#and she's still sticking by his side even now.....

[kumkaniudaku]

Caught

Summary: When their guest is away, Terry and Patrice will play.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3,067

Warnings: Smut (18+ content)

Recommended Reading: Spoiled

Author's Note: Spoiled, Back Up, and Caught all happen on the same linear timeline. Consider them present day events. Hopefully that helps pull things together because you'll need the context later. Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays!

"Mommy, the recipe for the hand pies is so good. Thank you for finding it for me." 

"Oh, of course, baby. One day, I gotta get you to help me put all your Nana's recipes in a book or something. I'm tired of digging through all these scraps of paper." 

"I didn't wanna say anything, but that's insane. I can barely read her handwriting." 

Rosalyn scoffed on the other end of the phone line. "You and me both. I have to call Sybil every time or end up making up what I think goes there. I cook. I don't decipher chicken scratch."

Patrice laughed along with her mother as she passed a piping hot meatball over her shoulder to satisfy her taste tester for the night. He hummed his approval of her gift, providing a thumbs up as his rating before returning his hand to her waist and swaying them in time with the slow rhythm of Christmas music playing in the background. 

Christmas Eve brought preparation for the big day on the other side of a wake-up and a smaller get-together to celebrate Imani's and Jesus's birthdays in one evening. Patrice had offered to continue the tradition at her house to accommodate her cousin's request for loud music, liquor, and good, grown folks' fun. In a few short minutes, she and Terry would have a house full of adults gorging themselves on party food and fighting fits of giggles during a drunk game of Taboo. For now, she'd enjoy the calm before the storm with her shadow attached at the hip.

"The cinnamon smell for the apple version was way too strong, though. I almost skipped those altogether." 

Rosalyn responded with a sound of cautious curiosity. "Really? You usually love the smell of cinnamon." 

"Right," Patrice exclaimed. "Maybe I had a bad batch or something. It doesn't taste bad, but it smelled awful."

"Hm." Rosalyn filed the information in her head for a later moment of privacy, preferring not to stress her daughter with the questions buzzing around in the mind of a mother who knew her child better than anyone in the world. Instead, she continued. "Terry, did you like the hand pies?"

"You don't know if Terry is even in here, mama. He could be anywhere in the house," Patrice answered, her face screwed in confusion.

"Child, don't insult me. If you're in the kitchen, Terry is in the kitchen."

She wasn't wrong. A few too many glasses of Patrice's special holiday cocktail mixed with his ever-present desire to feel his wife at all times had Terry sticking to her like glue. Even after she'd given in to each of his kisses and allowed him to taste her the moment Imani stepped out to run a few errands, she still couldn't shake him. Whiskey was in control. Terry was only along for the ride.

He chuckled into the crook of Patrice's neck before confirming his presence. "Yes, ma'am, I loved the pies. Treece made a few on the side for me so I wouldn't have to share." 

"She still got you spoiled, I see."

"Nah, not too bad. You know she gets sweet once a week. I caught her on a good day." 

"Oh, hush."

Patrice's attempt to get out of Terry's grasp came up empty, prompting him to hold her tighter and press wet kisses onto the back of her neck. She was sadly mistaken if she thought she could get away from him that easy while Uncle Nearest was pumping through his veins. 

"Well, let me let you two go," Rosalyn started with a small laugh. "Tell me how the chicken salad turns out. I might throw some together as a little snack for your daddy tomorrow. You know how he gets when he's ready to eat." 

"Mhmm. Just like somebody else I know."

Terry patiently waited for Patrice to wrap up her conversation and safely end the call before resuming his handsy approach to PDA. His hands slid up and down the fabric of her cotton pajama pants, the pair matching his at her request. Full lips attached to her neck, creating a light suction with every open-mouthed kiss. 

His wife rolled her eyes as she loaded a pita chip with dip for his culinary opinion. "You are insatiable, TJ. Taste this." 

He obliged, opening wide as she slid food into his mouth and waited for a response. Instead of a verbal assessment of her work, he kissed her cheek twice to signal his approval, then returned to his shameless groping.

"How long before Imani gets back?" 

"I don't know. Fifteen minutes or so. She only went to grab some more cups and water." 

Terry's eyes flickered to the digital clock on the stove before sliding his hands up Patrice's torso and leaving a trail of kisses on her shoulder. "Think you got a few minutes to get back to what we started?" 

"Haven't you had enough of me yet? We've been going at it every day since New Orleans."

"What you think?"

Having enough of her touch, the feeling of her body against his, or her attention was a foreign concept for Terry. If he could quit his job and be totally devoted to her pleasure, he would do so without a second thought. Fortunately for him, though, extended absences from the slough of office life due to the holidays provided the closest opportunity to spend the whole day in it. 

Patrice smiled to herself as Terry slowly removed the serving spoon from her hand, bringing her delicate palm up to the back of his head. Coarse hair grown into a short tuft of curls and shaped by his barber tickled her fingertips as she closed her eyes, officially caught up in how Terry caressed her with the care afforded to precious works of art. 

A low purr slipped past his lips as his hands slid beneath the hem of her camisole to rub her stomach, filling her ears and mind with filthy sounds and images from earlier in the hour. Had he had enough of her? She wasn't sure she'd had enough of him. 

His fingertips inched higher, further intoxicating Patrice until a full squeeze on both breasts at the same time made her hiss and wince in pain. 

"Easy, baby," she complained as she gently pressed down on his arms to direct him away from the sensitive area. "They're super tender right now. I'm not sure why." 

Lust was quickly replaced by concern as Terry dropped his hands and turned Patrice to face him. "You okay?" 

"I'm fine, Pooh. It's probably the tattoo healing. 

"Yeah, but it shouldn't be making the entire area hurt. Especially not on both sides. Let me look."

"Terry, you never just look."

His attempt to slide the thin straps of her tank top down her arms was quickly cut short as Patrice brushed off his contact to save herself from what she assumed would come next. Her aching was a serious matter. Terry getting a look at her bare tits was not nearly as high on the list. 

Terry softened his eyes in unmistakable sincerity. "I'm serious, Treece. I know what it should look like. Come here."

Patrice didn't protest as Terry led her to the kitchen table. She stood perfectly still until Terry was comfortable in one of the chairs and then placed her between his legs. 

He gingerly pushed her tanktop straps down her arms before bunching the thin fabric at her waist to free her breasts, watching for any sign of discomfort.

"You don't think you're like…sick, do you?" 

"I think it's just tenderness," she quickly retorted, wanting to push the thought of more grave explanations for her discomfort far from her mind.

"Okay, okay. I'm only asking." 

Her brows furrowed as he lifted the right side to get a look at the moment from a charged few days in his family's old stomping grounds. 

A day alone and nothing to do but explore had them wandering into the same shady tattoo parlor where Terry got his first piece for matching ink. Terry opted to tat their wedding date on his ribs after having to be talked down from plastering her name on his neck. Patrice, however, was set on making her first experience one to remember. 

Slanted script crafted from his handwriting spelled Terry's full first name, curving just under the crease of her boob and the spot that he liked to grip in the depths of passion or simply at his leisure. Terry ran his thumb along each letter to check for abrasions or abnormalities. 

He looked up at Patrice to gauge her reaction. "That hurt?" 

"Not really. It's more here," she added, gesturing toward her areola. "Anything rubbing against it is so uncomfortable. I can barely wear a bra." 

"I noticed. They've honestly been looking a little bigger. Do they feel heavy to you?" 

"Not heavy. Mostly…full? They look great, though. I'm not complaining about that part." 

She joked, the attempt sounding silly once it received no reaction past Terry blinking as he used the pad of his thumb to ghost contact over her pebbled nipple to test her pain level. It was challenging to stay present, with a third of her upper half unnecessarily exposed in their kitchen for no real reason. The entire ordeal felt like a farce. Terrence wasn't a doctor, and him holding her titties in his hands like fleshy snowglobes was as much an actual check-up as WWE was real wrestling. 

When she giggled like a teenager learning about sex for the first time, Terry looked up at her with a quizzical expression, and his left eyebrow lifted high. "What's so funny?" 

"You, Doctor Richmond," she laughed. "How can you tell they're bigger? I couldn't even tell until the other day." 

"I spend a lot of time with my girls. I better notice when they change. Been looking at them since I was sixteen." Terry answered, a boyish grin making his cheekbones nearly touch the corner of his eyes. 

"I knew you used to look!" She exclaimed, finally feeling vindicated in her suspicions from childhood. 

"Looking was the least of what I was doing." He shrugged as he gently pushed both breasts together for his own viewing pleasure. He kissed the small crease they made two times over, then looked up at Patrice through long lashes. "Unfortunately, ma'am, I couldn't diagnose you, but I think I have some treatment available if you're interested." 

Patrice bit back a smile to play along. "Oh yeah? How much is this gonna cost? It's the holidays, and I ain't got it." 

"I offer payment plans that we can discuss in that room back there later tonight." 

"I like the sound of that," she answered, previous problems vanishing into thin air as he roped her back into his web of liquor-charged desire. 

"I knew you would," he winked. "Don't move."

Tingles rippled across Patrice's skin while she listened for any indication of Terry's secretive treatment plan. The soft crack and subsequent rush of cool from the freezer created goosebumps on her bare chest, making her nipples jut out proud from the sensation. Next came the cupboard opening and shutting in two seconds time. From the direction, she could tell he was grabbing a glass from over the sink. 

Ice cubes clinked against the cup like little masters of whispers attempting to give Patrice the scoop on what to expect. Terry quietly shut the freezer and took heavy steps back to his seat, smiling at how Patrice truly hadn't moved a muscle in his few minutes away. 

He placed the glass on the table behind him before tugging her hand to guide her closer. "Cold hot therapy. I sprained my knee once, and this got me back up and running in no time. Ice for the cold…" Terry's voice trailed as he plucked a piece of ice from his glass and pressed it to her nipple. He watched her jaw drop with a sharp inhale, intently focused on the way her eyelids fluttered closed at the sudden shock of frozen water. When a single drop began to make a trail down the swell of her breast, he pulled the ice away and brought his mouth closer. "And I'll take care of the hot."

"Oh…my God." 

Whispers of unexpected pleasure sent Terry into a far-off place where he was only concerned with running a flat tongue across supple skin. Patrice rushed to steady herself by bringing her hands to the back of his head, cradling him while he went to work. 

Ice cold. Soothing warmth. Ice cold. Soothing warmth and a light suckle. Again. And again. 

He eyed her like a lion watches prey, taking notes of every little sound and twitch to know that he was fulfilling his job. 

"Good job, baby," Patrice whispered, her head tossed back and praises spoken to the ceiling. "Good fuckin' job."

Terry ran his hands up the back of her thighs to roughly grip her ass. He groaned at the affirmation before pulling away to retrieve more ice. He held a small cube between his teeth to multitask, running it across her left nipple and areola until it had melted enough to fit both in his mouth. 

Was it fixing her tenderness issue? Not really. But Patrice would be damned if his subtle slurping and moaning with her backside firmly in his clutches wasn't sufficiently taking her mind off things. So far off, she'd lost all concept of time and space. 

While Terry pulled Patrice into his lap for a more intensive inspection, Imani entered the house high off the exhilarating freedom that can only come for night drives with a carefully curated playlist blasting from the speakers. Being stateside for the first time in a year was the perfect opportunity to experience one of life's simple pleasures. 

Grocery bags rustled and knocked against the wall as she hummed along to the fragmented lyrics from a song on her Spotify playlist still coursing through her brain. A short pause in her personal concert to lock the door left space to hear a string of curious noises. Muffled half-sentences and a sort of trembling sigh made her quirk an eyebrow. She thought to herself that Terry and Patrice left the television on far too often for a pair of people who claimed to not spend much time in front of the tube, but quickly found that they'd taken to making a scene the old-fashioned way. 

She stood in the open space, a perfectly shaped eyebrow pushed high on her face and an impressed smirk tugging at the right corner of her lip while she watched her baby cousin makeout with Imani's newest family member with a ferocity she didn't know Patrice had in her. 

Patrice held Terry steady by his jaw, slightly hovering over him while she had her way leading a sloppy kiss. When she moved to push his head back toward her chest with a string of words filthy enough to make a pornstar blush, Imani cleared her throat to finally announce her presence.

"Oh shit," Patrice yelped, rushing to tap Terry's back and end his check-up. 

His head popped up to survey the room, then slowly found a home on top of Patrice's once she pressed close enough against his chest to cover her naked breasts. The vibrations from his concealed chortling made Patrice pinch him in frustration. Nothing was funny, at least not to her. 

Imani held her hands up in faux surrender. "No, please. Don't stop on account of me," she laughed. "Y'all were just getting started." 

"We are so sorry, Moanie. This isn't what it looks like. Well, this part is exactly what it looks like, but I promise it didn't start like this. Terry was looking at my boobs to check on my tattoo and -" 

"Girl, you do not have to explain anything to me. This is your house! Honestly, if I had those big ol' mommy titties, I'd want them in somebody's face too. And you got them for free! The girls gotta go under the knife or get pregnant for those. How does it feel to be God's favorite? Terry, can you help me get the water out of the car when you finish?"

Terry looked down at his visibly distressed wife and then back at Imani to save face for the both of them. "Yeah, I got you. Gimme a minute." 

Moanie didn't notice how she'd launched her cousin into an internal spiral as she pranced off to busy herself with getting ready in her room for the week, but Terry did. He carefully sat Patrice up and helped redress her, careful to ease into conversation. 

"You alright?" 

"I had my cycle this month," Patrice rushed out, her gaze far off as Terry lifted her arm to put it back in her camisole strap. "It can't be that. I had my cycle." When her focus returned, her eyes snapped to Terry's for confirmation. "Right? I did, right?"

