#without feeling obligated to record any of it

[fuckyeahchinesefashion]

Cnetizens: Send this to a friend who doesn't reply my messages

OP: Sorry, I actually replied by teleportation

[planet-dusk]

cw ; oral, degradation, sexting ig?, dirty talk abt threesomes and exhibitionism, name calling: slut, pet names: angel ( 639 w. )

minors dni. for mature audiences only !

strands of minho's dark hair stand up straight from your relentless tugging, your hands now clenching restless around the edge of the kitchen counter.

"please, minho — " you moan at another sharp suck of his lips around your clit, his cheeks dusted pink with arousal. "we have to stop. what if jisung walks in?"

"idontfuckingcare."

he cants your hips to bury his face deeper between your legs and you notice he's got a smidge of pudding on his cheek. the rest of the dessert sits next to you, long discarded in favor of something tastier.

"b-but i do," you counter weakly.

"is that so?" minho finally sits back on his haunches and locks eyes with you. there's a mischievous glint to his eyes. it makes your blood sing with arousal and anticipation.

"because i know you care. i think you'd like for him to walk in on us."

your eyes widen in shock, the sudden heat rising to your face feeling like it'll burn the skin right off. you open your mouth to protest but minho's faster —

"don't lie to me, angel," he chuckles. "i can see the way your pussy clenches."

if you thought your face couldn't get any hotter than this, you were wrong.

minho rises to his feet, the sweet siren call of your pussy momentarily forgotten now he's hooked his claws into this little secret of yours.

he wasn't supposed to know. how did he…?

"you want him to watch, don't you? want him to see how well i fuck you." minho's lips are so close they're almost touching the shell of your ear, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your thighs. "you want to see how desperate he'd get when watching you stretch around my cock like the good slut you are."

your breath hitches in your throat and minho knows he's got you. hook, line and sinker.

"and you're just as desperate to give him a good show, aren't you? come on, open your pretty mouth."

you oblige without thought and minho pushes two fingers in deep, pressing down on your tongue and making you gag around them. he holds them there for a moment to watch your struggle before bending in close again. his breath tickles against your skin and you shiver.

"bet you'd let him fuck this tight cunt. he wouldn't even have to beg for it."

although his fingers slide in with ease the stretch still surprises you, the mild sting bleeding into a dull pleasure at the curl of his digits.

minho whistles. "you're this soaking wet just from thinking about fucking my best friend?"

you're too embarassed to look him in the eye, but whimper nonetheless when he pulls his hand away and sucks his fingers clean. it leaves you feeling aching and empty.

"what… what are you doing?"

minho retrieves his phone from his back pocket and waves it in front of you.

"i'm sending a voice message."

you swallow your reply as he presses the recording button on the screen.

"hey jisung-ah, you want some dessert? i have leftovers."

"minho!" you slap his arm and he chuckles, holding the phone out of reach. it only takes a few seconds for it to ding. your chest tightens in anticipation when he opens the chat, revealing jisung's text.

is this a threat? did i buy the wrong pudding?

minho smiles and leans in, brushing his soft lips against yours in a tender kiss. you blink up at him, puzzled by the sudden gesture. then his fingers pinch your clit. a jolt of pleasure shoots up your spine and a loud, whimpering moan tumbles from your lips.

minho's grin widens and he presses send. then he pushes the recording button again, the fingers of his free hand slipping down and sinking home with practiced ease.

who said anything about pudding?

© planet-dusk reposting, copying and translating my works is prohibited.

[bambiihee]

CLOSET CONFESSIONS ˒˒ 휴닝카이

⧼ 📎 ⧽ 一 pairing。 ⸝⸝ huening kai x fem!reader 𓄵 feat。beomgyu and yeonjun of tomorrow x together

genre。⋆ smut, porn with some plot, fluff, coworkers to lovers

warnings。⸝⸝ office au, coworker!kai, trapped in the closet, thunderstorms, sex in the dark, power outages, switch!kai, dirty talk, praise kink, love confessions, unprotected sex, cumshot, pull out method, breast play, handjob, monster cock!kai, mating press, missionary wc。6 . 5 k ╱ ⧼ 📋 ⧽ 一 to library。

author's notes。⸝⸝ a rewrite of an older kai fic on my old blog, holiday decorating! i rewrote it so it's readable all year around hehe~~ hope you all enjoy!! just a quick lil fic while i work on my longer wips <3 i proofread this super duper fast so please let me know if there's any mistakes!

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ FEEDBACK 𓇼 REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

No one had ever bothered to warn you about how difficult it was to plan an office party. Maybe if someone had, you wouldn’t have jumped at the opportunity when it had been presented to you; though it was awfully in your nature as a corporate kiss-ass to accept any work-related project that was offered to you. In all honesty, you agreed mostly in blind hope of impressing the higher ups, but part of you felt obligated to help when the retirement party you were asked to plan was for the woman you were hired to replace. 

“I'm sure you’ll do great,” your boss, Yeonjun, had reassured you with a not-so-comforting pat on the back. “Don’t be afraid to ask for help!”

You were terrified to ask for help. You had only begun working at TXT Bank eight weeks ago, doing entry-level grunt work filing paperwork and filling out spreadsheets. You didn’t even know most of your coworker’s names yet, and you hardly felt comfortable approaching any of them to ask for help with a completely benefit-less side quest. It might just be the new employee paranoia eating at you, but you couldn’t help but feel as if they wouldn’t be interested in helping you even if you did reach out and ask. The retiring analyst seems to have been a pretty popular staple in the office with decades of work under her belt, and you were a far cry away from the life of the party. You were young, inexperienced, and far too shy for your own good; in the short two months you’ve been employed at the bank, not once have any of your peers even attempted to engage in conversation with you aside from letting you know what you were doing wrong. Yeonjun’s personal assistant, Beomgyu, was the only person in the bank you felt even remotely comfortable being around, having known him from when you were still studying accounting in college. He was the one who got you the position in the first place, and without his mentoring and his happy-go-lucky attitude, you were sure that you would have buckled under the pressure long before now.

It’s only natural that he’s the first person you run to. Yeonjun said that there were party supplies somewhere hidden in the office… but couldn’t tell you exactly where.

“You don’t want my help, believe me,” he laughs, swiveling around in his desk chair to face you. “I can’t decorate worth shit. Plus, Why don’t you go and ask Kai? He probably knows where everything is in this place. You and I both know he’ll say yes— hell, you could ask him to jump from the tenth floor and he’d do it. He’s obsessed with you.”

Playing quietly on Beomgyu’s computer was the early morning news, the strong voice of the weatherman drawing your brief attention. “Record-breaking storms are forecasted to hit the metropolitan area later this afternoon—”

“He’s not obsessed.” You retort weakly, rolling your eyes to counteract the immediate flush that rises on your cheeks. “He’s just a nice guy.”

“Sure, buying you coffee and lunch, following you around like a lost puppy, and offering to walk you to your car every night is just being nice.”

“I asked him to the first time! The parking garage gets so scary when it’s dark out…”

Huening Kai worked in the banks I.T. department, imprisoned down in the basement like tie-wearing goblins. Even then you saw him nearly every single day, the poor boy constantly running up and down the stairs whenever he was called; and everyone asked for Kai when they needed help, because he was just too sweet and polite to refuse. He was the only stranger to welcome you warmly when you first began, offering his unyielding assistance with a handsome crooked smile. He was a godsend those first few weeks, because the outdated software the bank still used went so far over your head it made you dizzy. You still haven’t gotten quite the hang of it, but that was probably because you found it extremely difficult to focus on what Kai was trying to teach you when he was leaning over your shoulder and murmuring in your ear so closely and intimately with that gentle voice of his. You only felt dizzier in his presence, so nothing he said ever stuck… though that worked just fine for you, because that meant you could keep asking for his help.

Beomgyu’s sworn up and down since your first day that Kai has a thing for you. You’re pretty sure he’s just that friendly and kind with everybody. 

As much as you hate it when Beomgyu’s right, Kai absolutely would help you out if you asked him to. You feel guilty for hogging up all of his time, as busy as he is even when he isn’t acting as everyone’s personal errand boy, but if Beomgyu won’t help you, he’s the only other person you’re willing to ask. When you see him again around noon, offering you half of his sandwich with bright eyes and that smile that never fails to give you butterflies, you ask him meekly if he’d be willing to help you find some supplies and decorations for the senior analyst’s retirement party. 

He accepts a little more enthusiastically than you anticipated he would. “There’s a storage closet in the basement that has some of the decorations we used for last year’s Christmas party. I can show it to you later if you’d like! It’ll have to be after everyone goes home, though. I’m technically not allowed to go rooting through storage.”

“There’s supposed to be a storm tonight,” you recall from the news earlier, “Maybe Yeonjun’ll let everyone go home early if it starts pouring. We could stay behind then?”

“Oh, that’s sneaky.” Kai giggles. “Sounds like a plan to me!”

Your heart raced the rest of the day. All you were doing was going through some old dusty decorations, so why were you getting butterflies as if Kai had asked you out on a date? It’s impossible to focus on any of your tasks, your eyes constantly darting between the clock and the gathering of grey clouds over the horizon. By three, the entire sky was taken over by them, dark and ominous, blocking out the sun and swathing the entire city in a foreboding darkness. A light sprinkling of rain at four quickly turns into a torrential downpour, raindrops pounding against the roof and the wind picking up until it’s shaking the windows. Yeonjun starts sending people home early at five, and by six the entire office was empty except for you and a few other hardworking stragglers. 

As much as it pains you to lie to your boss, it has to be done; when it’s your turn to be sent home, you tell Yeonjun that you have extra statements to go through that you want to be done with before you leave. You even make a show out of packing up your purse in front of him, going extra slow because Yeonjun always wanted to stay and chat. Thankfully, he leaves the office himself without much fuss, but only after reminding you twice to drive safely and jokingly warning you about getting out before the building collapses over your head. A little unfair for the poor security guards who had to stay overnight anyway, you think. 

“Of course, sir, thank you. Have a good night.” you reply to Yeonjun’s retreating back with a tight smile, praying to whatever deity would listen that you don’t look as guilty as you feel. 

Once you hear the front doors close shut behind him, you shoot up out of your desk and hightail it to the basement. You find Kai waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, grinning excitedly and waving with his bag slung over his shoulder. “It shouldn’t take us very long,” he says, turning and beckoning you with one of his large hands to follow him, “The closet’s pretty small. I want to get us both out of here before the storm gets even worse. Don’t like the thought of you driving in this weather as it is, but I also want to get you stuck in here all night waiting for it to blow over.”

You’re touched by his words, even if you wouldn’t really mind it if you ended up hunkered down in the basement with him overnight. He ushers you down a dimly lit hallway, long and narrow with identical little cubicle-like offices flanking both walls. Even with the offices empty, the cramped atmosphere made you feel tense and claustrophobic; something about the dark, empty windows and the uncanny silence gave you the creeps. Kai doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, however, hands in his pockets and his head held high as he leads you to the very end of the hallway, stopping at a scuffed, unmarked wooden door. A keypad affixed to the adjacent wall blinks brightly in the dark.

“Is this the storage closet you were talking about?” You ask, eyeing the door oddly. “It doesn’t look like a closet at all. Why’s it got a keypad?”

“It used to be a server room, I think. Long before I started working here. The old equipment is all still there.” Kai responds airily, plugging in the code for the keypad. “Now it’s just used to store stuff we don’t need. Only my department has access to it, though; expensive computers and whatnot. After last year’s Christmas party I helped put away everything, and I stored it all in here ‘cos I was too lazy to carry it to the attic.”

“We have an attic?”

“...Yes and no. There’s nothing up there that you want.” The keypad beeps and the little blinking red light turns green. Kai pulls the door open and gestures for you to step inside. 

There’s no windows in the old server room, you quickly realize; when the door swings shut behind the two of you, you’re plunged into complete blackness. You search blindly in the dark for the light switch, but Kai locates it with ease, switching it on with a soft click and flooding your senses with blinding fluorescent light. You have to blink hard a couple of times to adjust, your eyes squinting and watering as they slowly acclimate and take in your surroundings. Against each wall countless boxes are stacked up nearly to the ceiling, each one filled to the brim with dusty paperwork and ancient electronics, wires spilling over the sides. You spot a line of folding chairs leaned up against a filing cabinet, a ladder and an old printer. As Kai had mentioned earlier, numerous server racks filled up the room, abandoned and far too outdated to be of any use anymore. They were pushed aside like walls of a maze, creating a rough pathway through all of the junk just wide enough for you and Kai to stand shoulder to shoulder. You swallow down the lump in your throat and place your purse on an old desk, Kai copying you close behind. 

You can still hear the storm outside, even down here. The wind howls and whips around viciously, the rain sounding like a barrage of a thousand tiny bullets.

“There should be some stuff in the back,” Huening Kai murmurs, squeezing past you to make his way through the mountains of stuff. His chest brushes against your back as he moves past, and you can feel the firm planes of his pecs through the thin material of his button down shirt. “Tablecloths and ribbons and things. I’m pretty sure I hid them all back here so I wouldn’t get in trouble.”

You laugh airily, a little too distracted to pay much attention to what he was saying. “You? In trouble? I don’t think Yeonjun has the heart.”

Kai shrugs and breaks the tape seal on a random cardboard box, peering inside for a moment before shaking his head and placing it aside. “You’d be surprised. He’s still putting on a show for the new girl— you haven’t been around long enough to see what he’s really like. By the way, how are you liking it so far? Getting the hang of things?”

You should probably be looking around yourself, but you can’t tear your eyes away from the way the muscles in his back ripple through his shirt as he digs through boxes. “I, um. I’m still figuring it out, but I’m getting better. Thank you for your help, really— I appreciate it.”

The storm grows even louder outside, to the point that it’s beginning to frighten you. You don’t think you’ve ever heard of a building caving in from just a bad thunderstorm, but Yeonjun’s joke still rings in your ears; there’s a first for everything. 

If Kai notices that you haven’t moved away from the door, he doesn’t mention it. “You don’t need to thank me! I’m happy to help, really. Don’t be afraid to ask for help anytime you need it, Y/N. All you need to do is ask— you can always count on me.” He moves on to another box, still searching in vain for those decorations. “Who’s your favorite coworker? If you have one, I mean— ah, that’s a stupid question. It’s probably Beomgyu.”

Kai’s tone changes suddenly, from bright and friendly to something darker, something you couldn’t quite place. You’ve never seen Kai sound like that before, and it vanishes as fast as it came. He looks over his shoulder at you and gives you a smile, and you’re half convinced that you made it up. 

“What do you mean?” you prod, cocking your head. 

Kai’s silent for an awkward moment, seemingly weighing the question with a bite to the inside of his cheek and a quick aversion of his eyes. “Well, he’s your friend, right? From college. And I’ve heard that you spend time together outside of work, going out to bars and whatever. And, I mean… I see you with him every day, talking with him and laughing at his jokes. I thought you were together for a while, actually, with how he’s always looking at you. With his stupid perfect face and his stupid perfect hair—”

You’re not really sure how to process that. “Kai… actually, my favorite coworker is you. I thought it was obvious.”

His head spins around so fast you’re afraid it’s going to fly right off. His big brown eyes are wide in shock. “Wait, what?! Really?!”

“Yes, really.” you giggle. “I thought you knew that, silly. Beomgyu’s my friend and all, but he gets on my nerves all the time. Kind of like a kid brother, I guess. You’ve been just so sweet to me when nobody else really has, and you’ve made me feel so welcome… It really means a lot.”

Kai’s face turns an adorable shade of bright pink, from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears. “Oh. Well. Um. Thank you, I—” he looks away sharply, lowering his head to study the boxes again. His long bangs fall to cover his eyes, shielding the emotions that swirled in their dark chocolate depths. “I’m glad you feel that way… I can’t seem to find any of these stupid decorations, I’m worried we’re not going to be able to make it out of here before the power goes—” 

Flicker.

Pop.

You’re plunged into complete and total darkness. 

“—out.”

Kai straightens up sharply, or at least you’re pretty sure he did— you can’t even see your hands inches from your face. You screw your eyes shut and you see no difference, blind to everything except the cacophonous howling of the wind. 

“Shit!” Kai curses, the first time you’ve ever heard him do so. “Hold on, I can get us out of here—”

There’s a loud crash to your right. Kai must have run into one of those server racks trying to find his way around; you can hear him cursing under his breath as he stumbles around blindly, shuffling back to you one careful step at a time. The banging and crashing gets closer and closer, until it’s far too close— you open your mouth to warn him, but Kai barrels right into you before you could get a word out. He nearly knocks you to the ground, but his outstretched arms catch you before you fall. One arm wraps itself around your waist and the other… grabs a fat fistful of your breast. 

“Sorry!” Kai yelps, and it seems he doesn’t even notice just exactly where his hands had ended up, his hands large and warm and squeezing your flesh a little too tightly. The heat from his skin seeps through the material of your blouse and bra and floods your senses, erupts a fire in your chest that rushes straight down between your legs. 

As unwelcome as the feeling is, you can’t fight it off.

“Um, Kai.” you stutter, biting your lip to keep your voice as unassuming as possible. “That’s… that’s my boob.”

Kai tears his hands away as if he were touching hot coals, and much to your dismay you find yourself instantly craving his touch again. “I’m so sorry!!” he repeats in a rush of jumbled words, his usually deep voice a couple octaves higher. You’re sure his handsome face is glowing crimson red, and distantly you wish that the lights were on so you could see it. “I–I, I didn’t mean to, I swear!” 

“I know you didn’t, don’t worry,” you reassure him, reaching out yourself to help him right himself and walk past you to the door. You can hear him pressing buttons frantically on the keypad, but the device doesn’t beep or flash any lights. He curses again and slams his fist against the wall, the loud thud echoing throughout the quiet dark room. 

“We’re stuck in here.” Kai mutters to you in dismay. 

You blanche. “What do you mean we’re stuck in here?!”

“The door automatically locks itself when it closes and the keypad is the only thing that unlocks it… and it turned off when the power went out. It’s alright though! The backup generator should turn on any minute now!” 

The two of you stand around in silence for a long, extremely awkward moment. The backup generator does not turn on. 

“Okay, or not.” Kai gripes. “That’s fine. This is fine. We’ll get out of here somehow— here, let me turn on my phone’s flashlight—” 

He rummages around in his pockets noisily before making a triumphant little giggle; you anticipate seeing the little flashlight on his cellphone turn on and finally illuminate the all-encompassing dark, but the light never comes. 

