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smileysuh · 11 months ago

Text

aphrodisiac

🌙 starring. Mark Lee x afab!Reader I ft. Lee Donghyuck

🔮 preview. You kiss him softly at first, waiting to see how he reacts. Mark is frozen, but after a second, his hands pull you closer, his lips moving more urgently against your own. His tongue licks at you, and you open your mouth for him, accepting everything Mark is giving you on the dance floor. You hook your fingers in Mark’s belt, pulling his body flush to your own. He groans against your lips, deepening the kiss. It’s a struggle to breathe, a struggle to do anything but get lost in the demon hunter as he kisses you in a way you’ve never been kissed before. He tastes like rum, coke, and a deep longing that’s been brewing for much more than a week. His hands cradle you close, as if he never wants to let go, and you wonder for a moment if he’s wanted this for as many years as you have.

tw/cw. slight cnc (demon!Hyuck uses an aphrodisiac power to make reader and Mark fuck, but they've been into each other for years), weird voyeurism, weird demonic shows of dominance through dirty talk, dirty talk, breast worship, pussy worship, oral (f receiving), exhibitionism (fucking in a deserted alleyway), Mark has big dick energy in this, roughness, unprotected sex, slight overstimulation, face riding, aphrodisiac assisted powerful orgasms, multiple reader orgasms, death, etc…

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 5.5k

🍭 aus. demon au, demon!Hyuck, demon hunter reader/Mark, childhood friends to semi-forced lovers, fake dating, hotel only has one bed, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. this is hella on the tame side of cnc since that's not generally something I've ever written, but I still wanted to include the warning since Hyuck uses his demonic powers to utilize the attraction Mark and reader have to each other to get them to fuck.

Prologue

Huddled with the two other girls enduring demon hunter training, your eyes are all fixed to the newest recruit. He’s small for a boy of his age, but it’s clear from the way he’s battering the test dummy that he has the physical endurance to excel.

You’ve never seen a male train before, as generally the seasoned demon hunters take to training people of their own gender in their older age. Your current mentor, an older woman named Suki, has only ever taken on female pupils, until now.

“I know it’s not a regular occurrence,” she’d told you last week, “but my grandson needs to be trained, and I’m not sure I trust anyone else to do the job.”

While your study focuses primarily on speed, stamina, and quick sneak attacks, Mark Lee has done nothing but strength based work since he’s arrived. You’ve watched him hike up the mountain every day carrying heavier and heavier bags of sand.

If there’s one thing you can say for your mentor’s grandson, it’s that he’s got determination.

Mark pauses for a moment, adjusting his glasses and wiping sweat from his brow. Your friend next to you lets out a little gasp at the view, and the new demon hunter turns, his eyes locking with your own while the girls next to you dart to their hiding places.

He flashes you a tight lipped, polite smile, and then he gets back to his work, attacking the practice dummy with haphazard motions that you know he’ll hone over the next year or so he trains here.

Despite his cute, boyish charm, you can’t allow Mark Lee to shift your focus from what’s important. He’s on his path to becoming a demon hunter, and you’re on your own.

You can’t let a boy distract you from your calling.

One

Mark has grown up a lot in the years since you’ve last seen him. He’s much taller now, and broader, however his angular face and signature glasses remain the same as ever. You stand on the train platform, simply watching him for a moment, the way his eyes shift, the hand in his pocket where he likely has a demon blade.

Finally, after you’re done getting control of yourself, you call out his name, and his gaze immediately turns to you.

The polite, tight lipped smile he flashes brings you back to the first week you met him, and a moment later he’s approaching you to pull you in for a hug.

You can feel his body on yours now, and there’s muscle under the loose fabric of his hoodie, muscle that hadn’t been there before.

“Y/N,” he breathes, and you take in his own woodsy scent with a sigh of relief.

You can bring a mountain boy to the city, but you can never bring the mountain out of the boy.

“It’s good to see you,” you admit, pulling away from Mark, “even under the circumstances.”

He nods solemnly.

While neither of you are city hunters, you’ve been called to do your duty together based on your shared past. Couples have been going missing, and after two months and numerous disappearances, Suki had suggested you and Mark could work on the case together. She’d taken into consideration the fact that you’d trained as a team before, a mixed gendered pairing that’s rare in the demon hunting world.

Despite the ways in which you work well together, it’s not lost on either of you that this is going to be a job unlike any you’ve ever experienced before. You’re small town hunters, and this is a big city demon. Its class and abilities are unknown, but the one thing you’re certain of, is that it will be a hell of a lot more powerful than you’re used to.

It’s comforting to have Mark with you as the two of you leave the train station and grab a cab to go to the hotel you’ll be staying at, although, everywhere you look, the scent of lust and sin perfumes the city air.

Two

You let out a deep breath as you and Mark enter your shared hotel room. Without the exact details of how the demon is choosing its coupled prey, it had been decided that in order to evade any detection, the two of you would get a one bed suite.

With couples being the primary target for the demon you’re hunting, you and Mark will have to play the part of lovebirds to the best of your abilities.

“I’ll grab the couch,” Mark says, already heading over to the uncomfortable sofa with his duffle in hand. “We should get some dinner and then go to some of the clubs in the west side district where people have been going missing.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you agree, placing your small, travel sized suitcase on the bed. While the decoration of your bag is pink and girlie, the inside of it betrays your dark calling. You’ve brought multiple knives, holy water, and various cursed objects that have been designed to harm demons.

Under your array of weapons are a few evening dresses, and a makeup purse that Suki had given you.

“I’m going to shower and get ready,” you announce, already dreading the act of putting on lipstick and blush. You’re not used to dressing up for hunts, but this is a unique situation. You have to blend in with the pampered city folk, and you’ll be damned if you look anything less than authentic.

“I’ll catch a nap while you do that,” Mark sighs, already getting comfortable on the couch.

“Sleep in the bed, this will take an hour or so,” you instruct.

“Are you sure?” He blinks at you, removing his glasses and rubbing at his eyes.

“You need the rest, we both need to be in top shape if we’re going to do this right.”

Mark nods, moving to the bed. “We can do this.”

You’re not sure if he’s trying to convince you, or himself.

Three

Mark has always been awkward, and that trait has increased tenfold now that you’re in the city. His motions in the club are very robotic, and at times, he looks like an anxious kitten, his eyes shifting this way and that.

He’d refused your idea that you should have at least one drink to relax a little, and Mark sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the inebriated couples circulating the dance floor.

“This isn’t working,” you sigh, standing close to his side as you look out at the many people who would be better targets than you. “We have to appear sloppy and in love if we’re going to attract this demon’s attention.”

“I’m not good at being either of those things,” Mark sighs, shifting an inch away from you.

“Clearly.” You release a deep breath. “Mark, we don’t look like a couple. You hardly touch me, you move away from me when I get too close- we can’t do our job if things continue like this.”

Mark’s eyes meet your own, and you can tell you’re both thinking about the same thing. Other than being frequent partiers in this westside dance district, the targeted couples had one thing in common in reports and missing persons files, they’d all been truly, deeply, madly in love.

You’d scoured their social medias, gone through countless pictures of couples who couldn’t keep their hands off of one another- photos of lovebirds nestled together, the adoration practically oozing out of their eyes.

“Okay.” Mark nods to himself. “Okay, I can do this.”

His hand smoothly glides along the small of your back, and when he reaches your hip, he tugs you closer.

“That’s better,” you grin, leaning against his shoulder. “We’re more convincing already.”

“I’m just uh… not used to this.”

“Used to what?”

“Being close to uh…” He clears his throat. “Being close to cute girls.”

Demon hunting is a fairly solitary life, and you understand where Mark is coming from. When your life span is uncertain, it’s difficult to give your heart to someone else, especially when you’ve already given yourself to your cause.

Mark’s own parents had been demon hunters, two wayward souls who’d somehow found each other in the midst of everything. They’d lost their lives just before his grandmother Suki had adopted him and trained him to continue their legacy.

Relationships aren’t unheard of in the demon hunting world, but they often end in sadness, the kind of sadness that you’ve seen Mark carry around on his shoulders since you were both young.

“You can be as close to me as you want Mark,” you tell him, “we can do this, together.”

Four

You’ve been in the city for a week, already another couple has gone missing. With each night, you can feel the tensions rising, Mark is getting more and more used to being close to you, and the close proximity to the cute demon hunter is helping your own lovebird charade.

He doesn’t hesitate at the club now, he simply grabs your hand and wordlessly pulls you onto the dance floor. It’s become clear with the recent missing persons case that while the demon is going after couples who frequent clubs, he doesn’t attack at the clubs.

While you’re still on high alert, the club is a safe place- to a point. It’s obvious the demon is using clubs to find his next targets, but in the sanctity of a roaring crowd of dancing drunks, you can allow yourself to relax just a smidge.

You and Mark have been touchy, and every graze of his fingers across your skin is lighting a fire deep in your belly. His eyes look into yours, and you’ve found yourself getting lost in the dark pools below his glasses.

He really is a handsome guy.

You’d had a crush on him when you’d first met him, but all the girls you’d trained with felt that way about Mark Lee. He’d been bait lowered into a piranha’s nest, much like you both are now.

You can feel his breath on your face as you get close to him, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, hands skimming his strong back. His own fingers dance along your waist, keeping you close as people shuffle behind you.

It must be after one am, and you’ve been at this for hours. As time ticks by, you can feel the tensions rising. You’re both getting a little stir crazy, neither of you have fought a demon in a week, and living together has begun to feel almost too good.

At the same time, there’s the feeling of failure now that another couple has gone missing, and as small town demon hunters who always get their mark, failure is not something either of you are accustomed to.

Taking a deep breath, you lean forward, ghosting your lips past his ear. “Kiss me,” you tell him, pulling away to look into his eyes.

Mark gazes at you for a moment, you can see confusion written across his face. Then he looks down at your mouth. Your heart lurches into your throat from the motion, and you give him a small nod, a go ahead with your plan.

You watch Mark’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you nuzzle against his warm palm, looking up at him with bated breath.

There’s a swarm of people dancing around you, but for a moment, it feels like it’s just you and Mark. You’re locked in on the look of him, the experience of being here with Mark Lee of all people.

He leans in slowly, pausing with just a hair’s breath between your lips. His eyes search yours, and you’re the one who finally closes the last of the distance.

You kiss him softly at first, waiting to see how he reacts. Mark is frozen, but after a second, his hands pull you closer, his lips moving more urgently against your own. His tongue licks at you, and you open your mouth for him, accepting everything Mark is giving you on the dance floor.

You hook your fingers in Mark’s belt, pulling his body flush to your own. He groans against your lips, deepening the kiss. It’s a struggle to breathe, a struggle to do anything but get lost in the demon hunter as he kisses you in a way you’ve never been kissed before. He tastes like rum, coke, and a deep longing that’s been brewing for much more than a week. His hands cradle you close, as if he never wants to let go, and you wonder for a moment if he’s wanted this for as many years as you have.

Mark pulls away abruptly, pressing his forehead to your own. He’s panting, and you’ve found yourself at a loss for breath too. It’s a wordless connection, the two of you clutching each other while you get your bearings.

Finally, Mark swallows. “The club closes soon,” he mutters. “We should uh, we should get going.”

“Yeah.” You nod, stepping back slightly and running a hand through your hair to ground yourself.

Mark grabs your hand, and he begins to pull you off the dance floor. If you haven’t looked like a couple in love for the past week, you’re sure you do now. Your skin feels hot where Mark’s touching you, and your heart is racing as fast as it had during training when you’d climbed the mountain every day.

There’s a dull ache between your thighs, one you try to ignore as Mark takes you outside. The two of you assess party stragglers hanging out in the alley behind the bar, and suddenly, Mark is pushing you up against the brick wall there, pressing his lips to yours again.

You grab at his shirt, letting out a soft moan at the feeling of him. He kisses you like a man who’s been starved, and you suppose you both have been unsatiated in a way, for far too many years.

Mark’s lips move to your throat and you throw your head back, tangling your fingers through his soft dark hair. “For good measure,” he whispers, nipping at your earlobe before pulling back.

His expression is unreadable as he looks at you. You’re still pinned to the wall, and your chest is heaving with the effort of trying to calm down after he’d just kissed your breath away.

“Good idea,” you mumble, giving him a curt nod.

“Let’s go home,” Mark says, grabbing your hand to pull you down the alley.

There are busier streets you could be walking- busier streets that a normal person would feel more comfortable using at a time like this, but you and Mark are looking for trouble, and as you make your way down a secluded alleyway ten blocks from your hotel, trouble finds you.

“It’s quite the show you two have put on for me this week,” a voice rings out, and you immediately whip around to look at the man crouched on the fire escape one level up. You know the moment you see him that this is the demon you’ve been hunting. Although he looks quite human in the dim light of the alleyway, there’s an aura about him that feels wrong, dangerous. “Two little demon hunters out to catch a big bad. That’s very sexy.”

Mark’s hand flies to his belt, where his knife is hidden, but the demon lets out a low whistle that makes him falter.

“You won’t be needing that,” the demon announces. “After all, the aphrodesiac should be kicking in any moment.”

Your blood runs cold, and realization washes over you.

“Your little girlfriend has figured it out,” the demon clicks his tongue. “Have you?”

Mark’s gaze shifts to your own, and your pulse races at the brief eye contact, your pussy throbbing-

“I’m Hyuck, and I’m the demon who likes to eat my prey… after watching them fuck.”

“Shit-” Mark mutters, his hand beginning to shake by his hidden blade.

“Just be grateful you’ll die after having sex,” Hyuck coos. “Something tells me the two of you have never fucked. I’ve been watching you all week. Bet you thought you were very convincing, pretending to be a couple and everything. Had your first kiss tonight, didn’t you? It’s cute.” The demon taps his fingers along the fire escape, standing up and looking down at you. “Cute that you ever thought the two of you could be a match for me.”

You try to grab your own blade, but your hands won’t cooperate. You’re overtaken by a need- if you’re not tearing Mark’s clothes off, you don’t want to touch anything at all. Your mind is still focused on the mission, but your body simply won’t do what you want it to do… except, you really want to jump Mark’s bones.

“If it’s any consolation, my aphrodisiac power only works on people who are already into each other. You can fuck without worrying that the other isn’t into it, and since it’s your last night on Earth, you might as well enjoy it… if you can.” Hyuck cocks his head to the side. “Guessing this isn’t the way you wanted your first time with your pretty little girlfriend to go, but, all’s fair in love, war, and demon hell spawns.”

You and Mark are still frozen, and you’re trying your best not to move a muscle, because you’re pretty sure if you do, you’ll all but launch yourself at Mark.

It’s a struggle to even speak, but you manage to say his name. “Mark?”

“Yeah?”

“What do we do?”

Neither of you were prepared for this. A demon who can use sexual energy to force his prey to fuck, then devour them when they’re spent from a climax- this isn’t something you have any training for, and your mind is doing its best to figure this out despite the cloud of lust that’s threatening to overtake you.

“I-” Mark releases a groan. “I don’t know.”

“Struggle all you want, but it won’t matter,” the demon chuckles. “Here, I’ll make it easy for you. I bet she tastes wonderful, Markie, look at those kissable lips.”

Mark takes a step toward you, and his muscles quiver at the effort of holding himself back.

“Don’t you want to touch her?” Hyuck continues. “I know I would.”

“You’ll never touch her!” Mark snarls.

“I think you should eat her before I do,” the demon grins.

Mark swallows thickly, his eyes meeting yours. He’s breathing heavily, and you find yourself panting at your own restraint.

“Mark-” your voice cracks.

“We can do this,” Mark tells you. “We can kill him.”

“Mark-” you say, more firmly this time. “Just…” Your strength breaks, and you throw yourself at your friend, wrapping your arms tightly around him. Your lips ghost past his ear, and you whisper, “Fuck me, I have a plan.”

