#and this was the only one I could find of both of them

[splendidcas]

At Last

Pairing: Johnny Storm x Soulmate!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k (oopsies)

Warnings: cursing, kissing. no fantastic four spoilers, don't worry!

Summary: On Earth-828, once you turn 16, soulmates are allowed to send each other a single gift every year on New Years Day. You're in your late 20s now and still have yet to find your match, and there's no way it's Johnny Storm.

A/N: hello yes hi it is me, coming back after a dry spell of 3 years lmao. pls be kind I am rusty!!!! feedback gives me life :)

“For the millionth time, Johnny Storm is not my soulmate.”

You rolled your eyes, tossing another handful of popcorn into your mouth as you watched the Fantastic Four member himself on your television screen. Tonight was New Years Eve, and the superhero group was invited to help host the annual New York City Ball Drop. There were 6 minutes left until midnight, and you were getting antsy.

Because New Years Eve didn’t just mean a brand new year. It meant another gift. From your soulmate. 

Every year since you turned 16 years old, you received a gift handpicked from your soulmate at midnight on New Years Day, like everyone else. Unfortunately, no gift was allowed to include something helpful like your name or address (you’d tried multiple times, but the gifts always ended up vanishing into thin air as soon as you attempted to drop it off at the post office), so gifts were supposed to be strategically picked. Something to give insight into who you are, and how you valued your future relationship.

When the two of you were still teenagers, the gifts lacked…sentimentality. You simply weren’t sure what to send a stranger that you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with. They’d consisted of vacation souvenirs, a photograph of your pet, random knick-knacks. And you had received similar items. 

But as you both got older, the gifts became a bit more special. Two years ago he sent you a vinyl of Frank Sinatra’s “The Best Is Yet To Come,” and you played it on repeat for months. The following year, you sent him a vinyl of Etta James’ “At Last,” a thank-you for the vinyl he’d sent you. It was the song you always imagined would be playing the day of your wedding day. This year, you sent him a leather bracelet you made yourself, and you couldn’t wait to see what he got you this year.

Because last year’s gift from your soulmate was a bit…odd.

It was a collectible action figure of Johnny Storm.

And your best friend Violet had not shut up about it for the entirety of the last year.

“Totally, Y/N, that’s why your soulmate gave you a collectibles version of his action figure,” she retorted.

You sighed. How many times have you had this conversation? “Maybe he just works for the Fantastic Four. Or he’s a fan.”

“Whatever you say,” she singsonged. “It really wouldn’t be that weird, Y/N. Your firm works closely with them anyways.”

She had a point, but it was still outlandish. You were a communications assistant at a PR firm that worked directly with the superhero group, but you were pretty low on the food chain, and you’d never had any direct contact with any of them. 

“Yes, I work at a PR firm with hundreds of employees, most of which would be chosen over me to speak with the world’s most famous superheroes.”

“You never know, all employees could show up sick one day and you’ll be the only one left. Then you’ll have to talk with them!”

You shook your head in annoyance. She was being ridiculous. “It’s easy for you to joke about because you don’t have to deal with any of this. You already have your person.” 

Violet was one of the lucky ones who found her soulmate when she was really young. 18 to be exact. Once she met him, she got to exchange her gifts in person. Given that you were halfway through your 20s and not any closer to finding yours, you were just a tad jealous. You couldn’t be too upset, though, because her soulmate Mike always let her spend New Years Eve with you. It had become your yearly tradition, and he never came between that.

Violet gave you a sympathetic look. “I’m just trying to be optimistic!”

“By trying to convince me that my soulmate is an unattainable, insanely attractive superhero that dates a different girl every week?” 

Violet opened her mouth to respond, but the newscaster’s voice on the television interrupted your conversation. 

“So, Johnny, any hopes for the new year? Maybe to finally find that special soulmate?” 

Your heart raced as you watched him on the television screen. He and his superhuman team were all bundled up in snowy downtown New York City, the big Apple that was set to drop in 3 minutes gleaming high above them in the background. 

Johnny gave the man an easy grin. “That would certainly be nice, Chris. I’ve been dreaming of her since I was a teenager!”

Violet nudged your shoulder with a knowing grin, which you returned with another eye roll.

“But, then again, you’d have thousands of hearts to break!” The news camera panned over to the crowd of screaming women, several of whom were holding up “I <3 Johnny” posters. 

You shook your head. There’s no way he could be yours. As if you could compete with that.

The camera cut back to Johnny, who gave the girls a wink and chuckled as they went wild. “Well, Chris, that’s just the way it’ll have to be. Once I meet my soulmate, she’ll be it for me.” 

“And she will certainly have her hands full,” Sue cut in, leaning towards the microphone. Johnny playfully shoved her away, a smirk still on his face as Reed watched and shook his head. You smiled watching the interaction; they seemed like such a fun group.

“Do you have any hints as to who this lucky lady might be?” The newscaster began. “Tell us what you got her for her gift this year.”

Johnny looked surprisingly unsure at the question, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “Ah, I’d rather keep the gifts between her and me. Y’know, privacy and all that. Plus, I think that might be considered cheating at finding my soulmate, right?” 

Before Chris could say anything, Ben interrupted. “Well look at that, Johnny following the rules for once!”

Bickering broke out between the Fantastic Four, and the newscaster went back to the camera. “Well, there you have it, folks! Johnny Storm is a softy for his sweetheart, whoever she may be. Let’s hope the new year brings them both together. And now, it is time for the one minute countdown! Let’s bring on the new year!”

Your heart started pounding the way it always did at the one-minute mark. Violet grabbed your hand as you both watched the Apple slowly make its way down.

10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…

“Happy new year!”

You and Violet exchanged a hug before tossing popcorn in the air, laughter bubbling in your gut as she danced wildly around your living room. 

“Now go look! I can’t stand the suspense any longer!”

You grinned, suddenly ignoring the superheroes celebrating on your television screen, and ran to your front door. 

And there it was, sitting perfectly on your doorstep.

A perfectly wrapped, light blue box with a white bow on it.

You wasted no time in swiping it up and running back inside to your living room, haphazardly slamming the door behind you.

“What is it what is it what is it,” Violet chanted, her eyes glued on the gift. 

You quickly untied the bow and opened up the box, an audible gasp leaving your lips at what was inside. 

A little black box.

“Oh my god, is it a ring?” 

You swallowed, your heart pounding. “Don’t be silly, how would he even know my ring size?”

She shrugged. “I dunno, he probably guessed. You can always get it resized once you meet if it doesn’t fit. Now open it before I do!”

You opened the box and immediately let out the breath you were holding. 

It was a small, silver band with the most stunning stone you’d ever seen. In fact, you’d never seen anything like it.

Sitting in the middle of the shiny silver band was a round, black, shining stone with flecks of red inside it that seemed to glow when you held it up in the light. It almost looked a little like tiny specks of lava.

“Holy crap,” you muttered, unable to keep your eyes off of it.

“Holy crap is right,” Violet agreed. “That thing is gorgeous. What kind of stone even is that?” 

“I have no idea.” You wasted no time in trying it on, and positively beamed when you found it fit on both ring fingers before you settled on putting it on your right ring finger. You weren’t sure if it was supposed to be an engagement ring or more of a promise ring, and it felt odd to act as if you were engaged to someone you didn’t actually know, even if it’s your soulmate. One day I’ll be able to put it on my left hand, you thought. 

Violet gathered up her things, preparing to head out for the night. “It’s beautiful, Y/N,” she remarked, smiling at you. “And it’ll be even more beautiful when Johnny Storm puts it on your left hand.”

You threw a pillow at her as she headed out the door. 

“Yeah, yeah. Happy New Year!”

***4 months later***

“I look ridiculous. Do I look ridiculous?” You paced around your living room, wringing your hands nervously. 

Tonight, you were going to a gala. But not just any gala. A gala at the Baxter Building.

The Fantastic Four was hosting a massive charity event/gala, and invited everyone who worked closely with them or for them. Which included your PR firm. 

Technically, not everyone in your firm was allowed to go, as your company had too many employees. But you practically begged your boss to go, and she finally relented and bought you a ticket (only because it was coming out of your paycheck).

You knew it was stupid. Outlandish. Laughable. Impossible. But you had to admit that the possibility of your soulmate being involved with the Fantastic Four was something you hadn’t stopped thinking about since New Years Eve. You knew there was no way it could be Johnny Storm, but it wouldn’t be too insane of an idea to think your soulmate could work closely with the group in some other way. And you didn’t want to waste this opportunity. 

“You look incredible, Y/N, don’t be silly.” Violet grabbed your black heels that matched your sleek, black, form-fitting dress and handed them to you. “But there’s one little thing missing.” You furrowed your brow, looking down at yourself as you put your heels on. Violet gave you a knowing look before walking over with the little black box you’d been given 4 months ago. “Your soulmate won’t be able to pick you out without this, yeah?”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself as you slipped the ring onto your right ring finger. “I can’t believe I almost forgot.”

“Yeah, if I didn’t know any better I would’ve thought you were nervous or something.” 

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Alright, I better get going before ‘fashionably late’ turns into ‘embarrassingly late.’”

Violet squealed, heading out the door with you. “It’s going to be amazing, Y/N. No matter what happens! Even if you don’t meet him tonight, at least you’ll get to see the Four up close.”

You nodded, giving your best friend a salute before getting in your car. 

You can do this, you told yourself.

***

“Oh, I so cannot do this,” you whispered to yourself.

The lobby of the Baxter Building was completely full of people, none of whom had a familiar face. Everyone was dressed to the nines and looked incredible, and everyone seemed to know each other…except for you. Unfortunately, you didn’t even know where to go. 

Suddenly, a beeping sound appeared next to you. You looked down, and a little robot was staring up at you. You looked around to see if anyone else was seeing this, but no one paid you or the robot any mind. 

“Um, hello?”

The little robot made another beeping sound before rushing away, and you had a feeling he wanted you to follow him.

You followed him over to the elevator, where he pressed the button for you before rushing away once more. “Fascinating,” you whispered, shaking your head in disbelief. 

Before you knew it, the elevator doors opened and revealed the main event. You walked forward a few steps to the balcony overlooking the gala being held right below. It was an incredibly large, lavish place, with even more people roaming about than in the lobby. Jazzy piano music combined with the sound of hundreds of people conversing played all around you. It was dizzying. Everyone looked at ease with a drink in their hand…everyone except for you. You began gnawing at your bottom lip as you made your way to the stairs, a habit you only picked up when you were really, truly anxious. Bracing yourself, you picked up your gown in your hands to avoid tripping in your heels, and slowly made your way down the stairs in an effort to find a single person you were familiar with. 

**

“You’re lying, Ben.”

“I’m not lying, you’re just mad you can’t hold your liquor like I can.”

Johnny Storm was in the corner of the gala with a drink in his hand, bickering with Ben over how many alcoholic drinks he could down before actually getting wasted.  

“No human being on planet Earth can down that many shots and not feel anything.” He stared at Ben incredulously. 

Ben deadpanned. “We’re not exactly regular human beings, Johnny.”

“Yeah, well no, but even I can’t down ten shots and not feel like I’m about to—“

Johnny looked up as he was talking, and suddenly forgot how to speak. 

Because walking down the stairs, wearing his ring, was you.

“Face it, Johnny. You’re a lightweight,” Ben chuckled as he took a sip of his drink, not even noticing that Johnny had stopped speaking. 

“Ben.” Johnny stared at you, mesmerized as you seemed to almost float down the stairs. 

“Do you really want to play this game? Because I can get the bartender right now and she’ll settle this.”

“Ben.” He still couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Alright, fine, I’ll get the bartender—“

“BEN!” 

Ben startled, finally looking at his friend and furrowing his brows. “Jesus, what?”

“My soulmate is over there.” Johnny looked more serious and panicked than Ben had ever seen him, but Ben couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head.

“Yeah, sure, Johnny. Go talk to your ‘soulmate’ so you get out of losing a drinking contest.”

Johnny rubbed a hand down his face in frustration before leaning in closer. “Ben, I’m serious. She’s wearing the ring.”

Ben blinked. Oh. “Really?”

Johnny nodded furiously, eyes looking all over the room, looking panicked. “Yeah. Yeah. Oh my god, it’s her. Holy shit. Holy—“

“Johnny.”

Ben placed his giant hands on Johnny’s shoulders, steadying him. “Look at me. You’ve wooed how many women over the years? And this woman in particular was literally made for you. You’ve waited your whole life for her. Go to her.”

Johnny swallowed harshly, nodding and sniffling briefly. “Yeah. Yeah, I got this. I’m Johnny Storm. I can go talk to my soulmate. Totally. Absolutely.”

Ben bit back a laugh, taking Johnny’s drink from him. “Yep. You are Johnny Storm. Now go get her.”

***

You gave up on finding anyone from your PR firm. It was too loud, the lights too dim, the place too crowded to even think straight. So, you did the only thing left to do: headed for the bar.

Bottom lip still trapped between your teeth, you made your way over to the bar when a voice called out from directly behind you. 

“Uh, hi.” 

You turned around at the oddly familiar voice, and there was Johnny Storm, staring at you with wide, nervous eyes and a small, apprehensive smile. 

Holy shit. Holy shit. Say something, you idiot! “Hi,” you breathed out, your brain suddenly turning back on long enough for you to return his small smile. Why was he talking to you? What was happening, why was he—

“Uh, I think…I have something of yours,” he said. Before you could ask him what he meant, he rolled up the sleeve of his black button down shirt and revealed the leather bracelet you had made, wrapped around his wrist.

Suddenly the room seemed all too quiet. You swore you stopped breathing. “Oh my god.” 

Johnny laughed breathlessly, his smile growing wider. “I know.” 

You couldn’t even think straight. This was real, this was happening, and Violet is never going to let you live this down. “That’s…that’s the bracelet I made for my…”

“Soulmate,” he finished for you, his smile turning into something a little smaller, more boyish and shy. “Yeah. And that,” he pointed to the gem on your finger, “Is the ring I had made for my soulmate.” 

You looked down at the shining gemstone before looking back at him. Your heart was pounding in your throat. “You had it made? Where did you find this gemstone? I’ve never seen anything like it, it’s so beautiful.” 

Johnny beamed. “I found it on a different planet, uh, some planet called Sakaar I think. I’d never seen anything like it either, so I had it melted down into a gemstone…for you.”

You were now smiling so wide your cheeks were starting to hurt. Your head shook in disbelief, because of course it wasn’t even from this world. “It’s incredible. And…god, I can’t believe it’s really you.”

Johnny’s grin grew until he couldn’t take it anymore, and suddenly you were in his arms. His cologne and strong arms filled your senses, and you felt like you were about to explode as your arms wrapped around his neck. 

“Jesus, I’ve waited so long for you,” he murmured in your ear, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other wrapped around your waist. He pulled back suddenly, eyes flitting between yours. “Will you come with me?”

You would follow him anywhere, you decided then. You smiled, nodding. “Yeah.”

Johnny grinned and grabbed your hand. “C’mon.”

You were dizzy with adrenaline as you and Johnny weaved through the crowd until you reached a door, and suddenly you were being pulled into his bedroom. He shut the door behind the two of you, and you gasped as you took it all in.

Because, decorating his shelves, was all of the presents you had sent him over the years. 

“Oh my god, the Turks and Caicos turtle!” You laughed loudly as you wandered up to the turtle bobble head you had sent him from vacation when you were 17. “I cannot believe you kept this.” 

Johnny simply couldn’t stop smiling as he took all of you in, watching as you stared in wonder at all of the mementos. He could not believe you were really here, in front of him, in his bedroom. “Of course I kept it. I kept everything.”

You turned and looked at him then. “So did I.” 

He quirked a brow, smirking. “Even the Johnny Storm action figure?”

You busted out laughing. “Well it is a collectible, of course.” 

“Sue made fun of me relentlessly for that one. Ben did, too,” he shook his head, chuckling. “I wasn’t sure if I should send it or not. Didn’t know if it was too on the nose or self-centered, y’know? But I wanted to give you as much of a hint as I was allowed.”

“My best friend was absolutely ecstatic. She knew it was you from the second she saw it, but I kept trying to convince myself that you were just a fan or something.” 

Johnny swallowed nervously then, looking a little unsure. “Is it—is it okay that I’m…y’know, me?”

“Of course. It’s more than okay, why wouldn’t it be?”

Johnny sat down on his sofa, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, the whole superhero thing could be a deal breaker for some…And I know I have a…reputation.”

You followed him, sitting down next to him. “Hmm, well I distinctly remember Johnny Storm saying that once he met his soulmate, she’d be it for him.”

Johnny turned to you then, eyebrows lifted in surprise as a smile spread across his lips. “You watched my New Years Eve broadcast?”

You mirrored his smile, nodding. 

He dramatically flopped backwards onto his sofa, making you laugh. “God, you really are my soulmate.”

Before you knew it, two hours had gone by. Two hours of sharing life stories, childhood memories. The two of you were currently laying on the floor, side by side, laughing about some of the gifts you’d exchanged over the years.

“What’s your favorite gift though? In all seriousness,” you asked, turning your head to the side to look at him. He was beautiful, and you couldn’t believe he was really yours.

“Hm.” Johnny looked up at the ceiling, eyes squinting in thought. “I love the bracelet you made me this year. I never take it off. Buuuut I think my favorite is the vinyl you gave me a couple years ago.” 

You smiled, sitting up on your elbow to prop your head up. “Yeah?” 

Johnny sat up to mirror your position. “Yeah. I played it nonstop the first few months after I got it. Ben threatened to break my record player.” You both laughed when suddenly Johnny looked serious and stood up. You sat up, furrowing your brow.

“What is it?”

Johnny bowed dramatically, holding his hand out for you to take. “My lady, may I have this dance?”

You giggled, taking his hand and allowing him to help you up. “Why yes, I think you may.”

Johnny grinned, muttering a “one sec,” before putting the Etta James record on. The sweet, slow melody filled your ears, and Johnny placed his hand in yours, his other wrapping around your waist. He pulled you close, and the two of you began to slowly sway. 

At last

My love has come along

My lonely days are over

And life is like a song

Your chest swelled with emotion as he pulled you impossibly closer, his lips brushing your temple as you swayed in time, neither of you speaking, just taking in what you both had waited your entire lives for. 

I found a thrill to press my cheek to

A thrill that I have never known

Johnny pulled away then, his eyes never leaving yours as he took your right hand in his. Slowly, he pulled the ring off your right ring finger before gently placing it on your left. Your heart was pounding wildly in your chest, your eyes unable to look away from him. He swallowed thickly then, a question swimming in his blue eyes, a “Can I?”

You leaned in, nudged his nose with yours in a silent, “Please.”

His lips gently met yours, and the entire outside world melted away. Your heart sang as his thumb brushed your cheek and he kissed you harder, a quiet, needy whimper escaping his throat. Your hands slid down to wrap around his lower back, bringing him even closer. It was everything you’d ever dreamed of, and it really was with Johnny Storm.

And here we are, in heaven

For you are mine…at last

[monstersholygrail]

Imagine the shock of finding out your guy best friend has been possessed by an Ancient Eldritch God, and that the Eldritch being actually traveled them back in time from seven years in the future, and now that very same being claims that you are their fated mate.

You don’t have to imagine it actually because you’re pretty sure that’s what your best friend just told you happened. You’re not sure, you can’t hear much past the ringing in your ears.

“Say something,” your best friend begs, but you can’t stop looking over all the subtle changes seven years made to his always ruggedly handsome face.

“Sorry— Carver, how are you sure about this?” You ask carefully.

Every inch of your body is aware of how close he’s sitting next to you on your couch. Your nerves ignited just by his closeness. Maybe there was some truth to this after all.

“He told me.”

You raise a brow at his blunt and frankly vague answer. Although even in your time he’s not one to usually explain himself. But this is different, you need answers.

“He told you that I’m your destined mate?”

As soon as you finish speaking a low horrifying growl of pleasure rolls through Carver’s chest and both you look at it with wide eyes.

“I’m guessing that’s eldritch for yes,” you squeak out.

But it’s hard to ignore the tingles that spark in your body and shoot straight toward your core. You immediately gush with arousal, your panties growing damp just from that sound alone.

The things it’s doing to you. It was so deep and full of need, you can’t help but subconsciously respond. The Eldritch God can sense it, he can smell your arousal and it floods through his and your best friend’s senses.

Carver’s eyes darken and he shifts on the couch, rising to his knees. With a barely restrained grip he spreads your thick thighs and settles between them, his weight resting on top your plush frame as he grows closer.

“He says he doesn’t think he can wait that much longer. He needs you. I-I need you,” he purrs, rolling his hips and grinding against your soaked pussy. Letting you know just how badly their need is.

“Or what?” You ask breathlessly, slowly lowering yourself further into the couch as he looms over you.

Without even realizing your hips begin rocking into his, creating more of that delicious friction that makes your head spin.

“I think I might just explode,” he whispers back, ducking his head to rub his nose along the column of your throat.

Goosebumps rise up on your skin and you automatically arch into him with a gasp. In truth, you’ve wanted him for so long you can’t remember a time when you weren’t crushing on him. You may need to pinch yourself just to assure you it’s real.

“Please say you mean that figuratively and not literally…”

You hear his laugh mixed in with a much deeper raspy sound and you realize just how much they’re both present in this moment. They’re one with each other now.

And they both want you.

“Hmm. I don’t think we should test him. Do you?”

He leans back enough to look down at you and in the shadows you watch his features twist and grow, changing into something you don’t even recognize or could ever explain.

Yet instead of fear you only feel yourself growing hotter for him— for them. And as they pounce on you, removing any barriers and burying their cock inside of you to the hilt, joining all three of your bodies together… you welcome them without a second thought.

[feelingdozy]

HEATED ENCOUNTER - Johnny Storm

Summary: you're in the kitchen trying to eat cereal, and Johnny's got his eyes set on you after a long day of resisting temptation. He just can't keep his hands to himself.

Warnings: 18+ established relationship, clingy/soft desperate Johnny, semi-public sex (could get caught, doesn't), in the kitchen/poor counter, praise kink, fingering(f!rec), temperature play (johnny's hands), messy makeout, hickeys, biting, fingersucking, one singular slap down there, sex innuendo

w/c: 1,2k ･ a03 ･ prompt list ･

Johnny Storm didn't know how to keep his hands to himself.

Those boyish grins and soft late nights while you giggled into his chest, hand over his waist buried underneath the blankets made it impossible for you to resist him.

He'd always have a hand stroking your head, planting a soft kiss on it while talking to you about your day. A passing hand on your waist while you were getting dressed and he watched. Hopping into the shower to wash your body before his own.

You loved having him beside you at all times, always there, always lurking nearby.

Except when he used his powers to cruel advantages.

It was late in the kitchen, pouring yourself a small bowl of cereal to clench a craving that'd been there all day but no time for it to come to life.

Suddenly you felt hands encompass your waist, warm and secure, he hugged you tightly while shoving his head in the curvature of your neck.

He took in your scent while you smiled at the gesture, clingy as ever. He'd always been like this- and who were you to complain?

You were only able to take a spoonful before he lifted his head back up, chin now resting on your shoulder to get an idea of what you were eating without him.

"Cereal? Wow- you didn't think to invite me?" He said dramatically, nibbling on your earlobe.

You jabbed him at that, "Ow!" As he chuckled, coming back to you just as quickly.

"You know what that does to me Johnny- and, hey!" Kissing the slope of your neck. "I haven't gotten to eat all day."

"Yeah?" He questioned, tone becoming rough and low.

"Yeah." You hummed, attempting not to acknowledge it.

His hands kneaded the soft skin before they left their spot on your hips, one testing the hem of your shirt and the other teasing its way down a path under your waistband.

"Johnny!" You half-muttered, half-yelled at him.

"Shh, sugar. As long as you're quiet, no one will hear us" he commented playfully.

You huffed "oh thanks, very reassuri- fuck!"

His hand had ventured lower while he distracted you with useless conversation, warming his hand up enough to feel it dragging over your panties that hid your clit.

He rubbed slow, teasing circles as you jerked at the warmth and the sensation, head tilted downward in both embarrassment and tainted pleasure.

Your thighs tightened around his wrist instinctively, flushed with his easygoing attitude while knowing your body and making you squirm with known precision. He'd discovered your body like the easiest project he's taken on in years- it was his favorite too. Making you squirm and making sure he knows just what his girl needs?

It's what Johnny Storm was made for.

"Does it feel good, sugar? My hands doin' it right?" Back to the slope of your neck, he sucked on the sensitive skin, making you gasp as he doubled down on the pressure.

His other hand tried to find its way to your breasts, but instead relented to your mouth because of the sounds you just simply couldn't withhold.

"gotta be quiet.. don't want anyone hearing you."

He was evil.

And he knew it, devilishly so.

His curious fingertips slipped your underwear to the side, prodding at your folds while rubbing his fingers through the slick that had gathered.

"Fuck, you're so wet sugar. All for me?" He growled, and you nodded

"Mm.. yes Johnny, please.." muffled by his warm palm.

"What was that, sugar?" He removed his hand, instead letting the fingers slither into your mouth for you to pliantly smother them, engulfing them in your saliva and sucking without complaint.

He was warm and purposeful around your bud again, and you were aching for more, for him. You could feel it so intensely now while not barricaded by the fabric. Rubbing tighter, faster circles, he kept on.

"That's my good girl." Making you whine out involuntarily as he sucked another mark into you, licking it over once, then twice before sucking again to make it bloom darker on your skin.

His fingertips dipped between your entrance, spreading your folds before landing a slap to make you twitch, it gave him satisfaction in the way you enjoyed it, and the way he could earn your pleasure in many ways without it ever getting boring.

That's why when he's splitting you open with his finger, it's a lot hotter, literally- reminding you of last night when he'd laid you on his bed and fucked til dawn.

His fingers may be smaller than his cock, but in his ability to have your knees buckling and struggling to stand straight? They were very close.

"Ohhh mmff-" your hips stuttered as he slowly slid another one in, both moving at the same mind-numbing pace, curling deliciously up into that spongy part that had you pleading for him to keep going.

You sucked harder on his fingers, making him huff out a laugh at the sight while resisting to grind himself into your ass, leading your head sideways to instead grab a fistful of your hair. Winding it around his wrist to keep a solid grip, he kept your head back, interlocking your lips with his in a messy, spit-filled open mouthed kiss as your hips stuttered into a sign you were close.

Nearing the edge, he mumbled praises in your ear as you clamped down on him, making him eager to curl faster while his thumb somehow rounded your clit with a spark of heat that had you groaning onto his tongue, hardly even able to kiss back as he thrusted harder.

"C'mon sugar, Johnny's got you- you can come. Come for me, please" he cooed, octave low and strained like he needed to witness it more than you wanted to come.

You're not sure how, (you do but won't admit you get off to his praise) but that teetered you off the edge, bucking roughly into your orgasm as his hands cradled you perfectly, drool down your chin and a grin on your boyfriend's face while you moaned his name.

