#especially with what is coming soon for them

[stargirlygirl]

Lads walkingvin on mc pleasuring themselves with sex toys they didn't know she had

star girl's initial words: thank you so much for requesting! hope you like this one. i've seen writers do this prompt before, so my apologies if i have nothing new to add. ALSO there's no raf as our relationship is tricky😔

they catch you during solo time

⭑.ᐟ caleb

i imagine you're sprawled out on your shared bed and caleb's been working a lot recently. when the colonel comes home, his sharp ears instantly pick up on your quiet gasps and moans.

he's in stealth mode as he creeps down the hallway and peers at you through the ajar bedroom door. pathetic. were you so needy you couldn't even close it? he thinks. but those thoughts fade as soon as he sets those tired sunset eyes on you.

oh, you naughty girl.

your lip is drawn between your teeth as you pump a pretty pink dildo in and out of your pussy. your slick glistens in the late afternoon light, covering your inner thighs and the lucky sex toy between them.

caleb groans low, palming his growing bulge through his too-tight trousers. he watches your back arch and hand stutter, burying the dildo deep in your cunt. the sweetest whimpers cascade from your lips, caleb's name slipping out amongst them.

he's already storming into the room before he can stop himself.

the colonel grabs your hand and wrenches it off the dildo. your eyes snap wide open, and your chest heaves.

"caleb!" you exclaim, trying to sit up, but you're still full of the toy. his other gloved hand presses the centre of your chest down, effectively pinning you to the mattress.

"what's this, pips?" letting go of your hand, he grips the base of the dildo and draws it out of your snug walls. you let out a soft moan, gnawing on your lower lip once more as you stare up at your partner.

"miss me, huh?" he asks cockily, sliding the dildo back in at an agonisingly slow pace. you nod energetically. his hand on your chest trails up, his leather-coated fingers tangling in your hair. he pushes your head up while kneeling on the bed, your foreheads touching while he fucks you with the toy.

he breathes out, "i missed you, too, honey. but this isn't fair. you can't do this without me." you whine as he pulls the drenched dildo out in one go. your arousal drips onto the bed.

caleb frowns. the dildo doesn't look anything like his cock. it's thinner and longer.

he asks, jealousy tinging his voice, "am i not good enough?"

"no!" you blurt out, reaching for the dildo, but he tosses it over his shoulder like a piece of trash.

"caleb!" you whine. but you don't have time to scold him before your massive boyfriend is climbing on top of you. shoes on the bed and everything, he cages you in.

"don't i make you feel good? are you bored of me?" he interrogates you, his eyes betraying his hurt. they look glassy in the sun's final rays.

you shake your head panically and insist, "no! that's not it, baby. i've-i've had this one for ages, i swear! n' i love how you make me feel. always make me feel so good, babe."

closing the distance between you, caleb catches your lips in a fiery kiss. he kisses you like he's trying to devour you and prove a point at the same time— that he can satisfy you in ways no one else can. especially wayyyyy more than some fuck ass dildo that doesn't even deserve to go near your sacred cunt.

all night long, caleb demonstrates just how attentive of a partner he can be. of course, while still in his uniform.

⭑.ᐟ xavier

you recently bought this new sex toy that you've been dying to try out. with xavier crashed out on the couch, you turn off the movie you two were watching and sneak off to your bedroom.

pulling the rabbit vibrator out of the box, you check the instructions and make sure everything is in working order before turning it on. it's low buzz echoes throughout the room, making heat pool in your tummy. stripping off your shorts and panties, you flop on the bed and start teasing yourself with the vibrator.

it's only been a few minutes of having the long part nestled deep in your cunt when the bedroom door softly creaks open.

in peers a sleeply xavier, one slender hand rubbing his eyes while he murmurs, "i heard a buzzing, love. is everything okay—" your eyes lock, and you frantically pull the vibrator out and turn it off.

"xavier!" you squeal grabbing the covers the hiking them up over your body. your poor boyfriend, he just stands here, wide-eyed in the doorway.

you grumble from beneath the quilt, "babe! go away!" it's quiet for another minute or so before you feel the space next to you sink with xavier's weight. you clutch the covers for dear life, but he pries them away from your hands.

your face is flushed as you stare up at your partner. his big eyes rest on you, his lips slightly pouty.

he says softly, "you could have told me you wanted my attention."

you shake your head and admit, "i wanted to try out my new toy, babe."

"oh," he mumbles, glancing away momentarily. feeling guilty, you place your hand on his bent thigh and squeeze it.

"xav," you call quietly. the only sound that can be heard is the rain pattering against the windows.

he gazes back down at you and offers, "why don't we try it out together?" sitting up, you fish around for the toy beneath the quilt.

"you sure you don't mind?" you ask, your hand closing around the handle. he hums in agreement as you pull it out.

grinning, you inform him, "it's a bunny, like you." he stares at the sex toy quizzically.

"what?" he asks. you laugh as you kick the covers off and shuffle over to him. he takes the toy from you while you spin around and sit on his lap, your back against his chest. grabbing his wrist, you bring the vibrator down to your pussy.

"let me show you how it works..."

⭑.ᐟ sylus

the crime overlord shows up at your linkon apartment unannounced, only to find you moaning his name with a bullet vibrator on your clit. your eyes are closed, head thrown back as the constant buzz takes you to a higher dimension.

sylus chuckles cockily, "what a warm welcome kitten." your eyes shoot open and immediately find your partner taking a seat at the end of your bed. you remove the vibrator from your clit and fumble to turn it off.

his deep voice interrupts your efforts, "please, sweetie. go on. pretend i'm not even here." you're too pleasure-drunk to come up with a witty remark to hopefully wipe that stupid smirk off his face. so you just lie back, eyeing him cautiously as you flick your vibrator back on and pick the sole setting every girl needs.

"you sure?" you ask breathily, spreading your legs wide for your boyfriend. he nods, still grinning arrogantly. you run the small vibrator through your folds, wetting it thoroughly before pressing the tip on your clit. a moan tears through your throat, jagged as your free hand cups your breast beneath your tank top.

sylus observes the slight tremble in your legs and how your back arches as you alternate between pinching your nipples. the vibrator never falters; it provides the kind of consistency men often struggle to.

nonetheless, you miss your partner's strong, rough hands on you. you miss those thick fingers curling up into your g-spot, and his hot mouth sucking on your sensitive bud.

"sy," you whimper, removing the vibrator from your pussy and switching it off.

"something wrong, kitten?" he teases, but you notice the strain in his voice.

sitting upright, you pout at him, "please, baby. 's no fun without you." he chuckles richly before standing up and making his way over to you. his black leather pants can't conceal his hardening length, that's for sure.

leaning down, you hold his cheeks and draw him into a loving kiss. you two haven't seen each other for days.

drawing back, you pant, "missed you, sy. need you." you cling to his leather jacket and pull him down onto the bed. his large frame engulfs yours as your lips and tongues dance the line between love and lust.

"please," you mewl into his mouth. separating, spit connects your swollen lips.

your boyfriend chuckles, "what do you need from me, sweetie?" the glittering ropes snap as you draw in a sharp breath, your eyes hungrily gazing at his lips.

"need all of you, sy. in me, till sunrise," you whine. he hums low, the sound caught in his throat. coming in close, he captures your lips in another heated kiss and vows to fulfil your every desire.

⭑.ᐟ zayne

pleasure shoots through your body, the clitoral suction vibrator doing everything and more to your swollen nub. you're unable to stifle your moans as the bedroom door is quietly pushed open.

zayne's head peaks in, his sleep-deprived hazels wandering over you. he gulps, his gaze narrowing in on the toy in your hand. heat flares in his lower tummy, your broken whimpers fuelling the blood rushing to his cock.

unintentionally, your boyfriend swings the door wide open. the hinges squeak, and so do you as you notice him standing there.

"zayne!" he strides in, seeming as calm and collected as ever while his eyes shift to the vanity.

"sorry, my love. i didn't mean to disturb you," he murmurs, undoing his beige waistcoat. reaching the wardrobe, zayne's back is to you as he starts undressing.

hearing the buzz stop, he urges you on, "please, keep going. i'll only take a minute." the sheets rustle and soon enough, your warm, bare body presses into your lover's from behind. your arms encircle his hips, fingers toying with his belt buckle.

"zaynie," you coo. he turns in your grasp and cups your cheeks, his white shirt half-unbuttoned.

you grin sweetly, "i missed you. will you please come to bed?" zayne's cool thumb strokes your cheekbone soothingly as he thinks over your proposal.

he clarifies, "don't you want some alone time, dear?" you shake your head while keeping your eyes on his.

"i want you," you respond breathily. standing on your tippy-toes, you pull your boyfriend into a hungry kiss. pushing your body flush against his, you giggle into his mouth at the hardness poking into your stomach.

breaking the kiss, you ask smugly, "how long were you watching me?"

pink dusts zayne's cheeks as he rasps out, "not very long."

"and you're already this worked up?" you tease. your lover sighs, but a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

"i'm afraid you have that kind of effect on me, darling," he admits. chortling softly, you draw him into another tender kiss— one of many tonight.

masterlist

star girl's final words: random lore drop for today is that i love the sound of music, and sylus's line is inspired by/adapted from gayorg's when he finds maria sitting alone at night (just before something good).

[trh0d3s]

Manager in the making!

Ch 2!

Saja boys x human manager reader

You drag these bad boy wannabes to the café next door outside the alley, taking charge to get their demands as soon as possible. Throwing questions at the so-called leader left and right. “Where did you all train?” You open the door to the once quiet space now exploding with whispers on who these hot men are?!

As if off script Jinu answers taking the handle of the door to let the rest of his possie in. “Overseas just a small company you probably haven’t heard of it.” You look at him before glancing down at your phone scrolling through connections to kick start this.

“And you can sing right? Im not being catfished by your lovely looks?” You raise an eyebrow finally putting your phone down to order. Baby wanders over with romance to your side curious about the display of treats and snacks. You glance to the blue haired dead eyed man beside you staring at the display with a bored look before looking up to meet your gaze. Romance leans in with a coy smile his big heart shaped bangs kind of annoying you…those he use a truck of hair gel?

 At a snap of Jinus fingers the boys are suddenly posing beside each other before harmonizing. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CAFÉ!? You cant help but back away in both horror and bewilderment back meeting the counter. They are good but what the hell!

“Ok! Ok! I believe you! Let these people be.” You hiss out in embarrassment, waving your hands like you were swatting the air to cut them off, could give Arataka Reigan a run for his money. “Im sorry everyone, please go back to your coffee!” Pure exasperation in your voice fumbling to bow down to the people around you, forcing the boys closest to you to bow as well. The unlucky two was yanked down by the collars of their shirts. Mystery starts visibly vibrating trying to escape your grip, this close to biting fingers! Abby scoffed giving jinu a sideways look before grabbing your hand to forcibly remove the hold on his nape. Baby was laughing into his sleeve at the victims of your panic, mystery was starting to bare his teeth at the floor was that a growl you heard?! He was interrupted by Jinu chopping the back of his head with an authoritative look,  they had to keep appearances, especially in front of someone he’s going to see every day.

Well they did show you a snippet of their abilities if only it wasn’t in the middle of your semi favorite coffee shop! you buy snacks and steal wifi to watch trash tv here!  You straighten up letting go of mystery, shuffling back to the counter to order with a cough.

 The barista looks at you with wide eyes full of curiosity and amazement shes seen you before, always in the back on your laptop every other week. Nothing was noteworthy of you other than how you were only their for the free internet and free refills you would drown in creamer. The occasional refresher when you were typing away like a madman a deadline hanging over your head. But to show up with these people trailing behind you? Where you someone important and she didn’t even know? Well looks are deceiving…

She grabs the stylus connected to the ordering tablet, customer service voice coming out full swing! Maybe she can snag a number while you’re here! “Good morning what can I get you all today?”

You look behind you at the boys looking at the menu with curiosity, is this different overseas? No matter you’ll just order for them not like they have a choice not to drink it. “Three hot chocolates and Three coffees please” you glance at the display where romance was eyeing, baby didn’t look very interested in them but romance did. “And one of these please” you hum out pointing to the display before fishing out your wallet.

The barista stopped you with a hand a smile on her face, her focus was no longer on you but the boys behind you. “No worries it’s on the house!”  She seemed a little to excited to say that…and eager. The barista motions to her coworkers behind her to get this order ready quick while she bags the treats adding a extra pastry with it. You could see her write on one of the cups with a heart if you strained enough. Pretty bad business ethic if your going to be giving away food and drinks.

Their loss anyways free food for you! You put your wallet away to walk over to the counter for the drinks. The three coffees and three Hot chocolates already ready and piping hot. Grabbing the coffee for yourself, as much as you would love hot chocolate your going to need all the caffeine you can get. Been a good minute since your last all nighter.

The embarrassment crew followed your lead taking the drinks of their choosing. You grab the small bag for pastries pulling out the extra for yourself and handing the other to romance but it was taken by Jinu. Weird Power dynamics they got going on but that’s not your problem right now. Stepping to the side so other people can get their purchases you open your own small bag. It was pretty useless on your part, everyone was busy staring at your group to order, some trying to hide it but their gossiping was a clear give away.

Jinu looked around at all the eyes glued to their “godly” forms if he played his cards right this could be like a promotion for tomorrow. He shares a look with romance and Abby, romance all for the show, Abby not so much if it had to do with their new manager.

Barely had the first bite when Abby grabbed your coffee to bring to his lips. “Hey! You have your own!” You scolded him, attention away from the pastry in hand Abby just gave you a smirk.

“Can’t share?” He says mid gulp while flexing the arm holding your cup. Your pretty sure the shop went more silent than it already was, eagerly watching. Romance leans in from behind your shoulder to bite your pastry suspiciously close to where you bit it. Is your eyes twitching right now? Yeah, it’s definitely twitching. Why are they stealing your food?! Ok calm down you have to think rationally right now. Can’t ruin your chances at a job boost five minutes in.

Romance brings a hand to his mouth to wipe the crumbs with his thumb, looking up to make eye contact with one of the many customers to wink at her. “Sweet..just like you” At that last comment he looks to you from the corner of his eye, The silence broken the girl started squeezing her friend and shaking her back and forth. Poor girl…wait not poor girl, poor you!

Are you in a fucking drama right now?! This isn’t the ouran host club! You push the pastry into his chest no longer wanting it but taking back the coffee from abby. It’s yours and you will fight for it. “J-just sit down!” You pull them outside to the outdoor seating face red with even more embarrassment.

Social anxiety feared these men.

The sit around the flimsy table dragging chairs from other tables to sit in,  you can still feel the stares from outside. Sipping your drink you peer up at them most looked content with your embarrassment especially the attention they are getting from it.

Mystery and baby the duo of staring at you with  blank faces sat beside you the rest in front. Jinu in the middle straight across from you nursing his hot chocolate. “Ok you guys are great and probably good publicity but really? With me? Don’t you know what a scandal in the idol industry is like? Could ruin your chances before they begin!” You huffed out before groaning into your hand.

“What’s the current place of residence? I’m assuming you have one near by. I need it as your manager. I’ll attach mine with separate contact info by email for emergency’s” Back in business mode and pulling a computer out of your ass. If it’s work related you must have your laptop with you at all times. Got to the point you would mindlessly put the computer bag on before leaving the door, even on well deserved break days.

Baby looks at the screen slightly leaning in you payed him no mind typing away. “Ok you’re the Saja boys. I’m guessing you have a design for your brand since you already have a name?” You hum, looking up from your screen to Jinu pulling a folded paper out of his pocket.

“We actually do have a design for our brand” He replied, sliding the paper across the plastic surface to you. Sweet less work for you then! You take the paper like it was the key to everything from the way he slid it over. Unfolding it to be! Disappointed…what is this crude drawing..? Is that a dog? Or maybe a cat strung out on propane?

“Very nice…and it’s supposed to be?” Can’t judge not everyone is talented at art.

“A lion.” A voice cuts in beside you staring at the same crude drawing. Baby looked up from the paper to Jinu who was so proud of his piece. “That’s supposed to be a lion. Here is what’s supposed to be our brand” He points across the paper giving you a clear picture instead of deciphering this ever so wonderful art.

“Thanks b now that I got a general idea” you voiced setting the paper down beside the laptop. You whip up to the best of your ability the actual concept on photoshop editors or your personal favorite Canva, before turning the screen around. The boys leaned in to see some making the personification of the confused pikachu face. “Is it not to your liking? What do you want to change?”

“No…it’s good” Jinu was the first to talk before baby chimed in. “It’s way better than what you made Jinu” A snort escapes romance and Abby who quickly looked away when Jinu glared at them with a exasperated expression. His drawing couldn’t have been that bad right? Right?!

Before he could retort and shame the two cause they were the one hyping him up on this! A loud scream erupted close by then the next one then around you it was the yelling of excitement. The countdown for the new single HUNTRIX dropped was just at 5 seconds away! You look behind you seeing the screens around the plaza change to the ending of the countdown. Missing the glares and grumbles of the boys beside you Jinu the most prominent, getting the more annoyed by the minute at the interruption.

He claps his hands together getting everyone’s attention especially yours. “I like it! Know what would be better manager? 200 flyers of this. Cause we are singing here. Tomorrow.” His voice was on the brim between irritation and cunning as his eyes swept through the crowd engrossed in the new music video. He will get what he wants.  Doesn’t matter if you can’t help him.

“Wait here?” You spit out before sitting up on your seat to look around the main square. Your seeing a vision right now. The big space would be where they would perform! Perfect for view on all sides! Lots of tourists and those trying to unwind flock to places like this. You can put the speakers there! And have a camera there! Your eyes dart around the place clocking different points that would give the advantage.” Oh! I see this place is perfect! I just need to get permits and some licensing but nothing I can’t handle” You seem way to excited for them is this really what you get off on? No not exactly,  what you do get off though is kicking your rivals in the face!

Your back to your computer typing away what you could need and planning where lighting should and shouldn’t be. Where the speakers would give the optimal sound spacing. “Send me the song info via email. I’m going to need separate background track and instrumental. How big of a spacing do you need for your dance routine? Actually don’t even answer that I’ll take a educated guess when I case the area.”

“Don’t worry about the money I have you covered…just get us on that reality show everyone loves after” Jinu slides a black card in your direction. Is this real? You pick it up to look at it dismissing how it shimmers a soft purple hue at the flick of the light. Makes you wonder why they would hire you if they had this kind of money? Don’t think about it, it will only ruin the image of success you have in mind.

“Mhm understood I might need to pull some strings but it’s doable...probably .” you pocket the card in your wallet before going back to your computer. “I’ll also order the outfits so send me your address and I’ll drop them off early morning.” You continued on already calculating the expenses and searching through catalogs. “I’ll contact you later tonight to run this through again I need to get some paperwork done.”

Jinu smiled at the way you got so focused, a new project, new opportunity of life. It was so cute. And so pathetic. “I’ll let you know on any changes manager. If you need any assistance don’t be afraid to contact us” With that he gets up his group following his lead, Abby a little too eager to move, baby too busy leaning over to watch you work. Mystery was being mysteriously mysterious…living up to his name that’s for sure. He didn’t move for a moment his face twitching before curling up into a awkward smile. His teeth looked too sharp to be genetics. Your just going to look away….you look back up to where Jinu was standing. Not there.

What…?

You look to your left and then your right, are they crazy fast? Maybe it’s a new trick idols use to get away from paparazzi…No matter you have work to do! Let’s go manager in the making!

———————MEMES OF THE DAY——————

[prettygirl-gabi]

Bragging Rights

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Fandom: WNBA-Dallas Wings/ Washington Mystics

Summary: Rivals on court, lovers off — only one gets bragging rights.

A/N: thank youu bby for the help….✨✨

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @let-zizi-yap , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsav

“You nervous?” Paige whispered beside me, her pinky grazing mine under the hotel duvet.

It was past midnight and the city outside our shared room in D.C. hummed quietly. My phone sat face-down on the nightstand, untouched since dinner. We didn’t need distractions tonight — not with what tomorrow meant.

I turned my face toward hers, catching the way her eyelashes fluttered against her cheekbones. Even after three years together, and playing beside her for almost all of college, this girl still made my heart stutter.

“A little,” I admitted. “First game against you. First game where we’re on opposite sides of the court. It’s like… UConn civil war.”

She chuckled, soft and low. “Lover vs lover. Rookie vs rookie. Edwards vs Bueckers.” A pause. “You know the headlines tomorrow are gonna eat this up, right?”

“Oh, they already are,” I said, letting my head fall back into the pillow dramatically. “Aaliyah was cackling in our group chat about it this morning.”

Paige rolled over onto her side, propping her head on her hand. “You ready though?”

I turned to face her too. “You know I am. But it’s weird not being on your bench. Or hearing you call for me when I sub out. Or seeing you point and smirk at me when you hit a three.”

Her eyes softened. “I miss that too. A lot. I miss your hand in mine during the anthem. I miss walking back to the dorms with you after film. Miss you sitting on the counter stealing my hoodie when I’m cooking.”

“Good thing FaceTime exists.”

She leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Not the same as you in my arms.”

I grinned. “Cheesy.”

“You like it.”

I did.

The next morning was chaos.

The league announced we’d be doing a joint pregame presser. Apparently, they couldn’t resist the storyline — the three UConn girls now divided, all starting, and very much the center of attention.

Paige and Aziaha from the Wings.

Aaliyah and me for the Mystics.

The media room buzzed with energy when the four of us walked in, each of us sporting our team warmups and very different colored shoes.

Reporters lit up like Christmas.

“Okay, okay,” one of them started, laughing, “there are a lot of angles here, but I’ll just start with the basics: how does it feel going up against each other after years of being teammates, especially for Y/N and Paige?”

Paige grinned and nudged her mic. “We knew this day would come. Didn’t expect it to be so soon, though.”

