#i just want to make the first moves to get things going again ^^ right now more than ever i miss being part of the little

[levigarden999]

bakugo's biggest fangirl ₊˚⊹ᰔ

₊˚⊹ warnings : smut , +18 , overstimulation , p!v , f!orgasm

ever since you saw katsuki bakugo effortlessly blowing up a villain up on tv, you were smitten. the cocky grin he did after the successful attack, the small amount of smoke that was rising from his fingertips, and the tight black tank top which showed off his shoulder and back muscles perfectly definitely did things to you. the cherry on top was his slightly smug yet nonchalant attitude as the perky reporter bombed him with questions after the villain was done.

eh, it was nothing. just another extra getting in my way.

he didn’t even make eye contact with the camera nor the reporter.

this is daily business. nothing special.

after that, you googled him. you watched videos of him from youtube. you even made a folder on tik tok just for him, which was now filled with edits of your beloved dynamight. your friends didn’t really get you as you showed them his pictures and squealed how perfect of a human being he was – they thought he was hot, yes, but they also thought he was rude and boring.

however, you had no idea what was coming. who would know the dynamight would actually allow you to fuck yourself on his cock?

it happened after a fan meeting with the most liked heroes of the city. katsuki was one of the heroes who were attending (mainly for the money), and you obviously was one of the first ones who were in the line, waiting for an autograph and a selfie with your subject of adoration.

when katsuki then saw you, his jaw nearly dropped. your wide, glimmering eyes were filled with adoration as you stared at him, as if there was no one else in the area but him. katsuki was used to people ignoring him and going for the ’better’ heroes such as todoroki and izuku, so he didn’t often meet fans who were so solely focused on him. you were smiling so widely, so beautifully, cheeks flushed and eyes nearly tearing up. as if katsuki was a god to you.

however, the thing that really piqued his interest, was the clothes you were wearing. a tiny white top, cleavage full on display, the words ’dynamight’ printed on the fabric just above your boobs. as if you were asking for him, only him, to stare. a small tennis skirt made your figure look absolutely perfect in his eyes, a little slutty but not too much.

katsuki now knew you were there for him. to see him. to seek for acceptance, anything from him. he had never experienced attention like this and it really boosted his ego. finally someone was there to be all over him. finally the damn icy hot was being ignored by a beautiful girl who was instead focusing all her attention on him.

katsuki demanded you to not take the shirt off while you were fucking. he wanted to see his hero name written on your body, as if you were belonging to him, being his little fan girl who was pathetically whining on his cock like it was your life goal. well, it sort of was.

katsuki’s hands moved from your hips to your tits, shoving the fabric down and watching how your tits spilled out and bounced just over his hero name. it was a mesmerizing sight to him, something he swore he’d never forget. he grasped your hips again, guiding and bouncing you, his own hips slightly bucking against yours to really stretch your pussy out.

”fuck- ah- dynamightttt-” you moaned as you felt the occasional slam of his tip against your cervix. you looked down at him with half lidded eyes and cheeks blushed, your eyes meeting his red and hungry ones.

”’s too much, i-i’m tired” you whimpered, thighs trembling from the continuous muscle movement you were doing on him.

katsuki only groaned and smacked your ass gently, before grabbing it, fingers sinking into the flesh there.

”this was what you wanted, right? wearing that tiny fuckin’ skirt and this top-” he panted and murmured, hands finding your breasts again as he leaned forward a little and placed a few kisses on your sore nipples and skin. you whined.

”-asking for me to fuck you - no – asking for me to allow for you to fuck yourself on me” he continued rasping, eyes shooting a piercing look up at you. your fingers tangled in the back of his hair, his words encouraging you to go on and seek for that release that was slowly beginning to approach you like a damn tsunami.

”say it. say it you wanted my cock” katsuki groaned and leaned back again, hands guiding your hips again.

you nodded frantically, the knot of a powerful orgasm forming in your abdomen.

”wanted it – fuck – s’ much, wanted dynamight’s cock-” you found yourself moaning, mind nearly dizzy from the overwhelming pleasure in your body and the tiredness in your thighs.

”fuckin’ good girl-” he grunted and slammed his hips up against yours, making the air leave your lungs as the single stroke he did caused for your orgasm to crash over you. your thighs were trembling, hips twitching, nails digging into his muscular shoulders as you came undone, moaning his hero name.

once you finally came down from your high, you calmed down and relaxed yourself on his lap. however, katsuki grabbed you by the hips, lifted you up effortlessly and slammed you down on your back on the couch.

“you think i’m done, huh?”

[blossomcola]

omg pt2 of risky lara with u two catching manon being pervy and lara letting her join in please

i accidentally turned this into ot5 katseye and free use with the reader... i hope you like it!

pairing. ot5 katseye x fem reader

content warnings. degradation, fingering, gropping, hair pulling, humiliation, toys, overstimulation, scissoring.

we all know that lara is a loving and charming woman who would clearly be the sweetest and most romantic girlfriend in the world, but what happens when her group mates have a certain weakness for her girlfriend and she has no problem sharing her girl?

manon being the one who enjoys this the most because for months she’s been dying to get her hands on you... of course she wouldn’t try to make a move because you’re dating her friend, but if the opportunity arises she wouldn’t let it pass! her excitement is more than evident and you realize it when manon takes her toy box out of her closet... yes, she is the type of girl who loves toys. no matter what your preferences are because she doesn’t let you say anything about it, just by making you lie on her bed with your legs open for her and at her complete disposal, having no choice but to stay here and accept whatever she gives you regardless of whether you can take it or not :( manon is a bit naughty and doesn’t care if she’s being too hard for you or if you feel like you can’t cum again, she will not miss the opportunity to do whatever she wants with you and she doesn’t care if that means playing with your sanity, you’re just her doll.

sophia can be at the same level of cruelty depending on her mood, just as she can be heartless with you, she can also be super gentle and fuck you as much as you like or prefer, but she decides what mood to have with you! she prefers to start slowly and increase the intensity slowly, so sophia would first make out with you while she desires you to the point that your juices soak her hand and slowly run down her wrist, but she doesn’t care! sophia would go a little crazy for your taste so she would proceed to bury her face between her thighs and eat you out until her jaw hurts, regardless of whether you are very sore and feeling overwhelmed <3 and of course she also loves toys, but unlike manon, she has a big adoration for her strap, which is so big and thick that with just a glance you know it will be hard to take... and well, you know you were right the moment she’s fucking you missionary in her bed, legs shaking on her shoulders because the head of the silicone cock is hitting that spongy and sensitive spot inside you but she seems to understand that every whimper from you means you want her to push her cock deeper and deeper into you.

i fear that daniela is a girl who loves scissoring but in a way where everything is messy and sweaty, basically it means she can fuck until the bed breaks but it’s not a problem because you can continue on the floor! it is evident that she would choose to be on top because she needs to be in control of things for several reasons; first of all, it’s because daniela, being a dancer with years of experience, knows how to move her hips and that means she would use her dancing techniques to fuck — and secondly it’s because she knows that you’d probably get whiny soon after you two started getting wild and would probably have a hard time keeping a steady pace that doesn’t lose consistency... it doesn’t matter much what the reason is because daniela ends up on top of you anyway! maybe she’ll even hold your wrists above your head so you just have to lie under her and worry about making cute noises while she does all the work because pretty girls like you deserve to get laid and be cared for and looked after.

my dear megan... girl recently out of the closet so she doesn’t have the luxury of saying or showing off her experience or bragging about at least something, which is a fairly good thing because she would be somewhat afraid to act and her actions would be clumsy most of the time. among all the girls she would be the most “normal” because she is not yet a depraved freak, she may be kinky but she hasn’t developed that part of having a big confidence yet. even though lara has authorized them to do whatever they want with you, megan keeps asking every five seconds if you are sure and if what she is doing is okay, regardless of whether she’s doing something as simple as taking off your shirt or something more serious like about to touch you.

[sharieb]

hello! just wanted to say I LOVEEE the way you do non-mc content. that being said could i request a headcanon on: lets say non-mc and the LI’s broke up because the dudes were still hung up on MC (they end up regretting it lol). then later on see non-mc in public who has moved on to someone else who is doing everything they guys failed to do.

The One Who Never Got It Right

Pairing: LADs x Non-Mc reader Genre: Angst (Breakup regrets) Writer's notes: Thought I could be getting more fluffs to do, but instead I got slapped in the face with this one, welp, no rest for the wicked, I guess 😅

He sees you across the bustling Skyhaven terminal—laughing, radiant, clinging to the arm of someone who isn’t him.

The man by your side is kind-eyed, attentive. He holds your bag, listens intently, and actually smiles when you talk. He doesn’t look distracted or distant—he’s there. Present.

Caleb halts mid-stride, fingers curling around the edge of his datapad. For a moment, it’s like the mission debrief in his hand doesn’t even exist.

He remembers every time he cut conversations short, gave you half his presence, let you walk beside him in silence because his mind was always elsewhere—on MC.

He thought you didn’t notice. That you’d wait. That maybe you’d always be around until he figured himself out.

Now you’re smiling in ways he never earned.

The worst part? You glance his way. See him. Then look away just as easily, returning to your conversation without missing a beat.

He used to be the safe place. Now, he's just a distant name in your past.

Later that night, he types a message to you. Deletes it. Writes it again.

In the end, he just stares at your contact photo for hours, then shuts off the holoscreen. And for the first time in a long time, Caleb can’t strategise his way out of the ache in his chest.

Mission Log 6.14.3A — Deleted Draft I saw her today. Not MC. Her. The one who asked me to be present. To try. To stop living like the past was all I had left. I thought letting her go would make me noble. Thought I was sparing her the weight of being second to a ghost. But maybe she wasn’t second. Maybe I just never gave her the space to be first. And someone else did. I hope he keeps holding her the way I never learned how to. I hope he never makes her feel like a placeholder. …I hope she never looks back.

He saw you at a gallery opening.

You're dressed in something elegant, arm-in-arm with a gentle-faced man who looks at you like you're art incarnate.

The moment hits him like a palette knife to the ribs.

You’re glowing—not in a spotlight way, but in a quiet, contented kind of joy he never could give.

He flashes his usual grin to the crowd, but his fingers twitch at his side.

Because of that new guy? He’s whispering something in your ear. And you’re laughing. That laugh used to belong to Rafayel, once.

But he made jokes about still missing MC. Let you hear silence when you needed security. Let you fade beside someone else’s memory.

Now?

Someone else painting you with attention. Frames you with love.

He downs his champagne and pretends to care about the next exhibit, but he draws you three times from memory that night.

None of them capture your smile the way he just did.

He doesn’t stop drawing until dawn. Each page is more desperate than the last.

 Sketchbook Entry — Page Torn Out She asked me once what I thought love looked like. I told her it was impossible to capture - always shifting, always out of reach. But she caught it. She was it. And I? I framed her in glass and called it finished. She wanted a mess. Partnership. Splattered hands and stained shirts. I gave her monologues and empty wine glasses. I thought she was a phase. A warm red before I returned to ash. But she was permanent. I saw her smile today. It wasn’t for me. And for once, I couldn’t paint a damn thing.

He was leaning on the railing of a shadowed walkway, scanning the crowd below on a recon run, when he spotted you.

You're tucked into the side of someone unfamiliar—someone laughing with you, their hand laced with yours, feeding you a bite of something sweet.

The softness on your face is devastating. It used to be his. It was once the only softness he’d let himself keep.

He stays hidden, watching.

That guy kisses your knuckles. And you smile like you trust him completely.

His chest tightens, fingers twitching. He almost drops the comms unit in his hand.

You’d begged him once to try, to stop comparing you to MC. To see you. He hadn’t known how to let go back then. Now?

He’s thinking about how that man just wiped whipped cream from your lip without flinching—and how he never even learned your coffee order.

“Idiot,” he mutters to himself, pushing off the railing.

But he doesn’t go down there. He’s already done enough damage.

And this time… someone else didn’t waste the chance. He hates it. He admires it.

Mostly, he regrets that it wasn’t him who made you stay.

Encrypted Voice Log – Never Sent SYLUS.ENTRY_097.BURNOUT Timestamp: Corrupted “She looks better without me. You’d think that’d piss me off, wouldn’t you?” “It doesn’t.” “Not really.” “He holds her like he’s not afraid she’ll disappear. Like he’s not too busy sharpening knives to hold her with both hands.” “I didn’t know how to do that. Couldn’t stop chasing shadows.” “I told myself she was a game. A way to forget.” “But she was never small. Never temporary. She waited for me to look up. I never did.” “He did.” [long pause] “She’s not coming back. Good. Let her stay gone. Let her stay whole.”

It’s late in the museum observatory, and Xavier’s here to recalibrate a projection model—until he looks down from the upper dome and sees you.

You're walking hand-in-hand with someone else through the starlit halls. Laughing. Calm.

The person beside you spins you under their arm, and you twirl without hesitation, radiant under the artificial cosmos.

He stands frozen in the upper dome, unseen.

You once asked Xavier to dance. He hesitated, too quiet and too caught up in thoughts of MC to say yes.

But that stranger below? He didn’t hesitate at all.

And you look so light in his arms. So free.

Xavier leans his forehead against the glass, breathing deeply.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, even though you can’t hear him.

His star map reboots beside him, scattering constellations. But for the first time, he doesn’t reach out to correct them.

Because he knows now, you weren’t meant to orbit him forever.

And you didn’t. You became your own universe. One that he was never brave enough to explore.

Private Memoir Entry – Unpublished I was always afraid I’d look at her and see someone else. So I never truly looked. Not the way she deserved. She asked me once if I was choosing to heal with her or without her. I said, “Without.” She nodded. Didn’t cry. Just left. And now I’ve healed. Or so I pretend. But sometimes I think healing isn’t a choice. Sometimes it’s a cost. I gave up the one person who saw me in the shadows and stayed. And someone else saw her light and danced into it.

You’re seated in a corner café with a man Zayne doesn’t recognise—easy smiles, shared laughter, his coat wrapped around your shoulders.

Zayne was on his way to deliver lab files to the main district med unit but now… he can’t move.

His gaze locks on the way the man leans in to tuck your hair behind your ear. How your eyes crinkle with joy.

It’s the kind of comfort Zayne never offered you—not because he didn’t care, but because he was too distracted chasing clarity with MC.

You once told him you felt like his second choice. He never answered that. And now, someone else treats you like you're the only choice.

He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t approach.

