#Water Tank Wrapping Machine

[rememberwren]

Skin Deep

Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand your horizons, you get your first tattoo from an enigmatic artist deemed “Ghost”. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.

Sequel here.

-

“I bit the bullet!” you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friend’s ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.

“You bit what?” she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep. 

“The bullet,” you laugh. “I called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!” 

She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. She’d been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped you—encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to ‘make more mistakes’, to live life more fully. Now she’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head and it’s the one doing the talking. 

“What guy I recommended?” she asks. 

“Kevin!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?” 

You frown. “You said you went to Kevin.” 

“It wasn’t a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! He’s a creep; there’s a reason why I never went back.” 

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. It’s not just the tattoo. It’s the icing on a shitcake of a day. 

A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life. 

“You conveniently left that out. Ugh. I’ll cancel it. What am I even fucking doing—thank you—” you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. “—none of this is like me.” 

Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. “You were the one who said you’d always wanted a tattoo. You’re an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions you’re old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and he’s highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?” 

“Alright,” you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesn’t work out with this next tattoo artist, then you won’t be getting one at all. You’ll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all. 

-

What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it. 

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to people’s disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isn’t until you’ve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him. 

“Hello?” 

“I’m free Wednesdays for consultations,” says a baritone voice from the other end of the line. 

Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. “I work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?” 

He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him. 

“Name a time. I’ll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,” he says. 

Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isn’t trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that you’ve already made an impression so foul that it’s incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted? 

“Alright,” you answer cautiously. “How’s five?” 

“Five. Don’t be late.” 

He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.

-

You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itself—a tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagram—is locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesn’t help. How are you supposed to get in? 

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy. 

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost. 

Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting. 

Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize. 

“I have a consultation,” you blurt out. “At…five?”

He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. He’s so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.

“Sit,” he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sip—of tea, judging by the smell. “Name?”

You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek. 

“The water is for you,” he says. 

“Oh!” You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. “Thank you.”

“This is your first tattoo.” 

“What gave me away?” you ask with a weak laugh. 

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.” 

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.” 

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as you’re comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.

 He asks what you want and God, that’s a harder question. 

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silence—pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair. 

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing. 

He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and you’re just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book. 

“I think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and we’ll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?” 

“I mean, it hurts?” you offer. 

He stares. “Two sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.” 

You think that maybe he’ll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you can’t help but watch him. 

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again. 

“Here.” 

You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didn’t make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean. 

His thoughtfulness touches you. 

“I love it. I want it,” you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you. 

“This is just a first sketch,” he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. “I’ll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?” 

“Yes,” you say, nearly buzzing. “I really want to book.”

He’s expensive—but judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, he’s got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldn’t bore him to death. 

“Thanks again for meeting with me,” you say as he sees you out. “I’ll be waiting for your text.” 

“You’ll get it.” He glances past you out the window. It’s dark. “Did you walk?” 

“No, my car is just there.”

“I’ll wait.” 

And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears. 

-

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend. 

GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks. 

You chew over this information. Yes he’d been wearing a mask, but he’d lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?  

Masks are cute, you say. 

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

You’re terrible. 

You’re…thinking about it. 

-

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST. 

The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness. 

I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think that’s the one. 

Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate.  

And fuck, you didn’t even think of that. 

-

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another. 

“You are,” your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. “Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.” 

The look you give her is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after, surely. She doesn’t even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. You’ve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed. 

“Be glad you’re not going to creepy Kevin anymore,” your friend says.

“Very glad of it.” 

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions. 

“You should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. He’s been doing this for years. I’m sure he’s seen it all,” she says—the first good idea she’s had all night, miles ahead of ‘Just let Ghost see your cute tits’. 

That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you aren’t overstepping some weird artist-client boundary. 

I’m a little nervous.

You can cancel, is all he says. I’ll refund your money.

It’s not that. 

What is it? 

Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true. 

But all he said back was: how can I help?  

I don’t know, you admit. Then; sorry. I’m probably bothering you with this while you’re working. 

I’m not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you aren’t going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. I’ll let my piercer know I’m with a client and not to walk in. I’ll keep you covered every moment I can. Better? 

Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better. 

-

You bring the pasties anyway. 

-

The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase ‘knees knocking together’, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghost’s hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass. 

When it does, he’s like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in place—typical for him, if your friend’s words are to be trusted—but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs. 

You’re horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friend’s words echo in your mind—fuck the tattoo artist, maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

“Hi,” you squeak. 

Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.

“I’m still nervous,” you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesn’t. 

“That’s normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if it’s still what you want.”

It’s exactly what you want, and more. 

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented.” 

He huffs a little, like you shouldn’t have said such a thing. 

The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once he’s gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years. 

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

“Ready?” he asks at length. 

You nod, hoping your nerves don’t show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt you’re wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. He’s not watching a strip tease, he’s looking at a canvas. 

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you. 

“Am I hairy?” you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way. 

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.”

“I’m just teasing you.” 

“Didn’t think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,” he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. “You’re nervous, I mean.” 

“Would you take the mask off?” you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face. 

“No,” he says. He adds: “Sorry. It’s more sanitary f’you if I keep it on.” 

You get the feeling that he really is sorry—and that’s well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax. 

After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. It’s sexy. You’ve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than you’d ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadn’t expected. You feel so…badass. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.

But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt. 

“Thank you,” you say softly. 

He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. “I’ll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.” 

“I’m not backing out.” 

He clicks his tongue as if to say, It’s your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line. 

It burns more than you expected it to. There’s a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a cat’s tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isn’t overwhelming. In fact…a strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe it’s the rush of endorphins. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Good,” you squeak. 

You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.

“Let me know when you need to break.” 

You don’t know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs. 

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it. 

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, offering him an out.

“No,” he says. “I make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.”

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up. 

“Good for more?”

And so it repeats. 

At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. It’s too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through. 

His thumb gently strokes your sternum. 

“It’s rough. You can take it,” he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. “Just keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl.”

Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast. 

“You can do it. Just a little longer for me, and we’ll break.”

“Hurts,” you breathe, flinching again. 

He hushes you, surprisingly tender. 

“This is the worst of it.” This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear.  

“Break. Ten minutes,” he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain. 

You call out: “Hey, wait—I’d rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.” 

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily.

You duck your head, feeling silly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He vanishes again. 

He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again. 

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail you’d give your life to follow). 

“I think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,” he mutters at length. 

“Eager to be done?” you wonder. 

He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said. 

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply. 

So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently. 

“Go take a look. I’m going to cover it up.” 

It’s beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.

“I love it,” you choke out. “Thank you.”

“Can I take a picture of it?” he asks. “For Instagram.” 

“Sure!” It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are covered—the very far edges—but you can’t deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way. 

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: “Let me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything stupid to it. Understand?” 

“I understand.”

“And if you have any questions—text me.” 

-

You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental ‘likes’). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable. 

-

Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you don’t text him like he asked you to. You call. 

Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much? 

The internet doesn’t help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.   

With shaking hands, you don’t even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring. 

He’s going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone else—except he doesn’t. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering. 

“Yes?” Ghost says into the phone, as if that’s a decent hello. 

“There’s something wrong with my tattoo!” you cry. 

“Wait—get out of my goddamn way.” There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. “Say it again. Now I can fucking hear you.”

“There’s. Something. Wrong,” you say through your teeth. “With my tattoo!”

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s falling off, for one!”

He snorts. “That’s normal. That's why you called?” 

“It’s all swollen and hot. And it hurts.” 

Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. “Hurts how bad?”

“Worse than getting it.” 

“Fuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop in…twenty?” 

“Twenty minutes from now?” 

“From when else?” He hangs up. Man doesn’t know the meaning of the word goodbye. 

-

The night is cool. You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop. 

Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow. 

He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your tits—or resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes. 

“Well. Sit. Show me.”

You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. “What, just flash you?”

“Nothing I’ve never seen before.” 

Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands. 

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation. 

“You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?”

“Fuck my lungs,” he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. “Can I?”

You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. “Any fever?” he asks. 

“Not that I’ve noticed.” 

“You feel warm, but I’ve felt warmer. I don’t think it’s infected. Have you tried icing it?”

“No,” you admit. 

“Ice will help. Just use something clean, for fuck’s sake.” As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. “Forget it.” 

“Forget what?” 

“Talking about it goes against forgetting it.”

You groan, tossing up your hands. “You’re impossible.” 

He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttons—you end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one. 

“Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry it was for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “And I wasn’t doing much.”

“You were with friends,” you insist.

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?” 

“I saw it on your Instagram tonight.” 

“Nosey.” 

“I could buy you a drink sometime,” you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out?  “Make up for the ones I lost you tonight.” 

“Maybe.”

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt. 

“Would you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to be…positive?”

He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You don’t cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off. 

“Maybe you should look closer.” 

His eyes flicker up to yours. “Closer.”

Your mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“Can’t get much closer than I am.” 

“You could—if you wanted to.” 

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

“Mhm.”

The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want this—and whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already you’re aching—have been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the street—but he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat. 

“Pretty little tits,” he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair. 

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.” 

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.” 

His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I—“ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. He’s so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattoo—and then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness. 

You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex. 

“Driving me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple. 

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind. 

He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until you’re no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. “You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?” 

“Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing. 

He buries his face in your neck. “Good. I won’t last when I’ve got my cock in you. I’d like you to cum at least once before then.”

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips. 

“What else do you need?” he asks. 

“My—touch me—“ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly. 

Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“Fucking perfect.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. “Look at me. Look at me.” 

You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure. 

He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth. 

When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. It’s probably a good thing too. You aren’t sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.

Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh. 

Fingers enter your vision—your own—reaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. He’s so bloody tall, too…but he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola. 

“No,” he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. “You can play with it.”

You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite. 

“You’re so—“ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: “—hot.” 

He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You can’t help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. “You broken, or can you take more?” 

“I want more.”

“Want my cock?” 

You nod, feeling like a bobble head. 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“I want your cock.”

His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artist’s hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps. 

He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter. 

“No gods here,” he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art. 

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. “Practically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. They’ll know who touched you.” 

“Good,” you breathe. 

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right. 

He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to you—for inspection, you realize, though you’ve had so few one night stands (try zero) that you’ve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length. 

Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily. 

“Relax…there you go. Let me in,” he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretch—he’s thick everywhere goddamn it—but it’s a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure. 

“Ghost,” you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.

“I think you can take it,” he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. “But what do you think?” 

“Your cock—want it—please—“

“Alright,” he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. “No need to beg.” 

He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until you’re clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin. 

His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when you’re pinned beneath it. 

“Stay still,” he mutters into the juncture of your neck. “Stay still or I’ll cum and this is all over.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. “Have to move, ‘m so full—“

“Fucking hell,” he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. “Roll onto your side.” 

He gives you instruction but isn’t shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit. 

You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat. 

“Want you to cum again,” he says, stilling your movements so that you can’t fuck your self back against him. “Give me one more. Then it’s my turn.”

“Ghost—I can’t—“ you’ve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms. 

“If you can’t, then don’t,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit. 

You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you aren’t the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex. 

“Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again. 

He hums behind you, a smug sound. 

“Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.” 

“Ghost!”

He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead. 

He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you. 

The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you. 

Sooner than you’d like—but he’d warned you, hadn’t he?—his thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. And again: “Fuck, fuck. You broken?” 

“Yes.” 

He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see. 

-

“Sorry about this,” he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. You’re still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself. 

“Regretting it already?” 

“Yes,” he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: “Should have at least taken you to dinner first.” 

“Dinner?”

“You owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.” He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasn’t relaxed, he says: “I don’t regret the sex. Do you?”

You shake your head. 

He scoffs a little. 

“I mean it,” you insist. You touch your tattoo. “I wanted it…the day you did—this.” 

He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you admitted sheepishly. 

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. “I was interested.” 

You laugh; you can’t help it. “Dinner, then? Or drinks?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Get dressed.”

[chansdoll]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 방찬ㅤㅤ♡ㅤㅤone nightㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

★ pairing。idol!chan x fan afab!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎g. ╰・ smut‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎cw。 protected sex , oral (f. receiving) , one night stand , no established relationship wc。 3.4k

lana's note!  ᰍᩚ i finally posted something ! ive been wanting to write something that has been on my mind recently, and that is... fuckboy chris, ladies and gentlemen! now, in this he isn't like a stereotypical fuckboy. he's got some class, but you definitely know what ur getting from him in this one.. no strings attached.

♡ masterlist

you barely remember the ride back to the hotel.

your skin is still buzzing from the energy of the concert—flashing lights, pounding bass, and the collective scream of thousands of fans echoing in your head like a dream you don’t want to wake up from. your throat is dry, your body aching from dancing and screaming, and your cheeks still feel hot every time you think about him.

bang chan. shirt soaked with sweat. hair pushed back from his forehead. that cocky little smirk when he caught the camera mid-thrust. god.

you close your hotel door behind you with a sigh, toeing off your shoes before peeling off your sticky clothes. the hot water of the shower is heaven, and for a while, you just stand there and let it wash the night away. you shampoo slowly, your mind replaying every moment of the concert—his voice, his body, his fucking stage presence.

and then, the crash.

post-concert crash. you're starving.

wrapped in a towel, you rifle through your bag for pajamas, tug on an oversized tee and sleep shorts, and step into the hallway with your slippers on. just a quick trip to the vending machine—nothing glamorous, just chips or candy. you shuffle down the corridor, the hallway dim and quiet except for the low hum of electricity.

you reach the vending machine and start scanning the options, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion, brain still floating somewhere in the crowd you just left. you're so focused on deciding between pretzels and gummy bears that you don't hear the footsteps behind you until a voice—low, smooth, accented—cuts through the silence.

“long night?”

you freeze.

that voice.

you turn slowly, heart skipping a beat.. and there he is.

bang chan. in a black tank top and grey sweatpants, hair damp like he just showered, veins visible on his forearms as he casually crosses his arms and leans against the vending machine like he owns the whole damn hallway.

“holy shit,” you whisper before you can stop yourself.

his mouth curves into a lazy smile. “didn’t mean to scare you.”

“i—uh—no. you didn’t. i just... i didn’t expect—” you stop. bite your tongue. try not to scream. try not to melt.

he cocks his head, eyes scanning over you in a way that feels slow and deliberate. not sleazy—just... observant. appreciative. his gaze lingers on your bare legs, on the shape of your hips in those shorts, then flicks back to your face like he’s not even trying to hide that he was just undressing you with his eyes.

“you were at the show?” he asks, though he already knows. his smirk says it all.

you nod, heart hammering.

“how’d we do?”

you swallow. “killed it. you especially.”

his grin widens—cocky, but charming. he reaches into the vending machine slot, retrieving a protein bar, then holds it up with a soft chuckle. “can’t end the night without a snack.”

you don’t know if he’s talking about the bar or you, but the heat creeping into your cheeks says your brain’s made its choice.

chan steps a little closer, lowering his voice. “what’s your name?”

you tell him, and the way he repeats it—soft, like a secret—makes your thighs clench. there's something in the way he looks at you, like he’s already decided what’s coming next.

“so... you just here for the night?”

you nod again, trying not to drown in the tension.

he raises an eyebrow. “wanna come hang out for a bit?”

your breath catches.

he said it so casually—like it was no big deal. like inviting a complete stranger to his hotel room wasn’t... a thing. you blink up at him, still unsure whether this is real life or some fever dream your post-concert brain cooked up.

“i mean…” you hesitate, licking your lips nervously. “are you sure that’s okay?”

chan raises an eyebrow, his eyes dancing with amusement. “why wouldn’t it be?”

“i don’t know,” you laugh breathlessly. “i figured there’d be security or… staff? or, like, a dozen people watching you at all times.”

“they’re around,” he says with a shrug. “but they’re not glued to me twenty-four seven. we’re adults. i can invite someone to my room if i want to.”

his tone is smooth but not dismissive. he’s not brushing off your concern—he’s just making it clear that this isn’t his first rodeo. you’re still skeptical, though, heart pounding like a warning bell in your chest. you glance down the hallway, half-expecting a manager to materialize from the shadows and scold you both.

chan follows your gaze, then steps a little closer. not too close—he’s careful with your space—but enough that you can smell his cologne, clean and musky and warm from his skin.

“i get it,” he says gently. “you’re not sure if this is safe. or real. or a trap.” he grins. “it’s not.”

you look up at him again. “so you just… invite random girls to your room?”

his smile is crooked, charming, and maddening. “not random girls. just the ones i want to get to know better.”

that makes your stomach flip.

you exhale slowly, trying to play it cool. “okay. but if i go and something sketchy happens, i’m running and posting about it everywhere.”

he chuckles—really laughs, like he enjoys how you’re giving him a hard time. “fair enough,” he says. “you’ll even get a little paperwork before anything happens. standard procedure.”

your brows lift. “paperwork?”

