#every entrance he makes and every time a scene cuts to him he's just in slow mo fanning

[niwaart]

Secret of the Shadows

(Y/N Constantine x Batfam)

-part1..

It was just another night in Gotham—dark, restless, and thick with the promise of trouble.

Oracle’s voice crackled through the comms, sharp with urgency. “Bats, we’ve got a situation. Armed mercenaries just snatched a group of civilians, demanding ransom. No IDs yet, but they’re moving fast.”

Batman’s jaw tightened. “Track their route. We need a location.”

The Batcomputer whirred, but before Oracle could narrow it down, Red Robin spoke up. “I’ve got it. Abandoned warehouse near the docks—southside. Camera feed caught suspicious movement.”

Nightwing shot him a glance. “That was fast.”

Red Robin shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

Batman didn’t question it...not yet. Civilians came first.

The team moved in. The fight was brutal—gunfire, shouts, the desperate cries of hostages. They subdued the mercenaries one by one, but the last thug had a child in his grip, a gun pressed to their temple.

“Back off!” the man snarled. “Or I swear I’ll—”

A loud CRASH cut him off. A chair from the second floor slammed into him, knocking him out cold. The child stumbled free, and the vigilantes looked up, just in time to see a young man dusting off his hands, his binds clearly cut.

“Nice throw,” Red Robin muttered under his breath.

Y/N smirked, then he looked at Red Robin for a long time, then winked at him.

Red Robin barely suppressed a grin.

As the team secured the scene, Red Hood lingered, his helmet tilted toward Red Robin. Then, toward Y/N.

Something wasn’t right.

Back in the Batcave, Batman reviewed the footage.

“Red Robin,” he said, voice low. “How did you locate that warehouse so quickly?”

Tim didn’t flinch. “Like I said—cameras.”

Oracle frowned. “I hadn’t even pulled up that feed yet.”

A beat of silence.

Nightwing crossed his arms. “Okay, spill. What aren’t you telling us?”

Before Tim could answer, Red Hood leaned against the console. “Oh, I’ll tell you what’s up. Red Robin’s got a source.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed. “What source?”

Tim exhaled. “Fine. It’s my roommate.”

“Your roommate?” Dick repeated, incredulous.

“Yeah. He’s… observant.”

Jason snorted. “Observant? That guy in the warehouse? The one who mysteriously got free and took out a guy with a chair? That’s your ‘roommate’?”

Bruce’s voice was steel. “Who is he?”

Tim hesitated... but not because he didn’t know. Because he did.

“His name’s Y/N,” he said carefully. “And before you ask... no, he’s not in the system.”

Batman’s glare darkened. “Why not?”

Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “Because he… particular about privacy.”

Jason scoffed. “What, is he some kinda spy?”

“Worse,” Tim muttered. “He’s John Constantine’s kid.”

Silence...

“What.”Batman’s voice was dangerously calm.

Dick blinked. “Wait. The John Constantine? The guy who—"

“—makes deals with demons and pisses off every magical being in existence? Yeah. That one.” Tim sighed. “And before you freak out, Y/N’s not like him... Mostly.”

Bruce’s fingers clenched. “You’ve been hiding this. Why?”

“Because Y/N asked me to,” Tim admitted. “And because Y/N’s helped me out more times than I can count. He’s not a threat.”

Jason crossed his arms. “Then why’s he sneaking around Gotham?”

“Because someone has to keep an eye on the magical side of this city,” a new voice drawled from the shadows.

Everyone turned.

Y/N leaned against the Batcave entrance, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. “And let’s be real... Bats sucks at magic.”

Bruce’s eye twitched.

Y/N strolled forward, hands in his pockets, completely unfazed by the fact that he’d just walked into the Batcave uninvited.

“So,” he said, glancing around. “this is Batman's secret cave? Cozy.”

Batman stepped forward, looming. “How did you get in here?”

Y/N grinned. “The magician does not reveal his secrets.”

“Y/N,” Tim warned.

“Fine, fine.” Y/N rolled his eyes. “I hitched a ride on Red Robin’s bike. Magic cloaking. Easy.”

Jason looked at Tim. “You let him?”

Tim shrugged. “He was gonna follow me anyway.”

Bruce’s patience was thinning. “Constantine’s son.”

Y/N mock-bowed. “The one and only.”

“Why are you in Gotham?”

“School. Rooming with Tim. Avoiding my dad’s endless messes.” Y/N smirked. “And, y’know, keeping demons from eating people in the alleys. The usual.”

Dick frowned. “Wait—you’ve been handling magical threats alone?”

“Not alone,” Y/N corrected, nodding at Tim. “Birdbrain here helps. When he’s not busy being obsessive over cases.”

Tim elbowed him. “Rude.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is a security risk.”

“Oh, relax,” Y/N said, waving a hand. “I’m not here to cause trouble. Just keeping the balance.”

Jason studied him. “You’re way too chill about this.”

“Eh. You get used to weird when your dad’s Constantine.”

Bruce exhaled sharply. “You’re staying off the radar. No more interference in Gotham’s affairs.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Or what? You’ll bench me?” He snorted. “Please. You need me. Gotham’s magical underbelly’s been stirring lately. Big players moving in.”

Tim nodded. “He’s right. We’ve been tracking—”

Bruce cut him off. “We’ll discuss this later.”

Y/N smirked. “Sure thing, Boss Bat.”

Jason choked back a laugh.

Dick sighed. “This is gonna be fun.”

In Gotham Rooftops – Later That Night

Batman’s cape snapped behind him as he landed heavily on a gargoyle, glaring down at the figure lounging on the adjacent rooftop.

Y/N, legs dangling over the edge, tossed a glowing blue flame between his fingers like a coin. "Took you long enough. I was starting to think you’d given up."

Batman’s voice was pure gravel. "You’re interfering."

"Interfering?" Y/N gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "Me? I’m just enjoying Gotham’s lovely skyline. smog pollution really brings out the city’s charm."

Batman’s eye twitched. "Leave."

"Make me."

"..........."

"This isn’t a game."

"Never said it was." Y/N smirked. "But here’s the thing... you’re saving the city, but you’re not its mayor. So if you want me to leave, you’ll have to get permission, Boss Bat."

Batman’s jaw clenched so hard Tim, listening through the comms, winced in sympathy.

Batcave – 10 Minutes Earlier

Dick Grayson leaned back in the Batcomputer chair, spinning lazily. "Okay, but seriously... how have we never heard of Constantine having a kid?"

Jason, polishing a gun, snorted. "Probably because the bastard forgot he had one."

Dick tilted his head. "Or… hid him?"

Damian, sharpening a knife, scoffed. "Tt. As if Constantine could be competent enough for that."

Oracle’s voice chimed in. "Actually, according to my very limited files, Y/N’s existence was scrubbed. Professionally. Like, League of Shadows level."

Jason whistled. "Damn. Daddy issues and a secret identity? Kid’s got layers."

Tim, typing furiously on a tablet, didn’t look up. "He’s also right here on comms, you know."

"Aw, you guys do care!" Y/N’s voice dripped with amusement.

Dick grinned. "So, Y/N... magic, huh? Can you, like, turn people into frogs?"

"Only if they really annoy me."

Jason smirked. "So… can you do that to B?"

"Oh, absolutely... but then who’d pay for my tuition?"

Tim choked on his coffee.

Damian rolled his eyes. "This is ridiculous. We’re discussing magic as if it’s some parlour trick—"

"Magic," Y/N corrected.

"I said what I said."

Back on the Rooftop.....

Batman had had it.

"You’re not trained."

Y/N rolled his eyes. "I grew up with John Constantine. You think Gotham’s scary? Try watching your dad drink with a demon before breakfast ."

"You’re reckless."

"Tell me about it."

Batman’s patience was gone. "If you get in my way—"

"—you’ll what? Ground me?" Y/N grinned. "Face it, Bats—you can’t kick me out just because I exist here. Unless I break a law, you’ve got nothing."

A long, long silence.

"...Fine." Batman turned sharply. "But if I see you near a case—"

"Yeah, yeah, you’ll grumble at me. Noted."

Batman vanished into the shadows.

Y/N smirked. "He so hates me."

"He so does," Tim agreed through the comm, laughing.

In Jason's safehouse.....

Jason tossed Y/N a beer. "So. Constantine."

Y/N caught it, snapping the cap off with magic. "Yep."

Dick leaned forward. "Is it true he sold his soul twice?"

"Three times, actually. Third one was for a really good kebab."

Damian, arms crossed. "Tt. Liar."

"Ask him yourself." Y/N took a sip. "He’ll absolutely deny it, which is how you know it’s true."

Dick, quietly: "…Do you like him?"

Y/N paused. "He’s my dad. It’s… complicated."

Jason snorted. "Ain’t it always."

Tim flopped onto the couch beside Y/N. "Okay, but real question—can you actually turn people into frogs?"

Y/N’s grin was wicked. "Wanna find out, Replacement?"

Dick immediately grabbed a notepad. "I volunteer Jason—"

"HELL NO—"

Laughter echoed through the safehouse.

Somewhere, in the shadows, Batman has a big scowl on his face.

[littlelamy]

Omg smut request……Shy reader x Rafe with inspo from a scene from Queer with the eye contact. He’s had it with her being insecure how she looks when they are having sex or not letting him see her face (to him she’s the most beautiful woman to exist). She always some what hides it in sneaky ways…say laying her head by his shoulder or whatever. Not this time! Rafe holding her face to his and lots of eye contact and praise…..PLZZZ

parings: rafe cameron x shy!reader

warnings: 18+, smut

you lay next to rafe, heart pounding, nerves on edge as his fingers traced gentle patterns along your bare shoulder. he had this way of making you feel safe, even when your insecurities whispered their usual doubts.

tonight, though, rafe wasn’t going to let those whispers win.

his hand moved to your chin, tilting your face toward him. "look at me," he said softly, his voice low but firm. you hesitated, eyes flickering away for a second, but he didn’t let you go. his thumb brushed over your cheek, a touch so tender it made your chest tighten.

"baby, please. i want to see you."

the weight of his gaze felt like a warm blanket, comforting yet intense. you swallowed hard, your instinct to shy away creeping in. whenever you fucked, you’d find ways to hide, pressing your face into his shoulder, burying your head in the pillow—anything to avoid being fully seen. it wasn’t that you didn’t trust him, it was that the voice in your head was louder, telling you not to be too much, not to show too much.

rafe’s other hand slid along your waist, pulling you closer. "why do you always hide from me?" he asked, his tone gentle but filled with a quiet resolve. "you know you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, right?"

your breath hitched, tears prickling the corners of your eyes. you wanted to believe him, but the years of self-doubt were hard to shake. "i just…" you started, your voice trailing off as you tried to find the words.

"no," rafe cut in softly, shaking his head. "not this time." his thumb brushed over your lips, the pad of it lingering there. "i want you to see what I see. feel what I feel when I look at you."

slowly, reluctantly, you let your eyes meet his. the intensity in his gaze made your stomach flip. it was like he was looking straight into your soul, stripping away every layer of doubt and fear.

"there she is," he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips. "my gorgeous girl."

your cheeks flushed, but rafe didn’t let you look away. his fingers threaded through your hair, holding you in place as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your nose, before finally capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss.

when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "you have no idea how crazy you make me," he whispered. "i love every part of you. every curve, every freckle. everything."

his words washed over you, a soothing balm to the raw vulnerability you felt. his hands slid down to your hips, guiding you onto your back as he hovered above you. his eyes never left yours, their blue depths filled with a mixture of love and desire that made your pulse race.

"keep looking at me," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

your body responded before your mind could catch up, your thighs parting to welcome him as his hand caressed up your side, his thumb brushing the swell of your breast. you bit your lip, the instinct to look away creeping back in, but rafe’s hand was quick, cupping your face, guiding your gaze back to his.

"don’t hide from me, baby," he whispered. "i want all of you. i need all of you."

his cock, thick and hard, pressed against your slick entrance, the heat of him making your breath hitch. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your bodies moving in a rhythm that was slow, deliberate. each thrust was a conversation, each moan a promise.

rafe's lips found yours again, softer this time, a kiss that spoke of reverence and worship. his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes locked with yours as he slid deeper, his breath mingling with yours.

"fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, his voice thick with emotion. "you’re so perfect. God, i love you."

the way he said it, like a prayer, like you were the only thing that mattered in the world, made your heart swell. the insecurities that had loomed over you began to melt away, replaced by the warmth of his love, his unwavering gaze that held you captive in the best way.

as the tension built, his hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding that sweet spot that made you arch beneath him, your cries filling the room. rafe’s eyes never left yours, even as you both tumbled over the edge together, the pleasure crashing over you like a wave, his cock twitching as he spilled inside you.

when it was over, he stayed close, his hand gently stroking your hair, his lips brushing against your temple. "you’re everything to me," he murmured. "don’t ever forget that."

you nestled into his chest, your heart full, your body spent, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe him.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @heywardsdoll

[evilminji]

"DO BETTER!" Says Now Televised Fanboy

He, Dash Baxter is a Phan-Stan!! It's kinda his thing. See, he's a fancy ass talk show host now. Married Paulie, moved out of Amity, actually DID something with his life. His parents? Did not approve. Long n short of it? He got kicked out.

Paulie's parents were PISSED.

Retaliated by giving him all the help he needed getting EVERY scholarship he qualified for. He went to a really nice college. Missed his girlfriend like mad. But she was off in Metropolis, terrifying weaker men. Conquering the fashion scene.

And SOMEHOW? Thanks to that long talk he had with Phantom (*incoherent fanboy gibbering noises* SO COOL!) he's worked to be... more of a LEADER, you know? Less of an asshole. Cause he's popular. People copy him. He can't be an asshole.

So, somehow, when he's punching out some try-hard that thinks he's hot shit for bullying a Nerd? He and the nerd get talking, right? Cause the guy got his glasses completely fucked up. And it's what Phantom would do.

But GET THIS? Guy's never HEARD of Phantom! Is super curious, cause he runs a small time Hero's show on the web. And, Dude? Is it your LUCKY DAY! Cause you just met THE number 1 fan of Phantom, hands down!! He makes his VERY spirited case, about why Phantom is THE best Hero to ever have lived. And this guy?

Entranced.

In AWE.

Just straight up BEGS him to join his show. Cause apparently? He was BORN for it. Which? Yeah. He HAS been giving speechs to the team for YEARS now. And Talking at fan meet ups. Leading fan meet ups. Hosting parties... actually, now that he thinks about it? He DOES do a lot of public speaking? Huh.

But still, he's about to say "no", when?

Dude mentions? He'll get to talk about Phantom.

SOLD!

It. Blows. Up. Absolutely EVERYONE is in love with his pretty face, hot bod, and STRONG opinions. But they ALSO have no idea who Phantom is! Paulie! This is CRIMINAL! Horrifying! What is going ON!?

Some bullshit information black out, apparently. At least according to her... friendly Nemesis? The Goth Dweeb. Who's engaged, apparently? So good for her. Unsurprisingly, it's too the OTHER Dweebs, but still. Bout time she started planning to drag them to a court house. She's the only one with any spine in that group! If she waited for THEM to propose?

Not even as Ghosts, man.

They'd get distracted by shiny nerd shit and whimp out.

Still... a world where NO ONE knows how Awesome, Phantom is? Not on HIS watch!

So he works it in. To every segment. It becomes "his thing". Oh? Super man saved a kitten from a tree? Cute. Well PHANTOM saved a bus full of Ghost Puppies from a shady, rouge, Goverment agency. Do BETTER, Superman!

The Flash, who is a cheap knock-off and stole his name, took down an Ice Villian? Adorable! PHANTOM stopped a Rouge WINTER SPIRIT with the help of YETI WARRIORS then assisted in giving FREE medical care for anyone who needed it! Here's a picture of him making GHOST ICE SNOWMEN for small children! Do BETTER, Knock-off!

What's THAT you say? Wonder Woman fought a GOD in down town paris?

Excellent work Wonder Woman. Flawless as always. But YOU, god-boy, are a disappointment! All that power! And WHAT do you use it for? Are you even supposed to BE here?? PHANTOM uses his power to HELP people! Is awesome and knows TONS of better gods! You're just salty you didn't make the cut!

DO BETTER!

And obviously? No one believes him. There's no record of this "Phantom" guy. The pictures look fantastical and vaguely glitchy/glowy. Not quite right. They GOTTA be photo shopped. Manipulated somehow. But? As a shtick? A fake "perfect Superhero" is kinda funny and unique.

And it's one hell of Fake Hero!

A Dead Champion? Who fights gods and monsters? Rouge agencies? Sassy and tragic? With a mysterious past? Pretty cool! There's even an Offical Comic from some guy that went to the same high-school as Baxter!

Of course, as Baxter get more and more popular? The "meme" hero, Phantom, get more well known? People get more interested in where Dash grew up. You know, just a bored Google. Maybe see if the hero was based off a local legend or something. But... huh...

The Town website?

Weirdly? Sanitized.

Like... like aggressively sanitized. All smooth edges and no details. Very "move along, citizen". Ha ha... it's part of the joke right? They get it! They'll just look up local restaurants or som-....

Wait...

Hey, guuuuys?

Are you finding ANYTHING?

And! Nothing. And I do mean NOTHING! Triggers the "oh? Secrets???" Instincts of a Hacker, like finding a hard blank wall of "KEEP OUT". Especially when it's somewhere it rightfully shouldn't BE.

All it would take? Is ONE person, of decent skills and an account on Certain Forums, getting bored enough to Google the Dude On The TV(TM)? For the GIW's lil walls to come crashing down. Because yeah, you can stop ONE hacker. Even two. Probably five or six.

But how about thousands?

Hundreds of thousands?

From every time zone. Competing. Just to see what you HAVE and don't want them to see. Maybe they do something with it, maybe they don't. But fuck it, you're being RUDE and now they're CURIOUS. And THEN? Oh. Oh holy shit.

Not a meme.

Very real.

Not a joke.

