#Laser Light and Sound Show

[onedaytripin]

One Day Ahmedabad To Statue of Unity Trip By Private Cab

If you are looking for a memorable and exciting day trip from Ahmedabad, you should visit the Statue of Unity, the tallest statue in the world and a symbol of India’s unity as well as diversity. Then you should consider visiting the Statue of Unity. One Day Ahmedabad To Statue of Unity Trip Private Cab is one of the best options we can do. The Statue of Unity is a monumental monument dedicated to…

[lesbian-cowpoke]

An arkham/Spiderman style Dazzler game would go incredibly hard I believe

Her movement mechanics would be peak. You could have her be more long range with laser shots of you could get up close and dazzle enemies. I think managing the sound she absorbs could be a really interesting mechanic. I've got no idea what the story would be I'm just thinking purely mechanically playing a game as Dazzler would be so cool

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

which entity from the magnus archives do you think is the sexiest? personally i'd say the slaughter. or the corruption.

Pre-Michaelified Spiral is pretty up my alley, but only because that one dude referred to it as the Fractal and I love when the beauty of math is incorporated into stories.

The Dark is pretty sexy, not gonna lie.

Unfortunately the Corruption is the one I'm most susceptible to in a victim way and not an avatar way, so I can't find it sexy because it just terrifies me to the marrow in my bones.

[k-hotchoisan]

missing piece

<seonghwa x fem!Reader>

Building legos is important business and Seonghwa knows that very well when he realises he’s missing a piece.

So who would’ve thought two people attempting to search for one Lego piece would lead to other things?

genres/warnings: smut, pwp, softdom!seonghwa, missing Lego piece (don’t worry it’ll get found later), dirty talk, it’s legit teeth rotting fluff and smut, unprotected sex, breeding kink, established relationship, mild choking, clit stimulation

a/n: another fic exchange with @bro-atz 😎👊🏻 it’s a competition of who can kill each other faster and we both LOSING. love u bro <3 and also finally serving you all the softdom! Seonghwa you all deserve 😛 enjoy my loves 🩷

read bro’s one here 💘

wc: 1.9K

‘A couple activity idea’—apparently the amount of countless generic couple websites would list this idea. 

Yeah, this would qualify for a couple activity idea casually, not when it seemed like a big business deal when it came to Park Seonghwa. 

Seonghwa had the ambiance set, his station ready—the Animal Crossing Soundtrack Playlist with Rain playing through the speakers, his desk clean and white—only stacked with the Animal Crossing Lego sets prepared to to be unboxed, in his favourite oversized shirt, and not forgetting you, who he dragged into his room to watch him build his little building block empire—comfortably seated across him on his bed. 

You didn’t mind watching your partner build the latest Animal Crossing Lego set he just easily blew a couple of hundred on hours before. You watched his inner child take form when he made you sit down with him to watch him unbox the first set he was gonna build, his eyes large and twinkling, just like his Animal Crossing character in-game.

Seonghwa hums softly, and it’s definitely his favourite soundtrack from the game. From time to time, Seonghwa would make the little critter noises his animal villagers would make while he fixes the animal villagers and you can’t help but giggle whenever he does the impressions. He’s finished a cherry tree, making sure he flailed his wrists to get your attention. Your lips pull to a smile when your eyes land on the pretty cherry tree he built, reflecting his satisfaction with his plump lips too. 

Then he’s back to his workstation, and you’re absorbed back into playing your switch. 

“This set is pretty easy”, you hear him comment. 

“Is it?” You reply, your attention focused on trying to slay the beast. 

“Yeah. I think I could finish this in another half an hour.” He sounds confident. 

“Good luck with that sweetheart”, you respond, your eyes trailing back to your game. 

Then midway through, Seonghwa demands your attention again, and this time you watch the way his eyes light up the whole damn room when he shows you the way the little Lego letter fits into its little Lego mailbox. Not gonna lie, it was a very adorable detail. He yaps about it for a good seven minutes before he sinks back into his building block world. 

“Now here’s the million dollar question—pink or brown for the door?” He asks, loosely fitting both coloured doors after one another 

“Pink, obviously”, you pick. Seonghwa seems satisfied with your answer, and you swear you see the little musical notes float out of him when he fixes the door onto the house. 

A couple more minutes later, you glance over at the messy pieces of Lego strewn all over Seonghwa’s table, below his half-completed Animal Crossing cottage. 

He has his cheeks puffed out, and his eyebrows knitted together while he’s carefully scanning over the table. 

“Are you missing a piece?” You ask, setting your console on the bed. 

“Yeah, I think I am”, Seonghwa mutters, his index finger pointing over each piece on the table, in hopes of finding it. 

You take the instruction booklet from his hands, skimming through the pictures before you settle it down onto the desk, your eyes laser-focused onto the mess too. 

“Do you wanna come over to my side instead? Maybe you can spot it better from this view”, you suggest, which Seonghwa takes, so he shuffles over to the bed, and moves to sit right where you are—and now you’re on his lap, with his chest pressing right against your back as he towers over you, arms hugging you from behind. He continues to search for the missing Lego piece. 

You take part in the search too, the game completely forgotten by then. You realise it’s nice just having Seonghwa sitting close to you like this. Maybe this was what they meant by building Lego as “a couple activity”.

“Did you drop it or something?” You ask, shifting slightly to have a better view of the floor. You hear Seonghwa grunt behind you, but you pay no attention, focusing on finding the piece. 

Seonghwa swears he’s focused on looking for the missing piece too—he really wants to complete the set, but at the same time, he’s watching and feeling you move against him on top of the way he’s able to wrap his arms around you easily, smelling his scent on you—it’s not helping his case. He bites his bottom lip, trying to manage himself. 

Obviously, it does nothing, considering he’s having you in such close proximity, and every movement you’re brushing against him is starting to make him grow sensitive. 

His hand snakes down to your thighs, drawing circles, his other hand sifting through the endless pieces of Lego. 

He forces himself to concentrate, and it works for a split second, that is, until you absentmindedly shift his free arm on under your loose shirt, and he snaps. 

“If this is your way of breaking my concentration, you’re doing a good job”, you hear his deep voice ringing in your ears. He’s letting his hands roam all over your body hidden underneath your shirt, his fingers grazing against your nipples teasingly, and it draws gasps out of you. 

“Focus on finding the block, Park Seonghwa”, you tease, readjusting yourself, making sure you press against his growing erection underneath his loose shorts. 

It’s Seonghwa’s turn to draw a shaky breath every time your clothed ass comes into contact with his erection.

You pretend to ignore him, but you can’t ignore the way he’s massaging your tits, and you find yourself sighing and growing hotter through each passing moment. 

You think he’s finally giving you a break, but you’re proven wrong when his hands are sliding down the waistband of your shorts. 

“You’re not finding the block, Angel”, Seonghwa points out, and you pout at his words. Your hand slips under the large opening of his shorts and fuck—his erection is only growing thicker. 

You hear him groan behind you when you let your hands wander to stroke his cock through his underwear. So he retaliates with his finger sliding past your panties, cursing when he realises your pussy is growing wetter by the second.  

“We’re supposed to be looking for the Lego piece, Hwa”, you mutter, mind growing hazy as his fingers get drenched from your slick, circling your clit gently. 

“Mmhm. We are, baby. You’re just not focusing”, Seonghwa replies, his index and middle finger spreading your folds open letting his index finger find your clit more easily, and it’s driving you fucking crazy. 

Your legs push open automatically, your hands pausing stroking him off, well, not that Seonghwa minded. 

“That feels so good”, you sigh. Seonghwa’s other hand cups your jaw, and you turn to face him, feeling the way his hands slide down your throat while Seonghwa has your lips on his, eating up your whines and moans before letting you catch your breath.

“So fuckin wet for me, Angel. You like it that much?” He teases. 

“Mmhm, your fingers feel so good Hwa”, you nod, your grip around his arm tightening as the pleasure builds in your stomach every time his finger strokes against your clit. At this point, you can’t even pretend.  

His lips are pressed against your ear, his voice deep yet you sense traces of whining in his tone when he says, “Sit on my dick. I need you on my fucking dick now, Angel.” 

Of course, you comply, despite your legs trembling slightly, letting Seonghwa slip out of his bottoms. His arm is wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly close to him, his lips making a whole garden of bites down your neck before he has both his hands lift your hips. 

Seonghwa lines himself against your fluttering cunt and he pushes himself into your pussy hole, his moans of relief sending you into a spiral on top of his cock sinking into you. 

Fuck, he’s filling you up so fucking good. 

“Fuck. That’s it, babe. You’re so fucking good”, he groans when you squeeze against him. 

“Hwa, oh my fucking god, you’re so full in me”, you sob, trying to adjust to his length. 

“Do you think we can find the piece better like this?” He jokes while peppering kisses down your neck to distract himself so he doesn’t fucking just burst in you just yet. 

Even in your pleasured haze, you still manage to laugh while you try to keep your eyes open. 

“I think we can”, you reply with a giggle, before squealing when you feel him twitch in you. You shift forward slightly, feeling his cock shift in you, dragging along your walls, a small whine escaping past your lips. 

With the last of your sanity remaining, you glance over the desk one more time, biting your lip to stay grounded, obviously to no avail, especially not with Seonghwa and his little movement behind you. 

“I really think it’s-fuck-not here”, Seonghwa mutters behind you, forcing himself not to thrust into you, his fingers slithering down to your wet clit once more. 

“I’m pretty sure it d-dropped. We haven’t checked the floor yet-ngh-right?” you manage to ask.

“Mmmm nope”, Seonghwa responds, mesmerised at the way your slick growing thicker on your clit and on his cock as he continues to rub your clit. “I guess we can do that later ‘cause I really need to fuck your pussy right now, Angel.” 

He doesn’t give you much time to answer because you’re a complete goner when Seonghwa is making you bounce off his cock while he gets you off with his fingers. 

You’re trembling from the sheer pleasure, your vision slowly growing hazy, the knot tightening in your abdomen more quickly than you thought. 

“H-Hwa! Gonna cum-Oh fuckkkk”, you draw out, white clouding your vision. Your cunt flutters around his cock, dopamine shooting up your body while you completely let go on his cock as Seonghwa fucks you through your orgasm.

“Fuck, you’re such a good fucking girl. “That’s it. Be a good girl and cum on my dick like that, Angel”, Seonghwa groans into your ear, his gaze traveling down at the way your thick cream streaks down his cock when he pulls out. He shuts his eyes, sighing into the nape of your neck while he listens to the way your cunt is just so loud and wet for him while he fucks your cream out of you, thrusting his hips upwards. 

“God, your pussy feels so fucking perfect. Fuck. I’m gonna cum. Gonna fill you up so good baby”, he pants before his hips thrust and press against yours, filling you up with his warm and thick cum accompanied by his low groans. 

You feel Seonghwa’s hands run down your body, soothing you after emptying his fucking load into you before he slowly pulls out of your cum-filled pussy. 

“I’ll get you a towel, Angel”, Seonghwa tells you, pressing his lips on your temple before leaving the bed. 

He retrieves a spare towel from the bathroom and cleans you up, before releasing you to wash up in the bathroom. 

When you renter his room, Seonghwa is switching gazes between his half-completed set and the instruction manual. 

He looks up at you with a grin that’s making you feel uneasy. 

“Babe, turns out I wasn’t missing a piece—I already had it in all along!”

Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @pre1ttyies @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @ywtf @jeon-ify @miss-fallon @bunnyluvr25 @eggyboy5 @hourswithoutyou @iwishiwasthemoontonight @yunhogrippers @watermelon2319 @vampiregirl215 @kibs-and-bits @s-h-y-a @luvt0kki @httpseungmxn @vic0921 @sanhwajoong @bitejoongie @no1likevie @woojirang @jjoongstar @yuyusgirl

[chvoswxtch]

crush

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: you wanna show frank your gratitude for taking on a project for you, but he has other plans.

warnings: swearing, long haired bearded frank (yes that needs a warning), explicit sexual content (minors dni)

word count: 2k

a/n: the first time I listed to crush by ethel cain I immediately thought of frank, & then I saw tons of edits with him to this song, & this has been stuck in my head ever since. I just recently renovated my own kitchen, so naturally I thought about something like this the whole time I was doing it. anyway, this is primarily for @thyme-in-a-bubble & @castawaycreature but the rest of y'all are welcome to stay. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

he looks like he works with his hands, and smells like marlboro reds

All you’d done was offhandedly mention to Frank that you wanted to redo the kitchen. Some new paint, new cabinet handles, maybe spruce up the backsplash with different tiles. It wasn’t even a full blown project in your brain, more of an idea of a project for when you had the time and energy. But Frank being Frank took that and ran with it.

Needless to say, you were not at all prepared for the sight you came home to that evening.

As soon as you walked through the front door, you heard a loud mechanical whirring noise coming from the kitchen. Perplexity knit between your brows as you hung your keys up by the front door, following the familiar sound of power tools.

“Frank?”

Rounding the corner of the entryway, you stopped dead in your tracks and your breath hitched. The kitchen was in complete disarray. The cabinet doors had been taken completely off the hinges and were laid out in neat rows on top of a large canvas drop cloth that was spread out on the floor. There were sporadic piles of dark beige dust, evidence of the wood being sanded before it had been neatly painted that rich shade of green you’d been daydreaming about. There were open boxes of new tile and handles on the island, but your attention was immediately drawn away from the organized chaos and towards the source of it.

