. He was supposed to be Deimon’s star running back, not a delivery boy for decorations.

“Pick up the pace, Y/N!” Rosé’s voice sliced through the festival din, crisp yet tinged with that Australian lilt that sent a shiver down his spine. She stood near a takoyaki stall, clipboard in hand, directing volunteers like a general on a battlefield. Her honey-blonde hair was loose, catching the golden glow of the lanterns, and her casual sweater and jeans softened her usual Iron Lady aura. She looked… approachable. Almost too pretty to be real.

“Yeah, yeah, Prez,” Y/N grumbled, setting the box on a table with a huff. He wiped sweat from his brow, stealing a glance at her. Ever since the game against the White Knights, where he’d nailed the Devil Bat Ghost and blurted out that ramen invite, Rosé had been stuck in his head like a shoujo manga heroine. Her laugh on the field, her teasing “stop running,” the way she’d looked at him—it was messing with his focus. But he was still on probation, and she was still the rule-enforcing president. No room for slip-ups.

Rosé caught his stare and tilted her head, her dark eyes narrowing playfully. “What’s that look? Plotting another prank?” Her tone was stern, but a smile tugged at her lips, and Y/N’s heart did a clumsy flip.

“N-Nope, all clear!” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Just… admiring your clipboard skills, Prez.” He flashed a grin, hoping it hid his blush.

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks pinked slightly, and she turned to adjust a lantern. “Flattery won’t get you out of work,” she muttered, but there was a warmth in her voice that made his grin widen.

They teamed up to hang a string of paper cranes, their shoulders brushing as they reached for the same hook. Y/N’s fingers fumbled, the string slipping, and Rosé sighed, taking it from him. “Like this,” she said, her hands deft as she tied a knot, her fingertips grazing his. The touch was brief, electric, and Y/N’s breath hitched, his face burning like he’d sprinted a full field.

“T-Thanks,” he mumbled, scratching his neck, praying she didn’t hear his heartbeat. She glanced at him, her eyes softening, and for a moment, the festival’s noise faded, leaving just them—cranes swaying, her smile sneaking through, his chest tight with something new.

-

As dusk settled, the festival glowed under a velvet sky, the stalls twinkling like a constellation of dreams. Y/N slumped on a bench, catching his breath, while Aye scarfed down a tower of takoyaki beside him. The wide receiver’s eyes sparkled with mischief, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Yo, Y/N, wanna make this festival MAX EPIC? I got something big.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, wary but curious. “Aye, if this is another food fight, I’m out. Rosé’s got me on lockdown after the itching powder thing.” He could still hear her warning from game day, sharp but tinged with trust: One misstep, and you’re done.

Aye grinned, pulling a small, suspiciously heavy bag from his jacket. “Fireworks,” he said, like he was unveiling a sacred relic. “The real deal—banned for safety reasons. We set these off during the festival climax, and bam! We’re legends. The crowd’ll lose it!”

Y/N’s stomach knotted. Fireworks were a hard no in Rosé’s rulebook, and he’d sworn to behave after nearly losing his spot on the team. But the image of bright, booming lights, the crowd cheering like they did for his touchdowns—it tugged at his rebellious streak. His fingers twitched, tempted. “Aye, if Rosé catches me, I’m toast. Like, expelled toast.”

Aye scoffed, tossing a takoyaki and catching it midair. “She’s swamped running this circus! You’re the fastest guy at Deimon, man. In and out, MAX STEALTH! C’mon, you owe me for the ramen cover-up.”

Y/N glanced at Rosé across the festival, where she was helping a kid win a goldfish, her laugh soft and unguarded. His chest ached—she’d trusted him, believed in him. But Aye’s grin was infectious, and the fireworks promised glory. “Fine,” he muttered, snatching the bag. “But you’re dead if this backfires.”

He slipped into the shadows, heading for a quiet corner near the sports field. His heart raced, half-thrill, half-guilt, as he set up the fireworks, his hands steady despite his nerves. He pictured the crowd’s awe, the sky ablaze—then froze as a voice cut through the dark.

“Y/N, again?”

Rosé stood behind him, arms crossed, her eyes a storm of frustration and disbelief. The fuse sparked, and Y/N’s bravado shattered. “P-Prez! I-I wasn’t—okay, I was, but—” His voice cracked, and his instincts screamed run. He bolted, the bag bouncing against his hip.

-

The festival blurred as Y/N sprinted, lanterns flashing past, stalls a kaleidoscope of color. His legs pumped, weaving through the crowd like he was dodging tacklers, but Rosé was relentless, her steps quick and determined. “Y/N, stop!” she called, her voice carrying over the festival’s hum. It was their first chase all over again—him the elusive running back, her the unyielding pursuer—but this time, the weight of his choices pressed heavier.

He veered toward the sports field, his sanctuary, where the festival lights dimmed and the stars shone bright. His lungs burned, but his mind was a tempest. Why did he keep doing this? Breaking rules, running from her? He skidded to a stop by the goalpost, panting, and turned to face her. Rosé slowed, her chest heaving, her expression a mix of anger and something raw—hurt.

“Why?” she demanded, stepping closer, her voice trembling. “Why do you keep breaking rules, Y/N? I trusted you. After the game, I thought…” She trailed off, her eyes searching his, and the vulnerability in them hit like a tackle.

Y/N’s throat tightened. He dropped the bag, the fireworks clattering to the grass. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice rough. “Breaking rules… it’s like running. It makes me feel free, like nothing can catch me. But you…” He met her gaze, his heart pounding like it did before a touchdown. “You make me wanna stop, Rosé. I don’t wanna run from you. I wanna stay. ‘Cause you see me—all of me.”

Rosé’s eyes widened, her stern facade crumbling. The festival’s distant music wove through the silence, and for a moment, they were just two teens under the stars, the world holding its breath. “Y/N,” she said softly, stepping closer, close enough that he could smell her lavender shampoo. “I’ve always seen you. Your speed, your heart. But I need you to trust me, too. No more hiding.”

His shyness surged, but he pushed through, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m trying, Rosé. I… I really like you. And I’m scared I’ll screw this up.” His face burned, but he held her gaze, his confession hanging like a shoujo manga panel, all sparkles and heartbeats.

Rosé’s cheeks flushed, and she looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re such an idiot,” she murmured, but her voice was warm, almost tender. She picked up a single firework, turning it over in her hands. “One,” she said, meeting his eyes, a shy smile breaking through. “We’ll set off one. Together. But that’s it.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped, then he grinned, his heart soaring like a touchdown run. “Deal.” They lit the fuse, stepping back as the firework rocketed skyward, bursting in a cascade of gold and blue. The light bathed them, and Rosé’s smile—rare, radiant—stole his breath. Their hands brushed as they watched, and he didn’t pull away, the warmth of her fingers anchoring him in place.

-

The festival hummed on, but Y/N and Rosé lingered near the sports field, reluctant to rejoin the chaos. They wandered to a quiet stall selling floating lanterns, the kind you lit and released to carry wishes skyward. Rosé paused, her fingers tracing a lantern’s delicate paper, her expression soft. “Want to try?” she asked, glancing at Y/N with a shy spark in her eyes.

Y/N’s heart skipped. “Uh, sure, Prez. But if I wish for no more probation, you gonna veto it?” He grinned, but his voice was softer, nervous, like he was stepping onto new turf.

She laughed, the sound light and unguarded, and handed him a lantern. “Write your wish first, rulebreaker. Then we’ll see.” Her tone was teasing, but her gaze held something deeper, like she was daring him to be honest.

They sat cross-legged on the grass, the lantern between them, a marker shared as they scribbled their wishes. Y/N hesitated, his pen hovering. He glanced at Rosé, her hair glowing under the festival lights, her focus on her own writing. His chest tightened—she was the reason he wanted to be better, to stop running. He wrote quickly, shielding it from her, his cheeks warm.

Rosé finished hers, her handwriting neat but guarded. She caught him peeking and flicked his forehead. “No cheating,” she said, but her smile was playful, and she leaned closer, her shoulder brushing his. The contact sent a jolt through him, and he fumbled the marker, earning another laugh.

They lit the lantern together, their fingers tangling briefly as they held it aloft. The flame flickered, casting a golden glow across their faces, and Y/N’s breath caught at how close they were, her eyes reflecting the light like stars. “Ready?” she whispered, and he nodded, too flustered to speak.

They released the lantern, watching it drift upward, joining a constellation of others in the sky. Y/N’s heart pounded, his wish—to be someone Rosé could rely on—floating with it. He glanced at her, catching a wistful look on her face. “What’d you wish for, Prez?” he asked, half-teasing, half-hoping.

Rosé smirked, nudging him. “None of your business, Y/N. But… maybe it’s not so different from yours.” Her voice was soft, her blush barely visible, and Y/N’s heart did a full-on Devil Bat Ghost, dodging all his doubts.

They sat there, shoulders touching, the festival’s hum a distant melody. For once, Y/N didn’t feel the urge to run—just to stay, right there, with her.

-

The festival wound down, the crowd thinning as the final (approved) fireworks lit the sky in bursts of red and silver. Y/N and Rosé sat on a grassy hill, soda cans in hand, their yukatas rumpled from the day’s chaos. The air was cool, sweet with the scent of grilled squid, and their shoulders brushed, a quiet intimacy settling between them.

“You’re still on probation,” Rosé said, her tone teasing as she sipped her drink. “Don’t think one firework and a lantern get you off the hook.”

Y/N laughed, leaning back on his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Prez. But I’m gonna try, y’know? Be less… chaotic.” He glanced at her, his voice softening. “For you.”

Rosé’s cheeks flushed, and she nudged his shoulder, her touch lingering. “Good. I’ll keep you in check.” Her smile was soft, her eyes catching the firework glow, and Y/N’s heart soared, like he’d just scored the winning touchdown.

Their moment was shattered by Hyem’s cackle. “Oi, lovebirds!” The quarterback stormed up, dragging a protesting Aye. “Cleanup duty, Y/N! No slacking!” Aye, waving a skewer, shouted, “MAX POWER COUPLE!” as the Devil Bats cheered below, waving sparklers and chanting, “Y/N and Rosé!”

Y/N groaned, burying his face in his hands, but Rosé laughed, standing and pulling him up. Her hand lingered in his, warm and steady, and she leaned in, whispering, “You’re not running this time, right?” Her breath tickled his ear, and he grinned, his face burning.

“Nope,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I’m staying, Prez.” They joined the cleanup, her laughter mingling with his, the festival’s glow wrapping them in promise.

-

Game day dawned bright, the stadium pulsing with anticipation. Y/N stood on the field, lacing his cleats, the familiar rush of adrenaline in his veins. The Devil Bats faced a new rival, and he was ready to dazzle, to run, to win. But today, his eyes weren’t just on the end zone.

He glanced at the stands, spotting Rosé in the front row, her student council armband swapped for a handmade sign: “Go Y/N!” in bold, glittery letters. She caught his gaze and waved, her smile bright and unguarded, a sparkler in the daylight. Y/N’s heart soared, and he winked at her, bold and playful. She rolled her eyes, but her blush betrayed her, and the crowd’s cheer felt like it was for them.

Hyem clapped his shoulder, smirking. “Focus, punk. Save the mushy stuff for after we crush ‘em.” Y/N laughed, pulling on his helmet. The whistle blew, and he took off, legs a blur, the field his canvas. He wasn’t running from anything—not rules, not Rosé, not himself. He was running toward her, toward trust, toward a future painted in lantern light and firework sparks.

The moment froze like a manga panel: Y/N sprinting, Rosé’s sign gleaming, their story just beginning under the stadium’s roar.

[tinytinyblogs]

Can I request how yandere skz would react to the reader not wanting to move in with them?

Why not? Just move in with me darling!

When you refuse to live with yandere SKZ.

Hyung line, Maknae line(coming soon)

💬 Finally, another story is done! I hope this one turns out okay too. I really like this concept, the idea you gave me was actually really good!

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Chan

The moment you refused to move in with him, Chan’s smile vanished like a switch had been flipped. His eyes darkened, the warmth in them disappearing completely. He didn’t even try to hide it. Tilting his head, he stared at you with a look that made your stomach twist. “You don’t want to live with me?” he asked, voice low and calm—but the calm didn’t soothe you. It warned you. You tried to answer, tried to explain, but your words faltered under the pressure of his grip tightening around your hand. It wasn’t just a squeeze; it was a warning in the form of bone-deep pressure. For a moment, it felt like he could crush you right then and there. But he didn’t. That day, he let you go. You thought that would be the end of it. That saying no would be enough. It wasn’t. Life after that moment became something else entirely. Breathing itself became a task. Peace, once so normal, now felt like a forgotten luxury. At first, it was little things: eerie sounds in the night, strange glitches in your phone, shadows just out of reach. Then it escalated. Your window shattered one night, glass scattered across your floor but no one was there. You checked the locks three times a night.

You barely slept. And it didn’t stop. Threatening notes began to appear—on your car, slipped through your door, even in your bag. Every day, they grew worse. More aggressive. More personal. You stopped going out at night. You stopped trusting people. Your world shrank, bit by bit, until fear was the only constant companion. All the while, Chan remained the perfect image of serenity. He’d smile at you when you crossed paths—an angel’s smile, soft and inviting, as if nothing had ever changed. As if he weren’t the storm behind your crumbling life. And he never said a word about it—until one day, when you’d had enough, when your hands shook too much to hold your keys, when tears blurred your vision on the street—you found him there. Waiting. His arms opened like he had known you’d come. Like he’d planned it all along. He held you, gently, like the chaos you’d endured was just a dream. You didn’t say anything. Neither did he, not at first. Then, with a soft whisper into your hair, he said, “I told you, darling… Move in with me, and you’ll be safe from this cruel world.” And the worst part? He was right.

Minho

Minho didn’t like it. That much was obvious. His displeasure wasn’t subtle—it never was. When you gave your answer, quiet and hesitant, his reaction was immediate. “You’re joking, right?” he snapped, his voice suddenly sharp and cutting through the silence like a blade. But you weren’t joking. You shook your head, slowly, the fear already creeping up your spine. He stared at you for a moment too long, eyes unreadable. Then he gave a small nod, like he was accepting your decision. It would’ve been easier if that was truly the end of it. But the next day, everything changed. He didn’t fight you with words anymore, he fought with presence. You began to feel his shadow before you saw him. Walking home? He was there, a few steps behind. Running errands? You’d turn around and catch him leaning against a wall, watching you with a faint smirk. Even inside your apartment, the air no longer felt yours. He started showing up unannounced. Sometimes in the middle of the day. Sometimes well past midnight. He didn’t knock. He didn’t ask. When you tried to push back, to shut the door in his face, he forced his way in with ease. He was stronger than you—he always had been. One night, in your panic, you reached for your phone. You barely managed to dial before he snatched it from your hand and hurled it against the wall.

It shattered instantly, pieces skidding across the floor like shards of the fragile safety you thought you had left. That was the night you realized: you couldn’t call for help. You couldn’t even leave. Because the next morning, your keys were gone. Vanished. You tore your place apart looking for them. But they weren’t lost, they were stolen. And you knew exactly who had them. You could see the shape of them outlined in his pocket when he walked in again like he owned the place. Eventually, you had no choice. Your lease was running out. You had no way to change your locks, no safety net, no help. And he, he was always there, offering the same thing with open arms and a smile that never reached his eyes. He made sure your options disappeared until only one remained: his. So, you gave in. Not because you trusted him. Not because you wanted to. But because the world outside your door had been made unlivable by the one person standing inside it. The night you finally agreed, he leaned in close, voice soft like a lover's lullaby, but laced with something far colder. “Just move in with me, love,” he whispered, his grin brushing your skin. “Things would be easier. Because if you keep refusing me… I’ll haunt you so bad, you won’t even survive to see tomorrow.” And somehow, you believed him.

