#spark plug light

[jadafitch]

Goose Rocks Light, Penobscot Bay, North Haven, Maine. Back in the day, being a lighthouse keeper in Maine required a taste for lobster. Especially in a "spark plug" style beacon, with no land for a garden. Many meals were provided by local lobstermen.

[thedaily-beer]

El Segundo Spark Plug Light IPA (Picked up at Windmill Farms). A 3 of 4. Welcome back Session IPA with a different name -- this is quite good and has a ton of the classic West Coast hop profile you'd expect on an extremely light body. Tasty and refreshing.

[northwestofinsanity]

Heads up that if there’s WiFi in the service department lobby I’ll be camping in tomorrow, I’m probably going to spam reblog at some point while I wait to find out whatever the hell’s got my car acting weird all of a sudden. (If not, shameless fanfic writer time…)

[atlasllm]

im going to shit my pants.

[the-best-bagel]

I got a job offer!!

[hometowne-auto-repair-and-tire]

New spark plugs and ignition coils should be installed on a Buick Verano.

While performing check engine light diagnostics, we noticed there was a stored code for ignition coil 3. 

One of our Master Technicians watched the live data and didn’t see any engine misfires. However, cylinder 3 has a history of misfires.

Bad spark plugs and ignition coils are one of many sources behind a check engine light.

[becqthefailednuke]

Writing this down before I forget the details:

I went to go pick up pizza (my sibling had a coupon (rad)).

On way back, nearly hit a tiny chihuahua. However, I slowed down and was able to stop in time. It quite literally ran in front of my car.

Decided to think fast, put on my hazards, pulled over, and grabbed the dog.

Drove the rest of the way home since I didn't immediately see an owner.

Put the dog in my room. He appeared to be pretty old with cataracts. He was scared, but well behaved. He didn't have a collar.

Called the local 24 hour vet to ask if they were busy, and if they had a chip reader.

Made sure to drive by where I almost hit the dog on my way to the vet. Saw a guy on the side of the road looking for something, so I pulled into the nearest street.

I stepped out of the car and asked if he was looking for a dog. He was, and told me "I usually let him out to go to the bathroom, and he always comes back!" (I was annoyed at this. He didn't have a collar, and he was an old dog in the dark. I get not having the space and adapting, but he literally JUMPED IN FRONT OF MY CAR. It would not have taken a very negligent driver to hit him. Thankfully I was fast enough acting, but that really annoyed me. At least have a collar and leash for fucks sake.)

Return the dog to him, and make my way back home.

Eat more pizza.

[thebuttsmcgee]

so. um. 👉👈

hi guysies.

Ig I should just say like. Hi

I haven't been posting here as much cause. Idk. Might be depression? I keep thinking its cause I've been so busy, which also wouldn't be not untrue, but these past, like, 3 weeks I think so far? I've had some free time but I haven't cause. I dunno, then again, I haven't been doing too much in general? I gues, besides very mandatory things, hell I've even been lacking in my regular skyrim hours of playing.

That, and as said, I get super melancholic when I remember just how sad and bittersweet it is that t0h is. Actually legit over. The show and experience, that is.

Oh all that and also becuz my headphones broke! Fuck! That's like number 2 in my bare necessities for when I post, do almost anything really! It's seriously been painful this past month going without headphones holy shit. Dude I've been scratching at the bit for some relief for headphones, I NEED music legitimately. Even right now, as I'm typing this on my phone, my music is on low levels.

But yerp. Its been. Rough. Really rough. I really do appreciate yall, everyone of yall. Have a sweet week everyone, ✌️!

[dmitriene]

cw: age gap (legal but not specified), mentions of readers virginity, just two people in love.

simon ghost riley doesn't think he's ugly outside, but he does think he is inside, too rotting comparing to you, so much more sweeter when you flutter your eyelashes at him and brush your fingers against his biceps in fleeting touches, trying so sweetly to gain the attention he doesn't let himself give you.

you're younger, it's visible in the lines on your face and cheerful smiles you flash him, in polite behavior that you keep up when you talk with elders, not yet on the same line of age with them, in how you call him sir and make his whole body shudder as it slips from your plump lips, and it's shouldn't make his cock chub up.

simon knows you're not a baby, you're a capable young woman, and even his friends date girls looking like you, but he feels like his hand are too dirty, bloodstained and calloused from the years of military service, his face is rugged and he can't even keep his stubble shaved properly, a mess of a man.

but you gaze at him with heart shaped pupils and trail around him like affectionate kitten, rubbing yourself all over him for at least one bit of attention, and the way you erupt in giddy smiles and sincere giggles when he garners you these bits.

pats at your head or accepts some baked treats you made, and there's something acidic behind his ribs, little sparks that instead of smoking erupts in licking flames, burning scorching hot across his whole body, and he's so addicted it's embarrassing to voice out, forbidden fruit is always sweet.

you were throwing yourself willingly at simon, and when he accepts your shy invitation to keep you an evening company in some town pub, where you sit under dim light on plush leather couch, body adorned with tight fitting dress that is too revealing for your usual attires, simon let's himself snap.

he knows it's all for him, the fabric ridding up all the way your plush thighs, pressed together when you squirm and tug it down, just so you won't sit with you ass bare on the leather, simon fists his hands until they whiten on his thighs as he tugs at his jeans, suddenly too tight.

all for him, the way you lean against the table, as if to hear him better, teasing your teeth at the plump flesh of your lips, warm breath mingling with his, smoky, made to make you push away, but your eyes grow heavy, swallowed dark by dilating pupils, and simon is fucked up badly.

he barely makes it to the front door of his apartment, you're feisty, nipping little teeth's at his stubbled jaw, rubbing sloppy kisses against his skin that grows hot and itchy from want, from the feeling of your body pressed against his tightly, legs wrapped around his hips, for him, all for him, his.

your body is soft, welcoming his touch with small goosebumps and small shudders, supple under his fingers that he traces too carefully across your curves, shedding every piece of clothing off you, like a kid with christmas present, hands trembling when he tugs your panties to find them sodden.

you're wet, wanting, squirming on the cold sheets that soothe your burning flesh as you spread your thighs to trail your hand down beneath your navel, simon feels like a virgin, breath hitching loudly when you spread your glistening folds with obscene squelch, chanting that it's all his fault.

for neglecting your affection, making you fuck your pussy on your own fingers every night, dreaming of being stretched around his cock, of granting simon your virginity, your flesh and bones, everything he'll please, you'll give him, just as you show him your dripping hole that clenches in need.

simon is a fool for making you wait so long, for depraving himself from you, because you feel heavenly, thin skin stretching around his fat, veiny girth, dribbling precum that mixes with your cloying slick, easing the glide, letting him stuff you, inch by inch, plugged with fat cock that throbs inside.

you clench with each drag, with each shallow thrust simon gives you because he can't make it faster, not because you'll be hurt, but because he shudders at the feel of your gummy walls latching around his meaty shaft, because he wants to enjoy every second of this encounter.

to hear your punched mewls, to watch the way you knead at the sheets below you like a docile kitten, meeting his languid movements with careful rolls of your hips, chest to chest with him, his breath burning against your ear as he showers you with sloppy kisses.

you're sopping wet between your legs, supple flesh coated with saccharine slick, splayed on his bed with simon's scent so heady around you, with his tongue toying with yours, his palms pawing at your hips and tugging, making you bounce towards his pounding hips, rumbling when it makes you arch.

simon loses himself in you, he listens to your pitched, garbled chants of want to be filled up with his seed, and he grits his teeth until veins pop on his jaw, increasing his movements to jab his tip against your sweet spot, make your walls clutch and pulse rapidly with bubbling magma in your belly.

you purr in delight when he fills you, coating your velvety walls with spurts of warm, thick cum, leaking past your clenching muscles, with simon's cock drived impossibly deep, enough to feel full despite how it dribbles down in creamy mess to stain the sheets.

pleased enough to let your body drift into drowsy state, sated to the point of your eyes slipping shut from minute to minute, enough time for simon to ease himself from you and go fetch a warm cloth to clean you both, just a bit to be comfortable while curled in each other during night.

simon ain't sure to which point this sex had drove you both, but he doesn't want to push you away, he enjoys the feeling of your naked body pressed against his, cradled against his brawny chest, soft breath tickling his skin and your eyelashes quivering in peaceful slumber, and he wants to remain there.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[jadafitch]

Lubec Channel Light, Lubec, Maine. At low tide, the "Spark Plug" is virtually surrounded by mud. This mud is one of the top spots in the state for fall shorebird watching. Thousands of sandpipers, plovers and other little long legged birds make a stop here, to fatten up on worms and other small invertebrates, before making their way south for winter.