But that image burns in his mind for weeks. It replays in the sterile quiet of his clinic, on late nights when no one needs stitching up.

And when he returns home, he finds one of your old letters still tucked inside his medical textbook.

He rereads it, fingers trembling, and realises too late—he could’ve loved you right, if only he’d let himself try.

His next patient finds him staring into nothing, stethoscope in hand, utterly elsewhere.

Medical Log – Never Filed Patient: N/A Status: Unreachable Treatment note: Emotional detachment leads to unintentional abandonment. Prognosis: Permanent loss. Notes: She used to come into my clinic with little things. Fake injuries. Paper cuts. Just to be near me. I knew. And I let her pretend. I let myself believe I had time. That once I stopped thinking about MC, I could finally give this girl the pieces I hadn’t sealed away. But healing is slow. And people… they don’t always wait for your hands to stop trembling. She’s warm now. She’s whole. And I still wear gloves to hold my regrets.

[sirenontheloose]

hiiii part 33333 pleaaaseeeeee

I'm just glad some of you are obsessed with this as much as I am LMAO

pt.1, pt.2

Please Don't Clip This pt.3

Lara rushed into her room and slammed the door shut behind her like the embarrassment was physically chasing her. She kicked her shoes off without aiming, tossed her jacket onto the desk chair, and dove face-first into her bed with a groan that echoed into her pillow.

Megan didn’t even flinch from her spot on the other bed. "That bad?"

"I should’ve just stayed seated," Lara mumbled into the blanket. "Why did I go up to her table? Why did I say anything? She looked like she wanted the earth to swallow her whole and now I’m the idiot who made it worse."

"You’re being dramatic," Megan said, scrolling through her phone. "You were chill. Charming, even."

Lara sat up slightly, just enough to glare. "Charming? I interrupted her dinner to remind her of the most embarrassing moment of her year."

Megan shrugged. "Bold of you to assume that’s the worst thing she’s done this year."

Lara let out a shaky laugh, then groaned again and collapsed back onto the bed. "I should’ve just waved from the table. Or not waved. Or sunk into the floor."

"You’re spiraling."

"I’m spiraling," Lara agreed.

She flipped onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Her heart still hadn’t slowed down. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the moment again, Y/N blinking up at her, cheeks flushed, hoodie half-swallowed by her shoulders like she was trying to disappear. Lara thought she’d play it cool. She was cool, usually. However, the second she stood at Y/N’s table, every word felt like it came out just a little too fast, too soft, too hopeful. And Y/N’s reaction, that wide-eyed silence, well, it wasn’t exactly comforting.

What if she hated it? What if she was only being polite? What if the livestream was just a moment, and Lara had misread everything?

She grabbed her phone, not really expecting anything, just needing to distract herself before she overthought herself into a coma. She was about to open TikTok when her lock screen lit up. A DM. From Y/N.

hey it’s me. y/n. i didn’t think our first meeting would go like that and i’m sorry again for being a total mess during the livestream, but i meant what i said about you being gorgeous and all. so.. if you’re still in seoul and free tomorrow, would you wanna get dinner with me?

Lara sat up like someone had hit her with a defibrillator. "OH MY GOD," she blurted.

Megan startled, then peeked over at her screen. Her eyes widened. "No way. She actually, oh my God, she did."

"What do I say?" Lara whispered, clutching the phone like it might vanish if she moved too fast. "Do I say yes? Is it weird if I say yes right away?"

Megan snatched the phone from her and opened the Notes app. "Okay. Let’s start with 'hi' and work our way up from there."

Lara stared at her phone like it might combust if she touched it wrong. Her heart was pounding out a nervous beat, fingers trembling just above the keyboard while Megan practically hung over her shoulder.

"Read it again," Megan demanded, already grinning like she knew the ending.

"I’ve read it," Lara mumbled, eyes wide. "Like ten times."

"She wants to hang out," Lara blurted, too fast, too defensively, like saying it plain would make it less terrifying.

Megan squinted at her. "Lara, that’s not just hanging out."

"She didn’t say date."

"She called you gorgeous and asked you to dinner, how is that not a date."

Lara clutched her phone like it might shatter. "What if I mess it up again."

"You won’t. Just say yes, no emoji spiral, no punctuation panic, just breathe."

"I am breathing. I’m literally breathing right now."

"Yeah, you're breathing like someone who just ran a marathon blindfolded."

Lara typed each word like she was defusing a bomb with her bare hands.

that sounds really nice, i’d love to. what time were you thinking

Megan beamed. "Perfect, now send it, go."

"I haven’t sent it yet."

"Lara."

"I’m going to."

Right as her thumb hovered over send, the door swung open.

"What are you guys doing," Manon asked between bites of ice cream, already suspicious.

"Y/N just asked Lara out on a dinner date tomorrow," Megan blurted, bouncing like a kid who couldn’t keep a secret.

Lara shot her a look. "It’s not a date."

Manon froze mid-step. "No way, shut up, for real."

Lara handed her the phone wordlessly.

Manon scanned the message, then screamed into her spoon. "Lara, this is so real. You’re being courted."

Then her face dropped.

"Wait, wait, wait, don’t we have a flight tomorrow?"

Everything in the room screeched to a halt.

"What flight," Megan asked slowly, like she already regretted it.

"Gabriella promo. We’re going back to LA. They bumped it up, remember? We leave at five in the morning," Manon said, already pulling up her calendar.

"No," Lara whispered, like it physically hurt.

"Yes," Manon winced.

Lara sank onto the edge of the bed like the floor had fallen out from under her. Megan stopped bouncing.

"There has to be a way around it."

Lara didn’t say anything. She just stared at the screen like it was slipping away, inch by inch. "I should’ve just stayed seated," she muttered into her hands. "What if she thinks I don’t care now."

"She won’t," Manon said gently. "You just have to be honest."

"She probably already thinks I’m ghosting her," Lara muttered.

"She sent that like five minutes ago," Manon said, still beside her, softer now. "She’s probably still holding her phone, hoping you say yes."

Lara didn’t say anything. The excitement had fizzled too fast. She still had the message typed out, sitting there in her drafts like a promise she couldn’t keep. She stared at the screen, thumb hovering over send like muscle memory hadn’t caught up to her heart.

Megan watched her carefully from the other end of the bed, her earlier buzz fading too. "You okay?"

Lara shook her head, just a little. "I feel like I ruined it before it even started."

Manon reached over and handed her a bottle of water she had grabbed earlier, her expression gentle now. "You didn’t. The schedule sucks, not you." She sounded sure. Not just comforting her for the sake of it, but actually believing it. "She asked you out," she continued. "That means something. Whether you meet tomorrow or next week or next comeback, she wanted to see you. That doesn’t just vanish overnight."

"But what if she thinks I’m brushing her off?" Lara’s voice cracked, and she barely caught it.

"She won’t," Manon said without hesitation. "You already did the hard part. You went up to her. You said hi. If she meant what she said, and come on, she definitely meant it, this isn’t the end."

Lara didn’t answer. She just nodded once, then pulled her legs up and curled into the pillows. Megan leaned over, "We’ll figure it out. But maybe you should get some sleep."

Lara stared at the screen, thumb hovering. Then she typed, slowly.

i really want to but we’re flying back to la for work stuff tomorrow morning. i’m so sorry. can i have a rain check?

Then, before she could change her mind again, she hit send. The message disappeared into the chat, and she immediately rolled onto her back, arm flung over her face like she couldn’t bear to see what happened next.

It didn’t take long. Her phone buzzed less than a minute later. She sat up like she’d been electrocuted. Her heart was practically punching her ribs. She grabbed her phone and read the reply.

well are you free now

Lara’s breath caught. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at the screen like it might vanish if she blinked.

Megan caught the look first. "What? Did she respond? What’d she say?"

Lara turned the phone around slowly.

Manon leaned in, read it, screamed. "She did not just say that. She did not just say that, oh my God, she said that."

"Are you kidding?" Megan clutched a throw pillow to her chest. "She’s basically asking if she can see you tonight. Right now."

Lara just sat there, frozen in place, gripping her phone like a lifeline.

"Why are you not replying?" Manon was practically bouncing in place.

"I don’t know what to say."

Megan grabbed the pillow and launched it across the room. "Say yes. Say it right now before I explode."

Lara, heart hammering in her chest, tapped out her reply with fingers that could barely type straight.

yes

She hit send.

Not even five seconds passed before her screen lit up again.

where are you staying

The scream that came out of all three girls didn’t sound human. Manon hit the floor like she’d been tackled. Megan grabbed Lara by the wrist and yanked her to her feet. "You’re going. No questions."

"I’m not even ready," Lara said, half-laughing, half-panicking.

"You look hot," Megan said, already digging by the door. "Here. Shoes. Now."

She shoved a pair of sneakers into Lara’s hands and pushed her gently toward the exit. "You don’t need to change. You need to go."

Lara stood there for a second, clutching the shoes, hair a mess, nerves exploding like fireworks. But she was smiling.

She sent the address with shaking fingers before she could think twice. Then she bolted for the elevator, heart racing like it was trying to run ahead of her. By the time she stepped into the hotel lobby, her phone lit up again.

omw

Lara swore her heart actually skipped. She stared at the screen for a second too long, lips pressed tight, trying not to start smiling like an idiot in front of the staff. Y/N was coming.

She checked her reflection in the lobby mirror for the third time, smoothing down her hair even though it looked fine. The hoodie she’d been wearing since dinner still smelled faintly like BBQ, and she winced a little at that, tugging it down and brushing invisible lint off the sleeves. Too late to turn back now.

Her phone buzzed again.

i'm here

Lara turned so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. She scanned the front entrance like she was in a spy movie, eyes darting until she saw her. 

Y/N was stepping in, hood still half-up, mask pulled under her chin. Her hair was a little messy, like she’d rushed, cheeks slightly flushed from the night air. Her eyes found Lara’s almost instantly.

She smiled. It was soft and it hit Lara square in the chest.

Lara stood frozen for a second. Then her body remembered how to move.

They met halfway across the lobby, both a little breathless. "Hey," Y/N said, voice low and warm. Lara swallowed the knot in her throat. "Hey."

There was a pause. Not awkward, just full. Like both of them knew this wasn’t nothing. Y/N then let out a soft laugh and scratched the back of her neck. "I feel like this is the part where I say something cool," she said, eyes flicking to the ground, then back to Lara’s face.

Lara didn’t even think. "I like you."

It came out before she could stop it. Her eyes widened a little, the weight of the words catching up to her after they’d already fallen.

Y/N’s lips parted, surprise flickering across her face. Then it shifted, her whole expression melting into something soft and unreadable and so full of feeling, it made Lara dizzy. "You... like me?" she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Lara nodded, heart drumming so loud she could barely hear herself. "I do."

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her lips curling into the gentlest smile. Her shoulders relaxed like she’d been holding something in without realizing.

"I like you too," she said, and it wasn’t dramatic or loud. It was just simple and certain.

She stepped a little closer, close enough that Lara could feel the warmth of her hoodie sleeve brush against hers. "Do you wanna go for a drive or something? I don’t really wanna go back yet." Lara nodded fast. "Yeah. That sounds perfect."

Y/N didn’t say anything, she just reached out, slow and gentle, her fingers brushing against Lara’s like a quiet question. Then, without rushing, she softly laced them together, careful but sure, like she wanted to make it clear she meant it.

Her thumb swept the back of Lara’s hand once, barely a touch, but it was enough to send sparks all the way up Lara’s arm.

Lara glanced down at their joined hands, her chest blooming with something warm and giddy, something that made her want to laugh and cry all at once.

Y/N looked over, her voice soft and a little shy. “Is this okay?”

Lara smiled, breathless. “More than okay.”

[formulafanfics13]

Sit On My Lap, Baby - Arthur Leclerc 🔥

masterlist

You'd never been alone with him before. Not like this.

Arthur had always been kind, sweet, and smiley, with that Monaco boy charm that made you blush when he looked at you too long. He used to tease you for your little sundresses, hold doors open for you, and laugh when you got shy around his brother. You thought he was just being polite.

But tonight? Tonight feels different.

You're sitting in a hotel suite in Milan, Ferrari post-party, most of the drivers gone — and it's just you and Arthur, the leftover bottle of champagne, and a playlist humming softly in the background. Your dress is too short, your knees tucked under you on the velvet sofa, and Arthur's watching you like you're the only thing in the world worth looking at.

"You nervous?" he asks gently.

You swallow. "A little."

He smiles. "Why?"

You shrug. "You're older. And... I've never-"

His eyes flicker. "Never?"

You nod, cheeks burning. "Not with anyone."

Arthur sets his drink down. Leans in a little closer. "You want me to be your first?" he asks softly, voice warm as syrup. "Is that what this is?"

Your whole body stiffens. "I-I don't know-"

"Shhh," he murmurs, hand sliding softly to your knee. "It's okay. You don't have to do anything. I just want you to sit here."

He pats his lap. Your breath catches.

"Just sit, bébé," he says, voice low. "Let me hold you."

You hesitate. Then move. Carefully, slowly, you swing one leg over and settle into his lap, straddling him, your dress riding up your thighs, your palms flat on his shoulders.

Arthur exhales like he's waited his whole life for this moment. "That's it," he whispers, hands resting low on your hips. "See? Not so scary."

You nod, heart hammering.

"You look so pretty like this."

Your breath shudders. "I don't know what to do."

Arthur's lips brush your jaw. "You don't have to do anything. Just feel me."

He shifts his hips slightly and that's when you feel it. The hard press of his cock under you. You gasp.

Arthur groans softly. "You feel that, baby?"

You nod, cheeks flaming.

"That's what you do to me," he says. "Just from sitting in my lap. Just from being my shy little angel."

His hands slide up your thighs. Under your dress. Bare skin.

"No panties?" he whispers.

You shake your head.

He groans again. "Fuck."

It's not like you'd planned for this. You just wanted to see him. Just wanted to feel something real. But now you're in his lap, no panties, his cock straining beneath you, and Arthur's whispering filth in your ear like he's reading your mind.

"You ever been touched before?" he asks.

You shake your head. "Only myself..."

"Show me how," he murmurs. "Touch yourself for me. Right here."

You hesitate. Then, with shaking fingers, you reach between your thighs and brush your fingers over your clit.

Arthur watches you like you're holy. "Good girl," he breathes. "That's it. Let me see you."

You moan softly, hips grinding against his lap as your fingers circle slowly. The friction of his cock under you sends heat rushing up your spine.