Changbin

The thing about Changbin is—he worries. Constantly. Overthinking is second nature to him, especially when it comes to you. And ever since you refused to move in with him, his anxiety only seemed to spiral further out of control. It started with little things him texting more often than usual, calling to check if you got home safely. But soon, it became impossible to breathe without feeling the weight of his concern pressing down on you. Every time you didn’t answer right away, your phone would explode with messages: Are you okay? Where are you? Why aren’t you answering me? If you took too long, he would show up—whether you asked him to or not. And when you tried to calm him, tried to explain that you needed space, that you were fine on your own, he’d just look at you with eyes wide and hurt, panic bubbling just beneath the surface. “Do you not trust me?” he asked once, voice breaking. “Do you think I wouldn’t protect you?” It wasn’t that. You knew he meant well. But his love felt more like a prison than a shield. He began tracking your every move, literally. You’d mention plans with a friend, and somehow he already knew the location before you got there.

You’d catch him waiting outside your workplace, or your apartment, without warning. Always the same plea: “Move in with me.” Always the same reasoning: “It’s better this way.” One night, he showed up again, unannounced. You were tired, emotionally worn down, and just not in the mood. But he didn’t care. He reached for you, held your shoulders firmly, his eyes burning with desperation. “Please, honey,” he said, giving you a light shake, his voice trembling. “Move in with me. I swear I won’t stop you from doing anything. Go to work, meet your friends, do whatever you want. Just… just let me know you’re safe, at the end of the day. Let me have that.” And for a moment, something in you broke. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe you just wanted the calls and the appearances and the suffocating worry to end. So you said yes. You moved in with him. But the promise he made? It didn’t last. Because even after you shared a roof, Changbin didn’t ease up. If anything, he became even more watchful. He’d ask where you were going, who you’d be with, how long you’d be gone. You started to feel like a guest in your own life. You couldn’t breathe without him wanting to know why, where, and for how long. He said he just wanted to protect you. But safety shouldn't feel like surveillance. And love shouldn't feel like fear.

Hyunjin

It wasn’t easy, refusing Hyunjin when he asked you to move in with him. It wasn’t just the way his expression twisted, fury and heartbreak battling in his eyes. It was everything that followed. After you said no, he changed. He became aggressively clingy, showing up everywhere you went. The coffee shop you visited every morning? He’d be there, waiting. The grocery store, your workplace, even your friend's house Hyunjin found you every time, like a shadow you couldn’t outrun. And if you dared to confront him, to push him away, he’d look at you with those wide, tear-brimmed eyes, hurt radiating from him like a weapon. He was good at it. Too good. Sometimes you thought he might actually cry just to make you falter. And worse, it worked. People around you, strangers, coworkers, even acquaintances gave you judgmental stares, whispering behind their hands. To them, you were the villain, the heartbreaker. They didn’t see the manipulation, the way Hyunjin crafted every moment like a perfect performance. It was exhausting. It was suffocating. No matter how much you tried to assert your boundaries, guilt gnawed at your defenses. It wasn’t just easier it felt necessary to give him what he wanted, just to make the pressure stop. And so, eventually, you gave in.

You agreed to move in with him, thinking maybe it would calm him, that maybe things would settle once he got what he wanted. You packed your things with a heavy heart, the entire time feeling like you were walking into a trap you couldn't escape. The day you moved into Hyunjin’s apartment, he was waiting with open arms, all soft smiles and trembling excitement. He helped carry your boxes inside, treating you like you were something precious he’d finally claimed. But then, something changed. The second the door closed behind you, locking you inside with him, that innocent gleam in his eyes vanished like smoke. In its place was something darker, something colder—something real. Hyunjin’s smile widened into something that wasn’t sweet anymore. It was sinister. He stepped closer, his voice low and dripping satisfaction as he whispered, “Finally, darling. You should’ve just done this from the very beginning.” The way he said it made your skin crawl. It was clear now that this was never about love or happiness. It was about control. About possession. And you had just handed it to him. In that moment, surrounded by your own belongings in a place that didn’t feel like home, you realized: the Hyunjin you thought you knew never existed. And the man standing before you had no intention of ever letting you go again.

[claramelooo]

Checkmate (2/20)

What about this chapter... tell me you hehe....

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warning: +18, humiliation and degradation, angst, and sexual assault. (Proceed with caution.)

Pairing: Governor!Agatha Harkness x Fem Reader

Summary: An opportunity arises that will change your life.

Promotion

noun

It is the process in which a pawn that reaches the last row of the board is replaced by another piece, usually a queen.

You got to the dorm without remembering how. All you knew was that your feet hurt, your heart hurt more, and that bitter taste in your mouth wasn’t just from the tequila — it was pure humiliation.

The doorknob creaked when you pushed the door open. The room was bathed in the bluish gloom of streetlights filtered through crooked blinds. Everything was in its place — except you.

You were different now.

A little dirtier.

A little more used.

You kicked off your shoes into a corner, your bag slipped off your shoulder with a dull thud against the floor, you stripped off your clothes angrily—piece by piece, as if they were burning your skin.

In the shower, the hot water tried —and failed, surely—to wash her scent off your body. Her woody perfume still clung to your pores, mixed with sweat, desire, and shame.

You lay down with your hair still wet, not caring. The pillow smelled like lavender, your weak attempt to keep something in place.

You opened your laptop and, almost on autopilot, picked The Office—the diversity day episode. You used to love that stupid crap, but your mind couldn’t follow.

You wanted to laugh, you wanted to cry, you wanted to disappear.

Before the scene where Michael gathers everyone in the conference room, you were out.

And you dreamed.

You dreamed of the weight on your chest. Of hot, wet kisses, of a strict tongue stealing yours, long fingers, chilled by Seattle’s cold, gripping your hips.

A touch you tattooed into your memory, one you might recognize even in another life.

Her image came back like a blade—the blue-green eyes glowing in the bar’s dim light; lips claiming yours; stifled, hoarse moans muffled against your mouth.

The way her body fit against yours like it had been made for it. The way her warm, soft insides clenched around your fingers.

You moaned in your sleep—too loud. Hands gripping the sheets, trying to hold onto the memory.

But then you felt it.

Hair.

Blonde hair.

Your eyes flew open, heart pounding.

“Carol?” you whispered, your voice a mix of disbelief and shock.

She looked at you with that same smile from before—crooked, reckless. Her body half over yours, her fingers already roaming your skin with the familiarity of someone who held a master key.

It wasn’t the woman with the unforgettable eyes.

And the disappointment hit you like a flipped chessboard to the face.

Because it wasn’t her.

It was just... Carol.

Again.

Like an endless loop of wrong choices.

The blonde looked at you with teary eyes, creating a wrinkle of concern on your forehead.

“Carol, what happened?”

“He couldn’t.” She said it softly, still clinging to you.

“'He' who? 'Couldn't' what?”

“He couldn’t make me come.” Ah, that guy from the club.

Honestly, you didn’t know how to respond.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, stroking her blonde hair.

“He only cared about his own pleasure!” she whimpered. “They’re all like that.”

She pouted again, her teary eyes recreating that fake wrinkle of concern on your forehead.

You were so uncomfortable, you could barely move.

“Except you,” she whispered, and there it was: the trap snapping shut.

Her eyes darkened, and you recognized that look. The same as always—hunger disguised as need.

She rubbed against you, already anticipating the surrender that always came.

But this time, something jammed inside you.

“I don’t want to, Carol.”

“I'm sorry?! What did you just say?” She laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. It was the laugh of someone who couldn’t believe you dared.

You tried to pull away, but she held you tighter. Her hand found your neck, fingers pressing against the spot where your racing pulse betrayed your fear.

“I don’t want this. You just fucked some guy, and I wouldn’t feel comfortable…”

The blonde laughed hysterically, making you flinch. You squirmed, trying to break free, but Danvers only tightened her grip.

“You don’t reject me. Got it?” Her whisper was sweet like poison. “Now make me come like the pathetic little slut I know you are.”

It was humiliating. It was disgusting.

It was familiar.

You cried—like you always did. But the tears weren’t just from rage or shame. They were from recognition.

Because deep down, you knew: Carol wasn’t your master.

She was your reflection.

The part of you that believed crumbs of affection were all you deserved that confused possession with love, that always went back to what hurt because at least it felt real.

And when she finally kissed you... you didn’t resist.

[...]

Your class schedule was an organized mess—just the way you always operated. Public Administration first, then Political Behavior, and ending the day with Anthropology.

Meh... could be worse.

You re read the schedule while walking across the university courtyard, sipping from your iced coffee.

Choosing Political Science was never exactly a coincidence.

You grew up watching Barack Obama’s speeches with wide eyes, like you were witnessing magic.

The way he spoke to everyone—whether a president or a janitor—made it feel like everyone mattered.

He was powerful, yet approachable.

A hero walking among us.

He was different from the rest because he didn’t feel untouchable. He didn’t point from above—he reached out, and that, more than anything, was what captivated you.

What inspired you.

But it was your father who lit the first match.

He would sit on the living room couch during election season, remote in one hand, sharp eyes glued to the screen. He would dissect every point, analyze every comma in the debates like he was watching a championship football match.

You, holding a cup of chocolate milk, didn’t understand everything—but you felt it.

You knew it mattered. That decisions were being made. Decisions that would affect nations, that could change the world—and that somehow, you could be a part of it.

That’s where the obsession began.

Not with the positions.

Not with the power.

But with the possibility of change.

By thirteen, you were already joining mini-debates in class. By fifteen, you joined the student council. At seventeen, you became student council president and volunteered during that year’s campaign. At eighteen, you entered university with the clarity of someone who knew exactly what she wanted and with the pent up anger of someone who’d seen too many people wronged by the country’s politics.

And now, here you were.

First class of the day about to begin, backpack slung over your shoulder, and your head still pounding with the ghosts of last night.

But politics teaches you one thing: the game never stops. You just have to learn to play better—or die trying.

“You’re really not going to Maria’s party tonight?” Billy asked as you dropped into the seat beside him.

He already had his notebook open and a pencil in his mouth, like it was possible to study and gossip at the same time.

Spoiler: he always managed.

“Billy, I barely managed to get out of bed. And you want me to go watch drunk people dance to some college DJ?”

He shrugged.

“I thought that was kind of the point. Distraction. Chaos. Maybe a random girl kiss to forget a certain someone…”

You took a deep breath.

You knew Billy was talking about Carol, but your mind insisted on dragging you back to the bar. Back to the arms of that blue-green-eyed stranger.

“Didn’t work so well last time,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

You’d already tried forgetting Carol that way and all it got you was a punishment you’d rather not remember.

“Touché,” he murmured. Then, after a beat: “At least help me pick out an outfit?”

You glanced at him.

Hair slightly messy, black nail polish chipping, and a t-shirt with the anarchy symbol.

“What are you talking about? I know you’re going to wear that shirt again.” You shrugged.

“It’s my signature look.” He grinned. “I want to cause an identity crisis in some Trump supporter at the party.” He winked.

You laughed—even if you didn’t want to. With Billy, it was almost impossible not to.

The professor walked in, and the conversation fell quiet for a few seconds. You opened your laptop, more out of habit than intent, and caught Billy glancing sideways at you.

“You okay?”

You hesitated, just for a second, but it was enough for him to notice.

Billy knew.

He knew about Carol, about the emotional mess, the sleepless nights, and the almost childish desperation to fix something that came broken from the start.

He knew how deeply you threw yourself into everything and how often you drowned in the process.

“No. But I will be.”

Billy didn’t say anything.

He didn’t try to fix it.

He just leaned his shoulder lightly against yours, a quiet gesture of presence, of someone who understood without needing to ask.

And finally, the weight on your chest felt bearable—at least in the morning.

The professor spun on his heels staring the class, a tiny worn notebook in hand.

He cleared his throat twice before speaking:

“The list of students approved for the internship with Jennifer Barkley is out.” His voice echoed through the room, stirring a wave of murmurs.

Jennifer Barkley was one of the best political strategists in the country.

Pure political warfare, raw intelligence, and a razor-sharp tongue.

The woman was a beast.

Every candidate who’d hired her had won.

It made her a living legend and an arrogant one.

Whoever had hired Barkley that year was already seen as the next winner.

The professor put on his glasses to read better. “Attention. Sharon Carter… Peter Parker, Billy Maximoff and…” Your mind froze the moment your own name left the man’s mouth.

“Sorry, Mr. Heartfield. But I didn’t apply for this…” you began, the words tripping over each other.

All eyes turned to you like blades. Cold, curious, judging.

What the hell was this?

You would never work for her. Not for anyone with conservative leanings—or even just dubious ones.

“Miss, Ms. Barkley’s office personally reviewed your academic record. Are you insinuating Jennifer Barkley makes mistakes?” the man said, raising a eyebrow.

Beside you, Billy just shook his head in disbelief.

You narrowed your eyes.

“Well, mistakes happen, and…” your attempt to take control was cut off.

“Miss, I suggest you show up at the time and date required for the internship you applied for. Understood?” He emphasized the word, looking at you over his glasses.

There was no room for argument at that moment and you felt small.

“Yes, sir,” you said, head lowered.

Billy was already mid-celebration, silently clapping and beaming.

“This is amazing! You and me in politics, side by side! Just imagine the possibilities!” he whispered with restrained excitement.

“I’m not so sure…”

“What? Come on! Working in politics is your dream.”

“Do you even know the kind of monster Barkley is? She doesn’t care about ideology, Billy. She cares about winning. She’s run campaigns for Republicans, oil tycoons… She’s like the Voldemort of politics.”

Billy rolled his eyes.

“Okay, maybe she is a conniving bitch. But she’s also a door. And doors are meant to be walked through. That’s all that matters right now. We both know nobody gets ahead in this game based on merit. It’s about connections. About risk. And you’ve got a talent you don’t even see in yourself.”

You sighed.

He was right.

That’s politics. It’s not a field of flowers—it’s mud, stumbles, sweat. The kind of dirt that’s hard to wash off.

You were just a pawn, but you’d read enough to know that, when the time is right, even a pawn can become any piece.

Even a queen.

The professor cleared his throat, snapping everyone back to the present.

“Take this opportunity seriously, those of you who were selected. It’s impressive that any of you even got the chance, considering how young you are. Please read the email sent out for all details. It’s confidential, so refrain from sharing any information. Next week, the university will be hosting the gubernatorial candidates for Washington, interested students may attend.”

The room buzzed again while Billy was furiously typing something on his phone. You, on the other hand, just stared at your laptop’s blank screen.

And for the first time, you couldn’t tell if you’d been given a chance or signed your own sentence.

[...]

You threw your backpack onto the couch and melted into it. Lying there, your mind started to drift to the same place again and it had sapphire-blue eyes that, in certain light, shimmered green like shattered glass under the sun.

The fine wrinkles around them—they were maps of stories you would never know, creases from smiles and maybe from cries you’d never shared.

Your heart was restless.

Her name.

Fuck, her name.

You’d give anything for it now.

A name to whisper in the dark, to moan when your fingers weren’t enough. But all you had was her ghost and God, how that burned.

Your eyes closed, betraying you again.

Fuck.

You could still smell her, taste her on your fingers. The heat first in your thoughts, then between your thighs, then at your fingertips, already slipping under your clothes with the urgency of someone drowning.

You didn’t want to touch yourself thinking about her. Not after the way she treated you, rejected you like you were nothing.

It was humiliating, pathetic, and so so predictable, even for you.

But your body didn’t seem to care.

God.

In fact, your body remembered that night with cruel precision.

It remembered her hands—older woman’s hands, veiny, with cold rings tapping against your skin—pulling your hair while you pushed inside her.

How could you forget a woman like that moaning for you?

Your fingers moved faster now, fully possessed by the memory. Remembering her cold eyes as she rejected you.

Nothing.

That’s what you were.

Fuck!

You moaned so loudly and so lonely in an empty apartment.

So needy.

And when the orgasm came, it came like a sob—you choked on your own madness.

No matter how hard you tried to recreate the feeling, no matter how tightly you shut your eyes and relived every detail of that night—the smell, the sounds, the touch—it would never be her with you.

That same silence that always came back to echo Carol’s voice.

