#so if there was a way to get them to disappear without blocking them from seeing me i would 100% jump on that

[cass-1]

౨ৎ —his little secret second ending — ౨ৎ

You woke up after that crisis yesterday, the memories still draining your head. It took forever for you to sleep off your cries, you felt miserable— over a man.

You sprawled out of bed after giving it some effort, sitting on the side of your bed and tucking your feet into the slippers that sat near it. Standing up and heading to the kitchen to get yourself a coffee. You were in need of some sort of caffeine.

You drank your coffee whilst sitting down at the island of your kitchen, checking your phone and your social media like always. Simon had messaged you, “look outside, I left a gift since yu won’t talk to me.”

You curiously got up, opening your door to a pile of roses, not your favourite at all, oh and he knew that. It was obviously one of his bullshit pranks to make you jealous— you knew it. You brought them in, chopping and snipping them up before sending Simon a picture of all the roses’ petals scattered in the bin, along with the stems and leaves.

“We’re done, officially.” You sent to him alongside the picture, blocking his contact.

After the block button was hint, you felt a sense of relief. Like a brick was lifted from your shoulder, a burden lifted. Maybe it was better without him, you smiled to yourself.

You kept him on your socials, just so when you posted, he saw how happy you were, without him. You loved being evil, it was what you’re best at when you were upset.

Over the next couple of weeks, you decided it’s best to socialise, as Simon had forced you to ignore them— calling them ‘bad influences’. So ofcourse you went to a club to which your friends came with you. It was a famous club near where you lived.

You came with your bestfriend and a few others in your little girl-friend group, two of you—sat at the bar before Maeve got up to dance,

“you sure you don’t wanna come, c’mon, we’ve been waiting for you to finally let loose and ditch that psycho.” Maeve said, to which you responded with a teaser,

“Ofcourse I’ll come, just let me get a drink nd’ I’ll be right up every bodies alley.” You smirked and she smirked back. She nodded before disappearing into the crowd onto the dance floor

It was chaotic, spotlights everywhere, rich men and women in the vip area— every body on the dance floor. Except, there was an empty seat next to you, and somebody took it.

He was a handsome man, you caught yourself looking over. He enhanced in some chit chat before ascending onto the dance floor with your friends.

“You from ere’?” He spoke out as he took a mouthful of his glass, didn’t look like it had alcohol in it.

You looked over and kindly responded, your glass inbetween your palms nervously, “yeah.. just around a block or two, and you?”

“Course, except I’m ova’ the east end, Y’know?” You nodded, “so you’re one of those rich- snobs.” You laughed off, obviously joking.

“I mean— I’m hurt.” He laughed, pretending to be opposed by your words. You laughed off the banter with him.

After the chit chat, you both ascended onto the dance floor, introducing him to your friends and let’s just say, you got low’, whipping out dance moves you didn’t know you knew.

It was all laughter and giggles before the night came to an end, you got this mysterious man’s number, finding out his name to be, ‘John price.’ He offered a taxi, however you dismissed, it was the first meeting how was he already gonna buy you things.

You and price both walked him, he offered to walk you. He gave you his jacket, offering to hold your heels as you felt the sores building up on the backs of your ankles. God help the blisters in the morning.

reader x John price x Simon Riley love triangle?!

I lowkey like this one, the way the plot thickens🙂‍↔️

[wetdenimenjoyer]

ugh. this is off topic but i hate when im scrolling a kink tag and it's all just generic boobs image. if i wanted to look at generic boobs image i would google boobs and go to the images tab. im here for something specific. begone

[arinapop]

Reprise

LE SSERAFIM Kazuha x M Reader

Tags: Fluff, Smut

10k words

You’ve always loved the carnival. The yellow lights splash across the land like streaks of fire, growing ever more alluring the closer you get. The Ferris wheel is the first to appear—giant, unmistakable. Then the merry-go-round with the painted horses comes into view. Nearby, a huge tent hides the mirror maze underneath.

When you’re right up there, the stalls selling popcorn and potato snacks pop up, filling the evening air with salt and warmth. Maybe you’re a little too old for most of the rides now, but that doesn’t really matter. It’s about how it makes you feel, right?

You thought you’d noticed all the highlights on your way there. But something still feels just out of sight, like the memory is yet to fully take shape.

Then you see. You’d missed something—no, someone important. She might just be the most important attraction here for you.

You don’t remember her being this beautiful.

Your gaze locks onto Kazuha, wearing a sporty white crop top and a baseball cap. Fits the theme. Her jet-black hair dances in the wind, but never blocks her view as she aims a long air rifle at the board of balloons—a fierce look in her eyes.

And when dawn breaks, she’ll disappear, like the carnival itself. Again.

“Still awful at aiming, huh?” Your voice catches her off-guard as she’s reloading for a second try.

She turns sharply—bullets slip from her fingers and roll towards you. You promptly stop them with your feet. “Careful, butterfingers,” you add as you bend to pick them up.

Her eyes stare at you for a moment, flickering with something unreadable, before going back to the natural cockiness you’ve always seen her sport.

She snatches the bullets out of your palm with a scoff. “Not awful. I was compensating for the wind—it changed direction at the last second.”

“Right,” you reply, amused.

“And someone I haven’t seen in years randomly shows up? I think some shock is warranted.”

She takes another shot. This one almost hits the operator a few feet away from the target.

“You know you’re supposed to hit the balloons, right?” You gesture to the board. “Let me have a try before you end up hitting some poor kid around here.”

Kazuha grits her teeth at that comment. As competitive as ever.

“I’m going for the harder balloons at the back. They keep moving.” She puts all her focus on this shot—posture adjusted, wind analyzed and eyes narrowed.

The bullet flies, and this time, hits her target. The balloon pops with a loud crack, startling some kids nearby.

“Yes!” She punches the air. The operator hands over a big teddy bear to her. Kazuha flips you the finger with a smug smile, hugging the bear to her chest.

“You still have a couple bullets left,” someone reminds her. She reaches for the gun—but before her hand can get close, you quickly pick it up. You point it at the same area she was aiming at and fire off two quick shots in succession. Both hit your target, much to her visible displeasure.

Two plushies for you. You turn towards Kazuha and hold them up in mock triumph, taking in the spite written all over her face. It only makes you feel warmer inside.

“Being the gentleman I am.” You offer her both the bears. “I will let the lady have her prizes.”

She rolls her eyes at that and gives the bears to some kid roaming around. He snatches them from her hands and runs away, without so much as a thank you.

A woman nearby, likely his mother, stops and chides the kid. “Go on, thank the nice lady. You can’t be rude like that.”

“Yeah, thank the nice lady who couldn’t win a single thing till I showed up,” you whisper into Kazuha’s ear. She endures the lecture with a tight, polite smile.

”No, no, it’s completely alright. I know how kids can be sometimes.” She grabs your wrist as an excuse and pulls you away with her.

Soon enough, the pair annoying her disappear from view. ”I hate kids,” she mutters, not realizing she can let go of your wrist now.

“That’s funny.” You let her lead. “Because the last time I saw you, you were one.”

Evening slowly dips into night, and more and more lights are being switched on. Kazuha adjusts her cap, tying her hair back with a rubber band. Her perfectly fitting crop top slides up a little as she raises her arms, revealing more of her toned midriff. But the view is fleeting—her hands drop back down, searching for your wrist before she notices she doesn’t need to hold you anymore.

The smell of burnt sugar and frying oil thickens as more stalls open up. Laughter from kids on nearby rides echoes through the air. You’ve walked these places with Kazuha before. But the way her fingers brush her wrist now—you hope, maybe it was yours she was reaching for.

You get the lightest feeling you're seeing her differently this time.

“Gosh it’s been…” She tries to count the years, but gives up. “Forever. Didn't even know if you were alive. Or if you offed yourself for losing to me in too many games.”

“You could’ve known, you know, if you ever bothered to reach out after disappearing.”

She ignores that comment. You want to press again, but the night is just getting started. Maybe you'll get your answers later. Maybe. But for now, you'll let it slide.

“Speaking of games in which you lose to me—” She stops, revealing where she’s been leading you: a big toy hammer leaning against a massive target, and a tower of numbers climbing all the way up to 1000.

You know you’ve been had.

“Remember this?” she asks with a cheeky grin—planned all along.

“Clear as day.” You deadpan.

“Thought I'd give you one last chance to try and beat me.”

The sting of losing to her all those years ago suddenly feels fresh and piercing. There's no way you're still worse than her at this, right? You are a grown man now, and she’s just a girl.

“Loser has to buy the other marshmallows, same rules,” she continues, sweetly. You curse yourself under your breath. You’ve given her way too much money in this stupid game.

“Fine. Who goes first?” You pick up the hammer, feeling its weight.

”Since it’s already in your hand, I’ll let you go ahead, gentleman.” She hands over some change to the operator nearby.

You cannot let her beat you. Not again. Not this time.

You take two practice swings. Grip firm. Stance solid. Hammer lined up dead-center. This can’t go wrong. On the third swing, you go for it, hitting it hard with a satisfying thump which makes the marker shoot up. It races past the initial numbers, and your heart kicks up with it. Maybe this is it. Maybe this time you finally win.

To your dismay, the pace drops rapidly near the top. 800, 850, 900, and the marker comes to rest at 950. One square away from a 1000.

“Not bad.” She almost seems genuine—then the corners of her lips slowly curl up. “But clearly, there’s room for improvement.”

“Oh, cut it out, Zuha. No way you’re making 1000.”

She doesn’t respond right away, picking up the mallet and trying to block out the crowd noise. Her fingers curl around the handle, and that familiar smirk returns. No practice strikes for Kazuha—she’s going all in. But just as she’s about to bring the hammer down, her foot catches on a rock. The swing goes wide, and the hammer almost slips out of her hand.

You burst into laughter, but she’s unfazed. She takes another swing, making sure her feet are clear this time. The sound the button makes is enough to cut through your laughter and let you know she’s smacked it.

The marker shoots up again, and it’s hard to tell if it’s faster than yours. The pace drops like it did for you: 850, 900, 950—and then it ekes out a slow, grinding climb to a perfect 1000.

Not again.

”Streak still alive. Guess you just lost a strength game to a girl, again.” Not trying to be subtle today.

Her arms don’t look remotely like they pack that much power. They’re long, slender, and smooth—not the kind that throws down 1000s like it’s nothing.

What does she even do to be so strong? Although it’s weirdly attractive in a way you don’t quite know how to explain. You don’t know how to explain a lot of things about her tonight—her eyes sparkle with the reflections of the lights surrounding you, and if you stare into the golden streaks in them long enough, it’s almost enough for you to feel something.

Though that could just be the nostalgia talking, you argue.

You have no choice but to add to the already large amount Kazuha has looted from you in this game.

“The lady in the food stall is still the same.” She dips a marshmallow into the chocolate dip and nibbles on it.

“Maybe she loves—” A running kid bumps into Kazuha, pushing her off balance. Her chocolate spills all over your fingers.

“You little shit!” you shout, but he’s long gone already. You steady her with your clean hand. “You okay? Didn’t knock the wind out of you or anything?”

“No, I’m alright.” She brushes herself off. “Was the same kid from before. I suppose this is what I get for trying to give him some teddy bears.”

“Did earn him a lecture.” You hold up your fingers, showing them coated in her dip. “He made my hand a mess too.”

“Well, can’t let my hard-earned snacks go to waste now.” She pops a marshmallow into her mouth and lifts your fingers to her plush lips. She pauses for a second, then slides them into her mouth, sucking the chocolate off like it’s an everyday occurrence.

In her defense, it could have passed for one. A few years back. But right now, it does not feel so everyday to you. Kazuha’s warmth envelops your fingers, savoring the sweetness from you so casually. You hope she doesn’t catch the flush creeping on your face. She’s quick with it—you’re in public after all, but it’s enough to get your pulse racing. Her tongue slips out to lick the remaining off her lower lip.

“Mouth clean?” she asks.

You wish it weren’t (maybe you could have offered to clean it off).

But it is, and you report that truthfully.

You were staring at her face maybe a bit too long—her delicate lips, fierce dark eyes (soft underneath, you know), strands of hair framing her face like she’s a photograph—a moment to be captured, and it’s long enough for Kazuha to notice. She tilts her head, amusement slipping into her eyes.

”All okay? Did I suddenly turn too beautiful for you to take your eyes off me?”

(You have no idea.)

“What—no, no.” You stumble over your words, eyes darting around for an excuse to change the topic. The gigantic rotating structure right behind her catches your eye.

“I was admiring the Ferris wheel behind you. Brilliant architecture, right?” And if your memory serves you right, this might just prove to be the best excuse.

“It’s alright. What’s so brilliant about it?” You can feel her smug exterior crumbling ever so slightly.

“It’s the biggest attraction here and we should definitely go on it once.” (Second biggest.)

“Nuh uh.” She knows your intentions.

“Oh my, the strong and mighty Nakamura Kazuha still pisses her pants at heights.”

“That happened once,” she protests.

“Do you know what happened every time we went on the wheel? You holding—no, crushing my hands and not letting go no matter how much I cried.”

”That won’t happen again, because we aren’t going on it,” she says with an air of finality.

“Can’t believe you’re still afraid of heights.” You shake your head in disappointment.

“I’m not.”

“Then we’re going on it—right now. Even little Zuha wanted to go on the ride. Every single time. Have you really become more of a coward?”

A long sigh leaves her mouth. She’s conflicted, but you can sense the side you’re rooting for is winning the battle.

“Are you gonna hold my hand again when we get to the top?” you ask, waiting in line after getting the tickets.

“Not a chance,” she retorts.

The queue is short, and your turn comes quickly. Kazuha’s denim shorts ride up her thighs as she sits down, and you try not to stare too long. You take your seat next to her in the cramped cabin. The operator pulls the metal bar down with a clang, locking the two of you in place.

The wheel moves a little, then stops for the next passengers to get in.

“The worst part is the loading, really.” She leans forward a bit to look at how far the ground is from her.

After peeking down, she immediately snaps back in place. “Nope, shouldn’t have let you talk me into this.”

“Hey calm down. Let’s maybe try to talk about something else. What have you been up to? My guess is training to be a professional athlete.”

The wheel is set into motion, and Kazuha breathes again.

“Good guess.” She snorts. “But no. Regular adult life, mostly. Nothing as glamorous as that.”

The wheel stops for the next loading, about halfway up now. You are suspended several dozen feet in the air, feet dangling below. The cart rocks unevenly, making it worse, at times tilting almost perpendicular to the ground. Kazuha’s face is red. She looks like she’s about to throw up.

“Hey, think this is a good time to ask—” She turns to you nervously, voice shaking. ”Are you seeing someone?”

“Not currently, no.”

”So I won’t get jumped by some girl for holding your hand, right?” Her hand slips into yours, palm in palm. She grips you hard—the usual, but you were the one who got her on this time, so you’ll bear it.

“Only if I won’t have to deal with any jealous boyfriends or exes either.” Your other palm moves on top of hers, affirming her grip. She relaxes a little at the touch.

“Boyfriends, no; exes, I’ll trust you to defend yourself if it comes to that.” She rests her head on your shoulder. Her hair falls behind you, brushing softly against the back of your neck.

“Tell me something. If you’re so afraid of heights, why did you want to go on it every time we came here?”

The wheel is moving again, and you’re on the way to the top now.

“Look.” She motions towards what you’re already seeing. The small-town houses look like mere dots across the landscape, none of the buildings tall enough to display any of their features. Rolling green fields surround the town, broken only by the occasional winding road.

Below, the carnival stretches out, cheap decorations and all, but charming in its own right. The striking yellow lights tie it all together. A scene worth the ride.

“I love the view. The town looks absolutely stunning from here.”

“So why'd you just up and leave one day? Seems rather unfair to the town.” (To the town.)

“Because.” She shrugs. “How could anyone be content where they are?”

“Dunno. I could be pretty content staying right here.” You turn, looking into the eyes which effortlessly held your attention the entire evening.

The wheel comes to a slowing halt right at the very top.

“Talking about the view or me?” Her eyes look back at you, pupils dilating in the lush ambient glow around. You could stare into them forever.

“I mean the view—” Your throat tightens. Words stuck in your mouth.

"Is that all you were gonna say?"

“You, you look so beautiful.” You barely manage to get it out.

“Kiss me, then.”

What happens next is a blur. Purely instinctual.

She pulls you in, your lips connecting like opposite poles of a magnet, finally allowed to meet. Your hand wraps around her waist, and her fingers thread through your hair. Her lips are soft and warm—perfect.

There’s still a trace of chocolate from earlier, not that her mouth needs any help being sweet. Her nose brushes slightly against yours, and you keep her lips locked in place, almost like you’re afraid she might disappear again.

A soft whimper leaves your mouth, letting her know how much you’ve wanted this. She tilts your head towards her, finding the perfect angle for you to feel her lips full against yours, her body moving closer. The air between you carries her scent—fresh, floral, sharp.

You wish you could freeze this moment: Kazuha’s lips pressed to yours, the kiss full of everything neither of you could say aloud.

She pulls away for a second, her fingers still tangled in your hair, not willing to let you go. She looks into your eyes, searching for a reaction to what she did.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you like this,” you murmur.

”Feels right.” Her lips part in a soft smile.

You cup her cheeks and pull her back in, her lips crashing onto yours. You aren’t satisfied with one round. You couldn’t be satisfied with a million rounds.

The wheel is back in motion, the cart rocking gently. Neither of you care. In your world, the two of you are still, existing only for each other.

The night is warm; it’s still summer, but there’s a cool breeze flowing through you now. You’re unsure if it’s because of the ride or the released tension. No—it has to be the kiss. Normal breezes don’t feel this freeing.

The rest of the ride passes in a mix of fervent kisses and dodging onlookers whenever the cart dips too low for comfort. Kissing you seems to work better than any antidote for Kazuha’s acrophobia—you don’t hear another complaint from her. All her attention is on you.

Eventually, the ride slows to a stop. You lend her a hand getting off the cart (though she'll deny ever needing help with that). Palm in hers, barrier lifted.

“Next time, maybe I won't have to fight to get you on this thing?”

“Maybe you will.” She steps out of the cart, getting on the trimmed grass with you.

”I’d do a lot worse things to kiss you like that again.”

The lips you just kissed waver into a smile as she sweeps a few strands of hair out of her eyes.

“Didn’t know you had a flirt in you.”

“You weren’t around for my best years.” The thought reminds you. “You never told me why you left.”

She takes your wrist in her hand and starts walking, going who knows where again. Her eyes drift toward the fields far away, like she could find her answer there if she tried hard enough.

