#Purpose of Box Spring

[inwithrin]

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡ abby + dumbification 

thinking about abby who doesn’t even realize she’s turned you into a dumb pretty girl. it wasn’t on purpose—she’s just so capable, so gentle, and strong. that before you knew it, you stopped lifting a finger around her.

cw: dumbification, fingering (r!receiving), soft dom!abby, slight choking. this was my demons telling me i should write more smut ... (,,¬﹏¬,,)

at first, abby doesn’t mean to coddle you. she opens doors without thinking, reaches across the car to buckle your seatbelt, drapes her jacket over your shoulders when it’s even slightly cold, she carries your purse, holds your hand when you cross a busy street, opens your water bottles, and watches you with that small frown when you even try to do anything yourself.

it starts slow. innocent.

it’s instinct. at least, that’s what she tells herself. but somewhere along the way, something shifts. she starts noticing how easily you let her do things, and then it hits her—hard. you’re too pretty to be doing anything on your own. too soft, too sweet, too delicate to be struggling with stubborn zippers or heavy doors. it almost makes her angry, seeing you lift a finger when she’s right there.

“you really can’t help yourself, huh?” you tease one day, laughing as she lifts you off the counter like you weigh nothing.

“you shouldn’t have to do anything,” abby mutters, brushing your hair behind your ear. “not when i’m here.”

you raise a brow. “even things i’m perfectly capable of doing?”

she grins. “especially those, baby.”

and it only gets worse from there.

she starts cutting your food for you when you're not paying attention. holds your chin so you drink water. gets grumpy when you won’t let her help you into your coat. she doesn’t even let you put on your shoes anymore. 

abby knows you could do it all yourself—but she’ll never let you. because if you’re gonna be this pretty and helpless around her, she’s gonna ruin you for anyone else ever trying to treat you like anything less than a princess. 

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

you’re standing in the hallway, struggling to drag a box full of your spring clothes that’s too heavy for you. it’s not even that big, but it’s the kind of thing abby could carry with one arm without even thinking about it, but you’re trying anyway.

she watches from the doorway for a second, silent—thinking about how you look cute like that, trying so hard to do something she could do for you. but then you glance up at her—wide, pretty eyes. your lip caught between your teeth. breath coming a little faster from the effort.

“baby,” she says, voice low.

you tilt your head. “yeah?”

she walks up to you. “what are you doing?”

you give her a shy look, like you know exactly how this is going to end up. “i’m just trying to move this box.”

“why are you doing it when i’m right here?” abby asks.

you shrug, playfully. “i didn’t wanna bother you, abs.”

abby lets out a short, quiet laugh. “bother me? you don’t bother me, sweetheart.”

her eyes never leave yours. you blink up at her again, and abby sighs at the sight of those pretty lashes fluttering, lips parted like you might ask for help but just can’t bring yourself to. 

she grabs the box effortlessly, pushes it aside like it weighs nothing, and then her hands are on your hips. “you don’t lift shit when i’m around,” she whispers, forehead pressed to yours now. “you know that, right?”

you nod, breath hitching. "i know."

“say it,” she almost sounds like she’s pleading.

“i don’t lift shit when you’re around,” you repeat with a little smile.

her lips crash into yours—hot, hungry, still laced with that frustration from seeing you strain without her. her hands are rough on your hips, guiding you back against the wall, like she needs you pinned there to calm herself down.

“next time you need something,” she murmurs, dragging her lips down your jaw, “you call for me. you ask. you use that pretty mouth for something useful.”

your knees go weak. she catches you before you can even stumble. “yes, abs.”

“told you,” she breathes, kissing your pulse point. “too fucking pretty to be lifting anything but your skirt for me.”

you barely have time to catch your breath before she scoops you up. “hey—”

“shh,” she murmurs, already carrying you down the hall. her arms are firm around you, one under your thighs, the other across your back, and you’re helpless in her hold. “you’ve done enough for today.”

you huff a quiet laugh, still dazed. “i barely did anything!"

“exactly,” she says, glancing at you with a grin. “and even that was too much.”

you bury your face in her neck, trying to hide the way your cheeks burn. she’s so warm, skin flushed from the kiss and the way she needs to take care of you. every step toward the bedroom is deliberate. 

“abs…” you whisper, fingers gripping the collar of her shirt.

she kicks the door open with her foot and sets you down on the bed—gently, but her hands don’t leave you, though. she hovers over you, crowding you in with that look again. hungry. reverent. possessive.

“my princess,” she whispers as she presses a kiss on the shell of your ear.

you tremble under her, thighs pressing together instinctively. she notices—of course she notices.

“my pretty doll,” abby mutters, trailing her hand slowly down your stomach, over your hips. “you try so hard to be helpful,” she says, kissing your neck now. “but i don’t want your help, baby. i want you pretty for me, spoiled, and mine. that’s it”

your eyes flutter shut, biting your lip.

“and you are, aren’t you?” she asks. 

“mhm,” you hum.

abby smirks against your skin, voice dropping even lower. “good. now let me remind you what you should be doing with those pretty hands… you should be grabbing my shoulders, my hands—pulling my hair, even—but not lifting boxes.”

you nod under her, already breathless, pupils wide and shining. abby just watches you for a second like she can’t believe how sweet you are.

“lay back,” she says softly.

you do, instantly, pliant as anything, arms falling to your sides like you’ve been waiting for this exact moment ever since you tried carrying that box. abby's big hands drag along your waist, your ribs, your thighs. she kisses your forehead, your temple, the inside of your wrist—like you’re something to be worshipped, not rushed.

“i fucking love when you do that,” she mutters against your shoulder, her braid tickling your skin. “looking up at me all helpless like that. all soft and needy, like you don’t even know how to ask for what you want.”

your breath stutters. your thighs twitch under her. “abby, please—”

“what do you want, baby?” she asks.

“you,” you whisper.

she smiles, but it’s crooked. “yeah? want me to take care of you?”

you nod again, and it’s immediate—automatic. her palm slides up your chest and gently wraps around your throat, not squeezing, just resting there.

“so dumb,” she murmurs. “my dumb baby.”

your back arches into her, chasing the heat of her body. she groans, thumb brushing the skin of your neck while her other hand slips between your thighs, fingers ghosting over your soaked underwear.

“look at that,” she says, grinning against your cheek. “you don’t need to think. you just need me.”

you whimper, hips tilting into her hand. “i do need you, abs—”

“i’ll do everything for you,” she whispers. “fuck you how you need. take care of you. think for you. all you have to do is lie here, look pretty, and let me make you feel good. you don’t have to do anything more.”

you only hum in response, utterly gone by the sound of her voice.

“words, sweetheart,” she says, lips at your ear now.

“yes—please, abby,” you whisper. “please.”

she kisses you like she’s angry and in love all at once. her hand on your throat is still gentle. her body is pressing you down into the mattress like she wants to sink you into the bed. abby pulls your panties down slowly—two thick fingers slipping through your wetness, spreading you open with practiced care, but not really giving you anything, causing you to whine.

“already so wet for me, huh?” she says, dragging her fingers just barely where you need them. “you’re so good. so easy. i barely even have to try.”

you moan, hips rocking up, and her fingers slip in—thick and perfect, pressing deep with a slow curl that makes you cry out. “fuck, abs.”

she always fucks you with control and patience. every thrust is firm, fingers reaching places no one else ever could. her thumb rests on your clit, circling slowly and carefully. 

“that’s it, baby,” she coos. “don’t think. just feel.”

your mouth falls open. your hands grip her arm, and her palm tightens around your throat.

“you’re mine, yeah?” she asks.

“yes—yes, abby,” you utter in response. “i’m all yours—all yours.”

she groans, biting gently along your shoulder, as you start to clench around her fingers. you’re getting close, every part of you wound tight, eyes glassy and unfocused.

“let go, doll,” she whispers. “so dumb and pretty—just for me.”

abby’s fingers don’t stop—ever. each movement is deliberate, calculated, but it’s too much for you. her thumb presses harder on your clit, swirling just the right way, while she holds you still under her. every time you try to squirm or lift your hips, she pins you down with ease, barely needing to put any pressure on you to stop your movements.

“shh,” she murmurs, leaning in to kiss you softly, gently—even if you can’t kiss back properly. “i’ve got you, baby. you can take it.”

your legs are shaking now, that familiar tension already coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach, but she’s not letting you get away with it. not yet. not until you beg her.

“i wanna cum, abs—” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut, and she doesn’t let up. 

she presses deeper inside you, fingers moving relentlessly, her grip on your throat firm and steady as she watches your reactions closely. “open your eyes,” she orders softly.

you do, and she’s there—right above you, eyes dark with adoration. “wanna cum, please, please, please—”

“you’re gonna come for me, right?” she asks, voice a low rasp that makes your heart race even faster. “gonna be a good little baby and let me make you come?”

“yes,” you whisper, voice shaky, utterly helpless under her touch. “please, abby.”

“good girl,” she praises, and the words hit you like a shockwave. “such a sweet little thing for me.”

her fingers start moving faster, her palm pressing harder against your clit, and this time, she doesn’t give you the chance to breathe. the overstimulation crashes over you in waves, but it’s all too much in the best way. you cum—shaking, crying out, your back arching, your whole body trembling under the force of it. your hands fly to her wrist, clutching her desperately as your hips try to escape the intensity of it all, but she holds you down—right where she wants you.

“that’s it,” she murmurs, kissing your cheek gently while you writhe underneath her. “so fucking beautiful. so good for me.”

your mind is fuzzy, your body still tingling from the orgasm. you try to catch your breath, but she’s not done. not yet.

[shithowdy]

it's fledgling season so here's your yearly reminder that if you find a baby bird that is completely feathered on the ground, it is there on purpose under the supervision of its nearby parents as it learns how to forage and fly. fledglings do not need your intervention unless they are sitting in immediate danger (such as a bike path, road, gutter, etc.). if you do see a fledgling in danger or a fallen nestling (naked baby bird), it is a myth that parents will reject babies humans have touched. deposit the fallen nestling in the nest*, or put it in a dark towel-lined box with no water or food while you contact a local rehabber. please do not try to "raise" a wild bird on your own. happy spring and enjoy all the babies!

*(some birds will push out nestlings that are not viable, and sometimes even this level of intervention is not necessary. use discretion.)

[lay-z]

Simon Riley appreciates a healthy routine.

Neither Gaz nor Soap can quite tell what is stranger their Lieutenant declining to go for a pint after touching ground back on base or the sight of him furiously typing away on the cracked screen of his phone since they got some proper cell service.

They keep sitting in their respective seats on the plane, quietly observing Ghost and Captain Price for the past hours like they're some nearly extinct animals they shouldn't dare to startle; trying to gauge the latter's reaction, though that hint of a knowing smile barely hidden behind a coarse beard is only confusing them more.

It's as if Price has found the answer to a riddle that his Sergeants aren't even fully aware of.

Almost immediately, they lose sight of the sneaky Lieutenant as soon as the plane lands on the tarmac and once the tired soldiers receive permission to sign out for a long weekend after spending the last eight weeks deployed, travelling places no one else wants to go.

And of course, the lads think that Ghost has simply had enough of their bullshite, that the naturally aloof man is feeling too agitated and overwhelmed to linger, even though the mission was finished successfully. Perhaps he made arrangements with some working lady to get it out of his system (Soap's words, "Who else would the bloody geezer be textin' to, eh?"), or perhaps he's already being called in for a single op by Laswell.

They don't see the signs their Captain has picked up on a while ago when it comes to the closed-off Lieutenant.

The hushed phone conversations behind a closed office door, the more frequent rummaging for a phone that he usually didn't spare a glance at for hours on end, a spring in his step after suddenly spending more weekends off base, eating homemade biscuits from a Tupperware box that surely isn't his while doing his paperwork, pushing himself harder at the gym with a kind of natural energy that comes with higher testosterone levels, humming on his way back from a terrible training session with a squadron of rookies.

Yes, the signs are all quite obvious to a happily married man like John Price, because he remembers the honeymoon phase with his wife in the beginning of their relationship all too well.

Meanwhile, Simon manages the one hour long drive from base to your flat downtown in 37 minutes, and he takes the fact that he got caught speeding in stride. And what if he loses his driver's license? He's broken much worse laws in his lifetime than driving without legal documents.

The spare key to your home that you've gifted him with, feels heavier than all his tac gear combined as it rests in his jeans pocket heavy with meaning and responsibility, a reminder that he's found a new purpose in his life.

He sheds and leaves his gear and dirty fatigues in his truck, and he takes three steps at once as he rushes upstairs to your flat with single-minded focus, excitement and adrenaline equally coursing through his veins as if he's about to seize a hostile target by himself.

The familiar front door closes behind him with a soft click, and then he's greeted by peace and quiet.

Instead of finding fear or annoyance, Simon is met by raw happiness and adoration as he watches your eyes light up once you notice his presence all curled up and cozy on your couch.

"Hi!"

His socked feet make no noise as he approaches you over the carpeted floor.

"I didn't expect you for another hour," you tell him, even though he very well remembers what time he'd told you he'd arrive, though he had added two hours to that time frame just so he wouldn't disappoint you if he didn't make it.

"Your dinner is ah!"

Simon picks you up with practiced ease, and your little shriek of surprise dissolves in a fit of melodic giggles. Bulky arms wrap around your body and cradle you to his chest bridal style as he carries you towards the bedroom with simmering urgency.

The words he mumbles as explanation come out gruff and harsh, oafish even, but you can't help and feel utterly smitten by them: "Bed. Now."

You're dropped onto the mattress without warning, and the way you laugh again makes Simon's chest hurt with how hard his bloody heart flutters.

And then you're already reaching out for him right when he joins you, mattress dipping beneath his added weight as he drapes himself over the full length of your body; slotting his meaty thigh between your legs until he can lay down more comfortably on top of you like a weighted blanket.

"Can you rub my shoulders? Please?"

His voice is muffled as he nuzzles his flushed face in the crook of your neck. Sometimes, it still feels forbidden to ask for something so mundane from the person he would die for.

"Yeah, sure. Can I take off your mask?"

You can carve out his heart with a butter knife if you'd like, but he chooses to keep that to himself for now while the fact that you're asking for his consent again makes his head feel fuzzy and his arms tighten around your warm, welcoming frame reflexively.

Simon nods. "Aye, take it off f'me."

The cloth is gently removed when he manages to lift his head up before letting it drop back into the crook of your neck, and then your fingers card through his short, disheveled strands of dirty blonde hair; blunt nails scratching lightly at his skull until a full-body shudder runs along his spine.

It's heavenly.

It's more than he ever wanted and everything he never even dared to wish for.

It's a routine he's managed to build up with you from scratch.

Strangers to lovers, and he will never let you go now that he's sunken his sharpened claws into your willing flesh.

Yet he is but a tamed kitten in your tender embrace. Just a man enjoying and craving the simplest and purest form of affection right in this moment, stripped bare from his demons as you keep them off his back with your sheer, golden presence.

"You're safe now, Si. I missed you so much, baby," you coo into his ear, and his brain fills with cotton while he noses along your pulse point, breathing in your calming scent.

Then he feels the gentle press of your lips against his temple while your warm palms stroke and rub along his back, and he melts into a vulnerable puddle, exhausted eyes finally fluttering shut.

"Missed ya, too, pet," he murmurs gruffly, chapped lips brushing over your sensitive skin. "M'not gonna move f'a while, yeah?"

And Simon barely registers your answer when he's already drifting off into a dreamless slumber, allowing himself to cling to your body like a needy child while soaking up the warmth and comfort you're giving him oh so willingly.

He's home.

[dior-luxury]

How'd They Propose To You

PT.1 [trey clover . jack howl . jade leech . jamil viper . epel felmier . silver] PT.2 [cater . ruggie . floyd . kailm . vil . rook . idia . lilia . sebek]

( ✧ ) ────── fluff - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] trey clover . jack howl . jade leech . jamil viper . epel felmier . silver

- [𝐩:𝐬] Emotional Intimacy / Fluff . Marriage Proposal . Mentions of Future (e.g., family, dreams) . Slight Angst (Epel’s insecurities, Silver’s loneliness)

Note: I wrote these with lots of love and character insight — Epel’s countryside roots and yearning to be seen, and Silver’s desire for peace and purpose are central to their proposals. I hope this gives you warm fuzzy feelings 💕 Let me know if you'd like versions with other characters ! ♡( ◡‿◡ )

Trey Clover

It started with a letter.

You found it tucked inside your baking apron one quiet Saturday morning—a soft cream envelope, the Clover family seal pressed neatly in wax. The handwriting was unmistakably Trey’s: neat, deliberate, comforting. Inside was a note asking you to meet him at the Heartslabyul greenhouse at sunset.

The walk there was quiet, peaceful. Spring had arrived in full bloom. The air was sweet with budding roses and the earthy perfume of garden herbs. As you stepped into the greenhouse, the world seemed to pause.

It had been transformed.

Fairy lights twinkled through ivy-draped arches. Rows of potted clovers shimmered with droplets of dew, and glass jars glowed softly with fireflies. At the center stood a small round table, covered with a hand-stitched tablecloth embroidered with the Queen’s roses. A three-tiered cake sat on a stand, iced in white and green, decorated with edible flowers and delicate gold lettering.

You blinked. The letters read:

“Every chapter sweeter than the last.”

And then you heard his voice.

“Hey,” Trey said, stepping from behind a row of flowering bushes, dressed in a crisp button-up and vest, tie slightly loosened, eyes warm. “Hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

You smiled as he approached, his hands gently reaching for yours. He kissed your knuckles like he always did when words weren’t enough.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he said, voice quieter now, the weight of emotion in every word. “Ever since we baked our first cake together. Ever since you fell asleep in the library with flour in your hair and your smile still somehow sweeter than anything I could put in an oven.”

You laughed softly, eyes brimming.

Trey took a deep breath, pulling something from his pocket—a small velvet box, the color of forest leaves.

“I know life isn’t always going to be sugar and frosting,” he said. “There’ll be bitter days, tough bakes, and cracked crusts. But if I’m going to face any of that—burnt edges and all—I want it to be with you.”

He knelt slowly, the glassy floor reflecting the warmth in his eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

Inside the box was a ring shaped like a delicate vine wrapped around a single emerald, shaped like a clover leaf. Handcrafted. No doubt.

You could barely choke out the “yes” through your tears before he was standing again, arms around you, holding you like a man who had finally found home.

Later, you shared the cake. It was a perfect balance of tart raspberry and soft vanilla cream.

Just like Trey. Thoughtful. Grounded. Honest. And head-over-heels in love.

Jack Howl

With Jack, love had been something sacred. Not loud, not overly poetic—but fierce and deeply rooted. He wasn’t a man of flowery words, but everything he did—the way he protected you, respected you, always supported you—spoke volumes.

After finishing school, Jack had become a respected guardian of the Starlight Expanse—a sweeping range of ancient wildlands west of the Savannaclaw territory. He lived in a modest cabin, surrounded by pine trees, riverstones, and silence. And often, you visited, sharing weekends hiking the cliffs, lying under constellations, and sitting by campfires where he’d sneak glances at you like you were something he still couldn’t believe he deserved.

On the anniversary of your relationship, Jack invited you to hike a new path with him—an old trail he'd been restoring himself. It led high up into the mountains, through narrow ridges, blooming wildflowers, and old stone arches carved with symbols of the old tribes.

As dusk fell, you reached a cliff overlooking the vast wildlands. The stars began to prick the sky, and the moon rose—huge, luminous, casting a silver sheen over everything.

Jack turned to you, looking breathtaking in the moonlight. His hair fluttered with the wind, his tail stilling behind him.

“I always thought I was meant to walk alone,” he said, voice deep and honest. “Wolves don’t… usually need packs like others do. I was okay with solitude. But then I met you. And suddenly... it wasn’t enough anymore. Every mountain felt lonelier without you by my side.”

You stepped closer, heart pounding.

“I wanted to bring you here because this is where I made my decision,” he said, kneeling in the grass. From a small leather pouch around his neck, he retrieved a ring—hand-forged from stone and silver, with a single small diamond embedded in its center.

“It’s not fancy. It’s not perfect. But it’s strong. Like my feelings for you. I don’t want a ceremony or attention—I just want you. Always. Will you be my mate, for life?”

Tears slid silently down your cheeks. Jack’s hands were warm as he took yours, and his eyes—usually so intense—were soft, vulnerable.

You knelt with him, pressing your forehead to his. “Yes,” you whispered.

He exhaled, tail flicking once with relief, then pulled you into a tight, protective embrace—one that said “home” more than any place ever had.