The walls come crumbling down, down, down. Ripped apart by hundreds of hands. Emails sent to every sort of agency. The JLU line inundated with emergency tips. Not a joke. Not A Joke. Holy Shit, IT WASN'T A JOKE!

Phantom is REAL!

And there, on TV, stands the Man. The signal FINALLY breaching containment. Fighting off the invading God of the week. Built like statue, hair like an aurora borealis of white fire held almost delicately in place by a CROWN of ice, a suit made of void and starlight. Inhuman. Beyond human.

Here to help.

A laugh that crackles like ice and the snap of winter, rolls through the air like coming storms, rich and somehow warm. A smile that bares teeth, yet turns so KIND when he looks upon humanity, as though we are precious and worth fighting for. A living star.

A... a once living star.

And in the center of it all? Wearing his BESPOKE, custome made, Number 1 Phan full body outfit? That's right. Dash Baxter. Ha! You fuckers doubted him! Behold his blorbo and WEEP, ya fuckin casuals! The BESTEST of boys! The FINEST of Heros! Superman? Could NEVER.

And now? The weather!

@babbling-babull @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @ailithnight @hypewinter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation

[rafecameronssl4t]

First Impressions || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: the meeting in which your parents announce your arranged marriage to Rafe.

Warnings: mention of smoking, not much else ???

Word count: 1,724

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

Your black Porsche roars down the gravel drive, tires screeching as they skid to a halt just in front of the grand entrance to your family estate. The car’s abrupt stop sends a shower of tiny stones in every direction, the sound cutting through the quiet morning.

With a sigh, you push open the door and step out, the morning air crisp against your skin. Taking one last drag from your cigarette, you savour the moment before dropping it to the ground, the glowing ember snuffed out beneath the heel of your designer shoe.

A quick glance at your watch—10:20am. Twenty minutes late. You were supposed to be here on time, but the delay feels inevitable. With a flicker of annoyance, you brush a strand of hair from your face and stride toward the front door, where the familiar figure of your family’s butler awaits.

“Miss Y/n, it’s good to see you again,” he greets you with a warm smile, the lines of age deepening around his eyes. “Likewise,” you respond, managing a small smile in return. The butler steps aside and opens the door, allowing you to enter the cool, polished interior.

Your heels click sharply against the marble floor as you make your way toward the formal dining room, each step echoing in the vast, silent hall. As you approach the double doors, two servants stand ready, pulling them open to reveal the scene inside.

Your parents sit at the table, their expressions betraying nothing as they notice your arrival. Alongside them are three unfamiliar figures, their backs turned to you, leaving you momentarily confused as to who they were. You exhale softly, bracing yourself, and walk into the room.

“Pleasure to have you finally arrive,” your mother remarks, her voice edged with a tight-lipped grin. Your father doesn’t even glance your way, his attention fixed elsewhere. With a deliberate movement, you stride to the table, tossing your Lady Dior bag onto the polished surface with a loud clatter.

“The pleasure is all mine, mother,” you reply, your voice thick with restrained anger as you take your seat. Finally, your gaze falls on the three guests seated before you—the Camerons. Your eyes land on Rafe, and for a moment, you’re taken aback.

He looks different, more rugged, with his hair shaved off, giving him a harder, more defined look. His eyes, however, remain downcast, focused on the table as if he’s avoiding meeting your gaze. “My, how beautiful you have gotten, my dear,” Ward Cameron’s voice breaks through the tension, drawing your attention to him as he regards you with a smile.

You force a smile in response to Ward’s compliment, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Cameron,” you reply, keeping your tone polite but distant. The tension in the room is palpable, every gesture, every word carefully measured. Your mother’s gaze flickers between you and Rafe, a subtle hint of expectation in her eyes, while your father remains silent, his face a mask of indifference.

As you settle into your seat, the silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable. You feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you, the unspoken purpose of this meeting hanging in the air like a storm cloud. The Camerons, your parents, Rafe—all of them waiting for something, though none are willing to break the silence.

Finally, your mother clears her throat, her voice cutting through the quiet. “We thought it was time for you to meet again,” she begins, her tone carefully neutral. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen each other, and given the circumstances, we felt it was appropriate to… reconnect.”

You glance at Rafe, his eyes still fixed on the table. The last time you saw him, things were different—less complicated, less strained. But now, the distance between you feels like a chasm, impossible to bridge. You wonder if he feels it too, this cold, empty space that has grown between you.

“I suppose it’s been a long time,” you murmur, more to yourself than anyone else. The words hang in the air, unanswered, as you try to find something—anything—to say that might ease the tension. Ward shifts in his seat, his gaze settling on you with a calculating intensity.

“Rafe has been doing well,” he says, as if the words are meant to reassure you, though they have the opposite effect. “He’s matured a great deal since you last saw him.” At this, Rafe finally looks up, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since you walked into the room. There’s something in his expression—an apology, perhaps, or maybe just regret—but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same distant, unreadable look he’s worn since you arrived.

“And you, Miss Y/n,” Ward continues, his tone smooth, almost too smooth. “I trust you’ve been well?” You nod, forcing another smile. “Yes, quite well, thank you.” The words feel hollow, a formality that barely covers the unease simmering beneath the surface.

Your mother, sensing the need to steer the conversation, jumps in. “We’ve been discussing some… arrangements,” she says, her voice careful, as if she’s choosing each word with precision. “Given the history between our families, we thought it best to ensure that both sides are… satisfied with the outcome.”

Your heart sinks as the true purpose of this meeting becomes clear. This isn’t just a casual reunion or an attempt to reconnect old acquaintances. This is a negotiation, a transaction between two powerful families, and you and Rafe are the bargaining chips.

You glance at Rafe again, searching his face for any sign of how he feels about this, but his expression remains guarded. Whatever thoughts are running through his mind, he’s keeping them well hidden. Your father finally speaks, his voice low and authoritative.

“This is an important moment for both of our families. I trust you both understand the gravity of the situation.” The weight of his words settles over you, a cold, heavy pressure that makes it hard to breathe. You want to protest, to argue that this isn’t what you want, that it isn’t fair to either of you—but you know it would be pointless. In this world, duty and obligation come before personal desires.

Rafe’s voice cuts through your thoughts, quiet but steady. “We understand,” he says, his tone betraying nothing of what he might actually be feeling. Your mother smiles, a thin, satisfied smile. The silence in the room grows heavier as your father's words sink in, confirming what you’ve both known was coming.

This is more than just a meeting; it’s the formal beginning of the arrangement that has been hanging over you for months. The marriage. The merging of your two families. You glance at Rafe, catching the flicker of frustration in his eyes before he looks away, jaw tightening in silent protest. It’s clear he’s not happy about this, and a part of you understands his reluctance.

But for you, there’s no surprise, no anger—just a deep, overwhelming numbness. This is what your life was always meant to be: a marriage arranged for the benefit of your family, a union to produce heirs, to continue the legacy. There was never any illusion of choice.

As your mother and Ward exchange pleasantries, discussing the finer details of the arrangement, you find yourself tuning out, your gaze drifting to the large windows that overlook the manicured gardens outside. The sunlight streaming in feels distant, cold.

Rafe shifts in his seat beside you, the movement drawing your attention back to the table. His expression is tense, a mixture of resignation and barely concealed resentment. He doesn’t want this—at least, not like this—but he’s trapped in the same web of expectations that binds you.

Your father’s voice breaks through your thoughts, stern and final. “The wedding will take place in two months. The arrangements have already begun.” Two months. The words hang in the air, sealing your fate. You glance at Rafe again, hoping for some sign of how he’s processing this, but his face is unreadable, the brief glimpse of frustration now replaced by a mask of indifference.

For a moment, you wonder what he’s thinking—whether he’s angry, scared, or just as numb as you are. But you quickly push the thought aside. It doesn’t matter how either of you feel. This is what you were born for, raised for. This is your duty.

“We’ll be ready,” Rafe finally says, his voice clipped and devoid of emotion. It’s a statement of fact, not a promise, and you feel the weight of it settle over you like a shroud. Your mother nods approvingly, while Ward offers a pleased smile. “I’m sure you will be,” he replies, as if Rafe’s compliance is exactly what he expected.

The conversation shifts to practicalities—guest lists, venues, and dates—but it all feels distant to you, like watching a play from behind thick glass. You nod and smile at the appropriate moments, playing the part you’ve been trained for your entire life, but inside, there’s only emptiness. This marriage, this life, was decided long before you had a say in it.

When the meeting finally ends, and the Camerons prepare to leave, Rafe stands, his movements slow and deliberate. For a moment, his eyes meet yours, and in them, you see a flicker of something—anger, perhaps, or maybe just resignation. But just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by the same cold detachment you’ve come to expect.

Ward clasps your father’s hand in a firm handshake. “We look forward to the wedding,” he says, his tone full of false warmth. “Likewise,” your father replies, though his eyes remain hard. As the Camerons depart, leaving you and your parents alone in the dining room, you feel a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

The future, once a distant inevitability, now looms as a stark reality—a reality you must face with Rafe by your side, whether you want to or not. The weight of it settles over you like a suffocating blanket, each breath growing heavier as the room seems to close in around you.

Your mother’s voice slices through the thick silence, her tone sharp and unforgiving. "How many times must I remind you to break that wretched habit of smoking?" Her eyes narrow in disapproval, her gaze like a blade that cuts through any pretense of warmth. You feel the familiar irritation rise within you, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at her constant nagging.

"I could smell it the moment you walked in, and I’m certain the Camerons did as well," she continues, her words dripping with disdain as she takes a deliberate sip of her drink. The crystal glass clinks against her teeth, a harsh sound that echoes in the tense air. You lower your gaze to your lap, your fingers twisting together in a futile attempt to keep your composure.

The reprimand feels like a ritual by now, one you’ve endured countless times, yet it never fails to sting. Your father’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and unyielding. "Such behavior will not be tolerated once you're married," he declares, his tone cold and final. "Respectable young women preparing to have a family do not indulge in such habits."

His words hit you like a slap, a stark reminder of the life being imposed upon you—one where even your small rebellions are to be eradicated. Your father stands, his movements deliberate and composed as he smooths down his blazer. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, his tone firm and unyielding. "Yes, Father," you reply quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper as you sit there, trying to disappear into the chair.

Your parents leave without another word, their footsteps echoing in the empty room, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence. The echo of their disapproval lingers, mixing with the cold reality of your future, a future where even your small, defiant pleasures are not your own.

You sit there for a long moment, the weight of it all pressing down on you until it feels as though you might break under the strain. But you don’t. Instead, you swallow the bitterness, pushing it deep down where it festers quietly. This is your life now, the one you were born into, the one you must live whether you want to or not.

[dellieghtful]

LADS: Under One Roof

🍓A/N: No thoughts at all! Wrote this thru free-will and solely based on a video I saw on instagram lol hope you'd like this one! Banners (?) were all edited by me, kind of rushed since the idea for this was a spur-of-the-moment as well lol

p.s.: some scenes here are suggestive so ‼️MDNI‼️

SYNOPSIS: In which you left for a top secret mission and left them to handle a few of your household chores. Simple and easy enough, right?

📍Characters: Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb (separate)

I'll be out for a couple of days on a secret mission! I'll contact you guys when I get the chance! See you soon!

Was what the note plastered on your apartment door had written. Although they all knew you'd be out for a couple of days on a top secret mission, what they didn't expect was that you'd asked a specific favor for each one while you were away.

"So, that leaves," Caleb starts, flipping through the little piece of paper attached to your fridge about chores that had to he dealt with while you were away. "Laundry for Caleb, groceries for Rafayel, general cleaning for Zayne, water plants for Xavier, and bills payment for Sylus. Sounds just about right, and everyone's got their own spare keys to this place, right?"

Caleb asks, raising his gaze and eyeing each man, who were sharing the now-small living room space, to which each one pulled out their spare keys to affirm they've received theirs. "I'm surprised everyone had the free-time to show-up," Sylus says, as he leisurely makes his way to the single-couch near the apartment's entrance. "Just goes to show kitten's got us wrapped right around her little finger. Well, some more than others". He continued as he had taken his seat, crossing one leg over the other and carefully resting his arms on the couch's armrest, calm and relaxed as he should be. After all, who would Sylus be if he wasn't both of those things?

Caleb couldn't help but narrow his eyes at the comment, already understanding there was a hidden meaning behind Sylus' words. As Caleb was about to retort, Zayne cut himself in-between the conversation.

"She's been gone for less than a day. Surely, we can all agree that it is in our best interest to follow through with our roles without hassle" Zayne states from across the room, sitting on the right edge of the couch situated in the middle of the room while wiping his glasses clean. "After all, it's just five days without her presence. I'm sure we can all find a common ground".

"Right, and we don't exactly have to be living under the same roof. We have the keys so we don't have to go running after each other just to access her apartment." Caleb pointed out, walking towards the fridge and putting a magnet on top of the paper to keep it in place. "Plus, doing laundry for every single one of you isn't my ideal picture of a week-long break from duties."

"I can barely even tolerate living on my own, how much more with four other people?" Rafayel grumbled, not seeming to care with the on-going conversation as he taps and swipes on his phone, seated in-between Zayne and Xavier. "If this is done, I'm heading out. I'm dying to paint out a new piece to give to cutie once she comes home."

"Then it's settled, we won't stay here far longer than we should and just get on with what we're supposed to do." Xavier concluded, getting off the couch and preparing to take his leave. "We'll get along just fine as long as we don't get in each other's way."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sylus' responds, eyeing Xavier with a smirk plastered on his face. "Jail sounds likes a shallow place for my time and taste. I mean, if you could hold enough power to take me in."

Xavier felt a twitch in his body, already prepared to pick-up a fight with the other silver-haired man who sat right across from him. Zayne couldn't help but sigh and rub both sides of his temples to somehow ease the incoming headache of having to deal with all four men within a span of a week. Even as a doctor, his patience and level-headed coolness could only span so much within a day.

"I'll make a group chat for all of us to share. It should be a lot easier to reach out that way. I'm sure we'll take our responsibilities with upmost care". Zayne finally spoke, cutting through the growing tension in the air as he also prepares to leave, slowly getting off the comfort of the couch and reaching towards the coat rack near the entrance of the apartment.

"Besides, what would be the worst possible outcome that will come out of this small truce?" and he opens the door and closes it shut, leaving the four other men on their own.

XAVIER

Water the plants, simple and easy right? Wrong! Xavier actually spent HALF THE WEEK watering the fake and plastic plants. Now, Xavier's got crusty-dusty pot plants and a well-watered table ornaments. Didn't even bother checking if the plants were fake or not as long as he finished the job.

"Xavier, are you sure you've been watering the plants right?" Caleb called on the phone while Xavier was out for his morning run.

"Yeah, why? The one's in the bathroom, kitchen, and living room. Those are the plants I've seen her tend to while I visit".

"Dude. Oh my God," As Caleb runs through the apartment checking the places where Xavier mentioned the plants he watered were located. "Those were fake. Those were table ornaments. Come on, didn't you even bother to check?"

"Oh."

"And wait, you visit her here? Since when?"

Xavier didn't think twice and ended the call, quickly running towards the direction of Jeremiah's flowershop.

Xavier did manage to replace the plants but, unfortunately not the exact same plants you had kept BUT it belonged to the same plant family. So, that counts right? Surely, you'd never tell the blues from the greens...right?

To salvage his sins, he tried to learn as much as he could about horticultural techniques in hopes he could salvage what was left of your original plants. Even had gone as far as using his evol to initiate photosynthesis. But, of course, nothing ever goes as planned.

"Caleb".

"Xavier." Caleb replied on the other end of the phone.

"Do you think your evol could fix up broken pieces of, let's say, an apartment building?"

"No, why? Did something happen? I'll be right there. Just give me-" But before Caleb could continue, Xavier ended the call and dialed a different number this time.

"Jeremiah."

"Xavier?"

"As a florist, is rebuilding an apartment part of your skill sets?" Xavier asks as he stares at the now-very open portion of what's left of your kitchen wall. Surely, he'll figure something out before anyone gets here.

ZAYNE

Zayne stays committed to the work he's assigned regardless of where he's placed. He makes sure to clean your apartment and arranges everything in the right place such as your paperworks, books, food cans, and basically anything he can sort by color, size, and shape.

On occassions if any of the other guys would visit, he'd somehow end up cleaning after them too. Jackets and coats on the couch? Folded. Leftover snack packs? Tossed out. He makes sure everything in your home is clean and organized.

BUT Zayne should have definitely kept his mouth shut, he should have never offered to create the group chat, and he should have definitely chosen to ignore strings of messages and the numerous group chats he has somehow tangled himself into. Besides, what would be the worst possible outcome that will come out of this small truce? For the love of God. How did he even end up in this situation?

For some reason, Zayne also became everyone's designated driver? For a man who spent YEARS learning about the human anatomy to save lives, who would've thought he'd be demoted as everyone's designated driver.

Between going to the hospital, his home, and travelling towards your apartment, Zayne already has his day packed. So much to his surprise (well, not really), he comes to see your apartment's kitchen with a huge hole in the wall. Great, one problem piling over another.

"No, I don't even want to hear it." Zayne says, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes tightly, hoping what he saw was just a trick of the light. But, no. There IS a huge hole in your kitchen wall.

"You know what, no. I don't want to know how or why, Xavier. I'm going to get coffee, I need a really long break. Fix, whatever you can fix." And Zayne storms off to the nearest convenience store to buy the strongest dose of coffee money could buy at 10:00AM.

RAFAYEL

Does he even do his own groceries? Not entirely. More or less, Thomas would do half the work with Rafayel following nearby (if he decides to not entirely abandon Thomas at the supermarket in pursuit of better things). Unfortunately, despite the main occupation as being "Rafayel's talent agent", Thomas works for multiple roles in Rafayel's life.

"Okay, that's milk, chips, and vegetables..." Thomas pauses over the phone as he skims through the handwritten list from Rafayel. "What kind of vegetables do you need?"