“a nondisclosure agreement,” he says easily. “if you come up, you’ll sign it. that way, if we do anything... memorable, it stays between us.”

you pause. the way he says it—if we do anything memorable—isn’t pushy. there’s no pressure in his tone. but there’s an invitation in his eyes. a very, very tempting one.

“you’re serious?” you ask.

chan nods. “completely. you’re in control. you can leave whenever you want. no pressure. but if you���re curious...”

you are curious. so fucking curious.

you nibble your bottom lip, debating for a few seconds more, heart beating like a war drum in your chest.

“okay,” you say quietly.

chan’s eyes flicker with something dark and pleased. he steps back, gesturing down the hallway. “c’mon. i’m just a few doors down.”

you follow him, your entire body buzzing, every nerve in your body on edge. he swipes the keycard to his suite, and the lock clicks open.

and that’s when it really hits you. you’re about to step into bang chan’s hotel room. alone. at night. after a concert.

your whole body shivers with adrenaline.

the door shuts behind you with a quiet click. the room is dimly lit, clean and sleek with hotel-modern decor. his bag’s in the corner. there’s a laptop open on the desk. a speaker still glowing faintly. a half-empty water bottle on the nightstand. it’s lived-in in a way that makes your stomach twist.

chan tosses the protein bar onto the dresser and walks over to a drawer, pulling out a sleek folder and a pen.

he holds it out to you.

“nda,” he says, voice soft. “if you want to stay.”

you take it, fingers trembling slightly. the print is clean and formal. it’s not a joke. it’s real. it spells out exactly what you’re agreeing to—complete confidentiality, no sharing of details, photos, or anything about the time spent with him.

you scan it quickly, then glance up. “so… this happens often?”

he gives a small smile. “sometimes. i like… company. different people, different energy.” then, leaning in slightly, he murmurs, “but i never invite anyone i’m not genuinely interested in.”

that heat comes roaring back into your chest.

you sign the paper.

he takes it back, folds it neatly, and tucks it away.

then he looks at you—really looks at you.

and something shifts in his expression.

“now,” he says, voice dipping low. “where were we?”

you barely have time to process what’s happening before his hand is on your waist.

not rough—not yet—but confident, like he’s done this before. like he knows exactly what he’s doing. his palm slides around to the small of your back, pulling you closer until your chest brushes his. he’s warm, solid, and so much bigger up close, the tension between your bodies crackling like static.

“you sure?” he asks, voice low, almost a growl against your ear.

you nod, breath catching. “yeah.”

he doesn’t waste a second.

his mouth is on yours—hot, urgent, and claiming. there’s no hesitation in the way he kisses you, no testing the waters. he just takes, like he already knows you want to be taken. his hand fists the hem of your oversized shirt, dragging it up your body as his tongue parts your lips and makes you moan into his mouth.

“fuck,” he mutters as the shirt comes off, eyes darkening when he sees your bare chest underneath. “no bra? you came out here like this?”

you open your mouth to reply, but he cuts you off by sucking your nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking and teeth grazing until your knees damn near buckle.

“chan—”

“shhh,” he murmurs, switching to the other. “gonna take my time with you.”

except he doesn’t. he devours you.

his hands roam everywhere—squeezing, gripping, dragging your body against his like he can’t get enough. he backs you toward the bed, lips bruising against yours again, his fingers already tugging your sleep shorts down your thighs.

he doesn’t even fully undress you before he’s dropping to his knees, hands shoving your thighs apart.

“want a taste,” he mutters, voice husky with hunger. “bet this pussy’s just as pretty as the rest of you.”

your breath stutters. “wait—you don’t have to—”

he looks up with a smirk. “who said i’m doing it for you?”

and then his mouth is on you.

god.

his arms hook under your thighs and pull you closer to the edge, locking you in place like you’re not going anywhere until he decides. he leans down, licking a soft, gentle lick along your slit first, a small groan leaving his throat as he tastes you. he then sucks softly on your lips before licking your slit firmly, gathering all the arousal that accumulated and savoring it so naughtily. 

you’re already a whining mess, his tongue making you squirm and blush. his tongue finally sneaks up to your clit, circling it and flicking on it slowly. this earns him a louder, breathy moan, and it’s like music to his ears. he groans even louder, focusing all his attention on your bundle of nerves, sucking and licking. his tongue is relentless—broad licks, slow circles, then sharp flicks right over your clit.

he doesn’t even stop to look up at you while he feasts on you, as if he’s too lost in how you taste.

you’re squirming, moaning, clutching the sheets as he eats you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do—messy, wet, fucking filthy. his nose pressed into your mound, lips glistening with your nectar.. it was unreal to witness. 

“wait—shit—i’m gonna—”

“good,” he growls against you. “give it to me.”

you fall apart on his tongue, legs trembling, thighs squeezing around his head. he groans like he enjoys it, like getting smothered by your pussy is the highlight of his night. when he finally pulls back, his chin’s wet, his lips swollen, and he’s got that smug look again—like he’s proud of wrecking you. he wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand as he stands up, and you can see it. you can see his heavy cock through his sweats.

“you’re so fucking hot like this,” he mutters, standing up and yanking his tank top over his head. “gonna ruin you now.”

you barely register the words before he’s flipping you onto your stomach, stripping off your shorts the rest of the way. you hear the rustle of sweatpants hitting the floor behind you, a condom packet tearing. a soft whine leaves your lips.. a mixture of exhaustion from your orgasm, and the way he’s manhandling you sends you into a mindset you can’t explain.

then you feel him—thick, heavy, hard, sliding between your folds, teasing your entrance.

“you wet enough for me?” he murmurs, one hand gripping your ass, the other sliding his cock through your slickness.

you whimper, arching your back. “yes.”

“say it.”

“i’m wet enough—fuck—please, chan—”

that’s all he needs.

he slams into you in one deep, brutal thrust, pulling a choked cry from your throat. he groans behind you, the sound feral, hands gripping your hips like he’s holding himself back from completely destroying you.

“fucking tight,” he growls. “god damn.”

he starts to move—deep, punishing thrusts that make your whole body jolt forward on the bed. his rhythm is relentless, rough and fast, the slap of skin on skin echoing off the hotel walls. you’re certain the others in the hotel rooms around you two can hear you, but the thought left your mind as fast as it came. 

his cock kept dragging and grinding against your gspot so good.. so heavenly that the knot in your stomach was forming already. you could feel it heating you up, making your legs numb, your cheeks flushing. 

one hand fists your hair, pulling your head back so he can lean over your body, his voice hot and heavy against your ear.

“you like being fucked like this, don’t you? bent over like a good girl.”

you nod, gasping, voice nearly gone. “yes—yes—chan, fuck—”

his hand slips between your legs, fingers finding your clit again. “come for me again.”

you’re already there—your body tightens, heat exploding in your core as he fucks you through your second orgasm, his pace never slowing. he’s panting now, close, hips slamming into you with punishing force as he chases his own release.

“take it—just like that—fuck, you feel so good—”

he groans loud, deep, when he finally spills into the condom, hips twitching as he thrusts through it, every muscle in his body flexing behind you.

for a long second, all you can hear is your combined breathing, ragged and heavy, sweat dripping from both of your bodies.

he pulls out slowly, hands lingering on your back, smoothing over your skin like he’s memorizing it.

then he stands, pads into the bathroom without a word, and returns with a towel to clean you up—surprisingly gentle after how rough he just was.

you sit up slowly, sore and dazed, your heart still thudding. he sits beside you on the edge of the bed, slipping the condom into the trash.

neither of you speaks at first. you don’t know what to say. you want to curl into his side and stay there. you want to ask what this meant. but then he speaks—softly, almost like he’s reminding himself.

“this can’t be more than tonight.”

you glance at him, trying not to let your face fall. “i figured.”

he doesn’t look away. “not because of you. i just… can’t. it wouldn’t work.”

you nod, heart heavy but understanding.

“still,” he says, that little smirk returning. “i’m glad it was you tonight.”

you smile—bittersweet, but real.

“me too.”

your legs still feel like jelly when you leave his room.

the hallway’s quiet. cool. too quiet after the chaos that just unfolded behind that door.

you walk slowly, your heartbeat loud in your ears. your lips are swollen, your thighs sticky, your whole body sore in the most delicious way. but under all of that, there’s this sharp little ache nestled somewhere between your ribs. you try to ignore it. you try.

back in your room, you shut the door behind you and lean against it, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

it’s like the second you’re alone, everything rushes in at once.

you slept with bang chan.

bang chan.

you look down at yourself— wearing nothing but your shirt, crumpled sleep shorts and a dazed expression—and you almost laugh. there’s no way to make sense of it. no way to explain the way he touched you, looked at you, handled you like he knew exactly what you needed before you even did.

you cross the room and collapse onto the bed, letting your face bury into the pillow. you can still smell him on your skin. you can feel the weight of his hands on your hips. hear the way he said your name like he wanted to own it. own you.

you close your eyes.

and for a moment, you let yourself pretend.

pretend that he’d stayed. that he’d crawled into bed beside you and pulled you into his chest, wrapped those strong arms around you, whispered something low and sleepy against your neck.

but he didn’t.

and he wasn’t going to.

“this can’t be more than tonight.”

the words echo in your head, steady and unchanging, even as your body begs you to believe there could’ve been more.

you don’t blame him. not really. you knew what it was. he made it clear.

still… there’s this ache. a stupid, quiet ache that doesn’t care how famous he is or how impossible this all is. it just knows that someone like him made you feel something real, even if it was only for a night.

you curl onto your side, biting your lip as tears prick at the corners of your eyes—not sad, not regretful, just… overwhelmed. so much happened in so little time. you don't even know what you're supposed to do with yourself now.

so you do the only thing you can.

you fall asleep, body sore and heart fluttering, wishing you could hit rewind.

just once.

just to feel him one more time.

the lobby is already alive with the low hum of travelers—coffee in hand, suitcases in tow, the echo of wheels rolling across polished floors. you’re standing near the entrance, duffel bag slung over your shoulder, sunglasses hiding the dark circles under your eyes from a night that was anything but restful.

you're scrolling through your phone, checking your ride's eta, trying to pretend like your heart isn’t still racing every time your brain replays last night. every sound makes you twitch—every low male voice, every passing group of guests—until you feel it again.

that shift.

that sense that someone’s watching you.

you glance up.

and there he is.

bang chan.

black hoodie. backpack slung low on one shoulder. he’s walking with purpose, surrounded by a few members of the group, plus a staff member barking something about time.

but his eyes are on you.

and then—you see it. a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. his eyes drop to your legs—still bare from the sleep shorts you tossed on this morning, because your suitcase was a disaster and you didn’t care enough to try.

he leans in slightly and nudges someone walking beside him.

it’s lee know.

lee know raises a brow at chan, and chan doesn’t say a word—just does this cocky little half-nod in your direction.

that’s when both of them look at you.

you freeze.

chan’s expression doesn’t change—still unreadable, but with a spark of something wicked in his eyes. lee know’s brows lift just slightly, like he’s impressed but also entirely unsurprised. he murmurs something under his breath to chan, and chan just lets out this tiny laugh through his nose as they walk toward the hotel doors.

he passes right by you, no hesitation, and as he does—without looking—he murmurs, voice low and smug:

“sleep okay?”

you swear your soul leaves your body.

you feel lee know glance at you for a split second, then shake his head with a smirk, and suddenly they’re both out the doors, the van waiting.

the rest of the team follows behind them, none the wiser.

and you?

you’re standing there, cheeks burning, stomach flipping, thighs still aching.

it hits you all at once—the heat of last night, the ridiculousness of this morning, the way chan didn’t even need to say anything but still managed to completely unravel you with just a look and a word.

you shake your head to yourself as you walk outside toward your ride.

of course he told someone. of course he wanted someone to know. he’s that type—cocky, bold, and too damn good in bed not to brag a little with his eyes alone.

but somehow… you don’t even mind.

you might never see him again. might never touch him again.

but for one night, you were the girl he picked.

and everyone could see it.

taglist: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek @babigriin @tirena1 @geni-627 @bbokvhs @wavetohannie @hhwangsmoon

©chansdoll do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

[ellaa-writes]

Gym rat König who fucks you in the locker room shower. (not edited)

He saw you first, walking up to the squat machine. Wearing tight black legging and just a sport bra. It was nearing midnight, König only came to the gym at night. Like a creature out of a horror movie, emerging from his crypt to do some weight lifting.

He couldn't stop staring, you must know he was staring. You probably did it on purpose, with the way your dressed, out late at night. Setting your water bottle down beside the machine you.

Watching you has you worked out, König long forgot what he was even doing to begin with. The heavy weights still in his hands, he let them drop to the floor without a thought. A loud thud rang though the gym, making you flinch and reel your head in his direction.

This was his opportunity, pulling at the bottom of his tank. He lifted it up to wipe off the sweat building on his forehead. Making sure his abs and chest were on full display. Hell he even flexed a little just to make sure you were looking. Hook, line and sinker, you snapped your head away as a blush crept up your chest to your face.

Today wasn't leg day, but for you it sure was. König sauntered over to the leg press machine which so happens to be right beside your machine. Giving it a quick wipe down before he looked in your direction and did his signature goofy smile, gummy and all.

"Haven't seen you here before." he called out to you, his accent thicker than usual. He was really laying it all on you. "I've been a few times but usually to busy." you replied back in between grunts. König watched has you worked up a sweat. Noticing your poor form and using that has an excuse to get closer.

"You're going to hurt yourself that way." he said nonchalantly, pointing to your back. You let the weights gently down as you sat facing him. "Leaning forward to much, watch I'll show you." he rose from his machine. Reaching you in one big step, he was so much bigger closer up. Like a skyscraper kissing the clouds, he had a surgical mask over the lower half of his face. But you still heard him like he was whispering in your ear.

You stepped back has König showed you the proper form. Doing one squat before he ushered you back to the machine. Helping you get the bar on your shoulders. His hand on your lower back, so big and wide and warm as hell. His other hand resting on your lower stomach, telling you to squat and you did. Feeling no pain as you did so, König asked "Better?" hands still on you. You just nodded your head, to dizzy to answer.

He stepped away but not far before you called out "If you don't mind, can you do that again. So I can get a better idea." König's heart started to pound as another sleezy smile spread across his face. He could show you a few more moves if you wanted, he said with a raise of an eyebrow.

Lucky for the both of you the gym was quiet dead that night. You, him and three others. He followed you back to the locker room, and into the showers. You shoved him in first, before following after and closing the curtains tight.

Konig had your leg slinged across his shoulder, your back pressed against the shower tile. The hot steam of the water filling the small enclosure. You other leg wrapped around his waist has he pounded your pussy.

He's whimpering and babbling in German, peppering your neck and chest in small kiss and bites. You nails digging into his back, panting like a bitch in heat. His thick cock hitting all the right spots, the tip bullying against your spongy cervix. His magic fingers working the bud of your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles.

The door to the locker room swung open, both you and König froze. His cock twitching inside your warm wet pussy. Listening to the sound of someone walking around, rummaging in their belongings before the always started up a shower.

Konig began to lazily pump his cock into you, slow thrusts that made your whole body buzz with need. You whined out causing König to cover your mouth with his hand. Leaning into your ear to shush you. And you tried, oh god you tried.

Letting his hand fall back down between your bodies. Working your clit once again and his thrusts became more focused and hard. The sound of the water pelting against the tiles drowning out the lewd noises coming from your stall.

You were so close, he could feel it. He was right their with you, snapping his hips harshly into your own. He was building you up until it all came crashing down. You bit into his shoulder to muffle your moan, your pussy convulsing around his cock. König could help himself, pumping his thick load into you. Grunting out before he bite his own tongue.

After a few silent moments between you to, the shower a few stalls over turned off. The curtain being yanked open and a few minutes later you bother were alone again.

He slowly washed his cum from your cunt, down on his knees. Looking up into your eyes he asked "Wanna go have a bite to eat?"

Thank you all for 600 followers!!

[4milly]

…..so what was you saying about the gym, boo? i’m waitinggg.

ꨄ i put that boy on rock rock. jey u.

- small little thot if i must say. LMAO yall i workout to fergalicious, and i love that little “I PUT THEM BOYS ON ROCK ROCK.” so im like deg imagine putting jey on rock rock. i also imagine that song where beyonce sings, “let me sit this asssss…on you.”