And above, the stars bore witness, as the wild and the heart became one.

Jade Leech

With Jade, your relationship was anything but ordinary. From the beginning, he had been a puzzle wrapped in a smile—dangerous in his elegance, but mesmerizing. Over time, behind his teasing words and cryptic looks, you found a man who was curious about love, who had never quite known how tender a connection could feel until you came into his life.

After graduation, Jade returned to the Coral Sea, taking on a diplomatic role that let him travel between land and ocean. He’d often bring you rare mushrooms from distant forests, small ocean treasures, and letters written in his perfect, flowing script—always sealed with wax, always smelling faintly of salt and ink.

One day, he invited you on a private excursion—“an adventure,” he called it, voice light and playful. He guided you to a secluded sea cave he’d discovered, hidden behind a curtain of kelp off the southern coast. The tide was low when you arrived, and as the sunlight filtered through the surface, the cave glimmered like a cathedral carved by the ocean itself. Bioluminescent moss clung to the rocks, glowing faintly blue, and tide pools sparkled with tiny sea creatures.

Jade turned to you, hands behind his back, smiling just slightly.

“You once told me you wanted to see the place where I felt most like myself,” he said. “This is it. This place is both wild and calm… like you make me feel.”

You blinked, overwhelmed by the beauty—and the fact that he’d remembered such a small, passing thing.

He led you deeper into the cave, to a small flat rock that overlooked an underground pool glowing with a soft, enchanted light. There, nestled in a tide-smoothed shell, was a ring: a unique band shaped from coral and white gold, with a pearl set in its center—glimmering with the faintest swirl of blue, like moonlight trapped in water.

Jade took your hand gently, his expression uncharacteristically sincere.

“I’ve watched the tides change, the reefs grow and crumble, the land erode and form again… And still, I’ve never seen anything so constant as the way I feel when I look at you. Curious. Grounded. At peace.”

He dropped to one knee on the glistening cave floor.

“I don’t pretend to be simple, and I cannot promise calm waters every day. But I can promise loyalty, wonder, and a love as deep and eternal as the sea. Will you marry me?”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks as you whispered yes.

He kissed your hand, slipping the ring onto your finger as waves echoed softly in the background. Then he stood, pulling you into a slow, wordless embrace as the ocean whispered around you, forever holding the secret of the moment it witnessed two souls choosing each other.

Jamil Viper

Falling for Jamil was like watching a guarded temple open its doors to you alone.

He was a man who had always lived in someone else’s shadow, who had learned to survive by hiding—his talents, his feelings, his dreams. But with you… he had finally started living for himself. And slowly, impossibly, he had allowed love to bloom—quietly, steadily, like a candle that refused to be extinguished no matter how many times the wind tried.

After years of study and work, Jamil had become a renowned performer and choreographer across the Scalding Sands and beyond. He was known for his breathtaking dance performances, his fire magic, and his unspoken magnetism. But despite the crowds and praise, he always made time for you—stealing away into the desert, where the stars were so thick they felt like they might fall.

One evening, Jamil asked you to accompany him to a rooftop performance in a palace overlooking the oasis. You assumed it was one of his shows, but when you arrived, the space was empty—just open air, flowing curtains, and a circle of candles laid out in a ring of red and gold petals. A lone tabla played softly from somewhere unseen.

“Jamil…?” you asked, bewildered.

He stepped into the candlelit ring wearing his traditional red and black, but tonight, his expression was more vulnerable than you had ever seen. No mask. No tension.

“I choreographed something,” he said softly, reaching for your hand. “Just for you. And me.”

Then, without further word, he began to dance.

It was a solo piece of story and soul—a blend of fire and emotion. His movements told the tale of a boy trapped in chains of duty, eyes always cast down… until a figure of light walked into his life. His steps became bolder, freer, as if each moment with you was releasing him, piece by piece. And at the end, as the final flame circled him, he dropped to one knee, his hand extended to you.

In his palm sat a ring—ornate and beautiful, inlaid with rubies and obsidian, shaped like a coiled serpent guarding a heart.

“I never imagined someone would love all of me,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Not just the dancer, not just the servant or the schemer. Me. And now that I’ve felt that love… I can’t go back.”

He looked up, his dark eyes glimmering with a fire only you had ever truly seen.

“I want to build a future not in someone else’s shadow… but in our own light. With you. Will you marry me?”

You fell to your knees before him, nodding through your tears. He reached for you, holding you close as music, fire, and moonlight danced around your entwined forms.

The desert winds whispered over the rooftop, carrying the beginning of your shared forever across the sands.

Epel Felmier

It was springtime in Harveston, and the apple trees were in full bloom.

The countryside stretched out in a watercolor of soft pink petals, dew-frosted green grass, and gentle sunshine. You had come with Epel to visit his family for the season — partly for the festival, partly for a bit of a break from the whirlwind of NRC. Epel had insisted on showing you his "secret spot," a place hidden at the edge of his family’s orchard where the trees grew in wild, enchanted arches.

He led you there barefoot, the grass cool underfoot, laughing at the way your fingers intertwined. He looked so at peace here — freckles glowing, violet eyes warm like dusk skies, his country drawl a soft hum as he told you stories about when he used to climb these trees as a boy.

But today, something was different.

“I gotta confess something,” he said suddenly, his voice a little hoarse. He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I’ve been wantin’ to ask ya somethin’... for a long while now.”

Before you could respond, he pulled out something wrapped in a handkerchief from his coat. He unwrapped it slowly: a ring made of braided silver and rose gold, shaped like twisted vines, holding a pale lavender gem — the exact color of his eyes. Handmade, by the local artisan. With love. With care.

Epel dropped to one knee in the soft grass, right beneath the blooming apple trees.

“I know I ain’t always perfect. I get worked up tryin’ to prove myself, ‘specially around people who don’t think I’m strong just ‘cause of how I look. But you... you see me. The real me. You’ve always made me feel like I ain’t gotta try so hard just to be loved.”

The petals were falling around you both like snow.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Laughin’ with you, growin’ with you, maybe even raisin’ a family out here someday, in a house by this orchard. Will ya marry me?”

His voice cracked slightly on the last line, and his hand trembled just enough to betray how hard he was trying to be composed.

You said yes. Of course you did.

And as you kissed him under a sky of blossoms and sunlight, he whispered against your lips, “I’ll love you ‘til the apples stop growin’, and even after that.”

Silver

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the forest in golds and violets.

Silver had taken you to a quiet glade near the edge of Briar Valley — a place that few people knew about, where the trees whispered in ancient tongues and the breeze always seemed to hum lullabies. He had told you it was where he used to go to clear his mind, to think, to dream.

You both sat together on a blanket beneath a canopy of willow trees, surrounded by flickering fae lights that blinked in and out of existence like stars caught between realities.

“Do you know what I used to dream about before I met you?” he asked, voice low and soft, brushing a strand of your hair from your face.

You looked up into those calm, silvery eyes. “Tell me.”

“I dreamed of peace. Of stillness. Of finding a place — or a person — where I could let go. Where I didn’t have to always be ready to protect or to run. I thought it was just a fantasy. But then I met you.”

He took a small wooden box from his side — carved with delicate forest motifs, glowing faintly with magic. Inside, nestled in velvet moss, was a ring of moonstone and silver filigree, shaped like blooming lilies and crescent moons. Ancient enchantments laced it: protection, clarity, love everlasting.

Silver knelt, but not awkwardly or with nerves. No — he knelt with reverence, like a knight before a queen.

“I’ve spent my life dreaming with my eyes closed. But with you... I dream while I’m awake. You’re my dawn after centuries of night. Will you marry me, and walk through all the dreams and waking days to come — with me?”

You felt tears rise unbidden, your heart aching with the beauty of it. The way he looked at you — steady, unshakable, serene — it was like every fairytale you had ever read but more real, more raw.

When you said yes, he smiled — that quiet, rare smile he saved only for you.

Then he held you in his arms as the stars lit one by one, and you knew — truly knew — that you were his peace, and he was yours.

⟡ tag list : @dreaming-of-tae @chai-yas @yunar1 @fever-en @sol3chu @alastor-simp

[phantomamour]

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐧

senator!coriolanus snow x personal assistant fem!reader

cw// nothing! just some cute shorter fluff for a trope i adore

Coriolanus should start taking the amount of sticky notes you left around for him out of your paycheck. He contemplated that idea when he found another two on his desk that morning. You were often the first one into the office, a fact he was particularly proud of when other senators complained that their assistants weren’t working. You knew the way he preferred his papers sorted when he came in, and you always were sure to have his coffee sitting for ten minutes before he arrived, leaving it the perfect temperature for his first sip. Coriolanus thought about your relationship often; there was a certain domesticity to it. You knew him better than nearly anyone, and he desired to know you better despite knowing it could be inappropriate to ask the questions he wanted to. 

Your copy of yesterday’s meeting notes is being printed. A note on top of his stack of reports to read through.

Good morning, sir. A second note next to his coffee cup. Something akin to a smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he took the note into his hand, thumb rubbing over the dried ink before tucking it into a box in his desk. The box was nearly full of small notes; he’d have to get another. The coffee cup warmed his hand as he turned to look out the window, sipping in peaceful silence as the first sprinkles of spring rain set in over the Capital. The snow had cleared out early this year and had been replaced with a terrible chill and rain, but the sun returned when he turned to the sound of the door opening.

“Good morning, sir. Your meeting notes as promised. They’d have been here earlier if the new intern hadn’t tried to break the printer last night. I nearly broke my hand trying to unjam it,” you said as you set down the stack of papers precisely in the corner of his desk. He appreciated how much you respected his order of things.

“I assume your hand is intact?” 

“Yes, thank you. Your lunch with the Secretary of Communications is today, and you have a call with the Head Gamemaker at three. Besides that, I’ve tried to give you time to catch up on reports.” He nodded in response, taking in the sight of your winter clothes with a soft look in his eyes. 

“Thank you. Please ensure you get to lunch today. I would prefer not to find my assistant on the floor when she forgets to eat.” You smiled with a firm nod in return.

“Of course, sir. I’ll be outside if you need me.” A small part of him hated watching you walk away, the same part of him that he forced himself to ignore so fiercely. He noticed the color of your skirt, a deep red, and a part of him wondered if you matched his signature jacket on purpose. It wasn’t entirely unlikely; you often had something red on since your first week, and he knew it couldn’t have been a coincidence. 

When he left for lunch, he found your desk empty and a single note left atop your keyboard.

Enjoy your lunch. I’ll be here when you return. He picked up the note to tuck safely into his jacket pocket, another for his collection. He hadn’t realized how protective he’d be of your notes when you started working for him a year ago, but when he couldn’t find the heart to throw them away, it became a growing issue for the space in his desk. You’d never know, but the note you’d left him on your first day was framed and pristine in the back of one of his drawers. Maybe one day, he’d get the courage to display it on his shelf. 

As promised, you were there when he returned and greeted him with a smile that he swore lit up the room. 

“Good afternoon, sir. How was lunch?” your voice was gentle and caring, a comfort unlike anything he’d heard before.

“Productive. His assistant will be reaching out to set another next month. How was your lunch?” He did his best to ask about you even on his busiest days, and how your eyes shined when he did always made it worth it. You told him about the cafe you stopped into during your break from the office with the same smile that took the breath out of his lungs. 

“Their coffee is quite good as well. Perhaps I could bring you one tomorrow to see if you’d like it over the cafe I’ve been getting your coffee from recently.” There it was again. The care you showed him from the first day you entered the office, never once thinking of anyone else there but him. You were a shark when you wanted to be for him, ready to rearrange anyone else’s schedule for his benefit. But to him, you were nothing more than the perfect kind girl he couldn’t help but be grateful for hiring every day. He enjoyed the fire in your eyes when you’d ramble about one of the interns getting in the way of your job and when you triumphantly announced the success of a hard-to-plan meeting. He was entirely infatuated with you, frowned upon or not. 

His call with the Head Gamemaker ran later than expected, the sun setting in the background from the conference room he had stepped into with another senator to discuss plans for the following year’s games. When he came back to your desk empty, a certain melancholy settled deep in his chest. No note was left for him, an uncommon occurrence, and a slight frown pulled on his features before he stepped into his office to finish the day. He wasn’t upset at you; he had nearly forced you to leave the office on time plenty of times. But a voice in his head still begged you to be there when he was. 

A small box sat on his desk, centered perfectly amongst the papers you had clearly straightened for him before leaving. Tied together with a red bow, he sat down to inspect it closer. He imagined your hands tying it so neatly together, and his fingers brushed against the ribbon as if it could cure the ache in his chest that longed to touch your skin. Undoing the ribbon and setting it aside, he relished in the smile that washed over his face. A sticky note stared up at him from where he had taken off the top of the box.

Happy birthday, Mr. Snow. I hope you had a good day. I’ll see you tomorrow. You hadn’t spoken a word about the day. You were perfectly familiar with his disdain for celebration and refrained from the theatrics you knew would drive him crazy. But when you scouted out the new cafe at lunch, you couldn’t help purchasing one small cupcake, knowing he would never indulge in a whole slice of cake. Lightly iced and small enough for him not to deny the sweet treat, he tore off a piece of the cake and imagined your excitement in leaving the gift for him before you left. 

You didn’t have to voice how much you cared for him. It was clear as day, and it was something he swore never to take for granted.

[holybibly]

ℂ𝕣𝕒𝕫𝕪 𝔽𝕠𝕣𝕞 | 𝕄𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕚 𝕩 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕣𝕖: smut, idol!Au, s2l, fragment of life

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 12,9k

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: Seven times you've been lucky, on the eighth Song Mingi from Ateez shows you a side of himself that his fans will probably never get to know.

𝕎𝔸ℝℕ𝕀ℕ𝔾: Pervert Idol! Mingi, Unprotected sex, stomach bulge, fingering, degrading, pet names, size kink, face fucking, dirty talk, explicit sexual content, explicit language, squirting, pussy slapping, oral, overstimulation, somnophilia, multiple orgasms, сreampie, sexual audio recording, rough sex, praise kink and more.

𝔸/ℕ: Wrote this overnight, it's really crazy. Gosh, I am so excited to show you the handsome Mingi who has become a favourite for an overnight train ride poll. I hope it lives up to your expectations. This is one of the 4 pieces I've been working on. It brings us closer to a tender and sensual smut with Seonghwa (I'm still suffering from the idea).

I'll make a masterlist this weekend.

Comments, reblogs and questions are always welcome. I'm completely open to communication, so don't be shy bunnies. We have a safe space here.

Lots of love to you all. Have fun on your night train ride with Mingi.

dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

"Take care, darling; you never know what may happen. Especially in the night." Asa's voice was soft, but with a note of insistence.

"Asa, you don't have to worry so much. It's just a night train; I've done it a thousand times." You sigh tiredly, knowing it was pointless to argue with Asa, and yet, in a way, she was right. You never know what might happen at any given moment in your life.

"There's always a first time, Y/N. Take care, and be sure to text me when you get on the train."

"Sure, I will see you soon." You pull the sleeves of your shortened jumper tighter as you press the call disconnect button.

The night air is cool and fresh, dancing on your skin like a light breeze, crawling under the hem of your short skirt, tickling the soft, milky skin of your bare thighs. The sensation sends shivers down your spine, and you begin to regret your choice of clothing. It's too open and too revealing, both for the time of day and for the situation.

But it doesn't matter; the train is warm and cosy in its own way, and soon you'll be relaxing on the soft seats of the dark compartment under the peaceful rhythmic rocking, but most importantly, you'll be alone without the noise and bustle. Travelling to Tokyo is great, and you enjoy every second, but the crowds get tiring and the incessant noise starts to stress you out.

That is why an overnight train journey is a nice and relaxing change of pace.

It's a spontaneous trip to another city, just for a few days—a place quieter and more secluded than the never-sleeping Tokyo. Asa is waiting for you to finally join her, having travelled there the day before yesterday. Rumour has it that this is also the town where you're most likely to find the most Korean idols, who have come to relax in the luxurious hot springs.

They always come here to spend their long-awaited holidays without the constant camera surveillance and screaming fans. You didn't care if you met any of the celebrities there. Seeing a pretty face here and there was a nice bonus, but the main purpose of your trip was the hot springs and a few gourmet restaurants with high user ratings.

It's not that you were totally ignorant of idols; you were aware of many groups thanks to Asa and her crush on pretty boys, but you were a realist, and it was just stupid to have rosy dreams for a guy who had never seen you in his life, and if he had, he probably wouldn't remember you. That's why it didn't matter to you at all whether or not you met any of the pretty idols along the way.

You always thought night trains were the best way to travel. Travelling during the day is too hectic, too noisy, and too impractical. Instead of sitting in a stuffy metal box on wheels and wasting precious time, you could be doing something useful. There's always the chance of a night's rest, even if it's just for a few hours, and the next morning you'll be somewhere else, full of energy and good humour.

This was the seventh time you'd travelled by overnight train, and so far you'd considered yourself lucky. You were so grateful that you'd never had to share the confined space of your compartment with anyone else. The prospect of sleeping next to a stranger wasn't the most appealing one, and it would no doubt make you very nervous.

You cross your fingers in the hope that your luck will hold this time around. As you walk down the aisle of the train, you shift your gaze from your ticket to the small numbers on the tightly closed compartment doors. You try to find your seat. When you finally find it, you exhale with relief and push open the heavy sliding door. You are glad to be able to sit down and stretch your legs, taking off the most uncomfortable shoes in the world. It's first-class. The door opens silently and smoothly, allowing a thin strip of light from the narrow corridor into the secluded compartment, illuminating it with a bright yellow glow.

You've never thought about sharing your space with anyone else because you're so used to being alone. Except for a few passengers who seem to share your point of view, most people prefer to travel during the day, so the night trains are usually almost empty. Once your eyes get used to the changing light, you can't help but gasp at what you see.

"Oh!"

You're not alone. There's someone else in the semi-darkness of your compartment.

Someone from whom it seems impossible to take your eyes off, no matter how rude it might be of you to do so. There's a man sitting on the seat directly in front of you, with his legs spread wide open and his mobile phone held loosely in one hand. He is an incredibly attractive guy. You quickly look away, embarrassed that you're openly checking him out, as your eyes slide down his body. He's dressed in a black suit that hugs his thick thighs. God, this is embarrassing. His jacket is folded beside him, leaving him wearing a single black shirt and a few buttons undone on his chest, contrasting beautifully with his smooth golden skin.

For the second time that night, your eyes met his, and you gasped. You somehow know who those eyes belong to, and who doesn't? Two puddles of melted milk chocolate, the soft, sugary look of puppy dog eyes—Song Mingi, a gorgeous, cheeky rapper from Ateez. Oh, boy.

You swallow loudly at the realisation that your eyes aren't the only ones analysing the stranger in front of you.

"Good evening." You bow and lower your head as you realise that you've clearly been staring at the idol all this time. Suddenly, you feel so ashamed that you can't even imagine meeting his gaze again. In return, you get a small hum of approval from him and a polite nod of the head from him.

You finally decide to go inside and close the door behind you after a few seconds of awkwardly shuffling from foot to foot. The lights inside are rather dim, a bit of a nuisance despite the fact that they hardly illuminate your compartment at all, and you wonder if he would mind if you asked him to turn them off completely at some point. Eventually, it starts to make your sensitive eyes ache, but you don't want to make Mingi feel uncomfortable by asking for it.

The atmosphere was already awkward and strange, and you didn't want to make it worse. He must have decided to take the night train for the same reasons you did. And here you are, the two of you, strangers, although can you really call a guy the whole world knows a stranger? In the semi-darkness of a night compartment, without prying eyes or cameras.

The situation seemed to be stressful, and that's why you were so grateful that up until now you hadn't had to share your space with anyone else on overnight journeys. Even so, there was something strangely intoxicating and exhilarating about the whole thing.

Does it look like your luck has run out, or have you managed to grab it by the tail?

You take your bag off your shoulder and tiptoe up to put it on the luggage rack with your back to him. Unfortunately for you, you can't get to it. Right now you're cursing your short stature for looking utterly ridiculous in front of a good-looking guy, and not just any guy, but Song Mingi himself. You can feel the muscles in your legs tense up in pain as you try to stretch yourself up, and you have the feeling that the bag in your hands is getting heavier and heavier the more you try to put it on the shelf. It's so embarrassing that you let out a muffled, awkward laugh.

"I'll give you a hand with that." The unexpected touch of the palm of your hand against your lower back upsets your balance, and your body jerks.