"Oh you know," Rafayel pauses on the other end, busy adding final touches to his new piece that he plans to give to you as soon as you return from your mission. "The ones with colors".

"Be more specific Rafayel, you know vegetables have tons of colors".

"The ones with shapes, you know what they are". Rafayel says on the other end, brimming with joy as his work is finally getting together. "She likes all kinds of fruits and vegetables".

"She? You mean I'm just doing your errands? Rafayel, when I-" The call comes to stop as quickly as it begun as Rafayel ended the call with one press of a button.

Thomas, on the other hand, rubs his fingers over his right and left temple, trying to ease the will to combust in that moment. Taking in long and deep breathes, Thomas pushes the cart over the vegetable isle and says: "One of everything, please".

When Rafayel (Thomas) had accomplished the grocery shopping, he decided to take his newly-accomplished art piece and bring it over to your apartment. Rafayel had already informed the others via text beforehand about his visit just in case anyone else was staying over.

"This would look perfect in her kitchen, cutie will definitely love it!" Rafayel says as he grabs your spare apartment keys and unlocks the door. What he did not expect to see was a part of your kitchen's apartment wall blown to bitz and Xavier standing in the middle of the pile.

"Well, I don't know what blasted itself in here but," Rafayel steps closer towards Xavier and hands him the art piece "if this helps, maybe cutie won't notice if you cover up the wall."

"Do you think you could make maybe 10 more of these?" Xavier asks, lifting up the art piece and matching it to the large hole in the wall and see if it could patch it up miraculously.

"Are you crazy? My art isn't some sort of wall-paste. But, give or take maybe 4 might do? I don't know. Did you call Mr. Spaceman?

"Yes."

"Did you tell him you blew up the wall?"

"No."

"Oh, damn."

Rafayel ended up making additional rushed-pieces while Xavier worked with what he could to patch up your kitchen wall. The hole wasn't too big, sort of? Anyway, it'll depend on your reaction when you get home.

Although, Rafayel loves your home decor, he decided upon his free-will to put his creative mind to work and re-arrange a few of your household furniture. Surely, you wouldn't miss a few or two curtains, sheets, and even pillows. Right?

SYLUS

Sylus rarely stays around your apartment but, when he misses you a little, he'd find time to stop by and leave small trinkets and gifts near your bedroom for you to find when you get home. He'd also find time to actually make and store ready-to-eat food in your fridge when he knows you're date of arrival is nearing. He loves to make sure you're well-taken care of and fed.

AND Of course, out of all the sane chores you could have given the crime boss of the N109 zone, you just had to give him "bills payment". Sure, it was easy but not until the servers crashed which leaves Sylus no other option but to visit the bank. And it's not just any bank, it's the Linkon City Bank.

So, naturally, Sylus had to pull out a fake name and identity to avoid unwanted attention. Unfortunately, today's fit was definitely giving off "crime boss".

Straight up went ahead of the lines and directly to the teller. Unfortunately, his killer charm didn't do him any good as he was told to: "get back in line" and had to wait for a whole 2 hours before being catered. Only to be told to line up again because he didn't fill out any of the forms and paperworks to submit the payments. Well, that's another two hours down the drain.

To top it all off while waiting as a past time, Sylus could be seen polishing his gun in the middle of the bank. Sylus was warned about a couple of times before being asked to leave the premises. Hence, Sylus could be seen hopping from one bank to another.

After the 5th attempt, he finally gave up.

And true to his word, Sylus did keep his promises towards you. Although, maybe next time he would have to beg off from this chore ever again.

CALEB

Going back to his roots to when you were kids, Caleb is once again stuck with laundry duty. But, he's not complaining as long as he's doing yours. Unfortunately, Caleb chose the wrong day to put up with this chore.

It was a day before your return when the guys decided to surprise you with a small "welcome home" party. The truce was still there but of course, living under the same roof for a day does things to a man.

"There's a bin! Look," Caleb starts as he gets into position. "You pick-up, shoot, and toss. It's so easy".

"Yeah, yeah, we get it. Don't think too much about a pair of tidy-widies". Rafayel waves off, focusing his attention towards the baked goods on the table. The plan for today was to decorate and prepare a bunch of sweets for your return.

"Well, then stop mixing in the whites with the colored!" Caleb yells out, holding a pair of purple boxers and a now-pink shirt (which was white before Rafayel tossed his colored clothes into the washing machine). "Nobody wants to see purple boxers on a man! It mismatches the whole fit."

While doing the rest of the laundry (which doubled in number for unfortunate reasons, thanks to the guys sleeping over), he finally got to your pile, the clothes he was actually tasked to wash. He was arranging and dumping piles by color when he came across a pair of red lacy thongs and a bra to match.

caleb.exe stopped working!

Wow, she is definitely a big girl now. I remember back then whe she used to wear those cute white undies with the animal prints. Time does flyby really fast as you grow older. And now she's a big girl and-fuck-fuck-fuck! Stop.

Caleb quickly pushes out all thoughts aside and focuses on doing your laundry. Afterall, it's Caleb: mr. man-with-a-plan, mr. I-got-everything-covered, mr. I'm-going-to-shove-this-thong-on-my-

The thought never finished as Caleb quickly smacked his head about these unholy thoughts. To make matters worse, the whole basket he took were full of your lacey underwear.

After breaking down, Caleb was quick to work with folding your clothes in a neat stack inside your drawers. Despite Caleb seeming to be in a razor-sharp focus mode, he can't shake off the feeling of his early encounter with your underwear. Who would've thought his pipsquek would grow up to become a woman with refined tastes and fuck-fuck-fuck! No. Don't go there. Caleb has to fold laundry, just fold the goddamn laundry. Fold laundry, fold laundry, folds...And then Caleb malfunctioned again.

Even if Caleb is only assigned to one chore he makes sure to double-clean the apartment with Zayne. Despite being apart for quite some time, that childhood-bond they both shared as children still continued to hold them together.

Caleb also prides himself as your main meal-provider. So, when he discovers pre-packed and ready-to-heat meals in your fridge from Sylus, so he did what any sane man would do: toss is into the trash. Because if it's not made by Caleb's hand then it's not good enough for you.

AND of course Sylus found out, which is why Sylus changed the passcode and took the spare keys Caleb had hidden under his jacket. Which is why, from a bystander's point-of-view, you could see a grown man climbing up your apartment window trying to get inside.

Sylus could only laugh and watch as Caleb struggles to get through your kitchen's window. "I'm going to come after you, and when I do-" Sylus didn't even bother letting Caleb finish talking and shut the curtain blinds.

"Oh don't be like that Colonel," Sylus starts, opening his phone and skimming through the accessible cameras of the building until he finally spots what he's been looking for. "You could warmly welcome our guest now, she's just right there."

Without needing other hints, Caleb knew what he meant and as he looked towards the building entrance, he could see you with a more than displeased look as you cross your arms over your chest.

"Well, fuck."

part 2? yes, no, maybe so? :3

[pixiefelixie]

menace!boyfriend k.sm. (a much needed headcanon)

: ̗̀➛ pairing — seungmin x gn!reader : ̗̀➛ word count — 530 : ̗̀➛ content — fluff, seungmin acting like everyone's annoying little brother

a/n — these pictures of kim seungmin killed me. who told him to look this good with a bowl cut???? i hope you guys enjoyed this!!

menace!seungmin who was definitely your friend before becoming your boyfriend.

menace!seungmin who suddenly yells "boo!" and grabs your shoulders to scare you during the quietest scene of a horror movie. if you screamed, he would laugh his heart out and you promise yourself to never watch a horror movie with him ever again.

menace!seungmin who would definitely act the silliest while you're drinking water to purposefully make you laugh while your mouth is FULL and dodge when you spray it out of your mouth and nose

menace!seungmin who brings food to your mouth like a gentlemen but then shoves it into his own mouth

menace!seungmin who throws a snowball at you in the winter and has it go down your back. but then on that same evening, he would hug you in bed with the heat of his body warming you up as if he didn't just freeze your butt off earlier.

menace!seungmin who refuses to ask you directly when he wants to see you so he "forgets" stuff at your house so he can go over to get it

menace!seungmin who walks in on you in the bathroom and starts a casual conversation like you aren't sitting on the toilet.

menace!seungmin who will never make a normal entrance whenever you've got a date planned. he told you to meet him in front of the movie theatre? he'll jump out of the corner to surprise attack you when you're there. he told you he'd pick you up? he's hiding beside the door when you open it, waiting to jump at you. if you dated him in high school, he'd definitely be the type of guy to cover your eyes and say "guess who?"

when you two are at dinner alone or with a group of people like your family, menace!seungmin will always put his foot on yours under the table and not let you go

menace!seungmin who will flick his wet hands at you while walking out of the bathroom to annoy you and he got you to do it to him every time as well

menace!seungmin who has you becoming a mini-version of him. you'd adopt his vocabulary and attitude so you joke about how he's being a bad influence on you.

menace!seungmin who is obsessed with kissing your hands. if you have your hand in his, he'll bring it up to his lips with any chance he gets. before crossing the road, waiting for the street food to be ready, going up in the elevator, you name it. sometimes if he's feeling silly he'll bite your hand while he's at it.

menace!seungmin who can't look into your eyes for too long or else he'll fold so he always ruffles your hair or gently pushes your head away if he ever feels like the eye contact is becoming too much. you don't know this so you just assume he likes to make your hair messy.

menace!seungmin who's love language is being annoying but if he ever catches anyone else doing it to you, he'll fight their ass

menace!seungmin who loves you to the ends of the earth and will never fail to show you in his own ways

[pacofprunes]

don’t be so boring.

billy loomis x reader

warnings — noncon, choking, mentions of murder, blood, cuts, scratches

by clicking read more, you consent to reading 18+ content

at first you had struggled, really. but after his hips kept slamming against yours and never slowed despite your hits against him, you just gave up and let your hands drop to your sides. after that, his grip on your hips tightened, his slams against you got more painful, the knife he had laid right next to your ass seemed to be a little more threatening. but you just laid still, hoping that if you just took it all then he’d let you live and leave you alone. but after awhile, he finally spoke to you.

“come on…hit me or something. i promise i won’t kill ya’ for it.”

you stay still. the more he wanted you to do it, the less that you wanted to. it just felt like a trap. if you hit him or pissed him off, you knew he’d do something worse. not an eye for an eye, nah, he’d probably go by “an eye for two legs and an arm”. the only thing you did was squirm slightly and move your legs, but you were too scared to touch him. it pissed him off and at this rate? he was gonna kill you, but then he got an idea.

your eyes meet his as he relentlessly rams into you, merciless, and he sends a smirk your way before throwing his hands around your neck. his grip was tight as hell, and your vision was growing spotty. you couldn’t even let the smallest breath in. you finally reach your hands up and start scratching at his arms, trying to get his grip to loosen. blood was drawing, a lot of blood actually, and it was slowing dripping onto your cheeks. his eyes get more crazed and he throws his head back, mumbling a few yes’s. he squeezes tighter, pulsing his hands every few seconds to tease you and after some time, you couldn’t even see what was happening to you, in fact, you could barely even feel it, your body going numb. for a split second you think you go out of consciousness, but then he lets go and the first thing you see when your vision clears is his face right up close to yours. he grabs your face tightly with both of his hands and you shoot one hand up onto his wrist.

“thanks for helpin’ me out. you finally gonna give me what i want?”

he looks down at your hand on his wrist before looking back up to you, that stupid smile still on his face and you slowly let your grip loosen and let your hand start to drop but then he grabs your wrist, his hand covering the whole thing and he grabs the knife that was right next to your bare ass and presses it on your arm, right below his hand. if you moved, you’d be dead. the knife with slide right across your skin, the blood wouldn’t stop. you’d die right there. naked, fucked dumb, and bloody. tears slip out of your eyes and you look up at him and go to open your mouth but nothing comes out except a very hoarse and broken up “please don’t..”.

“put on a show for me and i won’t kill you.”

you still.

“hit me, scratch me, i don’t care. make a scene.”

he leans into your ear now.

“but don’t think i’m not gonna do it right back.”

he pulls away and presses the knife just a little deeper into your arm and you immediately throw your other hand back up to grab his wrist. if he wanted to pull back and cut you, you wouldn’t have been able to stop him, but knowing that excited him, knowing that made him harder.

“there you go, keep that up. gotta prove to stu we shouldn’t kill you, right? gonna be our final girl.”

he pulls the knife away and drops it to the floor and waves his arm in front of your face, showing off the scratches you’d left him moments before. he pushes himself away from your face by using your neck as leverage and he goes to line himself back up with your entrance.

“or you could always be the helpless victim. i’m having fun either way.”

[thomamaru]

Hierarchy of Intimacy Special (Chapter Shidou)

Request: Hi I was wondering if u could add shidou to your hierarchy of intimacy series. The plot be something on the lines of reader is soft and a baker, but shidou enjoys how different she is from him.

Synopsis: After a heated practice, Shidou Ryusei storms into a pink bakery, only to be struck speechless by the baker behind the counter. Who knew a quick stop for food would leave him with a possible future spouse? (Falling in love at first sight)

Tags: Shidou Ryusei x gn!reader, reader owns a bakery, shidou is veryyy flirty as usual, fluff

Author notes: this is a series based on a trend of tiktok. characters that will be included is nagi, yukimiya, rin, chigiri, isagi, reo, kunigami, sae, and bachira. If you want to add a character, you can request with a prompt :)

Shidou Ryusei stormed out of practice, his jaw clenched and frustration bubbling under his skin.

The usual tension between him and Rin had reached its peak, and after yet another argument that ended in shouting, Shidou had decided he’d rather walk out than waste another second listening to that guy’s voice.

His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, fingers twitching with pent-up irritation.

His mind replayed every insult, every smug remark Rin had thrown at him, and it only fueled his growing irritation.

He was ready to kick something—maybe even someone—but his stomach made a more pressing demand before he could act on it. A loud growl cut through the silence, making him pause mid-step.

Right. He hadn’t eaten.

Glancing around, he searched for the nearest place to grab food and spotted a small bakery at the corner of the street.

It was decorated entirely in pastel pink, the kind of place that looked like it belonged in a romance movie rather than a street filled with sweaty athletes and overpriced sports stores.

Normally, he wouldn’t have even given it a second glance, but hunger outweighed his preferences.

He figured food was food, regardless of how cute the shop looked.

Pushing the door open, a small bell chimed overhead, announcing his entrance. The air inside was warm and sweet, filled with the scent of fresh bread, vanilla, and strawberries.

The soft hum of classical music played in the background, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy he had carried in with him. Small round tables were set up neatly with floral tablecloths, and a few customers sat in quiet conversation, enjoying their pastries.

None of it mattered to him. He was too focused on getting food. His gaze was locked onto the glass display case as he strode toward the counter, his stomach demanding the first thing he could get his hands on.

It wasn’t until he finally looked up that something cut through his single-minded hunger.

Behind the counter, arranging a fresh tray of pastries, stood someone who completely threw him off balance.

Flour dusted the edges of your apron, a few strands of hair had escaped from your loose ponytail, and there was a smudge of icing on your cheek from what he assumed had been a long day of baking.

It wasn’t just the warmth of the bakery that made the scene feel softer—it was you.

There was something about the way you moved, the way the golden glow from the overhead lights framed your features, making the moment feel oddly surreal.

Shidou wasn’t the type to get caught up in aesthetics, but for a brief moment, everything around him blurred.

It was like one of those ridiculous, glittery romance scenes in a drama. He would have laughed at the absurdity of it if he wasn’t so caught up in the moment.

Then, before he could even think about stopping himself, the words tumbled out of his mouth.

"Please marry me."

The words were barely above a mumble, almost an automatic reaction rather than something he had consciously decided to say.

You blinked, pausing in your movements as if you weren’t entirely sure you had heard him correctly. "Sorry, what?"

Shidou didn’t even hesitate. "Please marry me." This time, his voice was louder—loud enough that the entire bakery went silent for a few seconds.

A few heads turned in curiosity, and one of the older women sitting near the window let out a surprised laugh.

Even the oven in the back let out a timely beep as if to emphasize the absurdity of the moment.

Heat rushed to your face as you struggled to process what had just happened. This wasn’t exactly a situation you dealt with every day.

Hell, did anyone deal with something like this? A random customer walking in and immediately proposing was far from normal, and yet here you were, standing across from him, completely dumbfounded.

"Excuse me, sir?" You tried to keep your voice steady, hoping that maybe you had misheard him.

A slow grin spread across Shidou’s face, the initial daze of the moment quickly morphing into something more familiar—teasing amusement.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the counter as he studied your reaction.

"You heard me, sweetheart," he said, his voice taking on that lazy, playful tone that suggested he was enjoying this far too much. "I came in here for food and ended up finding my future spouse. Pretty good deal, huh?"

You weren’t sure what was more ridiculous—the fact that he was saying this with a straight face or the fact that your brain was struggling to find an immediate response.

"I—what—sir, I think you need to order something before making any life-changing decisions," you finally managed to say, hoping to steer the conversation back to something normal.

Shidou let out a short laugh but didn’t argue. "Alright, alright. I’ll take whatever’s best here. Oh, and your number while we’re at it."

You ignored the second request entirely and turned to grab one of the bakery’s best-selling pastries—a strawberry danish.

Placing it into a small paper bag, you handed it over, making sure to keep the interaction as professional as possible.

"One strawberry danish," you said. "That'll be—"

Before you could finish, Shidou reached out to take the bag, and for the briefest moment, his fingers brushed against yours.

The touch was fleeting, barely even a second, but it was enough for his sharp eyes to catch the way you stiffened ever so slightly. His grin widened.

"Shy, huh?" he mused, tilting his head.

Your expression quickly shifted into something more defensive.

"I am not shy."

"Liar," he shot back smoothly.

"You’re delusional," you countered.

"And you’re blushing," he pointed out.

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, he tossed a few bills onto the counter, more than enough to cover his order, and took a step back.