Rubbing your clit through the aftershocks, you reached for his wrist when it went into overstimulation, making him slowly come to a stop and meet his eyes to yours.

He'd taken them out, coated and glistened with you, taking them in his mouth and released a desperate noise at the taste hitting him so delightfully.

"I'm never gonna forget we did it in the damn kitchen.." you sighed pitifully, mixed with agony but a dopey smile on your face.

"We could do a lot more in this kitchen..?"

"Johnny!" You slapped his chest with a surprised laugh, hand in his as you led him to your shared bedroom.

"You're so eager you couldn't even take it to bed, huh? No patience. Hormones of a damn teenager"

"mm no," his finger rubbing his chin in contemplation, " think it's just your fault sugar."

"My fault?"

"Too damn sweet, like caramel now" he winked, and you fell onto the bed with an exaggerated groan.

"Ooh does this mean round four to continue last night?" Climbing on top of you hastily, he slid a lone strand of hair lying across your face behind your ear as he smiled bashfully.

You put a finger to his lips to shush him as you hid your shy smile, making him freeze in place above you while caged between his arms. "Can you not burn the sheets this time?"

"no promises, sugar."

thank you for reading :) requests are open! || Marvel Masterlist

[smuttysabina]

Hands-On Lessons in Anatomy

(Male Reader x Itzy's Yuna, 5.4k Words) Tag: Lots of Anatomy studying goes on, Yuna is just like REALLY into your anatomy, what better way to study the Reproductive System than by reproducing, Vaginal oral and anal sex, Loss of virginity, Yuna looks really sweet and innocent, Some squirting, Creampies, Highly defensive mothers, good thing Yuna loves your sausage, scholarly sex

You both start when your bedroom door suddenly opens, and your mother's head pokes through the narrow gap, her facial expression unreadable as she drinks in the sight of her beloved son sitting next to such a beauty. Said beauty was demurely dressed, and though seated mere inches away from you, betrayed not a hint of tension nor desire; yet your mother's eyes crinkle at the corners nonetheless as she analyzes the girl in ways unbeknownst to the lesser senses of men. Apparently satisfied, she nods at both of you, before dryly announcing, "Your father will be somewhat late tonight, so I'm heading out to do some errands. I should be gone for a few hours..." she seems to linger on those last words, the faintest hint of a smug grin stretching her lips before she disappears once more, leaving with a bland, "Have fun!" as she stomps down the stairs and out the front door. Leaving you entirely alone in the house with the gorgeous Yuna, who innocently indicates the unfinished presentation on the reproductive system you both were currently working on,

"Let's continue then! I'm sure we can get so much done before your parents get home..."

The previous afternoon you had brought Yuna home for the first time, and your mother's eyebrows had quirked in surprise, while your father's had danced a merry polka across his forehead. Naturally they had been shocked their modest son had bagged such a catch, though their enthusiasm had dampened only somewhat when you blushingly informed them that she was just there to work on a project with you for anatomy class. Your dad had suffered from a minute-long coughing fit after that, and your mom's welcoming smile had grown glacial as her non-verbal interrogation of the hussy accompanying her dear child intensified. Evidently Yuna had passed whatever torturous enquiry your mother subjected her to since she was allowed inside of the house, and was given the slow nod of one predator greeting another at the watering hole. Yuna had even been allowed to join you in your room, where you had studiously worked on the presentation, even with your mom wandering in from time to time to offer snacks or drinks; your dad's continuous cackling went unmentioned. Your fellow student had left without incidence, and with the work only halfway finished, you awkwardly informed your parents that she would be returning the next day to help complete it. Your mother's face had been serene while she bobbed her head in acquiescence, and you could have sharpened steel on your father's grin.

When you had returned home today, with Yuna in tow once more, you had been surprised to find that your mother was the only one home, and was wearing her makeup. You had felt Yuna stiffen at the sight of your mother in her war paint, while your mom's gaze swept over every inch of the girl's body, drinking in her modest yet showy outfit, her modest makeup, her appreciable curves, her bashful demeanor. Your mother's eye had twitched, before she welcomed you two in with a cheery smile, and had surprisingly left you both alone to attempt to figure out the least mortifying way to explain sex to your class. After barely half an hour your mom had stuck her head in, told you she was going out, and left you alone with one of the hottest girls in school...

So now there you were, with Shin Yuna mere inches away from you, her curvaceous body distracting you immensely as you struggled to pay attention to the... content of the material. Smart, gorgeous, somewhat bratty, and rumored to be an idol, Yuna had been a favorite of both the teachers and the student body since her arrival. Your lecherous Health teacher had positively leered when he had doled out your topic for the anatomy presentation, and the class had either chortled along or glared at you furiously for your luck in getting picked to partner with her. But so far Yuna had betrayed not an ounce of impropriety, though her every careless touch had set your heart racing, and your pants feeling decidedly too tight. Of course you had tried hard to banish the impure thoughts rushing through your mind, but it was difficult with her hand brushing against yours and her breasts oh so delicately pressing against your arm when she would lean past you. Yuna's innocently pink outfit left little for the imagination as well, and though her most intimate parts were still covered, she still managed to show herself off with a lowcut dress and skirt. You would have thought she was arousing you on purpose, but you were baffled as to why she would show any sort of interest in a normal pleb like you.

After an hour of rigorous if increasingly distracted work clustered around your aged laptop and a heap of textbooks, you had reached an impasse. Yuna sighs in frustration, her luscious lips pouting while she struggles to deal with the problem at hand, namely how best to produce an A+ presentation when you both knew the female half of the class would be bringing their best to the table to try and humble her. She leans close to you, her shoulder sliding against yours as she asks, "So, any ideas?" she waves a hand, "The problem with doing the reproductive system is that itis just so hard to make sound interesting, everyone else will be doing real experiments to show off their parts of the body, but all we have are boring diagrams!" she huffs, "If we got the arms or something we could test how different weights affect the muscle angle, but no," Yuna rolls her eyes, "We got... our bits." Seeking to cheer the gloomy girl up, you awkwardly joke about not having to do any experiments, which makes her eyes narrow. You start to apologize, but she shushes you with a finger, "Shh! I'm thinking..." A surprisingly wicked grin sneaks across her face and is gone before you can even be sure it was even there, as she turns to you and calmly says, "I think we do need to do some experiments..."

"C'mon, take off your pants, we don't have all day you know!" Yuna stares earnestly at you, wiggling her hand at you as if telling you to take your dick out was something girls commonly did during group projects. She puts her hands on her hips and glares at you from her perch on your bed, "How are we supposed to test the statements in this book," she jabs at a textbook detailing in the blandest terms imaginable the act of coitus, "if you don't provide the evidence for the male half of the equation? So, take it out! The project is due tomorrow morning!" You glance around furtively, but under Yuna's intense glare you find your excuses withering on your tongue, surely she knew best, and wasn't as if she wanted to... you know, do it. There had always been rumors, and many of the girls did seem to loathe her unreasonably, but nobody could seriously believe that Yuna could possibly be the school bicycle! So with much trepidation, you drop your pants, and at her further urging, let fall your boxers as well, leaving you with your hands covering your manhood in front of the most gorgeous girl in school. Yuna watches your face turn bright red before noting, "You know, it's hard for me to examine it if your hands are in the way."

"'When aroused,'" Yuna reads, "'the penis becomes engorged, extending to twice or even thrice its flaccid length, and becoming rigid,'" she raises an eyebrow as she pokes at your decidedly undeployed manhood , "So, why is it not hard yet?" She taps at her lips while she ponders the issue, before nodding thoughtfully, "Does your penis require... stimulation? And here I thought boys got hard pretty easily, I noticed you getting a stiffy several times already today!" You sputter out excuses but she silences them with a flick of her pen, "Or, is your member tired because it's been getting up all day?" Yuna hums happily to herself, "There's so much to test for! This project is going to be fun!" Without even bothering to ask permission, she tentatively places her hand on your thigh, watching with interest as your cock twitches from her mere touch, stiffening modestly under her appraisal as your lust eats away at the incontinence caused by your nervousness. "Interesting," Yuna muses, "Describe to me how it feels? We should probably measure it to determine where it lies on the chart for average penis size!" She has a gleam in her eye when she whips out her ruler, and you groan internally, a girl was about to touch your dick for the first time, but she was only doing so for science!

After fifteen minutes of exhaustive and increasingly intimate inspection, Yuna is satisfied with her initial findings, and your poor cock is now firmly erect, "Excellent, I think we have enough information about the male half of the equation, and I can supply the female half on my own. Feel free to put your pants back on," Yuna says absently while she jots down yet more notes, biting her lip while she concentrates. Somewhat disappointed, you hesitantly start to pull your clothes back on when Yuna suddenly stops you, "Wait. We're missing something," she contemplates, "I think... I think we're missing the most important part! We can't just analyze them separately," she looks at you excitedly, "We have to analyze them together! Keep those pants off mister, we still have science to do!" Yuna stands up and reaches under her skirt, before leaning forward to pull down her plain panties, her face only inches away from your manhood. Your heart pounds in your chest as you realize that you are now alone in a room with your cock out, and a girl had just taken her panties off, which could only mean... Yuna hops back onto the edge of your bed and opens her legs, pulling the hem of her skirt up to reveal her nubile pussy, "Now then, let's experiment, shall we?" Yuna asks with relish.

"Hmm," Yuna notates, "the male subject's penis has grown noticeably larger, and the tip is..." she eyes your cock, "now thoroughly engorged with blood, perhaps to aid in penetration?" You continue to stand dutifully in front of Yuna while she jots down her observations, your manhood twitching as you wait only a step away from her font of fertility; your balls aching terribly. She nods in satisfaction, "It would appear that my hypothesis that the presence of an exposed vagina would cause the penis to grow to its maximum extent was correct, now then," Yuna reaches a finger down to probe at her own genitals, running it through her pink folds and pressing at her prominent hood at the top of her slit, "My vulva has become extremely sensitive, and my... oh. Oh my clitoris is... mmmph..." Yuna's eyes roll back as she trembles from her exploration, before regaining control of herself and continuing, "My arousal is also noticeable, and my vagina is..." she shudders as her finger slips inside of herself, "Oh. It is extremely wet..." she removes it, dragging a glistening streamer of grool that she wipes against her bared thigh, "Likely due to the presence of a fully erect and available penis so close to it," Yuna pauses, breathing heavily, her face now as flushed as yours was, "I think... I think we need to proceed with testing... I am... thoroughly aroused," she looks at you plaintively, "and we cannot risk premature ejaculation. Please enter me. Now."

You could not believe it. Yuna, one of queens of the school, was telling you to fuck her, she was begging you to stick your dick inside of her, and she had not even mentioned protection. Your brain was so frazzled by lust you did not even bother to consider the aftereffects of your coitus, you simply stepped between her legs and pushed your cock against her moist slit. Yuna sighs, "Lower, lower, here, let me-" her hand finds your member and guides it to her entrance, so that when you press forward you feel her warmth engulfing your dick. You both groan as you press all the way inside of her, your manhood filling her pussy to the hilt, and you pause there while you both tremble with pleasure. You start to pull back so you might thrust into her once more, but she stops you with a hand on your chest, "Wait... before we continue... describe how I feel... We- we need to record this!" But your hind-brain has no time for such complex thoughts, and your hips unconsciously move on their own, making you both moan once more, "Oh fuck!" Yuna curses, "Your cock... I can't think straight!" Her legs wrap around your waist as she tosses her notebook aside, "Just... just do me, okay? Let's just focus on the sex for now!"

So, you fuck Shin Yuna, just like how she asked you too. Her pussy grips you like a vice while you slide in and out of her, your shaft gleaming with her juices as her cunt slobbers all over you both. And her warmth... you had never realized how warm a girl could be, your cock felt like it was being broiled inside of her and you never wanted it to stop. Yuna seemed similarly afflicted by pleasure, squealing and gasping with every thrust, begging you not to stop as her popular pussy takes every inch of you with euphoric ease. Your balls begin to pulsate, and the thinking portion of your brain battles furiously to take control and shove through the thought that perhaps you should not empty your load ballsdeep into your classmate's fertile pussy; but her legs give you no option of pulling out, "Your cock!" Yuna exclaims with wide eyes, "It's twitching! Are you... oh you are... you're going to inseminate me!" she nods eagerly, "Yes. All in me! Cum in me! Yes! OH FUCK YES!" Yuna shrieks at the top of her lungs as your jizz pours inside of her in an uncontrollable tide, her walls clenching tightly around your length while you spasm atop her, convulsing with pleasure. It feels as if your brain was draining out through your cock, leaving you gurgling while you erratically thrust into her during your orgasm.

It takes at least a minute for you to recover, your nerves shredded with overstimulation as you slowly pull out of Yuna, allowing your conjoined sexual fluids to drip out of her gaping hole. Who looks down in wonder at your slowly softening erection, "That... that was all inside of me?" she breathes, "I can- I can feel your semen inside of me... it's so... sticky," Yuna smiles, "Well that felt... wonderful, the textbooks were correct about that, did the sex feel good for you too?" trembling, she reaches for her notebook, already writing fervently as if your cum was not burping out of her cunt and down the side of your bed. Yuna interrogates you ferociously, asking you how tight she felt? How warm? How wet? How stimulating her vagina was compared to masturbation? Was this your first time (How adorable!)? How large your emissions were compared to normal? How quickly you would be ready for another session of sex? You blink at this last question, looking at her curiously and causing Yuna to pout, "What, did you think this is over already? We need to do several experiments to thoroughly test my hypothesis!" She sighs, whacking your cock with her pen, "Boys. Very well, shall we proceed to the second position then? Or do you require additional stimulation to become erect once more?" You shyly nod, your meat unshriveling at the thought of Yuna's touch, and she tilts her head in acquiescence while she considers what method to best use.

Yuna's head bobs steadily atop your cock, her lips locked tightly around your shaft as she sucks your erection back into being. You groan and hold onto her hair, keeping it out of the way while she does the hard work for you, her eyes narrowed in amusement while you twitch and shudder from her efforts. Yuna takes you all the way to your base, your manhood sliding down her throat, her tongue lapping quickly at your balls until her breath runs out and she pulls back. After giving your tip one final suck, her cheeks hollowing from the pressure, she relents and examines the rigid fruits of her labor, nodding in satisfaction, "Excellent, oral stimulation proved to be as effective as I anticipated," she cocks her head as she looks up at you, her puppydog eyes glistening with a hint of tears as she adjusts her glasses, "Would you say your penis regained its hardness faster than normal?" she jots down your answer before glancing back up at you, "You are paying attention right? This isn't just about your pleasure, we need to get good results for our presentation, and this helps us study for the final test!" Yuna stares in exasperation at your uncomprehending face, "You do know what the final will be on, right? Were you not listening when the teacher said what it would be on?" she smacks your thigh with her notebook, "Sex. Our final will be on sex, and I am not failing," she continues her scholarly abuse, "because my study partner was too busy getting off to help me study properly! So pay attention!" Yuna's hand curls meaningfully around your tender bits, "Got it?" she breathes, and you nod frantically, "Good, the final is in three weeks, and we have so much to test... but first..."

Your classmate wiggles her butt emphatically in the air, bent over your bed with her bottom now completely bare after she pulled her skirt up around her chest; though you would have preferred she kept it lower... "Now then, my hypothesis is that the normal degradation in penile ability caused by successive orgasms can be significantly reduced by increased sexual stimulation," Yuna monologues blithely while her pussy leaks down her sweaty thighs, "Or, at least until the built up hormones from the refractory period causes a complete collapse in your ability to sustain an erection," you grunt your assent while you rub your dick against her rear, admiring the way her waist flairs out into her surprisingly wide hips to accommodate her impressively-sized ass. Yuna continues rambling, unnoticing as your humping grows ever more needy, "This position, Doggy style, is supposedly more stimulating than the Missionary we just enjoyed, so I am curious to see how this affects your stamina and performance..." She glances back at you with a knowing smile, "You may begin, I am... excited to see how this goes as well... Can you find it this time? Here, I'll help," her fingers slither between her thighs and open her folds for you, clearly revealing where her drooling entrance was, "I want to feel your cock inside of me again..."

Yuna's supposition had been entirely correct, Doggy style was more stimulating than missionary, and it was driving you wild. You pant like a wild animal while you rut with her, the slap of her ass against your flesh was deafening while you vigorously fuck her gushing cunt. Yuna whines while you plow her, biting the sheets and moaning as your cock mercilessly tries to beat her pussy out of shape, "Oh- Mmmph! Ngh! Fuck!" Yuna grunts, "Your penis- is so- hard- this- time!" she gasps out between thrusts, "I was- right! You're so- rough!" Yuna makes an bizarre noise, and something wet splatter against your balls, "Oh fuck me! Harder! Yes!" she wails, as you continue to pound away at her from behind, a damp spot spreading beneath the site of your joining. The feeling of her soft cheeks squishing against your crotch was euphoric and you press relentlessly against it while she shoves her ass back at you with equal enthusiasm. Before Yuna had been content to stay still and let you use her like a passive onahole, but now she seemed unable to resist shoving herself back onto you; causing more than a little chaos when you both mistime your thrusts and your cock pops out of the stuffy embrace of her pussy. You waste no time in shoving your manhood back inside of Yuna, and this time after a bit of effort you both manage to synchronize your thrusts, and the steady rhythm of your sex drives you over the edge.

You nearly double over as you force yourself against the meaty bulwark of Yuna's fat ass, your cock pulsating as you unload yet another flood of cum inside of Yuna's fertile pussy. Who gasps and claws at the sheets, wailing with pleasure as your hot seed fills her once more, her back arching until it looks as if she is folded in half. This time the load you left inside of your classmate pours out of her like a waterfall, before she collapses sideways with a groan, letting your congealed juices run down her bruised ass cheek. You collapse onto the bed beside her, and this time you both cuddle in the afterglow of your copulation, while Yuna purringly informs you of her observations, "Well... I was right about Doggy wasn't I? That was... so fucking good, it felt like my brain was going numb..." She wiggles her butt against your flaccid meat, "And you were so... rough! I didn't believe the textbook when it said the presence of semen in a woman's vagina would make his sex more forceful, but... well..." she sighs dreamily, before perking up at your question, "Hmm? Oh, right, you're probably worried about that," Yuna sighs, "Well, if I was ovulating, then yes judging by the sheer quantity of semen drying in my vagina, I would have been impregnated by you. Good job! I am curious though," she muses, "I wonder how it would feel to be knocked up... for studying, of course!"

It takes around ten minutes for Yuna to finish writing her notes down, muttering to herself while she idly toys with your cock in her off-hand, seemingly fascinated by its feel. With a final vigorous motion she underlines her last statement, before looking at you and parting her pert lips, but before she can speak your phone suddenly blares, sending the both of you scrambling. You fumble for your phone' lost somewhere in the twisted sheets, and are unable to find it in time before the call goes to voicemail. Your mothers voice sighs out of the phone when you open the message, "Your father joined me for errands, and we are both now on the way home, we should be back in... twenty minutes, so try and have everything finished up by then, bye." You and Yuna share a look, her expression more than a little miffed at the obvious thought that she might not be able to record another sample, but a look of determination fills her face and she nods confidently, "Okay, this is fine. We can still fit one more test in!" she glances at you, "Start stroking while I get ready," she rushes out of the room, calling over her shoulder, "I'll be right back!" Which was about when you realize just how badly you have to pee, but when you check the nearest bathroom, you hear water running inside, evidently Yuna was suffering from the same issue, so you use your parents' bathroom to unleash what had to be the foulest-smelling piss of your life, which you were careful to flush. You returned to your room to find it empty, with Yuna dashing inside and slamming the door behind her a couple minutes later, now completely naked.

It was somewhat shocking that you had creampied Yuna twice before even seeing her tits, or for that matter, even kissing her, but those were two deficiencies she seemed eager to correct as she presses herself against you. Her lips smash into your own, and her perky breasts squish appealingly against your chest, as she wraps her arms around your neck, her body molding itself onto yours. By the time she broke off the kiss, your faces were both beet-red, your dick was somehow hardening once more. With a sleazy smirk Yuna pushes you back against your bed, kicking a stool in front of you, "Okay, this is going to be super intense, but I think I can bring you to climax about as quickly as the last time," she adjusts her glasses, "You took four minutes and forty-eight seconds by the way, a touch below average, but expected considering your lack of experience... Yuna pauses for a moment, letting you drink in the sight of her curvy form, anointed with delicate looking breasts and conversely redoubtable breeding hips, before turning and allowing you to appreciate the rear view as well. Then she steps back onto the stool, such that your erection poked against her thighs just beneath her cheeks, and grasping your dick firmly one one hand, rubs it against her sopping folds, "I'll be moving this time, okay?" Yuna informs you clinically, "I think this will go faster with me being the active one..." and promptly sits on your cock.

You shudder as your member enters the now familiar swampy confines of Yuna's cunt, her folds greeting you as enthusiastically as the first time you had visited. Your classmate rides you skillfully, or, at least you thought she was, it wasn't like you had beautiful babes bouncing on your dick regularly, but whatever she was doing still felt amazing. But even with Yuna's hips writhing down your length repeatedly, causing you to groan in time with her own squeaks, it still felt as if there was a barrier you were unable to cross, that you were unable to truly approach climax. After a couple minutes of euphoric torture, your lover notices your progress plateauing and pauses, resting her cheeks against your crotch, "Fascinating, your refractory period seems to have intensified, I wonder if we continued too soon... oh well," Yuna winks, "good thing I prepared for this!" She unmounts you slowly, leaving behind a gooey slick of fluids that coats your cock, before grabbing your manhood and orienting it back towards you. Before you can process what she was doing, Yuna was already shoving your dick into her rear hole, its entry lubricated by your shared sexual juices. If you had thought Yuna's pussy had been vice-like, her anus made her cunt feel downright loose. It felt as if her ass was trying to rip the skin off of your shaft, mercilessly crushing your manhood in its warm coils. Then she started bouncing on your cock, and your soul nearly left your body as pleasure shoots from your groin. It would take a mere seventeen seconds (Yuna would smugly inform you afterwards) of intensive stimulation from anal sex for you to orgasm, grasping Yuna's waist for support while your balls offered up what meagre sperm still remained inside of them to her insatiable anus.

This time there was little mess when Yuna removes your cock from her hole, her asshole clenching shut the moment your tip slides out of her butt. She bites her lips, clearly relishing the moment as she touches her belly, "Oh... I can feel your semen so much better in my anus than in my vagina, how odd..." she cocks her head before glancing at the clock, her eyes widening, "Your parents are already here! They're five minutes early!" Yuna bawls and she scrambles to collect her scattered clothes. You follow suit, hauling on your outfit with undue haste as you hear your front door creaking open and your mother calling up in greeting. Yuna hurriedly flips your blanket over, since there would be no disguising the massive wet marks covering it, and hops atop it, assuming a mien of supreme relaxation as footsteps stomp up the stairs. You plop down onto the floor, kicking her panties beneath your bed as you nervously pretend as if you had been typing furiously away at your laptop this whole time, and not plowing the nubile beauty reclining on your bed. You both have the merest of seconds to get your mannerisms straight before your bedroom door cracks open and your mother peers in.

You both glance up at her like startled animals, your faces flushed and sweaty, and you give her a nervous grin. Your mother quietly takes in the scene, disdaining to acknowledge the blatantly obvious evidence that something had been amiss, before her eyes bore into the slut reclining on her son's bed. Yuna maintains a façade of complete innocence, but your mom's nostrils flare, and her eyes crinkle ever so slightly in disgust, before asking glacially, "So. Did you two get much work done?" Yuna nods energetically, "Oh yes, ma'am!" she gushes, "We got so much research done, our presentation is definitely going to be the best! We even got some studying in for the final!" Your mother grunts, "I see. Will you be staying for dinner? We are having sausages, and I'm sure a growing girl like you would enjoy seconds..." Yuna pouts, "Oh, I'm so sorry, but I really must be going! My big sister will be here any minute now to pick me up! But I would love to return later to sample your cooking, I'm sure it is quite delicious!" she beams endearingly. Your mother grunts approvingly, "See that you do, I put a lot of effort into my meals..." she gives Yuna a level glare, before gifting you with an approving smile, and shuts the door behind her.

After a few minutes getting organized, and gifting your laptop to Yuna for the night so she could compile her analysis into the slideshow, the supposed slut flounces her way out your bedroom door, and almost makes her escape before your mom could catch her. You watch from the top of the stairs as your mother leans in to whisper in Yuna's ear, seeing your classmate stiffen before slightly less enthusiastically sauntering out into the night. Your mother preternaturally glances up, catching your gaze before calling, "You stink, next time open a window in there, your room was appallingly stuffy, now go shower, dinner will be ready soon!" As you hustle into your room you hear her snap at your father, "And you stop laughing! One more joke and you're sleeping on the couch mister!" Well, it sounded like you had managed to lose your virginity without your parents noticing! Adults could be so oblivious sometimes, you chuckle to yourself as you extract Yuna's panties from beneath your bed, maybe you should return these...

Yuna hums as she bounces along the sidewalk, enjoying the chill of the night against her sweaty skin until she spots her minder waiting for her. She waves enthusiastically as Yeji lurches up from her seat atop a prone figure, disgorging what sounds like a liter of semen from her cunt as she stands. Yeji greets her junior warmly, before asking as the pair wander away, "So, did you manage to get any work done?" Yuna giggles, "Of course! It's a good thing the teacher gave us the Reproductive System, we were able to get so much research done!" Yeji chuckles knowingly, Yuna's teachers had not required much... encouragement to adjust their curriculums to better suit her maknae's needs, "So," she sighs, "Is it love, again?" "Of course!" Yuna gushes, "My heart was fluttering the whole time! It was so hard pretending to be all calm and studious, he was just so adorable, I wanted to eat him all up!" Yeji ruffles Yuna's hair endearingly, "Well try not to break this one, his mom works at JYPE, and honestly her pussy kind of smells..." Yuna huffs in annoyance, "And she was getting all mad at me for squirting all over my darling's sheets! Ugh!"

Later that night your phone pings, as Yuna sends you a message eagerly asking to come over tomorrow for some more studying. After all, her message reads, you still had to test out the sexual efficacy of her hair, hands, breasts, mouth, tongue, armpit, tummy, thighs, feet, legs, anus (again), and more compared to her vagina!

Yuna truly was a great student when it came to studying Anatomy!

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Dreamwalker (Natasha Romanoff x Reader)

Summary: You'd always thought your powers were mundane compared to the others in the Avengers... until it saves the woman you love.

Words: 2157

Warnings: Mentions of death, language, almost death

A/N: Reader has the power to dreamwalk.

-X-

You’d always hated the medbay.

It was too sterile, too quiet except for the steady beeping of the monitor connected to Natasha’s temple. She was lying motionless on the cot, hair fanning over the pillow, chest rising and falling steadily—for now. She’s paler than you’ve ever seen her, lips parted just enough that it almost looked like she’d speak, eyes flickering behind their lids like she was dreaming…

Intel had said non-lethal. That the gas wasn’t meant to damage, but it’d been days and she still hadn’t woke up.