I laughed. “Yeah. And definitely didn’t expect to be doing a joint press conference about it.”

Another reporter raised a hand. “Y/N, Paige — any bragging rights or bets on the line?”

Before either of us could answer, Aaliyah leaned into her mic, expression mock-serious.

“No PDA unless one of them drops 20,” she declared. “If neither does, no kiss at all. But if Y/N outscores Paige, she gets a courtside kiss on the cheek.”

Paige blinked. “Lili has spoken for the both of us, I guess…”

I nudged her leg beneath the table. “Better lace up, babe.”

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, it’s like that?”

Aziaha leaned back with a grin. “This is gonna be good.”

As we filed toward the tunnels afterward, Aaliyah pulled Paige and me aside.

“No funny business,” she warned, mock stern. “No forehead kisses. No hand-holding. No whispers.”

Paige groaned. “Can we at least do our pregame handshake?”

Aaliyah narrowed her eyes, then sighed. “Fine. But you either do it now or wait ‘til tip-off. Cameras will eat it up.”

We exchanged a look.

“Tip-off,” we said in unison.

The gym buzzed at capacity. The crowd had energy that reminded me of Gampel on a championship night. All eyes were on us — not just because we were rookies, but because we were those rookies. Paige and me. The couple. The headline.

During warmups, I locked eyes with her across the court. She gave me a wink, then hit a smooth left-wing three. I narrowed my eyes and sank my own shot from the right.

We didn’t speak until we stepped up to center court.

“Now?” she whispered.

I nodded.

Our handshake was quick — the same one we used to do in college. Fist bump, snap, pinky lock, finger heart. The crowd lost it when we did it. So did Aaliyah, shouting from behind me: “I said no PDA!”

“Handshake doesn’t count!” I called back.

Then the ball went up, and it was game on.

The first half was intense.

We traded buckets, traded blocks.

I managed a couple nice drives and even caught a slick behind-the-back pass from Aaliyah that turned into a three.

Paige responded with a jumper and a couple jaw-dropping assists that made the crowd gasp.

“You guarding me now?” she teased during a switch.

“Always.”

Midway through the third, I got called on a reach-in — which sent Paige to the line.

She blew me a dramatic kiss before shooting.

“Ma’am,” I deadpanned, “that’s PDA.”

She smirked as she sank both free throws.

Late in the fourth, it got wild. Down by two, I hit a step-back three over Paige with 14 seconds left.

“You’re welcome for the highlight reel,” I muttered.

She didn’t say anything — Chris used his time out, that gave them possessions of the ball.

With 13.4 seconds in the game Aziaha inbounds it to Paige, and without too much thinking.

Or hesitation, she smirked at me and then hit a CLUTCH three in my face to tie it at 84.

And then—she leaned in as I was frozen with shock and gave me a quick peck on the lips.

“I want the bragging rights,” she whispered. “And I’m gonna get ’em.”

I come fully out my shocked daze and shoved her shoulder playfully. “Nah babe, that’s all me. I gotta humble you after your two-game streak.”

Overtime felt like a battle of wills.

The Wings were hitting everything early.

Paige fed Aziaha for a corner shot and scored on a pull-up, putting them ahead 88-84.

But then… we rallied.

Shakira hit a midrange. I drove, got fouled, hit both free throws. 88-88.

With 12 seconds left, I in-bounded, got the ball back, faked a give-and-go, and kicked it to Sonia in the corner.

Splash.

91-88.

Paige tried to tie it, but her three rimmed out.

Chaos.

Bodies on the floor.

Sonia came up with it and held tight as the buzzer sounded.

Game.

We won.

My final stat line: 21 points, 10 boards, 6 assists.

Hers: 20 points, 9 boards, 7 assists.

I found her midcourt in the mess of hugs and cheers and chaos. She smiled.

“You got me,” she said, proud and out of breath.

“I got you,” I said, cupping her jaw and kissing her — quick, but lingering just enough.

Aaliyah whooped from behind us. “Okay, okay! Y/N earned it!”

The crowd ate it up.

Cameras flashed.

The league’s official account had already tweeted something about UConn reunion turned rivalry and love and buckets in the District.

At the postgame presser, it was madness.

A reporter asked, “Y/N — how does it feel to outscore your girlfriend and win the game?”

I bit back a grin. “Feels like I dropped buckets and got the girl.”

Another reporter laughed. “You going to use that as your Instagram caption?”

Paige leaned into the mic. “She already told me she’s been saving it in drafts since the schedule dropped.”

They were right.

I posted it an hour later:

“Dropped buckets and got the girl 💋”

📸: Me hitting that three

📸: Paige kissing me midcourt

📸: Scoreboard

📸: Us postgame, her hand around my waist

📸: A kiss on the lips, blurry and backlit by stadium lights

The comments? Exploded.

@uconnwbb: We taught them well.

@wnba: Lover vs Lover. But always Team Love 💕

@aaliyah.edwards: Don’t say I never gave y’all anything 😭

@paigebueckers: I’m demanding a rematch. And I’m dropping 30 next time.

I commented back: “You can try, baby 😘”

And just like that, basketball Twitter had a new favorite couple rivalry.

And me?

I had the win, the bragging rights, and the girl.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

A Puppy's Place

RATED NC-17. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.

➾In Which: Mingi finally gets his puppy to realize her place. Or — you finally break.

❥Song Mingi x fem reader

"I don't want you to touch me!"

"You'll get over that soon."

♡'･ᴗ･'♡genre: yandere. dead dove homie, wouldn't eat that if i were you

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: 403 possessive yandere, 413 'training' /conditioning (not depicted, only mentioned / described) : time outs + shock collar worn but not used + sensory deprivation, humiliation, 418 forced pet play: reader made to get in a cage + wear a collar, leash, and ears + be hand fed. captive reader, mind breaking, insecure min jumping to conclusions, touch starved reader finally breaks. pet names: puppy + pup (like, a lot), doggie, love, pretty, good (girl)

"Haven't you figured out yet? Struggling gets you nothing but trouble."

➯a/n: requested by anon <33 a bit different from my usual style of story telling, let me know what you think !

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

₊‧⁺stardust˖⋆ @sousydive @sunnysidesins @onyxmango @devilzliaison @ateezswonderland @queenofdumbfuckery @emilysecresy @kyomiingi @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes

18+, MINORS GET OUTTA HERE.

"I don't want you to touch me!"

You remember screaming that at him as you backed into the cage you had woken up in; you remember kicking at his hands as he reached in.

You were so adamant that you would never let Mingi touch you without putting up a fight.

But here you are, a handful of months after that fateful night when Mingi decided he'd had enough of sharing you with world, kneeled in front of him obediently.

You'd been well behaved for a few weeks. You hadn't bitten or cursed at him. You hadn't ripped off the ridiculous clip on ears out of your hair. You've stopped disobeying every little thing he said. You've forced all of the humiliation that comes with his treatment of you deep, deep down.

"Are you full, puppy?" He asks as you hesitate to take the food from his fingers — having gotten lost in your thoughts. You've been doing that more lately. Like an easily distracted puppy. He thinks it fits you perfectly.

You tilt your head, blinking a few times before opening your mouth again with a soft, "ah."

"Still hungry?" He hums, slightly amused.

Despite everything Mingi has done to you — he still claims to love you. He still treats you like he does, along with his demeaning handling of you. It makes you beyond confused. Well, it does now. Before, it just made you mad.

You nod your head a bit, eyes daring to look away from the food in his fingers and up towards him. "Ah," you open your mouth slightly wider, shuffling closer between his spread legs.

He's kind enough to place a soft bed underneath your knees before he makes you get on them — especially since you've been so well behaved.

"Here you go, pretty puppy." He places the bite in your mouth gently. His fingers hardly graze your lips.

You chew quietly, looking down at your lap where your own hands sit folded together nice and neat.

He's glad the days of you trying to bite his fingers have passed. He hated when you did that. And you hated it when he put you in the corner as punishment.

"What do you say?" He urges you softly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

You swallow thickly. "Thank you, Mingi."

"Good girl," he smiles, instinctively moving to pat your head when he stops himself and lets his hand fall with a sigh.

That's one ongoing... not punishment, per se. More like a way to condition you to seek him out first. Humans need physical touch. You'll cave one day.

"I don't want you to touch me!" Is what you had yelled at him the first time he tried to do so.

"You'll get over that soon." Is what he said back, already plotting out ways to make it happen.

Over the past months — Mingi has never touched you. Not in any meaningful way, anyways.

To shove you into the corner and hold your head in it until you stoped fighting him. To take your collar off before your nightly bath. To force you into the large shirts he made you wear before you eventually put them on without a fight. To sit on top of your hips as he pulled the paw-printed socks onto your feet before you started doing the same with them.

You look so cute in them. In the shirt that essentially swallows you up, the little pink paws peeking out behind you as you sit on your calves.

He wants to touch you so badly. He wants to pet your head and hug you and he wants you to sleep in his arms — not your crate.

But he needs you to break even more than he needs to dote over you.

So, he keeps his hands to himself as he hand feeds you the rest of your meal.

Then he does something new.

"Lick them clean, pup."

You look up at him with big eyes. And you quickly decide you don't like new.

Shaking your head, you go to back up when he yanks you forward with the leash you've forgotten was even attached to you.

The weight of it, the weight of the snug collar, the cold metal of the tag that reads his name — it all feels like a second skin at this point.

You pout. The cutest, most precious pout you can muster. "Mingi..."

"Be a good doggie and I'll leave your bed uncovered."

You perk up a bit at that. He always covers up your- the cage with a blanket after you get in for the night.

You hate it. You hate not being able to see what's going on around you. You hate it even more when he shuts off the lights and you're left in complete darkness; not even able to see inside of the small space.

"Promise?" You ask slowly, hesitantly.

"Yes, puppy," he smiles again — sincere and internally cooing at how sweet you look at the moment. "I'll even leave the lamp on for you."

Humiliation be damned, you lean forward and lick his thumb; willing yourself to ignore the grin he wears. There's a knot in your gut that hasn't gone away since you woke up in his home that makes itself known in times like these — twisting and turning in a way that makes you want to cry.

Just as much as his soft, "what a well-behaved pup," makes you want to sink into the floor.

He lets you curl up on the large pillow in front of the couch when you're done, letting you disappear from sight as he leans back against the cushion; satisfied.

You keep your noise quiet because you don't want to be forced to bed early — even if he's promised to let you keep your vision for the night.

It breaks his heart when you cry. He wants you to be the happiest puppy in the world, and he'll make sure of it... whenever you decide to accept that's what you are; his puppy.

He lays across the couch and watches the television, peeking towards you occasionally as you silently soothe yourself, wrapping your arms around yourself. He would love to do it for you, but you still haven't sought out his touch.

"Are you going to make it, love?" He whispers, fingers twitching with the urge to pet his puppy's back comfortingly. "You did well. You don't have to cry, you get a reward."

He means his words to be reassuring and the worst part is — they are.

They make you feel stupid for crying, like you don't need to.

"I'm sorry." You blurt out quickly, nudging the leash out of the way so you can rest your head semi-comfortably.

You are never allowed to touch it. The one time you did; tried to tug-of-war it with him — he had easily overpowered you and replaced your regular collar with a shock one for a week. He never activated it. He didn't need to. The fear and the prongs digging into your neck was enough to keep you in line.

"Take your time and calm down, puppy. Then we can go to bed."

He can go to bed. You? You can go to your cage.

You do take your time. You take more than it. You stay deadly silent, hoping he's just fallen asleep on the couch and you can eventually do the same on the pillow on the floor.

Even with the promise of not being covered up — you find yourself dreading bedtime. You want to stretch out while you sleep. You want to be in a bed. You want to be held-

"Come on, doggie," he leans over and grabs the leash before you even realize he's gotten up; lost in your head again. "Up."

His one word commands used to bother you much, much more. Now, though? They're all but carved in your brain. You don't have time to feel embarrassed before you follow them subconsciously.

You stand up fast. And you thank whatever in the universe is listening that he's stopped making you walk on your hands and knees.

"Bedtime, pretty girl," he says like every other night as he unclips the leash from your collar; his fingers tracing over the tag with a glint of pride in his eyes at the sight of his name around your neck.

"Mingi?"

He looks up and meets your eyes quickly, "yes?"

"Can- maybe, just for tonight... I could sleep in bed?" The words near burn your tongue, but you have to ask.

He scans your face slowly. Looking for something — you don't know what.

"In my bed, puppy?"

His voice is even, but it's edged. And you don't like it. "Y-yes?"

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

Your jaw drops a bit, and you shake your head quickly, "what? Why-"

"Get in your bed, now." He grabs you by the back of the neck and tries to push you to your knees as you fight against him, confused. "Quit it. Don't make me put your cage back in the living room."

That was even worse. No light and no sound. Not even his soft breathing.

"Wait! What did I do?" You yell as his pushing finally makes your knees buckle. "I j-"

"Haven't you figured out yet? Struggling gets you nothing but trouble." He crouches down to your level, forcing you to look at him, "were you planning on running away, is that it? Going to leave me, puppy?" He frowns, his grip tightening.

"No, no," you cry, hands placed on his knees quickly, "no, Mingi."

"What then?"

You sniffle, eyes downward as you answer carefully, "I w- thought you could hold me."

His eyes widen, his grip loosens. "Really?" He asks with his voice full of hope. "That's really why you want to lay in my bed?"

"Yes... Really, I swear! I just w-" You sob freely, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Oh, puppy!" He beams suddenly, dropping to his knees and hugging you tightly. "Sweet, sweet, girl," he kisses the side of your head and leans back with the widest smile you've ever seen.

He's been craving touch just as much as you have. And he knows you well enough to know you aren't lying. Besides — if you do decide to try and run, you won't get very far at all. The door is locked with a deadbolt that you don't know where the key to is.

"Of course," he pulls back and helps you up in your shocked state; whiplash from his behavior. "Of fucking course, pup, I'll hold you. Here, get comfy."

You crawl into his blanket quickly, knowing better than to question a good thing when it decides to come your way.

He reaches into your cage and gets your favorite pillow before joining you, "here, love." He tosses it onto the bed and rubs the back of your neck softly; other hand rubbing up your side. "Are you my good puppy?"

"Yes, Mingi." You respond; quick and practiced. Then you add something of your own, something he didn't teach you. "I'm your good puppy."

His heart feels like it's about to slam out of his chest. He can barely hear you over it as you say, "will you snuggle with me?"

He falls onto his back and pulls you on top of him, and you immediately melt into his warmth; sniffling quietly with your face buried in his chest.

You stretch your legs out, your arms wrapping around him before you can stop them.

"I love you, puppy."

And you're starting to think you mean it when you say, "I love you, Mingi."

❝A Puppy's Place❞

[tywrites]

heavy | mateo manta

pairing: mateo manta x gn!reader

word count: 1,360 (not proof-read)

warnings: reader is implied to have depression

a/n: okay so this is really bad since i haven't written in quite a long time but!! i love him and i Needed to write something abt him. i desperately need more mateo fics lmao. hope you enjoy <33

-----

You rolled over in your bed, the usually comforting plush of your mattress feeling awfully cold today. You sighed, closing your eyes and quietly hoping to just fall back to sleep. Things had been… difficult recently. Losing your job had definitely taken its toll on you – on your mental health in particular. Even when working from home, you still had to make the time to leave every so often and interact with the real world. But with everything that had happened recently with the dateviators, you hadn’t been able to leave at all.

Of course, you still had the objects. And they were great company! Most of them anyway. But it didn’t stop you from feeling a bit… alone sometimes. You sighed softly, finally accepting the fact that sleep wasn’t coming. You looked over to your end table at the dateviators. You had a lot to do. It was really overwhelming, honestly. You hadn’t even met all of the objects in the house yet, let alone made any progress towards realising any. You had made a lot of close friends through them though. And even one very special, different relationship…

Even just thinking of Mateo brought a slight smile to your face, cheering up your bleak mood ever so slightly. If you’d told yourself a few weeks ago that you’d soon be dating your blanket… well, considering your track record with love, it wouldn’t be all that surprising.

You bit your lip, reaching over to the dateviators. You popped them on, blinking at the warm, pink hue that enveloped your vision. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to this. In a second, Betty had materialised in front of you, perched on the edge of the bed – or uh, on the edge of herself. She gave you a soft smile.

“How’re you feeling today, gorgeous?”

You made a face. “Well for starters, I don’t feel very gorgeous,” you reply groggily, sitting up as you wiped a hand over your tired face.

She chuckled. “Sweetie, you’re always gorgeous to me. But what’s got you so down? You barely slept last night, or the night before… should I be offended?” She was clearly joking, but there was a definite tone of concern in her voice.

“Nah, it’s not you, it’s me,” you admit, looking down at the sheets. “I just… I don’t know. I feel so… heavy? I’m so tired, all the time. Which makes no sense, let’s be real, I’m doing nothing all day but..” You trail off, unsure of how to word it. “I just can’t sleep though. I can’t relax. I feel so tense all the time and I don’t see a way out of it. Easier to just lay in bed, I guess,”

She looks at you, worry in her eyes. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked. You try your best to force a smile.

“Not really. I think it’s just… something I have to deal with on my own,”

She frowned. “Honey, I don’t think-”

“I’ll see you tonight, Betty. Thanks for the talk,” you said quickly, standing up and heading to the bathroom, leaving Betty sitting on the bed, her face twisted in concern.

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

You’d spent most of the day dodging the other objects. Mateo especially. You just couldn’t bring yourself to talk to anyone right now. You left the dateviators on the table next to you, doom scrolling on your phone until the socially acceptable time to hit the hay. You were planning to go straight to bed, not call on anyone with the dateviators. The idea of bothering any of them, of forcing them to sit and listen to your silly problems was excruciating. But as you settled down into bed, trying in vain to close your eyes and let sleep come for you, there was only one thing on your mind.

You knew how upset Mateo would be if he knew you were avoiding him, especially if he knew it was because you weren’t feeling the greatest. Helping others is what drove him, it was the one thing he took pride in the most. He’d never let you wallow in your own self pity. You glanced at the glasses on your bedside table and sighed in defeat. You slid them on slowly.

You hadn’t even had them on for a few seconds before Mateo was materialising. You didn’t expect him to be right here, waiting for you. He was usually in the living room, caring for the inanimals. That man never took a break. When you saw the worried expression on his sweet face, you wanted to break down there and then.

“Ah mi vida, finally!” He said, sitting down onto the edge of the bed. “I’ve been waiting for you all day,”

You flushed in embarrassment. So he’d been watching your pathetic display of self-loathing, huh? “Sorry, Mateo… I’ve just been, um, tired,” you said, avoiding his eyes. If there was anything in this world that could make you immediately spill all your darkest secrets, it was Mateo’s big, brown eyes.

“I’ve noticed… my love, I’m worried about you. Betty came to me earlier and told me you haven’t been sleeping. Is that true?” He asked tactfully.

“Betty said that?” Betrayal, you thought.

“She was worried. Honestly, a lot of us have been worried. You haven’t been acting like yourself for a while now. If there’s anything I can do, anything at all, you know you just have to ask, right? I would do anything for you,” he said, a small blush rising to his cheeks. “I mean, I’d hope you’d know that…”

You finally look at him, truly seeing the concern on his features. His bedhead was especially messy today, as though he’d been running his hand through it every five seconds. His usual easy smile was replaced with a small frown and you realised something. In that moment, you would do anything to see that smile again. As you were preoccupied with gazing into his eyes, Mateo took this opportunity to place his hand over yours. His touch was feather soft as his thumb gently traced the back of your hand. You could almost feel your anxiety melting away.

You finally spoke.

“Mateo?”

“Yes, amor?”

“Could… could we cuddle?”

You ignore the burning in your cheeks and make your request, looking down at his hand still on yours. You focused on his touch. His touch seemed to make many things a whole lot easier.

At your words, a huge grin took over Mateo’s face. “You never even have to ask,” he said, bringing your hand up to his lips and placing a soft kiss onto the back of it.

You manoeuvred yourself so there would be room for Mateo beside you, turning so your back was towards him. He wasted no time in enveloping you in his arms, pulling you into the comforting warmth of his chest. His face snuggled into the crook of your neck and he took a deep breath in.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this. The inanimals have missed you too…”

An arrow of guilt hit you right in the heart.

“I’m really sorry, ‘Teo… I-”

“You have no reason to be sorry, amor. Look, I can tell you’re struggling right now. And there’s nothing wrong with that at all, you have nothing to be ashamed about. But you have people around you that can help share your load, okay? You taught me that when we first met. When you bottle it all inside, it’s just too heavy for one person to handle. I want to help you. Please let me,”

You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes. You sniffled, wiping them away as quick as you could but they just kept coming. Mateo brought up the sleeve of his plush duvet jacket, wiping away the tears as they trickled down your face. You both said nothing. You laid there, wrapped up in Mateo’s arms, feeling more safe and secure than you had in a very long time. If Mateo was there to help you hold it, maybe things could be a lot lighter from now on.

[hyukascampfire]

(🍸) SOMETHING BORROWED .. い葉 hard thoughts

𝓘N WHICH 𝗒𝗎𝗇𝗁𝗈'𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝖽𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗺𝘀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗍

engaged윤호 ‧ f rea 17OO . . . smut non idol ˃ ᵕ ˂ infidelity/hardcore cheating angst crying during sex

ɑ︭ : literally my first atz fic but this vision came to me and i knew it had to be yunho

You were doing so good at pretending his engagement brought you to happy tears, or that the thought of him waiting at the end of the aisle for anybody but yourself was anything but gutwrenching. And then Yunho went and told you that they were getting married, and your carefully constructed lie that even you began to believe went crumbling down all over again. Tenfold. 

“Oh… my god,” you said, smiling so tight it’s a wonder he didn’t know right away. “Yunho. That’s crazy. Congratulations!” It was a good effort, but it wasn’t even convincing to your own ears.