He turns his head as you begin to kiss his neck, his whole body shaking- and then he breaks too. His arms wrap around your body and he slams you against the wall, his mouth meeting yours in a fiery clash of tongues and teeth.

“There we go,” the demon whistles. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You’re hardly listening to the demon at this point, you’re consumed with an insatiable need for the man who has you pinned to the brick wall at your back. Mark is grinding against you, and you can feel his cock throbbing in his jeans.

You can’t help but move your hand down to cup him, and Mark groans deeply, his teeth biting at your bottom lip. He’s panting hard, and his breath tickles your throat as his lips move down to your breasts. His tongue trails along your collarbone, and he grabs one of your boobs, kneading the flesh there.

You gasp at how good it feels, squeezing him harder through his jeans. “Fuck-” Mark groans, roughly tugging your shirt and bra down. His mouth latches onto your nipple, and you release a whine of pleasure, throwing your head back.

Opening your eyes, you look up at the demon. He’s leaning over the rail, watching you and Mark with a lazy smile. To your utter disgust, Hyuck winks at you, and you avert your gaze, trying to focus on Mark.

Logistically speaking, the demon is probably banking on you and Mark using all your stamina in a lust fueled haze- you’d bet anything that this is about to be the most powerful orgasm of your life, and if you can just get there quick enough, hopefully you’ll have enough energy left over to kill the demon before he can kill you.

Although, your body is already sore from holding yourself off when the aphrodisiac had kicked in, so this might be a long shot- but it’s the only one you have, and you’ll be damned if you die just minutes after fucking Mark Lee.

“Take your jeans off,” you tell Mark, voice gruff.

“Nuh uh uh,” the demon clicks his tongue. “I said I wanted loverboy to get a taste of you first. I don’t like repeating myself.”

Fuck.

Mark’s already sinking to his knees, pushing your skirt up roughly and tearing your panties off. He looks up at you, and you can see there’s fear in his eyes. It’s obvious that he’s not acting out of his own accord now- the demon has completely consumed him with his lust, and it’s the most you can do to nod reassuringly. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “It’s okay, I want this.”

Sure, you want Mark to eat you out, but you’d never in your wildest dreams imagined it would be like this.

If you make it through tonight, you promise yourself that you’ll have a do over.

You just need to make it through tonight.

“Take her knife sheath off,” the demon instructs next, and you flinch when Mark tears the holster off your thigh, tossing it to the side.

Mark’s breath is hot on your wet pussy, and as you lift your leg to put it over his shoulder, you’re careful to survey the alleyway to see where your knife has landed.

Mark dives into your pussy, his tongue lapping at the sensitive bud, and you release a loud moan of pleasure. Your hands find his hair, keeping him where you want him while you begin to grind against his face.

“Tell him he’s doing good,” the demon instructs. “He deserves a few nice things before he dies.”

You swallow thickly, looking down at Mark. “You’re doing good,” you whisper, your voice shaky.

He groans in response, his tongue pushing into your wet hole and flicking at your walls.

“Fuck-” you whimper. “My clit-”

“Suck on her clit, pretty boy,” the demon calls, releasing a mischievous chuckle that has your toes curling in annoyance and hatred. It’s almost a form of beratement, the way he’s talking to the soft boy between your thighs, and it fills your heart with vitriol.

Mark’s wet lips suction around your clit, and he sucks lewdly. Pleasure jolts through your body, a kind of pleasure you’ve never experienced before. When you close your eyes, your mind goes numb, body entirely consumed by the feeling.

You’re not sure if this is the aphrodisiac at work, the long years you’ve wanted this, or if Mark’s just extremely good at eating a girl out.

“I’m close,” you whisper, tightening your grip on Mark’s hair. You don’t want him to move away, but your body also won’t allow him to. Mark could die between your thighs from suffocation right here and now, and you’re pretty sure you’d be powerless to stop it.

Mark moans again, his hands squeezing your thighs. You look down at him, your eyes meeting, and that’s all it takes for you to explode on his tongue. “Fuck!” you scream, writhing in his grasp- now it’s Mark’s turn not to let you get away.

Your orgasm is completely all consuming, every single muscle feels like it’s contracting, your skin flaring with a heat that rivals hell fire. You’re gasping, clutching at Mark’s curls, unable to do anything except for experience a high unlike that which you’ve ever dreamed of.

It feels longer too- like you’ve been suspended on cloud nine for minutes before Mark finally lets up. Then, he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He undoes his belt in record time, pulling his cock out-

“Pick me up,” you tell him, legs feeling like jelly… although, your mind feels clearer than before.

You need to conserve energy, and if you continue to stand like this, you’ll never be able to kill Hyuck.

It’s all too easy for your strength based demon hunting counterpart to lift you off the ground, your legs wrapping around his hips as he pushes his cock into you.

Your lips meet as he sheaths himself deep in your pussy, your still quaking walls struggling to accommodate his impressive length. You’re a whimpering mess as he pins you to the wall, and he’s releasing low groans of his own that turn you on even more.

You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it drives you wild, your fingers tearing at his hair and shoulders for an anchor as he begins to fuck you.

Mark’s heart is thundering in his ribcage, and you can feel it where your chests are pressed together. You break the kiss, hoping to give him some breathing room since he’s now taking the bulk of the effort. Your lips find his throat, and you try to calm down, inhaling deeply through your nose, focusing on the smell of the mountain and your memories of training.

The demon has been too quiet, so you open your eyes to find out where he is.

He’s come down from the fire escape, and he’s crouched on a dumpster just bellow the ladder, watching you intently.

You close your eyes again, focusing on Mark. He feels so good- working your pussy open with each rough thrust. His hands are steady on your thighs, keeping you up and pinned to the wall- his strength is so sexy, and your pussy throbs while you think about it.

Mark releases a groan, fingers twitching.

“Looks like loverboy might not last much longer,” the demon muses. “That’s a shame for you both.”

“Mark, I want to ride you,” you announce. “Wanna ride you when you cum.”

“Not just a pillow princess, are you, pretty little thing?” Hyuck grins.

“Let me ride you,” you say, more forcefully this time.

Mark releases a groan. “But this feels so good-”

“Mark,” you hiss. “Let me ride you!”

With a grunt, Mark pulls out of you, and he’s quick to drag you down onto the alleyway pavement.

He has the wherewithal to spread his jacket open so your knees don’t hit gravel as you mount him, lifting your skirt higher on your hips and sinking down onto his cock with a whine.

You sit there for a moment, both of you breathing heavily. Mark’s hands find your waist, and you rest yours over his own, giving him a squeeze.

He begins to bounce you on his cock, taking some of the strain off of your thighs. You brace your palms on his chest, maneuvering yourself so it’s the least strenuous position.

You’re so wet you can hear an audible slicklike smack with each thrust onto his cock. In this position, he’s hitting even deeper- and it takes all your mental control to not get completely lost in Mark this time.

You’re aware of your knife, a meter away, and the demon, who’s gotten even closer now, his eyes fixed on the meeting of you and Mark’s bodies.

“If we don’t-” Mark swallows thickly. “If we don’t make it out of this, I… I love you.”

Your heart practically bursts out of your chest at the innocent way Mark’s looking up at you even while balls deep in your pussy.

“I-” your voice cracks. “I love you too.”

“I a confession of first love- this is definitely going to satiate my sweet tooth,” Hyuck practically purrs. He’s now only two meters away, and caught in the raptures of his aphrodisiac, there’s nothing you can do about it- not yet at least.

“I’m close,” Mark tells you, drawing your attention back.

“Not until she cums too, loverboy,” the demon tuts.

Mark’s thumb finds your clit as you ride him, and your muscles scream at you as they begin to tense again, readying you for another Earth shattering orgasm.

“Fuck, Mark-” you groan.

You close your eyes, focusing on your breath and conserving your energy even while you ride him-

Each stroke of his thumb along your sensitive bud has you closer and closer, your thighs quivering desperately, your abdominal muscles clenching tighter and tighter-

“Fuck, I’m gonna-” You can’t even finish your sentence as your high slams into you.

You throw your head back, releasing a sinful moan as your entire body surges with that same all consuming white hot energy as before. Your skin tingles like you’ve been hit by lightening- and just below you, you hear Mark let out a groan of his own-

Now that you’ve cum twice, you feel as cognizant as ever, but it still takes all of your willpower to jump off of Mark as his own orgasm takes over. You can’t focus on him right now, and you dive for your knife, latching onto the hilt with shaky fingers.

You’d been trained for stamina and stealth, but your primary weapon of choice, has always been knives.

It takes a substantial amount of energy for you to even get to the blade, let alone still your body enough to release a breath and let the knife soar out of your hand, somersaulting in the air in something like slow motion toward the demon, who is as shocked as you are that you’d somehow overcome his aphrodisiac.

Before Hyuck can even dodge it, the knife lands in his chest. His stunned eyes find the blade impaling him, then turn to you for a moment, a moment later his body begins to melt, turning into a sludgy ashed mass on the alleyway pavement.

You release a breath before collapsing to the ground.

There’s gravel pressing to your cheek, but you don’t even care. You’re overcome with exhaustion, an exhaustion unlike anything you’ve ever felt, and Suki used to make you climb the mountain three times every morning back during training.

“Y/N?” Mark calls your name.

“He’s dead,” you announce, breathing heavily.

“You did it,” Mark says, and although he’s too exhausted for much animation, you can hear the relief in his tone.

“We did it,” you tell him.

You’d relied on his strength while fucking to conserve your energy for one throw of your knife at the very end of it, one semi-calculated move that had just saved your lives.

The two of you simply lay there for a few minutes, regaining your composure as the last of the demon’s aphrodisiac effects wear off.

Finally, you sit up. Your legs are weak as you fix your skirt, covering your thighs and your dripping pussy. You lay down next to Mark, too shy to look at the cum that’s staining his shirt.

You hate that you had to jump off of him at the moment of his release- and you can tell from the pink flush of his skin that he’s embarrassed about it too.

“It’s over,” you whisper, reaching for his hand.

Mark squeezes your fingers, but he stays quiet.

You don’t say anything else, and when you’re both able to stand, the two of you head back to the hotel.

Five

“Hi,” you say softly, watching Mark exit the bathroom, his hair wet from his shower. “How did you sleep?”

“Slept like a rock,” he responds. “You?”

“Same. Last night was exhausting.” In fact, your entire body aches.

“Guess we’ll both be going home today,” Mark sighs.

“Guess so…” You look at your suitcase, you’d taken the liberty of packing it while Mark was in the shower. “I think… I think I might go visit Suki.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh,” you nod. “After this one, I think I’d like to rest for a week, get my strength back up… not to mention a bit of a mental wellness check.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Mark agrees. “Maybe… maybe I should do that too.”

“You’re not needed back in your usual town to kill demons?” you grin.

“They can spare me a week if your town can spare you. I think we both deserve a rest after this one.”

“Should we book train tickets then?” you suggest, your heart warming at the idea of a small rest vacation with the demon hunter.

Mark nods, and you appreciate the soft smile that forms on his lips. “Let’s go back to the mountain.”

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! Tbh, I grew up watching supernatural, and after binging the demon slayer anime I knew I wanted to try this kind of au- so glad I chose Mark as the main love interest because he brings such a sweetness to this :)

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🔮 preview. You’d thought an orgasm while overcome with an aphrodisiac was good, but nothing compares to Mark Lee finger fucking you within an inch of your life on the rocky bank of the healing springs while the whole forest and mountain purrs around you.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, exhibitionism (fucking in a forest hotspring), grinding, teasing, hand job, pussy eating, body worship, nipple play, dirty talk, fingering, squirting, multiple reader orgasms, creampie, etc…

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.1k I teaser wc. 215

🌙 starring. Mark Lee x afab!Reader

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You’re lost in your own little world as you begin the trail up the mountain. The hot spring is only a short walk away, and you cling your towel tight to your body to protect yourself from the cool summer air. It’s always been cold here, but you know that as soon as you get in the water, you’ll feel a lot better.

The trees are like solitary soldiers, standing guard as you make your way up a path that you’ve walked a thousand times. Each tree root and rock is familiar, and you can feel the tension in your body relaxing already.

The smell of pine and rich earth is a comfort, and you take care to enjoy every moment of reprieve.

Suki had mentioned that Mark had left for a hike a short time before you’d awoken. You’re not expecting to see him until lunch. Solace will be pleasant after the ordeal you’d just faced, and you’ve been spending a lot of time soul searching in the past two days since you’d arrived at the mountain.

While the aphrodisiac powers the demon utilized had provided the right thing at the wrong moment, part of you still feels dirty, and you want to wash away the feeling of alleyway gravel indented into your skin.

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#mark lee smut #mark lee #mark lee x reader #nct #nct smut #nct dream #nct dream smut #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #lee donghyuck #lee donghyuck smut #lee haechan #haechan #haechan smut #mark nct #nct mark #mark nct smut

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wonyowonyo · 2 months ago

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Rulebreaker's Rush (P. Chaeyoung / Rosé X M! Reader)

Wc: 7.5k

Y/N, a rebellious running back who breaks rules, gets shy and flees when caught by Rosé, the strict student council president. Their lively clashes ignite a romance, urging Y/N to face his feelings and stop running from love.

A/N: Back to back drops baby, emptying my long overdue unfinished stuffs one by one so tune in for more, as always hope yall enjoyed this one!

The Deimon High sports field pulsed with the raw energy of the Deimon Devil Bats’ afternoon practice. The sun dipped low, casting golden streaks across the grass, while the air crackled with grunts, shouts, and the sharp thud of pads colliding. At the heart of the chaos was Y/N, the team’s elusive running back, weaving through a gauntlet of tackling dummies with the grace of a shonen protagonist dodging a villain’s strike. His legs blurred, his eyes gleamed with focus, and his movements screamed speed.

“Y/N! Stop daydreaming and hit those dummies harder!”

Hyem’s voice sliced through the noise, sharp as a blade. The demonic quarterback stood on the sidelines, his hair catching the light, twirling a rifle like it was a toy. A burst of gunfire—blanks, mercifully—punctuated his words, making the team flinch. “You wanna be benched for the next game, ya lousy punk?!”

“N-No way, Captain!” Y/N stammered, slamming into a dummy with enough force to make it groan. Sweat dripped down his forehead, but he flashed a cheeky grin. Surviving Hyem’s reign of terror required two rules: never show weakness, and never get caught breaking the rules. Y/N was a master at the first and an artist at the second.

His mind, though, wasn’t fully on football. Hidden in his gym bag, buried under a pile of sweaty towels, was his latest contraband: a stack of limited-edition Shonen Jump manga, banned on campus for “distracting students from academic excellence.” He’d smuggled them in during lunch, slipping through the crowded halls like a running back dodging tacklers, all while evading the student council’s patrols. Those rule-enforcers were relentless, led by the most terrifying of them all: Roseanne Park or Rosé for short, the student council president, known as the Iron Lady. Poised, sharp-tongued, with a glare that could make a delinquent confess on the spot, she was a legend. Rumor had it she’d once caught a kid with gum and made him write a 500-word essay on oral hygiene. Gum.

Y/N shuddered, adjusting his helmet. Rosé wouldn’t catch him. He was too fast, too clever. As practice wound down, Hyem barked an order for sprints, and Y/N took off, the wind whistling past his ears. His teammates lagged behind, panting, while he crossed the finish line, chest heaving, grinning like he’d just pulled off a heist. Which, in a way, he had.

The locker room reeked of sweat, cheap body spray, and the faint glow of victory. Y/N slumped onto a bench, peeling off his pads, his gym bag at his feet. The other Devil Bats were either showering or bickering over who’d landed the most tackles, leaving him a rare pocket of quiet. Perfect. Time to check the goods.