Frank was kneeling in front of the counter furthest from you, his jeans deliciously snug around his thighs, and the light grey tank top he wore had darkened in certain spots with sweat. There was a glistening sheen covering the exposed portion of his chest that made you want to drag your tongue over the tan skin, but what had heat blooming in your lower belly was the way his biceps bulged as he drilled holes through the drawer he was working on. You could see the clear definition in his arms and his back as he pushed the drillbit through the thick wood, his muscles flexing in a tantalizing way, and the droplets of sweat that cascaded down his veiny forearm were no match for the wetness that had begun to pool between your thighs.

He was so laser focused on the task at hand that he hadn’t noticed you, hadn’t even heard you call his name, which worked in your favor to be able to ogle him freely. There was rarely anything Frank did that you didn’t find attractive, but watching him work with his hands…that did something else entirely to you. Watching him do something so manly while looking so rugged with that grown out beard and that mess of unruly curls that were damp against his forehead…it made your mouth water. 

When he set the drill down and reached for the pack of screws and one of the new handles, he finally caught sight of you out of the corner of his eye, and he turned his head in your direction. His stoic expression of pure concentration melted into something a little softer. He opened his mouth to say something, but then noticed the way you were staring at him. His dark brows quickly furrowed in confusion, mistaking the look on your face for something else. 

“What? Said ya wanted to redo the kitchen.”

“I didn’t mean you had to do it all on your own, or right away.”

Frank pursed his lips slightly with a light scrunch of his nose and gave a faint shrug of his broad shoulders, slipping the screws through the holes he’d drilled and lining them up with the openings on the back of the handle.

“Had the day off.”

That almost made you laugh. It was such a Frank thing to say, and do. Of course he’d spent his whole day off doing something you’d mentioned in passing. Frank wasn’t a man of many words, but he was a man of action. He wasn’t always vocal or physical about his affection, but you never had to question how he felt. He showed you in how he treated you, and the things he did for you. 

The sweet and thoughtful gesture combined with the way he looked right now had that flame of desire flickering in your lower belly turning into a full blown blaze. Walking over towards where he was still down on his knees, you reached out to push his messy damp curls away from his forehead, smoothing them back with your fingers, and lightly dragged your nails along his scalp in the process.

“Take a break.”

Frank abruptly paused, turning his head to look up at you with those warm brown eyes that could melt you into a puddle on the spot. He knew you like the back of his hand, and he recognized the barely concealed desire in your heated gaze, and heard the breathy need in your voice. He didn’t need to be told twice. 

His gaze flickered down to your bare thighs that were right at his eye level before he looked up at you again, and he slowly set down the screwdriver on the floor. He reached for your ankle, lightly trailing his fingertips up your calf, along the back of your knee, before gliding his warm callused hand up your thigh and giving it a squeeze, his fingers teasingly dipping beneath the hem of your skirt.

“Yes ma’am.”

A soft shuddering breath left your lips as Frank held eye contact with you while leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your thigh. Letting out a breathy laugh, you carded your fingers through his hair again, giving it a gentle tug while looking down at him with a grin.

“I should be thanking you for doing all this. You gonna let me?”

Frank let out a quiet grunt when you tugged at his hair gently, and he gripped your hips to pull you directly in front of him just to press your back against the counter, his greedy hands already hiking your skirt up to your hips.

“Why don’t you let me take my gratitude how I want it, yeah?”

He didn’t give you a chance to protest before your panties were pooled around one of your ankles and one of your legs was pulled over his shoulder to open you up for him.

Your grip on his hair instantly tightened, the strands warm and damp against your fingers, unable to stop yourself from tugging him impossibly closer with a satisfied moan feeling that first swipe of his tongue. One of his large hands gripped your thigh that was on his shoulder, digging his blunt nails into your soft flesh, and his other had a tight grip on your hip to keep you steady as you leaned back against the counter and started to roll your hips against his face.

He didn’t stop you. He gave your hip a squeeze of encouragement and moved even closer on his knees, burying his face in your soaked cunt like he couldn’t get enough, and he usually couldn’t.

“Oh f-fuck…Frank…God right there-”

Your eyes nearly crossed when he sealed his lips around your clit and started suckling, and the edge of the counter dug into your back as you arched against it, tugging at his hair with both hands now as sensual moans and breathy pleas flew past your parted lips.

As much as you wanted to come on his pretty face, the desire you felt for him was so much stronger. Giving his hair a sharper tug, you practically had to beg him to relent, which was not a simple task.

“Frankie…please…I want you.”

He gave you only a moment of mercy to gruffly speak against your drenched pussy.

“You got me, baby.”

“I want more.”

Frank chuckled as he turned his head to kiss and nip at your inner thigh.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?”

“Frank.”

Another deep chuckle rumbled in his chest at your desperate whine of his name, and he rubbed his rough hand over your soft skin soothingly.

“What is it, sweetheart? Tell me what ya want.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Those seemed to be the magic words, and as soon as Frank rose to his full height, you grabbed the front of his tank top that was soaked with sweat and pulled him down for a messy kiss raw with hunger and need. Frank’s tongue parted the seam of your lips to tangle with your own while his large hands roamed down your body to grab your ass and squeeze firmly. His hardened cock was straining against the zipper of his jeans, pressing against your lower belly, begging to be freed. But the second you reached for his belt buckle, he grabbed your hips and swiftly spun you around to bend you over the counter.

The jingle of his belt being unbuckled and his zipper being tugged down were dull in comparison to your own blood pumping in your ears, your heartbeat as loud as raucous thunder. You’d been holding your breath in anticipation, but all the air in your lungs was quickly knocked out when he pushed his hips forward and his thick girth stretched out your snug walls in one swift thrust, nestling so deep you swore you could feel him in your lower stomach.

In an instant you slumped against the counter, and your eyes rolled while your jaw went slack, a choked moan echoing throughout the kitchen. Frank leaned over you, pressing his chest flush against your back, one of his hands gripping your hip while his other snaked around and reached up to wrap his hand around your throat, giving it a gentle squeeze.

He nuzzled his large nose against your neck, kissing and nipping at your heated skin, dragging his tongue along the shell of your ear, rocking his hips against your ass as he fucked you with slow deep strokes, even though everything in him wanted to fuck you with reckless abandon. Frank never rushed anything, but especially not pleasing you.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. This what you wanted, yeah?”

Blindly reaching behind you, your fingers grasped at whatever you could find to anchor yourself to, the fabric of his tank top clutched tightly in your fingers. 

“Frank-”

“I know baby, I know.”

It was almost eerie how well he knew your body, oftentimes better than you did. He knew exactly what you liked, and exactly what you needed, when you needed it. He kept his hold on your throat, but he let go of your hip so he could slip his hand down between your thighs, strumming his fingers over your clit in rapid succession, making you writhe in the limited space you were trapped in between the counter and his large body.

He let out a grunt when he felt you clench around his cock, but he held out on his own pleasure, always making sure you were well satisfied before he even thought about letting go. He let out a quiet moan in your ear when he felt you come for him, felt the warm wetness of your pussy drowning his cock and soaking your inner thighs and the denim of his jeans.

His hips stuttered, and he let out a guttural groan in your ear as he pushed himself flush against you, gripping onto you tightly as he followed your climax. Your pulsing cunt milked his cock in a way that made his forehead drop against your shoulder, and the soft whimper it tore from him made your knees weak and made that desire burn even hotter.

Both of you were panting heavily, and Frank was peppering soft kisses along your neck and shoulder, giving your hip a gentle squeeze before he slowly started to pull out. But little did he know, you were far from finished.

Not even giving him a second to think, you straightened up on your wobbly legs and turned to face him, fisting the front of his tank top as you pushed him backwards and up against the island behind you. Frank looked down at you in bewilderment, his hands instinctively shooting out to grab your hips.

“What-”

“You got to take your gratitude how you want, now I get to say thank you how I want.”

Flashing him a devilish smirk, you kept your eyes locked on his as you sank down to your knees in front of him, and Frank’s confusion quickly transitioned into hunger, his softened cock already stirring once again with need.

“Well this is definitely fuckin’ worth all the goddamn splinters.”

[raevpng]

only you (pt.1)

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

masterlist

chapter 2

summary: everyone tunes in when they share a court — paige bueckers and azzi fudd, former team mates, once golden duo, turned wnba rivals. they were the perfect match on court, and no one could deny it. but no one knows what goes on under the surface of competition and rivalry, not even them.

a/n: holy shit. i’m really stepping out my usual zone here, i hope people still enjoy this 😭 please flood my inbox w your thoughts i will acc combust 😓

lights, camera, action.

“and now, number five from minnesota: paige bueckers!”

she walks out the tunnel like she owns it.

and in a way, she does.

star player, once in a generation talent, a prodigy.

gelled blonde hair gleaming under the lights, pulled slick into a bun, not a single hair astray. her jersey clings to her frame in all the right places — crisp, powerful, unforgiving. her steps are long, her posture regal, eyes laser-sharp and dead ahead. not a flicker of hesitation.

she doesn’t wave. she doesn’t look around. she doesn’t need to. every movement is purposeful, every step is a message: she’s not here to impress. she’s here to dominate.

because paige bueckers was every inch the prodigy the world made her out to be.

there was something about her, something about the way she moved, something about the way she just is.

not arrogance. not some bravado.

it’s fire. the kind you’re either born with or broken by.

the stadium erupts, shaking with the sound with only one name cutting through the noise. number five jerseys can be seen scattered in the stands, phones flashing, people on their feet.

but she doesn’t flinch. doesn’t flash a smile, doesn’t cast a wave.

she gets to work.

–

“and now, number thirty-five from washington: azzi fudd!”

the energy doesn’t die — it shifts.

softer. steadier. like an exhale after a held breath.

azzi walks out like a sigh of wind after a storm. calm, composed, unbothered. her shoulders are relaxed, her posture open. a soft smile curves on her lips, eyes crinkling at the corners as she offers a brief wave to the crowd. no theatrics, no nothing for show.

just azzi. composed. radiant. untouchable in her own way.

she moves like she’s done this millions of times.

like she was born for this.

she doesn’t strut. doesn’t burn. she doesn’t smirk.

she floats.

every step is fluid, unhurried. there’s grace in her movement, a rhythm that feels almost surreal. like she’s not walking toward battle. she walks like she’s already won.

azzi moves like water, unshaken, gentle, graceful yet undeniably strong in her movements. she moves like she’s a dream, textbook perfection. her hair is braided back with precision, cascading in sleek, thick ropes down her shoulders. her jersey is neat, fitted – not a wrinkle in sight. she doesn’t need flash or flair. never has.

yet her essence, captivating as ever, held everyone’s attention effortlessly.

and that was just who azzi fudd was.

she commands attention without a word spoken, she doesn’t force her presence – she lets it simmer and burn.

the crowd roars, not all-consuming, not rabid — but reverent. like they’re watching greatness in motion and they know it.

azzi’s never been the loudest in the room.she never needed to be.

that’s danger. that’s her poison. because people mistake quiet for softness.

she moves in an eerie calmness, a stillness that makes people underestimate. she moves like she has nothing to prove. her game speaks. her presence follows. she smiles when they cheer, and when she steps onto the court, there’s a certain calm that settles over everything.

but not today.

no, never with her.

–

it was only for a second – easy to miss and easy to forget.

brown eyes lock on blue, and the shift in the air was instant. azzi’s shoulders go stiff. the light in her eyes dulls. the smile falters.

and yeah, she may be chronically offline, but she’s seen what they say. she’s seen enough social media posts, podcasts, and even competitors analyze them and their game.

once-in-a-generation rivalry. all that respectful-competition bullshit. best of the best. prodigy vs perfection.

the crowd eats it up, her teammates, the commentators, her coach even, to laugh it off as some recipe for crowd engagement.

she lets them – like the tension doesn’t linger. like it doesn’t follow them across cities, into games, under lights.

azzi was the first to break eye contact, turning away to join her team. the huddle is familiar, robotic. another pep talk she barely hears. another game plan she doesn’t need.

“run the play. get it to fudd. let her shoot.”

don’t fuck up.

the horn sounds and they break, lights brightening as they take their place on the court.

azzi feels the burn of paige’s stare immediately.

she feels it like a flame to skin, feels it like a needle breaking the surface. it burns. it follows. it waits.

and underneath it all, buried deep beneath the applause and camera flashes and crafted quotes lies something heavier. a charge, hatred that runs underneath the surface.

something unspoken and undeniable.

–

the mystics win the tip off, just barely.

and before the ball even gets anywhere near her hands, paige is on her. glued to her side, falling like a shadow that just won’t fucking quit. she’s everywhere all at once, no adjustment or grace period offered. it’s immediate, it’s aggressive.

frankly, it’s fucking annoying.

“of course,” azzi mutters under her breath, catching the ball at the wing, paige already crouched low in front of her. she watches the furrow on the blonde’s brow, the stoic and determined look on her features.

they don’t speak, not even a nod of acknowledgement.

paige dares her to drive. wide stance. locked gaze.

but azzi doesn’t fall for it. she’s seen that bait before. she sees the slight lean, the twitch of her left wrist, the small glace that paige throws at her side.

she stays planted. she doesn’t move.

she holds the ball at her hip, calm, heartbeat steady, watching paige watch her. waiting. azzi entertains it, expects it even, and waits for a second to pull her move: a quick jab, a flawless crossover, step back, pullup.

and fuck her honestly, cause paige reads it perfectly.

she’s there at the release, hand up, elbow contesting. like she knew the moment azzi even thought of taking the shot.

the ball grazes the rim.

rebound. minnesota.

and now, it was paige’s turn – inbounds, a quick cut. she takes the ball in stride and charges down court, calling for a clearout.

azzi slides into her path before anyone could switch.

there were people everywhere, fans screaming so loud it could genuinely rattle a building. so realistically, this feeling should be impossible. yet, in the court, under fluorescent lights and squeaking on floor, they were alone, the space feeling too big and too small all at once.

paige starts her rhythm – bounce, crossover, the same step she’s broken ankles with since high school. and it works, it always does.

not with azzi.

because she’s been guarding that move since she was seventeen.

