#hype-hype-ting

[shithowdy]

i'm turning off reblogs for this post because everyone has collectively decided to piss on the poor and ignore my emphasis on this being about so-called original settings and instead made the post almost exclusively about rwby fix-it fics

if your "original story/rpg" idea is rooted in the premise of "what if [existing franchise] was good?" then just start over. i am not kidding. your ego is like insulation spray foam being inserted into the cracks of the premise-- sure it fills the gaps, but it's beyond ugly and everyone can see it.

[amourcheol]

🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️I NEED MY NAME ON THAT TAGLIST [pls thanks]

FUCKKKKKKKK on it 🫡🫡🫡

[leeechin]

(ꗃ) dangling charms [nerd sunghoon] ! (mdni)

⋆ in which you test the limits of the cute quiet dork that sat nearby you and your friend during lunch. but what you didn't expect, was to see a whole new side of this quiet dork, in his bed.

⌗ warnings & content: college au! sunghoon and jay are such losers in this oh my god. but i love it. nerd!sunghoon x fem!reader, backshots hehehe, protected sex (cheering) bigdick!hoon, oral (m.rec), fingering, praise, dom!hoon, etc. a lot of kaomojis when reader texts hoon, deal with it lol. early 2010s kind of au as well.

(lee's note: on that nerd sunghoon agenda :p i skimmed through this, not throughly proofread so lmk if you see any errors :D hope u guys enjoy i'm nerv abt this one.) reqs r open don't be afraid !! just read my guidelines first :3

word count: 3.0k

★ masterlist | post queue

"i love you y/n, but i don't think it is genuinely possible to even get him within the same vicinity of you that is not on campus.." gaeul comments, taking a sip of her drink.

you sigh in response, not bothering to hide the fact that you're eyeing park sunghoon, the cute quiet nerd you sat a couple seats away in your econ class. also, a couple tables away where you and gaeul were sitting at in the campus' dining hall. "what if i just asked him to tutor me—? it would benefit me and get me close to him."

"do you realize how crazy you sound right now?!" gaeul chokes, voice a little too loud causing the surrounding tables by the two of you to give a look.

"then i'm insane because i'm gonna ask him to tutor me right now—!" you exclaim, grabbing a piece of gum from the pack that was on the table, unwrapping the foil and popping it into your mouth. gaeul hypes you up, giving you a small applause in which you both giggle.

approaching his table, you felt a nervous tinge in your chest, choosing to ignore that feeling, you strut with confidence, stopping until you're standing directly in front of sunghoon. he looks up with an eyebrow raised, shutting off his laptop that he was doing an assignment on. "can i help you—?" loud smacks of you chewing the gum obnoxiously filled the awkward silence between the two of you, but you smile at him. "park sunghoon right?"

he nods, face still filled with confusion as to why such a pretty girl is at the table he occupied by himself on most days. "you have the best marks in our econ class.. and i was wondering if you could help me revise this paper i failed in that class.." you sheepishly asked, hand scratching the side of your head as you await a response.

"sure i can." sunghoon's response is short and quick, tapping his ipod that was connected with his wired headphones on his lap, waiting for you to say something. "great—! you should write your contact information for me down!" you beam. pulling out of your arm bag a mini notepad and pen, handing it to sunghoon. he takes a quick look at the character charm that dangled on a beaded string on your pen, laughing to himself in his head at how cute and amusing you were. carefully examining what he wrote before handing it back to you, sunghoon gives a small smile in return as well.

you thank sunghoon and practically skip back to your table, gaeul looking in shock as you hold up the once empty page of your notepad, filled with his contact info.

sunghoon's enjoying a peaceful dinner with his roommate when he hears a ding! from his phone. "this is the first time i've ever heard your phone during dinner." jongseong comments, stuffing his mouth full of instant ramen. "it's probably a scam or—" sunghoon remembers you asking him to tutor you. he scrambles to grab his phone, flipping it open to read your message.