With a quick glance to ensure no one was watching, he unzipped his bag. There they were: three pristine Shonen Jump issues, their covers bursting with colorful heroes and villains. His heart gave a little leap—these were the special editions with bonus art, the kind kids on X were begging to trade for. He’d risked detention for these, and it was worth every second. He could already picture himself sprawled in his dorm, flipping through epic battles while munching on smuggled Pocky. Life didn’t get sweeter.

“Nice work today, Y/N!” Aye, his loudmouth best friend, bounded over, his monkey-like grin wide enough to split his face. “You were zippin’ past those dummies like MAX SPEED, yo!” He mimed Y/N’s run, flailing his arms like a windmill.

“Keep it down, Aye,” Y/N hissed, shoving the manga deeper into his bag. “I’m trying to stay low-key here.”

“Low-key? You?” Aye’s cackle echoed off the lockers. “You’re about as subtle as Hyem’s gunfire, man!”

Y/N opened his mouth to retort, but a voice cut through the locker room like a katana through bamboo.

“Y/N.”

His heart stopped. That voice—crisp, commanding, with a faint Australian lilt—was unmistakable. He turned, slow as a horror movie victim, and there she was: Rosé Park, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, her student council armband glinting like a badge of judgment. Her long, honey-blonde hair was tied back, and her dark eyes pinned Y/N like a butterfly to a board. Her uniform—blazer, skirt, tie—looked like it belonged on a general, not a high schooler.

“What’s in the bag?” she asked, her tone calm but laced with the promise of trouble.

Y/N’s mouth went dry. His brain screamed, Run! but his body froze, clutching the bag like a lifeline. “N-Nothing, Prez!” he stammered, his voice cracking. “Just, uh, gym stuff! Sweaty towels! You don’t wanna see that!”

Rosé’s eyebrow arched, a single, devastating move that said she saw through his lie like it was tissue paper. She took a step forward, and the air seemed to chill. “Hand it over,” she said, extending a hand. “Now.”

Y/N didn’t think. He ran.

His legs sprang into action, bag slung over his shoulder, as he bolted out of the locker room. Manga pages fluttered behind him, spilling like incriminating confetti. Rosé’s voice rang out—“Y/N, stop!”—but he was already halfway down the hall, his football reflexes kicking into overdrive. This wasn’t just a chase; it was a game, and he was the running back, weaving through the defense.

The school’s halls were a labyrinth of lockers, posters, and wide-eyed students. Y/N vaulted over a stray backpack, slid under a teacher’s rolling cart, and juked past a cluster of freshmen like they were linebackers. His heart pounded, not just from the sprint but from the thrill. He was untouchable, unstoppable, the fastest kid at Deimon High—

“Y/N, you’re only making this worse!” Rosé’s voice was closer now, far too close. He risked a glance back and nearly tripped. She was running, her skirt swishing like a cape, her face a mix of determination and exasperation. How was she so fast?! She wasn’t even sweating, her steps precise, like she’d mapped out his every dodge.

Students lined the halls, cheering like they were at a sports match. “Go, Y/N!” a kid shouted. “Bust him, Prez!” another countered. Y/N gritted his teeth, pushing harder. No way was he getting caught. Not today.

He rounded a corner, the courtyard in sight. Freedom! He could lose her in the open, maybe hide in the gardening club’s shed. His legs burned, but he grinned, picturing the manga safe, Rosé left in the dust.

A stray Shonen Jump slipped from his bag, flapping to the ground. Rosé’s foot pinned it before he could blink.

“Got you,” she said, not even out of breath.

Y/N didn’t wait for the lecture. With a desperate lunge, he dove through a side door, tumbling into a storage closet. The door slammed shut, plunging him into darkness. He crouched among brooms and buckets, heart hammering, trying not to wheeze. The bag was still with him, thank the stars, but one manga was gone. A small price for freedom.

Outside, Rosé’s footsteps paused. Y/N held his breath, praying she’d move on.

Her voice came through the door, low and almost… amused? “You can’t run forever, Y/N. Why do you always make this so difficult?” A pause, then, quieter, like she was speaking to herself: “He’s… kind of impressive, though. That speed.”

Y/N’s brain short-circuited. Impressive? Rosé Park, the Iron Lady, had just complimented him? His face burned, and he pressed his hands to his cheeks, trying to process. Was she toying with him? Or… did she actually notice him? Like, notice notice him? His heart did a weird flip, and for a moment, he forgot he was a fugitive.

Then his foot nudged a mop. It clattered to the floor with a deafening CRASH.

The door flew open, and there was Rosé, silhouetted against the hallway light like an avenging angel. Y/N yelped, scrambling back, but there was nowhere to go. She stepped inside, arms crossed, her expression a blend of annoyance and something softer, harder to read.

“Y/N,” she sighed, shaking her head. “You’re a menace.” She picked up the fallen manga, flipping through it with a frown. “This is what you risked detention for? A comic book?”

“It’s not just a comic book!” Y/N blurted, then clamped his mouth shut. Great, now he sounded like a nerd. “I mean… uh…”

Rosé’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “I should confiscate this and write you up.” She paused, her eyes meeting his. “But I’ll let you off. This time. Don’t test me again.”

Y/N nodded so fast he might’ve given himself whiplash. “Y-Yes, Prez! Won’t happen again! Promise!”

She rolled her eyes, tossing the manga back to him. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”

Y/N stumbled back to the field, legs wobbly, clutching his bag like it was his last shred of dignity. Practice was wrapping up, the team stretching under Hyem’s predatory gaze. He tried to blend in, but his brain was a whirlwind. Rosé had let him go. She’d called him impressive. And that almost-smile? It was seared into his memory like a manga panel.

“Oi, Y/N!” Hyem’s voice snapped him out of it. The quarterback leaned against a goalpost, flipping through a notebook labeled “Blackmail Material” in his jagged scrawl. “What’s with the dumb look? Got a crush on the student council prez or somethin’?”

Y/N’s face went nuclear. “W-What?! No! Shut up, Captain!” He flailed, which only made it worse.

Aye, stretching nearby, perked up like a dog hearing a treat bag. “YO! Y/N’s in loooove?!” He struck a dramatic pose, pointing at Y/N. “The speedy delinquent and the Iron Lady! MAX ROMANCE!”

“Knock it off!” Y/N hissed, tackling Aye into the grass. Aye cackled, flopping like a fish, while Hyem’s laugh echoed like a villain’s. The rest of the team started chanting “Y/N and Rosé!” until Y/N wanted to dig a hole and disappear.

As he trudged to the showers, manga safe but his pride in tatters, Y/N couldn’t shake Rosé’s words. Kind of impressive. He glanced at the Shonen Jump in his bag, its cover hero grinning defiantly. Maybe, just maybe, he could impress her again—without breaking the rules. Or at least, without getting caught.

That night, in his dorm, Y/N sprawled on his bed, staring at a Shonen Jump cover. Rosé’s warning echoed in his head, but it felt less like a threat and more like a challenge. He grinned, heart racing. Game on, Prez.

The Deimon High cafeteria buzzed with the midday chaos of hungry teens, a battlefield of clattering trays, shouted orders, and the faint smell of overcooked rice. Y/N slouched at a corner table, his gym bag tucked under his seat, still buzzing from his close call with Rosé Park a few days ago. The memory of her almost-smile—and that “kind of impressive” comment—had been looping in his head like a catchy anime opening. He hadn’t dared smuggle manga since, but the itch to break rules was like a mosquito bite he couldn’t stop scratching. And today, he had a new plan. A big one.

“Yo, Y/N, you sure about this?” Aye whispered, leaning across the table, his monkey-like grin equal parts excitement and nerves. His hair bobbed as he glanced around, like they were plotting a bank heist instead of a lunch prank. “If the Iron Lady catches us, we’re toast!”

“Relax, Aye,” Y/N said, flashing a cocky grin that didn’t quite mask his own jitters. “Rosé’s stuck in a student council meeting. I checked the schedule. We’re golden.” He patted the bag under the table, where a contraband hot plate and two packs of instant ramen—spicy shrimp flavor, the good stuff—lay hidden. The school’s “no outside food” rule was strict, but Y/N wasn’t about to survive on soggy cafeteria katsu forever. This was rebellion. This was freedom.

Aye’s eyes sparkled with admiration. “MAX GUTS, man! Cooking ramen right under their noses? You’re a legend!” He mimed slurping noodles, complete with exaggerated sound effects. “Slrrrp! This is gonna be the ultimate lunch revolution!”

Y/N chuckled, but his stomach twisted. Rosé’s warning still echoed: Don’t test me again. He shook it off, picturing her in some stuffy meeting, far from the cafeteria. No way she’d catch him this time. He was Y/N, the Devil Bats’ fastest running back, master of dodging both tacklers and trouble. Right?

Unbeknownst to him, a snitchy freshman had overheard their plan and slipped a note to the student council. And Rosé Park, never one to miss a beat, was already on her way.

The plan was simple: plug in the hot plate under the table, boil water, cook the ramen, and scarf it down before anyone noticed. Y/N had practiced the setup in his dorm, timing it like a football play. But, as anyone knows, no plan survives contact with the enemy—or a faulty hot plate.

He and Aye hunched over the table, shielding the hot plate with their trays. Y/N plugged it in, the faint hum blending with the cafeteria din. The water started to bubble, and the spicy shrimp aroma wafted up, making his mouth water. “Almost there,” he whispered, tossing in the noodles. Aye was practically vibrating, clutching a pair of chopsticks like they were a sacred relic.

Then the hot plate sparked. A tiny, angry pop of electricity, followed by a puff of smoke. Y/N’s eyes widened. “Oh, crap—”

The hot plate shorted out with a loud BZZT, sending the pot of half-cooked ramen flying. Noodles splattered across the table, broth splashed onto Aye’s shirt, and the spicy scent exploded into the air. The cafeteria went silent for a split second, every head turning to their table. Then chaos erupted.

“FOOD FIGHT!” some genius yelled, and the room descended into madness. Rice balls soared like missiles, juice cartons burst midair, and a stray bread roll clocked a kid in the forehead. Y/N ducked a flying onigiri, grabbing his bag and hissing, “Aye, we gotta go!”

But before he could bolt, a voice cut through the pandemonium like a referee’s whistle.

“Y/N!”

His heart plummeted. There, striding through the chaos like a shonen hero stepping onto a battlefield, was Rosé Park. Her student council armband gleamed, her honey-blonde hair swayed, and her dark eyes zeroed in on him with laser precision. She didn’t even flinch as a stray dumpling sailed past her head. “Really, Y/N?” she said, her Australian lilt sharp with exasperation. “Again?”

Y/N’s bravado melted like ice cream in a microwave. His face burned, and he stammered, “P-Prez! I-I can explain!” But his legs had other ideas. He snatched his bag and sprinted, weaving through the food-flinging mob, Rosé hot on his heels.

The cafeteria was a war zone, but Y/N was in his element—dodging, ducking, and diving like he was on the football field. He leaped over a toppled chair, slid past a kid wielding a tray of mashed potatoes, and nearly made it to the exit. Nearly.

The crowd surged, pushing him back, and he collided with something solid. Not a table. Not a wall. Rosé. Her hand shot out, grabbing his wrist with a grip that was somehow both firm and gentle. “Not this time, Y/N,” she said, her voice low, her eyes glinting with a mix of annoyance and—amusement?

Y/N’s brain short-circuited. They were pressed close in the chaotic crowd, her face inches from his, her faint lavender scent cutting through the ramen fumes. His heart jackhammered, and his cheeks went nuclear. “I-I’m sorry, Prez!” he blurted, his voice cracking like a middle schooler’s. “It was just ramen! I swear!”

Rosé’s lips twitched, a smirk breaking through her stern facade. “You’re faster on the field than you are at escaping me,” she teased, her Aussie accent curling around the words. Y/N’s knees wobbled. Was she flirting? No, no way, she was the Iron Lady, she didn’t flirt, she—

“GET A ROOM, YA IDIOTS!” Hyem’s voice boomed from across the cafeteria. The quarterback stood on a table, cackling, a soda can in hand like a grenade. He lobbed it, and Y/N ducked, pulling Rosé down with him. The can sailed over their heads, exploding against a wall in a fizzy spray.

Rosé sighed, releasing his wrist. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, but there was a spark in her eyes, like she was enjoying the chaos just a little.

The food fight ended with a teacher’s megaphone and a lot of detention slips. Y/N, as the apparent instigator, got the worst of it: cleaning the entire cafeteria, alone, under Rosé’s supervision. He stood in the now-empty room, mop in hand, grumbling as he scrubbed broth stains off a table. His gym bag, miraculously noodle-free, sat nearby, a reminder of his failed rebellion.

Rosé leaned against a wall, arms crossed, her blazer slightly rumpled from the chaos. “You know, Y/N,” she said, her tone dry, “if you put half as much effort into following rules as you do breaking them, you’d be unstoppable.”

Y/N snorted, glancing at her. “Rules are boring, Prez. Where’s the fun in that?” He expected a lecture, but Rosé just shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She grabbed a rag and started wiping down a table nearby, her movements precise but relaxed.

He blinked. “You’re… helping? Isn’t that, like, beneath the Iron Lady?”

She shot him a look, half-annoyed, half-playful. “Someone has to make sure you don’t slack off. And don’t call me that.” But her cheeks pinked slightly, and Y/N’s stomach did a weird flip. They worked in silence for a bit, the only sounds the squeak of the mop and the distant hum of the school.

Then he heard it—Rosé, humming softly. It was faint, but unmistakable: the opening theme to Hunter x Hunter, one of his favorite anime. His jaw dropped. “No way,” he blurted. “You watch that?!”

Rosé froze, her rag mid-swipe, her face flushing. “What? I—Focus on cleaning!” she snapped, but her voice was flustered, and she turned away, scrubbing the table with unnecessary vigor.

Y/N grinned, his shyness melting into mischief. “Didn’t peg you for an anime fan, Prez. Got any other secrets? You cosplay on weekends or something?”

“Shut up, Y/N,” she growled, but there was no real heat in it. She flicked a bit of water at him, and he laughed, dodging like it was a tackle. For a moment, the cafeteria didn’t feel like a punishment—it felt like… something else.

By the time they finished, the cafeteria gleamed, and Y/N’s arms ached. He slung his bag over his shoulder, ready to bolt, when Rosé stopped him. “Not so fast,” she said, holding out a clipboard. “You’re assisting the student council at the next football game. Crowd control, setup, that sort of thing. Consider it part of your punishment.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “What?! The game? But I’m playing in it!” The thought of Rosé watching his every move—on and off the field—made his stomach lurch. Part panic, part… excitement?

Rosé’s eyes narrowed, but there was a teasing edge to her voice. “Then you’d better behave, or I’ll bench you myself.” She turned to leave, pausing at the door. “And Y/N? No more ramen stunts.”

He nodded dumbly, watching her go, her silhouette framed by the hallway light. As soon as she was out of sight, Aye pounced, materializing like a ninja. “YO! You and the Prez were totally vibin’ in there! MAX CHEMISTRY!”

“Shut up, Aye!” Y/N hissed, shoving him. But Hyem’s cackle echoed from the hall, where the quarterback lounged, flipping through his blackmail notebook. “Heh, looks like our speedy punk’s got a new play: wooing the Iron Lady. Need some pointers, kid?”

Y/N’s face burned as he stormed off, Aye’s laughter chasing him. But deep down, he couldn’t stop replaying Rosé’s hum, her smirk, the way she’d helped him clean. Maybe this game day duty wouldn’t be so bad.

That night, Y/N practiced late on the field, running drills under the floodlights. He fumbled a catch, groaning as Rosé’s face flashed in his mind. How was he supposed to focus with her watching him? He glanced at the stands, half-expecting to see her there, and his heart skipped. Game day was gonna be a whole new kind of challenge.

