#femreader

[rippersz]

𝙏𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙨

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

(Lilia Calderu x Fem!Reader) (NSFW; Thigh-riding; Titles) (~4.7k words)

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“I think this is my favouritest place in the entire universe,” you admitted softly, your words slurred and muffled against the sweet-smelling skin of your lover’s neck. 

“I thought your favourite place was your bed,” she huffed, lips twisted into a smirk. 

“It is. But this is my most favouritest.” You moved your head, pushed your nose further beneath the curve of her jaw, and nuzzled closer into the corner of her shoulder and neck with a dizzy blissful smile. 

The urge to sigh took over quickly and as you breathed deep, utterly content with your soft witchy pillow, the mixed smells of wildflowers, bourbon, jasmine, and gardenia filled your lungs. It was the most comforting combination, full of happy memories, a reminder of home, a staple of your Lilia, and when you breathed out, you caught the notes of the lemon shampoo clinging to her damp curls. Which, as beautiful as they were, were still incredibly unruly and slow to dry after a relaxing shower. They tickled your nose and chin, drawing damp streaks of water, and you reached up to tuck them away behind Lilia’s neck. 

“Quit it,” she nudged you gently, shifting you on her hip. 

“I’m not doing anything, your hair is getting in my way.” 

“Oh now she blames the hair,” your lover drawled, “What next? Is my lap not comfortable enough for you?” 

“It is. And it would be even more comfortable if you weren’t reading that stupid book.” 

She knew you weren’t being serious–you loved when Lilia got a moment to calm down and read peacefully–but she’d had her nose buried between the pages of the damn thing since the moment you settled. It was about flowers and sigils and ancient forms of casting and other things you didn’t care to remember because you were snuggled up on the right side of Lilia Calderu’s body and you would not move even if the Divine Mother herself had begged you to do so. She was simply too comfortable, simply too soft, simply too perfect. Braless, relaxed, matching your rare choice of pyjamas for the evening: Underwear and a T-shirt, the latter having been stolen from Lilia’s closet even though you had your own. It was flimsy, old, thin, and also the best thing you had ever worn as you’d straddled her thigh, wrapped your arms around her waist, and happily realised that you could still feel each warm part of her body through the two layers of cloth. 

That alone was a feat you had to accomplish together once upon a time—getting out of your comfort zones. It took a while before you were secure enough to open yourselves up intimately, to even think of getting undressed in the same room, to even kiss without skirting around each other first. You had your fair share of insecurities, but Lilia was a different story. She’d lived a life unlike any other, being a fugitive witch, skilled in divination, who travelled the waves of time as a skipping rock rather than a sailboat. Her upbringing wasn’t very liberal, much less accepting of homosexuals, and though she managed to get through life regardless, her preoccupied on-the-run mind steered her away from debauchery. All in all, that meant sex and intimacy simply was not as important to Ms. Lilia Calderu as it was to most of the population. She still felt the urge of course, she was a woman with such needs, but there was no time to desire a physical outlet - no time and no energy and no candidates. There was one girl in her youth, part of her original coven, and maybe a few flings in her mid-200’s, even something a little more long lasting toward the end of her 300’s, but the itch was never so persistent. It didn’t wait in the back of her head or lurk around right before going to bed, and it never came up in her thoughts when out in public. She was an adult woman with too many things to think about, focus on, and consider. She didn’t have time for desire. She didn’t have time to want.

And then you walked into her little shop on a rainy humid Wednesday afternoon, fuzzy-haired and wild-eyed, and the sight of you sent her careening into the future. She returned quickly, with an awed look, serious eyes, and the soft murmur of “The Wheel of Fortune”, and only after some time passed did you both realise that yes, change for the better was indeed in the cards. 

And Lilia found herself wanting that day. 

Then most of the days after it. 

For about three years, that was her normal. The sudden uproar of desire, not incredibly strong (for her subconscious would not let it get that far) but definitely noticeable. She found herself thinking about you often, about your skin, your hair, your hands, your fingertips, your legs, your smile. She found herself wanting to touch. To reach. To caress and to kiss and to bite. Once the two of you recognised your attraction, you quickly agreed that anything sexual or intimate would be postponed. It simply had to come at a time in which you were both ready, open, and uninhibited. And if it took a while, then it took a while.  

It took only two years, after which you finally gave yourself to Lilia and she gave herself to you. It was all very romantic; a dark evening, slow and desperate, wet and hot, quiet and needy. Completely unforgettable. It opened a gateway of sorts, a chance for you both to expand and explore, and after a lifetime of not being able to embrace sexual liberation, Lilia was finally given the opportunity. You encouraged her as best you could without overstepping boundaries, always willing to try what she wanted to try (even though she often found herself on the receiving end of your innovative thoughts instead of the other way around but nevertheless), always eager to do the necessary research if that’s what your time together required, never a complaint on your tongue whenever she admitted she wasn’t in the mood. No corners were ever cut when it came to the desire you had for your lover. 

Except when it came to book corners. Those were cut instantly. 

“What would you rather have me do, hm? Movie marathon? Bake a cake? Swim my way to Egypt? This is how I relax, now deal with it or get off,” Lilia snarked, moving her hand from the cover of her book down to your thigh to give you a small pinch. She was too quick for you to jump away. 

“Owch! Mean!” You flinched from the sting, dislodging yourself from your comfy drape over her shoulder to fix her with a playful glare. 

Lilia didn’t hesitate to meet you head on, taking her eyes away from her book to look up at you through dark lashes, right over the rims of her glasses. Glasses that she only wore when alone, when with you, with a little chain that held them in the place, with a shape that complimented her face so perfectly. They made her seem so… sophisticated. So… strict. A red candy-apple coloured body, slight cat eye details around the rims, and curved well enough to always be perched at a very specific angle on her nose at all times. You hated them. You really hated them. You wanted them gone. You wanted them away. You wanted them to stop being so tempting. She was already attractive enough - she didn’t need the fucking things setting your pants on fire every two seconds. And whether she knew about their effect or not, you weren’t sure, but it didn’t matter either way - her attention was excruciating, and to it you would never be immune. 

“Get rid of this book right now,” you started strong, straightening up in her lap with a haughty cross of your arms. 

“I’m busy with it,” she tightened her hold on her prized possession as if you were about to lunge forward and take it from her. 

“Yeah? Well I’m busy with you, so lose the book Calderu.” 

Her perfect lips pursed, displaying playful disdain, and you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow - just to be bratty. You watched as she considered her options, as she glanced down at her book, then back at you, then back at her book. And when she looked up for the last time, you changed your tactics and shuffled closer, moving up from her thighs to the curve of her torso - right by her lower belly. You pressed yourself there, dropped your eyebrow, and gave her the sweetest eyes you could conjure. 

“I just want to cuddle, Lili. Is that too much to ask for?” You sighed, moved your hands, and placed them on top of the book. 

Without fail, as you’d hoped, Lilia conceded. She almost always did whenever you addressed her like that, being so unaccustomed to pet names and terms of endearment as she was. To hear it from your lips was a tantalising thing, a sign of worthiness and ongoing love, and you saved it for your more intimate moments - just to coax her into doing something you knew she wanted to do but was simply too stubborn to go through with. Like putting her book down and giving you all of her attention. 

“I guess not,” she grumbled a few seconds later, melting into your efforts, and you grinned as she moved to set her book down on the bedside table. 

“See?” You hummed as you reached forward to gently pull the glasses from her face, being careful to first slide the chain from around her neck. “I knew you’d come around.” They were placed next to the book a moment later and you didn’t even wait a passing second before you were pouncing into Lilia’s arms. 

Like an overexcited puppy, your body went squirming and pushing into your lover’s, wiggling playfully as you worked your arms around her waist. She accepted you happily, letting out a sigh and a big eye roll before you tucked your face into her shoulder again and finally let the stress of the day properly wash off of your body. As Lilia’s muscles relaxed, allowing herself to give into the comforting weight of your clinging, she placed her lips to your shoulder and gave it a small kiss. 

“You’re going soft on me,” you murmured into her ear, delighting in the low hum that rumbled from her chest. 

“That’s the point,” she whispered, lighthearted and gentle.

Lilia couldn’t see the smile that spread across your face, but it was most certainly all soppy, soft, and loving. Utterly gormless, completely bewitched. She had you wrapped around every one of her fingers, oh her delightfully nimble fingers, and you never wanted to be unravelled. Not when paradise existed in her arms, flashing itself behind your closed eyes as Lilia began rubbing your back and tracing mindless shapes through the fabric of your shirt. Circles, squares, stars, triangles, trapezoids, words and phrases, squiggles and lines, suns and moons. Eventually, her pattern changed and she began following the same familiar loops and curves you’d seen her do a million times. 

From the top of your left shoulder blade diagonally to the plush fold of your right hip. 

L

I

L

I

A

A pause.

From the top of your right shoulder blade diagonally to the curve of your left hip.

C

A

L

D

E

R

U

Jesus fucking Christ. 

Lilia retraced her writing with the lightest press of her fingernails, going back over the loops of her ‘L’, the hills and dips of each letter, until she reached the tail of her ‘u’ and lingered there. One second. Two seconds. Until your skin began to tingle, and then she started to draw little circles, going from small to big in a slow spiral, and your skin began to buzz. Her caresses made it sensitive, bringing it to life, forcing the expectant attentiveness only an eager body could have as you sat in her lap and started to squirm. The circles quickly faded into nothing before the pattern reset. Back up to your shoulder blade, again across her name. 

“L-Lilia,” you breathed, feeling your body grow hot beneath her attention. 

“What?” Came her whispered response, soft like satin against your ear as she closed her eyes and placed her chin on your shoulder. 

She didn’t seem to realise what she was doing. All the warmth that she spread through you, continuously, while her traces turned to touches and she started pressing her palms to your back. She felt so good and gentle, so caring and calm, and when you took a deep stuttering breath to try and grasp your bearings, to delay the inevitable downfall of desire, you were once again overcome by her scent. It blanketed your lungs, purred within your soul, and the wildflowers, bourbon, jasmine, gardenia, lemon, love… the smell of love… made you whine. It was just so Lilia. So nostalgic, gentle, light and intoxicating. 

She sparked a warmth—a stringy, viscous, thick warmth that settled in you. Like a pool in your abdomen, it burned and lapped. It called to her from the inside, reaching for the sweet kiss of her mouth, the gentle curl of her fingers, the way her tongue felt when it dragged along the inside of your thigh. You’d felt it before, yearned for it before, gone hours with and without the careful delicate heat Lilia always managed to coax from you. And it didn’t take much. It never did. All you needed was a thigh between your legs. Pressed up against a thin piece of cloth, the only thing separating your cunt from her skin. Hands on your back. Warm and grounding, the only thing keeping you from losing your mind. A mouth by your neck. Soft breaths fanning onto your shoulder, the only thing that broke your flimsy resolve.

“You’re making me horny.” It was blunt, soft, and said with such  tightness, you knew that it was obvious you were embarrassed.

You clenched your eyes shut. 

How pathetic was it, after all, to be incapable of lasting a few minutes on your lover’s lap, receiving all of her attention, without succumbing to an eager lust? How pathetic was it to be unable to focus when she felt so good beneath you? Was that how your mind worked? So one-tracked? Was that how your body worked? So easy and loose for Lilia Calderu? Like a slut?

Yes. Yes, exactly. 

You would do anything she asked of you. You’d be anything she wanted you to be. If Lilia woke up one morning and boldly decided that she always wanted you on top, that she wanted to stay in her pillow princess luxury and succumb to your tongue and hands until she couldn’t take it anymore, you’d do it. If Lilia decided that she never wanted you to touch her ever again, in history, and that she was the only one to harness any control in the bedroom, then you’d relinquish your own. If Lilia wanted you on a leash, if Lilia wanted you chained to a bed, if Lilia wanted you in a crate, on the floor, against a wall, against a table, against a ceiling, wearing nothing, wearing everything, wearing too much or too little, you wouldn’t stop her. You wouldn’t refute. Not because you couldn’t, but because you didn’t want to. She was a witch, a powerful witch, and a woman, a powerful woman, and the very second you looked into those neverending puppy dog eyes and saw the sadness and the strength, you were whipped. You were totally, absolutely hers. Lilia’s slut. No — Lilia’s girl. 

But even Lilia’s girl made mistakes sometimes. Even Lilia’s girl was, in certain moments, too greedy. And the moment the words were out of your mouth, your depraved confession, her touch stopped. 

It was excruciating. 

Your chest hit hers with every deep inhale you drew, growing deeper the longer you sat there, and it began to shudder as your heart crawled into your ears. She was so still, so rigid, that your mind descended into worry. Did you ruin it? Did you say the wrong thing? Should you have left it? Ignored it? Maybe she just wanted to cuddle. Maybe you should’ve kept it to yourself, tried controlling it better, and returned to it in the bathroom after she fell asleep. Maybe you screwed up the evening because you couldn’t cuddle with Lilia for one second without wanting to fuck her brains out. Maybe..

“Do you want me to stop?” 

You blinked. You didn’t really have a response. Of course the answer was God, no, but if Lilia wanted to stop, then you wouldn’t push her. You didn’t want her to feel obligated. 

Lilia breathed slowly through her nose, off put by your silence, and pressed her still hands harder into your back. 

“I- if-... if you want to,” you whispered quickly, terribly unsure with your wavering confidence but so desperate for her touch that you felt your mind grow hazy. Goodness, she was so close and she felt so warm. Your heart returned to your chest, eager to beat in sync with your lover’s as you felt her body slowly relax underneath you. 

She let out a steady breath, so quiet you could barely hear, and then shattered the peace a second later.

One of the lingering palms on your back shot up to your hair, wrapped a thick handful of it into the curl of a fist, and wrenched your head back. You squealed, eyes tearing up with the sudden sharp pain in your scalp, and your body went falling into Lilia’s other hand. She held you up with only a flex and kept you there, suspended, unable to move.

“Be assertive,” Lilia commanded, not even giving you a moment to recover. “Do you want me to stop?” Her whisper was gone, replaced with a quiet serious depth, and you shivered as you looked into her eyes. 

They were dark. Hypnotising. Swirling with chocolate desire, with the honour of love, and at the sight of her focus, her undivided attention, the knowledge that she knew — she knew you were dying for her – the flame in you soared into a blaze. It was a wicked sludgy sort of thing, intense and impulsive, and its hunger, its ache made you throb. Lilia’s hand twitched in your hair, feeling so much better the longer the sting settled, and the words were tumbling off of your tongue before you could catch them. 

“No, no please. Please don’t stop Lili…,” your chest heaved with breath, affected by the feverish way she handled you, and you could feel the sickening helplessness of your expression. Brows furrowed, eyes wide and glossy, lips licked and cheeks dark. Pure want for your lover. Pure desperation. 

“Please.” 

Lilia considered you, running her deep gaze over your face. She took in the look of you, the need, and you watched her perfect lips purse, her beautiful eyes narrow, her dark brows furrow - before she hummed, relaxed the hand holding your hair hostage, and went to cradle the back of your head. You let her do it all without worry, knowing she wouldn’t hurt you, and sighed with bliss as she put pressure behind her fingers and brought you forward. Your eyes closed as your body was returned to its previous position, propped up against her, forehead pressed to the curve of her shoulder. Your legs clenched at her gentleness, at the contrast of her touch, and you shuddered as you felt her thigh, thick and soft and heavenly, stop you from getting any friction. 

“Lilia-” you didn’t even know what you were going to say, if you were going to beg or if you were going to question or what you were going to do - but it didn’t matter. 

She cut you off like a knife through flesh as her hands moved to trail down your sides, from the swell of your breasts to the soft plush of your waist to the dip and bend of your hips. Her touch was sure, strong, certain, and your hands flailed to grip at the back of her shirt when she suddenly settled her fingers into the hinge of your thighs and slowly, slowly, pushed you back. Slightly, a few inches, enough to have your legs falling open, leaving you there for a quarter of a second……. and then forward, slowly, to erase the space she made, to close the distance, to drag your core along her thigh. Once. Twice. Until you got the memo and started moving with her, whimpering as the ache in your abdomen started to ebb and flow. 

Your forehead pressed further into her shoulder, lightly muffling the whimpers that dripped from your lips, and you moaned when she shifted herself forward to move her mouth up to your ear. It was velvet against your heated skin, teasing and sensitive, and Lilia took a soft breath in before she kissed the shell and whispered, quietly, like there were others in the room and she didn’t want any other soul on Earth to hear… 

“You look like a whore.”

Then she sped up the pace, grasping your hips with more strength, nearing the point of bruising, and began pushing and pulling with smooth, quick tugs. You couldn’t do anything but hold on and move with her, shifting your hips back and forth on her thigh, and shiver every time your clit caught the fabric of your underwear. Your body had no trouble reacting; throbbing for her, dripping for her, ruining your panties while you clutched at her back and eventually abandoned her shirt to run your hands up over her bare skin. She was smooth, perfect, she felt like a woman beneath your touch, a lover, and you squished your cheek into her shoulder as you moaned. Loud, desperate, and unashamed. 

“Lilia… oh god.” And she let out little pants for her efforts, lips parted and eyes hooded while she watched the way your hips moved for her, gliding with grace, slow like a dance, and the breaths quickly tumbled into soft groans as you shuffled closer and pressed your right knee up against her core. 

“You feel so good,” you turned your head to whisper hurriedly, raggedly, into her ear. “S-so good…” And Lilia shuddered, biting her lip to hold back a moan as you began lifting your hips every time you were dragged forward. 

Your sounds mixed so well, soft and loud and husky and whiny, twirling together in a lustful little symphony as your movements got faster and sloppier. And when your eyes fluttered closed and open in lazy blinks, you saw the tantalising skin of Lilia’s neck, shifting as she breathed, and you couldn’t resist. A strangled moan rumbled up from her throat at the feel of your tongue, wet and hot while you leaned in, closer, more, until your nose was also pressed to her neck and you could breathe her in. She tasted, smelled, felt like Lilia. Your Lilia. Sweet Lilia. Her head dipped as she pressed her nose to your neck, making you pant with desire at the closeness of her lips. You just needed them on you, painting you, opening up so she could be free to sink her teeth in and drink your life from your body if that’s what she wanted. 

“I love you,” she husked, her breath making her deep voice shaky, and you responded with a harder thrust of your hips against her thigh and an open-mouthed kiss against her throat. 

You were too far gone for words at that point, with her practically wrapped around you. Your mouth was open, your tongue was licking lazily, lolling like a dog’s, and your mind was fuzzy, dripping toward your cunt, only working to move you back and forth on your lover’s leg like a depraved little animal. A sickened beast. You couldn’t help it. Her thigh was the perfect surface, strong when she flexed, soft when she relaxed, thick and delicious, and shivers wracked your body as you followed the gestures of her hands. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. A heavenly friction against your clit, leaving the desperate weep of your hole to ache. It felt neglected, throbbing for Lilia’s fingers, but riding her thigh felt so good and you didn’t want to get up, you didn’t want to stop, even when your panties began sticking to your skin. You didn’t want to stop, even when your head got so fuzzy, your belly got so warm, your body got so hot that your grinding started to slow. It was hard to keep the pace as you felt your muscles burn, but Lilia wasn’t having it. 

“A little longer,” she huffed, finally kissing your skin, melting you from the inside out with her soft lips. “Just a little.” 

You nodded, choking on a whine as you started up again and forced all your strength into your grinding. 

“Good girl,” Lilia hummed, pushing the hem of your shirt away from your neck with her chin so she could have more room to kiss. “Good girl…” 

“L- Lili-a- I’m… hngg… I wanna- mmmnnn….” Cum. You wanted to cum. You wanted to cum on Lilia’s thigh, you wanted her to help, to encourage, and you nearly fell apart instantly when her teeth started pressing lightly, gently, into your shoulder and her tongue began to swirl around your skin.

“Come on,” she moved her mouth to your ear. “Come on, baby,” her tone was soft, coaxing, and you could sense the tease in her words. 

But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough. You were left on the burning edge, singing your fingers, whining to near tears in Lilia’s arms as you heaved, shuddered, whispered pleads and begs beneath your breath. The pool of desire only grew, glistening below you as you hung above, so close to falling, dangling by a thread, rutting your hips over and over like it would help. The friction was barely enough, pressing so deliciously against your swollen clit, but you were so wet that only the smallest thrusts, the littlest shifts, were all you could handle before the sensation slipped away. It was so frustrating, pulling a groan then a distressed whimper from your lips as your legs began to shake and your hands scratched at Lilia’s back. Not too hard, you didn’t want to hurt her, but the little red lines and the sting were enough to signal that you were having trouble. 

“Relax,” Lilia whispered, making you choke on a breathy whine. “Relax for me.” She spoke slowly, softly, and you breathed in deeply through your nose to calm your pounding heart. “Listen.”

You nodded and nuzzled into her shoulder, slowing the pace of your hips but pressing harder into her leg. It felt so good, so good, but not enough- not enough.

“You’re beautiful,” Lilia panted, making your thighs twitch, “My beautiful girl.” 

“Hmmpngg- Lilia- Lilia-,” you whimpered, letting out a little moan each time you moved. 

“I know. I know you need it,” she nodded, then pressed another kiss to your neck. “Can you let go for me?” Her voice was like warm honey drizzled over your bones and your skin. “Can you let go for Momma?” 

A thick, blinding bolt of heat flashed through your body, making you sweat and shiver against Lilia’s body. No no no- Momma’s body. You felt the desire bubbling, brimming, so close to falling into bliss that you could only close your eyes and go quiet.

“I know you can do it,” she spoke slowly, taking the reins back and using more force to speed up your thrusts. “Let go for me, sweetheart.” Her lips brushed your ear. “Be good and give in.” 

“M- Mo-” you were red-faced, vision blurred with tears, your lower lip quivering, and Lilia came to your rescue.

“Momma gives you permission.”

And just like that, saved by the same woman that tortured you, the thread was cut, the ledge crumbled, and you fell.

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

BOO. - Rip x

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

[hashslashgrl]

Blue Lock Boys’ first time making you finish

NSFW! 18+ content

All characters aged up.

Featured characters: Nagi, Isagi, Rin

Warnings: fem!reader, switch!nagi, fingering, softdom!isagi, penetration, vocal praise, toxic!rin, FWB (used for pent up emotion)

Another request for my lovely friend 🤍 as always, leave some requests if you enjoy this ( ◠‿◠ )

Part 2 with Bachira and Chigiri

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Nagi Seishiro ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

☾ Nagi may be lazy, but he most certainly wasn’t lazy when it came to you.

☾ You showed the boy what it felt like to orgasm by someone else’s manipulation.

☾ He had tried pleasuring himself before after hearing Reo talk about how much he’s missing out on, but ultimately decided it was far too much of a hassle for something he wasn’t much interested in.

☾ Until you showed him pleasure.

☾ That moment for him completely reformed his idea of intimacy, longing more for your touch and wanting to understand this feeling.

☾ When Seishiro heard the whimpers escaping you from just the touch of his large hands, littered with coldness that spread through you as his fingers curled inside you. He knew he loved this feeling.

☾ It took you by surprise, because you didn’t even have to tell him what to do. He kind of just tried what felt right in the moment and (judging by your body’s reaction) he was naturally good at it. But I guess he was born with talent in more than just soccer.

☾ As he creeped his fingers deeper inside you—touching something within you you didn’t know existed—he began to wonder if he loved this more than anything he knew.

☾ That was when you reached your peak.

☾ Shaking with pleasure, you held onto the white haired boy, grasping for something to hold in this moment. Anything to bring you back to earth as your hot core throbbed around the cold fingers within you.

☾ Nagi, feeling your relentless grip upon his back combined with the heat of the moment, both of you breathing in and out taking in what you had experienced, knew what his new high was. And it was trembling beneath him.

🧩 ~•*🧩*•~ Yoichi Isagi ~•*🧩*•~ 🧩

• You and Isagi had actually been in a relationship for a couple months before he made you finish for the first time.

• When he first found out, he was understandably embarrassed.

• He mostly went through the motions of how he thought sex should go until the two of you became more comfortable talking with each other about your needs.

• What you didn’t know is that finding out that one simple confession from you would change him from that moment on.

• It took some trial and error, but the more he learned, the better he got.

“does that feel good?”

“tell me where you want it baby.”

“i want you to wrap your legs around me when you want me to go faster.”

• Yoichi had always been vocal during sex, but it had never been this needy. He wanted—needed to improve. The thought of you not sharing his high with him made him ache.

• One hand enveloped in your hair, one hand holding your waist, and all of you resting on his lap, he thrusted within you, searching for the missing piece.

• He could feel himself nearing his own climax.

• In that moment, you felt all of him within you, and he was damn eager. Looking at this beautiful boy who held you, sweat beading beneath his black hair, determination in his eyes as he held your head to ensure you maintained eye contact with him.

harder.

faster. you thought

• This moment was more intense than it had ever been with Isagi, and you liked it.

“I’m close.” he moaned with desperation in his eyes.

• You could feel it within yourself, and you knew he was searching for that too. You wanted it as much as he did. As his hips began to slow and hitch, you leaned back, tightening your legs around the boys waist.

• That was when he did it. Holding back his own release, he grabbed your waist, throwing you back onto the bed.

• His pace quickened. Your breath was lost. All of the sudden he was deep within you, again and again faster than ever.

• You hadn’t even noticed until after the fact that you were in the midst of both of your climaxes.

• Isagi didn’t need to ask if you had finished for the first time. He could feel it. The final piece of his puzzle had finally been completed.

Itoshi Rin.

❖ It didn’t take much for Rin to make you finish.

❖ He drove you crazy, constantly brushing against you or whispering in your ear as if he didn’t know how much it turned you on.

❖ The amount of nights you touched yourself to the thought of him was something you would never admit.

❖ But Rin had made it painfully clear that he was focusing on his soccer career. The only experience you had with him was in your imagination.

❖ Until that night.

❖ He had texted you insisting he needed to be in your presence.

❖ A frustrating game had left the Itoshi brother a mess, looking for a way to work through his frustration.

“look are we doing this or not.”

“if you can’t handle being friends with me after this then i understand.”

❖ While there was truth in his words, the sensation within you couldn’t be ignored, only to be aided by your own touch in the midst of a lonely night, any longer.

❖ It happened fast. He was somehow stronger than you had imagined. Larger than you had imagined as he positioned your hips on the edge of his bed, practically tearing the clothes off your body.

❖ As soon as he finished putting on the condom, he was inside you, all at once. It was enough to make you throw a hand over your mouth, desperate to not make it obvious how often you thought about this exact moment.

❖ His pace was fast, and he was going hard. Eyes darting between both the wall behind the headboard and himself, pressing within you.

❖ You liked that you could help him work through his frustration and finally reach that aching sensation within you.

❖ When he began to reach his climax, his cadence changed. And now he was slowly thrusting, and deep.

❖ You couldn’t hide the sounds of your excitement anymore. The breathiest moans were coming from within you as you felt yourself pulsate.

❖ Just then, he pulled out from within you. Leaving you a shaking mess on his bed.

…

“did you finish?”

“i worked through some things.”

“i’ll drive you home after i shower.”

❖ You weren’t sure if this was what you really wanted, but you had felt something you never had before. And the fact that Rin had that power drove you crazy.

[lovergirl0681]

Work Experience | KA12 x reader

PART 1/3

summary: when the blogger, microinfluencer, f1 superfan gets and internship that might get her more than just another point on her college resume

notes: half smau half fic, contains brainrot 😍, reader is a student, we are going to pretend there was a 2-week break bw spain and monaco, PLEASE translate the parts that aren't in english ive hidden lil jokes

youruser78

♡ liked by: yourbbf1, yourbff3, and 753 others.

physically ILL right now bc wdym i'm a social media intern for the adidas motorsport connect program with MERCEDES AMG PETRONAS IN BARCELONA FOR THE SPAIN GP?? thank you SO much to @.adidasmotorsport and my school for this opportunity, i'm really looking forward to working with one of my favorite teams.(ALSO MY MERCEDES F1 x ADIDAS SNEAKERS CAME IN THE MAIL AT THE PERFECT TIME LOOK HOW STUNNING)

yourbff1: making coffee and calling cabs has never looked so good youruser78: actually i'll be making brainrot reels of george russell yourbff1: what :( i want to come youruser78: no xoxo

user1: yes my favourite hyper niche nanoinfluencer has posted

user4: oh to be pretty girl with a substack and a niche following who got selected to go to barcelona for an f1 internship yourusername: eternally grateful for ts fr

user: long ahh caption

user2: WHEN are we gonna see corporate girl fitchecks girl i saw you on Watson last week buying second hand miu miu youruser78: soon bb

user3: come back the kids miss you

yourbff2: CORPORATE WIFE !! youruser78: only yours

yourbff3: the two full years of having that fugly diy mercedes hat you made because the real one was too expensive finally paid off pls dont thirst after lewis hamilton or whoever youruser78: CAN YOU NOT EXPOSE ME ON MAIN youruser78: also lewis is in ferrari now, kimi antonelli is his replacement yourbff3: omg that little italian boy you keep drooling over user5: lmao absolutely fatal for y/n youruser78: THIS IS A PUBLIC ACCOUNT yourbff3: you have 2.3k followers ur not in danger poox ur niche and chic thats why ur iconic youruser78: do not preach chiconomics to me rn 💔🥀

mercedesamgf1

♡ liked by: kimi.antonelli, georgerussell63, youruser78, and 831k others.

We will be moving on to the Spanish GP next with high hopes after a rocky weekend in Monaco. See you in Barcelona!

tagged: georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli, f1

georgerussell63: Thank you so much for all the support, here's to big wins in the future.

kimi.antonelli: looking forward to racing with my favourite teammate @.georgerussell63 !! georgerussell63: I'm your only teammate? kimi.antonelli: 💙 georgerussell63: I'll take it youruser78: and by 'it' he means alex albon liked by kimi.antonelli user9: NO WAY KIMI LIKED THIS HE'S A RUBON TRUTHER CONFIRMED

user10: actually what is this comment section

oscarpiastri: looking forward to racing with you guys this weekend (and hopefully beating you again) user8: divaaa

13.2k more comments

It was drizzling when you landed in Madrid. After the flight, you were greeted at the gates by a driver holding up a sign with your name on it who took you to the Adidas office compound, a mammoth building with a vintage facade and a glass and marble interior, with humongous full-length windows in each room. Tired from the flight and too focused on your nerves to do anything productive, orientation, a cafeteria lunch, and handing out passes went by in the blink of a tired eye. You were led to a room (ironically enough, by another intern, although this one was older and likely paid a proper salary) that you were going to share with another intern, one who was here as part of the Young Engineers program. The girl was sat down on the plush rug, notebooks and her laptop sprawled out before her.

"Hi, I'm Sara. Y/n, right? I really like your hair," she said, hazel eyes glinting, reflecting the sun's light, as she got up to greet you. "I took the liberty of stalking your social media and I just have to say, I'm a fan."

You laugh. Typically your audience was niche enough for it to never overlap with your regular life, so you weren't quite used to it. "Thanks, you're the sweetest."

Over the next hour or so, you guys got to know each other better. Sara was Catalonian herself, and loved watching the Barcelona Grand Prix in person every year. She was also an engineering prodigy. She knew all the best spots in town, and was friends with a couple other interns in the outreach program. By the time the sun began to set, you felt like you had known her for years, and you two already had plans made for going out, shopping and exploring Barcelona.

You both got notifications on your phone- a message from your manager, Mina, to come down to the conference room. There, you were given a task- an 'icebreaker assignment'- to freestyle, make anything related to your internship role and the Mercedes team. Your assignments were going to be collaborative, and you were paired with a photography intern, Ayesha.

"Hi. Ayesha. Nice to meet you. You're Y/n, right? I'm friends with your roommate, Sara" the girl smiled, warmth in her deep eyes.

"Really? How cool. Nice to meet you too, Ayesha! So, do you have any ideas or themes you want to include in the assignment?"

Turns out, she did. The photographers had gotten to go see and shoot some engineers and drivers in the morning, and Ayesha had the perfect dramatic shot of George. After some deliberation on song lyrics and font sizes, and a lot of resizing, recoloring, font hunting, editing and adjusting, you were done.

"I think that is just perfect. You're a prodigy, mate," said Ayesha, looking at the finished product with a smile on her face.

"Me? That picture was absolutely cinematic, Ayesha."

