#I know every line and curve of your tattoo

[gojoacedia]

Katsuki Bakugou has memorized every inch of you. He knows where every tiny scar is and every line and curve of your tattoos. He knows how to take care of your hair according to your hair type, and even learned how to braid it so you didn’t ever complain about doing it yourself again. He knows where every single mole and freckle on your face is and kisses them as often as possible. He has never made more eye contact with anyone else in his life. He could look at the intricate streaks of varying colors in your irises all day. He’s the type of boyfriend to want to kiss you every second of every day. If you are alone together, chances are his mouth is on yours. He adores how soft they are compared to his and he never gets tired of how your body feels pressed up against his.

When you shower with him, you come out of that shower the cleanest you’ve ever been. Katsuki insists on washing your body for you (he’s just a perv) and he gets every nook and cranny you didn’t even know existed. Behind your ears, each crack in your neck, the spots on your back you can hardly reach. When he gets to your legs he worships them like you’re a god/dess. Also, he thinks feet are nasty because he has lived with heroes in training whose feet smelled like actual cat pee, but he completely disregards that when it comes to you. He will give you a whole foot massage and even paint your nails if you want him to.

Y’all know I leave the smut for last lmao- disclaimer I am writing this as afab

Obviously, you don’t look at your vagina or ass very much because they aren’t exactly within eyesight, so you leave all of the sightseeing up to Katsuki. And boy does he take advantage of that. He will let you know exactly how beautiful he thinks you are in extremely specific detail. He knows what you look like, feel like, taste like, and smell like better than anyone. He has every single groove and fold mapped onto his tongue which he uses every time he eats you out. When he’s inside you he knows exactly which spots make you scream.

[elswhore]

𝐄.𝐖 ── X.O TATTED ALL OVER HER BODY

you asked your tattoo artist, ellie, what's her favorite tattoo she’s done on your body, instead of pointing it out, she took it into a more intimate approach.

hickeys. marking. biting. fingering. praise kink. teasing. sensory play involved. body worship.

masterlist ۶ৎ navigation ۶ৎ

the hum of the tattoo parlor had long faded, leaving just you and ellie in the dimly lit studio, the air smelled of ink and antiseptic.

you’d been coming to ellie for months, her skilled hands etching art into your skin a constellation of ink across your collarbone, shoulder, chest, wrist, hips, and thighs.

each session felt like a ritual, her focus on your body both professional, today, you’d asked a simple question, leaning back in the tattoo chair, your voice teasing but curious.

“ellie, which one’s your favorite? of all the tattoos you’ve done on me.” her green eyes flicked up from where she was cleaning her tools, a smirk tugging at her lips.

she didn’t answer right away, instead, she set her tools down, her movements deliberate, and walked over to you, her flannel sleeves were rolled up, exposing the ink that snaked across her own arms, and her hair was pulled back in a messy bun.

there was a glint in her gaze, playful but edged with something hungrier. “you really wanna know?” she asked, her voice low, almost a purr.

she didn’t wait for your nod, instead, she closed the distance, her boots scuffing softly against the floor, you were still in the chair, half reclined, and she leaned over you, one hand bracing on the armrest.

her proximity made your pulse quicken, her breath warm against your ear as she murmured “i don’t think i can just point to it.” before you could respond, her lips were on your collarbone, right where the delicate lines of her favorite tattoo—a swirling design of vines and stars—curved over your skin.

the first kiss was soft, a tease, but then her mouth opened, and she sucked hard, pulling a gasp from your throat, the sensation was electric, a mix of warmth and pressure that sent a shiver down your spine.

she didn’t stop there, her teeth grazed the sensitive skin, nipping just enough to sting, then soothing the spot with her tongue.

you could feel the heat blooming under her touch, the promise of a hickey forming where her lips claimed you. “ellie—” you breathed, but she only hummed against your skin, her mouth moving with purpose.

qnother suck, another bite, each one marking the tattoo she loved most, the collarbone was her canvas now, and she was painting it with her desire, her hands, calloused from hours of wielding a tattoo gun, found your shoulders, pinning you gently but firmly in place.

there was a quiet dominance in her touch, a wordless command to let her take the lead. “you look so fucking good with my art on you” she murmured, her voice rough with admiration.

the praise hit you like a wave, pooling warmth low in your belly, her lips trailed lower, kissing the edge of the tattoo where it spilled onto your chest, her teeth catching the skin just enough to make you squirm.

“this one… it’s perfect. right here.” her fingers, meanwhile, were wandering, they traced the ink on your wrist, then slid down to your hips, where another tattoo—a crescent moon—curved along the dip of your pelvis.

she pressed her thumb against it, the pressure deliberate, teasing, as her other hand found your thigh, the tattoo there was a dagger wrapped in roses, and her fingers followed its lines, slow and sensual, like she was memorizing every detail.

your breath hitched as her touch grew bolder, her nails grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “ellie, what are you—” you started, but she cut you off with a sharp nip to your collarbone, making you yelp softly.

the mix of pain and pleasure was dizzying, and she knew it her smirk was audible in her voice as she said, “shh. let me show you how much i like this one.” her hand slid higher, slipping beneath the hem of your shorts, and you felt her fingers brush against the heat between your thighs.

the anticipation was agonizing, her touch light enough to tease but heavy with intent, she paused, her eyes locking onto yours, seeking permission in the haze of your shared desire.

you nodded, barely able to form words, and that was all she needed, ellie’s fingers parted you gently, exploring with the same precision she used when inking your skin.

she found your clit first, circling it with slow, deliberate strokes that made your hips buck against her hand, the sensation was overwhelming, amplified by the lingering sting of her bites on your collarbone and the warmth of her body leaning over you.

she watched your reactions closely, her gaze intense, like she was studying the way you unraveled under her touch. “god, you’re so wet” she said, her voice dripping with awe and hunger.

the praise made you whimper, and she rewarded you by slipping one finger inside, curling it just right to hit that spot that made your vision blur.

the stretch was perfect, her movements steady but unrelenting, and she added a second finger, filling you more, her thumb still circling your clit with maddening precision.

the rhythm was intoxicating, each thrust of her fingers paired with the soft scrape of her nails against your thigh, the contrast driving you wild.

her mouth returned to your collarbone, sucking harder now, leaving a constellation of marks that would linger for days.

the pain of her bites mingled with the pleasure of her fingers, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge, your body taut like a drawn bow.

ellie sensed it too, her movements growing more insistent, her fingers pumping faster, deeper, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the air. “look at you” she whispered, her lips brushing your ear.

“falling apart for me. So fucking beautiful.” The words were your undoing, pushing you over the edge as your orgasm crashed through you.

your thighs clamped around her hand, your back arching as waves of pleasure pulsed through every nerve, ellie didn’t stop, her fingers slowing but still moving, drawing out every last shudder until you were boneless, gasping in the chair.

she finally pulled back, her fingers glistening, and brought them to her lips, tasting you with a low hum of satisfaction, her eyes were dark, her smirk triumphant.

“that” she said, nodding to the hickeys blooming on your collarbone “is my favorite tattoo, for now.” you laughed weakly, still catching your breath, and she leaned down to kiss you properly, her lips soft but possessive.

the taste of her, mixed with the lingering heat of her touch, was enough to make you wonder what other tattoos she might claim next.

[angrythingstarlight]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8xb1Nwy/

This is so Biker!Bucky coded and nothing can change my mind

Oh that's Beefy!Bucky. He's always so needy for you, wants you so damn much that you can wear anything, any-fucking-thing, and he's turned on.

Pairing: Beefy!Biker Bucky x Reader

CW: Smut, light degradation, praise kink, overstimulation, Bucky being a menace. Minors DNI.

A/N: Written on my phone and unbetad. Also I haven't written smut in a while so this is just an excuse for some pwp.

“Aw I know you’re not already crying, Gorgeous.” His voice, deep and mocking, rolls over you as he grasps your hips in a strong, bruising grip, viciously dragging you back on his cock. “We’re just getting started.”

You’re in this position—face down, moans and pleas barely muffled by his pillow, back taut and in a near impossible arch, hips caged in his large, warm hands—all because of that damn nightgown.

It’s shapeless. Two sizes too big. You only bought it because it was on a sale. It’s nothing compared to your actual lingerie.

And all Bucky knows is it makes you look so fucking sexy. And it drives him insane. A fact you both figured out the first night you wore it.

The second he saw you emerge from the bathroom, dressed in your new nightgown, smelling good and looking better, he was all over you. His lips created a path up your throat, hands on your ass, kneading and pushing so he could grind your cunt all over his growing bulge.

Then his long, ring-adorned fingers slipper under your gown, discovering that you had nothing on underneath, discovering your sweet little pussy was soaked and ready for him.

And Bucky Lost.His.Mind.

He had you on all fours, his cock stretching you so good it sent a fiery burn through your veins followed by sweet, sweet pleasure. You sobbed out his name. Or you tried to anyway. Buck—oh fuck barely left your mouth before it got swallowed by the wet moan he dragged out of your throat.

See normally he gives you time to adjust, let’s you savor that first deep thrust but tonight, he slides out of you, inch after inch, before pounding back into your tight, warm pussy.

Normally he starts off sweet and slow. Takes your hand and presses into your lower belly so you both can feel just how deep he can get. And he gets so deep in you, making you feel every warm ridge, every vein, every thick inch he has.

Normally he likes to tease, make you beg for it. Make you claw up his back until thin red lines mar his tattooed skin, knees locked around him, heels digging into the small of his back, desperately trying to get him, all of him, inside you.

Normally he starts off so damn sweet but not tonight. Tonight he’s fucking you rough and hard and fast. The steady thump, thump, thump of the headboard adding to the chorus of moans and cries coming from you with every filthy grind of his hips. The cadence of your pretty voice, needy and desperate, fuels the feral desire in him to wreck you, break you into little pieces, to leave you so full of cum, he’ll be dripping out of you for hours.

“That’s it. See you can take me like this.” His next thrust sends a fresh wave of tears rolling down your cheeks, your jaw slack. White hot pleasure twists up your spine, locking you in place even though part of you is begging for a reprieve.

It’s too much. It’s too good. He’s wrong you can’t take it, you can’t but you also can’t stop your pussy from spasming around him, pulling him back in whenever he leaves your tight, slick walls.

Whimpers that vaguely resemble oh god oh god ohmigod spill from your kiss-swollen lips.

That damn nightgown sticks to your sweat-slicked back. Bucky takes a handful, twisting in his grasp and he yanks you up until your back slams into his chest.

Wrapping his arm around your belly, his other hand curves around your throat, tilting your head so you can watch him fuck you. This sight of his thick cock, coated in your slick, disappering inside your pussy makes you clench down. His lips hover over your ear. “Look at you making a mess all over my cock. Your greedy pussy can’t get enough, can she? You need me to fill you up, you want my cum in your pretty little cunt.”

It’s not a question but you cry out anyway.

“Please, please.” God, you let him do anything he wants to you as long as he keeps fucking you just like that. “Don’t stop, please Bucky.” You’re so close, the edges of your orgasm curl around you, enveloping your senses in a hazy of heady, never-ending pleasure.

Bucky smirks, his eyes roaming over your face, taking in your blissed-out expression. “That’s my girl. My sweet little slut is going to cum all over me like a good fucking girl—,” he groans in your ear, his hips snapping into yours. “—and then I’m gonna cum deep inside this tight cunt.”

That coil that’s been winding tighter and tighter splinters when he drops his hand to your clit and rubs furious, frantic circles around it. Sensation after sensation pulses through you in thick, hot waves. It hits you so hard and fast, that you can’t even make a sound, your body going taut as your orgasm barrels over you.

The last thing you hear before a dull roar fills your ears and your vision blurs is Bucky promising to buy you ten more nightgowns.

And to fuck you on every surface of this house while you wear them.

And I—

[thef1diary]

thoughts on Danny being so obsessed with his girl, as she with him (and his thighs) that he gets a thigh tattoo saying “princess seat” or something along those lines 🤭

this is me adding fire to my love for his thighs and tattoos

~🪼

— I totally see dirtbag!danny doing this for you! It took me a while to form a single coherent thought about this 😭 18+ content below

Dirtbag!danny would love this. He’d do it half as a joke, half because he’s just that obsessed with you. And because he knows you’re just as obsessed with him.

The idea forms in his head one night when you’re sprawled across his lap, barely paying attention to whatever show is playing on the TV in the background. Your fingers keep trailing over the ink on his thighs, tracing the lines, the curves, the dips of muscle that you’ve spent more time riding than you’d ever admit out loud. He notices—of course he does.

“You like ‘em that much, huh?” he teases, flexing just to watch your eyes darken, that little shiver running through you.

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but you don’t deny it. Can’t. Because you are obsessed. Always have been. It’s in the way you shift whenever he spreads his legs just a little wider, in the way your gaze drops every time he’s wearing those sinful little shorts that barely cover anything. He knows.

So, one day, he just fucking does it. Walks into a shop like it’s any other appointment, picks the inside of his thigh and gets it inked. It’s your spot, the place where he loves to feel you the most. Right where your pretty little pussy is always grinding down, where your hand rests when you’re on your knees for him as he deepthroats you.

And then he waits. He doesn’t tell you. Just sits on the couch all casually one day, a short pair of shorts on, arm draped over the back, legs spread like a fucking invitation, watching you melt the second your eyes drift down.

It takes you a second. But then—oh, then you see it. Right there, stretching across the inside of this thick, tanned thigh.

Your mouth parts, eyes going wide, and Daniel just smirks. Smug, filthy, completely insufferable. Your first instinct is to scoff, to roll your eyes, to pretend like this doesn’t instantly send heat surging between your legs. But the way your breath catches gives you away. The way your fingers twitch at your sides.

And Daniel knows it.

His smirk deepens, full of amusement, full of that filthy self-satisfaction that makes you want to smack him—or sit on his lap and grind until you’re both a panting, moaning mess.

