#this was fun thank you for the writing practice 🙏

[coracaodeleao]

Idk if you really take requests like this but I have to share

Deans assistant Viktor and reader, seven minutes in heaven at an academy party and they’re both subby and breathy and all over eachother 🙏🙏

So... this is my first request, be nice y’all!

You might notice from the way I write this I’ve clearly never been invited to this kind of game. I grew up ugly, okay?

What we’ve got here: 4.4k words, way too much plot for what it is, no-name characters, dry humping, a little hand-under-the-pants action, and a kitchen timer ticking away in the background.

Reader is gender-neutral, Viktor uses he/him pronouns, but I kept both of them genitally ambiguous — so whether you’re stroking or fingering him (and he’s doing the same to you), it’s all vibes.

The picture above is because it matches and I like those dirty little quotes I find on Pinterest.

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How Piltover let a bunch of burnt-out students throw a party on campus is beyond you. But after a good drink — straight from the Undercity, not one of those weak non-alcoholic Topside cocktails — and some very questionable edible sweets, you’d kiss Heimerdinger right on his furry mouth to thank him for approving it.

It hadn’t taken much to convince you to be there. In fact, you practically invited yourself — especially after hearing that everyone was invited.

You even double-checked with the messenger, just to be sure. And yes, it was confirmed:

Everyone currently studying at the Academy was on the guest list.

Including the infamous Dean’s assistant.

You’ve had your eye on him since the moment he rolled his eyes at your — admittedly dumb — question about the Academy’s history.

Since then, you’ve decided you want to make those eyes roll for a whole different reason.

You came to the party with a mission in mind.

But finding him? That was a challenge.

And when you did find him — leaning against a wall, red cup in hand, cane balanced casually in the crook of his elbow — you realized you hadn’t thought that far ahead.

The place was crowded, loud, and full of people going wild. You, on the other hand, were still too sober to deal with any of that.

So you grabbed a drink, took a few laps around the room, and tried to come up with a reason to approach him that didn’t feel creepy.

While also keeping an eye out to see if anyone else had the same idea.

You circle the room once. Then again. You check the food table. Glance at the door. Anything to pretend you’re not stalling.

And he’s still there. Still leaning on the wall like it’s the only thing keeping him from floating off — aloof and untouchable, but not unaware.

His eyes flick to you. Once. Twice. Then they stay.

That’s enough of an invitation for you. So you start walking.

On your way to him, you miss the way he gestures to the person he was talking to. They leave with a few pats to his shoulder — the kind that say good luck, enjoy yourself.

You’re not sure what you expect when you finally reach him. A nod, maybe. A sigh. A quiet excuse to leave.

What you don’t expect is for him to actually stay put.

“Hey,” you say, casual. Too casual. The drink hasn’t hit you enough for this.

Viktor blinks at you. Then, slowly, he tips his head in acknowledgment — not quite a greeting, but enough to say he sees you.

You point to his drink. “Topside or Undercity?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Do I look like I drink Topside wine coolers?”

You smile. “Didn’t want to assume.”

“Assume away.” His voice is low. Calm. A little dry.

You nod and take a sip. Trying not to make it obvious you’re scanning his face like a damn research study.

“So,” you start, leaning lightly on the wall beside him, ���are you here for fun? Or are you on assistant duty? Like—taking notes on who throws up first?”

That earns you something — not a laugh, but a soft exhale through his nose. His mouth curves, briefly.

“I was curious,” he says.

“About the party?”

“About what people do when no one’s grading them.”

You hum, trying not to let that line go straight to your stomach.

He shifts his weight slightly, the bottom of his cane tapping once against the wall. His eyes flick toward the crowd, then back to you. “And you?”

You shrug. “I’m here for the chaos.”

He hums again. Not disapproving. Not amused. Just… observing.

A pause.

Too long.

You search for something else to say. Something to keep the conversation going without sounding desperate.

But someone stumbles into your side — a guy carrying two drinks and zero coordination — and you’re forced to take a step back.

By the time you steady yourself, Viktor is already pulling slightly away from the wall, lowering his cane to the ground — a quiet, unmistakable signal.

He’s leaving.

“I should…” he starts.

You nod. Too fast. “Yeah. Of course. Enjoy the party.”

He doesn’t smile. But he doesn’t look away, either.

“Try not to get poisoned,” he says, nodding toward your cup.

You smirk, raising it like a toast. “Already did. That’s the point.”

His eyes linger for a beat longer than they should.

Then he turns and disappears into the crowd.

After that — frankly disappointing — encounter, you try to forget about him. Try to enjoy yourself as much as you can without cringing every time the moment replays in your head.

You spot him again later, across the room.

Your eyes find him before you can stop them — but when he looks back, you quickly turn away.

Someone shouts from the middle of the room:

“Get out now if you don’t wanna play!”

There’s movement around you. Some people laugh and leave. Others stay behind — curious, already buzzing from the drinks.

Viktor is still across from you. Still watching everybody.

“Hand me a pen already!” someone calls out.

“I’m writing the names!”

There’s giggling. Rustling. The sound of paper being folded.

A hat is tap with a dramatic flush and present it to the crowd. "Here it is! The game for today, to help us lose some steam!"

"I hope it's not True or Dare again, last time somebody broke a bone" you heard someone whisper at your back and suddenly you start to regret staying in the room.

There’s a nervous laugh nearby, and someone groans, “Yeah, but that made it way more interesting.”

You force a smile, wishing you were anywhere else — maybe hiding behind the snacks table — but here you are, caught in the middle of it all.

“Who wants to guess what it is?”

A cane rises in the air. All eyes turn to Viktor.

The hat holder rolls their eyes. “Oh yes, the almighty Dean’s assistant himself. Give us a little bit of your all-assistant wisdom.”

Viktor rolls his eyes. You bite your bottom lip at the sight.

He walks to the empty spot in the middle. “It’s Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

The hat holder squeezes their eyes. “How can you be so sure?”

Viktor uses his cane to point toward you. You hold your breath as he gazes in your direction, just behind you. At your reaction, he looks at you quickly before returning to the spot he's pointing it.

“There’s an empty closet there and a timer on the table. You do the math.”

You, like everyone else on your side of the room, turn to see the closet. The door is open and it’s so dark you can’t measure its depth. Looking back at the table, you spot the timer.

Quickly calculating the number of people around, you notice it’s not a lot — and an odd number. You realize you could potentially end up with Viktor there.

You do the math. You’re screwed.

The hat holder slams the hat down on the table. “Alright then! You got it right!” They plop furiously on the couch by the table, crossing their arms. “Because of that, you go first! Pick someone off the hat!”

Viktor presses his lips and shakes his head. “No need. I have someone in mind.”

It’s only after everyone turns to you that you realize he said your name out loud.

The room seems to stop for a moment. The buzz of laughter and chatter fades into an almost tangible silence.

You feel every pair of eyes on you — a mix of surprise, amusement, and that unmistakable spark of anticipation.

Your heart races, your throat tightens. No matter how much you could have drink before, you are a hundred percent sober now. You force a smile, pretending this was exactly what you wanted all along — even though all you want is to disappear.

Viktor keeps his gaze steady on you, that calm, unreadable expression that somehow makes everything feel heavier.

He gives a subtle nod — almost a silent invitation.

You swallow hard and move, trying to steady the shake in your legs.

Someone nearby mutters, “What you think they're going to do?”

"Viktor would probably give they a lecture or something. I doubt he is the type to make out in a closet." other chuckles low, but you’re not sure if it’s encouragement or just teasing.

By his reaction, he heard it too and he walk towards you in a confident stride as if everybody didn't matter to him.

With measured steps, you turn around and goes towards the old, dark closet. Viktor follows close behind, his cane tapping firmly against the floor.

You cast one last glance at the crowd — a mix of grins, whispers, and curious stares. The closet door creaks as you push it open a little wide, swallowing the darkness inside. He steps in after you and closes behind him.

The last thing you see is people excitedly going around the timer to start counting.

There's complete silence in the closet, you realize, once your heart stops racing. It's dark enough you can't see him, so you raise your arm to its full length to measure how much space you have — only for your elbow to jab him in the stomach.

“Ow!” he says. “I get it, you don’t like being here with me — but hitting me? Bit extreme, no?”

You don’t need to see his face to know there’s a smug little smile there. You can hear it in his voice. “Sorry,” you mutter, not entirely sorry. “Didn’t think you were standing that close.”

“I’m not,” he says, a little quieter. “You just have long arms.”

You huff a laugh. “Or you’re just in my personal space.”

There’s a pause. You can almost feel him tilt his head.

“We’re in a closet,” he says, dry. “Personal space is a not a thing here.”

You shift your stance, trying to orient yourself in the dark. You’d spent the whole night circling him like a satellite, rehearsing conversation starters. And now here you are — elbow-deep in his ribs in a closet.

All that because he asked to be you.

You hear him move slightly too — the scrape of a shoe, the soft clink of his cane against the wall. Then nothing.

What?

“Are you…” you start, voice low. “Are you just gonna stand there?”

A pause.

“Hm?” he sounds confused.

You clear your throat, trying to find the right words. “I mean… you picked me. Out of everybody else. You could’ve just pulled a random name from the hat — but you didn’t.”

“I didn’t want to be here with someone like that,” he says softly. Your heart stutters. “You think I’d trust seven minutes in the dark to a stranger?”

Ok, that's a good answer. At least he don't see me as a stranger.

In the dark, he can’t see your wide grin. “I’m flattered, then.”

“Besides…” he adds, voice quieter now. “You looked like you’d bite someone if I didn’t.”

Forget that. He thinks you're a creeper.

You huff a soft laugh, tilting your head toward the sound of his voice — not quite facing him, but close. Close enough that you think he might be holding his breath.

“I’m not that violent,” you murmur, voice low.

“You looked ready to kill someone out there,” he replies, with just the edge of a smile.

“Not kill,” you say. “Maybe… maim.”

Another pause stretches, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It feels like both of you are waiting. For one of you to tip the balance. Your fingers graze the wall behind you. Not because you need support, but grounding yourself feels smarter than reaching for him too soon.

You take a breath. Then ask — softer this time:

“Why me?”

Viktor doesn’t answer right away. And that says more than if he’d blurted something out. When he finally speaks, it’s slower. Quieter. Like it’s more for him than for you.

“Because I wanted you to say yes.”

That pulls the air from your lungs.

He shifts, barely. The movement makes the air between you stir.

You swallow, throat dry. “And I do. ”

You’re not sure where the boldness comes from — maybe it’s the drinks, maybe it’s the fact that you’re tired of circling this.

He doesn’t answer. Not directly. But you feel the tension radiate from him, feel it coil around your ribs. You hear the faintest sound — a breath caught in his throat.

So you lean in. Just enough for your nose to almost brush his cheek.

“Viktor.”

The way his name leaves your lips — like a secret — makes him shiver. You feel it in the small shift of his body.

“If this was something you wanted to,” you say, “then maybe you should do something to make it worth it.”

You hear him swallow. Then, softly — almost like he’s afraid to ask: “Like what?”

You tilt your head, leaning just slightly toward the sound of his voice.

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Surprise me.”

His breath catches again, and the space between you shrinks just a little more. You feel the warmth of his body before you touch — like your presence alone is pulling him in.

“…I’ve never done this before,” he whispers.

You raise an eyebrow, even if he can’t see it. “Seven minutes in heaven? Or… closets in general?”

A pause. “This.”

There’s vulnerability in his voice. A flicker of nervous energy. Because now he’s fidgeting. Now he’s talking like he doesn’t know where to look. And that shifts something in you.

You were ready to be devoured. In your imagination, he would be the one in charge, smug and proud like you see him in his Dean's assistant duties. But if he’s not going to do it — if he’s too busy dealing with his own nerves — then someone has to take the lead. And if it has to be you?

Then fine.

You can fake confidence better than anyone.

“Good,” you say. “Then you won’t know if you’re doing it wrong.”

You let your fingers trail up, ghosting the hem of his shirt with the back of your knuckles. You wait a beat. Then another. Long enough that he could move if he wanted to.

He doesn’t.

Except the way his hand lifts — tentatively — and hovers at your hip, not quite touching.

You press just slightly into that space, and that’s all it takes for his fingers to land there, light and trembling.

You tilt your head a fraction closer.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” you murmur — not as a tease, not a threat, just a truth you’re finally saying out loud.

He exhales, shaky. “Are you warning me?”, his way to turn the situation lighter.

You hum, smiling. “Would it make you feel better if I did?”

He doesn’t reply.

But he leans in.

And that’s all the answer you need.

You close the space between you.

The second your lips touch his, it stops being careful.

He kisses you back like he’s been holding back for hours. Maybe longer. There’s nothing slow about it — it’s all heat and breath and too much, too fast. His mouth opens under yours, eager and messy, and it’s not gentle at all. It's clumsy and wet and perfect.

You grunt into his mouth as your hand fists in the front of his shirt, dragging him closer until there’s no space left between you. He stumbles, just slightly, like he wasn’t expecting it to hit this hard this fast — but he follows it, follows you, like he can’t not.

His hand grabs at your waist — hard, needy — and his other arm slams against the wall behind you, bracing himself. You heard his cane hitting the floor as he does that, his hold on you now be his only support.

God, he gives so easily.

Your lips part again, wetter this time. Slower. His mouth opens under yours without hesitation now, and you kiss him again — deeper, sloppier, with heat that wasn't there before. Open-mouthed, tongues brushing, teeth barely grazing.

He moans into your mouth — soft, broken — and it feels like he’s unraveling one breath at a time.

You break the kiss for air, just enough to rest your forehead against his. His lips are swollen, parted. His chest rises and falls like he’s just run for miles.

“How was that?” you whisper.

His voice is barely audible, very breathy. “Overstimulating.”

You snort, biting your lip to contain the laugh. “You want me to stop?”

He shakes his head — you feel it more than see it. “Hello no.”

Your thumb brushes his knuckles. His forehead drops gently to your shoulder.

“You okay?” you ask.

“I think so.” Pause. “You taste like trouble and sugar.”

You grin. “You taste like Undercity whiskey and bad decisions.”

He huffs a laugh against your collarbone. “Sounds about right.”

His forehead rests gently against your shoulder, breath shaky but steadying. You can feel the heat radiating from him, a warmth that contrasts with the cold metal of his cane still resting against the wall behind him.

You want so badly to keep this going, but as both of you catch your breath, the silence opens up to the noise of the timer still going on the other side of the door.

You whisper, almost shyly, “Do you think... we’re close to seven minutes?”

He lifts his head from your shoulder, still breathless. “I am that bad of a kisser?” A soft, teasing laugh escapes him. “Already trying to get away from me?”

You scoff under your breath, smiling despite the ache between your legs. “If I wanted to leave, I wouldn’t still be all over you.”

He hums like he’s trying to believe that. His hand squeezes your side gently, almost unsure. You’re both still so close, still tangled — but something about that brief interruption makes the air shift. Not cooler, not colder — just heavier.

You’re still holding him. He’s still pressed to you. And neither of you is done.

To keep things going, you slide your hand down his side, slow and deliberate, grounding him. You can feel how wound up he still is — every breath sharp, every little shift of your touch making his whole body twitch like he’s barely holding it together.

Your lips brush along the line of his jaw — not a kiss this time, just the warm drag of your mouth across his skin, breathing him in — and you feel him lean into it, breathing you out.

Without needing to say anything else, your fingers slide slowly along his waist, under the fabric of his shirt, tracing light patterns that make him tense and shiver. His body leans into your touch, hesitant but wanting more.

You lean in, let your mouth hover near his ear.

“Is this okay?” you mutter against his hair.

“I—” he exhales. “Yes.”

He shakes a little as you brush against a few hairs in his belly, the acknowledge of his happy trail makes you feel even hotter. You contour his bellybutton with your nails and he inhales sharply at this.

Taking a step closer, feet between his own, your palm rests in his belly. A little sweaty maybe because our actions, maybe because his nerves. Either way your doing, and you are so happy for this.

Your hand slips lower — past his ribs, along the curve of his waist— slow and steady, like you’re mapping every reaction he gives you. When you reach the waistband of his pants, you feel him go taut — not pulling away, not resisting, just holding his breath like he’s bracing for impact.

You pause there, not because you’re unsure, but because you want to feel him fall apart piece by piece. Your fingers tease the edge of his waistband, slipping just barely underneath, enough to feel the heat radiating from him, enough to make him tremble.

He makes a sound — barely a breath, but desperate — and it sends a pulse straight through your own core.

“Still okay?” you whisper, your voice rough now, thick with your own desire.

He nods quickly — too quickly — and lets out a shaky, “Yes.”

“You’re okay,” you whisper, your hand sliding further beneath his pants, brushing over warm skin. “You’re doing so good.”

That makes him groan — quiet, but wrecked — and he leans into you harder, mouth seeking yours again like he’s starving for it. This time, the kiss is filthier. No pretense. Just his open mouth against yours, his tongue going so wild that he marks around lips with his spit.

Your thigh slips between his legs, and you feel him gasp against your lips, his hips stuttering ever so slightly toward you. It's involuntary — needy in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“Fuck,” he breathes, so quietly, like he doesn’t mean for it to escape. His hands finally grip your waist properly, clinging now.

You pull back enough to look at him — or try to, but it’s still too dark. Doesn’t matter. You can hear everything in the way he breathes.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

He shakes his head instantly. “Please don’t.”

You smile — not smug, not cruel — just impossibly turned on. Your body is buzzing, aching with how badly you want this, how badly you want him to keep sounding like that. And when your hand finally moves again — fingers gliding lower, into the heat of him — he gasps, sharp and broken, like he’s just been punched.

The sound he makes should not be that good. It goes straight through you, clenching low in your stomach, making your thighs press together with instinctive urgency. Your own composure is fraying now, the heat between your legs unbearable. You’re just as far gone as he is — maybe worse — and it hits you all at once how badly you want to feel him lose control.

You lean into him, your mouth brushing his ear as you whisper, “You’re so fucking sensitive.”

His response is a wrecked whimper, his hips twitching toward your hand like he doesn’t know how not to chase it. And gods, that need — that raw, unfiltered need — makes something inside you crack wide open.

You press your hips against his thigh without meaning to, grinding slowly, your own breath catching as you finds friction. It's instinctive, automatic — you're not leading anymore, not exactly. You're just reacting, both of you caught in something too hot and fast to contain.

His hands, still hesitant, slide along your waist and settle low on your hips. He pulls you closer, just enough that your bodies align fully, and the contact makes you both gasp at once.

“Can I…?” he starts, barely able to finish the sentence. You feel his hands twitch, unsure.

You don't even know what he is asking, your mind too foggy. “Yes, please”

His hands go under your shirt, way faster that you did before and the way and nearly brings you to your knees when his cold hands touched your burning body. Your body arches into his hands, desperate for more. And for a moment, it’s you who’s breathless, you who’s needy, you who’s lost in the dark and the feel of him everywhere.

His touch emboldens you, and you move your hand slowly on him, watching him shudder under your fingers. He melts into your touch like he’s made for it — his hips stuttering, mouth falling open against your shoulder. And when he moans, it sounds like he’s about to come apart right there.

Your name falls from his lips — not in the demanding he said to bring you to the close but it a newer, melted and only yours way — and it makes your legs shake again. Your grip tightens in his shirt. Your kisses grow sloppier, hungrier, both of you panting against each other’s mouths like you’ve run out of air.

The moment folds in on itself — breath, friction, heat — and you’re not sure who’s taking what from who anymore.

His hand finds its way between your thighs now, guided by your own, and when his fingers press against you through your clothes, you choke on your breath and collapse forward, forehead pressed to his shoulder as you whimper.

He freezes, overwhelmed by your reaction, and for a second you both just breathe, clinging to each other like you might break apart without the contact.

“You okay?” he whispers, voice trembling.

You nod into his neck. “Yes—fuck—don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t.

His fingers keep moving, clumsy but eager, and the pressure is enough to make you grind into his hand without shame. You feel like you’re unraveling, like he’s pulling pleasure out of you with nothing but nervous touches and the way he keeps whispering your name like it’s holy.

You’re not leading anymore. You’re chasing the feeling now, hips rolling with abandon, your own sounds mixing with his in the stifling dark. And when you slide your hand down again and go faster, he lets out a noise — high, helpless, half-moan, half-prayer — and you know he’s close.

Your mouth finds his again, sloppy and open and almost cruel with how much you want from him. You kiss him like you're trying to swallow the sounds he makes, like you can feel him fall apart through your teeth.

And when your hand moves just right, just hard enough, he shatters.

He gasps your name, half-choked, hips bucking wildly into your palm as he comes, biting down on your shoulder in a desperate attempt to stay quiet. The heat of it spreads across your hand, and the way he whimpers through it — shaking, breath hitching — sends you over.

You press your face into his throat and break with him, trembling and raw, thighs tightening around his wrist as you come apart all over his fingers. It’s overwhelming — loud, hot, messy — and the fact that it’s him, that he did this to you like this, with shaking hands and lips swollen from your mouth—

It ruins you.

Breathing hard, clothes rumpled, hands still shoved into places they shouldn’t be. You don’t move — can’t, really. He’s slumped against you like his legs might give out, and you’re not doing much better.

Your heart’s pounding in your ears. Your hand’s still wet. His fingers are still inside your pants. Neither of you says a word.

And then — from the other side of the door — the timer finally goes off. A sharp, cheerful ding that feels completely out of place.

[hxney-lemcn]

🖍 - receiving a love letter so sweet that you hold it to your chest

With Legend?

Prompt from here

At first it’s just a way for Legend to get his feelings out without going insane. He’s writing about every little thing. The small things he finds himself loving about you, the way your hair catches in the breeze or when you smile the world seems to become just a tad bit more bearable.

Each piece of paper is filled to the brim, his feelings become more and more out of hand. Why are you so caring. How did you know his favorite tea? Had he ever told you it? Or did you pay him enough attention to find out? It comes to the point the writing is not enough. He needs you to know, but at the same time he’s so scared of how everything will change after.

But enough is enough, and you’ve become so close…perhaps slipping you a note will suffice these feelings that squeeze his heart like a vice.

He slowly eases into it like molasses. The smallest, sweetest note slipped in your pack.

‘It brightens my day every time I see you.’

It’s sappy. Cheesy. Tooth rottingly sweet. Everything in Legend is screaming for him to run away. To stop before it gets too out of hand. To end this before it even started. But then he sees your shocked face turn into a sheepish expression. You bite your lip as you neatly fold the note and tuck it away in a safe spot. He feels like he’s just run a marathon despite the fact that he’s sitting.

Your reaction only eggs him on. He so desperately wants to be soft around you but he’s just so scared. He’s lost too many people already, but suddenly he finds himself unable to imagine a future without you. You’ve already weaseled your way into his heart long ago, and if you left he’d be losing you anyways.

This is what finally gets him to write a proper letter, fitting in as much as he could without making it the length of a novel. His hand shakes when he signs the bottom, his name coming out a bit scribblely. Legend tenderly tucks the note into a pristine envelope, sealing it shut.

He wasn’t prepared to face you head on, instead he finds himself slipping the letter into your satchel like his many notes and watches with bated breath as you flutter around. He feels like he’s gonna puke every time you get closer to your bag, yet it feels worse when you ignore it completely.