Just your fingers, your sweat and that fucked lonely silence.

You laughed.

A weak, dry, defeated laugh.

Yeah...

Carol was right.

You were just a pathetic slut.

The click of the door echoed through the apartment.

You immediately straightened your body, pulling on the loose shirt, hardening your expression. The scent still lingered in the air, but you hoped she wouldn’t notice.

“Hello, little Bear,” she sang, walking in with the lightness of someone who had no idea what she did to you. That damn nickname… “I brought pizza.”

“Pizza?” You cleared your throat, your voice still hoarse from the orgasm.

“Yeah, I got an internship at Stark Industries.” she said casually, placing the box on the table without even looking at you.

You got up quickly, heading to the sink as an excuse, washing hands that still carried traces of a desire that no longer belonged to her.

“Seriously? Congratulations, Carol!” you forced enthusiasm, hoping the running water would hide the shake in your voice.

She finally turned, leaning against the sink beside you. Arms crossed against her chest, that clinical gaze—Predator watching prey. So very Carol.

“Why are you so red?”

You froze for half a second, just enough for her to notice.

“Am I?” you tried to sound casual, turning back to the cabinet, pulling out two glasses. “I think the shower was too hot.”

Shit.

You hadn’t even showered yet.

The waistband of your back still sweaty.

Carol didn’t answer right away. She just watched you, like someone sniffing out a lie.

“Or maybe you were thinking about someone?” her voice now lower, more suggestive. “Maybe about me?”

You gave a nervous smile, turning your head like you hadn’t heard.

“Carol…”

“Relax, little Bear.” She got too close. “I know the effect I have on you.”

Her words were warm poison dripping down your neck.

You had to endure this. Had to play it off, but you smiled—deeply.

Because, for the first time, Carol was wrong. For the first time, she hadn’t been the epicenter of your desire.

“But don’t forget…” her fingers brushed your waist like a disguised warning, “attention and affection are currency.”

You took a deep breath, feeling your heart pound in your chest. But it didn’t beat for her.

For the first time, you felt something like freedom stretch inside you.

A snap. A subtle break.

“So, shall we celebrate?” you offered, opening the pizza box again. Your voice was firmer now, and Carol seemed didn’t notice.

She grabbed the wine bottle and started to open it, as if nothing had happened, as if she still controlled you.

But there, between the scent of fresh dough and the still-warm memory on your fingers…

You felt the shackles begin to loosen.

And that alone was reason enough to celebrate.

After dinner—or better, after watching Carol devour three slices of pizza while talking about her own ego at full volume—you finally had a moment of peace.

You were lying on the bed, lights dimmed, phone in hand scrolling through TikTok felt good, but your stomach still churning from everything the day had thrown at you.

The weight of the internship news was still pulsing in your head like a distant alarm.

You opened your browser.

Jennifer Barkley.

If you were going to work for this woman—even against your will—you might as well know who you were dealing with.

The first thing that came up was a TIME article. Then one from The Atlantic. “The strategist who turns numbers into wins,” read the headline.

The woman really was a political shark—sharp, ruthless, and above all, successful. Her track record was practically untouchable.

But what really caught your attention was her Instagram.

@JenniferBarkleyOfficial.

The feed was pure prestige: selfies with senators, speeches in packed auditoriums, flashes beside celebrities at charity dinners.

You recognized some faces. Oprah. Kamala Harris. An old photo with Obama.

Not bad, Barkley, you thought, tilting your phone, turning up the brightness.

And that’s when she appeared.

A woman, in the corner of a picture taken during what looked like the launch of a campaign.

Tall and poised.

Long brown hair, perfectly styled. Intense eyes, cold as glass. A sharp jawline, commanding nose—the kind of beauty that looked hand-carved by some inspired Renaissance sculptor.

You stopped breathing.

Fuck.

The tachycardia hit before the confirmation.

The woman from the bar.

The stranger.

The unforgettable fuck.

The woman you had just masturbated thinking about.

No.

It wasn’t just that.

Agatha Harkness, gubernatorial candidate for the state of Washington.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Oh my God, you fucked her!

Literally.

You fucked her so hard. You could still feel her legs trembling around you.

The woman you touched like she was yours.

And now, you knew she would be working by your side.

Or worse,

Above you.

~*~

Uhhh... Look who got a super internship... Congratulatios!!

Tag List <3

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[lightsoutmatthews]

I just found your page and I’m so glad I did! I’ve been checking out your writing and it’s great! Is there any way you can do a cutie piece where Auston is being so sweet and fun to his girl and they end up in a tickle fight?? I would love it so much!! Thank you!! ❤️

Thank you so much for enjoying my writing! I never thought that many people would like what I produce in the middle of the night 😂🥰

Off Day Fights – Auston Matthews

You woke of to the smell of something vaguely sweet and the sound of clicking dishes coming from the kitchen.

For a second, you weren’t sure where you were. The sun was filtering through the blinds, warm and soft on your skin. Then you heard his voice humming something off-key and smiled.

Auston.

You rolled over and squinted at your phone for the time. 9:43 am. Late for most people. Early for the two of you on a day off.

You swung your legs out from under the blanket and padded out into the living room. Sure enough, Auston was in the kitchen, shirtless, wearing grey sweatpants and a backwards cap over his still damp looking hair.

He had a spatula in one hand, a bowl in the other and he was completely focused, tongue sticking out just a little in concentration.

“Hey Gordon Ramsay,” you caught his attention, voice still raspy from sleep.

He looked over and grinned. “Look who´s finally awake.”

“What are you making?” You peered over his shoulder spotting pieces of toast in the pan.

“French toast. Well, trying to. Don’t judge me yet.”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind and resting you cheeks between his shoulder blades. “It smells good.”

“You smell like sleep,” he teased, leaning his head back a little to nudge you.

You reached up and poked his side. “And you smell like carbs.”

“Hot,” he said dryly, flipping a slice of bread with a little too much flair. It landed lopsided in the pan. “Okay, okay. Breakfast might be mid, but I´m doing my best.”

You giggled, then grabbed two mugs and poured coffee while he finished up the toast.

A few minutes later, you were both sitting on the couch with your plates in your laps. The French toast was a little too eggy and a little too soggy, but he looked so proud you didn’t have the heart to tell him.

Instead, you leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Solid B-plus. Effort gets you an A.”

Auston smiled. “I´ll take it.”

After breakfast, you ended up horizontal on the couch again, curled up under his arm while the TV played a random movie neither of you were really watching.

“Feels like we haven’t had a day like this in forever,” you murmured.

“We haven’t,” he said, brushing your hair back gently. “I kinda like it. You, me and zero plans all day.”

“Well, you´re always gone,” you replied, trying to keep the whine out of your voice. You didn’t mean it as a guilt trip, just a fact.

He nodded, then laughed. “I know, but someone has to bring in money to pay for this condo,” you softly punched his arm. “I do hate being away this long though, I miss you like crazy.”

You gave him a small smile and leaned into his chest.

“I mean,” he added. “I also miss my own bed and my dog but mostly you.”

“Gee, thanks,” you deadpanned.

He grinned and kissed your forehead. “In that order.”

You spent the next hour mostly in comfortable silence. At one point he fell asleep, his chest rising and falling under your cheek. When he stirred again, you were scrolling through your phone, half-distracted.

He rubbed his eyes and looked at you. “What are you watching?”

“Nothing exciting, just TikTok. This one is a cat that freaks out when it sees cucumbers,” you held the device out to him so he could see.

He leaned over to watch, them smirked. “How is that the funniest thing to you?”

“It just is,” you shrugged.

“You´re so weird,” he laughed.

“You´re just figuring that out? Three years into a relationship and getting a place together later?”

He reached over suddenly and poked your side. You jumped, squirming.

“Hey,” you exclaimed, a shocked look on your face.

“That was a test,” he said very seriously. “And you failed.”

You narrowed your eyes, knowing exactly what his next move would be. “Don’t you dare.”

“What?” he questioned way too innocently.

“You know exactly what,” you replied, scooting farther down the couch. “I have not forgiven you for last time.”

Auston was already shifting to follow, one eyebrow raised. “You mean the time you called me dumb and then tried to outrun me? A professional athlete?”

“You were being dumb! You put syrup in my coffee,” you almost shouted in defense.

“I was being funny,” he defended himself.

“You were being dangerous.”

That’s when he lunged toward you and you squealed, jumping up and backing away quickly.

“Auston Taylour Matthews, I swear,” you shouted, a laugh bubbling out of you shortly after.

“You´re outnumbered,” he warned, taking a slow, exaggerated steps toward you like some cheesy cartoon villain.

“It´s just you,” you said flatly.

“Exactly, didn’t you learn last time that there is no escape?”

You turned and made a run for it, bolting around the back of the couch, but you weren’t fast enough. You knew you could never outrun him; he did condition and endurance training almost every day, you were lucky when you motivated yourself to the gym twice a week.

He grabbed your waist, spun you around and gently dropped you onto the cushions, straddling your legs.

“Say you´re sorry,” he demanded with a smug grin.

“Never,” you shot back, face already flushed from laughing too hard.

“Okay, you brought this on yourself, then.”

His fingers went straight into your sides, finding that one exact spot that made you shriek.

“AUS…! NO, no…” you breathed and laughed.

But he didn’t stop, laughing as you kicked and thrashed beneath him, totally powerless to stop his tickle attack.

“Truce!” you gasped, writhing. “TRUCE!”

“Say I´m not dumb,” he demanded.

“You´re SO dumb,” you replied instead.

He doubled down, wiggling his fingers into your stomach now making you squirm and laugh even harder.

“Okay…OKAY!” you screamed through laughter. “You´re smart. You´re – oh my god – genius level! Einstein is nothing compared to you.”

He finally paused, catching his breath too, clearly pleased with himself. “That’s more like it.”

You laid there, panting and disheveled, hair a mess and eyes watery from laughing so hard. “I hate you.”

He laughed, “You love me.”

You glared back at him, “You should consider yourself lucky that I do.”

Then, very quietly, you asked. “Can I sit up now or are you gonna launch another surprise attack?”

He leaned in closer, his voice low and teasing. “Are you planning on starting more drama?”

You shook your head quickly. “No more drama. Peace.”

He nodded and rolled off you, flopping back beside you on the couch with a dramatic sigh.

“I think I pulled a muscle,” he muttered, stretching his arms over his head.

“Serves you right,” you laughed, wrapping your arms around him again.

“You know, for someone who´s so ticklish, you sure talk a lot of smack.”

You smirked. “It´s part of my charm.”

He looked at you for a moment. His eyes were soft again now, they playful grin fading into something more warm and real. “You´re lucky you´re cute.”

“You´re lucky I´m still here after being physically attacked.”

He rolled his eyes and chuckled before reaching over, grabbing your hand and lacing your fingers together.

“You know,” he said after a beat of silence. “I really do love this.”

“What, harassing me?”

“No,” he smiled. “Days like this. Where we do nothing, and you laugh so hard you can´t breathe. You make everything fun, even sitting around the couch all day.”

You blushed a little and looked down at your hands, still linked.

“I like this too,” you said quietly. “You´re kind of annoying, but it worth it.”

Auston snorted. “That´s the nicest thing you ever said to me.”

You leaned your head back on his chest. “Don’t get used to it.”

[foone]

Your robot girlfriend has to power down to replace her backup battery. The regular batteries are easy to swap while she's online, but that small JR2035 battery that keeps her config saved and clock ticking is way buried inside her chassis.

She holds her chest open as wide as she can pull, and you flip her power switch. The light literally leaves her eyes as the OLEDs power down. Holding the flashlight in your teeth, you reach in with a hand and a flat-blade screwdriver (your last spudger snapped when you were fixing her hand servos last week).

With a soft snap, her backup battery bounces out and ricochets down her torse. You swear and let it end up on the floor, as you carefully reach up to insert the replacement coin cell. It takes a couple fumbling tries, but you get it in, and the right way around too as a special bonus.

You extract yourself from her internals, and plug the diagnostic screen into one of her internal UDMI ports. The switch is flipped with a satisfying clunk, and the display pops to life. Boot messages start streaming by, then it pauses with a softly blinking error:

BIOS settings cleared, please enter setup.

You hit a key on a nearby wireless keyboard, and the bios opens up, all white-on-blue plain text because your GF is, to use a highly technical retrorobotics term, a bit of a MILF.

You set up the basic options for her to boot. She can fine tune this later. You just need her to get running enough to do that. You tell it what kind of hard drive she uses, how many floppy drives she has, pronouns and orientation, etc. You hit F7 to save and reboot and you spot it: the date.

Current Time: 00:04

Current Date: 1970-01-01

Damn it, you're always forgetting to set the date in these things! She's already booting, you can see the spinning logo in her eyes. Ah well. You can reboot her and fix it, or maybe it'll auto-set from the network? You can't remember if that'll work.

The logo leaves her screen. You see that finger twitch of her final boot up, and her irises reappear and quickly focus. Her hair starts to blink in as the holoprojectors spin up, and she starts to sit up.

"Hey... I swapped the battery, how are you feeling?"

She gets that smile where her eyes go big. Her holos blink and her clothes change, and half an instant later, her hair.

The music system in your living room switches over to a sweet bassline.

Disco?

You turn as she stands up, and starts doing the Staying Alive dance. She's got the white leisuresuit, and an afro that seems to be growing by the second.

well you can tell by the way I use my walk, I'm a woman's bot, no time to talk!

Ahh. 1970.

[prisvvner]

Free Shipping, Internal Screaming

pairing: massage gun!sukuna x broke college student!reader

content: you're a broke college student whose last resort of stress relief is a shipping-free, cheeky looking massage gun from amazon. turns out it was worth the money, just in ways you did not expect!

warnings: CRACKFIC!, MDNI, object!kuna or whatever we call this menace, lots of smut with barely any plot (if you squint), missionary, kuna giving mean backshots, mating press, dirty talk, reader losing the will to resist (and walk)

author's note: blame @yenayaps for this shit i couldn't get it out of my head- but whatever object!kuna is, i'm so glad you introduced it to us T.T anyways proceed with caution and read to fulfill your naughty dreams! <3

You’re officially at your wit’s end. Finals week has been an unrelenting beast, gnawing at your sanity with a relentless, merciless grip. Your sleep schedule isn’t just messed up, it looks like a Jackson Pollock painting: chaotic, splattered with irregular bursts of insomnia, naps stolen on grimy library benches, and late-night panic scrolling through lecture slides. Your brain feels like overcooked spaghetti—tangled, mushy, and utterly useless.

And then there are your roommates. You love them, kind of, but right now they’re driving you straight to the edge of madness. Between their midnight karaoke sessions, which sound suspiciously like an off-key tribute to every 80s rock ballad ever written, and their “study breaks” that suspiciously align with every hour on the clock, your stress meter has officially exploded. The walls of your tiny dorm room seem to close in, suffocating you in a cloud of noise, caffeine, and desperate tension.

You collapse on your cluttered bed, staring at your phone with dead eyes, desperate for a miracle. And then you see it: an online ad for a “miracle massage gun” promising to “release all your tension and bad vibes.” The price? So low it might as well be a joke. And FREE SHIPPING! The product photo looks like it was snapped with a potato, and the seller’s rating is suspiciously perfect. But hell, at this point, you’re desperate enough to ignore every warning bell ringing in your head and hit buy.

Days later, the package arrives. A small, squarish box with questionable tape sealing the edges, like it’s been shipped via a conspiracy of raccoons. You tear it open, and the first thing that hits you is a strange smell. It’s this weird hybrid of old gym socks fermented in motor oil and something chemical, sharp and unsettling. You pull out the massage gun, and immediately, your eyes narrow.

It’s a bizarre, bulky contraption that looks like someone glued together random parts from a junkyard. The plastic is scratched and peeling in places, with stickers half-lifted like ancient relics. Wires poke out at awkward angles, twitching like nervous fingers. You grimace, your fingers itching to drop the thing back in the box and forget you ever saw it.