"Stop, you're flattering me. Anyway, I've got to run and finish up on some editing work. Maybe you, me and Sara could grab a bite tomorrow morning?"

"I'd love that," you said. Barely a day in and you had already made friends. So far, things were definitely looking up.

adidasmotorsport

♡ liked by: kimi.antonelli, georgerussell63, youruser78, and 831k others.

Let's see what Spain holds for us! Our social media and photography interns with the Track Connect program made this ad to encourage Mercedes' club classic. Stay tuned to see more of their work!

tagged: kimi.antonelli, georgerussell63, sara.01, youruser78, ayeshascamcorder, mercedesamgf1

kimi.antonelli: how come i don't get one? youruser78: working on something for you as we type🫡 user4: in my professional opinion as a day one og y/n follower she is absolutely crashing tf out right now yourbff1: yep. she is. youruser78: no im not gng 💔 user4: sure hon

user12: who the hell is y/n man being a fan of this sport is a full time job yall introduce new characters every week user3: she's our professor of chiconomics youruser78: stopp 🤭 user9: she's a social media intern for adidas motorsport

georgerussell63: whoever made this is my hero user3: @.youruser78 PULL UPP user2: it's @.youruser78 youruser78: appreciate it george 💙

alex_albon: that's my pop princess user11: YOUR pop princess?????????? user12: this is a confirmation right? user9: hmu if u need a third alex

16.1k more comments

The next day, you woke up to your alarm. In the bed next to you, Sara was sitting, eyes closed, back against the wall, with her wired earphones in. Choosing not to disturb her, you walked over to the window and pushed away the sheer curtains, and you let out a soft gasp at the view. The street that you hadn't been able to see properly in last night's darkness was bathed in the Catalonian morning sun, and the old cream facades and coastline in the distance, which you could see well because the compound was on a hill, made for a postcard-perfect view. The streets were alive, slowly waking up - people came out to walk their dogs, pick up their newspaper, and coffee shop owners flipped the signs in their store windows.

You were nervous, but also so extremely excited. Today, finally the fact of where you were started to feel real to you. After a couple more minutes at the windowsill (you had to be shaken out of your people-watching reverie by Sara), you showered, got dressed, did your hair and makeup and headed out the door with your roommate to breakfast.

Downstairs, in the dining hall, you sat down at a table with Sara and Ayesha and you all opened your phones to see a huge, hectic, and genuinely scary schedule freshly emailed by Mina.

Ayesha let out a low whistle. "Damn. That is...packed. It's gonna be fun but I doubt I'll even have time to pee."

Sara ran a hand through her hair, eyebrows reaching for her hairline. "I'll be outdoors all day- durability testing on the walls and rails. Nothing too difficult but it is going to be tiring. Fun, but tiring."

You looked down at your own similarly packed schedule and smiled wearily. "Guess who's gotta write and edit a full feature article and map out at least three social media posts, AND shoot a reel and then edit three more." It was going to be fun, you had tons of ideas, but calling the deadline harsh would be understatement of the year.

Sara broke the nervous silence. "You know what we should do?"

You and Ayesha looked up, worry still creasing your brow, mentally trying to draw up a day plan that won't end in you two dead from exhaustion.

"Coffee run. We'll go out, get ourselves a nice drink to start off the day and a pastry to go with it, maybe have a walk around the block. I don't live around here but I visit this area a ton, so I know the best spot. It's really nice. Just what we need."

"Sounds great to me," said Ayesha," Y/n?"

"Sounds amazing to me too. Let's go."

Sara led you down the main town street and then into a narrow and long back-alley that led down to the coast. It was lined with small balconies extending out of canopied windows, the rails barely a meter apart across from each other. The ground floor of the block was full of tiny shops and cafes, their insides overflowing out onto the cobblestone - stands, racks, flowerpots, and porch tables leaving just enough space for the three of you to walk side-by-side.

Sara stopped in front of a little coffee shop and bakery. The shop window, shaded by a terracotta awning that bore the shop's name, "la maceta", displayed delicious fresh pastries and outside it hung window boxes overflowing with carnations and a flowering yellow cat's claw vine covering half the outside wall.

Chimes rung through the tiny eatery as you opened the door and walked in. You and Ayesha sat down at a small table by the window while Sara went to the counter to place an order.

The moment Sara sat back down, the chimes at the door rung again and you turned, reflexively, and when you saw who it was, your jaw all but hit the floor. He walked to the counter, and started ordering coffee in effortless Spanish, and it was only Ayesha dropping her bag that pulled you back to reality and made you close your mouth.

"Tot- Mr Wolff?", you asked, shocked.

He turned around to look at your table. The coffee shop was empty except for you three, he must not have noticed you were there. He narrowed his eyes, confused, for a moment until he seemed to recognize you.

"Ah, yes, you are interns from Adidas, no? I come here to get me and the boys some fuel to get the day started, and Martina here makes the best coffee. I usually send someone, but today..." He shrugged.

"Disculpe, ¿cuál fue su pedido?" asked the short woman, who you now knew as Martina.

Toto turned back to the counter. "Lo tengo impreso," he said, and gave Martina a neatly folded slip of paper from his pocket.

Martina gave him a weary smile and went into the back with his note, as Toto picked up a phone call, speaking with someone in angry German.

You, Ayesha, and Sara all looked at each other in shock and confusion, unsure of what to do. Your original plan of giggling and gossiping didn't seem to quite fit the circumstances. A boy wearing an apron came to your table, rousing you all from your frozen state, and set down your coffees and a pastry on the table.

Sara cleared her throat. "Right. this is, uh, coca de fruita, its a flat pastry with candied fruit and this place puts the most amazing lemon cream on top."

The pastry looked delicious, but right as you were about to try some, you heard the voice of the Mercedes team principal, in English this time.

"These are only two coffees," he said, confused. "Donde esta la cafe con leche?"

"El otro tardará un poco. Se nos acabó la leche. Puedo darte otro americano si quieres," said Martina.

"No, el no beberá eso," said Toto, frustrated.

You were grateful for your high school Spanish classes and (albeit inconsistent) Duolingo streak because you were able to make out at least some of their conversation. They had seem to run out of milk, and when Martina said she could give him anther americano, Toto said whoever it was for wouldn't drink that

From your left, Sara spoke up. "Podemos llevarte el café si lo deseas. It's really no trouble, they're very fast and we'll be back at the office in 15 minutes anyway." She had offered to bring him the coffee.

Toto smiled politely, worry still creasing his brow. "That's very nice of you, but we will be at the garage, not in the office."

"Well," you said tentatively, "I'll be going to the garage to speak to some engineers and shoot some content. I could get it."

Toto seemed to be on the fence but when his phone pinged with another text message, he looked down at it with worry and winced. "I'd really appreciate it. Go to the garage, myself or George and Kimi will probably be there. Just hand it to one of us." His phone rang again and he picked up the call with a sigh, speaking in hurried...Polish? as he left the cafe.

"Well," said Ayesha, watching Toto go, "I mean, getting your boss coffee is part of the quintessential intern experience."

Sasha started laughing, and you joined in too, still recovering from the interaction you just had.

🏎️💨

After having coffee and some coca at the cafe, you parted ways with Ayesha and Sara and got on a bus to the track, your bag slung across your body, your laptop and notebooks barely fitting in it, and various little charms and keychains- sentimental keepsakes- hanging off of it. Headphones in, you stared down at the coffee in your hand and small boxed pastry- a coca, like the one you had before, but with a custard cream topping instead of fruit.

The bus reached your stop and you headed to the garage. You scanned your pass and were cleared to go in, and the moment you entered, you saw Mina, she was chipper (as always) and frantic (as always).

"Oh, Y/n, Hey!" she said, slightly out of breath as strands of her short blonde hair fell out of the tiny ponytail she had tied them into. She noticed the coffee in your hand and seemed to realize something. "Oh, right, you must be the intern Toto was talking about. The boys are right through there, they're actually having a break right now."

You didn't have the time to thank her before she ran off. You went where Mina had pointed, a lounge with dark marble floors and framed prints of Mercedes formula one cars on the wall. At the centre of the room-you had to blink a couple of times to register the sight- sat George Russell and Kimi Antonelli on a grey leather sofa, two phones with the stopwatches on lying on the coffee table as they both...put together Legos? The empty boxes by the table showed you that they were in fact working on building tiny Lego versions of the cars they raced in.

George saw you first and paused his lego-making and his stopwatch, causing Kimi to look up as well.

You blinked and it was as though you had only just remembered that you did in fact have vocal chords and know how to speak.

You held out the cup like it explained everything. "Uh, Mr Wolff asked me to get you coffee. It's for," you hesitated. Kimi? Kimi Antonelli? That guy? "Mr Antonelli?" It came out more like a question than a statement and you cringed the moment the words left your mouth.

Kimi smiled sheepishly and accepted the coffee. "Thank you. And Kimi is fine."

George was barely able to hold back his laugh, and when you looked at him you eased up a bit too (infinitesimally so, but still). He must have noticed you looking because he schooled his features back to neutrality-or at least tried to- and spoke up. "Sorry, it's just...he's a literal child." George looked down at the pass hanging from your neck and saw the logo of the Adidas Connect program and something seemed to click. "The outreach internship? Wait then you must be his age." The Brit could no longer hold back his laughter. "Sorry, sorry. Really. Um, how old are you, er-" he paused to squint at your pass-" Y/n? Oh, wait you're the girl who made the brat edit! It's so great to meet you, I love your work", he said, looking down at your pass for your name.

Kimi looked at you in awe. "No way, that's so cool. God, I knew I recognized you. I sent that edit to Ollie too, he loved it. He's a big Charli xcx fan."

"Thanks you, I'm a huge fan of yours too. And uh, wow, Ollie Bearman being a Charli xcx guy...actually kind of makes sense. I can see him listening to 365. And I'm seventeen," you answered, looking to George.

"Oh, so you're handling school and all this? Impressive," commended Kimi, and he sounded like he really meant it. "If I had school, an internship, and had to bring some kid coffee and end up having to listen to George laugh like that, I would have lost it. You're stronger than me."

You laugh at that, easing up tremendously. And, maybe you were seeing things, but when you saw Kimi he looked almost pleased that he had made you laugh.

George huffed exaggeratedly. "Your generation has no respect for your elders, do you?"

"Sorry George," you grinned sheepishly.

"No, no, Y/n, he's right," said Kimi, resting his chin on his hand, eyes narrowed in thought, "he really is quite old."

George scoffed, indignant, and reached over to ruffle Kimi's hair, eventually managing to make a mess of the curly locks after the Italian tried to duck and dodge the attack. "Ha. You may try, but nobody can escape some action from these expert fingers," said George triumphantly.

Kimi froze in place, eyes widening, and your reaction was somewhat the same too, your brows reaching for your hairline.

George furrowed his brows "What? D- Oh my God! Oh, ew, really. you are disgusting. Seriously. Both of you should be ashamed of yourself. You're children, bloody hell."

"Oh come on, that was such a weird thing to say," protested Kimi. "And you're the only person in this room who thought it was okay to say that. Our reaction was extremely normal."

"Get your minds out the gutter. God, your expressions look exactly the same. You can quit grinning like that, soul sisters."

You and Kimi both whipped your heads around to look at each other at the same time, and sure enough, your faces mirrored each other's. Your expressions changed to embarrassment at your synchronised motion. You looked away first, fixing your eyes to the edge of the coffee table.

You went to pick up your bag, which was practically splitting at the seams with the sheer volume of stuff in it, but the moment you lifted it off the ground, gravity apparently decided you to be its moral enemy, and your bag fell down, everything you had put it in- with careful spatial planning to defy physics and fit in the bag - spilling out on the marble floor.

"Shit," you said under your breath, wincing. You crouched down to pick up your things and Kimi and George joined you too.

"Don't worry about it," said George. "This one once spilled a two-liter bottle of protein shake on the carpet at the hotel in Australia"

"Hey!" protested Kimi. "I will not stand for this slander."

You laugh. "Thank you for that. I'm a nervous mess today," you said apologetically.

"George is a nervous mess everyday," said Kimi.

"I'm gonna be the bigger man here and call it eve- hey, what's this?," asked George, picking up your folder of content scripts and ideas. You had two, one with 'AK Antonelli' written on the front, and the other labelled 'George Russell'. Before you could say anything, George opened the folder and began flipping through it, laughing a couple of times at something he saw.

"This is hilarious," he said looking up from the folder at you. "What's a tung tung tung sahur? And is there any plan of actually shooting these?"

"Oh, uh, no. Interns are unfortunately not quite high up to be working with you guys."

"That's stupid. This is better than some of the stuff we've had done by salaried individuals," said Kimi in a matter-of-fact way.

"I'm flattered that you think that," you smiled. "I've got to go though, so, uh, yeah. Bye."

"Bye," said Kimi. "Thanks for the coffee."

As you shut the door behind you, little did you know Kimi Antonelli was furiously texting his PR manager, bombarding her phone with messages, out of which some definitely contained the phrases "George IS tung tung tung sahur" and "one of the greatest marketing minds of our time, im being fr"

🏎️💨

adidasmotorsport, mercedesamgf1

♡ liked by: kimi.antonelli, georgerussell63, youruser78, and 831k others.

some BTS shots of our week at Adidas Connect so far and, as requested, another ad by our intern.

tagged: kimi.antonelli, georgerussell63, sara.01, youruser78, ayeshascamcorder, mercedesamgf1

user10: intern has been there for <48 hrs and theyve had to make two professional quality ads lmao poor girl youruser78: haha dont worry i wasnt forced i had tons of fun making this user4: thank you mother for keeping us FED with these posts

user6: brb getting a giant poster of this ad printed out at CVS

kimi.antonelli: WOW thank you this makes me look cooler than i am youruser78: anytime champ !! yourbff2: help this is sending me

youruser78: 🖤💙💚 kimi.antonelli: you have to teach me how to make that i literally saw you working on these ads on canva free user13: canva free????? TALENT. youruser78: you're giving me too much credit- a picture that epic is hard to mess up

youruser78

♡ liked by:yourbff1, sara.01, yourbff2, and 831k others.

icecream with the hottest interns in all of catalonia + some stuff that didn't make the official account (technically, they didn't ask me to make these many, but i was having too much fun)

tagged: sara.01, ayeshascamcorder

sara.01: STOP ur the sweetest sara.01: also someone tag antonelli he needs to see this youruser: oh god please no user2: @.kimi.antonelli user8 @.kimi.antonelli user11: @.kimi.antonelli user1: @.kimi.antonelli user3: @.kimi.antonelli user4: @.kimi.antonelli user9: @.kimi.antonelli user5: @.kimi.antonelli

kimi.antonelli: wow this is so cool i'm gonna show toto youruser78: thanks😭😭

! kimi.antonelli has started following you!

! georgerussell63 and 2.3k other people have started following you !

🏎️💨

The second day of your internship. You were walking through the garage, looking for the engineers' breakroom, headphones in, when you felt a hand wrap around your forearm. You whipped around, hand instinctively raised to strike, when you saw who it was and lowered your fist.

"Whoa. Sorry," grinned Kimi. "I was calling your name but you didn't hear me because of your music."

"Oh, sorry," you smiled apologetically. "Hi."

"No worries. I just wanted to say, I spoke to my PR manager, Susanna, about some of the stuff from your folder and she said you can film some of the content for the Adidas Motorsport page, and if it does well, the team will give you a proper budget and equipment to do content f the main page," said Kimi excitedly, eyes sparkling with excitement.

Your jaw dropped. No. Way. This was a literal dream come true. Those folders were just far-fetched fantasies, ideas you'd jot down sometimes. Getting an opportunity to realize them? Absolutely unreal.

"Well?" asked Kimi, snapping you out of it.

"I- oh my God. Thank you so, so, so much- this is actually unbelievable, holy shit," you said, stumbling over your words and unable to articulate your gratitude. "So...would you want to start filming today?"

🏎️💨

adidasmotorsport

♡ liked by:yourbff1, sara.01, yourbff2, and 1.2m others.

join kimi and george for a couple rounds of dti as they both fail miserably at a children's game

tagged: kimi.antonelli, georgerussell63

kimi.antonelli: NOT FAIR you didn't let me use my gamepasses @.youruser78 user7: YOU OWN GAMESPASSES? 😭 user8: FORGET the gamepasses he tagged a GIRL user10: "gee I wonder where f1 drivers spend their money" youruser78: how many times do i have to tell u you must EVEN THE PLAYING FIELD kimi.antonelli: PLEASE let me use gamepasses ill destroy those 6 year olds i swear i swear ill give u vip too youruser78: soz only accepting bribes in the form of thousands of robux xx

user104: WHO is doing the marketing user8: no idea but i love them user4: i have a HUNCH that it might just be a certain chiconomist

maxverstappen1: oh P plays that I think kimi.antonelli: maybe we could play together sometime? maxverstappen1: of course! georgerussell63: sounds like fun! looking forward to it maxverstappen1: i only said yes to kimi. user5: sexual tension is crazyyyy

103k more comments

youruser78

♡ liked by:yourbff1, sara.01, yourbff2, and 300k others.

an f1 driver just gifted me 9000 robux???

kimi.antonelli: no tag no credits i see how it is you gold digger youruser78: sry i thought susanna would kill me 😭 kimi.antonelli: oh valid she might kill me now

yourbff1: and you were gonna tell us WHEN? yourbff3: ba went to spain and forgot all about us youruser78: sybau i literally spammed the group chat not my fault u dont listen to my voice notes yourbff2: your voice notes were all over 9 minutes long youruser78: whatever... #toxic #cuttingthesebitchesoff #smh kimi.antonelli: #brocedesflashbacks youruser78: #KIMIWHAT

user4: my baby finally made it liked by author

georgerussell63: is that enough to buy korblox youruser78: no 😭 what

20.4k more comments

adidasmotorsport

♡ liked by:youruser78, sara.01, lando, and 1.3m others

we made them make memes of each other to convince you guys they're funny. watch the whole thing on youtube.

tagged: kimi.antonelli, georgerussell63

user9: whoever is doing these captions ily pls dont go bald

olliebearman: kiwi antonelli user89:kiwi antonelli user8:kiwi antonelli user54:kiwi antonelli user9:kiwi antonelli user0:kiwi antonelli user4:kiwi antonelli kimi.antonelli: ts pmo

fernandalo_official: you can feel the pain in his mercedih 💔🥀 user007: WHAT kimi.antonelli: WHAT youruser78: WHAT (ily)

59k more comments

🏎️💨

The first two posts got an overwhelming response. Views in the millions and almost as many likes. Not only did you get permission from the Mercedes PR team to shoot other content - for the official team page this time- but you also grew more comfortable with Kimi and George. You discovered that you and Kimi also shared the same sense of humor - brainrot and middle-school-level dirty jokes ("that's what she said").

You and the drivers finally began shooting some content with proper budgets, editors, and filming equipment. You had to physically hold back from pinching yourself from time to time - you really couldn't believe what was happening.

One night, barely 20 minutes from your posting deadline, you were in a frenzy, and you still needed Kimi to approve the pictures. So, you procured his phone number and texted him in a (professional) panic. After that, the texting got more frequent and less work-related - memes, voice notes to run ideas by each other, one extremely zoomed in picture of George (sent by Kimi).

youruser78

♡ liked by:kimi.antonelli, sara.01, lando.jpg, and 67k others

bro played roblox with me like 3 hours before he had to get up and do a media day 🙏

kimi.antonelli: like you didn't have to be there too taking bts pictures smh youruser78: what????? are you talking about

user4: kimi liked before me count your days ratty italian kimi.antonelli: im scared

user6: LANDO.JPG IN THE LIKES??????? MY GIRL MADE IT FR youruser78: HUH

13.8k more comments

mercedesamgf1

♡ liked by:youruser78, ayeshascamcorder, oscarpiastri, and 1.8m others

Hear Me Out cake with George and Kimi! Watch the full video on youtube to see who they picked.

tagged: kimi.antonelli, georgerussell63

user105: "oh like your crushes ? well then i know who kimi wants to put on there" GEORGE 😭 user888: THAT SHOULD BE ME HOLDING YOUR HAND

georgerussell63: big thanks to the interns who came and fixed the mess of a cake we'd made sara.01: no problem :)

user349: i love you, person who handed kimi a picture of pasta when he didn't know what to put on the cake, whoever you are user44444: lmao i think that was y/n

user672: i <3 george because who else would give us GOLD like "you might not see it but i do. mark my words, young padawan, you'll fall in love"

user45: desperately hoping that kimi meant it when he said he didn't have an interest in anyone rn because who will i marry if he does???

user5600: getting sick of the y/n chick tbh she seems like a pick me

89k more comments

mercedesamgf1

♡ liked by:youruser78, ayeshascamcorder, dinobeganovic_, and 891k others

Remembering Italy with Kimi- his thoughts on various...fresh takes on Italian food

tagged: kimi.antonelli

user5: screw you i love pumpkin spice tiramisu kimi.antonelli: HEAVY on the judgement

user668: "sacrilegious" poor boy let him be 😭🙏

user009: actually what is merc admin on these days

youruser78: ok what about risotto with nacho cheese kimi.antonelli: getting you fired. youruser78: sorry bella ciao or wtv idk kimi.antonelli: i'm not mussolini??

97k more comments

youruser78

♡ liked by: kimi.antonelli, sara.01, ayeshascamcorder, and 69k others

ugh this internship is soooo iced coffee at night running through hotel hallways backstage pass bad bunny album caffeine jelly energy bar breakfast coded

tagged: kimi.antonelli, ayeshascamcorder, sara.01, georgerussell63

user45: just came to that 4th slide

yourbff3: HOT

kimi.antonelli: why would you post that picture of me youruser78: :)

georgerussell63: what does that caption mean? youruser78: its about the vibessssss

32k more comments

🏎️💨

More videos, more photo dumps, more texting Kimi. In just a little over a week, you had fallen into a comfortable rhythm. But when you walked into the office on Wednesday, the atmosphere had shifted. Preparation for race weekend was in full swing, and everyone was frenzied and frantic. The drivers had next to no breaks, and the focus was entirely on performing in the race. The social media team was hard at work too, trying to create hype around the race and get their audience riled up leading up to the race.

Even in all this mess, you were still texting Kimi. Not long conversations or anything, just random stuff. Once, Kimi sent you a picture of his lunch and a puking emoji. You replied with a picture of the various empty to-go cups of iced coffee on your desk. You'd send him memes you came across, he'd send texts like "bottas just asked me what a gyatt is". After a busy day, you'd find yourself itching to pick up your phone and send him something, anything, and see how he'd reply.

Thursday and Friday were a whirl of sleep-deprivation and panic, and then finally, race weekend arrived. Once again, the atmosphere had shifted, but this time it was quieter. Like everybody was holding their breath. Everything was just as hurried and panicked, but there was also an air of anticipation, the thrill of the race mixed with nervousness. You got to see Kimi in person again, after what was three days but somehow felt like an eternity, to record his pre-quali preparation.

As he showed you his morning routine at a truly obscene hour (six a.m.), he was also answering some questions about the race. He sat down on the gymnasium floor and began stretching his neck, his trainer standing behind him and helping.

"So, Kimi, FP2 went pretty well for you and George, but FP1 not so much. What brought about that change?"

Kimi got up from the floor and headed over to the pull up bar as you and the camera team - Ayesha and one of the professional cameramen, Marcus- followed him. "FP1 was a bit rocky, but I think after that race we realized what our problem areas were and got to really work on improving them." He took a break to exhale and wring out his hands after his pull-ups. "Other than that, there was also a lot of tension, for me, at least, and nerves, so FP1 allowed me to get that out of my system and then we worked hard and got results in FP2." After some more stretching with his trainer, Kimi turned to the camera. "Now, time to show you the next part of my routine."

He led the crew out to the swimming pool. It was on an elevated part of the hill the hotel was on, and down below you could see the entire city as it began to wake up. The sun had not quite risen over the horizon, a light glow cast over the crest of a hill in the distance forewarning its arrival. "This is our morning ritual. Swimming, just to wake me up and get me going. George joins me too sometimes, but today it's just me."

And then, like a movie sequence, Kimi took his shirt off. At that very moment, ridiculously dramatic, the first rays of the sun came out of the hill's shadow and hit his defined abs just so. Backlit, built and with a glow that was half sweat and half chick-flick lighting, Kimi turned to the camera.

"Waterproof gym shorts," he shrugged. "From Adidas, by the way."

You blinked. It wasn't like you had been blissfully unaware of how attractive Kimi was. You'd seen him in post-race interviews, out of breath and trying to explain maneuvers, in videos on the Mercedes F1 account from before your internship, in F2 races as well. Even after you became friends, you'd notice his bicep flexing sometimes when he cracked his knuckles, or his cheekbones, in a kind of damn-my-friend-could-be-a-Kardashian type way. But this...this was all of it at once, and then some. You felt like you'd been hit by a truck.

Kimi went into the pool and it took your cue beeping in your headset to get you to snap out of your trance. "What are you looking forward to the most this weekend?", you asked.

Kimi brushed his wet curls out of his face and thought for a moment. "Qualifying, definitely. It's so interesting how your qualifying performance can mean nothing, or it could mean everything. It gives you a good idea of the race, but you're still gonna be surprised on Sunday. Oh, and, of course, filming more content with our amazing social media team." He smiled past the camera and at you with a glint of mischief in his eye.

"And cut," said Marcus. "Kimi, swim and go dry off, we'll be back here in twenty."

You and Ayesha walked off to get some water, and Ayesha nudged you.

"So, someone was drooling out there if I'm not mistaken."

"Hm? Oh, uh, no? Not...really," you stumbled over your words, not able to sound convincing in your denial even to yourself. You groaned. "Ugh. I don't know. I mean, yeah, he's hot, objectively, I noticed before- I'm not blind- but that was...whew. Like, Nic Cage level shot there."

"Agreed," said Ayesha, nodding. " That shot is gonna do numbers within the editing community. But, your reaction extended a bit beyond that, didn't it? And you have been quite the fangirl of his for a while."

"Fine, so I think someone is attractive," you said. "Big whoop. Doesn't change who he is. It was just...a moment of appreciation."

"Who are we appreciating?", came a familiar voice from behind you.

"Oh-Kimi, hi," said Ayesha.

I'm jumping off the fucking roof. "Hey, Kimi. No one. Weren't you supposed to swim for another twenty minutes?"

"I already did all that before shooting started. I didn't want to slow down shooting, or my routine," he said, casually, as though that didn't mean he woke up at four in the morning. "Back to more pressing topics, who are we appreciating?"

You wanted to jump in the ice cold pool yourself now. Luckily, Ayesha saved you.

"Just my sister. I was telling her about how she got a PhD at twenty-one."

"Oh, wow, that's so cool. You're Ayesha, right?"

"Yeah. I'm on photography."

"Ah, right," said Kimi. "You were the one who took those brand shots of me last weekend. They were great."

"Thanks," said Ayesha. "I know."

Kimi laughed and clapped a damp hand on your shoulder. "Right, let me go put my shoes on and we can get back to work, ok?"

"Sounds great, my dude," you said as he left, a bit too bright.

You turned around to Ayesha, who had literal tears in her eyes from trying not to laugh.

"Shut up."

"My dude? My dude?"

🏎️💨

youruser78

♡ liked by:youruser78, ayeshascamcorder, dinobeganovic_, and 891k others

and so the race weekend begins - 2nd pic is my #OOTD

tagged: kimi.antonelli

kimi.antonelli: ootd???? youruser78: that's right kimi.antonelli: more power to you

yourbff1: ok so pic of u in that underwear when

adidasmotorsport: kimimimimi is eepy kimi.antonelli: ENOUGH youruser78: mimimimi bmabrdino bcuhsdj kimi.antonelli: r u having a stroke

mercedesamgf1

♡ liked by:youruser78, ayeshascamcorder, dinobeganovic_, and 891k others

Kimi's morning routine + his thoughts for the weekend!

tagged: kimi.antonelli

user098: the last picture.

user234: THANK YOU ADMIN

kimi.antonelli: had tons of fun shooting this! felt like a vlogger haha user88: kimi influencer arc?

89k more comments

🏎️💨

You, Sara and Ayesha sat in La Maceta again, at the table by the window. It was practically a ritual to share pastry and coffee while you unloaded your grievances and laughed so loud that the waiter had started wearing headphones. Today's topic of discussion was your reaction to seeing Kimi shirtless.

"-you should've seen her, she practically fainted on the spot when she heard his voice. I told him we were talking about my sister and he was pretty nice about, I approve if they do start dating," concluded Ayesha. She had narrated the entire incident from earlier to Sara, and they both kept shrieking with laughter. You couldn't help but laugh along with them.

"Well, can you blame me if my thoughts went...astray for a bit?", you asked, half defensive and half laughing. "I mean, he's very boyfriend material. Caring, sweet, funny, talented, good listener-"

"Ripped," supplied Sara.

"Hot," added Ayesha.

"Jeez, try not to objectify him, maybe," you laughed. "But yeah, I guess. It's not like a full-blown crush type thing though, I just think he's boyfriend-able, is all."

"Sure," said Sara. "And I'm seven feet tall."

"Oh shut up, I'm seri-" you were interrupted by a notification on your phone.

Mina(4): All hands on deck. 2h to quali.

You groaned. "Looks like we have to go. I now have two hours of dealing with feral reporters and getting them coffee ahead of me. Yay."

🏎️💨

Three and a half hours later, you sat in the Mercedes hospitality, watching the drivers on the TV as they spoke to the media. Well, at least George did. Kimi was nowhere in sight It was your first time watching an F1 qualifying, and that, too, from the Mercedes hospitality. Both drivers had done well in qualifying- P4 for George and P6 for Kimi.

You saw Kimi walk in and immediately go over to his family, hugging them and speaking to them in Italian. You had your laptop open in front of you, and you had already posted the qualifying results from the office upstairs and were working on a brief quali recap to post later on. You waved to Kimi and he waved back and you got back to work, sipping your coffee, but you were cut off by someone lowering your laptop's screen. Kimi.

"Hi," you greeted him, confused but still smiling from ear to ear after the race. "Congratulations. What happened to the press interviews?"

"Oh, I'm going. I wanted a break. And some coffee," he said, plucking your coffee out of your hand and draining it. He sighed dramatically. "That's the stuff."

"Hey! I got that from La Maceta earlier," you protested. "Get your own coffee, quit stealing from interns."

"Ah, but the coffee from the machine tastes so bad," he pouted. "And no sugar could match the sweetness of your annoyance."

You were left speechless after his last comment and the heartbreaking smile he paired it with, but regained the ability to speak just in time to say "There's no sugar in the coffee. It's a cortado."

"Cortado? I tasted strawberry too, though?" He inspected the cup and saw a smudged pink stain on the rim and laughed. "Must have been your lipgloss, then. Tastes good."

Now that rendered you entirely unable to speak. Or breathe. What the hell?

"Well, then. I'll be heading back out to the media," he smiled.

"Yeah."

You turned around, still in shock, to see Sara, her jaw practically on the floor.

"Don't say anything, Sara, or you're dead. I swear to God."

🏎️💨

At around eight p.m., work was finally over and you were packing up your things, when Kimi came up to you, phone in hand, recording on

"So, as previously requested, by quite a few of you, we will be interviewing everyone's favorite underpaid intern...Y/n!"

"I-Kimi- what?" you were flabbergasted, rushing to smooth down you hair and adjust your wrinkled shirt. "Could've warned me, I look like crap. And I have a dinner party, it's Martina's birthday and she's celebrating at her cafe. I have to get ready. Also the thought of millions of people seeing my inability to articulate myself is horrifying."

"You have to get ready? Perfect. It can be a get ready with me!" Kimi sounded so excited, and he was doing that thing with his eyes where he looked like a little puppy that made your stomach go weird.

"You have a race tomorrow, you shouldn't" you said, although there was no conviction in your voice.

Kimi grinned "All the more reason for us to start already."

🏎️💨

You were now in the bathroom of your room and your makeup and skincare was scattered all across the counter. You walked Kimi and the viewers through your routine, while answering Kimi's questions.

"So, first question, is Mercedes really your favorite team or are you jus trying to get that bag?"

You raised a brow at the phrasing.

"Hey, I'm just reading what...lestappensflowergirl84 on instagram asked."

"To answer that question, Mercedes really is my favorite team, I've been a fan for quite a bit, to the point where four of my friends got me Mercedes AMG Petronas F1 themed thongs for my birthday," you winced. "We might have to cut that part out, actually. Sorry, Susanna."