"Fuck, baby," he says. "You're gonna make yourself come right here, aren't you?"

You nod, dazed, breathless.

"You want me to help?"

"Please."

Arthur grabs your hips, lifts you gently, and tugs the waistband of his sweats down just enough to free his cock. It's thick. Flushed. Already leaking. Your eyes widen.

"I won't go all the way in," he promises. "Just want to feel you."

And then he lowers you slowly, gently, guiding your pussy to slide along the length of his cock without pushing in, grinding your slick folds against him, back and forth, soaking him.

You moan. Loud.

"That's it," he groans. "Rub your little clit on me. Just like that. Get yourself off."

You're crying now, soft, overwhelmed tears, as your hips move on their own. The tip of his cock keeps catching on your entrance. You're so wet. So swollen. Your body wants him.

"Please," you whimper. "Please, Arthur..."

He stills you. "Are you sure?"

You nod. "I want you inside."

He holds your face, kisses your forehead. "Okay, baby. I'll be gentle."

The stretch is slow. He guides you down inch by inch, letting you adjust, whispering "good girl" in your ear over and over until you're fully seated in his lap, cock buried deep in your virgin pussy, your walls fluttering around him like you're about to break.

"Holy fuck," he pants. "You're so tight."

"It hurts," you whisper.

"I know," he soothes. "Just for a second. Breathe. You're doing so good."

He doesn't move. Just holds you. Kisses your neck. Lets your body soften. Then slowly, carefully, he starts to rock you. Tiny movements. Barely anything. But your body responds. You're gasping. Moaning. Digging your nails into his shoulders as pleasure starts to replace the pain.

"That's it," Arthur growls. "You're taking me so well. My perfect little virgin."

You sob his name. You can't stop. He lifts your hips, lets you fall again. You moan louder.

"That's it," he says again. "Bounce for me, baby."

You move.

Shakily. Awkward. But he helps you. Guides your rhythm.

The sound of your slick, your panting, your thighs slapping his.

And then, suddenly, your orgasm hits you.

You scream. Your whole body clenches. Your pussy pulses around him. Arthur groans deep in his chest and grips your hips as he comes inside you, warm and full and shaking.

"Fuck, baby-"

He holds you there. Still. Breathing hard.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly.

You nod. "I feel so full..."

"You are," he whispers. "I came inside."

You blink. He kisses your cheek. "You're mine now."

[splinterclan]

Okay, lets just go over this.

Moon is dead. Bess left again due to ‘knowing’ she wasn’t welcome. Elk likely followed her or just ran away in someway. Prairie is not socially observant nor emotionally smart and is/was blaming Bess for her family troubles(which is only half Bess’s fault and she did Try to make right). Ceder has just officially lost half his family and has his heart broken twice full. And then theres Burn, who is caught in the middle.

Theres no fixing the family. Prairie will need to accept her mom wasn’t heartless but also damaged, Moon is Gone plus Elk is likely as good as gone but worse. Ceder and Burn will hopefully get better together but I fear where Prairi’s mind will go and who she may blame next.

Atleast the cousins are doing okay🫠. To be truthful, I can’t see how things could have gone different sadly.

Ah time can fix a lot - there's no way of knowing rn how things will turn out :') Cut Prairie some slack though, she was way closer to Moon than Elk was and is suffering differently from him. (A lot of Elk's grief has manifested in desperately trying to be close to Bess as a way of idk 'replacing' Moon in her goal to find her? Whilst Prairie feels that Bess doesn't deserve to be happy and blames her for Moon's death. And then Bess thinks that the kids will never heal with her around tearing them apart and she just wants to feel better for once/run away from it all)

If it helps everyone tho, I like at least mostly happy endings... eventually! :p

Probably something like "Now we'll be able to move on" or something to that effect? I know when I first wrote the script I had the full sentence in mind but it's been lost now

and there are some parallels in their end results, but they are different in their thoughts/processes. Bess is naturally very selfish, but is trying harder to do what she feels is best and Prairie sees what she's doing alienating Bess as a 'revenge' for Moonpaw's death - she's fueled purely by grief and anger and hasn't been able to see anything beyond that yet.

Yup! she left a few weeks after their warrior ceremony

jsjsjs can you imagine

[uconndallas]

Name: Buzzer Beater Kisses

A/N: Hi guys! So im finally back I took the past couple of days to come up with some one shots. From the poll I posted it was pretty obvious you guys wanted this one first, dw for the people who voted the other two those will be posted in the coming days. Again tysm for reading! <3

Pairing: Paige Bueckers & Azzi Fudd

_

The gym hums with quiet. The overhead lights buzz faintly, and the polished hardwood reflects a soft glow. Everyone else has gone home. But Paige and Azzi? Still here.

Of course.

This is their thing. Post-practice shots. Trash talk. That razor-thin line between rivalry and something that neither of them wants to name yet.

Azzi stands at the top of the key, spinning a ball idly in her hand, her braid sticking to the back of her neck from lingering sweat. “You gonna shoot, or are you just admiring the floor?”

Paige, sitting on the scorer’s table with her legs swinging, grins. “I was waiting for the right moment. Like any good clutch shooter.”

Azzi smirks. “Clutch? You missed three in a row five minutes ago.”

“Those were warm-ups.”

“That’s what they all say.”

Paige hops off the table and catches a pass from Azzi without looking. There’s something in the way she moves loose, confident, like she owns this court. Like she was born on it.

“Okay,” Paige says, dribbling slowly toward the three-point line. “Let’s make this interesting.”

Azzi raises an eyebrow. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Paige counters, turning to face her. “You’re down three. Clock’s ticking. No timeouts. Make the shot, and you win. But—” She spins the ball once in her hands. “—if I make it, I get something.”

Azzi folds her arms, curious. “And what exactly do you want?”

Paige walks in closer, the ball now cradled in her arm. She meets Azzi’s eyes dead-on. “A kiss.”

Azzi blinks. Once. “You’re not serious.”

Paige just raises an eyebrow. “Try me.”

Azzi’s throat tightens. She’s not flustered easily, but Paige Bueckers has this uncanny ability to get under her skin and make it feel like a massage instead of a splinter. She doesn’t want to give Paige the satisfaction. But she also really, really wants her to make the shot.

She steps back, dropping the ball and rolling it to Paige with her foot. “Alright. Game on. You make that shot before the buzzer, and…” she shrugs, casual, “you get your kiss.”

Paige’s grin is electric. “You’re going to regret this.”

“I really don’t think I will,” Azzi says, but her voice is quieter now. Lower. The air between them is buzzing.

Paige picks up the ball, walks toward half-court, and nods toward Azzi. “You count me down.”

Azzi glances at the scoreboard that isn’t even turned on and holds up her phone, starting an imaginary countdown. “Eight seconds.”

Paige begins her dribble.

“Six…”

She crosses over midcourt, slow, relaxed.

“Four…”

A jab step. She fakes a drive, pulls back behind the arc, maybe two steps.

“Two…”

Azzi watches, heart hammering.

“One.”

Paige pulls up, smooth as water.

The ball arcs high, spinning slow like it knows the stakes. Azzi’s breath catches. The gym goes silent, even the buzz of the lights seems to hush.

Swish.

Clean. Perfect. Nothing but net.

Paige holds her follow-through, eyes still on the hoop, like she knew it was going in before she even let go.

Azzi stares. “No. Freaking. Way.”

Paige finally turns, cocky grin fully activated. “Told you.”

Azzi walks toward her, trying to pretend her stomach isn’t doing a full gymnastics routine. “You really hit that.”

“I always hit when it matters.”

They’re standing close now. Closer than before. Close enough to feel the heat coming off the other, to hear the breath catch in their throats.

“So,” Paige says, voice a little quieter now. “You owe me something.”

Azzi tilts her head, eyes on Paige’s lips, then back up. “That was the deal, huh?”

Paige nods, a little more nervous than she wants to show. “Yeah.”

Azzi reaches up and gently grabs the front of Paige’s practice jersey, pulling her in. “Then come collect.”

And she kisses her.

Not a peck, not a tease. A real kiss. It starts soft, but there’s months of tension behind it. Late nights in the gym. Lingering touches during drills. Jealous glances when someone else made the other laugh too hard. All of it right here, right now.

Paige melts into it instantly, her hand sliding to Azzi’s waist, grounding herself.

Azzi pulls back from the kiss, dazed in the best way. Her heart is thumping like it’s still the fourth quarter of a championship game.

But Paige?

Paige is already smirking like she just won a ring.

“That was definitely worth three points,” she murmurs again, her voice low and smug, her hand still lightly gripping Azzi’s hip like she belongs there now.

Azzi raises an eyebrow. “So what you gonna retire off one buzzer beater?”

Paige blinks innocently. “You think I can’t do it again?”

“Oh, I know you can’t do it again,” Azzi says, backing away with a dangerous smile. “One for one’s cute. But two for three? That’s elite status.”

Paige’s eyes narrow, the competitive spark reigniting instantly. “Okay. Best two out of three. Same stakes?”

Azzi pauses like she’s thinking, even though she already knows her answer. “Nope. New stakes.”

Paige tilts her head. “I’m listening.”

“If I win,” Azzi says, stepping back to grab a ball from the rack, “you’re cooking me dinner. And not your pathetic microwave mac and cheese. Like, real food.”

Paige gapes. “That’s low.”

“And if you win…” Azzi tosses the ball to Paige, cocking her head, “then I’ll stay over.”

Paige catches the ball then freezes.

Azzi sees the change immediately. Paige’s teasing smile softens, like the weight of what that means settles in her chest. It’s not just a joke anymore. Not just a kiss or a dare. It’s real now. A choice.

“You’re serious?” Paige asks, her voice quiet.

Azzi shrugs. “Are you?”

Paige spins the ball once in her hands and breathes out slow. “Always.”

Azzi grins. “Then get to work, Bueckers.”

Round Two:

Paige lines up again, this time just beyond the elbow. Azzi tosses a lazy countdown over her shoulder, pretending not to watch but she’s watching. Every move. Every breath.

“Five… four… three…”

Paige steps back and fakes left, then fades right just for flair.

“Two… one…”

She releases.

Clank.

It bounces hard off the rim and rolls toward the corner.

Azzi bursts out laughing. “Ohhh no! Guess I better start looking up pasta recipes!”

Paige groans dramatically, dragging her hand down her face. “That one was in. The rim moved.”

“Sure it did.”

“Rigged,” Paige mutters. “This whole gym’s rigged.”

Azzi is beaming now, spinning the ball between her palms. “You’re just mad because you choked under pressure.”

Paige eyes her. “That’s funny. I don’t remember you hitting anything yet.”

Azzi dribbles once. “That’s ‘cause I don’t miss.”

Round Three:

The gym is quieter now. The lights buzz, the echo of bouncing basketballs long gone. Azzi’s fingers feel cold on the ball even though her pulse is racing.

She steps back behind the arc.

“No countdown,” she says.

Paige crosses her arms. “You sure?”

Azzi looks at her, eyes bright. “Yeah. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

She squares up, breathes in, and releases.

It’s perfect from the second it leaves her hands.

Swish.

No rim. No hesitation.

Just net.

She turns back, smug. “Better start boiling water, chef.”

Paige walks up to her slowly, stops just close enough to make her nerves flutter again. “I’m not mad,” she says. “That shot was… kind of hot.”

Azzi smirks. “Yeah? You like that follow-through?”

“Shut up.”

They’re laughing again, but this time it’s softer. Easier. Something’s changed not in a dramatic way, but in a quiet, solid kind of way. The kind that settles between people who know they’ve just taken a step they can’t walk back from.

Azzi nudges her. “You gonna get your revenge next practice?”

“Oh, definitely,” Paige says. “But first… what kind of pasta do you like?”

Azzi smiles, warm and honest. “Surprise me.”

They gather their things slowly, shoulder to shoulder. The gym lights flicker once before dimming, but neither of them notices they're already halfway out the door, fingers brushing, hearts light, and kisses still lingering on their lips.

As they step into the cool night air, Paige looks over, a little shy for once. “So… you really staying over?”

Azzi glances at her and grins. “I don’t make bets I’m not ready to win.”

They walk in silence to the car. It's not awkward more like a held breath they’re both slowly letting out. Paige drives. Azzi leans her head back, watching the streetlights paint soft stripes across the dashboard. There’s no music, no small talk. Just this: the steady hum of something new starting to root.

Dinner would have to wait. Right now, this them was enough.

It’s late.

Too late for a post-practice hangout. Too late for casual.

But neither of them has said that out loud.

Paige’s apartment is quiet when they walk in. She drops her keys in the bowl by the door like always, but now her fingers linger, like she’s suddenly aware of the weight of every little thing.

Azzi follows behind her, hoodie zipped up to her chin, hair tied back, backpack slung low. She looks like herself but everything feels different now.

Paige turns back. “You still good to stay?”

Azzi nods without hesitation. “Yeah. You?”

Paige smiles, soft. “Yeah.”

There’s a pause. Not awkward, just… charged.

Azzi glances around. “You want me to sleep on the couch or…?”

“No,” Paige blurts. “I mean uh, no. You can take my bed. I’ll take the couch.”

Azzi tilts her head. “You seriously think I’m letting you sleep on that ancient thing?”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It’s shaped like a U, Paige.”

“I like the U!”

Azzi just looks at her.

Paige fidgets. “Or… we could share?”

The silence that follows is heavy, but not uncomfortable. Just full.

Azzi doesn’t break eye contact. “You sure?”

Paige nods slowly. “Yeah. I want to.”

She’d been clutch on the court a thousand times, but this opening herself up like this felt like the real shot she couldn’t miss.

That does something to Azzi. Her expression softens the tension in her jaw relaxing, her shoulders dropping just enough to show she was holding onto something tighter than she let on.

They brush teeth in awkward tandem, bumping elbows at the sink, giggling quietly like kids at a sleepover. Paige hands Azzi one of her UConn shirts to sleep in it’s huge on her, hangs past her shorts, and Paige pretends not to notice the way it makes her chest flutter.

Lights off. Door closed. The bed creaks gently as they climb in on opposite sides. The space between them is only a few inches wide, but it feels like a chasm.

“Night,” Paige whispers.

“Night,” Azzi murmurs back.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

Azzi shifts under the blanket. “Hey, Paige?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve never done this before.”

Paige turns her head, just a silhouette in the dark. “Stayed over?”