[merakidoll]

— plug connie himself! enjoy it or don’t i don’t care 🎀

“feel good huh boo?” connie smiled in the camera showing his gold bottom row grillz. his hands skillfully rolled the greenery into the pink wrapper, his pink nails that he got to match yours making your cunt thump. as a small gift for his needy girl, connie purchased an exact replica of his dick. it was pink and glittery, looking so pretty when you would fuck it into your brown cunt - just as you were now.

“fuck c-conn” you whimpered, hearing the sound of the lighter as he sparked the fat blunt humming in response. “look at me ma” his voice was strained as the first pull was always such a strong relief. your low eyes looked down at the propped up camera, hand moving faster to work the dildo in you. his pink hair looked so pretty in the dullness of his car light, actually connie just looked so pretty making your jucies leak onto your shared comforter. “turn that shit around for me boo” you moaned a little, tired giggle passing your lips as you did as told.

the fat of your ass being all in connie’s face; your wet pussy that glistened being his only view making his mouth water. “now continue” he smoked his blunt, bulge uncomfortable in his pants watching how deep the the replic fucked into you. your pussy sounds, and moans making his ball feel so heavy. how you left your hand still for a few bouncing back against the pretty sexy toy making your ass clap and thighs shake. “that feel good huh? wishin daddy was there boo?” you whined in response, starting to fuck it into you slowly as your orgasm was on its brink just like connie would do.

“look at you tryna be like daddy” he watched your hips rotate, pussy jucies leaking and his cock jerking in the black nike sweats. his toes curled in the matching black socks, sliding against the slide that was on his feet. his teeth gritted together once you pulled the cream decorated dildo all the way out of you, then pushed it in; squirt dripping out of you while you repeatedly said his name. “c-connieee! ooo connie” connie’s cock began to hurt, his desperate “daddies here mama” while watching your shaky hands still fuck the toy inside of you making more squirt come out of you. he knew you were done when your legs gave out, your body falling on the bed as you took heavy breaths.

“daddies gonna clean you up when he gets home” connie told you smiling. he ashed his blunt grabbing the my melody duffle from the back seat listening to you shuffle on the bed. “stay on the phone” he said, then rolled down his tinted window to the small group of scattered people in the parking lot. pulling out his pink scale and my melody zip loc bags he made sure no one could see you as he started his hobby never one hanging up on you.

[stargazedwinchester]

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ mechanic!dean headcanons ๋࣭ ⭑

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

──★˙. He always wipes his hands off before leaning against your car. He’d smirk at you and say, “you keep coming in here with problems, sweetheart. Startin’ to think you’re just lookin’ for an excuse to see me.”

──★˙. When you bring food to the shop, whether it’s a burger or pie, he lights up like you just saved him from starving to death. He’ll sit with you on the hood of your car and share it with you.

──★˙. He loves to teach you car stuff. Each time you ask a question about changing your oil, replacing your spark plugs—anything, you’ll catch him smiling every time.

──★˙. He swears that his ratty band tees and worn jeans are his uniform, and once, you tried to buy him a clean jumpsuit. He laughed at it, sighed deeply, and said, “Who am I, Danny Zuko?”

──★˙. He keeps a photo of you in the garage tucked nicely in the corner of the mirror above his workbench, and whenever someone asks why it’s there, he tells them that it's you that keeps him motivated.

──★˙. He “accidentally” leaves streaks of grease on your face whenever he touches your cheek or kisses your nose. He loves seeing you marked up from his world.

[papayainsectorone]

Emotional Support Stranger

summary: stranded in a late-night airport hellscape with a dying phone and a delayed flight, you are one sarcastic comment away from a breakdown—until an unexpected laugh from the guy in front of her sparks an unlikely connection.

content: no real warnings

airport purgatory vibes™, emotional damage via sleep deprivation, crying in public (but make it sexy?), strangers-to-deliriously-flirty-to-???, phone battery anxiety, surprise first class reveal??, “wait... are you famous?” energy, terminal-based emotional intimacy, light angst, one shared headphone

word count: 3.3k

pairing: franco colapinto x fem!reader

You're standing in line at the rebooking desk, the strap of your carry-on digging into your shoulder like it’s punishing you for booking with this airline in the first place. Your phone's at 7%. Your charger is buried under everything you packed for what was supposed to be a nice trip, now turned emotional survival exercise. 

The clerk ahead of you looks like she'd rather be anywhere else on Earth. 

You're trying not to cry. 

Really, you are. 

You keep chewing the inside of your cheek, eyes burning as the guy in front of you hands back your passport and ticket with the words: 

“Thanks. Have a nice flight.” 

It breaks you. Not all the way, not loudly—but enough that the sarcasm slips out before you can stop it. 

“Yeah, hope it crashes.” 

Silence for a second. Then a laugh—quick and startled. 

You glance up, tense, expecting judgment. 

Instead, he’s smiling. 

And not in a mocking way. It’s this crooked little grin like he wasn’t expecting to laugh today, but you just made him. 

He’s... hot. You notice that, but not first. First, you notice how real he seems in a sea of people who are all pretending not to lose it. His hoodie’s a little wrinkled. His curls are a mess. He has dark circles under his eyes like you do. He’s leaning on the handle of his suitcase like he’s been here a while too. 

“Bit dark,” he says, voice light but low. 

You exhale—half a laugh, half frustration. “I’ve been in this line for hours, my flight’s delayed indefinitely, and the dude behind the other counter just told the guy two people ahead that the next flight out might be tomorrow.” 

You tilt your head toward the heavens—well, toward the buzzing lights—and add, “So, yeah. I'm in a bit of a mood.” 

“Fair.” He nudges your arm gently with his elbow. “You looked like you were about to leap over the desk. I was rooting for you.” 

Your laugh this time is more genuine, and your posture shifts just a little relieved not to feel entirely alone in your disaster. 

“Where are you headed?” he asks. 

You sigh. “San Fernando International. Supposed to be working.” 

He raises an eyebrow, then deadpans, “Maybe this is fate.” 

You scoff. “Or just hell with extra layovers.” 

That earns a grin. “That too.” 

You’re finally done with the rebooking desk. 

They couldn’t get you on another flight. Couldn’t even guarantee the one you’re already booked on will go at some point. They handed you a sorry-looking meal voucher like it was a prize for surviving airport purgatory. 

You spot him a few rows down—hood up now, slouched in one of those hard plastic seats by the gate, his suitcase serving as a footrest.

Without thinking much about it, you walk over and drop yourself into the seat beside him. 

It’s not graceful. More like a slow collapse. 

You lean your head back against the metal wall behind you, closing your eyes. 

“Bad news?” he asks quietly. 

You nod. “Worse. No news.” 

He exhales a laugh, not because it’s funny but because everything feels like a cosmic joke now. 

You crack your eyes open and glance at him sideways. “What time is it?” 

He checks his watch. “2:57.” 

“AM,” you clarify. 

“Yep.” 

You groan and rub your face. Your phone’s been dead for an hour, and the outlet near your seat refuses to cooperate, blinking out the second you plug in your charger. 

You try it again anyway, just in case the universe suddenly decided to cut you some slack. 

Nope. Still dead. 

He chuckles. 

You look at him. “Are you at least entertained? Or is your Spotify saving your life?” 

He holds up one earbud. “A bit of both.” 

You raise an eyebrow. 

He hesitates... and then offers the other bud. 

You blink. “Seriously?” 

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Better than both of us being miserable.” 

You take it. 

The bud is warm from his ear and weirdly, you don’t mind. There’s something oddly intimate about it, like sharing a hoodie or a private joke. 

The music is something soft. Guitar, a little lo-fi beat under it. 