Kimi snickered and carried on with his interrogation as you moisturised. "Next, over 100 people wanted to know-who is your favorite driver? Easy, me."

You scoffed. "As if."

Kimi gasped in exaggerated offense. "Traitor. Who is it?"

"Fernando. Duh."

"Oh, fair, 100%. If Fernando has no fans, I'm dead. I must be your second favorite ,though, right?"

"Nope," you said, popping the 'p' and smirking. "Gotta be...Ollie Bearman."

Kimi's jaw dropped, and he snatched the bottle out of your hands. "Mate. Seriously? You do not deserve-" he paused, squinting at the writing on the moisturiser -" dewy, hydrated skin with the benefits of hyaluronic acid."

You tried to snatch it back, but shockingly enough, the professional F1 driver had better reflexes than you.

"No, seriously, though. Ollie? You don't even know him! He would not let you win at DTI. He doesn't even like DTI. His rank is new model."

"This coming from the Rising Star?" , you asked, eyes narrowed. "And you did NOT let me win. Your outfit making skills are just bad, admit it."

"Whatever. Moving on, if you could shift around the F1 grid however you wished, what would you do?"

You thought about that one for a bit as you swiped the lipgloss applicator across your lips, correcting the edges with your finger. You looked at Kimi in the mirror, and he seemed to be in some in some kind of trance, looking at...your lips? "Right, uh, if I were to do the whole grid it would take ages for me to explain, so I'll just touch on the main changes. Uh, Carlos back in Ferrari, Lewis and Susie Wolff become co-presidents of the FIA, Daniel Ricciardo comes back, somehow, I'm not quite sure of the logistics of that, but I 100% need to see him back on the track, and either Dino Beganovic, Doriane Pin, or Sebastian Montoya join a team. Or all three, if we take Cadillac for next year into consideration. And DRS stays."

"Hey, you're a fan of my friends? They are going to be overjoyed, they know all about you."

You blinked, losing your bearings for a moment. He told his friends about me?????????

"Uh, they know me?"

"Oh, um, yes. I spoke about you in the group chat. Once."

🏎️💨

mercedesamgf1

♡ liked by:youruser78, ayeshascamcorder, dinobeganovic_, and 901k others

Get ready with our favourite (and only) social media intern as she does a much-awaited interview

tagged: youruser78, kimi.antonelli

user8: SHES SO FINE JSDHAKFHJAK

user309: no offense but like the official account posting clout chasers is so beneath them

george.russell: is that my hair mousse??? youruser78: carmen said i could borrow it

dinobeganovic_: so are we on for go karting sometime or what? youruser78: im actually hyperventilating yes omg

🏎️💨

You saw Kimi the next morning , before the race. You spoke between pictures for the team account's stories.

"So, I'll be leaving tomorrow."

"What?" Kimi frowned in the midde of picture and George got up from hisposition on a armchair.

"Yeah, What?"

My internship ends tomorrow. I was only going to be here for the Spanish GP. Although, I have made some good connections, so fingers crossed you'll see me around the team hospitality again someday"

George smiled, the crease between his rows not fully gone yet. "Well, stay in touch, please. You have my number. And if you're ever within a hundred kilometre radius of me, please let me know. I'm serious"

You smiled. "Thanks, George."

Kimi was still looking like a cat in a swimming pool. "I'll miss you. Although it will be nice to have Ollie's ego down to regular size again. I cannot stand seeing you two fist bump each other."

"We've literally only done it once, and it was this morning."

"Yes well, I don't like it at all"

"I'll miss you too."

"Keep texting me. And playing roblox. Dino and Sebastian could join too."

"Well, who am I to say no to roblox with Dino and Sebastian. God, what even is my life,"

Right, boys, you're all set, then. Off to work for you two. See you at podium celebrations hopefully."

🏎️💨

You did not, in fact, see Kimi and George at podium celebrations. The race did not go well. Like, at all. Kimi DNF'd and got P18. George got P4, so that was something, and you managed to get in some congratulatory words as he was leaving hospitality with Carmen, but it seemed even he saw the worry you had for Kimi in your face and put a hand on your shoulder He'll be alright. He's with his dad right now, I think. It's your last night here, go have a night on the town with your friends. Me and Carmen are heading out in a bit from the hotel, we could give you a ride."

You were worried about Kimi, of course, but you still wanted to make your last night of this experience memorable, so you called up your friends and accepted George's offer to be dropped off outside a small place in Poble Sec that was having a live music night.

"All right, then, be responsible. You're all...kids, so. Make good choices," said George, more awkward than he had ever been in front of hundreds of cameras or thousands of screaming fans.

"George," said Carmen, reprimanding him, "come on, they're old enough to know what to do. Have fun, girls."

You, Sara, and Ayesha thanked the pair and stepped out of the car. You spent the night listening to amazing music and eating out-of-this-world seafood skewers, but in the back of your mind, worry for Kimi still lingered.

"Sweetie," said Ayesha, a knowing look in her eye. "don't worry too much. He'll be fine. He's still a great driver with an amazing team. Bad races happen."

"Yeah, I guess," you said, idly stirring the iced tea in your hand with a paper umbrella. "I'm so worrie-" You sighed. Why lie to myself now? "I really care about him, Ayesha."

"I know," said Ayesha, waiting for you to carry on.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands.

"I really like him. Like, a lot."

✧ taglist (lmk if u wanna be added !): @barcapix, @81astriss, @piastridefender

[elliesngirl]

Anything with reader being mean to loser ellie who is down bad?

Loser!Ellie Williams x Mean!Reader: Masterlist

Warning: Reader is very mean to ellie, men, d slur, angsty, happy ending though, suggestive kinda at the end,

btw let me know if you want to be on the taglist + send requests! not proofread lol

Work count: 2.8k

You frowned in the mirror as you tried on clothes. You needed to make a good impression on the first day of your second year of college. You convinced them to allow you to get a private room; having roommates was too much to handle.

You decided on a denim skirt, brown knee-high boots, and a red top, matching the boots with a belt, then adding jewellery.

You posed in your mirror, snapping a selfie for your Instagram story, getting tons of likes and replies instantly, all complimenting your looks.

You strutted into class, not caring that you were 20 minutes late. It's pretty normal for you. You sat down at the back, one leg over the other, pulling your phone out of your pocket and replying to all your friends.

"You're late." The teacher said, making everyone look at you, rolling their eyes, you looked down and mumbled, "No shit." You went back to your phone. "Ms Williams, could you please catch her up."

She nods, then shyly walks up to you, almost feeling bad for being in the same room as you. She stands next to you waiting for you to acknowledge her, but you're too busy looking down at your phone.

"Umm.." Ellie says quietly, grabbing your attention, you look up from your phone, looking Ellie up and down, "Yeah?" you say with an attitude filled in your voice.

"I need to tell you about what you missed..." She said, looking down at the fingers she was playing with, you laughed at her, turning your phone off and then putting it down. "Why?" You asked, "The teacher told me too...." She admitted, only honesty laced in her voice.

"Yeah, I don't really care.." You giggled, showing her a fake smile, then picked up your phone, texting your friends.

You: Guys you wouldn't believe who is talking to me rn Scarlett: Girl who? You: Ellie Williams Charlie: That dyke? ew You: yeah lmao Scarlett: Tell her to leave? You: She won't take the hint.

"Are you texting crap about me...right in front of me?" Ellie asked shyly, scratching her neck, rolling her eyes, "Why do you care?" you ask, she looked down, "Oh no reason."

Silence.

"What's with your shirt?" You asked, laughing at her, but she didn't process it.

"Oh! my shirt! It's got all the dinosaurs on it!" She starts to point to all the dinosaurs telling you which one is which. "This is a Tyrannosaurus, This is a Triceratops, and this is a Velocirap-"

"I don't care!" you say a little louder, grabbing her attention, she looks down once again, "Oh.. sorry."

"Aren't you meant to be smart?" you ask and she can't say anything, she doesn't have anything to say, "Those clothes are for boys." You remind her, before turning away and rolling your eyes.

"You realise this is college, not high school, you don't need to be a bully," Ellie says quietly, taking a lot of courage to stand up for herself.

"If this is college then why do you dress like a 3-year-old boy?" You fight back, making Ellie's face go red, "You're right, I'm sorry." Ellie whispered as you rolled your eyes, "Can't hear you, you need to speak up." You teased, messing with her was so fun.

"I'm sorry.." Ellie said a little louder, but you weren't done, "Still can't hear you.." you pouted. 

"I'm Sorry!" Ellie shouted, making everyone look at her, you couldn't help but laugh at how humiliated she looked, she quickly grabbed her stuff and left, the humiliation was too much for her.

-

You were hanging with your friends, sitting on the bench and eating lunch, Charlie came back to the table, with an annoyed look on his face, "I can't believe Jasmine rejected me." He gowned, you giggled, his eyes glared at you. "Oh please.. like you can easily get anyone's number." He uttered.

You rolled your eyes at him expressing "I bet I can."

"I bet you can't," Charlie said, smirking. 

You stood up, ready to ask some random guy, but Charlie stopped you. "Ah, that would be too easy." He says, you sit back down. "What?"

"You have to not only get someone's number, you have to have a thing with them for at least 6 months, then break their heart." He says, smirking but that just seems normal for you, "Done." You smirk, "but not just someone, Ellie Williams." Charlie added, with a smirk.

Your eyes go wide, "are you kidding me?" You grew, making his smirk grow wider, "What? You can't do it?" He scowls, and you reach your hand out, ready to shake his. "Deal."

With that you leave him to walk around the campus to find Ellie Williams.

You find her in the library, reading books about astronomy, you slowly walk up to her, hoping that she can't hear your footsteps, but the old floor gives your presence away and she looks up, as soon as she makes eye contact with you, she closes the book and starts to walk away quickly. 

“Please don’t leave.” You state, she turns around to look at you, “Why not?” She questions, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry for how I treated you in class..” You apologised, “You like space?” You asked, trying to get her to move on. “Me too.” you smiled, making hers light up.

“Really?” She asked, “What’s your favourite planet?” She questioned, “Ummm. Venus.” You spoke fast, making something up on the spot, she smiled, “Really?” You shook. 

“What are you doing, maybe we could get coffee..” you offered, Ellie’s eyes lit up, “Yes please!” She exclaimed by then her eyes went wide, “I mean... sure.. sounds great.” You nod, giving Ellie your phone. “Here, put your number in.”

Ellie puts her number in and you snicker at how easy that was, part one of the bet done, only six more months left to finish this.

You stuttered away, with a smirk on your face, eager to tell Charlie how well you did.

“Boom, got her number,” You said, showing him Ellie's contact number, he rolled his eyes, “Yeah yeah, still got a date with her for 6 months.” 

You whine, “What do I get if I do?” You ask, clearly irritated, “Umm bragging writes.” you roll your eyes, “And! I will…buy you coffee for the rest of the year, and clean your room.” You smirk, “Make it food too and deal.” He nods.

“And if you lose. You have to buy my lunch and date me” You gang, you couldn’t imagine dating him, “Ew, I am not losing the bet now..” You speak, walking away.

-

The next day you walked into the café, dressed in a black mini skirt, white stockings, black heels and a pink top.

You were 15 minutes late, you looked around and caught Ellie, sitting in the corner, wearing dark wash jeans and a flannel. As soon as she made eye contact with you, she stood up and waved at you. 

“Hi! You look gorgeous..” She voices, giving you a soft smile, “Thank you.” You smile, and she pulls out the chair for you, waiting for you to sit down. Once you do, she sits down and gives you a silver necklace, she grins brightly when passing it to you.

You give her an awkward smile, not knowing what the charm was on the necklace, “It’s Venus.. your favourite planet.” Ellie tells with a cute smile, “Oh... right, thank you..” you say, moving the necklace to the side. “Do you want me to put it on you?” Ellie asks and you're about to say no, but you decide to just say yes, for the bet.

“Yes please.” You say with a smile, she walks over and moves your hair, her fingers brushing against your neck, you couldn’t deny the tingling feeling you felt in your stomach when you felt her touch. She grabbed the necklace and put it on you.

She moved, “What do you want? I can order lunch for us!” She questions, smiling brightly, you smile back, “Can I get banana bread and a latte.” You asked, Ellie nodded, “ Of course.” She said, walking away, as soon as she was out of your vision you rolled your eyes, texting Charlie 

You: Bro this bet will be a piece of cake, she is down bad Charlie: it’s been two days of the six months, calm down You: I got this.

You put your phone down as Ellie sat down, “So.. Tell me more about yourself.” She expressed, smiling, like she wanted to hear about your life, no guy you have dated ever really cared about what you did.

“Well. I used to cheer in high school, my dad has this business and I work there sometimes.” You tell her, noticing that Ellie maintains eye contact with you while you're speaking. “Really? That’s so cool, what do you do?” She asked.

“Oh, I just design clothes.” You smile, her eyes widen, “seriously? That’s so cool!” she exclaims, “Really? Everyone tells me its name and I'm better at being a nepo baby.” Ellie sighs, “Well whoever is saying that is just being mean, can I see your work”

You pull out your phone and show her your designs, her smile grows brighter as you swipe through them, “Wow, you are really talented,” Ellie declared. You showed her a genuine smile. 

The food came out, and Ellie ordered banana bread and a hot chocolate, you found yourself having a weird feeling, you were starting to enjoy her company. 

You had to brush yourself out of your thoughts, there was no way you were thinking this.

You let her talk about her interests, she mainly yapped about Spiderman, dinosaurs and space, you barely listened but you pretended to. 

“Hey, so do you wanna come to my dorm tonight? my roommate is out so I could order food and make hot chocolate.” You hear Ellie suggest, you smirk, nodding your head quickly “Yeah that would be great.” You state, smiling. Ellie let out a deep breath, it took a lot of courage for her to ask. “You can just wear pyjamas, nothing fancy.”

-

You put on your pink Peter Alexander pyjamas, grab your phone and make your way to Ellie’s dorm. You knock on the door, and she almost opens instantly, wearing a blank top and Spiderman pants. Hair messy, looking like a dork, you almost said it out loud, but thankfully you stopped yourself.

“You look pretty.” Ellie told you, her green orbs staring into yours, looking down you felt your face grow red, “I’m not even wearing makeup” You admit, Ellie giggles, “You don’t need makeup.” 

You smile at her, and then there are a few seconds of silence, “Wanna play Minecraft?” Ellie asks you to nod your head and you sit on her couch, she passes you the controller and then grabs her own. “Umm. I’m pretty bad at the game.” you admit, she touches your shoulder, making you feel butterflies, she pouts at you, “It’s okay, we can play on easy mode.” 

The two of you make a survival world and you keep getting stuck in situations where Ellie has to come to save you, you even convinced her to turn the inventory on. 

After a while, you couldn’t help but notice that Ellie kept losing focus on the game and was staring at you, more specifically your lips, putting the controller down and you turned to make eye contact with her. “What’s up?” You ask, her eyes keep switching between your eyes and lips. 

“Can I kiss you?” She asks, voice soft, like you were the only two people in the world, you give her a small nod, whispering, “Yes.” back, allowing her to hold your face and bring you into her, her soft lips landing on yours.

The kiss was short, but it was meaningful. When you pulled away, Ellie had the cutest smile on your face. It almost made you feel bad. Why were you doing this? But you couldn’t let Charlie win the bet, you would have to date him, but if you followed through with this, you would have to break her heart.

You dug yourself in a hole, you had no way out.

You decided to keep going with the bet.

The next months with Ellie were exciting, the two of you made it official after 1 month of hanging out, Ellie is the happiest she has ever been, she writes songs about you and sings them to you whilst playing the guitar, it only makes you feel more emotional.

-

“6 months coming up now, bet you're excited.” Charlie said, with his stupid smirk on his face, “Yeah, super excited.” You say sarcastically, “Don’t tell me you're falling in love.” Charlie exclaims, and you roll your eyes, “Of course not!” You lie, “It’s just I feel bad, I mean I got the losers' hopes up. For nothing” You giggle, you feel bad for saying this, you knew it wasn’t right.

“So. how are you going to break her heart?” Charlie asks, you shake your head, “I don’t know, I have the bitch wrapped around my finger, breaking her heart will be a piece of cake.” You smirk, “Well see.” Charlie, says walking away.

You make your way to Ellie’s dorm, taking a deep breath, before knocking. It took her a while to answer this time, but when she did, her eyes were red and her cheeks were tear-stained. 

“Ellie? What’s wrong?” You ask Ellie to let out a small sob, “Oh come on, you know what’s wrong.” your eyes widen, “what do you mean baby?” you ask, hopefully trying to ease the situation. “I heard you and Charlie talking, I am just a bet?” her voice sounds broken. “Listen I can explain-” you start, but Ellie cuts you off. “Well congratulations, you have successfully broken my heart.” She cries, slamming the door in your face. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You mumble to yourself, and you knock on the door again, hoping that she will at least hear you out.

“What do you want!” She exclaims, not opening the door, “Please just listen to me..” You whisper, hoping that she will hear you, after what feels like years she opens the door.

She pulls out her phone, “You have one minute.” she says starting the timer. 

You wasted no time to explain, “Okay, I will admit you were a bet, but I grew to like you! It was on the second date when I realised that what I was doing was wrong, but I made the stupid decision to keep going. I don’t know how to prove it, but I do love you!” 

Ellie shakes her head, before her timer goes off, “Times up, I can’t believe I was so dumb, my roommate even tried to warn me.” You looked down, you felt so guilty and there was nothing you could do to fix it. 

“Ellie..” Your voice is quiet and soft. 

“What.” Her voice was stern and cold, a tone you had never heard from Ellie before. 

“You were right.. Bullying in college is stupid, I am just dumb, I am stuck up and believe that I could take that out on you because I’m privileged, but I really do love you, I was gonna come here and tell you the truth.” You admit, not noticing that you started to cry. 

“How do I know you’re not lying.” She asks, You reach into your purse, pulling out your phone, “This was meant to be a surprise for your birthday, but I got these!.”

You showed her that you bought tickets to the Jurassic World exhibition, and her eyes lit up, “You got this for me?” you nod, but her face drops, “This is in Thailand.” You sigh. “Well… it happens to fall during our summer break so I did get tickets to Thailand. One ticket under your name and this one is under my name but we can change it if you want.”

She sighs, looking at the ticket, “One condition.” You nod, waiting for her to tell you, “Stop being friends with Charlie.” You don’t even have to think before saying, “Done.” Making her smile, then, you look at her lips, you miss them, you notice that “Can I kiss you? You ask, Ellie shakes her head, teasing you, but then quickly nods her head, saying “Yes.”

You lean in slowly, but Ellie wastes no time bringing you in for a passionate kiss, holding her head, pulling you closer, “Wanna make a bet?” Ellie whispered lips over your ear. You could only mumble a yes in response. “I bet I could please you better than all the guys you have slept with.” 

You smirk, pulling away from the kiss to say, “You know I can’t even bet against that.” Leaning back into the kiss, kissing away Ellie’s stupid smirk.

Taglist @vahnilla @radioheadfan699 @defnoteleonor @robinphobia @liztreez @deathbydollz @hemmo01 @soodle-noup @reneesub @ellensmithxo @lamorenita @kissedberries @liasxeatt @smiths-fan--13 @0phantom0 @ellieslittleslutt @aliceellieswife @mrpeanitsbutter @asothinking @pussyeatercunt @culuvr

[knowledgeableknitter]

Serexil - Female Exposure

A sex pollen-type one-shot. Porn with plot.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (vibrainium arm specifically, iykyk) x Female Chemist Reader

Word Count: 12.6k

Summary: You are a brilliant chemist, though painfully shy. You have been tasked to work alongside Bucky Barnes, the troubled super soldier. When you are exposed to a drug, Serexil, which reduces inhibition and increases arousal, Bucky is the only one around to help you through the side effects. 

Trigger Warnings: Y/N is used a few times (I tried to avoid it, I'm sorry); Accidental drug exposure (thru a cut); cutting yourself on a broken lab tube; theoretically could be classified as dub-con due to the drug's effects?, but both parties are very much into each other; ONLY grinding and fingering (yes, of course, with the metal one); no piv.; Plus size and curvy reader friendly!; idk, belly mentioned? 18+ MDNI

Author's Note: I could never really wrap my head around "this flower shoots a pollen and I'll die without a dick in me". But I understand that drugs can lower inhibitions, raise body temperature, or increase arousal, so one drug that does all three in a specific time-lapse, is completely plausible to me. To that end, I wrote this two ways. Serexil - Female Exposure and Serexil - Male Exposure.

Masterlist

Serexil - Male Exposure - coming soon!

The Lab — Exposure: T+0

The lab stank of scorched plastic and ammonia, laced with something sharper, the bitter tang of chemical residue. It clung to the back of your throat like smoke, making you swallow against the burn.

Above you, the fluorescent lights buzzed a dying tune. One had already blown, leaving half the room in murky shadow. The other flickered erratically, casting a jittery yellow haze that made the wreckage seem alive in the corners of your sight.

Glass crunched under Bucky’s boots as he stepped further into the room.

The place looked gutted. Filing cabinets had been ripped open, their contents strewn across the scorched tile floor. A centrifuge lay cracked on its side like a broken eggshell. Scattered trays of shattered vials glittered faintly in the low light, their contents oozing in glowing trails of blue and green that pooled like toxic antifreeze. Some shimmered iridescent, like oil slicks catching the light, turning your stomach with their unnatural beauty.

At the center of it all, a laptop still blinked weakly. Tilted on one corner, its screen was warped from heat but miraculously functional. It rested beside a half-charred stack of notes, a small island of order amid the chaos.

You stepped around a toppled chair toward it. You wore black tactical pants reinforced at the knees, and a fitted tactical jacket bearing a biochem patch on one arm. A flash of your pink t-shirt showed beneath the collar, bright and out of place among the hard lines of your gear.

You crouched beside the laptop, gloved fingers flying over the keyboard, jaw tight as lines of corrupted data scrolled past. Your heart pounded, but you kept it buried beneath the muscle memory in your fingers.

You felt Bucky’s presence behind you before you heard him move. He hovered near the entrance, angled toward the hallway. He was always watchful and ready, all angles and quiet tension, dressed in dark cargo pants and a black field jacket over a black tee. His pistol sat holstered at his hip. The soft blue glow of a chemical puddle reflected off his vibranium arm, painting his silhouette in ghostly light.

You told yourself he was watching for danger, but it didn’t stop the warmth that bloomed under your skin at the thought of his eyes on you. He had that way about him, still and steady, silently capable. And of course, devastatingly handsome. You didn’t have to look at him to feel it. Just being in the same room with him made you hyper-aware of your own breath.

Your fingers hesitated for a half-second over the keys.

Focus.

You blinked and forced your attention back to the screen: project logs, dosage trial results, chemical schematics. Your pulse jumped when you found your goal: Serexil. It was buried under a string of dry clinical codes, as if someone was trying to hide it.

You clicked Download, slipping the flash drive into a sealed pouch at your hip. “Got it,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him.

You didn’t need to turn around to know he nodded. You could feel the weight of his presence.

You stood and turned toward the sample shelf, or rather, what was left of it. The metal frame had partially collapsed, half-melted labels dangling from scorched edges. Ash smudged the names beyond recognition, but one glass tube remained mostly intact, wedged precariously in a nest of debris. A thin trail of pale green shimmered inside.

Frowning, you leaned in, ducking slightly for a better angle. You felt Bucky shift behind you, closer now, or maybe it was just the way the room shrank around him when he moved.

You reached in carefully, gloved fingers nudging debris aside.

A sudden sting cut across your palm.

“Shit,” you hissed, jerking back.

Your glove had torn. A sharp edge of broken glass jutted from the wreckage like a sprung trap. Blood welled along the heel of your hand, vivid against the dark fabric.

But that wasn’t what made your stomach drop.

The liquid inside the cracked vial shimmered with a telltale violet-blue glow.

Serexil.

Dangerously effective through skin contact, more so through an open wound.

You froze, lungs caught mid-inhale as your fingers curled instinctively around the bleeding hand. A chill moved through your body even as heat bloomed beneath your skin, your thoughts already tumbling into emergency protocol. Forty-five to sixty minutes before emotional deregulation, accelerated heart rate, increased body temperature. Then came the breakdown: loss of inhibition, a full physiological arousal response. You pressed your uninjured hand against the cut, squeezing hard, trying to slow your pulse and push down the rising panic. It was too soon. Too sudden. You could already feel it, maybe not physically yet, but mentally, like a match had been struck inside your chest and left smoldering.

“Y/N?” Bucky’s voice reached you softly, low and edged with a careful kind of concern. It slipped through the static building in your head, grounding you. “Everything okay?”

You didn’t look up. “Fine. Just… broke a tube. I’m okay.” The words left your mouth wrapped in forced steadiness, but the tremble in your throat betrayed you. You knew he heard it, even if he didn’t say anything.

There was a pause you felt more than heard, heavy in the charged air, but he didn’t press. He nodded once and resumed his silent vigil, eyes on the hallway, body a barrier between you and the unknown beyond the scorched threshold.

Your face burned, heat crawling up your neck and across your cheeks in a slow, creeping flush. Whether it was fear, the drug already working its way through your system, or the knowledge that he was still so close, still listening, it didn’t matter. The effect was the same. You turned back to the wreckage with fingers that felt too clumsy, collecting the remaining samples and sliding them into a containment pack. The final seal clicked into place with a sharp sound that felt far too loud in the silence left behind.

Beneath the creeping heat in your skin, deeper than the chemical flush rising through your bloodstream, a cold truth settled like lead in your gut: you had less than an hour before your body betrayed you, and Bucky Barnes, the man whose quiet presence already unraveled your composure, was going to see exactly what that looked like.

*****

The Watch - T+20 from Exposure

Bucky had heard the sharp and startled way you muttered “shit”. Barely more than a whisper, but in the gutted silence of the wrecked lab, it cracked like a gunshot. And it wasn’t like you.

He turned immediately.

You were crouched low behind a scorched counter, your back angled just enough to shield your face from view. One arm was cradled tightly into the other, the position unnatural. You were guarded, like you were hiding something. He knew what an injury looked like, even when someone tried to pretend otherwise.

You didn’t ask for help or even glance his way. When he asked if you were okay, your response came a beat too fast. “Fine. Just broke a tube. I’m okay.”

But your voice didn’t sound fine. It was too controlled, too tight at the edges, like you were forcing calm through clenched teeth just to hold yourself steady.

Still, he didn’t push, not yet.

You were always tense around him. Not in the way that people who feared him were tense, but in a coiled, self-conscious way, like you weren’t quite sure how to share space with someone who took up so much of it. He’d caught the way you sidestepped slightly when he passed too close. The subtle way you folded inward, making yourself smaller.

So he gave you room. He told himself it was a professional boundary, but it was more than that. He didn’t want to scare you.

Even so, he didn’t stop watching you.

It was supposed to be protocol. You were a civilian, non-combatant mission asset. His job was to protect you.

But that wasn’t why he kept track of every move you made.

It was you.

The quiet confidence. The way you moved like precision incarnate, every motion deliberate, measured. You never wasted space, never drew unnecessary attention, but he noticed you anyway. Especially the way that tactical jacket curved in at your waist, how those black combat pants clung to your hips like they’d been tailored with you in mind. You were compact brilliance wrapped in a disarmingly soft exterior, and it rattled something in him that had no business waking up on a mission.

He could count on one hand how many full sentences you’d spoken to him since the op began. At first, he’d chalked it up to nerves, since his reputation often had that effect. He was used to the flicker in people’s eyes when they recognized his name. He could recite careful words and knew the cautious looks. But with you, it didn’t quite feel like fear. It felt more like... restraint.

You looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, not for long or often, but enough for him to notice. And it wasn’t fear in your eyes, it was quieter, like curiosity. You seemed like you were trying to reconcile the man beside you with the one in the mission file.

And now, something was off.

You were always quiet, but this quiet was brittle. You moved too quickly, your hands less steady than usual. You almost dropped a containment vial, something you’d never done before. The muttered curse that followed was too soft to be for him, too harsh to be for nothing. And when he moved in to cover your exit, you refused to meet his gaze.

Your cheeks were flushed. Not a soft warmth, but a blooming heat, high across your cheekbones and spreading down your neck. Your breathing was shallow, controlled only by effort.

Something had happened.

As you moved together down the back corridor, the failing lights overhead buzzed and flickered, casting you both in stuttering shadows. He took point, rifle in hand, clearing each turn with methodical sweeps, but his mind kept circling back to you.

Extraction was still a day out. You’d hole up together in the safehouse, off-grid and prepped with essentials, until pickup. Standard protocol.

He glanced back again.

You kept shifting the strap across your chest, like it was digging into your skin. Your left hand hovered near your waist, pressing lightly against your jacket.

That’s when he caught a faint trace of copper on the air, buried beneath the chemical stink of the lab and the cold sterility of the corridor.

He knew the smell of blood.

His senses, always sharp in the field, flared hot with realization.

You’d been cut. That small shift in your hand, the tightness in your posture, it hadn’t been meaningless. And you hadn’t told him.

He clenched his jaw. “You’re hurt.”

The way you flinched, even slightly, was answer enough.

“I said I’m fine,” you replied, too fast again. The control in your voice was there, but barely. It sounded like you were trying to keep something from unraveling.

He didn’t stop walking, but he didn’t let it go either. You weren’t careless. You didn’t stumble through field ops or get flustered over minor injuries. 

And it hit him all at once.

You were a biochemist, and you’d broken a vial. Your behavior had changed. You were flushed, disoriented, evasive.

Serexil.

The name punched through his thoughts like a steel fist. If you had been exposed, even trace contact, it would explain the tremors, the distraction, the flush. And especially the refusal to look at him.

Were you going to tell him? You hadn’t yet, so maybe you didn’t plan to.

Bucky didn’t say a word, but his jaw flexed tight enough to crack a tooth. He wouldn’t confront you now, not out here, exposed and on the move. But he logged it to act on the second you were safe behind locked doors.

Two more minutes to the safehouse. Two more minutes of pretending not to notice the way you kept faltering. The way your body leaned slightly too far in his direction before you caught yourself and pulled away. The way you peeked at him, brief glances that barely qualified as looks, like you were fighting against your own instincts.

But he wasn’t doing much better, and he didn’t have your excuse.

He saw the way you stumbled slightly on a corner, nothing obvious, just a shift in balance, but enough that every muscle in his body surged with the need to catch and steady you. He wanted to put a hand to your back or your hip, but he didn’t touch you.

Because the images that kept intruding on his thoughts weren’t professional. Not even close.

He pictured you, warm and flushed, pressed against him. He heard your breath quickening, saw your mouth parting. He imagined his hands sliding under your jacket, fingers curling into the soft give of your waist, pulling you against him like you belonged there. 

His heart thudded once, hard and low.

Christ, Barnes. Pull it together.

He exhaled slowly and dragged a gloved hand over his mouth, forcing the thoughts down where they belonged. He’d had those thoughts before, but you were likely compromised and scared. And whatever was happening, regardless of what you weren’t saying, it was his responsibility to keep you safe.

Not to fantasize about the way you looked at him when you thought he couldn’t see, or to let your silence unravel his composure.

And he was absolutely not supposed to imagine what might happen if that flush deepened, if your voice softened, if you leaned just one inch closer and whispered something unguarded into the space between you.

*****

Safehouse - T+40 from Exposure

Bucky scanned the room with practiced efficiency, eyes catching every detail, every potential threat, even in a space meant to be safe. The bones of a roadside motel were still visible beneath the halfhearted military upgrades: chipped wallpaper curling at the edges, a cracked vanity mirror over a low dresser, and faded floral curtains drawn tightly across boarded windows. The overhead bulb flickered weakly before settling into a low, yellow hum that cast the room in weary light.

The carpet had long since been ripped up, exposing warped floorboards that creaked with the slightest pressure. A rattling AC unit sputtered in the window, loud enough to be distracting and not giving off much cold air. Along the back wall sat two metal benches, a compact med kit, and a crate of pre-packaged rations. A cot leaned against the far side with a paper-thin mattress rolled up on top of it. There was no luxury or comfort here, just bare necessity.

But there was no surveillance feed, either.