“I know.” Yunho’s smile was broad, so truly filled to the brim with excitement. Afterall, he was hitting a major life milestone, even this time he’d be doing without you. “It’s like we graduated high school yesterday. Now we’re getting married and starting families...”

The rueful smile you mustered had ached so terribly. Sure, he was doing that. You certainly weren’t. He was leaving you alone, just when your brain had finally matured enough to name those dazzling emotions in your chest whenever you looked at him. But you weren’t about to go and steal such a big moment for your long-time best friend by saying something sappy and drawing all the attention to yourself, so you gave him false smiles and sugary congratulations until the moment faded and you were left with the emptiness of one, stone-cold fact.

Jeong Yunho, your best friend and long-time love of your life, will be getting married. And it will not be to you.

It’s not even like you hate the girl. She’s sweet. You would rather no other woman be Yunho’s partner in life, if only it weren’t draining the life force out of you to watch them love each other. Exchange kisses that you never got to feel and only existed in your shameful fantasies, become each other’s in every way that you imagine being Yunho’s and him being yours.

And, if you weren’t currently sprawled out in the same bed he no doubt makes love to her in. Yunho was always bad at boundaries with you. Not only would you cuddle, but his fingers would find the plush of your hips in ways that felt beyond the denomination of best friends. He spread kisses with so much ease. Some pressed to the top of your head, always since he hit that growth spurt in middle school and was ecstatic to finally be taller than you, some chaste and against your shoulders when he’d hug you from behind.

Even moreso now, when his wedding is an excruciating three weeks away. Three. And you’re alone here with him, laying in his bed, still loving him. It’s wrong, and even your bruised heart knows it. Not enough for you to stop yourself though, clearly.

“Where are you guys going for the honeymoon?” you ask, eyes getting droopy. You know better than to fall asleep in this bed though. Who knows what would happen, should his fiancé come home to find the two of you dozed off together. Perhaps that’s a glaring sign that you shouldn’t be doing it, to both protect his relationship and your own hopeless heart, but you’re as bad at boundaries as he is. Especially knowing that soon he’ll be promised to another woman, and that’ll be the effective end of times like these. No more nights curled up on the couch, binging your shows together, no more any of it.

“Not sure,” he hums. There’s a strange look in his eyes, one that has butterflies erupting violently in your belly. The button-down he had been trying on for you, the one he’ll wear on that awful day, is rumpled and pushed up to his elbows. He looks down at you, beautiful fingers trying and failing at a tie.

“You don’t know where you’re going?” you ask, climbing out of bed to help him. That’s weird. Yunho has seemed excited about all fronts of this wedding. Actively a part of planning the decor, the venue—any girl’s dream. The love of their life being just as involved and in love with such a beautiful day as you are. “It’s less than a month away, Yunho…” Your fingers loop the sleek tie, painfully reminiscent of the way you had done just the same for him on your prom night. That had been the best night of your life: pretending to be his, wrapped in glittering fabric and his arms. Now you will wrap yourself in something grown and silky, but you’ll go it alone and you’ll be sat in the pews instead. Tutting, you add, “It’s hard to book places the closer you get. It should’ve been booked months ago.”

His mouth twitches like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. You freeze at the look on his face, the way his eyes soften and dart between yours, the way tension simmers in just the way you work the tie at his neck.

“Hey?” you say, voice thin and unsure. Like sending feelers out more than anything. The air becomes suffocating like the weight of the plethora of things that you absolutely should not do right now, but the fragile boundaries have never felt closer to snapping than this very moment. “Are you seriously getting second thoughts?”

Silence rings out in the bedroom for the longest moment. Snapping all the tension, he finally says, “I’m sorry.”

Sorry? Sorry for what? Why would he be sorry to you for questioning his marriage? Your mind fractures into fifteen different, convoluted directions. And then he just kisses you. The first time you feel those lips of his outside of fever dreams, they’re hot on your mouth and moving with crumbling fervor. The clashing of your teeth ring like warning bells that the both of you make the conscious decision not to hear or heed. You whimper confused sounds into his mouth and he consumes them each. His fingers curl into the back of your hair to drag you into him closer as if that might erase all the time you’ve spent dancing around this, or as if it might leave no room for you to think about the wrongness of it. 

You’re barely able to pull yourself away. “Mfffh—Yunho,” you say, breathless and dazed.

The back of your knees hit the bed and then so does your back. And just like that, you’ve slipped right back in that damn bed of theirs. “Fuck,” he chokes into your mouth. “Don’t even say it. I don’t know.”

Inhibitions are smashed to bits somewhere on the floor. You tug that tie loose around his neck and instead of doing what’s right, you do exactly what’s wrong. “Don’t marry her, Yu,” you say, chest welling up like drowning. “Please.” The words spill out quicker than you can rationalize.

He doesn’t answer you. You know that it’s because he can’t make any promises. That should be enough for you to pull back. And sure, it stings. But as self-destructive as it is, you’ll accept crumbs. You’ll accept the ‘mistake’ sex and the regret just to have him once. Disgusting.

Your tongues dance as you fumble with your clothes like you’re running out of borrowed time. You certainly are, aren’t you? The clinking of his belt turns your insides over and sends your hands shaky as you drag both your pajama shorts and panties down in one fell swoop. Faster. Needier. More, unattainably more. Your blood sings the word until he’s inside you, and suddenly you know the shape of your best friend and how snugly he fits inside you. There is no way you’ll ever be able to forget it. That and the sight of his handsome face only a breath’s width from you, breathing each other’s air. They sear into the back of your fluttering eyelids.

Yunho’s grabbing fistfulls of your hips and losing himself. His whimpers fall into your neck and shoulders. Soon enough he’s losing rhythm and the headboard is beating the walls and you’re both so close to forgetting the betrayal of it.

So close. Tears burn trails down your temples, glistening in the soft light. The ache shocks you, but so does the strange detached, floatiness.

“Shhh.” His voice cracks as he wipes them away with a gentle, slow thumb amidst all the frenzy. “Why’re you crying, baby?” Canting his hips just right, a shudder grips the both of you. “Please don’t.”

Kissing him just to taste, you take his lip as you pull away. “I… I can’t take it. I don’t want you to just fuck me and…” Voice breaking off into a whimper, you try to gather your scrambled thoughts. “And then just… you be able to forget about it and go back to her. I love you so much, Yu. It’s not fair.” You know you sound pathetic, but you’re already here letting him fuck you in her bed. How much lower can you go?

Much, much lower, it seems. Yunho brings his left hand up, twinkling with his promise to another. Pulling the ring off his finger, he rolls it between his fingers and then cups the soft curve of your chin. “Open your mouth,” he says, soft. Dumbed down, mindless, you do without second thought. And then he lays his ring on your tongue and fucks you with it there. You roll it around, taste it like the bubbling champagne and floral arrangements that it vows. “No—” he breathes, falling out desperately. “No, let me see it. This should’ve been… yours.”

So you hold your tongue out for him, letting him see that ring in your mouth, in hopes that maybe, by some miracle, it’ll change his mind, and it will be yours. Even as your insides twist up. Even as you shake apart on his length, and he stills above you and pulls out at the very last moment to spill over your belly. The pads of his fingers taste bitter as he collapses over you and takes the metal right back off your tongue, ripping away that future you had let yourself imagine might be yours just like how the clarity post-orgasm seeps back over your thoughts. 

As he pulls away, the air stagnates with shame, and it is sharp. How are you supposed to let him go now? All the words you want to say get caught up in your throat and won’t come out. You can’t ask him if things have changed, or what you’re going to do now. So you will just go on the way he seems to be, rolling the moment off his shoulders like it wasn’t dirty and wrong. You will push it all down once again, and then some.

OO1. 【 tagging 】 . . . @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , @izzyy-stuff , @lunesdesire , @sunoolver , @cherricola-star , @xylatox , @hearteyes4hobi , @hyunj00 , @taebatu , @caratcakemoa , @biteyoubiteme , @dawngyu , @hyunruhi , @heesmiles , @lunesdesire , @yystarz

rblgs & asks >ᴗ<

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Eternally | yandere soulmate au teaser

Summary: Beomgyu is a bully. You wish he would leave you alone but it seems that the only joy he derives from his miserable existence is when he's fucking with you and Kai. He especially loves hurting Kai, his eyes glint every time his cruel words hit a nerve, his grin turning sadistic every time his actions lead to another bruise on Kai's soft skin. Kai, ever the pacifist, tries to avoid any confrontation with the bully, but unfortunately for him, Beomgyu knows how to hit him where it hurts, and that place is you. Kai never seems to be able to control himself when Beomgyu directs his harsh insults towards you, your brave best friend always putting himself in the line of fire to protect you.

Your heart aches for him, breaking every time you see the evidence of Beomgyu's hate on his face and his body. But it'll all be alright, he tells you. As soon as you get your soulmate marks, no doubt getting each other, and you graduate from college, you'll be leaving this awful town and Beomgyu behind. You'll start a new life where he won't be able to hurt you anymore.

You cling onto that, wrapping that hope around yourself every time Beomgyu tries to make you fall apart. But it seems like fate can be even crueler than him...

Warnings: soulmates au, yandere au, bully beomgyu, bsf to lovers kai and reader, noncon, dry humping

It all started when you had stayed back late, grading papers for the class as the TA. You hadn’t expected to find any other students lingering around so you were surprised to hear the sound of someone playing the guitar in the music room.

They sounded really good and you were curious who it was so you went to check it out but to your dismay, it was none other than Beomgyu. You tried to quietly slip out but Beomgyu noticed you, throwing a mocking remark your way that you decide to ignore in favour of running away.

But Beomgyu wasn't happy with that, his long legs helping him quickly catch up to you. He grabs you by the wrist and all but slams you against a wall, hissing in your face for daring to ignore him.

"Don't fucking ignore me, bitch." He snarls and then grins at your shivering form. "What? Got nothing to say now that you don't have your lapdog to take your beating for you?"

Oh how you wish Kai was here. He wouldn't have been able to stand up to Beomgyu but damn would he have tried.

He reaches over to your face and you flinch, worried he'll slap you, your sudden movement pulling your top to the side and exposing your bra to him.

"What do we have here?" He laughs, thumbing the lacey strap. Your entire body goes cold. "Didn't peg you for a slut. What? You wore this hoping he'd see it and fuck you?"

You shake your head, telling him this had nothing to do with Kai. Truth is you'd worn it because you were feeling bad about your body and wanted something to give you confidence back even if no one saw it. You certainly never wished for Beomgyu to see it.

But here he was, ripping your top apart so he can get a better look. You yelp when he does it, and try to cover your chest up with your hands but he quickly gathers them in his own hands and pins them roughly to the wall, growling at you "keep those here if you know what's good for you."

You don't dare move them even when he lets go, even when his hands go your chest to cup your breasts through your bra, even when he's pinching and pulling at your nipples, even when he's pressing his leg between your thighs and ordering you to grind against it.

"Come on, baby, we don't want this to go to waste. I'll give you what that cuck can't. I know your body is dying to be felt up by a real man."

You shake your head, follwing his orders but refusing to acknowledge his words. But that's not good enough for Beomgyu because he grabs your face, his fingers digging into your cheeks, "you don't look very grateful. I am doing you a favour. No one else would give a stupid whore like you the time of day so you better thank me for it, bitch."

The threat in his voice is clear. He won't tolerate your disobedience for much longer so you quickly give in to his humiliating demands, thanking him for touching you, for violating you.

"That's better." He murmurs, satisfied. "I prefer it when you're honest. After all I can feel your filthy pussy dripping down my thigh."

He wasn't lying. God you hate your body for reacting to his unwanted touch.

"Bet you're close. Why don't you beg nicely for me to let you cum."

"Please." You sob, wanting this to end. "Please let me cum."

"Please who?" He pushes, grabbing you by the ass and pushing you down harder on his thigh, making you cry out. "Please beomgyu."

"Good girl." He purrs, moving you over his thigh, his movements much more deliberate and effective than yours, quickly bringing you to the edge and shoving you over it.

Your hands finally move off the wall to grab his shoulders, attempting to ground yourself as your body shakes and shivers through the distressing orgasm, but beomgyu doesn't seem to mind.

As your body comes down from its sweltering high, a chill comes over it when you feel beomgyu's hard cock pressed against your hip, and bile rises in your throat as you think of what he might do to you next.

But to your surprise, he steps back, taking off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders to cover you up.

"If you tell anyone about this, I'll make him bleed."

_____________________

A/N: yes I have reposted it this to make it prettier because I need others to freak out about this idea with me lol

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 61. Pretty Boy

Summary: After Violet's run in with Barlowe on the mat, Xaden has them ramping up their training. And Liam is looking for someone else to challenge. But his flirty mouth may just get him on the bad side of a certain Section Leader.

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Links

The gym is a bit busier tonight. Challenges were back on, and with no one flying with how cold it’s been and the temperamental weather, everyone has been taking advantage of being up for extra training. As usual marked ones are spread throughout, training with the more experienced ones as per Xaden’s instructions.

Since Violet’s challenge with Jack, he’d been on edge more than usual, and was now more demanding about everyone under his care being on top of their training. Which mean Imogen and I had to increase the amount of training we were doing with Violet to keep him at bay. On the mats closest to the weights area, Bodhi and Liam are sparing, showing some techniques to some other first years who are watching them intently. Though with the amount of girls watching them I know they’re watching for reasons other than learning how to fight. And with the cocky smirk Liam flashes at them before putting Bodhi on his back, I know he notices the attention.

”Come on Durran, give me a real fight.” Liam complains as he helps pull him up from the mat.

”This is meant to be informative. Not a proper fight.” Bodhi points out.

Bodhi was never one to go all out in these sessions. Preferring to use the time to explain and show technique. Whereas Liam was always itching to prove himself. Which he didn’t need to. He was undefeated this year, and everyone knew he was a rider to look out for. Both on the mat and up in the air. He was a very talented rider.

”And what better way to teach then to show them a proper challenge. You’re holding back. I bet Imogen or Dahlia would give me a proper fight. Wouldn’t you ladies?” Liam asks as walk past.

”I don’t think tha-”

”Of course we would.” Imogen says a bit to eagerly as she cuts Bodhi off. “I’m sure the undefeated Squad Leader would love to put on a proper fight.”

I turn and look at her, utterly confused as to what the hell has gotten into her. Usually she’d brush the boys off and mutter something about pent up testosterone. Because this isn’t the first time they’ve tried to pull us into their training while he walk past.

”What do you say old Squad Leader?” Liam asks with a smirk as he braces his hands on his hips.

Imogen shoves me toward the mat as she relieves me of my pack. “Fine, but make it quick. I have other things to attend to.” I tell him as I walk onto the mat.

”I’m sure I can make that happen given my track record.” He says confidently as he starts to circle me.

”Come on then pretty boy, show me what you’ve got.” I taunt before he rushes me.

Despite his size he’s quick and agile. It’s what’s given him the upper hand against all the opponents he’s been put up against. Most people would assume due to his height and build he’d be a bit on the slower side. But I’ve watched him fight for most of this year, so I know what to expect. Especially when he come’s at me with a combo I’ve watched Xaden do countless times. I shouldn’t be surprised. They were fostered together, so it doesn’t surprise me that Xaden trained him during that time.

Liam lunges at me, pulling me from my thoughts as I dart backwards to get out of his reach. We fall into a rhythm with ease, as if we’d done this a thousand times before. Soon I get an opening and land a series of hits on him as he slows, clearly fatigued by the sparing he’d been doing with Bodhi prior.

”You’re getting slow.” I tease.

He grins, blonde hair falling into his blue eyes as he steps back to circle me again. He parries my next punch with a casual twist of his wrist. I pivot, trying to slip past his defences, but he grabs my wrist and spins me around, the motion pulling a laugh from my lips as he pushes me away.

”Oh please, I could go all night pretty girl.” He teases with a smirk.

”Alright, that's enough.” A familiar booming voice comes from the edge of the mat.

I turn to see Garrick who is practically shooting daggers at him with his glare, arms crossed over his chest as he focuses on Liam. It’s not hard to tell he’s jealous, clearly having heard the banter between Liam and I while sparring.

”We we’re just getting started. Unless you’d care to join us.” Liam throws back with a smirk, not helping the situation at all.

I watch as Garrick’s jaw ticks with his tell-tale sigh of being annoyed. If Liam wasn’t who he was, I have no doubt Garrick would have laid into him on the mat already. Fucking possessive man.

“I said that’s enough. Dahlia has other training to do.” He barks out.

Yep. Jealous as fuck.

I roll my eyes as I walk over to Garrick who keeps his eyes on Liam, as if looking for a reason to lay into him. He finally looks at me when I lay my hand on his bicep. His hazel eyes softening ever so slightly as they meet mine.

”Don’t worry, you’re a pretty boy to.” I tell him with a smirk before reaching up and placing a kiss on his cheek which flushes bright red almost immediately before brushing past him and joining Imogen who looks like she’s barely containing her laughter.

”You did that on purpose.”

”I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She says with a smug smile on her face as she hands back my pack.

We turn and head over to the door to the weights area just as Liam joins Bodhi on the edge of the mats behind us.

”You could have fucking told me she was Garrick’s girlfriend. I thought they were just sleeping together.” Liam whisper yells at Bodhi.

Bodhi just shrugs. “Not my fault you live under a rock.”

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01 @hyperfixation-train-station @lxnvmvrzx @thebreadisthetruevillian @red0202 @fangirling-galore @craftytrashprincess @taliyahvermillion @xadenswhore @fenixyrie @lagrandeourse @hellodarling1357 @iambored24601  @thegiftofacreativemind @fanfictionjunkie1112 @mysticalfuncollectorus @ohlookitsasinglepoeceofpopcorn @emoravenwolf @imheretobeinvisible @pvrkacciosan @fuckingsimp4azriel @clarewinchester @i-am-infinite @prettylittlewrites @electronictimetravelninja

[star-mum]

hello lovelies, I'm finally free : D

Once again, I'll read it without checking the tags, I'm in the mood for surprises :3

"Isaac Lahey pulled you far away to somewhere secluded" we're starting with SEX !!! pwp? maybe (well not without completely cause i know you, but little plot?)

"which would soon be filled with sweaty assholes" usually it's the other way around

"11. McCall" : O

oh okay not cheating... (said dejectedly)

"his eyes flashing that glowing golden yellow" JAOAOWIAJA W AAAAHH I'VE MISSED WOLF SHENANIGANS (literally giggling and kicking my feet)

"and fuck you senseless, feeling like an overeager dog" derek is an idiot cause this FUCKING RULES !!!!!

"Your gut had shriveled up when you saw that it was one with Scott’s name and lacrosse number on it" Lydia knows EXACTLY what she's doing, don't be fooled

"if it meant that you had been misleading him or leading him on" I think he knows, yes Scott is stupid but he can smell Isaac on us afterwards

(you have no idea how much I've missed these dumb dogs and their dumb abo dynamics)

(I'm also on my ovulation period so very horny) (sorry if tmi)

(if youre not sunny and you're reading this, I am not sorry actually, you chose this)

"She was excited that the two of you would look ‘coordinated’ cheering for your ‘boyfriends’" this was calculated, don't fall for her lies !!!!

"weird spiritual sexual codependency" delicious

"All of it was to make Isaac jealous - to get some kind of a rise out of him" terrible for Scott but he'll live... not the first time this has happened to him

"feeling of his teeth digging into your neck" hihi 🫣🤭🤭

"the first small indicator of his facade cracking" he's the pathetic pussy

"Was supposed to be treasured as yours" 🥺

"knowing that those tights emphasized your thick thighs" FAT READER !!!!!!

"he slashed his claws across your chest, shredding the fabric to pieces" scared is the best way to be horny, Eleanor Shellstrop always right

"you would have been angrier about if not for the very pretty boy currently sucking on your face" sacrifices must be made...

"You have to ‘take it off’ too" please for the love of god, I am NOT fucking you in this dumbass get up, Isaac

"You act like a dumb slut all the time.” SKSKKSKS YEEEEAAAHHH (I love all your readers so much, they're so fun)

"You don’t have to be so mean" QOAJAIAKAN he is SO cute tho

"He wouldn’t take a step in any direction if it wasn’t to stand in your shadow. He didn’t worship anywhere if it wasn’t at your altar" WOWOWOWOWOWOWOW

"Owning a pet meant that sometimes you came off with a few tiny wounds" i love this so much

"cooling the salvia he had left there" this is always my favorite typo in ANY smut fic ever cause it's just proof the writer was going at the speed of light to bring the vision to life (i can fear the frantic typing)

"Get on your knees for me like a good dog" hell yeah

"more than eager to shove his face into the folds of your perfect pussy" every single guy in this show has this energy, they all eat pussy like they're starved

"There was no skill to it" but damn it if he's not giving it his all

"Behave.” “I wasn’t done.” i love them

"beyond human strength helping him to easily lift you" one of my FAVORITE things in this show

"Such a sweet little puppy. Good fucking dog" LOVE IT HERE

"the metal started to crumble beneath his fist" ‼️‼️OJNANAOAKANA HIHI 🫣

"Especially knowing that he would be able to smell that cum on you for hours" another one of my favorite things about this show :3

"Somehow, at six-foot-one, he looked so terribly small" he just has that pathetic sad vibe to him

"I’ll even get you a dog collar with my name on it so that everyone can know you’re mine" HE'D WEAR IT !!!!!!

I LOVED THIS !!! I LOVE IT HERE !!! this felt like coming home, I've missed this

seriously the ending of this semester was so fucking stressful (for a myriad of reasons) I REALLY NEEDED SOMETHING NICE LIKE THIS !!!!

The Good, The Bad, and The Dirty

If you wanna start a fight,

You better throw the first punch - make it a good one.

And if you wanna make it through the night,

You better say my name like:

The Good, The Bad, and The Dirty.

