#SHE GOT A LITTLE HOT...........................

[heavenlybodies333]

The Vest Stays On - S.R

Spencer Reid x coworker!reader | Secret Relationship |

The first time you saw Spencer Reid in the tactical vest, it short-circuited your entire nervous system.

It happened during a joint task force case with SWAT, just outside of Portland. You were half-caffeinated, bloodied from crawling through brambles to get a GPS fix on a suspect’s last drop point, and very much not expecting to be visually assaulted at seven-thirty in the morning. But then he stepped out of the SUV, FBI gear snug around his narrow chest, the black straps cinching in just right, the embroidered letters bright against the navy blue. Hair tousled. Glock holstered.

And you? Useless. Every neuron in your brain screamed: climb him.

You weren’t the only one who noticed. Morgan had laughed when you choked on your water. JJ had side-eyed you when you pretended to stare at the street signs just to avoid looking at Spencer’s chest. “That’s the fifth time you’ve looked,” Emily mutters under her breath beside you, handing over her report.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh please,” she snorts. “You’ve been ogling Reid like he’s the last glass of water in the desert.”

And Hotch—of course Hotch—was the only one oblivious, laser-focused on briefing SWAT while the rest of the team collectively ignored how suddenly, unfairly hot Dr. Spencer Reid looked in tactical gear.

Which brings you to now. Because apparently the BAU’s got a knack for hotel fuck-ups. There’s only one room left tonight, and surprise—it's yours and Spencer's. Two twin beds, one broken thermostat, and five days into a case that’s frayed both of your nerves to ribbons.

And Reid? He’s still wearing the damn vest.

It’s past midnight. You’re in a tank top and boyshorts, pacing in front of the single working AC unit like it’s your job. Spencer’s sitting stiffly on the edge of his bed, hands on his knees, posture impeccable—like he’s trying not to look at you. Like the thought of you in so little isn’t killing him. It’s mutual.

“I can take the floor if you want,” he offers.

You raise a brow. “Why? Scared I’ll kick in my sleep?”

“No,” he says quickly. “I just—I figured you’d be more comfortable. With space.”

You stop in front of him. Your eyes drift to the vest. It’s still zipped up, snug over his chest, the collar slightly popped against the base of his throat. “You gonna sleep in that thing?” you ask, stepping into his space. “Or is it permanently fused to your body now?”

He swallows. “I was—I didn’t want to—I didn’t think—”

“I don’t think I ever told you,” you interrupt, running your hand through his hair, “how unfairly hot this vest is.”

“I-I got that impression.”

You grin. “You know what I want?”

His breath hitches. “What?”

You lean in close, your mouth brushing his jaw as your fingers trail over the vest’s chest straps. “I want you to fuck me in it.”

With a firm hand, you shove him backward onto the mattress. He goes willingly, vest thudding softly against the cheap polyester sheets. You climb over him, knees straddling his hips, your fingers curling around the edge of the vest to anchor yourself. You roll your hips down, slow and deliberate, grinding against him. He groans.

“Tell me something, Doctor,” you murmur, tugging at one of the black buckles. “Statistically speaking, how many times can someone come in a single night?”

He chokes on a laugh—half arousal, half disbelief. “I—uh—five to six, depending on... variables.”

You smirk. “Let’s test that hypothesis, shall we?” He grips your hips tight. You grind against the hard line of him through his slacks and he groans—a soft, helpless sound that goes straight to your core.

Spencer kisses you again—slower this time, purposeful—then pulls your arms above your head. He grabs his belt from where it hangs on the bedpost and uses it to bind your wrists, leather tight but not painful.

“You move,” he murmurs, “and you don’t come.”

Your thighs squeeze together, aching. “What if I beg?”

“You can beg all you want.” He leans down, lips brushing your collarbone. “I like the sound of it.”

He trails kisses down your chest, nips at the waistband of your shorts. His hands skim your thighs, teasing, torturously slow. He drops his gaze to your boyshorts, now pushed aside, and hums softly under his breath like he’s filing away the image for later. You arch involuntarily when he strokes a thumb across your clit, featherlight. Just enough to make you crave more.

“You’re already so wet,” he murmurs. “Is it the vest?”

You whimper. “Spencer…”

He tilts his head, mock-serious. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes. God. Yes.”

“Noted.” He leans down and kisses the inside of your thigh, slow and indulgent. You twitch in his hold, desperate for friction, but he tuts. “I said don’t move.”

You nearly whine. “You’re torturing me.”

“I’m teasing you,” he corrects, licking another maddening stripe up your center. “Big difference. Trust me—I’ve done the research.”

You buck your hips before you can stop yourself. Spencer freezes. You feel his breath against your skin, just before he pulls away entirely. “No,” you plead, straining against the belt.

He raises a brow, expression cool behind the heat in his eyes. “I warned you.”

“Spencer, please—”

He slides back up your body until he’s straddling your hips and fuck, he’s so hard. The fabric catches on the outline of his cock as he pushes them down just enough to free himself. He doesn’t bother undressing further. The vest stays on, snug against his frame, and you can see his chest rising with each breath.

He fists himself once, twice—lining himself up with you—and then pauses, cock pressed at your entrance. Sliding it up and through your wet slick before slowly pushing in. You moan—loud, wrecked, your head tipping back against the pillow. He’s big and slow about it, pushing in deep and staying there, letting you feel every inch of him.

You whine under him, tugging instinctively at the belt binding your wrists. “Spence baby please—”

He groans deep in his chest and leans down, the hard ridge of his vest pressing tight against your nipples, the friction causing you to whimper.

“Yeah?” He thrusts harder. “You like the vest?”

You nod wildly. “God, yes.”

“I’ll wear it every day if you want.” You laugh—breathy, desperate—then cry out as he hits just the right spot.

The headboard slams into the wall. You both freeze. From the hallway, a door slams. Spencer presses his forehead to yours, panting. “We’re gonna get caught,” you whisper. He thrusts again. Hard. “Not if you stay quiet.”

You bite your lip. He watches, transfixed. “Be good for me,” he whispers. “Stay quiet. Let me fuck you like this.”

Your eyes roll back. You’re going to come, and he knows it—knows by the way your hips stutter, how your fingers curl into the Velcro on his chest.

“God, you feel good,” he groans against your jaw. Spencer doesn't stop—grinds you through it, cock buried deep, watching you like you're unraveling every scientific principle he’s ever believed in.

“Fuck,” he pants, low and harsh. “You’re so—God—”

You feel him start to lose rhythm, hips jerking erratically. “Inside,” you manage to gasp. “Come in me. Please.”

He groans your name, deep and broken, and spills into you, hips stuttering through the aftershocks as his head drops to your shoulder. You feel it—hot and thick and endless.

When he finally lifts his head, you’re still trying to catch your breath. He brushes damp hair from your forehead and presses a kiss there, soft and startlingly tender.

“You okay?” he asks, voice hoarse.

You tug weakly at your wrists. “Untie me before I find a way to punish you.”

Spencer grins—actually grins—as he reaches for the belt. “Promise?”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s a dangerous game, Doctor.”

He drops the belt to the floor and pulls you into his chest, arms winding around you, vest rough and warm against your cheek. You settle there, content and fucked-out, and sigh.

“You know,” he says, absently running a thumb over your thigh, “in the Victorian era, women were diagnosed with ‘hysteria’ when they experienced… symptoms like yours.”

You lift your head. “Symptoms like what? Being feral for their boyfriend in tactical gear?”

He nods earnestly. “Exactly. Increased heart rate, flushing, rapid breathing, erratic behavior. The prescription was often—well, manual stimulation. Administered by physicians. It’s where the invention of the vibrator comes from.”

You gape at him. “Spencer.”

He shrugs, still tracing nonsense patterns on your thigh. “Just a historical fun fact.”

“You are the weirdest, hottest person I’ve ever met.”

“That’s not mutually exclusive, you know,” he murmurs, bending down to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Intelligence and arousal activate adjacent neural circuits in the limbic system. That’s why people find brains sexy. It’s science.”

“You’re science,” you mumble, tilting your head. “So. Statistically, how long is the average refractory period for men your age?”

He flushes, then smiles like he’s being challenged. “Well, the median is about fifteen minutes. But there’s a huge variation depending on stimulation, emotional connection, hormone levels—”

“So we could test the upper limits of that, is what I’m hearing.”

He pauses, eyes darkening. “Do you want to?”

You lean forward and kiss the corner of his mouth, your voice honey-sweet and dangerous. “Only if you keep the vest on.”

He practically groans. “God, you’re gonna kill me.”

And it’s only round two.

a/n: raw raw rawwww

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[strnilolover]

⌗ . . . STEPBROTHER!CHRIS CATCHES YOU AND STEPBROTHER!MATT FUCKING IN THE LIVING ROOM

WARNINGS : SMUT. PNV. VOYEURISM. EXHIBITIONISM. DIRTY TALK. HAIR PULLING. ASS SMACKING. (let me know if i forgot anything).

you always disliked when your mom threw little get togethers with her friends and co-workers. your house always being packed inside the house and then the backyard—so you always stayed far away from it. not because you didn’t like them, you just hated the crowds.

and today was one of those days. everyone in the backyard on a hot summer day—the sounds of voices buzzing through the air. you were hot and angry, the sun making you feel like you wanted to peel your skin off, but you couldn’t leave—not while your mom kept her eye on you.

she forced you to stay outside and socialize with people—people who probably wouldn’t understand anything you try to talk about.

you huffed, crossing your arms and trying to sit as much in the shade as you could without bumping into other people. but it was no use. you groaned and turned in the direction your mom was in—seeing her back turned to you with people surrounding her.

when you saw that, you took your chance, slipping in through the back door and trying to walk quickly from the living room—out of her sight. the AC was cold on your skin, your heartbeat finally starting to slow once you made it far enough inside.

“two hours? really? you couldn’t last any longer out there?” a voice said from over by the couch. your feet stopped, whipping your head into the direction it was coming from. matt was standing near the couch, a cold drink in one hand.

you rolled your eyes, letting out a breath as you wandered over to him. “you try lasting out there in ninety-five degree weather for two hours. i promise it isn’t fun.” you snapped back, reaching your hand out as you stood in front of him, snagging his water. matt just watched you, eyebrow raised and a small smirk tugging at his lip.

“why the attitude hm baby?” he asked, watching the way you lifted the cup to your lips, taking a sip from the ice cold water. you glared at him, finishing your sip before holding the glass out to him. “i don’t have a fucking attitude.” that was a lie—you definitely did.

you watched as matt hummed, taking a sip of water for himself before setting his cup down on the table. “no?” he questioned, slowly walking around your body until he got behind you. you could feel the heat from his body as he pressed closer—it wasn’t helping your irritation.

“matt fuck off.” you spat, going to take a step away from him. you didn’t get very far. matt’s arm reached out and wrapped around your waist, pulling your back flush to his chest.

“god, you’re such a brat.” he muttered into your ear, his hot breath trailing against your neck. you shivered, even though the air inside was cool. his hand was splayed flat on your lower stomach, keeping you tight to him. “matt. don’t.” you warned, voice wavering, despite yourself. you glanced over your shoulder, but no one was inside. still, the hum of voices and music from the backyard was way too close for comfort.

“don’t what? don’t do something about your attitude?” he gritted, his hand tightening on your flesh slightly. “you’re the one being a fuckin’ brat and talkin’ back.” you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, feeling the way your body lit up from his words.

matt grinned, feeling the way your body reacted. “you know,” he whispered, starting to push your hips forward until your thighs hit the arm of the couch. your body bent forward, hands coming out under you to catch the fall. “i think that’s what you want isn’t it? acting up just so i’d do somethin’ about it.”

you shook your head. “no..” you mumbled, but the way your body was practically buzzing said a different story. he hummed, splaying a hand on your back and pushing you down farther, making your back arch—ass high up in the air. you gasped when you felt his fingers toy with the hem of your dress, slowly slipping his fingers underneath.

“matt!” you hissed. “they’re outside!—my mom’s—” your words were cut off when matt’s hand came down to strike against your ass, a moan slipping from your lips as the pain blossomed across your skin. “shh keep that pretty mouth shut baby, unless you want them to hear you.” and you couldn’t help the way your body tingled at the thought of someone hearing you—or catching you. you were so out in the open, one good look through the giant glass door and everyone would see what was going on.

you squirmed, your ass wiggling in front of matt—practically teasing him. he groaned, grabbing the fabric of your dress and pushing it past your ass to rest on your hips. his eyes glanced down, seeing the growing wet patch in the center of your panties.

“look at you.” he cooed, bringing his freehand down to ghost along your inner thighs, leaving light taps. “such a wet pussy for someone who said she wasn’t acting up just to be punished.” you could hear the mocking tone in his voice—feel the way his fingers would inch closer and closer to the edge of your panties before slipping away.

you whined, pushing your hips back as your mind began to turn to mush, forgetting about the party just outside those doors. “tsk tsk.” matt clicked his tongue, his hand coming back down again on your ass, your skin reddening. your body jolted at the contact, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you felt your slick flow out of you more.

“such a little whore.” he said, his hand hooking into your panties and dragging them slowly down your thighs, past your knees, until they rested around your ankles. “stay right there yeah? don’t. move.”

and then he spat on your folds—watching as it trailed down your slit. you whimpered, thighs twitching from the sensation alone. his fingers dragged through it, spreading it over your pussy, up and down, slow and messy. “fuck.” he hissed under his breath as he slid two fingers through your folds again, watching the way you clenched around nothing and whined, your back arching deeper.

“gonna fuck you right here baby. y’gonna let me?” he whispered, leaning down to talk against the shell of your ear—his chest flush against your back. “right where anyone could easily see?” you shook your head, but your moan betrayed you the second his fingers circled your entrance.

“mhm thought so.” he grinned, leaning back up and grabbing at your hips. his other hand reached down to tug his sweats down, freeing his cock. he gripped the base, leaning forward to spit, letting it trail down his dick before be gave himself a few pumps. your heart was pounding in your ears, it was so quiet in the house, except for the muffled music coming from outside. your head lifted slightly, looking in the direction of the back door—you could see so many people outside, but their attention wasn’t focused anywhere in the house.

your head turned, looking over your shoulder at matt. and fuck did he look good. with his hand wrapped around his leaking cock—the hem of his shirt pulled up and tuck between his teeth to keep it up. you shuddered, your hips moving back towards him. “matt, please.” you whined softly, the ache between your legs becoming too much now.

matt smirked, moving to line himself up, his other hand still gripping the flesh of your hip. “please what, hm? be a good girl and use your words or you ain’t getting what you want.” he said, pressing forward. you could feel the tip of his cock press inside you before he moved back. you whined again, pressing your face down into the cushion of the couch. “please—please..want you to fuck me.” you whispered, your face reddening in embarrassment.

“mm good girl. that wasn’t so hard was it?” he praised, his hips pushing forward again, dragging his cock along your folds before he pushed inside again—filling you inch by inch. you gasped as he stretched you open, your hands coming out to grab at the cushions below you. “o-oh fuck.” you moaned, your walls clenching down around him.

matt grunted, his head tipping back at the feeling of your cunt swallowing him whole, dragging a filthy curse from his lips as he bottomed out. his fingers dug deep into your hip, holding you in place as he started to move slowly. “so fuckin’ pretty.” he muttered—his head falling back down to look at you. his free hand coming up now to tangle into your hair, tipping your own head back.

his hips began to pick up the pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the living room along with your moans and his groans. “god—you’d love it if someone walked in right now hm? watching the way your cunt greedily takes my cock.” matt grunted, feeling the way your walls clamped down around his cock. your mouth dropped open, a loud almost pornographic moan coming from your mouth. all you could do was grab at the couch, trying to ground yourself as his tip continued to kiss your g-spot over and over again.

but what either of you didn’t know—is there was someone watching as matt’s hips slammed into your own. watching how he fucked you dumb, loosing all coherent words.

his brother chris. your other stepbrother.

he was outside with everyone else who seemed to be too oblivious and caught up in what they were doing to notice you getting bent over the arm of the couch.

the second he’d come around the corner with a drink in hand and seen you bent over the couch, bare and taking matt deep—he stopped. he hasn’t meant to stop and watch—to get so wrapped up in watching the way you took every inch his brother gave you. the way your face contorted with pleasure every time matt’s cock kissed your cervix.

god he was entranced by how good you looked.

his body was still, heart thudding heavy in his chest as his eyes locked on the sight through the glass. he couldn’t hear you—but he didn’t need to, to know you sounded like a fucking angel.

his breath grew heavier the longer he watched, feeling the way his cock became painfully hard in his pants. he let out a shaky breath, pulling his gaze away from you to look around the yard—no one had noticed still. chris swallowed thickly, his free hand reaching down to adjust himself as his eyes landed back onto your figure.

he watched matt’s hand in your hair, pulling your head back just to make you arch more. your ass jiggling from the force of each thrust of matt’s cock. watched as matt leaned down and whispered something into your ear, making your eyes roll back as your own lips moved to reply. chris didn’t know what it was matt said—but what he did know, is it effected you.

your body began to shake—teeth digging into your bottom lip to stay quiet.

chris knew you were getting close, and god he wanted to stay to watch you cum—but he knew if he didn’t leave now, he’d cum in the next few second just from seeing you. so quickly and quietly—without dragging attention to himself—he slipped away. the image of you burned into his mind.

back inside—your brain was mush. you were chasing your pleasure. matt’s cock hot and thick as he dragged it along your walls. you could feel him pulsing—feel just how close he was to cumming just like you were.

“y’gonna cum baby?” he moaned, fucking his cock deeper into you. “gonna make a mess all over my fucking cock hm? such a messy fucking slut.” his hand in your hair pushed your head down into the cushions.

and that’s what pushes you over the edge.

“pleasepleaseplease—oh my fuck—“ you cried out, your mouth open and drooling against the cushion. you felt your whole body lock up and shake as you came. your walls fluttering around his cock—milking him for all he has. he groaned, his hips faltering for a second before he kept moving, fucking you through your orgasm.

you collapsed against the couch, the only thing holding you up now was matt’s own hands, his hips moving to chase his own high. “gonna fill this pretty pussy up—fuck.” you could tell he was so close, your hips shallowly moving and fucking yourself on his cock despite how tired you were now. “put your panties back on and send you out there with my cum dripping down your thighs.”

his thrusts were getting sloppy now, hips stuttering. you lifted your head and looked over your shoulder at him again, looking at his face. his brows knitted together and his teeth digging into his bottom lip. “c’mon matt—shit—want you to fill me up. please.”

that seemed to be his breaking point.

he groaned loudly, both hands grabbing at the flesh of your hips as he buried himself deep in your cunt—spilling inside you. you could feel each spurt painting your insides white—and how full you felt of him.

his hips moved a few more times before he finally pulled himself out slowly, watching as some of his cum began to leak out of you. he smirked down at you, seeing how you were already beginning to doze off. quickly he began to tuck himself back into his sweats before turning his attention to you.

he reached for your underwear that was around your ankles, slowly sliding them back up your legs and pulling them snugly over your hips to where they belonged. you whined at the feeling, your body shuddering. matt continued to fix your clothing before he reached down and gently pulled you up and into his arms.

he fixed your hair and dress, making sure you looked presentable before even thinking about sending you back out there. the last thing he did was trail his hand down and press his fingers against your now clothed and soaked pussy, making you gasp and grab at his shirt due to how sensitive you were.

“gonna keep my cum right in there yeah?” he whispered, beginning to circle his fingers. you nodded, legs shaking and threatening to give out from under you. he smiled, pulling his fingers away. “good.”

and just then you both heard the door open, your heads whipping in the direction as you both peeled yourselves away from one another, just as your mom stepped inside.

“there you are!” your mom said with a tone of relief like she was looking for you the whole time—she probably wasn’t. her eyes panned over to matt, giving him a small smile before turning her attention back to you. “i see you and matt are finally getting along, that’s good for you guys.”

you nodded, cheeks reddening as you looked at him from the corner of your eye. your mom smiled wide, already beginning to turn away from the both of you.

“come on you two, i need your help with handing out food.” she spoke as she already began to walk towards the kitchen. you and matt both looked at one another, a smirk tugging on his lips as you began to walk. his hand came out and landed a firm smack to your ass.

“get goin’ baby. don’t keep your mom waiting.”

a/n : guys…is this too freaky?

[pankesitopank]

AAAAAAAAAAA OMG AAAAAH THE WAY I MOANED AAAAA MMMHHMMM LOLLL

omg just thinking about riding him like that aaaahhh

like I have this idea where reader (who I may or may not have imagined as her... but that's very virgin so I'll just leave it as reader) is riding him in that same pose and he does NOTHING just watches her while she falls apart on top of him. Then he's the one who takes control and AAAAHH.

STAY WITH ME I HAVE A MINI SCENARIO

It was that pose. The one he knew made you crumble.

Hyunjin laid back against the couch, arms resting behind his head, his shirt stretching deliciously across his chest. His legs were spread like he was inviting you in—but his expression? That was the real trap. Heavy-lidded, smug, lips parted in just the faintest smirk. He looked at you like he already knew how this would end.

And maybe he did.

You were supposed to be proving a point. Something about not always needing him to take the lead. Something about how well you could ride him without begging for help. But the second your knees settled on either side of his hips, and your hands found purchase against his chest, you felt that confidence flicker under the weight of his stare.

“You sure you wanna try this?” he asked, voice a low hum, almost bored. “You remember what happened last time?”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks already warm.

“I can handle it.”