He reaches for you, grip firm on your waist, pulling you in until you’re standing between his legs.

“Do you like it?,” he murmurs, voice a low, teasing drawl. Then his fingers hook into your waistband, tugging at your shorts.

Your pulse spikes.

“Danny—”

But he’s already dragging them down, sliding them over your thighs, letting them drop to the floor with a careless flick of his wrist.

“It’s healed now, sweetheart,” he says, smug and slow, fingers tracing up the back of your thighs, dragging higher, higher—until he’s gripping your ass, pulling you down into his lap.

Your knees land on either side of his thigh, bare except for your panties, your cunt pressed right against the muscle—but not touching the ink.

Not yet.

And fuck, that’s the worst part.

Because he knows you’re desperate for it.

Knows you ache to feel it under you, to coat that fresh ink with the mess he loves to pull from your cunt.

You squirm, but his grip tightens, holding you there, just barely out of reach. Your lips part, breath shaky, but Daniel’s already leaning in, mouth brushing against your ear.

“Time to break it in, baby,” he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement, with command.

Then he flexes.

And fuck.

A gasp rips from your throat as the muscle tenses beneath you, sending a pulse of pleasure straight to your pussy.

His fingers slide between your thighs, tracing your clit, feeling the growing wetness on the flimsy scrap of fabric barely covering you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice low and smug, the pads of his fingers pressing just enough to make your hips twitch. “Soaked already? You really are obsessed with my thighs, huh?”

You make a weak sound in protest, but it’s cut off the second he presses harder, rolling slow, lazy circles over the wet fabric.

“You gonna deny it?” he taunts, lips grazing the curve of your jaw. His other hand tightens on your hip, holding you still when you try to grind against him.

You shake your head because it doesn’t matter if you try to deny it, he already has proof of how much you love it.

Your breath shudders, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please—”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence, losing your train of thought instantly when he pulls your panties to the side, fingers hooking into the lace, dragging the sticky fabric away from your cunt.

And then—oh, fuck.

He slides you forward, drags you right onto the tattoo.

Your gasp is sharp, nails clawing at his skin as your slick pussy presses flush against the ink, against the heat of his thigh.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, watching the way your body reacts, the way your thighs tremble at the first roll of his hips.

Your breath stutters as Daniel’s hands tighten on your ass, forcing you to move, grinding your bare cunt against the inked muscle beneath you. The heat of his thigh is scorching, every flex sending sparks of pleasure ricocheting up your spine.

“That’s it,” he mutters, eyes dark, hungry, glued to where you’re dragging yourself over him. “Fuck, baby, look at you. So desperate to make a mess on me.”

And you are. Every slow roll of your hips leaves another slick imprint against his tattoo, marking it in the filthiest way possible. Your arousal coats his skin, a thin, glistening sheen spreading across the ink.

Daniel groans, his cock straining against his shorts as he watches. “You see that, baby?” His fingers trail forward, catching your inner thighs, spreading you wider, exposing the swollen, soaked mess between your legs. “You’re fuckin’ drippin’. Soaking me like you were made to sit right here.”

You whimper, thighs trembling, but he’s not done yet.

With a wicked grin, he presses two fingers to your folds, spreading them apart, forcing your clit to drag directly over the ink.

A strangled cry rips from your throat. “Daniel—fuck—”

“Mmm, that’s better,” he murmurs, watching the way you jerk, the way your hips roll uncontrollably at the added friction. “Right there, huh? Feels good, princess? Fuckin’ knew it would.”

His fingers stay right there, keeping you open, making sure every desperate, frantic drag of your cunt rubs your swollen clit against his thigh. The stimulation is brutal, each slick, messy stroke sending another wave of pleasure rolling through you.

“That’s my girl,” Daniel rasps, completely enthralled by the way you move, by the way you’re coating his tattoo with your arousal. “Look at this pretty fuckin’ pussy, baby. So greedy. Just can’t stop grindin’ all over me, huh?”

You can’t. You won’t. Because it’s too much, too good, too perfect, and you can already feel it building, that desperate, tightening coil ready to snap at any second.

And Daniel knows it too.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he purrs, voice thick with filth and satisfaction. “Mark your fuckin’ seat.”

want more dirtbag!danny? send me an ask with your thoughts—filthy or not—and I’d love to write you a little drabble <3

[tteokdoroki]

☆༉ — RYOMEN SUKUNA. a better man.

about. you’re a girl that’s way out of his league and he’s the bad boy you couldn’t help but fall for. what happens when ryomen sukuna fails to meet you in the middle?

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, suggestive towards the end, no curses!au, modern!au, it’s implied that sukuna is in a gang, mentions of fights, reader is a rich girl, they’re kinda in love :( bad boy!sukuna, fem!reader.

“you’re mad at me. aren’cha?”

sukuna mutters with an air of faux nonchalance as he lazily jogs up the final marble steps that lead up to the restaurant he was supposed to meet you at nearly two hours ago. the evening traffic zips by, red and white headlights parting through the rain to illuminate your boyfriend’s features. heavy water droplets take residence on the slope of his nose and Cupid’s bow, some even daring to cling on to the tips of dusty rose-coloured hair.

if you weren’t so angry right now, you might take a moment to appreciate how good sukuna looks in the moment — especially with the way the rain makes the designer tux you’d gotten for him cling to his skin. exposing every ridge and dip and curve in his muscle while his inky black tattoos become all the more visible.

“of course i’m mad.” you step aside to let sukuna under the shelter of the entrance, avoiding him as he swoops down for his usual hug and kiss. “tonight is important. it was important.”

“babe c’mon on, i was—“

“you were late. they’re serving dessert in there, ryomen.” your tone is coloured with shades of annoyance and a hint of warning. like a mother about to lecture her child. you’re pissed. it’s written all over your face too — in the way that your brows crease and you pout so adorably. he’ll try to play it off, like he doesn’t care, but it almost makes sukuna sick to his stomach to know that you’re angry with him.

the rain picks up outside of the restaurant and you continue. “all you had to do was show up on time. come to this stupid fancy restaurant and be there to meet my parents. but of course, you got yourself caught up in—“ you grab his dress shirt in frustration, noticing the blood on the collar that doesn’t belong to him. his split knuckles and the bruise on his lips. “— in whatever this is.” you roll your eyes, blood boiling.

“it’s nothin’ for you to worry your pretty little head about,” sukuna scoffs, lips spreading wide in his signature smirk. the excuse is lame, but he doesn’t want you to worry for him any longer. “since when did you care about what your parents think, anyways?” but you see it in his eyes, that same old worry. that he’s not good enough for you, that a scumbag like him doesn’t deserve a pretty girl like you. he’s always told you to find someone better, someone able to feed into the glitz and glamour that you were brought up in.

but you’ve always told ryomen sukuna that you have everything you need right there with him.

cupping his face, the heat of anger dispels from your body and you exhale deeply though your nose. “i don’t care about what my parents think. if i did, i wouldn’t be dating you.” you cast a thumb over the thick lines of ink decorating his face, accenting sukuna’s high cheekbones and chiselled features while the rest of your fingers sink into his smooth, dark undercut. “but that doesn’t mean i don’t want you to meet them. they’re just as special to me as you are. i want the most important people in my life to know each other.”

your boyfriend’s hands settle on your wrists as he grunts noncommittally, indicating that he’s aware of his wrong doings. if there’s one thing that sukuna hates, it’s upsetting you. he doesn’t care what the world thinks of him, it’s never mattered before. yet, even the slightest look of disappointment from you has the man in shambles. “‘m sorry,” he drawls, his grip on you shifting down to cup your waist — pulling you flush against him. “what can a guy like me do to make it up to you?”

“you can go on in there and charm the hell out of my rich, uptight parents so that we can hurry up and go home,” your voice lowers an octave as you stand on your tip toes for the extra height so that you can nip at the shell of sukuna’s ear. “where you can rip this dress off’a me.”

“such a dirty mouth for such’a prim ‘n proper girl, hm? i should wash it out with soap.” he purrs right back, leaning down to kiss at your neck until you’ve had enough of his frayed pink hair tickling your skin. he damn near melts when your fingers inch up to tug at his roots — earning a deep and thrilling growl from the man. “that was a dirty move. who taught you that?”

“my good for nothing boyfriend, he’s kind of a bad influence.” you tease back, despite having to physically push sukuna away in order to avoid setting off his inner beast before dinner with your parents is done — and instead, take to grabbing his larger hand in yours so you can lead him from the front of house to your family’s reserved table.

and like always, sukuna trails after you like a lost puppy enamoured with the person that found them, have them love and warmth. because, while you didn’t change him, you made him want to be better — to give up the knives in his back and the bullets looking over his head for something better. something softer.

something like you.

ryomen sukuna wanted to become the someone he thought you deserved.

that’s why he put on this stupid suit and tie, why he let you take his hand, why he follows you to the the table that’s sure to seal his fate with you.

behind all that rough exterior, is a man who loves you.

and in front of sukuna, is a girl who loves him and all of his flaws right back.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[hoe4hotchner]

Ink | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader CW: Fluff, I mentioned haley once WC: 0.9k Summary: Hotch has tattoos

@lavenderspence my beloved, here's the tattooed hotch fic 🤭

           You stirred from your slumber, groggy and warm, wrapped up in the sheets as the morning sun filtered softly through the curtains. The familiar rustle of fabric and the quiet creak of the floorboards made you aware that Aaron had gotten out of bed and was getting ready for work. Through heavy eyelids, you saw him standing by the dresser, his broad back to you as he slipped his shirt over his shoulders. Your gaze lingered on the arm that had yet to disappear into his sleeve, taking in the sight of the black outlines covering it from wrist to shoulder.

           The ink swirled in intricate, detailed designs, tribal patterns that blended into abstract shapes and pictures, and hidden among them were symbols that meant something so profoundly personal to him. It was a side of him that still felt like a secret between the two of you, something he kept tucked away beneath the sharp, professional exterior of his suits.

           A soft smile curled at the corner of your lips. No one at the BAU, except perhaps Rossi, had any idea of this hidden layer to Aaron Hotchner - the loving, soft man who hid beautiful art that told the story of him under his perfectly tailored attire.

           You shifted under the sheets, drawing his attention as you yawned and stretched. “Morning,” you murmured, your voice was thick with sleep but laced with affection.

           Aaron turned, his lips curving into a gentle smile as his eyes met yours. He was already nearly dressed, his pants on, tie draped around his neck, but the buttons of his shirt remained undone. He moved with the same grace and composure you’d come to love - always so calm and collected, yet with you, there was an undercurrent of warmth.

           “Good morning,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

           You shook your head, sitting up slightly, propping yourself on your elbows. “No. Just woke up to a nice view,” you teased, your eyes dipping to the few parts of ink on his arm still exposed.

           He chuckled softly, a low sound that rumbled in his chest as he stepped closer to the bed. “The view, huh?” His tone was playful, his eyebrow slightly raised.

           Your fingers reached for his arm, gently brushing over the designs. You traced the lines of one of the patterns, something abstract and fluid, before shifting to the more personal details - the initials of Jack woven into the design, a small symbol from his days as a prosecutor, and something you knew was tied to Haley, but never dared to ask about, it was a reminder of his past.

           "I still can't believe you hide all this every day," you murmured, your fingers following the art up to his forearm.

           His smile softened, a glimmer of something fond in his eyes. "Not exactly professional to show up with tattoos on full display at a federal agency," he replied, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

           "Yeah, because Morgan doesn't do that every day," you teased, rolling your eyes, and then smiled more softly. "But I love that this part of you is mine to see," you whispered, your hand now resting on the inside of his forearm. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and you felt the steady pulse of his heartbeat there.

           He watched you for a moment, there was something tender and unguarded in his expression, and then he leaned down, bracing his hands on the bed on either side of you. "You like the tattoos?" he asked softly, his lips close to yours.

           You nodded, your breath catching slightly as his proximity made your heart race. “I love them. It’s such a contrast to the Aaron Hotchner everyone knows at the BAU.”

           His gaze flickered down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “I like that you get to see all of me,” he admitted, his voice lower now, rougher, as if confessing something vulnerable.

           You smiled, reaching up to brush a stray strand of his hair back. "And I can't wait to see more when you come home," you murmured, your voice teasing but sincere.

           Aaron smirked, leaning in to brush his lips lightly against yours, a fleeting kiss that left you wanting more. “I’ll show you as much as you want,” he whispered against your lips before pulling back slightly, his breath warm on your skin.

           “Promise?” you asked softly, your fingers trailing down the front of his shirt, still unbuttoned, leaving a trail of warmth where they touched.

           He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closing for a brief second as he took in the moment. “Promise," he said, his voice soft but full of intent.

           Reluctantly, Aaron pulled away, straightening up as he finished buttoning his shirt, hiding the tattoos once more. You watched as the last bit of ink vanished beneath the crisp, white fabric, a small part of you already missing the sight.

           He reached for his tie, looping it around his neck with ease as you propped yourself up further on the bed, watching him with a mixture of admiration and affection. He caught your gaze in the mirror, smirking slightly at your look of longing.

           "Don’t worry," he said as he tucked the end of his tie into place, "Tonight, I’ll make it up to you.”

           You grinned, biting your lip. "You better."

           With a soft laugh, Aaron grabbed his jacket, leaning down for one last kiss before he headed to work. It was slow and lingering, a promise in itself that he’d be back later tonight.

           As the door closed behind him, you flopped back into the pillows, already counting down the hours until he returned. Because tonight, the suit would come off, and his ink would be on full display, and all of him would be yours once more.

[violetskylights0]

Imagine waking up to a calm morning with Vi's exposed back facing towards you and just *sigh* admiring her beautiful tattoos 💕

I hope you don't mind I made it a litttttlllle...okay a lot hornier.