"I’ll be back tomorrow," he said confidently.

"Why?" you asked, more out of exasperation than genuine curiosity.

Shidou’s gaze flickered to your lips for the briefest second before he met your eyes again, his smirk never fading.

"Because you’re sweeter than anything on this menu."

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked out, leaving you standing there, utterly flustered and unsure of what had just happened.

Little did you know, that was only the beginning.

---

The bell chimed again.

At this point, you had grown painfully familiar with that sound—more specifically, what followed after it.

"Miss me, sweetheart?"

You didn’t have to look up to know who it was. The unmistakable drawl, the self-assured arrogance dripping from his tone—it was all Shidou Ryusei.

Suppressing a sigh, you continued wiping down the counter, choosing to ignore him entirely.

Maybe, just maybe, if you pretended he wasn’t there, he would take the hint and—

"Aw, don’t ignore me, pretty thing," he whined, leaning against the counter as if he owned the place. "I came all the way here just to see you, y'know."

Your hands froze mid-wipe, heat creeping up your neck. "You came here for the food," you corrected, still refusing to meet his gaze.

There was a pause, then a soft chuckle—one of amusement, deep and lazy, the kind that made your stomach do an annoying little flip.

"Nah," Shidou said, dragging the word out as he propped his chin up with one hand. "I mean, sure, the food’s good, but let’s be real. You’re the main attraction here."

Your grip on the cloth tightened. This man was impossible.

Ever since the day he had quite literally proposed to you at first sight, Shidou had become a daily occurrence in the bakery.

No matter what time of day it was—early morning, afternoon rush, or near closing—he always found a reason to stop by.

At first, you thought he would lose interest quickly, that the whole thing was just another one of his ridiculous, heat-of-the-moment antics.

But he kept coming back.

Every. Single. Day.

And worse? He always made you his target.

From outrageous compliments to flirty one-liners that had no business being spoken in a bakery, Shidou had made it his personal mission to get a reaction out of you. And unfortunately, you weren’t exactly the best at hiding your emotions.

You had tried. You really had.

But every time he smirked, every time he leaned in just a little too close, every time he looked at you like you were something worth devouring—your brain short-circuited.

It was infuriating.

And yet, somehow, he never crossed the line.

Despite his teasing, he never actually touched you, never made you uncomfortable.

It was all just words, playful and light, but the effect they had on you? Unfair.

Shidou knew it too.

"You gonna take my order or just keep looking flustered?" he asked, grinning as he finally straightened up.

"I—I'm not flustered!" you shot back immediately, turning your back to him as you focused on rearranging some pastries on the shelf.

"Right, right," he hummed, clearly not believing you. "So that means if I told you that you look real cute in that apron, you wouldn’t turn even pinker than the walls in here?"

You nearly dropped the tray.

"Shidou."

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"Order. Your. Food."

He laughed, the sound unreasonably pleased as he finally, finally stopped tormenting you and placed his order.

You quickly set to work, preparing his usual—because yes, of course, he had a usual now—and placed it on the counter, hoping to get him out of here before he could say anything else that would ruin what little composure you had left.

But as you slid his food toward him, his fingers lingered on the bag, his gaze locking onto yours with something… unreadable.

"You really don’t get it, do you?" he murmured, his voice softer this time.

You frowned. "Get what?"

Shidou tilted his head slightly, watching you like he was trying to figure something out.

It was different from his usual teasing—still intense, still undeniably Shidou—but there was something else lingering beneath it. Something heavier.

You waited, expecting some sort of comeback, another flirty remark to make your heart race.

But instead, he just smirked and took his bag, throwing you one last wink before heading for the door.

"Guess I’ll just have to keep coming back until you do."

And then he was gone.

The door to the bakery closed softly behind him, and Shidou paused on the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets as he looked up at the sky.

She’s different.

It wasn’t like he’d never been intrigued before. He had a pretty damn good track record when it came to getting people’s attention.

He was used to people fawning over him, used to the constant chase, the endless flirtation—it was a game, one he’d mastered years ago.

But you?

You weren’t like anyone he’d met.

At first, he didn’t know what to make of it. Every time he walked in, you’d play it cool—almost too cool, like you were trying to fight the pull of his charm.

And the way you’d avoid his gaze when he’d throw a compliment or a teasing remark? It wasn’t like those other girls who'd blush and stammer.

You were trying not to react, but Shidou could see it—the small shifts, the way you bit your lip to keep from smiling, the way your fingers tightened around the cloth when he got too close.

It was... almost too fun.

But then, something about the way you handled him—it started to get under his skin in a way that didn’t make sense. The more he saw you, the more he started to notice things.

You didn’t care about his reputation, about his name, about anything that most people worshipped about him.

You treated him like a regular customer, and that was something Shidou hadn’t gotten in years. And it hit him harder than he’d care to admit.

They didn’t want him.

No, it wasn’t that. It was more like…

You weren’t awed by him. You didn’t think he was some untouchable figure, someone to swoon over.

You saw through him.

That was what made him different in this moment—he wanted to be seen. For who he was under the brash confidence, the swagger, the sharp insults he’d throw at anyone who crossed him.

But you?

You didn’t play into any of that.

It was the way you made him feel like he actually had to earn a smile from you, the way you’d challenge him with your teasing right back, and the way your eyes would light up when you spoke about something you loved. Your passion for your craft—it was different from his, but somehow, it was what drew him in even more.

Shidou didn’t let people close, didn’t let anyone see that side of him. And yet, with you, there was this quiet part of him, buried deep down, that wanted you to understand him.

You didn’t give him a pass just because he was famous. You didn’t get starry-eyed when he walked in, didn’t fawn over him like so many others did.

That made you different—and for some reason, that’s what made him care.

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t stop coming back.

The thrill wasn’t in getting you to blush or fumble over his words. The thrill was in the way you made him feel like he had to strip away the bravado, the loud persona, and actually show up as himself.

Not some soccer star, not some cocky jerk—but Shidou, the guy who could hardly make a connection with anyone because he was too busy trying to stay on top.

And yet…

There was something magnetic about the way you pulled him in without even trying. You didn’t need him to be a hero or a legend. You just treated him like a regular guy, and that stung in a way that made him crave more.

Shidou wasn’t used to it. Not one bit.

And that, more than anything, made you stand out in his mind.

He shook his head, a small smirk pulling at his lips despite the strange warmth curling in his chest.

She’s not like the others, huh?

For once, he didn’t mind it.

If anything, it made the whole thing more exciting.

ARGHH THIS WAS SUCH A CUTE PROMPT!!! thank you so much for requestinggg<33 (@cloudysunnyday)

[shojizbae]

Yeehaw!

Spencer Reid x reader

Warnings: This is spicy! Use of alcohol, behind drunk/drunk sex, Oral fem! receiving, cowgirl position

Everyone could tell with just one look at you that you were Southern. That being said, anytime there was a case in the South, everyone knew to take a step back and let you lead. This time, there was a string of murders in Aiken, South Carolina, and the team knew that you were all over it.

"Weren't you from a Carolina?" Derek chuckles as we board the jet.

"Yeah, I spent most of my time on Camp Lejeune with my daddy, then I went south for college in Charleston."

"So that means Hotch has been demoted for this." Emily snickers

"No, I just know the South, and I'll get a little gun-happy when I'm back home. It wouldn't be no different had we gone to Chicago, Derek."

"Wow, mama's go home heat today." We settle on the jet, and Hotch and Rossi debrief us. I take a nap as we head south, and unfortunately, the power of the state takes me over. I march up to the sheriff and flash my credentials.

"So, how's it happen?" The sheriff speaks in an accent so thick it makes grits look like juice. I glance at the team, and they seem to sigh in relief when they realize I can understand him. Tirelessly, we worked the case for 73 hours. We met at a fresh crime scene every morning. The unsub seemed to be in a frenzy. He was dangerous and mixed with a high concentration of amphetamine addiction in this area. It was likely he had no clue he was killing.

But, due to the trace amounts of meth, we knew that he was unstable and would trip up eventually. We got some sleep after the fourth body, and there was a trip up in the morning. A fifth, but he had left some of his powdered sugar at the crime scene.

I put a glove on and lifted the little baggie, showing it off to Reid.

"Hey, Spencer, check this out."

"Hey, I've been clean for years," He mopes

"Aw, I'm sorry, sugar," A detective approaches me with an evidence bag. "Here, swab it and run this through CODIS." Spencer and I kept sweeping the crime scene for any molecule of evidence. Nothing all that exciting. The killer left the knife in her this time. Indicative of the fact that they were out of control. I squat next to the body and ghost my fingers over the entrance wound.

"Hey Spencer," He perks up like a gopher, "If you were going to kill someone and you were going to stab them to death, how'd you do it?"

"Are you sure that's an appropriate question?"

"I'm just curious."

"I'd probably use something with a curved blade. It would do the most damage and be the hardest to remove." His eyes go kind of dead, as he explains. An awkward air hangs between the two of us as we survey the wound.

"Damn, Spence, that's messed up."

"You asked." He sasses

Not later that evening, a woman called to suspect a strange man was in her house. We move in immediately and find a man pacing in circles in the bathroom. He's violent and angry, and his nose is bleeding. He tried to swing a knife at Morgan, but I grabbed him by the wrist and slammed his head into the wall. I use my hips to push him forward and cuff him while Emily helps the woman safely out of her house.

I march him to the car while he screams that I'm a bastard whore. Finally, I shoved him into the police car and muttered a good riddance. I even patted my hands like a baker getting flour off.

"I need a drink." I put my hands on my hips

"I could use something to cool off, too. This southern heat can be beat." Derek wipes his brow

"Hotch you think we have the leeway to spend the night here?" Emily asks

"That's all up to JJ, anything pressing enough that we need to get back to Quantico?"

"Well, nothing too scary that we couldn't cut loose after working for six days straight." She smiles at the team

Hours later, we showered, ate a full meal at a steakhouse, and put on the nicest clothes in our go-bags. The team was shocked to discover I had a cowboy hat in my bag. We moseyed our way to the bar, a small dive bar with a pool table. A mechanical bull is in the center of the room, and my eyes light up at the memories. Rossie buys us a pitcher of beer, and we all unwind from the stressful week.

As we knock 'em back slowly and let college stories fly, the team starts to forget what we had seen. Rossi tells us some funny stories about going to college during the summer of love, and Reid accidentally brags about going to Cal Tech.

"Well, what about you? Didn't you go to school nearby?" Emily says as she refills her glass.

"Uh yeah, in Charleston, South Carolina." I clarify

"So you must have spent most of your nights like this." Derek motions around the bar, playing honky-tonk music. Pool balls clack around us, and there's a thin layer of dirt around the edge of the bar.

"Well, most nights I spent in my dorm or the library. Every other Saturday, my roommate and neighbors would go to a dive named Fat Daddy's. We would make bets with the alcoholic dads about being able to ride the bull, and if we stayed on longer than they said so, they'd buy us all a drink. I didn't pay for my own liquor for three semesters." The team stood in shock. Hotch's jaw was agape and Rossi just nodded his chin in acknowledgement.

"Well, now, baby girl, I have to see you in action." Derek almost commands

"No, I ain't dressed right. And ain't nobody betted me."

"I bet you won't last seven seconds on the mechanical bull," Spencer interjects "If you do, I'll buy you that coconut margarita that you've been eyeing."

"Alrght, there's my bet." I march up to the bartender "I'm'onna ride that bull." I point at it and he looks me hat to boot.

"Alright," The bartender seems disinterested. He hits a button, and lights around the bull flash like a carnival. I draw the attention of the whole bar as a pre-recorded announcer calls me a brave challenger.

Big men with fat beer bellies gather around, and I readjust my top. If I play my cards right, I might get more than a coconut margarita out of this. I'm not wearing anything too special—just one of my combat scoop-neck tees and low-rise daisy dukes. The bartender offers his hand, and I use it to mount the big plastic bull.

"You ready, little girl?" He asks

"Yes sir." I grip onto the handle at the 'bull's nape and a bell rings. Slowly the bull starts lurching forward and back while exciting music bounces around the bar.

one Mississippi

The bull speeds up

'ride it, cowgirl!" Derek yells from the edge of the bull enclosure

two Mississippi

It starts going sideways

three Mississippi

I fake with my appearance that I'm struggling and readjust my grip

four Mississippi

I use my hips to grind with the rhythm of the bull as men whoop and cheer

five Mississippi, six Mississippi

My heart starts to thump against my ribs

Seven Mississippi, I win.

The team cheers for me. I keep going, getting bold enough to grind more dramatically. I hear more whoops and hollers as I lift my arms and squee. Someone yells, and another man whistles. I hold onto my hat as the bull speeds up, and I feel my shirt lift.

'Yeehaw!' I hear, and the bar just erupts. I feel so full of life, and I jump up on the bull, riding it like a surfboard. I drop down and sit backward on the bull. I twist around and ride the bull until the bartender slows it down.

"You done broke our record. 39 seconds on the highest speed." The bar screams in glee, and the team closes in on me, handing out high fives. Reid hangs behind the group, and I see him ask Derek a question

"Did you know that (Y/n) has a stomach tattoo?"

"Wow (Y/n), that was incredible." Emily looks starstruck

"I told you I didn't pay for a drink for 18 months." I give JJ a hug, and Reid emerges from the crowd

"I guess I owe you a drink." He smiles, and I fidget with the hem of my shirt

"One coconut margarita, please, sir." He leads me to the bar, where the bartender makes one for me. I hold the glass up to his face, and Reid takes the first sip.

"No, that's fine," He pushes the glass from his cheek

"C'mon, you paid for it."

"Listen, you know that coercion isn't a great thing to do. Most serial killers are more coercive than a skeezy lawyer."

"Aw, you're using my metaphors." I coo and step closer to his chest

"When did you become so flirty?" he braces me on the hip

"All that shaking around must have got the beer movin' in me." I giggle and sip on my glass. "I saw you askin' Derek 'bout my tattoo. y' wanna see it?" I start to roll up my shirt

"No, no, that's fine," He holds my wrist to stop me. "Why don't we get you some water."

"No, this is yummy." I smile and down the cup. He grimaces at the action and tries to walk me over to our table

"Hey, Spencer, you wanna know why I'm so good at riding that thing?" I halt to play with the button of his shirt, and he stops, too.

"Uh sure," He swallows

"Ever the curious doctor," I slur. I'm good with the bull because I love riding," I whisper drunkenly in his ear. He swallows hard and tries to shimmy us back to our table. His hands shake as he grips my tricep.

"Why're you so nervous?" I ask the side of his jaw. My voice swings up an octave, but I snort as I survey the team.

"The liquor got to her quick. I'm gonna get her back to the hotel."

"Oooh, why don't you take me someplace fancy," I tease

"Well, make sure you use protection." Derek snorts as he lifts a brown bottle to his lips

"Aw, you ain't gotta worry. I've got an IUD." Spencer soothes my sentence with a pat on my shoulder, and I slide a hand down his back

"That won't be a problem. I'm just going to ensure she has water, Advil, and comfortable clothes." He jumps away as I make an attempt to grab his butt.

"You sure you don't want either of us to take her?" JJ offers and points between Emily and herself. I rest my head on his chest. I can feel his heart pounding against my temple.

"You gonna take good care of me, Doctor?" I smile up at his concerned face

"I'm not that kind of doctor." He scolds. He helps seatbelt me into one of two FBI SUVs. Slowly and carefully, he drives me to the highway motel we were placed in, and he marches me into my room.

"Alright, are you sober enough to shower?" He sits me on the bed, and the mattress shrieks beneath me

"Yeah, so long as you help me get my shirt off."

"No, I won't be doing that," He finds a glass and fills it with water. He digs in my go-bag and finds the bottle of Advil. He drops two in his hand and gives them to me as well as the cup. "Drink this," he tucks some hair behind his ears.

"My feet hurt," I whine and put the pills in my mouth.

"Well, you're wearing those ridiculous boots," He stressfully tucks some hair behind his ears

"They ain't ridiculous." Stick out a foot and twist it to see the whole design, "Maybe a little flashy." I tuck my foot in and look up at him. "Will you calm down if you held me out of these sugar?"

"Yeah, sure." He kneels down and tugs each of my boots off, and lines them up with the rest of my shoes.

"Aww, you're so caring. C'mere sugar." Reluctantly, he finds me on the mattress, and I pat it next to me. He's hesitant, but he sits, and I lean against him. "Hey, Spencer?"

"Yes, (Y/n)?"

"You wanna ask about my tattoo?"

"No,"

"Really, because you keep glancing down at my stomach. I may be a drunk one, but I am a profiler. What about it? Gets you going so much?"

"What?" He scoffs in shock "It doesn't 'get me going'." I hold onto his arm

"Really? Because I'm pushin' my tits against you, and you're still lookin' at my stomach."

"I uh I'm not." He's distracted enough that I can swing my legs across his lap "(Y/n), this is really inappropriate conduct for coworkers."

"I ain't on the clock," I slowly drag my shirt up to reveal the design. Two big blossoms of overlapping lavender and olive flowers. Any protests he tries to make are halted as he studies the image.

"These ones, "I guide his apprehensive hand as hi pointer finger traces my stomach "Are olive blossoms, they stand for peace. and these are lavenders."

"They mean feminity and grace." He clears his throat

"I've got more," I whisper playfully

"C-can I see them?" He swallows. I cross my arms at the hem of my shirt and pull it off, lifting the hem of my bralette.

"There's some text under my boobs."

"te amo para siempre." He reads without an accent, so it sounds stilted. "Did you get that for a boyfriend?"

"No, it's something my grandpa used to tell me." he runs his thumb over the cursive, "And on my collarbones." I guide his wrist to my right clavicle.

"'An eye for an eye,' I guided him across my chest, and he traced like he was reading braille.' leaves the whole world blind.' He connected his eyes with mine. His pupils were real big.

"Aw gee, I just realized I'm a little underdressed."