Hyunjin didn’t argue. He just arched a brow, the gold of his necklace catching the light as his head tilted slightly. “Alright then,” he murmured. “Go ahead, baby.”

And fuck if that didn’t already do something to you.

Your fingers trembled just a little as you reached between you, lining him up—hard and hot, his length already pressing against your folds from just a few soft grinds during your makeout session. He hadn’t even touched you properly yet. That was the worst part.

The teasing was all you.

You sank down slowly, inch by inch, your breath catching as his cock stretched you open. That familiar burn, the delicious fullness—it made you pause, hips trembling as you adjusted. He was big. Every time felt like the first. And from the slight twitch in his smirk, he knew it.

“Still doing okay?” he asked, voice smug and lazy.

You bit your lip, trying to focus. “Fine.”

You weren’t fine.

You were already clenching, already too aware of how he filled you up, how deep he was when you were on top. But you started to move—hips rolling slowly, experimentally, finding a rhythm.

And god, it felt good.

The friction, the angle, the way his cock hit just right inside you. You set your pace, slow and deep, hands pressing against his firm chest for leverage. Your thighs ached just a little, but you pushed through, trying to stay in control. You had to. That was the point.

Hyunjin didn’t help you. Not once.

His arms stayed behind his head, that stupid gold watch catching your eye as he laid there like a fucking painting, letting you do the work. Letting you work for it.

He just watched.

Watched the way your breath got heavier, the way your legs started to tremble, the way your movements got a little more desperate. You tried to stay composed—keep a rhythm—but the tension was building fast.

And Hyunjin was silent.

No moans, no groans. Just that same smug look on his face. That calm, unreadable gaze that made you want to snap.

“Why aren’t you—” you panted, lifting and dropping onto him again, “—doing anything?”

He just blinked slowly. “You said you wanted to ride me, remember?” A pause. “You were so confident. So cocky. Wanted to prove a point.”

You hated how turned on his voice made you. It was too casual. Too calm. And you were already shaking.

“I—fuck—” you gasped, grinding down against him with more force, chasing the friction you needed. “I can. I don’t—nngh—need you to—”

“Oh?” he said, tilting his head. “Because you’re getting real sloppy, baby. Haven’t even made yourself cum yet.”

You whimpered.

It was true. The angle was almost there, your clit barely brushing against his pelvis, but it wasn’t enough. You couldn’t get enough speed, enough force, not without help. Your legs were already burning.

Still, you didn’t want to give in. Not yet.

You braced your palms harder against his chest and moved faster—bouncing on his cock with shallow, needy motions, chasing something that was just out of reach. His cock dragged perfectly inside you, but you were losing rhythm, falling apart.

And all the while, Hyunjin just watched you.

“God, look at you,” he said softly. “So pretty when you try.”

His voice made your stomach flip. You were whining now, desperate little sounds falling from your lips every time your hips met his. You were so close, but it wasn’t enough.

You needed help. You needed him.

And the second your pace faltered again, the second you let out that frustrated little whimper, Hyunjin moved.

His hands came down from behind his head, strong fingers wrapping around your waist. He didn’t flip you. He didn’t sit up. He just gripped you tight and started thrusting up.

Hard.

“Ah—Hyun—fuck!”

You collapsed forward instantly, hands fisting in his shirt as he rutted up into you, hips snapping with a rhythm that stole the breath from your lungs. Every thrust hit deep, his cock slamming into your sweet spot like he’d been waiting for you to fail.

“Wanted me to let you ride me, huh?” he grunted, voice right against your ear now. “Wanted to show me how good you are?”

You couldn’t speak. You could barely breathe.

His grip was tight, his rhythm brutal. You could feel his abs flex beneath your stomach, his thighs tensing with every upward drive. The couch squeaked under the pressure, the sound of skin against skin filthy in the air.

“Not so cocky now, are you?”

You cried out—his cock hitting so deep it felt like you were about to fall apart. Your body went boneless on top of him, your chest pressing against his as you moaned shamelessly.

“Say it,” Hyunjin growled. “Tell me who’s in control.”

You shook your head, tears threatening at the corners of your eyes.

He slammed into you.

“Say it.”

You gasped. “You! You’re in control—fuck, Hyunjin, I can’t—”

He grinned, breath hot against your skin. “That’s what I thought.”

One hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles. It was too much. His cock ramming into you from below, his fingers on your clit, his voice in your ear—

You came hard, body convulsing on top of him as your orgasm ripped through you.

But he didn’t stop.

“Good girl,” he whispered, still thrusting up into you. “Now let me finish.”

You were sobbing now, overwhelmed, your walls fluttering around him as he fucked you through your high. You were limp against him, totally at his mercy, thighs quivering as he chased his release.

And then—deep, low, a growl against your throat—

“Gonna cum inside you.”

You moaned so loud it echoed.

“Gonna make sure you remember who really owns this pussy, baby.”

And with one last, brutal thrust—he came.

You felt it. Hot and thick, spilling deep inside you as he groaned into your skin, holding you tight against his chest. Your body pulsed with aftershocks, your breath ragged, your legs trembling uncontrollably.

The room was silent.

Only the sound of your breathing. Of Hyunjin’s heart pounding beneath your cheek.

You didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

He kissed your temple, still inside you, still warm and hard.

“Next time,” he whispered, “just ask.”

You let out a breathless laugh, cheeks burning.

Maybe you’d let him win this one.

[moon-ttokki-x]

hiii lovee

can you do a fic with chan with an overworked!trainee!reader, where he finds her asleep at a cafe near the JYP building, after his day of work and it’s just very fluffy and sweet

-🪻

i haven't got anything to say tbh so . . .

star in the making - (chan x overworked trainee!reader)

pairing: bang chan x overworked trainee!reader

summary: chan finds you asleep in the cafe near JYPE after a long day.

genre: idol & trainee!au, mentions of eating and drinking, chan needs to put a fucking screen filter on his laptop, reader is tired asf, mentions of injuries, self-doubt, chan is the softest mashed potato :[

a/n: i had to drag this out of my brain . . . div by @roseraris

skz masterlist

Chan left the JYP building with his head hung low.

In the dusty purple hue glowing from the late-evening sky, everything felt soft and pillowy, but he couldn't help but drag his feet in exhaustion. The scraping of his shoes against the pavement slowed to a stop as he lifted his head, inhaling a deep, cold breath of lilac air.

He groaned and stretched his back a little, feeling the satisfying vibration ring through his bones. He couldn't remember if he'd actually taken a break from working since the morning, and his eyes stung and watered as he blinked them shut.

"Ow," he huffed, scrubbing at his face. His knuckles came away wet and his vision momentarily blurred, strained from the constant focus on his screens in the studio.

Making a mental note to set his screen brightness lower next time, he looked up just as his eyes focused on the cafe across the street.

Small, golden, and cosy, it stayed open late enough for desperate trainees and exhausted artists to rest, a tiny slice of evening light in the otherwise-deserted streets of Seoul.

Chan checked his watch. He should really be heading back to the dorms; Jeongin would be expecting him. He wasn't sure he'd make it back without some sort of energy boost, though, so he looked across the streets both ways, and then crossed, pulling the wooden-framed door of the little cafe open.

The warm, golden glow of the overhead lights hit him with a soft ray of warmth, making his cheeks turn pink from the effects of the thawing cold in his blood. He sighed, pulling the door shut behind himself, and nodded once to the barista.

She smiled tiredly, wiping down the counter with a cloth, and moved away to attend to one of the coffee machines, too familiar with his face to cause much of a fuss.

Chan ordered a hot drink and paid, before stuffing his receipt in his pocket and looking around for somewhere to sit.

His gaze caught onto a small, hunched-over figure nestled in a tiny booth at the back, a cup of barely-touched tea next to them.

Chan smiled softly, the familiar flop of your hair and the usually-ruffled clothes drowning your frame pulling him like a magnet.

Sitting down next to you and shedding his coat, he draped it over your back before poking you lightly in the side.

"Mmhmff..."

"Wake up, Y/n."

Lifting your head, you groaned before rubbing your eyes with a fist. "Wha- Chan?"

He grinned, the skin around his eyes crinkling. He didn't seem to mind the lack of honorifics, simply choosing to stroke a strand of hair out of your face in an affectionate, brotherly gesture. "Hi."

You sighed sleepily before resting your head on the cushioned backseat of the booth. "What time is it?"

"Late enough." He pushed the cooling cup of tea towards you.

Taking a small sip with a momentous amount of effort, you pushed the cup away before blinking away the remnants of sleepiness. "What are you doing here?"

Chan nodded at the barista in thanks as she set down his drink in front of him, and pulled the steaming mug towards himself. "Needed a boost before heading home. Didn't feel like getting a ride home; I've been sat on my ass all day in the studio."

You snicker, fighting another yawn. "As per usual."

"Shut it, trainee."

A tiny laugh escaped your mouth; you pulled Chan's coat around yourself a little tighter, feeling the post-sleep shiver set in, a disturbance to your previous state. "I've been sleeping since four, I think. It was packed when I came in."

"It's bad for your back to sleep like that, you know."

You fired back without hesitation. "And it's bad to be shut up in a studio all day, staring at a screen."

Chan's chuckle warmed the air between you, a musky, welcoming sound. His voice cleared a little as he took a sip of his drink, the warm liquid soothing his throat. "Fair enough. Still, you shouldn't sleep here. Go home. Rest."

You shook your head, resting it on your folded forearms as you leaned over the table. "Too tired. I had dance practice all day."

He stared thoughtfully into the distance, gaze unfocused. "It can't have been that bad."

"I can't feel my legs. I think I pulled a muscle..."

"Which one?"

"All of them."

Chan choked on his drink, hiccupping as he thumped himself in the chest. You chuckled as he exhaled, wiping the last dregs of his drink from his lips. "Average trainee experience, huh?"

You sighed and nestled further into your forearms, Chan's heavy coat like a hug on your back. "Yeah. I don't seem to be getting any better, though. Lots of my friends have dropped out already."

Chan was silent for a moment. He pressed his fingertips to the warm porcelain of the mug in his hands, relishing its warmth. His voice was soft in the golden light. "Lots of trainees do. It's not just about talent, Y/n; you have to be able to keep pushing and persevering. You need heart."

"I do?"

"Yes," Chan sat back against the cushioned seat. "And you've got plenty of it, little one."

You couldn't fight the warmth rising in your cheeks.

"Okay," you whispered.

Chan's gaze was steady, measured; he ran a finger around the rim of the mug in his hands. "Keep your chin up, hmm? It gets easier around evaluation time. Just push as hard as you can for now and it'll pay off. I promise."

You gazed at him thoughtfully; the smooth, cold-flushed planes of his face, his dark, windswept hair. His eyes, perhaps a little baggy and strained, but as full of loveliness and affection as they had been the day you'd first met.

Your voice was quiet and thoughtful, wary as if you were afraid you'd be overstepping a boundary. "Was it worth it? The struggle?"

His gaze met yours, and he pushed the mug away. "I felt like it wasn't really worth it while I was training. But now, I'm the leader of a successful group, I've learnt so much and met so many new people, I get to spend my days doing what I love-"

"And you have seven kids."

He tweaked your nose, smiling at your cheeky interruption. "Eight. Including you."

You grinned, sleep still faintly dulling your senses in a pleasant, dreamy haze. "Me?"

Chan chuckled quietly. "Yes, you. Our little star-in-the-making."

He picked up your teacup and placed it next to his in the middle of the table. He reached into the pocket of his coat, still draped over you, and retrieved his phone.

"Come on. I'll take you home."

a/n: yayy new fic (do people even read these notes? comment if you do pls)

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[definitely-not-a-orange-lollipop]

WHAT THE HELL IS RHIS

WHY THE HELL IS THIS

According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way that a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway. Because bees don’t care what humans think is impossible.” SEQ. 75 - “INTRO TO BARRY” INT. BENSON HOUSE - DAY ANGLE ON: Sneakers on the ground. Camera PANS UP to reveal BARRY BENSON’S BEDROOM ANGLE ON: Barry’s hand flipping through different sweaters in his closet. BARRY Yellow black, yellow black, yellow black, yellow black, yellow black, yellow black...oohh, black and yellow... ANGLE ON: Barry wearing the sweater he picked, looking in the mirror. BARRY (CONT’D) Yeah, let’s shake it up a little. He picks the black and yellow one. He then goes to the sink, takes the top off a CONTAINER OF HONEY, and puts some honey into his hair. He squirts some in his mouth and gargles. Then he takes the lid off the bottle, and rolls some on like deodorant. CUT TO: INT. BENSON HOUSE KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Barry’s mother, JANET BENSON, yells up at Barry. JANET BENSON Barry, breakfast is ready! CUT TO: "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 1. INT. BARRY’S ROOM - CONTINUOUS BARRY Coming! SFX: Phone RINGING. Barry’s antennae vibrate as they RING like a phone. Barry’s hands are wet. He looks around for a towel. BARRY (CONT’D) Hang on a second! He wipes his hands on his sweater, and pulls his antennae down to his ear and mouth. BARRY (CONT'D) Hello? His best friend, ADAM FLAYMAN, is on the other end. ADAM Barry? BARRY Adam? ADAM Can you believe this is happening? BARRY Can’t believe it. I’ll pick you up. Barry sticks his stinger in a sharpener. SFX: BUZZING AS HIS STINGER IS SHARPENED. He tests the sharpness with his finger. SFX: Bing. BARRY (CONT’D) Looking sharp. ANGLE ON: Barry hovering down the hall, sliding down the staircase bannister. Barry’s mother, JANET BENSON, is in the kitchen. JANET BENSON Barry, why don’t you use the stairs? Your father paid good money for those. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 2. BARRY Sorry, I’m excited. Barry’s father, MARTIN BENSON, ENTERS. He’s reading a NEWSPAPER with the HEADLINE, “Queen gives birth to thousandtuplets: Resting Comfortably.” MARTIN BENSON Here’s the graduate. We’re very proud of you, Son. And a perfect report card, all B’s. JANET BENSON (mushing Barry’s hair) Very proud. BARRY Ma! I’ve got a thing going here. Barry re-adjusts his hair, starts to leave. JANET BENSON You’ve got some lint on your fuzz. She picks it off. BARRY Ow, that’s me! MARTIN BENSON Wave to us. We’ll be in row 118,000. Barry zips off. BARRY Bye! JANET BENSON Barry, I told you, stop flying in the house! CUT TO: SEQ. 750 - DRIVING TO GRADUATION EXT. BEE SUBURB - MORNING A GARAGE DOOR OPENS. Barry drives out in his CAR. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 3. ANGLE ON: Barry’s friend, ADAM FLAYMAN, standing by the curb. He’s reading a NEWSPAPER with the HEADLINE: “Frisbee Hits Hive: Internet Down. Bee-stander: “I heard a sound, and next thing I knew...wham-o!.” Barry drives up, stops in front of Adam. Adam jumps in. BARRY Hey, Adam. ADAM Hey, Barry. (pointing at Barry’s hair) Is that fuzz gel? BARRY A little. It’s a special day. Finally graduating. ADAM I never thought I’d make it. BARRY Yeah, three days of grade school, three days of high school. ADAM Those were so awkward. BARRY Three days of college. I’m glad I took off one day in the middle and just hitchhiked around the hive. ADAM You did come back different. They drive by a bee who’s jogging. ARTIE Hi Barry! BARRY (to a bee pedestrian) Hey Artie, growing a mustache? Looks good. Barry and Adam drive from the suburbs into the city. ADAM Hey, did you hear about Frankie? "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 4. BARRY Yeah. ADAM You going to his funeral? BARRY No, I’m not going to his funeral. Everybody knows you sting someone you die, you don’t waste it on a squirrel. He was such a hot head. ADAM Yeah, I guess he could’ve just gotten out of the way. The DRIVE through a loop de loop.

Confuse a Gimmick Blog for 10s (1/1)

[wbbfannnnnn13]

Motion Sick // Chapter 5

Theme: homoerotic friendship hot mess

A/N: Just trying to move plot forward before getting into some real messiness and eventually a resolve! Probably won't have another chapter out until next week for this series because I need to finish up my other series, but we'll see. Please comment, react, whatever! I love to see it!

WC: 5K+

Warnings: angst, maybe some cussing?

**** Chapter 5 ****

The thing about first dates is that they never feel like the movies. There’s no soundtrack, no golden-hour lighting, no perfect banter where both people say exactly the right thing. There’s just nerves. 

A lot of them.

Especially when you’ve been hanging out for weeks already—study sessions, walking each other back to dorms, late-night Snap streaks, casual movie nights that weren’t officially anything but definitely felt like something.

So yeah. This wasn’t the first time Paige and Kathryn had hung out. But it was the first time it was called a date. Which somehow made it feel entirely different.

She stared at her closet for way too long before finally settling on a cropped long-sleeve top and black cargo pants. Comfortable, but bold. Just enough skin to hint at her abs—not that she cared if Kathryn noticed. (She did.)

Her hair was half up, half down, loose curls falling over her shoulders. She spritzed some cologne. Debated lip gloss. Changed her earrings twice.

Kathryn was waiting by the front entrance of her dorm, her usual athletic casual look upgraded just slightly—black jeans, crop top, an oversized denim jacket, a necklace Paige hadn’t seen before. Her hair was pulled into a loose braid, and she was fidgeting with her keys like she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands.

“You look good,” Kathryn said, smiling in that sideways kind of way that always got to Paige.

“You too,” Paige said, a little too quickly. “So… mini golf?”

Kathryn grinned. “Figured we should settle once and for all who the real athlete is.”

They walked over together, shoulders brushing, the teasing already in full swing about who’d win.

The place was half empty, glowing under string lights and faded neon signs. The vibe was more arcade nostalgia than romantic, which helped. Paige could breathe.

They picked out clubs and chose their golf balls—Paige called dibs on the purple one without hesitation—and made their way to hole one, where the goal was to bank a shot off a sun-faded plastic flamingo.

Kathryn was bad. Like, hilariously bad. Like, can’t-even-pretend-to-be-supportive bad. Paige didn’t even try to hide her laughter when Kathryn whiffed her second shot and sent the ball into a fake pond.

“Oh my God,” Paige gasped, wiping tears. “Are you trying to lose?”

“I’m establishing expectations,” Kathryn said, deadpan. “So when I come back and win, it’s more impressive.”

“Babe, you’re down by four already.”

Kathryn raised an eyebrow. “Did you just call me babe?”

Paige’s face went warm. “Shut up. Hit your ball.”

They bantered their way through all eighteen holes, pausing only to talk trash or duck around a group of loud undergrads. Somewhere around hole ten, Kathryn figured out a ridiculous strategy that involved ricocheting every shot off Paige’s ball.

“It’s a legit tactic,” she said, lining up another bank shot with zero shame.

“It’s cheating,” Paige shot back, grinning. “And you’re annoying.”

“Still catching up, though,” Kathryn said sweetly, right before sinking the putt.

They split a Coke and a bag of M&M’s at the end, sitting on a metal bench near the arcade. The air had cooled, Kathryn’s braid was coming loose, and Paige felt lighter than she had in a long time.

It was easy. Too easy.

The kind of night that didn’t ask anything of her. Didn’t push. Didn’t pull. Just let her be. And God, had she missed that.

After, they walked back to campus slowly—like neither of them was in a hurry to go back to reality. The air was crisp. Kathryn shoved her hands in her pockets and occasionally bumped her shoulder into Paige’s like she didn’t know what to do with her own affection.

Outside Kathryn’s dorm, they paused.

“This was fun,” Paige said, a little too quickly.

Kathryn nodded. “Yeah. It was.” Then a beat. “I was kinda nervous, honestly.”

“Why?” Paige asked.

“You’re just… not like other girls I’ve hung out with.” She looked down for a second, then back up. “You make me nervous in a good way. Like I wanna keep doing things that make you smile.”

Paige swallowed, pulse stuttering.

She didn’t mean to close the distance. Not really. But then Kathryn tilted her head, and Paige’s breath caught, and suddenly they were closer than before—shoes toe-to-toe.

“I had a really good time,” Kathryn said, voice low.

Paige smiled. “Me too.” And then she leaned in. Just a little. And Kathryn met her halfway.

The kiss was… sweet. Soft. Innocent. Like a sigh. Like a yes.

It didn’t take her breath away. But it settled something.

Her hand found the edge of Kathryn’s jacket, anchoring herself for just a second longer. Then she pulled back, blinking.

Kathryn’s cheeks were pink. She smiled. “Been wanting to do that since you beat me at FIFA.”

“You mean when I destroyed you at FIFA,” Paige said, breathless.

“Rematch soon. You’ll lose.”

“We’ll see.”

They lingered for a second longer. Not touching now, just standing in that quiet post-kiss pause, both a little dazed.

“Night, Paige,” Kathryn said, opening the door.

“Night.”

Paige turned and started walking back, fingers brushing her lips, trying—and failing—to hide the grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. She crossed her arms, like maybe that would help steady her heartbeat. It didn’t.

It didn’t feel dramatic. It didn’t feel like a movie. It felt… good. Simple. Easy. Maybe even right.

For the first time in a while, she didn’t feel like she was chasing something. She just felt found.

****

Morrone Stadium looked sharp under the late afternoon light. Clean turf. Crisp white lines. The kind of fall breeze that made you zip your hoodie up halfway and still squint against the sun.

Paige hadn’t planned on going alone—not because she wouldn’t have, but because when Aubrey and Ice overheard her mention Kathryn’s game, they immediately invited themselves. “You’re not about to soft launch your soccer crush without us,” Aubrey had said. “It’s not a launch,” Paige muttered, pulling her hood up.