“Okay,” you say, settling back, letting your arm rest between you, not quite touching his. “I expected, like... EDM.” 

He huffs. “And you seem like the type to listen to... what? Heartbreak ballads in a coffee shop?” 

You smile. “Only sometimes.” 

The next track fades in. You don’t know it, but it fits. Everything slows a little. 

You're both still for a while, music filling the space between you. 

Then, he clears his throat, quiet. “You know... I can deal with it if you need to rant. About the flight. Or the apocalypse-level service desk. Or life in general.” 

You laugh softly, your head turning toward him. “Are you offering yourself up as an emotional support stranger?” 

He grins. “Pretty much, yeah.” 

You let out a breath. “Okay. Here goes.” 

And once you start, you don’t stop. 

About the mess at the gate. The rude lady who snapped at you like your very presence was an inconvenience. About your power bank dying. About the overpriced water bottle. About how the vending machine ate your last coin and gave you nothing. 

You don’t think he’d laugh so hard at that, but he does genuinely, hand-over-mouth, eyes-creasing laugh. 

When you finally sigh again and slump further into your seat, he says, “Feel better?” 

You nod. “Weirdly, yeah.” 

He glances over, soft smile still lingering. “So… what work got you flying at ungodly hours?” 

You huff, eyes flicking up to the departure board like it might remind you where you’re even going. “Conference. I’m in engineering.” 

His brows raise. “Oh, cool. What kind?” 

That’s all it takes. 

You don’t even realize how fast your words come, about structures and materials and that one project you’re working on that somehow turned into your entire personality for the past three months. You don’t even register how animated you are, hands gesturing slightly, voice picking up momentum like a train rounding a bend. 

You don’t notice, because he never interrupts. Never glances away. Just watches you with this sort of quiet focus that makes it feel like everything you're saying matters. 

You only pause when your throat goes dry and you realize you're smiling a little too hard. 

“Oh my god. I’ve been talking for, like—what? Ten minutes straight?” 

He laughs softly. “More like fifteen.” 

Your face flushes. “Why didn’t you stop me?” 

He leans his head against the metal wall, smiling crookedly. “Didn’t want to. You look happy when you talk about it.” 

That stops you. In a gentle way. 

He shrugs like he didn’t just knock the breath out of you a little. “I like people who light up.” 

You don’t know what to say to that. So you just smile and nudge his shoulder with yours. 

And then—quietly—you say, “What about you? Why’re you flying?” 

His mouth quirks a bit. “Work too.” 

“What kind?” 

He hesitates, eyes flicking away for the first time. “It’s a bit... niche.” 

You nod, not pressing. There’s a flicker of something behind his expression—not embarrassment exactly, just a desire to stay in this moment where things feel easy, where no names or titles are needed. 

So you don’t push. You just smile gently and shift the topic. 

The conversation meanders from there. One of you asks something small, and the other answers. Then it flips. Back and forth, for what feels like hours—but the good kind, the fast kind. You talk about favorite snacks, worst travel experiences, weirdest dreams. The kind of things only a half-lit terminal at 5 a.m. makes feel profound. 

Then it drifts again into music, and eventually, quiet. 

His playlist becomes the soundtrack to your shared waiting. 

You hadn’t noticed when your eyes slipped closed, but you must have drifted. The warmth from his side, the quiet static of airport announcements, the fading adrenaline of frustration—it all lulled you under. 

You don’t notice when he gets up. 

You don’t stir when he approaches the gate desk with a soft-voiced question and a charm that’s more polite than pushy. You don’t catch the way he angles your boarding pass across the counter with just enough casual confidence to make it all seem easy. 

When he comes back, there’s something in his step—a quiet buzz of victory. But he says nothing. 

He just sits again. 

And the subtle motion—the shift of weight next to you—is enough to nudge your head, gently, down onto his shoulder. 

His breath catches a little. 

Not enough to wake you. 

Then, gently, he tips his head—just enough for his cheek to graze your hair. 

He lets it stay there, barely touching, like any more might wake you. And maybe he wants to let you sleep a little longer. Maybe he wants to stay like this a little longer too. 

But the intercom crackles overhead, sharp and abrupt in the hush of the terminal. 

Flight 227 to San Fernando International now boarding. 

You shift beside him, blinking awake, your hand rubbing over your face as you sit up a little too fast. “Shit,” you mumble. “Did I—was I drooling on you?” 

He smiles, still a little sleep-warm. “Just a little. Adds to the charm.” 

You groan softly, dragging your hoodie sleeve over your mouth, cheeks burning. “God, kill me.” 

But he just chuckles and stands, brushing the wrinkles from his jeans. “Come on. Looks like our ride’s here.” 

Your boarding pass is wrinkled in your hand, thumb dragging over your seat number again and again, a nervous tic you don’t even realize you're doing. The gate agent takes it with a pleasant smile, scanning it with a soft beep. Then her eyes flicker to the screen, and she pauses. 

“Oh, Miss,” she says, reaching for a pen. “Looks like you’ve been upgraded.” She scribbles something quickly over your seat number before handing it back, like it’s routine. 

You blink. “I’ve been what?” 

But she’s already turning to the next passenger, smiling as if it’s nothing. And maybe it is. But your brain—still fogged from sleep and that strange, dreamy layover haze—doesn’t quite catch up. 

You go with it. What else is there to do? 

The jet bridge feels colder than you expected, your hoodie not quite enough against the sting of early morning air. You wrap your arms around yourself as the line creeps forward, every step oddly slow and too quiet. You rub the sleep from your eyes, phone clutched in your other hand, still dead. Everything feels like a dream—like you’re watching your own life through a half-fogged window. 

Then, as you step into the cabin, the flight attendant greets you with that practiced, polished smile. “Welcome aboard,” she says, checking your pass once more. “You’re to the left.” 

Left. 

You hesitate at the threshold, feet sticking to the floor like you missed a cue. “Sorry,” you ask, brow furrowed. “This is… first class?” 

The attendant nods without blinking. “Yes. Welcome aboard. You’re in 1A.” 

She gestures with an open palm like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and somehow your body moves before your brain can catch up. 

You walk in slow steps, the plush carpet soft beneath your feet, the lighting warm, impossibly golden. It smells like leather and something faintly floral. You pass other passengers already settled in—pressed shirts, neat hair, a man sipping champagne at 7 a.m. like it’s juice. 

And then you see it. Your seat. Spacious. Sleek. With a blanket folded neatly across it and a glass already waiting on a tray beside it, bubbles rising in perfect spirals. 

You’re still staring at it when he appears beside you. 

“Would you look at that?” he says, voice low and amused as he slides into the seat right next to yours. 

You stare at him. “This is first class.” 

He shrugs like he doesn’t quite know what you’re talking about, dropping into the seat beside you with casual ease. “Huh. That’s wild.” 

You scoff, sipping the champagne that’s already making your head feel a little floaty. You study him from the corner of your eye. “You didn’t… do something, did you?” 

He raises a brow, feigning offense. “Like what?” 

“I don’t know. Pull some secret-string or bribe someone with your—” You gesture vaguely at his whole face. “—unfair cheekbones or something.” 

He lets out a quiet laugh, reclines his seat just a bit, and fastens his belt like he’s done this a thousand times. “I think you might be overestimating the power of my cheekbones.” 

You turn more fully toward him, champagne resting lightly in your lap. “So this is just a cosmic coincidence? We both got upgraded to first class?” 

His mouth twitches. “Maybe the universe owed us something after a seven-hour gate delay.” 

You exhale a soft laugh, but there’s still something curling suspiciously warm in your chest. Gratitude. Disbelief. And something quieter. Something that makes you want to lean into the seat beside him and pretend you’ve always flown like this. 

As the cabin doors close and the safety video begins, you find yourself watching him instead of the screen. His eyes track the window lazily, fingers idly brushing the armrest, his whole posture relaxed in that way people are only when they’re somewhere familiar. You’re starting to realize he fits here. 

You don’t. But next to him, maybe it doesn’t matter. 

And when the plane begins to taxi, the low rumble beneath your feet swelling with momentum, you grip the armrest hard—knuckles whitening, body stiffening without meaning to. Your breath stalls somewhere in your throat, chest locked tight like the air’s already thinning. 