- YALL I GOT A SINUS INFECTION FROM HELL. WTF. also i’m still working on a masterlist and i need a bit of help. if anyone specializes in those hmu pls. xoxo love you.

warnings: smut, thumb in b, no protection, oral, minors dni.

you unzipped your pink lululemon jacket as heat began to overtake your form. you finished 30 minutes on the stair master on level 6. sweat beads dripped from the top of your chest drenching your white juicy couture sports bra. it was late night, and you couldn’t sleep. deciding to tire yourself out, you came to the gym. unbeknownst to you, your shorts hiked up causing your ass to have a bit more shelving—something the man on the other side of the gym took in.

you went to grab the sanitizing spray infront of the machine. you glanced up to see the man eyeing you before he adverted his gaze towards the weights again. it was your turn to take him in, wearing black gym shorts and a white muscle tank. you smirked to yourself at the attention. you weren’t one to show out for the male attention, but he was fine ass fuck.

fuck it.

you walked over to the stretching machines near the weight lifting racks. backing against the wall, you spread your legs open pushing backwards bending down; your ass pressed firmly against the wall. what to you was extending your glutes, looked like you nearly doing a split on the wall. his eyes were on you now watching you move against the wall, his workout far in the back of his head. you moved towards the ground into a doggy position arching your ribs towards the ground as deep as you can.

you couldn’t say you knew him, but he attended the gym quite a bit—his name was, jey. when you stood you could see the man not even hiding his gazes anymore. he leaned against the wall taking in your show, with his lip between his teeth. you let out a small laugh before grabbing your water bottle heading towards the gym showers, keeping your eyes on him secretly inviting him to join. since you were the only one, without shame you shed your jacket and sports bra leaving you in only your shorts.

you turned on the shower to the hottest setting waiting a second before steam started to rise. before you could take off your shorts, you let out a gasp as someone pulls your body towards your front wrapping their arms around your mid section

“you thought you was gone get away with that lil show back there, mama? i wasn’t gone say nun?” jey speaks into your neck before placing kisses on it pressing himself against your ass

“what’re you gonna do about it than?” you respond pushing your thumbs into your shorts, pooling them at your ankles. he briefly takes in your lack of panties under your shorts. you turn around to face the man smashing your lips to his.

“you was tryna get fucked, ma? where you thought you was goin’ like this?” he grunts against your lips, his hand snaking down towards your pussy rubbing your clit.

he rubbed in vigorous circles stimulating your juices, “yea…you wanted some dick tonight didn’t you? wet ass pussy.” he rasped out sinking his fingers into your pussy curling them towards your spot

“mmmm, right there.” you sighed into his mouth sucking on his tongue as he pushed his fingers in and out of your pussy, the noises bouncing off the walls. “ahhh, baby!” you whimpered

“nah, you not cummin on my fingers. tryna taste you on my tongue, ma. just know it’s sweet.” jey pushed you both into the shower, pushing your back against the wall shower wall.

he took off his muscle tank before stepping out of his shorts. his 3rd leg slapping against his stomach, pointing towards you, long, thick, and hard. he used his hand that was inside of you to moisten his dick. he dropped to his knees before lifting your own over his muscular shoulder. his tongue darting out to your clit before sucking it into his mouth.

“m-mm! shit!” you reached down gripping his hair pulling his face closer towards your soaking pussy. your juices coating his beard. you felt the tightness in your belly before you came into his mouth. wet heat drenching his tongue as he made sure not to miss a drop.

as you rode your orgasm out on his tongue, you felt him slide in two fingers againbefore pulling his mouth away, “tight ass pussy, mama. bend over.”

jey quickly spun you around before bending you over. he spread your ass cheeks watching your juices seep out of you, making a mess in between your thighs. his eyes moved upwards towards your asshole before letting a glob of spit out over it. he rubbed his dick through your slit to lube himself up, before pushing inside of you and pushing a finger into your 2nd hole.

“ssss—ahhh. jey!” you hissed out as his dick split you wider with each inch he fed you and the intrusion of his finger inside your asshole.

“shit! you grippin’ me so good ma. my pretty girl.” he groaned before starting to fuck into you “relax, you can take it. stand on your toes…there you go, baby.”

he starts moving slowly, dragging his hips back until he’s just at the tip—nearly empty before plunging back inside, earning a squeak from you. his thumb thrusting in and out, as his other grips your hips pulling you to meet his thrust. you're moaning his name and begging him to move faster, harder, and deeper.

he raised his leg up onto the shower bench next to you, the new angle allowing him to dig deeper into your pussy. his dick bottoming out each time as he sped up. that thumping vein rubbing your spot. the beautiful mess you both made dripping between your thighs. jey threw out a string of praises; nearly chanting about how wet you were.

“so fuckin’ wet, baby. wet ass pussy.” he cracks a hand against your ass, “i’m slidin’ right in, ma.”

“just like that, jey…ouuu, fuck daddy! i’m cumminn.” you whined out. you placed your hands on the wall before throwing your ass back onto his lap.

he reaches his hand over to vigorously rub your clit. the friction sending you into overdrive and moments later your clamping down onto him squirting all over him. the heat melting your body, eyes rolling back, and unable to string coherent words other than his name.

“keep cummin’ for me, baby.” he groans fucking you through your orgasm chasing his own, his pace becoming rapid. “doin so good, mama. get whatchu’ need from me, baby…get your nut.”

him sliding all the way out and pushing all the way back in. his big mushroom tip brushing over your clit. the combo making your pussy clenching again for a 2nd time as he curses at the feeling before painting your walls with his cum, plugging his dick into you making sure not one drop of your love making spilled. you released a whine at the sensation of his warm cum splattering all over your pussy for awhile, mixing with your own.

you wanted to relish in it—the euphoric cloud over the both of you nearly dragging you under.

“damn, girl. i been waiting to do that for a min’ now. shit better than i dreamed about.” he pants before pulling out of you

your pussy clenching down to do everything in its power to keep him in. the feeling of being stretched so full with his dick and his cum becoming an obsession. he licked his lips at the sight of everything spilling out of your pussy.

“how oft—often do you come to the gym?” you ask after catching your breath and standing to face him

“however often you want me. literally too.” he joked before placing a kiss on your lips

[skyguytoast]

HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN X COSPLAYER!READER - PART THREE

SYNOPSIS: Hayden helps you craft your new cosplay.

WARNING: none, just fluff

WORDS: 1.4k

A/N: as always i open for request, don’t be shy…anyway, comments, reblogs are appreciated. kisses and good reading 🥰🤩

It hadn’t taken long for Hayden to realize that dating a cosplayer was... well, an adventure.

He’d wake up to the hum of your sewing machine instead of the coffee pot, catching you cross-legged on the floor, stitching layer after layer of a pleated skirt like it was a sacred ritual. He’d go for a quick morning run and come back to find you painted head-to-toe in green, or blue, or whatever shade your latest project required—half-dressed, paintbrush between your teeth, mumbling about "undertones" and "screen accuracy."

It was chaos. But it was your chaos.

Even when his favorite hoodie ended up smeared with streaks of body paint, Hayden never got mad. He just laughed, tugged it over his head, and tossed it in the laundry with a fond, “Remind me again what character is green this time?”

What really struck him was how dedicated you were. For all the long hours he’d spent on film sets, learning lines and fighting off the fatigue that came with ten-hour days, he couldn’t imagine how you handled whole weekends in full costume—posing for pictures, performing in-character nonstop, barely breaking for water.

You made it look effortless.

And, truthfully, Hayden loved helping you. Whether it was running lines when you cosplayed Padmé or practicing stances with you in the backyard because “Ahsoka would never stand like that,” he was all in.

This time, it was Bo-Katan.

Which explained why he was currently in the living room, carefully wrapping loop after loop of duct tape around your torso while you stood on a stool in leggings and an old tank top.

“Are you sure it’s not too tight, babe?” he asked, brow furrowed with concern. The tape was cinched snugly around your waist and chest, and he was suddenly aware of how hard it must be to breathe.

“That’s the goal, love,” you said with a soft laugh. “It has to be skin-tight so the mold’s accurate.”

Hayden made a small, worried face, like he wasn’t entirely convinced this was necessary but would do anything you asked anyway. “Alright. But if you pass out on me, I’m blaming the Mandalorians.”

You giggled, and that sound was all it took to ease the tightness in his chest. He kept going, wrapping layer after layer, occasionally pausing to ask if you were okay, if anything pinched, if he should slow down. Every few minutes, his fingers brushed your side a little too gently for someone supposedly “taping armor.”

“Okay,” you finally said, once the last piece was smoothed flat. “Time to cut it off.”

Hayden nodded, reaching for the scissors with exaggerated caution. His movements were slow and deliberate, his tongue poking out in concentration. He really didn’t want to mess this up.

“Just cut along the sides,” you coached softly. “And go slow, so you don’t ruin the chest section.”

“I got it, I got it,” he murmured, even as his hands trembled slightly.

Once the mold peeled away from your body in a neat, clean shape, you held it up, turning it in your hands, a smile lighting up your face.

“It turned out amazing,” you beamed, looking down at Hayden with so much affection it made his heart ache.

He looked up at you, eyes wide, cheeks a little pink. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “You killed it.”

His smile bloomed, that shy, boyish grin that made you melt every time. “So… what’s next?” he asked, already scooting closer to you, clearly ready to take on whatever crazy crafting task came next if it meant spending a few more hours like this—with you, in your element, happy.

You reached down, brushing his hair back gently from his face. “Next is tracing the pattern onto foam. Wanna help?”

Hayden didn’t even hesitate. “Only if I get to wear the helmet when it’s done.”

You laughed. “Deal. But no promises you’ll look as good as me.”

He grinned. “Never doubted that for a second.”

And just like that, you got back to work, Hayden kneeling faithfully at your side, his sleeves pushed up as he watched you trace the armor pattern onto foam like it was an ancient craft passed down through generations.

Your focus was so absolutely—tongue sticking out, brow furrowed, brush in hand as you layered glue and paper mache over the base. You were deep in it, completely lost in the rhythm, when suddenly a plate slid into view in front of your face.

A perfectly cut triangle sandwich. Neatly chopped apples on the side.

Your stomach growled like a starved creature.

“When did you leave?” you blinked, genuinely surprised as you set the brush down with a soft thunk. You turned to find Hayden already settling in next to you again, casual and smug.

“You were too busy crafting your beskar masterpiece,” he said with a knowing smile, one brow arched. “So I figured I’d sneak off and make you something before you fully forgot you’re a living being who needs food.”

Your expression softened into a sheepish smile as you picked up the sandwich, holding it with two hands like a kid. “Thank you, love,” you mumbled between bites. “I guess I got carried away. Again.”

Hayden leaned back on his hands, watching you with amused affection as you chewed. “It’s okay. That’s why I’m here. To remind you that cosplay doesn’t count as actual nutrition.”

You let out a quiet laugh, nudging his knee with your foot. “That line absolutely belongs on a sticker.”

He shrugged. “I’ll pitch it to Etsy.”

After a moment, he reached over to pull you gently against him, arm looping around your waist as you leaned your head on his shoulder, still munching on your sandwich. His other hand brushed over the foam armor pieces laid out across the floor, careful not to smudge your work.

“Almost done?” he asked softly, glancing down at the pile of supplies, the bits of duct tape still sticking to the floor.

You sighed contentedly. “Not even close. I’m just finishing the structure. It needs to dry for at least a couple days before we move on to sanding and painting and sealing and—” You stopped yourself, laughing. “Basically, no. But I’m getting there.”

Hayden kissed the top of your head and smiled into your hair. “Then I guess we have a few more cozy craft nights ahead of us.”

“Mm,” you hummed, wrapping your fingers around his hand, squeezing gently. “As long as there’s more of your sandwiches, I think I’ll survive.”

“Don’t worry, darling, I plan to take such good care of my girlfriend,” Hayden promised, smiling at you like you were the only thing in the galaxy that mattered.

You felt it — the weight of that smile. That quiet, steady kind of love that didn’t need grand gestures or a red carpet, just little things. Like triangle sandwiches. And apples. And duct tape armor.

You leaned into him, your cheek resting against his shoulder as his thumb traced lazy, soothing circles against the curve of your waist.

“I think you already do,” you whispered.

He turned his head to press a kiss to your temple, the kind of kiss that lingered—his lips soft and warm, his breath a hush against your skin. “Good,” he murmured, “but I still plan to outdo myself.”

You laughed quietly, letting your eyes flutter closed for a moment. Around you, the living room was a beautiful disaster of glue sticks, foam scraps, reference photos, and love. It didn’t matter that you weren’t even halfway done with the armor. It didn’t matter that your fingers were sticky, or that Hayden had somehow managed to get duct tape stuck to his sock.

What mattered was this.

Him. Here. Now.

“Once Bo-Katan’s finished,” Hayden said softly, “I think you should take her out into the world. To a con. In full armor. Helmet and all.”

You blinked up at him, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “And I’ll be right there with you. Front row. Taking pictures. Holding your helmet when you need a break. Carrying your bag like a doting little roadie.”

You giggled, your heart swelling. “You’d really go?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he said, pressing another kiss just behind your ear. “And since I help bring this cosplay to life, it'd be awkward if I didn’t.”

That made you laugh again—full and bright and real—and Hayden grinned, looking completely smitten.

“Besides,” he added, resting his forehead gently against yours, “you make saving the galaxy look really, really good.”

''I learned from the best'' You smiled so hard your cheeks hurt. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he whispered. “Now and always.”

And as the stars blinked outside your window and the armor dried in the corner, you let yourself believe it fully, completely, without question.

You were safe. You were loved. And you had Hayden as your crafting partner, your biggest fan, and the softest space to fall.

Not a bad deal at all.

TAG LIST: @ihearthayden @anakinstwinklebunny @sometimescharlolette @awhhayden @dessxoxsworld @throughparisallthroughrome

[seungkw1]

since your asks are open, makeout sesh with wonwoo/woozi? and some touches here and there if you could. amazing works btw!!

morning coffee — ljh

♡ pairing: lee jihoon x afab!reader ♡ theme: boyfriend!woozi, suggestive, fluff ♡ wc: 0.8k ♡ warnings: a lil over-the-clothes titty grabbing action but that’s it ♡ a/n: thank u sm anon for my first request hehe, hope this is what you were looking for!

your alarm goes off at 8:00am.

you yawn as you hit snooze, immediately plopping back into the pillows and rolling over. your boyfriend is long gone for work at this point - the coolness of the vacant sheets greets your warm body, feeling refreshing, but making you a bit sad that jihoon isn’t there to be your little spoon.

after a few rounds of snoozes you drag yourself out of bed and into the shower - your limbs on autopilot while your brain is still half-asleep. the warm water is invigorating, and by the time you finish washing up you are wide awake. you hop out and dry off quickly - donning only a tank top and a pair of underwear before bopping on over to the kitchen to get started on some coffee. you go to put grounds into the machine when you pause - the filter is already occupied, a full, fresh pot of coffee sitting there waiting for you.

weird… jihoon doesn’t drink coffee, so why is- 

“that outfit looks good on you.”

you nearly jump out of your skin at the sudden voice. you whip your head around to see jihoon, reclining on the couch, a playful grin on his face.

“jesus you scared me!” you say, hand clutching your chest as you try and calm down your heart rate. “what are you doing here??”

“i don’t work today, remember? i mentioned it last night.”

oh yeah.

“well now i remember,” you reply as you reach for a mug, helping yourself to the hot beverage. “did you make this for me?” 

“just for you, babe.”

the corners of your lips perk up involuntarily. no matter how long you’ve been together, jihoon never fails to find little ways to make you smile every day.

you sip your drink - nice and strong, just the way you like it.

jihoon gazes at you lovingly. “come here, i wanna kiss you.”

you oblige, quickly taking a seat next to him. you set your drink on the coffee table before wrapping your arms around his shoulders, giving him a soft kiss on the lips. you let out a yelp as he suddenly lays down, pulling you over on top of him. your body rests comfortably against his as he draws you in as close as possible - you giggle as he gives you a rapid stream of smooches, his nose squishing into yours. jihoon rubs your back softly as he locks lips with you, his hands running up and down your body slowly. you kiss him back, pressing your mouth into his as you brush your fingers through his hair - he lets out a soft sigh at the sensation.

slowly he slides his hand down to your chest, taking your breast and playing with it - giving it light squeezes and brushing his thumb against your nipple, the feeling sensitive even through your shirt. you slip your hand underneath his t-shirt, caressing his stomach, brushing your palm lightly against his warm skin. jihoon is relentless, his mouth pressing against yours, his tongue tracing around the inside of your mouth, your teeth softly pulling at his tongue as you begin to suck on it. you feel his rapid heartbeat, pounding synchronously with yours. 

you don’t know how long you lay there, bodies intertwined, making out - but you don’t care. time is irrelevant, whatever you were going to do today can wait. 

fervent kisses slow, turning gentle. you plant one more kiss on his lips, lifting your head up to look your boyfriend in the eyes. he looks at you fondly, full of adoration. you feel your already-warm face turn even more flush as you beam back at him.

jihoon stretches his arms out. “so, what did- SHIT” his hand bumps your coffee cup, almost knocking it over. some now-room-temperature coffee sloshes out onto the table, but he grabs the mug before it fully takes a tumble.

“nice catch,” you say with a grin.

“sorry,” he replies, his cheeks turning pink. 

you sit up, about to go grab a towel, but jihoon jumps up before you can, taking the mug with him. he returns from the kitchen with paper towels in one hand and your mug in the other, the coffee now steaming.