He nodded, unsure of how to proceed to quell her fear. "You did, baby. But, maybe…"

Sure, it was lighter than usual, but she'd had a cycle. Her body functioned like it did every month, on time and without pomp and circumstance. There was no cause for concern. 

But…maybe. 

Patrice looked down at her belly then back up at Terry, searching for answers in his sympathetic expression. He leaned forward and held her head with both hands to give her a kiss she couldn't return before he spoke. 

"Don't drink tonight. Just in case. We'll figure it out in the morning. Okay?"

"Okay." She whispered back without truly processing the gravity of his instruction. 

Terry slowly lifted Patrice from his lap to fulfill Imani's request for assistance, leaving her to stand perfectly still in the kitchen. She counted backward in her head, retracing her steps and important dates until a headache sent her to take a seat. 

It was just tenderness. It'd go away by morning, and all of this would be a silly story to tell whenever they got together in the spring for their European honeymoon. She'd drink an entire bottle of wine over heaps of pasta, turning the whole situation into a fond memory before raising her hand to call the server for another round. All water under the bridge, right?

But…maybe.

------

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[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

I’m obsessed with the Spencer and mean girl!reader!, i was wondering if you could expand a bit more and show the time she does bite back at the team for being rude or teasing Spencer?

plus size mean girl!reader, wc: 565.

a/n: decided to reopen my asks because the ones that you guys are sending are just too good! this fic was lowkey healing because i HATE when the team cuts spencer off.

Being able to go out all together was an incredible feat.

Most of the time everyone’s schedules didn’t align, but in this instance, you were able to catch a moment of peace.

The bar was bustling, live with people as music boomed from the speakers placed miscellaneously throughout the building.

You’re cuddled close into Spencer’s side, practically sitting on his lap as your sides touch. Spencer had thrown his coat over your lap because, admittedly, the bar was kind of cold, and your skirt was way too short to handle the chill.

You should be dancing, but you’re rather buzzed, the need inside you quelled by his slack covered leg that provided you with much needed warmth. You nursed the fruity cocktail in your hand, the sweetness a pleasant taste. 

“Ugh,” Voiced JJ. “If I drink anymore, I think I’ll spontaneously combust.” Her sentence ended with a groan. Emily patted her shoulder sympathetically, though that didn’t stop her from taking another sip of her whiskey.

“Did you know that it’s scientifically proven that you can’t actually spontaneously combust due to an excessive amount of alcohol intake. It’s a myth that’s long been -”

“Spence,” JJ interrupted. “I know. I was just being sarcastic.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Spencer’s face bloomed a normally endearing red, but this time you can tell that being cut off flustered him. Your hand that was clasped loosely in his tightened, and his body grew rigid as he felt your long acrylic nails dig into his skin.

“That was rude.” You said bluntly. That broke JJ and Emily out of their conversation.

The drunken smile on her face slowly fell at the sight of your serious demeanor. “I’m sorry?” She asked, giggling awkwardly.

“He was talking and you cut him off. It was rude.” You said simply. Spencer softly called your name from your side, “It’s fine.” He had said. 

“No, it’s not fine. Even if you already knew, you shouldn’t have been an ass and cut him off.” Her mouth fell open, stunted. “I…” Emily, bless her heart, was as shocked as her.

“It’s fine.” Spencer made sure to put the emphasis on ‘fine.’ 

You threw a look to him from the side before pouting your pink gloss covered lips, crossing your arms. “I’m just saying.” You said dismissively, as if you hadn’t just caused a scene.

“Uh -”

“More drinks, yeah?” Emily interrupted with fake cheerfulness. “JJ?”

“Yeah, yeah…” She got up and left with her with an uneasy grin on her face, leaving both you and your boyfriend at the table alone.

“Why would you do that?” Spencer asks with a deep, exasperated sigh. “Because they’ve been working with you for years, and yet they still find it okay to cut you off.”

“Yeah, but… If I was bothered by her cutting me off, I would have said something.”

“That’s the funny thing about it, Spence. You still find it hard to stick up for yourself, especially to people you respect. You shouldn’t just have to sit there and take it. You’re not a dog.”

You’re fully looking at him now, and he’s just… gazing at you. “What? Is there gloss on my teeth?” You run your tongue over them. “No,” He chuckles breathily with a shake of his head. “I just… thank you.” 

It’s your turn to fluster at the sheer admiration in his voice. 

“I - you already know it’s nothing.”

[lieslab]

The house is white and the lawn is dead

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Hyunjin X gn reader

Summary: You're struggling with a past sibling relationship when Hyunjin takes notice.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 2.4K

Domestic abuse resources

Trigger warning: Insecurities, anxiety, domestic abuse, verbal abuse, descriptions of injuries from physical abuse, and grieving sibling-related trauma.

A/N: This is a request from quite a while ago and I hope you know that you deserved so much better than what you dealt with. I hope this hits the mark and I hope you have a good holiday that's full of love and appreciation. If nobody else is going to tell you, I will. I appreciate you and thank you for sticking around, even though you've fought internal silent battles <3

_ _ _

Australia was much warmer than you expected. The deep blue sky layered with cotton clouds and even though it was December, the temperatures were still pretty warm. You could get away with wearing a t-shirt and shorts without much of an issue. 

The Stray Kids members were on tour and since you and Hyunjin were a thing, you were offered an invite. You declined in the beginning, but Hyunjin begged and pleaded, even going as far as getting down on his knees and bowing to you. With his head level with the tip of your toes, he patted the top of your bare feet and said all the right words. 

When you finally agreed, he picked you up and swung you around. Laughter fell from your lips and he grinned. “We’re going to have so much fun! Just you wait! You’re going to love Australia, it’s my second home!” 

That was a few weeks ago and here you were now. Your fingers curled against Hyunjin’s hands as the two of you walked in the direction of the beach. Felix and Chan had been raving about the water. Salt has been in their bloodstream since birth. 

Growing up near the azure colored water, their families often took them to beaches to cool off. Beneath the scorching sun, the warm water provided much needed relief. The memories of their youth-filled days stuck to the sides of their brains. Coming back to the Pacific Ocean, it was finally like coming back home. 

The rest of the band members had scattered off in different directions. Minho and Han ventured towards a less noisy area of the beach. Seungmin and Jeongin padded after them. Changbin screeched, stuck his hands up, and took off towards the rolling waves. 

Beside you, Hyunjin chuckled and shook his head. “We have our own beaches and yet, it’s like he’s never seen one before.” 

“It’s the Pacific Ocean,” you joked, “that makes it special.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

You watched Changbin rush the waves and dive in head-first. The smile on your face began to disappear when you heard a scream from your right. Your head whipped over and it was there that you found Chan’s younger sister running away from him. 

“Get back here!” Chan yelled. He propelled after her with his arms outstretched. His bare feet kicked up sand as he chased her. Her laughter mixed with the sound of waves. “Hannah, get back here!” 

Felix’s own sisters shared a mischievous glance. The older one began to grin and when Felix realized it, his eyes widened. “Oh no, wait a minute, please don’t-” 

“You better start running for your life.” 

He rushed around and took off sprinting. “Bang Chan! Help me! Hyung, save me! Save me!” 

His sisters laughed and took off after him. Chan glanced over his shoulder and when he did, his own sister took advantage of this. She shifted directions and began to sprint back after him. 

What started as a simple joy, turned into a complex game of cat and mouse. The three girls ran after Felix and Chan while sharing giggles. Olivia, Rachel, and Hannah had been close for a while. It was easy to share the longing and loneliness of missing their brothers. 

Hannah and Chan had a younger brother, but he wasn’t the same as having an older brother. Hannah grew up with her older brother and then he disappeared. It was difficult to be so young and fathom that your older brother was hundreds of miles away. 

For Olivia and Rachel, it was the same way. Felix was the middle child and smothered with love and taunts. As the only brother, it was foreign to have him there all the time and then disappear to follow his dreams. 

Each sibling had their own lives and their own goals. Despite that, when they all visited with each other, they tried to make as many memories as possible. Who knew when the next visit would be. 

Your fingers were still entangled with Hyunjin’s hand while you watched them. Changbin realized his band members were being chased by their siblings and he gasped. He sprinted out of the waist-high water and rushed towards them. 

“Felix! Channie-hyung! Hold on! I’m coming!” 

Hyunjin’s fingers untangled from yours and he reached down to get his phone. He wanted to capture this moment and send it to the guys later. This was something they’d be able to look back on and laugh about. 

Too distracted by capturing the moment, he didn’t realize you walked away from him. You turned your back and began to head away from the laughter and fun. Your arms wrapped around your torso and you sucked in a deep breath. 

You had an older brother once upon a time too. Unfortunately, your time together wasn’t remembered with fond conversations and melodic laughter. Instead, when you thought back upon it, you remembered the worst parts. 

You remembered the harsh insults that were spat at you. As if you weren’t formed in the same womb and shared the same half of your parents. Words stung, but being backhanded and knocked to the floor hurt much worse. 

Once upon a time, you had a brother that you loved more than anything, but as the formative years began to progress, so did his hatred for you. What you did, you didn’t know, but you knew the harshness of a man. 

The betrayal of blood that tastes like iron. Bright crimson staining your cracked open bottom lip. It’s a plum purple and a darkening blue. A touch of brown that’s sprouting a rotten yellow amongst the edges. 

You asked that question over and over and over again. He moved out months ago, but the hurt still lingered. That harshness stapled to your soul and each time you tried to peel it back, to remind yourself that you deserved better, the rusty staples still clung. You hadn’t figured out how to feel worth it yet. 

When you looked into Hyunjin’s dark eyes, sometimes there was a tug on your heart. A cupped fear always lingered deep down. Would he eventually see you as your brother had? Something not worth fighting for? Someone so disposable that it wouldn’t hurt to let go?

Old wounds scabbed over and healed, but the scars never left. When you laid down in your bed and snuggled next to Hyunjin’s warmth, you could still feel the phantom pain every now and then. The way the tangled carpet strands brushed against your bare knees and wore away the top layer of your delicate skin. The pain that shot through your elbow and lingered in your shoulder when you hit the ground. 

Your brother’s untamed anger was uncontrollable. He was a vicious beast that would launch at you any moment. Whether it was verbally or physically, he’d beat you down without a second thought. 

Maybe your parents knew or maybe they just didn’t care. Maybe they too were ashamed and disappointed by the child that they raised. The two of you shared the same womb, but your brother viewed you as if you grew up in a womb of venom. It seeped into your bloodstream along the way and poisoned your entire sense of self. 

He darkened your childhood and the days that should have been full of wonder and entertainment were instead filled with fear and anxiety. Every time you interacted with him, you never knew what lay ahead. The unknown future brought you more anxiety than you ever could have possibly imagined. 

You grew up. You moved out. You lived your own life, but the hurt still lingered. When you tried to go back home, your throat closed up. Your adult body remembered that adolescent fear. Your knees wobbled and tears pricked your eyes. Your brain screamed at you to stop. 

You moved far away and tried to forget, but it was moments like these where you truly struggled. You wanted to be happy. You knew Chan and Felix were good brothers, but there was resentment tucked behind your heart. Why couldn’t your brother be a good brother too? 

Hanging around Hyunjin, you hung out with members of the band too. So many members had siblings and they were decent brothers. Changbin always tried to meet up with his sister to have a meal together every now and then. He always paid for it without complaint. 

When Seungmin went back home to his parents house, his older sister babied him. He swore that he hated it, but deep down, you knew that he appreciated it. He still liked to be cared for. 

Chan and Felix were constantly updated with their siblings. Han liked to taunt and tease his older brother for the fun of it. Jeongin actively liked to find items for his brothers and save them until it was a holiday season or their birthdays. 

Hyunjin and Minho were the only members without siblings. Even without siblings, they didn’t know what it was like to face abuse from them. They didn’t have to worry about coming home from school and facing the wrath of the devil. 

“Are you crying?” 

The sudden voice caused you to open your eyes. In front of you, Hyunjin frowned and studied your face. He reached up with his thumb and gently wiped away a fallen tear. 

You mumbled an apology and stepped back. With a sniffle, you wiped your arm across your eyes. The scent of coconut sunblock hit your nose. Chan wouldn’t let any of you outside without some sort of sun protection. The Australian sun was scorching and you burnt easily. 

“Did something happen?” He reached out and grabbed your arm. Slightly lifting it, he inspected your body for some sort of damage. “Did you fall and get hurt?” 

“No.” You shook your head and pulled away. “I was just thinking about some stuff. It’s kind of stupid, really.” Your eyes went down to the sand and you curled your toes. They dug into the white sand and disappeared. 

“It’s not stupid if it’s causing you to cry.” 

“I was just watching everything down there and needed a moment. Felix and Chan are good brothers. They’re having so much fun down there and I’m happy for them.” 

“But?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“I had a brother too, but he wasn’t like that. He was mean and cruel.” You wiped away another forming tear before it fell. “I just wish my brother could have been more like them and less like he really was.” 

“I’m sorry that he wasn’t who you needed him to be.” 

You shrugged and tried to swallow the lump in your throat. “It doesn’t really matter. What’s done is done and nothing can change it. Life goes on, the earth keeps spinning, and the sun still shines.” 

You glanced over his shoulder. All three of the guys and the girls were now in the water. They were splashing each other with water. Hannah splashed foamy waves at Chan. He spit the water back out at her and she shrieked. “You jerk!” 

When Felix sent water her way, his own sisters teamed up against him. One disappeared beneath the shallow water while the other distracted him with splashes. He yelped as his ankle was grabbed. Caught off guard, he tipped into the water. Olivia broke the water giggling as Felix flailed with a yell. 