Then you grab the manual. The thing is a masterpiece of confusion—pages full of cryptic symbols, nonsensical instructions, and what looks like a half-hearted attempt at translating from a language no one quite remembers anymore. You squint, trying to make sense of the diagrams that might as well be hieroglyphics.

But hey. You’re not exactly picky. If it even sort of works, you’ll consider it a win.

You set the thing down on your cluttered desk, your textbooks and half-empty coffee mugs crowding around it like uninterested spectators. You eye it suspiciously, feeling a knot of dread and hope twisting inside your gut. With a deep breath, you flip the power switch.

The moment it buzzes to life, the noise assaults you. It’s deafening—a harsh, unholy symphony of blender blades whirring, a swarm of angry bees trapped in a tin can, and the relentless pounding of a jackhammer. The vibrations shake through your fingers, the entire device thrumming so violently it nearly slips from your grasp.

A sharp jolt shoots up your arm, electric and raw, making you flinch and squirm. Instead of soothing your knotted muscles, it feels like a tiny electric beast gnawing at your nerves, sharp teeth sinking into every fiber of your being.

You grit your teeth, willing yourself to tough it out. “Okay, maybe it just needs to warm up,” you mutter, voice tight with skepticism.

You're on your last brain cell. Maybe even past that—this is ghost-of-a-brain-cell territory now. Finals have turned your spine into a Jenga tower of regret and muscle knots, and if one more roommate belts out Celine Dion at 1 a.m., you will commit karaoke-related crimes.

Which is why you're now lying belly-down on your bed, propped up by a questionable number of pillows, trying to angle a sketchy "miracle massage gun" at your lower back like some desperate gremlin. You’re already regretting the purchase, but your spine makes a noise like a crumpling soda can every time you move, so here you are.

The thing groans to life with the sound of a malfunctioning blender and the subtle grace of a jackhammer. It's vibrating so violently your whole arm jiggles. "Okay, calm down," you mutter, aiming it at the middle of your back.

It makes contact.

And then you—God help you—moan.

Loudly.

Eyes wide, you slap a hand over your mouth, completely mortified. "No. Absolutely not. Nope."

You fumble with the switch, but the thing won’t turn off. It’s buzzing like it’s possessed, hopping in your grip like a deranged robot chihuahua, and you have to wrestle it to keep it from drilling a hole into your hip.

"This is not tension relief!" you shriek, flinging it away from you like it’s cursed—which, honestly, at this point? Would track.

With a theatrical WHAM, you hurl the massage gun against your bedroom wall, expecting a satisfying crack or snap. Instead, a low hum fills the air, growing louder and deeper, vibrating through the plaster like a pulse.

The thing glows—first a faint shimmer, then a dazzling, blinding light that floods the room. The massage gun fractures into a swirl of radiant fragments, spinning and twisting, each shard catching the light like stars caught in a tempest.

You stand up and grab the box from the desk in an attempt to hide.

But then—

You stare.

Your brain is still buffering, absolutely refusing to comprehend what your eyes are seeing: the broken remains of the bizarre massage gun now completely gone, replaced by a man standing in the middle of your bedroom like a storm dressed in skin.

A very naked man.

And not just any man. He looks like a painting that came to life and decided to ruin yours. Every line of his body is sharp and divine, sculpted like a cruel deity carved from obsidian and arrogance. Broad shoulders taper into a trim waist, cords of muscle shifting smoothly under pale, flawless skin. Dark markings twist and slither across his body in hypnotic patterns, wrapping around his arms, slicing down his chest, disappearing along the deep V of his hips.

You blink.

Then blink again.

“I’m hallucinating,” you whisper, voice dry, eyes wide as dinner plates. “This is a stress-induced hallucination.”

He tilts his head, smirking like the cat that not only ate the canary, but seduced it first.

“Cute,” his voice rich and warm and laced with something ancient. “Is that what you humans tell yourselves now? Must be finals week.”

You’re still frozen in place, backed against your desk like it might absorb you if you wish hard enough. Your gaze drops— obviously against your will—and there it is: the thick, heavy curve of him hanging between his thighs, long and shameless, already semi-hard and stirring slowly to life.

“Oh my god,” you mutter, panicking quietly, brain spiraling. “You’re naked. There’s a naked hallucination in my room. I need sleep. I need a priest. I need a psych eval.”

He laughs—actually laughs—a low, velvety sound that curls around your spine and pulls tight. He steps forward and you instinctively back up, hitting the desk harder this time.

“You’re not dreaming, little thing,” he murmurs, crimson eyes gleaming. “You summoned me. Or maybe it was more of a... release.” His gaze lowers, flicking to your parted lips, your chest rising with each ragged breath. “And you seemed so eager to throw me around.”

You gape at him, mouth dry, heart hammering. “You were a massage gun.”

Another step. He’s close enough now that the heat from his body wraps around you like a blanket made of sin. “Mmm. You were grinding on me like one, weren’t you?” he purrs, voice dipping low. “Maybe I liked it. Maybe that’s what woke me up.”

You open your mouth to protest but his hand suddenly lifts, two fingers catching your chin and tilting your face toward him. His touch is warm, too warm. Not human. Not safe.

But god, your knees nearly give out.

“You threw me,” he repeats, smirking. “Do you know what happens to girls who try to manhandle a curse?”

Your stomach flips. You don’t know if it’s fear or something much worse. Much more dangerous.

“I—I didn’t know you were cursed,” you whisper.

“No,” he agrees, voice dark and pleased. “But you do now.”

And then he brings your hand to him. Presses it low. Makes you feel exactly what kind of monster you’ve just unleashed.

Your fingers curl instinctively, brushing against hot, velvet skin stretched over iron. You gasp, the sensation is jarring, electric, far too real to belong to a hallucination. He's thick, heavy, growing impossibly harder beneath your touch, and the pulse of heat radiating from him is unmistakable. Not imagined. Not a dream.

"You feel that?" he murmurs, voice curling like smoke around your spine. His fingers are still under your chin, tilting your face up, eyes gleaming like molten garnet. “Still think you’re imagining me, sweetheart?”

You try to pull your hand back, but he holds it there, firm, not painful—just enough to remind you who's in control now.

"I—" you start, but the words dissolve when he leans in, lips brushing your ear.

"Shhh. Let me show you just how real I am."

The moment stretches, impossibly tense— and then he kisses you. Not gently. Not sweetly. He kisses like he’s starving and you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered. His mouth claims yours, demanding, coaxing, consuming. His tongue slides against yours like he already knows every secret you’ve never told, dragging a desperate moan from your chest before you can stop it.

You don’t remember your legs wrapping around his waist. You don’t remember how he carried you, how the world blurred— just that suddenly your back hits the mattress and he’s above you, caging you in with his body, heat radiating off him like a fever.

"You're soaked already," he growls against your neck, one hand sliding down between your thighs. His fingers drag up the inside of your thigh until they press against the damp heat waiting for him. He groans darkly, almost reverent. "And I haven’t even done anything yet.”

You’re squirming, panting, caught somewhere between protest and begging, but his touch is relentless, rubbing, circling, coaxing your body into betraying every ounce of logic left in you.

He moves lower, eyes never leaving yours as his mouth trails down your throat, across your collarbone, over your chest. Every kiss is hot and slow and just shy of cruel, lips brushing, teeth grazing—enough to make your back arch, to make you whimper his name even though you haven't said it aloud.

"Sensitive little thing," he murmurs against your skin, licking a stripe over your nipple before sucking it into his mouth. His fingers slide lower, slipping between your folds, rubbing slow circles that make your hips roll against his palm without permission.

"You're going to take me so well," he says, voice dropping like a stone into your stomach. He presses the head of his cock against your entrance, not pushing in yet, just teasing, just enough to make your thighs shake around him.

“Ready?” he asks, tone mocking, almost smug,  but his gaze flickers with something deeper. A hunger you’ve never seen before. A need barely leashed.

Your breath catches. “Yes,” you whisper, not even recognizing your own voice.

And then he pushes in.

He pushes in slowly—agonizingly slow—like he wants you to feel every inch, every stretch, every second of what you’ve just allowed into your bed. Your body yields, tight and fluttering around him, and he groans low in his throat, head dropping for a moment like he’s savoring the moment as much as you’re unraveling beneath it.

You gasp, hands fisting in the sheets, thighs trembling as he sinks deeper. The sensation is overwhelming, hot, full, an exquisite pressure that makes your toes curl. It’s too much, and not enough. You barely recognize the sound that leaves your mouth—half-moan, half-shock—as he bottoms out, filling you completely, the curve of his hips pressing against yours.

"Look at you,” he growls against your throat, breath hot. “Stretching so sweet around me... all for a cursed little relic you tried to throw against the wall.”

His words make your skin prickle, heat pooling low in your stomach like wildfire. He rolls his hips once—just once—and your back arches off the bed like you’ve been struck by lightning.

He finds a rhythm next, slow at first, teasing, dragging his length out before driving back in with a smooth, devastating thrust. Your breath stutters with every movement. He watches you like a man possessed, his eyes never leaving your face, drinking in every twitch, every shudder, every quiet, desperate sound you make.

"You keep clenching like that," he warns, voice gravel-thick with restraint, "and this isn't going to be gentle for long."

You don’t reply. Can’t. All you can do is move with him, meet each thrust with rising need, fingers clawing at his back, at his arms— anywhere you can reach. His muscles ripple under your touch, hard and warm, tattooed with markings that pulse faintly with each deep, rhythmic snap of his hips.

His hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding that aching spot between your thighs with maddening precision. He circles it with calculated, possessive attention, pushing you higher, closer, unraveling you with expert ease.

“Come on,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, your throat, your collarbone. “Let go for me. I want to feel you fall apart.”

You’re already there—your body taut, trembling, slick with sweat, the pressure building impossibly fast. Your breath hitches once, then breaks completely as your climax crashes over you in a wave of heat and sensation that leaves you trembling.

He doesn’t stop, not immediately. He rides you through it, your name low and filthy on his tongue, hips still working until he groans deep and curses into your skin, finally following you over the edge with a growl like thunder.

He doesn’t stop at one climax. Not even close.

You lie beneath him, breath ragged, chest rising and falling like a storm surge. Your hips twitch involuntarily, still echoing with tremors you didn’t know your body could hold. The aftershocks ripple through you, hot and raw, and just when you think you might finally find a moment of peace, he leans down—not with tenderness, but with a slow, deliberate possessiveness that makes your skin prickle.

His mouth presses against your throat, lips grazing over the delicate pulse point with a weight that demands your attention. It’s not a kiss, it’s a claim, slow, knowing, marking. His teeth trail along your skin like a predator savoring his prize, and the slight scrape makes you shiver in spite of yourself.

“You break that easily?” His voice is a low murmur, thick with amused contempt as he nips at the soft skin just beneath your ear. “Tsk. I thought you had more bite.”

You manage a sound somewhere between a breathless laugh and a trembling whimper—part defiance, part surrender. Before you can fully gather yourself, his hands are already sliding beneath your thighs, lifting you up with effortless strength. The shift in angle is immediate, deeper, sharper, like a secret key turning in a lock you didn’t know existed. The sensation settles deep in your bones, in the arch of your back, in the trembling of your legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

His pace slows. Not gentle— no. Deliberate, calculated. Every movement measured, like he’s testing the limits you didn’t realize you had. Each thrust carves itself inside you, claiming space, staking a territory you never agreed to give but now can’t imagine ever reclaiming.

“Eyes on me,” he growls, his tone sharp when you begin to let your head fall back, overwhelmed. One hand cups your jaw, tilting your face toward his, demanding submission as his hips roll in with purpose. “I want to see the exact moment you come undone again.”

And come undone you do. Harder this time. The pleasure crashes through your body like a tidal wave—your spine arches instinctively, fingers digging into his shoulders with desperate claws, your mouth parting, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a cry. The crescendo builds and breaks over and over, unstoppable, consuming.

His groan vibrates deep and guttural, a sound that seems to reverberate from his very core, reserved just for you, for this. You tighten instinctively around him, and he grips you harder—a low, rumbling growl escaping him, thick with possession and hunger.

But he’s far from finished.

In one fluid, seamless motion, he pulls out, flips you over onto your stomach, and drags your hips back toward him. His chest presses flush against your spine, breath hot along your neck.

You yelp—or maybe it’s a moan—lost in the sudden shift. Then he slides back in from behind, burying himself so deep you feel every inch with a raw, exquisite sting. This new angle is merciless, devastating in its precision. Each thrust drives into you, hitting some hidden place so perfect it steals the air from your lungs and sends your thoughts scattering into a white-hot blur of sensation.

He growls something filthy into the shell of your ear, voice rough and demanding, but your mind is already too tangled in heat and need to catch the words.

His grip tightens around your hips, anchoring you firmly to the mattress as your legs tremble uncontrollably beneath him. You dribble sweat and breath into the sheets, utterly broken, like every defense you thought you had has crumbled under his touch.

Then, without warning, he shifts again.

You don’t know how he does it, some impossible feat of strength and precision, but suddenly your knees are pulled up, pressed tight to your chest, and his body folds over yours like a dark, unyielding weight. He holds you open, deep, utterly locked inside you.

His thrusts now are brutal, surgical in their intent, each one angled perfectly to find that one soft, perfect spot that makes your fingers dig into his back and your throat catch on choked sobs of desperate pleasure.

He is everywhere—in your head, beneath your skin, beating like a second pulse inside your chest.

And through it all, he watches you.

Smirking.

Growling praise and filthy words in the same breath.

“You were made for this,” he murmurs against your throat, his voice dropping just low enough to make your skin crawl. “Look at you… ruined for anyone else.”

You nod, or maybe you whimper, the distinction no longer matters. You’ve let him in, utterly and hopelessly. Your mind is wiped clean by heat, need, and sensation, a blank canvas painted only with his touch.

You can’t remember who you were before this.

You can’t imagine who you’ll be after.

All you know, with every shuddering breath and every aching, trembling inch of your body, is this:

He owns you now.

Every inch.

Every breath.

And he’s not letting go.

The silence afterward is… thick. Not peaceful. Not quite comfortable.

Just heavy.

Your chest heaves, skin slick with sweat and barely cooling in the still air of your bedroom. The ceiling looks exactly the same as it did an hour ago, but you feel like you’ve been flipped inside out, turned into someone else entirely. Someone who just had mind-shattering, leg-shaking sex with an ancient cursed being who was, until recently, a defective massage gun.

You lie there, dazed and spread across your sheets like a crime scene, limbs tangled and useless. He’s still above you, propped on one elbow, watching you like he’s not even winded.

Of course he isn’t.

You glance at him, regrettably, and immediately regret that too. Because he’s smirking again, lazily, like he just took your soul and is wondering what’s for dessert.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you mutter, dragging a pillow over your face.

“Like what?” he says, feigning innocence in a voice that could cut diamonds.

“Like you knew that would happen.”

He chuckles—a low, dangerous sound—and reaches over to casually tug the pillow off your face, pinning you with those molten crimson eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart. I did know. The moment you straddled that poor little machine and started whimpering? I knew exactly what you needed.”

You gape. “I wasn’t—! That thing was attacking my spine!”

“Sure it was,” he murmurs, brushing a knuckle slowly down your collarbone. “But you didn’t stop. Not even when it was vibrating like a demon in heat.”

You let out a strangled groan and cover your face again. “I can’t believe I’m going to be haunted by this for the rest of my life.”

He hums thoughtfully. “You’re not haunted.”

Pause.

“You’re owned.”

Your hand slides down your face slowly. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs, utterly unbothered. “You activated a cursed object using body heat, desperate frustration, and what I’d generously call light dry humping. The contract is sealed.”

You sit up a little too fast. “There’s a contract?!”

His grin widens, wicked. “Unwritten. Intimate. Binding.”

“Binding my ass—”

“Oh, I did.” He glances at your hips, then meets your gaze again with a sinful smile. “Thoroughly.”

You’re torn between smacking him and pulling him back down for round two.