“Not my call, really. Mom wanted a fresh start, I think.” She kicks a stone. It skips past a nearby stall. “Said I'll get more opportunities in a big city. More exposure, yada yada. Probably just excuses.”

Her voice trails off for a second, like she’s holding back the rest. Excuses for what? But instead of continuing, she just keeps walking. You decide to give her space for now.

“So, did you? Got into any new stuff?”

“One or two.” Her gaze drops to her feet.

“Like what?”

“Ballet.”

You break into a smile. “Didn't peg you for a pirouette. All that inhuman strength—and you chose ballet?”

“Shut up. I’m good at it.”

“Yeah, I'm gonna need to see a performance to decide, live.”

She scoffs. “In your dreams.”

The walk keeps going. She pulls you past the stretched-out haunted house and the bumper cars. The carnival music fades, speakers switched off one by one as the night gets deeper.

“Do you have a place in mind, or are you just taking me in circles?”

”We are going somewhere. It’s been waiting since we got here, you’ll see.” She rounds the corner and stops in her tracks. Lifting your hand, she points to the huge tent in front of you. “We're here.”

Mirror maze.

“Why does it feel like you've been calling the shots the whole night and I'm just following you?”

“When have I ever taken a bad decision?”

You don’t even bother with a response, and just look away.

“Come on, you’re really gonna pretend we didn’t have fun here?” Kazuha continues, half-challenging. Truth is, there's a spark in her eyes you'd follow anywhere.

You shrug. “Don’t know. Don’t remember much of this.”

”So the onus is on me to make this memorable for you.” She nods like she’s been expecting this.

“What does that even mean?”

Ignored. You turn to the ticket stand—only to find it shut down.

“Zuha, it’s closed. Guess we’re too late.”

A playful smile creeps on her lips. “Just as planned. Follow me.” She heads to the back of the tent, where there’s no one around. Lifting a loose flap, she pulls you in and lets it fall shut behind you.

Shiny is the first word you’d use to describe the place. Disorienting the second. It feels like you’re in one of those high school physics puzzles: Given k mirrors at various angles, calculate how many images you’ll see. The answer to this one is millions. Millions of yourselves and Kazuhas surround you, some even intersecting at odd angles.

You take a step—only to hit yourself on the head. All the Kazuhas around you grin widely as you rub your forehead.

“Watch and learn,” she says and strides forward. Not an obstacle in her path. Eyes locked ahead, no hesitation, almost like the mirrors themselves part to make way for her.

“Caught that grace? Ballet.”

“If you brought me here just to show off again.” You roll your eyes at her. “I'd rather leave.”

She keeps walking, taking right and left turns at specific spots like she's memorized the entire map. You follow. The way she moves—self-assured, hips swaying ever so lightly—is captivating nonetheless.

Your thoughts spill out before you have a chance to catch them. “Though I’d be content just watching you like this.”

That’s not how you talk to your childhood friend.

A soft laugh slips from her. “I thought you wanted to leave a minute ago. Anyway, I didn’t bring you here to show off. I brought you here to show something, if it still exists…” She taps behind the panel of one of the mirrors. “We're in luck.”

“What the heck are you talking about?”

“Shh.” Her finger brushes your lips—light, deliberate. It lingers there a second longer than it needs to. Your heartbeat stumbles. You want to kiss her fingertips, suck them into your mouth like she did yours, but you don't.

“I know you said you can't recall much. But try jogging your memory, do you remember when we used to play hide-and-seek here?”

You take a look around, and in the reflections, the past becomes clearer. Environmental memory and all.

“Somewhat. Didn’t you always vanish for way too long?”

“Precisely. I'm about to reveal to you where I used to hide.” Kazuha motions with a flair suited for revealing a lifelong secret.

She pulls at a mirror. It gives way to a relatively small space—just enough for the two of you to fit, with a little room to spare. Brown walls, a break from the bright and shine everywhere, make it feel like a private spot made only for you both.

You step in first, Kazuha slips in after you. As she moves past, her chest brushes against your hands—slow, almost like she wants you to touch her. You can hear—no, feel her breathing. Steady. Yours isn’t.

A second later, she's in place. The mirror slides shut behind her, darkness swallowing you both.

“Give it a minute, your eyes will adjust,” she murmurs, her hand settling on your shoulder to steady you. “Unless you’d prefer to feel your way around instead.”

You’re facing each other, backs against opposite walls.

“Is this the first time you’re here with someone?”

She nods. Kazuha’s floral scent hits you stronger now that you’re this close to her. You’re almost scared to breathe her in twice.

Your eyes adjust, just enough to make out her face. You can’t help but admire how gorgeous she is, right there in front of you, even if you can barely see her in the dark.

Almost like she knows what you’re thinking, she stands on her toes to reach a panel behind you. She pushes it open, letting a few rays of light in. They illuminate her face a little, her features even more striking in the dim golden light. The light carves across her cheekbones, emphasizing their sharpness.

And yet, it’s the same Kazuha you’ve seen a million times.

“What if someone sees us?”

“Nobody will. It leads nowhere, I know this maze inside out. We have this place to ourselves.”

Her thighs touch yours as she settles back into place. It’s incredible how sure of herself, confident, she can be even when she can’t see anything. Or maybe it’s because you’re here with her.

“Why are we here?” you ask softly.

“I’m not staying here long.”

Her words land like a stone in your chest. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, you had no idea why she was even here, but it was easy to get lost in the memories with her and pretend this was permanent.

It’s not though, and her words remind you—maybe both, that this night is fleeting. You need to make it count.

She brushes the back of your neck. The warmth of her body is comforting, even in the summer, heating you up. The silence hanging tells you exactly what you have to do.

You cup her cheek and pull her in, lips meeting yours. You slip a hand around her waist, impossibly slender against you. Maybe there was truth to her claims on grace after all.

Her fingers are tangled in your hair again, messier this time—like she wants to show you exactly how much she wants this. Wants you. She pauses for a second, her lips grazing your ear, breath hot on you.

“And when I said you can feel your way around,” Kazuha whispers. “I meant my body too.”

You don’t move at first.

Not because you don’t want to—God, you do—but because this version of her, the one offering herself to you in the dark, feels almost too surreal to touch. Like one wrong move and she’ll vanish. Disappear into thin air. Again.

“You okay?”

You nod. “I just... I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Her fingers find your chin. She tilts it toward her. “I’m here now. So touch me.”

Your hands trace the outline of her figure. You've touched her before—games, scrapes, fights—but never like this. Never with intentions like this. You slide down the curve of her back, her skin damp from the heat, before finally resting on her ass.

Your fingers hang there awkwardly—hesitant, unsure what to do. Kazuha notices. She places her free hand on yours, guiding, and presses your hand into the soft curve of her ass. It’s plump, yielding, and fits perfectly in your palm.

“Feels good?” she asks, voice low.

“Mhm,” you breathe.

Satisfied, her lips return to yours. You squeeze her ass cheeks again. A soft moan escapes her, caught by your mouth before it can go anywhere else.

The tip of your tongue grazes her lips, asking for entry. And her lips part willingly. Your tongue slides against Kazuha’s in her mouth—hungry, slick, and deep.

For once in her life, she’s happy to lose to you. Her tongue submits to yours, letting you savor her mouth at your own pace.

Her hand drifts down, fingers tracing the outline of your hardness, already heavy against your pants. She cups it with her palm, groping, gently stroking through the cloth. It only makes you harder. Throbbing. And a grunt slips out at how she's touching you.

She tugs at your pants, asking for more. You grab her wrist and lift it away.

“My turn.”

Her brow lifts slightly, but the corners of her mouth curl in approval. “Someone’s feeling bold tonight.”

You sink to your knees, planting kisses on the abs you've seen all night, but never really admired how fit they are. Tight, slim, built to be shown off, worshipped. And worship them you will, tasting her skin with your tongue, licking across her midriff. Her skin has a hint of salt, sweat glistening under the light, but she still manages to taste sweet.

“Can we at least take my shorts off?” she huffs.

You look up, meeting her eyes. “We've got all night.”

Still, you decide not to torture her further. You unzip her denim shorts and slide it down in one fluid motion. Her black panties greet you, fabric stretched over the shape of her lips, outline clear. You only need one touch to feel how drenched she is, and it’s immediately clear why she needed them off.

Her inner thighs are a creamy, milky white, tempting you to taste more of her. You start with kisses, then drag your tongue slowly over her soft skin. Her flavor is stronger on her thighs, more intense, addicting. You can't get enough.

Her muscles tense beneath your tongue, and Kazuha's fingers weave into your hair. Every flick of your tongue leaves her trembling, you're getting closer, but never close enough. She shifts her body, trying to press down on you, wanting something you won't quite give her.

It’s not like her to beg for anything. You’d probably laugh if someone told you she ever did. But now, for the first time, you hear her beg. Kazuha herself, whispering for release.

“Please.”

Your hands reach behind her and pull her panties down. Her pussy presents itself for you—bare, pink folds slick with a mix of sweat and arousal. Your tongue finishes its ascent, giving her core a long, slow lick. She whimpers, so satisfied. She’s warm, the heat on your tongue telling you just how much she’s been holding back.

Her grip tightens in your hair, urging you closer.

But you tease her instead, giving slow, deliberate licks—agonizingly gentle. You love how each moan slips out in rhythm with your touch, music only you get to hear.

“Someone might hear us,” you murmur, fully aware you’re the reason they might.

“Fuck,” she hisses. “Let them, then. Feels too—fuck, good.”

She gets wetter with every lick, your saliva mixing with her arousal, coating her pussy in a translucent mess. Some of her sweet nectar trickles into your mouth, and you savor every drop. Your hands wander to her ass, groping handfuls of her flesh, driving her further, closer, deeper into ecstasy.

“Clit too, please.”

You wrap your lips around her clit, one swirl of your tongue, and she’s squirming. Kazuha arches her back, trying to push herself further against your tongue, wanting all of you on her.

You pick up the rhythm, quick swipes of your tongue at her clit, and she melts into a moaning mess. Her hands clutch locks of your hair, not daring to let you go.

“Had no idea you were so fucking good at this.”

Her thighs lock on either side of your head, pushing you further and further into her heat. You can barely inhale anything but her pussy now—her sweat, slick, lust for you. You wouldn’t have it any other way. The more frantic her hands grow in your hair, the more you reward her with your mouth.

And it’s no surprise she’s already getting close. She grinds her pussy on your tongue, chasing her release. Her knees go weak, and her fingers dig deeper into your scalp, as if needing you just to stand upright. You press her further against the wall, steadying her.

Her wetness is all over herself, thighs, abs, pussy, coated in her own desire. Her moans take over the entire room—someone’s definitely hearing, and she couldn’t care less.

She’s screaming all sorts of things, your name included, and it’s the first time you’re hearing it in this flavor out of her mouth. You could get used to it.

As she finishes, a gush of juices flows into your mouth, and everywhere else. Your cheeks, lips, and neck are all a mess. Kazuha’s slick is all over you, and you could stay like this forever. (Not literally forever—good thing she always carries tissues)

“Maybe I did miss out on a few things,” she says between heavy breaths.

You look at her with an expression that says, I told you so.

You climb up and kiss her lips, offering her a sample of her own juices. Her tongue slips out to swipe at your mouth, tasting the mix of her slick and your spit, and she laps it up into her own. She lets you go once she’s satisfied.

“Not bad. Been a while since I’ve tasted myself.”

“You're kidding right? You taste incredible.” You wipe some off your mouth.

“Since when do you shower me with praise like this? Maybe I should disappear more often.”

She rests for a good few minutes, catching her breath. Once she's steady, her hand slides down to your pants once again, finding your cock pressing through it. “Can I have my turn now, Mr. Decision Taker?”

“Sure, but I don't see how anything can match up to the performance I just gave.”

“Ooh, shouldn't have gone there,” she purrs, dropping on her knees in front of you. Your pants are tugged down quickly, your hardness even more obvious on your underwear. “You have no idea what you started.”

“Or maybe I know exactly what I'm doing.” You grin, hand slipping through Kazuha's hair.

There’s no hesitation in her grip as she fondles your boner through the cloth, trying to familiarize herself with the shape before she even sees it.

“Brat…” She rolls her eyes as her fingers tighten on you.

“Just the way you like it.”

She slips her hands into your underwear and pulls your cock out. You’ve known those eyes your whole life—seen them light up over dumb jokes and game nights—but now, they’re locked on your cock like it’s the only thing that matters.

“Someone must have been feeling a little… constrained.” She runs her fingertips along your length, barely brushing. Every touch sends sparks dancing across your skin.

She glances up, catching the way you squirm. “Two can play at the teasing game.”

Your cock is throbbing, twitching for anything more than the ghost of her touch. Your thighs tense without permission, breath catching—shallow, uneven. You want to grab her hand, make her finish what she started. But you also want to stay still, because somehow the way she looks up at you, barely touching, is better than anything else could be.

Once she decides she’s done playing, she wraps her palm around you, slow strokes gliding up and down your length. You let go of a soft moan, ”Zuha…”

Her eyes meet yours and she strokes you firmer now, steadier. “I like hearing you say my name like that.”

“Keep going and you’ll be hearing it a lot more.”

She brings in her mouth close to your tip, tongue about to slip out—

—instead, a hot breath rolls over your skin. It hits you like lightning. Your cock pulses harder than before.

“Oops. That wasn’t intentional.” The smile tugging at her lips says otherwise. Her hand rubs gently over your tip, like nursing an injury. She holds your base firmer, leans in near your tip again—breath careful this time—and kisses it. Another, then another, and plants a line of kisses to your base.

Finally, her tongue slips out, and she licks you all the way back to the tip.

Kazuha gives you a few more licks, slow and deliberate, making sure not a single spot is untouched. Your cock is lathered with her spit, giving it a glossy finish.

“You taste good.” Her eyes glint up at you. “Could suck on this all night.”

You’re already getting weak for her. “Not sure I can last that long. But we’ll try.”

One of her hands drifts down to your balls, massaging you gently. Suddenly, she squeezes too hard.

“Ah—careful,” you wince, hips pulling back instinctively.

She lets go instantly. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Was that too hard?”

You nod.

“Should I stop with my hands?” A flush spreads over her cheeks, as if she’s second-guessing herself. Doesn’t happen often.

“Hey, it’s okay.” You stroke her hair, trying to soothe her. “I know you didn’t mean to. You can still do it if you like, just be a little gentle. They’re sensitive.”

“Okay, I'll be careful.” Her hands return to your balls, fondling with a calculated care.

“You look cute when you’re flustered.” You cup her face with one hand. “Don't think I've ever seen you like this.”

Her cheeks only flush a deeper red at that comment. She tries to ignore it and focuses her energy on your cock instead, trying to wipe that smile off your face.

Her hand spreads the slick mess all over your shaft. Your fingers dig deeper into her hair, urging her to take you in—and to your surprise, her lips immediately part open. Guilt always did make her more agreeable. Her hands rest on your thighs, steadying herself, breath hot against you.

Then she takes you into her mouth.

She’s soft. So warm. Incredibly wet. Her mouth wraps tight around you, tongue flat underneath, her spit making you slick as she slides deeper. Her cheeks hollow—sucking hard enough to pull a sharp gasp out of you. You twitch inside her mouth, and that is all the encouragement she needs to keep going.

Her tongue swirls around your cock, slurping loudly as she sucks, like she’s convinced it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted.

She keeps you there for a while, her eyes gripped on yours, watching them roll back deeper with every passing second. Drool slips from her tongue, soaking your cock until it runs down and lands on her own midriff.

“Your mouth feels unreal.” It takes effort to even pronounce words. “Zuha.“ More moans of her name, as promised. You see the glimmer in her eyes every time you say it.

She slides you deeper into her throat, her lips brushing against your waist. Her throat constricts around you—so fucking tight. Kazuha’s making the dirtiest noises you’ve ever heard.

And when she finally can't take it—she pulls back. Her face is a mess. Strands of her spit glide from her lips to your cock. It almost feels wrong to see Kazuha like this, but then why does it feel so fucking good?

She steadies herself with a breath, then plants kisses down your length, getting ready to take you back into her mouth. You brush a few strands of hair out of her face and lock them in your hand, still gripping her hair. Her lips envelop your length again, the sensation drawing a grunt out of you.

Her mouth bobs up and down on you, taking you deeper with every round. Your knees go weak, and you look around for something to hold onto—but nothing.

“Is it okay if I hold your hair tighter?”

She nods, unbothered, and barely reacts when you tighten your grip on her hair like your life depends on it—focused on worshipping your cock. If anything, she takes it as a sign to go harder. Her mouth moves faster on you, suction tighter than ever.

The wet, slick sounds of her lips on your shaft are somehow louder than your moans.

Her lips release you with a pop, and her hand takes over—lips kissing your tip as her grip tightens, almost possessive of you. She strokes you, steady and firm, and for once, your moans rise louder than the obscene sounds she makes. The sensation makes your back arch, every movement pushing you closer to release.

“It’s okay, you can cum on me.” Her hand keeps working you, milking you for all you’re worth, her face right below your tip.

And then you let go. Thick ropes shoot out of you, landing across Kazuha’s face—forehead, cheeks, chin, and some in her mouth as well.

A few drops drip down to her chest and midriff. She’s a total fucking mess for you—and somehow still manages to look like the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen.

“So, not matching up to your performance is out of the question.” She swipes a streak from her cheeks and licks it off her fingers.

You struggle to form a response. It takes a while before you can say, “Ouch. And here I thought you were doing all this because you were into me.”

“Of course I am, you dork.” She gestures to the sticky trails from her hair down to her body, like that alone should be proof. “And I pull off this look too, by the way.”

“Sure you do. Thank God you always carry tissues though.”

“Yeah, God,” she mutters, already digging through her bag—only to come up empty-handed. “Not this time.”

”What the fuck? We are not going out like this.”

”Yeah, I gathered.” She lets out a quiet breath while she takes one last look in her bag. “I can’t walk out covered in cum and spit. You’re gonna have to go grab napkins for me.”

”Your juices are all over me as well, ma’am.”

“All this is definitely worse. So you are going.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.

You stand there, staring at her, she is right. There’s no way she's stepping outside like that. Which means it's on you to dodge a dozen eyes and sneak your way to a food stall for napkins.

She looks at you, eyes glinting, lips pursed like she’s trying to suppress a smile.

”Not funny, Zuha.”

She shrugs. “A little funny.”

The packet finally comes out from her bag, and right when you’re about to grab it—it slips from her hands.

“Jesus. At this rate I might have to actually go out like this.”

She picks it up and offers one to you. “If I were you, I’d be thankful someone actually brought tissues.”