He notices. He doesn’t say anything at first—just watches the way your fingers curl against the leather, the way your shoulders tense like they’re bracing for impact. Then, quietly, without turning his head fully, he murmurs, “I don´t know if i have to ask… but are you nervous flying?” 

You glance at him, surprised by the gentleness in his voice. It’s not pitying or amused—just there, open and real. 

You nod, small and sheepish, biting the inside of your cheek. “I think even more so being in first class,” you admit, the words slipping out with a faint, breathy laugh. “Feels too high up. Like I don’t belong here. Like if we fall, it’s further to the ground.” 

That makes him chuckle, quiet and low in his chest, the sound warm and steadying. “That’s a first,” he says, and then—without even looking down—he reaches over and takes your hand. 

It’s not a showy gesture. It’s easy. Effortless. Like he’s done it a thousand times. Like it just makes sense. His fingers curl over yours, firm but not tight, thumb brushing softly against your knuckles. 

His eyes stay on the cabin wall ahead of him, but his voice drops just a bit more, close and sure. “It’ll be alright.” 

And for some strange reason, you believe him. 

The plane lifts from the runway with a low, drawn-out hum that vibrates through the cabin. Your fingers tighten instinctively in his, but he doesn’t flinch or tease—just holds steady, anchoring you through the ascent. His thumb keeps moving in slow, absent circles against your skin. It’s quiet up here—strangely soft, like the world below has muffled itself entirely. 

After a few minutes, your grip relaxes, breath coming easier. He shifts slightly in his seat, his body angled toward yours, and for a while you both just sit there in the low hum of first class silence, warm hand in warm hand. 

“You alright now?” he murmurs eventually, voice dipped low with fatigue. 

You nod, turning your face toward him on the plush headrest. “Yeah. You’re—really good at that, actually. The whole handholding thing.” 

A crooked grin tugs at his lips. “Thanks. I charge per flight.” 

You smile sleepily, eyes heavy. “Put it on my tab.” 

A pause drapes between you. Not awkward—just easy. Shared. You both sink deeper into it, exhaustion softening your edges. Your legs stretch out a bit under the blanket the flight attendant tucked over you earlier. He shifts too, letting his head lean lightly against the headrest. 

You both speak again at the same time. 

“What do you do—” 

“Do you always fly nervous—” 

You both laugh, just a soft puff of air and amusement in the dim light. 

“Go ahead,” he says. 

You shake your head. “No, you.” 

He lets his eyes drift toward the window, a soft shrug rolling through his shoulder. “I was just gonna say… you look like you don’t sleep much.” 

That catches you off guard. Your brow creases slightly, but there’s no sting to his words. Just observation. Care, even. 

“Yeah,” you admit. “I guess I haven’t. Not really. Not in a while.” 

His gaze returns to you—warm, thoughtful. “You should.” 

You smile faintly. “So should you.” 

He smirks. “I will. Right here. Got everything I need.” 

The flight levels out and the lights dim further. One by one, the cabin falls into a hush of flickering screens and quiet breathing. His grip on your hand never slackens—not tight, just present, like a tether. 

Eventually, your eyes fall closed. 

His follow not long after. 

When the attendant comes by to check on passengers, she pauses—smiling faintly at the two of you, slouched toward each other, hands still clasped between the seats, asleep above the clouds. 

The plane’s descent is gentle, the soft hum of engines lowering as the city lights begin to twinkle beneath the clouds. Your hand still rests in his, fingers intertwined, and though you’re tired, the closeness keeps a quiet energy alive between you. You glance around the cabin, noticing how the few other passengers steal brief looks your way. Is it just the dim light, or do they seem to recognize him? You blink, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, but the feeling lingers—whispers, soft murmurs, and the faint clicking of a phone camera. 

When the wheels touch down with a smooth thud, he squeezes your hand lightly, a silent reassurance. As the plane taxis to the gate, you both stir, stretching out the sleep from your limbs. You gather your things slowly, the haze of tiredness still wrapped around you like a blanket. 

The moment you step into the terminal, the sensation of attention intensifies. People glance your way, some whispering just loud enough to catch your ear, others sneaking pictures when they think you’re not looking. You’re half-tempted to ask him if they know him, but he just smiles softly, not drawing attention. 

He steps in front of you, lifting your carry-on with an easy grace. “Let me,” he says, his voice low but steady. You nod, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and intrigue. 

By the baggage claim, the noise picks up. A young boy, no older than ten, approaches, tugging at his mother’s sleeve before gathering courage to step forward. “Can I have a picture?” His wide eyes shine with admiration. 

He chuckles, nodding. “Of course, mate.” He crouches down, smiling warmly as the boy’s parents snap a quick photo. 

You watch, puzzled but smiling at the easy way he handles it, the humility that doesn’t demand attention but quietly commands it. 

As you head toward the exit, the crowd grows thicker, flashes bursting like fireflies from outside. You spot several cameras aimed your way before you even reach the doors. He notices your widening eyes and murmurs, “Sorry.” 

Then, without breaking stride, he grabs your hand again, shoving a small, crumpled piece of paper into your palm. “Text me sometime, stranger.” 

You blink, heart skipping. “Wait—what’s your name?” 

He grins when looking back. “Franco.” 

With that, he steps outside, and the air bursts with a chorus of screams and the relentless staccato of cameras. 

You stand frozen, the crumpled paper warm in your hand, a small smile tugging at your lips as the noise fades behind you. 

[h1nanii]

Pink Clouds

Pairing: Plug! Law x fem!Reader

Genre: ModernAU! NSFW 18+, Smut, Soft Dom, Pillow Princess! Reader

[Warnings: Weed use, fingering, slight oral (f receiving), p in v sex, dirty talk, thigh riding, possessiveness, infidelity themes, tattoo kink, pet names]

Porn with plot. MINORS DNI

Just trying out his latest product, as usual you did it together. Just being his “favorite customer” gave him the invitation inside your apartment as you complained to him about your boyfriend for what seemed to be the 100th time.

Your room smelled like strawberries, lip gloss, and just a hint of weed—and Law fucking loved it.

He leaned against the doorframe, black hoodie hanging loose off his shoulders, hands deep in the pockets of his sweats as he watched you bounce back onto your bed, pink LED lights casting everything in a cotton-candy glow.

“You always look this good when you get high?” he asked, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.

You giggled, already a little floaty from the first hit. “Only when I’m testing your shit.”

He crossed the room in a few steps, sliding the branded ziplock bag back into his backpack before flicking his lighter. The flame sparked as he lit the blunt you’d already rolled with shaking fingers. You inhaled deeply, the strain hitting warm and heavy behind your eyes, and you flopped back into your bed with a soft groan.

“This one’s good,” you murmured. “Feels like I’m melting.”

Law’s golden gaze swept over your body—bare legs, short shorts, your baby pink tank top riding up just enough to show a peek of tummy. He grinned, slow and wolfish. “That’s the idea.”

You didn’t even notice him kneeling on the bed until his palms were spreading over your thighs, warm, big, inked fingers gripping your soft skin like it belonged to him. Your head fell back against the pillows, breath hitching.

“You high?” he asked, voice low and thick.

You nodded.

“Good. I want you floatin’ while I play with this pretty pussy.”

Your eyes fluttered open. “Law—”

He shut you up with a kiss, deep and slow, tongue sliding into your mouth while his fingers toyed with the waistband of your shorts. You weren’t wearing panties, almost like you were expecting this. He grunted when he felt how wet you already were.

“Shit, you always get this wet when I’m around?” he teased, dipping one thick finger between your folds.

“Only for you,” you breathed, hips twitching.

That earned you a wicked grin. “That’s ‘cause you know I treat this pussy better than your bum-ass boyfriend ever could.”

As if on cue, your phone buzzed on the nightstand—3 texts from “No Good [boyfriend/name]”. Law saw it. He didn’t care. Instead, he sank two fingers into your cunt, knuckles deep, curling up just right.

“Oh my—f-fuck,” you whined, legs already trembling.