Your head jumps up, goose bumps running up your arms and creeping down your back as you realise that Mingi is now standing next to you, too close to be considered decent. The scent of his woody, tart perfume fills the small space between you, and you long to bury your face in his broad, muscular chest and take a deep breath of him.

He easily takes the bag from you and sets it on top of the top compartment, the touch of his other hand still palpable—hot, confident, and somehow possessive—as it slides down, almost to the curve of your butt. 

You look down and suddenly realise how far your skirt has been pulled up. It now exposes most of your milky thighs and barely covers your bottom. Trying to look as decent as possible, you pull down the hem of your skirt with a soft squeak to get your clothes back in place. Your cheeks are flushed with shame and embarrassment. Looking up again, you realise that Mingi is watching you intently, watching every move of yours.

"You're so tiny." He says this, tilting his head to one side and letting the corner of his soft, plump pink lips curve up in a smirk.

Your heart flutters at the thought, perhaps a little more than it should be doing. You would never have thought that you would feel a strange mixture of emotions—something between excitement and extreme embarrassment—over something so trivial, perhaps even offensive.

"Maybe you're the one that's too tall." You realise this and immediately feel sorry for yourself, desperately wanting to put your hand over your mouth. God, can't you just make yourself look even stupider in his eyes? You shouldn't have said that aloud.

In response to your words, Mingi hums and raises an eyebrow. There is a gleam of amusement in his beautiful brown eyes; your comment seems to amuse him. Your cheeks heat up from the blush that is spreading over them, but you're grateful for the playful reaction; it makes the situation a little less weird and awkward.

You really should sit back in your seat and shut up so you don't say too much, something along the lines of, "You look absolutely stunning in that suit; can I sit on your lap?".

Eventually, you turn your attention to the hand still on your hip, and the sight of his long fingers adorned with massive rings makes your knees tremble more than you'd like to admit.

When he pulls away, you find that the loss of his touch is making you feel as cold as ice. You quickly come to your senses and sit down on the opposite side of the idol, who follows your lead and settles down in his own seat.

You take out your phone and text Asa, as promised. God, you'll have so much to talk about when you meet. Awkwardly crumpling the hem of your skirt, you wait for the train to depart. For a long minute, there is silence in the compartment—an utterly awkward, embarrassing silence.

Every time you cast a quick glance towards Mingi, you notice that his eyes don't seem to leave you for a second. He presses the tip of his tongue lightly against the corner of his plump, beautiful lips, as if analysing your every move.

It makes you nervous to be in your own skin.

"I'm Mingi." Your ears perk up in an instant as soon as he starts to speak again.

When he says his name, his voice sounds so soft, soothing, and confident. You can't remember the last time you've been so attracted to another man's voice. It makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter, and maybe, just maybe, it makes you squeeze your thighs a little harder than you should.

 

This is messed up.

"I know." You answer quietly. This is a fucking embarrassment. You decide you've humiliated yourself enough in front of him, so after a moment, you add. "Y/N, nice to meet you."

"Ah, so you know, eh?" He smiles brightly, and you somehow melt. "And here I was thinking' we were just strangers to each other. That's not a problem for you, Y/N, is it?" The way he says your name takes your breath away from you. It's something in his nature—a hidden but imposing dominance, so deep with a quiet note of authority. There were darker layers lurking beneath that image of sweet charm.

You have no idea why he has such an effect on you, but it's safe to say the overwhelming feeling is not entirely unwelcome.

"No, no, it's fine." You wave your hands in an awkward manner. "It should have been my turn to ask if it was OK. At a time like this, I guess you didn't expect anyone else to be using the train." Your cheeks flushed, and you nervously bit your lower lip.

"How cute."

You bring your hand up to your face and press it against your hot cheeks, trying to cool them down a little. Cute! It's a real miracle that you manage to stop yourself from squealing enthusiastically.

"Are you going travelling, Y/N?" He tilts his head to the side in an interested way, like a curious puppy, and you can't help but smile in response to that.

.

"Yes, to the hot springs." Looking anywhere but at Mingi, you reply humbly.

"Ah, I see. Takayu Onsen?"

"Tamagawa Onsen, actually."

At your words, the idol nods understandingly, and a dazzling smile appears on his lips. God, can he get any more handsome?

"Of course it's Tamagawa. Somehow I can't imagine you anywhere else; this place is your kind of place. Then you're stuck with me. I'm going there too; the boys and I have to spend a few days there before the concerts." He says it in such an easy and casual way. As if you've known each other for a long time.

"Um, it's quite a long trip. Are you sure you'll be comfortable?" You ask Mingi, vaguely hoping that you'll be able to sneak away from him and find yourself comfortably alone again. For some reason, his presence makes you feel very uncomfortable and makes you tingle. There's something special about him, but you can't quite put your finger on it.

"It's fine. Really, don't worry." Mingi settled himself more comfortably in his seat and spread his long legs a little further apart, causing the tight fabric of his suit trousers to stretch and outline the contours of his gorgeous, muscular thighs. His whole posture seemed to say, "You're not getting rid of me that easily." "Actually, I'm the one who should be asking if your boyfriend is upset that you will spent the night with another man." There is something about the way he says it that makes you tense up inside, but you ignore it completely and answer quietly instead, crossing your legs shyly.

"I've no boyfriend." And without knowing it, you give him exactly the answer that Mingi wanted. "I'm just on a road trip with a friend." Shying away from making full eye contact with him, his gaze so intense and focused, your fingers play with the hem of your skirt as you speak.

When he speaks again, you can almost hear the smile in Mingi's deep voice.

"Then I hope you'll enjoy it fully."

Silence falls over you once more. You keep looking at your shoes, desperately wanting to take them off and curl up on the soft seat. But Mingi's presence prevents you from relaxing completely. As the train sets in motion, you give a slight jerk. Midnight, it's now. It will take about eight hours to get to Tamagawa, and you should arrive at the station in the morning.

You let your eyes slide down from your shoes to Mingi's legs in stealth. His thighs are so muscular and strong that he could probably squeeze you between them, and you wouldn't be able to move an inch, trapped as you were under his tall, strong body. You feel warm between your legs, and you bite your lower lip, hoping Mingi is too busy phoning to notice you're staring at his thighs. And you have to push away the thought of how nice it would be to ride one of those beautiful, thick thighs and rub your pussy against it.

"This is a beautiful pendant. It looks good on you." The sound of Mingi's voice makes you jerk, and you raise your eyes to him fearfully.

Instinctively, you press your fingers against the gleaming heart of crystal that sits on your chest. It's massive—heavy on your chest, glimmering cold, hard to miss.

"Thanks; it's my favourite too." The compliment takes you completely by surprise, but at the same time, it brings a slight, sweet pout to your lips.

Mingi can't help but think about what that pendant is going to look like between your naked tits while you're being scolded like there's no tomorrow. He can bet that it's going to be fucking amazing. His plump lips curl up in a smirk.

"Do you always wear it?" Contextual question: When you get fucked, do you take it off?

"Yes. It's my lucky charm." As if to warm it up, your fingers wrap around the large crystal, rubbing it a little. "It always brings me good luck."

"How appropriate." Mingi observes, chuckling grimly.

For an idol, Mingi seems inordinately interested in learning more about you, but you naively chalk it up to a trivial lack of social contact and a limited opportunity to see the world without the constant scrutiny of managers and the attention of cameras.

You're too enamoured with his sweet, playful personality, reminiscent of a big, soft puppy. You'll fancy yourself under his scrutiny and answer all his questions, even the ones that make you blink in confusion or blush hotly. Mingi is a real sweetheart, and you can totally agree with his fans: He's such a nice, nice guy. Little do you know about him...

He does it almost mechanically, moving his hands so you can't take your eyes off them, twirling the massive silver rings on his long phalanges, touching his plush, juicy lips with his fingertips, and noticing the beautiful gel on his nails. Your body reacts to his every move; your lower abdomen feels pleasantly tight, and you can feel a faint throbbing between your legs every time he smiles at you, making you squeeze your thighs together and squirm nervously in your seat.

"Sorry for asking so many questions. You know it's not always easy to talk to someone." He lowers his eyes shyly and bites his plump lip. You immediately try to put his concern at ease.

"I get it; being an idol must be hard, having to be in control all the time."

Damn, you were so right; you'd run away from him as soon as you opened the door to the compartment if you only knew what dirty, lustful thoughts he's having about you and how his sweet smile hides a passionate desire to push you into the padded seat and fuck you so hard you can't think or walk.

But Mingi was good at it. He could control his face and body very well, thanks to Seonghwa's great example. He had taught him only the best.

"You must be tired; if you want, we can turn off the light and you can go to bed." Mingi said, noticing that you were rubbing your eyes more and more, stumbling over your own words, and yawning all the time. "You can trust me; I'll take care of you, Y/N." The tone is so sweet, too sweet, to hide the true meaning of what he's saying: Sweetheart, I want to jerk off to your sleepy, pretty face as you relax in my presence—so seductive and vulnerable.

That deep, honeyed tone inevitably makes your thighs clench, but with it comes a flood of guilt as you feel your panties get wet, and dirty thoughts put you in such an uncomfortable position that you have to fidget awkwardly on the seat, praying by all that is holy that your embarrassing arousal goes unnoticed and you don't leave a wet spot on the seat.

"Are you sure?" You're terribly tired from the day. The offer is so tempting, and Mingi is so charming and respectful. A real gentleman.

Mingi smiles softly, but it is a smile that looks a little predatory at the edges as his big, hot palm comes down on your bare knee. It sends a shiver down the length of your skin.

"Sure, go to bed, doll."

You feel yourself blushing again, but you can't tell why—the heavy, hot touch of his hand against your skin or the caressing nickname. God, this guy is a threat. You give a slow nod and turn your gaze to the dimly lit wall sconce on the wall. Mingi follows your eyes and reaches up to turn it off, plunging the entire compartment into a pleasant darkness. The faint, diffused light of the moon through the window is the only source of light that allows you to see each other's faces. A smile of gratitude is on your face in response to his actions.

"Thanks, I had no idea how much my eyes were hurting."

"You're welcome, doll."

You try to ignore the way his voice seems to sink lower. It takes on such a velvety, dark tone that it makes you even wetter between your legs. You pull back. Mingi has been so sweet and polite to you all this time; you should be ashamed of these feelings.

As you lean back in the empty seat beside you and close your heavy eyelids, the touch of his hand fades. You feel a strange comfort in Mingi's company, despite your earlier apprehension at being so vulnerable in the company of a stranger. Despite being a world-famous star and just a damn gorgeous man, he really is so kind and attentive to you. You do not dare to doubt what he says. Mingi has promised to take care of you, and you are strangely comforted by the thought. In fact, he really is a very caring man. You begin to suspect that this is true for all of them.

Before you close your eyes again, you look at Mingi. His dark gaze is fixed on you, and there is something raw in the depths of those chocolate-coloured irises of his. The moonlight falling on him makes his chiselled face look sharper and sexier, and there is no longer the sweet smile and adorable puppy-dog expression on his handsome features. It makes you take a sharp breath before your fluttering eyelids stay closed, weighed down by sleep. Your whole body relaxes, and you let yourself drift off to sleep, lulled by the peaceful rocking of the train and the calm presence of Mingi.

Mingi just can't take his eyes off you. You look so tiny, so soft and juicy with your plump arse and the most delicious pair of tits he's ever seen. They're perfect to hold in his hands and his hands are just itching to squeeze them into his palms, feel their weight, pull on those pink nipples until you start wriggling and sobbing. Oh, how he wants to hear the sweet sounds you make as he fills you with his cock, or even better, as you moan out his name.

For tonight at least, he just wants to have you. Mingi isn't at all picky about where he wants to get laid; a night train isn't the worst option. He's been fucked in more uncomfortable places than this. But that wouldn't be very nice of him. Would it? He said he'd look after you while you slept so innocently in front of him in that seductive little skirt. He wonders if you're wearing lace or silk knickers. It's probably silk, because you look as if you're enjoying the light and soft touch of the silk fabric against your sweet pussy. You must also be very sensitive.

Y/N. He is absolutely mesmerised by you. Everything about you is so enticing. The way your round cheeks blush, the beautiful way you smile, and especially the way you squeeze your thighs together every time he turns to you. You are a little slut. Mingi is absolutely delighted with how he's making you feel. He makes you nervous. He wants nothing more than to get under your skin even more.

But if Mingi has learned anything by now, it's that despite your best efforts, you're not a very subtle person. In fact, you're easy to read. Your petite body gives you away all the time. Your teeth bite your plump lower lip until it's swollen and red. Your eyes never leave his hands as he deliberately plays with his rings, causing you to lose your train of thought. You're probably thinking about him using his fingers to stretch your tight hole or using his fingers to fuck your soft, wet mouth. Mingi's sure he'll have to spend enough time getting you to take three fingers in your cunt before lowering you on his cock, and maybe you'll even let him play with your virgin arse. Hell, he'll beg you if he must. Fuck his pride at the prospect of being the first to fuck your plump arse. He's going to have to make a video of himself fucking you so stupid and so deep. San is going to go mad when he sees your juicy arse blushing under the palms of his hands and and jiggling seductively every time he enters you up to your balls.

You are definitely something special.

That's what Mingi tells himself over and over and over again. He's just reaching out to you. Nothing more than that.

Just like he promised, he'll take care of you. You'll feel good, and getting his dick wet will be a nice bonus for him.

He takes another good look at your beautiful face as he leans forward in his seat. Your lips are wet, plump and parted, and he can't help but imagine how beautiful they would look stretched around his big cock. You're going to have to practise getting yourself to swallow his dick whole, you probably won't get more than a quarter of him the first time. The thought of it is the cause of the salivation in his mouth. 

Your eyelashes are touching the top of your cheeks, your soft dark hair is beautifully curled up in ringlets, and Mingi wants to mess it up and pull it out. You look absolutely angelic. A real doll. Mingi has never seen an angel before. He can't be blamed for his desire to have a touch and to defile.

Idol or not, Mingi is just a man. 

It all begins with a small movement of his fingers over the kneecap of his knee to the top of his thigh. He can feel how his touch raises the goose bumps on your skin. Mingi feels bolder and lowers his palm all the way down to your thigh, letting it rest gently on your body, and then gently reaches up to the inside of your thigh, making you shiver. At the sight, Mingi licks his lips. It would be easier if he came closer. Would it?

As he kneels down, he places his other hand on your leg, now touching both of your thighs. Your skirt rises with each touch of Mingi's eager hands, lifting the fabric higher and higher each time. He glances over your voluptuous body, his gaze lingering on the spot where your sweater has risen, exposing the soft skin of your stomach and the peeking lower half of your bra. Fuck. He can't quite make out what it is in the dark, but he knows it must be the creamy silk that covers your full breasts. That makes him dig his fingertips harder into your skin.

You move in your sleep, shifting until you're on your back, giving Mingy full access without even wanting it. It's as if you want to make it even easier for his dirty hands to touch your chaste, tantalised body. When he sees an opportunity, Mingy never says no. Carefully, he slides one hand under your skirt while the other continues to massage your thigh in a soothing way. Confirming his earlier thought, his fingers are impatient and run briefly over your panties. They're silk, and they're wet as hell. You're soaked through, and he's already decided that he's definitely taking your panties with him. He'll be sure to jerk off in them when he has a bit of free time later.

"Oh, dolly, you're so damn wet." Mingi moans hoarsely as his fingers slowly slide over the wet material, rubbing it. The furrowed brow quickly disappeared, and the doll's lips parted in a perfect 'o', a short sob escaping from them. "Precious little one."

Your legs twitch in an attempt to squeeze Mingi's forearm, but he quickly calms you, spreading your thighs with his free hand and smiling carnivorously at the soft squeal that escapes your lips as you feel long fingers play with your plump clit through your underwear. If the fans knew what their adored idol was doing, they'd be going crazy. But they probably already knew. Considering the number of female fans they've fucked over the years, the information has leaked out somewhere in the tight circle of their fandom.

Mingi decides he doesn't like the silk barrier. He slides his hand under the silk of your panties and touches the wet warmth of your cunt, making his trousers suddenly feel too tight around his crotch.

As if he'd just discovered a new toy that he wanted to touch and explore before playing with it, he let himself explore the wetness. You are soaking wet, and Mingi can feel that he is gradually losing all self-control and all control over himself. He wants to taste you; he wants to feel you on his tongue; he doesn't even mind rubbing his face against you like a dog. The pressure of his thumb against your throbbing clit finally seems to wake you up. You gasp and begin to open your sleepy eyes. You look around in confusion. Then you let out a startled cry as you noticed Mingi crouching beside you, one hand between your thighs.

"Shhhh." As your legs begin to convulse, Mingi quickly reassures you. "It's all right, doll; it's just me. You can go back to sleeping if you want to. I'll take care of the rest." He whispers it in a velvety, soothing voice, as if he were trying to lure a kitten into his arms.

You still seem to be very disoriented; your eyes are not quite open, and you are whimpering in despair and shame at finding yourself in a situation for which you were totally unprepared. Mingi kneels before you. Song Mingi is kneeling before you with his hand pressed against your pussy. 

It is Mingi's wish that he could do away with all your worries and nerves. He knows he could, if only you would stop squeezing your legs so tightly around his hand.

"M-Mingi, what..." There's a sharp exhale from you at last, as if you're coming to terms with the situation. "What are you doing?"

The idol gives you a seductive smile.

"You looked like you needed help, doll. So needy and restless. Let me help you, huh? Let me take care of you, Y/N." Mingi leans down on your thigh to plant a wet, open-mouthed kiss on it. When he lifts his eyes up to you, they're bright and languorous, but with that adorable puppy-dog expression that's so well known to his fans.

"I'm going to take good care of you."

You resist, still stunned by the sight and situation you woke up from, and bring your hands to your chest, unconsciously wrapping your arms around the heart-shaped pendant for reassurance. Mingi allows her fingers to continue doing what they were doing before, slowly circling over your clit, causing you to catch your breath. Your small hand reaches out for Mingi's palm, which is still gripping your thigh tightly, the nails digging into his skin.   "Y-you shouldn't do that. You...you can't act that way; what  if?"You sob in a convulsive manner, your glassy eyes meeting Mingi's. Sexy, gorgeous, and lecherous Mingi, the sweet image of him completely shattered, towers over you even in this position. Despite your words, your body has its own opinion: your lower lip is caught between your teeth, and your breasts are rising and falling rapidly. The way your thighs are still trying to squeeze together and the way more and more moisture is dripping onto Mingi's fingers is a clear sign of approval for his actions to continue.

You're so easy to read. Mingi loves it. He's always liked the more responsive and sensitive type better. For him, what a pleasure it is to fuck them, dumb and docile.

"And why shouldn't I be, huh?" Mingi says as he intertwines his fingers with yours and leans forward to run his nose along your thigh, too close to your pussy. He takes a deep breath. Fuck, you smell delicious and his drool starts to flow. "Because I'm an idol? Is it because I have to be good and obedient? Or is it because you don't want me to, because it seems like that's all you ever think about? Have you had a dirty dream about me? You used to moan so much in your sleep, Y/N."

You hesitate, closing your slanted cat eyes and letting the feel of Mingi's touch envelop you, your lips pressed together to hold back a loud moan. He can already feel you giving in, even though you haven't answered him.

He's good at cajoling. Again, thank Seonghwa for that.

"We shouldn't..." You whine as one of Mingi's long fingers teases at your wet entrance, and the thought of that finger plunging into you makes you shudder. 

"We can do what we want to do, or don't you want to do that? Don't you want me?" He purses his lips, pretending to offend. "You like me. Don't you? I'm your favourite boy, right?"

You nod, feeling more depressed by the second, unable to form a coherent thought. How could that have been the case? You must be dreaming. Dreaming that Mingi of Ateez is kneeling before you.

Oh my God!

"Use your words, doll. Say, "I want you." Speak my name." The idol continues to coax you, and you give in, much to the delight of the Mingi.

"I want you, Mingi." You do your best to keep your eyes on Mingi as you speak, but his gaze is too intense and too strong, and you feel terribly embarrassed. He looks almost predatorily.

Mingi grins fiercely and slowly licks his lips. His finger slides lightly into your wet cunt. In response to this, he hears an intermittent sigh of pleasure from you.

"What a good girl."

You sound so precious as he bends his finger inside you, feeling your velvety walls. Wetness drips down his massive silver rings to the base of his fingers. Mingi wants to record your sweet sounds and include them in the next track so everyone can hear how well he pleases you. He should do it, damned. Hongjoong will be burning with envy when he hears about you. The captain has a weakness for sweet little girls who moan and groan. Fucking pervert.