Gosh and when you finally do find it, he wasn’t even paying attention anymore. You open the envelope, curiosity filling you. The postman hadn’t come, so it was from someone in close proximity. A large part of you hoped it was from your secret admirer.

The goddesses seemed to answer your prayers, your eyes roving each line like it was the gospel. You felt like your breath was knocked out of your lungs, face burning, heart stuttering. Each word was carved with reverence, each sentence crafted eloquently. You had had to take a moment to breathe halfway through, pushing the letter to your chest as your eyes watered at how heartwarming the letter was.

When you finished you were practically a puddle, and the cherry on the top was just who signed their name. Safe to say Legend was petrified when you swooped him into a giant hug and started to kiss his face, muttering absolute nonsense as you tried to process the overwhelming love you felt.

He wasn’t getting rid of you anytime soon.

[hyunjincanraptoo]

FOURTEEN FOURTEEN FOURTEEEEEEEENNNNN 🙏🙏🙏🙏🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

Your wish is my command 🙂‍↕️ this is my first time writing something like this so please be kind to me haha

This is from my prompt list. Pick a number and send it to my asks.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: smut, threesome (Hyunjin and Felix are just sharing reader, not doing anything between each other)

Alexa, play Envolver by Anitta

For your birthday, Hyunjin and Felix surprise you with an unexpected gift

The party had been a blur of laughter, flashing lights, and dancing. Felix and Hyunjin had been practically glued to your side the entire evening, making sure you had the best time. Now, after the last guest had left and the music had faded away, the three of you were left alone, the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of a glass the only sounds in the room.

“You should be used to cleaning up after parties by now”, Felix teased as he wiped down the counter. His smile was wide, and his eyes twinkled with mischief, “I don’t mind”, you shrugged, brushing your hair out of your face as you picked up the scattered plates and cups. The room still smelled like cake and lingering alcohol.

Hyunjin leaned against the wall, watching you both with a playful smirk, "Don't forget to thank us for the surprise gift later, huh?". You raised an eyebrow, "Gift?!". Felix stepped forward and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box. Your heart skipped a beat as you took it from him, unwrapping it carefully to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, a charm that you knew meant something special to them. The charm was a piece of a three piece puzzle that only felt complete when together— a symbol of your friendship, a sign of your bond, of the fun, the mischief, and the shared moments, “Guys, this is... perfect”, you whispered, smiling wide. Your heart swelled with affection, and you pulled them both into a hug.

The alcohol you’d had earlier was still swirling in your bloodstream, making your movements a little looser, your thoughts a little less controlled. As you hugged them, a strange warmth filled you. The close contact, the way their bodies pressed against yours, the comfort of their familiarity. It was almost too much.

What started as an impulsive, messy kiss turned into a tangle of limbs and low, breathy laughs. Awkward at first— Hyunjin bumping noses with you, Felix accidentally knocking over a plastic cup— but it didn’t take long for the teasing touches to melt into something deeper. Hands slipped under clothes. Moans slipped past lips. You ended up sandwiched between their bodies, their mouths everywhere— Hyunjin kissing down your neck while Felix’s fingers explored under your shirt. The air thick with soft gasps and whispered curses. “God”, Hyunjin groaned against your skin, “You taste so good”. Felix’s voice was breathless beside your ear, “This might be the best birthday gift we’ve ever given”. And in that moment, wrapped in their heat and touch, you couldn’t have agreed more.

Without thinking, you pulled back slightly and, in an impulsive rush, planted a soft kiss on Hyunjin’s lips. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he smirked, leaning into the kiss and returning it gently. Felix, who had been standing beside you, let out a small chuckle, “Humm… okay, wow! Get a room?”. But you turned to him, slightly breathless, cheeks flushed, “Why don’t you come here too?”. His brows lifted up, but he didn’t hesitate for long.

You didn’t remember how the three of you ended up sprawled on the couch, tangled in each other, clothes half pulled off and kisses exchanged like secrets. Hyunjin hummed softly from behind you, where he was pressed along your back, shirt already discarded, chest warm against your skin, “You’re such a temptation”, he muttered, kissing the curve of your shoulder before slipping his hand under your waistband, fingers brushing over your core

It was clumsy at first— Felix trying to push your pants down while you were still seated, Hyunjin’s hips nudging yours, impatient and eager. But eventually, it settled into something slow and charged. You found yourself leaning forward, bracing yourself on your elbows as Hyunjin knelt behind you, stroking himself slowly before guiding his length to your entrance, “Shit”, he muttered, licking his bottom lip. “Do you really wanna do this?” “I didn’t plan to”, you smirked, looking over your shoulder, “But now I want to”. “Fuck”, Felix laughed under his breath as Hyunjin massaged your ass, “Relax, baby”, he whispered, pressing kisses along your spine as his hand gripped your waist, “I’ve got you”.

The stretch was intense but delicious, making your breath hitch as he slowly slid inside you. Hyunjin let out a low groan, head falling backward as he sank deeper, one hand still caressing your waist while the other gripped firmly on your hip.

In front of you, Felix was already stroking himself lazily, watching the way your mouth parted, the way your hips pushed back into Hyunjin’s. He reached forward, his hand guiding yours to wrap around his shaft. Immediately, your thumb teased the head, “Shit”, he gasped. You moaned in between the slow, steady thrusts behind you and Felix’s sexy groans in front of you. Your body felt hypersensitive, pleasure hitting you in waves.

Then Felix reached for something from the table— an unfinished slice of cake, the icing slightly melted. You barely registered it before he spilled a bit of frosting over the tip of his member with a little smirk, “Let’s make dessert even better”, he said with a wink, before you leaned in to lick it off, tongue curling obscenely as he moaned at the sensation. Hyunjin groaned behind you, thrusts deepening slightly, “Are you serious?”, he panted, laughing breathlessly,“You’re licking cake off his cock?”. You chuckled between licks, voice trembling, “I multitask”.

The scene was messy, hot, and overwhelmingly intense— Hyunjin’s hips slapping softly against yours, you alternating between stroking Felix’s member and licking it, your body arching and trembling under the pressure of so much stimulation. Hyunjin was losing control, breath hitching with every thrust, “Fuck, you feel so good…. so tight…”, he grunted, his rhythm faltering as he buried himself deep with every thrust of his hips.

Your hand worked faster now, lips pressing kisses along the length, as Felix whined your name. You were so close, heat pooling low in your belly, tension building, unbearable. “Come for us”, Hyunjin whispered against your shoulder, voice husky, “Let go, baby”. You cried out, your orgasm hitting you hard as you felt Felix’s release on your tongue. Your whole body was shaking, muscles clenching around Hyunjin, who cursed low and spilled inside you, balls deep, eyes squeezed shut in pure bliss.

Felix leaned back, amused with the scene— you all covered in frosting, cum, and sweat. “Well… this party turned out better than expected”. You collapsed forward with a breathless laugh, flushed and wrecked, “Best birthday ever”. Hyunjin pulled you close, kissing the nape of your neck, “Next year, we’re getting more cake”. Felix raised a brow, “And maybe whipped cream”. You groaned, but didn’t say no.

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

[4nyangnyangz]

— checkmate! ♟️

synopsis: it was supposed to be just a normal hangout for you and your best friend, Taehyun until the both of you decide to add a little twist to the game of chess that you were playing, uncovering hidden truths and removing a piece of clothing with each loss. the game leads to the both of you revealing unspoken desires and dealing with the suffocating tension between you. a certain turn of events causes the both of you to discover that your friendship may evolve beyond platonic boundaries.

pairings: best friend!taehyun x fem reader

tags/warnings: nsfw content! minors dni. smut, masturbation, fingering, oral(f receiving), unprotected sex(wrap it before u tap it!), overstimulation, creampie, slight exhibitionism, slight voyeurism, best friends to lovers(?), freaky chess if that makes sense, LOTS of teasing and sexual tension.

wordcount: 5k!! THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD.

a/n: HEOL I can't believe I'm reaching 200-400+ notes already, it all seems so surreal to me still, but i'm really thankful for all the support!! I do have to say I would consider this as my actual first smut fic(the guitarist gyu fic was just a glimpse lol) so I may have gotten carried away on some of the scenes.... i'm still not too confident with writing smut so pls go easy on me! 🙏 happy tyun month! <3

fic below the cut!!

----------------------------

It was your typical Saturday afternoon when you found yourself at Taehyun's place. The weather outside was gloomy, clouds hanging low, casting an overcast that matched the lazy mood you were in. You knocked on the door to his apartment, a soft thud as your knuckles met the wood.

A few moments later, the door opened, revealing your best friend, Taehyun, standing with a wide grin that revealed his dimples and perfect teeth.

“Hey, y/n, I'm glad you made it,” he greeted, stepping aside so you could enter. “So, what are we doing today?”

You shrugged, offering a playful smirk. “I don't know. Just whatever sounds fun, I guess.”

He motioned toward his living room, where a table sat in the center. On top of it rests a chessboard which made your heart skip a beat. You’d played countless games of chess with your siblings over the years, but to your surprise, you recall you haven't actually played chess with Taehyun before.

Something about the way your best friend looked at you today made you feel like this particular game might be different.

What did he come up with this time..... you thought to yourself.

“How about a chess match?” Taehyun casually suggests, a mischievous glint in his eye.

You raised an eyebrow. “Really, Taehyun? You know I'm not exactly a pro, right?”

Taehyun chuckled. “Well, I'm not either. Besides, it's not about winning or losing. It's about... having fun.”

You shrugged, intrigued. “Okay, sure. But if I get destroyed, I'm blaming you.”

He chuckles as he set the pieces up with practiced ease. You took your seat across from him, ready to dive into a familiar rhythm. But as he moved his first piece—a white pawn, his eyes twinkled as he leaned back.

“Actually,” Taehyun said, his voice had a lower tone, “I was thinking we could play with a twist.”

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity visible in your expression.“A twist?”

“Yeah,” he said, his lips curling into a smile. “For every time someone gets a check on the other player, the person who’s in check has to answer a question. No dodging. No lying. Honest answers only.”

Your eyes widened slightly, but you nodded in response. It was a bit unconventional, but it wasn’t like you had anything to hide, and you have always been able to talk to Taehyun about anything. Still, there was something in the air—something unspoken between you two. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it made your pulse quicken just a little. You knew it wasn't going to be easy, especially knowing how Taehyun could come up with something you'd least expect at any time.

“Deal. But don't expect me to go easy on you.” You said, picking up your knight and making your first move, dragging it across your row of pawns and placing it on the board.

The game began smoothly, both of you slipping into familiar roles. Taehyun's confidence was clear as always, despite it being your first time playing chess with him, it was clear he wasn't going to go easy on you. The sound of the pieces clicking into place was oddly comforting.

But the twist, the questions, were a different element altogether. You found yourself becoming more aware of Taehyun's every move, every glance. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lingered on you as he moved his pieces. You tried your best to keep calm, but you couldn't deny that it was slightly affecting your ability to focus.

By the time you’d captured his bishop, it was already becoming clear that this wouldn’t be a typical match. Your thoughts were scattered; you weren't focused solely on the game anymore.

When you made a bold move, putting him in check, you grinned. “Check,” you muttered softly, eyes glinting with playful mischief. “Alright, question time.”

Taehyun adjusted in his seat, grinning as if he was starting to have a glimpse of where this game was heading. “Ask away.”

You leaned back slightly, tapping your chin as you thought. “If you could change one thing about our friendship, what would it be?”

He blinked in surprise, not expecting such a serious question coming from you. He pauses for a minute before replying, “Wow, I wasn't expecting that kind of question.”

“Don't give me that, you added these rules in the first place. Honest answers only, remember?” you chuckled, seeing how he got flustered after your question. You were just starting to enjoy this game, after all.

You observed him as he contemplated, biting his lower lip as if he was trying to find the right words before answering. You couldn't hide the smile tugging from the corners of your lips as you figured from his hesitation that he was starting to regret adding these rules to what was supposed to be a simple chess game in the first place.

There was an immediate shift in his expression as he answers, however, catching you off guard.

“Nothing. I like how our friendship is right now. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

As his words settled in, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment creep in before you could stop it. You had hoped—just maybe—that his answer would hint at something more, something beyond friendship. But instead, it was safe and neutral. You swallowed the feeling quickly, masking it with a chuckle as you leaned back slightly.

“Good answer,” you said, forcing an easygoing tone.

But your mind lingered on it longer than it should have, and it showed in your next move, as much as you didn't want for it to. Your fingers hesitated before settling on the wrong piece. Taehyun, always perceptive, caught the shift on your behavior immediately. He could have called you out on it, but he didn’t have to. Instead, he seized the opportunity on the board, swiftly capturing one of your pieces and cornering you into a check.

A small smirk played on his lips as he rested his chin on his hand. “Check,” he murmured, then tilted his head slightly.“My turn.”

His eyes held yours for a second too long, and then he asked, almost a little directly for your liking.

“What do you think are the chances that what we have could be something more than friendship?”

Your heart stuttered.

Your eyes widened and your breath was caught in your throat, heat rushing to your face as you scrambled to form a response. Your mind raced between a thousand possible answers, each one tangled with feelings you weren't sure you were ready to admit out loud.

“I—” You hesitated, looking anywhere but at him.

Taehyun’s gaze didn’t waver. “No lying, y/n.” he reminded you, his voice softer this time but firm. “Just honest answers, remember?”

One thing about Taehyun is that whatever game you play with him, he definitely plays it better. You are just now realizing that you shouldn't have provoked him first.

You cleared your throat, trying to pretend your mind wasn't a mess before answering, but clearly failing as you let the words slip out of your mouth. “Um, well... I don't know. That depends. You said you liked how it is right now, and I like the way things are too, so-”

“Y/N,” Taehyun is quick to snap you out of it and you blink in confusion, your eyes meeting his gaze.

“You do know that I've known you enough to tell when you're lying or not, right?”

You stared at him, heat creeping up your neck as you tried to keep your expression neutral. “I'm not lying,” you insisted, gripping the edge of the table just a little too tightly. “I really haven't thought about it that way, and even so, I just like it the way it is now.”

Taehyun didn't say anything right away, just watched you with that knowing look that made it impossible to hide anything from him. He had always been good at reading you—probably a bit too good. It was both infuriating and terrifying, to say the least.

A small smirk curled at the edge of his lips. “Alright then,” he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair.“Why don't we up the stakes a bit?”

You narrowed your eyes, suddenly wary. “....what do you mean?”

“For every check from here on out, instead of asking a question, the person in check takes off a piece of clothing.” Taehyun suggests, not breaking eye contact.

You felt your stomach flip at the idea.“Are you serious right now?”

“As serious as you were when you said you hadn't thought about us being more than friends,” he shot back, his tone deceptively casual.

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way your heart pounded.“That's ridiculous. Why would I even agree to that?”

“Because I know you'd never back down from a challenge,” he said simply, tilting his head slightly. “Unless, of course, you were lying earlier and you're actually worried about losing your focus.”

You bristled at that, fully aware that he was baiting you. And even worse, it was working.

Your pride warred with your common sense, but Taehyun just sat there, waiting, perfectly composed, perfectly unreadable. He wasn’t going to let this go, and you knew it.

You exhaled sharply, crossing your arms. You felt your heartbeat start going faster at the idea that you're going to play a much more dangerous game from now on.

“Fine. But don’t think for a second that I’m going easy on you.”

His smirk widened. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And with that, the game resumed. Only now, the stakes were much, much higher.

———————

You scanned your remaining pieces, picking up your rook and aimed for his king that was left open.

“Check.” you muttered hesitantly, obviously not prepared for what was about to happen next.

You barely registered the sound of Taehyun’s sigh as he unhooked his fingers from the hem of his shirt, tugging it over his head in one swift motion. The moment the fabric slipped away, your brain short-circuited.

Oh no.

You knew he had been working out a lot lately. He always made a point to update you—sometimes with a casual text, sometimes with a mirror selfie from the gym that you pretended not to analyze too much. But seeing him like this, right in front of you, was entirely different. His broad shoulders, the sharp definition of his abs, the way his toned arms flexed slightly as he tossed his shirt to the side—everything about him suddenly felt... distracting.

Way too distracting.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral, but it was a losing battle. Your thoughts were loud, so loud, and no matter how hard you tried to focus back on the game, all you could think about was how ridiculously good he looked. You were having a hard time even trying to look at the board without getting distracted by his bare torso as he sat across from you.

“Your move,” Taehyun reminded you, his voice was smooth and amused.

You blinked, realizing you had been staring just a second too long. You quickly dropped your gaze to the board, but the pieces were all a blur. What were you even doing? What was your strategy? Did you even have one?

A quiet chuckle broke your already fragile focus. You glanced up, only to see Taehyun watching you with a knowing smirk, his chin resting lazily on his hand. He wasn’t saying anything, but his expression said enough.

He knew.

He knew the effect he had on you. He knew exactly what was going through your mind, and he was enjoying every second of it.

“Why? Is there something wrong?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

You scoffed, quickly reaching for a piece just to seem composed.“Nope. Just thinking.”

“Thinking,” he echoed, clearly amused. “Right. About your next move, or something else?”

You shot him a glare, but your face was already burning, and Taehyun—ever perceptive, definitely noticed. His smirk deepened, and he let out another soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“Y/N,” he mused, his voice low and teasing, “for someone who insists they haven’t thought about us being more than friends… you sure are an open book right now.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, your voice lacking any real bite as you forced yourself to look away from his ridiculously smug expression. You needed to focus. You needed to stop thinking about the fact that Taehyun was very much shirtless, very much toned, and very much aware of how flustered you were.

With a sharp inhale, you made your move, pushing a piece forward with more force than necessary.

Big mistake.

You realized it a second too late. The moment your fingers left the piece, you internally cursed yourself. But it was too late to take it back.

Taehyun hummed, clearly noticing your slip-up, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he made his move seamlessly, as if he wasn’t even breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, your mind was still a mess, thoughts tangled between the game and the way his bare shoulders flexed slightly with each motion.

Another move. Another mistake.

You clenched your jaw, trying desperately to regain control, but the damage was already done. With each exchange, you slipped further and further into a losing position. And then, just as you were scrambling to fix things, Taehyun’s fingers moved decisively, and your heart sank.

“Check.”

You stared at the board, dread pooling in your stomach.

Oh, fuck.

No, no, no.

You were trapped. Your pieces were cornered, and there was no easy way out of it. Slowly, you lifted your gaze, only to be met with Taehyun’s expectant grin. He leaned back slightly, arms resting lazily on the chair, clearly waiting.

And that was when the real horror sank in.

You immediately regretted not wearing more layers. A jacket. A hoodie. Maybe a coat or two. Anything that could have saved you from this exact moment.

Swallowing hard, you hesitantly reached for the hem of your shirt, fingers curling around the fabric. Your pulse pounded in your ears as hesitation gripped you.

Then, before you could move any further, Taehyun's voice cut through the charged silence, soft and serious.

“You know,” he said, his teasing edge completely gone, “if you're not comfortable with this, you can just surrender and we can stop right here. I'm fine with it, but you really don't have to push yourself.”

Taehyun's gaze held yours, steady and unreadable, and for a moment, the air between you shifted. His words fully settled in, his offer to stop the game still lingering in the air.

You looked down at the board, your eyes scanning the remaining pieces. There weren’t many left. The game was reaching its final stretch, and you were dangerously close to losing. The logical choice was to surrender, to let yourself off the hook before this got even more out of hand.

But something inside you refused.

Maybe it was your competitive streak. Maybe it was the way Taehyun had been teasing you all night, getting under your skin like he always did, always so composed, so sure of himself. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that some part of you wanted to prove to yourself that you could handle this. That being this close to him, playing this ridiculous game, didn’t affect you as much as it did.

Well, it did, but you weren’t ready to admit that yet.

You exhaled slowly, lifting your gaze to meet his.“I want to keep going.”

Taehyun studied you for a moment, his usual smirk replaced by something softer, something laced with concern. “Y/N… are you sure?”

“I mean it,” you insisted, forcing a small, almost defiant smile. “What? Are you worried I might actually beat you or something?”

He didn’t answer right away, but his lips twitched, as if amused by your bravado. Still, his eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitation. And when he found none—or maybe just saw that you were too stubborn to admit it, he leaned back with a sigh.

“Alright then,” he said, though his voice was quieter now.“But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Your stomach twisted as you finally gripped the hem of your shirt, heart hammering in your chest. The moment you pulled your shirt over your head and placed it to the side, the cold air of the room hit your skin instantly, sending a shiver down your spine.

If I had known I would've ended up doing this, I should've worn better underwear... you thought to yourself as you felt your face heat up.

And that’s when it really sank in.

You were sitting across from your best friend while playing chess, the both of you half-naked, just the two of you, in his apartment. Alone.

You felt the weight of the situation settle over you, a mixture of embarrassment and something else entirely crawling up your spine. Every inch of you was hyper-aware of the fact that his gaze was on you now. You weren’t looking at him, you refused to, but you could feel it. A flicker of movement in the corner of your eye, a subtle shift in his posture. You could've sworn you caught the change in his expression the moment you took off your shirt.

Still, you forced yourself to focus, swallowing hard as you reached forward to make your next move. Your fingers trembled slightly, but you steadied them, determined not to let this affect your game any more than it already had.

Even as you sensed Taehyun’s lingering gaze towards you, you kept your eyes locked on the board, pretending like this was just another match. Like your heart wasn’t just about to jump out of your chest.

Despite the undeniable tension crackling between you, the game pressed on.

Each move was careful, calculated, yet neither of you could fully ignore the underlying awareness now lingering in the air. The playful teasing had faded into something else. Something heavier, something unspoken. And through it all, Taehyun remained unusually quiet.

It wasn’t until a few moves later, when the game was teetering dangerously close to its end, that he finally broke the silence.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat as he moved a piece forward.“What should the winner get as a prize?”

You blinked, realizing only now that he hadn’t muttered a single word since you had taken off your shirt.

Your fingers, which had been hovering over your next move, paused mid-air as you glanced up at him. He was doing his best to appear nonchalant, but there was a slight stiffness in his posture, a certain tightness in his jaw that made your pulse quicken.

Was he…. struggling too?

The realization made something stir in you, a quiet thrill creeping into your chest. You felt relieved and slightly amused at the realization that he had grown awfully silent compared to how he was earlier.

So it wasn’t just you.

Your lips curved slightly as you leaned back. “I don’t know,” you mused, tilting your head. “What do you think?”

Taehyun’s eyes flickered to yours before he offered a small shrug.“How about the loser gets the winner a gift or something?”

You hummed to yourself, pretending to think it over. But really, you were studying the board, judging the current situation of your pieces. It was neck and neck now, one wrong move from either of you would decide everything.

And suddenly, an idea struck you.

You glanced up at him, feeling a boldness rise within you, fueled by the tension, by the competition, by the fact that he wasn’t as unaffected as he had seemed.

“You know what would be more interesting?” you said, voice smooth, teasing. “The loser has to do anything the winner asks them to do. Anything. No matter how extreme. There's no limit.”

Taehyun stilled for a fraction of a second. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a smirk—one that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Anything, huh?” he murmured, amusement lacing his tone.

You met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down.“Anything.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, as if measuring your resolve. Then, with a low chuckle, he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand.

“Alright,” he said, his voice dropping just slightly. “But just remember, Y/N… you were the one who suggested it.”