You grab it and start wiping yourself off. “We should take this someplace a little more… intimate. No point taking risks like this again.”

“That, I agree. But where?” She's dabbing at her face too. These are the wet deep-cleanse ones. Should do the trick.

”Same as usual, my place? Nobody’s home—whole reason I came here.”

“Works.”

—

“So what did you use to do there before you, you know, had a guy to play around with?” You plop on the couch beside her, packet of cookies in hand. The air conditioner drones in the background, a welcome break from the heat outside.

“Play with myself,” she says casually, grabbing a cookie.

You turn to her, brows lifted. “Excuse me?”

“Not like that, dumbass,” she shoots back. “I meant doodle, sing songs, dance.”

You flip through TV channels, stopping on some old sitcom. “Prefer my company to that?”

“It’s close, but I’d say so.”

“Ever think about what life would’ve been like if you’d stuck around?”

“Sometimes.” She pulls at the strap of her top, then lets it snap back.

“Maybe we wouldn't have had to wait so many years for something between us.”

“Or maybe things would have never gone this way.” She leans back on the couch. “We were around each other all the time back then. And still—nothing.” Her eyes drill into the ceiling.

The TV screen flickers, static crackling from the speakers.

“Does that sometimes. Let me go check the connection.” You head behind the TV stand, feeling for the loose wire. You crouch down, out of her line of sight.

“Did you miss me?” Her voice is quiet, distant, like she’s not sure she wants the answer.

You don’t reply right away, spending a few seconds fiddling with wires that aren’t even loose.

“Sometimes. Like when I got sick, I half expected you to show up with juice and stupid movies again.”

Silence stretches between you.

“I’m sorry. I fucked up.”

You get up and walk back to the couch. “I never understood why you ghosted. Just had to make peace with it—no other option.”

“You really wanna get into all that?”

“Of course I do, Zuha. We were best friends for a decade. Whatever this is now, barely a night. I still care about you. That’s the issue, really.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She lets out a long sigh.

“Life got… weird when I moved. My new school was awful. I tried. But people either acted off or pretended I didn't exist, so I just stopped”

She shifts in her seat, adjusting her posture.

“And home wasn’t much better. Dad rarely visited, guess that was always the plan. Everything sucked. I wanted to text you—God, so many times. I’d open our chat and just sit there like an idiot.” Her fingers tug at a thread on the couch, eyes somewhere else.

“I couldn't. I was scared. Scared you'd moved on. Scared I'd look pathetic like that.

I wish I did though. Tonight… felt easy. Felt right.”

She meets your eyes now. “And more importantly, it was fucking unfair to you. I'm so sorry.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy.

“Hey… that sounds rough. Must have been hard to reach out with all of that going on. I had a sense things weren't great with your parents but not the full extent.” You pull her head to your chest. “I’m glad you told me though. Are things better now?”

She nods. “Yeah, I’m alright now. I still think about you from time to time, but it felt like the door had closed by then.”

She stretches her legs, resting her head higher up your chest. “Shit, we've been talking all about myself. What about you? How’s life been?” Her eyes glance up at yours.

“Nothing that dramatic.” You chuckle. “Stayed at the same school. Then college. Got an internship starting soon, offer came through just a few days back.”

“Wow. Someone’s been busy winning.” Her voice softens. “I’m proud of you. If we’d still been in touch… I probably would’ve been the first person you told.”

“Nah, you never were.”

“Shut up, I so was.” Her palm covers your mouth. “You came running to me to celebrate after placing second in a sack race.”

“Hey, it was a highly competitive—” You fight to lift her hand off. “—race. Millions would’ve killed to get on the stage and collect that medal.”

”Sure.” She laughs—the sound so sweet to you. Infectious. You can’t help but join in.

Both of you sit there for a second, smiling, catching your breath. It's easy like this. Familiar.

You nod toward your bedroom. “I suppose we should be making up for the missed movie nights.”

“You wanna watch something or just sleep with me?” She grabs your wrist, tugging you along.

“Wow, that reminds me. One of those sleepovers, you fell asleep first, as usual, on me and I had the most confused boner ever.” You pause. “Maybe I shouldn't have said that out loud.”

“Were always into me, huh?” She looks back over her shoulder at you.

Your memories tug at you, almost like they're trying to say something. “I'm not sure. Which is what made it weird.” Her step slows a little.

“What’d you do?”

”What could I do? I waited till it went away, then went to sleep.” You reach the bedroom and shut the door behind you. “Can't believe our parents never suspected anything, with how close we were. Not that we ever crossed the line back then, but still.”

Kazuha gets on the bed with you, pulling the blanket over you both. “My mom did. She had the same two lines every time I left the house—‘Tell your boyfriend I said hi,’ or, ‘Have fun on the date.’”

“Boyfriend, huh?” Your lips twitch into a smile. “How come I never heard about this?”

“Because I told her if she ever called you that in front of you, it'd be the last day she saw me.”

“Sounds about right. Didn’t she question your tragic outfit choices for a ‘date’ though?” You pull up Netflix, and hand her the remote. “Your pick for the night.”

She scrolls through the options. “You want me in some short little dress or what?” Her nose scrunches just at the idea.

“Obviously. Don’t you do ballet anyway?”

“Performing’s different. I’d probably cancel the date if I had to wear one outside.” She eyes your watch history. “What kind of trash do you watch?”

You sit up, facing her. “Let’s up the stakes of our next hammer game—marshmallows are boring. If I win, you’ll wear a dress on our date.”

“And if I win, the dress goes on you?”

You stare at her, deadpan.

“Kidding.” Her hand reaches for yours, intertwining fingers. “And you're never winning against me. So if you really wanna see me in a red dress, choose a different bet.“

“Why red specifically? Maybe I’d rather see you in green.”

”Wasn’t red your favorite color?” She finally settles on a cheesy romcom.

“Didn’t know favorite colors are still a thing after you grow up.” The movie begins—opens on a girl monologuing that she’ll never settle down. “Wow. You called my taste bad, and now we’re watching someone explain why love isn’t for them for the hundredth time?”

“Best I could salvage from your recommendations list. And hey, fits the mood at least.” She slides her fingers up your arm, and they settle on your shoulder.

“And what kind of mood would that be?”

Her grip tightens on your shoulder as she leans in. “It’ll take her the whole movie to realize that love is, in fact, for her.” Her hair hangs dangerously close to your face, brushing your cheek. “We can skip to the ending.”

You breathe her in. “Why does your hair smell so good? What's that scent?”

“Same shampoo I've always used.”

“No way. Didn't smell like this before.”

She laughs. “Maybe you had rocks for a nose back then.” She moves even closer, and you can feel her breath, hot against you. “You smell it better now?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, moving in to kiss her neck. Kazuha wraps her arm around your waist. A low moan slips from her lips as you leave a trail of soft pecks down her neck. She tilts her head back, letting you find the curve of her neck better. You keep kissing her—until a crop top interrupts your descent.

“Want it off?”

You nod and help her lift it off. You continue your path, lips brushing on her collarbone. Your hand finds her chest, cupping her breast through her bra. Her breath hitches. Her soft sounds grow louder at how you’re touching her.

She lets her hands wander down your body, feeling your hardness poking through your pants. “Already hungry for more?” Her fingers grazing you like that don't help at all.

“Hungry for you, Zuha.” It feels so good to tell her that. Your lips find her cleavage, kissing at the tiny bits peeking out from her bra. The chatter of the movie—the female lead’s friends urging her to text someone—fades into the background, replaced by the sounds Kazuha makes just for you.

Your hands reach behind and unhook her bra, freeing her tits. Her breasts are soft and creamy, perfectly shaped for your hands and mouth. You taste them—tongue gliding over her sensitive skin.

Her nipples are already taut, and you take one into your mouth, savoring the texture of her arousal. Her hand tangles in your hair. She’s not willing to risk letting you go.

You feel her other breast with your hand, taking her in your palm and gently squeezing—more moans for you. She leans back, pushing more of her flesh into your mouth, urging you to have more of her.

You take your time with her. Quick swipes of your tongue, gentle sucks on her nipples, your hands massaging her tits, and with every motion, soft sighs slip from Kazuha’s mouth.

“Figured you’d be thorough with this too” She lets out a breathy laugh. You can feel her body getting hotter—and one slip of your hand beneath her shorts confirms what you were thinking—she’s soaked. You gently push her onto her back, climbing over her.

“These aren’t needed.” One swift motion—and her shorts are off and on the bed. Her juices are already soaking through her panties, leaving damp spots on the sheets.  You kiss your way downwards, moving to her abs—before she stops you, clutching your shirt.

“Can we please take this off too?” she asks.

“You’re so adorable being polite during sex, you know?”

She smacks your shoulder—

—”Ow, that hurt.”

“Yeah, kind of the point. Now shut up and get naked with me.”

“What's wrong with me finding you cute like that?” You shrug and let her help you take your shirt off.

She shifts her gaze. “I don't know. That's not… our thing.”

“Going down on each other wasn't our thing till tonight. Didn’t stop us.”

“Good point. But that doesn't mean everything will change overnight.” She drags a line down from your chest—coming to a stop at your waist. “Do your pants need a separate invitation?”

You take off your pants and underwear, and she’s wrapping her hand around you again. She grips you tight, stroking your length.

“I want you in me.” Her hand glides naturally on your cock this time, like she knows exactly how to please you best.

“Come here.” You help her get her panties off, her hand not letting go of you—almost like you’d disappear if she did. You stare at her beautiful bare folds, coated in her translucent arousal, aching for you.

Kazuha’s hair is spread across the pillow, framing her face, almost angelic. She breathes short, needy gasps; even having your cock close to her core is too much for her. You line up your tip against her lips, her heat brushing against you. Every graze sends sparks flying through both of you.

Her hands come up to your face and tilt it toward her. “Look at me, please,” she whispers.

You meet her gaze as you slide inside her. Your cock is immediately wrapped in her warmth, drowning in her wetness. “Fuck,” she hisses. Her walls clench down on you, gripping you tight, almost making you lose control.

“Zuha, you feel amazing.”

Her lips twitch into a smile. You can tell she needed that. You want to throw in another unnecessary quip but you decide against it—enough smacks for the night. Her walls stretch around you as you go deeper, adjusting for your thickness. Your hips meet finally, your cock fully enveloped by Kazuha’s warmth.

“Go ahead,” she sighs, arching her back slightly to give you a better angle. Her juices spill all over your cock. “Give it to me.”

You start slow, drawing your hips back leisurely. Her eyes flicker—caught between wanting to shut them and savor the feeling, and keeping eye contact with you.

“Ah!” She parts her lips when you thrust back into her wetness. Your fingers roam her body—the curves of her chest, the tightness of her abs, the softness of her thighs. A satisfied smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

Your hand comes to rest on her hip, gripping her to steady yourself. You find your rhythm, your cock disappearing into her with every slow, deliberate thrust.

Your fingers press deep into her as you build momentum, little by little. You take a quick look at her reaction to make sure it doesn’t hurt her—all clear. If anything, the lip bite says she likes how possessive you’re being with her.

Each time you push into her, she lets out a louder moan—soft, breathless gasps spilling into the space between you. Her cheeks flush, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she gives herself over completely. God, you could watch her face look like this forever.

It’s mesmerizing, really, how easily you can push her into the depths of ecstasy.

One of her hands grips your waist, grounding herself against you as she basks in the feeling of you fucking her.

“Fuck, just like that,” she squeals. “Just like that, sweetheart.” Sweetheart. The last word comes out somewhat awkwardly, but with how much of a moaning mess she is, it’s hard to tell. “Feels so good. Please, don’t stop,” she gasps, her perfect tits bouncing with every thrust.

“Not—” You grunt, hips rocking into her. “—planning to. You feel so—fuck—fucking good, Zuha.”

She fights to keep control of herself—loses. Her back arches, then sinks deeper into the bed, eyes closed shut as she melts into you. Her legs hook behind your back, thighs tightening around your waist, locking you in. Kazuha surrounds your entirety.

“I’m gonna cum.” Her mouth cups into an ‘o’, her body trembling as the pleasure crashes through her. You already know: It’s an image that’s not leaving your mind so easily.

One of the (several) things you’re getting to know about Kazuha tonight is that when she cums, she leaks like a waterfall.

Her juices gush all over your cock, somehow drenching it even more than before. Her body first tenses around you, then she quivers in pleasure, trembling. Her eyes flutter open to meet yours.

“Are you close too?” she asks. You nod in response. If you weren’t already—the sight you just saw was enough to nearly push you over.

“Keep going, feels so good.” She drapes an arm around your neck—the motion almost too much for her spent body. “Kiss me, please.” You lean in close to her, Kazuha exhales softly when your lips touch.

The kiss is lazy, lingering, a complete contrast to the rhythm of your thrusts down below. You pull back just enough to ask, “Zuha, where should I—uh, cum?”

Her brow furrows briefly. “Wherever you want… but I wanna feel all of you in me.”

“That’s what I want too.” You drive into her with a few final pumps—climax fast approaching.

“Cum in me, sweetheart,” she whispers against your ear. Your lips go back where they belong—pressed firmly to hers.  Thick streams pour into her. Her soft, drenched pussy pulls you in, clenching tight around you.

“Give it all to me,” she breathes. “Every single drop.” You keep pulsing inside her, each spasm dragging more of you out. She takes it so well, her body milking you dry like her words promised.

You slowly pull out of her, your cock slipping from her soaked core. Your release drips out of her, trailing down her thighs. You collapse beside her, every muscle sore. Kazuha clutches the sheets, still breathing hard next to you.

"That was nice," she sighs.

"Nice sounds like a participation award."

"Fine, it was fucking amazing."

“I hope you mean that." You drape an arm around her shoulder. "Wanna go sit on the fields later? Big cities just don’t have skies like these.”

“Yeah. Been so long since I’ve properly seen stars.” Her head rests on yours.

“Can’t say the same, seeing one right next to me.”

“Gosh, enough flirting for the night, Romeo.” The way her cheeks turn red disagrees with her words. “Starting to miss the days when you’d just call me names all day.”

“Who says I can’t do both, loser.”

“There we go. Much better.”

“Besides, you were the one who called me sweetheart earlier.”

“Never happened. Oh, and we don’t have to leave right away, right?”

“No.”

“Good. I wanna rest here for a while.” She snuggles up to you and shuts her eyes.

—

You lie down on the damp grass, the air cool this late at night. The blades are soft but cling to your skin, carrying a faint earthy scent.

Kazuha settles beside you. The sky above is wide and clear, scattered with stars. In the distance, the Ferris wheel still glows in yellow.

Balloons are being popped, stalls shuttered. Leftover food dumped into buckets. The painted horses are lifted from the merry-go-round, loaded piece by piece into trucks. Teddy bears crammed into plastic covers. The tents are gone—replaced by bare ground with nothing to offer.

“Sweet spot to light one.” She flicks a stray blade of grass at you.

“You smoke?”

Her shoulders rise in a shrug. “You heard my whole story. What do you think?”

“Thought that was just a TV trope. Guess not.”

The wheel lights glow brighter with every minute, while the rest of the carnival dims.

“Would be cool if the carnival lasted all year.” She exhales, like she knows it's wishful thinking.

“Don't know if it'd feel the same. But still, does feel weird watching it get packed up like this—like seeing a school after hours. Or an empty mall.” You wrap a strand of her hair around your finger.

“Liminal space,” she says.

“Hm?”

“Places of transition—or something like that. Exactly what you said. Felt the same to me when I saw it from the train window. The first time I was leaving town.”

The quiet stretches between you. A faint pop echoes, cutting through the silence—maybe another balloon meeting its end. The carnival getting taken apart suddenly feels like the only thing worth seeing.

“So…” You clear your throat. “You’re leaving tomorrow?”

She tilts her head up, like she’s just noticed the stars. “I lied about something.”

“Wait—you're staying?”

“No. I’ve got a ticket.”

Something in your chest crumples, slow and painful. “What is it?”

“About why I always wanted to go on the ride with you, even when I was scared of it as a kid. The view was nice and all, but I never got the appeal.”

“Then why?”

“You liked it. I wanted to confess to you at the top.” She draws her knees up, curling into the thought. “Cheesy, I know. But I saw how your eyes lit up at the view. I wanted some part in that.”

She pauses, then adds, “And felt nice to have an excuse to hold your hand.”

It takes a few seconds to respond with a question that only sounds smaller out loud. “Why didn’t you—you never told me.”

“Chickened out every time. It hurt, not being able to tell you. Whenever you smiled at me there, it felt like I was drowning. And when I was leaving the last day…” She takes a long breath.

There’s a heavy thud of something getting thrown in a truck.

“But I could never risk what we had—could never risk hearing that you didn’t love me back.”

“You don’t need to worry about that.” You say it with such conviction that it silences whatever doubts were still in her eyes.

“The second I saw you here today, knew I had to take my chance. Wasn’t getting yet another one.”

“Guess you took it.”

She shifts slightly, turning towards you. The grass rustles beneath her. “What I’m trying to say is, yes, I have a train to catch. But no, I’m not disappearing again. Not without you.”

Her words echo in your ears. They settle somewhere deep in your chest, humming.

All those nights you spent wondering why she stopped replying. Why she left without a word. Wondering if you were the reason she never looked back.

“So, what—I just drop everything and follow you?” The words come out uneven, rougher than you expected.

“No, but that doesn’t mean this has to end here either.” Her voice wavers, choking in her throat. “That doesn't mean I can't still have you in my life, right?”

Something in her tone sounds different this time. Like she’s scared to lose you too.

“True.” A soft gust of wind ruffles her hair across your cheek. “Suppose our date with you in a red dress will have to wait.” (But not forever, right?)

For the first time in all the years you’ve known her, you see her eyes pool. They shine—stars caught beneath the tears. One drop falls onto your shirt, sinks through the fabric, straight into your skin. Burning.

Her hand finds yours and squeezes, probably harder than she means to—as always. She whispers, “I’ll wait for it.”

The Ferris wheel flickers once, then goes dark.

—

[mooningningg]

ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴇꜰᴛ

...In which you disappear after a really bad fight without them knowing.

Toji, Sukuna, and Nanami.

genre, comfortttt. notes, a TON of you requested for a part two so here it is. part i is here

★ TOJI FUSHIGURO

He finds you at the park.

Sitting on that same old bench, arms around your knees, head down.

Toji doesn’t approach right away. He stands across the path, breath fogging in the cold air, hands clenched at his sides. His chest is still heaving like he sprinted the last two blocks. His eyes don’t leave you once.

Then—

“...Y/N.”

You don’t move.