Mingi lets go of your hand to pick up his forgotten phone from the floor, still finger-fucking you. He quickly opens the audio recording application, hits the 'record' button, and drops the phone on the floor next to him, giving his full attention back to you.

You are so in need of his touch. You can't deny your desire for him. Your body speaks for itself.

"Come on, baby, moan for me. Let everyone hear what a dirty girl you are. Come on. What do you say we put some of your beautiful moans and groans on our new track? Mmm, you're going to hear it all over the place; every time you will remember how good it felt when I fucked your little, tight cunt."

"Oh God, that's... You can't say that." You whimper.

"Don't be embarrassed, gorgeous. Let's get you out of those pretty little knickers so you can sing even more sweetly for me." You nod impatiently, breathing heavily as Mingi helps you to lift your hips and pull your knickers off, quickly slipping them into his pocket. He was quite serious when he said that he wanted to take them with him.

Now that your pussy is fully exposed, Mingi takes the liberty of spreading your legs wide open and stares intently at the clear liquid that oozes out of your hole, causing you to whimper and cover your face in shame. He leans down to leave a hot scarlet and purple hickey on the inside of your thigh.

"Look at how wet you are, fuck." Mingi moans in a guttural voice as his fingers push your folds apart so that they are completely covered in your slick, glistening juices. "You've had a dirty dream, haven't you, baby?"

Your eyes are closed, and your long lashes are fluttering. Your plump lower lip is trapped between your front teeth. You're such a spectacle; oh, how he wants to fuck your brains out. In response to his question, you nod your head shyly.

"Y-yes."

Your embarrassment excites Mingi even more as he slaps your pussy, finally giving in to his perverted desires and feeling the moisture splash against his palm. You let out a shrill squeal, your hips shaking uncontrollably.

"Must have been something fucking satisfying, getting your little cunt that wet, huh?" He grins lecherously as he looks at you. You look tasty enough to make him want to eat you alive.

He should really thank the manager for getting him a ticket on that special train.

Your legs twitched, trying to close, but Mingi's hand stiffly stopped them before letting them close around his forearm. You're so overwhelmed by all the sensations, but you're not at all ready for them to stop.

"I... I don't remember. Maybe I was thinking of you. Or maybe someone else." Having heard from Asa about the jealous nature of the group, you say this deliberately. All of the members were very possessive of their fans and very aggressive towards them. Why should they look to anyone else when they are right here, ready to make all their fans' dreams come true?

Mingi bristled. Sinking his teeth into your thigh and forcing his finger into you, making his ring stick to the sensitive rim of your used hole. Fuck. The pain and the pleasure mix together and turn your thoughts into mush.

"With my fingers fucking you like this, don't you fucking dare say that." He growls, the deep sound of it vibrating against your skin. Mingi slides a second finger inside of you, the two of them gliding through the wetness with ease and a loud slurping sound. "You will think only of me all the time. There is no one who can be better than me, doll."

You throw your head back, your chest rising and falling in a quick motion. The velvety walls of your pussy clench around Mingi's fingers. The sound of your moaning rises as the idol runs his fingers along the plush and tantalising walls of your vagina. They seem to just suck him in. You're so tiny all over, and he wonders if you can take all his cock.

"It's only you, Mingi." The way you howl out his name is all the answer that Mingi needs to hear.

The idol can't resist the temptation to lean forward and put his face between your thighs. His lust takes over; the sight is too exciting. All he had to do was find out if you tasted as sweet as you looked. The reaction is immediate: his tongue is licking a flat line from your slit to your clit, which he is circling greedily in between his plump lips. Your soft thighs tremble, your breath gets stuck in your throat along with a long moan, and your little hands cling to his shoulders.

"Oh, oh, God!" You let out a gasp, a barely audible whimper, your nails digging into the hard flesh beneath your tight-fitting shirt. Mingi is hoping that you are going to scratch him to a bloody pulp. Hell, he's in need of it.

You drive him crazy with your cuteness. Your juices are flowing in abundance all over his tongue. It tastes amazing, just the way he imagined it would, and Mingi thinks that he could get drunk on you. Fuck, he'll be bragging about you for days to come, rubbing it in the faces of the members. What a sweet thing he's managed to get his hands on. He could probably sit there and do that for hours, even days, licking that pretty little cunt of yours until his jaw hurts and his whole face is wet. He may have oral fixation, but that's not something he's going to want to put on his profile.

He sucks furiously on your swollen clit as his fingers begin to penetrate your tight hole, the wet, squelching sounds drowning out the sound of a train rumbling down the tracks. You're just perfect—too perfect for Mingi to ignore and not fuck. You literally taste heaven, and your voice sounds like sin—hot moans of uncontrollable pleasure.

"I...will...ahhh...M-Mingi..." You whimper, pressing your hand to your own mouth, and Mingi passionately wants to stop you and tell you that there's no better sound for his ears than your moaning. But the rational part of his brain, which sounds strangely like Seonghwa, tells him that it's for the best and that it's wise not to attract the attention of outsiders. "Please!"

You beg, and it's beautiful, your words muffled by the small palm of your hand but still clearly audible to him. Your back arched as you pushed your hips forward, forcing Mingi's fingers to dig deeper into you. You squeeze them so hard that the idol can barely move them inside of you at all. You squeeze them so hard that Mingi's chest vibrates with a rather low purr, which only drives you more wildly and adds to the pleasure, finally taking you to an unexpected peak as you cum profusely on Mingi's waiting tongue and fingers. You are flowing everywhere, and Mingi is greedily drinking it all in, insatiable in his quest to bring you to yet another orgasm, to make you so silly and submissive in his hands. He will take it all and more from you.

Mingi is so hungry for you, and you are so juicy and ripe, perfect for eating.

The second orgasm makes your whole body shake, and the stimulation is almost painful. Your hips jerk in Mingi's tight grip as he digs his fingertips into the plush, creamy skin. He simply can't get enough of you. He marvels at how dishevelled you look, lifting his dark gaze. Your head is thrown back, your eyes are closed, your skirt is pulled up high over your hips, and your cropped sweater almost completely exposes your bra. But it is your sweet mouth that beckons him to you completely. Beautiful, plump lips, slick with saliva and bite marks. They have been opened to let out gorgeous moans of his name and heavy, puffed-up sighs. He will crawl up your body like a predator until his face, soaked with your juices, is hanging over you.

Mingi is a big man—tall, strong, and nicely pumped up—his stunning figure completely covering you and trapping you underneath him.

You gasp for breath, still in a hazy post-orgasmic stupor, your glazed eyes meeting Mingi's, and you whimper as big, rough hands slide down your sides. He easily encompasses your boobs with ease, squeezing them with a force that causes them to fall out from under your bra.

"What big, juicy tits you have. Mmm, you can't be a better doll." Your embarrassed squeal is swallowed whole as Mingi kisses you passionately. Your tongues meet in an exchange of saliva and heavy breathing. On his lips, you can taste your own slime. It's rough, but you like it that way.

He slides his hands under your bra and massages your breasts, pinching your nipples with his fingers in a teasing way that makes you moan loudly into his mouth.

"The most beautiful and seductive pair of tits, so soft and heavy in my hands, I could just fuck them, couldn't I? Would you like that doll?" He whispers as he bites down on your lips and sinks his teeth into the soft, tender flesh. To be honest, he'd like to tear your lips into a bloody mess, but that's probably for another time.

Right now, he wants to use you. He wants to finally get his cock inside you and fuck you into a stupor. As if you could read his mind, your trembling hands reach out for his crotch.

"You want my cock, darling?" He moves his hips gently, and you feel his huge, hard cock pressing against you through the fabric of his trousers.

"Yes, yes, I want your cock so badly, Mingy." You're not as shy as you used to be; your desires are overpowering your modesty. And you don't have to ask twice as Mingi leans back and quickly unbuckles his belt, and you reach out for it, drawn to his sensual lips. 

You would never admit it, but his lips were driving you crazy—those gorgeous, plump lips—moist and inviting, making you want to suck on them like a leech and never let go. You wanted to feel them all over your body.

Mingi quickly unbuttoned his trousers. Your tiny hands grabbed his shirt collar, trying to pull him as close as possible, and you licked his neck with your soft tongue. He's never met anyone so desperate to be touched. The way you whimper into his neck, kiss him randomly, and smear saliva over his lips and chin drives him wild. You're definitely his favourite—the best girl he's ever fucked in recent times, if maybe ever. He should tell the members about you; he should let them hear your beautiful, needy moans with the endless repetition of his name; he'll shove your wet panties right in their faces, damn it.

With one firm hand, Mingi holds you by the waist while the other pulls his boxers down until they are low enough for him to pull out his thick, aching cock. Running his thumb over the swollen, wet head, he squeezes the heavy length into his palm. You whimper and look up at him with your eyes wide open as his fingers grab your chin and pull you away from his neck. So perfect you look—dishevelled, tits bulging from your bra, skirt crumpled, and gathered around your hips as you desperately grab his shirt, trying to pull him as close as possible.

Mingi's desire is to destroy you completely.

"On your knees, dolly."

You are so relentless in your desire to please the man who is in front of you. As you obediently lower yourself to the carpeted floor—rough enough for your delicate knees—Mingi's hands run through your hair. You're too mesmerised by the sight in front of you—a gorgeous man, a world-famous idol, by the way—stroking his big cock lazily, looking too amazing to remain indifferent.

"Do you want to try it?" You drool. The only answer you can give is an impatient moan that tells Mingi all he needs to know.   You're so desperate; you've never wanted to take someone's cock in the mouth so much. It would probably be so hard on your tongue because Mingi looks so big.

You're not quite sure if you can take the whole thing or just half of it. You know it'll bulge out of your throat if you do. You're so focused on thinking about it that you only come when the hot head of Mingi's cock begins to circle your smooth, swollen lips. He lets out a deep, low moan and the sound is pure porn. You can bet your bottom dollar that Mingi can make an entire concert hall cum at once just by moaning into the microphone. Fuck, their concerts must be wild.

Your mouth falls open in impatience as you look up at him with your eyes glazed over.

"You are such a good girl." Mingi whispers, holding back a moan as your tongue sticks out to lick the drop of pre-cum that is leaking from the head of his cock. He's sure that you've only been made for sucking his cock.

It's so easy to lead you; you're docile, submissive, eager for pleasure, and desperate for the praise that comes with it. The further your mouth descends onto his cock, the bigger and brighter your eyes become, full of pleading as you look up at Mingy, watching how he reacts, wanting to know if you're doing well. Mingi knows that if he were to send your picture to the members right now, it would cause a universal heart attack. They're absolute wimps for obedient little girls that they can scold and use at will.

"Look at you." He takes a sharp breath and runs his thumbs over your pouting cheeks. You look wickedly adorable, and perhaps Mingi is tempted to shove his cock even deeper down your throat, so that you choke on it and begin to sob. "You bruised your knees just so you could suck my cock. How did I get to be so lucky?"

The stifled moan that you let out is accompanied by a thrust of your hips that makes you feel like you are starting to choke. You try your best to relax your jaw as much as possible, holding back the coughing that starts to bubble up in your throat and forcing yourself to calm down. You look at Mingi through the protruding tears and blink your eyes slowly, waiting for the idol to start to fuck you down your throat. He takes no more than a second to realise what you're proposing.

"Want me to fuck your mouth, baby?" Your strangled moan stops momentarily as Mingi moves his hips again, pushing further into the enveloping wet heat, throwing your head back as you accept his heavy, massive length without complaining. "Damn beautiful, such a pretty cock slut."

Your lips tingle around the suggestive girth, and your cheeks are warm from the praise and effort you've put into his pleasure. You look so dishevelled right now, saliva dripping from your chin down your neck and between your heavy tits falling out of your bra. Your knees are red from rubbing against the rough carpet, your eyes are wet and red from unshed tears, and a small puddle of your secretions is also collecting underneath you, dripping freely from your quivering cunt. You haven't even been fucked yet, and you probably look as fucked as you feel. Even though you have every hope that you will be soon.

When Mingi suddenly yanks you by the hair and pulls you away from his cock, you make a half-squeaky sound and look at him with a crying, hurt look on your face, as if your favourite toy has just been taken away from you. Mingi leans down and pulls you to him for a dirty kiss, his tongue thrusting into your mouth and licking it from the inside to the outside as he tastes himself. 

It may be disgusting, but your moans are enthusiastic, and you enjoy every second of it.

"You're so beautiful, dolly. What am I going to do with you?" His words are breathed in through searing kisses, the lips sliding together at random, smearing saliva and mucus all over. Damn, this is unrealistically hot—all of his fantasies coming to life in a beautiful girl who just happens to be sharing a compartment with him on the night train. "Maybe I should have you with me for an introduction to the other members? How would you like it if I were to fuck that obliging mouth of yours off in front of the whole group?"

Enjoying his praise and such a tantalising prospect, you whimper again. Being their whore isn't such a bad option, to be honest; as long as you're fed and well fucked, it's enough to have fun.

"I can't seem to keep my hands off of you, sweetheart. You're literally a pollination." Mingi's deep, velvety whisper tickles your ears. He reaches out to take the palm of your hand and cradle it against his cock. 

It's a heavy, hot length, resting perfectly in the palm of your hand, and you long to feel it inside of you. It's big, big enough to send you to heaven with every thrust, and the big head hits you right on the cervix with every thrust of those skilled hips. God bless his dancing skills, because, as you know, dancers can fuck like gods.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" You gasp as Mingi's big hand glides over yours, both of them sliding up and down his hard cock in a confident manner. "With your beautiful eyes and the beauty of your face, Perfect, sweet lips, perfect for the sucking of my cock." He bites down on the torn lower lip you have bitten and kissed and pulls it into his mouth, then pulls back to give you a chaste kiss on your swollen mouth. "All of this is just for me."

Leaning completely on Mingi in front of you, your weak legs have long since stopped supporting you. Your beautiful mouth is open a little, a small whimper escaping from the depths of your throat as you savour the praise that is pouring down upon you. It makes you feel so damn good.

"You are such a delicious girl." Mingi moans as he bites down hard on one of your lips. He turns you around and pushes you in front of him until you find yourself pressing your face first against the fogged-up window. You look out, eyes wide open. There is nothing on the road, just wide fields whizzing by in a fast, blurred image. But something about the thought of somehow seeing how Mingi is fucking you stupid in front of windows makes you wet. Your pussy clenches against nothing. You arch your back and your plump, soft arse, trying to rub against Mingi's cock.

His commanding hand pulls one of your buttocks back to reveal your wet cunt and virgin anal opening. Fuck, you look so delicious. He thinks about pushing his face into your pussy once more and licking you until the morning comes. Next time, he says to himself, shaking his head in the hope that the urge will go away. His hair is falling down over his eyes, giving him that same vicious look that makes their fans go crazy for them. 

"I'm going to fuck you like this." Mingi whispers, clenching the lobe of your ear with his teeth. "You'll be a good girl, and you'll be quiet for me so that nobody else can hear how good and how deep I'm fucking you. Do you understand me?"

The rough, big palm slapping your mouth muffled the impatient moan you made as the head of Mingi's cock pushed your sticky folds apart from behind.

"What I told you, doll. If you want to feel me inside you, you need to hear it. I can tease you all night long and play with your lusty little pussy if you are naughty." His words are disapproving and you do a quick nod of understanding. You're going to be good for him. You know you can. You will do everything Mingi asks of you and fulfil his every wish.

Mingi continues to tease you, enjoying the stuttering moans that are muffled by his hand as his cock slides between your folds, rubbing against your clit but never penetrating you. The bulging head of his cock clings to the edge of your throbbing hole and you want to start begging for it. It's agonising, and your eyes fill with tears of frustration at how much you want to feel the thick, long Mingi's cock inside you.

"Have I upset you, doll?" Mingi cooed at the sound of your sobs. "You want my cock so badly. Don't you?" Confirming his words, you nodded mindlessly. "Baby, you know how much I love you; I can't upset my fans." One second you're empty, needy, and throbbing with anticipation, and the next Mingi's thick cock is shoved deep inside you, your oozing hole struggling to get used to his massive size.

A wheeze bursts from your lungs at the intensity of the thrust, your breasts pressed against the window. Your nipples are hardening from the cold of the glass and are becoming even more sensitive than they were before. It's so painful and so good that you're on the verge of tears.

"So perfect, if only you could see the way your beautiful cunt is taking my cock in. I thought you'd have to be stretched for that, but what a pleasant surprise; you don't need it." The sultry purr makes you roll your eyes. His voice is a damned aphrodisiac, making you dumber and wetter, your juices squirting around his cock with every sinful move he make of his hips. Mingi fucks like a god; you were right about him.

You whimper weakly as your nipples rub against the cold glass of the window. Rationality has left you completely. Drool flows freely into Mingi's palm, which is still clamped over your mouth. Your legs turn to jelly as Mingi holds you with a strong arm around your waist, sliding hard in and out of your wet cunt, causing your eyes to roll back in your head. Somewhere far away, your mind is foggy. All it can think about is how good you feel and how much you want this to never end. It's like you're addicted to a drug and you need more Mingi—more, more, and more.

The narrow, velvety walls of your vagina close in over Mingi's dick, pulling him inside and holding him in what feels like a soft vice. Mingi's low, deep moans, the slapping against skin, and the loud, rhythmic squelching echo around you. It's so damned loud, even when he's holding back, and you can't help imagining what it would sound like elsewhere. This must be in their dorm; the rooms are soundproof because he's a terribly loud, whining, moaning mess.Two long fingers slide into your mouth and onto your tongue. You gurgle around them, sucking hard, the cold of the rings burning you, and it's so erotic.

"The best for me." That's all Mingi has to say to you before his thrusts get faster and faster, becoming almost aggressive as he presses you up against the window, his muscular thighs slapping against your plump arse.

All you can do is take what you're given and lick his fingers deep into your mouth as his massive cock fucks the life out of you. You throb and whip your juices around him. As your orgasm hits you, you rest your head on Mingi's shoulder. You arch up and shake with your whole body. Mingi's cock is still thrusting into you. He is having a hard time moving because you are squeezing him so hard. He doesn't stop hitting you, he moves his hips in a calculated way, hitting that special spot that makes you want to see the stars. It's almost mocking. The intense stimulation is searing, almost maddening, as if you're stuck somewhere between heaven and hell.

"That's it, doll. You look so beautiful when you cum so hard. Maybe I should fuck you on stage before all the fans, so they can see what a pretty face you make when my cock is so deep inside you." Teeth sink into your shoulder, and you give a weak whimper. "Or maybe you want me to film it so that I can jerk off any time I feel like it? Tonight I'm going to watch you cum over and over and over again."

Mingi seems to really mean what he says, because it's pretty clear from the way he keeps moving inside of you that he won't be satisfied until he's gotten a few more out of you. His endurance is something rabbits would envy. Mingi fucks like an animal, but it's fucking splendidly.

You squeal in overexcitement and run your hands over the window in front of you, leaving a trail of fingerprints all over the glass. You moan loudly as Mingi comes out of you, your used-up, reddened hole shrinking in the emptiness as you instinctively try to close around the hot, massive length. He has literally broken all the men in your life. How the hell are you going to be able to have sex with anyone else after this?

You'll be in need of rehab for the rest of your life.

He pulls you by your waist like a real doll. You find yourself on the lap of a cheeky idol. Your hips are shaking, and you are trying to hold on to him, clutching at Mingi's broad, muscular shoulders with your hands. He stares at you with a lustful, wet gaze, his eyes gliding over every curve and every mark he's left on you. And Mingi isn't finished with you yet.

"Now let's plant you properly, baby." As he pushes you onto his cock, his hands grab your arse and spread your cheeks. The squelching sound is loud and sickening as you sink down onto him completely. Mingi presses his hand on your belly as the head of his cock protrudes from under the thin skin of yours. "That's right, you take me so well. Your cunt is the perfect place for the warmth of my cock to be. Don't you think so, dolly?" He's almost purring like a fucking cat, and you're not thinking anything; you're just mindlessly nodding along to everything he says.   You moan longingly as he circles your hips, and you settle comfortably on his cock. You're so full that he presses against every sensitive spot inside you, making you gasp for air. With Mingi's help, you begin to rise and fall, slapping your arse against his muscular thighs, your mouth ajar, your eyelashes fluttering, and your chubby cheeks wet and hot. You're pure sin. Your legs are too weak to ride Mingi properly, but the idol doesn't care; he's doing fine on his own, guiding your hips as he pleases and driving his cock into you with powerful, deep thrusts.