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

Mornings like this felt like stolen moments, sweet and unhurried. Vi lay sprawled on her side, her back exposed to you bear without her bandages for once, the two of you somehow squeezed into the too-small twin bed in your tiny apartment.

Her breaths rose and fell in a pattern you knew by heart. Occasionally, a soft sigh or a low grunt escaped her, depending on whatever dream she was lost in, and you watched her quietly, taking in every little detail. The way her silhouette curved under the baby blue sheet was mesmerizing, her hip invitingly close, as if daring you to pull her closer. Her scent—bergamot and cedarwood—lingered in the air, comforting and familiar, but it was the soft shaft of sunlight highlighting the ink on her back that held your gaze.

Carefully, you lifted your hand, letting your cool palm press gently against her warm skin, just enough to let her know you were there. She didn’t stir, her breathing steady, so you let your finger trace along the swirls of smoke in her tattoo. Starting at her arm, you followed the delicate lines, remembering the story she’d told you about getting it.

She’d laughed, telling you how the sting lasted only a few minutes before she got so comfortable she dozed off in the chair. The next day, everyone whispered about how tough she was, and you’d rolled your eyes as she flexed dramatically, showing off.

Your fingers drifted to the center of her back, following the circular design there, and just as you began to trace it, she stirred.

“Like what you see back there?” Vi mumbled, her voice rough and low from sleep, tinged with her usual teasing tone.

“You’re even annoyingly cocky first thing in the morning,” you said, smiling as you leaned in to press a kiss to the smoke near her shoulder.

“Cocky? Or just observant?” she shot back, her lips quirking into a smirk. “I seem to remember someone clawing at my back for hours last night…” She stretched, letting out a yawn, and you rolled your eyes before playfully smacking her back.

Vi flinched dramatically, tossing her shoulder forward like you’d hit her with a brick. “Ow! What the hell, Cupcake? Trying to take me out already?” she teased, shooting you a fake wounded look over her shoulder. “I knew you couldn’t handle all this,” she added with a smirk, her voice dripping with playful defiance as you dissolved into laughter.

“Maybe I do like them… just a little,” you admitted softly, your fingers trailing down the curve of her hip.

Vi arched an eyebrow without opening her eyes, that smirk growing wider. “Just a little? Or maybe you like what they do to you a little more?” she murmured, her voice dripping with mischief.

You didn’t answer, leaning in closer as your hand slipped around her hip, fingers brushing the front hem of her boxers. “Why don’t you remind me?” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of her ear, your voice soft and playful, perfectly matching the warmth that settled between you.

Vi took in a sharp breath as your hand traveled further south to her sensitive numb. 

“Have a good dream about me pretty?” She let out a soft moan as you started rubbing your pointer and middle fingers in a small circular pattern. 

“Mmm not particularly.” You hummed placing chaste kisses on the back of her neck. 

“But something about staring at my beautiful girlfriend's prison tattoos will always get me.” You breathed out dipping your fingers a bit lower easily finding her entrance. 

You both sighed at the feeling of your fingers fitting snuggly inside her. You curled your fingers upward making Vi let out a whimper you found adorable and so hot at the same time. 

“Fuck.” She cursed her breath breaking its natural pattern as your palm rubbed against her clit as you increased your pace. 

“Getting close already? Did you have a good dream about me, my love?” You whispered against her skin kissing up her neck to her ear. 

“Mmm, it’s almost like my girlfriend being so desperate for me in the morning turns me on.” Vi moaned. 

“Only one way to make it better right?” You questioned sucking slightly sure to leave a hickey behind. 

You felt Vi tighten around your fingers a tell that she was on the edge. 

“Cum all over my fingers and show me what a good girl you can be.” You groaned in her ear. 

Vi gasped as her legs began to shake she let out a high-pitched moan while you felt the wetness begin to coat your fingers. 

You curled your finger a few more times for good measure making Vi whine as she rode out her high. 

You took your fingers out as Vi began to pant relaxing again as she turned to face you.

Vi turned to face you as she opened her mouth to make a smart-ass comment you quickly cut her off by taking the two fingers that were just inside her and pressing them to her lips her eyes widened as you pressed your lips against hers pulling put your fingers in a V position making sure to lick the string of her cum before your tongue started falling in rhythm with yours continuing your make-out for another minute before coming up for air. 

You both looked at each other as you began to see a familiar devious glint in her eyes. 

“Vi, wait! Remember, we’ve got errands to—” Your laughter cut off as Vi moved faster, pinning you down and swinging her leg over to straddle you.

“Errands can wait,” she smirked, her hands already sliding under your shirt. “After a kiss like that? Nah, Sweetheart, you’re not going anywhere. Not today.” Her voice was low and teasing, but the glint in her eyes made your heart race.

You couldn’t help but smile, biting your lip as you glanced toward the wall. “Sorry in advance, neighbors,” you thought, already knowing they’d have a lot to endure today.

[waterfallofroises]

Little Black Dress

Roommate Vi x Reader

Warnings: none? (Lmk if there are)

Vi was sprawled across the couch when you stepped out of your room, the soft rustle of the fabric of your dress catching her attention first. Her gaze shifted up, her eyes widening as you spun to face her, revealing the backless dress. The deep black fabric clung to your curves, and the way the dress cut away at the back left Vi momentarily speechless.

She took in the curve of your spine, the faint, delicate line of muscle tracing down your back, and the small scar just below your shoulder blade. It was a part of you she’d never noticed before—something so personal, so subtle, yet so striking. Then, her eyes lingered on a sliver of ink peeking out just above the waistline of your dress: the faint outline of a vine tattoo that seemed to wrap its way around your side.

You weren’t the type she’d ever expect to get a tattoo—at least, not one like that. It was bold, intricate, like a piece of art that told a story only you knew. She couldn’t quite place why, but the sight of it had her throat going dry. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe.

"Vi, should I wear my hair up or down?"

Your voice snapped her back to reality, though it was almost a second too late. She blinked, trying to refocus, but you were still standing there in that damn dress, completely unaware of the effect you were having on her. The question was innocent enough, yet it made her pulse quicken in her chest. You spun around, lifting your hair to show her both options—up versus down—while your bare skin glinted slightly in the low light.

"Vi?" you repeated when she didn’t immediately respond.

She glanced up, finally catching your gaze, and saw that tiny, teasing smile curling at the corner of your lips. She could feel her heart skip a beat as she stammered.

“Uh… yeah, yeah,” she muttered, her throat tight. She didn’t know how she managed to speak at all. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from your back, from the way your skin seemed to glow under the soft lighting. “Wear it up," she blurted out, the words escaping before she even had time to think. She swallowed hard. Her mouth felt so dry, she thought she might choke.

You nodded in agreement, a knowing smile on your lips as you turned to face her. "I was thinking the same thing," you said with a quiet laugh. Your smile was a small thing, but it made Vi’s chest tighten, like her breath was getting stuck somewhere between her ribs.

“Are you sure you’ll survive without me tonight?” You teased, a playful glint in your eyes. The joke didn’t quite reach her brain. Her thoughts were still racing at a million miles a second.

“Oh, I’ll be fine, Cupcake,” she replied, the nickname coming out a little breathless. Her voice cracked slightly, but you didn’t seem to notice, or maybe you were just being nice. She wasn’t sure which one was worse.

It felt like hours later when you finally reappeared, walking out of your bedroom again, dressed to the nines. Vi could feel her pulse quicken just from the soft click of your heels on the floor as you stepped into the hallway. You were wearing the same black dress, but now with the addition of lipstick—bold red against the soft curve of your lips. She was still on the couch, trying to act casual, but it felt like she was trapped in some kind of fever dream.

You caught her eye as you paused in front of the mirror, adjusting the shade of red on your lips. It was just enough to drive Vi wild—everything about you screamed confidence, sophistication, beauty. When you turned to her, her chest tightened in a way that felt almost painful.

"How do I look?" You asked, your voice light, teasing, as you did a slow 360 in front of her. The heels clicked again, sharp and rhythmic, and it felt like every step was somehow messing with Vi’s heartbeat.

It took everything in her to keep her hands to herself. Her mind was swirling, her body on the edge of doing something she couldn’t undo. She clenched her fists to keep from reaching out and touching you. The way your skin looked so soft—too soft—made her want to trace every inch of it. The way your dress clung to your curves made it feel like she was drowning in desire.

“You look amazing,” she managed to say, the words coming out as a strained smirk. She had to look away for a second, pretending to focus on anything but you. She tried to sound confident, but she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone. Not even herself.

You beamed at her, your smile widening. The way your eyes sparkled, the way you tilted your head ever so slightly, made her wonder if you even knew just how much you were affecting her.

“Thanks,” you said, voice softer now, as you walked past her, your scent lingering in the air like a reminder of everything she couldn’t have. "Now, let’s see if you can survive without me tonight."

Vi barely heard you over the pounding in her chest. If she wasn’t careful, she'd end up doing something incredibly stupid—like admitting that she couldn't survive a second without you.

[hazymoonlinh]

Tracing the sun

Phainon x reader.

(Reader is mage this time. Gender neutral.)

I can’t help but screams Kevin when he was released 😔

Phainon sat in silence, leaning back against the cushioned chair, his shirt discarded and his well-built form illuminated by the soft glow of the lantern in the room. You straddled his lap, the pointy mage hat tossed carelessly onto the nearby table, forgotten in the moment. A jar of medicine sat in your hands, its faint herbal scent mingling with the warmth of the room.

He had gotten hurt again, and though he had insisted he was fine, you had seen the wince, the tightness in his movements. And so, despite his protests and teasing smirks, you’d pulled him aside to tend to his wounds.

His chest rose and fell with an easy rhythm as you gently dabbed the ointment onto the cuts on his shoulder and abdomen. His skin was warm beneath your fingers, and you tried not to get too distracted by the defined lines of his abs or the way his muscles tensed slightly under your touch.

“You’re lucky I’m nice enough to do this,” you muttered, trying to maintain some sense of composure.

“Nice?” Phainon’s deep, playful voice was tinged with amusement. “You’re enjoying this far more than you’re letting on.” His blue eyes sparkled mischievously, and that signature playful smile tugged at his lips.

You scoffed, though your face betrayed you with the faintest flush. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Once the medicine was applied, you reached for a clean cloth to cover the deeper cuts, but your gaze lingered. Your fingertips hovered over the faint scars that crisscrossed his skin, and before you could stop yourself, they traced a line along his abs, following the curve of muscle.

Phainon didn’t move, though his gaze grew heavier, more intent. His smile remained, but it softened, watching you with an expression that made your heart flutter.

Your touch wandered further, brushing over his chest, the smooth expanse of his collarbone, and finally the sun tattoo on his right neck. You lingered there, the intricate design catching your attention.

“Does this mean anything?” you asked softly, your voice almost a whisper.

Phainon tilted his head slightly, giving you better access. “It’s the mark of light—a gift that I have been born with. But right now,” he said, his tone laced with humor, “I’d say it means ‘please continue.’”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing, but your fingers didn’t stop. They moved to his face, tracing the curve of his jaw, the sharp edge of his cheekbones, and finally his eyelids, as if trying to memorize every detail of him. His blue eyes, so clear and bright, stared back into yours, unwavering and almost… mesmerized.

“Your hands are softer than I expected,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, the teasing edge replaced with something gentler.

Your fingers paused for a moment, resting lightly on his cheek. “Phainon, you—”

Before you could finish, his hand came up, gently covering yours, holding it against his face. “I know, keep blushing.” he said simply, his teasing smile returning, though this time it was softer, warmer. “And I like it when you fuss over me, even if you’ll never admit it.”

You shook your head, trying to hide your flustered expression. “You’re impossible.”

“And….you’re perfect,” he countered smoothly, leaning slightly closer. “You’re also stuck here, straddling me. So, are you going to kiss me or just keep tracing me like I’m one of your magical artifacts?”

You let out a half-laugh, half-sigh, your hand dropping to his chest again. “Maybe both,” you muttered, though your voice wavered just enough to betray your emotions.

Phainon’s grin widened, and he leaned back further, hands resting casually on your hips. “Take your time, my little mage. I’ve got nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Don’t push your luck, deliverer.” You quietly mumbled, smirking at him yet cannot hide the pink on your cheeks.

After a moment of playful silence, Phainon’s hand gently glides up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading softly through your hair.

“You’re so mesmerized by me,” he teases, his voice a low murmur, “should I be flattered… or concerned?”

Before you can reply, he pulls you closer, his face mere inches from yours. His intoxicating blue eyes search yours for a fleeting moment before his lips capture yours in a tender yet confident kiss. It’s unhurried, like he wants to savor the moment, his other hand resting lightly on your waist.

When he finally pulls back, his smile deepens, softer this time. “You’re such a dangerous distraction, you know that?” he whispers, brushing his thumb against your cheek.

The air feels warmer, the tension between you both charged with something undeniable yet comforting. It’s a moment you wouldn’t trade for anything.

.

.

.

(Changes will be made if I see new lore about the tattoo on his neck.)

(Requests are open.)

[shouyuus]

─── Ⅵ DANCING IN THE DARK with vi, who's never really done this sober (really, like... she doesn't usually dance unless she's smashingly drunk) but she trusts you enough to let you lead her into it, a bit shy at first, the music sweet and slow, the city outside a shatter of broken stars, the skyline a forest of jagged towers, their glistening glass facades betraying every kind of weakness, every kind of fragility.

"relax," you say, your voice sweetened by the honey of laughter, the threads of it shaking down vi's shoulders as you smooth your fingers over her skin, "you don't have to be so tense -- it's just me."

"yeah well --" she chuckles, taking a deep breath as she tries to let go of the stiffness lining her muscles, "easier said than done. i don't wanna look like an idiot in front of a professional dancer."

you roll your eyes, your fingers toying in the baby hairs at the back of her neck.