You moved quickly, crossing the room without hesitation, your steps uneven and too fast. Your pack hit the floor beside the bench with more force than intended, and your hands, shaking now in a way they hadn’t been earlier, fumbled slightly at the zipper of your jacket. Your skin looked drained, pale in places, but the flush spreading across your cheeks and throat showed a bright unnatural fever. 

You unzipped your jacket a few inches, tugging it open just enough to breathe.

Bucky noticed, of course. He tried not to stare, but it was impossible not to see the way your pink shirt clung damp with sweat to the lines of your chest, the way the fabric twisted at the collar where you’d pulled at it, exposing the faint shimmer of perspiration at the base of your throat. Your pulse beat visibly in the hollow above your collarbone, the rise and fall of your breath too fast to be normal.

One side of your braid had come loose, strands of dark hair curling around your jaw. You pushed them back absently, fingers brushing your temple in a way that looked almost delicate. You didn’t even seem to notice the gesture, but he did.

He stayed near the door, shoulder braced against the frame, eyes scanning the room out of instinct, but the real focus of his attention was you.

And then you looked up and smiled at him.

Not a polite, tight-lipped smile out of obligation. Not a twitch of nerves or awkward tension. This smile was soft and loose, like something inside you had slipped the leash and let you breathe for the first time in hours.

“You always stand like that,” you said, voice light and lilting in a way he hadn’t heard from you before. You motioned vaguely at his posture. “All squared up. Like you’re waiting to get hit.”

It caught him off guard.

Not your words, he’d heard similar teasing before, but the way you said them. There was no edge, you sounded relaxed, almost amused, like you’d forgotten to be afraid of your own voice.

There was a laziness to your stance now, too. You leaned back against the wall, one heel hooked behind the opposite ankle, arms resting loose at your sides. Your head tilted slightly, eyes meeting his with a kind of unfiltered curiosity. Like you were seeing him, not just the soldier, but all of him.

“You okay?” he asked, his tone even, but his steps slow and deliberate as he moved closer.

You nodded too fast. “Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Your grin spread wider, and for a second it felt like you were both laughing at something that hadn’t even been said yet. A private joke or moment that only existed between the two of you.

Bucky didn’t return the smile.

“You need to tell me what happened back in the lab,” he said, his voice steady but low.

For the briefest heartbeat, your smile faltered. Then it returned, softer, more hesitant this time, but your eyes dropped to the floor.

“I told you,” you said, the words barely above a whisper. “I broke a tube. It’s not a big deal.”

His voice sharpened, but the volume didn’t change. “Was it Serexil?”

You looked up so fast it startled him. Your eyes met his, wide and unguarded, pupils blown and shimmering in the dim light. Your mouth opened, but no sound came.

He took another gentle measured step forward. It took all his control.

“You’re flushed,” he said, his voice calm and low, “and sweating. Your breathing’s off. You’re talking more than you have in the past three weeks. And you’re acting like you’ve had two glasses of wine and got no place to be.”

You didn’t speak right away. The silence between you stretched thin and brittle.

Then your voice broke through, fragile and fraying at the edges.

“I didn’t mean to,” you said, the words tumbling out in a whisper. “I cut myself on a broken tube. I didn’t even notice at first. But once I realized…” You shook your head, swallowing hard. “I thought I could stay ahead of it.”

His face didn’t change, but inside, his chest tightened.

Serexil.

He knew the compound, knew what it did. He’d read the reports, seen the data. Emotional deregulation. Body heat. Disinhibition. Sexual arousal, and all the unpredictable things that came with it.

He exhaled through his nose and ran a hand down his face, dragging his fingers through his stubble as if it could wipe the thoughts away.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

“I didn’t want to screw up the mission,” you said quickly. “Or distract you. Or—” You cut yourself off before the word landed.

He gave you space, stepping back a few feet, holding his hands just slightly away from his sides as if to make himself smaller. Less threatening.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “We’re gonna sit. We’re gonna breathe. Cool your system down. You’re not in trouble. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You blinked rapidly, visibly trying to stay grounded, but your balance was slipping. “I feel weird,” you admitted. “Like I’m floating, but everything’s sharp too. Like… like I can feel everything. And you—” You stopped yourself again and bit your bottom lip.

He didn’t react, just nodded once.

“That’s the drug.”

His tone was calm, a lifeline of steady in a room tilting out of control.

“You’re gonna be okay.”

He crouched beside the med kit, fingers sure as he popped open a cold compress. He shook it as the cooling chemical activated, then crossed the floor and held it out to you.

You reached for it, and the moment your fingers brushed his, your breath caught, sharp and involuntary, like you'd touched a live wire.

The reaction was immediate.

You jolted back just slightly, eyes wide with shock, then let out a soft laugh, unfiltered and too honest. It spilled out of you without permission, your head dipping, lips curling into a crooked smile you didn’t even try to hide.

“Shit,” you breathed, the word light and breathless, not in fear, but almost amusement. It surprised you, like something inside you had just woken up.

*****

Safehouse - T+60 from Exposure 

Bucky could hear you from across the room, each breath shallow and too fast now, like your lungs were struggling to keep pace with your pulse.

The air inside the motel had turned thick, unmoving despite the rumble of the AC unit straining in the corner. Dust clung to every unmoved surface: the edges of the floor, the dull gleam of the benches, the top of the rusted mini-fridge converted into a storage cabinet. It smelled like old wood and sweat.

You sat slouched on the bench he’d dragged in front of the AC unit, but the weak, recycled air wasn’t doing anything to help. Your knees were drawn up, elbows locked around them, arms wrapped tightly across yourself like you were bracing for impact, or trying to hold yourself together. Your skin was visibly overheated: your cheeks, your throat, the curve of your collarbone all flushed with an unnatural red that pulsed just beneath the surface. A sheen of sweat glimmered along your temples, catching the dim light with each subtle shift of your head. He watched the tight movement of your throat as you swallowed again and again, each one shallow, controlled, deliberate.

You tipped your head back slowly, eyes fluttering shut for a moment like the light itself was too much. A long breath escaped you, more sigh than exhale, and it trembled faintly before fading. The soft pink of your shirt had darkened in places, clinging to your chest and to the dip beneath your ribs. You dragged the collar away from your skin in a helpless, frustrated motion, fingers slipping beneath the fabric in an attempt to cool yourself, even just a little.

“How bad is it?” Bucky asked, his voice low and steady, though it took effort to keep it there.

Your eyes barely opened. Pupils wide, nearly black now, the irises just a slim ring of color. Your lashes, damp and heavy, stuck lightly together. And still, somehow, you smiled. It was slow, lopsided, off-center. The kind of smile that didn’t come from thought but from instinct.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, voice rough and breathy, pitched lower than usual. “I think my heart’s trying to escape through my ribcage.”

Bucky swallowed thickly and sat down across from you on the opposite bench, elbows braced to his knees, eyes lowered to the floor. He tried to listen to the sputtering hum of the AC unit, to the shifting wood beneath your bench, to anything but the sound of your voice. Anything but the soft pant of your breath, so labored already.

But ignoring you had never been the problem.

His eyes found you again, drawn to the movement of your hand as it skimmed slowly up the side of your throat. It was rhythmic, almost idle, but unmistakably sensory. Like you were trying to cool yourself down from the inside out. Like you were trying to prove to your own skin that it wasn’t on fire.

“You’re sweating,” he said, reaching for clinical, aiming for neutral. But even to his own ears, it sounded like something else.

“Yeah,” you murmured, a soft laugh breaking over the word, rough with static. “Think that’s a bad sign?”

He gave a dry huff of something like agreement. “Means it’s progressing faster than we’d like. But your vitals seem stable. If we can keep you hydrated—”

You cut him off with a look, your gaze flicking briefly to his hand.

“Is your arm cold?” you asked, quieter now. Not timid, but uncertain, like you were surprised by your own question.

He paused mid-sentence.

You blinked slowly, then glanced away, sheepish. Your expression shifted, somewhere between embarrassed and resigned, but there was no apology in your voice.

“I mean… sorry. That’s probably weird. I just…” You trailed off, eyes distant, lips parted in a slow breath. “I can’t cool off. And I thought maybe it would help. Like… if I touched it.”

He stared at you.

Not because he didn’t understand, but because he did, too well.

Your cheeks were flushed, lips redder than they should be, your breath catching every few seconds like your body didn’t trust itself to keep going. You looked at him like he was the only fixed point in the room. And maybe that’s what scared him the most.

Your body was betraying you, and you knew it. And yet, he was what you reached for.

“Touching me right now probably isn’t a good idea,” he said softly.

He tried to keep the words even, tried to summon something detached and professional, but it came out rough, already unraveling at the seams.

You didn’t argue. Just gave a faint shrug and curled into yourself again, smaller, tighter, as if by folding in far enough you might be able to outrun what was happening inside your skin. Your forehead rested lightly against the vent as it rattled on, the noise swallowing your breathing in uneven hiccups.

“I feel weird,” you whispered, barely audible. “Like everything’s too loud. Even breathing. And my clothes feel too tight.”

Your hands twisted at the hem of your shirt, fingers restless, as if the texture itself had become unbearable. The way you looked at him, soft and unguarded, as though you were trying to stay tethered to something real, tightened something low in Bucky’s chest. He could see how hard you were working to hold the line, how much effort it took just to keep your voice steady and your body still.

“And you keep looking at me like—”

“I’m trying not to look at you,” he muttered, the words escaping before he could filter them. His voice wasn’t sharp, but it cut through the moment with a raw unguarded honesty.

Your mouth parted in surprise, your breath catching faintly. Then, without malice or tension, you let out a soft laugh, surprised, almost amused. “Oh,” you said, more breath than voice. “Well… thanks for trying.”

He exhaled and scrubbed a hand through his hair, then pushed to his feet and paced once across the room. The floor creaked beneath his boots as he moved, the sound too loud in the heavy quiet. He made it to the door, paused there, staring at the frame like it might offer answers. But it didn’t. When he turned back, you were still there, curled on the bench, flushed and breathing unevenly, watching him like he was the only anchor in a world gone wrong.

He crossed the space slowly, then crouched in front of you, careful to keep his body language open, calm. He didn’t reach for you, made sure he didn’t touch. But he brought himself to your level, steady and quiet, close enough that your knees nearly brushed. The moment shifted again, subtle but undeniable, and your eyes found his, wide and uncertain.

“Listen,” he said, his voice gentler now. “I need you to tell me when it gets to be too much. I know your body’s reacting, that’s the drug. But your mind? That’s still yours. You’re still in control, even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

You nodded slowly, and though you looked like you might fall apart at any moment, your gaze stayed on him. “I’m not sure how long I can pretend I don’t feel it,” you admitted, the words cracking slightly around the edges. You sounded tired and overwhelmed, but not lost.

“I know,” he said again, and it wasn’t empty. It was weighted, real.

You hesitated for a long moment, then swallowed. “Could I…” you began, the words so soft he had to lean in to catch them. “Could I just touch it? Your arm. Just once. So I don’t feel like I’m crawling out of my skin.”

Bucky didn’t speak immediately. He stayed crouched, steady and silent, not because he didn’t have an answer, but because the answer that rose first wasn’t the one he should give. Every instinct in him wanted to shout yes for all the wrong reasons. He wanted to feel your hand again, wanted the contact more than he should admit. But he also knew what you were asking for, not just relief, but grounding. You were begging for something solid to hold on to in a body that no longer felt like it was your own.

Eventually, he nodded.

“Okay,” he said, quietly but firmly. “Just once.” He held out his hand, palm side up to you.

You reached out, hand trembling as you lifted it toward him. Your fingers found the seam along the vibranium, just above the golden line that ran the length of his forearm. The metal was cool, and your touch was featherlight, more contact in temperature than pressure. But the moment you touched him, your breath hitched, and your shoulders slumped like something inside you had eased, just a little. Your eyes fluttered shut, and a quiet, almost reverent breath escaped you.

“Oh,” you exhaled. “That’s… yeah. Cold.”

He felt every nerve in his body tighten at once, but he stayed still. You needed this more than he needed distance.

Your fingers lingered a moment too long, then slid gently along the curve of his arm as you withdrew, following the vein of gold. When you looked back up at him, your eyes were glassy, not wet, but shining with something deeper than heat. You looked grateful, fragile, still burning from the inside out, but steadying, piece by piece.

“Thanks,” you whispered. “That helped.”

Bucky’s pulse was still pounding too loud in his ears for him to trust his voice, so he didn’t answer. The effort it took not to reach for you in return, not to give in to every pull inside him, left his jaw clenched tight and his hands curled into fists at his sides.

The part of him that wanted to touch you back was no longer quiet.

*****

Safe Room - T+80 from Exposure

Bucky hadn’t sat down again.

There was no way he could sit still, not with the way you looked now, like your skin didn’t fit right, like something inside you was pushing outward, trying to claw its way free. You shifted constantly where you sat on the other bench now, your back pressed flat to the wall as your knees pulled up, then slid down again, only to repeat the motion minutes later. The tension rippling through you was no longer subtle. It moved through your spine, down into your hips and thighs, a restless, involuntary rhythm you couldn’t escape.

The room felt hotter than before. Whether it actually was or whether it was just the weight of your condition, he couldn’t tell. The air hung heavy with the scent of your body, warm, sharp, unmistakably human. The overhead light buzzed softly above you, its weak halo casting a dull yellow glow over the cracked ceiling and plaster walls. Your tactical jacket lay crumpled on the floor where you’d dropped it ten minutes earlier after mumbling something about overheating.

Now you sat in just that soft, clinging pink T-shirt and your tactical pants, one leg tucked beneath the other in a loose fold. The fabric of the shirt had darkened and thinned with sweat, clinging tightly to your chest and stomach, nearly translucent at the seams. The neckline had been pulled low, too low, with every breath, revealing the flush across your chest and the soft rise and fall of your breasts as you struggled to regulate your breathing.

Your entire body shimmered with a thin sheen of sweat.

Bucky watched, helpless, as a single bead formed just beneath your throat and trailed slowly downward, slipping between your collarbones and vanishing beneath the soaked cotton. He should have looked away, but he didn’t.

Or rather, he tried, but too late. The damage was already done, the image seared behind his eyes like an afterimage from a camera flash. Guilt twisted in his gut, but it was overwhelmed by the heat rising in his blood, the way his chest felt too tight beneath the layers of his jacket.

You hadn’t even noticed.

You weren’t watching him. Your head was tipped back, resting against the wall with your neck arched and your mouth slightly parted. Your breathing had gone shallow again. One hand moved slowly, dragging across your neck and into the damp strands of your hair, fingers catching at your collarbone before curling lightly against the fabric of your shirt. The soft, broken, involuntary sound you made wasn’t quite a moan, but it was dangerously close.

“I think…” you whispered, breath hitching, “I think it’s getting worse.”

Bucky swallowed hard and shifted where he stood, dragging in a breath through his nose in an effort to anchor himself. He forced his focus onto the far side of the room, the cracked mirror above the rusted bench, the peeling wallpaper near the baseboard, anything that wasn’t the image of you slowly unraveling in front of him.

“How so?”

You cracked one eye open, lashes clinging slightly from sweat. Your pupils were blown wide, so dark they swallowed nearly all the color. You blinked sluggishly, your body twitching in small, restless movements.

“Everything I touch feels like too much,” you murmured.

Your hand dropped from your collarbone to settle just above your sternum. The contact was light, but the position, fingers resting against your chest, almost but not quite cupping the curve of your breast beneath, made his breath catch. You seemed unaware of the effect, consumed by sensation, by the unbearable contradictions within your own skin.

“My shirt feels like sandpaper and silk at the same time,” you said, voice thick with frustration. “And the air… it’s so hot. Too hot.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, trying to stay clinical even as his gaze strayed.

“That’s the tactile progression,” he said evenly. “Your nerve endings are firing in overdrive. It’s going to keep building until it hits the plateau. Then it will stabilize, temporarily.”

You nodded faintly, jaw tense as your hand moved again, this time slower, dragging down the line of your throat with a sort of trembling reverence. Your fingers hovered over flushed skin like you couldn’t decide whether touch would help or hurt.

“It’s like…” You paused, swallowing. “Like everything that touches me is electric.”

He didn’t answer. There was nothing to say. He kept his eyes on the opposite wall, determined to give you privacy, but the faint sound of fabric shifting across your skin, the soft rustle of your shirt as you moved, was inescapable. Each sound landed like a drumbeat inside his skull.

You shifted again, and this time it was different. Your thighs pressed together. Your back arched slightly, your hips rolling in search of some relief you couldn’t find. The fabric of your shirt dragged across your chest, catching over your nipples, now tight, sharply outlined through the soaked cotton. The sudden contact drew a quiet gasp from your lips, startled and intimate, like the edge of pain and pleasure had blurred completely.

Bucky clenched his jaw until it hurt.

Another ten seconds of this and he wasn’t going to be able to think clearly.

“Y/N,” he rasped, voice rough as he dragged a hand through his hair and crossed the room in two steps, pacing to the far side like distance might help. “I need you to focus. Just for a minute.”

You looked up, dazed.

Your lips were parted, pink and wet. Your chest rose and fell with uneven rhythm, your breath catching in irregular bursts. You looked beautiful and completely undone.

“Do you feel like you’re in control?” he asked, forcing every word to stay steady, to sound like something safe.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, the motion fragile. Finally, you gave the faintest shake of your head.

“No,” you whispered. “I feel like I’m floating.”

Bucky moved closer again, dropping into a crouch just out of reach. He planted his hands on his thighs, grounding himself with the pressure.

“I’m gonna try to keep you anchored, okay? Listen to my voice. Eyes on me.”

Your gaze locked onto his instantly, as if those words alone had pulled you back to the surface. The way you looked at him, desperate, trusting, full of something more than fear, hit him like a punch straight to the chest.

“Okay,” he murmured. “Start with your breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Try to match me.”

You nodded, and your breaths came rough at first, then steadier, syncing with his. But your hands never stopped moving. They dragged across your neck, down your chest, over your thighs. Small, frantic, restless, your body begging for some kind of release, any kind of stillness.

“Is it supposed to feel…” you started, then groaned softly, your voice cracking, “God. This good?”

His entire body went still.

There it was, raw and unfiltered.

Bucky closed his eyes for a moment, jaw locked, lungs burning. He had never wanted anyone like this, never with this urgency, this ache just beneath his skin. And you were right there, your body flushed and arched and searching for touch that meant something, and he had to stay rooted, had to stay in control.

You needed him steady. Not overwhelmed.

Not another trigger in a storm you were barely surviving.

He looked at you again, heart thudding against his ribs like it was trying to fight its way out of his chest. He was a soldier. A protector. Trained to resist, to override impulse. But none of that training had prepared him for you like this, like this beautiful, wrecked, vulnerable thing burning in front of him.

*****

Safe Room - T+100 from Exposure

Bucky didn’t know how long he’d been holding his breath. Time had lost all meaning the moment you shifted on the bench and reached for the hem of your shirt, fingers trembling slightly as you peeled the damp cotton over your head and let it fall to the floor beside you.

You didn’t explain. He knew exactly why you had done it. 

What mattered was what was left. The soft pink fabric of your bra clung to your skin, darkened and saturated from sweat. The thin material offered no mystery. Your nipples were hard, tight, and so fucking beautiful beneath the damp lace. The curve of your breasts rose with every uneven breath you took. Your skin glistened beneath the overhead light, flushed and shining, alive with heat and tension.

His breath caught hard in his chest.

You looked wrecked, utterly undone, but not because you wanted him to see you that way. There was no invitation in the arch of your back or the position of your hands. There was no seduction in your eyes. Only exhaustion and need and the desperate effort to stay grounded while your body fought to pull itself apart. You curled in on yourself slightly, one arm loose around your middle, not in modesty, but in instinct. You weren’t offering him anything. You were trying to survive.

And still, it nearly broke him.

He tried not to stare. He focused on the torn wallpaper behind you, the splintering floorboards under his boots, the low mechanical hum of the AC unit rattling in the corner. But none of it could block out the sound of your breath or the sight of your bare shoulders slick with sweat. You were everywhere, even when he tried to look away.

You licked your lips, slowly, absently, like they were dry and nothing would quench them. Then you looked up, eyes hazy but steady.

“Bucky?”

His spine straightened sharply, instinctively.

“Yeah,” he said, a beat too quickly. “I’m here.”

You turned toward him, slowly, your gaze heavy but clear. Your lashes were clumped from sweat, and your pupils were wide, nearly eclipsing the soft color of your irises. There was no fear in them now, no uncertainty. Only heat and trust and something deeper threaded quietly beneath both.

“Would it scare you,” you asked, voice low and rough around the edges, “if I asked you to put your hand on my neck?”

He didn’t move.

The space between you pulled taut. The air shifted, dense and still and charged. The quiet wasn’t empty. It was full of every restrained impulse he was fighting to keep buried.

“Not to hurt me,” you added quickly, watching his hesitation. “Just to feel it. The cold. The pressure. I think it might help.” You swallowed again, voice catching slightly. “I think it might calm me down.”

He turned from you, too quickly, crossing the room in three steps and pressing both palms to the door, as though bracing against it might keep him steady. He lowered his head against the wood, grounding himself in its stillness.

“Y/N…” His voice came out rough. “You don’t want me to do that.”

“But I do,” you said behind him, softer now. “I really, really do.”

He closed his eyes and drew a breath that did nothing to cool the burn in his chest. This wasn’t confusion. This wasn’t Serexil speaking on your behalf. You were asking, clearly and willingly. You were offering him control, and that made everything worse.

That kind of trust, offered to him of all people, shook him more than anything else ever could.

He turned slowly, every muscle coiled in restraint.

You hadn’t moved. You remained seated against the wall, one leg tucked beneath you, bare from the waist up except for the thin bra clinging to your skin. Your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, the skin across your shoulders and sternum glowing with heat. One hand hovered at the center of your chest, fingers tracing lightly over the line between your breasts, resting against the damp fabric like the weight of your own body was unfamiliar.

Your eyes met his and didn’t look away.

“I want to feel it,” you said quietly. “I trust you.”

The words hit him in the center of his chest like a second heartbeat.

He crossed the space between you in three swift strides and dropped to his knees in front of you, his breath coming harder now, like just getting close to you pulled the control from his lungs.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low but unsteady, “what you’re asking for... it’s not simple. Not for me. Not with this.”

You looked at him, your eyes soft and open, the faintest edge of a smile tugging at your mouth.

“I know,” you said, and it was calm and certain. “I want it anyway.”

His restraint fractured.

He lifted his left hand slowly and deliberately. The vibranium caught the flicker of light as he brought it beside your face and brushed your hair back, curling damp strands behind your ear with impossible care. You inhaled shakily, your eyes slipping shut beneath the weight of his touch.

Then, he lowered his hand until his palm hovered just above your neck.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice barely audible.

You nodded once, without hesitation.

He let his hand settle gently against your throat.

The contact was light, no pressure. His fingers curved softly around the column of your neck, cool against your flushed, overheated skin. Your pulse jumped immediately beneath his palm, rapid and erratic, but strong.

The effect was instant.

A sound left your mouth, soft and involuntary. Your head bowed slightly, shoulders loosening as your body folded forward an inch. The tension that had held you upright seemed to slip all at once. You leaned into him, not in collapse, but in trust, as though his hand was the only thing anchoring you in place.

Your lashes fluttered. Your breathing shifted, still shallow, but quieter now, more even. Your lips parted and stayed parted, breath moving through them with less effort than before. You weren’t trembling like you had been before, in panic.

You looked relieved.

Bucky didn’t move. He didn’t adjust his hand or lean closer.

He just held you, carefully, completely, his palm resting against your throat, a quiet promise of presence, not dominance. His grip was nothing like the weapon people feared. It was steady, reverent, deliberate.

You trusted him.

And that trust made him feel like he could breathe again.

***** 

Safe Room - T+120 from Exposure

Bucky hadn’t moved his hand.

He’d meant for the contact to be brief, just long enough to ground you, to offer a cool, steady tether against the wildfire tearing through your system. But you hadn’t stopped leaning into him. You had melted into his palm like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to yourself, and now his vibranium hand cradled your throat, thumb resting along the curve of your jaw, fingers curled gently beneath your ear.

Your skin was hot beneath the metal, flushed and slick with sweat.

The way you looked at him was enough to knock the breath from his lungs. You stared like you could feel his touch in your bones, like the pressure of his hand was seeping into your spine and holding everything in place. Your pupils had eclipsed the blue of your irises, blown wide with need. Your cheeks were deeply flushed, mottled from heat and pressure, and your lips, shiny and red from where you'd been biting them, parted again with every fast, shallow breath.

Your chest rose and fell in quick bursts. Your nipples strained against the fabric of your bra, hard and aching, visible even in the low light. A bead of sweat traced a slow line between them, catching the dim glow as it slid downward and disappeared beneath the band of your bra.

You were beautiful. And completely undone.

But it was your hips that told him the worst was coming.

At first, it had been a subtle shift, just a twitch of muscle, a reflexive curl that betrayed the building tension in your spine. Then your thighs parted slightly, your knees shifting apart, and you began to move. You rolled your hips forward, slow and unsteady, grinding against the edge of the bench in a rhythm born of desperation rather than control.

You exhaled softly, not quite a sigh, but close enough that it brushed the edge of a moan, and when your gaze locked onto his, when you didn’t look away, the sound deepened into something heavier. That moan didn’t just reach his ears. It vibrated directly into his hand, resonating through metal and muscle in a jolt of sensation that cracked straight through his composure.

His entire body locked down.

“Y/N…” he rasped, his voice torn raw at the edges. “Jesus…”

You whimpered at the sound of his voice and kept moving. Your hands gripped the bench on either side of your thighs, anchoring yourself as you ground forward in tight, shaky circles. Your legs opened further. Your thighs trembled with the effort, and your chest hitched with every breath, but your eyes never left his. You watched him the way some people watched lightning, too awestruck to be afraid of getting burned.

The air between you thickened, saturated with heat and scent and something that was no longer just tension. The warm hum of the overhead light buzzed in the silence, the cracked tile floor radiated faint warmth from beneath, but none of it compared to the heat rolling off your skin in waves.

You smelled like sweat and lavender and sex. It clung to the air, coated his tongue, filled his lungs. You were everywhere, in every breath, every heartbeat, every burning inch of space between you.

His pulse hammered. You were shaking now, coming apart in front of him, your breath catching in shallow gasps that rose into soft whines with every pass of your hips.

“Feels good,” you whispered, voice thick and trembling. “Feels so good…”

His hand twitched reflexively, an unconscious flex of fingers where they rested at your throat. Your reaction was instant. Another moan slipped from your mouth, louder this time, nearly a sob. The sound was so honest, so raw, it cleaved through the last of his defenses.

Your hips stuttered forward again, grinding harder now. You were chasing it, chasing the friction, chasing release like it was the only thing keeping you breathing. Your hands curled tighter around the bench, knuckles white with strain.

“Y/N,” he said again, strained and desperate. “You have to stop—”

“I can’t,” you gasped, “I can’t! Oh my God, Bucky!” your voice breaking open on his name. 

And it was the way you said it that nearly undid him.

Not in fear. Not in uncertainty.

In trust.

You weren’t afraid of what he was. You weren’t afraid of what he could do. You were offering yourself to him, to this moment, with his hand on your throat and your sweat-soaked bra clinging to your chest and your arousal soaking into the fabric between your thighs.

The bench creaked with every shift of your body. Each breath fell like a broken prayer from your lips.

And Bucky felt like a man on fire.

Every instinct screamed at him to reach for you. To pull you onto his lap and let you grind against him until you both shattered. To run his hands over your body, to taste the sweat on your collarbone, to press his mouth to your chest and let himself drown in the feel of you.

But the drug was still in your system. You were high, overwhelmed, not fully in control.

And hurting you, even accidentally, was not an option he would allow.

So he didn’t move his hand. He didn’t pull away, he couldn’t.

Because that hand, the one the world feared, the one he had once used to destroy, was calming you. It was holding you together.

And the way you wanted it was ruining him.

Your thighs trembled again, another cry escaping your lips, desperate and aching. Your rhythm faltered briefly, hips slowing, then picking up again with a helpless grind. He could feel your heat, the pulse of it radiating through the air between you. He could smell the slick dampening the seat beneath you. You were so close, on the edge, trembling there like a live wire ready to snap.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stay still.

It would only take one second. One misstep, one mistake, and the damage would be done.

He lowered his forehead to yours, desperate to ground himself now. Your breath brushed over his lips, hot and fast, and your nose nudged gently against his like even the smallest point of contact was a balm to the chaos.

You whimpered at the touch, then leaned into it fully, rubbing your cheek against his in a gesture so intimate it nearly knocked the breath from his chest.

“Don’t stop touching me,” you begged, voice thick and slurred with heat. “Please, Bucky. Please.”

And for one unbearable heartbeat, he almost said yes.

He almost gave you everything you asked for.

*****

Safe Room - T+140 from Exposure

It hit you all at once, sharp, overwhelming, and all-consuming.

One moment, you were grinding against the bench in slow, needy circles, Bucky’s name falling from your lips like a whispered invocation. The next, your body locked tight. Your spine arched, thighs squeezed inward, and your breath caught in a soundless gasp that fractured into a ragged moan before it could fully form.

Bucky felt the change before he could name it.

It began beneath his palm, a sudden stutter of your pulse against his hand. It rippled into the tremor of your legs, the hard jolt of your hips, the desperate way your belly clenched and released as the orgasm tore through you. The sharp, breathless cry that followed, his name spilling from your mouth in a voice nearly broken, landed with a weight he hadn’t braced for.

But even in the aftermath, you didn’t stop.

Your hips kept moving, slower now, but more desperate. Like that first high had only cracked the surface and something deeper still waited beneath. Sweat gleamed across your shoulders, throat, sternum, the valley between your breasts, and slid downward in a glistening trail as your body trembled in its aftermath.

Your hair clung to your jaw, damp and curling against your flushed cheeks. You were panting, gasping between breaths, your body wrecked from release, and yet, somehow, still straining toward more.

When your eyes lifted to meet his, something inside him snapped.

You were shaking, lips swollen, lashes clumped, every inch of you flushed and ruined and shining, but you weren’t broken. You were still in there. You were looking at him like he was the only thing holding you in place, like you were still trusting him to stay.

You swallowed once, your lips parting as you tried to speak.

“Please…” you whispered, barely more than breath. “Use your hand.”

Bucky froze in place, stunned still by the request.

Your voice wavered, but you pushed on.

“The metal one,” you added, gaze flicking over his features as though you feared he hadn’t understood. “Please, Bucky. I want to feel it on me. In me. I need—”

You rocked forward slightly, your whole body tilting toward him. The pull was instinctive, primal, like you were being drawn into his gravity without resistance.

“I need it.”

Everything inside him tilted.

You, trembling and flushed and already wrung out, were still reaching for more, and not just more of the drug’s release, but more of him. You were asking for the part of him the world called weapon. The part he had hidden and hated and guarded with everything he had left. And now, here you were, begging for it.

Not out of fear.

But out of torment and trust.

Your eyes were wide and glassy, your lips trembling, but you weren’t afraid. You weren’t flinching from the parts of him that still made him flinch.

His thumb brushed along the line of your jaw, slow and reverent. You whimpered at the contact, your eyes fluttering closed as your hips rocked with a new kind of urgency. The tension in your thighs returned, your breath hitched with each small motion, and you looked like you were perched at the edge of something more dangerous than release.

He leaned forward, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. His voice came out low, raw from restraint.

“You want my hand, doll?”

You nodded quickly, the motion frantic, like the words might get lost if you didn’t speak fast enough. “Yes. Please. Please—”

And that’s when he kissed you.

There was no slow build, no pause, and no warning.

Your mouths crashed together with all the heat and desperation you had both been holding back for far too long. A groan tore from deep in his chest the moment your lips met, and your gasp melted into his mouth as your arms flung around his shoulders, pulling him closer with a strength that belied how weak your body had become.

You tasted like salt and sweat and something sweeter underneath, something uniquely yours, and he kissed you like he couldn’t get enough of it.

He let himself fall into the moment, into the fire licking between your mouths, into the sharp sound you made when his vibranium hand finally slid lower.

Cool fingers skimmed the damp skin of your ribs, the soft curve of your hip, before dipping between your legs and pressing into the soaked seam of your pants.

When the heel of his palm settled firmly against your center, right where you needed him most, your whole body bucked in his arms.

Your cry, this one louder, sharper, split the air.