Azzi’s voice is a little smaller now. “No. I mean this. With someone I actually care about.”

That hits Paige straight in the chest. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Same.”

A beat passes.

Then Paige scoots a little closer. Her hand brushes Azzi’s under the blanket, tentative. Waiting.

Azzi laces their fingers together.

Paige’s breath catches.

They lie like that for a while, just holding hands in the dark. No talking, no teasing. Just quiet, shared heartbeat space.

Then, soft as a whisper: “Can I… hold you?”

Azzi doesn’t answer with words. She just shifts closer, rolling to face her, and tucks her head beneath Paige’s chin like she’s done it a thousand times before.

Paige’s arm wraps around her naturally. Their legs touch. Their chests rise and fall together.

It’s not sexual. It’s not rushed. It’s just them.

Raw. Honest. Close.

“I was scared,” Azzi whispers. “That if we ever did this if I let it happen it’d ruin what we had.”

Paige presses a kiss into her hair, slow and sure. “We’re not ruining anything.”

Azzi closes her eyes. “Feels like the start of something, doesn’t it?”

“It is.”

And maybe that’s the real buzzer beater. Not the kiss. Not the shot. But this the courage to show up when it’s quiet. When it’s messy. When it’s real.

They fall asleep like that. Wrapped in each other, in something new.

Something that doesn’t need words anymore.

[bluequeerio]

Omg I never thought about it that way! Thank you so much for sharing! ^^ This has actually helped me understand myself a bit :)

Personal vent down below:

Ppl can say whatever the fuck they want abt ep 5 and Ragatha (bc the block button exists lol) BUT it helped me realize I was in a toxic relationship 😃 I’ll try not to get into it too much bc it’s, well, personal lol

But anyways, seeing Raggie not being chosen despite all her kindness towards Pomni hit a little too close to home 😅 And as much as it pained me seeing her left alone at the end of the ep and then that Glitch post with her sitting by herself staring off into the beautiful night sky, I think it’s what I needed 😭 Cuz I was like, “good for her, she deserves better than that anyways” which made me go “wait a damn minute…” ajdhjsjdksjs 🫢

Another thing that’s piqued my interest is thinking back on Pomni’s apology at the end of ep 3. Of course I think she meant it but at the same time I’m like “well if she meant that then she hasn’t really shown it…” 😐 And I think this is my thought process bc HAHAHA MY EX WAS LIKE THAT 🤠🔫 For instance, they would make/give me gifts that were kinda the bare minimum, call me pretty/hot, tell me they loved me, and want to kiss me so fucking bad yet when it came to the emotional aspect they would disappear like Jax in the pilot during Kaufmo’s abstraction sequence lmaooooo 💀😵‍💫😞

Notes:

🔮 I DO NOT hate Pomni after this ep, I’m just upset and scared for her lol 😣 Like YES ik she is an adult but she’s hanging out with the guy who thinks Gangle genuinely likes it when he bullies her 😬 I just hope our jester girlie is being cautious at the very least (but it doesn’t seem like it rip 🫤)

🔮 I am also very aware that my ex COULD stumble upon this post, I just don’t gaf anymore 🥴🤧 I think she deserves to know she was actually not the best girlfriend. I feel played and used 😓🙄🫩 Seriously I’d rather Jax shoot me in that safari adventure

🔮 Last but not least, if u know or think u know who my ex is PLS DO NOT GO AFTER THEM!! I hope this quick edit is not too late 😮‍💨 My feelings are my feelings whether they are right or wrong. But that is solely my business. I am simply venting, not trying to stir up trouble. FYI: my ex is not a terrible person or anything like that — I just realized we weren’t as compatible as I thought. And guess what? That’s ok! ☻

🌔 Other quick edit: I said some harsh things abt what they did/how it made me feel and not only have I removed some of them (the worst ones in my opinion) but I’d like to apologize, as I’ve accepted that I need to work on myself so that I can move on :) Yes I feel hurt, but the entirety of Tumblr doesn’t need the details. If they’re reading this or have already done so, I’m very sorry! I really do want the best for you but I was in my feels when I first made this post 🤥 And it will not happen again! 😣

♡ If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! ♡

Ok so

I personally didn’t see this scene as Ragatha realizing she’s alone

I actually think this is her making the choice to give up on getting closer with Pomni

See, It’s important that we got these moments in between Ragatha realizing Pomni and Jax have grown close enough to act like friends

Between her getting to know about someone she’s supposedly been stuck with for years and still being on good terms with someone she’s felt guilty for treating poorly

Ragatha is actually shown to be growing closer with the others

This is her feeling the warmth and validation she’s been seeking out

She doesn’t need more friends, she’s had some pretty good ones already, and in her obsession to be liked by yet another person has made her forget that a bit

Her brief moment of explosive anger with Pomni (very justified anger I might add) and then witnessing how Pomni was choosing to keep talking with Jax (the one who made her angry in the first place) made her feel betrayed

She’s watching Pomni bond with someone who likes to hurt others

She’s been wanting to get closer with a person who who wants to spend their time with someone who hurts her

So at the end, I think she’s realizing that this is not the kind of person she wants to get close with anymore

[mswyrr]

1x08 has some beautiful and devastating character work for Mensah, in the writing and Noma's performance, which all leads up to her yelling at Ratthi and I want to go into that.

First of all, I read this moment as her sincerely (if also in the awareness that it's a bit silly) using the affectionate endearment Ratthi has come up with -- after finding out about the transponder, she's relieved that Murderbot has come through yet again. And NO, it's deeply unfair for her to later think of this bonding behavior as treating it like a "pet" -- that's a teammate with a team nickname! That's Ratthi literally doing *the same thing* he did when he started affectionately calling Gurathin "Gugu"! He's sweet and a bit oblivious but deeply caring and not treating Murderbot any differently as a bot than he'd treat a similar human person.

And then during the surgery, when she cannot help Gurathin, Murderbot steps up -- she's moved and also doubtful (she knows it so well by now! lol)

And then, well -- Gurathin finally found the pressure point to hit with her, the one piece of evidence that would make her feel she cannot continue advocating for Murderbot to remain part of the team. Gurathin is deeply in love with her, subconsciously jealous, and consciously convinced that Murderbot has to be driven away for the safety of Mensah and her people. (This is incredibly stupid and more likely to get them killed than Murderbot hanging around... but emotions don't actually make sense!) And he found it. This whole time, with Murderbot killing Leebeebee, with Gurathin's prior accusations and the team's doubts -- nothing shook Mensah's confidence in the bond she felt with Murderbot and the mutual trust they've shared. But this revelation does.

This is evident in the way she asks: it's not true? And Murderbot cannot tell her what she needs to hear.

Her expressions in light of it not being able to reassure her are heartbreaking

And then they really hit us in the feels -- they do a reversal of the scene from last episode, where she said that it would help if Murderbot put its helmet down so the group could see it as a person who is trying to help -- "because that's how I see you."

And here... she no longer fully believes in it and trusts her own judgment and sees it that way, she doubts that vision due to the evidence Gurathin just provided (intentionally hammering on her buttons -- her guilt and responsibility as a leader -- just as hard as he can, believing that it's right... but it was also cruel).

After Gurathin says his "maybe you're just defective" and always just moments away from killing line, Murderbot focuses on Mensah, hoping for the support she's provided -- seeking her judgment of it -- and it cannot find the acceptance it came to trust would be there. This time *Mensah* looks away. It puts the helmet back up because the person who invited it to put it down and be "part of the team"--whose trust and care it has bonded so deeply with-- isn't issuing that same invitation. It leaves because of *her* reaction.

It's a moment of heartbreak for both of them. But Mensah's leadership responsibilities mean everything to her. If it could truly go off on them at any moment--not in theory, because it is a being with free will, and all beings with free will could technically go of on each other at any time, but because it has a "defect"? She feels she has to put her people first -- she feels foolish and like she took risks she shouldn't have because she was following that deep sense of connection, trusting her feelings.

Even with all that, she's still torn -- and, *SHE* is the first one to say "We can't let it leave." While looking so desperately sad and aching.

But over the course of this conversation she firms her resolve of what she feels she has to do to care for her team. You can watch this happen in her body language and her face (Noma is such a talent!!)

And then Gurathin uses the effective tool he's found and drives it right into her heart again:

Not only can we see the shift in her expression and body language, but then she finalizes her forced resolve by literally *closing the door on it*. She's closing the door on her own heart and the parts of it that have bonded with this strange, moving, kind, dangerous being.

It is out of this emotional place--where Ratthi is actually speaking those parts of her heart--that she lashes out. Not because Ratthi did anything wrong! She's a complex human being, not a perfect Mom, not unable to be worked on and for someone to find a weak spot and crack it right open, as Gurathin did. With the best of intentions. Because everyone here is under tremendous stress -- and nobody has to be a villain for people to wrong and wound each other deeply.

She's yelling at herself more than Ratthi. She's yelling at the part of her heart that she sees in him in that moment (and that the writing invites us to see, beginning with the "Seccy" parallel early on) and that she's trying desperately to close the door on and keep it hammered shut even though it hurts terribly. It's excellent writing (the writers have a really nuanced grasp of psychology and the characters!) and acting on Noma's part. And I'm SO EXCITED to see where this goes in the final two episodes!

[beabatoru]

10 things I hate about you pt. 2 ｡𖦹°‧ hockey player! gojo x reader

pt. 2/2

pairing ⊹ ࣪ ˖ college au - hockey player! gojo x reader

summary : after the events of the hockey game where you found out you were the centerpiece of a bet between the boy you grew to like and his hockey teammates, you now also have to struggle with family problems miles away with your father on the verge of passing. piles of hospital bills are stacking up and you have no idea how to pay them off and on top of that, gojo is still begging for your forgiveness.

warning / tags ⟢ fluff, angst, smut, college au, this fic is based on the film '10 things I hate about you', partial angst with readers father regarding sickness, reader is low income. gojo is very pathetic.

w.c : 1.8k

a / n . hello everyone ! I hope you all enjoyed the first part of this fic. sorry it took me a while to put the second part out I just wanted to make sure it lived up to your guy's expectations. I wanted to take this time to announce that I have opened an ao3. im still learning how to use it so if anyone has any tips please reach out !

his hugs were warm.

thats the first thing you noticed when he embraced you, watching as your tears stained his shirt but he didn't care. he was quiet allowing your sobs to fill the room. something told him that he didn't even have the right to comfort you like this, but he did it regardless.

"I never found a time to bring it up to you.." you said between broken sobs. he didn't ask why, just letting his cheek rest on top of your head inhaling the sweet scent from your shampoo. "i'm here now. i'm not going anywhere." part of you wanted to believe him. part of you did believe him. but the other part was reminding you of what he did.

you pulled back to look at him, seeing how he too was on the verge of tears and the way his long white lashes were damp. "...you lied to me." you whispered reminding yourself. "you dont get to say that you're here for me. not after you played around with my feelings." your voice broke out of its previous soft whisper making gojo's eyes widen a bit, still holding onto you. "you said I wasn't something to play around with but it turns out this was just a bet. that I was just a bet."

"it started off as that." he interrupted. "but god, it stopped the second I talked to you." you shook your head, not wanting to believe anything that came out of his mouth anymore. "you told me-" it was impossible to say anything else with the way your voice was trembling. "you told me I wasn't something to play with.." you repeated. "baby listen to me.." he begged but you refused.

"I don't think me ignoring your texts and calls were enough so I'll say it now, I don't want you around satoru. I don't want you in my life anymore."

"can you just let me explain everything?" he sighed, moving his hands to hold your shoulders lightly enough that if you wanted to leave, you could. he would never force something on you. he couldn't bring himself to ever hurt you again.

satoru’s breath caught in his throat. “i meant every word, even when i shouldn’t have,” he said. “the bet was real. i won’t lie to you about that, but what happened after? that was real, too. i swear it.”

"do you even know what a promise is anymore?" you reached to wipe your cheeks but he beat you to it. his thumbs softly wiped them away the second they left the eyes he fell deeply in love with.

"im not the girl who will forgive you just because you suddenly realize you care." you continued.

"ive always cared." he looked down at the letters in your hands, reaching out to grab one bringing it up to his face to read it. it was the one from the hospital. "you're not.. sick are you love?" he asked, afraid that you were the one dealing with a bunch of health problems. you shook your head. "its my dad.. he has cancer and... and his bills are expensive and he's in the hospital and I dont know what to do."

the bills were expensive.

there was multiple zeros right after that two. ".. you dont have the money." you shook your head, placing it back on his chest feeling how his hand rubbed your back.

the mail room meetup was yesterday. you've been stuck in your dorm looking through american airlines, seeing which flight was the cheapest to fly back home to possibly see your father for the last time. no, you shouldn't be thinking like this.

he was going to be okay. you'll go back, pay what you can, hell you'll drop out of university just to pick up as many jobs as you can. and then you'll make your father and brothers the blueberry pancakes they love so much and join in on the hockey games they play on the tv.

satoru has been quiet. he hasn't reached out and you figured he gave up in wanting to explain himself to you. maybe he gave up because he really didn't care as he said he did.

your laptop screen blurred for a moment as your eyes welled with tears again, but you blinked them away immediately, determined not to fall apart at least not until you booked the flight.

$387. one way. non-refundable. leaves tomorrow. at 11 am.

you couldn’t afford this flight. but you couldn’t afford to stay either.

you watched the cursor hover over the 'pay now' button before it pressed down on it. 'thank you for your purchase ! a confirmation email has been sent to you along with your ticket. thank you for choosing american airlines and have a safe flight.'

"you're leaving tomorrow?" miwa's small voice spoke out behind you. she's been the only thing keeping you from having a full breakdown with her soft words and how understanding she was. you felt guilty for leaving her.

"..yeah just for a bit. until things get sorted out. I'll hopefully be back before next week."

she nodded. "I'll help you pack then."

"no its fine-"

"im packing." she repeated.

you gave her a small smile before turning to look back at your computer staring at the same message before a new one popped up.

"thank you for your payment of $25,000 at kaiser permanente hospital." your eyes widened. 'no way, did they take out money from my account? I dont even have $25k?!' you thought before reaching for your phone, opening up the Bank of America app to look at your account. nothing. just the amount you spent for the plane ticket. $387.

it showed nothing about a hospital or 25 thousand.

was it a scam? no, that was the hospital your father was staying in. and it was dressed to your name and the sender address was real. you looked through papers and letters trying to find the bill you grabbed out of your mailbox yesterday. it wasn't here.