Sub!Isaac Lahey x Dom!Fem!Reader

Summary:

What you and Isaac had going on wasn't exactly public - and whatever it was didn't have a title. Sexual, friendship, two souls entwined and bound to each other in an utterly complicated way.

Whatever. It didn't have a label. The two of you didn't need one.

But Isaac definitely didn't expect to see you showing up to a lacrosse game wearing Scott's number with the name McCall boldly across your chest. All he knew from the moment he saw that stupid shirt on your chest was that the night was going to end with it shredded to pieces.

(He had no clue that was precisely your plan from the start, because you knew how to guide him exactly where you wanted him - every. Single. Time.)

Sub!Isaac Lahey x Dom!Fem!Reader. Best Friends with Benefits (Secret Relationship) to Lovers. Smut/PWP. Set during Season 3.

Word Count: 7,200

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below.

Warnings: this is primarily a smut fic - there is some slight plot; this does take place in a high school setting, but just for the sake of clarity/for the sake of argument, the characters are eighteen or older; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina and breasts (but as with all my fics, the primary pronouns used are you/yours); mention of the reader wearing a skirt;there is some descriptions of the reader being curvy/plus sized (as with many of my fics - and I always just picture Isaac with a plus sized girl) (absolutely no bias there), and there is mentions of Isaac being taller than the reader, but that is based on the assumption that at 6.1, he would be taller than most people; there is also mentions of Isaac lifting the reader due to his supernatural strength, but her back is also supported by a wall so it’s not wholly unrealistic; mentions of background Scott x reader (mostly the reader using Scott to make Isaac jealous and Scott having feelings for the reader that she does not return), and this would have been when Scott and Allison were broken up because I would not do my girl wrong like that (you can even interpret this as Scott using the reader to help ‘get over’ Allison if you want); some non-detailed mentions of the abuse Isaac received from his father (which is pretty difficult not to mention in an Isaac fic); there is some dom/sub themes - Isaac is submissive and the reader is more dominant; Isaac is jealous and possessive - very slight angst because it discusses Isaac’s jealousy coming from a place of being hurt; this is not the first time that Isaac and the reader have had sex with each other; Isaac and the reader have been best friends since before his father’s death (and his werewolfism) and they recently started having sex, and they have a murky situationship; the reader clearly knows that Isaac is a werewolf; mention of Isaac ‘pinning the reader down’ and fucking her (in a memory) (and she loved it); Isaac calls the reader a ‘slut’ and a ‘whore’ - not in a kinky way, but over the fact that he is deeply offended that she was flirting with Scott and pretending to like him; in turn, the reader calls Isaac a slut in a kinky way; the reader also calls Isaac ‘puppy’ and ‘good boy’; hair pulling - Isaac receiving; something like subspace is described (regarding what Isaac is feeling) but the word ‘subspace’ is never used during the fic; the characters do not discuss having a safe word in place, but they trust each other due to their history and know how to nonverbally balance each other’s needs; Isaac using his claws to shred a shirt that the reader wears with Scott’s numbers on it, and in the process he accidentally scratches her chest slightly (but she likes she slight pain); very slight blood kink - Isaac licks up the blood from these small cuts; I feel like there should be a warning for the endless amounts of dog imagery because I cannot stop comparing Isaac to a kicked dog because it works to well; lacrosse pads being used for slut activities; oral sex - reader receiving; Isaac has an extreme scent kink (he loves the way the reader smells); praise kink - Isaac loves being praised by the reader; penis in vagina sex; unprotected sex; (surprisingly, there’s no breeding kink in this); I think that’s actually it for this - one stray joke about the reader getting Isaac a dog dollar.

A/N: I had so much fun writing this. As soon as the request hit my inbox, I knew I was going to write it at some point. Part of me kind of feels bad that I didn't write the expected jealousy = dominance - you may notice when you read the fic, I started out writing Isaac as dominant, but I cannot help writing him as submissive, and it turned into this interesting painting of 'his dominance is a performed act, and submissiveness is his true self' and 'his jealousy is possessiveness, not dominance' and possessiveness is a very submissive trait. (I could go more into depth about this in another post, and I probably will.) People often associate possessiveness with Doms, but I see Isaac as the most possessive Sub ever because he's a wolf. Anyway - I am really happy with how this turned out, and even if it's not what the original requester intended, I think the point of a request is that the author gets to interpret it and write it in their own style. And this is definitely how I would write it most true to my style. Also this has references to Season 3 - like Lydia dating Aiden and Isaac fighting the Alpha pack, but this is set after a lacrosse game, and in S3, they were in the off season of lacrosse. and I can guarantee you my autistic ass is the only one who cares about that and you didn't even notice until I pointed it out. So please - carry on.

...

The lacrosse field of Beacon Hills High School was absolutely buzzing. 

The night air was filled with cheers as the team and many fans were celebrating another win, while the opposing team sulked in disappointment as they packed onto their bus with their heads hung low, their coach screaming at them for the loss. Chatter and celebration filled the air - but you didn’t get a single moment to be a part of it as Isaac Lahey pulled you far away to somewhere secluded. Somewhere only he could get to have you.  

He currently had you pinned up against one of the lockers in the girls’ locker room. It was a place that nobody would think to look for the two of you - a place that wouldn’t be entered for the rest of the night, unlike the boys’, which would soon be filled with sweaty assholes shedding their kits and getting a shower before they went off to some party to celebrate their victory. Isaac had locked the door to make sure that the two of you would be left alone, and left the lights off so that nobody would be suspicious of any light coming from the crack beneath the door. 

But right now, none of those details mattered. 

All that mattered was that stupid number in the middle of your chest. That stupid block lettering sitting across your perfect round breasts. 

11. McCall. 

You could claim that you had worn it as a joke. But as Isaac locked his jaw stiffly, staring you down - you didn’t think that you would be getting away with that claim. 

“Take it off.” Isaac growled at you, his eyes flashing that glowing golden yellow, a visual that made your breath tight in your chest and made your cunt quiver. 

You remembered the first time you had seen that glow coming from his eyes - the first night he had found you after he received The Bite, when he was still high on adrenaline and warned by Derek not to do anything ‘stupid’. And the stupid thing he had done was climb up the side of your house, claw in through your bedroom window with the clumsy hands he barely knew how to use, and pin you down to your bed and fuck you senseless, feeling like an overeager dog with intensely swollen balls, feeling like he was too strong and going through puberty all over again. 

It had been one of the best nights of your life. 

“What?” You said, your voice even, calm, not even close to mocking dubious. “Take what off?” 

You were faking confusion - faking it poorly, easily signaling to him that you knew exactly what he was talking about. 

It was a dare. You were egging him on purposefully. The two of you always had the best sex when you did. That’s what the whole night was about, after all. 

Lydia had gotten the shirts made - she had gotten one for herself with Aiden’s name and lacrosse number on it, and she had told you that it was cheaper to ‘order multiple at a time’, and then she had pulled out one in your size. Your gut had shriveled up when you saw that it was one with Scott’s name and lacrosse number on it. 

A plain white tee shirt in a feminine, tight fit with burgundy vinyl lettering to match the school’s colours. Lydia had ordered them in white because she said it would be easier to make into an outfit, and she didn’t want to ‘wear that god awful colour’ with her nice coats. 

You had gone on one single date with Scott. He asked you out, you said yes. It had been a pleasant, average evening that ended with a bit of kissing. It was nice - Scott was a great guy. But it definitely hadn’t been anything special. It had only driven home in your mind that you definitely didn’t have those feelings for Scott. And you felt guilty for every single time you had flirted with him in Isaac’s presence just to make Isaac jealous, if it meant that you had been misleading him or leading him on. 

A while ago, Lydia had been talking about guys, and she said something about ‘you and Scott’ and not even fully paying attention, you agreed with her. And then she cheered, and you realized that she had been talking about romantic couplings among your friend group. She thought that your flirting with Scott and the one single date meant that the two of you were dating - so she took this as a greenlight to order you the shirt. She was excited that the two of you would look ‘coordinated’ cheering for your ‘boyfriends’ in the stands. 

But more than anything, you felt awkward correcting her because you couldn’t exactly tell her about the thing that you and Isaac had going on. 

Mostly because you had no clue what to call it. 

The two of you had been best friends for years, and you had been his rock and his confidant before anybody else knew what was going on with his father. And then, shortly after he had made the grand transformation from abused introvert to powerful (hot) werewolf, the two of you had started… this. 

Some might call it ‘friends with benefits’, some might call it a weird spiritual sexual codependency that had truly begun with you patching up his wounds from the beatings his father had given him. Either way, the slight flirting of your normal friendship ramped up tenfold, and now, every single time the two of you were behind closed doors together, the intense sexual tension in the air built until you were both partially unclothed and moaning. 

And in the outside world, the two of you were constantly at war. You were constantly in the throes of a game that nobody else knew was going on. You both refused to name each other as a romantic partner, but you were constantly in some kind of effort to get the other’s attention or make the other person jealous. He flirted with Allison and Erica, and… that stupid game was the only reason you had gone on a date with Scott. It had been a relatively nice date, but you hadn’t felt a single sense of the spark with Scott that you did with Isaac. 

And it was the only reason that you were wearing the stupid shirt that Lydia had given to you. It was the only reason you had sat in the stands beside Lydia with your jacket unzipped and even taken off all night in the cold, showing off that shirt, loudly cheering for Scott, putting on a show. 

All of it was to make Isaac jealous - to get some kind of a rise out of him. 

And it had worked so damn well. Seeing his clenched jaw, his flared nostrils… seeing the way his sharp fangs extended out over his lips as if he couldn’t control them while he looked at you with hellish lust in his eyes… you were almost terrified by how well you had succeeded. Almost. 

“Take. It. Off.” He growled, grinding on each word, his chest now heaving with the effort. 

“Make me.” You mumbled in reply, entirely confident, hoping that further teasing would only wind him up more. Hoping that it would only beautifully play into your game. 

He stepped closer to you and when you instinctively took a step back, your body hit the cold metal of the lockers, and you swallowed harshly as your body pumped with more lust. It was oddly thrilling to be so trapped - only because it was Isaac. And because you knew there was only one way this could end. 

Because your body was preparing for the sensations you knew came next - the ghost of his touch already lingering on you, your mind replaying those past events like grooves in a record. It caused you to become wetter and wetter just thinking about the feeling of his teeth digging into your neck, the feeling of his hands possessively gripping your hips, the feeling of his cock splitting you open. 

His breath ghosted over your forehead, his height towering over you somehow not intimidating at all as he pressed his hard body (disappointingly still clad in lacrosse pads, keeping you from feeling the true ridges of his muscles) up against you, truly ensuring that you could not escape. Not that you would want to escape from him. 

He took a thick sniff into the air, his nostrils flaring widely, and you knew he could smell it on you - the lust, the pure attraction you felt toward him, the adrenaline. Or maybe it was just the pure smell of your pussy pathetically leaking into your underwear that he was picking up on. Either way, he let out a whine, the first small indicator of his facade cracking, and you felt his hips jolt toward you, instinctively seeking friction. 

“Why the fuck are you doing this to me?” 

Isaac growled, still trying to sound tough, the words bordering on a pained howl. There was a unique agony in his voice as he stared down the length of your body and continued to fixate on those numbers on your chest, true haunting dancing in his pretty baby blues. 

Your gut twisted horribly as you realized it. This wasn’t just something he could brush off in the name of sex. You had really hurt him this time. Perhaps you had gone too far this time. Something that had started out as a well-meaning game of cat and mouse had turned into truly taunting a wolf - and unintentionally, you had wounded that wolf. 

That wolf that, even if it was never spoken, was supposed to be yours. Was supposed to be treasured as yours. 

You had gotten so caught up in playing the stupid game that you had made a terrible mistake. 

But you needed to see it through now. 

You reached up and grabbed both sides of his face, forcing him to look you in the eyes. 

“Make me.” You repeated the words, and Isaac let out another huff. “Make me take it off, Isaac.” He replied to this with a growl from deep in his chest, a sound that vibrated through your hands on his delicate, angelic face. “Make me yours.” 

He reached up with one hand in the middle of your chest and gently pushed you back, making sure your body was stiff and firm against the metal of the lockers, propping you there like hanging art on a wall. And then he took a small step to distance himself, his eyes flickering up and down your body sharply, drinking you in even though he had seen you thousands of times before. 

It had been torture - pure torture all night. From the moment he had seen you unzip your jacket, revealing that fucking shirt with Scott’s name on it (and the fact that you had paired it with a tiny little skirt and a pair of sheer tights… knowing that those tights emphasized your thick thighs, his favourite part of your body… just to torture him…) - he had been tempted to ditch off the field completely and run up into the stands just to tear it off you. Just to prove a fucking point. 

But that hadn’t even been the worst part of it. No. One of the words parts had been the fact that he was forced to stay on the field all night listening. Over-hearing you chatting it up with Lydia and Allison about your ‘date’ with Scott, talking about kissing him, theorizing about what having sex with him might be like. You had known he was listening the whole time. You knew his hearing was enhanced enough, and you knew that he had a special knack for picking up on your voice in a crowd. You had been doing it on purpose. 

And every time he glanced over between goals and saw Scott’s name stretched across your perfect tits… it killed him a little more inside. 

While thinking about all this, while thinking about the fact that he had been waiting to do this all night - 

Isaac raised up his hand, very intentionally flaring his claws, bold enough for you to see what his next move would be so that you could anticipate it and wouldn’t be afraid. And his cock began to throb almost painfully between his legs when he saw you push your chest out, arching your back against the lockers as you licked your lips, silently begging for it. 

Clearly, you didn’t wear Scott’s name proudly. You were aching him to tear the shirt off you, downright lustful at the thought - biting your lip, batting your eyelashes at him, the scent of your lust even more potent in the air down. 

Such a beautiful fucking tease. 

With delicate precision, he slashed his claws across your chest, shredding the fabric to pieces and feeling a cathartic vindication as the name and number of another guy fell apart and began to fall off you. 

A twinge of guilt nearly ruined the moment as he saw the slightest bit of blood glinting across your perfect skin, gathering in your cleavage along your gorgeous stretch marks, but you didn’t seem to care, and you didn’t seem to be in the slightest bit of pain. In fact, you let out a purely lustful moan and arched your back even more, pushing your chest toward him more - making you look like a perfect porno in your shredded clothing with your red lace bra now revealed underneath. 

Though in a moment, you reached up, pulling the scraps of the fabric away and shucking off the useless remains of the shirt, throwing it to the ground like the garbage that it now was. In the back of your mind, you guessed that now you would have to put on your jacket  - which you had been carrying in your hand and tossed off to the side earlier, and zip it up completely to cover yourself in order to leave. But that didn’t matter now. You didn’t care if you would have to leave here in just your bra if you meant you got to have what would likely come next. 

Isaac indulged in the sound of your pretty panting, the way you licked your lips, and the perfect, accelerated thumping of your heartbeat in his ears. 

“Better.” He sighed in relief, much preferring the sight of your chest heaving, nearly bare in front of him than the visual of Scott’s fucking name plastered across you like he owned you. He never did, he never would - 

You let out another hot moan in response, and Isaac found himself licking his lips. 

While he stood there, frozen with his lust, too busy visually admiring you, you were driven forward by your maddening need. You grabbed the front of his jersey and yanked him forward into a heated kiss. It was a mouth that you knew well from experience by now, and it was only a second before the two of you were exchanging moans and a clash of tongues. 

He craned down, his hands possessively grappled for your thighs, those claws making quick work of your tights, putting runs and even huge holes in the sheer material, quickly exposing your skin to the cool air of the room. It was something you would have been angrier about if not for the very pretty boy currently sucking on your face. 

One of his hands moved to claw at the seam of your tights, but you quickly clamped your legs shut, trapping his wrist from moving any further, much to his whiny disappointment. You used your hold on the front of his jersey to push him away, and you were met with the most sweetly crestfallen expression - wide, glossy, sad eyes staring you down while he curled his lip, clearly wondering what he had done wrong. Wondering what he had done to be denied. 

“Not so fast.” You scolded him gently. “You have to ‘take it off’ too.” You told him, running your fingers down the front of his chest, more than offended by all the padding he was wearing in addition to the clothing. Far too much coverage. 

“I’m not the one who was acting like a whore.” Isaac huffed, clearly still wounded from the fact that you had worn Scott’s numbers. The word sounded strangely good on his lips, but still, you rolled your eyes. From him, it wasn’t dominance or power. It was slowly turning into bratty defiance in your little game. “I wasn’t out there shaking my ass in front of the crowd while wearing some other guy’s fucking number, acting like a dumb slut-” 

“Oh, please.” You let out a dark laugh, and Isaac swallowed thickly, knowing that you had truly arrived. After all the winding up - the main event had finally started. “You act like a dumb slut all the time.” 

Isaac let out a sharp breath at your words, loving how easily you tossed the words back at him. Something inside of him was absolutely purring at the harsh title that was now freshly branded into his skin. This was the moment that his brain began to melt between his ears, and any sense of the ‘tough guy’ act that he put on for the rest of the world was completely gone. 

From this point on, he was dissolving into the sweet puppy that only you were allowed to know. 

“Like now, for example.” You continued on, more venom lacing through your lips. You put on your most threatening voice, hating to get firm with him, but knowing it was necessary. “So you can strip down, and fucking behave yourself, or I can get dressed and go find Scott and see what fucking him would be like instead.” 

Isaac glared at you, and you saw that horrible quiver come across his lip again. Before you could worry that you had gone too far, he reached up and began pulling off his gear, and you heard a few muffled complaints as his pads hit the floor. 

“You don’t have to be so mean,” He told you, nothing more than a petulant whine at this point. 

He was ready to be compliant with you - ready to do whatever you said because he needed it just as much as you did. 

When he was shirtless, you didn’t wait for him to ditch his bottoms before you leaped into action once again. You reached out and tucked your fingers into the waistband of his shorts, hauling him toward you - and much like a loyal dog tight on a leash, he let himself be so easily pulled, even though he was much stronger than you and he could have overpowered you if he wanted to. 

But that was the glory of it. He was a statue of might, standing over six feet tall, shredded with muscles that were enhanced with supernatural strength, and yet - he wouldn’t hurt a fly without your permission. He wouldn’t take a step in any direction if it wasn’t to stand in your shadow. 

He didn’t worship anywhere if it wasn’t at your altar. 

He had sought out guidance anywhere and everywhere since his father had died - Derek, Scott, Deaton, even Erica. But he had only found sanity and solace at the palace of your lips. 

Which was why he moaned into your mouth as you kissed him again, quickly shoving your tongue past his teeth to remind him of why he was here. He belonged to you, and he shouldn’t do anything without your sacred permission. 

You got a firm grip on his hair and caused a sting across his scalp with how possessively you were holding onto him, causing pleasant tingles through his whole body as he was reminded of that lovely feeling of being held by you, being owned by you. You used the hold to force him tighter into your mouth, angling his head just the way you needed to kiss him firmer, deeper, controlling every single aspect of it - causing a sweet whimper out of him as he was guided like a puppet on a string. 

He had been the one to drag you here with a demanding, tight grip on your wrist - he had been the one to practically throw you up against the lockers in anger. He thought this whole thing had been his idea. 

But this had never been his game. 

Any tough moves he made out on the lacrosse field, any intimidation he managed with people like Stiles or the Alphas he had battled during the summer - it was all a farce. You were the only person that knew deep down, he was a puppy, just looking for guidance. At the end of the day, after everything he had been through in life - he was just looking for somewhere soft to lay his pretty head. 

Isaac let out a whine as you pulled away from the kiss to take a breath. He instantly wanted to protest, instantly began chasing your mouth. He didn’t care if he drowned in your mouth, if he died due to lack of oxygen. 

But of course, he didn’t settle for a lack of contact. 

While you combed your fingers through his hair and used the other hand to start untying the knot of his shorts, he immediately dipped his head down, seeking more of your precious skin. His neck almost became pained from the awkward angle, having to lean so far down due to his height - but he didn’t care. He dipped his head between your breasts and immediately began laving his tongue over the small cuts he had unintentionally left there. From him, it was a wordless apology, hanging his head in shame at the fact that he could ever hurt you, no matter how small, no matter how meaningless the tiny scratches were to you. 

In your mind, it didn’t matter. Owning a pet meant that sometimes you came off with a few tiny wounds. You would end up loving the scars. You let out small hiss at the sting of saliva, and then began moaning, and he was quickly driven mad by the twang of your blood on his tongue. 

“Isaac-” You moaned out hotly. 

He believed that he was a beast being fed by you, bound to devour you disastrously sooner or later - but you knew not to be afraid. He could do you no real harm. You could never truly be afraid of someone with such delicate sadness in his eyes. 

Especially not when he humped your hip like a lost puppy and whined against your skin like he had been kicked in the gut. His cock throbbed painfully inside his athletic cup, far too fucking restricted, crying out for your touch. He was grateful when you pushed down his shorts and his thin athletic pants underneath, and then took care to strip off his underwear and cup without hurting his sensitive, now very hard cock. 

“Aww, puppy.” You cooed - it was a playful pet name that you had used with him many times before, but for some reason, it practically punched him in the gut, easily forcing the air out of his lungs when he heard it. 

His responsive moan crescendoed into a harsh growl between his teeth when you reached out and grabbed his cock with a cool hand - it was an immediate contrast, his skin boiling hot with blood thumping so hard underneath, making his cock so rigid that it practically vibrated under your touch. The tip of his dick leaked furiously into your hand as you began casually pumping him, no distinct rhythm or precision in your movements, purposefully teasing him. 

“You need this, don’t you?” You purred, voice purposefully honey-sweet as you lapped up his reactions. “You need me.” 

“I need you.” Isaac panted in return without hesitation. “I need you, please.” 