“try again,” her eyes say, calm, unbothered, almost tauntingly.

“fine.” paige thought.

let's play.

she pivots, muscles tense, tries a spin off the back foot, pulling the ball behind her with elegance and bite. it was the move she used to demo in every skills camp. azzi barely reacts, feet planted, doesn’t even reach. she’s already there. their shoulders collide, clean, but solid. paige absorbs it, jaw clenched, and releases the ball out before the shot clock dies.

another miss.

the crowd roars, half in disappointment and the other in anticipation. they don’t hear the too loud breathing of their star players.

because nothing was landing, nothing was working.

it wasn’t luck, hell it wasn’t even skill.

it was memory.

possession flips, and azzi cuts baseline – sharp and flawless. she loses her defender, one paige’s teammates that towered over her frame.

but not paige. never paige.

she’s there before azzi even plants her feet. like she knew.

and of course, she did.

because paige taught her that footwork.

azzi learned it by watching paige move.

azzi calls for a screen. paige slips it. stays on her hip. breathes down her neck.

“this isn’t college anymore,” paige mutters, voice low.

and fuck, she feels herself almost give in, almost bite at the bait and lashes out in the way paige was clearly fishing for.

drive. shoulder drop. fake step-in.

paige doesn’t flinch.

because she taught her that fake.

azzi spins, tries to shake her off, gets to the elbow, and shoots.

paige’s hand is already up.

swish.

they jog back on defense side by side, shoulders brushing once, just once.

and it burns.

like fire and ice meeting at the edges.

like too much history with no closure.

“and the lynx call for their first time out.”

–

coach’s voice blares somewhere in the background, barking out instructions, arms slicing throughout the air with urgency. he rambles on about defence, warns about thirty-five and her game. but paige doesn’t hear any of it.

she plops down the bench, chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath. her eyes remained locked across the room. on azzi.

she watched as she walks calmly to her bench, a soft smile on her face as she turned to the crowd and waves.

paige almost lets out a laugh.

what bullshit.

but before she turns away, azzi looks back.

it’s not a glace, not a stare, not even a glare.

it’s a collision.

something sharp, wordless, cold. not hate. not exactly. more like recognition.

“paige.” a sharp elbow to her side kicks her out of her trance, glancing swiftly at kayla who stared at her quizzically. silent questions swimming in her eyes that paige was not willing to at all indulge in.

“you good?” kayla asks, eyeing her warily as she drags a towel across her face. “you look like you saw a ghost.”

accurate.

“just tired,” paige mutters, rubbing a hand over her face, like that’ll erase whatever the hell just passed between her and azzi.

“nah,” kayla says, still watching her. “it’s her.”

paige raised a brow, scoffing like it was an insult.

“azzi,” kayla says, tossing her water bottle from one hand to the other. “she’s calm against everybody. chill. never plays with heat, even cracks a smile. but when it’s you?”

she hesitates, pausing like she knew she needed to watch where she stepped.

“it’s like she turns into someone else.”

paige scoffs, chugging her bottle of water before shrugging.

“guess we bring out the best in each other,” she says, dry. textbook. like she’s said it to reporters a thousand times.

kayla only stares before slowly nodding.

paige stands up.

–

azzi physically hears her heartbeat pounding in her ears. her chest was taut as she breathed in and out slowly, embracing the tightness in her lungs that only came through intense games. she was mid-gulp when aaliyah sat beside her.

“bro.” she says through a laugh, “you and paige, i swear yall are different, that was art!”

azzi doesn’t respond. just sips. just catches her breath.

“seriously.” aaliyah presses, “fucking unreal. your moves don’t work and hers doesn’t either. it’s like you're destined to be perfectly matched or something.”

azzi’s jaw tightens. she stretches her legs out, not looking up.

“maybe it’s ‘cause y’all used to be besties, huh?” aaliyah jokes, nudging her with an elbow.

yeah, that one landed.

azzi sets her bottle down with a practiced calmness, standing up before looking back at her friend.

“i’m beating her tonight.”

aaliyah blinks, clearly caught off guard. “woah. okay. i mean-”

azzi is already on her feet, bouncing on her toes, like the bench is suffocating and the court is the only place she can breathe.

–

the score is tied.

the court is a beautiful blur of motion – sneakers on floor, the ball passed and swished through the net, half-formed plays and forced decisions. adrenaline pulses through every player, every coach yelling from the sidelines, every fan rising to their feet with phones pointed and mouths open.

the clock ticks down, and it feels like the oxygen was very quickly getting sucked out of the room.

6… 5…

paige’s eyes find her across the paint, just outside the arc. azzi’s calm, terrifyingly so. the ball already in her hands, chest rising in steady rhythm.

4…

paige surges forward. she knows azzi’s game like her own. she knows that flick of her wrist, the way her weight shifts ever so slightly before a drive. she taught her that footwork. she built her counters.

but azzi?

she knows paige too.

knows exactly what version paige stopped knowing.

she fakes right. paige bites.

3…

azzi pivots left, quick. too quick. her elbow brushes paige’s ribs on the spin.

2…

the separation is just enough. she pulls up. soft, clean release. picture perfect form.

1.

the buzzer sounds.

the net ripples.

swish.

game over.

–

azzi doesn’t celebrate. doesn’t scream, doesn’t even cheer.

she exhales, deep and slow, like a pressure on her chest was suddenly lifted. like it’s been there, sitting in her lungs since the jump ball.

her teammates erupt behind her. the bench floods the court. someone jumps on her back and nearly knocks her off her feet, but azzi doesn’t break stride as she walks away from the three-point line.

her eyes? already on paige.

–

paige turns away.

because fuck, she refuses to do it.

she refuses to let her see.

let her see what this meant to her.

hands on hips. mouth parted. heart pounding so loud she swears it drowns out the crowd. azzi’s shot replays on the jumbotron above her in slow motion. her own silhouette a step too late, hand raised but not high enough. it burns. worse than any loss she’s had this season. and she hates that she knows why. she knows what bothers her, what annoys the hell out of her.

it wasn’t stats, it wasn’t about the numbers, hell it wasn’t even about the fans.

it’s who made it and how damn calm she looked doing it.

azzi’s expression hasn’t changed. not even as she walks by her, just close enough that their shoulders brush.

they don’t speak.

don’t nod. don’t smile.

and it sears through paige’s chest.

[zhelin-thames]

Danny Meets Dex-Starr

here you go @freelancerofthetriforcekeyblade

Masterpost

Gotham’s sewers echo with dripping water and the eerie glow of Danny’s ghost light as he chases specter.

Danny: “Seriously, why do ghosts always pick the grossest places to hang out? I’m not getting ecto-slimed again—”

Danny stops mid-sentence as a glowing red light cuts through the darkness. He turns to see Dex-Starr, his fur bristling and eyes blazing with rage. The Red Lantern’s power hums like a low growl, and his plasma-filled mouth drips with molten fury.

Danny: [Hovering slightly back] “…Okay, not a ghost. Definitely not a ghost. Uh, hi there, kitty?”

Dex-Starr: [Snarling, his voice guttural and dripping with anger] “Back away, human, or I’ll incinerate you!”

Danny: [Waving his hands] “Whoa, easy there, Garfield! I didn’t mean to—wait, did you just talk?!”

Dex-Starr: [His tail lashes as he floats closer] “Of course I talk, you fool. And I don’t take kindly to being interrupted.”

Danny: [Floating down to the sewer floor] “Okay, first of all, rude. Second, what’s a space cat doing in Gotham’s sewer? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, chasing laser pointers on a planet somewhere?”

Dex-Starr: [Eyes narrowing] “I’m here because humans are scum. My vengeance knows no bounds. Now leave, before I show you just how powerful a Red Lantern can be.”

Danny: [Crossing his arms] “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before. Ghosts, villains, angry interdimensional beings—it’s always, ‘I hate humans, rawr rawr rawr.’ You sound like my arch-nemesis, dude.”

Dex-Starr: [Leaning forward, hissing] “And yet, you’re still standing here, mocking me.”

Danny: [Shrugs, glowing green energy sparking in his hands] “Because I’ve dealt with worse. So, what’s the deal? You’re not exactly doing the whole ‘justice’ thing right now, and I’m kinda curious why you’re so… hangry.”

Dex-Starr pauses, his growling softening as if caught off-guard by Danny’s calm demeanor. His plasma dims slightly.

Dex-Starr: [Flatly] “Why do you care?”

Danny: [Sitting cross-legged midair] “Because I’ve been there, okay? Mad at the world, thinking everyone’s out to get me. My parents literally hunt people like me, so, yeah, I get it.”

The glow in Dex-Starr’s eyes flickers. For a moment, the rage seems to wane.

Dex-Starr: [Skeptical] “You… you’re serious?”

Danny: [Offering a ghostly ecto-snack from his pocket] “Yep. Now, do you want to talk about it or just keep being Gotham’s angriest furball?”

Dex-Starr: [Eying the snack, his voice softer] “…You’re weird.”

Danny: [Grinning] “Yeah, I get that a lot. But you’re still taking the snack, right?”

[longlivejemily]

After Office Hours p.2

Read Part 1 here!

Pairing: Professor!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader continues to receive more extra credit at office hours with Professor Reid.

WC: 2.5k

Warning: Student/teacher relationship, slight sub/dom dynamics, semi-public sex, fingering (f receiving), hair pulling (f receiving), use of “baby,” “little girl,” and y/n. plz let me know if I’m missing any!

You spent 3 days with Dr. Reid being the only thing on your mind. Replaying Thursday night over and over and over. It was the last thing you thought of when you fell asleep, and the first thing you thought of when you woke up. The morning after you planned to study most of the day, so much for that. The image of him underneath you, holding you as you came undone is persistent in staying at the front of your mind. You spent at least an hour and a half zoned out imagining all the ways next week's office hours could go. Don’t show up before 7. What did he mean by that? What’s going to happen after office hours this week? 

Your criminology class is the only one you have on Mondays. You spent most of the day getting ready for his lecture. You took that time to pay more attention to your hair, makeup, and outfit. Taking one last look in the mirror before you left, you questioned if you did too much. Curled hair, winged liner, and so much jewelry to the point that you’re sparkling. At the last minute, you brush out your curls. Deciding to trade these fresh barrel curls for a light wave that will be easy to toss over your shoulder. You take off some of the jewelry, this is your criminology class, not a red carpet. 

With every step closer to his door, your anxiety grows. You sit in your normal seat, the third row back in the center. When he walks in, he glances towards you for just a second, and that is the only time he acknowledges you all day. 

You are more distracted than ever before in his class. 4 days ago he was still an object of your fantasies. Now you know how his hands feel on your body, how his voice sounds as he talks you through your orgasm. He talks with his hands when he lectures, you’ve never hated it until today.

All day you were falling behind in your notes. At one point he misspelled on the chalkboard and wiped away his mistake with his pointer and middle finger. Imagining those two fingers inside you had you lost in your dreams for at least 5 minutes. You regained consciousness and were focused on the material for all of 45 seconds when he decided to sit on his desk. Your eyes were laser-focused on his crotch while he subtly man-spread. Is he doing these things just to fuck with you? It was hard to say, he never made eye contact. As he would scan the room his eyes would skip yours. 

Was he trying to hide his attraction? Maybe if he didn’t look at you nothing ever happened? You felt a fire in the pit of your stomach. Not sexual tension, something else. Jealousy? You noticed his eyes linger on the front row which was all girls just auditing. They were there oogle at your professor for 3 hours a week and then had the audacity to come to office hours. Because they were auditing, their questions weren’t about the class and criminology, but about his social life and where he spends his free time. Hoping to get a glance at the professor when he wasn’t in teaching mode. 

You never liked those girls, they were distracting, and couldn’t care less about criminology or profiling. But now, you hate them. You want his glances at them to be towards you instead. You want to giggle at his jokes and have his eyes meet yours with a smile. How did one hour with him make you so possessive?

“That’s all for today, class. We’ll pick up where we left off on Wednesday. Please read chapters 12 and 13 in preparation.” As soon as he uttered that last word, you were out of there.

–

Your Wednesday class with Dr. Reid went the same as the class before. He simply ignored you. In hopes of getting his attention, you wore the same thing to class as you did during office hours last week. You arrive at class before him and when he walks in and sees you, he pauses for a moment, sucks in a breath, and continues his walk to his desk. Thanks to him you weren’t the only one with profiling skills. You noticed the slight change in his step and knew you had him hooked. Too bad he's not hooked enough that he still ignored you for all of class. Every time you raised your hand to answer a question he called on someone else. You’ve always been a jealous person, but this is something else. Possession, obsession, you needed to make him yours. This ‘game’ he was playing was getting really annoying.

–

You were an anxious mess for most of Thursday. You didn’t absorb any knowledge from your classes and skipped your study sessions with some classmates due to your zombie-like behavior. Not a zombie focused on brains, but Professor Reid. You even skipped your stats class due to worries that you would get out even later and miss your office hours with Dr. Reid. 

You traded your usual mini skirts for a knee-length one, which is more comfortable for your lack of underwear. You’re wearing thigh-high stockings with Mary Jane’s and a chunky sweater. Under the sweater, you have an extremely thin lace bra. You shaved your entire body this morning to get ready for him. Your makeup is gorgeous but mild, and completely waterproof. You have no idea how tonight is going to go, got to be prepared!