“If we can’t wake her mind, her body will follow,” Bruce had told you grimly.

So here you were, staring at her from the chair beside her bed, clutching her cool hand between both of yours.

“You sure about this?” Steve’s arms were crossed, jaw tight. “You said it yourself. The deeper someone goes, the harder it is to pull them back. You mess around too long in there…”

You swallowed dryly, studying her face. “I have to try, Steve. What good are my powers if I can’t save the woman I lo—if I can’t save her?”

“She might not be the only one in a permanent nap if you linger too long,” Tony pointed out, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “If you go under and we can’t wake you…”

“Let her go.” Clint’s voice was quiet and pained, his eyes never straying for Natasha. “She has to try. And if anyone could wake Nat, she’s the best option.”

Bringing her hand up to your cheek, you closed your eyes. “Thirty minutes. Just give me thirty minutes. I have to try… I can’t leave her in there.”

And then—

You were falling.

-X-

There was always something so terribly disorienting about dreamwalking. Sometimes it was hard to remember what was real and what was simply a dream. And as the world reformed around you, colors bleeding into view like spilled inks across papers, for a moment—

“There you are,” a soft voice met your ears, a familiar laugh trickling into your ears and you turned around.

You were standing in a field, rows and rows of white folding chairs lining the grass around you. Birds were chirping cheerfully above you, the sun drenching your skin in warmth. No one was here yet…

Except her.

Standing near the makeshift altar in a white and red dress, laced up the back and a bouquet of wildflowers in her hand, was Natasha. Her hair was swept up into soft curls and her lips were bare, but tugged into the prettiest smile you’d ever seen on her face.

She looked…

Happy.

She didn’t seem startled by your presence. In fact, she was staring at you like you’d hung the damn moon and stars just for her.

“I was starting to think you were going to leave me at the altar,” she teased, eyes glittering in the too-bright sun. Her smile shifted into something shyer as she walked towards you. “I never thought we’d get here but we made it.”

Your breath hitched as her lips ghosted along your cheek, her hands finding your jaw as her forehead rested against yours.

“I can’t believe this is real,” she whispered.

And for a moment, neither could you. This moment was one you’d thought about in your darkest nights, when the world was too quiet and your thoughts were too loud, but now it was right here, in your hands—

Until you heard Steve’s voice, distant and muffled but brimming with panic:

Her vitals are spiking. Something’s happening!

Reality clawed at the edge of your awareness, like an infected splinter you couldn’t quite scratch out. Some piece of you not caught in the haze of the dream knew this wasn’t real. Knew that the real Natasha was lying on a cot in the medbay, wires connected to her body like roots—

But for a moment, you wanted so badly to bleed into this lie with her. To have this moment, even if it killed you both.

“Hey,” she whispered, thumb brushing along the edge of your mouth. “We’re okay. You’re shaking…”

“We’re more than okay,” you promised quietly, tilting your head to kiss her palm, her breath catching in her chest at the gentle display.

Stepping back, she offered her hand like it was a declaration and a question in equal parts. “Ready?”

The breeze jostled the train of her dress and somewhere, someone was calling out your name though it was simply static in your ears. Because right now, you were hers.

Whether it killed you or not.

Her eyes trailed over your body, the lines around her eyes softening as she drank you in.

“God,” she exhaled. “You look good in white.”

You looked down at your suit. It was fitted, cleaner than just about anything you’d ever worn before. It wasn’t something you’d ever owned but it was what Natasha had imagined you in and that knowledge just made your chest ache.

A slow smile touched her mouth, crooked and bittersweet. “I always thought if I ever got married... it’d be running from something. Guns in the background... dress soaked in blood...”

You almost said, Well, there’s still time.

But then she leaned into you again, resting her head against your shoulder like it had always belonged there. Like this was the shape the world was always meant to take. “I never let myself picture this,” she admitted, voice low. “I didn’t think I deserved this…”

The ache in your chest kicked hard. Your hand moved instinctively, sliding up her spine. And for the first time since stepping into this field, you felt her tremble.

Just a little.

She whispered, “Tell me this isn’t a dream.”

Your mouth opened but froze as you noticed the edges of the field wavering, the colors flickering and desaturating, slowly creeping towards you. It was barely noticeable but to you, it was a warning sign. Her subconscious was slowly dragging her deeper…

And you were running out of time.

Your hand shifted to cradle the back of her head, eyes never leaving the corners of the straining dreamscape.

“Tasha… baby, I need you to listen to me,” you murmured, kissing the top of her head. “I need you to open your eyes for me. You’re in a coma at the tower…”

She stiffened in your arms and then her hands slowly uncurled from around your waist. “What…?” her voice was distant, disbelief meeting heartbreak. “No. No, I… we’re getting married. We were just together a few minutes ago.”

“You were gassed during your last mission. You’ve been asleep for over a week,” you replied, tears flooding your eyes, the crack of her voice leaving your heart in splinters.

You watched her eyes cloud, the field dimming at the edges like dusk rolling in fast, the color draining out more as the wind died.

A line formed between her brows, and when she looked at you again, the warmth was laced with fear. “Detka, no. Don’t—don’t say that. This is real. We’re here. We’re getting married. I-I remember writing the vows…”

She touched your chest, her fingers desperate now, as if grounding herself with your heartbeat could keep the illusion intact.

A sharp jolt hit the sky, the dream tearing open beneath her grief.

Your connection to her flared. You could feel the pressure in her subconscious spike—panic setting in. Not just emotional. It was as if her brain was starting to fight you, locking down, sealing itself off the way a dying system would.

And somewhere, just beneath the surface, you heard Bruce's voice, muffled like he was underwater, from the medical bay: “Whatever you’re doing—it’s destabilizing. You need to either bring her up or risk losing the connection altogether.”

Natasha’s grip tightened. “You’re not real,” she whispered, eyes suddenly wide and glassy. “You’re just a—just a projection. I’m…”

Your hands found her cheeks, forehead pressing to hers.

“Listen to me,” you pleaded. “Right now, we’re in the medbay. Your hand is on my cheek and I’m right beside you. But—” you tilted your head upward, kissing her forehead. “I love you, Natalia Romanova. I do. This is a dream but it doesn’t have to be. And if you open your eyes, I will tell you that to your face a thousand times until you believe me. I love you. I am so stupidly head over heels in love with you and I have been for months.”

You saw it—the shift behind her eyes. The haze didn’t vanish all at once, but it wavered. Her lips parted, breathing shallow as a visible tremble worked through her chest, your words rooting deep beneath the layers of illusion.

“I need you to calm down and come home to me… because I promise you—we’ll have this someday. I mean it. I want to spend the rest of my life with you… but that can only happen if you open your eyes, baby.”

Your breath was a ghost across her lips, silently begging her to listen.

Her hands gripped your wrists, not pushing you away but clinging to you—and to this moment.

“I thought…” she whispered, voice thinned and hoarse, “I thought maybe I had finally died and this was the last nice thing my brain would let me have.”

The field flickered again. A gust of wind blew through, violent this time, scattering petals and bending grass like something was coming for her—like the dream knew it was ending but wanted to keep her anyways.

But she didn’t look away from you.

“You love me?” she asked, not disbelieving, but frightened to believe.

“So much,” you reiterated fiercely, kissing her forehead. “And the moment you open your eyes, I’ll tell you again.”

And as she stared at you—really stared—you saw her pupils contract. Focus sharpening. Her breathing evened out, and one single tear escaped, trailing down her cheek.

And far off behind her, through the blur of golden light and too colorful flowers, you saw the field starting to collapse in slow, dreamlike ripples—reminiscent of the world becoming like a watercolor painting. But Natasha didn’t flinch. She reached up, hand curling around the back of your neck, forehead pressing hard against yours.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay… I’ll come back.”

Then her grip tightened.

“But when I wake up…” Her voice dropped low, fierce with the kind of quiet that tried to mask the sheer panic in her chest, “...don’t you dare take that back.”

And the dream—

Shattered.

The world split apart into white. And your body jolted—your spine arched, muscles locking as your consciousness ripped from the dreamscape like it’d been dragged out against its will as the world you’d once stood in dissolved into darkness.

-X-

Your mind wrenched back into your body as monitors screamed around you. You could hear the team yelling around the medbay but all that mattered was her, the hand pressed against your cheek twitching as Natasha’s body bowed slightly, the sharp breath reminding you of someone breaching water after being under too long.

“Ngh… d-detka?” she rasped.

The chair shrieked in protest as you bolted up, closing the tiny gap as your hands found her face, an echo of the dream you’d just barely escaped.

“I’m right here, baby,” you promised, trying to ground you both. “I love you. I love you so fucking much. I meant every goddamn word.”

Your forehead met her temple gently. “You came back to me…”

Her lips parted like she might speak but her voice caught, snagged in the back of her throat as the weight of reality came crashing down around her. Monitors beeped furiously beside her. The overhead lights were too bright. The bed far too sterile. The lingering fog of induced sleep still clung to her eyes.

But you were here… you had meant it.

Her chest hitched as her fingers curled into your collar, pulling you down, grounding herself against your skin. She pressed her forehead hard into yours, breath uneven, face wet with tears she hadn’t even realized she’d started shedding.

“You meant it,” she choked out, half in disbelief, half in reverence. “You meant it.”

“I did,” you choked, laughing wetly. “Every single word…”

Natasha reached up and touched your lips with her fingers like she still didn’t trust that this wasn’t another dream.

“You pulled me out,” she whispered. “I didn’t think anyone could.”

“There was never a single chance in Hell I’d leave you there, Tasha,” you whispered, kissing her fingers. “I have no future if you’re not here with me.”

You gasped as her lips replaced her digits, melting into the kiss as her fingers slipped along your cheeks before settling in your hair. Her lips were chapped but you couldn’t have cared less, sinking into the gentle embrace. There was no heat, no lust. This was relief—

This was coming home.

[brucedefender4eva]

<1>. <2>. <3>. <4>. <5>. <6>. <7>. <8>. <9>.

“Okay... this one is seven letters. Non-drinkable dessert whose name comes from the Arabic word for 'drink.’" Stephanie tapped her pen against her lips.

“Sherbet.”

"I thought that was eight letters?"

"What? No? How do you spell it?" Bruce doesn’t look away from… well, whatever he happens to be looking at. It’s gotta be pretty far away since he’s using his binoculars to spy across the rooftops into the alleyways. Or, as Dick likes to call ‘em batoculars.

"S-h-e-r-b-e-r-t."

"No second ‘r'. Common mistake. When the word was imported into English in the early 17th century, it came from languages many considered exotic, thus its spelling is inconsistent. In this case, there is no ‘r’, but that spelling isn’t necessarily incorrect." Stephanie nodded and clicked her pen twice just because it felt right, before scribbling down sherbet.

She sighed as she looked over the half-filled crossword puzzle before tucking it away, pretending that she would find time to complete it at a later date. “We should get ice cream after patrol.”

“Hrn.”

“We should both get rainbow sherbet. That’s the best kind.”

Bruce looked over at her for the first time in an hour and did a tilt, which she could only assume was him raising an eyebrow at her. Steph clicked her pen twice, making Bruce’s lip twitch up only slightly. “Hrn.”

Victory.

“Ya know,” Steph laid her head down on her arms, gazing over the unusually peaceful Gotham night, “you can be pretty okay sometimes. I’m glad I got to know you and your crazy family.”

It was a perfect way to start. The guys had already warned her that Bruce wouldn't understand what she meant if she just came out and said it. She didn't want him to think that this was a prank in the way he had thought their concern was.

Bruce unwillingly let out a quiet snort and shook his head, readjusting his binoculars and looking back out. “So? What else is it that you want?”

“Hm?” Steph tilted her head. “I’m pretty content with us getting ice cream?”

“Yes, but you don’t try to butter me up unless you want something,” Bruce stated, like it was a well-known fact that she should’ve already been privy to.

“That’s not true.” Stephanie frowned, her voice coming out harder than she meant for it. “That’s not true at all.” She glared at the side of Batman’s head, knowing he saw it by the way his jaw tensed.

The air around them shifted, no longer comfortable and cozy like a few seconds prior. “You’re right, I’m sorry,” Bruce said simply, his voice soft, but she could tell he was just saying that to keep her from getting angry and storming off.

She tried hard to think of all the different times she complimented Bruce without trying to receive anything in return, and came up blank. Tried to think of when the compliments were genuine and not surface-level. Anything. Anything at all in all the years they’ve ever known each other.

Damn it. Damn it all.

Steph huffed and buried her face in her arms, feeling like she was 15, and instead of being Spoiler, she was Robin all over again. Or at least, trying and failing to be Robin.

“You suck sometimes.” She muttered, the Gotham breeze rustling her hair and carrying her soft words to Bruce.

“I know.”

“But you can be really great too, not just to me, but to all of us.”

Silence.

“And you make me angry when you don’t listen. When you dismiss my words like I have no idea what I’m talking about. I used to think that I hated you. Not just for that, but for a lot of things.”

“I know.”

“But sometimes, I feel like you’re the only one who sees me? Like, you can listen, but you get too much in your head and decide that the only way you can protect us is your way and no one else’s.” Steph twiddled with her fingers, her eyes firmly locked on the stray alley cat ambling gracefully down the sidewalk below them. “But when you’re good… you’re so good.”

Silence.

Was Bruce seriously only agreeing with her criticisms and ignoring the positive aspects? Of fucking course he was.

“I don’t want you as my Dad. You could never be my Dad.” Steph said, and for a moment, she wished she hadn’t. She’s said it a million times before, but his reaction every time just hurts her heart.

She can hear Bruce take in a shuddery breath before slowly releasing it and letting his shoulders drop. The first time she ever said that to Bruce, it was a lot meaner with more curse words woven in.

Then she had seen the tears in his eyes before his face hardened and he snarled out his own responses, she didn’t let herself think too hard in the moment, too busy combating the venomous words they spat at each other.

But later, when she crawled into bed at her apartment, long after her Mom went to work, she allowed herself to drown in all her negative emotions. She allowed herself to wonder how Bruce was doing.

Steph shook her head, getting out of her thoughts, and powered through. “But no matter what, you’re an important part of my life, and I don’t know if I would be where I am without you. You’re not my Dad Bruce, but I love you all the same.”

As she moved her hand to lay it on his arm (physical contact had always been the best way for her to get her emotions across), Bruce expertly stepped away and shook his head.

“You don’t, you shouldn’t.” He grunted. “I have done nothing but hurt you. And yet, you seem to stick around; I can’t get rid of you. Really, it must be for everyone else rather than sticking around for me." Bruce smiled softly, which only caused a bit of dissonance due to wearing the cowl. “You’re always going to be part of my family, Stephanie, whether or not you see me in your family.”

“I do see you as part of my family. My Mom and I love you, Bruce.”

“You don’t have to spare my feelings. Your mother has given me plenty of stern talkings too.” Bruce shook his hands, a nervous tick he had tried many times to be rid of, but never could. AT least he wasn't digging his fingers into the palm of his hands and trying to draw blood. Not that it would work with the thick padding of his suit's glove.

She really didn't know what to say to that.

“You scared B-man?”

“Of?”

Before she could give him a response, there was loud arguing, quickly followed by a few gun shots.

Without a word of communication between the two of them, they launched themselves off the side of the building and quickly inserted themselves into the scuffle.

The two worked in tandem, easily becoming an indomitable force of nature as they dispatched the criminals and protected a lonely civilian who was unfortunately caught in the crossfire.

As Spoiler launched herself off of Batman’s back to get a guy sneaking up behind him while Batman simultaneously threw his batarangs to the opponents that were behind her, she found herself wondering why they couldn’t possibly work together so well all the time.

Life would be a lot easier that way.

Spoiler let out a soft sigh as she finished tying the last unconscious goon to a light post nearby, glancing over the silent Bat to her left, trying to gauge what emotions he was feeling.

“Yes,” Bruce said suddenly, startling her out of her thoughts. She looked up at him and pulled down her hood, brushing her hair out of her face.

“What?”

“I am scared.”

“… you don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“I already know. I am scared.” He repeated.

Bruce started walking away the moment they could hear the police sirens softly blaring throughout the streets, steadily coming closer to their location.

Stephanie sighed and lazily kicked a dented soda can into a nearby recycling bin, absentmindedly making a mental note to ask Babs for the footage later. “Course he’d be scared of love. Idiot.” She murmured, pulling out her grappling gun.

“Spoiler.” Batman’s voice grumbled on the coms, making her raise an eyebrow. He wasn’t that far away from her yet; whatever he wanted to say, he wanted all of them to hear. “Hurry up, I thought we were getting ice cream.”

Steph couldn’t help the snort of laughter that forced itself from her body, barely stopping herself from doubling over in laughter as the rest of the bats angrily chimed in the moment they heard ice cream, Tim already threatening to track their locations.

“Shut up, losers! This is a private thing between me and the boss man!” Steph grinned slyly, zipping up onto the roof and landing beside Bruce, who was apparently waiting for her.

It sucks that no matter what she or anyone else has said, Bruce doesn’t believe that he’s loved by the people around him.

But… he loves her. Now she just has to figure out how to get it past his thick skull that she also loves him, and so does everyone else.

“Do you think they have purple sherbet?”

“If not, I can pay someone to make it. For next time. If you want…”

“Cool.”

[fangirlmermaid]

Midnight snack

Summary: Conrad finds you in the kitchen at midnight to satisfy your latest craving.

pairing: Conrad Fisher x Pregnant!reader

Warning: Pregnant reader, Conrad being a cutie, pregnancy cravings, showing off your baby bump, lightly proofread, spelling and grammar mistakes.

A/N: My WIFI was acting up so I had to write this on my phone. But now my Wifi is sorta working and I got to fix the mistakes. This also occurs during Season 3, before the memorial. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Conrad woke up from feeling the empty side of your bed. His blurry eyes looked around the room, hoping that you were just standing in front of the crib, which wouldn’t be the first time.

His friend Agnes introduced you to him; she thought the two of you would make a cute couple, plus it would get him to move on from his brother's girlfriend. You and Agnes met at the coffee shop, and she noticed a pin on your backpack was from a show she also enjoyed. So the two of them clicked and became best friends.

Towards the end of the fall semester, Agnes was hosting a Christmas party. She practically dragged the two of you to come. She pushed you into a conversation and would tackle anyone who tried to get one of your attention. You guys have been talking and taking it slow, and now you’ve been dating for two years.

Well, except for your first anniversary in January, when you told Conrad you were pregnant. You were so scared to tell him, not knowing how he’d react. He smiled and assured you that it was going to be okay because you’re in this together.

Conrad noticed you weren’t in the room. He was trying to keep his anxious thoughts at bay, but it was hard. What if you fell and you both got hurt? How could he be so careless? He should’ve noticed you weren’t gone and waited up for you.

He bolted out of the bedroom, about to scream your name, but he saw the kitchen light on. Conrad walked into the kitchen, and his heart relaxed at what he saw.

You are sitting at the kitchen island, wearing a short lounge set, which had your showing off your five-month bump proudly. From what Conrad could see, you were eating a bowl of Cookies and Cream ice cream with whipped cream, chocolate drizzle, and… jalapeños? Not the weirdest craving you’ve had, but maybe top three.

“You scared me, love,” Conrad smiled, towering behind you, “I’m sorry, bub. I was going to come back from the bathroom, but she wanted this.” You smiled before taking a big bite of your snack. Conrad chuckled before pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

Conrad moved next to you, his brows furrowed when he saw the abundance of jalapeños you had in your bowl. Now Conrad didn’t want to say anything because he never wants you to be insecure about your pregnancy, but the need to protect you overrides him. “Just be careful with the jalapeños, love. I don’t want you getting heartburn,” Conrad's voice softened, rubbing your back. You gave him your best puppy dog eyes. “More?” You threw in a pout.

The power you had over Conrad was insane. You could ask him to rob a bank, and he would ask which one. Conrad never minded about your power until you used it for evil, like now.

Conrad shook his head, sighing, but his small smile gave him away. “Fine. But only one,” Conrad agreed. You smiled brightly before littering his face with kisses. To this day, Conrad had no idea how he survived life without your kisses.

Conrad opened the jalapeño jar with ease, “You’re going to make me spill the jar.” Conrad smiled, trying to keep his hands steady. You pulled away and looked at him like he had committed a war crime. “Do not drop my jalapeño, Conrad!” You sassed, Conrad, knowing the consequences if he did. Conrad hated when you called him by his real name. It's always his way of knowing when you’re mad at him. Which would make Conrad's chest physically hurt; he never wants to hurt you. He wants to be with you forever, to pick you up when you’re feeling down, and he wants to protect you and his baby girl, Susannah.

You never met Susannah, but from the stories Conrad told you, it feels like you do. You could tell how much Conrad loved his mom, so when you found out you were having a baby girl, it was a no-brainer what her name was going to be. As a way to honor his mom and a thank you for raising such a wonderful guy.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, love,” Conrad smiled, pulling out a big and juicy one. Hoping that this was his ticket to earn back his status as your bub. Conrad dug the jalapeño deep into your snack to make sure it was covered in every sweet treat.

You looked up at your baby daddy with heart eyes. “Thanks, Bubba,” you said, smiling before digging back in. Conrad felt his knees buckle. Not only did he get your cute little heart eyes, but he also earned Bubba status; he swears he could almost faint. A love-sick grin appeared on Conrad’s face. “Anything for my girls,” Conrad, rubbing your bump.

[tsuy4n]

The Artist Who Lives for the Plot𓂃🖊

Warning/s: Fem!Reader, Mild language/swearing, Still Chaotic™, Verbal bullying disguised as flirting, petty drama, reader still very much suffering (comically), Unwilling reverse harem(?), Reader is done with them all (not really) [A/n]: Guess who's getting greedy. Hard? or Easy? 😈

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, >Part 9<

Days passed in a blur of noise, spice, and sass.

Somehow, living with them had become... normal. Like brushing your teeth in the morning, or screaming into a pillow before bed. Just routine. 

A bizarre, chaotic routine where someone always wanted to be drawn in the sketchbook like it was some sacred text.

And also where someone threatened to fight you by 9 AM, and you countered by staring them dead in the eye while eating cereal. With a fork.

A prime example of a bizarre morning? You stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and half-awake, only to find Jinu—shirtless, abs on full display, still glistening from a fresh shower.

You yawned.

He blinked. "…Did you just yawn while I'm shirtless?"

"Sorry for being sleepy?" You squinted, unimpressed. Half. "Did you want applause?"

Jinu, poor boy, looked offended. Like his abs had been personally betrayed. It was the first time your eyes had ever seen his, and they couldn't even be bothered to sparkle.

"Are you even looking properly—?"

"Oh, I'm looking alright." You shoot back, shameless, eyes scanning his figure. Not in a perverted way. No.

His cheeks flush. For a second, he's flustered—caught off guard because you're looking at him like that. But the illusion shatters quickly.

You tilt your head slightly, studying him with the clinical intensity of someone committing every line and shadow to memory. Not flirty. Not flustered. Just… focused.

Like an artist cataloging references.

Jinu blinks. The tiniest pout forms. Still…he supposes he's glad he has your attention. But the moment he's started to bask in it you just had to say—

"Hold that pose." And then you left. Literally ran back to your room and came back wielding a sketchbook like it was a sword.

"Left shoulder up a bit. Chin down. Yep. You're a lamp now."

"…A lamp?"

"Shh. Lamps don't talk."

Cue Abby walking in, dramatically shoving Jinu aside and throwing off his shirt like a magician's cape. "Ahem. Now gaze upon perfection."

You didn't even flinch. Pencil flying, you said, "Yeah, yeah. Move a little left. I need contrast."

Jinu stood behind Abby like a sulky Sims character. His tail would've been wagging when you called his name—but instead of a solo spotlight, he got posed next to Abby like a backup dancer.

It had only been five days since you officially started living with the boys, but at this point, you could predict their shenanigans like a weather app. 

And just like weather apps, they were only accurate 50% of the time and still managed to ruin your day. It's safe to say, you had adjusted.

Kind of.

Sometimes you wondered if this was some ancient masochist tradition. Like, was teasing their roommate a new form of meditation for them? (You feel a sense of déjà vu...)

Your wound was healing up nicely—thanks to the boys' thoughtful decision to buy you ointment and cream. Both for hands and the scratch. You had a growing suspicion they'd argued over the brand like a bunch of aunties in a pharmacy aisle, but hey, it worked.

Romance was the first to start it, because of course he was. His skincare obsession had blossomed into a nightly routine with you. Sheet masks, serums, him judging you for using 3-in-1 products (you're still offended). It was a bonding experience. One that also made your skin stupidly soft.

Sometimes he'd knock on your door with a, "It's hydration o’clock," and you'd be forced into another twenty-minute "spa night" that ended with him holding a jade roller like a wand. He called it "beauty sorcery."

The gochujang, however, was a sore spot.

Literally.

You made it from scratch, okay? Handmade with love. For dipping. Because guess what. You weren't imagining it then when it felt like it was touched that night.

Baby was indeed eating it. Like. Fucking. Soup.

You opened the fridge one day and it was just... gone. Evaporated. Atomized. You stared into the fridge, hand still on the door, eyes dead.

"…What."

You turned slowly, like a horror movie protagonist about to discover the killer in the hallway. "WHO—"

"Yo, this is fucking bomb." Baby said through a mouthful of toast, lips a little too red from the suspiciously familiar sauce. "You made more, right?"

You didn't respond. You just blinked. Then blinked again. Then looked at him like you were witnessing the fall of humanity in real-time.

This was the same man who, on the night of their debut, won the hot sauce-chugging contest streamed live. You've been replaying it because it haunts you.

Was his tongue even real? Did it have taste receptors? Was his digestive system made of metal?

And now he'd chugged your gochujang like it was orange juice.

You were too stunned to be mad. Maybe even a little flattered he liked it so much. Aside from the sauce theft, life had settled into a strangely sweet groove.

Movie nights became a thing. You introduced them to anime. Abby was instantly hooked on the flashy ones with explosions.

Mystery liked the chill slice-of-life shows but denied it. Baby preferred horror, because of the jumpscares.

They got so into it, it became law. So of course when a jumpscare happened during one screening, and you instinctively grabbed Baby's arm, it was over.

He didn't brag. He just coasted on the high for the whole damn day—smirking like he knew something you didn't. Which, to be fair, he probably did.

"No big deal." He'd say, lips twitching with that almost-smile he does when he's particularly pleased with himself. "You can grab me again next time. I won't bite."

He paused. Then grinned, just slow enough to be annoying.

"Unless you want me to."

Abby picked you up before you could jump on Baby. The smug cat only whipped his phone out.

Ever since, the boys played rock-paper-scissors to fight for the seats next to you. It was war.

Clothes? Covered. Each of them had bought you one piece, like it was a team-building exercise. They said you didn't need many. That you could just borrow theirs.

You decided not to think too hard about what that implied. It was better for your sanity. Besides, you also had a few spare clothes from your friends anyway.