He swallows hard and walks toward you. Slowly. Like you’re glass.

“I shouldn’t’ve said that shit,” he mutters, voice rough, almost gravel. “I was pissed and tired and stupid. But I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at myself.”

Still no answer.

He crouches down in front of you, hands braced on his knees.

“I hate it when we fight. But I fucking hate it more when you’re gone.”

You finally lift your eyes to meet his. He looks windblown. Raw.

“I thought you didn’t care,” you whisper.

Toji exhales. “Baby, I wake up and reach for you before I even open my goddamn eyes. I care so much it makes me dumb.”

A beat of silence.

Then you lunge into his chest — and he catches you without hesitation, arms tightening around you like a vise. One hand cradles the back of your head. His lips brush your hair.

“I got you,” he murmurs. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

★ RYOMEN SUKUNA

He finds you in a late-night diner.

Corner booth. Hoodie up. Hands clenched around a coffee you haven’t touched.

Sukuna bursts in like a storm — not loud, but seething. Shoulders tight. Eyes bloodshot. He scans the room once, and the second he sees you, he’s moving.

He slides into the booth across from you, jaw clenched, breathing ragged.

“You left without saying shit.”

You stare at the chipped mug.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” you mumble.

His mouth twitches. But not in amusement.

“I always care.”

You blink at him. He looks furious — at himself.

“I said things I didn’t mean. Doesn’t matter why,” he mutters, voice lower now. “If I could take it back, I would’ve swallowed every fucking word.”

You look away. He reaches across the table, fingers brushing yours.

“I’m not good at this. At people. At feelings.” His jaw tightens. “But I know I want you near me. I know it hurts when you’re gone.”

Silence.

Then you whisper, “You made me feel small.”

Sukuna’s whole body deflates.

“I never want you to feel small. I want you loud. Fuckin’ radiant. Mine.”

You sniff once, and he clicks his tongue — gets up, rounds the table, and pulls you out of the booth into his chest.

“I’m takin’ you home,” he says, voice rasped, cheek pressed to your temple. “And we’re never going to sleep mad again.”

★ KENTO NANAMI

He finds you on the rooftop of your apartment building.

Bundled in a blanket. Wind tousling your hair. The quiet city stretching out around you.

He doesn’t call your name. Just quietly steps beside you, sets a thermos of hot tea down, and sits.

You don’t speak. Not at first.

“I wasn’t angry at you,” he says gently, hands folded. “I was overwhelmed. That’s not an excuse. It’s a failure.”

You turn to him, eyes wet.

“I thought you regretted letting me in.”

His eyes widen. His breath catches.

“I regret every word that made you feel that way.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know how to let you help me. But you do. Every day.”

Silence.

Then, low:

“I need you to know you’re not a burden, Y/N. You’re the only thing keeping me steady.”

You sniff, and Nanami, the picture of restraint, opens his arms.

You lean into him.

He exhales, wrapping both arms around you, chin tucked gently to your head.

“Let’s go inside,” he murmurs. “And this time, we’ll talk. Properly. I’ll listen.”

You nod against his chest.

And he holds you tighter.

[angelsforthenight]

loser!ellie? nah, take deranged, perverted no-life ellie...

streamer!reader x loser!ellie (pt 1) ଘ(´•×•)⊃━☆.•° ✿ °•.

content (18+): femcel!ellie (sorry lolol a bit of a corny term but hey), pervert!ellie, sub!ellie, very pathetic!ellie, cursing, i diss ellie so much here lmfaooo, lowk this is a short fic sorry, masturbating.

femcel trash, i hate to say it. sprawling out on her desk chair, ellie hoists her knee up so she can comfortably prop her chin against it.

"you... are... a... shitty... streamer." she quietly mutters to herself whilst clacking away those very words on your twitch chat, biting her lip as she flutters in anticipation at the prospect of your response.

you're a very fiery person when you want to be. unbeknownst to you who exactly is behind those vile comments, you're always quick to fire back regardless. what ellie has always liked about you is the way you go around responding to her. you're never fully angry, more... amused. entertained, almost... charmed some would say. you're smooth in your delivery of comebacks, following with a block — in which ellie bides her time in making a new account without fail.

so why don't we get back to what's going on, shall we? as of currently, ellie chews on the string of her hoodie, giggling lowly to herself as she waits for you to read her present of a comment. she keeps on fidgeting, unable to hold herself back from how tempting you look on her lofty pc screen. so attractive and perfect... somebody she could never have. how could she not feed off of your attention like a starving mutt?

poor, washout ellie has to squeeze her thighs together in order to calm down. besides, there is a higher chance the comment could whizz by without a second glance, as you are pretty famous. it's happened more times than ellie can count. definitely a hit or miss. but alas, the curtains of heaven reign down on earth.

"you are a shitty streamer." you read aloud. ellie straightens up, pale green eyes fixed on the screen, chewing the skin off her bottom lip. her heart is on automatic: promptly picking up the pace from a steady 90 to a zippy 140 bpm.

"why are you watching then, baby?" you deliver effortlessly, your voice as lithe and satiny as a glossy piece of paper. you lightly chuckle, following up with a muttered "fuckin' no life..." before changing the subject.

a shaky breath is practically punched out of ellie's throat, one she didn't even know she'd been holding. god, the way you said that? alongside low eyes gazing right at the camera? at her, no less? are you fucking joking? that was class-tier!

hence why pitiful, dead-loss, unemployed ellie is fumbling to lift up her hoodie, bunching the hem up and stuffing it in her mouth, muffling in a needy whimper. what a perverted woman, getting off on being embarrassed online by a popular streamer! she already hadn't been wearing any pants, as is the usual occurrence when you stream. (her pants just seem to coincidentally disappear, it's true!) so it's devilishly easy for her nimble fingers to brush against her clothed pussy — day old underwear sickeningly smeared in her arousal from you. only you.

ellie groans, tipping her head back as her eyes flutter closed only for a moment, considering she can't keep her eyes from you for too long. you're still on, asking the viewers if you want them to see your trinket collection.

"mhm..." ellie whines in response, jerkily nodding as if you could see her. she directs her foggy eyes back to the screen, unable to rip her debauched gaze from your pretty face, those eyes, those fucking lips... it's like she can't get enough. ellie kneads her cunt in circular motions, the pads of her fingers adding just the right amount of pressure. she gazes at you from beneath her furrowed eyebrows, her jaw unconsciously falling slack when she feels a particularly hard tingle shoot up her spine. as a result, the hem of her hoodie falters; with a string of saliva fleetingly connecting the fabric to her lips. ellie doesn't care, too swept up by the sight of you to even try and control her noises anymore.

"fuck, i love you. i love you, i lo-mnngh!" ellie blabbles foolishly, being cut off as the smashing rollercoaster inside her stomach finally reaches its peak. her body goes rigid from head to toe before a splurge of pleasure hits her like a freight train. her body spasms violently once, before she slumps back in her chair, letting out a relieved sigh.

by this time now, you're about to end your stream, blowing a sweet little kiss to your viewers. it's always like this, except today it ends a little differently.

"and to the fucker who keeps making new accounts to talk shit? stop. i will find you, and you won't like it when i do." you threaten, even though you're smiling. in reality, you don't really care: everyone is going to get hate online regardless of what they post or what they look like. there's always going to be someone there, ready to pounce on you with hatred and make you insecure. you merely think this person is miserable. perhaps you'd feel pity for them, if you hadn't found this all so amusing instead.

however, here comes ellie the underdog, taking your words seriously. eyes glimmering as if an oppurtunity has been branched out before her. as if an angel has spread its wings and has beckoned her to tuck herself in.

ellie has to act quick, surging forward in her chair and immediately letting her fingers fly across the keyboard.

ufailedlol12344: come and find me then

note: i always see streamer!ellie so i wanted to take a little spin on that and make ellie be the 'fan' instead. lmk who wants to be added to the taglist for the second (and probably last part) :3 also i'm kinda unsure ab using the femcel term as it can kinda be problematic?? like i'm trying to romanticise it maybe?? just wanna flag up that i'm being completely satire when i call her that,,, it's only hot when it's on ellie (a pixel) and no one else ꉂ (｀ω´)ᯞ

[sturnioz]

꒰ STURNIOZ KINKTOBER '24 ꒱ !

fratboy!chris takes shy!reader to a haunted house at a carnival where she ends up in his arms for more reasons that one.

you weren't a brave person.

you could barely even watch a scary movie without shivering in fear, so why did chris think it was a good idea to drag you to a haunted house? the carnival was pretty, you admit to that, and the smell of popcorn made your mouth water, but the haunted houses that loomed before you ominously made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

it was the scare actors that loitered outside that made it worse for you too; clad in ripped costumes and scarily accurate makeup, their sinister grins and contact eyes making your stomach churn. they stalked the crowd, creeping up behind people to hear their screams of terror.

you feel a knot tighten in your chest, a mix of dread and embarrassment as you cling to your friend's arm, desperately hiding your face in her shoulder as you near closer and closer towards the house.

but then, much to your dismay, nate swoops in and hoists her over his shoulder, laughing as he dashed into the haunted house with her giggling through screams. you stand frozen outside the entrance, your heart pounding in your ears as you help up the queue.

there's no way you're going in there. no way. not a chance.

"move, kid," chris's voice slices through your thoughts, his hand gripping your bicep as he pulls you into the dark abyss of the haunted house before you could even protest.

as the door slams shut behind you, darkness envelopes you immediately, and you can hear every little sound around you — the shuffling of feet, the low growls echoing in the shadows. you instinctively press yourself against chris' side, gripping his sweatshirt like a lifeline.

"get off me... actin' like a fuckin'—" he grumbles under his breath, but you can barely register his words as you're far too busy wishing you could disappear, your pulse quickening with every creak of the floorboards and every sinister whisper that seems to swirl around you.

with each hesitant step deeper into the haunted house, your anxiety spikes, the flickering lights above your heads casting eerie shadows that dance on the walls, and you can feel the presence of scare actors lurking just out of sight, ready to pounce.

you fight the urge to scream, your mind racing with thoughts of escape, but you grip chris tighter, shoving your face into his arm to block out the terrifying sights around you.

"it's not even scary, kid. it's pathetic," chris says disinterestedly, his tone dripping with disdain, clearly unfazed by everything. "just bein' all dramatic 'n shit.. you crybaby."

"i'm not even crying," you shoot back to defend yourself, a pout forming on your lips as you peek out from behind his arm to glare at him weakly. "and it is sca—"

before you can finish, someone leaps out of the shadows with a high=pitched shriek, black hair covering their face and warms outstretched towards you, sending a jolt of pure fear coursing through you.

you scream, throwing yourself against chris' chest, burying your face into his sweater as you cling to his waist, refusing to let go.

you can feel him snort, and it only makes your cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. "ah... don't worry, kid. m'gonna keep you alll safe," his voice drips with condescension, and you hate how much it bothers you when he pats the top of your head mockingly.

he continues to walk forward, awkwardly shuffling with you still clinging tightly, determined not to let go or even glance at where you're going. every sound—every scream from the actors—makes you jump and whine, and you can't help but feel they're doing an excellent fucking job at their terrifying roles.

yet, you refuse to spare them a look as chris twists and turns through the dim hallways, ignoring the sounds of his frustrated grunts every time you press yourself against him at the sound of approaching footsteps.

"kid, you gotta stop movin'," he whispers in your ear, but you barely listen, desperate to get out and leave the haunted house as you jump again when another sudden noise startles you,, accidentally rubbing up against him. "shit. you doin' this on purpose or somethin'? you tryin' to piss me off? makin' me fuckin; hard in haunted house — jesus."

"i hate it in here," you whine pathetically, your voice trembling, completely oblivious to how your constant jumping and the way you cling to him is clearly affecting him. "i wanna go. i wanna leave."

"don't be a baby," chris scoffs, watching as you bury your face deeper into his chest. he clicks his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head in disbelief. "this is stupid. you're not even lookin' at them; you're just hidin', and you're still scared?"

when you don't reply, chris scoffs again, rolling his eyes. despite his irritation, he awkwardly shuffles forward again, using one arm to wrap around your shoulders as he navigates through the twisting hallways, the sounds of horrors beginning to fade away.

suddenly, you hear him push open a door, and you stumble slightly as he guides you inside, still clinging to him for dear life. "a'ight, let go of me, kid s'just me 'n you in here."

hesitant, you remain pressed against him, but gradually loosen your grip and take a step back, eyebrows furrowing as you glance around the room, realising you're in a staff room of some sort — dimly lit and cluttered with props.

"are we.. supposed to be in here?"

"obviously not," chris scoffs, his tone dripping with sarcasm. he then tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowing as a smirk slowly spreads across his lips. "y'know... you're really livin' up to your nickname, bun... all scared 'n shit, makin' me look after you."

the teasing in his voice makes your face grow hot, a mix of embarrassment and frustration bubbling inside you. you glare at him, but the effect is lost as you feel the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

"i don't like scary stuff," you admit, your tone a little pathetic, which only makes you frown.

"didn't think it was that bad," chris drawls, taking a step closer, almost corning you against the wall which makes a flutter of nerves tickle your belly. "though, i think you rubbin' against me was on purpose, bun.. you tryin' to start somethin'?"

"what?" you blink, mouth open and closing repeatedly. "n-no, i just.. i was scared!"

"uh-huh," chris nods slowly, his smirk widening as he fully corners you against the wall, his hands resting on your hips, making your breath hitch. "you uh, you sure about that? 'cos it felt like you wanted somethin' from me."

the proximity is overwhelming, and you can feel the heat radiating off of him. your heart races rapidly against your chest, "i..."

chris leans in slightly, his breath brushing across your face, sending a shiver down your spine. "you what?"

you swallow hard, trying to form a coherent response, but all you can think about is how close he is, how his hands feel on your hips. "i just... i didn't mean.."

"didn't mean to what?" he presses again, voice low and teasing, smirk never wavering. "didn't mean to get scared? or didn't mean to get me hard?"

you can't help but squirm under his gaze, "both?"

chirs hums at that, his hands sliding down to your ass, his teeth biting down on your shoulder as his hips grind against yours, letting you feel the hard bulge straining against his jeans, and a whimper escapes your throat as you squirm again under his grip.

his hands move again, slipping underneath your skirt to cup your pussy, and he gives you a mocking smile as his fingers press against the damp patch on your panties. "really?"

you don't respond to that, not even sure how to come up with one to explain your sudden arousal as he slowly pushes the fabric to the side and sliding two fingers deep inside your pussy, causing you to cry out at the intrusion, immediately covering your mouth to muffle your noises.

"nah, don't worry about that..." chris purrs, pumping his fingers in and out of your spongy walls, curling his fingers and rubbing against the sweet spot with each stroke. "we're in a haunted house, bun... scream."

your hips buck against his hand, gummy walls clenching around his fingers, letting out a choked sob when he adds a third, stretching you out.

"thaaats it," chris nods, licking at his lips as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing firm circles. "make all the noises f'me. wanna hear you." chris other hand unbuckles his belt, freeing his cock and removing his fingers from your cunt to rub the tip through your soaked folds, coating himself in your arousal. "deep breath, bun. remember?"

you nod repeatedly, sucking in a deep breath as chris eases himself into your pussy, burying himself to the hilt with one deep thrust. your nails dig into his shoulders as chris' head drops down to yours, teeth grazing your skin as he pulls almost all the way out before driving back in, setting a pace as he pounds into you.

the wall rattles behind you, props cluttering to the ground in a mess, but you don't pay it any mind as you moan loudly in his ears, tears of pleasure prickling at the corners of your eyes as your mind reels.

"please, chris," you whimper out his name, not knowing if you're begging for him to slow down or pleading for him to never stop as you grip his shoulders tighter, blubbering as your vision blurs. "please."

chris chuckles in your ears, his hand slipping behind the back of your knee to pull your leg up around his waist, pressing his cock into you deeper, his pelvis rubbing against your clit for extra stimulation.

"s'what i thought, bun," he murmurs quietly, teeth tugging at your earlobe as he drives his cock repeatedly into your pussy. "always a fuckin' mess on my cock."

© STURNIOZ

[green-butterfly-writes]

Little Thief

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

this is from Jason's perspective, but the next part will be a more standard 'x reader' fic. the reader is a fox, in case that isn't clear. there will be more parts soon, I promise. the yandere is a bit slow burn-y with this story.

I'm Dyslexic, and don't have a beta, so spelling mistakes are likely.

“What do you mean something happened? We’ve got all the guys pinned down over here!”

“Red hood, who took it?”

“That— it’s fine don’t worry about it, I’ll get it back”

“Red-“ *click*

Red Hood disconnected his com, before creeping closer to the small fuzz ball.

“Nowhere to run you little thief. Just give it back,” he bit out, while reaching for the flash drive in the foxes’ mouth. The fox was not happy, being trapped in an alley with a large man blocking the only exit, but it wasn’t as unhappy as one would expect, looking more annoyed than scared. 

Red Hood continued his slow approach until the flash drive was finally in arm’s reach, his hand shooting out to grab it, only for the little fox to dodge and dive right under a large green dumpster. It emerged a moment later— without the flash drive.

“OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!! I NEED THAT YOU LITTLE SHIT!!” Red Hood shouted, already realizing he’d need to move the whole dumpster to get the drive back. The fox sat in front of the dumpster, staring him down with a blank expression. It brought one of its front paws up to point at the metallic back door stapled into a wall of the alley. Red hood paused. That door led to the back entrance of a restaurant, he recalled to himself, did it want food? The fox sighed with such an attitude its full body sagged a bit, before pointing to the dumpster, and back to the door.

“A trade then…” Red Hood translated hesitantly, and the little red fox perked up with excitement, “I’ll get you some food and you’ll give me back my flash drive?” The fox nodded enthusiastically. 

Red Hood sighed, before walking around the building and into the generic burger chain before him. He was greeted with abused plastic tables, torn red booth seats, a singular front end worker who looked like he lost his will to live years ago, and a strong stench of weed radiating from the kitchen area.

“Welcome valued customer, how may I serve you,” the worker droned out. Red Hood looked up at the menu plastered on the wall above the dead eyed boy at the register. ‘What do foxes even eat? They eat chicken, right? There are a few chicken options… the chicken sandwich has vegetables on it… vegetables are good, right?’ Ya, he’s going with that. “Can I get a regular chicken sandwich and cheeseburger with fries?”

Once he had the food, he returned to the dumpster where the little fox sat expectantly with the black flash drive hanging from its mouth. Red hood approached, sandwich in hand, and this time the fox didn’t run. He placed the sandwich at the fox’s paws, and held out his hand, where the fox delicately placed the drive, before trotting away with its food.