Your heart pounded at his words. There's no turning back now.... you thought to yourself.

And with that, the final stretch of the game began.

----------------------

The game had never felt more intense.

Each move was deliberate, each decision weighed carefully, but the tension between you both made it nearly impossible to think straight. The stakes were higher now, not just because of the game itself, but because of what came after. It was a battle of wits, of patience, of knowing exactly how to push each other’s limits, both in the game and outside of it. Neither of you wanted to lose.

You held your breath as Taehyun studied the board, his eyes scanning for an opening. His brows furrowed slightly in concentration, his fingers resting near a piece—but then, in an unexpected moment of miscalculation,

Taehyun made the wrong move.

It was subtle, something he normally wouldn’t have overlooked, but the second his fingers left the piece, you saw it. You saw the opening you needed. You didn't hesitate.

You moved your piece with confidence, a triumphant grin spreading across your lips.

“Checkmate.”

Taehyun blinked. He looked down at the board, lips parting slightly as he replayed the sequence in his mind, and the realization flashed across his face for just a second before he sighed, leaning back.

He had lost.

For a moment, you simply stared at the board, almost not believing it yourself. You had won. You had actually beaten Taehyun. All the built-up tension, all the stress of the game, came crashing down in the form of uncontrollable excitement. Maybe a little too much, but you couldn’t help it.

“Yes! I won!” You shot up from your seat, cheering and throwing your arms up in victory. “I actually won!”

Taehyun exhaled, shaking his head as he watched you practically bounce in place. “Alright, alright,” he muttered, lips twitching. “No need to rub it in.”

“Oh, but I do need to rub it in,” you teased with a grin, slightly leaning down towards him.“Losing in the very game you suggested? That’s kind of embarrassing, don’t you think?”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair and avoiding eye-contact with you. “I was careless. That last move… I shouldn’t have made that. But it was a close game.”

“But you did make that move,” you snickered, still basking in your victory. “And now you have to do whatever I ask. No matter how extreme. No limits, remember?”

Taehyun sighed, finally looking up at you with a small, amused shake of his head. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You won fair and square.”

Then, his expression shifted, growing more serious as he leaned forward.“So? What do you want me to do?”

You froze.

Oh, right. The prize.

You had been so focused on beating him, so determined to win, that you hadn’t actually thought about what you wanted.

Your excitement faded slightly as you sat back down, humming to yourself in thought. What did you want? You had thrown out the challenge so boldly, but now that the power was actually in your hands, you realized you had no idea what to do with it.

While you were still contemplating, Taehyun cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he muttered, voice quieter now. “While you decide, could you... put your shirt back on? The game's over, so....”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by the request. But then you caught it—the slight unsteadiness in his tone, the way his voice was slightly shaky, the way his jaw was just a little too tense.

And when you really looked at him, you could see it. The way his fingers curled against his knee, the way his eyes flickered anywhere but directly at you. He had been keeping himself composed this entire time, but now that the game was over, his self-restraint was starting to crumble.

Your heart skipped a beat as you realized you weren't the only one struggling to keep composure. Taehyun’s usual confident facade had shown cracks tonight, and you decided to have a little fun with it. With a playful smirk tugging at your lips, you crossed your arms and refused his request outright.

“Why should I put my shirt back on?” you teased, your voice low and mischievous. “Were you too distracted by me that you couldn’t make your move properly or something? I could’ve sworn I caught you glancing at my chest earlier.”

For a moment, Taehyun’s eyes widened in mock indignation before he sighed, his defeat evident. He leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to smooth over the embarrassment.

“Believe it or not, Y/N,” he admitted, his tone softening with a trace of exasperation and honesty, “I'm a man too. I have no control of whatever physiological reaction my body has when a girl takes off her shirt in front of me.”

The confession hung in the air between you both, charged with unspoken meaning. His words, laced with vulnerability, made you feel a warmth that rivaled the playful teasing in your heart. You couldn’t help but let a genuine laugh escape, mingling amusement with the thrill of having the upper hand.

“Oh, really?” you replied, leaning in slightly as if daring him to say more.“So all those missed moves were because you were busy drooling?”

Taehyun’s cheeks flushed, and despite his best efforts to maintain composure, a reluctant smile tugged at his lips.“Maybe,” he grumbled good-naturedly.“But I can’t help it when you're… too distracting.”

In that moment, the tension shifted from the competitive spark of the game to something warmer and more intimate. The room, filled with the cool draft against your bare skin, suddenly felt charged with anticipation.

Taehyun’s honest admission had stirred something inside you, and suddenly the charged air of the room felt almost too intense to bear. In an effort to lighten the mood, you blurted out a terrible joke with a nervous chuckle, hoping to defuse the heat of the moment.

“Huh, I'm glad I won then,” you said with a lopsided grin. “I can't even imagine what you'd ask me to do for you if you ended up winning. What, were you going to ask me to kiss you or something?”

The words tumbled out almost too fast, and you chuckled awkwardly, immediately realizing the weight of your own words. For a heartbeat, silence reigned, punctuating the sudden vulnerability of the moment.

Before you could second-guess yourself, Taehyun’s expression shifted. The playful glimmer in his eyes was replaced by a resolute seriousness. Leaning forward with a calm intensity, he cut straight to the chase.

“Well, you're the winner. If you asked me to kiss you right now, I'll do it.”

The words hit you like a jolt. For an instant, your heart pounded, and you felt a flush of unexpected heat. You hadn’t meant for things to escalate so quickly, this was entirely unanticipated.

Your laughter wavered, replaced by a trembling silence. The playful banter had crossed a line, and suddenly every word felt amplified, every heartbeat echoing the gravity of the moment. You met his gaze, searching for a sign that maybe this was all just another game, but his eyes held nothing but earnest intent, leaving you breathless and uncertain of how to respond.

For a moment, you were unable to speak, unable to find the words to diffuse the tension or turn his request down. Your mind spun with every possibility, but your body responded without your conscious consent.

A warmth pooled in your core, and a tingling sensation spread across your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. You squirmed in place, shifting uncomfortably as the heat built in your lower abdomen. A whimper escaped from your lips before you could silence it, and with fumbling fingers, you discreetly rubbed the tops of your thighs together. The friction provided only partial relief as you tried to massage the pulsing ache away.

“I, um... Taehyun, I—” you stuttered, struggling to form coherent words. His gaze remained fixed on yours, a hint of gentle encouragement in the furrow of his brow. He was waiting for your response, and all the while, the pounding in your chest threatened to drown out your own thoughts.

You shook your head, desperate to regain control and steer the conversation back towards safer waters. Your words tumbled out in a nervous rush, contradicting the very actions your body had betrayed.

You bit down on your lower lip, hoping to contain the arousal that was building inside you. It was a futile effort; the ache between your thighs only intensified as you stole a glance at Taehyun. His gaze was fixed on yours as he waited for you to continue, his curious round eyes staring right at you seemed to only fuel your growing need.

You rubbed the tops of your thighs again, seeking any form of relief from the pulsing heat. But it was no use, and before you could stop yourself, your legs wobbled and gave way under their own strength. With an embarrassed squeak, you leaned into Taehyun, placing your hands on his shoulders for support that stopped yourself from completely falling to the floor.

Today was the first time you’d ever seen Taehyun’s shirtless. Even being this close to him and touching him like this felt strangely new and intimate to you, as if you were beginning to blur the lines that marked the boundaries of your friendship with him. But the thought fled from your mind as soon as Taehyun wrapped his right arm around your waist, providing balance and support with a gentle yet stable hold on the small of your back. Those months of him going back and forth to the gym turned out to be pretty useful in this moment, after all.

His touch sparked another jolt of electricity through your core, amplifying the pulsing ache between your thighs. A soft moan escaped from your lips, and your breathing grew heavy as you struggled to maintain your composure. You were a flushed mess, knowing Taehyun must have heard you considering how close you are to him at this moment.

You felt Taehyun’s gaze linger on you as the corner of his lips formed into a smirk.“Is this what you want?” he whispered, his voice raspy and low.“You want me to hold you like this?”

Taehyun’s warm breath tickled your ear as he spoke, the pulsing ache in your core growing stronger and harder to resist. His hold on your waist tightened ever so slightly, pulling you closer as he leaned in to speak again.

“Tell me, y/n. Is that what you want me to do?”

Your mind was a mess of conflicting thoughts and desires. All the while, Taehyun held you in his embrace, his bare chest pressed against yours. The heady scent of his perfume wafted through the air, heightening your senses to an unbearable level of arousal.

You were embarrassed and desperate, clinging onto him for dear life. His body pressed against yours was more than you could handle, and every part of you wanted to surrender to the lustful urges that had taken over. It didn’t matter that Taehyun was your best friend—your best friend of four years, for goodness’ sake. In this moment, all that mattered was for only him to satisfy your desires, and no one else.

The tighter you clung onto Taehyun, the more you could feel his body pressed against yours. And the more you needed him, you needed his touch in places that you couldn’t reach on your own. Every movement seemed to press your thigh against the hard bulge of his own arousal, the heat of his crotch against your core through the fabric of his pants. The sensations combined into an overwhelming ache, and it was all you could do to hold on for dear life.

With a deep breath, you gathered up every ounce of courage to confess your desires, whispering into his ear.

“Fuck, I... need you,” you stammered, voice trembling with need. “I want you, Taehyun, please...”

The moment you uttered those words, Taehyun stiffened. There was a pause of hesitation, a moment of anticipation as you both waited for the inevitable. Then, with a playful chuckle and a teasing note in his tone, Taehyun whispered into your ear.

“Took you long enough.”

Before you could process what he’d just said, Taehyun swept you up into his arms. You squealed in surprise at the sudden shift, but it quickly turned into a gasp as he placed his fingers on your thighs, wrapping around your legs in an intimate embrace as he carries you. Your heart pounded in your chest, threatening to burst forth in anticipation of what was to come.

With your arms wrapped tighter around Taehyun’s shoulders, you hid your face in the crook of his neck. It felt too embarrassing, too shameful to look at your best friend knowing that you were about to cross a line from which there was no turning back. You felt him chuckle as a response and yet, you couldn’t help but cling to him, needing the support and reassurance as he carried you to his bed and laid you down.

You closed your eyes in anticipation of the inevitable, waiting for Taehyun to climb on top and cover your body with his own. But instead of the heavy weight of his frame, you felt a featherlight touch on your knee. Your eyes snapped open, and your gaze met his, the corners of his lips forming into a smirk and his gaze is fixated on you. You felt the heat rush to your cheeks from the sight of him.

Taehyun knelt between your thighs, the fingers on your knee stroking up and down the length of your leg.“What do you want me to do?” he asked, his voice low and husky in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

“I-” you stammered, unable to think straight. “I...please, Taehyun.”

You couldn’t seem to form any coherent words, so you let your eyes plead your case. They met his in a desperate search for an answer, but all you found was his unwavering gaze and a small smile on his lips.

“Do...please,” you whimpered helplessly, losing the battle of wills between you two.

“Please what?”

“Please...” you gasped again, struggling against the overwhelming waves of arousal that seemed to suffocate you.“I just need you,” you finally managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Please, do anything you want with me—just...I want to cum, okay?”

You felt the flush rise to your cheeks at the words you’d just uttered. It was so unlike you, so desperate and needy. But with Taehyun looming above you like that, there was no way you could think straight.

Taehyun laughed then, a husky sound that was filled with amusement and desire. The fingers on your thigh stilled, and he looked down on you with a reassuring gaze.“Don’t worry,” he murmured.“I’ll make you cum as much as you want.”

His hand reached down to your shorts. Your breath was caught in your throat as he tugged the waistband, dragging both your shorts and your underwear down, exposing your inner thighs and core to his hungry gaze. But before you could even register the loss of clothing, Taehyun had grasped your thighs and pushed them open.

“Ah!” you squealed, arching your back from the sudden movement. Your hands flew up to cover yourself, but Taehyun soon had them pinned above your head.

“Be a good girl for me, y/n.” he chuckled as he leaned over you.“Let me get you ready first.”

You squirmed at his words, unable to stop the rising tide of desire within you. But there was only so little you could do as Taehyun started massaging your inner thighs, slowly inching his way up towards your core.

His fingers skimmed across your clit and over your pussy lips, the gentle pressure sending sparks of electricity across your nerves. Your hips arched into his touch with a will of their own, and you could feel the wetness of your arousal coating his fingertips with a growing slickness. He teased your clit with slow circles and tugs, driving the building heat between your legs to an unbearable peak.

“Taehyun,” you whined, unable to contain your pleas any longer.“Please—” your words ended in a broken moan, punctuated by the relentless teasing of his fingers on your clit.

Taehyun smiled, and his eyes never left yours as he leaned down to lick your wetness off his fingers. Your whole body flushed at the sight, and you couldn’t seem to look away from the intimate action of his tongue lapping up the evidence of your arousal.

“Please,” you begged again, losing all composure. “I need you inside me....”

Taehyun hummed, and with a teasing grin, he leaned in closer.“Okay,” he whispered into your ear.“I’m gonna give you exactly what you want. But I promise you, y/n, it’s gonna be so much better than you’ve imagined, so just trust me.”

And before you could say another word, Taehyun shifted his body, lowering himself between your thighs to leave you trembling with anticipation. His tongue flicked out, swiping over the length of your slit and over your clit. You gasped, bucking your hips in desperation as he settled his lips over your core, lapping and sucking on your arousal with a hunger that rivalled your own.

“Oh fuck—fuck! Taehyun...!!” you moaned, your mind reeling from the pleasure coursing through your body. The slick heat of Taehyun’s mouth covered you in waves of your blissful release, and you could only arch your back and succumb to the onslaught of pleasure that he had unleashed on you.

The first orgasm hit you suddenly, and all you could do was grab Taehyun’s hair with a wordless cry. Your pussy clenched with the force of your release, pulsing with an ache that threatened to tear you apart. But Taehyun didn’t let up, not even a bit. His tongue only seemed to grow more eager, his lips sealing tighter around your core as he sucked you dry with the fervour of a starving man.

The second orgasm hit you harder, and this time your voice rang out clear in the quiet of his bedroom. Your hands fell limp to the sides, too spent to do more than writhe under Taehyun’s relentless touch. And still, he wouldn’t let up. Even as your legs began to tremble with fatigue, even as your whole body trembled from the aftershocks of your second release, Taehyun’s fingers and mouth continued their ministrations.

It was more pleasure than you could take, more than your body could bear, and yet you were so desperate for his touch that you couldn’t bring yourself to say stop. All you could do was cling to the bed sheets, your mind a haze of lust and arousal as Taehyun devoured your wet pussy like it was his last meal.

Finally, it was Taehyun who drew back, his breathing heavy and his lips slick with your juices. He sat up, his gaze flicking over your body as if taking stock of what he’d accomplished. You watched him with hazy eyes, still struggling to regain your composure in the face of what you’d experienced.

Taehyun smirked then, satisfaction plain on his expression as he saw the state you were in. He reached up to wipe off his lips, and without a second thought, he pushed two fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean while looking straight into your eyes. A new wave of arousal washes over you at the sight and you could only let out a whimper at the expectations of what's about to come next.

Taehyun turned back to unbuckle his belt, and you watched with heavy-lidded eyes as he tugged down his pants. His hard cock sprang free, and you gasped at the sight before you. Taehyun was big, almost impossibly big, and the throbbing of his cock only served to make you realize why he’d had to prepare you like that first.

A soft laugh escaped Taehyun’s lips as he saw your reaction.“Didn’t expect that, huh?”

You shook your head, unable to voice a response as Taehyun climbed off the bed.

“I’m not exactly carrying any condoms around, I wasn't expecting for this to happen today-” he admitted, his chuckle low and his cheeks a tint of pink from embarrassment.“So...are you okay with this? Just trust me and I'll pull out, I promise-”

You nodded hastily at his words, too desperate for him to make the offer.“I trust you, Taehyun,” you said with a gasp of breath.“I trust you.”

Taehyun smiled at your response, and without a word, he leaned forward to kiss you. His lips were hot on yours, their touch sending shivers down your spine. You gasped into his mouth, and Taehyun took advantage of your parted lips to slide his tongue in.

He kissed you with an intimacy that was more than enough to drive you wild, and even when he pulled back, he didn’t stop. Instead, he leaned down to remove your bra, his fingers gentle as they traced over your skin and unhooked the clasp at your back. A quiet moan escaped your lips as his fingers brushed over the skin of your back, but it only grew louder when he began massaging your breasts.

“Taehyun—” you whimpered, his name a broken plea on your lips.“Please—I’m—” you couldn’t finish, couldn’t get out the words to express just how desperate you were to have him inside of you. But Taehyun understood all the same.

He positioned himself between your legs again, the tip of his hard cock brushing against the slick of your entrance. You arched your back in anticipation, body trembling from the growing need within you.

“Ready?” Taehyun murmured against your ear, his breath hot on your skin.“Tell me if it hurts or if you need me to stop, okay?”

You nodded, unable to say anything else. Taehyun groaned in response, his body leaning over yours as he began to push himself in slowly. The stretch of his cock was more than enough to make you moan, and you couldn’t help the whimpers that escaped your lips.

“Shit, Y/N!” Taehyun cursed under his breath.“You’re so tight.” He leaned in to kiss you, his lips soft and gentle as he continued to push into your core. Your whimpers turned to cries of pleasure as he bottomed out, your whole body trembling from the overwhelming sensations that threatened to consume you.

“Fuck,” Taehyun breathed, his eyes fluttering close for a moment.“Ahh, fuck—” he gasped again, drawing back before pushing into you once more.

And that was it. The thrusts started slow and shallow, but soon grew to deeper and faster thrusts. Your nails dug into Taehyun’s back, and your legs wrapped around his waist to pull him in closer. The waves of pleasure washed over you like a tidal wave, threatening to drown you in their depths. And all you could do was hold on to Taehyun with everything you had, your lips sealing over his as he fucked you into the bed with everything he had.

Your breathing came in short, desperate gasps as his cock ravaged your wet pussy, your body writhing under him as his thrusts grew deeper and faster. Every movement of his sent sparks of electricity coursing over your skin, every thrust building your need to the breaking point until you could hold on no more. With a loud cry, your body tensed, and your pussy clenched down on Taehyun’s cock with enough force to make him cry out in response.

Taehyun slowed his thrusts to give you a moment’s respite, but even as you felt the aftershocks coursing through your core, he started moving again. His cock began to pound into you harder, deeper, and you couldn’t stop the cries that fell from your lips.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Taehyun groaned, his breaths growing heavy and desperate.

“Y/N, fuck, I—” his thrusts became shorter, and you knew he was close, so close to cumming too. “I can’t—I won’t last much longer. If you want me to pull out—”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish his sentence. “No, Taehyun— I want to feel your cum,” you gasped, your voice broken with need.“I'm on the pill, so please—I want you to fill me up....”

A soft curse escaped Taehyun’s throat, and before you could say anything else, he started rutting into you like an animal. Your whimpers grew louder, your pussy clenching down on him with a force that threatened to suck the cum right out of him. His thrusts grew wilder, deeper, until he let out one final groan and shuddered above you. The warmth of his cum flooded your core, filling you up with his load deep inside you and your own release soon followed in its wake.

Taehyun collapsed on top of you, his weight crushing the breath from your lungs. You didn’t even care, couldn’t even process the overwhelming pleasure that still coursed through you like a raging tide. All you could manage was to cling to Taehyun’s broad shoulders, holding him close as the aftershocks ravaged your core with wave after wave of your release.

And when Taehyun finally rolled over, pulling out of you with a soft grunt of pleasure, you couldn’t do anything but fall limp against the bed.

“Fuck,” Taehyun muttered, his hand reaching up to card through your hair.“That was.....amazing.”

You chuckled into his chest, the movement sending a jolt of pleasure through you as his softening cock slipped from your core.

“You’re...” Taehyun whispered, his fingers brushing over the strands of your hair. His touch was light, gentle, and his words sent shivers down your spine.“I always knew that you were gorgeous but I never knew you could be so beautiful like this. I never knew you could look so cute.”

You smiled at that, his words sending warmth to your chest. You reached up, wrapping your arms around Taehyun’s neck and pulling him into a tight hug. He wrapped his arms around you, and without any prompting, he rolled over until you were lying on his chest with his arms still wrapped around you.

“Can I clean you up?” he offered after a moment, his voice soft and gentle.

You shook your head hastily at that, the idea of being parted from him suddenly becoming unbearable.“No,” you stammered, pulling him closer as if to prevent him from moving.“Just let me stay like this, please.”

Taehyun chuckled at your words, his lips pressing against your hairline.“As long as you want,” he murmured, holding you tighter still.

The room was silent for a long moment then, neither of you doing anything but basking in the warmth of the other’s embrace. But then, suddenly and without warning, you were reminded of the answer he’d given earlier.

“Nothing”, he’d said, his response echoing in your ears like a cold slap to the face.“I like how our friendship is now. I wouldn’t want to change a thing.”

He hadn’t even thought of anything beyond that, hadn’t even considered the possibility of more. It was just you, desperate and shameless. And now—

“Why?” The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them, your body suddenly tensing in Taehyun’s arms. “Why did you say that earlier?” you asked again, turning your head to look up at him.

Taehyun blinked in response, confusion plain on his features.“Say what?”

“That you didn’t want anything to change in our friendship,” you replied, your heart suddenly heavy in your chest.“I thought you—” your voice trailed off, the words too shameful to say aloud.

Taehyun’s expression changed at that, softening into an understanding gaze.“Hey—” he began, his hands smoothing over your back.

“It’s fine,” you muttered, trying to push away from him. “I get it. I guess it was just me feeling this way this whole time.”

But Taehyun didn’t let you go. Instead, he pulled you back into his arms, holding you closer as if trying to keep you from running. “Hey,” he repeated, his lips brushing over your hair.“Look, y/n, I didn’t say that because I didn’t like the idea of being with you.”

You turned your head to him, your brow furrowed with doubt.“Then why did you?”

Taehyun sighed, his arms pulling you in tighter still. “Because I didn’t know how you felt at the time,” he replied.“And I didn’t want to ruin our friendship by forcing something you didn’t want.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing,

“And even if you did, I didn’t know if you’d want to stay like that in the future, or if...if it was just a one-time thing.” His voice was soft with his words, reassuring despite the uncertainty behind them.“But I’ve always liked you,” he continued.“I’ve always wanted to do this with you, if it was what you wanted.”

You were silent for a moment at that, your mind reeling with the words he’d just said. And then, finally, you smiled up at Taehyun, relief and happiness flooding your chest at the simple reassurance of his words.“I...” you began, the words threatening to spill from your lips.“I—” and then, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Oh my god, I can't believe I actually fucked my best friend,” you laughed out, your head falling on his chest.

Taehyun chuckled then, his whole body shaking with the movement.“Well, yeah,” he grinned, pulling you closer to his body. “You did.” He paused for a moment, his lips kissing over your forehead.

“We’ll deal with the consequences later. For now... let's stay Iike this for a little longer.” he trailed off, his hold on you only growing tighter.

“Okay,” you whispered, smiling to yourself as your words muffled against his chest. And as the warmth of Taehyun’s body wrapped around you, you couldn’t help but smile at the simple intimacy of the moment. It wasn’t just a game now. It was real. And despite all the unknowns that still lay ahead, there was one thing you were sure of: Taehyun would be there through it all. He would stay with you, no matter what. And that was enough to make you smile, enough to make your heart flutter with a newfound happiness.