"is everything okay?" miwa asked walking over to the desk.

"the hospital bill.. its not here. the one I got yesterday of the amount I owe for my fathers stay at the icu.." it definitely wasn't with you. thats when it hit you. satoru grabbed it from your hands and he never returned it.

your fingers were already moving, looking through your contacts before finding "my sugar daddy"

it rang.

once.

and he picked up.

"hey.." his voice was soft. your lips parted aware that you were crying again. "toru.."

"mhm?"

"what did you do?"

there was a pause. you could practically hear him turning away from wherever he was, like he needed to find a quiet place just to breathe. "paid for you. forgot to ask you to send over the rest of the bills to pay them off."

"no.. no you already paid so much.. why, why would you do that satoru.."

"cuz I love you? because I want you back in my life and I want to meet your father and personally thank him for making such a beautiful daughter like you."

"...we've known each other for how long? a month yeah? a month is all I need to know that you're it for me. is it wrong for me to say that im thankful I took on that bet?" he chuckled. "to me you weren't a bet baby. everything about you felt raw. you kept rejecting me and god, that made me want you even more."

you didn't speak, allowing him to finish letting out his emotions. "and I hated myself for liking you, for falling for you like a fucking idiot. because it meant it wasn't a bet anymore, it was love. and I hated how I took that bet. I hated your stupid hair, and the way you made me have butterflies. I hated the music you listened to, your dorky smile. I hate the way your voice softens when you talk about the shit you like. I hate that I dont know every detail about you down to you favorite childhood movie. but.. I hate how I don't hate you at all. and I hate how I dont regret doing the bet at all, because otherwise, I wouldn't have met you."

you smiled at his confession. "you can't just fix this by paying for my fathers medical bills.."

"I know." he whispered.

"..and you lied to me." you continued, but at this point you were just playing with him.

"I did. but im not lying now. I stopped lying weeks ago."

"why?"

"because I fell in love with this really awesome girl. a girl I want by my side at all times. and a girl I really want to see right now. please, come over?..."

"yeah.. yeah ill be over."

"okay.. thank you."

you let out a shaky breath, a tentative hope flickering inside you. maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end.

miwa grinned as she saw you putting on your shoes to head out to his dorm.

"have fun!" she called out.

you reached the airport just in time with your luggage on one hand and satoru's warm hand on the other. "y'know this is my first time flying in like three years?" he whispered over to you.

"seriously? are you scared?" you teased.

he immediately shook his head. "not at all." but the way he was gripping your hand said otherwise. "glad you let me come with you.."

"well I think my family would like to meet the boy ive talked about and the one who took care of my fathers hospital bills."

"youve talked about me?"

"yeah when you lied to me."

"they're going to hate me."

you let out a breathy laugh, the sound reached his ears and it made him smile like a dork that has fallen for you all over again. you didn't let go of his hand once, not even when you were seated on the plane.

you didn't let go now, and maybe not for a while.

bonus

"so, you're the guy that broke my sisters heart." yuji stared down gojo at the dinner table. the white haired boy looked up with a mouthful of your blueberry pancakes. "I fixed it." he gulped down the food. "this is delicious love." he groaned reaching to grab the last pancake from the plate set in the middle of the table before it got snatched by yuji who stuffed it in his mouth while maintaining eye contact with gojo.

"you're right they hate me.." he whispered to you.

you shot yuji a look in which he only stuck his tongue out at you. "they'll grow to love you."

matt climbed over your lap to hand gojo half of his eaten pancake. "I think they already do" you whispered to him. he smiled, accepting the pancake from the little boys hand before placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

ending a / n . i completely raw dogged this in one sitting after seeing that 'part 2 of 10 things I hate about you' was winning. anyways i hope you all are satisfied with the ending ! I will continue to write little drabbles for 10tihay! gojo and reader, so if you have any ideas for that lmk ! ty for reading !

🏷️ @bakugouswaif @charlotterosea13 @levermilion @blackhawkfanatic @admmsatoru @einawnimie @k0z3me @cosmic-101

[berryispunk]

Heatwave

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: porn with a little plot , no physical description of reader, tension, all the clichés, unprotected PinV, bad murder jokes, creampie, Frankie being a walking green flag, damsel in distress trope, sweat, stranger danger AU, vulnerable man, smut with feelings, cursing, kissing, soft! Frankie

summary: Stranded in the middle of a relentless heatwave, you take a chance on the quiet stranger who stops to help—and what begins with a broken-down car ends with you asking yourself: what could possibly go wrong getting into a stranger’s home?

notes Obviously, this goes without saying—but don’t go hopping into strangers’ trucks, no matter how hot the heatwave (or the man). This is fiction, babes. Stay safe, stay smart, and let the rest of us make the reckless choices in stories only.

word count: 6,4 k words

read on ao3

It was hot. Like skin-melting-off-your-bones hot. Like the air itself was trying to suffocate you in slow, sticky increments.

You swore the sun had taken it personally when your car stuttered, groaned, and then—just to be dramatic—died on the side of the endless stretch of road that cut through the middle of absolutely nowhere. Great, this was the last thing you needed. 

No service. no shade. No clue what you were supposed to do next.

So when the rumble of an old truck broke through the scorched silence and rolled into view like some dusty mirage, you tensed. Because what kind of story started like this and didn’t end up on a true crime podcast?

The truck slowed. The driver—dark shirt, cap, sunglasses, the whole ex-military drifter vibe—stuck his arm out the window. "You alright?"

You shaded your eyes with your hand, squinting up at him. "Not really. Car just… gave up on life."

He nodded once,didn’t push. “Mind if I take a look?”

You hesitated. His voice was calm, unhurried even. Something about it made you want to trust him, even though every safety podcast you’d ever listened to was screaming don’t.

But then again, the sun was still trying to kill you, and he was the first human being you’d seen in over an hour.

“Yeah, sure,” you said finally, stepping back. “I—I don’t know what happened. I was just driving and then…”

He climbed out of the truck, moving slow and deliberate like he knew you were still sizing him up. Hands where you could see them, keeping distance—polite in a way most men forgot how to be.

“Pop the hood?” he asked.

You did. He leaned in, wiped his brow, muttered something under his breath, which didn’t really sound like English.

“Damn,” he said finally, stepping back. “That thing’s cooked. Radiator’s bone dry and the belt’s shot. She’s not going anywhere.”

You stared at him. “So that’s bad, right?”

“Bad enough you’ll need a tow. And with no bars out here…” He glanced at his phone, confirming the zero-signal reality. “Well. My place is a couple miles down the road. Got AC, cold water, and a landline if you wanna call someone from there.”

You blinked, arms instinctively crossed. “Your place?”

“Yeah. I know.” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Stranger. Truck. Middle of nowhere. Not the best setup. But I swear, I’m not a serial killer. I’m just Frankie.”

“…Frankie,” you echoed.

He gave a small, crooked grin. “Yep. And you can ride in the front or the bed of the truck, your call. I won’t be offended.”

—

The interior of his truck was warm, but not boiling—which, at this point, felt like stepping into a luxury spa. The seat clung to the backs of your thighs, your jean shorts and tank top sticking to you in all the wrong places. You probably smelled even worse than you felt. The air conditioning sputtered, coughed once, then kicked in with a groaning hum that might’ve been the sweetest sound you’d heard all day.

Frankie slid behind the wheel, adjusted his cap, and gave you a quick glance. “Seatbelt?”

You clicked it into place. “Don’t wanna die in the truck of a stranger, got it.”

He huffed a quiet laugh and pulled onto the road. “I swear, this is not a habit of mine.”

“What isn’t?”

“Picking up women stranded in the desert heat. Feels like a bad plot to a worse movie.”

You tilted your head, watching him. “And what, you’re the misunderstood loner with a heart of gold?”

He smirked. “Something like that. Just didn’t feel right driving past you. That sun was out for blood.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, fanning yourself with one hand. “I was starting to see dead relatives. One of them was offering me a lemonade.”

Frankie chuckled again—soft, almost surprised. “That bad?”

“That hot,” you said, then added, “But yeah. I mean, stranger danger and all, but I figured if you wanted to kill me, you wouldn’t be doing it in broad daylight in a truck that smells faintly like motor oil and McNuggets.”

He grinned at that, a quick flash of teeth. “You’re very trusting.”

“Not really. I took a gamble. Worst case, I jump out the window.”

“That’s your plan?”

“Better than melting into a cautionary tale on the side of the road.”

Frankie shook his head, amused. “Well, I’ll try not to disappoint.”

A few beats passed. Outside, the heat shimmered against the windshield in soft, warping waves. You stole a glance at him—sunglasses still on, one hand resting on the wheel, forearms strong and tanned, dusted with old freckles and faint scars. He was broad. Solid. Definitely too strong to fight off, even if you wanted to. His dark shirt clung to his shoulders and stretched thin over biceps that looked like they’d seen their fair share of work. A few damp curls peeked out from beneath his cap, sticking to his temple and the back of his neck. His skin glistened with sweat, a slow trail likely running down his spine just like it was down yours. You quickly looked away, though a different kind of heat curled up your back—one that had nothing to do with the sun.

“So… what do you do?” you asked, mostly just to break the silence and keep your thoughts from wandering somewhere dangerous.

“I’m a pilot,” he replied without missing a beat.

You raised a brow. “Like, commercial?”

He shook his head. “Choppers. Private mostly. Medical transport sometimes.”

“Well,” you said, blinking, “that’s… cooler than I expected.”

He glanced your way. “What were you expecting?”

You gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. A mechanic. Or like... someone who definitely owns a snake.”

That made him bark a real laugh. “No snakes. Not even a dog. Just a lot of dust and one sad little cactus I keep forgetting to water.”

“I respect that. The bar is low, but you’re clearing it.”

Frankie slowed the truck as a long gravel driveway came into view, flanked by dry grass and a crooked mailbox that had seen better days ‘Home sweet home’.

You studied it—modest, sun-bleached, the kind of place that said I live here quietly and don’t bother anyone. Safe, even. Or maybe that was just him. The way he hadn’t tried to charm you, hadn’t pressed,  just offered help and let you decide.

“You sure you’re not a serial killer?” you asked again, half-teasing as you shut the passenger door with a solid thud.

Frankie opened his own door, glancing at you over the roof of the truck. “Nah,” he said, a faint grin tugging at his mouth. “Those guys usually keep their trucks a lot cleaner.”

You stifled a laugh as you followed him down the narrow path to the weathered veranda, hesitating just slightly as he stepped ahead and pushed the front door open, holding it there with one hand.

“You can stay outside if you still don’t trust me,” he said, a grin tugging at his mouth, “but there’s no AC.”

You tilted your head, arching a skeptical brow. “I can scream loud.”

Frankie huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head. “You can try. Nearest neighbors are two miles in the opposite direction. Good luck with that.”

And somehow—maybe it was the heatstroke talking, maybe something else entirely—you stepped past him, brushing close as you crossed the threshold into his home. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch. Just stood there, holding the door open and watching you with that calm, unreadable expression.

The blast of cool air hit you like a wave. You let out a shaky exhale you hadn’t realized you were holding.

It was a modest space—cool, dim, with mismatched furniture and the faint scent of cedar and dust. Lived-in. Quiet. The kind of place that shouldn’t have felt safe but somehow did.

You turned just enough to catch him watching you. Not in a creepy way—nothing leering or obvious. But his gaze flicked downward, slow, lingering for a breath too long before dragging back up. Your flushed cheeks, your throat, the way your damp tank top clung to your skin. You caught the flicker of something in his eyes before he cleared his throat and glanced away, the back of his hand brushing over his jaw.

“I’ve got a landline in the kitchen,” he said, voice lower now, rougher. “You can use it to call a tow. Water’s cold, if you need that first.”

You nodded, unsure if the heat curling in your stomach was from the weather or the way he’d looked at you—like he was trying not to. Like he wasn’t sure if he should.

And maybe you weren’t sure either.

—

The kitchen was simple—faded tile, humming fridge, a fan turning slow in the corner. It smelled faintly like coffee grounds and the ghost of something fried days ago. You leaned against the counter, trying to ground yourself, trying to breathe, while Frankie crossed the room, opening a cabinet with the kind of ease that made it impossible not to stare at the way his shoulders moved under that dark shirt.

He grabbed a glass, filled it from the filter jug in the fridge, and turned toward you. And then—because of course—your fingers brushed as he handed it over.

It was nothing. A blink of a moment but it hit like lightning.

You flinched just slightly, not from fear—no, worse—from the jolt of heat that zipped up your spine like your nerve endings had been rewired just for him.

“Thanks,” you muttered, trying not to look at his mouth. Or his hands. Or the tiny bead of sweat trailing down the side of his neck like it had a personal vendetta against your willpower.

“No problem,” he said, but his voice was different now—softer, rougher, like he felt it too. His gaze lingered for half a second too long on your lips before he looked away, scratching at the stubble on his jaw like he was grounding himself.

You gulped the water even though you weren’t really thirsty. Just needed something to do. Something to cool down the low, traitorous ache curling in your belly.

You were in the middle of nowhere. In a stranger’s house. You should be thinking pepper spray, exits, license plate. You should be thinking about true crime documentaries and every warning your mother ever gave you. But all you could think about was how good his voice sounded in that heat-slow drawl. How big his hands were. How close he’d been when you walked past him at the door—and how much closer you suddenly wanted him to be now.

God, where the hell was your survival instinct? What was actually wrong with you?

You set the glass down with more force than necessary, stepping back like that would fix the wild electricity crackling between your bodies.

Frankie’s eyes flicked to yours. “You good?”

No,not even close.

“Yeah,” you said, too quickly. “Just... dizzy. Heat, probably.”

He nodded slowly, but the way his jaw ticked said he didn’t quite believe you.

“Phone’s right there,” he said, nodding toward the corner of the kitchen where an old beige landline sat on a small table, next to a pile of unopened mail.

You moved toward it like it was salvation. Like you hadn’t just had a full-blown hormonal short-circuit in front of a stranger who somehow smelled like sweat and soap and the worst idea you’ve ever had.

And you already kind of hated how much you wanted more.

—

You dialed the number slowly, each button click loud in the quiet kitchen. The landline cord curled like a snake between your fingers as you pressed the receiver to your ear, listening to the endless ringing on the other end.