The Deimon High stadium buzzed with pre-game energy, a cauldron of cheering students, blaring horns, and the sharp scent of popcorn and grass. The Deimon Devil Bats were set to face the Ojo White Knights, a rival team with a defense like a steel wall. Y/N stood in the locker room, lacing his cleats, his heart pounding with the familiar thrill of game day. As the team’s star running back, he lived for these moments—dodging tacklers, sprinting for the end zone, the crowd roaring his name. But today, his mind was split. Rosé Park, the Iron Lady herself, would be watching from the stands, clipboard in hand, ready to enforce his “student council punishment” from the cafeteria fiasco.

He still couldn’t shake the memory of her humming Hunter x Hunter in the cafeteria, or the way her smirk had made his stomach flip. Since then, he’d been extra careful—no manga smuggling, no ramen stunts. But the itch to break rules was like a splinter under his skin, and Hyem, the devilish quarterback, knew exactly how to prod it.

“Oi, Y/N,” Hyem called, leaning against a locker, his grin sharp as a switchblade. He held up a small packet labeled “Itching Powder: Industrial Strength.” “Wanna give the White Knights a little… motivation? Slip this into their jerseys, and they’ll be scratching instead of tackling. Kekeke!” His laugh was pure chaos, and his eyes gleamed with mischief.

Y/N hesitated, glancing at the packet. It was a classic Hyem scheme—dirty, effective, and so tempting. “I dunno, Captain,” he muttered, rubbing his neck. “Rosé’s got me on a leash. If she catches me…”

Hyem’s grin widened, like a shark smelling blood. “What, scared of your girlfriend? Man up, punk. You’re a Devil Bat, not a choir boy.” He tossed the packet, and Y/N caught it reflexively, his pulse spiking.

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Y/N spluttered, his face heating up. But the packet felt like a dare, and Y/N’s rebellious streak roared to life. Just a quick prank, in and out. Rosé would be busy with crowd control, right? He stuffed the packet into his shorts, grinning. “Fine. But if I get caught, I’m blaming you.”

Hyem cackled, firing his rifle into the ceiling. “That’s the spirit! Now move, ya sneaky bastard!”

Y/N slipped out of the locker room, heart racing, and crept toward the White Knights’ changing area. He moved like a ninja, ducking behind water coolers and weaving through equipment bags, his football reflexes making him a ghost. The packet crinkled in his pocket, and he couldn’t help but giggle like a manga villain. This was gonna be legendary—

“Y/N.” Rosé’s voice hit him like a linebacker. She stood at the end of the hall, arms crossed, her student council armband glinting like a warning sign. Her honey-blonde hair was tied back, and her dark eyes bored into him, sharp enough to cut glass. “What are you doing?”

Y/N froze, the packet burning a hole in his pocket. His cocky grin melted into a stammer. “P-Prez! I-I was just… uh… checking the… water pressure?” His voice cracked, and he cursed his traitor brain.

Rosé’s eyebrow arched, her signature move of doom. “With itching powder?” She nodded at his pocket, where the packet’s edge peeked out. Y/N’s stomach dropped. How did she always know?

Y/N’s mind raced, searching for an escape, but Rosé’s gaze pinned him like a butterfly. The hallway felt smaller, the air thicker, and his usual instinct to run fizzled under her scrutiny. He clutched the packet behind his back, his face burning. “Okay, fine, it’s itching powder,” he admitted, voice low. “But I haven’t done anything yet! I was just… thinking about it.”

Rosé stepped closer, her boots clicking on the tile. “Thinking about it?” she repeated, her Australian lilt sharp with disbelief. “You’re this close to suspension, Y/N. One more stunt, and you’re off the team. Is that what you want?”

The words hit like a punch. Y/N’s eyes widened, his bravado crumbling. Getting kicked off the Devil Bats? That was his life, his freedom, his everything. He pictured the field without him, Hyem’s gunfire replaced by disappointment, Aye’s cheers silenced. And Rosé, watching from the stands, not with that spark of amusement but with… nothing.

“N-No, Prez,” he stammered, his voice softer, raw. “I don’t want that. I swear, I’ll do better. Just… give me a chance. Let me play today. I’ll win it clean, no tricks.” His eyes met hers, pleading, and for once, he didn’t look away.

Rosé studied him, her expression unreadable. The hallway was silent, save for the distant roar of the crowd. Then, slowly, she sighed, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Fine,” she said. “But I’m watching you, Y/N. One misstep, and you’re done.” She held out her hand. “The powder. Now.”

Y/N handed it over, his fingers brushing hers for a split second. His heart skipped, and he yanked his hand back, blushing like an idiot. Rosé pocketed the packet, her lips twitching like she was fighting a smile. “Get to the field,” she said, turning away. “And don’t make me regret this.”

Y/N nodded, bolting for the locker room, his pulse hammering. Rosé’s words echoed in his head, but so did her gaze—intense, but not cold. Was she rooting for him, just a little? The thought made his chest tight, and he shook it off, lacing up for the game. He had to focus. This was his shot to prove himself—to Hyem, to Rosé, to everyone.

The stadium was a coliseum of noise and light, the stands packed with screaming fans waving Deimon banners. The Devil Bats faced the White Knights in a clash of titans, the score tied at 14-14 in the final quarter. Y/N stood on the field, sweat soaking his jersey, his breath visible in the cool evening air. Every muscle burned, but his eyes blazed with determination. This was his moment.

Hyem barked the play, his grin feral. “Y/N, you’re up! Run the Ghost, and don’t screw it up!” The “Devil Bat Ghost” was Y/N’s signature move, a fake-out that left defenders grasping at air. Y/N nodded, adrenaline flooding his veins. He glanced at the stands, spotting Rosé near the front, her clipboard clutched tight, her eyes locked on him. His heart thudded, but he channeled it into focus.

The ball snapped, and Y/N exploded forward, the world slowing to a heartbeat. The White Knights’ linebackers charged, massive and unrelenting, but Y/N was a phantom. He spun left, then right, his feet barely touching the ground, leaving one defender sprawling. Another lunged, arms wide, but Y/N faked a cut, his body blurring in a perfect Devil Bat Ghost. The crowd gasped as he slipped through, a streak of red and black, the end zone in sight.

A final defender loomed, a mountain of muscle. Y/N gritted his teeth, pouring every ounce of speed into his legs. He juked, twisted, and leaped, diving over the defender’s outstretched arms. The stadium erupted as he landed in the end zone, the ball clutched tight, the scoreboard flashing:

Deimon 20, Ojo 14.

Y/N rolled to his feet, panting, the crowd’s roar washing over him like a tidal wave. Aye tackled him in a bear hug, yelling, “MAX TOUCHDOWN!” Hyem cackled, firing his rifle into the air. But Y/N’s eyes flicked to the stands. Rosé was still there, her clipboard lowered, her lips parted slightly. Was that… awe? Her gaze met his, and for a heartbeat, the stadium faded, leaving just them.

The game ended with a narrow Deimon victory, the Devil Bats mobbed by cheering fans. Y/N stood on the field, sweaty and exhausted, but grinning like he’d conquered the world. His teammates slapped his back, Aye chanting “Y/N! Y/N!” like a hype man. But his attention drifted to the sidelines, where Rosé approached, her boots crunching on the grass.

She stopped in front of him, arms crossed, her expression a mix of sternness and something softer. “You kept your word,” she said, her voice cutting through the post-game chaos. “No tricks. And that run…” She paused, her eyes flicking over him, taking in his dirt-streaked jersey and wild grin. “Your speed’s incredible.”

Y/N’s face lit up, his exhaustion forgotten. Rosé Park, complimenting him again? His heart did a backflip, and before he could stop himself, he blurted, “W-Wanna grab ramen sometime? Y’know, legally?” His voice cracked, and he winced, expecting her to shut him down.

Rosé blinked, caught off guard. Then, to his shock, she laughed—a real, warm laugh that made her eyes crinkle. “Only if you stop running from me,” she teased, her Aussie accent curling around the words like a melody. Y/N’s jaw dropped, his cheeks burning. Was she… flirting? For real?

Before he could respond, Aye’s voice boomed from behind. “YO! Y/N’S SCORING OFF THE FIELD TOO!” The wide receiver struck a dramatic pose, pointing at them, while Hyem cackled nearby, scribbling in his blackmail notebook. Y/N spun, mortified, shouting, “Shut up, Aye!” but Rosé just shook her head, her smile lingering.

“Go shower,” she said, turning to leave. “You smell like a locker room. And Y/N? Don’t think this gets you off probation.” But her tone was playful, and as she walked away, Y/N caught her glancing back, just for a second.

Y/N trudged to the locker room, still buzzing from the win and Rosé’s words. His teammates were in high spirits, reenacting his touchdown with exaggerated flair. But Hyem and Aye had other plans. They cornered him near the showers, Hyem’s grin downright evil.

“So, lover boy,” Hyem said, flipping open his notebook. “Need help sealing the deal with the Iron Lady? I’ve got ideas. Rig the scoreboard to flash ‘Y/N <3 Rosé,’ maybe some fireworks…” He trailed off, cackling as Y/N’s face turned beet red.

“NO! Leave her alone!” Y/N yelped, flailing. Aye piled on, slinging an arm around him. “C’mon, man, we’re your wingmen! MAX SUPPORT! Gotta make the Prez swoon!”

Y/N shoved them off, grabbing his towel and sprinting for the showers. “You’re both insane!” he shouted, but their laughter chased him. As he stood under the hot water, washing off the game’s grime, he couldn’t stop smiling. Rosé’s laugh, her challenge to stop running—it felt like a new play, one he was dying to run.

Outside, Aye and Hyem schemed, their whispers drifting through the locker room. “Give it time,” Hyem muttered, smirking. “That punk’s already hooked.”

Later that night, Y/N lay in his dorm, staring at the ceiling, the Shonen Jump from his first run-in with Rosé on his desk. Her words—incredible, stop running—played on repeat, mingling with the roar of the crowd. Probation or not, game day had changed something. He grinned, heart racing. The festival was next, and with Rosé watching, he’d have to play his best game yet—on and off the field.

The Deimon High school festival was a kaleidoscope of chaos and joy, the campus alive with flickering lanterns, sizzling yakisoba stalls, and the laughter of students weaving through the crowd. Y/N trudged along a bustling path, lugging a heavy box of paper cranes, his usual swagger dampened by the weight of his latest punishment. Rosé Park, the Iron Lady of the student council, had sentenced him to festival prep after his itching powder stunt at the game—a step up from the cafeteria cleanup, but still a blow to his Devil Bats pride. He was supposed to be Deimon’s star running back, not a delivery boy for decorations.

“Pick up the pace, Y/N!” Rosé’s voice sliced through the festival din, crisp yet tinged with that Australian lilt that sent a shiver down his spine. She stood near a takoyaki stall, clipboard in hand, directing volunteers like a general on a battlefield. Her honey-blonde hair was loose, catching the golden glow of the lanterns, and her casual sweater and jeans softened her usual Iron Lady aura. She looked… approachable. Almost too pretty to be real.

“Yeah, yeah, Prez,” Y/N grumbled, setting the box on a table with a huff. He wiped sweat from his brow, stealing a glance at her. Ever since the game against the White Knights, where he’d nailed the Devil Bat Ghost and blurted out that ramen invite, Rosé had been stuck in his head like a shoujo manga heroine. Her laugh on the field, her teasing “stop running,” the way she’d looked at him—it was messing with his focus. But he was still on probation, and she was still the rule-enforcing president. No room for slip-ups.

Rosé caught his stare and tilted her head, her dark eyes narrowing playfully. “What’s that look? Plotting another prank?” Her tone was stern, but a smile tugged at her lips, and Y/N’s heart did a clumsy flip.

“N-Nope, all clear!” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Just… admiring your clipboard skills, Prez.” He flashed a grin, hoping it hid his blush.

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks pinked slightly, and she turned to adjust a lantern. “Flattery won’t get you out of work,” she muttered, but there was a warmth in her voice that made his grin widen.

They teamed up to hang a string of paper cranes, their shoulders brushing as they reached for the same hook. Y/N’s fingers fumbled, the string slipping, and Rosé sighed, taking it from him. “Like this,” she said, her hands deft as she tied a knot, her fingertips grazing his. The touch was brief, electric, and Y/N’s breath hitched, his face burning like he’d sprinted a full field.

“T-Thanks,” he mumbled, scratching his neck, praying she didn’t hear his heartbeat. She glanced at him, her eyes softening, and for a moment, the festival’s noise faded, leaving just them—cranes swaying, her smile sneaking through, his chest tight with something new.

As dusk settled, the festival glowed under a velvet sky, the stalls twinkling like a constellation of dreams. Y/N slumped on a bench, catching his breath, while Aye scarfed down a tower of takoyaki beside him. The wide receiver’s eyes sparkled with mischief, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Yo, Y/N, wanna make this festival MAX EPIC? I got something big.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, wary but curious. “Aye, if this is another food fight, I’m out. Rosé’s got me on lockdown after the itching powder thing.” He could still hear her warning from game day, sharp but tinged with trust: One misstep, and you’re done.

Aye grinned, pulling a small, suspiciously heavy bag from his jacket. “Fireworks,” he said, like he was unveiling a sacred relic. “The real deal—banned for safety reasons. We set these off during the festival climax, and bam! We’re legends. The crowd’ll lose it!”

Y/N’s stomach knotted. Fireworks were a hard no in Rosé’s rulebook, and he’d sworn to behave after nearly losing his spot on the team. But the image of bright, booming lights, the crowd cheering like they did for his touchdowns—it tugged at his rebellious streak. His fingers twitched, tempted. “Aye, if Rosé catches me, I’m toast. Like, expelled toast.”

Aye scoffed, tossing a takoyaki and catching it midair. “She’s swamped running this circus! You’re the fastest guy at Deimon, man. In and out, MAX STEALTH! C’mon, you owe me for the ramen cover-up.”

Y/N glanced at Rosé across the festival, where she was helping a kid win a goldfish, her laugh soft and unguarded. His chest ached—she’d trusted him, believed in him. But Aye’s grin was infectious, and the fireworks promised glory. “Fine,” he muttered, snatching the bag. “But you’re dead if this backfires.”

He slipped into the shadows, heading for a quiet corner near the sports field. His heart raced, half-thrill, half-guilt, as he set up the fireworks, his hands steady despite his nerves. He pictured the crowd’s awe, the sky ablaze—then froze as a voice cut through the dark.

“Y/N, again?”

Rosé stood behind him, arms crossed, her eyes a storm of frustration and disbelief. The fuse sparked, and Y/N’s bravado shattered. “P-Prez! I-I wasn’t—okay, I was, but—” His voice cracked, and his instincts screamed run. He bolted, the bag bouncing against his hip.

The festival blurred as Y/N sprinted, lanterns flashing past, stalls a kaleidoscope of color. His legs pumped, weaving through the crowd like he was dodging tacklers, but Rosé was relentless, her steps quick and determined. “Y/N, stop!” she called, her voice carrying over the festival’s hum. It was their first chase all over again—him the elusive running back, her the unyielding pursuer—but this time, the weight of his choices pressed heavier.

He veered toward the sports field, his sanctuary, where the festival lights dimmed and the stars shone bright. His lungs burned, but his mind was a tempest. Why did he keep doing this? Breaking rules, running from her? He skidded to a stop by the goalpost, panting, and turned to face her. Rosé slowed, her chest heaving, her expression a mix of anger and something raw—hurt.

“Why?” she demanded, stepping closer, her voice trembling. “Why do you keep breaking rules, Y/N? I trusted you. After the game, I thought…” She trailed off, her eyes searching his, and the vulnerability in them hit like a tackle.