"surely a scammer alright." jongseong sarcastically retorts. "shut up jay!" sunghoon yells flustered, reading the strings of messages you left to him.

(xxx) (xxx) (xxxx):

heyyyy :p it's y/n :3

turned out the deadline professor jung gave me to revise this paper in a few days (¬_¬)

soooo i was wondering if we could meet up in a couple hours ^_^ or we could do tmr cuz it’s a weekend and ur probably free ♪( ´θ｀)ノ

—

you weren't wrong.. but ouch that kinda gave sunghoon a realization that he really doesn't do anything besides studying 24/7 and being a dork with jongseong.

"no way.. you're texting a girl—!" jongseong gapes, peeking over sunghoon shoulder's to read his inbox.

"god we really are such womanless losers." sunghoon shakes his head, clicking his keyboard to respond to you.

—

(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅) your pov ⋆ ࣪.

[hoonie ! ٩( ᐛ )و_^]

Hello Y/n

Yes. I could meet with you in a couple of hours

Your place or mine?

[you]

my roommates have company over (-.-;)y-~~~

is ur place okay ?? :D

[hoonie ! ٩( ᐛ )و_^]

Yeah, that's fine with me

My roommate is home too, but don't worry, Jongseong is very quiet

My address is: ________ 8:00 just to confirm with you.

[you]

yayyyyy ok (^｡^) c u in a couple !

thx hoonie once again !! i rlly owe u 4 this (*´∀｀*)

—

you're kicking your feet up and down after confirming your plans with sunghoon, flipping your phone shut. you call for gaeul outside of the hall to tell her the news and to help you pick a outfit.. hopefully not overdoing it.

touching up your lipgloss and twirling yourself in front of your mirror to finalize your look, you're more than ready.

"don't get him too flustered y/n.. he's probably never felt the touch of a woman." gaeul warns, handing you your keys. oh how gaeul was so wrong about sunghoon..

you knock on sunghoon's door, swinging open to meet eyes with his roommate, jongseong. he stares at you in disbelief not thinking that the plans in sunghoon's inbox would actually happen. "hi! i'm y/n, is sunghoon here—?"

"no fucking way." jongseong comments, completely ignoring your question. his eyes are opened wide like saucers and all you could do it at the door step is fiddle with the bottom hem of your short pink skirt and wait.

"is she already here jay— oh. hello y/n." sunghoon sees you up close, once again. he kind of already knew you were on the way when he heard the dangling charms on your arm bag down the hall as you took your steps closer to his front door. and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't attracted to you. "hi hoonie—!" you smile over at the door frame, looking over jongseong's shoulder. god that new nickname made him want to drop at his knees.

"s—sorry! i should've let you in since i've opened the door—!" jongseong stutters. you throw your manicured hand out, brushing it off. "oh it's okay jay. do you guys have any drinks—? not alcoholic or anything." you self invite yourself to open their fridge that was in the kitchen right by their entry. "um y/n." sunghoon mumbles, "hmm—?"

"please take off your shoes.." right. feeling slightly embarrassed, you say a quick apology and kick off your shoes, leaving them on the shoe mat. "don't worry about it." sunghoon reassured. walking back into the kitchen, you examine their fridge, wow. they really had a lot of choices, and a lot of food from packaged from the local convenience store. but enough of that, you settle with a strawberry milk cart and shut the fridge door.

"sooooo where are we gonna study—?" you turn to sunghoon, sipping your drink and awaiting a response. "in my room.. jay is playing a very important match of star craft in the the living room." sheepishly rubbing his head and gesturing to jay sitting on the couch, that had his eyes glued to the tv monitor as he started the game.

"okay-!" you say, following sunghoon into his room. you notice the lack of decorations, only a couple of figurines on his shelves, mainly filled with textbooks. "you sure do have a lot of dangling charms." sunghoon comments, scanning your arm bag and your phone charm.