Finally—finally—a crackly voice answered. You gave them your location, your best guess at the mile marker, and explained, as patiently as possible, that your car had chosen the worst time and place to die.

There was a pause. Then: “Yeah, we can send someone, but it’s gonna be a few hours. Maybe three, maybe more. We’ve got another pickup ahead of you and a guy out sick today.”

You blinked. “A few—?”

“I mean, you can wait in the heat if you want, but…”

You glanced toward the hallway, where you could hear the low hum of the fan and the distant squeak of floorboards as Frankie moved. You were still warm, still too aware of your skin and the way the air felt against it, but you weren’t dying anymore. Not of heatstroke, anyway.

“Right,” you said, sighing into the phone. “No, that’s fine. I’ll wait.”

You hung up slower than you meant to. The quiet returned, thick and a little heavy. You stood there for a second, staring at the phone like maybe it would ring again and let you off the hook.

It didn’t.

Footsteps padded back into the kitchen, and Frankie leaned against the doorframe with a bottle of water in his hand. He looked casual, but not quite relaxed—like he was waiting for the verdict.

You lifted your gaze to meet his. “Guess I’ll be around for a while.”

His eyebrows shot up under the visor of his cap. “Yeah?”

But it wasn’t just surprise. There was something else—something quicker and warmer that flickered across his face before he could stop it. Relief, maybe. Or excitement. Whatever it was, it passed too fast to name, but it hit.

He took a slow sip from his water bottle and nodded, trying to play it cool. “Well. Got snacks. Cold drinks. Fan’s got two settings, and I make a mean grilled cheese if you’re hungry.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Is that your way of saying you’re not going to murder me and bury me in the backyard?”

He smirked. “Nah. I don’t even have a shovel.”

“Good to know,” you said, but your voice came out lighter than before. Easier. Against your better judgment, you started to relax.

Still, some part of your brain—the logical one, the one that hadn’t short-circuited in the kitchen a minute ago—kept whispering: what the hell are you doing? You don’t know this man.

But god help you, you were starting to want to.

—

The grilled cheese sizzled in the pan, golden edges crisping just right as the scent of butter filled the kitchen. Frankie worked quietly, a butter knife in one hand and a casual, easy grace in the way he moved.

You sat on a barstool, watching him from across the counter, occasionally sipping the water he’d refreshed for you. Outside, the heat still pulsed like a warning—but inside, things had cooled. The hum of the fan, the faint clatter of pans, his low chuckle at something you'd said—it all folded into something that felt weirdly good. Too good definitely given the circumstances. 

“So, you do this for all your stranded victims?” you asked, chin propped on your hand. “Cook them grilled cheese, turn the AC on high, lull them into a false sense of security?”

He shot you a sideways glance. “Only the ones who look like they’ll fight back if I try anything.”

You snorted. “You’re damn right.”

He plated the sandwiches and handed you yours, brushing your fingers again, whether on purpose or not, you couldn’t tell. You pretended not to notice the warmth it left behind.

You took a bite—and damn. Buttery. Perfectly crisp. Just the right amount of cheese. You groaned in delight. Groaned.

Frankie laughed, that low rumble again, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

“You okay over there?” he asked, eyes bright.

“This is stupidly good,” you said with your mouth half full. “If you were trying to win me over with grilled cheese, congratulations you succeeded.”

“Not my worst plan,” he said with a smirk.

And just like that, the conversation slipped into something softer. You talked about the heat, your cursed road trip, his work, how different it must be to fly helicopters compared to being grounded out here. At some point, you mentioned a movie you liked and he lit up—had seen it too, quoted a line that made you laugh until your stomach hurt.

And in that moment, it all felt so light. So easy. You forgot how awful the day had started. Forgot how ridiculous it was to feel this calm in a stranger’s kitchen—and almost forgot that you weren’t supposed to want to stay.

Which is probably why it slipped out, without filter, without warning.

“So… when’s the woman of the house coming home?”

The question hung there for a beat too long.

Frankie didn’t flinch, didn’t frown. But his gaze dropped, mouth twitching slightly like he was thinking of something that still lived behind his ribs.

“There’s none,” he said quietly. “Not anymore at least.”

You didn’t say anything, not right away.

He reached for his glass, the corner of his mouth tugging faintly—not quite a smile, not quite a grimace.

“Too much work being in a relationship with me. Or maybe just… too much of me, period. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Some people are easier to love than others. I don’t think I’m one of them.”

That hit harder than it should’ve. The way he said it—so matter-of-fact, like it wasn’t up for debate.

You leaned forward slightly, fingers tightening around your glass.

“I don’t know much about you,” you said, voice quieter now, softer, “but from what I’ve seen so far? You showed up when someone needed help. You kept your distance, asked permission, didn’t push. You made grilled cheese and didn’t even poison it.”

That earned the faintest smile.

You met his eyes. “That doesn’t sound like ‘too much’ to me.”

He held your gaze for a long moment, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the unexpected kindness. Then he nodded, slowly, and said, “Thanks.”

You both went quiet after that. Not awkward—just still. Like the air between you had shifted somehow and this strange little bubble you’d landed in wasn’t just a passing thing.

—

The sun was setting, bleeding orange and gold across the sky, washing the porch in that soft, late-hour light that made everything look gentler than it really was. The heat had broken, but it still clung in the corners, thick in the air between you.

You sat beside Frankie on the porch steps, a glass of water sweating in your hand, his knee just barely brushing yours every now and then. The cicadas had started their song, the air was still, and for a while, neither of you spoke.

It should’ve felt peaceful, but it didn’t. It felt like waiting.

Frankie leaned back on his palms, head tilted toward the fading light. “Always quiet out here,” he said, voice low and a little hoarse. “Too quiet, sometimes.”

You glanced over at him. He looked tired in a way that went deeper than his muscles—like someone who didn’t get touched much, didn’t get looked at much, not really. Not the kind of looking that made you feel seen.

“Do you like it?” you asked.

He took a moment before answering. “Some days, yeah. Others…” He shrugged. “Gets lonely.”

Your heart did something stupid at that. The kind of twist that made you shift closer without thinking. You didn’t know what you were doing. Only that the weight between you had changed again—heavier now. Magnetic.

He looked at you, really looked at you. His eyes slow and dark and searching, lingering too long on your mouth before he caught himself and looked away. But it was too late. The current had shifted.

You swallowed hard. “Frankie...”

He turned back to you, and something cracked open behind his eyes. Something that looked like hunger. Not the casual kind. The aching kind. And then—like the tension finally snapped—he leaned in to you.

The kiss wasn’t soft, it wasn’t careful.

It was heat and need and the crash of everything you both had been holding back all day. His hand cupped the side of your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he was trying to memorize the shape of your face. And then his mouth was on yours—urgent, desperate, tasting of heat and faint salt and the kind of longing that digs under your ribs and doesn’t let go.

He kissed you like he’d forgotten what it felt like to be wanted. Like he didn’t believe it until this moment.

And god, you matched it. Your fingers gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, until there was no space left between you. His other hand slid to your hip, grounding you, holding you like he needed the contact to stay present.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathing hard, foreheads brushing, Frankie didn’t say anything for a long moment.

But the look on his face was enough, like he hadn’t expected this. Like maybe, deep down, he’d needed it more than he realized.

“Shit,” he whispered, more to himself than you, his lip twitching into a disbelieving smile.

And all you could do was nod, because same.

You were both breathless, the kind of quiet that only comes after something irreversible.

Frankie’s hand was still on your face, his thumb just barely brushing your cheekbone. His forehead rested against yours, but he didn’t move to kiss you again. Not yet.

Instead, his voice came low. Careful, still catching his breath.

“You okay?”

Those two words—so simple—hit you harder than the kiss. Not because you weren’t. But because in the middle of all this heat, this pull, this insane, reckless moment he still made room for you. Still needed to know you wanted this, too.

And something in you cracked right open.

You didn’t answer with words, you just moved.

One knee between his thighs, then the other, climbing into his lap like gravity had stopped bothering to work. Your glass of water tipped over somewhere in the motion, rolling across the porch with a dull clatter, long forgotten.

Frankie stiffened—just for a second—like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. Like maybe you’d disappear if he moved too fast. He looked up at you, wide-eyed beneath the shadow of his cap, his hands hovering in the air like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch you again.

But you were already there, thighs bracketing his hips, fingers curled in the soft fabric of his shirt, heart pounding in a rhythm that matched his own. And when his hands finally settled on your waist, it felt less like a choice and more like coming home.

“You sure?” he murmured, voice wrecked.

You nodded, mouth brushing his. “I’m sure.”

That was all it took.

His grip tightened—just a little—as he pulled you in, kissed you again like he was falling apart at the seams and you were the only thing holding him together. There was no finesse to it, no practiced rhythm. Just pure, hungry need, all tongue and teeth and quiet groans swallowed between lips.

His hands slid up your sides, fingers dragging slowly along the hem of your top like he was memorizing every inch, every curve. You could feel him breathing harder, his chest rising against yours, his body trembling with restraint.

This wasn’t careful anymore. It was a damn breaking.

But even in the chaos of it—his lips, your fingers in his hair, your hips rocking forward without meaning to—there was that thing about Frankie. That steadiness. That unspoken promise in every kiss and every touch.

His hands gripped your waist like he was still afraid you might vanish—like maybe you were a dream the heat conjured, and any sudden movement would wake him up.

You didn’t stop him.

His lips were rough in the best way, scraping against yours, a scrape that softened when his nose bumped yours, when he paused to kiss your cheekbone, the corner of your mouth, the edge of your jaw like he was tracing a map back to something he thought he’d forgotten.

The air had cooled, finally, but your skin was flushed, burning. Goosebumps prickled down your arms and legs, not from cold but from the contrast—his warmth against you, the breeze licking at damp skin.

His fingers slid beneath your top. Just a little. Just enough to touch bare skin, to rest against the dip of your back like he needed to feel you. His hands weren’t greedy, weren’t rushed. They moved slowly and reverently.

And god, that wrecked you.

Because it had been too long since someone touched you like this. Like you were wanted, not just convenient, like you were something to savor.

Frankie kissed you again, slower now, more careful—as if the first round had burned through his restraint and left only truth behind. And that truth was this: he needed this as badly as you did. Maybe more.

You rocked forward in his lap, the friction sending a gasp tumbling from your lips. His head dropped against your shoulder, hands tightening on your hips.

“Jesus,” he breathed, voice wrecked, “you feel so fuckin’ good…”

You arched into him, your hands sliding under his shirt to find warm skin—his ribs, his chest, the fine trail of hair leading downward. Every inch of him was solid, trembling under your touch, like this was all unraveling too fast for him to keep up.

“I shouldn’t want this,” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “We barely know each other…”

His breath hitched. “Doesn’t change how it feels.”

And god—he was right. This wasn’t about logic. This was about need. Two people left out in the heat too long, blistered raw from life, finding something in each other that soothed. That satisfied ,that ached in all the right ways.

You reached for the hem of your top, and he caught your wrists gently, eyes searching yours, checking in.

“Are you really sure?” he murmured.

You nodded. “I want this, want you.”

His restraint shattered at that—something behind his eyes giving way completely. He helped you pull your top over your head, his fingers brushing the curves of your sides as more of you was bared to the open air.

You shivered, and his hands moved instantly—up your arms, across your back—until the pads of his thumbs traced the soft curve beneath your breasts. His eyes followed his hands with a kind of reverent hunger, like he couldn’t decide where to look first, until he dipped his head and began pressing soft, wet kisses across your chest.

First one breast, then the other—slow and unhurried.

His tongue swirled around your nipple before his mouth closed around it, sucking gently, then biting just hard enough to make your breath hitch and your fingers tighten in his curls. His cap was gone now, tossed somewhere across the floorboards, forgotten in the heat of it all.

You let out a sound—obscene, desperate—as he released your nipple with a slick pop, only to move to the other side and give it the same treatment. His mouth worshipped you, his hands grounding you, and the air between you thickened with every ragged breath and needy sound.

More clothes were peeled away in rushed, uneven pulls—breathless and awkward, laughter slipping out when something caught or tangled—until you both were bare. You should’ve felt vulnerable. Embarrassed, maybe. Letting a man you’d only just met see you like this, but you didn’t. Not when his eyes were on you like that.

His mouth was still on you, moving between slow kisses and gentle sucks, like he wasn’t in any rush—like this part, this worship, meant something. You writhed beneath the weight of it, thighs tightening around his hips, your body instinctively pressing down against the growing strain of his arousal beneath you.

Then his lips slowed again. Just for a moment.

He kissed the underside of your breast. The center of your sternum. Up, up, until his mouth was at your throat, his breath fanning over your flushed skin.

And then he whispered it, right there against your pulse, as if the words were too big to look you in the eye while saying them.

"So fuckin’ beautiful..."

It wasn’t flirty or performative; it was real. Like the words had clawed their way up from somewhere deep in his chest and spilled out before he could catch them.

Your breath caught. Not because of his touch—but because of how he said it. Like maybe he hadn’t said it to anyone in a long time, like maybe he hadn’t felt it in a long time.

You pulled his face up to yours, thumb brushing his cheek, your heart clanging in your chest. His pupils were blown wide, his lips kiss-bruised, and you swore he looked almost overwhelmed.

“Frankie,” you whispered, and his name tasted like want and wonder and everything you weren’t supposed to be feeling this fast.

He kissed you again—slower this time. Less frantic. His hands sliding down your body, anchoring at your hips as if grounding himself in the fact that you were really here. That this was really happening.

And god, the way he touched you—like you weren’t just someone he wanted to fuck. You were someone he wanted to remember.  Every sweep of his palms down your thighs, every graze of his knuckles along your waist, felt like it came from someone starved for tenderness. Someone who hadn’t been looked at like this in a long time. Someone who wasn’t used to being touched like he was safe to want.

You rocked your hips against him, and he groaned deep like he hadn’t expected you to feel that good, like he’d been holding back so hard it was physically hurting him.

His head dropped against your shoulder again.

“Fuck,” he breathed, raw and low. “I’ve missed this... being wanted like this. Feeling like this.”

You didn’t have words—not really—so you kissed him instead. Hard and deep. Your hands threading back through his hair, pulling him closer, and he went willingly. Eager, starving.

And when you finally sank down onto him, slow and deep, his body meeting yours like they’d been made to fit—made for this—a curse tumbled from his lips as his eyes squeezed shut.

“Dios… you feel perfect.”