The click of your heels down the hallway and the blood rushing in your ears are the only things you can hear on the walk to Dr. Reid’s office. You take a deep breath to ground yourself before you turn the corner of his hallway. It’s 7:05 and you hang out for a few moments outside his door. You pretend to read a plaque on the wall that lists the prominent people to have come out of your university. You are trying to look busy in case another student exits his office. After 5 minutes of reading the names of old white men, you get the courage to knock on his door. You only have to wait a few moments after knocking for him to appear in front of you. Your neck snaps up to meet his eyes as a shy smile appears on both of your faces. “Y/N! Thank you for coming to office hours, welcome.” He steps to the side letting you enter, locking the door behind him just as last time. 

Hearing the click of the lock sends heat straight to your core. You have to resist the urge to climb him like a tree. Instead, you both sit across from each other, the desk and thick air of sexual tension the only thing between you. You are having deja vu from last week as he asks, “What can I do for you?” Earth-shattering rough sex would be just fine, you think to yourself. “Yeah I do have a question about class this week, were you having fun teasing me?” He licks his lips and avoids eye contact. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He says with a gulp.

 “Oh fess up professor.” You say while standing and walking over to the other side of his desk. You sit atop it facing him while keeping your ankles crossed. You don’t want to tip him off about your lack of underwear just yet. You flash a smile at him while touching his knee with the side of your foot. “Okay,” he says with a sigh. “I wasn’t teasing you. Not on purpose, at least. I felt that if I acknowledged you, for some reason everyone would know about us.” You blush at his last syllable as he continues. “This job is very important to me, it gives me purpose. But also I can’t get you out of my head. I was afraid of my glances lingering too long and tipping someone off. I traded my glances at you for glances at the auditors in the front row. I was looking at them, but only thinking about you.”

You smirk at the subtle shade he throws at the girls who are paying to look at him twice a week. “Less talking about the girls in the front row, let's move forward with how I can gain some extra credit.” You say while uncrossing your ankles. He is immediately peaking underneath your skirt. He starts to blush when he meets your eyes and knows he's been caught. “Dr Reid you don’t have to sneak a peak, just ask,” you say in a seductive tone while slowly spreading your legs. He slightly rolls his chair back to get a better view. He sees something shiny between your thighs. It takes a moment for him to realize that it's your slick catching the low light in his office. When he realises you skipped on underwear he grunts and stands up. He stands in between your spread thighs and puts his strong hands on your waist. “No underwear huh?” You blush and look away. 

He takes a hand and grabs your chin to look up at him. “You’re brave walking around campus like that.” “What can I say? You’re worth the risk.” Those suggestive words make Spencer lose all of his control. He grips your face with both of his hands and kisses you with fervor and passion. You kiss him back with the pent-up feelings you’ve been having all semester. You’ve never been kissed like this, it’s like he wants to swallow you whole. His tongue is tasting all of you like a man starved. When you pull back for air he doesn’t stop, just lowers his head and continues his assault on your neck. Sucking on your pulse point causes you to let out a moan, and he moans back. 

His eyes meet yours and he eagerly says, “Can I touch you?” “Please.” His lips find your neck again and he wastes no time putting his fingers to your clit. You moan immediately and he catches your mouth with his. He whispers against your lips, “Shh baby can’t have anyone hearing you. Gotta be quiet for me.” You nod eagerly and he continues devouring your neck. You have always had a fascination with his hands; feeling them against your most sensitive spot is quite literally a dream come true.

You pull him back up from your neck and connect your lips once again. You can’t get enough of him. His tongue dances with yours naturally, like muscle memory. As he draws shapes over your nerves your mind goes blank with bliss. Dr. Reid is taking up all of your senses. It’s as though he’s all you’ve ever known. You could die right now and be okay with it. 

You start to feel that familiar heat in your abdomen, feeling shocked at how quickly he got you here. A man has never been this successful with you before. Dr. Reid plunges two fingers inside of you unexpectedly, and you moan loudly into his mouth. He pauses his movements to whisper, “Be quiet little girl I’m not gonna tell you again.” It’s so hard to stay quiet with his beautiful hands in you and his perfect lips on you. If his fingers feel this good you can’t imagine how good his dick is going to feel. The way he’s slamming his fingers into you has tears of joy pricking at the corners of your eyes. You’re gripping the edge of his desk tight as if this moment will disappear when you let go. 

As his long fingers fill you up just right, his palm meets your clit in a delicious way. “Oh god doctor don’t stop” you instinctively moan. “Never baby, this is -oh- all for you.” He’s getting off by just providing you pleasure, you wonder how well this will benefit you in the future. His free hand grabs a handful of hair and pulls your head back. “Is this what you wanted little girl? Gave a ruse of extra credit just so I could fuck you with my hand?” You’re too drunk on him to form a coherent response, a string of moans pours out of your mouth instead. “I thought you were a smart girl huh? did I fuck you stupid?” No response, just a breathy moan. 

He feels your pussy tightening on him, “Oh my god Dr. Reid.” “Come for me, baby.” He starts kissing you again as you come. You truly thought this could only happen in your dreams. Making out with Dr. Reid while he finger-fucks you and you’re cumming all over his hands. Your vision goes white and you feel your soul rise out of your body. This is the best orgasm you’ve ever had. When you come back to earth, Dr. Reid's hand is still in your pussy and he is still kissing you. Your lips are barely moving at this point but he doesn’t care, he just wants to keep tasing you. 

You pull back from him and look at him amazed. He looks back at you concerned but then you just smile. You see him start to relax. “You okay?” “More than okay,” you say with a giggle. “Thank you, professor. That was truly educational.” “Oh yeah? What’d you learn?” “How your hands feel when they’re inside of me. It was even better than I hoped.” He smiles and gives you a quick kiss and grabs both of your hands. “Can you stand?” As you slide off his desk your knees buckle a little but the Doctor catches you and helps you stand up straight. “Sorry, I thought I’d fully recovered.” “Are you going to be okay getting home, y/n?” “Yeah, my apartment is only like a 10-minute walk.” 

“A ten-minute walk for someone your age is about half a mile! Please let me take you home.” “It’s okay Dr. Reid it’s a safe campus and I’m always aware of my surroundings.” “I don’t know it’s kind of late.” “I do this walk all the time when it’s dark. I’ll let my roommates know I’m coming home and to watch my location. I’ll be okay I promise.” He raises an eyebrow at you. He steps away from you for the first time since you got here to dig through his desk drawer. He pulls out sticky notes and a pen and jots something down quickly. “This is my cell phone number. Please text me once you’re home.” 

You are screaming on the inside when you grab the paper from him and your fingertips brush. Dr. Reids phone number!!! No way this is actually happening. You grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder before you say goodbye. “Thank you, Dr. Reid. This was fun.” “It’s always a pleasure Ms. y/l/n. Same time next week?” “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You smile, turn away from him, and walk out the door. 

a/n: thank you all so much for your support on this story! It means so much to me and makes me want to continue writing. Sorry this took so long, I had so many ideas it was hard to decide on which way to go with this story. Please keep liking and sharing and I would love more ideas!

Taglist: @beansarecooler @bubbleebubz thank you ily

[miniimight]

MISSING A DATE . they forget about a big date with you and realize it too late

with deku + bakugou (in their pro-hero era)

one thing about him is that he always tried his absolute best to make time for you amid his busy schedule. you understood that you weren't the only one that demanded his attention due to his work and were okay with that. as long as you still got your 'me-time' with him, where he blocked out the world and focused on you and only you, you couldn't ask for a more perfect relationship.

but this was your last straw. you had forgiven the late nights, the last-minute cancellations—gotten used to being alone in your luxurious apartment, which only reminded you of the one thing you were missing.

you had planned this date for months. a set time where you both blocked off time that night to just be with each other in a word that tried everything to keep you apart.

"remember tonight, baby." you chirped as you kissed him goodbye that morning.

he hummed and gave you a tight hug before leaving.

you felt giddy as you prepared yourself, slipping into your best clothes and fixing yourself in the mirror. you felt as you did on the night of your first date with him. you couldn't be more excited.

then, you waited. and waited. the restaurant happily sat you next to a window, the streetlamps twinkling romantically against the dusky backdrop.

you waited some more. soon your bright posture slouched as your checked your phone. messaged him a couple times, called a few times more. he's probably just running late.

families came and went, and before you knew it, hours had passed.

you burned in embarrassment as you stared at the empty chair across from you, focusing your frustration as if he was sitting there. but even that didn't give you relief. every one of your thoughts and feelings came to the same conclusion—

he hadn't shown up.

IZUKU

you ordered some food to-go. why not get something out of this outing? besides, the food would do good to distract you from the dread swirling in your stomach. you flashed the server a quick smile before dragging your feet out the restaurant.

you threw your bag, coat, and shoes to the ground as you walked into your apartment, uncaring of where they ended up. you needed the couch, a movie, and the food you were carrying.

a few hours later, izuku showed up. you heard the door slide open and the jangle of his keys. his heavy sigh was familiar and it almost made you feel bad for feeling so angry about him missing this date. almost.

you made no move to greet him as he entered the living space, a big grin plastered on his face. "you look pretty."

the compliment was just salt on the wound, ironically. you hummed, remaining laser focused on your show.

he tugged off his white gloves and set them on the table. "what's got you all dressed up tonight, hmm?" he sat next to you, running his hands up and down your arm.

you just handed him one of the takeout boxes. "want some?" you said dryly.

"what's this—? oh, i recognize the name of this restaurant..." he surveyed the box in his hands, his voice becoming quieter as he sunk into his thoughts. "oh."

you got off the couch.

"oh." he repeated, staring at the takeout box incredulously. "baby, don't tell me tonight was—"

"it was." you said simply, walking into the bedroom. you couldn't bear to look at him.

"fuck." you heard him hiss. a light thudding followed as he hurried after you. "y/n, god, i'm so sorry—don't tell me you went there alone—"

"izuku, i don't care anymore." you turned around abruptly, making him skid to a halt before you. his expression read shock. "i don't."

he slumped and inched closer to you. "no, don't say that—"

"you don't give me a reason to care anymore." you laughed wryly though your lips trembled. "i—" your breath hitched and you turned away from him.

his voice sounded watery as he tried to turn your body to face him again. "i'm so sorry, there was a hangout at the agency after work today and... shit, i totally forgot—"

"a fucking party?" you snapped. "you blew off the date you and i planned for months in advance because we never get to spend time together anymore to hang out with the same goddamn people you see every single day?"

he groaned. "i know, i know—"

"you don't know, izuku." your voice quivered. "you don't, okay?" you sobbed.

he was stunned to silence, unsure of how to right something so horribly wrong.

"you don't know what it's like to always be waiting. i'm always waiting for you. you always have something better to do." you sobbed, sitting on the edge of the bed. you really didn't want to have this conversation with him; you knew you'd break down sobbing. you thought it would've been best if he didn't come back home at all.

he knelt beside you, resting his head where your knees hung over the bed. he stared up at your heartbroken face with tears threatening to flow. "there is nothing that deserves my time more than you." he said firmly.

"you say that as if it's true." you said quietly. "but you don't even..." you looked away from him to reign in your emotions.

he frowned deeply. he knew it was all his fault. you reminded him this morning and he still forgot. you had no reason to believe the words coming out of his mouth. that doesn't mean he's going to stop trying to prove them.

he rested his head against your stomach and wrapped his arms around you tightly. "you have every right to hate me right now, y/n. you've been lonely and overlooked and i haven't done anything to make things better."

you refused to look at him.

he tilted his head with hopes of catching your gaze. "y/n, i mean it. there's nothing that deserves my time more than you. anyone else would've left me. you've given me love and understanding with my hero work..." he choked on his words, finally facing the reality of his relationship. "and i've just taken it and left you behind."

you sniffled.

he stood, bending at the waist to kiss your forehead. "i love you. so much. it's time i start proving it, huh?"

your eyes flickered to his, questioning evident on your expression.

he smiled sadly. "japan has many heroes. i'm sure kacchan and todoroki can handle things without me for a while."

you huffed and rolled your eyes. "very funny. you're a hero, izuku, it's in your nature to shoulder everything." you pouted, guilt threatening to inhabit your thoughts.

he shook his head, cupping your cheeks in his hands. "i'm dead serious. the world doesn't need me everyday, you do. and i'll adjust my schedule to suit."

"but..." you groaned. "god, why do i feel guilty now?" you mumbled.

"stop it. you're not keeping me away from anything. this was long overdue. nothing would make me happier," he grinned and kissed you again before tackling you in a hug.

BAKUGOU

you left the restaurant without another word, feeling so sick to the stomach that you couldn't even bear to go home to the empty apartment.

you tried desperately to convince yourself that something important was holding him up. he didn't forget. he just had some life-threatening epic battle that he needed to attend to. he didn't forget.

you crashed at a friend's house for the night, after a very satisfying rant session about your dilemma. they were a great soundboard and didn't try to regulate your emotions. in a lot of cases, just letting your feelings fly free was the best way to cope with a situation out of your hands.

rrrring rrring

you saw the caller ID and was tempted to ignore the call. but your hands moved on their own, accepting it and putting the phone to your ear.

"y/n l/n." bakugou snarled on the other side. "where the fuck are you?"

"a friend's house."

"why?"

you shrugged, hoping your unbothered reaction would be translated across the phone. "wanted to be with someone last night after my boyfriend stood me up."

silence. a very long silence. you heard him cuss under his breath before he replied. "yesterday was our date."

you hummed.