Your motto these days was: "Let them be weird. I have money to make."

Your friends not only gave you clothes, but also underwear (thank you, God), a USB fan shaped like a frog, and a Huntrix shirt. You sent proposal emojis. They said yes.

Your room now looked lived-in. There were comics stacked in the corner, a small plant you named Minty, and your sketchbooks safely tucked into your drawer like national treasure.

Ever since Romance had gifted you high-end art supplies, you were lowkey doting on him. Everyone noticed. Everyone suffered. Romance had three of your drawings framed in his room now. You claimed it was a "test run."

He claimed you were in love with him.

Mystery disagreed. He laid on your lap like a smug bastard every time he got the chance, glaring at Romance from under your sketchbook.

There was also that day.

A short trip to buy kitchen utensils—originally supposed to be you and Jinu. But the second you two walked into the store, the other four magically appeared.

Jinu didn't hide his pout.

Mystery, meanwhile, barked at a man who'd been staring at you too long. No words. Just— barked. Then turned to ask your opinion on whisks like nothing happened.

"Silicone or nonstick?" He asked, holding up a spatula as if he hadn't just gone full German Shepherd two seconds ago.

Jinu was not amused. You? You kind of were.

There's also a new thing. They picked up your lingo. Randomly calling outfits "straight from Pinterest." You caught Baby calling someone "a walking mood board" and nearly fell out of your chair due to laughing too much.

Your suspicions have started to rise though ever since that stupid misunderstanding about the 'lucky guy' (You still make fun of them with it).

The boys were weird. They've been going out lately, understandable considering they're officially idols. But it's a coming-home-late-at-night weird or disappearing suddenly weird.

Jinu sometimes sneaks out, but the others weren't particularly bothered or the slightest bit curious.

You feel like you're missing something but didn't want to pry. You rubbed your forearm where the thin scar was still fading.

Tonight, you were enjoying peace (for the time being). Phone to your side, webtoon book in hand, blanket over your shoulders, earbuds in as you sang along to Soda Pop. Shoulders dancing. Swaying.

"Cool me down, you're so hot—"

Then came the banging.

You blinked and removed one earbud. "What now…"

You stood up and opened the front door. The boys stood there like a K-pop group at the end of a war film. Clothes torn. Handsome faces scratched. Strands of hair standing like they were lost in the wild.

They stared.

You stared.

"...What the fuck happened."

All five men, cleaned, bandaged, and pouting in various parts of the room.

You had played nurse because someone had to. They refused to help each other. Mystery sulked because you bandaged Romance first.

Baby pouted because you didn't dab his scratch with the same 'gentle touch' you gave Mystery. Which was a lie. You were careful with all of them.

Abby complained about not getting the same brand of bandaids. 

And Jinu? Well, he was quiet.

Which was weird.

Not the dramatic-sighing, doorway-lurking kind of quiet—more like the processing-an-error-in-his-code kind. His eyes hadn't left the floor for five minutes straight. You almost checked if his batteries died.

Finally, you asked what happened. Like a teacher asking who started the food fight in the cafeteria while standing ankle-deep in mashed potatoes.

"We were ambushed." Romance said grimly, like someone who once started a kitchen fire trying to microwave eggs.

"…By who?" You asked slowly.

Jinu didn't hesitate. "The Huntrix."

The what?

Your brain flatlined. It did not compute. You looked at them, all bandaged but still weirdly attractive—ugh, focus—but then came the next intrusive thought: Was this the world's most elaborate inside joke? Were you being gaslit with lore?

For a moment, you felt like that woman in the math meme, blinking at floating equations.

"The Huntrix?" You repeated, like you were trying to unlock a hidden language.

"Mira was ruthless." Abby muttered, rolling his shoulders like a soldier recounting the battlefield.

Wait. Mira?

. . .

Is this their new way of messing with you? Based on the fancomic they caught you reading last night? Seriously?

Well, two can play that game.

You gasped. Loudly. "WAIT. YOU FOUGHT MINA?! THAT'S SO COOL." This is what they get for not being honest.

Romance looked like he'd just been hit with emotional whiplash.

"She almost took my arm off!" Abby snapped, gesturing to the aforementioned limb. He was also, suspiciously, flexing. Priorities.

"She stole my favorite jacket." Baby growled, like it personally wounded his soul. (ironic)

You bit back a laugh and opened your webtoon comic, casually flipping through the pages.

"You mean," You playfully start. "the one with pink hair, dual scythes, low-key murdery but looks hot while doing it?"

"Yeah— why?" Romance asked, squinting warily.

You stared for one long second and came to a conclusion with yourself: they were absolutely screwing with you. Wouldn't be the first time.

You beamed—and you swore you saw his expression shift, just a little. You almost broke character. "I LOVE HER."

Silence. Deafening.

Mystery let out a single bark—sharp, betrayed. Baby's face was scrunched up beside him.

Jinu looked personally offended, his eye twitching. "You… stan the person trying to kill us?"

You looked at him, unbothered. "First of all, she's not trying to kill me."

Romance groaned and buried his face into a couch pillow. Abby gave you the kind of stare people give when their ice cream falls face-down in the parking lot.

"Second," You said, dead serious. "have you seen her character design? It's iconic. That color palette? Flawless. Her backstory? Deep. The drama? Delicious. The trauma? Real. And the hair—"

You sighed dreamily, like a poet in love with a deadly muse.

"She's everything I wish I could draw." You whispered like you were in a theater and had a spotlight on you.

Abby stood, done. "You're sleeping outside."

You replied back instantly, "No I'm not."

"Yes you are." 

"Don't touch my blanket."

And then, as the silence crept back in, you stared at them.

"…Okay, but seriously." You leaned forward, dead serious. "Have you guys been doing drugs?"

The way they all froze made you hum.

Baby's stared at you. Abby gave you another look of betrayal. Jinu's eyebrow twitched like a lie detector.

Romance just laid down on the floor like this conversation was a personal attack. Mystery turned away, ashamed.

Their expressions said everything. Subtitles not needed.

You stared at their collective performance. You could feel the bullshit. It radiated. It glowed.

Something just wasn't adding up, and you didn't like that. Not one bit. You weren't just messing with them. You were worried. You were confused, and no one was being honest with you.

They were acting like extras from a spy movie, and no one was giving you the full plot.

And for some reason, your brain went back to those glowing eyes.

What if that wasn't supernatural? What if it was some government tech?!

You narrowed your eyes. Were they secret agents? There's so many possibilities! And that thought alone was enough to give you an headache but more excitement. Life can be full of surprises, after all.

You didn't say it out loud. But you knew they felt it—your suspicion, the tension.

You could tell because Baby and Mystery shared a look, Romance looked away, and Abby leaned towards Jinu then whispered, "She's onto us."

Which meant two things.

One: They were definitely hiding something from you.

Two: They were going to annoy you on purpose now to make you forget about it.

The 'recovering patients' were lounging around the living room like a bunch of overdramatic war survivors. 

Who knows where they got those injuries from. A bar fight? A rooftop duel at midnight? A tragic run-in with a very territorial goose?

Whatever it was, they weren't talking, and you weren't about to star in a soap opera interrogation scene. You let it go. For now.

Romance had claimed the other side of the couch with his dramatic sprawl, hand over his forehead like a widow mourning her third husband. 

Abby had kicked his feet up on the table with the grace of a man who just got punched, then called it a 'war trophy.' Jinu was twirling a bandage around his finger like he was proud of it. 

Mystery had the audacity to use your fuzzy blanket and curl up near your feet. You definitely heard him say something about your scent.

And Baby was pretending to wince every time he turned his neck too far to the left, only to look you dead in the eye to check if you noticed.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, sketchpad balanced on your knees, doing your best to focus now—after all the chaos of checking their life-threatening scratches and whipping something up for them to eat before they dramatically withered away.

You had just started to enjoy the silence—

"Ow."

You didn't look up. "No."

"Ow." Jinu repeated, somehow louder and more tragic this time.

Your brows knit. "No."

"My hand hurts… Would you mind feeding me?"

You turned your head just slightly. Jinu was pouting. Genuinely pouting.

"I'll feed you my fist."

"That is not how you treat your patient." He said solemnly, voice suddenly raspy. "You're supposed to hold my hand and whisper that I'm so brave."

Before you could blink, he added—dramatically wiping at his cheek with the back of his hand, as if shedding a tear, "Do they not teach bedside manners at art school?"

You blinked. Then slowly squinted at him, expression blank. Unamused. Maybe even disappointed in the medical system. "Do you want a sticker?"

He looks at you, lips curled up into a smirk. "Depends. Do I get to choose the design?"

Your eyes rolled, slow and theatrical, but the smile that followed softened the gesture. Quiet, indulgent. The kind that said you're lucky you're cute without needing a single word.

Romance, as always, took the opportunity to reclaim attention. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think our pretty artist has fallen for us."

You didn't look up, not bothering to verbally react.

"I mean," He continued, fingers grazing through his hair in the most obviously staged casual way possible. "who could resist the charm? The tension? The mysterious aura of tragic men with excellent jawlines?"

"Mysterious?" You echoed flatly. "You threw a rock at a squirrel this morning because you were scared it was following you."

Romance blinked. "It was following me."

"It was chewing."

"Exactly."

You stretched your neck and tilted your head lazily. "Besides. If I was falling, I'd pick the one who hasn't traumatized wildlife."

That shut him up. Romance laid and stared at the ceiling, thinking what kind of lines will positively work on you. Really bruising his ego, you know?

Mystery, silent as ever, had somehow nuzzled against your arm while you were distracted. You flinched slightly when his forehead bumped your shoulder.

He tilted his head, lips curled in a subtle pout, hair still veiling his eyes—like he was daring you to ignore him. Pretending to be pitiful again. Like a stray dog that knew exactly how to act tame to get picked.

You sighed and patted his head, slow and cautious. He leaned in closer, pleased that it turned out the way he wanted.

"That's what I thought." Jinu whispered like a narrator in a nature documentary. "The mysterious wolf-dog hybrid wins again."

Mystery flipped him off without looking. Baby watched in amusement.

Romance stared then went into a deep thought as if he's calculating hard math. "...Maybe I should copy him."

Abby, not to be outdone, cleared his throat loudly. Then louder. Then even louder.

You sighed again. "Yes?"

He wiggled his arm with a single, lonely bandaid on it.

"It stings." He said, voice way too soft and hopeful for a guy who could probably lift a refrigerator if you asked nicely.

You looked at him, absolutely done for this day. You missed when you were at peace earlier. Now, it's nothing but peace of shit. "…It's a papercut."

"But a very deep papercut." His eyes shifted to the side as if thinking of a very reasonable excuse. "The paper was emotional."

"Abby." 

"I need a kiss to recover." -> Shameless.

You tossed a pillow at him. "Go to sleep."

He caught it dramatically and hugged it. "You heard her, boys. She's worried about us."

And just like that, the amusing night continued on.

Romance had taken it upon himself to dramatically limp into the kitchen, despite having absolutely nothing wrong with his leg, and lean on the fridge like he was in the middle of a war flashback.

"My blood sugar's low." He murmured, eyes fluttering shut. "Can't survive like this. I need… something sweet. Preferably delivered by someone soft and caring."

You didn't even pause while slicing apples. "Eat the apple. Choke if you have to."

He left after you shoved a piece of apple on his mouth. He bragged to the others you hand-fed him.

You felt their presence behind you, scheming. But before they could say their words, you turned and smiled sweetly as you held a very sharp knife. They slowly backed away.

"That's what I thought." You cackled evilly, just as Baby appeared behind you.

"Wash the dishes if you wanna spend time with me."

He raised a brow, laughing in that dry, mocking way of his. Their confidence must've grown on you. "What makes you think I'll do something like that?"

Still, Baby stood at the sink, twirling the fork like it was a cigarette and he was pondering mortality.

"These hands were made for delicate things." He muttered, eyeing the soap suds like they'd personally offended him.

You didn't even glance up as you wiped the plates. "Like making heart fingers? Yeah, you needed the upgrade." You felt him give a stink eye, not that it bothered you. "You dried one spoon."

He hummed, taking a step forward away from the sink. "Then I've done my part."

You finally looked up. He was smiling at you smugly before turning his back.

You catch the back of his collar, wow. He really does remind you of a cat. A very evil one. "Get back here."

He huffed. "Unless I get a kiss for this chore? No."

You blinked at him, slow and unimpressed. Lately, everyone’s been asking for kisses—even Jinu.

Baby smirked like he'd just checkmated you. "Is what I thou—"

You took his hand and rolled his sleeve down to cover it again. He blinked. Then blinked harder as you pressed your lips lightly to the fabric over his wrist.

"There. Now get back and finish washing."

Baby froze. The Windows loading icon was practically spinning above his head. "That—That doesn't count." He grumbled, glaring.

You stared at the plate you just wiped dry. "Well, you only said a kiss." You turned your head slightly, wearing the sly little smile he usually wore after annoying you.

Baby didn't respond right away. He just stood there, glaring at the plate like it was somehow responsible for his emotional damage.

Then, with a sharp inhale through his nose, he turned back to the sink, rolled his sleeve back up and resumed washing dishes—slow, deliberate, passive-aggressive strokes like he was plotting the soap's downfall.

You might've won this round, and worse, he knew it.

His brows furrowed deeper, jaw ticking as he scrubbed harder than necessary at a spoon that wasn't even that dirty. He refused to look your way again, mostly because his face had gone pink and the blush was climbing traitorously down his neck.

Not that it meant anything. No. He was just... overheated from the hot water.

Totally.

"I'm injured. You should be taking care of me not making me do the stupid dishes." He muttered under his breath, glaring at the suds like they'd mocked him.

You hummed, barely hiding the grin tugging at your lips. "Oh? I didn't know you wanted to be babied."

The kitchen was warm with steam and triumph.

Baby stood hunched at the sink, sleeves rolled up, pink in the face—not from embarrassment but fury. He scrubbed the dishes with the violent grace of someone imagining they were Jinu's face.

You, on the other hand, were calmly drying a plate. The satisfaction in your eyes? Unholy.

That's when Jinu appeared—no door to open, just his quiet, smug entrance as if summoned by the sound of attention slipping away from him.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, gaze flicking between the two of you. First Baby, then you, then back. His brows twitched faintly.

"…Well," He said, voice dripping casual amusement, "if I knew domestic servitude was the way to your heart, I would've worn an apron days ago."

You didn't glance at him. "Too bad. Pink suits Baby more."

Baby gave a soft huff through his nose—pretending to be unimpressed, but the slow, smug curl of his lips betrayed him. He was eating it up.

Jinu sauntered forward, deliberately slow, deliberately cool, and plucked a clean fork off the drying rack. He turned it in his hand like it was something precious. Like he was.

"Tell me," He purred, "do you reward all your little helpers this generously? Or is this one just your favorite today?"

You turned and met his gaze with faux innocence. "What are you hoping for? A sticker? A gold star?"

He clicked his tongue and grinned. "Nah. Something shinier."

From the sink, Baby snarled under his breath. "He's gonna throw a tantrum in three minutes, tops."

Jinu didn't even look at him. His eyes stayed on you, head tilted. "Only if my feelings continue to be cruelly neglected."

You tossed him a dish towel. "Then dry. Make yourself useful."

Jinu caught it one-handed, pouting slightly. "You wound me."

But he moved closer. Close enough to bump your shoulder as he took the next plate from your hands.

"I'm helping." Jinu said sweetly, then proceeded to wipe the same spoon for the fourth time—gently, like it was fragile porcelain. Eyes still locked on you. Not the spoon. Not the towel. You.

You didn't even blink. "That's the same one."

"It's got emotional residue." He said with a straight face. "I'm cleansing it."

Baby slammed another plate onto the rack. "You're stalling."

Jinu gasped. "I'm perfecting."

"You're hovering." You added, nudging him aside to dry another plate.

He floated back into place like a boomerang. "It's called quality control. Someone has to supervise Baby before he melts the dishes with that anger."

"I welcome it." Baby smiled, that mocking look flickering in his eyes. "One less thing for you to fondle."

"Oh, come on." Jinu leaned over the sink like he was inspecting a crime scene. "You call that rinsing? I've seen rainstorms with better work ethic."

"Wanna test that theory?"

"I might. If you promise to sob afterward."

You stepped between them with a sharp clatter of cutlery. "Children. Play nice."

Jinu sulked into the dish towel. "Only if I get a sticker."

"No." Does he really want a sticker? Or is this just him playing you, again.

"Gold star?"

"No."

He narrowed his eyes. "Hug?"

"…Next joke, and you're on mop duty."

He paused. Then picked up another spoon. Started wiping it with slow, reverent circles. "This one's seen things." He murmured. "This one knows pain."

You reached for the mop bucket behind you.

"I'm done! He's clean!" Jinu held up the spoon like Simba.

Baby flung soap bubbles at him.

The three of you emerged from the kitchen—You snickering at the person beside you; Baby, sleeves still damp and jaw tight; and Jinu trailing smugly behind like he hadn't spent the last ten minutes polishing a spoon while monologuing about its tragic past life.

The living room was far from calm.

Romance was sprawled dramatically across the couch, head thrown back like he was awaiting a tragic death.

Abby sat shirtless on the other side of the couch, good thing it was L shaped, icing a cut so small it was barely visible unless you squinted.

Mystery leaned against the window frame, arms crossed, eyes sharp and unreadable behind all those hair.

They all looked up as You entered. And then Baby, who still hadn't let go of the soap-based betrayal, opened his mouth and dropped the bomb with all the grace of a ticking grenade.

He points at you, lips curled up into a smirk. "She kissed me."

Silence.

Like someone pressed pause on the whole damn simulation.

"WHAT." Abby thundered, already halfway to his feet.

You glared daggers at Baby, hoping to burn a hole on his stupid face.

"No way—where? When? How long? Was there tongue?" Romance snapped upright like he'd been struck by lightning. He squinted accusingly at you. "Aren't I your favorite?! Shouldn't it be me first to get your kiss?!"

Mystery turned to Romance, a clear frown on his lips. "I'm her number one favorite." Then he looked at you, tilting his head with a sickeningly sweet voice that didn't match the dangerous glint in his eyes. "Aren't I."

You stared at them blankly, wishing for this night to end quickly. "It was—"

"Where?" Jinu interjected, eyes locked on Baby like he’d uncovered a conspiracy. "When?! I was right there—did I black out??"

Baby, cool as ever, tilted his head. "My wrist. Very classy. Very intimate."

He didn't bother himself to answer any more of their questions. Just let the chaos cook itself. This is what happens when you outsmart him. He hopes you have a hard time.

He'll step in when he thinks they've got enough of your attention.

You blinked once. Then again. Slowly, deliberately, you turned to Baby—face unreadable, gaze steady. Without a word, you reached up and pinched his cheek. Hard.

The boys stared, all frown and pouts visible. They want you to see them upset.

Even Baby looked momentarily stunned. He blinked at you, eyes twitching slightly, the corner of his mouth pulling into something dangerous. That was not part of his calculated move. Not the cheek.

No one pinches his cheek.

Fingers still on his face, you addressed the others. "I kissed the fabric of his sleeve so he'd wash the dishes. Sit down and shut up."

Baby glanced down at your hand still pinching him. In smooth retaliation, he caught your wrist and tugged you closer.

Your noses nearly brushed. His voice dropped to a slow, soft drawl. "That's not a kiss either, Sunshine. You wanna try again?"

Before you could clap back with a dry remark or knee him, Abby lifted you. Literally swept you up by your armpits like you were a feather. Nothing new actually.

"Alright." Abby announced flatly, arms wrapping around your waist like a human bear trap. "You've had your fun. She's mine now."

"Abby—!" You wriggled as you frowned.

"I'm injured. I need cuddles. It's basic triage."

You poked his cheek and snarled. "Your injuries aren't serious, you overgrown fridge—"

"Shhh." He whispered, one arm, firm and tightening around your waist while the other on your back, like a clingy boyfriend with zero boundaries. "It's cuddle o'clock."

Your face hit his chest—Ohh. You could get used to this and ignore whatever's happening. You muttered into the fabric, "Very nice."

Abby brightened instantly, smug rising like a tide. Perfect. Just when he was planning to ease you both onto the couch and solidify his position without minding the burning glares, Mystery swooped in like a shadow and snatched you away.

"I'm injured too." He said, arms sliding possessively around you from behind. His chin rested on your head, and his golden eyes glared straight at Abby.

Golden eyes locked with Abby's.

Abby's smile flattened. "Greedy dog."

Mystery smirked without shame. "She lets me be."

Abby scoffed. "You're abusing the favorite child privilege. You've glued yourself to her since Wednesday and won't let go."

"She didn't stop me did she?" Mystery shot back.

You could practically hear the claws scratching the floorboards as they squared off.

Abby tilted his head, lips curling into a slow, devilish smile. "Please. She holds me like a sin she knows she'll commit again."

He didn't even look at you—just stared past Mystery like he was already celebrating the win.

"You're just background noise, mister."

Mystery didn't even blink. He smiled—slow, languid, lethal. "Then repent." His voice dropped to a velvet drawl. "But don't expect her to stop sinning."

His gaze flicked to you—pointed, certain. If Abby was the sin… He was the indulgence you never could give up. And he knew it.

The silence that followed wasn't empty. It throbbed.

Abby's grin faltered just slightly. Mystery tilted his head, golden gaze unwavering, like a warning etched in sunlight.

You could hear the electricity crackle between them. Glaring so hard, the air felt like it might combust—if not from tension, then from sheer ego.

You slapped a hand over your mouth—not from shock, but to muffle the unholy giggle bubbling up. Your eyes sparkled. This was the first time you'd heard Mystery speak so much.

Oh no.

You were having fun.

This wasn't just petty. This was theatrical. Divine. Like watching a high-budget, slow-burn romance where the enemies were too hot for their own good.

A live-action shoujo anime. No, better. You were the main character.

Reverse harem arc: unlocked.

Somewhere behind the chaos, the other three froze mid-complaint, glancing between each other like: Were you analyzing this as an artist or were you actually enjoying this?

God help you.

You were doomed.

But what a way to go.

Romance was first to recover, of course, gliding over with that unbearably perfect smile. Too perfect. Suspiciously perfect.

"All I got was a single slice of apple earlier." He said, full offense in his tone. "You shoved it in my mouth."

You stared at him, deadpan, Mystery still hugging you from behind like a sentient weighted blanket, Abby gripping your wrist like he was claiming a prize.

"You nearly bit my fingers."

"But you looked at me when you did it."

"I was aiming for your throat."

Romance gasped—genuinely gasped. Then lowered his voice with full dramatics. "So soft. So kind."

That did it.

The ridiculousness pierced straight through your filter like a spear of divine retribution. This wasn't just dumb. This was operatic.

You buried your face in your hand (Abby was still holding the other one) with a groan. You were awake now.

Romance took your hand, bringing it to his lips like the absolute menace he is. "I'd like my kiss now."

"On the hand, huh?" Your smile was sweet, too sweet. The kind that made Romance stare with those foolishly hopeful eyes.. "Romantic."

"I do have a brand to uphold." He said with that signature wink, oozing confidence like it cost nothing.

But your smile turned sharp, laced with something wicked—the kind a villainess might wear right before ruining someone's career. "Then you'd better work harder, Valentine."

Romance staggered back like you'd stabbed him straight through the heart. "Ah! Cruel."

But not for long. He popped back up with another one of those devastating grins that made fangirls scream and artists weep.

"I like 'Rome' much better, princess." The words rolled off his tongue with practiced ease—lazy and flirtatious, the way only someone unbearably pretty could pull off.

The vibe was there. The seduction. The kind that usually worked.

Just… not on you. Never on you. You'd been a tough opponent since day one. Immune. Unmoved. Was his charm really defective around you?

At this rate, he might really have to adopt Mystery's personality. He'd even let you put a collar on him if that's what it took.

Or better yet—limited-edition art supplies. That trick worked once. Who’s to say it wouldn't again?

Desperate times.

You tilted your head slightly, the weight of his words rolling off you like mist off marble. His efforts, though impressive in their flair, had no real chance of landing. Not tonight. Not ever, if you had anything to say about it.

"Oh?" Your tone was languid, amused, dangerously indulgent. "Then I guess Mystery's right."

There was a flicker in his eyes. Brief, cautious. "…About what?"

Your gaze didn't soften. If anything, it sharpened—like the edge of a blade being drawn, slow and deliberate.

"You really do only fall for the mean ones."

You caught the exact moment of his smile twitch. Somewhere behind you, Mystery let out a low, smug snort. Abby cracked up with all the subtlety of a grenade.

Romance pressed a hand to his chest in a melodramatic display of betrayal, like the ceiling might open up and cast divine judgment. "Et tu, princess?"

But then, just as quickly, he straightened—composed, chin lifted, eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

"Well," He said, smiling like the blade didn't sting, "it's not my fault cruelty wears you so well."

His voice dropped half an octave, smooth and decadent as sin. He took your hand again and brought it to his lips, slow and deliberate, flashing that signature smirk—equal parts charm and threat.

"I'd fall again just to see you look at me like that."

You returned his smile—the same smirk you'd given Baby in the kitchen. The kind that promised nothing good.

"I told you," You said softly. "I was aiming for your throat."

There wasn't a single ounce of mercy in your voice. Just cool detachment layered over a touch of theatrical cruelty, the kind that kept him spinning in circles and asking for more.

This had been fun. But it was time to end it.

"Alright, you big babies." You paused for a second. "Head to your rooms and give me my deserved peace."

With a single swift motion, you slipped free from both Mystery and Abby's grips. It was effortless, almost fluid—like you'd been humoring them all along.

You swore you heard them whine like a bunch of wet puppies behind you. Whether it was out of protest or pathetic affection, you didn't care.

Your fingers moved instinctively, rubbing at your wrist where they'd been holding you. The pressure had left no marks, but their warmth lingered. So did the ghost of their touch.

You kept your expression steady, carefully neutral. But it was hard not to replay the scene in your head—how they'd all fought over you like a pack of dogs.

"If I sweep this entire room, will you give me a kiss?" Romance tried again, ever the optimist. The moment your gaze snapped to him, he deflated instantly. Balloon. Popped.

Thanks to him, both Abby and Mystery knew better than to also try again.

Baby, lounging like a smug little devil on the armrest, tilted his head with a grin sharp enough to slice ego. "Don't waste your breath. I'm her favorite. Like it or not."

Your glare could've curdled milk.

He made a lazy motion of zipping his lips, but that cocky smile? Still stuck to his face like a cursed sticker.

Rolling your eyes, you plucked your sketchbook from beside Jinu—who had gone suspiciously quiet amidst all the chaos.

"Ow." He muttered, rubbing his hand where yours barely even brushed.

Right. Of course. He wasn't above the drama. You really should've known better.

"Ow." He groaned this time before holding up his hand dramatically. "There it is again. The pain."

"You dried two plates and a spoon." You said flatly. He's basically doing the same thing he did earlier.