“...And my phone’s dead. Great. Just great.” 

“You really need to get better about charging that thing.” You quip sarcastically. “How many times have you asked to borrow my charger? I only bring it now because I know you’ll need it.” 

“I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t— wait, really? Just for me?” 

You don’t answer, your cheeks flaring up from the confession you didn’t mean to let slide. “My phone should still have a charge.” You tell him, an attempt to change the subject. “But I left it in my purse. I think I remember where I put it… let me try and grab it.” 

Carefully, you begin to shuffle your way towards the far right corner of the room, where you’re at least partially confident that the desk was. Kai follows you closely, his hands balancing on your shoulders to keep the both of you steady. It was a fine idea at first, when the two of you were making good headway, but you didn’t get very far at all before you’re once again losing your balance.

You barely manage a few short steps before one of your kitten heels catches on something rolling around on the ground; Kai must have knocked over a few boxes on his way over to you, little plastic bulbs that feel an awful lot like Christmas ornaments, the ones that Kai had put there when he wasn’t supposed to. You trip and stumble, but you probably could have caught yourself easily if it wasn’t for Kai’s big tall body tripping and stumbling right with you. The both of you come crashing down to the floor, your sharp gasp drowned out by Kai’s loud, girly shriek right into your ear. He squishes you against the cold linoleum, his chest pressed against your back and keeping you pinned down, hips flush against your ass. You try to wriggle free, but Kai is just too heavy, completely motionless and oddly silent as he breathes quick and hard against the back of your neck. “Oh my god, Huening Kai, you oaf, get off me!” you whine, attempting in vain to push yourself up onto your knees. The movement makes your hips swivel against Kai’s own, akin to a bucking horse trying to unseat its rider, and that’s when you feel it. 

Your pencil skirt has ridden up so high that your entire ass is exposed, covered up only by your underwear and pantyhose, and you can feel every inch of Kai’s hardening dick press up against you as if there were no clothes between the two of you at all. You can feel everything, the weight and the curve of it, slotted perfectly between your asscheeks like it belonged there. The way it twitches violently in his slacks when you gasp.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers quietly, his head buried in your shoulder, voice wobbly like he was going to cry. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” It’s just then do you register his hands on your hips, touching you so intimately, steadfast in their movements rubbing up and down your ass and thighs despite the way he was shaking like a leaf. He’s never been this close before, his body so sculpted and masculine against you. His soft plump lips ghost over the exposed skin of your collarbone and wafts of his musky cologne cloud your senses. You shouldn’t do this, you should remain professional… but you’ve wanted Huening Kai more than you’ve ever wanted any other man, since you first laid eyes on him, and having him pressed up against you so helpless and vulnerable has destroyed your control and reason. All you can think about is that Kai wanted you too, and the proof was straining against the fly of his pants begging to be freed. 

You roll your hips back against him slowly, as if not to startle him— the broken moan that falls from those kissable lips is downright obscene, whiny and desperate, shooting hot sparks of pleasure down your body to your core. 

“A-ah, did you, um— Y-you didn’t mean to d-do that, right?” Kai murmurs in a small voice. His cock grows even harder against you. 

You can’t take it anymore; in Kai’s dazed state you manage to pull yourself up from underneath him and spin around to reach out wildly in his general direction. One of your fists manages to wrap around his tie, and with a sharp tug Kai’s lips come crashing down onto yours. His lips are soft and pillowy against your own, tasting a little sweet, like the tea with milk and honey he enjoys drinking while he works. His panting breath tickles your skin, his fingers coming up to card through your hair as you both open your mouths and breathe each other in. Your bodies press together heatedly, hands roaming everywhere you could reach, groping and pushing and pulling, desperate to get closer even if it was impossible. Kai’s other hand slides down your back to cup your ass, squeezing the plush flesh between his fingers. Swathed in all this darkness, it was easy to forget that you weren’t dreaming. 

You’ve never kissed or been kissed quite like this before. 

“Does that answer your question?” You giggle when you part for air. Kai pants hotly into your mouth like a thirsty dog before descending down upon you to recapture your lips himself. 

This kiss is even more heated than the last, Kai prying your lips apart to deepen the passion with his teeth and tongue. You wish you could see, could admire the sharp tic of his jaw as he kisses you, lose yourself in his beautiful brown eyes. Bear some witness to something you had been confident would never happen. You can feel the thud of your combined heartbeats, blood rushing in your ears to drown out the storm as you both fumble with each other's clothes. Kai’s hands move to cup your tits, squeezing harshly when you slide your hand down his chest and belly to catch on his belt buckle. It’s a hassle to unfasten in the dark, but you manage to tear both his belt and fly open and fish his hot throbbing cock out of his boxers. You wrap your hand around it, so fat your fingers barely connect— Kai lets out a strangled whine as you stroke up his shaft to thumb at his tip, thick globs of precum wetting your hand. 

Kai’s hands come back to your breasts, but this time on purpose; he gropes and squeezes greedily, pressing the flesh together before letting them bounce back into place. Just one of his hands is enough to cover the entirety of your tit, your bra doing nothing to hide the way your nipples harden and beg for his attention. He pinches and rolls them between his fingers through your shirt, the sensation too much and not enough at the same time. 

“T-take it off!” he grits out against your lips, fumbling with the buttons of your blouse. “Please, gotta feel—”

An affirming hum is all he needs. He tears your blouse open with a strength you didn’t know he had, the fabric ripping loudly and the buttons popping off. Roughly he pulls your bra down just enough for your breasts to fall out, heated flesh and hard nipples pebbling in the cold air. Kai quickly warms them up with his fingers, tugging and rolling your beds between his thumbs and forefingers, the pleasure making you keen wantonly. 

“Kai! That shirt was expensive!” you complain, but you stroke his twitching cock even faster; you couldn’t find it within yourself to care much about anything that wasn’t Kai’s hands on you, and as much as you enjoyed listening to him get embarrassed you didn’t want him stopping again to apologize any more than he already has. 

“Couldn’t help it, just love your tits,” Kai groans, letting go of your nipples to grope and massage the fat mounds of your breasts. His grip gets tighter with every flick of your wrist, his breath fanning over you in short airy pants. “Fuck, you’re so sexy, it makes me insane. Running around in those tight tops and those short little skirts, I just want to— a-anh!— f-fuck you all the time!”

“Kai,” you plead, rubbing your thighs together in an attempt to quell the searing heat growing between them. 

“I wish I could see you right now,” he continues, and you jump at the sudden electric sensation of a hot wet tongue sliding against your nipple. “I could probably cum just from how hot you look— God, I’ve been wanting to do this forever.”

His plump, spit-slick lips seal themselves around your hard bud, his hands continuing to play with your chest as he sucks and nibbles. You cry out high in your throat, letting go of his twitching cock to crumple your fist in his shirt. Your pussy aches to be touched, dripping so much slick that you’re sure you’ve completely ruined your panties. Kai's fingers and mouth are better than anything you’ve ever felt before, good enough to make you cum from just this alone, you’re sure, but the cavernous hunger that’s developed within you desperately, wildly, primally demands more.

“Touch me!” you beg him, pulling him impossibly closer, right where you need him most. “Kai, please touch me!”

Kai gives your nipple one last tug between his teeth before pulling off with a pop, leaving your breasts covered in his spit and erupting in goose flesh from the frigid air. Slowly and carefully he crawls himself between your open legs, sliding his fingers underneath your bunched up skirt. He runs a fingertip down the gusset of your panties, just the ghost of a touch, but it’s enough to make you keen in delight. “You’re so wet,” he laments, sounding utterly ruined, two thick fingers rubbing your weeping pussy lips over the lace, circling your clit until you mewl, “Made a mess in your panties… Did I really make you this wet? That’s so fucking hot…”

He relinquishes his finger, and you’re not sure what you were expecting next, but it definitely wasn’t for him to grab ahold of your pantyhose and underwear and tear them from your body in one powerful yank. The nylon and lace rip like paper, the ghastly sound ringing in your ears, and Kai tosses the shredded fabric to the side along with your buttons before positioning himself to kneel between your thighs.

“I’ll do more than touch you if you’ll let me,” he whispers in your ear, running his hand up your inner thigh, leaving behind a burning trail in it’s wake, “I wanna fuck you so bad, baby, please, can I? I’ll buy you new clothes, I’ll do anything you want, just let me ruin you…”

“We don’t have a condom…” you breathe, but you widen your legs to give him more room anyway. Usually that would be a deal-breaker for you, but you’ve already done more in this closet than you would have ever even dreamed of doing. 

“I'll pull out, I promise.” Kai's voice is far too soothing for your own good, those terrible, god-sent big hands grabbing ahold of the back of your knees to expose you even further. You can hardly think at all anymore, too focused on the throbbing need swirling deep in your pussy, and how good it would feel if you would take the risk and just let go.

“Please…” is all you can manage to say, and with a delighted groan, Huening folds your legs up to rest on his shoulders and positions his weeping cock at your entrance. It feels so filthy, with your torn-up pantyhose still clinging to your legs and your heels hanging from your toes, and once again you wish that you could see just how lewd of a sight the two of you were.

Kai slides his cock up and down between your folds, getting his shaft nice and wet with your juices. His bulbous cockhead bumps deliciously against your clit before gliding back down to your entrance, pressing against the rim of your hole just enough to tease before letting up and doing it again. As hot as it is and as good as it feels, you can’t handle any teasing anymore, not when you’ve been on the edge and in need of release for this long.

“Put it in!” you cry, and you can hardly recognize your own voice. You sound so needy, so pornographic— it would be humiliating if you weren’t this far gone. “Please, please, need you s’bad, Kai, need your cock…”

Kai shushes you with an unexpectedly chaste kiss, sweet and gentle and nothing at all like the way he was thrusting himself inside of your tight wet heat like an animal. The stretch burns so good you bite his shoulder to keep from screaming, his cock longer and fatter than any you’ve ever taken before. For a delirious moment you worry that he’ll tear you in half, that he won’t fit, your walls clenching down on him like a vice as he forces his way deeper and deeper, until his tip kisses your cervix and his balls slap wetly against your ass.

“S-so big…” you slur against his skin, clawing weakly at his shoulders. Your mouth is slack and drooling and your mind was blank of everything except for how impossibly full you feel. 

“Is it too much?” Kai asks nervously, back to his sweet anxious self for a split second. “I’m so sorry, sweetie, I couldn’t stop myself, your pussy’s sucking me in—”

“Nooo! It feels so goo–o–ood!” you mewl dumbly, finding it harder and harder to string a sentence together the longer Kai’s inside of you. “Need more, Hyuka! Give it to me!” 

The innocent nickname makes him moan, and just like you wanted and pleaded for he begins to fuck you in sincere earnest. His thrusts are fast and brutal, lit by a deep, primal fire you had no idea he possessed. It knocks the wind out of you, overwhelmed in the best possible way, your mouth falling slack and your eyes rolling into the back of your skull, moaning in delight every time his cock spears your cervix.

“Deep! So f-fucking deep!” you hiccup breathlessly, surrendering yourself completely to the onslaught of red-hot pleasure. You can feel him in your belly, right under your navel, your wet little pussy squelching obscenely with every movement of Kai's hips. He finds your sweet spot with shocking ease, angling his cock to drag against that spongey bundle of nerves and make you gush. 

“Yeah?” he croons, thrusting himself inside of you impossibly harder, faster, “Feels so good, huh? Fuck, this pussy’s so fucking wet, so fucking tight— best cunt i’ve ever had, baby, feels better than I ever imagined…! Can’t let you go now, perfect girl, all for me. This perfect pussy’s all mine, you hear, no one else's!”

He recaptures your pert nipple between his lips, suckling even rougher than before; your breasts bounce to the rhythm of his thrusts, sensitive flesh jiggling in his face as he trails his teeth and tongue across the planes of your cleavage, leaving dusky love bites in his wake. He slobbers over your tits like a hungry dog, his moans and whines muffled by your nipples he takes turns slurping them up into his mouth. The pangs of pleasure from your sore nipples combined with Kai's quickening pace and filthy words tug you closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy, the fiery hot tsunami building deep within your belly threatening to overflow and toss you into its euphoric depths.

“God, I love you,” kai admits as he continues to babble nonsense, seemingly not noticing just what was coming out of his mouth, “I’ve been wanting you for so fucking long, needed you  so bad— my pretty girl, so beautiful, I wanna see your face when you cum. You’ve gotta look so sexy when you cum.”

Your heart clenches along with your cunt. 

There is nothing you can see, but there is plenty you can hear— Kai’s hips clapping against your ass, his beautiful broken whimpering, the slick sounds of your pussy gushing around his cock. You open your mouth to speak, voice the mounting ecstasy that built steadily in your throbbing cunt, but you can’t seem to get out anything other than shrill, pathetic cries of pleasure. Your mind was wiped completely blank, nothing but static behind your eyes, thoughts filled with nothing except the pressure in your core and how good it would feel if you let it consume you.

“I’m gonna cum!” you wail, using up all your energy into making yourself speak— Kai groans happily, his thrusts turning desperate and sloppy, speeding up to pound your sweet spot into oblivion.

“Yes! Fuck yes, cum with me, angel, come on. You can do it.” He coos into your ear, voice shaking as his body jolts and shudders above you. His hands come down to press hard on your engorged, sensitive clit, rubbing tight circles against the throbbing bud. “That’s it, make a mess, cum all over my cock!” 

Your orgasm hits you like a truck, your entire body shaking from overwhelming pleasure as you pulsate and gush around him. You recognize distantly that you’re squirting, droplets of viscous liquid splashing all over your tummy and thighs, drenching Huening’s own as well. His own climax is triggered by the violent pulsing of your gummy walls around him, and he wrenches out his cock from your quivering pussy just milliseconds before ropes and ropes of thick, sticky cum splatters hot and wet all over your heaving tits.

“Holy fuck.” Kai whispers, unable to catch his breath. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

You just giggle weakly, trying to calm down your racing heart yourself. The two of you lay against each other in silence for a moment basking in the afterglow while you both come down from your highs. Your orgasm sucked all the life force out of you, it seemed, leaving you weak and exhausted as you lay boneless on the cold storage closet floor.

And just like that, the lights turn back on. The vents begin to whir and suck out the hot, sweaty air, but the stench of sex still lingers. You’re nearly blindsided after spending so long in the dark, screwing up your eyes as you take in your surroundings.

Kai is staring right back at you.

His dark hair is wild and sticking out in all directions, eyes blown wide and his cheeks dusted pink. His tie is half-undone and his work shirt is terribly wrinkled, drenched in what you can only assume to be your juices. His softening cock lies against his thigh, poking out from his unzipped fly, slacks just as damp and ruined as his shirt was. His chest heaves with the force of his breaths, no doubt taking in your own appearance himself. You look down just enough to see your torn clothes, your cum stained breasts and wet thighs, your smart professional outfit looking like it was ravaged by some sort of rabid animal.

“You look beautiful.” Kai whispers in rapture. 

“Um.” you respond smartly, cheeks burning. Averting your eyes you check the door; the keypad is blinking cheerfully at you, as if it had never turned off in the first place. It’s just then that you realize you can’t hear the storm anymore. The worst must have ended while you were occupied with other things.

“Do… you want to keep looking for those decorations?” Kai prods gently. You shoot him a quizzical glare.

“I want to go home.” you grumble lightheartedly. “I don’t give a damn about that stupid party anymore. I’ll just ask Yeonjun for his credit card.”

Kai smiles, that signature smile that gives you even more butterflies now than it ever did before. “That’s what I was hoping you were going to say. Does my home work for you? We can watch a movie and get takeout. Or, I mean, you don’t have to, we can just leave and go our separate ways and—”

“I’d love to.” you snicker, leaning forward to steal a kiss. “Should we take separate cars, though? It would be suspicious if we showed back up tomorrow together.”

“We’ll be sneaky about it. We’re good at that.”

©BAMBIIHEE 2025. all rights reserved.

[makeitworse]

DIRTY LITTLE SECRET

their secret turn-ons. 18+ ft. OT8 SKZ ⟢

𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 ⟡ BREEDING

chris is a family man at heart. the desire to breed you isn’t just carnal, it’s intimate. the deepest kind of trust. it means you’re his. and he’s not vulgar enough to tell you it outright— but it can slip from him, during heated moments. how his hold around you tightens after he finishes, pressing a hand to your lower stomach. it’s in the way he groans when you wrap your legs around him, hips rutting furiously like you were made to take him. and sometimes, in the thick of it— he whispers things he’ll never admit when the sun is up. “you’d be such a pretty mommy,” or “let me fill you up, baby.” 

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐎 ⟡ CRYING

minho thinks you’re prettiest with tears streaming down your face. the messier, the more it gets him going. he’s afraid it’s an insult to you, so he’d never tell— but if your eyes aren’t even watering, then is he really doing a good enough job? he can be a little mean about it. when you’re going down on him, he’ll fuck into your throat just to see your lashes well with tears. when you’re almost sobbing as he’s fucking you into your nth orgasm, he’ll coo for you to give him just one more— all the while telling you how beautiful you look for him, completely and utterly ruined.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐁𝐈𝐍 ⟡ SIZE DIFF

changbin being reminded of just how big he is compared to you gets him going in ways he won’t say out loud. he likes how both his hands can fully encompass your waist, how he can lift you up and spin you around effortlessly— hoist you up against any surface and kiss you till you’re breathless. if you try to challenge him, play bratty or act bold, he’ll just laugh— low, knowing, before manhandling you back into line without breaking a sweat. a firm hand completely wrapped around your throat, his other hand at your cunt— three fingers splitting you open and a thumb circling your clit, all while he coos in your ear about how he needs to prepare you for all of him.

𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐍 ⟡ RECORDING

hyunjin is a romantic, and it bleeds into his art. you’re his muse, and he’s obsessed with the idea of preserving you— your pleasure, your body, your sounds. he keeps polaroids of your nudes in the back of his notebooks. when he asks to film, you oblige happily, but he’s not entirely honest about his motives. he’ll quietly angle your hips as he fucks into you, pose you with his hands while you reach for them. he watches you like you’re art in motion— raw, intimate, all his. he’s already envisioning the sketches: how your body arched for him, how your legs trembled as he kissed your neck. and when you cum with sweet cries, he’s already imagining how it’ll sound played back— hidden in a track amongst the backing music.