“You know, I didn’t grow up with any siblings, but I met the guys. They might not be related to me through blood, but we’re definitely related through our experiences and our careers.” 

He cautiously reached out an arm and wrapped it around your shoulders. Your head shifted to the side and laid upon his shoulders. He brushed a piece of hair behind your ear and didn’t take his eyes off you. 

“If you want them to be, they can be the brothers you never had too. You’re already taken by me, so they already view you as a family member.” 

“Why does it feel like you’re lying to make me feel better?” 

“If you didn’t mean anything to me, I wouldn’t have brought you on this trip. Although we’re not from Australia, it’s special to all of us. Felix and Chan left this place to take chances and follow their dreams. That’s not something that any of us forget about. They left their families to take a huge chance and along the way, they found us.” 

“I wouldn’t have shared this experience with you if I didn’t love you. You can let them in and lean on them if you need to. You’re part of our lives and you help us out if needed. The least that we can do is care about you.” 

You blinked rapidly as your vision blurred. Tears began to fill up as you thought about the moments you shared with the guys. Just this morning, you helped Minho make everyone breakfast. 

The two of you laughed and joked around in the kitchen. When you accidentally cut yourself with a pairing knife while chopping vegetables, he lightly lectured you, cleaned the cut, and bandaged it. 

Once he finished, he showed you the proper way to hold the knife, so you didn’t catch your fingers with the blade. Once he was satisfied and sure you weren’t bleeding through the bandage, he left you, so he could go back to preparing the meat. 

“I don’t think I deserve you all sometimes,” you finally uttered weakly. 

“And at times, I feel the same way about you. So what are you waiting for? Come on!” he held his hand out towards you. “Your brothers are waiting.” 

When you didn’t move quick enough. He grabbed you and tossed you over his shoulder. You shrieked and gripped the back of his shirt. “Hyunjin! What are you-” 

He laughed and hauled you back to the water. “Felix, look what I caught!” He dropped you into the water and you gasped as warmth caught you. “Sick ‘em!” 

“Leave them alone!” Rachel howled. 

The three girls approached you to form a protective shield. Chan, Felix, Changbin, and Hyunjin began splashing the water. You shrieked and ducked behind the girls to take cover. Water splashed in every direction. 

Since Hyunjin was taller, he could see over the girls. When he did, he caught the smile on your face. Despite the rocky waves and their splashing, you were holding up just fine. The aching sadness replaced itself with comfort. 

You fit right in, like the final piece of the missing puzzle. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lina-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[benispunk]

All Is Bright

logan howlett x reader

For the first time in years, you decide to celebrate Christmas with Logan and Laura by your side.

TW: yesterday I re-watched Logan (2017) by accident and now I need to fix it, so here we go. he's alive and well, everybody's okay and he just needs to celebrate christmas with his family.

Masterlist

Even back at the mansion with the other X-Men, he wasn’t one to stick around for the Christmas parties. The lights, the laughter, the warmth—it all reminded him of what he’d lost, or worse, what he never thought he deserved. After everything he’d done, Christmas wasn’t for someone like him.

But now, things were different.

Because of you.

You’d been through your own losses. You hadn’t celebrated Christmas in years either—not since the family you’d found in the X-Men had been torn apart. Without Charles, and after Logan’s long recovery, the three of you—Logan, you, and Laura—had found some semblance of peace in a small cabin tucked away from the world.

For the first time in a long time, life felt still. And watching you thrive in that stillness, seeing you create a home where he never thought one could exist, meant more to Logan than he could ever put into words.

So that morning, when he woke to the faint sound of Christmas music and laughter, his first instinct wasn’t annoyance. It was curiosity.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he rolled out of bed, grabbed a flannel shirt, and followed the sound.

When he stepped into the living room, he froze.

The cabin, once simple and practical, had been transformed. Garland lined the mantle above the fireplace, and three stockings hung in a neat row. On the coffee table, a mismatched collection of Christmas candles flickered softly. And in the corner stood a scrawny Christmas tree that you and Laura were decorating.

Laura, still in her pajamas, was balancing on her toes as she reached up to hang a shiny red ornament. You stood beside her, laughing as she stretched too far and nearly toppled over.

For a moment, Logan just stood there, watching. He wasn’t sure what hit him harder—the warmth of the scene itself or the realization that he was part of it. That you’d made him part of it.

“He’s awake!” Laura said, grinning as she caught sight of him.

You turned, your smile faltering slightly. “Oh no, we ruined the surprise!”

Logan huffed a laugh. “With all this music and noise? Yeah, that wasn’t staying a surprise for long.”

“Shoot, I’m sorry,” you said, hurrying over to him. “You probably wanted to sleep some more.”

He caught your hands in his, silencing your apology. “It’s okay,” he said softly, his voice rough with emotion. “That’s not a bad sound to wake up to.”

Your smile returned, and he couldn’t help himself. Leaning down, he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. When he pulled back, he let his eyes wander back to the tree.

“So,” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice, “what exactly are you two up to?”

“We’re decorating the tree,” you said, your excitement bubbling over. “And before you say anything about it being too early, let me remind you we missed several Christmases in a row.”

Laura chimed in, a candy cane dangling from her mouth. “We’re catching up.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Fair enough.”

Before you could say anything else, Laura grabbed an ornament shaped like a tiny, crooked star and held it out. “Here. You do this one.”

Logan blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah. It’s tradition. The grumpy one has to put up the ugliest ornament,” You teased, making Laura laugh.

He sighed, rolling his eyes, but there was no hiding the faint smile tugging at his lips as he took the ornament. Stepping up to the tree, he found an empty branch and carefully hung the star, giving it a satisfied nod.

“There,” he said. “Ugliest ornament, front and center.”

“Perfect,” you said, grinning.

The three of you spent the rest of the morning decorating, laughing, and sipping on hot cocoa you insisted on making. Logan couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this... light.

Later, Laura sat at the kitchen table, a notebook and pencil in front of her, her brow furrowed in concentration as she worked on some grammar exercises, occasionally glancing at the pages of a book nearby. You and Logan stayed by the fire. He sat on the couch, watching as you added the finishing touches to the stockings.

“You’re really into this, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice softer now.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, smiling. “I guess I am. I just... I think we need this, you know? All of us.”

He nodded, his gaze steady on you. “Yeah. We do.”

You walked over and sat beside him, pulling a blanket over both of you. “I know it’s not much, but I thought it’d be nice to give Laura something to remember. Something good.”

Logan’s jaw tightened as he looked at you. “She’s not the only one who needs that.”

You blinked, taken aback by his words. For a moment, you just looked at him, and he looked back, his usual walls cracked wide open.

“Logan...”

He shook his head, a faint smirk on his lips. “Don’t go getting all mushy on me now.”

You laughed softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Too late.”

You stayed like that for a moment before nudging him gently with your elbow. “Okay, so… are you going to ask?”

He looked at you, eyebrows drawn together. “Ask what?”

You rolled your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips. “I know you’re dying to know where all this Christmas stuff came from.”

Logan huffed a laugh. “Alright, alright. Where’d you get it all?”

You smiled, leaning back against the couch. “There was a garage sale in that little village we visited a few weeks ago. I went last weekend while you were chopping wood.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And you came back with all this? What’d it cost you?”

You shrugged, a playful glint in your eyes. “Practically nothing. The woman I bought it from gave me half of it for free when I told her it was for my daughter.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Your daughter, huh?”

“Our daughter,” you repeated, grinning. “The woman said she didn’t need it anymore, and honestly, I couldn’t resist. I mean, look at that star,” you added, nodding toward the ugly ornament Laura and you had insisted Logan hang.

Logan chuckled softly, his eyes lingering on the tree. “Definitely a good choice.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, watching as Laura carefully copied a word from the book into her notebook.

Then Logan spoke, his voice quieter now. “I don’t know how you do it.”

You turned to him, frowning slightly. “Do what?”

“All this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the tree, the stockings, the warmth filling the room. “You’ve been through hell, same as me. But you… you can still find something good in it. Something worth holding onto.”

You reached for his hand, your fingers brushing against the rough calluses on his palm. “I don’t know if it’s about holding onto the good. It’s more about making it.”

He looked at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. “It’s not that easy for me.”

“I know,” you said gently. “But you’re here, Logan. That’s something. And you don’t have to do it all at once. Just… be here. With us.”

He let out a slow breath, his gaze dropping to where your hand rested in his. “Sometimes it feels like I’m just waiting for it all to fall apart again.”

You squeezed his hand. “It won’t. Not this time.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But then his shoulders slumped, and he leaned back against the couch, letting his head rest against the cushions.

“I don’t deserve this,” he said finally, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yes, you do.”

He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I’ve done things, Y/N. You know that. Things I can’t take back.”

“I do know,” you said, your voice steady. “And I also know you’ve done everything you can to make up for it. You’ve saved lives, Logan. You’ve saved us. That counts for something.”

He was quiet for a long moment, staring at the fire. “I don’t know if I’ll ever believe that.”

You shifted closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “Then let us believe it for you.”

His arm came around you, pulling you in closer. For a moment, neither of you spoke, letting the quiet warmth of the fire fill the space. Then you shifted slightly, looking up at him, and he met your gaze.

There was something in his eyes—a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see. You didn’t say anything; you didn’t need to. Slowly, Logan leaned in, and your lips met in a kiss that was both tender and unhurried. When you pulled back, your faces lingered close, your foreheads almost touching.

His gaze searched yours, and you noticed how glassy his eyes had become, his defenses crumbling even further. Before either of you could say anything, Laura’s voice broke the moment from the kitchen table.

“How do you spell ‘hope’ again?”

Logan blinked quickly, his hand brushing against his cheek as he straightened up. You glanced at him, catching the faintest hint of a smirk before turning to answer Laura.

“H-O-P-E,” you said, your voice warm.

“Hope,” Logan repeated under his breath, as if testing the word for himself.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like he might actually believe it.

XXX

[irndad]

Christmas Wrapping- a.h.

a/n: i'm back and this is sad (no, really, it's a sad christmas fic. merry crisis!! also writing this made me think of @hotchfiles lol- lari i hope u like it <3 summary: 2 years ago, hotch broke up with a lovely but eccentric woman, and is thinking about this while attending a christmas party.

It’s Christmas, and it’s New York, and Aaron doesn’t want to be here. 

He always feels guilty when he misses Christmases with Jack, and it’s painful to admit that it’s happened more than once. He’d been understanding, but Jack is almost ten now, and the resentment in his voice is subtle, but sometimes Aaron could swear he could hear Haley’s voice in it. 

This dinner wasn’t optional- a director that was above him mentioned that if he wanted his career to advance, he couldn’t afford not to attend events like tonight. Which as far as thiny veiled threats go, is one of the lease concealed ones he’s received in a good bit. 

New York always makes him think of her. Even though their relationship ended two years prior, she sticks in his mind like a song, the melody never quite getting to be grating. She’d loved being called his girlfriend, and Aaron had loved the way she loved it. She was younger than him, by a little over a half-decade. But still, she’d worn it better than he had. He still remembers the sight of her, meeting him at his office (never inside, lest the team tease him endlessly), in her green shoes and multicolored scarf, hair in a clip that had been lazily thrown up, and a smile that dazzled him. 

“Are you ready, Mr. Hotchner?” he remembers her saying, on the other side of a memory lit in warm, glowy lights. 

“I don’t think I can endorse whatever you have planned for me.” He’d replied back in jest at the time. 

The walk from his hotel to the host of the party’s home is cold. He think it might be colder in Quantico, but his memory feels colder and seeps into his bones. 

He might’ve married her, Aaron muses to himself. It all feels so silly to think about. But she was hard not to think about when she was his to ponder over, and she sticks in the back of his mind even after he had made he decision not to. 

She’d been generous with him, the entirety of it all. Gentle with him when he mentioned that he wasn’t ready to tell the team, even if she’d known that he hadn’t waited eight months with Beth. More than that, she was beautiful. not just in her appearance, which was lovely in and of itself, but in how she carried herself. Warm, and kind- Jack would’ve loved her. 

He thinks of her laugh, how she’d picked off all of the salmon roe on their fancy 5 month anniversary dinner, and eaten the meal without it- how she booked Amtraks to visit family, because it gave her more time to read on the way, and no one would make her drive once she got there. How she traced hearts into his wrist when  she could tell he was anxious, read him like a book he never gave anyone permission to see. Loving her was a pleasure, an indulgment. An expensive wine sipped with leisure. 

A honk of a cab shakes him out of his memories, but it doesn’t stick. She’d loved Brooklyn, loud cabs and overpriced brownstones all the same. Sometimes, when doing monotonous paperwork, he’d fantasize about buying her one, a new home in her dream city, Jack and maybe a sister. 

The way it had fallen apart was one of the least proud moments of his life. Because she was different- not polished, or withdrawn in how she carried herself. It was what made her a pleasure to know- she smiled with her whole face, hugged people like she knew they might need it, wore her favorite colors because she wanted to see them whenever she passed a mirror. And he was a behavior analyst. 

“Could I meet your friends?” he’d frozen, when he’d heard it. Her voice was soft, like she was nervous. “I know you were wanting to wait, but you know- you’ve met my graduate school friends. They were thoroughly impressed.”

He didn’t feel impressive to them, and he suspects she might be being kind in this moment. 

“I just think you wouldn’t like them, honey.” He feels rotten lying to her, but the idea of it- of the team knowing that she is the person he loves- it feels like a magnifying glass under the sun. 

“I find that hard to believe, Aaron. And either way, I’m telling you, it would mean the world to me to know them.” 