"y/n. come home."

"i'm good here, really."

"i'm serious, come home."

"why? the off-chance of seeing you there?"

his voice grew more desperate. "y/n—" his breath caught in his throat. "i'm home. i'm waiting for you. we can do something today, maybe—"

"katsuki, you can't keep treating me like a test that you can make up whenever you fail the real thing. you're not there when it fucking matters." you snapped, your resolve crumbling as your eyes started to water.

he gave a weighted sigh. "you're right. i've been treating you like shit."

you scoffed.

"but you're always on my mind. every time i see you asleep when you were trying to wait up for me, i—" he inhaled deeply, trying to keep it together. "i'm not the best boyfriend. believe me, i know that. and i'm losing you... i can see that, too."

you waited.

he sniffed. "come home, y/n. please. i—"

you hung up. you tossed your phone aside and stretched. you gently wiped at your cheeks, realizing how many tears streaked them.

after thanking your friend for their hospitality, you decided to go home. you dreaded the conversation that awaited you. uncertainty riddled your thoughts; was this the end?

you opened the door and immediately heard pounding footsteps to meet you. bakugou stood there, looking uncharacteristically stressed and awkward.

you just gave him a passing glance as you slipped off your shoes, hanging your coat up. you walked past him, going to the washroom to refresh yourself with a much needed shower.

as the water ran down your skin, you began to feel guilty. he was a hero. he saved lives. and you were crying over a missed date with him? when his mere presence meant the safety of those around him?

no matter how valid your frustration and sadness was, you couldn't help the creeping guilt from overwriting your feelings.

you stepped out of the shower, then dressed comfortably for a night in. when you opened the bathroom door, he was waiting outside like a puppy.

you sighed. "i'm sorry." you finally said.

his neck snapped to look at you. "why the fuck are you apologizing?"

"you're a hero. i knew what i'd be signing up for when i got into a relationship with you—"

"are you crazy?" he growled, grabbing your cheeks and tilting your face to look at him. he searched your eyes with concern, as if there was something wrong with you. "you don't need to apologize. my being a hero is no excuse for the way i've been treating you."

you frowned. "but—"

"no." he pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms around your head. "you—" he laughed dryly. "i can't believe you thought to apologize to me. you're really crazy."

you opened your mouth to say something, but he cut you off. "i'm so lucky to have you. seriously. i can't live without you and i will do everything to prove that from now on."

you pulled away and looked at him. "you better mean it."

he gave you a lopsided grin. "i do. thanks..." he trailed off.

you cocked your head to the side. "for...?"

he kissed you gently. "staying." he hugged you tightly, his next words barely a whisper, "i'm always gonna be there for you."

amidst a couple of tears, you believed him.

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

katsuki likes to bite you. it’s his weird way of showing you affection. whenever he feels like annoying you (because he can’t live for more than ten seconds if he’s not being a nuisance) but he also wants to you to know he cares, he’ll find whatever part of your skin is exposed and just—bite.

you don’t remember when he started doing it but you’ve never stopped him so he hasn’t stopped. he bites your exposed shoulder when hes walking by and your lounging in the living area of the dorms, he grabs your hand and bites at your fingers when you’re alone and he bites at your cheeks and nose when you get mad at him for ‘being mean’ and teasing you. to which he always replies with “you love it.”

“why do you do that ?” you asked randomly after he bit your cheek again while you were watching a movie in his room. he looks down at you and his brows furrow in confusion “ do what ?” he asks.

“ bite me,” you play with the ends of his hair a little, it’s been getting longer and he’ll complain about it soon(the only reason he hasn’t cut it yet is because you said it looked good on him) “ why do you that ?” he goes quiet for a moment, gauging to see if you were upset, was it suddenly bothering you ?

he frowns. lips already unconsciously forming into a pout when he speaks “ ya don’t like it when i do ?” he tries to sound self assured, but his question comes out whiny. you smile lightly at him, nosing at the underside of his jaw. “it’s not that, dummy. just wonder why you do it.”

his nose scrunches at the nickname but he pays it no further mind. he huffs out a little breath and looks away from you towards the tv screen, a pink tint grows on his cheeks. having to tell you why he does it suddenly makes him embarrassed.

“jus’ feel like it. f’ya don’t mind when i do it why’re you questioning me about it.” you feel his hand heat up from where he has it pressed against your stomach under your shirt, no doubt getting more and more embarrassed having to explain why he has this weird little habit.

you shrug, sighing and nuzzling into him a little more. you press a light peck to his neck and his hand heating up even more makes you smile “i don’t mind it, just never had anyone bite me before.”

“good” he huffs, suddenly pressing you closer to his side. a sudden rush of protectiveness washing over him “get used to it. m’the only one who’s gonna be doing that from now on, got that ?”

“alright” you giggle. you suddenly get an idea and you look up at him. “you wouldn’t mind it if i bit you, then ?” a teasing smirk appears on your face when he almost cracks his neck when looking down at you, wide eyed and cheeks absolutely set ablaze. he sputters and looks away, unable to keep eye contact as he looks to the screen again.

“knock yourself out.” he tries to sound indifferent but his voice cracks a little at the end of his sentence and he cranes his neck to the side a bit to give you more access. you don’t mention either. instead you lean closer to him and nip at his neck lightly. his hold on you tightens for a moment before loosening up slightly and he suddenly won’t look at you anymore. not even when you laugh and poke at his cheek, asking him what’s got him so red in the face. his eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes are so laser focused on the tv you fear he might burn a hole through it. he offers you nothing more than a harsh glare and a muttered out “shush.”

[ssa-dado]

Stale Cigarette(s)

Aaron Hotchner x fleabag!reader Genre: Deep talk instead of deep throat (pre-relationship mutual pining?) Hurt → comfort → hurt → final reminder that old dogs don’t change, they just find warmer corners to lie in Summary: You get dragged to a bar by your coupled-up friends and end up chain-smoking on a bench with your FBI crush. He offers you cigarettes untouched for exactly two years... so- um... what the hell happened two years ago? Warnings: age gap dynamics, smoking stale cigs, they're both a bit tipsy, objectification of the Hotchner body, grief (Haley mentioned), reader is not a reliable narrator! HOTCH SUCKS. HOTCH REALLY SUCKS. Word Count: 4.8k Dado's Corner: To all my readers named Haley: no you don’t. Not for a full 4.8k words, anyway. My deepest apologies. (Feel free to send hate mail. I deserve it.) Edit: if any of this sounded self-indulgent… that’s because it is. An ode to loneliness. Yours, always, Phi :3

masterlist

It’s not always the right historical era to go out with your two very not single friends.

You try. You make an appearance. You sip something overpriced and pretend to be fascinated by the structural integrity of the ice cube.

“My fiancé-” This man used to be called Matt until he got on one knee.

Not that you’re judging.

You’d absolutely pull the same shit if someone proposed to you. You’d probably milk it even more. Refer to them exclusively as “my betrothed” and update your mailing address to include your ring size. But the problem is-

It hasn’t happened.

You. As always.

“…the food was amazing…”

You smile. Take a sip. Your face performs basic social functions, trying to channel what middle-aged FBI speedo guy would do if he were politely enduring small talk at your place.

You are happy for your friend. Truly. (She’s your friend, for fuck’s sake. You should be happy.)

But sometimes happiness is… situational.

Sometimes, out of nowhere, you get blindsided by this sudden, lurching gut-punch of awareness of just how alone you really are.

Every empty seat next to you turns into a flashing neon sign that screams “STILL SINGLE LMAO, ENJOY DYING ALONE”

And then everything goes kind of foggy after that.

“…ever been there?” Not a question meant for you, obviously. (When are they ever?)

You kill time wondering what it might feel like to be someone who’s not just… a guest in this kind of life. To live in it full-time. With central heating.

“No, but Jonah took me to this really cute little-”

Cute little gentrified colonizer gastropub.

Ah, Jonah. The man. The myth. The boyfriend with the brilliant idea to bring his girl (your other friend) to an overpriced bar that looks like it was designed by a tech bro who hasn’t spoken to his mother in six years.

And tonight, instead of the usual dive you could actually afford, they decided this was the perfect friends night out venue.

You’ve never seen this many white men packed into one place outside of a church service. Or a David Fincher retrospective.

To be fair - Jonah does earn some credit.

The eavesdropping is phenomenal.

Behind you, someone is monologuing about astrophysics and the scientific inaccuracy of some Star Wars stuff.

You’re actually kind of into it - until he’s immediately shut down by a dude who goes, “Bro, A New Hope came out before you were even the fastest swimmer in the race. Oh- oh, wait… speaking of someone who’s swimming for real…”

“What about this pool guy?” your friend yanks your attention back, firing a perfectly accurate laser beam straight from the 1.40-carat rock on her finger (it’s cut so clean it reflects light directly into your retinas… ouch. It fucking hurts.) “I’ve heard from a certain someone…”

(Aka the woman sitting directly beside her-)

(Aka your other friend-)

(Aka the only one who actually knows the whole story because she’s the one you drive to swimming lessons every week since Jonah’s dick is allegedly 7.5 inches long but apparently can’t drive stick. Or park. Or show up on time. Or do anything but say “vroom” and hope for the best.)

“…Something you’d like to share about your new boy?”

(Ah. So this is what it takes to be included in the conversation - find a real, non-fictional man to thirst over. Got it. Message received.)

“Oh, definitely not a 'boy',” #PoolFriend adds, laughing.

“But you said-” (Mystery solved. Certain someone = swim friend. Wow. Shocking.) “Wait… is he a she?” (God, you wish.)

“No… it’s just that he’s… older?” you try not to sound defensive. (Defending your mighty little FBI princess is, of course, a sacred duty - but you’d rather not look that pathetic in front of the other feminists.)

“Sooooo old,” she beams. “Like, 60? You can see the forehead lines even when he’s resting his face.”

…Which is meant to be a dig, but actually makes you weirdly feral. You try to be diplomatic. You do. “He’s actually forty–”

“Oh- also, guess what?! He’s a dad too!”

Right. Great. Perfect.

Denied even the dignity of curating the lore drop on your old man, you make the emotionally mature decision to nurse your disappointment with alcohol.

You’re not getting drunk – it might soothe your soul, but one too many and you’ll be working your one day off just to pay the plumber who still hasn’t fixed the leak. So... fuck no.

Still, it’s funny how the tiniest buzz in your limbs, compounded by the fact that dinner was just…a whisper of carbs and a prayer, has evolved into such a deep, primal craving.

You want a cigarette.

One. Just one.

A menthol, preferably.

You’d trade your last serotonin molecule. You’d set fire to your own moral compass for a single drag.

But no. Life (your friends), in its eternal comedy, has placed you (without warning) here: in a… *drumroll* cop bar.

“Jonah said this is where the forces of order” (cops) “usually hang out. What if you find your FBI dilf here?!?”

First of all, that man is definitely not here, slumming it with the masses. He’s at home, swaddled in his sacred cocoon, reading a 700-page book on the macroeconomic collapse of the 1970s and calling it a wild night by page 26.

Second of all, you didn’t catch what she said next because your brain automatically dissociates in spaces that reek of both beer and casual misogyny disguised as patriotism.

Anyway: cop bar.

Which makes the mission of bumming a cig both ten times more illegal… and ten times more boring.

Like - sorry - when did smoking become lame?

When did it stop being for artists, rebels, and hot French women who cry in alleyways, and become the property of fascists puffing cigars the size of traffic cones?

(One comically large cigar to overcompensate for their undersized... moral compass. Among other things.)

Can’t they leave one thing alone? Just one? No. Of course not. They’ve colonized tobacco too.

You don’t even bother looking up from the sad little bench you parked your ass on the second you escaped.

Just sit there sulking, already familiar with the sound: the front door creaking open on hinges that haven’t seen oil since the Clinton administration (fascists don’t believe in lube - it’s too homosexual), and that cheap-ass bell above the frame, probably bulk-ordered from a themed decor warehouse trying to Irish-wash this bar into charm.

(It’s all performative heritage, anyway. Just so a white dude with a colonial guilt complex can feel like his ancestors survived the potato famine, instead of, you know… causing it.)

(Not that he could find Ireland on a globe if it came with a magnifying glass and a voiceover.)

Anyway, the bell rings, it’s time to strike again, “Do you have a cigar-”

“Hello to you too…” Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Hello to you too, Aaron Hotchner. So much for your bedtime tea and lights out by 10. No. Of course he had to be here. Now. Tonight. And of course he’s caught you mid-junkie act.

Stunning. Absolutely divine timing.

“Um- hi- so- I was kidding-”

“Hold on,” he says, already turning on his heel. No urgency. Just casually blessing you with a full high-definition shot of the jeans he clearly chose for tonight’s FBI Besties Night Out.

Jeans that almost, miraculously, give him an ass.

Almost.

(It’s more myth than meat. You know there’s nothing back there except air and possibly unprocessed ambition. [Maybe a little guilt in there too. {Or maybe he just padded}])

(You don’t care. You’re willing to suspend disbelief.)

He makes a beeline for his Serious Government-Issue Black Vehicle™, opens the passenger door, grabs something, shuts it again, and strolls back - front view this time (superior).

That something? Your desired little cancer sticks.

The universe provides.

“Shit, you a smoker?”

“If I were, don’t you think I’d keep them in my own pocket?” he says, topping it off with a little cherry on top (a sigh) that tells you he’s already regretting his detour, as he takes out his lighter.

One that’s clearly been used. A lot. The kind of wear no casual user puts on a Bic.