*click* “I got it back”

The coms immediately flooded with admonishments; for turning off his com, for not telling them what happened, for disappearing for ten minutes without explanation, among other things. He listened without comment, much more focused on his surprisingly delicious burger.

A week later he found a familiar looking fox dumpster diving along his patrol route, and decided to give it some fries during his break.

At a certain point sharing his mid-patrol meal with the little fox had become a daily occurrence for the Red Hood. He found its presence soothing, the way it chirped in excitement adorable, and the few times it would let him run his gloved hand down its back were the highlight of his week. 

The fox was currently resting near him on the roof, devouring a box of chicken nuggets, while he reread some case files on his phone. The penguin was up to something — one of the goons that was apprehended last week had slipped up and mentioned a ‘secret shipment’, and then promptly died in his cell before he could be questioned. 

There was other suspicious activity too; he had been spotted with Twoface several times over the past week and a half, his underlings were more on edge than usual, and he had been quieter lately. He was planning something. Something big. But nobody could figure out what. There just wasn’t enough evidence.

Exasperated, Red Hood turned to the joyous little fox beside him.

“You know anything about what the penguins planin’, little fox?” He chuckled into the thought, not really expecting an answer of any sort. If he didn’t know, how could his little friend? 

However, and much to his surprise, the little fox leapt from its spot, and pranced over to the opposite corner of the roof, before looking over its shoulder. Getting the message, Red Hood grabbed all the trash from their meal and followed. The fox led them from rooftop to rooftop, down back alleys, and between cars, before finally reaching an office building. It was a newer construction (relatively speaking) and bustling regardless of the time of day. It housed several different businesses, ranging wildly in specialty. “You're sure it’s here?” The fox nodded, “you know which one?” The fox shook its head, “well thanks for the lead, little guy,” the fox smiled as Red Hood ruffled the fur between its ears. He was already dreading telling the others he got a tip from a fox of all things… unless, of course, he didn’t. Plan formulating in his mind, he returned to his patrol, satisfied.

~~~~~

well, that's all for now, please let me know what you think! my ask box is open, and I'd love to hear from you 💚

[sleepylaing]

could you fuck off? thanks. at least you have ears.

furin boys (suo, sakura, kaji) x harsh!reader

***

suo literally freezes in place for a moment when he hears you for the first time. he, sakura and nirei were just approaching the pothos because they heard some commotion.

“are you stupid or do you have a lack of brain cells? i think it's both. she already told you to fuck off. do you think you're worthy of her telling you twice?”

he couldn't see you because you were blocked by the wide backs of some guys, but could hear your voice very well. firm and confident. not loud enough to be mistaken for a shout, but not quiet either.

they immediately rush to you without the second thought.

tachibana, with bags in her hands and her lips pressed together in irritation, stood behind you while you covered her from some thugs twice your size.

now suo sees your face — confident, without a drop of fear. your eyebrows are furrowed and your palms are clenched tightly into fists.

“what, has the cat got your tongues? great. don't ever open your fucking mouths again and the world will be a better place.”

your voice doesn't waver. the guys' faces stretch out in confusion. a couple seconds later, the boldest of them says something and reaches out to punch you.

you didn't flinch. just moved closer to kotoha and clenched your jaw as tightly as you could. the determination in your eyes never wavered.

his fist never reached your face.

it bumps into the palm of suo's hand, and he deftly redirects the blow. in that very moment, sakura smashes his fist into the guy's face.

less than two minutes later, these guys are lying on the pavement, moaning in pain.

a concerned nirei runs up to you and asks, “are you hurt?”

suo hurries to turn around and walk over to you as well. sakura follows behind him, scratching his neck lazily.

“it's fine,” you reply, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “we could've handled this ourselves, but you were really cool! thanks!”

you smile softly. your face brightens.

suo feels as if the sun itself has come down, shining its rays on them. strangely, it doesn't hurt him at all — the light doesn't burn like it did a few minutes ago.

the three boys freeze when they see you smile and nod gratefully. just a moment ago you looked like you were ready to roast those guys alive, but now... now it's completely different.

haruka lets out a strange half-sigh and blushes thickly.

“th-the-they... they were just standing there and blocking our way, that's all!”

“it would be a huge shame if such a beautiful face got hurt,” suo replies with his usual smile, and you look a little surprised at first. then your eyes squint interestedly.

“ugly people get punched in the face. i like it.”

you walk away soon, leaving behind the scent of your perfume and the warmth that graces hayato's chest. his attentive gaze follows your back until you disappear around the corner.

again. he wants to hear from you again.

something in him explodes with pleasure as he replays in his head how ruthless you were to those guys yet how sweetly you smiled at him.

***

sakura couldn't get your words out of his head. how could you not be afraid? you looked so small and fragile, and, not that he was looking at you or anything, you were a bit, just a bit pretty. your smile turned his insides upside down, shook it as hard as it could, and brought everything back to normal as if nothing ever happened.

before you left, you swept your gaze over him, and he frantically caught it, not understanding why it was so hard for him to stop looking.

all day after that, he tries to convince himself that he's not thinking about you. that he doesn't remember the sparkle in your eyes, or how beautiful you seemed as you bravely covered tachibana.

a week later, sakura has the chance to see you again. he's walking home from school, tired and looking down at his feet. but something makes him look up as he passes you.

you weren't alone, but apparently not by choice. in one hand, you held your small purse; in the other, you held an unfinished ice cream cone.

“i already said it once. even dogs understand the word 'no' the first time. when did men get so far down the evolutionary ladder?”

the guy in front of you opens his mouth and immediately slams it shut. you stare down at him, despite being shorter.

haruka's breathless. you seem so... so... unattainable. perfect. strong.

untouchable.

he stops, but his tongue won't obey him enough to call out to you.

“i just asked for your number. since when did girls become bitches like you?”

sakura realized from the start that if someone give you an inch, you will take a mile.

but he still can't be anything but astonished when he becomes the witness of how you slap a guy across the cheek with your bag and throw your ice cream cone in his face without blinking an eye. then you elegantly flip your hair behind your back and walk away without looking around.

his eyes widen in surprise, and he unconsciously recoils — it's unclear whether from fear, awe, or admiration.

all he can hear is the sound of your heels and your disappointed muttering.

“that was my favorite flavor... well, it almost melted while i was talking to him anyway.”

haruka convinces himself that if his cheeks are blushing, it's...

it's because it's hot today.

and if his knees are a little, just a little bit weak...

it's just because, uh.

uh...

whatever.

***

it's not surprising, but ren kaji is the one who doesn't blow up immediately after you reply in your rude manner.

you've been arguing a lot for no reason at all. it just started out as him sullenly saying something without thinking, and you're not the shy type, responding even more sharply.

your disputes never went very far. most often, his friends would shove a lollipop in his mouth and forcibly plug in his headphones, smiling apologetically at you.

kaji wouldn't admit it to any living soul — in fact, he couldn't even admit it to himself — but he enjoyed arguing with you. he liked that you could hold your own in an argument. he liked that you weren't afraid. you always acted like you had nine more lives besides this one, but you weren't foolish. that was attractive.

he liked the way your cheeks flamed when you answered him fiercely, he liked the way your hair fell beautifully over your face, he liked the way you grabbed his arm or his shoulders when you were trying to prove something.

he never fought back or pulled away when you got too close without noticing it, even though he could.

he liked the way you licked your lips before speaking. he liked the way you bit your lower lip while thinking about your answer.

maybe he was charmed by you. captivated.

just in a very, very small way.

it's not like he thinks about kissing you every time he sees you. absolutely not.

“you've been hanging out with the first-years a lot.”

“what? miss me?”

the lollipop crunches in his mouth as he clenches his jaws.

“dream on. my life is easier without you around.”

“i thought you liked making your life harder on yourself.”

“i do,” he thinks, barely keeping from saying it.

you look at him like you already know everything. like you can see right through him.

your gaze freezes under his skin. he rolls his eyes.

sometimes you're so impossible.

[mcrdvcks]

Could I request a one shot of Old Man Logan? Something with fluff and angst like a huge argument between him and his other half and Laura works to get them to make up after days of not talking

things i wish you said

chapter summary: You and Logan get into a fight and Laura tries to get the two of you to see the errors in your ways.

word count: 2.8k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: thank y'all for sending in requests! i've been working on the last chapter of i love you, in every time but i ran into a bit of writer's block so the requests really helped <3

anyways, i hope this was what you wanted anon!

warnings/tags: au of 'logan (2017)' aka logan doesn't die at the end, arguments, angst, laura being smarter than reader and logan, really this is just laura being a smartass, fluff

"I can’t believe you!” You set the dish towel angrily down on the counter, glaring at Logan. “You are the most stubborn man I have ever met.”

Logan leaned back against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression hard. “Yeah? Well, someone’s gotta be stubborn, considering you’re trying to fix a situation that ain’t broken.”

“It is broken, Logan!” you snapped, pointing a finger at him. “You just refuse to see it because that’s what you do! Shut everything out, pretend like nothing’s wrong until it all blows up in your face.”

His jaw clenched, and he shook his head. “What’s wrong is you makin’ a mountain out of a molehill. I said I’ll handle it.”

“You handling it usually means disappearing for a week and coming back bloodied and brooding!” You threw your hands up, exasperated. “God forbid you actually let someone help you for once.”

“I don’t need your help!” he barked, his voice rising. “I’ve been doin’ just fine on my own for years.”

“And look where that’s gotten you!” The words came out sharper than you intended, but the frustration boiling in your chest wouldn’t let you stop. “You’re not on your own anymore, Logan. When are you gonna get that through your thick skull?”

Logan’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, his voice dropped to a dangerous low. “You don’t think I know that? I didn’t ask for any of this, but here we are. I’m doin’ the best I can, and it ain’t enough for you, is it?”

“That’s not what I said!” You took a step toward him, shaking your head in disbelief. “But you don’t even try to meet me halfway. You just... shut down and push me out the second it gets hard.”

“Maybe I’m tryin’ to protect you,” he shot back, his words laced with frustration.

“From what? From you?” Your voice cracked, the argument chipping away at the walls you’d built to keep your own emotions in check. “I’m not scared of you, Logan. What scares me is losing you because you’re too damn stubborn to let anyone in.”

Logan’s mouth opened as if to retort, but no words came. He stood there, breathing hard, the weight of your words hanging heavy between you. Without another word, he turned and stalked out of the room, the screen door slamming behind him.

You stood there, staring at the door, your heart pounding. Part of you wanted to go after him, to yell more, to make him understand. But another part of you was too tired—too hurt.

The house was quiet now, save for the faint creak of the floorboards as Laura walked in from the hallway. She didn’t say anything right away, just hovered in the doorway, her arms crossed in that way that made her look far older than her twelve years.

“You two are so loud,” she finally said, her tone flat but edged with something that sounded suspiciously like annoyance.

You groaned, dropping your hands and looking over at her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. We didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Laura replied, stepping further into the kitchen. She pulled out a chair and sat across from you, her sharp gaze studying your face. “You’re crying.”

You swiped at your cheek quickly, though you weren’t sure why. Laura didn’t miss much. “It’s nothing, kiddo.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing,” she said, her tone even. She leaned her elbows on the table, her small hands clasped together. “You and Logan fight all the time now.”

“That’s not true,” you replied automatically, though the words felt hollow as soon as you said them.

Laura just stared at you, unblinking. “It is.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Sometimes grown-ups argue. That’s just how it is.”

“Yeah, but you’re mad at him all the time. And he’s mad at himself. It’s annoying.” Her bluntness cut through you, and she tilted her head. “Are you going to leave?”

“What? No.” The question startled you, and you leaned forward. “No, Laura. I’m not going anywhere. I love Logan. I just... wish he’d stop shutting me out.”

Laura didn’t say anything for a while. She just stared at you, her gaze as sharp as ever, like she was picking apart everything you’d just said.

Finally, she shrugged. “Then tell him.”

You blinked. “I have told him.”

“No, you yelled at him.” Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact, and it made you feel about two inches tall. “That’s not the same.”

You sighed, running a hand over your face. “It’s complicated, kid.”

Laura tilted her head. “No, it’s not. You’re mad. He’s mad. You both stop talking. Then you stay mad.”

You stared at her, caught off guard by how simple she made it sound. “It’s not that easy.”

Laura didn’t respond to that, just gave you a look—one of those looks that made you realize this twelve-year-old could probably win a staring contest with the Grim Reaper. She stood up without another word and walked back toward the hallway, leaving you sitting there with a mix of frustration, guilt, and... something else you couldn’t quite name.

---

The next few days were... quiet. Too quiet. Logan didn’t come around much, and when he did, it was brief—mostly to grab a beer or say a gruff goodnight. You didn’t push him, not yet, but the silence between you was its own kind of argument.

You also knew that he wasn’t sleeping in bed with you. You could tell because you’d wake up early for work, only to find Logan sprawled out on the couch, his legs dangling off the armrest. You would’ve woken him up—told him to go to bed while you left—but you stopped yourself every time. The anger hadn’t completely faded, but it had started to feel hollow, replaced by something heavier.

This morning was no different. You paused in the living room doorway, coffee in hand, watching him. He was fast asleep, one arm thrown over his face, the other hanging off the edge of the couch. You sighed quietly to yourself.

“Just go to bed, idiot,” you muttered under your breath, knowing he wouldn’t hear it.

---

Laura stood in the doorway of the garage, watching Logan fiddle with the same part of the truck he’d been pretending to fix for the past twenty minutes. She didn’t say anything at first—just stood there, arms crossed, her quiet presence heavy enough that Logan eventually sighed.

“You gonna say somethin’ or just stand there starin’?” he muttered without looking up, his voice rough.

Laura shrugged. “You’re not fixing anything.”

Logan’s hands paused for half a second before he went back to the wrench, a little harder this time. “Truck needs work.”

“It doesn’t,” Laura said bluntly. “You’re hiding.”

Logan froze again, jaw tightening. “Ain’t hidin’.”

“You are,” she insisted. Laura took a step closer, eyeing him like he was some kind of experiment she was studying. “You and Y/N are mad. It’s annoying.”

Logan finally looked up at her, scowling. “What’s annoying is you stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong.”

Laura didn’t flinch. She just stared at him, unfazed as ever. “If you don’t talk to her, she’s going to leave.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, and his grip on the wrench tightened. “She’s not gonna leave.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Logan stared at her, expression unreadable, but he didn’t answer. He looked back at the truck instead, as if the bolts and metal could give him something to focus on. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, kid.”

Laura stepped closer, crossing her arms tighter over her chest. “I know you. And I know her. She cries when you’re not looking.”

Logan stilled, his shoulders tensing, but he didn’t look at her. He didn’t want to hear it—didn’t want to think about it.

Laura didn’t stop. “You think shutting her out makes her safer, but it doesn’t. It just makes her sad.”

“Laura,” Logan said sharply, his voice low.

She ignored the warning in his tone. “You don’t want her to leave, but you’re acting like you do.”

That hit something, and Logan finally set the wrench down, exhaling harshly. “You don’t get it.”

“I do.” Laura’s voice was calm, but there was something pointed beneath it. “You’re scared. You don’t want to need her.”

Logan looked at her, his scowl deeper now, though it lacked its usual bite. “Yeah? Where’d you get all that from?”

Laura shrugged. “I watch you. I listen. You’re both loud.”

Logan shook his head and ran a hand over his face, grumbling under his breath. “You’re a real pain, you know that?”

She just tilted her head. “You’re worse.”

Logan let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Great. So now I’m gettin’ life advice from a twelve-year-old.”

Laura shrugged again and turned to leave. “If you don’t talk to her, I will.”

That got his attention. “Hey—”

But she was already walking out of the garage, not bothering to look back. “You’re welcome,” she called flatly.

Logan swore under his breath, watching her disappear. He sat there for a moment, hands resting on his knees, staring at the half-fixed truck. He hated that kid sometimes—hated how she could cut right through him like that.

And worse, she was right.

---

You came back from work late, opting to eat out instead of at home to avoid any awkward interactions. By the time you walked through the door, the house was dark except for the faint glow of the kitchen light. You set your bag down quietly, not wanting to risk waking anyone up.

But as you turned toward the living room, you noticed Logan sitting on the couch, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. He wasn’t looking at you—his gaze was fixed on the floor, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely together.

You hesitated, debating whether to say anything or just go straight to bed. Before you could decide, his gravelly voice cut through the silence.

“You didn’t come home last night.”

You froze, then blinked. “What?”

He finally looked up at you, his expression unreadable. “Laura told me. Said she noticed. I didn’t.”

You frowned, your heart sinking a little. “Logan, I—”

“I should’ve noticed,” he interrupted, his voice low, almost too quiet. He leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. “That’s on me.”

You crossed your arms, unsure what to say. “I didn’t stay out because of you.”

“Yeah, you did,” he replied bluntly, cutting you off again. “You’re avoiding me. I get it.”

The way he said it—so matter-of-fact, like he was resigned to it—made something twist in your chest. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I’m not avoiding you. I just needed... space.”

Logan scoffed, his lips curling into a humorless smirk. “Space. Right. Because I’m such a walk in the park to be around.”

“Logan—”

“I get it,” he repeated, louder this time, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “You don’t have to explain it. I know what I’m like. Hell, Laura reminds me every day.”

You shook your head, stepping closer. “This isn’t about Laura. It’s not even about you being... difficult. It’s about you not letting me in.”

He stiffened at that, his jaw clenching. “I’m tryin’.”

“Are you?” Your voice softened, but the hurt was still there. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re just waiting for me to give up.”

His eyes flicked to yours, and for a second, you thought he might argue. But then he sighed, slumping back against the couch. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice rough, almost bitter. “I don’t know how to let someone in without... screwin’ it all up.”

You stared at him, the anger you’d been holding onto slipping away, replaced by something softer. “You don’t have to have all the answers, Logan. I don’t expect you to be perfect. I just need you to try.”

“I am trying,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “It just... doesn’t feel like it’s enough.”

“It is,” you said firmly, stepping closer until you were standing in front of him. “But you can’t keep shutting me out every time things get hard. That’s not how this works.”

He looked up at you, his expression guarded but vulnerable in a way you rarely saw. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, just studied your face like he was trying to decide whether to believe you.