"Of course," he shifts around to encourage me to get off

"Uh uh, it could be you're just overdressed," I hold onto the knot in his tie

"No (Y/n),"

"You know, darling, your mouth is saying no, but your body is saying yes." I slide my hips forward and feel him suppress a shudder. I direct his head to look at me with blown-wide puppy dog eyes. "Maybe we should tell your mouth to let your body take over." I sink my lips against him, and he melts into me. Our lips smack as he pulls away

"(y/n), no, this isn't professional," he tries to disable my arms as I slide his tie knot apart

"Well, that's good. If I were professional, you get a hotel in a local jail for soliciting a prostitute." I get the knot loose and free his neck, making headway on the buttons. He shiftsbutI kiss his complaints away. Soon, sounds of complaint turn to moans as he succumbs to his body.

"Hey, Spencer," I pull away briefly and chew on my lip at the view. His hair is fluffed, and the top half of his shirt is flipped open. "I've got one more tattoo, and I think you'd really like it."

"I would?" he pushes his hair back "Why." I give him a peck as I reach for the button on my shorts. He grabs my hand and undoes the button himself. I guide his hand to the zipper, and he tugs it down. Instead of shimmying out of the shorts, I hook his finger in the elastic of my underwear. He pulls it down just enough to read the black text that slowly faded to show green.

"C6H12O6?"

"Yeah, you remember what that means?"

"It's the chemical formula for sugar." He snaps the underwear back into place, and I jump at the sensation, "Why?"

"Because I'm so sweet." I dive back in and kiss him. Heated aggressively like he's got the last cup of water on his tongue. He reaches into my hair to steady me, and with his second hand, he grabs my hip. I continue to unbutton his shirt until he shores it off into the distance.

"Well, look how handsome you are," I watch him blush, but I run my hands up his chest and over his collarbones. He blushes but guides my hand to his belt buckle. I love the sound a belt buckle makes. Before I can get his pants off him, Spencer surprises me. He picks us up and twists us, so my back slaps against the squeaky mattress.

He slithers down my body, kissing down the various tattoos. Gently, he slides his fingers into the waistband of my jeans. He slides them down and separates each of my knees. Almost entranced he licks up the gray cotton panties I wore.

"Spencer!' I moan in shock

"Please, this is my favorite part." He pulls the underwear off and tosses it to the side. I don't protest any further. It's rare to find a guy willing to go down on me, much less one that initiates. He wraps his arms around my thighs and places my knees at his shoulders. He wastes no time diving in.

With every man I've slept with, I've never felt someone go down on me with such fervor and skill. I'm taken down. He clings onto my clit with desperation. He drops my right leg so that he can trace gentle circles around my pussy.

"Spenc- Uh"

"Sh-sh -shh, just relax." He soothes me and rubs my inner thigh. I try to look down at him, but as he continues his ministrations, I lose my strength and flop my head back. Slowly, he sinks his pointer finger in, and I take a sharp inhale.

"Spe-EUUh!" His skill is shocking as he slowly moves his finger in and out. Once I was acclimated, he pulled out and put both his pointer and middle in. I do my best to suppress it for the comfort of the surrounding guests.

"Don't hide from me." He comes up and looks my face over

"There's other people around, Spencer."

"Then let them hear." He places a kiss on my forehead and sinks down to continue devouring me. I don't hold back as much as I'm embarrassed. He starts a 'come hither' motion and I roll my hips up into his face. He braces a hand on my hip.

"Sit still." He commands

Steadily, I felt a climax rising in me. I felt the muscles in my stomach clenching and tensing. I feel like yellow waves of pleasure ripple through my body.

"SPE—Spencerr, I'm gonna!" I desperately reached around and threaded my fingers into his hair. With my other hand, I felt around for the disheveled comforter. I balled my hands into a fist around what I held: his hair and the blanket. I climaxed faster than I had expected. Accidentally, I locked Spencer in with my legs. Desperate to keep the pleasure close to me.

It took me a moment to catch my breath. When I came to, I released my legs, and he resurfaced, wiping his mouth as he checked on me.

"How are you doing? Was that any good?"

"Good?" I gaped, and I saw him crumble a little in insecurity. Spencer, that was the best head I've ever had." He chuckled boyishly as I held his pants so he lay on top of me.

"Spencer?" I ask slowly

"Yeah," He kisses me on the side of the mouth

"I'm gonna fuck you now,"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I sit him up and unzip his pants and pull them down. His legs are ridiculously long, and it feels like an eternity to get him naked. I geek at his boxers. His cock is jumping against the fabric, and there is a small precum stain. I rub over the fabric, and he keens into my touch.

"Aww, so you're all talk," I tease

"S-shut up, you were just writhing under me." He leans back on his arms. The veins in his forearms are bulging, and I can see his stomach shift as he shifts under my pawing.

"Yeah, and now you will be."

I slide my fingers under the elastic, and he lifts his hips to help me free him. Gently, I stroke him, and he gulps back and moans. I mount him, letting Spencer guide himself into me. I sigh as I feel him slide in, and his hands gravitate to my hips.

"Woah," he grunts. It's probably the strangest reaction I've gotten, but I appreciate being such a stunner.

"How are you doing, Reid?"

"I-I'm sublime. How are you?" I shift my hips in contemplation, feeling my eyes pool in the back of my head.

"Oh, I'm doing-g just-" My sentence cuts itself off as the head of his dick kisses a sweet spot inside me. "Can you just give me a little boost?" He holds each of my hips and drags me across my lap.

"Oh fuck," I sigh, and I pick my hips up. We fall into a sensual rhythm as the world disappears around us. "Spencer, that feels so..." My forehead collapses against his collarbone. There's something about his dick that itches a scratch I didn't know I was feeling. Similarly, he mews below me.

"(Y/n)," he groans out below me "Don't stop." and I don't. Instead, I pick up the pace. I brace myself on his shoulders and slam my hips back and forth until my thighs burn. And when the sensation becomes overwhelming I keep fighting.

"Oh my- uh," He groans beneath me "(Y/n), (Y/n), I'm gonna cum." He sounds desperate. "(Y/n) you have to get off." He whimpers

"No, I'm gonna cum too. I won't-" I keep my hips galloping against his thighs, "PLEase- fuck, I'm gonna." I feel his cock twitch inside me, and warmth spreads through my thighs.

"Uh, nice and deep." I halt myself for a second," Spencer I gotta keep going."

"M'kay." I ride with such speed that I'm scared the legs on the bed will snap. Finally, I feel the point of no return—like watching a slow vase fall over, knowing you're too far away to stop it. I came. My knees buckled, and I fell chest-first onto Reid.

"Are you okay?" He holds my back steady and gently rubs my spine, and I catch my breath.

"Yeah, I'm okay." I sit myself up, and Spencer tucks some frizzy hair behind my ear. "Probably some of the sex I've had in... ever." His face lights up. I use his shoulder to stand up, and I feel it slide down my thigh.

"I'm gonna need a shower, but there's always room for two." I smile and trot off to the ensuite. It's not long before Spencer is chasing me behind the vinyl curtain to wet his hair and press a kiss to the back of my shoulder.

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° i would stay forever

( reo mikage x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — watched 27 dresses and thought reo needed a wedding fic :)

♡ content — reo mikage x fem! reader, reo and reader are childhood friends, reader came from a lower-income family, kinda AU where reo didn't go pro in soccer, reo is still heavily involved in the mikage corporation, nagi as the best man

♡ synopsis — you've loved reo mikage for a long time, so seeing him in a tux and teary eyed down the isle makes your heart ache.

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' i've known it from the very start ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

The smell of fresh roses fills the air, mingling with the faint scent of polished wood and candle wax. It’s a scene out of a movie. Really, it's everything you could've wanted—rows of pristine white chairs, each draped with soft lilac ribbons, leading to an altar bathed in sunlight. Everything about this day screams perfection, wealth, and power. And there, standing at the end of the aisle, is Reo Mikage.

In a black tuxedo tailored to fit him like a second skin, he looks as flawless as the ceremony surrounding him. His violet hair is neatly styled, a far cry from the messy locks you used to tug at when you were kids.

He stands tall, confident, and composed, yet there’s something in his expression—something soft, almost wistful—that tugs at your chest.

Reo Mikage has always had that effect on you. Ever since you were kids, he’s been this radiant force in your life. Where your days felt dull and repetitive, his were bursting with color and excitement.

He was the boy who dragged you out of your tiny, empty house, where the hum of your parents’ exhaustion filled the silence. The boy who turned after-school walks into grand adventures and rainy afternoons into moments that felt infinite. With Reo, you weren’t the forgotten kid from a lower-income family.

With him, you mattered.

Now, watching him at the altar, standing tall and perfect, you feel like you’re seeing a piece of that boy again. It’s in the way he holds himself, as though even in this grand moment, he’s thinking about something else.

Maybe soccer, you think.

Maybe you, you hope.

The music begins, soft and delicate, and the guests turn to look down the aisle. The bride’s entrance is starting. You can feel your heart hammering in your chest, every emotion you've buried clawing its way to the surface.

Your gaze flickers back to Reo. He looks calm, serene even, but you know him well enough to spot the subtle tension in his shoulders. You wonder what’s going through his mind right now.

Could he possibly be thinking about all the moments you’ve shared? Sneaking out to eat ice cream under the stars, him laughing as he wiped a smudge of chocolate off your face. Whispered conversations about your dreams for the future, his voice steady as he promised he’d never leave you behind.

The aisle feels impossibly long, time stretching slowly and seemingly forever. It couldn't happen faster, you thought.

You imagine Reo looking at you like he used to—with that rare vulnerability, that quiet intensity that made you feel like the only person in his world. You picture him smiling just for you.

And then the officiant begins to speak.

You’re jolted back to the present, to the weight of the moment, as the words cut through the haze. Your breath catches as Reo turns to face the woman standing beside him. She’s stunning, poised, everything you’re not.

The weight of reality crashes down on you.

This isn’t your wedding. It never was.

The vows are exchanged, the applause loud. Your hands fall to your lap, too heavy to clap. Reo glances out at the crowd, his eyes scanning the rows of faces. For a fleeting moment, you think his gaze might stop on you, but it doesn’t. Why would it? You’re just a memory to him now, a fragment of his past that has no place in his future.

You remind yourself, his parents invited you. Not Reo. Why would your best friend exclude you from his wedding? Even you couldn't find the answer.

Nagi was the best man, were you really that different? Were you so unimportant that Reo, your friend...the man you're hopelessly in love with, would just forget about you?

When they kiss, you force yourself to look away. Not because it hurts—though it does—but because you need to hold on to the version of him who once belonged to you. The boy who promised you the world before the weight of his name took it from him.

The guests rise and begin to mingle, voices buzzing around you like static. You stay seated, rooted in place, as the realization settles like a stone in your chest.

Reo Mikage was always meant for greatness. He’s stepping into the life his family has carved out for him, and you…you were never part of that plan.

You only wish he hadn’t made you believe you could be.

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' we're a shot in the darkest dark ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

as a little breather from my spotify wrapped event :)))

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[primofate]

Time: 3:00 am

Status: can't sleep. Sudden urge to write something. Here goes.

Timer: 10 minutes

Actual time: 28 minutes

Warning: might be messy and rushed

Characters: Wriothesley x gn!reader

"Do you remember when I first met you?"

"...bits and pieces. It isn't very clear in my mind anymore," you reply rather curtly.

There's a short pause of silence at the dinner table, your cutlery and his cease to move as the two of you try to piece the event together.

Wriothesley chuckles and recounts the events with detail "It was one of those spring nights. Breezy, nice weather, sun wasn't up too high in the morning so the night was cool," as you continue to eat, he has stopped for the moment. "I was cut up from head to toe, small scratches everywhere. Some trouble with the meka that day,"

You raise your eyes up from the food, suddenly getting a wave of nostalgia as you recognize the moment all too clearly.

"On my way back to the Fortress I ran into you. All tidy and clean, box in your hands, looking up at me blankly. Do you remember what you said?"

You stifle a smile, because this part, you remember all too well.

"Here's your tea," the two of you say in unison, followed by a small laugh from you.

"...you left it in my hands, and then walked away as if it was the most normal day in your life. Like you never even saw me injured,"

"In my defense, you didn't look like you were in pain at all,"

He raises an eyebrow, meeting your gaze and ignoring your comment altogether. "I was suddenly obsessed with who you were. It wasn't as if you were trying to be mysterious, but who was this uncaring person standing at the Fortress entrance with my box of tea? I had to know,"

"Uncaring isn't quite the word for it. I was tired," you gently explained.

Yet again he continues as if not hearing you, "Only to find out the following week that my exotic tea dealer carefully hand picked herbs and mixed them, then personally delivers them to their customer's door. Lovely service. You remember what happened after that?"

Wriothesley's gaze on you is soft, with a hint of mischief on it, one that you returned. "I got orders. Tons of it. All to the Fortress of Meropide. I was there nearly every day doing deliveries,"

"Mmhmm. And then?" There's a chuckle on his lips, amused that you had taken over telling the story.

"And then one day I got fed up, asked to see the duke, burst into his office and said "Why don't you make your orders all in one go?!""

The scene in your mind is vivid now. The anger you felt at that moment whiplashed into your memory. It had been tiring, to go there everyday, only to deliver a miniscule amount of tea.

"And I said...?" Wriothesley has opted to lay his head on his fist, smile playing on his lips as you close the story.

You roll your eyes, "Here's your tea," but couldn't help the laughter that escaped your lips. "Poured me a cup as if you've never seen an angry person before. I was fuming!"

"It worked didn't it?" He had gone back to his food, hands now busy with cutting, smile still on his face. "I wasn't sure how to meet you again so I had ordered a box of tea for every day...that day you burst into my office? I just happened to be there at the right time, it was the first time in days I'd been able to sit and prep tea for myself. It was busy,"

"Or so you say,"

He chuckles at your suspicious look. "I made up for it, didn't I? The rest of the orders I placed, I personally picked them up from your store,"

"Everyday," you recall fondly.

"Every single day, I found time. And I'd do it all over again, in that same way, same words," he sounded like he was done talking, but him being the charmer that he is, added "except maybe I would've kissed you earlier. By the 24th order, maybe?"

You kick his leg from under the table. He hides his amusement with a short bark of laughter.

[strange-lamp-stranger]

i'm on chapter 5 of my reread of Aurora and i've decided i'm gonna use this post as a running tally of my favourite panels (mostly the silly ones).

under the cut because. long.

"...can we keep it? [watery puppydog eyes emoji]" (1.5.22)

he's so stupid (1.6.1)

for as kind and compassionate as she is, Alinua really knows how to make an intimidating entrance. (1.6.10)

official world's cutest queerplatonic couple (1.6.23)

ik this isn't quite what's happening, but it's funny to think of this as the first "world of cardboard" moment for Kendal (1.7.9)

Erin's never been particularly familiar with people who DO have a sense of self-preservation tbh (1.7.30)

woosh! (1.8.14)

old man yells at cloud (1.8.22)

the more i look at this panel the funnier it is (1.9.6)

"Daaaaad, I was trying to have a cool, serious moment!" <- same energy (1.9.22)

ever watch The Disastrous Life of Saiki K? because this part made me think of Kaido and i burst out laughing at the thought (1.10.23)

the WHAT? brothers (from highest to lowest): "huh!" "sorry??" and "...excuse me." (1.11.2)

everyone loves snrk (1.12.22)

i feel like that sometimes too, Erin. (1.12.28)

i could gush about how pretty Dainix is, but that would require me to screenshot and post literally every panel he's in, so i'll resign myself to just appreciating his cute expression in this one (1.13.14)

strong contender for favourite line in the entire comic (1.13.21)

yeah that's what my ringtone feels like to me too, honestly (1.14.23)

i love this whole scene so much. squealing and kicking my feet <3 i'm having such a good time <3 (Dainix certainly isn't) (1.15.29)

"EXCUSE YOU" (1.16.4)

i love how Falst's expressions can really turn on a dime. one of the many benefits of being a catboy (1.16.24)

i think i've posted about this exact panel before but. man do i love women (1.17.4)

hugs! hugs! hugs! (1.19.12)

when you're too short to Loom, your next best option is to Perch (1.19.14)

you're one to talk, Mr. One-Liner (1.19.32)

oh no, it's about to 'alas poor Yorick' him! (1.20.6)

dynamic duo in the Psychological Torture Zombie Maze! which fun bits will ensue next? (1.20.10)

snrk returns ! (1.21.7)

that's the same face i make when my chronically ill friends talk about their health problems tbh (1.21.7)

siblings, siblings, siblings, siblings! (1.21.24)

god forbid women do anything

damn i hit the image limit. alas. more in the reblog i suppose!

[rafecameronssl4t]

Distractions || nfl player!Rafe Cameron x dcc!reader

Summary: just Rafe distracting you while practicing 👀

Warnings: none

Word count: 986

A/n: slightly inspired by that one scene in one tree hill!! Also I’m rewatching the dcc documentary so expect some more dcc!reader content bc they’re so fun to write 😭

MASTERLIST (nfl!rafe x dcc!reader au masterlist)

“Is Y/n here?” Kelli’s voice echoes from the entrance of the locker room, her authoritative tone cutting through the low hum of conversation. Her no-nonsense tone makes heads turn, and the girls quickly quiet down. “Yes, ma’am,” you call back, straightening up from your stretches on the floor. Your muscles felt loose, but the nervous energy buzzing through you was hard to shake.

Kelli steps inside, clipboard in hand and an air of brisk efficiency about her. “Coach Johnson just let me know they’re doing maintenance in the stadium, so the Cowboys are gonna have to practice out on the field with us.” Your brow furrows slightly as you process her words.

“Oh,” you reply, forcing a neutral expression even though the thought of seeing him—Rafe—makes your heart skip. “Well, I guess that’ll be good practice for the rookies,” you add with a small smile, brushing off the flicker of anxiety. “That’s exactly what Judy and I were thinking,” Kelli says with a chuckle, glancing at her watch.