You ran your thumb over the leaking slit of his cock, indulging in just how wet he was, loving how it showed his desperation, plain and clear. You also couldn’t help but to love the beautiful little whimper he let out from the back of his throat, the way his breath puffed across the exposed skin of your breasts, cooling the salvia he had left there. Your skin becoming more exposed as he reached a hand up and yanked down your bra, putting strain on the straps where they sat on your shoulders. 

“You gonna earn it?” You posed, feeling the devil on your shoulder, unable to resist. Isaac only whined in response. “Get on your knees for me like a good dog.” 

Isaac’s breath caught in his throat. 

When he had first become a werewolf and you had found out about it, you had made a good many ‘dog’ jokes about him. And he used to hate them. But over time, he had come to love the comparison because he loved being your dog. (It’s why the nickname ‘puppy’ put a warm fondness in his gut rather than making him feel humiliated.)  

He knew, at the end of the day, that it was true. He needed to be owned by you, he needed a damn leash. He was intensely loyal, despite himself. And no matter what, at the end of the day, he would always return to you, head down, looking for praise, looking to be fed - whether that was a feeding of the soul, or stupidly literal, who knows. 

Any other time, the words would have been embarrassing - it would have been something he argued against. But this time - he practically let out a bark to demonstrate his pure loyalty to you, and he rushed to follow the simple order. Even though he hated your touch leaving his cock as he dropped to his knees on the cold tiled floor (thankful that he was still wearing his knee pads where his clothing was caught in a tangle just above them), he was more than eager to serve you. He used a careful, precise claw to reach up and shred a hole in the crotch of your tights, quick to destroy your underwear as well when he found them in his way. 

“Good boy.” You easily praised him, and he found his brain once again delightfully fuzzy at the simple words. 

Your fingers were in his hair again, but he didn’t even need your touch driving him forward. He was drawn to your exposed cunt like a madman, more than eager to shove his face into the folds of your perfect pussy. He used a hand to lift your perfect plump thigh and pull it up over his shoulder, inviting you to sit some of your weight on him so that he could be closer to you, ever closer, closer. He shoved his tongue deep into your hot, wet hole and shoved his nose between your folds, unintentionally bumping against your clit, just hungry to taste and smell as much of you as he possibly could. 

“Isaac!” You moaned out, using your hold on his hair to try and keep him in place while you humped against his face, causing him to moan enthusiastically into your pussy. “Oh fuck, puppy! You’re so good.” 

The combination of the praise and the nickname was absolutely dizzying, and along with your wetness on his tongue, your smell so potent and perfect surrounding him - he felt as though he didn’t deserve something this good. But he didn’t care. He quickly became obsessed with drowning himself in you - with one hand possessively gripping your thigh beside his head and the other gripping the edge of your skirt, moaning frantically into you while he fucked his tongue in and out of you, lapping up as much of your taste as he could. 

“Oh fuck - such a sweet puppy, so good for me.” 

There was no skill to it. 

He was growing dumb between the ears, becoming more and more of the dog that you accused him of being - nothing but animal instincts and the loyal need to please you. He humped his hips into the air and his cock began leaking openly onto the floor, leaving a pathetic puddle of precum there that neither of you would notice, something that would have the janitor questioning later. 

Currently, all Isaac cared about was the taste of your pussy on his tongue, the wonderful essence of you that reminded him he was home. All he cared about was being good for you while getting a reward that he barely deserved; all he cared about was the wonderful heat of your pulsing cunt under his lips with your vibrating little button bouncing on his nose, getting to smother himself in your perfect scent. 

“Yes baby, so fucking good-” 

All of his moaning and insistent tongue-fucking meant that you were drawing close to your orgasm very quickly. 

Your thighs began to shake, your muscles jolting beside his head and he continued to lap it right up. He moaned even harder, angling his head to drive his tongue deeper into you as you became wetter, and he only basked as there was more for him to consume. You panted in harsh gasps as beautiful jolts of pleasure rang through your cunt while his tongue pierced you again, and again, and again, fucking you in the most perfectly thoughtless way. 

Your fingers dug into his scalp and he didn’t even care that you used the touch to drive him further to smothering while you rubbed your pussy across his face, smearing your wetness all over his cheeks and his chin, coating him so perfectly in your smell. He could only enjoy it as you came all over him and tipped your head back against the lockers behind you, your moans echoing against the walls like a perfect concert while the boys in the locker room across the hall were none the wiser. (The chatter of their conversations and the sound of their showers completely muting out the sound of your moans from reaching their ears.) 

“Fuck, Isaac! Oh, puppy! Such a good boy!” 

Isaac moaned at your words and his cock was downright throbbing now. 

But even though, in the back of his mind, his dick was cold in the air of the room and he wanted nothing more than to sink into your perfect pussy, he still felt a deep pang of disappointment when you used your grip on his hair to pull him away from your perfect, wet cunt. He let out a whine showing that disappointment, and fought to keep your leg on his shoulder as you moved to pull away. But still, he ultimately conceded to you when you patted his hand off your thigh and scolded him with a glare and a quiet warning of: 

“Behave.” 

“I wasn’t done.” He complained, his voice small. 

But still, he settled for licking your taste off his lips, looking up at you through his lashes from down on his knees. You combed your finger through his hair again, unable to stop yourself from admiring him, even if he was being a bit of a selfish brat. 

He was just so damn pretty. 

Porcelain skin stretched over perfect muscles, big pretty blue eyes staring up at you, his cock out and still leaking, bright red now due to being neglected by you. You couldn’t have imagined a more perfect sight. You couldn’t help but to reach down and drag your thumb through some of the lingering wetness on his chin and feed it to him - and of course, he ate it right up, sucking the digit eagerly into his mouth and moaning around it. 

“Oh? So you don’t want to fuck me then?” You posed, playing off his words with a teasing statement that easily drove him mad. 

These words quickly sparked him to action. 

He jumped up off his knees, rising to his tall height once again, somehow so unintimidating. Such a sweet little wolf. 

With your back pinned up against the lockers for support, he grabbed your legs and pulled you up off the ground, his beyond human strength helping him to easily lift you so that you could wrap your legs around his waist - and just a moment later, as his cock perfectly lined up with your soaked entrance, you easily fell onto that perfect, stiff shaft. 

He didn’t hesitate to fuck up into you. He knew you didn’t need soft and you definitely weren’t expecting it, and any sense of patience he might have had was long gone. There was no sweetness, no slowness - all that was left was his pure possessive need to be close to you and your guiding hand driving him on, encouraging him as you dug your nails into his shoulders, leaving marks that would never last with his werewolf healing. 

“Good boy.” You told him, your breath slipping away for a moment as you were reminded of just how perfectly his cock could split you open. “Fuck, Isaac.” 

He kept one hand tight on your hip and the other went above your head, hanging onto the top of the lockers, desperate to hold on to something as he felt your perfect, hot wetness gripping his cock. Following his instincts, he fucked forward, slamming his hips into you, needing to feel more, needing to be closer to your warmth - needing more of you. 

“Need you.” He panted, his head falling to press his forehead close to yours, something that felt sweetly intimate for the situation, his eyes squinted tightly as he became overwhelmed by the sensations. “Fuck - need you, need you so much.” 

“Come on, puppy.” You encouraged him. “Come on, take what you need.” 

You tightened your legs around his waist, his movements nearly threatening to buck you off as he moved his hips so wildly - sheer need absolutely tight in every muscle as thick whines poured from his lips. You were eager to soothe him, your hands running up and down his sweaty back - some of it lingering from the hard work he had done during the game and some of new from how hard he was fucking you now, lighting up all the nerve endings inside your pussy, making you feel so perfect. 

“Such a good boy.” You moaned, your breath brushing against his lips - his mouth open as he struggled for air and continued to whimper sweetly for you. “Such a sweet little puppy. Good fucking dog.” 

Isaac let out a growl, fucking into you harder, his brain pure static at this point. 

Yes - he was a good dog. He was your good dog. 

He couldn’t help it when the pleasure surged through him, the pure energy, and his grip on the lockers above your head tightened so much that the metal started to crumble beneath his fist as if it was nothing more than a piece of paper. You heard the terrible shrieking groan of the metal, but you didn’t even bother to look up - you couldn’t have taken your eyes off Isaac in those moments. You were far too enraptured by your puppy in front of you, by the nearly pained look on his face, by the feeling of his perfect cock splitting you open as he faithfully fucked up into your pussy, not stopping for even a moment. 

You brought a hand to his face, grasping his jaw between your thumb and forefinger, digging the touch in - just a twinge of pain to get his attention, a firm grip to remind him that he was yours. 

“Look at me.” You demanded, your breath hot, your voice shaking slightly as the pleasure shook your body. “Come on, puppy - look at me.” 

He forced his eyes open, eager to be good for you, eager to do as you said. He gulped air in as he continued to grip onto your hip, the locker crumbling even more into a mess as the tension in his muscles was wrought into it, forced there rather than ever be taken out on you - even unconsciously, he could never use too much force on you. 

The silken blue that looked at you was a sight so beautiful that you couldn’t bear to look away, a mess of lust and ravenous madness, a prayer of devotion to you that was far too complex for words. You gave him a small, sweet kiss on the lips that he moaned so deeply at, his hips stuttering terribly as his balls downright ached - 

“Cum for me.” You demanded, the words a firm smack against his mouth, a punch to his gut that made him cry out. “Cum for me, puppy, be a good boy, come on-” 

He let out a strangled moan that dissolved into a downright filthy whimper from the back of his throat as his hips sped up, his skin practically blurring as he was now given precious permission from you. Your cunt became utterly sore with the speed and pressure his pelvis kept hitting you with, continually pounding into you with that impossible strength, the sound resonating harshly through the room, nearly threatening to break you. 

But it was only a few breathless moments later that a moan punched through his gut and you heard something that resembled your name choked through his throat - and then he fucked into you one last time, his hips then becoming glued to yours, almost entirely still in contrast to moments before. He ground against you sharply, overstimulating your swollen clit with the stiffness of his pelvis as he seemingly tried to merge with you through persistent will alone as he pumped his cum inside of you in warm spurts. 

“Good puppy,” You hummed, continuing to run your hands up and down his back and through his hair. You kissed down his cheek and his neck and along his shoulder, praising him, soothing him, worshipping him just like he deserved while his cock throbbed inside of you. “Good boy. So fucking good for me.” 

He moaned in return, words lost to the stupidly thick tongue inside of his mouth - one that was only capable of licking up and down your neck while he humped his cock inside of you for a few more moments, enjoying your soothing words and the warmth of your pussy around him as his orgasm ebbed away. 

Unfortunately, it couldn’t last forever like that. 

You pulled him in for one last kiss - one that the two of you savoured with a moan and a dip of tongues into each other’s mouths as he pulled his cock out of you. 

(Distantly, you had a thought about how you would have to walk out of here with no underwear - because you definitely weren’t going to keep on the scraps that he had left you, gaping with remnants of his cum inside of you. And you did feel a strange sense of satisfaction in that. Especially knowing that he would be able to smell that cum on you for hours with his werewolf nose, even if you went home and changed your clothes before Lydia’s mandatory ‘Lacrosse Team Win’ celebration party - and that was enough of a reason not to take a shower and scrub the scent off.) 

He let you down and you were unsteady on your legs, much like a baby deer, still having to lean on the lockers for support while he moved to grab some toilet paper from one of the stalls to help clean you both up. 

A heavy silence fell over the two of you, unlike any other time that you had sex with Isaac. 

While you righted your clothes (prying what was left of your underwear out from underneath your tights and throwing them away, along with the scraps of the shirt that had started this all, fixing your skirt, and putting your jacket on over your bra for some coverage) - and Isaac got dressed, you wondered what would happen next. Your eyes landed on the huge dent that was now in the top of the row of lockers, and you genuinely weren’t sure if you should ask him to try and fix it, or if it would just be better to leave it like that and let people wonder. 

“Please…” 

Isaac mumbled out, his voice so quiet, raspy around the edges due to the moaning he had just done. When you whipped your head toward him, he worked up the courage to finish the sentence. 

“Please… don’t talk about Scott anymore.” 

You stared at him, puzzled, as he put on his jersey (his pads still left on the floor, seeing as he didn’t need them anymore). Clearly, his mind had been on a completely different track. He was staring you down with those sad, glassy eyes once again, and you felt a terrible twinge of guilt tighten in your gut. 

You knew that he was the jealous type. That was why you had done all this. But you couldn’t go on being his secret fling, his secret fuck. His perfect confidant with no public title. 

So you prodded that wound one last time. 

“Why not?” You asked, risking it all. 

You would either leave this losing your best friend, the best sex of your life, and the person you loved most in the whole world - or you would leave this as a whole, better person. 

Isaac swallowed, and bowed his head, unable to look you in the eyes. Somehow, at six-foot-one, he looked so terribly small. He might not be able to do this. He might be too broken to live up to it. But you hoped, you prayed that he would - 

“Because I-” He shuddered, verging on tears. And somehow, he was able to get the words out. “Because I’m in love with you.” 

Everything inside of you lit up. More perfect than any orgasm, better than the feeling of his cock inside of you - this was what you had been missing the whole time. 

“And look, I understand that you might have just been playing around,” He continued, his words having a terrible meaning - acknowledging your game in wearing Scott’s numbers, and voicing his insecurities in your relationship, believing that you had been unserious with him because you had never loved him at all. “But it kills me to see you with other guys. I can’t-” 

You stepped forward, using a hand on the side of his jaw to pull him into another kiss. In a moment, he understood the passion, the warmth - something that went far beyond sexual needs. The way you guided him because you knew exactly what he needed. The unspoken connection the two of you always had that now needed those words. 

“Isaac, you should know I love you too.” You told him. “That I’ve been in love with you - since forever.” 

He let out a tense breath of relief. 

“I won’t talk about anyone else like that, or flirt with anyone, or anything along those lines, if that’s what you want.” You assured him. “You are mine, and I’m yours. Okay, pup?” 

He flushed at the nickname, and nodded, and you smiled brightly. 

“I’ll even get you a dog collar with my name on it so that everyone can know you’re mine.” You said - your tone was distinctly joking, but you didn’t miss the way he bit his lip, and the lustful light that grew in his eyes. 

“Shut up.” He laughed, shaking his head. 

(He definitely wouldn’t end up masturbating to thoughts of that later. Definitely not.)

...

Please keep in mind, there will not be a continuation or a 'part 2'. This is a oneshot, meaning that it is a complete story on its own and I do not feel the need to continue it. If you comment asking for a Part 2 or asking for a continuation after I have written this ending message, I consider that to be extremely rude and unkind.

If you are going to comment, please comment about the content of the fic that has been written. I love discussing the characters that I write about with other people in the comments and connecting with fellow fans. I work very hard on my fics and I always appreciate comments, but I do not appreciate when people only comment asking for more rather than wanting to discuss what I have already worked hard on.

Even if you don't comment, I hope you enjoyed, and if you want more from me because you enjoyed this fanfic a lot, you should definitely check out my Teen Wolf Masterlist, which has a lot of similar fics!

Happy Reading,

Sunny ☀️

[agathariosslut]

Lion & The Lamb

Priest!Natasha x fem!reader

Warnings: g!p Natasha, manipulation, reader is 20 but innocent, corruption, innocent!R, Catholicism, smut, virginity loss, facefuck, cum facial, daddy kink, dark Natasha, religious guilt.

Context: I know women can’t be priests but in this world they can. Natasha is like an apprentice priest, not the main one. This knowledge with come in handy as you keep reading!

You don’t know how to stop them, these naughty thoughts about being touched inappropriately. These thoughts come to mind especially when you’re all alone in your bedroom. These thoughts are not unprovoked though, they usually come on Sunday night after seeing father Natasha at church. Your mind wonders about why her jaw clenches when she looks at you… it’s almost like she can look right through you and see these thoughts you’re having about her.

You can’t help but try to soothe the ache somehow. The throbbing between your legs is torturous, so you decide to sneak your hand down your panties, and begin to experiment with yourself. Your parents always told you that this is a sin, and sexual pleasure before marriage is downright wrong… but this feels so right. Rubbing sloppy circles around you cunt, not even you clit, makes you feel woozy. It’s not soon before you feel your belly coil in an unfamiliar knot. You keep going, feeling as if you’re on a roller coaster and you’re about to reach the peak of it. You don’t know what’s about to happen, but you can’t deny it feels incredible.

It happens, your orgasm washes over you. Shaking from head to toe, knowing this must be what your friends at college call an orgasm. The thing they always taunt you for never having had experienced. The guilt hits you as soon as your body calms down. You realize you’ve been thinking this entire time about father Natasha licking your wet cunt, and taking out her member and being the first person to enter you.

Time passes since your little endeavor, you’ve been back to church with your family. Every time you see her you would hang your head low with shame. You make the bold decision of facing your own actions, meaning you go to confessionals.

You began by saying how you’ve touched yourself and had these naughty thoughts about Natasha while doing so, and going into every little dirty detail possible. Maybe lost in your own growing arousal that comes with reliving it, little to your knowledge father Natasha sits on the other side of the confessional.

You’re finally finished with pouring all the guilt in your heart out, when you hear a familiar low voice rasp out to you. “Oh what a dirty little girl you’ve been, thinking about me when you touch yourself.” Your cheeks flush with embarrassment and shock. You can’t even manage to form words. The only sound you let out is a pitiful whimper, only furthering Natasha’s desire. “Aww princess don’t be so shy now… maybe you need a little help with all these dirty thoughts of yours.”

You wonder what she means by that, but you’re willing to accept whatever help she’s talking about. She breaks the silence, cutting through the tension in the air. “Go to the alter, take off all your clothes. Even those pretty little panties.” Your face has gone completely pale at her words, but you’re sure she would always lead you in the right direction. You do just as she says, no matter how humiliating this situation is. You can see her approaching as she keeps stalking towards you, until she’s just inches from your face. “Daddy’s gonna teach you about why this pretty little body has been feeling these things.” Daddy? You wonder why she’s given herself that name, but that wonder is quickly replaced by a wave of arousal. She kisses you, her tongue explores your mouth. You can’t help but to moan into the kiss, it feels so good. Your body is on fire now. She begins her lesson. “See these pretty things right here?” She grabs at your chest. “Sluts like you really love when they’re sucked on… played with.” Her plump lips attack your sensitive nipples, pinching and squeezing in between her sucking. She lowers herself to her knees, and licks a stripe up from your lower belly all the way to your neck before going back down. “And this pretty pussy my sweet girl, has a sensitive little bud that feels good when you touch it. Only daddy can make it feel good, nobody else.” She rubs circles around your clit, not very long before licking up your pussy and wrapping her lips around your clit.

You moan out in pure pleasure when she does so. You’re quick to cover your mouth in shame. She yanks your hand down from your mouth. “Uh uh doll, let daddy hear you. Wanna hear how good I’m making you feel.” A familiar coil is forming in your belly. “Daddy please!” You don’t even know what you’re begging for, but you need the feeling to go away. It feels too good, but is somehow scary and exciting at the same time. “Sounds like my sweet girl needs to cum for me. Let go baby, let it happen… don’t be scared, daddy’s got you.” That’s all you need to be sent flying over the edge. You’re a shaking mess. This feels like ecstasy. Through your high you catch a glimpse of her getting undressed. You see a hard cock standing at attention, your belly begins to tighten again. You don’t have time to gawk before she continues her so called lesson. “This little one,” She says as she strokes her hard cock. “Is the thing that makes your pretty little pussy feel so good. It goes inside that tight hole of yours, and fucks you.” You gasp at her words, wondering how it will fit inside you. It’s too big for you, not like the ones you’ve seen in textbooks.

“Now, lean back against the alter. This is gonna hurt at first, but then it’ll feel really good. Okay princess?” You nod, a little scared about the pain, but more focused on the pleasure she’s talking about. With total disregard to your body, she shoves her cock in roughly. Immediately bottoming out. You yell out in pain, nails digging into her back. “No daddy, it hurts to bad!” She’s lost in her own pleasure. “Shh shh baby I know, just let daddy take care of you.” She’s lost begins thrusting in and out of you, feeling your walls squeeze her like a glove. The pain quickly subsides as it turns to pleasure, the feeling of having her inside you drives you wild. The coils builds itself up again, and it’s not long before you’re informing Natasha that you need to let go again. “Daddy I need to cum again!” The phrase rolls off your tongue like you know what you’re talking about. “Come on baby, be a good girl and cum all over daddy’s cock.” You do as told, gushing all over her thick cock. It’s not long before she’s close too. “Gonna make daddy cum baby, feels so fucking good.” She pulls out, you whine at the loss. She pushes you down to your knees, lining up her cock to your mouth. “Open wide for daddy, gonna fuck this pretty mouth.” You open up and she wastes no time pushing her cock into your mouth.

She roughly fucks your face, while you gag and the tears begin streaming down your face. “Fuck baby, you look so pretty like this. Taking my cock down your throat for me… making me feel so good.” Your hands push against her thighs, begging for air. She pulls her dick out and begins stroking it at a bruising pace. “I’m gonna cum all over that pretty face baby. You want that? Want daddy to cum on you?” You nod yes eagerly. Thick ropes of cum shoot all over your face. She wipes it up with her fingers, then making you suck it off of them. “Taste daddy baby.”

She helps you stand back up, also helping you get dressed before she puts her own clothes back on. “Whenever you have those naughty thoughts again you come tell daddy, and I’ll make it all better little one… see you next Sunday pretty girl.” Oh how you look forward to it.

[dozybeez]

Practice Makes Imperfect (Pt. Two)

A perfectionist ballerina struggles to find her rhythm-not just in her mandatory hip hop class, but in life itself. When she turns to Hoshi, a laid back hip hop major, he helps her see there is more to life than just structure and control.