𝐉𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆 ⟡ VOYEURISM

jisung can tend to be a perv when it comes to you. he wants you to a point that it’s embarrassing to say out loud. he’d never admit it, but he loves the idea of catching you in the act— hand between your thighs, lips parted, thinking you’re alone. it’s not just the view, though that drives him crazy— it’s the power. your eyes would go wide, cheeks flushing pink as he leans against the doorframe with a smirk and says, “need a hand?” he’d love to watch you squirm under his gaze, knowing he saw you so vulnerable, and letting him step in to take care of you— just because you let him.

𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗 ⟡ OVERSTIM

felix can’t get enough of how far you’ll let him push you. his favourite pastime is being buried between your thighs, tongue relentless as he laps at you, eyes dark with focus. it all feels too good— until it’s too much. you’re gasping, legs trembling, cumming around his mouth— and that’s precisely what he waits for: your broken whimpers of “please, it’s— i can’t,” and he’ll just grumble lowly against you, gripping your thighs tighter and locking your hips down against his mouth. he lives for the crack in your voice when his tongue swipes over your sensitive clit, realising he’s far from done with you.

𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 ⟡ ROUGH

seungmin could laugh through anything— quick with a quip, even when you’re grinding down in his lap, kisses messy and hot. he does it to piss you off intentionally— because when you ball a fist in his hair, drag your nails down his chest— his smirk falters, breath catching as his brain goes fuzzy. he doesn’t mind giving in, letting you take for a while, letting you ruin him. he’s shameless in how he’ll moan for you, hips bucking up into your hand as you pump him. and the second he chooses to, he can have you own your back: spreading your legs as he returns the favour.

𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍 ⟡ CLIMAX CONTROL

jeongin thrives when he surrenders to you: mind blank, body aching, waiting for your word. he wants you to think for him. it gets him off more than anything, the way you make him hold back, keep still, earn it. you let him fuck you on top, your hands forcing his hips to rock when they start stuttering. and as he’s on the brink, you order him to keep still while he’s inside. his cock pulses in you pathetically as he begs for permission, cheeks flushed and voice all whiney. it makes it even harder to hold back; he’ll do anything just to please you, and his release depending on your satisfaction makes it hit that much harder.

note: i know innie’s from personal experience

taglist: @lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ferrarifinnick @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @loveesiren @ttturnitup @bcfcpsh @emmiesoverthemoon @burlesquerade @breakmeoff @pinkpunkdynamite

[gloomwitchwrites]

morning after one night stand with 141?

Anon! You have me kicking my feet and giggling over here!! I am cackling so hard omg. I've been waiting for a prompt like this, and I know it has been sitting in my inbox for a while. (Really there are a ton sitting in my inbox and I will get to them all I promise). But after feeling like garbage and having some health issues, this prompt just came to me naturally and I didn't need to force anything. I thought it would be best to tackle this first on my dive back into fulfilling these requests after the 1k follower event.

I went spicy with this one. I won't lie. Because, let's be real, a morning after with any of these four will only end up with you still in that bed. I know I'd fold instantly. No question about it.

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, unprotected piv, creampie, feelings, oral sex, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, aftercare

Word Count: 3.6k

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Bonus Chapter: Alejandro Vargas

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

John Price

The ceiling fan above you spins slowly. It’s not nearly enough air. Your skin is sticky with sweat, and you’ve hardly slept at all.

The sheets you’re tangled in are thin, but what can you expect from a cheap hotel?

All of this was last second. A moment of tipsy-laced passion. Now you’re reaping the consequences. And the air is too damp, too hot, too—

Fuck.

You glance to your right, at the man softly snoring beside you. All the memories from last night appear before your eyes, replaying like a grainy recording. Images of all the positions this man put you in, and how fucking good his dick felt inside you.

Even now, you still feel the slight sting in your scalp from when he tangled his fingers in your hair while you took him into your mouth.

You need to leave. You need to leave with a thread of your dignity in tact before he wakes up. Before John wakes. You know the name well enough. He had you screaming it nearly all night. Insisted on it, and you happily obliged.

Shifting slightly, you shimmy to the very edge of the bed, trying your hardest to sit up without making too much noise or rocking the bed.  Swinging your legs around, you push up, coming to an upright position, feet planting firmly on the floor. Between your legs is a mess. You don’t have to see it to know.

Most of the night, John used condoms. But when the two of you finally curled up together, John had slid his hand between your thighs and parted you just enough to push right on in. You didn’t protest. You had sighed heavily, and then groaned when he rocked his hips, moving inside you.

In the moment you didn’t care. Not one bit. In a way, you still don’t, but what the fuck were you thinking?

You breathe in deep through your nostrils and then exhale slowly through your mouth. Lingering won’t help. You need to collect your clothes from the floor and leave.

As you open your eyes, and blink, you’re faced with your reflection. The full-length mirror against the wall shows the carnage from the night, but it’s not your appearance that has you pausing.

It’s John.

He’s awake.

And he’s staring right at you.

“You leaving me already?” His voice is husky. Sleep-tinged. The sound of it goes straight to your pussy.

“No,” you reply automatically.

He yawns, muscled chest flexing. “You’re lying, love.”

Your limbs do not cooperate. Move. That’s what you need, but your body isn’t listening. It’s melting instead, wanting to draw back into his arms.

“Am I?”

He nods, and rubs his large hand across his chest. The dark hairs there are tempting. You remember running your hands over those pectorals, and how your fingers dug in as you used him to rock back against his cock.

John pushes up and reaches over, that hand pressing against your back lightly, rubbing soft circles.

Fuck.

“Come here,” he says softly, and yet it isn’t soft at all.

It’s not pleading. It’s not exactly a command. John isn’t demanding anything and yet you are unable to form any will of your own. It’s like John has just taken a shot of whiskey.

Finally, your limbs move, but it is not away from him. Your feet find the bed again, and John is grabbing onto your thighs and waist, drawing you back. The whimper you release when both of his hands grasp the backs of your thighs as he pulls you into his lap is obscene. It’s silly. Downright ridiculous.

But it’s cut off. Cinched.

John’s mouth is on yours and then you’re kissing him. It is open-mouthed. A bit messy. But fuck is it good. His hands slide up your thighs, over the curve of your ass, and meander their way over your back. One arm wraps around your waist while the other comes up to your throat.

He won’t let you leave. He won’t allow you to slip away. John’s hand seems so large against your throat, and yet you don’t care. It’s possessive the way he claims your mouth. When you begin to wiggle, John growls, and you’re flipped onto your back.

John doesn’t cease kissing you, and his hands are everywhere. Your legs effortlessly part from him, and you feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh.

What’s one more? Couldn’t hurt.

You shift your hips, and it’s like John already knows. Drawing your legs up and into a more bent position, there is little effort in the way he buries himself to the hilt. You almost choke on your next breath but that is all you have.

There is nothing lazy or soft about this. John’s hips snap forward and back, skin smacking against skin. He presses his face against the side of your head, lips brushing along the lien of your jaw as he continues to relentlessly fuck you into the bed. Your hands claw at his back, fingers digging for a semblance of steadiness.

“Can’t leave yet,” he huffs against your throat.

Your face shifts toward him and John takes this opportunity to find your lips again, and this kiss is so much different. It is passionate, and speaks to something more desperate than a mere need.

This is only supposed to be a night. A fun, drunken fuck you can latch onto your belt.

But no. That’s not what this is.

Not really.

John "Soap" MacTavish

The air conditioning kicks in, and that is what wakes you. A cool burst of air travels over your skin, making you shiver, pulling you from sleep.

You groan, snuggling against the warmth you’re curled against. It’s a comforting warmth. A bit soft with some hardness too. Not completely comfortable but better than the blast of cold air.

When you sink further against this warmth, it shifts beneath you. Dazedly, you blink, pulling back slightly from this nice heat you don’t wish to leave. Your cheek grazes against something scratchy and then you’re frowning down at chiseled pectorals.

The night before comes rushing forward. It is a battering ram of information, one that sends your already foggy brain into overload.

“Morning, love.” The husky, Scottish voice grounds you, slamming you back to reality.

You twist slightly and are greeted by soft blue eyes and a lazy smile.

“Johnny,” you murmur.

“Remembered my name,” he laughs. He reaches over to grasp the back of your thigh, drawing it over his waist. That large hand of his squeezes gently and you shiver.

“You remember mine?” you ask, teasing back.

He hums softly, and then draws you in, whispering your name against your lips.

This was a one-time thing. A quick hookup. You met Johnny at a pub. He had zeroed in on you instantly, making his way toward you with eagerness like he knew he wanted you out of everyone there that night.

And you had melted. Complied. Fallen for his Scottish accent that only seemed to thicken the more he drank. He cracked jokes, and gave you all of his attention. It was nice to be wanted for once, and when he discreetly asked you if you wanted to go back to his place, you didn’t hesitate.

But the morning is here. It has come calling. And now you’re left with the consequences.

“I need to go,” you murmur, drawing away from him.

Embarrassment is starting to sink in. You have no idea what you might look like at the moment but it can’t be anything other than a mess. Your makeup is likely smeared, hair tangled like a bird’s nest, and you fucking ache everywhere.

Which is fucking understandable because Johnny has stamina. You’ve never been with a man with such quick recovery time. He’d finish, take a couple minutes, and come right back at it like he wasn’t winded at all. He also put you in all sorts of weird positions.

No wonder you’re sore.

Johnny’s face falls slightly, and his arms tighten, keeping you crushed against him. “Don’t want to stay for a bit? Could grab some breakfast.”

He’s offering it to you casually as if your rejection won’t mean anything, but you see the hesitation in his gaze. Johnny wants you to say “yes” and yet you don’t know why. It could just be a show of kindness. An offering of nourishment after the workout he put you through last night. But perhaps it’s something more?

No. That’s silly. Ridiculous.

The two of you met just last night. If anything, the two of you have only known each other for twelve hours. That’s hardly enough to go on.

But breakfast sounds lovely.

When you don’t answer right away, Johnny adjusts his hold on you. His face draws close, gaze lazily scanning your body. Slowly, he moves in, brushing his lips against your shoulder, and then the curve at your neck.

“Or we could stay here for a bit longer.” He presses a kiss to your throat. “Breakfast after?” Johnny’s hand changes position, slipping up to grasp the curve of your ass. His body twists, and you feel his hard cock against the inside of your thigh.

Your pussy immediately clenches, remembering all the things he did to you. You attempt to push the feeling aside but it only grows, flowing outward, zapping your self-control.

“Johnny,” you whimper as his hand ventures further downward, sliding between your legs.

His fingers part your pussy, and the sound of the mess between your legs reaches your ears. The two of you didn’t use condoms last night, but you’re both clean and you went for it. It seems overly loudly in the room, and Johnny’s breathing quickens slightly as he explores.

“Don’t mind me adding to this?” His lips come down on your neck before his teeth lightly sink in.

Your lips part and you cry out as Johnny slips a finger inside your pussy. He takes his time, slowly moving in and out of your pussy. Lazily, his thumb brushes over your clit. He repeats the gesture, and your hips buck against his hold.

“Staying?” he asks, lips brushing over collarbone to descend downward to your breasts.

His actions aren’t fair. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. He’s supposed to kick you out. To tell you to leave either politely or like an asshole. Instead, Johnny is trying everything to get you to stay. And you can’t say you’re all that mad about it because—fuck, this man knows how to use his fingers.

Johnny runs his tongue over your nipple and you nearly come undone right then. Your hips flex forward, pushing your clit against his palm. He inserts a second finger, and Johnny groans against your breasts as your orgasm builds toward its peak.

“Stay,” he says, and you squeeze around those two digits, gasping for air as your fingers dig into his pectorals.

Johnny withdraws and rolls you onto your back. You spread your legs gladly, your orgasm still buzzing under your skin. He boxes you in, the head of his cock pushing in. All that soreness returns but it is fleeting. Once he’s seated entirely inside you, you hardly care.

“I’ll stay,” you gasp as he rocks his hips.

“For breakfast, too?”

“Whatever you want.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

When you awaken, it’s a jolt. A sharp shake.

You blink, not recognizing your surroundings for a moment. Hazy memories bubble up to the surface. There was a man with blonde hair and scars. There was whiskey. Lots of it. A bottle shared between you and him.

His hand kept straying to your thigh, squeezing with intention. You leaned in, asked if he was interested in going elsewhere.

This is elsewhere. And it’s not a hotel.

Simon.

You remember him now. His gruff voice, his large hands on your body, and the way he stripped you down in seconds before his mouth sought supple skin. Your cheeks heat with the memory, and you absently press your palm there, the warmth radiating into your fingers.

Glancing over, you find the bed empty. Reaching out, you test the sheets, finding them cold. Simon has been gone a while, but this is no hotel room. It’s too personal, which means he’s somewhere. This must be his home.

If you’re careful, maybe you can slip out. You sit up, and listen. Quiet. No running water or feet padding softly against the floor. The bathroom door is ajar and the light is off. Simon might be out in the kitchen or living room—or he might be gone.

That’s happened before. You’ve awoken only for the man to be gone, leaving you alone in his home to put yourself together and make an exit at your convenience.

It’s…fine.

Simon was a good fuck. You can’t complain on that front. He knew exactly how to work your body. He found all your spots—all the things that make you melt—and stuck with it.

Sighing heavily, you crawl out of the comfortable bed. Your limbs scream in protest, soreness making itself known in places you’ve never been sore before. It’s a game finding your discarded clothes on the floor. With only a sliver of sunlight from the window, you’re forced to grab and hold the item up in the air to determine if the clothing item is yours or Simon’s.

“Finally,” you mutter, identifying your shirt. It’s halfway over your head when you hear the front door. “Fuck,” you hiss, only tangling yourself further.

You take a step back only to smack your leg against the bed. It sends you backwards, sprawling onto your back. You manage to sit up and wrestle your shirt on when Simon enters the room.

He stands in the doorway holding a plastic bag, and wearing a black tracksuit. Simon’s hair is a bit of a mess like he quickly ran his fingers through it before leaving.

“Hi,” you say weakly, because you can’t stand awkward silence.

“Leaving?” asks Simon, but he doesn’t sound upset.

You shrug, and swallow down the lump in your throat. “What’s in the bag?” you reply, switching tactics.

Simon is quiet a moment before he reaches in and tosses something to you. You manage to catch it without fumbling it.

Glancing down, you look at the box. At the—oh.

“We ran out last night,” he states simply.

It suddenly grows hot in the room.

“We did,” you agree, clutching the box of condoms like it’s a lifejacket.

He bought more. Which means—

“You’re welcome to leave,” he says, crumbling up the bag and setting it on top of the dresser. Simon reaches into his pocket and deposits his keys along with his phone. Unzipping his jacket, Simon reveals bare chest.

When the jacket is gone, Simon is left in only black joggers. He’s on full display. Broad shoulders, muscled arms and chest, large hands that perfectly wrapped around your throat as he bent you over and fucked you from behind.

“Is that what you want?” you ask, but you already know the answer. If Simon really wanted you gone, he wouldn’t have left to purchase another box of condoms.

“It’s what you want,” he replies. Simon is so calm—so casual. He’s not moving away from the door. He stands there, shirtless, gaze intense.

You sigh loudly and glance down at the box of condoms. “You did go out of your way to buy these.”

By the time you glance up, Simon is right there, grasping your throat, easing your head upwards so that you can look at him. With his other hand, he takes the condoms and tosses them onto the bed.

“You’re staying.” It’s not really a question, more of a confirmation.

You nod once and Simon’s thumb brushes over your bottom lip. That soft touch is enough to part your lips, and Simon makes a noise deep in his throat that sounds like a groan.

“Take me in your mouth,” he rasps. “Like you did last night.”

Your hands find the top of his joggers. Sliding beneath the band, you wiggle them down until the base of his cock appears. You pull a bit more, and then it’s free, already hard with a tiny bead of cum blooming in the slit. Your tongue darts out, swiping it up.

Simon shivers, and his hold on your neck adjusts to grasp the back of your head. He doesn’t haul you against him, or force himself down your throat. He is waiting for you, and that action in and of itself is enough to get you to stay a bit longer.

The head of his cock slides over your tongue and you throat him deep. Simon’s eyelids flutter and his groan is sweet. You bottle it up for later with the intention of recreating that sound—to make him moan like that again.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Sunday mornings are lazy mornings.

Some of the alcohol from last night still lingers in your pores, leaving a tightness behind your eyes and at your temples. But it’s not all that relevant.

Right now, you’re floating. There’s a man between your thighs. Well, his head anyway. And his tongue is doing all sorts of things to you.

Kyle’s tongue lazily flicks back and forth over your clit while he pumps two fingers in and out of your pussy. He is in no rush. No hurry. He’s taking his time, and you’re in blissful motion, hips rocking against his tongue, meeting his fingers with each thrust.

He groans softly against your pussy just before he sucks your clit into his mouth. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and your back arches off the bed. Kyle’s name is on your lips. A repetition you cannot cease.

Even with your orgasm blossoming, you feel his smile against your skin. Kyle is smug that he’s done this to you.

What a way to start the day.

Kyle’s fingers slip from your body, and then he’s pushing up, reaching for the box of condoms on the bedside table. He snatches one up, tearing it open quickly.

“How do you want me?” you murmur, not trusting your voice. It’s still hoarse from sleep and the smokes you accepted last night.

Kyle rolls on the condom. His skin is glossy with sweat. The two of you have hardly slept. You thought this would be a quick fuck but it’s something else. Kyle takes his time, and that has drawn this one-night stand out into an all-night fucking marathon.

“You’re good as you are, love,” coos Kyle, settling between your legs again. You both groan aloud when he slides home.

It’s the next day. You should be out of this bed. You should be doing your usual walk-of-shame, and yet you’re still in Kyle’s bed, full of his cock, and completely strung out on orgasms.

“Promise I’ll let you rest after this,” he murmurs, testing with a roll of his hips.

You almost laugh. “You said that the last two times,” you moan as he hits somewhere deep.

“Did I?” he asks, absently.

Kyle is sweet, but he knows how to make you yearn. It’s agony. And it’s fucking beautiful. This isn’t how any of this is supposed to go and yet here you are, getting dicked down by a man who is clearly beyond simple hook-ups.