He’d been backed into a corner, he’ll tell himself, later. This will be a lie, and it’ll be a lie he knows, even as he tells himself it. 

“I just think we shouldn’t do that until we’re sure about eachother.”

The silence that had followed felt chasms wide. She’d been silent in front of him before- when he’d come to her apartment too tired to speak but still needing to be held, and she’d lit a candle and massaged his hands, easing the carpal tunnel from writing paperwork. Or when she held his hand waiting for Jack’s results, when he’d gotten a fever they hadn’t been able to shake. This silence was different. Long and dissapointed, and Aaron felt like he couldn’t breathe under the shame of it. He watched her wipe a single tear from her eye, and grab her novel that had been sitting on his coffee table for the last six months. 

“I can’t make you sure about me, Aaron. I don’t really want to try.” 

It had ended like that. Reminiscing on the whole affair had made the walk feel short, although he could feel a tear welling in his eyes. His body knew her absence, and still does. Even now, walking to this party he doesn’t want to go to, he imagines what it would be like to have the shape of her pressed into the side of it. 

Aaron thinks to himself, before buzzing into the building, that he wasn’t ashamed of her. He’d wondered since the end of the first relationship he’d felt held in, if he left it because he was ashamed. But he wasn’t. He was unwilling to submit to the plain, unmediated joy of her touch. 

He was almost done ruminating on this, until he knocked on the door, and there she was. 

Aaron- he almost wonders if he’s hallucinating, because there she is. And she’s fucking gorgeous. She always is, but she’s so lovely tonight. Maybe it’s the fact he hasn’t seen her in so long, or maybe it’s just that she is that lovely, but the warm light of the party and Christmas Wrapping playing in the background- she looks like vision plucked from a movie. 

She’d kissed him at midnight to this song, once. 

Now, she’s beaming at him, opening her door to welcome him as a stranger into a party. 

“Aaron! Is that you?” it’s a physiological response, the jump in his chest, when she says his name. “My god, it’s so good to see your face!” 

She hugs him, and she still wears the same perfume. Her arms are warm and her face is in his chest, and even though it’s less intimate than all the ways she’s held him before, it feels kind. 

“It’s so good to see you too- what are you doing here?”

It’s a blunt question, but she doesn’t seem to mind, as she ushers him into home. It’s a family apartment, old-school and clearly well-loved.

“My husband liasons with the FBI, actually! His boss said they needed a get-together space, and so we offered up our apartment. It’s cute, right?” she’d walked him right up to a man, wrapped her arms around his middle, before turning back to Hotch. “Peter, honey, this is my old friend, Aaron Hotchner! He works for the BAU.”

Husband. She has a husband. She is a beautiful woman, who he has had the honor to love, to run through the rain while laughing with, who is known and seen and loved by someone else. Hotch takes a look at her, really drinks in the sight. She’s got on a green sweater, new- he can tell by the shape of it. Earrings that seem like they’re gifts, and her hair’s pinned up lazily despite the occasion. 

She looks happy. 

“Oh hey! I’ve heard so much about you- I’m glad you were able to come!”

Peter has a wedding band on hsi left wrist, and Aaron can’t help but analyze him. He’s wearing an ill-fitting dress shirt and slacks, and Hotch thinks he might not have had too much choice in hosting. Owning real-estate is uncommon in New york, and your boss knowing you have a place to use might have been enough to strong arm him into using it. it’s a relative’s clothes, and it’s casual in a way that would suggest ease and friendless. An arm rests on the small of his wife’s waist. 

The whole rest of the night is a blur. Jealousy doesn’t feel like the right word for it- it feels uncanny, to see her so open and warm with a man who so unashamadly loves her. There’s engagement photos on the walls, and Aaron studies them like he’ll be tested. Maybe he’s testing himself. They’re not real photos, just a photobooth they’d gone too, her ring in the foreground of all of them. Peter is a wiry, thin, dark-haired brown-eyed man who is younger than Aaron, and a year older than her. 

He hears someone say they met in high school, and Hotch dimly wonders if he ever had a shot with her. He thinks this, while looking at a photo of the two of them at prom together (but not together). It’s self-comfort, he knows. Because she’d asked him, to take her seriously. 

She’s drinking grape juice, instead of champagne. Aaron thinks he knows why, from the way she runs a gentle hand over her stomach when she thinks no one’s looking, and how Peter’s eyes are always trained on her midsection.

He wishes he didn’t know how to be this observant. 

When the night ends, and Aaron comes back to Quantico, and people asks him how the party went, Aaron tells them it went well, and says that he saw an old friend who he’d missed a great deal out there. 

He figured it’s probably better to admit to loving her in some way, at some point. Even if it’s far, far too late. 

[delespresso]

WHERE BLOSSOMS BLOOM ━━ Fiyero x fem!reader

author's note; not exactly like elphaba (i didnt rlly wanna copy entirely) but i try hehe, took a bit from the real scene. also, part two coming?? 👀

prompts; “You’re the risk, I’m gonna take it.”

summary; fiyero always wants his best friend to bloom, but he realised he didn't want to miss it either

━━ ☄. *. ⋆

Fiyero Tigelaar was not the kind to think too much. He preferred to just glide through his days, remaining as carefree as ever.

But he wasn't an idiot. And he definitely wasn't blind.

When he met her in the garden in Shiz, while she was perfecting some technique that Morrible taught her, he knew she was different. She could grow flowers from a simple touch, creating the most beautiful of plants without even planting a seed.

She was magical. And she was beautiful.

Morrible wasn't the only one taken with her, albeit for a different reason. Fiyero found himself constantly within her vicinity, drawn to her in an inexplicable way.

He became a constant presence around her, sometimes bringing her a bouquet of sticks as a little joke, knowing she can grow the flowers as she liked. It became an inside joke, a little side project for them both — he went looking for broken branches and sticks with leaves but no flowers, and she'd grow them at will.

"You haven't done peonies," he commented one day as they were outside in a secluded corner of the university field, under a tree.

She was sitting against the bark, a book in her lap about magic from Morrible's own shelf. Fiyero was coming back from a bush, holding up another stray branch for her.

She laughed then, accepting it from him.

"My dorm is becoming a jungle," she mused.

"Then I'll keep some in mine," he shrugged, before urging again; "peonies."

The smile on her face was enough to make his typical cheeky and charming self soften into something more genuine. There was something about her that felt bright, warm — like a new bloom in spring.

She let her fingers gently glide along the small branch, intending deep in her mind and heart for it to bloom into a peony. It sure did — a beautiful, vibrant blue one.

"To match your eyes," she commented with a smile as she tucked it in his breast pocket.

He never let that peony go from that day onwards. It was an ever present part of his attire, always in his breast pocket. He quickly discovered whatever she grew, never wilted. It just remained as alive as ever, real long-lasting flowers.

She'd wanted to do something more. To grow something bigger. Or something with more flowers. She wanted to push the limits of her power, find out how far she could go.

Especially after another session with Morrible who told her about the Wizard. Meeting the Wizard was always a dream of hers since she was a child. Honestly, who in Oz didn't want to? But Morrible did say if she wanted to meet the Wizard, she should prove herself. Be better.

So that's what she was aiming to do. But, naturally, she didn't go alone.

She found Fiyero with some other students as he talked at them, because everyone wants to listen to the Winkie Prince. She was amused, but she couldn't let it prolong. So she went over and politely dragged him away from the others.

“Where to, flower?” Fiyero asked with a smile as he willingly went off with her.

“Forest. I have homework.”

His brows furrowed as he looked down at her, a little confused at the situation.

“You want to do homework in the forest?” he repeated, checking if he was correct.

She looked up at him, still linking their arms together as she led him out of the campus gates and towards the treeline. The only response he got was a smile and nod.

He chuckled at how nonchalant she was. He was curious, but by now he learned not to question it. That was exactly how their dynamics ran. Their. . . friendship. Best friendship.

Yeah. Just that.

She was trying to find a nice spot. He'd moved his arm so he could hold her hand instead, making it easier for them to navigate the terrain. Eventually she seemed satisfied with what she found, a small area by a little pond surrounded by bushes.

She led him to it, making them put their bookbags down on the grass before she knelt down by the pond. He might still be lost as to why they were here, but he was always one to go with the flow. So he took off his blazer and set it carefully over their bags, before coming to join her side.

“Morrible wrote a letter to the Wizard,” she finally informed.

With a smile full of hope, she looked over at him.

“She thinks I have a chance to meet him. But of course, I still have to be better. Prove myself worthy,” she continued.

He gave her his full attention as she talked, his eyes locked on her the whole time. Something bloomed in his chest as he saw how hopeful and excited she looked, like a child finally getting what they wanted.

“You're more than worthy,” he said softly.

She met his gaze, her smile so genuine and bright that Fiyero was certain she was the embodiment of the sun itself.

“I wanted to try something. Experiment some more,” she explained why they were there in the first place.

So Fiyero sat right there with her, keeping her company and giving encouragement as she tried multiple tricks. Trying to do bigger and better things. She often got frustrated when it didn't work, but he was always there to reassure her.

Like some kind of angel on her shoulder all the time.

It felt like a dream.

They were at the train station, a lot of her classmates seeing her off as she waited for the bullet train.

The Wizard had invited her to the Emerald City to see him — an absolute dream come true.

She was happy. Why wouldn't she be? This was what she's always wanted, everything she's worked for. To meet the Wizard and be his apprentice. To make Oz an even better place than it was.

Dreams, dreams, dreams.

Except something was missing. She looked around the platform, trying to find a pair of familiar blue eyes but they were absent. It didn't feel right to leave if she didn't see him first. She didn't even see him at Shiz earlier.

It was almost as if he was avoiding her.

Until she heard some thudding footsteps on the platform coming up behind her, making her turn her head and finally — there he was.

“No, I'm not late,” Fiyero spoke before she could even greet him. “I'm a prince, everyone's always arriving before me.”

She raised her brows in amusement, looking up at him knowingly. He had that usual charming persona again. The Winkie Prince everyone adored. But she knew better.

“Of course,” she went with it anyway.

They both simply chuckled together, standing in front of another with an odd sense of understanding. She was going off, chasing her dreams. They both knew this.

“You're going to do wonderful things, flower,” he said softly.

His eyes were looking at her like she was the only thing in existence at the moment. He was looking at his best friend like nothing else mattered. She was almost sure she saw a hint of longing there already, and she hadn't even left.

“Here's hoping,” she nodded with a soft smile.

“No, I know it,” he assured. “You're a remarkable person, you know?”

She gazed up at him with a gentle smile. Her eyes shone with something unspoken. She had so much she wanted to say before she left. She didn't even know how long it'd be until they saw each other again.

She suddenly wanted more time.

“It'll be different without you.”

She didn't quite expect him to be the one to admit that first. She knows. But she couldn't quite say it.

“You'll be fine. You've got the entirety of Shiz wrapped around your pinky,” she smiled softly.

Though it was more bittersweet than the usual bright ones that lit up even the darkest days. He noticed — he always would.

“They are,” he admitted, forcing a chuckle.

“None of them are you though.”

Her heart fluttered. His addition was so casual, but she could tell he wasn't just being charming as he always was. He was being sincere. He didn't think they compared to her. Not a single one.

She opened her mouth to speak, but then the train conductor called out for the passenger to board.

“Go,” he urged, giving her a smile when her head turned back to him instead of the train.

“Do what you do best. Bloom,” he said earnestly, reaching out to put a flower in her hair — the blue peony he'd been holding onto so dearly.

She nodded, about to step forward. She wanted to do something. One last thing. But instead she smiled, wishing him goodbye for now and got onto the train.

Fiyero stayed, watching her go. She was standing by the doorway of the train, waving everyone goodbye as it started a slow departure.

Her eyes were mainly on him though, a million unspoken words between them. He put his hands in his pocket, and only then did he realise he'd forgotten something.

“Wait!”

He jogged to get to her before the train could get past the platform, holding out a piece of paper. She held onto the railing, taking it from him.

“Keep it,” he said simply.

She unfolded the paper, finding it to be a drawing. She never realised he drew. It was a clear, pretty detailed drawing of her in pencil. It was probably from the day they were in the forest, when she was trying to do bigger tricks with her powers. There was a note in his familiar writing at the bottom;

'I hope you never stop blooming, wherever you find yourself to be — Your Fiyero'

She looked up, catching his eyes again.

Now or never.

“Come with me!”

Fiyero's eyes widened, before he jogged a little further to get closer to her. He was sure he heard wrong. She couldn't be asking that of him. Right?

“C'mon! You'll miss it,” she urged, holding a hand out.

They were inches away from the end of the platform. Inches away from her going away to the Emerald City indefinitely.

Fiyero hesitated. This was her dream. He'd never considered meeting the Wizard, not once. But he was starting to realise — he'd do just about anything for her.

Going off with her now was a risk. It could go badly, but then again, since when did he stress over rules?

He sped up, reaching out to grab her hand and letting her help him as he jumped right into the train. She nearly fell back when he jumped, both of them stumbling in.

His arms were quick to grab her, wrapping around her waist and keeping her close as he raised a hand to keep them both standing by holding onto a railing. Her own hands gripped onto his jacket, a laugh leaving her as she realised he just took that leap.

“I'll say, I didn't think you'd do it,” she admitted.

They were still flush against one another. Not that either of them minded.

His lips curved into a smile, almost flirtatious as he held her close like that.

“You underestimate what I'd do for you.”

She couldn't help it — she beamed up at him, feeling oddly happier now. Seeing the Wizard was always her dream. It's just that today, something felt odd. Until now, the second he took that leap to join her.