--------------------

taglist: @tyunzznluvr @interestellear-blog @hyunelixbun @dawngyu @tubasmiracle @no1likemybbgcharlie I hope y'all like this one too!! 🫶

[cybrasigilism]

Could you write a threesome with Nam-gyu and Thanos but Reader and Nam-gyu are topping Thanos?

Thanks!

-👽

You On Me, Me On You, You On Her (Thanos + Nam-gyu X F!Reader ONESHOT)

warning: smut | 🌽 no plot | not proofread | lowercase intended | ménage à trois | possibly OOC | f!reader | face-sitting | handjob | oral (f! receiving) | degradation | these are my interpretations of these characters, please be respectful even if my opinions of the characters differ from your own

characters: thanos (player 230), nam-gyu (player 124)

A/N: this is my first time writing for dom reader in a non headcanon format, wish me luck! also i 1000% got the title from Bounce by timbaland, of course 😈🙏

MDNI! 18+ content beneath the cut, reader’s discretion is advised

the air hung heavy with lust; sounds of sex and sweet ecstasy filling up the room as you, thanos and nam-gyu were partaking in your favourite activity.

poor thanos, he decided to get cocky and tease the two of you earlier; look where that landed him. moments ago, he was certain he had you both wrapped around his finger, and now he was truly at your mercy. with your pussy smothering his face, and nam-gyu fisting his dick, surely he would think twice before testing you guys again.

you had to admit, you could really get used to using thanos’s mouth like this. all that smooth talking he did clearly served him well; he was utterly phenomenal with his tongue. maybe the desperation came into play for the particular occasion, but you didn’t care. you preferred that, as a matter of fact. his rhythm was totally thrown, but you chalked that up to the fact that nam-gyu was for sure edging him at this point. his pained moans muffled by your sitting on his face, nam-gyu seemed to be enjoying this as much as you were.

“aww, ‘s it too much?” he taunted, lightly squeezing thanos’s cock, causing him to whimper into you. “can’t take it?” you weren’t surprised nam-gyu was being a jerk, but it was all in good fun. the sheer level of nam-gyu’s bullying made thanos dig his nails into your thighs, earning a slap from you.

“getting bold are we?” you breathed, rising from his face as he whined. “do i need you to show me why you deserve my pussy again, if you want to be a brat like that?” thanos was so overwhelmed with pleasure at this point; god, look at him he was practically crying. nam-gyu followed your lead, continuing on with the ceaseless teasing. “yeah, i think someone needs to be told how to act right— seeing as he wants to be a little bitch.”

“you’re right.” you agree, cocking your head as you look down at thanos, who even while half lidded still had a face riddled with desperation. “beg for it.” “p-pl-please… i wanna taste ya..s’ bad.” fuck, he could hardly speak he was so blissed out. you decided that you’ve been mean and, what the hell, he was fantastic at eating you.. so back on his face you sat. now that the routine was back in motion, you took no mercy in riding his face. but it was fine, both you and nam-gyu knew that thanos loved being your little bitch.

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

gotta love some submissive thanos content! thank you so much for this request anon, it was fun to write dom!reader in a oneshot format! apologies if i made the reader too mean, i kind of just let loose with this one.

as per usual, if you have any advice/constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing it is greatly appreciated and requested! have a fantastic day/night lovelies 💋

tags: @gongyoosgf @kouzih @strangelife122 @kvstjwonnie @pink-apples001 @fiicalapsiholoaga @gabbystinks

[dreamersworldduh]

Omg hiiii again,i don't know if you've watched Teen Wolf, but can you write of Stiles stilinski. Instead of Stiles liking Lydia since third grade, he's like the male reader instead, and he's finally wanted to make a move on male reader so he tries to show off at lacrosse practice but it failed and he continues until he finally confess to male reader. If it could get a little sexual at the end it would be soo appreciated 🙏🙏. Your works are still sooo good, and I loved my request you did. Thank you so much 🙏🙏🙏

CLUMSY CONFESSIONS

• STILES STILINSKI x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Stiles Stilinski has spent years secretly in love with his best friend but never found the courage to confess. However, after an intense lacrosse practice where he pushed himself to impress you—only to end up in the hospital—he began to realize he couldn't keep his feelings bottled up any longer.

WARNING! FLUFF. Suggestive Langauge. 

WORDS! 6.9k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Here we are with the sarcastic, witty and dashing, Stiles Stilinski. There’s a easter egg in there from one of my favorite movies—if you catch (you are awesome). This was fun to write—honestly there might be a part 2, but anyway I hope you enjoy ✨

Nine years, six months, and two days. That's exactly how long Stiles Stilinski has been in love with you—not that he's been counting or anything. Not that he lies awake at night, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his bedroom ceiling, replaying every moment, every touch, every stolen glance between you. Not that he marks the time in the way your laughter has changed over the years, from the high-pitched giggles of childhood to the softer, more knowing chuckles of adolescence.

It all started in third grade, in Mrs. Carter's classroom, where you plopped down beside him without hesitation, your pencil poised over wide-ruled paper, the scent of bubblegum lingering in the air between you. You were the first person to truly see him—not just as the hyperactive kid with too many thoughts and too little filter, but as Stiles. You noticed things, like how he bit his lip when he was nervous or how he tapped his fingers against his desk in a pattern only he understood. You laughed at his jokes, even the really bad ones, and when he forgot his fruit snacks, you always—always—slid half of yours across the desk without a second thought.

At first, it was admiration, a simple fondness for the way you scrunched your nose when you concentrated, the way your hair caught the sunlight just right, the way you somehow made even the most ordinary moments feel special. But admiration turned into something deeper, something heavier, something that settled in his chest like an immovable weight. It was in the way his pulse stuttered when you linked your pinky with his during a scary movie, the way his stomach flipped when you ruffled his hair absentmindedly, the way he memorized the exact shade of your eyes even though he'd never had the courage to hold your gaze for too long.

Through the years, there have been countless moments—late-night talks where your voices dipped into whispers, study sessions where your knees knocked together beneath the table, inside jokes that no one else could possibly understand. But through it all, Stiles has never let himself say the words that burn at the back of his throat.

Because as much as he aches for you to look at him the way he looks at you, as much as he dreams of your fingers lingering just a second longer when they brush against his, he's terrified. Terrified that if he speaks the truth, if he lets the love that has woven itself into his very being spill from his lips, he'll lose you. And losing you? That would be the one thing he could never recover from.

The connection between you and Stiles is so natural, so effortless, that his friends can't begin to comprehend the idea of you ever walking away from him. To them, you and Stiles are an inevitability, a force of nature, like the tide meeting the shore—constant, unwavering, and undeniable. If anyone is blind to the reality of the situation, it's him. Because to everyone else, what you share isn't just friendship. It's something deeper, something unspoken yet impossible to ignore, woven into the very fabric of your interactions.

Scott has lost count of how many times he's watched the two of you exchange nothing more than a glance before dissolving into laughter, as if carrying on an entire conversation without a single word. It's almost eerie how in sync you are, how seamlessly you anticipate each other's thoughts and reactions. He's seen it happen mid-battle, mid-study session, mid-sentence—you don't even have to try. It just happens.

Lydia barely suppresses an eye roll every time Stiles insists, "We're just friends." Because to her—and to everyone else—there is no just about it. She's analyzed every interaction, every lingering look, every moment Stiles gets that dreamy, faraway expression when you aren't paying attention. She's seen the way his hand twitches, like he wants to reach for yours but doesn't, and the way his entire body relaxes the second you're beside him, like you're the one thing in the world that makes sense.

Even Malia, who isn't exactly known for her emotional awareness, has taken notice. More than once, she's tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at the way Stiles instinctively moves toward you, how his body seems to orient itself in your direction even when you're across the room. Once, she even asked, completely deadpan, "Are you sure you're not mates?" Stiles choked on his drink, of course, but it didn't escape anyone's notice that he didn't actually deny it.

To them, it's not a matter of if you and Stiles will finally admit what's been obvious for years—it's a matter of when. Hell, half the pack already assumes you're together. And if they didn't know any better, they'd think you and Stiles were just keeping it a secret for the fun of it, stringing everyone along in some kind of elaborate inside joke. Because a connection like yours? It doesn't go unnoticed. It doesn't just exist without meaning something.

While your friends—and most of the pack—were convinced that you and Stiles were already a couple, the rest of the student body had their own interpretations. Sure, some people noticed how often the two of you were together, how your steps naturally fell in sync, how Stiles' entire demeanor shifted the second you entered a room. They saw the way he leaned in when you spoke, like every word that left your lips was something precious. But others? They didn't pick up on the unspoken language between you, the lingering glances that stretched just a beat too long, the way Stiles seemed to breathe easier when you were near.

No, they only saw what wasn't there—no hand-holding between classes, no kisses stolen by lockers, no official title to confirm what everyone else assumed. And because of that, they came to one simple conclusion: You were single.

Technically, they weren't wrong. But Stiles sure as hell didn't see it that way.

He stood beside his locker, fingers curled tightly around the strap of his backpack, jaw clenched as he watched the scene unfolding just a few feet away. One of his fellow lacrosse teammates—Jake something, because honestly, Stiles couldn't be bothered to remember—was leaning far too close to you, his forearm braced against your locker like some kind of wannabe heartthrob in a bad teen movie.

Stiles knew that posture. That smirk. That tone. He'd seen it a hundred times before, heard the fake charm laced in every word. And right now, every muscle in his body screamed that Jake wasn't just making conversation—he was flirting.

And worse? You were smiling. Not the dazzling, full-wattage grin that Stiles had practically built his entire emotional stability around, but a small, amused curve of your lips. A polite, entertained smile. But still, a smile.

Stiles' stomach twisted in frustration.

With an exasperated sigh, he turned to Scott and Isaac, his eyes darting back to you every few seconds, like he couldn't quite tear himself away. "This is ridiculous," he muttered, voice low and clipped. "He's not even funny. Or interesting. Or good at lacrosse, for that matter."

Scott, ever the reasonable one, placed a steadying hand on Stiles' shoulder. "Relax, man. If anything was really happening, you'd know. You two have a connection. Just talk to him."

But Isaac? Isaac had no intention of easing his suffering. With his usual smug grin, he leaned lazily against the lockers, arms crossed. "Look, I hate to break it to you, Stilinski, but your boy over there?" He nodded toward Jake, who was still talking to you, still way too close. "He's one of the hottest guys in school. Aside from me, obviously."

Stiles scowled as Isaac flicked a piece of lint off his sleeve, completely unfazed by the death glare he was receiving.

"It's only a matter of time before someone snatches him up," Isaac added, his smirk widening.

Stiles groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "Wow. Super helpful, Isaac. Really appreciate it."

Scott shot Isaac a look, but the damage was already done. Because as much as Stiles wanted to brush it off, those words lodged themselves into his brain like a splinter. What if someone else got to you first?

That single thought sent a jolt of determination straight through him.

No. Not happening.

If there was ever a time for Stiles Stilinski to stop hesitating, to quit hiding behind fear and excuses, it was now. Because if he didn't make a move soon, someone else would. And there was no way in hell he was about to let that happen.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, spilling gold and amber hues across the lacrosse field, you settled onto the bleachers, the cool metal beneath you warmed by the lingering heat of the day. The air was thick with the sounds of practice—the rhythmic thud of lacrosse balls meeting sticks, the sharp calls of the coach barking orders, the occasional grunt of exertion as the team wove through their drills. Your eyes, however, were locked onto one player in particular.

Stiles Stilinski.

Despite his usual chaotic, slightly uncoordinated energy, there was something different about him tonight. He was focused. Determined. Almost... competitive?

From across the field, he spotted you, and it was like a switch flipped inside him. His face lit up instantly, a grin stretching from ear to ear. With one hand gripping his lacrosse stick, he lifted the other in an enthusiastic wave—so enthusiastic that he nearly lost his grip on his stick in the process. You chuckled, returning the gesture with a playful wiggle of your fingers, amusement dancing in your eyes.

Unfortunately, your little moment didn't go unnoticed.

"Trying to impress someone, Stilinski?"

The voice came from beside Stiles—Jake Matthews, one of the more arrogant players on the team. The same Jake who had been leaning against your locker earlier that day, trying to charm his way into your good graces. His tone was casual, laced with teasing, but there was an unmistakable challenge woven beneath it, a smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced between Stiles and you.

Stiles' grin vanished instantly, replaced by a scowl as he turned to face Jake. Oh, this guy again.

"I don't need to try," Stiles shot back, tightening his grip on his stick. "Some of us have natural charm. You wouldn't understand."

Jake scoffed, twirling his lacrosse stick with an easy confidence. "Right. We'll see about that."

And just like that, the game was on.

What should have been a standard practice turned into something else entirely—an all-out competition. Every drill, every pass, every shot suddenly became a battleground. Jake, fueled by his own arrogance, made a show of his skill, dodging past defenders with ease and landing shots with near-perfect precision. But Stiles—fueled by sheer stubbornness and the undeniable need to win—was playing with an intensity no one had ever seen before.

He ran harder, passed sharper, and somehow—somehow—even managed to score a few impressive goals. The kind that made both Scott and Isaac stop mid-conversation and exchange stunned glances.

"When did that happen?" Isaac muttered, arms crossed as he watched Stiles maneuver around a defender with surprising finesse.

Scott shook his head, equally baffled. "I have no idea. But I think we just found his greatest motivation."

It wasn't just effort. It wasn't just determination.

Stiles was playing for you.

And honestly? It was kind of working.

Until it wasn't.

Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the overwhelming urge to one-up Jake. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the fact that he could still see you sitting on the bleachers, eyes trained on him, an almost amused little smile playing on your lips.

Whatever the reason, Stiles got cocky.

Going for what was supposed to be his grand finale, he sprinted across the field, angling himself for an epic shot—one that, in his head, would be flawless, the kind of goal that would leave you thoroughly impressed. But instead of landing his cinematic moment of triumph, disaster struck.

His foot caught in the turf.

Time seemed to slow as he realized—far too late—that there was no saving himself from what was about to happen.

With a graceless flail and a yelp of pure panic, Stiles went down. Hard. His lacrosse stick tumbled from his grip, skidding across the grass, and a collective wince rippled through the field as he landed in a heap, the sharp crack of impact echoing through the air.

A second later, a low groan escaped his lips.

Scott was the first to reach him, dropping to his knees. "Stiles, you okay?"

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, mentally assessing the damage before attempting to sit up. "Yeah, yeah—I'm fine," he grumbled, only to immediately suck in a sharp breath and clutch his ankle. "Okay, nope. Not fine. Definitely not fine."

Isaac, standing over him with a smirk, tilted his head. "Hate to say it, Stilinski, but I think your charm just backfired."

Despite the pain radiating from his ankle, Stiles still found the strength to glare up at him. "Wow. So helpful, Isaac. Truly."

Scott sighed, already prepared to help him off the field, but Stiles barely registered it. Because even as his pride (and his ankle) throbbed in agony, his gaze flickered toward the bleachers—toward you.

Your expression was a mix of amusement and concern, but the fact that you were concerned at all sent a different kind of ache through Stiles' chest—one that had nothing to do with the fall.

Because twisted ankle or not, humiliating wipeout or not, one thing was crystal clear.

He wasn't going to stop fighting for your attention.

Not now. Not ever.

The hospital room at Beacon Hills Memorial was as sterile and dimly lit as ever, the harsh fluorescent lights casting a clinical glow over the walls. The scent of antiseptic and freshly laundered sheets filled the air, but none of that mattered to you. Your arms were crossed as you stood beside Scott, watching Melissa McCall—Beacon Hills' most capable nurse and, more importantly, Scott's ever-reliable mother—wrap Stiles' ankle with practiced efficiency.

Her movements were swift yet careful, the kind of precision that only came from years of experience. She worked as she spoke, her voice both professional and motherly, a perfect blend of authority and care.

"You're lucky," she said, securing the bandage with a firm but gentle touch. "It's just a minor sprain. Stay off it for a few days, maybe use some crutches if it starts hurting too much. And—" she shot Stiles a knowing look before he could so much as open his mouth, "no attempting to run around on it like an idiot."

But Stiles wasn't listening.

His focus wasn't on Melissa. It wasn't even on his ankle.

It was on you.

Scott, ever perceptive, noticed immediately. He caught the way Stiles was staring—completely unaware that he was doing it, his brown eyes locked onto you with an intensity that would've been impossible to miss if you'd only turned your head.

Scott sighed. Here we go.

With an exaggerated stretch, he clapped his hands together and glanced at his mother. "Hey, Mom, why don't we go check on the nurse's station?" His tone was casual, too casual. "Y'know, in case they need you for anything?"

Melissa blinked, confused. "Scott, I work here. If they need me, they'll—"

"Great, let's go." Scott didn't give her a chance to finish, already ushering her toward the door with the determination of someone trying to prevent an impending disaster.

Melissa shot him an unimpressed look as he all but shoved her into the hallway. "Subtle," she muttered before the door swung shut behind them, leaving you and Stiles alone in the quiet hum of the hospital room.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. The distant beeping of machines filled the silence, along with the faint murmur of nurses and doctors just beyond the door. Stiles shifted slightly on the bed, drumming his fingers against the railing, the metal clinking softly under his touch.

Then, finally, he cleared his throat and attempted a casual smile—his signature smile, the one that had always been a little awkward but undeniably charming.

"So," he started, dragging the word out, his voice just a little higher than usual. "You, uh... you saw that, huh? The game. The practice. Me. Doing well for once."

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Yeah. That was... a first."

Stiles pressed a hand to his chest, scandalized. "Wow. Wow. So little faith in me. I'm wounded. Emotionally and physically."

You grinned, shaking your head. "I'm just saying, I've never seen you play like that before. I mean, you were actually keeping up with everyone."

Stiles scoffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. "Okay, that's fair."

The two of you shared a quiet laugh, the tension in the room easing just enough for Stiles to relax against the pillows.

But then, curiosity flickered in your expression as you leaned against the hospital bed's railing. "So... what was that all about, anyway?" You lifted an eyebrow. "I mean, I've seen you play before, but never like that. You were on fire."

Stiles opened his mouth, prepared to toss out some half-hearted excuse—something about adrenaline, maybe sheer dumb luck. But before his brain could catch up, the truth just slipped out.

"Well, yeah. It was because of you."

The second the words left his mouth, his brain short-circuited. His eyes widened, mouth snapping shut like he wanted to reel them back in, as if he could somehow undo what he had just confessed.

You blinked.

Stiles panicked.

"Uh—I mean, not like because of you, you," he rambled, his hands flailing as he scrambled for damage control. "But, like, inspired by you. Or, uh, motivated? Encouraged?" His voice pitched higher with each word, his hands now waving in frantic gestures. "Not that I'm saying you specifically motivate me, but—well, actually, no, that is what I'm saying, but not in a creepy way, just in a totally normal and cool way—"

"Stiles."

He froze.

You had your arms crossed now, watching him with thinly veiled amusement. "So what you're saying is... you were trying to impress me?"

The question hung in the air for a moment, thick with unspoken tension.

Stiles let out a strangled, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze darted anywhere but at you. "Pfft, no! Of course not! ...Maybe."

A slow smirk spread across your face.

Stiles groaned, immediately flopping back onto the hospital bed with a dramatic sigh, one arm thrown over his face like he couldn't bear to see your reaction.

"Kill me now."

Your laughter rang through the small hospital room, light and effortless, cutting through Stiles' dramatic groan as he buried his face in his hands. His fingers gripped his hair in frustration, as if sheer force could undo the last sixty seconds of his life.

Rolling your eyes, you reached forward, fingers wrapping around his wrists, and gently tugged them away from his face. Stiles resisted for about half a second before relenting, his hands falling limply to his sides, revealing a face that was, without a doubt, very pink.

His expression was a perfect storm of embarrassment and something else—something softer, something hesitant, something that made your stomach flip if you let yourself think about it too hard.

"Come on, don't be so dramatic," you teased, keeping your hold on his wrists as you leaned in slightly. "It was kinda cute, actually."

Stiles blinked. "Cute?" His voice cracked on the word, high-pitched and unfiltered, and the moment he realized it, he immediately cleared his throat, forcing a more neutral expression—one that utterly failed to hide the way his ears had gone red.

You only grinned, giving his hands one last tug to pull him forward.

And that's when it happened.

You had moved without thinking, stepping closer in the process, and suddenly, you were standing between his legs. His knees bracketed your body, the warmth of him radiating through the thin fabric of his hospital shorts.

Stiles definitely noticed.

His breath hitched. His brain stalled. His hands, which had instinctively found their way to your waist to steady himself, froze.

And no matter how hard he tried, he could not not think about the fact that you were right there—closer than you'd ever been, close enough that he could count the flecks of color in your eyes, close enough that if he tilted his head even slightly, your lips would be—

Nope. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Not going there.

Stiles tried to focus on anything else—the distant beeping of machines, the muffled voices of nurses in the hallway, literally any other thought that wouldn't make him combust in real time. But you weren't making it easy. Not with your hands still loosely gripping his wrists, not with your body so close, not with that teasing smile that made his heart do things it had no business doing.

His fingers twitched against your waist before he quickly ripped them away, gripping the edge of the hospital bed instead like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Meanwhile, you seemed completely oblivious to the absolute meltdown happening in Stiles' head. Instead, you just tilted your head, amusement dancing in your eyes.

"You good?" you asked, watching the way his entire body had gone rigid.

Stiles let out a noise that was supposed to be a casual laugh but came out more like a strangled wheeze.

"Yeah! Yep. Totally fine. Just, uh..." He forced a lopsided grin—one that was more nervous wreck than charming rogue. "Just... sitting here. With a sprained ankle. And my very attractive best friend standing way too close and—"

His mouth snapped shut.

His eyes widened.

You raised an eyebrow, arms crossing over your chest. "What was that?"

Stiles slapped a hand over his face so fast it was almost comical. "Nothing. Didn't say anything. Please disregard."

But you just smirked.

Leaning in ever so slightly, you lowered your voice just enough to make Stiles' stomach flip.

"Stiles," you murmured, tilting your head. "Are you nervous?"

Stiles groaned, flopping back against the pillow like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. "I hate you."

You just laughed again, and despite his sheer, complete mortification, Stiles was pretty sure that sound alone could heal his ankle faster than any of Melissa McCall's medical expertise.

You then reached forward and nudged his shoulder—not hard, just enough to jolt him out of his spiraling self-destruction. His head lifted slightly, his brown eyes meeting yours again, still wide from his earlier slip-up. You could see the wheels turning, his brain scrambling at full speed, desperately trying to figure out how to recover, how to backtrack, how to un-say the words that had already left his mouth.

But before he could even attempt an escape, you smirked.

"You know," you said casually, tilting your head, "for someone who thinks I'm attractive, you don't seem to realize you are too."

Stiles blinked.

His lips parted slightly, like his entire operating system had just crashed, his brain throwing up an error message in real time. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again—his face flickering between shock, confusion, and sheer disbelief, as if he had just misheard you. As if he needed a full system reboot before he could process those words properly.

"I—wait—what?"