As he hits you in all the right places, making your toes curl, you see stars behind your closed eyes. You sob openly, your slippery lips pressing against Mingi's neck in an attempt to muffle your moans. You whimper about how good it feels, how deep it goes, and how he never wants to stop. With each thrust, the round, wet head comes to rest against your cervix.

You shudder and squirm in his hands as Mingi presses his fingers against your swollen clit. You can feel it; you're so damn wet. You're flowing like a waterfall, all the way down the length of Mingi and probably all the way down to your balls, forming a puddle on the seat beneath you. You don't want this moment to end; you feel so full and satisfied.

He can collar you and drag you all over the world if he wants to, just so you can keep feeling that gorgeous cock inside you.

"Now! I'm going to cum now, Mingi!" You squeal, pressing your hand to your mouth and bouncing up and down in spite of the tension in your thighs, your tits jiggling with every move you make. Aydol leans forward and catches one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his hot, silky tongue around it as he licks it. Are all rappers that good with their tongues, or is it just something that Mingi does? So you come for the third time that night, your head thrown back and your muscles burning as you continue to be fucked mercilessly. You contract and throb relentlessly all over the thick length that has been pushed deep inside you.

It's a lot, so damn much, but Mingi is still insatiable. To be honest, you wonder where all this sexual appetite comes from with such a constant workload. He could probably go at it with you the whole night through, changing position after position until you pass out.   Mingi isn't enough; he isn't full enough to be finished with you.

He turns you over on your back, and you slam your back into the uncomfortable seat. Mingi is still so hard; the head of his cock is a fierce shade of red; his balls are throbbing; one more orgasm from you, and maybe he'll finally let himself come and make a real mess of you. The prospect of flooding you with his cum would be heavenly for him; you would look so beautiful with thick white jets of cum flowing all over your face. It was definitely an unforgettable sight.

Your walls are on fire as Mingi's cock struggles to get back into the nice velvety warmth, and you shake your head underneath it, visibly shaking your whole body and letting out the most beautiful wet sobs.

"It's too much; I can't! God, Mingi, I can't." Mingi kisses you lovingly to calm you down, and you breathe heavily, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"That's OK, baby; you're OK. You can give me another one, right? I know you can, beautiful doll. Come on, make me cum."

"Just one more time." Your voice is barely a whisper.

"Yes, just one. And you can get some rest. I promise." It's something between a promise and an assurance; the words are little more than reassurance, but you're in agreement.

If you had another member with you, you can't even imagine what it would have been like. You wouldn't have survived. And you wonder how fans keep referring to the idols as cute prince charmers with big innocent eyes. Never again.

Mingi squeezes your plump breasts in her hands and bends her head down so that she can take one of your nipples in her mouth. You're too sensitive right now, and even this action makes your hips tremble slightly. Her tongue swirls around the hard bud until Mingi begins to suck tangibly. You tangle your fingers in the surprisingly soft hair, your breasts rising and falling rapidly as you slowly recover from the hypersensitivity of your last orgasm. Mingi's cock is still warm deep inside you.

His hips begin to move gently, in a slow, erotic rhythm, as his teeth graze your nipple, making you whimper. It is this kind of change that almost gives you whiplash. You wrap your legs around Mingi's slender waist and scratch his back with your nails; it hurts, but in a good way. Deep down, you always knew you were a bit of a masochist.

"Look, baby, you're doing so well. You look amazing." The deep, gentle movements of his hips hit the right spot in you. You jump, and you see white spots in front of your eyes. "You need this, don't you? You need to be fucked until you can't take it any more, you little slut."

You nod desperately. It's exactly what you've always needed. A fuck on the edge of your life is exactly what you need after a string of unsatisfying, disappointing partners, after work and endless errands, after the weariness of the day and the noise of the crowd. And it seems that Mingi does too.

You never expected to intentionally meet an idol, and you certainly didn't expect him to remember your face, let alone your name, but here you are with Mingi's cock from Ateez deep inside you, and to be honest, it's the best thing that's ever happened to you in your whole life.

You're so lucky.

Your eyes are closed, your mouth is open in a silent moan, and your breasts are shaking with every thrust. And just as Mingi expected, the crystal pendant looks amazing between your bare tits.

You are being fucked so well that you can't find the right words to describe it. The contrast between you and Mingi is striking: you're completely dishevelled, shattered in every sense of the word, shivering, your clothes half hanging off your body, while Mingi has only drops of sweat on his forehead with long strands of fringes clinging to them, his trousers still on his hips, unbuttoned just so his cock can slip out, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and his hair slightly dishevelled.

In a selfish desire to cum, you are pressed mercilessly into the seat, fucking the rest of your life out of you.

"Cum inside." You whisper, barely coherent. "Please, Mingi."

Mingi growls at this request, losing all self-control at the thought of him filling you with his cum, forcing you to keep it inside you so that all you can think about is him. Feeling him inside you with every step you take. He rubs your swollen clit hard with his thumb, making sure he squeezes the last orgasm out of you. His hips set a frantic, jagged rhythm as he enters your pussy that still flows around him, wet squelches and slaps echoing between you.   It's the final orgasm that finally brings Mingi to his own release. He lets his head drop low as he bites the back of your neck to stifle a loud, prolonged moan, both of you lost in their own pleasure. Mingi's orgasm is so intense that you can feel his cum running down the sides of your cunt, filling you to the brim. The intensity causes him to go blind for a few seconds, and it takes him a while to come to.

This is new. Even for him.

Mingi finally pulls back to look at you. He coos softly as he notices how broken and completely fucked you look.

"That's my girl. You did great, doll." He whispers in a low voice and leaves soft kisses on your bitten skin. His lips are like soft, fluffy clouds—very soft and delicate.

Your vision is blurred and your mind is a mess, and you don't seem to be able to function properly anytime soon, but the only thing you're sure of is how content and satisfied you feel right now. You whimper pitifully as Mingi comes out of you, trying to squeeze your hole to keep the cum from leaking out. But it's inevitable; a small amount leaks out of you anyway in a thick, creamy mass.

"Let's get you cleaned up, doll, so you can get some rest afterwards."

Despite the sperm leaking out of you, your head tilts helplessly to the side as Mingi helps you put your clothes back on. He seems to be enjoying the sight, making no effort to wipe it off. Disgusting, yes. He doesn't give a fuck. Nobody ever said he was a nice boy.

You cringe at the sensation. But the knowledge that it's Mingi's cum gives you endless perverse pleasure. You're tired, too exhausted to want anything more than to sleep. You still have hours of travel ahead of you; you must rest before Asa meets you at the train station.

Mingi notices your condition. He has already straightened your clothes and picked up your mobile phone from the floor. The recording is safely stored in a private folder. It is protected by a complex, multi-digit password.

"Y/N, you can sleep now. I'll keep an eye on you." He laughs as he says that, because that's exactly what he said before he started fingering you. But this time, he really means what he says.

"Whatever you want to say." You reply with a smile and finally take off your shoes, which are uncomfortable as hell, and curl up into a ball. "I think, thank you, Mingi. You know, for the sex."

"Don't thank me; I'm kind of totally into you."

"Good night, then."

"Dream about me, Y/N."

By the time you wake up, the train has already arrived at Tamagawa Station. As you would expect, Mingi is nowhere in sight, but your duffel bag is on his seat opposite you. He's not a complete bastard, after all. You pack quickly and fly off the train, straight into Asa's warm embrace.

"Hey girl, you're finally here. God, you look tired and exhausted." If she only had a clue...

"Long night," you reply simply with a shrug of your shoulders.

"Well, let's go. The hot springs are waiting for us, and I hear there's a famous group staying at this resort right now. Maybe we'll meet some of the idols." Asa is terribly excited and is dragging you by the hand in the direction of her car.

You vaguely remember what Mingi had said about him and the boys coming here to relax before their concerts. But you don't even know if they stay here or not, and this is a big resort. What are the chances?

When you get into the car, the only thing you can think about is Mingi's dried semen on your thighs and where the hell your knickers have gone. 

On the next day.

"This is it; I can't stand it any longer. How can you stand it??"Asa whined as she climbed out of the big hot tub with the bubbling hot water. She was all flushed, the pretty pink bathing suit clinging to her body like a second skin, until she changed into a fluffy white dressing gown.

"It's hot springs, Asa. That's the point.."You rest your head on the padded side and laugh at her pained expression. It's a beautiful resort, after all. "Go on. I'm going to be here for a while."

"Yes, don't get boiled alive; there's no one to save you. We're the last ones here tonight; you can sit here alone all night." You realise that Asa has already left, her voice coming from somewhere far away.

The hot water relaxes you, and you feel so good, warm, and comfortable. While enjoying your own moment, you close your eyes.

The next time you open your eyes, there will be a piece of fabric dangling in front of your face, or rather, is it a pair of panties? Cream-coloured silk with a delicate ruffle around the edge—it's definitely a pair of panties. It's your panties! Oh, shit. You turn sharply around and sail away from the edge to look into a face full of a seductive grin and the most gorgeous cat-like features.

"These are yours, aren't they?" The voice sticks to your skin like a kiss of love, so honeyed and sweet. Shocked by the situation, you nod your head stupidly, not knowing how to choose your words. "Oh, I finally found you. You know, Mingi has told us a lot about you, y/n." The man slips easily into the hot tub, unfastening his white dressing gown, revealing a chiselled, gorgeous body. For your taste, too close. He corners you unceremoniously, putting his hands on either side of your face, his wide shouders completely blocking you from seeing. "I'm San. But you already know that, don't you, baby?" He literally whispers the last word in your ear, sending a shiver down your entire body and hardening your nipples, even though the water is warm. "You know, we're resting here before the concerts start. It would be really nice to have a pretty kitty like you to keep us company."

Belatedly, especially when San's lips begin to trace a light path down your neck, you understand the meaning of his words.

"Us? I don't understand." You give him a slight push away from you, but he doesn't move an inch.

"To us, of course, you silly kitty - Ateez. You see, our leader is very interested in making a personal record of all your cute little sounds." He leans over to you and whispers in your ear in a conspiratorial manner. "We had a lot of fun listening to how you cum, kitty."

This is a big resort. You remind yourself. What a possibility, you say. You see a satisfied, anticipatory smile on Yunho's lips as he waves sweetly at you from the other side of the hot tub. He is such a sweet boy. Yeah sure, you absolutely believe it.

Looks like you got lucky. After all, what are the chances of getting to meet not just Mingi, but the whole of his group?

[bowtiepasta]

SFW 𑣿 GOJO, GETO, SHOKO: “SOMEONE NEW”

nothing complicated i just miss sashisu like a mfer and needed a childhood friend to college pipeline with them. this healed something in me (cw: not separate pairings, language, some angst, drinking, modern au, f/afab!reader with she pronouns, flirty)

you first kiss satoru on a soccer field when you are ten, grass littered uniforms and scraped knees disregarded by the scowls on both your faces — one due to his third penalty in this match, yours due to the drink he just dumped out of your hand (and.. the fact that he kissed you in the bleachers in front of the entire school, as the ball flies into the outfield). total accident, he claims.

you first kiss suguru as a thank you for tutoring you through midterms the spring of your second year, in the janitor’s closet while nanami gets dresscoded on the other side of the door. you end up making out till the bell rings, wait for the halls to be empty to leave. caught up in the moment, he says.

you first kiss shoko at her doorstep a day before graduation, both completely shitfaced after utahime fake id-ed two cases of vodka cranberry and had to finish it before her parents got home. she nearly is expelled the next morning, manages to dodge it somehow. shoko ‘doesn’t remember’ one bit.

you haven’t talked to any of them since you drove away from the ceremony, gown and cap sat quietly on the dash of your car, acceptance letter folded in the glove box. you haven’t kissed anyone this year.

it’s not like you haven’t tried dating. blind dates, dates that picked you up at bars, dates that sparked messy roommate situations. and yet.. you didn’t kiss any of them. or anything else, for that matter.

has it really been that long?

when satoru finds out you all live in the same dormitory this year, he adds you to a groupchat and drops the address to a new dive bar down the block. all of them are convinced, except you.

you leave them on read.

it’s not like you don’t want to go. the idea of seeing them again makes your fingers twitch against your phone screen, hovering over the buttons, rereading the stupid little salute emoji satoru sent in. suguru thumbs-upped the text. shoko left it on delivered, though you know she’ll probably show up anyway.

you don’t reply. you’re busy. you’ve outgrown whatever this was, and you’re a different person now. when you drove away from that ceremony without saying goodbye, you did it on purpose.

..right? right.

so you go to bed early, phone facedown, volume off.

the next morning, there’s a photo in the chat: a blurry, overexposed mess of neon lights and moving figures, captioned you were supposed to be here, loser. satoru, obviously. you ignore it.

then comes another. this time from suguru. a selfie. well, almost. more like half of his face and most of shoko’s, her head thrown back laughing. he’s smirking at the camera, holding up a drink, the words we ordered you one anyway typed underneath.

you hate how easy it is for them to pick up where they left off. how the years apart don’t seem to mean anything to them.

you chalk it up to fomo, but really, you miss them.

the groupchat lies dormant for a while. the first time you run into one of them in person, it’s not satoru. it’s not suguru, either.

two days later, at the corner store down the street.

she spots you before you see her. your name slips out of her mouth like a habit, before she can stop it.

“avoiding me?”

you grab a bottle of water from the fridge, letting the cold plastic bite into your palm. “I’m busy,” you say, because it’s easier than the truth.

shoko hums like she doesn’t quite believe you, grabbing a pack of cigarettes off the shelf. she looks the same. a little older, a little sharper around the edges, but still so unexplainably her.

the same girl who used to steal sips from your drinks when you weren’t looking, who let you sleep on her floor when you fought with your parents, who kissed you once and never mentioned it again.

“we’re going out again this weekend,” she says, tucking the cigarettes into her left pocket. “if you don’t show, satoru’s gonna start getting.. creative.”

you raise an eyebrow. “creative?”

shoko smirks as her receipt prints. “he has your number. the real one, not the one you muted us on.”

your stomach sinks.

“see you there,” she walks off before you can argue.

you spend the next few days pretending you’re not thinking about it.

which is stupid, of course you are. you think about it while you’re in class, rereading the same paragraph in your textbook without absorbing a single word. you think about it when you’re cooking dinner, zoning out so hard that the pasta overboils and hisses against the stove, licks at the countertop.

then comes saturday night, right as you’re about to convince yourself for real that you aren’t going-

satoru calls you.

not a text. not a meme in the group. a full fledged, obnoxious phone call.

you hesitate before answering. which, in hindsight, is your first mistake. your second is actually picking up.

“hiii, stranger.” his voice is syrupy sweet, every syllable stretched out, “you know, if you were gonna go witness protection on us, you could’ve at least left a goodbye letter.”

you pinching the bridge of your nose. “satoru-”

“don’t ‘satoru’ me. do you have any idea how tragic it was last time? suguru had to drink your cocktail for you. he was fucking devastated.”

you hear a low, amused hum in the background.

“I was fine.”

“no, he wasn’t,” satoru continues. “he stared into space all night. contemplated existence. it was dark.”

there’s a muffled sound, like someone smacking him in the arm. shoko, you’re guessing.

you exhale, dragging a hand down your face. it’s annoying — it is — because it’s unfair. it’s unfair that they can just pick up where they left off while you’re still stuck at a finish line, pretending you can’t.

and maybe that’s why, instead of hanging up, you say, “where is this place?”

satoru gasps like you’ve just confessed your undying love to him. “ohhh, now you’re interested?”

“I didn’t say I was coming,” you argue, but you can already hear the grin in his voice.

“sure, sure,” he says. “texting you the address now. see you soon, sweetheart.”

he hangs up before you can protest. your phone buzzes a second later.

the final straw is a venmo request.

$5 for your absence. we took a vote.

you 9:58 PM: i hate all of you suguru 9:58 PM: so you’ll be there? you 10:00 PM: maybe suguru 10:00 PM: that’s not a nooo

you cave.

you arrive twenty minutes late, hoping the extra time will take the edge off. it doesn’t.

the bar is exactly what you expect — sticky tables, health violations, music that tells you to stay away (nickelback). you spot them immediately, because.. well. some things don’t change.

you hover in the doorway longer than you should, debating leaving, until satoru glances up.

his grin is blinding. “holy shit.”

three pairs of eyes snap to you.

you exhale through your nose. too late now.

satoru waves you over like you’re a lost dog. “get over here, exile. thought we’d need a search party.”

you roll your eyes but make your way to the table, slipping into the seat next to shoko.

“hilarious,” you deadpan, the words coming out lighter than you mean them to.

suguru pushes a drink toward you. “pre-ordered.”

a wrinkle forms between your brows. “what is it?”

“who cares?” shoko scoffs. “just drink.”

you hesitate for half a second. then you grab the glass.

satoru’s grin widens. “that’s my girl.”

you pretend the warmth in your chest is just the alcohol. it burns in your throat, but in the way that reminds you of being sixteen and reckless: bad decisions made on good nights.

“you look good,” suguru says, studying you.

you don’t know how to answer that, so you just shrug. “not so bad yourself.”

“obviously,” satoru interjects, stretching his arms over the back of the booth, effectively trapping you and shoko in. “we age like fine wine.”

shoko exhales smoke directly into his face. he doesn’t flinch.

“you’re a nuisance,” she says.

“you love me,” he counters.

you should feel out of place. you should feel like an outsider looking in, like some unwelcome visitor. it’s been years. yet.. the moment you sat down, every available inch of space is by default, the way it should be. almost like you never left.

“so,” satoru drawls, drumming his fingers against the table. “what’s the deal? you hate us now?”

you blink. “what?”

“you vanished after graduation.” he says it simply, a fact, a puzzle piece he’s been turning over in his hands for years. “I mean, I get it. I’d leave them too if I had the choice.” he gestures towards the other two. “but me?” he gawks. “rude.”

suguru huffs a laugh. “speak for yourself.”

you pick at the rim of your glass, salt flaking between your pointer and thumb. “I didn’t ..vanish.”

“no? then what would you call it?”

you swallow. the words are on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t know how to say them. that after the ceremony, after all the hugs and the drunken promises to stay in touch, you sat in your car for an hour and felt nothing. that leaving wasn’t some big, dramatic decision — it just happened.

a door closing. a chapter ending.

satoru is looking at you, suguru is watching, shoko is waiting, and suddenly, you don’t want to say anything at all.

“I wanted a new start,” you lie instead, but no one calls you out on it.

satoru somehow lets it go. “well. you’re here now.”

and just like that, the moment passes. the conversation shifts, and so does the night.

shoko orders another round. suguru leans in, asks about your job, your apartment, the details of your life that they’ve missed. satoru interrupts every three minutes with commentary, and by the time you’re halfway through your second drink, you’re laughing, really laughing, and you realize, with a strange sort of ache, that you haven’t in a long time.

it’s late when you finally leave. satoru slings an arm over your shoulder like he’s been doing it every day for the past four years, and you don’t push him off.

“don’t be a stranger this time,” suguru calls out before heading off in the opposite direction.

shoko kisses your cheek. “welcome back.”

you don’t respond. but as you make your way home, satoru’s warmth still lingering against your skin, you think maybe this time — you’ll stay.

satoru 3:04 AM: since we’re all back together now satoru 3:04 AM: should we address the elephant in the room? shoko 3:10 AM: tf are you on satoru 3:11 AM: you know. how we’ve all kissed her

© bowtiepasta: do not copy edit or repost anywhere

[ruewritesoccasionally]

Welcome to the Neighbourhood | Terry Richmond

pairings: neighbour!terry richmond x neighbour!black reader

warnings: smut 18+, fluff, slow burn (if you squint), slightly rough/dom!terry - lmk if you think i missed anything else

summary: ready to put shelby springs behind him, terry ventures to start afresh - new job and new neighbourhood but the last thing he was expecting was to have an attractive neighbour waltz in and send his head spinning

word count: 5.4K

Shelby Springs had taken everything from him—his peace, his purpose, his faith in people. But Terrance Richmond wasn’t a man to let the past define him. He had to rebuild, brick by brick, until there was nothing left of the anger, pain, or memories that weighed him down. Once he’d made his peace, routine became his salvation. If there was one thing Terry wasn’t, it was idle.

Standing at 6’2, with muscles that didn’t come from sitting still, he carried himself with the discipline of a former Marine. He threw himself into rebuilding his life with the same focus, which is why the executive protection job posting felt like fate. It was an opportunity to start over. A new job, a new city—it wasn’t nature like he was used to, but he wasn’t about to say no to a clean slate.