You surged into his touch, grinding down with a desperate rhythm, your hips moving in tight, uneven circles as your hands gripped the back of his jacket with frantic urgency. Every shift of his fingers, every subtle increase in pressure, pulled another breathless sound from your lips. You didn’t speak, words weren’t possible anymore, but your body told him everything.

You were unraveling again, right there in his hands.

But even as you came apart, you kept moving. Your pace faltered, then picked up again, your thighs trembling from the effort. The contrast of his cold hand against your overheated skin only fed your need, pushing you higher. You rode the pressure like it was the only thing keeping you whole.

He kissed you through it, open-mouthed, panting, trying to catch each tremble of your breath as your body broke open beneath his hands. His other arm was around your back, anchoring you to him, holding you upright as you chased your next release with wild, insistent need.

Your forehead pressed against his, your breath warm and damp between them. Your hands clawed at his back, his shoulders, searching for something solid, somewhere to hold on while the world slipped sideways.

You were falling apart in his arms, and you trusted him to catch you.

That alone nearly undid him.

He didn’t care what it cost. He didn’t care if his control snapped, and he knew the guilt would roar back later.

He would still give you everything right now. Every part of himself you wanted, because if you were going to fall apart in his hands, raw and open and trusting like this, then he was going to be the one to hold you through the storm.

To steady you when the trembling passed.

So that when everything settled, and your breath evened, and the fire finally burned out, you would know who stayed.

Him.

*****

Safe Room - T+160 from Exposure

The room had turned molten.

Every breath dragged through thick, humid air, like trying to inhale syrup. Even the walls seemed to sweat, the ripped wallpaper pulsed faintly under the flicker of the overhead lights, seemingly reacting to the heat that radiated from your skin. The metal bench beneath you was slick, wet where it touched, and every surface felt like it had absorbed the temperature rising off your body.

You didn’t just want his hand. You needed it, needed him, with the same raw, all-consuming urgency as oxygen being vacuumed into space. There was no room left for hesitation.

Your fingers seized his wrist, shaking and insistent, and dragged his hand where you needed it. There was nothing cautious in the motion. You tugged him with you, over your sweat-slick stomach, then shoved his hand beneath the waistband of your pants and panties in one desperate, seamless pull. The elastic stretched, and then it was cold metal against heat. It was black and gold vibrainium against slick, bare skin.

You gasped the moment he touched you, your spine jerked, your eyes fluttered shut, and your mouth fell open in a breathless, voiceless moan. Bucky froze, utterly eclipsed by something close to reverence. You were grinding against his knuckles like survival depended on it, and the look in your eyes when they opened again was wild, glassy, and unflinching.

“Bucky, please… please…” The words barely made it past your lips, cut short by gasps and the wet drag of your body against his hand. You didn’t stop. Your thighs spread wider, your hips rocked forward, and your hands gripped him tight. You guided his fingers between folds swollen with need, guiding the plates apart as you pressed him into you, hot, drenched, and unbearably soft.

“Please,” you whispered again, the word catching on a sob. “Inside-fingers—inside…”

Your nails sank into his shoulders as he gave you what you needed. He entered you slowly, carefully, easing one thick finger past that slick resistance. You clenched immediately, shuddering when the second knuckle slipped in, and then again as he pressed deeper, until your thighs clamped tight around his wrist and a broken, relieved cry left your throat.

Then another finger, and you came apart.

Your head hit the wall with a dull thud. Your hips arched up to meet him, moving on instinct. He felt everything, the heat, the pressure, the way your walls fluttered and clutched at him with every breath. When he curled his fingers and pressed his palm against your clit, you bucked like you’d been struck by lightning.

“There!” you gasped. “Oh God, right there!”

Your body writhed in his arms. You clawed at his jacket, his hair, anything you could reach. He held you through it, letting you take and grind and come undone as his hand worked you from the inside out. Your bra was soaked to your skin, your breasts rising and falling with every frantic breath, your body trembling and flushed under the flickering light.

He didn’t speak.

His throat burned with restraint, with the weight of what you were giving him, of how you looked, how you moved, how you trusted him not just to touch you, but to be the one holding you through this. Not because you were helpless, but because you knew he wouldn’t let you fall.

And when the second wave hit, it destroyed you.

Your body arched sharply off the bench, pulled into a tight, trembling bow as the sound that tore from your throat wasn’t a moan, but a cry, raw and guttural, ripped from somewhere deep in your chest. The orgasm crashed through you harder than before, a full-body surge that soaked Bucky’s hand to the wrist and left the floor below gleaming with evidence of your release.

A violent tremor rolled through you, rising from your core and radiating outward until your entire frame shook with the force of it. Your moan deepened, rough and open, as your cunt clenched around his fingers in desperate pulses. His name tore out of you in a voice that didn’t sound like yours, not a plea or a question, but a surrender, stripped and final.

Still, you didn’t stop moving.

Your hips rolled in jagged, aching pushes, grinding against his palm like it was your only tether left to gravity. Even as your thighs trembled and your legs struggled to hold you upright, you chased the edge with everything you had. Slick coated his hand, dripped onto the bench, and pooled between your legs, hot, thick, and endless.

“Bucky—” You gasped it again, this time barely a whisper, but it landed between you like a detonation. It wasn’t a name anymore. It was everything: your need, your unraveling, your trust.

Your thighs clamped around his wrist. Your hips jerked forward one final time. And then you shattered completely.

You came again with a sob that cracked the air, body wrenching into another full arc as liquid poured from you in a sudden, violent gush that splashed against him and the floor below. You cried through it, not from pain, but from release, from the impossible pressure breaking all at once. It was too much and it wasn’t enough. You couldn’t stop.

And Bucky held you.

His thumb never left your clit. His fingers never stilled. He worked you through every twitch, every ripple, every sobbing exhale that stuttered against his throat. His other arm wrapped around you, steady and solid, as your body seized in waves.

You kept moving, even as your strength gave out, your hips twitching, your thighs jumping, your cunt fluttering weakly around his fingers. You couldn’t form words anymore. Your breath came in broken fragments, punctuated by half-sounds: don’t, please, more, all slurred into a single, ragged rhythm of need.

The scent of you had taken over the room, sweet and sharp, layered with sweat and arousal, the heady perfume of someone utterly undone.

He didn’t stop until your body told him to.

Your movements grew sluggish, hips giving one final, exhausted roll before collapsing into stillness. Your grip on his shoulders loosened and your forehead dropped to his chest with nothing left to give.

Only then did he stop moving.

He stayed exactly where he was, kneeling between your legs with his fingers still inside you, his body braced as yours folded forward into his. Your arms slipped from around him like they’d forgotten how to hold, and a single, broken sob left your lips, soft, breathless, almost voiceless.

It sounded like thank you.

He turned his head and pressed his cheek to your hair, his expression unreadable, his chest still heaving. Your cunt still fluttered around his fingers, slow, rhythmic, instinctive, as if your body wasn’t ready to let go of him either.

And Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Because in that moment, shaking, slick, wrecked and trusting, you were more his than anyone had ever been.

And if you’d asked for more, if you’d even whispered it, he would’ve given you every part of him.

*****

Safe Room - T+165 from Exposure

You collapsed into him.

Your body shuddered as the final wave surged through, not sharp like the ones before, but slower, heavier, the kind of release that burned on its way out. Bucky felt it all: the tight, pulsing clutch of your muscles around his fingers, the heat of your slick coating his hand, and the strangled, aching sob that rose from somewhere deep in your chest. It was not a cry of pleasure or pain, but something in between, raw, fractured, and almost mournful.

Still, you didn’t let go.

You tucked your face into the curve of his neck, your breath catching like you needed him more than air. Trembling and boneless, your limbs felt too weak to hold your weight, but you clung to him anyway, as if he was the only anchor left to reality, the only solid thing in a world that had just come apart.

He held you tightly, one arm wrapping around your back while the other withdrew slowly from between your legs. His fingers slipped free with deliberate care, dragging a wet trail as they left you, and the absence made your body flinch with a soft, involuntary sound. You sagged in his lap as he pressed his cheek to your hair, lips brushing your temple as he whispered.

“Shhh. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

His voice was low and steady, the kind of voice that wrapped around chaos and softened it. He could still feel the drug in your system, flickering beneath your skin, dancing in the rhythm of your pulse, but the storm had passed. You were no longer wild and urgent. You were spent and empty. And so, so tired.

He eased both of you down until he was seated fully on the bench, drawing you into his lap like a lifeline. The weight of you on him felt grounding and real. You folded into him without protest, legs kicked out to one side, his arm steady behind your back. Your breath was hot against his throat, and your whole body radiated a fevered warmth that vibrated through his bones.

For a while, the room stayed still.

The silence between you wasn’t hollow, but full and thick. The air was still dense with the heat of everything that had happened, but the danger had receded. All that remained was breath and heartbeat, the distant hum of the AC, and the way you melted against him like you’d finally found something solid to rest on.

You stirred against his collarbone, your voice faint.

“Bucky…”

He ran his hand slowly down your back. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

You let your weight settle back against him, your cheek to his chest, not hiding but resting. He wrapped both arms around you and held you like something precious, something fragile but not broken.

You didn’t speak. You just reached for the front of his t-shirt, your fingers curling into the fabric like you weren’t quite sure how to stay upright without him. He didn’t mind. He stayed alert, scanning for signs of withdrawal, checking your pulse, but mostly, he just let you be. He let you rest. He let you feel safe in his arms.

Eventually, your weight grew heavier. Not unconscious, but close. Your breathing was even now, your color no longer pale. When you stirred again, your voice was barely audible.

“I’m cold.”

He reacted instantly. 

Shrugging off his tac jacket, he wrapped it around your shoulders, then lifted you in one careful motion. You didn’t resist. You curled into him, head tucked against his neck, your fingers still faintly clutching his shirt.

He carried you to the cot in the corner of the room and laid you down gently. He tugged his tac jacket back into place, covering the bare skin of your ribs before drawing the blanket over you.

You blinked up at him, groggy.

“Will you stay?”

He sat beside you, brushing back the damp strands of hair from your forehead. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. Not tonight. Not ever, if you’ll let me. he nearly continued.

Your lips parted, but you didn’t speak. You just reached for him, blindly on instinct, and he caught your hand, pressing it flat against his chest.

And there you stayed, wrecked and shaking, but whole.

***

The Morning After

You woke to a world muted by the gray-blue hush of early morning. The motel room, cold floorboards, boarded up windows, and that ever-humming ventilation no longer carried the unbearable weight of last night, but the air still lingered with the aftermath. 

Your limbs ached as if you’d run for hours. Every muscle buzzed with the ghost of heat, hypersensitive and stripped raw. The Taco Bell jacket pulled over your shoulders smelled of metal and cedar soap and old leather: Bucky. You gripped it tighter.

The cot creaked as you sat up slowly, your body resisting every inch. Your pink shirt was next to you, laid out thoughtfully to dry. Your inner thighs stuck with dried sweat, and strands of hair were glued to your temples, tangled in a matted crown from the fever that had broken you open.

And then it returned, not in flashes, but in floods.

The lab. The broken vial. The wave of heat that melted your thoughts. The way your body had turned foreign and greedy. The things you’d said. The things you’d begged for. And worse was the way Bucky had answered those pleas, not with dominance or shame, but with something that had undone you more deeply than the drug ever could.

He had held you like you mattered.

And now, in the stark light of morning, you didn’t know what that meant. Your cheeks flushed and your heart thudded. You pulled the jacket tighter, as if it could erase the memory of having been so deeply and terrifyingly seen.

A soft clink broke the silence.

Your head snapped up.

Bucky stood in the doorway, framed by the narrow blade of light cutting through the top of the sealed door. He held two mismatched black mugs. His shirt was rumpled, hair tousled, jaw tight with fatigue. It looked like he hadn’t slept.

But it was his eyes that made your stomach twist.

They didn’t quite meet yours.

Crossing the room, he placed one of the mugs on the side table. “You’re awake,” he said, voice low and worn thin, gravel and guilt in every syllable.

You nodded. Your throat was too dry to speak.

The silence between you stretched taut and fragile.

You dropped your head, and when you finally spoke, your voice came softly, raw and hesitant, pulled from someplace fragile.

“I didn’t mean to... I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

He shifted closer, slowly. “Hey,” he called to get your attention. He looked like he wanted to reach out to you, but wasn't sure he was allowed. Your eyes rose to meet his. Your cheeks were streaked with dried sweat, your mouth trembling as you tried to hold yourself together.

“You weren’t in control,” he said, quiet but steady. “That wasn’t your fault. None of it was. The drug took your choice, and I know you didn’t ask for that.”

You shook your head, not in denial, but because there was more.

“I still wanted you,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Even before the drug. I’ve always wanted you. That part was real.”

Something long-contained finally broke in his expression, subtle but deep. 

“I know,” he said gently.

You blinked, surprised by his certainty.

“I’ve seen it,” he continued. “Even when you couldn’t look at me for more than a second. I felt it.”

You met his eyes, your breath catching. “Are you... angry?”

His answer was immediate.

“No. I’m not angry. I’m... ashamed.”

The word landed with weight.

“Because I gave in,” he said. “Because I wanted you, too. God, I’ve wanted you for weeks. And I told myself I was protecting you, but I still touched you. Still kissed you. I crossed a line. You were drugged, weren’t fully in control.”

Your chest pulled tight. “You didn’t force me,” you said. “You didn’t take anything I didn’t give.”

He nodded, but it was tight. “I know that. But it doesn’t change how it feels. And if you woke up this morning and told me you hated me... I’d believe you. I’d deserve it.”

Without thinking, you reached for him. Your fingers brushed his wrist, tentative but sure.

“I don’t hate you,” you said. “I’m just scared you’ll never look at me the same. That all you’ll see is the girl who begged for your hand like some pathetic—”

“Don’t.”

He was in front of you in an instant, hand turning in your grip to clasp your palm, kneeling at the edge of the cot.

“You weren’t pathetic,” he said, voice low and fierce. “You were brave and beautiful. You trusted me. Even when your body was on fire, even when everything was out of your control, you let me hold you through it.”

Your throat closed. Tears slipped down your cheeks in quiet tracks.

“I trusted you,” you whispered. “Because if it could have been anybody, I wanted it to be you.”

His expression softened. His hand came up to cradle your cheek.

“You have no idea how hard it was not to fall apart with you,” he said. “Not to touch more. Not to give in to everything I’ve wanted.”

You leaned into his touch, breath shaking as your eyes fluttered shut.

“I don’t know what this is,” you said. “But I don’t want it to be over.”

His thumb stroked beneath your eye, catching another tear before it could fall.

“It’s not over,” he murmured. “Not unless you want it to be.”

You didn’t speak. The small, wobbly smile that tugged at your lips said everything for you.

And Bucky Barnes, exhausted, guilt-wracked, and rebuilding, smiled back.

Tag list: @lovely-seb @calwitch @its-in-the-woods

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-OT8

The one where finding how you fit is a little like a puzzle-the 100,000 piece kind, not the 100 piece kind. or The twenty-seventh installment of the SKZ!Pack Prequel series

Tags: Skz, Stray Kids, Stay, SKZ!Pack, Pack!Prequel, Skz!Pack Prequel, ABO, A/B/O, Omegaverse, Series, OT8, Bang Chan, Lee Minho, Seo Changbin, Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix, Han Jisung, Kim Seungmin, Yang Jeongin, Fluff, Angst, Skz imagines, Skz scenarios, FemReader

Genre: Light Angst, Fluff

A/N: I'm back! Sorry guys, I know it's been SOOOOO Long and yall have probably forgotten/given up on me, but I had to take a little sabbatical to keep my head above water in real life. But I've been here! Stalking and reading and checking comments and reblogs and messages. I love yall! <3 Thanks for being so patient with me!

Title: Call Me Anything at All, Just Don't Call Me Yours

“Dude, your fucking beta is killing me here.” 

You glance up as Jisung joins the cafeteria table, plopping down between Changbinn and Hyunjin, clearly frustrated about something, his voice a plaintive whine.

Changbin’s brow creases in slight confusion. “My beta? What, you mean Seungmin?” 

“Who else would I be fucking talking about?” Jisung grumbles, shooting a glare in the alpha’s direction, as he rips open the packet that contains his silverware with a little more force than necessary. 

“You, technically.” Felix points out helpfully from further down the table, giving Jisung a slightly teasing grin. 

“Yeah, ha ha, I’m killing myself, real funny, Lix.” Jisung mocks back, though his tone softens a little as he addresses the omega, because that’s just the effect Felix has on everyone. 

Jisung turns back to Changbin, slapping his palms down on the table. “But seriously, he’s weird as shit. Hot and cold all the time, man. I don’t ever know where I stand with him-not really-kind of like with Minho-hyung.” 

Beside you, Minho snorts softly. “Please, you’re always on thin fucking ice with me, Han Jisung. You know that.” 

Jisung shoots Minho an annoyed look, but continues badgering Changbin. “You gotta tell me the secret to crack the code, hyung. One second, I think we’re friends, the next, the guy barely has two words to say to me.” 

Changbin gives a slight shrug. “That’s just how Seungmin is.” 

You nod in agreement. “Yeah, trust me, Sungie, Seungmin is a tough nut to crack. We’ve been friends for a long time-study partners for longer-and there’s still days I think he’d rather murder me than be sat across the table from me. He’s hard to read, he keeps his feelings close to his chest.” 

“He’s also a slow mover.” Changbin points out. “Really takes his time to think things through, all the pros and cons, before he acts.” 

Minho snorts again, not looking up from his food. “Maybe he’s deciding the cons list is longer than the pros when it comes to being packmates with you, Jisung.” 

“Plus, he’s not all that affectionate. Skinship is kind of a struggle for him.” You remark thoughtfully, an observation you’ve had the longer you’ve gotten to be around Seungmin as a packmate, and not just a library buddy. 

He really only lets Changbin touch him openly. Maybe it’s a side effect of the whole moonmate thing. 

Biology. 

Jisung takes a swig of his soda and considers for a moment, furrowing his brow. “Well, have you guys been-” He clears his throat, motioning slightly with his hands in a flapping motion toward Changbin. “-you know, intimate?” 

You clear your throat at that, interjecting, trying to save Changbin the embarrassment of answering that question. “Intimacy can be a lot of things, Jisungie, you know, like when you and I and Seungmin showered together, or when Chan scents us, or trusting someone enough to talk to them about difficult subjects-” Hyunjin leans around the beta and stares directly at Changbin now. “No, he’s asking if you’ve fucked.” 

Down the table, Chan chokes on his food, and Jeongin openly covers a cackle with a well timed cough. 

Next to you, Minho mutters beneath his breath, “Jesus Christ.” 

Changbin clears his throat hard, and you note the tips of his ears going a bright red. “Well, yeah.” He gives a shrug, as if it’s not a big deal, but the way his muscles stiffen tells you he’d rather be anywhere but here right now, talking about this.

“You don’t have to talk about this, Bin-” Chan starts softly, shooting Jisung a warning look that practically screams head alpha.

Changbin waves him off, and Chan’s hackles visibly relax a little.

“He likes you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Changbin assures Jisung, throwing an arm around his shoulders and ruffling his hair with a large hand. “All of you. He’s just a little more cautious when it comes to showing it. With me, there’s the weird biological pull of moonmates or whatever, but with the rest of you, you just gotta be patient. But he likes you. He’s told me.” 

Jisung sighs, relaxing slightly at the alpha’s touch. “Fine. As long as there’s hope that one day we can fuck in your studio, I can live with that.” 

Changbin removes his arm so quickly from around the beta’s shoulders that it’s like he’s been burned. “Please don’t do that.” 

Jisung shoots him a wink. “No promises.” 

“Apparently he’s into degradation in bed if that makes you feel any better.” Hyunjin remarks offhandedly, picking at his salad with his fork. “You probably couldn’t handle that anyway.” 

Changbin chokes a little, glaring over Jisung’s head at the luna. “Hyun, you promised me when I told you that in confidence-” Changbin’s voice drops to a hiss. “-that you wouldn’t talk about it!” 

Hyunjin gives a slight shrug, glancing around at everyone’s stunned reactions. “What? There’s no secrets in the pack right?” 

Jisung’s jaw is on the floor. 

“He what?” 

“Oh my god.” Chan groans from down the table, fingers already kneading between his brows, staving off an oncoming headache. “This is not appropriate lunchroom conversation-” 

“Okay, okay.” You wave your hands. “You’re gonna give Chan an aneurysm. Let’s table the kink talk for a more private time and location, okay?” 

“Hah.” Jeongin snorts softly. “Table.” 

Minho elbows him hard. 

******

You’re watching Jisung practice something on his skateboard in front of the dorms-a kickflip maybe? You can’t remember what he called it-chin in hand, open textbook unread in your lap. 

“Shit.” Jisung swears as the skateboard clatters away from him once more, and he sighs, tucking it under his arm and coming to sit down beside you on the cold concrete of the steps. 

He bumps his shoulder into yours. “Why the long face?” 

You glance sidelong at him, wrinkling your nose slightly. “I don’t have a long face. I’m just thinking.” 

He arches a brow. “Okay, so what are you thinking so deeply about then?” 

You sigh, running a few fingers over the page of the textbook in your lap, considering for a brief moment. “I was thinking about Seungmin.” 

“Ah.” Jisung nods, tilting his head slightly. “What, about the fact that he’s into being called shit in bed? Because I for one did not see that coming.” 

“No!” You say a little too quickly, cheeks heating even despite the cool nip of the air. “No.” You repeat, a little more levelly this time. “Just-about how I relate, to what you said. I never really know how he feels about things.” 

Jisung leans back on his hands beside you, staring out at the campus for a moment. Finally, he says, “Yeah, he’s kind of a weird dude, huh? I mean, I know he’s into Changbin, but I don’t really know if he’s that into the whole idea of the pack.”

You glance sidelong at the beta sat beside you, and you note the way he bites his bottom lip, fingers drumming along the skateboard held in his lap. 

“I was kind of excited to have another beta around.” Jisung admits a little softly with a sigh, glancing down at the chipped orange paint that adorns his nails currently, courtesy of Hyunjin. “I dunno, until I moved to university, I never really spent a lot of time around others like me. And it’s nice, the dorms and the friends, but there’s something about having a potential packmate who just gets it that’s comforting, you know?” 

You nod, reaching out to put one of your gloved hands over his. “Yeah, I do. I know you’ve been through a lot, with the whole beta thing, and I was hopeful Seungmin could help you through some of the stuff you’re still dealing with.” 

Jisung gives you a slight smile, but it’s tight and doesn’t quite reach his large dark eyes. “I don’t even know if the guy likes me, noona, or if he just puts up with my company because of Changbin.” 

You sigh, glancing down at where your gloved fingers rest over Jisung’s chapped, red ones. “Well, at least he didn’t straight up tell you that he didn’t feel like that about you. That’s something.” 

Jisung snorts. “That’s because I didn’t ask like you did.” 

You swallow. “Yeah, well, I’m an idiot.” You huff out, glancing over at him and it’s your turn to give him the hint of a smile that doesn’t quite feel completely real or genuine. “I mean, I told him I loved him, and he didn’t say it back. So maybe his feelings really haven’t changed.” 

Jisung gives a slight shrug, and then knocks his shoulder into yours once more. The smell of detergent is strong in your nose, as if his beta is subconsciously trying to put out pheromones to soothe your obviously agitated alpha. 

“Hey. You said it yourself-the guy’s an enigma. We just gotta give him the time and space to figure it all out on his own.” 

You sigh, long and hard. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” 

Jisung leans his head on your shoulder, and you bury your nose into the soft knitted fabric of his beanie, breathing him in for a lingering moment. 

He squeezes your fingers. “If it’s any consolation, I said it back, remember? And it’s still true.” 

You give a little laugh at that, kissing the top of his head. “Yeah, I know. I love you too.” 

You squeeze his fingers back in return, and then nudge the round, reddened apple of his cheek with your shoulder with a slight hint of a smile. 

“Now c’mon, that kickflip of yours isn’t gonna learn itself.” 

******

“I dunno, maybe I’m pushing too hard. Putting expectations on everyone that are unrealistic.” 

Yeosang glances over at you, breaths coming in harsh little pants in the cold morning air, his hands on his hips as he walks a few loose circles around where you stretch. 

“Betas are tricky. When Mingi joined the pack, I swear to god, the hyungs almost drove themselves crazy trying to figure out what he was thinking.” 

He drops down beside you on the sidewalk, leaning over to stretch out one long arm along the line of his leg, before he switches to the other side effortlessly. 

He’s barely panting from our run, skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat in the early morning rays of weak sunlight. 

You blow out a breath, leaning your head back slightly to stare at the sky. “Jisung is losing his mind. He had this whole grand vision of what having another beta in the pack would mean, and Seungmin’s just-” You hesitate, considering for a moment, before you sigh again. “-not that.” 

Yeosang’s gaze flicks over to me, and he makes a little sound of understanding under his breath. “Mm. Yeah, when we all study together, I can tell the kid’s a little harder to read than most. Even for a beta.” He shifts, coming to his feet again as he rolls his ankles a little, then his arms and his neck, glancing down at me. “But he seems nice. And he seems to be into Changbin, so that’s a plus.” 

“That’s the thing though-” You admit, standing up too now, rolling your shoulders for a moment, before you tuck your earbuds back into your pocket. “-he likes Changbin, but does he like the rest of us?” 

Yeosang moves to stand in front of you , reaching up to push some loose strands of hair back from your jaw with a long finger, chilled from the morning air. He gives you a slight smile. “Wolves aren’t solitary creatures, babe. You know that. And with how smart Seungmin is-and how obsessed with biology-he knows that too. Just give him some time to warm up. It’s probably overwhelming, especially for a seemingly solitary guy like him.” 

You groan. “Fuck, you’re right, but do you have to be?” 

Yeosang chuckles at that, moving to bump his shoulder into yours as you turn to follow the sidewalk back toward campus and the bus stop. 

“Yes. It’s one of my many talents.” 

You arch a brow at him. “Being right?” 

Yeosang grins. “Never being wrong.” 

You roll your eyes and elbow him in the side. “They’re the same thing, idiot.” 

He laughs in response. “Trust me, they’re really not.” You walk in silence for a few moments, shoes scuffing the concrete, hands tucked into the pockets of your jackets, and then Yeosang asks, “Have you tried talking to him about all of this?” 

You scoff a little, shaking your head. “No, because what the hell am I supposed to say?” You move to walk in front of him, taking backward steps as you face him, pitching your voice into something akin to a fake version of your own. “‘Hey, Seungmin, weird question, but like, are you into us? Also, just wondering, but have your feelings changed about me? Oh, and Jisung would really like to fuck you, but he’s nervous you don’t even really like him, and by the way, Changbin totally told everyone you like to be degraded in bed.’” 

Yeosang’s eyes widen at that last part, his mouth dropping open slightly. “Wait, really?” 

You wave him off. “Yeah, well, technically Changbin told Hyunjin, who told everyone else, but that’s beside the point.” 

Yeosang whistles beneath his breath as we continue to walk. “Shit. Okay. Didn’t see that one coming, but good for him.” 

His tone is laced with slight surprise still, but mostly just open admiration and appreciation. 

You pull your phone from your pocket and glance at the time, groaning slightly. “Fuck. I have to go. I’m late for a lab and then I have a study session at the lib.” 

Yeosang arches a brow at that, a slight smirk coming to his full lips. “Oh, with you know who?” 

You stare him down, expression and voice deadpan. “No, I am not meeting Voldemort, The Dark Lord, for a study session, Sang. That’s just stupid.” 

Yeosang rolls his dark eyes, reaching out to shove you, but you dodge the halfhearted attack easily. 

“I’m talking about a certain beta.” 

“I know that.” You retort back, rolling your own eyes now. “Besides, even if Voldemort went here, he’d never be in the sciences department. Probably like arts and humanities or something.” 

“Or dance.” Yeosang points out thoughtfully. 

His suddenly wide eyed gaze meets your own, his mouth in a small ‘o.’

“Minho.” You both say together. 

Yeosang grins as you both laugh, reaching the bus stop. He bumps his shoulder into yours once more affectionately, as you separate to take different buses. 

“Good luck with your study session, babe.” He points a stern finger in your direction. “Talk to him.” 

You roll your eyes and wave him off. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll consider it. Say hi to Voldie for me when you pick up Hwa, will you?” 

Yeosang’s grin widens as he gives you a little salute. “Will do.” 

*****

“You’re staring again.” Seungmin comments without looking up from the page he’s working on, his pencil scratching rhythmically in the quiet of the library. 

You clear your throat, dropping your eyes back to your own textbook. “What? No, I’m not-” 

Seungmin sighs, shutting his notebook, and pushes his glasses up on top of his head as he angles to face you, expression unreadable. 

“All right. Out with it.” 

You’re taken off guard, glancing up at him in a slight panic, like a deer caught in headlights, eyes going wide as your mouth opens and closes a few times before you finally manage to choke out, “Out with what? I’m good. Fine even.” 

Seungmin snorts at that. “You haven’t stopped rereading that same page for the last half an hour. And I’m pretty sure you’ve been studying me more than anything else.” 

“Plus your scent is all wacked out.” He says with a slight wrinkle of his nose. “Even my limited faculties can tell that much.” 

You sigh, glancing down at the open book in your lap before you close it and set it aside, tapping your pen along the table for a brief moment as you consider how to word what you want to say. 

Finally, you get out softly, “Jisung is worried.” 

Seungmin’s brow ticks up a bit at that. “About me?” 

You give a slight shrug, not really looking at him, gaze on the pen flicking between your fingers. “I guess? He’s just worried because he doesn’t really know how you feel-” You glance at him then, and then away again. “-none of us do.” 

The eyebrow goes up another notch. “How I feel? About what?” 

You sigh, a slight sound of frustration now. “About everything? About him, about us, about the pack, about-” I throw a hand out. “-all of it.” 

You tap the pen down a little harder than necessary to punctuate the end of your sentence. “In case you haven’t noticed-” You point out in a mutter beneath your breath. “-you’re not the easiest guy to get a read on.” 

There is brief silence for a moment, and then Seungmin admits quietly, “Yeah, I know.” 

You flick your gaze up to his then, and see a hint of vulnerability in the depths of his dark eyes before he reaches up and scrubs across his face with the palm of his hand. 

“Look, (Y/N)-” He says on a sigh, and you tense up, preparing yourself for what he’s about to say next. Judging by the slight hint of burnt bitterness that now mars his orangey citrus scent, it’s probably not going to be what you want to hear.

Great, can’t wait to break the news to Jisung that the only other beta in the pack doesn’t even wanna be here. 

Seungmin smooths his palms on the table in front of him, staring at the pages of notes scrawled in his messy handwriting. “I know there are expectations. I knew that coming in. I know Jisung has expectations especially, and from what he’s told me about his past and how his parents wanted an alpha for a son, and all the struggles he went through as a beta to try and fit in, I don’t blame him. But I-” 

Seungmin gives a little shake of his head, and his gaze meets yours once more, lips pulled into the hint of a thin line. “I never went through anything like that. I was a beta, born into a family happy to be betas, and I never even thought twice about it. Never felt like I was somehow lacking, or less than, because it was all just biology. Nothing more. So I don’t really know how to-” He hesitates, seeming to struggle with his thoughts for a moment. 

“-relate.” You finish for him softly, and he gives a slight jerk of a nod. 

“Yeah.” He agrees. “But I’ve found I’ve had that problem all my life, not just with Jisung, not just with this, with everything.” He gives a tiny shake of his head, and a humorless sardonic smile curves his lips in the slightest way. “I don’t know how to relate to people. I never have. Maybe I’m missing some integral part of my own biology, because I know better than anyone that wolves are not loners, they’re pack oriented, but I’ve always always preferred to be alone. A lone wolf, I guess you’d say.” 

You study him for a moment and then you say softly, “There’s nothing wrong with that, Seungmin.” He heaves a sigh and leans back, staring up at the ceiling above us. “I guess not, but I guess, what I’m trying to say is-” He glances at you, expression going flat. “-I don’t know how to let you all in to understand me, if I don’t even understand myself.” 

Before you can second guess yourself, you reach out and cover one of his hands on the table with your own. “Hey.” When he looks at you, you give him the hint of a smile. “We’re all figuring this shit out, just the way you are.” 

He blows out a breath through his nose, almost like a sardonic sort of laugh. “Yeah? Well, you guys seem to have shit pretty figured out from my viewpoint.” 