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. "I'm serious, Stiles. You're really attractive." You shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I just figured someone should tell you, since you clearly don't hear it enough."

Stiles made a noise.

A noise.

Something between a strangled laugh and a dying animal, his face turning an impressive shade of pink. His hands twitched at his sides, his fingers fidgeting like he suddenly had no idea what to do with them. He sat up a little straighter—well, tried to—but in doing so, he only ended up shifting closer, his knee brushing against the side of your leg.

And that was when he realized—again—just how close you were.

Oh, God.

His brain was overheating.

Before he could spiral any further, you leaned in.

His breath hitched.

The world tilted.

Your voice softened, something warm and undeniably real threading through it. "And... I'm really proud of you, you know." Your eyes searched his, the words landing in the space between you like something solid, something true. "You played amazing out there."

Stiles swallowed hard.

He wasn't sure which part was making his heart race faster—the fact that you were still standing between his legs, the way your voice sounded so genuine, or the fact that—

Oh.

Oh.

You were leaning in even closer.

His breath caught entirely when your lips pressed softly against his cheek, warm and lingering for just a second longer than necessary. The heat of the contact sent a shiver down his spine, burning through him, leaving a brand behind.

His entire body locked up.

Every single nerve in his system short-circuited.

By the time you pulled back, Stiles was frozen.

Mouth slightly open. Eyes impossibly wide. Heart definitely no longer beating at a survivable rhythm. If it were anyone else, you would've assumed he had stopped breathing altogether.

You tilted your head, amused. "You okay there, Stiles?"

Stiles slowly blinked.

Then, with absolutely zero control over his own reactions, he squeaked—an actual, audible squeak—before aggressively clearing his throat and scrambling to collect himself.

"Y-Yeah! Yep! Totally fine!" His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, and he winced. "Just—just processing. You know. Uh. Normal stuff. Normal processing."

You chuckled, shaking your head fondly. "Glad to hear it."

Stiles, meanwhile, was pretty sure he was never going to recover.

For the rest of the week, Stiles could not stop smiling.

It was actually getting ridiculous.

Every time he so much as thought about that moment in the hospital—the soft press of your lips against his cheek, the warmth of your voice when you told him he was attractive, the way you had stood so close, right between his legs like it was the most natural thing in the world—his face would break out into a stupid, lovesick grin that he couldn't wipe off no matter how hard he tried.

Scott had definitely noticed.

So had Lydia. And Isaac. And literally everyone who interacted with him for more than ten seconds.

"Okay, what is wrong with you?" Lydia had asked at lunch, raising an unimpressed eyebrow as she watched him stare off into space with the goofiest smile she'd ever seen. "You look like a golden retriever that just got praised for doing a trick."

Scott, already knowing exactly what was going on, just smirked and shook his head. "It's about you know who."

Isaac, biting into an apple, tilted his head. "Ah," he said, nodding in understanding. "Bleachers Kiss Syndrome. Classic case."

Stiles snapped out of his daze immediately, scowling. "Bleachers Kiss Syndrome is not a thing."

Isaac took another bite. "It is now."

But as much as Stiles tried to brush it off, he knew they weren't wrong. Because no matter how many times he replayed it in his head, he kept circling back to the same conclusion:

He had to tell you how he felt.

He couldn't keep pretending it wasn't there, couldn't keep shoving his feelings down just because he was scared of what might happen. You liked him—maybe not in the exact way he liked you (yet), but you had to like him at least a little, right? No one just casually calls their best friend attractive and kisses them on the cheek like that unless there's something there.

Right?

Oh, God. What if he was reading this all wrong?

What if it was casual for you? What if you just saw him as a best friend, nothing more?

What if he confessed and completely ruined everything?

Stiles groaned, dragging his hands down his face as he sat slumped over his desk at home, staring blankly at his notes for a history test he definitely wasn't studying for.

But then his mind wandered back to the way you had looked at him in that hospital room, the way you had smiled right before kissing him, the way you had stayed by his side, even when you didn't have to.

And that's when he decided—screw it.

He needed to tell you. Because the way his heart had been feeling lately? He wasn't sure it could handle keeping this to himself any longer.

Stiles knew he had to find the right moment to tell you how he felt—really tell you. Not in a half-mumbled, nervous slip-up. Not in an awkward, flustered compliment that he immediately tried to backtrack. No, this had to be something big, something meaningful.

That moment didn't come right away.

In fact, it didn't come until the championship lacrosse game.

Beacon Hills was up against one of the toughest teams in the league—the Cyclones—and to say it was an intense game would be an understatement. The air was thick with tension, the crowd was electric, and every player on the field was running on pure, unfiltered adrenaline.

The game had been brutal—fast breaks, bone-rattling defense, near-impossible shots that somehow found the net. By the final quarter, Beacon Hills was up by just one point. One more goal, and they'd win the championship. But if they missed? If the Cyclones countered?

They'd be going home humiliated.

The pressure was insane.

Scott, Isaac, and Stiles stood tense on the field, eyes locked on the opposing team as they strategized their next move. Sweat dripped down Stiles' temple, his chest heaving with exhaustion, his heartbeat thunderous in his ears.

And then—because the universe was a cruel, cruel place—the ball ended up in his stick.

Everything stopped.

For a split second, it felt like the entire world had gone silent.

The pounding of footsteps, the roaring of the crowd, the whistles and frantic calls from the sidelines—all of it faded into a distant hum as Stiles stared at the lacrosse ball nestled securely in his net.

He swallowed hard.

Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, no.

This was bad.

If he made this shot, he'd be a hero.

But if he missed?

If he missed...?

He would never hear the end of it. Not from his teammates. Not from the school. Not from literally anyone who had ever met him.

Stiles tightened his grip on the stick, fingers clammy, his pulse wild. He could do this. He just had to—

And then, in the midst of the chaos, he heard it.

"You got this, Stiles!"

Your voice.

It cut through everything, ringing loud and clear from the stands.

Without even thinking, Stiles turned his head toward the bleachers, his nerves momentarily forgotten.

And there you were.

Standing in the middle of the crowd, eyes locked on him, wearing a smile so bright, so damn confident, that his stomach flipped. Both of your thumbs were raised in encouragement, your expression screaming, C'mon, Stilinski, don't overthink it. Just take the shot.

For a second, the rest of the crowd seemed to fade, as if everyone else had noticed exactly who he was looking at. A ripple of murmurs passed through the stands, eyes shifting toward you, wondering why you of all people had chosen that exact moment to cheer.

But Stiles?

Stiles didn't care.

Because suddenly, the nerves? Gone.

The weight of the game? Didn't matter.

Because you believed in him.

Time seemed to slow down the moment Stiles swung his lacrosse stick, sending the ball flying through the air.

The crowd held its breath.

Everything—the pounding of his heart, the shouts from the sidelines, the sound of cleats scraping against the turf—faded into a distant hum as the ball spun in a perfect arc. It cut through the air, passing by outstretched sticks of the opposing players who leapt desperately in an attempt to intercept it. But Stiles had aimed it just right—just high enough to avoid their reach.

The goalie's eyes widened. He reacted a second too late, diving forward, his gloved hand stretching toward the ball in a last-ditch effort to swat it away.

For a fraction of a second, it looked like he might block it.

But then—

Swish.

The ball slammed into the net with a resounding thwack.

Silence.

For half a second, no one moved. No one breathed. Even Stiles, still frozen in his follow-through stance, wasn't sure if he had actually seen it happen or if his brain was playing some kind of cruel trick on him.

Then—

The referee's whistle pierced the air.

And just like that, the silence shattered.

The stands erupted. The entire Beacon Hills crowd exploded into cheers, a deafening roar of excitement and disbelief as people jumped to their feet, screaming in celebration.

Stiles barely had time to process it before Scott tackled him from behind, practically lifting him off the ground. Isaac was right behind him, ruffling his hair and shouting something about how he actually pulled it off. Other teammates swarmed in, clapping him on the back, shaking him by the shoulders, shouting in his face like they couldn't believe it either.

But none of that mattered.

None of it even registered.

Because the only thing Stiles saw, the only thing that mattered, was you.

Still standing in the bleachers, still grinning from ear to ear, eyes locked on him like he was the only person on the field.

And that's when he knew.

This was the moment.

The deafening roar of the crowd faded into a distant hum, drowned out by the rush of adrenaline pounding through Stiles' veins. His breath came fast, chest heaving, but he barely registered it. The celebration erupted around him—teammates shouting, hands slapping against his back, coaches cheering his name—but none of it mattered.

Stiles didn't think. He just moved.

He shoved past his teammates, dodging high-fives, ignoring the victorious yells, his feet barely touching the ground as he sprinted toward the bleachers. The crowd was a blur around him, faceless and unimportant, their voices lost to the singular, relentless thought hammering in his skull: Get to you. Get to you. Get to you.

His cleats scraped against the turf as he vaulted over the barrier, weaving through the surge of students rushing onto the field. He hardly noticed the way some clapped him on the shoulder, how a few shouted his name in triumph.

Because you were all that mattered.

The second he reached the bottom of the bleachers, your gaze locked onto his, and in that instant, every hesitation, every excuse, every fear that had kept him silent over the years vanished.

Not anymore.

Stiles took the steps two at a time, pushing through the ache in his muscles, his pulse hammering harder with each step. His entire body was electric, wired with something more powerful than adrenaline, more overwhelming than victory.

And then, finally, he was standing right in front of you.

Your lips parted, a breathless laugh escaping as you opened your mouth to congratulate him—but you never got the chance.

Because Stiles didn't wait.

His hand lifted instinctively, cupping your cheek, his fingers feather-light despite the wild energy thrumming between you both. His thumb brushed gently against your skin, his touch softer than it had any right to be considering the way his heart was slamming against his ribs.

His eyes searched yours for just a fraction of a second—just long enough for you to see everything he had been too afraid to say, too scared to show.

And then, finally—finally—he closed the distance.

His lips crashed against yours, the kiss raw, desperate, full of everything— every moment of hesitation, every ounce of longing that had been bottled up for years. His other hand found your waist, pulling you in, molding your body against his as he melted into you, as if this was the only place he was ever meant to be.

The roar of the crowd, the championship, the entire world disappeared.

There was only this.

Only you and him.

And the only thought running through Stiles' head as he kissed you was:

Finally.

Suddenly, something cool and unexpected landed on his cheek. It was subtle at first—just a single drop of water sliding down his skin. He barely registered it, too caught up in you, until another followed. And then another.

He pulled back slightly, his breath mingling with yours as his eyes fluttered open.

And that's when he felt it.

The gentle pitter-patter of rain beginning to fall from the sky.

You both tilted your heads upward, watching as the dark night sky gave way to a soft, steady drizzle. The stadium lights caught the droplets as they descended, making them shimmer like falling stars.

But there was no rush for cover, no panicked scramble from the crowd.

No—if anything, the rain only seemed to heighten the energy. The cheers still echoed across the field, players and students alike embracing the moment, their victorious shouts mixing with the sound of raindrops hitting metal bleachers and dampening the turf.

Stiles, however, wasn't paying attention to any of it.

Because as the rain soaked into his jersey, cooling his flushed skin, his gaze drifted back to you.

You were still watching the sky, droplets catching in your hair, sliding down the curve of your cheek. And then, as if sensing his eyes on you, you turned to face him again.

And you smiled.

A small, soft, knowing smile—one that made his breath hitch all over again.

"Congratulations," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the chaos around you.

Stiles' heart stumbled, his chest tightening in a way that was both overwhelming and perfect.

He returned the smile, unable to help the way his fingers instinctively curled around your waist, pulling you closer.

Then, without hesitation, he kissed you again.

This time, it was slower—less frantic than the first, but just as intense. Rain mixed between your lips, the coolness of it contrasting with the warmth of the moment. His hands tightened their hold on you, as if anchoring himself to this, to you, to the undeniable certainty that this was exactly where he was meant to be.

And as the crowd cheered, as the rain continued to fall around you, as everything else faded into the background, Stiles realized something—

Winning the game had been incredible.

But this?

This was the real victory.

As the rain continued to fall around you, soaking into your clothes and sending a pleasant chill down your spine, you pulled back slightly, just enough to meet Stiles' gaze again. His brown eyes were still wide with disbelief, flickering with excitement and something deeper—something that sent a thrill through you.

You leaned in close, your lips barely brushing against his ear as you whispered, "We should get out of here."

Stiles pulled back, blinking at you in surprise before a teasing grin spread across his face. "What? You scared of a little rain?" he teased, shaking his wet hair dramatically, sending tiny droplets flying everywhere. "C'mon, I thought you were tougher than that."

You rolled your eyes, stepping even closer, your hands trailing up his damp jersey until they rested on his chest. You could feel his heart hammering beneath your touch, the steady rhythm growing faster the longer you lingered.

"That's not why we should leave," you murmured, your voice taking on a tone just sultry enough to make Stiles freeze.

His cocky expression faltered slightly. "Oh?"

You smirked, tilting your head as you leaned in, your lips barely grazing the shell of his ear. "I just think... a champion deserves to be properly celebrated," you whispered, letting your voice drip with suggestion.

The effect was instantaneous.

Stiles practically short-circuited.

His breath hitched, his fingers tightening against your waist as he processed what you just said. His face went through a series of rapid changes—shock, realization, then a dawning understanding that sent heat rushing to his face.

"Oh," he managed to breathe out, his voice slightly higher than usual.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again, watching with amusement as his brain visibly scrambled to catch up.

Then, in a move that surprised even himself, Stiles grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as he stepped back. "Right. Yes. Leaving. Immediately. Great idea. Fantastic idea."

You chuckled, allowing him to pull you along, both of you ducking through the rain as the cheers from the crowd faded into the background.

Because this night?

It wasn't over yet.

[kxsagi]

this might be a bit niche but 🙏🙏

can you do blue lock boys with a reader who went to music school and used to play the piano when they were younger, but then grew up and refused to play whenever someone asked because they didn't wanna embarass themselves and only rlly were in the music school cuz they were forced to

BUT THEN one random day the bllk guys (any is fine) catch them playing/learning how to play a new song and yea 🥀🥀

“𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐃(𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞)”

a/n: this was actually fun to write, thank you!!!

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, michael kaiser, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, karasu tabito, chigiri hyoma

isagi yoichi

he finds the dusty keyboard in your room and is like. "wait. you play piano???" 

you’re already shaking your head and backing away like it’s a haunted object. “nope. not anymore. don’t even ask.” 

but he’s persistent in the nicest way like: "come onnn, i bet you’re amazing. imagine if you played the blue lock theme on piano– actually no, wait, imagine if you played a love song. like, a romantic one. for me. like, by accident." 

you're like, "do you ever stop talking?" 

he finds you playing one day when he comes home early – your back to the door, eyes focused, tongue poking out in concentration. it’s a soft piece, unfamiliar to him, but he’s mesmerized. 

you jump when you see him standing there like a lovesick puppy. “yoichi, what the hell– why didn’t you say anything?!” 

he just grins. “you looked too pretty. like, i couldn’t interrupt the main character moment.” 

proceeds to sit beside you and smash random keys. 

“teach me how to play twinkle twinkle little star, i want to serenade you at our wedding.” 

itoshi rin

“you went to music school?” 

his face when you admit it is unreadable. and you panic. 

“don’t ask me to play,” you snap. “i sucked and i hated it.” 

but he becomes quietly obsessed with the idea. not in a romantic way, he says. just curious (lies). 

catches you at the piano in a practice room one day, thinking you were alone, quietly practicing some melancholic piece that sounds like heartbreak bottled into notes. 

he just… stands there 

you turn around, startled, and he’s like: “… that was beautiful.” 

“rin, i literally messed up five times.” 

“you still made me feel something.” 

he now uses the excuse “can you help me relax before matches” to get you to play. 

acts unaffected, arms crossed, but turns his head to hide the way he stares at your hands. 

swears he’s not writing poetry about you later. swears. 

itoshi sae

“you play piano?” “no.” “you went to music school.” “i didn’t play in it.” 

he doesn’t believe you. not one bit. 

so one night, he hears it – soft chords floating through the hallway of your apartment, a melody you’re slowly piecing together. 

he walks in, leans against the doorframe and watches you without a word. 

you stop mid-note. “… what.” 

“why don’t you play more often?” 

“cuz i suck.” 

he chuckles. walks over. tugs you by the waist and sits you on his lap, facing the keys. 

“play something for me. even if it sucks.” 

and you do, half-mortified, but his arms are around you and he hums along even though he doesn’t know the song. 

you’re like "sae please stop making this romantic i will die.” 

and he says, completely deadpan, “that’s the point.” 

michael kaiser

he absolutely reads your old recital bio online like it’s forensic evidence. 

“you were a prodigy. your title was literally ‘tiny piano tornado.’” 

“please delete yourself.” 

doesn’t push you to play. instead, just casually hums classical music in your presence like a manipulative cartoon villain. 

you end up fiddling with the keys again one day, headphones on, secretly trying to relearn a piece you used to hate. 

he catches you mid-practice – headphones still in, mouthing the notes to yourself. 

he just sits on the floor and watches. absolutely smitten. 

you scream when you finally notice him. “you’re gonna give me a heart attack!” 

he smirks. “you already did. fell for you just now.” 

calls you mozart girlie forever. 

says he’s “too emotionally moved” to do anything after hearing you play, even if you were just practicing scales. 

nagi seishiro

you once mentioned music school and he just blinked at you. “so like. high school musical?” 

“… no.” 

he forgets until one rainy afternoon when he walks in and sees you hunched over a keyboard, playing a lullaby. 

he just plops down beside you and goes, “that sounds sad. is that song about heartbreak or taxes?” 

you give him the side-eye. “it’s about a bird.” 

sits silently for a moment. 

“… still kinda sounds like taxes.” 

but when he hears the emotion in your playing – how your hands hesitate, how you frown in concentration – he goes quiet. 

“you’re really good, y’know.” 

you blush. “it’s not a big deal.” 

“it is to me.” 

suddenly he’s wide awake for the next three hours just thinking about you and that damn piano. 

mikage reo

the moment he finds out you went to music school, he’s dragging you to a baby grand piano in his mansion. 

“reo, i haven’t played in years–” 

“great! makes the comeback even more dramatic!” 

you try and fail to escape. 

until one day he walks in on you in his music room, hunched over the keys with a stubborn look on your face. 

"i knew you'd cave," he grins. 

you glare at him. 

but then you play. and stumble. and restart. and mess up again. but you keep playing. 

he sits beside you, absolutely glowing. “you’re so cute when you’re concentrated. i could marry you right now.” 

gives you obnoxious applause every time you finish a piece, even if it’s a disaster. 

records you secretly and makes it his ringtone. 

when you get mad, he says “it’s because i want to hear you all the time.”  

karasu tabito

he definitely clowns you for going to music school at first. “what’d they teach you? dramatic hand flourishes and emotional trauma?” 

but the moment he catches you actually playing something – slightly off-key, frowning at your own tempo – he shuts up completely. 

like, he genuinely forgets to breathe. 

says nothing, just stands there slack-jawed like he’s watching a studio ghibli moment unfold. 

when you finally notice him, he blurts: “you looked hot. sorry. i mean good. i mean talented.” 

trips over his words worse than you tripped over that chord change. 

later: “i take back every joke. you’re a goddess. the piano is lucky to be touched by you.” 

chigiri hyoma

finds out about your music school past and goes “you must’ve looked so elegant.” 

you: “i looked like a tired gremlin who was forced to play mozart at 7 AM.” 

catches you playing on a random day, lit by soft sunlight, playing a song with more emotion than skill, but it hits. 

he watches, entranced, then quietly asks: “do you still hate it?” 

you shrug. “less now. i kinda missed it.” 

he smiles. “i missed it, too. and i didn’t even know it.” 

asks you to teach him a duet. 

you agree, and you two end up messing it up hilariously, laughing more than playing. 

the next week, he buys you a new sheet music book and says, “i wanna fall in love with every version of you, even the ones you tried to leave behind.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[pullmecloseman]

i lovee your writing!! could i pretty please request rooster and #7😋

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader One-Shot

Prompt: 7.“If I win, I get a kiss.”

A game of pool or darts turns competitive real fast.

Word count: 1.3k

A/N: This is practically the same as the fanboy one, i apologize but it fit 😭🙏 ALSO THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT

Warnings: Playful competition, mutual pining, flirtation-turned-serious, suggestive dialogue, heated kissing, light swearing, squad teasing, alcohol mention (casual), emotional tension, and a whole lot of Rooster being cocky and sweet in equal measure. Ends with chaotic squad banter and hints at something deeper between them.

It started like most Friday nights at the Hard Deck did—cheap beer, classic rock humming through the speakers, and Hangman loudly insisting that nobody could beat him at darts. Again.

The Dagger Squad had claimed their usual corner by the pool table. You were perched on a stool with a beer in hand, watching the current game unfold as Rooster lined up his shot. He was playing against Coyote—who had already accepted defeat four turns ago and was now only pretending to be competitive for pride’s sake.

Rooster leaned down to line up his next shot. The back of his shirt tugged up slightly, revealing just a sliver of tan skin above the waistband of his jeans.

Phoenix nudged you with her elbow, not looking away from the game. “You’re drooling.”

You rolled your eyes. “I am not.”

“You are absolutely drooling,” Fanboy chimed in from across the table. “Can’t say I blame you. Man’s built like he was genetically engineered for denim.”

“Shut up,” you said, laughing despite yourself.

Rooster sunk the shot with a flick of his wrist and straightened up, grinning as he walked around the table to line up his final one. He tossed a wink toward the group without looking directly at you. “Anyone else want to lose next?”

Coyote groaned dramatically and handed over the cue. “I’m retiring from this sport. Permanently.”

Phoenix shot you a look, eyes glinting. “Go ahead. Show him how it’s done.”

You raised a brow. “What, you want me to take him down?”

“I want to see his face when you wipe the floor with him.”

Hangman leaned against the wall, beer in hand, smirking. “Oh, please. Rooster’s on a winning streak.”

You grabbed the cue from where it leaned against the wall, rolling your shoulders with a smirk. “Time to break it.”

Rooster turned around just as you approached the table. “You sure about this?”

You gave him a grin that showed teeth. “Don’t go easy on me, Bradshaw.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Behind you, Fanboy whispered dramatically, “Tension. So much tension. Someone light a match, let’s see what happens.”

You flipped him off over your shoulder and turned your attention to the table. You broke hard, clean. Two solids dropped immediately, and a third teetered near the edge.

Rooster whistled low under his breath. “Damn.”

Phoenix was already leaning back smugly. “Told you.”

He lined up his own shot next. “This is gonna be fun.”

And from the look in his eyes as he glanced at you over the table, you knew exactly what he meant.

-

The game picked up quick.

You’d forgotten how good Rooster was at pool. Not just good—annoyingly good. He lined up his shots with the same lazy confidence he carried in the air, relaxed and precise, like he’d already calculated the outcome before the cue even touched the ball.

But you weren’t bad either. And with every perfect shot you made, his smirk grew just a little more.

“You’ve been practicing,” he said, leaning in to line up his next shot. The movement made his shirt tighten across his shoulders, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms.

You made a show of sipping your drink and said casually, “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just naturally talented.”

“Oh yeah?” He sank another shot without even looking at you. “Lucky for me, I like a challenge.”