"I overextended. He replied, wincing as he waggled his fingers. "It hurts so much."

"You bragged about having perfect wrist strength earlier."

"That was the pride before the fall."

"Jinu." You said, turning to him fully. "I literally watched you duel Baby in the kitchen with dish soap. Quit faking your injury." It was aimed at them all.

Jinu pursed his lips. "I deserve sympathy."

"You deserve chores."

"I deserve love."

You flashed a smile. "I deserve peace."

With that, you gave them a gracious nod, like royalty tolerating the annoying, but unfortunately very attractive officials for far too long.

"Goodnight, children." You said, voice velvet and final.

Then you turned on your heel—graceful, unbothered, the embodiment of a woman clocking out from emotional labor and into freelance burnout.

You had commissions to finish, money to make, and frankly, self-satisfaction ranked higher than babying grown men with too many feelings and not enough shame.

The door shut behind you with poetic finality. For three seconds, silence reigned.

Then Abby huffed and squared his shoulders like he was about to charge into battle. He marched to your door.

"[Y/n]?" He called, tone soft, carefully pitiful. "I think I have a fever…"

"My hand still hurts." Jinu chimed in from beside him, popping into frame like a jumpscare. He cradled his wrist with the dramatics of a martyr. "Can't hold anything. Not even a single spoon."

Romance appeared a heartbeat later, predictably. "My cut burns." He sighed, clutching his chest like he was seconds from ascending. "I think I need kisses to cool it down."

Across the room, Mystery and Baby remained where they were, watching the chaos unfold like it was theater made just for them. Three men squabbling like baby birds, pecking for scraps of attention—hardly dignified.

Mystery didn't speak, not when it wasn't worth it. Instead, he turned, took the blanket you left on the couch, and padded toward his room.

Halfway down the hall, he paused. He could just teleport into your room. Quick, clean, unnoticed. But he scratched the thought as fast as it came.

You didn't know yet. Right.

Besides, it seemed like you wanted to be alone tonight. His smile faltered for a short second then it quickly fixed.

He'll leave you alone. He was considerate like that. You'd praise him for it tomorrow, wouldn't you?

You liked him best, after all.

Baby lingered behind, arms loosely crossed as he watched the others bicker over their so-called injuries.

He scoffed quietly. Pathetic. He wasn't like them.

Obviously.

Then again… he glanced at his arm, the one you treated earlier. The scratch was shallow, barely even broke skin. It didn't hurt, not really. Nothing worth mentioning. But it was there. A small thing.

Courtesy of Huntrix—maybe the only thing those fools had ever done right.

The way you leaned in without hesitation, fingers brushing skin, eyes sharp with concern that you tried not to show too much. There was something about the way you touched them, without flinching, without fear, that made even the pettiest wound feel worth keeping.

He looked at the mark again, then at his phone. Thought about it. Not seriously. Just in passing.

Still, he rolled up his sleeve, shifted the angle, snapped a photo where the scratch looked just a little more dramatic than it was. The lighting hit right. Just enough to draw worry. Not enough to make you suspicious.

His thumb hovered over the message box.

He wasn't 'desperate.' He didn't need to 'fight' for your attention like the others. But he did want it. Not split between the others. Not shared. Just yours, all on him.

If this got you to come check on him—then good. If not, he knew where just to find you.

—

From the other side of the room, you gripped your pen like it was the last thread of your sanity.

Even with your volume maxed out, their voices still managed to break through—shouting, arguing, one-upping each other over bruises and bandaids like a bunch of children on a playground with superiority complexes.

Then, your phone buzzed. You glanced down, expecting some promo email or a commission inquiry—anything, really. Instead, you saw it. A photo.

From Baby.

Your brow ticked up. The angle was perfect, lighting too calculated. His arm looked worse in the photo than it actually had been the last few hours. You knew. You treated it yourself.

"GO TO FUCKING SLEEP!!"

There was a beat of silence. Then quiet shuffling, half-hearted muttering, a door closing too softly to be innocent.

You sighed, a quiet one. You tried to bury it under a scoff, but a smile gave you away anyway.

—

The next morning, you woke up to the soothing hum of the AC, face half-smushed into your pillow and blanket tangled like it fought you in your sleep, and won.

You reached for your phone with the grace of a Victorian ghost, blinking blearily at the screen. 10:19 AM.

Perfect. Time to go back to sleep.

At least, that was the plan… until you saw your group chat absolutely combusting. A flurry of missed calls from Minji. Your username popping up like it was trending for the wrong reasons.

Still half-asleep, you stared at the screen, trying to process.

‼️HUNTR/X fansign. 🔥Today. 🤩This afternoon. 🩷💜🩵

You opened your calendar, praying it was just a weird dream.

It wasn't. There it was. Marked. In your handwriting. With sparkles.

You slapped your forehead so hard you saw stars. How did you forget this? The one event you'd sworn to never miss—even if you were half-dead, broke, or abducted by aliens. Sure, the announcement came just yesterday, but still. No excuse.

You shot up like a horror movie jump scare, thumbs flying across your screen as you panic-texted the group. The girls replied instantly—equally dramatic, deeply unserious, and already plotting outfits like this was a red carpet event.

You couldn't help grinning. God, they were ridiculous

Speaking of them, you really should make that group chat before they all virtually ambush you again. It was getting annoying having to reply to each of them individually when they were literally always together anyway. With or without you.

So you did. Gave it a silly name. Something stupid on purpose. With that done, you realized you were hungry. And thirsty. And—

Wait.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

You sat up fully, rubbing your face, half-bracing for one of them to burst in to immediately demand attention, including to be used as an inspiration for one of your characters because apparently you needed it. Dramatic. Clingy. Loud.

But nothing. Sometimes, silence in this apartment scares you.

You padded out to the kitchen and spotted a note stuck to the fridge, written in a mix of uppercase, lowercase, and suspiciously inconsistent spelling. A group effort, clearly.

It read:

Be back later don’t miss us too much (we know you will) we’ll bring gifts. maybe. unless we forget. – 🐛

You stared. Then stared harder. Jinu's handwriting for sure, but the doodle of a caterpillar wearing sunglasses? Unmistakably Abby's.

Respectfully, the caterpillar was vibing way too hard to criticize.

You stuck the note back and gave it a little salute. Idol stuff, probably. You glanced at the time again—10:22 AM. Plenty of time to get ready.

And maybe drink three cups of coffee.

You had a fansign to prepare for.

—

A little over an hour later, you gave your reflection one last look.

Lips glossy, eyes sharp, cheeks brushed with a color that said "I woke up like this, but better." You had your Huntrix shirt tucked into a cute bottom, one that matched just right—not too try-hard, but just enough to get a double-take.

The finishing touch? A necklace Minji gave you along with her clothes. She called it "lucky." You just thought it looked expensive.

You met up with her outside the station, where she stood with her usual iced drink and two others beside her—Sooah, who had already taken thirty-seven photos of her outfit from different angles.

And Dabin, who was vibrating with unholy energy like she had snorted sugar instead of eating breakfast.

"Okay but seriously." Sooah said as the four of you headed toward the venue, "What if Mystery actually signs my forehead?"

"Be honest." Minji deadpanned. "You'd never wash it."

"I'd tattoo over it." Dabin nodded solemnly, like she'd rehearsed the idea.

You laughed, already bracing for chaos. "Please don't let this become a medical emergency."

It took two hours to get in. Two full hours of shuffling in a human snake of overstimulated teenagers, snacking on someone's emergency crackers, and arguing over who'd faint first if Abby winked at them (Dabin lost by preemptively collapsing when someone mentioned his name).

The fansign hadn't even started yet, but the air was high on anticipation and overpriced perfume. Banners waved. Staff paced. Photocards were clutched like sacred relics.

And then—

They entered. Well. Waddled in.

Five mysterious blobs in full caterpillar sleeping bags shuffled across the stage like cryptids migrating toward a light source. Rumi stood there, blinking like she, too, had not been briefed on this particular genre of unhinged.

You and your friends paused mid-banter.

You stared, a little amused. "Be honest. If I tripped them right now, would I go to jail or heaven?"

Minji choked on her drink. "Why is that your first thought?"

Sooah, without missing a beat, held her hand out for a high five. "Heaven. No doubt."

You slapped her palm. The unholy alliance was forged instantly.

Dabin stared at you both like you'd grown extra heads. "You guys need supervision."

And then—

The caterpillars shed their skin.

One by one, the sleeping bags dropped with dramatic flair. Out stepped the Saja Boys in all their smug, synchronized, smug glory, striking poses like they'd just crawled out of a Gucci cocoon and evolved into problems.

"It's the Saja Boys!!" Someone shrieked.

The crowd detonated. Screams went off like confetti cannons. Phones flew into the air like offerings to the fandom gods.

Your friends were losing structural integrity—Minji nearly dropped her drink, Sooah slapped herself just to be sure it was real, and Dabin was muttering, "I'm not ready, I'm not ready," like a warning.

You blinked, stared, tilted your head.

"You gotta be shitting me."

[lafortezasboy]

FEEL GOOD.

clara la san

— summary: getting kicked off dream academy mid transition, you kept in touch with some of the trainees. when debuting, you kept in touch with sophia and dani the most…intimately. hooking up on random days with the two of them separately, they began to grow jealous of each other and became more possessive over you. eventually, they both end up doing something about it.

— warnings/tags: tmasc!reader, fully transitioned reader, overstimulation, nipple play, possessive!sodani, aftercare, praise, dom!sophia, switch!dani, sub!reader, mentions of masturbation, pinching, mean!sophia, cock sucking, face fucking, edging, cum eating, not proofread

— a/n: finally…being squished between sodani 😍😍😍😍 also, the picture of the cig/blunt because…get it…? being passed around like a blunt…? no? okay. also, i know nothing about the healing process of bottom surgery so i might just be 100% wrong but i asked google.

word count: 2.9k

you didn’t think you’d find yourself during dream academy, but you did. after realizing that they wanted a full girl group, you eventually left. making music and dancing on your own was good enough for yourself anyway. keeping in touch with the trainees, sophia and dani had texted you the most and wanted to meet up most with you. why? you didn’t know until it happened.

after katseye members were chosen and a few months later, dani invited you over to celebrate with her. one afternoon celebrating, one night celebrating alone. with her head between your legs, her tongue swiping, it felt heavenly.

you didn’t think that this would happen, but it did. sophia brought you to celebrate her birthday and christmas in the philippines, and one night after another birthday party for her, she’s kissing your neck and marking your delicate skin with her glossy lips. shimmering stain after stain, her lips touching your dripping slick, you moaned out dani’s name due to muscle memory your tongue had. her mouth stopped and almost immediately she went wild on you. she began to get aggressive, having you repeat her name multiple times as she edged you… you deserved it.

you didn’t know it, but back at the katseye household, the two bickered every. day. throwing shade to each other yet still having the time to be with you, they still managed to find a way to fight between you. purposely leaving bright marks of their own — bite marks, hickeys, scratches that wouldn’t leave for days. anything that made the other woman know that you had a good time with them was enough to make the other rage with possessiveness.

it was a lonely night. sophia and dani were busy, so you had your apartment to yourself. it’s been a while since you had them separately… a few years back, you got bottom surgery right after new years — a few weeks after your intimacy with sophia. this meant that you couldn’t have intimacy for a year. you waited two years just to make sure that you were healed. sophia and dani knew this, but they haven’t seen you in a while. you’ve been helping yourself out, trying to get used to the feeling of having…well, a new organ. it felt weird to hold it and to have a boner, but you slowly got used to the lifestyle of having it ever since the surgery.

sitting on your bed with your laptop on your lap, eyes stuck on the screen as you focused on your show, a loud knock came from the front of your door. who could possibly be here at two in the morning? you ignored it, hoping they’d know you’re asleep, but they knocked even more. eventually, you stood up. what if it’s one of your friends? crying because their partner — their seventh partner, dumped them? you sighed in slight annoyance at the thought before you threw the covers off of you, pausing your show and walking to the door.

swinging it open, you’re ready to lecture your friend. you’re only met with two serious and frustrated faces of sophia and dani.

“can you tell her that i was your first?” dani asks as she walks in with anger, kicking her shoes off when she got in.

“i know that you were the first,” sophia spat bitterly. she followed her moves, entering your place without a care and takes her shoes off. “just that i’m better at it than you are.”

what…was going to happen tonight? you asked yourself, before closing the door. you turned to look at the two who were practically staring at each other firmly.

“i’m not going to compare the two of you and choose,” you declared.

they turned their heads to look at you, the two women’s eyes softening just the slightest bit. you sighed, conflicted at their situation and where you stand. you stand between them, telling them that “this isn’t you!” while you try to reason their bickering. in your state of conflict, they both stare at each other again.

with a subtle talk through their brown eyes, sophia was the first to walk up to you. she holds your face while dani stays behind, making you look at her.

“how about we do something tonight?” she suggests.

“me and you?”

“you and us,” dani corrects, walking up and pushing sophia a little. sophia hums, ignoring the flare that built when she pushed the filipina.

“wha-“

“you’re healed, aren’t you?” sophia asks quietly, her thumb caressing your cheek.

dani saw the sign of affection and she took this chance to hold your hand.

“and it’s been a few months, right?” dani adds in, her thumb caressing your knuckles.

you couldn’t deny it. you wanted to test it out somehow with one of them, but you didn’t know who. a small and shy nod appeared and a synchronized smile appeared on their lips at your silent “yes” to them.

taken to your room, you were stripped to your boxers. shirt off and sweats off, laptop closed and to the side, sophia had your back against her chest with dani between your legs, her hands teasing and trailing your body.

“i’ve missed your body…” she admits quietly, her eyes devouring your body.

sophia watches dani’s hand move, a flash of possessiveness coursing through her brown eyes. instead of waiting her turn, sophia began to trail her fingers up your sides, her fingertips tickling you until they moved to your chest.

“your scars are so pretty, mahal…” she compliments. it was a subtle demand for dani to give them attention, which she did by leaning in and kissing your scars ever so slightly. sophia hummed, her fingers tracing your chest scar that wasn’t gaining attention before they moved up and circled around your nipple.

a moan escaped your lips, body squirming as your head fell backwards. with sophia’s legs wrapping around your waist to keep you still and dani’s hands on the sides of your ribs, you were stopped. without warning, dani moved and kissed your nipple sophia wasn’t toying with and gently licked. your mouth made lewd noises, both the women enjoying your sounds.

“who’s making you feel better, huh?” sophia asks as she leans down to your ear. she pinches your bud. “me or dani?”

dani heard this and her hand blindly moved to pinch sophia’s thigh to remind her that they were both going to give you pleasure without comparing. involuntarily, sophia moaned into your ear when she felt the sting which made your hips buck at the sound she made.

“keep quiet, sophia,” dani said as she pulls away, forcing her hand off your nipple before she leans in to give oral attention to it. sophia mocks her, her other hand moving to fondle with the one she just sucked at. watching dani circle your nipple with her tongue, sophia let out a soft groan at the slight and the feeling of her hot saliva on your bud.

“isn’t she doing so good?” sophia asks you. it was unexpected for dani, but it made her stomach flutter a little.

you nod your head against her shoulder and sophia pinches your bud, twisting it a little.

“words, mahal. i think our latina mami needs to hear you say it, right?” sophia asks, looking down at dani. dani looks up at sophia, a silent yes spoken between them.

“y- yes,” you hushed out, hands gripping the bedsheets, “so g- good…”

sophia hums in agreement, her free hand moving to dani’s head and forcing her mouth to stay. her tongue only moved faster against your flesh, louder moans escaping your throat.

“so good? is she your — our, good girl?” sophia asks huskily, correcting herself halfway through.

“good- good girl,” your breathed out, your head tilting up and then down to look at her. “our good girl…” you praised dani. dani looks up, her eyes pleading as she breathes heavily through her nose. sophia looks at the sight before her and she grips dani’s hair, pulling her back.

“that’s right,” she said, looking at the latina. “our good girl.”

dani looks at sophia behind your shoulder with a flustered gaze as she breathes heavily through her teeth, swatting her hand away and fixing her hair a little.

“and who’s our good boy?” dani asks you with a slight rasp to her voice, lifting your chin to look at her.

“m- me,” you replied shyly with embarrassment.

“who?” dani and sophia asked.

“yn is!” you whimpered out.

“good boy,” sophia praises, kissing your ear before she trails down her kisses to your neck before sucking your skin.

dani hums in agreement and she kisses your body again before her hands palm you. when she did, your hips bucked up.

“mmh,” dani hums, eyes stuck on your growing erection. “needy boy.”

sophia’s ears perk up and her eyes open to lock onto your boxers. her hand trailed down and gently squeezed your cock when dani’s hand moved. it made you groan and toss your head back against her shoulder again.

“needy indeed,” sophia agrees, her hand trialing back up your body and to your chest. her lips kiss your shoulder.

“all because of us?” sophia asks, gently biting your flesh.

you nod and dani snaps the waistband of your boxers against your skin, making you whine and whimper.

“y- yes!” you gave a verbal answer. dani hums, hands moving to your thighs.

“i’m gonna need verbal answers, cariño, got it?” dani demanded, caressing your inner thighs.

you nodded, sophia pinching your side.

“you gonna listen to her or not?” sophia questioned, her voice firm.

“‘m sorry,” you tell the two of them. “yes.”

“that’s what i thought, mahal,” sophia murmurs as she delivers a bite to your shoulder.

lifting your hips the moment dani tugged your boxers, she carefully took it off your body. staring down at your body, the katseye girls practically drooled over your new look.

“what a change,” dani whispered as her hand moved to your shaft. a small moan left your lips and sophia let out one with you.

“fuck, it looks good on you, baby boy,” sophia groans out as her fingers move to gently tease your tip. it was already leaking a bit. your hips bucked again.

“so good,” dani breathed out.

sophia looks at her as she adjusted herself and she bit her bottom lip at the sight.

“look at the two of you…” she whispers shakily, moving her hand away from your tip. dani looks to, maintaining eye contact as she takes a slow stripe of your shaft.

“mmph!” you moaned through a bit lip, eyes shutting tightly.

“oh, don’t be a quiet baby. we know you’re loud,” sophia stated as she moved to part your jaw. when she did, dani immediately circled her tongue around your tip which made you let out a loud moan.

“i think you both can do better than that,” sophia murmurs as she stares down at dani.

silently, dani began to take your cock slowly, trying to get used to the feeling of it being in her mouth. it’s new, it’s different. it’s wonderful.

sophia’s hand moves to dani’s head and she bobs her head, making dani moan around your shaft a bit. the vibrations went through your body and your hips bucked, your tip hitting the back of her throat which made her gag.

“breathe through your nose, dani,” sophia instructed as soon as she heard the gag. her hand pushes her head down further which made her whimper.

“what?” she asks, “too much?”

sophia keeps dani’s head down, looking at you.

“do you think it’s too much for dani?” she asks. “or do you think she could do more?”

“m- more,” you decided.

sophia smiles and kisses your shoulder. “you heard that dani?” she asks her. “baby boy says that you could do much more than just that.”

she pushes the latina’s head down until her nose bites your pelvis, moaning with the two of you when she took you whole.

“breathe through your nose…” sophia guides dani breathlessly as she holds back a whimper. dani whines and she tries to breathe through her nose before she forces her head off. your cock is thick with coated saliva, a string or even more attaching from that and dani’s lip.

sophia looks at her and laughs lightly at the sight of her pink cheeks. her hands moved to your shaft, gently pumping your cock which makes you moan loudly.

“too much?” she asks through your delicate noises with slight care and a smile.

dani looks at her and nods as she tries to breathe evenly again.

“you did good though,” sophia whispers, her hand slowly increasing its speed. “right, yn?”

you didn’t comprehend her words until a few seconds later. “g- good!” you moaned out, tossing your head back again. dani took this chance to take advantage of your exposed skin. if sophia marked up onside of your neck, she might as well the other side.

she gently leans towards your neck, kissing and suckling your skin as her hand moves down your body. back on your cock, her fingertips teased your tip to get you closer to your release as sophia pumped you.

“c- close — mmh — close…” you warn the two of them, your hips moving up and down to fuck for more pleasure.

“close?” sophia asks you. without hesitation, she lets go and stops dani’s hand. dani pulls back to look at sophia, about to whine her ass off before a sudden chill rushes down her spine at her daring gaze. dani pulls back.

“daniela,” sophia calls out.

the latina perks her head up, looking at the filipina behind you.

“switch.”

minutes later, sophia is between your legs and dani is behind you. kissing your neck and being so gentle with you as she kisses over every love bite sophia left over your shoulder, her tongue soothing the leftover stinging pain.

sophia, after leaving you full of need, moves down and wraps her lips around your cock. she moans softly at the taste, her tongue swiping over your slit.

“fuck!” you cursed, your hips gently pushing up and into the back of her throat.

dani bites your shoulder gently, different from sophia’s bite.

“language, cariño,” she warns you quietly.

sophia hums in agreement around you, bobbing her head. feeling you twitch inside of her mouth, she pulls back with flushed cheeks and heavy breathing. a small bead of cum dripped from your tip and you whined loudly.

you didn’t like this. not one bit.

dani bites your shoulder a little more again. “no complaining either,” she reminds you.

sophia bites her bottom lip at dani’s sudden change of personality. she liked it.

“mhm,” she hums, running a hand down your hair. “that’s right, baby boy.”

sophia turns to dani, “good girl. telling him what to do?”

dani flushed in embarrassment, kissing your shoulder. she’s never felt this way about a girl before. sure, maybe you when you were in dream academy, but it didn’t confuse her as much when you came out as trans.

sophia bites the inside of her bottom lip at her reaction, suppressing a smile.

“i think that our boy needs a special treat,” sophia whispers, looking at you, her lips grazing your tip as she finished her sentence.

“special?” dani asks her.

sophia hums, her hand caressing your cheek as she sat up.

“i think he deserves us both at the same time, hm?” sophia suggests.

“we’re gonna take turns riding you, sitting on your face…” she lists, leaning closer as she captures your lips. her tongue slips in, a gentle moan escaping before she pulls back.

“we’re going to drain you.”

it’s been about an hour and they’ve been edging you ever since the two started. tears streamed your face, your lips numb and your cock absolutely worn out. dani felt bad, but the praise she earned from sophia made her sympathy decrease about how they treated you. it was unfair…they got to come multiple times while you were stuck with no release.

“dani…” you begged against her clit, your voice muffled. she was nicer than sophia. could she get you to your release.

she looks down at your teary face and runs a hand down your hair. she saw the desperate need and the pain you endured. dani bites her bottom lip and she slips off your face. she turns to sophia.

“sophia,” she calls out, her voice alluring as she pulls the filipina closer. “i think he’s done.”

sophia looks up, about to protest but dani holds a strong gaze with her. oh — sophia melted on the spot.

“fine.”

eventually, they moved your back to the headboard and stayed between your legs. their hands worked on your cock with sophia’s hand teasing your tip and dani’s hand on your shaft. you cried a little more, the overstimulation getting to you before eventually you came undone.

“there it is,” dani cooed.

sophia took her hand off and she licked her fingers. dani gave a few long and slow pumps to get the last bits out of you.

“are you okay, mahal? not too wrecked?” sophia asks sweetly as she crawls over to your side and kisses your temple.

you were too wrecked, actually. and she knew it. with the release on your stomach, dani moved her fingers to gather a few on her fingertips before tasting it.

“we need a shower,” dani tells the two of you as she pops her fingers out her mouth. she moves to your other side. then, her clean hand moves and wipes your stained cheeks.

“who’s better?” sophia blurts out.

dani looks up and hits her hand.

you couldn’t even comprehend their words. you were so tired — so sore.

“me…” you whisper out before leaning into dani’s hand, your own going to grip sophia’s.

sophia couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at your reply.

“maybe that’s our answer,” she tells dani, caressing your knuckles. dani hums and her fingers pinch your cheeks to open your eyes.

“don’t sleep. let’s go take a bath.”

“i’ll go start the it,” sophia decided, beginning to slip out of bed. dani helps you sit up, cradling you in her arms.

“if you were to choose though…” she murmured after a small pause of silence.

you nudged her side, annoyed at the continuation of the question.

dani giggled and kissed your lips gently. “kidding. kidding,” she murmurs. “you love us equally.”

— a/n: this seems like the longest smut i’ve ever written. i wrote this and then fell asleep, woke up to finish it so im sorry if it’s rushed at the end 🫩

[crystalshard]

(Timelines have been tied in a pretty bow and are for decorative purposes only.)

<*>

Lead Pipes and Violence: Correlation or Causation?

Something bumped into Lois's desk.

Scowling at the interruption, she looked up, ready to ream out whatever clumsy moron had interrupted her concentration.

And then she looked further up.

"Uh, hi," said the scruffy disaster of a labrador puppy with a tentative smile. "I'm Clark, Clark Kent. I just started here a week ago, and I'm working on an exposé on lead pipe use in Metropolis? But I'm not sure where to start. Perry said you know where to find stuff?"

Lois dropped her gaze to her desk for a moment, huffed out an exasperated breath, and mentally said goodbye to her plans of going home early. "Fine. I'll help. Okay, the first thing is to find out when lead pipes were commonly installed. Then look up the city maps for neighborhoods built around that time, and cross-reference against city records for areas where they've already been removed . . ."

Clark scribbled industriously on his notepad.

<*>

Soup Kitchens: Lead Levels Over Safe Margins

Lois leaned over Clark's shoulder and raised an eyebrow at his half-written article. "Lead pipes? Again?"

Clark shrugged, shoulder muscles shifting under his too-large shirt. "I've written other things."

"Yeah, but this is that one that people remember you for." She snorted. "Clark Kent, Lead Pipe Guy."

The sound of rolling castors announced the appearance of Jimmy in her peripheral vision. "Yeah, how do you do it?" he asked, pointing at Clark with a pair of scissors. "You a meta or something? Lead pipe detection?"

Clark flinched. Experienced observers that they were, both Lois and Jimmy caught it.

"Holy crap. You are, aren't you? No wonder you're so into getting rid of lead pipes, it must bother you like crazy." Jimmy leaned forward like a dog scenting pizza.

Clark's shoulders rose an inch. Without looking away from his article, he muttered, "I can taste it in the water."

"Hell." Lois thought about that for a second, then patted Clark on the shoulder. "Your secret is safe with me."

<*>

LexCorp Employees Poisoned: Headquarters Still Uses Lead Pipes

Jimmy smacked a bottle of water on the desk in front of Clark, making the reporter jump. "Taste test," he demanded.

Warily, Clark unscrewed the bottle and sniffed it. "Ugh. That is full of lead. Where'd you get it?"

Jimmy grinned. "My ex-girlfriend smuggled that to me. She said something tasted off, and that she knew I worked with the lead-detector guy."

Clark groaned, covering his face with one hand. "Ugh? Seriously?"

Perching on the edge of Clark's desk, Jimmy nodded. "Yeah? Like, it's an open secret in Gotham, pretty much everyone thinks you've got lead-detection powers. There's memes about it."