"you've looked like an idiot plenty of times before --"

"alright, that's it --"

"i'm joking!"

you knit your fingers through her's one by one, pull her back with that pleading look in your eyes, the one she knows she can never say no to. she teeters on a held breath, caught between this and the insecurities that had always eaten at her. she breathes out; you smile; the world slows and slows till the moment is cupped in it's gentle palms.

"... fine."

she lets herself be tugged back into the orbit of you, the undeniable gravity -- it's not the first time she's thought herself a satellite, pulled into your spin, the way light seems to gather around you, and all the flowers seem to turn their heads (vi wonders if it isn't just her projecting; it probably is), but it's not like she can fight it, not like the sea's ever asked to be tugged along by the tethers of the moon, nor the moon to dance round the earth and the sun, ever out of reach but so tantalizingly close.

and yet -- and yet.

you settle one of her palms on your hips, hum beneath your breath, place her other hand over your heartbeat.

"here -- just like that." you say, swaying from side to side, her body swaying with you.

like this, she can count the steady thrum of your heart, feel the way it gathers as she leans in close, smiling to herself because it feels good to still have that kind of effect on you; and you're never shy about it, never one to hide when she makes your breath skid short or your lashes flutter closed.

she feels your thumb trace the line of her jaw, another shiver collecting at the base of her throat. she bites her lips, closes her eyes, wraps you in her arms. warmth gathers in her chest, prickling out till she can feel it in her toes and fingertips.

"see? not so hard, right?" you ask, your voice the shadow of a whisper against her cheek.

it's only then that she realizes your cheek is pressed to her shoulder, your bodies melded, curve for curve, edge by edge, her arms locked around your waist, your hands running soothing lines up and down her back. you spin in slow circles in the gathering dark, the neon-night outside casting faint shadows along the floor, the soft edges of your shapes painted in pinks and greens and shocking blues.

"hm, only with you," vi murmurs, letting her lips skim your neck, your shoulders, burying her face against your skin.

"yeah, i'd be pretty pissed if you did this with anyone else."

vi laughs, the sound rumbling through her chest to yours, making you giggle in return. she barely pulls back, just far enough to rest her forehead to yours, her eyes the color of a light-kissed sky.

"i... didn't even think i could do this with you."

you offer her a smile like a heart on a sleeve.

"well... i'm glad you did, anyway."

"yeah... you seem to be good at that."

"at what?"

"making me believe i can do the impossible... and then actually getting me to do it."

you run a thumb along the tattoo on her cheek, the tiny letters inked into her skin. just a few lines, and the weight of the world.

"it's because... impossible doesn't exist with you," you say, letting your eyes flicker over the delicate lines of her face, her features the stuff of a screen-director's dreams -- big eyes, long lashes, a perfect mouth. skin that tints pink at the lightest provocation, freckles scattered across her nose bridge like a handful of misplaced stars.

you kiss her, because there's nothing else to do in the moment but to kiss her. and for a while, vi let's herself be kissed. it was strange, in the beginning, to let herself be loved like this. like learning to ride a hoverboard, tentative and adrenaline-filled, the knots in her stomach twisting tight, and then tighter.

like falling, and then learning that the air might hold her up, if only she knew how to let it.

like flying, once she knew the extent of what the air might let her do.

you gasp as her lips track down your jaw to your neck, your fingers now fisted in her hair.

the song ends and the silence gathers around you like smoke. when vi pulls away, her eyes are dark.

"c'mon princess, that's enough dancing for one night, hm?" her voice comes out rough, the silk and gravel of a blue's singer's hymn, the texture of it chasing sparks down the length of your spine.

"mm, or maybe..." you smile wide as you spin her around, laughing as she yelps and almost loses balance, the pair of you toppling onto the couch, you sitting astride her hips, your palms propped on her startled, heaving chest.

"there's just another kind of dancing you're more interested in right now."

vi's eyebrows shoot up, but a second later, she's pulling you down, a deep groan working up her throat as she ravishes you with a breath-stealing kiss. you break away panting, your lashes fluttering as she tugs up the hem of your dress, giving your hips a soft pat as her fingers trickle up your ribs, lifting the dress off you.

she doesn't hide her hunger as her eyes rake up the length of you, the dress dropping from her fingers as she shifts the pair of you further up the couch.

"yeah, y'know how that you mention it -- there actually is."

[redcherrykook]

✰ ooh, come over.

✰ 01 / 02 / 3 / series m.list

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

tags: bestfriendsboyfriend!jungkook, boxer!jungkook, cheater!jungkook (not on oc)

note from cherry: yeah he sucks and so does oc. Are we surprised? I hope not. Im sorry this is so rushed :(

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘Humming beneath the loud beat, inbetween the hustle of intoxicated college students, theres a melody, faint- unworthy of notice to those with ears focused on the song Playing

"You look sexy"

It whispers in your ear, for you, that melody humms on, meets your half lidded gaze with intensity of desire, eagerly brushing against the curve of your waist- merely touching- it burns down your throat as you swallow another shot of vodka

"Drinking heavy tonight?" He asks, boldly wrapping his tattooed arm around your back that's exposed from the satin cut out of your draped dress. A shiver runs down your spine, drifts back up to hammer in your chest in a warning, pouding- get out, get out

"Where's your girlfriend?"

Jungkook smirks, darts his tongue out to wet his lip ring- flicker down to your unsteady hands in a knowing gesture-

"I'm talking to her am i not?" you roll your eyes, shove him with all your playful might that only makes him inch closer- Chuckling, "Am i wrong?" Both of you know how wrong he is, you tune out that there's no word to describe whats between you when its just isolated solitude, disaster of to hot bodies falling into one another

The question remains unanswered, there's no point in wasting breaths on useless words when his lip are busied with your neck and his hands set you down on the bathroom counter, messily wandering under your thighs to squeeze the flesh through greedy fingertips. The lines of vision blurr further into nothingness and every kiss solidifies that your relationship is a mirror or terror and something more, erases the lines in a blindspot of whats thrillingly against the meaningless norm and morally vile to everyone around you.

In your hearts though, as non gulity as they beat against your chest, nothing has ever felt more right.

"I broke up with her" he mumbles into your exposed breasts, sucking the pebbled nub between his lips, groans at his tongue rubs over the sensitive skin, his fingers ride up your thigh in a pristine line.

The very bathroom runs on layers of filth. Decorated in dust of a long forgotten clean no college student has time for.

Corners filled with an old grey whisp, the reflection of your face as youre bend over the sink- the burgundy lipstick stains on the mirror, your eyes staring back into your heart, boldly wrapping its claws into the man that's nose deep into your cunt. Savouring every drop you spare him, making out with your aroused cunt like he yearns for its taste to stain his greedy tongue, the one that tells the sweetest of lies.

Filthy sounds of your shameless moans, laced with every ounce of self respect you muster up to justify what youve done- what continue to do.

Jungkook was conciously a liar as he was telling the truth.

"You taste fucking divine. never wanna stop - hmm- fucking you like this" he sings from the satin sincerity that lights up his lungs, gives him the air to breathe love into your body. Worship your skin with his own, burns your fingertips when reverting back to the lies, "i love you- ngh fuck- i love you baby"

Corners of your lips tilt up knowlingly- he's a terrible liar.

"I love you jungkook - oh fuckk-"

You've never been one of upmost honesty either. But regardless, in a twisted vine of humanity's fatal flaws, there was some truth in every lie. Some love in every lust and perhaps even every bit of hate. Pity for the less fortunate doesn't incline you to make them fortunate- seeing a homeless man you feel sorry for still makes you walk past him, avoiding his begging pupils, his shaky hands that ask for money while your hands can barely hold on to the overflow of wealth you carry.

Your best friend shed tears from a place where many more will come after she admitted to her suspicions. The late nights, the lack of sexual contact, his shirts that, oddly enough, smell just like lavender. The smell you know all to well. Easily slipped into the facade of a good friend, you console her- rub her back with the hand that holds the drops of satisfaction of her lover deep at night. Press a kiss to her temple when your lips were interchangeably attached to her boyfriends before they descended down his body that has grown intoxicated with your very own. Unfortunately, the way she lit up, leaned into your arms with a content sigh only further fed the breeding monster inside of you,

Guilt.

Guilt that you, for the first time, so firmly have something she doesn't

and it most importantly,

that it feels so good.

"I'm gonna come kook- please dont stop" You plead- meeting his eyes in the cloudy mirror, his own satisfaction on the verge of filling you up, he snakes his thumb around to fondle your clit, lips sucking into the side of your neck urgently, possessively, as if to spell his name with every bruise he left.

"that's it doll, come for me, feel so fucking good, youre all mine, mine, all mine"

Maybe he too wanted to possess something for once in his life.

Something, Someone, that no one else could have. Exclusively parading his name stitched into its system, embedded into its blood, sweat and tears- to be the best- the only.

Not to compete to be seen, a blessing, a curse to be cast upon the rest of the world.

You finish with his sloppy mouth clashing yours, saliva dripping down your chin- your thighs trembling beneath the weight of him on your back and his creamy cum oozing from your walls.

He finishes kissing you, licks up your neck, wipes down your soft, unstable thighs and mends your unstable breath with contrastingly gentle kisses that - once again, provide you the breathe that air cannot suffice.

"Let me feel your warmth a little. We can get back out later babydoll" he hums, nibbling the shell of your ear with that same- sleazy, lazy grin he loves to plaster.

You wonder briefly- about her. About the fact she hasnt texted you about their break up yet,

About how you'd normally be partying with her night now,

About her cheating boyfriend who loves venomously.

Because as night fades into the morning,

He repeats the same cycle on that monotone day, presisting their play of a happy couple, slips into the role of a boyfriend as his alarm rings 7 o'clock, reaches for his phone- clicks on her contact Information,

"Good morning baby"

he doesn't forget the claim he laid on you- after her, its your screen that lights up a few minutes past,

"Slept well doll? Miss you already"

Even good things have an end.

Especially when you ruin them intentionally.

[sunshinesfreckless]

Beach Hazard

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Pairing: Lifeguard!Felix x Fem!Reader

Summary: Visiting your cousin in Australia for the first time without being prepared for the heat was one thing — but her not warning you about the real heat at the beach was another.

Warnings: Smut MDNI, Hot lifeguards

A/N: The reader does not have a specific skin color, ethnicity, or body type. The picture I chose from Pinterest is just to help visualize one of the bikinis better!

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

 

The sun was merciless. It clung to Y/N’s skin, wrapped around her like a second layer, and turned every breath into a sigh of defeat. She fanned herself with a limp hand, already regretting everything.

“You never told me Australia was this hot,” she groaned, dragging her sandals through the burning sand.

Yeji, unfazed and radiant as always, only shrugged. “I thought it was kinda obvious, you know?”

They finally reached the beach—a postcard come to life. Crystalline waves kissed the shore, sunlight danced off every surface, and bronzed bodies glistened like they’d been sculpted for worship. Y/N squinted through the brightness, adjusting to the sheer number of abs per square meter.

She dropped her towel, barely finding the will to sit down before Yeji nudged her hard in the ribs.

“Just so you know,” Yeji whispered, eyes twinkling behind her sunglasses. “A little tourist highlight here… are our lifeguards.”

Y/N raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You can’t be serious. Baywatch-type lifeguards don’t actually exist—”

A sharp whistle sliced through the air, and then… slow motion.

The first one bolted down the beach like it was a fashion runway. Long, black hair whipped behind him, his expression carved with intense focus. His frame was lean, but corded with elegant muscle, the kind that made you forget how to breathe. His lips—full, plush, kissable—pouted naturally, and his shoulder-to-waist ratio defied logic. He sprinted toward a jet ski like a Greek god late for Olympus.

“That’s Hyunjin,” Yeji murmured, voice reverent.

On the jet ski, a man sat waiting, stoic like a painting in motion. His thighs alone could crush watermelons, tanned and glistening as the sun traced every line of definition. His gaze was sharp as steel as he nodded at Hyunjin.

“That’s Lee Know.”

A third lifeguard joined them, tossing a life vest with a lazy flick of the wrist. His tattoos were etched into golden skin, glinting under the sunlight. His Muscles…. eye candy.

“Han,” Yeji added, grinning.

Behind him, another man held up a pair of binoculars, but his forearms stole the show. Veins, muscle, pure buffness.

“That’s Changbin.”

Two more figures were prepping a small rescue boat. One had a smile like a slice of mischief—Jeongin. Playful eyes, sun-streaked hair, and that lean, boyish physique.

Beside him, Seungmin—cool, calm. His jawline could’ve cut diamonds, Understated beauty, the kind that lingered.

And then—

Yeji inhaled. “My personal favorite… Mr. Bang.”

Bang Chan strode behind them all like he owned the beach. His back—broad, powerful, unfair—was on full display as he adjusted a rescue board under one arm. He was all tan, sinew, and control. The leader energy radiated.

Y/N tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. “You’ve gotta be kidding me—”

And then… he appeared.

From the ocean itself. A mirage made real.

He walked out of the water like a dream crashing into reality. Golden skin wet and glistening, every curve of his abs carved by the gods. Water rolled down his torso, catching on the sharp lines of muscle, and Y/N actually forgot what she was saying. He ran one hand through his soaked blonde hair, pushing it back to reveal pretty brown-eyes that accidentally locked with hers.

Time paused. Her lungs gave up.

His lips parted slightly, breath catching—and hers did too.

“Jesus,” Y/N whispered. “Who is that?”

Yeji smirked. “Felix.”

Y/N could only blink. Hello Felix…

Never in her life had Y/N felt so painfully, violently unfucked. It hit her like a freight train the moment he emerged from the water, all abs and attitude, and it hadn’t let up since. Her thighs clenched instinctively.

Holy. Shit.

“It’s nothing serious!” Changbin yelled toward the jet ski, giving a thumbs-up as Lee Know veered off with that stone-faced drama only he could pull off.