This man is boyfriend material, and even as your mind starts to drift back into a lustful haze, it’s scheming of ways to keep him.

Shifting slightly, Kyle adjusts your legs, setting a pace that makes each stroke divine. Perhaps it’s the fact that you’re exhausted that it feels so goddamn good. And maybe the two of you will actually rest after this.

The birds are chirping, and traffic is already moving. It’s the morning after, and yet the night seems to have been unending.

Kyle leans forward, and then your lips are connecting. Each kiss is deep. Tender. It’s unfair how nice this is. It shouldn’t be like this, and yet it is, and that makes it all the more painful when you do finally leave. This is not your home. It is his.

This is just an agreement made in a smoky pub. Nothing more.

“Kyle,” you moan, drawing his name out as your orgasm crests.

He smiles against your mouth, his pace stuttering out as the rest of him starts to tense.

“Almost there, love. Promise.” That word, promise, is strained. Kyle’s eyelids flutter, and then he too finds his end.

In the muted dark, the two of you exchange breaths. A car honks outside but it’s a muted thing. You’re hardly paying attention.

“Can we rest now?” you ask. It’s almost a laugh, but it’s also cautious. Maybe rest just means rest for him, and you’re about to be kicked to the curb.

“Yeah,” he smiles, rolling onto his back. Kyle reaches down to remove the condom before pushing himself out of bed and into the bathroom. The light flicks on. Water runs. And then Kyle returns with a damp cloth.

“Open those legs for me.”

You do so obediently, and Kyle patiently cleans you up before returning the cloth to the bathroom.

When he returns, the words tumble out of you unexpectantly. “I just need a couple hours and then I’ll go.”

Kyle frowns as he slides back into the bed. “You don’t need to rush out of here.”

You don’t need to rush out of here.

“I don’t want to bother—” Kyle shakes his head and you cease speaking.

“Come here,” he murmurs, offering himself. You slide up next to him, and Kyle wraps his arms around your body, dragging you into his chest.

Your lips begin to form words but Kyle makes a grunt and you promptly close your mouth. Kyle has you locked in his arms, and it’s comfortable. Normal. This is all too personal, and yet Kyle doesn’t seem to mind.

Maybe you could make this into something else.

Maybe this is him offering more.

Whatever it is, the concept fractures, slipping away as the warmth and comfort of him lulls you to sleep.

[yup-thats-me]

— Trust • P. Seonghwa

𐙚pairing: bf!Seonghwa x fem!reader 𐙚summary: ❝Y/n trusts her lover completely❞ 𐙚warnings: somnophilia, fingering, piv, cockwarming, humping 𐙚a/n: hope you don't mind me adding smno, noonie😋 also the description is pretty bad :")

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

"Y/n," Seonghwa whined, falling face-first on the girl. "I'm so tired."

Humming, Y/n raked her fingers through his raven locks. "Awe, my baby."

Feeling her lover smile against her skin, Seonghwa snuggled his face deeper into the crook of her neck. "Am I not heavy, love?"

Y/n shakes her head. "I like it, actually," she grins.

Seonghwa's eyes widen, looking at her curiously. "You do?"

"Absolutely. My human weighted blanket," she giggled, caressing his face.

Smiling smugly, Seonghwa holds her close, pressing his ear to her chest. The light thud of her heart beating. The man sighed, matching his breathing with hers.

"....babe?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I," he pauses, shaking his head. "No wait. Nevermind."

Y/n sat up, making Seonghwa fall off her body. "No, I mind. I really mind. Tell me right now or I'll literally combust."

"Damn. Just wanted to ask...if I could fuck you while you sleep," his voice growing quieter by each word.

Y/n smiled, pulling on his cheek. "Of course," she nods.

"Really?"

"Yes," she confirms. "I trust you, Hwa."

And the man could feel his chest tighten. Nodding, he pulls her close, resuming their position.

Y/n however, didn't think he'd size up on her permission this quick, though.

"Darling," Seonghwa called out softly as he treaded lightly into the bedroom. The man face-palmed himself mentally when he saw your form peacefully sleeping.

He didn't mean to be late, though. Finishing up recording as quick as he could, he took the ride home to you.

Sighing, he took his place beside you, snaking his arm under your stomach pulling you flush against his chest. Breathing in your scent, his fingers played with your hair.

It was a hard day at work today. Redoing takes after takes, the man was tired. But he couldn't help his cock growing stiff against your thighs, the shorts you wore riled up to your waist.

And he tries, tries to not get hard when you're sleeping so peacefully right next to him. Taking a deep breath, he lightly humps against your bare thigh, the feeling making his head dizzy.

But it isn't enough. Carefully, he pulled out his cock, rubbing the head to your soft skin, the precum leaking from his tip making it easier. When even that wasn't enough, he slowly lowers your shorts, rubbing himself against your pussy.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Seonghwa pushes himself off the bed, deft fingers running up and down your glistening pussy. You shifted a bit, your body instinctively reacting to his touch.

Seonghwa watched, eyes trained on your face for any sign of discomfort. When he finds none, he slips a finger inside you, feeling your gummy walls clenching around him.

"Hwa," you mumble in your sleep. His fingers stops. He really did not want to wake you. When he found no further reactions from you, he slipped another digit in, slipping them in and out of your now wet pussy.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. He needed more.

Aliging his tip to your slick opening, he saddled up behind you, resting his arms either side of your head for support.

He groans as he slipped in without restrain, his head falling back in ecstacy.

"Won't you hold me?"

He grins apologetically. "You awake, love? Sorry."

"Mm," you mumble. "Now hold me."

"As you wish, darling," he grinned, leaning down as his hand snaked around your throat, tilting your chin to make you look at him.

"So good, my love," he praises, kissing your lips. You moan around him, in need of more.

Seonghwa pants, hissing. "Raise your hips a bit, love."

And you oblige, allowing him to thrust in deeper into you. "Hwa," you gasp, sleep erased from your features.

He smirks, leaning down as he kissed your neck. "You're doing so good, Y/n, always so good for me."

"Coming," you whine.

"Come, darling," he said, kissing back of your neck sweetly. "Come for me, love."

And you do, gushing all around his cock. But the man doesn't stop, fucking you through your high. It doesn't take long for him to finish, a few lazy thrusts and he spills into you.

His eyes flicker to where you connected with him, your explosions spilling out of your stuffed hole. He licks his lip, slowly trying to slip out before you grab his wrist, stopping him.

"No more, Hwa," you say, knowing what he was about to do. "Sleep," you say firmly.

And Seonghwa is surprised but he obliges nonetheless, laying down next to you. He was about to take his cock out of your pussy but you stop him for a second time. "Stay, feels nice."

And the man smiles, nodding.

"Your wish my command, darling."

do not copy, steal or translate my work on any other sites. All rights belongs to yup-thats-me© on tumblr

⋆.𐙚˚reqs are openᝰ.ᐟ

[flrlgreen]

jealousy, jealousy (toji fushiguro x reader) + twt prn link

a/n: thank you for the support on my last two posts! i appreciate it so much! here’s some filthy toji action tho. i apologize again for any mistakes i'm always tired.

cw:  age gap, sex toys, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, reader has a vagina, name-calling, recording, use of the names slut, whore, princess, and baby girl, possessiveness, size kink, teasing.

link

Having a much older boyfriend wasn’t for the faint of heart. Being a sophomore in college and dating a man who was in his late 30s proved to be challenging at times. Although he took care of your every single need and made sure you never went without. There were times when you couldn’t stand him. 

He knew that dating a young woman in college would be hard. After all, you know what they say about college life. Toji was a possessive man and would do anything to show that you were his. Never mind the age gap between you two. When he found out that Gojo Satoru, a classmate that you were supposed to work on a project with, had asked you out it took every ounce of his being not to tear that man apart. 

It didn’t help that you kept telling him that it didn’t mean anything and that his constant possessive behavior made you want to break up. It just ignited something in him. 

Right now your boyfriend was towering over your smaller frame. It made you rub your thighs together. “So, you wanna break up do you?” He said in a low register. All you could get out was a meek ‘yes’. He laughed when he heard your response and his thumb found your chin. He forced your gaze to meet his.

It felt like he was burning holes in you with his eyes. You couldn’t even manage to make eye contact. “Look at me Doll.” A small tinge of anger was laced with his words. “No.” You knew he wouldn’t like your reply, but getting him frustrated was a part of the fun. “No?” He says and before you could even process what he had said he grabs your waist and hoists you over his shoulder. 

“Toji! Put me down!” You banged your fists on his broad and strong back and it didn’t phase him one bit. He threw your smaller body on the bed and flipped you over. He wasted no time getting on top of you. You felt his hard cock on your ass. “I’m gonna give you one more chance to change that attitude.” He leans in and says next to your ear. “Fuck off.” You spit. Toji’s hand finds your ass and gives it a harsh pinch. “Stay right here, and don’t fucking move.” 

At this point, you’re leaking, and despite wanting to get under Toji’s skin for irritating you, you know better than to move. You feel his body leave the bed and you hear some shuffling before he climbs back into bed and gets behind you. You look up and into the mirror in front of you. “Arch, now.” He demands and you oblige. “Good girl.” He smiles and grabs the dildo he had in hand. You watch as he reaches over your arched body and suctions the dildo to the mirror. “Suck it now.” “R-right now?” You stutter. “Did I stutter, Sweetie?” 

Your lips press against the tip of the dildo and Toji watches as he palms himself with one hand and holds your phone in the other. “Don’t be shy now Princess. Show the camera how well you can suck cock.” Knowing you were on camera made you feel like jelly. 

Your tongue swirls around the soft tip of the sex toy before you begin to move your mouth down the toy inch by inch. As every inch slides down your throat, slurping sounds fill the room as you struggle to take the thick length. “Poor Princess, I know you can take more. You take my huge cock every night.” He teases and rubs your ass, still recording. 

Your throat relaxes around the inches before you take the remaining inches down your warm throat. “That’s a good girl.” Toji groans while pulling his boxers down. You make eye contact with your boyfriend in the mirror while you gag and choke on the fake cock. “Show Gojo how well you can suck cock.” That’s when you realize. Toji is recording this to send to him. The thought alone makes you want to pass out in embarrassment but also makes you hot.

 

Knowing this was going to your flirty classmate, you had to put on a show. You bob your head up and down the length while looking directly into the phone’s camera. Drool ran down your chin and fell onto the bed sheets. Your throat bulged and your eyes rolled to the back of your head every time you went down to the base. “So good at choking on cock. What a slut.” Your boyfriend mutters and pulls your skirt and panties down in one tug. 

“Take it all, and stay there.” Toji uses his free hand to give his thick cock a few experimental pumps before lining it up with your dripping cunt. He shifts the focus of the camera down to where you two are about to be connected. “So fucking wet, all for me. No one else.” He hisses and shoves his entire cock in all at the same time. “God damn,” He groans. No words can escape your mouth that don’t sound muffled.

The sudden feeling of being filled to the brim with Toji’s cock was otherworldly. You cry around the sex toy that’s stuffed down your throat while Toji starts moving. His brutal thrusts make your lower half flash with pleasure every time he hits that sweet spot inside you. “My baby has the tightest little pussy, doesn’t she?” He says all while not slowing down one bit. “Oh wait, your mouth is full isn’t it?” He laughs. “Only I can make you feel this good.” His tone was so deep and laced with so much jealousy like you had never heard before.

The gagging and smacking sounds continued and it was all becoming too much. Toji would occasionally angle the camera downwards so Gojo could of course get a full view of his assault on your pussy, and make direct eye contact with you in the mirror while he made you gag and cry. 

He noticed your body was beginning to show signs of giving out. “Aw, baby. Is it too much?” You nodded with your throat full. “You wanna cum don’t you Princess?” A muffled ‘yes’ was all that came out of your mouth while his tip kissed your cervix with each deep thrust. “God, I’m gonna cum to. Cum for me whore.” That was all you needed. Your knees shook and gave out while your orgasm washed over you and your boyfriend’s thrusts became sloppier. The now-soaking toy slipped from your throat as you melted into the bed. 

“Fuck, I came so fucking much,” Toji says and pans the camera down to the mess he made all over your pussy and ends the video.

Send.

[mainstreamangel]

EXES

P. Bueckers x Uprising Star!Fem!Reader

Summary: You perform your new song 'exes' at Lollapalooza and it gains a bunch of traction.

Genre: Fluff tbh

Warning(s): indirect mentions of exes (stinky winky exes bleh)

WC: 1.1k

"Who's here tonight with their ex?" You ask in the microphone.

You're breathing pretty heavy but as an uprising star, you take as many performing gigs/events you can get to get your big break.

A few people cheer, but the majority stay quiet.

"Boooooo! Everyone say boo!" You frown.

Then your lips turn upwards at how cute the crowd is. You look over at your backup dancer and smile at them.

"You know what I like to say?" You look back at the crowd before leaning in close.

"Kisses. To. My. Exes." Slowly you turn around and the melody starts to play.

Before you were performing you had written this song about a few of your exes. Your good friend Paige Bueckers had heard about them of course.

She was like a free therapist. But she encouraged you to write out your feelings down so they wouldn't be left in the depths of your mind. She knew best so you took it upon you to construct a song about it.

You always wanted to perform songs that people could relate to, and you honestly thought you'd never get the chance to. But here you were making your way up the chain.

"P, do you remember when you told me to write about my exes?"

"Yeah what about it."

"I think I'm going to perform that song at the venue this weekend."

"That's so sick. Wish I could be there to see it."

Paige had a game that weekend and although it bummed both of you, you knew she would watch your live performance somehow.

"I'll have one of my friends record it for you."

"You better."

Oh, I'm sorry, sorry that you love me. Changed my mind up like it's origami. Oh, I'm sorry, sorry that you love me. Changed my mind up like it's origami.

The back track played the intro and you turned your upper body around. The microphone gripped tightly in your hand you lift it to your lips.

kisses to my exes who don't give a shit about me. Kisses, kisses to the next ones who think they can live without me.

"Yo wasn't your girl supposed to perform her new song at Lollapalooza tonight?" KK asked.

"She's not my girl." Paige sighed as she dried her hair.

The team suffered a close loss and she felt defeated. First she lost an important game to a bunch of players with bad sportsmanship and now she couldn't be there to support you.

"You wish."

"Yeah, I do. But it doesn't matter."

"Why not?"

"She doesn't like me back."

"How do you know?"

Paige was quiet. She didn't know. She just created the most logical outcome her mind could think of to save herself heartbreak.

We make up, then we break up, then they swear they'll never call me. But I still keep their number and their necklace, kisses to my exes.

The crowd roared as they listened to this catchy song of yours. You smiled, this song meant a lot to you and you hoped that Paige was watching.

You found your friend in the crowd and saw her recording. Waving, you continued to sing, pointing at the camera.

Happens every time, I don't mean, mean to be cold, but that's how I get. Me and all my pride, tryna burn down every damn bridge any time we can, and again.

Paige was tired she just wanted to go back and rest but her friends had insisted they go out for drinks. So they arrived at the bar, a few people coming up to give their condolences and others coming for pictures or autographs.

Paige obliged but she really just wanted to relax and enjoy herself. I mean, all they did was lose one game. It's not like anyone died.

"Look it's your girl." Ice pointed to a TV that hung on the wall.

"Not my-"

"Shut up."

Paige glanced at Azzi and shook her head smiling a bit.

"Uprising superstar, [Name], is performing at Lollapalooza. She's singing an unreleased song. Could this be a teaser to a new album? Will this be her big break and bring a new wave of art to the music industry?" A reporter stated professionally to a camera.

"She's doing it." Paige muttered to herself.

She was in awe of your performance. You were perfect, your voice was perfect.

I'm a, I'm a, I'm a wild ride that never stops. I'm a, I'm a, I'm a hard case they can't unlock. And I, and I swear I care a lot, just not enough. Let's just say it is what it is and was what it was.

You put the mic down from your mouth for a few to introduce a dance break. Your body and movement awakened something in Paige.

The thought out choreography sent the crowd into a frenzy. Smiling you look over at your dancers seeing they're enjoying this as much as you were. It felt so good to get this song out.

"Damn look at her go. If I was her I would dance for days." One of Paige's teammates said.

After a bit you continue to sing and dance, bringing attention to both new coming fans and paparazzi. Now, you've reached the end of the song.

Kisses to my exes, I know that I did you dirty. Little messed up, little selfish, we ain't married, I ain't thirty.

You finished the song and your chest rose and fell heavily. Your breathing was rough but it was all worth it.

"Thank you for coming! We love you! I just want to say this song was dedicated to my many exes but it wouldn't have come to light without my favourite girl, Paige Bueckers." You smile at your friend's camera and give a hand heart.

Paige smiled at the media clip on the big screen and couldn't wait to watch it back and back again.

"Go get your girl." Azzi smirked.

Paige whipped out her phone to text you.

Yeah, we hooked up, then we broke up, then I said you really hurt me. But I still got your number and your necklace.

After the show you pull a jacket over your shoulders and pick up your phone. You had a bunch of notifications but only 2 of them mattered since they were from Paige.

P. Boogers: kisses to ur exes, i know that u've done things dirty, little messed up, little selfish, now or never, maybe hurry? yeah u've hooked up, and u broke up, sure, u got hurt but really, leave their number and their necklace, say kisses to ur exes?

You: i see songwriting in ur future u should quit basketball

P. Boogers: i'll stick to basketball, it's really ur area :)

You: like the performance?

P. Boogers: yea, can i take you out on a real date tho? that's why i wrote that btw

You smiled at your phone, getting giddy.

You: fs! can't wait x

Kisses to my exes.

[gigi-loveless]

Hiii is it alright if I request for a College!Camgirl!Ellie x college!reader? Could I also have a specific 💐 tag for when I ask things 😭😭?