Instead, you sigh and flop back down onto the mattress, one arm flung across your eyes.

“…So what now?” you mumble. “You live in my room and I pretend you’re not a walking red flag with tattoos and attitude?”

He stretches like a lion, clearly pleased. “Darling, I am the red flag. But lucky for you…” He leans in, lips brushing your temple, voice a low promise.

“You’ve already surrendered.”

Your stomach flips in a way that has nothing to do with fear—and everything to do with the fact that, for better or worse, your life just got a hell of a lot more interesting.

✧･ﾟwritten by @prisvvner ⊹ dividers by @strangergraphics-archive ⛓️ do NOT repost, steal, translate, or claim as your own. 🖤 reblogs are love — theft is not.

[karikarasuno]

part seven | part eight | wc: 3.6k

The sun set over three hours ago and Luffy is still at your house. The two of you have been working out in the barn all day, trying to clean it out and organize because you decided you wanted some chickens. Your muscles are aching from hours of exertion but Luffy is still going strong. Talking incessantly on a fresh pile of hay while you do the last sweep of the night. You need a soak in your tub and a glass of wine after all the work you put in. Truly. 

“Alright, well now that my work here is done I’mma head home.” Luffy stands with a light jump and salutes you. You toss the broom into a corner and wipe your hands off on your shorts, sweat forcing your thighs to stick together in an icky way. “See ya in the mornin’, SJ!”

“Wait.” You pull him back into the barn by pinching the back of his shirt. “How are you getting home?”

“Thought I could go for a run,” he shrugs as he looks at you over his shoulder. And you’re sure you look at him like he’s deranged. The two of you have been doing physical labor for the last twelve hours and he’s going to run home?

“Aren’t you tired?” You ask, exasperated and rubbing your temple. You’re probably dehydrated too from the gallons you sweat out throughout the day. 

“Nah,” he waves his hand dismissively. “I can run a mile in six minutes and I only live four miles up the road.”

“No,” you shake your head. It’s absolutely insane that he thinks an almost thirty minute run after the day you’ve had is a sane thing to do. “I’ll drive you home, it’s late.”

“Aw, you don’t have to do that. You’ve been talkin’ about your bath since lunch. Wouldn’t wanna keep ya from your girl time.”

“That’s very considerate of you, but no. I’m taking you home, it'll only take a few minutes.”

He doesn’t fight you on it, instead asking “can I drive the truck?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Aw, why not?” He whines with an exaggerated eye roll. 

“Because you crashed the tractor into a tree last week,” you remind him. And it was because he fell asleep in the middle of mowing the lawn. He claimed it was because he got bored. And you can’t blame him for that. It’s the same reason you didn’t wanna do it in the first place. “And I only have one truck and I can’t afford to lose it.”

“Boo, you’re no fun. Ace would let me,” he complains as you walk out of the barn into the sticky night air. The summer humidity is starting to become a real bitch recently.

“Ace has like four trucks and a lot more patience for you,” you reply, shoving him lightly between his shoulder blades playfully. 

“Yeah yeah.” He turns around to push you back. Your legs are so tired though that the little strength he puts behind it still makes you trip over your own feet. “Still lame.”

“Maybe next time we can borrow one of your brother’s trucks and go for a ride,” you suggest instead, digging your keys out of your back pocket. Even your freaking fingernails hurt. “Now come on, I just got a new bath bomb I’m excited to use.”

He jogs ahead of you to your truck and yanks on the door so hard the hinges creak. It doesn’t take much for the truck to make all kinds of noises these days and you keeping telling yourself you should take it in so Franky can check it out, but when you think about what the bill could possibly look like it gives you nightmares. And on a children’s dance teacher’s salary you know for a fact you can’t afford it. So you put it off and pray that your car turns on every time you turn the key.

The truck screeches to life and you try not to cringe at the noise. You’re really pushing it, but for now luck is still on your side. 

“You gotta get that check out,” Luffy says beside you with a finger plugging his ear. “Franky can fix it for you in no time. He’s kinda a genius when it comes to engines.”

“I know,” you flip on the headlights, “I just haven’t had the time.”

Luffy doesn’t push it, which you're grateful for, so you start heading down the road to his place. He lives with his grandfather and at first this confused you because you assumed that he lived with Ace for the longest time. But turns out they don’t actually share parents. Just a pact between orphans. When Ace said it you giggled, but now that you think about it it’s quite sad actually. He just has a habit of making even the most tragic things sound casual. 

“Oh! Pull over!” Luffy shouts, startling you out of your thoughts and instinctually you slam on the breaks. You look around frantically for an animal, person, or vehicle, but there’s nothing beside you but a bunch of fruit trees and a singular house way off in the distance. 

“What?!” You shout, mildly annoyed from the sudden scare. 

“Peaches!” Luffy jumps out of the truck without another word and you’re left sitting there like a confused idiot. You catch him running straight between the line of trees, hands already yanking the fruits off the tree. 

“Luffy!” You yell from the driver’s seat, still confused as he carelessly plucks more from the tree until his arms can’t hold much more. “Get back in the damn car! You can’t just steal these people’s peaches!”

But it’s hopeless. He doesn’t listen, so you frantically turn off your truck and follow him into the orchard before you lose him inside of it. When you finally catch up to him he’s using his shirt as a hammock and he’s managed to add about fifteen more peaches to his stash. Not including the one in his mouth. 

“Ok,” you whisper yell, adrenaline pumping through your veins at this point, “I think you’ve got enough now let’s go.”

“WaitIcangrabafewmore,” he says, words all jumbled together from the peach he’s still biting into. You roll your eyes and grab him by the elbow. You honestly have no idea how he gets away with eating so much and not gaining a single pound. But it’s no wonder he has boundless energy for days. 

“No, now come on.” You pull on his arm, but he’s strong and pulls it back. The force knocks a few of the peaches out of his arms and he groans. Somehow annoyed by you.

“Grab ‘em,” he urges, the peach in his mouth falling into the pile in his shirt. 

“Fuck it, fine,” you say agitated, while bending down to snatch the fallen peaches from the ground. Once you’ve got about six peaches precariously in your arms, you’re ready to yell at Luffy that it’s time to go except you see a bright light filter through the trees.

“Stay right there!” The voice is rough and deep with age. You freeze. A slight panic rising in your chest. 

“Run,” Luffy says quickly as he moves around you in the direction of your truck. “Hurry!”

There’s a laugh in his voice that you can’t relate to. Instead, there’s a fear that sticks to your gut that inhibits you from responding. The flashlight gets closer and you can make out a figure from between the trees that’s shrouded in shadows yet you can still tell how alarmingly large he is. That alone forces your feet to move. You can’t think. You just run after Luffy who’s now laughing like a maniac through the maze. And as soon as you see the road come into view, your blessed red truck sitting exactly where you left you, Luffy’s escape is halted abruptly. The man who you thought was behind you is grabbing Luffy by the scruff of his neck and you watch as half of his treasured peaches fall to the ground. 

“You can’t keep doin’ this, boy,” he says, shaking Luffy as his feet rise about an inch or so from the ground and the rest of the peaches fall out of his grasp. 

“And you,” you drop the few peaches you even had and raise your arms in surrender, “you’re comin’ with us.”

You follow them to the police cruiser. Annoyed, anxious, and fighting anger. You’ve never been arrested before and of all the ways and things that could’ve done it, it’s stealing peaches with the kid that works for you. Maybe you should fire him. 

Thankfully, the sheriff doesn’t handcuff either of you as you crowd into the backseat with Luffy, who’s rolling his eyes and huffing in his seat beside you. 

“I don’t know why you’re the one with an attitude considering this is your fault,” you chastise him. 

“I know the lady who lives there,” he argues, “she was gonna gimme some anyway.”

“It’s the principle, Luffy,” the sheriff says from the front gruffly. Luffy is about to open his mouth to argue but you smack his arm. And then when he turns to argue with you, the look you give him shuts him up and you all sit silently until you reach the station. 

The sheriff actually books you. He fingerprints you, takes your mugshot, and then locks you in a cell right beside Luffy. You really cannot believe it’s happening. This seems routine for Luffy, he even gets in the cell on his own upon arrival, skipping the mugshot and fingerprinting routine. 

“You’re s’posed to give me my one call, old man,” he huffs in his cell, arms crossed and lounging in the metal bench. You’re still standing by the locked door in disbelief. All of this over some peaches?

“Young lady gets one first since this is her first time.” He proceeds to unlock your door with just enough space for you to squeeze through. For a second you don’t even know who to call. Nami would never let you live this down. Robin never answers her phone after nine pm, and Usopp would be more trouble then he would be helpful. So you know exactly who to call, you’re just too embarrassed to. 

“Hurry up, we ain’t got all night,” the sheriff says from behind his desk, sipping on a mug that reads #1 grandpa. 

You dial Ace’s number, annoyed that you even have it memorized and this is the situation you’re using it in. It rings five times and your heart nearly sinks when you think he’s not about to answer, but just as you’re about to lose hope you hear his gruff voice on the other line. You woke him up.

“Luffy, what did you do this time?” He asks, apparently used to late night calls from the sheriff’s station to come collect his brother.

“Actually…” You say, awkward with a blush starting to form on your cheeks.

“Holy shit,” he says, sounding much more awake. “Garp arrested you? For what?”

“Blame Luffy,” you feel yourself pouting and you side-eye him from your place by the phone, but Luffy’s now laying flat on the bench with his hat covering his face. “I was trying to drive him home, but he wanted to make a pit stop at this peach orchard and the sheriff caught us with a few peaches in our possession.”

“You were stealin’, sweetheart,” Garp says loud enough for Ace to hear and he laughs, low and amused. 

“I’ll be there in twenty to come bail you out,” Ace replies and you hear the rustling of him getting out of bed.

“Thanks,” you mutter.

“Just don’t let anyone make you their bitch in there. You never come back from it,” he replies, but before you can question him on such an outrageous statement he hangs up and the dial tone rings loudly in your ear. 

“Ok,” Garp stands, “back in you go.”

****

To his credit about twenty minutes pass and Ace comes strolling in the station. It’s a small place so you can hear his arrival before you see him, but when he rounds the corner to where you and luffy are held, he’s wearing the biggest grin you’ve ever seen. He’s so thoroughly entertained you scowl at him. Out of petulance more than anything else. 

Without a word, Garp stands up to unlock Luffy’s cell. 

“This kid is always gettin’ into some shit,” he says to Ace as Luffy excitedly bounds out of the jail cell. “Sorry you always have to put up with it.”

“He’ll learn eventually,” Ace shrugs before clapping Luffy on the shoulder, “we all did.”

“Y’all are the reason I have all this grey hair,” Garp jokes, pushing Luffy out of the way so he can close the door. 

“Pretty sure that’s just cause you’re an old man, gramps,” Luffy responds, moving quickly behind Ace when Garp tries to grab him. You watch the sight curiously. Everyone is so familiar with each other. So comfortable. And you wonder briefly what it would’ve been like to grow up with them, surrounded by people who care. For the first time in a very long time, you resent your mother for taking you away when you were little. But the feeling is brief when you see Garp strolling back to his desk without coming to let you out. 

“Wait,” Ace says before you can, “that one’s mine too.”

He points at you and winks. And the blush you were wearing earlier somehow deepens. It’s incredible the hold he has on you. Garp just scoffs before unlocking your cell too and says “don’t get into any more trouble, kid.”

****

You and Luffy wait for Ace in his truck while he hangs back to speak with Garp. You’re not sure exactly what it’s about but it makes you nervous. Especially when you watch him stick a folded up piece of paper in his back pocket as he leaves the station.

“What was that about?” You ask when he jumps into the driver’s seat. He smirks at you, as amused as ever before replying with a simple, “you’ll see.”

When he pulls out of the parking lot you notice that he’s going in the opposite direction of your home. He’s heading straight into town. 

“My truck is the other way.” You point behind you even though it’s obvious that what Ace is doing is intentional. You just don’t know why yet. 

“I know,” he chuckles as he turns onto the main road passing the local supermarket. “Figured you’d be hungry after your little run-in with the law.”

“Not hungry, just tired,” you reply. 

“We’ll make it quick then.” He pulls up to Sanji’s diner. The parking lot has a few cars in it and even though the diner is supposed to be closed at this time given the fact that it’s well past midnight, there are a few lights on in the place. You see familiar heads through the windows too and you’re even more confused. 

“What are we doing here?” You ask. Luffy’s already jumping out of the backseat and jogging to the front doors. Ace has to unbuckle your seatbelt for you since you’re momentarily frozen in place.

“Just come in. It’ll be fun.” He reaches over you to open your door, but you still don’t move.

“I’ve had a really long day, I’m not sure I’m up for fun,” you say, one foot out the door as Ace leans in close to you over the center console.

“We’re already here and you owe me one for bailing you out,” he teases, already using his favor against you. 

“Fine, but I won’t forget the fact that you’re blackmailing me,” you say, hopping out of the truck and adjusting your clothes since you know for a fact you look like an absolute mess. When you walk through the doors you see more people than you’d like to. Luffy is in the kitchen with Sanji, clearly annoying the hell outta him as he raids the fridge. Zoro and Usopp are sitting in a booth across from Nami and Sabo, while Robin and Franky hang out by the bar top. 

“Oh look, our little criminal is out!” Nami says as soon as she sees you. You whip your head around to look at Ace who’s standing just behind you. 

“You told everyone?!” You know news travels fast in this place, but a two hour turn around is insanity. 

“It’s tradition,” he shrugs as if that makes it any better. You didn’t take Ace for a town gossip, but clearly you don’t know him as well as you think you do. 

“Every time one of us gets arrested we’re added to the wall,” Usopp explains. He points to a wall behind the booths and near the bathrooms. You peer around the corner to see that there are mugshots framed and hung up like decor. 

“It’s our initiation process,” Nami grins at you as she shoves Sabo out of the booth so she can approach you. She holds out her hand to Ace when she’s close enough and the paper he slipped into his back pocket earlier turns out to be a copy of your mugshot. You gasp and try to take it from her, but she moves quickly away from you with a giggle. 

“Initiation into what?” Your frustration is ebbing away into a curious amusement because you had no idea you were surrounded by weirdos and criminals. 

“My crew,” Luffy shouts from behind the counter, holding the biggest sandwich you’ve ever seen in both hands. 

“I told you to stop calling us that, it’s embarrassing,” Zoro grumbles in his seat, arms crossed and scowling at Luffy. 

“Don’t be such a buzzkill,” Luffy says with his mouth full. 

“So does everyone just go around getting arrested?” You ask as you watch Nami slide your mugshot into a cheap frame that matches the others. 

“No, Garp is just good at catching us at the wrong times,��� Robin snickers, patting Franky on the shoulder as she does. “We got arrested for lewd and lascivious behavior.”

“He caught us fuckin’ at the park,” Franky explains and your mouth drops. 

“Possession of marijuana and drug paraphernalia,” Sanji chimes in. 

“Indecent exposure,” Zoro shakes his head.

“He was wasted and got caught pissing next to the daycare,” Sanji laughs, lighting up a joint as he does.

“I didn’t realize it was a damn preschool,” he defends, hands raised in the air, playfully agitated. 

“I may or may not have stolen some clothes from the boutique up the road,” Nami says dismissively. 

“May or may not meaning definitely stole at least $500 worth from that place,” Usopp calls her out. “I got busted with Luffy for trespassing and illegal possession of a firearm as a minor. But to be fair Luffy said he knew the guy that owned the property and the gun was my dad’s.”

“I did,” Luffy nods, “Shanks bailed us out, didn’t he?”

“And you?” You turn to Ace while you digest everyone’s crimes respectively.

“I ran a fight club,” he says, nonchalantly but with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “I hosted it at Whitebeard’s on nights he wasn’t workin’ and we’d place bets.”

“Good times,” Sabo smiles and you turn to look at him in disbelief. “You couldn’t tell now, but Ace was our top earner.”

“You were in on it too?” You ask, mildly surprised, but mostly amused by how fondly he speaks of it. 