“i reheated it for you,” he says as he hands you the cup. you take a sip as he cleans up the spill, the hot beverage gracing your taste buds.

jihoon finishes cleaning and rejoins you on the couch. 

“so what do you have going on today babe?” 

“nothing,” you reply.

he grins back at you before grabbing you and pulling you on top of him once more. you laugh as he starts kissing your cheek again.

“good.”

[yungistiny]

Heaven And Back ═ chapter four

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter four: mine

╚═════════

summary: mingi is trouble wrapped in bleached hair and piercings and maybe that’s exactly what y/n needs

warning: emo mingi, stoner/dealer mingi, use of drugs, first time, unprotected sex, choking, possessive mingi, oral

pairing: mingi x afab reader

genre: romance, drama, smut

word count: 6.3k

chapter three

chapter five coming soon

masterlist

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The cafe was slow for a Monday morning, the kind of lull that made everything feel suspended, like the world was still stretching itself awake.

Y/N stood behind the counter, organizing sugar packets with a little too much care. She wasn’t really paying attention. Her mind kept drifting to warm water, slick skin, the way Mingi’s voice had gone rough when he whispered her name against her neck.

She bit her lip and smiled to herself, pulse fluttering.

“Alright, what the hell is that face?”

Y/N jumped.

Wooyoung was leaning against the espresso machine, arms crossed, one brow arched high. “You’re smiling at coffee stirrers like they just proposed.”

She blinked, caught. “I’m not..”

“You are. You absolutely are.” He stepped closer, squinting at her. “Your skin looks too glowy. Your mood is suspiciously mellow. And is that a hickey or a constellation?”

Y/N let out a groan and buried her face in her hands. “Please don’t make me talk about this right now.”

“Oh my god, you slept with him.” Wooyoung hissed, grabbing her wrist. “You totally slept with him, didn’t you?”

“Can you not announce it to the entire cafe?” Y/N hissed back, eyes darting toward the single customer in the corner.

Wooyoung leaned in, eyes wide and sparkling with mischief. “So? Was it… did he live up to the whole tall, dangerous fantasy?”

Y/N hesitated, and then her expression softened, a blush blooming across her cheeks.

Wooyoung’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god. You’re ruined, aren’t you?”

She swatted at him with a laugh, but didn’t deny it.

And Wooyoung, grinning like the devil, slung an arm around her shoulders. “You better tell me everything on our lunch break. I want a play by play. Actually, no. I want poetry. A sonnet.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re in trouble,” he sing songed. “You’re catching feelings for the plug.”

She didn’t answer that, mostly because he was right.

They slipped back into rhythm after that, bantering between customer orders, stealing sips of cold brew and dodging each other in the tight space behind the counter like it was choreography. But Wooyoung didn’t miss the way Y/N would zone out while restocking the pastry case or how she hummed under her breath while wiping down the counter, a tune he didn’t recognize, but knew wasn’t from the cafe playlist.

By the time noon rolled around, the cafe had picked up. The usual lunch crowd trickled in, office workers and students balancing laptops and overpriced salads. Y/N was mid pour, filling a to go cup with oat milk when Wooyoung nudged her sharply with his elbow.

“Your boy’s here.”

She didn’t even have to look, she felt it first, like gravity had shifted. That pull. That flutter.

Still, she played it cool.

Mingi had that effortless swagger, even in broad daylight. Black hoodie half zipped over a ribbed tank, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. He smelled like musk and something darker, like heat clinging to skin after a long night. He offered Wooyoung a nod, but his eyes locked on Y/N.

Wooyoung raised a brow. “You want to take this one, or should I?”

She was already moving.

Mingi leaned casually against the counter, mouth curling into a smirk. “Hey.”

“Hi.” She said, blushing, keeping her voice light.

He tilted his head. “You free for five minutes?”

She glanced at the growing line. “Give me ten. You staying?”

“For you? Yeah.” He grinned. “I’ll even buy something.”

He stepped aside as she rang up a latte for the next customer, but the heat of his gaze stayed on her, and she felt it in every inch of her body.

Wooyoung slid up beside her again once Mingi was seated, sipping an ice macchiato and scrolling his phone. “You two are gross.”

Y/N bumped him with her hip. “Jealous?”

“Of what? The post coital glow or the fact that you’re clearly in too deep?”

She didn’t answer again.

But when her break came, she brought herself an iced drink to the little table near the back and slid into the seat across from Mingi. His hand found her knee under the table almost instantly, and her smile gave everything away.

Wooyoung watched from behind the counter, shaking his head and muttering to himself, “She’s so ruined.”

The cafe’s buzz faded into the background the second Y/N sat down across from him. The light filtered in through the window just enough to catch on Mingi’s rings, the condensation sliding down the side of his cup, the slight crook in his smile as he looked at her.

“You look tired,” she said, watching him through her lashes.

“Didn’t sleep much,” Mingi replied, voice low. “Someone wore me out.”

Her lips twitched. “You’re blaming me?”

“I’m thanking you.” He murmured, and then his fingers brushed lightly against her knee beneath the table.

The touch made her heart kick, but she didn’t shy away, not this time. She let her leg stay there, warm against his, and leaned in just a little.

“When can I see you again?” He asked, thumb tracing small circles just above the hem of her skirt.

Y/N took a slow sip of her iced coffee, teasing. “That desperate already?”

Mingi laughed, head tilting, eyes scanning her face like he was memorizing it again. “Yeah, kinda. You gonna hold it against me?”

“Maybe,” she said, voice dipping with quiet confidence.

His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth. “Tonight?”

She bit her lip, pretending to consider it. “You’re needy.”

“And you’re cocky now,” he grinned. “I like it.”

Her cheeks warmed, but she held her ground. “Maybe I’ll let you convince me. Depends on how sweet you are for the rest of this visit.”

“Sweet?” he echoed, leaning forward so his knee pressed between hers, barely noticeable under the tablecloth but there. “I wasn’t that sweet in the shower.”

Y/N’s breath hitched just slightly, but her smile didn’t falter. “Exactly.”

Mingi exhaled a soft chuckle, eyes lingering on her like he couldn’t look away.

They didn’t talk much more after that, didn’t need to. His hand stayed warm on her knee, and when her break ended, he didn’t protest. Just stood slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“I’ll text you,” she said.

“You better.”

He left with that lazy, unhurried walk, and Y/N watched him go with her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Behind her, Wooyoung groaned dramatically. “Honestly? I feel like I just watched a soft porno.”

“You wish your life was this interesting,” she quipped, already heading back behind the counter, heart beating a little faster than before.

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The sun had long dipped behind the city skyline by the time Y/N knocked on Mingi’s door. She could hear music faintly from inside, something low and heavy with bass, just like always, and her nerves fluttered in her stomach, even though she’d already been here. Even though he’d already seen every inch of her.

Still, this felt different.

When he opened the door, he looked just as undone as the first time, sweats low on his hips, an oversized black tee, chain hanging around his neck. His hair was damp, like he’d just showered.

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than she expected.

“Hey,” she replied, stepping inside.

He closed the door behind her and kissed her like he’d been waiting all day to do it, slow, warm, deliberate. Her fingers curled into his shirt, and when they parted, her breath came out shaky.

They ended up curled together on the couch, legs tangled beneath a throw blanket, some movie playing quietly in the background. Mingi’s hand traced slow, absentminded patterns along her bare thigh, under her skirt.

It was Y/N who shifted first, sitting up slightly, heart thudding in her chest.

“Mingi?” she asked, chewing her bottom lip.

He looked at her, eyes gentle. “Yeah?”

“I, um…” She hesitated, but forced herself to meet his gaze. “I want to try something. With you.”

That got his full attention. He sat up slightly, brows lifting, but not in surprise, just interest. “Okay.”

She looked down at her lap, flustered. “I’ve never… I’ve never gone down on anyone before, obviously. But I want to. I mean, with you. I want to learn. If that’s okay.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything and she panicked, ready to crawl under the blanket and die.

But then Mingi exhaled, slow and warm, and grabbed her chin gently.

“You sure?”

She nodded quickly. “Yeah. I just… I don’t want to mess it up. I thought maybe you could teach me?”

His thumb brushed her cheekbone. “Baby, you asking me that? Might be the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Her face flamed, but the tension eased out of her shoulders.

He leaned in and kissed her, this time slower. “I’ll show you everything,” he murmured against her mouth. “And you don’t have to be nervous. We’ll take it slow.”

Y/N nodded, heart thudding as he took her hand and guided her off the couch, leading her to his bedroom with that same patience he always had with her, only now, she wasn’t afraid to want.

Not with him.

The bedroom was dimly lit, just the soft amber glow of the lamp on the nightstand painting the walls in warmth. Mingi’s bed was messy, sheets slightly tangled, one pillow half on the floor, but it felt lived in, real. It felt like him.

He let go of her hand only to tug off his shirt, revealing golden skin, the cut of his abs, the silver gleam of his nipple piercings. Y/N swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

Mingi noticed.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

She nodded. “Just… nervous.”

His hand found her waist, coaxing her closer until her body met his. “I’ll tell you what to do. You go at your own pace. And if at any point you want to stop, we stop.”

Y/N breathed out, grounding herself in the heat of his body, the calm in his eyes. “Okay.”

He smiled, kissed her forehead, then leaned back and sank onto the edge of the bed, legs spread just slightly.

“Come here,” he murmured, patting his thigh.

Her hands trembled just a little as she sank to her knees in front of him, heart pounding. He brushed her hair away from her face, his rings cool against her skin.

“You’re already doing perfect,” he whispered.

He tugged down his sweatpants, letting them slide off his hips, and Y/N breath hitched as he freed himself. She blinked, not just from size or nerves, but the sheer intimacy of it. Of this.

Mingi chuckled softly, brushing his thumb across her lower lip. “You can start with your hands. Touch me. Get used to it.”

She reached out, wrapping her fingers around the base of him, warm and thick and pulsing in her grip. The soft groan he let out made her thighs press together.

“Just like that,” he breathed. “Slow strokes. Don’t squeeze too tight… there you go.”

She watched his face as she moved her hand, his lashes fluttering, mouth parting slightly. His praise came gentle but hungry. “You’re so good at this already, baby.”

The nickname sent heat pooling low in her belly.

“Use your mouth whenever you’re ready,” he added, brushing his fingers through her hair. “Start with just the tip. Don’t go too deep.”

Y/N leaned in, lips brushing against the head of him, and he hissed through his teeth. Encouraged, she parted her lips, letting him slide into the warmth of her mouth, just a little at first, and then deeper.

Mingi groaned, head tilting back.

“Fuck, baby. That’s it,” he panted. “Hollow your cheeks a little. Just like that.”

She did, her hands gripping his thighs for balance, heart pounding with every moan she pulled from him. He was gentle, never pushing her, just guiding, one hand stroking her cheek, the other in her hair.

“That feel okay?” he asked, voice strained.

She nodded, mouth still full, and he groaned again.

“Shit. You’re gonna kill me.”

Feeling a little more confident, Y/N decided to see how much of him she could fit, the second she gagged, taking him all the way, Mingi let out the most addictive moan she ever heard, and she wanted more.

She pulled off with a gasp for air, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Mingi was flushed, sweat at his temple, his dick still hard and glistening with her spit.

“You did so good,” he murmured, tugging her up into his lap. “So fucking good.”

Their mouths met in a hungry kiss, and then he was flipping them onto the bed, her back against the pillows, his body caging hers in.

“I need to be inside you again,” he growled into her skin. “But I wanna taste you first.”

Y/N whimpered, already pulling her clothes off.

Mingi was on her before she could think, mouth hot and slow and expert between her thighs. He made her come once, twice, body trembling, back arching, hands in his hair, before he finally put a condom on and slid inside her with a groan that sounded more like a prayer.

They moved slow, Mingi holding her close, whispering things she barely caught. Things like “So tight,” and “You feel like heaven,” and “Can’t believe you’re mine.”

When they came together, it was intense, shattering, and afterwards, he didn’t leave her for a second. Just curled around her, kisses pressed to her shoulders, her neck.

She fell asleep like that.

Wanted.

Safe.

Wrecked in the best way.

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It had been a week.

Seven days of classes, work, and deadlines, of too many late nights and too little sleep. Y/N planner was a mess of highlighter and half scribbled reminders. Her phone buzzed constantly with due dates and unread group chats. And somewhere in between trying to keep her GPA afloat and pulling doubles at the cafe, her body started running on caffeine and fumes.

She hadn’t seen Mingi since.

At first, she didn’t worry. She was busy, he was busy, she knew what he did, and that his world moved fast and late and often didn’t follow the same rules hers did. But as each day passed with just a text or two, a “how was class” here, a “you okay?” there, the anxious thoughts started to creep in.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was just giving her space.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

She was wiping down tables at the cafe when Wooyoung slid behind the counter and stole the rag from her hand.

“Sit down,” he said firmly. “You’re about to fall over.”

“I’m fine.” She lied.

“You’re vibrating with stress and I saw you cry in the walk in fridge yesterday.”

“That was allergies.”

Wooyoung raised a brow. “In a refrigerated space?”

Y/N didn’t answer.

He softened. “What’s going on? School? Work?”

“All of it,” she muttered, leaning on the counter. “And…” she hesitated. “Mingi.”

Wooyoung didn’t say anything right away.

“It’s not bad,” She explained quickly. “I mean…. nothing happened. It’s just… we haven’t really seen each other since, I… went…. I gave him…..” Why was she blushing at the word? “Since I gave him head, and now I’m wondering if maybe that all of this was just… sex. Like, great sex. But just sex.”

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes. “You think he ghosted you?”

“I don’t know,” she rubbed her forehead. “I’m probably just overthinking. I just…. I liked how things felt. It was easy. And now it’s not. And I hate not knowing what we are.”

Wooyoung was quiet for a beat. “Did you ask him?”

Y/N groaned. “No.”

“Then maybe start there, genius.”

She shot him a look.

“Look,” he said, gentler now. “You’re tired and overwhelmed and in your head. You care. That’s not a bad thing. But if you don’t ask him, you’re gonna keep spiraling and assuming the worst, and I know Mingi isn’t the best at texting, but the guy looked wrecked after you left last week. I don’t think you’re a casual hit to him.”

Her heart twisted. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Wooyoung nudged her hip. “So talk to him. Before your brain convinces you he joined a cult or something.”

She laughed, a weak little sound, but real.

And maybe, just maybe, that was what she needed.

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Later that evening, Y/N found herself cross legged on the floor of Wooyoung’s dorm room, head tipped back against the edge of his unmade bed. The window was cracked to let out the smoke, but the room was still hazy, thick with the sweet, earthy scent of the blunt his roommate Yeosang was lazily passing between them.

“I can’t feel my knees,” Y/N murmured, blinking slowly at the ceiling.

“Good,” Wooyoung grinned, sprawled across the bed like a satisfied cat. “Means it’s working.”

Yeosang chuckled from where he was slouched at his desk chair, fingers idly tapping against his thigh. “You’re both lightweights.”

Y/N didn’t argue. She was too far gone, in that blissful, untethered way where her thoughts floated just beneath her skin, and everything she’d been trying not to feel was suddenly impossible to ignore.

Her phone buzzed from the floor next to her leg.

Mingi’s name.

Just a “hey”, simple. Nothing more.

But with her head fuzzy and her heart louder than her logic, something in her snapped.

She unlocked her phone, thumb hovering for a second, then hit the call button.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Wooyoung asked, sitting up a little.

“I’m calling him,” she said, like it was obvious.

“You’re high as shit.”

“So?”

Yeosang blinked. “This feels like a bad idea.”

But it was already ringing.

Y/N held the phone to her ear, heart hammering now under all that haze.

“Y/N?”

Mingi’s voice was warm, rough, like it reached down her spine and curled around her ribs.

“Hi,” she breathed, trying not to slur. “Were you asleep?”

A pause. “No. Just got home. You okay?”

“I’m stoned,” she said plainly. “Like really stoned.”

He chuckled softly. “I can hear that.”

“I miss you.”

That made him quiet.

“And I’ve been thinking,” she went on, eyes fluttering shut. “About… us.”

“Us?” Mingi’s voice gentled, more alert now.

Y/N pressed her cheek against the bed, clutching the phone tighter. “Yeah. I mean…. what even are we?”

Behind her, Wooyoung groaned and face planted into a pillow. Yeosang silently handed him the rest of the blunt.

Mingi didn’t answer right away.

Y/N bit her lip. “You don’t have to say anything right now if it’s like… a bad time or…”

“No,” he cut in, quiet but firm. “I’m just thinking. I didn’t expect this conversation tonight. But I’m glad you called.”

She smiled, eyes glassy. “Even like this?”

“Especially like this,” he said. “You always say what’s really on your mind when you’re high.”

“I’m scared I’m just a good time,” she whispered. “That I caught feelings for someone who didn’t mean to catch mine.”

“You’re not just a good time, Y/N.”

She blinked. “Then what am I?”