PS: I love your work so fucking much, on my knees for them 💗🙏🏻

-💐

જ⁀➴ yes angel!! thank you <3 sorry this took so long btw!! lowkey had a bender over spring break and didn’t write 🫣

warnings: 18+, squirting, pet names, service top!ellie, camgirl!ellie, consensual video recording. photo credits to @ellies.galaxy on tiktok!

reqs are open 𝜗𝜚

────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────

“you can take it baby. know my girl can.” the auburn haired girl whispered, while guiding your hips to sink fully down on her brand new strap on that sits erect on her pale lap. the aforementioned 8 inch, lavender toy was generously gifted by one of her followers, with a message attached that simply said “to break her in.”

since moving in with ellie, you’ve gradually learned so much about her….possibly more than a roommate should. first, it was her adorable obsession with vintage video games, then the way she brings home little rocks and treasures she finds on the walk to class, then…it was finding her nude in front of a camera with your “missing” thong smothering her face.

but, you couldn’t possibly resist helping her, huh?

the video garnered tons, TONS of donations, likes, and subscriptions. her followers loved that it wasn’t a staged “getting caught” cliche, and that you fully indulged in her perverse energy. since then, she’s gotten lots of requests to keep you around in her videos, which you are more than happy to oblige.

the tip nudges against your cervix, a soft bulge appearing on your abdomen. as she shifts to zoom in on the precious sight, your long forgotten homework falls off the bed, papers sliding all across the floor.

“y’see that? how she’s fuckin swallowing me?” ellie asks the camera as she zooms in on the aforementioned “she”, being your fully stuffed cunt.

“els…please move….” you pant, digging your fingernails into her thighs as an anchor. “i…i’ll do….any-thng…” you whine desperately, dying to just rut into ellie’s hips on your own, but you know better. the first (and last) time you made that mistake, she tied you up with the vibrator on the highest setting for two hours, live-streaming the whole ordeal.

hey, at least she made over $500 off of it.

“show em how you feel, angel.” ellie coos, thrusting in and out agonizingly slow, propping the camera up on her dresser, the perfect angle to capture your doe eyes rolling effortlessly into the back of your head.

“els….ohmgd…please harder!”

without a word, ellie gets the most intriguing smirk on her face, massaging her calloused fingers into your hips for a moment….then suddenly gripping onto them, bouncing you on her cock unrelentingly. screaming her name, your legs go numb. every time your trembling hands go to grip onto her waist for support, she nudges you off, growing wetter and wetter watching you unable to stabilize yourself. a thin white ring forms around the base of her cock, that she scrambles to grab the camera and zoom in on.

“look at that…fuck.” she reaches down and thumbs on your clit, causing you to buck down into her even harder, if that’s possible at this point.

“gna…gna cum els….pleaseee…” you stare right into the camera, knowing that she’s gonna replay that moment over and over again later just to see the pathetic desperation in your eyes, your perfect pout penetrating her every thought.

“go ahead angel, cum all over this cock. show me how good it feels in you. how….how…god…how good i feel in you.”

those last words send you over the edge, collapsing into her while your entire body twitches. your tight, slick walls clench around the toy for the final time, her thumb on your clit encouraging you to drench ellie’s stomach and sheets.

“fuck…i got that shit on camera. you’re so goddamn hot.” she pans the camera down to her toned stomach, where your wetness is splattered. the euphoria hasn’t worn off yet, your eyelids heavy, vision blurry as ellie smooths down your hair delicately, throwing the camera onto her chair and cradling your head into her lap.

“such a good girl f’me…..”

[chlorinecake]

☆ ☆ ☆ You’re All Skin n’ Bones, Baby

— ⊹ ⛓️ 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 ♯ Trouble Maker!N.RK x Good Girl!Reader 🍴

⛓️ 𝗣𝗟𝗢𝗧 ♯ When your father, a.k.a the dean of your university, sets you on a quest to help the troubled transfer student from your art class rewrite the rebellious narrative staining his character, you two find yourselves falling for each other, discovering a new art of taking chances, making mistakes, and getting messy...

⛓️ 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗦 ♯ Swearing, Awkward Situations, Riki Vandalizes Your University with Graffiti, Name-Calling (Flirting), Kissing (With Tongue), Hickeys (Kinda), Riki Has A Tattoo, Lingering Touches (Nothing Below The Belt), Suggestive Jokes, Reckless Behavior, Some Fluff and Angst if You Squint

⛓️ 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧 ♯ 4.2k ──── 「 生きがい 」

Friday, The Dean's Office,  3:32 p.m.

“Simply put, Riki is a very misunderstood youth, and you, _____, so happen to be one of the few people who sincerely understand him.”

You stared back at your father, who sat in his leather chair at his desk, a dumbfounded expression upon your face as you crossed your arms. “And you're telling me all of this because of what again?”

“Because I need your help,” Riki butted in from where he sat beside where you stood on your feet, drawing your attention back to his casual disposition.

From the way his long legs extended lazily before him to the way his black combat boots hit the ground with loud thumps every time his foot bounced out of boredom, the poor kid was just as big as his behavioral problems...

That is, roughly 187 centimeters worth...

However, in spite of his large stature and occasional bouts of clumsiness, Riki Nishimura was lighter than a feather on his feet when it came to dancing, a.k.a., one of the few things in his life that he found joy in, aside from you, his family, and the comfort of his bed...

Looking back at your father, he gave you a pleading look, hoping that he would somehow soften your heart without the use of any more words.

And it’s not that you didn't want to help Riki...

I mean, he was one of your closest friends, and you otherwise would've leaped at any opportunity to spend more time with him, so long as it wasn't under such circumstances.

In the past, your father never really approved of your friendship with Riki, simply because he had a track record of rebellion according to the other universities he attended and ended up getting kicked out of.

'A homeschooled delinquent,' some would call him, but you preferred sweeter names for him—names that described the real him.

It's just that the whole idea of having you, the “perfect student,” coach a more troubled peer seemed like a poor excuse of a publicity stunt.

Riki was much more to you than that... he deserved better than to be scrutinized like some sort of criminal just for being his authentic self.

And the odd reality was that you and the other kids at your university with allegedly clean records were no different from Riki.

All misguided and all a little reckless here and there...

Taking risks was part of being young, last time you checked.

The only difference is that Riki wasn't as good at hiding those parts of him like the rest of the students at your university were...

They were either forced or pressured to hide behind a mask that resembled good grades, perfect attendance... stuck within a cookie-cutter framework, and exhibiting perpetual compliance to the ways of the academic world—

“Fine,” you sighed, straightening your posture to appear more obliging than you were actually feeling, “but only if you promise not to make this some sort of project, Dad... Riki's my friend, not some charity case to make you look good.”

Your father scoffed at your insulting words. “What do you take me as, some kind of crook? Such a thought never even crossed my mind, _____,” he corrected sternly before continuing, “My concerns for Riki come from a good place and have nothing to do with what I can gain from you agreeing to help us-”

“Fix him, right?” You interrupt, making a shy smirk tug at the corners of Riki's mouth at the awkward tension in the room now.

“Honey, you know that's not what this is about,” your father sighs, getting up from his seat and straightening out his suit. “Riki is not a broken lamp that he should be fixed... but a lost soul in need of positive redirecting.”

“And who better to help than a fellow peer?” Riki winks at you, making you roll your eyes at him.

“Precisely,” the dean finishes, pushing his chair under the desk before making his way to the office door. “I expect you two to run into hurdles on this journey, but hopefully it's a process that helps you both grow... together...”

You shake your head, uncrossing your arms from over your chest as your father’s eyes flicker between you and Riki now.

“Oh, and one more thing, ____... this young man may be troubled to some degree, but he can certainly teach you a lesson or two on respect.”

Slam.

The office door closed slowly, but with its habitually loud locking sound, making your insides shake a bit.

You look back at Riki, who only had a shrug to offer you, though you knew your father was expecting you and Riki to see yourselves out of his office.

So y’all did, all the way to your separate homes, where you would dread the following Monday when Project: “Positively Redirect” Riki would commence!...

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Next Monday, ART Room 8080, 5:30 p.m.

The bottom of your ass was stinging given how long you had been sitting in the uncomfortable desk chair.

Your back had also started to burn with a similar pain, and the only thing that seemed to delight you amidst the lengthy "Elements of Art" lecture was once again the tall boy sitting beside you.

The voice of your instructor faded away in your ears as you observed Riki holding an ink pen, gliding its ball-tip against his skin in careful lines.

“You suck at drawing,” you whisper to him.

“And your mother’s a cow,” he retorts plainly, despite the smirk curling at his mouth.

From what you can tell, he was drawing a spiderweb in the shape of a heart on the inside of his wrist; The same romantic spiderweb design that was graffitied on your university's parking lot pavement a few days ago.

You always found it endearing how Riki's right wrist would be full of inky doodles by the end of each lecture, thanks to him being left-handed.

Though, other people found his habit to be odd… immature, even... and you never understood why those people even felt the need to speak—

“You’re really making an effort at this character development thing, aren’t you, babes?” You ask sarcastically, tilting your head at him now.

“Yup,” he answers matter-of-factly, eyes still trained on the inky design staining his pale skin.

You took in the expression on his face—the way his lips often poked out slightly like a duck whenever he focused on something.

It was a sight that always made you giggle inside… mostly because you found cute things to be humorous, but also because Riki had a way of making you feel all giddy for reasons you didn't fully understand—

“Wanna kiss ‘em or something?” He asked, looking you dead in the eye with his own piercing ones.

“E-excuse me?” You scoffed with both confusion and feigned disgust.

“I mean these,” he said, showing you the doodle of a skull on his wrist that had big, red lips to match the crimson bows at each pigtail. “Heard you like it juicy,” he continued, raising his eyebrows at you flirtatiously.

“Shut the fuck up,” you swear, shoving his shoulder slightly.

And with that, the class was concluded, and students were loading up their textbooks into their backpacks in every which direction—

“You’re really not that different from me, y’know that?” He said in a mocking tone, “Especially not with that raging potty mouth of yours...”

“I was provoked to use such language, you dick.”

“Then you have very poor emotional regulation skills for your age.”

...

“I’m leaving,” you say, getting up from the seat and slinging your bag over your shoulder, “have fun making out with your new dOodLe sKuLl giRLfriEnD... Heard you like ‘em skinny, anyways…”

“Pfft... Where’d you hear that crap?”

“Around,” you lied, knowing that Riki wasn't the type of guy to have weight preferences when it came to girls...

He only had personality preferences, and so far, you were his absolute favorite person yet, crumby attitude and all.

“Whatever,” he said, in between your brief voyage to the campus lockers where you put your things away. “Also,” Riki began again, leaning against his locker while looking at his reflection in the mirror, “should I... change?”

“What, your diaper?”

“No, my outfit, stupid. Unless you don’t mind being seen with a guy who looks like me these days...”

His words sting you for some reason, and you know exactly what he was trying to imply with that comment.

The other day, Riki heard your father complaining to an instructor in his office about student's not 'abiding by standards of clothing apparel,' and of course, the poor boy assumed the comment was specifically directed towards him-

“You look fineee, Riki,” you reassure him, closing your locker before caressing the side of his arm gently. “Besides, I'd never feel ashamed walking beside you... ripped jeans, piercings, and all...”

His mind paused for a second, focusing a little too hard on the way your touch somehow warmed him from both the outside and within.

“Hey,” you started, your voice pulling him back from his thoughts, “Earth to Riki...?”

“Y-yea, right... Earth,” he stammered, running a shy hand through his hair before adjusting his backpack over his shoulder.

“Let's get out of here, then,” you chuckled, walking down the hall now as he followed closely behind you.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Later, On Some Unknown, Majestic Path, 6:17 p.m.

You two made it to a bridge—the crossing road where you and him expected to straighten out the crooked mess of rumors and past infamies plaguing Riki’s reputation.

“You got the letter, right?”

The letter, he heard your words replay in his mind...

The very letter in which Riki divulged a sincere handwritten apology to the Dean of your university discussing his declining academic performance, poor behavior, aptitudes to improve, and blah fucking blah...

Anyone with a good head on their shoulders could tell that Riki was a fantastic artist, but every rose had its thorn, with Riki's impulsive creative side often getting the best of him...

Aside from going against the dress code and skipping classes, Riki recently vandalized school property with a spontaneous mural of skulls, spiderwebs, and other edgy doodles on the parking lot pavement.

Nobody knew he was responsible for it aside from you, and you had no intention of ratting him out for it...

Yes, it was an unusual design to see every morning at the center of such a prestigious university, but regardless of all that, you figured the graffiti looked pretty cool, actually...

Besides, it was an art school for crying out loud; weren't students supposed to express themselves here?

Or perhaps you only felt that way because Riki was responsible for it, but I digress.

“Yeah, I double checked before we left,” he said plainly, looking down the brick road ahead. “Oh, and uh... I know I've never showed you, but my place is actually the small one right over there… with the candle-like furnace on top... you see it?”

“Yeah, I see it,” you smile softly, just as you catch on to him walking ahead of you and down the right path instead of the left one.

“Hey, the dean's office is this way, remember?”

“Uh huh... and it’s still gonna be there when we get back.”

“Bro, where’re you going?”

“Bro, nowhere,” he replied mockingly, still walking away from you, “I just need to clear my head before sending this stupid letter… just in case I run into the dean or something...”

“And would that really be so bad?” You pressed, “I swear, it’s like everyone views my dad like a scary monster just because he’s doing his job...”

Riki felt himself internally gag at the reminder that you were in fact the deans daughter.

“Since when do you, of all people, defend your dad?”

“Hey, I may be a disrespectful fart towards him at times, but that doesn't mean I can't stand up for him.”

“Uh huh,” Riki nods skeptically, “he must be giving you extra brownie points and allowance for that shit or something...”

“Yeah, actually, he is! And I don't plan on sharing any with you, either... not my brownies points NOR my petty cash...”

“Good,” he retorts playfully, mirroring your bratty behavior, “my piggy bank likes being empty, anyways... PLUS, I’m trying to cut back on sugar these days...”

“Well, good luck with that then... citrus helps, though… with the sugar cravings, I mean.”

“I know... that’s why I’m hanging out with you... duhhh!”

“Oh, so you’re implying that I'm sour, now?”

“If the shoe fits,” he shrugs, and a few moments pass before you’re walking through a front door, through his living room, and eventually onto a balcony.

The house was so dimly lit that you couldn’t make out much of anything while inside, other than the smell of tea and leather cleaner.

“What d’you think?” Riki asks, spreading his arms out to show off, “Gnarly landscape, am I right?”

“You’re so right,” you agree, walking over to the ledge and observing the large pasture that made up his backyard. “It’s beautiful here.”

The two of you look over the edge for a while, folding your arms over the stone balcony until you catch him looking off to the other side, something about him immediately catching your attention.

“Woah?” You exclaim, finding your hands in his hair as you turn his head, examining the thing that caught your eye.

“Woah what? Is there a bug on me or something?” Riki asks, bending his knees slightly so you can reach him better.

“No, it's a tattoo.” You clarify, “I didn't know you had any real ones...”

“Oh yeahhh… I uh... I got that one a while back when I was in high school... I have another one, too, but it's under my clothes, so I can't show you until we're marri-”

“What's it say?” You ask with a whisper, examining the fine textures of inky Japanese characters staining the ivory skin behind his ear.

The tattoo in itself was relatively simple, but you believe that's what made it all the more stunning...

“Ikigai...” He answers with a deep voice, looking in your eyes with his own piercing ones, which makes you retreat your touch from his hair, “it refers to something that gives us our sense of purpose... our reason to live...”

The silence is so loud after he says that that the sound of distant birds and wind-chimes fills your ears as if you were wearing headphones.

That's when you hear a door hinge creak in the distance—

“Riki?! I don’t have my glasses on, but your bedroom looked oddly tidy and you never tidy your room, so now I’m worried—”

“In a minute, Grams!” Riki called out in a deep voice, resting his hands at his sides as he looked back at you, the elderly woman having stayed outside, keeping to herself.

Despite her few wrinkles, she was a perfect shadow of Riki, from her similarly fierce eyes, the long legs she stood on, to her plump, duck-like lips—

“What’s the deal with your face right now?” Riki asked, drawing your attention back to him.

“Oh, you mean my beauty?” You returned sarcastically.

“No, the other thing,” he corrected, “…made your eyes go all big and bright.”

“Oh… Possibly shock, then?”

“But from what cause?”

“Grams,” you repeated, looking over the balcony at the same shed-door the woman just came from. “I didn’t know you lived with anybody…”

“I don’t; she lives with me,” Riki continued, flicking a mosquito off his arm. “She’s kind of mental, so I gotta take care of her like she took care of me.”

“That’s sweet,” you murmur quietly to yourself, but he hears you anyway-

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing…”

“You definitely said something.”

“No I didn’t?”

“Haven’t I ever told you how terrible you are at lying?”

“No, actually,” you respond plainly, “But you have told me that you think I’m beautiful... well, indirectly, but it still counts.”

He furrows his brows at you. “When did I say that?”

“Literally a few seconds ago?”

“Seriously?”

“Damn… Now I'm starting to think you didn't mean it.”

“No no no, I meant it!” Riki says, raising his voice slightly, “P-probably...”

“Well, thanks anyway,” you return, looking back over the balcony at the sight of his grandmother roaming their garden.

“I think you're beautiful, too, Riki.”

A silence swarmed between you two now.

Not an awkward silence, but a silence nonetheless.

A pleasant peace…

Riki bit his lip to keep himself from smiling, but you had already noticed his expression by now, poking a finger at the apple of his slightly rosy cheek, making him swat your hand away playfully.

“Stop that or I'll bite you,” he threatens.

“But babyyy… you look so cute when you're blushing,” you teased, making the poor boy feel like he was just seconds from internally combusting because of you.

Riki never got worked up over compliments like this, but then again, you proved to have a stronger effect on his emotions… one that even you father could see.

“I seriously will bite you, ____,” he warns again through a contagious chuckles, grabbing a hold of your wrist at the same time your hand gripped his bicep, making him stop in his actions.

You two shyly meet each other's eyes now, faint smiles present on both your faces until you release your grip on his arm, his touch still remaining at your wrist.

“Riki.” You speak quietly, and for reasons you don’t understand at first… but that’s when he decides to speak up instead—

“I wanna show you one more thing,” he starts, still holding your wrist as he steps up with a strong lunge onto the balcony ledge, resting his foot on the wooden plank attached to it.

“Riki, get down from there!” You shout.

“Not until you join me first.” He reasons with a smirk.

Judging from the way he briefly peeks down at the ground beneath him, you can already tell that he wants you to jump with him.

“Riki… I’m not doing that... I-I can't… and I can’t let you do that, either.”

Funny thing is, you said all of this while doing a lunge yourself, joining the tall boy on the balcony ledge and holding his hand tightly as you let your feet find the wobbly plank next.

“Why not?…” He presses.