Unless Aaron’s got a Yankee Candle addiction (doubtful), that thing’s been through it.

“Look…” he starts. (Ah. So he noticed you noticing.) “I used to smoke a lot back when I was…” he fumbles - clearly seconds away from saying your age before veering off, cowardly, at the last second.

Loser.

“I quit when Jack - my son,” he adds, as if you haven’t already bookmarked his LinkedIn, archived Facebook, and the BAU team photo from 2009. Still, you nod, all “ohh” and innocent, so you don’t blow your cover. “-was born. I wouldn’t have been setting a good example. And it was bad for his health.”

“Yours too,” you murmur.

“Sure…” he musters the guts to chuckle. Tipsy? Maybe. Maybe just… soft. “Fuck that shit.”

(Definetely not soft.)

Except he’s full of it. Because if he’s so retired, why does he even have the pack in the first place?

You glance at it. Then down. (Not that down. Okay, a little.) The contradiction is right there in his hands. (And, arguably, in his jeans. But focus.)

Aaron goes all starey and confused, like he’s trying to telepathically summon a reaction from you. Maybe expecting you to scold him for swearing like a big boy. Maybe waiting for you to drop something coy like Wow, I’m sooo impressed, sir. Either way, he’s clearly starving for commentary.

So, in true martyr fashion, he opens the box.

Red Marlboros. Lame-ass classics. Of course. (You mentally pin that detail to your Bullying Vision Board.)

Only one cigarette is missing. Wait - no. Two.

Because he slides one out, tucks it between his lips, and just like that, your primal urge to bully him gets temporarily eclipsed by your even more feral desire to suck that exact cigarette out of his mouth.

“So much for being a quitter… aren’t you training for, like… some sports thing right now? You sure any of this is good for you?”

The cigarette bobs between his lips, his chin tilting just enough to let him peer down at you through half-lidded eyes - drawing a perfect little cardiogram of your heart rate spiking into cardiac arrest as he asks, “And how do you know I’m training for something?

Um...

By his tits.

Specifically: the ones bursting at the seams between the third and fourth button of his denim shirt, testing the tensile limits of ready-to-wear denim.

This is what happens when a man dives headfirst into some unsupervised fitness spiral and forgets to monitor his pec-to-fabric ratio.

Volume expansion was clearly not accounted for - or maybe it was, and this is all part of the plan. (Tactical slutwear.)

Because through that tiny, blasphemous gap in fabric: chest hair. An irresponsible amount of pale pec flesh. And a single freckle positioned so seductively you’d happily trade your liver, your birthright, and three months of overpriced therapy just to tongue it.

“Educated guess.” You’ve been caught - whatever. Still. Bless his midlife crisis. Unironically* the best decision he’s ever made.

…You’re joking, of course.

*Ironically. Yes.

Because all you get as a reply is one boyish little shake of the head instead of some broody retort in his usual Middle English.

He’s showing off.

Lighting up while you’re still empty-handed, selfishly enjoying the moral high ground and the taste of the butt of a cig.

Right hand cupped against the wind like a practiced sinner, flicks the lighter, flame kisses the filter.

He inhales slowly. Cheeks go hollow. Lashes dip low. Lungs greedily taking in what, by all laws of karmic justice, should’ve been your hit.

He leans back the tiniest bit, exhales with a sound that could be a sigh, a groan, a spell - and sends a perfectly petty swirl of smoke drifting up into the night sky…

And directly into your face.

“Are you gonna let me steal one of those or are you just getting off on making me watch?”

He squints. Takes another drag. Blows the smoke directly past your cheek. “Bought these exactly two years ago. I’m just making sure you’re not inhaling mold or… God knows what else.” (Why is God always the third wheel in your conversations?) “…You could try being grateful instead of giving me lip.”

You bite down the urge to say something about lip (or head, being medically accurate). “But I never asked you to do that… I just asked for a fucking cigarette. Let me inhale mold in peace.”

Anyway. Because you’re nothing if not polite - and not in the mood to witness a grown man get misty-eyed outside a bar at whatever-the-fuck o’clock - you sigh, lift your hand toward him, and slap on the biggest, fakest smile in your arsenal. “Please.”

The federal martyr mutters something - probably just for himself - about your relentless display of patheticism, but you’re too busy delightedly accepting a lone cancer stick as it emerges from the raven-haired 40-inch emotional support wig he calls knuckle hair.

“It’s a bit stale. Tastes like shit, honestly - just a heads up,” and drops onto the far end of the bench, manspreading just enough to make it clear that his long-ass legs now own every inch of that square meter.

The lighter gets passed to you wordlessly.

His fingers do not.

They linger - just behind your shoulders, just beyond plausible deniability.

Not touching (God forbid), but drifting into your orbit with the kind of casual inertia that feels anything but. One breath away from contact. From consequence.

Convenient, really - how something can feel so deliberate while technically doing absolutely nothing at all.

Just like how he jolts from his relaxed pose the second he hears you cursing the wind for cockblocking your nicotine hit. No hesitation. His hand curls in around yours, close enough to shield the flame - but closer still for the effect.

And you smell it.

Tonka bean.

Supposed to be subtle. Barely a base note.

But here, up close and concentrated and radiating off his pulse point, it turns narcotic. Sickly sweet and warm and grounded by something woodsy. It spins your head more than the nicotine ever could.

The lighter sparks.

And so do you.

His beautiful eyes.

The fire warms them into the richest hazel - gold spun through molasses - eyes that cast shadows so sharp they immortalise him into myth. Cheekbones all angles and darkness. Jaw tight, like he’s holding back the next thought from spilling out.

You’d kiss him. You would. Kiss his face, kiss his mouth, kiss that stupid expensive smell off his pulse point, kiss the glow from his lashes-

If only your own lips weren’t already wrapped around a filter. (If only you weren’t a monumental fucking coward.)

You hate that his gaze does this to you. That it tastes metallic on your skin, sharp and mineral and weirdly sour-

Just like the cigarette.

Especially when he finally breaks it, glancing down at the concrete like the tension might drain there, too.

“Man, this is barely hitting,” you wheeze - blaming the stale stick, of course, not yourself. Never yourself. Always safer to fault an inanimate object than admit you’re the common denominator of all of your problems.

“Told you,” Aaron gloats, flicking ash off the edge, all giddy because #HeWasRight. “It’s old and fucked. You’ve gotta wait it out. If you’re lucky, the nicotine kicks in and it just sucks slightly less... not as good as a fresh one but - this is all I’ve got.” (…Right. He’s so totally referring to the cigarettes.)

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. This is better than nothing,” you mumble, dragging again. “Anything that helps me forget this waste of a Friday.”

Which is a lie, obviously. Because sitting on a sad bench chain-poisoning yourself with a middle-aged… (oof) cop… is easily the best part of it.

Not that you’d ever admit that out loud.

God forbid he ever clocks the fact that all your chances with him are already in the gutter because of how openly, stupidly rueful you’ve been acting.

Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s his fault.

Maybe he’s pulling some sick, gravitational field of pitifulness out of you just by existing.

Just by making you feel more at ease than your actual friends do - friends who drag you out to overpriced bars and call it “catching up” but barely ask a single question.

Maybe it’s because he actually listens. Doesn’t rush to fill silence. Doesn’t take and take and take.

And that’s all it takes.

One line of smoke down your throat, and the floodgates swing open. Words start tumbling out like it’s a compulsion. Like he’s the first pair of ears that hasn’t immediately gone looking for someone shinier.

“Let me guess… you’re one of those people who only smoke when they fuck something up? What happened? Divorce?”

Aaron tuts (man?!), “Close… though I’m not sure you’re in any position to judge - seeing as you only seem to smoke when someone else fucks up.”

How ironic.

If you were ever stupid enough to end up together and he managed to fuck things up (which he would) you’d both be right back here, smoke in your lungs, hands shaking, pretending it’s not about each other.

Hopeless. You’d never work. You’d ruin each other on principle.

Maybe it’s the cigarette. Maybe sharing something as self-destructive as this creates a kind of camaraderie. You’re both shaving off a few years of your lives, like the ads promise, so it only feels fair to share the minutes too.

So as ash falls onto the concrete, he learns a few things about you. That this was your friends’ idea. That it was supposed to be “a fun night out.” That you didn’t really want to come. And somehow - God knows how - maybe it’s his Catholic guilt boiling in his bloodstream over dying in sin - but he finally says,

“You didn’t really look like you were part of the conversation.”

You nearly drop the cigarette.

He was kind of right. The nicotine takes a while to hit - but maybe it’s more the hit of being noticed.

By him, no less.

(A man.)

(With a tit out.)

Suddenly, the whole thing feels archaic - like you’ve time-traveled back to the era when women weren’t allowed to vote, but still hoped the town’s handsomest soldier might remember what color dress they wore at the spring fair.

Or when tampons were taxed as luxury items. (Wait a second...)

What a world.

What progress.

Progress also means he admits he recognized you… by the back of your head.

He’d been sitting behind you. Of course you hadn’t seen him. But he’d seen you. Not your face. Just your outline. Your posture. Your absence. And still - he knew it was you.

Which should make you feel triumphant. Gloaty, even.

FBI DILF has your silhouette burned into the folds of his premature memory loss? That’s deranged. That’s power. You should weaponize it.

Feels… bittersweet.

Because it wasn’t the presence of your face that triggered recognition. It was the lack of it. The gap. The space you take up when no one else is looking. And somehow… he looked anyway.

Fucking hell.

You need to stop smoking Aaron’s cigarettes.

They don’t just burn your throat - they peel you open, down to the bone. Turn your lungs to pulp and your brain to mushy existential soup. This is not you.

Or maybe this is you. Maybe this is the real you. The needy one. The one who just wants someone to see her.

And worse - he does. He might. And maybe that’s what makes him dangerous.

Maybe he sees things about you that you haven’t even admitted to yourself yet.

Or maybe he’s just like every other man who ever looked at you and called you a friend. Right after unzipping his pants.

Stale cigarettes, overpriced alcohol, and unsolicited introspection. The worst threesome of all.

“It just fucking sucks, man,” you mutter. You’re not blaming yourself. Plato probably said something similar while chain-smoking scrolls or whatever. “Like, I know love is fake. I know it. But even if it’s childish - rooted in all that patriarchal storybook bullshit - I still feel like I deserve the kind of love they read to me about as a kid.”

“Oh, no,” Aaron softens his voice. “I disagree with that first part.” Of course you do, old man. “I don’t think love is fake, maybe the forever part is what’s unrealistic. The happy ending…” (What’s wrong with him???) “The happily ever after, that’s the myth. But you shouldn’t blame yourself for wanting something that lasts.”

…Something real. Something that doesn’t flake like ash in the wind.

You can smell the incoming boomer sermon from a mile away - and yep, here it comes. “I just don’t understand this fear men seem to have now about settling down. Is it fear of choosing? Dating apps make everyone feel disposable. Like if you commit, you might miss out on someone better. So you never do. Or maybe it’s something worse. Fear of feeling. Of loving.”

Shit.

How exactly are you supposed to explain to Aaron Hotchner that he just accidentally summed up your entire Notes app without sounding like you’re about to snap into a spoken word piece about modern loneliness?

"Easy to say when you’ve only got a few years left and don’t want to die alone." You’re not being mean. You’re just out of emotional vocabulary. That was the cleanest sentence you could manage with the filter still burning between your fingers.

He taps his cigarette against the bench. Smoke curls out of his smirk. “Funny - I was just about to say you don't sound like a horrible person.”

You snort. “See? You’re not that different from all the other dickheads out there.”

"Maybe, but that doesn’t make you unworthy of being loved .” (Pause. Beat. Murder.) “And - frankly - you underestimate how many masochists would find your tendency to call people out when they’re being dickheads… oddly endearing."

“Masochists? Really?!”

“Miss, you called me a dickhead… heavily implied, yes, but still,” he chuckles, “Masochists aside - I’m serious. I hope you know that.”

“Well… thank you then.”

“Anytime.” Said like it doesn’t cost him anything to be generous for three seconds. Must be nice.

You’re not naïve.

This (whatever this is) this rhythm of trading barbs and pretending not to notice how good it feels to be seen? It’ll end with the cigarette. That’s the expiration date.

Once the last drag’s done, so is the spell. Back to real life, back to no obligation to talk. Back to being strangers again.

So maybe that’s why it slips out.

“I think what gets to me the most is... I just want someone to actually listen. Like, really listen. Not out of pity, not out of politeness. Not because it’s their fucking turn to play therapist. Just… because they want to. Because they care enough to. I want to be helped. I want to be seen. And it sucks. It sucks that no one ever really does. It sucks not knowing if that someone… exists. Ever feel that kind of lonely?”

“I understand what you mean. If it helps… loneliness might be the most universal condition there is. It’s paradoxical - everyone feels it, but no one wants to admit it. You grow up being told people are essential. That you need connection to be whole. But the truth is… most of the time, it’s just you. You think your own thoughts. You carry your own weight. The rest… they’re- complimentary. Temporary. Additions. They matter, but they’re not the foundation.” (Man… that’s depressing.) “Or at least, that’s what I’ve always believed.”

“And you’re fine with that?! Not having anyone who can help you make sense of… everything?” You shake your head, baffled. “I don’t even know how you function.”

He breathes in deep, doesn’t look at you when he answers. “I compartmentalize. I separate myself from the problem and keep going. If I let myself really sit with it… I wouldn’t be useful to the people who need me more.”

Hero complex. Exhibit A.

“You’re telling me you never talk to anyone about your feelings?” you ask. “Like… not even one friend? Not even one of your little apocalypse buddies you save the world with?”