You shake your head. “We don’t, trust me.” Your lips curve slightly as you stare at him, holding his gaze. “We’re a mess, we’re just pretty good at hiding it. Well, most of the time.” 

Seungmin stares at you for a long, silent moment. 

“I want to be what Jisung needs.” He finally admits, so softly it’s almost just a breath. “I want to be what Changbin wants. I want to be-” He blows another harsh breath out through his nose and drops your gaze. “-pack, but I’m just not sure where to begin. This is all new territory for me, and while I’m all about new discoveries in the scientific fields, my personal life is another matter entirely.” 

You give a little laugh at that, and note that he hasn’t pulled his hand back from your touch yet. 

That’s a good sign. 

“You don’t have to have it all figured out today. Just one step at a time.” You encourage softly, leaning down so you can meet his ducked gaze. “You can do that, right?” 

Seungmin sighs, but he nods anyway. “Yeah, I can do that.” 

“Good.” You sit back and blow out a breath, glancing down at your study materials spread out before you. “Now I don’t know about you, but I can’t study anymore tonight or I might go blind.” 

Seungmin nods, surprisingly, and begins to pack up his materials. 

After another brief moment of silence, he asks suddenly, “What about you?” 

You shove another handful of pens and papers into your backpack without looking up. “What about me?” 

Seungmin makes a noise that clearly signifies he thinks you’re being obtuse on purpose, and you can feel his annoyed stare burning holes in the side of your head. 

“You know, don’t you wanna know how I feel about you? Now that I’ve had some time?” 

You freeze, swallowing, and then force yourself to resume your previous activities of packing up and getting ready to leave. 

“I mean, not really. I figure you’ll tell me that when you’re ready.” 

Lies. 

You wanna know so bad it’s driving yourself and your wolf crazy. 

You busy yourself with lining up your highlighters back in their designated case, just so your antsy fingers have something to do. 

“You know-” Seungmin states suddenly, voice even, tone neutral. “For a long time, I thought I was asexual.” Your eyes jerk up in surprise to meet his own, lips parting slightly. 

“You don’t have to-” 

He waves you off, pulling his glasses off his head and carefully folding them to stow in their case as he talks. 

“No, it’s fine. I want to.” He glances to you then, a slight smile curving his lips. “I’m supposed to be pushing myself right? Opening up so you can get to know me better?” 

You swallow and give a slight nod. 

“You know, the whole lone wolf thing from before? I didn’t really ever feel the need to be involved with anyone like that. Didn’t think I needed it, felt complete without it. And then-” He sighs, and a slight flicker of annoyance crosses his pretty features. “I met Changbin.” 

“Changbin.” You breathe in slight agreement, and your lips twitch upward a little at the other alpha’s name. “Yeah, he tends to have that effect on people.” 

“Mm.” Seungmin nods in slight agreement. “So then, I thought, well, maybe it’s just biology, but maybe I don’t really want to be alone, not quite like that. But then I think-” He considers you for a long moment. “-I met you, and we became friends, and I liked your company, but then you asked me if I could ever like you like I liked Changbin.” You cringe slightly at that. “Oh god, can we just pretend that conversation never happened?” 

“No.” Seungmin responds back immediately. He arches a brow. “It made me think you know. About myself. About what I wanted. It was good for me.” 

“Glad to help.” You mumble back, your cheeks flushed slightly in an irritated sort of hot feeling blush. 

“I considered that maybe, after you asked me that, that I was just into guys.” Seungmin admits in a softer sort of voice, but still matter of factly. 

“Oh, so it’s my gender, got it.” You retort back, avoiding his gaze. 

“No.” He shakes his head at that. “I think I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t really care about gender, not in the long run of things. I think I’m more into people themselves, their personalities, and how they handle mine.” “Great, so it’s just my personality then.” You blurt out, throwing out your hands now. 

“No.” Seungmin repeats a little bit more firmly, sharper. “You’re not listening to me.” 

You give a little sharp laugh at that. “It’s really fucking hard to listen to you when we’ve been studying shit that turns my brain to mush for the last four hours.” 

Seungmin’s hand covers your own, and you freeze, gaze flicking to him, mouth slightly agape, words instantly dying off. 

“I-” He says firmly, taking in a sort of shaky breath, his fingers still resting a little bit awkwardly on top of your own. “-like you. You, (Y/N). I like the way you make me feel accepted, I like that you listen to my ramblings about scientific findings, I like that you don’t push me to go further than I’m comfortable, and I like that we started as friends first, and you’ve given me time and patience to explore where this could potentially go. At my own pace.” 

You stare at him for another beat and then, “I’m sorry. If what I said in the shower made you uncomfortable.” 

His lips curve slightly at that, his nose wrinkling with the hint of a smile. “It didn’t. In fact, it kind of surprised me that I liked hearing it. Just-” He blows out a breath. “-give me some time to figure out my shit okay?” 

You nod, curling your fingers around his own. “Yeah, I can do that.” 

Seungmin nods, and removing his hand from yours, begins to move to pack away the rest of his things. “Now c’mon, I promised Jisung we’d be in time to watch a movie with him.” 

You grin, standing up and slinging your backpack over your shoulder. “It’s gonna be one of those cheesy action flicks he loves, you know that right?” 

Seungmin sighs, but his voice is filled with affectionate amusement. “Yeah, I know.” He glances at you with a lift of his brow. “But anything for our boy, right?” 

You grin back at him, knocking your arm into his as you walk. “Anything for our boy.” 

As you walk down the stairs that lead out of the library, shoulder to shoulder, he slides his hand into yours. 

[mistyyyy]

Omg hiiii!

Uhhhh this is my first time requesting anything so sorry if I’m coming off too direct but idk any other way to do this. ✌️✌️

Can I request a pegging fic w/ Aizawa, where you’ve folded him in half are holding his legs down while his hands are bound. I’ve found little to no fics with a sub!aizawa, nonetheless fics that really hit the nail on the head for this mans character 😩😩😩.

Like- he’s trying not to give you a reaction.. but those strokes you’re giving him 🤭.

My boys having a really really tough time, twitching and shaking involuntarily. Biting his lip to try and muffle the sounds while he squirms for some sort of leverage but he can’t do anything because you’ve folded this man like paper. He’s trying to fight against the leather cuffs but to no avail. He would be wondering why tf he let you do this to him but he can’t think of anything other than you ramming that dildo up his ass- SORRY IM GONNA STOP NOW ✋✋✋ WHEWWWWWWWWWW

Resist.

Heyy….yall 👀 *clears throat.*

CW: Condescending reader, soft dom reader, pegging, bottom Aizawa, sub Aizawa, slight feminization, slight mean reader, forced edging, restraining

Words: 940

"Come on now baby you can take this dick..." You breathed out, warm breath fanning into his blushed ear as your strap slammed in and out of his hole. His moans were whiny and guttural, his breath and body strained as you forced his thighs against stomach. "M-mngh- fuck you..." he cursed out, pretty eyes squeezed shut as he tried to get a hold of reality, trying to ignore how good you made him felt. He was so stubborn, not wanting to fully submit even if you had him folded like this

You couldn't help but to grin down at him, the grip on his hairy thighs tightening. You found it amusing that he was suffering, that he was trying so hard not to enjoy the way you thrusted into him, the tip of your strap repeatedly thrusting into his prostate. "Cmon baby don't be like that... shit, you're dripping like a girl." You chuckled eyes peering down towards his throbbing red tip, pre cum drooling down to his toned belly, sliding down his angry shaft.

Your words only added more embarrassment to his situation, sun freckled skin flushing red, arms flexing behind his back as he wanted to so badly touch you, to place his hands underneath your ass to help you fuck him. His body twitched and arched, his lips red and swollen as he pulled them into his mouth to keep his nasty sounds at bay.

It didn't work of course. Not when you were fucking him like this, not when your nails dug into his muscles to hold his thighs in place, his ass and your hips angled just right. "Mmnhg-mmsofuckinclose," he whines, voice fast, throat raspy and raw from his muffled groans and grunts-rambles falling from his swollen lips, repeating how close he was to releasing.

Then you did something unexpected, a sharp gasp leaving his mouth-he almost choked and cough. Your hand left his thigh to grip onto the base of his dick, your grip tight, holding onto him like a vise. "Don't fucking cum yet, don't you dare... not until you admit it," you spoke, your hips slowing, letting him chase the orgasm he couldn't quite grasp.

This was fucking torture for the man, his face scrunching up from the uncomfortable feeling of his balls and stomach tightening from the edge, from how tight you were holding him. Why why whyyy did he let you do this? Why did he agree to let you play with him like this- why... his thoughts soon turned into mush though as he desperately wanted that high, to feel that fuzzy feeling in his brain when he came.

“P-please..” he gritted out, hoping if he begged you for release he wouldn’t have to admit how good it felt, how much he enjoyed being folded and manhandled like this. Little did he know this was more pathetic than him just admitting how good it felt.

You didn’t let him get a pass. As much as you loved to hear his rough pleases and begs to cum- you didn’t let him. So with a corrective slap on his thigh, your hips continued to move relentlessly, your hand fisting his cock tightly, not giving him a chance to forget his place. “Come on baby, you know what I want to hear. Tell me how good I make you feel, tell me how good your wife is fucking you,”

Your tone was cocky and condescending, a smirk on your face as you listened to his pained whines and whimpering, watching as his stomach caved in, his plump pecks vibrating with every thrust you gave him. He couldn’t even speak coherently anymore, his deep voice replaced with something more feminine and rough as he tried to explain how good you made him felt. “I-oh god-I- I can’t, please- you make me-“ he swallowed thickly, his voice a gasp as you kept hitting that spot, his balls throbbing and red as you restricted his base, “feelsogood,” he continued, eyes barely opened as they stared up at yours.

You felt a pang of satisfaction once he finally gave you what you wanted, a low hum leaving your throat. You could feel the way he throbbed and pulsated in your palm, his body reacting to your noises, your voice, your movements. When you finally released his shaft his mind couldn’t even keep up with the way his body reacted, how fast his orgasm came, how hot and twitchy his body felt as a white heat filled his body.

You watch as his heavy load squirted and shot onto his stomach, his chest, how it lazily dripped down his red cock until it dropped near his navel. “Mm~ good job baby… you look so good like this.” You praised your husband, your sloppy thrusting slowly down into a lazily hump as you let him ride through his orgasm.

His tanned lined body stained red, his abdomen covered in his sweat and arousal, black hair sprawled on y’all’s mattress like a dark halo. He huffed out air as he slowly caught his breath, his body felt like jello and his thighs twitched against his body as he felt your gently thumbs draw circles on the inside of his muscles. “Fuck… where’d you learn that…” he asked, voice raspy and tired as his eyes came to a close.

You chuckled, a cocky grin on your face as you continued to stare down at his fucked state. “Twitter.”

[nana-mania]

since it's canon that izana loves fishies, what if he meets his s.o in a waterpark (she ain't a fish enthusiast but was just dragged along by her girlfriends) and he kept staring at her as she stared at the aquarium full of fishes. (she's nonchalant af)

"WATERPARK ENCOUNTER" a coincidental meeting with his future wife..?

╰┈➤: ̗̀➛ oneshot

࿐*ೃ feat : izana kurokawa

࿐*ೃ fandom : tokyo revengers

࿐*ೃ extra : fluff, fem!reader

THE giant aquarium stretched across the wall, filled with vibrant fish gliding through the water. Schools of neon tetras darted between the artificial coral, while larger koi and angelfish drifted lazily, their scales glistening under the dim blue lighting.

You, however, remained unimpressed.

Arms crossed, you stood before the display, scrutinizing the fish with a judging look. Your friends had dragged you here, claiming it would be “fun,” but all it had done was put you in a situation where you were now stuck staring at fish. What exactly was fun about this?

As you stared, you felt an odd sensation. The distinct feeling of being watched.

You shifted your gaze slightly and immediately locked eyes with someone across the tank. He was positioned at the other side of the aquarium, leaning against the railing, his silver hair catching the glow of the water. His sharp yet dangerously beautiful lilac eyes were focused directly on you, his expression unreadable yet strangely intense.

Most people would have awkwardly looked away after being caught staring. But this guy? He didn’t.

Fine. If he wanted to play that game, so be it.

You stared back.

Seconds passed. Then a full minute.

Neither of you blinked. Neither of you looked away. The fish continued swimming between you, entirely unaware of the silent battle of wills taking place.

Eventually, you were the one to break the silence. “Enjoying your sightseeing so far?”

The corners of his lips twitched slightly, as if amused. “Yeah. You?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just judging the fish ‘cause I’m bored. My friends dragged me here for some reason.”

“Hm.” He didn’t sound surprised, nor did he question it. Instead, he glanced at the aquarium briefly before looking back at you. “What’s your verdict?”

“The koi are the only ones that look decent. Everything else is just floating around, doing nothing.”

“Sounds like you’re describing half the people here.”

That actually got a small exhale from you—too short to be considered a real laugh, but close enough. You tilted your head, regarding him. He was… interesting. And, considering your current situation, maybe a potential escape route.

Without much thought, you asked, “Wanna go eat something?”

His eyes narrowed, as if trying to decipher your motive. “Why?”

“Revenge.”

Now he was intrigued. “On?”

“My friends. They dragged me here, so I’m gonna disappear and let them freak out for a bit.”

A pause. Then, after a moment’s consideration, he gave a slow nod. “Alright.”

And just like that, he fell into step beside you as you walked off, leaving behind the aquarium and your unwitting friends.

The café inside the waterpark was a cozy, semi-outdoor setup, offering a decent selection of snacks and drinks. You and the white-haired stranger sat across from each other at a small table, a plate of pastries and two iced drinks between you.

“So,” you started, stirring your drink lazily with your straw. “Who are you?”

“Izana,” he answered casually. He didn’t offer a last name, nor did he seem to care if you recognized it or not.

You hummed, leaning back in your seat. “Izana. Cool name.”

He tilted his head, watching you. “And you?”

"Y/n." You told him your name, and he nodded as if committing it to memory.

For a while, the conversation drifted from topic to topic in an unexpectedly effortless way. He wasn’t overly talkative, but he responded smoothly, his dry wit making the conversation surprisingly enjoyable. You told him about how your friends dragged you here against your will, and he admitted that he came alone—just to see the fish.

“You actually like fish that much?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “Yeah. They’re quiet. Peaceful.”

“Unlike people?”

A ghost of a smirk played on his lips. “Exactly.”

You studied him for a moment, realizing that, despite his sharp and almost intimidating appearance, he had a strangely calming presence. You could see why he liked fish—they moved with the same silent, effortless grace he did.

“Guess you’re more passionate about this place than I am,” you mused.

Izana shrugged. “Maybe. But you still came here.”

“Against my will.”

“You still came.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, you took a bite of your pastry, only for a bit of powdered sugar to land on the corner of your mouth. You didn’t notice it, but Izana did.

Before you could react, he leaned over the table, raising a hand. His thumb brushed against the corner of your lips, wiping the sugar away.

You froze mid-chew.

He didn’t say anything about it, simply returning to his drink as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

You, on the other hand, were left staring at him. “Did you just—”

“There was sugar,” he said simply.

Your brain short-circuited for a second before you swallowed your food. “…You could’ve just told me.”

“Easier this way.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but he only smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction.

“…You’re a bold one, huh?” you muttered, shaking your head.

“Depends.” He took another sip. “You’re not running away.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Why would I? You’re entertaining.”

Izana chuckled under his breath, the sound low and amused. “Glad to know.”

At some point, the conversation shifted to the people around you. You both started making sarcastic comments about random park-goers—like the kid aggressively trying to eat an ice cream bigger than his face, or the couple who were clearly on an awkward first date.

You didn’t know when, but at some point, Izana had leaned his elbow against the table, resting his chin in his palm as he watched you with that same unreadable look from earlier.

“You’re interesting,” he remarked suddenly.

You raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“Yeah. Thought you’d be more boring at first.”

You huffed. “Rude.”

“But I was wrong,” he continued smoothly, not even fazed. “You’re blunt but fun. And you didn’t hesitate to drag me along for food.”

You shrugged. “You were staring first.”

He chuckled at that, but before he could respond, the distant sound of your friends’ voices calling your name echoed through the café.

Izana glanced toward the entrance, then back at you. “Time to return to them?”

You sighed dramatically. “Looks like it.”

“Want me to disappear?”

You considered it for a moment before shaking your head. “Nah. I wanna see how they react.”

Sure enough, when your friends spotted you—sitting comfortably with a stranger, laughing over drinks—they rushed over, demanding to know where you’d been.

You just sipped your drink, watching them with an amused look. “Oh, you know. Just enjoying the fish.”

Izana smirked beside you, taking another sip of his drink.

Something told you this wouldn’t be the last time you saw him.

࿐*ೃ thanks for reading this scenario! likes, interaction and reblogs are deeply appreciated ♡

[blueberryfenecfox]

𝘿𝙖𝙢𝙣 𝙢𝙪𝙩𝙩!

“𝘽𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙮, '𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙚'𝙨 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙖 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙮 𝙄 𝙘𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙥 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙣' 𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙞-𝙩𝙞-𝙩𝙞- 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚”

Summary: a bunch of dog’s just can’t help and knock up a certain cat who’s gone into heat!

Women various X chubby female reader separated

Fandoms included - Genshin impact, honkai starrail

Warning:NSFW, transfem, knotting, breeding kink for everyone, doggy style, blowjobs, eating out reader, blowjobs.

Yae Miko

She found you rather amusing you’re such a cute cat, she just wants to talk to you. But you always end up pushing her away especially when you’re in heat! She just wants to help you, why are you denying it? Well let’s just say you finally had enough so you finally decided to pay her a visit and let her help you.

When you made it to her owners house you decided to go into her yard seeing the pink haired dog laying down on the grass reading a book. That’s when your scent hit her nose making her eyes look over to you, she saw you struggling just to walk over. That when she helped you by offering her shoulder for you to lean on. Luckily her owner wasn’t home so you made it to her very own bedroom which was painted white, the only pink thing were her bed that was covered by light pink sheets and purple pillows. Along side some chew toys being scattered.

Her slender arm wrapped around your waist resting her sharp nails on top your exposed skin that was revealed when she was try to hoist you leveling your shirt to lift up. You let out a soft whimper as you felt her fingertips. And that was all that miko needed to get her going.

“Fuck miko, don’t be so rough!”

Your voice was quivering, as you felt her sharp teeth brushing against the outside of your slit, while her tongue was moving slowly taking her time trying to memorize what parts made you moan louder.

“I’m gonna cum!”

Miko felt your walls clench around her pink tongue, making it difficult for her to move it. That’s when you felt her slender hands wrapped around your tummy and move her hands to your waist lowering your body down to where her tongue was making it go deeper.

Your eyes widen as you felt your thighs wrapped around around her head feeling her soft hair, your eyes made contact with the top of her head where her ears flatted against her head slightly twitching making your eyes focus on them seeing how soft they look. But then you felt her plunging her tongue deeper into you.

Clenching your teeth and moving your hips towards her head finally releasing on her face. Miko pulled away from your pussy you could see her mouth wet from your cum. She wiped it off with the back of her hand but not before pulling down her pants and revealing her own need.

“Sorry kitty, but I think it’s my turn to be pleased by you.

Stelle

Stelle loved play dates with you! Despite you always laying around the house not paying attention to her antics, her tail would wag constantly seeing you and your beautiful face! However despite your lack of attention on the gray doggo you have dropped some simple clues that you wanted her to be your girlfriend only for her to be a complete dork and not pay any thought

She would beg her owner to go over to your house for a play date and her owner seeing her puppy dog eyes can’t say no so she lets her go over.

Stelle hummed happily as she finally made it your front door knocking and waiting for someone to answer. Only for her to try the doorknob and the door was unlocked, “wait would this be breaking and entering?….nah!”

Stelle stepped inside the house seeing various pictures of you that your owner took of you making Stelle smile. As she continued to walk a sweet smell came from a certain room to her left, she saw the door slightly opened and she saw you plunging your fingers inside your pussy. Her yellow eyes widened as she felt her face face getting warmer, the way your soft meow’s came out from your soft lips made her tail wag.

“Oh fuck, why do you half to be so dumb!” Ou said while plunging your fingers deep inside your pussy. The only thing that Stelle could do was stare at your sweaty body. Stelle’s eyes wandered up your body admiring your body’s movements. But she accidentally fell into your room, her face meeting the ground with a hard impact, you suddenly jolted up as you saw the doggo rubbing her head.

“…”

“Sooo uhh..”

“Oh fuck (name)..”

Stelle was now sitting on your plush bed, her hands clenching around your hair. Her face was flushed as she felt your mouth wrap around her member.

“I’m gonna cum so-“

Stelle was cut off, as you felt her warm cum in your mouth you finally pulled off the poor girl as she flopped on the bed and…

FELL ASLEEP!?

Feixiao

She’s a cute fluffy husky, she’s always happy to see you however you found her quite annoying sometimes as well considering she would constantly follow you around trying to make different advances towards you this being flirtatious remarks and such but you don’t find her completely unbearable. Especially right now since she offered to help you during your heat.

“Dammit, feixiao don’t be so rough!”

You said to the husky as you felt her hips making contact with your thighs and ass. A low growl came from her throat as you felt her trying to push her knot into your pussy.

“Sorry but you’re just so Pretty!”

You let out a gasp felling the knot go in finally, you lowered your hand over your stomach feeling the outline of fei’s cock. Feixiao wrapped her arms around your stomach as she continued to plunge her self deeper into you with no plans of stopping until your filled to the brim.

[swrkn]

Heyyy 👋🏻👋🏻

Could I get a Kwon Hyuk x fem!reader story where the reader’s his childhood friend?

Im in the mood for something feel-good and fluffy, nothing too heavy or angsty 🥹

P.S. I seriously LOVE your writing so so much!!I’ve read all the WB posts already hehe,

so I thought I’d finally try requesting something too!

Thank you in advanceee 🙇🏻‍♀️💖

𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐓

Hyuk x fem!reader

Genre ; fluff , sfw

Author note ; Thanks a lot for the compliment on my work it means a lot to me !! It’s been like a month since i last wrote , med school is killing me , so sorry if i take a lot of time doing your request !

You finally found the young boy, you’ve been searching for quit long now, crouched in a alley, again.

You knew that weird glint in his eyes before you even saw what he was doing — legs folded, hands still, face blank.

“…Hyuk.” you said cautiously.

He didn’t even look up. “It was already dying.”

You took a step closer and saw it — a dragonfly, wings gone, body twitching weakly on the ground. You winced. He didn’t.

“I wanted to see how long it’d move without wings.” he said, as if it were science. As if it didn’t make your stomach twist a little.

“You’re scaring the other kids.” you said carefully.

“They’re stupid.” he muttered.

You squatted down next to him. “They said you tried to fight three of them yesterday.”

“They wouldn’t shut up.” His jaw clenched. “They said I was crazy.”

You looked at him for a long time. He didn’t seem angry, well, not really. Just… detached. Like there was a wall between him and the rest of the world.

Except when he looked at you.

“I’m not scared of you.”

Hyuk’s eyes flicked to yours, unreadable. “Maybe you should be.”

You reached out, brushing your fingers against his scraped-up knuckles. “Maybe I just know you better than they do.”

He stared at you like he didn’t understand why you stayed. But he didn’t pull away.

You and Hyuk sat side by side on the low wall behind some abandoned garage. The race had ended hours ago, but the rest of the team had already left, leaving the two of you

Rain tapped gently against the pavement, but the overhang kept the both of you dry. Hyuk was staring ahead, hoodie pulled low over his face, one knee propped up, fingers loosely laced around it.

“I forgot how quiet it gets here after dark.” you said softly.

He hummed in agreement. “That’s why I like it.”

You glanced at him, chin on your knees. “You ever miss when it was just us? Back home?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then: “Sometimes.”

You smiled faintly. That was Hyuk-speak for all the time.

“You were a menace.” you said teasingly. “You used to always making kids cry, and fought with them.”

“They started it.” he replied evenly, not even looking at you. “I didn’t like when they talked about you.”

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

Hyuk’s expression didn’t change. “They said stuff. I didn’t like it. So I made them stop.”

A beat passed. You swallowed, unsure what to say. It was the kind of thing only Hyuk would casually drop in conversation like it didn’t mean something.

He shifted slightly, then spoke again, voice lower this time.

“I didn’t know how to say things back then. So I just did what I could.”

You let that sit between you for a minute. The sound of the rain, the wind rustling the trees, the way his shoulder was just barely brushing yours.

“You still do that,” you said. “Even now.”

He glanced at you. “What do you mean?”

“You show up. Quietly. You don’t say much… but you’re always there.”

Hyuk looked away again, like he didn’t know what to do with that kind of truth.

You leaned your head against his shoulder gently. “You don’t have to say anything, Hyuk. I’ve always known how to read you.”

He didn’t move, but after a moment, his hand found yours between you — not a full grip, just fingers brushing yours lightly.

And that, from Hyuk, was enough.

✵

[ericshoney]

Sweetheart ~ Sturniolo Triplets

Warnings: mentions of mental health, coping mechanisms, implied ADHD!Reader, slight innocent!reader, use of pet names (kid, sweetheart, petal, bub) in a platonic way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today you woke up at twelve full of energy. It wasn't unusual for you to wake up as a bundle of joy, but the time you woke was. You usually wake up at around two or three in the afternoon, not twelve.

You had slept in Nick's bed for the night, your own room being too "boring", or that's what you told Nick as you climbed into his bed to sleep. Not that it was unusual, you and Chris both struggled to sleep alone, sometimes you'd both share a bed, giving Nick and Matt a break.

When you woke, you saw Nick still asleep besides you. Not wanting to wake him, you slowly get up and go take a shower, getting ready for the day. After a bit, you heard Nick shout.

"You in the shower, kid?" He called.

"Yeah! Nearly done!" You shouted back.

You heard him mumble an okay before you quickly finished and got out, drying your hair as you walked back into the bedroom, seeing Nick sitting on the bed, scrolling through his phone.

"Morning sweetheart." He said softly.

"Morning, how long was I?" You asked.

"Bout twenty minutes." He answered, making you nod.

Nick then went to shower and get ready as you headed downstairs to the kitchen, seeing Matt and Chris both awake. The two greeted you as you sat on the counter, swinging your legs.

"Your wearing odd socks." Matt mentioned, noticing your pink and blue socks.

"I got bored trying to find a matching pair." You confessed.

"Don't worry, petal. I'll sort it out later." He said with a soft smile. You returned it as Chris started showing you some edits on TikTok.

Nick soon joined the three of you as you then began discussing what you wanted to do for the day. The guys had a pre-filmed video so the day was yours.

"What about Target? Or the park? Or mini golf! Or what about bowling!" You rambled on quickly, making the triplets smile.

"We can do all of them bub, where to first?" Chris replied.

"Umm the park! No bowling! No mini golf! Target! Wait we haven't eaten so food!" You answered quickly.

"Sweetheart, take a deep breath. How about we go to Target, get some food and head to the park first?" Matt suggested calmly.

"Then we can go to mini golf." Nick continued.

"And end the day with bowling." Chris finished.

"Sounds good! Let's go!" You cheered, rushing to the stairs down to the car, the trio laughing softly.

"I'll get her shoes." Chris mentioned, grabbing a pair of your Converse.

By the time the triplets made it to the car, you were already sat in the back having unlocked the car, and playing a game on your phone.

"Bub, your forgetting something." Chris said, as Matt started the car. You looked up and realised he was holding your shoes.

"Oh right." You giggled, slipping them on and putting your feet on Nick's lap, letting him do your laces.

"To Target!" You cheered.

Music began to play as you looked out the window, watching the world go by and before you knew it, you had arrived at Target. The guys got out first before you, something they always did, in case you walked out in front of a car from being distracted.

"I'm gonna get some sour gummy worms!" You said, already excited for the sweet treats.

"Kid, you don't need anymore sugar." Nick said with a laugh. You stuck your tongue out as you all went into the large store.