“Because… you’re all skin and bones, baby,” you sigh nervously, feeling your heart rate increase with every passing second. “I’m afraid that I’ll either hurt you or that you’ll hurt yourself.”

Riki gives you a shady look now. “You have no idea how insulting that is to me, do you?”

“Be careful, asshole!” You shriek, his strength having tugged at your hand, making you tread even further down the plank now.

“Geez, would you relax, drama queen? I’m doing fineee, see? We’re fine… Just don’t let go of my hand until I say so, okay?”

“H-how am I even supposed to trust you in a state like this?” Your voice comes out just as wobbly as you feel in your knees, being sure not to look down as that would only make things worse for you.

“Hmm… not sure,” he shrugs, “But maybe it would help if you stopped policing me for like... one fucking second?”

“Fine. A second has passed, now can we PLEASEE go back to the bridge—ahhh!”

Riki jumps first, but because you were holding hands, you fall with him, tumbling into the grassy pasture before landing on top of him.

“That was fun, right?” Riki asks while scanning your face, wind knocked out of him; he's panting slightly beneath you, chest rising and falling given the rush of adrenaline he just received.

“Are we even alive right now?” You ask back, seriously not being able to believe that you both survived such a fall... everything around you seemed light, and you weren't sure if that had something to do with your head spinning or something worse. “Please tell me this isn’t heaven.”

“Not unless you really think that’s what being on top of me feels like…”

You gave him the deadliest side-eye you could muster—

“Shut the fuck up,” you curse him, making a light chuckle rumble in his chest.

For a brief moment, you look up, just now realizing that Riki’s backpack was scattered among the grass with all of his school supplies decorating the landscape.

Sighing, you planted your palms on the ground before trying to get up, only for the strength of Riki’s arm to keeps you down, fusing your body’s together.

“Riki, the dean's office is gonna be closing soon, we gotta get going-”

“And my future can wait, ____,” he said, looking into your eyes, “just let me enjoy this moment in the present for a little longer, alright?”

You wait to answer before eventually nodding, watching his chest heave slower now, but still in a rising and falling manner.

“You're nervous about something,” you whisper, even though it was more like a question to him.

You felt your stomach flutter at the way his hand was secured at your waist now, trailing up to the side of your face with his other hand.

“I am,” he says plainly, voice deep and vulnerable, “so please, just... don't say anything or else you'll make this worse for me, okay?”

“You're not about to try and kiss me, are you!?” You ask, screwing your eyebrows at him.

“And just like that, you made it worse for me,” Riki sighs, not being brave enough to meet your eyes anymore.

His hands leave your body, falling beside him as if he were about to start making snow angels in the bed of grass.

“You think you deserve a kiss—of all things—after almost getting us killed just a few seconds ago?”

“I meannnn,” he starts, looking back at you now before repositioning his hands behind his head with latticed fingers, “one kiss wouldn't hurt, right?… Maybe even just a few…”

No words are exchanged from this point.

It just becomes a moment of you two looking at each other, your hands roaming up his torso now as you sit up to straddle him, keeping him pinned to the ground with your weight before placing a kiss on his cheek.

“You're a very odd boy, Riki Nishimura,” you say, watching a smile spread across his face as his skin still tingled where you kissed him.

Your hands find his that were tucked beneath his head and put them back around your body like they were before.

“I may be odd, but the least you can do is kiss me normally,” he whispers, taking hold of your face and crashing his lips into yours, eyes fluttering shut at the blissful contact.

And it feels too good to say it's your first time... It feels too right...

You tilt your head to deepen the contact, making him hum beneath you at the sudden way you took control again, feeling his hand gently cradle the nape of your neck.

“Please,” he says breathlessly in between, catching on to the way your body shuddered when his touch went under your shirt, resting at the dip of your waist, “Don't make me stop yet...”

And all you can do is pant in response, feeling your heart rate increase with the passion as his tongue just barely comes into contact with yours, making you melt into the warmth of his lips even more.

But his delicate fingers are cold as they touch you, not necessarily wandering, but inching their way up from your waist to the side of your ribs, only to pull you closer as your bodies meshed into a sprawl of flustered feelings.

“You just can't get close enough to me, can you?” You ask him through a quiet breath, making him chuckle slightly as your catty question.

“Don't rub it in, dweeb,” he replies with a raspy voice, just as a low groan slips past his pretty lips, and you're just now realizing that you were kissing along his jawline, his head thrown back against the grass as your soft lips kept peppering his skin, “I'm actually enjoying what you're doing to me for once...”

And his last sentence comes out so quietly, you otherwise would've missed it if you weren't right by his neck, humming with each kiss you placed against him, making his grip at your waist tighten slightly until you abruptly pulled away, looking back at him with your own fuzzy vision...

Despite that, you could still make out the lovesick expression taking over his gorgeous features, both his heart and mind in a haze as he looked back at you, purity dancing in his eyes.

“W-why'd you stop?” He stammers, almost pouting as a smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth now, your own cheeks being dusted a rosy hue given the blood rushing to your face.

“Because,” you say plainly, crawling off of him now as he lets out an exaggerated sigh, sulking at the missing warmth of you straddling him, “that's all you deserve for the day.”

“And tomorrow?” He presses, eyes half-lidded.

“I'll tell you after we deliver this letter to the dean,” you say, looking up at the window to his house, “and when your grandma isn't watching us...”

“Wait, she's what?”

Riki sits up now, whipping his head almost instantly in the direction of his house to see what you were still blushing about, and it was none other than his grandmother, clapping in the distance at the sight of you and Riki laying beside each other on the grass.

“So that's why you've been tidying up recently; you've met a pretty girl,” she says in an old voice, making him hide his face with his hands while groaning with embarrassment. “Awww, don't be shy; she just had her lips all over you... Oh, and I'm his grandmother, by the way!”

“Nice to meet you,” you say while giggling, watching Riki practically crumble to pieces, knowing that his grandma had just seen everything.

"Well, make sure you two don't stay out too late... it's getting dark,” the woman warned, even though it was still relatively sunny outside.

Must be her vision, you thought to herself.

“Got it, Grams,” Riki sighed, sitting up now with a forced smile as he waved his grandma off, the door creaking behind her as the sound of her television program faded off with the melody of her laughter.

“You good?” You ask, catching on to the way Riki's sight pans off now, a certain thought rising to his mind as he took a few shaky breaths.

“Y-yea, I'm alright,” he answers, not meeting your eyes until he asks, “You didn't bite me, did you?”

His fingers find his neck now, grazing over the light pink spot where you had kissed him, but it was only that color because of your lip balm, not because you bit him.

“I might have nibbled, yes...” You start timidly, trying to hold back a smile at the way his eyes widened now, worried that you might mark him. “Don't blame me though when you started it.”

“No, I didn't, you blood thirsty vampire,” he scoffs with over-exaggerated offense. “There's a mark on me now, isn't there?”

"No, you idiot... Besides, I wouldn't want your grandma to have a hickey as her first impression of me,” you correct, getting up from the ground now to collect his scattered school supplies from around the yard.

Your words lingered in his mind for a bit.

A girl like you leaving a bad first impression? The thought seemed foreign to him, but at the same time, comforting...

He was finally starting to see things the way you saw them. You and him really weren't all that different—just two people from different walks of life, upholding varied reputations, but still and all with kindred spirits.

Spirits for fun and adventure... youth and romance...

“Wasn't even worth it,” you mumbled to yourself, picking up the envelope that was now stained with a bit of dirt given the fall.

“What wasn't worth it?” He repeated, looking over his shoulder to find you on your knees in the grass, hair slightly disheveled from all the action.

“Jumping, first of all... and second, kissing you...”

“Right,” he says while drawing out the syllable, side-eyeing you with his legs crossed, “Because I definitely told you to get on top of me and kiss all over my neck like a human mosquito.”

“Trust me, I regret doing that.” You tease, fake gagging, to which he chuckled at you, “Your lips tasted weird, anyway...”

“Pfft... weird how?”

“Sour,” you poke, making him look down in his lap, smiling at the memory of you two in the hallway earlier.

Eventually, he gets up to help you gather the rest of his textbooks, pencils, notes, and chocolate bars that fell from his backpack, holding it open as you loaded it up and set trail back up the hill you just jumped off of.

“And you're sure this whole letter thing is still a good idea?” He asks, adjusting the strap to his backpack over his shoulder as you two walked beside each other.

You take a second to glance at yourselves, taking in the light of your messy clothes, blushing faces.

"Oh, you’re definitely still sending that.”

“Cool… But should I revise it at all since we have extra time?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” is all you say, taking his hand in yours as y’all walk side by side...

⛓️‍💥 AUTHOR'S NOTE — I've had this fic collecting dust in my drafts since July of this year, but @microwvdstrawb3rri3s reminded me that my blog has been long overdue for a new Niki fic, so I decided to post it finally.... Also, I'm adding a special tag here for @bambangan because I REALLY feel like she‘ll enjoy this fic (considering how Niki's character is pretty similar to how I wrote for him in my Flirty TSA Series a while back 🤭)...

tysm for reading this quick lil fic !! ✗⚬ﾒ𝟶 a/n ℓօⓥe always ⋆⋆⋆ and feel free to check out my masterlist for more !!

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 💌 ) @squoxle @nishiimuranights @wonbinisbabygurl @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @watamotee33 @addictedtohobi @microwvdstrawb3rri3s

[bones4thecats]

┗ They're Mine; TFA! Cons × GN! S/O ┛

Characters: Megatron, Starscream, and Shockwave (Transformers Animated) *characters aren't shipped together A/N: This was actually fun to write, I made the idea while ago but never had any energy to write it out. Thank goodness I did, though. I love this, by far one of my most enjoyable pieces to write. ⇘ Summary: After returning from a mission with Shockwave on Cybertron, you attract the attention of Lord Megatron and his second-in-command, Starscream. But, after becoming more comfortable around the Decepticon team, they're shocked by the realization of your status with your spy-partner.

┍━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┑

┕━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┙

👑💫 Having one of these mechs on your aft is hard enough. But having both of them? Oh, I feel bad for you.

👑 Megatron doesn't hesitate to show his disdain for any of his fellow Cybertronians, or really anything in general. But, because of this quality, it's easy to tell when you likes you around. Examples of this is Shockwave.

💫 Starscream on the other hand is the exact opposite. He never really shows he likes anyone. Probably because he doesn't, but I regress.

👑💫 However, when you came around, these two changed their actions almost fully. They're still just as unstable as before, but they do try to tone it down when you're nearby. Starscream does this better than the anger-issues having warlord.

👑💫 You were terrified when you met the warlord. You may have been a Decepticon who followed him for many years through the war back home, but actually seeing him face-to-face was totally different.

🧪 During Shockwave's time on Cybertron, you were right by his side. You managed a lot of the background parts, you made sure there were records of a Longarm and Hillcrest being created and being raised on the planet. Longarm being Shockwave's alias and Hillcrest being yours.

👑🧪 When you both were revealed as traitors, you fled to Lord Megatron as quickly as possible. He wasn't happy you both failed, but the way you somehow managed to go that long and get quite a bit of information, did please him.

👑🧪 You stared up at the mech as he looked blankly at you. Shockwave looked back at you with his singular optic, before motioning for you to come closer to him. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and introduced you to your shared boss.

"Lord Megatron, I am pleased to introduce you to Y/N. They've been my right-hand during my time on Cybertron. Their knowledge almost surpasses my own, it's quite jarring."

"My Lord." You bowed, nervously staring at the ground as Megatron stared down at you.

"Rise." He demanded, to which you obliged and looked at him with slightly-widened optics.

"So," he began circling around you as he spoke. "You're the infamous Hillcrest Prime, leader of the Cybertronian Defense. Impressive work weakening their defenses on the inside without Ultra Magnus discovering."

"I-uh, thank you, my Lord. Though, Shockwave did do quite a bit of work himself with that." You chuckled.

"Oh, I'm sure he did." He purred, making your cheeks flare with a slight blue tint.

💫 Your first time meeting Starscream was far different. You actually knew him from before the war. He was one of your best friends as you aged. Starscream enjoyed being around you because you helped feed into his ever-growing ego.

💫 He always said you were adorable when you were young, but seeing you and how you aged was shocking. You stood alongside Shockwave, trying to put a few things together before Lugnut began to spout off about Megatron once again.

💫 You looked at Lugnut and blinked annoyingly, a scowl on your face as he kept rambling. He was pissing you off and both Starscream and Shockwave knew this, but didn't bother trying to stop you. They both understood your anger far to well.

"Lugnut. Please be quiet. Shockwave and I must continue our research into the ship and getting information out of Arcee."

"Are you saying you don't want to hear about our glorious leader, Lord Megatron?! How dare you insult him in such a menner?! Why-"

💫 Your optic twitched as you, without hesitation, stomped on Lugnut's ped, kicked him on the side of his face, and pushed him out of the room.

"And if you don't want to listen, stay out!" You yelled, slamming the doors shut.

👑 Megatron heard the noise and went to the room, only to find Lugnut pouting outside of the room.

"Lugnut? What caused that loud boom?" Megatron asked.

👑 The green and purple Decepticon stood up abruptly and bowed to the stoic mech before telling him the story. Only for you to yell back that you heard him and he should stop acting like a sparkling unless he wanted you to come out and throw him out the nearest exit.

👑 Megatron was slightly surprised. When you first arrived, you were on the shy-side, not really speaking unless necessary. But, perhaps that was how Hillcrest acted around people of authority and not Y/N? Most likely.

👑💫 Megatron entered and looked at Starscream, only to see the mech talking to you like he knew you for eons. Of course he did, but the warlord couldn't give a scrap. His second-in-command really knows how to make Megatron want to cut each cable in his system, doesn't he?

"Y/N, can you grab some supplies from the back?" Shockwave asked.

"...Huh? Oh- yeah. What do you need?"

"Just some lubricants and extra cords." He answered, antennae moving around as you smiled and nodded.

👑💫 Megatron and Starscream glared at one another, but they looked at you as you whipped off your servos and laid a cloth down for Shockwave to do the same later on. Come to think of it, the only Cybertronian they saw you always positively and freely interact with was the scientist...

👑💫🧪 Just as they began to go through the few memories they shared with you in the team, you stepped up slightly and pecked the scientist on the side of his helm. His antennae moved slightly upwards as he leaned his helm on yours for a slight second before you left to grab the materials he wanted.

"Did that just... happen?" Starscream mumbled, Lugnut beside him with his jaw dropped open.

"Uh- Shockwave." Megatron called.

👑💫🧪 Shockwave looked at his leader and hummed, wordlessly asking for the larger mech to continue.

"Are you and Y/N a... couple?" He strained out.

"We started acting lovingly while undercover in Cybertron's ranks, those small actions are practically in our average movements now." He replied.

"That doesn't answer the question!" Starscream yelled, servo balled in a fist as he yelled.

"To sum it up...

They're mine."

[wheneverfeasible]

No Obligation (part 1.1)

wc: 1.3k || rating: T || tags: omegaverse steddie, post-s4 au, eddie lives, max lives, o!steve, a!eddie, rockstar!eddie, mpreg, oc!kid, friends-with-benefits, second chance love, secret pregnancy, pining || summary: after corroded coffin makes it big, eddie leaves hawkins and never looks back, while steve is unknowingly pregnant with their pup. which might have been fine, had they actually been together.

~

It had broken Steve’s heart when Eddie left.

Which was stupid because it wasn’t like they had even actually been together. They had fooled around a lot, kind of exclusively though they’d never said as such in words, but they weren’t together. They went on what were very obviously dates, though they didn’t acknowledge them as such, and there’d been no courtship. It was just for fun.

When Eddie broke things off, when he left Hawkins because he finally got that chance he had been waiting for and Corroded Coffin had actually landed a record deal, it was amicable. They hadn’t been a thing, they had just been…a placeholder. Just something to pass the time until something better came along.

Except, watching Eddie leave and never look back when his something better came along, Steve realized that he had kind of been hoping for a forever type of deal, been hoping that he could be the something better after all.

It was three and a half weeks after Eddie left that Steve discovered he was pregnant.

Steve knew he should find a doctor, take care of things quietly. He was an unbonded omega; a pregnancy would ruin any and all prospects he had. He’d even had Robin make the appointment for him.

He never went.

He didn’t go to the makeup appointment either.

No one had known about him and Eddie, not officially. Robin obviously knew, he could keep nothing from his soulmate, and he figured Eddie’s bandmates knew, but what had been between them had been a secret. Just two bros helping each other through their cycles, finding release when the stress or nightmares got too much, and that was that.

Eddie made that more than clear. And Steve had started the whole thing in complete agreement.

If only he hadn’t fallen in love with his best friend.

Eddie never visited, like he promised he would. He was too caught up in what was practically overnight success. Being the prime suspect of Satanic ritual serial killings made the metal community perk up in interest, nevermind that he was found to be completely innocent of the charges. It was good publicity. Even his scars enticed fans.

He called, once or twice, but he stopped calling Steve ‘sweetheart’ by then, and it became obvious that Eddie had no intention in ever returning to Hawkins. Not without an obligation.

Steve never wanted to be an obligation again. Didn’t want that for his pup either.

Didn’t want Eddie to feel trapped, didn’t want his pup to feel resented, because Steve knew that Eddie would drop everything to try to be a good father, even if it wasn’t what he wanted. Even if returning to Hawkins would slowly kill him on the inside.

So Steve said nothing.

The pup growing inside his belly wouldn’t be Eddie’s. It was his; just his. Steve wouldn’t ever be able to be the pup’s alpha parent, but he could be enough. He would be enough, because there was no other choice. He would sever all familial connection between the pup and Eddie. Sure, part of him wanted just a little bit of the man he wanted to be his alpha still, but the pup would never be a placeholder like Steve had been.

His pup was his. Not a replacement for the man he couldn’t have. It was his pup and no one else’s. Thus there would never be any obligation.

Especially after Eddie stopped calling. Stopped writing. Stopped…everything.

He still contacted Dustin and the others, he knew. Sent them out tickets for his shows when he played nearby. As his fame and fortune grew, he even flew them out for visits and shows farther away.

Steve had been invited, of course, but Steve was done with being an obligation too. The love was still there, it always would be for Steve, but the friendship mellowed out as they moved on with their lives. After all, what basis did their friendship even have without the trauma that tied them together? Trauma that Eddie obviously wanted to forget.

Seven months after Eddie left, Steve’s son was born.