Y/N’s throat tightened. He dropped the bag, the fireworks clattering to the grass. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice rough. “Breaking rules… it’s like running. It makes me feel free, like nothing can catch me. But you…” He met her gaze, his heart pounding like it did before a touchdown. “You make me wanna stop, Rosé. I don’t wanna run from you. I wanna stay. ‘Cause you see me—all of me.”

Rosé’s eyes widened, her stern facade crumbling. The festival’s distant music wove through the silence, and for a moment, they were just two teens under the stars, the world holding its breath. “Y/N,” she said softly, stepping closer, close enough that he could smell her lavender shampoo. “I’ve always seen you. Your speed, your heart. But I need you to trust me, too. No more hiding.”

His shyness surged, but he pushed through, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m trying, Rosé. I… I really like you. And I’m scared I’ll screw this up.” His face burned, but he held her gaze, his confession hanging like a shoujo manga panel, all sparkles and heartbeats.

Rosé’s cheeks flushed, and she looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re such an idiot,” she murmured, but her voice was warm, almost tender. She picked up a single firework, turning it over in her hands. “One,” she said, meeting his eyes, a shy smile breaking through. “We’ll set off one. Together. But that’s it.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped, then he grinned, his heart soaring like a touchdown run. “Deal.” They lit the fuse, stepping back as the firework rocketed skyward, bursting in a cascade of gold and blue. The light bathed them, and Rosé’s smile—rare, radiant—stole his breath. Their hands brushed as they watched, and he didn’t pull away, the warmth of her fingers anchoring him in place.

The festival hummed on, but Y/N and Rosé lingered near the sports field, reluctant to rejoin the chaos. They wandered to a quiet stall selling floating lanterns, the kind you lit and released to carry wishes skyward. Rosé paused, her fingers tracing a lantern’s delicate paper, her expression soft. “Want to try?” she asked, glancing at Y/N with a shy spark in her eyes.

Y/N’s heart skipped. “Uh, sure, Prez. But if I wish for no more probation, you gonna veto it?” He grinned, but his voice was softer, nervous, like he was stepping onto new turf.

She laughed, the sound light and unguarded, and handed him a lantern. “Write your wish first, rulebreaker. Then we’ll see.” Her tone was teasing, but her gaze held something deeper, like she was daring him to be honest.

They sat cross-legged on the grass, the lantern between them, a marker shared as they scribbled their wishes. Y/N hesitated, his pen hovering. He glanced at Rosé, her hair glowing under the festival lights, her focus on her own writing. His chest tightened—she was the reason he wanted to be better, to stop running. He wrote quickly, shielding it from her, his cheeks warm.

Rosé finished hers, her handwriting neat but guarded. She caught him peeking and flicked his forehead. “No cheating,” she said, but her smile was playful, and she leaned closer, her shoulder brushing his. The contact sent a jolt through him, and he fumbled the marker, earning another laugh.

They lit the lantern together, their fingers tangling briefly as they held it aloft. The flame flickered, casting a golden glow across their faces, and Y/N’s breath caught at how close they were, her eyes reflecting the light like stars. “Ready?” she whispered, and he nodded, too flustered to speak.

They released the lantern, watching it drift upward, joining a constellation of others in the sky. Y/N’s heart pounded, his wish—to be someone Rosé could rely on—floating with it. He glanced at her, catching a wistful look on her face. “What’d you wish for, Prez?” he asked, half-teasing, half-hoping.

Rosé smirked, nudging him. “None of your business, Y/N. But… maybe it’s not so different from yours.” Her voice was soft, her blush barely visible, and Y/N’s heart did a full-on Devil Bat Ghost, dodging all his doubts.

They sat there, shoulders touching, the festival’s hum a distant melody. For once, Y/N didn’t feel the urge to run—just to stay, right there, with her.

The festival wound down, the crowd thinning as the final (approved) fireworks lit the sky in bursts of red and silver. Y/N and Rosé sat on a grassy hill, soda cans in hand, their yukatas rumpled from the day’s chaos. The air was cool, sweet with the scent of grilled squid, and their shoulders brushed, a quiet intimacy settling between them.

“You’re still on probation,” Rosé said, her tone teasing as she sipped her drink. “Don’t think one firework and a lantern get you off the hook.”

Y/N laughed, leaning back on his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Prez. But I’m gonna try, y’know? Be less… chaotic.” He glanced at her, his voice softening. “For you.”

Rosé’s cheeks flushed, and she nudged his shoulder, her touch lingering. “Good. I’ll keep you in check.” Her smile was soft, her eyes catching the firework glow, and Y/N’s heart soared, like he’d just scored the winning touchdown.

Their moment was shattered by Hyem’s cackle. “Oi, lovebirds!” The quarterback stormed up, dragging a protesting Aye. “Cleanup duty, Y/N! No slacking!” Aye, waving a skewer, shouted, “MAX POWER COUPLE!” as the Devil Bats cheered below, waving sparklers and chanting, “Y/N and Rosé!”

Y/N groaned, burying his face in his hands, but Rosé laughed, standing and pulling him up. Her hand lingered in his, warm and steady, and she leaned in, whispering, “You’re not running this time, right?” Her breath tickled his ear, and he grinned, his face burning.

“Nope,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I’m staying, Prez.” They joined the cleanup, her laughter mingling with his, the festival’s glow wrapping them in promise.

Game day dawned bright, the stadium pulsing with anticipation. Y/N stood on the field, lacing his cleats, the familiar rush of adrenaline in his veins. The Devil Bats faced a new rival, and he was ready to dazzle, to run, to win. But today, his eyes weren’t just on the end zone.

He glanced at the stands, spotting Rosé in the front row, her student council armband swapped for a handmade sign: “Go Y/N!” in bold, glittery letters. She caught his gaze and waved, her smile bright and unguarded, a sparkler in the daylight. Y/N’s heart soared, and he winked at her, bold and playful. She rolled her eyes, but her blush betrayed her, and the crowd’s cheer felt like it was for them.

Hyem clapped his shoulder, smirking. “Focus, punk. Save the mushy stuff for after we crush ‘em.” Y/N laughed, pulling on his helmet. The whistle blew, and he took off, legs a blur, the field his canvas. He wasn’t running from anything—not rules, not Rosé, not himself. He was running toward her, toward trust, toward a future painted in lantern light and firework sparks.

The moment froze like a manga panel: Y/N sprinting, Rosé’s sign gleaming, their story just beginning under the stadium’s roar.

#kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop gg #kpop imagines #fluff #blackpink #blackpink x reader #rosé #blackpink rosé #rosé x reader #idol x male reader #x male reader #idol x reader #kpop x male reader #park chaeyoung #roseanne park

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king-goober · 2 months ago

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Squirrel Girl, Mantis, and Emma Frost x Male Reader

Squirrel Girl

Doreen treats you like her whole damn world. Doesn’t matter what kind of day either of you have had, she’s gonna tell you that you’re her everything and more. If she could tell you how much she loves you every second of every day without it coming off as annoying she would.

Movie nights are a must with her. Just you, her, and Tippy-Toe wrapped up in a warm blanket with a bunch of snacks in front of you. Definitely the type of girl to build a pillow fort just for the hell of it. You’ll just come home one day to find all the pillows and blankets missing only to find Doreen putting the finishing touches on her master piece. Snuggles in the fort are nonnegotiable.

Speaking of which, good luck getting up in the morning. Because if she’s got a good grip on you, you aren’t getting out of bed.

Her tail is really soft. You’d think given her profession as well as her allies her fur would be all matted and dirty, but no. She takes pretty good care of it.

On the topic of her job, expect to receive a bunch of selfies of her and any bad guys she’d just beaten up.

*Doreen just sent you an image*

*you open the image to find a selfie of Doreen holding up a peace sign for the camera with Thanos face down on the floor in the background* HOW IN THE HELL?!

If you’re a hero like her, she’ll pester you to join her on patrol, comparing the 2 of you to a buddy cop movie.

Mantis

A relationship with Mantis is one you can describe in only one word. Transparent.

Given her abilities, it’s not easy to keep secrets from Mantis. Had a bad day? She can tell. Got a surprise for her? She can sense your excitement. Want a hug? She’s already got her arms open.

In turn, since you can’t keep secrets from her, she out right refuses to keep secrets from you. It just doesn’t seem fair to her. Why keep stuff from you if you are literally unable to do the same?

Mantis is a cutie to the highest degree. She’ll do this thing where if she discovers something incredible she’ll get this excitement look on her face that is simply infectious. The way her eyes light and a huge smile grows on her face is simply irresistible.

Praise! Praise! Praise!

This lady loves to praise you whenever she can. “Excellent” is something you’ll hear literally everyday. If you come home after an off day she’s already on the couch, waiting to lay your head in her lap and praise you till the cows come home.

“It’s alright, my beloved. You are doing just fine. Everything you do is enough.”

Emma Frost

Definite sugar mommy vibes from this woman. I mean, she’s literally made of diamonds. Lady’s got more money than she knows what to do with, and what better reason to use it than to spoil you.

Gifts are abundant with Emma. Doesn’t matter if it’s your birthday, Christmas or any other special occasion, she’ll get you something just because she felt like it. And it doesn’t matter if you’re boujee or not, she likes to look at price tags before anything else.

And don’t try to refuse any of her presents because there’s no way in hell she’s returning them.

“Darling, I’ve got a gift for you.” *she hands you a small box with a bow on it*

*you open the box to find a watch that costs more than your average suburban home. You sweat a bit.* “th-thanks, Emma.”

Appearance means a lot to her, and you’re no exception. If you don’t have any particular style when you start dating her you’ll have one by the end of the day. She’ll buy you new clothes, get you a haircut, anything she thinks you need. All on her dime of course.

At first it felt like she only kept you around to be arm candy. A pretty face for her to show off at events. However, it doesn’t take too long for her more comfy side to show.

She absolutely loves testing makeup on you. Whether it’s a new nail polish or a brand of press powder she hasn’t tried yet, you’re her test dummy.

Speaking of which, expect to have a mark of blue lipstick on you at any given time. She loves pressing her soft lips against your neck, hands or cheek only to leave behind a little bit of evidence for you to wash off later. If you’re going out somewhere without her she’ll leave one on the back of your hand and call it a “good luck charm”.

#doreen green #doreen green x reader #marvel #x male reader #marvel rivals #emma frost #emma frost x reader #marvel x reader #mantis #mantis x reader

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biasbuck · 2 days ago

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BiAsBuck’s June ficrec Jamboree.

Hi everyone, happy Summer hiatus! Wow have you all been busy, there's so many incredible stories and art out there right now. I'm back with another round of fic that I've read and loved over the last month. It's a big one!!

As always you can find previous rec lists here.

21 June 2025

a one time thing (every time) by @fcntasmas back with a bang, this is a 40k 'what if Buck and Eddie were 'platonically' hooking up all along ever since 2x01, but didn't mean to catch feelings along the way' fic, with Eddie having feelings realisation first and spiralling accordingly. Completely gripping and an emotional rollercoaster, these two dummies can be soooo stupid (in love.) - I also adored the season 9 spec fic with Buck and Sophia Diaz roommates.

the taking of station 118 by pinkdoughnut was JUST what I needed to read post season 8 - with the firefam still grieving, Chim steps into the role of Captain, and right into our spec season 9 opening disaster AND a firehouse hostage situation. Brilliantly characterised team dynamics and some lovely buddie along the way.

hope is a well with no bottom (but you make me feel full) by @facewithoutheart super horny slightly voyeuristic Eddie keeps accidentally coming home early during roommate era whilst Buck is hooking up with people in his private time, and conspires to manifest this for himself. Hot and silly and fun.

let every man be master of his time by @illgetmerope a timeloop fic! Buck wakes up on his day off...and a frantic Eddie arrives on his doorstep. You see Eddie's been stuck in a loop and Buck keeps dying of a suspected aneurism, no matter how early he flies back from El Paso to warn him. When Buck inadvertently gets dragged into the loop with him, he assumes he's having another coma dream! How many loops will it take to figure it out? I loved the claustrophobia and sense of ever increasing desperation but also the way that feelings clicked into place through time (it's giving me Window of Opportunity, iykyk.)

on nights when i'm hollow by @sonofatoasterwaffle angry hurt/comfort with not too much comfort at first grief hook up fic, following the kitchen fight scene. This one is visceral and has claws and I loved it a lot. When you love someone so much you know exactly the right way to hit them where it hurts.

you need to cry, baby by @roosterseresin 'The first time it happens it scared the shit out of Eddie.' Buck keeps crying during sex (but in an affirming way). Cathartic and sweet, and overflowing with feeling (just like Buck.)

Getting Better All the Time by @glorious-spoon 'Buck walks in on Eddie watching porn. It escalates from there.' oh weewookinkmeme how you have blessed us so! We're gonna have to stain guard the couch. Such a lovely build of tension and embarrassment and succumbing to horniness.

four thousand miles to you by @spaceshipkat okay but Kat has been keeping us FED this month!! I literally couldn't pick which fic to rec at first so go read them all, but oh this one really stuck with me. 'It’s been over two months of chasing Buck across the country, from state to state to state, following a trail he suspects Buck doesn’t realize he’s dropping breadcrumbs on. If he did, Eddie worries he’d stop sending the postcards, and they’re his only clues.' I love postcard fic, and the chase and almosts and bubbling undercurrents of hurt and love and hope runs throughout. Gorgeous!

if food be the language of love (eat up!) by @chronicowboy Buck's learned love language is food, via Bobby. So with him gone, he...stops cooking. But soon he realises that maybe he needs this language to communicate with Eddie in the way he knows best. Grief and love and care. Such a beautiful healing journey.

i kinda wanna kiss your boyfriend if you don’t mind by @buckme 'Buck and Eddie get together. The people of LA are blinded by how attractive the two of them are once they're happy, and lots of flirting ensues.' Such an excellent set up, and so much fun to read. Loved the firefam being like, oh no, it's the new couple glow! Brilliant.

After the first time by @starlingbite 'Post season 8 - In which Buck and Eddie rush into sex before talking things through, resulting in Buck panicking ever so slightly in the middle of the night.' This is a short but sweet fic, beautifully sparsely written to show that late night time passing ticking clock, with some deeply relatable oh shit now what insomnia!

tux and flipper by @bisexualbellamyblake look something you have to know about me is I love me a gay penguin metaphor...can name you at least two gay penguin published stories to read right now, and am very delighted that buddie now have their own! 'Eddie comes out to Buck; Buck thinks he wants to go to the zoo.' So funny and delightfully endearing.

crawling back to you by @islandoforder 'post season 8, Buck confesses his feelings, Eddie lets him down as gently as he can, and they both try to figure out how to be just friends.' In which Eddie bluescreens, Buck and Eddie both go through seven depths of hell and introspection and panic, and eventually everything works out. Oh this one gave me so many emotions, gorgeously built up, and such a well crafted grasp on the quiet devastation of trying to stop things from changing when they already have.

pink like the inside of your by @themisally and finally I am dropping to my knees like an oasis in a desert and bowing down to this weewookinkmeme henren fic, in which Hen has made a deck of colour-coded flashcards to revise for her anatomy final, before Karen convinces her to try a more practical revision approach. So so sensual and erotic, dear god, I am so so so happy this gorgeous f/f fic exists. How many times is it possible to reread it in a week, asking for a friend?

Let's call it there for this month or I'll take up half your dash, but if you can't wait until July, don't forget to check out my daily ficrec tag, where there's even more goodness from this talented fandom!

#biasbuck recs #buddie #911 abc #buddie fic #buddie ficrec #buddie fanfic #buddie fic rec #henren #henren ficrec #911 fic #911 ficrec #911 fic rec

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justanotherexlover · 5 days ago

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Touch pt. 2 | Bob Reynolds x Plus Size!Reader

Read Part 1 Here

summary: After opening the floodgates of touch between the two of you, Bob tries to go back to normal.

robert ‘bob’ reynolds x avenger!plus size!f!reader

word count: 3.3k+

content warning: Smut, oral (fem receiving), piv sex, little bit of praise/worship(to the reader)

author’s note: THANK YOU for the excellent response to part 1. This is for everyone who liked, commented, sent in asks, etc <3. Also, it's not really necessary to read part 1 to read this. I'm also still new to writing smut so I hope it's good! Lmk what you think.