“We’re colleagues, not friends.” (So he’s basically admitting he has no friends… isn’t he?) “And for the record, I am opening up to you right now, aren’t I?”

“Dude…” This man. This man is the emotional equivalent of a locked filing cabinet at the bottom of the ocean. And you want him. Disgusting. “Despite some of the stuff you’ve told me being… like… genuinely borderline horrible, and you’re so lucky I didn’t deck you-”

He smirks. “You could’ve. I probably deserved it.”

You glance over. He’s chuckling to himself now, the corners of his mouth tugged upward just slightly, cheeks flushed, probably from the scotch finally catching up with him.

“Aside from calling me a dickhead, of course…” he adds.

You fumble. Damn it. “I was trying to say - despite that - your words did help. A little.” Smug little upturn of his mouth. You want to slap it off him. For real this time. “Not like… made-everything-better kind of help. More like - didn’t make me feel worse. Which is basically the same thing, right?”

He smiles. Pretentious asshole. You need to stay strong - not linger on it, not let it do things to your insides.

So you pivot. Hard.

“Sometimes it helps, you know? Getting a fresh pair of eyes on your mess. You just have to - I don’t know - admit you’re a loser, peel off a couple layers of that bulletproof manhood you’ve wrapped yourself in, and actually say what you’re feeling. To someone. Out loud. With words.”

He looks at you. He’s supposed to take another drag, but he doesn’t. Just watches. Still. Quiet.

“Yeah, I know. Wild concept.” You shake your head, let yourself soften - just a little. Just for him. Maybe he’s worth it. “But if you don’t do that, no one’s ever gonna get it. Not really. People can’t read your mind, Aaron. They’re not gonna understand unless you tell them. And even then, it’s a gamble. But it’s the only shot you’ve got.”

“You always make it sound so easy, Hales.”

“That’s… not my name.”

“What?” *The Bluetooth device is ready to pair.* You can hear the connection click in his skull. “Oh – God - I’m so sorry.” *The Bluetooth device is connected successfully.* “I didn’t- didn’t mean- I’m sorry, you just… you sounded exactly like her.”

You don’t know who he means. Not for sure. You have a guess, of course. Everyone has a guess when a man like him says “her” with that look in his eye.

But you’re too annoyed to admit it. Too annoyed and – maybe - just a little dizzy. From the cigarette. From the him of it all. From the ache in your chest that shouldn’t be there, not really.

Because the one fucking time someone actually seems to listen to you, to hear you, it’s not even really you they’re hearing.

It’s her. It was always her.

You were just close enough in shape and tone and timing to wake the shadow of someone else.

“It’s just that… it’s been two years today.”  Oh, mysterious boy. From what?! From what?

You want to yell. You want to pull his stupid loose shirt tighter so it stops falling open every time he leans forward and says emotionally damaging things.

“Actually…” he gives a watery little laugh, and you hate how beautiful it is, how it lands soft and splintering right in your chest.

“It’s been two years since I bought these too,” he says, pulling out the same battered pack of Marlboros. Same lame-ass, fermented cigarettes from his glove compartment. Same pack with only one missing - until tonight. The same ones he offered you.

 The same ones he last smoked two years ago.

“…And two years since my wife’s funeral.”

The filter tastes rancid.

You know the situation is deeply, apocalyptically fucked when not only does he casually drop a circumstantial bomb to imply she’s dead - because actually saying the words would clearly cost him something vital - but he also slips. Calls her his wife.

Not ex-wife.

(You may or may not have stalked him so thoroughly that you accidentally uncovered his signed divorce papers on a weird, half-archived subpage of her attorney’s old website. Whoopsies.)

So it’s not just the grief. It’s the grief plus the guilt plus the very subtle, very devastating slip that he maybe never stopped thinking of her as his wife.

Even after.

Even now.

Which would be a perfect cue to walk away. To protect yourself. To not indulge whatever haunted cathedral of unresolved feelings he’s got going on behind those wet lashes.

You should leave.

You should definitely leave.

…But he’s so hot when he cries.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @donttrustlove ; @fangirlunknown ; @goorgeousz ; @hayleym1234 ; @ignoreeeeeee ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kiwriteswords ; @kyrathekiller ; @littlemisskavities ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mmmunson ; @msfreedom ; @mxblobby ; @nikt-wazny-y ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @purechaosss ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softtdaisy ; @softestqueeen ; @thatkidofwarandpeace ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24 ; @who-needs-to-sleep

[binmeister]

Any thoughts about the Saja boys with a Deaf reader? I can imagine them not understanding what hearing aids are or not understanding KSL, except maybe Mystery (thats mostly because I headcannon him as selectively mute.)

Some loose thoughts and HCs for this, pardon if this isn’t super clean!

I feel like the eras where they had been alive and human it was extremely rare to have come across someone who was deaf or someone who wasn’t “normal” - heavy on the quotations

Their time as demons maybe theyd come across one or two deaf demons, a lot of mute ones, but maybe not as many known deaf ones bc telepathy was a thing so some demons didnt talk using their vocal cords anyway so it wasnt uncommon for someone to never talk or have an uncommon way of speaking

I also believe in selectively mute Mystery, but I dont think he knows that KSL exists - Im thinking of some of your first interactions is you being a little confused on him not even mouthing words; a way you had been taught to understand people was to lip read and subconsciously your mouth would make the same shapes even though the sound would be inaccurate - so you communicate with the tiny notepad you bring around or with your phone, scribbling down what you wanted to say or typing it out and showing him

Out of all the guys I think Mystery or Romance are the fastest to learn KSL, mystery because it ended up a useful tool for him to communicate and Romance bc.. i just picture him as someone who would care enough to do so

There’d be a day where Romance surprises you as he speaks to you and signs at the same time, revelling in the way your eyes light up and you happily sign back at him your signs a little messy with your shock and he teases you that maybe you should work on your signing bc he couldnt understand you, you’d playfully smacked his shoulder after that

Jinu was confused, that was for sure - saw you fiddling with your hearing aids and was confused on why you were wearing a strange looking in ear, were you an idol or performer? But then he realises that when he spoke out to you, your eyes were laser focussed on the way his mouth moved and he would unintentionally slow his speech which lead you to huff at him like ‘how dare you, im not dumb’ - you’d signed it at him rapidly, voice making little incomprehensible protests as well and then it clicks to him that the hand gestures you were making had meaning with the emphasis you put on some motions

Honestly can imagine Jinu going to a public library and trying to learn about it but not knowing what exactly he was trying to learn, so he pesters Rumi about it til she breaks and teaches him the basics of it (HC is the girls had learned at least basic KSL bc they seem like the type who want to be able to communicate with all of their fans)

Abby my sweet bulky man, has absolutely no clue how you exist bc i highly believe in the era he lived in , it was you HAD to be the strongest to survive so hes surprised youve lived until adult hood with being deaf and unable to be majorly alert with your surroundings especially sound

You’d have given him a brief explanation on how much your can hear - maybe it varies where youre able to hear a little clearer with the assistance of your hearing aids but theres still a noticeable ‘sound’ in the way you talk with your voice and hands that would make them all realise that you were deaf: tries his best to learn KSL or is more mindful of the way he talks or moves his mouth so that its easier to lip read

I feel like out of all of them, Abby struggles the most to learn KSL but he puts in some of the most effort bc he’s starting to be able to understand you - just his execution is clumsy so he signed a cuss word at you once and you were laughing soundlessly at him to the point of tears and hes confused and flustered

Baby was perceptive, probably clocks the fact youre deaf the fastest aside from Mystery and he notices that sometimes youre furrowing your brows at him when he talks because his voice had gone too low that your hearing aids had actually struggled to pick it up - the way his mouth is usually in some kind of smug smile didnt help either because it warped the shape of his mouth and you looked a little upset at yourself for struggling to understand him

He’d pluck your phone from you to type what he said, or if your little notepad was in your hand he’d gesture for you to give it to him and he writes what he said instead - though he does become more mindful as well on his annunciation of words instead of being a little lazy in how he speaks

Highkey.. i dont think Baby learns KSL in full or even most of the basics but he does absorb the common signs you use so hes able to understand you at least, maybe a little more bc he likes the way your eyes twinkle when his hands sign along with some of the common words he uses

I am a believer that Baby would he the type to check what cuss words existed in KSL and refuse to believe anything else

[letteremi]

drawing Sukuna's markings on your face

“Hey, Sukuna.” You wave your fingers in greeting, careful not to disturb his intense focus. His expression is deadpan, his eyes laser-focused on the monitor before him. 

The mouse zips across the desk with micro precision, clicks and the sounds of colourful gunfire punctuating the otherwise silent room. “Hey, princess. What’s up?”

“Wanna show you something.” You lean closer, grinning impishly, and your heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and nerves as the glow from his screen casts your face in red. 

“Yeah, baby?” He can’t help the curiosity in his voice. It’s not every day you come up to him with this attitude, and he knows that when you do, he’s in for a treat. 

Sukuna finally looks over, and freezes.  

“What the fuck.” 

Intricate, swirling markings stretch across your cheeks, curve elegantly over your nose, and angular lines sweep up on your forehead. Each line is painstakingly drawn on with your trusty eyeliner — is that what it is? Makeup terms are confusing — shaded and deepened with dark eyeshadow, and finished off with a subtle shimmer of highlighter that catches the light just right for ‘pizzazz’. 

You trace one of the ink lines along your cheekbones, trying not to laugh as his gaze finally meets yours. “Surprise.”

Sukuna blinks at you, like a baffled owl caught in daybreak. 

And then, a lazy grin spreads across his face, and his crimson eyes roam over your face like he’s savouring every inch of your handiwork. 

“Well, look at you,” he drawls, voice low, dripping in veiled taunts and mischief. “Tryin’ to steal my style, or what?”

Before you can reply, he reaches up and hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your face just so. His headphones are now slung on his shoulders, teammates’ distant shouts and Gojo’s loud cursing fading into irrelevance. His thumb brushes one of the lines by your jaw, sending warmth shooting through your body.  

Your face is beginning to heat up. Seriously, it was just for fun. Why’s he looking at you like that?

“You really went all out,” he murmurs, amusement, and something else, darkening in his eyes. “Should I be flattered, or jealous that you look this good?”

Sukuna leans closer, and the faint, intoxicating scent of his cologne wraps around you — thick and familiar.

You are going to be the death of him. 

“I gotta say, you wear me well.” You barely have time to react before he’s tugging you into his lap, game long forgotten. Strong hands settle possessively on your waist as a wicked glint sparks in his eyes. His tongue licks the side of your neck, trailing to your ear. 

“Though, if you wanted to be marked by me, you could’ve just asked.”

You squirm, twisting in his grasp, and Sukuna’s smirk grows wider. “It was just preshower makeup, don’t have to make such a big deal of it.” Your breathless protests fall on deaf ears. 

“What ‘m hearing is,” Sukuna purrs, thick thumbs drawing circles on your thigh, slow and teasing, “we need to shower together.”

Fuck this game. Fuck the winning streak they were on, and fuck maybe risking dropping his rank. He’d climb back to the top, easily. 

Something far more important needed his attention. 

“Together?” you squeak, eyes growing as wide as dinner plates, face burning hotter than before.

Sukuna just grins, and with one smooth motion, hauls you up and over his shoulder. 

“Together.”

After all, he’s got to give you some real marks. 

-

© 2025 letteremi. All rights reserved. Please do not plagiarise/copy, translate, or repost my work to any platforms 

[mwahgo]

HIS LITTLE SPY

— Leon S. Kennedy x Fem! Reader (Resident Evil)

[+18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+]

Summary: Where Leon meets up with someone in a night club for important business and it ends them naked.

Word count: 2, 173 words

Tags: Stripper! Reader, P in V, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names such as sweetheart, good girl, baby, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, Jill and Chris being crackheads

Mwahgo's notes: I forgot who requested this but thank you so much!

“Are you sure this is the right place, Leon?” Jill asked with suspicion as she stares at the neon pink light and an outline of a sexy lady. The glowing silhouette of the signage casted an eerie glow on the sidewalk.

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind a little treat, yeah?” Chris laughed as Jill glared at him and elbowing his hips, making him wince.

“It’s fine, guys, I have someone to meet up with here and they have some important things that’s gonna be useful for our mission,” Leon rolled his eyes as the three of them approaches the building.

The three of them were assigned on a mission about a potential release of bioweapons in the area. But the enemy seems to be hidden—invisible even that they can barely find a trace to track them. It seems like the enemy lurks in the dark, they mostly move at night and with the perfect opportunity, they followed them and it led them to this night club.

But this is where they fall back to square one, they don’t know anyone here, how can they possibly find the enemy if they don’t even know what they look like? Who are their connections or is he a regular client in that night club that everyone knows them? They fall back for now, but Leon had an idea. The club seems familiar to him, he usually goes there when he’s on a free day—which he rarely gets—and just drink his mind off. He knew the club, because there was someone there that always talk to him whenever he gets to visit, so he called up that person that works in there to spy on them. They almost didn’t want to accept the favor but it sounded like it’s important to Leon so they agreed to do the job.

“I don’t know, Leon, the night club is the least expected to find the guy here. Maybe it’s a trap?” Jill commented.

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. Our lead told us he was here the other night and they even get an up close interaction with them,” Leon assured. Both Jill and Chris’ eyes widens, they didn’t expect Leon’s witness was able to get that close to the guy they’re after with.