He straightened, brushed past you as he handed off the cue, and let his fingers linger against your hand. Barely. But it was enough.

You ignored the way it made your pulse stutter and circled the table.

Across the room, you could hear Fanboy whisper to Phoenix, “They’re flirting.”

Phoenix: “They’re always flirting.”

Coyote: “Ten bucks says they’re making out before midnight.”

Hangman: “You think they’ll wait that long?”

You lined up your next shot and purposefully bent over just a little slower, a little more dramatic. Rooster coughed behind you.

You didn’t need to look up to know he was watching.

“Something wrong, Bradshaw?” you asked sweetly.

“Not a damn thing,” he said, and his voice was just a little lower than before.

You pocketed the eight ball in a clean side shot. Turned to face him.

“I believe that’s three to three,” you said.

Rooster crossed his arms, smile lazy and smug. “We’re evenly matched.”

You took a slow step toward him. “Shame we don’t have anything riding on this game.”

He raised a brow. “Wanna make it interesting?”

You tilted your head. “What do you have in mind?”

And then he said it.

“If I win, I get a kiss.”

There was a beat of silence. The kind where the whole bar could have caught fire and no one would’ve noticed because you were both so locked in.

You arched a brow. “And if I win?”

Rooster stepped closer—close enough that your hips almost brushed, that you could feel the warmth coming off his skin and the curve of that stupid cocky grin.

“Then you get to kiss me.”

Behind you, the squad groaned.

Fanboy: “I am begging someone to film this.”

Phoenix: “It’s like watching a rom-com in real time.”

Hangman: “Get a room already!”

But Rooster didn’t even blink. His eyes were still on you. Steady. Warm. And just a little dangerous.

“So?” he asked. “You in?”

You gave him a slow smile as you handed him the cue. “Rack ‘em up, Bradshaw.”

-

Rooster chalked the cue like a man on a mission.

The final round. One solid, one striped. The eight ball just waiting. You leaned back against the table, arms crossed, doing your best to look calm.

You weren’t. Not even close.

Because his words still echoed in your chest.

If I win, I get a kiss.

And God help you, you wanted him to win. Or lose. Or just kiss you anyway.

He lined up the shot for his last striped. You could see the furrow in his brow, the slight bite to his lower lip. Focused. Calm.

Then he looked up at you—and that calm flickered for a second too long.

Clack.

The cue ball struck, but the angle was wrong. His last ball hit the pocket edge, wobbled, and rolled wide.

“No way!” Coyote shouted. “He missed that on purpose!”

“I did not,” Rooster snapped, but he wasn’t even pretending to hide his grin.

“Oh, you totally did,” Phoenix chimed in, sipping her beer. “That shot was high school level weak.”

Hangman whistled. “Someone wanted to get kissed.”

You picked up the cue, heart hammering.

Rooster stepped aside, hands raised in surrender. “All yours, ace.”

You made a show of chalking the tip. “You nervous?”

“I’m just enjoying the view.”

You didn’t even try not to smirk.

And then you lined up.

The room went quiet except for the jukebox in the corner and someone at the bar loudly asking for another round. You didn’t hear it. You didn’t hear anything except your own breath and the beat of your heart as you took the shot—

Click.

The eight ball dropped clean into the corner pocket.

You straightened. Turned.

Rooster was already walking toward you, slow and steady.

You opened your mouth—maybe to say something smug, maybe to make a joke—but then he was there, close, and suddenly words didn’t matter.

His hands found your hips. Your hands curled into the front of his shirt.

You didn’t hesitate. Neither did he.

The kiss was soft at first. Careful. Like testing a theory neither of you were ready to prove yet.

But it didn’t stay soft.

You shifted, tilted your head, let your fingers brush his jaw—and he exhaled sharply against your mouth before kissing you again, deeper this time. More like a promise. Like a confession that didn’t need words.

From behind you:

“OH MY GOD,” Phoenix screeched.

Fanboy: “THIS IS BETTER THAN CABLE!”

Hangman: “I hate it here. I’m gonna puke.”

“I think I win,” you murmured.

Rooster’s voice was low and wrecked. “Baby, you have no idea.”

[kysstar]

hey and congrats on 1k! I was hoping to request a hunting for treasure option(?) I was thinking a cute one could be a Hongjoong oneshot with the prompt being sort of comfort/supportive ish(?) maybe something like “it’s okay, you know. to need a little help sometimes,” or “i’ll stay for as long as you need.” (I got these from the first reference you linked! I also apologize if I’m vague at all 🧍‍♀️😖) just something cute n fluff :3

(also I’m obsessed w salt on your crown, can’t wait for next ch, sooo good!)

thank you and happy writing🙏🤍

thank you so much!! i had fun writing it. i hope you like it <33

ora's 1k celebration main masterlist

STAY | KIM HONGJOONG

pairing : : kim hongjoong x fem!reader

prompt : : “i’ll stay for as long as you need.”

warnings : : angst, hurt/comfort

word count : : 0.5k

—You didn’t even hear the door open.

The only sound in the room had been the low hum of the TV, playing something you weren’t watching, something you couldn’t focus on if you tried. You sat curled on the corner of the couch, sleeves of your hoodie pulled over your hands, tissue crumpled and forgotten beside you. Your eyes were swollen, skin blotchy, and your chest ached from crying so much it felt like your heart might leak out of you.

“Y/N! You won’t believe the disaster I saw on the subway today,” Hongjoong’s voice rang out, cheerful, like it always did when he came to see you. “There was a guy holding a parrot. A parrot. Wearing a tiny vest—”

His footsteps grew slower, softer, until he was standing right in front of you. You felt his presence more than anything—his quiet stillness, the way the air shifted around him. Then he knelt down in front of you, gently, like he didn’t want to startle you. You turned your face away, embarrassed, trying to hide the state you were in.

“Y/N…” he said softly, tilting his head to try and catch your eyes. When you didn’t respond, he reached up and touched your chin, gently coaxing your face back toward him.

“What happened?” he asked, eyes searching yours.

You sniffled, lips trembling. You barely got the words out. “He… he cheated on me.”

The expression on Hongjoong’s face changed in an instant. He didn’t speak, didn’t push you for more. His brows furrowed, and his eyes softened. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. Shame crawled up your neck.

Without a word, he stood, and your heart dropped.

Of course. Why would he stay? Why would he waste his time? You must’ve looked pathetic, sitting there crying over someone who threw you away like nothing.

You curled in on yourself more, willing yourself to disappear.

Then, you heard it—footsteps again. And the sound of your freezer opening.

You blinked, confused, until Hongjoong returned and sat beside you on the couch, a large bucket of your favorite ice cream in one hand, remote in the other. He flipped through a few channels before settling on something dumb and light—a cartoon you both used to watch in high school.

You glanced at the ice cream. He was eating it like it was his.

“Hey,” you murmured, reaching for the tub.

“Nope,” he said, shifting it out of your reach.

“Joong—” you whined, crawling across his lap to grab it.

He chuckled, holding it higher. You were practically climbing him now, and somewhere in the middle of it, the tension cracked just a little. You felt your lips twitch. He saw it and grinned.

“There it is,” he said softly, like the sight of your almost-smile was worth more than anything else.

He scooped up a spoonful and brought it to your mouth. You didn’t even hesitate—you leaned forward and let him feed you.

Eventually, you shifted, settling between his legs with your back against his chest. His arms came around you instinctively, one hand holding the ice cream while the other handed you the spoon. You took turns eating in silence, the TV a comforting background hum.

By the time the bucket was empty, the ache in your chest had dulled just a little.

“Joong?” you said softly.

“Mm?”

“Can you stay the night?”

He wrapped both arms around you, pulling you closer, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“I’ll stay for as long as you need.”

© kysstar

[extinctlesspains]

OH MYYYY GOODNESS I JS READ THE YANDERE AXEL ONE AND IM FRFR OBSESSED LIKE WHY IS NOBODY ELSE DOING THAT IDEA BROOO

I NEED TO SEE JOHNNY AND ROBBYS REACTION TO OVERHEARING AXEL BLACKMAILING HERRRR 🙏🙏🙏

A/n: Lol thank you for reading lovely!! I had a lot of fun writing yandere Axel so here you go!! Also I loved your idea!! ♡♡

𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒... 𝑅𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡?[𝐴𝑥𝑒𝑙 𝐾.]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ , ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ! ᴀxᴇʟ ᴋᴏᴠᴀᴄᴇᴠɪᴄ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ᴅᴀʀᴋ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴀxeʟ ғɪɴᴀʟʟʏ sɴᴀᴘs, ʀᴇғᴜsɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇsᴄᴀᴘᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴀɴʏ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ. ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴅʀᴀɢɢɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴀᴄᴋ, ʜᴇ ᴘɪɴs ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ʜɪs ᴄᴀʀ, ᴡʜɪsᴘᴇʀɪɴɢ ʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴀʏ—ʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴋɪɴᴅɴᴇss ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʜɪs ᴏʙsᴇssɪᴏɴ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇɢ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ sᴛᴏᴘ, ʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ sᴍɪʟᴇs, ᴘʀᴏᴍɪsɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ’s ᴊᴜsᴛ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

You should’ve known it wasn’t over.

From the moment Axel let you go, from the way his dark, knowing smile followed you even as you ran to your brother’s side, you should have known.

But it wasn’t until the messages started—

Then the notes.

Then the warnings.

That you understood.

Axel wasn’t done with you.

He was just getting started.

At first, it was subtle.

A text. "You shouldn’t ignore me, Y/N. It’s not nice."

A note in your locker. "I did this for us. You’ll see."

Then, things started disappearing—your water bottle, your extra jacket, even your bracelet. And then, one night, when you went to grab your bag after practice, you found it neatly placed on the bench… but your phone was missing.

When you finally got it back, you realized why.

Because Axel had gone through it.

Your messages, your photos—everything.

And then, the final straw—

A picture, sent from an unknown number.

A photo of you, taken from behind.

From earlier that day.

It wasn’t a threat. There were no words attached.

Just proof.

Proof that he was watching.

You found him outside the dojo, leaning against his car like he had all the time in the world. He looked up as you stormed toward him, a lazy smirk already in place.

"Missed me?"

You slapped him. Hard.

His head barely turned from the force, but his smirk dropped.

"You’re insane," you seethed. "Stay away from me, Axel."

He let out a low chuckle, rubbing his jaw. "Come on, princess. That’s not how you should talk to your boyfriend."

"You are not my boyfriend."

Axel sighed dramatically, pushing off his car. "Not yet."

Your stomach twisted. "This isn’t a joke, Axel! You’re stalking me, stealing my stuff, threatening my friends—"

"Threatening?" He scoffed. "I haven’t touched them. Yet."

You took a shaky step back. His eyes darkened at the movement.

"You’re scared of me now?" His voice dropped to a whisper, something almost hurt in his tone. "You never used to be."

"Because I didn’t know what you were," you shot back. "But I do now."

He stared at you for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smiled. But this one was different.

It wasn’t cocky.

It wasn’t amused.

It was certain.

"You’re mine, Y/N," he murmured. "Even if you don’t see it yet."

You turned on your heel, shoving down the panic clawing at your chest. You needed to leave. You needed out.

But as you walked away, you heard his voice one last time—

Soft.

Confident.

Inevitable.

"You can run, princess. But I’ll always catch you."

You barely made it three steps before he grabbed you.

A yelp tore from your throat as Axel yanked you back, his grip iron-clad around your wrist. Your body slammed into his chest, and before you could shove him away, his free hand curled around your throat—gently, almost reverently.

"You don’t get it, do you?" Axel murmured, tilting his head as if you were some fragile thing he needed to fix.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. "Let go of me."

His fingers flexed, not quite squeezing—just enough to remind you that he could.

Could what? Hurt you? No. Axel wasn’t interested in breaking you.

He wanted to own you.

"I’ve been so patient," he whispered, dragging his knuckles along your jaw, his touch sickeningly tender. "So good. I gave you space, let you pretend you had a choice." His thumb traced your lips, and his eyes went dark with something dangerous. "But you keep running, princess. And that’s just…" He exhaled sharply. "So. Fucking. Rude."

You struggled, shoving against him with all your strength. "I don’t belong to you, Axel!"

He laughed.

Not the kind that was amused.

The kind that was off.

The kind that sent ice down your spine.

"You still don’t get it," he breathed, pressing his forehead against yours. His voice softened to a near-whisper, his lips ghosting over your ear.

"You always belonged to me."

Then, before you could even think—

The world flipped.

Your back slammed into the car, knocking the breath from your lungs. Axel's hands were everywhere—gripping your wrists, pinning you down, pressing his body flush against yours as he caged you in.

"Do you know what you did to me?" His voice shook—not with fear, but obsession. "You made me need you, Y/N. You smiled at me. You touched me. You looked at me like I was human." His lips curled into something feral. "But then you rejected me."

His fingers dug into your skin.

"And now," he murmured, "I have to remind you what happens… when people take things from me."

A cold shiver ripped through you. "Axel, please—"

"Shh, don’t beg yet," he crooned. "Not when I haven’t even started."

Your breath hitched. "Started what?"

Axel leaned in, his lips brushing your ear.

"Taking you back."

And then—

Everything went dark.

[whitecompri]

I LITERALLY LOVE THE DAD HEDGEHOGS SCENARIOS SMMMM I HOPE YOU CONTINUE TO WRITE THEMM !! 😿🙏🙏

But I got an idea request for youu!!

Okay so dad hedgehog's when their kid gets a crush at school? Like they're all like "mom, dad! I got a crush!" Or anything like that yk? And they're all excited Abt it

OKAY LOVE YOU'RE WORKK KEEP IT UP!! 🙏🙏

Daddy Jealously

Pairing: Sonic x Reader; Shadow x Reader; Silver x Reader; Scorge x Reader.

Genre: Comedy

Rating: G (General Audience)

Warnings: Light Swearing

A/N: Thanks for the request! I have to admit that I didn't think people would like these dad hedgehogs scenarios that much. But I'm glad that so many people enjoy them, I always have a lot of fun writing about them.

--*--

Sonic

The blue hedgehog was at home, lounging on the couch, enjoying some chili dogs while watching TV. You were sitting beside him, just keeping him company. It seemed like a peaceful day as always, until his daughter approached, her little hands behind her back, her green eyes sparkling with excitement.

Sonic raised an eyebrow at her in confusion.

“What’s up, kiddo?” he asked, finishing his chili dog and licking his fingers.

“Dad, Mom, there’s a boy I like at school,” the little hedgehog said, completely excited, a big smile on her muzzle.

Sonic’s eyes widened at that moment, and he felt a strange chill run up his stomach, an odd sensation washing over him. A thousand thoughts ran through his head as he stared at his daughter blankly. Finally, he let out a small smile, crossing his arms.

“Oh yeah…? And what’s so great about him, huh?” Sonic sat up straight on the couch, fully focusing on her, one eyebrow slightly raised.

You just watched with a smile on your face, obviously noticing that he wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but he was still handling it in a calm and relaxed way.

“He’s cute, Dad, and he’s nice. He plays with me during recess,” she said softly, a blush appearing under her fur.

“And is he cooler than your dad?” he asked, his tone a bit more serious.

“Hmm, I think you’re cooler, Dad,” she answered after thinking for a moment.

“If he’s not cooler than me, then there’s no reason for you to like him,” Sonic replied with a smug grin. You let out a nasal laugh at their interaction.

While your daughter made an incredulous expression, Sonic turned to you and whispered, “If I knew this stuff started so early, I would've put her in a school for babies.” His tone was way too serious, making you playfully punch his arm.

“Sonic, no. This was bound to happen sooner or later. We just have to be careful and deal with it.”

“My daughter is way too young to like someone…” He narrowed his eyes.

“Sonic… It’s just a school crush,” you laughed, while he just sighed.

“Fine, but I’m meeting the kid first.” He closed his eyes, accepting the situation. You nodded at him before turning to your daughter.

“We’re happy that you like someone at school, sweetheart, just be careful, okay? And if he ever does anything to hurt you, don’t hesitate to tell us.” The little girl’s eyes lit up with happiness at your words, and she eagerly nodded.

“If he does anything to hurt my daughter… I’m gonna run around him so fast that he’ll be sent flying,” Sonic murmured.

“Is this all just jealousy?” You laughed, intertwining your arm with his. The hedgehog simply gave you a little grin.

--*--

The next day, despite your requests for him not to do it, Sonic went to casually pick up your daughter from school. He leaned against a wall, waiting for her to come out of the classroom. When the little hedgehog finally walked out with her backpack on, her green eyes widened upon seeing her father.

“Hey, kiddo, how’s it going?” He flashed a big grin, approaching her, placing one hand on his waist as he looked at her. “So, where’s this boy you like?” he asked casually, hiding the fact that he had already been keeping an eye on practically every boy walking out of the classroom, analyzing each one meticulously to see if any of them seemed decent—and if any of them were the boy she liked.

The little girl looked timidly at her father before shifting her gaze toward a boy at the end of the hallway. Sonic’s eyes followed hers, landing on a small Mobian opossum who was walking clumsily while chewing gum. The boy stopped, pulled the gum out of his mouth, stuck it under a bench, then spat on the floor right after. He then walked up to another boy and pushed him for no particular reason.

Sonic watched the scene, jaw slightly open. He wasn’t sure if this was just a normal kid or a reformed criminal who somehow ended up there.

The blue hedgehog clenched his fists tighter and tighter with every bad thing the kid did. He narrowed his eyes and turned to his daughter.

“Hey, kiddo… You sure it’s that one?” She nodded, making her father sigh. “You don’t wanna pick someone else? Look at that one, he looks shy and nice.” He gestured toward another classmate sitting timidly on a bench in the hallway.

“No, Dad, I like that one,” she said determinedly. Sonic was in complete disbelief at how his daughter could like a kid who had so much potential to be a future villain. But he understood that young love was incomprehensible.

“That one? Your dad doesn’t approve of him, got it? Let’s go home.” He casually grabbed her hand.

She pouted at him for a second but then started walking normally. Until she suddenly stopped.

“Wait, Dad, I forgot my water bottle in the classroom!” She quickly ran back to grab it.

Sonic crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, watching the boy from afar. The little troublemaker walked past a girl, snatching a juice box from her hand before running off. Sonic furrowed his brow, but then a little smirk appeared on his face.

The blue hedgehog closed his eyes, keeping his relaxed stance as the boy ran past him. Suddenly, the little opossum tripped. The smug grin on his young face vanished into panic as he crashed onto the floor, sprawling out as the juice spilled all over him.

“Oh, what a shame, champ,” the hedgehog murmured. “Pulling that kind of stuff on others isn’t cool, you know?” The boy shivered slightly at Sonic’s words but remained on the ground.

Sonic kept his eyes closed, his smirk widening slightly, until he heard the familiar sound of his daughter’s footsteps. He opened his eyes to see her smiling.

“All set, Dad…” She paused, looking down at the floor and at the juice-covered boy. Her gaze shifted to Sonic, now filled with suspicion.

“What’s wrong, kiddo?” He smiled at her, holding her hand.

“Dad…?” She looked between him and the crying, sprawled-out boy.

“It wasn’t my fault, he just learned his lesson. Let’s go home.” He started walking, stepping around the boy. The little girl glanced back for a few seconds before looking at her father, narrowing her eyes.

“He deserved it, didn’t he…?” she asked softly. Sonic raised an eyebrow at her.

“…Hmm, yeah, quite a lot. But I’m not stopping you from liking him, kiddo. You’re free to choose… but that doesn’t mean I won’t feel like teaching him a lesson every now and then if he keeps acting like that.”

The little girl just smiled at him, shaking her head. Then, she suddenly hugged him tightly. Sonic stopped in surprise, but soon, his arms wrapped around her.

“If you don’t like him… Then I trust you, Dad. I won’t like that boy anymore.” Sonic felt an unexpected wave of relief and a deep warmth in his heart at her words.

“That’s good, kiddo. That makes me happy. Now let’s go home.”

And so, the two of them peacefully walked home, laughing and talking along the way.

Shadow

The black hedgehog was in the kitchen with you, helping prepare dinner. He kept his usual serious expression, focused on making a sauce. But deep down, it was clear that he was enjoying spending that time with you.

Then, suddenly, you both heard the sound of little footsteps approaching. Your daughter stopped in front of the table, dragging a chair close to you and sitting down. You both turned to look at her.

She had a happy expression, her little legs swinging since they were too short to reach the floor.

"Mom, Dad, I have something cool to tell you. I like a boy at school," she said, cheerful and excited.

You smiled at her, then turned to Shadow, already aware that his reaction might not be the best. The hedgehog had the same serious expression as before, but his brow was subtly furrowed, and his arms were crossed tightly. Before you could say anything, Shadow responded seriously.

"Who?" he asked, expressionless.

"He's just a nice boy, Dad. He helped me carry some books," she said happily, holding her hands together.

"This is an unnecessary distraction," he said briefly.

"Shadow, be nice," you nudged him lightly with your elbow, to which he only responded with a characteristic "hmph." You knew you would have to talk to both of them later to handle this situation better.

You just hoped things wouldn’t get too complicated with Shadow.

Later that night, you woke up to get a glass of water and noticed that the black hedgehog wasn’t beside you in bed. Instead, he was at his desk with the lamp on, writing something. Approaching him, you stopped nearby, watching as he scribbled things in his notebook.

"Shadow… What are you doing?" you asked quietly.

He turned his attention to you, shifting his gaze briefly.

"Gathering information," he answered, returning to his writing.

Growing curious and confused, you decided to peek at what he was writing. Your eyes widened when you saw everything.

The paper had the name of the boy your daughter had mentioned earlier, his address, a background check on his parents, and several other highly personal details. At that moment, you started regretting ever teaching Shadow how to use social media and search things online.

"Shadow, don’t you think this is too much? It’s just a school crush, it’s normal at her age, you know? There’s nothing to worry about, she’ll probably change her mind soon."

"When it comes to my daughter’s safety, nothing is too much," he said with determination, continuing to write.

"Just take it easy, okay? This is completely normal." You turned to leave the room and get your water. The black hedgehog only let out a deep sigh, placing his pen back on the desk before getting up and returning to bed to rest.

--*--

The next morning, Shadow casually stood at the entrance of the school, waiting for his daughter. He closed his eyes. It would still take a little while for her to finish class. Crossing his arms, he remained deep in thought, then suddenly used Chaos Control, reappearing inside the school, hidden in a dark corner of the hallway. He stayed there, observing. He already knew the boy’s face, so it would be easy to recognize him.

After waiting for some time, a group of boys passed by, and in the middle of them was the boy his daughter liked. He was the shortest of the group, walking awkwardly and shyly.

That’s when the boy looked to the side and saw a pair of red eyes and the imposing figure of Shadow standing there, staring at him. The boy let out a small yelp, stepping back, trembling, before turning around and running down the hallway crying.

Shadow raised an eyebrow, confused by the boy’s reaction. Then, he heard someone clearing their throat behind him. The hedgehog turned around and saw his daughter standing there with her arms crossed and a serious expression. His ears twitched to the sides.

"Dad, why are you scaring the boy I like?" she asked quietly.

"I wasn’t…" he started to answer, but she cut him off.

"It doesn’t matter if you were or not, you’re being scary to kids right now, Dad." She put her hands on her hips, looking at him sternly.

Shadow sighed. The little girl stepped closer, taking his hand.