But still—she didn’t say no.

The three of them sat low in the bleachers, close to the midfield line. A few basketball players trickled in over the first half, but none of them sat close. Paige liked that. It kept things… quiet.

Kathryn wore all white—jersey tucked, socks pulled high, her usual headband in place. She had a navy practice penny over the top for warmups, but by kickoff, it was off and folded on the bench. She looked calm, focused, confident. Like the game ran at her pace.

“She’s got field presence,” Ice commented, chewing on her straw. “She’s hot,” Aubrey added, unapologetically.

Paige tried not to smile. Tried not to stare too long as Kathryn jogged over to the corner flag midway through the first half.

“Corner kick,” Aubrey said, nudging her. “This your girl’s moment.”

Kathryn didn’t even glance toward the bleachers—just set the ball down with surgical precision, took three quick steps, and sent a perfect left-footed cross into the box. One of her teammates met it clean, heading it into the back of the net like it had been drawn up in a textbook.

The crowd roared. Kathryn jogged back into formation, high-fived the striker, and kept moving like she’d done it a hundred times.

“She’s smooth,” Ice said, tipping her coffee like a toast.

“Well, she is captain,” Paige replied before she could stop herself.

Aubrey raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Ohhh, okay. So now you’re bragging.”

Paige just shook her head, but her smile gave her away.

After the win, she stayed in the stands while Kathryn cooled down with the team. No waving. No big moment. Just a glance across the field and a barely-there nod—acknowledgment. Like something only the two of them would catch.

Later that night, Paige got the tag. Kathryn had posted a game-day carousel—action shots of her teammates, a scoreboard close-up, and a blurry bench photo with the caption: “w’s only.”

But the tag wasn’t in the post.

It was on her story. Just one clip: a slow pan of the bleachers, Paige tucked in the corner, hood up, grinning like she didn’t know she was being filmed.

The caption read: “love the support 🤍”

She tagged @uconnwbb, @aubreygriffin, @icebrady… and @paigebueckers. Like it was casual. Like it was nothing.

And yet Paige stared at it way too long before locking her phone.

She barely had time to process it before her phone buzzed again. The Huzzskies🏀team chat was already on fire.

Aubrey: okay soft launch 😏

Caroline: please tell me you’re sending this to your mom so she stops asking if you’re still single lol

Amari: not Paige out here looking like a proud boyfriend 😭

Jana: well damn

Aubrey: lowkey proud of you. highkey stalking her tagged pics rn 👀

She just watched the messages roll in, the screen lighting up again and again like it was laughing with her.

She didn’t respond. Didn’t add a single emoji. But her thumb hovered over the keyboard for a second, then dropped.

She smiled. Just barely. Then locked her phone.

And that should’ve been the end of it. Cute date. Supportive friends. A win all around.

But instead of feeling lighter, she felt… something else. Like a corner of her chest had come unstuck. Like her body remembered something she hadn’t given it permission to.

It didn’t hit all at once. Just a quiet nudge. The kind that starts as a whisper and gets louder the longer you try to ignore it.

Because it wasn’t just a story post. It wasn’t just a kiss, or a caption, or how easy Kathryn made things feel.

It was what came before. The dance. The almost. The way Azzi had looked at her like she was still something worth choosing. And the way Paige had walked away—like that solved anything.

She thought she’d feel proud of herself. She didn’t.

What she felt was unfinished. And tired of pretending otherwise.

She reached for her phone again. No hesitation this time. Scrolled until Azzi’s name came into view.

She hadn’t texted her in weeks. Not directly. Not since before the birthday. Before the dance floor. Before everything that still lived in the space between them, untouched and unnamed.

Her fingers hovered. Then typed.

hey do you have time to talk this week? just wanna clear the air after my birthday.

She read it back once. Didn’t overthink it.

Just hit send.

For a moment, nothing. Then—

Azzi: yeah. just let me know when.

That was it. No emoji. No questions. But it was enough.

Paige let the phone fall beside her, the light from the screen fading slowly as it dimmed out. She pulled her blanket tighter, curled against the far side of her bed, and stared at the ceiling like the right words might be written up there if she just looked long enough.

This was the right thing. To be honest. To stop letting silence answer for her.

And maybe it wouldn’t fix everything. Maybe it would just be a moment. But at least it wouldn’t be another ghost.

Still, later that night—long after her shower, long after Kathryn’s “thanks for coming :)” text that Paige reread twice—she opened her drawer, looking for headphones.

And for a half-second, she thought she saw something. A flash of white. A blue ribbon.

But then it was gone. Buried again beneath socks and receipts and whatever else she’d shoved in there.

She closed the drawer. Didn’t think twice. Didn’t notice what she’d missed.

****

They met in the film room after weights. Neutral ground. No distractions. Just the echo of earlier conversations bouncing faintly in her head and the quiet hum of a space that used to mean nothing but basketball.

Azzi was already there, perched on the edge of one of the recliners in the front row, her high bun loose in that casually chaotic way it always was. She sat hunched forward, elbows resting on her thighs, like she hadn’t fully decided if she was staying or just passing through. She looked up when Paige walked in, her expression carefully unreadable.

“Hey,” Paige said, her voice low.

Azzi nodded. “Hey.”

The silence stretched for a few seconds. Not tense. Just… uncertain. They hadn’t been alone together in a long time.

Paige leaned against the table at the front of the room, directly across from Azzi, close enough to talk, but not too close. Measured. Intentional.

“Thanks for coming,” she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I just figured it was time to clear the air. Before the season really starts. Before things get too complicated.”

Azzi nodded again, slower this time. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

Paige glanced down at her hands. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my birthday. About the dance. I know it was kind of a moment. It felt like that. I’m not gonna pretend it didn’t.” She paused, then added, “But I think it was more about… history. And the drinks. And just falling into old rhythms.”

Azzi’s eyes flickered, but she didn’t interrupt.

“We’ve been more than just friends for a while now,” Paige said, her voice soft. “Even if we never said it out loud… it was always there.”

Azzi gave a tiny smile at that. “Yeah. I know.”

“And I don’t regret it,” Paige continued quickly. “Any of it. I wouldn’t take it back. But I think it’s time to move on. For real this time.”

Her voice wavered for a second, but she steadied it. “Things with Kathryn feel… good. And I don’t want to mess that up by leaving anything with us unresolved.”

Azzi dropped her gaze to her shoes, her fingers knotting together in her lap. Across from her, Paige fixed her eyes on a spot on the wall like it might give her something to hold onto.

“I guess what I’m trying to say,” Paige went on, “is that I want us to be okay again. For real. Not stuck in that weird space where we don’t talk or try to pretend we’re fine when we’re not.”

She looked over then, eyes finding Azzi’s like she was checking to see if it was still safe.

“I just…” Paige let out a slow breath. “I want to go back. Before it got messy… When you were just… my person.”

The words came out soft, like they’d been sitting in her chest for a while.

She paused, then added— “Can we do that?”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. She didn’t have to. The silence between them felt familiar now. Not quite heavy, but full.

So Paige kept going, her voice a little lower now, like maybe if she said it gently enough, it wouldn’t hurt as much.

“I know last time we tried to be friends… I was the one who pushed it too far. I crossed the line.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, eyes flicking down. “And I don’t think it was confusion. I think I just wanted you close, and I didn’t know how to ask for it without making it messy.”

She looked up again, her expression soft but sure. “I’m not trying to do that anymore. I’m not trying to stir things up or go back to something that doesn’t work. I just… I miss when it was simple. I miss when you were the first person I told everything to. And I guess I’m hoping we can find our way back to that.”

A pause.

“That version of us. The one that wasn’t so complicated.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She let the question hang there between them, suspended in the hum of the overhead light and the weight of everything they never quite said.

Eventually, she nodded. Once. 

“Yeah. We can.”

Paige exhaled. “I really want that. Especially with the season starting. I want to be good teammates. I want to be in your corner. Always.”

Azzi looked at her, and there was something behind her eyes—something that wasn’t quite sadness, but lived in the same zip code.

“Me too,” she said quietly. “I never wasn’t.”

They didn’t hug. Didn’t linger.

Paige offered a soft smile, stood, and gave her one last look. “Thanks again. I know this wasn’t easy.”

Azzi nodded. “It’s okay.”

And Paige believed her. Mostly.

She turned and left, the door clicking softly behind her.

Azzi

Paige never mentioned the gift. Not once.

Not the white box. Not the ribbon that had frayed from being carried in Azzi’s pocket all night. Not the gift inside. 

And that silence told her everything.

She’d opened it. Of course she had.

Azzi hadn’t left it somewhere subtle. This wasn’t a mystery box behind a stack of laundry or under a pile of books.

She’d put it dead center on Paige’s desk. Right next to a half-eaten granola bar and her tangled phone charger.

So yeah. Azzi knew. She’d found it. She���d seen it. And she hadn’t said a word.

Which meant she had nothing to say.

She didn’t spiral.

Didn’t cry.

Didn’t do anything dramatic like throw her phone across the room or listen to Phoebe Bridgers on loop until Caroline threatened to unplug the speaker. 

Which, honestly, was worse.

Because that ache? The one she’d been trying to ignore since the dance floor? It didn’t go away. It just settled in. Got comfortable. Became background noise.

And yeah, at first it stung. But eventually it dulled into something manageable. Like a muscle that used to be torn and now just aches when it rains.

She still thought about it sometimes—what Paige might’ve felt when she opened the box. Maybe she’d rolled her eyes. Maybe she didn’t even try it on.

Maybe she tossed it in a drawer like it was nothing. (Okay, that one hurt a little more than she wanted to admit.)

But eventually, Azzi got used to it. Used to the silence. Used to being the one who still cared but didn’t say anything about it.

Then came the team group chat.

Screenshots. Teasing texts. A picture of Paige standing in the bleachers at Kathryn’s soccer game, hood up, hair tied back, looking happier than she had in weeks. Azzi watched the reactions roll in like a slow, dumb parade.

Lou dropped five heart eyes. Nika posted a GIF. Aaliyah suggested wedding colors.

And Azzi—she read every message, watched the little reactions stack up in real time.

At first, it hit like another quiet twist in her gut. She told herself it didn’t matter.

That it wasn’t that deep.

But if Azzi was being honest—really honest—it felt like the final answer to a question she hadn’t wanted to ask.

And the answer was no.

No, Paige wasn’t holding onto anything. No, she wasn’t second-guessing that dance. No, she didn’t open her gift and feel her breath catch in her chest.

So when Paige texted her—hey, can we talk?—Azzi already knew what it was going to be. Not a confession. Not a door reopening.

Just… closure.

And when they met in the film room, Paige sitting across from her with soft eyes and a measured voice, saying she wanted to go back to before things got blurry— Azzi nodded.

Because what else was she supposed to do? Fall to the floor and scream, Please, give me another chance. 

No thanks. She still had to show up to practice the next day.

Besides, there was something almost comforting about knowing where they stood. Finally.

They were friends. Teammates. Not unfinished business.

And the truth was, she was grateful for that. Because losing Paige completely? That would’ve left a hollow space she didn’t know how to fill.

So she held on to what she could. Even if it wasn’t the version she used to hope for. Even if it meant learning how to sit beside Paige again without reaching for something that wasn’t hers anymore.

And maybe that would take time. Maybe she’d still flinch sometimes—at old songs, at inside jokes, at the way Paige laughed when she wasn’t trying.

But eventually, she believed she’d get there. To the version of herself that could look at Paige and feel calm instead of cracked open.

The part of her that still wanted more? It would quiet. Not today, maybe not tomorrow. But soon.

And when it did—when that ache finally softened—she’d still be here. Still Azzi. Still steady. And maybe, just maybe, still close enough to be in Paige’s life in a way that didn’t hurt.

In a way that felt like peace.

****

They rounded the corner, the Dairy Bar’s warm yellow lights glowing against the foggy windows. There was already a line — always was — students in sweats and messy buns, someone in pajama pants and slides, a couple with their arms around each other.

Azzi pulled her hood up. She didn’t know why. She kicked a rock down the street as they walked, hands shoved deep in her hoodie pocket. 

Aubrey walked next to her, sipping from a Sprite and swinging a lanyard around one finger like she had nowhere in the world to be except right there.

“This better be good,” Aubrey said. “You pulled me out of my Netflix zone.”

Azzi rolled her eyes.  “You act like you didn’t break into a jog when I said waffle cones.”

Aubrey gave her a look but didn’t argue.

They got in line between a group of freshman girls in matching sorority hoodies and a dad and his kid debating over rainbow sprinkles.

Azzi stared up at the chalkboard menu—overwhelmed, underwhelmed, and mostly just stalling—while a case full of too many flavors sat beneath a lineup of UConn-themed puns like Bleed Blueberry Bliss and Husky Tracks, none of which she actually felt like reading.

“Can I say something?” Azzi asked, staring at the freezer but not really seeing it.

Aubrey gave her a curious look. “Alright. Floor’s yours.”

“I think I might like girls.”

Aubrey didn’t flinch. Didn’t even pause. She just took another sip of Sprite and said, “Yeah. No duh.”

Azzi blinked. “Okay, why does everyone keep saying that?”

Aubrey shrugged. “Because… Azzi. We’ve all seen the way you look at Paige. It’s like you’re seeing everything you want and everything you’re scared of, in the same breath.”

Azzi groaned. “God, that’s so dramatic.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“Okay, yeah,” she admitted, laughing under her breath. “But still. It was only her. It’s not like I’ve been walking around campus making a list.”

“So?” Aubrey said, raising an eyebrow. “It doesn’t have to be everyone. Sometimes it’s just one person that makes you go, oh.”

They shuffled forward in line. The smell of waffle cones drifted toward them, warm and ridiculous and somehow perfect.

“I guess I thought it didn’t count unless it was more than once,” Azzi muttered.

“Who made that rule?”

Azzi didn’t answer. Because… yeah. She had no idea.

They finally stepped up to the counter. Azzi asked for pistachio in a waffle cone, mostly out of spite because no one ever picked pistachio and she kind of liked being contrary. Aubrey got cookies and cream because she was predictable and proud of it.

They paid, grabbed their cones, and headed outside to a bench near the side of the shop. The wood was cold beneath them, but neither of them said anything.

Azzi took a bite. “This was a terrible choice.”

Aubrey grinned. “Tastes like regret?”

“Yeah. But like… fancy regret.”

They sat for a minute, letting the sounds of the night fill in the space. Footsteps. Laughter. The low bass of someone’s speaker rattling in a dorm window.

Then Azzi spoke again, slower this time. “I think what hurts the most isn’t that she’s happy.” She licked a drip of ice cream off her wrist. “It’s that I’m not part of the version of her that is.”

Aubrey didn’t say anything for a second. Then— “You were, though.”

“Yeah,” Azzi said. “And I loved that version. I just didn’t know what to do with it until it was already gone.”

She looked out toward the parking lot, watching headlights pass through puddles from the earlier rain.

“She found someone who makes her laugh. Someone who doesn’t hesitate. And I keep thinking—good. Like, I really do want her to be okay. Even if it’s not with me.”

Aubrey leaned back on the bench, her cone resting against the wrapper. “That’s what makes it real, you know.”

Azzi turned. “What?”

“That you want her to be happy even if it doesn’t lead back to you.” A pause. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.”

Azzi exhaled, quiet but not heavy. “It does.”

“Then let it suck. For now,” Aubrey said. “But maybe you also start paying attention to how you feel around other people. Like… just see who makes you want to smile. Or stay a little longer. Or flirt back.”

Azzi gave her a flat look. “I have a boyfriend, remember?”

Aubrey didn’t blink. “Sure, you’ve got a boyfriend. And I’ve got a plant I forgot to water for three weeks. Doesn’t mean it’s thriving.”

Azzi snorted. “That’s dark.”

“I’m just saying,” Aubrey continued, twirling her cone like she was making a point. “There’s a difference between staying with someone and actually wanting to be with them. One of those is comfort. The other’s real.”

Azzi let the words settle as she took another slow bite of her ice cream.

“Anyway,” Aubrey added with a shrug, “if you ever decide to explore what real might look like—with someone new—I’m officially offering my services as an unpaid, highly unqualified wingwoman.”

Azzi laughed—really laughed, for the first time in what felt like forever. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” Aubrey said, bumping her shoulder. 

They let the quiet fall again. The kind of quiet that didn’t press. That felt like permission to feel things at your own pace.

And maybe that was enough for tonight. Not closure. Not clarity.

But a starting point.

****

She hadn’t planned on doing it that night. But when she got back to her dorm and saw Derrick’s name light up her phone — missed call (2), text: “U alive??” — something inside her clicked.

Not like a spark. More like a switch.

She’d known this was coming. For weeks, maybe longer. And now there was no reason to pretend she didn’t.

hey. can we talk for a sec?

They met outside the student center, the campus mostly quiet, lit by streetlamps and the flicker of vending machines buzzing against the wall. Derrick stood with one foot propped on the bike rack, a basketball tucked under his arm like always. Like nothing was off.

When he saw her, he smiled—out of habit, not happiness—and reached out for a one-armed hug.

She didn’t hug back.

“What’s up?” he asked, still easy, still assuming this wasn’t what it was.

Azzi stuffed her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. The same hoodie she’d worn to his games, to late-night film sessions, to fall asleep in when she didn’t know how to say what she was feeling.

“I think we should break up.”

It came out quiet. Still. But it didn’t waver.

Derrick’s brow pulled tight. “Wait… what?”

“I’ve been feeling it for a while. But I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure. I just… I don’t think this is right anymore.”

He blinked like he didn’t fully understand the language she was speaking. “Is this about her?”

Azzi hesitated. “Who?”

“Paige,” he said flatly. “Come on. Don’t act like I don’t see it.”

She tried not to react, but her throat caught on something.

“She walks into a room and you go stiff like someone just pressed pause on your whole nervous system.” He took a step closer, the ball dropping to the pavement beside him with a soft thud.

Azzi looked away. She could lie. She thought about it—just for a second. About saying It’s not like that. Or You’re overreacting. About falling back on the safety net of vague deflection.

But she was tired. Tired of performing what she thought other people needed from her. Tired of keeping her feelings sorted into folders labeled "safe" and "later." Tired of lying.

Especially to herself.

So she took a breath and met his eyes. “It’s not about Paige. It’s about me.”

He laughed again. This time it had edges. “I heard the rumors last year, you know. About you and her. Stuff people said. I figured it was just drama. People trying to stir things up. I didn’t want to believe it.”

She looked up. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t it?”

A beat passed. Long enough to feel it settle between them.

“I didn’t cheat on you,” Azzi said. Her voice stayed even, but there was steel in it now. “I didn’t lie. I just… I didn’t know how to explain something I was still figuring out.”

He folded his arms. “So what now? You’re into girls?”

“I might be.”

“And what, I’m just the warm-up act?”

“No,” she said. “You’re someone I really cared about. And someone I don’t want to keep lying to—especially now that I’m not lying to myself anymore.”

He stepped back, mouth tight, jaw flexing. “Whatever. You wanna go figure it out, go ahead. Pick a team and stick to it next time.”

That one stung. Even though she’d half-expected it. Even though it told her more about him than it did about her.

Azzi nodded once. “Thanks for making this easier.”

He scoffed, grabbed the ball, and walked away without another word.

She stood there a moment longer, the night air cool against her cheeks, the back of her throat tight. Not with tears—just truth.

By the time she got back to her dorm, she was still holding onto the drawstrings of her hoodie like they were something to anchor her.

She didn’t feel triumphant. Didn’t feel broken either.

Just… clear.

It didn’t matter what label she landed on. Gay. Bi. Still figuring it out. She just knew that whoever she was becoming, he wasn’t part of it.

And maybe that was the whole point. Not choosing a side. Just choosing herself.

[kxsagi]

OMG REQS ARE OPEN!! could i possibly get a part 2 to the “she’s nothing like the girl you’ve ever seen before” (basically an extremely pretty reader) but with yukimiya, otoya and aiku? thank youuu :))

“𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐”

a/n: yesss ofc!!! pt. 1 is here

also don’t know if anyone got the title reference but it’s a lyric from sexy bitch by david guetta LMAO (that song is fire)

ft. yukimiya kenyu, otoya eita, aiku oliver

yukimiya kenyu – “she’s beautiful and mine. please stop looking at her. please.” 

despite being a model himself, yukimiya is so painfully aware of how attractive you are. like, to a spiritual level. 

he’ll walk into a café with you and immediately sense it. the shift in energy. the glances. the triple-takes. 

“you saw that guy, right?” “which one?” “exactly.” 

he’s not jealous per se, but he does pull you a little closer by the waist and gives a few proud side-eyes like, yeah, look. she's mine. admire all you want, peasants. 

if someone dares approach you when he's not by your side, he'll suddenly appear out of nowhere like a protective spell. 

one time you were getting groceries and a guy tried to chat you up by the onions. yukimiya appeared like: “hi, angel. did you find the truffle oil?” you were shopping for rice. 

he’s dramatic. “you know, it’s hard being the boyfriend of the prettiest girl on earth. it’s emotionally taxing.” 

but the truth? every time someone stares at you, he gets a little smug. he knew you were a showstopper. the world’s just catching up. 

otoya eita – “damn you’re hot. what was i saying again? right. we’re in public.” 

otoya’s ego thrives off of your looks. like, yeah, you turn heads, but so does he. and together? you two are obnoxiously hot. 

it’s his favorite game to count how many people check you out during a date. “that’s five. six if you count the waiter. gosh, you’re unreal.” 

doesn’t get jealous at all. in fact, he loves watching you ignore everyone else because it feeds into his delusion that you’re obsessed with him. 