Finally, he let out a long breath and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” you said softly, your voice steady. “But you have to let me stay.”

Logan nodded slowly, like he was finally starting to understand. “Alright,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “I’ll... figure it out.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” you said, offering a small, tentative smile.

He didn’t smile back, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. He leaned back against the couch, his eyes meeting yours. “You eaten?”

You blinked at the sudden change in topic. “What?”

“You look tired,” he said gruffly. “Bet you skipped dinner.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I grabbed something on the way home.”

"Good," he muttered again, leaning back against the couch with a long exhale. His hand moved to the bottle of whiskey, but instead of picking it up, his fingers drummed against the glass absently.

You hesitated, then walked over to the couch, standing just in front of him. “Logan.”

He looked up at you, his brow furrowing slightly, waiting for you to say whatever was on your mind.

Instead, you sat down beside him, close enough that your knees touched. For a second, neither of you said anything. Then Logan let out another heavy sigh, reached over, and pulled you into his lap with a quiet grunt.

“Logan—”

“Just sit,” he said, his tone softer than usual, though still carrying that gruff edge. One of his hands rested lightly on your hip, the other settled on your thigh. His forehead dropped against your shoulder, and you could feel the tension in him start to ease as he let himself rest against you.

Your hands moved up instinctively, one settling on his arm, the other gently threading through his hair. He didn’t say anything at first, just breathed deeply, the weight of the past few days pressing down on both of you.

“You should come to bed tonight,” you murmured after a while, your voice quiet but steady.

Logan didn’t move, but you felt the way his body tensed under you. “I’m fine out here.”

“You’re not,” you said simply, your fingers brushing through his hair again. “You look miserable on this couch.”

He huffed a quiet laugh against your shoulder. “I’ll survive.”

“That’s not the point,” you pressed. “I want you in bed. With me. Where you belong.”

Logan lifted his head then, his eyes meeting yours. His expression was guarded, but there was something softer there too, like he was considering your words. “You sure you want me there?”

“Of course I’m sure,” you said, your hand moving to cup his jaw. “I always want you there, Logan. Even when I’m mad at you. Especially when I’m mad at you.”

That earned a faint smirk from him, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t think I was much for sharing a bed with someone.”

“Well, you’re not great at it,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. “You steal the blankets, and you snore.”

“Don’t snore,” he muttered, his lips twitching slightly.

“You absolutely snore,” you shot back, smiling despite yourself. “But I don’t care. I just want you there.”

Logan studied you for a moment, his hand tightening slightly on your hip. Finally, he gave a small nod. “Alright.”

You smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. “Good.”

For a few minutes, you stayed like that, the silence between you no longer heavy but comfortable. Logan’s head rested against your chest, and you could feel the tension slowly draining out of him as your fingers moved lazily through his hair.

“Y’know,” he muttered after a while, his voice low, “Laura’s a pain in the ass sometimes.”

You chuckled softly. “She’s just looking out for you. For us.”

Logan grunted, his arm tightening around you slightly. “Kid’s too damn smart for her own good.”

“She gets that from you,” you said, smiling.

That earned another faint smirk, though he didn’t argue. Instead, he let out a quiet sigh, his eyes closing as he rested against you. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

“Good,” you said softly, your hand continuing to stroke his hair.

For the first time in days, the tension between you felt like it was beginning to mend.

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ THE CUTEST COUPLE ON THE INTERNET! ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ streamer!au: what happens when you flirt with one of his many rivals?

contents: fem!reader. playful jealousy, it's nothin' serious. toji flirts with you <3 chat continues to make fun of satoru + fortnite slander. pretty short but uh... anyways.

author's note: live laugh love streamer!gojo

"c'mon, satoru," suguru drawls, smiling at your boyfriend through the screen. "how'd you get eliminated so fast? you must've set a world record," he teases, poking fun at the way satoru completely bombed the last round.

you snicker from your spot on satoru's bed, and he turns and sticks his tongue out at you. satoru had convinced you to come over just a couple minutes ago, and any hope you had of doing your homework in peace flew out the window the moment he went live. 

"shut up," satoru huffs, turning back to his monitor and scrunching up his nose at suguru. the two are close enough for them to banter and insult each other without any fear of resentment. suguru laughs in response, velvety voice resulting in a burst of heart emojis from the comments.

"well, i gotta go," suguru sighs, leaning back in his dark, plush chair. he smiles and waves with a reminder of when his next stream will be before signing off. 

satoru spins around in his chair a couple times and scrunches up his face at the screen. "why are you guys still here?" he asks, ruffling his hair and raising an eyebrow. "y'wanna see my girlfriend again or something?"

the chat explodes with a flurry of yes's, so satoru swivels his chair around and looks straight at you. he looks at you expectantly, opening his arms and beckoning you. "c'mere, sweetheart," he says, voice singsongy and light.

"you're so annoying," you mumble, rolling over and hopping off his bed.

"and i'm all yours," satoru replies immediately, shooting you a cheeky smile. 

whenever you call him annoying or stupid or a clueless idiot, satoru responds the same way every time. and both of you know that you certainly can't do much better than your sweetheart of a boyfriend, even if he is the brattiest boy you know.

you run your fingers through your hair and walk over to him, resting your chin on his shoulder and waving at his camera. "hey guys," you say with a smile. satoru turns to his head to kiss your cheek affectionately, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer.

as you lean into satoru's embrace, you scan the comments. most of them are either hi's and hello's, but a select few make you laugh.

yuuji-itadori: they make me feel so single :( 

inumaki: brb im about to violently throw up

toji-fushiguro: she can do so much better tbh

satoru scoffs at the last two comments, jutting his chin out and glaring at the screen. "why are you two still here?" he huffs, pointing at the camera and narrowing his eyes. the hand on your waist tightens as satoru pulls you into his lap. "inumaki, don't you have a fortnite round to lose? and you, toji, i'm this close to blocking you from my streams!" he grumbles. 

the chat explodes with various expressions of laughter, and you can't help but giggle at the responses satoru's jibes get.

inumaki: kys

inumaki: whats wrong with playing fortnite??? most fire game ever fym

toji-fushiguro: im not here for u loser

satoru mimicks inumaki with a high-pitched voice and goes on a minute-long tangent of why fortnite is the one of the shittiest games ever, and eventually inuaki chooses to retreat with a last snarky comment before he disappears. then, your riled-up boyfriend turns on toji.

"if you're not here for me, who could you possibly be here for?" satoru snorts, resting his chin on the top of your head. his hands intertwine as he wraps his arms around you snugly, securing you on his lap.

the next message from toji catches you and satoru off-guard, but your reactions are entirely different. you laugh and smile bashfully, while satoru nearly knocks you off of him when he yells "what?!"

toji-fushiguro: i'm here for your pretty gf duh

before satoru can fire a thousand insults toji's way, you reach up and clasp your hand over his mouth. your boyfriend's eyes widen in the reflection of his monitor, and you have to suppress the urge to ruffle his hair and kiss him stupid. sure, you'll probably make out with him after the stream, but you think that it'd be even more fun to mess with him first.

"aw, you think i'm pretty?" you ask playfully, directing your words at toji. "i've seen you around," you muse, twirling a strand of hair around your finger with the hand not covering satoru's mouth. you smile coyly at the screen before continuing, "you're not so bad yourself, honestly."

satoru whines incredulously against your hand, and you can't suppress the laugh that slips past your lips. he bounces his foot on the floor impatiently, and eventually he reaches around you and quickly presses a couple buttons to end the stream. "baby, i love you but sometimes you drive me crazy," he grumbles, hoisting you over his shoulder as he stands up. 

"let me go!"

"okay!" he replies, dropping you on his bed with a cheeky smile. satoru's eyes narrow as he watches you scramble to sit up, and you puff up your cheeks indignantly. satoru plops down next to you and pulls you into his chest, face barely an inch away from yours.

"what was that?!" satoru whines, glaring at you sullenly. he tugs at the bottom of your shirt and juts out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout.  

"satoru, are you jealous?" you snicker, leaning in and kissing his nose. he scrunches his face up and frowns, but the corners of his mouth seem to tilt upwards. satoru pulls you into a kiss and holds you there for a second, smiling against your lips. 

"no," satoru huffs, rolling his eyes. "i'm hotter than him, and i'm not a total asshole." he wraps his arms around your waist and nudges your cheek with his nose, clear blue eyes focused on your lips. 

"true," you agree, wrapping your arms around his neck and melting into his embrace. satoru really is the best boyfriend you could ask for—everything about the two of you just works.

satoru pinches you gently and kisses your nose. "say that you love me."

you smile and close your eyes, suddenly more relaxed than you've been in the last couple days. "of course i love you, dummy."

"love you more, cheate— ow, i'm kidding, i'm kidding!"

[nothanksofficer]

0.2 we are all sinners (cont'd imagine)

starring: you, remmick, and bo

pairing: bo chow/reader and remmick/reader/bo

warnings: nsfw, more smut, open-at-your-own-risk, dark romance, vampirism, corruption, moral and literal seduction, temptation, sharing is caring(?), reverse harem(ish), hive-mind, manipulation, vampire dreams. THIS IS A SEQUEL, PLEASE REFER TO LIST BELOW.

summary: in this world, there is no grace chow. only y/n chow. and boy, does that have consequences. concept ver: 0.1 0.2 story ver: 1.0

Continues right after where 1.0 left off.

You're hyperventilating as Smoke and Sammie try to block the way so that the vampires outside don't see you anymore.

“Well, ain’t that just rude,” Remmick snarks. “You get away from her, you monster.” “What’s wrong? Can’t a man just talk to his wife?” Bo smirks.

Before you can collapse onto the floor, a familiar pair of hands grab you. Annie’s. 

“Don’t let him get to you, Y/N. That ain’t Bo anymore.” “You can’t trust him, you hear me?”

But despite what the rest of the group might think, trust is the very last thing racing in your mind as Remmick and Bo stare you down like you’re their next meal.  

“You’re the devil,” you hear Sammie say. “And you’re the one who called me,” Remmick replies eagerly. “I sensed you, you know. You and your music.” Remmick takes a step forward, quick to put his hands up when Smoke aims the gun at him. “I want to see my people again. Regain the community that was taken from me. I might be trapped here, but with your gifts, you can bring them back.”  “Don’t listen to him, Sammie. He’s evil,” Annie warns. She’s still holding onto you, her grip the only thing keeping you grounded at this point. “Am I? I’m just trying to bring everyone together. To create the family this world never let you have. And look!” Remmick rests his hand on Bo’s shoulder. “I’m already halfway there.”  Bo winks at you once more, and you can see a slight trail of drool on the corner of his mouth. You flinch, but you can’t tear your eyes away, even as Remmick licks his lips at you hungrily. “Isn't that right, darling?” “You can’t keep us apart forever,” Bo hums, staring at you like he already knows what you’re thinking. “Sammie belongs with us...Y/N belongs to us.”  “No. You can’t have ‘em. Either of them.”  “That’s a shame. Because we ain’t leaving until we do."

You don’t hear the rest of the conversation, ears ringing. You barely make out bits and pieces. Of the clan and their plans for all of you. Of Mary trying to convince Annie, too. It’s not until Stack joins in that Delta and Sammie move to close the door. But by then, there was no unhearing the tempting words of the devil. 

“Because we’re not leaving without y’all. We family. Ain’t that right?” “This is the way. Together. Forever. And I ain’t doing this shit without you. There is no me without you.”

In another world, it would’ve been you who let the vampires in. You, who fell to your desperation to protect the only family you had left. But in this world, you don’t have any other family to protect. Not anymore. 

But every part of you is desperately wishing otherwise. You want to pretend it’s still Bo waiting outside the window. That it’s your Bo out there sending you that slow flying kiss.

But that thought immediately disappears when you see Remmick take your husband’s side, staring after you, too.

“She’s scared of us now. Scared of me.” “She won’t be. Not for long.”

Everyone decides to gameplan and just try to survive until sunrise.

“At least one of us stays awake at all times. If anything happens, if anything so much as flinches, you alert everyone. Got it?”

You don’t know how it happens, but you end up dozing off by the bar. Annie hushes Sammie, telling him to let you rest. In the hopes that your dreams might offer you some comfort. What none of them know is that…you dream…weird.

“You still with me, baby?" You groan as you feel a familiar pair of shoulders between your legs, and your hands raised above your head. Bo chuckles, tells you to keep ‘em there unless you want him to stop. You can barely see him past your bunched up skirt as he digs into you like it's his last meal. "You taste divine." "I could just die between these thighs, if you'd let me." "Louder. Let the whole world hear how good I make you feel." You nearly break after he teases you for too long, hands climbing down to grip his hair. Only, the memory suddenly shifts and you suddenly feel hands forcing your wrists above your head. Your eyes open and leaning over you is…Bo?  “Just like that, baby. You’re doing so good. Such a good girl for us.” You cry out in fear and pleasure when you finally feel the one eating you out rise from beneath your skirts. Chin slick, eyes red, and grinning at you like he just found heaven in your taste. Nothing scares you more than seeing those damn familiar teeth.  “No one can escape me, darling. Not even you."

You’re suddenly woken up by Sammie’s shaking and someone’s screaming. It’s only when you fully get up you realize, the screaming is yours.

a/n: i tried my best and i wasnt sure how to feel abt this addition. ill see what people think before turning it into something more. anyway, notes or ideas on how to proceed would be much appreciated. that, and the gif of bo blowing a kiss...

[deathbxnny]

Arcane women seeing you again after cheating on you. | Vi, Caitlyn, Sevika x Gn!Reader

(Part 1)

Here is the part 2 that you guys asked for! I hope you'll like it!<3

Summary: Arcane women see you after they cheated on you a year ago. How will you react to seeing them again? And most importantly, who's that person you're with that seems to have stolen your heart from them?

Content: TW!Past cheating, angst, jealousy, swearing, probably ooc, sfw

Reader has no mentioned pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》VI

She never got over you.

It didn't matter how much time passed or how long she spent trying to forget you. You were always there at the forefront of her mind. And it drove her mad, not to know where you were. She looked all over for you after the mission, yet it seemed like you had disappeared off the face of earth, never to be seen again even during the war. Vi couldn't even find you in the aftermath of it, her heart empty and broken without you.

Her relationship with Caitlyn was practically non-existent now, as the woman felt near insecure of Vi's idealistic image of you she could never compare to. It was depressing and toxic until it eventually blew up in her face, and the Kirammann distanced herself as well for good.

And now the woman was alone.

Your words rang true, and yet you weren't even here to tell her, "I told you so". She had lost everyone she loved, being driven mad by the solitude she had brought onto herself. It was unfair and unjust, even if some of it was deserved. Just some. Eventually, the sadness turned into anger over the last year. Anger towards you. Why couldn't you be here after what happened? Why didn't you understand that it was a mistake? Hadn't she atoned for her sins enough? What else did she have to lose for you to come back? Rage, frustration, irritation. It all plagued her, as she thought of how your meeting would go if she ever sees you again.

But nothing she ever prepared was enough for when it did happen. She never thought it would. She never thought she'd see you again. And yet there you were, happily holding onto another person's arm, as you beamed up at them. You never looked like that with her. You were never this bright and giggly at her side. There was always something to be stressed about. There was always something to argue about. There was always something that made you frown around her. Whether it was because of the circumstances you were in or her own actions, you were never content.

So she stood there, in the shadows, as she gazed at you intensely from under her hood. For a moment, she considered just turning and leaving, but the internalized rage was bubbling up dangerously. She lived with survivors guilt every single day, and you go to have your happy ending? She couldn't believe it. She couldn't ever dream of you moving on from her. Marching up to you, your partner saw her first before you did, their eyes hardening protectively. Pulling you closer, they stood unmoving in the face of doom. "Can we help you?" They asked when she was close enough, but her words died on her tongue when your eyes met hers. And then there was deafening silence.

"I..." "Vi. What the hell do you want?" You hissed out, clearly not having it. You were sick of her after what happened. You, therefore, refused to let her wedge herself into your life ever again. "Actually, I don't care. Get lost." You tried pushing past her with your partner, but she wasn't moving. Instead, she blocked your way. "Please just... hear me out! I've lost everyone whilst you're out here fucking around with some randoms! Do you know how long I've looked for you? How much I've suffered?" You stopped your lover from saying anything with a hand against their chest. You can handle this.

"And I get that I fucked up! But don't think that you're completely innocent in this either." She was breathing heavily, the slightest smug relief filling her at finally saying what she had always dreamt of... but alas, you gave her the most unimpressed look possible as you scoffed. And then you began laughing. Right in her face. "Hah... that was funny... anyways, as I was saying, get lost." Finally being able to push past her, you two casually continued doing your shopping as though nothing happened.

She was left behind in shock at your uninterested reaction, as the realisation finally set in that she truly has lost everything.

》CAITLYN

The aftermath of the war was nothing short of agony to everyone, especially to Caitlyn, who had yet to find a trace of you. Last she heard, you left the city via skyship and disappeared into the blue skies forever, leaving her behind for good. It was miserable to live without you, near unbearable, and yet she kept it together with the smallest hope for your return to her.

It was pure delusion to everyone but her to hold onto such a ridiculous wish, considering she was the cause of it.

She lies awake at night thinking of your heartbroken gaze, the memory, and the words lulling her to sleep in tears. And a year later, the day of your disappearance felt as vivid as ever, as though no time passed. She could never move on. Never rest for as long as she couldn't tell you about how remorseful she felt. You were right in not trusting Maddie for a multitude of reasons. But she was so stuck in her ways due to the grief and pain that she lost the best thing that happened to her. The one person that kept her together and sane.

How was she ever going to live on now?

Whenever she did sleep, she dreamt of you coming back to her, allowing her to apologize and move on from everything she had done. It was perhaps selfish, and she was at least self-aware enough to acknowledge that, but it didn't matter to her in the long run. She just wanted you back no matter what. It didn't matter how or when. She just had to have you. And as though the gods momentarily heard her prayers, a small part of her wish finally came true after twelve long months of waiting.

There you were, under the sparkling lights of the ballroom, happily conversing with long-lost friends as you sipped on a refreshing drink. She had heard the rumor of your return a while ago, skillfully ignoring the part mentioning your unknown companion, and made sure to attend this grand event best dressed, of course.

If you saw her, then you didn't turn to even glance at her once.

She understood why but wouldn't let the opportunity to fix things slip out of her fingers now. You were so close. So unbearably close at last. Cait approached you carefully, a simple clearing of her throat being enough to drive your company away for some privacy. And you were clearly not happy about that. But as usual, she ignored your disdain for her own gain unknowingly. "It's nice to see you again." She was hiding how excited she was, practically bursting at the seams with how hard she was containing it. Your reply was less thrilling, however. "Unfortunately so... I have nothing to say to you, so leave me be, lest my partner has to see you out." You huffed, a frown hiding behind your glass.