“You’re someone I keep thinking about, even when I’m not supposed to,” he said slowly. “You’re the first person I want to text when something’s funny, or fucked up, or when I’ve had a long day. I don’t know what we are yet…. but I want to find out.”

Her breath caught.

“Sleep it off,” Mingi added gently. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay? Face to face.”

“Okay,” she murmured.

“And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I miss you too.”

He hung up.

Y/N stared at the screen, then let it fall against her chest, lips pulled into a slow, sleepy smile.

From the bed, Wooyoung muttered, “That was the hottest, what are we, conversation I’ve ever witnessed.”

Yeosang took another hit. “Mingi’s voice is unfair.”

Y/N just sighed, letting herself sink into the moment, and for the first time all week, felt her anxiety loosen.

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It was late afternoon by the time Y/N made her way to Mingi’s place, the sky painted soft and golden outside. Her heart hadn’t stopped racing since she woke up, groggy, embarrassed, and full of dread over the words she’d spilled the night before.

But he’d said he wanted to talk.

And he’d said he missed her, too.

She stood outside his door for a beat too long before finally knocking. No nervous text first, no warning. She figured she owed him a little boldness after last night’s honesty.

When he opened the door, he was barefoot, hoodie half zipped, his hair messy like he’d just woken up from a nap.

His eyes softened instantly.

“Hey,” he murmured.

“Hey,” she said back, a little breathless.

He stepped aside, and she slipped in quietly. The familiar scent of his place, all warm spice and something faintly smoky, wrapped around her like a hug.

Neither of them spoke right away. It was the first time she’d really looked at him in a week, and he was still too handsome for her to think clearly.

“Do you remember everything from last night?” he finally asked, voice low as he moved to sit on the edge of the couch.

“Most of it,” she said, sitting next to him. “Enough.”

“Do you want to take any of it back?”

She looked up at him, honest. “No.”

His jaw ticked, and his fingers twitched where they rested on his knees. “Good,” he said softly. “Because I meant what I said. I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I just… didn’t know how to say it without messing this up.”

Y/N blinked, warmth creeping into her chest.

“I don’t do labels easily,” he went on, turning slightly toward her. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care. I didn’t just want you for one night.”

She nodded, voice small. “I know.”

“I want more,” Mingi said. “And not just sex. I want your weird little rants, and your late night texts, and your coffee orders that change every week. I want to know what makes you anxious before you even say it.”

Her eyes welled before she could stop them, and she laughed through the sting. “Why do you always know exactly what to say? It’s unfair.”

“Because I’ve been wanting to say it for a while,” he murmured, reaching out to grab her hand.

“So… what are we?” she asked again, gently teasing this time.

Mingi smiled, slow, crooked. “We’re something. We’ll figure the name later.”

“Okay.”

Then he kissed her. And this time, there was no confusion behind it, just promise.

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“You know,” Y/N began, flopped across Wooyoung’s bed with her legs swinging off the edge, “for all that build up, losing my virginity wasn’t some crazy, fireworks exploding moment.”

Wooyoung paused mid scroll on his phone. “Was that a complaint?”

“No! Not at all,” she said quickly, cheeks warming. “It was good. Really good. Just… softer than I expected.”

Wooyoung smirked, setting his phone down. “You expected Mingi to toss you around like a rag doll first time out?”

She groaned. “That is not what I said.”

“But it’s what you were thinking,” he teased, nudging her foot with his. “Be honest.”

Y/N buried her face in his pillow for a second before admitting, “Maybe a little.”

Wooyoung cackled. “Knew it. You’re the type that wants to be folded.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. You love that I’m right.”

She flipped him off but couldn’t hide her grin.

“I mean,” she went on, “we’ve only had sex a few times so far, and it’s been soft, like, hot, yeah, but slow. Gentle. He’s… gone down on me, I went down on him once, which was… kind of a mess at first but still really hot? And now I just…”

“You’re ready for him to destroy you.”

“I didn’t say that!”

Wooyoung gave her a smug little look. “You definitely said that. Your eyes just screamed, Mingi, break me in half!

Y/N shoved him again, both of them laughing.

But her smile turned a little dreamy, gaze drifting toward the ceiling. “I just… want more. I trust him. And I feel like I’m ready now.”

Wooyoung softened a bit. “Then tell him. Mingi’s not an idiot, well, mostly not. If you’re ready, he’ll give you exactly what you want.”

“And if I say the wrong thing?”

“You won’t,” he said, tugging her into a loose side hug. “Because you like him. And he clearly likes you.”

Y/N leaned against him and let out a breath. “God, I’m so screwed.”

“Not yet,” Wooyoung grinned. “But maybe soon, and harder.”

She screamed into the pillow.

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The frat house was packed, warm bodies, pulsing bass, cheap beer, and too sweet jungle juice. Y/N tugged down the hem of her little white dress for the tenth time as she followed Wooyoung and Yeosang through the crowd.

“I still don’t know how you talked me into this,” she muttered.

“You needed a night out,” Wooyoung sang teasingly.

“You’re insufferable,” Yeosang added, trailing behind them with a red cup already in hand.

Y/N just shook her head, smiling despite herself.

She hadn’t planned to drink much, not after the stress of the week, but she’d downed half a cup of whatever neon concoction Yeosang had handed her and was starting to feel the loose edges of tipsy. Her white dress clung to her just right, her skin warm, her lips glossed. It wasn’t meant to be anything more than casual, but she felt good.

So when some random frat guy sidled up next to her while she waited for Wooyoung and Yeosang to reappear with more drinks, she didn’t think much of it.

“You here with anyone?” he asked, clearly staring at her legs. Y/N blinked. “Yeah, actually…”

“That’s too bad,” he said, smirking. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to come upstairs.”

She was mid eye roll when another presence suddenly loomed behind her, the air shifting.

“Back off.”

Y/N turned, heart jolting, and found Mingi.

Black tee stretched over his shoulders, silver chain catching in the strobe lights, jaw tight. His eyes were fixed on the frat guy, expression unreadable except for the unmistakable sharp edge of possessive.

The frat guy, sensing a storm, backed off with raised hands and a muttered “my bad.”

The moment he was gone, Mingi turned to her, and his gaze dragged down her body like a match being lit.

“You knew I’d be here?” he asked lowly, jaw still clenched. Something about seeing another guy with her making him snap.

“I didn’t. Wooyoung dragged me out.”

Mingi’s nostrils flared. “And you were just letting guys hit on you?”

“I didn’t let him do anything.”

His hand landed on her waist, fingers gripping, eyes burning now. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Y/N breath hitched, the tension snapping taut between them. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“That dress. That face. That fucking look in your eye right now.” His voice dropped, low and rough. “You’re pushing me.”

Maybe she was.

But all Y/N could feel in that moment was how close he was, how his jealousy clung to her skin like smoke, how badly she wanted to be under him again. Her pulse throbbed between her thighs, nerves buzzing.

“So what if I am?” she whispered, tilting her chin up.

Mingi blinked, like that caught him off guard, and then his eyes darkened further.

“I want you to fuck me,” she breathed. “For real this time.”

He stared at her a beat longer, chest rising, and then his hand slid down, gripping the back of her thigh hard, drawing her flush against him.

“Then get the fuck out of here with me.”

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The inside of Mingi’s car was dark and quiet, save for the low hum of music and the city lights flashing by. Y/N sat in the passenger seat, dress riding high on her thighs, the buzz of adrenaline and liquor and whatever this thing was between them making her pulse thrum just under her skin.

She glanced over at him, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh, rings glinting in the light. His jaw was clenched, eyes forward, but she could see it, the tension in his knuckles, the tight coil in his shoulders.

He was pissed.

Jealous.

And god, it was hot.

“You’re quiet,” she said, turning toward him, voice low and teasing.

Mingi didn’t look at her. “Trying not to get pulled over.”

She smirked. “Mmm. That’s very responsible of you.”

Still, he didn’t look, but his hand twitched on the wheel.

Y/N leaned a little closer, crossing one leg over the other slowly. “So… that guy back at the party. You didn’t like him talking to me?”

Mingi’s jaw flexed. “You know I didn’t.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice silk. “It’s not like we’re dating.” She really was pushing him now.

He finally glanced at her then, just a flick of his eyes, sharp and dark.

Y/N tilted her head. “I meant it, you know…. when I said I wanted you to fuck me?”

His knuckles turned white on the wheel.

She smiled and trailed one hand over her bare thigh, then slowly reached across the console to rest it on his thigh, fingers light, teasing, right over the seam of his jeans. “I wasn’t just saying it.”

His breath stuttered.

“Y/N,” he warned, voice low and wrecked.

“What?” she asked innocently, palm grazing higher.

He swore under his breath, deep and sharp, and the car jerked slightly as he picked up speed.

“You better stop, or I swear I’ll pull over and have you in the backseat.”

Y/N just grinned, heat building between her legs. “Maybe I want that.”

Mingi looked at her then, really looked, and the growl that left him made her thighs press together.

But he didn’t stop the car.

Not until he pulled into his parking spot outside his apartment building, and Y/N heart skipped a beat. She got out of the car first, but before she could make it to the door, Mingi was right behind her, a hand brushing her arm as he leaned in close.

He stayed that close until they were inside, just at his apartment door.

She could feel the heat of his breath against her neck, and her body instinctively pressed closer to him. “You sure you know what you’re asking for?” Mingi whispered in her ear, his voice smooth, a touch of warning beneath the surface.

Y/N shivered, her skin tingling as her heart raced. Her gaze met his, and in that moment, she saw the unrestrained desire in his eyes.

“Yes.” She whispered, her voice low and teasing, but filled with the edge of something more vulnerable. “I want you to.”

Mingi didn’t respond right away, his eyes darkening as he reached out, fingers grazing her cheek before sliding down to her jaw. The contact was electric, sending a jolt through her entire body.

“You really want that?” he asked, his voice raw with a need that matched hers.

Y/N nodded slowly, biting her lip as she closed the distance between them. “Yes. I want you to take control. Show me what you can do.”

The words were barely out of her mouth when Mingi’s lips were on hers, deep, demanding, and full of hunger. His hands slipped under her dress, grasping her hips as he pulled her against him. She moaned softly at the contact, feeling his arousal pressing against her.

Mingi’s breath hitched as he pulled away just enough to look into her eyes. “You want me to fuck you? I’ll do more than that.”

He unlocked his door and pulled her inside, kissing her again, this time with more urgency. His hands explored her body, tracing the curves of her waist, the dip of her back, and then pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

She felt her resolve begin to melt as he guided her backward, pressing her against the door of his apartment. He was relentless, his hands never stopping as they moved from her waist to her thighs, his fingers trailing dangerously close to where she wanted him most.

“Tell me you want this,” he said, needing once again to make sure, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down her spine.

“I want it. I want you,” she breathed, her words rushed and barely audible.

Mingi smiled, his hands sliding beneath her dress, fingers caressing the bare skin of her inner thighs.

He kissed her like he’d been starving, lifting her up and carrying her to his room, hands all over her, lips devouring every inch of exposed skin as she clawed at his back, pulling him down onto the bed with her. His mouth trailed down her neck, her chest, dragging the hem of her shirt up inch by inch until he could finally taste her skin.

“I think im addicted to this,” he breathed against her hipbone. “to you.”

She gasped as he dropped between her thighs, fingers spreading her open, tongue licking a slow, devastating stripe that made her hips lift off the mattress.

“Mingi..”

“I got you,” he murmured, gripping her thighs tighter, locking her in place.

And then he ate her alive, slow and filthy, his mouth working her until her moans were breathless, legs trembling, hands fisting the sheets. He didn’t stop until she was crying out, eyes fluttering shut as her orgasm crashed through her.

She hadn’t even caught her breath before he kissed his way back up her body, capturing her mouth again, letting her taste herself on his lips.

“My turn,” she whispered against his mouth.

And then she flipped them, taking him by surprise, straddling him, her hands dragging down his chest, nails teasing every line of muscle as she lowered herself between his thighs.

Mingi hissed through his teeth, watching her with hooded eyes as she took him into her mouth, slow and deep. “Fuck…. Y/N…”

She gave him everything, tongue swirling, lips tight, hollowing her cheeks, just like he taught her, dragging every reaction from his body like she was playing him like a damn instrument. His head fell back, one hand gripping the headboard, the other tangled in her hair.

“You keep doing that,” he groaned, “and I’m not gonna last…”

She pulled back with a smug smile, licking him one last time before crawling up his body. “Maybe I don’t want you to last.” She bit her bottom lip. “I’m on birth control now…”

He flipped her fast, her back hitting the mattress with a gasp, legs wrapping around him as he slammed into her in one perfect, hard thrust. Because fuck, he was going to make sure he filled her full. They both cried out, raw, desperate, ruined.

His rhythm was punishing at first, hips snapping into hers with a force that had the bed creaking, her fingers raking down his back as he buried his face in her neck.

Then he slowed.

Grabbed her thighs.

Flipped her again.

She barely had time to adjust before he pulled her back, chest to her back, his dick driving into her from behind while one hand snaked around her throat, tight, possessive.

She turned her face toward his, lips parted in a moan.

“You know you’re mine now, angel,” Mingi growled against her ear, breath ragged. “mine.”

Her gasp was a broken sob as he fucked her harder, his fingers pressing into her skin like he was trying to mark her from the inside out.

They came together, breathless and shaking, collapsing in a heap of tangled limbs and sweat soaked sheets. Mingi stayed behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, chest pressed to her back, face buried in her shoulder.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Y/N slowly stirred awake, the warmth of the bed around her making her feel cocooned in the soft sheets. Her eyes fluttered open, and the soft morning light filtered through the curtains. She glanced around, her hand reaching out for Mingi instinctively, but found the spot beside her cold.

The bed was still warm, as if he had just left, but the silence was unsettling.

She sat up, pulling one of Mingi’s oversized shirts over her head as she stretched, feeling the slight soreness from the night before. There was a quiet hum in the air, the kind that told her he wasn’t far.

Curiosity tugged at her, and she padded barefoot across the apartment, the sound of her steps barely echoing on the hardwood floor. She followed the faint murmur of voices and the smell of coffee to the living room, where Mingi stood talking to someone, a man she didn’t recognize. The low hum of his voice was almost like a lullaby, calm and controlled, but his posture was sharp, the way his hands gestured signaling a conversation that was anything but casual.

Y/N paused in the doorway, still trying to fully shake off the haze of sleep. She watched for a moment, unsure whether to interrupt, but then Mingi’s voice broke through the tension in the room.

“You’re up,” he said, his eyes flicking to her, an unreadable expression passing over his features before he turned back to the man in front of him. The other guy gave a nod, as if acknowledging her presence, but Mingi kept his attention on the transaction.

Y/N shifted, not quite sure what to do. She had expected something different when she woke up this morning. Not this. Not him conducting business with a stranger while she stood there, wearing his shirt and still feeling the aftereffects of their intense night together.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mingi finally added, his tone soft, almost reassuring, as if sensing her hesitation. “This won’t take long.”

She nodded, her eyes lingering on him as she walked past, heading to the kitchen to make herself a coffee. Despite the disconnect between them, she couldn’t shake the small pang in her chest.

It was clear to her now that Mingi had his own world, one she hadn’t fully stepped into, even after everything that had happened between them. And maybe she wasn’t quite ready to either.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

permanent tag list: @straycat420 @autieofthevalley @dejatiny @hannahlilibet411 @xh01bri @jintastic-yuyu @maddycline @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @wooyoungsbrat @lucid-galaxys-world @ecriggs1990 @straytiny127 @sannies-tiddies @hannahstacos

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[monsoon-of-art]

I've been struggling with writing for a bit, but I found the inspiration for a tiny snippet for Megamer yay!

Rock goes into the Medical Room to get a real look at one of his brothers... (Takes place during events of MM1)

Rock carefully crept through the lab, nudging open doors and wiggling under furniture.

Finally, he reached the door to the Medical Room. Rock had never liked the Medical Room, an opinion he had shared with his father once.

“Your physiology is very different from what most doctors are used to.” He explained with a smile, ruffling Rock’s hair. “If something happens to you - and I hope nothing does - we can use that room and all the equipment inside to treat you.”

“When your brothers were smaller, they'd go there if they got sick. But they're bigger now, and very strong. They don't need that room anymore, and hopefully, in the future, neither will you.”

That wasn't true, but in Dr. Light's defense, he couldn't predict his old colleague would give all of Rock’s brothers earpieces that would drive them mad.

Each one had a smattering of cuts and bruises, exhausted from days of constant audio torment. No sleeping, no eating, only a constant, high pitched nightmare.

Rock certainly didn't blame them for acting so aggressively, it wasn't their fault, but he wished he didn't have to be the one to fix it.

After each encounter, Dr. Light and his drones would scoop up one of his brothers and carry them back to the lab and into the Medical Room.

And as Rock nudged open the door, he could confidently confirm that he still did not like the Medical Room.