“That’s right. Let him text. I got my fingers in his girl’s pussy while she soaks my hand, ‘makes you my girl now don’t it?.” His lips brushed your jaw, then your neck, biting softly. “He ever make you cum like this?”

You couldn’t answer. Your back was arching, thighs clamping around his wrist as he picked up the pace, thumb finding your clit with practiced pressure.

“Law—!”

“Say my name when you cum. Not his. Mine.”

It didn’t take long. You came hard, gasping his name, fingers twisted in your bedsheets, your whole body twitching. Law didn’t stop. He just slid down, kissed your thigh, then licked a slow stripe up your pussy like he had all night.

“Mm. I’m not done,” he murmured against you, voice muffled by your thighs. “Told you—you’re my favorite customer. I always take care of what’s mine.”

Your thighs were still twitching when Law kissed his way back up your stomach, slow and unbothered like he hadn’t just made you cum so hard your vision blurred. His hoodie hung over your body like a blanket, the scent of weed and him wrapping around you warm and sticky.

“You good?” he asked, though his lips were already brushing your jaw.

You nodded, dazed and breathless. “Still high.”

He smirked, licking his lips. “Good. ‘Cause I’m far from done with you, baby.”

His hands—those tattooed, ring-clad hands—were everywhere. Squeezing your hips, stroking your sides, slipping under your pink top just to palm your tits lazily, thumbs flicking your nipples. The contrast of his calloused fingers on your soft, sensitive skin had you moaning again, brain fuzzy.

Then he sat up and dragged you with him, settling you on his thigh.

“Grind on me.”

You blinked, lips parted. “What?”

He cupped your face with one hand, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “I said,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “grind on my fuckin’ thigh, princess.”

You were already soaked—your pussy leaving slick heat against his sweats. He flexed his thigh, the muscle firm under you, and your hips moved on instinct. The pressure made you gasp.

“Atta girl,” he muttered. “Take what you need. Don’t think. Just feel.”

You whimpered as you rocked against him, your bare pussy dragging against the fabric, your clit rubbing just right. He kept a hand on your lower back, guiding you, his other one gripping your jaw to keep you looking at him.

“You like riding my thigh more than his dick, huh?” he growled. “Bet that weak-ass motherfucker never made you cum like this.”

You nodded fast, breath catching. “Only you,” you moaned, hips moving faster, desperate and messy. “Only you, Law—fuck—”

His thigh flexed again, making you cry out. He looked high off your sounds, high off you, eyes dark and burning under the glow of your bedroom lights.

“Such a needy little thing,” he purred. “All this pink, all this pretty—you were made to be my girl. Made to be my pillow princess. Let me fuckin’ spoil you.”

Your orgasm snuck up on you—sharp and overwhelming. You clung to his hoodie, forehead pressing against his neck as your whole body trembled, riding out the waves.

Law didn’t move. Just held you there, kissing your shoulder, whispering in your ear.

“You think he could ever do this for you? Keep dreamin’, baby.”

Then your phone buzzed again—another message from your boyfriend. Law grabbed it, glanced at the screen, and chuckled.

“He wants to ‘talk things out’? Nah. Not tonight.”

He tossed the phone aside, then flipped you onto your back again.

“I’m not lettin’ you go till you forget his name.”

Your body was spent, wrecked in the prettiest way—thighs shaking, lips swollen, skin sticky with sweat and slick. You were still wearing that tiny pink top, tits peeking out as Law hovered over you, hoodie long gone, chest tattoo on full display under your soft lighting.

He’d already made you cum twice, and he looked like he was just getting started.

“Face down,” he growled, grabbing your hips. “Ass up. I wanna see how sloppy this pussy’s gotten.”

You moved without thinking, too fucked-out to be shy. Your cheek hit the pillow as you arched for him, moaning when he grabbed a fistful of your ass and spread you open.

“Goddamn,” he muttered. “Look at this. So wet for me.”

You gasped when he rubbed the thick head of his cock between your folds, teasing your entrance—slow, so you could feel all of it. Then he pushed in, inch by inch, burying himself to the hilt.

You nearly screamed. “L-Law—fuck!”

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, hands gripping your hips so tight you’d have bruises. “You feel that? That’s what a real man feels like.”

He pulled back, then slammed into you, hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs.

“You let him fuck you with that weak-ass dick?” Another thrust. “That sorry little boy who thinks he owns you?” Another, deeper now, dragging a broken sob from your throat.

“N-No,” you whimpered. “He never—fuck, Law—he never fucked me like this.”

“Damn right he didn’t.”

 He grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head up just enough so you could speak.

“Grab your phone.”

“What—?”

“You heard me. Text that sorry motherfucker and tell him it’s over. Now.”

Shaking, you reached for the phone. Fingers trembling, you opened your messages and typed with one hand, the other bracing you as Law kept fucking into you, cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you.

“We’re done. Don’t text me again.”

You hit send. Law grabbed the phone from your hand, smirking.

Then he angled the camera—snapping a shot of you from behind, face buried in the pillow, drool at the corner of your mouth, ass in the air, his thick cock splitting you open.

He sent it without hesitation.

“She’s mine now. Stay the fuck outta her life.”

Then he tossed the phone aside and grabbed your throat, not hard—just enough to make your pussy clench around him.

“You feel that?” he growled in your ear. “That’s what being owned feels like. Not that weak shit he had you under”

You shattered on his cock, crying out his name like it was the only word you knew. He followed right after, slamming into you with a guttural moan as he filled you up, cock twitching deep inside.

When it was over, he stayed there for a moment, chest to your back, one hand stroking your hip while the other gently brushed your hair from your face.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured.

You nodded, dazed and glowing. “Never better.”

He smiled and kissed your shoulder. “Told you I’d treat you better.”

[Pt.2 here]

[syrecjh]

─ .🌷✧˚Everyone’s Extra, But You’re My Dollface

˚🎀༘⋆ || katsuki bakugo x reader, pure fluff

Bakugo’s world was full of noise—explosions, egos, too-loud classmates, and quirks that screamed for attention. Everyone was extra, in his words.

Too flashy. Too talkative. Too soft. Too annoying.

So he labeled them.

Names like badges of mockery. Nicknames that clung to them like soot after one of his blasts.

“Shitty Hair,” for Kirishima.

“Half-and-Half Bastard,” for Todoroki.

“Deku,” for Midoriya—his oldest rival.

“Pinky,” “Electric Dumbass,” “Four-Eyes,” and so on.

They were insults, sure—but they stuck. Like gravel in scraped knees. That was just Bakugo.

And yet… for you?

You weren’t “extra.”

You were the quiet in his chaos.

The still moment between his heartbeats.

And so, you got something no one else did.

“Dollface.”

The first time he called you that? It slipped out during a mission debrief. Everyone was talking over each other—Mina rehashing her hero pose, Kaminari laughing at nothing, Iida trying to restore order. Bakugo sat in the corner, arms crossed, brow twitching.

And you—calm, thoughtful you—were bandaging a scrape on his arm without saying a word. Like it was nothing. Like touching his scars didn’t scare you.

He didn’t thank you. Of course not.

But when you finished, he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear:

“…Thanks, Dollface.”

You blinked.

“What did you call me?”

His ears turned red, but his glare dared you to challenge it. “Got a problem?”

“…No,” you whispered, cheeks warm. “Just... didn’t expect that.”

“Tch. Don’t get used to it.”

Spoiler: you did. He just didn’t stop.

One morning in class, you sat quietly, tracing the rim of your coffee mug while Aizawa droned on about combat strategy. Everyone else, naturally, couldn’t shut up.

Kirishima was cracking jokes, Denki was trying to get Todoroki to laugh, and Midoriya was mid-infodump when Bakugo’s pen snapped in half.

“Goddamn it—every single one of you is extra!”

The room went still.

“You—Shitty Hair. You—Spark Plug Idiot. Deku—don’t even get me started.”

He swung his eyes to you.

Then, without warning, his entire tone shifted.

“You good, Dollface? You need a new pen or what?”

The silence was deafening.

Everyone’s heads slowly turned to you like you were some kind of endangered species.

You blinked.

“I’m… I’m fine. Thanks.”

He grunted and looked away. Like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just sucker-punched the entire room with affection.