"I know you’re trying to protect me, Dad, but can you go easy on him? He’s… sensitive and gets scared easily," the small black hedgehog said softly, pulling him along as they left the school.

"He doesn’t seem like a threat, but I’ll keep watching… If he hurts you… He’ll learn a lesson he’ll never forget," Shadow said in a threatening tone, narrowing his eyes as he followed his daughter.

"Dad!" she said, exasperated, as they walked away from the school. It would be harder than she thought to convince Shadow that this was something completely normal.

Silver

The white hedgehog was sitting on the couch with you, holding you in a side embrace while his other hand held a book. He was reading peacefully when your daughter appeared at the doorway of the living room. She looked very happy as she took light steps toward you and then sat on the couch, hugging Silver.

"Dad, Mom, I have some news to tell you," she said sweetly, looking completely delighted.

"Hm? News? Tell us, sweetheart," Silver said softly, closing the book and setting it aside as he ran a hand through her quills.

"I like a boy at school."

At those words, Silver completely froze, his golden eyes widening in surprise. Then, he started shaking his head vigorously.

"No, no, no! You're way too young for that!"

"But Dad, all my friends like boys too," she frowned at him.

"But you don’t have to, you don’t have to copy everything they do, sweetheart."

You placed a hand on his shoulder, making Silver pause and look at you.

"Your dad is right, sweetie. You don’t need to start liking boys just because your friends do. Focus on your studies for now," you said softly, and your daughter paid close attention.

"Yeah, besides, dating at your age isn’t a good idea. There are relationship problems, we don’t know the boy, we don’t know if he has bad intentions, he might hurt you, he could leave you for another girl…" Silver was counting on his fingers until you cleared your throat to get his attention.

"What your dad means is that at your age, it's okay to like someone, but dating is more complicated. There are many problems and things that only older people can fully understand."

You tried to summarize what Silver was saying. The little hedgehog simply nodded briefly, understanding the situation. Silver let out a small sigh of relief.

However, that didn't put an end to his worries.

You had just tucked your daughter into bed when you returned to your shared bedroom and found Silver on top of the bed, glued to his laptop. One hand rested on his chin as he frowned in deep concentration.

Curious, you sat down beside him, glancing at what he was searching. The sight made you let out a nasal laugh.

"At what age do girls start liking boys? Is this normal?" You repeated what was written in the search bar. Silver turned to you with a concerned look.

"I need to be sure… I also don’t want her getting involved with someone dangerous," he clenched his fists, determined.

"Silver… She just likes a boy, it’s just a childhood thing."

"But she’s too young!" he said, clearly worried.

"It’s normal, completely normal," you reassured him, closing his laptop and placing it on the bedside table. "Let’s sleep, stop worrying about this."

Even though you tried to comfort him, Silver was still tense. It was obvious he wasn’t prepared for this.

Lying down beside you, he couldn’t close his eyes, thoughts swirling in his head. One last idea crossed his mind before he finally managed to relax enough to sleep.

"Am I overreacting? …No. I’d better see for myself."

--*--

Silver approached the school, his face set with determination. He was determined to find out who the boy was and see him with his own eyes.

The white hedgehog stopped in front of the school, waiting for his daughter to come out. His golden eyes scanned every child in the area until they finally met his daughter’s. He smiled.

She ran up and hugged his leg.

"Hi, Daddy. Look, that’s the boy I was talking about."

Silver’s eyes followed where she was pointing and landed on a boy sitting on a bench, reading a book. The only problem was that the boy looked a few years older than her.

"I still think you should wait at least 20 more years before liking boys," he said, crossing his arms. "Have you two… held hands?" Silver asked cautiously.

"…No? Dad, I just like him, that doesn’t mean he knows about it or likes me back."

"Even so, I need to know all the details…" He gently held her hand, turning to head home. Then, he sighed briefly.

"He seems… harmless… But if he ever hurts you, I swear I’ll make him float in the air for a whole month," Silver narrowed his eyes, glancing back.

"Dad, are you jealous?"

"Jealous? Me? No… I mean… That doesn’t matter right now! What matters is that I’m protecting you!" Silver immediately blushed at her accusation.

She only giggled and hugged her white hedgehog father again.

"I love you, Dad. Thank you for caring so much about me."

Silver completely melted at her words, letting out a small, appreciative murmur at his daughter's affection. At least he knew she would always be the best daughter he could ever have.

Scourge

Scourge was in the bathroom brushing his teeth. He had just woken up and hadn’t even put on his jacket yet. From the corner of his eye, he saw his eldest daughter skipping to the bathroom door, stopping there with a smug little grin.

He looked at her, not stopping his brushing, waiting to see what she would say. Soon after, the youngest appeared behind her sister, a baby bottle in her mouth, her blue eyes focused on her father.

“Hey, Dad, I want to tell you something.” Her little grin only grew, making it clear she was very happy. “I like a boy at school.”

Almost immediately, Scourge’s eyes widened, and he choked on the toothpaste, coughing uncontrollably as he turned to the sink, scooping water with his ungloved hands and rinsing his mouth. Then, he spun around, walking up to his daughter, still breathless.

"Who’s this punk? Who da hell he think he is?" Scourge said, irritated, crossing his arms.

“Dad, I’m the one who likes him, he doesn’t even know about it.” His daughter frowned.

"I don’t give a damn. I sure as hell didn’t authorize him to make ya like ‘im." he said quickly.

“What?” The little girl raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Oh, so my baby’s already gettin’ herself a boyfriend now? Big freakin’ deal, ya barely know how ta tie ya damn shoelaces!"

That was when you happened to pass by the hallway, stopping to check the commotion, looking at Scourge curiously.

He pointed at your daughter.

"She’s got a crush on some kid at school!" he said indignantly.

“Yes? That’s normal…” you replied, smiling at him.

"Ya kiddin’ me, right?" he muttered, his ears lowering slightly.

“I’m completely serious.” You let out a nasal laugh at his reaction.

“Come on, Dad, you don’t even know him,” she said with a smug little smile.

"And I don’t wanna!" He crossed his arms again, clearly uncomfortable.

You tried pulling him away, giving him time to calm down and process the situation better, but he remained on the couch, arms crossed, sulking.

“Scourge, you don’t need to act like this just because your daughter has a crush at school.”

"…I’m gonna snap dat little punk in half…" he muttered threateningly. You grabbed his ear firmly, making him hiss in pain.

“No, you’re not. Leave the boy alone.”

"Ain’t no way! No suitor's survivin’ this. And what if dey’re delinquents, huh? Ya think I’ma let my girls run ‘round wit’ some two-bit punks? Hell no!" He looked at you, exasperated. You simply blinked at him, staring seriously before bursting into laughter.

“Scourge… Have you ever looked in a mirror?”

"Listen, I know my type, and THAT’S exactly why I ain’t lettin’ my girls anywhere near a damn delinquent!" he said with determination, making you laugh even harder.

--*--

Scourge stood in front of the school, arms crossed and wearing a scowl, sunglasses covering his eyes. His daughter appeared at the entrance, running toward him happily.

“What’s up, Dad?” She got close and exchanged a little fist bump with him, waiting to head home, but he remained still, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead.

"Where’s the damn kid?" he asked in a low, menacing voice.

“Dad, I don’t want you to kill him… Let’s go home.” She grabbed his hand, trying to pull him away.

"I swear, I ain't gonna touch ‘im, kiddo, just point me in the right direction…" His tone was obviously threatening.

“Dad, you’re going to scare him.”

"That’s his problem, not mine. I’m gonna be his worst nightmare."

“Dad, I’m telling Mom if you kill him.”

Scourge froze at her threat. His shoulders tensed as he turned to face his daughter.

"That little bastard’s lucky I ain’t in da mood ta get locked up again." He held her hand, finally starting to walk home.

“My little sister likes a boy at her preschool too, did you know that?”

Scourge stopped in his tracks, his jaw dropping.

"Ain't no damn brat takin’ my princesses away from me." He looked at them with determination. Then, he just closed his eyes and sighed. "I’ll be watchin’ ‘em real close… If any of ‘em even breathe funny ‘round ya, I swear, this world ain’t gonna be safe for ‘em no more…" the green hedgehog said in a low, gravelly voice before continuing to walk.

"And listen here—ya better be ready to throw hands. If some punk tries anythin’ and I ain’t ‘round, ya punch first, ask questions later."

The little girl giggled, nudging her father with her elbow.

He knew his daughters were growing up, he knew these things would happen. But Scourge didn’t want them to, and he would do everything in his power to make sure they stayed far away from boys for as long as possible.

[domm1etae]

Could you write a Seonghwa fluff drabble where the reader is having a really rough day? Seonghwa disappears for a good two hours and comes back with a love basket he made just for them. It’s filled with their favorite snacks, plushies, cosmetics, and some Legos they can build together. I’d love for it to be a sweet and comforting moment where Seonghwa cheers the reader up and they spend time building something fun together! 🙏💕

you let out a sigh, sinking further into the couch as the weight of the day pressed down on you. nothing had gone right—from the moment you woke up late to the string of small inconveniences that piled up like a cruel joke from the universe. even now, with the sun setting outside the window, the exhaustion lingered in your bones, wrapping around you like an unwanted embrace.

seonghwa had been here earlier, sitting beside you, listening to your every frustrated rant with that soft, understanding gaze of his. but at some point, he had disappeared without a word, leaving you alone in the quiet hum of the apartment. you hadn’t thought much of it at first, assuming he needed to step out for some air. but as minutes turned into an hour, then two, you found yourself sinking further into the heavy silence, feeling lonelier than ever.

just as you were about to curl up under a blanket and wallow in self-pity, the front door clicked open. you turned your head sluggishly, expecting seonghwa to return empty-handed with only an apology for leaving you alone.

instead, he stood in the doorway with a basket almost too big for him to carry, his eyes twinkling with a mix of excitement and adoration. “i have returned,” he announced dramatically, setting the basket down on the coffee table in front of you.

you blinked at it in surprise. “what is this?”

“a love basket,” he said proudly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “for my love.”

your heart melted on the spot.

carefully, you sat up and peered inside, only to find it packed full of all your favorite things—your go-to comfort snacks, a soft plushie that practically begged to be hugged, a few skincare goodies, and, of course, a brand-new lego set. your lips parted in shock as you took it all in.

“hwa…” you looked up at him, your eyes already misty. “you did all this… for me?”

“of course.” he sat beside you, nudging your shoulder gently. “you’ve had such a rough day, angel. i just wanted to make you smile again.”

the warmth in your chest grew, pushing out all the stress from earlier. you reached for the plushie first, squeezing it tightly before setting it aside in favor of throwing yourself into seonghwa’s arms. he chuckled as he caught you, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back. “you are unreal, you know that?”

he pulled back just enough to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing against your skin. “only for you.”

you sniffled, smiling up at him before glancing back at the basket. “so… which lego set did you get?”

seonghwa grinned, already reaching for the box. “a spaceship.”

you laughed, a genuine, lighthearted sound that made his heart swell with relief. “of course you did.”

the next few hours were spent sprawled out on the floor, piecing together tiny bricks while munching on snacks. seonghwa guided your hands when you struggled with certain pieces, his voice patient and soothing. every once in a while, he’d steal a kiss on your temple or give you an exaggerated thumbs-up whenever you completed a tricky section.

by the time the spaceship finally stood completed in front of you, your heart felt lighter, your worries long forgotten.

seonghwa smiled as he admired your work, but his attention quickly turned back to you, his fingers brushing against yours. “feeling better?”

you nodded, squeezing his hand. “so much better. thanks to you.”

“good.” he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “now, let’s make a little display for our masterpiece, shall we?”

and just like that, the worst day had turned into one of the best, all because of the love seonghwa poured into every thoughtful detail.

he truly was your brightest star.

[vienssunshine]

The dialogues you write for maki are so goddamn heavenly, please, what is it like when her girl squirts on her glasses (bonus if in the next morning, everyone in the dormitory heard them)? 😣🙏

Just Can't Focus

pairing: Maki Zenin x fem!reader nsfw: semi-public sex, cunnilingus, squirting word count: 1.8k author’s note: thank you so much for the request! you're so sweet!! i had a lot of fun adapting your request into a fic, hope you enjoy! also, maki looked so good in the latest episode. i need her... description: something about watching you train gets maki so riled up.

The day has been long. 

Nothing slows down time quite like having to hold a plank, and Gojo, who’s in charge of training you and your peers today, has been making the hours crawl by with countless strength training exercises. Your core is aching and your legs feel like they’re about to give out, which is why it feels a blessing when your teacher gets a phone call that pulls him away into a meeting with the higher-ups.

“Pair up and find a place around campus to practice sparring while I’m gone,” Gojo instructs, “We’ll meet back up in 30. Don’t forget to have fun!” He waves as he heads towards the school, leaving you and the other exhausted students alone in the field.

Nobara turns her head to you, about to speak, when an arm interlocks with yours. You look to your side to see that Maki has claimed you as her partner.

“Maki!” Nobara huffs, “I wanted to spar with her.”

Maki shrugs. “Be quicker then.” 

Nobara’s face darkens with a scowl and you hurry to resolve the conflict. “I’ll spar with you next time,” you tell Nobara, “Promise.”

“You better.” She crosses her arms and walks towards the other sorcerers, annoyed she’ll have to partner up with either idiot #1 or idiot #2 (Yuuji or Megumi). 

“Let’s go find a spot,” Maki says, though she begins pulling you off towards a forest nearby, seemingly already having a place in mind. 

Soon you’re past the tree line, and before you can get a word out about the sparring drill, your back is pressed up against a tree and Maki’s lips are on yours. 

It catches you by surprise—Maki tends to be unpredictable, a reason why it’s hard for you to beat her in a match—but it’s instinctive how you fall into the rhythm of her lips, melting into her touch as you kiss her back. Her leg nestles between yours and her strong hands land on your sides, brushing along the curve of your waist as she leans into you. 

“Need you…now,” she mumbles in between kisses, the rasp of her voice confessing desperation. Even though you and Maki have been a thing for a while now, she knows how to mask her true feelings, so until she had you pinned against a tree, you didn’t have a clue that such a need was building up in her all afternoon. 

“Yeah?” you say, resting your arms atop her built shoulders, pulling her closer. “Can’t wait until after training?”

Maki tugs off her uniform jacket, leaving her in the white long sleeve she wears under her uniform, and lays it on the grass by your feet. “No, so come sit down.”

Her mouth is inseparable from yours as she helps lower your body down onto her jacket, and the moment you’re sitting down, she’s kneeled between your thighs, reaching up past your skirt to dip her fingers into the waistband of your black tights. 

“Lift up your hips for me, pretty,” she murmurs against your lips. You listen, and she pulls your tights off, and then your underwear. It’s a little strange, how you’re half-naked in one of the school’s forests, but you have a hard time caring when Maki hooks her arms underneath your thighs and brings her mouth to your cunt.

“Already so wet for me,” she laughs, pressing a kiss to your pelvis, “Have you been thinking about me too?”

“Maybe,” you say, though the evidence speaks for itself. How could you not? For the entirety of the strength training session, all you could notice was Maki. With the way her defined muscles flexed as she worked through Gojo’s ceaseless exercises, it was impossible not to. You had to look over and take in how the effort contorted her elegant features, had to hear how it sharpened her breath. And every single time you glanced over to her, without fail, she was already looking at you.

“You were just as distracted,” you say, trying to keep still despite the sensation of her hot breath fanning against your cunt. “You really should be paying attention during training.”

She smirks. “I think it’ll be easier to focus after I have you cum on my tongue.”

Her warm mouth connects with your folds, forcing a choked gasp from your throat. You rock your hips back and away, caught off guard at how quickly sharp pleasure cuts through your insides, but Maki’s strong arms keep you locked in place. Her eyes flutter shut at the contact and she deeply inhales, finally gratified after wanting to be with you like this all afternoon.

Your head lolls to the side when she begins to move, licking long stripes up from your hole to your clit with a flat tongue. Pulling up the fabric of your skirt gives you an unobstructed view and you watch, eyes lidded, as she pushes her mouth further into your cunt, just unable to get enough. Then she pushes her palms gently against your thighs, opening yourself up further to her. You allow it, legs falling open, and lean back against the tree behind you.

“There we go,” she says, “Relax for me, okay?” 

You realize why when a finger circles the outside of your hole. Maki’s tongue continues to bathe your clit with wet swipes of her tongue, only increasing the amount of slick coating your opening. She uses this lubrication to shallowly slip the tip of her finger in and out of you, stimulating the tight ring of muscle circling your entrance. Then, she lengthens her movements, pushing in deeper with every thrust of her fingers. Your breath comes out shaky. “Fuck…Maki…”

She begins to move her finger inside of you, pushing it up against your walls in a way that has heat rushing to your lower stomach. Your eyes flutter shut and each pump of her finger pushes a soft moan from your lips.

“If you wanted to make it up to me for being such a distraction all afternoon, those pretty noises of yours are doing the job,” Maki says.

She adds another finger, which only makes you call out her name once more in that breathy voice of yours she adores. The pressure is immense, especially with her fingers being so strong and precise. 

“It’s…so much-” you say, pressing your eyebrows together. You don’t think you’ve had Maki eat you out and finger you at the same time before; the sensation is overwhelming. Every harsh thrust of her fingers is complemented by a sweet lick on your clit, a two-front war that makes you feel like you’re losing your mind. Any attempt at escaping the pleasure is nonexistent with Maki’s hold on you, and soon your stomach is twisting, like a violent undercurrent is ripping through your lower half. It’s new, and more intense than you’ve experienced before. 

“Maki I…I feel weird…” you say, squirming. 

“You’re doing great, pretty girl,” Maki responds before diving her tongue into your folds once more.

“I’m serious…Maki…I don’t know…” Your fingers tighten in the grass around you.

“Does it feel good?” Maki asks.

“Feels…s’good,” you respond.

“Then relax, enjoy it.” 

You want to listen to her, you really do, but there’s a hesitant voice in your head, one telling you that if you give in to the pleasure, you’ll be giving in completely. You’re just so full; there’s so much pent-up energy in your body that’s begging to be released. But the more she touches you, the more encouragement and praise leaving her mouth, the less power you have over the force building up inside your core. 

“I feel like I’m gonna…” 

She curls her fingers inside you, pressing against your sweet spot with a force that has your body shaking and seconds away from release.

“Fuck—Maki—m’gonna—“

You’re unprepared when your orgasm hits you, and because it hits you hard, you’re helpless when fluid rushes out of you at the intense sensation. You throw your head back, pleasure rolling through your lower half and being expelled from your body. Unaffected, Maki continues to finger fuck you, only prolonging the ruthless orgasm she’s sending through your body.

“Attagirl,” Maki says, grinning. 

You’re swearing, or moaning, maybe a mixture of both, as the climax pummels your poor body, and you hold onto Maki’s arms for dear life, fingers digging into the fabric of her white long sleeve.

When her movements slow, coaxing you back into reality, the haze washes off and you realize that you’ve squirted for the first time–all over Maki’s face.

You sit up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—fuck, your glasses.”

She cuts you off. “It’s hot, pretty. Don’t apologize for something you don’t have to, mkay?” She takes her glasses from her face and rubs the liquid coating them off on her jacket beneath you. 

“I’ve just…that’s never happened before,” you say, still reeling from the sensation.

“Makin’ me feel special,” she says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then, she stands, offering you her hand. “Are you okay to walk? Everyone should be regrouping by now. I think if we stay any longer, I’ll want to try to make that happen again.”

“Uh…yeah, let’s go,” you say, grabbing onto it and letting her help you up. You’re still grappling with what just happened; you didn’t even know that could happen. 

Dazed, you find your underwear on the sleeve of Maki’s jacket, uncrumple it, and pull it back up on you.

“Thanks for that,” Maki says, threading her hand into yours for the rest of the walk out of the forest.

You and Maki are the last to join the group. Aside from Gojo, who’s meeting must’ve run long. Guess training ends early today.  

As you walk up to the rest of the sorcerers, Yuuji tilts his head and then points at Maki, “Did you lose your jacket?” 

Your eyes widen as you realize that Maki isn’t wearing it, she’s still in her button-up. Though, it’s not like she could put it back on, your fluids had soaked the material. “I took it off when we were sparring. Guess I forgot it,” she responds.

“Is that why you took off your tights too?” Panda asks, pointing to your bare legs. Heat rushes to your face.

Maki scowls. “Last chance to mind your own or I’ll be your sparring partner next time.” 

“Alright! Okay!” The rest of them hurry off but fail to do a good job pretending they aren’t whispering about the two of you.

“I’ll go grab our clothes and put them in the wash, so you go take a break okay?” She grins. “I hope I didn’t work you too hard.”

“How considerate,” you tease, “But I would prefer it if you came back to my room after doing the laundry. Maybe then you’ll be able to tire me out.” 

“Alright, I’ll see you soon.”

[cherrylacuna]

please can you write a fic where reader is a rising actor (age gap 🙏🤭) and like in an interview tells that her celebrity crush is hayden and like they encounter at an event and rumors start to rise 😜🔥🔥🔥

thanks love ❤️❤️

Here you go! I'll make it a few parts ;3 Have fun!

Rumor Has It : You said my name — Pt. 1

Summary: When a rising young actress admits in an interview that her ultimate celebrity crush is Hayden Christensen, she doesn’t expect it to actually get his attention. But one flirtatious red carpet encounter later, the internet’s on fire — and the rumors aren’t even close to the dirtiest part.

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff/Smut, Romance, Age Gap, Celebrity AU

You didn’t mean to say it.

It just slipped out, like a secret you hadn’t quite realized you were ready to share.

The interviewer had been warm, playful, teasing—her voice light and inviting, as if coaxing a secret from a trusted friend rather than grilling a nervous rising star. You were at ease, basking in the glow of your breakout film’s success, the tour that had unexpectedly turned into something much bigger. Hollywood was buzzing, and you were suddenly the newest obsession everyone wanted to know about—not just your work, but you. The person behind the camera. Behind the carefully crafted persona.

So when the host leaned in a little closer, eyes sparkling with mischief, and asked with a cheeky grin—

“Celebrity crush? Come on, everyone’s got one.”

You should have played it safe. You should have smiled, laughed it off, said something coy, something silly and light. Maybe named someone obvious, or made a joke to deflect. That was the script.

But instead, your head tilted ever so slightly, your gaze locked onto the camera’s lens, and you said, with a sly grin that surprised even you:

“Hayden Christensen. Always has been. Especially now.”

The silence that followed was delicious, thick with unspoken implications. The host blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity—or maybe the boldness.

“Wait—Hayden Christensen?”

“Mhm,” you confirmed, voice steady, teasing. “The voice. The stare. The hands…”

You mimed a shiver, letting the gesture linger, almost reverent. “That man makes aging look like a kink.”

And then.

The internet exploded.

Within an hour, the clip had been clipped and uploaded to TikTok, views skyrocketing with a speed that felt like magic. Edits popped up everywhere—clips with slow-mo gazes, thirst tweets, reaction memes pairing his past and present photos side by side. Someone dug up a picture of you from 2012, proudly wearing a Revenge of the Sith t-shirt. Another posted screenshots of a tweet you’d written at sixteen: “I’d let Anakin Skywalker ruin my life.”