As they approached the entrance, the bouncer held up his hand to stop them, “Sir, ma’am, please step at the back of the line,” They ordered

Chris and Jill looked at the bouncer with furrowed eyebrows, “Hey, we don’t have time—” Leon cuts Chris off as he shows his government ID. The bouncer looks at it for a moment and eventually letting them in. Leon nodded as thanks as they entered the club and they were greeted by the colorful laser lights dancing, club music blasting in the big speakers—making some of them wince on how heavy the bass is and the sea of people dancing and grinding on each other, the three of them had to be occasionally gets pushed around as they pass through. Strippers wearing skimpy lingerie dances sensually on the pole or entertaining men on their tables as they receive their payment for sitting pretty next to them.

“Alright, you two stay here for lookout, I’ll go to the VIPs lounge to meet with them,” Leon ordered

Chris looks at him like he was crazy, “Woah, woah, woah! Isn’t that unfair, Leon—OW!” Jill, once again, elbowed Chris’ hips, “You can go, Leon, we’ll be looking out,” Jill said.

Leon walked towards the entrance of the VIP lounge as a woman greeted them there, “Hello sir, do you have a reservation?” She asked.

Leon dug for his I.D once again and shows to the woman, “Not really but I’m gonna meet someone here,” He said

The woman looked at his I.D and smiled before opening the curtains for him, “She’s been waiting for you, Mr. Kennedy,”

Leon thanked the woman as he steps in the VIP lounge. The room was illuminated by some sexy, red and pink LED lights, a U-shaped, black couch centered on the middle with a small, glowing coffee table, decorated with a bottle of whiskey and a bucket of ice. On the wall, there’s a big, neon sign that says “VIP ROOM” and the walls are decorated with some sparkling gems and jewels.

In front of the couch, a platform with a pole illuminated by a spotlight as slow and sensual music started playing in the speakers. Leon looks up as a figure pops out from the shadows, “Well, it looks like my favorite customer has come to visit me,” You spoke, “Miss me?”

Leon lowly chuckled, “Well, that’s another reason why I’m here,” He said as you stepped out from the black curtains and performed your dance on the pole.

“Well.. That’s quite the bummer,” You pouted

Your fingertips traced the cold steel, a shiver chasing the curve of your spine. You swayed, hips rolling slow before hooking a leg high, body curling close to the pole as if it were a secret lover. With each rotation, your hair fanned out, catching the light and shadows in equal measure. Your gaze flickered over to Leon, but it was clear—this dance wasn’t for you, it was for him.

Leon smirked as he entertained himself with a glass of whiskey, “You know what I’m here for, sweetheart,” He flirted as he drank the liquid off the glass.

Your laughter echoed in the VIP room as you stepped off the platform and approached Leon from the couch. Your legs hooked on each side of Leon’s hips as you slowly sat on his lap, “So serious, Mr. Officer,” You giggled, “Why don’t indulge me for a while before giving what you want?” You smirked as you hips starts to grind on his clothed crotch.

Leon held back a groan before grabbing your hips with his free hand, “I’ll give you what you want.. If you give me what I want first,” He said, giving you a stern look.

Your hips stopped as you pouted in defeat, your hands snaking in your bra and pulling out a USB. Leon looked at you confusedly, “This is the whole CCTV recording of the guy you’re after. He came here yesterday evening, booked this specific room too. He had a few friends with him, but they’re mostly talking about money, so I thought.. Some potential investors? Who knows.” You handed the USB to Leon, “Sounds like he’s planning something big with the money he’s willing to invest,” You stated.

Leon takes the USB with a smile, “That’s why we need to stop him, or the world is gonna be in danger,”

You smiled, proudly, “Look at you, acting like the world’s favorite superhero,” You teased, “You better reward me for that, I had to get my ass groped multiple times and I didn’t like it,” You sassed.

He chuckled as he finished his drink before his lips latches on your neck, catching you off guard as you whimpered. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he manhandles you to lie on the couch while continuing to latter kisses on your neck, “You sure these walls are padded?” Leon asked, as you nodded in response. Quickly, you and Leon stripped your clothes off—throwing them across the different parts of the room as Leon pinned you down the couch and immediately attacked your lips, sucking and biting on your lower lip. His big hands groped your breasts as you moaned against his lips, “Good fucking girl, doing all my bidding for me,” He teased.

You whimpered as his lips lowered to the valley of your breasts, his hand cupping one as the other one is getting sucked on by his lips. Your pussy pulsated, itching for Leon to fuck you, “Leon, pleaseee,” You pleaded.

He chuckled as he pulls away from your breasts, grinning mischievously above you, “Well, since you’ve been a good girl…” He trailed off as he shifted lower to your pussy. His hands spread your thighs open as he gazed on your soaked core, “Mmm.. so wet for me,” He said.

“Always wet for you, Leon,” You suddenly moaned as his lips started sucking on your sensitive clit. Your back arched as his hands pinned you back down the couch, “Don’t fucking move, baby.” Leon dived back to your pussy as he licked your pussy—focusing on your clit and nastily licking on your folds.

You moaned loudly as your hands trailed down to his blonde hair as your fingers gripped some thick strands, trying to pull him closer to eat your pussy out, “Ohhh fuck! Leon, it-it’s so fucking… good,” You moaned as your eyes rolled back.

Leon hummed around your pussy as your moans became louder, your hips twitched under his stern hold and legs shaking from the intense pleasure he’s giving, “Mhmm~ fuck, pussy tastes so good.. goddamn,” He moaned as his finger slipped inside your hole as you gasped in surprise, “Gotta prep you for my cock, baby,” He smirked as his finger pistons inside you.

“P-Please.. more please!” You begged as he chuckled as he added another finger as his pace quickens, the sound of your wet pussy squelching along with your moans echoed inside the VIP room. Suddenly, he pulled out his fingers as you whined from the empty feeling, “Calm down, baby. You’re gonna get my cock soon,”

Leon sits up as he pushed your legs open before he aligned his hard cock on your soaked cunt, coating his cock with your arousal, “Hurry, Leon please..” You begged.

He didn’t say anything else as he thrusted his cock inside as your eyes rolled back from the pleasure, “O-Oh fuck… so fucking tight,” Leon groaned as he paused his movements but you gripped his forearm as you nodded, encouraging him to start moving. Leon chuckled as his hips pulled back—keeping the mushroom tip inside before snapping back inside, making you squeal on how full you felt.

“Fuck, baby, so tight.. so.. Fucking.. Desperate,” Leon groaned at each thrust as he trailed his hand to your neck, semi-gripping your throat, “You feel that? You feel my cock in there?” He taunted

You moaned loudly as you mustered the strength to nod as his pace quickens, his skin slapping against yours as it resonates around the room. Sweats dripped down to the couch as you both panted heavily together, “O-Oh fuck! You feel so fucking good, Leon. You fuck my pussy so good!” You moaned loudly as you gripped tightly on his forearms.

He chuckled as he watched your face contorts into pleasure—head thrown back and your eyes rolling back as he quickens his pace, “Yeah.. going crazy on my cock, baby. You’re such a good girl… doing everything for me,” He growled as a coil in his stomach twisted, “Oh f-fuck, cum with me baby.. you gonna cum, huh?” He groaned.

You nodded frantically as you felt the twisting pleasure in your stomach, “YES! Yes please! Cum in me, please!” You cried.

Leon groaned loudly as his hips stuttered before he shots his cum inside you, both of you moaning in pleasure. The mixed arousal dripped on the couch as you both panted heavily. Leon slumped over your body, “Fuck… you okay?” He asks with concern.

You nodded, “Yeah.. I’m fine,” You chuckled, “You really had it in you, huh?”

Leon blushed over the teasing, “To be honest with you, I’ve been wanting to fuck you for a while,” He admits.

That made you giggle, “Well, there you have it,” You said.

After resting for a moment, Leon stood up and slipped back in his clothes and grabs the USB, “I gotta get going, my coworkers are probably waiting for me outside,” He said as he turns to leave but you grab his wrist.

“.. Will you come back?” You asked with sincerity. You love hanging out with Leon, every time he visits, he’s really genuine with his feelings. He’s not like the other customers that only comes there for the thrill and the ladies, Leon comes over to rest, to talk to someone and just be with himself.

Leon chuckled as he leans down and kissed your lips. You moaned as you wrapped your arms around his neck as his arms wrapped on your naked hips, "Of course I will, or else my favorite will start getting bored and flirt with other men,” He teased.

You giggled as you pecked his cheek before letting him go. He exited the VIP room, saying goodbye to the woman outside as he comes back to Jill and Chris, “There you are, what took you so long? Chris was almost considering hooking up with a stripper while you’re gone,” Jill complained as Chris looked at her with furrowed eyebrows—feeling betrayed Jill lied.

Leon shook his head at their antics before pulling out the USB, “I got what we need and uh.. Let’s say I treated the person a good time,” He smirked as the three of them left the night club.

[egberts]

cat mom dilemmas; figaro and louis both really love the laser pointer but fig is the only one who seems to understand the concept of where the light comes from and that i control it and when i show him "no more" with empty hands, it's gone. louis does not understand this because he has cat ocd. and he gets OBSESSED. so i wait until louis is off distracted or asleep and give fig his laser moment but then louis hears the sound of play and comes sprinting in joyously "oh mother! oh brother mine! can i join you for a bout of games! how i do love games with my family 🥹" and then I have to immediately take the laser away and he just looks at me expectantly like "so what were y'all doing in here without me :)" and fig is also like "why did we stop 🥺"

[saemisic]

(🍥) ── H.S.K.T

𝓞therwise ... begging to do the HSKT couple trends with enha !

───  𝓁𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴, 𝒸𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘢 & 𝒶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ; ENHYPEN hyung line • 𝒇! reader + the cutest tiktok trend, est. relationship, petnames + wc: 746

(꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱) ->  sae's thoughts : repost from old account heh.. this ver. is revamped, ill work on maknae line soon.... anyways.. feel free to leave feedback, comments & reblogs ! ... enjoy ♡ ! (≧ᗜ≦)

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠.

The sound from your phone blasted as you hyper-focused on the couple twirling around each other. Your eyes following every move, you knew you had to do this trend with Heeseung. Padding towards the bedroom where he would be gaming, you quietly entered, walking over.

There he was sitting on the gaming chair eyes laser focused on his game, his friends could be heard yelling through his headphone/mic/ Quietly walking up to him you wrapped your arms around him. "Babe, i have a question" you asked voice soft.

Turning to you, eyes wide at the sudden call ,he turned around taking his headphone off, " hi doll, what's up? " he turned.

"weshouldtotallydothehskttrendbcuzitissocuteandcoupley" . The only reaction was a blinking heeseung blinking stupidly back at you, confusion in the air.

"what."

you quickly pull out your phone to show him the video you saved. "this one hee" you show on the phone the couple smiling and dancing.

"ive never seen this love," he said focused on the dance. "That's okay though, its simple pleaseeeee"

And suddenly, heeseung found himself outside with the phone set up and twirling hearts content.

𝐉𝐚𝐲.

He lay on the warm bed as he turned towards you, your phone lighting up the dark room. "Watcha ya watching babe," he asked, resting his head on your shoulder. "This." You flipped your phone towards him, showing the couple dancing.

"We should do this babe," you said hopefully puppy eyes ready.

" I don't know, babe," he said, scratching his head. You know I don't like these trends, babe," he muttered, watching the video on a loop. 

"Please, babe, I won't post. I just wanna do something couple with you!" he pleaded.

"YIPEE!" you squealed following him as he chuckled by your own exicment. "ok, just copy what i do ok?" you said before setting the phone up.

jay followed behind, with a small smile on his face, as you set up the camera on the wall, picking the music. Before suddenly getting dragged next to you before you started spinning. 

𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞.

Seeing the couple cutely dance made you jealous? You always wanted to film a TikTok with Jake, but never could since it was too risky being caught. 

You quickly sent the TikTok to Jake begging jake to do this with him. You hopefully stared at the three bubbles appeared.  

Jakey <3: babe you know we can't post something like this what if we get caught?  Y/N: jake please ! plus what are even the chances that engenes come across my account. Jakey <3 : i know your account is private but sometimes friends turn against friends and who knows we just cant risk it... Y/N: jakeeee pleasee 🥺 Jakey <3: ...y/n Y/N: please 🥺???? Jakey <3: okay.... 

Cheering internally as you skipped along. 

Later that evening, as you and Jake enjoyed the date, you suddenly remembered and asked, " Oh Jake, let's do the TikTok now!" you said, whipping your phone, pulling up the app. 

Sighing only as he watched you set up the camera only smiling by how happy up were to film. 

Oh boy what a nightmare he woke up too when his notifs went off has a new trending video on enhatok was jake and some girl doing a couple tiktok trend. 

𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧.

Naturally introverted, Sunghoon was never very active or interested in social media. He never saw the point in bragging about relationships online, which was especially true for him as a highly sought-after idol.

While doomscrolling on your bed and seeing couples all over your feed, you couldn't help but wonder if maybe Sunghoon would be willing to participate in this trend with you.

The next day in the cafe, your heart raced as you said, “Hey, babe. What do you think about doing a little TikTok trend together? Just for fun?” He looked surprised. “A tiktok trend? For social media? But you know the risk that comes with things. ”

“Well yes…,” you trailed off. You knew the risk of being caught and you saw the hate that came to most females who were even speculated to be with the members. "But! It's not like I'd post it or anything! Just for us."

Sighing with defeat as he put the food on his spoon, he nodded saying "Fine but you have to promise that you won't post it.. I dont want you to get hated…" he said, "Yes ! yes ! whatever" you cheered pulling up a video to show him excitedly.

network tags ; ⸻ @k-films