You cornered him later that day behind the gym, heartbeat jumping.

“Bakugo.”

“What?” he barked. “You gonna yell at me for calling you somethin’ now? Don’t start—”

“I’m not mad. I just… why ‘Dollface’?”

His eyes narrowed—not angry, just calculating. Then, like a fuse lighting slowly, he exhaled.

“Because you’re not like them.”

You frowned. “Like who?”

He looked away, jaw tight.

“Everyone. All those extras run their mouths, act like they know everything. But you…” He met your eyes, and this time, his voice dropped. Quiet. Honest.

“You’re calm. You don’t take up space like they do. You’re sharp. Real. Strong, even when you’re soft. Like a porcelain bomb that knows how to hold back.”

You didn’t say anything, unsure how to breathe with your heart pounding that hard.

He ran a hand through his hair, grumbling. “It’s not an insult. I call you that ‘cause you’re... somethin’ else. Got a face like a doll and a heart like a grenade.”

“…So I’m not extra?”

Bakugo snorted.

“Yup, you're extra, extra mine. ”

[paxaz535]

ONLY ON CAMERA

paige has an idea that you all record yourself

note: this is a anon request so whoever sent it in, this is for you!

smutty, nasty, spit kink, usage of strap

ALL FAKE THIS IS NOT REAL (just a heads up for the ones who like to send threats and shit. 🙄)

———

it was a random friday when paige asked for something completely different.

you were all lounging around in you and nika’s apartment—your body draped across paige’s ass as she lay flat on her stomach on the floor. her head was in nika’s lap, and azzi was nestled comfortably between your legs.

everyone was touching in some kind of way, but no one minded. it was a slow day, no plans, no visitors expected—just the four of you, tangled up and unbothered.

paige was idly scrolling through her ipad when something sparked in that twisted, dirty, pretty little mind of hers.

“i have a crazy suggestion,” she said.

everyone froze and turned toward the blonde.

“those words are never safe coming out of your mouth, p,” you muttered.

the blonde just chuckled, shaking her head. “i have a feeling you’re all gonna like this one, though.”

that earned her your full attention. everyone sat up a little straighter, eyes on her now.

“go on,” azzi said, gaze steady on paige.

paige cleared her throat, her eyes flicking between the three of you. “okay, so—again, crazy idea—but what if we filmed ourselves… just for us to watch later?”

silence.

“you mean like… make a sex tape?” nika asked, blunt as ever, her brows drawn together.

paige tilted her head, thinking for a second before nodding. “exactly.”

nika looked at you, then at azzi, then back to paige.

“you serious?” you asked, your voice low.

she nodded.

she was actually serious.

“hmm…” you hummed aloud. “we using all of our phones?”

paige nodded eagerly. “yeah, like—set them up around the room so we get hella angles and shit.”

azzi tilted her head. “so you want one of us to, like, edit it after or something?”

paige laughed at her girlfriend. “obviously, babe. we gotta piece the clips together if we want it to look like an actual sex tape.”

the curlyhead let out a soft “ohhh” of realization, then looked between you and nika. “i’m down. you two?”

nika’s eyes flicked to yours before she shrugged. “sounds kinda hot to me. baby?”

now all eyes were on you.

they knew you’d say yes. you just liked dragging it out, savoring the attention. you held their gaze for a beat before grinning.

“this sounds fun. i’m in.”

paige grinned and pumped her fist in the air as she stood up. “okay—everyone’s phone charged?”

you glanced at yours, then laughed. “mine’s dead. lemme go throw it on the charger.”

you got up and disappeared into your room, a spark of excitement already settling low in your stomach.

paige’s mind can be so creative sometimes it’s honestly crazy.

-

you plugged your phone in, shaking your head at how fast things escalated. one minute you were lounging around, the next you were prepping to be in a full-blown sex tape with your favorite people. the thought alone made your skin warm.

when you came back out, paige already had her phone propped on a stack of books by the window. nika was pulling out her tripod from the coat closet like it was nothing, and azzi was adjusting the lights in the living room like she was prepping a set.

“okay… y’all are way too ready for this,” you laughed.

“we stay ready,” paige winked.

“gotta get the lighting right,” azzi added. “i don’t wanna be shadowy in my own damn video.”

“and you know i’m not tryna be caught at a weird angle,” nika said, locking her phone into place. “i need to look good while i ruin y’all.”

you bit your lip, the way she said that already stirring something low in you. paige walked over, tugging on your hand. “your phone good?”

you nodded. “bout ten percent. good enough for one angle.”

“perfect. prop it up by the tv,” she said, already pulling off her hoodie. she had on a black sports bra underneath, and the sight made your breath hitch.

azzi noticed and smirked, brushing past you as she headed toward the couch. “we starting now or what?”

paige raised a brow. “you wanna warm up first or go straight into it?”

nika slid onto the couch, spreading her legs just slightly. “i say we skip the warm-up.”

“of course you do,” you muttered with a grin, but your body was already moving, setting your phone down where paige told you to.

“who’s starting?” azzi asked, leaning over the back of the couch, her curls falling in her face.

paige shrugged. “why don’t we all start at once?”

nika pulled you into her lap the second you got close enough, her hands already roaming. “best idea you’ve ever had,” she muttered against your neck.

paige sat on the floor between azzi’s legs, turning her head to kiss the inside of her thigh. azzi tilted her head back with a soft breath, her hand already buried in paige’s hair.

the air was heavy with want now, thick with the sound of shifting clothes, stifled breaths, and the low hum of recording phones catching it all. you looked over your shoulder at nika, who had a lazy grin on her face, like she was just getting started.

and maybe she was.

“switch,” paige said casually, tapping your thigh.

you looked over at her, raising a brow. “switch?”

“yeah,” she smirked. “me and you. azzi with nika. it’s balanced.”

you didn’t question it. you stood up, heart thudding a little faster as you crossed the room toward her. she was already spreading her legs, leaning back slightly against the couch with her knees bent, waiting for you.

“sit pretty for me,” she said.

you sank into her lap, your thighs straddling hers, and her hands went straight to your hips. she tugged you closer, then leaned in and kissed just under your jaw—slow, warm, with purpose. behind you, you could hear azzi chuckle lowly, something about “you’ve been waiting for this, huh?” and nika’s dry “shut up and prove it.”

but you weren’t focused on them anymore.

paige’s hands slipped under your shirt, fingers cold against your skin as she dragged her nails lightly up your back. “you good?” she murmured, her lips brushing your cheek.

you nodded, already breathless. “yeah.”

“good,” she whispered, and then she kissed you.

it wasn’t soft. it was greedy—open-mouthed and warm, her tongue slipping in slow, dragging against yours. one of her hands gripped the back of your neck while the other moved down to squeeze your ass. she rolled her hips up once and you moaned into her mouth, your hands pressing against her chest for balance.

meanwhile, on the other end of the couch, azzi had already pulled nika into her lap, her hand sliding under the hem of nika’s shirt and trailing along her toned stomach. nika’s head was tilted back, her lips parted slightly, a soft gasp slipping out as azzi bit at her collarbone.

“you’re already making noises?” azzi teased, her voice rough. “we haven’t even started yet.”

nika just grabbed azzi’s face and kissed her hard in response, hands fisting in her curls as she ground down into her lap, slow and deliberate. azzi groaned against her mouth, and their phones picked up every sound.

back with paige, she leaned back slightly to look at you. “take your shirt off for me.”

you pulled it over your head without hesitation, your bare skin lighting up under her touch. she stared at you for a second—just stared—and then ran her tongue slowly across her bottom lip. “fuck, you’re so sexy.”

you grinned, leaning down to kiss her again, but she stopped you, her hand sliding down between your legs. “uh-uh, let me take care of you first.”

your breath caught.

behind you, you could hear nika now openly moaning, the wet sound of azzi’s mouth on her chest echoing in the quiet room, and the thud of her hips against azzi’s lap in a steady rhythm. they were moving fast already, and you weren’t sure who was leading.

but paige didn’t rush.

her fingers moved over your underwear, slow and firm, until you were rocking into her hand without thinking. “just like that,” she whispered. “don’t worry about the cameras. just look at me.”

so you did.

and she smiled like she knew exactly what she was doing to you.

you were moving slow, hips rocking into paige’s hand as she rubbed you through your underwear, her eyes dark and greedy. her thumb was working in tight circles now, and the more your breath stuttered, the more her smirk grew.