Hyunjin jogged over, hair flying behind him like he was in a shampoo commercial. “Did you see what’s up?”

“A woman thought she saw a shark,” Felix murmured, voice low and rough. “False alarm.”

His gaze drifted lazily back to the woman in a tiny white bikini, the kind that looked like it would disintegrate if the wind picked up. His eyes lingered—just for a second—then flicked back toward his friends.

“Mate, we’re still on duty,” Chan said, clapping him on the shoulder like a disappointed dad.

Felix just gave a low, cheeky laugh—the kind that made Y/N’s stomach flip. “I’m on watch.”

He grabbed the whistle Chan held out, slipping it around his neck with lazy precision. Then came the sunglasses.

“I know you’re on watch. I’m your boss,” Chan muttered. “But I literally just caught you ogling a girl.”

Felix raised one perfect brow and waved it off, already turning to patrol the beach like he owned the damn coastline.

Y/N’s jaw dropped. She wasn’t breathing. She couldn’t breathe.

“He literally just looked at me,” she gasped, gripping Yeji’s arm like a woman in spiritual distress.

“Felix?” Yeji asked, amused.

“Mhm.”

“Sure, sweetie,” Yeji snorted, clearly unconvinced.

Y/N turned her head slowly, eyes tracking Felix like he was prey and she was starving. “No, I need to have him.”

Yeji burst into laughter. “Good luck. All of them are fellow students in my class at my college, and I’ve been trying to get into Chan’s pants since high school.”

“Any luck?”

“Not even a crumb.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, watching Felix’s golden skin disappear into the distance, his shoulders flexing with every step. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“I’m going to make that man sin.”

The plan formed fast. Reckless. Beautiful. Stupid.

Y/N sat up, adjusting her bikini top like she was about to enter battle.

“No,” Yeji hissed. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I have to,” Y/N whispered. “He’s walking away, Yeji. Away from my life. My future. My Body. My womb.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m in heat.”

Yeji groaned and dragged her sunglasses down. “Please tell me you’re not about to fake a drowning.”

“Not drowning. Just… distress. Sexy distress.”

“Oh my God. Y/N, no—”

But she was already walking—no, striding—toward the shore, her hair catching the breeze. She reached the shallows, flipped her head dramatically, and waded in.

Step. Step. Gasp.

She stumbled, flailing her arms like she was being attacked by invisible seaweed. “Ah! Oh no—help! Help me! I—I think I twisted my ankle in the water!”

Yeji slapped her own face. “Jesus Christ.”

A whistle shrieked.

Y/N turned in slow motion, ready to fall into the arms of her dripping wet, Australian savior.

But it wasn’t Felix.

It was Hyunjin.

Her smile faded.

Hair flying (WHY WAS HIS HAIR ALWAYS FLYING), eyes full of panic and beauty, he wrapped his arms around her effortlessly and lifted her like she weighed nothing. “You’re okay. I’ve got you,” he said, voice low and soft.

And sure, it was nice. Sure, he was an Adonis. But he wasn’t Felix.

She let him carry her all the way to the towels, fully committed to the bit, but as soon as her feet touched the sand, she peeled away like an annoyed cat.

“Thanks,” she said stiffly, and stormed back to her towel.

Yeji stared at her like she’d lost her mind. “What? Hyunjin isn’t enough for your greed?”

Y/N dropped onto the towel and grabbed her water bottle like it was a flask. “Believe me,” she muttered. “I was this close to showing Hyunjin my tits.”

She sighed.

“But I’m going to stay loyal to Felix.”

 ────୨ৎ────

She “accidentally” kicks her water bottle too far and jogs after it like a distressed deer.

Cue: Seungmin.

Polite. Kind. Hot in an infuriatingly nonchalant way.

He jogs over, picks up the bottle, and hands it to her with a smile so charming it could be a toothpaste ad.

“You dropped this.”

Y/N forces a smile. “Thank you… so much.”

Yeji just snorts behind her towel. “So loyal, huh?”

 ────୨ৎ────

 

She pretends to get stung by a jellyfish. “Ow! My leg—oh no—what if it’s venomous?!”

Jeongin appears, pulling off his shirt with impressive speed.

“Where is it? I’ll check for swelling—do you need me to pee on it?”

“What? NO! God, no! I’m fine—I’m fine now.”

Jeongin tilts his head. “You sure? I’ve been trained for this.”

“I don‘t want YOUR pee,” Y/N mutters under her breath and limps away, emotionally wounded.

Yeji looked at her disgusted and shocked.

 

────୨ৎ────

She fake-coughs dramatically, clutching her throat like she’s choking on saltwater air.

This time it’s Changbin. Concerned. Sincere.

“Do you need CPR?!”

Y/N widens her eyes. “N-no…?”

He gets closer. “Are you sure? You don’t look okay.”

She looks up at the sky, whispering, “Why do you mock me, God?”

 

 ────୨ৎ────

 

She splashes herself with water and flops down like she fainted.

Bang Chan runs up with a literal first-aid kit and more authority than a SWAT team.

“I need you to stay still, okay? Can you hear me?”

Y/N stares up at him. “You’re… not Felix.”

Chan blinks. “Um. No?”

She sighs. “Then leave me here. Let the sun take me.”

Yeji cackles so hard she nearly chokes on her mango smoothie. “You’re an embarrassment to this family.”

────୨ৎ────

Y/N glares at the sea, where Felix is, of course, walking along the waterline, shirt off, towel over his shoulder, hair wet and golden like he just stepped out of a wet dream.

She slams her fists into the towel. “WHY does God keep sending other hot lifeguards?! I don’t want the entire calendar, I want SEPTEMBER !”

 

 ────୨ৎ────

 

The next morning, Y/N burst into Yeji’s room like a woman on a mission.

“Get your towel. We’re going back.”

Yeji groaned from under the blanket. “I am not emotionally strong enough to watch you throw yourself at lifeguards again.”

Y/N clasped her hands like she was begging for water in a desert. “Please. I just need one more chance.”

“…You said that yesterday.”

“And I meant it then. But today I’m serious.”

Ten minutes later, Yeji was dragging her cooler through the sand, watching Y/N strut ahead in a bikini so small it could be mistaken for shoelaces. Leopard print. Glossy lips. Hair beachy and bouncy. A menace.

And there he was.

Felix.

Standing near the lifeguard tower, talking to Seungmin while tying his hair up. The muscles in his arms flexed as he looped the elastic around his damp blond strands, biceps and shoulders glistening in the sun like someone had Photoshopped reality.

Y/N stopped walking. “That’s it. This is the day I make him fall.”

“Or call security,” Yeji muttered, finding them a shady spot.

 

 ────୨ৎ────

 

She walks past the lifeguard stand, slow and deliberate. She bends to pretend to fix her flip-flop. Her butt is absolutely facing him.

Nothing. No reaction.

She peeks.

He’s looking at a seagull.

“You’re watching a bird?” she seethes.

Yeji sips her iced latte, unbothered from afar. “Damn, even the bird’s getting more attention.”

 ────୨ৎ────

She pretends to drop sunscreen and bends very slowly to pick it up. She even lets out a small gasp. Like it’s so hard to pick something up off the sand.

Felix jogs past her—past her—shouting something into his walkie-talkie.

“He didn’t even see me!” she hisses.

“He’s literally working,” Yeji deadpans.

 

────୨ৎ────

 

She finally gathers the courage to walk up to the tower. Felix is leaning on the rail, looking like an ocean god sent to torment her.

“Hi,” she says, as seductively as possible.

“Hey,” he says, smiling—but friendly. Polite. Professional.

She freezes. “I… like your whistle.”

Your whistle? Your WHISTLE?

“Thanks,” he chuckles, then leans over the edge. “Hey, Seungmin! Can you cover my post for five? I’m gonna refill my water bottle.”

YES! A window!

But before she can say anything else, he hops down and jogs right past her.

Y/N turns to Yeji, who is visibly crying from behind her sunglasses.

“I’m going to die alone.”

“No, you’re just going to die of dehydration from how hard you’re thirsting.”

Y/N flops onto her towel in defeat. “This is the worst vacation of my life.”

Just as she’s about to bury herself in sand out of shame, Felix calls out behind her, towel slung over his shoulder, voice teasing:

“Leopard print, huh? Bold.”

She jerks upright. “What?!”

He’s already walking away again. But this time, he smirks.

She turns to Yeji, completely unhinged. “Did you see that? That was flirting.”

“Or basic human interaction.”

“I am winning.”

 

────୨ৎ────

But the Euphoria didn’t last long……the rest of the day, Y/N gave up.

No sultry poses. No hair flips. No fake injuries.

She was just… tanning. Peacefully. Like a normal, non-horny person.

Face down, book open, towel beneath her. Her hair tied, sunglasses on, headphones in. She barely even looked in Felix’s direction.

Which apparently meant everyone else did.

“Who’s that?” Han asked, squinting through his sunglasses as he handed out ice pops from the cooler.

Seungmin tilted his head. “That’s Yeji’s cousin, Y/N. She’s been here two days in a row. Yesterday she tried to drown herself like three times.”

Jeongin laughed. “You mean the fake fainting girl.”

Felix frowned, not even sure why. “Why are you all looking over there?”

Han grinned, obnoxiously. “Because she looks hot.”

Felix scoffed. “She’s just reading.”

“Exactly,” Han said, chewing on his popsicle. “Effortless hot. That’s rare.”

Felix followed their gazes—casually, of course. And yeah. Okay. Maybe she did look a little too good just lying there in the sun, legs glistening, hips arched slightly, bikini flattering her every curve. She wasn’t looking at them.

Not looking at him.

He looked away, annoyed for no reason. “Focus. You’re on duty.”

But the rest of the afternoon, his eyes kept drifting. Especially when some random guys walked by a little too slowly. He tensed every time they looked at her twice. When one guy tripped trying to check her out, Felix nearly stood up.

He didn’t, though.

Didn’t matter.

Not his problem.

 

────୨ৎ────

 

Y/N came alone this time.

No Yeji. No plan. Just her book, her floral bikini, and a promise to herself to act normal.

She found her same spot, laid out her towel, and sank into the sun. She didn’t look around. She didn’t need to.

But she did feel it—the prickling sensation of being watched.

Felix was on his post, up in the tower. Sunglasses on. Elbows on the rail.

Watching.

Not obviously.

Just enough.

She smiled to herself but didn’t look up.

A few hours later, the sun was high, and she decided to take a quick dip. She set her book down, tied her hair up, and stepped into the water, sighing at the coolness against her skin.

She was waist-deep when two boys—maybe sixteen, seventeen—started splashing nearby.

They were giggling. Whispering. Then.

Snap.

She felt the back of her bikini top loosen.

“What the—?!”

She turned just as one of the boys tossed her top into the deeper waves, cackling. “Oops! Didn’t mean to!”

Y/N let out a scream, arms crossing over her chest, eyes wide with panic. “Are you kidding me?! What the hell?!”

The boys were still laughing, not realizing how serious she was.

But someone else did.

Felix was already sprinting from the tower.

His feet hit the sand hard, running full speed. Past the shoreline, crashing into the water like a force of nature. One of the boys saw him coming and bolted. The other stood frozen, half in shock, half in fear.

Felix didn’t stop.

He reached her, wrapping his arms around her from behind in one fluid motion, he turned her around his chest pressing against her breasts, strong arms holding her protectively.

“Got you,” he murmured, his voice low—too low—and calm despite everything.

Y/N was shaking. Not from the cold. Not from the water. From him. His arms. His voice. The sheer intimacy of it.

Her heart was somewhere in her throat.

“Stay still,” he said, one hand still holding her close, the other reaching out to catch the drifting bikini top with a perfect, practiced swipe.

Then his voice snapped like thunder toward the boys.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His accent hit harder when he was angry. “You think this is funny? You touch anyone like that again and you’re not just getting kicked off the beach—you’ll be talking to police. Get lost.”

The boys scattered like roaches.

He turned back to her, gentler now.

“Hold on,” he murmured. “I’ve got it.”

With a strange tenderness, he helped her tie the top back on, his fingers brushing along her back, slow and methodical, careful not to look even though her blush was violently visible.

Then—just as he finished fastening the strap—he leaned in slightly, voice lower than it had ever been.

“Shame it wasn’t me who took it off.”

Her eyes snapped wide open. “What did you—?”

But he was already walking away, water dripping down his back, shoulders flexing with each step as he moved toward the shore like nothing happened.

“FELIX?!”

He didn’t turn around.

 

 ────୨ৎ────

Y/N sat wrapped in a towel like a sad burrito.

Yeji had finally arrived. “You had one job. Not to flash the beach.”

“I didn’t flash anyone, I got assaulted by middle schoolers.”

Yeji squinted at her. “Okay, fair. But can we talk about how you’re glowing right now? What happened?”

Y/N stared into the middle distance, whispering: “He said it.”

“Said what?”

“He said shame it wasn’t me who took it off.”

Yeji almost choked on her drink. “I’m sorry—EXCUSE ME?? Sir Felix ‘No Fun, Just Whistles’ said THAT?”

“WHILE tying it back on.”

Yeji stared at her in awe. “You have to seduce him today.”

“I need to interrogate him first.”

 

 ────୨ৎ────

She walks up to the lifeguard stand later, trying to be chill. Super casual. Not at all like she’s having an internal breakdown over a whisper.

He’s sitting there, eating from a container of cut-up mango like he didn’t just ruin her inner peace forever.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey.” He looks up, relaxed, tongue flicking a mango slice into his mouth.

Unacceptable.

She blurts: “Did you mean it?”

He pauses. “Mean what?”

Her entire soul short circuits. “You know… the thing. The top. The taking-off thing.”

He raises a brow, amused. “Are you asking if I’m a pervert, or if I have taste?”

“I—what—no, I mean—yes?!”

He leans back, watching her squirm. “Maybe I just wanted to shut you up.”

“…What?”