You moaned, unable to hold it back. Your whole body lit up with sensation—his hands, his hips, his lips at your jaw and shoulder, the way he moved inside you like he didn’t want to miss a single second of it.

This wasn’t just sex. It was something aching and needed and a little terrifying in how fast it settled under your skin.

And through it all, he kept holding you like he meant it. Like he was letting you back into some quiet, hidden part of himself that he thought no one wanted anymore.

You moved with him, slow at first, savoring every stretch, every inch of heat and friction that built between you like a rising tide. Your hands roamed his shoulders, his chest, clinging to the solid strength of him beneath your fingertips. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, guiding your hips, grounding you even as the pleasure started to blur the edges of the world.

Every shift of your body, every rock of your hips, sent sparks racing up your spine. He filled you so perfectly, so deeply, it almost hurt—and yet you never wanted it to stop. The porch creaked beneath you, the air clung to your skin, and somewhere in the distance, the last of the daylight slipped away. But all you could feel was him. The heat of his breath against your throat. The way he whispered your name like a prayer. The desperate restraint in every trembling muscle.

You clenched around him without meaning to, overwhelmed, close—so fucking close.

He groaned low in his chest, jaw tightening as his hands dug into your hips helplessly. “Fuck,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “I can’t—you gotta come first—”

But you were already there.

Your release crashed over you in waves, shattering and radiant, pulling a moan from your lips that was all heat and relief and want. You clung to him as you came, fingers digging into his shoulders, your body shaking as you fluttered around him. 

And that was what broke him.

He let out a guttural sound, deep and raw, his hips stuttering beneath yours as he fought it—fought it like it mattered, like holding out meant something even if it hurt.

“Frankie,” you whispered, pressing your chest to his, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other smoothing over the tense line of his spine. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Let go.”

He buried his face against your shoulder with a choked breath, and then he did—his whole body trembling as he came hard inside you, deep and pulsing, his hands holding you tight like he couldn’t bear to let you go. You felt every twitch, every wave of release, his moan muffled in the crook of your neck as he spilled into you, full and warm and real.

You held him through it, breasts pressed against his chest and your mouth brushing his temple as he finally went still.

“…Shit,” he whispered finally, lips curving faintly. 

You laughed—breathless, stunned, heart racing fast. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

The porch was quiet again. The cicadas still hummed. The air still hung heavy around both of you but the silence that followed was warm. Heavy with afterglow and something neither of you had words for yet. You were still tangled together, chest to chest, when Frankie lifted his head, brushing a damp curl from your forehead.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and hoarse.

You nodded, lips twitching into a soft, tired smile. “Better than okay.”

He let out a small, breathless laugh and pressed a kiss to your temple. “There’s a shower inside, if you want it. I’ll get you a shirt.”

The idea of warm water and clean clothes sounded like heaven.

You followed him inside, still barefoot, still sore in all the best ways. In the bathroom, he handed you a soft, worn t-shirt—faded gray, sleeves a little too long, collar stretched. You swore you could smell him in the fabric: cedar, sweat, and something that felt dangerously close like home.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp and skin warm, he was leaning against the kitchen counter with two bottles of water and his cap back on, like the man who had just undone you on his porch hadn’t ruined you completely an hour ago.

—

He drove you back to the car without saying much. But it wasn’t an awkward silence. It was full of glances and half-smiles and the hum of something still very alive between you.

When you pulled up, the tow truck was already there—and the driver looked like a walking red flag. Greasy smile, mirrored sunglasses even though the sun was almost gone, and a tone that set your teeth on edge. He barely acknowledged you, speaking only to Frankie as he started hooking up the car.

You stayed close to him, instinctively, and he didn’t move away. His presence alone was enough to keep the guy from saying anything sleazy, though he still looked like someone who probably had zip ties in his glove box.

You nudged Frankie with your elbow, turning to him with a mischievous grin. “Thanks for not murdering me.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, one side of his mouth tugging up into the most boyish, crooked smile you’d seen all day—the kind that undid you a little more, even now.

“Anytime,” he said, eyes gleaming. “But just for the record, I think I came out more vulnerable here.”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t still steal your truck,” you teased.

He laughed again, and god, the sound of it stuck to your ribs.

You hesitated. Then reached into your bag, pulled out your phone, and handed it to him silently. No question, no explanation.

Frankie raised an eyebrow, but took it without a word. His fingers tapped against the screen, slow and sure. When he handed it back, he smirked. “Gonna text soon, yeah? Just to make sure you didn’t end up dead.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling as you slipped the phone into your bag. “If I don’t text, check the backyard for shallow graves.”

He grinned wide, dimples flashing. “Deal.”

The tow truck started pulling away, your car finally in tow. You turned back toward him, unsure what to say, unsure how to say it.

But he just gave you a nod, a little wave, and climbed into his truck. One last glance through the open window.

“Talk soon?” he asked, voice a little softer this time, hopeful.

“Yeah,” you said, holding his gaze. “Talk soon.”

And then he was gone.

—

It wasn’t even an hour later. You were back in a motel, hair still damp from the shower, phone resting on the nightstand. The quiet pressed in around you—cooler now, but lonelier than it had any right to feel after a day like that.

You stared at your phone for a beat too long, debating. Then your fingers moved, and before you could overthink it, you hit send.

You: Sorry, can’t text. Currently busy plotting your murder. Turns out I am the serial killer.

Read.

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

Frankie: You planning to disappear on me now, or do I get another shot at surviving you?

You smiled, fingers already moving.

You: Depends. You always this charming with strange women who hijack your porch?

Frankie: Only the ones who ruin me a little in the best way. Maybe next time, we can meet somewhere else—if you’re up to it? I can be a gentleman if I want to.

That made you huff a laugh, the sound easing out of you like breath after holding it too long.

You sat with it for a second. Not the question. Not even the suggestion. But the invitation. The hope tucked inside it.

You: Don’t be a gentleman. Just be you. I’ll text you when I get home.

Frankie: Looking forward to it already.

And maybe you were already in too deep. But you didn’t mind, not one bit.

thanks for reading 💌

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[lonelyxoutcasts]

Zoe doesn’t understand what he’s doing, she nearly whines when he pulls her hand away, didn’t he want her to touch him? She had loved doing this, both touching each other it just felt so..right. She nearly says something, not sure if she wanted to ask what was wrong or beg him to let her keep touching him.

But she can’t, before she knows it she’s thrown onto her back and it shouldn’t she knows it shouldn’t but it made her want him even more if that was possible. He was kind and sweet but not weak, he was strong enough to put her in any position and it was the most exhilarating thing to realize it didn’t scare her

Speaking of putting her in any position, she can’t even try to stop him before both her legs are thrown over his back and her last piece of clothing is torn away. It hits her that she’s completely naked with him but he moves so fast again that she barely has time to think it before her legs are pushed open, his hands holding her thighs spread wide. There was no where to hide, and watching the way he drank in the sight of her, it was as if he couldn’t get enough.

She grips the blankets tightly when his fingers start to tease, her hips jerking up to try and chase the feeling, and she flushed so deeply it spread down over her neck to her collarbone and upper breasts when he called her beautiful.

She doesn’t react much to his hand cupping her at first, until his thumb moves to her clit. She lets out a low moan, one hand moving to slide through his hand to his horns and running her hand over it and wrapping her fingers round the base slowly.

When she sees him watching her, she brings her other hand, the one she’s touched him with that was still wet with his precum, up to her mouth to tentatively taste. It was a strong taste, heady but in a way that makes her a bit dizzy with want

“Loki..” she whimpers as he keeps teasing her, she was practically going mad, “i..” she blushes deeply again, “please..t..talk to me, tell me what..” she doesn’t even know what to ask for but she wanted him to talk to her through this, needed him too so she didn’t have to wonder what he was thinking or what he liked in this moment.

Necessary Alliance

“But Thor I don’t understand why..” Zoe’s voice is calm but clearly irritated, and she couldn’t stop fidgeting in her formalwear.

Thor cuts her off, “Zoe I don’t think we need to understand, Father never explained his decision to me. If I had to guess I think at the very least it’s to help build an alliance with Jotunheim,” he says firmly as they walk to the throne room.

Zoe scowls, “I’m not some pawn in father’s plans for peace with the realms, he should at the very least tell us what he’s planning. How do we know he isn’t some brute?”

Thor shakes his head, “regardless of father’s plans, I wouldn’t let him hurt you. I failed to protect you once, sister, I won’t do it again”

Zoe is silent as they finally walk into the throne room, she was grateful for her brother’s protection and he had taught her how to protect herself too. She just hated being forced into this, she wasn’t even given a chance to meet her betrothed until now, just days before the wedding. As she approaches the throne, her eyes are drawn to the group of Jotuns that were already there off to the side. Which was to be her husband? Her eyes are drawn immediately to a smaller one, still taller than her but shorter than the other giants. She can’t deny that he was handsome, her breath caught in her throat for just a moment, though she hides it well.

She doesn’t stare though, looking up to Odin at the throne as she curtsies, “Father,” she greets, bowing her head.

@broken-ice-puppets

[cinnamonlouu]

Never Had One

Elias ‘Stack’ x black!Reader

Synopsis: imagine the reaction when you told stack a man has never made you cum.

You’d been spending time with Elias for a minute now. He wasn’t the type to rush or put on a show. And when it came to you, it was clear he wanted more than just to get skin-deep.

Sex wasn’t something he shoved in your face. He wanted to build trust, show you he was serious. Took his time, always asking what felt good, paying attention like it was the most important thing in the world. Because to him, it was.

But that night, you said something that changed the whole vibe.

“I’ve never had an orgasm,” you said, voice quiet, like confessing a secret.

Elias froze mid-sentence, blunt halfway to his lips. He put it down on the table. Nothing made him put his blunt down, nothing.

“You lyin’, ma,” he said flat, eyes narrowing but not in anger. More like disbelief.

You blinked. The blunt was still on the table. Elias never got riled up like this. He rarely let words spill out so fast or so raw.

“I don’t know, Elias ,” you said, twisting your hands in your lap, “it’s just hard for me.”

“You bullshitting, you for real?” His voice had shifted soft almost tender.

You started giggling, but he didn’t get it. What was funny about dudes not putting your needs first? You were serious.

“I’m just saying, my spot is hard to find anyway. I can’t be mad if they can’t find it,” you whispered.

The stupidest shit he ever heard. Because he knew exactly where that spot was. And he knew what it took to get you there.

Elias stood up, moved to you with that slow, deliberate calm he always had. “You ain’t gotta make no excuses for nobody,” he said low. “You just ain’t been with the right nigga.”

Then he showed you.

⸻

Elias knelt between your thighs and looked down at you like you were something sacred. His fingers trailed slowly along your inner thigh, and you gasped when they grazed that aching, neglected spot.

“Mmm,” he hummed under his breath. “Ain’t hard to find. Not at all.”

He didn’t rush. Just explored. Made you squirm with the softest flicks of his tongue, the curl of his fingers, watching very breath you took.

And when your body started to tremble, thighs closing in around his head, he didn’t stop. Kept going, steady, locked in, one arm sliding up to hold you in place.

“Don’t run,” he murmured. “You said it was hard, right? Let me show you.”

You cried out, hips arching, something hot unraveling in your gut and then it hit. Overwhelming, and real.

You came with his name spilling from your lips in broken, desperate moans. Shaking. Barely breathing. Tears stung the corners of your eyes from the release, from how much it felt like.

Elias moved up, kissed your jaw, your cheek, your lips. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, voice thick, low. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with you. You just needed someone who gave a damn.”

Your voice was hoarse. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

He smiled then. A rare, slow smile that made you dizzy all over again.

“I did. That’s why I been takin’ my time.” He brushed his thumb along your bottom lip. “But now?”

He leaned close to your ear.

“I ain’t holdin’ back no more.”

[jordiemeow]

thinking about frat boy!patrick right now, always getting himself into trouble and then charming his way right back into your bed.

he’s your first serious boyfriend, though it’s clear things are a lot more serious for you than they are for him. you’ve been on and off again for months. he’s flaky with plans, always going on two-day benders with no contact, or looking far too friendly with the sorority girls he hangs around with. the type of guy to murmur "you know this isn’t just about the sex, right?" and then disappear on you for two weeks.

but if there’s one thing about him, it’s that he’s a god in bed. he’ll have you wrecked on your dorm single within ten minutes, crying his name into your pillow. bent in all sorts of positions to his liking, coaxing you into doing all sorts of things you’d never even thought about with a low murmur in your ear and a flash of a sharp canine tooth. it’s hard to stay annoyed at him when his big hand is snaking into your panties to feel how soaked you are, whispering smugly into your ear:

"god, you missed me, didn’t you?"

or there’s those messy, clothes half-on bathroom quickies during loud parties thrown by his brothers where he pulls your panties to the side and dares you to make a sound. he thrives on the way his name sounds in your throat, muffled against his shoulder as he fucks you right on the sink.

your texts consist of one-sided conversations of you asking how his day was or how his match went. his replies only ever come when it’s dark, and they’re never innocent, just ‘U up?’ texts or the word ‘Outside’ at 1am that always has you scrambling to change into a pair of skimpier pyjamas before you let him in.

if there’s one thing he loves, it’s seeing you in his clothes. your favourite is the stanford hoodie from his freshman year. nothing gets him harder than seeing you wear it with nothing underneath—he calls you ‘his lucky charm’ before pulling it off and dragging you under him.

but then there’s the off moments where he gets caught shoving his tongue down some girl’s throat.

you hadn’t planned on seeing him tonight. in fact, you’d planned on not seeing him for the rest of the semester.

said plan lasts approximately 43 hours when there’s a knock on your door at 11:43pm. you don’t even have to check the peephole to know who it is. it’s that signature loud, lazy rap of his fist as if he doesn’t give a shit about anyone else sleeping along the corridor. you open it just enough to look at him.

"what do you want, patrick?"

he drags a hand through his hair. "to talk."

you scoff. "you don’t talk. you disappear. and then hook up with girls at theta parties and forget i exist."

his jaw tightens, but he decides now isn’t the best time to argue. instead, he just sighs and mutters, "baby, just… just let me in?"

and god, you’ve always been a sucker for that look of penance on his face—lips pouting, brows furrowed in remorse. after a moment of hesitation, you oblige, because you’re weak. or because it’s friday night and you’re sick of pretending that your phone lighting up with his name (for once) doesn’t do something to you.