It was just too clean. Completely sterile. There wasn't the typical clutter from Dad, or any of their toys or games or books, the walls and floor and ceiling a stark white. Scary looking instruments and tools and machines were arranged in a claustrophobic manner, forcing Rock to awkwardly slither and wiggle to navigate to the tank.

The tank. The very large tank. Completely devoid of toys or plants or anything fun. A very large tank with water tinted blue from medicine, with tubes and wires and other strangeness inside.

Currently, all the lights were off. The only light came from the dim glow of the tank and medical machines.

Rock wiggled closer, hesitant, cautious, to look at the tank’s only occupant.

Elec wasn’t the largest of his brothers, nor was he the strongest physically - Guts took both of those titles - but Elec had been so dangerously fast, his electrical attacks so threatening, and the overall confrontation so very terrifying…it had been the worst one by far. 

Rock was glad that Elec had been last. No more fights with his brothers.

And now, the same mer who had snarled and hissed and shot electricity and tried to kill him just a few hours ago was laying motionless in the tank. It was almost hard to believe, as he lay completely still, curled up in such a way that he was almost unrecognizable. All Rock could see were his large fins and tail, covered in wrappings and bandages, with tubes and wires attached to him.

The only sign of life was the faint beeping of a heart monitor somewhere else in the room.

What a terrible first meeting.

Rock and Roll were going to meet their older brothers soon, Dad had planned it, he had given the all clear, the two of them were big enough for brief ‘field trips’ to the water…

And this happened instead.

He briefly wondered if they'd get a “do-over” after all of this was said and done.

Rock had no intention of disturbing his brother. He clearly needed rest.

When he had finally managed to yank Wily’s communication devices out of Elec’s ears, it was almost as if someone had flipped a switch. Elec had immediately passed out, sinking to the floor like a stone. Rock nudged and tried to wake him up, with no success.

But now, Rock could confirm his brother was stable, and didn't want to wake him up (and he really wanted to get out of this room).

Just as he turned away, he heard shifting and the tank water sloshing against the glass walls.

A voice rasped, “...You're…Rock.”

He turned, seeing Elec shifting in his tank, still mostly curled up, still mostly hidden behind fins and tail, but now facing towards the little pup sitting on the floor. Kinda. 

Slowly, Elec lowered his head to the bottom of the tank, cheek against the floor, acting as if it was too tiring to even keep his head up. He just stared at Rock with half-lidded eyes, waiting.

Rock struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. Elec really shouldn’t be awake, not this early, and he had no idea if his older brother could be holding a potential grudge.

“Y…Yes sir, I-I’m sorry-”

“Don’t.” he growled, firmly, then he winced at his own volume. Softer, he continued, “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault.”

Rock said nothing. He could feel himself instinctively curl his tail closer, appearing smaller in the presence of his - still kinda scary - brother.

He watched Elec’s eyes quickly flicker over him. “...I hurt you.” Not really a question, more of a statement. 

Rock said nothing. Instead focusing on a speck on the floor, ears tilted down and fins flat.

(What was he supposed to say? “Yes”?)

How terribly awkward. He didn't just want to leave, not with Elec staring him down like this.

“Are the others alright?”

Finally, a question he could answer. “Yes. Dad patched them up, they're in the cove. They're tired, b-but dad says they'll be alright.” Rock briefly made eye contact with his brother before looking back down at a different speck on the floor.

More agonizing silence. Rock shifted his claws against the floor, wondering if he could scoot backwards and out of the room, and if that would be worse than just turning around to leave. Before he could come to a decision,

“You're scared of me.”

Anxiety bubbled in Rock's chest at his words. No, no, he wasn't, he wasn't! They just had a bad first impression, that could be fixed! Dad had told him and Roll over and over how excited their brothers were to meet them, how they already loved them so so much-

But Rock couldn't help but stammer, struggling to find the right words to explain.

This was all Elec needed to hear.

With a tired sigh, he shifted in his tank. “Please leave.”

“W-wait, no, it's not like that-”

But Elec had already turned away, silent and still once more.

Rock let out a mournful croon, pawing at the tank to try and get his attention. All he succeeded in doing was causing his brother to curl up even further.

He wasn’t getting a response from his older brother. Rock let himself slump back onto the floor, giving the tank one last look before quietly leaving the Medical Room.

[echoalyssa]

Counterparts | Brian O’Conner

The night air is warm, almost comforting. The city of Los Angeles seemed to have decided to go to sleep tonight. The city, normally bustling with life, was quiet, peaceful. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks up at the moon.

I’m standing in front of Mercy Park’s garage checking the oil level of my bike. My brother Logan is lingering by the bay doors, rearranging a stack of Husky jacks that really did not need to be rearranged. He was skeptical about me going riding with someone outside of our crew, but I had known Brian for years.

He drove with Dominic Toretto. Toretto’s crew were technically our rivals as we worked out of the same part of LA. Though Dom and Kaneko, the leader of the Mercy Park Crew, had come to an agreement to coexist.

We’d decided to leave the JDM’s at home tonight. It was perfect weather to take the bikes out and we’d both been neglecting the machines.

         The loud thrum of Brian’s bike alerts me that he is around the corner. I glance at Logan and narrow my eyes at him, begging him to go back inside and talk to Toby or Ximena. He was ridiculously worried about Brian considering his girlfriend’s dad was the cop who had almost brought us all in. 

Brian comes around the corner and pulls into the garage’s parking lot. He nudges the kickstand out with his right booted foot and then turns the key in the ignition to shut the machine off. He tugs his helmet off, revealing his blonde curls and striking blue eyes. The smile that he aims at me is intoxicating.

He dismounts his bike and crosses the distance towards me. I open my arms for him immediately. His arms go around my waist, and I loop mine around his neck. He smells like oil mixed with an earthy undertone. Brian holds me for a good minute before he steps back and flashes me with that grin again. 

“It’s been too long.” He glances over your shoulder and raises his hand in a wave, “Hey Logan!”

I hear the garage door close and know that my brother has finally left us alone.

“You look good.” I murmur back to him. And he does, he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and black jeans. He has his steel toes on and a thin gold chair dangles around his neck. He’s showered recently, his hair bearing the signs of water. Though somehow there is a dirt smudge just under his jaw, as if he just can’t quite seem to stay away from the grime of working on cars.

Brian pokes the tip of my nose with his index finger and then glances at the garage behind me. He tilts his head in the direction of the street. Even though both crews were on good terms did not mean that we should be hanging out together in broad view.

I pull my hair into a loose braid before sliding my helmet on. Brian starts his bike again, throwing a leg over. He maneuvers it backwards so that he can pull back out onto the road. It’s currently wrapped in white with the signature Toretto decals on the gas tank.

My own bike, a Kawasaki Ninja is blacked out. I went for stealth. The machine roars to life underneath me. Brian nods in my direction and together we rev the engines before taking off down the road.

I let Brian lead; I didn’t mind where we went as long as I would get an adrenaline rush. He takes us through a few side streets before we hit the ramp to the highway. He turns his head, checking to make sure that I am still behind him.

The second he confirms that I am still following behind him like his little shadow, he tucks and takes off down the empty highway. My heart soars as I accelerate after him. The red needle on my speedometer quickly craws into the triple digits.

We’re absolutely soaring, breaking felony speeds, but neither of us have plates. The wind whips his t-shirt around, making the fabric crawl upward so it bunches around his chest and exposes the hard planes of muscle. 

There aren’t many people out on the highway, but we weave through the ones that are. We’re perfectly in sync, reading each other’s movements without needing to communicate. I give the throttle a little more and go surging past him, but only for a moment. He overtakes me. It continues like this for miles, each of us going for the lead. The city is a blur around us.

I outstretch a hand to the wind, feeling the way it pushes my arm back in because of the speed. Anyone who saw us together must have been in awe, we give off an almost ethereal aura. Yin and Yang. Light and dark. One and the same.

We were brothers. But bound by more than blood. We were twins as well. Counterparts. Gangster princes of the city we met.

No amount of words could describe the perfection of the moment between the two of us. A picture would do no justice.

Adrenaline pumps through my veins, one mistake and we would be dead, but there was no fear. Only the urge to go faster, to push the limits. That was the thing about Brian, he understood. That if speed was to lead to our demise, we would go out smiling.

Almost too soon, Brian drops a hand to his side, signaling that he is going to take the next exit ramp. He leans into the turn and checks once more, that I’m behind him. We maneuver down a few side roads and then come to a stop atop a hill. The stars are bright tonight, almost defying nature. 

Brian dismounts his bike first, and then he’s in front of me. I haven’t even finished setting up my kickstand before his hands are pulling my helmet off and his lips are brushing against mine. I sigh into him, trusting that I can tip toe the bike and kiss him back. It’s like a weight has been lifted off of my chest

He pulls away but rests his forehead against mine, his fingers brush the strands of hair that had escaped my braid back behind my ears. “I missed you.”

The only response I can find is to pull him back towards me. There wasn’t much time to spare for either of us, both crews were constantly traveling for boosts, but the time that we did have together… we savored it. Loyalties to the crews aside, the two of us would always come back to one another.

[st4rlvr]

TRAINER CHAN :3

The gym was dimly lit, the faint hum of workout machines in the background blending with the occasional clatter of weights. You stood in front of the mirrored wall, adjusting her wrist wraps. Across the room, Chan leaned against a bench, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you.

“Ready for today?” he asked, his voice low but teasing.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” You replied, rolling your shoulders back. you could feel his eyes on you, as intense as they always were during training.

Chan walked over, his athletic build radiating confidence. He was your trainer, your motivator—and, lately, the source of a growing tension you couldn’t ignore. Every session with him felt like a battle, not just against the weights or routines but against the flutter in your chest whenever he came too close.

“Alright, we’re focusing on core strength today,” Chan said, setting a yoga mat on the floor. “Planks, mountain climbers, the works.”

You groaned, though a smile tugged at your lips. “You really enjoy torturing me, don’t you?”

“Hey, it’s my job,” he said, his grin widening.

As they started the session, Chan’s hands occasionally brushed against yours when he adjusted your form. His touch was firm but gentle, sending jolts of electricity up your spine every time.

“Engage your core,” he instructed, kneeling beside you during a side plank. His hand rested lightly on your waist, guiding you. You sucked in a breath, hyper-aware of the warmth of his palm through the thin fabric of your tank top.

“I am,” you said, her voice slightly breathless—not just from the exercise.

Chan chuckled, leaning in closer. “I’m not so sure about that. Tighten up here,” he murmured, his fingers lightly pressing against your abdomen.

The proximity was intoxicating. You fought to keep your focus, but the way his breath brushed against your ear made your heart race.

By the time they moved to the next exercise, the tension in the room had thickened. During a stretch, Chan knelt behind you his hands guiding your arms into position. “Relax,” he said softly, his voice a little gentler now.

You swallowed hard. “Easier said than done.”

“Trust me,” he said, his tone shifting. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Your eyes met in the mirror. For a moment, the world outside the gym disappeared. There was something unspoken between them, something that lingered in the way his gaze softened and the corners of his mouth twitched into a small, almost vulnerable smile.

When the session finally ended, You sat on the mat, catching your breath. Chan handed you a bottle of water and sat beside you, your shoulders brushing.

“You did great today,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“Thanks,” you replied, glancing at him. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

His eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer than usual. “You’ve got more in you than you realize, Y/N. I’ll be here to push you until you see it too.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip. It wasn’t just about training anymore—there was something deeper between them, and you both felt it.

The gym might’ve been where their connection began, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was only the start of something much bigger.

[rav1377]

Steam and Steamier

Nikolai x fem!reader

tw:comfort w our fav Russian, nasty nasty nasty Nikolai and reader, sweat licking(reader), scent kink(reader), smut, shower sex, uh, kissing, etc. lmk if i miss any!

you sat on the couch, book in hand. a soft tune plays from a radio in the corner. sunlight drifts through the window that overlooks the hanger. Nikolai’s working hard today. he got a bunch of new parts for his helicopter, replacing plenty of pieces, including a blade. he’d been huffing and puffing, lifting and screwing and bolting pieces into place. you stand, stretching your arms over your head. walking over to the square window panes, you see him still working. his flight suits unzipped and tied around his hips, showing off his pudgy skin and muscles in a white tank top. he’s just so handsome, you think, black hair slicked back, pieces falling in his face from sweat. his pale skin sheens as he continues to work.

finally, he takes a break, sitting on the entry door opening. you smile and walk to the kitchen before pouring him a glass of water, then walking down the stairs, through the meeting room, and to the main floor. the sun beats in, relentless. he’s all grimy, covered with sweat, grease, and oil. his tank top is sweat stained as he looks at you approaching, smiling. “spasibo” he says, taking the glass from your sweet hands. he’s downing it in seconds, gulp after gulp, water dripping down his chin and chest. he holds the glass back out and you take it. “almost done?” you ask, brushing damp pieces of hair from his face. he nods before standing inside of the machine. “need to replace some of this wiring and then i will be done.”he says, pulling a panel off the wall. you nod, sitting on the edge of the door. “i can wait on you.” you offer, and he nods. “need something nice to look at.” he says, winking at you before returning to work. you smile and watch him work. he mutters some song in russian underneath his breath and you chuckle. “what’s so funny?” he asks, throwing a glance at you. “you.” you reply. “oh i am funny? you didn’t have to tell me that, i was aware.” he laughs when you giggle more, head buried in your arms.

he finishes up the wire replacement, fingers thoroughly dirtied. taking heavy steps to you, you stand, allowing him to sit and dangle his legs over the edge. he spreads his knees apart and you stand between them, allowing him to wrap his hands around your hips. you press your nose under his chin and dart your tongue out to taste the skin of his neck. he inhales sharply, hands gripping you tighter. you smirk and continue licking the expanse of his neck, sweat, grime, and all. your hands drift up his neck to his damp hair, mussing it as you kiss him. his lips taste like sweat but you don’t care, when have you ever? you lift your leg up to sit on his lap, and he shifts so you have more room to sit. you both still continue to make out , his hands riding up your shirt. you pull away and look down, catching your breath. your eyes flit over his soaked wife beater, over his torso, his chest, and thick shoulders. flicker over his biceps and forearms, over his flight suit and everywhere but his eyes. you like the way he is when he’s like this. all sweaty from a hards day work, smelling like musk and oil grease. you’ve never explicitly brought it up to him though, or asked if you could ever try something. but he’s picked up on your body language. they way you sigh and bury your nose behind his ear when he’s done a long days work. when you kiss and lick his chest, sucking bruises on to him before he’s showered.

“milaya.” Nik whispers, tilting your chin to look at him. “you want to do something?” he asks, still whispering, like he’s trying to not scare you. you nod, fingers fiddling with his gold chain. “i’m yours, milaya.” he whispers, lips leaning to touch yours. you nod, lips pursing as he pulls away. “i-i like the way…”you sigh, ashamed to admit this to your husband. Nik’s there though, rubbing your back. “i like the way you smell, nikky.” you whisper, using the little nickname you have for him. Nik nods, holding your cheek. “i am yours.” he affirms. then you’re on him. helps you take his shirt off, allowing you access to his chest. you press your nose into him, tongue peeking out to take small licks. Nik hardens in his flight suit and he grins, head falling back. how’d he get so lucky. most women would avoid him, leave him because of his unnatural work that pulls him all over, cheat on him, or just be boring. but you, milaya, are none of that. you make him feel like he’s a teenager again, full of life, always wanting him and him alone. things like this simply boost his ego. he could never be disgusted by you or your wants. he feels your nose drift to under his arm, and a small inhale follows. you breathe out over his bicep before kissing the skin there, licking up sweat and grease. finally you seem to have your fill, dragging your mouth back up to his face. he kisses you softly, pecking the sides of your mouth and cheek. Nik rises, holding your ass in his large hands.