Fiyero had always found her fascinating. He was intrigued with her powers, first. Then he got to know her, finding out the kind of person she was. Oddly enough, they mellowed each other out perfectly. A good balance of reckless and organised.

They were perfect together. In every sense. He'd never been scared about making moves before. Usually it'd only take hours before he was shooting his shot with someone.

Not her though. It's been months of pure friendship first, despite the obvious attraction. But as he stood here, holding her after doing what was possibly the craziest thing in his life — which was saying something because he's done a lot in his short lifetime — he realised he wanted more.

Just friends wasn't enough anymore.

His eyes were locked with hers. She didn't look or move away. Her smile remained, even as her gaze momentarily drifted to his lips. She was sending all the right signals on purpose.

So he wasn't throwing away his shot this time. One hand went up to cup her cheek, caressing the swell of it gently before leaning in. A second's pause, just in case she changes her mind — she didn't.

His lips met hers sweetly. Finally. He kissed her like he was handling the most precious cargo, soft and slow yet they could both feel all the yearning that's been burning like a candle all this while.

He knew then and there; she was certainly a risk worth taking.

“I'll follow you anywhere, flower.”

liked this tale? leave a tip!

[master-jarrus]

Misako also could have had light hair as a child and it darkened as she grew up

My families genetics plus my husband's to help ops point and talk about the above I just made:

My mom used to be platinum blonde

And my dad's hair used to be a little lighter than mine

Both of them have brownish black hair now (well actually it's getting grey but you get the point)

My brother, the younger and I look like copies of my dad

My brother's hair stayed blonde and it took on our paternal grandmother's curls (so our dad's mom), otherwise he is a copy of our dad with a thicker build like our mom and he has our mom's nose

My hair stayed blonde and it's has my dad's waves and curls (2a-3a I have trouble getting it to stick without product) I am a female version of my dad in literally everything but my ability to handle computers (I swear it's a freaking curse with how bad I am)

Youngest one looks exactly like me but her hair is a little straighter

We have another sibling who doesn't look like the rest of us, because they're a perfect mix of how my parents look now while the rest of us look more like they're younger selves

My paternal aunts have both had children one looks like me as a kid (acts like me too much to my aunt's horror) she didn't cheat on her husband with my dad though. My cousin just looks like me with her dad's curls and platinum blonde hair

Also my mom was always accused of being the "milkman's" kid (they were accusing my maternal grandmother of cheating but taking it out on my mom wasn't grandfather though it was my grandma's mom who still does it)

She used to look nothing like my papa (her dad) and she was even convinced grandma had cheated. Well now she's grown up and she is clearly his daughter. And she also took an ancestry test and his missing half sisters popped up (yeah the family lore for that side is for another post with trigger warnings but I will gladly gab all I know because it's how I process the white trashiness of it)

Now my husband's side of the family

All of them look like their dad except one of my brother in laws

He's still clearly my father in law's son but he is blond, blue eyed and a freaking giant

Just like my father in law's brother

My mother in law didn't cheat though, it was recessive genes just like the above post talked about

Another post because I remembered something I did. Before I came here, I was on Instagram, and being a Misako fan on Instagram is AWFUL.

Left, Right "jokes" and serious posts about idiots who thought Misako was a cheater were everywhere! So I made a thing.

I made this chart to show how Misako and Garmadon, two brown haired people, could give birth to Lloyd and blonde haired boy. (This is a recreation of the chart). I did it because people who said/say Lloyd is Wu's kid PISSED ME OFF, and they still do!

If you think Lloyd is Wu's child, shut the FUCK up. Lloyd looks like Garmadon because that's how biology fucking works, if Lloyd was Wu's kid he'd look like Wu but... he doesn't! So guess what? LLOYD IS GARMS KID AND MISAKO DID NOT FUCKING CHEAT.

How else do I know? MY OWN LIFE! My parents have dark hair, but I have blonde! (Hair reveal woo). Ninjago fans will ignore genes/biology just so they can hate Misako even though there are REAL LIFE EXAMPLES of children with brown-haired parents being blonde.

According to some Ninjago fans, if you don't perfectly match both your parents, one cheated. Which is wrong. If you think Misako cheated/Wu is Lloyd's 'real biological dad' in 2024, stay the fuck away from me.

The idea Misako cheated is just another bullshit way to claim Misako didn't love her family. Misako loved everyone in her family even if she had to make drastic decisions to protect them, and I wish some people would stop villianizing her. Even if it's not as common anymore, it still happens, and it makes me MAD.

[epickiya722]

Quit throwing your pointless headcanons, you're not Gege Akutami, he made YutaMaki Canon. End of discussion, you and your shipping fandom are the worst, ignoring Canon stuff for the sake of stupid ships, NO ONE in Gege's work is gay, those are just sick and stupid headcanons, if you all are so pressed about making up stuff that you claim Gege making, show the proof. Show the proof where it says he stated everyone are gay come on. I dare you

Anon, come here. Come give me a hug, okay? You seem like you need it. Are you having a bad day or something? It's okay, we all have our bad days.

Now, Anon, if you saw my headcanons "pointless", why didn't you just ignore them?

You called me "pressed" but I'm not the one sending a raging message in someone's inbox over, what did you say, headcanons. Anon, I'm very disappointed in you, honestly.

You demand of me to show "proof" for my headcanons, but why? I genuinely don't understand why should I do that. They're headcanons, right? Based on feeling and interests, right? Why do I need evidence for feelings?

Now, I feel like it's only fair that you show me how that ship is canon. Maybe I read the wrong manga, but I didn't see them kiss or anything. Maki didn't even get mentioned in any of the epilogues that I can recall.

"Ignoring canon stuff for the sake of your stupid ships". Actually, Anon, a lot of why people ship is because of canon material. People ain't shipping NobaMaki out of nowhere. In canon, we literally have Maki and Nobara having that cute scene back in season 1. ShokoHime are freaking drinking buddies and are always happy to see each other. I could go all day about the canon stuff between ItaFushi and don't get me started on SatoSugu. Do not get me started!

Seriously, Anon, what could have I possibly have done to you to attack me? Rather aggressive, you know. It's actions like that is why shipping culture ain't getting better.

Think, Anon, think!

Which is worse? Someone posting their headcanons that could easily be ignored and scrolled past? Or someone sending angry messages to someone's inbox over said headcanons that again can be easily ignored?

I don't know about you, but I'm choosing the latter.

I'm guessing, just a guess now, you're one of those Yuta/Maki shippers who get mad that not everyone ships them, right? If like people should only stick to "canon" because "it's what's right, no gay"! On the side, maybe only acknowledges that "Maki loves Yuta and she's only meant to be his wife" and sees her as such and not the great female character she is? Hm?

In your spare time you purposely scroll through the tags of ships you "hate" to target people because maybe you're bored, want to start a little chaos? Feeling miserable that not everyone cares about your ship?

Again, just a guess.

I'm still trying to figure why you came at me all hostile. Like if your ship is "canon" you shouldn't feel threatened by anything I post about my ship. You "won", right? Why are you wasting time here and not celebrating? You can't allow me to suffer in sadness, oh woe is me, Gege didn't make my ship canon? By the way, that's sarcasm.

Unlike you, I'm not angry over people shipping whatever is canon and not canon. I'm rather more interested in posting about my ships. Rather be happy than angry. Try it, Anon. No, I am serious. I think of you stop worrying about what other people ship, you'll be genuinely happier.

Anyways, I hope you have a nice day! (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

[days-until-burnout]

the clockers meet the family. It’s awkward for Etho.

now that's a comedy i want to see _____

📧 Day 114 (b) -

Characters - Etho, Cleo, Scar, Bdubs, Joel & Gem Words - 454 Time - 15 mins Content - Hermitcraft!Etho, LimLif!Clockers and WL!Family

Etho sits in the makeshift table with shulkers for stools and chests as the central table. Across from him, Cleo sits, wearing something colorful and familiar yet he cannot quite place. They look at him with a raised brow, lips slightly turned because there is something he is not getting that is apparently very obvious to her. Etho would like to guess, if only he could hear his own thoughts. 

Gem and Joel are on his right, laughing loudly, and rather maliciously as they poke and poke at Scar and Bdubs on his left. The four of them, like Cleo, are wearing some clothes he has never seen but feels like he has. 

Gem is wearing some overalls and her pale skin is stained with oil. Joel is wearing a sleeveless jacket, also with stained oil marks. Etho assumes they are working with some sort of vehicle, not quite redstone, probably. On the other hand, Scar is wearing a striped shirt with buttons undone and Bdubs is wearing a simple white shirt and black pants. Despite those and Cleo coming as a trio, Bdubs is not matching unlike Gem and Joel. 

When he tunes back into the conversation, he finds Cleo staring at him, still waiting for something to click in his head. And casually, he looks away, quickly tabbing to see where the other hermits are. 

The five of them are clearly there, looking nothing like the ones sitting in front of him. Joel throws some peas at Bdubs, and it almost fools Etho into thinking this is the Joel he knows. 

“Dad! Tell Joel to stop!”

The room halts, and the flying peas are very hard to ignore. One hits Bdubs’ forehead, Joel and Gem breaking into quiet giggles. 

“Dad? What’s this? What’s Tango, then?” Gem laughs. 

“A member of TIES, duh,” Bdubs retorts, sticking his tongue out at her. 

Gem tilts her head, looking at Etho, “Thought you three were the Tuff Guys?”

“Tuff Guys?” Cleo asks, baffled. “Wait a minute—” she pinches the bridge of her nose, looking between the pairs on either side then at Etho, finally sighing, “You’re not our Etho, are you?”

Etho blinks, looking at the plates, the peas on the table, then back at them with a sheepish smile. “I have no idea who you are.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, then,” Scar jumps in, turning his body to face him, even turning the shulker a little. “You don’t have to be an absentee father now. Start again, fresh and such.”

Gem and Joel exchange looks, giving a couple to Etho, clearly taking in his plea for help. Rather, and unsurprisingly, they simply burst into a fit of laughter, almost falling off their seats in doing so.

_____

gemjoel are so helpful are they not. in a family dynamic, they would be the youngest with bdubs being the middle child. you cannot change my mind ヾ(•ω•`)o

[click for a random day]

[leslieseveride]

JUST LOOK HOW WORRIED MY BABYGIRL IS WTH 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[pastorfutureletthembe]

Lu Guang is about to enter the stage. It's not the first night of the representation, he knows his lines perfectly. As a comedian, he has some liberty, he can improve, he can give his own interpretation of the character through emotions and gesture, but ultimately he has to stick to the plot. I also think the curtain has strong connotations. First, he knows what's on both sides. What the audience sees, must see, the fact the show must go on whatever happens behind the scenes. Second, here, the curtain has the 4th wall role, when the boundaries between reality and fiction/fantasy blur. The curtain's motif is a starry sky, and we all know by now that stars are often seen on merch. I personally believe it also gives Lu Guang a godly role, as the "man in the sky" or "who can rip the fabric of the universe." He has great powers, great responsibilities as well, and the fact he's the only one who the countdown posters hint on his powers (the blue eye hidden in the darkness of the curtains), underlines that idea. I'll always refer to Odin whenever Lu Guang's eyes shine in official artworks, so I don't want to be redundant but there it is:

Behind him, behind the scenes, a real starry sky exists. Does it mean a fake universe is only hiding a real, more complex, one? Does it mean that Lu Guang is playing a fictional character in an ersatz of what was/is, but the reality of tragic and traumatic events still weight on him? Truth be told, Lu Guang thinks he has control over this world, because it exists in a bubble, in a timeloop. In actuality, Lu Guang is playing a game he doesn't know the rules of, but soon enough, the pros are going to show him how it's done. He's in kindergarten, guys.

Is Cheng Xiaoshi banned from the theater or is he the main character of the play? His poster is one we could regard as the play's poster, it involves mystery to be uncovered, and the only way he can do it is through a photograph. There is the banner, telling us it's forbidden to go there. The manor is behind him. It reminds me of SKYFALL in James Bond haha. Going back to the origins. He's truly going through the Fool's journey towards his end.

I'm just going to put this here, no further comment needed:

I also think it's interesting that Cheng Xiaoshi and Liu Xiao are fully facing us.

Qiao Ling seems to be aware to be both a character and a performer. She is in transition, in contemplation. She has an award for her performance but she seems to be troubled. It's only natural that my mind goes to the portrait of Dorian Gray looking at this artwork. “The portrait” becomes an autonomous, independent entity through mirrors, in which Dorian meets his distorted self: all that is irrational, instinctive and hidden in his own psyche. Through Oscar Wilde's masterpiece, we witness the interplay between self-perception, the fear of aging, and the pursuit of eternal youth. Even though the obvious parallel would be with Narcissus, I do think it echoes Qiao Ling's flower, hyacinth, in the young and fragile existence except in her case, you can add mourning into the mix. The theme also relates to obsession. Qiao Ling is known to put things under the rug, not facing the issues of her shortcomings, but she obviously wants to change that. The "connecting dots" imagery we saw in the PV released lately shows she's on a journey herself.

I still think Xia Fei's role this season is to be only a tool, a face and body to be borrowed, a playable character. He is the star of the show, and his position looks a bit like the Mona Lisa. Meaning, he is and is supposed to be beautiful, perfect, iconic. He is mysterious because we know nothing of him and can only theorize. He personifies whatever we want. That's who he is as well: a mirror to our desires, subjects to interpretation. That is what struck me at first sight, though. Mona Lisa. We also see his shadow and I think it is an important clue. Presenting as a white piece, a pawn, could it be that his dark side is the most overlooked warning of death?

