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cloudedangels · 3 days ago

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Dr’s Orders 18+

⋆⁺₊❅。

You (f reader) are ovulating, but you can't bring yourself to request what you really need… Dr. Zayne has a treatment plan for that... luckily! ● ≈4,025 words ughggh ● probably needs proofreading ● adult!!! ● mdni!!!

Tags and cw: ovulation!: the plot device, zayne, dr zayne cures you of your horny disease kinda, piv, oral (f receiving), mostly sex no plot, in the hospital of all places!, creampie, multiple rounds, fingering, established relationship implied, self indulgent smut— you know the drill

a/n: this SUCKED to write omg omg im freee you can probably tell my sauce was running out... this mostly SUCKED to write bc I am on my period a week and a half early (???) & I have 1 endometriosis (,: this is also my first time writing zayne which i hope gets better bc he's my pretty lil baby, I need him [redacted].

Go bunnie.

▪︎ next up:

☆caleb's very late birthday fic

☆extended leave pt six

☆hubby!zayne drabble

vibrator series pt 3 and pt 4

⋆⁺₊❅。

⋆⁺₊❅。⋆⁺₊❅。⋆⁺₊❅。⋆⁺₊❅。

Zayne isn’t blind.

He sees the way your legs cross tighter than usual, the way your hand lingers too long on the hem of your sleeve, picking at threads like you're trying not to crawl out of your skin.

You’d stared at the closed door to his office ten times today. Every time you almost knocked, your throat had closed up. Your fingers fiddle with the edge of your sleeve again, tugging it just a little too hard until it bunches in your palm. The scent of antiseptic clings to the air, mixing with your own faint perfume, and it makes your stomach twist like a knot you can’t undo.

You'll just sit in his office and wait for him to get off as always.

And... when you see him, you're all off.

Zayne however… he knows exactly what day it is. Five days post-period. Right on schedule. He does the math in his head because, well, of course he does. He’s a surgeon. He keeps track of things.

He doesn’t mention it, not aloud. He just watches you try to wrestle yourself into stillness like you're trying to outwit your own body. He can feel it in the air—how needy you are, how tightly wound. You think you're subtle, but Zayne knows tension better than most. He lives in it and operates through it. And you're practically vibrating with it. The sterile, slightly cold office smells faintly of antiseptic and leather. Outside, the dull hum of hospital noises lingers beyond the closed door.

You won’t ask him. Not directly. Maybe you think you’re being polite. Maybe you're afraid he’ll be embarrassed. But he’s not the one squirming in a rolling chair in his office, trying to fight biology and failing.

Still, you don’t ask. You want to ask, but your voice feels small, unsure. You’ve always tried not to be a bother, this relationship is only recently sexual... but now, not asking feels like self-denial. But you can't.

So he shifts his strategy. If you won't ask him, shouldn't he ask you for a favor? That'd work wouldn't it?

He’s quiet for too long. Not in the usual way. In the way that makes your stomach twist. He’s calculating something, staring at your lips like they hold some equation he hasn’t quite solved. You feel it before he speaks—something shifting in him. Something about to snap loose? He flushes as he turns to you, words falling out like dominos.

“I need to finger you.”

His words hang in the air, clinical but sudden... like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. His jaw's tightening briefly, a twitch of the muscle betraying the calm he’s trying to maintain. His eyes flicker down to your lips like he’s memorizing their shape… a calculation paused mid-equation.

You blink. “What?”

Your heart hammers a little faster. You want to protest, but your throat feels dry and thick, and your body answers before your brain can catch up. There's heat pooling low and insistent.

Zayne clears his throat lightly, deadpan as ever. “Desperately. I'm, ah—struggling. It’s been difficult to focus. All I can think about is the sound you make when you come. So.” He tilts his head slightly. “This is for medical reasons. Mine. Urgent.”

You're trying to make sense of this, he's usually so much more put together than this… you're so horny you don't want to deny him but… You’ve never heard him stumble like this—not even when talking you through surgical risks or listing medications. Zayne is precision incarnate. So when his voice falters, it knocks the air out of you.

“I mean… if you want, I could give you—”

“No.” He cuts you off, eyes narrowing slightly. The room seems to shrink around you. The hum of the fluorescent light overhead blurs into a steady drone as your pulse hammers in your ears. His steady gaze pins you in place, and your breath catches.

“I’m not joking. The only thing that's going to help me is your thighs on my shoulders and my fingers inside you. Repeatedly. I need to make you come, and I need to taste you while I do it. That’s the only thing that’s going to help.”

You stare at him, throat dry. “You... need... that.”

“Yes,” he says, perfectly serious. “Badly. Like, clinically.”

A beat passes. Then another.

“You’re—” you try to say something clever, but it falls flat against the heat surging in your gut.

“I’m what?” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Depraved? Professional? Pathetic?”

You whisper, “Perfect.”

Zayne exhales once through his nose, the closest he gets to smiling when he’s trying not to lose composure. There’s a twitch in the corner of his mouth, and his hand comes up—Hesitant and precise, it brushes your cheek.

“So it’s alright, then?” he says, voice softer now. “If I... lose control. Just a little… With you...”

You nod before he even finishes the sentence.

And just like that, your quiet, unbearable need—masked in silence and polite restraint—crashes into his own. His eyes flicker with something unreadable—pain, longing, something deeper. For a moment, neither of you move. Then, slow and deliberate, his fingers curl around your wrist, pulling you closer. The sharp tang of antiseptic mingles with the warm, powdery scent of his cologne, a strange but intoxicating combination that makes your breath hitch.

His lips press into yours soft and patient, and with the easy state you're in, you're already letting out a soft whimper when he kisses you with such gentleness... touches you with such wanting. You're caving into him as he pulls back, begging silently for more of his lips and the powdery scent of his cologne.

He sinks to his knees, not because you asked, but because he did. Thank God.

You’re still blinking down at him, standing with your breath shallowed, as if waiting for him to laugh and walk out. But he doesn’t. He just reaches—fingers confident, deliberate—and taps once against your knee.

“Up,” he says softly. “Come on. Be good for me. Legs over the exam table.”

You obey because you always do. But also because the way he looks at you—precise, studied, patient—makes disobedience feel impossible. Punishable, even. You scoot back on the padded surface, letting your legs fall apart, and you swear his pupils dilate just slightly.

The paper beneath your thighs crinkles loudly—embarrassingly—like it dislikes what you’re doing. The scent of antiseptic cuts through the heat in your blood. Even your shirt feels too tight, too rough. The overhead lights hum, too bright, too sterile. You feel exposed and examined. Everything feels like too much… except him.

He hums. It’s not amusement, not quite. It’s approval.

“Perfect positioning. Should’ve let me do this days ago. You’re—” He clicks his tongue once. “Edging into clinical negligence, keeping me from a treatment this vital.”

His hands are warm. Sterile. Methodical. He touches you like he’s mapping nerve endings. His thumbs press into the crease of your thighs, spreading you further. He studies you like you’re a case study, a problem he already knows how to solve but enjoys solving again anyway.

You're shaking. “And this… is... for you?” You mutter, a whisper of disbelief mixed with pleasure.

“Yes. Yes, and I want you to know,” he murmurs as he leans in, “that I’m not improvising. I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Thoroughly.”

Then he licks. Just once—slow, flat-tongued, exploratory. You jerk. He doesn’t flinch. Just shifts closer.

“Mhm,” he murmurs clinically, like he’s tasting for acidity in a dish. “As suspected.”

Another swipe. This time more pressure, more purpose. His hands keep you open, one sliding up to rest gently over your abdomen, steadying you. He moans low in his throat—not theatrical, not showy. A slip of sound, as if he forgot he could be heard.

“You’re already so sensitive,” he mutters, kissing you now, more deliberately. “This’ll take a while. Let me work. I will get everything I need from you soon enough.”

His tongue moves in slow, studied patterns. Up. Down. Spiral. Pause. A flick. A suck. He’s collecting data—what makes you twitch, what makes you sigh, what makes you gasp and grab at the table’s edges. Every time you make a sound, he shifts technique slightly. Filing it away. Adjusting. Repeating.

He doesn’t speak much. When he does, it’s all under his breath—clinical, praising, a little condescending, always devoted.

“There you go. That’s it.”

“More of that, Yes?”

“Don’t hold your breath so much. Let it happen.”

When you finally whimper out a guttural, cracked open sound, he looks up. His lips and chin glisten as he simply says, “Good. That’s one.”

As if you’re just getting started. (Because you are.) He doesn’t let up. Not even close.

He pushes in slow, deliberate. Controlled. Like he’s watching a monitor for vitals, measuring every reaction, every tremor in your body.

You gasp, nails curling against the padded table. He groans softly—a man adjusting to pressure, to heat, to you.

“God,” you whisper, already clenching. “I needed this. I—fuck, Zayne, I needed this so bad—”

“I can tell,” he murmurs, calm as ever, even as his hips settle flush against yours. “Should’ve said something sooner.”

You moan, full of frustration and want and something dangerously close to tears.

“I couldn’t. I didn’t wanna be—” You break off, panting. “Didn’t wanna bother you.”

He stills inside you. Eyes sharp. Lips parted. And then he exhales—long and quiet, like he’s biting back some deeper emotion. Maybe regret. Maybe guilt.

“You’re not a bother,” he says, low. “You never are.”

His hips roll just slightly, testing, coaxing, sending heat racing up your spine.

“If anything...” His hand slides up your side, over your ribs, soothing, grounding. “I should’ve made time for this earlier. This…” he thrusts a little deeper, “...this seems like an urgent need.”

You whimper under him. “Zayne, I—fuck, I want—”

“What do you want?”

Your face burns. Your voice shakes. But you can’t keep it in anymore.

“I want you… you to breed me... please.”

The silence after is thick.

He’s still.

Something unravels in his expression then. It’s not just arousal—it’s longing. A wish he hadn’t let himself form until you gave it voice, like he almost wants your regret. But he nods, like that need—raw, hormonal, messy—isn’t foreign to him. Like it’s the same one clawing up his own spine.

Then, slowly—gently—he fucks into you harder. Once. Twice.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “That’s what this is about...”

You’re babbling now, eyes glassy, breath hitching.

“I—I want it. I want to feel full, I want you to come inside, I want to know it’s yours—even if it’s stupid, even if it’s just my body wanting—I don’t care, I need it, please—”

Zayne brushes a hand over your cheek, thumb catching your tears before they can fall.

“It’s not stupid.”

His voice is calm. Assured. Loving in a way that makes your chest ache.

“You’re ovulating. Your hormones are spiking. Your body’s wired for this. And you’re safe with me.”

He leans over you, mouth brushing your ear.

“Anything you ever need,” he murmurs, voice rough now, strained with emotion and restraint, “you can ask me for it. Anything.”

He pulls almost all the way out, then pushes in deep—slow, worshipping.

“Especially this.”

You cry out for him again, voice cracking, and he just keeps moving, steady and full, fucking you like it’s a promise. His body warm, his voice steady, his heart loud in your ear.

“You feel so good… you wanna be bred, my love?” he whispers. “I’ll give you everything. Fill you up so deep your body won’t know anything else but mine. I like being the only one… who can fix this… problem for you.”

That's spins you undone, and when you come again—hard, sobbing his name, clenching around him like your body’s trying to keep him inside—he follows: gasping once, then going silent as he spills into you, deep and long, trembling.

Helping.

Fixing the problem.

He stays inside you for a while. Long enough that the tremble in your thighs evens out, that the ache in your belly softens from frantic to full. His hand is on your hip, steady, his breath slowing against your neck. You feel him soften inside you, but he doesn’t move to pull out, he just wraps his hand around your thigh, thumb tracing light circles. It’s as if he is still measuring your pulse through your skin.

You’re dazed. Fucked open and flushed and barely remembering where you are. He presses a kiss just below your ear. Quiet and close.

“Still with me?” he murmurs, one hand stroking your thigh like he’s grounding both of you. “Let me know if you’re dizzy. I got you.”

You nod, finally feeling like you can think with more than that warm beat between your thighs.

“…Fixed it,” he murmurs after a moment.

You let out a small, breathless laugh. “That was your treatment plan?”

“Highly effective,” he says, deadpan. “Minimal side effects. Patient satisfaction… presumed high.”

You hum and blink up at him, lips still parted. He’s looking at you, really looking, and not in the way doctors are trained to. There’s nothing detached about it now.

Then, with that surgeon’s steadiness, he pulls out slowly—so careful it makes you ache all over again—and reaches for the drawer on the wall behind you. Pulls out a warm towel like this is just another cleanup post-op.

You twitch when he touches you. Sensitive. Spent. He murmurs a soft apology, even as his hands stay precise, wiping you clean with unhurried tenderness.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you whisper.

He glances at you. “You didn’t ask. So I had to improvise.”

You smile faintly. “You’re not mad I didn’t say anything?”

He tosses the towel aside. “I’m not mad.”

Then, more softly:

“However…I just wish you trusted me to help you. Even with this. Especially with this.”

His hand brushes your thigh again, this time more to comfort than assess. “You never have to handle it alone.”

You swallow hard, your throat suddenly thick.

“I didn’t know how,” you say.

“I’ll teach you,” Zayne murmurs. “Next time, say what you need. I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you. Maybe not of everything but… what I can.”

You nod, quiet.

Then he leans in again, pressing a final kiss to your collarbone. A prescription written into the touch of your skin.

And beneath it all, his voice—calm, knowing, clinical as ever:

“This appointment is incomplete, but before I continue, let's plan? Follow-up appointment… same time next cycle?”

He’s hardening again, the heat of him pressing against you, but his lips stay impossibly soft where they meet your skin. His fingers glide over you with such careful tenderness it almost aches, like he’s afraid to break something fragile inside you. His breath stutters in his throat, and when he finally looks up at you, his eyes are full of something quiet, something desperate.

“What do you want?” he asks, voice low and steady, his fingers curling around yours as if to anchor your body to him.

You swallow, heart pounding in your chest, the moment making your voice shaky. “Please… don’t stop. Not yet. Let me have this—let me have you—while you’re here, before you go back to work... before the surgeries take you away again.”

He nods slowly, swallowing hard, as if hearing that pulls something out of him. You’re full of his cum, in his office, and yet still... you want more.

“I want to care for you,” he says softly, almost like a prayer. “Let me take care of you—let me make you feel okay…”

Your breath catches, your eyes stinging. There's something in his voice—something soft, like you're worshipped. It undoes you. You nod, too overcome to speak, and he leans in to kiss you again, slower this time. A worshipful kind of kiss, one that tells you that he means it. All of it.

His hand slides between your legs, gentle, deliberate. He murmurs something you don’t catch against your cheek, and then his fingers are inside you—slow, coaxing, curling just right—and the stretch pulls a gasp from your throat.

“You’re still so wet,” he whispers, half in awe. “Still so full of my seed… and you want more?”

You whimper, your head tipping back against the couch. The way he touches you now feels different—like it’s not just about pleasure anymore, but about memory. Preservation.

“I don’t wanna forget how you feel,” he says, thumb brushing over your clit in slow, hypnotic circles. Your hips twitch under his hand, overwhelmed by the desire he builds in you. It's all too much—his voice, his touch, the heat of his body wrapped around yours—but you don’t want him to stop. God, you never want him to stop.

“I won’t let you,” you breathe. “I’ll remember for both of us.”

His mouth is on you again, but not your lips this time—his head drops lower, kissing a trail down your sternum, your stomach, until he’s kneeling between your legs.

“I want to taste you,” he says, voice rough with need. “Let me show you how good you are. How much I want you…You're doing me a favor really…”

He slips his fingers deeper, slow, deliberate, curling gently as he watches your breath hitch. You’re trembling under his touch, the way you’re spread out like a secret made just for him. His mouth moves close, breath hot against your skin.

“You’re the softest, sweetest flower,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with something between awe and need. “And I’m the luckiest man, right here, right now.”

His fingers flex inside you, teasing the spots that make you catch your breath and squeeze your thighs tight. Even after he’s already filled you once, the way he strokes and presses—there’s no doubt his desire is just as alive as yours, hungry and aching. He’s hard beneath you, the heat pressing close as he lets you feel it, a teasing promise of everything he wants.

“I told you it was for me,” he breathes, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “But really... this? It’s for both of us.” His hips shift, grinding slowly against you, the movement sending a new wave of fire through your body.

He leans down, mouth tracing a slow, burning path from your collarbone to your shoulder, lips parting just to whisper, “You make me need you. God, you make me need you so bad.”

His hands tighten around your hips as he pulls you just a little closer, filling the space between you with a quiet, fierce hunger. His fingers don’t stop, circling, curling, coaxing your body to respond again and again.

“Keep still for me,” he commands softly, voice rough like he’s holding back something fierce. “You’re mine right now. Every sigh, every shiver... it’s mine to take… I will be… your medicine…”

You’re gasping by the time he lowers his head again, mouth capturing yours in a deep, consuming kiss, and the taste of him—wanting, claiming—makes you lose the last grip you had on control.

His body is all fire and weight pressing down on you, filling the spaces inside you you didn’t even know were empty until now.

“More,” he whispers between kisses. “Always more.”

And you’re his, completely. The ache inside you answered at last.

His rhythm builds, fingers still buried deep while his other hand cradles your face—thumb brushing slow circles across your cheek, grounding you in the chaos he’s coaxing from your body. Every stroke inside you is purposeful, practiced, but full of reverence, like he’s trying to memorize you from the inside out.

“Look at me,” he says, not quite a whisper, not quite a command. Just enough to send heat licking down your spine. “I want to see you when you come undone.”

And you do—eyes wide and glassy, lashes fluttering as your breath stutters. The sight of you like this makes him groan, low and hoarse, hips jerking just slightly, betraying how close he is to the edge too, even though he hasn’t taken you fully again yet.

His fingers still, just enough to make you whimper. He presses a kiss to your jaw, then your mouth, as if that could quiet the ache.

“I could live here,” he murmurs into your lips. “Right here, inside you, around you... forever.”

Then he shifts, slow and careful, pulling his fingers free with a wet sound that makes your whole body tighten. He holds your gaze as he brings those same fingers to his mouth, tongue curling around them with a filthy sort of tenderness, eyes half-lidded, like tasting you is sacred.

“You, my dear, officially drive me undeniably insane,” he says, voice wrecked with want. “And I don’t wanna be sane again. Not so soon...”

When he finally sinks into you, it’s with a desperate groan that breaks right through you—thick and deep, every inch stretching you open like a promise. The burn is beautiful, the pressure perfect, and your body arches to meet him like it was made to.

He doesn’t rush. He moves—slow, rolling thrusts that keep you trembling, pinned under him and worshiped at once. His forehead presses to yours, sweat-slick and trembling, and for a moment he just stays there—buried inside you, eyes fluttering shut as your pulse thrums between you.

“You feel like heaven,” he breathes, and then again, “Mine.” Like he needs you to hear it more than once.

And when he starts to move in earnest, it’s with the kind of slow devastation that leaves nothing untouched. Every stroke drags a sound from your throat, every grind of his hips makes your legs shake. He’s whispering again, praise and filth mixing on his tongue:

“So tight for me. So fucking good, after this you'll learn to ask, okay? I could stay like this all night. Just you. Just us. I'll spend every break just like this, or with a mind filled with it.”

And maybe that’s exactly what you want too—him, again and again, until the world fades and all that’s left is the rhythm of his body in yours and the fire he keeps stoking, endless and aching.

He moves again, deeper this time, more sure. Not fast—not yet. But he rocks into you with the patience of a man obsessed with detail, addicted to the small shifts of your body around him, attuned to every gasp and flutter.

Your eyes roll back as you clench down, and he groans—sharp and breathless, the only crack in his otherwise impenetrable restraint.

“Fuck—tight,” he mutters, head bowing slightly. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let me feel it. That’s what I need.”

There’s nothing clinical in his voice now. It’s reverent. Hungry.

His hands are everywhere—on your hip, your thigh, pressed over your chest like he wants to memorize the stutter of your heart. You’ve never seen him like this—undone and focused, devoted. Not just having sex with you, but learning you, like you’re anatomy he wants to master, muscle and nerve and heat.

Your orgasm builds again—second? third? You’ve lost count—rising fast like a tidal wave you can’t hold back.

Zayne notices. Of course he does.

“You’re close.” It’s not a question. “Let it happen. You’re safe. You’re good. You’re mine to take care of.”

That breaks you.

You cry out, raw and sharp, body arching under him as you fall apart with a helpless sob. He takes all of it—every pulse and tremor—and doesn’t stop moving, like your pleasure is the only thing keeping him alive.

He presses his forehead to yours as you shake, still holding you, still inside.

You barely have breath to whisper it: “You really needed this?”

He laughs softly—warm, breathless, wrecked. “No... yes but,” he kisses your knuckles as he admits. “But you did.”

He kisses you—slow, deep, filled with a sweetness that makes your chest ache.

Then he adds, quiet and unshakable: “But I wanted to be the one who gave it to you.”

You blink up at him, throat tight.

“Was that... alright with you?” he asks softly. “Dr’s orders... and all.”

You smile, dazed. “Might need a follow-up appointment.”

His smirk—barely there, tired, pleased—makes your heart flutter.

“I’ll clear my schedule.” ⋆⁺₊❅。

MASTERLIST WITH ALL MY FICS

🐇my bunnies: ((comment or reblog with a 🐇 emoji to get added to the taglist for everything I write)): @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple

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#omg this SUCKED TO WRITE #but it was on my list #zayne lads #lads zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne #zayne x reader #zayne smut #zayne lads smut #lads zayne smut #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace #li shen #zayne li #lads smut #zayne lads fic #zayne fic #mine

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sunday-bug · 1 day ago

Text

The Celibacy Challenge

Pairing: New Avenger!Bucky x New Avenger!Female!Reader

Word Count: 3k

18+ Minors DNI (NSFW)

Synopsis: You decide you want to try a celibacy challenge with your boyfriend, Bucky. Who caves first? The New Avengers place their bets.

A/N: Is this based off a challenge that I failed with my husband? Hehe. Also, shoutout to my girls for betting against me - @soelstress @buckybarnes82 @buckybarnesfic / yes, it was ME, you were right.

“Why though? I just don’t get it, honey,” Bucky sighs, shaking his head.

“It’s supposed to be a challenge, baby! It’ll be fun.” You’d just gotten through a poor explanation of a sex experiment you wanted to try with Bucky, and he was less than enthused.

You show him the article you have pulled up on your laptop - 30 Day Abstinence Challenge: A Battle of Wills - and smile. “It’s meant to be hard… no pun intended. And at the end when we can finally have at it, it’s apparently explosive.”

Bucky furrows his brow, clearly unimpressed with the idea, and lowers his voice, his expression growing more serious. “Is it not explosive enough for you?” He blushes, looking around the empty common room before he continues more quietly, “Because It is for me.”

“Oh stop, it’s amazing, baby. You’re amazing. That’s not what I’m saying. Just try it with me? It’ll be good for us! And there’s this optional part that people add where they do yoga together at night. It’s supposed to help you relax and loosen your muscles.” You look up at him with a hopeful gaze, nearly begging.

He rolls his eyes. “I know how to help you relax and loosen you up already. We don’t need a sun salutation for that.”

You cock your eyebrow at him. “Didn’t know you were a yoga man, Buck.”

“I’ve dabbled… it was a long time ago - anyway, if you really want to try this, then I’ll do it with you.”

“Yay!” You squeal. “Let’s start fresh tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? So are you saying… ?” Bucky winks at you.

“Yes, Sarge. Take me to bed.”

DAY ONE

Bucky walks into the kitchen the next morning to you and Yelena at the breakfast bar nursing two coffees.

“So, yeah, it’s supposed to help you feel centered and then at the end, it’s apparently incredible.”

Bucky stops short and looks at you, “Really? You’re telling everyone about it?”

You shrug and smile, “I mean, yeah? Why not? It’s not like they don’t know we have sex, Buck. We’ve been dating for a while now.”

“Yeah, and we hear you sometimes. It will be nice to have silence for a month,” Yelena quips, sipping her coffee and eyeing Bucky.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair and preparing his own cup. “Fine.”

By the end of the day, everyone in the Watchtower knows about you and Bucky’s little challenge. John gave Bucky a nod and flexed his bicep as Bucky walked into the gym that afternoon - a silent show of support. Bucky sighed and popped his headphones in. As he’s doing squats, a large body appears behind him and waves in the mirror. Bucky grunts and hangs up the bar, taking out an earphone.

“What do you want?” He asks gruffly.

“Winter Soldier… I hear it’s going to be dry month for you! No snow in forecast,” Alexei jokes, his face turning red from holding back laughter.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bucky groans, returning to his workout.

“You can do it. You are strong - resilient. You survive Hydra. You can survive no lovemaking for month, eh?” Alexei elbows Bucky in the ribs.

Bucky glares daggers at Alexei and he finally takes a hint, walking off.

Meanwhile, you are working out on the opposite end of the gym, chatting through your jog.

“You’ll do great,” Ava says, running on the treadmill next to you. “It’ll go by fast. Plus, if we get called to a mission, it’s not like you’ll have time anyway.”

“You’re right. Honestly, though, I just love the thought of making him squirm,” you tease.

“You would,” she laughs. “You guys are cute together.”

DAY TWO

After dinner you walk into the living room to find everyone crouched down around the coffee table. Bucky had gone out to get more snacks for your movie night. As soon as you walk into the room everyone stiffens and Bob swallows as his eyes dart back and forth between the coffee table and you.

“What’s going on, you guys?” You ask suspiciously, walking quickly to the table to find any evidence. John puts a small notebook with writing you can’t make out in his back pocket and Yelena scrapes some coins into her hand. “Oh, hi girl,” she says, an attempt at nonchalance. “What movie should we watch tonight?”

You narrow your eyes at them all - your teammates, your friends - and cross your arms. “Bob, what’s going on?”

“Uh,” he stammers, looking around at everyone. “We were, uh, just… uh, making a list of movies we haven’t seen yet.”

“Really?” You ask, putting your hand out and looking at John. “Give me the notebook.” John stands up quickly and backs away.

“No,” he scoffs, backing into a wall. “It’s just a list of movies. I swear.”

You see Alexei’s body shaking with laughter out of the corner of your eye and turn toward him. “What’s so funny?”

“I cannot say,” he chuckles, running a hand through his beard.

“Alexei Shostakov, tell me now,” you demand, walking over to him. Bucky walks in at that moment, two grocery bags of snacks in hand and assesses the room.

“Is everything ok?” He asks, putting the bags down on the kitchen island.

“No!” You whine. “They are up to something!” You gesture to the team.

“You mean the bets?” Bucky asks casually as he starts to unpack the bags.

Your skin heats and you crane your neck to look at him. “What bets?”

“The bets on our challenge,” he explains, and Yelena and Ava groan. John throws the tiny notebook on the coffee table. “What the hell, Bucky? She wasn’t supposed to know!”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “Doesn’t matter anyway. She’s gonna lose.”

Your heart skips a furious beat and you march over to him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You demand.

“Our challenge. You’re going to cave first,” he explains calmly, handing you an Oreo.

“We place bets,” Alexei says, walking over to grab a bag of Twizzlers. “We all agree that you cave first. You lose.”

“Are you kidding me?!” You shout, looking at everyone. “Glad to know you all think so highly of me. I’m going to win just to spite you all.” The team laughs, knowing you aren’t truly upset.

You turn toward Bucky and stand on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Prepare for the worst 30 days of your life.” Bucky chuckles, but you notice the hair on his forearm stand on end.

“I look forward to winning,” he quips back, his lips brushing your ear.

DAY THREE

Tonight you and Bucky head to the gym to do your new nightly yoga routine. You changed into shorts and a sports bra - your red set that he loves - and set your mats up. He saunters in, gym shorts slung dangerously low on his hips and no shirt.

“Ready to get all stretched out?” He asks, dimming the lights.

You scoff at his suggestive comment and settle onto your mat. “Yep,” you answer quickly, still annoyed about the bets.

“Good, I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” he mutters, sitting on the mat across from you. “Take it away, sweetheart.”

You lead, talking about each position and how to breathe through them. You glance over at Bucky during downward facing dog and see him checking out your ass in your yoga shorts.

“Next up is called the happy baby pose,” you say, lying on your back. “You bring your legs up and grab your feet with your hands, like this.” You demonstrate, spreading your legs and grabbing your feet. Bucky’s throat bobs as he watches you model the pose and then he clears his throat.

“I know what you’re doing. You’re not slick,” he groans. “I’m not falling for your tricks.”

“You’re right. It’s not like you haven’t seen me in this position before. Many times,” you say with a wink. Bucky grabs his feet and follows your lead, stretching into the pose. His eyes find their way to you again.

“Enjoying the view?” You ask, looking over at him.

“Fuck yeah I am,” he growls before shutting his eyes. “But I’m winning this damn thing.”

You groan and sit up. “Fine.”

Bucky chuckles and you finish your last few poses before rolling up your mats. There’s a light sheen of sweat covering his back and you lick your lips. Fuck - look away.

DAY FOUR

Bed sharing was not without its difficulties. Cuddling was second nature at this point in your relationship, and many times the spooning and soft snuggles led to more. But not this month. You were not going to break first. Bucky pulled you into his chest, still half asleep, and nuzzled into your neck as morning light filtered into your shared bedroom. His breath on your skin sent an immediate jolt of pleasure between your legs and you knew you were in the Danger Zone.

“Time to get up!” You announce more loudly than normal, squirming out of his arms. You turn to look at him, and damn if he wasn’t a God among men. “Fuck,” you whisper, knowing this was going to be a lot harder than you thought. But it would all be worth it. Right?

You walk down to breakfast and see Yelena and John sitting at the table, while Bob is in the kitchen cutting up some fruit.

“Morning,” they all three say in unison, and John stealthily removes his tiny notebook from his pocket. You see the movement from the corner of your eye and glare at him. “Really, John?”

“Well?” Yelena asks, waiting for details.

“Jesus, guys. Nothing happened,” you say, reaching into the pantry for a box of Cheerios. “Sorry to disappoint. We’re still holding strong.”

DAY FIVE

“You’re doing a hell of a job rearranging furniture,” Bucky quips from the office off of the living room.

“I’m trying a new arrangement - the feng shui is off in here,” you mutter, pushing the couch a few inches to the left. “Everyone else will like it, too. Don’t worry,” you say.