The last of the moving boxes sat stacked on his driveway, waiting to be carried inside. As Terry hoisted one of the heavier ones, headlights flashed across his yard, catching his attention. His eyes followed the movements of a woman stepping out of a car, her keys in hand. If his hands hadn’t instinctively tightened around the box, the fine China inside would’ve been in pieces on the pavement.

Damn. She was... striking. The kind of striking that rooted a man to the spot and left his thoughts a tangled mess.

The pantsuit she wore clung to her figure in all the right ways, while soft curls framed her face like a work of art. Then she smiled, and he was done for.

She approached with a confident stride, her voice soft but laced with a teasing edge that only added to her allure. “Hey,” she said, flashing him an easy smile—the kind that could charm just about anyone. “Looks like they finally found someone to take the place. Congrats. I’m in a rush right now, but I get off work at 6. I’ll swing by to properly introduce myself—if that’s cool with you?”

Terry fumbled between a nod and a simple word of agreement, finally managing a quick, “Yeah, sounds good,” before she turned and climbed into her car.

She waved as she drove off, a soft giggle escaping her lips.

She knew she had a wicked flirt game, and today’s outfit choice was clearly the right one. As she headed to the office, an unusually good mood accompanied her. She couldn’t help but think about her new neighbour—broad shoulders, brooding eyes, and a quiet intensity that lingered even in their brief interaction.

Her curiosity burned through the day like a steady flame. Who was he? What was his story? And most importantly, would he be sticking around?

Terry tried to shake her out of his head as he tackled the last of the boxes. But it was no use. Her voice, her smile—they’d already sunk into his mind, leaving him restless and curious. 6 o’clock couldn’t come fast enough.

The sun was just beginning to set, casting a golden hue over the neighbourhood, when YN pulled into her driveway, a sense of anticipation bubbling in her chest. Work had been exhausting, but the thought of properly meeting her new neighbour had been the highlight of her day. She stepped into her house, kicked off her heels, and immediately headed for the shower. The warm water was a welcome relief, washing away the day's tension and leaving her feeling refreshed.

Dressed in something comfortable yet flattering—because first impressions mattered, even if she wasn’t technically trying—YN made her way into the kitchen. Cooking was a distraction, a way to channel her nerves into something productive. She whipped up a quick but hearty meal, pairing it with some baked goods she’d had stashed away. It was a neighbourly gesture, sure, but she’d also seen him. And let’s just say that the mysterious, rugged man across the street had piqued her curiosity.

Balancing the food containers carefully in her hands, YN walked across to his house. The porch light was on, a warm glow illuminating the otherwise quiet street. She knocked twice, stepping back as she waited.

Inside, Terry had been pacing his living room for the past fifteen minutes, glancing at the clock and then the front door as if he could will someone to show up. He’d told himself it was silly, but the memory of their brief interaction that morning had stayed with him all day. She was charming, poised, and stunning, and the idea of seeing her again had stirred something in him he couldn’t quite name.

When the knock finally came, he opened the door to find her standing there, her smile lighting up the dimming evening. His expression softening into something she could only describe as relief. His eyes flicked down to the food in her hands, then back up to her face, his lips twitching as though he were fighting the urge to smile.

For a split second, neither of them spoke, just taking each other in. Then, at the same time, they both blurted out their names.

"Terrance Richmond." "YN."

The words collided, and they both paused before bursting into laughter.

"No, you go," she said, waving a hand for him to continue.

He shook his head with a small, amused smile. "No, you first. I insist."

She gave in, introducing herself again, this time with a little less fluster. “Sorry about the rush this morning. I was running late for work. I figured I’d make it up to you by bringing some dinner—just thought I’d save you the trouble of cooking or ordering in tonight.”

Terry raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised but not ungrateful. “That’s... really kind of you. Thank you.” He stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in.

YN wasn’t sure what she’d expected—half-packed boxes or chaos, maybe—but his house was already well put together. Everything had its place, and the space looked cosy, even lived-in.

“You’ve been busy,” she remarked, glancing around.

Terry followed her gaze, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, I couldn’t keep still. Needed to get everything done.”

The motion of his hand raised the hem of his shirt just enough to reveal a sliver of his abdomen, and her breath hitched involuntarily at the sight. He was... sculpted, to say the least. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but the deep heat rising in her cheeks betrayed her.

Terry noticed—of course, he noticed. His lips quirked into a subtle smirk, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “You okay over there?” he teased, his voice dipping lower.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Totally fine,” she stammered, mentally cursing herself. Way to keep it together, YN.

“Kitchen’s this way,” he said, leading her further inside.

In the kitchen, she set the food down on the counter while Terry rummaged through a cabinet for plates and cutlery.

“Wine or whiskey?” he asked, holding up a tumbler in one hand and a wine glass in the other.

She tilted her head, eyeing him playfully. “You strike me as the rough-around-the-edges whiskey type. But I could be wrong.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “And you strike me as the sophisticated wine type. Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

She laughed softly, choosing the wine glass. “Maybe just a little bit of both,” she said, holding up her glass in a mock toast.

Dinner passed with ease, the conversation flowing effortlessly between them. She learned about his time in the Marines, his decision to move to the city, and his plans to settle into a new routine. In turn, he listened intently as she spoke about her work as a lawyer and the challenges that came with it.

“Why executive protection?” she asked, genuinely curious.

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping to his glass. “It seemed like the right move. I needed something to focus on, something to ground me after...I guess I wanted to keep helping people… just without all the…” He gestured vaguely, his voice trailing off.

She nodded, understanding the weight of what he wasn’t saying. “That makes sense. You’re a protector. It suits you.”

Instead, she smiled softly, changing the subject to something lighter. “Well, I think the neighbourhood gossip will be all over you in no time. New guy, good-looking, and clearly handy with a moving box? You’re prime material.”

Terry chuckled, shaking his head. “And here I thought I’d be flying under the radar.”

“Not a chance,” she teased, raising her glass.

The evening passed in a blur of laughter and easy conversation, the initial awkwardness fading into a comfortable rhythm. By the time the food was gone and the wine bottle nearly empty, she realised how late it had gotten.

“I should let you get some rest,” she said, standing and gathering her things.

Terry walked her to the door, his presence warm and steady beside her. ���Thanks for coming over. And for dinner. You didn’t have to, but... it means a lot.”

She smiled, the sincerity in his voice catching her off guard. “It’s my turn to host next time,” she said, stepping out onto the porch.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he replied, leaning casually against the doorframe.

As she walked back to her house, she felt his eyes on her, and when she reached her front door, she turned to find him still standing there, waiting. She gave him a small wave before stepping inside, and only then did he close his door.

Back in her kitchen, she leaned against the counter, her thoughts lingering on Terrance Richmond—the man who’d somehow managed to make an ordinary evening feel anything but.

It had been two months of playful banter, stolen moments, and a rhythm they’d fallen into so effortlessly it felt like second nature. Their evenings were a mix of wholesome exploration and daring escapades—her showing him the city from her unique perspective. Quiet cafés tucked into alleys, her favourite jazz bar that always felt alive no matter the hour, daring rooftop views that made her heart race as much as his lingering glances. Terry soaked it all in, learning her through the places she loved.

And then there were the nights. Nights when she’d invite him into her world, sharing wine and laughter, their knees brushing under the table, their gazes holding just a beat too long. Nights when he’d introduce her to the simplicities he cherished: an old movie, a game of cards, or just sitting on his porch with whiskey and comfortable silence. The friendship that brewed between them was comforting, but the undercurrent of something more was undeniable.

He didn’t mind bending the rules, like ignoring speed limits to race home just to catch her as she pulled into her driveway. There was something magnetic about the sight of her at the end of a long day. The way she’d stride out of her car, hair loosened from its bun, buttons of her blouse slightly undone, her lips still stained with that red lipstick that drove him wild. It was like she carried the day’s fire with her, igniting something in him without even trying. He’d lean against his porch, offering her a nightcap with that low, smooth voice of his, and she’d grin, the tension of her day easing away.

She had never been more grateful that Terry’s job required him to wear a suit. Seeing him waiting for her in all his tall, broad-shouldered glory, tie loosened, dark stormy eyes carrying a story from the day, was a sight she never grew tired of. Her eyes would linger, tracing the outline of his strong frame and sharp jawline. Even the way he held himself—calm, composed—was intoxicating. Their usual routine of “Hey, stranger. Fancy seeing you here,” never got old, but there was something different about today.

She parked her car with noticeably less energy, the weight of her day evident in the slight slump of her shoulders. Terry caught it immediately. He leaned against his porch, the usual playful smirk tugging at his lips, but it faded when she approached.

“Hey, stranger,” he said softly, his voice warm but cautious.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she replied, but her tone lacked its usual spark. Her eyes flickered to his, and though her lips curved into a faint smile, it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, taking a step closer.

She exhaled, shaking her head lightly. “Rough day. I don’t think I’m up for anything tonight.”

He nodded, though disappointment briefly flickered across his features. “I get it. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Thanks, Terry,” she said, her voice soft as she turned toward her door.

He watched her retreat into her house, resisting the urge to follow. Respecting her space was the right thing to do, but it didn’t stop the lingering ache in his chest. Something felt off, and it wasn’t just her mood—it was the absence of her presence.

Back in his house, Terry tried to distract himself. He pushed through an intense workout in his home gym, the rhythm of his heart pounding in his ears as he lifted, punched, and ran his frustration away. But no amount of sweat could shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

Showered and changed into a snug grey T-shirt and sweatpants, he found himself pacing his living room. The hours stretched, and the silence grew unbearable. It was stupid—he felt like barely knew her but they had spent so much time together that being apart for the one night felt wrong, and the thought of her being upset made him restless. Finally, he grabbed a bottle of wine and decided to check on her. If nothing else, she deserved someone to talk to.

Terry knocked twice, the bottle balanced in his hand. The sound of footsteps reached him, and when the door swung open, he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

She stood there, framed by the warm glow of her house, wrapped in a silk negligee the colour of deep mauve. The fabric flowed from her shoulders, clinging to her curves in a way that made his breath hitch. It accentuated the fullness of her breasts, the gentle dip of her waist, and the teasing slit that revealed her smooth, toned thigh. Her dark skin shimmered against the luxurious fabric, and her loose hair framed her face like a crown.

He stared, momentarily dumbfounded. “I, uh...” His usual composure failed him.

Her lips twitched, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through the tiredness in her eyes. “Terry,” she said softly, “are you okay?”

He cleared his throat, forcing his gaze to meet hers. “I just... I wanted to check on you. You seemed off earlier.”

Her expression softened, her fingers brushing against the doorframe. “I’m okay. Just needed some time to breathe.”

He held up the bottle. “I figured you might still need that nightcap. But if this is a bad time—”

She stepped aside, a small but genuine smile tugging at her lips. “It’s not.”

He walked in, acutely aware of how close their bodies brushed as he passed her. The faint scent of her perfume—warm, sensual, with a hint of spice—wrapped around him, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

As she closed the door, she turned to face him, her head tilted slightly. “Thanks for checking on me. Most people wouldn’t bother.”

He set the bottle on the counter, turning to face her with a small shrug. “I’m not most people.”

Her smile widened, the tension of her day beginning to unravel. “No, you’re not.”

And there it was again—that spark, that unspoken pull between them. The air felt heavier, charged with something they both knew they couldn’t ignore much longer.

The room was cloaked in a heady tension that neither of them could escape. She leaned against the counter, her fingers brushing absentmindedly against the cool marble surface as she watched him pour the wine. His tall, commanding frame moved with an easy grace that was almost hypnotic, the tight grey T-shirt clinging to his broad chest and shoulders, highlighting every muscle. His stormy blue-grey eyes caught the light for a fleeting second as he glanced up, and they seemed to darken when they met hers.

"Rough day, huh?" His voice was deep, smooth, and rich, yet there was an edge to it, like he was holding something back.

"Yeah," she murmured, her gaze lingering on the way his big hands gripped the bottle. Those hands. She tried to focus on what he was saying, but her mind betrayed her, wandering to how they might feel against her skin, firm yet gentle, exploring every inch of her.

"You don’t talk about work much," he said, leaning casually against the opposite counter, though there was nothing casual about the way his eyes roamed her figure. His gaze lingered on the curve of her waist, the silk of her negligee clinging to her full breasts and cascading down to her thick thighs. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, but his focus never wavered.

"Work’s work," she replied, her voice quieter than she intended. The usual playfulness in her tone was replaced with something softer, more vulnerable. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, but she wasn’t sure if it was from his smouldering gaze or the thoughts racing through her mind.

"That’s fair," he said, his lips curling into a faint smirk, though his voice had dropped an octave. He took a sip of his wine, his sharp jaw flexing slightly as he tilted his head back. She could barely breathe.

The air between them felt thick, electric. Every glance, every subtle movement was charged with an intensity that neither of them could ignore. She wanted to say something, anything, but her eyes kept drifting to his lips, full and smooth, and how easily they curved into that devastatingly charming smile. She wondered what they’d feel like against hers, how they’d taste.

"You seem... distracted," he teased, his voice low and husky.

She huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Says the man who hasn’t stopped staring."

"You’re hard not to stare at," he admitted, his tone serious now.

Her heart skipped a beat, and her fingers tightened around the glass in her hand. "You’re not so bad yourself," she said, her voice steady despite the wild thrum in her chest.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was suffocating in the best way. The kind of silence that demanded action, that begged for release.

And then it happened.

He set his glass down with a soft clink and took a step toward her, closing the distance between them. "You don’t know what you do to me," he murmured, his voice rough, raw with restraint. "Seeing you every morning, looking so damn fine, so put together... And then at night, when you come to mine, when you let your guard down and laugh like the world hasn’t put you through hell that day... I’m here, losing my mind over you, woman."

Her breath hitched, her wide eyes searching his stormy gaze. His words were like gasoline to the fire already burning inside her. "Terry..." she started, but the words caught in her throat.

"No," he cut her off gently, his big hands cupping her face, his thumbs brushing along her jaw. "Let me say this. From the first day I saw you, I knew you were gonna ruin me. And you have. I can’t think straight when you’re around, and when you’re not..." He trailed off, his gaze dropping to her lips.

She felt her chest tighten, her own thoughts spinning out of control. "I’ve liked you since day one," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper.

His lips quirked into a soft, almost disbelieving smile. "Yeah?"

She nodded, her cheeks warm. "Yeah."

That was all he needed to hear.

His lips crashed against hers, and everything else melted away. His hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer until her soft curves were pressed firmly against his muscular frame. She moaned softly into the kiss, her hands exploring the expanse of his chest, feeling the hard planes beneath the fabric of his shirt.

"Terry," she gasped as his lips trailed to her neck, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine.

"You’re perfect," he murmured against her skin, his hands roaming over her thick thighs, her generous hips, memorising every part of her. "So damn perfect."

Her fingers tangled in his short, dark hair as he lifted her effortlessly onto the counter, his lips returning to hers with a fervour that left her breathless. The silk of her negligee rode up, baring more of her dark, supple skin to his touch.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he rasped, his stormy eyes locking with hers as his hand slid up her thigh.

"Show me," she whispered, her voice dripping with desire.

And he did. The tension that had been building for months finally erupted, their movements urgent yet unhurried, savouring every touch, every kiss, every moment. It was the turning page they’d both been waiting for, the start of something they both knew would change everything.

The moment between them burned hotter as they moved upstairs, their lips locked in a fiery kiss that only deepened with each step. Breathless moans filled the spaces where their mouths parted, the sound mingling with the faint creak of the stairs. Terry’s strong arms tightened around her, lifting her effortlessly. Her thighs instinctively clasped around his waist, holding on to him as if her life depended on it. Her fingers found their way under his t-shirt, her fingertips brushing against the hard ridges of his back muscles, revelling in the sheer strength he carried so easily.

His grip on her waist was firm, his large hands branding her as his own, sending a thrilling pulse through her body that promised to linger long after tonight. His touch roamed with purpose, tracing the swell of her thighs and the curve of her hips. When his palm landed on her ass with a sharp slap, followed by a teasing squeeze, she gasped into his mouth, her body arching into him. Terry let out a deep, gravelly chuckle, the sound dripping with satisfaction, as if her every reaction was fuel to the fire raging within him.

With his lips trailing down her jaw, then returning to claim her mouth, he blindly led them toward her bedroom. His back pressed against the door as he maneuvered it open, never breaking their heated connection. Once inside, Terry seated himself at the edge of her bed, pulling her closer onto his lap. She straddled him, her negligee riding higher, teasing them both. Her nails running over his short, dark hair, dragging them just enough to make him groan deeply, the sound vibrating between them. His large hands explored her curves freely now, roaming the softness of her body like a man starved.

As their lips crashed together again, Terry’s control snapped. With an effortless move, he flipped her onto her back, his strength leaving her breathless. The sudden shift made her gasp, her hair splaying out across the sheets as she looked up at him. His body hovered above hers, broad and muscular, his chest rising and falling as he stared down at her. The look on his face—raw, unfiltered desire—sent a thrill through her core. His eyes darkened with lust, his brows knit together in a mixture of longing and determination.

“Terry...” she whispered, her voice trembling under the weight of the moment, her body humming with anticipation.

He lowered himself, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of her collarbone before moving to her ear. His voice, deep and husky, made her shiver. “You don’t know what you do to me, YN,” he repeated. “Not being able to touch you like this.”

Her breath hitched, his confession sending waves of heat coursing through her body. Her hands gripped his biceps, feeling the tension coiled in him, the restraint he had fought for so long finally slipping. "Terry," she whispered again, her voice soft yet laced with her own need.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” he rasped, his gaze trailing over her. “Every damn curve... your thighs, your hips... these gorgeous lips I can’t stop thinking about. You’re driving me insane, YN.”

She grew needier, her dark skin glowing under the low light of the room. Her hands roamed across his back, her nails lightly grazing his skin as she pulled him closer, their bodies pressed together. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word sent sparks flying between them, a tangible current neither could resist.

“Show what you’ve been wanting to do to me”, she breathlessly said.

That was all the permission Terry needed, he lowered his body down hers stopping at her thighs and slowly pusher lingerie up body signalling for her to raise arms so he could undress her. Eyes taking in every detail and she almost shied under his lustful gaze, but he quietened thoughts as he dipped his head down and his mouth parted to envelope the nipple that called for his attention. He bit, licked, sucked and swirled, teasing that bud and showing the other one the same love – “this is what you were hiding me, angel?” His voice, so many decibels lower she almost didn’t recognise it.

“Out of words already, baby? Don’t worry, I’ve got something that’ll bring that voice back”

YN watched as his hands travelled and worked down her body, lighting a trail of fire in their wake. They moved with such expertise, like he had time to study what made her wet – either that or she was just entirely ready for him. Her panties did nothing to disguise her puffy lips or the slickness that dampened the front, she would’ve been embarrassed if she wasn’t so turned on but this was a long time coming.

Terry's lips worked their way down her body, slow and purposeful, leaving a searing trail of anticipation in their wake. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he spread her legs wider, his firm grip sending shivers through her. His stormy eyes flicked up to meet hers, a silent yet urgent question. She responded by gripping the back of his head, guiding him exactly where she needed him most.

He hungrily obeyed, his tongue moving with an aggressive precision that mirrored her unspoken desire. Every stroke was deliberate, every flick of his tongue a testament to his singular focus on her pleasure. His large hands slid up her thighs, his grip firm and grounding as her body trembled beneath him.

Her nails grazed the smooth skin at the back of his head, her soft cries urging him on, and he fed on every sound she made like it was a reward. The way she arched into him, her breathless gasps and whispered curses, only drove him further. He was relentless, addicted to the way she tasted, the way her body writhed under his control.

“Terry…” she moaned, her voice breaking as he increased the pressure, his tongue and lips working in perfect rhythm. He felt her thighs quake against his shoulders, her body teetering on the edge.

“Come on, YN,” he murmured against her, the vibration of his voice sending her spiraling. “I want to feel it. Let go for me.”

With a cry that echoed through the room, she shattered, her release coursing through her like a wave. Terry didn’t stop, prolonging her pleasure, tasting every part of her as though he couldn’t get enough. And as he finally pulled back, his lips glistening, he looked up at her with a dark, satisfied smirk.

Terry’s gaze was locked on her, dark and burning with intensity. She was already bare before him, her body glowing in the low light, every curve and line drawing him in like a man possessed. He knelt on the bed, his knees framing hers, and his hand traced the side of her thigh, firm and deliberate.

“I don’t know how I kept control this whole time,” he muttered, his voice laced with restrained desire. Grabbing her wrist, he guided her hand to the thick length straining against the fabric of his sweatpants. Her eyes widened, and her breath hitched as her fingers instinctively wrapped around him. His jaw clenched at the contact, a low groan slipping from his lips.