“All that seduction. The sunscreen. The flip-flop. The fake fainting. The sunscreen again.”

Her mouth drops open. “You saw all that?!”

“I’m on watch,” he says, smug. “I see everything.”

She makes a strangled noise and nearly falls over trying to flee the scene.

────୨ৎ────

Y/N came prepared.

Leopard print? Too obvious. Floral? Too soft. Today, she wore nothing but white again. Her bikini bottom sat dangerously low, and she wasn’t wearing a top—just lying face-down on the towel with her arms folded under her head, chin resting on her wrists, legs stretched long and lazy. Her hair was in a loose bun, sunglasses on, lip gloss shining even under the sun.

And she knew he was watching.

Yeji was next to her, pretending to scroll her phone but clearly eyeing her like she’d lost her mind. “You’re insane.”

“He likes me,” Y/N said simply.

“I’m sorry, is this ‘he’ the same Felix that laughed when you pretended to drown? That Felix?”

“He told me it was a shame he didn’t undress me.”

Yeji went dead silent.

Y/N smirked and arched her back a little more, pushing her hips up so her ass caught the light, the curve dramatic, deliberate, and lethal.

“…Babe, you’re not even flirting anymore. You’re staging a porn.”

“I’m tanning.”

“You’re sinning.”

And then—

Crunching footsteps.

They both froze.

“…No fucking way,” Yeji whispered, staring over her sunglasses.

Y/N didn’t look. She felt it.

Felix crouched beside her towel, close enough that the shade of his figure darkened the sun on her shoulder. She smelled salt, sunscreen, and whatever cologne was hanging off his damp skin today.

“You’re going to get a sunburn on your back,” he said lowly, voice brushing the shell of her ear.

Y/N didn’t move.

Yeji’s jaw was somewhere in the sand.

Felix tilted his head. “Need help with the sunscreen?”

Silence.

Then—Y/N turned her head just slightly toward him, lips parted. “Do I look like I’d say no?”

He chuckled, not answering right away. He reached for the bottle Yeji had carelessly tossed beside them and popped it open with a click. Squeezed a generous amount onto his palm. The sound alone made Y/N squirm.

And then—his hands.

Warm.

Firm.

Slow.

Moving over her shoulders, across her back, then lower—his thumbs brushing her waist, fingers splaying wide. She gasped softly when he reached the small of her back, just above the waistband of her bikini bottom.

Y/N bit her lip.

His hands were so steady. Too steady for someone who should be flustered. But that was Felix—infuriatingly composed while she melted into the towel like butter on a grill.

He rubbed slow, methodical circles into her back, and every press of his thumbs felt like a kiss dipped in warning. You’re playing with fire.

And she was. Happily.

Yeji was still frozen beside them, pretending to scroll through her phone but definitely watching through her sunglasses.

“Relax,” Felix murmured, voice deep and smooth. “You’re tense.”

Y/N scoffed, half into the towel. “Wonder why.”

“Maybe it’s because you’ve been throwing yourself at lifeguards all week.”

“Not all lifeguards,” she mumbled.

“No?”

“Just one.”

Felix’s fingers paused—just a beat.

Then he smoothed the lotion lower, brushing close to the sides of her chest, but never quite crossing the line. He knew exactly what he was doing, the bastard.

“So I should feel special?”

She could feel the smirk in his voice. That cocky confidence, just barely covering something hungrier beneath it.

Then—

He leaned in.

His lips ghosted just above her ear, breath warm. “I like when you beg for attention.”

Her whole body stiffened—and not from the cold.

Before she could answer, he was already up. Walking away. Cool and casual, like he hadn’t just lit a match and tossed it over his shoulder.

She looked up in disbelief, eyes trailing after him. His back muscles were so unfair.

Yeji finally spoke.

“Are we going to pretend that didn’t just happen or—?”

 

────୨ৎ────

 

The lifeguard hut was humming with energy—half of them shirtless, all of them sun-kissed and cocky, talking over each other and sipping iced coffees.

Y/N walked in like she belonged there.

And technically, she didn’t.

But technicalities were for people who weren’t being ignored by the blond menace known as Felix.

Yeji had tried to stop her. “Y/N, I swear, if you go in there and start fake-rashing your way into his lap—”

“It’s not fake,” Y/N lied. “I’m itchy. And mad. And petty.”

The door creaked open behind her and heads turned. All of them. Like some Greek god convention had a roll call.

“Oh—hey,” Han said first, eyes already scanning her frame with his usual curious glint. “Everything alright?”

Y/N pouted. Dramatically. “I think I’m having a reaction to the sunscreen or something. There’s like… a rash?”

“Where?” Jeongin stood up so fast his chair squeaked.

“Need help?” offered Seungmin, already pulling on latex gloves from somewhere, like he’d trained for this exact emergency.

“Boys, please,” Chan said, chuckling. “Give her some space.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Y/N said sweetly. “It’s just—kind of hard to reach.”

Felix, sitting back with his feet up on the table and sunglasses on, hadn’t so much as flinched. His head turned lazily, a single brow raised above the rim of his shades.

“No comment?” she asked pointedly, arms crossed under her chest.

He shrugged. “I’m not a dermatologist.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Debatable.”

The other boys looked between the two of them like it was a tennis match from hell.

“Oh really?” Y/N said, tone sharpening into sugar-dagger territory. “You won’t help?”

“I’m on break,” Felix said simply.

“That’s it,” Y/N muttered.

And then—without fanfare, without shame—she dropped her bikini top.

“The rash is right here,” she said, pointing at her bare chest like she was unveiling the Mona Lisa.

The room short-circuited.

Jeongin turned around so fast he tripped over a stool.

Han fell off his chair.

Chan stared into the corner of the ceiling like he was mentally in church.

Seungmin had gone into full CPR mode and was frantically opening the first-aid kit with shaking hands.

Felix?

Felix exhaled the heaviest sigh known to man. “Y/N.”

“What?” she snapped, arms flaring with indignation. “If you won’t help, someone else will.”

But just as she tied her top back on with all the wounded pride of a tragedy heroine—her bravado slipped.

Literally.

Her chest started itching.

Burning, actually.

“…wait.”

She scratched her collarbone. Her neck. Her stomach.

“Wait. Oh no. Oh no no no—”

“Do you… actually have a rash?” Jeongin asked, blinking.

Y/N didn’t answer. She was already lifting her top again (to check, not to seduce anyone this time, thank you very much), and what she saw made her shriek.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT.”

There were red blotches. Angry ones. Spreading up her sides and over her chest like she’d rolled in poison ivy and then insulted its mother.

Han leaned in, still lying half on the floor. “Okay but that’s definitely not acting anymore.”

Felix was already up, all trace of apathy gone. “Shit. Emergency bed. Now.”

Before she could argue, he scooped her up bridal-style—her dramatic ass, red patches and all—and laid her on the narrow cot in the back of the hut.

“I didn’t mean it,” she whispered, near tears. “I was just being dramatic.”

“No way,” said Seungmin, who was now dabbing her chest with some kind of cooling gel like a very professional nurse who wasn’t looking too hard.

“Is it from the water?” Chan asked, peering at the redness.

“She swam right after lunch,” Han added.

“Oh my God,” Y/N groaned, hiding her face. “I flashed all of you and now I’m actually allergic to the ocean.”

That was when Yeji burst through the hut door, cheeks pink from laughter, holding her phone like someone had just live-texted her the whole incident.

“WHAT HAPPENED—” she gasped, doubling over when she saw Y/N laid out on the emergency bed like some half-naked cautionary tale.

“Don’t,” Y/N said weakly, pointing at her. “Don’t you dare. How did you even find out !”

Hyunjin lowered his Phone and avoided Y/Ns Eyes.

“I told you not to pretend to have a rash.”

“I WASN’T PRETENDING—ANYMORE.”

Felix stood beside her, arms crossed, lips twitching like he was one laugh away from completely losing it.

“Next time you want my attention,” he said lowly, “just say hi.”

Y/N stared up at him in betrayal. “I already did once ! You ignored me. I hate you now !”

“You look hot like this,” he said.

She blinked.

Yeji cackled.

“…I hate you slightly less.”

 

────୨ৎ────

“Hey, do you guys have more of that aloe gel?” she asked, approaching the lifeguard hut where Felix was adjusting one of the rescue boards. “My skin’s still kind of itchy.”

He glanced at her. A tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. Storage shed.”

He turned without another word and walked off toward the back of the hut. Y/N followed, pretending not to care that he hadn’t even looked at her bikini today.

The metal latch creaked as he opened the shed. She peeked inside—dim, stuffy, packed with boards, towels, boxes. It smelled like sunscreen, sea salt, and wet fabric.

“Do you need help finding it?” she asked, trying not to sound like she was begging for attention.

But before she could step back—

Clang.

The door closed behind her.

Click.

Locked.

Y/N blinked into the darkness. “…What the—”

Felix was there.

Close.

Too close.

She backed up until her shoulder hit the cool fiberglass of a surfboard. Her breath caught. He hadn’t touched her. Not yet.

He didn’t need to.

“You’ve been driving me insane,” he said lowly, eyes gleaming in the narrow slice of light. “That rash stunt? You really dropped your bikini top for them?”

She swallowed. “If you weren’t so goddamn unbothered I wouldn’t have to—”

His hand hit the wall beside her head.

She stopped.

He leaned in, lips brushing her ear.

“You followed me in here, babe. You sure you want what you’re asking for?”

Dim sunlight sliced in through the slats, streaking across Felix’s face, casting shadows over the sharp line of his jaw.

She should’ve said something clever. Should’ve smirked. Should’ve denied it.

Instead, she whispered, “Yes.”

And then he moved.

One step. One shift of his hips—and he pressed her to the wall, his body caging hers, the hard line of his cock grinding slow and rough against the thin fabric of her bikini bottoms.

She gasped. He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for days.

“I’ve been patient,” he muttered, mouth dragging down her throat. “Too patient.”

Her fingers fumbled for something—his shoulder, his hair, anything to hold onto. But it didn’t matter.

His hand slid down between them, tugging the fabric of her bikini to the side. She barely had time to register the touch before his fingers were brushing over her folds, already slick.

“You’re soaked.”

“Felix—”

“You’ve been walking around like this? All week?” He growled into her skin. “What if someone else had touched you first?”

“Then you should’ve gotten there sooner,” she snapped—then gasped as he pushed two fingers inside her, curling them deep.

Her legs buckled. He caught her with a low chuckle.

“No time for games now, quit talking like a Brat” he said, already shoving his shorts down just enough to free himself. She felt him—hot, thick, flushed against her inner thigh. Her eyes widened.

“Lift your leg. Yeah—like that.” He hooked one of her thighs over his hip, steadying her against the wall. “You’re gonna take me just like this.”

And then he pushed in.

Slow at first. Stretching her open inch by inch, until she cried out against his shoulder.

“Fuck—fuck—”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groaned, dragging his hips back before slamming forward, filling her deep. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You wanted me to ruin you.”

The words made her clench around him.

His rhythm built fast. Brutal. He was practically slamming her against the wall now, one hand gripping her thigh, the other braced beside her head, anchoring them both.

The storage shed echoed with the wet slap of skin on skin. Rescue boards rattled. A life vest fell from a shelf. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—just felt.

“Turn around.”

“What—?”

“Turn. Around. Now.”

He pulled out with a grunt, spun her to face the wall, and bent her forward over the stacked beach towels. The moment her hands hit the crate, he was inside her again, deeper this time—rougher.

“Look at you,” he hissed. “Moaning like a whore, letting me fuck you in a damn shed.”

She couldn’t even deny it. Her eyes rolled back when his hand slipped around her front to rub harsh circles on her clit.

The noises were filthy. The air stank of sex and sweat and sun.

And when she came—biting down on her arm to muffle the scream—he kept fucking her through it, chasing his own high until his breath hitched.

Then he pulled out and finished across the curve of her ass, panting like he’d just survived a shipwreck.

Silence.

Only the sound of their breathing.

Her knees gave out. He caught her again, wrapped her up against his chest as her body trembled.

“…We just had sex on a crate of lost-and-found goggles,” she croaked.

Felix kissed her temple. “Hot.”

His breath was still ragged when he kissed her again.

Not gentle.

Not soft.

It was needy.

Y/N barely had time to register it. Her head spun, her thighs still trembled from the first time, but Felix was already reaching for her again, dragging her bikini bottoms all the way down this time and letting them fall around her ankles. She shivered.

“F-Feel like jelly,” she whispered.

“Then let me hold you up.”

He turned her, pressed her back against the shed wall once more, and hoisted her effortlessly—her legs wrapping around his waist on instinct.

His cock was hard again. Already.

She stared at him, breathless. “How do you even—?”

“I told you I wasn’t done.”

And just like that—he was inside her again.

No warm-up. No mercy.

She cried out, arms wrapping around his neck as he slammed into her, the motion jarring and raw and insane, but her body took it. Welcomed it. Soaked for it.

The surfboards rattled. Sand fell from the shelves. A whistle clattered to the ground.

He buried his face in her neck, sweat dripping from his temple to her collarbone.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled. “Tight little pussy still clenching like she didn’t just milk me dry five minutes ago.”

She moaned and bit down on his shoulder to keep from screaming.

He fucked her harder.

The rhythm was relentless. The slap of his hips against her ass. Her heels digging into his back. Her hands desperately clawing at his lifeguard tank top. It was rougher than before—less about teasing, more about need.

She couldn’t even speak anymore.

Just moaned. Just whimpered.

His name on a loop in her mouth.

Felix. Felix. Felix.

“Gonna make you cum again,” he panted. “Wanna feel you squeeze me. Wanna hear those sweet little sounds you make when you lose it.”

“I—I can’t—”

“You can,” he snarled, and reached between them again, rubbing her clit with the kind of cruel rhythm that shattered her.

She came with a strangled gasp, head thrown back, nails digging into his shoulders.