"There's memes about it. Of course there are memes about it." Clark took a deep breath, then uncovered his eyes. "Fine. Whatever. Where'd your ex-girlfriend get this from?"

Grinning wide enough to make Clark very, very, afraid, Jimmy leaned forward. In a conspiratorial whisper, he breathed, "LexCorp's Metropolis headquarters."

Clark frowned. "I went over the plans myself. That building's too modern to use lead pipes."

Jimmy bounced a little. "In the actual building? Probably. But in the foundations where it connects to the water supply? Lex constructed his tower on top of an old building that he'd had demolished, and I bet he never changed them."

Slowly, Clark's grin matched Jimmy's.

<*>

Metropolis Lead Levels at an All-Time Low

Faster than the eye could follow, Superman flashed through the open window into his apartment. The windows weren't technically meant to open at that height, but Clark wasn't Pa's son for nothing. It hadn't been difficult to install a couple of modifications.

Somebody knocked on his front door.

Swallowing an undignified yelp, Clark called, "Hello?"

"Mr. Kent?" said a muffled and unfamiliar voice. "I'm the Flash, I'm here on behalf of the Justice League."

"Uh, okay, give me a minute!"

Within the next twenty seconds, Clark had taken the fastest shower of his life, put on his civilian clothes, hidden his Superman suit, and wrapped an artistic towel around his shoulders. Then he took a deep breath and opened the door.

Standing outside the door stood a man dressed in an all-over red costume, vibrating gently in a way that reminded Clark oddly of Jimmy. "Mr. Kent, hi. Can I come in?"  

"Uh, sure." Clark gestures for the Flash to precede him into his apartment. There was a brief breeze, and then the Flash reappeared on his couch. Blinking, Clark closed the door. "Uh, can I get you something? Tea, coffee?"

"Lead-free water?" the Flash suggested.

Clark barked a surprised laugh as he headed for the kitchen at a more human speed. "Sure. I guess you've heard the rumors?"

"That's why I'm here. Batman wanted to come, but he has a way of intimidating civilians and I know chemistry, so they sent me instead."

Wincing, Clark placed a glass of guaranteed clean water in front of his guest. "Thanks, I appreciate that."

The water vanished from the glass with a light tinking noise. "We've got a problem that we could use your help for. Two, actually."

Clark tilted his head sideways. "Okay?" His wet hair dripped lightly onto the towel, and he lifted it to start scrubbing at it.

The Flash nodded a little faster than humanly plausible. "One, we need you to look over some construction materials. They're supposed to be titanium-plated lead panels, but Batman suspects that there's something off about them. Two, we know you've done some interviews with Superman – is there any way you could get us an introduction? The guy's not exactly easy to get hold of."

Clark managed to hide his reaction in the towel. "Okay. I think I can help you with both of those."

"Great! You ready to go now?"

"Now?" Clark asked, dropping the towel in his shock at how fast things were moving.

The Flash bounced to his feet. "No better time! Come on, grab your keys and wallet, and once you've locked up I can get you to Mount Justice on the Flash Express."

Clark held up a quelling finger. "I'm going to call a friend first. If I vanish on Lois, she'll probably march straight into Mount Justice and demand my release."

 Lois, predictably, demanded full rights to the story.

Do you think Clark Kent's first few major articles were about the continued presence of lead pipes in parts of Metropolis' water system

[arabella0001]

i’m on my period and i’m only thinking at:

how naruto men would take care when you need them way too much

݁.𖥔 cn: overstimulation, oral sex (both f and m receiving), rough sex, multiple orgams, dirty talk. breeding kink

characters: madara, itachi, obito, kakashi, sasuke, naruto, shikamaru

fandom: naruto

༄ a/n: sasuke is at the final because ofc i wrote more at him

🃜 🃚 🃖

🍃 Kakashi

Kakashi will definitely be more than happy to fuck you as much as you needed. Anywhere. In his office? One of his fantasies. Every corner of your house? Just say the word. At night? He barely sleeps anyway. Morning? The best way to start your day, refreshed.

After his fingers reached the most delicious spots at the same time with his sinful lips that had already sucked your pussy into two orgasms, you were barely satisfied.

“Ah, fuck—Yes! So good, you fill me so good!” Kakashi leaned over you, lifting your leg higher on the table next to the bed and whispered into your ear, tilting your chin toward him.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He groaned at a particularly deep thrust. “Is my Y/N satisfied yet?”

“No, no—Please! More, Kakashi! I love your dick so fucking much—” He hissed at your dirty mouth, feeling himself throb inside you. Taking both your hands behind your back while you bent further for him and parted your legs, Kakashi used your restrained wrists as leverage, his thrusts pounding your needy hole harder, shaking the table. Only his name could be heard as you screamed it.

“I’ll fuck you anytime you want, Y/N.

🍃 Itachi

Itachi has a talent for pretending he doesn’t understand what you’re implying unless you say it directly. Whether your legs rub together when he replies a certain way… when you taunt him—and of course, he notices. Whether you look at him like you want to devour him, and he… acts sweet, far sweeter than usual. As if nothing’s happening—becoming even more affectionate just to soak you further and further until you’re the one who begs.

“Itachi, c-can you fuck me, please?”

He was nuzzling into your neck, sending shivers down your spine while he left soft, warm kisses.

“Didn’t I satisfy you this morning, dear Y/N?”

You almost whined when he stopped touching you, instead just looking at your flustered, shy face.

“Y-yes, but—” As you hid your face from shame, Itachi let out a soft, brief laugh, touching your thighs and caressing you before gently pulling you toward the edge of the bed. Burying his head between your thighs and starting to kiss them slowly had become a ritual for him. How long would she last this time?

After torturing you with slow, precise touches that made you cum too many times, you begged him to spare you.

“Itachi, p-please, my love—I can’t anymore!”

He murmured against your skin, caressing your whole body and making it arch impossibly before he found your lips. You chased his hips, struggling to find his painfully hard cock as he kept pleasuring you, placing it at your entrance. Itachi smiled at your eagerness as he slowly pushed inside. Moaning as he finally, finally fucked you, you locked your legs around him, urging him deeper and making him groan.

“Mhmm, I love it—I love it! Fuck! I’ll let you warm me every day if you want, I-Itachi!”

Composed as he was, your words affected him deeply, making him push deeper inside you as he felt himself closer to the edge far too soon than he wanted.

You’re something else like that.

🍃 Madara

Madara would let you ride him until you physically couldn’t anymore, finding pleasure in watching you that desperate.

Fucking back onto his dick, you couldn’t fight the strangled noises that poured out from your mouth. “You’re so fucking b-big, Madara.” You gasped, barely able to hold yourself upright from the force of your tremble, sliding back and forth in a way that had both of you panting for more.

Madara was restraining himself pretty well, dragging his cigarette from his lips as he watched you use his body, smirking at your praise.

“My wife likes to use my dick that much, huh?”

Sensing your struggle, he fucked up into you, meeting your thrusts in the middle and sliding in even deeper, making you shake and moan hard as he caught you before falling, his hand wrapping around your throat to steady you.

“Scream for me, pretty woman.”

🍃 Shikamaru

Shikamaru would probably let you ride him too, enjoying the show even while his cheeks flushed from being so desired.

Still, sometimes you pushed his limits. Enough to make him snap, dragging you between his draining tasks as the Hokage’s right hand—into his office, or any room nearby, even a storage one he hoped no one used.

Your hands were on the wall, helping you keep balance while Shikamaru pounded into your pussy with deep, hard strokes. With one hand holding your chin and cheeks, not too tightly, he whispered into your ear.

“My baby’s so needy? So fucking needy she couldn’t wait until I came home?”

🍃 Obito

Obito would be completely at your mercy—even if his cock was about to break if you didn’t stop sucking him eventually.

But how could he stop such a glorious sight? You, kneeling and devouring him, sucking him off again and again like it was the only thing you needed. Still, his cock was painfully swollen, and he hadn’t even fucked you yet.

“B-baby, don’t you want me t-to fuck your sweet pussy?”

Slurping around his cock, you looked up at him under your lashes, making Obito let out a whimper and throw his head back. You stopped, playing with his cock and kissing it, licking him slowly.

“You gonna breed me, baby? Make me all swollen and dripping with you? Only you?”

Damn it, Obito fucking lost it at that. He gently took your hands off him, and the next second, you were in bed, with him already between your thighs. His gaze was so intense it made your heart tremble, afraid of how hard he’d fuck you now. But you already knew what would happen when you teased him enough—deep, slow thrusts until the bed nearly broke, and you were left with at least two loads inside.

🍃 Naruto

Naruto would be clueless like always when it came to anything about your body. But after a while, he swore on his life he’d learn everything about it just to make you happy. Even if sometimes he asked dumb questions that didn’t make any sense. “Ahm… Been thinking since morning. If you’re ovulating, you’ll stop making babies if… we fuck?”

Naruto was more than happy to eat you out as a warm-up, even begging you to ride his face until he couldn’t breathe, his head locked between your thighs.

“Not enough, not enough—!” As your moans spilled into the air, grinding on his face, Naruto looked up at you with a feral glint in his eyes. That look alone made your heart skip—your mouth falling open, your whole body blabbering for his cock.

Wanting nothing more than to be inside your soul, Naruto had you pinned completely, sometimes with your legs over his shoulders or wrapped around his waist while he fucked you deep and fast. His back was covered in scratches—ones he secretly loved admiring after, even if he blushed thinking about what he’d done.

“F-fuck, baby! You r-really are the perfect girl for me—Mhmm!” Naruto’s hoarse, slightly desperate voice made you spiral closer to the edge every time he spoke, accentuated by his hard, deep thrusts. “And the b-best pussy ever.”

🍃 Sasuke

Sasuke wouldn’t even be aware of it. Especially since he initiates almost every time. And especially since you don’t really know how to do it, so you’re scared to embarrass yourself (you wouldn’t—he’d be hard in a minute if you even tried).

Until now, you only tried to show him through more affection. Like burying yourself in his soul. And the only reaction you got (pretty cute) was a blushing Sasuke. But things didn’t stay that way for long. Annoyed he couldn’t read your intent, you started acting petty, your irritation rising drastically. At first, he only gave you a side-glance or raised eyebrow—aware of your hormonal cycles since he monitors them to understand you better. Until you became too irrational for him to decipher anymore.

After a rough day, you welcomed him with one of your passive-aggressive remarks that made him vanish, acting impulsively until he was right behind you. Your breath halted and your pulse ticked the moment you felt the warm air from his mouth against your ear.

“Why are you acting like that?” His voice was contained, restrained from snapping the way you’d spoken to him these past days. “Are you mad at me?”

You swallowed hard, a shiver running down your spine as you closed your eyes, his presence intoxicating everything around you, the heat of his body touching you so faintly it made you ache for more. Sasuke widened his eyes slightly at the realization—watching you bite your lip to avoid admitting, watching your trembling legs, the way you avoided his dark gaze. You want him, don’t you?

His voice was mocking, yet soft. His hands finally touched you more, still far too slow for what you needed right now.

“Poor little thing. All this time you’ve just wanted me to fuck you?”

You gasped at his words, redness spreading across your cheeks as he started undressing you quickly, leaving you naked.

“Sasuke…” He kissed you from top to bottom, reaching your shoulder and kissing it gently just to make you hiss, marking you. He tilted your chin, chasing your lips as you moaned, pushing your ass back against his clothed cock, making him groan. “Fuck me, Sasuke—”

You were so wet you didn’t care about anything else—only his greedy hands, touching and squeezing every inch of you as he nuzzled into your neck.

“Should I? After the attitude you gave me all week?”

Seeing you so desperate for him, Sasuke only wanted to talk more—for some reason. Maybe to get back at you for not saying it sooner, because if you had, he would’ve already fucked you several times by now. Or maybe simply because he adored the way his hands felt on your tempting body—driving him mad. Especially when you beg.

“Please, baby—Please, Sasuke!”

He hummed at your plea, undoing his belt in the process and not making you wait much longer before slipping inside—slow, but deep. Even though you were dripping, already prepared with two fingers, you still clenched impossibly tight, making it hard for him to last.

“Relax, Y/N. Fucking hell—”

You started bouncing on his cock, unable to listen—loving it too much, moaning his name. Sasuke groaned at the sight, chasing your hips and fucking you deeper, rougher, if that’s what you desperately wanted. Still, he really needed to fuck you again—because you made him cum way too soon. Now you needed to cum at least twice, looking only at him.

No one else should see this side of you. Nor his.

[joeyfromthetrack]

Soft Spot- OP⁸¹

Oscar Piastri x reader

Summary: Oscar and his girlfriend both find themselves experiencing some intense baby fever.

Contains: long time established relationship, intense baby fever, fluff

The moment she cradled her newborn niece in her arms, Oscar knew he was in trouble.

He watched from the other end of the sofa, arm stretched out lazily across the backrest, pretending to scroll through his phone while his eyes stayed locked on her. The way she smiled, that slow, warm one that only came out when she was truly full of joy , it lit something up in him. Something soft. Something that ached in the nicest way.

“You want to hold her?” she whispered, rocking the tiny bundle gently.

Oscar sat up. “She looks cozy right where she is.”

She laughed, and his heart thudded. “That’s code for ‘I’m scared I’ll drop her.’”

He gave a half-smile. “A little. She’s so small. Like, impossibly small.”

“Babies tend to be.”

She returned her attention to the sleepy infant, carefully brushing a wisp of hair from her forehead. Oscar leaned in just slightly, resting his chin on his hand as he watched. He didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes said everything.

The baby fever hit them like a freight train, though neither dared to bring it up.

A week later, at the Dutch Grand Prix, it got worse.

Oscar had qualified second, right behind Lando, and the energy in the paddock buzzed with anticipation. She’d flown in that morning coming from a trip with her friends, and he lit up the second he spotted her by his driver room, hood up, travel-worn but glowing.

"Look who made it," he grinned, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Just in time to see you on the podium," she replied, eyes gleaming.

"Manifesting?"

"Manifesting."

They didn’t have long together before he had to focus again, but she stayed close, slipping through the crowd with the ease of someone who'd been in the paddock a hundred times before. She stopped by to see Lando too, who introduced her to his brother and his baby boy, not more than a few months old.

And just like that, the freight train rolled through again.

Lando's brother handed the baby off with practiced ease, and there she was again, arms full of softness, cooing in that gentle voice Oscar had heard before, the one that made him feel like the whole world was slowing down. The baby fussed a little, then melted into her chest like she was the safest place on Earth.

Oscar, in full race suit and holding his helmet under one arm, watched from the background. His face said nothing. His eyes said everything.

Later that afternoon, Oscar passed by on his way back from briefing and saw her. There it was again, that look on her face, all softness and instinct. She rocked the baby with a natural rhythm, one hand behind his little head, her mouth moving gently as she said something only he could hear.

Oscar slowed.

She glanced up and saw him. Her eyes lit up, but she didn’t say anything. Just smiled.

He offered a crooked grin and a small wave, then disappeared into the garage, his heart tapping at the walls of his ribs like it wanted out.

After the race, he finished third, not his best but that's okay. They all gathered in the paddock lounge. She was there again, baby in her arms, legs tucked beneath her on the outdoor couch. She looked like she belonged that way.

Oscar walked over, pulling off his cap, sweat-slick hair sticking to his forehead. “You and him again?”

She looked up, amused. “We’re bonded now.” She grinned up at him. “You say that like you don’t want a turn.”

“I didn’t say that.”

She raised her eyebrows. “So you do want a turn?”

Oscar hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck like he was calculating the risks of being emotionally compromised in public.

“I mean... if he’s in a good mood…”

Lando’s brother looked up from where he sat with his wife and gave a knowing smile. “He’s in a great mood. Just fed, just burped. It’s prime baby time.”

Her hands were already outstretched. “Here. Support under the arms. He likes to lean into your chest.”

Oscar looked at his girlfriend like is this happening? and then carefully stepped forward.

She passed the baby over with practiced confidence, and Oscar took him with the same caution he brought into Eau Rouge. The baby settled in quickly, face smooshed gently against Oscar’s chest, one tiny fist resting on the black fireproof material.

He looked stunned.

“Oh,” he said softly. “Wow. He’s so… warm.”

She let out a quiet laugh beside him. “That’s the first thing you notice?”

“Well, yeah. He’s just... alive, you know?”

She smiled and moved closer, watching Oscar instinctively rock side to side like she had earlier. His hands were gentle but steady, one tucked beneath the baby’s back, the other resting protectively near his head.

“I think he likes you,” she murmured.

Oscar looked down at the baby again. The little guy blinked up sleepily, then promptly closed his eyes, clearly at peace.

“I think I like him too,” Oscar said. His voice was quieter now. Almost reverent.

She watched him, heart caught somewhere between awe and ache. He looked different like this. Not in a dramatic way, still Oscar, still hers, but... softer. A little stunned by what he was holding, by how natural it felt. His fingers traced small, careful patterns along the edge of the baby’s onesie. He didn’t even seem to notice.

“You’re really good with him,” she said.

He looked up. “You think?”

“I know.”

He smiled, slow and unguarded.

Then Lando returned with a smirk. “Alright, alright, give my nephew back before you imprint on him.”

Oscar snorted but didn’t move right away. “Can’t I keep him for one more minute?”

"No mate, I want my nephew back." Oscar reluctantly handed the baby back over, his girlfriend beside him with a little pout on her face.

Later that night back in their hotel room, laying in bed together he asks: “Do you want kids?” he asked, too quiet for anyone else to hear.

She blinked, then looked over at him. “Wow. You’re really going in.”

He gave a soft laugh. “You don’t have to answer. I just—”

“No,” she said gently, “I do.” She shifted so she was facing him more fully. “Yeah. I think I do.”

Oscar’s expression flickered, relief? Gratitude? Something like wonder.

“I always figured I did,” she went on, “but lately... watching my sister's baby. Holding your friend’s nephew. Watching you today...”

He raised an eyebrow. “Me?”

“Baby, your face when you were holding that baby. You looked like you were already thinking about building a crib in your garage.”

Oscar laughed, flushing slightly. “I wasn’t that obvious.”

She tilted her head, smiling. “You kind of were.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been thinking about it more lately too. Not just today. Or last week. Just… in general.”

They sat in the quiet for a moment, the weight of honesty comfortable between them.

“I liked seeing you with them,” he said finally. “You looked so natural. It made something in me go… yeah, I want that.”

She nudged her knee against his. “You would be a really good dad, you know.”

His smile faltered for a second, but only because it was softening. “You really think so?”

“I do.”

Oscar leaned back, letting out a breath like he hadn’t realized he was holding it. “We don’t have to rush into anything.”

“No,” she agreed, “but it’s good to know we’re… somewhere on the same page.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Same page sounds good.”

There was another pause. Not awkward. Just full.

Then she reached over, took his hand, and threaded her fingers through his.

“You should probably practice diaper changes first,” she teased.

He groaned dramatically. “Deal breaker. I’m out.”

She squeezed his hand. “Too late.”

He glanced sideways at her, eyes warm. “Yeah. It is.”

They didn’t map out timelines. They didn’t start throwing around baby names or imagining nurseries or texting their families. But there was something solid now, something certain. A quiet kind of knowing.

And that night, as they curled into each other in their hotel room, no race buzz, no baby nearby, just the sound of city traffic humming faintly outside. Oscar wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her close, and said into the dark:

“I’d like that someday. With you. You'd be the best mum baby.”

She kissed the corner of his mouth and whispered, “I love you.”

That was enough.

For now.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

[sowerpatch]

unfold [chapter ten - unfold]

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Summary: Paige Bueckers didn’t expect to lose the WNBA championship. She also didn’t expect to find comfort in a bartender who spoke more with her in guarded silences than most people did with words.

Author's note: this is an AU where Azzi doesn't play basketball but works as a bartender.

*CHAPTER LIST HERE*

Chapter Summary: Paige finds clarirty and comfort in Azzi, in her friends, in her team, and in the moments that remind her who she is. She lets herself move, connect, and play without needing to prove anything. This time, she isn’t chasing a version of herself. She’s letting it unfold. Author's note: We finally reached the end of line. Thank you for being part of this story. I’m grateful you came along for the ride. Word Count: 4,361

The restaurant Paige picked was loud in the way that made introductions messy and laughter sharper. Music pulsed under the conversation, and the booths were low-lit with a casual, old-Hollywood gloss. Ice was the first to spot them. 

“There she is!” she hollered, half-standing from the semicircle booth with both arms wide. “Miss Sparks herself, looking all grown and LA.” 

Paige grinned and let the hug happen, tugged in with Ice’s usual big-sister force. The others followed suit, a collision of arms and voices. Aubrey pulled her in next, looping an arm around her shoulder and immediately ruffling her hair like they were back in Storrs. Caroline leaned over the table, wine already in hand, and KK called from the other end, “Look at this celeb! I hope your ego can fit in here.” 

“I was fine till you opened your mouth,” Paige shot back, pulling KK into a quick hug before sliding into the booth. 

Azzi hesitated at the edge of the circle. 

Paige turned immediately, her hand catching Azzi’s wrist. “Guys. This is Azzi. Be nice.” 

Four sets of eyes landed at once. There was a second of surprised recognition before KK grinned like she’d been handed dessert first. 

“Oh this is Azzi,” KK said, drawing the syllables out. 

“I’m gonna behave,” Ice said, raising both hands like a promise no one believed. “But only because you’re a pre-law student and could probably sue us into oblivion.” 

Azzi kept her smile in place, calm on the surface, but her shoulders carried the weight of someone measuring every angle. 

Paige caught it without turning, the shift subtle but loud in her body. Her fingers traced a slow line over Azzi’s wrist, deliberate and grounding. Her hand stayed where it was, fingers tracing lightly along Azzi’s wrist before tugging her in to sit. 

“Ice, Caroline, Aubrey, KK. You’ve all heard me complain about them.” 

“Lies,” Caroline said smoothly, lifting her glass. “She only said good things. Except about your shooting form, KK.” 

KK gasped. “Paige Bueckers, you traitor.” 

“You airballed a layup once,” Paige said, already laughing. 

“And you wore two pairs of socks for six months.” Aubrey chimed in. 

Azzi watched the exchange unfold around her, each memory tossed back and forth with the ease of people who had shaped one another. The rhythm was fast, full of years she hadn't lived with them, but she followed it anyway, listening closely.  

She stayed quiet, respecting the space that belonged to Paige and her people. Her hand found Paige’s leg beneath the table, resting gently against the warmth of her thigh. Paige shifted slightly, just enough to meet the touch, her body angling toward Azzi in a way that spoke without needing words. 

“So,” Ice said, tipping her glass and looking straight at Azzi, “this is the woman who had our girl writing poems in the group chat last winter.” 

Paige groaned, head dropping into her hands. “Ice.” 

“Bro, you ran back to Storrs for a couple of days and gave us a play-by-play like you were covering the World Cup, talking about how you were falling in love... with a Trojan, mind you,” Ice said, grinning wide. 

“And not to forget,” KK cut in, laughing, “You literally said, ‘She stared at me like I was already hers and my whole damn future.’” 

Azzi blinked, amused and a little thrown. “That’s… accurate.” 

Paige reached across the table and stole Ice’s drink. “You’re done talking.” 

Ice just raised both brows. “She was gone, Azzi. Like full-on meltdown. She had this haunted look and says you were the only one who didn’t push her.” 

Azzi glanced at Paige, slower now, something softer behind her eyes. “She didn’t need pushing. Just space.” 

Caroline whistled low. “Okay, now I’m about to write poems in the group chat.” 

“Group’s closed,” Paige muttered. “And all of you are banned.” 

KK raised her glass. “To the woman who made Paige Bueckers poetic.” 

Azzi smiled, easing back into Paige’s side. “It was mutual.” 

And Paige, despite herself, smiled too.    “And by the way, I know we just met, but USC is going to kick your ass in tomorrow’s game.” Azzi grinned. 

- 

The store had the kind of late afternoon calm that made time feel looser. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, catching on rows of glossy produce and half-stocked end caps. A few shoppers moved with purpose, but most wandered, lost in their own routines. Somewhere near the deli, a speaker played an old song Paige couldn’t place, soft enough to get buried under the sound of carts rolling over tile and the occasional beep from the register lanes. 

She walked with one hand trailing the edge of the shelves, the other tucked loosely into her hoodie pocket. Her phone buzzed twice with notifications she ignored. 

Azzi pushed the cart a few steps behind, reading through the list they hadn’t fully committed to following. Her movements were unhurried, careful in that way she always was when Paige’s thoughts wandered.  

They hadn’t talked much since walking in, but comfort stretched between them, easy and unspoken. Paige felt it in the way their pace stayed in sync, how Azzi’s shoulder occasionally bumped hers at the corners of aisles, how she never asked where Paige’s mind had gone. 

They turned past the cereal aisle, halfway through the list, when something caught her off balance. A blur of movement, small and fast, collided with her side. 

Paige took half a step back, steadying herself just as a little girl stumbled back from the impact. She was maybe seven, maybe eight, with flyaway braids and bright sneakers, gripping a tiny shopping basket in both hands. The number on her jersey pulled Paige’s focus. White letters stretched across soft purple mesh. 

5 Bueckers. 

The kid froze. Her eyes went wide with recognition, mouth parted like she couldn’t quite make sense of the moment. Her basket tilted sideways, a few snack packs nearly spilling before she caught it against her hip. Paige dropped into a crouch without thinking, her voice soft, the smile already tugging at her mouth. 

“You alright?” 

The girl nodded but said nothing. Her eyes locked on Paige, then drifted to the number on her hoodie, the same number stitched across her own chest. Her hands fidgeted around the basket handle, small fingers flexing like she was holding onto something too big. 

“You’re Paige Bueckers! My name’s Sydney,” she said after a beat. “I’m a point guard.” 

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? You got handles?” 

The girl’s face lit up. She nodded hard enough her braids bounced. “Coach says I pass the ball like you.” 

Paige laughed, and something warm settled in her chest. “That’s the highest compliment there is.” 

There was a pause. Sydney looked like she wanted to say more but was working up the nerve. Her hand shifted, tugging gently at the hem of her jersey. 

“You’re really cool,” she said "I wanna play like you when I grow up.” 

A warmth spread through Paige's chest, soft and unexpected. The kind that came from being seen with pure eyes, the way she used to look at the women who made her believe this dream was possible. 

She thought of old photos taped to her bedroom wall, a Diana Taurasi poster creased in the corners from being taken down and rehung too many times. She had been this girl once. Small, breathless, full of belief before the world could complicate it. 

And now here it was again. A loop folding in on itself.  

“You still watching next season?” Paige asked. 

Sydney’s chin lifted with fierce certainty. “Definitely.” 

Paige glanced at Azzi with a silent question, one brow lifting as her hand hovered at her side. Azzi caught the look, reached calmly into her bag, and came up with a pen like she’d known this would happen. She passed it over without a word, her fingers brushing Paige’s, causing Paige to smile at her girlfriend.    She then turned in front of the girl, uncapping the pen with a practiced flick. 