→ part one ... → part three coming soon

pairing: college au! kwon soonyoung x ballerina f!reader

word count: 5.7k

content warnings: slowish burn with eventual smut, internalized perfectionism, performance anxiety, academic and artistic burnout, emotional repression, subtle corruption kink, drugs and alcohol. MDNI

authors note: in no way do I think I'm a good writer. I wrote this a while ago just for self indulgence and decided to post it for fun, so please understand.

songs for this chapter:

- Star Shopping by Lil Peep

The morning after your shame spiral feels unreal, like maybe you dreamed it.

But you didn’t. Your body remembers.

There’s a soreness in your calves from pushing too hard in your late night rehearsal. A bruise forming low on your shin where you clipped the barre in frustration. Your mind might try to rewrite it as fiction, but your muscles know better. They ache with the truth.

You move on autopilot—again. Coffee, schedule, notes, quiz. You go through the motions like a well-oiled machine, but something’s… off.

Because now there’s a new thought crouched in the corner of your brain. Something raw and humming like feedback in a speaker.

Him.

The boy from the studio. Blonde dyed hair, sweat-drenched tank top, chain catching light. The way he moved—messy, fluid, arrogant as hell. The way his eyes locked onto yours when he caught you watching. That split-second before you bolted.

You haven’t stopped thinking about it. Which is… annoying. Inconvenient. Unacceptable, actually.

You don’t even know his name.

And yet, when you enter the dressing room before class that morning, you’re suddenly hyper-aware of every sound around you. Like your ears are tuned for static. Like some part of you is listening for him even when you’re trying not to.

“Did you see Hoshi’s routine in class yesterday?”

The name catches you mid-sip of your protein shake.

You freeze.

You recognize a few of the girls clustered near the vending machines—one with red hair always seen leaving jazz class, another who shares your math lecture but never bothers with notes. They’re mid-conversation, low and fast.

“I swear to god, he doesn’t even try. It’s disgusting.”

“I know,” one of them groans. “He’s like… terrifyingly good. It’s like watching gravity bend.”

You crouch to adjust your shoelaces, pretending it’s intentional. Your hands are trembling.

Someone laughs. “I heard he doesn’t even choreograph half the time. Just freestyles. Like… pure muscle memory and vibes.”

“God, I’d die for that kind of flow. He just gets music.”

“And don’t even get me started on the face.”

More laughter. A dreamy sigh. “He’s like the final boss of the department. You don’t even challenge him—you just try not to look like an idiot next to him.”

Your throat tightens. The laces slip from your fingers. You already feel like an idiot next to him — especially after being caught creeping on him the night before.

You feel your throat tighten, air catching awkwardly between swallows. Their words sink into you like ink bleeding through paper. Not just the compliments—those sting, yes—but the tone. The awe. The weight behind his name.

Hoshi.

You hadn’t known what to call him. Now you do.

And apparently, everyone else does too.

You knew he was good. One look at him dancing last night and that was obvious. But this? This was something else. He’s not just talented—he’s legend-tier. The kind of person people whisper about. The kind of person you definitely don’t want catching you slack-jawed outside a studio door like some repressed Victorian ghost girl.

You tie your laces too tight and wince.

The bell chimes. Class in ten minutes. You yank your jacket on, zip it up to your chin like armor, and march out without saying a word.

Your heart’s beating a little too fast. You tell yourself it’s just caffeine.

But deep down, you know better.

⸻

The studio is hot.

Sweat-slicked air, pulsing bass, the bite of harsh fluorescent lights overhead—everything feels too loud. Too close. You’re in uniform: charcoal gray leggings, a slate-blue wrap top cinched perfectly at the waist, and your warm-up jacket hugging your arms like it was made to hold you together. Soft-looking, but structured. Nothing about it is accidental.

You haven’t taken the jacket off all day.

You need the weight.

It feels like the only thing keeping you from coming undone.

Your bones feel too sharp without it.

The others around you are rolling their shoulders, cracking jokes, warming up with that easy looseness you haven’t felt in your body once this week. You stretch silently against the wall, jaw locked, heart already sprinting even before the music starts.

You’ve practiced this routine. Mapped every count. Studied the instructor’s foot placement, her weight shifts, the shape of her hands as they cut through air.

You know what it’s supposed to look like.

But every time you try, it’s like your body can’t remember how to speak the language.

“From the top!” your professor calls, already clapping the beat into existence.

The music drops heavy. Everyone moves as one—but you can feel yourself lagging before you even start.

You hit the counts, technically. Your arms are sharp, your chest pops when it’s supposed to. You pivot cleanly on beat, land with control. But it’s wrong.

It’s all wrong.

Where the others melt into the rhythm, you punch through it.

Where they ripple, you snap.

Where they glide, you grind your joints into the floor like you’re trying to force the groove into submission.

You’re not off-time. You’re just… tight. Artificial. Like a machine doing an impression of something human.

And it shows.

You see it in the mirror—the way your movements pull focus for the wrong reasons. You don’t look cool. You don’t look confident. You look terrified.

The music stops.

Silence stretches, and you feel the moment gather around you like a storm.

Your professor steps forward, hands on her hips. Her mouth is tight. Not cruel, exactly. Just tired. Like she’s done trying to find a gentler way to say this.

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s cut the music.”

You freeze. Everyone else does too.

She looks at the group, but her eyes settle on you.

“You’re not getting it.”

Your throat tightens.

“You’ve had a week. And I know you’re trying. But at a certain point, effort doesn’t matter if it doesn’t translate.”

You blink hard. Swallow it.

She keeps going.

“You’re holding tension in every limb. You’re not listening to the rhythm—you’re fighting it. There’s no soul in your movement. It’s just… choreography.”

Something behind your ribs twists.

“You’re technically clean, sure. But this isn’t ballet. This style needs release. Personality. Groove. And right now? You look like you're bracing for impact the entire time.”

Someone shifts their weight behind you. The sound makes you flinch.

The professor sighs. “Honestly? I don’t think hip-hop is for you.”

The words split the floor beneath you.

“I don’t say that lightly,” she adds. “Some people just don’t have the body language for it. That doesn’t mean you’re not talented—it just means you need to play to your strengths.”

Your spine straightens like it might hold back the heat crawling up your throat. You nod once, sharp and tiny.

She claps her hands again. “Alright, everyone else, back to position.”

You step out of the line.

No one says anything, but you can feel their eyes grazing over you like stray knives.

You walk to the back wall, crouch down, pretend to retie your shoe.

You don’t trust your face.

You don’t trust what’s rising inside you.

Because the thing is—you’ve been corrected before. Critiqued. Ballet is criticism. It’s pain. It’s sharpening your body into something useful.

But this feels different.

This feels like rejection.

You’ve never been told you didn’t belong in a style. Never been told outright to give up. And not in front of a full room.

You stare at the scuffed rubber on your sneaker. Try to blink away the sting building behind your eyes.

You should walk out. Shake it off. Prove her wrong next week.

But you can’t stop replaying it.

You’re not getting it. You look like you’re bracing for impact. I don’t think hip-hop is for you.

A part of you wants to be angry. To dig in your heels and overtrain until your knees give out.

But another part—smaller, quieter—is tired.

Tired of forcing it. Tired of failing in private and pretending it’s growth. Tired of dancing like you’re scared of being seen.

And that’s when it happens.

A flicker behind your eyelids. A memory you didn’t invite.

A boy alone in a studio.

Sweat on his jaw. Shirt clinging to his back. Limbs loose, music pouring through him like he trusted it. Like his body wasn’t a cage—it was a current.

You hadn’t realized, last night, what exactly you were watching.

But now?

Now you think maybe it was freedom.

The kind you’ve never felt. Not in your choreography. Not in your skin.

You don’t want to ask for help. You never do.

But the words from your professor are still ringing in your ears like bruises.

And suddenly, swallowing your pride feels easier than drowning in it.

⸻

You don’t know what you’re doing here.

The hallway hums with the kind of midnight stillness that makes every fluorescent light buzz louder than it should. Your shadow follows you in pieces—fractured by the low glow bleeding from under Studio C’s door.

You’re wearing what you always wear when you need to feel in control.

High-waisted black leggings, freshly laundered. A fitted ribbed tank top. Your sleek zip-up jacket, zipped halfway and snug across your ribs, sleeves pushed to your elbows with deliberate symmetry. There’s a tiny monogram stitched near the collar—just your initials, delicate and silver, like even your clothes are expected to perform.

Your ballet teacher once said sweatpants were for people who had already given up. That if you looked relaxed, you were relaxed. That discipline wasn’t just about how you danced—it was how you entered a room. How you carried your body. How you never looked uncertain. Never looked soft.

You believed her. You still do. Which is why being here—like this—feels like a betrayal.

You’re standing outside the one place you swore you wouldn’t come back to. Studio C.

You stare at the door. Music pulses faintly behind it—muffled bass, a steady rhythm. It’s looser than last time. Less aggressive. Still, it makes something tighten behind your ribs.

You open the door.

The hinges creak.

He’s already dancing.

Back turned. Shirt darkened with sweat. Blonde hair a mess. His shoulders are moving in slow, syrupy pops that melt into a glide, like his body is chewing on the beat before swallowing it whole. You almost lose your nerve.

Then he turns.

He doesn’t stop.

Just meets your gaze like he expected you.

A smirk tugs at his mouth as he hits one last move, lets the music carry his body into a final spin, and hits pause with a smooth flick of his fingers.

Silence falls.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he says, breathless but amused.

You ignore the comment. “Can I talk to you?”

He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to figure out what changed.

You don’t wait. “I need help.”

He blinks. A pause.

“With…?”

You exhale. “Hip-hop.”

The smirk sharpens. “You?”

You cross your arms. “Yes.”

He wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt, revealing a flash of toned stomach, then lets it fall back into place.

“Didn’t peg you for the type to ask.”

“I’m not,” you admit, jaw tight. “But I need to get better. And I don’t have time to figure it out on my own.”

His eyes narrow slightly, considering.

You press on. “I’ll pay you.”

That gets a reaction.

He scoffs, laughing once—short and disbelieving. “You’re offering me money?”

“Yes.”

“You serious?”

You shift your weight. “I don’t expect you to do it for free.”

He walks toward you slowly, water bottle in hand, expression unreadable.

“Let me get this straight,” he says. “You snuck in here last night, watched me like I was an exhibit, ran off like your hair was on fire—then show up again tonight, ask for help, and throw cash at me like it’s a tutoring session?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I’m not trying to insult you.”

“Too late.”

You square your shoulders. “I just—don’t usually ask people for things. And I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes.”

He watches you for a long moment. Something in his face softens—not enough to be obvious. Just enough to feel it.

“You’re used to earning things,” he says quietly. “Not being given them.”

You don’t answer.

He sets the water bottle down. “Keep your money.”

“But—”

“I don’t want it.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “Because it’s way more fun messing with you for free.”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Wildly.”

Another beat passes between you—tense, sharp.

Then his tone shifts.

“You really want help?”

“Yes.”

“Then lose the attitude.”

Your arms tighten across your chest. “This is my normal tone.”

“Yikes,” he mutters.

You roll your eyes.

He grins, and somehow it makes the space feel smaller.

“Alright,” he says, stepping back. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

You blink in surprise. “Wait—what? Right now? No. We have to schedule this.”

He shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. “Schedules are boring.”

“I need a plan,” you insist firmly.

He smirks. “Fine. When?”

You glance at your watch, already calculating. “Seven tomorrow night.”

He nods without hesitation. “Seven it is.”

You take a deep breath and turn toward the door.

You try not to flinch when it clicks shut behind you.

⸻

You arrive at the studio twenty minutes early, nerves tightening every muscle. The polished floor gleams under the harsh fluorescent lights, reflecting your precise posture. You’re here early because that’s what you do—you prepare, you control, you own every second before anything even starts.

You pace softly near the door, hands clasped tightly in front of you. Your ballet jacket, monogrammed with your initials, feels heavier than usual, like armor against the unknown.

Minutes tick by. You check your watch again, breath shallow, heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and something like dread.

Then, the door creaks open.

He strolls in—ten minutes late—with a lazy grin and an easy confidence. His hair is messier than before, strands falling over his forehead like he just rolled out of bed. He’s wearing a loose black graphic tee and baggy jeans, sneakers slapping softly against the floor. No sense of urgency, no hint of apology.

“Sorry, I’m fashionably late,” he says, flashing you a crooked smile that’s equal parts cocky and disarming.

You narrow your eyes but say nothing.

He drops his bag carelessly by the wall and stretches, cracking his neck as if the day’s been too easy so far.

You clear your throat. “We agreed on seven.”

He shrugs, that trademark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You get here early, I show up late. It’s the perfect balance.”

You bite back a retort and instead set your jaw, stepping forward. “Let’s get started.”

He laughs, pulls out his phone, and taps play. The bass rolls through the room, deep and steady, vibrating in your chest.

He moves first, fluid and unforced, every motion dripping with effortless cool. You try to mirror him, but your body is stiff, bound by years of discipline and control. Your arms don’t flow; your feet hit the floor like you’re following a script you can’t rewrite.

He glances your way, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You look like you’re trying to dance your way out of a straightjacket.”

You flush, cheeks heating, but refuse to break. “I’m just warming up.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, Tightwire,” he says, the nickname catching you off guard, “let’s see if you can loosen up.”

“Tightwire?” You blink at him, incredulous. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He grins, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It means you’re wound tight—like you’re balancing on a wire—but I’m kinda curious to see if you’ll fall or fly.”

You glare, but a reluctant smile tugs at your lips despite yourself.

He shrugs. “Hey, gotta call it like I see it…”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Just trying to keep things interesting.”

The music shifts, a little faster now, and you try again, letting the beat pulse through your limbs. Your movements aren’t perfect, but they’re softer, less mechanical. He watches with that half-grin, like he’s betting on you to surprise him.

“You’re getting there,” he says after a moment. “But don’t think too much. Dance isn’t about thinking. It’s about feeling.”

You nod, biting your lip, trying to absorb the advice even if it goes against everything you’ve been taught.

He steps closer, voice dropping just enough to make you lean in without realizing it. “Come on, tightwire. Show me you can let go.”

And maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to believe you can.

The bass rolls steady through the studio as he steps back, watching you with that laid-back, half-amused expression like this whole thing is just a game to him. You feel the weight of his gaze—not heavy, but definitely there, sizing you up like he’s betting you’ll crack under pressure.

You press your lips together, squaring your shoulders. Precision is your armor, but in this moment, it feels more like a cage.

“Alright, so what now?” you ask, voice sharper than you intend.

He shrugs, leaning against the wall with that easy confidence that drives you nuts. “Now, you stop thinking so much. Feel the music. Let it move you instead of fighting it.”

You glance at him, disbelief flickering across your face. 

A slow grin curls at the corner of his mouth, eyes flickering with that mix of teasing and challenge he wears like a second skin. He leans back against the wall, arms crossed, studying you like you’re a puzzle he’s just starting to solve.

“You’re a ballerina, right?” His voice is low, almost casual, but there’s an edge to it—as if he’s daring you to prove him wrong. “I’m guessing, based on the way you move—tight, deliberate. Ballet’s all about control. Precision in every muscle, every breath, everything locked down like a well-rehearsed script.”

He pushes off the wall, stepping closer, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “Hip hop? It’s a whole different game. It’s about letting go. Feeling the music pulse through you, even if it’s just a crack open—enough to catch the rhythm before it slips away.”

You bite your lip, trying to wrap your mind around what letting go even looks like. The idea feels like a foreign language to your body, which has been trained to hold tight, stay perfect, never falter.

“Look, I don’t expect you to suddenly turn into a free spirit. But maybe just loosen the grip a little? Stop trying to tame the music and ride it instead.”

His casual tone contrasts with the intensity of his gaze, and for a moment, you catch a flicker of something real beneath the playfulness. It’s a challenge, but not a cruel one. More like a dare.

You cross your arms, meeting his eyes steadily. “And if I fall?”

He shrugs again, grinning. “Then I’ll be there to catch you.”

That small, unexpected softness undercuts the smirk, and your chest tightens. You want to push it aside, remind yourself this is just practice, just dance, nothing more.

You nod slowly, taking a breath. “Fine.”

He grins wider. “That’s what I like to hear. Now move.”

He steps back, giving you space, but his eyes never leave you. The music shifts—low bass curling around the edges of the room like smoke, thick and slow. He doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t offer instruction. Just waits, arms loose at his sides, like he’s already read the ending and isn’t in a rush to spoil it.

You plant your feet, pulse ticking in your throat like a second metronome. You know how to move. You’ve moved your whole life. But this? This feels like standing on a ledge with no choreographer telling you when to jump.

Still, you try.

You raise your arms—already wrong. Too rigid, too formal. You catch yourself and lower them again, forcing a breath through your nose. The beat rolls on. You take a step, then another, mirroring what you’ve seen in class. What you’ve seen him do.

It doesn’t work.

You’re too upright. Too precise. Each movement feels like it’s passed through six filters of correction before it even reaches your limbs. You know you’re getting it wrong—can feel it in the resistance of your own body.

You glance up. He’s watching, expression unreadable, one brow arched just slightly, but not mocking. Just… waiting.

“I look stupid,” you mutter.

“No,” he says, arms crossed again, voice lighter now. “You look scared.”

You bristle, heat flaring in your cheeks. “I’m not scared.”

He tilts his head. “Then what are you holding onto so hard you can’t move?”

The question lands harder than you expect. Because you don’t have an answer. Or maybe you have too many.

You look down at your feet. “I don’t know how to be bad at something,” you say quietly.

There’s a beat of silence, and when you lift your gaze, something in his face has shifted—like he sees it now. The pressure. The fear. The weight of always being the best, or at least looking like it.

He steps closer, close enough that the air between you feels warmer, like static before a storm. “That’s the thing, ballerina,” he murmurs. “You’re not supposed to be good yet. You’re supposed to fuck up.”

You blink. “Is that how you learned?”

He laughs under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you kidding? I looked like a wind-up toy on a sugar high my first time dancing. Arms everywhere. Legs doing God knows what. It was tragic.”

A startled laugh escapes you before you can stop it. He grins, triumphant.

“There it is,” he says. “You laugh like someone who doesn’t let themselves do it often.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s less bite in it now.

“Okay, again. But this time? Don’t think. Just feel.”

You square up, shifting your weight. Let the bass ripple up from the floor into your spine. Your body still resists—but less than before. You move again. It’s not perfect. Not even close. But for a few seconds, it’s not about perfection.

He watches you closely, not correcting, not stopping you. Just… watching.

And somehow, that’s what makes your hands loosen. Just a little.

⸻

You don’t want to stop.

Even when your muscles ache. Even when the sweat is dripping down your spine and your chest rises in sharp, controlled breaths like you’re trying not to let on that you’re gasping. You’ve gone through the combo five times now, and not once has it felt right. Not once have you felt like you deserved to be here.

“I’m good,” you say quickly as he pauses the music. Too quickly. “We can keep going.”

But Hoshi tosses you a look over his shoulder like he’s heard this before. Like he’s not buying it.

“Nah,” he says, already flopping down onto the studio floor like gravity pulled him there. “You’re gonna burn yourself out if you keep chasing the ghost of whatever ‘perfect’ means in your head.”

You hesitate, hovering awkwardly near the center of the floor.

“I’m fine,” you insist, but your voice lacks conviction now.

He props himself up on his elbows, sweat-dampened hair curling at his temples. “You’ve got this edge like you think the world’s gonna end if you take five minutes.”

You bristle. “Some of us don’t have time to waste.”

His eyes narrow slightly—not offended, more curious. “That why you’re always wound so tight? Afraid of losing a second?”

You don’t answer, but you do lower yourself down, slow and stiff, like surrendering is a foreign language. Your limbs ache in protest, and the cold bite of the studio floor against your back makes you shiver.

For a moment, there’s just breathing. The hum of fluorescent lights. The ghost of the bass still buzzing under your skin.

Then, casually, he says, “You know, I just realized—I don’t even know your name. Been calling you Tightwire in my head this whole time.”

You turn your head to look at him. He’s watching you, one arm folded behind his head, that same smirk playing on his lips before you answer with your name.

He nods once, like he’s storing it away somewhere private. “Nice. I’m Hoshi, by the way.”

“I know,” you say, a little too fast.

His brow arches. “Oh?”

You glance away, trying not to let your ears burn. “Some people in the dressing room were talking about you. Said you’re insanely good. A little cocky.”

He laughs—full-bodied and unbothered. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You don’t say anything, but your lips twitch like you’re fighting a smile.

He stretches his arms above his head with a groan. “You always this intense?”

You lie back again, letting your gaze fall to the ceiling. “Only when I’m awake.”

He whistles low under his breath. “Damn. What’s it like in that brain of yours?”

You don’t answer. You don’t really know how to. But something about the quiet between you shifts—thickens, softens. Not quite tension. Not quite comfort. Just... awareness.

He breaks it with a chuckle. “Better tighten that bun, Tightwire. We’ve got a long way to go before you stop looking like a ballerina trapped in the wrong movie.”

You sit up slowly, chest still rising fast. “I want to get it right.”

His voice is softer this time. “You will.”

And for the first time tonight, you almost believe him.

Almost.

But belief is a luxury you don’t let yourself touch yet.

You stay quiet, letting the echo of the music and the pounding of your pulse fill the space instead. He doesn’t press. Just leans back on his hands, eyes skating lazily over the ceiling like he’s already half-tuned out.

You rise slowly, every muscle sore, every line of your body aching with the unfamiliarity of it all. The floor feels harder than usual beneath your feet. Or maybe you’re just feeling how far you have to go.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, casual, like it doesn’t matter either way.

You pause. “I need an exact time.”

That makes him glance up. He smirks. “7 sharp, then.”

You nod, already halfway to the door, spine straight, jaw locked.

His voice follows just before it closes behind you. “Better stretch tonight, Tightwire. Tomorrow’s worse.”

You don’t answer.

But your fists curl tighter around your jacket sleeve, and your steps are clipped all the way back to your dorm.

This isn’t working yet.

But you’ll make it.

Because you don’t know how not to.