“Hell yeah,” he chuckles, “ who do you think counted the cash?”

“Now I feel kinda lame for getting caught stealing peaches and having nothing to show for it.” You shake your head in dismay, wondering how your evening got here to begin with. 

“Don’t feel too bad.” Ace grabs your shoulders and shakes you lightly. “Keep hangin’ with Luffy and you’re sure to get arrested for somethin’ a bit more scandalous.”

“Unless you and Ace get caught in the parking lot again,” Zoro says with a light laugh. 

“That was one time and it hasn’t happened again.” Your body heats up from not just the memory, but the fact that everyone else is privy to that bit of information. There really are no secrets in this place. Ace breathes out a sheepish laugh from his nose and when you glance at him there’s a dust of pink across his cheeks. When he meets your eye, he nudges you familiarly with his hip and a strangely sweet shyness settles over you. 

Thankfully before the conversation shifts into territory you’re not ready to tread, Nami says, “gather round everyone, she’s goin’ up.”

She’s holding your framed mugshot in her hands with glee as she steps up to the wall that has everyone else’s face plastered on it too. It’s odd the traditions you find yourself becoming a part of, and even though a few hours ago you were so angry with Luffy for derailing your evening, you can’t help but feel a fond sincerity fill your chest. Tears prick at your eyes and you blame the exhaustion that’s lingering heavily in your limbs. Yet you know that the emotion is coming from somewhere in your chest. Beating. Growing. 

“Did you get my updated one?” Luffy asks before stuffing the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth. 

“Yep,” Ace answers, handing you another folded up piece of paper. You unfold it to see Luffy’s grin, stretching from ear to ear. His hat sits lopsided on his head. And he looks kinda cute for someone who’s just been arrested. You feel yourself smile until your eyes fall to the insane dollar amount sitting at the bottom of the sheet. 

“You have a $500,000 bond?” You say, astonished with your jaw dropped and your eyes comically wide. 

“Been rackin’ it up since I was fifteen,” he says with pride, his grin identical to the one on his rap sheet.

part nine

taglist: @a-girl-cant-decide-on-a-name @nico-ith @chillerkiller @jozhenji @starchild-unnamed @certain-tragedies @hannahbarberra162 @kanekisheart @stuckinmymind22 @greenbnny @kimkat1822, @purplefluffycows

[hongchuankey]

KD Flip Key For Y-39# Mondeo Blade F021

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[assortedvillainvault]

Idk if you having writing requests open or anything but is there a chance you could write headcanons for Captain Hook and Y/N who is royalty (Prince/princess/king/queen/monarch/etc)? tia!!

You can always see if requests are open in my blog description! And, y’know, the few times they haven’t been I’ve just turned off asks to be frank, so you’re golden don’t worry.

Captain Hook x Royal!Reader

I’m seeing this as a political runaway situation.

You have no interest in adhering to the strangling confines of your birth role – but a kidnapping gone wrong wasn’t exactly your preferred exit plan.

Captain James Hook blasts his way aboard your vessel with smoke and cannon, and while the cries of your officers make you wince, you know the only reason he was able to get within 1000 yards of your vessel is because the council had surreptitiously rendered your support ships as ‘needed elsewhere’.

Hook likely wasn't a paid assassin in the traditional sense, but he was a convenient excuse for your enemies to place a puppet on the throne faster than one could register you were missing.

You gather your courage and march towards the pirate, head held high amongst the blades of his men. You try not to look at the bodies of your crew as you step in their blood.

“Captain James Hook, I take it?”

He bows and sweeps his ridiculously large hat off with a smirk that you tried very hard not to be at least a little taken by. “Your Royal Highness~” You whip your hand away as he moves to kiss it, and you catch his eye twitch a little before he smooths his face back out. He gestures back to his ship. “Care to join us?”

Though phrased nicely, it wasn’t a suggestion.

Your hostage situation turns out to be the kind of blessing you only mildly regret. True, you can’t leave the ship. But the open sea? The chance to finally use your arms and legs for more than bland ballroom dances? The fact no-one will slap your hand down if you flip Mr. Starkey the bird?

Bliss.

Hook always uses your title, playing up his gentleman tendencies even as you roll your eyes and grow more comfortable aboard ship. He’ll take even the slightest chance to have you on his arm, and makes sure that you have ways to keep clean and eat better than the rest of the crew.

You’re almost unrecognisable. Hair loose, clothes simple, hands rough from work as you learn the ropes aboard ship just for something to do. But even as far from grace as you’ve fallen, you know the price on your head must be in the thousands, and even if your old kingdom doesn’t want you, there are plenty of others who would pay.

“Captain.”

“Hmm?” Hook idly plays his good hand over the piano keys. You’re in his cabin, the night outside dark.

You draw a deep breath in. And out. “When are you going to ransom me?” Your voice only shook a little, and you allow yourself a little bit of pride for that.

Silence. Hook spins to face you, eyes soft. “Darling...” He begins. He rises, hook glinting, and comes to cup your cheek.

“...I abandoned any thought of your ransom the moment you came aboard, love."

[court-jobi]

Aquarium Date

Pairing: Hawks x reader (gn!reader)

Words: 3.1k

Rating: G~

Warnings: fluff hours, y'all. Mentions of PTSD but nothing deep, dark, mysterious. Just taking care of my sweet, sweet flyboy

Summary:

You've been introducing little spots around the city to Keigo, slowly reintroducing him to the public per his increasing interest. As much as he prided himself on coming up with the best date ideas, you flip the script and come up with a surprise for him today: high time the prince of the skies gets to experience an aquarium for the first time~

A/N: Here's the long-awaited poll result!! it's been a minute, but I've been polishing up some drafts and finally have a breather to begin posting them! (Also started seeing someone which oddly enough cuts into my writing time, oops) But thank you all so much for reading; I've loved reading all the comments and tags!

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Quilted mornings greet Keigo's weekends now. Every Saturday, he sleeps to his heart's content- or at least until he rolls over with an indulgent stretch to find you already sitting up, nursing some coffee.

This morning, you return your mug back to the side table the moment you catch that telltale creak of his voice trying to wake itself up. It’s a careful move not to spill, but you're also bubbling in anticipation of what's coming next:

Without fail, Keigo will crack open his eyes, fuss against the light, moan how you've moved too far away, and *army-crawls* on his tummy until he can drape an arm across you again. To watch his shoulders work as he moves is still a handsome sight… even without his wings.

As he tries to sneak in a bit more shuteye, you stroke Keigo lightly, wherever you can reach. It's mostly his hair that calls out for your hand’s touch, though as you lay some light scritches down between his shoulder blades, Keigo rustles more. When you stop, he jolts his shoulder up in a nudge.

'More, please.'

"Good morning, GoldenEye~" you greet him.

Laying a groggy kiss to nowhere in particular (just an absent press of the lips on your midsection where he could reach), Keigo trills lazily but with a smile on his face. A wakeful state rests behind still-closed eyes; he talks before willing them open,

"Gmornin', bay’bird.."

Kei's morning voice should come with a warning– if you had no bills to pay or the human need to eat and drink, you'd never leave this bed with him in it like this.

He wrenches a little pout, a scrunch of his shut eyelids, "nnngh.. -wha’ times’it?"

To answer Keigo's drowsy twists and turns under the covers, you pull up the confirmation email on your phone with bidden excitement,

"Right about time for you to start getting yourself ready, babe," you greet softly, "we've got somewhere to be today."

An accented eye finally chances a peek up at you, "-where?"

"It's a surprise~ I'm taking you out. Up for a little adventure?"

"Adventure, huh?" Keigo cracks a smile with teasing interest, groaning into your side as he stretches yet again, "MMMMFH-hhhh.. now what's my baby got in mind f’me, huh?"

You've been introducing little spots around the city to him, slowly reintroducing him to the public per his increasing interest. You were nervous at first, but by Keigo's healthier mental balance between work and play now, you follow his lead and try to make outings fun for him.

Online, you'd come across a locals-only ticketing deal that was too good to pass up and thought to treat him to an excursion he'd likely never gotten to do in grade school... Since when would assassin training allow for field trips like most nine-year-olds get to go on?

Without giving anything away, you merely gave Keigo a small kiss on his forehead and left him confused while you urged him to get up once again. A frisky swat on his butt atop mountains of covers got him into action soon enough, chasing after you with roguish excitement.

“Guess it’s a bit late to ask if I should have changed into a wetsuit?”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be in the enclosures without permission, Kei. Hero or not!~”

“Cmon, you can’t swim with them?”

“Some folks do, but they get paid to do that! The rest of us get to watch how it’s done.”

“Sheesh, where’s the fun in that?” 

Giggling at his ridiculous notion, you find your darling’s interest in the building's flashy backlit signage  holds more depth, like he’s reading every word for the first time.

"Y'know, I always passed this place," Keigo emerges from the car, with a set gaze at the fish captured mid-breach, "but never went inside. Couldn't risk the wings getting too wet while on the job, y'know?"

"Thought as much," you rejoin him, pocketing your keys into your coat and all but biting your lip in excitement. "Wanna see?"

"Lead the way, pretty thing~"

So the two of you entered Kyushu's newly renovated aquarium center. It's renown as one of the loveliest in the world with a seven story high observation deck, prized for its integral underground facilities with access directly to the waterways through man-made tunnels and bayfront access. Quirk specialists who bear similar biology to nature's most wonderous aquatic life find their ‘home away from home’ here at the conjoining lab complex, and aid in conservation efforts alongside the scientists.

But out of all the inner workings listed on plaques and donor standees lining the walls of the lobby, Keigo fixates on one feature above all others the minute he steps in the door-

"They have PENGUINS?!"

You mute your giggles, cringing at his unintended echo through the ceramic walls and floors.

Merely nodding, your hush guides him to not make such an outburst again, taking ahold of his bicep and threading your arm through to keep him close.

"Surprise!" You whisper adoringly.

You feel the equivalent of a parent’s pride on Christmas morning, watching Keigo take in a sight like this as if he weren't twenty-plus years older than you were when you first came to visit one.

Unafraid and completely enraptured by the dark halls and den of water ahead, Keigo is stepping out strong with your hand in his, forgetting altogether that this is a paid attraction and he can't just spurt ahead of his own two feet.

A hard habit to break, going too fast for his own good… but your linking of fingers in his softens the sting of having to wait to show your tickets first.

Inside changes Keigo's demeanor entirely. From giddy interest comes a deep, profound quiet he was still very much capable of. You took the lead, enlightening him to all sorts of creatures which -you'd come to learn today-  he'd never seen before:

Shrimp were little marvels Keigo had only ever seen sauced up and on a skewer, so to watch them mosey about in their natural state brought a funny tweak of regret to his lips. Jellyfish were the 'roadkill of the beach’, to him. Never before had he seen how big they could get or how beautifully they migrated out in the open ocean. Fish with spikes, eels that glow, creatures with tails longer than their entire bodies, whipping around their cratered homes all set under interchanging lights… it all rendered Keigo nearly speechless.

So speechless, he didn't pay a single mind to a few nearby kids who were whispering to their moms if the man over by your side ‘is who they think it is’... 

You'd catch their eyes, mocking a little hush of the lips and sending a wink to their guardians- an unspoken word between you promised to let everyone just explore at their own peace and pace. 

These are the beautiful times you are gifted to spend together; now more than ever. While you wish under every star in the sky that Keigo Takami’s newfound free time was not at the expense of his hero work, you are grateful for the perks his rehabilitation period offers you now. In this time of healing, your relationship has flourished; not unlike the sea life around you.

Much like the aquatic life you walk by from enclosure to enclosure, the far-off vision of these sights in the wild remind you that so many beautiful things can exist under the surface of turbulent waves. From the skies, ‘Hawks’ in his larger-than-life glory became drawn to you just over a year ago: rooted to the ground as you were. Now grounded himself, It’s here that -once again- you amaze him with a new perspective, this time sharing marvels with him that exist far under both your feet, under the sea. By his awestruck reactions, you’re proud that you can enlighten him to something he’s never experienced. So many times, you’re so sure that he’s seen it all… but you still manage to surprise him. 

As he rightfully deserves. You’d give Keigo the world if you could.

Though for now, his complete joy seems to stem from checking out the baby penguins, half covered in the fuzz of their infant downy feathers. For a split second, your chest pangs when he makes an offhand comment about how they’re just like him, flightless. But Kei settles any subtle concern you hold, because his laughter is far to giddy for you to worry that he’s self conscious. 

Had you not known what horrors and traumas he’s gone through with his quirk, you’d think this is the funniest sight to see a grown man revert to child-like excitement. But now, it means so much more to see him so happy and carefree.

It’s not that you’re desensitized to such creatures, mind you! While you’d been taking candid photos of Keigo for your own private collection, a couple birds suddenly squawked an internal debate, demanding the attention of you both. It’s clear a race had been cast, because the penguins then slid right onto their bellies to a quick, friendly speedrun to the bottom of the slicked, icy slide into the water. When one emerged from the pool ‘laughing’, Keigo wheezed and started a cheeky round of applause for all bystanders to join in on.

Birds of a feather, you assume, and they love a good race– whether in the air or not, I guess!

"Can we-- maybe go back again?” Keigo paused before you could veer off to one of the last passageways before the end of the museum, “Wanted to see something again ‘fore we get to far ahead."

So you backtrack through the exhibits, and return to ‘The Great Room’.

At his lead, you're back at the tank the resident whale shark calls home, but you're caught off guard by where he chooses to settle– watching Keigo walk right up by the glass- not quite a foot away. In the middle of the feature wall, sitting down criss-crossed, the man you’ve loved in and out of the spotlight makes himself the whale shark's newest neighbor, smack dab on the floor.

Five-year-old Keigo has arrived, and your heart could break at the sight.

Looking over his shoulder for you, he's got a boyish look on his face that's a little hard to read. By his posture, he's relaxed as ever, but a hidden story sits behind his eyes like a mist. His scar pales into the rest of his cheek under all these watery refractions of light, to the point where you forget for a moment it's there.

At his pat on the ground, you mirror his seating arrangement and join him. No one else is in the room at this moment, but even if it were jam packed with chiding eyes around you both, you'd never refuse him.

Keigo looks back up through the glass when you curl up next to him- staring off everywhere and nowhere at once. For once, a lost look across his face doesn't make him look haunted. He's just overcome.

"I feel... small."

"Small?" you ask.

"Mhm. But in a good way," he follows the third lap of a long, spotted fish, surrounded by the tiniest minnows in a cloud around it. "It's different when you're down low, when you've always seen things from up top."

The perspective he holds has been completely inverted. You worried this was a hurt he likely carried around unspoken: not being able to fly. 

"They probably think waves are like the sky to them," Keigo looks up to where he sees the residual bubbles of all the wildlife rising to the surface. The light and the overlook banisters above casting their shadows highlights the tiny pockets of air, “n’to think like that card back there said, you can’t even see the surface when you’re on the bottom of the actual ocean floor. This is– just incredible.”

You’re glad to see him so happy, to have given him something new to discover. 

Keigo is quiet for a while, until he grows softer still in his normally unwavering voice. Seems now he’s not just found his ‘inside voice’, but the one he keeps special just for you. 

“Yknow that feeling where you gotta scratch your eye, but no matter how many times you try, the itch is still there?”

You follow, with a hum.

“That’s how it feels sometimes.” Keigo doesn’t look at you, but you can read his wistfulness through the first panes of glass in front of him. “I don’t necessarily think of it every minute of every day… but man. When it itches, it really itches. And nothing settles it.”

You rarely bring the war up on your own– reminding Keigo of such fresh events would be cruel, you thought. You only respond with your thoughts whenever he asks for them in a formal, work-related capacity, but you know it’s affected him in every way regardless of how quickly he appeared to bounce back. It’s also a sensation you’d never have an equivalent to share with him. In terms of support, you often weren’t always sure what to say to console him on the days he appeared the most down; it’s not that you could ever truly relate.

Robbed of his quirk– robbed of the air. To feel as weightless as the creatures in the water, unbound by gravity.