That night the two of you had watching Titanic, you’d ended up making out for hours, never straying further than heavy petting.

Still, he was constantly seeking you out now but he never touched you again. You hadn’t asked for any type of clarification on what it all meant, yet, waiting to see if Bob would bring it up himself.

“Hey,” Bob said, his eyes sweeping over the meeting room.

“Hey,” You replied distractedly, your fingers sweeping across the keyboard of your laptop rapidly. You don’t look up at him.

“Working?” He asked, and his tone made you pause.

“Yes,” You said, your fingers stilling as you looked over at him, “The team needed some documents for the mission.”

“Fake IDs?” He guessed, “Or passports?”

“Something like that,” You said evasively. All the documentation the team could need for covert ops was already created, they just needed someone on the other side to send it to them.

“Oh,” Bob said, nodding his head. You could tell that he felt a bit left out, which was usually the case in missions.

“Do you want to learn how to send stuff to them in the field?” You asked, sitting back in the chair, “In case we’re ever all in the field, and we need your help.”

He perked up, or at least as much as Bob could, and nodded. He made his way over and sat right next to you, close enough to where you could feel the heat coming off him.

“Hey,” You said, your hand reaching out but pausing. You placed it on the table and said, “You know you’re part of the team whether you help or not, right?”

“I know,” He said, and his eyes flickered down to your lips.

“Good,” You said, your mouth suddenly dry as you turned to the computer, “Now let’s get started.”

“Getting in some practice?” Bob asked from the door of the gym, his eyes on you as you spun on your heel and kicked a training dummy.

“Can’t get lazy while the team is away,” You mused, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. You were well aware how you looked after spending the last hour in the gym, your hair was sticking to your forehead and your skin felt sticky with sweat.

You walked over to the benches and grabbed your water bottle, taking a generous sip. Bob’s eyes followed you the entire way.

“I--I like watching you,” Bob said, crossing his arms as he leaned on the doorframe. His eyes very unsubtly dropped to your ass, which was outlined by your high-rise workout shorts. You knew that bending over like this to grab your water was giving him more than an eyeful.

“Yeah?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. Bob was as easy to read as a book.

“Yeah. You—Your body… It’s powerful,” He said, ducking his head, “I mean, I’ve seen the mission reports.”

You nodded, taking another sip of water before setting the bottle back down. You knew that most people that saw you on the street would assume you were just an average woman, or even out of shape, but that’s exactly what made you so talented at covert ops and combat. No one ever saw you coming.

“You know, the mission reports don’t tell the full story,” You said, taking a few steps closer toward him. You saw him shuffle his feet, but he stood his ground, “My body is capable of a lot more than missions.”

Bob’s mouth dropped open, as if to speak, but closed again. You smiled innocently at him, “Like working out.”

“Oh, yeah,” He said, and you saw his Adam’s apple bob. You suppressed a giggle. Bob’s hands were clasped in front of him, and he was pulling at his fingers as if trying to distract himself from something.

“I’m going to go take a shower, want to meet in the kitchen after and cook dinner?” You asked. He nodded, and you turned around to head to the bathroom, but you could feel his eyes on you the whole time.

“So what are you thinking for dinner?” You asked Bob while opening the fridge, your eyes scanning over the various ingredients inside. You closed the door.

You heard the kitchen stool creak with movement, and then suddenly hands were on your hips, pushing you against the door of the fridge.

“Bob?” You murmured, and suddenly you were being spun around.

“I think I have some ideas,” He said, and his lips suddenly captured yours.

You made a surprised noise which got lost between Bob’s lips, and found yourself slotted between his hips and the fridge.

You bring your hands up to his hair, your fingers getting lost in the strands, and find that kissing him back is the easiest decision you’ve ever made.

“I’m sorry,” He gasped out, pulling back momentarily before placing his lips on your soft jawline, trailing down your neck, murmuring, “I’ve been trying not to, but you’re so—so smart and so sexy.”

“Why—” You gasp when Bob’s hands find your hips, holding you against the fridge with a surprisingly strong grip, “Why have you been trying not to?”

“We’re—We’re teammates,” His words suddenly cut off as he begins sucking on your neck, right where it meets your collarbone.

“Bob,” You whined, your fingers in his hair tightening. His reasoning for being teammates is a solid one, but with his lips on yours and his hips against yours, you can’t be bound to reason.

Bob suddenly pulled back and leant his forehead against yours. His eyes were clenched shut and he took a shaky breath. He brought his hands up to the sides of your head, trapping you between them.

“I’ve been dreaming about hearing you say my name like that,” He groaned, and you watched as a full shutter ran through his body.

You’re breathless from the kiss, your chest heaving, but you brushed his hair away from his face and caught his eye, “Hey, Bob?”

“What?” He asked, his voice calmer, as if you snapped him out of a stupor. You tried to suppress a smirk.

“Stop holding back,” You said, and you watched as a flurry of emotions passed through Bob’s pretty blue eyes. You added, “I want you.”

That seemed to get him to snap successfully. His lips found yours again and you arched your body up into his, your stomach pressed against his defined stomach, and your chest strained against his.

His hands found their way down your chest, brushed over the front of your stomach, before curving around to the small of your back. They moved down the wide curve of your ass before moving underneath it and lifting you in one swift motion.

“Bob!” You squealed as you felt your feet lift off the ground. You wrapped your legs around him instinctively, and you could feel his hardness pressed against you. You were surprised he could carry you so easily.

His lips found yours again, and he didn’t seem to be bothered by carrying you out of the kitchen and towards your bedrooms. Your lips continued to move against his, hard and biting and full of passion.

Next thing you knew, you were being dropped onto your bed. You watched as Bob dropped to his knees at the front of your bed, his hands snaking up your legs.

Your head was spinning. Moments ago you were in the kitchen getting ready to cook dinner, and then Bob was on top of you like a man possessed, apparently unable to hold himself back any longer. You let your head fall back, and looked to the ceiling.

You could feel Bob kissing at your knee, and you realized that if things went any further, he was going to see you naked. You’d long since shed the fears of your youth about men seeing your rolls or stretchmarks when you got naked with them—it’s not like your size was a mystery—but you couldn’t help the slight apprehension creeping up on you.

“Hey, where’d you go?” Bob asked as he pulled his lips away from your knee.

“Nowhere,” You said as you lifted your head and took in his appearance. His hair was disheveled from your fingers, and his eyes were heavy with lust. You corrected, “Here, with you.”

Bob hummed against your skin, and his fingers slid under your belly to find the waistband of your shorts. You lifted your hips and let him slide your shorts down, watching as he threw them aside.

You slid off your shirt, leaving you in just your underwear, and you flushed as you realized how mismatched black panties and a comfortable white bra were. If you’d been expecting this, you would’ve worn a cuter set.

“You are just…” Bob looked up at you from his position at the base of the bed, and you propped yourself up on your arms to get a better view of him.

He leaned forward and kissed you through your panties, running his tongue across them. Bob’s eyes never left yours as he ran his lips and tongue on your clothed pussy, and you felt like it was getting harder to breathe.

“Take them off,” You said, moving your fingers down to hook in the waistband of your panties, “I need—”

You cut off with a flush as Bob helped you strip off your panties. He reached up to grope at your chest, watching your tits jiggle with his ministrations, and he said, “This too.”

You shed yourself of your bra and threw it aside, to join the pile of your clothes on the floor. You realized that Bob was still completely clothed, and you opened your mouth to protest just as his lips found your bare pussy.

“Fuck!” Came out of your mouth instead of any protest about clothing, and you collapsed back onto the bed. Bob’s hands grabbed the top of your thighs and spread your legs wider, giving him more room to eagerly lap at you. You were already wet, and he took full advantage of that.

His tongue was pointed in its movements, languishing each stroke from the top to the bottom, and you had the distinct feeling that this was not the first time he’d done this. Your feelings were confirmed when his lips found your clit and puckered around it, taking it into his mouth.

“Bob,” You murmured as your hips arched off the bed. One of his hands moved to your stomach and he pinned you down.

Bob pulled back, and you could see the sheen of your wetness on his lips and chin. He looked up at you through his lashes, and his voice sounded lower than usual, “You taste so good,” He took one long lap again, from the bottom to the top, “I could do this all night.”

“Then do it,” You bit out, frustrated by being held down. His hand was still pinning you by your stomach, creating a cushiony indent in your flesh. You don’t know where the attitude came from, because if he continued, you were going to come on his tongue.

He took that as a challenge, or perhaps an order, because he ducked his head and began lapping at you again. He turned the attention of his tongue to your clit, swirling his tongue over and over in a quick pattern.

His free hand worked its way up to your chest, his fingers circling your nipple before pinching it between his fingers. Your hips desperately tried to jerk upwards into his mouth, but the hand that was holding you down was firm. Distantly, you wondered if Bob still had some super strength.

“Bob,” You said, and you voice sounded like a warning. You raised your head and made eye contact with him as he dutifully continued working his tongue, eating you out like it was his job.

Your legs began to shake, and you felt vibrations around your clit as Bob murmured something into your pussy, but it was lost to your ears. The hand on your stomach had moved to your thigh, and he pulled you closer to his mouth. The heat coiling in your abdomen snapped, and you locked your thick thighs around Bob’s head.

“Bob!” You cried out, and he licked you through your orgasm, eagerly lapping up your juices. You were too blissed out to pay attention to the way your legs were holding his head in place, but he didn’t seem to mind, anyway.

When you finally felt yourself coming down, you opened your thighs and tried to catch your breath, collapsed back onto the bed. You felt Bob’s hands leave you as he crawled up to lay next to you.

“Sorry I almost squeezed your head,” You said, as he threw an arm around your waist. He raised an eyebrow.

“I—You have incredible thighs. They made me want you to sit on my face,” Bob said, and your eyes fluttered shut as your face flushed.

“Hey,” Bob said, bringing a hand up to cup your jawline, softened by a double chin, “I’m serious. I’ve been thinking about this for days, and the real thing… The real thing can’t compare.”

You hid your face in his chest, unsure of how to respond. You weren’t insecure, sure, but you weren’t necessarily used to praise, either. You felt unsure of how to respond.

“If you’ve been thinking about this for days… Why did it take so long?” You asked, pulling back to look at him. You then thought back to what he said earlier, “Because we’re teammates?”

Bob licked his lips, and you tried not to think about that fact that his lips were on you just a minute ago. He said, “That was part of it. I tried to think of a lot of reasons to keep myself from you. Another one was not being good enough.”

“Bob,” You said, your voice softening. It was your turn to cup his face this time, “You’re more than good enough.”

He shifted on the bed, and you felt something brush against your leg and glanced down. You could see the outline of Bob’s cock through his sweatpants.

“Sorry,” He said, following your gaze, “I just spent the last half hour between this incredibly sexy woman’s thighs.”

You knew that later you’d want to face Bob’s insecurity, and the two of you would have to have a conversation about what exactly you two were doing. But right now it felt like there was a spell cast between the two of you, making everything a little lighter.

You leaned up to his ear and whispered, “Want to spend the next however long inside of her?”

“Please,” He said, and it was borderline begging.

“Then you need to get undressed,” You said, and he nodded, quickly shedding his clothes. You dragged your eyes down his body in surprise, pausing on his cock. You didn’t really have any expectations but suffice to say that Bob was blessed.

You brought your hand to his chest and dragged it down, feeling the hard muscle underneath your fingers. Bob usually wore baggy clothes, so this was not expected. You brought a hand down and grasped his cock firmly, giving it an experimental pump.

“Stop,” He said, and you instantly removed your hand. You looked up at his face and saw that he was flushed.

“I—I just—Another time,” He stuttered out, “I need to be inside you.”

You gave a small smile at the implication that your jerking him off would be enough to do him in, and then leaned forward and kissed him.

Bob’s lips moved against yours in a way that’s now familiar, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. He shifted until he leaned over you, supporting himself on his arms. You felt Bob’s knees urging your legs apart, and you spread them eagerly.

He pulled back and reached down between you two, guiding his cock forward until it found your tight heat. He pushed in and groaned, inching forward slowly. You took a deep breath as your body worked to accommodate the initial stretch, but you were gratefully you’d been worked open by Bob’s mouth.

“You took so perfect taking my cock,” Bob said, and you blinked up at him. You don’t think you’d ever get used to how filthy his mouth could be.

“It feels so good,” You preened as you felt him bottom out inside of you. His arms were shaking, and you had an inkling it wasn’t from effort.

“You feel incredible. So tight and—” He pulled out almost entirely before pushing back in, quick and hard. You gasped, reaching up and grasping at his arms.

“Look at you,” He murmured, starting with a slower pace as if he had all the time in the world. His eyes raked over your body, your tits and stomach jiggling with every thrust, “The way your body moves—fuck!”

Bob ducked his head down to mouth at your breast, catching a nipple in his mouth as he thrust in and out. Your back arched into him, trying to get impossibly closer. You bring a hand down to the back of his head, encouraging his lips on your body.

“Bob, please,” You said, and you didn’t even know what you were begging for. You brought your legs up, allowing Bob to go ever-so-slightly deeper, and he moans against your chest.

“You are so fucking perfect,” He said, as he pulled back, his hips quickening their pace to be more akin to a snap with every thrust, and you cried out as he continued, “Such a perfect body for a perfect woman. I could stay inside you forever if you let me.”

You nodded, your hands moving up to caress his face. You wanted him to stay inside of you, forever, too.

Bob brought his hands to the back of your knees, holding your legs back for you as he continued thrusting quickly. With each hard thrust you’d let out a little whimper, and you could feel heat building inside of you.

“You fuck me so—good,” Your last word left you as a cry, Bob’s unrepentant pace getting to you, “Please don’t stop, Bob, fuck me.”

“Keep saying my name,” Bob said, moving one of his hands down to feel the textured skin of your belly as it moved in time with his thrusts. Even through the haze of pleasure you could see the desire clear on his face as he looked over your body.

“Bob,” You whined, the pressure inside of you building like a whistling teapot. You were going to finish soon, and you wanted Bob to finish, too.

“Look at me,” You said, and Bob’s eyes snapped up from your body to look at you, his pace not faltering. Your eyes met his and you said, “I want you to come inside of me.”

“Oh fuck,” He cursed, and his hands grabbed your thighs again. He used his grip to physically pull your body down to meet his thrusts, chasing his own orgasm.

“Just like that,” You moaned, the manhandling adding to your pleasure, and you felt the heat inside of you explode for the second time that night, this time you half-shouted, “Bob!”

As your pussy clenched around his cock, you felt his thrusts get sloppier, before he finished, a cry of your name on his lips.

He collapsed in bed next to you, and you didn’t feel shy as you curled into his waiting arms. The two of you laid in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds being your breathing and his. He brought a hand down to your waist, gently fondling at the way your flesh pooled there.

“Hey, Bob?” You spoke into the silence.

“Yeah?” He asked.

“Don’t try to hold yourself back again,” You said, and he huffed out a laugh.

“I won’t,” He promised.

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x plus size!reader #thunderbolts #bob reynolds

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godmadeaterribleerror · 8 months ago

Text

Anywhere Else Is Hollow - No Love Love Halloween Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: There are so many pop-culture references in here, I'm so sorry. Title from willow by Taylor Swift.