But he didn’t stop.

Kept pounding into her while she was still spasming, overstimulated and whimpering, until he finally groaned her name and pulled out just in time—again—finishing hot and fast against her inner thigh with a choked moan.

They slumped against the wall together. Panting. Drenched. Shaking.

He looked down at her legs and laughed.

“You’re trembling.”

“No shit,” she mumbled into his chest. “I think my soul left my body halfway through.”

“I’m gonna have to carry you out of here.”

“Absolutely not.”

He kissed her again, this time softer. Lazy. Almost smug.

“…I love my life,” she whispered against his lips.

Felix grinned.

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

POST-CREDIT SCENE (Wrap it up Marvel)

 

The air in the shed was thick—salt, sex, and shame clinging to the wooden beams.

Felix peeled a towel from the nearest crate and gently wiped between Y/N’s thighs, trying not to laugh when she squirmed.

“You okay?”

“No.” She was still breathless. “You broke me.”

“You’re walking. Eventually.”

He kissed her knee. Then her inner thigh. Then pulled her bikini bottoms back up, slow and gentle, like he hadn’t just ravaged her against the wall twice in a row.

He tucked himself back into his lifeguard shorts, ran a hand through his wild hair, and muttered, “We look so guilty.”

“We are guilty.”

She fixed her top, cheeks flushed, trying to rub some sand off her elbows with zero dignity left in her body. “I feel like I’ve got sunscreen in places it should never go.”

“Can i have your Number ?“ Felix interrupted her. She blinked at him. “I would even give you my Social Security Number“

Felix opened the shed door, the blinding sunlight making them both flinch like goblins.

Then—

“THERE you are!”

Yeji.

Standing ten feet away with a coconut in her hand and the biggest grin on her face.

Next to her—Chan. Shirtless. Holding a pool noodle like a sword.

Y/N froze.

Chan tilted his head. “You guys were gone for a while.”

Yeji took one look at Y/N’s flushed face, damp hair, and the towel clutched around her waist—and lost it.

Dropped her coconut. Fell to her knees. Screamed with laughter.

Y/N just stood there, mortified, as Yeji literally wheezed, gasping between fits:

“Your hair—your HAIR is still pressed flat on one side—you leaned against something! Oh my GOD—!”

Felix slid an arm around Y/N’s waist casually. “We were checking inventory.”

Chan raised an eyebrow. “In the shed?”

Felix: “A very… thorough inspection.”

The rest of the team started glancing over now. Hyunjin blinked at their reappearance, clocked the rumpled towel, the shell-shocked look on Y/N’s face—and immediately turned away, muttering, “Nope. Not my business.”

But Felix leaned into Y/N, kissed her hair, and whispered, “You good?”

She nodded. And then—louder, so everyone could hear:

“I love my life!”

She raised her Fist into the Air.

“I MADE IT ! The hard work paid OFF“

Felix snorted and pulled her to the Ocean to get her more Clean. 

[nanasrkives]

Navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! haikyuu EP!

── .✦ "PERMANENT NUMBERS" — Miya Atsumu, Suna Rintarou, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Bokuto Kotarou and Oikawa Toru

In which, your boyfriend discovers your brand new tattoo! content : fluff. post timeskip. 3k words. Before reading : this was inspired by S2E1 of One Tree Hill!

── .✦ MIYA ATSUMU

It’s a lazy morning, sunlight slipping through the blinds, casting soft, golden lines across the tangled sheets. The air is quiet, filled only with the occasional rustle of fabric and the faint hum of the city outside. Atsumu’s half-awake, sprawled on his side, one arm tucked under his head, the other lazily draped across your waist.

You shift slightly, stretching as you adjust the oversized shirt you’re wearing—his shirt, actually. The hem rides up just enough, and the fabric shifts in a way that catches his attention. That’s when he sees it.

A small, sleek 13, inked in delicate black lines on the soft skin of your left ribs, just under your breast.

His breath hitches, blinking twice to make sure he’s not still half-dreaming. Then he props himself up on one elbow, squinting like he’s discovered a secret no one else knows.

“…Babe,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep but laced with something sharper—curiosity, surprise, and just a hint of disbelief. “Is that… what I think it is?”

You freeze for a second, realizing exactly what he’s looking at. Before you can respond, his fingers are already there, tracing the ink with a feather-light touch. His thumb brushes just below the tattoo, not bold enough to press directly on it, like it’s something fragile.

“You got my number?” he says, this time with a grin creeping into his voice, playful and cocky like always. “Ya really couldn’t help yerself, huh? Had to make it official?”

You roll your eyes, trying to shrug it off. “It’s not that deep, Tsumu.”

“Oh, babe,” he chuckles, leaning in, his lips ghosting over your skin, dangerously close to the tattoo. “It’s deep enough. You’ve got me on ya forever now.”

The teasing fades into something quieter when he looks up at you, his hand resting just above the ink. There’s a softness in his gaze, the kind he rarely shows without a smirk to cover it.

“Didn’t think I could love ya more,” he whispers, pressing a kiss just beside the tattoo, “but here we are.”

For the next few days, he’s obsessed—his fingers always finding their way to that spot, brushing over it absentmindedly, like he needs to remind himself it’s real. He’ll tease you about it nonstop, but the way his eyes soften every time he catches a glimpse says more than his words ever could.

── .✦ SUNA RINTAROU

It’s a late afternoon, the sun casting a soft orange glow through the blinds. You’re in the bedroom, casually changing into more comfortable clothes after a long day. Suna’s lounging on the bed, propped up on one elbow, lazily scrolling through his phone.

You pull your shirt over your head, not even thinking about it, and as you stretch, the fabric shifts just enough to reveal a small, neat 7 inked just above your hipbone, following the curve of your waist.

You don’t notice. But Suna does.

His scrolling slows, thumb hovering over the screen. He squints slightly, eyes narrowing—not in confusion, but in that signature Suna way, like he’s silently judging the universe.

“…Is that a tattoo?” he asks flatly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

You freeze for a split second, then glance over your shoulder. His eyes are locked on your waist, a subtle glint of amusement hidden behind the usual boredom.

“Oh,” you say, tugging your shirt back down with casual indifference. “Yeah.”

He sets his phone down without looking away. “Is that… my number?”

You shrug, pretending not to care. “Maybe.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then he shifts, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. His eyes are still on you—sharp, curious, but with a lazy tilt to his smirk.

“Did I miss the part where you joined my fan club?”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. The initiation ceremony was last week. Sorry you missed it.”

He chuckles softly, standing up and crossing the room with that slow, effortless stride of his. He tugs the hem of your shirt up just an inch—not asking for permission, just doing it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His fingers brush against your skin, tracing the edge of the ink lightly.

“Huh,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “It’s kinda cool. Looks better on you than it does on my jersey.”

You snort. “Don’t get used to the compliment.”

He smirks, leaning down to press a quick, soft kiss right above the tattoo. Then he straightens, hands slipping into his pockets like none of this fazes him at all.

“…Still weird, though,” he adds as he walks back to the bed, grabbing his phone again. “But, like… the good kind.”

And that’s the end of it. No dramatic declarations, no over-the-top reactions—just Suna being Suna. But later, when you’re both lying in bed, you catch him glancing at that spot again, his fingers lazily drifting there without a word.

Because that’s just how he is.

── .✦ SAKUSA KIYOOMI

You’re sitting on the couch, lazily flicking through your phone while Sakusa is settled nearby, his attention supposedly locked on his game. The faint clicks of buttons fill the room, punctuated by occasional bursts of commentary from the screen. But even with his focus on the match, you can feel his eyes flicker toward you every now and then—a brief glance, quick enough that anyone else would miss it.

You stretch slightly, setting your phone aside before standing to grab a drink from the kitchen. Your shirt shifts as you move, lifting just enough to expose a sliver of skin—and with it, the small, black 15 tattooed on your lower back.

You don’t think twice about it.

But Sakusa does.

His gaze snaps to it, sharp and immediate, though the motion is subtle—so subtle you might’ve missed it if you hadn’t turned around just in time to catch the flicker of surprise in his dark eyes. He quickly shifts his attention back to the screen, pretending nothing happened, but there’s a tension in the way his fingers tighten slightly around the controller.

“…That’s my number,” he says after a beat, his tone flat, almost indifferent. But his voice is quieter than usual, and when you glance back, his expression isn’t as composed as he wants it to be. His eyes are still lingering, dark and curious, betraying the calm façade.

You raise an eyebrow, playing it cool. “Yeah. It is.”

You expect a sarcastic remark, maybe a disinterested shrug—typical Sakusa responses. But none of that comes.

Instead, he sets his controller down slowly, almost too carefully, and stands. There’s a brief pause, like he’s second-guessing himself, then he crosses the room in a few quiet steps. He stops just behind you, the warmth of his presence making your skin prickle. Without saying a word, his hand lifts, fingers hesitating for the briefest moment before lightly pressing against the ink.

His touch is feather-light, almost like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile.

“I didn’t think you’d do something like that,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, quieter, as if admitting it out loud makes it more real. His fingertips trace the edges of the tattoo slowly, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

You glance over your shoulder, catching the faintest pink flush dusting his cheeks, though he refuses to meet your gaze. His eyes stay locked on the tattoo, his expression unreadable—but there’s something softer there, something unspoken.

“But…” He clears his throat softly, fingers twitching slightly as he lets his hand fall back to his side. “I’m glad you did.”

Without waiting for a response, he turns away, walking back to the couch as if nothing happened. But his movements aren’t as fluid as before—there’s a stiffness in his posture, like he’s trying too hard to be nonchalant.

Later that night, when the game is long forgotten and you’re both lounging on the couch, your legs stretched out across his lap, he casually brushes his hand along your lower back. His fingers drift lazily, almost absentmindedly, until they find their way back to the tattoo.

This time, he doesn’t pull away.

His fingertips linger, tracing slow, gentle circles over the ink, as if memorizing it by touch. His gaze stays fixed on the TV, but his voice comes quietly, softer than before:

“…I like it.”

You don’t respond—not with words, anyway. But the warmth blooming in your chest says enough.

── .✦ BOKUTO KOTAROU

The apartment is filled with the comforting hum of everyday life—music playing softly in the background, the faint clatter of dishes as Bokuto rummages through the kitchen, humming along with the beat. His energy is infectious, even in the simplest moments, like he can’t help but pour all of himself into everything he does.

You’re getting ready for bed, standing in front of the mirror, changing into a tank top when your shirt lifts, revealing the small, bold 12 inked along your ribcage, just beneath the curve of your sports bra. It’s simple, black ink, but striking against your skin.

You don’t think much of it.

But Bokuto sees it.

He freezes mid-step, a glass of water in his hand, eyes wide like he’s just spotted something unbelievable. There’s a beat of complete silence—rare for him—before he blurts out, voice loud and filled with awe:

“HEY—WAIT! IS THAT A TATTOO?!”

You nearly jump out of your skin, spinning around to find him staring, eyes locked onto your side like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

You blink. “Uh… yeah?”

He rushes over in record time, completely forgetting about the glass in his hand, which sloshes water onto the floor as he sets it down hastily. His eyes are practically sparkling, and without hesitation, he lifts the hem of your tank top slightly—not roughly, just eager, his fingers warm against your skin.

“That’s a 12!” he exclaims, his grin stretching wide, full of excitement. “THAT’S MY NUMBER!”

You laugh, trying to tug your shirt back down, but he gently bats your hand away, still marveling at the tattoo like it’s the most incredible thing he’s ever seen.

“When did you get this?!” he asks, eyes flicking between your face and the ink.

“A while ago,” you say, amused by his reaction. “I just… didn’t mention it.”

His mouth drops open, completely scandalized. “YOU DIDN’T MENTION IT?! This is like—like—MONUMENTAL! This is LIFE-CHANGING INFORMATION!”

You roll your eyes, laughing. “It’s just a tattoo, Bokuto.”

“JUST a tattoo?” He looks genuinely offended, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. “It’s MY NUMBER. On YOUR BODY. Forever!”

His voice echoes through the room, but there’s a warmth beneath the theatrics, something genuine in the way his fingers brush over the ink with surprising gentleness. His grin softens slightly, his loud energy settling into something quieter as his thumb traces the outline.

“…It’s really cool,” he says after a pause, his voice softer now, almost shy. “Like… really, really cool.”

You nudge him playfully. “Glad you approve.”

He laughs, bright and unrestrained, pulling you into a tight hug. “Approve? I LOVE IT!” He squeezes you like he’s trying to absorb the happiness radiating from the moment.

Later that night, when you’re both tangled up under the blankets, you feel his hand drift to your side again. This time, there’s no rush, no loud declarations—just his fingers tracing lazy patterns over the tattoo, a quiet reminder of how something so simple can mean the world to him.

── .✦ OIKAWA TOORU

It’s late in the evening, and you’re curled up on the couch, flipping through your messages and checking in with friends when your phone buzzes. You glance at the screen—Oikawa.

You can’t help but smile, your fingers swiping across the screen to accept the call.

“Hey, Tooru,” you greet, your voice light.

The call connects, and Oikawa’s face appears on screen. He’s lounging in his hotel room after a long day of practice, his hair a bit messy, looking cute despite himself. He flashes his signature grin, eyes sparkling with his usual mischief.

“Hey, hey, (Y/N),” he greets in that deep, drawling voice of his, his hands dramatically cupping his face. “You miss me already? You can’t get enough of me, huh?”

You roll your eyes at his usual playful antics, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks. “Sure, Tooru, that’s exactly it.”

He chuckles, clearly pleased with himself, but as you lean back into your couch, your shirt rides up slightly, exposing a small 13 inked just below your collarbone. It’s subtle, but enough to catch his eye.

His gaze snaps to the screen, his eyes widening in surprise, and he freezes mid-sentence. You notice the shift immediately.