“Turn around for me,” she said gently, nodding toward the back of the jersey. 

The girl did, spinning quick, nearly tripping over her own excitement as her sneakers squeaked against the tile. Paige steadied the jersey with one hand and signed just beneath the number, her strokes careful, even. When she finished, she tapped the girl’s shoulder, just enough to draw her around again. 

“You keep hoopin’, alright? You’ve already got the heart for it.” 

Sydney nodded hard, eyes wide. “This is the best day ever.” 

Before Paige could say anything else, the girl threw her arms around her neck in a sudden, earnest hug. Paige caught her easily, a quiet laugh slipping out as she returned it, one hand resting gently between Sydney’s shoulder blades. 

“Good luck Paige,” the girl said against her hoodie, muffled but certain. 

Paige smiled as she pulled back, brushing a hand over the top of Sydney’s head. “Thanks, kid.” 

Sydney clutched her basket like it held treasure and took off, her ponytail bouncing, glancing back only once with a grin that stayed even as she disappeared behind the cereal aisle. 

“She looked like you,” Azzi said from behind her. 

Paige turned slowly. Azzi’s voice held no trace of teasing. Her expression was soft and pure, the way she always spoke when something reached deeper than observation. She had a way of making simple truths feel earned. 

“I used to think I had to win everything to mean something,” she said. Her voice held no edge, only reflection. “But that kid… she doesn’t care about stats. She just believes.” 

Azzi moved toward her and reached for her hand. Her touch was familiar now, grounding. Her thumb brushed slowly over Paige’s knuckles. 

“You’re still someone worth believing in.” 

There wasn’t anything left to say that could hold it all. Paige stepped in and wrapped her arms around Azzi, holding her like the moment needed it. 

“Thank you,” Paige said softly, her voice tucked just beneath Azzi’s ear. “For seeing me. For always seeing me. I love you.” 

- 

The ball came off Paige’s hand with a clean rotation, kissed glass, and dropped through the net. She landed light, felt the bounce return to her knees, the strain in her chest easing. Cam raised both arms like she’d just watched someone win a shootout, laughing as she jogged toward the sideline. 

“There she is,” Rickea called from the wing. “Thought we lost you to the suburbs and the soft life.” 

Kelsey faked a dramatic gasp. “She’s alive! Somebody alert the press.” 

Paige bent at the waist, breathing hard, grinning. Her shoulders burned. Her calf ached in a way that reminded her she hadn’t done this at full speed in months. But the ache wasn’t discouraging. It was familiar. Earned. 

The team ran through drills that tested timing, memory, chemistry. At first, Paige’s reads came late, her legs unsure, her vision too narrow. She fumbled an easy give-and-go with Cam, hesitated too long on a cut. For a second, the weight of last season pressed hard against her ribs. The loss, the headlines, the slow fade into absence. 

But nobody treated her like she was a ghost. 

Cam bumped her shoulder after a missed rotation. “You good. Just need to dust off the cobwebs.” 

Rickea passed her the ball with a nod. “Next play.” 

It was the same rhythm she’d missed most. The unspoken trust. The way they never made her explain herself. She wasn’t a project to fix. She was part of them. Still. 

Halfway through scrimmage, Paige stole a pass and broke down the court, Kelsey tailing close. She rose into the layup, took contact, scored through it. The whistle came late.  

 “Vintage Bueckers!” Kelsey yelled out and smacked her on the back like she meant it. 

Sweat dripped down her spine. Her hair was half-falling from its tie. The gym echoed with noise, sneakers and laughter and sharp instructions. But under all of it was something steadier. 

Belief. 

Her teammates had every reason to look at her like a question mark. But instead, they teased her like nothing had broken. They passed her the ball like they trusted her hands. They looked her in the eye like they were already seeing the season stretch forward. Together. 

The team had started to scatter when Cam called them back in, spinning her towel once before draping it around her neck. Sweat still clung to her jaw, but her eyes burned with something clean and certain. 

“Forget what happened last year,” she said, steady and direct. “That was just the preview. This season’s the real show.” 

Rickea smirked, resting her hands on her hips like she was already picturing the opening tip. Kelsey rolled her shoulders loose, cracking her neck with a grin that didn’t reach her eyes. The energy between them buzzed, unspoken but alive. 

Paige let herself drift to the edge of the circle, pulse still catching up from drills, muscles aching in ways that reminded her she hadn’t moved like this in months. She took them all in. Their fire, their calm, their trust. 

Last year’s loss had carved into her in ways she hadn’t known how to process yet survive. She’d carried it alone, thinking maybe she had let them down, thinking maybe they’d all moved on without her. But standing in the middle of this court, shoulder to shoulder with the women who never once looked at her like she was anything less, the weight cracked open into something lighter. 

They had never needed apologies. 

They had always known she’d come back. 

And this time, they weren’t chasing a trophy. They were hunting it down like they’d already bled for it. 

The season ahead wasn’t a second chance. 

It was a reckoning. 

- 

Sunlight filtered through the late April blinds, casting gold across the hardwood floor in uneven strokes. Paige’s apartment smelled faintly of eucalyptus from the diffuser near the window and the sweat of a long practice still clinging to her collar.  

She stood in the middle of the living room, bare feet planted on the cool floor, her practice gear wrinkled and damp from the walk home. Her hair was tied in a loose knot, and her pulse hadn’t fully settled. But there was a calmness in her chest, the kind that only came after fighting through something and reaching the other side intact. 

“I’m ready,” she said, eyes locked on Azzi, who leaned against the counter with her arms crossed. “I don’t feel like I’m chasing it anymore. I think I’m ready to play.” 

Azzi’s gaze softened as it traced Paige’s face, reading every detail. The pride came without flourish, rooted deep in the line of her posture, the way her arms eventually dropped to her sides, open and easy. 

“You look like yourself again,” Azzi said, her voice low, rich with feeling. “I’m so proud of you, babe.” 

Paige stepped forward, tugging her by the shirt, and kissed her. There was no hesitation in it. Their mouths met in a heat that had nothing to prove, only to return to. Paige kissed her like someone claiming home, and Azzi answered with a hunger layered in relief. Fingers slipped into hair, hands traced ribs, and the pull between them narrowed until their bodies aligned fully, every breath shared. 

When they pulled apart, Paige’s forehead rested against Azzi’s. Her smile lingered on her lips, lazily drawn but happy. Azzi brushed her thumb along Paige’s cheek. 

“I have something to tell you too,” Azzi said. “I got into USC. Law school. Gould.” 

Paige’s head lifted. Her expression broke wide open with pride, arms sliding back around Azzi’s waist in a full embrace. 

“You’re unbelievable,” she said. “I’m so proud of you, you don’t even know. And annoyed. Because I’m still stuck dating a Trojan.” 

Azzi laughed, kissed her again, slower this time. “I’ll make it worth your while. Free legal counsel for life. And when I pass the bar, I plan on becoming the hottest attorney in Los Angeles.” 

Paige murmured. “You already are hot, mama.” 

The praise was soaked in admiration that had grown over months of trust and trial. Azzi held her closer, but Paige didn’t let go either. She stepped back just enough to see her, both hands still wrapped at her waist. 

“Move in with me.” 

Azzi blinked, caught off guard for only a second. 

“You mean that?” 

“Yeah,” Paige said. “I’m tired of waking up without you half the week. Let’s just make this ours.” 

Azzi studied her, gaze sharpened by emotion. The question hung in the air like something sacred, and the answer came not with hesitation but with certainty. 

“Okay,” 

- 

The breeze caught the edge of Paige’s shirt as she leaned against the brick wall outside Vault 35, her foot braced against the ledge. Tom stood beside her, arms crossed, the brim of his cap shading his eyes as he shook his head. 

“I still think they gave up too much,” he said. “Doncic is a beast, but gutting the bench like that? That’s asking for burnout by the end of the season.” 

Paige smirked, tossing the empty bottle cap from her drink between her hands. “He’s in his mid 20s. If anyone can handle forty minutes a night, it’s Luka. Plus, he makes everyone around him better. I mean, you saw what he did last season with half a roster and a sprained ankle.” 

Tom scoffed. “Still doesn’t mean the West will rule the world.” 

“You say that like the Sparks aren’t about to run the city anyway,” Paige shot back, nudging him with her shoulder. 

“Oh, I see how it is. Win one preseason game and y’all start flexing like it’s a dynasty.” 

Azzi pushed through the door just then, her eyes scanning until they landed on the two of them bickering like siblings outside a high school gym. Her last shift in Vault had just ended. She had her hair pulled back, sleeves rolled up, the smallest trace of sweat still at her temple. She lingered a moment in the doorway, watching them with a hint of a smile before stepping into the light. 

“This what you do now, Bueckers?” Azzi said, her voice lazy with amusement as she came to stand beside Paige. She slid her arm around Paige’s waist without hesitation, anchoring herself there. “Distract my coworkers until they forget they’re supposed to be working?” 

Tom raised both hands in surrender. “Guilty. But it’s your last shift, Az. I’m not taking any orders from you anymore.” 

“Good. You were terrible at following them anyway.” 

He grinned and leaned a little closer to Paige. “I’ll miss her, sure, but let’s be real, I’m gonna miss you picking her up the most. Nobody else drops by to rant about bad officiating just to keep me awake during dead hours.” 

Paige tilted her head, pleased. “You know what? I’m gonna get you season tickets. Sparks and Lakers. Front row for the nosebleed experience.” 

Tom blinked, touched in a way he didn’t try to hide. “If you do that, I’m naming my first kid Paige. Girl or boy.” 

Azzi laughed then, the kind that broke through whatever weight lingered from the long shift inside.  

“Come on, superstar,” she said, pulling Paige toward the lot. “Let’s get out of here before you end up as the godparent too.” 

Paige looked back once as Tom held the door for a group walking in, mouthing Luka MVP just to be petty. He flipped her off affectionately, already smiling. 

- 

The press room buzzed with anticipation, cameras already trained on the stage as Paige adjusted the mic in front of her. The Sparks’ preseason media day always drew a crowd, but this time the spotlight felt sharper, the questions lined up more delicately than usual. She sat with the same calm she used to face defenders at the arc, legs crossed, gaze steady.  

“Paige,” one of the reporters started, “you opted out of Unrivaled this off season. Could you walk us through that decision?” 

She nodded once, her hands folded lightly in her lap. “After the championship loss, everything caught up with me. I was drained, physically and emotionally. I wasn’t showing up for myself the way I needed to, and I knew if I kept pushing, I’d break somewhere deeper. So I stepped back. I took time. I focused on healing, on recalibrating who I was outside of basketball. And I don’t regret it for a second.” 

There was a pause as another hand shot up from the back. 

“Paige, there’ve been sightings of you at Vault 35 pretty regularly for the past months. Some people speculated you leaned into drinking. Was that part of how you coped?” 

The edge of her mouth lifted as laughter bubbled up from her chest. She leaned into the mic, smile easy, eyes bright with disbelief. “That’s wild. Honestly. I’ve seen the photos, the tags, the rumors. People have way too much time on their hands.” 

The laughter in the room followed hers, but she lifted a hand, playful and dismissive. 

“Look, I think it’s finally time I clear that up. Vault 35 isn’t some escape hatch I crawled into. It’s just where my beautiful girlfriend worked. That’s the whole story. I was always there to see her, not to disappear.” 

A collective sound filled the room, somewhere between amusement and adoration, the kind of gentle awe that rolls through a crowd when affection is laid bare. Paige smiled again, more openly this time. 

Another reporter leaned in. “Would you say she played a part in your off-season recovery?” 

Paige took a heavy breath. Her gaze dropped for a moment. 

“She’s the reason I made it through. That’s not an exaggeration. She reminded me who I was, even when I lost sight of it. She didn’t let me fold under the weight. She held the line when I couldn’t, and because of that, I figured out how to hold it for myself.” 

The words lingered, drawing a pause before she leaned in slightly, voice anchored and sure. 

“So yeah. I’m back. I’m ready. I’m playing my heart out this season. For myself, for my team, for those who believed in me. Especially her.” 

- 

Timeout had been called with twenty seconds on the clock. The scoreboard read 91–93. LA trailing. Bodies glistened with sweat as the Sparks huddled on the sideline, breaths sharp, jerseys clinging, every player locked into the coach’s voice slicing through the noise of the arena. 

Paige stood slightly outside the circle, knees braced with tape, fingertips brushing the towel draped over her shoulder. Her chest rose and fell like it had been doing this forever, like this pressure was familiar and welcome. 

Azzi sat composed in her seat, legs crossed with elegant ease, her hands folded lightly in her lap. Her expression remained unreadable at first glance, but her eyes found Paige’s with a gaze so direct it almost felt like a touch. The nod she offered was subtle, deliberate, carrying a kind of quiet assurance that cut through the noise. 

A slow, knowing smile that rose from the place inside Paige had been rebuilt. The part Azzi had helped her reclaim. 

The referee’s whistle cut through the buzz, sharp and final. Sparks ball. 

Rickea stepped in for the inbound, eyes sweeping once before snapping the pass into motion. Paige broke loose off the screen with purpose, cutting high across the arc, her footwork fast and clean. She shook her defender with a sharp change of pace, one shoulder dipping low as she cleared space at the top of the key. Her body hummed with exhaustion, but her mind stayed clear. The ball hit her palms like it belonged there. 

Ten seconds. 

Indiana’s defense tightened. A switch came late. The lane collapsed before she could step into it. They wanted to force her wide, take away her drive, rush her into a pass. She didn’t flinch. 

Eight seconds. 

She stayed calm, eyes reading every shift. Her defender leaned in, hand twitching up to contest early. Paige absorbed the pressure, let the moment stretch. Then she stopped on a dime and rocked back into space beyond the arc. 

Three seconds. 

The ball left her fingers clean. A smooth flick, wrists loose, follow-through held like ritual. The arc of it cut through the air as the buzzer groaned to life. 

Nothing touched the rim. 

Swish. 

The crowd erupted, a wall of sound that cracked across Crypto Arena.  

2027 Season opening game. 

LA Sparks - 94  Indiana Fever - 93  

This might have been the first game of the season, but nobody on the court treated it like a warm-up. They played like something was at stake. Every screen, every fast break, every huddle on the sideline carried the same hunger usually saved for a title game. That was how it should be. They were making a statement. 

Paige stood where she had released the shot, hand still hovering in the air, chest rising hard beneath her jersey. Her lungs burned, sweat sliding down her temple, but her feet refused to move until her teammates found her. 

Kelsey reached her first, throwing both arms around her. Then came Cam, slapping her back with a shout. The bench stormed in behind them, wrapping Paige into a circle of whoops and limbs, laughter breaking through the weight of the moment. 

And still, Paige looked past them. 

Through the chaos, her eyes searched courtside until they found Azzi’s. 

Azzi had risen with the rest of the crowd. She stood tall, eyes fixed on Paige, her expression held no restraint. Pride lit across her face without apology. The corners of her mouth lifted, soft and certain, as if she had known this moment would come and had waited just to watch it unfold. 

Paige’s chest swelled. The noise around her faded, caught under the weight of Azzi’s gaze. 

Her lips moved, shaped by breath and certainty. 

I love you. 

Azzi nodded once, the motion sure and easy, then mouthed it back like it was the only truth that mattered. 

I love you too. 

[leafostuff]

Clean [Ft. StayC's Sieun]

Author's note: yeah i am BFH-ing again, that comeback she looks so hot adjjekekdkwhru,

I wonder how many BFH does it take for me to release my long fics, anyways have fun reading this quickie for my now ult bias

=================================

"How much time do we have?"

"20 minutes, this car wash is slow as shit, but they give results" you answer, looking around the restroom to confirm that you are indeed the only ones inside.

"good" a quick response, meanwhile her hands expertly rid you of your belt, jeans and boxers, leaving you naked from the waist down. "My ass will make you cum in two".

"In the ass today? Daring today are we?" a quick chuckle meanwhile sieun turns around, letting your cock find its favorite spot between her butt-cheeks as she lazily grinds her clothed hips onto you.

"yeah, daddy didnt fill me up in weeks because of his stupid exams, so i thought he could fill a new hole today for fun~" she casually says, as if you are in your shared bedroom and not fucking your girlfriend in a public restroom.

However instead of shame, its excitement that flows through both of your bodies so you can only smile when her hands go into the hem of her panties, slowly lowering them to reveal her bare ass to you while she looks at you with fire in her eyes, the type that without words screams at you 'fuck me rough'.

"I can't wait for you to split my ass open with that huge co-nghh" she cant finish her sentence before you push into her ass, leaving her moaning your name

"god you are so dirty when you are cockdrunk, aren't you?"

"its been so long... without daddy's cock, need it so ba-oh fuck" the first f-bomb is dropped rather quickly as she bites her lips, trying her best to quiet herself, but it doesn't help that you start moving your hips in synchronization to hers.

"And you would definitely get it" you respond, a devilsh smug on your face seeing sieun now closing her eyes, chasing the high of your pleasure, "you said your ass will make cum in two minutes, 30 seconds already passed and i'm not cumming yet".

"Maybe if daddy would bend me over, i could make him fill me already"

This little bitch.

Its a futile attempt to match her brattiness, but before you are able to get your hands on her back she detached her ass from your length, letting you feel a bit of a cold breeze

"not here though..." She says, her eyes turn away from you to now look at one of the stools, it tells you everything you need to know about how bad she wants it.

So without anything said Sieun takes your hand, guiding you into one of the stools, as you both get inside your hands fumble their way into locking yourself meanwhile your girlfriend doesn't waste a second with her hands going on each side of the toilet while her ass up in front of you.

"Im waiting~" Sieun taunts, looking behind to see your cock already twitching while she wiggles her ass dangerously close to your tip, like a matador calling its bull to charge, she cant wait any longer.

So you give in to her, pushing your length deep into her asshole, releasing a deep groan from the pleasure of how tight she feels.

"FUCK", "YES", "DADDY", "MORE" and other colourful pleads come from her lungs, with each pump she gets louder and louder, she doesn't care that someone would hear her screaming.

Meanwhile your pace gets messier, rougher, it doesn't ruin the experience though since the stool is filled with moans of pleasure, sounds of bodies slapping against each other, each piston of your length into Sieun casues shivers throughout your body until eventually you cant stop yourself from the feeling.

The feeling of her.

"Cum daddy"

This is the last words she needs to speak before all of the load you kept inside shoots toward her, the lower back, the peaks of her cheeks, the valley that's between them, the tight ass hole, all of it painted white and in reaction Sieun can only sigh in approval.

She is right about making you cum quickly, it doesn't take long for you to feel completely empty as after the last sprout of the white liquid you finally let your cock rest.

"Thats... How a girl should start her day, everyday" she says with a youthful laugh, quickly standing up from her previous posting she doesn't even look half-tired from the pounding you gave her.

"It sure is a start" you respond, it takes a couple of pants but eventually you also catch your breath,

"We're not finished yet, daddy" she says, catching you already unlocking the door, looking outside to see if someone was outside. You take a look back: Sieun's already on fours again, Ass raised once again, still messy from your cum.

"i hate being dirty, maybe you should call a cleaning service"

================================

Stream "I WANT IT" by StayC yall

[reiderwriter]

Questionable Theories

Inspired by this request!

Summary: You end up in a couple of tight situations with Spencer, and he decides that the body language you're displaying is an obvious sign of claustrophobia rather than a desperately horrible case of sexual attraction.

Warnings: smut, 18+, shower sex, unprotected sex, sexual frustration, fingering, minimal foreplay etc.

Masterlist

Spencer Reid was a budding anthropologist.

To be clear, he was very much a physicist, a mathematician, an engineer, a Supervisory Special Agent, and many other things. But he reasoned that a Bachelor’s Degree in a subject only cleared him to be someone who dabbled in anthropology.

And anthropology told him that you were hiding something. He had studied human behavior for years, and he had some qualms about using his knowledge as a profiler against his friends and colleagues - it wasn’t nice to psychoanalyse each other, he had been told many a time - he felt that certain scientific observations needed some further study.

Take, for example, the observation of societal reactions to small or tight spaces. While Spencer knew for a fact that many people had a fear of small, enclosed spaces, also known as claustrophobia, he knew you were not one of those people.

And yet, here you were, squashed against his side in a packed elevator, displaying a heightened heart rate, higher body temperature, and flashes of discomfort only otherwise present in those with the fear.

You’d gotten onto the elevator happily enough, he’d noted. There was no trepidation or avoidance. You hadn’t once suggested taking the stairs instead. But on the second floor, a crowd of people had gotten in, and you’d been left pressed so tightly against Spencer’s chest that he could measure your pulse no problem.

Struggling to find something to comfort you in your distress, Spencer settled for a hand on your back, wrapping it around you to keep you from bumping into any more people. Morgan had already told him that elevator death statistics rarely comforted those stuck in and/or using them, and he didn’t want to alert the elevator full of FBI agents that you were in any form of distress.

Touching you, however, almost made it worse. He noted a second spike in your pulse, before you began measuring your breathing slightly more so it would calm down.

He wanted to help; he surely did, but there was only one more floor before you both reached the BAU, and before he could think of anything truly comforting to say, you’d pushed through the crowd of people and started walking to your desk as if nothing in the world was wrong.

He almost missed the beat of your heart as you walked away.

From that day on, Spencer made it his mission to figure out if you were struggling with claustrophobia or rather with something more akin to enochlophobia, a fear of crowds.

It was rather lucky then that after a few days again, you found yourselves both back in an elevator, though this one was much less crowded. Spencer was almost disappointed that he couldn’t test both variables at once to repeat the pattern of the first observation, but luck was on his side when, after all the other inhabitants of the elevator alighted on their work floors, the elevator decided to break down with only the two of you left on it.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you said, shutting your eyes in silent defeat as the elevator lights switched themselves off.

“I guess the power just went out,” Spencer said, moving a step or two closer to you to buzz the alarm, and noting the way you flattened your back against the wall to avoid him further.

After notifying the building maintenance again, he stopped and stayed near you.

“Statistically, this won’t take too long, the-”

“Spencer, if you start telling me facts about elevator breakdowns, I’m going to have a breakdown myself.”

Nodding quickly, he wisely shut his mouth, but he didn’t attempt to move back. As the next floor doors were pried open by firefighters a few moments later (the perks of a job at Quantico, expedited rescues), he stepped further into your personal space.

You couldn’t escape him without completely obviously swerving to the opposite side of the elevator, which might be dangerous considering the quick repair work that was happening on it, so you instead tried your best to hold your breath and die.

It was better than letting your mind run away with the thought - the tempting, very detailed, and somewhat scary thought - of Spencer pinning you against the wall and doing whatever the hell he wanted with your body.

There was a certain level of detail your mind went to after the boundary of personal space had been crossed, and unluckily for you, Spencer was crossing it a lot these days. You were left feeling absolutely, devastatingly horny, with an aftertaste of guilt from thinking these things about your coworker.

“Could you-” you coughed, trying to free your voice from any squeaks. “Could you step back a bit?”

The Spencer in your horny brain would’ve pinned your hands above your head and asked you if you really meant that, which of course you didn’t, you wanted to feel his hands all over you.

The real Spencer seemed to take this instead as confirmation of your fear, and backed up immediately, staying as still as a wildlife rescuer trying to calm a shaking abandoned puppy.

If only you were shaking in fear and not months of accidental sexual tension turned up to the max.

You were surprised that Spencer himself hadn’t noticed how you desired him carnally. You couldn’t hold his eye contact, and you wouldn’t even let yourself brush against him in fear that you would say something embarrassingly true. You thought these to be pretty easily defined as measures of one with unwanted sexual desires.

Spencer, however, went with enochlophobia.

“You two good down there?” Emily yelled from her perch on the floor just above you, comfortably situated between the firefighters who were currently putting a hold in the door to help you shimmy out of it.

“We need you two to get out of there quickly. We have a case in Atlanta. Wheels up in 30,” she said, reaching a hand down for your bags as the firefighters urged you to grab onto them so they could lift you.

A sudden wave of relief washed over you. Work! Real, true, and honest work to distract yourself with. A case where you could escape impure thoughts for the time being would be perfect.

You must’ve enjoyed the moment a second too long, though, as Spencer once again flooded your senses.

With a hand on your hip, chaste and purely platonic from anyone else's perspective, Spencer encouraged you forward, to meet the reach of the team of firefighters.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice low and hot in your ear. He was probably giving himself a pat on the back for comforting you. “You’re doing great, just hang in there.”

Helping to send your bags up to Emily, he reached around you, his chest hitting your back, his entire body crowding yours once again near the edge of the space.

Every touch felt electric, and you wished to god it did not. You let the team of firefighters drag you out of the hole you were physically in, even as you sank further into the one you were in mentally.

After confirming his suspicions, Spencer took it upon himself to be your silent protector. If you’d had any clue that was what he was doing, you’d have definitely thought it cute.

Instead, you were just on edge whenever he so much as breathed in your direction.

He sat next to you on the jet, going so far as to ask you if you had any problem with turbulence even though you’d been working with him for the last year and he’d travelled in a plane with you. When he leaned over you to open the blinds to the window, you twitched away from his hand, so sure that it was about to land somewhere inappropriate.

He sat in the back of the van beside you when you landed, getting strange looks from every other member of the team because he was usually very serious about sitting front and centre. The stares only got more intense when he tried to put your seatbelt on for you.

“Spencer,” you whispered sharply as he stretched across you for the second time that day. “I’ve got it.”

He quickly retreated into his seat and even seemed a little disappointed in himself.

Spencer wasn’t entirely sure why he was being so intense either. He’d found out about your so-called weakness, and it was like some part of him leaped into protector mode. He wanted to be closer, to study every reaction, to make things easier for you.

He really couldn’t help it when he volunteered to room with you.

With three rooms available with the company card, Rossi took the initiative and booked his own private suite, leaving Emily and JJ, Hotch and Morgan, and of course yourself and Spencer to cosy up in twin rooms.

“I’ll grab that,” Spencer said, grabbing your bag for you and climbing up the stairs, notably avoiding the elevator either out of deference to you, or because he was similarly freaked out about the morning’s elevator accident.

“Spencer, I’ve got it,” you sighed, half exasperated, half dreamy. But he was already out of sight and unlocking the door to your room, walking in to inspect it.

You trailed along quickly, noting that he’d stopped rather suddenly at the door.

“Oh,” he said, staring into the room and lowering the bags he’d commandeered to the floor.

Of course, you’d been left without a twin room. You’d been left a standard double. With, of course, a single double bed.

For Spencer, he saw this as a scientific chance to keep exploring his own theories. Was it all people you were uncomfortable with? Would the close proximity of sharing a space highlight any discomfort you had with people in general? Would you refuse the room entirely, and leave, or would you push yourself through it?

You similarly had many plaguing thoughts: how the fuck were you going to get through the night without an embarrassingly horny wet dream, or at least some kind of Nyquil to knock you out cold before you could harass the man any further?