Steve never resented Eddie for leaving, for never loving him, or for anything else. Though there was no denying the dark curls atop his son’s head, Steve never really thought of the pup as his and Eddie’s. It was his pup. There was no alpha listed on the birth certificate, no talk of the pup’s other parent being gone, no nothing. Steve would never let his pup believe for a second that he was missing anything.

He definitely would not let the pup believe that he had a father out there who didn’t want him. No, as far as everyone else was concerned, Steve wanted a pup so he set out to get one using a donor. Even as the pup grew older, Steve’s eye color in a shape that was not his own, Steve’s cheeks but not his chin, Steve’s moles but not his smile…

Steve never entertained whispers of the kid being anyone else’s but his and his alone.

And what did it matter since Eddie would never know the pup even existed to begin with? Would never know because he was never coming back?

Robin helped, and those closest to him did as well, even when Steve could see that they knew. Even if they didn’t know before, they had to know now. But the pup was his, never an obligation or reluctant duty for anyone else. Never feel even for a second like he was unwanted or unloved.

The first time Wayne saw the pup, a few months after he was born when Steve ran into him at the grocery store, the older alpha had dropped the eggs he was carrying.

Steve made it clear that the sleeping boy was his and his alone, something that Wayne seemed to understand. The alpha still asked to see the pup more, something Steve didn’t have the heart to deny. Not when he saw the way Wayne’s eyes glistened with tears.

Not when the man looked like he had found something he’d lost a long time ago.

And so the pup grew up. It was getting harder and harder to deny the other half of the kid’s genes, of course, not with his curls, or the piercing look in his eyes, or his intelligence he certainly didn’t get from Steve. And then there was the music.

The pup was drawn to music, taking to it like a fish to water.

Thankfully, for Steve’s sanity, the boy didn’t seem interested with the toy guitar Dustin (much to Steve’s consternation) got him, though he did enjoy the drum set Wayne got him for his birthday. Which…was fine, though Steve’s headaches didn’t thank Wayne any.

All in all, Steve was content with his life. As his honorary pups grew up and started their own lives, many going away for college, Steve settled into his life as a single parent, though it wasn’t always easy as an unbonded omega with a young pup.

His parents had, of course, disowned him as soon as he couldn’t hide it any longer. He’d been expecting it, of course, and withdrew as much of his savings as he could without causing them to demand it back.

He’d traded in his car as well for something cheaper and sturdier, moved into Forest Hills in a two bedroom double-wide, and found a job that would employ him in his circumstances. It wasn’t the life he had envisioned for himself as a cocky young man, but it was one he was happy with because it was his. His and his pup’s.

He worked hard to provide for his pup. Steve didn’t need an alpha. Nor did he want one. He had his pup, his friends, and that was all that mattered. He made it on his own and he’d be damned if anyone took that away from him.

Everything was going well. His little one just had his seventh birthday, he had gotten a small raise at work, and Lucas and Max were going to be visiting soon. Things were good.

And then he heard the news: Corroded Coffin was returning to Hawkins, Indiana.

Eddie was coming back.

part 1.2

~

oop, lil bit of a cliffhanger there, sorry. This was just an idea that would not leave me alone until I wrote it out. Which is hilarious because I’m actually not a fan of pregnancy/kid fics in normal circumstances lmao mpreg or otherwise

I may or may not continue this in the future, once I work on my other, currently languishing, WIPs. I do have some more ideas for this though, which bodes well for actually writing more of it lol

Hostage Hotties (open):

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @honeii-puff @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-wierdlife @everywherenothere @bumblebeecuttlefishes @hiei-harringtonmunson

[kityana]

it's funny because there's a post that's been circulating in my feed recently urging people to examine their values beyond a kneejerk emotional reaction.

and this whole "stolas is a bad person because cheating is bad" that's also circulating is the epitome of just holding a value without actually examining why you're holding it beyond "it just feels right to believe this" and "it's a popular commonplace belief".

if i had any patience to try and talk to people who genuinely hate stolas because he's "a cheater" (which for the record i don't) i would really like to ask them- why do you think cheating is wrong?

this is not a "cheating is okay actually" question. genuinely, why do you think cheating is wrong? "it's just is" is not a good enough answer. "everybody knows it's wrong" is also not a valid answer. it's a reasonable question that i think anybody who holds this moral value should be able to answer- why is cheating wrong?

you see, personally, i think cheating is wrong because it's a betrayal of trust, and ultimately, trust is crucial in a committed romantic relationship. trust is part of the foundation of a healthy relationship. if you can't trust your romantic partner, your relationship is pretty bad, isn't it? and when someone cheats on their partner, they betray their trust, and they hurt both their partner and the relationship, which also shows their disrespect for said partner and relationship.

and that's exactly why stolas didn't cheat. because his relationship with stella was never a healthy relationship predicated on trust. it's an abusive relationship, predicated on force, coercion, fear and control. there was nothing for stolas to destroy in the first place. if stella was hurt, it's not because she thought stolas respected her enough not to hurt her like that- it's because she thought stolas feared her too much to do it, and because she felt humiliated by it. and stolas is absolutely not obligated to help stella preserve her own dignity and sense of control when she has done nothing but humiliate him and try to control him.

and it's insane to me that there are people going around who genuinely argue that stolas is a bad person for nuking this relationship. oh, stolas' cheating destroyed his marriage? you mean, his abusive marriage that he was miserable in? that's a good thing.

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Imperfect Couple - 17

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: Suicide character.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Author Note: After this, you will hate Steve more.

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

"Historic Victory! Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes Elected with Record-Breaking Votes."

You stood among the crowd in awe, feeling the gravity of the moment as Bucky stepped up first to take his oath. His right hand rested on the Bible, and his voice was steady, resonating across the packed hall and through the media broadcasted nationwide.

“I, James Buchanan Barnes, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic, that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same, and that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion.”

He glanced at you briefly, pride mingling with disbelief in his eyes as he finished, “I pledge to faithfully discharge the duties of the office upon which I am about to enter, so help me God.”

It was almost surreal, watching Bucky stand here, on the cusp of history. You could hardly believe it. He had done it; he was now the Vice President of the United States.

Then came Steve’s turn. He took his oath with an unwavering focus, his voice rich with conviction:

“I, Steven Grant Rogers, do solemnly swear to faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States and will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

As Steve finished his oath, the crowd erupted into applause. He stepped forward, eyes fierce with resolve, and gave his inaugural speech. "Today, we embark on a new journey,” he began, his words confident and calculated. “I promise to carve out every rotten part to make this country stronger and more flourishing than ever.” The crowd cheered wildly, the energy of the historic day surging through the masses.

Standing close to Bucky, you leaned toward him and whispered, “I hate him.”

He gave a small, amused smirk, clearing his throat as he pulled you closer, his arm draping protectively over your shoulder. “Stay calm, dear,” he whispered back. “We don’t want your bitter expression captured for posterity.” He pressed his hand gently against your back as you both moved through the crowd.

Across the room, Peggy watched the two of you, noting the way Bucky’s hand never left yours, even when he greeted others. The warmth and easy familiarity between you were evident to all. Peggy, however, stood isolated beside Steve, even as every camera focused on them as the new First Couple. She was now the First Lady, yet she felt utterly invisible.

Because in Steve's eyes, he only looked for Hazel. She remembered the disappointment on his face when he learned that the woman and the little boy were not joining him for the inauguration.

Then Caroline Barnes and her husband Julius approached her, their expressions triumphant. Caroline, with a rare, large smile, was the first to speak. “Congratulations, Peggy,” she said, her tone sweet yet cold.

She’d been Peggy’s confidante for years—long before the politics, the campaigns, and all the layers of public life that followed. They shared memories that went back to the days when they were just two young women navigating life and love, laughing over coffee and late-night conversations.

You couldn’t help but notice Caroline’s rare smile as she looked at you next, her eyes flashing with satisfaction. The silent message was clear: you had fulfilled your promise, standing beside her son as the Vice President’s wife.

Bucky, noticing her cold glare toward you, leaned in and murmured, “Seems like you’ve won her over.”

Just then, Natasha, a familiar figure in her sleek Secret Service uniform, approached you both. Her tone was clipped and professional. “The President would like to see you,” she said, giving you a pointed look.

You felt Bucky tense slightly beside you. As you moved to follow Natasha, Bucky instinctively stepped forward too.

“Alone,” Natasha added, her gaze shifting to Bucky.

You exchanged a confused look with him, both of you uncertain as to why you were being called without him. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go. With one last glance, you followed Natasha toward the Oval Office.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The Oval Office was imposing, vast and elegant. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting a warm glow over the room, yet the weight of history and power was palpable in every corner. The walls were lined with portraits of past leaders, and every polished surface seemed to reflect Steve’s ascendant status. He stood before the massive, iconic desk, hands clasped behind his back, exuding an air of unyielding authority. In this space, he looked like a man who could command nations—a conqueror with the world at his feet.

As you entered, Steve turned, offering you a polished smile that held no warmth. “I imagine you’re wondering why I wanted you here alone,” he said, voice smooth yet laced with an edge that left no room for misinterpretation.

Your thoughts were racing. Being in this room with him—Steve Rogers, the man who had climbed to the highest seat of power while leaving a wake of destruction in his path—felt surreal. You could feel the walls closing in, every inch of the Oval Office amplifying the cold reality of his ambition.

Steve raised a single finger, his tone shifting to one of playful scorn. "Not once did you congratulate me." He let the silence hang, watching you. "I know why. You blame me for your friend’s death.”

Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms as his accusation hit you. “So you admit it?” you shot back, unable to mask the tremor of anger in your voice.

He scoffed, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. “Admit it? That man almost sabotaged the campaign. He betrayed you, and when he paid the price, I’m the one you despise? Most people would thank me.”

The words stung, each syllable a twist of the knife. He continued, almost mockingly, his voice lowering as he leaned slightly forward. “Are you sure you’re up for this fight?” His gaze sharpened, piercing. “Find a better reason to hate me.”

Every word he spoke grated against you, each line deliberately crafted to sting. But you swallowed, forcing yourself to keep your expression steady, refusing to let him see the turmoil swirling inside.

He shook his head, dismissing your anger with a faint chuckle, then leaned back against the desk. “What’s your plan, then? After you bring me down—let’s say you even succeed—what’s next? Do you want Nate to grow up with a criminal for a father?”

Your mind raced, the walls of the Oval Office seeming to close in even further as his words lingered in the air. Steve's gaze was fixed on you, measuring, calculating your silence. And then, as if sensing your hesitation, he gave a triumphant smile, his voice like velvet but colder. “I’m glad we could come to an understanding.”

He turned his back, leaving you standing there, stunned. 🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Four Months Later

You sat on the edge of the couch, staring at the TV as Steve’s face filled the screen. Every channel was the same, broadcasting praise for him, with pundits and newscasters barely containing their admiration. It was unsettling. The media, usually fierce in their critiques, seemed almost reverent. You clenched your jaw, your annoyance simmering under the polished surface of his televised speeches and the careful flattery of his supporters.

From behind you, Bucky spoke up, his tone casual yet knowing. “That’s why people like him,” he said, coming closer. “He never once said he’d make this country fair or just. But he’s proving himself, little by little.”

You looked up, catching his serious expression. He continued, “Steve knew that every leader who vows fairness and justice ends up being despised as soon as they’re in power. They turn into exactly what they swore they’d destroy.”

You couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of your voice. “So… can we abdicate him?”

Bucky laughed softly. “Abdicate Steve?” He smirked, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Honey, that’s a little extreme, even for you.”

“Steve’s ascension was legitimate. He fits the role, and from what the surveys say, voter turnout was historic.” He paused, meeting your gaze with a measured seriousness. “Overthrowing him would shatter public trust—not just in him, but in the entire government.”

“Would it, though?” you asked, challenging him with a raised eyebrow.

Bucky sighed, crossing over to sit beside you. He rested his hand over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t focus on Steve alone—consider what my position means now too. I’m still seen as ‘the new kid,’ the one who made it here because of him. Plenty of people are watching, eager to see me stumble.”

You looked into his eyes, seeing the determination there, but also the caution. Bucky knew the stakes, perhaps even more than you. You could feel the weight he carried, the delicate balancing act of supporting Steve while laying the groundwork for his own ambitions.

He took a deep breath, leaning closer, his voice low and resolute. “People may believe in me, but if we move too fast, we’ll lose them. And I won’t let that happen. I know you believe I could make a good president—and I plan to get there. But…” He paused, looking into your eyes, “we have to be patient.”

You remembered the priest’s words: ‘Believe in God’s timing.’ Patience, the one thing you struggled with most in a situation like this. But you trusted Bucky. You could feel his strength, his restraint, his understanding of the game they were all playing.

Bucky’s gaze softened, but his words were firm. “To succeed, I have to publicly support Steve, at least for now. In politics, loyalty and trust are everything. We need them on our side.”

As you processed his words, a chilling realization sank in. Steve’s mocking question echoed in your mind: “Are you sure you’re a match for me?” He was right—his plans were meticulous, every move calculated for safety. And Bucky was right too. This was a game of patience, timing, and subtlety.

But the question remained: Who would be powerful enough to finally bring Steve down?

🌸🌸🌸🌸

At the White House, Peggy approached the front entrance, only to be stopped by two Secret Service agents, their expressions impassive.

“I'm here to see my husband,” she said, her voice firm, though a tremor betrayed her unease.

One of the agents cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You don’t have clearance to enter.”

She blinked, the words sinking in like a slap. “Excuse me? This is my husband's residence. I have every right to be here.”

The agent’s face remained unreadable. “I understand, but orders are orders. Mr. Rogers specified… no access.”

Humiliated, Peggy took a step back, heat rising to her cheeks as a cold realization struck her: Steve was truly keeping his word. She was being kept out of his life, and now, out of his home. She turned, bitterness flooding her chest, and started down the steps, fighting to keep her composure.

As she walked toward her car, laughter drifted from the garden. Curiosity sparked, and she moved toward a nearby window, peeking inside. There, in the garden, was Steve, laughing as he played with Nate, while Hazel sat on a bench, watching them, her smile soft and warm.

The scene twisted like a knife in Peggy’s heart. They look like a family.

She clenched her fists, forcing down a surge of fury and grief. In a voice barely more than a whisper, she asked the guard at her side, “How often do they come here?”

“Every weekend, ma’am,” the guard replied softly.

Her voice cracked as she stammered, “D-Do they… stay the night?”

The guard’s silence was enough, but he finally nodded, “Yes.”

The words struck her like a blow to the gut. She stays here? She sleeps in the White House? Peggy had never once been allowed to spend the night here, but Hazel—Hazel could? The injustice stung in a way that words couldn’t capture.

On her drive back, the scenes replayed over and over, thoughts like poison seeping into her mind. She remembered a press conference where Steve had passionately pledged to support local manufacturing, calling out Hazel as a shining example.

“Like one designer, Hazel Barnes,” he had said, the admiration in his voice unmistakable. “She’s the kind of woman who understands her privilege and uses it to lift others up. Her business is 100% local, supporting homegrown talent. If we had more people like her, this country would thrive.”

The memory burned, the admiration in his tone a raw wound. Not once had he praised her. Not when he was in the military, not when he became governor, not when he ran for Senate, and certainly not now, when he was president. Hazel was now his example, his ideal, the woman he chose to highlight.

By the time she finally reached home, it was close to midnight. She entered the house in a daze, weary from her own broken heart. Yet despite the pain, she clung to her duties, driven to exhaustion by a schedule that seemed never-ending. As she set her bag down, her assistant approached her, offering a warm, sympathetic smile.

“The twins had a good day today,” her assistant said softly. “They finished their study sessions and met with the psychiatrist. They’re making great progress."

Peggy’s tired eyes softened at the news. “Thank you. That’s… that’s wonderful.” She gave a slight nod, the smallest glimmer of peace settling in her chest.

Quietly, she made her way to the twins’ room and opened the door to find them still awake, caught in the glow of a handheld game console.

“Hi, Mom,” one of them greeted her, quickly hiding the console behind his back. Both boys looked at her with guilty smiles, expecting a reprimand.

But instead of scolding them, she stepped forward, placing a soft kiss on each of their foreheads before wrapping her arms around them in a rare, tender hug.

“Mom?” they asked, voices laced with concern as they took in her weary expression.

She managed a small, tired smile. “I’m just… tired. That’s all.”

One of the boys squeezed her hand. “Take a hot bath, Mom. We’ll make you some milk with honey.”

The gesture nearly brought tears to her eyes. “Thank you, boys,” she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. “Thank you so much.”

They left, shooting her worried looks over their shoulders as they went downstairs to prepare her drink. Peggy moved into her room, slipping off her heels and sitting at her vanity, removing her makeup with slow, methodical movements, as though going through the motions might somehow soothe her mind.

A knock came at her door, and she turned to see the twins standing there with a warm mug in hand, faces bright with concern. She mustered a smile, taking the milk from them. “Thank you,” she said, taking a sip. “It’s delicious.”

The twins lingered, watching her carefully, but after a moment, they seemed reassured. She looked the same as always—tired, maybe a little worn—but still their mother. With quiet “goodnights,” they slipped away to their room, leaving her alone in the silence of her own thoughts.

Peggy finished the drink, placing the empty mug down with trembling hands. She reached into her desk drawer, fingers brushing over an object she hadn’t touched in months. She pulled it out slowly, staring down at it for a long, heavy moment before standing and making her way to the bathroom.

She undressed and stepped into the hot bath, letting the warmth soak her weary body. But as the heat wrapped around her, it couldn’t reach the coldness embedded in her heart. She leaned her head back, staring up at the ceiling, her mind swirling with everything she had once hoped for Steve, all the faith she'd placed in him.

He was supposed to be different. She’d thought that becoming president would have brought out wisdom and fairness in him, but instead, he clung to his principles, more ruthless than ever. Memories of the admiration in his voice when he praised Hazel flooded her thoughts, a contrast so sharp it was almost cruel. Steve had never looked at her that way, never spoken her name with that warmth, that pride.

For a moment, her mind drifted to Bucky and you, the loyalty he had shown you, unwavering, year after year. In the past five years, through everything, he had remained faithful, and you had accepted him fully, supporting him in ways Peggy could hardly fathom. She had never known that kind of love with Steve.