“Oh, I’m not worried, doll - I’m just watching,” he leans back in his desk chair and winks. “Maybe it’s not the feng shui that’s off. Maybe you’re just missing something.”

Just a wink - just that little smirk sends heat flooding to your core. Fucking Bucky. Well, you wish you were. But here you are, arranging furniture just to feel something.

“Try moving the coffee table a little to the right,” he quips, fully watching you now, his legs spread in his chair, his arousal obvious. You want to pounce on him.

“Stop teasing me, you prick,” you whine, turning your back to him.

“Stop teasing me in those fucking leggings, then,” he says gruffly, walking out to you, eyes dark.

He looks feral. Like a wild animal - a hungry wild animal. A hungry, horny wild animal. Jesus. Your thighs clench together as he stands behind you, barely touching you. “You need some help with this?”

“Yes,” you admit. “Thank you. And stop breathing so close to me.”

He smiles and walks to the other side of the coffee table, helping you lift it with ease. “Where to?”

You groan under the weight of the table and nod your head to the right, “Just this way.” You let out a sigh as you both set down the table and Bucky’s lips twitch into a smirk. “I’ve been missing that sound.”

“What sound?” You ask, confused. Bucky walks to you and gets in your personal space without laying a hand on you.

“All your little sighs, your groans and moans, your fucking whimpers, you saying my name… Hell, you not being able to say anything because your mouth is full. I need to hear it.” He tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. His dark blue eyes are stormy and full of want.

“Are you breaking first, then?” You tease, leaning up to softly kiss his lips.

“Never,” he whispers into your mouth before breaking away. He chuckles and adjusts himself before walking back to the office, leaving you there aching and full of need. Asshole.

DAY SIX

You walk to the garage to find Bucky working on his bike - tight black t-shirt, rag slung over his shoulder, and the smell of sweat and grease in the air. Nope. Nope nope nope. You turn back around, knowing you won’t be able to take this view without jumping on him.

“Where you off to, baby?” He asks before you get back to the door, wiping his hands on the rag.

“I was just looking for… a paintbrush. It’s not here,” you say, hand on the doorknob, eager to escape this honey trap.

“Could you bring me some water please? It’s getting hot out here,” he asks sweetly, and you now notice the sweat dripping down his temples and neck, pooling into the hollow of his throat.

“Uh huh,” you squeak out, rushing back into the compound to get you both some water. Your throat felt so dry all of a sudden - so thirsty. You steel yourself before walking back into the garage, and when you open the door you find your precious, evil man standing over his motorcycle, wiping his sweaty face clean with his t-shirt. His abs and biceps glisten in the sun shining through the open garage door.

“Thank you,” he says gruffly, reaching for the water bottle. He takes the cap off slowly, eyes never leaving yours, and takes a long drink, humming quietly as the cool water goes down his throat.

“You’re welcome baby,” you say, sitting down on an overturned bucket, feeling your knees getting weaker with each passing second.

“Would you hand me that wrench?” He asks, gesturing to the workbench covered in tools. You move your hand to what you think he’s asking for and he shakes his head. “The one to the left. There ya go. Good girl.” You pick up the wrench and promptly drop it on the floor at his praise.

“You okay?” He asks with a smirk. This motherfucker.

“Honestly?” You ask, about to combust.

“Honestly,” he encourages you with a wink.

“I need you to bend me over and make me forget my name,” you admit confidently.

He laughs and bites his lip. “You caving?”

“I’m caving,” you say with a shrug. “I need you.”

“Get your ass upstairs, then. I’ll be up in a second,” he growls.

“But I can’t lose! Everyone was betting that I’d cave first!” You whine, standing up and kicking the bucket like a child.

“Then we’ll tell them I caved first,” he says quietly, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“You’d do that?” You ask in amazement, ready to let him have you however he wanted.

“I just want to hear you sigh my name into my neck, baby. I could give a shit about some bets… Now, get upstairs. Take off that pretty dress. Lay on the bed. I’ll be there in five.”

You fly back inside and run upstairs to your bedroom, the ache building between your legs. You strip off your dress and get under the covers to wait for Bucky.

Bucky walks inside the compound calmly and washes the grease and grime from his hands. His dick is already hard, and frankly, he’s a bit pissed at the days that went to waste when he could have been buried inside you. He makes his way to your room and passes John.

“You look like a man on a mission,” John jokes, taking in Bucky’s focused saunter and dark eyes.

“I am,” he mutters, walking past John to your bedroom.

He walks through the door and closes it abruptly behind him.

“I’m sorry. This challenge was a dumb idea,” you admit, pulling the covers up to your chin. “I need you. I miss you.”

“It was a strange idea, love. I’ll agree, but the yoga has been nice. I love seeing you in all those positions,” he whispers, getting on the bed with you and pinning your wrists above your head.

“You’re not going to go easy on me, are you?” You ask, biting your lip and trembling.

“Not even a little bit,” he growls.

–

After you both thoroughly and completely fail the challenge (twice to be exact), you head downstairs for dinner with the team. John already has his notebook on the dining table propped open with a pen. You try your best not to make eye contact with anyone.

“You guys do anything fun this afternoon?” Yelena asks, raising a brow.

“Just watched a TV show together,” you answer almost too quickly.

“What show?” Bob asks genuinely.

“Golden Girls,” Bucky says at the exact moment you say “The West Wing”. You clear your throat and correct yourself, “Golden Girls”, just as Bucky says “The West Wing”.

“We watched both,” you say with a nervous laugh, putting some green beans on your plate.

Yelena walks over to get a plate and looks at Bucky. “James, your shirt is on inside out.”

John snorts from the dining table and you look at him warily, then to Bucky.

“Oh, yeah, it is,” Bucky looks down and shrugs, filling his plate and walking to the table. “What’s so funny, Walker?”

“You guys obviously caved. We just need to know who,” Ava says quietly, rolling her eyes.

Bucky scoffs. “It was me. She’s just too cute. Couldn’t help myself,” he says as he plants a kiss on your head. “Everyone happy?”

Bob’s eyes light up from the end of the table and he shouts excitedly, “I was right!”

Your eyes flit up to meet him. “You believed in me, Bob? That’s so nice actually.”

“Of course I did. Barnes never shuts the hell up about you. I knew he’d cave first. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked you to-”

“That’s enough,” Bucky interjects. “I caved first. Let’s move on and enjoy dinner.” He looks at you slyly and winks before leaning down to whisper in your ear, “I’ll always take the blame for you, sweetheart. But you’re going to pay me back later with your mouth.”

Your thighs constrict and you gasp quietly. Poor Bob. Awful at placing bets, but he’d never have to know.

#bucky barnes #sebastian stan #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts #new avengers #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #girlfriend!reader

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crazziforazzi · 3 days ago

Text

Red Jersey

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

One shot

Warning: MDNI, Possessive!P, Mild dom/sub dynamics

A/N: This started out as a cute little post-game one-shot I drafted after the match… then I went to work, came back, and rewrote it into whatever this is now. I will now be closing my laptop and pretending this never happened, okay? We don’t talk about it.

But in my defense, I did promise to deliver something if P dropped 20. Next time I’m betting on 25+

Word Count: 4k words

Azzi Fudd was in big fucking trouble.

Not the catastrophic, relationship-on-the-line kind of trouble. More the you knew what you were doing and now you’re dealing with the consequences kind. The kind of trouble where your girlfriend doesn’t raise her voice, doesn’t throw a fit, she just misses three open layups in the first half of a game she should be dominating and avoids eye contact the whole time.

That kind of trouble stung, because it meant Paige was actually upset. And Azzi couldn’t even say she hadn’t earned it.

It had started with the post. Their hard launch, yesterday. Paige had known it was coming, they’d even laughed about the case together when it arrived in the mail. She’d said Azzi could post it whenever she felt ready. Azzi had felt ready. Paige, apparently, had felt… too busy to react.

Sure, they had agreed Azzi would be the one to go public first, to slowly place the signs for their fans. But she hadn’t expected complete silence from her girlfriend. No like, no repost, not even their pink heart emoji. Just…nothing.

And that silence? It annoyed the hell out of her.

And she knew it was stupid. She knew Paige was barely online these days. She knew that one like didn’t matter when her girlfriend made sure she woke up to a good morning text every single day, and treated her like a princess whenever they were together. But still, Azzi liked to be claimed. In every way possible.

So yeah, maybe Azzi was feeling a little petty when she showed up to the Wings-Mystics game today.

Her hair was still perfect from the event she’d been at the day before. Her natural makeup hit just right. She even pulled on the jeans Paige loved and decided on a cropped white UConn shirt that left just enough abs and her piercing peeking out. She looked good. Hot, even. First official WAG game and she was showing up for it.

But when she was greeted by Georgia Amoore instead of her own girlfriend first, with a cheeky grin and a "You want this?" Azzi caught the jersey, smiled, and pulled it on right over her tank top without missing a beat.

Okay, maybe she paused for a second. But only because she knew Paige would be annoyed. Her girlfriend was way too possessive for this kind of shit.

Which made her do it anyway.

She’d barely been sitting for a few minutes, casually chatting with the girl next to her, when she saw them. Or more accurately, felt it first. The stare.

When she looked up, Paige and Arike were jogging toward the sideline for warmups. Paige wasn’t even trying to hide the glare. Azzi met her eyes across the court and raised her brows, all faux innocence, like what? Someone else gave it to me.

She didn’t expect Paige to actually come over to her side of the court. But she did.

With Arike flanking her, both of them bouncing the balls casually as they strolled toward Azzi’s section like they had no other place to be. Paige didn’t say anything right away. She just gave her that look. The one that said

You think you are funny, huh?

"Interesting jersey choice," Arike said with a sly grin, clearly enjoying the drama way too much.

"Georgia said she didn’t want it getting wrinkled on the bench," Azzi shot back smoothly. "I’m just doing her a favor."

"Mhm," Paige murmured, eyes flicking up and down slowly. "Bet she appreciated that."

Azzi tilted her head, playful. "Bet you noticed."

That earned her a look. Paige didn’t respond though,—just turned back to warm up again with Arike, glancing over at Azzi every once in a while before shaking her head. Each time, Azzi just smiled back sweetly, all charm and no remorse.

Now it was halftime, and Azzi sat very still in her seat, Georgia’s red jersey still on, and maybe regretting everything, just a little.

Paige had gone 1-for-6 in the second quarter alone. She’d gotten beat on defense twice, once by Citron, and passed up an open three just to dish to Smith, who wasn’t even ready for it. It was a turnover.

It was bad, like noticeably bad. The kind of bad that made sports Twitter start asking if something was wrong.

Azzi chewed the inside of her cheek, eyes fixed on the Wings bench. Paige was pacing in front of the seats, towel draped over her shoulders, head down. She wasn’t even pretending to be composed anymore. Nalyssa tried to say something to her. Paige just nodded and looked up, directly at Azzi. And Azzi… flinched.

Shit.

This wasn’t what she meant to do. This was supposed to be fun.

Azzi thought she’d fire Paige up. That it’d get her locked in. She thought Paige would come out swinging, torch the Mystics for daring to even flirt with the idea of taking what was hers. She thought Paige would have the kind of game where she dropped 25 just to spite the Mystics, the kind of night that ended with her backing Azzi against the door as soon as they got to the hotel room and saying mine in every possible way.

That was what Azzi had expected. A little fuel. A little bite.

Not throwing off her game. Not making her doubt everything.

Azzi tugged at the collar of the jersey, suddenly very aware of how obvious it was. Bright red. Amoore #8.

Cute… if you weren’t Paige Bueckers watching your girlfriend flaunt someone else’s name across her chest less than 24 hours after hard launching your relationship.

She chewed her lip as the players made their way into the tunnel. Paige didn’t look up once. Not toward the bench. Not toward the crowd. Certainly not toward Azzi.

Azzi had wanted a reaction. Just… not this one.

This wasn’t the fun kind of jealousy. This wasn’t Paige rising to the moment and proving a point. This was Paige shutting down, overthinking, spiraling, playing like she was stuck in her own head.

And Azzi, still stubborn, still too proud to admit it out loud, was starting to realize that maybe she’d misjudged the line between teasing and testing.

She slouched lower in her seat, elbow on the armrest, chin buried in her palm.

She decided to open the group chat. UConn Huskies 💙💍.

It had been buzzing with activity all game, mostly with playful jabs and updates. A few GIFs. Some exaggerated "OOPS" messages after Paige’s third turnover. Classic KK.

Azzi didn’t even want to scroll down to see the vote percentages. She knew what option was winning. Judging by Jana’s flame emojis and Sarah’s unhelpful "👀👀👀," her teammates were thriving off this chaos.

And then there it was:

KK: "New poll: What should Azzi do to fix being a dick and wearing the enemy’s jersey?"

Option 1: Beg for forgiveness after the game.

Option 2: Buy new shoes for lil Paigey.

Option 3: Put on that lingerie she packed and wait in the hotel room for Big Daddy Bueckers.

She exhaled, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Do I defend myself?

The silence lasted maybe thirty seconds. Then the floodgates opened.

Finally, she typed:

Azzi: Okay but… do you guys actually think she’s mad at me?

The words hit her like a slap. And suddenly, all the teasing and jersey-stunting didn’t feel worth it. Not if Paige was hurt. Not if she was second-guessing herself. Not if Azzi did that.

Sarh: Girl.

Morgan: She is mad.

KK: I’d be mad. I am mad. You look like you are repping Georgia like y’all go way back 😭

Caroline: Azzi, you literally hard launched yesterday and then pulled the most passive aggressive side chick stunt of all time 💀

Sarah: Also. She missed a layup which she almost never does. What do you think?"

She stared at her phone, jaw tight. No more playing it cool. She had to fix this.

She opened Paige’s contact, stared at the empty message window, hen finally typed:

Babe, are you ok?

Read, almost Immediately.

But nothing else. No bubble. Just that quiet little confirmation that Paige saw it, and still wasn’t ready to say anything back.

Azzi’s chest tightened. She glanced to make sure her dad wasn’t watching, took a breath, and typed the kind of message that might break through. The kind that usually worked when normal words weren’t enough. The kind that brought Possessive Paige out of hiding.

It was her asking for a second chance in Paige’s language.

Can you please come out and show them why, even if I wear someone else’s name on my back right now, I only ever moan yours when we get home?

Remind me who I belong to. I’ll be good for you when you do. Promise.

She hit send and was ready to see the effect.

Azzi sat on edge the entire second half—barely blinking, barely breathing—silently praying Paige would settle in. The arena was loud, tense, alive with every possession, but all Azzi could hear was her pulse hammering in her ears. Her hands were clenched in her lap, fingers curled tight in the hem of Georgia’s jersey. She hadn’t sent another message after that last one—but she didn’t need to.

Because Paige had read it. And now Paige was responding.

It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t pretty. She was getting double-teamed off the inbound, blitzed every time she touched the ball, and still not getting much help. But she was fighting. Hard. Every floater came with a shoulder dipped through contact. Every pass was threaded like a dare. Every drive ended with her hitting the floor and popping back up like it just fueled her.

Azzi didn’t move. She just watched.

By the final stretch, Paige had clawed her way to 13 points. And then, with just seconds left in regulation, she pulled off a screen and hit a cold-blooded three to tie the game and send it to overtime.

Azzi shot up before the ball even dropped through the net, hands in the air, mouth wide, screaming without thinking. Pride surged through her like a flood. She was full of relief and awe and love. This was her girl.

And then Paige turned. She didn’t look at her teammates. She didn’t even glance at the bench. She looked straight at Azzi.

Their eyes locked across the chaos, and Azzi’s whole body went still. Paige didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. She just stared, held her there, then lifted her hand and pointed. One deliberate motion, right at her chest. Right at the red jersey.

You are mine.

Azzi’s heart stuttered so violently it nearly made her dizzy. Paige’s eyes burned into her with a promise so sharp it almost hurt. It said, You wanted a reaction? You got it. Now get ready for what’s coming.

Azzi looked down and suddenly couldn’t stand the feel of the jersey she was wearing. The red. The number 8. The smug little game she thought she’d been playing. It felt like wearing someone else’s skin.

Her fingers flew to the hem and yanked it over her head, not caring who saw, not thinking about the cameras or Georgia or anyone else. She folded it once, maybe out of guilt, maybe just habit, and set it down behind her on the seat like it was something she no longer had permission to wear.

Azzi froze in place, heart stuttering. She didn’t even realize she was still wearing the red jersey until she looked down and suddenly hated it all over again. Her fingers yanked at the hem and she pulled it over her head like it was on fire, not caring if the arena cameras caught it or if Georgia saw. She couldn’t keep it on anymore.

When she looked up again, Paige was mid-huddle, sweat slick on her skin, hair damp, jaw tight but her eyes were still on Azzi. She’d seen the jersey come off. Of course she had. She was waiting for it.

And now she looked at Azzi like she was taking inventory. Her eyes dragged over Azzi’s now-bare shoulders, her fitted white UConn crop top, the deep rise and fall of her chest as she tried to catch her breath. And then, so subtle it almost didn’t register, Paige nodded.

It wasn’t a "thank-you" or a "you’re off the hook" nod.

No.

It was more of a a good girl nod. A that’s more like it nod. A you’re-in-so-much-trouble-later-and-I-hope-you-know-it nod.

Azzi sank back into her seat, suddenly hyper aware of every part of her body. Her pulse raced, her throat dry, her skin flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the arena lights. It was anticipation, pure want. The dizzy, sweet ache of having poked the wrong version of the bear and realizing, too late, that the bear liked being poked.

She tried to steady her breathing, tried to look composed, but she already knew.

She was in trouble. The kind of trouble that would show up in slow drips of sweat down the back of her thighs later, with Paige hovering over her until Azzi was begging for release.

And god, she deserved every second of it.

Overtime didn’t go how Azzi had hoped.

It started well enough. Paige hit a tough two right off the jump, then James came up with a steal and fed her for another clean finish at the rim. The Wings had momentum, briefly. But as always, without structure, without support, it crumbled fast. Missed switches, bad spacing, no real plan. And even Paige, locked in and pushing through, couldn’t hold the whole team together on her own.

Still, she fought. She always did. And she still finished with 20 points. Came damn close to a triple-double through sheer willpower alone. She didn’t quit. She just ran out of hands.

The crowd emptied quickly after the final buzzer. People were already halfway to the parking lot by the time Azzi stood from her seat. Paige stayed behind, as always. She signed every poster, took every selfie with the kids pressed against the railing, even as her body sagged a little under the weight of the loss. Her smile was tired, but it was still there. Her shoulders tense, but still straight. That was Paige. Win or lose, she showed up.

Azzi watched all of it from courtside, the red jersey balled up in her hand now. It didn’t feel like a statement anymore, just a mistake she was ready to be rid of.

She made her way across the court toward Georgia, who was still near the bench, smirking like she’d just watched a live drama unfold and maybe enjoyed it a little too much.

"Thanks for the loan," Azzi said lightly, holding it out.

Georgia accepted it with a grin and a quick once-over that lingered a beat too long. "Anytime," she said, flicking her gaze over Azzi’s shoulder, straight toward Paige, who was still watching. Still tracking. "Though I gotta say... it looked better on you than it ever did on me."

Azzi didn’t dignify that with anything more than a tight smile, already turning away.

She lingered by the baseline with Lili and Amari, pretending to laugh, letting the noise of the court fade around her. She didn’t check her phone. She didn’t need to. She knew Paige would come to her.

And she did.

Azzi felt it before she saw it and then an arm wrapped around her from behind, firm and familiar, dragging her a step off balance.

Azzi didn’t resist. Her body fell into Paige’s without hesitation, like it had been waiting for permission. Her shoulder pressed under Paige’s jaw, her back tucked tight against her chest, and for a second, she just stood there. Breathing, absorbing.

Paige smelled like heat and sweat and the same damn perfume Azzi had been sleeping in when she missed her too much. She hadn’t realized how much she missed this, Paige’s weight on her, the sense of being held intentionally, not just lovingly but fully possessed.

And Paige? She didn’t say hello. She didn’t ask. She just held her there, one hand gripping her waist, the other resting low on her hip, fingers splayed like a warning sign to anyone watching.

Mine.

Then Paige looked down at her with that maddeningly smug smile. "You really think you can wear someone else’s name on your back and not answer for it?"

Azzi blinked up at her, breath stuttering. "I thought it would get you fired up," she admitted. "That you’d…y’know, prove a point. On the court."

"Oh, I did," Paige murmured, eyes unblinking. "And now I’m going to prove the rest of it. Not here. Not in front of all these people. But you are going to pay for it."

Azzi swallowed. Her entire body responded to that tone, it was low and clipped. The kind of tone that promised she’d be lucky to walk straight tomorrow.

"I mean," she tried to deflect, voice lighter, "you’ve definitely made your point already…"

Paige didn’t even blink. "No. That was the warm-up."

Before Azzi could say another word, a voice behind them groaned dramatically.

"Oh my god. You two still lookl disgustingly obsessed with each other. Nothing’s changed."

Paige didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look away.

"Disgusting and exclusive," she said coolly, her voice dropping to a murmur as she leaned down, close enough that only Azzi could hear the rest. "And territorial as hell. Keep that in mind when I have you face-down tonight."

Azzi’s breath caught. Her heart forgot how to beat. Paige straightened like nothing had happened, throwing a casual wave toward a passing staffer.

Azzi just stood there, blinking like she'd been hit by a truck. One that smelled like sweat and victory and consequences.

She’d pushed. Paige had pulled.

And now she was in so much trouble. And she loved every second of it.

By the time they finally started heading out, the arena was almost entirely empty besides the staff cleaning up. Azzi had Paige’s gym bag slung over one shoulder, ignoring the way Paige kept glancing down at it with an expression that practically screamed give it to me. But Azzi just shook her head.

"No," Azzi said firmly, swatting her hand away. "Absolutely not. You carried the team tonight. You played forty minutes and got a bruised knee. The least I can do is carry your bag."

Paige narrowed her eyes. "Azzi—"

"Babe," Azzi cut in sweetly. "Let me be a good girlfriend and carry your stuff for once. You always carry mine."

Still, she muttered under her breath the entire walk to the parking lot, and Azzi caught enough of it to know that "good girlfriend" was going to be revisited. Thoroughly. Later.

When they reached the car, Azzi popped the trunk and turned to grab the keys from her back pocket, but Paige was already standing there, palm extended. Silent and Expectant.

Azzi met her eyes and couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her lips. She dropped the keys into Paige’s hand like she was surrendering something more than just a fob.

"I may carry your stuff," she said, saccharine sweet, "but I’m not giving up passenger princess treatment."

Paige cocked her head, that sharp smile slowly spreading. "You are really pushing your luck and my limits tonight, princess."

"Pushing," Azzi echoed, already sliding into the passenger seat. "Not over it."

"Yet," Paige murmured.

They shut the doors almost in sync, the cabin falling into soft darkness. The air shifted, quiet and charged. No noise, no lights, no crowd. Just them. Paige’s hands on the wheel. Azzi practically vibrating beside her.

And Possessive Paige finally alone with her girl.

Paige turned toward her without a word, eyes sharp in the shadows, and reached out slowly, like she’d been holding back for too long and was finally ready to take. Her fingers found Azzi’s jaw, curling under it, her thumb brushing up the line of her cheekbone, firm and unhurried. She guided her in like gravity, lips brushing once, soft and purposeful, then again, deeper, hungrier, heat blooming between them.

"I missed you, baby," Paige murmured against her mouth, voice low and possessive, the baby nearly swallowed by how close they were.

Azzi let out a whimper, high and helpless, her fingers already clawing at the back of Paige’s neck, tangling into the damp curls stuck to her nape. She pulled her in again, harder this time—mouths crashing, breath catching, her legs shifting to pull Paige closer over the console. Their kisses turned messy fast. All tongue, teeth, gasps. Azzi made a small, broken sound every time Paige tugged at her bottom lip.

It had only been two days, but with the month before that hollowed out by travel and tension and late-night missed calls, it felt like she was kissing life back into her lungs.

Paige leaned in harder, pinning Azzi into the seat. Azzi folded under her without resistance, knees parting, one thigh pressing up against the console. Paige's hand slid from her jaw down to her throat, thumb pressing right beneath her jawline. Azzi’s breath stuttered, eyes fluttering shut. Her whole body pulsed under Paige’s touch.

She was already shaking.

Paige didn’t stop kissing her until she felt it, felt how gone Azzi was. Then she pulled back just slightly, hovering above her, lips swollen, eyes black with promise. Her hand never left Azzi’s throat. She didn’t squeeze. She didn’t have to. The weight of it was enough.

Her smirk was slow, calculated, absolutely devastating.

"I haven’t forgotten about your little stunt," she said, voice low and deliciously cruel. "You think just because you handed the jersey back, you’re off the hook that you are a good girl again?"

Azzi’s pupils blew wide. Her breath hitched so sharp it was almost a gasp. She swallowed, her whole body taut with anticipation, thighs squeezing together without permission.

Paige leaned in closer, lips grazing her jawline, her voice dropping into something even darker. She was all breath and threat, velvet and warning.

"You’re not getting off easy tonight. You want to play games in public? You want to wear someone else’s name on your back and act like you don’t know who you belong to?"

Azzi whimpered, hips twitching upward like she could grind against the air. She was panting now, eyes dazed, hands tightening into Paige’s hoodie like an anchor.

"You’re mine," Paige growled against her ear. "And you’re gonna remember that for days."

Azzi couldn’t speak. She just nodded, desperate and shaking.

Paige kissed her once more, harsh and claiming, then pulled back, just far enough to look her in the eye.

"First I’m going to hold you down and make you scream my name over and over again until it’s the only one left in your head. And then I’m going to make sure your thighs are too sore to pull another stunt like that for a long time."

Azzi made a sound that was half-moan, half-plea. Her head fell back against the headrest, lips parted, eyes dazed.

"I’m serious," Paige said, softer now, but no less threatening. "I’m not going to rush it. You’re going to feel every second of it. And you’re going to thank me when it’s over."

Azzi’s voice finally broke through, wrecked and trembling. "Yes. Please."

Paige smiled, dark, satisfied, cruel in the way only someone who loved you could be before pulling away and starting the car.

Azzi Fudd was in big fucking trouble. She was about to pay for every second she spent in that red jersey. And god, she couldn’t wait.

#pazzi fics

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coolwyous · 1 day ago

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┈─★ #1 𝘩𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺

⊹ ࣪ ˖ megan skiendiel loves three things in this world: her amazing brilliant wife, her incredible adorable kids, and the beautiful sport that is ice hockey.

ˎˊ˗ ❄️ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 🔓୭˚. ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

➴ pairing: hockey daddy!megan skiendiel x f!reader

➴ genre + wc: 3.3k, domestic parenting au, all fluff no pain baby!

┈─★ a/n: wrote this in 2 hrs bc i missed our big puppy hockey!megan so bad and this put such a cute fucking vision in my head. can def be read as a standalone but if you're new here, i highly encourage reading the college hockey!au verse this is based in! <3

“babe! baby! jesus christ babe, get in here!”

your mind goes to the worst possible places. your son could be choking, he could be having an allergic reaction, he could be stuck in between a piece of furniture, and your perfect angel of a wife could be having a crisis as she tries to figure out what exactly to do in an emergency.

marriage with megan has been an absolute dream, and you always knew she’d make an incredible parent. protective, calm, kind— basics, sure, but megan does them so easily, you never questioned that a family together would be an absolute dream. however, megan is still megan, and you love her for each part of her, including the parts that panic when things do not go according to plan. that’s where you balance each other out: you keep megan in line when she starts to spiral, and she reminds you of the beauty in the day to day.

in this scenario, you’re in panic-mode, racing into the living room expecting the worst.

you let out a gasp to find not only is there no crisis, no furniture on fire, no natural disaster sweeping up your son and wife, but quite the opposite.

megan is reaching her arms out, crouched down, and your infant son is taking his first steps towards her, his chubby face squished up in the cutest smile you could have ever imagined.

“look at this guy! so sturdy,” megan beams, reaching out ready to catch him should he start to wobble.

you laugh and take a mental picture of the moment. you see a mischievous glint to megan’s eyes as she watches his wobbly little body take another step forward.

“megan, i swear if you even think about—”

“i wasn’t gonna say it!” she throws her hands up innocently.

“he just took his first steps,” you chastise her, knowing her well enough after all your years together. “don’t do this. i didn’t start rambling about universities or classic literature when he first said mama.”

“fine,” megan shakes her head in defeat, focusing back on waving to your son to get him to take a few more steps forward. “fine.”

you smile and turn to go hunt down your phone to document the moment. before you’re fully out of the room, you hear a quiet voice whispering to the baby.

“you’re a tank, dude. you’re gonna make a killer defender. get that core strong and we’ll be on the ice in no time.”

“megan skiendiel,” you warn firmly.

“shit. mommy heard us talking about the no-no word.” megan swoops up your son and uses him like a human shield, knowing you can’t stay mad at your two favorite people in the whole world. “okay, okay. i can wait. i get it.”

“i just want one milestone where you’re not trying to prep him for the nhl, i’m begging,” you laugh, reaching out to kiss her. she grins and kisses you back, scooping up your son to hold him between you two.

you can’t even pretend to be mad. you have the most perfect family in the world, what more could someone want?

“push left, then push right.”

megan makes skating look so easy, impossibly easy as she always has. when the first snowflake of the season fell, you already knew to get the kids’ winter coats ready, knowing megan would force you all into the car and haul you all to the lake ASAP.

“this is hard,” maxie breathes, his lower lip jutting out in frustration.

“guess what?” megan tells him, her voice softening as she realizes the emotions taking over your toddler. “it may be hard, but you can do hard things. and you’ll have me holding your hand all the way through.”

your daughter starts to squirm out of your grasp and eagerly reaches for her other mom. you press a kiss into the beautiful baby’s head and hold onto her, knowing your wife needs all her focus in one place right now.

“push left, push right. don’t be afraid to fall,” she nods confidently as you watch from the snow. “you’ve got this, dude. if i didn’t think you could do it, i wouldn’t be pushing you.”

your heart swells as you see your son’s eyes burn with determination at megan’s encouragement. max does exactly that, and he’s shaky, but making slow paces forward.

megan skates over to you, giving your son some space to figure it out without her over his shoulder. you grin and reach out to kiss her reddened nose, cold to the touch from the chilly falltime air.

“forgot how good of a captain you were,” you compliment, your chest warm and fuzzy seeing how gently but firmly megan builds your son’s confidence. “might want another one just to keep seeing you be that good.”