“they can look. but only i get to see your skincare routine up close. perks of being irresistible.” 

otoya will dramatically fan himself if you wear anything revealing. literally falls over the arm of the couch like, “babe, i can’t go out like this. i’ll fight someone. with my bare hands.” 

also won’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your shoulders with the most stupidly smug expression. 

if someone flirts with you in public, otoya will just grin and go, “thanks, i think she’s hot too. but she likes emotionally unstable pretty boys, so... better luck next time.” 

you're his favorite flex and he’s never subtle about it. 

aiku oliver – “you look hot. no, seriously. i need you to tone it down. people are staring and i’m gonna lose it.” 

oliver talks a big game, but the second you walk out in a cute outfit? he’s malfunctioning. 

one time you wore a red dress and he just stood there like: “... i need to sit down.” 

literally grits his teeth when he catches other guys checking you out. “he blinked at you. twice. that’s flirting in guy language.” 

gets all possessive out of nowhere. like you’re walking past a group of dudes and suddenly his hand is on your lower back. 

“damn, can you walk like... less sexier? it’s not safe.” 

acts super calm but is actually fuming inside if a guy even looks at you wrong. guy: “wow, your girlfriend’s gorgeous.” oliver, smiling: “she is. also i’m trained in three forms of combat. just so you know.” 

but! deep down, he’s proud. he knows you could have anyone, and yet you’re his. 

“can’t blame them for staring. i stare at you, too.” “that’s sweet.” “no i mean like. all the time. i barely get things done.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[phantasm-ae]

Okay so I had this idea and I just JSJSJJSJSJSKKS. Anyways here it is. I hope you like it🥺

cw: some fluff

HEADCANON: Soap and Ghost got the wrong intel. Extraction at a… birthday party?

Pairing: Ghost and Soap

it was supposed to be a quick recon. Nothing out of the ordinary. Something they've done a couple out of a hundred times in their lifetime.

Check the warehouse. Mark supplies. Report back.

In. Out.

Easy.

Except Soap and Ghost being Soap and Ghost. Somehow took the wrong door and instead of being met with a supply stash of those black market ammo crates and smuggled gear Laswell briefed them on 2 weeks ago. They were instead met with a cascade of confetti. A blaring of colorful horns. Balloons floating around like some budget dream sequence and a bloody banner sagging lazily across the ceiling with the words "HAPPY 8TH BIRTHDAY JAYDEN" propped up by two mini-Spiderman balloons.

The two cartoony figures swaying ominously in the breeze of the open warehouse door.

Ghost and Soap stood fucking stock still at the sight.

Two hulking and massive men in full tactical gear. Rifles on hand. Kevlar. Christ even bloody prepped with face paint on -- were now staring into the abyss of the suburban chaos in front of them

A table covered in Spiderman themed paper plates. Crowd of sugared-up kids frozen mid-scream at the sight of them. A magician in a sparkly vest holding a rabbit, wide-eyed and doozy. A dad in cargo shorts holding a phone, mid-picture. And in the center, a fucking stunned kid wearing a party hat and face paint… that eerily resembled Ghost’s skull mask.

Soap’s finger hovered awkwardly near the safety switch on his rifle. Ghost just muttered, “...fuckin' hell.”

Then chaos.

One of the kids let out a shriek, but not out of fear -- rather out of sheer and enthusiastic delight. “COOL ARMY GUYS!”

Another yelled, “THEY’RE HERE FOR THE PARTY!” “LOOK, ONE OF THEM’S A SKELETON!”

Ghost could only stand up straighter at that. Eyes narrowed and brows furrowed in annoyance and unease. Turning slightly to Soap and muttering flatly, “This is your fault.”

"How's this ma fault?"

“You’re the one who said ‘let’s take the shortcut.’” “It wis labeled—!

"Labeled with what?"

"Ma gut"

Soap then. Now also irritated and confused. Tried to shoo off some wee scunners around his boots and gear. Some palming and prodding their tiny fingers into velcro and buckles -- "Aw fuck. Dinnae touch that. That's ma di-- uhh... magazine" -- almost swatting a bairn silly for trying to reach for his flashbang.

“Oi! That’s not a toy, ya wee gremlin -- put that down before we all see God.”

And the kid just. This 3'5 kid with some frosting and glitter smeared across his shirt just giggled like Soap said the funniest thing on earth. Clutching the round cap like it was a new Hot Wheels and darting off into the bouncy castle with alarming speed before Soap could pry the dangerous things off of his sticky fingers.

Soap stared after him, jaw slack. "The child's armed"

Soap immediately tried to backpedal toward the door, one hand reaching out blindly for Ghost. But the brooding and hulking mass of a man -- all 6'4 and weighty muscle -- was cornered by some determined little girl wearing various kinds of glittery plastic sheriff badges and a unicorn headband and -- God help them -- trying to handcuff Ghost still with rainbow slap bracelets. A proper master of hostage negotiation she was. She had him pinned down Simon let her. A slap bracelet now stretched around Ghost's wrist, holding him in place like some deranged form of child’s play.

And Ghost, deadpan and trying to remain indifferent despite his amused and softened tone. A distinct air of a man emotionally unraveled, muttered, “Soap, you’ve made contact with the enemy.”

Lips quirking up a bit beneath the mask as she let him lead her to Soap.

“She’s ten!” Soap hissed. Unable to do anything else. Flinching as the girl snapped one of the bracelets on his wrist as well with terrifying precision. "An’ she’s armed wi’ accessories!"

Another kid zipped by them, shrieking with laughter, waving what looked horrifyingly like a half-unwrapped glow stick taped to a toy pistol. Ghost sidestepped just in time to avoid being hit in the shin.

And somewhere in the bloody distance, a karaoke machine started playing Let It Go.

And then came the giggle again.

That same little demon child with the flashbang poked his frosting-smeared head out of the bouncy castle flap, holding the device above his head like Simba in The Lion King, yelling, “LOOK WHAT I GOT!”

Every adult in the room clapped, thinking it was a toy too. Fucking idiots

Soap grabbed Ghost by the tactical vest and hissed, “If we don’t leave right now, that wee gremlin’s gonna detonate us into the stratosphere and the last thing we’ll see is Elsa.”

Well fuck that. Ghost wanted to die sure. But not to some fucking disney song in the background while his body gets scattered into smithereens. Ghost didn’t even argue anymore. He turned. Slowly removed the colored straps on his wrists with an apologetic nod toward the glitter-covered child still trying to fashion a tiara out of pipe cleaners for him -- “Sorry, love. Your boyband’s disbanding yeah?” -- and pushed open the exit with his boot. Both men. Once covererd with warpaint and eyeblack, now stumbled out into the daylight -- covered in glitter, foam sword dents, and existential horror.

But before either of them could properly make a break for it though, a woman -- possibly the birthday boy’s mother -- strode up, wine cooler in hand, phone in the other. “Oh my God, you’re the entertainment?! You didn’t tell me you were doing full cosplay -- this is incredible! What’s your TikTok?”

Soap only blinked.

Ghost shook his head, clearly contemplating his life choices.

“We didn’t hire—” Soap started.

“Do you do face painting?” a child asked Ghost, reaching up to touch his mask.

Ghost took a step back. “Touch me and I vanish.”

That somehow made him more mysterious. A whole circle of kids now followed him like ducklings.

“Do a trick!” someone yelled.

Soap glanced around at the swarm of kids and chaos and, seeing no way out without causing a scene, turned to Ghost with the deadest eyes possible. “Mate, we’re in it up tae our eyeballs”

Ghost sighed heavily, albeit relaxing as he saw the wee lass approach again -- this time, not with slap bracelets, but with her finished paper crown, now glittered, crooked, and proudly labeled “KInG GhoSt” in chunky stickers.

She beamed at him, arms raised in offering.

And Ghost -- Ghost, who had walked through fire, cleaving a man from ear to ear, racked up three targets point blank in one shot, and once barreled through two doors in a single kick -- did not protest. Didn’t move. Didn’t growl or flee.

He simply knelt.

The crown was placed on his head with all the ceremony of a royal coronation, and the little girl patted his shoulder like she was knighting him.

“Fine. Ten minutes. No longer.”

3 hours later, Soap was engaged in a full-on Nerf battle behind the bounce house, dual-wielding foam dart guns he confiscated from a particularly rowdy six-year-old. And Ghost. All tank, heavy, and bruising muscle was sitting in a lawn chair with two toddlers now on his lap and that little girl -- Ella -- sleeping on his shoulder with a half-finished juice pouch in her unconscious grip.

The magician quit.

The cake was served. Soap was somehow made to cut it with a plastic bayonet.

And Laswell. Watching through the drone feed back at base after her two best operatives went complete radio silent could only mutter -- “...I don’t even want to know.”

Price would ask questions. Soap would lie.

Ghost would deny everything.

But Jayden?

Jayden would remember and so would his little sister Ella.

The flashbang though? It was tucked into some kid’s pocket, shiny and definitely armed, but would be later found in Jayden's toy box, where it sat like a prized possession next to a small mountain of Legos, a collection of Hot Wheels, and what appeared to be a very, very well-loved stuffed rabbit modeled after the skeleton guy.

Soap didn’t realize any of this though until a week later when a small package arrived at base. His name written in bright, bubbly handwriting on the envelope -- Jayden and Ella. Soap opened it slowly, half expecting it to explode in his face, but instead, there was a note tucked inside:

"THanK u fOR tHe PArtY Mr. BubBleS ! ThIs BELonGS 2 U - J AnD E."

And nestled carefully in the corner of the box was the flashbang. Clean. Untouched. But most of all -- in one bleedin' piece. Thank fuckin' Christ. The stealthy and dangerous thing nestled in some more shredded color paper and glitters?? in the box like it was just another toy.

Soap got a proper mouthing from Price after that though.

Something about civilian safety. An OPSEC violation? an AR190-03... Christ he didn't know. He forgot. Actually it all bled out into some blurry, distant, and obtuse backdrop. Half-listening like he always did.

Because back on his desk. Scattered. Cluttered. Disorganized and messy -- pinned what Soap taught to be one of the best masterpiece he's ever seen and received in his life.

A crayon drawing of himself in full tactical gear, looking like the proudest soldier on earth, and Ghost, tragically interpreted as a “skeleton king” with a bloody smiley face.

But most importantly. Taped beside it. Creased. Glittery. Slightly sticky with colored and shimmering glue -- was the crooked paper crown. Still intact. Still regal. And still Ghost's.

Aye.

it was worth it.

masterlist

[kpoplustzone]

Fucking IN LAW - SANA SMUT PART 2

OC X SANA SUPPORT ME ON KOFI - KOFI

The next morning, after Jiyoo had left for work, Sana took a leisurely, hot bath. The steam filled the bathroom, and once she stepped out, she stood naked in front of the fogged-up mirror, her hair dripping wet down her back and shoulders. She wiped a clear patch on the glass and gazed at her reflection, a confident smirk playing on her lips. Yep, still got it. Her face, even without makeup, was naturally beautiful, her skin glowing from the warm water. Her boobs, full and perky, sat high on her chest, the nipples already tight and erect. She ran her hands down her flat stomach, feeling the slight definition of her abs, then down her long, sexy legs, toned from years of dancing.

She knew exactly what effect her body had on men, and she was sure Minjun wouldn't be any different. To complete her look of effortless sexiness, she grabbed a white button-down shirt from Jiyoo’s closet. It was oversized on her, falling just below her hips. That was the point. She left it completely unbuttoned at the bottom, so the curve of her bare ass was visible with every movement. Up top, she deliberately unbuttoned it low, letting the shirt fall open enough to reveal the upper swell of her bare breasts, the tips of her nipples peeking out from under the fabric. She skipped the panties entirely, knowing that the slightest shift of the shirt could give Minjun a tantalizing glimpse of her bare pussy. Her wet hair, slicked back and framing her face, just added to the vibe – freshly out of the shower, carefree, and utterly tempting. Her cousin was gone for the day, completely unaware of the little game Sana was about to play. It was just her and Minjun in the house, and Sana had every intention of making the most of their alone time.

Sana floated out of her room, her bare feet padding softly on the wooden floor. She had a little smile playing on her lips, already picturing Minjun's reaction. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, there he was, sitting at the kitchen table, spooning cereal into his mouth. "Morning, Minjun-oppa," she said sweetly, her voice a little husky from sleep, and started walking casually towards the counter to grab a glass.

But she made sure to walk right past him, putting her body on full display. Minjun's spoon froze halfway to his mouth. His eyes, which had been focused on his breakfast, snapped up to her, and then traveled slowly, almost reverently, down her body. The oversized white shirt barely grazed her mid-thighs, and with each step, it swayed open, giving him tantalizing flashes of her bare legs and the smooth curve of her ass. He could clearly see the outline of her fit thighs as she walked, the morning light illuminating the bare skin underneath the shirt.

And then there were her breasts. The shirt was unbuttoned low, allowing him an unobstructed view of the upper swells, the peaks of her nipples pressing against the thin cotton like she was begging to be touched. He could practically see the dusky areolas beneath. But the real showstopper was the fact that she wasn't wearing any panties. With every slight shift of the fabric as she moved, he got a fleeting glimpse of the dark shadow between her legs, a blatant invitation that made his breath catch in his throat. Sana, with her wet hair framing her face and that knowing smile on her lips, just oozed sex. She was the definition of a morning tease, and Minjun was utterly, completely stuck.

Sana could practically feel the heat of Minjun’s gaze burning on her bare ass beneath that flimsy shirt. It was a delicious kind of attention, exactly what she was aiming for. She sauntered over to the counter, making sure to take her sweet time. Reaching up to the cupboard for a glass, the oversized shirt rode even higher on her thighs, exposing a good few inches of bare butt cheek. She knew he was getting the show he paid for, or rather, the show she was freely giving.

As she turned to face the sink, the shirt swung open even more in the front. She casually leaned forward to turn on the tap, and the neckline dipped, offering Minjun a clear view down the front of the shirt. Her nipples, already hard from the morning air and her little game, were standing proud against the thin cotton, practically begging to be touched. She even lingered for a second, just enough time for him to take it all in, before straightening up.

Walking over to the fridge for some ice, she made sure her movements were slow and deliberate, her hips swaying just a little extra. The back of the shirt lifted with each step, giving Minjun another peek at her bare behind. She even bent over slightly to reach for the ice tray in the freezer, knowing that was a prime angle. The shirt completely rode up her back, revealing the full curve of her bare ass and the top of her thighs. She could almost hear Minjun gulp.

Finally, glass in hand, she walked back past the table, making sure the front of her shirt swayed open again, just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the dark shadow between her legs where she wasn’t wearing any panties. It was a quick flash, but she knew he’d seen it. She could feel his eyes practically glued to her body, his breakfast completely forgotten. Sana took a slow sip of her water, a satisfied little smile playing on her lips. The game had officially begun.

Minjun sat there, his spoon abandoned in his cereal bowl, completely transfixed by the incredibly sexy idol who was putting on a private show for him right there in his kitchen. His blood was definitely rushing to all the wrong places, because down below, his cock was wide awake and throbbing. It felt like it was about to burst right through the fabric of his shorts, creating a huge, undeniable tent. He could practically feel the pressure against the zipper. If he stood up right now, there was no way she wouldn’t notice the massive hard-on he was sporting – the same thick thing she’d been checking out in the bathroom last night. The memory of seeing her naked, too, just wearing that oversized shirt, her nipples peeking out, and knowing she had nothing on underneath, was driving him absolutely crazy. He tried to subtly shift in his seat, hoping to ease the uncomfortable pressure, but it was no use. His body was screaming its intentions loud and clear.

Seeing Minjun squirm in his chair, Sana couldn’t help but smirk. Her little show was definitely having the intended effect. With a playful sway of her hips, she strolled closer to the table, stopping right beside him. She leaned in slightly, pretending to look at his cereal bowl, giving him an up-close and personal view of her body.

Minjun’s eyes went wide. Holy hell. Right there, inches from his face, were Sana’s bare thighs peeking out from under the short white shirt. He could practically see the soft shadow where her pussy must be. The shirt had shifted even more, revealing the deep cleavage between her breasts, the tips of her nipples practically begging to poke through the thin cotton. Her hair, still damp and tousled, smelled faintly of some expensive shampoo, a clean scent that somehow made the whole situation even dirtier. Her face, close enough for him to see the tiny freckles dusting her nose, held a mischievous, knowing smile. The whole picture – the slightly wet hair, the sexy smirk, the barely-there shirt clinging to every curve – it was like something straight out of an erotic magazine, a living, breathing masterpiece designed to drive him absolutely insane. He could feel his cock throbbing, straining so hard against his shorts he was afraid it might actually rip through the fabric any second now.

Seeing Minjun shifting uncomfortably, Sana’s expression shifted to one of innocent concern, though a playful glint remained in her eyes. "Minjun-oppa, are you alright? You seem a little… tense." She reached out a hand, her fingers deliberately hovering just beside the obvious bulge straining against his shorts. With a gentle, almost accidental-seeming movement, her hand landed right next to his hard cock, her fingers lightly brushing against the fabric. It was a subtle caress, a feather-light touch that sent a jolt of pure electricity through Minjun.

His breath hitched, and a low groan escaped his lips. He could feel a slickness spreading at the tip of his erection, a bead of precum escaping the confines of his underwear and dampening his shorts. His eyes, wide and fixed, were glued to Sana’s body, unable to peel away from the mesmerizing sight of her bare thighs, the enticing cleavage revealed by the open shirt, and the wet strands of hair clinging to her neck. He was completely captivated, every ounce of his attention focused on the incredibly sexy idol who was so tantalizingly close.

Minjun couldn’t take it anymore. He shot up from the table, his hard-on a massive, undeniable spear pointing out from his shorts. He practically stumbled towards the bathroom, a desperate look on his face, clearly needing to get that throbbing cock some relief.

Sana just watched him go, a sly smirk playing on her lips. She was definitely having fun with this. But as he turned slightly while rushing, she got an even better look at the size of his erection. Holy crap, it was even bigger than she remembered from last night. Thick as hell and standing out so hard it looked painful. Her eyes widened slightly, a genuine shock mixing with the amusement on her face. That thing was a beast.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Minjun let out a long, shaky sigh. He fumbled with the button of his shorts, his fingers clumsy with anticipation. Finally, he managed to undo it, and with a groan of relief, he freed his throbbing cock from the confines of the fabric. It sprang out, thick and heavy, pointing upwards with an aggressive intensity that made him realize this was probably the hardest he'd ever been in his life. The head was a deep red, swollen and slick with precum, and the shaft pulsed visibly with each beat of his heart.

He stared at his reflection, a mixture of embarrassment and sheer lust on his face. He wrapped his hand around the base of his hard-on, the thick shaft filling his grip. He started to stroke it slowly at first, the smooth skin warm and taut beneath his touch. His mind instantly went back to the image of Sana in the kitchen just moments ago. Her wet hair, that innocent-yet-totally-knowing smile, the way that white shirt barely covered her, giving him those sinful peeks at her bare ass and the dark hint of her pussy. His strokes became faster, more urgent, the memory of her nipples pressing against the thin cotton driving him wild. He imagined running his hands over her fit body, feeling the curves he had only glimpsed. The thought of her long, sexy legs wrapped around his waist made his cock throb even harder, and he squeezed down, the pressure building in his groin.

Minjun’s hand froze mid-stroke. He’d heard a soft click, like the door barely moving. He looked up in the mirror and saw her. Sana was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a total smirk on her face, just watching him jerk off. Her eyes were glued to his cock, taking it all in. And damn, it was standing proud, thick and hard, in all its glory for her to see.

Sana moved slowly, deliberately, towards him, her eyes locked on his. Her fingers started working on the buttons of the white shirt, one by one. With each button she undid, more of her bare skin was revealed. First, the top of her chest, then the curve of her boobs, the nipples already hard and pointing straight out. Minjun could only gulp, his eyes wide, his hard-on practically jumping in his hand. He started backing up, taking slow steps away from her, bumping against the sink. His thick cock, still rock hard, was trembling visibly, and Sana’s smirk widened. Seeing him so turned on was doing all sorts of things to her own body, making her even wetter than before.

Standing right in front of him, Sana let the white shirt fall completely to the floor. She was gloriously naked, and Minjun’s thick, hard cock was now pressing against her stomach, sending a jolt of pure sensation through her. She smirked, enjoying his wide-eyed, panting reaction. Reaching out a finger, she traced a line down his chest, slowly, erotically. Her touch lingered on his flat nipples before continuing its descent down his torso, right to the base of his trembling erection. Her fingers gently wrapped around the thick shaft, giving it a light squeeze. "So, oppa," she purred, her voice low and husky. "Tell me, how exactly does my innocent little cousin handle this magnificent thing?"

“Tell me, oppa,” Sana repeated, her fingers now sliding up and down the length of his hard cock, her touch light but firm. “Does Jiyoo-unnie take all of this… every night?” She looked up at him through her lashes, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous curiosity. Her thumb gently pressed against the swollen head, making Minjun gasp. “Or is it too much for her to handle?”

Her other hand moved down, cupping his heavy balls, feeling their weight in her palm. She gave them a gentle squeeze, and Minjun’s breath hitched. “You look like you’ve been holding onto this all morning,” she purred, her fingers now tracing the veins on his shaft. “Were you thinking about me, oppa?” She chuckled softly, her breath warm against his ear.