Dumbfounded and blinking, she raised a brow in surprise. Partner? Were the rumors true after all? She was in denial. Very deep denial at that. She must be hearing it wrong, yes, that's it! "I... I beg your pardon? Partner? As in companion or...?" She must've looked silly and disheveled as she stumbled over her words like a drunk. A hand pressing against her shoulder made her pause, as she felt a very irritated presence behind her. "It seems that the wine is getting to you, Ms. Kirammann. I believe it is, therefore, time for your departure. The car's outside." Your dearest partner has come to your rescue. And it seemed that this was a setup for your own small revenge.

Your lover owned this estate. It completely slipped Caitlyn's mind in her haste to get to you. How funny.

You hid in their side, wanting her out already, and the Kirammann decided to keep the last of her dignity intact by leaving with a curt nod. She definitely cried in the cab, though, unable to complain that all her waiting was for nothing.

You were never coming back to her.

》SEVIKA

If you fuck around, you'll certainly also find out.

That was your life motto, something you lived by and your enemies feared about you. Sevika often found it amusing to watch you enforce this to those willing to face your wrath, a certain pride welling in her chest at the pure violence you could display. Until she became the receiver of it. The scar on the back of her head proved it and left a bit of a bald patch, a constant reminder of what she had done. Also, a great humiliation tactic on your end, she has to give you that.

But that's all she had left of you too.

You up and left without a trace a year ago, and made sure she'd never see a glimpse of you again. The war came and ended, resulting in her becoming a councilor, but even then, nothing she did drew you back to her. You were supposed to share this glory with her, but she knew she was the reason why you didn't. She wasn't delusional or in denial about it. No, she was a grown woman who just made a stupid mistake, in her humble opinion. Nothing more or less. So why couldn't you see the same?

It was impossible to track you down, and for a while, she thought that you may have left the city entirely a while ago. Maybe you even died in the war somewhere. She didn't know what was worse, but either thought kept her up up night to ponder about all the what ifs.

If she hadn't done what she had done... would you still be laying at her side sound asleep? Would you be proud of her and support her for finally achieving her goals? Would you praise her? Love her? Cherish her so loyally like you used to? You were absolutely right in the end, after all. She never will and never wanted to find someone else like you. She wanted you and only you from day one, but it all seemed like a distant dream now.

And then, when she was just about to move on from you by force, you appeared in her life again so casually. You were dressed in foreign clothes, a content and sweet look on your face, as you conversed with your partner, who just so happens to be an emperor of a different land.

They have come here for some trade negotiations with the council, and of course, you had to come along. Their sweet, stunning spouse they couldn't talk enough of. Your partner spoke of the riches they spoiled you with, the endless servants at your feet, the way they too were very clearly wrapped around your bejeweled fingers.

You pretended not to know her, practically avoiding her gaze as you held onto your lover tightly as they talked away. God did it hurt her, too. She was burning up in jealousy, her gaze hardened and angry enough to make the other councilors scoot away from her.

And when she saw your partner give her an evil, knowing grin, she finally realised that this was all on purpose. Your spouse couldn't give less of a shit about Piltover. They just wanted to get back at Sevika for what she had done to you, just out of pure spite. She can't do anything about it either, something she acknowledged in defeat.

Her heart was empty and broken, but she'd never admit it, as she simply concluded the meeting and took her leave. If you were happy... then she supposed she'd be content with it, too.

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ when i feel you (from within), i exist.

wnba!paige x wnba!azzi. men & minors dni.

cw: that weird blurring of lines in your friendship when you're both in love with each other, non-sexual intimacy, mentions of drugs, weed (p!smoking), being desperately affectionate but refusing to call it what it is, ambiguous but hopeful ending.

notes: not necessarily my best, but it's what i needed. giving credit to where credit is due. this was written because i reread everything @loeysoi has written because every single one of her works is a comfort to me, and then i was inspired to write this. i love you.

anyway, i hope you enjoy. coucou.

no matter how late the phone rings, azzi always picks up. paige knows she’s good for it. 

an unspoken rule of their friendship is the constant space they leave for one of them to hopelessly, helplessly need the other. it's one of the few constants between them. the quiet latitude they give each other—the open-ended kind. 

i’ll be there. no explanation needed.

so when the wings lose on national television, and paige’s face does that thing—just a little twist, like a split second of everything cracking before she smooths it back over—azzi doesn’t wait. she already knows. even when the phone doesn’t ring. 

especially then.

one a.m. passes. the silence stays. she books the flight.

she doesn’t deliberate. doesn’t change. just grabs her black weekender and slides in a travel charger, the deep red pajamas she always brings to paige’s, and the toiletries still packed from last time. she doesn’t bother changing out of her black skims maxi dress, the matching kitten heels, or the oversized uconn alumni sweatshirt she’s been meaning to return to her mom. 

her skin’s still warm from the day; sweat slick at the back of her neck, humidity sitting heavy on her shoulders. she loops her curls into a high bun, gets irritated when she can’t catch the shorter strands at the base of her neck, and then lets it go, recognizing the impulse to fixate. the way she always does when she’s nervous, but doesn’t want to call it that.

outside, her driver’s waiting, the a/c humming. the partition stays down, and they stare out of their respective windows—he to the front, she to the side. the city slides past in streaks of grey, red, and a dusky yellow. she doesn’t check her phone until they’re a few blocks out.

fifteen minutes in, she texts arike.

think her phone’s dead. need the address.

she keeps it simple. doesn’t say what she means: i’m worried.

arike sends it back without extra words. some story about a party. some attempt from paige to “let loose”. azzi knows better. she knows paige, knows that this is her trying to “be better” about losing because she can’t help but beat herself down about anything she can think of. 

when the plane lands, dallas is quiet. the city hums quietly, and even the passing cars seem only to purr. azzi calls an uber, sitting on top of her bag instead of the stained sidewalk. she prays no one asks for a photo if they recognize her. she’s not up for it.

upon arrival, the place is exactly what she expects. upscale, impersonal. gleaming glass and brushed metal. it’s someone’s penthouse, a luxe space that was built to photograph well but feels immeasurably cold when you’re actually in it. security lets her up without question. maybe she appears more desperate than she feels.

when she arrives, the elevator opens with a sad unlatching, and the party seems to be going the same way, settling and thinning like blood after a pill.

somebody’s aux’d up a frank ocean song, and now everything feels a little easier, like the night’s keen to finally sleep. she walks in, stepping carefully around bodies busy with meaningless action. she sees someone do a line and she starts feeling stress, her chest tightening at the dry sniff and the easy disappearance of the powder. 

she continues despite the anxiety making her ears ring. by now, her heels are pinching, and she’s had enough of people pressing into her space with their sugar-rushed energy and red cup breath. she weaves her way through the house, whispering paige’s name a couple of times, softly. it’s muscle memory. 

no answer. 

her feet are starting to ache. she exhales, tugs her heels off at the base of the stairs, and toes the rest of the way barefoot. 

azzi finds her near the back,  a cracked door casting a warm, flickering glow across the hallway. paige is lying on the bed, one leg bent, the other dangling off the edge. she’s so beautiful, almost relentlessly so: hoodie stretched loose over her thighs, silver chain peeking from the collar and catching what little light there is.

there’s a half-finished joint in the dark green ashtray on the windowsill, the porcelain pressed with a pop art image of kendrick lamar’s grinning face; the soft scent of weed mingles with leftover body heat and laundry detergent.

“yo,” paige says, barely lifting her head. her voice is low, rough with smoke and sleep. she sounds annoyed that someone is in a space that’s only temporarily hers.

azzi sighs and leans against the door. “hey. been looking for you.”

paige sits up on her elbows then, her brow scrunching as her low eyes lock onto the phantom of her best friend in the doorway. a myriad of emotions scrape over her face, running her ragged, until something like relief decides to be the one that stays. 

“hey, az. you found me,” paige murmurs, gaze drifting down her body and back up again. “lucky you.”

azzi doesn’t answer. just rolls her eyes and steps forward, dropping her heels off to the side as she crawls onto the bed, slow and unbothered, one knee then the other sinking into the mattress. her dress hikes up higher with each movement, second-skin, clinging to her waist and hips like it was sewn on. paige watches her, eyes half-lidded, pulse skipping for no good reason.

azzi moves like she’s done this before—because she has. the bed dips under her weight. she sinks beside her, trying to settle.

“don’t sit there,” paige says suddenly, tugging on azzi’s arm.

azzi pauses, brows pulling together. “why not?”

paige shrugs, eyes glinting. “zone of sin.”

azzi resists the urge to scoff, a bright pop of jealousy fireworking in her hindbrain. she tells herself to ignore it and smooths her voice like static. 

“jesus, paige.” she makes a face instead. “you’re disgusting.”

“mhm,” paige hums. “but you love me, mama.”

before azzi can roll away or say something smart, paige’s hands are on her waist, strong and warm, and she bodily lifts her, pulling her up and over so azzi ends up on top of her, straddling her lap. 

azzi’s breath catches, but she lets it happen. she always does. with paige, she can afford to be less active within her own life.

her dress stretches just a bit more over her thighs. paige’s hands linger on her lower back, her thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. azzi settles, carefully, her hands braced on either side of paige’s shoulders.

“you’re high,” she says.

paige grins, the kind of easy smile that makes azzi want to hit her and kiss her all at once. “only a little.”

they fall quiet. paige shifts beneath her just enough to make azzi feel the heat creeping up her neck. her eyes are steady, though, hooded and dark and weirdly honest under all the bravado. azzi can’t take the attention, so she slides down until she’s lying on the other woman’s chest. her head is cushioned tenderly by paige’s body. she can smell her cologne: bourbon, vanilla, and jasmine. 

“did your phone die?” azzi murmurs after a moment, voice careful.

paige’s torso shifts beneath her. “yeah. sorry. didn’t mean to stress you.”

azzi sighs. “i know, p. don’t worry about it. i think stress is a permanent part of me anyway.”

there’s a beat. paige reaches up, smooths a loose curl behind azzi’s ear like it’s instinct. then she leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead—warm, firm, and much too long to be casual.

“you been stressed?” she asks, right against azzi’s skin. “what’s going on, mama?”

azzi’s fingers twitch against the fabric of the comforter. her heartbeat’s loud enough that she’s sure paige can feel it. paige smells like weed and a late night, and that stupid fabric softener azzi’s always secretly liked.

something is shifting.

“nothing, just game shit. don’t distract me. it’s about you right now.”

“you’re annoying,” paige says back, but azzi can tell she doesn’t mean it.

“i know,” azzi says. “still here though.”

paige sits up at that, her hands gentle on azzi’s shoulder as she brings them to a sitting position. azzi is still somewhat on her lap, and she can feel paige’s knee between her thighs. the pressure makes her shiver and slide off. 

the music from the party is still playing low from someone’s half-dead speaker downstairs. now, it’s some rap song chopped up by bluetooth lag. paige doesn’t touch her, but sits across from her, close enough that she can reach out and hold on to her if she needs to.

“i’m fine,” paige says, voice flat.

azzi doesn’t answer right away. she curls a leg under herself, watching paige from beneath her lashes.

“i know, p,” she answers finally. “you always are.”

that’s all they say for a while. azzi can better smell the memory of this room, of what it had been like before she intruded. it’s a heady mixture of sweat and an unidentifiable sweetness, probably spilled liquor. paige leans back and exhales through her nose like she’s trying to hold it all together with silence. azzi only gives her time, bending her neck to look down at her hands as she plays with a stack of favored rings—all gifted by paige.

she looks back up—lets herself really look at paige—at the curve of her jaw in the dim light, the tension sitting just behind her mouth, like a pressed-in secret. there’s something about being here, in this strange city apartment with its ambient lighting and perfect sadness, that makes the night feel too long. 

paige meets her gaze, and azzi slides her hand across the sheets, flips it over so that the palm is up. paige’s lips part, and she makes an odd noise, but slides her hand into her best friend’s empty one. she makes sure to interlace their fingers so it’s more of an effort to break apart.

“can i take you home?” azzi asks.

paige hums, then leans forward and pulls azzi into a hug that settles the brunette’s face deep into her neck. she kisses the tip of azzi’s ear, then pulls back.

“‘course, ma.”

they leave.

✈︎

azzi drives paige’s car. she tries not to think too hard about the fact that paige drove here; maybe even planned to drive back drunk. her anger simmers and snakes around her heart, ready for when she’s better able to firm it.

paige’s place is only thirty minutes away, and when azzi pulls into the parking deck, it feels all too soon. the door clicks shut behind them as they clear the landing, and it’s dark except for the muted glow of the kitchen light left on. paige drops her duffel bag by the door, the bag as wilted and sad as it had looked in the backseat, and kicks off her sneakers without untying them. 

her hoodie is pulled over her face. she’d yanked it low the second she buckled in, and it hasn’t moved since. in her own domain, she looks worse. azzi can tell she’s been trying not to fall apart for hours. 

she steps in behind her, quiet, giving her space, but not too much. she watches as paige looks down the dark hallway that leads to her bedroom with a drawn expression, her jaw working as she tries to articulate her desires.

“can you—fuck,” paige starts, voice scratchy, almost shy. she stops. still, azzi is silent. “can you—will you shower with me?”

azzi blinks. “you want me to shower with you?”

“not like—not like that,” paige says quickly, shaking her head. azzi feels her stomach twist at the swift correction.“i just don’t want to be alone right now. i don’t want to think.”

azzi softens immediately. “yeah, i get it.” she tilts her head, puts her weekender on the counter. “of course, p.”

paige relaxes and reaches out a hand, relinking their hands as she guides azzi to her bedroom. paige dips into her closet to grab something to wear for the night, and azzi moves into the suite’s bathroom, tipping the handle until water begins to run steadily and warm. 

they undress in the soft silence, steam already beginning to curl against the mirror. paige’s movements are slow, almost clumsy, with exhaustion and her inebriation. azzi steps in first, holding the door open until paige follows.

when she does, she doesn’t say anything. she only slides in and rests her forehead on azzi’s shoulder, the water cascading over both of them.

azzi runs her hands gently over paige’s back, slow and soothing, like it’s instinct. she holds her under the warm stream, teaches her to breathe. paige’s arms come up around azzi’s waist, not tight, but close. close enough. as the minutes pass, she feels paige getting more comfortable. she can tell she’s starting to come down from her high, her body lax and pressing in.

azzi lets her have free rein because there’s not any part of her that doesn’t belong wholly to paige already. sometimes, she wishes she could slip inside paige’s skin if only to have her blood, bone, and flesh. she trembles as her best friend’s fingers climb up the ridges of her spine, callouses pressing against the spheres of bone. 

paige’s exploration comes forward, fingers gliding across azzi’s ribs and then lowering to her tummy. she pokes a finger into azzi’s belly button and listens to her laugh. then her hands rise again, traveling upward as paige leans back to allow for a modicum of space in between them.

azzi watches with a tight throat as paige’s hands cup the soft fat of her chest, her fingers pressing into the tissue. she focuses on breathing through her nose as paige thumbs at her wet nipples, adjusting her grip to better hold the weight of azzi’s breasts. it’s not sexual—not really, but there is something about being touched.

azzi sees her mouth twitch, watches her lips come apart like she’s debating placing one in between them. after a minute, paige speaks.

“you’re so fucking pretty, azzi.”

the use of her full name is like a final, blissful blow.  soft and staggering. azzi’s voice gets stuck in her throat, so she leans up and presses a kiss to paige’s temple. the blonde of her hair has gone dark gold with an oversaturation of water. 

“thank you,” she finally manages, and paige squeezes her side in response. 

from there, paige brings her hands down to azzi’s lower back, then her hips, and then the back of her thighs. she lifts azzi carefully, turning to sit on the bench with the other woman in her lap. the shower’s head is perfectly angled to still soak them, the spray sending soapy rivulets off their limbs and onto the floor.

“i just needed to feel someone,” paige murmurs, water dripping off her lashes.

“i know, p,” azzi tells her, sounding like a broken record. “i know you.”

paige sighs and braces her head on azzi’s shoulder. azzi feels a hot stream that she knows can only be paired with the salt of tears.

i’m here,” azzi whispers, pressing her cheek to the crown of paige’s head. “i got you.”

they stay like that until the water starts to cool, and even then paige lingers, always so reluctant to let go.

✈︎

after, azzi pulls on one of paige’s oversized tees and a pair of shorts, barefoot on the tile. she doesn’t know why she always packs pajamas she rarely ends up wearing.

she’s moving around the kitchen like she’s done it a thousand times. because she has. she makes pasta with garlic and oil, simple and warm. comfort food.

paige doesn’t say much. she leans against the counter, hair wet and dragged into a messy bun at the base of her neck. she looks young in her boxers and her vintage, navy yale sweatshirt. her face is soft but unreadable. azzi is unsure of what she needs, but she trusts paige will find a way to tell her.

true to form, when azzi tries to hand her a plate to go eat on the couch, paige just shakes her head and says, “c’mere.”

azzi looks at her. “why?”

“why you always gotta ask a question? just sit with me, ma,” paige says, already moving to the floor with her plate, back against the lower cabinets. “here.”

azzi hesitates for a second, then she follows, curling into paige’s lap as requested, letting herself be cradled. paige wraps one arm around her waist, chin on her shoulder, and they eat like that: quiet, warm, close.

“don’t think i’ve ever eaten like this,” azzi mumbles with a small laugh, mouth full of pasta.

paige hums. “don’t think i’ve ever needed someone like this,” she says back, quieter. 

azzi isn’t sure if she was meant to hear it, but she does. 

they both leave it alone.

when they finish, azzi tidies the kitchen, rinses their dishes, and checks that the stove’s off. she locks the door with the care of someone who’s made herself at home here before, who’s always had a key. paige watches her do it until azzi tells her she’s acting like a fucking creep. paige leaves her alone with a wry smile, and azzi calls after her to remind her to brush her teeth.

when she pads back to the bedroom, paige is already curled up on her side, sweatshirt swapped for a loose tee, blankets pulled to her chin. her eyes are blue and open, like the ocean when it mirrors the sky, watching azzi quietly.

“you staying?”

azzi smiles gently. “nope, i only brought my weekender for decoration. of course, i’m staying.”

paige doesn’t answer immediately, just lifts the blanket in a silent invitation. azzi climbs in, tucks paige in tighter, and strokes her hair back. the sheets are muslin and broken in, smelling thickly of the organic guava room spray paige buys straight from puerto rico. the pillows on her side are extra fluffed, with three instead of paige’s normal two. azzi’s chest warms as she thinks of paige making the bed while knowing exactly what she likes. 

“thank you for coming, az. you ain’t have to do all that.”

“you would do it all if it were me,” azzi mumbles back. her exhaustion is tickling the back of her throat, coaxing her into its arms like a mother to a child. 

paige rolls onto her side, tucking a loose curl back into azzi’s bonnet. 