“But these guys–” Keigo looks up again with a smirk, “--they don’t even gotta worry about things like blinking. And anytime they get caught by some seaweed or something- look how the others take care of ‘em. Look how happy they are.”

You seek out the pod of fish he’s been tracking. Expert eyes, he’s still lightyears ahead on you with his eagle eyes. They are far away now, murky due to distance from the foreground… 

…it’s not about the fish anymore. 

It’s about his healing. Finding his place in the world. Keigo feels like a fish out of water, now– even in his new role as President of the Hero Public Safety Commission, but he’s confessing a key part of his journey now: the after, and how it’s maybe not so far away as you expected. 

It took Keigo a while to sleep shirtless around you, after everything. It was physically hard to do so, first of all… but more than practically, the act of baring himself in any way was tender in more ways than that of newly supple skin. He’d grown used to his entire torso being wrapped up for so long… his true emotions concealed and lying deeper still. 

Even longer, he spent a month wearing constant compression -like a tight fitting bodyglove or even a too-small hoodie- as it was more comfortable than strutting around bare-chested as he once did. Healing was more of a never-ending action plan, rather than a passive point of rest like most would picture. There were therapies and tinctures and salves and appointments that all guided a former hero like him back into a state of truly feeling better and treated as a normal member of society- civilian. 

That title, still so strange to him. Alien. Another reason he’d wanted to keep layers on while he accepts his own skin. Over midafternoon tea one day, Keigo had grumbled on a grim day that he’d worried he’d never be considered ‘normal’, even if he completely healed; that some wounds were too deep and he’d never be seen as anything other than a hero- even a failed one.

However, the page turned one day- Keigo coming to you quickly after getting out of a shower to snuggle up to your figure washing the dishes. The telltale warmth of his chest hit the back of your shoulders, same as the arms which wrapped around you snug and close. Kisses along your neck served to try and distract you from your tasks, but the bigger surprise remained how vulnerable he stood behind you: he was shirtless once again.

The thought made you smile, your darling love finally embracing you in a fully relaxed state... Content, happy- or at the very least assured enough to turn you around, begging softly for some more kisses in that saucy way, and sheepishly requesting a backrub 'like you used to'. 

Maybe it was healing for you as well, getting the chance to cover Keigo in restorative love. It's always been a source of pride for you, and served to give you connection in ways the rest of the world didn't see– a place to put your care and attention in new ways for the man who gives his all to everyone else.

He's still so beautiful, like this. He's got spark to his chatty tongue again, a lift to his cheeks, and lingers for your every touch, melting on the spot even without a single feather to hint at how he feels. He doesn't need them; his eyes do all the talking for him.

You'd always care for the hero inside him- those instincts will never die, truly. Hawks' brilliance lives through his natural leadership and street-savvy command as head of the HPSC… But to nurture the sleepy, tired boy who is still finding his feet on the ground, who works every day to make the world a better place than the one he was brought into, and who missed out on so much… he’s your top priority.

You sink onto his shoulder, met by his craning atop yours. Though the reflection of the glass, Keigo doesn’t look at you, but bears the most content smile while resting with you, sneaking your hand and twisting the pretty rings adorned on it. He’d gifted you most of these, anyhow. 

"They're sure not in any rush,” Keigo coos after the floating, drifting life ahead of him. 

The swarms of sea life, ebb and flow of plant life, and the simulated tides created all washes over you two in quiet beauty. The way each group of fish move in their own current is the most relaxing sight and -yes- drifts along at an unhurried pace.

You hum your agreement.

"Slowing down's not such a bad thing, huh."

"No, not at all."

Eventually distracted by your own lazy watching, you check on Keigo again as he’d turned his head to kiss your temple while still entranced by the aquarium. In a soft voice, he asks with a pining whisper,

“How long we got in here, sweet’eart?”

“I think it closes at four today~” you share, but make the mental note to upgrade your passes to the annual membership before you leave…

[presidentofthelipglossclub]

i think we all are under appreciating just how dumb the rescue bots were. like yeah they’re really good at their jobs but they were plain useless for almost everything else.

heatwave deadass could not even read a math problem. like he for real held the book upside down and tried to read it out loud like that. he even said the words "upside down two" and didn't get what the issue was. graham had to flip the book over for him to get it.

blades suggested retractable buildings as a way to stop humans from getting stuck on top of buildings. boulder had to point out that if those were a thing they’d crush everyone inside. he also claimed the earth holiday with the "lit up tree" is arbor day.

chase became mayor. he sucked. single-handedly he almost blew up all of griffin rock because of his bad decisions and he also lost the keys to all the public spaces. he quit on his first day and everyone cheered because he was that bad.

boulder decided to break into a zoo at night to surprise the team with a pet. his second suggestion after realizing he couldn't use his electronic scan to open the cage was to shut the power off. and cybertron definitely had pets so he has no excuses here.

my point is the rescue bots are so incredibly stupid and that's why everyone loves them and treats them like very small children.

[tfanatic]

Mason stopped by an oddity shop on his way home, drawn in by the flickering neon sign and the promise of strange curiosities. The store was cluttered with shelves of dusty books, taxidermy animals, and glass cases filled with tarnished jewelry and mysterious trinkets. As he wandered toward the back, something caught his eye.

On display was a necklace, unlike the rest—an amulet fashioned from a large, curved tiger tooth, its surface worn smooth with age. The leather cord looked brittle, but the tooth itself gleamed unnaturally in the dim light, as if it pulsed faintly with energy. A small tag next to it that reads,

"Tiger Tooth Amulet — Protection. Power. Price to be paid."

Mason couldn’t explain why, but he reached out and took it. It felt warm in his hand. Too warm.

He laughed to himself, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet store. "Protection and power, huh?" he muttered with a smirk, flipping the amulet in his fingers. It was probably just a hunk of bone some guy carved in his garage.

Still—something about it kept his curiosity burning. He made his way to the front counter, paid in crumpled bills, and stepped back out into the fading evening light.

Settling into the driver’s seat of his car, Mason hesitated for a moment. The amulet swung slightly in his hand. With a shrug, he slipped it over his head.

It rested heavy and warm against his chest.

The moment it touched his skin, the warmth deepened—like a low hum under his sternum. He blinked, looked around. Nothing unusual.

“Probably just in my head,” he muttered—and started the engine.

As Mason turned onto the main road, the afternoon sun poured through his windshield, casting sharp light across his forearm on the steering wheel.

That’s when he noticed it.

The sunlight caught something strange—his arm looked… different. He squinted. The fine hairs on his skin had thickened, deepened in color. Orange? He rubbed his arm with his free hand, expecting it to wipe away like dust or something from the shop. But it didn’t.

It was real. His skin was warm—hot even. And the hairs were unmistakably turning into a coarse orange fur.

“What the hell…” he muttered, eyes flicking from the road to his arm, to the mirror, then back. The amulet pulsed faintly against his chest like a second heartbeat.

His hand tightened on the steering wheel. Panic prickled at the back of his neck.

This wasn’t just in his head anymore. Something was happening.

And it was only beginning.

Mason pulled into his driveway, tires crunching over gravel. His hands trembled as he shifted into park, still staring at the patch of orange fur crawling higher up his arm. He fumbled the keys out of the ignition and slumped back in his seat, breathing hard.

Then came the ache.

It started dull, just behind his upper gums—but quickly sharpened into a pressure that made him wince. He rubbed his jaw, trying to soothe it, but the pain only grew worse. Like something inside was pushing its way out.

He leaned forward and flipped the rearview mirror toward his face.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

His canines had lengthened—noticeably. Too sharp. Too animal. They caught the light like tiny blades, glinting unnaturally. His lips curled back in instinctive revulsion.

“No, no, no…” he yelled.

Another jolt of pain surged through his mouth. His teeth shifted again—grinding, reshaping, becoming something not human.

Mason burst through his front door, slammed it shut behind him, and took the amulet off. He threw it off to the side, hitting the ground.

He collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest. He begins pulling on the fur in panic, tearing his shirt

His muscles ached and stretched, bones popping subtly beneath the surface of his skin. Thick orange-striped fur now covered most of his arms and shoulders. His hands had twisted, nails elongating into dangerous claws that dug into the carpet as he braced himself.

Then came the roar—his own voice, filled with raw animal power

His fangs now jutted fully from his mouth, jaw widened unnaturally. He clutched at his throat, eyes shut with fear and disbelief.

“I took it off,” he growled through his new teeth. “Why… isn't it stopping?”

The amulet lay still on the floor… but its curse had already taken root. And Mason was no longer just human.

His legs trembled, no longer shaped quite right—his ankles lifted unnaturally, muscles warping, bones shifting to accommodate a new gait. He could feel the tendons tightening, reshaping. His toes curled as they realigned, becoming more paw-like with each inch he crawled.

Then came the sensation that nearly made him scream—a tug at the base of his spine. Something was growing. Extending. He twisted, panting, just in time to see a thick, striped tail unfurling behind him, swaying with a life of its own.

But through the haze of transformation, one thought burned clearer than all others:

The amulet.

Without it, he felt exposed—vulnerable. As unnatural as the changes were, being without the amulet felt worse. As if something ancient had been stirred inside him, and only that relic could keep it from consuming him entirely.

His claws scraped the carpet as he dragged himself across the floor, eyes locked on the amulet where it lay. With trembling fingers—now more beast than man—he grasped it and pulled it back over his neck.

The moment it touched his chest, everything slowed. The pain dulled. His breath steadied. Not reversed—but contained.

He collapsed, breathing hard.

With the amulet back on, the chaos inside Mason eased. Power pulsed through him—steady, controlled.

The claws, the fur, the tail—they were still there. But now, they felt natural.

With the amulet on, he wasn’t afraid.

He felt safe. He felt strong.

[norman-fucking-reedus]

I read something that you said Scud liked to be recorded and I’m actually foaming at the mouth at the idea of that because it’s so real. I NEED a fic for that. So glad I found someone with a Scud obsession as bad as mine

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION

THE GOOD GOOD: FemDom!Reader x Sub!Scud, recording during sex, lots of teasing, and edging, bit of bondage, your much needed dose of pegging, and scud crying during sex, don't forget the hair pulling

GUYS I LOVE SCUD SO MUCH I ABSOLUTELY ADORE HIM MY PRECIOUS LITTLE ANGEL

I'm really trying to get my drafts cleared out LOL hopefully sometime soon I'll have a big major posting spree and then I can start working on my inbox

I HAVE SO MANY REQUESTS AUUUGH IDK WHY I LET THEM ALL PILE UP SOMEONE KILL ME

The idea of Scud being recorded is still my favorite because I feel like he'd be so nervous under the lens, trying to hide from it and not be seen but he'd still end up looking like a slutty pornstar (my precious pornstar)

also scud in lace. its been on my mind for I don't even know how long at this point.

You sighed as you walked down your complex's dingy, dimly lit hallway, silently hoping that Scud wouldn't be too mad at you for coming home so late into the night. After all, you had told him that you would only be about ten more minutes, but that had been almost an hour ago.

Things got a little out of hand, nothing you couldn't deal with sure but it was quite an inconvenience. A short, fifteen-minute task had easily turned into a full job, one that included running around the shop looking for spare parts. With what you had learned from Blade and Scud, it didn't take long to find all the little pieces you needed, and even a reward for yourself.

"Scud! I'm back! Look at what was in the shop" You called out to him when you jingled your keys in the lock and swung the front door to your apartment open, eagerly kicking off your shoes as you toyed with the little camcorder you had come across, flipping through the random pictures on it. There was no clear indicator of who's camera exactly, but you had always loved photography, so just one day with it wouldn't hurt anyone.

There was no response to your voice, the apartment barely lit and quiet, soft thumping coming from you and Scud's shared bedroom. He was probably playing on his PS2 with his headphones in, loud music blasting at levels you’ve already scolded him for.

As you padded through the cozy living room, you pointed your camera at random things and took little cameos of them, making your way down the short and narrow hall towards the room where you could see some of the orange lighting spilling out through a crack in the door.

You approached, about to call out Scud’s name once again as the soft thumping faded into a rhythmic beat, a Lady Gaga track when you finally stopped short in front of the door, pushing it open a bit and poking your head through, combing hair out your eyes as your mind drew a blank, greedily taking in the sight in front of you.

Scud was in fact not playing on his game system, but rather prancing around the cozy room what he didn’t know was your very expensive lingerie set. An all-white, delicate full ‘angelic’ lingerie set. A satin ruffle top with a waist-high lace garter belt that clipped onto the white mesh fishnets, all paired with lacy underwear that had a large bow on the back, topped with a fair-sized opening that revealed a large portion of his dumb butt.

You had originally bought it to surprise your boyfriend a few months back, but you had both gotten so overcrowded with work that it slipped your mind, collecting a thin layer of dust somewhere you weren’t even sure where you had put it. Scud always got curious about your things when he was rocket-high, digging through things and asking a million and one questions. Now here he was, looking pretty as ever swaying his hips around in the bedroom, mumbling along to the current track playing.

You found yourself flipping the camcorder's small screen open and resting against the door frame as the device started to record, capturing Scud’s fluid movements as he obliviously danced around, brown curls falling sweetly in his face, and skin glowing orange from the multiple sources of warm light in the room.

He really did look like an angel, his broad body looking much more supple and soft, legs long and lean, hips wide and divine. A walking, talking piece of pure eye candy, reserved for your eyes and only your eyes. Guess this camera just found itself a new owner.

Scud spun around on his heels and toes, once, twice, before he stopped, eyes focusing on the small little red dot, flickering up to meet your gaze and feeling his entire exposed body heat up in embarrassment.

“W– Wha– How– How long– Hello– ” Scud sputtered, completely frozen in place as he stared at you.

You, who was now fully entering the bedroom, “Don’t stop now, I barely got any footage” placing your free hand on his small waist and dipping fingers under the fabric of the garter. A smile tugged your lips as you started taking in the entirety of your boyfriend's body up close, his skin soft and hot under the tips of your fingers. “Y– You’re re-recording me?” He knew the answer, but hearing it from you verbally just made a chill run down his spine, and his cock twitch.

“Does that make you nervous love?” Your fingers trailed up his scarred chest, brushing across the lose ruffled top and grazing his nipples, a small whine coming from Scud as he dipped down in order to hide his face, but you wouldn’t let him. “Look at me” You said as you lifted his head up by the chin, forcing his gaze onto yours.

Scud lightly whimpered, desire burning in his gut as you brushed hair out his face, fingers dancing along his skin. He felt exposed under the camera’s lens, so much of his raw and bare skin visible to the naked eye. Your gaze on his body made his cock throb.

“What do I always tell you about playing in my stuff?” You said in a condescending tone, teasing the tips of your fingers down his textured belly.

Scud shivered at your touch as goosebumps prickled his skin, a strained grunt coming from him as his face flushed. “N– not without mommy’s permission”

You slowly walk around him, taking in his full body in the set. “Don’t touch mommy’s things without permission. That’s a rule, right?” You murmur as you stop recording to take a picture of Scud’s ass, definitely filling out the panties better than you could.

“Yes…” He mumbles, and it almost comes out like a squeak. His cock aching with need and his stomach with embarrassment, heart pounding from a combination of nerves and weed.

You brush your lips against the skin of his shoulder, slipping fingers under the waistline of the lace undies. “So can you explain to me why said rule is broken?”

A whimper broke past Scud's lips as your fingers teased and explored his exposed skin, squeezing his hips and tracing scars. "I just– I just found it under the bed and didn't know what it was" Scud stumbled out, heart thumping in his chest as your hands covered more ground on his body, circling around to his back.

"Mhm?" You hummed, tracing your finger up his spine. He let out a moan as chills ran through his core, trembling under your touch as he could feel goosebumps explode across his skin. "Well, do you know what it is now?"

Scud nodded frantically at your words, "Yes! Yes– I know now" quivering as he spoke.

With one hand on his waist, the other still holding the camera, you guided him to the edge of the bed and pushed his upper half down onto the mattress, smiling softly to yourself as you eyed Scud's new position through the lens.