“another team for me to captain?” megan grins.

you laugh. “no— another kid, loser.”

“oh.” her eyes widen, but that stupid dopey grin only multiplies on her face. “right right right.”

your daughter wiggles once more in your grip and reaches out again. you smile, handing her to megan, who nestles her onto her hip while skating backwards to keep her eyes fixed on your son.

“look, look!” max calls out loudly, beaming with his precious toothless grin as he glides slowly along the ice.

you look up, ready to cheer him on, but your wife has already got you beat, her face lighting up instantly in pure, sincere, beaming pride.

“that’s my boy! that’s my boy!” she cheers.

megan throws your daughter up into the air and swings her legs around her neck to have the toddler sitting on her shoulders, causing the girl to giggle uncontrollably. max, still wobbly, manages to skid along the ice, his confidence increasing with each pace forward he makes without tipping. you smile at your little family.

“baby,” you call out, peeking at the three on the ice from over the pages of your book. “your daughter is about to do a backflip off of the snowbank.”

“josie, sweetie, sit down please,” megan calls out to her, standing with max as the two practice passing a puck back and forth.

“no thank you,” the girl responds simply.

“okay, no, wait,” megan pauses, wrinkling her nose. “no, princess, it doesn’t work like that. daddy’s words are not an option.”

max pauses, watching the whole thing unfold in front of him. he shrugs and drops his stick, putting his hands on his hips as he innocently observes his sister. “auntie dani says sometimes you just gotta send it.”

“okay, no more time at auntie dani’s,” megan grits. you burst out laughing.

“i told you she’d be a terrible influence.”

“i didn’t think she’d try to influence a five year old,” megan groans, grabbing josie to snatch her off the snowbank. the girl pouts and wiggles out of your wife’s grip, taking easily to the ice in her skates.

“babe, you know how daniela is,” you laugh. “you’re the only one to blame if you trusted her to be a good influence. i told you lara is more than happy to watch them.”

“lara has enough on her hands with the twins,” megan shakes her head, giving max a push to help him slide across the ice, sending the boy screaming laughing. “josie is a tornado.”

“so you stick her with the most insane person you know and expect it to go well?” you laugh.

“okay, okay, this is not bag on daddy time,” megan scrunches her nose at you, grabbing josie by her hood as the rambunctious child tries once more to climb the snow and jump. “i thought maybe dani could help me understand how to lay the law down more. you never have any problems with them.”

“the kids listen to me ‘cause i mean what i say,” you laugh, watching as megan increasingly fails to wrangle the two children as they go in opposite directions. “unfortunately, big bad strong hockey daddy folds every time your five-year-old gives you the puppy eyes.”

josie’s little voice cuts in, somehow at the top of the snowbank.

again.

“can you send a picture of me up here to auntie dani? i want her to see me send it!”

megan’s eyes nearly bug out of her head at the sight.

“my perfect sweet wife, will you grab your daughter, please?” she pleads, nervously holding her arms out in case the girl is too quick and jumps anyways.

you shake your head, pointing behind her as max is aimlessly hitting pucks off in random directions on the ice, pucks you know will never be found again.

“actually, my perfect sweet wife who doesn’t listen or learn, i wanted to do a library date. you’re the one who insisted on taking them to the lake. when you know i still can’t skate,” you remind her.

“oh my god,” megan groans, reaching up to snatch josie by the ankle, causing the little girl to giggle uncontrollably as she gets swung through the air and placed gently back down onto the ice. megan picks up her stick and quickly blocks max from hitting his last few pucks, instead redirecting them all easily back into the small bucket they came in. you watch, impressed. megan has been retired for a year now, shortly after josie turned 4, but she’s still good as ever.

“my thoughts exactly,” you laugh.

“remind me of this exact moment next time i suggest doing this again,” megan blinks.

“babe, this happens every time.” you remind her, flipping through another page in your book. “literally every weekend.”

megan, still impossibly strong, grabs both your kids by the back of their jackets, flipping them both around to face the same direction on the ice. the sound of their rumbling giggles makes your heart flip.

“laps, both of you.” she demands, her voice stern (or about as stern as your goofy, ridiculous megan can get.) “now, minions.”

“no,” josie pushes back challengingly.

“oh yeah?” megan bends down, pointing a finger menacingly at your daughter. “why? scared you’ll get left in my dust?”

you laugh, watching as your wife takes off on the ice, your two bumbling children skating along after her in an attempt to catch her. your heart melts at the sight.

even at lara and dani’s encouragement, megan had never seen herself as exactly coaching material. several colleges had tried soliciting her to coach for them after her time in the wnhl, and she had turned down each of them in favor of staying home with the kids while you continued to work. you didn’t mind— between what she had made playing professionally, your current job, and the current time she can dedicate to her family now that she’s done traveling, the trade off is well worth it.

but the perfect way to fill her time was coaching your son’s 7 & under junior hockey league.

“way to take that shot, champ!” your wife cheers as max misses yet another practice shot. “love the confidence, buddy!”

you laugh and hand her the coffee you just picked up for her in the lobby. “you’re being surprisingly patient.”

“no, he’s honestly so, so bad at this, poor guy,” megan lets out a quiet breath, and the both of you laugh. one of the assistant coaches takes over the drills as you two watch the kids from the side. “he’s trying like hell, though.”

“alright, relax coach,” you wrinkle your nose at her playfully.

you both hear a thud against the plexiglass and realize josie, who is supposed to be taking figure skating lessons on the other side of the rink while max’s team practices, is shoulder checking her poor coach into the wall again, much to the woman’s displeasure. you give her a sharp look to cut it out and she instantly straightens up, nodding at you in understanding.

megan gives you a quick look before bursting out into laughter. you know your daughter’s menace-like behavior is nothing to laugh at, but it’s such a sharp contrast to gentle and compliant max, you’re grateful to have such characters for children that keep you and megan on your toes.

“josie’s sick of figure skating, meg” you tell your wife gently, knowing you’re approaching a sensitive topic for her. “she’s been stealing his sticks and messing with his goal in the backyard. i know you’ve seen her.”

megan lets out a nervous sigh. “i was afraid that’d happen.”

when max happened, you saw it be so easy for megan, like being a boy dad was the most thing in the world. she had all the answers, no fears, no concerns. but as much as she loves both your children equally, you know for a fact that josie was different. megan was so, so much more nervous with raising a girl, and while you didn’t feel the same pressure, you knew it kept megan up at night wanting to make sure she did everything just right for your guys’ little princess.

“she wants to be just like you, meg,” you tell her gently as you both watch the girl roll her eyes at the coach and do another twirl. “she pays attention, talks about your teams, wants to watch your old games. she’s so eager to be part of that world, and you keep brushing her off.”

megan shakes her head, clearly wanting to pivot away from the topic. “mrs. baker called again today. she’s worried about her reading.”

you sigh. mrs. baker, josie’s kindergarten teacher.

“i remember how the first meeting went, megan. i was there, remember?” you laugh, rubbing her arm soothingly. “josie’s still got time to figure it out before they go on diagnosing anything. she’s barely 5. give her time. you sound more worried than her teacher did.”

megan’s knits her brows, avoiding your gaze as she watches both kids on the ice.

“i don’t want her to distract herself with hockey if she’s already at risk of falling behind in school.”

“meg,” you soften your voice, leaning you weight against hers. “it’ll be okay. let her try, we can support her. she won’t fall behind.”

“i don’t want her to beat herself up.” her voice drops into a rasp as you see her swallow down nervously. “i don’t want her to feel stupid.”

your heart aches thinking about baby megan, all those years beating herself up over struggles that were never her fault. you see how anxiously she projects forward, wanting so desperately to spare your guys’ daughter from the same fate, the same self-consciousness, the same lack of confidence.

“she won’t. give her a chance. she might thrive,” you reassure her. “having something she’s that passionate about might make her motivated to work harder.”

megan nods, pressing a kiss into your head. you feel her body relax against yours as you two lean together, watching the practices go on. “you’re right. i’m overthinking it.”

“she might be the next you,” you smile.

before you can say anything else, megan is motioning for the figure skating coach to pause, waving for your daughter to come over to where you guys are standing.

“max, come here,” she calls out, leaning down on the wall to be eye-to-eye with your kids as they both skate over, their eyes wide in confusion. “josie, go borrow your brother’s gear.”

“are you benching me?” maxie asks anxiously.

“would you rather go get a new book and hot cocoa with your mom?” megan asks, her voice soft, her eyes scanning over your son’s face as she chooses her words carefully. “would you rather not come back to practice?”

“i like hockey,” max says quickly, almost too quickly. your heart aches. you see megan in him too— nervous, kind-hearted, eager to be good, not wanting to hurt anyone.

“but do you love it?” megan pries gently, taking one of his hands in hers to comfort him.

“i would rather be reading, yeah,” max admits, his gaze dropping to the floor.

megan is quick to take his chin gently in her fingers and lift his gaze back up to hers. “hey, hey, that’s okay. were you afraid to hurt my feelings by telling me that?”

“yes,” he admits sheepishly.

“thank you for being kind, but thank you even more for being brave and telling me the truth,” she pulls his helmet off of his head and presses a kiss into the top of his sweaty hair. “go with your mom. i love you so, so much. you’re the coolest kid.”

the boy complies, coming off the ice and taking off his gear, handing each piece to his younger sister. “i was scared you’d be mad at me.”

you see megan’s face wrinkle in concern. she shakes her head, reaching down to give the little boy a tight, comforting hug.

“never ever. i love you with my whole heart. i can’t wait to buy you all the books in the world, dude,” she reassures him, nodding. “go give your sister your gear. your mom is waiting.”

you smile and reach out to your son, handing him his hoodie. he swipes it up eagerly and takes your hand, beaming excitedly.

“i heard you’ve been practicing on your own,” megan says as she kneels down, focusing now on helping josie put on all the gear. it’s a size too big, but it’ll do. “you ready to show me what you can do?”

“really?” josie’s eyes light up.

“these boys are bigger than you are,” megan warns, but she doesn’t sound worried. she sounds eager, proud. “think you can keep up?”

“yes,” the girl nods eagerly.

“go show off,” she encourages, giving josie a push on the ice to send her towards the practice. “but no backflips! you’ll give me a heart attack.”

“boring,” she gripes, skating off.

you can’t help but laugh.

“she’s going to kill me,” megan groans, pinching the bridge of her nose.

you poke her in the cheek, letting max rest on the bench for a moment.

“she’s karma for every single time you lashed out at one of your teammates. remember senior year?”

“yeah. alright, alright,” megan waves you off, rolling her eyes, but she pulls you in to give you a quick peck. you both watch as she boldly joins the drill as if she’s been doing it for years, quickly handling the stick and the puck with a confidence unmatched by most of the boys on the team.

“she’s a natural,” you beam proudly.

megan lets out a low whistle. “better than i was my first time on the ice.”

“i’ve always said she’s just a less anxious version of you,” you smile. “right down to the puppy dog eyes.”

megan grins back, wrapping an arm around your waist. “you love these puppy dog eyes.”

you look into those puppy dog eyes, the things that drew you in when you first met her, and the things you’re pretty sure were the first part of megan that you fell in love with, before the rest of her fell right into place inside your heart.

“being just like you won’t be the worst thing in the world, meg,” you tell her gently, you both watching as josie blasts past the other boys on the ice, handling the puck with unimaginable expertise.

“at least college is paid for,” megan wrinkles her nose, letting out a sigh. “who knows. maybe some sucker will get roped into giving her their english class notes.”

“and then they fall in love with each other and become college sweethearts. and survive long distance, and get married. and have a super cute family with two kids and a crusty white dog,” you add on, wrapping your arms around her waist to pull her into a hug.

“i got super lucky,” megan breathes, finally turning to look down at you.

“yes you did,” you grin back up at her.

“i love you,” she tells you, kissing your forehead tenderly.

you admire her perfect face, looking back at your perfect daughter and your perfect son. your perfect little family, something you could have never pictured when you first met megan in your british literature class all those years ago.

you smile, reaching up for one more kiss.

“ditto.”

#☆ﾟ coolwyous ditto.#☆ﾟ dittoverse thoughts.#megan katseye #megan x reader #megan skiendiel x reader #katseye x reader #katseye #katseye megan

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roquog · 3 days ago

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Thinking about it a bit more, maybe Pomni being an urban explorer is fitting. Something that jumped out at me in the first episode was Pomni going through the exit door when it reappeared because it wasn't something I would've done. I would have been too scared to go through on my own and I'd rather potentially miss my chance to escape than get stuck somewhere alone. I imagine urban exploration being a hobby where if you see something weird you just get out. Earlier, when she entered the circus, the first thing she did was run towards an exit. When an abstracted Kaufmo attacked Ragatha, she got out of the way and stood back to watch. I think she had such a big freeze response because she was fighting every instinct in order to not leave someone behind. The way she looked around the circus in search of Caine made her seem like a natural too.

In episode two, she fell into an out-of-bounds area and she was level-headed enough to grab onto one of the floating objects. When she landed, she seemed mostly uneasy because of Gummigoo's panicking. After talking to him, she got right to work in finding a way out. In episode 3, while being pretty freaked out, she kept her goal set on finding a way out. She tried to walk through a cloud of souls even though she was warned twice.

So Pomni has a reserved personality but is brave enough to explore abandoned buildings? It feels contradictory. It's possible we misunderstood her behavior during the initial shock as social anxiety when she might have acted differently in real-life. Or the fear of people and the fear of a dangerous environment could be completely separate for her. Maybe Ponmi finds reassurance in being able to navigate an unknown place. Reassurance that would be hard to get in social interaction.

I also want to point out how she looked when she shared she was an urban explorer.

[ID: Pomni speaking at the bar scene. She's looking to the side and has her hand on her other arm. The subtitles read "-and I would seek out mild thrills." End ID]

She seemed ashamed which was a little weird. I wouldn't know but in a casual group I thought these kinds of hobbies would be looked at with intrigue despite their danger and legality. It does seem out of character, so maybe she was embarrassed because of that?

[ID: Pomni in the same scene looking down into her drink where her face is reflected. She has a finger on the rim of the glass. She says, "It was just something I did for me." End ID]

It feels significant, but there are many ways to interpret her reaction. What I thought was that she was lying with a partial truth about her reasons for going into the C&A building.

#I think the exit appearing as a door was specifically for Pomni #If there are other AIs why is Caine trying to hide them?#my post #digital jester show #tadc #tadc pomni #pomni #the amazing digital circus #tadc spoilers #tadc 5 spoilers

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delilahsturniolo · 19 hours ago

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— 𝜗ৎ the greatest . . . m.s

in which . . . you want something more with fwb!matt, but he shuts you down, turning it into an argument, so he decides to “make it up to you” and you can’t help but give in

warnings . . . fwb!matt, smut, arguing, crying, unprotected sex, unresolved angst, use of pet names, fingering, multiple orgasms.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

HIT ME HARD AND SOFT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #6

there's something about matt that just drives you wild. maybe it's the way he looks at you with those piercing blue eyes or the way his hair falls perfectly into place. whatever it is, you can't get enough of him. but the problem is, all he wants from you is to fuck, and nothing more. a real relationship is where he draws the line. you've been friends with benefits for a while now, but lately, you've been wanting something more. you want to be able to call him yours, to have him hold you close and tell you that he loves you. but every time you bring it up, he shuts you down.

"matt, we need to talk," you say, tangled in the sheets. "about what?" he asks, pulling on his shirt and avoiding your gaze. "about us. about what we're doing here."

"we're having fun, aren't we? i mean, the sex is amazing. what more do you want?" you take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "i want more than just sex, matt. i want a relationship. i want to be with you." he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "i can't give you that. i'm not the relationship type."

"why not? why can't you just give us a chance?" you plead, matt snaps back. "because i don't want to hurt you. i care about you, i do. but i'm not capable of being what you need." you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "how do you know what i need? you've never even tried."

"look, let's just drop it, okay? we're good together, let's not ruin it by trying to make it into something it's not." you shake your head, wiping away a stray tear. "i can't keep doing this, matt.." he looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment you think he might actually be considering it. but then he leans in close, his breath hot on your neck, and whispers, "let me make it up to you."

and just like that, you're putty in his hands. he knows exactly how to touch you, how to make you moan and writhe beneath him. he trails kisses down your neck, his hands roaming over your curves, and you know you should stop him, should tell him no, but you can't. you need him, need this. you can’t resist going back to him. you love the way he makes you feel and you will never escape that.

he pushes you back onto the bed, his body covering yours, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. he thrusts into you, filling you completely, and you cry out, your nails digging into his back. “you feel so good," he groans, his hips slamming against yours. "so tight and wet for me."

"matt, please," you whimper, not even sure what you're asking for. "i've got you, baby. i'll take care of you." and he does. he fucks you hard and deep, hitting all the right spots, until you're a writhing, moaning mess beneath him. and when you finally cum, screaming his name, he follows right behind you, spilling himself inside you.

but you’re not done yet. matt leans in, his hot breath tickling your ear, and whispers, "you want this, don't you?" you can only nod, your heart pounding in your chest. his fingers brush against your panties, already damp with your arousal. he chuckles softly, a sound that sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

his fingers deftly push your panties aside, revealing your slick folds. he runs a finger along your slit, gathering your wetness on his fingertip. he brings it to his lips, tasting you. "mmm," he hums, "you taste so sweet, can’t get enough of this pretty pussy..” then, without warning, he plunges a finger inside you. you gasp, your back arching off the sheets. he pumps his finger in and out of you, adding another when he feels you're ready. his thumb presses against your clit, rubbing circles around it.

your hips buck wildly, meeting his thrusts. you can feel your orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter. "that's it," matt encourages, "cum for me again.” and you do. your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your walls clamping down on matt's fingers. he continues to pump them in and out of you, prolonging your pleasure until you're left a quivering mess on the couch. he withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his lips once again. he sucks them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

afterwards, he holds you close, stroking your hair and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. and even though you know it's not real, that he's not really yours, you can't help but bask in the afterglow. you know you shouldn't keep doing this, shouldn't keep falling back into bed with him, all he wanted was to see you naked. but the truth is, you're addicted to him, to the way he makes you feel. and as much as you want more, you're not sure you're ready to give this up just yet.

💌: MAN AM I THE GREATESTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

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ninjakittenarmy · 2 days ago

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“Oh I have. Mostly about whether it technically makes them insects.”

The cat-girl cocked her head. “Eh?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. It was an understandable reaction, but the actual subject matter was so dumb that I was dreading explaining it.

“Since insects have six limbs, and so do centaurs, and these people were only ever taught that six legs equals insect, they ask centaurs if they count as insects.”

She was silent for a moment, staring at me in disbelief.

“But that’s so DUMB!”

“I know, right? A buddy of mine I’ve known since high school’s a centaur and he actually gets asked that a lot.”

“They don’t even have exoskeletons!”

“Yeah, and you have to have evolved in the class Insecta. It’s not just looks.”

She sighed. “I thought it was just us but I guess everyone gets dumb questions.”

“Sorry I brought it up” I said. “Didn’t mean to hit a sore spot.”

She shrugged. “It’s not too big a deal, I’m just not sure why so many people fixate on it. It’s really not that strange. The amount of times I’ve been asked why I have four sets of ears instead of big cat ears wrapped around the side of my head is mind boggling.”

I’ll admit I was having a hard time imagining that.

“In any case, the reason we were engineered like that is because cat ears and human ears don’t hear the same auditory spectrum, yeah? I don’t really know the details but the ear shape has a lot to do with it. With eyes, it’s easy, you just add all the color cones from cats and humans. With ears it’s tricky to make one that hears all the sounds cats and humans can pick up.”

“So they just give you a set of each.”

“Exactly!” she said, glad I was getting it so easily.

The waiter briefly interrupted us to bring our sushi platters. Her eyes turned into saucers.

“Oh my God that looks so good!”

“Right? This place has amazing sushi.”

She ate the platter with astonishing speed. She was done before I could even finish half of mine.

“Wow. You must’ve been starving.”

She nodded enthusiastically, then swallowed the last California roll.

“Oh yeah. Haven’t eaten in a few hours at least! We felinids gotta eat lots of meat.”

“For the eyesight, right?”

“Among lots and lots of other stuff yeah but our eyes need a type of protein that you can only get from meat. There’s a lot of stuff we can only get from meat actually. Having to explain that to the vegetarians is NOT fun.”

“Oof” I winced, already being familiar with the sort of vegetarian she was talking about.

“I think most of them get that we can’t eat like them, but some of them are just nuts. Complete zealots. Like, no, Makeighlyn, I can’t just eat soy. I know there’s protein in soy. It’s not the right kind.”

I chuckled at her name suggestion.

“There’s this one vegan lady who’s still mad at me for ah, ‘stealing’ her cat.”

She grinned mischievously.

“Ooh, do tell!”

“Right so I was cat sitting for her and I realized that Mittens wasn’t looking so hot. I couldn’t find any cat food around so I asked if she was out.”

“Oh brother” she said, already seeing where this was going.

“She says that she eats this veggie and tofu purée in the fridge. Now I already knew that this was bad. But I looked at this Tupperware and it was full of just, the foulest slop I have ever seen in my life. Like if you fed this to inmates in Texas, YOU would get the death penalty.”

She snorted, choking on laughter.

“So then you stole the cat?”

“Well here’s the thing, I didn’t steal anything! I called the police to see if the city’s animal cruelty laws covered this and wouldn’t you know it, they did. So we have this whole court battle and she throws a fit right in the courtroom about how the government was only punishing her because they were in the pocket of the meat industry.”

“Oh God.”

I laughed. “Yeah she said some of the wildest conspiracy theory bullshit I ever heard. She thinks that all animals-“ I cut myself off laughing” “That ALL animals naturally only eat plants and that we humans taught carnivores to eat meat.”

“Did ‘em a favor” she said.

I chuckled. “Does time for animal cruelty AND contempt of court. And obviously loses the cat. So I took her in and got her some actual, edible food. Edible for her I mean. Though it’s probably safer for human consumption than whatever that puree was.”

We continued talking for a while about various things. Biology, videogames, the anime that lead to her species’ creation, that sort of thing. A couple hours, a few orders of seafood dishes, and an expensive bill later, and we were ready to go. As we were packing up, she said something that caught me off guard.

“So… if you’re not busy later tonight, could I maybe drop by your place?”

I was taken aback and immediately flustered. I could feel the heat rising on my face.

“O-oh! I uh-I don’t really do that sort of thing” I said. I’m asexual you see.

Her face turned beet red at the implication she apparently just realized. “Oh no, I know! I saw you wearing that pride pin aways back! I ah, don’t really like that stuff either, truth be told.”

“Oh” I said, relieved. “So why ah, why this all of a sudden?”

She smiled bashfully, averting her eyes.

“I was kinda hoping I could… maybe meet your cat? I love cats.”

"Why do people find the 'four ears' thing to be so weird?" The cat-girl flicked her top pair back in annoyance. "Centaurs have six limbs and I've never seen anyone ask one of them about it."

#my writing #cat girl

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fckmebarnes · 2 days ago

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your idol

camboy!bucky x camgirl!reader

18+ smut — men and minors dni. somno. (pre established) toy use (dildo/vibrator) squirting. multiple orgasms. breeding kink if you squint a little. daddy nickname. fingering (r). bucky is insatiable. he needs u fr.

wc 2.1k

a/n — this came from a place of horny (somno is one of my top kinks), along with this request. i felt this one in my pussy when writing it. this is just the start of camboy!bucky & camgirl!reader <3

“you guys would not believe how wet she is right now…” bucky’s voice is soft; quiet. with his eyes glued to your pussy, he pulls the translucent purple dildo out of your hole slowly — watching at is sheens in the slick coming from you.

“bet it doesn’t pick up well on camera…” he mutters, still watching your cunt as he pushes it back inside you.

you were knocked out — taking a nap after going several rounds with bucky was what you and your body needed

and you gave him permission to keep playing afterwards.

of course he took it.

your leg was hiked up as you rested on your side, an arm propped under your pillow and a blue night dress adorned your body.

the fabric was riding up on your hip, your cunt exposed with how you hiked your leg up further than the other. you always claimed it was a comfortable sleeping position but he knew you better than that.

it was an easy access position — one you only did when you wanted him to take advantage of you.

and here he was. fulfilling your wish.

“fuck, baby…” his own cock twitches in his lap as he watches your cunt swallow the dildo all over again — imagining it was his own cock sinking into your wet cunt.

not yet. he has to be patient. give the viewers what they want.

even if his cock is painfully hard right now and leaking all over the sheets.

he spreads your ass with his other hand, sinking the dildo to a hilt into your cunt as he reached over and grabs a small bullet vibrator.

“gonna make this pretty pussy sing around this fake dick…” he mutters, eyeing the chat of the live stream and hearing the sound of pings incoming — signaling that he’s getting extra tipped.

he hadn’t done anything like this with you before, but it was pre-established you both wanted to make this sort of content — whether it be for your own two eyes or for your shared account — it didn’t matter.

you both just wanted to play with each other.

he goes to grip his own cock in his hands, moving ahis fist at the same pace the dildo was fucking your pussy. it made his head spin at how easy you were for him — how easy you were to open up and let him take you like this whenever he wanted.

and you both were getting paid for it?

fuck. it made his cock twitch harder in his hand.

he never thought that he would ever do cam work let alone be with someone who did cam work and collaborate. but somehow he got lucky with you.

meeting you on the first few nights of his own career launching, needing some subscribers and some exposure but being the humble man he was — he didn’t reach out or initiate first.

until he saw you one time on live.

you were fucking your pretty pussy with a clear, glass dildo — tits bouncing with each thrust as you fucked yourself with it on the floor.

you had your fingers strumming your clit and the other twisted a nipple and he swore he never saw someone more beautiful than you when he saw you squirt on camera.

“you sound so fucking good, baby…” he mutters all to himself as he stops jerking his cock, taking the vibrator and turning it on before slotting it between your swollen cunt and the blanket that was snug between your legs

involuntarily, your hips jerk — a warm sensation spreading through your body as you move your hips against the sheets. he watches your body hungrily, biting his lip as he starts moving his hand on his own cock again.

your brows furrow as you keep your speed up, dreams blending together, not knowing what you were truly dreaming about or not.

all you knew was you had an ache — one so deep only bucky would’ve been able to fix it.

and he knew that.

sly little shit.

“makin’ a mess of the sheets, doll.” he coos softly as he turns to the camera and pulls it closer, letting everyone see your cunt glistening in the low ring light setting.

he looks back over at your cunt as he swipes a metal finger through your folds — your hips backing up into him instinctively.

“so responsive…so sensitive…” he trails off as he hears your quite whimpers filter through your lips, fingers clutching the sheets gently.

he pushes the tip of his fingers slowly into your hole, easily letting him in as you settle your hips back down — nuzzling into the silk pillowcase. his eyes travel up the length of your body, settling on your face.

that was something that was kept private by the rest of the internet except him.

you didn’t mind it, either.

in fact you kinda loved it. made it feel like he has a more possessive claim over you — being the only one able to bask in your pleasure.

that’s what he loved most about doing this with you.

he draws his finger back, lips parting softly at the sight of his digit covered in your slick. he has to bring it up to his lips, moaning softly at the taste of you on his tongue.

“such a sweet sleepy pussy…” he sinks his finger back into your cunt before he’s grabbing the camera off the tripod and holding it in his free hand.

“look how well she takes me — even in her sleep.” he groans as he sinks a second one in, your hips pushing back against his touch as you whine into the pillow. he chuckles to himself, knowing you can’t help it. your body is just that needy for him.

“shh..” he coos, picking up the pace with his fingers fucking your cunt. his cock bobs in between your thighs, nudging your clit every so often with the way his arm moves to fuck you. he groans every time he feels your swollen clit bump his sensitive tip — leaking and spreading a mess all over you.

“think i can make her cum like this?” he whispers mostly to the livestream — watching your face furrow in frustration as your hips start bucking gently against his fingers, his thumb coming to rub your clit as you let out the softest moan in your sleep.

“fuck.” his moan is deep; guttural. the only kind you can possess form him like that.

and you weren’t even awake this time.

after a few more lazy strokes to your clit and curling his two thick fingers inside of you, he had you cumming around his digits in seconds — your hips stuttering against his hold as he feels his cock ache painfully.

he needs to be inside you — feel your warmth around his aching cock.

“good girl.” even if you’re knocked out, he still needs to praise you. and your body responds to it the second you clench around his fingers as they stay buried in you for a second.

you’re dripping down his wrist and arm at this point — a mess had already been on the sheets from you rutting into them before all of this and started.

you couldn’t help it, you were a needy little thing in your sleep.

he keeps the camera positioned for a second before he pulls his fingers out of your pussy, watching the way it clenches around air from the loss of being filled

you whimpered in your sleep. that made his cock twitch — slapping against your wet folds.

he puts the camera back onto the tripod, getting the best angle of his thighs, your ass presented to the camera and the short length of your back before it disappears.

your wet cunt is on display for everyone at home to see, whoever is lazily jerking off to it.

at least bucky got to feel it for real.

he takes his metal fist and wraps it around his cock giving it a few jerks before he’s pressing the tip into your wet hole.

a debauched moan leave his lips before he’s even sinking into you. he feels almost embarrassed but to be quite honest after feeling you cum and jerk around his fingers mere seconds ago — he couldn’t have given a fuck.

“shit baby… you’re so tight…” he ends up leaning over the length of you for a second as he pushes all the way in — your cunt stretching nicely around the thickness of his cock.

he peppers kisses on the exposed skin on your shoulder, his scruff of his beard scratching against you making you stir slightly.

well, it was mostly the scratching of his beard.

you let out the softest, most pathetic sleepy moan bucky had ever heard in his life, following along with his name.

“buck…?”

the sound along has him almost busting a fucking nut.

he draws his hips back before he’s slamming them back into you, making you moan again, louder.

“shh..sweetheart,” he mumbles against your shoulder as his lips travel up your shoulder to your neck, right under your earlobe. “daddy’s just gotta take care of this sleepy pussy, alright?”

you’re so fucking sleepy and out of it that you don’t even process yourself nodding your head, nor the way your hips lift up and your ass pressed firmly against his own hips — driving the tip of his cock to your sweet spot.

“mm..” is all that leaves your throat as your eyes flutter open for a split second to look down at see bucky’s metal arm holding his body weight up and over you — his hips thrusting into you at a pace that rocked you back to sleep.