As she walks off, you take a deep breath and stand, mentally running through the routine. As you lead the girls out to the practice field, the sound of whistles and shouted commands grows louder. The Cowboys are already there, scattered across the field, stretching and warming up. The mingling energy of both teams fills the air, creating a palpable buzz.

You tell yourself not to look, to focus on your job. But your resolve falters, and your gaze flickers across the field. Almost as if on cue, your eyes find him—Rafe Cameron. He’s mid-stretch, one knee bent, his arm casually draped over it. His sharp blue eyes meet yours instantly, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. It’s like he knew you’d look.

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you snap your attention back to the task at hand. “Alright, listen up!” you call out, clapping your hands to gather the girls around you. “The Cowboys are running their drills, so we’ll stick to our side and stay out of their way. We’ll run through Thunder once or twice for warm-ups, then jump into the routines. Rookies, pay attention—we’ll do formations after.”

You glance around to make sure they’re focused, then step into place. “Hairflip on one, tap on two. Rookies, you’ll wait for the third count. Vets, arms on three. Let’s go from the top.” As the music starts, you lead the group, counting them in with precision. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Rafe standing off to the side during a water break, his gaze lingering on you.

You grit your teeth and force yourself to stay in the moment, reminding yourself this wasn’t the time—or place—to get distracted. But no matter how much you try to ignore it, his presence is impossible to shake. You keep your focus on the routine, calling out cues as the music plays, but every so often, you feel it—his gaze, burning through the distance like a magnet pulling you in.

When you steal a glance in his direction, Rafe is watching again, leaning casually on his knees, helmet tucked under one arm. His smirk is slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. You roll your eyes and turn back to your group, ignoring the flutter in your chest.

“From the top,” you announce, clapping your hands to refocus the girls. “Girls in this file, try and stay in line with Claire." You’re halfway through the routine, demonstrating the next sequence, when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. Rafe jogs over, cutting across the field toward you. He stops just outside your group, resting his hands on his hips, his shirt damp with sweat.

“Coach said I should work on my footwork,” he quips, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. “Thought I’d watch the pros.” The girls suppress giggles, their wide-eyed glances bouncing between you and Rafe. You tilt your head, shooting him a pointed look. “You’re distracting the girls, Cameron,” you say, feigning annoyance.

“Wouldn’t want to get in the way,” he replies smoothly, backing up a step but never breaking eye contact. “Okay, just ignore him,” you announce, turning back to your group. “Focus, everyone. Eyes on me.” You shoo him away with a dismissive gesture, earning a few quiet laughs from the girls. They fall back into position, and you lead them through the routine again, counting the beats aloud.

You’re so caught up in counting the beats that you don’t notice Rafe chasing a stray ball until it’s too late. “Look out!” Claire yelps as Rafe stumbles into your path, nearly knocking you off balance. His hands catch your arm to steady you, but the routine screeches to a halt. “Nice hands,” you say dryly, brushing him off as you step back, crossing your arms.

Rafe smirks, his gaze flickering down your frame and back up again. “Nice legs,” he counters, his voice low and teasing, eyes lingering a second too long. Your cheeks flush as you narrow your eyes at him. “Shouldn’t you be practicing instead of flirting?” “Who says I can’t do both?” he shoots back, his grin widening. Cameron!” Coach Johnson shouts from across the field, and Rafe gives you a little salute before jogging off, throwing one last look over his shoulder.

You shake your head, suppressing the smile tugging at your lips as you turn back to the group. “Alright, let’s try that again. No more interruptions!” But even as you say it, you can’t help but glance toward him one more time.

[kaivenom]

Hi :) could you please do some benn beckman headcanons (nsfw and sfw) that man is too overlooked 😔

Dating Benn Beckman would include...

A/N: this IS the first time i write for this man so i hope i did It right. NSFW under the cut

Masterlist

SFW

Like the rest of his crew, he is a womanizer and likes drinking and parties but he is the calm one among that storm of people.

He prefers to be a little distanced from all the noise that his mates are doing, just like you, and that's what make you two coincide that night.

He was trying to light Up his cigarrette, failling, and you offered your lighter. Of course you've been observing this fine men for a couple of minutes but this was the time that he noticed you.

That led to a nice and fine conversation until the sunset (which is a lot), and then his crew mates went out and took him with them.

"I hope we meet again lady." He simply said with a grin while his captain pinched his ear.

From that day, he was thinking about you, it's difficult for him to have such a nice, calm and genuine conversation like he had with you.

So, he tried to subtly convince Shanks to come back to the island, once, and then twice and third times....

Not that the crew were annoyed at him, they loved the party, so they accepted everytime and everytime he spent all night outside the club with you.

He didn't quite realize he liked you, he just thought that you were the best company he has and since you aren't from the crew, he just has to get to your island... But nobody takes that way if it's not because It likes someone.

You on the other hand, liked him and your know It but you were waiting for him to ask you out or something because he is the one with the difficulties.

But he went oblivious for several months, the moment when he realized that he liked you was the most innapropiate moment.

Shanks invited everyone to a brothel and of course he won't say no to his captains orders, but when he was with the hooker, he couldn't stop thinking about you....wishing It was you, moaning like a teenager just at the thought of you, wanting you to be there and be real, to say "I love you" to him.

He didn't even finished and ordered the girl to go out, he sat on the bed, naked and with an existencial crisis. He did in fact imagined that type of situation with you but he thought It was his usual men thought of fucking every one but seeing It so vividly and wanting It so badly WITH YOU, not anyone else but you.

He sat there the whole night, remembering all the times he was with you and seeing that scenes with a different point of view now.

That morning he said to Shanks that he needed to go to the island, Shanks simply said "Finally". It's clear that everyone but Benn noticed the truth.

You were on your house and this big appeared with a sweaty look, flowers, chocolate, a card and a plushie of you favourite animal... Like he has been running for the last hour getting all that stuff.

"I am not too late, right?"

"Late for what?"

"For you." And he left everything on the entrance and kiss you.

Now you are offically dating which means you now have to get along with the crew and that makes him jelaous, cause he is, a lot (he says that he is a man and know what men thought when they see a pretty girl, and you are one of those).

He is also a really oblivious men at the emotional side, he hada rough time starting to understand your mood and your subtle messages but he compensates It with his memory for special dates and good gifts (cause he showers you in them).

You are sometimes insecure of him being a pirate and experienced men and you just being you, but he says that that thoughts are stupid and that he loves you no Matter what.

Temple and forehead kisses almost everytime, kissing you in the mouth IS something private cause he can't keep It pg, if he tastes your mouth he becomes an animal.

The type of men that obliges you to sit on his lap on social events.

You somehow becomes the mom and dad of the crew, and they joke about that a lot.

He has had a lot of relationships previously but nothing serious, so he is a little insecure about doing things well, so he tries to put all his efforts for you to see that he loves you.

At some point he wants to live with you and maybe form a family and two things can happen, he leaves the Red haired pirates (difficult but if he is really sure he can do It) or you join the crew (which IS more likely).

This can sound crazy but i just picture you both on one of the crew's parties but you two are laying far from the people, on a corner. And you are lazily sat on his lap, chatting and drinking and he just starts smoking and at some point he takes your mouth and pushed the smoke into your mouth... Probably with weed and not tabaco.

Less to say, his lips are sweet cause he tries to always eat gum before you both kiss (especially if you dont like tabaco)

NSFW

He is experienced, a lot, so you are always on a rollercoaster of orgasms.

That sometimes makes you insecure but he is such a calming pressence and has a special, really sexy, way to explain things that justs turns you on and relaxs you.

The first time he almost looked like he was afraid to hurt, like his mind was somewhere else and you were a little worried about It but he was reliving the moment at the brothel and was trying to recompose himself cause you are not a hook Up you are his dreamed one, he wants to love you and to make you feel loved, to treat you with love not lust.

You kissed him slowly and he Finally started to do something. Your first time was filled with love and pure adoration.

But then you started to feel like he was repressing himself and of course you aproached him, and he explained everything and you understand It obviously but you wanted him to be more rude with you so you make sure to make him saw that.

"If you love me so much, fuck me like you mean It"

And with that, with that confirmation, he transformed into a beast. Daddy/sir kink, a little choke play, biting, a little bondage, doggystle, creampie and even anal.

You loved every minute of It, how he grabbed your hair and pulled you to meet his chest while he groaned on your ear and slamed his hips onto yours with a slap, how he cums inside you and pushes his sperm back into your cunt if it's driping.

Once he got the aproval expect a lot of that, cause he is a little kinky bastard and even loving you the most, he also loves the idea of having you under him whimpering and squirming, asking for his cock.

One of the things he likes the most is having contact with you, so his hands are everywhere on your body, pressing and squeezing, roaming all over your body.

When he is lazy or tired or even a little mean, he lets you ride him. He is still on charge and you know It but you love to be on top... The way his eyes look at you with adoration, how he helps you sink on his cock, how he sucks your tits with every thrust.

Speaking of sucking, he really likes to eat your pussy like a starved men but he loves when you suck his cock, it's like his stress reliever, he just lays there and all his problems go away.

Aftercare Its really important to him, specially if you two have been on a specially rough sex session. He never had to worry about these things but now he has to hold someone, he has to cuddle after.... And he is grateful for that.

[outofconcheol]

The Sun Also Rises (LMH x F!Reader)

pairing: dancer!Minho x ballerina!reader (afab)

genres/au/rating: smut, fluff, some angst, strangers to lovers, travel au, 18+

summary: sometimes, one night is all it takes to change everything. and that's where Minho meets you.

warnings: pov switches, feelings of burnout and poor mental health discussed, alcohol, swearing, alcohol, kind of a language barrier (Minho can understand but is bad at speaking English), lots of tension, they're literally idiots I can't, Hyunjin being the voice of reason, Kento Yamazaki also makes a cameo (twinnn where have you been)

word count: 8k

a/n: consider this my early bday gift to me (and Minho), since both of our bdays are coming up in October. this is based on the film Before Sunrise. I'm very happy with how this fic turned out, it feels very me, so i hope you enjoy! thank you to Beezy @hobeemin for the lovely banner!

smut warnings under the cut!

smut warnings: sexual tension abound, lots of kissing (too much for two people who just met), grinding, beach sex (be cautious when attempting irl), nipple play, fingering (f!receiving), pull-out method (again be cautious and wrap it before you tap it), cumshot

The night breeze rustles through the trees, and even though it's late, the city teems with life. Whispers can be heard around every corner, the clinking of wine glasses muddled with the sound of laughter. Minho’s stomach rumbles, the warm, spicy scent of paella wafting from somewhere nearby, and he remembers he hasn’t eaten since this morning.

For a brief moment, he misses the food back in Korea – the deep, earthy flavour of a steaming pot of doenjang jjigae from his eomma’s kitchen. He should really call his parents – they’d probably want to know how their son ended up lost and halfway across the world, stumbling through Gracìa on an empty stomach. 

To be fair, Minho didn’t even know himself. If he was Hyunjin, he could have said that he was attracted to the abstract, flowing architecture of Gaudì, and he wanted to study it. Maybe if he was Jeongin, he’d point to the numerous shops and boutiques that lined the streets of Barcelona, a fashion lover’s paradise. 

But he was Lee Minho –  a failed dance school drop-out, kicked out of his own crew because one day, the music had just stopped. And so did he, frozen in the middle of the routine, before he made a break for it and ran. The weak link in the chain. A note slightly out of tune. 

The discordance of it all didn’t escape him – being here in such an enchanting city, when inside it felt like he’d stumbled and stumbled until he wasn’t even sure if he’d ever be able to dance again. 

And he only had himself to blame.

The streets continue to wind, Minho’s sluggish feet under their spell, going wherever they lead. He remains a prisoner to his thoughts, the sights melding into a blur around him, until suddenly, he hears it. Around the corner.

Music.

And not just any kind – real music. The jovial sound of a live band, so different from the synthetic beats he was used to when it came to choreographing. His feet have a mind of their own, entranced and leading him straight to the source of the sound.

The scene he stumbles into is beyond what he could have imagined for this time of night – under a canopy of twinkling lights, were dancers. Dancers everywhere, twirling and prancing like they were out of a storybook, perfectly in tune with the music. 

Minho ducks behind a tree, his foot tapping in sync to the beat, and watches them dance, their toes skipping from right to left as they move back in forth in a circle. It’s beyond captivating, and he longs to join them. 

He wonders if they recognize him as one of them, or if he seems like just another plain tourist, happily enjoying the feeling of getting lost in a foreign city. 

The circle stalls, the music changing into a slower, more enthralling lilt, to signal the entry of someone new. Minho’s eyebrow quirks when the sea of people parts, the moon’s spotlight now on a solitary figure. 

His breath catches in his throat as he spots you – nimble movements a stark contrast to the rustic giddiness of the common crowd. He knows you must be classically trained – movements precise and ethereal, your meticulous form a stark contrast to the fluidity that surrounds you. He’s spellbound with the way you move – a vision of grace, so different from the swift, powerful movements he was used to executing, watching how the music takes hold of you, like you’re a marionette on strings, letting it lead you wherever you need to go.

Time ceases to exist the longer he watches, taken with the elegant lines of your body, a smile pulling at his lips. He’s so lost in his mind that he doesn’t notice when the music stops, until he feels the rustle of a figure next to him.

Minho turns in surprise, and tumbles backwards into the tree.

It’s you. The dancer.

Your doe eyes look up at him in concern, and it’s only then that Minho feels the sharp twang of pain from colliding with the sturdy trunk, rubbing gingerly at his shoulder.

“Are you always this clumsy?” Your lips curve in a lovely grin, and Minho feels his ears grow hot.

“I’m sorry, I’m new here, I didn’t…” he manages to choke out, too drawn in by the way your eyes sparkle with amusement and mischief.

“Sooo, should I call you New Here, or…” you trail off, and Minho pauses, a few silent breaths passing between you before he finally gets it. His name. You were asking for his name.

“Minho.”

“Ah. Minho. I’m ____.”

“You dance well,” Minho manages to blurt out. 

The words felt heavy on his tongue, like it’d been ages since he’d talked to someone unfamiliar, too caught up in his comfortable ways. His schedule had been simple. Eat, sleep, dance, repeat. And of course go home to feed the cats. But being here felt like challenging everything he’d known.

“You noticed?” You raise an eyebrow in question, and Minho can tell that you’re wondering whether he’s being genuine or saying it just to say it. You were probably used to it – fleeting tourists who flirted for a brief moment before disappearing into the night, too captivated by your beauty to act reasonably.

Maybe he was a fool then too.

“I dance as well. Not here though. Back home. It’s different,” he steps closer, heart warming when you don’t back away, honoured that he’s won your trust. Dance was a language he could always speak, no matter where he was in the world.

“Different isn’t always bad,” you reply, tilting your head curiously. “What do you dance?”

“Hip-hop,” he rambles, feeling his shyness dissipate when you tune in to the conversation. “It’s not like you, I mean you were–, wow, but I like to tell stories. When I dance.”

He feels himself grow warm at his stilted words, silently cursing the fact that he hadn’t taken Chan up on those English lessons when he’d met up with him for coffee last time. But he never imagined he’d be here.

Your smile only grows as you nod your head along with his words, understanding exactly what he meant.

“So, Minho, what brings you here? To Barcelona.”

Minho bristles, unsure how to answer the question. There were so many reasons, and you were a complete stranger. Did he dare reveal the truth?

“Here, I can be lost, I think,” Minho whispers, hoping you’ll know he means in more than ways than one. “Seoul is different. I think too much. The noise hurts.”

“I know exactly what you mean. I moved here six years ago, and sometimes it feels like I’m living inside a painting. It’s both magical and lonely sometimes.”

A flicker of relief washes over him. You understood him. Minho had been searching for so long for someone who understood – his friends could comfort him, but they didn’t really get it. The paralysis he felt. 

“You’re kind. Kind and good at dancing,” he grins shyly, bunny teeth poking through his lips.

“You’re good with words,” you tease back. “You should have been a writer instead.”

“Too late for that now,” Minho sighs, his entire figure slumping, and he watches you freeze. He wants to tell you it’s not your fault he feels this way, that you didn’t do anything, but the words remain clogged in his throat.

“Well it’s barely 10pm. I wouldn’t say it’s that late,” you say, voice filled with warmth, and Minho slowly comes back to himself, giving you a chuckle.

“Can I, you, we, go somewhere? Together?”

Minho watches you pause for a moment, scared that what he’d offered caused you to hesitate. But something about you made him want to keep talking to you, even if it was only for tonight.

“Sure, I’d love to.” He watches your eyes scrunch in enthusiasm. “I can show you some of my favourite places around the city.”

You beckon to him with a hand, gesturing to the shadowy streets. Minho gulped – this was the biggest risk he’d taken since being here, almost a risk as big as leaving Korea. But with the way you’d captured him from the very first moment he’d seen you tonight, he wondered if it might just be one that paid off.

The night air hums with a new kind of energy as Minho follows you through the streets – whereas before, it all seemed a blur, now the city had truly come alive in his eyes. He peered through the windows of every building you passed, watching happy patrons laugh with each other, the heady buzz of alcohol in their veins.

Minho’s stomach only grumbles louder at the thought of booze, a pang of hunger hitting him. Embarrassed, he braces a hand around his stomach, hoping you haven’t caught on —

But you’re more perceptive than he gives you credit for, already turning around to face him.

“Okay, I definitely know where we need to go first,” you flick his arm, and Minho yelps at the surprising amount of force in the tiny jab. “You can’t dance on an empty stomach.”

Minho wants to tell you that he’d never planned on dancing at all, wasn’t even sure if he could anymore, but you’re forging ahead, on a mission.

A couple of blocks later, and Minho is hit with a tantalizing array of scents – the zing of freshly ground spices, the florality of fresh fruits, and the richness of cooked meats.

“Welcome to one of my favourite places in Barcelona,” you grin, gesturing to the wide variety of stalls laid out in front of you both. “Please take your pick.”