You all started looking around, grabbing some stuff you wanted for now or later, Chris grabbed a large case of Pepsi saying he was running low, but you knew there were at least ten cans in the fridge. You then drifted away from the guys, a few fidget toys grabbing your attention.

~~~~

As you looked at the different toys, Nick, Matt and Chris started to panic, not seeing you by their side. The trio were protective over you and knew you didn't like being alone, so losing you in a large store wasn't good.

"She was just here!" Matt exclaimed.

"Where would she go?" Chris questioned.

"There!" Nick shouted, pointing out your small figure by the end of the toy aisle. You had a good handful of fidget toys now.

The three rushed over to you as you looked up at them with a sheepish smile. Knowing you made them panic.

"I got distracted..." You mumbled, holding the fidget toys.

"It's okay, petal, but tell us next time. Or grab one of us." Matt said gently, running a hand through your hair.

"Yeah bub, we don't wanna lose you in Target." Chris added.

"We're not mad." Nick reassured you, knowing you were thinking that.

"Okay! But look at these! They light up too!" You cheered, showing the brothers the toys you found. They smiled, knowing you were happy.

"We'll get all of them, sweetheart." Nick said, taking them to hold, in case anything else caught your interest.

You smiled wide as you all continued shopping before heading off to the park. The guys cherished days like this with you, knowing you'd get a lot of your energy out and be extra happy.

[moodymisty]

Talos giving his serf a hug <3 Done on stream.

Full is on poipiku, password is hamwarmer

[elliesngirl]

Assigned To You

Nerd! Loser! Ellie Williams x Fem! Popular! Reader

WC: 2.1k

Warnings: None

Part 2: Prev/Next

Let me know it you wanna be in the taglist! (I have an English exam tomorrow! wish me luck..)

------

As Ellie walked through the door that night, the inviting aroma of freshly baked pizza wafted through the air, drawing her attention even before she heard Joel’s familiar, warm voice. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?” he asked, his face lighting up as he pulled her into one of his signature bear hugs.

Ellie returned the hug, her earlier frustrations melting away in his comforting embrace. She smiled brightly. “It was fun! I have this history project, and I got paired with this girl.” Her tone was casual, but there was a slight hesitation in her voice.

Joel raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “A girl, huh?”

Ellie’s face flushed a deep shade of red as she shook her head quickly, her hands gesturing wildly. “No, no, no! Not like that. I don’t like her!” she blurted out, her voice slightly higher-pitched than usual.

Joel chuckled softly, clearly unconvinced but willing to play along. “Sure, sure, whatever you say,” he teased, his smirk widening as Ellie groaned in frustration.

“I mean it!” she insisted, huffing slightly before spinning around to head toward her room. “Anyway, I’m gonna go text her… for project purposes!” she called over her shoulder, practically sprinting up the stairs before Joel could tease her any further.

Once inside her room, Ellie closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, taking a deep breath to compose herself. She glanced around her small, cosy sanctuary—a space that reflected her personality perfectly. The walls were adorned with Spider-Man posters and her favourite sketches of dinosaurs and sharks. Her desk, illuminated by a soft desk lamp, was impeccably organized, just like the rest of the room.

She tossed her bag onto her neatly made Spider-Man bed and sank into her chair, her fingers hesitating over her phone. After a moment’s hesitation, she opened Instagram and accepted your request. Her eyes widened as she took in your profile—over 7,000 followers, a seemingly endless stream of comments, and photos that looked like they belonged in a magazine.

Her heart raced as she typed out a simple, two-word message: Ellie_TheDino: Hey!

As soon as she hit send, Ellie locked her phone and tossed it onto her bed like it was a ticking time bomb. Her chest felt tight with nerves. What if you thought she was weird? What if you didn’t reply at all? Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she decided to focus on something else. She grabbed her notebook from her desk, flipping it open to work on another assignment.

“Ellie! Dinner!” Joel’s voice called from downstairs, breaking her concentration.

Ellie set her pen down and rushed to the dining room, the promise of food lifting her spirits. She slid into her usual seat across from Joel, her mouth watering at the sight of the pizza he had prepared.

“Are you excited for pizza night?” Joel teased, his eyes twinkling as he passed her a plate.

“Always,” Ellie replied, grabbing a slice and taking a big bite. She let out an exaggerated, satisfied hum. “Mmm, you make the best pizza, Joel!”

Joel laughed, shaking his head. “It’s just pizza, kiddo.”

“Nope, it’s special when you make it,” Ellie insisted with a grin. They fell into easy conversation as they ate, Joel sharing stories from his day while Ellie occasionally chimed in with 'gossip' at school.

When the last slice was gone, Joel leaned back in his chair, patting his stomach contentedly. “So, dessert?”

Ellie’s face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Ice cream?”

Joel chuckled, already standing to grab the bowls. “What else?”

A few minutes later, Ellie was back at the table with a generous serving of her favourite ice cream in front of her. She dug in happily, savouring the cool, creamy treat as Joel sat across from her.

“So,” Joel began, his tone casual but laced with curiosity, “what’s this girl like?”

Ellie nearly choked on her spoonful of ice cream, coughing as she glared at him. “Joel!”

“What?” he said, raising his hands in mock innocence, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.

“She’s just my partner for a history project. That’s it,” Ellie insisted firmly, though the faint blush creeping up her cheeks betrayed her words.

Joel smirked knowingly but decided to drop the subject. “If you say so, kiddo.”

After finishing dessert, Ellie excused herself and headed back to her room. The moment she closed the door, her nerves kicked in again. She grabbed her phone, unlocking it to check for a reply. The sight of an empty chat screen made her heart sink slightly.

She frowned, placing her phone face down on her desk and telling herself not to overthink it. “She’s probably just busy,” Ellie muttered under her breath, trying to reassure herself.

She sat down at her desk and picked up her pencil, attempting to focus on her assignments, but her thoughts kept drifting back to you. What were you doing right now? Were you even thinking about the project?

Meanwhile, in your sprawling bedroom, you were propped against fluffy pink pillows on your king-sized bed, your phone pressed to your ear as Olivia’s voice filled the silence.

“I’m telling you, Jesse has feelings for you,” Olivia said dramatically.

You rolled your eyes. “If that’s true, maybe you should tell him I don’t like him.”

“You’re impossible! Then who do you like?”

“No one,” you said with a shrug. “Relationships are overrated, and couples are annoying.”

Olivia groaned in exasperation. “Oh my god, you’re so frustrating sometimes.”

“Drop it, Liv,” you said, your tone flat.

“Fine,” she huffed, quickly pivoting the conversation to gush about her own crushes. You tuned her out,

Meanwhile, in your sprawling bedroom, you were propped against fluffy pink pillows on your king-sized bed, your phone pressed to your ear as Olivia’s voice filled the silence.

The room around you was nothing short of a pink paradise, bathed in a soft glow from a massive crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling. The walls were painted a pastel pink, adorned with framed photos of you and your friends, glossy magazine covers, and aesthetic mood boards you had pieced together over time. Along one wall, an oversized mirror with LED lights framed its edges, reflecting the luxurious chaos of the space.

Stuffed animals were scattered everywhere—oversized bears lounging in the corner, plush bunnies perched on shelves, and a cluster of tiny squishy toys lined up neatly on your windowsill. Despite the childish charm they brought, the room screamed sophistication. A vanity table sat against another wall, its surface covered in an array of makeup palettes, lipsticks, and high-end skincare products. Each item was meticulously arranged, almost like a display in a luxury department store.

Next to the vanity was a walk-in closet with its glass doors slightly ajar, revealing a treasure trove of designer bags and clothes. Rows of neatly hung outfits, organized by colour and season, stretched into the depths of the closet. Chanel, Dior, Prada—every label imaginable—were casually displayed as though you owned your personal boutique. Stacked shelves held boxes of designer shoes, while the centre island of the closet displayed your collection of sparkling accessories.

Your bed, the centrepiece of the room, was covered in a plush pink duvet with matching pillows embroidered with intricate floral designs. The bedposts were draped with delicate fairy lights that gave the entire space an ethereal glow. A stack of fashion magazines sat on the nightstand alongside your gold-trimmed iPad, which blinked with notifications from your bustling social life.

“I’m telling you, Jesse has feelings for you,” Olivia said dramatically, her voice pulling you back to reality.

You rolled your eyes, letting out a soft scoff as you stared at your reflection in the vanity mirror. “If that’s true, maybe you should tell him I don’t like him.”

“You’re impossible! Then who do you like?”

“No one,” you said with a shrug, leaning back against the fluffy pillows. “Relationships are overrated, and couples are annoying.”

Olivia groaned loudly, exasperated. “Oh my god, you’re so frustrating sometimes.”

“Drop it, Liv,” you said, your tone flat as you absentmindedly scrolled through TikTok on your phone.

“Fine,” she huffed, quickly shifting the conversation to gush about her own crushes. You half-listened, responding with the occasional “Mm-hmm” or “Oh, really?” while liking videos of makeup tutorials and luxury hauls.

“Y/n! Dinner!” your mum’s voice called from downstairs, pulling you out of your scrolling trance.

“Gotta go,” you told Olivia, cutting her off mid-sentence. You tossed your phone onto the silk duvet and headed downstairs, where your mum and younger sister were seated at the dining table.

Your mum, dressed impeccably as always, scrolled through her tablet, barely glancing up as she sipped a glass of wine. Your younger sister was similarly engrossed in her phone, poking at her food without much interest.

“I’m gonna eat in my room,” you said casually, grabbing your plate. Your mum gave a distracted nod, her eyes never leaving the screen.

Back upstairs, you plopped down on your bed, balancing the plate in one hand while your other resumed its familiar position, scrolling through Instagram. Photos of the weekend’s parties, perfectly posed group shots, and aesthetic brunch tables filled your feed. You double-tapped a few before switching to TikTok again, entirely forgetting about the message Ellie had sent you earlier.

For you, the project with Ellie was just another mundane task to tick off your list, lost in the whirlwind of your busy, glamorous life. Across town, though, Ellie was lying awake in her tidy, small bedroom, wondering if she’d ever get a reply.

The next day at school, Ellie was walking down the hallway, her eyes scanning the crowd of students when she spotted you at your locker. You were standing with your back to her, attaching a small mirror to the inside of your locker door, your attention focused as you touched up your makeup. The soft click of your lipstick cap echoed in the otherwise noisy hallway, and Ellie felt a rush of nervous energy, her heart beating a little faster than usual.

Without hesitation, she quickened her pace, making her way toward you. As she neared, she couldn't help but feel a wave of anticipation build in her chest. When she reached you, she called out, her voice a little sharper than she intended.

"You didn’t message me back last night!"

You turned around, a slight look of confusion crossing your face as you processed her words. It took a moment for you to register, and then, realization hit.

"Shit, Ellie, I’m so sorry," you said with a frown, clearly genuine. "It totally slipped my mind. I’ve just been busy with everything."

Ellie’s breath hitched slightly when she heard her name roll off your tongue. The casual way you said it sent a strange, electric shiver down her spine, making it hard for her to stay composed. She didn’t want to argue about it—there was no point.

"It’s okay!" Ellie quickly responded, trying to keep things light, her voice almost a little too cheerful. "How about we organize a date for the project? How’s Saturday?"

You raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk playing at the corners of your lips. "Yeah, that works," you said with an easy shrug. "I’ll text you my address."

Ellie hesitated, her guard still up after the message from last night, unsure of your intentions. She gave you a small look, one that was a mix of scepticism and cautious curiosity. After a moment, you caught the look, and without missing a beat, you pulled out your phone from your designer bag and quickly typed something out.

“Did you get that?” you asked, your voice casual, but Ellie couldn’t help but notice the faint flicker of something else in your eyes—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Ellie’s phone buzzed almost immediately, and she pulled it out, a grin spreading across her face as she saw your message pop up on the screen: your address.

"Yes!" she said, her voice a little too eager, but she couldn’t help it. You had just confirmed something she’d been quietly hoping for, and she felt her nerves ease up just a little.

"Sweet," you exclaimed, your smile flashing across your face before you slammed your locker shut with a loud clang. Ellie jumped slightly at the sudden noise, her heart skipping a beat. You didn’t seem to notice, already turning to leave as you walked away, your mini skirt swishing with every step.

Ellie couldn’t help herself. As you walked away, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from your exposed legs, the way you moved with such ease and confidence. You looked effortlessly stylish in that skirt, and Ellie couldn’t help but feel a twinge of something—a mix of admiration and something else she hadn’t fully acknowledged yet.

For a moment, she just stood there, watching you disappear down the hallway, before she snapped out of it, forcing herself to focus on the upcoming project. But even then, her thoughts kept returning to you, to your smile, to how she felt so out of her depth whenever you were around.

--

Taglist @vahnilla @radioheadfan699 @defnoteleonor @robinphobia @liztreez

[themindofachronicdaydreamer]

busy woman!

introduction | track 18 | [you are here!] | track 20

actor!satoru gojo x singer!fem!reader [welcome to track 19!] welcome to Tokyo, Japan: the hotspot for pop culture! you, a singer and songwriter, wrapped up your tour for your last album six months ago. things got... messy, and you needed a break. but now you're back and ready to finish your next album! what will be the inspiration for this one?

────୨ৎ─────────୨ৎ─────────୨ৎ────

Your phone buzzes at 11:57, and you check your reflection one more time before grabbing your purse and heading out the door. Satoru stands by the car, already in the motion of opening the car door for you. You greet him with a quick hello and a kiss, then thank him and settle into your spot as he walks back around his car to get in the driver seat.

"So, popstar," he begins as he puts the car in drive and pulls out of your driveway. "When do I get the details on this music video?"

You giggle at his urgency. "When we're at the studio."

"What?" Satoru groans. "I have to wait that long?"

"Yes," you nod.

"Ugh." Satoru turns and looks at you over the rims of his sunglasses, quickly winking before returning his gaze to the road. "At least let me hear some other songs too for being so patient and such a good boyfriend?"

You shake your head. "Maybe."

“I’ll take it!” Satoru beams like you just handed him a Grammy instead of a vague promise. Then, without missing a beat, he leans over to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Satoru!” you yelp, laughing as you jerk slightly away. “You’re driving!”

He only shrugs, grinning like he’s the poster boy for recklessness in love. “So worth it.”

The rest of the drive is filled with his dramatic fake-sulking, complaining about being withheld music video details like he’s been emotionally wronged, and your laughter spilling out the passenger side window. He makes up entire fake songs based on your album titles and insists you give him a songwriting credit for emotional support. By the time you pull up to the studio, Satoru is practically vibrating with excitement. He puts the car in park with exaggerated flourish, and looks at you with the earnestness of someone about to make a life-changing confession.He leans across the console, hands dramatically clasped in his lap.

“Before we go in," he says, and you watch him lick his lips before going on, "I just want to say that I have been the picture of patience, and I believe this deserves a reward. Maybe in the form of you naming a song after me?"

You arch a brow, fighting a smile. “You mean the reward is not simply basking in my presence for the afternoon?”

He grins, eyes bright behind his sunglasses. “That’s a given, but I’m trying to build my portfolio as world’s best boyfriend. Gotta keep my résumé fresh.”

You snort, unbuckling your seatbelt and picking up your bag. “A song named after you, huh? That’s a big ask. What would I even call it?”

Satoru’s face grows contemplative. “I mean, something timeless, obviously. It has to be a hit. Maybe My Boyfriend is the Best. That flows off the tongue real well."

You can’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes while you slide your bag over your arm and rest it on your shoulder. “Oh, so modest of you. And what’s track two called - Humble?”

"No, that's already a song." Satoru shakes his head. He hops out of the car, jogging around to your side and opening your door with another exaggerated bow. “Track two could be called My Gentleman, because I am most definitely yours, and I am, indeed, a gentleman."

You laugh as you take his hand and step out of the car. “All these ideas and not one called Delusions of Grandeur?”

"The only delusions I have, my love," he says, bringing the back of your hand toward his lips, "are about how I’m supposed to survive a whole day around you without falling even harder. Which, by the way, is statistically impossible at this point.”

You groan, trying not to grin as he kisses your knuckles with just enough sincerity to make your heart stutter. “You’re insufferable,” you whisper, but your voice is soft and hopelessly fond.

He straightens, still holding your hand, his eyes shining with all the lightness and mischief you’ve come to love. “I know. It’s my greatest talent. Second only to being your number-one fan.”

You squeeze his hand, letting the affection spill over into a small, exasperated laugh. He’s looking at you with so much open adoration, it’s almost impossible not to close the space between you. So you don’t resist, and you lean in, catching him by surprise with a kiss that’s meant to be quick, but lingers just a moment longer than planned. He melts instantly, lips smiling against yours. His free hand comes up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your skin as if he can’t quite believe you’re real. After a moment, you pull away slowly, his breath still warm against your lips. Neither of you says anything. There’s just the soft hum of the city around you, the gentle heat of the sun through the clouds, and the closeness that feels like something suspended in honey.

“Come on,” you murmur, your voice low and affectionate as your fingers thread through his. “You’ve waited this long. Let’s get you your reward.”

Inside, the air is cooler, crisp with the faint scent of coffee and worn leather, buzzing softly with the low hum of electronics and muted voices behind glass. The studio feels like a second skin to you by now, a quiet kind of sacred, lined with velvet-draped sound booths and racks of cables you could probably navigate with your eyes closed. But Satoru walks like he’s in a museum of magic, reverent and loud all at once, eyes wide behind his sunglasses as he scans the gold records and photo frames on the wall.

As you approach, the studio door swings open, revealing Nanami, your producer, standing at the soundboard with his usual composed, slightly bored expression. His sleeves are rolled up neatly, his glasses perched precisely on his nose. Nanami glances up, nodding at you. He adjusts his tie as he speaks. “You’re on time today. Impressive.”

"Hello to you too, Nanami," you greet with a grin.

Nanami’s eyes flicker with a hint of amusement that softens the edges of his chronic stoicism. “I see you brought company.” His gaze shifts to Satoru, taking in the sharp suit, the boyish energy, the clear air of someone who is very used to being the center of attention.

"Satoru Gojo," your boyfriend says which extending his hand to shake Nanami's. The blond stares down at the hand for a moment before taking it in his own, shaking firmly as Satoru continues speaking. "I am her number one fan and am here to see how the magic is made. And, perhaps, add some background vocals? I have been practicing my high notes-"

Nanami releases Satoru’s hand with a flat expression. “Let’s avoid that,” he says dryly, then turns to the soundboard.

"Oh, I like him," Satoru whispers to you - very poorly so, as Nanami hears every word.

Your producer clears his throat pointedly, shooting Satoru a dry look over his shoulder. “I’m thrilled,” he flatly says, adjusting a dial on the soundboard with practiced ease. “Now, if we could return to the actual purpose of today’s session?”

You flash Nanami a grateful look and give Satoru a warning nudge with your elbow, which only earns you an exaggerated wink and a silent promise to behave for now. You settle into your favorite spot by the console, letting your bag drop to the floor and tucking your legs beneath you as you start pulling up the session files.

“Okay,” you say, your voice carrying a thread of anticipation as you scroll. “Since you’ve waited so patiently, Mr. Number One Fan, you get to be the first person outside the team to hear the mastered version.”

Satoru straightens up, as attentive as you’ve ever seen him, all bravado melting into something genuine. “I’m honored. Truly. I might cry. Tears of joy, of course."

You hit play, and the room fills with the familiar shimmer of the opening bars of Please Please Please - the instrumental at the beginning, the hint of your humor in the lyrics as you sing. Satoru takes in each lyric, the raw ache and playful apprehension you and Nanami created through the melody that is now blooming into the air between you.

After the final chorus, the music fades out, and you nervously turn to Satoru. You're surprised to see that no, he does not have a look of disgust on his face. No, he's not faking a pitiful smile, and his eardrums are not bleeding, as far as you can tell. Actually, his eyes sparkle with glee, and he looks as though he has witnessed a miracle right here, right before his eyes, and it's not that you just played the final demo of a potential future single.

You hesitate. He seems like he liked it, but he hasn't said anything yet, and the room is awkwardly still aside from the constant buzz of the still-on soundboard. Just as you are about to say something, Satoru breaks into a grin even more wide, so wide it’s almost blinding, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, absolutely beaming at you like you’ve just handed him the world, neatly packaged in three minute and six second song.

He breathes out, “Holy shit,” with the unfiltered awe of someone who’s just found out magic is real and it sounds like your voice hitting those soft high notes. A entire song dedicated to begging him to behave? Satoru cannot believe his luck right now. How he loves being a muse, your muse.

"So, do you like it?" you ask. There's a bit of heat in your cheeks, unsure how to receive his reaction so far.

"Yes! Yes, yes. I love it- sorry. I'm just," Satoru pauses as he finds the right word before continuing, "speechless. Like, for real. Your voice never fails to amaze me."

Immediately, your face turns up in a smile, the praise making your heart race. "Thank you, Toru."

"Were we showing him the other one?" Nanami inquires, and Satoru, although he forgot the other man was there, jumps on this idea without a second thought.

"Another one? Uh, yes. She promised me," he answers. "Right?"

Nanami glances at you, already setting up the next track on the console with smooth efficiency. “You said there was another you wanted to show him. The… suggestively titled one?”

You giggle. "It's not that suggestive, Nanami. You can just say Bed Chem. You don't have to sensor it."

"Wait," Satoru interjects with wide eyes and urgency. "You have a song called Bed Chem?"

"It's more of a demo right now," you shrug.

"Still!" he exclaims. "Can I hear it? Please?"

You glance over at Nanami who raises a brow at you. You nod, and after pressing a few buttons, the beat of the song begins. The song is mostly done, the vocals recorded and most of the music arranged by Nanami done; on the other hand, harmonies and backing vocals are needed, and some areas need reworked. Still, you are excited to show him what you crafted.

Satoru is more reactive during this song. He tilts his head during the chorus, head nodding with the rhythm of the music. He smiles at the lyrics, knowing they are, at least loosely, inspired by him. The chorus hits and he chuckles under his breath, tapping a foot along with the music. As the song goes on, your voice dances over the melody, teasing, sultry, and impossible to misinterpret. Every so often, Satoru glances at you, a look of dawning realization and mischief blooming on his face, like he’s seeing every memory that inspired the lyrics flash before his eyes.

The song cuts out, and Satoru doesn't wait this time. Immediately, he's kissing you on the cheek and going on and on about how honored he is to have a song written about him, quoting the line: "Who's the cute guy with the wide blue eyes and the big bad mm? Like". He calls you horny Shakespeare, and Nanami, bless him, audibly groans.

“Please,” the producer mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose, “do not encourage her.”

But Satoru is far from done. He’s practically glowing, all energy and limbs as he throws a hand over his heart like he’s been personally serenaded by divinity itself. “Horny Shakespeare!” he repeats, triumphant. “That’s you, baby. That’s your new genre. We’re coining that.”

"We?" You laugh.

"Yes, we. I'm gonna be in this music video, too!"

"I haven't even told you the idea for the first one, yet!"

────୨ৎ─────────୨ৎ─────────୨ৎ────

taglist!: comment to be added!

@chosoly @celloccino @inumakixs @linaaeatsfamilies @harryzcherry @enchantinghonymoon @coffeeluvr96 @cipheress-to-k-pop @poopooindamouf @princesa14 @megumisluciouslashes @kisakunt @muli-wam @ilovemyhusbandnanami @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @lurkerreader @idexmids @kokushibosbestie @nanamirah @twoderanged @minasuniverse @briezy04764 @brixmeeler @gaslightbuthot @linny-bloggs @seleyaaaa @gurlhere4fluff @sweetlike-sugarplum @bearchermer @miizuzu @hanamatopoeia @amortsukii @phob1cc @nina-from-317 @matcha-kitty13 @bbysredhearts @karvokr

[adhdnursegoat]

Unauthorized Biography

Word count: 2.6K

Content Warning: fanfiction about fanfiction, riddler experiences his own fanfiction, dramatic readings of smut, fangirl terrorism, reader is unwell

Pairing: Edward Nigma X fem reader

Setting: Arkhamverse

Edward Nigma was a man who required 24/7, undivided, single-minded devotion.

Not affection. Not partnership. Devotion. The kind that demanded you rearrange your entire schedule, moral compass, and internal monologue around the gravitational pull of his ego. The kind of loyalty that bordered on spiritual. 

And you? You gave it freely. Willingly. Obsessively. Your admiration for him wasn’t subtle. It was a public service announcement. A one-woman private fan club with no shame and no filter. If he so much as quoted Fibonacci at breakfast, you clapped. If he ranted about subpar encryption algorithms over dinner, you swooned. You had once compared the cadence of his voice to an aria composed by artificial intelligence and rage. 

Lucky for you, he hadn’t kicked you out for it.

In fact, your absolute, shameless worship of him was probably the only reason he tolerated you at all. No—that wasn’t fair. He didn’t just tolerate you. You were useful. Amusing, even. A well-trained audience with the occasional flash of insight. A little mascot who threw yourself at his feet and begged for the privilege of watching him monologue about zero-knowledge proofs or his latest grudge against the GCPD and Batman and whoever poor bastard that crossed him. You doted. You applauded. You followed him around with bright eyes and a notebook. You were—forgive the crude term—a groupie. A fangirl. A living, breathing ego boost in sneakers.

You loved him. Not in some vague, innocent, fluttery-hearted way. No, you loved Edward Nigma the way a forest fire loves droughts. You adored his mind. His charisma. His cruelty. You memorized the lines of his face, tracked the rhythm of his speech, catalogued his temper tantrums like weather patterns. You found poetry in the way he cursed at his bots when they failed. You once described his smile as “visceral.” And meant it.

You were content—almost content—with knowing it would never be returned. You weren’t delusional. Not entirely. You understood who he was. The kind of man he was. What made him tick. The psych profiles were public domain by now—Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Borderline, High-functioning sociopath. Obsessive-Compulsive Traits, God Complex, take your pick of the DSM-5. 

Love wasn’t in his code. You knew that. You accepted it. So you didn’t ask for affection. You didn’t need it. You just needed the privilege of being near him.

And he? Well. He let you stay. Because deep down, maybe, just maybe, there was a part of him that liked being loved this loudly. 

Even if he’d rather die than admit it.

Of course, that never stopped you. Not really. Your love wasn’t the sort that shriveled without reciprocation. No, your affections were self-sustaining—thriving on scraps, on glances, on that rare moment when Edward let his guard down long enough to forget you were watching. Still, even your depraved little heart had limits. You could only bottle up so many fantasies before the pressure built, before your mind—bless it—needed an outlet.

So, naturally, you turned to the only coping mechanism you trusted: fanfiction.

Yes. Fanfiction.

Not just yours. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no… 

There was an entire underground fandom dedicated to Gotham’s infamous Rogues Gallery, an entire internet ecosystem of anonymity and madness. Forums, blogs, private Discord servers, locked taglists. Digital shrines built to the city’s most wanted. People who didn’t just fear the rogues—they loved them. Obsessively. Passionately. Erotically.

And you? Well, you fit right in.

You picked the best following, obviously.

Each rogue had their own little cult: Joker with his chaos-worshippers. Ivy and her eco-feminist simps. Two-Face and his yin-yang kink crowd. Scarecrow and his masochists. Even fucking Condiment King had a niche following—mostly ironic, you assumed. But The Riddler? The Riddler had an audience. A devoted one. Hundreds of writers, artists, and degenerates bleeding their admiration into every piece of horny prose they uploaded.

So yes, you indulged. You let yourself get pulled into the filth. You read late into the night, one hand buried between your thighs and the other scrolling. And if you happened to print out your favorites? Keep a few copies stashed for emergencies? Well, who was going to stop you?

He was your heart. Your gloriously brilliant, narcissistic, sociopathic, riddle-wielding megalomaniac of a man. You scrolled endlessly through his tag, heart pounding every time you found a fic that got the voice just right. Every time someone described his hands the way you imagined them—precise, elegant, cruel. You had favorites bookmarked. You had headcanons. You had opinions about his stamina. You knew exactly how you wanted him, and the internet—God bless America—gave you content.

...Yet.

Certainly not Edward.

He had no idea.

But then—you slipped up.

You weren’t paying attention. Which, ironically, was exactly the sort of thing that got you in trouble. Not just with him. With yourself. With the universe. But in your defense, this piece was so good—hot enough to short-circuit your brain. The kind of smut that made your thighs shift and your fingers twitch, your mouth parted just slightly as you reread the same paragraph for the third time, breath catching with every line...

“You’re really pushing it today,” he rasps, voice taut with suppressed fury. His empty hand catches your other wrist, keeping you close to his body. His thumbs rub little circles on your palms, but the look in his eyes is anything but soft. It’s a warning. “Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you?”

“Something hot, I hope.”

Edward’s eyes narrow. “You think you’re cute, don’t you?” He walks you backward, step by step, deep into the bedroom, your low fairy lights luminating the pathway. “That smart mouth. Running away from me. Acting like a petulant child just to see how far you can push me.”

“Is it working?”

“Oh, it’s working.”

You were just reaching the clash—already squirming a little where you sat, lip caught between your teeth—when it was ripped away from you. Not emotionally. Not metaphorically. Physically. Yanked.

A startled whine burst out of you, unfiltered and immediate, something sharp and needy and too genuine to fake. You clutched at the air, blinking in disoriented horror as the page disappeared from your hands.

And then you heard him.

“What,” Edward drawled, dangerously calm, “could possibly be so important that it prevents you from listening when I’m talking to you?”

Your blood ran cold.

Your face ran hot.

Your body made a whiplash attempt to do both at once, because there he was—looming, frowning, one hand pinched around the paper you’d just been drooling over. It hung limply in his grasp, crinkled from your fingers, the print still fresh enough to read with ease if he so much as tilted his head.

Which he did.

Which he was doing now.

You were fucked. So fucked.

The page crackled softly as he adjusted his grip, fingers twitching with faint disdain. You weren’t sure if it was because of the content or the formatting—Edward had opinions about both. And yet… he still hadn’t looked at you. Still hadn’t handed it back. Still hadn’t burned it, ripped it, made a scene.

Edward Nigma, The Riddler, was reading it.

Your stomach dropped through the floor. “Edward,” you tried, voice too high, too quick, “that’s not—I mean, it’s just—"

His brows twitched. His eyes narrowed. His mouth moved—just slightly, silently—and you knew exactly what line he’d hit.

And then he read it. Aloud.

“‘You think you’re cute, don’t you?’” His tone was flat. Curious. Calculating.

Your soul detached from your body.

Edward blinked. Once. Then again. And then slowly, like he was solving a riddle carved into an ancient tomb, he tilted his head and looked at you. Something flickered behind his eyes. Confusion, sure. Offense? Probably. But also… amusement. Or horror. Maybe both. He was short-circuiting in real time.

“This is…” He flipped the page, scanning more. “This is me. This is fictional pornography of me. You’re reading… your own filth about me.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “I mean—not mine mine. I didn’t write it—”

“Illiteracy would be the least concerning factor here,” he muttered, eyes flicking down again, brow furrowing deeper. He was blushing now. You could see it. High on his cheeks, creeping toward the tips of his ears. His gaze darted, flicked across a line that made his nostrils flare and his lips part slightly, and oh no, he was still reading.

“Edward,” you croaked, reaching for the paper. “Please—”

But he stepped back. Out of reach. He held it high, a hostage negotiator clutching a ticking bomb.

“Do you have any idea what kind of psychological implications are buried in this text?” he asked, the voice of a man drowning in disbelief. “Do you have any idea what this says about your obsessive tendencies, your compulsive emotional projection, your frankly unrealistic expectations of my—” He paused. His mouth moved. You saw his pupils dilate. “Oh my God, there’s a line about my hands—”

That was your moment. You lunged. Snatched the page right from his distracted grasp.

“Hey—!”

You didn’t run. No. You stood your ground, smoothed the page, cleared your throat, and read it aloud.

“‘That smart mouth. Running away from me. Acting like a petulant child just to see how far you can push me—’”

“STOP READING THAT IN FRONT OF ME,” Edward barked, voice an octave too high, already retreating like a spooked alley cat.

“‘Oh, it’s working,’” you purred, walking after him with the slow, deliberate menace of someone with nothing to lose.

“You’re unwell!” he snapped, backpedaling toward the hallway.

“Thank you,” you chirped sweetly, flipping the page.

“Do not follow me with that—”

You did.

You absolutely did.

You pressed forward, drunk on the power of watching Gotham’s most arrogant man literally run from your voice.

“‘In one swift, fluid motion, he spins you around—’”

“Do not say the dresser line—”

“‘The way he shoves you into the dresser, the mirror rattling against the wall—’” you called after him, voice sing-song. “—is almost reckless, and it makes you giggle.’”

Edward made a sound—half choke, half high-pitched snarl—and whipped around with wide eyes. “That never happened.”

You flipped the page like a weapon, eyes sparkling. “No,” you purred, grinning, “but you’re thinking about it now.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Color flared in his cheeks, high and hot. “You are—” His voice broke again, and he pointed at you, trembling slightly with indignation. “—deranged. You have a condition. You need to be sedated.”

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” you chirped, flipping to a fresh page. “Let’s see… ‘his grip tightens on your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze—’”

“No.”

“‘Gone is the teasing smirk, replaced by raw, unfiltered need—’”

“STOP!”

“‘You know sometimes you can push him too far, but the sight of him like this, utterly consumed by desire—’”

“OH MY GOD.”

“You don’t remember this one?” You paused, feigning confusion. “You wanted me to call you Mister Nigma, sir—”

Edward’s entire soul left his body. You could see it. The exact moment he ascended into another realm. He staggered back like he’d been hit by a tranquilizer dart, one hand flailing for balance against the nearest wall.

“Where did you even get these?” he croaked.

A theatrical gasp was inhaled sharply through your lips, a hand to your chest. “Oh, Eddie…” You gave him a wicked, sympathetic smile. “Baby, you’ve got fans.”

He looked like he was about to vomit.

Then you stepped forward, shaking the next page out with reverence. “You want to hear the one with the wet thong line? It’s a favorite.”

“No!” he cried, a man on the edge. “You’re sick! You’re feral! You need a leash and—wait, don’t read another word—”

“‘And as if he can read your mind, Edward’s hand shifts between your legs—’”