“mm, i can feel how wet you are through this,” she murmured, voice low and sweet like syrup. “what do you think the camera sees right now? this face?” her hand moved faster, a little meaner. “or this body?”

you moaned softly, trying to keep your eyes on her but they fluttered shut at the pressure. paige leaned forward, biting your bottom lip before letting it go. “don’t be shy. they’ll see everything eventually.”

on the couch, nika had ditched her shirt completely, her sports bra pushed up to expose her chest while azzi’s mouth left red marks in her wake. azzi was greedy with her—hands gripping tightly at nika’s thighs, mouth working sloppily over her chest like she wanted to consume her.

“keep riding,” azzi ordered, one hand gripping nika’s waist as the other slid between them.

“fuck—az,” nika choked out, grinding down harder.

azzi looked up at her. “you never ride me like this.”

nika smirked through a shaky breath. “you never record me like this.”

that earned a low groan from azzi, and she brought her hand down hard on nika’s ass, making her jolt. the slap echoed in the room, caught clearly on two different phones.

back on the floor, paige was now tugging at your underwear, her fingers slipping under the waistband to finally touch you directly. your breath hitched as she dragged two fingers through your folds, eyes still locked on yours.

“god,” she whispered, “you’re soaked.”

you couldn’t even answer. your hips moved instinctively, chasing the pressure, grinding against her hand. she slid two fingers in, slow but firm, and your mouth parted in a silent moan.

“don’t hold back,” she said, curling them just right. “i want everyone to hear you.”

across the room, nika’s moans were getting louder, breathier, her head buried in azzi’s neck now as she rode her hand shamelessly. azzi’s other hand had found her breast, squeezing, teasing, and every once in a while giving a light slap just to see her jump.

“you’re so fuckin’ responsive,” azzi whispered, kissing her ear. “camera’s probably shaking from how hard you’re moving.”

nika laughed weakly, breathless. “don’t care.”

“you never do,” azzi smirked, sucking a hickey into her throat. “but i do. i want this to look good when we watch it later.”

back with paige, her fingers were moving faster now, curling perfectly with every thrust. your hands were in her hair, one on her shoulder, eyes half-lidded as you let her work you open.

she kissed your collarbone, your chest, and murmured, “when you come, look at the phone. let it catch your face.”

you didn’t know what made you whine louder—her words or her fingers—but the coil inside you was tightening quick, dangerously close to snapping.

meanwhile, azzi had pulled nika tighter against her, mouth by her ear. “you close, baby?”

nika nodded, her moans turning shaky, her whole body trembling as she ground down harder.

“good. let it happen.”

it was like the air thickened in that second—charged and ready, all four of you teetering on the edge.

“come on,” paige whispered, fingers deep and steady inside you. “don’t hold it. give it to me.”

you felt it rising fast, your body tensing as you clung to her, riding her hand with your hips stuttering. across the room, you could hear azzi’s voice get firmer, lower, her words close against nika’s skin.

“come for me, baby. come just like this, let them hear you.”

and it happened—almost perfectly in sync.

your head fell back as you cried out, pleasure rippling through your body in sharp, wet waves. your thighs shook around paige’s lap, and she kept her fingers moving, working you through it with quiet, reverent murmurs of “just like that… fuck, baby…”

at the same moment, nika’s hips jolted once, twice—then froze as her moan broke free, high and shaky against azzi’s shoulder. her whole body trembled, her nails digging into azzi’s arms as she collapsed against her.

the room went breathless for a beat. all you could hear were soft gasps, the faint buzz of phones still recording, and the distant echo of your own moans on the speakers if anyone ever played it back.

paige smiled, kissed the corner of your mouth, and gently slipped her fingers out. “you okay?” she asked softly.

you nodded, still catching your breath. “mhm.”

“good,” she murmured, brushing your hair back. then she stood, walking toward her overnight bag in the corner of the room.

you watched her bend down, unzip it, and pull out a familiar black harness and a curved, deep purple strap.

your stomach flipped.

“oh, we’re not done,” she said, glancing over her shoulder with that wicked grin. “lay down for me.”

“goddamn,” azzi muttered with a laugh from the couch, still cradling a dazed nika in her lap.

paige looked at her, smug. “what? i like sequels.”

you didn’t hesitate. you laid back on the floor near one of the phones, your body still buzzing from the high. she fastened the strap on quickly, confidently, like she’d done this a thousand times—and you knew she had.

paige knelt between your legs, her eyes dragging down your body like she was starving. “gonna be so good for me, right?”

“yes,” you whispered, already spreading your legs for her.

“that’s my girl,” she said, lining herself up.

she dragged the tip through your folds first, slow and wet, letting you feel it. your hips twitched.

“so ready,” she murmured, and then she pushed in—inch by inch, slow enough to make your toes curl.

your mouth dropped open, eyes fluttering closed as the stretch filled you. she didn’t stop until she bottomed out, her hips pressed flush to yours, her hands holding your thighs open wide.

behind you, you could hear azzi still murmuring to nika, soft praise as she kissed her shoulders and neck. nika was recovering, but her eyes were still half-lidded and hungry, watching you and paige move like it was her favorite movie.

“fuck, look at you,” paige said, starting to thrust—slow and deep. “so pretty like this. all open for me.”

you moaned, lifting your hips to meet each stroke. her rhythm was steady, precise, dragging against all the right spots with every push.

“you better keep your eyes open this time,” she said through gritted teeth. “you’re gonna wanna see this.”

“open your eyes,” paige said again, her voice right in your ear now, breath hot as she leaned over you. “you really wanna miss this?”

you blinked up at her, dazed, lips parted as she thrust again—deep, slow, perfectly deliberate.

she smirked. “that’s what i thought.”

then, without warning, she pulled out.

you gasped, hips bucking up to chase the friction, but she was already grabbing your waist and flipping you onto your stomach. her grip was firm, rough enough to make you whimper into the carpet.

“up,” she ordered, voice sharp now. “on your knees.”

you obeyed without thinking, your body moving like it was tethered to hers. she tugged your hips back until you were arched just right, back swayed, ass pushed up and ready. she ran a hand down your spine, slow and possessive, then gave you a sharp slap on your ass—making you jolt and moan.

behind you, you heard azzi lowly whistle. “shit.”

nika had shifted to sit between azzi’s legs now, dazed but fully focused, her eyes locked on the way paige lined herself up behind you again.

“look at her,” nika murmured, half to azzi, half to herself. “fuckin’ folded.”

“and loving it,” azzi grinned, her hand slipping under nika’s thigh, still stroking slow circles over sensitive skin.

you could barely process them—your mind was focused only on paige now. she slid back in, deeper this time, the angle sharper. you cried out, grabbing at the carpet as she set a brutal, delicious pace from behind.

“there we go,” she growled, her hands tight on your hips. “you take it so well like this.”

every thrust knocked a sound out of you—needy, raw, real—and the phones around you caught all of it.

she leaned over you again, the strap still moving inside you as her fingers slid under to toy with your clit, rough and fast.

“this is my favorite view,” she murmured into your ear. “you, stuffed and moaning and shaking for me while they watch.”

you were shaking. your legs were starting to give, your moans turning messy and high as her rhythm didn’t falter once.

paige slapped your ass again, harder. “don’t you dare come until i say.”

“fuck—paige,” you whimpered, desperate, trembling now.

“you can wait,” she said, biting your shoulder. “i’m not done with you yet.”

paige’s fingers kept a merciless rhythm on your clit while the strap filled you, every slap of her hips echoing through the room. your whole body trembled, the threat of release sitting right on the brink.

behind you, nika finally turned, blinking heavy-lidded eyes at azzi. “your turn, az,” she murmured, voice still rough from coming.

azzi cocked a brow, lips parted, but she didn’t protest when nika slid off her lap to kneel between her spread thighs. nika tugged azzi forward on the couch until azzi’s back hit the cushions and her legs dangled over the edge, knees loose and ready.