“atta girl, go back to sleep. daddy’ll take care of the rest…” he murmurs against your skin as you whimper in your sleep. he lets out a satisfied grunt as he pulls his hips back and reaches for the vibrator, pushing it into your hole while his cock sinks back into you.

the vibrations has him shivering.

“oh fuck…” his whimpers are muffled by your skin as he starts fucking you deep and slow, feeling the toy inside you and snug up against his shaft makes his head dizzy.

“fuck baby…oh god…” he’s now being reduced to a whimper, whining mess as he feels you drip all over him and his balls, down onto the sheets.

he feels your cunt clench the toy and him, hips rutting back against him as he makes sure you feel every single inch of his thick cock inside you. wanting to make sure even in your sleep — you can feel how deep he is.

so he takes he metal hand and leans onto his elbow before pressing his hand against your lower tummy, chest pressed against your back at this point

he’s rocking into you helplessly

he hears you whimper into your pillow as you press against him further, his own moans falling from his lips as he feels himself getting pushed to the edge.

he reaches further below your tummy with his metal fingers to press against your clit — the added stimulation making your cunt squeeze him hard enough to trigger his orgasm. the sound of the tip jar notification going off gets drowned out by blood rushing to his ears.

“oh…fuck—! take it, doll. every last drop…mm..” whimpering against your skin he rubs your clit making sure to get you there again, addicted to the feel of your cunt squeezing his cock.

he feels your body come after him, hops convulsions against him, still in your sleepy state.

your fists bunched tightly at the sheets as you moan into them, eyes screwed shut as you squirt all over his cock and the sheets.

he groans as notices you made an entire mess of him and yourself, kissing your skin gently.

“good fuckin’ girl…takin’ all of my cum…even in your sleep your pussy can’t get enough.” he’s reached to pull the toy out first and shutting it off before pulling out himself, taking the camera to show the after math

he angles the camera to show his hot cum leaking out of your wrecked cunt, dripping onto the soaked sheets below. his thumb finds your hole and pushes some more of his cum back in — his screen lighting up with tip after tip after tip.

he grins, feeling your cunt clench around his finger.

“gotta fill this pussy up one more time. she’s begging for it. see ya sluts later.” he says before he’s turning off the camera and live, tossing the phone and pulling you into his chest before sinking right back into you.

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liuhsng · 19 hours ago

Text

─────⋆˚࿔ ⋆ off the record ( sjy ! ) — part 2

✩ˎˊ˗ enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — jake x fem!reader

⤷ part 1 | part 2 ⤷ word count — 14.5k ⤷ based on this request by an anon ⤷ permanent taglist — open !

⤷ a/n — here’s part 2 as promised! i really had fun writing this one (especially the smut scenes hehe), so i hope you enjoy reading it just as much <3 i had to shuffle some events and performances around to make the timeline and plot flow smoother. pace yourselves, loves, ily always 🤍

⤷ warnings — smut (minors dni), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), idol au, secret relationship, established relationship trope, idol!jake, idol!reader, possessive!jake, clingy!jake, overprotective!jake, a little toxic communication, breeding kink, mating press, oral, creampie, overstimulation, squirting, possessive!jake, praise kink, slight dom!jake, clit stimulation, backshots, aftercare, whiny!reader, clingy!jake, post-sex softness, light bruising, post-orgasm cuddles, soft angst, toxic industry pressure, hurt/comfort, morning after fluff, and one extremely lovesick, whipped man

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — two years in, and jake sim still looks at you like he’s falling for the first time. but being an idol means love stays quiet—hidden in elevator rides, exchanged glances, and stolen moments between schedules. it’s always been worth it. until you’re on stage with another. until a harmless award and a scripted smile threaten to break the calm he’s clung to. jealousy was never part of the plan, but neither was loving you this much. where you win an unexpected couple award with someone else, and sim jaeyun realizes just how tired he is of pretending you’re not his.

You stared at your hands, cheeks flushing as the kitchen filled with stunned silence.

Then Jake sighed, a little more seriously this time. “I’ve already met her parents. Twice, actually. But this…” he gestured vaguely to the kitchen, to your members hovering around the stove and the stools. “This is way scarier.”

Yunjin set the ladle down and turned fully toward him, arms crossed. “Good. We should be scary.”

“He’s right though,” Kazuha piped up from her seat beside you, wide-eyed but amused. “I feel like we’re in the middle of a drama episode reveal.”

Eunchae returned from the pantry holding a jar of jam, blinking. “Wait, what did I miss?”

“Only the part where Jake-sunbaenim just confessed they’ve been dating for two years,” Sakura said, dazed.

Jake raised his hand in defense. “In my defense, I didn’t exactly plan on getting grilled over broth and strawberries.”

You buried your face in your hands. “This is the exact nightmare I’ve had, by the way.”

Yunjin tilted her head. “We’re not mad, dummy. We just wish we knew sooner.”

Jake turned to you, then looked back at the girls. “I didn’t want her to be the one carrying the weight of going public too early. It’s hard enough being an idol. Dating one? That’s another level.”

The kitchen fell quiet for a moment. Even the bubbling soup on the stove seemed to hush.

Your members stared at him in surprise—eyes flicking between each other and him, processing that kind of emotional maturity.

Yunjin finally broke the silence with a sigh, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she stirred the pasta sauce. “You know, sunbaenim… I always pegged you as the playboy type. Not someone who’s been in a committed relationship for two years.”

Jake immediately frowned, head whipping toward her. “Hey, what? That’s not—okay, rude.”

“And don’t call me sunbaenim, please,” he added, with a groan. “We’re not filming.”

That made Eunchae laugh as she popped up beside you and Kazuha, snagging a strawberry from your bowl. “Sorry, sunbaenim,” she teased under her breath.

Behind you, the oven beeped and Sakura pulled out a golden, bubbling lasagna with practiced grace. “This one’s done,” she announced, placing it on the counter before glancing over her shoulder.

“Now, spill—how’d you two even meet?”

Eunchae nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I wanna know! Like, was it fate or what?” she grinned, holding her hands out dramatically.

You passed her a strawberry slice with a chuckle before leaning against the counter.

Jake, now stirring the soup with a wooden ladle, hummed in thought. He turned his head slightly, catching your gaze for a soft second before saying, “I think… it was around Drunk-Dazed era?”

“Oh?” Kazuha blinked. “That far back?”

“Yeah,” Jake nodded. “I bumped into her in the elevator. Like, literally. She was wearing a headset and almost spilled her drink. I helped her pick it up and she just… smiled. I guess we started talking from then on.”

You looked down, cheeks warming at the memory. Your first real conversation had been about Genshin updates and whether or not it was worth pulling for Zhongli.

“But why?” Kazuha asked curiously, head tilting. “I mean, what made you like her?”

Jake didn’t miss a beat. “She’s my type.”

Sakura raised a brow immediately, unimpressed. “So you’re into gamer nerds now?”

You scoffed, throwing a napkin at her. “Excuse you—intelligent gamer nerds. Get it right.”

Sakura raised her hands in mock defense. “Hey, hey—I’m just stating the facts.”

Jake laughed behind you, stirring the pot once more. “She was funny, honest, didn’t care who I was, and somehow managed to make the elevator ride feel like ten seconds instead of ten floors.”

Eunchae clutched her chest dramatically. “Okay, that’s actually kinda romantic.”

Yunjin shook her head. “Still shocked. You’re like… boyfriend material? That’s wild.”

Jake turned to her, deadpan. “I am offended on so many levels right now.”

Yunjin only shrugged, completely unbothered, as she grabbed a stack of plates from the cabinet. “You’ll be fine. Now go set the table. (Y/N), wake Chaewon, please.”

Jake turned off the stove with a soft click, the boiling soup finally calming, and gave you a look that screamed good luck.

You stood, stretching a little before padding quietly down the hallway. You gently pushed open the door to Chaewon’s room, the lights still dim from when she knocked out earlier.

The curtains fluttered slightly from the breeze of the cracked-open window.

Careful not to startle her, you sat at the edge of her bed and nudged her shoulder gently. “Unnie… dinner’s ready,” you whispered.

She stirred, blinking slowly as she rubbed her eyes. “Already?”

You nodded with a smile. “Yeah. Also, um… my boyfriend’s here.”

Chaewon paused mid-stretch, one eye squinting open. “…Boyfriend what?”

You bit your lip, stifling a laugh. “Yep. He’s here. In the kitchen. With a knife. Very domestic.”

Her eyes shot open fully this time as she scrambled to sit up, brushing her hair out of her face in panic. “Who? Wait—what? Since when? You—what?!”

You grinned, standing up and helping her fix the knot of her oversized shirt as she grabbed a headband from her bedside table to look more like the responsible leader she was. “Two years,” you answered simply.

“Two—” she nearly choked, jaw going slack. “Two?!?”

You giggled, tugging her hand gently as you led her out of the room. “Yep. Come meet him. He’s real nice. Also your hoobae.”

Chaewon furrowed her brows in disbelief as you entered the kitchen, her gaze immediately locking on the boy in question—tall, fluffy brown hair, now setting down a pair of chopsticks beside each plate and laughing at something Eunchae said.

He spotted you approaching and perked up, flashing his signature soft smile. “Hi! I’m Jake.”

Chaewon blinked at him, then turned to look at you with a raised brow. You simply nodded with the biggest, most unapologetic smile on your face.

Chaewon turned back to him slowly. “…Yeah. I know who you are.”

Jake’s smile wavered for a millisecond. “R-right. Yeah.”

“She’s told me a lot about you,” she added calmly, walking past him toward the table. “Like, for example, nothing. Ever.”

You laughed as Jake scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, eyes darting to you.

“Chaewon unnie,” you said sweetly, “Jake’s helped me sneak ramen at two in the morning during our first world tour. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Chaewon scoffed, smirking. “We’ll see if it counts after he survives dinner.”

Jake laughed nervously, nodding. “That’s fair… I think.”

Still ever the gentleman, he reached out and pulled a chair for you first, waiting for you to sit down before settling into the one beside you.

You turned to him with a quiet “Thank you,” and he just offered you a soft smile—like everything was worth it just to sit beside you.

You both clasped your hands in a tiny, automatic gesture of prayer before digging in. The clinking of utensils and quiet hum of satisfied eating filled the room as the girls passed dishes around the table.

Jake, without a word, reached out and gently placed a spoonful of lasagna on your plate first, then added a few slices of grilled eggplant and your favorite salad topping. Only after your plate was full did he even think of serving himself.

Chaewon, from across the table, paused mid-chew. She stared. Narrowed her eyes. And then casually pointed her fork at Jake.

“Okay,” she said, “Approved. You can date my daughter.”

You choked on your water.

Jake blinked. “Oh—uh, thanks?”

Kazuha nearly dropped her fork from laughing. Yunjin let out a low whistle. “Didn’t think you’d fold that fast, unnie.”

Chaewon shrugged. “He served her before himself. I observe things.”

Jake grinned, finally putting food on his own plate. “I’ve been trying to earn your approval in my head for two years now. So… big win.”

“You’re still on probation,” Chaewon added.

Jake raised his glass. “Fair.”

Eunchae giggled from beside you. “Unnie, he really likes you.”

You turned pink and muttered, “I know…”

The room quieted for a second as everyone chewed on their food, the warm clatter of plates and utensils echoing softly around the dining space—until Chaewon, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly looked up from her plate.

“Wait,” she said, squinting at Jake like she just remembered something. “Don’t you have promotions tomorrow?”

Jake blinked, mouth still full, and slowly nodded.

You rolled your eyes fondly and answered for him, “Yeah. They just released their comeback two days ago, so they’re in full promo mode.”

Chaewon raised a brow, setting her fork down with a soft clink. “So why are you here and not, I don’t know, practicing? Or sleeping? Or doing your twelve-step skincare routine with Sunoo?”

Jake chuckled sheepishly, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “We already have everything prepped for this week. Plus, I’m heading out early tomorrow morning anyway.”

Yunjin tilted her head from the other end of the table. “Still, brave of you to spend the night in a dorm full of girls who could absolutely kick you in the ass for dating our member.”

Jake grinned, glancing at you. “Worth it.”

Chaewon gave him a pointed stare. “And?”

He set his utensils down and looked around the table for a moment before answering, sincere and clear. “Meeting you guys tonight was really important to me. She’s been in my life for two years… and I’ve met her family. It just felt right to meet hers, too.”

You tried to focus on your rice, but your cheeks betrayed you—glowing pink as Jake reached under the table to gently tap your hand with his.

“Well,” Sakura muttered with mock annoyance, “he’s charming. Great.”

“I know,” Kazuha sighed dramatically.

You tried not to smile too much, your heart fluttering like it was hearing him talk about you for the first time again. You picked up a new slice of lasagna and said softly, “Eat more, Jakey.”

Jake beamed at you and immediately obeyed, making everyone at the table burst into knowing laughter.

The clinking of dishes and the gentle hum of ‘TFW’ playing from someone’s speaker filled the quiet kitchen.

You stood at the sink, fingers slightly wrinkled from the warm water and soap bubbles, while Jake stood beside you with a clean towel in hand, drying each plate and placing it carefully into the dishwasher.

Jake let out a small breath, his eyes not leaving the glass in his hands. “You know…”

You hummed in question, not looking up from the last bowl you were rinsing.

“I’m really glad tonight went well,” he said quietly, drying the edge of a plate before setting it down.

You smiled, grabbing the towel and dabbing your wet hands on it before replying. “Well, it had to. I mean, they were always going to accept you, Jake. You’re you.”

He chuckled.

You leaned on the sink, tossing the washcloth onto the rack. “Plus, you’re already famous for being charming. That’s got to be, like, at least 60% of the battle.”

Jake laughed at that—low and breathy—and before you could turn around, you felt his arms snake around your waist. He pressed himself against your back, resting his chin on top of your head.

“I’m really lucky to have you,” he mumbled into your hair.

You smiled to yourself, cheeks warm as you reached up to hold onto his arms. “Even if we fight?”

He leaned back slightly as you turned around in his embrace, your back now against the edge of the sink as he boxed you in, hands still resting loosely around your waist. He tilted his head, a soft grin playing on his lips.

“Especially when we fight,” he teased, gently nudging your nose with his. “You look like a sad bunny when you’re mad. It’s kinda hard to take you seriously.”

You gasped, laughing as you pushed on his chest. “You’re unbelievable!”

“And yet,” Jake said dramatically, placing a hand over his heart, “you continue to love me. Tragic.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a laugh. “Tragic is right.”

But then he smiled—really smiled. That small, sweet curl of his lips that told you he wasn’t just joking anymore.

“I mean it, though,” he said. “Whatever happens with work, or promotions, or… whatever chaos we have to deal with—I’m still really, really glad I get to come home to this. To you.”

You let your hands rest on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“And I’m glad you’re here,” you whispered back.

Jake dipped his head and kissed you—gentle and unhurried, like there was no rush in the world.

You both lingered for a moment, eyes closed, foreheads still brushing before you slowly pulled away, sharing quiet, knowing smiles. The kind that said I love you without needing the words.

Wordlessly, you both turned back to the sink, finishing the last of the dishes in a rhythm that had become second nature.

Jake dried the last glass and stacked it neatly, while you wiped down the counter, tossing the cloth in the laundry bin tucked under the sink.

Just as you reached for the light switch, the sound of muffled footsteps filled the hallway—and in came your members, bundled in oversized coats, beanies, and masks, looking suspiciously like a group of spies ready for a mission.

You blinked at them. “Uh… Where are you guys going?”

Eunchae grinned beneath her white fleece bucket hat, nodding enthusiastically. “Convenience store! The one a few blocks down!”

Kazuha tugged her mask down slightly, eyes sparkling. “Chaewon-unnie said the new strawberry banana bread flavor just came out.”

Chaewon nodded proudly from the back, crossing her arms with mock authority. “Limited edition. We must investigate.”

You laughed, glancing at Jake beside you, who was already smiling—shoulders shaking in amusement at the chaotic yet endearing dynamic.

“You guys are such a unit,” he said under his breath, fondness written all over his face.

Sakura, who was zipping up her jacket, paused and looked at you. “You two want anything?”

You hummed, thinking for a second. “Yeah! That new sandwich with the cheese melt thing… and strawberry milk, please. I’ll pay later!”

Jake raised a brow, immediately shaking his head. “Double that. I’m paying.”

You gave him a playful glare, and he just winked at you in response.

“Got it!” Eunchae said, doing a little salute.

“We’ll lock the door behind us!” Yunjin added, already pulling it shut as they piled out one by one, Chaewon doing a headcount like a mom with her ducklings.

“Strawberry milk,” Kazuha repeated under her breath.

“And the sandwich!” Eunchae called before disappearing down the hall.

Jake laughed softly beside you as the door clicked shut. “You weren’t kidding when you said they’re your second family.”

You grinned, leaning against his side. “They’re my whole heart, actually.”

He slipped his hand into yours again, gently squeezing. “Yeah… I can see that.”

The apartment quieted again, save for the soft hum of the fridge and the faint echo of your playlist still looping from earlier.

The roar of Engenes filled the venue as the final notes of ‘One in a Billion’ echoed across the stage, the boys of ENHYPEN wrapping up their performance with flawless synchronicity.

You stood just off-stage, heart fluttering—not from nerves, but from the sight of Jake under the stage lights, shining like he was born for it.

“You good?” your stylist asked quickly, tugging your hair gently into place before stepping aside. You nodded, adjusting your mic pack with steady fingers, the anticipation building as your group was next to perform ‘Anti-Fragile.’

“Damn,” you muttered under your breath to Yunjin, eyes still locked on the stage. “They’re good.”

She laughed lightly, swaying to the fading melody. “Let’s not gas them up too much, we have to follow them.”

You both giggled as the cameras nearby continued to roll, capturing behind-the-scenes footage. Eunchae suddenly latched onto your bare waist, making you squeal and stumble slightly.

“Unnie,” she whined dramatically, her voice muffled as she hid behind your back, “I’m nervous for this comeback.”

You turned slightly, fixing her hair gently. “Don’t be. We’ve worked hard, and the fans are ready. We can do this.”

She nodded, eyes a little teary but determined.

Just then, the stage lights dimmed and the VCR began to play, signaling the transition. ENHYPEN began exiting, breathless but smiling, their in-ear pieces being pulled out as they walked your way.

Your members immediately straightened, Chaewon instinctively lining you all up in formation like the leader she was.

She bowed first. “Congratulations,” she said with practiced respect.

One by one, the boys bowed back. Sunghoon smiled and nodded. Sunoo gave Eunchae a small wave.

“Good luck,” Jake whispered to you as he passed, voice low and hidden beneath the noise of the crowd and crew, eyes meeting yours for a second longer than necessary.

Your heart did a full somersault, but you managed to smile through it, fingers adjusting the mic near your cheek to keep busy. “Thanks,” you whispered back, a little breathless.

He grinned—just the tiniest curve of his lips—before disappearing backstage with the others.

You blinked, grounding yourself. Focus. Stage time.

“Let’s go!” Chaewon called, and immediately, your group moved with muscle memory.

The spotlight began to rise.

Just a few doors down from the stage, in one of the private waiting rooms, Jake stood silently next to Ni-ki, both of them staring intently at the monitor on the wall.

The screen lit up with vibrant blues and deep blacks as the performance began—your group emerging with practiced intensity and poise.

Jake didn’t speak. He couldn’t. The moment you stepped into frame, center-left, he was already captivated.

You moved like second nature—confident, poised, every movement sharp and purposeful. And then came your solo line, one that ended with a subtle smirk and a teasing wink thrown directly into the camera.

Jake’s smile stretched, wide and utterly smitten.

Beside him, Ni-ki gave a small nod. “She’s killing it,” he muttered, arms crossed over his chest. “The choreo’s no joke.”

Jake didn’t reply immediately, still watching you with rapt attention. You twirled into center stage, your fitted black spaghetti-strap top catching the lights as your denim skirt fanned out slightly with each spin.

The crowd screamed louder as you took center, mic held up with confidence, voice crisp and full of attitude.

Jungwon stepped into the room then, a protein bar in one hand, casually joining them. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the screen. “I go to ride ’til I die, die,” he half-sang under his breath, nodding with a grin as your line came up.

Jake finally broke his silence with a soft, breathy laugh. “She’s unreal.”

Ni-ki leaned slightly toward him, eyebrow raised. “You’re gonna combust if you keep staring like that.”

Jake scoffed. “You’d combust too if your girlfriend looked that good on national TV.”

Jungwon chuckled. “Isn’t this torture for you? She’s out there serving stage presence while you’re stuck here trying not to look whipped.”

Jake ran a hand through his hair, eyes still glued to the monitor as you transitioned into your ending pose.

The crowd was screaming, the lights flared one last time, and there you were—front and center—forming a heart with your hands, your purple-highlighted hair shimmering beneath the spotlight.

Jungwon’s comment still lingered in the air, and Jake didn’t even try to hide the way he was smiling. He glanced toward the camera filming their waiting room and waved a hand toward it lazily.

“Cut that one out,” he said, half-joking but with a trace of real concern in his voice. “I don’t wanna get fired.”

A burst of laughter erupted from the staff nearby.

One of the camera operators grinned, flashing him a thumbs up. “Don’t worry, hyung. We’ll blur your face,” he teased.

“Too late for that,” Sunghoon quipped from the couch, legs kicked up, his phone in one hand and an unimpressed expression on his face. “You’ve already said too much.”

Heeseung didn’t even glance up as he added, “Honestly? I doubt they’d fire you. Our group’s practically funding the entire building right now.”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon agreed, crossing his arms behind his head. “They need us more than we need them.”

Jake sighed under his breath, lips twitching into a reluctant grin. “Yeah… you have a point.”

The room had gradually filled up—Sunoo now standing beside Ni-ki, arms folded across his chest, nodding along to the beat still playing from the hallway speakers.

“Wow,” Sunoo murmured, eyes fixed on the screen. “Noona looks really good tonight.”

Jake hummed in agreement as the monitor shifted—your ending pose freezing for a second before it cut to the substitute MCs waving to the audience. You were clearly busy with promotions, too tied up to close the show like usual.

“Can’t believe she’s not up there with the mic,” Jungwon said, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “You’re slacking, hyung.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Blame her manager. Not me.”

“Blame you for not volunteering to co-MC before Jisung-sunbaenim,” Sunghoon chimed in, smirking.

Jake smiled despite himself, watching the replay of your ending fairy again as it looped quietly on the screen. “Nah. She shines just fine without me.”

Sunoo tilted his head. “That’s kinda romantic.”

Jake shrugged, still watching. “That’s kinda the truth.”

“Hopeless,” Sunghoon muttered, tossing a pillow at him.

Just then, Jungwon plopped onto the couch beside Sunghoon, his posture slouchy as he reached for the half-empty water bottle on the coffee table.

“Alright, break’s over,” he sighed, tone lighter but his words already sounding like business. “We’ve got a few months to plan for our MAMA performance.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Heeseung looked up from his phone. “Oh, right. That—plus the special ones they added.”

Jake finally turned his gaze away from the screen. “Which one are you talking about?”

“The KBS Entertainment Awards,” Heeseung answered, nodding toward their manager, who was already scrolling through the calendar on a tablet.

Jungwon nodded. “Yeah, that one. They confirmed it last night—we’re doing a joint performance with the other HYBE groups.”

Sunoo’s eyes sparkled. “Wait, does that mean we’ll probably do that mashup stage again?”

Ni-ki leaned forward, brows furrowed in curiosity. “Which concept are we pushing? Classic? Or do they want us to go full experimental again?”

Their second manager chimed in from the side, eyes scanning the notes on their device. “Still being finalized. But the producer wants something memorable. Something iconic. You’re one of the ending acts, so they expect impact.”

“Of course they do,” Sunghoon muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples. “When don’t they?”

Jake leaned back, tossing a pillow behind his head. “So what’s left for now?”

Their main manager, standing closest to Jungwon, tapped a few checkboxes on her tablet. “We’ve still got Music Core this weekend, the radio interviews lined up next week, and your YouTube schedule to finish. Then rehearsal season starts full force.”

Jungwon groaned. “Guess that means goodbye to free time.”

Ni-ki flopped over the armrest of the couch. “I didn’t even get to download that new game yet.”

Sunoo gave him a light flick on the forehead. “Focus, Riki.”

Jake just quietly nodded, eyes scanning the calendar before asking, “Will we be rehearsing at HYBE or the KBS studios?”

“Both,” their manager replied. “Alternating schedules depending on which stage needs polishing.”

Heeseung glanced at Jake. “Better tell your girl to stock up on throat lozenges. With how things are looking, she’ll be rehearsing just as much as us.”

Jake chuckled, gaze softening a bit. “She’ll be fine. She's kind of unstoppable like that.”

This was going to be one hell of a comeback season.

The overhead lights buzzed softly as you held tightly onto Chaewon’s hand, the familiar gray-walled hallways of HYBE feeling more like a runway to your doom.

The camera following behind you captured every twitch of your brow, every deep breath, every fidget of your fingers gripping your water bottle.

Kazuha giggled beside you, looping her arm with Eunchae’s as she tilted her head at your nervous expression. “What’s wrong? You look like you're about to walk into a war.”

You shot her a look. “We’re collabing with ENHYPEN and TXT. What about this situation isn’t terrifying?”

Yunjin, who was walking just behind you, mumbled. “You’re literally dating one of them.”

“That’s exactly why I’m terrified,” you mumbled under your breath.

The six of you slowed in front of one of the biggest and most high-tech practice rooms in the building. The door stood tall and ominous in front of you like the gates of heaven… or hell.

Chaewon inhaled deeply beside you, squared her shoulders, and gave your hand a light squeeze before knocking twice.

“Here we go,” Sakura muttered.

The door creaked open.

Immediately, a flood of voices greeted you. “Hi!” “Oh, they’re here!” “Hello, Le Sserafim!”

Your group stepped inside slowly, bowing instinctively as the familiar faces of ENHYPEN and TXT turned toward you from across the polished wooden floor.

Most of them were stretching or adjusting their mics, water bottles scattered around like it was already halfway through practice.

Huening Kai grinned widely and jogged over first. “Finally! We were wondering when you’d show up,” he said, waving enthusiastically at you before offering Eunchae a playful fist bump.

Yeonjun spun around dramatically, throwing his arms in the air. “They’re here! The queens have arrived!” he announced, sending giggles through your members.

Eunchae shyly waved back at Ni-ki, who smiled at her from across the room.

Jay stood next to Sunghoon, fixing his hair in the mirror but paused when you entered. “Took you long enough,” he joked, sending a brief nod toward Chaewon.

You gave a small bow and forced a smile, eyes scanning the room instinctively.

Jake was there, leaning against the wall, hair pulled back in a cap and wearing a sleeveless black tee that clung to him in all the right places. He gave you a small smile from across the room and mouthed a soft, “You’re okay?”

You nodded slightly in return, heart thudding in your chest.

“Alright,” Soobin clapped his hands. “Shall we get started?”

Jungwon clapped his hands with a bright, “Alright, alright—find your spots, window style! Let’s get stretching!”

Everyone moved at once, bodies shuffling into lines, the room buzzing with casual chatter and the squeaks of sneakers on polished hardwood.

The long mirror across the wall reflected the familiar chaos of multi-group collabs: TXT in the far left row, ENHYPEN in the middle, and Le Sserafim forming a line behind them.

You found yourself stretching behind Jake and Sunoo, both already halfway into toe touches. Sunoo turned and beamed at you, waving with both hands like you hadn’t just seen each other two days ago.

“Hi noona! You’re behind us, yay!” he said, cheeks puffed with joy.

You chuckled and nodded, leaning to one side in a hamstring stretch. “Guess I have the best view, huh?”

Jake, still bent over touching his toes, glanced at you through the mirror with a sly smirk. “If you’re lucky, you might see me fall on my face during Growl.”

“You won’t,” you said simply, voice soft but sure.

“Let’s hope,” he muttered back, cheeks tinting pink.

On the other side of the room, Taehyun casually threw an arm over Jungwon’s shoulder. “Look at you, bossing us around like a true leader. So scary.”

Jungwon gave him a withering look, pushing his arm off with an embarrassed smile. “Hyung, I’m literally just trying to make sure no one pulls a muscle.”

“That’s what they all say before they become stage tyrants,” Yeonjun teased from his spot on the floor.

The choreographers moved toward the front, clipboard and iPad in hand as one of them called out, “Alright, eyes up!”

Everyone looked forward.

“So, for this special stage collab, we’re running through the classics. We’ve split each section by groups, but you’ll all dance together during transitions. Here’s the setlist.”

Another choreographer pulled the list up on the screen behind them.

You heard your members behind you murmuring in awe, and Eunchae nudged your side. “Unnie… are we seriously doing 10 Minutes?”

You stifled a laugh. “Good luck with that hair flip.”

“Alright,” the main choreographer spoke again, clapping their hands once to get everyone’s attention. “TXT will start with Candy.”

“ENHYPEN follows with The Way This Guy Lives by SECHSKIES,” another choreographer added, glancing at the boys through the mirror. “Then TXT jumps in for Bad Man.”

The third choreographer, flipping through a clipboard, nodded. “ENHYPEN will cover Come Back To Me next.”

“Le Sserafim, you’re handling 10 Minutes and Tell Me,” the first choreographer said, eyes meeting yours through the mirror. “You’ve got the energy for it.”

“We’ll bring everyone together for Mirotic and BANG BANG BANG,” the second one continued.

“Then split My House and Who’s Your Mama between male and female idols,” the third choreographer added with a quick clap.

“And finally,” the first choreographer finished, “everyone regroups for Growl and FIRE to close the show. Got it?”

Soobin let out a low whistle. “That’s a hell of a setlist.”

“You’re telling me,” Jay muttered.

Heeseung ran a hand down his face like he was mentally preparing to be eighty by the time this rehearsal ended.

Ni-ki, seated on the floor nearby, let out a wheezy laugh at the older’s expression, practically falling backward in amusement.

Across the room, Yunjin groaned dramatically and leaned against Kazuha for support, whining, “Why is this setlist built like a death wish? Who planned this?”

“HYBE,” Kazuha deadpanned.

You sighed, catching the chaos unfold around you as Jake leaned closer from where he was stretching beside you. His voice was low, careful, mindful of the camera panning lazily from idol to idol. “You ready?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Not even close.”