She started to stroke his cock with more intention now, her hand moving up and down the thick shaft, the head peeking out from her grip at the top and disappearing again at the bottom. “It feels so good,” she murmured, mostly to herself, but loud enough for him to hear. “So thick and hard.” She tightened her grip, squeezing firmly. “Does it like being touched like this, oppa?”

Her fingers then started to explore further, her thumb tracing the underside of his cock head, feeling the slickness of the precum. “You’re already so wet,” she whispered, looking directly into his eyes. “You really want this, don’t you?” She moved her hand down again, gently tugging on his balls. “And these… they’re so heavy. Jiyoo-unnie must have strong hands.”

She varied her touch, sometimes stroking the entire length of his cock quickly, other times slowing down to tease just the head. She’d apply gentle pressure, then release it, making him groan. “Does it feel good when I do this, oppa?” she’d ask, her voice dripping with playful seduction. “Tell me.”

Her fingers then started to make small circles around the head of his cock, focusing on the sensitive corona. Minjun let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed. “Yeah… oh, yeah,” he managed to say, his voice hoarse.

Sana’s smile widened. “Good,” she whispered. “Then you won’t mind if I do this a little more.” She leaned in closer, her naked body pressed against his, her hand continuing its erotic exploration of his hard cock and heavy balls, her dirty talk a constant stream of teasing and suggestive remarks that were driving him absolutely wild.

Sana pressing her naked body against him sent a jolt of pure, raw sensation straight to Minjun’s core. His hard cock, already throbbing and slick, made immediate contact with her flat, toned abs. It was an incredibly intimate and forbidden feeling, her bare skin against his, their bodies molding together in a way that felt both intensely arousing and utterly wrong – in the best possible way. He could feel the soft give of her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples teasing his skin through his own shirt. Her heat radiated outwards, enveloping him in a sensual warmth that made his head spin.

And then there was the rubbing. With Sana’s hand still working magic on his shaft, his erect penis was now sandwiched between their bodies, the rhythmic motion causing it to slide against her smooth stomach. It was a friction he’d only ever dreamed of, the feeling of her tight, fit abs contracting and relaxing with her breath as his hard-on grazed against them. Every tiny movement sent waves of pleasure shooting through him, making him groan softly. He could feel the slickness at the tip of his cock, the precum oozing out and leaving a wet trail on her skin. The visual of his own arousal staining the abs of this unbelievably sexy idol sent another surge of lust through him.

His hands instinctively went to her waist, his fingers gripping her smooth skin, pulling her even closer. He could feel the soft curve of her backside pressing against his thighs, the heat emanating from her center. The forbidden nature of their close proximity, the audacity of what they were doing right there in his house while his wife was away, only intensified his arousal. He kept his eyes locked on Sana’s face, watching her knowing smirk as she felt the effect she was having on him. Her confidence was intoxicating, her blatant seduction a drug he was willingly, eagerly consuming.

The sensation of his hard-on rubbing against her abs was driving him crazy. It was a tease, a tantalizing preview of what he desperately wanted. He imagined that feeling, but deeper, the sensation of her tight muscles gripping his entire length. His breath grew ragged, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to bury himself inside her right then and there, to lose himself in the forbidden pleasure of her body. The way she was touching him, the way their bodies were pressed together, the knowledge of her nakedness under that shirt – it was all culminating in an almost unbearable level of arousal. He was so hard he ached, every nerve ending in his cock screaming for release, and Sana seemed to know exactly how to push him closer to the edge.

Her soft, smooth thighs sliding between his legs was like a shockwave of pure sensation for Minjun. Even through the fabric of his shorts, the gentle pressure as they brushed against his hard cock was almost unbearable. It was a slow, teasing caress that sent shivers of anticipation down his spine, making his already throbbing erection pulse even harder. He could feel the warmth radiating from her, and the intimate contact in such a vulnerable area sent his mind racing with forbidden thoughts.

But that wasn't all. As she nestled closer, he could feel the unmistakable slickness of her wet pussy rubbing against his inner thighs. The sensation was electric, a direct and incredibly intimate contact that made his breath catch in his throat. He imagined her soaked and ready, and the image alone threatened to push him over the edge. The moist heat seeping through his shorts was a blatant invitation, a promise of the incredible pleasure that lay just moments away.

And then there were his balls. The way her thighs were positioned, just the right angle and pressure, meant that parts of her soft skin were gently rubbing against them. It was a tender, almost ticklish sensation that added another layer to the sensory overload he was experiencing. Every slight movement she made, every soft sigh she let out, seemed designed to push him closer to the brink.

Meanwhile, his own hands were still instinctively playing with his cock, stroking it with a frantic urgency that mirrored the chaos of sensations flooding his body. The combined assault from her – the soft caress of her thighs on his erection, the slick rub of her wetness against his leg, the gentle teasing of his balls, and his own desperate self-stimulation – was almost too much to handle. Every nerve ending in his body was screaming for release. He was so close, the edge felt like it was right there, shimmering just beyond his grasp. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep himself from completely losing control and exploding right then and there. His muscles were tense, his jaw was clenched, and he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to hold on to the last vestiges of his control.

Sana pulled her hand away from Minjun’s still-erect cock, her eyes fixed on the glistening trail of precum that had spread across her flat stomach. A slow smile stretched across her lips, a look of pure, unadulterated satisfaction. She reached down with two fingers, gently collecting the clear fluid. Minjun watched, his breath still coming in ragged gasps, completely mesmerized by her every move.

Bringing her fingers to her mouth, Sana slowly licked off the precum, her eyes never leaving Minjun’s. The taste was faintly salty, a primal reminder of the raw desire that filled the small bathroom. Minjun’s cock twitched at the sight, the head bulging even more as if begging for another touch. He was panting heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly, completely under her spell.

With a confident glint in her eyes, Sana reached down and firmly grasped Minjun’s hard cock, her fingers wrapping around its thick circumference. It was still throbbing insistently, a testament to his intense arousal. “Come on, oppa,” she said, her voice low and husky, tugging gently. “Let’s find somewhere more comfortable to enjoy this…”

Minjun, still reeling from watching her taste his precum, didn’t resist in the slightest. He simply followed her lead, his gaze locked on her naked body as she pulled him out of the small bathroom and into the hallway. Sana kept her grip firm on his cock, the feel of it in her hand sending another wave of excitement through her.

SUPPORT ME ON KOFI - KOFI - STORIES COMING IN KOFI 3RD PART OF THIS STORY

[thedevilsoftruth]

The winter soldier making you squirt multiple times and getting mean and rough when you whine about the overstimulation? Cuz baby he ain't doing this for you, he's doing it for himself.

(I'm a whore for him🙏)

Hi anon! Thank you so much for your request. This one is super juicy, and I apologize if I added something's you don't really like. Ive been having a tough day and got a bit carried away writing this. Oops. Also I apologize for getting to this so late!!! - Mama Devil 💜

Pretty when you cry.

Dark!Winter Solider x f! Reader

Smut tags: bucky being a mean dom, d/s dynamic, bdsm elements, slapping, spanking, punishment, making you count, inappropriate usage of a belt, multiple orgasms, squirting, orgasm denial, overstimulation, edging, dacryphilia, reader calls bucky 'sir', cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, spit, name calling (whore, fucktoy) piv sex, rough sex, rope burns, reader pretty much sobs the entire time... Like. She cries a lot. This is kinda dark, and if you aren't into bdsm I wouldn't recommend reading this!! not beta read.

W/c - 1.5 K

Song recommended - Pretty When You Cry by Vast.

I do NOT consent to my work being reposted or translated onto any website!

MDNI! I am NOT responsible for what you find on the internet!

[my request box is open. PLEASE see my pinned post for more information regarding my request rules!]

Your mind is cloudy, your nose stuff, your throat burning and your chest tightening from all of the crying you had been doing. When he had first started, the sun was still up. Now it's pitch black and raining outside. But the rain wouldn't be heard over your loud sniffles and quiet moans as he stuffed his fingers back into you for the sixth time that night. It was just too much. Your hips were jerking, your legs squirming everywhere, and your pussy absolutely pulsing a curled his thick, cold metal fingers halfway into your sloppy pussy.

You felt like you couldn't breathe. Sweaty palms reached out for his leather clad torso, your hips backing and dipping into the wet mattress as if you were trying to get away from him. A flash of anger spread across his face, and he growled as he withdrew his finger from you and slapped the inside of your thigh harsh. The skin where he hit was red in the matter of seconds, and so were his hands on your jaw and on your stomach.

"Stop fucking moving." He spat, his tone so angry that it made you believe he hated you.

"Sir," you stuttered through a sob, your voice cracked from how bad your throat hurt. The sobs quickly turn back into moans when his hands were back on your pussy.

"Stop, please." Your breath shook as he circled a metal finger around your impossibly wet entrance. "'s to much, sir, i--"

He pushed into you fast and hard with no warning. You yelped.

"Does my little whore want to be restrained again?" He asks smoothly and calmly as he licks a fat strip down the back of your ear. You shuddered, the skin on your wrists burning just at the thought of the thick black ropes he used on you earlier being around your arms again.

"No, sir." You mutter In defeat.

You didn't even know why you had even asked.

"That's what I thought. Now be a good little whore and take it."

His fingers went back into you in fast thrusts. His teeth sunk into the crook of your neck, and his metal thumb curled harsh, unrelenting circles around your throbbing clit.

You gasped, repeatedly, and your hips stuttered into his hand while your walls pulsated and clenched around him uncontrollably. Hot tears ran down your cheeks harder while he moved against you even harder. You couldn't take it. The overstimulation was too much.

So, your little pussy not knowing any better, did what it thought best, and decided to squirt all over his hand.

Your mouth went silent. Your thick things closed around his arm instinctively before you could stop yourself. He grunted and pushed your thighs back open with the slap of the inside of one of them.

"Fucking greedy little thing." His head dipped down and his fingers withdrew from your cunt. Your breath hitched and you bit your lip, tightening a muscle In your cunt as you prepared for his mouth to go back on you. The moment his lips even grazed you, you were spiraling. Your head tipped back into the sheets, the back of your neck and your scalp covered in sweat.

"Cumming all over me like that," he growled, licking a long line up your drooling folds. "Just don't know any better, huh, baby?" His eyes flicked up to meet yours as he gave you a fake pout and a tone that was so condescending it made you want to claw at your skin.

"'s okay." He said, sitting up on his knees, slow and dangerous. "I'll make you learn."

Out came his belt from the loops of his black cargo pants. Your thighs snapped shut. He hadn't fucked you yet, and if this was what you were thinking it was, you were absolutely undoubtably not ready for it.

"Wait--" you try to stop him, but he's already got his hardened, angry red cock free from his pants.

He cocks his head to the side, his eyes squinting like he's looking down upon you. Like you just said the stupidest thing on earth.

To him, you did.

"Wait, what?" He repeats, his head falling to the other side while he gently strokes himself.

"I've already cum so much tonight. I can't take anymore." You tell him. He laughs. He full on laughs at you like you were a comedian and just cracked the funniest joke ever.

Big hands force your shaking legs open. Your hands go on his chest, but he grabs your wrists and pins them down by your head with a loud grunt.

"You're so pathetic." He hisses. His grip on you is so strong that it forces tears to run down your hot cheeks harder. The hold he has on you hurts more than the rope. "It's honestly kind of cute." He smiles. "But this isn't about you. I don't fucking care how many times you've cum. I'm in control here, you're my little plaything, and I get to do what I want."

His cockhead runs down your soaked slit. Your hips jerk, but he slams them back down onto the bed with a giant flesh hand.

"Let me take what I want, and stay the fuck down." He says, his blue eyes staring into yours in a way that you can only describe as angered. Your body shakes, and your lips quiver as you part them to squeak out the words, "yes sir" with a pathetic nod of your head.

His lips curl into a sadistic grin, and he slowly slides his cock into your abused cunt. A loud cry leaves your mouth, but he's quick to silence you with his tongue down your throat. He wastes no time bottoming out and rocking his lips into you hard. Not when your pussy let him in so easily and eagerly. He pulls back and gives a pat to your cheek.

"look at you, baby." He groans, looking down between your joined bodies where his cock was thrusting into your pussy. "Taking me like the perfect little fucktoy you are." His lips pull back, his cock slipping out by just a few inches before he slammed into you.

Your mouth flew open and your thighs clenched around his thick hips. He was so big. So big, it hurt. So big you were crying at the thought of his tip reaching your cervix.

"See? It could have been so easy like this. But you just had to go and complain like a brat." A metal hand comes down on your ass hard. You yelp, and hot tears run down your cheek when you close your eyes by the impact instinctively.

"But it's okay. My little whores gonna learn that I don't fuck her to please her; I fuck her because I need to." He hissed through gritted teeth, setting a brutal pace for you that had your tits bouncing and your eyes flooding with tears.

His hand comes down to rub your clit for just a few seconds, and your pussy clamps down on him like you're gonna cum again.

"Oh?? Are you gonna cum again?" He croons, rubbing your clit around slowly. A gutteral moan leaves your lips and you nod.

"Aww," he smiles. "That's too bad."

He pulls out of you with a grunt, leaving you to feel cold and empty without his cock inside you. You whine and throw your head down like you're already done with his shit.

"Sir..." You whine. He spanks your pussy, immediately shutting you up.

"Nuh-uh. You don't get to 'sir' me. Not after all you've done. You're gonna sit back and take your punishment like the whore you are."

He pulls back and spits on your pussy before he spreads it around your folds with the tip of his cock. You whimper and sob when his cockhead rubs your overstimulated clit up and down.

Suddenly, he pulls away and sits back in his knees. He bends down off the edge of the bed and picks up the black leather belt he had previously discarded. Your mouth goes dry.

"I want you to sit across my lap. On all fours." He says sternly, running a hand down the smooth leather of his belt. You hesitate for several moments, almost wanting to defy him. Instead you swallow your pride and hold your tongue back.

"Unless you'd prefer my metal hand." He threatens, holding the hand out and flexing his fingers. You shake your head, and your body moves in an instant.

In just a few seconds, you're in position across his lap. He groans when he sees the way your back arches when he ran the leather of his belt down the curve of your ass.

"Count."

"What?"

Spank!

"Fucking count, whore." He barks, raising his hand high in the air. You look down at the messy red sheets with wide eyes, your arms trembling, and your knees threatening to give out.

The belt cracks loudly as it falls onto your already reddened ass. You cry out and grip the sheets, the sounds of your sniffles and your yelp making his cock ache to be back inside you.

"One," you mutter weakly.

The second one comes down on you harder.

"Two,"

The third one is somehow even harder than the last. The flesh where he hits stings and burns, and each spank jolts your body forward by the force of his hits.

He spanks you one last time before he throws the belt back down onto the floor. It hits the floor with a loud metallic sound, and he gently rubs the skin on your ass apologetically.

"You can lay back down now." He says, his tone sweeter than it was before. Your entire body burns and aches. Your knees shake as you crawl back into the bed, your pussy shivering at the thought of "what could he possibly do next?"

You lay back down with a grunt, your lower back muscles feeling tight and your ass sore. Your eyes are bright red and glassy, your cheeks tear stained.

He smiles at the sight sadistically. He wants to see how much he'll get you to cry whenever he makes you bounce on his cock.

"Oh, baby." He cooes, running his warm hands up your thighs. "You look so pretty when you cry."

[rosachae]

she plays bass | megan skiendiel x reader

⁍ song: she plays bass - beabadoobee ⁍ requested: yes ⁍ genre: band AU. non!idol megan x musician!reader. a little bit of angst, a little bit of fluff ⁍ a/n: thank you again for the prompt, anon! i hope this is what you were looking for. ⁍ wc: 5.3k ⁍ warnings: none that i can think of. ⁍ synopsis:

y/n falls. hard. just, not for the right girl. megan had long gotten used to being on the sidelines while she watched y/n pine after her best friend. if she couldn't call y/n hers, then she supposed being her confidant was the next best thing.

hyunjin’s garage always smelled like the ghost of gasoline and febreze. sharp and synthetic, like something trying too hard to cover up something worse. the cement floor was stained with oil spills from years ago, smudged into abstract shapes no one had bothered to clean, and every surface had a fine layer of dust that clung to fingers and instrument cases alike. wires snaked across the ground like vines, half-taped down with mismatched duct tape that peeled at the corners. an old fan groaned in the corner, doing very little besides moving the heat around in slow, humid circles.

y/n wasn’t sure which scent she hated more, the fuel or the floral, but they both clung to her clothes by the time she left. it was loud, so loud her ears buzzed between songs. the garage was hotter than it had any right to be, the fan hopeless against the summer bleeding in through the open door. kai had just broken another one of the cheap sticks they bought in a plastic-wrapped bulk pack from the club, splintered wood rolling across the floor like tired confetti.

she sighed and leaned against a crooked amp, watching hyunjin fumble with the aux cable again like it was some ancient artifact.

“dude,” hyunjin groaned, sliding off his stool and letting the aux cord fall to the floor with a defeated clatter. he grabbed a bent sheet of chord progressions from the amp and started fanning himself dramatically, like a wilted victorian heiress. “quit breaking my sticks. that’s the third one this week.”

kai didn’t even blink. “i’ve got rhythm and rage. sue me.”

“you’ve got weak wrists and commitment issues,” yuqi muttered from behind her mic, barely looking up as she tuned her guitar with one hand and sipped from a sweating iced coffee with the other. “we have a gig on friday. i’m not dragging your pretty ass out of another mess with mr. choi. he already hates it when you break his equipment.”

“mr. choi loves me,” kai said, flashing a grin that had absolutely no basis in reality.

“mr. choi has a heart condition,” hyunjin deadpanned, blotting his forehead with a faded bandana. “every time you walk in, he clutches his chest like he’s halfway to the light.”

then hyunjin let out an exaggerated sigh, dramatic enough to ruffle the sheet music still clutched in his hand. “anyway, is anyone going to acknowledge that i’m dying? of heatstroke? of being underappreciated? of being too hot for this mortal realm?”

y/n didn’t bother looking up from her bass, fingers still working through a scale she barely needed to think about. “you’ve been saying that since junior year.”

“and i’ve been right since junior year,” hyunjin shot back, fanning himself harder. “consistency is a virtue, y/n.”

all y/n could do was roll her eyes. honestly, she wasn’t sure how she managed it—spending hours holed up in hyunjin’s sweltering garage, surrounded by a chaotic blend of egos and inside jokes that grated on her nerves more often than not. still, they were her people. loud, messy, ridiculous— hers.

maybe that’s why she put up with the heat, the noise, the endless bickering over broken drumsticks and who drank the last of the lukewarm soda.

she figured she could overlook it all. for now. a small, reluctant grin tugged at the corner of her mouth before she buried it behind the low thrum of her bass.

especially hyunjin. for all his self-proclaimed glamour and melodrama, he was her best friend. they’d basically grown up side by side. sandboxes, scraped knees, and all. his mom still lit up like a marquee sign whenever y/n came over, insisting she stay for dinner, fussing over whether she’d eaten, if she was warm enough, if she needed anything at all. sometimes y/n swore hyunjin’s mom was secretly waiting for the day he’d turn around and admit they were dating. but that was never their dynamic. never had been.

they both liked girls. y/n, truthfully, wasn’t quite sure if that was a problem or perhaps the glue that held them together. it turned their friendship into a quiet battlefield of shared crushes and unspoken one-upmanship, always dancing on the edge of competition. they clicked a little too easily, probably because they were cut from the same cloth. same dry humor, same impulsive streak, same incurable weakness for a certain kind of girl.

it was a curse. or a cosmic joke. probably both.

y/n still got shivers thinking about chaewon, the girl from high school who had the misfortune of being exactly their type. soft-spoken, pretty, polite. practically a walking bullseye. they both zeroed in on her like moths to a chandelier, oblivious to the disaster unfolding in real time.

chaewon transferred schools halfway through senior year. honestly, it was probably the best thing that ever happened to her.

y/n still wasn’t sure how she lasted as long as she did, stuck between two emotionally chaotic teenagers who spent most of their free time either teasing each other or trying to one-up the other’s flirting. but through it all, nothing ever shifted between her and hyunjin. they were friends. chaotic, codependent, sometimes insufferable—but just friends. always had been. always would be.

this was i don’t care. the band that wasn’t supposed to be a band. born from a running joke they said out loud one too many times, sparked by a half-finished song y/n left in hyunjin’s car. something raw and messy that yuqi covered on a whim, recorded in one take, and posted to instagram with the caption: we’re sad and hot and broke. somehow, it took off.

now they had real gigs, a decent local following, and an accidental manager– yuqi’s cousin’s girlfriend’s sister, who claimed her marketing minor and “a vision” were all they needed to blow up.

it wasn’t that they weren’t good. they were. talent wasn’t the issue. but the soul of the thing had always been the chaos.  the late nights in hyunjin’s garage, the impulse decisions, the fact that he once made a logo on canva at 3 a.m. and printed it on t-shirts without telling anyone. that was the band.

it was noise and laughter and friendship and half-eaten takeout on amps. it was making something that felt like them. unfiltered, unpolished, real. nothing had ever been that serious. and maybe that’s what made it work.

until, of course, the friday night show where everything changed.