She looked down at her wrist, fingers tightening around the object from her desk. Her phone lay beside her, and she typed a short message before putting it aside. She traced the edge of the object against her wrist, whispering, “I’ll set you free.” Her voice was barely audible, fragile against the silence.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

At 2 a.m., Steve was pulled from sleep by the sound of his bedroom door opening. He sat up, irritation flashing in his eyes, ready to reprimand whoever had dared disturb him. But then he saw Natasha standing there, her face pale, eyes wide with urgency.

“Mr. President… I’m sorry,” she stammered, her voice tight, “but this is very urgent.”

A chill crept through him as her words seemed to hang in the air. He got out of bed and followed her, feeling as though he was moving through a thick fog.

Moments later, Steve found himself staring down at Peggy in the bathtub, her body pale and lifeless, the water around her a deep, dark red. His knees buckled, and he collapsed beside her, reaching for her, his arms wrapping around her as if he could somehow bring her back.

“Peggy…” he whispered, his voice breaking. He tightened his hold on her, feeling the unbearable weight of the silence that filled the room.

The twins, William and Charles, stood just outside, tears streaming down their faces, unable to fully grasp the scene before them. They looked at their mother, broken and cold, the life drained from her, and their father, on his knees, clutching her like a lifeline.

Natasha cleared her throat, eyes averted as she whispered, “Mr. President… we should make an announcement.”

Steve’s head snapped up, his eyes sharp and commanding. “Stop.” The firmness in his voice was absolute, leaving no room for argument.

The room fell into stunned silence.

“Tell the public that the First Lady has collapsed from exhaustion,” Steve said coldly. “She was tireless, supporting me without a moment’s rest. Now… she’s taking time to recover.”

The twins’ eyes widened, shock and betrayal mingling with their grief.

“Dad?!” William’s voice cracked, staring at his father in disbelief.

“It would be disastrous for this country to know that the First Lady took her own life,” Steve continued, his tone as unyielding as steel. “It would tarnish her memory. She’d be seen as unstable, weak. This is for her legacy, for the image she worked so hard to uphold.”

The twins shook their heads, voices choked with pain. “No. Mother isn’t like that. She’s not some unstable woman.”

Steve knelt beside them, putting a hand on each of their shoulders, his voice soft but unyielding. “Boys, trust me. This is for the best. We want people to remember your mother’s dedication, her strength. Not… this.”

He pulled them into an embrace, eyes glistening as he held them close, as if his grip alone could silence their pain. Over their shoulders, his gaze drifted back to Peggy’s lifeless form, his expression unreadable. For a split second, a small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips as he thought, Her sacrifice won’t be forgotten.

Join the tag list:

@thezombieprostitute

@scott-loki-barnes

@mostlymarvelgirl

@dexter99

@missvelvetsstuff

@kjah97

@krissydclayton93

@itsteambarnes

@toldyouitwasamelodrama

@lassie-bird

@bighappypiels

@buckitostan

@barnesxstan

@bada-lee-ily

@mrsstuckyboo

@florie1

@cjand10

@sidraaaaaaaaa

@aritoocute

@crazyunsexycool

@mcira

@touchstarvedforbuckybarnes

@pattiemac1

@elizalexwil

@gingersnap-2

@whitexwolfxx310

@marvel-wifey-86

@kumointhesky

@hnnhbananananana

@je-suis-prest-rachel

@nouis-bum

@thebuckybarnesvault

@unaxv

@hzdhrtss

@blackbirdwitch22

@darsynia

@lokislady82

@bonkybarnes106

@kandis-mom

@imrandomstuffsblog

@chimchoom

@wintrsoldrluvr

@greatenthusiasttidalwave

@sebastians-love

@kythefangirl25

@mrsnikstan

@identity2212

@justsebstan

@clairoscharm

@billyseye

@g1g1l

@sxnshinebxcky

[lets-try-some-writing]

In your professional opinion: what would be some Cybertronian Superstitions? Like do the miners hit the entrance of mines after someone dies inside it to help free their sparks from their tomb? Do people not say Unicron’s name after dark for fear it’ll summon him? Is there a name(s) that you can’t say inside the Iacon Hall Of Records or else you’ll be cursed with bad luck????

Please feel free to go hog wild with this.

Oh boy I LOVE the idea of that sort of thing. Honestly, I can see all sorts of little superstitions existing due to mythos and history.

Miners make it a point to never leave their tools unattended. They take them everywhere. To recharge, to fuel, even to get repairs. As for why they do this? There is a certain belief that the tools carry a bit of the luck and wisdom of those who held them previously. And since most tools are handed down from one fallen miner to the next, miners treat their tools with reverence. Many have carried the same pick, and each has left their mark. It cannot be disregarded.

Additionally, miners refuse to enter a deep tunnel system without whistling down it first. The habit has been long since made null and void by tunneling improvements, but there are stories of miners getting lost in the dark, before they adapted to it. Many died before their optics were augmented to the low light conditions. Great swaths of miners still believe that the wandering sparks of those lost in the dark linger there, scared and alone. Whistling down the tunnel before entering gives the lost spirits of the dead something to cling to, a guide to the afterlife in a sense.

Gladiators have a particular set of beliefs revolving entirely around the concept of honor. They know that their work is bloody and often cruel, and so they have developed a strange set of beliefs. Every gladiator, before combat, will take a stick or something equally useless, and snap it in half. They will give half of their broken instrument to a trusted comrade and march off to fight. If they return alive, the two pieces are to be put back together and promptly crushed into powder to be cast out upon whichever mech or beast died so that the gladiator could live. A sign of respect. However, if the gladiator were to die, their comrade is obliged to gather up the fallen's half of the instrument and have them run through their funeral rites with the joined object. This is done out of a belief that the dead must be honored, lest they linger in the living realm to haunt those who killed them (in the case of the gladiator surviving) or to stay with the other piece of their spark (in the event the gladiator dies).

Gladiators also have a firm belief that going into battle without paint will inevitably lead to bad luck coming upon them. They take meticulous care of their accenting paint, tracing swirls and jagged lines with delicate touches meant for those of higher castes. Some believe the marks distract enemies. Others say that the marks ward off attacks, letting otherwise lethal combat situations turn in their favor. No one really knows what they do. It is just something that must be done. Failure to go into battle without paint has led to more than a few gladiators meeting their end. Seeing such things has left the rest preferring to not take chances. Megatron himself went into battle without paint one time, and he quickly learned never to do that again when he returned with a brand new scar on his shoulder.

Amongst dock workers, there are various superstitions revolving around cargo in particular. It's bad luck to look at someone's cargo if it has a written letter attached. It doesn't matter what is in the box, it is considered a stain on one's spark to witness the usually rather sappy interactions between those who bother with sending hardcomms. Additionally, dock workers have long since grown to fear any box that comes in solid black. There was exactly one incident where a black box appeared amidst the cargo and disappeared without a trace, taking several other cargo pieces with it. Since then, any black boxes are either thrown right off the truck with a collective agreement that the loss will be signed off as an accident, or said boxes are loaded up with one unfortunate spark to transfer alone. Black boxes being delivered by one mech are often found missing, the driver and the box itself having vanished without a trace. Black boxes are terrifying, and not one dock worker is willing to risk it.

It is also notoriously bad luck among dock workers to deny the youngling with golden optics a ride. They will appear anywhere and at any time without rhyme or reason. When they appear, they never say a word, instead coming up to dock workers and pointing toward whatever transport they are loading up. Dock workers have long since learned to quietly nod and promptly ignore the youngling as they load up alongside the cargo. Interacting with the youngling results in the worker in question befalling some unfortunate end. Ignoring the youngling entirely leads to a similar situation. This superstition began long ago, and many younglings have abused it relentlessly since no one knows what the mysterious youngling from the myth actually looks like aside from their optics.

Low caste mecha as a whole have a strange superstition revolving around the concept of truth. They are notorious for keeping information to themselves, but low caste mecha never ever outwardly or blatantly lie. They are very careful to leave even the smallest grain of truth in their words. Why? Because telling lies brings the whispers of Liege Maximo. What are the whispers? No one is exactly sure. It is an evil omen, one that has led the low castes to develop odd honesty. They don't want to risk Liege's touch, not when he was stated to have been torn apart during the first age for his manipulations.

Low level soldiers hold the belief that giving away their names to one another is bad luck. Since they can all die at any given moment, they find it easier to remain nameless around one another. To them, remaining without a name in the optics of those around them ensures that survivors of battle can move on without fear. Giving a name means binding oneself to another. Their sparks might linger if they are attached, and that could lead to pain for both themselves and their comrades. So to get around this, soldiers don't do the name thing. Instead, every soldier refers to each other through characteristics or words of endearment. "Yellow" for a mech with yellow plating. "Comrade" or "Brother" for a mech they have served with frequently. Anything except a name. It would be cruel to bind the dead to living and the living to the dead.

Soldiers also have a belief that leaving a corpse to rot is incredibly bad luck. It doesn't matter whose corpse it is. It can't be left out. If nothing is salvageable, the spark chamber must be removed and taken to be given proper funeral rites. Not a spark wants to risk and angry spirit lingering because the body was not tended to properly. This belief extends to the point where soldiers will actively tear out their own spark chambers if they know they are going to die (or request others to do it for them). They don't want to linger and haunt those around them, so its best that the core of their frame is guaranteed proper rites.

Flyers of all kinds simply refuse to fly when Luna 1 and 2 are fully aligned. There are a thousand stories telling tales of fliers crashing, being killed, hit by rogue shots, and everything else. They won't risk it, and instead of flying, flyers will instead actively hide from the moons on such occasions. Usually unwilling to be locked in tight spaces, such cycles are the exception. To be seen by the moons is to be hunted. They won't risk it. Additionally, flyers have one particular stretch of Cybertronian landscape they all avoid like the plague. Mecha have been known to go in and never come back out, or if they do return, they are changed. They don't want to mess with that place, not for anything.

Flyers also hold the firm belief that one must keep their optics in perfect condition. They run tests all the time to ensure that their optics function without issue. Some even go so far as to get goggles or visors built into their frames just to protect them. Most chalk this up to a simple desire to not go blind. But flyers think differently. They won't get their optics replaced even if its an option. Why? Because they hold the belief that they carry the optics of a mech who didn't get to soar. Every flyer who has ever lived has had the optics of a grounder who will never get to grace the skies. For flyers, they see their optics as something sacred. They fly not just for themselves, but also for whoever their counterpart is, living or dead. They honor another through their sight, and so they must maintain their vision at all costs. Some call the phenomenon something akin to soulmates. The flyers state that it is the price they pay for their gift of flight.

(Note: Starscream and many of his people do not subscribe to the above thought process. Thundercracker is the only notable exception. Most chalk this up to his love of romance novels.)

Enforcers have many little quirks depending on city, but one they all share is the universal habit of naming their weapon of choice. It is a strange not quite religious belief for them. Whatever the thought process actual is, Enforcers rely heavily on their weapons, and as such, they must appease the weapon itself. They have to bond to it, make it an extension of themselves so that they can move it just as easily as a limb. They go about this through naming, and once named, they never get rid of the weapon in question. Even if its outdated, old, or broken. The weapon stays. If it is obliterated or lost, the Enforcer is obliged to get a copy of their prior weapon for the sake of their continued success. For this reason, most Enforcers fight with inbuilt weapons until they settle on something, and then they buy several copies just in case.

Enforcers will also never actively say "goodbye" to one another. Doing so would imply that there is a possibility of not coming back from the next patrol. So Enforcers simply don't use such language. "Good luck" or "Get those slaggers" are common supplements. Surprisingly, Enforcers only dodge around "goodbye" while on duty. They will casually wave off companions when not on the clock without a care in the world. However, if an Enforcer really does not like someone while on the clock, they will say "goodbye" as their polite version of a middle finger.

It is not exactly a rule, but Archivist as a whole simply do not refer to the Primes by name most of the time. There is a belief that uttering their designations aloud will bring their gaze upon whoever spoke. That can either be good or bad depending on the context, but since Primus's chosen can never really be predicted, most Archivists won't risk it. Instead, if they must say a Prime's name, they will tap a nearby surface a few times to supposedly draw attention away from themselves and hopefully keep the Prime in question from seeing them. It makes no sense, but even Orion Pax kept to the habit. Although some, like Orion, usually worked around this by coming up with slightly different pronunciations of the designations of Primes to hopefully avert their gazes.

Archivists also refuse to read anything relating to relics after a certain time. There is a longstanding belief that doing so can drive a mech mad. Hidden knowledge comes at Primus's chosen joor. Sometimes Archivists will reach grand discoveries at this specific time after delving into records of relics. But more often than not, Archivists have been noted having mental breakdowns, crying, losing their minds, or otherwise going haywire. Medical professionals chalk it up to exhaustion and mania. The Archivists believe it is a warning. They refuse to read about relics during Primus's joor. Obviously, there are some thing between the veil they are not meant to know.

Medics won't come within a ten mile radius of the smelting pits where most of the dead are dealt with. They believe it is a bad omen to linger in places of death, and that the wrath of the deceased can stick to their frames, making other patients lose their lives. This has led medics to make it a habit to remove dead mecha from hospitals as fast as physically possible, handing them off to medical students to carry to the pits. Medical students hardly ever do anything of note with the patients, so the professionals don't feel bad dumping all the potential bad luck on them. The only medics who actively hang around smelting pits are morticians and mecha focused on autopsies. They think lingering around the dead will help them understand the dead. That way, they can better diagnose just what killed a mech. Such medics are usually avoided by the rest who work with the living.

Medics have very sensitive servos. There is a longstanding belief that if a medic is to retire or happens to die, he or she must give up their servos to a younger medic in training. This is to pass on skill, at least in theory. It is also a sign that a medic in training is skilled and worthy of note. To take the servos of an old medic is to take on their legacy. Similarly to the miners, medics take honoring those who came before them very seriously. They will go above and beyond to keep their servos in perfect condition so that whoever comes after them can have the vital sensors that come with a medic's servos. Ratchet is one of the few mecha to not have inherited his servos from anyone. He has also never signed up to have anyone get them after he dies. Most take this to mean he never will die. And considering how long Ratchet has lived, a good chunk of the population firmly believe that Ratchet is eternal.

[fawnme1]

THE SOFTEST THING — WILLNE

CHAPTER ONE

next part

an; sorry for the lack of posts, the past week has been hectic for me

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

It was a late afternoon and the three of you were exactly where you always seemed to end up — Joe’s place, half-empty takeaway containers scattered across the coffee table, music playing low in the background. The mood was lazy, familiar. Alfie was half-sprawled on the floor, flipping through his phone, while Joe leaned back against the couch, tossing grapes into the air and missing most of them.

You were curled up on the armchair with a blanket, sipping tea like it was the most important thing in the world. Saturdays were sacred, especially when none of you had plans. It was the one time you all just… existed.

“Right, serious question,” Joe said, suddenly sitting up like something vital had just occured to him. “How long’s it been now?”

You looked up, confused. “How long has what been?”

“You know,” he said, gesturing at you like it was obvious. “Since you went on a date?”

Alfie perked up immediately. “Ohh, we bringing that up again?”

You groaned and dropped your head back with a dramatic sigh. “Why is this a topic every time we hang out?”

“Because,” Alfie said, now grinning like an idiot, “it’s weird. Like, you’re actually undateable at this point. You might be cursed.”

“Cheers,” you said dryly.

Joe laughed. “Nah, but seriously. Five years? That’s some kind of record. Guinness should be calling you any minute.”

“I’ve been busy,” you shot back, tugging the blanket over your head to avoid the looks. “You know, pursuing my actual career.”

“And avoiding emotional vulnerability,” Alfie added.

“Okay, therapist,” you muttered from beneath the blanket.

Joe tossed a grape at you. “Admit it — you like being single. You’ve got full control of the aux, no one stealing your hoodies, and zero obligation to share fries. You’re living the dream.”

You peeked out, raising an eyebrow. “Exactly. So why mess with perfection?”

That got a laugh out of both of them, but you could feel the looks they shared. That subtle, slightly pitying kind of glance friends give when they think they know something you won’t admit. But they didn’t get it — not fully.

You weren’t afraid of dating. You just hadn’t wanted to. Not for a while. Not since things fell apart last time and left you questioning everything.

Later that night, you found yourself sitting in Joe’s home studio, headphones half-on, tweaking the levels on a new demo. The chorus still needed work, but the melody had potentil. You’d been in a bit of a creative rut lately, but something about today had shifted things.

Joe wandered in with a drink in hand, leaning in the doorway. “That the new one you were talking about?”

You nodded without looking up. “Yeah. Might actually finish this one.”

He came over, listening for a few seconds before nodding in approval. “It’s got something. You should record it properly.”

“That’s the plan,” you said, cracking your knuckles. “Might even drop it next month.”

Joe smirked. “Now all we need is a moody music video and a dramatic love interest.”

You shot him a look. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying. Your fans are gonna start thinking you’re heartless if you keep putting out breakup songs without any actual breakups.”

“They’re not all about relationships,” you argued. “Some are about growth, healing—”

“Translation: you’re projecting your fear of dating onto your music,” Alfie said, walking in with a mouthful of crisps.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked.

“Long enough,” he replied with a grin. “You should write a song called Still Not Interested.”

You sighed, but it was all fondness under the sarcasm. This was how it always was — relentless teasing, zero personal space, and somehow still the most supportive friendship you’d ever had. Joe and Alfie had been there through everything, from your worst gigs to your biggest milestones. They never let you forget who you were, even when you did.

It wasn’t just your friends who were starting to notice your painfully long dry spell. Interviews, social media. Fans loved a love story, especially when it came from a singer. You’d become good at dodging questions.

“Focusing on the music right now.”

“Not rushing anything.”

“Just vibing, honestly.”

And it was true… mostly.

But every time you saw Alfie smirking across the table or Joe raising an eyebrow when someone new walked into a room, it chipped away at your composure just a little more.

“You know you can just download an app,” Alfie said one afternoon as the three of you walked through central London. “Like a normal person.”

“Or I could not,” you replied flatly. “You want me to go on a date with a guy whose profile pic is him holding a fish?”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Joe added. “You might meet someone who changes your life.”

You gave him a look. “What is this, Love Actually?”

Joe laughed and threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a side-hug. “Nah, but seriously. One day someone’s gonna come along and make you forget you ever went five years without a date.”

You smiled, letting yourself lean into him for a second. “One day.”

But not today.