"you look good," he tries, eyeing your bare legs and your bed-mussed hair.

you cross your arms in a poor imitation of an angry stance. he can tell you’re caving already. "don’t."

"i fucked up," he says. it’s too casual for what he’s done, like it’s a fact. like grass is green, like frat boys lie. "i should’ve told you about chloe. it was nothing. she kissed me—i didn’t kiss her back."

"i saw the picture, patrick." you glare.

he moves towards you slowly. "i swear to god, i thought we weren’t even—" what? together at the time? no, he’d promised he was in it for real this time less than two weeks ago. he stops. changes tactic.

"you hate me right now."

you nod. you don’t trust yourself to speak.

"but," he says, and now he’s standing too close, a hand skimming up your forearm. "you still want me."

you shouldn’t. you do.

he leans in, lips brushing the edge of your jaw in a barely there kiss that’s more of a breath than anything else. "let me make it up to you."

"you think sex is an apology?"

he smiles triumphantly to himself when he hears your breath hitch in your throat. "no. i think it’s a step one."

his hands slide under your hoodie, fingers cold against your skin, like he’d spent too much time outside psyching himself up to come ‘apologise.’ you bite your lip to stifle a sigh, muscles tensing beneath the touch.

"you’re an asshole."

"yeah. but i make you cum like no one else."

unfortunately, his arrogance isn’t unfounded. he does.

moments later, you’re pressed against your desk, hoodie lifted up and his mouth trailing down your neck. he kisses like he means it this time—like he missed you, like his regret is something he can fix with tongue and teeth and whispered promises. it’s worked for him before, after all.

your hands are in his hair, tugging, angry and desperate. he drops to his knees without a word, palms gripping your thighs, squeezing at the soft flesh to coax them apart so he can ease your panties down.

"still mad?" he smirks up at you.

you gasp as his mouth finds your cunt. "shut up."

and you both do for the next twenty minutes, until the only thing you’re saying is his name, wrecked and whining.

it’s just too fuckin’ easy.

—

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[sunafc]

Cherry Smoke — 20, Right

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Rain falls in small, grey drops. It taps against Y/n’s umbrella as she waits for the bus. Seems like the sky is not having a great day either. She thinks back to her talk with Semi. It was the right thing to do — she keeps repeating in her head — to break it off before it went on too long. It was never her intention to hurt him. It was inevitable, though. Her eyes are fixed on a puddle on the road. Raindrops keep falling into it, forming little waves on the surface. Cars pass by, splashing dirty water all over the side of the street as they cross the puddle. A car stops, tire in the puddle. Y/n’s gaze moves up, recognizing the car. The window rolls down, ‘Hey,’ Suna greets her, ‘Need a ride?’ Y/n huffs, ‘What are you doing here?’ ‘I was in the area,’ he shrugs, ‘Come on, get in,’ he reaches for the car door and opens it. Y/n weighs her options: wait in the rain and sit thirty minutes on uncomfortable plastic seats or accept Suna’s offer. She gets in the car. Suna holds his breath until Y/n closes the door. The air between them is tense, awkward. Suna is scared to make a sound. Afraid to say the wrong thing once more. Neither of them utters a word for the first ten minutes of the ride. Then, Suna breaks the silence. He glances at the girl once before focusing back on the street in front of him, ‘Can we talk?’ Y/n wants to answer with a dig at his inability to talk in the past, but she decides to spare him. After all, he had driven to that bus stop for her (even though he said he was passing by, Y/n knew there was nothing in that neighborhood for him to go there). ‘Fine,’ she says, ‘But you’re doing the talking.’ Suna lets out a sigh of relief — at least she wanted to listen to him. He just had to avoid saying the wrong thing — he stops the car in a parking spot on the side of the road. He passes a hand through his hair. He slightly turns to Y/n, ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I’ve been awful to you, I’ve been a coward, and I’ve been selfish,’ he fidgets with his fingers, trying to stop his hands from shaking, ‘I like you, Y/n,’ he smiles, ‘I like you so much it makes me scared, I wanted to run from you but I couldn’t. I tried to keep you all for myself. I know you deserve better than me, but I can’t bear to see you with anyone else.’ ‘Rin—’ ‘I want to do better,’ he interrupts her, ‘I went to see a therapist.’ ‘You did?’ Y/n asks, a bit shocked. Suna lowers his gaze, ‘Yeah, Yachi said it could help me to talk with a stranger,’ — Y/n hums in agreement — ‘I only went to one session for now, and it wasn’t too bad,’ he says. ‘That’s great, Rin,’ she says in a sweet tone, sincerely happy to hear that. ‘I broke it off with Semi,’ she blurts out. ‘Oh,’ Suna tries to hide his happiness at her words and focuses on her face, trying to read her, ‘Are you okay?’ ‘I’m fine,’ she sighs, ‘It couldn’t work. It wasn’t the right time for me.’ ‘My bad,’ Suna smirks. Y/n punches his shoulder playfully, ‘I tried getting over you,’ she says, getting more serious, ‘But deep down, I didn’t want to.’ Suna’s heart skips a beat, ‘I really want to kiss you,’ he says. Y/n laughs, ‘Take me on a date first?’ ‘Bet, we’re going right now,’ Suna starts the car. Y/n's eyes widen, and she quickly grabs Suna’s arm to stop him, ‘Wait, I was joking!’ Then she sees the worried look on Suna’s face as he stops the car, ‘I can’t go on a date looking like this,’ she says, pointing at her figure. Suna goes from worried to unamused, but he smiles, ‘I see nothing wrong. You look beautiful.’ ‘Shut up,’ she averts her gaze, ‘let’s just go to yours.’ ‘Then I can kiss you?’ ‘We can talk about it,’ she says, trying to cover the smile creeping up her face. Satisfied, Suna starts the car again.

notes:

suna isn't wasting time no more

finally getting the therapy he deserves!!! fix your commitment issues king 🙏

again, everyone say thank you yachi ! our savior fr

also sorry to semi and semi stans 💔 it wasn't meant to be

thoughts and constructive criticism abt the written content are always appreciated so please, if you have any, share them!!

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[alaiasole]

🥂welcome back to solè’s bar🥂

tonight’s special: onyakopon, your paranoia, & the party you had to show up to.

→ ony x black!reader | angst | modern au |

───────────────────────────

you and ony had been planning to go to connie’s party for weeks talkin’ about it every night, you already had your outfit laid out, hair booked, everything. but the night before, your body betrayed you. throat scratchy, head pounding, stomach turning you could barely keep your eyes open.

ony had been sweet about it too, babying you all night, saying, “it’s okay, mama, if you ain’t feelin’ good, we don’t gotta go.” but you could tell he wanted to. connie was his boy since forever and missing his party? you knew he didn’t wanna do that.

so when you woke up feelin’ a little better, the first thing you did was tell him to go.

“don’t miss the party ‘cause of me,” you whispered, snuggled under your blankets. “i’ll be okay. that’s your best friend, go have fun.”

he hesitated, kissed your forehead, rubbed your thigh all gentle. “you sure?”

“yeah, i promise.”

he left. you rested.

but by mid-afternoon, you was feelin’ good as new. your girls found out before you could even process it.

sasha’s name popped up on your screen, facetime ringing.

“girl… i heard you wasn’t feelin’ good.”

“i wasn’t… but i’m okay now.”

“so you comin’ to the party, right?” sasha grinned like she already knew your answer.

“girl, no… it’s already late, ony’s there…”

“i don’t care. i’m coming to get you.”

before you could argue, she hung up.

you sent a quick text to your man:

ony🫶🏾:

hey baby, just wanted to let you know i’m feelin’ better, the girls convinced me to come to the party. see you there 🤍

you waited for that text back, but your girls were already bursting through your door, hyping you up, laying your edges, zipping your dress, pouring shots you barely had time to overthink.

the car ride to the party was loud, full of music and giggles, but your chest? tight. phone? dry.

no text back.

“girl, you’re overthinking,” you told yourself, staring at your screen like it might light up any second.

you pulled up to the party. music bumpin’, lights flashing, people everywhere. connie’s backyard packed shoulders brushing, cups in hand, laughter spilling into the air.

you smiled, pushing down that bad feeling.

but as you walked through the crowd, greeting people, taking shots, you couldn’t shake it. no sign of ony. no text. no “see you soon.” not even a “where you at?”

an hour passed.

then another thirty minutes.

the pit in your stomach grew heavy.

you checked your phone again.

still nothing.

and that’s when you knew…

something wasn’t right.

you couldn’t shake the feeling. it was crawling up your spine, squeezing your chest tight, making your pulse race.

where is he?

you start lookin’ around, weaving through the crowd, eyes scanning faces, but he’s nowhere in sight.

first person you spot? jean.

“jean, hey have you seen ony?”

he blinks, looks around like he gotta think real hard. “uh… nah, not in a while.”

weird.

you brush it off, keep moving. mikasa’s next, cup in hand, standing near the speakers.

“hey, mikasa, you seen ony around?”

she frowns a little, eyes darting to the side. “no… maybe he’s outside?”

but when you peek outside nothing.

your heart thuds heavy.

you try again. reiner. ymir. sasha’s even lookin’ now.

every person you ask? same confused face, same haven’t seen him, same weird little pause before they answer. it don’t sit right with you.

why’s everybody actin’ like they forgot who your boyfriend is?

you head upstairs, push open random doors.

empty bedrooms.

closets.

bathrooms.

no sign of him.

by now your stomach’s in knots.

you come back down, breath shaky, eyes darting through the room like you missed something. that’s when you see him.

connie.

you make a beeline for him, tapping his shoulder.

he turns

his whole face falls.

eyes wide, like he’s seen a ghost.

mouth parted.

color drained.

like you ain’t supposed to be here. like you caught him in the middle of something.

“connie… have you seen ony?” you ask, watching his reaction close.

he clears his throat, shifts his weight, eyes bouncing everywhere but yours.

“nah… haven’t seen him in a bit.”

his voice wobbles. his jaw’s tight. his hand flexes at his side.

your heart sinks lower.

he’s lying.

you can feel it in your chest.

but you force a smile, nod, “oh… okay. thanks.”

but your gut?

it’s screaming.

something’s wrong.

and you’re about to find out exactly what.

your feet move before your mind catches up.

there’s a crowd gathered near the back of the house people in a tight little circle, all hovering, whispering, laughing too low.

your chest tightens.

you head that way, weaving through the party, but people keep stoppin’ you like they tryna slow you down.

“hey girl! you finally came out?” some girl grabs your arm, fake smiling so wide it looks painful.

you force a laugh, peel her off. “yeah, yeah hold up, I’m lookin’ for somethin’.”

another one calls your name someone from class.

then another.

it’s like the whole party suddenly remembered you exist.

why they actin’ weird?

they keep touchin’ your arm, leanin’ in your face, tryna make small talk, block your path but your eyes stay locked on that group of people.

the closer you get, the heavier your chest feels.

your heartbeat’s pounding so loud you can barely hear the music anymore.

people step aside when they see you comin’.

you don’t notice the pity in their eyes

the way they glance at each other

the way their mouths tighten like they already know how bad this finna hurt.

you just keep moving.

closer

closer

your stomach flips when you finally break through the circle

eyes landing on them.

your heart stops.

no.

no, your eyes are lying.

they gotta be.

onykopon’s hands on some girl’s waist

her arms wrapped around his neck

his mouth locked on hers like they ain’t at a party full of people.

you go dizzy, knees damn near buckle.

your stomach twists, throat burning like you gon’ throw up right here, in front of everybody.

it’s not real.

it can’t be.

you blink

but they still there.

his lips still on hers.

until

like he feels you.

his eyes snap open.

he pulls back, turns

eyes locking on yours.

his face drains of all color.

his mouth falls open

shock, guilt, panic flooding his face all at once.

it’s quiet, even though the music still plays.

the world tilts sideways.

you can’t breathe.

you do the only thing your body lets you

you run.

you don’t even know where your legs carrying you

you just run.

outside

air cold on your face

mind spinning

heart cracking wide open.

you stop near the sidewalk, chest heaving, vision all blurred from tears.

then arms wrap around you from behind.

that voice you used to love more than anything whispers, “baby… i’m sorry…”

you rip yourself out his grip, spinning around, voice breaking all over the place.

“why?”

your throat burns.

your words barely come out.

“why would you do this to me?”

tears spill down your face, hot and fast.

he tries to grab your hands

you yank away.

“you cheated on me, ony! in front of everybody what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

he shakes his head, eyes wide, mouth stumbling over his words.

“it wasn’t like that it was a dare—”

you freeze.

blink.

“a—” you scoff, voice rising, heartbreak laced in every word, “a fucking dare? are you dumb? are we in fucking middle school?!”

you shove his chest, voice cracking mid-sentence.

“why would you play like that? why would you embarrass me like that? in front of everybody? you made me look stupid—”

your voice breaks entirely

you can’t even finish.

you cover your face with your hands, sobs shaking through your body so hard your knees damn near buckle.

he catches you, arms sliding around you again, pulling you close even while your fists weakly hit his chest.

“i’m sorry… i’m so fuckin’ sorry, baby, please—”

he holds your face in both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, his forehead pressed against yours.

your breathing’s ragged, tears still falling, vision all blurry

he leans in

his lips just inches from yours

and that’s where it stops.

but suddenly

“baby? baby are you listening?”

his voice cuts through everything.

you blink.

reality slaps you dead in the face.

ony’s standing right in front of you, eyes soft, confused.

what the fuck?

your throat feels dry.

you glance around.

you’re not outside.

you’re not at the party.

you’re in your room.

your mind’s spiraling.

did you really just sit here… and imagine your man cheating on you? kissing some random girl? you imagined arguing with him? crying? the whole fuckin’ meltdown?

what the hell is going on in your brain?

ony raises a brow, tilting his head.

“you good? i was asking if you still coming to connie’s party.”

you stare blankly at him.

his lips move but your brain’s still glitching.

you imagined all that?

like some final destination, but make it relationship heartbreak edition?

your voice barely works

“my bad… what were you saying?”

he laughs lightly, still looking at you crazy.

“i said… you still coming to connie’s? or you staying in? you just told me you wasn’t feeling good—”

“i’m coming.”

you cut him off too fast.

voice flat, mind spinning.

“aight… okay then,” he shrugs, walking off like nothing happened.

but your chest’s tight.

your head’s fuzzy.

what the fuck did you just imagine?

now you gotta go to this party

cause after that mental movie your brain just played?

you need to see it for your damn self.