“hands behind the couch,” nika ordered, a sly grin tugging at her mouth.

azzi obeyed, fingers curling over the top cushion. nika pressed a kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other—slow, deliberate—letting her warm breath tease the slick she could already see glistening.

“don’t tease me,” azzi warned, voice shaky.

nika only chuckled, licking a broad stripe up azzi’s center—slow and wet—before pulling back. she let a string of saliva drip from her tongue onto azzi’s clit, watching it pool and mix with the slick there.

“oh, fuck,” azzi groaned, thighs twitching.

nika lapped it up, then did it again, letting spit drip until azzi was a mess of slick and saliva. only when azzi was fully squirming did nika finally focus, mouth sealing over her clit and sucking hard. azzi’s hips lifted off the couch, a choked cry ripping from her chest.

paige glanced over, still piston-thrusting into you. “look at them,” she murmured in your ear. “she’s drooling all over azzi’s pussy.”

you tried to turn your head, but paige shoved your face back down, hand fisting in your hair. “eyes forward. focus on my cock.”

she drove deeper, harder, the slap-slap-slap of skin loud under nika’s noisy, wet sucking in the background. every time nika pulled back, she let another slow string of spit fall, then licked it away in swirling circles that had azzi’s legs shaking.

“shit—nika, i’m—” azzi’s voice cracked.

“not yet,” nika said, thumb pressing just below azzi’s clit while she flattened her tongue and licked one long, torturous stripe.

azzi whimpered, obediently holding back.

behind you, paige’s thrusts got meaner, the tip of the strap slamming that perfect spot over and over until stars burst behind your eyes.

“please,” you gasped, nails clawing at the carpet. “paige, please—”

“you wanna come?” her voice was all grit and honey.

“yes—yes, fuck—”

she pulled almost all the way out, leaving just the head, and spat—hot and slick—right onto your aching cunt. her spit trickled down around the strap, and then she slammed back in, the wet sound obscene.

your cry cracked, body clenching so hard your arms buckled. paige didn’t let you fall; she hauled you back by the hips, one hand on your throat, the other rubbing your spit-slick clit in furious circles.

“now,” she growled. “come for me now.”

the order snapped something loose. you shattered—loud and shaking, walls fluttering around the strap while your vision whited out. paige fucked you through every pulse, every aftershock, her own breath ragged behind you.

across the room, nika finally curled two fingers into azzi while sucking her clit, tongue flicking wet and fast. the added fullness shoved azzi right over the edge; her moan went high and helpless, thighs locking around nika’s head as she came, slick gushing over nika’s fingers and chin. nika kept licking, drinking everything azzi gave her, only slowing when azzi’s legs began to tremble too hard to stay open.

silence fell in the thick, sticky aftermath—just the pant of breaths, the hum of still-recording phones, and the faint buzz of everyone’s spent bodies.

paige eased the strap out of you, a satisfied little hum leaving her throat as she watched the mix of spit and slick drip down your thighs. she stroked your back, soothing, before smacking your ass one last playful time.

paige was still sprawled beside you, harness slack against her hips, a satisfied grin on her face—but nika’s eyes caught the faintest twitch of need at the corner of paige’s mouth.

“yeah, you looked real smug directing us,” nika said, voice low as she crawled across the carpet. “but i think the star deserves her own scene.”

paige opened one eye, arched a brow. “oh, i’m the star now?”

“absolutely,” azzi murmured, settling back into the couch to watch, palm idly stroking your thigh as you leaned into her. “front-row seats, baby.”

nika reached paige, fingertips trailing up the inside of her thigh to the base of the strap. “let me take this off?” she asked, already unbuckling the harness.

paige lifted her hips so nika could slide it away. the second it clattered aside, nika pressed a lingering kiss to paige’s lower belly, then another, slower, right between her hip bones. paige’s breath hitched.

“she gets gentle?” you whispered, amused.

“shh,” paige shot back, but the corners of her lips curved.

nika smirked, nudging paige’s thighs farther apart, kissing her way down until she could breathe in the mix of heat and slick still clinging to paige’s skin. she paused, let a warm ribbon of spit drip from her tongue onto paige’s clit, watching it slide before sealing her mouth around it.

paige’s head tipped back, a broken sound escaping her chest. “fuck, nika—”

nika hummed, the vibration sinking deep. she flattened her tongue, licked slow, languid strokes—teasing. each time she pulled back, she spat again, letting it mingle with paige’s slick until everything was shiny, messy, perfect. then she sucked hard, and paige’s hips jerked.

“don’t let her edge me,” paige gasped, eyes flickering to you and azzi like she needed backup.

“wouldn’t dream of it,” you breathed, but nika only chuckled wickedly and slipped two fingers inside paige—smooth, sure, curling immediately.

paige’s moan was ragged. she tried to brace on her elbows, but pleasure ripped through her and she collapsed back, legs shaking. nika set a steady rhythm—fingers stroking deep, mouth and tongue relentless on her clit. spit glistened at every pass, wet sounds echoing with each thrust.

“look at her,” azzi whispered against your ear, fingers sliding higher between your legs again, lazy but purposeful. “she’s trying so hard not to scream.”

paige heard it—her cheeks flushed—but she couldn’t bite down the next cry when nika crooked her fingers, hitting perfect. her back arched, muscles tight, every exhale a trembling plea.

nika drew back just enough to speak, breath hot. “come on, p. let it go for me.”

paige’s hand flew to nika’s hair. “don’t stop,” she begged, voice cracking.

nika didn’t. she pressed in harder, sucked once more—sharp, precise—and paige shattered. her cry filled the room, high and unfiltered, thighs clamping around nika’s head as she pulsed around those deft fingers. nika eased the thrusts but didn’t pull away until the last tremor faded.

when she finally surfaced, her chin glistened. she kissed the inside of paige’s thigh, slow and reverent, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, satisfied. paige lay boneless, chest heaving, a dazed smile spreading as she stared at the ceiling.

“that… was worth the wait,” paige breathed.

nika grinned, crawling up to press a soft kiss to paige’s lips—letting her taste herself. “director’s cut,” she whispered, pulling back. “no edits.”

azzi laughed softly, squeezing your knee. “best production i’ve ever worked on.”

phones were still rolling, red dots blinking as proof. the four of you lay there in loose, tangled exhaustion—slicked, marked, and utterly content—knowing you’d have one hell of a private premiere night to relive every breathless second.

paige was still catching her breath, arm flung over her eyes, while you laid curled against her side. azzi was lazily stroking nika’s thigh now, her other hand holding one of the still-recording phones, just in case someone wanted bonus footage.

“we should totally make a group chat that’s strictly just about this,” nika said casually, voice hoarse but smug.

“about what? sex?” paige asked, cracking an eye open.

“no,” nika said, grinning. “this. the tapes. we gotta name the files, keep ’em organized. share notes, drop edits. maybe even assign thumbnails.”

“girl,” you wheezed. “you tryna build a production studio?”

“a private one,” nika shrugged. “for the girls, by the girls.”

azzi laughed, nudging nika with her knee. “you tryna get a logo too? t-shirts? limited merch?”

“if the footage looks as good as it felt? yes.”

“i’m in,” paige muttered. “but only if the group chat name is iconic.”

“okay,” nika said, sitting up straighter. “hear me out—The Director’s Cut.”

you and paige said “ooh” in unison while azzi gave an approving nod.

“i’m texting it now,” nika said, grabbing her phone and typing fast. “strictly for dropbox links, reviews, timestamped compliments, and praise only. no crusty memes allowed.”

paige snorted. “add a rule: if your phone dies mid-filming, you gotta host the next shoot.”

you groaned. “ugh, that’s targeted.”

“correct,” nika said. “dead phone = punishment.”

“fine,” you muttered, smirking. “i’ll just make sure i’m the camera girl next time.”

paige turned to you, one brow raised. “only if you’re wearing that pink lace set while you do.”

“deal,” you said, leaning in for a lazy kiss.

nika pressed send. “group chat is live, bitches.”

a few buzzes echoed around the room.

The Director’s Cut was born.

you smiled at the name lighting up your screen, knowing this wasn’t just a one-time thing.

not even close.