__

megan skiendiel had a lot of opinions, most of them half-baked and delivered with the kind of timing that made people pause mid-sentence. earlier that day, she’d announced that 80s synth-pop deserved a cultural renaissance while buried elbow-deep in a crate of dusty vinyls at the record shop. a few hours later, she’d loudly speculated that their coworker jake was obviously into lara, citing the fact that he kept offering to cover her saturday night shifts like it meant something.

megan said things like they were gospel, as if the world would catch up eventually.

“it’s not because he’s nice,” megan said, tossing a cracked duran duran record back onto the shelf. she straightened up, brushing dust from her hands, her voice full of certainty. “he’s got crush energy. you can see it in the way he hovers. limp-wristed, overly eager, always offering to help with the trash like it’s some romantic gesture.”

lara didn’t even look up at first, just clicked her pen and made a note on her clipboard before glancing over, one brow raised. “so basically you, but with worse shoes.”

megan gasped like she’d just been shot. “excuse you. these are vintage.”

lara finally looked down at the scuffed platform boots on megan’s feet, the left one with a barely visible patch of duct tape near the sole. “those are a hate crime,” she said flatly.

megan clutched her chest like lara had just insulted her entire bloodline. “they’re from a thrift shop in sapporo,” she declared, eyes wide with the kind of faux betrayal she’d perfected over the years. “i had to elbow a grown man to get them. he had biker gloves on, lara. biker gloves. it was life or death.”

lara gave her a once-over, slow and unimpressed. “yeah, well, something tells me those boots were meant for that man. all gruff and dusty and slightly unhinged. they look like they’ve seen a bar fight.”

“they’re lived-in,” megan snapped, offended but not surprised.

“they’re tragic,” lara corrected, scribbling something on her clipboard before adding, “you look like you stole them off a trucker with emotional baggage and a fifth divorce.”

megan scoffed. “it’s called edge, lara. ever heard of it?”

“not when it’s flaking off the soles,” lara muttered, deadpan.

megan grumbled.  “you’re lucky i believe in nonviolent communication.”

they were opposites in a way that just worked. where megan was all impulse and noise, lara had a sharp-edged charisma, the kind that made people pause and take a second look. they'd been inseparable since high school, partners in crime, co-conspirators in chaos. now, they ran the town's only indie record shop, a place that felt like a hipster’s fever dream, filled with dusty vinyl and the pervasive scent of incense and intellectual pretension. they’d already given up trying to convince yoonchae to join part time while she finished her senior year. the poor korean girl was too buried in coursework to even think about it.

with a sigh, megan pushed past the mess of records on the next rack. some kids had come in earlier, scattering vinyls like confetti, leaving chaos in their wake. but as she dug through the disarray, something caught her eye. something she’d never seen before. there, buried beneath a pile of mismatched album covers, was a record that felt out of place. the cover was stark white, almost blank, with an almost minimalist design. ‘i don’t care’ was printed in lowercase, as if the title itself couldn’t care less—simple, effortless, and unpretentious, like it wasn’t trying to make a statement.

“never heard of them,” she mumbled, turning it over. “should i?”

lara shrugged. “local maybe. looks cool.”

so they played it.

and god, the bassline. the low hum that thrummed right through her chest. a voice that sounded a little messy and a lot emotional. lyrics like inside jokes you weren’t quite in on but wanted to be. megan leaned against the counter, eyes wide.

“we’re going to their show.�� 

__

it was one of those club venues that tried too hard to be cozy but ended up just being loud and sticky. the floor clung to your shoes, the lights pulsed a relentless red for no real reason, and the bartender wore a look that suggested he hated everyone under thirty-five on principle. megan, though? she was right where she belonged. she couldn’t quite remember how she’d talked the whole group into coming out tonight, but low and behold, there they were.

"okay," megan practically shouted over the music, nursing her overpriced drink and scanning the stage like she was looking for hidden treasure. "which one do we think writes the lyrics?"

lara hummed. her eyes scanned the stage, no particular keen interest on her face. then she perked up as if the answer came to her in a dream. "oh, definitely him. he’s got it.”

megan followed her line of sight to the guy on drums. his dark brown hair bounced with sweat and clung to his forehead, pure concentration cemented across his face. she didn’t need to know what ‘it’ was. he was lost in the rhythm, eyes closed as his hands moved like they had a mind of their own. she couldn’t deny that there was something a little too intense about him. 

before megan could reply, manon chimed in. the swiss girl leaned over, glass in hand and a fun loving grin painted across her lips. "it has to be the keyboard guy."

sophia and daniela had practically run to the dance floor the moment they’d entered the club, drawn in by the pulsing beat and the chaos of bodies moving to the music. sophia, already a few drinks in, was swaying slightly as she made her way back to the group, a wide grin plastered on her face. she wiped her hands on her jeans, clearly more tipsy than usual. 

“what’s going on?" she asked, her voice laced with mischief, slurred. "are we picking which one of them cries in the shower?"

daniela, just behind her, looked like she was on her way to catching up to sophia’s buzz. she leaned against the bar, still catching her breath, eyes sparkling with curiosity. daniela squinted at the stage, then turned to look at keyboardist. "i’m voting for him too.”

megan grinned. "i think we’re all in agreement then. cheers to keyboard guy."

the set was already halfway through when megan saw her. she wasn’t sure how she didn’t notice sooner, but when she did, her heart thumped.

she wasn’t flashy, wasn’t trying to draw attention. she didn’t jump around or put on any kind of show for the crowd. but when megan’s eyes landed on her, everything else seemed to blur out. the girl was holding her bass like it belonged to her. like it was a part of her, like it meant something. her fingers moved with a calm precision, her face focused but distant, like she was lost in a world that was all her own. megan couldn’t help but watch, her heart suddenly a little too loud in her chest.

there was a look in her eyes, almost like she was listening to a secret only she could hear, and when she smiled, it wasn’t big, wasn’t one of those stage smiles people perfected. it was crooked, soft, like it happened by accident. it was the kind of smile that made megan forget to breathe.

“you’re staring,” lara said, leaning in slightly with a knowing grin.

megan blinked, realizing she hadn’t said anything for a few seconds. her hand was still clutching her drink, but it was starting to slip a little. "i’m admiring,” she corrected quickly, her voice coming out a little more flustered than she intended. “huge difference."

lara didn’t say anything at first. then, with the kind of dry humor megan knew too well, she added, “sure, romeo."

megan's cheeks flushed and she quickly looked away, trying to act like she hadn’t just made a fool of herself in front of the whole bar. but she couldn’t stop the way her eyes kept drifting back to the girl, as if there was something magnetic about her presence that megan just couldn’t look away from.

little did megan know, that would be the start of everything.

the crowd was still howling when y/n unplugged her bass, the last notes still humming in her fingertips. sweat clung to her collar, the adrenaline thrumming beneath her skin like a second heartbeat. hyunjin was already off his stool, dramatically twirling a drumstick and tossing it into the crowd like he was born to do it. the four of them slipped offstage, ducking into the narrow backstage corridor that smelled like beer and electrical wires.

someone’s drink had already spilled on the floor. the walls were lined with peeling posters, curling at the corners. the sound tech gave y/n a nod as she passed, and she returned it with a crooked grin, cheeks aching, the kind of post-show daze that made everything feel like it was moving half a second behind.

then came the chaos.

“oh my god, you—” a sharp voice broke through, right before a blur of limbs barreled past the security guard like a wrecking ball in lipstick.

y/n blinked.

a girl in a halter crop top and low-rise jeans launched herself forward– tall, pretty, absolutely hammered, her glossy lips moving faster than her brain. she headed straight for kai, arms outstretched like she’d just spotted a long-lost lover across a war zone.

kai, to his credit, looked horrified.

before security could step in, four other girls came flying in after her, looking every shade of mortified. manon and daniela managed to grab sophia by both arms, hauling her backward with a practiced desperation.

"we are so sorry—" manon started, breathless, still grappling with sophia like she was trying to wrangle a wild animal.

before she could finish, sophia whipped her head back in protest and caught manon square in the nose.

“ow! what the hell—”

“she has this thing for keyboardists,” daniela finished, like it was an explanation she’d given one too many times. she tightened her grip as sophia tried to lunge again.

“i swear to god, sophia, if you get us banned—”

“i just wanted to talk to him!” sophia whined, slurring a little as she dug her heels into the sticky floor.

kai blinked at them, shell-shocked, holding his keyboard like a shield. he only lowered it and shuffled away the moment he was sure manon and daniela successfully wrangled sophia out from backstage.

y/n stood frozen for a beat, trying to process what the hell she’d just witnessed. then she laughed. sharp and startled, the sound of someone caught between disbelief and secondhand embarrassment.

hyunjin leaned in. “that’s gonna be us one day,” he said, nodding sagely.

“stormed backstage by strangers?”

“groupies, y/n. we’re building a brand.”

“right,” y/n muttered, tugging her strap off her shoulder. “well, your brand just pissed off security.”

she raised a hand, waving security off when they moved to come over.

that’s when two other girls stepped forward. not charging like their friend, not slurring or flailing. megan looked like she’d sprinted halfway there and only just remembered to slow down. her hair was a little windblown, her expression wide-eyed and caught somewhere between panic and awe. lara, on the other hand, was all cool detachment, hands tucked into her jacket pockets, eyes scanning everything like she was cataloging it for later.

y/n straightened slightly, unsure whether to brace or laugh again.

“hi,” megan said, breathless. “um. sorry about our friend. she gets flirty when she’s drunk.”

“she almost ate kai,” hyunjin hummed, biting back another laugh.

“believe me, we know,” megan stammered, embarrassed, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet.  “sophia once hit on a waiter mid-order. it’s a full-time job trying to keep her from getting banned from establishments.”

“well, thanks for wrangling her,” y/n said, her voice steadier than she expected. “and for coming. to the show, i mean.”

but then y/n’s eyes trailed over to the girl standing behind her. she was stunning. tall, dressed in tailored black, sleek hair and gold jewelry catching the low light. there was something about her that immediately made y/n want to straighten her back. magnetic. she looked confident, the kind of confident that made you feel like she knew exactly who she was, and didn’t care if you didn’t.

“you guys were great,” lara said, flashing a smile. “really. we just found your record at the store and figured why not come check it out.”

“music store?” hyunjin perked up. “which one?”

“garrison’s. we both work there,” the first girl said. “i’m megan, by the way. this is lara.”

y/n repeated both names in her head. megan. lara. 

however hyunjin, naturally, latched onto the pretty one.

“lara,” he said, already dialing it up. “you have a beautiful name.”

y/n nearly snorted.

“how about we get you girls a drink?”

__

to megan’s bad luck, both y/n and hyunjin seemed taken with the very pretty, very social girl standing beside her. it was obvious. painfully so. and yet, she couldn’t help herself. she kept gravitating toward y/n anyway.

hyunjin was shameless about it. all charm and theatrics, practically ignoring megan in favor of lavishing attention on lara. but y/n… y/n smiled at her. offered to buy her a drink. asked for her name. it was friendly. casual. meaningless, probably. 

but it meant something to megan.

in that moment, she decided that if both of them were going to fall for her best friend, she’d rather it be y/n. if it had to be someone, let it be the one who smiled gently. who asked questions. who noticed. besides, she always believed what people said—if your friends can’t stand the person you’re dating, maybe that’s a red flag worth listening to.

maybe that was the real problem. megan got along with y/n a little too well.

megan and y/n became good friends. it started simple. megan showed up to shows, bought the merch before it was cool, called y/n’s bass lines sick even when they both knew the sound system was trash that night. they hung out between sets, shared fries at late-night diners, argued about which the smiths album aged the worst. it was easy. it was enough.

then, the love came slow. like a sunrise. subtle, steady, then suddenly everywhere.

megan realized it a year in. their friendship already carved deep, unshakeable. they were mid-set, stage lights flaring red and gold. megan stood in the crowd, bass thudding through her chest.

and then y/n looked up. their eyes met, and something in her splintered. after that, it hurt. a little bit, every day. a slow undoing. a soft ache she learned to live with.

but she never left.

at some point, maybe five months after they met, hyunjin and lara started dating. five months of half-flirting and inside jokes that weren’t so inside anymore. five months of megan watching y/n pretend she didn’t care.

the band had gotten bigger by then. not international– god, not yet– but local enough that strangers started recognizing them in line for coffee. their sound was sharp around the edges now, tighter, cleaner. more people were paying attention.

but still, y/n was pissed. quiet about it, mostly. but it lived in her shoulders, the way they hunched a little tighter when lara laughed at hyunjin’s jokes. in the way she stopped volunteering stories about her day whenever lara was around.

“i was the one who listened,” she told megan once, voice low like it was a secret. “to all her dumb little tangents. about which incense gives her migraines, or how her dog only eats if the bowl’s rotated a certain way. he wasn’t there. he didn’t even know the dog’s name.”

megan nodded, said nothing, and let her vent.

“i gave her my coat that night,” y/n added, quieter now. “when she shivered. he didn’t even notice she was cold.”

it was just something she needed to let out. and megan… megan made space for things like that. a quiet pocket of the world where y/n could be soft, small, furious, grieving, without ever having to say sorry for it.

it was always megan who showed up. not just for the gigs or the late-night diner runs. but at 2am, when everything felt too loud, too much. megan, who picked up the phone without hesitation. who sent stupid memes until y/n laughed again. who knew when she needed silence and when she needed to scream. who carried gum and painkillers and the exact words y/n needed to hear tucked somewhere behind her tongue.

megan knew every version of her. the messy ones. the moody ones. the ones that cried at shampoo commercials and flinched at confrontation. and she loved them all. quietly. stubbornly. without asking for anything in return.

because they were friends. just friends.

so megan kept her mouth shut. swallowed her feelings like bad medicine. because y/n was already hurting, and megan knew– intimately– what it felt like to love someone who didn’t love you back. she’d never wish that kind of loneliness on anyone. least of all her.

still, it was megan who listened. who stood in the sticky venues with bad acoustics and worse lighting. who cheered the loudest, even when the set was off. it was her y/n called when the world tilted sideways. it was her y/n trusted with the fragile parts, the ugly truths, the things she couldn’t tell anyone else.

megan never missed the details. how y/n took her coffee, which hoodie she wore when she was spiraling, the playlist she avoided when she was heartbroken. megan paid attention like it was a religion. like y/n was a language she was learning by heart.

she loved y/n in silence because it was safer. because it was easier than risking everything. because some part of her still hoped that one day, maybe, y/n would choose her.

for now, she settled on simply being. 

__

two years had passed. the band got louder. not just in sound, but in presence. local fame turned regional. “i don’t care” started slipping onto playlists they’d never heard of, getting tagged in stories by strangers from cities they hadn’t played yet. they still rehearsed in hyunjin’s garage, still argued about setlists, still tripped over the same tangled cords. but the rooms got bigger. the lights got brighter. the noise followed them home.

through it all, megan was constant.

y/n couldn’t pinpoint when it changed. maybe it was always there, just quiet. maybe it was the way megan always had gum when her throat went dry before a set. maybe it was the way she cheered—arms in the air, mouthing every lyric like it mattered. maybe it was the night y/n crashed on her couch and woke up to tea already steeping, a blanket tucked around her shoulders like it had always been there.

she remembered calling megan when she found out about hyunjin and lara. she hadn’t cried, not the way she expected. just sat on megan’s floor with a pint of mint chocolate chip between them, watching reruns until the theme song blurred into background noise. megan leaned her head on her shoulder. y/n didn’t flinch. didn’t pull away. she just leaned back.

it stayed with her. for days. for weeks.

then it started happening more.

megan, humming along to rough cuts that weren’t even mixed yet. megan, lip syncing the bassline with a wink, like it was just for her. megan, dancing in the front row like no one else in the world existed.

and something in y/n started to unravel.

she started noticing things. the curve of megan’s smile when she was teasing. the way she always smelled faintly like coconut shampoo and old records. the way she made everything—music, heartbreak, life—feel easier just by being around. and then one day, in the middle of a show, y/n looked out into the crowd and found her.

megan. grinning like she had a secret. eyes bright. mouthing along to every word.

y/n forgot her next chord for half a second.

that’s when she knew. not all at once. not in some dramatic epiphany. but in a quiet, steady way.

then came the jealousy. sudden, sharp. it happened that night at manon’s rooftop party. it wasn’t like y/n to care who megan flirted with. she always chalked it up to megan being magnetic. of course people wanted her. megan was loud, energetic, silly and charismatic in her own socially awkward way. but it was charming. it was a sort of way that made her feel real. a type of authenticity that she found herself craving. 

the energy was charged, an intimate gathering between friends. the whole time, she found herself watching her. when megan laughed at something a girl in a  yellow dress— sophia— whispered in her ear, she felt herself stiffen. she recognized her briefly from the time she barreled backstage at their first big gig and the time she awkwardly apologised to kai a few months later. sophia was pretty. painstakingly so. watching it happen before her felt like a punch to the ribs.

“you good?” hyunjin had asked, nursing a warm beer beside her.

y/n didn’t answer straight away. just stared across the rooftop, jaw tight.

“is that megan jealousy?” he asked, tilting his head.

she still didn’t say anything.

“oh my god,” hyunjin whispered, turning to her in slow motion. “it is.”

y/n sighed, leaning back against the railing. “shut up.”

“i won’t. you’re pining. this is pining. this is textbook.”

“i’m not pining.”

“you’re glaring at a girl for speaking to your best friend. that’s at least two stages past pining.”

y/n groaned.

hyunjin leaned closer, voice soft. “why haven’t you said anything?”

she stared down at the street, lights blurring in her vision. still, she masked her internal worry with a quick joke and a teasing grin.

“why’re you interested so suddenly, hwang? gonna fight me for this one too?”

hyunjin chuckled good-naturedly. his eyes briefly glanced over to lara, the desi girl dancing with a younger korean in the middle of the dance floor. then he turned back to his friend with a shrug.

“you’ll get no push from me. you should go for it, y/n. what’s the worst that could happen?”

and she thought about it. about all that could go wrong.

they were friends. megan was phenomenal. what if she ruined it? for now, she’d wait. she’d bite back her jealousy.

though sometimes, the heart simply wants what it wants. 

the confession came later. sooner than she expected. it wasn’t planned—just spilled out, raw and real, like most things y/n did when she finally let her heart speak louder than her head.

it was after a show. one of their best. the kind that left your lungs burning and your skin buzzing. the energy clung to them like static.

megan found her side stage, eyes bright, hair a mess, smile even messier.

“you guys killed it—”

“i love you,” y/n said. blurted, actually. no warning. no buildup.

megan blinked. “wait—what?”

“i love you,” she said again, steadier this time. her voice still shook, but there was no taking it back. “i know you’re with sophia, and i know this might screw everything up, and i’m sorry if it does. but i’m in love with you. i couldn’t keep pretending i wasn’t.”

megan didn’t move. didn’t speak. just stared, eyes wide and unreadable.

“it’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” y/n rushed on, heart racing. “i just… i needed you to know. because you’ve always been there. you’ve seen the worst parts of me and never walked away. and somewhere in all of that, i fell for you. hard.”

silence.

then megan stepped forward, slow but certain, and cradled y/n’s face in both hands.

“i’m not dating sophia,” she said softly, almost like a secret. “you could’ve just asked.”

she laughed then—a quiet, breathless sound—and shook her head. “idiot.”

and then she kissed her. not just a kiss. the kiss. the kind that unraveled something deep in her chest, slow and aching and warm. the kind that made the noise of the world drop away, like a stage going dark after the final chord.

it was everything megan had imagined. every half-dreamed moment, every day she spent loving y/n in silence. for as long as she could remember, it had been her. from the first late-night walk, the first shared laugh, the first time y/n looked at her like she saw her. megan had loved her then, quietly and completely, like it was stitched into her bones.

and now, y/n had chosen her. out of everyone. not lara. not anyone else in the crowd. her.

the kiss tasted like every unsent text, every time megan had almost said something and swallowed it down instead. it tasted like hope. like relief. like a door finally opening after years of standing in the hallway.

all the waiting had led to this. all the almosts, all the quiet pining, all the nights she convinced herself to be content with friendship. it washed away in a single, breathless moment.

because y/n was kissing her like she meant it. like megan had been the one all along. and god, she had.

outside, the crowd screamed for an encore. but y/n?

she already had everything she needed.

[harmonyrae]

Thank you @tofufairy for asking if I'll write a blurb for Caleb on this one! The fact it took me 30 seconds to figure out what he'd do... I think I have a soft spot for the possessive puppy.

🎶You make me wanna make you fall in love...🎶

It's rare that you get the apartment to yourself on days Caleb was in town. Caleb moving in was not part of your plan honestly, but you wouldn't trade it for the world. It was only part-time since he still lived in Sky Haven a majority of the time. Like hell you'd let your boyfriend stay in a hotel when he visits! But when you did have the place to yourself, you made the most of it.

Volume? All the way up. Luxury bath soaps? Out. You had to keep them hidden since Caleb would use them up in a single use, that giant ass man... Good thing you love him. Now was your chance to slap on a hair mask, a face mask, a foot mask, all the masks! A thorough shave was needed, not that Caleb complained, but you loved feeling his face when he... OH! Your song is on!

You've had this song on repeat the whole week leading up to Caleb arriving. And it's totally not because your co-worker just had a baby and you're suffering from baby fever... You don't want kids, at least not yet, but it has made you think about how adorable Caleb would be as a dad. And those thoughts... are dangerous... for your pussy...