“I’m ready to put this where it belongs,” he growled, his voice rough, primal. He stood, his movements deliberate as he tugged off his sweatpants and boxers in one swift motion. When he stood before her, completely bare, her mouth went dry, her pulse racing. His body was a perfect balance of strength and masculinity—toned, powerful, and overwhelming in every sense of the word.

She couldn’t stop the breathless moan of his name. “Terry…” she whimpered, her voice a mix of pleading and desperation.

She reached for him, her nails grazing over the hard ridges of his abs, earning a sharp hiss as he captured her wrist again. His other hand gripped her hip, pulling her toward him as he rolled his body against hers, letting her feel every inch of his arousal pressing into her. She gasped, the friction igniting something primal in her.

“Are you ready to take all of me?” his voice sending shivers down her spine.

Before she could respond, he flipped her onto her stomach with ease, his hands tugging her hips back toward him. A surprised gasp escaped her, quickly replaced by a low moan as his lips found the sensitive spot behind her ear, his teeth grazing her skin. One hand pressed into the small of her back, pinning her in place, while the other slid up her thigh, rough and demanding.

She lifted her head slightly, her eyes catching the mirror across the room. The sight of their bodies intertwining—the dominance in his stance, the way her body responded to his every touch—made her breath hitch. Her body trembled beneath him, overwhelmed by the heat and tension building between them.

But just as his fingers trailed higher, grazing her most sensitive spot, he stilled. His lips brushed against the shell of her ear, and his tone softened, though the intensity remained.

“Tell me you want this,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding. “I need to hear it, YN.”

Her body writhed beneath him, every nerve alight with need. “I want this… and you. I need it, T. Please,” she pleaded, her voice desperate, her core weeping and throbbing for him.

That was all he needed. In one smooth, deliberate motion, he thrust into her, filling her completely. She cried out, her fingers clutching the sheets as her body adjusted to the overwhelming sensation. He didn’t give her a moment to recover, his movements relentless and precise, each thrust stealing the breath from her lungs.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “Taking me so perfectly. You were made for me, weren’t you?”

Her head lolled to the side, her cries and moans echoing in the room. She could barely form a coherent response, her mind clouded with nothing but him. Instead, she let her body speak for her, meeting his movements with equal fervour, the sound of their bodies colliding only heightening the intensity.

As her body tightened around him, the pressure building to an unbearable peak, he slowed. His hand slid around to cup her face, turning her head so he could kiss her. It wasn’t rough like before—it was slow, deep, and tender, a kiss that felt like a promise. Her body trembled, her moan muffled against his lips as her release overtook her, crashing over her in waves.

He followed soon after, a guttural groan escaping him as he buried himself deeper, his grip on her waist tightening. For a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of their laboured breaths and the faint rustle of the sheets.

Finally, he collapsed beside her, pulling her into his arms. His lips pressed against her forehead, the tenderness in the gesture a stark contrast to the passion they’d just shared.

“You okay?” he asked softly, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face.

She nodded, her cheek pressed against his chest as her breathing slowly steadied. “More than okay,” she murmured, a small, satisfied smile tugging at her lips.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Good,” he said, his voice low but warm. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

The promise lingered in the air, and she couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and carefree as she nestled closer to him, feeling completely and utterly content.

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

and take a shot for every time i mentioned 'stormy' or 'eyes' loooool

[liminalmemories21]

Just scrolled through to find where everyone was getting these prompts from, so I'm finally jumping on the bandwagon with:

“They didn't deserve you.”

@cecilyv said Buck talking to kitchen utensils, and then I went looking for new casserole pans, and I always think Tommy deserves a little bit of S1 Buck, who was not called firehose because he's a firefighter, and this happened.

***************

“They didn't deserve you.”

He bakes in his kitchen until he can’t stand being in his loft anymore.  Can’t stand looking at the spaces that Tommy had just started to fill, the spaces where he’d started to imagine Tommy always being.

Packs up flour and sugar and eggs and butter and goes to Maddie and Chim’s.  Bakes in their kitchen until he knows he’s overstaying his welcome.  Although Jee at least will love him as long as he keeps making pancakes and muffins for breakfast.

He doesn’t realize he’s taken their citrus squeezer until he’s baking at home again. Uses it to squeeze lemons for lemon poppy seed loaf, and limes for lime curd to go with the pavlovas he makes.  Chim asks if there’s a new baked good for every time Tommy bubbles him, and Buck conveniently forgets that it’s Chim’s citrus squeezer to begin with.

And then it’s been a month, and it’d be weird to take it back now.  Besides, it’s better than the one he has, and it’s a cheerful bright lime green color, and he likes the way it looks against his white tiles and white counters.  It’s possible, he considers, that Tommy had a point when he said that the loft was a bachelor pad.  Nobody with kids, with a family, lives somewhere this nondescript. Like there’s not a real person who lives here.

He buys new casserole pans with flower patterns on them just because he thinks they’re pretty.  Wonders if this makes him gay enough for Tommy -- mentally kicks himself, that’s such a cliche; Tommy would hate that.  Buys new dishes – fiestaware in bright yellows and reds and teals.

Goes on a spree over President’s Day weekend.  Buys throw pillows and new sheets and a new comforter.  Nothing white.  Nothing black.  Nothing even grey.

He’d never really thought before that he was trying to say something, or not say something with the way he decorated his loft.  Mostly he hadn’t thought about it all.  Ali had set the stage when she helped him furnish it, all he’d done in the years since is try not to mess it up.

He messes it up now.  Buys things because they spark fucking joy.  Calls May and asks if she wants to go flea market shopping with him.  Comes home with an afghan made of granny squares in soft blues and yellows and pinks.  

Tommy never sees any of it.  Obviously not in the loft, but also not in Eddie’s house, all still safely packed away into boxes.

Doesn’t see it until he’s helping him unpack in his new place.  One that’s all his.  One he picked on purpose, for himself.  If Tommy has thoughts about the shift in his personal aesthetic he keeps them to himself.

Doesn’t say anything until Buck’s making him dinner – the least he can do for helping him move, and if Buck would rather it was breakfast he was making Tommy, well they’re trying to move slower this time, and he thinks they’ll get there.

He’s moving around the kitchen, talking to himself, which is another new habit he’s picked up since Tommy last sat at his kitchen counter and sipped wine while Buck cooked.

He murmurs to his new stove, “come on, nice and gentle, just a simmer please, no scorching the sauce,” because it’s electric and temperamental as hell, and he’s springing for an induction stove as soon as he can afford to.

Mutters to the citrus squeezer, “Where are you now?  Are you hiding in here?”

Startles when Tommy says, amused and fond, “Do they talk back to you?  Have you gone full Beauty and the Beast?  Should I be worried the wardrobe is judging me?”

He snorts, holds up the citrus squeezer triumphantly, unearthed from where it had gotten trapped under the bench scraper.  

“It is…very neon.”  Tommy says diplomatically.  Tilts his head.  “Which errant villager got turned into that, do you think?”

“The gay one,” he deadpans, and Tommy snorts.  Let it sit a beat, because there’d been an element of truth there, and then says, “I think Jee chose it during her green phase.” They both wince at the assault on their eyeballs Bobby’s room had been. “But you’re too good for them, aren’t you?” Buck croons to the squeezer that sits in his hand idly, not answering. “They didn’t deserve you.”

“So you stole it from your sister,” Tommy concludes.  Buck nods, goes back to his fish.  “She won’t miss it?”

“Oh, Madddie would never go looking through my kitchen drawers.”

Tommy stares at him. Buck stares back, then can’t help it — smirks a little. Tommy’s eyes drop to his lips, just for a second, and Buck thinks, yeah, they’re gonna make it this time.  Tommy catches him watching, doesn’t bother to pretend he wasn't, and rubs his temples. “She found your ring cutter didn’t she?”

Buck laughs and nods.

[saphig-iawn]

Usually turning someone into a toy of mine means making them so beautifully needy and pliable.

But tonight, I'm just feeling a little silly so I'm turning you into a Toy. The question now is, what toy do I turn you into?

Do I turn you into a jester-in-the-box? Hands trapped in clumsy white gloves, a perma-grin painted on your silly face, just idly bouncing in your chair on a spring.

Or perhaps a model kit? Simplify you into sprues and delicately clip and sand each piece before pushfitting them together. Getting accessory sprues to give you any look I want.

But then a little stress toy could be fun too. So fun to squish and squash. Putting all of you in my palm and closing it around you, feeling my warmth radiate through your form.

Oh I know. I reduce you even further. Make you barely recognisable. Reduced to a simple fidget toy, turning your sensitive areas into flickable analogue sticks and clicky buttons.

Would I even want to give you that many purposes? What if I boiled you down to one simple trick, and shaped you into a vaguely humanoid looking groan tube, but each turn of your inanimate form lets out a moan that comes deep from within your core as your sole and simple purpose is fulfilled in its entirely.

So many choices...

[softle0]

A little message for mostly YouTube builders but y’all in general, I hope I’m not being too rough but..

I know it’s been just a couple of days but guys what you mean when you say you were expecting more “Mexican” style furniture in the new ep? 😭😭 y’all don’t expect us to have art deco or modern stuff? Like seriously, what do you guys want 😂 We all Mexican simmers think this new pack is very accurate, you can even ask the simmers that worked in the official builds 🤷🏻‍♀️

Y’all really falling over the Americanized cliché of Mexico fr, this pack is inspired in Mexico City. We are a city, the population is like 24million, we’re a really big city 💀 please leave your “villas” and “haciendas” to oasis springs or sol del valey.

Please I beg you to not come and say “oh this is not giving Mexico” cause clearly you don’t know what are you talking about, be educated fr. I said it before and I’m gonna keep talking about it; But the architectural limitations in Mexico are pretty much non-existent. We probably have every single architectural style you can think about. Modern, post-modern, brutalist, art deco, mid century, colonial, Romanesque, gothic among others, probably even Tudor 😭 so you coming and expecting us to only have the villas or colorful haciendas fiesta salsa talcos it really hurts me as Mexican 😂

I’m not hating against them, I love them and as I said we have all types of places so keep doing them if you want but that’s not really common in Mexico City. So why y’all keep going with the same villas or just straight boxes builds 😭 please do more research over than using only Pinterest please, is really not that hard 🙏🏻 there’s a lot of fellow Mexican simmers, there’s google, google maps, you can even do a research of Mexico City in airbnb 😭😭 likeeee there’s a ton of ways to get information really…. You can really step up your building game if you only do a proper research. As I’ve seen a lot of you do for other worlds, why not taking the time for Mexico? Why y’all don’t respect us as much as other cultures?:(

And I know and I understand y’all probably won’t be 100% accurate if you’re not Mexicans but that doesn’t mean you can build a Los Angeles Spanish style of home and get away with it by saying “sorry if is not that accurate” 😭 cause you’re not even trying :( Mind you I been working on a uk inspired save when I never been outside my country other than some places in Canada and Florida and I’m still doing very realistic builds just by doing some research. And I’m 100% sure almost every other realistic builder is in the same situation.

Y’all are amazing and you’re so creative, I love that about the community and I know y’all can do wonderful things if doing a really small but proper research!

And next time you wanna talk about if something is giving or not Mexican at least be educated before talking about something you don’t know, it’s honestly very disrespectful. Y’all are better than that and please don’t take this as an offense, this is more like constructive criticism. I know y’all not doing this on purpose, this is just based on ignorance which is nothing bad, you can always learn something new!🥺 please do better!!

[shibiichi]

🌞 THE DAYCARE ATTENDANT 🌜

Sun & Moon updated ref!

Took me a bit to get the motivation finally, but here we are with an updated set of references for my DCA designs. Sorry for the lack of posting..! I can’t believe it’s pretty much the middle of the year now… It feels like February was just last month. Anyways! Onto the jesters!!

My AU primarily takes place after the events of that night, focusing on how the animatronics cope in the aftermath of The Vanny Virus. Sun and Moon are some of the most heavily affected mentally, due to their lack of contact with the other animatronics in the plex. Fortunately, now under new management, the jesters may start to heal—though only time will tell.

[full refs without text]

Below are refs of the DCA’s casing, as to better understand how they are constructed. Both of them have special built in visual features, allowing them to keep up with the little ones within the daycare!

Sun has advanced motion sensors, able to pick up where a little sunshine may be! He is more adept at scanning staff and customers for injuries and identification purposes, often very good at remembering faces! He is also better at parsing through subtle shifts in expression and body language, though he tends to overextend and assume the worse if someone indicates negativity. He is very attentive in that he will notice someone having a rainy day and spring into action to help, but that also means he’s susceptible to overanalyzing social cues and misinterpreting them. He can access Moon’s infrared (visualized by his blue pupils turning red) but he doesn’t tend to rely on it, especially since infrared vision is less effective in bright areas!

Moon also has motion sensors, though he is not as in-tune to them as Sun, therefore relying on his advanced night vision and infrared capabilities. He is not as good at remembering faces (often relying heavily on system records) but he is better with names and recognizing voices. Moon’s irises are red due to his infrared sensors, his pupils white due to night vision. He can simultaneously view both cameras at once, though think of it like watching a larger camera feed with a secondary feed displayed in the bottom corner. Moon is much more introverted than Sun, before and after the virus. (Though after the virus he tends to be prone to self isolation) He is fairly emotionally intelligent, but he doesn’t know how to act around others in a way that he feels Sun excels at easily. He tends to be more to the point with broken sentences, while Sun is more likely to over explain and repeat himself. Moon was created to be the villain to Sun’s hero, and despite him not being truly a bad person the virus made him into the boogeyman he played onstage.

Both animatronics, due to sharing the same body, have 360 joint rotation and are extremely flexible. If there is a separation in plating, there’s a good chance they have full range in that area. The only segmented part of their body that does not have rotation would be the chest piece! It is able to open much like Freddy’s stomach hatch, though there is no space dedicated for oversized birthday cakes or piñatas. Directly under their arms (often hidden by their sleeves) are two ‘U’ shaped cut outs. Aligned with these cut outs are a secondary set of arms snugly folded within the chest plate, ready to spring out when the DCA enters their shared ECLIPSE MODE. Nestled above these arms are a few smaller storage areas and their shared voicebox! One storage area is for general safe keeping, one something similar to a mini fridge, and the last (and smallest) basically being the equivalent of a trash can. This storage bin is used to collect food products as the DCA is able to ‘eat’ to an extent, though they rarely open their mouth. The feature is used to encourage picky eaters and sharing, as some children like to share their snacks with the DCA. Located within their stomach area is an advanced music box capable of mixing and matching keys in order to create new songs on the fly!

Their head shape takes on a vaguely humanoid appearance, having a protrusion in the back much like a skull’s cranium. However, Sun and Moon’s head and face structure are distinctly disproportionate to a human’s, lacking a more distinct nose and jaw. Unlike the canon design, this DCA does not have exposed wiring on the back of their faceplate, rather a slightly rounded compartment effectively holding their ‘brains’. The compartment is covered by a hand sewn bonnet, one Moon created for Sun as a gift. Their neck is covered by flexible casing making the general shape of an organic human neck, though over twice as long. A joint within the neck allows for the piece to be articulated, though to avoid the uncanny valley the DCA is designed to wear an oversized ruffle.

Composure wise, Sun is more animated and jittery, often needing to move or fidget in some way. He likes to skip and often fully involves himself into whatever interaction he’s taking part in. He’ll go from standing tall to crouching down, playing up his antics but never straying too far into what would be considered inhuman movements. He is more likely to use his hands to express himself while he talks. Moon is the exact opposite, often defaulting to deliberately slow or minimal movements. While he doesn’t play up his actions as much as Sun does, he will make a point to try and convey a purposeful feeling with his movements. When anxious, Moon can be surprisingly quick, though it comes off more in a harsh snapping manner than a more fluid motion. He often startles others as they don’t see him move. He does his best not to make himself feel bigger when interacting with others, keeping his posture down and his hand movements lacking. He does have a tendency to wring his hat or chew on a star shaped teether when highly anxious, as he’s grown to need a physical outlet after the events of the virus. Moon prefers to contort himself much more than Sun, often not concerned with how creepy they can look. (He does try to make it less obvious when interacting with others though, especially children.)

Sun and Moon also have deep pockets in their pants, one for Sun’s stuff and the other for Moon’s! Sun’s pocket usually contains a handful of Sunnydrops, a Fazbear bandaid box, individual alcohol wipes, and a mini tissue container. (Like the plastic ones you peel open!) Moon’s side has his hat (when not worn), a star shaped teething toy, a red foam stress ball, and a light up rubber ball. He does not keep Moondrops in his pockets due to their high melatonin content, rather keeping them locked away in a compartment near the naptime area.

Anyways!! That’s enough from me! Feel free to leave asks about these guys or their AU if you’re curious, I love yapping lol! Thank you for getting to the bottom of this post, Nighty Night!

[Dividers provided by @/saradika here on Tumblr]

[dearsnow]

HOW THEY ASKED YOU OUT

- in which you reflect on how your relationship with the jujutsu kaisen boys started out. (jjk x gn!reader, all separate headcanons, fluff!)

a/n - back to headcanons!! i loved making these, so lmk if you want other characters :) nanami’s starts with you guys in high school, and gojo’s in the current time. the others are more ambiguous lol

INCLUDES: nanami, toji, ino, gojo, & geto

It was spring at Jujutsu High, and NANAMI had been avoiding you all day. The trees rustled gently in the sweet wind, the flowers were opening their silken petals, and your friend hid behind Haibara every time you walked by. He might’ve thought it wasn’t obvious, but there’s only so much blond the other boy could cover with his shoulder. You thought you had done something heinously wrong, because Nanami was not the type of person to hide from his problems. All day, that spiraled in your head, up until the sun began to set, and you were finally walking away from school. That’s when he approached you, hiding something behind his back, face completely red. You were standing under the big, old tree just outside campus, the dimming sunlight cascading over your features. “I wanted you to have these.” He said softly, handing you flowers, a small box of your favorite treat, and a little plushie of your favorite animal. “Would you like to go out to eat with me? As… as more than friends.” When you eagerly agreed, he flushed harder. “I’m glad. I was so scared I could hardly face you all day.”

TOJI just… didn’t. Not in the formal sense. There had always been some unspoken tension and underlying attraction, but that’s what comes with the dark-haired man—it wasn’t anything unusual. So when you went to bars with him, kissed him in a drunken stupor, and watched movies with him pressed to your side like a lover, you didn’t think you were dating him. He never even gave you any indication that he was only doing these things with you, even though you never once saw him do them with anyone else. He even rejected other people in front of you, but you figured he just didn’t want a new relationship. You honestly couldn’t believe it when he finally brought you to a nice restaurant with a menu so fancy they didn’t list the prices; the lights were dim and hazy, and he was wearing what you considered to be the nicest clothes he owned. It was like he was your boyfriend. When you questioned him about treating you like a date, he just huffed. “Weren’t we dating already? I didn’t think it needed to be said, baby. You’re mine.”

There’s no situation where INO would ask you out on purpose, given he hadn’t confessed already. He wanted to, so desperately it made his head spin, but he was terrified. What if you said no? Would you think of him differently? Would Nanami look at him pityingly for ever thinking he could stand a chance with someone as amazing as you? So, he waited. It burned on the tip of his tongue every time he saw you, and it made him falter in every word. Eventually, though, he was “forced” to when you were both lounging in your bed scrolling on one phone. His chin was resting on your shoulder, staring at the passing videos. You made some off handed comment about him smelling nice. He burned. You said he’d make a good boyfriend. He burned harder. You said something about talking to another guy, but he didn’t have Ino’s pretty eyes. He almost exploded. You turned to look down at his face and smiled, and before you could say another word, the fire erupted and he blurted out, “I like you. I really, really, romantically like you. I don’t know if you feel the same, but please go on a date with me. I beg of thee, my greatest and cutest best friend.” He was slightly incoherent with his medieval jabber, but you laughed, agreed, and kissed him on the cheek anyway.