Sunoo, perched crisscross beside Ni-ki with a towel around his neck, raised his hand like he was agreeing with a teacher in class. “Me too,” he said cheerfully. “We’re gonna die beautifully.”

The choreographers clapped their hands twice again, calling for attention. “Okay, places everyone!”

You exhaled slowly, fingers adjusting your crop top, giving it a final tug as you caught Yunjin’s eye through the mirror. She straightened beside you, nodding once. No words were needed—you were both in your element now.

A glint of determination flickered in your gaze as you rolled your shoulders back, eyes zeroing in on your spot. The countdown began.

Oh, you were so ready to kill this stage.

It was the third week of practice, and you were clinging to the last sliver of sanity you had left.

You groaned into your hand, voice muffled as the heavy bass of ‘Who’s Your Mama’ blasted from the speakers. Jake, standing next to you with a wide grin, quickly reached out to grab your water bottle before it could spill from your loosened grip.

“Careful,” he said with a laugh, holding it out of your reach like he didn’t just save your life. “I’d rather not be dancing in sticky strawberry water.”

Beomgyu, who was across from you, absolutely lost it at your expression, clutching his knees as he laughed. “You look like you just saw your GPA after midterms.”

Taehyun was beside him, calmly sipping his iced coffee like he wasn’t also sweating through his shirt. “Honestly though, same.”

“I’m not made for this kind of choreography!” you cried, groaning louder this time as you leaned forward with your hands on your knees. “Who thought this was a good idea?! I feel like a hormonal teenager trying to impress her P.E. crush!”

Yunjin, standing next to Jay, snorted so hard she nearly dropped her mic pack. “You should’ve seen your face during the chorus, oh my god—”

Jake placed a hand on your shoulder, his tone mock-serious. “(Y/N), come back to us. Stay strong. Don’t let your thoughts consume you.”

Heeseung wheezed, half-bent from laughter. “You’re so dramatic for someone who literally looked cool five seconds ago.”

Behind you, Ni-ki and Eunchae fist-bumped like they’d just won a bet. “Told you she’d break by week three,” Ni-ki whispered.

Meanwhile, Sakura, who was standing beside Yeonjun, leaned in and murmured, “At this rate, those two are going to get caught in no time.”

Yeonjun didn’t look away from the mirror, lips twitching. “Jake’s not even hiding it. He’s gone.”

Off to the side, Kazuha and Soobin sat near the wall with their water bottles, the former giggling into her sleeve while Soobin casually stretched. “I give her one more day before she walks out,” Kazuha teased.

“I give Jake one more day before he breaks the no-dating rule,” Soobin added, sipping dramatically.

You flailed slightly as the music started up again, swiping your water bottle back from Jake and muttering, “If I survive this, I’m never letting anyone make me dance to JYP again.”

Jake just grinned, stepping into position as he threw you a wink. “You love it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I love you, not this.”

“That’s fair.”

It was the night of the KBS Entertainment Awards, and to say you were nervous would’ve been the biggest understatement of the year.

You could barely hear your own thoughts over the blaring bass of ‘Come Back to Me’ echoing through the stage monitors. Your group stood off to the side of the massive stage, just behind the heavy curtains—watching as ENHYPEN performed their hearts out under the golden lights.

And there he was.

Jake.

Blonde hair tousled just the right amount, dressed in a crisp white shirt that shimmered under the light, layered beneath a faded denim jacket that framed his shoulders perfectly, as he sang the chorus with that same intensity you fell for years ago.

His movements were sharp, calculated—effortless. But his eyes searched the crowd like he was singing to someone in particular.

And you had a good guess who.

“Hold still,” your stylist murmured beside you, dabbing a final streak of glitter on your cheekbone, brushing over your skin like stardust. “You’re up in five.”

You gave a nervous nod, fingers tightening around the edge of your pink mesh scarf, the soft fabric crinkling in your grip as the countdown began on the stage manager’s fingers.

Behind you, the unmistakable beat of ‘10 Minutes’ began to play.

You breathed in.

And then turned.

The second you pivoted to face the audience, center stage, your nerves evaporated like they were never there.

A smirk tugged at your lips as your eyes met Yunjin’s across the line. She mirrored it instantly. This was your zone. This was your power.

Your pink tube top, paired with a sleek black miniskirt, hugged your figure perfectly. The mesh scarf draped dramatically off your arms, and your pink heels clicked against the glossy stage floor with every step you took. You owned the moment.

The intro rang out, sultry and commanding—and your voice followed, smooth and sure as you sang the opening lines, hips swaying confidently to the beat. Your eyes never left the camera, trained on it with teasing winks and fierce gazes as if daring the nation to look away.

Backstage, just out of the spotlight, Jake watched.

He didn’t blink.

“She’s insane,” he muttered, voice low as he leaned toward Heeseung, eyes transfixed. “Like… unreal.”

Heeseung glanced at him with a knowing smile. “You’ve got it bad.”

Jake didn’t even deny it.

Because there you were, commanding the stage in pink and black like it was your birthright—your confidence radiating through every wink, every strut, every flawless note.

And as you twirled on cue, scarf fluttering like flame behind you, Jake could only exhale, heart caught in his throat.

He was falling in love with you all over again.

Jake’s trance was broken the moment the crowd erupted in cheers, the sound thundering through the venue just as your face flashed across the backstage monitor.

The screen lit up with your wink and smirk from the final beat of 10 Minutes, your figure vanishing into the shadows just as TXT began filing out onto the stage for their turn.

Staff members buzzed past, clapping their clipboards and complimenting you as you jogged toward the back, breath still heavy and skin glittering under the stage lights.

Jake stood just off to the side, waiting near one of the pillars with a massive grin on his face, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim jacket.

You grinned back at him, cheeks warm with adrenaline, and sent him a thumbs-up as your stylist tugged at your arm with a breathless, “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s change!”

Jake’s smile lingered until a firm clap landed on his shoulder.

“Let’s move, loverboy,” Jay said, smirking. “You’ll see your girlfriend again in a few minutes. We need to change before the finale.”

Jake rolled his eyes but allowed himself to be dragged, glancing once more over his shoulder in the direction you disappeared. “Yeah, yeah… I’m going.”

The boys ducked into the makeshift changing tents set up behind the curtain, and at the same time, you were already slipping into your next outfit with quick, practiced ease.

Your stylist buttoned the last clasp on your blouse and handed you a mic belt as you stepped into the light, now in a soft pink plaid skirt and matching button-up blouse. A glittery ribbon sparkled at your chest, hair fluffed and curled to perfection again.

You turned to your right and nudged Sakura, who was tugging at her pink tie in front of the mirror with furrowed brows.

“This is giving Produce48, tell me I’m wrong,” you teased with a breathless laugh.

Sakura let out a dramatic sigh, “Don’t remind me,”

Yunjin groaned as she flipped her hair behind her shoulder, still adjusting her in-ear. “I’m getting trauma, actually.”

“Why does it feel like we’re about to do another audition?” Eunchae whispered, pulling her lip balm from her pocket and quickly applying it.

Kazuha giggled from beside you, patting the hem of her skirt. “Because we kinda are—but this time with better lighting and Jake-sunbaenim watching.”

You turned red. “Can we not mention my boyfriend every five minutes?” you grumbled.

“Oh no, we definitely can,” Yunjin smirked, “especially with how he looked like he was gonna pass out during your solo part.”

The girls erupted into soft laughter, the buzz of nerves momentarily replaced by shared joy and chaotic teasing.

Your manager peeked in, “Three minutes, girls.”

Everyone nodded.

The lights shifted, casting soft pink and purple hues across the stage as the intro to ‘Tell Me’ by Wonder Girls began to play. You and the rest of Le Sserafim took center once again, bright smiles plastered on your faces as you mimicked the iconic choreography with your own flair.

The audience screamed as you winked playfully during your solo part, fingers forming a heart before flipping your hair in sync with Yunjin and Sakura.

From the sidelines, TXT and ENHYPEN—already changed into their all-black outfits—cheered wildly, bouncing along to the beat and mimicking the moves half-seriously.

You could hear Beomgyu yell, “Go (Y/N)!” from offstage, making you bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing on camera.

Then the beat shifted—‘BANG BANG BANG’ roared through the speakers, the lights cutting harsh and dramatic. ENHYPEN and TXT stormed the stage like they owned it, every move sharp and powerful as they delivered the fierce performance.

You and your members stood at the side, clapping and yelling just like the crowd, some of you even jumping in time with the beat.

You screamed, cupping your hands around your mouth, “Let’s go, Ni-ki!”

Eunchae beside you jumped up and down while cheering, “Yeah, Ni-ki-sunbaenim!”

The moment the final gunshot sound effect rang out and the stage lights dimmed again, a staff member grabbed your arm gently.

“(Y/N), you’re next. Quick change!”

You were pulled toward the styling area, still catching your breath, as stylists worked around you in record time.

Your glittery bow outfit was gone in seconds, swapped for sleek white shorts, a low-cut white blouse with soft bishop sleeves and a delicate silk bow tied in the middle. White boots zipped up your calves while your hair was tugged into a half-updo, a matching white bow clipped securely on top.

“Three minutes,” someone called, just as you were guided back toward the stage entrance.

Jake stood there already waiting, dressed in cream pants and a slightly sheer white button-up with a ribbon detail mirroring yours—subtle, but coordinated. His sleeves were rolled up, veins peeking out, sweat still lingering from their last stage.

He looked at you with a crooked smile. “Look at us. Matching like a couple at prom.”

You snorted softly. “Only one of us gets to wear heels though.”

Jake grinned and leaned in just slightly. “You pull them off better.”

The lights dimmed again, and the opening instrumental of ‘My House’ started to build.

From beside you, Sunoo cupped his hands around his mouth and cheered dramatically, “Let’s do this!”

Ni-ki whistled beside him, while Jungwon and Sunghoon grinned, already in formation a few steps ahead.

You shared a smile with Eunchae as she moved behind Jungwon, her hands fidgeting slightly as she whispered, “You look so cool, unnie…”

You winked at her in return. “Let’s kill this, okay?”

Chaewon, composed and charismatic as always, stood next to Sunoo—her eyes flickering to you briefly. She gave you a short, approving nod like a leader proud of her kid.

You smiled, then turned your focus to center stage.

Jake was already there, hands tucked into the pockets of his cream trousers, head tilted slightly with a sly smile on his face. You took your place beside him, heart beating in rhythm with the intro beat.

The two of you moved in sync, slow sways and confident strides as the choreography began. You didn’t need to overthink it. The sultry tempo carried you both.

Jake’s hand skimmed the air near your waist at one point, but never touched. The tension was part of the performance, and both of you knew how to sell it without giving anything away.

The bridge hit, and the choreography called for a switch—you and Jake trading places smoothly. He reached out, fingers brushing your wrist as he guided you behind him. You caught the glint of his smile under the stage lights as he whispered, “Come here.”

You followed, stepping into place just as the camera panned in for the final pose.

Jake stood behind you, his hand outstretched as you turned, fingertips grazing before striking the last beat with matching smirks—his hand pointed at the imaginary ‘front door’ the lyrics referenced, your head tilted just right with a playful smile.

The crowd screamed louder as the lights cut.

A staff member backstage waved at you to start moving—“Let’s go! Get ready for Growl!”

You grabbed your in-ears, heart still pounding as you rushed with your members to line up with TXT and ENHYPEN once more.

‘Growl’ was a blur of fluid transitions and charged energy—shoulders bumping, eyes catching in mirrors, and a sea of cheers that didn’t seem to quiet down for even a second.

And before you even had time to catch your breath—

“Last change! Who’s Your Mama! Let’s go!” your stylist shouted as she shoved a final hanger into your hands.

Your last outfit: a fitted black long-sleeve crop top that clung like a second skin, glittering subtly under the harsh dressing room lights. Paired with black sequin shorts and heeled boots, it was the most playful and risqué set of the night—and somehow your members were in nearly identical pieces, all tailored to perfection. Unity, but with bite.

Meanwhile, the boys who were performing beside you had also been thrown into their final looks—black blazers, black slacks, silver detailing along their cuffs.

Jake stood out even among them, his sleeves rolled slightly, hair tousled and pushed back in a way that made your stylist mumble, “I’d kill to be twenty again.”

You met eyes with him in the mirror as you applied your gloss. He raised his brows and mouthed, “Ready?”

You nodded once, slowly.

The second the beat of ‘Who’s Your Mama’ hit, the crowd erupted. Screams layered with cheers, fans recognizing that unmistakable bassline and chorus call-out before the first line was even sung.

You strutted onto the stage alongside your members, each of you walking in sync, hips swaying to the rhythm as lights flickered behind you in sultry strobes. Jake took his place beside you, the two of you placed center—too close for idols that were supposedly strangers, too electric not to notice.

You turned, your back facing the audience, and Jake—perfectly timed—stepped up behind you. His hands never touched you, but they hovered. Traced.

Down your arms, around your waist, stopping just shy of contact. Like a shadow or a silhouette.

It was choreography. Just choreography.

But the fans lost their minds.

You could hear a few screams turn feral as your smirk broke through and your eyes caught the camera. You tossed a look over your shoulder, catching Jake’s gaze. He bit back a grin, knowing exactly what he was doing—and what you were both about to get flamed for online.

The moment passed too quickly.

The beat of ‘FIRE’ suddenly blasted from the speakers as the lights cut out—blinding red beams slicing through smoke machines.

Someone shoved a black blazer into your arms mid-transition as staff pulled open the back curtains. You quickly slid it on, leaving the crop top beneath barely buttoned beneath the jacket. Heeseung took center, mic hot, eyes sharp, and voice deep as he delivered the iconic intro—

“It’s burning up.”

He threw his blazer back as fireworks burst across the stage and the floor vibrated beneath your boots.

You were panting—lungs burning, hair clinging to your neck with sweat, the adrenaline still rushing in your veins as you and Jake locked eyes for a brief second.

He grinned wide, chest heaving. You smiled back, still catching your breath, and the moment was fleeting before the wave of chaos returned.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” your stylist called over the music, already tugging at your sleeve to guide you toward the wings. Behind you, managers and stage directors were clapping, voices overlapping in excited praise.

“You all did amazing,” one of the head stylists beamed, handing you a towel. “Get your coats on, we’re heading back to the idol section before they start announcing the next category!”

“(Y/N), drink water, now,” your manager instructed sternly, already unscrewing the bottle cap for you.

Jake appeared beside you, now with his hair pushed back and blazer draped over one shoulder as he ruffled his bangs. “That was insane,” he exhaled, still breathless.

“Dude,” Sunghoon chimed in from behind, clapping Jake’s back. “You looked like you were about to jump into another dimension.”

Jake only laughed in response, shameless. “I was just in character.”

The golden spotlight caught the shimmer of your black gown as the camera briefly panned in your direction—long, flowy and cinched perfectly at the waist, with a slit running high on your thigh that added just the right amount of drama.

Your skin glowed under the soft lights, eyeshadow sparkling with hints of pink and gold, lips glossed to perfection. Your hair cascaded down your back like a curtain of midnight, strands framing your face delicately.

You offered a graceful wave, smile poised and elegant, posture straight as your hand rose in greeting.

Next to you, Chaewon leaned slightly into frame and mirrored your wave, wearing a pale champagne dress that glittered under the lights. “Smile, they’re panning,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

“I am,” you muttered back with a practiced smile still plastered on your face. “But I swear, if they caught me chewing just now…”

She snorted quietly as the camera moved back to the hosts. “They definitely did. Munching on that cheese cube like it was your last meal.”

You turned to her, eyes wide. “It was a good cheese cube, okay?”

“Sure,” she laughed softly, adjusting her shawl as the awards continued. “Oh—wait. Isn’t that the guy from The Moonlight Palace?”

Your eyes snapped to the screen as the male actor took the stage. “Oh my god, yes. I loved him in that. Didn’t he cry in the rain for like fifteen minutes?”

“Yes!” she whispered, clutching your wrist. “That scene made me sob.”

You giggled, still clapping politely as he gave his acceptance speech. “You know I almost auditioned for that drama, right?”

“No way.”

“Yeah, they had us read the scene where the girl chooses her duty over love. But I was in Japan for a show, so I couldn’t follow through.”

Chaewon stared at you in mock offense. “You could’ve been a royal princess?! Wasted potential!”

You shrugged with a smile. “I became a pop princess instead. Not too bad.”

Behind you, you could hear faint murmurs—Heeseung saying something about the last speech being way too long, and Soobin asking if they were going to feed them again before the final segment. Yeonjun made a sarcastic joke that made Sunghoon snort behind his hand.

You reached for your water glass as another award was announced—this time for Best OST. Chaewon whispered, “Ten bucks says it’s from that high school drama with the ghosts.”

You gave her a knowing smirk. “If it’s the one where the ghost falls in love with the student council president, then absolutely.”

The two of you burst into soft giggles when it actually was that drama. TXT applauded loudly behind you as the OST singer climbed the stage.

Just then, the camera panned past your table again for a crowd shot, and this time, you leaned slightly to the side so you could wave and smile—charming but cool, radiating elegance without trying too hard.

The lights dimmed slightly as the hosts returned to center stage, cue cards in hand and smiles wide.

“And now…” one of them said, their voice rising with excitement, “we’re getting into slightly controversial territory.”

You glanced at Chaewon beside you, both of you raising your brows. She leaned in, whispering, “Controversial? Is this the award where people start fighting on Twitter after?”

You stifled a laugh, covering your mouth. “Probably. Why do I feel like we’re about to get dragged into it?”

The hosts continued, chuckling softly to themselves as they exchanged looks. “This next award celebrates chemistry. The kind of chemistry that makes the audience question if it’s really just acting.”

Chaewon blinked at you. “Oh no. It’s the couple award, isn’t it?”

“Please no,” you whispered back, just as the host confirmed it with a grin.

“That’s right! This year’s Best Onscreen Couple goes to…” Dramatic pause. “…(Y/N) of LE SSERAFIM and Park Jisung of NCT Dream, for their run as MCs of Music Bank!”

Your mouth opened slightly in shock. “Wait, what?”

The crowd erupted into cheers, some laughter, and a few surprised gasps.

The second host chuckled, gesturing toward the two of you. “These two have shown incredible chemistry over the past few months—witty banter, effortless teamwork, and an undeniable charm that’s made Music Bank even more fun to watch.”

The first host added with a grin, “They’ve kept fans laughing, swooning, and sometimes questioning if they were really just MCs.”

You stared at the stage, mouth slightly open in disbelief as your members howled around you.

You blinked, slowly rising from your seat, trying not to trip in your heels as the camera panned back to your table.

You gave a polite smile, bowing slightly as you made your way toward the stage, heart hammering as you could feel the eyes of not just the room—but millions—watching.

At the top of the stairs, Jisung was already there, holding out his hand with a nervous smile. You hesitated for a split second—not because of him, but because you could feel every camera zooming in on that exact moment. But manners were manners.

So, you took his hand.

He helped you onto the stage, and together you walked toward the podium amidst thundering applause, lights blinding and the occasional shout of your ship name piercing through the crowd.

Meanwhile, at the table, things weren’t quite as calm.

Sunghoon side-eyed Jake, whose expression was… too composed. Too quiet. He sat straight, arms crossed over his lap, lips pressed into a line as he stared dead ahead at the stage.

“Dude…” Sunghoon muttered. “You okay?”

Jake didn’t answer. His jaw was tight.

Sunoo sighed, reaching for his water. “Not this again.”

Heeseung, from the other end of the table, leaned in and nudged Jake with his elbow. “You’ve got every right to be jealous, man.”

“I’m not jealous,” Jake said, eyes never leaving the screen. “I just think it's funny how I’ve been dating her for two years and now some random award’s pairing her up with someone else.”

Ni-ki winced at the sharpness in his voice, slowly leaning back into his chair. “Hyung… you’re not really fooling anyone.”

Soobin, who had been silently sipping water beside them, nodded in agreement. “It’s literally written all over your face.”

Jake didn’t say anything for a second. Just exhaled slowly, shoulders falling as he kept his gaze on the massive LED screen above the stage—your face glowing under the lights, a soft, practiced smile on your lips as the camera zoomed in.

Next to you, Jisung stepped up to the mic, waving a little before speaking. “Wow, uh… honestly, we didn’t expect this at all. Being Music Bank MCs with (Y/N) has been really fun—she’s smart, quick, and always looks out for me behind the scenes. So… thank you for this. We’ll keep working hard!”

You adjusted the mic and bowed lightly before speaking, your tone warm and graceful. “Thank you so much. Being an MC has been a challenge, but doing it with Jisung made it easier. I’m really grateful to the Music Bank team for trusting us and to all the fans who tuned in each week. This is unexpected but really special, so thank you again.”

The crowd roared with applause, a few whistles mixed in as you both stepped down from the stage.

Jake let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as you reappeared on screen returning to your table, trophy in hand, members already teasing you playfully as you laughed it off.

“She looked happy,” Soobin said gently, glancing over.

“She did,” Jake agreed softly. “She always does when she’s working.”

Ni-ki leaned forward, glancing at him curiously. “You okay?”

Jake let out a short, bitter laugh—one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” he said, voice too light, too tight.

But his gaze lingered.

Because just then, you looked back. Only for a second—but long enough.

Long enough to find him in the crowd, sitting there behind your table, behind all the glittering lights and all the faces you’d grown used to scanning.

Your eyes met his, and the easy smile on your lips faltered—just slightly.

And Jake, despite the churning heat in his chest, forced one back. A soft, reassuring curve of his lips. Nothing too loud, nothing too heavy. Just enough to reassure you.

You blinked slowly, then turned back to Chaewon beside you, placing the trophy on the table as you leaned in to say something, smiling again.

Jake exhaled, leaned back in his seat, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Totally fine,” he mumbled under his breath.

The elevator doors closed with a soft ding, the golden glow of the hotel’s mood lighting reflecting off the mirrored walls as a quiet hum of motion filled the space.

You let out a deep breath, leaning tiredly against Jake’s chest. His arm was draped around you, firm but distant.

You tilted your head slightly to look up at him, but his gaze was fixed ahead. Silent. Tense.

The exhaustion of the night pressed heavier against your shoulders. The performances. The awards. The camera flashes. The endless smiles.

And now, this.

“…I didn’t think we’d win that award,” you said quietly, trying to fill the silence, eyes on the glowing numbers climbing slowly with each floor.

Jake didn’t answer. Not at first. He just hummed. Low. Dismissive.

You sighed, pushing off his chest just slightly, putting a bit of distance between your bodies. “Jake, don’t do that.”

His jaw ticked.

And then, finally, he spoke—voice quiet but tight, laced with the kind of restraint that told you he’d been thinking about it all night.

“I’m not jealous,” he muttered, eyes still glued to the changing floor number.

“…But I am mad.”

You blinked, the words hitting harder than they should’ve.

He continued before you could respond.

“I know it’s just a show award. I know it doesn’t mean anything. But watching you hold someone else’s hand and smile like that—knowing it had to be him, knowing you had to act like that while I sat there pretending it didn’t bother me?” His voice cracked slightly at the end before he swallowed it down. “It sucked.”

You stayed silent, watching his reflection in the mirrored wall. The way his brows were slightly furrowed. The way his lips pressed into a thin line. He looked… tired.

Hurt.

“I didn’t want it,” you said softly. “The award, I mean. Not like that. I was just as surprised.”

Jake glanced at you finally. Eyes unreadable. “You still took his hand.”

“I had to. It’s… it’s just media etiquette, Jake.”

“And I get that,” he said. “I do. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t sting.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Because what could you say? He was right.

“…I looked for you,” you said after a pause. “When I got up there. I looked back, hoping you’d see I wasn’t comfortable. That it wasn’t real.”

Jake sighed, leaning back against the elevator wall as the numbers neared your floor.

“I saw,” he admitted. “That’s the only reason I didn’t walk out.”

You stepped toward him then, fingers curling around the edge of his jacket.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. “But it’s just you. It’s always been just you.”

Jake stilled.

For a second, it was like the world paused with him—air tight, chest frozen, eyes locked on you like you’d just set something in motion he couldn’t take back. Then, slowly, his gaze flickered down to your lips. Once. Twice. And that was all it took.

He surged forward.

Your gasp was swallowed by the way his mouth crashed into yours, one hand finding your waist while the other curled behind your head, fingers sliding into your hair as if he’d been dying to touch you like this.

You clutched the front of his button-up shirt—creased and still faintly warm from stage lights—fingers curling in desperation, steadying yourself against him as your knees weakened at the sheer intensity.

His mouth moved against yours like a man starved.

Then his tongue brushed the seam of your lips, slow, deliberate, asking.

You opened for him—just a little, just enough.

And he groaned, low and quiet in the back of his throat, like the taste of you was everything he’d been trying so hard to forget.

The kiss deepened, rougher now, full of everything unspoken—every secret glance, every rehearsed smile, every time your pinkies brushed under a table during a shared schedule.

His hand splayed over your hip, tugging you closer until there was no space left between you, and all you could do was melt.

You moaned softly into his mouth, and Jake pulled back just an inch, forehead resting against yours as his chest heaved.

“You can’t say things like that and expect me to stay sane,” he whispered, voice wrecked, lips still brushing yours.

“I don’t want you to stay sane,” you whispered back. “I want you.”

The elevator dinged.

Jake didn’t even glance up. He grabbed your waist, careful of the slit in your black gown and the long trail behind you, and muttered a quick “Come on,” before tugging you out into the hallway like a man possessed. His hand never left your body, guiding you through the corridor with tunnel vision, jaw clenched, breaths uneven.

You barely had time to look around before he fished his key card from the inner pocket of his blazer, cursing softly when it caught on the lining.

“Manager-hyung really pulled through,” he mumbled—half in disbelief, half in gratitude—as the light on the suite door blinked green.

Then the door clicked open.

And before you could take a step inside, Jake had you.

He kicked the door shut behind you and immediately pressed you against it, his lips finding yours again with a hunger that stole the air from your lungs.

Your back hit the wood with a soft thud, your fingers already reaching for the buttons of his shirt, heart racing in your chest as his blazer slid off and hit the floor.

“You’re driving me insane,” he muttered between kisses, his mouth trailing along your jaw, down to your neck, where he nipped just below your ear. “You looked like sin walking across that red carpet tonight. Like you knew I wouldn’t be able to hold back.”

“I didn’t,” you breathed, fingers finally popping open the third button as your other hand tangled in his hair. “But I was hoping.”

Jake groaned, the sound had been ripped straight from his chest. His hands were everywhere now: gripping your hips, sliding along the exposed skin of your thigh, curling around your waist like he didn’t know where to touch first.

The kiss turned messier, hotter, as your bodies molded together between silk and heat and tension that had been building for far too long.

“Say it again,” he whispered, lips brushing your cheek as his breath fanned over your skin.

You looked up at him, eyes half-lidded, fingers still working at his shirt until it hung open, skin warm and golden beneath the soft hotel lights.

“I want you, Jake,” you said. “I want all of you.”

He kissed you then—hard, deep, possessive—as if the words had undone whatever restraint he had left.

And this time, when he pulled away, his eyes were darker, voice rasped and low as he whispered: “Then let me give you everything.”

His lips were on you before you could reply—pressing soft, heated kisses to your neck, collarbone, and the curve of your shoulder as you stumbled toward the bed together, wrapped in half-buttoned silk and quiet gasps.

You barely made it to the edge before Jake’s hands found your hips, pushing you down with a low, breathless laugh against your skin.

“God, you’re gonna ruin me,” he murmured, brushing a thumb along the side of your jaw as he hovered over you—shirt hanging open, lip gloss smudged across his throat from your earlier kisses.

Your back hit the mattress, and Jake followed, kissing down your body with a growing urgency—hot, slow, intentional—as if he needed to memorize every inch. His hands moved with him, one slipping down your side, the other reaching for the zipper hidden at your waist.

You felt the soft zip of your gown coming undone, your breath catching as the cool air met your flushed skin.

“Lift up for me,” Jake whispered, tapping your hip gently.

He slid the gown off your body in one careful motion, letting it fall with a soft shhhk onto the floor—and then he froze.

His breath hitched, lips parted as his gaze slowly dragged down your body. Black lace hugged your curves perfectly, delicate and soft and dangerous in the way it made his jaw tighten.

You looked up at him with wide, watery eyes—still glassy from the kiss, from the moment, from him.

“You wore this for me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, biting your bottom lip. “Who else would I wear it for?”

Jake exhaled sharply, his hand coming up to cradle the side of your face as he leaned in, kissing you again—slower this time, deeper.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, and when he pulled back, his gaze dropped once more to the black lace stretched across your chest.

“You’re so beautiful it hurts,” he whispered. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

And when he dipped his head, lips brushing the top edge of your bra, you arched into his touch—whimpering softly as his hands slid behind your back, steady and warm.

“Let me take my time with you tonight,” Jake murmured, voice trembling from how hard he was holding himself back. “Let me show you what it feels like to be wanted.”

His lips returned to your skin—featherlight at first, pressing tender kisses across your chest, each one lower than the last, more deliberate. You gasped softly as he reached the curve of your breast, his breath warm and shaky as he paused, just holding you.

You could feel the restraint in him—how badly he wanted to lose control, and how hard he was trying not to.

His fingers found the thin straps of your lace bra, slipping them down slowly—reverently—like he was unwrapping something precious. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, searching, almost asking for permission one more time.

When you gave the slightest nod, Jake exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years.

“God, you’re…” He couldn’t even finish the sentence, his voice dissolving into a broken sound of awe as he leaned in and pressed his lips over your heart—right there, in the center of your chest.

You whimpered, your hands tangling into his hair as he moved lower, kissing a trail along your skin, slower now, mouth opening against the softness of your body with a kind of devotion that made you dizzy.

His hands were everywhere—one steadying your waist, the other brushing down your side, mapping the shape of you like he was memorizing what it meant to finally have you like this.

His lips moved carefully, hungrily, lingering against every inch he exposed as the lace fell away.

“You drive me crazy,” Jake whispered, voice hoarse. “I think about you all the time. On stage. In the studio. Late at night when I can’t sleep. You don’t even know.”

He kissed lower, his mouth dragging a path down your stomach, every brush of his lips worshipful. Like he was savoring the moment, like he’d waited too long for this.

When he reached the waistband of your lace panties, he paused—just long enough to meet your eyes.

Then, in one swift motion, he hooked his fingers into the sides and pulled them down your thighs, not bothering to slow or look away. His gaze never left yours, not even when you whimpered from the sudden exposure. Jake’s breath hitched.