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary/Warnings: A halloween special episode! Takes place in Chapter 25. Usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth-rotting fluff, pre-established relationship

“It’s the middle of fucking June.” Ben grumbles, adjusting his suspenders and glaring at his reflection. “And I still don’t see why I can’t just wear my damn supe suit-“

You grab his shoulders, turning him to face you and moving his hands off the straps for you to fix. “So you admit,” you grin up at him. “Your supe suit is a costume.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Shut the fuck up, people dress as me all the goddamn time-“

“But you are you. The whole point of this is that you’re not you.”

“Well, I don’t want to be this fucking pussy-“

“Rick O’Connell is not a pussy, he was my very first crush and an excellent treasure hunter. He’s like Indiana Jones, but with no commitment to academics.”

“Well then why the fuck can’t I be Indiana Jones-“

“Because you don’t have any commitment to academics, and you’re built more like late 90s Brendan Fraser.” You run your hand through Ben’s hair, holding his glower with a fake pout. “I think you look very handsome.”

“I always look fucking handsome,” he mutters, catching your hand and kissing your knuckles. “This is still goddamn stupid.”

“If you want to go tell Ryan that-“

Your hum is cut off with a squeak as Ben tugs you forward, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing you until you’re a little dizzy, swaying against him.

“Brat.” He presses another, lighter kiss on the corner of your lips, smirking as you chase his mouth back fully onto yours. “I’m going to do this shit, for you-“

“For me?” You raise your brows, pulling back enough to give Ben a pointed look. “Or for the blowjob and ice cream you’re going to earn for not being a massive fucking baby about this.”

He shrugs. “It’s a blowjob from you, beautiful. And if you’re going to wear this-“ He cuts himself off, scanning over you with a frown. “What the fuck is this.”

“A costume-“

The lines of Ben’s face deepen, and he rolls his eyes. “No, smartass. Who are you.”

“Evelyn Carnahan.”

“Who-“

“She’s your,” you poke Ben’s chest, and keep your face bright as you push through the description. You’d really been hoping he wouldn’t ask who you were, because you know he loves you, but it still might make you cry if he gets pissed off or freaked out by this. “Wife.”

He just blinks at you. “I’m not married yet-“

“No, dummy.” You sigh. “In the movies. Your costume is married to my costume.”

There’s a moment of silence, and it’s the longest fucking moment of your life. Ben is staring at you, looking slightly dumb-struck, and everything inside him is glowing and burning and made of ardor, but if he doesn’t fucking say something-

“If you give me a blowjob in this costume,” he mutters, scanning over your body as an insufferably attractive, cocky grin crosses his face. “I’ll jump off a fucking bridge for you.”

You flush, all of Ben’s hunger making you feel warm and high, but still manage to wrinkle your nose at him. “I don’t need you to jump off a bridge for me, Benjamin. Just don’t bitch and moan, and pretend you’re having a little fun.”

“We can stay here, and have plenty of fun in these stupid fucking outfits-“

“Nope.” You push off his chest, and stick out your tongue. “Earn it, Pretty Boy.”

Ben's face falls into an almost adorable pout, but he lets you tangle his hand in yours, pulling him out of your room and apartment, down to the dining hall.

You will admit, this whole thing is a little ridiculous. It is in fact the middle of June, but Ryan’s never had a Halloween before, and who knows what the fuck your life will look like come October. Best case scenario, two Halloweens in one year. Worst case-

You don’t even want to think about the worst case. The worst case is world-ending, heartbreaking, and keeps you up in the dark with nightmares of cold, blue eyes and red hands that might be yours and might be Homelander’s wrapping around your throat.

So this might be a little stupid, but you don’t care. It’s a distraction, it’s not like you have anything better to do while everyone is benched. You might as well entertain this request from Ryan, and pretend it’s October, and just have simple fun for one night, like the world isn’t ending around you.

Bonus, Ben does look really fucking good. He’s right, he always looks good—it’s one of the most annoying things about him—but it’s a little insane right now. If it wasn’t for Ryan, and the promise you’d made to attend the party, you’d have taken him up on that stay here and have fun idea. But for now, you’re still allowed to look. Scan over his broad shoulders, his muscles rippling in his shirt, and you want to pull him down by his suspenders to kiss him all over his stupid, handsome face, and he’d trimmed his beard last night so it’s soft and fuck you love him and it’s driving you out of your mind-

You almost trip as Ben stops outside the dining hall—you hadn’t even realized you’d arrived—and his arm shoots out, wrapping around you and steadying your body.

“Careful, Sunshine.” He grumbles, not moving away as you regain your balance. “You said no blood, and that fucking counts you.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “It does not-“

“Yes, it does.” Ben’s snap is firm, his big, warm hand squeezing your waist. “You get hurt, we leave. Got it?”

“Fine.”

His eyes narrow, and he bends down to your eye level. Try again.

I’ve got it, Ben draws back up, and you lower your voice between your heads to a mumble. You massive fucking cunt-

He snorts, scooping you up into his arms, swallowing your small yelp with a kiss. Brat. Ready?

Put me down, you whack Ben’s chest, and he knows you don’t mean it—the asshole is big and warm and this is the safest place in the world so you never want to be anywhere but here— because his glower doesn’t waver.

If you’re going to fucking hurt yourself-

I’m not going to hurt myself, Benjamin. You drop your head onto his shoulder, giving him your sweetest smile. You won’t let me.

Damn right I won’t, he scans over your face, and slowly lowers you back down, keeping his hand in yours. Let’s get this shit over with.

The decorating of the dining hall is abysmal. Frenchie had spray painted some bats on the walls—which had to be some kind of health hazard, but you were all way past that—and Annie had covered exactly three tables in spooky-themed cloth, but that was the extent of the efforts. Everyone seemed to be trying to make up for it with costumes, though. Even Butcher was dressed up. Granted, he did mostly just look like himself with no shirt, but it only took one assessing scan of his black trench coat, sunglasses, and gun to figure out what he was going for.

“Terminator?” You ask as you and Ben approach the drink table—two bottles of sprite someone put red food-coloring in and a bowl of punch that you really hope Frenchie didn’t spike—and Butcher nods.

“Right on the money, Love.” He scans you over with a frown. “Fuckin hell are you supposed to be.”

“Evie, from the Mummy.”

Butcher's eyes turn to Ben. “And that makes this cunt-“

“Rick.” Ben grunts, tugging you a little closer to his side, his glare on Butcher a very obvious, violent challenge.

No blood, Benjamin.

I haven’t done a fucking thing-

It’s a preemptive no blood. If Butcher’s a dick, no killing him.

Butcher opens his mouth, a mocking grin covering his face and Ben tenses at your side, but with either the best or worst timing in the world, MM walks thoughtlessly between them to the table.

MM glances over to you and Ben as he pours a drink. “The Mummy?”

“Yeah, and you’re-“

“Dread Pirate Roberts.” Ben’s voice is so confident that the look of exasperation on MM’s face almost makes you snort.

“I’m Zorro, motherfucker.”

Butcher takes in MM’s mask and black cloth outfit, and shakes his head. “Nah, I’m with Soldier Boy on this one, Mate. You’re a fuckin pirate.”

“Lucky it’s not up to you assholes, it’s my costume-“

Ben squeezes your hand as Butcher and MM devolve in further argument, and when you glance up at him his attention is fixed on the food table. I’m fucking starving-

Go eat, then.

You’d meant for him to go get food and come back, but Ben pulls you with him as he stomps over to the food, only dropping your hand when he realizes he needs both to fill up his plate.

Why are these hot dogs so fucking small.

You follow his glare to the table, and bite your tongue to stifle your giggle. They’re pigs in a blanket. And you’ve definitely had them before

Ben ignores the second half of your sentence. Are they good.

I think you’d like them-

That’s all it takes, and Ben’s plate becomes half covered pigs in a blanket. He drops down onto one of the empty tables—watching you carefully until you sit at his side—and then begins to stuff them into his face until his cheeks are puffed out.

You can’t look at him or you’ll snort—which means he’ll probably glare at you, which will make you laugh more, and it will somehow end with Ben fucking you on the table, in front of everyone—so you scoot closer to his side and wave to Kimiko as she walks into the dining hall, wearing large yellow skirt and blue top, a large red bow in her hair.

Snow White? You sign, and she nods with a wide smile.

Frenchie sewed it for me. She spins around before sitting across from you. He’s coming, he wants to fix his cape.

His cape?

He’s something called a Frodo. Kimiko glances at Ben, still chewing, and back to you. Is he okay, he looks angry… Kimiko’s hands pause for a second. Angrier. Than usual.

He’s grumpy. You shrug. And that’s just his face whenever he eats. He’s like a mean old dog.

You love him so much.

“What are you talking about,” Ben grumbles, crumbs falling onto his beard. You sigh, reaching up to wipe them off.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full-“

“Answer my fucking question-“

“We were talking about you, Benjamin.” You hum. “And how grumpy you are.”

“I’m not fucking grumpy-“

“You’re so grumpy.” You kiss his cheek, and feel rough affection spark in his chest, his scowl wavering. “And I still love you.”

“I love you too,” Ben mutters, pressing his leg to yours and returning his attention his food, eating slightly slower.

You resume your conversation with Kimiko, and give up on explaining what a Frodo is when Frenchie drops at Her side, giving a proud, sweeping gesture to his costume.

“Good, non? Certainly much better than Butcher only taking off his shirt-“

“The fuck are you, an elf?”

Frenchie frowns at Ben, “I am Frodo fucking Baggins. See,” he raises his bare foot up for you and Ben to see. “No shoes. A hobbit.”

Ben makes a sour face, opening his mouth to say something that’s likely not very nice, so you punch him in the stomach.

He doesn’t flinch, but shoots you a glare. I didn’t fucking do anything-

You were going to call Frenchie’s costume stupid.

It is fucking stupid. He’s wearing a cape, Sunshine, that’s dumb-

I know, but it’s the costume. Let’s move, Pretty Boy, before you yell at Kimiko for wearing a dress when she’s Snow White.

Ben paused. Why the fuck is she Snow White. I’ve seen her bash peoples brain in-

She says because she wants to take a nap and likes animals and music.

Ben seems to accept that answer, his glare turning to his empty plate, and tugs you up with him as he stands. “You promised me burgers-“

“I did not.” You let him loop his arm through yours, but hold him at the table. “I said Benjamin, if you want to grill burgers, I’m still banned from using the grill but I’ll sit with you.”

He pauses, looking back to the half empty food table before grunting, “Do you want a burger.”

You give him an amused look. “Do you want a burger?”

“Of course I want a fucking burger-“

“Then sure, I’ll have one-“

You’re cut off with a slight squeak as Ben starts to move, yanking you to his side without breaking pace, but slinging his arm over your shoulders and half holding you against him until you’re on steady feet.

When you reach the grill Ben helps you up onto the counter—keeping one hand steady on your thigh until you’re settled—and begins to move around, prepping the grill with an almost violent focus.

He’s barely started when you see Ryan—bright eyes and dressed in a droopy white tunic and loose pants—bouncing over to you, a very sheepish Hughie-Mario and smiling Annie-Samus behind him.

Ryan says your name, and Ben glances up, movements slowing as he very obviously eavesdrops. “Look!” Ryan gestures to his outfit. “I’m Luke Skywalker!”

“Yeah, you are.” You nod, returning Ryan’s smile and glancing over him to Hughie. “No lightsaber, dude?”

Hughie raises his hand that isn’t holding Annie’s to display a blue plastic lightsaber, and frowns at it. “It’s the wrong color, but it lights up, and blue is still a Jedi color. Actually, blue was originally supposed to be Luke’s lightsaber color, but green tested better-“

“Fuck yeah it did,” Ben mutters, returning to your side with his arms full of frozen packaged hamburgers. “Blue’s a fucking dogshit, pussy color-“

You kick his thigh, keeping your eyes on Ryan. “But a good color for a lightsaber, right Benjamin?”

Ben rolls his eyes, but grumbles an agreement.

“Are you making burgers?” Ryan shuffles to Ben’s side, looking over the grill with wide eyes.

“Grilling.” Ben grunts. “I don’t make the paddies, kid, I fucking grill them.”

“Can you, um, can you show me how?”

You watch them carefully as Ben freezes, his whole body tensing and his grip on the spatula growing white-knuckled for only a second before the whole thing passes, and he nods. “Pay attention, because I’m not repeating anything. And no fucking lightsabers near my grill.”

You don’t bother teasing him with the fact that it’s not Ben’s grill, it’s everyone’s grill, because Ryan’s eyes light up and that’s what this was about. Ryan feeling cared about, and watching Ben move around and nodding along with his instructions before tentatively flipping a burger, all with an eager face. It was about how when they finished Ryan shuffled up to you with the burger Ben had let him grill himself, nervously asking if you wanted it.

You’d never taken a plate so fast. But when you start to scoot off the counter Ben’s hand lands on your thigh, holding you in place.

Benjamin-

He ignores your voice in his head, his attention focused purely on Ryan. “Where do you want to eat, kid?”

“Um,” Ryan swallowed, his face a little red. “Here? It’s quiet-“

Ben’s hand slid up your leg, moving you a little further back onto the counter as he leaned against it himself, looping his arm around your waist as he places his plate down, holding the burger with his free hand as he examines Ryan with a drawn brow. “You need a chair.”

Ryan blinked. “No, thank you. It’s okay to eat here?”

“I don’t give a fuck-“

“Yes, we can.” You lean yourself against Ben’s back, smiling at Ryan as you kicking Ben’s leg in a subtle movement to shut him up. “Are you liking fake-Halloween?”

Ryan nods, face eager once more. “Yeah! The costumes are, um, really fun, and Butcher said I can have extra dessert-“

Ben freezes mid bite of his burger, roughly swallowing the food in his mouth before grunting, “do you not get fucking candy.”

“No, Aunt Grace says it’s not good for my teeth-“

“Fuck that, your teeth with be fine.” Ben glares around the kitchen before jerking his head to a cabinet. “There’s a damn year’s worth of chocolate in there. Take some.”

“I, um-“

“Ryan.” Ben snaps, holding Ryan’s nervous gaze. “You want chocolate, eat some fucking chocolate. You can’t get cavities, and if Mallory and Butcher get fucking whiny about it, I’ll deal with it.”

“Okay.” Ryan mumbles, glancing over at the cabinet. “Will anyone notice-“

“It’s Kimiko’s,” Ben mutters, tugging you a little closer. “She told me, and we’re the only ones that know about it. You’re good, kid, don’t lose your fucking mind over something so stupid.”

As Ryan shuffles over to the cabinet—looking back to you and Ben with a bright, shocked face at the truly abominable amount of chocolate in the cabinet—you bump Ben’s shoulder with yours.

What did you threaten Kimiko with to know about her secret chocolate stash?

Ben rolls his eyes. She fucking told me, Sunshine. For you.

Oh. You blink, titling your head at him. Why didn’t she tell me?

I don’t fucking know, maybe she knew you’d fold and tell whoever looked sad-

I would not fold-

Ben scoffs. You’d fold in a fucking second. Those pussies would have a bad day and you’d start handing chocolate like goddamn candy.

It is candy, Benjamin. You wrinkle your nose at him, nodding over to Ryan. And you just folded pretty fucking fast yourself-

Shut up.

Nope, you caved without Ryan even asking-

Ben’s arm around you tugs you forward into a slow, gentle kiss. Brat.

Cunt. You pull back, smiling at him. I love you, you massive fucking idiot-

You love my massive fucking something, darling. Ben winks at you, and you only get to flush as Ryan returns, his pockets stuffed and overflowing with chocolate.

You’re here for another few hours. You think you could spend a lifetime here, listening to Ryan tell you about how Hughie had helped him get his Luke Skywalker costume right—the key is the shoes, and you have no idea what that means but Ryan sounds certain, so you nod—and watching Ben swallow his grumbles about how Star Wars is fucking dumb as cock for Ryan’s sake. You really hope you make it to this October, and the one after that, and the one after that. You want to spend a lifetime like this, with Ryan’s face full of joy and his words coming out easy instead of unsure. With Ben half wrapped around you, his outfit and face and everything making your brain go a little haywire. If October comes without pain, Ben will be wearing that again. And you’ll have more time to have fun with him—and his mouth, and his tongue, and his rough hands on your body and his hard cock wherever he wants it—before doing this again. Next time, you’ll get Ryan more candy, and a properly colored lightsaber.