⸻

The studio is cooler than last time, lights dimmed low to soften the harshness of the mirrors. Outside, twilight is bleeding into the campus sky—pale pinks and grays washing over the windows like a lullaby the room refuses to listen to. Here, the bass thumps quietly through the speaker in the corner. Not loud. Just enough to vibrate under your skin.

You showed up early again. Of course you did.

This time, Hoshi wasn’t ten minutes late.

Just five.

He strolled in with a Gatorade in hand and his hoodie half-zipped, sleeves pushed up to his elbows like he might start dancing or start a fight—either seemed equally possible. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, worn from use but somehow still stylish, and the tank he wore underneath clung to him in a way that was definitely unfair. His hair was tousled again—purposefully careless, like the rest of him.

He took one look at you pacing, gave a low whistle, and said, “Tightwire’s back.”

You didn’t rise to it. Just uncapped your water bottle and muttered, “We said seven.”

He held up his Gatorade in a mock toast. “And here I am. Growth.”

Now, fifteen minutes in, he hasn’t said much else.

And it’s driving you insane.

He’s been circling the room, hood down now, hands in his pockets, as if this were a museum and you were the exhibit. Every so often he hums or nods with the music, eyes following your movements—noting something. Calculating. You hate how much you want to know what he’s thinking.

You’ve been moving since you got there. Sticking to the choreography he gave you yesterday, step by step, beat by beat. You’ve practiced it in your dorm room, in your head, in your dreams. You thought today would feel better.

It doesn’t.

You’re already sweating.

Not from exertion—but from frustration. Every move sticks. Every beat slips through your fingers like water.

You push through another pass of the routine, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the mirror. You’re on beat. Technically. Your footwork is clean. You hit your marks.

So why does it still feel wrong?

You stop mid-step, breath ragged, palms curling into fists at your sides.

Behind you, Hoshi whistles low under his breath. “That looked painful.”

Your glare shoots straight through the mirror at his reflection. “It wasn’t painful.”

He strolls closer, tapping the volume down on the speaker. “It was like watching someone file their taxes in dance form.”

Your jaw tightens. “I’m doing the steps.”

“Exactly.” He drops into a lazy crouch, arms resting on his knees. “You’re doing them. Not feeling them.”

You exhale sharply and turn to face him. “Not everyone can roll out of bed and move like their bones are made of rubber bands.”

He smirks. “Flattering. But rubber bands don’t have this much charm.”

You don’t laugh. You’re too keyed up. “I just want to get this right.”

“Why?” he asks simply. “Why does it have to be right instead of real?”

You falter.

“I mean, when did you decide hip hop had one right answer? You’re not solving an equation.”

“No, I’m trying not to embarrass myself,” you snap.

He stands again, stretching his arms overhead. “You’re trying to ace it. That’s the problem.”

You fold your arms. “So you’re saying don’t try?”

“I’m saying…” He studies you a beat too long. “You’re dancing like you don’t trust yourself. I wanna see what you do trust.”

You blink. “What?”

He nods toward the center of the room. “Ballet. Show me.”

Your brows knit. “Why would you want to see that?”

“Because,” he says, voice low but sure, “I’ve only seen you in defense mode. I wanna see what you look like when you’re home.”

Your spine straightens instinctively. “I can’t just… do it.”

He raises a brow. “Why not?”

“I need my shoes.” Your voice comes out sharper than you mean. “And I need to warm up. And I haven’t done my back stretches yet. I have rituals y’know… I don’t—”

You stop yourself, but it’s too late. The panic already cracked through.

His head tilts, eyes catching yours. “Hey,” he says, tone gentler now. “Then do that. Do all of it. I’m not going anywhere.”

You swallow hard.

“I didn’t mean—” you start, but he cuts in, not unkind.

“Don’t act like time’s your enemy,” he says. “You’ve got it. Use it. However you need.”

That silences you more than anything else.

Because he’s not wrong.

Time is something you’ve always tried to outrun. To out-schedule. To dominate before it could dominate you. You don’t know how to exist in a moment unless it’s mapped, controlled, checked off.

But right now? There’s no clock dictating your start. Just Hoshi, leaning against the mirror, giving you space.

So you nod slowly. “Okay. I just… give me a second.”

“Take ten,” he says with a shrug. “I’ll be here.”

You move to your bag, fingers finding the soft, worn fabric of your ballet shoes. The satin slips through your hands like breath. You sit down and begin your quiet ritual—each wrap of the ribbons like a thread sewing you back together. He watches, but doesn’t speak, doesn’t rush.

You roll your ankles out, then rise, poised and still.

And finally—when it’s just you and the studio and the silence that lets you breathe—

You dance.

No music. Just the memory of it in your bones. The stretch and pull, the rise and fall. Every movement cut with precision, but this time, there’s something else in it too. A flicker of emotion. A note of defiance. Grace sharpened by something personal.

And Hoshi watches.

He’s quiet now, back pressed to the mirror, arms crossed loosely over his chest. But his usual smirk is gone. Replaced by something still, almost reverent. He watches the way your muscles glide beneath your skin, the way your lines slice through the air with deadly accuracy—like you’re carving out space in the world just by existing in it.

But there’s tension there, too. A tightness at the edge of every perfect landing. Like you’re trying to escape something that’s stitched into your very ribs. He can feel it in his chest as he watches you turn—controlled, contained, clenched.

Like you’re dancing against an invisible wall, not with the room around you.

You finish with a single, poised breath, shoulders lifted, jaw set like a blade.

And still—he doesn’t say anything.

Not right away.

He unfolds his arms slowly, and it takes him a second to find the right words. His gaze stays on you, steady. No teasing, no flash of teeth. Just something deeper now. Almost sad.

“You’re really good,” he says, voice low and a little rough. “But you look like you’re suffocating.”

⸻

Tag List: @minafrost @codeinebelle @sojuxxi @bestboileeknow @angelsbitx @socialsymphonies

(Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist <3)

[izumiphoenix]

This moment in the conversation they had after meeting Pale Petras and Dalyria at Fraygo's Flophouse was very frustrating for me, to be honest.

Not in a bad way, more like: “ohh what are you doing?!” ٩(๑`^´๑)۶

Last time I played I probably didn’t check all the lines, but now that I found this branch I need to vent a little.

If you suggest Astarion to just run away he (understandably) argues he doesn’t want to spend eternity as a fugitive, constantly fearing the shadows. And this ritual might allow him to walk under the sun, even after they deal with the tadpoles. But then…

Astarion: And you want what’s best for me, surely.

Just look at his eyes. He is being so obviously manipulative with this line it feels like a stab, especially after everything they’ve been through.

And yes, he says something similar in other branches, too. But this particular phrase sounded the worst to me, especially with that look in his eyes.

Look at her face – she’s not having it too.

But here… I think he understands this as well.

But he can’t help falling into safety of the familiar patterns he’s been using for so long. He is back in the city where everything remind him of his life before. He has just had to face his siblings. And his old self reflected in them. He is back under Cazador’s suffocating presence. The inevitable final confrontation is right ahead.

And the pressure he’s under is immense. He wants to be safe, to be powerful and free. Maybe even to be able to give something back to the person he loves.

He has barely started his path to the healing, but this all is too much too soon.

It hurts to see him like that. Maybe I should be angry. And yet – I just can’t hold it against him. Not when I see where it’s coming from.

I’m sure Roanael knows that too, and she’ll just keep being there and asking the right questions, gently reminding Astarion that there’s another path – the one that leads to light, not darkness.

[mapoeggplant]

skip to loafer chapter 72 analysis // spoilers

“who shall be the one to mend this lonely soul?”: the counterpoint and similarities between the dreamer and the desolate and how to move forward even with the feeling that there is nowhere to belong.

when i opened comic days, i confess that kanechika was the last person i was expecting to see. so much so that, thanks to this confusion, i first thought that the chapter would take a completely opposite direction to what i was expecting, which was the school play. but i soon understood what sensei was trying to do and the overlap she chose for this very important moment.

it’s not new for sensei to intersperse two stories into one in order to develop one character or the other (or both) a little more. this mix of elements brings more life and support to the narrative, since the character is able to open up more when faced with something that is opposite or complementary to them. and here i believe that sensei decided to combine the two forms and gave kanechika the role of being the opposite and, at the same time, the complement to shima.

kanechika has always had a huge passion for cinema and theater. this has been evident since the first time he showed his homemade movies to his insistence that shima join the theater club. but, something that hasn't been explored in depth yet is the loneliness that comes with this passion. not everyone around you will always grow up having the same interests as you or feeling them to the same intensity. sometimes, especially for a child, it’s much easier to ignore the “different boy” than to try to understand what this cinema that he likes so much is all about.

but, even though he felt alone and couldn't really fit in with people his own age, something inside kanechika encouraged him to keep going, to try, until he found people who shared his passion or came face to face with something he had brought to life, understanding that everything he had gone through had led him there. seeing shima blossom on stage not only brought him a sense of pride for the kouhai he held in such high regard, but also the idea that he was indeed on the right path and that there were people in the world who were able to listen to what he had to say and who were able to consume his art. 

this insistence on what he loved, even if it hurted you, is the opposite of shima. the realization that your tastes, desires and dreams are valid and that you have the right to feel them would be the complement. 

shima finally took the stage dressed as the monster he had always believed himself to be. and this becomes even more vivid considering the moments in the play that sensei thought were important to highlight, such as the monster's understanding of his loneliness, the forced isolation imposed on him and the understanding that the person closest to you, such as the one who raised you, will not always be responsible for curing the persistent pain of not belonging.

while kanechika sees his passion for theater shine with his own eyes, shima stands against the world. even though it is not him himself standing on stage, it is not his words but those of the monster, shima finally stands up to face everything that he swore was much greater than he could handle.

and, in contrast to everything, we have his own victor frankenstein waiting on the other side, with teary eyes and the fear of trying, once again, to connect with the monster. a mother drowning in the open wound sees, for the first time, her son blossom and live for himself, live for his ideals and passions, face his fears and move forward. her creation that she herself could not fix, the soul so sad.

however, next to her, there is someone who has the courage to say out loud what she so desperately wants: yuki does have the right to try one more time, to be honest with her son and listen to him with all her heart, to try not to rebuild something that is broken, but to forgive what cannot be undone and start over something that they can both build together, side by side, mother and son. she sees the child she raised forcing himself to be an adult from a very young age, giving him the chance to be young for the first time, to try to take control of what hurt him so much. why not try again, in a new play this time?

for the first time in years, they look into each other's eyes, completely raw, ready to face this new unknown. for the first time, she allows herself to praise her son, something she was so afraid of doing, with a great fear of putting an enormous pressure on his shoulders once again. and he allows himself to accept the hand that his mother extends, letting himself dive into this vulnerability that the monster gave him. not only that, but he also now shows a new interest in this family that was given to him, an enormous desire to belong, to be the older brother that his little brother admires so much, to be able to be someone who has frank conversations with his stepfather. shima and yuki are, for the first time, experiencing what could be a complete family. 

and in the midst of so many new beginnings, endings, goodbyes and new days to be lived, there is that one girl, who still waits for him in the same hallway, emanating the same light that welcomes him so much. letting himself be carried away by the feeling and embracing mitsumi once and for all is another step that shima takes in his favor, another step that he allows himself to take to finally be able to walk side by side with this person that he admires so much and finds so special. falling apart in her arms, not so that she can pick him up and rebuild him, but so that he can show her every little piece of himself.

the monster found not only someone who could mend his oh so lonely soul, but someone who would give him the strength to fight alone and for himself. mitsumi isn’t the saviour nor needs to be saved: she’s the light that guides him to find his own path and our courage. it was she who showed him how beautiful it is to be true to yourself and now that he has finally embodied this monster that haunts him so much, he can give himself the chance to walk side by side with her towards a new future.

how beautiful it is to be able to read such an incredible story about taking a chance on yourself and loving without regrets. we’re once again being able to experience another beautiful chapter and for that i’m so grateful.

before we go, can we also appreciate kanechika's shirt when he was a kid? he once wore a shirt with monsters on it only to later see a monster on stage. what a comeback, huh?

thank you so much for reading and sorry for any gramatical mistakes 💛! please support sensei if you can! we will be on break next month thanks to the release of vol 12. excited to see what comes next!!!!!

[jayjay5015]

Hate Me Yet?

Pairings: Bob Reyolds x f!reader

Summary: Bob is reminiscing on the times he had with you before he left. Wondering if he made the right choice…

Warnings: NONE

Word count: 3.1k

DISCLAIMER: Based on the song Hates Me Yet (222) by The Band Camino - got to support my boys. 

...·.·*.✵.*·.·…

BOB’S POV:

It’s been 3 years since I disappeared from her life. The hardest decision I ever had to make. It took months for me to get my mind sober enough, but it was for the best. Right? These thoughts have been taking up my head ever since the whole incident with the Void and me almost destroying the world about 6 months ago. Especially when the tower is quiet and the team is getting their well-deserved rest. I can’t sleep. Not without her. 

Yelena was the first to notice the dark sags under my eyes. I quickly made up an excuse that it was John’s snoring, but that didn’t last. It’s so embarrassing to tell her the truth: that every time I try to close my eyes, all I see is the love of my life's laugh. I love her laugh. Always sounded like a choir of angels that no one should ever hear. 

Of course, Yelena, being the worried mother, told the rest of the team about my lack of sleep. After another night of no sleep, I dragged my feet into the kitchen for some tea. I was met with all of them hushing as soon as they noticed me.

“What’s going on here?” I asked.

“Bob…” Yelena started, “We are worried about you. All of us can tell that there’s something on your mind. You can talk to us.”

I sighed, “Look, it isn’t anything that is going to make me blow up and turn into the Void. I’m fine. I promise.” The lies slipping through my teeth. 

“Is it something about your past?” Ava asked.

She was my everything. “Yeah, but again, it isn’t important. Can I make my tea?”

They all just nodded as they dispersed from the kitchen. Weirdos. I went on with my usual morning routine, making my favorite: lavender tea with honey. Then, walked over to my usual reading corner with my collection of books and plants. A memory flooded my mind.

Waking up to the sun slowly coming through the curtains. My hands instinctively reached over to her, only to be met with nothing. Panic rose. I leaped out of bed, praying that she was alright. I turned the corner to the living room to see her. She was watering my plants in nothing but my t-shirt. 

“Babe, everything okay?” She asked.

I sighed as I walked toward her, “More than okay.” 

I walked behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, and pulled her as close as possible. Putting my chin on her shoulder, taking her in. She always smelled like lavender and honey. 

“Damn…” I muttered as I looked out into NYC. “Y/N…” Her name leaving my lips for the first time in years, “...do you hate me yet?” 

...·.·*.✵.*·.·…

That night, I had woken from an awful nightmare. I reached over to check the time on my phone: 222. My heart sank. Her angel number. Y/N, I miss you. I walked over to my closet, where I kept my most prized possession. Our first photo together. She had it printed for my birthday. We were stuck on the side of the road on the way to the bar when my car broke down. I thought she would leave right then and there. The memory came as my eyes were heavy.

“I’m sorry. This was such a pathetic date. Can’t even get there.” I said, shaking my head.

She laughed. That was the first time I heard her laugh, “This is way better than getting drunk. I get to know you, sober.” 

Sober. I smile grew on my face, “Yeah? What do you want to know?” 

She asked me all kinds of questions as we waited for the tow truck. I asked her too. The way her nose scrunched ever so slightly when she was thinking deeply, and how she tucked her hair behind her ear when nervous. Her habits were burned into my mind that night. I never believed in true love or soulmates until her. 

Her favorite chocolate is M&Ms. She loves ice cream and specifically Iowa football. Also loves her brother's dog more than him. Every detail she shared was forever remembered. 

...·.·*.✵.*·.·…

A few days later, Yelena had dragged me to do errands with her. Saying something about not letting me be all depressed in the tower. I refused, but as a former assassin, she threatened me. I had a choice: I went with her. My feet dragged along the sidewalk as we passed by shop after shop. My head down to avoid eye contact with anyone, still not great with crowds. Suddenly, she stopped. 

I looked at her, “Hey… why’d you stop?”

She didn’t respond as she walked into a flower shop. I shrugged my shoulders and walked in after her. The smell of a million different scents flooded my senses. Some nice, some awful. I shook my head and spotted the top of Yelena’s head. I walked over to see what she was smelling.

“Look!” She quickly turned to me, “It’s a white rose! It smells like heaven.”

I reluctantly smelled it. Shit. I stepped back.

She tilted her head. “Do you not like it?” 

My head started to spin, and my heart started to pound. I looked around to see roses everywhere. I ran outside. The fresh air and sun started to calm me down. 

Yelena’s voice was muffled as my head was still spinning. I quickly closed my eyes and practiced my breathing exercises. Another memory.

“Bob, breathe…” Y/N said. 

I was having a panic attack. I was sitting on the floor, head in hands. I could feel her holding me as I was breaking. 

“It’s okay…I got you.” She kept repeating. “Breathe in….”

I breathed in.

“...And out….”

I exhaled.

“Breathe….” 

After what felt like hours, my breathing was back to normal. I opened my eyes and met her beautiful E/C eyes. I remember how tender her kisses were. They felt warm, where everything around me stopped. I held her hand. The one with that damn rose tattoo - her favorite flower.

“BOB!” Yelena snapped her fingers in front of my face, “Are you okay?”

I turned to her, “I need to be alone.”

“Okay, I understand. But are you okay?” 

Does Y/N hate me? I was about to answer her when my eyes suddenly drifted to a coffee shop across the street. Y/N. She was drinking tea, most likely peach, with one teaspoon of honey and one packet of sugar. The sun was hitting her in the most celestial way as she read a book. She loves books. 

My heart felt as if an invisible string was pulling me toward her. So I started to run across the street. 3 years. About got hit by 7 different cars, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was getting to Y/N. I couldn’t wait another second. I got to the median when the honking made her look my way. She dropped her book. Our eyes locked. I held my breath as time stopped. She looked at me as if I were a ghost. Suddenly, she got up but was stopped.

“Y/N?” An unfamiliar man had walked over to her table, “Y/N, are you okay?”

Her eyes still on mine, “Y-Yeah…”

He sat down and picked up her book. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” 

She shook her head as she sat back down. “Just…something too good to be true.”

Don’t say that. Y/N I’m right here. 

He laughed as he took her hand, “C’mon, I know you. What’s up?”

I wanted to fly over and beat the living shit out of this dude. No one knows her like I do. Right? I wanted to run up and hold her and tell that idiot to back off. But I didn’t, I ran. Far away from her, just like before. Sentry’s powers didn’t do anything for my personality. Deep down, I’m still the same cowardly Bob that broke her heart. 

...·.·*.✵.*·.·…

Y/N’S POV:

It was a typical day in New York City. I woke up alone, as usual. Ate alone, as usual. And went about my day, as usual. The morning passed by as I decided that it was time for some deep cleaning. I put on Radiohead as I got to work. A couple of hours passed before I finally got to my room. After sweeping, dusting, and vacuuming the whole room, I tackled the closet. As I picked up all the clothes and either threw them into the laundry basket or hung them back up, I spotted the box. 

That cursed box that I couldn’t throw away, but wanted out of my sight. Just one last time. I pulled it out and opened the lid, instantly the smell of him filled my mind. My eyes started to water as I pulled items out. The first memory hit as I grabbed the white photobook, the one he got for our 1st anniversary. 

I woke up that morning, knowing it was October 18th. A smile grew as I was wrapped in his arms, feeling the warmth engulf me. 

“What’s that smile for?” His deep, groggy voice asked.

I looked at him with his eyes half open, “Just knowing that I have gotten a whole year to call you mine.”

He planted a kiss on my forehead, “Happy anniversary, love.”

“Happy anniversary,” I said as I shuffled closer as humanly possible. 

We lay in silence, embracing one another, not wanting to let the moment end. Our breathing was in sync, my ear on his chest to listen to his heartbeat. 

An hour had passed when he said, “Love, I hate to ruin this perfect morning, but I've got to get your surprise ready.”

“Surprise? That can wait, I just want to stay here. With you.” I hated being away from him. The joy he brought into my life was something I dreamed of since a child. 

“I know, but you’re going to like it. Plus, if we stay here, we won’t be able to do what I have planned for the day.” 

I sighed, “Okay, only because I love you.”

He smiled and kissed me, “I’ll be super fast.”

He then bolted out of the room and closed the door behind him. I always loved the way he got excited about the little things. He made me feel special. About 15 minutes I hear him yelling from the living room that I could come out. I smiled and got out of bed, and walked to him. I turned the corner and saw him standing in the middle of what looked like a hundred white roses. 

Tears formed in my eyes. “You did this? For us?”

“No, I did this for YOU.”

I walked up to him and hugged him, “Thank you…”

He wrapped his arms around me, tight. “Always.”

I looked at the coffee table and saw the book, “What’s this?” 

“Open it.”

I did, and saw that it was filled with every single photo since our disastrous first date. My smile grew, and tears fell as I flipped to look at each page. He wrote a sweet note next to each picture. I had never felt more loved. 

I got myself back together until I grabbed one of his many apology notes he had written after a bad argument. My 2 years with him were filled with happiness and love, but there were some days when it was full of darkness and anger. 

There had been so many times I caught him using when he told me he was clean. I was never upset at him for it, just hurt that he kept lying to me. I wanted him to trust me and let me help him. Each time I would confront him, it always ended the same: him storming off and leaving me sobbing on the floor. Yet, each time he would come back, shaking, and break down into my arms. And each time I held him. 

I slammed the box shut and shoved it back where I would forget where it was. The memories were too much, knowing that it all ended. I’ll never get him back. I hate that he just left me. Why. Why me? He left like everyone else. Please come back. I still love you. Do you love me too? Or do you hate me. 