GOJO asked you out so frequently and extravagantly that you thought it was a joke every time. He never made it seem like anything more, either; you’d smile and open your mouth to respond, he’d turn red, and the words “just kidding!” would spill from his mouth. You brushed it off, because that’s just who he is, even if it stung a little. Inside, though, he was screaming. Why did he default to backtracking so quickly? He knew you probably felt the same, but he was just so nervous and so slightly insecure. He attempted to ask you on a date six times before it worked. 1. He handed you flowers with a location and time written on the card, only to turn it into a “platonic picnic”. 2. He wrote “date me?” On a cake with frosting. 3. He scribbled about how much he liked you in a diary, which he conveniently left at your place after a hangout. 4. He rushed to you, covered in “blood”, with one request: kiss him to save his life. 5. Megumi’s fleeing hares spelled out “go out with Gojo… save me” on the school’s lawn. 6. You bit down on something hard in your mochi, only to discover it was a gaudy plastic ring. The seventh time, he just pulled you aside and let it spill. “I like you. I know I’ve been joking about taking you out, but I wasn’t really joking, I was just scared. You’re too cute for your own good. Please, give me a chance?”

With GETO, you had to take the initiative. Scary, right? It was downright heart-attack-inducing. You always had a suspicion that he felt the same, but it had been two years of this feeling, and nothing had happened. At that point, you thought he was more likely to ask out Gojo. He always brushed your hair away from your face, walked on the outside of the sidewalk, and checked up on you every time he thought you might be down. He was practically your boyfriend already, but you steeled your nerves and decided to make it official. Japan was beginning to transition into autumn, and due to the fluctuating weather, you had neglected to bring a jacket on your walk with Geto. When he saw you shiver, he wrapped his own coat around your shoulders. You looked up at him, then down at the jacket, and up again. You were the most scared you’ve ever been, but you cleared your throat, and said, “Suguru, I think I’m in love with you. Sorry.” His small smile widened exponentially, and he assured you that you never had to apologize for feeling the same way he did (or feeling anything, for that matter). He then invited you to the annual autumn festival within walking distance of your houses, hinting that he would keep his jacket warm for you, just in case.

[yanyandam]

HII I've been reading some of your works and I really really like your writing! it flows so well, you get the characters personalities right and I just love everything. It's kind of a boring request but could you do Mikey, Baji, Smiley or Rindo x fem boxer reader? Maybe he helps her train, gives her advice, hypes her up before a fight, tends her injuries/bruises, picks her up after practice, stuff like that or anything else you come up with

YO YO YO sorry for the lonnng wait. TY FOR THE SUPPORT! NOT BORING AT ALL BTW I always loved this idea. Hope this fits...I wanted to do one shots but didn't have much time so just threw hcs for the whole crowd

BOXER GF! HCS- Mikey, Baji, Smiley and Rindou

-Mikey adores sparring with you, he calls it "bonding time". -Brags about you to literally everyone, even if they didn’t ask. Even at hot springs. “You see these abs? My girl PUNCHED them into me.” -Constantly makes sound effects and dumb poses while you’re doing serious training (which somehow hypes you up more) -Will pout if you’re too focused on boxing and not on him -You tape his fingers when he gets into useless fights like a kid, and he calls it “girlfriend blessings”.

-Overall, he thinks you’re the coolest, but don't expect him to often help you with anything

-----

The gym is empty except for the echo of punches hitting the heavy bag. Manjiro's lying on the floor beside you, half-asleep with an energy drink can balanced on his forehead. You’re in full training mode, sweat dripping, jaw clenched, laser-focused. He whines without opening his eyes, "you’ve been punching that bag for, like… hours.”

"It’s been twenty minutes," you mutter, throwing another combo. He bolts upright with a dramatic gasp. “That’s it. I challenge you. Loser makes dinner!”

You raise an eyebrow. “We don’t even live together. Besides, you can’t cook.”

“Exactly,” he grins, bouncing on his toes. “You better win.” you both end up wrestling more than sparring. He keeps slipping on the mat “accidentally” so she ends up straddling him in victory. “You win,” he sighs dreamily, arms around your waist. “You always do.”

-Baji always refers to you as "my undefeated queen" even if you’ve had some losses, in his mind, you never lose.-Thinks your punches are like poetry in motion, and internally cries when you land a perfect combo.-Tries to sneak peke j into the gym to “watch mama train.”-Gets way too into corner-manning during your matches and ends up yelling the wrong advice -Overall, also thinks you’re the coolest. Period.

---

Baji waits outside your boxing match with hidden nervous energy, pacing in circles with a box of handmade biscuits ("for post-fight protein," he insists). A tiny stray cat sits on his shoulder like a parrot. He named it “Coach.” As the bell rings, he clenches his fists like he's the one fighting. "You got this! Just like that!” You land a clean jab. He cheers. You take a hard hit to the ribs. He swears under his breath. After the win, you walk out sweaty and limping, and Baji runs up, dramatic as hell, draping his hoodie over your shoulders like you're royalty.

"Coach and I were sure you’d fuck them all up" he laughs. You pat his head and say, “I only won 'cause I could hear you screaming like a degenerate.” He straightens up with pride. “That's me.”

-Smiles ‘sweetly’ at any ‘fan’ who flirts with you, but Smiley is already planning how to ruin their life. -Loves watching you fight, not for the art, but for the violence. He’s like “Hit harder, babe.” -Trains with you but plays dirty every single time. Still loses on purpose sometimes because he loves the dominance. -Brings your flowers in your favorite color after every match. (There may or may not be blood on the stems.) -Says things like, “You looked so hot with your nose bleeding. Marry me.” With that unmoving smile; It’s lowkey creepy

-Overall thinks you’re the coolest only because you’re his gf, either he would’ve made fun of you for losing the most INSIGNIFICANT fight

---

Nahoya sits ringside during one of your underground fights, chin resting on his hand, smile sweet as syrup but with a glint of something sinister. Every time your opponent tries something dirty, his smile widens, more teeth showing. “You saw that elbow, didn’t you, love?” he calls out mid-round, like they’re discussing the weather. “Break their ribs. For me?” You don't respond. But your next punch does land right in the person’s gut. After the match, you walk past him, bloodied lip and all, giving him a look like don’t push it.

He falls into step beside you, slipping his hand into yours like nothing happened. “You’re breathtaking” he whispers.

"You're insane," you mutter.

"And you chose me," he replies with a smirk. "So what does that make you?" You punch him in the arm. He grins harder.

-Oh Rindou, he thinks you’re perfect. But his arrogance won’t let him admit you’re fine by yourself, he’s pretty sure you have a lot to learn ‘from him’

-Buys you expensive gym gear just to see your reaction when you go “Sweetie, I didn’t need this”. -Hosts post-fight parties in your honor, invites everyone you’ve ever beaten. He thinks it’s funny. -Challenges you to drinking contests after training. Loses every time and calls it “strategy”. If you don’t drink alcohol, it’ll be an energy drinks contest. -Lowkey gets jealous of your trainer and pretends to be your coach just to hang out more.

-----

You’re trying to focus on cardio at the gym with Rindou. He’s shirtless (no reason, just to show off), glasses on, casually lifting weights like he’s in a music video.

“You’re gonna distract me into breaking my ankle,” you call out, adjusting her wraps. “That’s your own willpower issue, not my fault I’m hot,” he smirks, sipping a cocktail out of a shaker bottle. You punch the bag once. Twice. He watches, then puts down his dumbbell. “You’re getting sloppy,” he says lazily.

She glares at him. “Come say that to my face.”

He grins, steps into the ring. "Hit me, champ."

Y’all spar, kind of. He blocks half-heartedly, dodges some, takes a hit to the chest and whistles. “Damn. That one shook my soul. You turn me on and beat me up. Can’t decide if I’m in heaven or not.”

They end up on the mat, him sprawled, her sitting on his chest. He raises an eyebrow. “Afterparty?”

“Only if you let me ride your stupid bike.”

“You had me at ‘stupid’.”

[sarahsghosts]

the death and resurrection of jonathan price

john price x female, wife!reader

angst with an eventual happy ending

word count: 1,030

cw: reader regrets having sex idk if that needs a warning. language.

disclaimer: we're going to let reader be a saddie in this one. this won't be the tone of the entire fic from here on out, but i felt it was important for her to be able to process her confusion and grief that comes along with john's rejection.

short chapter this time. really just a bridge to chapter 5, but i thought was necessary.

also, let me know if you guys like it when i put the links to the songs in the chapter or if you just want me to list them at the top. i’m having fun with it but it also feels lame as hell

chapter 4

songs: dynasty - MIIA, used to the darkness - des rocs, arcade (ft. fletcher) - duncan laurence

“you can show yourself out.”

you sat up, staring after john. he closed the door without looking back at you and the sound of the shower running came a moment later.

you sat frozen for several minutes, your eyes locked on that bathroom door. when you broke out of your trance, you looked around and realized the only items in the room were the mattress which rested on a box spring (that sat directly on the floor) and a phone charger plugged into the far wall outlet.

you were so determined, moments ago, not to give up on him. to keep fighting to get through to him. but the regret that suddenly burned through you was all consuming. you couldn’t find a trace of that stubborn resolve.

he had used and discarded you so easily. you felt ashamed. humiliated.

did he genuinely not care about you anymore?

no. that couldn’t be the case.

he must be doing this on purpose, to push you away.

you hated that, at the moment, it was working.

you needed a second to get your thoughts together and you knew you couldn’t do it here.

you slid off the bed, feeling degraded as you walked around the room, picking up your discarded clothing.

sweaty and otherwise sticky, you redressed, feeling even more demeaned.

carrying your shoes in one hand, you moved out into the main area of the flat, really taking it in for the first time.

dimly lit with old water stains on the walls. empty beer cans littered various surfaces. a single armchair and an end table in the living room. a pull up bar hung from the doorway that led into the kitchen.

you peered in there and saw an empty whiskey bottle on the counter next to a stack of paper plates.

the sight of this place was really pitiful, which, in turn, made you feel even more pathetic yourself.

while you were taking it all in, the sound of running water cut off abruptly. for some reason, you found yourself suddenly terrified of facing john after he had told you to leave.

you slipped on your shoes and fled.

john scrubbed his hand over the back of his head, his hair still wet from the shower. hearing the sound of your voice moan out his name took him back for a moment.

back to the version of himself he used to be.

he couldn’t stand it.

the truth being that version of himself was dead.

he had died a long time ago, in a russian prison.

captain jonathan price was by no means a weak man, but even the strongest men couldn’t survive in a place like that. it was torture. the horrors inflicted there were barbaric and vile in a way most people couldn’t even comprehend.

he’d had to become someone something entirely brutal. something savage.

something that could survive

the part of himself that had to be unlocked, couldn’t just be shoved back into its cage. there was no coming back from the things he’d done to outlast the nightmares around him.

he stood there in the bathroom, a towel tied around his waist. the mirror was fogged, obscuring his reflection. good. he didn’t even want to look at himself right now.

why?

was this guilt creeping in?

no. he really didn’t care about you. sure, it was nice to have a quick fuck. it’d been so long and you were so willing.

the vision of you, your eyebrows pulled together, your eyes screwed shut, was clear in his mind.

“john,” you had moaned. “i—”

he had covered your mouth because he couldn’t stand to hear your voice, so breathy and needy. so desperate for him.

he had seen your face as he stood from the bed, refusing to stay with you, basking in the afterglow. that would’ve been far too intimate. would’ve gotten your hopes up.

john leaned down, supporting himself with his palms flat on the bathroom counter.

no. this was better.

and yet, the crestfallen look on your face was like a knife in his gut.

you truly were pathetic.

or maybe he was.

he glanced up to see that the steam had begun to clear. he saw his own eyes looking back at him and before he realized what had happened, he had blood and glass sprayed on his knuckles where they had connected with the mirror.

you called in sick to work. you spent most of the walk home silently crying and the idea of trying to clean yourself up to work your evening shift was unbearable.

by the time you made it home, you just felt empty. numb. and when you weren’t numb, you were disgusted with yourself. you’d been thoroughly used.

you moved into your flat, wandering in a haze and letting autopilot take over.

you dropped your keys into the bowl by the door, kicked your shoes off, and hung up your jacket.

when you came out of your brain fog, you were standing in your kitchen, holding a tin of tea.

your hair was damp and you realized that you had showered at some point.

you looked at the kettle on the stove, steam coming out of the spout. you blinked.

the unsettling thought creeped in my mind. you had used john a little bit, too, hadn’t you?

you ran your hands through your hair and moved to the pantry, retrieving a jar of honey.

you’d been so desperate for a trace of the man you had married. desperate for him to touch you, make you feel something you hadn’t in years.

desperate for him to love you.

you struggled to open the sticky lid of the honey jar.

images of john’s face flashed in your mind. his eyes wild and animalistic. the hunger and lust you’d seen in them carried no remnants love or admiration. only base desire.

maybe there really was nothing left of your husband in him.

you lost your grip on the jar and it slipped from your hands, tumbling towards the ground.

you flinched, bracing yourself for the sound of breaking glass. but there’s only a dull thump.

you looked down to see the jar sitting at your feet, intact and unbroken.

reflexively, you scooped it up, and let your rage fuel you as you hurled it at the wall.

it shattered loudly, leaving sticky shards of glass streaking down the painted brick.

part 5

masterlist

—-

TAGLIST:

@fruitymoonbeams-blog @evergreenfields @galactict3a @who-needs-to-sleep

[tojisth3rdwife]

For her…

syn: a certain time of year was particularly hard for Toji, and you start to understand why..

cw: angst. grief. mamaguro🥹🕊️

a/n: idk..was in my feels today i guess🫠 relax and enjoy some bittersweetness with me

No one ever flat out told you why one day out of the year was just…different..at the Fushiguro house.

You were pretty perceptive of the change in Toji’s demeanor. The melancholic sheen over his eyes when he’d look at you, barely holding eye contact when you asked him a question and him being dismissive if it had anything to do with how he was acting.

He wasn’t mean or less patient with you or Megumi. He was just..different. He didn't say much. His laughter sounded a tad off, even forced at times. He slept a bit longer, usually blaming it on a recent job or his age, jokingly of course.

He moved around as if he operated on autopilot, unlike the agile and conscientious man you’d learned Toji to be . You’d catch him zoning out alot or being a little more forgetful than usual. Less focused, as if his mind was somewhere far away. Another place. Another time.

One summer morning you noticed a bottle of strawberry soda in the back of the fridge, tucked behind several items as if it were purposely placed there. Hidden. You’d only seen it because Megumi struggled to reach something on the same shelf, so you helped him You'd been meaning to ask Toji since when he even iiked that brand, seeing as how you never saw him or Megs drink it. You didn’t know him to be much of a soda drinker unless it was the occasional Coke on a scalding hot day.

But when you went back the next day to find it, it was gone. When you finally asked him about it, he’d just say he got it for Megs but he never drank it, and it had been in there for a while so he threw it out. That would have been believable if you didn’t find the same bottle hidden a little better in the back of the fridge again that following year around the same time.

“It's for my mom.” Megumi’s raspy voice makes you flinch from where he spooked you on the other side of the door. He was now tall enough to see over it, his lithe form springing up with each passing day it seemed. You blinked at him in surprise, your mouth gaping and in search of a reasonable excuse to be holding the soda that you’d dug out from the depths of the ice box. The chilled glass bottle was clutched against your chest when the spikey-headed boy stepped towards the open fridge to reach around you for a yogurt drink.

"Oh...I wasn't.." you stammered, only for the broody adolescent to interrupt you.

“It's her birthday tomorrow,” Megumi mutters shortly after he peels the cap back a little to take a sip, not saying anything else about the soda before walking away.

You watched him exit the kitchen in silence, an odd sensation tingling in your chest. You never heard Megumi speak of his late mother. Not even when he was smaller. From what you know, Toji's wife passed away shortly after Megumi was born. Something about an underlying heart condition that worsened after giving birth. Megs wasn't even a year old yet, so it made some sense that he didn't speak of her. He probably had no memories of his mother and was always accustomed to it just being him and his dad.

Until now at least...

Your attention returns to the soda, its slow-rising bubbles lining the neck of the glass bottle as you turn it slowly in your hand.

So every year, around his late wife's birthday, Toji bought the same brand of strawberry soda. For her.

Now that you thought of it, there was always this errand he’d always have to run on a certain day every year. Too consumed with life and work, you didn't realize it was on the same day. Every year.

An errand that would take him far out of the city very early in the morning.

You would roll over in the bed groggily, noting Toji sitting on the edge of his side. He’d be leaned over, lacing up his boots, fully dressed and smelling good. You knew sometimes he and Shiu would meet up early to discuss business so you never asked for details when he'd kiss your forehead goodbye.

He always came back to you around noon with a bouquet of sunflowers and red roses though, from a shop way out of the way, with a card that would read the same thing every time.

For you, just because <3

Toji knew you loved them and it made you less curious about his mysterious errand when he came back bearing gifts. In hindsight, you felt stupid and selfish for thinking they were 'just because' flowers now that you knew what this day meant to him.

Especially when you looked up the flower shop and found out it was less than a mile away from a cemetery.

That was why one year, days before he could find time to go to the store, and days after he gave you the heads up on his early morning errand, Toji found the newly bought bottle of strawberry soda in the fridge. You weren't around when he found it, which made the lump in Toji's throat even thicker at the realization.

He never really told you that every July 7th, he would visit a little florist's shop at the edge of a small town an hour away, where the owner would have a special arrangement that Toji ordered every year waiting for him. Preserved lilies and pink roses, a small bag of items from the convenience store across the street, and two glass bottles of soda (one strawberry and one Coke ) rest in his passenger seat for another 3 to 5 minutes as he pulls into the parking space that was always empty.

The morning sun warms his skin on his walk across the grass. Flowers, and plastic bag in tow, Toji steps with purpose on his way to his wife's grave. For a few minutes, he takes his time using the items in the small bag to scrub and rinse any dirt or grime tainting the granite. In the early years, Toji would visit and clean her grave stone frequently. He’d even bring baby Megumi with him since they still lived in the small town. The place where he and his wife made a life together.

But one day, after about 2 years had passed and Megumi became more active, Toji he realized that staying stuck in his grief was causing him to miss out on being mentally present in his child’s life.

And he knew she wouldn’t want that..

So he came alone now, placing the flowers down to replace the ones that had withered away, along with the opened bottle of strawberry soda nestled perfectly in the grass.

Toji squats to sit in front of the grave with his own beverage dangling between his knuckles, popping the cap off with his teeth and leaning forward to clink it gently against his wife's before taking a sip.

He would then spend about an hour or more just sitting there. Usually, he'd talk, not caring about how awkward it felt anymore.

He'd start out by wishing her happy birthday and telling her about how big Megumi is getting. How much he looks like her and all the little quirks he has that remind him of her. How smart and independent he is and how he takes care of his dad just as much as his dad takes care of him. He tells her about how he is doing. About his health and any recent injuries or ailments as a result of his job. He'd leave out what he still did to make money, even though he was sure she already knew. He'd talk about how getting older isn't as scary to him as it used to be, especially when he had someone that made him feel young again.

He'd tell her about how you came into his life and how hesitant he was about allowing you into his heart. Not that he had much of a choice. You just made it that easy. Leading with friendship, fostering a bond that wasn’t driven by lust or uninhibited emotions. Showing up for Megumi when he couldn’t due to work or making sure the both of them were taking proper care of themselves.

It always stuck in his mind how you never let his trauma or baggage scare you away, even if it should have, and how much your presence changed the way he saw love and life after losing someone so precious.

He would express the guilt he felt in loving you and her simultaneously. He didn't understand it. It wasn't as if there was a hierarchy in his heart, ranking one person over the other. He just couldn’t do that when he loved you both im different ways. It was just as if his heart had grown and all that she taught him about love years ago allowed more to pour in, making space for you.

He'd thank her for being his first love and for giving him the greatest gifts he could ever ask for. For teaching him how to love, and in turn, how to be loved as well.

That part of his conversation always got him emotional, and a breeze that didn’t touch anything but him with blow over his tearstained face. Even his hair would be tussled, reminiscent of the way his wife would tease his messy raven tresses in attempt to cheer him up.

Then he would smile, clear his throat and tell her he’d be back this time next year before rising to stand.

On his drive back, he’d glance at the new custom bouquet of sunflowers and red roses now in his passenger, his heart still twinged with a confusing mixture of guilt and relief riddling him. Relief to be leaving that small old town that only reminded him of a life that was now over. The life he thought would last much longer than it did. Every place held a memory that was colored yellow and blue in his mind, stored deep but never forgotten.

His guilt came mostly from the fact that he never could find a way to tell you why the birthday of his late wife was so hard for him and why he just needed to make that yearly trip on his own to visit her.

So one could only imagine the shock Toji felt that following year when he opened his fridge and found his late wife’s favorite soda.

Front and center. Not hidden or tucked away in the back. Unseen and easily forgotten. With a yellow sticky note placed over the label, easy to see and read.

In your handwriting…

For her, just because <3