And if another year passes, this could be your whole life. A hundred more Halloweens—probably more, given the whole immortality thing—with Ben looking stupidly handsome at your side and everything being about easy, simple joy. And when you look at Ben’s stoic face and feel his love—hot and zealous and focused in your chest—you don’t think he’d argue with you. He’d be just as happy as you are to do this forever, together, maybe joined by more bright-eyed children he can teach to grill and give too much chocolate. Countless costumes for him to grumble are stupid, but wear nonetheless.

It would be really nice to have a life like this.

End Note: I spent an embarrassing amount of time choosing everyone's costumes, but I think I nailed it. Jensen Ackles playing Soldier Boy dressed as Rick O'Connell from the Mummy save me. Save me Jensen Ackles playing Soldier Boy dressed as Rick O'Connell from the Mummy.

If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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Taglist

@manicjk @lordofthunderthr @artemys-ackles @brtodd

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angelsbless · 1 year ago

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hi! i saw u taking requests so i wanted to ask if you could u do a lil one shot of ur first kiss with mash? •w•;;

Aww that's so cute, mash also is such a sweetheart. Here you go i hope you like it dear 🤍

Mash burndead x reader first kiss (one shot)

After a little while from dating mash and sharing warm hugs and holding hands together you two were making cream puffs in the kitchen after school.

You weren't excellent at baking, but you enjoyed cooking so mash was explaining to you the recipe because GOD he was born to be a baker for real.

You tried your best to understand his explanation but he wasn't being clear enough so you decided to just follow his steps.

You tried copying everything he was doing and made sure you were taking the correct measurements and adding the exact ingredients, you didn't pay attention to the surroundings because you were too focused on making your boyfriend proud by baking him the most delicious cream puff.

Mash was observing how concentrated you were and he thought that you were so cute, like SO DAMN CUTE! you + cream puff the best that he could want! Man was in heaven!His ears become a bit red and he was excited to taste your cream puffs.

His thoughts were interrupted by your soft voice calling his name "mash?" You were calling him in the sweetest tone giving him the most adorable look while being covered in flour.

Mash's exe has stopped working , he blushed like crazy " y-yes?" He said while covering his face with his hand. You walked to him with the plate of cream puffs in your hand. " I finally finished mash, let's try them together, i hope you like them. " You said then gave him that sweet smile of yours.

He tasted one of the cream puffs and it was so good and what made it better is that it was made by you, when he looked at you to compliment your job his heart raced like hell.

" it's goo-"

" mm mash it's yummy i never thought i'll make something this good."

you raised your sight only to see him blushing like a red tomato, "what's wrong mash?" You said softly not knowing that you're destroying this man and killing him from the inside with your sweetness, the way you just said that with some cream at the corner of your mouth made him crazy frr!

He grabbed your cheek softly and his other hand pressed your body against his, and grabbed your waist, he wanted to kiss you so badly, he was closing the distance, no, the millimeters separing you too, yet he stopped before touching your lips and asked

" can i ? "

You were blushing at his actions, he made you hella nervous yet in a good way.

" you don't need to ask dummy "

You said softly to him then felt his lips against yours, he kissed you gently until you were breathless and then said.

" i couldn't help it you looked so yummy ".

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kuroppiii · 10 months ago

Text

tough as nails ᵕ̈ boyfie!msby boys x nail tech!gn reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : when you want ⋮⋮ to practice some designs ⋮⋮ and they volunteer them- ⋮⋮ selves as your test dummy !

📋 content ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮 ♡ # 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 🥛 ♡ # 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴 🥛 ♡ # ~2.5𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴

🧸 directory ‹ ✩ like what you read ? check out more of my blog ! •ᴗ•

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ ik that ' s not really the context of the saying in the title but i couldn ' t think of anything else ! nail pics as with all my other header pics are from pinterest <3 also lmk if you want to see more characters for this prompt bc highkey i loveee looking through nail designs lol ”

︴hinata shōyō ․﹒∗*○․﹒✧∘°

this is not this man's first time around some nail polish

natsu used to paint his nails all the time, so he’s so down!

big color inspo from the colors of a classic blue and yellow mikasa volleyball because of his love for the sport (obvi)

howeverrr switching out the yellow for a bit more of an orange hue to go with his hair <3

also!!! some tropical floral designs as an homage to his time in brazil

a super fun vibe for a bright and go-lucky guy :)

when you first take his hand in yours, the tips of his ears start to redden a little bit

"hey shō are your ears alright–?" [you]

"your hands are so soft." [hinata]

"okay, shō." [you] (totally not fighting back a smile)

he's held your hand countless times but for some reason this–you holding his hand so gently and focusing in on it as you start prepping his nail beds–feels so much more intimate

seeing your face as you're so focused on him and his hands makes him blush lowk but good thing you're looking down and can't see how flustered he obviously is

like for someone so talkative, he's silent and almost as attentive as you the whole time and he's not even the one doing the work

you also notice he holds his breath every time you make the nail polish make contact with his nails until you finally lift back up CUTIEEE

“love, you know you can breathe, right?” [you]

“i don’t want to mess you up though! you’re doing so great by the way, babe.” [hinata]

cups your face when his nails are finally set and dry and you can see his eyes dart between your facial features and his nails contrasting against your skin and his smile gets bigger in real time

then he gives you a biggg kiss as a thank you for your hard work

definitely goes to every one of his teammates in the msby locker room his next practice to show them the nails

on tvs, cellphones, laptops and countless other kinds of screens everywhere: the camera following the msby jackals' game whips around to land their sights on hinata shōyō.

ten seconds remain on the clock. the jackals are behind their opponents by the most miniscule handful of points. in a last-ditch effort, atsumu's in place, and in a matter of seconds hinata is already high in the air.

the ball is met with a collision from the redhead's hand and quickly surpasses any of the opposition's lines of defense. an abrasive buzzer blares throughout the area and the msby jackals all start to jump onto one another with screams and yells and high fives in celebration.

"another excellent shot by hinata! what a way for the jackals to clutch this game folks!" a commentator excitedly blabbers.

"let's take another look at that one, shall we?" another accompanying commentator beckons.

time slows on screen during the instant replay–from the moment hinata gets in front of the net, to the moment his feet leave the ground, and especially as his arm is reeled back moments before the winning shot.

the camera takes the liberty of zooming in on hinata’s hand then. it captures the precise moment when his purest love and energy for volleyball surges through his body. the unseen electricity has ricocheted throughout him to finally trail up to his fingertips, adorned with colors that showcase the blend of his identity with the same ball his skin almost adoringly caresses for a second in the eyes on the slow-mo cam footage.

blue and yellow, blue and orange side-by-side in front of thousands and millions of eyes to witness as the ninja shōyō’s manicured hand follows through and pushes that volleyball past the net to bring his team to victory.

︴sakusa kiyoomi ․﹒∗*○․﹒✧∘°

as babygirl as sakusa kiyoomi is, black’s just really his vibe i think

not on like some emo shit but the black would go really well with not only his hair but his iconic beauty marks above his eye

speaking of his hair, the cyber tribal chrome kind of sitch kinda alludes to his curls :0

i mean to the rest of the world he’s this stoic and serious guy all the time

but they don't see how he looks at you while you paint the finer details on his nails

or the subtle and soft dopey smile he’s got on as he asks you in lovestruck whispers about your technique, how work's going, what materials you use, etc.

"and... what's this for now?" [sakusa]

"it's to make sure your nails stay nice and strong for whenever you hit your incredible spikes, omi." [you]

"oh, that's definitely important. wouldn't want to skip that." [sakusa] (before you laugh at his little joke and his heart skips a beat and he gives you a quick kiss on the top of your head as you continue to work)

once the nails are finished, he goes to look at them with his fingers clawed–boyishly characteristic of a dude who's never gotten his nails done like this before

you can't help but laugh and he asks what's wrong

"what do you mean i'm looking at them weird?" [sakusa]

"your hands look like when you posed with the msby jackal mascot that one time." [you]

"how else am i supposed to look at them?" [sakusa]

you demonstrate how people normally check out their nails at the salon

and then it delves into a mini hand modeling lesson and many, many, giggles between the two of you as he tries to figure it out

you end up with some new reference pics of his set for any of your future clients, what a supportive boyfriend!

a certain photo is going viral as it makes its rounds online. the photographer who took it had to have known they struck gold capturing this certain moment, and the racking number of likes and comments are only affirmations of that.

it's a professional shot of sakusa kiyoomi mid-game. late-game, actually, as its evident though the state of his appearance in the picture.

visible droplets dot his face and figure, giving his skin and curly hair a certain sheen that proves the dedication he puts into every one of the msby jackals' games. to combat the sweat that's accumulated on himself, it seems like sakusa had absentmindedly reached for the edge of his jersey to act as a substitute for a towel in that particular moment (his expression is clearly focused on nothing but what might've been happening next on the other side of the court net). the muscles that adorn his torso peek out from the action.

and on top of it all–the sweat, the abs, the way the rest of the jersey clings to the rest of his body–the subtle chrome detailing of his nails stand out where his hand tugs the fabric to wipe at the bottom of his face...

and you hadn't even really caught on to this picture online yourself. the only reason you went to look it up for yourself was because of the influx of work emails you had received since the jackals' last win.

the public was vaguely aware you specialized in cosmetics, as sakusa had alluded to now and then in press conferences and interviews. however, it wasn't really until people online started to wonder where your boyfriend got these nails from did google's reverse-image search bring them to the pictures on your profile that you and sakusa took post- his manicure.

to say your clientele grew overnight, would be quite the understatement.

︴miya atsumu ․﹒∗*○․﹒✧∘°

ik the picture is a bit blurry but PLEASE stick with me here yall 🙏 HEAR ME OUT

heavy on that barbie ken atsumu sort of agenda

you ask if he had any colors in mind

and he’s like "y'know what? fuck it. go big or go home."

he knows people might shit on him for having his nails done at his next game so yeah get the most stereotypically “feminine” color you got–just to mess with whatever losers might whine about it

“but... do ya think pink would look good on me y/n?” [atsumu] (AND HE'S KIND OF SHY WHEN HE'S ASKING YOU)

"OF COURSE IT WOULD BABY??" [you]

as you're ducked down working, he misses seeing your face

so he cranes his neck and looks up at you from where his hands are

"hey baby, funny seeing you here." [atsumu]

"tsumu, stay still!" [you]

"sorry angel, just missed lookin' at ya." [atsumu]

in that position, he loves the feeling of you holding his hands and the sensation of the nail polish brush against the top of his fingers so much, that he semi-falls asleep against his forearm as you wrap up

he just feels so much at peace <3

and when you’re done he is definitely giving ken, and that his job is volleyball

and tbh i hc his hair post timeskip isn’t so much piss yellow as ppl joke it was while he was at inarizaki

but that if he stuck through with keeping it blonde for so long he eventually managed to get it professionally done, and with some GODDAMN TONER 😭

i think it’s like a brassy sort of blonde

which looks perfect as an accent to the nails

like pop off regina george!!!!

something endearing about your loving atsumu is he never fails to get you the best seats in the arena whenever you come watch the msby jackals play.

from front row, you can see everything, and in so much detail—the action, the sweat, the tears that goes into each and every matchup the team faces. truly, the experience was leagues above settling for a closer look on any big screen or arena jumbotron. everything was just so much clearer!

but most importantly, you can see your boyfriend. very clearly.

so clearly, in fact, that after a particular great serve to bokuto for a spike that earned the jackals yet another point, you have the luxury of soaking in all the glowing details of atsumu in his element.

the way he clutches his strong fists and yells with joy at the small win, a bit of pink peeking out from the insides of his palms.

how his hands clap and grasp at the hands of his teammates in quick celebratory high-fives that leave streaky blurs of pink trailing behind his excited movements.

when his hand quickly drags over his smiling and glistening face, before carding through his hair—small pink detailings disappearing and reappearing amidst the blonde strands that rest on the top of his head.

by the time all the players on the court are settled back into their places for when the moment the ball will be up in the air once again—anticipation pulsing on both sides of the net—you can even catch as atsumu quickly glances at his nails with a small, blink-and-you’d-miss-it smile.

thankfully, your top-tier seat allows you to catch it. and although he’s smiling at his hands, you know that it’s for your work and by extension, it’s all love for you in that split second before your boyfriend has to lock in again.

when the next ball is served, you find yourself almost falling out of your chair from how far you’re leaning forward to take in as much of your great view as possible.

︴bokuto kōtarō ․﹒∗*○․﹒✧∘°

MISMATCH IS A MUST

you say the few designs you want to try out and ask him which one you can try on him and he just goes: ALL OF THEM!

(he knows it’ll take longer to do with all the different elements, but that just means he gets to stare at you for longer as you work)

"are you sure? i mean, do you have a color you want in particular? i can tweak them so they all have the same palette." [you]

"nope! cover me with whatever your beautiful mind is envisioning!" [bokuto] (he's jutting his fingers out in front of you and wiggling them around with the biggest grin on his face)

these nails also just fits him as a person because he’s super all over the place and spontaneous so it works it JUST WORKS OK

plus his hair’s literally greyish whitish so it’s like a perfect neutral and blank canvas to accent the color palette

it's one thing having him sit still for an extended amount of time, but having you this close? right in front of him?

how is he not supposed to give your lips a quick kiss now and then

BUT!!! he always goes to double check he didn't mess up the nails every time he pulls back

"kō, the nails are fine! you didn't even move your hands, you're just moving your head to kiss me, silly." [you]

"just making sure, babe! i know this stuff takes a lot of work. plus, i can't really think of what else is happening when i'm kissing you, really." [bokuto] (already going in for another kiss)

you can see in the corner of your eye as you work on your designs that bokuto's nose scrunches up now and then

it's because he's not used to the smell of the nail products you're using

upon completing the whole nail set, he concludes it’s legitimately one of THE COOLEST THINGS anyone’s ever fucking done for him

doesn’t stop staring at his hands in a little bit of awe even after you’re done and chilling on the living room couch, completely oblivious to what's going on on the tv in front of you two

the crowd is going absolutely ballistic. the jackals are in the lead. and your boyfriend, the bokuto kōtarō is up and about to serve.

you watch the arena's big teleprompter with the rest of the spectators as the cameras pan to bokuto.

he has that look on his face–confident and happy playing the sport that runs through his veins. his hand crashes down onto the ball once. wham!

twice. blam!

when the ball comes back up, he grips it between his hands. it's evident even through the screen how his arms tense and pulse. it's like he's revving up.

as everyone hangs off the edge of their seats and keep their eyes glued in anticipation to the broadcasting of bokuto holding that unmistakable combo of blue and yellow–it's impossible to ignore how the ends of his hands glint and reflect the bright overhead lights.

colors of all kinds twitch in excitement against the leather and the star player quickly glances down at the ball, sure, but most definitely also at the intricate art you so graciously blessed his nails with. bokuto's lips crack a smile.

then he's tossing the volleyball up. a loud and powerful smack reverberates throughout the arena. in the blink of an eye the ball whizzes past two of the opposite team's players and the crowd explodes once again as the ball is now rolling on the outskirts of the court across the net.

your boyfriend's chest swells with pride, and his carefully manicured finger darts to point over you in the stands. you cheer even louder for him as he beams a tooth-filled smile your way.

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ oh and i forgot to point out that most of these designs are short and with minimal charms so they don't get in the way of a volleyball player ' s , well ... volleyball playing ! short nail - ers rise up ! ”

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