"is it a problem—?" your eyebrows raises, eyes following sunghoon direction to your bag. "no no no! not at all, it was just an observation—!" quick to deny with no doubt.

you grin, only seeing how long it would until sunghoon gives in to your charm.

"so for this problem you can—" you interrupt sunghoon, "can we take a break?" he blinks in response, "sorry hoon i interrupted you—" "don't worry y/n. and yeah, we can take a break." your lips stretch into a little grin, getting up from where you and sunghoon were both sitting on the end of his bed, littered with papers and textbooks.

you go to his desk where you left your bag, bending over to grab a a container of green grapes. you purposely take a long time searching your bag and giving sunghoon the view of a lifetime; your mini skirt showing your little lace panties that hugged your chubby folds. sunghoon bits his lips to suppress a groan, feeling his erection growing.

sunghoon grabs a pillow to place over his lap, in hopes of his bulge would go down. you smirk to yourself, knowing that sunghoon has had more than enough time to see what was under your miniskirt. "want a grape hoonie—?" you offer, plopping yourself beside sunghoon on the end of his bed again. sunghoon nods his head.

holding out your container for him, sunghoon grabs a small handful of grapes, the both of you guys eating in silence. and you don't know what possessed you, but after the container was emptied, you lifted the pillow that was on his lap. and there behold; his boner.

he scrambles to grab the pillow again, but you grab at his wrist with your smaller hand. god did you just the veins and how thick his digits were. "y/n i'm sorry i—" sunghoon panics to find a choice of words, lucky for him, you interrupt. "you're rock hard hoonie.. because of me?"

"mmph. fuck. yeah." sunghoon groans, seeing you climb over his lap and straddle him. "let me take care of your little problem down there for you hoonie.." you offer.

"oh my god hoonie—! right there!" you moan, body perched against his bigger frame as he's stuffed two fingers deep in your sopping cunt, your panties being hooked to the side. "clenching around my fingers so tight, fuck. i knew this was planned from the start." he grunts in response, scissoring and twisting his digits.

it was so messy. you were a crying, sobbing, mess from the pleasure of sunghoon's digits hitting you so deep, reaching places you could never with your measly little hands. and never did you expect this from sunghoon..

you expected sunghoon to be a nervous, stuttering mess, but instead he was calm and collected, the one that was in control and power of letting you cum.

sunghoon's free hand was under your low-cut baby tee, grasping at your juicy tits that spilled out of your bra, taking his hand out from underneath your shirt and tugging it off and over your head, effortlessly unhooking your bra alongside it. fat tears rolling down your cheeks, smudging your eye makeup as you feel sunghoon speed the pace of his fingers, making you see stars and have you completely ruined at his mercy. breath hitching when you feel the coil in your stomach about to snap.

"just hold it out a bit longer for me, okay—?" he coos at you, tucking the strands of hair that draped over your eyes behind your ears. "hoonie please! s' so good." you babble, hands tugging at the collar of his shirt. you stretched it out so much that his collarbone showed.

a bead of sweat trickles down your forehead when sunghoon grants you permission to let go, spongy walls spasming around his digits as you crash forward and land your face against his chest. "that's it. did so well for me." sunghoon hums in satisfaction, licking your sweet release off his fingers and rubbing the side of your hips affectionately, pulling your panties back in place. you frown at sunghoon, hoping he wasn't done.

"i still haven't taken care of your problem down there.."

shuffling off his lap on the bed, you scramble and drop down to your knees; heels of your feet hitting against the plush skin of your ass. eyes looking up to sunghoon, awaiting. "shiiit, you're so pretty." he groans, seating himself up and off the edge of his bed.

looking down at you with your begging eyes that were inviting him to ruin you. and boy were you going to have such a story for gaeul when you get back home. "hoonie.. fuck my mouth?" you ask, hand reaching down to rub at your neglected clit. and who was he to refuse you, especially when you said please. pulling down his sweatpants along with his boxers, sunghoon is much much bigger than what you initially expected.