“come. let’s go rinse off.” he says, leading you to the apartment. “sure, as long as it isn’t the only thing we do.” you say, leaning into his side. Nik scoffs and looks down at you. “when is it ever?” you know that he’s partially serious, the two of you can’t seem to spend one shower together where you don’t jump on each other like wolves in heat.

as you open the door to the meeting room, Nik’s arms come up around you and he scoops you up bridal style, causing you to squeal. he’s bounding up the stairs and to the bathrooms down the far hall. you’re laughing in his arms, pressing kisses all over his large face. Nik opens the door, plopping you write on the counter sink. he turns, reaching into the shower to turn it on, shutting the glass door behind it. he peels off his shirt, tugging down his flight suit the rest of the way. Nik turns to you but you’re already ahead, yanking off the spaghetti strap top you wear, no bra underneath. your skirt is next, again, no underwear underneath, just the way Nikolai likes it. once you’re both bare he’s opening the door, holding it for you like a gentleman, like you’re not stripped down to nothing. you step in and face him again. you instantly morph to the position you tend to be most comfortable in, Nikolai’s hands cupping your hips, roaming to your ass, your hands on his shoulders or gripping his biceps. you feel his length pressing into your stomach as he kisses you, further turning you on.

hes pushing you back against the wall, nipping at your neck. you opt to run your hands down his chest, curling and brushing over his chest hair. they drift down further as the water runs over you both, and you grasp his member, moving your hand up and down slowly, thumb brushing over his tip, causing a groan. “don’t tease me.”he growls against your temple. you laugh and increase your actions, hand moving quicker. his fingers push your back against the wall before curling in between your legs, playing with you softly. Nik’s beginning to pant, a sign he’s close. your other hand reaches down further and softly massages his balls. he groans, twitching in your hand. “you close, Nikky?”you playfully ask. “don-don’t call me that.” he growls, pressing his head against yours. he doesn’t actually hate the nickname, finds it cute, but he certainly can’t let you know that. he’d never hear the end of it. “mm. fine. please come in my hand, Nikolai.” you murmur. Nik groans, obeying as he spills over your lower stomach. his actions on your clit have long stopped, but he’s not done. he swiftly picks you up like nothing ever happened, pushing you against the wall and lining himself with you. he’s not quite all the way hard but that doesn’t stop him. he pushes in and you buck with each inch. you can never get over just how thick he is. everything about him really. his shoulders and large chest, stomach soft from all the nice meals you feed him. thick and hairy happy trail leading to his length. his large thighs help pin you, even harrier and pudgier. your favorite seat. but right now as he pushes into you, his cock might be the favorite thing about him. it drags on the side of your walls perfectly, making you feel full and satisfied. it kisses that sweet spot inside you with each hard thrust.

Nik’s grasping onto you in a chokehold, unrelenting pace as you mewl, fingers pulling the hair on his nape. he continues to push you closer and your abs throb, coil tensing. your clit pulses and you whine, needing more. “niknikniknik” you chant, pulling onto his hair like a vice. “i know milaya i know.”he grunts, fingers playing with you finally. he’s building you up and up and up. pinching your clit, he captures your lips in his mouth as you gasp. he rubs furiously, and pushes deeper with each thrust. you swear he’s in your womb now and you sob from the pleasure. “you’re too good to me milaya. so so glad i have you.” Nik says, kissing your collar bone. you keen and begin begging, needing release. “please, nikky. lemmecomelemmecomelemmecome.”you whine, trying to grind down on him more. his tip hits your cervix just as his fingers rub over your clit perfectly. “come on then, come on me.” he growls, and you do, hard. gasping and twitching in his arms, it sends him to his own release and he lets out a guttural moan, legs going limp. his knees fall to the ground as your still perched on him, ass flush with his thighs. you stay there until you both come down from your highs, water slipping between the two of you.

you’re the first to move, climbing off of him slowly. reaching up in the ledge, you grab some shampoo, pouring a healthy amount in your hand before scrubbing it into Nikolai’s scalp. he hums pleasantly, eyes closing. you smile, continuing to work until your confident all hair slick, sweat, and grease is out of his thick hair. you push him by the shoulder into the stream and wash it all out, moving onto conditioner. his hair becomes wavy, small curls forming in his hair, winding together. when you finish the conditioner, you grab some soap and his rag, beginning to scrub every inch of him, removing layers of grime and dirt. “thank you milaya.” he whispers when you crouch in front of him to scrub his chest. he’s gazing at you lovingly, eyes lidded as he smirks at you. “anything for my husband.” you reply, kissing his nose. he rises finally, and helps repay the favor, aiding you with your hair and skin routine. the bathroom is fogged up with steam when you step out, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel. Nik follows, drying his hairy chest off. you walk to the bedroom and pull on a black nightgown, Nik’s favorite. it’s not even sexual, but he loves seeing you in it, the way your curves fit in it and how it flows around your legs. he follows, throwing on a comfortable pair of boxers. “Nikolai don’t you dare brush out that hair.” you growl at him when he picks up a brush. it’s just so soft, and curls up nicely. he relents today, leaving it tangled. walking to the kitchen, you pull out the pasta from earlier that day when you’d meal prepped, and pour it into a pan to reheat.

you sit there, eating alfredo pasta in a hanger in the middle of nowhere. you’re with Nikolai though, and that’s all that matters. he’s truly tired now, and you drag him back to bed after leaving dishes in the sink. the sun is long gone, the stars and moonlight shining through the open hanger door and into the apartment windows. the room is dark though when you push him onto the bed. curling up, he pulls you close, nuzzling his nose into your hair. he’s asleep almost instantly and you smile, hand resting on his big chest. that’s the secret you suppose. a long hard day of work, a warm and big dinner, and a good lay with his wife is all he needs to sleep well at night.

that’s all you need too, you suppose.

[just-some-random-blogger]

He Tells Me

Masterlist

You've fallen into psychological stalemate with a man who does things for you without needing to be asked, and neither of you want to give up the last say.

Joel Miller x Reader | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, fluff, overgiver!joel & yn, ellie 'JUST FUCKING KISS ALREADY' williams, typos, etc.

A/N: ive fallen into this song again. ITS SO JOEL CODED

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @multifandom-fangirl4

▶ ♪ Play touch tank by quinnie ♪ ◀

I love you isn't always I and Love and You; it isn't always the words that tumble out of your mouth or the lump that's stuck in your throat.

I love you isn't always a kiss and a hug; it isn't always the way lips brush against skin or chests press against chests.

Sometimes it's good mornings. Good morning, I love you. Did you sleep well, I love you. Have you eaten, I love you.

I love you, I did the dishes.

I love you, I fixed your faulty light.

Hey, let me carry that for you.

This reminded me of you, here.

I think you'd like this.

I love you.

But somehow, those I love yous read to you as you owe mes, and now, you were paying back every bit of your debt with blood, sweet, and a burnt hand.

Ellie opens the door and smiles, immediately calling your name and pulling you into a side hug. You lean into her embrace as much as the steaming casserole in your hand will allow you.

"You made it just in time for dinner!" she says, pushing you in with her.

You chuckle, "oh, Elle-machine. I'm just here to drop this off and-"

"Don't be silly," a voice cuts you off. Joel comes down from the stairs, barely glancing your way as he overtakes you both, heading for the kitchen. Still, you notice his faint smile and a shot of electricity ripples down your spine, a swell of warmth crawls up your ears.

Joel walks off, grunting as he did, "you're staying for dinner. End of story."

Ellie watches you be rendered frozen in your spot. She does not hide her grin, "he just called you silly."

You turn to her, finding the pot in your hand was feeling heavier, "... he did."

You and Ellie make it to the dining table and you set the food you prepared on a table next to the other dishes.

"Wow," you mutter, "roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and a salad," you look up at Joel, who was walking over with another pot. He sets the pot down as you turn to Ellie, "is it your birthday or something?"

"No," Ellie sit down with a smile, "Joel just knows I'm a growing child who needs her food."

You bring a hand to your mouth to hold in your giggles. Joel catches this and furrows his brows.

"Consider me jealous, honey," you tease her.

"Well, you could always move in with us," Ellie props her elbows on the table.

Before you can reply, Joel takes your hand, making both you and Ellie turn to him. Your heart pounds. His expression hardens as he takes in the cloth wrapped around your palms, "what happened to your hand?"

You watch him examine your hand a second too long. Joel looks back at out, ripping a response from your lips, "I- uh- the... the casserole."

Joel raises his brows, "you burnt your hand cooking?"

The worry in his brown eyes ate away at your heart. You clench your jaw, unwilling to admit you were a useless and bad cook, "... no."

Joel thinks back to the contents of the first aid kit in the compound.

"I- I was doing something with the pot and then I-"

"I think Tommy has burn ointment somewhere," Joel trails off, immediately releasing my hand and marching off.

Your stomach drops. You immediately catch his arm, "wait!"

Joel stops in his tracks, looking back at you.

"It's not a big deal!" you say through an airy chuckle, "I put it under running water for a while. I just put a wrap because it hurts when I-"

His hand, warm and gentle, coming atop yours cuts you off. Joel shifts in his spot; your ears perk, as they were sensitive to the sound of his boots. He gives you a look, a kind one, a patient one, a tender one, "it isn't a big deal. I'll be back in two seconds."

The moment Joel walks off, Ellie pipes up, "you should just take a seat. You know you can't argue with him. Well, I mean you can but that normally doesn't end up well." She pats on the empty chair beside her, "want to hear about what I did in school today instead?"

You release a soft breath and smile, "of course, darling."

When Joel came back, he announced there was no burn ointment, but he did find an ice pack. The only problem now, there was no ice. And so as the three of you began to eat, he explained he'd fix the broken ice cream freezer in the warehouse and make ice for you tomorrow. To which you said-

"You really don't have to," you shake your head, suddenly too embarrassed to get anymore food than you already had on your plate. You had one scoop of mashed potatoes.

Joel moves the bowl of mash closer to you then takes off the lid of one pot, "I meant to do it anyway. They found spare parts for it. Now I have a reason," he turns to you, "have some pasta. I made it for you."

Your eyes land on the pot. You begin to feel a nasty little feeling claw up your nape at the thought of Joel going out of his way for you. I mean, you made the casserole to repay him for helping you do your laundry, and if it wasn't bad enough that he saw your underwear, he made you food, one of your favorites. You offer Joel a smile, "thank you, Joel."

He reaches out to your for your plate. You hand it to him wordlessly. He mutters, "you're welcome, sweetheart."

Your lips part. He's never called you that before, only Ellie.

He stills the moment he has your plate in hand, "I- I mean-"

"NAH," Ellie cuts as she rips off a chicken leg, "you called her sweetheart. No take backsies."

Joel clears his throat as he puts pasta on your plate.

When you all finished eating, not a lick was left on your plates. You obviously insisted on washing the dishes and Joel countered you wouldn't be because you were a guest. The back and forth became so insufferable Ellie stepped up and volunteered, insisting instead that Joel walk you back home. You had no means to insist your way out of that.

And so you waited by the front door for Joel to get his jacket from the second floor. When he got it, the two of you headed out, walking quite leisurely.

"You know," you shove your hands in your pockets. You couldn't help it, "my house is literally, like, two steps away from here. You don't have to walk-"

Joel draping his jacket around your shoulders silence you. He pulls the thing by the collar, making sure it was snug on you, "yeah. All the more reason to walk you, since it's so close."

You watch him pull his pants up as he looks around. He offers, "but if it's a challenge you want, we can circle 'round the compound a bit before heading back to yours."

A warmth envelopes you, and it's not because of his jacket.

He turns to you when you don't respond, immediately blurting, "only if you want," he wipes his lips, "I'm not trying to make you do-"

"No, I know," you shake your head, "I know what you mean."

You and Joel look at each other in the quiet while walking. He takes a moment before nodding. He chuckles rather uneasily, "okay... good- that's good."

Seconds pass with just the sound of your footsteps between you.

You decide to say what's on your mind, "Uh," you turn to your feet.

Joel immediately locks his gaze on you.

"Next time," you purse your lips, "just leave the pasta to me."

Joel knits his brows. Damn.

"You know..." you look away, "like, I'm glad you invited me over and all, but you-"

"Was it that bad?"

You finally turn to him, "what?"

"Was my cooking that bad?" Joel feels his insides churn. He feels so stupid suddenly for not following the recipe to a tee. Damn his personal tastes.

You shake your head, "no. No! Your cooking was great! It wasn't bad at all. I enjoyed it. This isn't about your cooking."

He makes a face, "oh..."

You nod, clarifying, "I just- you don't have to do that for me."

He takes a moment to think. Oh... He snorts and rubs his nose, "ah... I see."

You knit your brows at that.

Joel's shoulder's slump. It was him then. Well, he doesn't blame you for not being interested. He releases a breath. It was stupid of him anyway. He thinks of a flimsy excuse to break the tension. It a horrible lie, "sorry, uh, it's just-- Ellie just really wanted to eat with you."

His words make you knit your brows deeper. You blink twice, "Ellie... wanted me to join?"

"Yeah," Joel huffs, "she thinks your great."

You nod slowly.

"But... if you don't want to eat with me, I'll make sure to-"

"Wait, what?"

The both of you stop walking.

Joel feels his insides disintegrate when you look at him the way you do. He looks away and clears his throat. Man up, "I... don't want to make you uncomfortable with any... unwanted advances."

"Wait," you quickly step forward. You rapidly shake your head, "no! I..." you raise your brows, "I just- I don't want to burden you with... with- d-doing things for me."

A deep line forms between Joel's brows, "burden? Who said anything about burdens?"

You look away as you continue to shake your head, "I- I don't know. I just- I don't want to bother you-"

"JUST KISS ALREADY!"

Both of you snap to the side There, from the second floor window, was Ellie, head sticking out of the window. She cups her mouth with her hand and screams again, "KIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSS!"

You look away from her. You turn to your feet as you feel your face burn.

Joel's loud voice surprises you, "GO TO BED!"

"I'M NOT 4!" Ellie screams back.

Joel decides to end the screaming match with a grumble, "well, you're damn acting like one." He turns back to you, "sorry about her, she's-"

"I really like you," you blurt when you look back at him, "I really like being around you."

Joel feels his fingers tingle.

Your impulsiveness only now begins to feel like a bad idea, "I-" your voice gets smaller, "it's not unwanted advances... not per se... It's just- when people do things for me, I don't- well, I don't know, I-"

"You can't just accept it?"

You stare at each other for a moment. You nod. Joel nods too.

"I'm usually the one giving, ya know," you say.

Joel nods again, "I do. I feel the same way. I don't like needing to get help from anyone," he crosses his arms, "but, you know, being with Ellie... she's taught me that sometimes-"

"FUCKING KISS HER OLD MAN!"

You can't contain the snort that leaves your mouth. Joel shoots a glare to his side. Still, he breaks into a chuckle, "I'm gonna kill her."

Ellie makes a face and waves her hands, "NO! DON'T LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT HER! LOOK AT- oh my god he actually did it."

[stephsageek]

An update on my Thunderbolts* fic, "A Confessional That Never Closes,"

A preview:

Ava Starr awoke with a gasp.

Automatically she clutched at herself, her hands desperately checking her body, skimming her flesh ensuring she was solid.

I’m still here, I’m still here, I’m still here.

Her breathing was harsh, and she found her exposed skin to be cold and slick with sweat. Her heart was pounding in her chest, thudding in time to the throbbing between her temples. After frantically looking at her surroundings she determined she was still swathed in the darkness of the tiny bedroom she’d gone into that night. The safe house had 8 tiny bedrooms, each private but not much bigger than a walk-in closet. There was a bed, a nightstand, a closet, and nothing else. They all lined a long hallway, with a bathroom at one end and the shared living space at the other. Yelena had theorized that this was where Special Ops would stay between government operations in the New York area. Walker had said he’d even stayed here once when he’d been a part of a covert op that had taken place in Hell’s Kitchen.

Ava let out a shuddering breath. She was still in the safe house. She was still alive. She was still solid.

Ava wrapped her arms around her middle and began to rock.

I’m still here, I’m still here, I’m still here.

She squeezed her eyes shut, repeating the mantra like a prayer.

Despite the time that had passed since her molecular disequilibrium had been cured, the nightmares of every atom in her body tearing themselves apart, never to reassemble, remained.

When she wasn’t dreaming of her parents, when she wasn’t dreaming of men and women dying—gasping just before blood ran from their necks, their foreheads, their chests; eyes desperately searching for an invisible phantom—she’d snap out of a restless sleep, terrified she’d find herself fading from existence.

Those were the times when her body would quake, shaking from phantom pain plaguing her body, imagined agony that still felt all too real.

Ava could never forget that pain; pain that had been so crippling, so consuming, it had nearly driven her insane.

"You said you could fix me. You promised!"

"I know. I will. But not like that. You let one finger on that little girl… I won't help you. And we're done."

Ava swallowed.

Opening her eyes, she looked around the small space, debating whether she felt safer staying here or getting up. After years in isolation and a physical cage to keep her material body from disintegrating, there had been a point when she had actually relished going out on assignments—as much as it shamed her to admit it.

Inside her cage there was endless training; there were needles, machines, wires, nausea, and everywhere people were poking and prodding.

Outside her cage, there was death, shame, fear, crippling pain, and everywhere people were either enemies or targets.

Nowhere felt safe.

After S.H.E.I.L.D. had dissolved after HYDRA’s uprising, she and Bill had gone on the run. Wanted across 15 countries.

Working for O.X.E. had come with the promise of his safety.

Hers? Well, that apparently wasn’t much of a concern.

Turning to throw her trembling legs off the thin mattress, Ava sighed, letting out a shaky breath.

She glanced at the cheap digital clock on the nightstand.

2:38 AM

Ava tried to swallow again and found her throat tight and parched.

Resigned, she padded out into the dark hallway in search of water, maybe some aspirin for her pounding head. Not wanting to risk waking anyone else, Ava crept out into the dark, walking on nearly silent bare feet.

She shivered slightly from the cold wooden floors and the thinness of the clothes she wore. Dressed in only a white tank top and thin medical scrubs, she felt practically naked without her suit, but with no other clothes, she had little choice.