You sit on the side of your tub, your face covered in a bright pink "pore minimizing" mask, your hair slicked back with coconut oil and pinned up, your skin raw from the grapefruit exfoliant you just used - fuck, being a girl is a full-time job. You prop your leg up beside you, your razor making careful swipes, the faucet pouring out boiling hot water - just how you like it. You order Alexa to turn up the volume. She promptly replies it is at maximum volume, so you improvise.

Oh, I know you want my touch for life If you love me right, then who knows? I might let you make me Juno! Caleb sneaks through the front door, still a sweaty mess from his gym session with Gideon. He drops the bouquet of hydrangeas on the kitchen counter and crouches to look for a vase under the sink. He heard the muffled instrumental of your music when he came in. It was familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He figured you were in the bathroom and he'd have to wait to take his shower, so he got to work on making lunch.

As the lyrics picked up, even muffled, he immediately knew the song. You little tease. Lunch will have to wait. Caleb pulls his tank top off as he walks through your room. He shoots it into the hamper before carefully twisting the handle to open your bathroom door.

The tub sits opposite the door, so your back is to him. He bites his lip to stop himself from moaning at the sight of your bare back. Your plump ass perched on the edge of the tub just begging to be grabbed. His brows pinch together as he watches you sing along while hunched forward in a very awkward position. What were you... oh... He covers his mouth with his hand.

You know, I just might let you lock me down tonight One of me is cute, but two, though? Give it to me, baby!!

"YOU MAKE ME WANNA MAKE YOU FALL IN LOVE!"

You scream and fall forward into the tub, splashing water everywhere. Hearing Caleb sing along with you - at the top of his fucking lunges - had 100% given you a heart attack. You look over your shoulder, mortified by the sight of your boyfriend holding onto the doorframe to avoid falling over from laughing so hard.

"Asshole! Oh my god..."

Caleb holds his stomach, his abs tensing as he laughs harder. You put your razor on the tray beside the tub and give yourself a once over to make sure you didn't accidentally cut yourself. When you feel Caleb's warm palms on your shoulders you jolt once again and he chuckles.

"Sorry I interrupted your private concert Pipsqueak. You sounded lovely by the way."

"Shut up! I thought you'd be out for another hour!"

Caleb sits on the edge of the tub and leans back enough to look down at you.

"Gideon got a call and had to head out. Thought I'd come home early and make you lunch. Little did I know I'd be walkin into a spa."

You suddenly remember the state you're in. It's not like Caleb has never seen you in full on spa-mode, but not since you started officially dating. A wave of embarrassment washes over you. Covering your face with your hand, you search for a towel with the other. He stops you.

"Pips, what're you doin'?"

"You weren't supposed to see this..."

"See what? You, painting your face with... what is that... strawberry frosting?" He leans in and sniffs. "Smells like it!"

He coaxes your hand away from your face and holds it, massaging your palm. You instinctively relax and let your head rest on the edge of the tub next to his thigh. You watch him give you a once over, your heart fluttering as his ears turn red.

"Alexa pause!"

The music shuts off, your favorite song had looped and you didn't need Caleb singing to you again. Your heart couldn't take it.

"Wait... how did you know this song?"

"Pips..." He glares at you.

You sit up and tilt your head, genuine confusion overtaking your embarrassment. He pouts and places one of his hands on his hips like he's about to lecture you.

"Did you forget we have our Spotify's linked?! You've had this song on repeat all week!"

If you didn't have a face mask on, your face would be the same color - bright fucking pink. You most certainly had forgotten. Caleb starts to laugh again and you grimace.

"So, will you?"

You slowly lift your gaze as he brings your hand to his lips, a soft kiss graces your knuckles and you can't hide your smile.

"Will I what?" You ask quietly.

He leans down, his hand dropping to trace your lips before snaking around the back of your neck. You shiver at the way his skin feels against yours.

"Let me lock you down tonight?"

Oh, he'll be the death of you... 🍎✈︎💕

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @alastor-simp @drama-trauma @0tterteeth @mysticcollectionvoid @godzillaglitter @godoffuckedupcats @klmpun @ariallaisawesome @spidy-spider01 @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname @hauntedbysmut @withering-dream @lostwingz2236 @simpfortheseven @bubbleteakittyy @freddy-2002-blog @sylus-hunter

Let You Make Me Juno

Synopsis: There’s a song you just can’t get out of your head. You just wanted to dance and sing along every time it came on. Which is exactly what you do and the boys have a very intense reaction to some of the lyrics.

AN: I hadn’t heard Juno by Sabrina Carpenter in its entirety until literally yesterday and I’ve been on a writing kick so… This happened. Smile. ENJOY!

Content Warnings: Heavy on the innuendos, also heavy on the implied activities, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, breeding kink (if you squint), the boys are shook & horny, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3.1k

Whatever report Zayne is working on must be a hefty one, he’s been consistently typing for nearly an hour. You circle behind him and top off his coffee. He doesn’t look up, but hums as you pour - a silent thank you. You head back into the kitchen and continue making breakfast. 

It was rare that Zayne didn’t have to head to work early and the Association had given all Hunters a long weekend to celebrate the previous month. Only two injuries and no major incidents. You had both slept in and you were making pancakes. Usually Zayne would lecture you about “making sure you got protein and complex carbs” to start your day, but you promised to make chocolate chip pancakes and he stopped arguing. His sweet tooth won over in the end. 

You continue mixing the batter, swaying your hips to your playlist. Your “feel good” playlist, it always made you want to dance. You hum along while you wait for the pan to heat up. That’s when you hear the beginning notes of the song you’re obsessed with. 

“Zayne! Can you turn the music up?”

You look over your shoulder to see him nod, never taking his eyes off the screen. The music swells through the bluetooth speakers and you start bouncing in excitement. You immediately start singing along.

Don't have to tell your hot ass a thing Oh yeah, you just get it 

Finally, Zayne peels his eyes away from his report. He didn’t get a chance to write up the surgery debrief after getting home last night. He intended to stay up to finish it, but when he got home you were dressed in the black nightgown that drove him crazy. He spent his night doing something equally as important, but now he was rushing to get it completed. But when you started singing, he immediately took notice.

You usually didn’t sing out loud, preferring to hum along. And the way you bounced back and forth, your hips swaying seductively, was very distracting. You wore your satin sleep shorts and his dress shirt buttoned halfway, just a hint of your delicious cleavage peeking over the collar. Zayne straightens his back and tries to refocus.

Whole package, babe, I like the way you fit God bless your dad's genetics, mm, uh

He blinks rapidly before taking his glasses off to rub his eyes. He turns to look at you fully. Watching you dance and stir the pancake batter. You turn to look over at him, not expecting to see him looking at you. You see the tips of his ears have turned red and you giggle, continuing your dance while maintaining eye contact with him. 

You make me wanna make you fall in love Oh, late at night, I'm thinkin' 'bout you, ah, ah-ah Wanna try on my fuzzy pink handcuffs?

Zayne’s eyes widen and you can’t help but let out a loud laugh. The blush spread across his cheeks and down his neck. You set down the bowl and approach him, singing and dancing along the way. 

I know you want my touch for life If you love me right, then who knows? I might let you make me Juno

He finally stands, placing his hands on your hips. He doesn’t stop you from dancing, just holds you and feels you sway. You spot a smile creeping onto his face. You reach up and hold onto his shoulders. He leans down and starts placing open mouth kisses to the exposed skin of your chest. You close your eyes and feel his warm breath on your ear as he whispers.

“Isn’t ‘Juno’ that movie we watched a few weeks ago?”

You hum in agreement and Zayne doesn’t hesitate to pick you up, moving your legs to wrap around him. He squeezes your ass before he trails a hand under the back of your shirt. You shiver at his touch and cling to him. He turns and walks into the kitchen to turn off the stove.

“Don’t you want pancakes?”

Zayne smiles and his eyes sparkle with something you rarely see when you’re with him. 

“Oh, I’m still having cake for breakfast.”

How did you get roped into this? Tara is so damn persuasive. Or maybe you’ve had a few too many drinks? The little umbrellas make them seem so harmless though…

Xavier had tried to intercept and make sure you didn’t feel forced. But after Tara whispered what song she had picked for karaoke you were completely on board. Plus, you didn’t wear your favorite dress and heels for nothing. 

The fitted baby blue dress hugged your curves, but the tiered ruffles on the skirt made you feel like a ballerina when you twirled. The square neckline flattering your defined collarbone, while hiding a hickey on your shoulder. You tapped your sparkly heels along with your favorite song. Tara and you harmonized seamlessly.

Let you lock me down tonight One of me is cute, but two, though? Give it to me, baby You make me wanna make you fall in love

Xavier had been checked out for most of the night, he was just happy to spend time with you. And the other hunters he worked with - since this was a Hunter’s Appreciation party. But getting to watch you dress up and hold you close while dancing in the dimly lit club, yeah, that made the socializing worth it. 

His brain had finally registered the lyrics and he almost choked on his drink. He coughed quietly and looked up at you. Your cheeks flushed from the alcohol, your tits bouncing while you dance with Tara. He tries to keep his eyes locked on yours, but his eyes can’t help but wander. Two? Imagining a miniature version of you made Xavier’s heart pound against his ribcage.

I showed my friends, then we high-fived  Sorry if you feel objectified 

Xavier’s eyes widened and he nearly dropped his drink. He sets it down on the bar with a shaky hand. He tilts his head at you, as if asking what exactly did you show. He shook his head, surely not. It was just a song. But then again, you could “show” and he knew that. 

Xavier never asked you to send him nudes, but you were so easily turned on by him you spent weeks trying to figure out a way to level the playing field. Sure enough, sending him a picture from the shower did the trick. Of course, he matched your energy and offered to send his own. Which you didn’t reject. He definitely didn’t hold back after that. You’d send pictures and videos back and forth regularly. You could absolutely show Tara and you had zero doubts she would, indeed, high-five you.

Can't help myself, hormones are high Give me more than just some butterflies

You surprised yourself with how well you hit each note, your confidence growing. Your slightly hooded eyes stay locked on Xavier the whole song. You could feel the tension in the room grow. The hunger in Xavier’s eyes was evident. You watched as he slowly made his way to the side of the stage where you eventually climbed down.

Jeremiah was standing next to him, his cheeks flushed. Tara begged Xavier to invite him and after the performance - both you and Xavier finally figured out why. She launched herself into his arms, giggling. His whispered praises were almost lost in the club's noise. Xavier grabbed your waist and pulled you to him immediately. He leaned over to Jeremiah and whispered something before pulling you towards the exit. 

“Xavier! What about –”

“They’ll get a cab, we’re leaving.”

His tone was firm and his expression calm. You were almost concerned he was angry with you. Once outside, you expected to stop at the edge of the sidewalk to hail a cab, but Xavier took a sharp turn, heading into an alley behind the club.

“What are we –”

You couldn’t even finish speaking before Xavier’s lips captured yours. His hand reaches down to pull up your dress, his fingers swiftly pulling your panties aside to press against your clit. He presses you against the wall and his kiss turns frantic. You barely have a moment to moan, you breathe heavily, your hands wrapping around him and taking fistfuls of his sweater. 

Right as your legs start to shake, he pulls back and presses his forehead against yours.

“I need to get you home for this conversation.”

You scrunch your nose and look at him, confused. He nips at your bottom lip pulling another breathy moan from you.

“You are definitely cute, but two? That’d be exquisite.”

“No no no, higher!”

You pointed at the couch, urging Rafayel to get in the right spot to start recording. He huffed and crossed his arms.

“What about my artistic vision? Just because it’s a TikTok doesn’t mean it should look like shit. Let me work my magic!”

You put your hands on your hips and let him adjust the brightness of the overhead lights and try out different angles. You smile, knowing exactly what you’re up to. He’ll feel silly in about 15 minutes. 

You run a hand over your shorts and matching cropped hoodie, smoothing out the wrinkles from practicing. The pink color almost matches the blush on your cheeks - which was not just from practicing. You might be a bit nervous. 

You tighten your ponytail and press your lips, nibbling the corner of your mouth as you tap your foot impatiently. Rafayel finally looks up at you and rolls his eyes. 

“Sorry cutie, I know your best angles and it’ll be worth the wait.” 

He finally climbs up on the couch and looks at you through your phone. His brows knit together. He’s just now realizing you were right about where he needed to stand. You giggle while he puffs out a breath, his dusty purple fringe fluttering upwards. 

“Okay, are you ready?”

You nod enthusiastically before hopping over to your starting spot. 

“So you know what to do, right?”

“Why are you asking me that? Of course I know! I’m not a boomer.” 

You roll your eyes and grab your hairbrush, the best option you had for a makeshift microphone. You could have asked Rafayel to get you a real one but you didn’t want to ask him to put too much effort into this little video. A video you didn’t really plan on posting. 

Rafayel holds up three fingers and counts down before pointing at you. You smile and sway your hips, lip syncing to your latest obsession.

You make me wanna make you fall in love Oh, late at night, I'm thinkin' 'bout you, ah, ah-ah Wanna try out some freaky positions?

You swiftly lie down on your stomach and bend your knees, pulling your ankles up as close to your head as possible. You reach back and lock your fingers behind your ankles. You look at the camera and smile with a flush.

Have you ever tried this one?

Rafayel almost drops your phone. He ends the recording and stares at you. His ears turned bright red and his eyes darken, turning an even deeper shade of purple. 

“I didn’t realize you were doing this trend…”

You roll over and cross your legs in front of you, resting your hands on your knees. You raise a brow and glare at him. 

“How many videos of this trend have you watched, Rafayel?”

His eyes widen and he coughs, straightening his back before hopping off the couch in one swift motion. He crosses his arms and looks down at you, his mouth settled into that adorably irritating pout. 

“I just know of the trend, not -- I don’t watch them like –”

You interrupt him, your voice a tad more raspy than you intended.

“Do you think the position isn’t worth it?”

The blush travels across his cheeks and he twists his nose, trying his best to look upset.

“That’s not what I said.” 

“Cause I have a few I could try. You know… for the video.”

Rafayel’s eyes narrow and his eyes drop to your exposed midriff and bare legs. He clears his throat and drops his hands to his hips before turning to walk away. You exhale sharply - he’s being dense. Time to be more direct. 

“Like this one?”

He turns his head and watches you shift to face him. You lie back and kick your legs up. Your shoulders remain planted on the floor while your midsection is straight up, your hands planted on your back, your elbows braced against the floor to hold you up. Your legs tip over and your toes touch the floor. You keep your legs straight and spread them as wide as you are comfortable. Your shorts sink into your ass, the curve and shape now on full display. 

You hear a sharp intake of breath and a shuffling of feet. You try to lower to the ground once more, but feel his hands on the backs of your thighs. When you look up you see Rafayel lean over to look down at you.

“Did you really do this trend for the trend, or did you have other intentions?”

You smile up at him, your smug expression clear as day. He runs his hands over your ass and places his hands at either side of your nearly exposed pussy. You gasp quietly. 

“Yeah, you’re not uploading that video, but we are definitely trying these positions.”

He runs his thumbs across your center. You know he can feel how wet you are, doing those positions in front of him - positions you’ve desperately wanted to try with him - really got you going. He grinds against you, his cock digging into your ass, pulling a moan from you.

“Right fucking now.”

You didn’t even hear the front door to your apartment open, your music was turned up way too loud. And you were enjoying the mini concert you were putting on in the bathroom. 

You held the curling iron loosely and rocked your hips side to side. You could never stop yourself from dancing and singing along to this song. You were so excited when Tara told you she got tickets for Sabrina’s concert next month. You were listening to all of her albums on repeat to prepare. 

But tonight, you were going out with Sylus for a very special occasion - your one year anniversary. Well, it’s been over a year since you met him, but you both agreed not to celebrate when you actually met because it wasn’t exactly the best memory. 

Sylus gave you his black card to get pampered all day while he worked and you made the most of it. Getting your nails done, a facial, shopping and basically a full body wax. You spent extra time on your makeup since you had a few new products to try out. Your new red lipstick compliments your skin tone perfectly, its staying power would be tested later. 

The dress you picked was relatively simple, but god, did you feel sexy. The black bodice was fitted, hitting mid-thigh. The chest was very structured and pushed your girls up, giving the illusion of more cleavage than you actually had. Your favorite part though, were the sleeves. Black lace from shoulder to fingertip, the bell sleeves almost completely covering your hands. You paired the dress with new red pumps, which were still in the box on your bed.

Your hair was actually curling nicely and wasn’t falling flat immediately, so you felt on top of the world. You danced and sang at the top of your lungs. 

You had no idea, Sylus had already let himself into your apartment. A bouquet of red roses in his hand and a mechanical crow with glowing yellow eyes sitting on his shoulder. Sylus couldn’t wait to introduce you to Lilith. He had built her himself specifically for you. He knew it would only mean you’d send her to spy on him like he had Mephisto spy on you, but he could tell how much you started to love seeing his little metal companion. 

He heard the music immediately when he walked in. He closed the door quietly and dropped his suit jacket on the arm of the couch. He pointed to his jacket and Lilith flew over, settling on the fabric. He put the flowers on the coffee table and silently made his way to the door of your bathroom. A smile breaking out across his face as he realized you were singing. 

Adore me, hold me, and explore me Mark your territory Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one

His heart skipped a beat. Not only was your voice hypnotizing, but the lyrics… He had heard this song before, but couldn’t remember where. Probably on one of your drives with him, he tended to give you control of the music while he drove. It meant you were more likely to sing. He leaned against the doorframe just out of view. He could see you in the mirror, swaying your hips while you wrapped a strand of hair around the curling iron.

Adore me, hold me, and explore me I'm so fuckin' horny Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one

And that’s when Sylus’s willpower broke. He pushed the bathroom door open, still leaning against the door frame. He racked his eyes down your body, taking in your new dress.

“Sylus! Oh my god, you fucking scared me! When did you get here?”

Sylus lifted his gaze to meet yours. He smirked before reaching up to grab the door frame above him. He looked so much taller like this, staring at you with those eyes. 

“I was just enjoying the show, kitten.”

You put down the curling iron and turned it off. You fluffed your hair, letting the curls fall into loose waves. You tried not to stare at Sylus in the mirror. The top buttons of his shirt were undone and you could see his chest rising and falling faster and faster.

“I like the song. I am curious though… When you sing along, do you think of anyone?”

Your cheeks flush and you stare at him. You bite your lip as you smile. He lets go of the doorframe and pushes off to walk towards you. His hands wrap around your waist and he pulls you close. Your back flush against his chest, you could feel his erection press against your ass. 

“You know the answer to that question, Sy…” 

He smiled and leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

“Well, I’d say I’ve completed adoring and holding you, that just leaves exploring.”

“Sylus! We –”

He spins you around and grabs your waist. He leans down to kiss your neck, before dipping down to bite at the fullness of your chest. You arch your back and let your head fall back as you groan. Your hands reach out to hold onto his waist, while his wrap around to grab your ass.

“But you’re so fuckin' horny, sweetie. And I live to serve my one and only.”

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22

[smutmind]

No Wallet, No Words

Ningning x Male OC

She patted her back pocket again, then her jacket, then the front of her jeans. Empty. A cold sweat broke under her cap despite the heat.

“No... no, no...” Ningning whispered. She turned her phone around—screen cracked, signal dead. The cab line ahead shifted, her moment to stall was gone.

She stepped into the next taxi, fingers clenching her bag like a shield.

The driver glanced back. Mid-forties. Hair thinning under a baseball cap. His sunglasses were crooked, one lens reflecting her panicked expression.

“Where to?”

She held up the hotel’s name on her phone screen.

He nodded, shifted into gear. “You got cash?”

She hesitated. “I… I forgot wallet. Maybe… pay later? At hotel?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stared at her through the mirror. Slowly, his expression shifted—confusion, then recognition.

“You're that singer girl. From the Korean group.”

Ningning flinched, shoulders tightening. “Uh… yes. But… just me now. Alone trip.”

He whistled low. “No manager?”

She shook her head. “Lost. I was with friends. I… I messed up.”

Silence fell thick and awkward as they pulled out onto the road. Ningning stared out the window, tank top clinging to her body, black sports bra visible in the backlight.

Fifteen minutes in, the cab veered off the main road.

Her heart kicked. “Where we go?”

“Shortcut,” he said.

But they were alone. No cars. Trees pressed close on both sides of the road. The engine idled slower. He pulled over.

“You really got nothing?”

She blinked. “I… I have phone. No signal. I call when—”

He cut her off. “Nah. That won’t work.” He shifted in his seat, turning toward her now. “But there’s another way.”

She didn’t understand at first. Her brows pulled together. “Another… way?”

“You’re a big girl. You know what I mean.”

Her breath hitched. “No. I… I can’t…”

“Then get out,” he said, reaching for the gear.

She stared at him. At the empty road. At the shadowy trees and the sky beginning to darken. Her throat tightened.

Then she whispered, “Just… quick.”

The passenger door clicked. She moved between the seats slowly, cheeks flushed. His zipper came down with a sharp rasp.

He leaned back. “Goddamn. You’re really gonna do it.”

She ignored the way his voice curled with disbelief. Instead, she dropped to her knees in the footwell, hands trembling as she reached into his jeans.

It was already stiff. She paused, heart racing, then leaned in.

Her lips closed around the head, warm and slick. He groaned immediately, one hand gripping the steering wheel. The other found the back of her head.

“Shit. You suck dick like a fucking pro.”

She gagged once as he pushed deeper. Saliva spilled from the corners of her mouth, sliding down her chin. She pulled back, gasping, then went again—faster this time.

Her cap hit the floor. Sweat glistened on her collarbone.