As I mentioned before, Liu Xiao is there to meet his favorite performer, Lu Guang. There is a hint of parasocial relationship there; delusion and obsession. In 2024, being part of the audience is powerful. A spectator has a voice and the mass community, a fandom for example, can influence production and representation. It is an external force and you better want it in your corner. He also could be a producer. Either way, the goal is to impress, please him, and you are probably nothing without him. He has all the access behind the scenes, he can try and recruit, he's here for his own profit and he has the power to destroy careers. Through him, though, it is easier to reach a goal.

Vein, I have little to say. He's shown as wealthy and I think that's a way to tell us he is powerful and takes his power and influence for granted. People like this, they don't like when their authority is challenged. Maybe there is some chinese culture at play that I don't know about. We often forget Link Click is a chinese media but social and cultural context bleed into the story more often than not so I'll be happy to know a chinese myth is hidden in plain sight there.

Lu Guang about to pass through the curtains [and step onto the stage].

Cheng Xiaoshi is outside with his camera, banned from entering the theatre.

Qiao Ling looking into the vanity mirror but not getting ready in any way

Xia Fei looking like a big star with his team of assistants helping him prepare

Liu Xiao sitting at the front and carrying a bouquet [for his favorite performer]

Finally, Vein, in his own private VIP booth or something

[aroacettorney]

dont mind me. im simply just putting together a ludgercasey angst collection.

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[cestacruz]

Mmm Jeanne

[nakakabaliw]

check out my mouthwashing hcs : ] artist notes and explanation under the cut!!!

JIMMY - I found most of their last names in the mouthwashing reddit and as I searched up the surname Zare, it seemed to be of Iranian origin, hence why he's Iranian American to me. I like to think he was already pale and sickly looking before but during the game events he just looks. Worse. DAISUKE- Juarez is fairly a Filipino/Mexican name but I'm sticking with Filipino purely bc i believe he can do the budots. Anywho, I took his Early skintone from the official emojis in the steam page and tried to incorporate the ingame skintone with it, mixing it up a little so hes not completely washed out. ANYA- Im biased when doing her nationality HC bc ive been learning french and I learned from reddit that her last name is Japanese so thats interesting : ] now I think she and Daisuke have something to bond over at least. Anywho, I like to believe she has her particular style of makeup, and she used to have foundation that wouldve made her skin brighter bc shes really pale. Her ingame skintone is even paler than her usual bc of no sun. Also yes, she looks worse bc of fatigue bc i can only imagine the struggle and sleepless nights patching curly up. Shes still very beautiful though!!!! SWANSEA- Nothing much to write home about, just regular signs of aging, searching up his name on google (his name is a welsh town apparently), but his card shows a broken nose! Or maybe its the way the card is bent. I love to believe the former. CURLY - So we dont have a Curly ID so I made my own, freshly promoted Curly. His hair changing is a reference to my hair changing (im also blonde) and bc i think hes p neat so he has that. Hes Canadian British bc hes the whitest white man you can ever white. Maybe a sprinkle of irish but thats it. like 9% Irish from his mother's side or something. His curls stopped curling curling because I doubt he'd have too much time worrying abt them atp when the ship atmosphere fucks it up anyways.

[arminsumi]

ㅤ★ ONETWOTHREEFOUR — MAX!

... bully!Gojo loves fucking you in the bathroom stall, turning his creampies into whipped cream inside you. But you know what else he loves? Plugging you up with a vibrator and surprising you by turning it on mid-lecture — and passing the control over to his best friend.

ㅤ★ requested by anon / promptlist

ㅤ★ cws; strictly no under 18s, smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, secret public sex/nearly caught (poor confused Choso just getting moaned at), multiple orgasms/creampies, remote toy control, Suguru gets passed the remote, dirty talk, some spanking/ass slapping

There's just no way he can reach your little hole without bending his knees — and still you have to be poised on your tippy toes to let him fuck you.

Body shuddering with your hands splayed against the bathroom stall's pretty pink wall, your skirt fisted in his big hands and your thong pushed to the side of your puffy lips, bully!Gojo thrusts into your poor overused pussy 'till she cries, 'till she gushes, 'till he groans and releases another cumload against your cervix, 'till he turns his creampies into whipped cream.

Sure, his cockhead is oversensitive from plunging into your wet walls, and his balls are sore from slapping into your poor puffy clit for creampie after creampie, and yeah, there's cum dripping down the front of his thighs— but he's fucking you to put you in your place. And with how addicted he is to the feeling of being inside you, getting his pretty pink cock hugged tight by your walls, he just can't stop now.

His hips practically move on their own. His cock keeps telling him not to pull out just yet — it's telling him let's let her have it.

In mock affection, he presses his sweaty cheek against your forehead, white wispy bangs sticking to your skin, eyes glued to your jiggling breasts, big hand coming down to rub your clit. "Insensitive, huh?" he asks in a dangerous coo, "I'll show ya how fucking insensitive I can be." and with that, he's frantically massaging circles on your super fucking sensitive clit.

"Ah! Fuck! T-t-toruuu, I'm sorry! I didn't even mean it, I was just a-angryyy!" you sob out, feeling his mean cockhead rubbing sweet spots deep inside you.

His clit rubbing is ruthless, and he's a messy boy you know he doesn't care that his fingers and palm are coated with your slick.

"Nah, you meant it." he grunts back, blue eyes piercing you with a glare, hips pounding into you from the back, muscles twitchy 'n tensing, "Now stay still 'n take it. I told'ya I was gonna fuck that attitude out of ya, didn't I?"

You let out a strangled moan at his words, nearly going limp against the shuddering bathroom stall's wall. Satoru presses your head against it, smushing your cheek, getting rougher by the second.

He's still tightly fisting your skirt in his hand, other hand sometimes tugging harshly on your pathetically tiny thong — the one he told you to wear today, or else he's gonna throw one of his spoiled rich boy tantrums. He can't resist groping at your soft ass and spreading your ruby red smacked cheeks wide.

Satoru momentarily stills inside you, choking you up with how deep he chooses to keep his throbbing cock, and then he repositions himself; sharp polished black shoes clicking as he spreads his long legs further apart.

"New angle, hope ya like it." he jokes, angling his cock so it curves right against the gummy roof of your pussy, right against that spot.

"Oh fuck!" you cry out when he starts pounding up into your hole, nearly lifting you off your feet with the force of each thrust, makin' your sweaty body jiggle erotically.

He watches you widen your eyes when his cock hits a sweet spot just right, the one that makes your eyes twitch in pleasure 'n your knees buckle.

You're gushing around him, totally soaking his length, pussy too full of his gooey creampies 'n now they're leaking out and running down your thighs.

His cock hits that damn sweet spot again, with more precision than before.

"Oh fuck, fuck! Right there! Fuck me right there, 'Toru!" you chokingly moan, feeling a shockwave of pleasure pulse from your pussy to every point in your body.

"Damn, chill." he chuckles.

Chill? Of course he'd say that while he's fucking you like he's trying to get you cockdrunk. He's pounding into your gummy walls 'n rubbing your clit with this hate-fueled determination.

All you did was talk back to him in class. Just a cutesy little snide remark. You thought it would turn him on. Well, it did turn him on — it also turned his gaze cold and wiped the smirk off his face. Two things that sent shivers down your spine.

Oh, I'm fucked.

The way he leaned back and hummed had your pussy twitching, already getting wet at the thought of what he was gonna do to put you back in your place.

Whiiich brings us back to the last bathroom stall of the men's bathroom, the stall in which your bully is fucking up your guts and turning you into his personal cocksleeve.

He's close, you can tell because that's when his steady, deep strokes slow and he takes two inches out so he can rub annoyingly back and forth across his favorite ridge inside your pussy. And his tell-tale signs? Choppy breathing, brows twisted together, tightened grip on your body, 'n he's got this psychotic smile forming on his face which he likes to press against your sweaty forehead to let ya know how much he's enjoying bullying you.

Just feeling all his cum getting fucked out of your quivering hole makes you want to cum again. It's almost scary. What if you fall apart? You might even scream this time. Nah, who cares honestly? You can't control how your walls squeeze his cock now even though he bitterly scolds you for being too tight, too tiny to take him all.

You can hardly hear the nasty vocabulary he's using on you, 'cause you're too fucked-out on his thick cock, not even caring if the squelching sounds and choking moans escape under the door and echo down your college's corridors. Even if anyone barged in, Satoru would probably just do what he did last week — when someone barged into the spare room while he was in heat 'n balls deep in your pussy — tell 'em to fuck off.

"Fuck me." Satoru groans, "That hot little pussy 's gonna make me cum... 'm gonna cum... gonna fill you up... ahah... fuck."

He's just the type to giggle during the buildup to his orgasm. It sounds almost psychotic — yeah, you knew from day one that he's crazy and his cock is crazy.

His cock gets hotter, then it bursts with thick ropes of cum once again. The both of you savor in the feeling. It's in the aftershocks of his orgasm that Satoru wonders if he's actually falling in love with you.

Then he snaps-to.

"Shit, you're a fucking mess." Satoru grins almost sadistically, sweating like crazy under his uniform.

You're just shivering against the wall as he eases his cum-coated cock out your pussy, sliding past your folds. Cheek smushed against the wall, face looking like you just saw heaven for an hour, you're relishing the buzzy afterglow of getting fucked dumb by your bully.

His hard slap on your ass brings you back to reality. You hear the sound of him pulling his pants up his long legs, dragging up his zipper. The click of his button. Then he plants another hard slap on your stinging cheek.

You groan, teasingly wiggling your cum-filled pussy, feeling his big hands groping the plush of your cheek and spreading it to reveal your twitchy holes — and he just keeps grinning, watching his seed ooze out 'n drip down your pretty thighs — those thighs that are the reason he chased you in the first place.

You'd think he's looking at the Mona Lisa with how he marvels at the sight — but nah, it's just his white, gooey creampies smeared across your lips and inner thighs. "Aw, don't let it drip out or 'm gonna need to plug ya up..."

Trembling, you listen to him unzipping his backpack and rifling around. "What d'you mean?" you ask, looking back at him with a dazed afterglow on your face, but when you do he's already sliding something into your pussy.

"Ahhh, fuck!" you squirm, feeling that hot pink toy push inside and stretch open your cum-soaked walls again. "I'm so tired, gimmie a break!"

"Relaaax, it's just to plug ya up..." he grins mischievously.

"Oh... o-okay... if you say so."

Oh, but what a liar he is.

It's ten minutes after you and him cleaned up and scurried off to your class and took your seats.

Shit — late again. You curse Satoru and his dummy big cock as you settle down.

... then you feel something start to buzz inside you.

"Oh!?" you let out a small gasp.

Vibrations against your sweet spots make your eyes flicker. Your filled pussy freaks out, spasming and twitching like crazy around the toy.

You give a glare of disbelief back at Satoru, who sat two rows behind and above you — duh, so he could always get a nice view of your breasts.

He sees you. He smirks. He raises a pink little controller shaped like a flat egg, and tauntingly shakes it in his hand before clicking a button.

One notch up.

"Nn!" you tighten around the toy.

He watches you freak out from afar, his sweaty face contorting into a diabolically naughty smirk.

Two notches up. Three notches. Off. Onetwothreefour — you gulp and smack the desk — earning a look from your seatmate, Choso.

The toy temporarily turns off.

"... sorry, this question is just so frustrating." you apologize, playing off your random desk smack.

"Yeah, tell me about it. I'm failing this class for sure."

"S-same, honestly." you reply shakily, soothingly rubbing up and down your clenched thighs.

You text Satoru with fervency.

You

'just a plug' my ass! wtf is this thing!

Toru

lol 🍑🔜 and chill... it's just a lil something i picked up for ya

You

ur the devil. i hate u.

Toru

ur hurting my feelings 🥺

Onetwothreefour — max!

"Fuck...!" you gasp again, feeling a dizzy rush as the toy buzzes at max deep inside your pussy.

Choso gives you a concerned side-glance.

"Sounds like you're really having a rough day." he jokes.

You look at him. He's sitting pretty close.

"You have no ideaaaaaahhhhhhh~" you moan back, accidentally cumming right there in front of your classmate.

Immediately clapping your hand over your mouth, you blink at him. Oh no... you just orgasmically moaned against poor, confused Choso's face.

His eyes widen. He blinks. " H u h ? "

Satoru sees this and slides down in his seat, holding in his laughter behind a toothy smile, pearly whites all on display. Now his best friend gives him a look.

"Satoru..." Suguru sighs, catching onto what was happening. "Give the girl a break."

"You wanna try?" he offers Suguru the remote control.

Suguru looks at it. He looks at you, then Satoru, then the toy... and takes it into his hand and chuckles with his best friend behind their textbooks, clicking it to a new pattern.

You just twitch your eyes and then shut them in pleasure, cursing the both of them in your mind while you feel your thighs tremble and feel the toy pulsing. Your pussy squeezes the pink silicone.

And you can hear those dastardly best friends giggling behind your back, watching you wiggle in pleasure, trying to contain your moans. Every time you glance back at them, Satoru makes mocking ahegao faces at you. Suguru just smirks and continues to play with the vibrator.

Oh, you were definitely gonna get 'em back for this.

© 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢���𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢

𝐓𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 💗

[sincerelyneo]

diet pepsi | n.jm

“losing all my innocence in the back seat”

📀now playing: diet pepsi by addison rae

❯ summary: Jeno has one rule — his little sister is not allowed at street races. Jaemin knows this, and still, he can’t help but feel a thrill when he spots you sneaking out to watch him race. That is, until he sees you with another guy, and suddenly, he’s all in favor of Jeno’s rule. And he’s pretty sure that rule also means he should intervene and give you a ride home.