Minho knows exactly what he wants, heading straight for a stall serving paella. He’d passed too many damn places with the stuff already, he wasn’t going to miss out on it this time.

You following along, practically skipping with him, eyes alight with excitement.

Minho falters when the kind old gentleman running the stall greets him with an ¡hola!.

“I, uh, uno, por favor,” he stutters, ears burning with embarrassment. 

You step in, gracefully saving Minho from his shame, quickly tittering off a huge order to the stall owner, and Minho feels himself relax.

“He said it’ll take a little bit for the food,” you tell him. “Do you want to explore for a bit?”

Bobbing his head yes, Minho wishes he could so badly take your hand as you weave through the market. But he wasn’t sure if you’d find that overstepping. Whatever he felt, all he knew was that the night seemed endless in the best way, full of possibilities.

The loud voices of the vendors and the clanging of different pots meld together like s symphony in his head, and Minho feels his cold limbs fill up with warmth. Maybe, just maybe, he’d come out of this trip being able to dance again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Minho sees something that makes him stop in his tracks. He taps you on the shoulder, and your face falls with concern, but when you turn to see what he’s pointing at, your eyes light up again.

“Hola,” Minho approaches the flower stall more confidently this time. The fresh scent of many different blooms makes him think of his mother’s garden in Korea, full of mugunghwas. He sees the brilliant hue of a bouquet of red carnations, and silently puts up a finger, his eyes darting to you.

The lady running the stall understands him immediately, her eyes gleaming with excitement. She grabs one from the bunch, taking special care to trim the stem. Minho rummages around in his pocket for some spare change, handing the lady more than she probably charged him for, but his heart thuds as he turns around, holding the flower out.

“For you,” he says shyly. “You’re a good guide.”

He watches your lips part in a surprised oh!, and your entire face changes colour when he holds out the flower, suddenly becoming just as shy.

“Oh Minho, you shouldn’t have… thank you.”

You take the flower from him, thumbing at the soft petals and inhaling the sweet scent. You’d received hundreds of flowers in your lifetime, huge bouquets filled with every single kind you could think of, but somehow Minho’s humble gift of a single stem makes you feel the most special. Like he actually sees you.

The two of you remain there for a few moments, unable to follow the exchange with words, until you catch the lady from the stall eyeing you both curiously.

“I think… I think maybe we should go eat,” you finally manage to breathe out, breaking the haze of the exchange. You weren’t sure why it had been so charged, a still moment amidst the hectic market, but it felt like something you’d want to hold on to.

"___?” Minho looks at you, his voice soft. “I’m glad I came here. With you.”

You met his gaze, heart beating just a little faster. 

"Me too."

Belly full, Minho follows you again through the city. Anyone looking at the two of you would think he was a little lost cat, following you around. But really, it was the opposite. Something about him made you want to stay with him. In your six years in the city, you hadn’t made very many friends. You chalked it up the the demanding nature of your job, saying you were always tired after dance practice and your feet were sore from wearing pointe shoes 85% of the time.

But you knew that was mostly an excuse. Right here, right now, it felt nice being with someone. Sharing things with someone. It only made you think of what would happen when the night would end, and Minho would leave, your loneliness welcoming you into the abyss once more.

Turning the corner, you spot it. The cozy bar was tucked away on a quiet street, its silence punctuated by the soft clinking of glasses.

Pushing the wooden door ajar, you lead Minho into the small, quaint space, filled with flickering candles and the scent of citrus and spices. The bartender sees you come in, waving a hand in greeting, and his grin only widens more when he sees Minho trail in behind you.

“Hello Kento,” you wave back, and Minho pauses again, studying the man across the bar.

“おはようございます (ohayu gozaimasu),” Minho’s low voice rumbles among the quiet din of the bar, and your jaw drops open in surprise. Minho does nothing but wink, moving to a quiet corner to pull out a chair for you.

Kento comes by to take your order, tempting you both with some of the fine-label vermouth he keeps under the bar, and you watch Minho quietly converse with him for a few moments, exchanging hushed words in Japanese.

His voice is pretty, you think. In another life maybe he could have been a singer.

“You’re full of surprises,” you tease him, watching him fidget with his napkin. 

“Tokyo is close by to Seoul,” he shrugs like it’s nothing. “And I like to watch animes.”

“Where did you come from Minho? Why haven’t we met before?” You give him a wide grin.

Minho becomes quiet, his handsome face marred by what seems to be a dark cloud.

“Leaving Korea was not my plan,” he manages to grunt. “I have things there. My cats. An apartment. Dancing.”

“So what made you do it?” The words slip out, and instantly you regret them, watching pain twinge on his face. You’d hit an unexpected nerve.

“I’m looking for something,” he admits. “I don’t know what it is. My friend Hyunjin told me about Barcelona.”

“Well I think we were always meant to meet then. Hyunjin sent you to me so I can help you,” you reach over, grabbing his hand within yours. Under the dim light you study it – muscled and with prominent veins. He had a dancer’s body for certain. “Us lonely dancers only have each other to rely on huh?”

“Dancing made me happy. I, uh, what’s the word, like clothes, they–” he stumbles through his thoughts, but you don’t need him to voice them.

“Fit. It makes you feel like you belong.”

“Not anymore.”

“Why?” you blurt out, instantly regretting it when he recoils. “I’m sorry Minho, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no it’s okay.”

Kento swings by then, with two glasses of vermouth, rich, and slightly sweet with a hint of bitterness. Watching Minho knock back the alcohol, you see his body loosen up, instantly feeling the tension from the previous conversation melt away.

“Have you ever had a bad dance?” Minho asks, brown eyes glimmering with interest.

“Oh, many times,” you respond with a light laugh. “One time, when I just moved here, I slipped during a performance of Swan Lake in front of a huge crowd. I locked myself in my apartment for a week.”

Minho chuckles, but then leans in, like he’s genuinely concerned. “How did you recover?”

You know he’s probably talking about the smarting ankle you must have had, but you think he means more.

“I walked in the next week and continued dancing like nothing happened, But it took time to get over. The pressure to be perfect can be overwhelming sometimes.”

Minho nodded, understanding the weight of expectations when it came to doing what you both loved. 

��I want to let go,” he says, gaze softening. “But it’s hard.”

“I believe in you, Minho. You’ll find the music again.”

“For you, I’ll try,” he teases softly, but you can hear the hint of determination in his voice.

Your eyes met, and for a moment, the air between you crackled. You realize this entire time, you hadn’t let go of Minho’s hand. And he hadn’t made you either. Pulling him up with you, Minho yelps in surprise, barely having a second to wave goodbye to Kento before you’re dragging him through the door, back out into the cold night.

“I think I know something that may help.”

Buzzing from the alcohol, you drag Minho deeper into the neighbourhood, the glow of the streetlights casting a warm golden hue over the cobblestones. 

Heat radiates from where his palm meets yours, a soft breeze helping to calm the racing of your heart. Eventually, you hear it – the echo of a faint tune reverberating from the nearby buildings, and you know you’re almost there. A group of street musicians come into view, their lively jig fading away to a slower, more sensual melody.

“You’ve been talking this entire time about being bad at dancing, but I haven’t seen you actually do it,” You giggle, eyes gleaming with mischief. You take a few steps towards the middle of the square, beckoning Minho with a playful grin. “Come on.”

You watch Minho stall, and your heart races, thinking maybe you messed up. Maybe it was too soon for him, maybe he was scared and didn’t want to try again.

“Here? In front of everyone?” he replied, chewing nervously at his lip. 

“Why not?” you challenge. “Forget everyone else. It’s just you and me. Two people who love to dance.” 

You squeeze Minho’s hand in yours, squealing in shock when he pulls you close to him, arm wrapping around your waist. Leaning into his chest, you inhale his warm, woody scent, feeling yourself shiver.

“Okay,” he sighs. “But don’t think badly of me.”

“I could never,” you whisper into his neck.

Minho chuckles at that, stepping back to dramatically bow, before sweeping you into his arms once more. You move into the open space of the plaza, surrendering to the rhythm as the notes of the music envelope you both. Pressing lightly into Minho, your hand comes to rest in the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“Tell me more about you,” you breathe against his lips. “I want to know.”

“My cats, they’re called Soonie, Doongie and Dori, they live with me in my apartment,” he smiles, pride taking over his expression when he thinks of them. “You?”

You twirl free from him, dress flaring for a moment,, then spin back, hand finding his once more.

“My mother was a ballet dancer. She hurt herself when I was young and could never dance again. It’s why I chose to follow her,” you admit, finally letting yourself break free from the walls you’d built.

You let your arms float gracefully above your head, marveling at the way you and Minho moved together. His movements  were fluid and free, a sharp contrast to your precision, bodies weaving together like the finest tapestry. The air between you crackled, the pull between you like two halves of a magnet.

“You’re beautiful,” Minho says, his gaze intense as it meets your eyes, then travels, to your lips, down your neck, even further. You feel a throb between your legs, sparks erupting across your skin everywhere he touched. 

The heat between you was palpable, an electric current that seemed to pulse with every beat of the music. The world no longer felt as big or scary anymore, narrowed down to the two of you, everything else fading into the background. 

Suddenly, the scene around you spins, and you’re looking up at the stars, Minho’s face hovering above yours. You lean in, lips ghost against his jaw.

“Am I distracting you, Minho?” His breath caught at your query, and he sighs, drinking in the subtle scent of your skin.

You gasp when he spins you around, back meeting his front. Shivers run up your spine when he leans in, chuckling in your ear.

“Yes, but I like it,” he groans, low voice ringing in your ears, and everything around you fades as you begin to move together. Hips swaying side to side, Minho’s palms settle below your waist, so close to where you need him, and you whine softly. Even though you’re turned away, you can feel his smirk in your ear, and it all feels like it’s too much. Yet you don’t want it to stop.

The haze lifts with one particular thrust of his hips into you. A small moan leaves your mouth, and everything clears, and your heart begins to race. Shakily, your eyes meet Minho’s, surprised to find them blown out in deep pools of lust.

Minho’s shaking fingers cup the line of your jaw, his lips pressing against yours. You comd your fingers through his hair, sighing against him, finally giving in. He kisses you first with the utmost gentleness, pulling back to search your eyes for anything wrong.

Despite the chill in the night air, you’ve never felt warmer.

When you nod no, Minho leans in again, his previous gentleness giving way to hunger, the tip of his tongue gliding past your lower lip, sighing at your taste. You feel like you’ll keel over if he’s not holding you, all the blood in your body rushing away from your head.

When he finally pulls away, breathless and wide-eyed, you feel your words clogged in the back of your throat.

“I-,” you struggle, seeking brief respite from the emotions coursing through you, but not wanting the moment to end.

“I didn’t expect this night to turn out like this,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper, filled with awe.

“I’m glad it did,” Minho replied. 

Looking around, you realize the music had long stopped, the band dispersing, no sign that they were even there to witness you and Minho’s dance.

“Do you have to go?” Minho asks, and his voice sounds impossibly small, like he’s afraid to know the answer.

You pause. So much waited for you ahead – performances, errands, the struggles of daily life in a foreign city. But you decided that right now, you had more than enough time to leave that behind. 

Shaking your head, you nod no, air swirling with the thrill of the unexpected. And you were ready to embrace whatever came next.

Minho feels the breeze ruffle his hair, and lets his eyes close, shoulders sighing in relief. The lapping of the waves against the shore becomes even louder, the sound of traffic and other people fading away. The sand squishes in between his toes, and he lies back on his jacket, looking straight up at the stars.  For the first time since he’d left Seoul, Minho felt completely at peace. Whereas uncertainty scared him before, now he completely welcomed the unknown. After all, it was what had lead him to you.

Minho feels his body heat when he thinks of you two dancing in the square, your face looking up at his, the feeling of your soft lips. It’d been so long since he was last with someone – dance always took over his life, leaving little time for love. But he thinks that maybe he’d been going about it all wrong.

He feels a tap on his shoulder, and he turns to see you lying right next to him on top of your coat. He can feel the warmth radiating from you, your hair tousled by the sea breeze and flying in the wind.

He really wants to kiss you again.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, letting the rhythmic crash of waves fill in for the unspoken words in between you.

“Hey,” you interrupt the quiet with a whisper, like you’re afraid to shatter the serenity of this moment.

“Hey,” Minho says back, reaching over to brush a stray strand of hair out of your eyes. His fingers linger a little too long on your cheekbone before he drops it.

You stare at him, swirling patterns in the sand between you.

“I get it, you know. How you feel. I feel it every day when I dance. Ballet is beautiful, but it’s also... constricting,” you sigh. “Sometimes I just want to be free – free to dance, to live, to love.”

Minho nods, feeling a lump in his throat. 

“I also want that. But I’m scared. What if I’m free and I’m still not happy?”

There’s a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, a rawness in his voice. 

“I think happiness finds you when you least expect it,” you say gently, your voice like a gentle pat on the back.

Minho had never expected you at all. But he was glad you were here anyway.

“Can I kiss you?” He manages to choke out, heart racing as he takes in the way the moonlight casts shadows against the curve of your jaw and the softness of your lips. The urge to touch you again felt almost unbearable.

The space between you vanishes, and Minho sees you smile, leaning in closer, and his heart thuds in his chest. He reaches out again, pulling you towards him.

Your lips meet softly, shy and tentative compared to the way he kissed you in the square. It’s as gentle as the lulling of the waves, and Minho feels the world fade away, only able to register the cold sand underneath him, and you. 

As you broke apart, breathless, Minho sees you search his face. 

“What’s on your mind, Minho?”

Minho knows he’s always been pretty poor with words. Chan was the lyrical one in the friend group. Where Minho thrived, and always had, was action. So he decides to show you.

. . . 

Minho leans in again, capturing your lips with a fierce urgency, releasing a euphoric sigh into your mouth. Not wanting to push more than you’re comfortable, he wants for you to respond, fingers carding into his hair, pulling slightly at the strands, warmth blossoming in his chest.

You wonders if he knows you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse point right there below your fingertips, and you reach for his hand. 

“I want you,” Minho finally manages to say. The words are strained, like he’s been holding them back for too long. 

“I thought it was just me this entire time,” your own voice cracks.” I thought you were just being nice.” 

Because the truth was, you’d wanted him the very first moment you saw him. He may have thought little of himself, but he was a vision in your eyes. A masterpiece to be admired, a person to be cherished.

Minho pulls you into him, body meshing with yours, until you can no longer tell where he ends and you begin. You gasp when you feel his hardness underneath his jeans.

“I am not just nice,” he smiles against your lips. His hands cradle your face, before reaching his arms behind you, fingers ghosting down the the curve of your spine. 

Kicking your shoes off, you feel his fingers run up and under your skirt, skimming against your bare legs and he your breath hitch, chest rising and falling in the pale light of the moon. 

Lips falling to your neck, he inhales your sweet jasmine scent, teeth grazing lightly against the soft skin. You whine into his mouth, hands fisting at the edge of his shirt, struggling to pull it over his head. He slides over you, using one hand to pin both arms behind you, reaching over with the other to slide your your dress down to your stomach, finally peeling it off, and you lie back, eyes alight with desire as you take him in.

The clink of his belt rings in your ears as both your clothes finally finish falling away, and desire pools between your legs. Sliding up against your warm coat, you spread your legs for him, a low hum escaping his parted lips at your messy arousal gleaming on your thighs in the low light. Trailing his eyes back up to your lips, he inches towards you, his breath tickling your bare skin as he leaves kisses on your jaw, your collarbone, in between your breasts. The veins in his arms bulge as his hands come up to cup both your breasts, rubbing your nipples between his fingers until they stiffen, and you let out a soft moan.

The teasing doesn’t stop, his lips enclosing over the hardened buds, messily sucking on them. While it felt amazing, you knew the sun would rise soon, and the time you had with each other was limited. You trap his hand in yours, guiding it to your throbbing clit. He nudges your legs, coaxing you to spread them further, before plunging a finger inside your wet heat, sliding it in and out. Your breath comes out in sharp gasps, your pleas for more being answered swiftly as he slides a second one in, laying his head on your stomach as more and more of your arousal coats his fingers. You mewl, unable to contain your volume as you swallow them deeper, loving the rough drag against your slick walls. His thumb grazes your clit, rubbing it in slow, delicate circles before speeding up, rubbing faster, and his grunts of determination are what push you over the edge as you come.

Breath leaving you in heavy pants, your lips find his desperately, and he teases you with his tongue, his hard cock rubbing up against your wet entrance. You gasp when he pushes in, and he pauses, wondering if it’s too much, but you nod, letting him know it’s okay. He thrusts shallowly, before pushing in all the way, watching you squirm underneath him while rutting your hips.

“Fuck,” he sighs, pushing his cock in deeper, bucking his hips against yours as your nails dig into his back. “You feel so good.”

“Oh my god, Minho, I can’t–, it’s too much,” you groan, rocking against him in an attempt to quell the burning in between your thighs..

“That’s it,” he grunts, trapping your clit in between his fingers, rubbing tight circles until you snap, seeking his lips once again, your orgasm flooding your entire body like a wave. Minho speeds up his thrusts to join you, groaning when he feels himself explode, pulling out and jerking himself off, white ropes of cum splashing against his toned stomach and onto your  stomach before slumping against you.

You can feel his his chest heave with the weight of his breaths, your sticky bodies curled around each other. You begin to shiver from the breeze, and Minho cradles your sticky body in his arms, brushing the damp strands of your hair from your face before pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“가지마, 나랑 같이 있어 (gajima, narang gatchi isseo)” he whispers against your cheek. You don’t know what the words mean, but you hold them close anyway.

When the first light of dawn washes over the beach, orange and pink and purple poking out from between the clouds, you both know it’s time. It’s hushed – an eerie silence falling in between you and Minho as you scramble to throw your layers back on, the sticky feeling between your thighs a reminder that it hadn’t all just been a dream. 

From the corner of your eye, you see Minho hum absentmindedly to himself, running his fingers through his hair to tame the messy strands, and your heart lurches. 