“Mmm…这样对吗…” she mumbled around him, eyes watering. (“Like this…?”)

He groaned. “Don’t stop.”

She didn’t. She bobbed her head, lips tight, tongue working the underside. His hand moved rhythmically at her scalp, guiding the pace.

When he bucked, she almost lost control—but steadied, letting him use her. Her mascara smudged. She moaned faintly, the sound vibrating through his cock.

“Fuck—I’m close—”

She pulled back slightly, letting the head rest against her tongue. Then deeper again, nose pressed to his belly, throat working hard.

He came with a choked grunt, hips twitching, spilling hot and sudden. She coughed, swallowed what she could, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

The cab filled with silence. His breathing slowed.

She sat back on her heels, wiping her chin, face flushed and unreadable.

He finally exhaled. “You’re full of surprises.”

She didn’t look at him. Just reached for the door handle. “Take me hotel now… please.”

His hand clamped over her thigh, firm. “Not yet.”

Her breath caught.

“I want to feel that little pussy,” he said, unzipping. “You already started—might as well finish.”

She didn’t move.

“你疯了吗...” she whispered under her breath. (“Are you insane…”)

But she knew the road outside—empty, silent, no lights for miles.

“Fast only,” she said, not looking at him. “Then go.”

He pushed his seat back. His cock was already hard, flushed and thick.

She climbed over, knees on either side of him, the cracked leather digging into her shins. Her cap fell off somewhere behind her. Her body trembled—but she reached between them, lined him up.

His hands gripped her waist. “Fuck, that’s tight—”

She sank down slowly, biting back a sound as he stretched her open.

The cab smelled like sweat and vinyl. Her hands pressed against his chest as she began to move, mechanical, small rolls of her hips.

“Ride me proper,” he muttered, slapping her ass once. “Come on—fuck me like you mean it.”

She ground harder, teeth clenched, her body reacting despite her head. Sweat pooled at her lower back, soaking into her waistband.

“Goddamn,” he hissed, mouth dragging along her collarbone, his hand yanking up her tank and sports bra. Her breasts bounced free.

He took one into his mouth, sucking hard. She stiffened but didn’t stop riding.

“Say something,” he groaned. “Tell me you feel it.”

She panted, barely above a whisper. “So big. Can’t breathe.”

He bucked harder. Her body slapped down against his, wet and fast.

Then he gasped. “Coming—fuck, take it—”

She felt it hit deep—thick spurts, hot and undeniable. He moaned through clenched teeth, arms tightening around her back.

She held still, breathing through her nose, counting to ten.

Then she slid off. Slickness dripped down her thigh. She didn’t wipe it. Just reached for her cap, pulled it back on.

“Now. Hotel.”

He didn’t argue. Just drove.

She leaned against the door, arms crossed, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

“再也不要这样了。” (“Never again.”)

[bluetimeombre]

-* Strawberries

There are some things Joel misses after the end of times, he didn’t think something as sweet as strawberries would be one

- [thank you so much for 2,000 followers, insane, he’s something sweet while you wait. There’s making out and fruit involved but nothing to explicit. Smutty]

When discussing what you missed most in the end of times you thought of anything practical. Easy supply of period products, bread, hot showers.

You hadn't thought about fruit until you were faced with it.

You and Ellie decided to let Joel take his time in the shower and raiding the house that had once belonged to his 'friends' - Bill and Frank.

You'd only come on this job for the kid, apparently an immune with the ability of a cure. You didn't care for Joel, never had but you cared for getting to an end.

That was how you and her ended up lingering over a garden patch labelled with different vegetables and fruits. One stood out to you the most.

"Holy shit."

"Shit- what?" Ellie whipped around in every direction, looking for trouble. But you had already thrown your pack aside and practically dug into the ground to get to the sweet nectar.

As soon as you found one, whole, round red with flickering seeds, you held it up to the sun. It was whole. It was healthy. It was like nothing else in the world.

And it tasted better than you'd remembered. You moan around the juice on your lips and the taste that fell on your tongue.

At that moment the taste of forbidden fruit was the best thing in the world.

Ellie looked at you and at the ground before following suit, plucking one she assumed was alright. "What? It's a fruit."

"It's so much more than a fucking fruit," you licked your lips, looking around the yard. There were loads, enough to get buckets full. Bill and Frank must have been great people.

You were already checking around bushes and your pack.

"Should we take some back for Joel?" asked Ellie. For a kid faced with a lot of grim, she sure had manners.

You grumbled and said nothing. Instead, you pulled out scissors and begun.

✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°

By the time you and Ellie got back to the house, Joel had showered, even put on a nice checked shirt. He'd even combed back his hair.

When the door slammed he stood up, speaking in that familiar gruff voice. "Where have you been?"

Ellie grinned. "Well don't you look pretty!"

Joel shook his head. "Shut up," he looked back to you. You were older than Ellie, but still much younger than him. Still, easier to make sense of. "Where have you been?"

Ellie rolled her eyes as she couldn't miss how his voice softened for you.

You adjusted your pack, glaring at him.

He took a quick survey of you- a new habit of his. Your pants were mud stained at the knees, mud under your nails and... something sweeter about you.

Joel looked at your lips and he swore they'd never looked so inviting before. Never had they had such a sweetness to their look, or so glossed over. Or so red. "Why are your lips like that?"

Your fingers brushed your lips. "Like what?"

Kissable. Glossy. Delectable. He suddenly wished he hadn't said anything as you wiped away the beauty.

"We went strawberry picking!" said Ellie happily.

"You went what?" Joel's brows furrowed.

You huffed. "Are we done here?"

✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°

Only days later did Joel realise the new sweetness to your lips- when you and him were sitting across from each other, each making home on a tree while Ellie slept.

He'd invited you to sleep but you were to on edge. And that put him on edge. When you were on edge you became un-predictable and Joel didn't like unpredictable. He lived in fear when he couldn't work out your next move.

Like that night, when you laid out a cloth of the little red fruits out to him.

For a moment, Joel stared confused.

You shrug, taking your own pack of strawberries out. "They were gonna go bad."

Joel had a share of five.

"Strawberries?" he prodded them. He knew they still existed, he was the one who traded the pack of seeds to Frank. He just hadn't thought this would be what had him going crazy over you.

"What did you want? Banana's?" you sassed.

He rolled his eyes, fully prepared to tell you how disgusting your attitude was when he looked up.

Your lips were wrapped around the fruit, dragging on the seeds until your teeth sunk in just above the green leaf. There was a gentle slurp and then the strawberry was gone, leaving you to flick the greenery off.

Joel didn't care for eating his own. He cared for you eating the rest of them.

You went again for a second one. This one must have been juicier as the slurp was louder.

Holy fuc- what was Joel supposed to do? Shackled up with someone who didn't care about him and who he thought he cared even less for.

But there you were, taking every delicious drop of the fruit on your tongue. And it was getting him feral. His mouth was watering as he watched, his fingers trembling, his jeans tightening between his legs.

If you noticed, you didn't say anything, biting into the third.

It was smaller but a dribble of juice marked the corner of your lips.

Joel didn't know what he was doing. He almost couldn't believe he was carrying himself across the space and to you. No, not carrying.

Joel fucking crawled over to you.

Finally, you looked up at him, watching as he got closer with ease. Knees of the fifty-something year old avoiding the pile of strawberries you offered.

He slouched next to you as you waited for him to do something like tell you it was for warmth or to give Ellie more room. But he offered you nothing.

Nothing except his finger touching the corner of your lips were it was blotched with the fruit and dabbing it on his tongue. It tasted so much more sweeter coming from you.

"What are you-" words escaped in a lost breath.

"T'sweet," he mumbled.

Joel didn't want it to end. He thought really at that moment he'd abandon this whole thing and just settle on getting you a field of strawberries. Anything to see your lips smeared in the sweetness.

He reached over, taking one of the one's your offered him. He finally took a bite and started to understand why you'd got so worked up. It was a different and welcome taste.

You gulped watching him. The juice getting caught in his stubble around him. You wanted to reach up and brush it away like he had so casually, but you were rendered frozen.

Joel took away the strawberry, tip bitten off and looked at you.

It happened slowly, slow enough for you to tell him to stop. Or to grab his wrist or to sink your teeth into the fruit. You did none of those things.

You let Joel use the strawberry like it was god damn lipstick. He gently dragged it over your top lip- you accommodated by gasping and leaving your lips parted. There was a faint trace of the strawberry there.

Joel looked at your lip as he took it lower and dragged it along the bottom. Back and forth, repeating it like a silent prayer. He actually seemed to concentrate at the task at hand while he did, studying the stutter in your breath and the tilt of your chin.

You wanted it. And maybe you didn’t know, but Joel did.

He worked in your bottom lip before prodding with the fruit. "Open."

Any other time you’d have told him to ‘fuck off’ but now you obliged, empty in thoughts except for his.

Joel watched as your lips wrapped around the fruit and took what was left. He threw away the green.

You took it slowly, un-sure on where to go or what to do other than just eat.

Your jaw worked as you tasted the sweetness and Joel's hand crawled up the side of your face, creeping to hold your cheek while his thumb sat itself under your jaw to feel it move.

He watched you with nothing like how he had before. There was no distaste, no anger or annoyance. There was only wonder and something darker you didn't want to name. If you named it, it would become un-avoidable.

Joel's finger danced over your lips as you swallowed the last of the fruit, lips parting for a breath. With him this close to you, it was like you couldn't breathe.

Suddenly Joel's finger felt the warmth of your mouth and it wasn't enough. Wasn't nearly enough.

He surged forward and kissed you.

It wasn't gentle like you'd imagined. Stupidly you'd thought- in the small moments you did think about it- that Joel was a slow lover, that he took his time in learning and tasting.

It was anything but.

It was like he was trying to eat you.

His mouth was wide as it captured yours, his hand on you cheek holding you close to him as his tongue slithered in and searched your mouth. Just funning along yours sloppily wasn't enough, he needed to get the feel of your mouth.

And the taste of those strawberries.

But to you, nothing tasted better than the feeling of Joel Miller giving in. Of feeling him desperate for you like you'd been for him. The taste of your favourite fruit was becoming a distant memory as you dug your fingers into Joel's coat and tugged yourself closer to him until you were practically in his lap.

His lips sunk into your lips.

"Joel," you mewled.

"Shh," he shushed you, hand reaching out blindly aside him. He didn't want to look away from you for a second, scared that if he took his eye of you you'd rush off, you'd ruin his treat.

Joel grasped a strawberry and shoved it between the two of you. He pulled away only enough to shove the strawberry in your mouth.

Your moan was muffled as you took the fruit and had no choice but to chew it down as quick as you could before Joel's lips were on yours again.

His tongue ran over your bottom lip and he panted against you. "I... this is... so sweet."

Never had you known Joel to be lost for words.

You didn't mind.

He'd pulled away enough to catch his breath but you leaned in, lips brushing his. You took it slower, still getting the strawberry down. Your hands held onto his thighs, squeezing and moving up his jeans at a pace of torture.

There was a squelch noise that had you pulling away and licking your lips.

Joel had smushed the last strawberry between his fingers, creating a mess of red.

You looked down at the waste, chocking and about to chastise him when Joel adjusted and smeared it over your lips- down your jaw- down your neck. "J-Joel," you utter, tilting your head back as he created the path. "S'cold."

"I'll warm you, baby, jus' wait," he mumbled, too entranced in his work to focus on anything else.

Your hands wander up his arms and to his hair. "You-you like strawberries?"

Joel grumbled as he finished his work- making a mess of you. "I like you," he said, voice low and rough as if he'd slept hours. "Like you and Strawberries."

With that, he showed you his fingers that were smeared in bits of strawberry. He didn't have to say anything, you wanted it.

As Joel went to the base of your neck, where he'd pulled your jacket down to put the sweetness there, he went tongue first before sucking at the spot.

Your tongue darted out to his fingers, licking the stuff off like you would his cock. Fuck. The thought of strawberry and his cock sent your core on fire as you felt yourself slicken.

You clenched your thighs together as Joel forced his fingers into your mouth that closed around him.

His large and calloused hand dug into your thigh. "I know, baby, I know."

His lips missed away the mess he'd created as you continued to clean off his fingers. His tongue trailed up your neck and under your jaw where he spent a minute or two sucking off the juice.

Joel took away his fingers so he could tilt your neck to the side to get to every space.

"Joel, I need... I need you," you whispered. Damn you if anyone heard, if Ellie who slept only spaces away was awake.

"I know hun," he spoke into your neck, nipping the sore skin. "But I'm a bit busy right now."

You grumbled and whined, hips rocking against his leg.

"Oh, that's what you want?" he teased. Joel's hold on your thigh increased and he moved you to straddle his thigh. "Is that it? All you want?"

You shook your head as his lips kissed your cheek. "Want more."

"More?" he whispered. His lips brushed yours. "Greedy girl."

His tongue danced over your lips, licking off everything he put there.

Abruptly, you moved away from him, hands on his shoulders to steady yourself.

It took Joel a moment to come out of the stupor you'd put him in. Eventually, he blinked and looked around. "What?" had you heard something? Raiders, infected?

No. He felt something cold drag over his jaw line.

The last strawberry and you were offering it to him. You'd ran it along his jaw where his stubble sat and under his nose so he could inhale the sweetness that was slowly becoming yours.

Finally the tip ran along his lips and Joel grabbed your wrist in a grip to hurt.

His eyes, dark, darker still in the light of the moon, kept a hold of your gaze as he took the strawberry whole in his mouth. His teeth grazed the tips of your fingers as he took it.

Joel couldn't deny, it was heaven and knowing he'd taste it on you was heaven even more. Holding you was paradise and kissing you was where he wanted to die.

You watched as he made slow work on sending it off.

As soon as he had, Joel latched onto you.

His hands had grabbed onto your forearms and dragged you into his lap. Then his arm was wrapping around your waist and he was moving so you were lying on the sleeping bag and he could feel into your mouth deeply. His tongue could find itself a home in your mouth and it did.

It was all tongue and teeth, lips and biting. It was wet and it was new. It was sharing while with holding all emotion inside.

The only thing you shared was the sweetness of the strawberries.

"Taste," Joel trembled as he tore himself away from your lips, some of the juice from the fruit falling from the corner of your lips. He collected it with his thumb and sucked it off. "Taste so good, darlin'."

His hips rut into you as he ground upon your clothed sore. Your legs were tense as he moved and as you tried to stay silent.

Joel almost didn't care there was a kid in their presence. "Wanna, urm, when this is over get you all the strawberries you want, yeah?"

"O-Ok," you nod, shaking.

Joel looked down at you, kissing you quick. "Get you a whole damn strawberry field and fuck you in it too."

Your leg fit around his hips, tugging him closer. "Joel-"

A quick rustle and sound of disgust had Joel scrambling up and kneeling in the mud in front of you.

"Fucking hell!" Ellie made a commotion as she sat up. "Gross! What the fuck?!"

"Ellie!" he warned.

You rolled to look at the girl that was getting up, still warm and hidden in her sleeping bag.

"Is that what you freaks do when I sleep?!"

Part two soon…

[aurorawritestoescape]

THE NEED

Joel Miller x f!reader || 550 words

Summary: Joel gets you ready to take him.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, pwp, fingering, f!oral, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, praise kink.

A/n: Written for @jolacheese ‘s B&B Trope Search challenge💞 Trope - ‘overstimulation’. Motive - ‘the horny’. Beta-ed by @milla-frenchy ily baby😍😘 Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST

“No way you’ll be able to take my cock, darlin.”

You’re standing in front of Joel, eyes glossy with need, tears glistening on your lashes.

“I can! I… I’ve had sex before.”

Joel tuts, shaking his head.

“Nah… No one’s as big as me. And I ain’t hurtin you. ‘s not my thing.”

“But Joel,” you plead, one second away from falling to your knees and crawling to his bulge like it’s a bright beacon in the darkest night. “It’ll stretch, I know it! Give me a chance.”

You want him.

You need him.

You’ve never craved anyone this much. No one but Joel.

You are sobbing quietly, but soon your tears get bigger, your whimpers louder. Joel watches you from under his bushy eyebrows, then raises his huge hands with a sigh and motions for you to step up closer.

In a flash you’re standing between his spread legs, eager and excited, desperation in your eyes slowly drowning in hope.

“Show me. Need to see what I’m workin with.”

You pull your skirt up and your underwear down as swiftly as possible, scared that he’ll change his mind.

Joel sits up straight with a grunt, one warm hand wraps around the back of your thigh, while he begins inspecting you with the other. He pushes his middle finger between your folds and slowly drags it up and down, making you moan and tremble.

“Holy… you’re drenched. Really want this cock, huh?”

”Yeah.”

Your body is buzzing with arousal, your knees are ready to buckle, when Joel pinches your clit and rubs it lightly with the pads of his fingers.

“Oh, Joel…”

He chuckles, seeing you melt.

“Softest pussy ya got here, baby. Needs to be kissed, licked. Sure you want my big dick anywhere near her?”

“I do, I do, Joel.” There’s not a trace of doubt in your voice. “I need you more than air.”

Joel scoffs and mumbles ‘poetic’ under his nose.

You’re still standing up, one foot on Joel’s thigh for his better viewing, two of his thick fingers knuckles deep in your pussy.

He’s been examining you for twenty minutes at least, has already made you come twice, turning you into a complete mess. You’re breathing fast, fire is licking at your core, your folds are engorged and covered in your cum juices.

“Look... You’re leakin down my hand, sweetheart,” he marvels. “Sweet little pussy… openin up fast but I need more. Can’t have you cryin on my cock, can I?“

You dig your fingers into his shoulders and whimper, when his third digit finds home in your sopping cunt.

“Mmh... Good girl.”

When he leans down and kisses your oversensitive clit, you feel like your soul is leaving your body, ascending into heavens. A flick of his hot wet tongue against your twitching bud— and you explode, mewling and moaning, clenching his greying curls, wriggling against his face in painful ecstasy.

“One more finger, baby,” he gruffs, voice muffled by your pussy. ”One more and I’ll give you my cock.”

Trying to catch your breath, you slightly lean forward and watch Joel push his pinkie in your stretched hole. It’s too much but you’re revelling in this sensation. You’ve never felt so full in your life. So complete.

Finally, Joel looks up at you, his face dark with lust, and orders,

“Lie down. She’s ready.”

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!❤️

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @thedilfdiaries @pascaltesaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40 @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name @tateypots

[ashthesalamipiece]

Hi babes! I love ur works smmm, it’s so realistic imo, the weirdness n all ^_^

Can u do dad katsuki x f!mom reader where the class finally meets their son/daughter (u can decide) for the first time and talk about how they look JUST like katsuki, someone is holding the baby and they get upset and katsuki picks the baby up and the baby is just completely happy again from his touch😕💗 also the girls absolutely love the baby, AHH

(baby fever.. im only 20 irl… i don’t need….I DONT NEED IT RIGHT NOW)

"Just Like Daddy"

The moment you stepped into the dorms with your little one nestled in your arms, all of Class 1-A turned into a flurry of excitement, gasps, and “IS THAT THE BABY?!”

You nod, laughing, while Katsuki grumbles under his breath beside you, arms crossed tightly. He looks every bit like he’s been dragged into this. But the slight tilt of his head toward your daughter says otherwise.

The baby—your baby girl—blinks up at the crowd with big crimson eyes. The same exact glare as her father’s, only... much smaller. And adorably pouty.

“She looks just like Bakugo!” Mina shrieks, hands over her mouth. “Same eyes, same grumpy expression.”

“Even the little scowl,” Kaminari adds, snapping a picture. “You birthed a mini-Kacchan!”

Bakugo growls lowly. “Don’t say stupid shit like that.”

You snort, shifting the baby in your arms. “He’s been in denial for weeks.”

Uraraka leans in, cooing. “Can I hold her?”

You glance at Katsuki, who tenses slightly but gives a begrudging nod. “Yeah, go ahead.”

The baby is passed carefully to Uraraka, then to Mina, then Jirou. She’s calm for about ten seconds… until Kirishima tries to hold her.

And she loses it.

Lips wobble. Eyebrows furrow. Then comes the full-on, red-faced, tiny banshee wail.

Everyone panics.

“Okay okay—what do we do?!”

“I fed her already!”

“Did she poop?!”

“Did you poop?!”

“Give her to me!” Katsuki snaps, stepping forward like an instinct. He scoops the baby out of Kirishima’s arms with practiced ease.

And instantly—instantly—she stops crying. Just blinks, cuddles into his chest, and lets out the tiniest sigh of happiness.

The room goes dead silent.

“…She’s obsessed with him,” you say, grinning.

“She’s got taste,” Jirou mutters.

“Okay but Katsuki with a baby is dangerously hot,” Mina whispers not-so-quietly.

“Tch.” Bakugo rolls his eyes, but he’s gently bouncing her in his arms, careful with her head. “She’s fine. Y’all just suck at holding her.”

“Aw, Daddy-Katsuki’s got the magic touch,” Kaminari teases.

“Say that again and I’ll blast you.”

“You wouldn’t, not with her in your arms,” Sero smirks.

Bakugo just smirks darkly. “Try me.”

You lean into him with a soft laugh, wrapping an arm around his waist. “You know she’s gonna grow up with that same attitude, right?”

“She better,” he mutters, looking down at his daughter like she hung the damn moon. “She’s mine.”

And as the girls take about fifty more photos and the boys continue teasing him, Katsuki stays right where he is—daughter tucked securely to his chest, not even pretending he wants to let her go.