Ava moved slowly, hating the feeling of being exposed, missing her helmet and the safety of her weapons, and armor. Things she’d practically been raised in.

Ava squinted into the gloom; eyes still not adjusted to the darkness; her tiny room had been windowless. The interior hallway and the open space beyond were cloaked in absolute black.

Ava was no stranger to moving in the dark, but she’d always had the benefit of her night vision goggles. When she had to go without, the trick she found was forcing herself to face the darkness head-on, to force her eyes to adjust. Still, in the silent safe house that was unfamiliar and filled with people she was only just getting to know, she moved cautiously.

Ava huffed.

‘People I’m getting to know.’ What a farce! I don’t know any of these people—and they certainly don’t know me.

As soon as the thought passed through her consciousness Ava couldn’t help the stab of guilt that came following it like the tail of a comet.

God, even in my own brain, I sound like a bitch. If I don’t trust them—who the hell do I trust?

Her thoughts drifted to her back pressed against three others as they pushed their heels into smooth concrete with only the strength of their legs saving them all from the darkness above and the certain death below. She remembered the taste of cactus fruit, an odd combination of watermelon and bubblegum. She remembered easy feminine laughter beside her as they teased and joked, something she’d never experienced before. She remembered the piercing sound of the LRAD, driving like a spike through her skull as she stood precariously out the back window of that ridiculous limo when suddenly strong hands pulled her from danger. She remembered strong arms wrapped around her as they all held a trembling man, as if their very arms, their collective feelings of sympathy for him, could hold him together. She remembered gentle fingers gripping her elbow reassuringly when she’d been feeling terrified and exposed, helping her to face the crowd of reporters and the mortifying flash of cameras.

She remembered the feeling of safety and comfort of their smiles brought, the feeling of loneliness their laughter banished, inexplicable, and nearly blinding.

Never had Ava Starr felt so seen, so understood.

Even her suit had never made her feel so safe.

Ava felt guiltier than ever for her uncharitable thought. But she was so unused to having friends! Would her frequently cold and acerbic façade scare them off? And what if something happened to one of them?

Ava frowned as she stepped into the shared living space, distracted by her gloomy thoughts.

She felt around the wall where she thought the light switch ought to be, when suddenly a man’s voice cut through the darkness.

“Couldn’t sleep, Ghost Lady?"

[local-enby]

New Attachments

Sevika x Original Non-Binary Character | Rating: Explicit | Words: 5.6k | Friends to Lovers

O/C Ashe (non-binary, transmasc, 30-something, tattooed) is a Firelight and engineer who is newly managing the reopened Last Drop. Sevika stops by after her first day on the council. The Firelights (Ashe & Ekko) work closely with Sevika to improve conditions in Zaun while Sevika and Ashe's partnership/friendship turns into something more.

Tattoo inspo from @___p_e_s_t_e___ on IG!

Full work on ao3. Sneak peak below the break!

Sevika pushed open the door to her old watering hole, The Last Drop. The room buzzed with its usual sounds: glasses clinking (occasional shattering), raised voices, and metal chairs sliding across the floor. To her surprise, the music was different – lighter. The ambiance of the place felt completely different than it had under Silco’s jurisdiction. Memories of the unity Vander brought to the undercity flooded her mind; it made her feel hopeful, something she desperately needed after the hopeless first day she’d had on the council. 

The day had been dreadful – the other councilors hadn’t remotely considered what she had to say about the needs of Zaun. All they cared about were the problems affecting Topside, a slap in the face after fighting alongside them to save the city. She needed a break before re-evaluating her strategy to advocate for the people of Zaun; her people. 

Some of the men she used to gamble with sat at the table in the corner, cards dealt and cigarellos burning. She was half-tempted to join them; to grant herself some reprieve from her newfound responsibility. But that wouldn’t be right. She knew turning back down that dark path would only make her pain worse. The pain of losing Jinx and Isha so quickly hung heavy on her heart. She’d hardly had time to process it before having to move forward. She was committed to starting over, for them. Becoming a better version of herself and making Zaun a better place. And damn, if it didn’t seem like The Last Drop was already stepping in the right direction. Who was running the place now anyway?

Sevika continued towards the bar, desperately needing a drink. Suddenly, her gaze locked with the bartender. They had wavy jet-black hair, overgrown into almost a mullet; vivid green eyes, and a sharp jawline. She expected them to look away or be intimidated by her presence as people typically were, but instead, their gaze traveled down her body before drifting back to her eyes once again. 

The person they were serving said something, pulling their attention away. Sevika sat down roughly on a stool near the other end of the bar. “Be right with you,” the bartender threw in her direction. She only nodded in response. 

Observation had always been Sevika’s strong suit; she was constantly studying people’s words and actions to ascertain their intentions. While the bartender finished talking to the patron, she allowed herself to check them out, the way they had her. They wore a black tank and baggy purple trousers. Though they were nowhere near as tall or muscular as she was, they were relatively built for their smaller, lean frame. Strong shoulders led into toned arms, hosting intricate tattoo sleeves, winding abstract designs wrapping around their form. The sleeves appeared to continue across their flat chest, hidden from view beneath their tank top. They had layered silver necklaces, rings on most fingers, and an array of piercings in both ears. If she had to guess, they were a bit over 30. 

Not wanting to get caught staring, she set her metal arm against the counter. She pulled a small screwdriver from her pocket and began messing aimlessly with a few of the bolts. The makeshift arm was a piece of shit, barely usable from her ill-fated conversion of the war machine Jinx had created. She didn’t think the monstrosity Jinx subbed for a hand would make the best first impression on the councilors. 

Soon, the green eyes were right in front of her. They had both hands on the bartop and a rag slung over their shoulder. 

“What can I get you?” they asked, their tone friendly.

“Whiskey, neat,” she responded, her voice coming out a bit more gruff than intended. 

It didn’t seem to bother the bartender though. With a nod, they grabbed a glass and bottle to pour her drink. 

The bartender slid the glass towards her, meeting her eyes once again. They opened their mouth, about to say something else, when a man shouted from over by the record machine,  “Ashe! What the fuck is this shit? Where are all the metal albums?!”

The bartender shouted back, “New management! If you don’t like it, you can fucking leave!” The man grumbled an incoherent response and went back to reviewing the options at the machine.

“Who’s running this joint now anyway?” Sevika asked casually as she took a large sip of whiskey.

Green eyes looked her over carefully, “Who’s asking?” 

Sevika’s brow furrowed. She’d been gone, what, a week? And suddenly, no one remembered who she was anymore? Her lip twitched as she readied to snap a reply.

“Woah, easy,” Ashe said with raised hands. “I’m only joking, Councillor. I think everyone knows who you are down here. The Firelights have been trying to get most of the businesses that closed down reopened to help with reformation efforts. I’m Ashe, the new manager,” they said, reaching out to offer a handshake. 

Sevika huffed in response, before firmly taking their hand. “Don’t call me that. It’s just Sevika.” 

“Touchy,” Ashe teased. 

Sevika rolled her eyes and knocked back the rest of her drink. Their sass was annoying and yet… familiar… comforting, somehow. 

Ashe refilled it without her asking, hoping it would suffice as a peace offering. “I was going to ask, before my music was so rudely slandered–”

“Ah, so that’s your doing then?” Sevika interrupted.

Ashe pursed their lips, “Did you have something to say about it?” they challenged.

Sevika met their gaze, her gray eyes sparkling devilishly before the side of her lip pressed up into a small smile, “I like it. Reminds me of the old days at The Last Drop.”

“THANK YOU! It was such a depressing shit hole in here, it desperately needed a change!” Ashe exclaimed. They leaned forward, resting both forearms against the bartop. “Anyway, I was going to ask, do you think you could talk to the council about funding repairs to the water turbines on the south side of Zaun? Ekko and I can manage the work ourselves, but the Firelights can’t afford the equipment itself.”

“You’re an engineer?” Sevika asked, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. Ah, they want to talk business.

Ashe shrugged, “I’m not Ekko, but I try to keep up.”

Sevika pondered the request; perhaps she’d approached her role on the council wrong today. Equity for Zaun wouldn’t be won overnight, and she’d be lying to say she actually believed she’d convinced the other councilors of anything at all today. Maybe, bringing specific issues to light for support was how she could impact change the most quickly. “Yeah, I’ll see what I can do,” she replied, taking a sip of her new drink.

Dimples appeared on both sides of Asbe’s grin, “Thank you! Let me go grab the plans from my office.” 

Sevika had noticed a tongue piercing when they spoke. Now, that is interesting. She wondered how much of their body was covered in the winding tattoos. Sevika finished her drink while she waited for them to return. 

Soon enough, Ashe was handing her a green file folder filled with details. “I really appreciate it, Sevika. We’ll be able to get the grid back up on the southside once the turbines are repaired,” Ashe explained.

“Kinda my job,” Sevika said as she stood up to take her leave.

“Hey… I’d be happy to take a look at that arm sometime if you’re interested,” Ashe offered a little less confidently, scared of offending her.

Sevika shrugged, attempting to feign indifference. “Maybe sometime. Thanks–” Fuck, their name was gone from her mind.

“Ashe,” the bar manager smirked.

Sevika nodded, turning away to hide her blush, and strode out of The Last Drop.

Keep reading on ao3!!!

[impala-dreamer]

So, yesterday... I died (almost)

No, seriously.

I've been powerwashing the house... back patio/back deck/sidewalk, etc... yesterday, I wanted to move the machine upstairs to my side deck where the birds hang out. I move the machine to the front of the house, and some of the hose was wrapped around a shrubbery... so I go to untangle it...

And was instantly stung by a bee.

Ok... no biggie.

Then another. Then one on my forehead... then I was swamped by the entire nest. And stung by like 12 bees.

....

I'm not allergic so I'm not worried, just pissed. I run inside, take my shirt off, deal with the bees and take stock. I'm OK, but lemme go take a benadryl anyway. I have one on my nightstand. I go get it and take it to the bathroom bc I'm gonna shower anyway, so I turn on the water and try to open the blister pack of benadryl. My hands start shaking and I can't open it. No way will it open. I start getting dizzy like I'm going to faint (I have a fainting condition so I know the early signs) so I'm like.. ok... if you're gonna have to sit down. And the shower has a seat. So I strip and go into the shower, sit down.

Normally, cold water stops the fainting so I'm like... this is a good idea.

It didn't help. Ok. I'm gonna faint, go lower. So I sat on the shower floor and I'm in the water and

Passed out.

Woke up disoriented, still in the shower. Ok. Get up.

Passed out.

Again. Get up and get out of the shower.

This went on for apparently, 35 mins of me losing consciousness and trying to climb out of the shower to call for help.

Finally, my brain is like.. if you don't get out of the shower you are dying here. So I'm talking outloud to myself as I crawl out of the shower unable to stand or really move my legs. (Btw.. 5 inch shower ledge to crawl over) I somehow get out, slide the phone off the counter, and text my brother 911. (Hubby at work). Then, I lay down kinda twisted on the floor like a chalk outline and keep talking to myself.

Bro comes in... freaks out...

Then the next 40mins are a blurr, but the cops came... 2 shots of epipen, and oxygen before the ambulance got there.

Another shot of epi, a shot of benadryl, another tank of oxygen...

My BP was 57/14.

They couldn't let me sit up even or I'd instantly pass out. Not that I could move.

So they carried me on some sheet thing out of the house, downstairs, into ambulance.

Apparently there were 4 cop cars and 3 ambulances on my lawn...

They got me in and couldn't start driving until they stabilized me..

I started major convulsing bc of all the adrenaline. Like full seizure shaking bad. They couldn't find any veins on me bc small veins and BP deathly low... so we were on my lawn for a while trying to get me ok enough to move.

Finally, I joked "you want me to drive?" Proving that my comedy is pure and part of me, even while on my literal deathbed. ;)

So we got me another shot of benadryl and a shot of steriods...

Drove 20 mins to the closest hospital ... bc I live in the middle of nowhere...

Guy calls in "critical incoming"... which is never great to hear.

We pull in and the hospital guys meeting us looks at me and says "you officially have the lowest blood pressure I have ever heard of on a living person."

Gee thanks! Let's fix this!

So I spent the next 5? Hours in the e.r. critical section hooked up to wires and ivs and ekgs and oxygen.

In the end I had 3 shots of epipen. 3 benadryl shots. Steroids. 2 bags of fluid. 4 panic attacks. 3 tanks of oxygen.

And a hospital turkey sandwich.

So... yeah, if I hadn't talked myself out of the shower with the dregs of my strength and will to not die naked on my shower floor...

I'd be dead.

I'm feeling a ton better today but still not good. I am on the couch and not gonna move.

Also having some theological thoughts about the lack of diving intervention or feeling of godly care.

Basically, my life was saved by myself, my brother, that cop, and Madision and John, my e.m.t.s.

Hope you are all doing better than I am lol

Happy Sunday 💖

[ppnuggie]

slides in,, claps hands together,, crosses legs,,

hello tumblr user ppnuggie i say ominously

i have a tarn request for you 🦀

first contact au where they dock on earth to snag a run away thats posing as reader's truck!! reader livin their best life pampering their old truck and driving on the beach and then theirs just a massive ass space ship on the beach and then giant ass robots come out and reader "nopes" the fuck outta there but when she gets to the parking lot her trUCK DUMPED HER and now shes having a very awkward staring competition with some purple man thats like "what is that thing?? its so small and squishy?? what do we do with it??" but also "its so cute,, it sounds adorable,, i like it,, i like this thing" and just fuckin,, nabs her

itd be absolutely delicious of you if there was a language barrier

　　　　　　TARN x fem reader

　　　　『　tarn ,, female reader 』

　　-> first contact au w/ tarn

　　— fluff ,, sfw ,, lil crack ,, kidnapping

　　— kaon takes reader ,, lmk if you want another part to continue w/ this 🙏

        " are you sure he's here kaon ? i don't remember this planet or sector ." voice gruff and questioning the smaller bot . the red mech nodded ,, optics dark and empty as he smiled . " i'm sure of it , tarn ." he replied . the mech known as tarn nodded in return ,, looking at the scanners aboard the ship known as the peaceful tyranny . there was barely any trace of a cybertronian signal . barely ,, that is . there was a faint dot on the screen ,, showing one life signal .

        " prepare yourselves for departure . lets make this quick ,," tarn said to his crew ,, the djd ,, or better known as the decepticon justice division . " watch out for the life here ,, theyre .... organic ." he said slowly ,, disgust dripping from his words .

        _____________________________

        thankfully there werent a lot of people here today . not exactly hot enough for a beach day ,, per say ,, but you didnt mind that one bit . resting in the driver's seat of your old truck ,, you smothered your face with sunscreen . just because it was 70 degrees out didnt mean you were gonna risk getting toasted by the sun .

        glad there werent too many little kids around ,, you were able to enjoy your little day off without many interruptions . or so you thought ,, when all the sudden a gigantic ass space ship came outta nowhere . aint no way in hell you were gonna let this moment go though ,, knowing the ufos exist and the government was keeping those aliens locked up and away from public . fishing for your phone in your bag ,, you quickly drew it out and snapped your camera app open .

        switching to video ,, you got out your truck and starting to tape the spaceship . this was something outta star wars because aint no way this was government property and a thing for a movie . or maybe it was ? you werent too sure ,, busy being in awe of this majestic ship . until it had landed and out popped its crewmates .

        this had to be for a movie ,, it had to be . nothing like just happens on a wednesday . the most that happens is that commercial with the camel saying its hump day . this sorta thing happens on a friday or sunday . one of the robotic beings opened their mouth ,, static and chirps coming out . you werent too sure what it was saying though .

        it was all fine until they started looking around and one spotted you . it was quite big ,, purple with tank treads maybe ? it surely didnt look like something from the government ,, but it did look like it was some sort of military machine . a shorter yet more lanky one stomped forward ,, water splashing up against its legs as its hands wrapped around your body .

        your phone slipped from your hand ,, eyes wide with shock and jaw dropped open . " hey !" you yelled ,, pointing accusingly at it . " put me down this instant ! who do you think you are ?!" you spat at it . the being looked curious ,, chirping at the purple one you were just looking at .

       _____________________________

        " boss ! look ! its one of those organice you told us about !" kaon exclaimed ,, vos coming up beside him and looking at the creature . " it even gave me its goo ! that must mean we've bonded ! oh boss ,, can i keep it ?" kaok rushed excitedly towards tarn . he shoved the creature up at him ,," just look how cute it is ! please boss ! i promise to take care of it !"

        tarn backed away a bit ,, leaning down slightly to get a better look at it . " fine fine ,, just focus on the task at hand . as long as you keep it in your habsuite only ." the mech grunted ,, waving kaon away as he pulled up his internal scanners .

        tarn would later question his decision . the bot they were looking for had gone into hiding and with night falling ,, the leader had become quite irritated . he would just have to wait ,, it would seem .