“Fuck, baby…” he murmured, voice reverent, “you’re so beautiful like this.”

He spread your thighs apart with ease, fingers curling over your knees before he lowered his mouth and dove in—with no hesitation, no teasing, just raw, desperate hunger.

The first swipe of his tongue made your back arch. He groaned like he’d just tasted heaven, his hands locking onto your thighs to hold you still as he ate you out like a man starved.

Long, deep strokes of his tongue mixed with slow circles around your clit, letting your needy whines guide his rhythm.

You reached for his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as he moaned against you, the vibration making your legs shake.

“You taste so good,” Jake murmured in between kisses. “Been dying to do this. Thinking about it every night.”

He flattened his tongue against you, dragging it in slow, deliberate laps while he pressed two fingers inside, curling them perfectly. You cried out—loud—but Jake only smirked, eyes glinting up at you with something feral.

“Shh, baby,” he said, lips slick with you. “You gotta be quiet, yeah? You want the whole floor to hear how good I’m making you feel?”

You bit your lip, trying to stay silent, but when he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard, all control vanished.

“Jake—!” you gasped, hips stuttering, thighs trembling around his shoulders.

He groaned again, tongue relentless, fingers working you perfectly until you were writhing under him, your orgasm creeping up hard and fast.

“I got you,” he whispered, mouth hot against your skin. “Come for me. Let me taste all of it.”

And with one more flick—one more curl of his fingers—you broke.

Your body tensed, then shattered, waves of pleasure crashing through you as Jake held you through every second of it, mouth still working you gently, savoring every drop of your high like it was the only thing that mattered.

Only when your body went limp, breath ragged and thighs still shaking, did he finally pull away—lips swollen, chin wet, eyes dark with want.

He climbed back up your body, kissed your lips slow and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“I’m not done,” he whispered against your mouth. “Not even close.”

You whimpered, the taste of yourself still lingering on his lips, and it only made the ache between your legs return sharper, deeper. He groaned softly as you kissed him harder, greedy—your hands already working at the buckle of his belt with trembling urgency.

The clink of metal echoed in the room, followed by the soft rustle of hiis pants hitting the floor. Jake’s white shirt, already half-unbuttoned from earlier, slid down his arms, revealing his flushed chest, the lean cut of his torso, and the soft, defined outline of abs that flexed with every breath.

He leaned back against the headboard, legs spread slightly, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips when he saw the way your eyes dropped to his boxers—the thick outline straining against the fabric, begging for your attention.

“You want to take care of me, baby?” he asked, voice low, teasing.

You nodded quickly, crawling over to him as heat burned down your spine. “Let me… please. I want to taste you.”

His jaw clenched at your eagerness. “Then be a good girl and come get it.”

You leaned in, lips trailing kisses down his chest—slow, open-mouthed—feeling the way his muscles jumped beneath your touch. He hissed softly when your tongue dipped just under the waistband of his boxers, fingers curling into the sheets.

Your hand cupped him through the fabric, palming him gently, and Jake cursed under his breath. He was already so hard for you, twitching against your touch. You looked up at him, waiting—wordlessly asking for permission.

He gave a breathless nod, pupils blown wide. “Go ahead. It’s all yours.”

You peeled his boxers down slowly, and his cock sprang free—flushed, thick, tip already leaking for you. The sight alone made your mouth water.

You wrapped your hand around the base and gave a tentative stroke, then leaned in to press a soft kiss to the head, your tongue flicking out to taste the bead of precum. Jake groaned, hips twitching.

“Fuck, baby—just like that,” he rasped, voice shaky. “You’re so perfect.”

You took him into your mouth, slow and deliberate, letting your tongue swirl around him as you sucked gently, working your way down inch by inch.

He was big—too big to take all at once—but you didn’t rush. Your hands kept a steady rhythm where your mouth couldn’t reach, spit slicking him up as you bobbed your head and moaned around him.

Jake let out a strangled noise, head falling back against the headboard. One hand threaded into your hair, guiding you with soft but firm pressure.

“You look so fucking good like this,” he groaned. “Pretty little mouth stretched around my cock. Shit—keep going, baby, you’re doing so well.”

You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, faster, loving the way his thighs tensed beneath your hands, the way his abs flexed every time you moaned. His voice was breathless, cracking around curses and praise.

“Gonna lose it if you keep this up,” he warned, biting his lip as he watched you. “Wanna come inside you instead, baby. Want to feel you. Let me—fuck, let me fuck you.”

You pulled off with a pop, lips swollen, eyes hazy with lust.

“Then take me,” you whispered, climbing onto his lap. “I’m yours.”

Jake’s hands were on your hips in an instant, gripping tight, like he was grounding himself—like if he didn’t hold onto you, he’d lose control completely. His cock throbbed against your inner thigh as you straddled him, your core slick and aching, already throbbing to be filled.

“You’re so wet already,” he groaned, running the head of his cock through your folds, dragging it over your clit just to hear your breath hitch. “All this for me?”

You nodded desperately, nails digging into his shoulders. “Jake, please…”

That was all he needed.

He lined himself up and pushed in—slow at first, but you were so ready for him, he slid in with ease, stretching you perfectly. Both of you moaned in unison, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the dim room as he bottomed out, deep and thick inside you.

“Fuck,” Jake rasped, head falling back. “You feel like heaven. So tight around me. Shit, baby…”

You began to move, rolling your hips against his, setting a rhythm that made both of you dizzy.

Jake’s hands guided your pace—one wrapped firmly around your waist, the other slipping up to your chest, palming your breast as you rode him like you were meant to be there, like this was the only place you belonged.

“Look at you,” he panted, voice low and wrecked. “Bouncing on my cock like that… you’re gonna kill me.”

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his as you moved faster, whimpering with every drag and push. The way he filled you—how deep he was, how good he felt—was too much.

The way he kissed you between moans, how his teeth dragged against your bottom lip, how he whispered your name like a prayer.

“Jake,” you gasped, “I’m close—please—”

“Come for me,” he growled, slamming his hips up to meet yours, driving even deeper. “I want to feel you fall apart on me, baby. Right here, on my cock.”

But he wasn’t done.

Still hard inside you, he flipped you over in one smooth motion—pressing you down into the mattress, your legs wrapping around his waist. His pace was rougher now, more desperate. He pounded into you like he couldn’t get deep enough, like he needed to mark you from the inside out.

“Fuck, baby—gonna fill you up,” he gasped, his thrusts erratic now. “Wanna come inside you—wanna make a mess of you.”

You nodded, dazed and breathless. “Do it, Jake. Please. I want it.”

And with one last groan—low, guttural, broken—he buried himself deep and spilled inside you, warmth flooding your core as he held you tight, trembling with the force of it.

Your back arched at the sensation, a whimper spilling from your lips as his cum filled you, hot and thick, the sheer volume of it making you shudder.

“Jake—ah, f-fuck,” you gasped, overwhelmed by the heat, the pressure, the stretch of him still buried inside.

But instead of pulling out, Jake only growled low in his throat and shifted—grabbing your thighs and folding you in half with a firm, possessive grip.

He pressed your knees to your chest, his hips grinding deeper, impossibly so, until you were pinned beneath him, utterly open and helpless.

“Mmm—Jake, I can feel it… it’s too much—” you whimpered, hands clutching at his forearms as he began to move again, slow but deliberate, fucking his cum deeper into you.

“That’s the point,” he hissed, sweat dripping down his temple as he hovered above you. “Gotta make sure it stays, baby. Gotta fuck it in real deep.”

His tone was different now—filthier, rougher, all control gone. His hips snapped forward in short, hard thrusts, balls slapping against you with every stroke as your slick mixed with his release, messy and obscene.

You moaned louder, unable to hold back as your body trembled from overstimulation.

“You’re still so fucking tight,” Jake groaned, breath ragged, “clenching around me like you don’t wanna let me go. You want more, huh? Want me to fill you up again?”

You cried out at the thought, overstimulated and aching, but the way he kept pounding into you—deep, unrelenting—had your body responding without thought.

“Y-Yes,” you sobbed. “Want it. Want all of it.”

He kissed your jaw, your neck, your shoulder, everything he could reach while pressing down harder—completely folding you in a mating press, his cock hitting every sensitive spot inside you over and over again. He was so deep you could barely breathe, could barely think.

“You’re mine,” he growled, voice cracking from how feral he sounded. “Say it. Say you’re mine while I’m fucking my cum into you.”

“I’m yours—fuck, Jake—I’m yours,” you cried, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as another orgasm coiled tight in your belly.

“That’s it,” he groaned, losing himself in you all over again. “Gonna give you more. Gonna stuff you full until it’s dripping out of you—until you can’t take anymore.”

His hand found your clit, rubbing harsh, tight circles that pushed you right over the edge. You came again—harder this time, body shaking under him as he kept thrusting, chasing his second high, lost in the feel of your pulsing walls gripping him tight.

And then he cursed sharply—a broken, breathless sound—before slamming deep one last time, holding you down as he spilled into you again.

The sensation made you cry out, so full, too full, warm and wet and overflowing.

You were barely catching your breath when Jake slowly pulled out, his cum dripping from your swollen folds, messy and obscene. Your body trembled, overstimulated and dazed. But Jake wasn’t done. Not even close.

“Fuck—look at that,” he groaned, watching it spill out of you with hunger still burning in his eyes. “It’s leaking out already… guess I’ll just have to fuck it back in.”

You whined helplessly as he gripped your hips, dragging you down the bed until your legs dangled over the edge.

Then—before you could even plead or prepare—he flipped you onto your stomach, ass in the air, spine arching as he pulled your hips up and apart.

“Jake—wait—” you gasped, voice weak, face pressed against the sheets.

“No,” he growled. “I want to see you fall apart again.”

He slammed back in with one brutal thrust.

You screamed.

Your hands clawed at the sheets as he buried himself to the hilt from behind, hitting deeper than before, the new angle merciless.

His grip on your waist was bruising, relentless, as he fucked into you hard, fast, obscene. Skin slapping, wetness gushing—the sound of it echoed shamelessly in the room.

“Shit,” Jake cursed under his breath, watching the way your slick coated him. “You’re so fucking wet, baby. So messy. You feel that?”

You whimpered out a shaky yes, barely able to think.

He leaned down, chest pressed to your back, voice like a growl in your ear. “Bet you’re gonna squirt for me, huh? You’re close, aren’t you? So fucking sensitive after I filled you up twice.”

He reached around, fingers finding your clit as he pounded into you from behind, hard and sharp. The stimulation had your legs shaking, body jerking beneath him, cries turning incoherent as pressure built fast—too fast.

“Jake—Jake, I’m gonna—”

“That’s right,” he rasped, thrusts brutal and deep. “Fucking let go. I want to see it. Want to make this pretty little pussy squirt all over me.”

And then he angled his hips just right—his cock hitting that perfect spot deep inside—and his fingers never stopped circling your clit. You screamed his name as your body seized up and—you broke.

A gush of wetness sprayed from you, soaking the sheets, your thighs, Jake’s stomach. You screamed again, face buried in the mattress, thighs trembling violently as Jake fucked you through it, moaning in awe at the mess you made.

“Goddamn—look at you,” he groaned, breathless, watching the way you squirted for him. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. You’re fucking perfect.”

He slowed down only slightly, thrusts still deep and deliberate as your walls fluttered and pulsed around him.

You were shaking under him—overstimulated, wrecked, dripping.

And Jake kissed down your spine, gently this time, whispering praises as he finally pulled out, cum and slick spilling down your thighs, a mess neither of you cared to clean up just yet.

“Can’t believe you just did that,” he murmured against your skin, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pulled you back into his lap. “You made such a mess for me, baby. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

You lay against his chest, still trembling, face flushed and skin sticky with sweat and slick. But it was the feeling of his cock—still half-hard, slick between your folds—pressing right against your clit that made you let out a soft, broken whimper.

Jake groaned low in his throat, his hips twitching up instinctively at the sound. “Shit… baby, don’t make that noise. You’re gonna make me hard again.”

You rubbed against him, just slightly, your sensitive core gliding over his length. It was too much, too soon—the overstimulation making your body jolt with every twitch, but the friction was too addictive to stop.

“Jakey…” you whimpered again, your voice thin, tears still clinging to your lashes. “It’s too much…”

“I know,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple, hand rubbing slow circles on your back. “I know, baby. I’ve got you. You did so well for me. Let me take care of you now, yeah?”

Slowly, gently, he helped you lift off him, your legs wobbling as you winced at the feeling of him sliding out, the mixture of both your releases dripping down your thighs.

“Easy,” Jake murmured, catching you before you could slump forward. “You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

He picked you up effortlessly and carried you to the bathroom, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder as he sat you down on the edge of the tub.

He ran warm water with one hand, the other never leaving your body. He was so gentle—so careful—like you were something fragile and precious.

Once the tub was filled, he eased you into it, sliding in behind you so your back rested against his chest. His hands moved over you slowly, washing you with the softest touch—rinsing between your legs, wiping away the mess he made, murmuring apologies and praises all at once.

“You were so good for me,” he whispered, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “So fucking beautiful. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

You leaned back against him with a soft sigh, letting the warmth and his touch lull you into comfort.

“I love you,” you whispered, fingers curling around his.

He blinked, stunned for a beat—then smiled, bright and warm, the kind of smile that reached his eyes.

“I love you more,” he whispered, kissing you again. “And after this bath, I’m tucking you into bed, making sure you drink water, and cuddling you until you fall asleep.”

You let out a soft laugh, nose scrunching as you leaned into his kiss. “Sounds perfect.”

“Only the best for my baby,” he said, grinning. “Now c’mon, let me wash your hair.”

The soft warmth of sunlight peeked through the half-closed curtains, streaks of gold dancing lazily across the room. You winced a little, blinking against the light as you stirred under the tangled sheets.

Everything ached—your thighs, your hips, your back—but it was the good kind of ache. The kind that left a smile tugging at your lips the moment the memories of last night came rushing back.

You moved gently, and the first thing you saw was a mess of tousled blonde hair on the pillow beside you—Jake, face half-buried against your shoulder, one arm draped lazily around your waist. His breathing was slow, peaceful, lips slightly parted and lashes fanned out against his cheeks.

Your heart swelled.

He looked so soft like this. So warm. So real.

You reached for your phone on the nightstand, careful not to wake him. But the motion must’ve stirred him anyway, because his brows knit slightly, voice thick and raspy from sleep.

“Baby,” he mumbled, eyes barely cracking open. “Why are you awake? It’s so early…”

You smiled, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Go back to sleep,” you whispered, brushing his messy hair back. “I just wanted to take something real quick.”

Jake groaned sleepily, but he didn’t let go of you. Instead, he shifted closer, nuzzling into your skin, his arm tightening protectively around your waist. “Mmm… 'kay. Just come back.”

Your eyes softened as you glanced down at your intertwined hands—his much bigger one wrapped loosely around yours, both of your fingers still wearing the simple silver promise rings you exchanged months ago. They gleamed faintly in the morning light, sitting snugly on your fourth fingers.

Smiling, you lifted your phone with your free hand and gently positioned it just above the bed. You lined up the frame—your hand next to his, rings in perfect focus, the sleepy blur of blonde hair and sunlit sheets behind them.

You stared at the photo for a moment after capturing it—heart warm, cheeks full of love—and you typed slowly, carefully, on your account on Weverse, the same one Jake secretly followed even though he’d never admit it

Jake shifted behind you, eyes still closed. “You better not be posting my bedhead,” he muttered sleepily, his voice muffled against your skin.

You laughed softly, turning to kiss him again. “Too late. But don’t worry, you look like the love of my life.”

Jake cracked one eye open, lips twitching into the laziest, fondest smirk. “Management’s gonna kill you,” he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

You shrugged, eyes twinkling. “Well, everything else that happened?” You leaned in close, your nose brushing his, your voice a playful whisper against his lips. “That’s off the record.”

Jake chuckled, pulling you back into his chest with a quiet, satisfied groan. “Damn right it is.”

You nuzzled into him, your ring glinting in the sunlight, his arm wrapped tight around your waist like he’d never let go. The sheets still smelled like heat and sweat and the lingering sweetness of the night before, but the room was calm now—quiet and golden.

A moment frozen in time. Yours and his. Just the two of you.

⤷ read part 1 here !

⤷ piece taglist — @m1kkso ⤷ permanent tagllist —

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totallynotslothhh · 3 days ago

Text

HARD PERCEPTIONS

Pairing: joost klein x fem!reader

Word count: 4,054

Warning: smoking weed, friends to lovers, smut, fingering, lot of fluff, dirty talking, unprotected sex, cum inside

Description: Is it really possible to be so clueless that you don’t realize your best friend likes you? Apparently, yes.

Author’s note: I just got a sudden wave of motivation because I listened to a song, so of course my hopeless romantic side had to come out somehow. So here’s a little one-shot with lots and lots of plot and sweetness. Thank you for all the support I’ve been getting on my other works, I love you all 😭 and AS SOON AS THIS DAMN PIERCING HEALS I promise I’ll write that one-shot for you freaky gooners. Enjoy the read!

big kisses!

(sorry if there are grammatical errors, I tried my best, English is not my first language!!!🙏)

——————————————————————

The cool breeze brushing against my skin made me shiver from the temperature difference on my sunburnt skin. I had been under the sun all day, and now, under the orange streaks of sunset and the distant shadow of the moon, my skin welcomed the pleasant chills. I’d spent nearly the whole day at the beach with my best friend, Joost.

Of course, like two idiots, out of 12 hours in the sun, we remembered to put on sunscreen only twice. It wasn’t a disaster, but his skin, more sensitive than mine, was clearly more affected. It was kind of funny how he would randomly curse under his breath every time his red arm brushed against something.

Now we were lying in a field; not just any field, but the field we’d escaped to since high school to smoke weed, talk about music, reptilian governors, alien invasions, dreams, wishes.

It was the place we ran to when the pressure of simply being alive became too much.

The one thing I truly felt lucky about was ending up in his class when I was thirteen.

How was it possible that two souls so alike had never met before? We shared the same perceptions, the same passions, the same thoughts -borderline clinical, really. Sometimes I felt like he was the only one who could understand me. Really understand me.

“You brought it, right?” The laid back, half-doubtful tone of the bleached blond’s voice hit my ears and made me lazily open my eyes.

We were lying on a beach towel big enough to fit at least two more people. Our shoes were carelessly abandoned in a corner, and his shoulder bag was resting beside my backpack. We were pretty close: he was lying with his hands behind his head, legs crossed, radiating a kind of bliss. He still wore his swim trunks under a pair of black shorts and a plain, light white polo shirt. His hair was a mess; he had recently bleached it again and reshaved the back.

I’d be lying if I said he didn’t look good.

“I’ll check” I replied softly, suppressing a sigh as I sat up. I crossed my legs and leaned toward my backpack, rummaging inside while glancing over at Joost, whose eyes were fixed on my face; probably trying to see if I had brought the weed.

As if I’d ever forget it at home. Obviously not.

“Should I roll it now?” I asked, my hand paused inside the bag after grabbing the little green nug sealed in a plastic baggie.

“If you want” he replied, his tone somewhere between wanting to smoke and not caring when it happened. He knew we were going to smoke regardless. So, I made the call.

I pulled out the baggie, the grinder, and a crumpled pack of Camel Blues hidden in the dark corner of my backpack. A soft chuckle escaped him, which automatically made me smile.

What an idiot. He wanted to smoke just as much as I did; he was just playing coy.

I placed everything on the towel in front of me and brought the cigarette to my lips, dragging my wet tongue along the paper to weaken it and make it easier to break. As soon as the bitter taste hit my tongue, I looked up: he was already watching me. He’d been watching me for a while.

His gaze wasn’t heavy, nor was it suggestive, it never had been. It was just impossible to decipher, and yet comforting. The storm within those blue irises, his small eyes, those pale lashes… it was all impossible to make sense of, to label. And that’s what made it beautiful.

I saw him sit up, his weight supported by his arms behind him. I turned my attention back to the little blue and purple silicone grinder in my hands. I dropped some tobacco in it, set aside the filter from the cigarette, then grabbed the bud; just enough to make sure we’d feel the effects.

“You staying over tonight?” Lately, that had become a pretty common question. He’d just broken up with his latest girlfriend and had taken it hard at first.

The sleepless nights talking, either on the phone or over tiny cups of coffee and an overflowing ashtray, were too many to count. I’d seen him wrecked, his dark circles doubled, his mood like that of a stray dog. And even though he said he’d been the one to end it, it still hit him hard.

“Mhm, yeah. Sure” I answered immediately, while my fingers worked to mix the heavenly substance with the tobacco. I’d be lying again if I said I didn’t like it, that it didn’t affect me, that my body felt nothing whenever he hugged me, touched me, looked at me. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a fluttering low in my belly, or that the smile on my face didn’t come naturally every time we joked around.

For years I’d convinced myself I didn’t like him, but the truth was that I probably had a crush on him.

A massive one. While he was still dating someone else.

I never even had the courage to admit it to myself, let alone to him.

“Why? Didn’t you sleep last night?” I asked, lifting my eyes to him and catching his face turned upwards, eyes closed, the first button of his polo undone. He looked almost ethereal: the curve of his nose, his neck, his lips, the closed eye, those blond lashes resting gently on his cheek, and his fringe shifting with the light breeze.

I quickly looked back at the grinder, trying to avoid the increasingly intense blush spreading across my face.

“Yeah… but not really. I sleep better when I’m with you.” His warm hand landed on my knee unexpectedly as he leaned in to see what I was doing. It was a routine he’d seen a thousand times, yet it always seemed to fascinate him. I looked up at him, and a strange heat bloomed in my chest.

“Instead of talking nonsense, can you just pass me the Rizlas and filters?” I chuckled, which caught his attention and sparked a kind of playful challenge in him. Before pulling away to get what I’d asked for, he gently pinched my cheek with two fingers. I pulled back with a fake sigh.

“Why? Are you embarrassed?” he teased, clearly joking even as he dug around my now half empty backpack with indie vibe. He grabbed the Rizlas and a filter, then looked back at me, his expression somewhere between amused and teasing, before handing them over.

“I’m not embarrassed” I answered firmly, even though there was nothing firm about my tone. My gaze dropped and the smile I couldn’t wipe off my face gave me away. I heard a low hum and caught him in my peripheral vision as he slumped down again. He rested his head on my bare thigh; since I was still in my bikini, with a light blue shirt worn as a cover-up, slipping off one shoulder and exposing my legs.

“You always are” he murmured, his voice brushing against my skin, the faint scruff on his upper lip lightly scratching my thigh. His arms wrapped gently around my waist, shifting the shirt as they moved.

His hands found their place against my skin, warm and steady, igniting a fire inside me that his touch only made worse.

I couldn’t help but think: he knew. He knew the effect he had on me.

“That’s not true” I replied, defensively, as I grabbed a piece of cardboard and rolled it into a filter, placing it on the Rizla I then filled with the grinder’s contents. His fingers moved along my skin and I arched slightly, letting out a frustrated sound at the distraction.

“Stop it, Joost, come on” I said, shifting my hips a little to keep the joint from falling apart. I wrapped and sealed it with a swipe of my tongue and pressed the edges to make sure it stuck.

“Boring” he muttered, even more teasing than before and rested his hands firmly around my waist again. I held my breath until everything was ready.

He watched me: my hands, my leg.. lazily but intently. And honestly, I would’ve let him look at me like that in any other situation too.

He had really gotten comfortable: head resting on my thigh, hands around my waist, his legs mirroring the way I sat, and his polo slightly lifted at the back, revealing a sliver of pale skin to the gentle breeze.

“I rolled it” I said, placing the joint between my lips and grabbing the lighter from inside the cigarette pack. I felt him nod, his hair brushing against my skin and sending another wave of chills across my body.

I cupped the flame and lit the joint, taking a small drag and exhaling through my nose. Then I took a longer hit, letting the dense smoke fill my lungs. He groaned slightly as he sat up, bringing his face close to mine, eyes locked on the joint, silently asking to take a hit.

I held it out to him, watching as his lips wrapped around the paper. His eyes met mine -again.

We were dangerously close, just a few centimeters apart. His hands on the ground but aligned with my hips, like they were ready to grab me again. His gaze locked on mine, his body leaning in.

He took three hits, exhaling the smoke through his nose; except for the last one, which he blew directly into my face.

I let out a laugh, pulling away and breaking eye contact before it dragged me under again.

“You’re really pretty.” Those words, spoken so nonchalantly, so sincerely and lightly, were enough to make my chest tighten and bring a new shade to my cheeks, quite different from my natural skin tone. I turned my head toward the field, the usual little smile still playing on my lips as I took another drag and when he saw my reaction, a soft laugh escaped him.

He leaned back against me again, his arms wrapping around my body once more, and for the entire time we smoked, he decided it was comfy enough to make me hold the joint for both of us. It was awkward, funny, but above all, divinely familiar.

I mirrored his previous posture, with the only difference being that I used one free hand behind me to support myself. I could feel the effects start to settle in: my eyelids getting heavier, my thoughts beginning to blur into one another, and a blissful sensation accompanied by the loud thud of my heartbeat echoing in my ears. It wasn’t like the first few times anymore, my body had gotten used to the substance, but those first minutes always sent me straight to heaven.

I had almost forgotten about Joost, maybe because he had shifted away from me.

I opened my eyes again and turned my dilated pupils toward his figure lying next to me and like before, he was already watching me. I playfully placed a hand over his face, trying to block his eyes, just as I brought the joint back to my lips for one of the last hits.

“You scared of my stare or something?” And at that moment, it was like only his voice existed for my ears. Nothing else mattered. That soft, kind, warm voice, dripping with teasing, drowned everything else out.

“Hm?” he finished with a little laugh, grabbing my wrist with his hand and slowly guiding my palm down to his lips. My eyes were drawn to his movements. When he began placing soft kisses right there on that part of my body; never once looking away, I didn’t move a single inch.

I didn’t look away, like that moment was the only image in existence.

His lips wandered, staying in the same area, leaving sweet kisses from my palm down to my sensitive wrist.

“I’m not scared of your stare, it’s just that…” I murmured, slowly pulling my hand back with a sigh, suddenly feeling frustrated.

Why was he acting like this? It bothered me not being able to react, not being able to give in or respond.

It bothered me that he was doing all these innocent but easily misunderstood things.

“It’s just that…?” he whispered as he sat back up. He reached out his hand toward me, and I passed him the half smoked joint, doing everything I could to avoid the eye contact I’d been so addicted to just moments ago. I took a deep breath, the cool air rushing into my lungs almost jolting me out of the daze I was in.

“It’s just that you do it on purpose. You mess with me, and I never know how to react when you’re like this.” I didn’t mean to, but my tone came out especially pouty. My lips naturally curved downward, and my eyes traced the crumpled edges of the towel like I needed the distraction.

It felt like I was confessing my feelings, like I was laying myself bare while my brain was moving in slow motion. Like maybe… it was time.

But I didn’t want to ruin anything with him.

When he didn’t respond, I turned my attention to him. Strangely, he was staring at the joint, letting it burn out passively in the open air. His expression was thoughtful, like my words had flipped a switch in his head.

But I didn’t want that either.

I placed a hand on his shoulder, biting down gently on my lower lip as I looked at him: to check if everything was okay, if I hadn’t broken something between us.

“I mean, it’s just that-”

“I like you.” I didn’t get to finish my sentence. My brain completely short-circuited the moment those words left his mouth.

What?

He looked at me for a few seconds, like he was trying to find some kind of explanation in my frozen expression. His eyes dropped from mine to my lips, slightly parted without me even noticing. I licked them, watching as he swallowed a nonexistent lump in his throat that felt too real to ignore.

“I like you, y/n. Why do you think I suddenly broke up with my ex out of nowhere? It hurt too much to keep you in my heart and not be able to do anything about it… I can’t keep pretending you’re not driving me insane.”

My brain took its time to process that, so much so that I didn’t even manage to make sense of the order of his words before our lips collided. My body moved before my thoughts did.

I didn’t kiss him softly.. God, no. I captured his lips in an urgent kiss, one overflowing with all the repressed feelings that had finally been given permission to come to light. I climbed into his lap, his hands gripping my bare thighs that were now parted against him. I cupped his face, savoring the sensation of his wet tongue moving sloppily against mine for the first time.

I could feel his breath on my skin, his groans against my lips. I finally got to taste what it was like to have him crushed against me.

And we kissed; for moments, for heartbeats, for what felt like entire minutes, just basking in the overwhelming realization that we belonged to each other.

The burning end of the joint held between Joost’s fingers brushed against my skin, and that alone made me break away from his mouth. A small whimper of pain escaped my lips, and my head dropped immediately to look at the joint now lying on the towel.

He chuckled, and I shot him a glare, only to burst out laughing when I saw that he hadn’t even stopped. He hadn’t loosened his grip on my thighs at all.

“I want you..” he whispered with a smile, letting his hands roam over my ass, squeezing and spreading it, making my cheeks flush bright red.

Maybe it was because we were both high, or maybe it was the atmosphere, the fading light slowly giving way to a sky full of stars, the situation I’d imagined myself in for years. A mix of sensations: his gaze on me, his lips that wasted no time attaching to my neck, searching for spots to bite, lick, and kiss as if he wanted to mimic the constellations above us. Maybe it was his hands slipping from my ass under my bikini, making his touch feel even more vivid and electric.

I don’t know. In that moment, the shivers spreading across my skin made my nipples harden and my body clench around nothing, already imagining what it would feel like to welcome him inside my warmth.

“Joost…” I managed to breathe out, eyes still closed, while his only answer was to bite down into the curve of my neck: hungry, passionate.

I gripped his shoulders and with a soft moan tugged at the collar of his polo, trying to silently ask him to take it off.

After what felt like endless minutes, he finally pulled away and slipped it off in one motion, giving me the chance to grab the nearly finished joint and light it back up.

Our first time was going to be high; A thought that made a goofy smile appear on my face, instantly erased when his lips crashed into mine again, hungrier than before.

I had just taken a hit, and as our tongues twisted together again, I let the smoke drift from my mouth into his. The sensation of passing it to him through that messy kiss made me grind against him.

Our cores were pressed together, separated only by a few layers of fabric. The warm, sharp taste of the weed became the soundtrack to the wet sounds escaping from both our mouths.