Click! Click!

The electric snap of the camera made Scud feel fuzzy and warm, slightly embarrassed, and very exposed. His skin was flushed a light red, some areas more blushed than the others. From where his cock was confined in the small panties, he was completely pulsing, throbbing with pure need in his gut.

"Do you also know not to break the rules?" You questioned, flipping through the few shots you had taken before moving your attention to the small walk-in closet, crouching down and reaching inside a box.

Scud whined into the soft comforter when you returned behind him, his socked feet barely reaching the rug between them. He could hear the small beep of the camera as you pressed your front to his bottom, a yelp coming from him when your palm made contact with his exposed cheek. "I asked, so answer"

"Y– Yes! Not breaking the rules is a rule" He whimpered, a shudder running through him as his skin tingled.

You smiled at his words as you caressed his side, squeezing his waist and hip slightly. "Good. Very good. So don't you think you deserve a punishment?"

Scud didn't respond, but he nodded his head, hiding his face the best he could behind his hair. You pushed the strands back and cooed at his cherry-red face, tiny whines coming from him as he squirmed under the camera's lens, jerking his hips slightly as he rutted against the edge of the bed.

Your hand made contact with his cheek again, a choked-off groan coming from his throat at your palm. "Words."

"Y– yes ma– ma'am..." He stuttered, trembling slightly with anticipation. It wasn't often that Scud got punished, even with as bratty as he was, so his cock was totally aching just thinking about whatever vile shit it was you were thinking about doing to him.

And you were thinking of doing some quite horrid things.

Teasingly, you ran your hand over the opening in his panties, prodding your finger at his puffy rim. A suppressed shudder traveled through him as his cock twitched, his hole fluttering at your air-light touch. You softly cooed at how needy he was, smiling to yourself as you single-handedly took off your shirt and tossed it on the floor somewhere to be picked up later.

From the box in your closet, you had pulled your strap set, a pair of cuffs, and a long vibrator that you had been wanting to test out for a little while.

Cuffing Scud's hands behind his back with only five fingers was a bit of a challenge, but an easy one. He squirmed a little as you did it, wiggling his fingers as his wrists adjusted to the new sensation of the cuffs.

You shuffled around behind him, cursing softly as you knocked a few things over before tossing a bottle of lube along with the rest of your toys, pressing yourself against Scud as you leaned down near his ear, breath feather-light and hair tickling his skin. His heart pounded in his chest, and you could hear his pulse in his neck thumping.

“Just how should I punish you?” You murmur, trailing your lips against his ear lobe and teasing the skin with the very tip of your tongue.

“Maybe I should spank you ‘til it hurts to sit,” You run your free hand down to his ass and give it a slap for emphasis, followed by a squeeze just cause.

“Or maybe I could tie up those cute balls and see just how long it takes for you to pop” You hum, nibbling on Scud’s ear and tugging it with your teeth until you dropped it with an idea lingering in mind.

“Or," You said as you pulled away from him. "I could just leave you here by yourself” You smirked, watching Scud’s face twist in horror.

“No! No– please no” He pleaded as he squirmed on the bed, hips jerking in a desperate search for relief, cock painfully hard and throbbing. “Need a punishment, need mommy to punish me” Scud blabbed, his body trembling as his eyes darted from your face to the camera's lens, his body coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

“But how should I punish you?” You teasingly coo, combing some of a Scud’s bangs out one of his eyes as you smiled softly at him. “I could smoke our whole stash right in your face”

Scud groaned, “Please don’t” squeezing his legs as arousal burned hot in his gut. “I’m really sorry mommy, I– I’ll do anything”

“Oh, I know you will. Just stay still for me ‘kay?” You pushed yourself back up to your full height, pausing your recording to swap out the camera for the bottle of lube, shaking it slightly before uncapping it and squeezing out more than enough of the clear liquid onto Scud's puffy rim, watching the shiver that ran through him as the cold sensation rolled down to his sensitive balls.

You scooped it up with your two fingers and easily slid them inside Scud, a soft moan coming from him as he clenched around you, almost instantly pushing back in search of more. "Such a greedy little hole, you just wanna be fucked so badly don't you?"

Scud whined and squeezed his slick walls around your digits, "Yes! Want mommy to fill me up so bad, need her so bad" rubbing his face against the soft comforter as he could feel it burning hot.

"Don't worry baby boy, we're gonna get you all nice 'nd full right now" You spoke sweetly to him as you picked up the camera with one hand and the vibrator with the other, resuming your recording as the toy harshly rumbled to life after the click of a button. Without wasting a second, you watched as the buzzing wand glided into Scud with zero resistance, pressing it directly against his sweet spot and causing him to loudly sputter, blabble, and cry out nonsense as the sudden vibration traveled through his entire nervous system, cock throbbing with the uncontrollable urge to cum.

Scud sobbed around his loud moans, choking out gasps when you started to quickly thrust the toy in and out, each hard bump to his now very sensitive prostrate only sent him closer to the edge, hands twitching and pulling where they were restrained as his body spasmed, heaving as his heart started to pound in his chest the harder and harder you fucked him, hips jerking down into the mattress as he tried to pathetically chase his rapidly building orgasm, a burning pleasure coursing through the entirety of his body before–

You swiftly pulled the toy out of him right as he was about to topple over the edge, a confused, strangled whimper tearing from his throat as his poor hole needily clenched around nothing, so full and pleased just a split second ago and now suddenly empty and crashing down from the way you abruptly ruined his orgasm.

“Sorry, my hand slipped” You mumbled, obviously not sorry at all as you teased his fluttering hole with the toy, capturing all your torturous movements through the little camera lens.

The cuffs rattled as Scud whined and squirmed at the contact against his sensitive skin, trying his hardest to push back onto the vibrator while also jerking his hips away from it. He was so high, so hot and sweaty as he heaved from where he was on the bed, shaking as you tauntingly dragged the toy up from his slick balls to his drenched rim, only ever applying the slightest amount of pressure.

It made him push his hips back in desperation, letting out a surprised yelp when you smacked him with the toy, tutting your lips as you shook your head, placing the camera down and positioning it to capture Scud's hidden face, forcing his head up by roughly yanking a fistful of hair.

He whined as a shiver ran down his spine, trembling as his eyes nervously darted away from the lens, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment at being recorded in such an exposed state. His cock was still painfully aching, whole body throbbing uncontrollably from your early treatment.

Scud made tiny little whimpers when you started to tease his hole again with the toy, his hips twitching as he tried not to jerk them back, desperate and craving to be filled up again. His gut ached with arousal, cock leaking painfully where it was confined in the small panties.

"P– Please fuck me, please mommy" He begged as you dipped your head down and started nibbling at his bare shoulder, teasing the skin of his hip with your fingers.

You blew on his ear as you ran the length of the vibrator up his slick crack, a keen noise pulling out his throat as his hole fluttered in anticipation. "Is this what you want pretty boy? To be stuffed like a dumb slut?"

Scud whined at your words, nodding his head and hiding his face shyly behind his hair, jumping slightly when you tightly gripped his jaw, lifting his head once more and dropping it to pick up your camera.

"You're so cute when you're nervous" You said to him as you smooshed your cheek against his, pointing the lens at the both of you and snapping a few pictures, Scud's face red and embarrassed as the flash flickered, electric shutter ringing in his ears.

Scud huffed slightly as his socked toes brushed the rug beneath him, kicking his feet impatiently as need and heat burned through his veins. He whined softly when you pulled away from him entirely, leaving the camcorder pointed at him to capture his facial expressions when you suddenly shoved the entirety of the vibrator back into him, a loud and shaky moan tearing from Scud's throat as the toy easily slid into him, almost yelling when it buzzed to life against his sensitive walls.

His hands curled into one another where his arms were stretched behind his back, yet immediately scrambled to wrap around your wrist when you trailed fingers up his spine, his fingers twitching and trembling as they latched onto you, incoherent mumbles leaving Scud's lips.

As you started to properly fuck him with the toy, quickly thrusting it in and out as he tensed up at the sensation, shuddering as his jaw went slack and he started to desperately yet sloppy push back against your movements, toes curling into the carpet as you shoved the vibrator right into his sweet spot, stars dancing in his eyes and coursing through his body.

"I bet that feels so good huh pretty boy? Gonna cum aren't you?" You taunted as you fucked him quicker with the silicone toy, watching the way he had started to twitch and squirm, his whimpers and cries starting to increase in volume. Scud tried to respond to your questions, but his words only came out as a garbled mess.

It earned a small laugh from you, pressing yourself up against him and dipping your head down to attack his neck, running your tongue over his pulse, and feeling his heart race under the muscle. "Didn't quite catch that" You murmured into his ear, slowing down your movements as you searched for Scud's sweet spot, a broken sob tearing from his lips when you found it. "Yes," He gasped, trembling underneath you as he heaved for air, clumsily stuttering out his words. "Wanna cum so bad, want mommy to make me cum"

Scud tugged and pulled at his restraints as he choked back cries, clumsily pushing back against your movements desperately as he chased after his rapidly building orgasm, babbling brainlessly. He could feel the buzzing sensation in his toes, all the way up to his teeth, it made his head foggy and his jaw go slack, not sure if the high he was greedily riding was from the weed or sheer pleasure, but it had him on cloud nine either way.

Each thrust brought him closer and closer, so close he could practically taste it. A needy, broken whimper came from his chest as his body twitched against you, small pleas starting to fall from his lips as his untouched cock throbbed from his burning climax, lungs running out of air as his body started to tense up, standing right on the edge and about to fall down face first when you yanked the toy right out of him again, Scud whining and basically sobbing in protest as his hole uncontrollably clenched down around nothing, heavy groans leaving him as his body struggled to recover from the way you completely denied him again.

"Oh Please, please mommy, please" Scud sobbed as his body felt so empty and used, desperately craving the relief that he needed so badly.

You shut the toy off and tossed it down on the bed, taking hold of the camcorder and stopping your recording, snapping a few pictures of how utterly destroyed Scud was, face soaked with his tears and drool as he weakly rutted his hips in search of any type of pleasure. He whimpered softly at the flash of light, feeling exposed and nude under the lens.

"It's okay Scud, you've been doing so well for me. Momma's gonna make you feel so good" You murmured comfortingly into his ears as you pressed a kiss to his cheek, pushing your body up off his and leaving the camera on the bed. Scud still whined out in protest as your body heat left his, leaving him cold and lonely. His heart started to soar and quickly pick up speed when he heard the familiar sound of your strap buckling together, small mutters and curses coming from you as there was a slight struggle.

It wasn't long before you reappeared behind Scud, this time pressing your cock against him. Anticipation sparked to life in his tummy as you dragged the silicone through his slick, unable to help himself from pushing back against you with tiny little sounds. He needed it so bad that his body was practically begging for release, involuntarily twitching.

Scud was so close to an absolute breakdown, whimpering and mumbling incoherently as you finally started to push in at a tauntingly slow pace, the lube helping to make it an easy glide and blissful stretch. His head dropped down onto the mattress as sparks flew up his spine, so understimulated that even the slightest of touch would probably send him tipping over the edge.

You readjusted your camcorder with one hand and the tightly tangled the other in his hair, yanking his head back up to be captured in the lens, giggling at the groan that left Scud’s lips. “Come on pretty boy, keep your head up for momma”

“Need– Need it–“ Scud started to babble, head totally clouded and overworked as he desperately jerked his hips, rocking them back and forth to get any type of stimulation at all, trembling like a leaf on a branch when he felt the tip of your strap finally, finally jab right into his tender and used sweet spot, knees buckling between him as he involuntarily squeezed your wrist tightly, nails digging into the flesh as the orgasm his body had been begging for completely took over, loud and broken sobs leaving Scud’s lips as his untouched cock throbbed and pulsated, cumming right in the lace panties of the lingerie set.

The fact that you captured that on camera almost made your mouth water, and you cooed at Scud when he went ragdoll in your hold, stroking his side to give him some comfort as he slowly came back down to earth. “Oh, you poor little thing. Did I tease too much?”

Scud could barely even muster out words, breathing into the mattress as his body twitched, small grunts and whimpers coming from him your hand in his hair kept his head upright and his face vulnerable, tears streaming down his reddened cheeks.

“Or, did I not tease you enough?” You murmured the question softly in his ear, moving to grab a fist full of hair from the front and gripping his cuffed wrists, yanking both backward as you took a step forward to shove the entirety of your cock into Scud, who could almost taste the pleasure coursing through him. A choked sob tore itself from his throat, eyes darting frantically between the wall and camera lens as it felt like pure heaven burned it’s way up his spine, hands twitching and curling in on themselves under your grip.

It was arguably the best he’s ever felt in days, weeks even. When you started to relentlessly and mercilessly slam into him, each thrust going right to his core and sending his eyes rolling into the back of his head, lips glossy and slick with spit as he drooled from the mouthwatering pleasure.

“You’re just so, so cute Scud. I can’t wait to watch our little movie over and over and over again” You said as you tilted his head to the side by his hair, biting down harshly on the flesh of his already bruised and marked neck, a shriek pulling its way out his chest as all five of his senses were at a complete overload, skin flushing a deep red when he felt your teeth blissfully break skin. It was all so overwhelming, the wet glide of your cock slipping in and out against his tender velvety walls was simply too much for his mind to be able to comprehend, hips jerking as his second orgasm built up rapidly, like a can of soda that had been shaken up and was just waiting for someone to pop the tap.

He heard the sound of the cuffs clicking off before he felt the fuzzy material sliding off his wrists, your hands finding his and intertwining your fingers together, pinning his hands down on the mattress to fuck him with all the womanly strength left in you, sending the silicone as deep and hard into your angelic boyfriend as your body would possibly allow for. Scud’s head involuntarily dropped right down onto the blankets, whimpers and broken moans tumbling past his lips as he tightly squeezed your fingers, so close to the edge that this time he really could taste it.

“Please momma, please, please– fuuck, please” Scud helplessly babbled, needily pushing back to meet your thrusts as he was so fucking close, so close that he’d almost do anything just to cum, not that there was much to do considering he was already crashing down the hill, just needing a few more rough thrusts of your hips before his tap was finally popped, an explosion of fizzy stickiness exploding right in his gut, his second orgasm spilling right into the already soiled underwear, seeping through and dripping down onto the floor.

Scud went totally limp where he laid face down on the bed, breathing heavily as he twitched and tried to come down from such an earth shattering high, whining softly when you pulled out.

Tiny kisses were planted all over his face, neck, and shoulders, you gently brushing his hair out his face and unsticking it from his sweaty forehead. “You okay?”

Scud nodded, with his eyes half-lidded and a content smile tugging at his lips. “Mhmm”

“Did you learn your lesson?” You asked, pulling the bra strap and letting it snap against Scud’s flesh, a small grunt leaving him as his skin burned. “Yes ma’am…” He grumbled out, feet dangling off the bed.

You smiled softly, kissing him right below his eye. “Good baby. Now let’s get you all squeaky clean and cozy for bed, then we can find a way to put our special show on the TV for only our eyes to see” You said with a hint of mischief in your tone, reaching for the camcorder and stopping your recording once and for all.

Whoa. Did Norman fucking reedus just fucking finish something. Did Normam fucking reedus just post something. Whoa. How crazy even is that.

ANYWAYS 😝 yes guys I still love Scud he's still my angel boy and be always will be I love the part of the fic where my peenar goes inside his body thats the best part hands down I love to fuck men with my lady peenar

One fic at a time guys 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ I have a few others that eeerm should get posted soon… dont get your hopes up (because mine are already up and that's a problem)

IF YOU SEE TYPOS NO UOU DONNNT 😭 MY GRAMMARLY IS ON MY COMPUTER AND THE APP IS GARBAGE ON MY PHONE PLEASE STOP THIS MADNESS

I was gonna end this with the cam corder MaGiCaLlYy disappearing 👁️ but that's for another fic 🙂‍↕️ (that ill end up never writing)