I had texted my best friend, Luke, that I needed to get out and distract myself from him. Luke immediately understood and was over in less than 15 minutes. Luke and I first met each other when I was at a bar the first day he left. I was drunk out of my mind and making a scene. Luke had gone out with a group of friends and they all drove me home. Since the Luke has always been my person if I ever needed anything. He was only 3 years older than me but treats me like his younger sister. 

“Y/N, get yourself off the floor. We’re going out.” Luke announced as he walked into my apartment.

“I don’t want to go to a bar or club.”

“No you idiot, we’re going to get coffee.”

I complied, got ready and we left. We arrived at our usual coffee place where I ordered my favorite peach tea with one spoon of honey and one sugar. Luke ordered a black coffee - guys and their black coffee. I had brought along my book and he brought his laptop to work. There were some talk of what happened but I avoided the topic. Luke understood and brought up his girl problems. We laughed then sat in silence most of the afternoon. 

Luke had gotten up to use the restroom, leaving me looking out onto the busy New York City streets. I looked across the road and saw the floral shop I had always wanted to go visit, but couldn’t ever since he disappeared. I sighed and dove back into the intriguing story as the sun warmed me up. 

Suddenly a bunch of cars were honking and I looked to the commotion and saw him. He was running toward me but stopped at the median. Our eyes locked together. It can’t be. He was just standing there, wanting to come running. I felt as if I was in a trance, my hand went numb and dropped the book. 

He isn’t real. I stood up, trying to see if it was true. His hair was longer, still the brown curls I loved to play with. His eyes were still the same shade of blue that I could drown in. He looked happier, healthier, sober. What happened in these 3 years…without me? I was about to call out his name when I heard Luke. 

Luke mumbled my name, then said it again louder, “Y/N, are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah…” 

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” He said as he picked up my book. 

I shook my head as I returned to my seat “Just…something too good to be true.”

He laughed as he took my hand, “C’mon, I know you. What’s up?”

I looked back at the road. I saw him running away, my heart stopped seeing him slip through my fingers again. I couldn’t let him leave. I wouldn’t. 

I stood right back up, “Luke. Please get my things back to my place. I got to do something.”

Before he could argue I was already running after the love of my life. He was getting too far ahead, where I couldnt catch up. The sidewalk was crowded and I was weaving between people, hoping he would wait. I shouted for him to stop, but he couldn’t hear me. Tears were forming. My heart breaking. I just stopped. I couldn’t stop him then. What makes you think you can now. I sat down on a nearby bench, and for the first time in 3 years, I whispered his name. 

“Bob…”

...·.·*.✵.*·.·…

BOB’S POV: 

I was running so far, trying desperately to get away from the aching feeling inside my chest. I ran into about 100 people, I couldn’t even apolgoize I felt my mouth was glued shut. She’s better off without me, I knew that. So why does it hurt seeing her with someone else? I had drowned out the world, I was alone. Just when I felt the darkness creeping up, I heard her voice. 

“Bob…”

My whole body stopped. It’s impossible. I slowly turned around to see if she was really there. I saw her. I saw Y/N, the love of my life. She was sitting on a bench with her head in her hands. We are so close. I walked over in front of her, knelt down as I grabbed her hands. She looked at me with tears in her eyes, seeing who had her. Her eyes widen. 

“Hey…” I whispered, “You okay-”

She jumped into my arms and wrapped her arms around my neck and sobbed. I caught us from falling down, and I held her still. I buried my face into her neck and let all my emotions out. I didn’t care who was watching. I finally had my world back, and I wasn’t letting go. 

“Y-You’re here…like, you’re actually here…” She said.

“I’m here.”

She pulled back to look into my eyes, “Why? Why did you leave me? I-I was devastated when you didn’t come back…I waited. Every. Day.”

“I’m sorry…I wanted to come back so desperately. I felt so guilty that I was dragging you down into the grave with me. You deserve to be with someone who won’t leave you and break your heart a million times. I thought of you. Every. Single. Second.”

“Bob, I don’t want anyone else. If you were drowning, I wanted to drown with you. I love you. I never stopped; I couldn’t. All these years, I thought you hated me, I thought that I wasn’t good enough-”

“Stop. Don’t say that. Don’t say that you still love me, you should hate me. You shouldn’t think that I hate you because I could never. Y/N…you were everything I want and more. I loved you that night you laughed because my car broke down on our first date. I loved you then and I love you now.” 

She started to laugh through her tears, “You, Bob Reynolds, could never make me hate you.”

I smiled, “Also, who was that dude you were with?” 

“Aw, someone jealous? Don’t worry, you’d like him. He’s become an older brother for me.”

“That’s a relief, can’t wait to meet him.” 

Then, I kissed her. Not rushed, but slow. Slow but full of love and passion. My body was filled with her light and joy she always gave me. She tasted like honey with a hint of salt. She kissed me back, her soft lips against mine. I had waited so long to feel her again, and here we are. Fate brought us back to each other. This time, we weren’t letting go. 

...·.·*.✵.*·.·…

[mqsoreshi]

Sleepy Bat part 2

Jason ran to his table and shoved everything aside. He grabbed a piece of paper, some crayons, and wrote in big red letters:

“Jason Todd’s Master Plan”

He paused for a few seconds, thinking about what a real master plan needed. Then, his eyes widened with ideas.

Step 1: Get armed.

Step 2: Report mission

Step 3: Protect from cold

Step 4: Medicine

Step 5: Defend Bat-cave and manor

He was ready to start the first phase: getting armed.

Jason rushed to his toy box, which was surprisingly half-organized. Not for long. He spread all the toys across the floor, digging through them for his tactical gear. He gathered a flashlight, a broken radio, two water pistols, a pair of glass bottle ‘binoculars’, and his favorite blanket.

“Alright!” he said to himself. “No one is taking advantage of Batman’s sickness on MY watch! Robin, the Boy Wonder, is in the house!!”

He quickly made a paper mask, and attached all his ‘gear’ to a regular belt using transparent tape. Jason looked at himself in his room’s mirror and grinned.

“Damn, I look good!” he said, wrapping his red blanket around his neck like a cape. “Let’s see if any villain wants to come here with ME around!”

Step 2: Report Mission

With all his gear ready, Jason figured he should tell Bruce what he was planning. After all, Bruce was Batman—he needed to know what was going on, especially in case Jason needed backup.

“Alright, Jaybird.” Jason said to himself. “Time to move headquarters. But first… let’s see if the coast is clear.”

He packed all his ‘utilities’ into his school backpack—anything a kid might find useful— and peeked through the door to check if Alfred was still in Bruce’s room.

He waited long seconds—too long for a kid—and as soon as he saw Alfred leave, he dashed as quietly and quickly as a six-year-old carrying a pile of things could manage. Alfred heard him but couldn’t see him. He just assumed the boy had started one of his vigilante games again.

Jason had to make several trips. His little arms couldn’t carry everything at once. First came the crayons, markets, notebooks, and paper. Then his ‘weapons’, in case a change of strategy was needed. Finally, every blanket and pillow he could find to build his base of operations.

While Bruce slept, an adorable mess took over his room. Jason brought in his plushies and toys, delegating each of them a mission.

“You’ll watch over the Robin-puter,” Jason said, placing a stuff dinosaur in front of a book with a red screen painted. “You’ll write the field reports I bring back,” the little toy soldiers looked very compromised with their mission. “And you…” Jason paused, thinking. “I’ll figure out a mission for you.” Poor actions figures, they seemed very eager to work.

Jason paced around his newly fortified fortress, inspecting every detail.

“You know what? I’ve changed my mind,” Jason said solemnly, as if grating a promotion. “I’m assigning you to the main surveillance post.”

He moved the stuffed dinosaur from the Robin-puter to the top of Bruce’s bed.

“Bruce loves dinosaurs,” Jason said smiling. “He’ll feel safer with you around. Which means you guys—” Jason pointed at his action figures. “Are now in charge of the Robin-puter.”

Jason changed his voice slightly to simulate another person.

“And Robin! What about Batman’s previous orders?”

Jason cleared his throat and replied in a deeper voice:

“With Batman unable to fight, I’m the one in charge now. I’ll report to him personally, and all the major decisions fall to me. And it’s Mr. Boss Robin for you, Jim!”

“Sorry, Mr. Boss Robin.”

“I’ll go check the climate factor. No one does anything until I came back!”

Jason jumped out of Bruce’s room and ran to check his room’s window.

Step 3: Protect from the Cold

While looking the gray clouds through the window, Jason took a notebook from his utility belt and wrote in messy handwriting:

‘State of the weather: Cold.

Line of action: Find Mr. Freeze and take him down.’

Jason’s paper mask was starting to break due to his sweat, so, he solved it by painting a new one directly onto his skin.

He had already used most of the house blankets to build his base, but now he grabbed his personal ones—the one with kitties, the motorcycles one, the Harry Potter one, the one with books, even the yellow one hidden in his wardrobe. The one he used when he missed his mom.

He bundled them into a massive colorful ball and marched back toward Bruce’s room.

Alfred saw him pass like a walking rainbow; trailing socks behind. Jason didn’t realize one of those blankets held his freshly laundered clothes—clothes Alfred had just folded.

The butler just sighed, uncapable of getting mad. Picking up the stray socks, he followed Jason back to Bruce’s room, finding a mess worth of a reward.

Despite the chaotic pile of pillows, plushies, and blankets, what caught Alfred’s attention quicker was Jason—struggling to lift the stuffed ball of linens onto Bruce’s bed.

Because of his height, he had to climb up using part of the bed to push himself up. Well, he was trying to do that carrying God-knows-how-many blankets. Until that moment the bedspreads were halfway to Bruce’s feet.

“Master Jason…” Alfred didn’t know whether to say something or take a picture. “What exactly are you trying to do?”

“The weather’s cold,” Jason said it as if that was the answer to every human conflict. “If Bruce gets more cold, he’ll turn into an ice cube. Mr. Freeze must be up to something. I’m gonna find him. But first, I need to leave Bruce safe from cold.”

“Colder, my boy…” Alfred corrected gently, still unsure what to do. “Master Bruce may not need so many covers.”

Jason stubbornly tried to climb again but missed a step, falling onto the pile of blankets.

“Ouch…” He seemed to have hurt his toes. Alfred stepped closer, noticing how Jason was all covered with ink stains of colors.

“What do you have on your face, sir?” Alfred held his face gently. It seemed like he used coal.

“My Robin mask!” Jason answered. “But it broke up. So, I made this instead.”

Alfred lost himself on those bright green eyes, feeling his heart growing bigger.

“That was a very clever solution, Master Jason,” he said with a smile. “But perhaps you shouldn’t use ink on your skin. It could cause an allergy.”

“Well, it’s all I had. The villains can’t know who I am, right?”

Alfred chuckled softly, fixing Jason’s hair.

“Can you help me put the blankets on Bruce?” Jason asked.

“Dear boy, with so many blankets, Master Bruce could suffer from heat stroke,” Alfred explained patently. “You told me earlier he was very warm. The light cover he has now should be enough.”

“Oh…” Jason looked at the colorful amalgamation he had brought. “I guess so… But I’ll leave them nearby, just in case.”

“That seems like a wise decision, Master Jason.”

Last part - Next part

[daydaydayrk420]

Steve Rogers x Male Reader.

Male Reader is Thor's son and just like Thor and Steve he's a couple hundred years old but doesn't look it.

He's a new avenger and Steve is in love with him (little does he know that the Male Reader is also in love with him) so Steve starts leaving him love letters under his bedroom door thinking their anonymous but the reader knows Steve's handwriting so after the fourth letter he confronts Steve about it and they both end up confessing their feelings and they share a kiss. The next night the avengers are having a movie night and Steve wants to sit next to the Male Reader but accidentally sits on his lap, he immediately stands up apologizing multiple times but the male reader says it's fine and that he can sit back down so he does and they start watching the movie with everyone else but halfway through they start making out that night they decide to go to bed (no smut they just go cuddle) and you can pick how the story ends.

By the way Thor is accepting because on Asgard sexuality isn't some big deal like humans make it (some people are gay, some straight and so on and so on), and the other avengers are accepting as well.

People on the team might not expect it but the Male Reader is definitely the more dominant one in the relationship (just in general again please no smut only fluff for this story) please and thank you.

Beige papers

Steve Rogers X male reader

⚠️cute Steve, making out⚠️

🚨 minors and girls do not interact 🚨

📜An Asgardian comes to earth to replace his father in the avengers. Spending time with the mortals only allows him to find the one and only.📜

Y/n Thorson. Or as he prefers to just say y/n son of Thor because it sounds much better.

He's been aware of his father being in a team of mortals named the avengers.

He often visited them. He enjoyed their company. It was a nice change from the rich Asgardian life.

But, there is one mortal in the team that... doesn't age like a mortal.

Steve Rogers.

Soon y/n found out that Steve has been injected with some sort of liquid that has made the blond man bigger, stronger and ageless.

A perfect match for a god.

That's what y/n keeps on thinking about every time he lays his eyes on the America's idolised man.

Steve has been thunder struck the moment he's laid his eyes on the son of Thor.

Everything about the man fascinated him.

You'd think Steve would be into men somewhat smaller than him. Men that he could take care of. But no.

He wants a man taller than him, bigger than him but not over muscular. He wants a man whose hands could cover his own and hold them to his heart while he stares into Steve's eyes and talks sweet nothings. A man whose eyes will melt him the moment he locks eye contact. A man with a rich voice that can soothe a soul. A rich laugh that makes the butterflies in Steve's stomach dance. A man who can match his ageless face.

He wants a man who will take care of him instead and be with him for longer than humanly possible.

He wants y/n.

Thor has been so involved with his mortal girlfriend that y/n was basically requested to replace his stand in the team.

Which the Thor's son immediately agreed. It would only allow him to be around Steve more often.

And it would be a lie if Steve said he wasn't happy with y/n being on the team.

Now it's been about a month since y/n joined the avengers. He now has a room of how own. He's gotten close with Steve. And the rest of the team of course but the connection he had with captain America was different.

He so wanted to court that man. So badly.

He would burn the world for him just to hold him.

Little does he know that his nights are about to change.

Y/n comes to his room after a good mission. He immediately heads for the bathroom to shower off the dirt and possible blood.

After what was probably the longest shower known to man, y/n finally comes out of his room.

He hums to himself as he walks to his dresser. He became very fond of human clothing. It's very comfortable. Especially these sweatpants stark bought him as a welcome to the earth gift.

He puts on his shirt and turns around to find an envelope on the floor in front of his door.

Curiosity spikes through his mind.

Once he picked it up he focused on the details.

The envelope was pale yellow. Almost beige. It was wax sealed with a cute little heart as the image.

He gently opens the envelope and pulls out the letter.

The handwriting was too neat to belong to a mortal of this generation.

Was this...from Steve?

Y/n makes his way to the bed and sits down. He gets comfortable and starts reading.

I was thunderstruck on the day I met you.

The sheer size and beauty of you has made my knees weak to the point of shaking.

The sweetness of your voice made my head spin as if I was going through a sugar rush.

I was truly bewildered by your existence by itself. I thought to myself "How could a beauty like that walk the earth?" But I soon found out you weren't meant to walk amongst us.

It suddenly all made sense.

Your eyes, your nose, your hair, your voice, your laugh, your smile, your body. Your beauty. It wasn't meant for us. It wasn't meant for mortals.

I will forever cherish that I was blessed by your beauty and I will hope that one day I'll wake up with it by my side.

By the time y/n finished reading he was a blushing mess. He knew it was about him even though there were no names mentioned. Steve's words play was enough for him to figure it out.

His heart is hammering in his throat. His face is heated with blush and his lips are uncontrollably stretching into a sheepish smile.

No Asgardian has ever made him feel this way let alone a mortal. But... His father is with a mortal woman. He should be fine with this right? Of course! It's Thor. As if he cared who his favourite and only son loves. As long as he's happy.

Should he confront the mortal? No... No he'll let it play out.

And so days move on.

Y/n has been around Steve more often. He joins him on the morning runs, in the gym, invites him for simple coffee 'dates'.

But no new letter.

Y/n sits in his bedroom disappointed. It's been a week.

Will Steve ever push a new letter through that gap underneath the door? He imagines what the words on that letter would be. Would it be something sweet? Something poetic? Something romantic?

The sound of paper dragging on the floor interrupts Thorson's mind.

He jumps off the bed and rushes to pick up the small envelope on the floor. Should he open the door? Confront Steve? No. Too soon. But he can hear the man breathing on the other side of the door.

Y/n doesn't waste another minute and opens the envelope. He frowns when he sees how short this one is.

You are the only lightning I do not fear.

Yes. It's short. But it still made y/n smile. Is Steve actually scared of lighting or is it just wordplay? The Thorson can't help but smile at the image of Steve being scared of a thunderstorm.

Even the idea of it makes y/n want to protect Steve.

He adds it to the previous letter hidden in his favourite book.

He wonders how many more letters he'll get? Will they all be this short? Was only the first one this long?

Days pass again.

Y/n is in his room as usual and he's becoming more and more impatient to wait for another letter.

He rushes to the door. He wants to go and confront the captain. But he's stopped in his tracks by a familiar looking envelope sliding through the gap of the door.

The Thorson doesn't hesitate and grabs the envelope. Steve's right there. He can just open the door and - no. Not yet.

Instead he walks to his bed and sits down. He opens the letter.

This letter isn't even a letter.

It's just a drawing of a human heart. But it's drawn in little live hearts.

This only proves that it's Steve. Because no one else in the building knows how to draw. Even if it's just love hearts formed into a human heart.

Y/n adds it to the rest of the letters and decides to go to bed.

Three days passed.

And y/n is three words away to confronting the captain.

But, he waits. For one more letter. Only one and he's done with waiting.

And so he stands in front of his bedroom door. He's watching the gap that's separating the door and the floor. He's waiting for a shadow to signal Steve's arrival.

And just like that. Steve's shadowing seeps through the gap.

Thorson immediately opens the door and pulls Steve inside.

The captain is utterly caught of guard as he looks at the god. His hand clutches the letter to his chest. The realisation of getting caught makes his face heat up.

"Y/n-" "Shh" Steve's interrupted by y/n's fingers on his lips.

"Steve, I've collected every letter you have delivered. But it pains me that you want them to be anonymous. I need you to be open with me and speak these wonders eye to eye. I want to court you the right way. But you make it so difficult to hold myself back."

Steve's face is as red as Natasha's hair. His breathing is shaky as he's processing every word the son of Thor says.

"You...you knew they were from me?" The captain whispers. Y/n nods and takes a hold of Steve's hips.

"No one writes or draws as beautifully as you."

Steve holds his breath. He wants to grab the man and kiss him with passion..but he doesn't. He holds back.

"Y/n.." he whispered as if he was afraid of using his own voice.

"May I kiss you?" Y/n whispered as well.

"God yes." The captain whispered and leaned in.

Thorson meets him halfway and grabs his cheek. Their lips capture in a silent dance of love.

"Steve..." Y/n breathed out once he pulled away. He rested his forehead against the captain's.

"Will you be mine?" He whispered. His voice betrays him as it shakes with anxiety.

"Yes. Absolute yes." The captain whispered and kissed the god again.

The night after that is a movie night. The team all agreed on a movie and either one brought a smack.

Steve comes into the living room with his bowl of popcorn and looks for a spot. He notices the seat next to y/n is empty so he walks over.

He sits down. But ... He accidentally sat on y/n's lap instead. He immediately gets up again and starts apologising.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to - sorry, sorry." Steve's face flushes red.

Y/n only chuckled. "It's alright. Come here." He smiled and pulled the captain back in his lap.

That only caused Steve to blush even more. But he got comfortable nonetheless.

Throughout the movie Steve got even more comfortable in y/n's lap. He eventually turned sideways so he could rest his head on the other man's shoulder.

Thor's son smiles and looks at his now boyfriend. He wraps his arms around him and rests his head atop his.

The captain smiles to himself. He's so comfortable.

Y/n looks at Steve face. He admires how focused the captain is on the TV. Y/n himself never really grew to movies. They seemed so over exaggerated.

He'd rather stare at Steve's face.

Which is what he's doing now. Steve's unaware tho, the TV really grabbed his attention right now.

But the son of Thor keeps staring at him. In fact, he's staring so much he didn't realize that his hand moved on its own and cupped Steve's chin.

Steve looks at y/n with surprise but soon relaxes info the touch.

But his relaxed state doesn't last long as he's pulled into a kiss.

If y/n is being honest he's not fully in control of his body right now. He's just... moving and letting his mind choose what to do.

But they both soon relax into the kiss. Thankfully the movie is loud. So no one can hear them kissing unless they're right next to each other.

The kiss gets heated. Steve turns his body to face y/n more and grabs onto his hair. The moment their tongues touch they both moan.

They make out for a little while but the moment y/n 's hands start to roam, Steve pulls away before it gets heated.

Y/n looks at Steve concerned thinking he messed up. But Steve rests his forehead against y/n's and he immediately relaxed.

"Let's go to bed. I'm tired." The captain suggested.

Y/n nods and gets up while holding Steve up. He shifts him a bit so he's carrying him like a bride before he excuses himself and Steve and bids everyone good night.

The captain blushes deep red. He's not sure if he likes that the team is witnessing how y/n is carrying him but... It's... Nice that he's not the 'big strong man' anymore.

Once they make it to Steve's bedroom, y/n gently lays him down. Steve asks him to join which the god immediately accepts and climbs in as well.

As y/n gets comfortable the captain immediately presses himself against him. One of Steve's legs is thrown over y/n's thighs, and one hand is drawing shapes onto y/n's belly.

Y/n closes his eyes and hums with contentment. His hands run Steve's shoulders in return.

"Good night, my love," y/n murmured and kissed the captions forehead.

"Good night." Steve said with a tired smile. He rests his head on y/n's chest and let's the soft lullaby of y/n's heart soothe him to sleep.

Y/n can't wait to make this mortal his forever.