#and careless whisper is on there for some reason?

[sqgeism]

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 i know i'm no sweet prince of love | amphoreus men x gender neutral reader

💌 — ; those times that we got drunk ! the look of resentment in your eyes is engraved in his brain like a metal branding, a permanent reminder of what he's lost.

love mail — this was SO weird to write . based off my personal coping mechanisms with break up hashtag author gone through it ( ノД`)… euuurm nothing much else to say #breakupssuck ?

not many people can say they've seen the professor outside of classes recently. it's not as if students actively seek out their teachers often, but fellow staff haven't seen the green haired genius in a while now.

he left only one notice note, that he had important findings in his research and had decided to shift some focus onto it. however he still showed up to his usual classes and what not, it's just he would be harder to reach anywhere after class hours.

and he wasn't lying, but it wasn't the full truth either. anaxa had thrown himself headwork into his workload to both drown himself in a distraction yet be surrounded by the only thing he has left of you.

the lab he built was filled of little details of you, photos, pens you've left behind, a hoodie you gave him one night, and a bottle of your perfume.

staying here feels like you're still in his life, like you'll walk through that door, give him a hug and this repetitive nightmare of waiting will be over. but you don't, and he knows you never will.

it was inevitable anyway, your realization that he was nothing. a vessle holding someone of importance, and nothing else. with a mind meant to decode the mysteries of the world, and had a heart only so he could function. not to feel and definitely not to love, even if your existence proves that statement otherwise.

because the truth of his world is, was that he did love you. he was just fated to never love properly, forever cursed to spend an eternity misunderstood and alone. for love will be the thing that buries him in a grave.

mydei doesn't really know what to do with himself. when he had gone into that relationship, he held onto a hope that it would last forever. but as the life of misfortunes he's lived.. of course it doesn't.

he feels lost for a while, drifting through life on autopilot. of course he still.. is a chrysos heir, he still has duties and a goal, but he just feels a weight in his chest.

the reason he stands tall is because if he ever takes a moment to falter, the weight of his decision will crush him completely. he keeps on moving because he has no choice, for his heart knows his mind well. and that he'd rather let himself dream of the night you told him you loved him than to move to the present. for once, his heart had been wise, knowing this ache would destroy the warrior. and his mind was the fool, forever yearning to be back in a moment where you still traced his tattoos and whispered how much you adored him. because he still adores you, every favorite flower of yours he passes by and the cafe's you both loved, you haunt him. he's horrified and comforted by the fact.

the break up happened last night.

phainon has yet to change out of his clothes, sprawled out on the bed with tears staining his pillow. his breathing is still erratic, unstable, and he's got a vice-like grip on the letters you wrote him when he was a good man. he has no idea how he let everything go wrong, he was just too careless, thought you'd stay even if he wasn't around and look at where it got him.

he can barely read the papers anymore, his fingers have crumpled the letters beyond comprehension and the tears made the ink bleed together. it feels like the walls are closing in and he's hoping it gets to him soon, his heart his heavy, his eyes burn, and he feels so weak. the night prior, when he hugged you before taking you home, it was half-assed. just wrapped an arm around you and squeezed lightly, but now there's nothing he wouldn't give up to go back to that time and hold you in the way you deserved.

because you deserved the world, and so much more than that. phainon regrets only ever aiming to give you the stars, because you had your own constellation in your eyes. you didn't want what you already had, you just wanted him.

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[pikkissis]

Draw more leafling io 😐😁😐😐🤌 and do you have any fun facts about Io and Collins children? 😁😁😁

Copy that, roger, ten-four, and so on!

Little voices whisper, frantic, in careless unison: "Who is he? Who is he?" At the light, her body fell still; at the light, her breathing ceased.

As for fun facts about their CHILDREN :D one would beeee...that their children often go through their own bad hair day when their flowers begin to wilt! For... some reason... the hair underneath becomes curly, and Io and Collin are unable to tame it!

God Bless!

[ranger-danger]

I love Ardean and Davrin as a pair so much you don’t get it

[sanyu-thewitch05]

So we’re not going to talk about a particular meme sound that was put into scenes of the miraculous ladybug movie?

[alygator77]

motherhood and matrimony

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, smut, masturbation, enemies (annoyances) to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, marriage of convenience, slow burn, fluff, little angst, mentions of death (satoru's father).

a/n. tysm for another follower milestone! as a thank you, here are some ceo! satoru headcanons for my ongoing fic motherhood and matrimony. this can kinda be considered as a teaser for those that haven't read the series. for those that have read the fic, this fleshes out the circumstances between satoru and reader a bit more, giving us a bit of insight from satoru's POV (and showing how down bad he is, hehe.)

ceo! satoru, who walks into meetings ten minutes late, just to prove he can. he never rushes—the clock bends for him, so does the room. postures straighten, laptops shift, conversations hush—eyes flicking away like they weren’t just whispering about the latest tabloid headline with his name in bold.

he doesn’t give them the satisfaction of reacting—never does. because he’s used to the attention. the scrutiny. the weight of being watched.

whatever… he never asked for this. he’s the heir of gojo corp, he just has to exist… right?

ceo! satoru, who doesn't read half the reports placed in front of him—rolling his eyes during company briefings, doodling dicks into the margins of billion-yen contracts. he slouches in a chair that cost more than most people’s rent—twirling a pen, daring someone to scold him. it’s always his father. it’s only ever his father.

“take this seriously satoru. you need to grow up. have you found a wife yet?”

the pressure of his legacy comes dressed in politeness, in tightly-wound ties and family dinners that feel more like interviews. it’s never ‘what do you want?’ only ‘what will you become?’

people think he’s lazy. arrogant. detached. 

eh… maybe they aren’t wrong? 

and yet, for all his mockery, he still shows up. still puts on the suit. still plays the part with a half-smile and his middle finger tucked just behind his back. because maybe, if he doesn’t take it seriously, it can’t hurt him the way it was always meant to.

ceo! satoru, who keeps people at arm's length, especially women. they whisper his name like a prize—because everyone wants something from him: money, attention, his title, a seat at the table. so? he gives them nothing—flirting without intent, touching without feeling, fucking without consequence. 

love is a transaction. intimacy? a liability. and gojo satoru? he’s tired of being collateral.

so, he stays perfect on paper—sharp in the spotlight, hollow behind closed doors. if he gives them nothing, then there’s nothing to take. 

untouchable, unbothered, and lonelier than he’ll ever admit.

ceo! satoru, who notices you the moment you don’t notice him. you’re new—his father’s latest hire. just another name slipped into a calendar invite he didn’t read, another title he forgot before the ink dried. nothing remarkable. not at first glance. you keep to yourself, all neutral tones and clean lines. head down, posture straight, buried in your work like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered. 

boring, uptight. 

that’s his original impression of you. 

until he makes some offhand comment in a meeting—low, careless, designed to make the room laugh. but this time, you glance up, meeting his eyes with a scowl.

“...are you finished?” you mumble. cold. quiet. unamused.

the fuck? 

it’s always his father. it’s only ever his father. and yet here you are—desk-bound and barely blinking—making him feel like he’s overstayed his welcome—in his own kingdom, mind you.

oh. he’s gonna give you hell.

ceo! satoru, who makes it his personal mission to get under your skin. so, he starts dropping by your office more often. for no real reason—papers he could’ve emailed, questions he already knows the answers to. 

“hey miss secretary,” he drawls, dragging the words like velvet across glass. “miss me?”

he pushes. you push back. he reroutes your calendar and you reroute his meetings. he leaves three unsigned forms on your desk just to watch you chase him down the hallway with your heels clicking like gunfire.

“try doing your job sometime,” you hiss. 

satoru lives for the moments you slip. he’s used to women shrinking beneath his name. you don’t shrink—you scowl. and it’s addicting. because all that politeness you wear in front of his father is paper-thin around him, and your patience is stretched tight over something sharper. 

ceo! satoru, who notices you’ve been late three times this week. not by much—seven minutes, ten at most. but still, late. unusual for someone like you.

you—who normally arrives fifteen minutes early. you—who color-codes schedules and double-checks logistics like it’s second nature. you—who never lets a single thread unravel.

“this company runs on discipline, not excuses,” his father lectures you. “apologies sir… my babysitter has a habit of running late.”

and just like that, the room changes. 

ceo! satoru, who said nothing at the time—just watched. you’re a single mom? he’s thinking about the way you never mentioned a child. the way you never once asked for accommodations. the way you kept your head down and your performance sharp, even when your personal life clearly wasn’t giving you much room to breathe. and for the first time, he wonders if he’s been looking at you all wrong.

because it’s easy to call someone uptight until you realize they’re holding the world together with both hands and no help.

you square your shoulders, taking his father’s lecture like you were used to it. why did it seem like you had practice with swallowing apologies you didn’t owe? that doesn’t sit well with him…

ceo! satoru, who didn’t see it coming. not really. one moment his father is mid-sentence, gesturing over untouched steak and quarterly projections. the next, there’s a tremor in his voice—a hand that doesn’t settle, a breath that doesn’t finish. silver clattering to the floor. staff rushing in. panic rising in the air like heat.

he doesn’t remember the walk to the ambulance, only the stillness of his own father’s body.

ceo! satoru, who knows the answer before the doctor speaks. it’s in the look. the way the nurse steps back. the way no one can meet his gaze.

“it was a heart attack… i’m sorry. he didn’t make it.”

he nods. once. what is he supposed to do—to feel? he doesn’t know what to mourn. the father he feared? the man he resented? the stranger who lived down the hall of his own childhood? the man who spent his entire life, trying to mold him—now undone by something even he couldn’t control. 

there was no grand ending. no dramatic farewell. just silence. 

and satoru—left with all the noise that came after.

ceo! satoru, who stares down at the stipulation in his father’s will like it’s a ghost. and honestly? maybe it is. maybe this is how his father haunts him—not with memories, but with demands.

to inherit full control of gojo corp and the family estate, satoru must be married. with a child. within one year.

he blinks once, then laughs—quiet, disbelieving. of course. of course the man who never trusted him in life wouldn’t trust him in death. control, even from the grave—his father’s final move, final manipulation.

ceo! satoru, who isn’t prepared when it’s you who offers a solution. no dramatics, no buildup—just a simple, “let’s get married.” it takes him a full breath to process it. a fake marriage. a clean deal. a contract that helps you both. 

you—already a mother, already the picture-perfect illusion his father wanted him to build. you—who has everything the will demands, and nothing he’s ever had to pretend to want. for a moment, he’s stunned into silence. because you’re not offering him love, you’re offering him freedom.

ceo! satoru, who doesn’t trust easily, but maybe he trusts you? because you’ve never wanted anything from him, never asked for his attention. you’re practical. smart. tired in the same way he is (he’s just better at hiding it).

and sure, maybe what you’re offering isn’t customary. no emotional attachments, no strings. just terms, signatures and survival. it’s not what his father would have wanted. but fuck it, that’s the point.

ceo! satoru, who is not prepared for the way you kiss him at a public event. he tells himself it was just the heat of the moment, knowing you only kissed him to play your role. he tries to conveniently ignore the way your lips part first, slipping your tongue in, sighing against his mouth, leaning into him like you’re his—like he fucking owns you.

but… this is just a charade, marriage of convenience—nothing more. shit. then why the fuck is he rock hard remembering the taste of you?

ceo! satoru, who only meant to jerk off to you once—just to get it out of his system, okay?! clearly that’s all he needs right? he lasts maybe five minutes before he’s groaning your name, hips lifting as he’s spilling cum all over his abs, shuddering as he fucks his own fist thinking about you. 

there. that’s it. out of his system—no more, right? (wrong)

ceo! satoru, who doesn’t know what’s worse—the fact that it happens again, or that it happens easier. it doesn’t take much now—just the sight of you leaning over the dining table in a robe, a bare leg bent, hair tangled from sleep. the curve of your neck when you tilt your head. the flash of skin when you reach for something too high.

what the fuck is wrong with him?!

you’re not even doing anything. not really. you’re just there—folded into his space like you belong there. moving barefoot through his estate in oversized sweaters and quiet hums, curling up on the couch without a clue what you’re doing to him.

ceo! satoru, who’s never felt this out of control. not in boardrooms. not in interviews. not even in the middle of his father’s most ruthless lectures. but with you? with you, it’s all unraveling—you’re like gravity.

and now it’s routine—fucking his hand to the thought of you, slipping into his bedroom, pants pushed down, fist tight around his twitching cock, muttering curses into his palm to keep from moaning too loud, because you’re always asleep in the room next door.

it’s just stress relief, he tells himself. a coping mechanism. a release.

taking care of a kid is harder than he expected. the pressure’s always building as ceo of gojo corp. and you—you’re always close. always soft. always there.

ceo! satoru, who imagines you on your knees, in his office, tucked under his desk like a dirty secret. he’s slapping his dick gently against your cheek, rubbing his precum all over your pretty little mouth, encouraging you to part your lips before feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

schlick. schlick. schlick.

his filthy faps echo off the bedroom walls—sprawled out on expensive sheets, cock flushed and leaking down his knuckles as his wrist works faster, panting, groaning, lost in the addicting image of you.

“s-shit—fuck—” he breathes, head tilting back, hips rocking forward. “j-just like that… so good f’me, baby… so fuckin’ good—”

your muffled moans would sound so cute, gagging around his cock, drool dripping down your chin as you blink up at him, teary and beautiful. he’d stroke your hair back, whispering praise, thrusting lazily down your throat.

“fuuuck—look at you, so pretty—s-shit…” he’s fraying at the edges, nearly breaking as his strokes grow faster, messier. “p-please—fuck, need it—need your mouth, please… just wanna—nngh…”

ceo! satoru, who fantasizes about cuming across your tongue—your eyes fluttering closed as he tells you to swallow. and you’d swallow it all, wouldn’t you? looking up at him with ruined lips, cum streaking your chin, smiling all coy with those pouty lips he dreams about every night.

“fuckfuckfuck—” his voice cracks, stomach tensing, cock jerking in his hand. “‘m gonna cum— ‘m gonna—fuck—" he gasps, hips lifting off the edge of the bed as his orgasm crashes through him like a tidal wave.

and it wrecks him.

cum spills over his fist in hot, desperate spurts, leaking between his fingers, dripping down his wrist, painting his abs, his shirt, his thighs in thick creamy streaks.

“g-god… yes… f-fuck, baby… f’you, all f’you…” he whimpers, eyes fluttering shut as your name slips from his lips, over and over again like a prayer.

ceo! satoru, who lies there afterward, sweating and spent, staring at the ceiling like it might tell him what the fuck he’s doing. you’re not actually his—you were never meant to be.  sure, you’re his wife, but only on paper, nothing more. so… why do the lines keep blurring? thinning. you’re already under his skin. already in his sheets. in his head. on your fucking knees every time he closes his eyes.

and it’s not just lust anymore.

it’s the sound of your voice when you’re half-asleep. the way you talk to your daughter in that soft, maternal tone, tugging at something deep in his chest. the gojo estate used to feel like a museum. all cold marble and high ceilings, every corner echoing with the absence of something warm. he never realized how empty it felt until you started filling it. slowly. quietly. without trying.

now there’s a pink toothbrush beside his in the bathroom. a collection of tiny socks and hair ties on the entryway table. a soft giggle in the morning light and the scent of syrup in the kitchen air.

your daughter’s toys spill out across the living room rug. your coat hangs next to his in the foyer. your voice carries down the hall like it belongs here.

he wants you like a home he never thought he deserved.

and... that’s the most terrifying part of all.

love is a transaction. intimacy? a liability. if he gives you everything—his time, his trust, the bruised, aching thing in his chest he swore no one could touch—what would you do? would you break him?

a/n. awww... for those that have read the fic it was fun to go back to the start of this story to see how far this pair has come 🥹 i figured ceo deserved his own headcanon, i love my pookie. chapter 10 is in the works. if you enjoyed this teaser consider checking out this fics full masterlist here! i will also be reopening this taglist.

taglist:

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @rosso-seta @acowboykisser @mikyapixie

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christianacj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys @k1ttybean

@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer @elliesndg

@maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans @gojoslefttoenail

[gloomwitchwrites]

You get drunk and don't remember giving them a hickey. So you get mad at them.

Oh, anon! I love love love this prompt. Even though the prompt itself is fairly straightforward, there is some wiggle room about how this could play out. I stuck to the prompt but did my best to keep them on the shorter side.

Some of these get spicy but don't fall into graphic detail.

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, arguing, sexual tension, kissing, alcohol

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

John Price

“These reports are shit, Price. What am I supposed to do with them?”

You’re trying your best not to sound irritated, but your head is pounding. You agreed to go out for drinks but told yourself you wouldn’t have more than one or two. That went completely out the door when multiple people began paying for rounds. After the fourth, the night started to come blurry. Not all the pieces are there.

Of what you can recall from last night, you remember that you sat in a man’s lap. Well—sat isn’t the correct word. More like straddled. You remember strong arms, an accent, and an excitement in what you were doing. But the face is still foggy.

“What you always do,” replies Price. There’s a tease in his tone you don’t particularly like. It’s too friendly, and it stirs something fierce inside your belly.

Price shifts in his chair behind his desk, the collar of his jacket flops open slightly. You catch a hint of something dark on the side of Price’s neck. You frown, your rebuttal gone.

“What is that?” You nod toward his throat.

Price leans back. “What?” he asks. “This?” He reaches up, pulling back on the collar.

It’s a…oh fuck.

“You were happy to give it to me.” Price shrugs.

Fuck.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, tossing the manila file folder on Price’s desk.

The man you straddled last night was Price? The man who is always fucking up reports and ignoring all your suggestions for corrections? That one?

“You looked good doing it, too,” he continues, that teasing smile falling into a comfortability of a lover.

No. No no no.

You place your hands on your hips. “And you let me do that?”

Price shrugs. “We’re consenting adults.”

“I was drunk.”

Price crosses his arms over his chest. “We were both drunk. And you’re the one who pounced on me.”

Embarrassment rises hot and wild in your cheeks. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“You did,” he confirms, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as he smirks. “Ambushed me actually.”

“Then why didn’t you stop me?” Your voice cracks, going a bit high.

“I tried.”

That’s almost worse. You jumped him and then sucked on his neck until it left a mark. What an absolute fucking mess.

You roll your eyes. “You tried? A big strong man like you couldn’t stop me?”

This time Price is the one rolling his eyes. He makes an irritated groan. Price pushes up from his chair, one hand waving out in front of him as he speaks. “You said you’d been thinking about me.”

It’s not entirely untrue. While you attend the clerical side of things, you do make excuses to come see Price. He’s older. Handsome. Assertive. His reports aren’t always shit but it’s the only reason you have to bother him.

“I didn’t mean it,” you reply but even you don’t believe it.

Price comes around the desk and steps into your space. “Really?”

You square your shoulders, staring into Price’s face. “Really.”

He shakes his head, clearly not believing you at all. “As I recall, you were in my lap. Practically begging.”

“And you allowed that? In front of everyone?” Even Price couldn’t be that careless.

This time, Price smiles like he knows something you don’t. “You don’t remember.”

“What?” you ask, flustered.

Price starts laughing, but it’s not mocking, more like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“John,” you snap.

Price sinks down into his chair, legs spread wide. “I think I liked it better when you said my name while seated in my lap.”

Your fingers dig into the top of Price’s desk. Pieces begin to return. Fragments of you squirming in his lap. Lips pressed against his.

“How did you say it?” he ponders, almost aloud rather than to you. Then, he smiles, not even answering his own question.

Price rests his palm on his thigh and your gaze drops to its subtle movement before returning to his face.

“Think I’d like a matching one,” he says. He runs his hand down his thigh and then back up. “Or I could give you one just like it.”

“John,” you murmur, not knowing what it is you want to say.

“Doesn’t have to be on your neck,” and his voice is nearly a growl. Price lightly squeezes his thigh and you know exactly where he’s referring to. “Be easier if you sit on the desk.”

You snatch up the folder on Price’s desk, clutching it like a shield against your chest. Price doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t appear fazed at all. Stomping over you shove it against his chest, intending to walk right out the door.

But Price is quick.

With one hand he’s clutching the file and with the other he grabs your wrist before you manage to move away.

“Remove your hand,” you say but there is no venom in it.

Price’s gaze lingers on your lips before shifting up to meet your eyes. “Come back when you know what you want.”

Price releases you, and you nearly stumble forward into his lap. Catching yourself on the edge of his desk, you spin on your heel, exiting Price’s office as the final fragments of memory fall into place.

You don’t want to admit it.

Not out loud. Not yet.

But you will be back.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It’s unbelievable. Unfathomable.

You’re not angry with Kyle. You’re upset with yourself. You’re upset that you were so careless about how many drinks you had, and how you couldn’t control yourself in the moment. Kyle is not a liar, and he doesn’t take advantage, so whatever you did, is on you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, swallowing down some of the rising irritation. “It’s my fault.”

Kyle shrugs, a sheepish smile on his face. “Not like I pushed you away.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you insist, flinging your arms out in exasperation, nearly knocking over bottles of cleaner.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, catching one of them before it hits the floor.

This little storage room isn’t big enough for this. You need space. You need to run far away from here and pretend like last night didn’t happen. Not that you can remember all of it. You don’t recall giving Kyle that mark on his neck.

“It does matter. We both had too much but I still had more of my head than you did.” Kyle places the bottle of cleaner back on the shelf. “I should’ve done better.”

“We’re coworkers, Kyle. And I had no right. We aren’t together.”

Kyle smirks and you want to smack it right off his face. “We could be,” he murmurs, taking a step forward.

“Absolutely not,” you retort but you don’t retreat.

Kyle’s smirk faulters a bit but he doesn’t shrink away. If anything, he looks more determined, like the rejection is a farce.

“You remember anything you said to me last night?”

You lick your lips and cross your arms defensively over your chest. “Even if I did, does it change anything?”

Kyle sighs and runs his hand over the top of his head. “It does for me.”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you consider your options. Kyle is a sweet man, at least to you. Everyone always comments on it to you when he isn’t around, and you’ve always dismissed their observations.

Maybe he does care, and you doing this tipped him over the edge into a place neither of you might be able to come back from.

“I need some fucking air,” you mutter, wanting to escape this situation, even for a bit.

Kyle shoves forward, blocking the door. Your lips move, forming the shapes of words, but Kyle shakes his head, all seriousness.

“We need to talk about this.”

“We don’t need to talk about anything,” you snap.

Kyle’s eyebrows rise toward his hairline and his head tips slightly to the side, revealing more of the mark. “Everyone knows what happened.”

“What?” you breathe.

“We weren’t alone when you straddled me.” You’re too stunned to speak. All the words you want to say are gone. Lost to the void that is your mind.

Kyle sighs and leans against the door. “Soap got a great view.”

“Stop talking. Just—stop.” Your throw up your hands and Kyle does as you ask. “You are going to move out of my way. I am going to leave. And we won’t talk about this again.”

Kyle only stares, the silence stretching.

When you think he won’t give in, Kyle shifts to his left, leaving the door completely clear. Without taking a second to reconsider, you push open the the door, nearly running over Soap in the process.

He stumbles backward, cheeks bright red. Ghost is next to him, arms crossed, staring at the wall like he isn’t there at all.

Soap’s brief fluster turns into a wide, knowing grin. “Gaz give you a matching one?” he teases.

Ghost makes a noise that sounds like a snort.

“Both of you can fuck off.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Ghost.”

“What?” he grunts, side-eyeing you before returning his attention back to the tablet in his hand. He absently rubs at his neck for the third time in the last few minutes.

You frown. “Are you injured?”

“Why would you think that?” he asks, tapping at something on the screen.

“You keep rubbing your neck.”

Ghost pauses, his finger hovering just above the screen as he turns slightly in your direction.

You’re not trying to be pushy or nosy. Ghosts hates that. But there’s something wrong, and you care enough to ask him about it.

“You know what’s on my neck,” he replies cooly.

“No. I don’t.” A swirling fracture of unease blooms in your belly. It curls outward to claw up your throat. “What are you talking about?”

Ghost’s hand holding the tablet drops to his side. With one gloved hand, he reaches up, tugging the neckline of his jacket down enough to reveal a portion of his throat. The mask he always wears is in the way, but you reach out with a tentative hand, brushing the fabric upward to reveal a mouth-shaped bruise.

You drop your hand and take a step back. “Why would I know anything about that?”

“You gave it to me,” he says, matter of fact.

Sure, you had a few drinks last night, but did you really have that many? Enough that you can’t recall giving Ghost a goddamn hickey.

“You’re mistaken.”

“Never wrong, love.” Ghost locks the tablet and places it on the table next to him. “Especially about a woman sitting in my lap.”

“Don’t,” you say sharply. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, hips adjusting slightly as he pivots to glare down at you. “Try again.”

A deep rush of embarrassment floods your system, curling up your neck to heat your cheeks. “I wouldn’t.”

“You did,” insists Ghost. You glance down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. Perhaps you had one too many. Sometimes you can hold your alcohol but clearly not. At least not last night.

You clear your throat. “I’m sorry.” An apology is best. You have no idea how Ghost feels about you, but you are irritated that he didn’t try to stop the whole thing in the first place.

Ghost is silent a long moment. “I’m not.” Your head snaps up, but Ghost isn’t done. “I liked it. And you enjoyed giving it to me.”

You need the pieces to fall back into place. You need to remember. Because right now, you’re just confused, and Ghost’s behavior is entirely different from his usual demeanor.

“You don’t know that.”

Ghost shrugs. “I do.”

His certainty is confusing. Ghost is not a liar. He is always truthful, always to the point, even if his bluntness comes across as rude. And that’s what so frustrating about it all because you know that Ghost is right. You probably did like it, probably begged and writhed in his lap. Ghost wouldn’t lie about something like that, but he would tease you. Might even hold it over your head.

“This conversation is over.” You step around him to grab the tablet, but Ghost is quick like a viper, his large hand encasing your wrist.

“Do you remember?”

No. I don’t.

“It doesn’t matter.” You try to tug your wrist out of his grasp, but Ghost holds firm.

“When you’re ready. Find me.” He leans forward, masked face nearly touching the side of your cheek. “We’ll recreate it.”

Then his hand is gone, and Ghost is pulling away, presenting the tablet to you like he didn’t say anything at all.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“What the fuck is that?”

Soap’s brilliant smile turns in your direction. He sits on the seat of a bench press, elbows resting on knees, sweat dripping from his brow. Soap is shirtless and a white towel is draped over the back of his neck.

Reaching up with the edge of the towel, Soap wipes away some of the sweat on his face. “What are you on about?” He adjusts his stance, his large palm pressing into his knee as he leans on an elbow.

The small gym isn’t crowded but there are people here. Some of them turn and glance in your direction but otherwise keep to their business. Ghost and Gaz are over by the boxing ring observing a few new recruits who slug it out for bragging rights.

Is Soap so aloof? Does he not see the massive mark on the side of his neck? And who gave it to him? A group of you went out for drinks but you don’t recall who might have given it to him or when.

You step closer, lowering your voice. “Your neck, Johnny.”

That gorgeous smile of his widens and he chuckles. “Did you forget?”

Did you forget? Forget what? Are you part of this?

You swallow, the salvia nearly sticking in your throat as you try to calm your thudding heart. “What do you mean?”

Soap leans back a bit, observing you. “You gave this to me.” His voice is too loud, and you glance over your shoulder to make sure no one’s heard. Everyone appears to be preoccupied with the recruits in the ring.

“I didn’t,” you insist, turning back to him. “I’d remember.”

Soap guffaws and removes the towel from around his neck. “Took a seat right here.” He indicates the spot by tapping his left thigh.

“Did we…” you begin, and then trail off.

“Did we what?” he prompts, clearly enjoying this.

You bend forward, lowering your voice until it’s a hiss. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Soap smirks, and then rises to his full height. “Promise I was a perfect gentleman.” He matches your movement, leaning in so that your faces are close. “But you? You were no lady.”

You inhale sharply, and Soap pushes right past you, heading for the showers.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving

@childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666

@unhinged-reader-36 @pearljamislife @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath

@enfppuff @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu

@thewulf @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos

@enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project

@burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @contractedcriteria

@lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie

@tulipsun-flower @ghosts-hoe @jaggersinclair @nomercyforthewarrior @dakotakazansky

@hantheconqueror

[jesuistrestriste]

nsfw (18+) cw : switch(sub leaning)!art donaldson, switch!fem!reader, art is a sensitive softie, dry humping, cumming in pants, mutual orgasms, fluff, porn with some plot

wc : 3.3 k

"Did you have fun?"

Art's words sound out softly against the background hum of his car's engine. You rub your hands together between your thighs, trying (and failing) to properly warm them up after being in an ice rink for over an hour. You look to him from the passenger seat and smile at his slightly eager-to-please tone, your cheeks burning from the cold. You should have worn a scarf.

"Yeah," you hum, "I did.. I haven't been ice skating in forever, it's been years.."

He laughs softly and nods, almost sheepishly, "yeah, same.."

-

It's the end of November, nearing the start of December, and tennis season is well over. Art still goes to the indoor courts pretty consistently, but he's decided to shift all of his focus to you now that he has the free time to spare.

The two of you met about a month and a half ago; he'd been rushing to meet Patrick at some restaurant near campus, and he had slammed right into you when he'd been looking down at his phone to text Pat back. Wide blue eyes met yours and his tender hands had come up instantly to steady you on your feet as he stuttered out at least five 'im so sorry's. Somewhere in between those apologies, he'd gotten ridiculously lost in your features. The way your lashes batted up at him, the soft smile on your lips, the way you chuckled at his idiotic carelessness.

And you had forgiven him pretty quickly, so that helped.

The whole thing was incredibly cliche; the both of you could see that now.

He'd gotten your number that day only because he had practically begged to get you a coffee sometime to make up for the whole ordeal. His wind-swept blonde curls and furrowed brow made him look just like a dumb little puppy, pleading with you to keep him and collar him, so it wasn't hard for you to rationalize giving him your digits then and there. He seemed genuinely sweet, unlike so many other guys at Stanford. You'd give it a shot.

Seven dates later, and you two were officially toeing the line between "what are we?" and "let's move in together". Art, in particular, was completely infatuated. He would always look at you like you were the only reason he was breathing and moving. It was a little bit insane how hard and fast he fell for you.

And so he resisted the urges.

The ones that would coil in his lower stomach when he held your hand, and the ones that would throb in his veins when he pressed his lips to yours. All of them. He'd move at your pace. He wasn't one to push.

-

You nod and smile, before you pull your clasped hands from your lap and attempt to blow hot air in between them. Art's car was taking longer to warm up than normal.

He watches you for a moment before he shakes his head and tugs his hands out of his coat pockets.

"I told you to bring gloves," he jokes lightly, reaching over to envelop your hands in his warm palms, his calloused fingers curling over yours.

Your face heats slightly, and you chuckle as you look down to his grasp on you. After a long beat, your eyes raise to look up to his again, and he swallows thickly before his left thumb strokes over one of your knuckles. The little touch, the gesture, is so him. Always wanting to provide and comfort, but never wanting to risk shaking the foundation.

He’s never made the first move, it was always you.

"Thanks," you breathe out, your gaze darting just momentarily down to his pink lips.

It's hard for you to ignore the way he quickly wets them while the tense silence hangs in the air.

Art's feeling a steady thrum of tightness in his chest. How is it that he still gets nervous around you? He's kissed you lots of times before now.

And yet, here he was: still shy, still tense, still nervous.

"No problem," he whispers, hearing his heartbeat pound in his ears, "is.. is this better..?"

A gentle nod from you is all he perceives before he feels the warmth of your lips press against his own, and the tension that’s been brewing all evening finally reaches its boiling point.

He melts into it instantly, into you; leaning in to breathe into your open mouth when you pull back for just a moment to tilt your head the other way. His hands leave their position around yours, and move to clutch your waist as he pivots in the driver's seat to face you more. He's never felt so on-edge in his entire life, the sensation of a familiar sort of hunger starting to ignite in his belly.

Your touch moves to the back of his head, pulling off his thick beanie and tossing it to the back of the vehicle as you kiss him with rapidly increasing passion. You feel his tongue slip out to lick over your bottom lip, and you slack your jaw to let him taste you better. He laves his soft tongue over yours, moaning into your mouth. You swallow that noise down, and the next one that comes right after; just like you always do.

He tastes faintly like sweet peppermint gum, which he had been anxiously chewing earlier on this particular date in order to self-soothe. You had just looked so pretty with the cold first nipping at your skin when he came to pick you up; it scrambled his brain on the spot.

"Ahh," he whines shakily as he feels you tug his head back, your left hand tenderly fisting his curls, "hngh.."

You hum and smirk before you lean in to lick over his neck. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop any more needy sounds from spilling out, and his hands pull at the sides of your coat. Shit, he can feel himself swelling in his jeans. For a second he thinks the zipper might pop.

Once your tongue finds his weak-spot, right below his ear, he's jerking forward in his seat and letting out a choked moan. His hips rise desperately, trying to seek out some sort of friction, but all he can feel is his cock rubbing against the inside of his briefs — not nearly enough to put out the fire in his gut.

"You okay?" you breathe out lowly between kisses to his pulse, "this okay?

He nods feverishly. A reflexive buck of his pelvis follows suit.

"Can we... I dont know-" you whisper against his skin, and Art thinks he might die. He's so keyed up right now, he'd do anything to get to feel you under all of the layers.

"Please."

And there it is. He couldn't even stop himself before the word was already out and drifting into the minimal space left in between your bodies. You pause your lips and pull back to look to his eyes.

A hand moves from his hair to his cool cheek. "I- I'm ready to do more... If you are too, I mean.."

He's nodding before you even finish; and his pupils dilate into big, black, iris-eclipsing saucers as his brows pinch up and he whispers back to you.

"I want to touch you," he trembles, "I really, really, really wanna touch you..."

You feel a sticky heat cling to the inside of your panties.

Ugh, he's always good at making you feel this way, even if in the past it was relatively unintentional. Sometimes he's been too innocent for his own good.

"Can I?" he whispers, breaking apart your thoughts, like the very syllables have been beaten out of the depths of his desires.

You let out soft sigh through parted lips, taking in the look on his face before you're crawling over the center console and into his lap. Your body settles comfortably over his thighs, and then your head bumps up against the roof of the car. You make a slight noise of surprise, ducking down with a soft giggle, and Art's right hand instinctively raises to protectively cup the spot on your head that had hit the interior. He looks up at you, letting out a breath of a laugh before lifting his brows to wordlessly ask if you're alright.

You kiss him again instead.

He gasps and swallows as he feels you further straddle him, and his hands move to start unzipping your puffer as he kisses you back. It's easier said than done when his hands are shaking, but he manages and then helps you shrug off the coat before it gets tossed into the oblivion to meet his hat from earlier.

A string of spit connects your mouth to his as you pull back, and he drinks in the sight of you above him; your thermal long-sleeve clinging to your skin so tight that he can see the outline of your bra underneath.

You lean in once more and kiss his jaw twice before letting your hands wander down to help him take off his own jacket. Once it's off and on the car floor with the other pieces of discarded clothing, your palms move up under his shirt to caress his bare skin. You feel his abdomen shudder as your nails graze the pale flesh there.

"Where do you want me?" he asks breathlessly, his eyes already glazed over with arousal and a wish to please you.

"Anywhere.."

".. Here..?"

His hands reach up to palm your breasts over your top, and he relishes in the soft moan it elicits from you. The sound of it rings out in his head and then he can't help but whimper as he leans into your body, his cheek to your jaw. Art's hands slither hastily under your shirt and then to your back before he fumbles with the clasp of your bra. You smirk softly and fondly as you feel him struggle, and you decide to maneuver your touch up to the back of his neck. Your fingertips tease the back of his hair. Teasing turns to stroking, and suddenly you're petting him to ease his nerves. If he had a tail, it'd definitely be wagging; you can feel him buzzing with eager energy all over.

Once the bra is popped open, he gently pulls back to look up to your eyes and then he's huskily whispering up at you, "can I take this off of you?"

"Yeah, take it off-"

He doesn't waste a second once he sees you raising your arms, nearly tearing the top in the process of getting it up and over your head. The bra comes off quick right after; he doesn't even notice that it's red (his favorite color). With how much is going through his head, it's a miracle he can even manage to undress you without losing it...

The moment that you're bare in front of him from the belly-button up, he sags back in his seat and takes you in. His lips parted in a gentle 'O'. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." he moans lowly, his palms pressing to your lower stomach before they slide up and cover your soft tits, "you're so beautiful, oh my god.."

You moan when you feel him start to knead your breasts under his tender touch, nipples pebbling in response, and you roll your head back with pleasure.

"You're.. s-so sweet," you groan.

He squeezes your chest again before he leans in and presses a kiss to the right side, and a kiss to the left (it's only fair). He looks up to you through heavy lids before he surges forward with a renewed sense of passion and attaches his lips to one of your nipples.

"Shit-!" you gasp, and your hands tighten in his blonde locks, "ugh, don't stop, Art.. that feels nice.."

He moans around your squishy flesh and then his eyes flutter shut as he flicks his tongue over your bud and suckles. His mouth is warm and wet and perfect. His teeth brisk your sensitive skin.

A sharp moan slips from your lips in response, and then your hips jerk over his quickly. Just once; just enough. It's denim on denim, thick fabric dulling the sensations, but god- the pleasure bites perfectly at the both of you.

Art can barely process how good it feels before he's drooling around you over his tongue and rolling his own body up, trying to meet yours again. Wordlessly begging you to keep going.

Please, please, please do it again.

You breathe heavily and then rock down over his lap again, chasing the stream of electricity that it sends up your spine from your cunt. There's a mess of slick seeping from you as you push your clothed clit against Art's bulge, humping him like some sort of depraved teenager, but it's going to get you there.

Hell, it's getting you there quicker than you thought.

"Ooh, fuck," he hiccups out against your skin, releasing your breast from his mouth as his eyes fly open and then promptly roll back into his head, "ohh god, oh g-god.."

You rock a bit faster over him, a little moan escaping with each needy motion, and you move your hands to hold his shoulders for leverage. You feel him wrap his toned arms around your middle.

"Sh-Should I move too?" he gasps.

You can feel his thighs quivering.

If you really focus, you can even feel his dick throbbing in the confines of his pants.

"Yeah, ohh, yeah.. yeah, move, move.”

In an instant, Art's hips are grinding up to meet yours while his hands move urgently to hold your waist. He buries his face into your neck and tries to bounce you on his lap in his grasp. Up, down, up, down, over and over and over. Like he’s fucking you; buried deep inside your oozing pussy.

"you feel so good," he breathes out, hardly taking enough air into his lungs to get the words out, "this feels... f-feels so good.. ohhh-"

A few stuttered whines slip from your mouth and then you're working harder to press yourself further down over his erection, trying your best to relieve the scorching heat building in your core. More, more, more, you just need more.

"fuck me..!"

It tumbles from you unexpectedly, and the young man under you chokes on a guttural groan that's already halfway out. His nose crinkles with pleasure, and he swivels his hips harder to rub his boner against your crotch. He tries to speak, he really does, but all of the words get swept away on broken, strung-out whimpers that clog his throat.

You two are fogging up all four windows in his car, and anyone who's looking on from the outside will know exactly what's going on just from the shaking alone.

"Shit, you're gonna make me—“

Art cries out as he digs his heels down into the mat below the pedals; his toes curling as he registers the rapid feeling of boiling tension brewing in his balls, seeping out and pulling his limbs taut against yours. He's so close.

"—you're gonna- 'm gonna come—“

He tries to warn you, shuddering when he hears you squeal in response, and he has to force his eyes open and crane his neck back so that he can savor the sight of you falling apart on top of him when he tips over. A small part of him wishes he was being hugged by your tight, gummy walls; but this was perfect for now. It was what you wanted, so it was what he wanted too.

"Fuck, Art! I'm almost—!"

The sound of his name coming out of you like that sends him spiraling, his cock pulsing in his boxers with want.

"Me too, me too, oh god, pleasepleaseplease-"

You two are rutting and thrashing against each other like a couple of animals, breathing heavy and moaning as you both try to maintain eye contact in those split few seconds before everything fades away.

"Can I come?" he trembles, and you can see wetness glistening over his lash line, threatening to spill. He can’t say it now, but he's barely holding it all in.

For you, he'd wait.

Even if it felt impossible.

You speed up your humping, the seam of your jeans slotting perfectly against your swollen clit as the warmth of his cock sends you hurtling towards the finish line. You nod down at him, moving your hands from his shoulders to his flushed face, "yes, god, please come with me!"

It only takes three more snaps of his pelvis against yours before the both of you are gasping and crying out simultaneously as the hot coils burst loose; Art's back arching up from the seat as you curl over his chest and yelp. He's moaning, voice cracks and all, as his legs shudder under your seat over them. His hands fly up to hold you close, almost like he's scared you'll somehow slip away.

"fuckyesfuckyesfuckyes, please, god, i'm coming so hard..!”

He whimpers helpessly, feeling sticky heat bloom against his kicking length as each wave of his orgasm floods his system. It's wholly all-consuming, his vision whiting out around the edges before he has to squeeze his eyes shut and give up the sight of your face as you climax. He thinks he might legitimately pass out.

You're left wheezing over his lap, groaning pitifully as you feel a wave of slick and wetness drench your underwear while the height of your own peak ebbs, and you finish yourself off fully against his thigh as you come down. One of your hands reaches down to rub yourself over the soaked fabric, and you twitch before falling forward into his frame.

You both jolt a bit while the aftershocks keep you feeling pleasantly numb, but it's blissful.

It's completely and utterly blissful; it just feels right.

Him being so close to you, you being so close to him. Sharing something so deeply intimate and yet feeling so comfortable and so safe— it was like something clicked into place.

One of Art's hands reaches to your upper back, rubbing it comfortingly as he tries to steady his breathing.

".. Woah," he whispers in awe, fingertips tracing soothing patterns on your skin, "that was.. really.. haah.."

A little shiver passes through him and he then decides to cut himself off before he lets slip something dumb and ruins everything.

You gain some semblance of consciousness back and lift your head upright slowly, gazing down to him. His hair’s a mess, his blue eyes shining with low lids, and his bottom lip looks freshly bitten.

"That was really good," you chuckle breathily, finishing his sentiment for him. You were good at that- helping him feel whole.

He just nods and you get to watch his cheeks turn a deeper shade of red.

"I... I was thinking.." he starts, only to shy away from your gaze by looking down.

"Yeah..?"

You stroke his hair, pushing it back from his sweaty forehead.

"Well, I just, we've been, like, 'seeing each other' or whatever," his eyes reluctantly raise again to look up into yours, "and, I just thought that.. we might..."

"We might...?" you smile as you urge him to speak up for himself.

He can only muster a soft, shy chuckle at first.

"I just thought that we might be.. together.."

Your breathing catches, only for a moment, as the word—and the weight of it—sits heavily in the dense air being kept trapped in by the car's doors. Art swallows thickly.

"You wanna be together?" you whisper, barely audible.

He seems hesitant to answer that.

But he does anyway.

"Yeah, I do."

A soft smile creeps onto your face, and then you lean in to brush your lips against his. He closes his eyes in preparation for a kiss, but it doesn't quite come. They flutter back open, and his fingers twitch idly on your lower back.

Please say something, he thinks. He's holding his breath.

You murmur against his mouth, delicate and earnest, with a shrug almost gracing your shoulders as you speak to him. You want to let him know that he doesn't have to be scared to tell you what he wants.

That it's okay.

That you want the same thing.

"Okay.. then let's be 'together'.."

[mr-mandalorian]

ghost proposing, a little angst but very very sweet

they have the night off and he’d already be devouring her whole if she wasn’t so excited about going out. it’s a shit bar close to base, but she reasons it’s a good change of scenery.

and boy is it, terrible karaoke heard a mile away. the military wives, or rather soon to be, taken over. a bachelorette party of at least six women, loud and obnoxious.

soap and gaz find it to be the most hilarious thing in the world, applauding a brunette on stage over her disastrous performance of careless whisper. but ghost can’t help but watch y/n, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. throughout the night he silently dissects her, his assumption it being some sort of yearning for female company. but as one of the women come up to their table, asking if anyone from the squad could take a picture of the rowdy group, ghost swallows harshly. y/n jumps at the opportunity, congratulating the bride like they’ve know each other their whole lives.

they never discussed the nature of their relationship. hell, the word relationship was never even voiced out loud. but even a stranger could tell how they move in sync, his reflection and her shadow. in their line of work it was best case scenario and simon never allows himself to think about there ever being more.

but that is until y/n asks to see the ring. it’s almost comical, the gigantic diamond blinding, making her squint. ghost finds himself scoffing behind the mask, he could easily read y/n’s compliment a lie. she would never wear anything like it.

the following months ghost finds himself ring shopping. fucking hell, what is he thinking, really? his tongue can’t even roll the world girlfriend. and yet here he is, glaring at the poor saleswoman like she’s supposed to know none of these expensive rocks are good enough for his y/n.

when the ring is finally chosen, he doesn’t quite know what to do. he’s horrified of y/n finding it so the ring stays on his person at all times, even in the field. he’s less talkative than usual, if that’s even possible, always looking for the right moment. brushing their teeth together in the morning, ghost buried between her thighs in the evening. he nearly does it one late night, y/n perched on the window sill of her room. swimming in moonlight, she looks ethereal. he’s done unimaginable things in his life, taken and saved lives. none of the gore ever phased him, but the sight of her has his stomach turning.

so he chickens out. regret begins to gnaw at him as the very next mission goes haywire. y/n barks at him through the comms, the sweetest sound in the world, even if she’s telling him to get out, explosives ticking in the building. he’s trying, he really is. his gear seems to get heavier by the minute with a broken rib threatening to seize his lungs. he can make out her silhouette by the exit, but it’s out of reach. the floor crumbles beneath him.

when ghost wakes up, he immediately spots soap pacing back and forth, as much as the tiny ward of the hospital would allow him. y/n is passed out in the chair next to his bed, his balaclava clutched to her chest.

“good to have you back, lt.” soap whispers not to wake the sleeping soldier. “how ye feeling?”

“was she hurt?”

“no.” soap shakes his head, knowing how important the answer is before he can move on to his long awaited teasing, pulling out a velvet box out of his pocket. “i suppose it was foolish to question who this belonged to then. didn’t take you for the marrying kind, lt.”

he wasn’t, but if it pleased y/n, he’d marry her a thousand times. and even though ghost wants to be annoyed with the sergeant, he’s already decided to promote him to best man for finding the ring before y/n could.

when ghost gets released, it takes time to find courage to open the velvet box. it’s barely holding together, taking most of the damage to protect what’s inside. the ring is chipped, the intricate band of petite diamonds has at least five distinct cuts. they’re surprisingly neat, but asymmetrical and obvious to the eye. he can only curse, what a fool he was to convince himself that there could be something more.

“what’s that?” y/n is right next to him, her stealth impressive as she appears unnoticed in his room.

he can tell her awe for the ring is genuine, eyes eyes lighting up at the piece of jewelry. she pries it out of his hold, standing close to the window to examine the gems reflecting daylight. she disregards the cracks completely, telling him it adds character to it. the sincerity of her smile makes it hard to breathe.

“so who’s the lucky girl then?” she asks, never once trying on the ring.

“who- who’s the lucky girl? bloody hell woman, who do you think?”

they’re both dumbfounded, y/n by the answer and ghost by the question. and ghost knows he said the wrong thing as y/n shrinks in her spot, her gaze glued to the floor.

“i mean- i- i really don’t know.” she stutters, growing shy likes he’s never seen her before.

“try it on.”

“what?“

“come here.“

y/n allows him to hold her hand, sliding the ring on her finger with utmost care. it fits perfect, just her size and taste. her eyes jump between him and the ring, mind going a mile a minute.

“what do you reckon?“ his voice is low and quiet, and that’s all he says. it dawns on her that he’s really doing this, proposing in the most simon riley way possible.

“i didn’t even know we were dating.” she can’t help the jaw numbing smile that overtakes her, gently squeezing her hand in his.

“‘cause we’re not. we’re engaged.”

[akoyaxs]

Forget Her

✮ Pairing: Aonung x fem!metkayina!reader x Neteyam?

✮ Trope: Friendsish/sistersbestfriend to voyeur lovers

✮ Tags: talk of sex, Aonung's pov (literally cooked, he's so in denial but he wants her so bad), jealously, oral (fem recieving), kissing, biting, munchiness, p in v, voyeurism (yay!)

✮ A/N: Siri, play "Forget Her" by Jeff Buckley, NSFW MDNI

Aonung wasn’t entirely sure when he first started seeing you. Sure, you were Tsireya’s little friend at some point, then you were Ronal’s little assistant at some point. And then some time after, you became his fixation.

Maybe it was that day by the fire, the one at the festival where you were dripping in pearls and the sway of your hips to the loud ceremonial music was nothing short of hypnotising. Maybe it was that day he was irritated that he hadn’t caught any fish, and you had laid a hand on his shoulder, knelt beside him and helped him repair that hole in his net he hadn’t noticed.

Or maybe it was when they arrived.

Oh, there was a reason Aonung had been so unwelcoming to the Sully’s, and it wasn’t because he wasn’t unfriendly. No, it had to do with the way that eldest Sully boy looked at you, and the way you looked back, holding his strange yellow gaze until Aonung’s eyes on your back had drawn you back to yourself.

That Neteyam was going to be big fucking trouble - Aonung just hadn’t figured out why yet.

And ever since, he felt you slipping away from him. You had never been that close, always hanging beside Tsireya and being perfectly polite to him, yet your sudden growing absense from his marui and the training grounds and even the bay was beginning to irk him.

You no longer tended the warriors in the case of an injury - instead your gaze was preoccupied with watching the darker, thinner form of Neteyam training. You no longer hung around the Metkayina on hunts - instead he found you gravitating towards Neteyam, who would smile lightly at you and ask for your assistance with navigating the reef.

It was getting seriously irritating.

You had never been anything to him, and now suddenly, Aonung felt irked every moment you weren’t in his line of sight, your dark curls bobbing beside him, the watery tinkle of your laugh trickling over his skin.

Until that day. The one by the fire - again - where he and everyone else within a 5 kilometre radius could see that something was happening. You spent all night by Neteyam’s side, barely an inch between you two.

He would whisper something in your ear and you would giggle and laugh and look away so he wouldn’t see the light flush dusting your cheeks. He would lean right in to speak, and you’d turn nervously till your faces were ghosting by each other.

And then you left, turning back to smile tentatively at Neteyam, and slipped into the tree line. Neteyam’s face split into a wide grin and he followed without a moments hesitation, taking a careless glance back at the party before ducking after you.

Well, Aonung wasn’t going to stand for it. Were you going to be alright? What were you thinking? What were you doing?

To be truthful, Aonung knew the answers to all his questions, but he tactfully decided to ignore them. Ahead, your giggles darted through the trees. His scowl deepened and his mind settled itself.

He was careful to be quiet, and the moment he saw you, he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to breathe.

Neteyam had you laid out on the ground, head pillowed against leaves and body spread over the earth.

The coverings of your top were sparse to begin with, but in this position, the strings of beads were rolling over your supple skin in a way that was in no sort discreet. He could see everything, and the pretty little peaks of your nipples were something Aonung never could have pictured.

Nor could he have imagined the look on your face with Neteyam’s face kissing lower and lower down your stomach, until finally he reached your hips and grinned up at you.

Aonung can’t hear what Neteyam whispers, but you nod feverishly in response with a breathy, desperate yes.

Fuck. Your voice was doing something dangerous. It was just one word - not even spoken to him, not even aware he was watching - but the shiver that the sound of you all breathy and hoarse and wanting was unbearable.

Aonung felt both chilled and aflame, and he contented himself by melting into shadows and watching with ruthless fervour.

Neteyam’s head dipped between your thighs, and the sound that tore itself from your undeniably kissed lips was all but lecherous.

Aonung wondered faintly how much you knew about all this. The way you were gasping and rolling your hips against Neteyam’s face and grasping for his braids, his hand, his neck - anything to tether yourself to him - left little to imagination.

Oh, the things Aonung could teach you. But instead, he’d watch from the shadows as Neteyam enjoyed that paradise between your thighs.

From where Aonung’s standing, he can’t see nearly enough of what he needs. But he’s near enough to see the shine of slick against Neteyam’s face, his hand ghosting up and across your arched chest, the points of your fangs digging helplessly into the pillows of your lips.

Your breaths are growing louder, your moans hungrier, your mewls more pathetically desperate. Your grip is tighter and your thighs are closing tighter around Neteyam’s face, as though the thought of him pulling away was too much to bear.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Aonung doesn’t think he’s felt anything more erotic in his life. It’s so lewd and wrong and intimate, and that tent in his tewng is growing unbearably irritating. Still, he ignores it. He doesn’t deserve to get off from this, he’ll have to wait until he can taste you himself.

That’s fine. He’s happy to wait. Besides the fact that he is the most impatient man to ever live, and the fact that it’s taking every fibre of his being to not tear forward, discard Neteyam and take up his glorious mantle.

He’d cradle you close and whisper everything you’d want to hear. His hand would never leave your waist, your breasts, your hair. Your chest would never leave his, his lips would be resting on your skin for every moment till eternity.

Instead, he watches from the shadows as you cry out, and Neteyam grins in an infuriatingly self-satisfied way, before pushing himself up your body.

“Can I-” he’s barely asking before you’re nodding your feverish consent and reaching for his own tewng.

You look so desperate and eager and good, waiting for whatever Neteyam decides to give you.

Aonung would give you everything.

Instead, it’s Neteyam slotting himself between your thighs, dipping his head down to your chest as he pushes in, reaching up to brush his thumb over your lips as you let out a little whimper at the stretch.

Neteyam’s too fast with it. Not in any unreasonable way, just in a way that contrasts starkly with how Aonung would take you.

He wouldn’t look away from your face. He’d take his time, sinking into your velvety heat with agonizing, tortuous patience until his muscles were burning and you were mewling and whining beneath him. He’d make you feel every twitch and vein and inch of his length, and in return worship every clench and embrace you’d offer with dangerous enthusiasm.

Neteyam’s hips draw back, snap back in, and then he’s lost. Neteyam doesn’t particularly care - his groans low in your ears in a way that makes your eyes roll and hands tangle in his own. It takes everything in Aonung not to moan along with the two of you at the mere sight of your bare bodies embracing and tangling and melding into one another.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

You’re moaning unintelligible words, and Neteyam groans praise back to you, of how pretty you look, how good you feel, how well you’re doing.

Aonung would take it differently. He’d tell you how the moonlight glows over your slicked skin, how he wishes he could sink into you and stay there for days, weeks, years. How he wants to kiss you raw and bare, and carve himself into you so you can’t blink your pretty lashes without remembering how well your future Olo’eyktan loved you.

But instead, it’s Neteyam who speaks to you, guides you through your growing peak, until you’re arching against the earth, fangs sinking into your lip, knuckles turning white around Neteyam’s skin.

The sound you let out is animalistic - nothing Aonung ever would have expected from Tsireya’s pretty little friend. It chills every inch of his skin, etches itself deep into him, blazes straight through his control and tears him apart.

It’s unbearable.

So Aonung retreats, stepping back quietly before tearing back through the forest. Back to the beach, back to the moonlight, away from you and Neteyam and everything he had just witnessed.

What had you done to him?

Aonung, the best warrior, the best hunter, the best lover, was utterly destroyed at your feet. And all he needed was for you to pick the pieces back up and kiss him better.

Please.

Let me forget her.

[heeliopheelia]

GET HIM BACK! (s. jake)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

includes: making out, skin marking, fingering, unprotected sex, riding, brief hair pulling, choking, slight bulge kink, degrading, praising too, slight exhibitionism, facial, cursing

word count: 3.3k

synopsis: 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘨𝘶𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰

note: i really hated the build up to the one i posted before so i rewrote it as promised... sorry for the confusion guys ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

guts event masterlist ⋆♱✮♱⋆ main masterlist

“Your parents home?” Jake breaths out the words right into your mouth as he runs his tongue over your bottom lip.

It’s been mere three minutes since you first heard his loud and obnoxious bike speeding down your quiet street. He’s careless and tact-less as always, and for some reason that’s what draws you in even more. 

He never keeps you waiting long. He doesn’t beat around the bush. He’s always one foot out the door of wherever he is, always waiting for a single call or text from you. He knows what he wants and is always vocal about it, a go getter type of a man. 

So it was expected to have him climb up the low roof of your porch and hear his gloved hand knocking on your window not even ten minutes after you texted him a not so innocent wanna come over?. 

As if that was even a question. Of course he wants to come over, wants to see you any chance he can get. He doesn’t need to think for a second to grab his helmet and ride to wherever you are, so needy for him. He’s known you for less than two months – met you at a party and kept hooking up weeks after, and yet here he is, wrapped around your finger, with nothing else in his mind but you.

You’re not much better yourself, dreaming of his beaming face every night that you somehow don’t end up spending with him. You’ve grown attached to him, so attached that the tearing inside your chest becomes more hurtful whenever you’re not with him, day by day he takes a firmer grasp of your feeble heart.

Your hands are grasping onto his worn out t-shirt, kissing him greedily and breathlessly as he giggles into your mouth, pulling you closer and closer into his chest. 

“They came back an hour ago,” you answer, raising on your toes to make the angle more comfortable for the both of you. 

Slowly, he pulls away and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, then to the other one. “That’s kinda inconvenient, no?” He asks, nosing at your cheek and you close your eyes and nod your head, melting as the leather of his glove brushes against your skin as he lifts your chin up with his fingers.  

His warm lips are on yours again, hand pulling your face upward to leave you breathless in a matter of seconds. “Wanna go out with me?” He whispers in your lips. He hums when you shake your head. “No? Jay’s party’s still going. We could go, hm?” He kisses you again even when you shake your head no. “Wanna just stay here?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out quietly, eyes never meeting his. 

“Okay, as you wish, baby,” Jake smiles into your lips. “I don’t mind. Anywhere with you is good.”

Before you get the chance to swoon over his words even more, he’s pushing you backwards and against your dresser, putting his helmet down on it before caging you in between his flexing arms. He kisses you dizzy then, angling his face to the side to press and suck on your lips better.

It’s so Jake-like to make you forget about all of your surroundings, to kiss you into oblivion until your lips are swollen and burning. You never complain – why would you when you know you can only have him for this summer, before college starts again and you’ll be out of your hometown for another year. You always take him in, again and again, because you’re scared you’ll wake up from this dream too soon and never see him again. And you can’t let that happen. 

This time he pushes his tongue inside your mouth, the warm muscle working against yours. Your hands finally relax from where they’ve been clutching onto his black top so desperately, only to travel up into his hair. You tug on it gently, feeling the slightly sweaty strands underneath your fingertips. 

Jake pulls you flush to him, pushes his hips into yours for any type of fraction and groans lowly in his throat when he gets what he’s been craving for for the past hour. 

“Couldn’t wait till tomorrow to see me, baby?” He teases, but you’re nodding your head quickly before he even has the chance to finish the sentence. He smiles into your lips as your desperate fingers pull his shirt up and off of him, leaving you pressed to his toned chest. 

The two of you messily make your way to your bed, bare of any duvets and blankets as it’s too hot to sleep under any. You fall on top of him and part your lips only to latch onto his neck, tongue lapping over the bite marks you leave afterwards.  

Jake chuckles at your feverish suckling onto his skin, never objecting to being marked by you. He tugs on the leather gloves with his teeth, pulling them off and throwing them on the floor, fingers immediately going down to follow your lead and dispose of your top. You’re only wearing underwear underneath the big t-shirt you sleep in and the sight makes Jake’s mouth water. He runs his hands over every inch of your burning skin, impatiently unclasping your bra as you’re still busy with his bruised neck. 

You pull away, visibly pleased with yourself, then lift yourself on your arms and smother his swollen lips again. Jake grunts, kissing you almost just as fervently, hands going lower and lower until he grabs a handful of your ass and rolls his hips up into yours. 

You let out a whimper at that, an even louder one following when his slim fingers skim over the soaked cotton of your panties. 

“You need to be quiet, doll,” he chuckles breathlessly, drowning the sounds you make with his lips when he slips his fingers underneath the fabric and gets a feel of your slick pussy. “I don’t think we would want your parents walking in on us like that, hm?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stumble out, shifting as you’re laying flat on his chest, face buried in his collarbone and eyes fluttering when his moves only grow bolder. You shudder slightly, feeling his long digits teasing your clit with butterfly touches. 

“Ease up, pretty girl,” Jake coos, other hand wrapping around your waist to keep you steady when the first of his now soaked fingers slips inside your tight hole. You nuzzle into him further, breath becoming unsteady as you whine quietly. He moves his hand, burying it deeper and skimming it over your walls. 

Couple seconds later he adds in the second finger, the heel of his palm pressing to your clit and making you jolt slightly in his firm hold. He strokes inside you slowly, feeling you progressively getting wetter with his every push. You’re panting, hot breath hitting his skin and making his dick twitch in his pants. 

He’s plunging his fingers deep inside of you, your walls squeezing him and stretching out his lips with a satisfied smile. You can’t help but buck into the air in the little space that Jake gives you, when he picks up on his pace. His fingers thrust in and out of you, one by one, never losing their rhythm. 

Curving his fingers, his knuckles brush against the spongy insides of your hole, making you moan shakily. 

“You good?” He asks, the hand on your waist caressing you gently. 

You sigh, hands reaching up to squeeze his shoulders. “Yeah,” you whisper because that’s all of your voice that you can muster. 

“Yeah?” He can’t help but tease and you can hear the grin that’s plastered on his pink lips. But this time you only respond with a nod of your head. 

With your face buried in his skin, hands wrapped around his neck tightly, you know you’re cumming when the warm wave hits your stomach breathlessly. You’re whimpering in his collarbone, really trying your hardest to keep quiet, but with the twitching pleasure spreading through your body, and his hard bulge pressing into your stomach, it’s quite difficult to stay sane. 

Jake gives you a second to breathe before removing his dripping fingers and unbuckling his pants with it. He somehow manages to shake out of his jeans while keeping you steady on his chest and you shiver when you can feel his warm cock resting between your bodies now. 

“Stay still for me, baby,” he coaxes you before shifting you on his hips. 

Next second, you can feel his tip prodding at your sensitive pussy and he glides his cock between your glistening folds, coating it in your slick. He readies you with a squeeze at your waist, and slowly starts sinking his length inside of you.

“Wait, Jake-,” you choke on your words when he buries himself entirely inside of you, stretching you out and making you lose your composure completely. “I’m still s-sensitive,” you mumble out, about to nuzzle your face in his neck when his hands grip your waist. 

“Now, up you go,” he says and lifts you up, making you sit on his hips and take in even more of his cock. 

You moan rather loudly, sinking your teeth in your bottom lip to stop yourself from spilling any more sounds. Jake slowly rolls his hips up into you, quiet grunts leaving his own mouth as his hands settle on your hips. He starts guiding you up and down carefully until you’ve fully adjusted to him.

He only lets go once you’ve picked up on a steady pace, bracing your hands on his stomach, the feeling of his hardened muscles making your cheeks heat up. The way your pussy spreads around him is making him go crazy, and now and then he realizes that the combination of feeling you topping him and looking so fucking pretty at the same time, is nothing less than lethal. 

You’re so soft under his hands, soft around his cock, soft hands pressing on his abs – everything about you is so damn soft. You’re making him feel almost too good. To ground himself, one of his hands goes up to your hair and tugs on it slightly, making you arch your back and show your pretty, glistening with sweat neck. 

He grits his teeth when you speed up slightly, eyes misty and sparkling down at him in your dimly lit bedroom. You’re riding him so well, taking his heavy cock with little struggle.

“So good,” he pants out, fingers digging into your ass. “You’re doing so good.”

You can feel your muscles straining whenever you lift yourself up, tired legs making you drop down onto him a little more forcefully than you initially planned but you’re rewarded with his low moan and eyes shutting tightly, long lashes brushing over his cheeks. 

The room feels almost too hot, the house is too quiet for the lewd noises coming out of both of you. Your rhythmic bouncing on his aching cock soon changes to messy grinds as your knees give out and thighs burn. Your movements are shallow and visibly weakened, so to help you up, Jake brings his knees higher and roots his heels into your mattress only to thrust up into you, meeting your hips halfway.

You mewl, your legs twitching when he makes your hole take even more of him. He can feel your slick mixed with his precum seeping out and covering his stomach, and he desperately needs more. 

Swallowed by the haze, you push your hips backwards and try to meet his thrusts, making his moves stutter and a strangled groan bubbles up his throat.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he says through clenched teeth before grabbing you by your hips and pulling you off of him. Before you get the chance to ask what he is doing, you find yourself with your back slammed to the mattress, and Jake’s hands grabbing your calves and throwing them over his shoulders. 

When he enters you again, you feel your eyes rolling back a little but before any sound can make its way out of your throat, Jake’s veiny hand slaps over your mouth as he leans his face closely to yours. Your whimpers are muffled now as he picks up on his previous pace and the now changed position makes your walls clump down on him even fucking tighter. 

“Keep it down. We don’t want your mom barging in and seeing her daughter folded in half like a slut, do we?” His words only make you moan louder as your fingers dig into his toned shoulders. At your reaction, Jake’s lips spread with a sly smile as he raises his eyebrow. “Do we?” He asks breathlessly, watching as your eyes glisten in the dark room. “You really wanna get caught? To let somebody see you like that? Naughty, fucking, girl. Well, there you go.”

His hands leave your mouth and settle on your stomach instead. You just can’t predict his moves anymore, too absorbed in the pleasure spreading through your body, so when he pushes onto your stomach and presses you even deeper into the mattress, a loud moan ripples out of your lips. Jake groans too as he can feel himself moving so deep inside you underneath his fingertips. He pushes onto you even harder. Your head rolls backwards until you’re nearly facing the headboard.

It’s quite difficult to breathe and you’re not sure whether it’s from the stifling summer air that’s gotten into your room or the veiny hand that’s suddenly latched onto your throat. His hot cockhead seems to be hitting everywhere where you need it most. Nothing but dumb squeaks leave your parted lips and he thrives off of every single one of them, even deepening his thrusts to hear them grow louder.

His thighs clash into yours loudly and you yelp when he leans even more forward and the one hand that’s currently not on your throat clutches the headboard tightly. You can’t even do anything when the wood starts rattling against your wall. 

“You like getting fucked like this? Who would’ve thought,” he hums, grinning down at you with the teasing glimmer in his eyes. 

His thrusts are deep, making the tip of his cock kiss your cervix over and over again. The moans you sob out are like a shot of adrenaline in his veins, better than any drug he’s ever tried and suddenly the thought of having you to himself only for the next week crosses his mind. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to breathe without you now that he’s almost sure he’s addicted to you. 

He works his length deep inside you. Your vision threatens to turn black and you’re already out of breath when he presses onto your throat a little harder. You send him a half-lidded look and he moves his hand away from your throat to push your sweaty hair away from your forehead because nothing can fucking take the sight of your fucked out face away from him. 

Your lips are parted with the ragged breaths leaving them, hands fisting his hair and legs beginning to tremble against his chest.

“So pretty, all for me. All because of me.” You nod thoughtlessly at his words, mind taken over by the feeling of the soon to be approaching high. “So lewd too. Where did your shame go?” 

“C- Close,” is all you’re able to say. You can feel every vein on his cock more prominently with every next thrust of his, all of your senses besides touch evaporating. You can’t even hear any more of his dirty words when your climax hits you like a truck, making you let out a loud moan. 

Jake wraps one of his arms under your waist and lifts you up slightly, now folding you in half and making your orgasm hit twice as hard. He slows his hips down for a moment to help you ride it out, thrusting his dick with deep strokes. 

He’s letting go of you soon enough, quickly forgetting about your sensitive self as he feels the twitching and aching between his legs begin, waiting for his own release. With a groan, Jake braces both of his flexing arms on the headboard and ruts his heavy cock into you feverishly, making you see stars and cry out of overstimulation. 

You have to bite on his shoulder to stop the sudden scream from leaving your throat, your whole body ricocheting with his hard thrusts. Your thighs are drenched and so are his, so the skin slapping against skin sounds even louder than before, leaving the backs of your plush upper legs red and stinging. 

He loves having you like that, limp because he’s fucked you just that good but body no less responsive to all that he keeps giving you. 

“So fucking good,” he repeats himself before abruptly pulling out of your spasming pussy. “Get down here, baby.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you only nod and eagerly pull yourself down on the bed with your wobbly legs. Once you’re lowered enough, Jake angles his swollen cock right above your face and strokes himself quickly, only to couple seconds later cover your face with the thick white ropes of his release. You flinch slightly, closing your eyes as the warm liquid hits your cheeks, lewdly licking everything that’s sputtered over your lips. 

“Oh, fuck!” Jake groans, a little pitchier than before, nonetheless just as pretty. You lift your head up from the mattress and swiftly engulf his leaking tip with your lips, milking him until he’s dry. Jake shudders above you and moans, watching you through almost closed eyes as you suck on his softening cock. 

You pull away when there’s nothing else to take from him and the doe eyed look you’re giving him makes him weak in the knees. He drops down next to you, brushing your hair away from your cum stained face before giggling and picking up the shirt you’ve thrown on the floor. He gently cleans you up with it, then leans forward to drown you with his lips. 

You could kiss him for eternity, be buried with his soft lips on yours. He’s gentler now, pressing his mouth on yours and leaving peck after peck on them.  

“I think I’m in love with you,” he whispers suddenly, hazy, nose brushing against yours and making you smile the softest smile at him. “There’s never gonna be anyone else like you, YN.”

And with your heart in your throat, you can only swallow harshly and speak through your clenched throat. “Love you too, Jake.”

There’s silence between the two of you for a moment as you just stay in the moment. Heavy breaths, gentle touches brushing against each other’s bodies and soft voices making promises you most likely won’t be able to keep.

“You won’t forget about me, right?” You whisper quietly, looking up at him with misty eyes as he glazes his thumb over your bottom lip. 

He shakes his head immediately, flashing you this charming smile of his you’ve gotten so used to over the past two months. 

“How could I?” He’s just as quiet. Then he gently takes your hand in his and presses it to his chest, allowing you to feel the hammering of his heart. “All of this is yours. I’ll wait for you.”

And that’s all you need to hear right now. 

The two of you get dressed, giggling and smiling like fools as there’s nothing much left to say. Your hip is leaning on your dresser when he steps closer and kisses you again, sucking on your lips sensually and slowly, procrastinating as long as he can only to not part with you yet.

His gloves are back on his hands, helmet under his arm as he turns back to you and tries one more time, grabbing your smaller hand in his. “Go out with me now?” 

You don’t know how you’ll be able to face your parents tomorrow. 

You don’t wanna say goodbye to him tonight. 

So with a smile on your lips, you nod your head and climb out of the window – hands intertwined together and his helmet safely tucked on your head.

But he was so much fun and he had such weird friends

And he would take us out to parties and the night would never end

taglist: @luvkpop @yannew @hoonxclsvly @jongseongslvr @beomgyusonlywife @starggukies @koizekomi @ineedsomezzz @starl1ghtsinthedark @enhastolemyheart @seokseokjinkim @parksunghoonsgf @skzenhalove @somekpopshiteu97 @enhypens-hoe @alpha-mommy69 @jwnzlvr @wondipity

permanent taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @dilucsleftshoelace @ramenoil @jenjnk @jaylaxies @seongiewon @nichoswag @s00buwu @mon2sunjinsuver @goreconsumer @i4kt @heehoonsnemo @seongslutt @criminalyun @kissestojapan

[calypso-rt]

ᴏʙʟɪᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ

ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ x ᴘᴏɢᴜᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | 1.6k

ᴀ/ɴ: ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴋ, ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ :)

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜɪɴᴋꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴀꜰᴇ ꜱᴇᴇᴍ ᴀʙꜱᴏʟᴜᴛᴇʟʏ ᴇɴᴀᴍᴏʀᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ…ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴏʙʟɪᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴛᴏ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ..

Stolen glances and lingering eyes should’ve been enough proof of the growing attractions.

But you and Rafe Cameron were the epitome of obliviousness.

Everyone could see it, I mean, even Rafe’s own idiotic friends noticed. The Pogues, despite their distaste for Rafe, could see it too. It was obvious from the moment he first met you…

It started months ago when you moved to the Outer Banks and snagged a summer job at the island’s country club. You were new to the chaos of island life, with its clear divides between the Kooks and the Pogues, but the country club seemed like neutral ground…well, not at all actually, but at least you were valued as an employee.

Rafe had strolled in one muggy afternoon, exuding an air of careless confidence. He was there to pick up his sister, Sarah, but you didn’t know that yet. What you did notice was how his sharp blue eyes locked onto you when you fumbled with a tray of drinks.

“You’re spilling,” he said flatly, gesturing to the condensation pooling on your tray.

“I’m fine,” you replied, your tone clipped, though you felt your cheeks warming.

But instead of brushing it off, Rafe grabbed a few napkins from the counter and handed them to you, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment. It was such a simple gesture, but you noticed the hesitation in his hand, as though he was reluctant to let go.

From then on, he started showing up at the club more often. At first, it was always with a reason: picking up Sarah, meeting friends, golfing. Yet somehow, he always ended up near your section, lounging in a chair with an iced tea, his sunglasses pushed up to his hair as he watched you dart between tables.

“You’re working too hard,” he teased one day, catching you mid-sprint. He was perched on the edge of a barstool, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show off a hint of a tan.

“Some of us don’t have the luxury of lounging around all day,” you shot back, though the way his lips twitched into a lopsided grin made your heart flutter.

As the weeks passed, the small gestures piled up. He’d linger in line just long enough to exchange a few words, his voice soft but teasing. He started carrying a spare pen in his pocket because he noticed you were always searching for one. Once, when a storm rolled in out of nowhere, Rafe showed up at the back door with an umbrella and waited until your shift ended to walk you to your car.

“It’s pouring,” you said, exasperated but touched by his effort.

“And?” he replied, tilting the umbrella slightly so more of it covered you. “Can’t have you getting sick.”

You didn’t see the way his friends smirked from across the lot or the knowing glance Sarah threw his way. But when you whispered a soft “thank you,” he smiled down at you like you’d handed him the moon.

You didn’t need to say anything else. 

Everyone knew.

It was only a matter of time.

And so here you were lounging on the sand on a little beach day. The waves were high and the sun was ablaze, illuminating your skin in a golden light.

Days like these are when the Kooks and the Pogues came to an unspoken sort of truce and shared the beachspace. They both knew where the best surfing spots were.

Lost in your little book, a shadow casts over you, and you look up to see him.

All sunkissed skin and salt-blown hair.

That easy arrogance he wore like a second skin.

“Missed the early morning waves,” you tease, perching your sunglasses on your nose as you smirk up at him, eyes glimmering in the sunrays.

“Yeah, well,” he drawled, dropping his board into the sand beside you, “not all of us have the luxury of sitting here pretending to read.”

“Pretending?” you scoffed, closing the book with an exaggerated snap. “I was deep in a chapter about existentialism before your shadow interrupted my enlightenment.”

He tilted his head, squinting at the cover. “It’s a romance novel, isn’t it?”

“It's literary fiction, thank you very much,” you said, holding the book closer to your chest in mock offense.

“Sure it is.” He sat down beside you, close enough that the side of his knee brushed yours. A deliberate move, but one he played off so casually that it would’ve gone unnoticed if your heart wasn’t already doing flips.

The others began to catch on. From the water, JJ paused mid-paddle, tilting his head like he was trying to process the scene in front of him. “Would you look at that? Rafe Cameron’s gone soft,” he muttered, elbowing Pope. “Swapped his surfboard for a... muse or something.”

Pope snorted. “More like a sparring partner,” he shot back, though the amused glint in his eyes was impossible to miss.

Under a nearby umbrella, Sarah watched the whole thing unfold, her lips quirking into a knowing smirk. Rafe was leaning in again, saying something to you that made you laugh, and for a moment, it was like the rest of the bustling beach didn’t exist to him. “Oh, he’s a goner,” she muttered, shaking her head but unable to stop smiling.

“Want a surfing lesson?” he asked, his voice low enough that it felt like a challenge.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you actually offering, or is this just an excuse to watch me wipe out?”

“Can’t it be both?”

It didn’t take much convincing. Soon, you were out in the waves, teetering on a board that felt way too narrow while Rafe stood waist-deep in the water, coaching you with infuriating patience.

“Bend your knees,” he called, arms crossed as he watched you wobble.

“I am bending my knees!” you shot back, nearly toppling over as a wave rushed past.

“Not enough. You look like a baby deer learning how to walk.”

“Keep talking, Cameron, and you’ll find yourself eating sand,” you threatened, though your laugh ruined the effect.

And when you inevitably fell, tumbling into the water with a dramatic splash, he was there. Not with mockery, but with a hand outstretched and a smirk that was far softer than it had any right to be.

“See? Told you it’d be fun,” he said, pulling you upright.

“You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you’re smiling.”

By the time you made it back to the beach, your hair a salty, tangled mess and your cheeks sore from laughing, everyone had noticed.

The months of summer passed by until it was time.

The Midsummer's party was in full swing. Golden lights strung through the trees, laughter and music mingling with the warm summer air. The Kooks were in their finest, flaunting their tailored suits and flowing dresses like it was a royal ball instead of just another night on the Outer Banks.

You had promised yourself you’d stay on the edges, blending into the background with the other staff. But somehow, Sarah had roped you into wearing one of her old dresses, a soft blue number that fit you almost too perfectly.

Rafe saw you the moment you stepped into the garden.

For a second, he didn’t move. His tie hung loose around his neck, his hair slightly mussed like he’d already run his hands through it too many times. But when his eyes locked on you, the easy confidence he usually wore seemed to falter.

He found you by the drinks table, nervously picking at a stray thread on your dress.

“You clean up well,” he said, sliding next to you with that familiar smirk, though his voice lacked its usual teasing edge.

“And you almost look respectable,” you replied, glancing at him with a soft smile.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. For once, he looked unsure, like he was debating whether to say what was on his mind.

“Listen,” he started, shifting his weight. “I was wondering if you’d want to…if you’d go with me. To this thing.”

You blinked, confused. “You mean the party we’re both already at?”

“Yes. No. I mean…” He groaned, looking away for a moment before turning back to you. “I want you to be here with me. Not as Sarah’s friend, not as the girl working the summer. Just… you and me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you couldn’t resist teasing him. “That almost sounded like a confession, Cameron.”

“It is,” he admitted, his voice softer now, his usual confidence replaced by something more sincere. His blue eyes never left yours, and for once, there was no sarcasm in sight. “I like you. I think I’ve liked you for longer than I’d care to admit... but I didn’t want to mess it up.”

You raised an eyebrow, unable to hide your smile. “So you’ve been overthinking this, huh?”

“Maybe just a little,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “But now I’m thinking it’s about time I stopped.”

You stared at him, speechless for a moment, before breaking into a grin. “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

He laughed, a genuine sound that made your heart skip a beat, and then extended his hand with a crooked grin. “Well? Are you going to leave me hanging here all night or what?”

Without overthinking it, you placed your hand in his. “Lead the way, Cameron.”

As he tugged you toward the dance floor, the chaos of the party felt like it faded into the background, the noise dimming to nothing. It was just you and Rafe, moving together, the unspoken tension finally slipping away. 

[themuseofaphrodite]

know that you and i shouldn’t feel like a crime ✧ OP81

summary: after viewing a series of viral tiktoks, you decide to partake in the “hear me out” cake trend with your very wary boyfriend.

trigger warnings: suggestive & mature content, swearing

word count: 1k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

One of your most surprising qualities was that you were a TikTok fiend, especially since you were usually down to earth and didn’t use your phone much in public — but for good reason. Your “For You” page was filled with some of the weirdest, wackiest things: dangerous extreme sport challenges, odd filters used on pets for a quick laugh… the list could go on. Each video was a perfect way to destroy your reputation as the effortlessly suave McLaren princess.

You slouched on the creaky recliner next to Oscar Piastri, your boyfriend of almost three years, and sighed loudly, garnering his attention immediately. He was perfectly attuned to your every movement and breath, which was why you liked him so much. Nothing was worse than a nonchalant man, and Oscar was anything but that.

“Hm, darling? Everything OK?” Oscar looked up at you from where he was sitting, pausing the television with a careless flick of his hand. “It’s getting late, maybe you’re tired? You did have a long day.”

You shrugged one shoulder, feigning coolness. “No, I’m fine, I’m not tired. I just have an idea.”

Oscar raised one eyebrow, already on alert. That last sentence always warned him that something was afoot, and nine times out of ten, it was never anything good. “Oh, no. What now?”

“There’s a trend going around” — this made Oscar visibly tense, a vein in his neck going taut as he waited for you to continue. He disliked the viral pranks and never laughed at any of them, to your dismay — “and I was hoping you’d be willing to participate in one of them with me?” You batted your eyelashes, giving him puppy dog eyes, a trick you knew he couldn’t resist.

“If my mates find out about this,” he warned you, waving a finger menacingly at you like a stereotypical villain. “No posting this like you did last time.” You stifled a laugh at the thought of the last prank you engaged in, and the way it had broken the Internet when you posted it on social media. Oscar had not forgiven you, and it had been almost a year.

You shook your head solemnly, extending your pinky finger out to him so he would interlock his own in an unspoken vow. “I promise you I won’t post it.”

“Good.” He pursed his lips, obviously remembering the media disaster that had unfolded last time. McLaren had not been happy with him in the slightest, to say the least. He was still making it up to them even now. “What’s the trend?”

You edged yourself closer to him, tilting your chin conspiratorially and speaking in a low whisper. “Hear me out.”

Oscar’s eyebrows furrowed, clueless. He scrolled through TikTok very rarely, mainly preferring to stick to television, and sometimes Instagram reels, so he had no idea what you were talking about. “Pardon?”

“So, basically,” you explained, your voice bright with mischief, “you have to think of a few characters, or people, that you think are attractive, although others might disagree with you. For example, hear me out,” you started, a moment’s pause between your response. “Bumblebee from Transformers.”

Oscar’s jaw dropped as the name clicked. “The robot? You want to tell me that you find a machine attractive?”

“He’s protective and sweet, and has really good music taste,” you defended, pouting.

“Goddamn, Y/N, starting off strong.” Oscar hummed under his breath, thinking. “Hear me out, Megan Fox but in Jennifer’s Body.”

You groaned loudly, annoyed. “That’s not a ‘hear me out’. Everyone agrees that Megan Fox in that film was beautiful. It has to be something unhinged, like, hear me out” — you clucked your tongue, pondering over the various choices floating around in your mind — “the Goldfish cracker on the front of the bag.”

Oscar made a distinct choking noise, his face flushing red. “An animal? God, Y/N. I should report you to the police so they can put you behind bars.”

You swatted him on the shoulder, barely missing him since his reflexes were superhuman. “Try again, Osc. Really shock me with this next one, please.”

“Hear me out…Belle from Beauty and the Beast.” Oscar waited for your approval, and you sighed, throwing your hands up in the air in surrender. “What? How was that not good? She’s a cartoon!”

“Everyone loves Belle! She’s fierce, intelligent, and stunning. All qualities that are conventionally attractive!” You shook your head. “Come on. Hear me out, a string bass.”

Oscar’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “What the — Please tell me you’re joking, love. There’s no way you could find an instrument attractive.”

“A bass is tall, deep-pitched, and mysterious. Just what I like in a man.” You beamed up at him. “OK, Oscar. Don’t disappoint me.”

He side-eyed you, tapping his fingers on his lap as he thought. “I have one.” You watched him with bated breath, hoping that he would finally catch on. “Hear me out, Sydney Sweeney, in general.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “I give up, Oscar. I should’ve known that this wouldn’t have worked. Lando would be so much better to do this with… Let me ask him if he’s free.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, pulling you onto his lap before you could escape, and giving you a quick peck to your lips. “Sorry, darling. Better luck next time?”

You huffed. “Whatever, Oscar. I forgot you were an inadequate, basic white boy.”

Oscar nudged his nose against your jaw, whispering in a husky, deep voice. “Hear me out, my girlfriend, Y/N L/N. She might be batshit crazy sometimes, but she’s absolutely breathtaking. When she’s underneath me, begging for my cock like a good girl? It’s a fucking work of art.”

You suppressed a shiver, looping your arm and burying yourself against him, arousal dancing under your skin. “Fuck, OK. You win.”

He kissed you again, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Oh, I know. I always do. Future world champion, remember?”

“Arrogant prick,” you muttered, but your curses were swallowed up by a new wave of kisses Oscar pressed against your lips.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

[goldfades]

luke hughes + the reader being injured??

i recently had a health scare so this felt fitting

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | i am so sorry, hon! i hope you're okay now, i'm sending prayers your way. i hope this fic cheers you up:(

You’re not sure what wakes you first—the dull ache in your throat or the sound of Luke groaning from somewhere nearby. It could be both, honestly. The room feels heavy, like someone stuffed it with wet towels, and even the pale light spilling through the curtains seems sluggish, like it’s had enough of trying.

Luke is sprawled across the couch, his long legs dangling off the side in defiance of logic, his arm thrown dramatically over his face. If this were any other day, you’d roll your eyes and mutter something sharp about his flair for theatrics, but today, your voice feels stuck somewhere between a croak and a whisper. A small mercy, maybe.

Your head pounds as you sit up, the blanket slipping off your shoulders and pooling around your waist. It smells faintly of the laundry detergent Luke swears by—some over-the-top scent that promises “mountain breeze” but delivers something closer to “mint gum and pinecones.” You hate that you know that.

“Are you alive over there?” Luke’s voice cuts through the stillness, raspy and half-hearted. His face remains hidden beneath the crook of his elbow, but you can hear the faint smirk buried in his tone. Always smug, even when he’s halfway to death's door.

You clear your throat—or at least, you try. The sound that escapes makes you wince. “Define ‘alive.’”

That gets a laugh out of him, a low, gravelly thing that almost makes you forget the way your chest feels like it’s stuffed with cement. Almost.

For a moment, the two of you sit there in silence, broken only by the occasional sniffle or the soft creak of the couch as Luke shifts his weight. It’s not peaceful, exactly, but it’s something close.

And then he says it, casual and careless, like it’s not the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard. “You think this is, like, the flu? Or something worse?”

Your stomach flips—not in a swoony, butterflies way, but in the way that makes your heart pound for all the wrong reasons.

“Don’t,” you warn, sharper than you intend, your voice cracking on the word.

But Luke is already peeking out from beneath his arm, his blue eyes wide and almost childlike, like he’s just dared himself into a dangerous game.

You glare at him—or at least you try to. It’s hard to summon much menace when your nose is a clogged faucet and your head feels like it’s caught in a vice. Luke, ever the instigator, smirks like he’s won some kind of battle.

“I’m just saying,” he starts, and you can already tell this is going to be one of those things. “What if we caught some freak virus or something? Like that movie where everyone turns into zombies?”

You groan, letting your head fall back against the couch cushion. “Oh my God, Luke. It’s a cold. Maybe the flu if we’re being dramatic.”

“Speak for yourself,” he retorts, finally sitting up. His hair is a mess of dark curls, sticking out in every direction like he’s just been electrocuted, and his hoodie looks like it hasn’t seen the inside of a washing machine in weeks. “I feel like I got hit by a truck. Twice.”

“You look like it too,” you mumble, earning a scoff.

Despite the teasing, there’s a hint of truth to it. Luke looks...rough. His skin is pale except for the flush on his cheeks, and the shadows under his eyes are darker than usual. It’s unsettling, seeing someone who’s usually so full of energy—constantly moving, constantly talking—reduced to this sluggish, worn-out version of himself.

Not that you’re faring any better.

Luke notices you shivering before you do, his brows knitting together in concern. Without a word, he grabs the blanket pooled around your waist and tugs it back up to your shoulders, tucking it in with clumsy, overly large hands.

“Thanks, nurse Hughes,” you mutter, trying to ignore the way the small act of care makes your chest ache—not from sickness, but from something softer, scarier.

“Don’t mention it,” he says, leaning back against the couch, his head lolling to the side. “I’ll add it to my résumé. Right after ‘world’s best little spoon.’”

You let out a weak laugh, though it quickly turns into a cough that rattles your whole body. Luke winces, looking alarmed.

“Okay, you’re officially banned from laughing until you’re better,” he says, holding up a hand like he’s swearing an oath. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Since when are you a doctor?”

“Since right now.” He grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Beneath all the jokes and dramatics, there’s something fragile in his expression, something that makes you wonder if he’s more worried than he lets on.

The silence stretches again, thicker this time, as you both retreat into your own thoughts. You hate it—this heaviness, this uncertainty. And yet, there’s something oddly comforting about sharing it with Luke, about not being alone in this miserable little bubble.

Eventually, he breaks the quiet. “If this is serious—like, really serious—we should probably call someone, right? A doctor or a nurse or...I don’t know, Jack?”

You glance at him, surprised by the suggestion. Luke rarely mentions his brothers in moments like this, like he doesn’t want to bother them with his problems. It’s enough to make you sit up a little straighter, even as your body protests.

“We’ll call if it gets worse,” you say firmly, trying to inject some authority into your voice. “But for now, we’re just two idiots with bad immune systems and a bad case of cabin fever. Deal?”

“Deal,” he says, but his tone is tentative, like he’s not entirely convinced.

Still, he doesn’t argue, and for that, you’re grateful.

The hours blur together after that, punctuated by bouts of coughing, poorly muffled sneezes, and half-hearted attempts at watching a movie. Luke insists on something ridiculous—a cheesy action flick where the hero spends more time flexing than fighting—and you’re too tired to argue.

Somewhere along the way, you both fall asleep, your heads tilted towards each other, the sound of explosions and bad dialogue fading into the background.

When you wake, it’s dark outside, and Luke is still slumped against your shoulder, his breathing deep and steady. For the first time all day, the room feels light again, like maybe, just maybe, you’ll both be okay.

You let your eyes drift shut again, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips. Whatever this is—flu, cold, or just plain bad luck—you’ll face it together.

The room is quieter now, save for the occasional sniffle or cough breaking the stillness. Luke has been lying back on the couch, his legs stretched out lazily, but his restless fidgeting hasn’t gone unnoticed. His fingers drum lightly against the armrest, and every so often, his gaze flickers toward you, like he’s checking to make sure you’re still breathing.

You’re curled up in a blanket cocoon on the opposite end of the couch, trying to ignore the dull throb in your temples and the growing itch in your throat. It’s not exactly restful, but you’re too exhausted to care.

"Okay, that’s it,” Luke says suddenly, his voice rough but full of determination. He sits up straighter, the movement jolting you out of your daze.

“What now?” you ask, blinking at him through half-lidded eyes.

“You can’t just sit over there looking all pitiful,” he declares, as if he’s just made a groundbreaking discovery. “Come here.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Come where?”

“Here,” he repeats, patting the space next to him. “You’re obviously freezing, and I’m not letting you turn into a popsicle on my watch.”

“Luke, I’m fine,” you protest weakly, though the shiver that runs through you betrays the lie.

“Uh-huh. Sure you are.” He gives you a pointed look, one that says he’s not buying it for a second. “Now stop being stubborn and get over here before I drag you myself.”

You huff out a sigh, but the truth is, the idea of being warm—of being close to him—is more appealing than you’d like to admit. Slowly, you shuffle across the couch, dragging your blanket with you like a reluctant child.

“Happy now?” you mutter as you settle in beside him.

“Not yet,” he says, and before you can protest, he’s pulling you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and tugging you against his chest.

“Luke,” you start, but your words trail off as his warmth seeps into you, the steady rise and fall of his chest oddly soothing.

“Shh,” he murmurs, resting his chin lightly on top of your head. “This is non-negotiable. Doctor Hughes says you need cuddles for recovery.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how medicine works,” you mumble, though you don’t pull away.

He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “It’s an advanced technique. You wouldn’t understand.”

Despite his playful tone, there’s an undercurrent of something more serious—something you can feel in the way his arm tightens around you, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go. It’s in the way his fingers trace absent patterns along your shoulder, a nervous habit he probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing.

“Luke,” you say quietly, tilting your head to look up at him. His blue eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see it—the worry he’s been trying so hard to mask with jokes and bravado.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. It’s more for his benefit than yours, you think, but you nod anyway.

“We’re both gonna be okay,” you reply, letting your head rest against his chest again.

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. It’s heavy with unspoken words, but it feels safe—like the two of you have built a little cocoon against the outside world, even if it’s just for tonight.

Luke shifts slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around both of you. His other hand comes up to rest on your arm, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “If you tell anyone I’m being this nice to you, I’ll deny it.”

You laugh, the sound muffled against his hoodie. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

The weight of exhaustion finally starts to pull you under, but as you drift off, you feel Luke’s lips press a feather-light kiss to the top of your head.

“Rest,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time all day, you believe him.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[jiminomenon]

punk! karina and mean girl! reader in detention

pairing: punk! karina x mean girl! reader

word count: 2.5k+

summary: stuck in detention together, jimin and y/n do anything but serve their punishment quietly. while y/n tries to pass the time without losing her mind, jimin makes it her mission to get under her skin—tapping her pen against the desk, whispering teasing remarks, and finding every excuse to pull her into trouble. between stolen glances, quiet laughter, and a battle of wills, the tension between them only grows. by the time detention ends, it’s clear that for these two, even punishment feels like a game they both enjoy playing.

from my series: match made in hell

detention was the worst place to be on a friday afternoon, especially when it was because of something as stupid as “inappropriate conduct in the school hallway.” as if jimin casually slipping her hand into the back pocket of y/n’s plaid skirt was some kind of felony.

it wasn’t like she was making out with her against the lockers—this time, at least. but of course, the teachers had it out for them, always looking for a reason to punish the school’s two biggest troublemakers. not that y/n cared about their dumb rules, but wasting an entire hour sitting in silence? now that was a crime.

she sat at the back of the room, arms crossed, leg bouncing impatiently under the desk. the classroom smelled like old books and dust, the air thick with boredom from the other students forced to serve their time.

jimin, however, looked completely unbothered. she was slouched in her chair beside y/n, boots kicked up onto the desk in front of her like she owned the place, chewing lazily on a piece of gum she probably wasn’t even supposed to have. the way she carried herself, so effortlessly cool and careless, made y/n both admire and want to strangle her at the same time.

she exhaled sharply, side-eyeing her girlfriend before finally breaking the silence between them.

“this is your fault,” y/n muttered, glaring at jimin out of the corner of her eye. her arms stayed crossed, fingers digging into her sleeves as if physically restraining herself from smacking that cocky grin off jimin’s face.

jimin merely smirked, tilting her head toward y/n. “you didn’t seem to mind earlier, babe.” her voice was smooth, teasing, dripping with the same arrogance that got her into trouble in the first place.

y/n scoffed, rolling her eyes. “yeah, well, that was before i realized i’d be rotting in here for an hour because of you.” she leaned back in her chair, shifting her gaze to the front of the room, where mr. choi was pretending to grade papers but was probably just counting down the minutes until he could leave.

jimin wasn’t done, though. she leaned in, voice dropping just low enough for only y/n to hear. “you know… we could sneak out.”

y/n turned her head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “and get caught? you really don’t think ahead, do you?”

“c’mon,” jimin grinned, voice dripping with mischief. “since when did you care about rules?”

y/n hated that jimin had a point. she was the last person to care about rules. if anything, she had broken more than jimin had—just in a more strategic way. but she also wasn’t stupid. and she knew that with their reputation, one more stunt would land them in suspension, which meant no sneaking around between classes, no excuses to “stay late for group projects,” no making out behind the gym when they were supposed to be in p.e. detention was bad, but being kept apart? that was worse.

“you’re insufferable,” y/n muttered, shaking her head.

“and yet,” jimin drawled, dragging her knuckles along y/n’s arm now, sending a slow, deliberate shiver up her spine, “you’re madly in love with me.”

“debatable.”

jimin let out a low chuckle, shifting even closer, her breath warm against y/n’s ear. “oh yeah?” she murmured, fingers now ghosting over y/n’s thigh, making her muscles tense despite herself. “wanna test that theory?”

y/n clenched her jaw, knowing exactly what jimin was trying to do. this was her game—push, push, push until y/n finally snapped and kissed her just to shut her up. it was infuriating. but also? kind of hot.

“you’re lucky we’re in public, meanie,” jimin added, her smirk widening as she leaned back, watching y/n’s reaction like a cat playing with its food.

y/n scoffed, shaking off the warmth creeping up her neck. “i’m lucky? you’re the one who wouldn’t survive in here without me.”

jimin hummed, pretending to consider this. “yeah? so what, you’d just leave me all alone?”

y/n didn’t answer immediately. instead, she reached over and took jimin’s hand in hers, lacing their fingers together like it was second nature. she kept her gaze forward, acting nonchalant, but the way her thumb absentmindedly stroked jimin’s skin gave her away. jimin blinked, caught off guard, before her smirk softened into something less cocky, more genuine.

“guess i’m the lucky one then,” she murmured, giving y/n’s hand a small squeeze.

y/n sighed, pretending to be annoyed, but she didn’t pull away. detention was boring, sure. but if she had to be stuck in here, at least she wasn’t stuck alone.

jimin was quiet for a while after that, which was a rare occurrence. normally, she always had some smartass comment, some teasing remark to get under y/n’s skin. but now, she just sat there, hand still in y/n’s, tracing slow, lazy patterns against her palm with her thumb. y/n didn’t say anything about it, didn’t acknowledge the way her heart did a little flip at the feeling. she just let it happen, pretending she wasn’t affected.

the rest of the classroom was dead silent except for the occasional sound of someone shifting in their seat or mr. choi clearing his throat. the clock on the wall ticked painfully slow, each second dragging on like the universe was punishing them specifically. y/n tapped her fingers against the desk, already growing impatient.

“if you’re gonna get me in trouble,” she muttered, keeping her voice low, “at least make it worth my while.”

jimin perked up at that, turning her head with a grin. “oh? what’s this? my mean girl wants a little fun?”

y/n rolled her eyes but smirked slightly. “i’m saying, if we’re stuck here, we might as well make it interesting.”

jimin’s grin widened, the troublemaker in her awakening immediately. “interesting, huh? what are you suggesting, princess?”

y/n leaned in slightly, making sure mr. choi wasn’t looking before whispering, “bet you can’t get out of here without him noticing.”

jimin’s eyes practically sparked with excitement. “oh, babe, you really do love me.”

“debatable,” y/n shot back, but her smirk gave her away.

jimin didn’t waste another second. she stretched her arms above her head like she was just adjusting, then, in one fluid motion, slid down lower in her seat, boots soundlessly hitting the floor. she moved like she had done this a hundred times before, which, knowing her, she probably had. y/n watched, amused, as jimin slid under the desk, crouching low, making sure mr. choi’s eyes were still glued to his book.

then, ever so slowly, jimin started crawling toward the door.

y/n had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. the sight of the school’s resident bad girl—tattoos peeking from under her sleeves, ripped uniform, dark eyeliner still sharp despite the dim lighting—literally crawling on the floor like a damn cat burglar was almost too much. she covered her mouth, pretending to rest her chin on her palm as she kept watching.

jimin was almost at the door now. just a few more inches.

and then—

“ms. yu, where do you think you’re going?”

y/n shut her eyes, exhaling through her nose. so close.

jimin froze mid-crawl, then slowly, slowly, turned her head toward mr. choi with the guiltiest yet most shameless expression y/n had ever seen.

“uh…” jimin started, blinking up at their teacher like a deer caught in headlights. “dropped my pen?”

mr. choi looked unimpressed. “get back in your seat. now.”

jimin sighed dramatically, getting up with zero shame, brushing invisible dust off her pants. she strolled back to her desk, plopping down beside y/n like nothing happened.

“so close,” y/n muttered under her breath, shaking her head.

jimin leaned in, whispering, “hey, at least i tried. you know you love me for it.”

y/n scoffed, looking away to hide her smile. detention might’ve sucked, but at least with jimin around, it was never boring.

jimin didn’t even look the slightest bit ashamed. in fact, she looked proud of herself, stretching her arms behind her head as if she hadn’t just been caught trying to escape like a cartoon villain. y/n shot her a look, a mix of amusement and exasperation, but jimin only grinned in response.

“what?” she whispered, nudging y/n’s knee under the desk.

“you’re an idiot,” y/n whispered back, shaking her head. “next time, maybe don’t be so obvious?”

jimin gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in mock offense. “excuse me, i was incredibly stealthy.”

y/n snorted. “you literally crawled like a raccoon digging through trash. it was pathetic.”

jimin leaned in, resting her chin on her hand, eyes flickering with something teasing. “oh? so you were watching me that closely, huh?”

y/n’s face heated up. she opened her mouth to respond—probably to call jimin insufferable again—but before she could, mr. choi’s voice cut through the room.

“both of you. zip it.”

they both turned their heads forward at the same time, mumbling a half-hearted “yes, sir.”

for a few minutes, they actually behaved. y/n tapped her nails against the desk, staring out the window, watching as the sky slowly turned gold. outside, students were probably on their way home, couples were probably getting ready for their friday night dates, and here she was—stuck in a musty classroom with her reckless, shameless girlfriend who had no idea how to sit still.

because, of course, jimin wasn’t done being annoying.

it started with her finger, lightly tracing random shapes on y/n’s arm. slow, soft strokes, up and down, barely there. y/n pretended not to notice.

then it was her foot, nudging against y/n’s under the desk. y/n kicked her ankle lightly in response, but jimin took that as encouragement.

then—then—it was her hand, slipping under the desk, resting on y/n’s thigh.

y/n’s breath hitched.

she turned her head slightly, giving jimin a warning glare. “don’t.”

jimin smiled. “don’t what?”

y/n grabbed her wrist, nails digging in just enough to make a point. “don’t start something you can’t finish.”

jimin’s smirk widened, eyes darkening just a little. “who says i can’t finish?”

y/n let out a sharp breath through her nose, grip tightening. “you are so lucky we’re in public.”

“you keep saying that,” jimin whispered, voice low, “but i think you’re the lucky one, meanie.”

before y/n could respond, mr. choi sighed loudly, closing his book with a thud. “y/n. jimin. do i need to separate you two?”

they both turned to look at him, blinking innocently.

“no, sir,” y/n said, tone perfectly polite.

“never, sir,” jimin added, smiling sweetly.

mr. choi looked at them for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose. “i don’t get paid enough for this,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

y/n bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. jimin, however, wasn’t as composed—she let out a snicker before covering it with a fake cough.

mr. choi checked the clock, sighed again, and waved a hand. “just go. both of you. detention’s over.”

y/n didn’t need to be told twice. she grabbed her bag and was already halfway out the door before jimin even got up, a satisfied smirk on her face.

“so,” jimin said once they were in the hallway, sliding an arm around y/n’s waist, “wanna go finish what we started?”

y/n groaned, shoving her off. “you’re the worst.”

“yeah, yeah,” jimin grinned, lacing their fingers together anyway, “but i’m your worst.”

y/n sighed, shaking her head—but she didn’t let go.

they walked through the empty hallways together, the sounds of their footsteps echoing against the tiled floor. the sunset cast long shadows through the windows, painting the walls in warm hues of orange and pink. y/n should’ve been annoyed—detention had been a waste of time, and jimin had spent the whole thing making it her personal mission to drive y/n insane—but instead, she just felt… content.

jimin swung their intertwined hands slightly, glancing over at y/n with that ever-present smirk. “so, where to now?”

“home,” y/n replied, rolling her eyes. “unlike you, i actually have things to do.”

“boring,” jimin drawled. “c’mon, let’s do something fun. let’s sneak into the pool, or steal the principal’s parking sign again, or—”

“or we could do absolutely none of that,” y/n interrupted, giving her a deadpan look.

jimin pouted, leaning her head on y/n’s shoulder as they walked. “you’re such a buzzkill.”

“and you’re a menace,” y/n shot back, though she didn’t push jimin off.

they reached the school gates, the cool evening air brushing against their skin. the streets were mostly empty, students having already left for the day. for a moment, they just stood there, the world feeling strangely quiet.

then, jimin suddenly tugged y/n closer, wrapping her arms around her waist. “so you really just wanna go home, huh?” she murmured, tilting her head up.

y/n raised an eyebrow. “yes. obviously.”

jimin hummed, then, in a move so quick y/n barely had time to react, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of y/n’s mouth. it wasn’t a deep kiss, just a teasing brush of lips, but it sent a warm shiver down y/n’s spine nonetheless.

“jimin—” y/n started, but jimin pulled back with a satisfied grin.

“just a little reward for surviving detention with me,” jimin said, winking.

y/n exhaled sharply, trying to suppress the way her heartbeat had picked up. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet, you love me,” jimin shot back, voice annoyingly smug.

y/n sighed, then—because she hated giving jimin the upper hand—she grabbed the front of jimin’s leather jacket, yanked her forward, and kissed her properly.

it was fast and unexpected, but it did the trick. when y/n pulled away, jimin was left momentarily stunned, blinking at her like she had just short-circuited.

y/n smirked. “see you tomorrow, troublemaker.”

and with that, she turned on her heel and walked off, but she didn’t get far. the low, familiar roar of an engine starting made her pause.

jimin swung a leg over her motorcycle, the matte black machine gleaming under the streetlights. she rolled her shoulders, adjusting the collar of her jacket before slipping on her helmet. even with her face covered, y/n could feel the smirk she was giving her.

“need a ride, princess?” jimin called over the engine, voice dripping with amusement.

y/n scoffed. “i’d rather walk.”

jimin revved the engine, tilting her head. “suit yourself, but if you change your mind…” she tapped the seat behind her. “this spot’s always yours.”

y/n didn’t answer, just shook her head with a small laugh before turning away. jimin watched her for a moment longer, then kicked the stand up, peeling off into the night, leaving behind the scent of smoke and leather in her wake.

God, i’m so in love with her, jimin thought, grinning under her helmet as she disappeared down the street.

[lovelykil]

NNN—

ᯓ killua (older ver.)

short oneshot

cw; freaky ahh reader i guess LMOA

note; kil fs has self control but not TODAYYYY

"are you kidding me? That sounds so stupid." Killua slides off his headset and glances over at Leorio. The tall man leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed against his chest, smirking at Killua.

"you don't think you can do it, Killua?" Leorio leans off the frame. The silverette scoffs and looks back at his PC. "Of course I can, I have way more self-control than you."

"wanna test that? 20 bucks on you losing no nut November." Leorio extends his hand, challenging his friend. Killua looks at Leorio's hand then at him, he thinks this challenge is stupid as fuck but also easy. Especially if it's against the pervert Leorio. With a careless shrug, he shakes Leorio's hand.

"this is gonna be an easy 20 bucks." Killua says as he smirks, slipping back on his headset. Leorio glances over at you scrolling on your phone, sitting upon Killua's bed. You two make eye contact for a brief moment and grin at each other.

"yeah, we'll see.." Leorio responds as he nods at you while you nod back at him. Leorio then turns around to close the door behind him with a mischievous grin, the challenge barely began and he already won.

once you hear the door click you toss your phone to the side and lift yourself off the bed, you innocently approach your cute boyfriend from behind and wrap your arms around his neck. You slowly feel around his structured chest while you inch toward his neck and leave soft kisses. An electrifying sensation surges through his body as you work your magic on the sensitive spot on his neck you know too well. He quickly reacts by removing his headset, you watch him spin around to look at you.

"what the hell are you doing?" He confronts you while he rubs his neck with a deep blush. You simply giggle and cup his face to place your lips on his. The kiss was long and slow but electric, carrying a spark that ignited every nerve. When you finally part, breathless, the look of unspoken desire is evident in his deep blue mesmerizing eyes. You smile at this and lean in closer, closer to his surprised flushed face, and whisper into his ear.

Killua grips the armrest of his chair, attempting to control himself to your confession.

"I need your help, Killua."

. . .

later that night, Kurapika, Leorio, and Gon sit around the table and begin eating the dinner Kurapika prepared. As they ate they realized only two people were missing... Kurapika had already called on them twice already. What could they possibly be doing?

"where are those two?" Kurapika asks out loud, looking around the table. Gon looks at the empty seats as well while Leorio shrugs, unbothered by the missing teens. He soon grins momentarily when finally the two of you join them at the table.

Kurapika watches you both in suspicion. Killua looks irritated and flushed, his hair was in a mess, and his skin was glistening for some reason same thing could be said for you. You wore one of Killua's shirts and his sweats making your way to your seat. You smile at Leorio and nod then look at Killua passing by Leorio.

"nice of you two to join us." Leorio teases as he glances at Killua passing him by. Killua digs into his pocket and throws a 20 dollar bill onto the table grumpily,

"shut the hell up."

[buggachat]

if show!lovesquare ever broke up, show!adrien would talk about marinette respectfully but with a distant, longing look in his eyes and then go home and lie in bed staring at the ceiling for hours with tears streaming down his face

if movie!lovesquare ever broke up, movie!adrien would talk to people like "lmao yeeaahh that bitch was craaazzzyy loool" and then go home and cry sob to the careless whisper sexy saxophone for some reason