“i know, but still,” she says. “i want you to know i appreciate you.”

“never doubted it,” azzi murmurs. “now, go to sleep. i’ll be here in the morning.”

and paige finally allows herself a kindness and falls straight under.

azzi stays awake a little longer, hand resting on paige’s waist, the rhythm of their breathing slowly syncing. as the world begins to fade out, she thinks about the ache in her chest. about how the lines keep getting blurred every time she and paige see one another. about how there’s no word to describe what it feels like when they’re together.

well, there is. but neither of them is ready to say it yet.

✈︎

the apartment is still wrapped in the velvet hush of pre-dawn when azzi wakes. paige’s alarm is going off, but it’s the one that paige has specifically tailored to her. 

azzi had once read an article that said changing your alarm to something soothing, rather than the jarring iphone default, helps better start the day. she’d sent it to paige, who had responded with “if i do that, then i won’t wake up, az.” but then the night after, when azzi stayed over yet again, she’d woken up to the mellow strings of an acoustic guitar.

it was a section of one of her favorite songs: “air forces” by mustafa. she’d lain there in the rising morning, the melodic sudanese tribal chant carrying her from the moon’s pull into the sun’s capable hands. 

 now, she listens to it all over again as she blinks into that grey-blue silence where time feels like it’s holding its breath. the only sound apart from the alarm is the slow hum of the shower and the low murmur of paige’s voice as she talks to someone on the phone. 

eventually, azzi rises. she has a plane to catch. 

the same thing plays out again: paige and azzi’s bodies moving in sync, together under water and soap with their feet bare on the shower’s tiled floor. they keep brushing against each other like they forgot how to be apart.

at one point, azzi stands behind paige in the tub, fingers gently massaging her coconut milk shampoo into her hair. the water is hot, almost scalding, fogging up the glass. paige tilts her head back slightly, eyes closed, pink lips parted, breathing easily for the first time in what feels like days.

azzi is careful, reverent. her thumbs trace little circles near paige’s temples, her nails gently scraping her scalp.

“you tryna put me to sleep again,” paige mumbles, smiling lazily.

“maybe,” azzi says softly, “but you never sleep enough anyway.”

paige shrugs, and azzi pinches her side at her constant lack of care toward herself. the water pelts down paige’s back as if to punish her, too. she leans into azzi without thinking; her body already knows who it belongs to when it’s soft like this. 

when azzi rinses the suds from her hair, she lets her hands linger for a moment, sliding over paige’s shoulders and down her arms. they don’t speak again until they’re toweling off, wrapped in clean cotton, and slipping back into the half-light of the bedroom.

the sky outside is still dark as azzi dresses. her hair is damp, and her bag is slung over her shoulder.  paige wanted to skip practice to drive her, but azzi knows she’ll be irritated with herself later if she does. 

she’s got a flight to make, but she moves with a stark lack of urgency. she watches paige stand in the kitchen, one sock tucked halfway on, eyes still bleary. there are two travel mugs in her hands.

“which one’s mine?” azzi asks, her hands flexing by her sides.

“the one with almond milk,” paige says, offering it over. “obviously.”

azzi smiles. “thank you.”

paige reaches out before azzi can turn away, tucks her hoodie sleeve into place, and presses a kiss to the plush skin of her cheeks. she feels azzi’s smile rise. she feels her own come alive.

“have a good flight, mama,” paige says, still close. “let me know when you get home, okay?”

azzi nods. her breath catches, just for a second. she can feel the tears coming, the salt beginning to pack against her nose and throat. she blinks fervently.

“‘kay,” she says, trying to keep her voice light, teasing. it doesn’t work.

“hey, c'mon. don’t cry, az,” paige tells her, her voice deceptively teasing. “imma see you soon, promise. gotta get you back.”

“you don’t have to get me back for anything, paige. this wasn't a big deal in the slightest. i’m your best friend. it’s what i’m supposed to do.”

paige shifts backward and looks at her. long and heavy-lidded, with something thick and syrupy swirling underneath.

“mmm,” she hums, low in her throat. like she’s accepting it. like she’s not.

azzi tucks a curl behind her ear and glances at the door, needing to move before something slips.

“you have a good day too,” she says quietly, opening it. “don’t go too hard at practice.”

they watch each other, the distance between them crippling. azzi is haloed by the sunlight as she stands in the mouth of the open door, her brown skin glowing like a spill of sugar. paige only gives herself two seconds to think it through before she closes the gap.

paige’s fingers are sure as they slide from azzi’s chin to her jaw. she pauses, giving azzi space. but azzi refuses to run. and so, just barely, paige kisses her. soft, questioning, scared.

it lasts all of three seconds.

paige pulls back like she’s touched fire.

“i’m sorry,” she breathes.

azzi shakes her head. “no. please. please, don’t be.”

paige looks at her, watches every line they’d ever drawn in the sand get drowned by the tide. “i didn’t—i didn’t plan that. swear. i just couldn’t not.”

azzi’s voice is a whisper. “i know.”

paige’s lips quirk up at that, and azzi thumbs across the curve. she leans in, gathering all the bravery she has left, and kisses paige again. this time it’s harder, and her tongue slips into paige’s mouth. she licks the coffee off of her teeth, mewls as paige guides her by the back of her neck. 

paige, again, is the one to pull away. she presses their foreheads together, fixes azzi’s necklace with the golden scale pendant at the end. it’s paige’s star sign—libra.

“you gotta go, mama. you’re gonna miss your flight.”

azzi nods, her heart held just behind her teeth.

“okay,” she whispers.

paige practically has to rip her hands off of the other woman. she’s always struggling to loosen her grip. she tells herself she has to trust that the things she loves will always return. 

with one last wide-eyed glance, azzi is gone. the door clicks shut behind her, and it sounds like a gun.

paige leans against it, closes her eyes, and starts to pray.

they won’t talk about this tomorrow. 

that’s another rule.

© hcneymooners.

[thalwri]

i'm feeling super feral for zayne so here's a little snack!

it only made sense for you and zayne to keep warm by any means necessary.

it only made sense for you two to strip your clothes off until you were left raw and bare– to keep warm, of course. 

it only made sense for your legs to be held up in his grip with his lips pressing sticky kisses onto your skin while his cock found comfort deep inside you.

“should’ve– listened– to you–“ his voice was trembling in hiccups. he was way too hypnotised by your soft tits bouncing around with each slow, deep thrust. he was way too enamoured by your eyes crossing at the feeling of him raking his way through your walls. he was way too absorbed in the lewd noises that escaped your pretty lips. 

how did you end up in a freezing storage room? it was a prank.

you had brought a few young children suffering from protocore syndrome to zayne for consultation and eventually surgery to remove any shards damaging their organs. it was only moments before they’d go under when zayne realised a bunch of equipment had gone missing and had you go with him to get the replacements.

you had your suspicions, of course. as a hunter you had a strong feeling those petrified children were doing what they could to avoid that surgery. you couldn’t blame them.

well, you would have ten minutes ago. it’s fucking freezing in the storage room. but now you felt more inclined to send your gratitude. if not for them, you wouldn’t be lying over a blanket of clothes being practically dominated by your favourite practitioner.

apart from the droning noise from the vents above you, the only thing you could hear was the lewd, wet clapping of your skin colliding with his, the sound of his moans escaping his lips in huffs, and your own cries riling him up to the point where he went harder and rougher.

“z-zayne–“ you moaned. you couldn’t even muster a sentence without sounding like you were being roughhoused - i mean, you technically were but that’s not the point. 

his eyes were darting all over your dishevelled form from your cute face all the way down to watch his length disappear deep within the confines of your sweet, addictive pussy. each thrust was painfully fast, making the ring of cream around his base larger and frothier to coat his hips in pussy paint.

did he block off all the entrances with ice? maybe.

was he going to stop before either of you were completely satisfied? fuck no.

“i should thank those kids,” he grinned. “it’s not every day i get to see you like this.”

I NEEEEEEEEEEEED HIIIIIIMMMMMMM

[4linos]

jealousy in bloom

lee minho x gn!reader

synopsis/request: a surprise bouquet sparks unwanted attention and jealousy from a coworker, minho, leading to an awkward apology and a confession that changes everything.

warnings: jealousy, enemies to lovers(?), mild language

wc: 2040

The day had dragged on longer than you cared to admit. Your birthday had started off like any other, quiet, low-key, and tucked in the corner of your mind as just another day to get through. But the moment that bouquet of flowers arrived at your desk, everything changed.

You weren’t sure what was worse, the flowers themselves, which were stunning in their vibrant hues, or the way everyone around you started gushing about them. A “secret admirer,” they all whispered. Who could it be? How romantic! Their eyes were bright with curiosity, and you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable under the weight of their attention. You weren’t used to that kind of focus. You tried to brush it off with a casual smile, but deep down, you were anxious.

You’d never received something so extravagant before, and the lack of a card made it even more mysterious. It wasn’t from anyone you knew. At least, not anyone who’d owned up to it.

As you sat down at your desk, trying to hide your unease, you couldn’t help but glance over at the corner of the room where Minho was sitting. You’d been coworkers for months now, and your relationship with him was… complicated. You didn’t like him. You didn’t hate him either. He was just a presence in your life constantly irritated, distant, sarcastic. He always made sharp, biting remarks, but you’d long since learned to block him out. You didn’t have time for his attitude, and honestly, you’d never thought much about him beyond that.

But today? Today, he was different. You noticed him staring at the bouquet every time he walked past your desk. His eyes weren’t just glancing; they were glowering, like he was trying to will the flowers to disappear. It was strange, unsettling even. There was something in his gaze, something sharp and possessive.

At first, you brushed it off. You couldn’t care less. But as the morning dragged on, Minho’s behavior became harder to ignore. The way he walked by, casting dark glances at you. The way he gritted his teeth when he passed the flowers. And the sharp tone in his voice every time he addressed you. He was rude, as usual, but it was more cutting today. More deliberate.

The final straw came when he started assigning you extra work. You tried to keep your composure, but the extra work Minho had thrown onto your plate wasn’t helping. He’d assigned you tasks that were far beyond your usual workload, without so much as a “thank you” or a “please.” Each task felt like a subtle jab, a way for him to express some kind of underlying frustration with you. And it wasn’t until you saw the glances he kept shooting at the flowers that you started to piece things together he was upset, but you couldn’t understand why.

“Here, take care of this,” he’d muttered with a sneer, never even looking at you.

“Why don’t you do it?” you’d snapped, too tired of his attitude to care anymore.

“I’m busy,” he’d replied coldly, brushing off your question.

It was one thing to be a pain in the ass on a normal day, but today, it felt like he was actively trying to make your life harder. The sharp, demeaning remarks. The passive-aggressive attitude. Every time he passed by you, his eyes would flick to the bouquet and then back to you, like he was holding something back.

It was a strange feeling, being so confused by his actions. And it was starting to eat away at you.

You worked through lunch to avoid him, and by the time the afternoon rolled around, you were drained. Mentally and emotionally. You had no energy left to process his behavior or the awkward attention from your coworkers.

By the time the day came to an end, you were emotionally drained. The flowers had become a constant reminder of the tension in the office, and Minho’s cold, biting attitude had left you on the verge of tears. You’d barely managed to get through the day, but as soon as the clock hit the end of work, you gathered your things and quickly exited the building, eager to escape the weight of everything that had happened.

As you stepped outside into the cool evening air, you reached into your bag to grab your phone, the familiar weight comforting in your hand. When you unlocked the screen, you saw a message from your brother.

“Happy Birthday! Hope your day’s been as amazing as you are. Did you get the flowers I sent to your office? Hope you liked them!”

Your brother. Of course. You should’ve known. Every year, without fail, he sent you something for your birthday. It was his tradition, something he’d been doing since you were both teenagers. You hadn’t even thought about it, but now that you saw his message, everything clicked. He was the one who sent the flowers. It wasn’t some secret admirer. It was just your brother, doing what he always did to make you feel loved.

You smiled, a wave of relief washing over you. The mystery was solved. It was just your brother, always looking out for you in his own way. You were grateful, of course. But now, your thoughts turned back to Minho. Was that why he’d been acting so weird?

Before you could overthink it, another text came through.

“Call me when you get a chance. I want to hear about your day. Hope it’s been great!”

You were about to dial his number when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Hey.”

You froze. You didn’t even need to turn around to know it was Minho. His voice was unmistakable, sharp, but with an undertone you couldn’t quite place. You sighed inwardly, preparing for another awkward interaction, but when you turned to face him, you were met with an unexpected sight. Minho was standing there, his posture more reserved than usual, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

There was a strange look on his face, something different from the usual arrogance and bitterness. For the first time in ages, he didn’t look like the office jerk. He actually looked… uncertain.

“I just wanted to… apologize,” Minho started, his voice quieter than usual. “I’ve been a complete asshole today, and I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did. It wasn’t fair, and I know I made things worse with the whole work overload thing. It’s not an excuse. I’m sorry.”

You blinked at him, taken aback by his sudden sincerity. You’d expected him to brush everything off, to remain stubborn and cold, but instead, here he was, offering an apology.

Before you could say anything, Minho quickly added, “And for what it’s worth, happy birthday. I know it wasn’t a great day for you, but I hope you know I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

The words caught you off guard. You’d never expected Minho to apologize, much less wish you a happy birthday in such a genuine way. Still, you were cautious. “Thanks,” you said, trying to keep your voice neutral. “But why the sudden change of heart? You’ve never been this… nice.”

Minho gave you an almost embarrassed look, rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly? I’m not good at this… talking about feelings stuff, okay? But I owe you more than what I gave you today.”

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Okay…?”

Minho shifted awkwardly, looking anywhere but directly at you. “I was an idiot. And I’ve been a jerk all day because… I guess I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” You stared at him, utterly confused. “Of what?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly struggling with the words. “I saw the flowers, and I guess it just got to me. I don’t know why. But the idea of someone else giving you something like that made me… pissed off. And it didn’t make sense to me, so I just started acting out. Like a dumbass.”

You blinked, processing what he said. You could barely believe the words coming out of your mouth. Minho? Jealous?

Minho still refused to meet your gaze directly. “I like you, alright? I’ve liked you for a while now, but I’m too stupid to know how to handle it. So I do what I do best, I make things harder for you. But it’s just because I like you, alright?”

Your heart skipped a beat. It was almost too surreal to take in. Minho, the guy who had spent months being rude and dismissive had feelings for you? It didn’t add up. And yet, here he was, standing in front of you, admitting it in the most awkward, reluctant way possible.

You stared at him, unsure of how to react. Your emotions were a whirlwind, part of you still felt anger and hurt from everything he’d put you through today, but the other part of you couldn’t ignore the sudden vulnerability in his words. Was this the real Minho? Or just another layer of his complex, unpredictable personality?

“I know I’ve messed up,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But if you’re willing to hear me out, I’d like to make it up to you. Maybe... dinner? As an apology? I’ll pay, of course.”

You hesitated. You wanted to say no. You were still upset. He’d made your day miserable with his attitude, and the last thing you wanted was to sit across from him over a meal. But something in his eyes, something genuine made you pause. He was offering an olive branch. And… the offer to pay? That part made you smile despite yourself.

“Fine,” you said, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “But just so you know, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this because I’m starving.”

Minho’s face lit up with a small, relieved smile. “Deal.”

-

Dinner was… awkward.

There was no sugarcoating it. You were both tense, unsure of what to say to break the silence, the air thick with unspoken words. You could feel the weight of the day’s events hanging over the conversation, but as the meal went on, the tension began to ease. Minho, despite his usual bravado, seemed like he was trying harder than usual to make things right. The quiet moments between bites didn’t feel as strained, and by the time dessert rolled around, you were almost starting to enjoy yourself.. almost.

When the check arrived, Minho insisted on paying, just as he promised. He’d apologized again, and while you weren’t quite ready to forgive him completely, you appreciated the effort.

As you left the restaurant and he walked you to your car, the air between you felt less suffocating. Minho spoke again, his voice quieter, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it.

“I wasn’t sure how to say it earlier,” he said, looking down at his feet. “But... I’ve been jealous, alright? And it’s not just because of the flowers. I just… like you a lot, more than I can admit. The only reason I get under your skin the way I do is because I don’t know how else to show it. But I’m done with that.”

You stopped walking for a moment, processing his words. Was he really being serious? Was this a joke? You had no idea.

But the look on his face, the rawness of it told you he wasn’t joking. For the first time, Minho was completely honest, and you weren’t sure how to feel.

“Maybe… next time, try being nicer?” you said softly, the corner of your mouth twitching upward.

Minho’s eyes softened. “I’ll try. I’ll try for you.”

With that, he gave you a small, almost shy smile, before turning to leave.

You watched him walk away, your mind spinning. You weren’t sure what this meant, what was going to happen next. But one thing was clear: the Minho you thought you knew had just shattered all your expectations and maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than you’d ever realized.

//

masterlist.

(a/n: after this reader & minho started dating, got married, had kids & laughed about this story when they retold it to their kids😌.)

[tacticalprincess]

pervy!könig being absolutely crazy about reader sunbathing/tanning. no thoughts. that’s it.

anon #2: i saw a tiktok about like guys loving tanlines and i feel like that is SO pervy!konig like i know he has a thing for them

pervy!könig who blushes when you catch him hovering over you, smiling with your eyes closed while you teasingly complain about him blocking the sun. he can’t tear his gaze away from the sight of your soft body glistening under the bright rays of light, your little bikini clinging to your curves while his own pants begin to cling to the one he has filling up in his boxers. you’re blissfully unaware of his perverse gaze, eyes closed in content as you soak up the sun, ignorant to the fact that könig is trying to imprint the image into his memory to jerk off to later. which is why when he asks to reapply your sunscreen for you, you don’t think much of it… and he promises the hard thing nudging your ass is just the bottle in his pocket, häschen.

if you’re someone who gets tanlines, he doesn’t know what to do with himself around you until they go away. eyes constantly honed in on the temporary outline of your bikini straps that are exposed through your strapless top, disappearing into your cleavage. it’s art — the way the tanned skin dips into a lighter shade, it’s like your body is teasing him, taunting him with what he can’t see. and his mouth waters when he pictures how cute you must look without any clothes on, your breasts and pussy highlighted so prettily, stroking his cock to the image until his vision goes blurry, the silky material of your bathing suit bottoms wrapped in his fist. he tries not to be greedy when he thumbs at the outline on your shoulder during conversation, hoping you’ll take pity on his yearning gaze and let him see underneath.