“Wait…” he breathes, leaning forward, his face filling the screen. “What was that? I—did you—?”

You tilt your head, pretending not to notice the intensity in his eyes. “What’s up, Tooru? Something on my face?”

He stares at you in disbelief, his voice rising in pitch. “Is that—Is that—MY NUMBER?!”

You try to stifle your laugh, watching his exaggerated reaction unfold. “Yup,” you say casually, leaning in just slightly to show him the tattoo more clearly. “It is.”

Oikawa’s expression goes from shock to full-on theatrical amazement. His hands fly to his face, his mouth forming a perfect “O” as he stares at you, still in disbelief.

“No way,” he says, his voice full of mock offense. “You—You got my number inked on your skin? For everyone to see? That’s so bold, (Y/N).”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “I thought it was a nice tribute, actually.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did.” His grin widens, mischievous and dramatic as ever. “But come on, I’m flattered. Really. I mean, I do have the best number in volleyball history, so I guess it makes sense that you’d want to carry it with you forever.”

You laugh, but there’s a small rush of warmth in your chest. Oikawa’s usual teasing tone is so playful, but there’s something softer underneath it that you can feel even through the screen.

“Seriously, though,” he continues, his voice gentler now as he lowers his hands from his face, his eyes glued to the tattoo. “I’m… I’m glad you did that. I didn’t expect it, but I’m… honored.”

You blink, surprised by the sudden shift. His gaze softens even more as he leans closer to the screen, as if trying to get a better look at the tattoo. His fingers twitch like he wants to touch it.

“It's kind of perfect,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “I’m glad you picked me.”

His usual theatrics are back in full swing as he suddenly grins wide. “So, does this mean you’re my biggest fan now? Am I your favorite player? Huh?!”

You roll your eyes at him again, but the warmth in your chest lingers. You knew Oikawa would have a big reaction, but the affection in his voice caught you by surprise.

“Okay, I think you’ve made your point,” you tease, leaning back against your pillows. “I’ll make sure to flaunt it around.”

“I’m definitely gonna show this off,” he says, his grin still wide, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I’m putting you on display for the world. Who wouldn’t want to see my number proudly tattooed on someone as amazing as you?”

You laugh, feeling your heart beat a little faster. “You’re too much, Oikawa.”

But as the call continues, you can’t help but notice the way his fingers linger near the screen, as if he’s touching the tattoo in his own way. He may be putting on his usual show, but beneath the dramatics, there’s a sincerity that makes your heart flutter.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN). / @cherrysurf @arwawawa2 @elmaa127

[bullet-prooflove]

Silly Little Boys: John Shen x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @miraclesabound @cannonindeez @fadeinsol @nommingonfood @yousigned-upforthis

Companion piece to:

Dick Pics - You and John discuss your dating life in the ambulance bay during a rare shift break.

Brunch - John refuses to give up when you miss brunch with him.

John knows he isn’t like the men you’ve been with before.

It’s in the way you respond to him, as if he’s the oxygen you need to breathe. He takes his time, savouring the taste of you on his lips, his palms running over your bare skin, kneading those soft curves. You moan into his mouth at the sensation, arching against him and he rolls his hips against yours pressing you even deeper into the mattress.

Your hands roam down his back, chasing over the tattoos he hides underneath his scrubs before delving underneath his underwear grasping his ass. His thumb hooks on the elastic of those navy blue Calvin Kleins before he guides them down his thighs until there’s nothing separating you.

“You gonna let me taste you first?” He mumbled into your ear, his teeth lightly tugging at the lobe making you exhale.

“Next time.” You murmur as he leaves a trail of heated kisses down the curve of your throat. “Right now I just need…”

“To get fucked.” He summarises, reaching into the top drawer for a condom. “Because the last guy didn’t know what to do with you did he?”

You shake your head, your flushed skin the perfect contrast against his sage green sheets as you watch him roll the condom over his cock, biting your lower lip.

“Oh Cici.” He whispers, his dark eyes ensnaring yours as he guides his dick to just the right place. “You’re not running around with silly little boys anymore, you got yourself a real man now.”

He enters you slowly, filling you with every inch of him. Your fingertips dig into his shoulders as you make the prettiest sigh.

“Good?” He checks in, his eyes drinking in the rapture on your features. Your palm comes to cradle his cheek, fingertips ghosting along the five o’clock shadow that’s starting to line his jaw.

“More.” You murmur and he smiles against your mouth as his palms chase down your thighs, hitching them a little higher up his hips. Your head tips back into the pillow, baring your throat and he wants to leave his marks all over it as a reminder to every single asshole out there, of who exactly it is you belong to. He kisses you instead, leaving a heated trail along your jugular before he sinks into you again.

The noise you make it’s beautiful and he chases that filthy symphony all the way to the crescendo, until you’re crying out his name as you combust like a star on his cock.

“You got another in you?” He murmurs, his palm smoothing your hair back from your features and you give him that fierce look of yours as you hook your ankle underneath his ass cheek, drawing him deeper.

“Harder this time.” You request, your nails raking lightly across his back. “I want to feel you for days after this.”

“You’re gonna ruin me aren’t you Cici?” He whispers before he grips the headboard for leverage. “All I’m gonna be thinking about everytime I see you in that uniform is how good you feel on my cock.”

He drives into you then, hard enough to punch the air from your lungs. It gets a little rough after that, the fast snap of his hips, the hard relentless thrusts that have you cursing up a storm as your fingertips leave bruises on his skin because you just can’t help yourself.

The euphoria, it builds and builds like a wildfire in his veins until it sets him ablaze like an inferno, consuming him entirely, eating up his sanity. He burns up in the climax as you hurtle over the edge, his release spilling into the condom as your hands thread through his dark hair, drawing his mouth back to yours, stifling his husky groans.

The sound of his ragged breathing echoes throughout the bedroom, his palms caressing over every inch of your sensitive skin, keeping you grounded in the moment.

“You gonna stay?” He asks you, his thumb tracing over your lower lip. You kiss the delicate pad and he feels something starting to bloom in his chest.

“Do you want me to?” You ask and his mouth claims yours with a tenderness that has you responding to him all over again.

“Yea Cici.” He whispers, his forehead coming to rest upon yours as he looks into your eyes. “I absolutely want you to stay.”

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[drunkinyourbenz]

୨ৎ it'll tear me apart when you go. b.e

୨ৎ billie eilish x fem!reader

୨ৎ genre: fluff and angst

୨ৎ content: fears, abandonment issues, they're actually so soft and cute

୨ৎ note: i caved and this is barely angst i'm too miserable rn i had to make it a happy ending oops. kinda based off tattoos by renee rapp. uh this is very short btw

the soft glow of the moon bathed her tattoos in a  soft light, the expanses of her bare skin against the white sheets. every tattoo on her skin was a story you hadn't lived, a part of her life that had nothing to do with you. they sprawled across her like scars and miracles, things she’d chosen, things she’d survived. without you. 

and you loved them—really, you loved them—but sometimes you hated them, too. they reminded you that she had a whole world before you came into her life, and she could have a whole world after you.

she was more than you could ever truly hold, more than you could ever truly have. she was everything, she was the soft kiss of the sunlight and the feeling of comfort, of home. but somehow, it felt as though she was slipping through your fingers.

the top sheet was draped over her hips, covering her legs. her back tattoo was fully visible, the light transforming every line and curve into something unreal, something you could never quite hold onto. you traced the lines absentmindedly with your index finger, your touch soft and whispered, barely there. she didn’t notice. perhaps she did and just didn’t say anything.

rolling over in the bed to face you, your eyes briefly travelled over the gentle slope of her waist, the muscles in her arms. she watched you, her eyes holding something deeper than she would ever say—the expression was soft, but her thoughts were less so. her thoughts were confused. conflicted, perhaps. she felt lost, even there with you. 

"you have that look in your eyes," she said finally, voice barely a murmur against the night. you knew what she meant—like she was something breakable. like she was already halfway gone. you didn’t know how to tell her that maybe she was right, that you were terrified of the day you'd reach for her and find nothing there.

you didn't speak—instead, you smiled in the way she liked, taking her hand in yours and pressing a soft kiss to the fairy tattoo there, pretending it was enough to anchor her to you. pretending you weren’t already mourning something you hadn't even lost yet.

your hand trailed to her bare back, trailing over the tattoo again and brushing over the soft skin. billie could see through you, through everything you were trying to hide. she knew. she let out a soft sigh, closing her eyes briefly as your fingertips ghosted across her back. she could tell what you were thinking—the way you looked at her, it was as clear as day.

slowly, she rolled over so she was laying on her side facing you, and she reached out. she entwined her fingers with yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before bringing your joined hands to rest over her heart. your breath hitched slightly at the steady beat of her heart against your hand, but it seemed to almost act as a leverage to you. it pulled you back down to earth slightly, reminding you that you were there. you were really there, just laying in bed with her. 

“hey,” she murmured softly, her light blue eyes half lidded and gentle as they watched you.

“hey.” you mumbled quietly back, as if scared of snapping something, of breaking the peace that had settled between the two of you so delicately. 

when she spoke again, her voice was barely more than a whisper, similar to the feeling of a hand softly stroking your cheek. “i’m right here.” she squeezed her hand where it rested against her chest, “i’m not going anywhere.”

you couldn’t help the sigh that slipped from your lips—you couldn’t help the guilt you felt. “i know,” you whispered again. “i know. i’m sorry.”

she instantly shook her head, her soft gaze meeting yours. “baby, don’t apologise for things you can’t control.” 

“i’m just–” you paused, “scared, i suppose. of this. of everything.”

a hum left billie’s lips, “i know. it’s natural to feel scared, angel. love is a big thing, and mostly undiscovered. but you’re safe with me, yeah?”

your lips curled up into a slight smile, “mhm, yeah.” one of your arms snaked around her waist, you pulled her closer, humming softly as you felt the way your bodies practically molded together. "can we just stay like this for a little?"

"yeah.” she hummed, “we can stay like this for as long as you need."

"yeah," she whispered, melting into your touch. your bodies slotted together perfectly. they always had, and they always will. she buried her face into your neck, inhaling the familiar scent of your perfume.

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[blueberrisdove-sideblog2]

bikes! ◞❤︎ tws : fem!reader, fluff and very suggestive. ft. mydei.

You don’t know when he picked up the second bike. You don’t know how the hell he’s already drenched in sweat when the sun’s barely passed noon, or why the first thing he did when he saw you was peel his jacket off and toss it over the handlebars like it offended him. But you know this: Mydei is standing there in the gravel lot, shirtless, glittering with heat and danger, and he's looking at you like you're the only damn thing in the world worth chasing.

The helmet hits your hands before your brain catches up.

“Ride with me,” he says, voice deep and hoarse from the sun and the wind and probably yelling at people who deserved it. His braid sticks to the side of his neck, loose strands of red-tipped blonde stuck to his cheek. His chest is rising fast—too fast for someone who’s just been standing there. Sweat runs down between the thick lines of those tattoos like they're trying to trace a path only you should follow.

You blink. Then swallow.

“I thought you didn’t share your toys,” you tease, cradling the helmet but not moving to put it on. His eyes narrow, gold catching the light, feral.

“I don’t,” he says. Then he licks his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, like he’s tasting the heat off the air. “But I might make an exception. If you ask pretty.”

Your stomach flips.

You step closer, until you can see the way his chest beats—hard and unrelenting under sun-kissed skin. There’s a scar across one rib you never noticed before. His skin smells like smoke, leather, and something saltier. Raw. It makes you dizzy.

“Please,” you say softly.

Mydei’s smirk spreads like a slow bruise. He turns without another word and straddles the bike, kicking it to life in a violent growl. He doesn’t wait for you—he never does—but you scramble on behind him anyway, slipping both arms around his middle. The second you touch him, he stiffens just a little. Not like he didn’t expect it—but like it affects him anyway.

His skin is hot under your fingers. Not warm—hot. Like he’s been burning for hours. Your palms skim the sweat running over his abs, and you feel, distinctly, the moment he exhales like he’s trying not to groan.

“You ready?” he asks, not looking back.

You press your cheek to the damp skin of his back and smile. “Take me somewhere fast.”

He chuckles. “Hold on tight then, sweetheart.”

And when he twists the throttle, it’s not the road that steals your breath—it’s him.

The wind whips at your clothes, but you can’t focus on the landscape. Not when every bump in the road presses you closer to him. Not when his body flexes under your arms with each shift of his weight. You can feel the tension rolling off him, a steady thrum like thunder trapped beneath skin. He leans into the turns like he owns the road, and you bury your face against the curve of his neck to muffle the noise caught in your throat.

God, he smells so good. Salty. Spicy. Like heat and something darker.

He doesn’t say a word the whole ride, but you feel everything he doesn’t say in the twitch of his jaw, the way his hands grip the bars, the way his heart keeps pounding beneath your fingers.

By the time he pulls into an abandoned overlook and cuts the engine, your legs are shaking and your mouth is dry.

Mydei swings off the bike first, stretching, golden skin slick and glistening under the afternoon light. He turns to look at you with that half-lidded, dangerous stare of his, chest still heaving like the ride wound him up instead of wearing him down.

“You good?” he asks.

You take off the helmet, your hair sticking to your cheeks, eyes bright. “Yeah. I just—”

“You held on tight,” he interrupts, stepping closer. His palm lands on the gas tank beside your thigh, boxing you in. “I liked that.”

Your breath stutters. “Yeah?”

He leans in, mouth close, close enough for you to feel it when he murmurs, “Makes me wonder what else you’d hold onto that tight.”

Your mouth opens—but no words come out.

The heat between you simmers like the pavement beneath your feet. Mydei watches you, gaze slow and unreadable, then grins like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you—and loves every second of it.

“Your place,” he says, voice low, “or mine?”

You don’t answer.

You just grab his belt and pull.

© 2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog2 all rights reserved. pretty please, don’t translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking.