#but no. they had to be just mid enough for me to be like 'oh there's something here' and start digging with my bare hands.

[biggianteggplant]

"Operation: Sit, Bounce, Vanish"

Just Y/N casually grinding and bouncing on them then proceeds to get up and leave lol

KUROO TETSURO

Kuroo was manspreading like he paid rent just to do that. Hair messy. Shirt slightly wrinkled. Smug expression baked onto his face like it was his full-time job. He looked like the human equivalent of a “you up?” text.

You stared. Then smirked. Then slowly—without a word—walked over and shoved him onto the couch with the grace of a goddess and the menace of someone who’s waited exactly three weeks and four hours for this moment.

“Whoa—okay, hi,” he chuckled, arms up like he was ready for a good time. “You finally giving in, huh? Couldn’t resist me?”

You didn’t answer.

You straddled him. Dead silent. No smile. Eyes locked.

And then you started moving.

Slow grind. Full bounce. Nothing wild, just enough to make him twitch like a malfunctioning robot. The pressure? Exactly dangerous. The eye contact? Murderous.

He choked on a breath.

You moaned.

“T-tetsu..u~”

Like it was the climax of a soap opera. Like you were standing on a balcony in the rain in a gown screaming your dying lover’s name. Like you were about to win a BAFTA for this role.

He blinked. “H-hey, uh—babe?” His voice cracked like cheap glass.

Your hands rested on his chest.

You moaned again. Softer. Darker.

Then… you stopped.

Got up.

Walked off.

Deadpan face. Not a single look back. Not a word. Not a smirk.

Kuroo sat up so fast he nearly pulled a back muscle. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait—what just happened?”

Silence.

“…Was that revenge? What did I do? BABE? WHAT DID I DO???”

He stood, nearly tripped over air, and yelled into the hallway.

“I—I LIKED YOUR INSTAGRAM POST. I SWEAR. I DIDN’T FORGET OUR ANNIVERSARY. PLEASE, WHAT’S HAPPENING?!”

You, meanwhile, were in the kitchen calmly eating cereal like none of that happened.

Kuroo, clutching the back of the couch, whispering to himself: “…I’m in danger.”

KENMA KOZUME

Kenma was in the zone—shoulders hunched, headset on, fingers moving with sniper-level precision. You could hear the quiet tapping of his keyboard, the occasional mutter under his breath, and the distant sound of his teammate yelling, "LEFT! LEFT—NO, YOUR OTHER LEFT!"

You approached silently, sock-footed like a cat with bad intentions.

He didn’t notice you at first. Typical. Zoned in.

Until you casually climbed into his lap like it was your god-given throne.

He froze.

“…You good?” he mumbled, barely glancing at you, one hand still on the mouse.

Then you started soft grinding—gentle movements, slow and warm. Nothing aggressive. Just… suggestive. Cozy. Dangerous.

You leaned forward, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “K..kozume~..hnn” you whispered.

The sound of gunfire blasted through his headset.

He paused mid-match.

Dead silent.

His cheeks flushed pink instantly, ears visibly heating. “...You’re being weird again.”

But his fingers slowly slipped off the keyboard. And he hit ESC.

HE PAUSED AN ONLINE MATCH. FOR YOU.

“Okay…” he mumbled, voice small, clearly rattled. “I guess I can play later.”

You smiled. Just a little.

Then without a word—you stood up and walked away.

Kenma sat there. Motionless.

He stared at the empty space on his lap like it had just punched him in the heart.

“…You can’t just cause emotional lag and leave,” he muttered, still stunned. “I—I PAUSED FOR YOU. That was ranked…”

In the distance, your soft laughter echoed like a final killcam.

BOKUTO KOUTARO

Bokuto was sprawled on the couch, legs wide, phone angled up, watching volleyball highlight reels like they were gospel. He was in the zone—nodding, hyping himself up, whispering “That’s how you block, baby, YES,” like he hadn’t watched the same clip five times.

You walked in with an expression that said destruction was on the menu and Bokuto was the special.

“Hey babe!” he greeted loudly, full beam smile. “You wanna see this cool spike from—”

You didn’t answer.

You straddled him.

He blinked. “…Oh.”

And then you started.

All in.

Full bounce. Hands draped dramatically behind his neck like a diva about to faint from the tension. Whimpers, soft moans, and your voice drawing out: “hngh..k-kou..a-aa~” Like he was a forbidden snack and you were on a juice cleanse.

His brain fried.

Completely.

“UH—UH—BABE?!” he half-yelled, hands hovering like he wasn’t sure where to touch, where to look, whether to cry or scream.

He was absolutely flustered, mouth slightly open, cheeks red, heartbeat syncing with every grind. Volleyball highlights? Forgotten. There was only you and his complete mental shutdown.

You gave a final whimper. Rested your forehead against his.

Then stood up.

And left.

Just.

Walked out.

Bokuto stared at the empty air where you once were. Still seated like a cursed statue.

“…BABE?!”

He launched up from the couch, flailing after you.

“HELLO?! WHAT WAS THAT?! COME BACK!! I WAS ENJOYING THAT! I WAS SO INTO IT!! DO IT AGAIN!!”

In the kitchen, you stirred your drink in silence, deadpan, as if you hadn't just mentally exploded a man with fully-clothed cardio.

Bokuto, clinging to the doorframe like a war widow: “I’M WHIPPED AND I DON’T CARE. PLEASE.”

AKAASHI KEIJI

Akaashi was having a peaceful afternoon. Chamomile tea. A book with too many footnotes. Lo-fi playing like the world made sense.

And then—you entered.

Dead silent. Eyes locked on him like judgment day just arrived in thigh-high socks.

He glanced up. "Hello, love," he said, suspicious but polite.

You didn’t answer.

You climbed into his lap like you had a mission, and his thighs were the launch pad.

His hands stayed frozen mid-page.

Then—bounce. Bounce. Bounce.

Soft and sinful, like a PG-13 exorcism. “K-keiji..h-ha-a~” you moaned.

A single vein in his forehead twitched. He blinked slowly, like a man calculating whether this was a dream, a prank, or divine punishment.

“Darling,” he said with dangerous calm, “what is this?”

But he was already gone. Mentally wiped. That page of the book? Unreadable. Text? Just blurry noodles. You were bouncing like this was a demonic ritual and he was the altar.

Then—you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

And LEFT.

You LEFT.

No explanation. No tongue. Not even a "brb."

Just... air.

Akaashi didn’t move for five whole minutes. Eyes glassy. Tea still steeping. Book sliding off his lap in slow motion.

Inside his head:

“Is this psychological warfare? Did I forget an anniversary? Did I accidentally vote for something evil in a group chat?”

Out loud, monotone: “…That was… bold of you.”

Another five minutes passed.

Still motionless. Still on the couch. The scent of your shampoo lingering like a war crime.

He finally muttered, “…Was I supposed to say something? Applaud? Cry? Ascend to heaven?”

Then he picked up his phone. Opened a group chat titled: “📚 Book Men and Bokuto.”

Akaashi:

She bounced on me, moaned my name, then left. What does it mean.

Bokuto:

BRO SAME I’M STILL BREATHING HEAVY SHE’S A MENACE 😭

Kuroo:

Just accept it. We’re dating chaos in eyeliner.

Akaashi looked out the window. Took a long, exhausted sip of his now-cold tea.

“…I am suffering. Elegantly.”

GOSHIKI TSUTOMU

Goshiki was chillin’. Hoodie on. Headphones in. Probably listening to something overly dramatic like the Haikyuu soundtrack or a TED Talk on mental resilience.

He didn’t stand a chance.

You walked in with zero warning. No explanation. No mercy.

Before he could say, “Huh?” you pushed him gently onto the bed. Straddled him. Planted yourself down like he was your chair and life was a stage.

Then you started bouncing.

Soft, slow. Intentional.

“Tsutomu..h-ha..why are so w-warm..hngh~” you moaned — drawn out, sugary-sweet, like you were reading it off a Wattpad page in real time.

His whole body seized up.

“W-WHAT THE—?!”

Hands flailed. Legs went stiff. Brain? Overheated. He felt like someone had kicked his soul out his spine.

You leaned in closer, let out the tiniest whimper — not loud, but close. Just enough to make his ears turn red and his heart go supersonic.

And then—you LEFT.

Just. Got. Up. No closure. No forehead kiss. You just dipped like this was some random Tuesday ritual and not his villain origin story.

He sat there frozen. Mouth parted. Chest rising and falling way too fast.

Then—he whimpered.

Just a tiny, high-pitched noise. Unplanned. From the throat. Like his soul sighed through his mouth.

“…Ahh—” Immediately slapped a hand over his lips. “WHY—WHY DID I MAKE A NOISE?!”

He flopped backwards dramatically, arms spread like a Shakespearean corpse.

“She’s going to kill me one day… and I’ll thank her.”

Face still bright red. Still hearing the sound of your voice like it was echoing in a cathedral. Still lowkey hoping you’d come back and do it again so he could “react better this time” (he wouldn’t).

And in the hallway, you smiled.

Mission: chaos. Status: accomplished.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

Ushijima Wakatoshi was doing his usual — sitting on the couch like a fortress, silently eating protein snacks and watching volleyball footage like it was the evening news.

Then she walked in.

Confident. Calm. Dressed like danger.

He didn’t even blink when she shoved him back gently onto the cushions and straddled him. That wasn’t what alarmed him. He’d seen many unorthodox warm-ups in his time.

Then—

Bounce. Bounce. “Wakatoshi~”

She moaned it with full anime-level dramatics, sultry and slow like she’d been practicing. Her hands went on his shoulders for balance, hips rocking in steady rhythm. Fully clothed. No actual plan. Just chaos and vibes.

Ushijima’s brows pulled together.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice low and deadly serious. “Is this… a new kind of stretch?”

You didn’t answer. You just gave one last confident roll of your hips, leaned in like you were going to say something profound…

And then you walked away. Like nothing happened.

Left him there on the couch — straight posture, blank expression… and fully hard.

Silence.

He stared straight ahead at the door like it had just personally betrayed him.

Took one slow breath through his nose. Chest rising just slightly.

“She’s strange,” he murmured. “I love her.”

Looked down at himself. Back up. Then whispered, louder this time:

“…She’s going to come back, right?”

Pause.

No answer.

He sat there, motionless. Internally screaming. Externally still built like a demigod statue.

Conclusion: Training couldn’t prepare him. Love is terrifying. And he’s going to need to shower cold water and repentance.

SHIRABU KENJIRO

Shirabu was minding his business, sitting cross-legged on the floor, skimming through his notes like he wasn’t 100% hot in a cardigan. Completely in peace.

Then she came in like a war crime.

With purpose. With eyebrow energy. With chaotic woman agenda.

She straddled his lap like he owed her rent and started bouncing. Not wild. Just steady. Unbothered. Calculated. Evil.

“jiro...h-ha!~” She moaned his name like it was the finale of a play and she was up for a Tony.

He blinked. His soul buffered.

“Tch. You’re annoying.” Tone flat. Words sharp. Voice trembling like a wet cat.

But his whole face was glowing red like a strawberry in denial. Hands on his knees. Back perfectly straight. Losing his will to live one slow grind at a time.

She gave one final roll of her hips. Then stood up like it was jury duty and left.

Walked away. Blank face. Like she didn’t just emotionally obliterate him.

He sat there in stunned silence. Hands still on his knees like he was in timeout.

Then he snapped.

“...I—HEY! WAIT! I didn’t mean it like that!”

Scrambled to his feet like he was being evicted from peace.

“Come back! I meant like... annoying in a cute way?? Like—you’re MY annoying?!”

Voice cracking, ego gone. Left behind, staring at the empty space where she used to be, gripping his own hair like a man who just said “I don’t care” and then immediately cared so hard.

HINATA SHOYO

Hinata was chilling on the bed, humming to himself and swinging his legs like a golden retriever who just discovered a new flavor of yogurt.

He didn’t notice her creeping up until it was too late.

Suddenly—

BOOM.

She dropped onto his lap like the final boss of temptation and started bouncing. Full send. Championship-level rhythm. Gold medal-worthy grind. Fully clothed but somehow emotionally naked.

Leaning in, she whispered into his ear, dripping honey and chaos:

“Sho~”

He flatlined.

“WH-WHA—BABE?! ARE YOU OKAY?!” His soul ejected through his nose. Brain? 404 not found. His hands were in the air like he was under arrest by the goddess of seduction herself.

She didn't stop. Just grinded harder. Whimpering softly. Like this was HER volleyball final and she was spiking with every bounce.

And then—HE MOANED.

A tiny, breathy “nn–ah,” like his dignity was trying to claw its way out of his throat and failed.

And then she LEFT. Skipped away. Humming. Like she just didn't emotionally set him on fire and walk away like an arsonist in glitter.

He sat there, cross-eyed. Face red. Hands on his chest like he just got hit by a car made of hormones.

“Oh my god.” “Oh my GOD.” “I’m in love. I’m in danger. I need water.”

Collapsed backwards into the bed like his body just said “I forfeit.”

TSUKISHIMA KEI

Tsukishima was on the couch, headphones on, pretending he didn’t need love or attention, when she pounced.

Literally pounced.

One second: peace.

Next second: Lap. Bouncing. Moaning.

“Tsukki” She purrs it in his ear like a cursed ASMR channel sent straight from hell.

He freezes. Eyes wide. Neck stiff. Blush detonates. You could roast marshmallows on his cheeks.

“Ugh. What are you doing?” His voice comes out flat. Emotionless. Lying. Lying through his damn teeth.

She keeps going. Little playful grind here, tiny whimper there, body warm against his in all the worst-best ways. Then—

She gets up. Walks away. Like she didn’t just shake the foundation of his emotional stability.

He’s left sitting there, arms folded, jaw clenched like a Victorian man whose ankle was just exposed.

Pushes up his glasses with a trembling hand “Why are you so weird.”

Deadpan voice. Wild panic.

Later, Yamaguchi walks in to ask if he wants to go out, only to find Tsukki sitting there, still pink, glasses fogged up, muttering to himself:

“I hate her. I love her. I hate her. I need her to do that again.”

KITA SHINSUKE

Kita was folding laundry.

FOLDING LAUNDRY.

Peaceful. Domestic. Soft music playing. He had just finished lining up the socks by size, color, and life purpose when—

SHE SAT ON HIM.

Not aggressively. Not violently. Just… sat. And started bouncing.

Gentle. Rhythmic. Purposeful.

Like she was trying to awaken something ancient inside him.

“Shinsuke~” She moaned it like she was trying to get cast in the spiciest drama Japan's ever banned.

He blinked. Once. Heart rate: up. Stability: on fire.

“Are you… feeling unwell, love?” he asked, as if his voice wasn't one octave higher and vibrating with restraint.

She grinds again.

His hands grip her thighs like prayer beads.

He grunts. Then a tiny whimper slips out—traitorous. He covers it with a cough like he’s trying to convince God he’s still worthy.

His face is red, like a polite tomato having a breakdown.

“Darling, this isn’t sanitary. The clean towels are right there…”

She just smiles sweetly. Innocently. Like she didn’t just weaponize softness and decimate his will to stand.

And then?

She walks off. Like it was just another Tuesday.

Kita remains seated. Hands politely folded behind his back. Eyes blank. Soul ascending.

“…That girl’s gonna give me gray hair.” “And I’ll thank her for every strand.”

MIYA OSAMU

It was a quiet afternoon at Onigiri Miya.

The rice was hot. The kitchen was calm. Osamu was in his element, apron on, hair tied up, wrist flicking like a trained chef-slash-lowkey-dilf—

Until she pounced.

No warning. No hesitation. Just: BOUNCE.

Lap? Occupied. Voice? Breathless.

“Osamuuu~” She moaned it like she was trying to get arrested and liked the idea.

He blinked up at her with a smile that said “ha ha you’re cute” but his BRAIN said:

“YOU WANNA DO THIS RIGHT NOW WHILE I’M HOLDING A RICE SCOOP?!”

“Keep this up and I’m proposing today,” he teased, hand sliding to her waist like it wasn’t lowkey trembling.

She just smirked. Gave one last bounce for dramatic effect. Then stood up.

Winked.

Walked off.

Like she didn’t just shake him to his core and make him rethink his whole life plan in one minute.

Osamu sat there. Alone. Flushed. Emotionally fried like his best tempura.

He put down the rice scoop, stared at the door she disappeared through, and whispered like a man in a Netflix romance mini-series:

“...I’m actually gonna propose. Damn.”

MIYA ATSUMU

Atsumu was reclining like he owned the Earth.

Legs spread, arms up, smug levels critical. Smirking like, “Yeah, baby, you’re lucky I’m free today.”

That was before she sat on him. Hard.

Started grinding and moaning “tsumuuu~ a-ah! fuck..” like it was a performance art piece for chaos and psychological warfare.

His smirk faltered. Just a little. Then—bounce.

“H-hah—okay—okay! Someone’s feelin’ frisky t’day—!” Smug was cracking like drywall in an earthquake.

Another bounce.

He whines.

Then WHIMPERS. LOUDLY. Voice breaks. Accent slips.

“Aw hell, darlin’—wh-what’re ya tryna do t’me?!”

FULL SOUTHERN DESCENT. Kansai accent hitting so raw it sounded like a back-alley confession.

He’s sweating. Whining. Head back like he saw God and got rejected.

Then.

SHE GETS UP. AND WALKS AWAY.

Like she didn’t just spiritually decimate one of Japan’s finest athletes in under 2 minutes.

Atsumu sits there, jaw unhinged. Hands limp at his sides. Soul in orbit.

He blinks slowly. Watches her leave like she’s walking away from the wreckage of his ego’s funeral.

“...Ya can’t just leave me like this,” he mutters to the door. “That was... illegal. You’re illegal.” “I whimpered. I ain't never whimpered in my damn life!”

Silence.

Then he YELLS:

“WAS IT THE ACCENT?! I SWEAR I’LL TONE IT DOWN—JUST COME BACK!!!”

KYOTANI KENTARO

She didn’t ask. Didn’t warn. Just straddled his lap with the calm audacity of someone who knew exactly what she was doing.

He was mid-sentence. Now? He was mid-heart attack.

“H-Hey—wait, what—”

Then she leans in. Close.

Hot breath against his neck. Her lips ghost over his jaw. Slowly. Softly. Like she’s learning the texture of his skin just to haunt him later.

And then—she kisses him.

Not a quick peck. Not playful.

It’s deep. Slow. Spicy as hell. The kind of kiss that clings to his mouth even when it’s over.

His hands shoot up, gripping her waist so hard he thinks he might bruise her, but she just presses in more, bounces slowly in his lap like she’s reading every single one of his reactions.

“Kentaro~ nn- HaH!” she breathes right into his mouth. Bounces again.

He sees god. Then he sees hell. Then he forgets how to see.

“W-what the—what is this?!” His voice is too high, too desperate. He’s already hard. Already clenching her thighs like they’re life rafts.

She just leans in again, brushes his ear with her lips, and whispers filth that fries what’s left of his sanity.

“You’re so easy to break, you know that?”

Kisses him again. He groans into her mouth—loud—almost embarrassingly so. He grabs at her again, this time more forcefully—

And she flicks his hand away.

Stands. Fixes her shirt. Walks away like she just didn’t turn him into a walking hormone cocktail.

Kyotani is left on the couch, sweating, hard, and absolutely stunned. Face flushed, fists clenched, lips swollen, staring at the empty hallway like it personally betrayed him.

“That was love,” he mutters hoarsely. “I hate it here. I love it here.”

He doesn’t move for five full minutes. Still. Quiet. Processing.

Then under his breath:

“...I’m gonna marry her or die trying.”

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

She straddles him on the couch like it’s her throne and he’s just lucky to be her footstool. Hands on his chest. Eyes locked on his.

Then the bounce starts.

Slow. Rhythmic. Intentional. And then—

“haji~” she moans like she’s reading lines in a romance drama with too much budget and not enough shame.

His jaw tightens.

“Oi,” he warns, gripping her hips, “don’t start something you can’t finish.”

He's blushing. Hard. And it only gets worse when she grinds a little too good and too slow—right there.

His hands twitch on her waist. His whole body flinches like someone hit him with a volleyball spike to the soul.

“Seriously—stop playin’ around,” he mumbles, but it sounds more like a plea than a threat. He’s getting warm. Real warm. Real fast.

She just leans forward like she’s gonna kiss him.

Spoiler: she doesn’t. She hovers. Inches from his lips. Bounces again, lips curled in mischief.

He groans. Low. Threatening. Desperate. Hard.

And then?

She gets up.

Just hops off. Fixes her shirt. Leaves. No explanation. No glance back. Just vibes.

Iwaizumi sits there—wide-eyed, wrecked, emotionally tazed.

Staring into the middle distance like a man who saw the future and it was terrifyingly horny.

“...She’s gonna be the death of me,” he mutters to no one.

He stays there. Still blushing. Still adjusting his pants like his life didn’t just flash before his eyes with soft moans and denim friction.

And yet? He smiles.

“...Not a bad way to go, though.”

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

Sakusa Kiyoomi didn’t ask for this.

He was just sitting on the couch, minding his business, sipping tea, probably judging someone silently for existing wrong.

Then she came in. Straddled him like she paid rent on his thighs. Set her hands on his chest like it was hers—which, okay, maybe it was—and gave him a smile that screamed danger.

“Get off,” he muttered, wrinkling his nose. “You didn’t even wash your hands after touching the doorknob—”

Then she started bouncing. Slow. Hypnotic. Criminal. And the worst part? She moaned his name.

“Kiyoomi~” Like she was casting a spell. Like he was the main character in a fanfic. Like she knew what she was doing.

His breath caught. His tea almost fell. His sanity left the group chat.

“Y-you—what is this?!” he choked, voice jumping an octave. He wasn’t ready. His thighs weren’t ready. His pants? Absolutely not ready.

She leaned forward, breath hot against his neck, lips just close enough to not be kissing him.

“You mad?” she whispered.

“No,” he whispered back, voice shaking. “I’m terrified.”

Her hips moved. Again. Slower. Deeper.

He whimpered. Quiet. Shameful. Hidden behind gritted teeth and clenched fists.

But she heard it. She felt it. She thrived.

“Oh my god,” he groaned under his breath, gripping the couch cushion like it personally offended him. “You’re actually evil. You were sent to test me. This is a biohazard.”

Another bounce. Another whimper. This time louder. Desperate.

She kissed under his ear. Not sweet. Not soft. Intentional.

“Stop,” he whispered, clearly not meaning it.

“Make me.”

He groaned. His hands trembled on her thighs, like he didn’t know whether to push her off or pull her closer and die honorably.

“You’re ruining my life,” he hissed, head thrown back.

“And your boxers.”

She grinded one last time, slow enough to melt bone. Then—like a demon in disguise—she got up.

Just stood, fixed her shirt, and walked away.

No eye contact. No goodbye. Not even a damn wipe of his forehead.

Sakusa sat there. Breathing like he just ran a marathon. Harder than a physics exam. Staring into the void like he saw God and God was a woman with killer thighs.

He pulled a throw pillow into his lap and whispered to no one: “…I’m filing a report.”

[moondustbaby]

Cruisin’ for a Bruisin’ (and a BJ)

bsf!Rafe x bsf!Reader

cw: smut, oral (m rec), bsf tomfoolery

mdni 18+

summary: Post-Bonnaroo boredom turns into something a lot filthier when you offer to suck off your best friend mid-drive and Rafe’s ability to focus behind the wheel doesn’t stand a chance.

⸻

The road hadn’t changed in over an hour.

Still the same cracked asphalt, the same trees, the same awful indie playlist Rafe had insisted on playing because “it fits the post-festival vibes.” I was slouched in the passenger seat, feet on the dash, sunglasses sliding down my nose, hair in an absolute bird’s nest from four days of dirt, sweat, and overpriced beer.

“You good over there?” Rafe asked, glancing at me with that cocky grin that said he already knew I wasn’t.

“No,” I muttered. “I’m bored. And I smell like someone’s armpit.”

He laughed, that lazy, raspy one I secretly loved. “You look hot though.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Maybe. Still true.”

I turned to face him fully, resting my chin on the back of the seat. His hand was on the wheel, veins flexing every time he shifted lanes. He was in a white tank top, tanned skin and road trip stubble, and I hated how good he looked for someone who hadn’t showered in three days.

I watched him for a moment.

Then I said it. Blunt. No filter. Just the usual chaos that lived between us.

“Wanna blow job?”

He blinked.

His head turned just enough to see if I was serious which only made me laugh. “What?” I said. “I’m bored. You’re hot. It’s like… mutually beneficial enrichment. Like zoo animals. Enrichment time.”

“You’re so fucked in the head.”

“And yet here you are. Getting road head.”

“I didn’t say yes.”

I grinned, already popping off my seatbelt. “You didn’t say no.”

He shook his head with a smile that was all teeth. “This is how we die.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”

“Tell my dad I died doing what I loved.”

“Getting sucked off by your best friend in a rental car?”

“Exactly.”

I leaned over the console, hand sliding into his lap, palming him over his shorts. “Fuck,” I whispered. “You’re already hard?”

He exhaled through his nose, one hand tightening on the wheel. “You offered to suck my dick outta nowhere, what did you expect?”

I grinned, teasing him through the fabric. “You drive. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Oh my God,” he muttered as I tugged his shorts down just enough to free his cock.

Thick. Already leaking. I wrapped my hand around him and gave one slow stroke, loving the way his jaw clenched immediately.

“You’re actually gonna do this,” he said, voice rough now. “Jesus Christ.”

“You want me to stop?” I teased, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock.

He groaned, almost swerved. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

“Eyes on the road, Cameron.”

His hand flailed to the volume dial, turning the music down to a murmur, like he needed silence to survive this. I laughed, then ducked my head, lips wrapping around him, slow and steady.

“Fuck—” he hissed. “That’s not fair. That’s not fuckin’ fair—”

I hollowed my cheeks, going deeper, letting spit drip down onto my fist where I stroked what I couldn’t fit.

He twitched in my mouth.

“Holy shit, baby—”

God, the baby. He only called me that when he was too gone to think straight. I moaned around him, dragging my tongue along a vein just to hear him curse again.

My hand slipped under his shirt, nails dragging across his abs, and he groaned like he was dying.

“Don’t make me pull over,” he growled, voice wrecked. “I will. I swear to God, I’ll fuck you on the hood.”

I pulled off just long enough to breathe, resting my cheek on his thigh. “You said we had to make it back by six.”

“Screw six.”

I laughed, pumping him slow. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m getting head from you for the first time while doing 75 on the freeway—this is cinematic, actually.”

I licked the tip, then took him back down, deeper this time, relaxing my throat and letting him hit the back before pulling off with a wet pop.

“Fuck—you tryna kill me?”

“You love it.”

“Yeah,” he groaned. “I do.”

He was gripping the wheel like it owed him money, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror, making sure no one could see even though we were in the middle of nowhere.

I flattened my tongue against the underside and bobbed my head faster now, spit pooling in my mouth, his cock slick and heavy on my tongue. His hips bucked up and I held him down with one hand on his thigh, nails digging in.

“Shitshitshit, I’m close,” he warned.

But I didn’t stop. If anything, I went harder, jerking him in time with each swirl of my tongue. I moaned around him again — loud and deliberate — and he whimpered.

“Gonna come,” he gasped. “Gonna fucking come, baby—”

He did.

Hard.

With a strangled groan that sounded ripped from his chest, cock twitching as he spilled into my mouth. I swallowed, slow and messy, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand before licking the rest off my fingers.

Rafe didn’t say anything for a solid ten seconds.

Just kept driving, jaw slack, eyes wide, chest heaving.

“Are you good?” I asked, smirking as I climbed back into my seat.

He shook his head like he was rebooting. “I blacked out for a second.”

“You’re welcome.”

He looked over at me, that slow, stunned smile spreading across his face. “That was insane.”

“Better than the festival?”

“Better than any festival.”

I laughed, propping my feet back on the dash. “We should stop for food.”

“You just sucked my soul out through my dick and now you want Arby’s?”

I shrugged. “Road head works up an appetite.”

He stared at me for a beat, then reached over and took my hand.

“You know this changes shit, right?”

I smiled. “Yeah.”

“Not going back after this.”

“Didn’t plan on it.”

He kissed the back of my hand, still wrecked, still smiling.

Then he glanced back at the road and muttered, “You’re gonna suck me off every road trip now.”

I grinned. “Only if you stop playing this damn playlist.”

He groaned. “You liked Phoebe Bridgers!”

“You cried during ‘Motion Sickness.’”

“You gave me head to it.”

“…Okay, that’s fair.”

༶⋆��ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: listen. i don’t know what demon possessed me to write a road head fic at 10am, but here we are. rafe’s hands are on the wheel but his soul has left the chat. this is what happens when you take two feral best friends, 17 hours of driving, and Phoebe Bridgers and trap them in a vehicle. thanks for riding along on this highway to horny hell. wear your seatbelt. tip your best friend. give him head. 🤩

♥️ lani

Send Me Requests! 💌

Masterlist

𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉:

@psychicnatural @superlegend216 @rafesbabygirlx

[fromdove]

MY JASON TODD PHYSICAL APPEARANCE HEADCANONS !

welcome to my ted talk. go ahead and sit your semi-literate goblin ass down and take notes, because i am about to paint you a portrait of this man so vivid you’ll think i dipped my brush in the lazarus pit itself.

HETEROCHROMIA. one blue eye & one green eye. im a very big and firm believer on this. this is my religion. this is my prayer. jason todd's eyes are my gospel, and I am the devoted disciple on my knees at the altar. he's always had them, before the lazarus pit & AFTER the lazarus pit. (although after the lazarus pit id like to point out that his eyes got a bit brighter especially the green!). i saw fanart once of this—just one image—and it was enough to send me into a trance. my jaw unhinged like a snake

LARGE SHARP ALMOND EYES. eyes sharp enough to cut!! real real real. sharp enough to gut someone in an alley. you get looked at by him and feel like you need to apologize for crimes you haven’t committed yet. yup that. they soften when he looks at you tho bc ur his amazing angel faced baby.

HIS GODDAMN JAWLINE. the kind you see on statues. could cut diamonds. so perfect. brutal. Pythagoras would rise from the grave with a boner, calculator in hand, shaking and crying overwhelmed by the sheer geometry of him. drooling. weeping & erect.

6'4!!!!!!!!!! MY MAN IS TALL. A GIANT. GARGANTUAN. and that’s the final word. idgaf. don’t come in here with that “canon says he’s 6’0” nonsense. fuck canon. canon is a lie built by cowards. they've screwed up my babies too many times to count. my Jason ducks under door frames and casts shadows over people trying to insult him. he intimidates every man in a ten-mile radius just by standing up.

BULKY. (not crazy bulky like those steroid obsessed body builder protein-powder-in-the-veins monstrous freaks but still jacked af. (like in this picture: click here and here) . he’s jacked like a Greek statue, like a renaissance painting of a war god.

white streak. white streak 24/7 for the rest of infinity. all night. every universe. every reboot. i don’t care. Non-negotiable. he got it from the one and only pit. he tried to cut it, dye it, tried everything to get rid of it at first but it just kept growing back and the dye would never work on it somehow ??/ so he just gave up lmao

OKOK his nose. my fave nose to picture jason with is an sightly upturned nose with a bump in the middle. do you guys know what kind of nose im yappin about? here is a visual: click here

ive seen fanart with jason with the j scar and i just think it fits his character and backstory. yes it was from that makeup-smeared tragedy of a circus reject. but fuck him!! this is about jason peter todd. my baby is still hot af anyways so.

SHARP CANINES. BITE ME WITH THEM. LORDDD MOTHERR GODDD. Carnivore-coded. was he born with them? is it a lazarus thing? either way theyre sharp little bastards. He tries to be careful, he reallyyy does but sometimes, mid-kiss, they slip. he nips you. he pulls back, eyes wide, guilt-ridden. you’re breathless. he spews like a million apologizes coz the last thing he wants to do it hurt u. but u dont care bc it feels so goddamn good... STOP ME)

Full lips that look like they’re always swollen from a brawl or a kiss.. with a slight cupids bow. god. yes. the corners/edges of his mouth are sharp (does that make sense?? help). he also has scars extending from the corners that look like smiles, they only stretch a few centimeters out. not that long at all. joker’s parting gift, poetic as it is cruel. OH AND he has the Toji scar !!! this one right here: click here

dark brown hair thats wavy & fluffy heeheheh (2c textured.) not straight, not curly, that luscious in-between mess that stays tousled and tragic and stupidly sexy no matter what. fluffy. thick. ruffles in the wind like he's some sad, angry prince. you run your hands through it and he pretends he doesn’t melt. he is NAWT a victim of the male pattern baldness epidemic. bye no no no no he doesnt bald thanks to the lazarus pit.

THICK DARK & FULL STRAIGHT BROWSSS. IDCCC THIS MAN HAS THICK BROWS. These brows have seen things. They furrow when he’s pissed (which is like always lmao), They’re intimidating, god-tier brows kinda brows. oh oh and theyre also kind of upturned !

his fingers. jesusususususus. Veiny. Long-fingered. Calloused. Worn. His knuckles are always scabbed (from fights). His nails are short, His fingers could snap a neck, but you just want them on your throat for different reasons. And the rings? Thick, heavy, sharp. Some brass. Some iron. they double as weapons. like i just know if someone pisses him off the rings are going to hurt like straight up fucking hell.

this man has long lashes. like long enough to collect dew. Thick enough to cast shadows. curled at the tips. his lashes are criminal. like wtf. theyre the kind that make mascara cry. they frame his eyes and face perfectly

scars all over. he has the autopsy scar on his chest, he has scars on his back too. his face, arms, legs, everywhere. bullet grazes, knife cuts etc..his entire body is a war journal basically

he has eye bags and dark circles which is a given considering what he does and his lack of sleep. They're not “oh, I pulled an all-nighter” eye bags, theyre bruised purpulish blue with a bit of red. u can seen some veins. his eye bags r a little puffy. this paired with his sharp eyes make him look very very intimidating to others but not to u, bc wdym intimidating? he's my angel?? he would never hurt a fly?? tf?

a few extra's!!:

A slight scar on his eyebrow from a fall off a fire escape in crime alley when he was 12. Never stitched it (despite the constant nagging from bruce & alfred). he said the blood made him look cool. (my angel baby i love him)

a voice that’s deeper than you expect. gravelly. like he chewed cigarettes for breakfast and chased them with glass. but it dips soft when he says your name. unbearably soft. traitorously tender.

faint cigarette burn on the inside of his left forearm. from back when he thought pain might be the only thing that made him real. said it was an accident. it wasn’t.

A barely-there tremor in his right hand. Old injury. Nerve damage.

[leriexoxo]

Muscle Memory

Trainer! Changbin x Reader

Tags: Gym AU, Explicit sexual content (oral, penetrative sex, multiple positions), Size kink and light dom/sub dynamics, Sexual teasing and public tension, Soft aftercare and comfort, Strong language, Adults only (18+)

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: Your gym crush? He’s your instructor—disciplined, insanely hot, and definitely off-limits. But you? You’ve had enough of limits. After weeks of teasing him with suggestive workouts and tighter-than-necessary gymwear, you finally push him past his breaking point… and what starts as heat turns into something deeper, something raw. Changbin never meant to catch feelings. You never meant to fall this hard. But now neither of you can pretend this isn’t real.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You never used to be this consistent with gym routines.

But that was before he started leading the Thursday classes.

Bang Chan’s new hire.

“Seo Changbin—he’ll be taking over strength and mobility.”

You’d walked in that first day wearing your usual set, nothing special—only to lock eyes with him across the mat and feel your whole existence shift three inches left. You swore something chemical detonated in your chest. He was all muscle and deep voice and focused gaze—too built for his own good, arms like stone and veins that looked like they pulsed to the beat of whatever filthy thoughts you shouldn’t be thinking.

You came back the next week. Then the one after that. Then it became a problem.

Because Seo Changbin didn’t just exist in your peripheral anymore.

He started noticing you too.

It was subtle at first. A glance too long. A correction that required both hands. His fingers curling around your waist to fix your form—lingering just enough to make your breath catch. His knee brushing yours when he knelt beside you. The edge in his voice when he said your name. You’d tease it out more with each session: a tighter crop top, a lower squat, a stretch that had you folding forward right in his line of sight.

And today?

You wore the set that always made you feel dangerous—black ribbed leggings, high compression, no underwear. And the top, god. Low-cut. Almost unfair.

You knew he saw it the moment you walked in.

He stumbled over his own cue mid-demo.

Coughed. Regathered.

Didn’t look you in the eye when you passed him your water bottle during cooldown.

You held your plank longer than anyone. Made sure your back arched just a little when you stretched into cat-cow.

And he broke. You felt it.

His gaze burned holes into your skin from across the room.

You caught him after class—cornered him while he was wiping sweat from his face with the towel draped around his neck, all flushed cheeks and heaving chest, pretending he hadn’t just gotten half-hard from watching you do yoga.

“Changbin,” you said sweetly.

He turned, caught mid-sip from his water bottle. “Yeah?”

“I think you missed one of my poses during cooldown,” you murmured, tilting your head. “Didn’t correct my form like usual.”

His throat moved. Slowly. He was staring at your mouth.

“You didn’t need it,” he said, a little too hoarse.

“Oh,” you smiled. “But I kinda like when you touch me.”

You watched his jaw clench.

His hand tightened around the bottle.

And then—just like that—he bolted. Some half-mumbled excuse about helping Chan with a form check. You let him go. Smirking.

He was losing it.

And you were going to break him.

⸻

You didn’t see Changbin for a week after that.

Not because he disappeared—no, you still spotted him in passing, training other members, talking to Chan, running laps on the treadmill like he wasn’t dragging a whole damn forest fire behind his eyes. But he was avoiding you. And not well.

You’d walk into the studio and watch him tense. He stopped correcting your form altogether. Didn’t look at you during the warm-up, barely nodded when you asked questions. But when you caught him off guard—mid-rep, distracted—his gaze would drift. Drop.

To your thighs. Your waist. Your chest.

Your mouth.

And then he’d flinch, like he was pissed at himself for noticing, and turn away again.

So by the next session, you decided to push him just a little harder.

You started your little game during hip bridges. On your back, knees bent, slow thrusts up and down with your glutes tight, core flexed. You knew exactly what you looked like, and you weren’t the only one.

You peeked mid-set and caught him flat-out staring, towel hanging limp in his hands. His lips parted, eyes locked on the subtle curve of your inner thighs.

When your gaze met his, he didn’t even try to play it off this time.

You gave him a look—playful, biting—and rolled your hips once more, slower this time. His jaw flexed. You swore you heard him mutter something under his breath and saw him adjust himself behind the clipboard he held like a shield.

You nearly lost your rhythm from how hard you wanted to laugh.

Gotcha.

After class, you lingered. You stayed longer than usual, stretched slower, until everyone else cleared out—except him. You moved into a split pose by the mirrors, your back arched, hands on your hips, breathing steady but thick with anticipation. His footsteps crept closer behind you, and you didn’t even have to look up to know he was standing there.

Watching.

“You do that shit on purpose,” his voice rumbled low, right behind you.

Your heart skipped.

“Do what?” you asked, playing innocent.

“You know exactly what,” he said, more growl than sentence now.

You rose slowly, turning to face him. Your eyes flicked down—yep, hard again. Straining under his shorts, thick and clearly not small. Your mouth went dry for a second.

“I thought instructors were supposed to keep their cool,” you teased, dragging your fingers up your side.

Changbin didn’t laugh. He didn’t move either.

Instead, he looked down at you like he was wrestling with a hundred demons. Like one word from you could snap something he’d been barely holding together.

“You think I don’t notice?” he said tightly. “You think I don’t see what you’re trying to do to me?”

“I’m not trying to do anything to you,” you said, stepping closer—until your chest almost brushed his. “But if I was…”

His breath hitched.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind.”

You watched him freeze, expression unreadable, muscles flexed like he was holding back an earthquake.

Then you brushed past him. Slowly. Casually.

Walked straight toward the exit.

And didn’t look back.

⸻

You weren’t trying to be obvious.

Okay, maybe you were.

But in your defense—how was anyone supposed to ignore someone like Changbin? The man was a walking wet dream, and worse, he was professional about it. Always respectful, always focused, never even hinting at the amount of muscle he was packing under those damn black compression shirts. He kept his distance, barely let his eyes wander, and never responded when you pushed a little too far.

Which only made you want to break him more.

You continued teasing with the workouts, of course. Suggestive stretches. Innocent questions delivered with loaded looks. Maybe a few accidental moans during squats. You thought for sure he’d snap eventually—but no. Changbin was frustratingly composed. Unshakable. Even when he adjusted your posture with those big warm hands and his breath brushed your cheek, he stayed cool.

Until that Friday evening.

The gym had just closed early for a maintenance update, and you’d lingered too long in the locker room, scrolling your phone, procrastinating your walk home. When you finally stepped out—hoodie slung low, gym bag over your shoulder—you nearly ran into him.

Changbin.

He looked surprised to see you, hand halfway in his jacket pocket, keys dangling from his fingers.

“You’re still here?” he asked, brow lifting.

“Didn’t realize it was that late,” you smiled, a little breathless. “Were you waiting for me?”

He blinked. “No. I just—”

“Because if you were,” you stepped closer, grinning, “that’s kinda hot.”

His jaw clenched. “I wasn’t.”

You tilted your head. “Want to walk me home?”

He hesitated. For a heartbeat, you thought you’d pushed too far—but then he exhaled, raking a hand through his hair.

“Yeah. Alright.”

The walk was quiet at first. Evening breeze curling under your hoodie, city lights flickering on like a slow wave. You made small talk—asked him about his playlist, his leg day routine, whether he actually enjoyed yelling “two more reps” when he knew damn well your legs were jelly. He loosened up a little. Even laughed.

But the tension still buzzed between you—thick and electric. Every time your fingers brushed. Every time you stepped too close. Every time his gaze dropped to your lips and snapped back up like he’d caught himself mid-sin.

“So,” you said as you reached your block, “are you always this responsible?”

“What do you mean?”

You grinned. “Keeping it professional. Saying no to hot gym girls.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard.

“I didn’t say no.”

That got your attention. “Didn’t you?”

“I’ve just been…” he trailed off, then looked at you with something unreadable. “Trying not to be stupid.”

You stepped closer. Your building loomed behind you, quiet and still, but you barely noticed it.

“I want you to be a little stupid.”

His breath hitched. His knuckles went white where they gripped his keys.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Sure I do,” you said softly, leaning in. “I’ve been asking for it since my third session.”

He looked down at you like he was about to cave. Like whatever dam he’d built inside himself was starting to crack.

But instead, he stepped back.

“Go inside,��� he said roughly.

Then he turned and walked off, fists clenched at his sides, like he was the one being hunted.

And you?

You stood there grinning like a devil.

Because that crack?

It was getting wider.

—

The next session at the gym? you definitely wore that set for him.

The leggings—barely opaque, clinging to your ass like paint. The sports bra—one size too small, stretching high on your ribs and lifting your chest with every breath. Even the perfume—light, sweet, just enough to linger when you walked by.

It was his shift today, and you came for the kill.

You caught him watching you twice.

Once during warm-ups, when you sank into a wide downward dog in front of the mirrors, your back arched, ass high. He was across the room, talking to someone else—but his eyes found you. They always did. And when they did, they lingered.

The second time was during leg presses. You moaned. Quietly. Maybe too quietly to be real—but loud enough to make him glance up like he felt it in his spine. His jaw ticked. His eyes darkened. His clipboard creaked under his grip.

You smiled through every rep.

By the time the gym started emptying out, you knew you’d won.

He looked like he was hanging by a thread.

You “forgot” your water bottle. Let the staff clear out. Hid in the dim back hallway until the door buzzed shut behind the last person.

The lights were low. The music off. The building locked.

And you knew where Changbin went after a long shift.

You padded barefoot down the hallway to the men’s locker room, bag slung over your shoulder, heart pounding with a wicked rhythm. You heard the water first—showers hissing in the tiled silence. Then the sound of movement. Low, steady breathing. Wet footsteps. A door clanking shut.

You pushed the door open like a sinner entering church. Steam rolled into your face.

The locker room door creaked shut behind you.

You paused for a second—breath steady, heartbeat not so much—and listened. The showers were still running, muffled by steam and tile. You followed the sound, bare feet padded soft against the concrete floor, body already thrumming with heat from everything that led to this.

Every stretch. Every flirt. Every smirk you threw across the gym just to see his jaw tighten. You wore that stupidly tight set on purpose. Bent over right in front of him when he was mid-set, made eye contact while you licked sweat from your upper lip like a fucking sin.

You’d been playing with fire.

And you came here to burn.

The fog hung heavy in the air, humid and warm. You stepped around the corner, and there he was—Changbin. Alone. Water streaming down his body, steam clinging to his skin, muscles taut and gleaming. Head tilted back, eyes closed, hands braced against the wall.

You took a breath and said, cool as ever, “Shame you’re wasting all that hot water alone.”

He flinched, turned, and stared. “What the—? What are you—?”

“Locker room was unlocked.” You smiled, slow and wicked. “Not my fault.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “You can’t be here.”

You stepped closer anyway. “Why not? Afraid someone might catch us?”

He was silent. Barely breathing.

You tilted your head. “Or afraid you’ll do something if we’re alone?”

His chest rose sharply. His eyes dropped to the tight gym shorts still clinging to your hips. You hadn’t changed. Hadn’t planned to.

“I’m trying to be professional,” he said, voice strained.

“And I’m trying to get fucked,” you countered. “Guess someone needs to lose.”

Something in him cracked—visibly. His hand dropped from the shower wall, and suddenly he was moving—grabbing a towel, wrapping it low around his waist, stomping past you like he needed space to breathe.

You followed.

By the time he reached the bench, you were already behind him, fingers slipping around his waist, palms dragging over his abs. He froze.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t been thinking about it,” you whispered against his shoulder blade. “You stared every damn time I bent over.”

“You did that on purpose.”

You grinned against his skin. “And now I want my reward.”

He turned fast—grabbed you by the waist and shoved you back against the row of lockers. The impact was firm, not rough, and your body sparked with electricity.

“You’re insane,” he breathed.

“Little bit.”

“You’re not even trying to deny it.”

You smirked. “Why would I? Look at you. You’re a walking wet dream.”

He let out a low, wrecked groan and kissed you. It was messy, frenzied, starved. Tongues clashing. Hands fumbling. He shoved your sports bra up, dragged your shorts and underwear down in one go.

“Fuck,” he growled when he looked down at you, already dripping. “You’re serious.”

“I’m wet just from watching you lift weights, Changbin. You have to know what you do to me.”

He shoved the towel off, and your jaw dropped at the sight of him.

“…Holy shit.”

He grinned darkly. “Problem?”

You bit your lip, eyes dragging slowly back up to his face. “Not unless you think I can’t take it.”

He growled—literally—and pushed you down onto the bench. One knee came up beside you, hands firm as he guided you back, lined himself up, and—

“Oh my God—”

He sank into you inch by inch, and you were already gasping, grabbing at his shoulders. He was so big, and it felt like you were being split in the most satisfying way.

“That good already?” he whispered in your ear, voice ragged.

“You’re—fucking huge,” you choked out, hips twitching up. “No wonder you strut around like that.”

He laughed—deep and smug—and started thrusting. Hard, sharp, deliberate strokes that had your back arching off the bench.

“Is this what you wanted?” he panted. “Stretching you like this in the locker room? Anyone could walk in—”

“God, yes—fuck, Changbin—just like that—”

You clung to his shoulders, legs wrapped tight around his waist as he pounded into you. Every inch of him filled you so completely, you could barely think. You loved how much effort he needed just to hold back.

“You’re taking it so well,” he groaned. “I thought I’d have to ease you in.”

“I don’t want slow,” you hissed. “I want to feel it. Every second. Every inch.”

That sent him over the edge.

He hoisted you up mid-thrust—carried you across the locker room like nothing—and sat on the bench with you straddling his lap. Your thighs burned, but you were too far gone to care.

You rode him hard. Fast. His hands gripped your ass, guiding your bounce, groaning your name into your neck while your nails clawed at his shoulders.

“I can’t—fuck—I’m close—”

“Come on, baby,” he urged. “Let me feel it. Show me how good I fuck you.”

You slammed down one last time and shattered, clenching around him with a long, high cry. He cursed loudly and followed, filling you deep with a low, primal growl that echoed off the walls.

You both stayed like that for a minute—sweaty, panting, trembling. Your forehead pressed to his. His arms wrapped tight around your back.

No words. Just breaths. Just heat.

Just muscle memory.

The silence that followed was heavier than anything either of you had lifted in the weight room.

Your body slumped against his, legs still wrapped lazily around his waist. His arms stayed tight around you, lips brushing your temple like he wasn’t ready to let go. Neither were you.

But slowly, eventually, reality started to creep in—sweat cooling on your skin, the faint ache settling in your thighs, the uncomfortable stickiness between your legs.

He shifted first, murmured, “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You nodded, dazed, and let him help you up. Your legs buckled the second your feet touched the ground.

He chuckled softly. “Can’t walk?”

“Not when you fuck like that,” you muttered, rolling your hips as you stretched, still feeling him inside you.

He grinned and tugged you toward the showers. Steam was still curling out through the tiled corridor, water still running. He led you into the far stall and switched to a warmer stream, pulling you under it with him.

The water hit your back and you sighed, letting the heat soak into your bones. Changbin reached for the soap, lathering it between his hands before gently running them over your arms, your chest, your waist. His touch was so gentle now—so careful—like he was trying to memorize every curve he’d just ruined.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded, leaning into him. “Better than okay.”

He smiled, then kissed your forehead.

It should’ve stayed sweet.

It should’ve stayed soft.

But then your eyes dropped.

And you saw it again—him. His cock, still half-hard, thick and glistening, water dripping off the veins that curved along its length. You felt your mouth water instantly.

You didn’t even think.

You dropped to your knees on the wet tile, palms flat against his thighs, and looked up at him through soaked lashes.

“Fuck—wait, are you—”

You licked up his shaft before he could finish the sentence, slow and deliberate.

His head fell back against the tile with a sharp thud. “Shit.”

You smiled around him as you took him deeper, the water streaming down your back, your lips stretched wide. He was still sensitive—his whole body twitched the second your tongue swirled over the tip.

“I—fuck—don’t think I’m gonna last if you—” he hissed when you hollowed your cheeks and bobbed faster. “You’re seriously trying to kill me.”

You pulled off with a pop, gave him a slow stroke with your hand. “You look too good when you’re wrecked.”

He didn’t give you a chance to say anything else.

Changbin hauled you to your feet, spun you around, and slammed you back against the stall wall. Your gasp echoed off the tile, legs already parting in instinct.

“I’m not done with you,” he growled against your ear. “You don’t get to drop to your knees, suck me off, and not pay for it.”

“Then fucking punish me,” you whispered.

And he did.

Bent you forward, one arm braced beside your head while the other gripped your hip hard enough to bruise. He slid into you in one rough thrust, making you cry out against the wall, water crashing over both of you.

“God, you’re tight like this—still dripping—”

You pushed back against him shamelessly, loving the stretch, the heat, the filthy slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the empty locker room.

“You just can’t get enough of me, huh?” you panted. “Is this how you handle distractions at the gym?”

“This is exactly how I handle them,” he groaned, pounding into you harder. “Make them regret teasing me.”

You laughed, breathless and wrecked, as he fucked you through the stream—deep, filthy strokes that had your nails dragging down the tile, your moans bouncing off the walls.

“Faster,” you begged. “Harder. Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He couldn’t. He gripped your hips, slammed into you with reckless rhythm, and you swore you saw stars when you came again—loud, shattered, toes curling on the slick floor.

Changbin cursed violently and spilled inside you moments later, burying himself to the hilt as his breath shook against your shoulder.

The water kept running.

But neither of you moved. Not for a while.

When you finally turned around, panting and trembling, he looked like he’d just blacked out and come back to life.

You kissed him—softly this time, slow and thankful.

“Still trying to be professional?” you whispered against his lips.

He groaned and pressed his forehead to yours. “Fuck no. You ruined that forever”

You ended up wrapped in a towel that barely stayed up.

Changbin’s towel situation wasn’t much better, especially not with the way you kept teasing him. Every time he looked down at you, water still dripping from your hair, that smug little grin on your lips like you knew he was trying not to stare again—he had to breathe in through his nose and count to ten.

Ten wasn’t enough.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he warned as he dug through his locker for a shirt.

“Like what?” you asked innocently, propping a hip against the bench, your towel sliding dangerously high on one thigh. “I’m just standing here. You’re the one with the visual kink, Coach.”

He groaned. “Don’t call me that. Not when we just—”

“Fucked like animals?”

“—had sex, yes,” he muttered, throwing a spare shirt at your face.

You caught it, laughing. “Wow. Romantic.”

“I’m trying to keep my sanity,” he said, running a hand through his wet hair. “You’ve already taken the rest of my dignity.”

You pulled the oversized shirt over your head, and he swallowed hard when it hit mid-thigh.

“…You okay?” he asked after a beat, tone softening.

You turned toward him, smile fading just a little. “Yeah. I think so.”

“You’re sure?”

You nodded. “I mean… unless you plan on ghosting me now, in which case—”

“I’d rather get crushed under a barbell.”

You laughed again, but it wasn’t the same breathless sound from earlier. It was quieter. A little unsure.

He crossed the space between you slowly. “Hey,” he said gently. “This wasn’t just sex for me. I know I didn’t say it before but—look, I’ve been trying not to touch you for weeks. Every stretch, every move, every tight little outfit you wore just to mess with me…”

You grinned. “You noticed?”

He huffed. “I noticed everything. You walk into my class and suddenly I can’t remember a single routine I planned. I’ve never been that distracted in my life.”

You stepped into him again, looping your arms around his neck, your voice a soft purr. “So now that you’ve had a taste…”

“Don’t tempt me,” he whispered, hands landing on your waist, warm and steady. “I’m barely holding on as it is.”

“Then don’t hold back,” you said simply. “You’ve already ruined me, Binnie.”

The name made his eyes darken instantly.

“Say that again.”

You leaned up to whisper it, your lips brushing his ear. “Binnie.”

He groaned. “You’re evil.”

You smiled. “And you love it.”

—

The problem with sleeping with your gym instructor — was that you still had to see him every day.

And he still had to pretend he wasn’t thinking about bending you over every flat surface in the building.

Which wasn’t easy when you wore that matching black set again—the one that hugged every curve like a second skin—and then bent over during deadlifts like it was your goddamn mission to kill him.

Changbin dropped the dumbbell.

Literally.

“Focus,” his co-instructor muttered from behind him.

Impossible, he thought.

You turned to look at him with the smuggest smile, as if you knew. As if you planned it. That tight smirk, the flick of your ponytail over your shoulder, the sway of your hips back to the mat—you were driving him insane.

And it didn’t help that you texted him at night like this:

you: was thinking about earlier…

you: how you didn’t even take your time with me

you: how fast you bent me over that bench and lost your mind

you: what if i want it slower next time?

He’d read that one five times, alone in his bed, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood.

And then came the photo. A mirror selfie in a robe, one hand tucked between your thighs, your eyes daring him.

you: this what you wanted to ruin?

He threw his phone.

Only to scramble and pick it up again because holy fuck he needed to respond.

binnie: come over

binnie: don’t wear anything under that robe

You didn’t.

—

Changbin opened the door like he’d been pacing behind it all night. The second you stepped in, he grabbed you—his kiss rough, desperate, like he’d been holding back way too long. You barely got a word in before your back hit the wall and his mouth was at your neck, growling low:

“You have to stop teasing me at the gym.”

You pulled his shirt over his head, your fingers grazing the ridges of his abs, then up over those delicious, broad pecs.

“Or what?” you whispered.

He squeezed your ass in both hands. “Or I’m gonna fuck you in the weight room next time. Right in front of the damn mirror so you can watch how cockdrunk you get.”

Your breath caught, your knees going weak.

“And don’t give me that look,” he muttered, dragging his mouth across your jaw. “You love making me lose control.”

You laughed, gasping as his thigh slid between yours. “Because you look so hot when you do.”

His hands were on your robe now, tugging it open, letting it pool around your ankles.

“Then lose it with me, Binnie,” you whispered. “Right now.”

He lifted you like nothing, like muscle memory, like he’d done it a thousand times before. Only now, he had you in his arms with no audience, no distractions—just you, dripping wet, moaning into his neck as he carried you to the bedroom and laid you down like you were the heaviest weight he’d ever wanted to lift.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the hallway, but you could still see the way Changbin looked at you—like he couldn’t believe you were real. His lips hovered over your inner thigh, just barely brushing your skin as he whispered something against it.

You didn’t catch it.

“What was that?” you breathed, fingers already twisted in the sheets.

He glanced up at you, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “Said I’m obsessed with the way you taste.”

Your breath hitched. “Then come back up here and show me.”

“Nope,” he murmured, dipping his head again, voice muffled against your skin. “You teased me for weeks. I’m taking my time now.”

And fuck, did he ever.

It wasn’t like the first time—fast, wild, losing control.

This was slow destruction.

He devoured you. Took you apart with his mouth, fingers digging into your thighs to keep you wide open, pulling you to the edge only to let you breathe before dragging you back down into it. He watched you the whole time, eyes dark, curls damp with sweat, lips slick with you as he licked and sucked and praised.

“You’re unreal,” he whispered. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. How the hell did I survive without this?”

You came twice on his tongue before he finally crawled up your body, kissing your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone.

“Changbin,” you whispered, still trembling. “I—”

“I like you.”

It fell out of him like a breath he’d been holding forever.

You blinked.

His brow furrowed, panicked. “Shit, I mean—if that’s not what this is, I get it. I just—”

You cut him off with a kiss. Gentle. Soft. Way more terrifying than any filthy thing you’d done all night.

“I like you too,” you said quietly. “Been going to that gym for months hoping you’d just look at me.”

“I always looked at you,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours. “I thought you were too good for me. I didn’t think I had a chance.”

You smiled, thumb brushing over the curve of his cheek. “You really think I’d wear leggings that tight for anyone?”

He laughed, burying his face in your neck. “Fuck, you’re gonna ruin me.”

You held him close, still dizzy from the aftermath. “So… what now?”

“I take you on a proper date,” he said, suddenly determined. “No gym, no workout clothes, just you and me. Dinner. Maybe a walk. Something soft.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Soft?”

He smirked. “The date. Not what I plan to do to you after.”

Your legs clenched instinctively, and he noticed.

“God, you’re dangerous,” you whispered.

“So are you,” he said, and kissed you again like it was the start of something real.

Because it was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: This fic focuses on tension, longing, and the slow shift from lust to something much more intimate. Expect drawn-out build-up, emotional smut, and Changbin absolutely losing his mind over you (in and out of the gym).

If you loved it, please give it a like and comment or even reblog!!! Let me know if you want to be removed or added to the taglist!!

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @sagestarlight @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @universeyuto @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki

[kxsagi]

Idk if this have been done before or not but blue lock boys of your choice (hopefully with sae, isagi and aiku) with a very flirty reader but when it comes to the real thing just short circuit?? Like they're all bark but no bite type of thing (me frfr) Reader saying stuff like "I'll take you home tn pretty😘", "What do you want to do first? Eat, bath or me😜 Isn't that what japanese women say to their husbands??" or "I'm so delicious yk" (and yes if you're curious I did say this to my friends and I don't have a love life😔)

“𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐳 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭”

a/n: i am obsessed with you. you are the final boss of flirt-to-faint pipeline and i will write this with my whole chest

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, aiku oliver, karasu tabito, nagi seishiro, kaiser michael, itoshi rin, shidou ryusei

isagi yoichi

you're sitting on a bench, hand under your chin, giving him the most dramatic eyes ever. 

"yoichi, when are you gonna stop playing soccer and start playing me?" 

he CHOKES mid-bite of his sandwich. you’ve been doing this for weeks. he’s used to the pickup lines, the little winks, the "what if i kissed you rn lol jk... unless?" energy. 

but today? oh he’s had ENOUGH. 

“what if i did kiss you right now?” 

silence. 

you blink. your brain hits a blue screen error. 

"what?" 

"you always say that stuff. so what if i actually did it?" 

you panic. 

you THROW YOUR OWN SANDWICH AT HIM. 

“don’t do that. i’m too delicate. i’ll combust. i’ll faint on the spot.” 

he cackles. absolutely loves how you can be a flirt and a coward at the same time. 

he starts throwing your lines back at you. suddenly isagi’s texting you at 1 AM like “i’m so delicious you know 🤤” and you’re clutching your pillow screaming into it. 

itoshi sae

you always flirt with him when he’s least expecting it. like when he’s brushing his teeth. or doing taxes. 

"sae, when are you gonna marry me so i can kiss you good morning every day and give you little bento boxes that say ‘good luck, honey’?" 

he's brushing his teeth. he’s staring at you in the mirror like you’re a walking headache. 

“you want to kiss me every morning?” 

“... no. that’s not what i said. i don’t even know you like that. who are you.” 

you run. flee the scene. 

sae chases you down the hallway with his toothbrush still in his mouth. “say it again, coward.” 

you’re under a table texting rin for backup. 

bonus: sae starts quoting your pickup lines when you least expect it. 

"what do you want to do first? eat, bathe, or me?" he says this deadpan in a restaurant and you drop your drink. 

aiku oliver

THE WORST ONE TO FLIRT WITH. DO NOT DO IT. HE WILL FLIRT BACK. 

you walk up to him during practice like, “i brought you water, pretty boy. drink it and think of me.” 

he takes the bottle, winks, and goes, “sure, babe. if you’re what hydration tastes like, i’m gonna need gallons.” 

you explode. your brain does not have the processing speed to handle oliver aiku. 

“i’m kidding! i’m KIDDING! we’re friends! i’m just a silly little guy!” 

“silly little guys don’t call me pretty with that much eye contact.” 

he lives for your flirty lines and the way you instantly crumble when he flips the script. 

“hey, gorgeous.” 

“please be serious i have a weak heart.” 

he’s constantly calling you out. “you told me i was ‘so hot you wanted to risk it all’ yesterday. and now you’re turning pink because i called you ‘cutie’?” 

yes. yes you are. 

karasu tabito

he thinks your one-liners are HILARIOUS. 

he flirts back once and you hit him with the “who said that. don’t make me take this seriously” defense mechanism. 

“you said you wanted to lick whipped cream off my abs yesterday.” 

“i was JOKING.” 

“you had a whipped cream can in your hand.” 

he starts keeping score. 

flirty lines from you: +1. 

your panicked denial after: +10. 

he 100% makes a powerpoint for your birthday called “top 10 times you flirted like a menace and ran away from consequences.” 

slides include quotes like “tabi if you were dessert i’d never skip dinner again” and your reaction when he said “okay then, bite me” (you fainted, it was dramatic). 

nagi seishiro

he doesn’t understand flirting. but he does understand that you turn bright red every time he repeats your lines. 

you: “sei, you’re so fine i’d let you ruin my life.” 

nagi: “okay. how do i do that?” 

you: “what do you mean how do you– HUH??” 

“do i just sit on you or something?” 

you scream into the void. 

he genuinely thinks your flirty lines are just jokes. until one day he mimics your tone and says, “i’m so delicious, you know?” 

and you combust. you literally trip over the couch. 

“don’t do that. you’re not allowed. only i can be the menace here.” 

“but you get all weird and sweaty when i do it. it’s funny.” 

he’s addicted now. whenever you flirt, he just gives you bedroom eyes and goes “mm, yeah, me too.” 

you haven’t known peace since. 

kaiser michael

you flirted with him ONCE and he hasn’t let you live it down since. 

you were feeling bold one morning and went, “you’re so fine, i’d let you break my heart and still say thank you.” 

kaiser didn’t even blink. just leaned in, cocky smirk and all. 

“then let’s not waste time. bed or balcony?” 

YOU SHORT-CIRCUIT SO HARD YOU HIT HIM WITH YOUR BAG. 

“I WAS JOKING. GOD HAS ABANDONED ME.” 

he lives to watch you crumble. you’re a walking contradiction and he’s obsessed. 

starts intentionally flirting back just to see the panic in your eyes. 

“hey, pretty boy.” 

“i’m prettier in bed, you know.” 

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU. RESPECT YOURSELF.” 

he respects you so much he tells everyone your pickup lines. “this one once told me ‘i’m so delicious you’ll never want another meal’ and then choked on air when i said ‘bon appétit.’” 

you hate him. you also flirt with him again the next day. it's a sickness. 

itoshi rin

the most dangerous game. 

you flirt with rin purely because he reacts like a cat staring at a laser pointer. pure judgment. 

“rin, if we lived together, would you want to eat, bathe, or do me first?” 

he stares. unimpressed. “i’d move out.” 

you laugh it off like “haha okay cold prince.” 

but then one day, he breaks. 

you say something like “you should let me sit on your lap during team meetings. i’m cuter than your teammates.” 

and he goes, “fine. try it.” 

silence. 

“WHAT.” 

“you said it. don’t back out now.” 

and you just evaporate into thin air. 

your soul leaves your body. rin’s casually holding open his arms and you’re hitting the eject button on life. 

and ever since that day, rin casually flirts back just to mess with you. 

“don’t say things you can’t commit to,” he says every time you flirt. “or do you want to prove it this time?” 

you’ve never known fear until rin calls your bluff. 

shidou ryusei

you flirt with him because you thought he’d be too unhinged to take it seriously. you thought wrong. 

first time you said “i’m hotter than hell, baby. want a taste?” he said, “yeah, let’s start with your thighs.” 

YOU FROZE LIKE A WINDOWS ERROR POPUP. 

“WH– I– NOT LIKE THAT–” 

“nah you started this. now i’m invested.” 

every time you flirt now, he takes it as a personal challenge. 

you say, “you’re so hot it’s actually disrespectful.” 

he winks. “cool. wanna get on your knees and teach me manners?” 

YOU PASS OUT. 

he fans you with a plate like “bro what happened to all that confidence?” 

he calls you "flirty mcfragile" behind your back. and to your face. 

“what’s up, bark-and-no-bite?” 

you ban yourself from flirting around him but he bait-flirts you like it’s a sport. 

“damn, i look good today. don’t you want to say something sexy to me?” 

“NO. YOU’RE EVIL. STOP BAITING ME.” 

"can't help it. i’m just so delicious, y’know?" 

shidou uses your own lines against you like a weapon and you're too weak to stop him. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[katemoneymartinsgf]

could you do one where paige and azzi are on a camping trip and have to share a tent or somthing and realize they like eachother

Camping |pazzi|

a/n: Finals week, sorry i’ve been lacking😔

“Don’t freak out,” Ice says, pulling another sleeping bag out of a duffel. “But we may have overestimated the tent-to-human ratio.”

Paige glances over. “What does that mean?”

“It means y’all are cozy tonight,” Ice grins, tossing a sleeping bag toward her. “It’s a two-person tent. And you’re with Azzi.”

Paige catches the bag mid-air and throws a look at Azzi, who just shrugs like, not my fault, before adjusting her ponytail.

“It’s fine,” Paige says, a little too quickly. “Totally chill.”

Azzi grins. “Sure, P.”

They set up the tent just before sunset — Paige fumbling with the poles, Azzi making fun of her under her breath, both of them pretending this isn’t a mildly life-changing situation.

By the time everyone’s had dinner, messed around with a cheap card game, and roasted enough marshmallows to count as a meal, it’s dark.

The two of them crawl into the tent, take off their shoes, and immediately run into problem number one.

“There’s only one sleeping bag,” Paige says, holding it up like it might multiply if she stares hard enough.

Azzi stretches out on the tent floor, hoodie riding up slightly over her stomach. “We can unzip it. Make it a blanket.”

Paige blinks. “Right. Smart. Blanket.”

She unzips it and tosses it over them, trying not to look like she’s panicking. Azzi lays back next to her — shoulder to shoulder, close enough to feel every tiny movement.

“Camp vibes,” Azzi mumbles, tugging the blanket tighter around her.

“You look too comfortable right now,” Paige says, arms crossed. “I think you might be built for this.”

“I am comfortable,” Azzi says, grinning. “You good?”

“Fine,” Paige says. “You just take up a lot of space.”

Azzi turns her head. “It’s a tent, not a twin bed. Chill.”

“You’re literally a space heater.”

“Wow. That’s actually the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Paige laughs. Quietly. “You’re ridiculous.”

Azzi shifts a little closer, her arm brushing Paige’s. “You’re warm though.”

“Don’t start,” Paige says, already pulling the blanket tighter around herself like a shield. “We’ve got all night in this tent and I’m barely holding it together.”

Azzi raises an eyebrow. “You holding it together?”

“No.”

Azzi laughs — not loud, not teasing, just low and honest and kind. And Paige feels it in her chest.

—

They talk for a while. About nothing and everything.

Azzi tells a story about how Ice once got lost in a corn maze and blamed “midwest energy” for an hour. Paige tells her about the one time she tried camping in eighth grade, cried when her phone died, and made her dad come pick her up at midnight.

“I brought extra chargers this time,” Paige says.

“Oh, so we’re growing.”

“Character development.”

Azzi’s head tips back when she laughs again, and Paige doesn’t realize she’s staring until the silence hits and Azzi catches her.

“What?” Azzi asks softly.

Paige swallows. “You’re just…”

She trails off. Doesn’t finish the sentence.

Azzi lets it sit there before Paige changes the subject.

“This blanket is way to small and you keep stealing ,” Paige says, tugging at one side. “Now there’s, like, draft zones.”

Azzi snorts. “It’s called sharing.”

“You took, like, 70 percent of it.”

“You’re the one with cold feet.”

“You say that like it’s my fault.”

“It is your fault,” Azzi says, tugging it closer to her shoulder. “Poor circulation.”

“You made that up.”

Azzi grins. “Maybe.”

Paige mutters something under her breath and shifts, pulling the bag higher around her chest. Their arms brush. Neither of them move away.

The flashlight dims in the corner.

They go quiet for a minute.

Azzi’s voice is soft when she speaks again. “So is this better than the your first camping?”

Paige blinks up at the ceiling. “Sure, but it’s because i’ve never done it like this.”

Azzi turns her head slightly. “Like how?”

Paige hesitates. “With someone I actually want to be around.”

Azzi doesn’t respond right away.

But she smiles.

“I like it,” she says quietly. “Even if you steal all the space.”

Paige laughs, too softly to sound real. “You’re literally the one with your elbow in my ribs.”

Azzi doesn’t move it.

Paige doesn’t ask her to.

They lie still for a while. The sleeping bag rustles every time someone adjusts. Paige keeps her hands tucked under her hoodie sleeves like she’s nervous to let them sit still.

“Can I ask something dumb?” she says finally.

Azzi glances over. “Always.”

“Were you hoping we’d get the same tent?”

Azzi doesn’t answer right away. Her voice, when it comes, is barely above a whisper.

“Yeah.”

Paige lets that settle. Lets it wrap around her like warmth.

“Me too,” she says.

Azzi breathes in slow. Then out. “I kept thinking… if I was near you long enough, I’d get over it.”

Paige’s stomach flips. “Over what?”

Azzi looks at her — really looks.

“This….you.”

And Paige… gets it.

She’s not sure when it started, or when it stopped being just a dumb crush that she could joke about in locker rooms. But now, Azzi’s knee is pressed against hers, and their fingers are two inches apart on the sleeping bag, and it feels like something they’ve both been dancing around for too long.

“You don’t have to get over it,” Paige says quietly.

Azzi’s voice cracks just a little. “No?”

Paige shakes her head. “Kinda hoping you won’t.”

And then she reaches over — slow, careful — and links their pinkies.

Azzi doesn’t look away.

Paige leans in.

The kiss is small, soft, something that’s been waiting its turn for months.

And when they pull back, Azzi’s forehead touches hers.

“Just so you know,” she murmurs, “you still hog the blanket.”

Paige smiles.

“You can have it,” she says. “You already have everything else.”

-

The morning creeps in slow — gray light seeping through the tent fabric, birds being unnecessarily loud, and the chill settling in around the sleeping bag like it’s got a grudge.

Azzi wakes up first.

Not because of the cold — definitely not because of the birds — but because her face is smushed against Paige’s collarbone, and Paige is breathing steady beneath her, still dead asleep.

And Azzi… is on top of her.

Like fully wrapped around Paige. Arm draped over her stomach. Knee tucked up against her thigh. Face hidden in her hoodie. The sleeping bag a mess around them.

She blinks. Doesn’t move.

Paige shifts slightly in her sleep, murmurs something under her breath, and tightens her arm around Azzi’s back like it’s instinct.

Azzi exhales into her chest.

Okay.

Okay.

This is fine.

Totally normal for two friends who maybe kissed last night and then curled into each other like puzzle pieces. Totally normal.

Azzi doesn’t move.

Because… warmth. Obviously.

Ten minutes pass. Maybe fifteen.

Then Paige mumbles, voice still gravelly from sleep: “You awake?”

Azzi nods against her. “You?”

Paige smiles. “No.”

Azzi huffs a laugh, and Paige opens one eye, looking down at her.

“Are we pretending this is still about warmth?”

“I was.” Azzi shrugs.

“You’re not even cold.”

“You’re warm,” Azzi says simply.

And that’s apparently enough.

Paige shifts under her, eyes still half-closed. “We should probably get up.”

Azzi makes no move.

Paige grins. “Right. In five?”

“Ten.”

They’re quiet for another moment, just breathing.

Then—

The tent zipper yanks open from the outside.

“Y’ALL UP—”

It’s Ice.

And she’s screaming.

“NAH. NAHHH. SARAH, COME LOOK AT THIS. THEY’RE CUDDLING FOR REAL.”

Paige groans, immediately throwing the sleeping bag over both their heads like it’s armor. Azzi’s laughing into her hoodie.

“Tell them to zip it back up,” Paige mutters.

“They’re already taking pictures,” Azzi says, grinning.

“This is why I don’t camp.”

Azzi kisses her cheek through the hoodie.

“You love it.”

“I like you. That’s different.”

Azzi just hums, smug and close and still not moving.

And honestly?

They’re not getting up for a while.

[bills5lut]

INNOCENT (not a virgin) READER W DOM BILLIE PUHLEEEAASSEEEE

innocent

warnings: smut, dom!topbillie, sub!bottomreader, strapr!receiving, teasing

synopsis: billie takes an interest at you at a party where you feel slightly out of place, and keeps trying to make moves on you whilst you drive yet you’re mostly oblivious

note: someone may have inspired this to a degree…

Sat tensely in your cousin’s best friend’s softly lit house in the hills, expensive yet clearly lived in, vinyls stacked by a record player, dim lamps rather than overhead lights, and open glass bifold doors to a back deck where smoke from a little barbecue curls into the air. You’re slightly on edge, your cousin dragged you along to her best friend Billie Eilish’s little gathering. There isn’t many of you, a few warm bodies spilled on couches, everyone loosely draped over each other, empty cans of beer on a coffee table. You clutch your soda like a prop, you don’t drink, yet the smell of weed, cologne, and warm skin could probably be enough to get you high. 

Billie is tucked into a leather armchair, legs thrown over the armrest, a half drunk beer balancing on her knee, laughing with someone across from her. You’re not used to this kind of energy, this kind of crowd, definitely not used to someone like Billie looking over at her and not looking away. 

From across the room, you catch Billie’s eyes flick toward you, mid conversation, her mouth curving into a half smile as she says something you cant hear, something you feel might be about you. 

“Hey. Who brought the angel?” 

A girl, short, curly brown hair with a tumbler of whiskey rocking in her hand replies shortly “Oh thats y/n, my roommates cousin, she doesn’t drink.”

“Shame, she’s pretty” 

After a moment or so, which you spend still just sipping your orange soda and sitting upright on the couch, Billie walks over, grabbing your hand with force. 

“You. You’re the only one who hasn’t been double fisting tequila. Come on. You’re driving.” She says whilst dragging you off the couch 

You jump back a little, confused, 

“What? Me? Why?” You stutter out

Billie lets out a soft, amused scoff, looking at you like you’re almost too easy. She leans in slightly, her voice smooth “Yeah, Im paying. You like fries? Cmon.”

Billie pulls you to the dark driveway, chucking her keys at you and you clutch them in your hands as you grab them, heart pounding a little harder, nerves buzzing with static.

You step into the drivers seat of Billie’s car, unfamiliar, expensive, the leather interior smells just like her, cedar, vanilla, smoke, yet slightly sweet. 

Billie crawls into the passenger seat, kicking her legs up on the dashboard, sneakers off, watching you intently as you drive. 

The streetlights of LA flash across Billie’s face in gold stripes, she looks undeniably beautiful, but when she meets your gaze you awkwardly look away. 

Billie notices, and chuckles slightly, before piping up, tapping your knee, “You’re real cute, y’know that?”

You blush, stumbling over your words, “Thanks. I guess.”

Billie quirks her eyebrow, “You guess?”

You force a shrug, swallowing thickly, the weight of her attention grounding you in the seat. You keep your eyes on the road, lips pressing together in stiff silence. 

The bass of the music, low on the speakers, rattles quietly across the car, providing slight relief to the silence. 

It’s the kind of silence that stretches, awkwardly. Billie doesn’t speak, just studies you. You can feel her gaze drag down your profile, the streets blurring by in streaks of amber light, the hum of the tires under you almost hypnotic.

“You always this quiet?” Billie asks softly, eyes still attached to you, you tense up, lips still sealed, “You got a boyfriend, or just always this shy?”

Awkwardly, you answer, unsure of what Billie is trying to do, “I had a boyfriend, a while ago” 

Heat rushes to your cheeks before the words are even out. Your stomach twists, not from the memory, but from how Billie’s voice seems to curl in your chest. Your thighs press slightly without realising. 

Billie’s eyes watch your reddening cheeks, and she smirks, “Did he ever make you blush this bad?”

Your hands grip the steering wheel, the leather heating against your sweating palms. At a nearing stop light, you turn your head toward Billie, tapping the steering wheel slightly, “Are you flirting with me?”

Billie leans closer, amused, “Took you long enough to catch on”

Your breath catches, the air thick in your chest. You try to hide behind a soft laugh, but it crumbles into a sigh “I wasn’t sure.”

The windows fog slightly from the heat of the car, matching the low simmer Billie is building with each pointed glance. 

Billie replies, voice low, “You really are just that innocent huh?”

Your mouth opens slightly, but nothing comes out. You look ahead, frozen between flattery and panic, like someone dropped you into the middle of a scene you hadn’t auditioned for. Billie turns her face toward the window, but you can feel her smirking.  “Have you even had sex?”

You snap your head over defensively, “Yes, of course, what? Yes I have. With my ex”

Billie nods, slightly smug, “And was it good?”

You shrug, eyes back on the road as you pull into the parking lot of the gas station Billie directed you to drive toward. Your heart hammers at your ribs, if you look at her now, you know you’ll either say something stupid, or lean in. 

She pauses, then leans in, voice softer but remains commanding, “Come here”

Her fingers curl around your jaw, firm but gentle, tilting your face toward hers. Her kiss lands like heat, slow at first, tasting, teasing. You go rigid, but her mouth is patient. Eventually, you melt. 

Your hands hover helplessly in the air, unsure of where to go, and Billie catches one mid waft, placing it on her waist with a quiet laugh. She deepens the kiss, tongue brushing yours. 

The kiss is confident and deliberate, making you gasp slightly when Billie bites down on your bottom lip. Her smile presses against your lips, and she pulls back, whispering, “Get in the back”

You tilt your head, confused, “Why?”

Billie snorts, shaking her head “Jesus, just trust me.”

You crawl awkwardly into the back, knees knocking against the console. Billie follows, smooth, composed.

She leans back against the car door, legs spread just enough, “Sit on my lap pretty” 

You hesitate, and Billie takes your wrist gently, “C’mere, relax, I’ll guide you”

You straddle her, trying hard to appear calm, but your hands betray you, trembling slightly where they land on her waist. Billie’s hands settle on your hips, grounding you, her thumbs stroking slow, soothing circles. 

“Undo my jeans” She whispers, and you nod, fingers fumbling with her fly, hands slipping. Beneath her dark denim jeans, there’s a long purple strap. Your eyes widen slightly and your hands jump back to your own sides in shock. Billie mocks you, mouth widening, 

“What? Shocked?”

You stammer out, “You were wearing that this whole time?”

Billie shrugs, smirking, “I had a feeling this would get interesting”, before she lifts your skirt up, pulling your panties aside, and helping you lower yourself down onto it, one hand firm on your lower back guiding you. 

Your hands fly to Billie’s shoulders, trembling, the seat creaking as you lower yourself, eyes fluttering shut and breath catching. You dip your head down the crook of Billie’s neck, and she grabs a fistful of your hair firmly, 

“Nuh uh, eyes on me.” 

You softly murmur “It feels, I.. I” head still buried in Billie’s neck 

“I know baby. Let me see you.” 

You try to stay hidden, biting down soft moans into her shoulder, but Billie cups your jaw, forcing your gaze upward, not unkind, but unrelenting, “Stop hiding”

Billies slide underneath your thighs, guiding your rhythm slowly at first, then suddenly quicker, a jolt through your spine sending your head reeling backward. 

“Billie, slow, slower please” You gasp 

She shakes her head softly “You’re doing so good angel, you can take it, I know you can”

Your breath forms small clouds on the window glass behind Billie’s head, body rocking slightly with each thrust. Your hands plant hard on the fogged window for balance, handprints streaking the condensation. 

The air inside the car thickens with sound, soft gasps, wet movement, leather creaking. Billie’s thighs hit yours in rhythm, the slap low and damp.

“Just like that baby” she murmurs “Just like that”

Your eyes gloss over, hips jolting with each thrust, and Billie smirks softly “Feels better than your ex huh?”

You moan out loudly, getting more confident, “Fuck, yes, god it does”

Billie hums in approval, stroking your shoulder with her thumb “That’s better, prefer you like this” 

You ride harder now, head thrown back, the strap hitting deeper, each wet thrust making your stomach flip. Billie watches you unravel, mouth agape, sweat misting your collarbones. 

You start getting overwhelmed, breath hitching, hands sliding from the windows back to Billie’s shoulders, nails digging in

Billie leans in slowly, whispering in your ear, “You gonna cum baby?”

You nod rapidly, bouncing harder, most desperately, wetness dripping down from your pussy over Billie’s thighs, her grip firm on your waist as she moves you just right. The strap hits the exact spot, over and over. 

She lifts your shirt slightly, palm pressing against your lower stomach, feeling the pressure deep inside. She smiles. 

“Right there huh?”

You cant speak, pleasure washing over you, too intense to speak, Billie laughs slightly, 

“Eyes on me baby, let me see you cum, let me see how I make you feel”

You collapse forward against Billie, breath shallow, body trembling, cum coating the strap, nails piercing Billie’s skin. 

Billie kisses your forehead, one hand stroking up your spine beneath your shirt

The car falls into stillness, windows fogged, your shallow breathing the only sound. Everything is warm, soft. The tension is gone, dissolved into something tender. 

You sigh deeply, “I’ve never felt like that before”

Billie chuckles, brushing your hair back with her fingers, “Yeah. No shit”

You nod, still breathless, lips parted. Billie kisses you again, slower, softer.

“You good?”

You nod, faced flushed, eyes glazed with an afterglow. 

Your skin buzzes, overstimulated, and Billie helps you adjust your clothes with a gentle ease. 

“You’ll be thinking about that every time you drive now huh?”

You blush, burying your face into Billie’s neck.

“Awh poor thing” Billie murmurs, kissing your temple, her fingers threading through your hair, as if she’s claiming you without a single word. 

[missmadella]

"How they react when they get called by their full Name" // Tokyo Revengers

Charakters: Mikey, Sanzu, Kokonoi, Mitsuya, Chifuyu, Kazutora, Ran, Rindou, Izana

Synopsis: There’s one thing every Tokyo Rev boy knows: when you drop their full name — first and last — they’ve seriously screwed up. It could be a forgotten date, a stolen dessert, a jealous outburst, or just plain stupidity, but once that name leaves your lips? Oh, they feel it.

CW: Light cursing, jealousy/possessiveness, mild violence (slaps, fights), flirty teasing,emotional tension

Mikey (Manjiro Sano):

The sun was beginning to dip behind the horizon, casting a soft orange glow over the Musashi Shrine. The old Toman gang had gathered there, much like they always did, lounging on the steps and chatting about their plans for the next big move. Mikey stood at the forefront, his jacket casually draped over his shoulders as he began to talk about the upcoming fight with another gang. Draken, always close behind him, kept an eye on the rest of the group, ensuring no one got too rowdy.

Suddenly, his gaze shifted as he noticed movement near the shrine stairs. At first, he couldn’t make out who it was — the person was still too far away. But when a loud, clear “MANJIRO SANO” echoed across the quiet shrine, he knew exactly who it was.

The whole group froze.

Heads turned in unison, eyes wide as they realized it was none other than Mikey’s girlfriend — and she was not happy.

Draken’s eyes flicked to Mikey, who had stopped mid-sentence, his smirk fading into something more cautious. You walked through the crowd of Toman members, your steps deliberate and filled with an icy determination. The guys instinctively parted to make room, stepping aside like a wave in front of you.

“Mikey, what the hell...” Mitsuya, one of the vice-captains, started to speak, but the instant your angry glare landed on him, he went silent. His words died in his throat, and he wisely shut up, not wanting to get between you and whatever had set you off.

Everyone knew who Mikey’s “wife” was — that teasing nickname for you when you and Mikey went official. And normally, you were the sweetest girl anyone could meet. The kind of girl they'd run into on a late-night walk down the city, smiling and saying hello to everyone. But the guys also knew that when you were angry, nobody wanted to be near you. You didn’t need to use your fists to make your point. Your words were sharp enough to cut through anything.

And in that moment, every single one of them could tell that Mikey had messed up big time. Especially when you called him by his full name.

You reached the stairs where Mikey stood, the air around you heavy with the tension that had suddenly gripped the whole shrine. You didn’t shout — you didn’t need to. Your cold gaze alone sent a wave of fear through him. With barely a whisper, you spoke. “Where is my dorayaki that was on my counter this morning?”

The moment you asked, Mikey’s face paled slightly, and his usual confident demeanor cracked, just enough for Draken to notice the shift. He watched as Mikey's eyes darted around, his lips twitching, unsure of how to respond.

“Baby… I don’t… know what you’re talking about,” Mikey said, his voice a little shakier than usual — nothing loud enough for the others to catch, but Draken saw it. Mikey was genuinely scared.

Your gaze never wavered. Your face remained hard, and you took a step closer, your eyes locked on his. “Don’t you dare lie to me.”

The silence in the air was thick, and even the usual chatter between the Toman members had died down, everyone sensing that this was no ordinary disagreement. Mikey swallowed hard, his confident smirk gone. “Baby…”

The way you stood there — unmoving, your voice cold, your anger barely contained — made Mikey’s insides twist. The entire shrine had become a pressure cooker, and it felt like you were the only one in control.

He hesitated, then took a step closer, moving down a single stair. His eyes never left yours, but you stood firm, arms crossed tightly in front of your chest. “I’m sorry, baby,” Mikey said, his voice softer now. “I didn’t know those were yours.” He took another step toward you, trying to ease the tension, his usual carefree attitude replaced with a hint of concern.

Big mistake.

Without warning, you lunged forward, grabbing his ear in a swift motion. “How dare you eat my sweets?” you hissed, your grip firm enough to make him wince. “I’d been looking forward to that all day, Manjiro.”

His face contorted in pain, but it was the way you were looking at him — that cold, steely gaze — that made him feel the full force of your anger. He knew he’d messed up, and now he was paying the price.

“I’m sorry, princess,” Mikey groaned, wincing under your tight grip. “I swear, they were making fun of me, telling me I should eat them. I didn’t think it would be such a big deal. I’ll never do it again.”

But you weren’t having any of it. The pain in his ear intensified as you squeezed harder. “Don’t. Ever. Do. That. Again.”

Finally, with a final, sharp tug, you let go of his ear. It was red, and Mikey winced as he rubbed it, his eyes still apologetic. But before you could even begin to walk away, Mikey quickly grabbed your wrist, holding you in place.

You shot him a glare, making it clear with a look that he needed to think very carefully about what he was doing next. “Let go of me,” you muttered, your voice low but threatening.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N,” Mikey murmured, his voice softening as he pulled you closer, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead.

You closed your eyes at the sensation, your body relaxing just a little bit as your frustration started to melt away. A heavy sigh left your lips as you opened your eyes, staring at him again. “You better make it up to me, or you can sleep on the couch tonight.”

“Ouch,” Draken heard Chifuyu mutter under his breath, a small laugh following. The tension in the air had slightly lifted, but it was clear Mikey wasn’t off the hook yet.

“I won’t do it again,” Mikey promised, his voice soft and sincere. His grip on your wrist loosened as his hand moved gently to your face. “But please… don’t call me by my first name again. I’m sorry, baby.”

Before you could say anything, Mikey leaned down and kissed you softly on the lips. It was warm and comforting, a stark contrast to the anger that had flared moments ago. You kissed him back, your hand moving to the side of his face, your thumb gently caressing his cheek.

“If you ever do this again,” you warned, pulling back slightly but keeping your hand on his face, “I will be your worst nightmare.”

Mikey smirked, his usual cocky confidence returning — just a little bit — as he leaned down to kiss you again. This time, the kiss was brief but meaningful, and when you pulled away, you dropped onto the last step of the shrine, sitting down with a sigh.

Mikey removed his jacket, draping it over your shoulders with a small, playful smile. “Alright, I’m gonna finish the meeting now. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

With that, Mikey turned back to the group, his usual carefree attitude settling back into place, but he kept a soft smile on his face, knowing he’d narrowly escaped a much worse fate.

___________________________________________________________________________

Sanzu Haruchiyo:

The Bonten boardroom was thick with tension — dark suits, whispered strategies, and Mikey’s dead-eyed stare at the head of the table.

Sanzu leaned back in his seat, legs kicked up on the polished wood, twirling a butterfly knife in his fingers like the meeting was background noise. Casual, cocky — typical.

That is, until the doors slammed open with a force that made Koko flinch and Rindou instinctively reach for his gun.

Every head turned.

And there you were.

Hair wind-blown, heels echoing like gunshots, expression locked in one single mood: rage.

You didn’t even glance at the others — your eyes zeroed in on one person only.

"Haruchiyo. Sanzu."

His knife stilled mid-spin.

He blinked. Tilted his head.

“Ohhh?” he drawled, an unstable grin curling onto his lips. “Full name… in front of my coworkers? What’d I do this time, doll?”

You marched right up to him and — crack.

The slap rang out, sharp and echoing. The room went dead silent. Even Mikey raised an eyebrow.

Sanzu didn’t move. Just slowly turned his head back toward you, a red mark blooming on his cheek — and a completely unhinged smile spreading across his face.

“Oh, you’re so hot when you’re mad.”

That did not help.

“Don’t you dare,” you growled, eyes blazing. “You forgot. You forgot our anniversary, Haruchiyo. You left me sitting alone at a reservation you made, looking like an idiot. You’ve done a lot of reckless shit, but this—this is what I don’t forgive.”

Sanzu opened his mouth to joke again, but one look at your face — how your voice wavered just slightly at the end — and something actually clicked.

He stood slowly, grin slipping into something more serious. His usual cockiness twisted with confusion and guilt.

“I—shit,” he muttered. “I didn’t forget, I just—no. No, I did forget.”

You scoffed, turned on your heel.

“I’m done. Don’t worry — you’ll have time to spin your knife and play gangster without having to think about me ever again.”

You were almost to the door when Mikey spoke — quietly, but with weight.

“Sanzu.”

He froze.

“If you don’t fix this in the next ten minutes, don’t come back to the table.”

Everyone else stayed silent. They knew what that meant.

Sanzu blinked at his boss, then at you. He dragged a hand down his face. Then he was moving — fast.

You didn’t make it to the elevator.

A hand caught your wrist, not rough but firm.

“Wait,” he said, and for once, his voice wasn’t teasing. It was low. Serious. “I messed up. I know I did. You wanna break my nose next? Fine. You want a real apology? Give me tonight. Just tonight. I’ll fix it.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I should walk out.”

“But you haven’t,” he said softly, tugging you closer, his other hand cradling the side of your face — right where your anger had turned his cheek red. “Which means I’ve still got a chance.”

You didn’t answer.

He leaned closer.

“Let me take you somewhere. Right now. Fuck the meeting. Mikey already said I’m screwed either way.”

You bit your lip. Still furious. Still hurt.

But his eyes — sharp, wild, pleading — were locked on yours like nothing else in the world mattered.

“…One chance,” you muttered.

“That’s all I need.”

And with that, he dragged you out by the hand — past a stunned Bonten, past Mikey’s amused smirk — ready to blow more money than sense fixing the night he should’ve never forgotten.

___________________________________________________________________________

Kokonoi Hajime:

Your afternoon was peaceful — warm tea, a half-read book, and your favorite playlist humming in the background.

Then your phone buzzed.

One alert. Then two. Then three.

“Transaction approved: ¥1,850,000 – Interior Luxury Aquatics.” “Your Bonten BlackCard was used at ‘KoiWorld Tokyo’.” “Estimated delivery scheduled for this evening.”

You stared at your phone, blinking slowly like it might explain itself.

It did not.

Instead, it showed a picture of a koi pond with custom underwater lighting, soundproof filtration, and a caption that read:

“Perfect centerpiece for a modern bathroom space.”

You stood up so fast your tea nearly spilled.

And you marched straight into the living room, already yelling.

“Hajime Kokonoi!”

He was lounging like royalty — silk pajama pants, socks mismatched (as always), hair perfectly in place even though he’d clearly done nothing all day. The TV was on but muted, and he was scrolling through his tablet like a man deep in international finance — or TikTok, it was hard to tell with him.

At the sound of his full name, he froze.

Then looked up, slow and cautious. “...Was it something I bought? Or something I said while half-asleep? Be honest. I need context before I defend myself.”

You held up your phone like a prosecutor presenting evidence. “A koi pond, Hajime?”

He tilted his head. “Ah. The koi pond.”

“Oh, there are others?”

“No. Not yet. But imagine the possibilities.”

You gave him a look that could set fire to expensive wallpaper. “In the guest bathroom?”

“Listen, listen, I thought it through. It’s the smallest bathroom, right? So guests don’t spend too long in there scrolling through TikTok. But if you give them a calming aquatic feature to look at while they—”

“—you’re describing bathroom fish therapy right now.”

“Exactly! You get it!” He beamed like he’d invented sliced bread. “It’s innovation, babe.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “We agreed — no more extravagant impulse buys without telling each other. You promised after the rotating crystal gin shelf.”

“But that one was sick. Admit it.”

“It plays Beyoncé when it opens.”

“Luxury,” he said, dead serious.

You paced the room, already imagining poor houseguests slipping on wet tiles while koi fish stared them down in judgment. “This isn’t about fish, Hajime. This is about you not listening. Again. You can’t fix a boring bathroom by throwing seven fish in it and hoping for ambiance.”

He rose from the couch, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay. Okay. I hear you. Maybe it was a little… extra.”

“A little?”

“They gave me a discount if I named one of the koi after myself.”

You stared. “You’re putting a fish in a bathroom and naming it Hajime?”

“Well, I was... but I’ll rename him if it’ll help my case. What about... ‘I’m sorry’?”

You were trying so hard not to laugh, and he knew it. He stepped closer, slipping his arms around your waist as your resolve crumbled slightly.

“Babe,” he said softly, brushing a kiss against your temple, “I’ll cancel the installation if it really bothers you. Or I’ll move it to the terrace. Or build the koi a private spa in the guest bedroom. Whatever you want.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“But I’m cute,” he added with a wink.

You sighed. “If I ever see you spending seven figures on fish again, I’m calling you Hajime in front of Mikey. In front of everyone.”

He gasped. “That’s cold.”

“Even colder than koi water.”

“Okay, now that was hot. Use that in bed later.”

You smacked his arm, but you were laughing now. And he was grinning like a man who knew exactly how to get away with murder (and koi ponds).

___________________________________________________________________________

Mitsuya Takashi:

It was a quiet evening in the Mitsuya household. The living room was glowing warm with fairy lights, soft music hummed from the record player, and the faint scent of freshly brewed tea drifted from the kitchen.

You were sitting on the couch, waiting.

Waiting… and waiting.

The lasagna you had lovingly made was slowly getting cold, the table set with care — candles, folded napkins, even that dumb little place card he always laughed about that said “Takashi ”.

But he was late.

Not just ten-minutes-late.

We’re talking an hour and twenty-seven minutes late, and he hadn’t even texted.

You were just about to wrap the food up in cling wrap out of pure spite when the front door clicked open.

You didn’t even look up when you heard the soft, familiar thud of his boots being kicked off.

“Baaabe, I’m home—”

“Takashi Mitsuya.”

The way you said it — calm, measured, yet dangerously poised — made him freeze in the doorway, jacket half-off one arm.

He blinked. “...Oh. Wow. The full name.”

You finally turned around.

He looked guilty as hell.

“I…” He cleared his throat. “Forgot?”

You crossed your arms.

Mitsuya walked slowly into the room, holding up both hands like you were a wild animal he didn’t want to spook. “Okay, in my defense—”

“You promised,” you said, voice soft but stern. “You literally promised you'd be home on time. And I didn’t even burn the lasagna this time.”

He winced. “I know. I know. Toman meeting ran late, then I got caught up helping Hakkai fix a shirt for his date, and then I couldn’t find my phone in all the fabric and—yeah, okay, I’m gonna stop talking.”

You stared for a moment longer before turning away, muttering, “It’s fine. I should’ve expected it. You’re the one who’s always taking care of everyone.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then:

“...Is this the part where you scold me more? Or kiss me?”

You blinked, turning slowly.

Mitsuya was grinning now — boyish and warm, clearly testing the waters, but sincere under it all. “Because you only ever call me Takashi Mitsuya when it’s one of those.”

You tried not to smile. Tried.

“Depends. Do you think you deserve a kiss right now?”

He walked right up to you, slipping his arms around your waist and leaning his forehead against yours.

“I deserve a chance to earn one,” he said softly.

You exhaled a little laugh, eyes half-lidded. “You always say the right thing.”

“I sew for a living, baby. I know how to thread things carefully.”

“Gross.”

“You love it.”

You did. So much it hurt sometimes.

You leaned up and kissed him — just once — before whispering near his ear, “You’re heating up that lasagna yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh — and dishes too.”

He groaned dramatically, burying his face in your neck. “You really know how to punish a man.”

“You forgot our dinner date. I’m letting you off easy.”

“I know. And I’m grateful.” He paused, pulling back with a soft smile. “But don’t stop calling me by my full name. It sounds really hot when you’re mad.”

You rolled your eyes and walked away — but not before tossing back a teasing, “Takashi Mitsuya, you’re impossible.”

His grin was full of love.

And this time, he didn't miss dinner.

__________________________________________________________________________

Chifuyu Matsuno:

You had left the apartment for thirty minutes.

Just thirty.

Enough time to grab your package from the post office, pick up snacks, and come back to what was supposed to be a chill movie night.

What you came back to instead... was chaos.

There was flour. Everywhere.

The cat — who looked like it had fought in the Great Pastry War — bolted past you with a string of dough wrapped around its leg. The TV was paused on a baking tutorial. The counters were stacked with bowls, some with batter, one suspiciously empty, and—

Oh no.

“CHIFUYU MATSUNO.”

A loud bang echoed from the kitchen.

You stormed in, and there he was: wide-eyed, mid-mixer, flour smudged on his cheek, apron crooked, and a cake that had clearly imploded in the oven behind him.

He blinked. “Okay, so—”

“Don’t you ‘okay, so’ me.”

“Before you get mad—”

“I left you alone for half an hour. I asked you to boil pasta. Not—what is this? A Great British Bake-Off rejection arc?”

He pointed to the collapsed cake like it betrayed him personally. “That was supposed to be a surprise! I was trying to make that caramel lava thing you said looked good—”

“By summoning Satan into the batter?”

He scratched the back of his head, sheepish. “...It did make a weird noise.”

You stared, exasperated beyond words. “And the cat?”

“Okay, the cat part wasn’t me. Technically. I dropped the cream. She jumped in.”

“Chifuyu, she looks like a haunted marshmallow.”

He stepped forward, laughing nervously, reaching out to brush flour off your jacket like that would somehow make up for it. “But babe... I did it for you.”

“You did arson in my kitchen for me?”

“Not arson! It’s creative expression!”

“You lit an oven mitt on fire!”

“Small fire. Controlled. Kinda.” His eyes sparkled with that grin that made you weak in the knees and homicidal at the same time. “But I mean... you’re not that mad, right?”

You raised your brows.

He smirked. “Because you called me Chifuyu Matsuno. Which you only do when you’re two seconds from either throwing me out the window or kissing me.”

“Guess which one I’m leaning toward.”

He leaned in, pressing a quick floury kiss to your cheek. “Kiss, obviously. You can’t resist me when I’m covered in catastrophe.”

You sighed, letting your forehead rest against his. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I know. Now help me clean this up and I’ll order your favorite ramen. Double miso, no mushrooms.”

“Fine. But you’re on cat-cleanup duty.”

Chifuyu looked over at the flour-coated feline, now trying to eat a whisk.

“...I deserve that.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Kazutora Hanemiya:

You hadn’t meant to yell.

You hadn’t even meant to cry.

But when Kazutora walked in that night — shoulders slumped, knuckles red, hoodie pulled low to hide the bruising on his jaw — something inside you snapped.

He hadn’t answered your calls. Not one.

Hours of silence.

And then he just showed up, like he hadn’t disappeared again. Like he didn’t know what that kind of silence did to someone who loved him.

You stood there in the dim light of the apartment, arms crossed tightly, trying to hold yourself together as the door clicked shut behind him.

And then it happened.

“Kazutora Hanemiya.”

He flinched. Visibly.

The sound of his full name — sharp, deliberate, and full of everything you were holding back — cut through the room like a knife.

He didn’t look up at first. Didn’t meet your eyes.

“You didn’t call. You didn’t text. I thought—” You swallowed hard. “I thought something happened.”

He dropped his bag wordlessly by the door.

“I told you,” you said, quieter now, voice thick, “I told you the last time — I can’t go through that kind of fear again. Not from you. Not when I—”

He finally looked up.

And god, his eyes were tired.

Not physically — but in that way Kazutora always got when his mind spiraled too fast for him to grab onto anything stable. That distant, fragile expression that said I don't know how to stay, even when I want to.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he murmured. “I lost control again. And I just... I didn’t want to ruin the one good thing I have.”

You blinked away tears. “So your solution was to disappear? Do you know what that does to me?”

He took a shaky step forward, hands half-raised like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you.

“I’m not used to someone worrying about me,” he said, broken-soft. “Not like you do.”

You finally let out a breath that felt like it had been sitting in your chest for hours. “Then get used to it, Kazutora. Because I’m not going anywhere. But I need you to stop running like I’m going to disappear the second you mess up.”

He stared at you like you were the only solid thing in a world that always shifted beneath his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to shut you out. I just... I get scared.”

You stepped toward him, gently placing your hand on his bruised cheek. “So do I. Every time you shut down like this.”

“I’ll try,” he breathed. “For you.”

You nodded, eyes softening. “And stop flinching when I say your full name. I only do it when I need you to listen.”

“I hear you,” he said, eyes closing as he leaned into your palm. “I hear you now.”

And in that quiet room, he finally let himself fall — not into chaos, not into guilt — but into you.

And for once, he didn’t run.

_________________________________________________________________________

Ran Haitani:

The night had started out like any other, with Ran’s usual charm and swagger as he wrapped you in his arms and promised to make it home on time. He even kissed you goodbye with that mischievous grin that made your heart race.

But now, here you were — standing alone in the dimly lit apartment, the cool silence pressing down on you as the hours ticked by.

Your patience had worn thin.

You had trusted him, even though you knew how unpredictable things could get when his brother, Rindou, was involved. You trusted that he would be there when he said he would.

But as the clock struck midnight, that familiar feeling settled in the pit of your stomach — the feeling that Ran wasn’t coming home.

Not again.

You were done being patient. Done waiting for a man who promised the world and never quite delivered. And so, with a heavy sigh, you grabbed your coat and stormed out the door.

You didn’t know where you were going, but you knew you needed answers.

When you arrived at the underground club, where you knew Ran usually wound up after a Toman meeting, the last thing you expected to see was him sitting in a corner booth — alone. His head was tilted back, staring up at the ceiling as if the world didn’t matter.

Your heart skipped a beat, and every step toward him felt like a weight you couldn’t shake.

You were angry. You were hurt. But mostly, you were tired.

As soon as you reached the booth, Ran’s eyes flicked toward you, and for a brief moment, you could see the shock on his face. His perfect smile faltered.

“Y/N?” His voice was low, and there was something about the way he said your name — like it was the first time he was seeing you in forever. But you didn’t want to hear his soft tone anymore.

“Ran Haitani,” you said, your voice cutting through the thick air like a blade. The use of his full name — not the teasing “Ran” or the quiet “baby” you usually called him — hit him harder than any punch.

His brows furrowed, and he stood up slowly. “Babe... what’s wrong?”

You glared at him, taking a step closer, voice shaking with both fury and raw emotion. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong, Ran? You’re what’s wrong.”

He recoiled slightly, as if the force of your words physically struck him.

“I don’t know why I keep letting you hurt me,” you continued, your voice rising in volume. “You make promises, and then you break them. You show up late, and when you finally do, you expect me to just forget that you were never here. You expect me to wait around like everything is fine.”

Ran’s eyes softened, and he reached out to you, but you pulled back before he could touch you. His hand froze in mid-air, a silent apology hanging between you.

You stepped closer, lowering your voice to a near-whisper, but there was still so much fire in it. “You think you’re the only one with a past full of mistakes, don’t you? You think I don’t know what it’s like to be scared of falling — to be scared that I’m not enough, or that you’ll just leave like everyone else?”

He closed the space between you, finally taking your hands in his with an urgency that made your heart skip. “Y/N, I never wanted to hurt you. But I do.”

His confession was raw, too much to take in at once, and for a moment, you couldn’t even breathe.

“I try. I really do. But when I get caught up in all the shit — with Rindou, with Toman... with everything I’ve built around myself — I forget what matters most. You. You matter the most.”

You didn’t know if you should believe him. You didn’t know if you could let him back in without getting hurt again.

“Don’t shut me out, Y/N,” Ran whispered, voice hoarse, hands tightening around yours. “Not again. I can’t lose you.”

The tension in the room thickened, but then Ran did something you didn’t expect. He pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you tightly. His breath was warm against your neck, his heart pounding against your chest.

“Please... don’t leave me.” His voice cracked, and you felt it deep in your soul.

You didn’t push him away. You didn’t pull back.

Because despite everything, you didn’t want to lose him either.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the only sound between you the quiet thrum of his heartbeat, his arms keeping you close as if you might slip away if he didn’t hold you tight enough.

And then, with his forehead resting against yours, he murmured softly, “I know I messed up. But I swear, Y/N, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that I’m yours.”

You closed your eyes, exhaling the breath you’d been holding. “You better. Because I won’t be here forever if you keep doing this to me.”

Ran’s lips gently pressed to your forehead, his voice full of sincerity. “I know. And I won’t give you a reason to walk away again. I’ll make it right, I promise.”

And in that moment, with all the weight of his past and yours hanging in the air, you allowed yourself to believe him.

___________________________________________________________________________

Rindou Haitani:

It was supposed to be a calm, easy evening. You and Rindou had been planning a low-key night, just the two of you. No Bonten meetings. No wild distractions. Just takeout and a movie.

But as usual, things never went according to plan when Rindou was involved.

The door slammed open. There he was — looking like a mess.

You had barely taken a bite of your food before your phone buzzed with an unknown number.

“Where are you?” it read. “Don't wait up for me.”

That was it.

You hadn’t seen him for hours, and now he was texting you this?

By the time he came back home, you were already on edge. You had done your best to keep cool, but when Rindou walked in with a smug grin on his face, late as usual, you had had enough.

You didn’t even look up from the couch. You were too busy staring at your phone, pretending you weren’t fuming.

“What, no welcome home kiss?” Rindou teased, swaggering into the living room. He tossed his jacket over the back of a chair and cracked his neck. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

And that was when it happened.

“Rindou Haitani.”

The words came out sharper than you intended, and you instantly saw the flicker of shock in his eyes. He froze, his playful smirk faltering as he processed your tone.

He blinked. “Full name now? Damn, I really messed up this time, huh?”

You stood up, your body trembling with barely contained anger. “You disappear for hours, and when you finally show up, you think you can just—” You threw your hands up in the air. “You think you can just act like it’s nothing? Like I’m just supposed to keep waiting around while you do whatever the hell you want?”

Rindou chuckled nervously, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze now. “Hey, come on, don’t be like that. I was busy, okay? Things came up.”

“Busy?” You scoffed, taking a step closer to him. “You’re always busy, Rindou. With meetings, with Bonten, with whatever the hell else you’re involved in! You never have time for me anymore.”

The grin on his face faltered for a second, but it was quickly replaced by an almost defiant look. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

You shook your head, crossing your arms over your chest. “No. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to treat me like I’m nothing when I’ve been nothing but patient with you. I’m tired of being the afterthought, Rindou.”

And that was when it clicked for him. The words you had said, the weight in your voice — it was real.

But instead of apologizing, instead of stepping back, Rindou did something that took you completely off guard.

He reached out and yanked you toward him, pinning you against his chest. The surprise left your lips, but you didn’t have time to react before he kissed you.

It was a kiss full of desperation — lips crashing into yours as if he was trying to prove something. His hands were urgent, tugging at your shirt like he couldn’t quite get close enough.

You pushed against his chest, trying to break free, but the more you struggled, the tighter he held you. “Rindou, get off me—”

“No,” he muttered, his voice low, his grip on your waist firm. “I’m not letting you go this time.”

And it hit you like a wave. He wasn’t doing this out of arrogance — he was doing it because he didn’t know any other way to fix things.

Finally, you stopped fighting. The anger drained from your body, replaced with something softer — but still, you weren’t going to make it easy on him.

You pulled away slightly, breathless. “You can’t keep doing this, Rindou. You can’t just waltz in here and think everything’s fine.”

He rested his forehead against yours, his fingers lightly brushing through your hair. “I know. I know. I’m an idiot, okay? I’m sorry.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? Just a ‘sorry’? After everything?”

He smirked. “Well, it’s a start.”

A small laugh escaped you despite yourself. “You really are something else.”

But before you could fully process the situation, he had you pinned again, this time with a playful grin.

“You really know how to make a guy work for it,” Rindou teased, his voice now back to its usual teasing tone.

You sighed, shaking your head, but a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he leaned in, kissing your forehead lightly, “you’re still not getting rid of me.”

“Damn right,” you muttered, “But don’t think this is over. You’re going to have to earn back my trust.”

Rindou’s eyes sparkled with that mischievous glint, but underneath it, you could see the sincerity — for once, he wasn’t just playing games. He was all in, even if he was chaotic about it.

“Fine,” he grinned, pulling you back into his arms. “But I’ll make sure to do it in the most dramatic way possible.”

“Of course you will.”

And despite everything — the mess, the chaos, the late nights — you couldn’t help but feel like maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something real between you two. Even if it was a little messy.

_________________________________________________________________________

Izana Kurokawa:

You were fuming. It wasn't anything big, but it was the little things that piled up, and today, Izana had done one too many. He’d left his dirty clothes everywhere, again. His shoes were in the living room, and the smell of his cologne still lingered in the hallway like he thought he was some sort of royalty. You had tried to be patient, but something snapped when you saw his jacket just thrown over the back of the couch, taking up space where you wanted to sit.

"Izana Kurokawa!" you exclaimed, hands on your hips as you marched into the living room.

Izana was lounging on the couch, completely unaware of the storm brewing. He didn’t even glance up when you said his full name—just continued scrolling on his phone with his signature lazy grin.

You crossed your arms tighter, glaring at him. "Do you have to leave your stuff everywhere? How many times do I have to tell you?"

He finally looked up, unfazed. “Mmm… I think you’ve told me about three times already,” he said, his eyes glinting with amusement. “But you know, I just can’t help it. I like to make myself comfortable.”

That was the moment it became clear to you that he was teasing you. Your irritation deepened. “Comfortable? I swear, you think everything should revolve around you!”

You could feel yourself getting worked up, but instead of saying anything else, you turned your back and started picking up his things, throwing them in his direction.

Izana sat up, suddenly intrigued. His eyes narrowed playfully as he watched you continue your mini-rampage. “You look cute when you're angry, you know that?”

That did it. You whirled around to face him, pointing a finger in his direction. “Izana Kurokawa, you better—”

But before you could finish, Izana was up in a flash, crossing the space between you in an instant. With a grin that could melt anyone's heart, he cupped your face gently, pulling you in for a kiss.

It was slow at first, a quiet moment that silenced your angry thoughts, his lips warm against yours. Your eyes fluttered shut as the tension in your body melted away, and for a second, all you could feel was his touch.

You pulled away slightly, breathing a little heavier, and without thinking, you snapped, “You can’t just kiss your way out of everything, you know.”

Izana ignored you completely, smiling wider as his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you back in for another kiss, this one deeper, making you forget the very reason you were mad in the first place.

When he pulled away, you were slightly breathless, your frustration evaporating into a faint smile despite yourself.

He leaned his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes with that familiar playful glint. “I can and will kiss my way out of anything,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “But hey, I’ll pick up my stuff, okay? No need to get so worked up over my shoes.”

You blinked at him, trying to hold onto your frustration, but it was like trying to keep sand in your hands. “Izana...”

He kissed you once more, interrupting your half-hearted protest. “Shh, it’s fine, babe. Don’t worry about it. I’ll even go get your favorite snack later, just to make up for it.”

You sighed, trying not to smile as you pushed against his chest, though there was no real strength behind it. “You really know how to get out of trouble, don’t you?”

Izana grinned and gave you another quick kiss on the lips, his hand resting on the small of your back. “What can I say? It’s a gift. Now… let’s go get those snacks I promised. You’ll forget all about my shoes.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. As much as you tried to stay annoyed, Izana had that effect on you. He knew how to turn even the most frustrating moments into something playful and lighthearted.

[f1daydreamer]

Unexpected Miracle

----

POV: Elena

It started like it always did when I got my period: some cramping, lower back pain, the usual urge to curl into a human croissant and binge-watch bad reality TV. Nothing weird.

Except… the pain wasn’t going away. In fact, it got worse. I was sweating. My stomach was twisting like someone was doing somersaults inside me—which, funny enough, they were.

At some point, I staggered down the hall of the hotel to Charles’s room, hoping to lie down in his bed without disturbing the other WAGs who were all chatting and drinking tea in mine.

“Charles…” I mumbled, knocking gently before letting myself in and collapsing on the bed. “Don’t freak out. I think I’m dying.”

Very romantic.

He wasn't there.

Good. I could writhe in peace.

Until… something popped. Warm liquid spread across my thighs and the bedsheets.

That was not period-related.

And then came the pain.

The real pain.

A scream tore from my throat, echoing through the walls. I grabbed the bedsheets, curling into myself as if that would stop the freight train currently trying to exit my body.

Moments later, the door swung open.

An assistant—bless her soul—saw the scene, went ghost white, and dropped her walkie-talkie.

“Elena?! Are you—did your appendix burst?! Is it internal bleeding?! Oh my God, don’t die!”

“I don’t KNOW!” I howled. “Something’s wrong! I think my organs are rearranging themselves!”

Suddenly people flooded the room. And then—

“Elena?!”

There he was. Charles Leclerc. My loving, beautiful boyfriend. In his team shirt, holding a banana and clearly mid-snack.

He looked at me on the bed—sweaty, crying, soaked—and his face went from confusion to panic in 0.3 seconds.

“What—what happened?! Are you—why is the bed wet?! Did you pee?!”

“NO, I DIDN’T PEE! I THINK I’M—OH MY GOD, IT HURTS SO MUCH—!”

Enter: Dr. Armand, the paddock’s MVP medic.

He pushed everyone back, examined me like a pro, and then froze.

“Her water broke.”

A long pause.

I blinked.

Charles blinked.

“Her what broke?” Charles asked, eyes narrowing like he misheard.

“She’s in labor. We’re delivering a baby. Now.”

The room went dead silent.

I sat up, panting. “I—I’m not pregnant! I literally had my period last month!”

“That,” Dr. Armand said calmly, like this was just another Thursday, “is called a cryptic pregnancy. It’s rare, but it happens. Some women have no belly growth, no symptoms, and even continue to menstruate. It hides behind the uterus or spine. It's one of those things we teach med students to expect once in a blue moon.”

Charles looked at him, pale. “But… we used protection.”

Dr. Armand gave him the look. You know the one. The ‘Aw, sweet summer child’ look.

“I don’t have time to give you the biology lecture right now. There’s a baby coming.”

“No, there’s not,” Charles said, clearly in denial. “She’s not even pregnant.”

“Elena,” Dr. Armand said, ignoring Charles. “You need to push.”

And that was the moment Charles fainted.

---

30 Minutes Later

Charles recovered quickly—just in time to hold my hand while I screamed at him for doing this to me.

“I am never trusting you with protection again!” I screeched.

“You can yell at me forever later, mon ange,” he stammered, “just don’t die.”

I pushed. I screamed. I possibly cursed in five languages.

And then—

A cry.

A tiny, angry cry that pierced the air.

Everyone froze.

“She’s here,” Dr. Armand announced, lifting the tiny, squirming, red-faced miracle in his arms. “A baby girl.”

I burst into tears.

Charles stared. Absolutely frozen. Like someone had thrown a baby in his lap and told him it was now his tax write-off.

“Is—she—mine?” he whispered.

Dr. Armand raised an eyebrow. “Well, unless you’d like me to order a paternity test mid-delivery—”

“I’m joking, I’m joking!” Charles said quickly. “She’s—oh my God, she’s ours.”

Charles stared down at the tiny, wiggling bundle the doctor placed in his arms. “She’s… she’s so small.”

“She’s Elodie,” Elena whispered, exhausted but glowing.

“Elodie Ana Leclerc,” Charles repeated, like the words were too holy to touch. “We have a daughter.”

Charles cupped my face and kissed her through tears. “We’re parents. Oh mon Dieu. We’re parents. In a drivers’ room. What the hell is our life?”

---

POV: Outside the Room

“Did someone say a baby?” Lando blinked.

“There’s no way Charles has a baby,” Pierre scoffed. “He still forgets where he parks his car.”

“I heard someone scream,” Kika whispered. “Like a horror movie scream.”

“Maybe he got a cramp,” Carlos said. “He does that when he eats too fast.”

And then Fred Vasseur stormed down the hallway.

“Why is everyone in the hallway—WHAT is going on here?! I just got off a call and someone tells me Charles is delivering a baby in his room?! Is this some weird PR stunt?!”

The assistant stepped forward nervously. “No sir. Elena just gave birth. In his bed.”

“In his—” Fred blinked. “She what?! Since when is she pregnant?!”

“She wasn’t,” Lando said, jaw hanging. “She was—surprise pregnant.”

Fred Vasseur walked in, saw the baby, then turned slowly and muttered “I came here to manage a Formula 1 team and instead delivered a baby in Leclerc’s dressing room.”

Esteban was already calling Otmar. “Do we have a baby policy in Alpine? Just in case.”

The ambulance arrived minutes later. Elena, wrapped in warm blankets, was carefully placed on a stretcher with Elodie in her arms. Charles climbed in beside them, still in his fireproofs, his hair wild, looking like a man who just survived war and fell in love at the same time.

Fred took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I’m too old for this sport.”

---

At the Hospital

Charles held Elodie, swaddled in pink, in the hospital room while I rested with a blissed-out smile and a juice box.

“I have to call my mother,” Charles said, still visibly panicked. “She’s going to kill me.”

He FaceTimed Pascale.

Charles: FaceTime ringing…

Pascale: “Mon amour! I watched FP3—what happened at the end? Are you okay?”

Charles slowly turned the phone camera to the sleeping baby in the hospital bassinet.

Pascale: squints “Oh, is that a—wait. Is that—a baby?!”

Charles: “Yes.”

Pascale: “Whose baby?”

Charles: “Mine.”

Silence.

Pascale: “Yours… like, you’re babysitting, or yours like, you made it?!”

Charles: “The second one.”

Pascale: “CHARLES MARC HERVÉ PERCEVAL LECLERC—”

Elena, overhearing, muttered, “You’re getting the full name treatment. You’re done.”

Pascale: “You don’t just casually have a baby, Charles! That is not something you forget to tell your mother!”

Charles: “I didn’t know!”

Pascale: “You didn’t know you were going to be a father?! Are you serious? What is this, a reality show?!”

Charles: “It was a cryptic pregnancy!”

Pascale: “Is that what you’re calling it now? I raised three boys, I know a pregnancy when I see one—unless she was hiding behind a curtain for nine months—how did no one notice?!”

Charles: “Can I send you a picture of her? Her name is Elodie.”

Pascale: suddenly softening “Elodie...”

He sent a photo.

Pascale burst into tears.

“Oh my God… she’s beautiful. My first grandchild. I can’t believe it. Wait until your grandmother hears this, she’s going to faint.”

Charles: “Please don’t let her faint.”

After more Ten minutes of emotional yelling in French, crying, and several “You didn’t even know?! What do you mean she gave birth in your driver room ?! Are you feeding the child?! Do you even know how to change a diaper?!”

He hung up, sighing. “That went well.”

He called Lorenzo and Charlotte.

Charles: “Hey.”

Lorenzo: “Why do you sound like you’ve been crying?”

Charlotte: “Wait, are you okay? Did someone crash into you again? Did Max say something mean?”

Charles: “No, but I need to show you something.”

Turns camera to Elodie.

Lorenzo: “Whose baby is that?”

Charlotte: “Are you baby sitting ?”

Charles: “No. She’s mine. Meet Elodie.”

Lorenzo: “What.”

Charlotte: “I—what?! From WHO?! From WHERE?! Charles, did you go to a baby farm?!”

Charles: “Elena gave birth today. In my room. At the paddock.”

Charlotte: “Like. In the drivers room?! Charles?! Not even a Hospital?!”

Lorenzo: “Why do you look so calm about this?! I need to sit down.”

Charlotte: “You’re telling me I threw you a birthday brunch two weeks ago and you were a father already?! You didn’t mention a baby in the oven!”

Charles: “There wasn’t a visible oven!”

Lorenzo: “Oh my God, I’m an uncle. This is worse than that time you bought a snake on vacation.”

Charlotte: “Don’t compare a baby to a snake!”

Finally, he called Arthur.

Arthur: “You better be calling me with coffee or good news.”

Charles: “I’m a dad.”

Arthur: “...Huh?”

Arthur: “You—what?!

Charles: “I have a daughter. Her name is Elodie. She was born three hours ago.”

Arthur: “I swear to God, if this is some sort prank $@%#$ ”

Charles: “It’s not. Come see her tomorrow.”

Arthur: “No.”

Charles: “What?”

Arthur: “No. I am NOT uncle material. Don’t put that pressure on me. I’m not even fully human until I have coffee.”

Arthur: after a long pause “...Am I allowed to hold her?”

Charles: “Only if you wash your hands. Twice.”

Arthur: “I’m gonna cry. Oh my God. I’m gonna be the cool uncle.”

---

POV: Fred Vasseur (and the Ferrari garage, a few hours later)

Fred: staring into space, muttering “I run a Formula 1 team. I manage 1.000 horsepower cars. I deal with wind tunnels and strategy calls. Not childbirth. Not baby blankets.”

Mechanic: “He’s been like that since they wheeled the baby out.”

Mechanic: “To be fair, it was in his technical bed.”

Fred: “This team is cursed. This team is absolutely cursed.”

He sat down in the pit wall chair, stared into the distance.

“First we break gearboxes, now we’re delivering children between sessions. What’s next? Someone adopting a driver during Q1?”

Staff : “Can we at least get Elodie a team shirt? The tiniest Ferrari onesie?”

Fred: muttering “That child better grow up to be a world champion, or I want that hospital bill refunded.”

---

POV: The Press Conference – The Next Day

Reporter: “Charles, we noticed you missed most of the post-qualy debrief yesterday. Is everything alright?”

Charles, smiling: “Yeah. I became a dad.”

The room fell silent.

Carlos, sitting next to him, snorted his water.

Lando choked on air.

journalist : “Wait—you’re not joking?!”

Charles: “Nope. Her name is Elodie. She was born yesterday .”

Media chaos ensued. Reporters scrambled. Tweets flew. Headlines exploded.

BREAKING: CHARLES LECLERC BECOMES FATHER AFTER SURPRISE PADDOCK BIRTH

The F1 fandom: hysteria

Twitter: broken

Ferrari PR team: new grey hairs

Later That Night

Everyone came to visit.

Carlos brought flowers.

Lando brought snacks.

Pierre brought… a tiny Ferrari onesie and a plush baguette. “For culture.”

Fred brought wine. For himself.

They all crowded around, staring at the little bundle in Elena’s arms.

“She’s cute,” George said. “She looks like Charles, but that could change. Baby faces morph like Play-Doh.”

Kika leaned in. “She has your eyes, Elena.”

Elena smiled sleepily. “Her name is Elodie.”

Everyone melted.

Charles looked down at her, his entire world reshaped in a single day.

“I had a girlfriend this morning,” he murmured, brushing a finger across her tiny hand. “Now I have a family.”

And even if it all started in the most ridiculous, unexpected way…

It was perfect.

-----

Back at the paddock, a sign was already taped to the driver’s room door:

“DO NOT ENTER – THIS ROOM HAS BEEN BLESSED (AND POSSIBLY CURSED) BY THE ARRIVAL OF BABY LECLERC.”

And below it, in Fred’s handwriting:

"All future team babies must be scheduled off-season."

---

This was a a mixture of several unfinished ideas 😭 and a dream of mine

[orellazalonia]

Rest for the Restless

Summary: You and Bucky Barnes slowly build a bond through shared understanding, periodic teasing, and finding comfort in each other’s company. In a world full of uncertainty and chaos, you become each other's calm. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power of telepathy.

Word Count: 2.9k+

A/N: Telepathy was next from the poll. I started it out fun (hopefully) but then had to throw in the classic heartfelt stuff. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist

The dim light of the room cast long shadows across the space. Bucky Barnes was pacing slowly, his brows furrowed in deep thought. His metal arm clinked faintly with each step, but he didn’t seem to notice. You, on the other hand, were sitting on the couch, trying to focus on what he was saying.

You weren’t just anyone. You had a unique ability that set you apart. Telepathy. It was a power you hadn’t exactly asked for, but it had made you useful to the team. You could hear people’s thoughts, even feel their emotions, often before they spoke.

It wasn’t always easy to control, especially in situations like this, when your mind wandered. It was a double-edged sword, one that Bucky had learned to live with over time, though it wasn’t always smooth sailing.

Your relationship with Bucky had been complicated at first. He was a man with a past as turbulent as your own, a shared sense of struggle and understanding that had drawn you closer. You had both found comfort in silence, in the understanding that sometimes words weren’t necessary. He was patient with you, mostly. After all, he’d dealt with enough chaos in his own mind to know what it was like to be overwhelmed by your own thoughts.

But right now, it seemed like your mind had a mind of its own. Bucky was talking about the mission strategy, his voice low and serious, but your focus was slipping. You could hear his thoughts faintly in the background, always steady and calculating, but your own mind… well, it was a different story.

“…and we need to be careful about how we move in and out, making sure we don’t attract-“ Bucky paused mid-sentence, his sharp blue eyes narrowing at you.

You blinked, suddenly aware of how distant you’d become. Your thoughts had drifted. But before you could even register what you were thinking, the thought slipped out, clear as day in Bucky’s mind:

I wonder what’s for dinner tonight…

There was a long, uncomfortable silence as Bucky stood still. His eyes narrowed further, the faintest shift in his expression signaling that he’d caught the thought. You could almost feel him trying to process it, but he didn’t miss a beat.

“What?” He asked slowly, his voice a little too calm, like he was trying to control a laugh. “Are we talking about dinner now?”

You felt your face flush, immediately regretting it. No, no, no… You cursed inwardly, trying to pull your attention back to the conversation, but Bucky wasn’t letting it go.

He folded his arms, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re really thinking about food while we’re planning a mission?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could say anything, your mind had already started to wander again. What do you think? I haven’t eaten all day… You cursed again, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on it.

But of course, he did.

Bucky’s smirk grew, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He shook his head as if in disbelief, but his grin was widening. “What is it? Pizza? Burgers? Oh, wait, you were probably thinking about pasta, huh?”

You sighed in exasperation. “I’m… trying to concentrate, Bucky,” You muttered, desperately trying to focus. But your thoughts refused to comply.

Do I even have any leftovers in the fridge?

Bucky raised an eyebrow, obviously entertained by your mental chaos. “Seriously? We’re literally talking about life-or-death stuff, and you’re over here planning dinner.” He leaned in a little closer, his voice dripping with teasing affection. “Do you think I’d be a good cook? Because I could totally whip up something after this mission, if you can stop thinking about carbs for two seconds.”

You could feel your face growing warmer by the second, but you refused to back down. “I’m trying to stay focused,” You said, though the words didn’t come out with quite as much conviction as you hoped.

But your thoughts were betraying you again.

Wait, do we have any garlic bread left? I hope not. It tasted stale.

Bucky shook his head, the smirk never leaving his face. “Seriously, garlic bread? You're impossible.”

“I'm sorry!” You protested, a little louder than you meant. “I’m really trying to focus! It's just… it’s been a long day!”

Bucky softened a little at your frustration, but his teasing didn’t stop. “It’s fine, I get it. You’re hungry. But I’m not planning to raid any kitchens while we’re in the middle of a mission, alright?”

You sighed, rubbing your temples in frustration. “I know, I know,” You muttered, trying to refocus. “I’ll try to focus.”

Bucky gave you a reassuring smile, but there was still that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Good. And hey,” He added, his voice quieter now, “I’ll let you decide what we eat after we save the day. No garlic bread involved.”

You gave him a small, embarrassed smile, feeling both flustered and oddly comforted by his easygoing nature. But as your thoughts slowly returned to the mission, you couldn’t help but think: What if we get Chinese takeout?

Bucky’s eyebrow quirked up instantly. He caught it in an instant. “Chinese takeout?” He leaned forward, his grin widening. “You can’t be serious.”

You fought back the smile threatening to break through. “I didn’t say anything,” You muttered, trying to sound serious, but failing miserably.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Fine, after the mission, we’ll do Chinese.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no hiding the warmth that spread through you. Despite your wandering thoughts, Bucky was right there, patient, teasing, and always ready to catch you both mentally and emotionally when you needed it.

-

While the lighthearted moments came here and there, often you two enjoyed each other’s company in silence with a sort of calmness in the air.

Today, the sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving a soft orange glow in the sky. The safe house was quiet, almost too quiet, the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen the only sound breaking the stillness. You were sitting on the couch, your legs tucked under you as you stared at the TV. It wasn’t even on; you were just lost in thought, trying to unwind from the mission earlier that day. It had been a long one, but nothing too intense. Still, you felt mentally drained.

You knew Bucky was nearby, probably in the kitchen, making sure you both had something to eat. In all honesty, he was a quiet guy, but his presence was always enough. The two of you had settled into a comfortable routine, one where you didn’t have to say much to understand each other. His past was full of silence and trauma, and so was yours, in different ways. Over time, you'd found solace in the space between the fun moments, a shared understanding that didn’t require constant chatter.

You heard Bucky’s footsteps approach before the smell of something warm hit your nose, something savory. You didn’t look up, though, knowing he was there. He wasn’t one to disturb you unless he had to. And when he did speak, it was always in that low, steady voice, like he was trying to make up for the years he’d lost, years he often seemed to spend in quiet contemplation. It was part of what made him… Bucky.

He leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed, observing you with that same watchful gaze he always had. His eyes were soft, but you could tell he was assessing you, sensing that something was on your mind.

“Food’s ready,” He said simply, the words not holding any pressure, but an invitation to join him nonetheless. His tone wasn’t demanding, just offering. That was Bucky. He’d been through so much in his life, but he never imposed his feelings on anyone, not even when you knew he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You nodded, but didn’t move right away. Instead, you rubbed your temples, sighing softly.

“Hey,” Bucky said, his voice just a touch gentler now, as though he knew what was going on in your head even though you hadn’t said anything. “You okay?”

You glanced up at him briefly, then dropped your gaze to the floor. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired. It's nothing.”

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me,” He teased, but there was a hint of concern hidden behind it. “If you’re not fine, you don’t have to pretend.”

You bit your lip, a small part of you still trying to keep up that wall you’d built, the one you both knew was always there, even if unspoken. “It’s just… everything. The mission, the noise in my head, all of it,” You admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Sometimes it feels like it’s too much, you know? And I can’t shut it off.”

Bucky stood silently for a moment, his gaze softening as he processed your words. He couldn’t hear your thoughts this time. It seems like you were controlling your power to prevent him from doing so. But he didn’t push, didn’t try to fix anything. That was the thing about Bucky. He knew better than anyone that not everything needed to be fixed right away. Sometimes, the most comforting thing was just knowing someone understood.

He finally walked over to where you sat, leaning down so he could rest one hand on the back of the couch. There wasn’t a rush to it, no sense of urgency. He was just there, present, allowing you the space to breathe.

“You know,” He said quietly, “You don’t have to go through this alone. Not anymore.”

You didn’t answer right away, just letting his words hang in the air, mixing with the silence. It felt nice, though, nice to hear it out loud, even if it wasn’t something you’d said yourself.

Bucky reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder, his touch warm and solid, like a grounding force. “I get it,” He added softly. “The thoughts, the noise. I can’t always shut mine off, either. But… we’ve got each other. I’m not going anywhere.”

His words weren’t dramatic or heavy, just matter-of-fact, the kind of comfort only someone who had lived through darkness could offer. You leaned into his touch for a brief moment, allowing yourself the quiet comfort of his presence.

“Thanks,” You murmured, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Bucky gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Probably survive just fine,” He said, the humor in his voice lightening the moment, “But I’m glad I’m here anyway.”

You chuckled softly at that, feeling the tension in your shoulders loosen just a little. “You’re impossible.”

“Yup,” He agreed with a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “But you love me anyway.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the warmth of the moment creeping in. “I don’t know about that…”

“Sure you do,” Bucky teased, standing up straight again. “Now, come eat before I eat all the food myself.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the weight of the day slowly lifting. There was something comforting about these quiet moments with Bucky, just two people finding solace in each other’s company. No words necessary, just the simple act of being there.

As you walked into the kitchen behind Bucky, the soft clink of plates being set down on the counter pulled you from your thoughts. He’d already set out two bowls of whatever he'd made, the smell of savory spices filling the air. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a simple homemade dish but somehow, it felt like it was exactly what you needed.

You sat down at the table, taking the bowl he handed you. You didn’t speak right away. Your mind kept flicking back to how you and Bucky had even gotten to this point in your relationship, this place of quiet understanding. You both hadn’t expected things to evolve this way, but here you were, comfortable, without needing much more than each other’s company.

Your relationship had started off slowly, cautiously. When you’d first met, you had both been wary of forming any kind of connection. You were part of the team, but you kept mostly to yourself, not exactly trusting anyone too easily. After all, you had your own demons to deal with, and opening up meant letting people see parts of you you weren’t sure you wanted anyone to see.

Bucky had been no different. At first, he’d kept his distance. He used to be the Winter Soldier, after all, even if he was trying to leave that behind. His past was complicated, full of violence and control, and the last thing he wanted was to drag anyone else into it. Especially someone like you who could hear everything he thought, feel everything he felt. It terrified him to think you might be able to read all of that pain in his mind.

But then, slowly, the walls between you had started to come down. It wasn’t anything grand. No big gestures. Just quiet moments where you were forced to share the same space. Things like missions that pushed you both together, nights in the compound where you sat next to each other without needing to say much.

Bucky, in his own way, started to understand your telepathy. He’d been so used to keeping things locked away, the idea that someone could hear his thoughts was strange at first. But after a while, he became more comfortable with it, even appreciated it. You weren’t like everyone else; you didn’t push for him to talk, didn’t force him to relive his past. Instead, you just knew. It was comforting in a way that words couldn’t always express.

And then there was the day it all clicked. You’d been on a mission together, just the two of you, a covert op to track down a rogue HYDRA agent. It had been a tense, exhausting day. You’d gotten separated during the mission, and the panic in your head had nearly overwhelmed you when you couldn’t find Bucky for a few minutes. The only thing that had kept you calm was knowing that you could reach him, that somehow, you could always feel his presence. When you finally found him, his own relief mirrored yours, though neither of you said anything about it.

That night, back at the compound, you’d been sitting on the couch together. The quiet stretched out between you, and for the first time, Bucky had asked you a question he hadn’t before.

“Do you ever just… feel like you’re too much?” He had asked, his voice low. “Like your head’s just full of everyone else’s thoughts, and you can’t escape it?”

You had looked at him then, meeting his eyes for the first time with the raw understanding of someone who had the same kind of burden. Yes. You had said that word in your mind to him, even if you didn’t speak it aloud. You could see the way his posture softened. His tense expression gave way to something quieter, something more vulnerable.

“I don’t know how to stop it,” You had admitted quietly, your gaze falling to the floor. “Sometimes it feels like I’m drowning in everyone else’s feelings.”

“I get it,” He had said softly, leaning in a little closer. “You’re not alone in that.”

And then, without another word, he had reached over and taken your hand. It was a small gesture, but it meant everything in that moment. It was the first time you felt like you didn’t have to hide the mess in your mind because he already understood it. He was right there with you.

From that moment on, things had shifted between you. There had been no grand confession, no dramatic realization. It had just happened, two people finding comfort in each other’s chaos.

When Bucky had kissed you for the first time a few weeks later, it wasn’t anything extravagant or over the top. It was simple. Just a soft press of his lips to yours after a long day, both of you knowing without words that this was where you were supposed to be. You didn’t need to read each other’s thoughts to understand that.

Now, sitting together at the table, you glanced over at him again. He was eating in that quiet way he always did, not rushing through it, just savoring the moment. You hadn’t needed any of the usual pretenses or forced conversations to make this work. There was an ease between you now; one built on shared understanding, occasional teasing, and the kind of companionship that didn’t need to be explained.

Bucky looked up from his bowl and caught your gaze. There was a quiet warmth in his eyes, a tenderness that made you feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be. And for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe it.

“Thank you,” You said quietly, the words more meaningful than they appeared.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “For what?”

“For being here,” You spoke a little more softer. “For making me never having to hide what’s in my head.”

Bucky’s gaze softened, and he reached across the table, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to hide anything with me,” His voice firm yet kind. “I’m not going anywhere, remember?”

You nodded, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. This was more than just a relationship. It was a partnership, built on understanding, comfort, and the freedom to be your truest self. And in that quiet moment, with the weight of the world outside and the noise of your mind finally quieting, you knew that you had exactly what you needed.

And you were ready to hold on to it, no matter what came next.

[luvly-writer]

Aretia: And who is he?

Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! Reader

Masterlist

They were halfway through the meeting with some visiting Riders from another outpost when he walked in—Jason Malloran. Tall, smug, all golden hair and cocky smiles. The moment Y/n’s eyes landed on him, she blinked in surprise.

“Jace?” she said, a little too casually for Ridoc’s taste.

Ridoc’s head snapped toward her so fast it was a miracle his neck didn’t snap. “Jace? As in Jason Malloran?”

Y/n gave him a look, silently telling him to behave, “Yes?”

Ridoc’s nostrils flared,“The one from fourth year?”

“The one you almost dueled,” she corrected, sipping her water calmly.

“Because he broke your heart!” Ridoc hissed, stabbing a finger in the air. “I still have the journal entry where you called him a traitorous toad with good hair and zero morals!”

“I was seventeen and dramatic,” Y/n muttered, glancing away. “And he wasn’t that bad.”

Xaden, who’d barely been paying attention to the exchange until then, slowly turned his head with all the cold menace of a man whose peace was being violated. “Who’s Jace?”

Violet leaned toward him, eyes wide and giddy. “That is Jace.”

They all watched as Jace—clearly not understanding the delicate balance of his own survival—walked up to Y/n, smiled too wide, and said, “Y/n. You look even more stunning than I remember. Still with the braids?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, arms crossed. “Still a shameless flirt?”

Xaden’s jaw flexed. Bodhi, Imogen, and Garrick were all holding their breath.

Ridoc, from his corner, looked at Xaden like he was bracing for war. “Do I need to hold you back or are you good?”

Xaden didn’t even blink. “I just need my girlfriend back.”

“Agreed,” Ridoc muttered. “ If that man keeps breathing the same air as her, I might combust.”

“He should breathe louder,” Bodhi muttered, looking at Jace. “I want to see what happens.”

Y/n turned slightly, clearly having felt the death glares burning into her back, and shot a look at Xaden. “Don’t you dare say a word.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Xaden replied, his voice cool and even. “But I am wondering how much of your good sense left you when you dated that.”

Y/n gave a short laugh and walked back over, brushing her fingers over his arm. “Enough to know better now.”

“Good,” Xaden murmured, wrapping a possessive arm around her waist as he pulled her away and they walked off, leaving Jace blinking in confusion. “Because next time someone calls you stunning, they’re going to need medical clearance first.”

Ridoc, from behind them, shouted, “AND A WILL!”

Jace clearly didn’t get the message.

Later that afternoon, the squad was gathered near the sparring rings when Y/n stepped aside to refill her canteen. Xaden had only turned his back for five seconds—five fucking seconds too long—before Jace was suddenly beside her, leaning far too close.

“I was thinking,” Jace said, flashing that grin that once made girls swoon and now just looked pathetic to her, “maybe we could catch up over dinner sometime. Just the two of us. For old time’s sake.”

Y/n froze mid-pour. “You’re bold,” she said, turning slowly with a raised brow.

Jace chuckled. “Come on. You used to like that.”

Before she could respond, two things happened simultaneously:

Ridoc appeared on her other side, arms folded, jaw tense. “Oh hell no. We’re not doing this again.”

And Xaden?

Xaden appeared like a shadow materializing behind them, silent and deadly, his arm sliding around Y/n’s waist like she belonged to him—which, emotionally, she absolutely did. His voice dropped an octave lower, dark and calm.

“She’s not available.”

Jace blinked at him, scoffing. “I’m just talking to her—”

“You don’t get to talk to her,” Ridoc cut in, his expression deadpan and his tone mocking. “You broke her heart and I didn’t bash your teeth in the first time because she told me not to. I’m older now. I listen less.”

Y/n sighed. “Boys…”

But Xaden was still staring at Jace, dark eyes hard. “You don’t get to flirt with her either. Or stand this close. Or breathe in her general direction.” He tilted his head, smile sharp as a blade. “I’d suggest you walk away now, before you end up in a very critical condition.”

Jace opened his mouth—and immediately shut it. One look at the collective expressions of Ridoc, Xaden, and even Bodhi, Garrick, and Sawyer, who were cracking their knuckles behind them, was enough to make the man reconsider every life choice that led him here.

“Right,” Jace muttered, backing away. “Message received.”

As soon as he was gone, Y/n let out a breath. “You two are so dramatic.”

“Absolutely,” Ridoc said.

“Obviously,” Xaden agreed.

Y/n rolled her eyes and turned into Xaden’s chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I swear, I could handle him.”

“You can,” Xaden murmured into her hair. “Doesn’t mean I won’t clear the path for you anyway.”

Ridoc pointed at Jace’s retreating figure. “Next time, I vote for fists.”

Bodhi nodded. “Seconded.”

Garrick raised his hand. "Third."

Imogen snorted. “Men are insane.”

“But so hot when they’re jealous,” Violet added under her breath, winking at Y/n.

Y/n just smiled against Xaden’s chest. “He wasn’t even a blip compared to you, love.”

That earned her a kiss to the crown of her head and a murmured, “Damn right.”

Later that night, Y/n found him on the balcony of their quarters, arms crossed, shadows cast over his face by the soft moonlight. He hadn’t said much since Jace slithered off, but she could feel the tension in him—the way he hadn’t let go of her for hours, like if he did, that bastard might somehow find a way back.

She padded barefoot over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades.

“You’ve been brooding for a whole hour, Lieutenant,” she murmured, chin resting on his back. “Planning a murder?”

“Not yet,” Xaden said, low. “But the list has a name on it.”

She snorted and walked around him until they were face to face, eyes glittering with mischief. “So jealous,” she teased, brushing a hand down his chest. “Didn’t know you had it in you. You barely flinched when Violet mentioned Catriona.”

He stiffened.

Y/n smirked. “There it is.”

Xaden narrowed his eyes. “Don’t say her name.”

“What? Catriona?” she said, all wide-eyed innocence.

He didn’t answer. Just leveled her with that dark, broody glare and stepped forward, crowding her in until her back hit the stone balcony wall. “Keep teasing me, love,” he said softly, lips brushing against her jaw. “See what happens.”

She grinned, loving the slight edge in his voice. “I am enjoying this side of you, though. Possessive. Growly. Ready to throw hands for me.”

Xaden huffed, kissing down her neck. “You think this is amusing?”

“A little.”

He looked up, nose brushing hers, finally letting his guard drop just a bit. “I hated seeing him talk to you like he still had any claim.”

“He doesn’t,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “He hasn't in a good amount of time. I let that go long ago, Xaden. I chose you. Every damn day.”

He stared at her, chest rising and falling, then pulled her into him like he was grounding himself with her heartbeat.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I don't think I could survive letting you go.”

She kissed him—slow and soft and real. “You won’t have to.”

He pulled her in even closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Also, if you say her name again, I’m making you braid your own hair for a week.”

She gasped dramatically. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His smirk returned, wicked and warm. “Try me.”

They stayed like that for a while—foreheads pressed together, the world quiet and distant, their hearts beating in sync like they always had.

The first thing Y/n registered was the weight of his arm around her waist, the slow rise and fall of his chest against her back, and the warmth of his breath at the nape of her neck.

They’d fallen asleep tangled together, as usual, but now—sunlight barely filtering through the curtains—Xaden was already half-awake, pressed into her like he had no plans of letting her move.

“Mm,” she hummed softly, blinking against the light. “You’re awake.”

“Have been,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep and satisfaction. He kissed the top of her shoulder, lips brushing slowly down to her back. “I was enjoying the view.”

She smiled sleepily, hand reaching back to run through his hair. “What view?”

“You,” he said simply. “My woman. In my bed. After you spent the entire evening reminding me you’re mine.”

Y/n laughed, heart skipping at the possessive affection in his tone. “You’re smug this morning.”

“Extremely,” he said, finally shifting to hover above her slightly, brushing hair from her face. “Because you still chose me. Even after he tried.”

She met his gaze, fingers trailing down the side of his jaw. “I’ve always chosen you.”

Xaden leaned in, lips brushing hers slowly, reverently. “I missed you,” he whispered. “So much. My bed—my whole damn world—feels off without you in it.”

Y/n cupped his face, eyes shining. “I’m home now.”

“You’re mine,” he corrected, kissing her again, softer this time, like he was trying to memorize her all over again.

She tucked her head into his shoulder, grinning. “Still feeling possessive?”

“Forever,” he whispered. “Get comfortable, love. I’m not letting you go again.”

Taglist: @eepyfaerie @dreamdragonkadia @hiraethjules @nikfigueiredo @galaxystern08 @taleiaargenis @minidemont @poeticbookwormcat @eternallyrosyfire @shadowhuntyi @bubble300 @messageforthesmallestman @iheartshopping @fangirling-galore @nesiris21 @itsbeenmyhonor20 @stelena-klayley @littleemissperfecttt @lagrandeourse @readinf @barbreadsbooks

[rosemaryhoney27]

Gotham's Sunshine child part 5

“The Day the Sun Went Dark”

It started with the eclipse.

A rare, total one, the kind that turned Gotham’s already dim skies into something unnatural. Shadows sharpened. Streetlights flickered. A hush settled over the city like it was holding its breath.

And Joker— Well, Joker looked at the sky and saw an opportunity.

Bruce was already on edge.

So were the others. Tim had pulled up emergency protocols. Oracle flagged Joker chatter on the darknet—gibberish mixed with phrases like “paint the moon black” and “snuff out the spark.”

Jason said what they were all thinking:

“…He’s going after Danny.”

Joker had learned just enough to be dangerous. Rumors of a boy the city adored. A kid who glowed with goodness and had every crime ring too afraid or too grateful to touch. A child who wasn’t just protected by Gotham’s underworld—but by its shadows.

So naturally, Joker decided to make it a joke.

A sick one.

He waited until the eclipse was total. Until Danny was walking back from a Narrows clinic, having just dropped off a box of donated socks. No backup. No witnesses.

Just him.

And the dark.

The Bat-Family wasn’t fast enough.

Not this time.

They were minutes late.

Danny was gone.

When he woke up, the world smelled like copper and chemicals. The floor beneath him was cold. Chains rattled. Lightbulbs buzzed.

“Wakey wakey, Little Light,” Joker sing-songed from the edge of a makeshift operating table, fingers twitching with barely restrained glee. “Do you know who you are?”

Danny looked up, groggy and blinking.

Then still.

Then—

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

Joker leaned in. “Tell me, then. Because everyone else seems to think you’re special. Sunshine Child, right? Gotham’s golden boy? Well, guess what—sunshine doesn’t exist without shadows.”

Danny didn’t flinch.

Didn’t panic.

Didn’t scream.

He just sat there.

Silent.

Still.

And then— something shifted.

It was slow.

The air dropped ten degrees. The buzzing lightbulbs crackled. Shadows grew longer, deeper—like they were watching. Waiting.

And Danny’s shoulders slumped.

When he finally looked up at Joker, the glow in his eyes was not sunlight.

It was ice.

“You made a mistake,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper.

Joker laughed. “Ooooh, scary. Did I break the sun?”

Danny’s next words were cold enough to silence the room:

“No. You eclipsed it.”

Outside, in the city, it started to snow.

In August.

Frost crawled up windows. Electrical grids shorted. Spectral energy readings spiked so hard that Constantine choked on his tea three cities over and muttered, “Oh, bollocks.”

The Bat-Family was mid-search when Barbara gasped.

“Guys,” she said through the comms. “He’s going ghost.”

Inside the warehouse, Danny’s chains shattered like glass.

The boy who had smiled at muggers, shared soup with thieves, and taught math to gang kids—

Floated.

His eyes glowed with eldritch green light.

The temperature dropped with every word.

“You hurt Gotham’s people. You used my name. You tried to twist it.”

Joker backed away. For the first time in years—he was confused. Not afraid. Confused.

“Wh—what are you?”

Danny didn’t grin.

Didn’t monologue.

He just unleashed.

The explosion of spectral energy tore through the building. Screams filled the air—not just Joker’s, but the echoes of every soul he’d ever scarred.

By the time the Bat-Fam arrived, the warehouse looked haunted.

Frozen graffiti on the walls.

Chains hanging midair.

Joker? Curled in a fetal position, babbling nonsense, his smile gone.

And Danny?

He stood in the center of it all.

Floating. Glowing. Crying.

“…I didn’t want to,” he whispered.

Bruce caught him as he collapsed.

It took three days for Danny to wake up again.

He expected panic. Anger. Rejection.

Instead, he opened his eyes to find Jason sitting at his bedside, polishing a crowbar and humming.

“Yo.”

Danny blinked. “…Am I in trouble?”

Jason scoffed. “Kid, you scared Joker into therapy. I think we owe you a medal.”

Later, Bruce came in. Quiet. Calm.

“Danny,” he said, “you didn’t lose control. You protected yourself. And this city.”

Danny’s voice was barely a murmur. “But the eclipse—what I felt—I didn’t even know I could do that.”

Bruce rested a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not just our Sunshine,” he said. “You’re our shield.”

Gotham whispered, after that day.

That the boy who once smiled through everything had a storm inside him.

But they didn’t fear it.

They respected it.

Because when the sun went dark—

Danny Fenton shone brighter.

[callsign-swan]

Alone Together

For the last few years, Tony's daughter has been living out in the tower basement. She doesn't realise when Valentina buys the tower, not until she's being choked out by Sentry (turns out Sentry is a really sweet guy called Bob, who knew?)

Warnings: Slight thunderbolts spoilers

The last few years had been... content.

Everybody thought she disappeared, off the grid once her dad died. Some people tried to look; Happy, Pepper, some guy she was sure she knew but couldn't remember.

They didn't find her, she made sure of that. Wiped her name from every record, lived off of the small fortune her father had left her.

She wasn't a great engineer like her father, didn't spend her time making useful stuff like he did. She still made stuff, it just wasn't useful.

Spare parts, the basement was full of them. Scraps her father disregarded, that he didn't need. She was desperately trying to turn the scraps into something useful, but it wasn’t that easy.

So far, she'd built a computer. Well, she more rebuilt an old computer and used scrap metal to hide the wires. It was one of her proudest accomplishments.

Nobody knew she was in the basement. But it didn’t matter, since the old Avengers Tower had been vacant. If someone bought, she would have known.

(No, she didn't know that the tower had been bought. She didn't know that Valentina was moving in).

All of her details were still in the tower system; it was easy enough to hack into the intercom. She didn't do much with it, isolated it to the basement to play her music while she worked.

It was hard, trying to live up to greatness. It was even harder knowing you'll never be able to achieve it.

Rarely did she travel to other floors. If she did, she would have known about Valentina. If she did, she would have been arrested on the spot.

No daddy to bail her out this time. And Pepper wouldn't bother, she thought.

Maybe if she knew, she would have stayed in the basement, gathered up her things and moved out. She wouldn't have gotten in the elevator to get parts out of the floor. Parts her dad used to make machines to take off the Iron Man suite the second he stepped into the building.

Stepping into the elevator with an empty box in her hand and a screwdriver in her pocket, she pressed the necessary button. The doors slid closed and she began travelling up.

So many floors, but it took no time at all. That was her dad's doing. This entire place was her dad's doing. (Maybe that's why she couldn't leave it behind).

The elevator doors should have slid open to reveal nothing. An empty floor, exactly how the Avengers had left it. The bar her dad left nearly fully stocked before they moved to the compound.

But that wasn't the sight that greeted her.

People in the tower. There shouldn't have been people in the tower. Oh, she had fucked up.

They were mid fight, that much was obvious. The blonde guy in the ridiculous suit held Bucky's fist in his hand like he wasn't fighting a super soldier with a vibranium arm.

But the fight had stopped as everybody in the room stared at her. Goldilocks, discount Steve Rogers, blonde bombshell, soviet santa, mystery person and Bucky.

"You've got to be kidding me."

It was Bucky that said it, pulling his fist out of Goldilock's grip. In the moment of confusion, Goldilocks let him go, his gaze on her.

She resisted the urge to step back into the elevator. "I..." But she couldn't find the words. "What're you doing in my house?"

"Your house?"

She hadn't noticed the woman until now. Dark hair, grey in the front so pretty that it looked silver. Definitely dyed, but it looked good.

"I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I bought this property and you are trespassing."

Her eyes went wide, grip on her empty cardboard box growing tighter. "Oh," she said, the air in the room becoming uncomfortable. But then she furrowed her brows. "Really? Because I've been living here for a while."

The woman's mouth dropped open. "How long- You know what? I don't care." She snapped her fingers. "Sentry."

Suddenly, she was moving through the air. Not of her own volition, she had no sort of power. In less than seconds, she was in front of Goldilocks, his fingers wrapping around her neck.

In her struggle, she gripped his wrist, tried to get out of his grip. But he was impossibly, terrifyingly strong.

There was something in his blue gaze that was soft. Suddenly, he let go of her. Her feet hit the floor and he stepped away from her. "Sorry, I... you don't deserve this," he mumbled.

Her hand found her own neck. He didn't have her in a strong grip, but it still hurt so damn much.

But she couldn't stop staring at him. Sentry. She had no doubt he had the potential to look terrifying, but he didn't in that moment. Regret shined in his blue eyes.

A hand grabbed her, pulling her back. She, along with Bucky, Discount Steve Rogers, Mystery Person, Blonde Bombshell, and Soviet Santa, ran towards the elevator.

They squeezed in and travelled down.

"What the fuck?" Bucky called as he pulled her out of the building. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

She pulled her hand out of Bucky's grip. "I've been living here, Barnes," she called back, shoving her hands into her pockets. The screwdriver still sat there, the cardboard box back in the tower.

"Why aren't you with Pepper?"

A scoff left her lips, sounding more like a child than the adult she actually was. But that was one of the reasons she was in the tower in the first place, because she was sick of everyone treating her like a kid.

She released a breath and looked back towards the tower. "What the hell was that?" She asked, completely changing the subject.

Bucky let her. He didn't have it in himself to argue. But he wasn't going to answer her.

"That was Bob," came a new voice.

Her eyebrows went up. "Bob?"

"Bob."

She swallowed thickly. "What the hell is Bob?"

***

The New Avengers.

The name had her stomach rolling. The world didn't need the Avengers, did it? The only reason they'd needed the New Avengers was Valentina's own doing.

But here they were, in the Avengers - no - Watchtower. Bucky let her stay. He gave her conditions to her stay, but he didn't kick her out, didn't drag her kicking and screaming back to Pepper.

As long as she pulled her weight. As long as she worked, did the necessary repairs when they were needed. Sure, she was nothing like her father, but she had her own skills.

Bob was just Bob. Hair now brown, soft sweaters, books. No more blonde hair, no more shadow monster man (yes, she knew Sentry is more than that, but that was her way of referring to it. That was of referring to it sometimes pulled a smile from Bob).

No super soldier serum, no specialised training, no... whatever Ava was. Sure, he had incredibly strong powers, but they were safely tucked away and Bob was happy.

The two didn't immediately find themselves drawn to each other. She was curious, sure, but Bob didn't remember. He didn't have the answers for her.

But they found themselves left behind during missions. There was nothing wrong with that - how were they supposed to help the team?

The first few times, they kept to themselves. She didn't mind the isolation, that was how she lives when the tower was empty. But she watched Bob. Just what he was doing, how he entertained himself. His life had been full of tragedy, just like hers had been. Individual tragedies, but it made her curious about him.

On the teams third mission, their third time alone in the Watchtower together, she sat beside Bob.

"Whatcha reading?" She asked as she toed off her shoes and tucked her legs beneath her body.

Bob showed her the cover of his book, his finger slipped between the pages.

She patted her thighs, her fingers drumming against her skin. "Is it good?" She asked and Bob gave a nod.

Bob was a quiet guy. She'd learnt this through their limited interactions. But he wasn't usually this quiet. He at least had an answer for her.

So, she kept talking.

"You know, I lived here as a kid," she mumbled, laying back. Everything was different now it was the Watchtower. The bar her father so lovingly put in place was gone (but that was definitely a good thing).

Bob closed his book. "You're Tony Starks kid, right?" Her asked, one leg folded beneath the other, the other hanging off the edge of the sofa.

She gave a nod. "Yeah, grew up around the first round of Avengers," she mumbled.

Turning his head slightly, Bob let his hand rest in his wrist. He'd had a haircut since everything happened, him and Yelena in the bathroom with a pair of scissors. His hair was still a little bit wild, but it suited him.

"Why'd you live in the basement?"

Not the question she was expecting, but she didn't shy away from it. "Spent a lot of time in there as a kid," she answered. "Just felt right being in there."

It was more than that, clearly more than that, but Bob didn't pry.

He stood up. "Hungry?" He asked, watching as her eyebrows went up.

"You cook?" She couldn't help but ask.

Bob went to nod, but he stopped himself. "How hard can it be?" He tried, releasing a breath that suggested he didn't think it was going to be very easy at all.

She pushed herself up from the sofa. "I'll help," she said and went to follow him into the kitchen.

But Bob didn't move. "You cook?" He parroted.

A grin came across her face. "How hard can it be?"

Turns out, pretty fucking hard. Neither of them knew what they were cooking, and that was the first issue. The both of them were just pulling things out of the fridge and trying to decide what to do with it.

Chicken in a pan (plain and neither of them quite knew how to flavour it), spaghetti in boiling water (neither of them knew what to do for sauce), and a garlic bread pizza in the oven (the only promising part of the meal).

Bob pulled salt from the cupboard and seasoned the spaghetti.

"Fuck," she suddenly cried, fridge door open.

Bob raised his head, eyes wide as he looked at her. "What?" He asked, panicking slightly.

"This is John's boring chicken," she said, pushing the fridge door shut. Like she could hide the evidence if she just shut the fridge door.

"Shit," Bob replied as he turned it in the pan (one side finally looked cooked, but both of them knew not to trust it. Just a few more minutes and they'd check the inside).

"He's gonna kill us."

Bob nodded. "We're gonna die."

But then, they laughed. "If John really does try and kill us, you gotta protect me, okay?" She muttered, stirring the spaghetti in the boiling water. "All I got is this." She pulled the screwdriver from her pocket. She was never seen without it now.

"I'll protect you," he assured her, "I'll keep you safe."

Fear of John Walker was a great foundation for a friendship, as it turned out.

part one maybe?

[sturnispider]

can we get a Sabrina and Nathan where Sabrina had like a famous album she sings and wrote (midnights by Taylor swift preferably NOT FORCING U) and she opens for Madison Beer singing some songs of the album (if you don’t like the album pick any album you want) and Nate is screaming every last words to all her songs (based off the MAy 2024 vlog)

ofc!!<333 but im REALLY sorry i dont like taylor swifts music (my opinion<3) so i changed it to short n sweet by sabrina carpetner!! i hope you don’t mind💘💘

⸻

the venue was packed — lights flashing, fans buzzing, and sabrina standing backstage with a mic in her hand and her name glowing behind her in soft pink letters. she could hear the crowd, loud and ready. it wasn’t even her headlining show — she was opening for madison beer — but somehow, they were already chanting her name.

sabrina said “okay. this is insane. i’m gonna throw up but like… in a good way.”

matt said “do not throw up. this is a borrowed jacket.”

nick said “you’re gonna kill it. like always.”

chris said “you should dedicate ‘please please please’ to nathan. make him cry.”

sabrina said “he already cries when i sing that one. he’s ridiculous.”

from somewhere in the crowd, she could already hear it — a voice yelling her name louder than anyone else. no surprise: it was nathan. he was in the front row with a VIP pass, triplets’ hoodie on, both arms in the air like this was a rock concert.

the lights dimmed. sabrina took a breath and walked out.

the crowd roared.

sabrina said (into the mic) “what’s up, boston? i’m sabrina, and this is short n sweet. let’s get into it.”

she opened with feather, and sure enough, over the music and screaming fans, one voice pierced through:

nathan said “I SLAM THE DOOR,I IGNORE—YEAH!!!”

she tried not to laugh mid-verse.

then came please please please, and she didn’t even need to sing the chorus — nathan was already belting it out, every word, eyes closed, hand on his chest like he was the one who wrote it.

nathan said “I BEG YOU DON’T EMBARRASS ME, MOTHER—”

someone next to him filmed the whole thing, muttering “bro is in love.”

backstage, the triplets were dying laughing watching the live feed.

chris said “he’s performing harder than she is.”

matt said “no he’s not. he’s just unhinged.”

nick said “he’s a stan and the boyfriend. dangerous combo.”

after her set, sabrina came off stage flushed and glowing, still catching her breath.

sabrina said “he sang every word. louder than the speakers.”

nathan (walking in immediately after) “you KILLED it. oh my god. cindy lou who? never heard of her. this was a cultural reset.”

sabrina said “you were screaming like you were fighting for your life.”

nathan said “because i was! emotionally!”

she laughed and leaned into him, still holding the mic.

sabrina said “you’re insane.”

nathan said “insane for you.”

matt said “can y’all do this somewhere else?”

chris said “yeah, we’re trying to focus on the fact that our sister just destroyed that stage.”

nick said “also someone next to nate fully cried. we have footage.”

nathan said “i cried too! she deserves it!”

they all cracked up again and sabrina shook her head, smiling.

sabrina said “next city’s gonna be even louder. y’all better be ready.”

nathan said “i already memorized the setlist. i’m ready to scream.”

⸻

after the show, everything was still buzzing — the adrenaline, the compliments, the fact that sabrina pulled off a flawless set and had a boyfriend who basically acted like her unofficial hype man the entire time.

they were still backstage when madison walked in, glowing and relaxed, holding a cold water bottle and grinning.

madison said “sabrina. you snapped. the crowd was obsessed with you.”

sabrina said “thank you! that means a lot, i was freaking out.”

madison said “you looked like a pro. and your boyfriend? icon behavior. i heard him over my in-ears.”

nathan said “it’s called support.”

matt said “it’s called being feral.”

madison said “do you guys have plans tonight? i’m thinking post-show aquarium run. private after-hours thing. it’s kinda my weird tradition.”

sabrina said “say less.”

—

thirty minutes later, the group was walking into the dark, neon-glowing halls of the new aquarium. it was completely empty — just them and the staff.

chris said “why is this actually the coolest thing ever?”

nick said “i feel like i’m on a school field trip but famous.”

matt said “i’m about to bond with a stingray. give me a second.”

sabrina walked beside madison, still riding the high of the show, and said quietly,

sabrina said “thank you for letting me open. like genuinely. tonight didn’t even feel real.”

madison said “girl, you’re the real deal. that album’s gonna go platinum.”

behind them, nathan was pressed up against a giant tank like a kid, pointing at a shark with wide eyes.

nathan said “babe, look! he’s literally judging me. same energy as you when i eat the last fry.”

sabrina said “he’s smarter than you.”

nathan said “he’s not dating you though, so who’s really winning?”

chris said “the shark. always the shark.”

they stopped at a jellyfish tank glowing soft blue. sabrina stood in front of it, totally still, and nathan came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

nathan said “you’re the only person i’d go look at fish for.”

sabrina said “i just sang to thousands of people and this is what makes you romantic?”

nathan said “it’s the jellyfish. they humble me.”

meanwhile, madison and the triplets were laughing at matt trying to “communicate” with a sea turtle through the glass.

matt said “if he blinks again, it means we’re spiritually connected.”

nick said “bro’s one ‘namaste’ away from losing it.”

as the night wrapped up, they all took a group photo in front of the shark tank — everyone holding up peace signs, sabrina in the middle, nathan dramatically pointing at her like she just won a grammy.

madison said “same time next city?”

sabrina said “only if we can go to a planetarium next time.”

nathan said “as long as there’s wifi, i’ll scream your lyrics anywhere.”

long ahh😭😭

@sturnispider

[gr4c3fu111]

Perfect. | Yang Jeongin x fem!reader

#—;; summary: when your best friend dyes his hair yet again, something about it is just.. ethereal. You cant help the fact you want be more than just best friends anymore.

#—;; word count: 1k

#—;; warnings: complete fluff (and some crack)

#—;; a/n: ok so i wrote this like 3 months ago and never finished it i lowkey hate it im sorry but i need to be alive again.

You walked into the boys dorm, carrying two stacked cardboard-cup holders of coffee in each hand.

You loved them. And you loved hanging out with the whole group but lord were they expensive all together.

Upon opening the door and stepping in, you slipped your shoes off.

Raising your arms in the air making the cups visible to the group—everyone cheered upon your arrival, knowing what was to come when you showed

You got all of their favorites, which was memorised at this point by the amount of times youve done this.

“Hi guys!! Good morrrr..noon?” You questioned the mid-time frame, peaking round the corner as you earned a couple giggles around.

“Close enough y/n!” Bangchan stated, who was slung across the loveseat watching whatever soccer game was on the tv.

“WAIT Y/N IS HERE?” Han said, his head whipping around to see you. “Oh hey!!” His bright smile and wave greeted you

You set the cups on the kitchen counter as everyone flocked while you set yours to the side while you traveled to sit next to… ..Jeongin-?

“Wait Innie-?” You had to take a double take at the cutest boy sat next to you.

He smiled his sweet smile before giggling “Hi y/n—“ in his awkward tone.

You ran your fingers through his hair, mouth agape.

“Oh my gosh!! Its so cuteeee” cooing, while messing up his oreo-colored hair.

“Thank you noona..” he grinned, complying to your touch.

Seungmin peeped over and frowned. “I didnt get THAT reaction when i dyed my hair.” He huffed

“yeah well, youre not Jeongin.” In a blank stare, you retorted back teasingly.

Jeongin was always your “favorite” of the group, always your first. You asked him to hangout first, what he wanted first, etc. You cared about him, ..maybe a little to much.

Anytime anything got too real between you two, both parties dismissed it and moved on

You couldnt take your fingers out of his hair. Not being able to tell why, but this hair color.. it just..

A switch flipped inside of you.

You tried to supress this erruption further— or at least for just a tad longer but your mind just couldnt stop.

Jeongin took your wrists in his hands, signaling you to back off, but you were dazed.

Have his hands always been this big?

You looked in his eyes. Has he always been this handsome..? Where did that baby face of his go?

Were his eyes always this captivating??

He waved his hand (that was holding yours) infront of your face.

“I didnt know my color change would mess you up that bad, what am i ugly now or something?” His dimples peaked out, as he giggled at your dumb-found expression.

Quite the OPPOSITE.

“..Excuse me?” innie’s eyes widened, gripping your wrists tighter.

“Hm-?” You squinted, in hopes of him just ignoring what you stupidly let slip accident.

You took a deep breath and snapped out of yourself, breaking eye contact.

“Youre just so…” trailing off.

You always knew he was hot, but god something about his hair. It just accentuated everything about him.

“So…?” he questioned, starting to actually become concerned. Did you actually not like his hair?

He stared into your eyes, waiting for your response before Chan interupted.

“hey, whats going on over there?” He said suspiciously, everyones attention on the two facing eachother, the distance between them short.

You backed up, attempting to rip your hands from Jeongins grip, but he wouldnt let go.

“noth-“

“y/n just really likes my hair!” he said innocently, but everyone gave knowing looks.

Your face turned a bright pink color as jeongin finally let go of you.

“Ahhh yeah, she just likes your hair.” Jisung spoke adding air quotations.

You rolled your eyes and stood up to go grab your forgotten coffee on the counter across the dorm.

You picked your cup up, spinning on your heels just to see jeongins strong stance behind you.

“What was that about noona?” With genuine concern and innocence in his voice, yet his body language and face said otherwise. He stationed his hands on either side of you on the counter.

You just looked at him with lips parted, the cup almost slipping out of your hands.

“Are you feeling alright?” He teased, tucking the hair in your face behind your ear, trailing his fingers down your jaw.

“No Jeongin. Im not.” You huffed, trying to pull your eyes from him, but as if you were chained, you just couldnt leave.

Your response caught him off gaurd, he let out a soft chuckle while waiting for you to continue, because he knew how much you hated being asked if you were ‘okay’ when you obviously werent.

“Youre so perfect— i cant believe im confessing this right now but god youre so handsome. Your hair is so pretty and i cant believe you hadnt seen the signs sooner—“ was all you got out of your (potentially long) rant with his lips locked onto yours.

Your eyes fluttered shut, as your hands found their way to his chest.

“What was that.” In an attempt to deny what just happened, you were waiting for him to friendzone you.

“I kissed you. Because you’re so pretty. and i HAVE seen the signs. Everyone but you had, y/n” He flashed you the sweetest upside-down smile you had ever seen.

“I just- i didnt want to lose my best friend..” His hand caressed your cheek comfortingly as he pulled you in for a hug.

Your head rested on his chest as he kissed your forehead. “How bout we talk about this over dinner tomorrow night, yeah? To much action for that to happen today” He said pulled back and giggling.

You smiled brightly back before leaning up to leave a peck on his lips. “Thank you innie.”

And with that, you both lead yourselves back to the rest if the group, i.n slinging his arm across your shoulders as everyone cheered.

“Did it happen?!” Chan exclaimed

You both nodded and more cheers errupted from the other 7 of them.

“KISS. KISS RIGHT NOW” Felix yelped, a little to excited.

You looked at him and shrugged, leaving a peck on his lips.

Everything felt at ease now, everyone hyped for the both of you and the burden being lifted off of your shoulders. You loved your bestfriend.

[jibitzlesscrocs]

hiiii your work is amazing!!!! you write so so so amazing, and like you are sooooo talented and so good at keeping the reader’s attention!!!, i was wondering if you could write something with matt definitely having a crush on the reader and she is also into him but she is more of a free spirit and not really interested in relationship right now but when matt maybe goes out on a date she gets jealous, and she kinda of like goes to the place where matt went for this date and you can go on from this, i feel like it would be funny but you can obviously choose any direction since you can literally write ANYTHING, thanks if you’ll do it!!!🩷🩷

ahh thank you so much !! you’re such a sweetheart <3 here’s my take on the request ! enjoy !!

matt sturniolo x reader

warning: jealousy

free bird

in which, free spirit reader feels… something for a certain someone

Matt had a habit of hovering.

Like when you were sitting on the kitchen counter eating cereal, and suddenly he was “just getting water” three inches from your elbow. Or when you were watching a movie on the couch and he sat right next to you, thigh pressed against yours, pretending not to notice how your breath caught every time he smiled at the screen.

You noticed. You noticed everything.

Like the way he always saved you the last slice of pizza, or how he texted you “good night” every time you left his house, even if you’d just seen him two seconds ago. Or the way his eyes lingered on you longer than they should—like you were something he didn’t quite know how to ask for.

“Why do you always look at me like that?” you asked once, catching him mid-stare as you both sat outside watching the stars.

“Like what?” he replied, blinking slowly.

“Like I’m the moon and you’re composing a sonnet in your head.”

Matt laughed softly. “Maybe I am.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin. “Don’t fall in love with me, Matty. I’m a free spirit.”

He tilted his head. “You say that every time I compliment you.”

“Because it’s true! I’m like…a bird. I can’t be caged.”

“You literally refuse to drive further than twenty minutes from your apartment.”

“That’s because I get lost easily, not because I want to settle down!”

He chuckled. “Fine. Be a free bird. Just know I’ll keep feeding you snacks so you hang around.”

And you did. You always came back. Because Matt made it too easy to stay.

⸻

A Week Later

When Chris casually mentioned that Matt had a date, you felt your stomach do something weird.

Not butterflies. More like…pissed-off pigeons.

“He’s taking her to that taco place you love,” Chris added with a mischievous grin.

“Oh, cute,” you said too quickly. “I’m totally unbothered.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “You literally just kicked a pillow across the room.”

“Stretching,” you snapped.

Two hours later, you were sitting in your car outside the taco place, lip glossed and pretending to be chill. You pulled out your phone and texted Nick:

“Operation Not Jealous, Just Investigative is underway.”

He texted back: “You’re unhinged and I support you fully.”

Inside, Matt looked…ugh. Handsome. His date was cute. Her laugh was annoying. Her earrings were too shiny. Her face was too symmetrical. Her presence was unnecessary.

You walked in like it was your restaurant.

“Matt?” you said, fake-surprised. “Wow, small world.”

Matt looked like he was glitching. “Uh—what are you doing here?”

“Craving tacos,” you said, sliding into the booth beside him without asking. “You know how I get.”

His date blinked. “Hi?”

“Oh! Sorry,” you said, with a smile sharp enough to cut steel. “I’m Y/N. Matt’s… favourite friend,”

Matt choked on his soda.

⸻

Later That Night

You ended up back at Matt’s place, laying on his bed like always. Except this time, the air was heavy. Tense. Crackling.

“You didn’t have to crash my date,” Matt said finally, amused but… something else too.

“I didn’t crash it,” you defended. “I wandered in freely. Like the bird I am.”

“Uh-huh. And do free birds normally interrogate my dates about their taste in music and opinions on pineapples on pizza?”

“She said Billie Eilish was mid, Matt. She can’t be trusted.”

He was smiling, but there was something behind it—hope, fear, the Matt trifecta of vulnerability.

“Why’d you really come?”

You sighed, sitting up to face him. “Because I didn’t like seeing you with someone else.”

His breath caught. “So you are jealous.”

“I don’t know,” you said, frustrated. “I’ve been avoiding this thing between us because I didn’t want to ruin it, and I kept telling myself I wasn’t ready, but… I like you. I really like you. And seeing you with her made me realize how dumb I’ve been.”

He didn’t respond. Just stared at you.

Then he kissed you.

Hard, like he’d been holding it in for months. Your hands tangled in his tousled brown hair, his fingers gripping your waist like he was scared you’d fly off again. But you weren’t going anywhere.

“Still a free spirit?” he murmured against your lips.

You smiled into the kiss. “Maybe. But this bird picked a boy.”

Matt groaned playfully. “That was the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You love it.”

He kissed your neck. “Yeah, I really do.”

⸻

You ended up tangled together on his bed, kissing between bouts of laughter, teasing each other like it was a sport.

“You’re so annoying,” you whispered, as he nuzzled into your shoulder.

“You kissed me back.”

“Only because you looked stupid cute.”

“I am stupid cute,” he agreed, kissing your collarbone.

You kissed his jaw. “Can I still pretend I’m not into relationships?”

“You can pretend all you want,” Matt murmured, “but you’re literally making out with me in my bed right now, and I’m already picking our wedding playlist.”

You smacked his chest. “Stop.”

He grinned. “Just sayin’. First dance is gonna be to Billie. To spite you.”

You groaned, laughing against his lips as he pulled you into another kiss—deeper, slower, like there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

And for the first time, maybe you didn’t need to fly away.

taglist: @courta13 , @sunkissedsturniolos

MAI’S STORE

requested !! i reaaaaally like this one !! i hope this is what you wanted !! i love writing requests you guys are so creative HAHAH