His hands slowly found their way to my bikini top, gently pushing the cups aside and replacing them with his palms.

He touched me slowly, with a tenderness I had never felt before, pinching my nipples gently and pulling away just enough to look at me, his eyes half-lidded and a small smile shining on his saliva slick lips.

I caressed the back of his neck and arched my back when he lowered his mouth to my chest, taking one of the pink buds between his teeth.

“Please, Joost…” From the deepest part of my throat, that plea came out, one he obeyed without hesitation.

He didn’t pull away from my breast, but his free hand slid down until it reached my throbbing core. I wrapped my legs tighter around his hips, and when he tapped his middle finger against my clit, I saw stars.

I was being stimulated by both his hand and his mouth, and his gaze never once left my face, drinking in every flicker of pleasure that twisted across it.

“How long have you been waiting for this moment, huh?” The vibrations of his voice teased my nipple in the most delicious way.

His middle and ring fingers slipped between my folds and pressed against the rough pad of pleasure that made me lose my breath.

Not even enough air to moan properly.

“How much do you want me… how much do you want my cock..hm?” He sped up the movement of his fingers, bringing his face close to mine to look into my eyes: now smaller, struggling not to close.

He held me tightly by the hips with the hand that had been on my chest, while, in contrast to the urgent pace of his fingers, he gently brushed his nose against mine.

I tossed aside the joint filter I was still holding, dropping it to a far corner of the towel, and grabbed his cheeks, forcing him to look into my eyes while he pumped his fingers in and out of me, the wet sound of them sliding through my walls echoing in my ears.

“Talk to me” he whispered, stealing a tender kiss from my lips, and after just a few seconds pulled back again, his gaze locked on mine.

I didn’t know what to say. My lower belly was drenched in pleasure from his touch, my legs nearly frozen around his hips, my chest heaving, making it impossible to even think, let alone speak.

“I waited for you for so… so long” I murmured through the moans I tried to suppress, right before he pulled his fingers out, dragging them along my outer lips, then catching my clit between them.

My body tensed again, my back arched involuntarily, and I shut my eyes tight; unlike him, who didn’t look away for even a second, watching every flicker of bliss play across my face.

“Really?” His voice was soft, tinged with the haziness of the high. I reopened my eyes and nodded, earning a moment of relief as his hand reached to slide my bikini to the side, baring my need to him.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” he asked, almost regretfully, before kissing along my jawline, then my neck, and finally back to my lips, never waiting for my answer.

I smiled without thinking, raising my eyes to his and running my hands to the back of his neck.

“I was scared.” The vulnerability in my voice was unmistakable. Even through my ragged breathing, the tenderness wrapping around us like a blanket of intimacy was impossible to miss.

He paused, pulling his face just far enough from mine to take in my features bathed in the dim natural light of a sun that had just dipped below the horizon. I bit my bottom lip, and he smiled at the sight before cupping my face and planting a series of soft, quick kisses on my lips, like he was trying to pass me a message without saying it aloud.

A message that said: “Trust me, like you always have.”

There was, in fact, a mutual exchange of trust when I found myself on top of him, his full length buried deep inside me, and the control entirely in my hands to move however I pleased.

He lay flat on the towel, arms wrapped around my torso, his hips matching my rhythm with thrusts of his own, adding intensity. His mouth stayed close to my ear, releasing filthy sounds, low groans, without shame, without hesitation.

His skin, flushed in places, was coated in a thin sheen of sweat. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen: the feel of his skin against mine, my chest pressing into his, my hands clutching at the grass beneath the towel, and the ever present breeze that had accompanied us until that very moment.

“I’m close…” I moaned into his ear, feeling his hands tighten on my overheated skin, his thrusts gradually taking over as exhaustion began to slow my movements. My head was still spinning from the lingering effects of the high, everything feeling even more heightened and raw.

“Come… fuck, come for me…” I heard him curse, grip tightening even further, his hips slamming upward with a lewd rhythm, the wet sounds of our slick bodies crashing together filling the air.

I tensed, and his head fell back against the softness of the grass. I cupped his face between my hands and kissed him, right as I felt his hot release spill inside me, painting my walls in white. I whimpered, back arching, as a few final thrusts carried me over the edge into the most powerful, blissful sensation I had ever experienced with anyone.

Our lips stayed locked, our breaths still mingled, our tongues still hungry to explore each other.

His hands rested gently on my waist, stroking my skin to help soothe the tension from my trembling muscles.

When we finally pulled away, both gasping for air, our eyes met and in them we exchanged the most honest ‘I love you’ either of us had ever said, even without speaking it aloud.

In that moment, we loved each other.

We were high, yes… but we were entirely aware of it all. And the darkness that finally fell over that field became the perfect backdrop for the confession of our love.

#joost klein x reader #joost x reader #fanfic #joost fanfic #joost x you #joost klein smut #joost klein x y/n #joost klein fanfic #fanficz #joost klein fluff #joost klein x you #joost klein rpf #joost klein real person fiction #joost smut #joost fluff

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emily-escott · 3 days ago

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Jedi Master Lene Kostana

I’ll admit, the format of Dooku: Jedi Lost was really hard for me to engage with. Because it reads like a script, it felt to me like all the characters were going 😐 at each other the whole time. I know I probably should have listened to it to get the full effect, but I have a really hard time locking in for audiobooks, even if it’s a whole production ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ it’s one of my flaws. But anyway! Lene is so fascinating to me because she really is cut from the same disaster cloth as Yoda’s lineage. Almost every decision she made had me going “why would you do that” or “thats just going to make things worse” but we really do love to watch someone who’s technically not wrong about the fate of the galaxy continuously make questionable choices that harm the ones they care for and undermine their reputation with the Council. It’s an age-old tradition.

Here’s my headcanons for her -

- After getting to know Thame Cerulian through their shared interest in the Sith, she initially viewed him as an irritating, pseudo-intellectual bother. His belief that the Sith could return comes more from a place of (by her estimation) frivolous academic conjecture rather than actionable concern. However, when he’s offered a seat on the High Council, she realizes it could be advantageous to involve him in her research. He is incredibly knowledgeable, and as long as she puts up with him, he can intercept most of the prying questions from the Council. (To be clear, I don’t ship these two - Thame likes guys)

- She watches as Dooku, Sifo, and Jocasta all develop a big stupid crush on each other and goes out of her way to foster whatever that is. She does this largely because she thinks it’s cute, but also to confuse Thame and spite Yoda. Thame isn’t sure why these boys are always hanging out in his apartment, but he doesn’t really mind. Yoda knows exactly what’s going on, but is frankly relieved Dooku even has friends.

- While training Sifo, she quickly learns her words carry a lot of weight and anything she says could potentially end up being extremely impactful to her apprentice. This is advantageous most of the time - Sifo only needs to be told something once for the lesson to stick, and it warms her heart to see him basking in her praise, even over something small. The downside? Lene is horribly foul-mouthed, and Sifo is a sponge.

In terms of visual references, there’s obviously not much to go on. The book basically says she’s purple, she’s got a shaved head, and she has a curl of hair behind her right ear… The lil baby version of her in that one comic I haven’t read at least shows what the species looks like. @ junchan_nyan_art has a couple gorgeous drawings of younger Lene on insta, and @bolithesenate more or less captured how she looks in my mind! idk what the curl of hair behind her left ear is supposed to mean or look like. So I’m giving her a sick faux hawk. idc. I was pretty much happy with her design right off the bat, it just took a few drawings to really nail her features. What do we think, is this something?? I feel so late to the party. She’s been on my to draw list foreverrrrr but I just wasn’t getting around to reading the source material 💀 we’re really in serious blorbo territory now, this ain’t an entry level Star Wars blog anymore, if it ever was

#lene kostana #thame cerulian #he’s in here a tiny bit too #they are not being shipped I cannot stress this enough lol #finally committing to a design #until they decide to release official art of her that is #I wasn’t worried about coming up with a Thame Cerulian design #they’re never going to put him in anything else #watch - next month a huge Lene Kostana lore comic will come out and she’ll look like some majestic eight foot tall elf #and I will look like a fool #jk #too late Star Wars she’s mine now #jedi #pre-prequels #star wars #fan art #sw fan art #digital art

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pixie-felix · 14 hours ago

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O V U L A T I N G

So this drabble has been coming up a lot in my notifications recently so I thought I'd try and write a proper fic for it :) unfortunately I kinda got carried away with the crack, so when it came to the Chan smut the tonal shift was pretty jarring. I got bored trying to make it work and then I got sick of looking at it, so I figured I'd stop stressing about it and just post it in two parts 💁‍♀️

Thank you @a-jazzy-bitch for reading through this and convincing me to keep in the notes I wrote when I was half asleep.

wc: 1.7k genre: cracksmut summary: poly!ot8 x fem!reader lore with condoms galore. so much safe sex. Channie would be proud if he wasn't so pissed at Seungmin. explicit warnings under the cut (they're mostly silly).

explicit warnings: mentions of han’s freaky rodent libido, jeongin being a (literal) sneaky fucker, [redacted] bottoming for the maknae, felix x you x seungmin spitroast, flavoured condoms, ovulating makes you crazy horny.

Once upon a time, Chan would have been embarrassed about buying sixteen boxes of condoms at once. He’d tried to get away with just eight before: one for each member.

One box each seemed reasonable, right?

But then Han’s freaky rodent libido had kicked in, and he’d gotten through his box so fast he started stealing condoms from the other guys. Chaos had ensued. Arguments about fairness, accusations of favouritism. Tempers had flared, fists had been raised.

Moms had been mentioned.

And the whole time you were a needy, horny little mess, whimpering and whining for someone to just shut up and fuck you. Begging like you’d been cock starved for fifty years.

Chan was almost proud of Jeongin, the way he used the argument to his advantage. Quietly sliding over to you and gently lifting you up so he could dress his cock with your cunt, while the others almost came to blows. The way he rolled his hips gently, murmuring no donut filth into your ear while you tried to stay quiet.

You've always been bad at keeping quiet. Especially with Jeongin. Chan understands, he bottomed for the maknae once. He might not be Catholic, but there's no denying it: that cock was sculpted by God.

Thank fuck Jeongin decided not to be a priest. Dick that good should always be deep in someone's guts.

It was actually the lack of sound that gave you two away. When Minho stopped to take a breath after a full two minutes of cussing out Jisung and he noticed you were no longer mewling for attention.

A quick glance over to the bed revealed the reason– the way you were holding one of Jeongin’s hands over your mouth with both of yours. His other arm was wrapped around your waist to keep you still as he ground into you slowly.The seething jealousy stirring in Minho’s gut was quickly stifled by the big boba eyes you gave him, silently promising him a turn too.

The ultimate hyung-but-one had always been a patient man, and was more than happy to watch until it’s his turn. Especially when the view was that good.

Han was less gracious when he saw what was happening. Cue the cries of betrayal, the whining, the pouting, the begging for his turn. Completely disregarding how it was him and his ridiculous libido AND lightspeed recovery rate that caused the whole kerfuffle in the first place.

It was Seungmin who snapped, whacking his hyung over the head with a rolled up newspaper and telling him to wait his damn turn.

Han shut up, pouting those cute quokka cheeks so hard he gave himself muscle cramps. Even then he would not stop. Not even when Felix started peppering his stupid sulky face with tons of teeny tiny kisses, trying to make him giggle and smile and generally cheer the fuck up.

But Hannie sulks as hard as he smiles, in the end being banished to his room and only let out for snacks and bathroom breaks, to stop him from ruining the mood. Not that you would’ve been able to notice, being caught up in a seven way tag team and all…

You did find him later, raiding the cupboards for snacks and hoarding all of the emergency heartbreak ice cream from the freezer– his heart was broken after all.

On the plus side, he’d written two new songs in his exile– both with the kind of heart wrenching lyrics that’d make you think he’d gone through three divorces, eight jobs, and watched everyone he loved perish in an 18th century shipwreck. Possibly involving a kraken or two.

Two excellent songs, sure to stir the emotions of any Stay. Though the second one–the one about the cure for his heartbreak being your thighs around his head and his tongue deep in your cunt…

Yeah, that definitely wasn’t going on the album.

He gave you his best kicked puppy eyes when you cornered him in the kitchen, clutching his high calorie loot to his chest, holding it like it was his first born child.

Which he promptly dropped, nay, threw to the floor when you shyly asked if he’d come back to your apartment and keep you company for the night.

His face lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree, bidding a fond farewell to his junk food child as he scooped you up and princess-carried you to his room. Mumble-babbling something to the tune of yes yes 110% yes please yes yes I would love to come and spend the night at yours but I need to fuck you right now before I actually explode.

It wasn’t until the next morning that Chan realised Han had somehow stolen all of the condoms, including the emergency one he kept in his back pocket.

So, two boxes each it is. Plus one extra box, bought in secret and hidden at the back of Chan’s wardrobe. For emergencies. Right next to the extra emergency first aid kit, in case some overenthusiastic riding ends up with another painful penis incident…

Chan had been worried about the checkout girl taking too long, about one of the others taking his turn and having to wait another rotation before getting inside you.

Rotation? Explanation:

You might be willing to jump on anyone’s dick in your estrogen-induced haze, but after the Great Condom Theft of 2024, Chan and Minho worked out a strict schedule: keeping your days full of dick appointments while making sure none of the members felt left out.

It worked, mostly. Until unexpected events. Like the checkout girl taking too. damn. long.

But when Chan finally walked back into the dorm (in a cool and dignified manner, he definitely didn’t sprint up the stairs because the elevator was taking too long) the scene awaiting him in the living room was not what he was expecting.

Because instead of Hyunjin having his turn, or even Han sneaking a quick one in… it’s still Seungmin fucking you.

He’d had you in a mating press on the floor when Chan left, (which Chan was 100% not jealous about because that’s definitely not his trademarked move), but now Seungmin's got you on the couch, pounding you from the back while you moan around Felix’s dick.

You must’ve sucked the blond raw by now, but if the gentle way Felix’s cupping your head and smiling at you is anything to go by, the way he’s brushing the hair off your forehead so he can look you deep in the eyes even as your nails leave little red scratches over his thighs… yeah, he doesn’t seem to mind. Felix has always been into a little bit of pain anyway.

Han is jerking off to the side, because of course he is.

And Seungmin's designated box of condoms lying on the floor next to the couch, empty. There had been two left when Chan left, and he was only gone for 30 minutes. Chan’s not sure if he’s impressed, relieved, or frustrated. Probably a healthy mix of all three.

Damn these young ‘uns and their ridiculous recovery rates.

Seungmin doesn’t look up when Chan shuts the door behind him, too busy concentrating on not nutting until he’s fucked you through at lease one more orgasm. But you do.

You moan something that might’ve been his name, the vibrations finally pushing Felix over the edge and into filling his pretty pink condom. Watermelon flavoured of course, Lixxie always buys you sweet flavours when he wants head. So considerate.

As Felix slips from your mouth, your face lights up into an almost-exhausted-but-radiant smile as you murmur “Channie~” in a tone that makes Chan’s heart melt to mush… and his dick as hard as a diamond.

Seungmin definitely heard that, and there’s no way he misses the way you reach for Chan, but he chooses to ignore it.

“Minnie.” Chan warns the younger man, who doesn't even spare him a glance and just starts to pound you harder instead. Pressing your face down into the cushions a little more, getting you to arch your back so he can hit it just right, making you cry out in that special way that means you’re about to cum…

And as he fucks you through it? That’s when Seungmin finally acknowledges Chan, smirking up at him through his sweat-slick bangs as he taunts his hyung:

“Wait your turn, old man.”

“Bad pup.” Chan growls, ready to rip him off you and silently regretting not taking up Minho on his offer to hide strategically placed spray bottles around the door for “when the dog needs to be trained.”

Before Chan can go and grab a water bottle from the fridge, a quiet whimper interrupts his thoughts.

“Minnie… please. Need Channie.” Your voice is soft. Needy. Irresistible. You must be exhausted at this point, but you’re practically glowing, looking at Chan with that special soft smile you save just for him.

Seungmin groans in protest, fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts just a little harder before remembering consent is key and reluctantly pulling out. But his attitude melts instantly when you lean back and kiss him, your neck twisting enough for Chan to see the mosaic of love bites and hickeys adorning your skin.

Someone completely forgot the no marking up rule. Or just straight up ignored it.

Chan makes a note to give Seungmin extra dance practice. Not as a punishment of course, that would be petty. The almost-maknae’s hip thrusts just need a little more work. They’re getting sloppy.

The way you whimper when Seungmin strokes your neck brings him back to reality, his eyes snapping open as he feels over the little bruises. He quickly kisses over each one, whispering something sweet in your ear and making you giggle.

Then he shoots his hyung a grin that says “worth it” and makes himself scarce, taking Chan’s stress levels with him and leaving you lax and boneless on the couch. The way you giggle when he scoops you up makes his heart flutter, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he carries you to his bedroom.

While absolutely not against living room sex (sharing is caring after all, and it’s not like there’s room for embarrassment in a nine-way poly relationship) but right now Chan wants you all to himself.

He even takes the time to lock the door after kicking it shut, balancing your entire weight between his chest and one arm as he flips the handle.

No more interruptions.

part two?

Taglist: @sthaay @bluesungology @chrizzztopherbang @avnche @kemkem33 @mikaelless @lvrgrl-xo @eevenus @furioussheepluminary @sheerfreesia007 @aasthamoon @amazinglystay @delulustardust @galaxy4489 @lil-bear08 @abby-loves-aphrodite @a-jazzy-bitch @incognitoinstigator @minhooofr

#skz smut #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #felix smut #seungmin smut #skz ot8 smut #skz x you #skz x fem!reader #poly!skz smut #poly!skz x fem!reader #poly!skz x you

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koveragewithkiera · 2 days ago

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“Let Me In” Pt. 1

Modern AU: Smoke x Annie

This wasn’t supposed to turn into an actual mini-story, but it did lmaaooo. Will be following my idea for the song “Let Me In” by. Tanerelle, but I learned shortly after crafting this idea that I must always include plot with my porn so here we are. This will be part 1 before the good stuff comes, but I hope y’all still enjoy it and that it gets everyone excited for the next part :). I will be uploading the second part of Witchy before that though because I need to get more coordinated with my stories lol.

WC: 3.2k

Characters: Smoke (29), Annie (29), Stack (29), and Dee (OC; 25)

Enjoy! :)

————————

He was back.

After four years, two months, and eleven days, Elijah “Smoke” Moore finally returned home. Home not simply being Mississippi, not simply Clarksdale, but home.

When he’d showed up to his home (or what he believed would still be home) for the first time in half a decade, he was met face to face with the barrel of a wooden Ruger Nine the second the front door opened. It was far from the first time Smoke was placed in such a predicament, but he couldn’t remember the last time it caused him to freeze up. His eyes quickly shifted to meet the holder of the firearm, seeing her eyes piercing into his with a searing glare. He’d been blessed in his youth to witness the many emotions those beautiful eyes could hold, but never had he seen such resentment held in them.

Smoke hadn’t thought to put his hands up, some part of him didn’t feel to be in true danger, but his voice shook slightly as he’d finally spoken after a small stare-off between the two. “How you be?”

As her eyes hardened even further and her finger brushed up against the trigger daringly, he realized those words were clearly not what she wanted to hear. This time, his hands did raise a bit. “Come on now, Annie.”

“Figured you had to be a haint.” His heart stuttered over the sound of her voice, he’d yearned for it so even with the bitter tone of it. She dropped the barrel, but her grip remained the same. “And I don’t take kindly to trespassers.”

Smoke didn’t exactly relax, but he did sigh as she continued to guard the door. He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I’m guessin’ you not gone let me in?”

Annie raised a lethal eyebrow his way, not a single ounce of her softening under his gaze. “You should consider yourself lucky I’m lettin’ you leave this property unscathed.”

She took one calm step back, placing the rifle into one hand as her other promptly slammed the door right in his face. Smoke didn’t flinch at the action, just dropped his head with a dry chuckle before walking from the porch and towards his truck. He hadn’t known how he’d expected the interaction to go, but he at the very least hoped for them to speak more than a couple of sentences. And at the very very least, he hoped she’d let him into her home. Their home. A home they’d built with one another, cherished with one another.

This was the first of a long line of rejections he would face in the coming weeks.

———————————————————————

Clarksdale was a small town, and it was absolutely impossible to avoid running into one another, no matter how hard Annie definitely tried. But things didn’t become any easier with how intentional Smoke became about entering her life once more. During the second week of his return, he dined in the very front booth of her restaurant, Mama Lucille’s, for four nights straight with the hope she would eventually cave into even a sliver of an interaction. On the fifth night, he had only just parked his truck when his phone lit up with a notification from his brother.

Stack: So… apparently you just got banned lmao. Dee just told me

Smoke’s lip curls up as his fingers type furiously.

Smoke: How the fuck she know that?

Three little dots pop up and disappear just as quickly.

Stack: Annie texted her. You def ain’t gettin that no time soon 💀

Smoke’s head falls back with an annoyed groan as he tosses his phone to the side. He has half a mind to walk in anyway, maybe pretend to be his twin just to at least make her speak with him. He decides against it, Annie could tell the difference between the two with all five of her senses blocked away. He pulls out of the parking lot with a sigh, already thinking of his next potential plan.

———————————————————————

Stack gets a mysterious allergic reaction about a week later after the siblings have brunch at the diner. It’s nothing dire, but it hits him when they’re on the way home and he realizes his tongue is feeling a bit bigger than normal.

He’s in the middle of blabbing about something neither his sister or brother are paying true attention to when he realizes what’s happening. “The fuck? What the fuck they put in my food?!”

Dee startles a little in the back seat, her eyes rising up from her phone at the clear panic in Stack’s voice. “What you mean? You only had pancakes, bacon, and grits.”

Stack snaps his seatbelt off and starts shuffling around the truck to look for his EpiPen. His panic increases tenfold when he realizes it’s not in there. “My tongue is swelling up, I think they slipped me something!” His words start to get a little muffled as he feels around the swollen muscle. “Them niggas tryna take me out!”

“Relax, aight.” Smoke’s voice isn’t unusually calm, but it’s clear he’s not as shocked as the other two. “We just need to get you that stuff from Annie.”

Stack’s too busy trying to dramatically draw his breaths in (it reminds them of him as a kid) to notice Smoke’s behavior, but Dee clocks it immediately with a howling laugh. “Elijah, you did not!”

Smoke’s eyes remain forward on the road, already en route to Annie’s house. Their house, but he ignores that thought at the moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

This draws Stack’s attention as his memory finally clicks the last time he had a reaction without his EpiPen. Smoke was usually the responsible one of the two, but there were two things Stack absolutely never left the house: his blade and his fucking pen. His head whips towards his brother with a shout. “Di’ ‘ou do som’in to my ‘ood?!”

Smoke rolls his eyes defensively. “Nigga, why would I do something to your food?”

Dee checks around the backseat area just in case, her head shaking in amused disappointment. “Cause the last time his EpiPen went missing was when Annie kicked you out the house for a week.”

“‘ou mo’da’fucka’!” Stack’s hands twitch to wring around his brother’s neck. His face just drops into his hands with a distressed groan.

Dee rubs a soothing hand over Stack’s shoulders, trying her damndest to not laugh in his face. Her eyes find Smoke in the rear view mirror. “You're going straight to hell, you know? This won’t kill him, but this gotta be something only the Devil would accept.”

Smoke meets her eyes with a shrug before returning to the road. “I ain’t do shit to his food. They could’ve gave him the wrong order.”

And he wasn’t lying. He didn’t touch a thing on Stack’s plate.

But if he accidentally slipped a bit of his grapefruit juice into Stack’s glass of orange juice, then sue him.

By the time they make it to Annie’s home, Smoke has semi-figured out what exactly he plans to say, with no help from either of his siblings. As he approaches the door, he wonders the possibility of being met with a rifle yet again. But this time, the door opens to an even more devastating sight.

The last time he’d come to her house, he hadn’t been able to properly appreciate the sight of her for long before the door had been shut in his face. This time, he couldn’t seem to focus on anything but.

His eyes first land on the dark jeans that accentuate the curves of her thighs and the long length of her legs. They scroll up slowly to her waist, where a pretty brown belt cinches around it, before reaching the tucked ends of her knitted, sleeveless, cream turtleneck. The entire outfit glues to every slant of her figure, and what a figure she’d grown into over the last few years. Smoke would’ve felt like a voyeur of sorts if he weren’t so familiar with what laid beneath the tight layers.

Her hair was slicked back nicely into a ponytail with a bump at the end, and it swayed as she opened the door. Her tone is clipped and expectant, and if he had to bet, she’d likely seen the exact moment the truck pulled into the driveway. “Yes?”

Smoke sets his shoulders, keeping his eyes on hers with a quieter tone. “Stack’s having a reaction.”

Annie’s gaze only grows more agitated before she dips her head with a heavy scoff. She bites her lip in a necessary attempt of restraint before maneuvering herself to gain full view of the truck. She makes eye contact with the younger twin as he sulks in the passenger’s seat. “Stack!”

Stack shoots up at the sound of her yell, immediately rolling down his window. Dee rolls her own down as well, waving to the other woman with a bright smile. It almost breaks through Annie’s reserve, but she responds to Dee with a polite nod before gesturing her head to Stack. “Come on!”

Stack exits the truck quickly to ensure Annie doesn’t change her mind. Smoke feels a small twinge of hope, but it is swiftly swiped away as Annie blocks the side of the door he attempts to slip through.

Her eyes harden in warning. “Just him.”

Stack freezes up as he balances between the outside and inside of the doorframe. He shrivels as the two stand in a bit of a stare off, but his decision is made as the throbbing of his tongue only worsens. “‘orry ‘moke, ‘ou ‘ook my pen.”

Smoke would feel betrayed if he wasn’t so focused on the way Annie’s eyes dangerously gleamed into his. He was trying his damndest to find something, anything, that would help him break through to her. He doesn’t even fully register that Stack has entered the household, instead finding it increasingly harder to voice his thoughts. To voice anything really.

His lips move before his mind is able to catch up, but it's already too late. “You look beaui-”

She shuts the door before he can even finish the sentence. His jaw tightens, his teeth threatening to crack his golden grills, as he slowly saunters to the truck with an air of defeat. When he gets in the driver’s seat, Dee doesn’t give him her usual shit this time, but she does advise him to take his foot off the metaphorical gas pedal.

“That’s one thing she could never stand about you. You always gotta make something happen as soon as possible. Sometimes, things just gotta come along on their own.”

Smoke shakes his head with sigh, resting back on the headrest. “I don’t want her thinking I gave up.”

Dee shoves his shoulder softly, shutting down that reservation instantly. “She knows you too well for that. Trust me, this isn’t the type of thing you can force ‘Lijah.”

———————————————————————

Though Smoke doesn’t say as much, he does in fact take Dee’s words into consideration. When they get home that evening, he makes the final decision to step back from his scheming. It’s an agonizing effort, and as time wears on, it only places his mind even further from being productive at work. Stack takes notice of it first, but only bust his balls over it, throwing quips at his chivalrous act of celibacy and how stupid of a commitment it was to make in the first place. As for Dee, she wouldn’t care too much about his muddled focus if not for how downright pitiful he becomes in the face of business.

Now Dee loves her brothers more than anything on this earth, but even that has its potential limits.

It’s on the fifth week of their return that she bustles into Smoke’s room with a barely-spilling bucket of water in hand. “Get up, Smoke.”

Her older brother grumbles something under his breath about it being too early, pulling the comforter further along his body. It’s enough of an answer for her. She empties the bucket in one swoop, and Smoke’s limbs flail about in an image comparable to that of a cat escaping a bathtub. A loud thud echoes around the room as he falls from the bed in a tangle of soaked sheets, coughing and heaving from his sister’s sick attempt of practical water-boarding.

His head finally manages to submerge from the sheets, his words fighting to escape through his shaken demeanor. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

It doesn't deter his little sister in the slightest, her hand placed on a pointed hip. “We’re going to the supermarket.”

Smoke reaches for his phone, his eyes widening in the face of Dee’s audacity. “It ain’t even 9 am yet!”

Dee’s voice remains steady as she explains the plan. “Annie goes to the supermarket on Broughton St. at 9:15 every Saturday morning before the rush comes at 10:30. We need to leave here at 8:45, you have 30 minutes to get ready.” She turns to walk out of the room with that, but he stops her just as she reaches the door.

“Wait, wait.”

She turns back to him with an unfazed expression. He’s still gaining his own bearings due to the last fifteen minutes, but he has to ask this first. “Why are you doing this? I thought you said not to scheme.”

Dee scoffs. “That was before I remembered something I can’t stand about either of y’all.”

Smoke’s face scrunches in confusion. “What?”

Dee’s eyes squint in annoyance. “Y’all are fucking miserable without one another, and you make everybody else just as miserable instead of just talking or fucking it out like normal people.”

They make it to the market a little earlier than Annie but go ahead and start shopping around. Dee takes advantage of the new delivery of fresh produce and sends Smoke off to look through that section while she moves through the other items of her grocery list. He tries his best not to, but every thirty seconds or so, he finds himself glancing at the time on his phone. Annie would’ve gotten there about ten minutes ago, and he knew his woman to be the punctual type when it came to her routine. Ten more minutes go by of him appearing to look through the ripeness of the seasonal peaches before he almost caves into just searching around for her. Then a laugh, that laugh that hadn’t graced his ears in a torturous amount of time, sounds just to the far right of him.

Smoke’s head whips towards the direction, his eyes landing on their target the second he looks her way. And there she is, standing in the middle of the bread section adorned in a white, patterned sundress that falls just to her knees. She’s speaking animatedly with an older, shorter woman, and it’s the most expressive Smoke has seen of her since coming home. It makes him freeze in place, simply wanting to watch her like this during the chance he has to do so. The way her eyes scrunch up when her lips curl into that radiant smile… it will never fail to take his very breath away. He looks at her as if it’s the first time he’s ever looked at her period, and he’s hit with a sudden moment of deja vu.

At 15, Smoke had choked and stepped into the nearest alleyway when she began walking his way.

At 29, Smoke stands still as his mind and soul scream for her to turn his way.

When she finally does so, his heart cracks at the way her smile diminishes in recognition. But it can’t help but beat a little harder when she doesn’t immediately look away.

The older woman in front of her takes notice of Annie’s change in attention, and when she turns to the direction of Annie’s eyes, Smoke is barely able to register the sound of a squeal.