Neither of you had the chance to discuss your new living arrangements, as you were quickly - blissfully - called into the precinct to begin your case.

Twelve hours of traipsing around crime scenes and pulling longer hours than you had in months - purposefully - you were almost glad to be heading back to sleep.

Not that you were looking forward to discussing the sleeping arrangements, but because you’d had a few more strange encounters with Spencer across the day that you absolutely needed to be unconscious to fully avoid.

First, he’d taken it upon himself to angle himself between you and any other detectives you met on the case, which actually hindered your chance to ask about evidence and the facts of the case for a few hours, until Hotch had sent Spencer on an errand.

When he’d come back, he’d pulled you aside to talk, which was normal enough, except he’d pulled you into a storage closet to talk, and though he kept the topic strictly on the case, your brain had overloaded the second he’d pressed his hand against the wall beside your head and you’d sprinted back out of the closet, avoiding eye contact with anyone who you thought may have witnessed the entire exchange.

And then he’d insisted - insisted - on driving you home alone, turning down all the offers from the local PD to get you an escort so you didn’t have to worry about the unfamiliar roads.

Spencer patted himself on the back for seeing to your needs so well.

You wanted nothing more than to fall straight into bed and never get back out again, dumping your bag, and walking straight into the attached bathroom, as you began to undress so you could take a shower.

“Don’t mind me,” Spencer said as you popped a second button, sending you jumping across the already very small room.

Leaving you stood there in shock, clutching your shirt to your chest, though you were still more or less covered, he reached around you and placed his toiletries on the counter, practically pinning you (once again) to the sink.

You weren’t cognizant of your brain making the decision, but you felt your hands pushing up against Spencer’s chest, and shoving just deliberately enough to pin him to the solid shower stall door, turning the tables on him.

“What are you doing, Spencer?” you asked, shocked both at how professional you sounded and that your hands had yet to travel from his chest to any other part of his body.

“I’m dropping my toiletries bag off,” he said, the picture of nonchalance.

“I was about to get in the shower. I told you as much before walking in here. I was undressing.”

“Yes, but-”

“You pulled me into a closet earlier, you acted strange in the elevator, frankly, you’ve been entirely too helpful today, and I know you’re a kind person, but Jesus Christ, Spencer, there’s only so much I can take!”

“I know,” he said soothingly, a soft smile playing on his lips, and if you weren’t so frustrated, you might have swooned at the way he looked at you.

“You know what?”

“That…that this is hard for you, right? It’s totally normal to-”

“Oh god,” you whispered. He knew.

“No, it’s okay, really, it happens to a lot of people, this kind of thing is just a natural part of society, and-”

“Spencer, for the love of god, please shut up!” you nearly screamed, trying your best to keep your shattered emotions in tow.

“I just want us to be able to communicate clearly about this,” he said, and with that, he raised a hand to your face, brushing a hair aside quickly and tucking it behind your ear.

No longer in control of your actions, you had no choice but to let your body push closer to his and join your lips to his, suffocating his helpful smile.

You felt his shock, but then you felt his hands grip you a little bit closer, pulling you into him and pressing his lips back into yours with the same pressure.

You gasped for air, but he pulled you in closer still, turning you around to press you against the shower door, nearly tripping inside as you tugged and pulled at one another, needing to be closer, to be close at once.

“Fuck, Spencer-” you said as you drew away, pressing kisses along his chin and down his neck as he held you propped up against the wall.

He had been incorrect, he had been absolutely incorrect in the best way, and now his cock was throbbing in his pants and you were wrapping your legs around him as you moaned into his ear with every kiss, and he was so happy that he was incorrect.

His hands fumbled against the buttons of your shirt as you similarly worked against the zipper of his pants, desperate to get him free, to feel him inside you. But you both absolutely refused to detach from one another, lips once again finding each other as you stumbled blindly around the shower stall.

Another stumble was all it took for the, luckily hot, water of the shower to pour down on you, and you detached quickly to rid yourselves of now wet clothing before colliding again.

It was quick - possibly the quickest you’d ever consummated a relationship - and near silent, no spoken communication besides moans and nods, and the fingers that had been desperately gripping your waist instead moving to spread your legs. He stroked along your clit as your hands found his cock, pumping it once, twice, and once again before you begged in a single desperate moan, and he lined himself up with your aching hole, and pressed himself in.

Blissful is how he would describe it. You were lost for words, so you wouldn’t be able to even come up with anything that could do it justice.

Neither of you lasted long, you from the months of pining, and Spencer because he’d been entirely overwhelmed in the last twenty minutes, and he usually liked time to prepare for these things.

He continued stroking you through your release, and you panted, holding yourself up against a wall as he pulled out and stroked himself to completion.

Silently, and rather awkwardly, you turned off the shower and stared at one another for a beat before you both wordlessly stepped out of the shower and got yourselves ready for sleep.

After redressing yourselves in dry nightwear, you both sat at the edge of the bed, waiting for the other to say something.

“Just… out of interest, you’re not.. Claustrophobic, are you?” Spencer asked.

“No, why?” you replied, almost confused, before he grabbed and kissed you again. A distraction from revealing his monumental fuck up.

“No reason,” he said, pushing you down into the bed and slowly pressing his lips to your skin again, having enough time now to truly think out how he could treat you well.

[frivolousimagination]

manhandled… gently? | clark k.

summary: if you (I) want clark kent's full attention, and if you (I) want him to just completely lose himself in touching you (me), you (I) should just say so. like it wouldn't kill you (you) to just admit you (you) wanna be manhandled by him…. or like, clark just wants to show you he loves you

word count: ~4.9k

warnings: making out, minors dni, soft dom!clark (?), def edging y'all bc this implies smut

notes: i am so nervous about this for whatever reason lmao

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God, you love Clark Kent. For silly things like his quiet mutters of gosh, golly, gee. For the widely impactful things such as the deep, genuine love he felt for the Earth and its inhabitants. And for the personal things too, like the mindfulness put into each of his touches in an effort to make them as gentle as possible. You trusted him wholeheartedly, in everything he did. 

Porcelain. That’s how it made you feel. The way the tips of his fingers would ghost over your skin, mapping out every possible inch of you. Never much pressure beneath his touch, he couldn’t risk it. What if you’d shatter into a thousand pieces? Even if just one wrong move was made? He’d sweep up the pieces if it came to that.

Clark did his best to brush it off on his gentle nature, which worked as an excuse for the first few months. But then you started to see it. Even in the seemingly smallest of interactions. 

He would do anything for you. He’d spend the day fighting bad guys, lifting fallen buildings, saving squirrels from the ground, and saving cats from trees. And yet, when he got home to you, he was at your service. His powers were great for saving the world, but they also helped him to pamper you. 

Even right now, the two of you are walking back to your place from a movie. Clark's hands found your waist and in a quick, careful motion he had you lifted and sat on a bench. Lifting you, casually moving your entire body as if it were nothing. You hadn’t even had the chance to process when he pointed out that your shoe was coming untied before he had you sat and himself knelt to the ground as he took care of the problem. 

Part of the truth very well could be his knee jerk reaction of kindness, but you knew that he reveled in the way your body reacted to his touch. Breath hitched, cheeks burning, and your hands gripping the edge of the bench for emotional stability if not physical. 

Clark’s focus on his task was unmatched. His brows were knitted together, eyes scanning up your leg as his fingers tied off the laces of your shoe. How could he peel his eyes away? You were the light of his life. His yellow sun, so he said when he was truly down bad. Which… when wasn’t he anymore? 

Clark relished these moments with you. Something small to hold onto when so many big things were happening all around. You are a focus point for him. 

His hand cupped the back of your ankle, lifting your other foot into place to fix that lace too, just in case. He was always fussing over you, always would. Or he hoped so.

When finished, he tapped the top of your shoe before taking hold of your hand as he stood. “Can’t have you tripping for anything but me.” His lips placed a soft kiss on your knuckles.

The line was cheesy, and only made partial sense, but it was very Clark. It brought a smile to your face, so he got what he wanted from it. He’d do much worse, say much more embarrassingly cheesy lines, if it meant you’d smile like that at him again. He had done much worse before. Pa had taught him plenty of puns and dad jokes over time.

Clark took hold of both of your hands, putting them onto his shoulders before finding your waist again. Your hands knew what was to come, gently holding onto him for support. And again, without thought, he lifts you up to swirl you back to the ground. 

His heart swells with joy as a laugh escapes your lips. His eyes watch yours shut as you press your foreheads together, seeking stability but also just seeking connection. It was another moment where he was reminded of his need for you. Another reminder that you are his sun, that he couldn’t do anything in that cape (that was currently tossed over a chair at your apartment) if he didn’t have these moments with you.

Wanting it to last for even just a second more, Clark takes one step over to turn, twirling you in a complete circle as he watches the way your eyelids crinkled shut. The feeling of weightlessness sent a tingling sensation all through you, pulling another quiet laugh from your lips. He needed the sound etched into vinyl. He needed a picture of how you looked right now stuffed into his wallet. He definitely already had the fact that you loved when he picked you up filed away in his file cabinet memories all about you.

When your feet hit the ground your hands slid down his shoulders, leaning forward and pressing your chest to his to keep yourself from stumbling. Clark ducked his head down, keeping your foreheads close within that gap between your height. His hands moved off your hips, up to your ribs where he made certain that you were stable on the ground. It made the butterflies in your stomach return. He always managed to do that.

Your eyes opened into his, and you should’ve known that he’d be looking at you like that. He lived for these small times, constantly seeking something to hold on to. So did you. A hunger deep in your stomach wanting to hold onto him for forever.

“All that for a loose shoelace?” You joke, bumping noses.

He hums, eyes flickering to your lips before giving you a soft kiss. “Imagine how much I would’ve done for a completely undone lace.”

This elicits another laugh from you, in which Clark’s palm presses against your ribcage so he can feel the moment too. It’s like it finally clicks into place for you. How much these things meant to him. He not just wants you, he needs you. 

It’s why these things came so easily to him. It’s why he noticed your lace loosening, and wasted no time fixing it for you. Why he gave you that extra twirl, and why his eyes were already looking over you even when yours were shut. You are in love with Clark Kent, and this you knew easily. What came now was… Clark Kent is in love with you. Truly, madly, deeply.

Thank god he was holding onto you, otherwise your knees might’ve given out right then and there. You hadn’t felt yourself smile like this since… well, just earlier in the day because Clark had been drowning you in compliments about how good you looked in his Metropolis Meteors cap. But, the point is, you felt absolutely, positively incandescent. 

“What’s on your mind?” Clark asks softly, hands gently tugging your sweatshirt back into place. Seems it had lifted up when he held you.

You can’t seem to wipe your smile. “You.”

“Me?” He asks with a chuckle. Whether he noticed or not, his cheeks had a slight tint of pink over them. 

When Clark asked what was on your mind it was because of the look on your face. Eyes sparkling, like you’d caught a glimpse of the aurora borealis for the first time. Like you were caught up in some fantasy that left you feeling ecstatic, or adventure driven. And it was because of him? He felt honored in some sense.

“Mhm,” you hum, reaching up on your tiptoes to give him a slow, soft kiss. “I was thinking about how sweet you are. How you always know exactly what to do to drive me wild.”

His eyes were shut as he returned the kiss, halfway opening as you pulled back to talk. He didn’t want it to end. “Drive you wild? Sweetheart, your shoe was coming undone, of course I tied it for you.”

Yes, of course. Because he was always taking care of you.

“But the twirling me around?” You ask, grinning at him knowingly.

He chuckles, eyes peeling away from your lips. He’d been caught. “It’s just… it’s so easy for me to pick you up, honey.”

Don’t you know it.

Your hand is on the back of his neck, bringing him down for another kiss. Call it a thank you. “Uh huh.”

He happily goes along, giving you a quick kiss before explaining himself more. “And you always smile when I do it.”

“Right.” Another kiss.

“You do!” He laughs as you catch his top lip in another kiss. 

“I agreed,” you point out. “But I do think there is more to it than that.”

He quirks up at that. Your lips connect for another quick kiss. “What are you suggesting?”

Your chest puffs with a laugh, smiling sweetly up at him. His curls hand managed to start looping around your fingers, even as short as they were. He knew exactly what you meant.

Clark loved the way that you fit so easily into his hands. He loved that you not only didn’t mind being lifted, or spun, or flown, or just held up in his arms, but you loved it too. You loved being his.

He feigns offense, one hand leaving you to push back his glasses that had fallen to the tip of his nose. “What could you possibly be suggesting?”

“That you like it just as much as me.” Which went unsaid. He’d already confirmed that, trying to brush it off on the fact that he did it solely for you. “And that we like it for the same reason.”

This was different, though. The same reason? Clark hadn’t really thought that possible, considering his point of view. Clark knows he is a simple man. Easy trusting, easy to fall in love, and easy to adore others. Not that you were a cynic, but that he is softer than any typical person. 

“Okay,” he grins. “Let's hear your reason, then.”

Clark is extremely attentive, more so than any other person you had ever been with. Of course, none of those relationships had worked out for one reason or another, but he was so wildly different. He didn’t do any of what he did just because he was your boyfriend, he did it because he wanted to. Because he knew you loved that movie and wanted to go see it a third time, because he knew you loved when he held you like that, because he knew you’d laugh at his stupid jokes, because he knew you. And you know that, because you know him.

The thought put you in seventh heaven. You could trust Clark, entirely. There was never a moment of questioning, never a time to second guess any of his words or actions. He is a loving man. He showed you this daily.

Your heart skipped, not nervous but excited. “I love it because I trust you.”

Cute. It made him smile. Such a simple admission, and certainly one that Clark would carry with him for the next several years of his life. He thought that was all.

Your continuation caught him off guard. That, and the way you inched closer to whisper in his ear again. “I love it because I would let you do absolutely anything to me, Clark Kent.” A kiss is left on his throat. “Because you are so careful, so intentional, that it makes my heart run a marathon even when all you do is hold my hand, or brush my hair from my face. And because you do it all as if it is second nature to you.”

“Because it is.” He says it like it’s easy.

What wasn’t so easy was feeling your lips on his neck, even just from one kiss. And the way your breath had ghosted over him in a whisper had him shifting his weight on his feet. If you weren’t still on the walk to your place, he would’ve done much more to act. Then again, so would’ve you.

Clark cups your cheek instead, an action appropriate for the public. “Because I love you.”

You were beaming again. It was funny how intertwined you were with one another. Was this the time for him too? Where he realized what it all was? If it wasn’t his moment of realization, it was at least where he said it to you for the first time.

“I love you too.” It’s easy to say. Probably the easiest thing you’ve ever said. 

The shared sincerity felt warming. Smiles mirrored across one another, finding each other in complete bliss of the moment. He was down again, kissing your lips with a much, much slower pace and patience than before. 

His lips were warm, as always. And your lips were soft as ever, a hint of your chapstick still lingering. You both tasted the popcorn you’d just finished off at the theater, giving a dash of saltiness to the sweetness of the kiss. Clark was getting lost, his tongue peaking out just slightly to meet you in another kiss.

His hands left your cheeks, going to your waist again. In his mind, there was no thought as he lifted you up into his arms, his palms flat against your back to hold you with stability. In your mind, your heart was running wild over the fact that he held you so carefully to keep you so close. 

His throat rumbles, a low groan escaping him with no remorse. It felt good. Holding you, your lips kissing again and again, but it was never enough. Especially not with your confessions. He just needed to show his appreciation.

When you feel your feet dangling, meaning he was really holding you up again, you hummed against his lips. “Clark.”

He continued his work, giving a lazy response. “Yeah?” 

You halfheartedly attempt to pull back, “Public.” His tongue brushes against yours. “We’re in public.”

Clark hums, “Mhm.” A small, small part of him couldn’t be bothered to care. 

You give in to one more lingering kiss before gently holding his face between your thumb and two fingers, physically stopping him from coming in for any more. He grumbles at this, frowning and opening his eyes halfway to express disapproval. How dare anything stop this moment?

“Okay,” he sighs, eyes stuck on your lips. He smiled to himself as he saw the way they hardly had any chapstick left, and how they had begun to puff up from every kiss. He had done that. “Okay. Your place is only two blocks away.”

It was like he was trying to reason with himself. Only two blocks. All he had to do was make it there, and then you’d be his. Entirely. 

When his eyes met yours, your breath hitched. That same hunger that lived in the pit of your stomach was in him right now. You saw it burning within his eyes, turning a dark blue that always filled you with excitement.

“You inviting yourself to spend the night?” You tease, fingers pressing softly into his dimples as you hold him.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist, removing your hand from its hold. He wanted zero obstacles in his way. It was now, too, that you remembered he could’ve done that the second you grabbed on. He liked being held by you.

“You don’t want me over?” He kisses your wrist, eyes glimmering beneath the glowing streetlamp. He wouldn’t go if you said the word, but he knew.

“‘Course I do,” you chuckle. You’d said it much quicker than intended, showing off your equal amount of desperation.

“Great.” Equally speedy response, he lets it boost his ego. 

With another quick kiss, Clark adjusts his grip around your waist and makes a quick motion to swing you into his arms bridle style. You take in a cold, sharp breath at his actions. The way he just swooped you up without having a single thought put into it, just wanting to get to your place as soon as he could. You could swoon, if he’d let you.

It was rare to see a deep, nearly intoxicated desire on Clark. He is typically so careful. So soft spoken, giving only the most gentle of grazing touches. His eyes typically gave a look that said he was filled with admiration, a need to worship and show you just how important you are. 

Right now they said that he was desperate to soak you into his very being, to touch every part of you and show you what those words meant to him. I love you.

Your cheeks were growing warm, a slightly welcome sensation in contrast to the cooling night air. Although flustered, you didn’t hesitate either. Arms looping around his neck to hold on– as if he would ever drop you anyway. At least it was an excuse to touch him.

“I’m going to hold you to what you said, by the way.” Clark remarks, taking large strides in his step. He wasn’t even looking at you with his smile this time, too caught up in his mind that was racing with all the ideas of how to spend the night. How to show you how he truly felt.

If he could get away with it he would’ve flown you to the apartment in a blink. He just wanted to be alone with you. His sense of urgency on the situation was striking. You liked seeing this side of him from time to time. Like he was starved.

“What I said?” You finally question. You were too caught up in him to know what he could’ve meant.

“Yeah,” he looks at you now. Desirous, eager, sure. His words roll out like they’re lightweight, “That you’d let me do absolutely anything to you.” 

Hearing your own words used against you didn’t typically feel so fulfilling or thrilling. But, God, he knew how to get you. And forget the burning in your cheeks, you felt it through your entire body.

Clark said it so comfortably. There was no threat, or reason for concern. Because, just like you had said before, you trust him.

You murmur, a teasing air. “You better.”

This successfully encourages him. You tried not to let your imagination get too carried away just yet, not entirely sure what ‘absolutely anything’ meant to him versus what it meant to you. All you knew was that you needed to find out.

At some point you’d made it to your apartment building, thankfully. Approaching the front door, Clark puts you down again though his arm keeps you wrapped close to him. He knew exactly what he wanted. Exactly what he’d do once you were up and shut out from the rest of the world.

“I wanna do it all tonight.” Clark says quietly, suddenly.

You watched the elevator doors slide shut in a rough, aged stagger. “That’s ambitious. We got enough time for your plans?”

What the hell did all mean? 

Clark laughs lightly by your side, his hand slipping beneath the back of your hoodie. “I mean… I want to do it all. I want you to… relax.”

This throws you back, catching on to his meaning now. When you look up at him you, unsurprisingly, see his cheeks turned a light shade of pink. The flame in the pit of your stomach flickered just slightly, finding him too cute. 

Play dumb, mess with him. “What’d you mean? Are you gonna do my chores for me or something? I’ll happily oblige.” 

He was too easy to tease. Yes, he still had that burning desire, but it looks so different on Clark. He was adjusting his stance, his fingers gently pinching you beneath the fabric. “No… but, I can do your dishes before I go since I dirtied them at lunch earlier.”

“You don’t have to do my dishes, Clark.” You nudge his side.

“But I will.” You knew he would. 

Jesus, could the elevator be any slower? You were really hating living in a ‘historic’ building at the moment. Historic was generous to begin with, but it was home.

He stops himself from rocking on his heels any more and leans close to your ear. His intention was to be quiet, even though no one was around to hear anyway. But it came across much differently.

“I mean that I–” his voice catches. You knew he was still blushing. His throat clears, “I want you to let me thank you for earlier. Or, to let me show you what it meant to me.”

The confession, he meant. The first verbal exchange of I love you.

His fingertips trace lightly up your spine. He was trying something new, this teasing in any place but the bedroom. For once in his life, he truly felt like he could do anything. You did that for him.

“I want you to sit back tonight,” he continued, kissing below your ear. “All night. I want to be the one exerting all my energy for you.”

Your own breath was catching now. “You’re Superman, your energy doesn’t really run out the same.”

You don’t expect it. His fingers gently pinch your side, “So it’ll be a long night.”

The elevator does that small bounce it always does, signaling you have reached your destination. You couldn’t be more relieved. Clark is somehow the first to step out, your own eagerness apparently not quite matching his. 

Fumbling around with your keys, you desperately search for the one to unlock that damn door. Clark smiles proudly to himself, somewhat relieved that the unfamiliar exercise had positively affected you. A small part of him felt foolish for even saying it, he wasn’t typically the type to be so forward. Well, forward for him.

Why not take it a step forward?

“Let me,” Clark’s voice is hushed. 

One hand rests on your’s, turning it over so he can take the keychain and help save you from any more cloudy-minded fumbling. He wasn’t helping your case, but he was certainly helping his own. Just a small act, a small touch, a small bit of connection.

He somehow manages to find the correct key and unlock the door with a completely steady hand. His nerves seemed much more relaxed than he expected. He assigned that reasoning to his anticipation of you.

His lips were on yours again the second you both walked in, Clark backing you up towards the door so it could be shut. As it clicked into place you were doing your best to kick off your shoes. He was reaching behind you to slide the lock into place. 

Your hands go to the edge of your shirt, ready to tug it off. He’s quick to catch you, pulling back from the kiss and looking down at you in complete confusion. His hands hold yours in place without effort. 

“Huh uh,” is all he manages at first. His tongue darts over his bottom lip. “I said I’m doing it all, I’m doing it all.”

You sigh with desperation, watching him fervently. “Can’t even help kick start things?”

“No, baby,” his tone is delicate, and he’s looking at you with that softness that you know he got from Smallville, not Metropolis. “I want to really show you what you mean to me. In every aspect.”

Clark soothes your hesitance with a couple more kisses, tongues meeting in your mouth. The second he frees your hands you drape your arms over his shoulders. This is probably the only way you’d be able to keep yourself from acting on any impulse, keep your hands away entirely.

He keeps up with his motives, lifting you up into his arms again. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist. A deep groan comes from him, feeling you pressed against his waist and giving some much desired friction.

The kisses are becoming more and more thoughtless and messy as he walks you just off to the side, into the kitchen. Screw the bedroom, it was much too far away for his despair. He’d move you both there at some point, maybe for the next round.

Sitting you on the counter, his hands move down along your hips and to the outer sides of your thighs. Your back lacks much support, but it was a regret for tomorrow. You felt too good right now. Running on a high you’d only ever felt with Clark.

His lips found your neck, trailing down further with each kiss left. When he finds the spot he has memorized as if it is a lifeline, his lips linger and gently suck the skin there. He knew every sound that you would make and yet he was always yearning to hear it just once more. 

You slowly inhale, head rolled to the side to encourage him. Clark lives for the way your throat vibrates against his skin in an approving moan. Assuring him that he hadn’t forgotten how to make you feel incredible. You got so easily lost in him yet he’d always find you.

Your hands slip to the back of his neck, nails scratching into his hair in the same typical fashion. Used as an outlet for yourself, seeking all the stimulation possible. But it was also a small repayment for him. It drove him mad to feel your touch in any capacity. He wasn’t having it tonight.

Clark pulls away from your neck, “Sweetheart.” 

You barely refrain from a pout, feeling it was a little too dramatic. “What?” Though your tone was a bit more crabby than before.

He huffed a laugh, looking at you through half lidded eyes. It wasn’t like you to be… whiny. It was cute. But it was clear he was going to have to become more assertive on his position.

“Hands,” he replies as he peels your hands away from his neck, adjusting to hold both your wrists in one of his hands. “I meant it. The only thing you’re doing is feeling me.”

This returns your smile, watching and enjoying his sternness. Clark Kent has always been a giver. Always. It was just in his nature. But it seemed he was really going to live up to that tonight.

“Just keep putting your trust in me. Take it in. Let me appreciate you as mine.” His free hand returns to your thigh, slowly pulling your leg open to make room for his large frame to come closer. 

His waist is pressed to the edge of the counter, leaning forward to put his face just inches from yours. Your chest rises, trying to anticipate his next move but finding your attention stuck on his gentle grip on your wrists, and his light touch along your thigh. He took his time.

Pressing your palms against the cold counter, Clark effectively sends a chill through you. For a second, he applies a light pressure to the back of your hands. Your excitement finds you again.

“Keep your hands right here.” He mutters, eyes on your lips with a readiness to get back to his previous job.

You give a small nod, biting your bottom lip and watching him carefully. Both of his hands moved to your jeans, undoing the button and slowly pulling the zipper down. Your hips move with zero hesitation, knowing what came next. 

He pulls your jeans off with simplicity. You take the opportunity to try scooting closer to the edge, testing him every chance you get. It’s without success. He tosses the jeans aside before putting his hands on your hips and pushing you back down onto the countertop, moving you back exactly where you were. 

You grip the edge, frustrated that he wouldn’t even let that slide. All is forgiven as his fingers ghost over the bare skin of your thighs. He goes to the hem of your hoodie, nodding his head in motion for you to lift your arms. 

Reactively, your arms go above your head and Clark peels the hoodie off your body, tossing it off to the side with your jeans. Fingers tracing over your skin again, like you’re goddamn porcelain. Your hands return to their assigned place. 

And all is quickly un-forgiven as his hands settle on your… knees?

“Clark, c’mon.” You whine, head falling back.

“I’m getting there,” he laughs. His hand rests at the crook of your neck, thumb rubbing over your pulse point. “Look at me, honey.”

 With a dramatic sigh your head falls forward again. You look at him with a pout, not that it would really help your case. He had goals in mind. Benchmarks to meet.

“Be patient.” He says softly, fingertips trailing down your chest. His other hand’s fingers tap against your knee. “It’s gonna take some time for me to do this right. You’re art to me.”

Art. You don’t take one glance at a painting and move on. No. You take your time, absorbing every possible detail. Looking in awe at the smoothness of a marble carving. Appreciating the time it took to create perfection.

“Okay,” it’s all you can manage to whisper. Your heart was running wild.

“Okay,” he follows suit.

Your eyes follow him downward as he kneels in front of you. He traces down your legs, pressing a warm, lingering kiss on your knee. His hands hook behind each of your knees and he pulls you forward. 

So now you were allowed to be at the edge of the counter. 

clark kent masterlist

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