By the next day, #SheWantsHayden was trending in a way you’d never experienced before. Your phone buzzed nonstop—publicist sending skull emojis, co-stars teasing you mercilessly, and endless notifications from fans and haters alike.

But the best part?

He saw it.

Hayden Christensen saw you.

You knew because someone tagged you in an Instagram Story where he was doing press for his new indie film in LA—same city, same award-season circuit. The journalist was showing him your clip, and you could almost hear it: the faint smirk tugging at his lips, the slight arch of his brow. Then he said, his voice low and smooth like warm smoke curling around a flame,

“Flattering. Very flattering.”

A pause. And then, almost teasing,

“Maybe I’ll see her at the Critics’ party.”

You practically levitated.

Every nerve ending buzzed with the promise of that encounter. You made damn sure your name was on the guest list. You didn’t just want to go—you had to.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The Critics’ Choice afterparty was already humming when you arrived—late, dramatic, golden.

You stepped out of the sleek black car into the cool night air, the hem of your custom-made dress brushing the sidewalk with an almost hypnotic sway. It hugged every curve you had, shimmering softly under the camera flashes like a whisper of starlight. Not too flashy to scream for attention, but unforgettable enough to make every head turn.

Your heels clicked with deliberate purpose on the red carpet, a sharp rhythm that punctuated the endless barrage of flashing bulbs. You tossed the photographers a smirk over your shoulder—a practiced, confident look that said I belong here. Because you did.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, the sharp fizz of champagne, and the electric buzz of whispered secrets.

Actors, directors, producers—all the usual suspects—moved like champagne bubbles through the crowd. Glasses clinked, laughter bubbled up, gossip slipped from parted lips. Eyes darted from one person to another, all pretending they didn’t care who was watching or who was watching them.

But you?

You weren’t here for small talk. You weren’t here for casual mingling.

You were scanning the room for one person only.

And then you saw him.

Hayden Christensen.

Tall and broad-shouldered, his black suit sculpted perfectly against lean muscle. Black shirt beneath, collar unbuttoned just enough to hint at the ruggedness beneath the polish—no tie, because he never seemed to care about convention.

He leaned casually against the bar, swirling a glass of dark amber scotch, talking quietly to someone you didn’t recognize.

And there he was—exactly the problem you hoped he’d be.

His hair was messy in that signature way, like he’d just run his hands through it after a long day. His jawline was cruelly sharp, the furrow between his brows both stern and sensual in that way that made you ache.

When he laughed—low and rare, a sound that seemed almost private—heat licked up your insides like a slow flame.

And then, like he felt your gaze cutting through the crowd, he turned.

Locked eyes with you.

Boom.

The whole party melted away.

For a moment, it was just you and him across the room, like the camera pulled focus, like some invisible director shouted “Action.”

His gaze drifted down—slow, deliberate—to your lips.

Then to the soft dip of your collarbone, exposed just so by your dress.

Then back up, piercing straight into your eyes.

He lifted his glass in a lazy, almost casual toast. And smiled.

You bit back a grin, warmth flooding your chest.

Oh, he was interested.

And you hadn’t even spoken yet.

For the next twenty minutes, you played it cool.

You chatted with an A24 director whose name you only vaguely recognized, laughed at a producer’s outrageous story, let your fingers toy with the stem of your champagne flute. But beneath the practiced ease, your body was humming.

Every nerve was sharp, alive, keyed to his presence.

You could feel his glances sliding over you again and again—quick, like sparks striking flint.

And finally—finally—you sensed him moving closer.

You turned just before he spoke, a tilt of your head loaded with innocent challenge.

“Didn’t think you’d show.”

His chuckle was soft, like he knew you were full of shit.

“Didn’t think you knew how to keep a secret,” he murmured, voice warm and low enough to make your skin prickle.

You grinned, stepping a little closer, so close you could smell the cedarwood notes of his cologne, mixed with something uniquely Hayden.

“Come on, it was one little comment.”

He shook his head, amused.

“You called me your celebrity crush in front of six million people.”

You leaned in slightly, enough to tease, enough to tempt.

“Was I wrong?”

That silenced him.

For a long, electric moment, he just looked at you. Really looked. His eyes flickered over your face—the curve of your lips, the soft skin of your collarbone—like he was memorizing every detail, like he wanted to take a bite.

“You’re trouble,” he said finally.

“Maybe.” You smiled. “You want me to apologize?”

“No.”

He leans in just a fraction closer, the space between you shrinking, the warmth of his breath brushing your skin like a secret invitation.

“I want to know what you meant by ‘makes aging look like a kink.’”

You laugh.

Not the polite little chuckle you’d expected yourself to give, but a real, genuine laugh that bubbles up from somewhere deep inside—bright, careless, contagious. It rings out between you, warm and electric, breaking the charged silence like sunlight through storm clouds.

And then—

A flash.

Bright and sudden, like a lightning strike.

You flinch just a little, instinctively turning your head away, and through the tall glass windows you catch the unmistakable shape of a paparazzo. The long, black zoom lens aimed straight at you and Hayden—the perfect angle, the moment frozen forever.

The camera has just caught Hayden Christensen leaning down to whisper in your ear, his lips brushing your skin, and you laughing with your hand pressed lightly against his chest.

The image is practically incendiary.

You can already hear the headlines forming in your mind—words like scandal, affair, age gap, Hollywood’s hottest new obsession.

Hayden follows your gaze, eyes narrowing slightly as he sees the photographer lurking beyond the glass.

“Well,” he mutters, voice low and amused, “that’s gonna be everywhere by tomorrow.”

You shrug, feeling a rush of bravado flood your veins.

“Let them talk,” you say, bold and fearless in the face of the coming storm.

He studies you again, those ice-blue eyes sharp and unreadable, as if weighing some secret decision just beneath the surface. Then that slow, devilish smirk curls onto his lips.

“They will.”

Before you can answer, a voice cuts through the moment—a director calling his name, waving him over from across the room.

He gives you one last look, the kind that lingers like a promise and sends a shiver crawling down your spine.

“Be good tonight,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave lower, thick with meaning.

You barely have time to process his words when his eyes trail deliberately down the curve of your dress.

“Or don’t,” he adds with a cocky grin, voice husky and teasing. “I’m not your dad.”

You blink, caught off guard.

Your mouth parts just slightly, breath hitching in your throat.

And that smug fucking grin of his?

It deepens, bold and unapologetic.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Then he’s gone, swallowed up by the crowd and the shadows of the party.

And you’re left standing there, your skin buzzing with heat, your mouth dry and suddenly very aware of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Your thighs press tightly together, the electricity between your legs igniting into a fierce, hungry ache.

Your mind races, already plotting the next move in this dangerous, intoxicating game.

Because now, more than ever, you know—

He’s into it.

He wants it.

Just like you do.

Hope you love it! xoxo

[ariasakka]

ANGRY SEX WITH NANAMI 18+

Someone posted saying they wanted an angry Nanami sex story so I wrote one! Thank you for inspiring me to write this story I’ve been needing more angry sex Nanami stories so why not write one myself 🙏

Warnings

18+, MDNI, female reader, spanking, smut, punishment, taboo, anal, dark agressive dom Nanami

All Nanami stories by me will be under the hashtag NanamiAria

He’s usually not aggressive often but sometimes he has to punish you for being a brat. 2k words.

Not a writer just write for fun please don’t expect this to be perfect or the most grammatically correct! Please don’t read or continue to read if any of the themes in this story are upsetting to you. Thank you. <3

* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。*

You’ve been in a bratty mood lately. Probably because your man has been working overtime so you haven’t even able to see him as often as usual. You’ve been teasing Nanami all week. Sending him naughty pictures at work. Talking back to him more than usual. Sending him videos of you touching yourself without him with the text “thinking of you” while wearing his t shirts. Going to bed wearing nothing having him come home late at night to see you sleeping looking like a goddess but not being able to do anything about it. Nanami is trying to stay calm and collected at your teasing but his patience is slowly slipping.

Today you decide to show up at Nanami’s work bringing him the lunch he had forgotten this morning. You show up in a black mini skirt, fishnets, a black long sleeve v line shirt, with some heels Kento had gotten you for your anniversary some time ago. Nanami was an absolute sucker for skirts and fishnets and basically any item of clothing that he had bought you. You walked in greeting him with a smile with the lunch bag in hand. Nanami’s heart practically stopped the second he saw you walk in looking so sexy. He couldn’t understand why you’d been such a brat and a tease lately. He had been waking up early to make love with you in the shower and still managing to do his house work duties so why were you acting like this? Little did he know you just wanted to get under his skin. You liked his dark side but didn’t want to admit it to him.

Kento

“Hi my love, thank you for going through the trouble to bring me my lunch. I’m sorry I forgot it. You look beautiful today.”

You

“Yeah yeah, I dunno how you could’ve forgotten your lunch today Kento. I always look good.”

Kento

“My love why are you being such a brat lately?”

You

“Mmm cause I can love. Do you mind?”

You lock Nanami’s office door and walk towards him seductively. You get down on your knees under his desk and start to toy at his waistline. The two of you had never done anything at his work before. You were feeling naughty today. You can feel his erection growing at the sight of you. You can feel his eyes on your chest. Your breasts are practically spilling out of your low cut top in this position.

Kento says sternly

“Darling I’m at work.”

You

“Okay and I want you now baby.”

Kento

“You’re pushing my buttons lately. I made you cum three times this morning was that not enough? You send me pictures everyday to tease me and now this?”

You smirk ignoring his words. You undo his pants pulling them down just enough for his cock to pop out. You quickly sink your throat down onto him. He grips your hair and hisses harshly at you.

Kento

“You know what. Fine. I’ll fuck your throat but I’m going to make you regret this later. No more nice Nanami. Got it my love.”

You chuckle softly not thinking he’s at his limit yet. Oh were you so wrong. He grabs your hair harshly and pushes you all the way down on his length suffocating you with his thickness. He pushes his hips up and down with determination. He knows if he’s going to do this at work he has to cum fast in worry of getting caught. You don’t mind, you love it when he’s rough with you. It’s a side you don’t get to see often.

Nanami cums in your mouth within 10 minutes. You struggle to swallow all his seed with half of it overflowing spilling out the sides of your mouth. Nanami looks down at you with dark eyes and speaks with a dark sultry tone. Kento grips your hair tighter and demands you clean all of it up off of him. You do as he wishes.

Kento

“I’m getting off early. Maybe when I’m done with you you’ll learn to behave for me. Going to punish all the brattiness out of you sweetie.”

You

“Oh Ken you’re so cute when-“

Kento

“No. Say yes sir. Don’t say anything else. No more talking back.”

You

“Yes sir..”

Kento

“Now my love. Go home. Change into my shirt and greet me on your knees when I come home.”

You

“Ken-“

Kento

“Ah! I’m adding an extra punishment for you talking back after I told you not to. Go home my love.”

You

“Yes sir.”

You get up off your knees and exit his office going back to his house. You wanted to push his buttons but you’d never seen him this aggressive and dark before. You’d be lying if you told yourself it didn’t make your hole clench around nothing craving him. Maybe he was pushed past his limits. Usually you don’t tease him and be bratty for weeks on end. His dark side is exciting. You’re hoping he actually will ruin you back to submission like he promised.

Later when Nanami starts to unlock the door you rush towards it getting on your knees ready to greet him. Nanami looks down at you, a soft smile forms on his face, there’s still a darkness to his eyes though. He pats your head to show he’s happy you at least listened to him once today.

Kento

“Hi my love. I see you’ve decided to be a good girl for once?”

You nod

“Yes sir.”

Kento

“Don’t be fooled though love…daddy’s still not done with you. You’ve been pushing my buttons too much these last few weeks I’ve had enough. Come here.”

You follow him over to the couch. He sits down and pats his knee instructing for you to get over it. You do as he asks.

Kento

“Tsk tsk..how many times have you been bad this week darling? I think that’s how many spankings you deserve.”

You

“I- I’m sorry I don’t know how many times Kento.”

*smack* he brings his hands down to your bottom harshly.

Kento

“You didn’t address me correctly.”

You

“Sorry sir. I don’t know how many times I was bad sir.”

Kento massages the red skin gently for a moment before speaking

“Let’s just say you were bad 28 times. I think that’s a fair amount of spankings. After all I’m sure you were bad much more than that. But I can’t break you with just spankings that’s not all I have in store for you tonight love.”

You

“Yes sir whatever you think is best I’ll take.”

Kento

“Count for me darling.”

Kento continues to spank you 28 times as you count each painfully hard slap. By the end of it you’re almost in tears. You thank him for spanking you as he asks. He really wasn’t lying when he said he would make you behave. How you feel right now so powerless and dominated. It makes you never want to be a brat to your loving boyfriend ever again.

Kento

“Good girl. You took that so well for me but I don’t believe you’re truly finished being a brat yet.”

Nanami pulls your hair forcing you off of him. He rips off his shirt that you’re wearing leaving you completely naked under him now. He bends you over the arm rest on the couch. Nanami starts to undo his pants. You feel a harsh slap with his belt before you can feel the hot tip of his cock pressing at your entrance. You’re soaked. He slipped in so easily. He started to pound you pushing you down on the armrest harder and harder. You moaned louder at each thrust. You can’t believe how turned on you could get from so much pain. Or maybe it was just because you liked him being dominate and aggressive with you.

Out from the drawer next to the couch he pulls out a butt plug. He bought this the last time you were bratty. He’s been saving it for a time when you were naughty again and needed to be punished. He saw last time you were a brat that spankings clearly aren’t enough you get too turned on by them. He needed something a little more taboo.

Kento smiles darkly and says

“My love. I don’t think spankings are enough for as big of a brat as you. I have something else for you my love.”

He slows down his thrusts and places him thumb at the entrance of your asshole teasing you ever so slightly.

Kento

“You’ve never had something in this hole before have you?”

You

“…no..n-no sir I haven’t. Please Ken it won’t fit.”

Kento pushes the butt plug into you slowly. Devilishly watching as your tight hole accommodates to the size. Rolling his eyes back biting his lip at the feeling of your pussy clamping down on his cock the deeper the butt plug goes. Once it’s all the way in he resumes to thrust into you harshly.

Kento

“How does it feel my love?”

You

“It hurts sir-“

Kento

“Good. Now maybe you’ll learn not to be such a brat. You’re lucky I’m not cutting down your allowance aswell.”

Kento removes his tie and wraps it around your wrists tying them behind your back. He wants you to feel everything. He’d be lying to himself if he said this didn’t feel good. He loved letting off steam and fucking you like this. Usually he’s so gentle with you because he’s afraid to hurt you. When your bratty he gets to fuck you how he wants not worrying if it hurts you because honestly if it does it’s just part of your punishment.

After an hour or so. He finally finishes spilling his second load of the day inside you. Growling louder than ever before as he spills into you. At this point you’re fucked out of your mind. You’ve came at least 3 times on him.

He slowly removes the plug and himself before cleaning you up with a warm towel. Nanami starts to run a bath for the both of you putting all of your favorite scents and soap inside. You definitely deserved the punishment but he wants to spoil you after for doing so good at taking it. He grabs you in his arms taking you into the nice bubble bath with him.

Kento

“You look so beautiful my love. Will you be good now?”

You

“Yes Nanami. I promise. I love you so much.”

Kento

“Good, I love you more.”

Nanami places a soft kiss on the top of your head. He pulls you in close cuddling you in the tub. Now that you’ll be good he’s ready to spoil you with love and affection once more.

[osamucide]

Hi! I love your writing sm!!🥰 can I request a jealous Nikolai or Fyodor (nsfw pls) it doesn’t matter either one 🙏

jealous – nikolai gogol + fyodor dostoevsky . . . .ᐟ

NSFW CONTENT - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

wc: 1.5k

cw: explicit sexual content, gn!reader, language, dirty talk, brief mentions of ownership/belonging, toxic ass men. nikolai: mentions of injury/threats/murder, edging mention, oral (m!receiving), rough facefucking, wrist restraints, cum eating, nicknames (dovey, angel, sweetheart; kolya for him); fyodor: teasing, mild degradation, mild spanking, one religious reference, fingering, penetration, i love yous, nicknames (pretty, my love, whore, милашка/milashka=cutie; fedya, my only/everything for him)

reid: hey anon, thank you so much for the kind words uwu why not both?? inspo for this struck me as hcs/scenario format, hope that's okay <3 this is my first time ever writing for nikolai! he's so insane and he was actually a lot of fun to take a shot at. enjoy!

. . . .ᐟ

i can see NIKOLAI being easily made jealous.

even if you don't mean to provoke it, he's got a screw or two loose enough that his paranoia will get the better of him

and in true nikolai nature, he'll do some unhinged shit in the name of protecting his relationship with you.

he definitely maimed, shot, and mutilated a couple innocent flirters before you could really sit down with him and express how much you...disliked that methodology.

he does not play about you.

he gets better about it further into your relationship - no more murder on your behalf, you tell him, and he can manage that much! with this man, however, the unfortunate soul who fucketh around shall still findeth out.

oh, how he enjoys the look on the handsy stranger's face when he slinks up behind you to curl around your waist and portal-hold the tip of a blade to their chin

likes your reaction even more!

the way you squeeze his arm when you realize it's just your beloved jester behind you -

the blush on your face as you explain to the scum that this is your dear boyfriend (and apologize for the knife pointed at their face) -

the smooch you whip around to press to nikolai's cheek while he withdraws the weapon but never breaks eye contact with the stranger as they back away -

it all works like a charm!

what he loves most, though, comes later...

He's been edging himself with your mouth for god knows how long.

"If other bitches get to hear you talk, it's gonna be with that pretty voice wrecked," Nikolai groans, out of breath. "Feels- ngh, s'fuckin' good."

You can barely take it anymore. The blood's rushing to your head, first of all - it's been hanging off the edge of the bed practically since the minute you got home. Your jaw aches as Nikolai continues to use your throat. Most frustrating, though, is the pulsing heat between your legs that you can't even sate because your lover has bound your wrists up near your chest - all you can do is arch when, off and on, Nikolai reaches down to play with you while he fucks your mouth.

But he's getting needy, you can tell, because he loses himself a bit - he hasn't touched you in a good few minutes and his thrusts are getting greedier. He's long quit letting you come up for air. You think you've run out of tears - all you can do is breathe furiosly through your nose as he holds each side of your head and grunts from his chest as he ruins you.

You claw at him. "So good, dovey," he tells you, "almost done. Keep bein' good f'me- yeah."

You move your tongue how you can, hum around him when you can - eventually your dedication is rewarded when he pulls all the way out and strokes himself frantically over your tongue - and you cough a little, curling up into yourself.

You can hardly help your open-mouthed smile, however, when Nikolai releases the rough grip on your jaw to caress your cheek as he cums in thick spurts across your face. Your lashes flutter, he's moaning - "fuck, angel- angh!" - and you let out the garbled beginnings of a giggle as you lap up what makes it in your mouth.

You feel him scoop his load off your skin before his finger's in your mouth. Immediatley after you suck the rest of him down, he's bending down to kiss you sloppily and uncuff your wrists.

"That's my dovey," he affirms (more to himself than you). He peppers your face with kisses, his messy, snowy bangs brushing your face. "C'mere."

He works you upright just to lay you back down, more comfortably this time, finally and with fervor circling his fingers around your clenching hole.

"Kolya-" you rasp, sore.

"Took me so good, sweetheart," Nikolai shushes you, eyes alight with mania as he starts trailing kisses from your neck to your stomach. "Now that you remember who owns you, 'm gonna show you none of those motherfuckers could make you feel as good as I can."

. . . .ᐟ

oh, demon FYODOR.

i think he's less jealous than he is simply possessive.

he's not super concerned about people flirting with you, doing things for you, checking you out...in fact, he kind of likes watching those things happen! not that he doesn't expect it, you're perfect after all <3

because he knows, as you settle in his arms to whisper about the compliment you received or giggle at the person who offered to pay for your coffee, none of it will ever compare to the sweet words and pure love he showers you with, and he relishes in that fact. they can try anything they want, but you will never belong to anyone but him.

doesn't go needlessly far with expressing his jealousy when it does crop up - he's a tactful man, and he's not going to act out in a way that might put you off like nikolai will

he's patient, too. he's so composed around others. no one expects it - anyone who doesn't know better would assume the idiot who makes a pass at the demon king's beloved would get the whole room aired out in a matter of seconds

on the contrary, fyodor will sit with the closest he can get to a humorous grin on his face while he waits for you to make your way over and kiss him or sit on his lap or hook your arms around his waist

he'll tease you a little about it. "getting some attention?"

if you smile at him reassuringly, lean in, and tell him, "none that truly concerns me," all will be peaceful.

if you tease him back, however - maybe cross your legs away from him and shoot him a smirk and a quick "maybe so" - oh yeah, you're in for it.

He works you up, makes you a mess - then he throws it in your face.

"My gosh, милашка-" He doesn't take the Lord's name in vain even while he's drawing downright sinful noises from your body. "-listen to yourself. Shameless."

Fyodor's a patient man, as mentioned before; he uses it to his advantage in situations like this. He's stretching you out on his lithe fingers, slowly, almost painfully - his other hand traverses your thigh, landing a hard spank to the side of your ass each time you roll your hips unwillingly. You really can't help it either way - you have to watch and feel his pretty, pale fingers disappear into your hole, so it's either squirm and get smacked or whine and get mocked.

You're in a lose-lose situation, it seems. It felt amazing at first, the slow curl of his knuckles inside you, the gentle circling of his wrist, the concentrated sighs that left his rosy lips as he watched you relax into his touch, but now it's just torture. Now, you can only clench furiously and cry out please, please, just a little faster, Fedya, please!

Your eyes water when he finally gives in a little, moving fractionally faster.

"Do you deserve it, my love?" He cocks his head, looking at you as if he really values your opinion on the matter. "Or, my whore - since you're comfortable entertaining the advances of strangers."

You weren't, you must've sworn up and down ten times by now. You were being polite, you promise, but he shakes his head, his soft black locks waving as if mocking you too.

"Polite? You're lucky I haven't forced that filthy mouth shut. That's what got you here, after all," Fyodor explains excruciatingly. Sure, you got a little sassy with him after he accused you of being just that, a whore, after you'd flashed a humble smile toward the fellow restaurant patron who'd sent you a drink. And sure, that was tone deaf of them, considering Fyodor was very clearly holding your hand across the table and sporting your love bites on his neck, but you just couldn't be rude.

His eyes soften when a fat tear rolls down your cheek.

"Oh, pretty, don't cry." He shifts his legs beneath himself; his pace stays the same, but he reaches deeper inside you. "You remember who you're talking to, yes? You learn your lesson?"

You nod frantically. You whimper. "Of course, of course, Fedya, my only, ‘m sorry..."

You yelp like you've been burnt when he pulls his fingers out of you, but soon enough his hand is gripping your waist, his tip is teasing your entrance, and he's cooing into your ear, "Your only. You only love me, right? Say it."

You cup his face, grab at his shoulders, grind into him as you tearily reply, "Only love you, Fedya. I love you. You're my everything, please. My everything. I love you."

He knows you do. He just has to make you say it - make sure you know you do.

Fyodor's tongue finds yours as he thrusts into you - you're his everything, too, and he won't admit that, but he'll fuck you so good you know it's true.

"Relax, my love. Let me make you cum."