Reaching a fever pitch, he let out an honest-to-god shriek and bolted back down the hall, muttering curses about arson and selective amnesia.

And you? You followed. Smiling. Reading.

Because if you were going to go to hell, you were dragging him with you.

You pursued him with the unrelenting focus of someone with absolutely no shame and nothing to lose. Edward was retreating fast now, his boots scuffing the concrete as he moved like the hallway might grow a trapdoor to swallow him if he just ran hard enough.

“You’re embarrassing yourself!” he called over his shoulder, breathless, one hand gesturing frantically while the other waved in an attempt to swat away your voice like a fly. “Do you want me to have a stroke?! Is that your plan?!”

“I’m just trying to support your legacy!” you beamed.

He disappeared around the corner.

You took a deep breath and turned the page.

“‘M-Mister Nigma…’ you gasp, your voice breathy and needy as you rock on his fingers—’”

“NOOOOOO!”

You rounded the bend just in time to see him stumble against the far wall, his hands braced like he was trying to physically hold his soul inside his body. His ears were crimson. His hair was a disaster. His breathing was not okay.

“‘Please, please, Mister Nigma, sir, please make me cum—’”

“SHUT! UP!” he howled, hands flying to his head. “I’M GOING TO FLING MYSELF INTO THE GOTHAM BAY.”

“Eddie,” you purred sweetly, slowing your pace now, savoring the kill. “You should be flattered. Not everyone gets literary tribute written to the exact way they touch cunt.”

“IT’S FICTION!” he screamed, voice cracking. “IT’S LITERARY DEFAMATION!”

You stopped a few feet away, grinning down at him where he had slumped dramatically against the wall like a man in mourning.

“Oh,” you cooed, folding the papers with exaggerated care, tucking the chaos under an arm. “If you think this is bad, wait until you see the fanart.”

His whole body shuddered. “There’s pictures?”

“Full color,” you cooed. “Shading and everything.”

Edward groaned—loud, full-body, forehead-to-wall groaned.

And you, victorious and still high off the chase, just patted his shoulder as he tried to reboot.

“Let me know if you want me to have the author write a sequel,” you added helpfully. “I was thinking next time, maybe in your workshop. Tools involved. Bit of a dom!Riddler callback…”

He wheezed like a dying cat as he slid to the floor. Your eyes followed, watching bemused, lips pursing to the side.

“...I’ll take that as a yes.”

AN: Shameless plug of my fic Candy referenced in this. :3

Did you like this? Check out the rest of the PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE RIDDLER series!

Tag List: @trulydisturbed @wolfsrahne28 @riddled-with-fear @illustratedartist @angelsmile28 @caesariawritesstuff @jezabellesunshine @wingedqueenlynx @jazanatorr

If you are interested in being on the tag list please let me know in the comments.

Thanks for the support!

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-OT8

The one where maybe a period doesn't actually have to be the end of the sentence. or The Twenty Eighth Installment of the SKZ!Pack Prequel Series.

Tags: Skz, Stray Kids, Stay, SKZ!pack, ABO, Omegaverse, Skz!Pack prequel, Pack!prequel, ot8, skz x you, skz x reader, femreader, ot8 x you, ot8 x reader, bang chan, lee minho, seo changbin, han jisung, kim seungmin, yang jeongin, lee felix, hwang hyunjin, y/n, skz imagines, skz reactions, skz scenarios, skz abo, skz fluff, skz angst, skz smut

Genre: Angst, LOTS of Fluff, Suggestive, Light Smut

Warnings: Blood, Periods, Periods, Periods. If you don't like talk of menses, this one probably isn't for you. Period Sex, Blood Play, Blood as Lube, Mentions of Abortion, Unhealthy views of menstrual cycles

Title: End of a Sentence

“You look like shit.”

You barely raise your head from where it rests on your forearms at Hwasa’s observation, hearing the rustle as she slides into the seat beside you at the back of the lecture hall. 

“Yeah, well-” You mutter out, turning your head slightly so you can narrow her in your field of vision, the movement making your headache pound behind one of your eyes. “-I feel like shit.” 

She leans on her elbows on the desk, lowering herself so she can scan her gaze over your face, her dark hair falling over the shoulder of the fluffy faux coat she currently wears. 

A wave of lavender washes over you at the movement.

“What’s going on with you? Pre-rut?” She asks in a lower voice, her dark eyes flicking between your own, full lips pulled into a hint of a worried line. 

You shake your head. “Worse.” She stares at you for a moment, and then you see something akin to regretful acknowledgement flash across her gaze.

She sighs. “Ah, shit.” 

You nod, keeping the movement jilted to stop from worsening your headache. “Yep.” She sits back in her chair, blowing out a breath, the perfect dark eyeliner-reminiscent of cat eyes-framing her lashes wrinkling a little as she narrows her gaze, pursing her lips in thought. 

“I mean, you’re in a pack now, does it help at all?” She finally queries, glancing back over to where you still lay slumped over the desk like some sort of victorian plague victim. 

You groan, pushing yourself up to a somewhat sitting position, and ignore the protests of your body as you do so, the pull of the sharp cramps tightening around your midsection, making your pubic bone ache. 

“I don’t know. I haven’t told them.” 

Hwasa’s gaze sharpens on your own, disapproval washing over her pretty features and leaking into her tone when she speaks. “What? But you guys have been together long enough to have this happen several times now, right?” 

You give a little shrug. “Well, yeah, but I don’t hang around them during that time of the month. I give excuses, and crawl into my bed and die for a week, and then when it’s over, I drag my ass back to life and no one is none the wiser.” 

Hwasa crosses her arms over her chest, sharp, pointed nails ticking across the arms of her coat as she stares at you. 

You feel your hackles rise under her gaze. “What?” 

She sighs, long and heavy, like you’re a disappointing child, and retorts, “You need to tell them. They could help you through it, like a rut. Trust me, it’ll be better for everyone.” 

“It’s gross and personal-” You protest right back, already feeling your cheeks heat at the thought of having to talk to the pack-made up entirely of males-and explain to them why you’re out of commission for a week out of the month. “-they’re not gonna understand.” 

She scoffs at that. “Please, you’re all adults, and if they’re not ready to deal with a little bit of period shit, then they have no right to be in your life in the first place.” 

“It’s easier said than done-” You whine, putting your forehead in your palms and staring at the chipped surface of the desk. Someone has drawn a crude pen rendition of what looks like a penis just below your notebook. 

“(Y/N).” Hwasa says your name sternly, and when you don’t look at her, she leans over and loops her fingers around your wrist, causing you to meet her gaze. She fixes you with a firm look. “They’re in college, I’m sure they’ve had the talk a long time ago and know about female anatomy, okay? It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” 

You groan, but she stops you from tugging your gaze away from hers once more. 

“Honey.” She sighs, and her fingers loosen around your wrist a bit, her voice going softer, her expression growing sympathetic. “I know from our time together, and all our years of friendship since, that your ‘time of the month’ if we’re being delicate, is a lot worse than what’s considered normal. So please, just let them in. They might be able to help and it might save you some misery in the long run.” 

You make another little groaning sound, but the headache behind your eyes is pounding and the cramping is only getting worse, so in the end, you acquiesce, at least to just stop talking about it for the moment. 

“Okay.” You sigh and give her the hint of a tight smile. “I’ll talk to them.” 

*****

“They’re getting worse.” You told your mother, standing in front of the bathroom sink, hands braced on the cold tile, staring at your pale reflection in the mirror. 

She had put her hand on your mid back, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “It’s the change. Presenting always affects women differently and more dramatically than men.” 

“I don’t want it.” You had cried, already doubled over from the cramps, tears streaming down your cheeks. 

It was unfair, cruel even, and in that moment, you’d wanted to disappear, cease to exist, sink into the floor. 

“It’s not a choice.” Your mother whispered, pressing kisses to the top of your head. “Women were chosen to suffer, and it is simply something we must endure. In turn, when you are older, the ability to create life will be yours.” 

You’d thought that sounded awful in the moment, but didn’t say anything, and determined to follow in your mother’s footsteps, suffered in silence. 

*******

It was awful, you decided, to be cursed with such a fate. 

Awful in the fact that you could do nothing but curl in your bed and wait for the pains to subside. 

Awful that blood stained your hands and thighs and the floor of the shower when you stood beneath the stream of the water, wanting to be clean for just one single moment, but denied the pleasure, a constant reminder.

Awful that no one knew, no one wanted to know. 

Awful in the way that he looked at you, like you were some sort of disgusting creature, base and dirty and unworthy. 

Awful, awful, awful. 

It was raining, drops pelting the window, wind howling, when he came to stand in the doorway of your darkened room, dressed to go out. 

Sitting up, you had begged him not to go. 

He had simply waved you off, already pulling on his coat. “I don’t have time to sit around with you while you go through whatever this is. Other girls I’ve been with managed to take care of themselves still, get dressed, accompany me, all while this went on.” His lips curved into a sneer as he stared at you, huddled on the bed, bent over from the agony. “At least shower, for god’s sake, put a little effort into yourself for my sake.” 

He’d gone out, leaving you alone, and you decided at that moment that it was better to suffer alone, than suffer under the scathing gaze of someone else. 

*****

At eighteen, you realized your mother had lied to you. 

She’d told you creating life was a gift, a blessing, given to adults. 

The positive test sitting in the shaking palm of your hand said otherwise, a blatant lie bathed in stark pink lines. 

There wasn’t an option, not now. 

It was raining again, when you took the bus to the clinic by yourself. 

It was raining when you went home, alone. 

Raining when you laid curled up on the bathtub floor. 

Raining, raining, raining. 

Bleeding, bleeding, bleeding. 

Awful, awful, awful. 

******

You’re sitting in your bed, curled up against the wall, heating pad held tightly over your midsection, trying to distract yourself with scrolling on your phone, when there’s a knock at the door. 

Heaving yourself up, groaning slightly as it jostles your body and worsens the agonizing cramping, you practically double over as you walk to the door, reaching for the handle. 

On the other side is Hyunjin, flanked by Felix and Jeongin. 

You straighten a little, surprise flickering across your face as you see the omegas standing in the hall of the alpha dorm like they belong here. 

“Oh. Hey.” You manage to get out, palm splayed flat on the heating pad to keep it in place as you stand, leaning against the door. “What are you guys doing here?” 

Hyunjin gives you the sassiest, most annoyed look you think you’ve seen in awhile. 

“Please, like we were gonna sit and let you suffer alone after all you told us in that message?” He sniffs, looking you up and down. “Not very personable by the way, you couldn’t have told us in person?” 

You flush slightly, remembering the text you’d sent the pack the night before. 

‘This is embarrassing, but I’m on my cycle this week, and you probably won’t see me much. It’s usually pretty bad, but don’t worry, I’ll be good as new next week, and I’ve had plenty of experience dealing with it. Just didn’t wanna make any of you worry with my silence. Plus Hwasa told me I needed to tell you. So there. 😛’

“I didn’t think-” You start to say, and Felix cocks his head, staring at you. 

“Didn’t think we’d care? We do.” He says softly, firmly, in a way that makes your bones warm. 

“Yeah, noona.” Jeongin nods from behind Hyunjin’s shoulder. “I don’t know much, but I know enough from having girl friends that this time of month sucks on the regular.” 

Hyunjin loops his arm through yours. “Now c’mon. We have a bath already drawn up for you in the omega dorms. Let’s go before it gets cold.” 

“What, but I-” You begin to protest, but Felix takes your other arm as Jeongin shuts the door to your dorm behind you. 

“No buts.” He admonishes gently, giving you the hint of a smile. “You always help us, now let us help you.” 

It feels odd, foreign even, but you nod anyway, biting your bottom lip and swallowing the rest of your protest as they walk you over to the omega dorms. 

When they lead you into the communal bathroom, the large, sunken tub is already full of steaming water, bath oils shimmering on the surface, bubbles collecting at the edges. 

They really weren’t kidding when they said they’d drawn a bath for you. 

The room is steamy and warm and smells of citrus and something floral adjacent. 

Felix locks the door, and Jeongin moves to grab a couple of towels, as Hyunjin tugs you over to the large tub. 

He releases you, putting his hands on his hips, taking you in before he motions with a tilt of his head. “C’mon then, the water's not getting any warmer.” 

You hesitate, staring at him for a moment, and then you swallow. 

“You guys really don’t have to do this.” 

Jeongin glances at you from his seat on the lip of the tub, dangling his fingers in the water, genuine confusion on his face. “Why wouldn’t we?” 

“Well, just because-” You hedge out, not really sure how much detail to get into. “It’s kind of gross, and it gets messy-really messy, for me-and the bath is so nice, but you really don’t have to stay-” 

Hyunjin’s expression firms as he stares at you as you stutter out excuses. “Please, you don’t think we’re used to messy? C’mon, sweetheart, you’re talking to a room full of omegas here, we’ve got slick and bodily fluids and mess for days.” 

You blow out a breath at that. “I know, but-” “But nothing.” Felix says firmly, his hands going down on your shoulders. “A little blood isn’t gonna put any of us off. Right guys?” He glances to the other two omegas and they both nod without hesitation. “See?” Felix murmurs in your ear, his low voice sending a slight shiver down your spine. He moves a small fingered hand to cover your own where you still hold the heat pack to your lower stomach. “You don’t like to see us suffer, right? And you’ve helped us all through heats at this point, so let us help you now, okay?” 

Your gaze meets Hyunjin’s and he gives you a pointed stare.

“Just get in the fucking bath.”  

Sighing, you finally nod. “Okay. But let me go to the bathroom first.” 

You step into the ensuite bathroom and close the door, because suddenly, you feel self conscious. You’ve been naked in front of all of them before-they’re pack, for fuck’s sake-but this feels more intimate, more terrifying. 

Words used before ring through your mind as you strip down. 

Dirty. Pathetic. Shameful. Disgusting. Weak. 

Taking in a breath, you remove the protection you wear and toss it, and almost immediately, blood is slowly starting to ooze down the inside of your thighs, coating your skin with warmth and slickness. 

“Fuck.” You swear, glancing down, and decide that as much as you’d like to hide out in the bathroom for a few more moments, you can’t risk it. 

Not if you don’t want a puddle on the floor. 

Plus, the cramps are resuming with the removal of the heat pack. 

So with a sigh of resignation, you leave the bathroom, arms wrapped around you as you step into the warm humidity of the other room where the omegas are waiting. 

Trying to keep your legs clamped together so they can’t see the crimson coating your skin, you hurry to the bath and slide into the water. It instantly takes on a pink hue, and you hope they just attribute it to the bath oils they’d clearly added while you were gone. 

“Temperature okay?” Felix asks, moving to sit beside Jeongin at the edge of the tub, his gaze assessing your features. 

“Yeah, it’s good.” You breathe out, and shift awkwardly beneath the water. Already the heat is helping, but the way they’re all staring at you-

“All right, move over.” Hyunjin commands the younger omegas, as he approaches the bathtub with a rag held in one of his hands. He arches a brow at you as they slide apart, making room for him on the edge of the large tub. “Lemme see.” 

You stare at him for a long moment, mouth slightly parted. “No, it’s okay. You really don’t have to-” 

He crouches down beside the tub, wetting the rag in the water, his gaze never leaving yours. 

“It wasn’t a request, babe. Let me see.” 

You don’t think you’ve ever heard Hyunjin sound quite so authoritarian before. 

So without another word, you bring your knees up out of the water and spread your legs for him. 

The water has washed away the majority of the blood, but there’s still stubborn dried patches from earlier stuck to the warm skin of your upper thighs. 

Carefully, slowly, as if he’s scared he’ll spook you, Hyunjin leans forward over the lip of the bath and begins to gently scrub away the bloodstains from off your skin. 

You tense under the contact, taking in a sharp breath, but Felix reaches out to put a cool hand on the overheated skin of your shoulder. 

“C’mon, noona. You’d do the same for us. Let us take care of you.” 

You give a slight shake of your head, and you don’t know if it’s because you’re currently on your period, or if you’re just emotional suddenly, but tears choke your throat a little. “No, it’s not that. It’s just-” Your words cut off as you bite your tongue, because maybe being too honest in this moment isn’t the best thing. 

You feel Hyunjin’s gaze flicker up from his work in between your thighs, scanning over your pinched expression. 

“Someone gave you shit for it, didn’t they?” He asks softly, and you meet his gaze, your own mirroring the sudden shock his words send crashing over you. 

Felix’s fingers tighten a little bit on your shoulder. 

Hyunjin scoffs a little laugh-humorless and bitter-and must take your silence as an answer of itself, because he ducks his head to continue washing your skin with the warm water, saying in a murmur, “Yeah, I figured. People like to shit on things they don’t understand. It’s fucked up, but it’s the way it is.” 

“That’s just stupid.” Felix announces with a slight edge of defensiveness to his tone. “It’s an anatomical function. Just like something associated with secondary genders-like scents or slick or knotting. You can’t do anything about it.” 

“Yeah, but-” You hesitate, then push yourself to continue. “-mine’s always been worse than normal. Way worse than normal. And people just never liked to deal with it.” Your voice dips softer, your breath coming out in a sigh. “It got worse after I presented, so I just kind of holed up every month and dealt with it on my own.” 

“You’ve got us now, noona.” Jeongin murmurs back, moving his hand to cover Felix’s where it covers your shoulder.

You glance up and give him the hint of a smile. “I know.” Your smile wavers a bit. “But old habits die hard. And I don’t want you guys to ever think-” Once again, your words stutter to a halt. 

“Think what?” Felix pushes softly, as Hyunjin finishes washing your legs, and moves to lean against the lip of the tub, studying you silently, seriously. 

You shrug one shoulder. “I don’t know. That I’m gross or pathetic or something like that.” 

“Why would we ever think that?” Felix asks again, his voice coming out a little sharp in obvious defense of you. 

“Because someone else did.” Hyunjin answers for you, not looking up, playing with the rag held between his hands. He glances up at you. “Right?” 

You give a little nod and release a shaky breath. “Yeah.” 

“We’re not them.” Felix pushes firmly, his fingers squeezing into your shoulder until you look up at him. “Okay? We could never be like them.” You hold his gaze until a small part of you believes him, and move to squeeze his fingers back. 

“Okay.” 

********

The door to your dorm opens, and you glance up from your laptop, as soft footsteps head down the hall toward you. 

You smell him before you see him-rain. 

Chan appears in the doorway, clothed in an oversized hoodie and sweats, hood pulled up over his unruly curls. 

He leans against the doorframe as you shut your laptop, shifting it to the side of your bed as you meet his gaze. 

“Hey.” You say softly as way of greeting. 

“Hi.” He returns, reaching up to push his hood back with his free hand, the other dangling by his side, a plastic bag clenched between his fingers. “Yeosang said you didn’t feel well enough to go running this morning.” 

“Yeah.” You sigh, glancing down at the pile of blankets on your lap, the heating pad warming your lower stomach buried below the layers. “Wasn’t up to it.” 

Chan pads over to the bed and sits down on the edge, careful not to jostle you as he does so. 

You flick your gaze to his, and you can tell, by the furrow between his brows and the slight souring of petrichor that he’s worried. 

He holds aloft the bag in his hand. 

“I brought you some things.” 

Your lips curve slightly at the unexpected gesture. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Of course I did.” He counters back, sliding the bag across the bed so it rests in your lap. 

You bite back a smile and glance down, undoing the knot of the bag to reveal the contents. 

On top is his overly large Nirvana hoodie, the fabric warm and soft between your fingers. 

“Your hoodie?” You look up at him in slight surprise, and the tips of his ears go red as he tries to play it off with a shrug. 

Adorable. 

“Yeah, I thought it might help.” 

You arch a brow, but pull out the hoodie and slip it on over your head without another word. 

You swear Chan makes a sort of muted purring sound in his chest when you do so. 

You dig into the bag some more, and pull out a couple of boxes of your favorite treats, some sports drinks, and a couple of DVDs-probably snagged from Jisung’s extensive collection. 

“Channie.” You breathe out, glancing up at him once more, and again, the stupid tears are threatening. “You really didn’t have to do all of this.” 

He shrugs, reaching for one of the movies, turning it over in his large hands. “C’mon, you really thought I was just gonna sit by and stay away while you’re clearly over here dying? You really don’t know me. Or him.” 

You give a little laugh at that, and Chan grins, dimples flashing. 

Glancing down at the treasures in your lap, you find yourself murmuring before you can stop the words, “No one’s ever done something like this for me before.” 

Chan shifts slightly on the bed, reaching out to put his hand over yours. “Yeah, well, that all ends now, baby. You’re stuck with me.And all of us.” 

You glance up at him, and he gives you another grin, reaching up to tousle his fingers through his hair as he spreads the movies out in front of you. 

“Now c’mon. Pick a movie. I brought you the cream of the crop.” 

You hold up one of the cases toward him, brow arched. 

“‘Hard Boiled’?” You announce with slight disbelief, a smirk curving your lips and brow disappearing further into your hairline. 

Chan reaches out and snatches the movie from you. 

“Okay, so maybe that one’s a miss. I tried.” 

You bite back a grin, and settle on one of the chickflicks you’ve seen a thousand times. 

But hey, classics are classics for a reason, right? 

After Chan fetches your laptop and gets the movie started, settled in the perfect spot on the end of the bed, you pat the spot beside you, scooting slightly so he has a bit more room. 

He hesitates. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna hurt you or anything.” 

You roll your eyes, reaching out to tug him down beside you with your fingers buried in the fabric of the sleeve of his hoodie. 

“I’m not injured, I’m just simply bleeding out slowly and surely.” 

“Oh, because that sounds so much better.” Chan retorts back in a grumble, but he doesn’t resist anymore, sliding beneath the layers of blankets with you. 

Grinning, you tug the hood of his Nirvana hoodie up over your head and snuggle into him, cheek on his broad, warm chest, arms wrapping around his middle. 

He’s like a furnace, and he smells like wet pavement. 

He wraps his arms around you in turn, keeping you tight against him, as he reaches to turn off the bedside lamp as the movie begins to play across the small brightly lit screen of your laptop. 

His cheek is resting on the top of your head, and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your own cheek is soothing. 

“Okay?” He asks softly, and you nod, cheek brushing the fabric of his own hoodie. 

“Yeah.” You murmur back. “More than okay.” 

You feel him press a kiss to the top of your head, and suddenly, you don’t feel so bad anymore. 

******

You open the door to Minho, who immediately pushes past you without a word, a tower of bentos held in his arms. 

“Hello to you too.” You mutter as he marches past you, directly toward your small kitchen. 

You follow behind him wordlessly, and he motions to the table with a jerk of his chin as you enter, already spreading the boxes out on the counter top, removing lids like he has some sort of personal vendetta against them. 

“Sit.” He commands, and you decide it’s better not to question him, so you do. 

Almost within moments, Minho has presented you with a bowl full of steaming ramen with all the garnishes-fish cake, bamboo, mushrooms, bean sprouts-shoving a pair of chopsticks in your hand as he turns back to the counter. 

Your mouth falls agape, and your stomach rumbles loudly as the smell of the food reaches your nose. 

He returns to the table with a smaller bowl full of hot rice, and one full of kimchi. Last but not least, he positions a slab of perfectly cooked pink beef ribs atop your ramen and slides you one of the sports drinks Chan had brought you from the fridge. 

“Eat.” He commands once more, and you stare at him as he sits down across from you after tidying up the now empty bento boxes. 

“What-” You start to question, and he simply fixes you with an unblinking gaze, expression unreadable. 

“What, you’ve never had ramen before, sweetheart? You’re supposed to put it in your mouth.” 

Glancing down at the food before you, you hesitantly take your chopsticks and gather up a mouthful, before blowing on it and popping it into your mouth. 

It’s so heavenly, you almost moan. 

“Good girl.” Minho praises, seemingly satisfied, as you take another bite, and then another. He sits back in his own chair, watching you, but the food is too delicious for you to feel embarrassed under his sharp, astute gaze. 

“Holy shit, Minho.” You manage to get out in between bites. “You made this?”

Minho scoffs lightly. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m a good cook.” He leans forward slightly, sweeping his gaze over the quickly dwindling food. “I usually make this one with pork belly, but I read something about red meat being better when you’re on your period, so I swapped it for the ribs this time around. It wasn’t too disappointing.” 

Your gaze meets his, and your mouth falls open. 

“You read something?” You squeak out, and Minho has the decency to look offended, rolling his eyes. 

“What? I can read too you know, sweetheart, cooking isn’t just my one speciality. I’m a multi trick pony.” 

“No, no.” I shake my head, wiping my mouth and setting down my chopsticks for a moment. “You read up on what to make me while I’m on my period? Why?” 

Minho holds your gaze, arching a brow. “To get the recipe right.” 

You stare at him for another long moment, and when it’s clear that’s all you’re going to get, you move to resume eating, finishing the ramen in record time. 

Minho moves to gather up the now empty bowls, and in a bold move, you reach out and snag his hand with your own. 

“Thank you.” You say softly, seriously, and he gives you another long stare, before he pulls away and moves to pack up the dishes. 

You’re surprised when he moves to sit back down across from you instead of leaving immediately now that you’ve eaten his food. 

You sit in silence for a few moments, and you don’t know what it is about Minho that’s always made you feel safe, unjudged, able to tell him anything, but you find yourself, once again, volunteering to tell him something you’ve never told anyone else before. 

The words are already at the tip of your tongue before you can stop them. 

“I had an abortion.” You announce into the silence, and if Minho is shocked by you baring this truth out of the blue, he doesn’t show it. Which gives you the courage to go on, fidgeting with your fingers, as you stare down at the chipped surface of the table. 

“When I was a teenager. And it made them worse-the periods, I mean. They were bad before, but ever since-” You give a slight shake of your head and let out a breath. “-they’ve been awful.” 

“Mm.” Minho makes a sound of acknowledgement beneath his breath from across the table, but that’s it. He doesn’t offer anything more. 

So you keep going. 

Spilling your guts into the silence. 

“I thought, for a long time-” You sniff and take in a breath, a humorless sharp little choked laugh leaving your lips as you continue. “-that maybe I was being punished, you know? Punished for being born a girl, punished for presenting as an alpha, punished for-” Your words trail off a little. “-well, you know. Not keeping it.” 

You shrug, tapping your fingers along the table softly. 

“I dunno. Maybe I thought that bleeding was a symbol of everything I’d ever done wrong. It was certainly treated as such.” 

There is a long moment of silence, your words hanging heavy in the air between you, and then Minho takes a breath, leaning forward across the table.

“You know, sweetheart-” He murmurs, and you glance up at the soft tone of his voice, so unfamiliar when it comes to the alpha sitting across from you. “-I’ve come to learn that everything is simply a coincidence. There’s no higher power punishing people, bullshit happens to people every day and it’s all just a fluke. There’s no rhyme or reason.” 

You swallow, and he holds your gaze with his own. 

“So believe me, when I tell you, that whatever idiotic moron made you think there’s something wrong with you that needs to be ‘punished’ every goddamn month, is a fucking fool.” Your lips part slightly, but he doesn’t let you speak. 

“And if it’s yourself, well then-” He gives you a hint of a smirk, tilting his head slightly as he regards you. “-I’m afraid you’re just gonna have to tell that bitch to shut the fuck up, sweetheart.” 

******

You wince slightly, coming in after your shower, hurrying to the dresser to find a pair of underwear to slip on beneath your oversized t-shirt before you can drip all over the floor. 

Changbin must take notice of the grimace from his spot on your bed, because he pushes himself up, arching a brow. 

“Cramps?” 

You nod, still digging through your drawers for underwear, swearing slightly under your breath. “Yeah. They always get worse whenever I stand up and move around.”

You feel his presence behind you, smell a wave of smoke wash over your senses. 

“You know what they say.” He murmurs, wrapping a strong arm around your waist, careful not to put too much pressure on your tender midsection. “About helping cramps.”

You scoff a little, glancing over your shoulder at him. “What if that’s just an old wives tale?” 

He wiggles his eyebrows at you playfully, smirking a little now. “Is it?” 

You skate your gaze away from his, suddenly embarrassed. “I mean. I don’t know.” 

There is a brief moment of pause, and then Changbin asks in slight surprise, “What, you’ve never done it before?” 

You huff a breath at that, still avoiding his gaze, hands stilling in the depths of your drawer. “I mean-” You hesitate, before admitting, “-it’s gross.” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Changbin turns you at that, hands going down firmly on your shoulders, lifting your chin with a finger after another moment of you not looking at him 

“I’m gonna drip blood all over the floor if you don’t let me go find something soon.” You protest a little weakly, reluctantly holding his gaze. 

“In a minute.” He waves you off, expression going serious as he stares at you. “Listen, I mean, if that’s you talking, and you personally think it’s gross, then by all means, I get it, and that’s well within your right. As Hyunjin would say, ‘Slay, pussy boss bitch queen’ or whatever he usually says to empower females, but-” 

You watch the way his brow furrows, dark gaze holding your own, lips pressing into a firm almost angry line. “-If some son of a bitch pussy footing prick masquerading as a man put that idea in your head that it was gross, then we’re gonna have a whole other problem.” 

You stare at him for a long moment, mouth opening and closing for a few brief seconds as you try and comprehend what he’s telling you. 

“You-” You hedge out, still staring at him in slight disbelief. “-don’t think it’s gross?” 

Changbin chuckles, and then it turns into a full blown laugh. “Baby girl. What part of who I am and all you know about me points toward the fact that I would find anything about this gross in the slightest?”

“I don’t know-” You protest back helplessly. “I just thought-” Changbin backs you up until your back hits the wood of the dresser behind you, hands going on either side of your head, and when you take in a sharp breath, meeting his gaze, his irises are almost gleaming completely gold. When he speaks, his tone is low, voice almost predatory. “Well, let me correct you then.” He leans closer to you, breathing in against your temple, taking in your scent. 

“Blood is not a turn off for me. Or him. Quite the opposite actually.” 

You take in a shaky breath, mind taking a moment to catch up to what he’s telling you. 

“So.” He brushes his nose along your hairline, breathing you in still. “I’m going to ask you again. You know what they say helps cramps?” 

Your voice is small, barely a whisper. “Yes.” He flicks his gaze down to yours, smirking slightly-teeth flashing dangerously in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “You wanna try it?” 

You swallow hard, and push past every single part of you that’s screaming at you to say otherwise. 

“Yes.” 

As if that’s all he needs to hear, Changbin sweeps you up with a growl, and deposits you will little to no effort on the center of your bed, flat on your back. 

You don’t even have a moment to feel ashamed or embarrassed, or check the situation down below before he’s already crawling between your legs, forcing your thighs apart for him. 

“Bin-” You start to protest, panic setting in once more as you feel the telltale stickiness on the inside of your upper thighs, but he silences you with one glance. 

“I’m gonna take it easy on you, baby. It tends to get a little more sensitive down here around this time, yeah? We’re gonna make sure you’re comfortable,so don’t worry about that, but I also don’t want to hear one word out of that pretty mouth unless it’s begging me for more, understood?” 

He settles himself down on his stomach between your thighs, and you find yourself only able to whisper out, “Yes, sir.” 

A sharp flash of white teeth. “Good girl.”

You take in a breath, holding it, and then let it out slowly, trying not to think of anything but the feel of his warm breath on your skin, the tickling of his fingers skating up your bare legs, moving back the hem of the large t-shirt you wear-

He slides a finger inside of you, and you instantly tense up. 

“Relax.” He murmurs, and you try to do as he asks, and you know he can feel it, when he gives a slightly approving hum in the back of his throat, almost a growl. “Good girl. There you go.” 

“Oh.” You breathe out, as you slowly relax, and he slides a second finger in, moving them carefully, searchingly, looking for that spot inside that makes you feel like you’re floating on air, sparks flashing before your eyes. 

He’s right, you are sensitive down there, and everything is overwhelming, but in a good way. 

“Bin-” You whine out, squirming slightly now, body already keying up as hot ropes of pleasure start to gather low in your belly. 

“Yeah, baby.” He purrs, and when you meet his gaze, his pupils have completely taken over the gold of his irises. 

It’s almost enough to send you over right then and there, the way his lips are slightly parted, drinking in the sight of you writhing beneath his touch greedily. 

He pulls back, before you can fully succumb to the pleasure though, and you have to bite down hard on your lip to stop from whining at the sudden loss of contact. 

He shifts, pulling his hand back from you, and holds up his fingers for you to see, his gaze slowly tracing over the blood dribbling down the digits, staining his skin crimson. 

“Beautiful.” He growls, and the way he says the word has a shiver running down your spine. 

He raises the fingers to his mouth, and without thinking, you jolt upward, already reaching out for him, old habits kicking in as you blurt out in a sudden panic once more, “Don’t-” He holds your gaze steadily as he slips the fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean, slowly, one by one. 

You stare at him, mouth agape, chest heaving, and you hate to say it, but it’s probably one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen-watching him savor the taste of you on his fingers, cleaning them with swipes of his tongue, his dark gaze never wavering from yours. 

“‘Don’t’ what?” He growls out, pinning you beneath his swirling golden gaze. “Don’t taste you?” 

And without warning, he leans back down between your legs, and drags the warmth of his tongue up your center, flattening it against you as he slowly works his way upward. 

Your breath comes out on a sort of choked sound, and you fall back against the bed, muscles trembling. 

“Jesus fuck-” You swear breathlessly, and a guttural growl rumbles in his chest at the words leaving your lips. 

He surges up, hands going down on either side of your head now, staring down at you, eyes dark and hungry and predatory. 

His lips are reddened, stained with blood. 

Your blood. 

Well, fuck. 

He smirks, and you reach up without really thinking to swipe the pad of your thumb across the full swell of his bottom lip, studying the crimson that comes off on your skin when you do so.

A slightly awe filled laugh leaves your lips on your next exhale. 

Changbin flashes bloodstained teeth at you in a sharp grin. 

A completely dangerous sight you could get used to. 

“Want me to keep going?” He murmurs, holding your gaze. 

You nod eagerly, already moving to pull him down to you. “Yes please.” And when you kiss him, you taste yourself on his lips in an entirely new way-the way he must-and he’s right. 

It’s fucking beautiful.

****

“Feeling better, gorgeous?” Jisung murmurs to you, leaning back against your chest, your arms wrapped around his tiny waist beneath the warmth of the blankets. 

“Much.” You breathe back, rubbing your nose against his soft hair. 

Seungmin scoffs from his position behind you, his own arm slung along the couch behind your heads. 

“Be quiet. The two of you are gonna miss the movie.” Jisung leans his head back and grins up at you, nose wrinkling, as he whispers to you loudly, “Party pooper.” 

You laugh, kissing the tip of his nose. 

Seungmin sighs behind you, but you feel him stroking his fingers idly through your hair regardless of his show of irritation. 

You snuggle down between the betas, the air filled with the spice of ginger and linens, warm and safe beneath the blanket between their bodies, and feel, for the first time in your life, that maybe this week isn’t as awful as you always thought. 

Maybe, just maybe, it doesn’t need to be. 

Not ever again. 

Not with them.