❯ pairings: jaemin x virgin fem!reader

❯ genre: brother’s best friend, smut, racing!au

❯ words: 5.6k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, swearing, arguing, jealously, pet names, car sex, unprotected sex (don’t do this!), oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering, virginity loss, slight corruption kink, bit of angst, ‘daddy’ mentioned once but not in a kink way?, jaemin is lowkey a dramatic asshole in the first half, mention of marking, reader uses she/her pronouns, literally just a jealous brother’s best friend trope because it eats every time

Jaemin’s blood runs cold when he sees you—wait, what are you even doing here?

He’s never been so tense in the driver’s seat before. He’s usually all calm and controlled, razor-focused on the track, with only one thing on his mind: winning. And he’s pretty damn good at it. But today, he can’t seem to focus. Not with you—Jeno’s little sister—standing right there on the sidelines, sticking out like a beacon in a crowd of rowdy onlookers.

So out of place, timid and awkward. Normally, he’d find it cute if he wasn’t so pissed that you’re even here. You don’t belong among his reckless racer friends, the ones with wandering eyes; and the girls with short skirts, heavy perfume, and sharp eyeliner.

He’s never been this distracted at the starting line before, never found anything particularly interesting to gaze at through his freshly cleaned windshield. But there you are. 

Ripped blue jeans clinging to every curve that he’s spent years thinking about—too many nights with his hand wrapped around his cock, imagining how his fingers would mold and print into the soft flesh of your skin. And those cherry-red lips—they make pride swell in his chest, a small thrill from knowing he’s the only racer here with a red car. It’s probably just a coincidence, but Jaemin lets the possessive part of his mind take over, because he wants nothing more than to see that red smeared around your cheeks as he kisses you—wants it to stain him like a claim.

God, what’s he even thinking?

You’re his best friend’s little sister. Off-limits.

Speaking of which, why are you here? Jeno’s not racing tonight, and he’d kill you if he found out. Actually, Jeno would kill him, even though Jaemin had no idea you’d even show up. Jeno hated you being at the races on a good day, let alone when he wasn’t here to keep an eye on things.

And maybe that’s why, for the first time, Jaemin’s gaze drifts to his side mirror as he speeds off. Because Jeno’s not here to watch over you—so he has to. Yeah, that’s it. It’s for Jeno’s sake. Definitely not because he’s worried about you. And definitely not because he likes the way your cherry-red lips part in a cheer—a cheer he likes to imagine is all for him.

Who’s he kidding? Jaemin loves knowing you’re here, watching him race. Honestly, it’s the biggest rush he’s ever felt—the purest shot of adrenaline—and he’s never pushed this hard on the track. But right now, he only wants to win for you.

And he does, slamming on the brakes, coming to a screeching halt the second he crosses the finish line. A few friends clap him on the back as he gets out of his car, congratulating him, but he doesn’t care about them. He only wants you—to hear you say he did great, to see that proud look in your eyes. He wants you to beg him not to yell at you for sneaking in tonight… or worse, promise he won’t tell Jeno.

Except, Jaemin’s not so sure he can negotiate on the “no yelling” part of that deal. Not when he spots you in the crowd, looking up at Jisung. Jisung, who’s got your attention on him instead of his win. Jisung, who’s making you laugh—and Jaemin knows he’s not that funny. Jisung, who’s handing you a can of Diet Pepsi—and you’re just taking it, smiling at him with those red lips, lips that don’t belong to him. 

Jaemin knows Jisung doesn’t have a bad bone in his body—Christ, the guy wouldn’t hurt a fly, and he’s one of his racer friends. Still, he doesn’t like the way you lean in when you laugh or how you’re looking up at him with pretty eyelashes fluttering. It makes something stir in him, something sharp and possessive. Without thinking, he storms over, snatching the damn can from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours in the process.

You gasp, the sound almost too soft, "Woah, Jaem–"

"What are you doing here, Y/N?

You stumble back, heart skipping in your chest. He’s looking at you like he’s about to devour you whole. Gaze locked with yours, primal and urgent, scanning you with a heat that makes your breath hitch, throat going suddenly dry. You came here to see him—no one else. But the way his eyes are on you now...you don’t know whether telling him that would be a good idea. 

You swallow hard, feeling small beneath the weight of his stare. “I—uh, I—I’m just… here to watch,” you mumble. "I didn’t think it’d be a big deal..."

Jaemin doesn’t respond right away, his eyes narrowing as they flick over you, then over to Jisung, then back to you. "Alone?" he finally asks. "You just showed up here by yourself?"

“Well yeah–I didn’t think anyone would mind..."

"Jeno’s gonna fucking kill you when he hears about this," he mutters exhaling sharply, the tension in his jaw is visible as he crosses his arms. "You know he doesn’t like you being here.” His eyes flicker to Jisung for a moment before they shift back to you, a little colder. "And I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to know you’re accepting drinks from other racers, huh?”

Your brow furrows, a tinge of annoyance creeping in. "It’s just a can of Diet Pepsi, it’s not—"

Jaemin cuts you off. "It doesn’t matter what it is," he snaps. "What matters is that you’re here, without telling anyone where you were going. Without Jeno knowing." He shakes his head in disbelief. 

You scoff. "I’m an adult, Jaemin. Jeno’s not my keeper, and neither are you–"

Jaemin’s jaw tightens, and something flickers in his eyes—something dark. But just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone. "That’s not the point, Y/N," he growls, his voice lowering. "The point is you’re here, at a street race, by yourself. You think that’s smart? You think that’s safe?" He takes a step closer.  "What if something happened to you?" 

"I’m fine, Jaemin. I can take care of myself, okay?" Your voice cracks, frustration spilling out, but the sound doesn’t make Jaemin soften like it usually would.

He steps even closer, towering over you, his presence dominating, and you can feel his breath on your face, hot and quick. “This—this shit—" he gestures around to the crowd, the cars, the racers that surround you both, "this is not safe for you. You shouldn’t be here."

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, jaw set as you refuse to back down. "Why? You and Jeno come here every other weekend?” What’s the big deal?" 

"The big deal, Y/N, is that you're a pretty girl, surrounded by a bunch of horny assholes who'd love nothing more than to corrupt a sweet little thing like you."

Your breath catches in your throat, and your mouth goes dry as his words hit you like a punch. You blink, trying to process, but the anger in his eyes is enough to make your pulse quicken. Jaemin must realize what he’s said because there's a brief moment of hesitation. He clears his throat, trying to regain control.

"And you never told anyone," he tries to add, his voice a little less steady now, "And you're letting random guys buy you drinks—"

"I already told you. It was just a Diet Pepsi, Jaemin. You’re blowing this way out of proportion!" You cut him off. 

You don’t even know what you’re arguing about anymore— and you’re pretty sure he doesn’t either—it’s like he’s mad for the sake of being mad, the two of you going around in circles.

And frankly, you're tired of it. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. You’ve always had a thing for Jaemin, and now was supposed to be your chance—your shot to make him see you as more than just Jeno’s little sister. You knew he’d be distracted with the race, but you thought if you showed up, maybe he’d finally notice you, really see you. But instead, he’s making it perfectly clear that you’ll never be anything more than that girl he feels the need to protect.

“Stop treating me like a child, Jaemin,” you sigh. “I��m not some fragile little girl who needs you to babysit her." 

You turn on your heel, ready to walk away from him, but before you can take more than a few steps, Jaemin’s hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

"No. We’re not done talking."

He steps forward again, grip on your limbs tight but not painful, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s pulling you toward the exit, the sound of your shoes hitting the pavement is far too loud in the heavy silence that’s settled. 

"Jaemin, wait!" You tug against him, stumbling slightly, trying to free your wrist from his grasp. "I’m not going anywhere with you. I told you, I don’t need you babysitting me—"

"I’m not asking." His voice is low and final. "You’re going home, and you’re going with me."

"Let go of me!" You hiss, still trying to yank free, but he just tightens his grip, pulling you with him as if you’re a ragdoll.

Jaemin finally stops, turning to face you, his eyes sharp with frustration. He growls at your protesting, stepping into your personal space. "I’m taking you home, Y/N. Don’t argue with me."

You stare up at him, chest heaving with anger and something else—something you don’t want to admit to yourself. "You’re insufferable," you mutter, but it’s weak. 

You know you’re defeated. There’s no point in fighting him anymore. His presence is suffocating, overwhelming, and every fibre of your body knows he’s not going to let this go until he’s got you back home. You have no choice but to comply really. And you groan whilst slipping into the passenger seat of his car, imagining the story he’s going to muster up for your brother. 

Jaemin gets into the driver’s seat, his body tense and irritated, and you almost feel bad that he can’t celebrate his win—almost. He places the can of Diet Pepsi in the cup holder, the soft clink of the can echoing through the car. Then, without breaking his focus, his gaze flicks to you, his voice low and commanding.

“Seatbelt.”

You huff, rolling your eyes as you slide it on. “Yes, daddy.” 

The moment the words leave your mouth, Jaemin’s jaw tightens, the muscle flexing under his skin. His eyes darken for a split second, a dangerous glint flashing, something that makes your pulse stutter for just a moment. His fingers curl around the steering wheel, gripping it a little tighter than necessary as he tries to compose himself.

He clears his throat, shifting slightly in his seat, nostrils flaring. “Don’t push your luck, Y/N.”

You sink into your seat with a sigh. The silence in the car hangs as he drives, thick with awkwardness and annoyance. Your throat still feels dry from the argument, and before you can even think about it, you reach for the can. The cold metal soothes your fingertips. But the second your lips brush against the rim, you can feel Jaemin’s eyes on you—hot, intense, and focused.

You can feel him watch your every move, and as you pull the drink away from your lips, his eyes narrow in on the red stain your lipstick left on the silver rim. His grip on the steering wheel tightens, jaw tightening with it, his gaze flickering between your lips and the can in your hand. Without warning, he snatches it from your fingers, one hand still on the wheel, eyes focused and full.

Then, Jaemin presses his own lips against the spot where yours just were, right over the mark you left. Sipping the drink slowly — savouring it.

“What the hell are you doing?” you ask, voice a little breathless, startled.

Jaemin’s eyes widen, and for a split second, his grip tightens on the can before he abruptly pulls it away from his mouth, tossing it into the cup holder without a second glance. His brows furrow as he tries to make sense of his own actions, as if he’s suddenly aware of how ridiculous he must look. His mind is reeling—over a simple lipstick mark on the rim of a can. Something so innocent, yet it’s driving him crazy.

He clears his throat, trying to regain an ounce of composure, but his voice cracks slightly. "I was, uh..." He hesitates, biting back a sharp breath, his eyes flickering to the road before snapping back to you. "Just making sure it wasn’t spiked…?"

It sounds weak, even to his own ears, and he knows you’re not buying it. The way your lips part tells him everything. You narrow your eyes at him, a little too sharp for comfort. 

“Spiked?” You glance at the cup holder, where the can now sits innocently. “How would you even know from the taste, Jaemin? Not to mention Jisung gave me this, that boy wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Jaemin knows that. Still, he curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair as the frustration builds in his chest. His entire excuse is a mess, just like the thoughts spinning in his head.

"Look, let’s call it precautionary, okay?" His voice is clipped and there’s a tightness to it. "Don’t make it a big deal."

You lean back in the seat, a small bitter laugh escaping you. “Me making things a big deal? Oh, the irony.”

He doesn’t respond or bite back or try for the final word and it makes the silence thicker. Jaemin’s grip on the wheel is so tight his knuckles are white, and honestly, you don’t know how long you can keep doing this.

“You're impossible, you know that?" The words slip out before you can stop them, and your chest tightens as soon as they do. "I didn't come here for you to babysit me or make me feel like I need your protection. I came here because I—" You stop yourself. 

Jaemin's head snaps to you, "Because you what?" 

For a second, you can’t speak. The words are right there, but they feel too big, too much to let out. You’re caught between the urge to spill it all or keeping it hidden, scared to change the dynamic. But you’ve been pretending for too long, playing by the rules, and now, you want to stop hiding.

“I came here because I wanted you to see me,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Not as Jeno’s little sister. Not as some kid. I wanted you to see me… as me.”

Jaemin doesn’t react, not at first – well, he does, but it’s subtle. His hands go completely white around the wheel, his jaw clenched so tight you can almost hear it. Without saying a word, he pops the indicator on and pulls over, the tyres screeching slightly as he brings the car to a sudden stop.

You freeze, and a small wave of panic bubbles up inside your chest. Did you say the wrong thing? Did you make it weird? He’s your brother’s best friend, and now you’ve crossed that weird line that’s bound to make everything awkward. Jeno’s gonna kill you.

You swallow hard, waiting for him to snap, to tell you how messed up this whole thing is.

But he kisses you. 

His hand on your cheek, without warning, pulling you into him, and consuming your lips with a force that steals the air from your lungs. It’s not gentle like you expected him to be. He’s typically always gentle with you — unless he’s mad, which right now, he is. This kiss is desperate. Hungry. And you like it because it’s the kind of kiss that makes your body forget how to breathe. The kind of kiss that tells you he doesn’t see you like a kid – like Jneo’s little sister.

“You drive me fucking insane, you know that?” Jaemin growls, nudging your noses together. His hands find your waist, to grip it. “You walk around in those jeans clinging to your ass, with your cheeks flushed, and that fucking lipstick the same shade as my car.”

You giggle softly against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You noticed?”

“Of course I fucking noticed,” he groans.

Jaemin’s lips trail down your jawline, each kiss slow, and teasing, and needy. The desperation in his movements is evident like he’s trying to savour every inch of your skin. The feeling is foreign to you—each soft press of his lips sends a rush of heat through your body. The simple touches make you gasp, drawing a low, satisfied groan from him as he feels the reaction in your body.