The silence remains as you bid the sea farewell, the familiar streets of the city you called home greeting you once more. Only this time, you felt like a stranger, unsure of where your relationship stood. You supposed the same could be said for the man next to you.

It takes a few short moments before you’re seated at a café, stirring your coffee pensively. The rich, bitter aroma mixes with the salt from the sea that sticks to your clothes, and you feel nauseous. Across from you, Minho was gazing out at the horizon, his expression pensive.

You knew it was only supposed to be temporary. One of those single brief moments where two strangers met each other, eventually passing like ships in the night, both of them holding onto the memory forever. So why did it hurt so much?

“Are you ready to go back to work?” Minho asked, his voice warm and gentle, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Yeah,” you replied, forcing a smile. “I’ve been rehearsing for weeks. But…” 

You hesitate, heart feeling heavy.

“I know,” Minho finishes your thought. “It feels different this time.”

“I love ballet, I really do,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper. “But dancing isn’t my whole life. I think I’m just like you Minho. I’ve been searching for something real, something that goes beyond the stage.”

You watch Minho’s face twist, like he wants to say something, and you already know he would have asked you if you’d found it. Because he’d been searching for the same thing. It felt so cruel to have it ripped from your grasp the moment the sun began to rise.

You shared a moment of silence, the weight of everything hanging between you. You took a sip of your coffee, but instead of calming you, the warm liquid only makes your heart race.

“What are you going to do?” You asked Minho, watching his face jump to meet your gaze. “After tonight?”

“Go back to Seoul,” Minho struggles to keep his voice steady. “Maybe take a break from dance, to try something new.”

“Do it,” you encouraged, voice wobbling. “You owe it to yourself to explore what brings you joy. Don’t let fear hold you back.”

The café soon begins to fill with the clink of dishes, the laughter of patrons, the aroma of freshly baked pastries. It felt surreal, almost like a scene from a movie.

Minho reached across the table, his hand covering yours. “Thank you ___. For everything. I wish I knew how to say more.”

You squeezed his hand gently, eyes glistening. “You don’t have to say anything. Just promise you won’t forget this.”

You won’t forget me.

While you and Minho labour through finishing your breakfast, the clock behind you continues ticking, each passing second a reminder that time was running out.

By the time you leave, the sun has fully risen, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets. Walking side by side, you travel deeper into the city, the streets blurring into each other until you come upon a familiar one. The one that leads to your apartment. It was over. 

“What did it mean?” you ask him, voice tinged with sadness. “What you said on the beach?”

Minho’s smooth voice had lingered in the back of your mind all morning, and you wished you knew Korean, that you could say something back to him. Like he’d tried for you.

Minho looked at you, a hint of a smile on his lips, though his eyes were clouded with emotion.

“I can’t tell.”

Both of you knew it was because it might change everything.

You falter, wondering if you should say something, make a promise to keep in touch, to meet again. But it seems so useless, knowing Minho would probably never come back, and you’d never scrap together the time or money to fly to his side of the world.

You settle for throwing your arms around him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. You bury your head into his neck, committing his familiar scent to memory, wishing it could last forever.

When you pull away, you’re already backing down the street, Minho’s somber expression looking after you.

“I guess this is it,” you said, voice trembling slightly.

Minho nodded, a bittersweet smile on his lips. 

“Take care of yourself, ___.”

The knot in your stomach only grows tighter when you see him step away, tears pricking your eyes. With one last lingering look, he turned and walked away, the sunlight catching in his hair.

As he turned the corner, you whispered a silent wish to the rising sun, that no matter what happened, that Minho would be happy. And that if he was, maybe you could be too.

Adjusting your pointe shoes, the soft strains of music fill the air. You stand on your tip toes, gazing at your reflection in the mirror. What looks back at you looks the same as it always has – perfect form, straight posture, the picture of elegance. But only you know there’s something different now, a wild longing in your heart.

It had been months since that one night with Minho, but he’d never left your mind. Somehow, even though he was oceans away, his ghost trailed after you everywhere you went. When you spun, you could almost feel his hands around your waist, guiding you in a duet. When you came home to your apartment, you wished he was there, the two of you laughing over a cup of coffee. Every time you smelled the ocean breeze, you remembered his lips meeting yours, bodies tangled together in the sand.

He was everywhere and nowhere to be found, all at once.

When practice ends, you chat with your fellow dancers, wishing them a swift goodbye before running out the door.

When the longing built to its worst, you always knew where to go, the warmth of Kento’s bar waiting for you at the end of another rough day. Before, he would tease you, asking where your “special friend who spoke good Japanese” was, but now he only slides a matcha in your direction, his eyes sad while he chuckles about how you needed to cut back on the vermouth.

In a daze, you scroll through your phone, heart dropping when you realized there were no photos of Minho in your phone. The date remained a figment of your memory, like he’d never existed at all. And you had nothing to look back on.

Tears prick your eyes when you realize how stupid you’d been. So caught up in the moment that you hadn’t even thought of asking for his number, or any contact information. There were a million people named  “Minho” from Seoul to wade through every time you opened social media to check.

You wondered if Minho thought of you as often as you thought of him. What was he doing now? Was he happy?

Sighing heavily, you decide you’ll probably never know the answer.

Until your phone buzzes.

. . .

Minho sighs deeply, his muscles aching from another grueling day in the studio. He feels Soonie brush against his feet, his oldest friend curling up into a ball at his feet, and he reaches down to scratch between his ears. Looking out over the balcony, the twinkling city lights of Seoul gleam back at him, but his thoughts are full of another place. And another person. 

No matter how much he immersed himself in his routine—classes, rehearsals, and performances—something felt off. His friends would joke about his trip, saying he’d come back a changed man, like a monk who’d found enlightenment, but his serious expression always shut them down. 

He hears footsteps on the balcony behind him, and Hyunjin comes to sit next to him, holding out a steaming cup of noodles in his hands.

“Eat hyung,” he scolds Minho. “You have to be exhausted from practice today.”

Minho accepts the cup, picking up a few with his chopsticks, but decides he can’t stomach them, staring absently at the cup.

“Hyung, I don’t mean to pry, but,” Hyunjin sounds unsure, like he’s poking a sleeping dragon. “What happened in Barcelona?”

Minho shoots up at Hyunjin’s perceptive question, knowing his pabo face was terrible at hiding things. Especially from his best friend. 

Whereas Minho struggled to find the words with you, they all came flooding out in front of Hyunjin, recalling everything from the moment he saw you to how you continued to linger in his mind even now. How he couldn’t shake you no matter how hard he tried.

Hyunjin listens along, nodding his head in understanding, and finally leans back, brushing a hand over Soonie’s fur.

“Hyung, I know you’re stupid, but like, have you ever thought about just reaching out? Why are you torturing yourself like this?”

“Hyunjin-ah,” Minho pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t understand, it’s–”

“Complicated? What is so complicated about it? You like her. It sounds like she likes you. Why waste time on the what-ifs?”

Hyunjin pats him on the back, saying that if the weekend rolls around and Minho doesn’t have an update for him, he’ll threaten to air-fry him.

Minho sighs, taking a deep breath. He pulls out his phone and opens Instagram, thumb hovering over your username. He’d found you right after he’d left of course, easily putting your name and Barcelona together. But he’d never been able to take the final leap to reach out, to build on whatever had started that night.

But now, he decides he’s done wasting time.

When Minho steps off the plane, the air in Barcelona is thick with the smell of orange blossoms and the distant strumming of Spanish guitar. It had only taken a few messages back and forth for you two to fall into the same easy rhythm. Hyunjin teased him for constantly checking his phone for notifications from you, but deep down, he knew that his friends wanted him to chase whatever made him happy.

It hadn’t taken much longer for him to decide to decide to book a flight, seeing an ad for the ballet troupe’s latest performance on your Instagram story. Now, as he watches the streets pass by in the cab, he feels like he might be nauseous, wondering if he’d made the right choice.

But then he thinks back to how one night hand changed everything, and decides that you’re a chance worth taking. 

When he arrives at the performance hall, Minho ducks by the crowd, slipping into the plush velvet seat. Around him, the audience buzzes with excitement, but Minho pays them no mind, his eyes trained on the stage, dark for now.

When the lights go down and the curtains draw back, Minho has to hold in his breath. It was exactly like the first time.

You, in your silver and white costume, gliding across the stage like a wisp of smoke, letting the music lead you wherever you needed to go. Your performance cries with unspoken passion and longing and Minho wonders if all this time, you’ve felt the same way, unable to let him go like he had with you.

Minho doesn’t know if minutes or hours pass before the music finally stops, but he pushes his way through the audience, moving against the crowd to find the backstage exit. To find you.

. . .

“I’m sorry sir, you can’t come back here, this is only for performers…” 

The security guard’s voice booms at the door to the dressing room, and Sakura, your fellow dancer, nudges you, rolling her eyes. A laugh bubbles in your throat, wondering what crazy person had made their way backstage, but then you hear it.

A voice that stops you in your tracks. One you thought you’d never hear again.

“Please, I just need to –, please,” it begs, and you’re up out of your chair before you can even stop yourself.

Pushing past the guard, your eyes widen in disbelief when you see Minho outside. He looks different now, hair longer, and maybe the colour had changed, but the real difference is in his eyes. No longer empty, they light up when they see you.

“Minho?” You whisper, unable to believe that it’s actually real. That he’s actually here.

“Surprise,” he grins, taking a step towards you.

The security guard eyes you both suspiciously, Minho in his long trench and crisp pressed slacks, and you in your sweats, the remnants of your shimmery makeup still lingering on your face, before he slips away.

“What are you doing here?”

“가지마, 나랑 같이 있어 (gajima, narang gatchi isseo). It means that I want you to stay together with me,” he admitted, voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions churning inside you both. 

Tears of happiness shimmered in your eyes as you moved closer, closing the distance between you two. 

“I thought you were just being nice,” you joke, but it comes out a sob.

Minho took your hands in his, and you feel the warmth radiate from his skin. 

“I am not just nice,” he smiles, reaching over to thumb away a stray tear rolling down your cheek. His lips fill the spot where the tear had once been.

“Come with me,” he whispers against your temple. “I have to show you something.”

. . .

Hand in hand, the cobblestone streets of Barcelona greet you both once more, only this time, everything had changed.

Minho comes to a pause right then, feeling the weight that he’d been shouldering for months finally lift from his shoulder now that he had you in his arms again.

“Do you remember this place?” he asked.

You looked around, a smile spreading across your face as recognition dawned. “This is where we danced that night.”

“Will you dance with me again?,” he poses, his chest  filled with fear and trepidation, but also hope.

You take a step back, sinking into a deep bow in front of him. Minho grins, catchind your hand to spin you back towards him. The world around you faded as you began to move together, time stopping for the both of you.

As he slowed, breathless and beaming, he feels you burrow into the crook of his neck., whispering against his skin.

“Am I distracting you Minho?”

Minho tilts his chin up to meet your gaze, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Yes, but I like it,” he breathes, closing the gap to crash his lips against yours. “I like you.”

“I like you too, Minho.”

The sun would rise again tomorrow. But this time, you’d be by his side.

a/n pt. 2: this reminds me of Collision!Minho a bit, they're like two sides of the same coin haha. As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

[rowanmutt-afterdark]

Kinktober Day 4 Sounding (TFO Orion and D16)

Word Count: 1,511

TFO Orion and D16 X Cybertronian GN Reader

18+ tags: Rough sex, teasing, sounding, and light voyeurism.

(Yes I am planning a second part, the original plan was to make it 3,000 words. That backfired so expect a part 2!!)

Read more below the cut!

During the day, you were all miners working hard in the mines to keep Iacon running. At night, you and your two mechs were lovers who couldn't get enough of one another. The three of you retreated to your respective stations and waited until every bot was in recharge when you all snuck off to enjoy each other's company.

Which brings you to now.

The muffled sounds of Orion were erotic, his hip struts bucked as the vibrating rod within his spike made him a complete mess for D16. You watched the arousing scene before you unfolded as D moved behind your shared lover and grabbed his neck cables with a rough yet calculated gentle hold. It was firm, pulling his helm back so he could kiss the whimpering mech's cheeks as he sobbed behind the gag and blindfold.

“You are doing so well Orion, you have no idea how beautiful you look right now. The way you squirm, begging for release. It's intoxicating, I feel so lucky to see you like this.” D16 purrs in the sinfully deep voice of his he used when he was aroused. It sent shivers down your spinal strut.

To bear witness to such an intimate display, your partners taking part in this little fantasy you thought up was such an honor to you. Your spike was pressing hard against its housing. It was becoming unbearable, but you stayed closed while D took care of Orion.

His servos traced down his front, focusing on the sensitive cables lining just under the edge of his bulky chassis. His digits explore Orion's heated frame, feeling up every inch with eager optics. Hungering for any reaction he could get out of your shared partner, his golden yellow optics were dark with desire, and his intake was drawn back in a smirk that showed just how much he was enjoying being in charge of the both of you.

His optics focused back on you, and your frame stiffened under the heated stare. His frame rumbled as his servo moved to the blindfold and removed it to allow him sight once again. Orion's optics flickered and adjusted to the light before he focused on the two of you. D16 leaned down to kiss Orion's helm before he stalked over to your kneeled position.

He looked over to Orion and barked an order. “Don't look away and don't overload. You must keep your optics on us at all times.” He slowly walked around your form, his servo grabbing a hold of your helm with a low, dark chuckle as he pushed you down.

Faceplate on the ground, aft up. His servo pinned you down with ease while the other rubbed along your panel, feeling for the sensitive wires to trigger that would open your valve. His thick digits ardently sought for that wire until it was pressed upon and the covering of your valve popped open. D rumbled his growl, not quite a chuckle. No, this was primal. It was low and vibrated through your chassis as the mech mounted you without hesitance.

His larger frame slotted against your own, fitting together like two pieces to a puzzle. Your frame shuddered at the impending thrill, his digits teasing your valve entrance. Smearing the lubricant around, testing your eager hole for the next step. His knees dropped one after the other as he pressed your frame into the floor, his hips pressed flush to your aft while one arm wrapped around your middle and the other went to your intake. His digits covered in your fluids pushed past your dermas, and you whined against the blunt object as he urged your glossa to clean it off.

Solvent soaked his digit, the writhing mass in your intake covered it until it was cleaned to his liking, and without warning, his digit was joined by another before the third was shoved inside. Your intake stretched wide and and the three large intrusions thrust inside to cover them in your solvent.

“Get them all nice and wet for me. Make sure they are throughly lubricated.” He purred, admiring the way your optics flickered as your frame started to whirr with the fans trying to cool your heated frame. His digits pushed further into your open intake, coating them with the fluids pooling as you drooled from the intrusion. Your glossa dragged along them to soak them as requested. He hummed approvingly as his hips grind against your rear excitedly at the feeling of your moist orifice preparing them for whatever he had planned.

He pulls his servo away, his digits throughly coated in solvent, he reaches down between your frames, and you hear a hiss, then something hard pressed against you. The slick sounds of something moist is heard from just behind you, curious, you lean your helm down and look under your frame to see that D is stroking his erect spike. It's absolutely weeping with trans fluids. His servo that was in your intake is stroking it. A chuckle vibrates youcatxck, you pull your helm back up to see that D is watching you.

You flush at the fact you got caught watching him lube his spike up. He doesn't push the subject. Instead, he pushes your helm down against the ground once again as he aligns himself with your valve and pushes inside your hole with little resistance. You gasp as he bottoms out with ease inside of you, his servo runs down your front until he reaches the buldge where his spike rests within your clenching walls. A low moan leaves him, a playful nip to your audial with a low rumble of his chassis as a growl passes through him

A whine from Orion has you glancing at him, but D quickly snatches your chin up and makes you look away from the needy bot.

“Eyes forward, he has to watch as I ravage your body all night long~” He purrs before his hips start moving. His spike is thrusting slowly at first, building to a speed that is carnal and rough. The speed takes you by surprise as each thrust leaves you breathless as he rearranges your insides with a pace so fast and hard you can't think. The noises you are making are lewd, solvent drools past your dermas, knees weak, and a valve pulsing with a building charge that has you begging for him to finish inside of you.

Orion is watching from his spot. His spike is aching with the need to release. His transfluids chamber aches to purge the building fluid, but the obstruction inside his spikes channel prevents him from doing so. He watches D ravage your frame, fragging you with a relentless pace. He's jealous that he isn't the one pulling the noises from you. He wants nothing more than to break from his binds and sample that tight valve he knew would suck him inside without hesitance.

Orion shifts his leg struts to sit just under him and starts to grind himself against his metal, groaning in relief as the aching need to be touched is achieved. It wasn't the touch he wanted, but it would do. He watched as D chased his building charge. The snarls and growls of his pleasure were hot. Fueling his grinding to get faster, his valve clenching around nothing as his node drags along his leg and with a roll of his hips he starts to grind roughly at a pace that starts to push him to the edge of his building overload. His hips rock desperately, humping with huffs of pleasure leaving him as he feels his charge building tight within his frame. It hurts so bad. He just wants to let go!

Your towards your own end, the savage rocking of his hips against your own is mind numbing. You are lost to the world around you as the rolling heat is close to snapping. A servo is between your spread thighs and rubs at your node as a low, sultry voice whispers a command.

“Overload for me.” D whispers, and you listen.

Your frame stiffened and shook as the hot flash of pleasure spreads through your body and shakes you to your very core. You cry out as your valve snaps down and D follows suit. His spike pumps you full with his transfluids as he fills your chamber with his hot fluids. You feel your body go limp, falling back against his as the euphoria floods your system, and D holds you close to his body to kiss your face and helm with his own exhaustion curling around his processor. He does pause to see that Orion is heaving, he grows worried that something happened until his optics land in the sounding rod on the floor,a limp spike, and transfluids covering the front of his frame.

He clicks his glossa with a hum of disappointment “That wasn't very smart of you, Orion. I have to punish you now. Only good boys get to overload. And you are far from being a good boy~”