“Why is that my favorite math student?!” The older lady screams just loud enough to be heard, but not enough to disturb the other shoppers.

Her exclamation pulls the two of them from their momentary daze, and Smoke can’t help but give the older woman a small grin once he recognizes her voice. He walks towards the two women with a polite nod. “Ms. Ruby.”

“Oh, it is you!” Ms. Ruby pulls him into a tight embrace, and he has to bend down a good bit to comfortably adjust to her. She pulls away with a squeeze on his biceps. “I was afraid I was mistaking you and your brother for a second, it's been years!”

“Yes ma’am, it has.” Smoke masks his strained tone, trying not to keep straying his gaze Annie’s way.

Ms. Ruby looks between the two with clear joy, the underlying tension in the air falling straight over her head. “This is just the biggest coincidence! Running into my two star students in the same morning!”

Annie’s smile isn’t as genuine now, and Smoke picks up the sarcasm easily. “Yes ma’am, it is.”

Ms. Ruby clearly doesn’t notice as she brings her attention to Smoke. “Well, what is it you’ve got going on now? I feel like I heard about you being engaged at some point.”

This causes Smoke to stutter uncharacteristically, and he can’t help the way his gaze wanders between the two women. “Oh, well yes I-”

Annie cuts him off with a strict tone. “It broke off a few years ago.”

Smoke crumbles under the weight of the statement paired with the hidden glare behind her eyes. He knew her too well.

Ms. Ruby sends him a look of pity, giving his arm another squeeze. “Oh. Well, I am so sorry to hear that Elijah.”

Annie clears her throat abruptly, smiling warmly towards Ms. Ruby. “If y’all will excuse me, I’ve got some more errands to run. It was wonderful seeing you, Ms. Ruby.” Her smile twitches downwards as she gives Smoke a onceover. “Smoke.”

But before she can make her escape, Ms. Ruby grabs hold of Annie’s hand. “Oh well wait, I would just love to have brunch with you two! I leave town tomorrow evening, but maybe we could try in the afternoon?”

Smoke clasps his hands together as Annie’s grip tightens on her basket handle. The two silently communicate for a little before Annie finally takes the leap.

“Actually, I think Smoke might be b-”

Smoke cuts her off before his mind can fully catch up to speed. “I’ll be free.”

Annie’s head whips to him in shock, but before she can reprimand him, Ms. Ruby is already more than excited. “Amazing! Annie? It’ll give me a chance to try that food of yours since I wasn't able to visit your restaurant.”

Smoke watches as she softly bites her tongue, a tendency of hers whenever she’d been holding a few choice words from spilling. She grins harshly, her lips puckering as she responds. “I would love to, Ms. Ruby.”

Ms. Ruby laughs gleefully. “Excellent! Alright, I won’t hold y’all no longer!” She gives them both two quick hugs, waving as she walks away towards the produce section. “I’ll see y’all then!”

They each hold their breath, remaining quiet as she walks away. Once she’s out of ear shot, Smoke turns to Annie with an apology on his tongue. “Annie, we don’t-”

Annie doesn’t give him the chance to say more. “Be there at 1.” She struts off a few aisles away without another word. Smoke takes a self-encouraging deep breath, just barely hiding his excited grin as he walks with a small pep in his step to find his sister.

————————

Hope y’all liked it! The next part is going to be very very fun to write hehe. But wish me luck because I’m deadass nervous lmao. 🫶🏾

Til next time!

Taglist:

@thelifeoflagab , @omgffs , @bigjh , @championshipshade , @mindyouthisismyaccount , @brownskincheyenne , @lizbehave , @hdfen2474 , @sweetarchivistsiege , @strawberrylemonades-stuff , @whysoceerious , @chknnwffls , @thefutureemmywinner , and @partylikemajima

#sinners 2025 #sinners #annie sinners #smoke sinners #smoke x annie #smoke and annie #stack sinners #original character #modern au #wunmi mosaku #michael b jordan #smoke and stack

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sanotymanjiro · 2 days ago

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𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 ꨄ︎

𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙤 𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙟𝙞𝙧𝙤

𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙨𝙝��𝙩

fluff, soft, set in whatever timeline the reader wants, secret crush; mikey on reader, mild swearing

⚽ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

mikey is a manchild. he is your best friend and soulmate, the boy you grew up with and the boy who has protected you, teased you, cared for you but also been a pain in your ass forcing you to spend countless nights fetching him some dorayaki dead at night because he couldn't sleep. you knock as quietly as you can covey your annoyance without waking the entire sano household up and the door instantly swings open revealing the golden haired boy with a cheeky grin plastered on his face. you fight the urge to roll your eyes and shove the bag his way ready to turn away until his hand catches your wrist.

mikey: waittt!

y/n, practically hissing: what?!

mikey, with a pleading grin: movie night please please pleaseeee?

y/n: are you mad?! u may skip school but i very much still have an 8 to 3 schedule manjiro! i'm getting no sleep at this rate!

mikey, begging: please! fine fine fine! ill...ill let you do my hair...?

and thats how you ended up in his room snuggled together with an assortment of coloured hair ties and accessories in your lap with spirited away rolling in the back at a low volume. you brush his golden locks using your portable hairbrush smiling to yourself as you lean down to sniff it since it smells like your favourite shampoo when you were a child, baby johnson's. you had teased mikey for using it at his big age of 15 but every time he would pout and explain how it was the only thing that isn't damaging and even try to force you to use it just to prove his point, he had a serious fear of going bald in the future and you once caught him trying to generate himself as a bald on man on ai which had you dying of laughter while he whined in embarrassment.

mikey: owww- hss- ow! slow down y/n!!

y/n: stop being a baby i'm done, i'm done...

after untangling the knots in his hair you split it down the middle and gather it into two small pon-pons before sliding a baby blue hair tie with a bow attached to hold them in place, smiling to yourself at how cute it looked while applying some white clips to his bangs.

𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐯:

mikey pretended to watch the movie but the mirror on his closet opposite him reflecting your joyful face wouldn't let him. his fingers fidgeted with the covers of his bed which you had bought him as a gift claiming his room was too plain and mature, his eyes darting to the gentle curve of your jaw in the warm light flowing from the bedside lamp. manjiro had always found you cute, sure you were bratty, nagging, extremely stubborn and persistent and maybe sometimes annoying but your cuteness won all of that ten times over, and mikey was one of the few to notice it. the way you tilt your head to check the sides of his hair, the way your tongue would peek out when you were focused, the soothing motion of your fingers as they brushed his hair over and over thanks to your perfectionist nature, the light of satisfaction that would swirl in your eyes when you were finally pleased with the result; two cute ponytail sort pon-pons with baby blue bows, white clips and a small butterfly clip right on the top of his hair.

mikey couldn't understand why you were so proud of making him look like a walking clown but that didn't matter because he got to see your smile, he got to see you happy and that mattered most of all. before he even notices theres a gentle smile etched onto his lips like second nature and the movie is forgotten completely.

it hurt like hell whenever you would tug too hard at his locks or brush through a knot but if he could watch you like this without you noticing that was all he could ever want not because he didn't want to confess, but because he wanted to make sure that when he does, he'll no longer be the manchild he is now, but the reliable man of your dreams.

2025 @sanotymanjiro

#anime and manga #anime #tokyo revengers #cute #tokyo revengers fluff #mikey sano #mikey x reader #sano manjiro #tr manjiro #dividers by sanoty manjiro #my dividers #manchild sabrina carpenter #got inspo from the song it just reminded me of mikey #baby blue #soft #fanfics #my fic

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miss-vanta-likes-to-write · 1 day ago

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○Chemical Burn●

○Chemtrails●

Master list has all warnings. 18+

Additional warnings ⚠️: homeless population displacement by use of force. Dehumanization of people. Violence and description of victims being shot and "mercy" killings. Forced drugging of reader.

a.n: been a brick since I've done a note at the start. Please refer to the additional warnings. I've mentioned it here, but I will restate. This is a dark fic, and if you are not ready to dislike TF 141 and their actions, then this isn't for you. I switch between reader's and Kyle's pov this chapter. I know I didn't say anyone's designations yet but that will be covered next chapter. Anyway, this is 5,100 words so buckle in and I swear to God I was possessed. Enjoy!

You could barely stand the heat coursing through your body. Lazy flicks of your wrist moved your paper fan and stirred up the warm air around you. Some form of relief is granted once the ac unit kicks on and you flop back into your nest. The four days of your heat always makes you more irritable than normal, but at least it's not as bad as some of your peers. The cycle control you take makes the symptoms lessen and be more tolerable.

There's a knock at your door and you call out, “Come in.”

The door creaks open and it's Avarice. He shouldn't be in your room and his presence lets you know he snuck in. Those honey brown eyes of his crinkle in the corners and he holds up a small plastic bag filled with little square butter mints. “Look what I got Sweetie.” He's quick to kick off his boots and strip out of his shirt before plopping down into your nest.

The growl you let out is soft with no real anger behind it, “You're sweaty and you smell like outside, get out of my nest.”

Your words don't deter him. Instead he removes the ribbon from the bag and pulls out a light blue mint, “I went through all the trouble to get you these dumb butter mints you like so much.”

The insides of your stomach flip at the way he presses the candy to your lips. He smells like outside, but under it is the gunpowder that clings to him for days when he gets back from his travels. Just beyond that, if you concentrate hard enough, his natural scent of the world right before it rains struggles to come through. He's intoxicating and you breathe him in deeply.

You open your mouth and the mint gets placed on your tongue and a burst of sugary happiness settles over you. It's not love, not just yet between you both, but the promise is there.

Candy is hard to come by, and he always shows his adoration to your sweet tooth.

“I'm glad to have you back. Be gone before my dad and mom find you up here.” You lay back down, and he lays next to you.

“Sweetie,” He sounds so loving as he brushes the back of his fingers against your cheek, “I'm glad we don't live in the cities. But it gets harder and harder to take those types of freelance jobs out that way.”

“Why?”

“It just is, an omega boy we were tasked with tracking down, poor kid who couldn't have been older than like fourteen, escaped and when we found him he killed himself.” He sighs deeply, “They medicate them to make sure they can get pregnant on the first try and if they would rather have death-” his voice trails off when he realizes what he is saying.

“God punishes those who harm the weak.” You close your eyes, “I'm too hot and tired for this conversation Avarice. So please.”

You both don't say anything else.

○Present Day.●

The inside of the green dome is humid and clean. Gas masks aren't needed here. The ground is fertile and grass grows tall but not too tall because of the livestock kept on it. The sun beams down on your face through the glass ceiling. The dome took years to be built, it's your father's pride and joy and he built it with help from the community of different packs he oversees. He's something like the high head alpha or some sort. Everyone answers to him or who works directly under him.

This place is all you've ever known, peace, clean air, being barefoot, your manicured toes digging into the soil. You're supposed to be completing your own chores, you and your dog Sacha, sent out to the fields to gather up the sheep and bring them in. Your veil hangs loosely around you, it's the pretty light blue one that all young omegas in practice of priesthood wear. It creates a barrier between you and the prickly grass, Sacha lays his head on your stomach.

“We gotta get up at some point, Sacha.” You make no move, body heavy with tiredness from the humidity. “I wish Dad would let them turn the fans on. Hell.” You complain. Sacha only whines in agreement or what seems like agreement.

“Sweetie!” The distant call of your pet name rings through the air.

Your limbs move sluggishly as you sit up to spy your brother. He's racing towards you, riding on Dune. Anansi is a freshly presented alpha, young, spry, spirited, and to you a bit of a nuisance but everyone else calls him charismatic and boisterous. Wherever he goes, pranks usually follow and plenty of complaints from the beta population of the community. He looks like a clone of your father but with your mother's coloring, just like you. Bronze skin that is slowly but surely being covered in tattoos, his curly hair frames him like a halo and pulled out of his face. Bright brown eyes sparkling in the sun like gems, and a smile so wide it nearly splits his face in half. Dune huffs and puffs as he comes to a gradual stop and Anansi hops off of him. His respirator mask hangs loosely around his neck and he's dressed like he's ready to cause trouble.

“No.” You lay back down, “Find somebody else.” Sacha barks and gets up to sniff at him. His tail wags so hard that he vibrates all over.

“You're not even doing your chores.” His voice cracks with the last vestiges of puberty. “Sweetie, come on.” He begs.

“Why, so we both can get in trouble? Besides” you close your eyes and breathe in deep, “my coverings and black veils are on the clothesline.”

“Sweetie come on, what you got on is fine and we're only going out the dome for a trail ride.” He plops down next to you and leans in close. In the most conspiratorial way ever he snickers, “Your little boy toy is on the way back, don't you wanna meet him without Dad looking over your shoulder?”

Squinting against the sun, you think about the consequences. It won't be a far ride to meet your sweetheart. He's pretty and lean with honey brown eyes and sports a silly undercut. People call him arrogant but you think he is confident. He runs in mercenary circles outside of the dome, normally taking jobs that require tracking, he doesn't say much more about it. His pack has been integral in communications and security. The sad part is that his mother and your father don't get along very well, the two alphas butting heads on every little thing. Against your better judgment you get up and ignore the dread that tries to take hold of you.

“Fine, lemme-” You can barely agree fully before your pastel gas mask is yanked out of Anansi's bag. “You went in my room?”

“Didn't want to take more than one trip.” He whistles for Dune and the horse perks up ready to go. He digs in his bag and pulls out Dune's mask along with the one used for Sacha.

“Dad and mom are going to kill me for letting you talk me into letting us do this.” In the back of your mind though, you worry about if someone will notice you outside. You have the anatomy of a female omega, male omegas can beta pass easily with the right clothing. Your scent won't be well hidden without your full body veil but you won't be too far from the dome. Sacha sits still while you snap his mask in place and then double checking after Anansi's work on Dune, you climb on with him.

To the far far east of the dome is the entrance that leads to a back road. It's less traveled by on the account of all the vegetation that grows wildly and the woods and settlements where the diseased make their shanty town. Your mother twice a month goes out this gate with a small band of acolytes and nuns. Plenty of food that can be spared and medicines that she makes. Tonics that make dying easier from the effects of polluted air and disease. Potions that stop ruts and heats all together permanently, a rather painful process you've had to help administer. It's part of the good will and the right to live and die with humanity and dignity that the world denies them. From time to time, an emergency delivery is done on runaway betas and omegas that escape their cities. Pups can't be raised out in the open, too many crazies and pup snatchers, and gangs of roaming degenerates. Sometimes to your bewilderment they get it done and before the sun is down they are headed back to where they come from. So very much wanted and unwanted pups are done away with by your mom and the older acolytes who are just shy of priestesshood.

Nobody ever calls it what it is. It's illegal and goes against the laws.

The gate is the same glass door that opens out to a decontamination chamber. Anansi puts in the access code and it hisses open. The two door system takes a moment to spray you all down before the outer door slides open to the outside world. On the other side of the glass dome, birdsong is bright against the trees. The wind blows against your face and pushes back your veil, it makes the small bells sewn into the edge of the veil tinkle. Anansi snaps the reins and Dune is off with Sacha taking the lead.

“Avarice said before he left that some cities are seeking out shanty towns.” Anansi gives you a quick glance before looking forward again.

“Why on earth would they bother those people?” You snort, “ain't it bad enough they already suffer?”

“Word got out that some shanty towns have healthy people that run there for sanctuary.” He answers back, he sounds concerned. “I hope they don't find the one near us.”

“Maybe if you ask dad again he will let you bring that boy in.”

“Nah, that ain't the issue.” He shakes his head, his body tenses, “Caleb, he's healthy, would be good and new blood in the community, but he ain't leaving his uncle. Poor man is wasting away but he's too afraid to go on his own terms.” He's solemn but perks up, “But it's okay, I'm sure it will all work out!”

You hug your brother tightly as Dune leaps over a fallen decaying tree trunk. Your mind settles on the excitement of seeing Avarice and you ignore the queasy feeling in your stomach.

○●

Deep in the woods off the beaten path, amongst the blooming trees and grasses that are out of place is a group of poorly put together tents and shacks. The trees and greenery are an anomaly against the dry land, the grasses blend into the dry cracked earth that approaches the main road. Not much wildlife roamed here except the birds that flew overhead. Their chirps were familiar and caused a sense of nostalgia to run through Kyle's mind.

Paradise doesn't have many birds and they are always scared away when the sirens ring every hour to signal the time during daylight. The surrounding areas around Paradise barely hold fertile land and inside the walls, there's not much green space as packs exist on top of each other. So it is truly a novelty when he and his team find the location that was given to them.

The encampment itself is filled with people moving about, trying to have some semblance of a life. He feels terrible for what's about to happen as soon as Captain gives the orders. These places are illegal settlements, they can breed diseases immune to the various vaccines that have been made to combat the biological warfare side-effects of the past. It's also the perfect hiding spot for fresh blood, runaway omegas and the betas and alphas that helped them. Pups that could get snatched by bad people and indoctrinated into horrendous cults. He's seen the worst that life has to offer and sometimes, people who are scared don't know any better. There's sweat on his brow, saturating his cap, he hopes the sun won't give him weird tan lines again that follow his half mask. His vest is heavy against him, but like always he doesn't mind the weight, some crazies have fashioned strange weapons these days, most of them akin to medieval melee weapons and for some odd reason everyone fights like gorillas during Vietnam.

His earpiece crackles to life and it's the Captain, “Is everyone positioned?” He's tired, and Kyle can hear it in his voice. Underneath it is anxiousness because the team he's leading is larger than normal. It's their pack and a few others hired for this contract to hunt down this encampment. The intel of some medicine woman hiding in the sticks amongst the sick and dying is doing horrible things, makes this all the more important.

It's illegal to perform and or administer care that kills an unborn pup. There are also laws about distribution of abortifants and other poisons. It's heinous, especially during a population crisis and the tricky navigation to avoid inbreeding.

There's confirmation of positions, and Kyle lets Price know he's at the choke point. Some other mercenaries are with him, both to assist and to surveill each other. There can't be any fowl play with a potential capture this large.

This medicine woman is a known alpha female. Brown skin, large no taller than 6 '0 maybe 260 pounds. She's known to travel with a group, sometimes there are armed escorts, sometimes it's just her and her followers. The followers are usually betas and omegas, and from the intel they wear gas masks, hinting that they aren't sick or defective.

“Ya ken,” Johnny's voice comes through the earpiece, his voice is always light. “What if we don't find her? Then what?”

Kyle grunts in annoyance, “Then we left Atlas with Kate and Odette for no reason.”

“Aye, ye jus a wee bit mad that his stay with them throws him off his sleep schedule.” Johnny chuckles. This causes some other people on the frequency to laugh at this too. Just about every other person has a young pup at home from the last cycle two months ago.

“Focus.” John is stern and the levity is snuffed out instantly.

There's a moment of silence, the birds become deathly quiet and it's just the wind rustling the leaves. John gives the signal and chaos can be heard. From Kyle's position at the choke point, he can catch glimpses of people scrambling. Their surprised screams rise high above the automatic gun fire, dogs are heard barking, herding them towards his team's position. The first person through the trail, bursting through the brush is young. They are thin, sickly and starving thin. Dressed in rags, exposed skin showing lesions that seemed to be open, Kyle takes it upon himself to fire the first shot. It goes through their head and they drop to the ground.

They wouldn't have passed the initial inspection of health anyway.

He thinks it's a mercy.

○●

You and Anansi had finally come to a stop just a short way from the main road, just waiting for your sweetheart's return and chatting. Sacha sniffs around the bushes and suddenly he perks up, head pointed towards the trees. A distant gunshot can be heard and then more, all of them rapid fire. You look at your brother and he's looking in that direction too. It's coming from where the shanty town is and before you can speak sense into him, he's already mounting Dune and galloping towards stupidity.

“Anansi! Wait!” You run after him. Panic grips your heart and lungs. He won't want to rest until he has his friend with him. “Anansi you idiot! Fucking wait!” It's an anxious feeling that claws at you. Terror because you never should have let him convince you to leave the safety of the Pink House and its glass dome.

Your mask makes it hard to breathe as you race through the trails. Blood rushing in your ears from the sheer adrenaline, it's distant but you can hear Sacha barking as he speeds ahead of you. Then the screams, the horrible screams that cut through the sounds of gunfire. You don't stop and push through the strain of pumping your legs, the tinkling of your veil is faint and all you can think is-

‘I shouldn't have left the dome!’ On repeat.

There is a distressed shout and the neighs of Dune, who sounds panicked. The sight that greets you when you finally break through the tree line makes your blood freeze. There are bodies bloodied and beaten, people in all black apprehending the very people you and your community have grown to care for. It's like watching a living nightmare in real-time. The only thing that breaks you out of your trance is the sound of Anansi's scream, you're moving before you know it. Dodging and jumping over bodies that resist and escape in the opposite direction. In your peripheral an arm snaps out, yanking you behind a shack. Your fists lash out, swinging blindly, but you're held still and against the side of the shack.

“Sweetie!” The scent of outside, gunpowder, and as always just under that the scent of the world before it rains while faint, stops your frantic struggle. Avarice has his respirator on, his eyes filled with fear and worry. “What the fuck are you doing out here?” He hisses and pulls you close to him, just as the heavily armed men run past the opening to where you both hide.

“We were waiting for you by the main road. We gotta find Anansi and get out of here!” The whole of you shakes uncontrollably. There's tightness in your chest.

“You gotta get out of here, I'll find him, get out of here and hide Sweetie.” He looks over your shoulder and then presses his hunting knife into your hand. “Don't look back. Keep going.”

“We gotta get Anansi! I can't leave hi-” He cuts you off by shoving you forward.

“I'll find him! Go!” He shouts over the chaos.

You take off running, following the panic towards the tree line. There's barking and out of the corner of your eye you spot it, a dog with a gas mask, with skull painted over it. It charges for you, direct line of sight. The ground is hard when you land face first. You've tripped over your skirt and your veil begins to slip free of your hair. Scrambling up, you push forward, the dog closing in on you. You've lost your brother, your family horse and your dog. Avarice is still in the chaos helping people escape and you pray he makes it out.

Pain is a funny thing. Your mother teaches that physical sensations remind the flesh and body that it's alive. Pain, pleasure, discomfort, ease, all of it keeps the body alive. So when fire shoots up your leg and through your side the first thing you think of is dying. The shock paralyzes you and before you can scramble back up a knee gets pressed into your back. Your veil slips from your head as you thrash about. You can't thrash hard enough, there isn't enough air circulating through the mask and the urge to wiggle it off is strong, but you don't.

“This one checks the initial inspection sir.” A man speaks.

“Get off me you sick fucks!” You scream and kick your legs, making the pain worse.

“It's a female, looks healthy, drag her to the keep pile.” You don't see who is speaking and through the thrashing both arms are seized and zip tied at the wrist. Your skirts are dirtied as you're tugged from the path and you get your first real look at the scene. People lay in the dirt dying or dead. Blood turns the dirt muddy, blood trails that lead in different directions. The man drops you next to other hostages that you recognize. All of them omegas and betas that had made their home in this shanty town, people you have treated.

There's another wave of screaming and gunshots to be heard, and that's when you see it, how they are clearing the area. Chasing terrified and sick people into their trap, killing those who won't make the journey and those that can and will.

It goes on, this madness for what feels like ever before it all stops. The sun is setting when the last person is zip tied and the mercy callings are done.

○●

“Cap, that's the last one. This choke point is cleared up. Fifteen headcount to take back to the city for medical attention.” Kyle stands in the middle of the trail overseeing his team collecting the dead. He tries to ignore the sobbing of the fifteen people who are healthy enough to be let into the city. He knows deep down that this is the right thing to do, but the initial feelings give him pause. In the long run, these people will thank them, thank them for getting them back to safety and in their right mind.

“Four on mah end Cap!” Johnny chirps, “Three if the one coughing is hacking up a lung from illness and not dust.”

“The area is clear.” Simon radios in.

John takes a moment before his voice crackles over the radio, “Good, let's get this all wrapped up. I don't want to be out in the open longer than needed.”

Kyle walks the trail, looking at the dead and he stops right in front of a pile of dirty fabric. It's blue and has bells sewn on it. It's too fancy to belong to any of the people that lived in the encampment. He picks it up and holds the soft slippery fabric between gloved fingers. A quick scan to make sure he isn't being watched too closely, and he then presses it up close to where his mask arches over nose. It's faint but he smells the scent of an omega just under the reeking stench of fear and panic. The lingering light balm of delicate flowers, he can't place it, his nose isn't as sensitive as Simon's. A memory is tickled in the back of his mind by the scent, warmth, laughter, scratches and heavy breathing. He sees her in his mind, bright and feisty, a bit of a trouble maker, most importantly she's alive.

She's not as he last saw her, scared, shivering, calling for her mother, slapping his touch away, crying for death.

“Uh Garrick sir?” A no name youngster brings him from his memory. Kyle glances over his shoulder and balls up the fabric tightly before stuffing it in between his chest and tact vest.

“Yeah kid?”

“We did another check of the uhm…” He doesn't know what to call them. Kyle didn't know what to call them in the beginning either. He doesn't force him to classify the people and encourages him to continue with a tip of his cap. The boy straightened up and continued, “Out of the fifteen, only six are male presenting, the other nine are female presenting. Three alphas, seven betas, and five omegas, and only one of them has a face covering sir.”

He's surprised that any of them have that. In these encampments, people tend to forego basic safety. He follows the young boy back to where they are holding their detainees, yeah that sounds better he thinks. It sounds nicer and not as permanent or dehumanizing. His gaze trails over all of them, dirty and nervous, not scared, but he stops at one. She's not rail thin or sickly looking, appears to be well fed and kept up. Her gas mask is bright and colorful, charms fashioned to it like the pups at home he's seen do. She isn't dressed in gray drab rags that are falling apart. That alone makes it so that he knows she doesn't belong.

If she isn't from here…then where did she come from?

“Stand her up.” He nods to her and the young boy hurries to do as he's told. She puts up a struggle, hiss and spotting curses, but eventually she is yanked to her feet. Kyle gets close to her, she fits some of the description of the fabled medicine woman that lingers in these parts. “You're not from here are you darling?”

She doesn't speak and her breathing is labored from either pain, exhaustion, anger, or a mix of all three. Her eyes narrow in and then she turns her head away from him. He notes though, that she keeps the corner of her eye towards him, staring at his chest. Kyle follows her line of sight and sees just the corner of the fabric poking out.

He questions her quietly, trying his best to come off as nice despite how all of this may seem, “This yours?”

“Fuck you and let us go!” She doesn't hesitate to snap back.

“Darling…” He already feels a certain type of warmth in his chest. Maybe it's grief or maybe he just misses his pup's mother. His last omega snapped often, right before she bared her neck and submits to whatever he craved. Mind made up he slings his gun into a more manageable position and then hoists the woman over his shoulder. She screams and berates him, he doesn't care since it's all hot air and lip service.

“You're a brute! The second I get free I'll kill you! My alpha is nearby! He'll kill you himself the second he gets here! I'll make sure of it!” She shrieks and wiggles, trying to dislodge his grip.

“Let's get them up to the truck, I'm sure Captain Price has already been by the other groups.” He commands his team.

He ignores the idle threats walking back to the encampment. The closer they get the thicker the air becomes with the scent of blood and gasoline. His mask filters out most of it, but the twinge of what's to finally come lingers in the back of his throat. Every encampment gets burned to the ground. Everything. Nothing can be saved or spared. Escapees that made it out past the choke points can't be left with diseased things, heaven knows what will spread. Dead bodies can't be left or the wildlife, what little still lingers such as wild dogs and cats, will eat them and spread sickness.

He passes Simon who only tilts his head in question at what he's got over his shoulder. The woman may have spotted him because she goes still and quiet immediately. Up by the truck, and really it's five of them, stands John.

He's with a medic, looking over the detainees as they are loaded one by one in the back cabin. The ones that don't make the last check before they set off are pulled to the side.

A single scream is heard before a shot silences it.

John raises both brows, noticing Kyle and his guest. He doesn't tell him no right away, stays silent so he can make his case on why she isn't walking and being given princess treatment. The closer he gets though, the more realization dawns in his blue eyes. “Whatcha got there Sargent?”

It's rhetorical and they both chuckle at that.

“Found her in the chaos sir. Smells like flowers.” Is all Kyle says.

The medic ping pongs between the two of them. “Do I check her too?” They are nervous, their voice shakes too much.

“Yeah, check her.” John reaches out to grab her by the chin but yanks back before she can clamp her teeth on his fingers. “Yeah…reminds me of flowers too.”

The medic wastes no more time before taking her temp, examining her eyes, with a bit of force they check her teeth and do a skin check for open sores that have trouble healing. She only has the gunshot wound to the leg, and is declared fine enough for transport. A needle gets pulled from the medical bag and that's when she struggles again.

“Sshh,” Kyle calms her and holds her tight. Her breathing picks up and she becomes frantic. “It's just enough to keep you calm on the ride back, don't want you hurting yourself.”

“No! No! No! AVARICE HELP!” She wails and tries to throw herself from his grip.

Plenty of people are watching now, everyone knows that name. John furrows his brow and speaks low into his comm mic. The medic struggles but the needle goes right into the side of her neck right below her mating gland. Kyle's surprised to see that it's unmarked, smooth with no teeth dents.

It makes his mouth water at the thought and implications.

“She can ride upfront with us.” John states. His comms crackle with static.

“I got him sir.” Simon can be heard and under it faintly the sound of Riley barking.

Kyle doesn't stay to hear the rest of what's said and moves to get situated. It's a two hour drive back to Paradise. The sooner they get going the better.

○●

“What happens in those big cities mom?” You ask. The work day is over and just about all of your wares and trinkets are gone. “Avarice tells me they are all different depending on who runs them.”

Your mom sucks her teeth, “They're all the same Sweetie. Harsh. Crowded. Not a lot of room to live. Everyone is in fight or flight mode. People who can tough it out, thrive there.” She looks towards the city that is walled up and shakes her head. She continues, “Folks who can make babies don't ever do well there. You can make babies and if you ever find yourself in a place like that, do everything you can to take your life or resign to submission.”

You've never been in an actual vehicle before. Your limbs feel heavy, mind clouded with fog. The last words of your mother's advice about those cities linger. Despite everything, you're too scared of death and don't want to die young. The world around you blurs, it's just shapes and distant noises. You imagine hearing the unmistakable sound of Avarice’s voice, you're not too sure. Whatever was in that needle finally pulls you under into darkness.

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