His breath catches, lips brushing softly along the sensitive curve of your neck as he pulls you closer. His hands tighten around your waist, and the pleading in his voice intensifies, but there’s no mistaking the hunger in it. He’s holding back, trying to keep his composure.

“Tell me this is a bad idea, Y/N,” he whispers, his lips grazing your skin with kisses. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

Your breath is shallow and you can’t help the way your body reacts to him. The way your hands find their way into his hair, fingers threading through it as you desperately tug on it, unsure of what else to do. 

“Please, angel, you have to say no,” he murmurs into your neck, his voice low and desperate. 

“Don’t want to,” you whimper, shaking your head again. “Want you, Jaem. Always wanted you. Only you.”

"Fuck..." he groans, his lips trailing away from your skin to look at you.

And what a pretty sight you are. Eyes glazed with lust, pupils blown wide, dilated with something raw and needy. So innocent, so forgiving, so eager – so fucking his. It’s enough to make him painfully hard, though he was already straining. Hearing you say you've always wanted him – and only him – had already sent a rush of heat straight to his cock.

Jaemin can’t help himself. His hand reaches out to caress your cheek again, his thumb teasing the softness of your bottom lip. You gasp, and his pupils darken, fixating on the way your mouth parts, the red colour staining his thumb. It’s everything he’s ever dreamed of—a perfect fantasy. 

“You’re gonna get me in so much trouble, gorgeous.”

He’s still hesitating, and you can feel it — you fucking hate it. Something takes over you, and without thinking, you take his thumb into your mouth, deep, sucking hard. Jaemin practically growls, his lips parting as a hiss escapes him from the sight. 

A switch flips, and in one smooth, deliberate motion, he yanks his thumb from your mouth, kills the engine, and climbs into the backseat. His eyes are sharp as they focus on you, which tells you to follow suit. He doesn’t care that on paper this is a ‘bad idea’. His cock is telling him it’s the best one he’s ever had.

It’s clear the moment you climb into the backseat, the way his body shifts into something animalistic. You try to settle beside him, but Jaemin doesn’t let that happen. He grips the hem of your shirt, yanking you down and onto his lap. The heat from his body radiates through the thin fabric of your clothes, his chest pressing hard against yours as his hands slide possessively around your waist.

His hands roam down your back and you can feel the hard press of him against your ass. It makes your pulse spike and your sweet red lips fall open for him, making him smirk with pride. His lips trail down to your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he murmurs your name, low and rough.

It’s all-consuming. Hot and desperate. Panting and breathless. Bodies moving in sync. The car heats up from your bodies softly grinding against each other. His hands are everywhere. 

“Angel,” he growls, his voice low with restraint, “if you keep grinding on me like that, I won’t be able to stop.”

You bite your lip, keeping your rhythm steady, your hips pressing into his. “Good.”

Jaemin catches a hand around your jaw pulling you away from his lips. “I’m serious, Y/N. Are you sure you want this?”

You nod, your gaze heavy with need.

He shakes his head, “I need words, gorgeous.”

“I want this.”

Such a simple phrase shatters his restraint, unravelling him completely. With a growl, he tosses you onto the back seat, lips trailing hotly down your body until he’s between your legs. His fingertips graze the waistband of your jeans, and he leans in, voice a low whisper.

“Can I?”

You nod, but he shakes his head, his eyes dark with hunger. “Say it.”

“Yes...” You breathe, the word barely escaping your lips, but it’s all he needs.

The jeans slide down your hips and ass, past your thighs, until they’re bunched around your ankles. Jaemin’s eyes flicker down, landing on your panties—darkened with dampness.

"So wet from just a little grinding?" He raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "So fucking cute."

A rush of heat floods your chest. You’ve never done this before. And suddenly, it’s all too much, too fast. His words, your own desperate need, the car, the argument... everything crashes together. Without thinking, you press your legs closed, embarrassed by your body's reaction.

Jaemin's brows furrow as he watches you closely. "You okay?"

Your cheeks burn with a blush, stuttering as you struggle to find your voice. "I-I-uh," you falter, hoping he’ll say it, ask you the question. But he doesn’t. His eyes are fixed on your mouth, waiting for you to say it.

"I’ve never done this before."

Jaemin’s eyes flicker with something dark before he hums lowly. “You still want this?”

You nod, not trusting your voice.

“Words, Y/N.”

“God—yes.”

A satisfied smirk curves on his lips. “Good,” he murmurs. “Your body’s a fucking work of art I’ve been dying to see, and I never want you to feel embarrassed about showing it to me—and only me, yeah?”

This time, you don’t nod. You meet his gaze, voice steady as you tell him, “Yes. Only you.”

He smiles, hands resting on your knees as he gently eases them apart, his gaze fixed on you, completely mesmerized. If someone had told him this was how he��d be celebrating his win tonight, he’d have laughed in disbelief.

But now, his knuckles brush over the front of your underwear, a feather-light touch that sends a spark through you. Your hips react on their own, bucking slightly as his fingertips tease your sensitive nerves through the thin damp fabric.

“You’re so fucking wet.”

He drags his fingers to your waistband, sneaking underneath to run a soft finger up your slit, drawing a gasp from your lips. He takes that as permission to slip the pair down your legs, meeting the same fate as your jeans somewhere in his car. 

Jaemin keeps his eyes dead set on you as his fingers work to find your clit. The moment he does, he starts working slow, taunting patterns against it, each movement deliberate and unhurried. The sensation is leg-numbing, sending waves of pleasure through you—so much better than when you do it yourself. 

“Tell me how it feels,” he demands, “I wanna know how I’m making you feel. Tell me.”

Your mind is spinning, words slipping through your grasp, and all you can manage is a choked, incoherent moan. It’s not enough for him. Dissatisfied, he sinks his middle finger into your pussy at your silence. You jolt at the intrusion, the feeling intense and foreign, but his eyes stay locked on you, waiting.

“Tell me,” he groans, relishing in the feeling of how tight you grip around his finger.

“F-feels good,” you manage to stammer.

“Yeah?” he taunts, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he slowly picks up the pace. “Want more?”

“Yes–” you nod eagerly. He wastes no time, slipping his ring finger inside to join the first, matching the rhythm, savouring the warmth encapsulating around him, and you unravel beneath him.

You watch him through half-lidded eyes, breaths shallow and quick, completely undone from the tortuous pace of his fingers. Jaemin’s expression softens as he takes you in, a quiet, satisfied coo slipping from his lips.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, “So sweet… so vulnerable just for me.”

A low chuckle escapes him as he feels your walls threatening to tense, wanting to flutter around his fingers, and it sends another wave of pride through him. He shifts his eyes down, and without hesitation, takes your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue in slow, devastating circles.

If he’s going to make you cum for the first time, it’ll be on his fingers and his mouth—he’ll make sure of it.

“S-so good, Jaem—” you gasp, voice trembling as his mouth and fingers work in perfect sync, pushing you closer to the edge.

He hums against you, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through your body. “Yeah?” he murmurs, lips still pressed to your skin. “Gonna let go for me, huh? Let me feel it.”

His words, his touch—it’s all too much, and you can feel every nerve on fire as he coaxes you over the edge until you’re cumming from the steady rhythm of his fingers and the relentless, teasing laps of his tongue. You're a shuddering mess beneath him from the orgasm he’s given you. 

He fucking loves it, looking in complete awe.

As you start to come down, muffled whines still slip from your lips, riding out the aftershocks of your release.

“What is it?” he prods, his voice smooth but persistent, but all you can manage is a frustrated sigh, annoyed with his stupid teasing tone. “Angel..I don’t know what you want if you don’t tell me.”

"All I want is—" You gasp when he lightly brushes your sensitive clit again,"—your cock."

A smug smirk tugs at his lips. His hand slides to rest possessively on your hip as he moves to hover above you, his gaze locking with yours.

“Are you sure?”

You nod, your lashes fluttering with need, and he takes that as permission to rid himself of his pants, his hand wrapping firmly around the base of his cock. He positions himself carefully, just at the edge of your pussy. 

It’s not how you’d pictured your first time—definitely not the romantic, cute scenario you’d always fantasized about. But one thing was certain: Jaemin was here, and that’s all that really mattered. Though, you hadn’t expected him to be this… big.

He picks up on the hesitation in your eyes, sensing the tension coiling tight in your chest.

With deliberate slowness, he slides his length teasingly between your drenched folds, making your breath catch as your nerves tense.

“I’ll take it slow,” he pulls down to murmur against your lips. 

You nod, your lip caught between your teeth, biting down hard enough to taste the metallic tang as he presses his tip against your cunt. His other hand grips your hip, his fingers digging in as he applies pressure, holding you in place. He stays perched above you, eyes fixed on your face. 

"Keep looking at me," he says, watching the way your face squirms. "Please."

His begging has you fighting to keep your eyes from fluttering shut, staying locked on him as you watch the way his pink lips part, the way they twitch, holding back a moan when he inches forward just enough to feel his tip slip past the threshold.

He pushes forward in a slow, savouring motion, and when he finally sinks into you completely, you stretch around him. Your brows furrow, caught between the sting of pain and the rush of pleasure. His teeth catch his lower lip, holding it there as a low, skin-tingling moan rumbles deep in his chest, his body staying still, giving you a moment to adjust.

“Please move,” you beg, barely able to get the words out, desperation lacing your voice.

He struggles to keep his breathing steady as he watches your face, studying it for any sign of discomfort. Once he’s sure you’re fine, he begins to draw his hips back slowly, his movements deliberate and deep, wrecking you as he rolls his hips forward, filling you again.

Your eyes want to flutter shut, the bliss almost too much to keep conscious but you want to please him. Jaemin pulls you closer, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss, and you moan into it, the sound pulling a breathless, stomach-knotting whine from him.

He increases his pace, and you cry out, your head falling back as your hips begin to meet his. One of Jaemin’s hands tightens around the side of your waist, grounding you as he drives deeper, faster, harder — greedy. 

You move feverishly, hips bucking wildly as you try to take him deeper, craving the way his cock stretches you, hitting every nerve with overwhelming pleasure.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he gasps. "Keep looking at me. I wanna see how pretty you look when I’m making you feel good."

You can only respond with a breathless gasp that catches in your throat as he buries himself deeper, rolling against you whilst your nails dig into the fabric on his shoulders.

His hand slips from your hip for a moment, reaching for your fingers to guide them down where your bodies are connected. His fingers curl around yours, bringing your hand to your throbbing clit. You take the hint, fingers moving instinctively to find the sensitive bundle, desperate to ease the tightness building in your abdomen.

"Not gonna last long, angel," he breathes, his voice ragged. "But I need you to feel good."

"Fuck," you whimper. Your hips begin to writhe, chasing the pleasure as every part of your body burns with need.

“So fucking warm and wet and tight,” he groans, forehead slick with sweat. 

Your bodies feel like they’re burning, the car steaming up with heat, the windows fogging so thickly that you leave a handprint on the glass as you steady yourself against Jaemin’s building deliberate thrusts. 

He’s fucking into you with an erotic urgency, as if he’s trying to spill out every fantasy he’s ever had about you since Jeno introduced you. It’s like he’s remembering, all at once, that he’s broken all the rules—off-limits, bro code—and he doesn’t care anymore. Doesn’t regret it one bit. Because the feel of you on his cock is totally worth it.

Your stomach starts to tremble as warmth floods your lower half, your muscles contracting and fluttering around him. The feeling overwhelms you, and it only encourages him to slow his rhythm, to drag out your orgasm as long as possible. 

Jaemin finally caves, moving his face to nuzzle against you. Your hands find his hair, tugging him up so you can kiss along his neck, your lipstick staining his flesh, marking him with that signature red colour.

You keep your hips rolling with his, even after the earth-shattering orgasm he’s just given you. Every cry, whimper, and moan spills from the back of your throat at the force of him, your voice chanting his name in a string of desperate mumbles. Your body convulses and shakes as you clamp around his length, and he grunts at the feeling, whispering praises to coax you through it.

He snaps his hips upward, grinding his body against you to savour the feeling. His muscles begin to shudder, jolting as he gasps for air, his own orgasm hitting him hard.

Hearing and feeling him lost in so much bliss only stretches the aftershocks of your release, both of you a mess of limbs and shameless sounds. Then, you feel him still completely, his release erupting in warm spurts, filling you and making you feel full of him. He’s everywhere—his scent, his kisses, his cum.

You’re left utterly spent, like a limp puddle, but Jaemin stays closely intertwined with you. You both inhale ragged breaths, neither of you daring to break apart. You’re reduced to fluttering glances weak panting and slick skin.

Jaemin’s eyes shift toward the side window, his fingers gently combing through your hair before he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

And when he finally tries to move, there's a sudden clink, and the faint sound of liquid splashing. You both glance down at the Diet Pepsi can now toppled over and spilling its contents all over the car seat. A muffled chuckle escapes Jaemin's lips as he shakes his head.

“That stupid fucking drink,” he mutters with a grin. 

“You should be grateful,” you hum, “Without it, we probably would never have fucked.”

Jaemin shakes his head and laughs, but the humour quickly fades as his expression turns serious. He leans in close again, his lips brushing yours. 

“Not true,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted you ever since I met you. I would’ve made a move eventually.”

“Oh yeah?” You tilt your head, teasing him. “What’s been stopping you?”

“Jeno,” Jaemin says quietly, and it’s like it hits you both at once.

Your stomach twists in knots, the mention of your brother, Jaemin’s best friend, suddenly making everything feel... wrong. 

“What are we gonna tell Jeno?”