"oh…" your jaw almost dropping, but you contain yourself to just gulping nervously. "not big enough for you—?" he teases, hand coming down to grasp his length and pump himself as he waits for you put your mouth on him. "no.. you're too fucking big hoon. you're gonna destroy me." you rasp out, watching him take his hand off himself and replacing it with your own, making sunghoon hiss at the contact. he chuckles at your response, "we'll make it fit, don't worry— fuck—!" he moans, breath hitching when you try to take as much of his inches into your mouth, choking at about halfway. you look up, pleading for him to help you out. and so he did. hand grabbing at a chunk of your hair to create a makeshift ponytail and push his hips forward with a few experimental thrusts.

you didn't show him any signs of stopping, so sunghoon continued. he lets out a long groan feeling his tip his the back of your throat, along with the sensations of your harsh sucks. you moan around his thickness at the slight of his thick framed glasses fogging up with his heavy pants. your hands that were placed on on his thighs tapping twice to let you breathe in which he immediately pulled off of you. sunghoon holds his hand out for you grab and pull you up, wiping the saliva that was dribbling down the sides of your lips. "okay—?"

"s' okay." you giggled reassuringly, sunghoon smiles and places a kiss on your lips, and you could taste yourself from your previous orgasm from earlier against him. "think you can handle more..?" sunghoon asks with an eyebrow raised. "yeah. i want you to fuck me." you shrug, pushing him backwards so that he sat on his bed, initiating that you were gonna ride him, but no no no.

sunghoon manhandles you until your flat on your stomach. flipping your already hiked skirt up, not making much of a difference, kneading at the soft flesh of your pantie clad ass as you arch your back, wiggling yourself back at him for more. "so wet for me jesus." he grunts, pulling your now ruined paired down and over your ankles, tossing it somewhere in his room. he pulls his own shirt over his head and you oogle at his toned body, sunghoon laughs at your expression.

"only for you hoon. please. wanna feel your big dick inside me pleasepleaseplease." you beg, pushing your ass back to him in hopes he wouldn't make you wait any longer. sunghoon didn't, you look over your shoulder to see him reach over his nightstand to grab a condom, taking it out of the wrapper and placing it over him, giving a few experimental tugs before aligning the tip with your entrance. breath ragging as you feel him push in slowly, sunghoon groans alongside with your heavy breaths, the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

if this was what heaven was like, sunghoon wouldn’t ever want to leave that place.

pulling out until only his tip was left in you and plunging forward again, sunghoon finds a pace that has you screaming his name like your life depended on it. "ngh—! hoonie harder—!" you shriek, making sunghoon remember that jongseong was still in the apartment and could probably hear what the two of you have been doing. pushing your head into his pillows, he grunts, speeding up the pace of his thrusts that made pleasure seep throughout your whole body.

"god y/n. your pussy feels so fucking good." sunghoon whispers, the room filling with nothing but the slapping sounds of his hips clashing against your ass. you moan into the pillow sheets, gripping his length like a vice and sunghoon wonders if he could ever feel you around him one day without a condom in the way. his hands grip your hips so hard that you know would leave a mark.

"gonna cum hoon. i need to cum hoonie please." you whimper as you lift your head up from his pillows, sunghoon groans again, his deep strokes hitting every right spot in your body. "let go for me y/n." he says, your body gives out, your whole upper half crashing against the soft material of his mattress as you coat his condom covered dick in your creamy white substance. sunghoon stills his movements, finishing inside the condom before pulling out. taking it off of him and twisting it before tossing it in the mini trash can by his bed.

putting his boxers back on and laying himself beside you. pulling you into an embrace as he put his tshirt over your body. the room is no longer filled with a sexual atmosphere, a piercing silence filling the air.

"we didn't fully revise your paper.." sunghoon speaks up, your head resting against his panting chest. you let out a loud laugh, playfully swatting at his shoulder, "god hoon! you just fucked the living life out of me and your already all books and brains again!" "sorry sorry." he chuckles.

"mm it's okay we can revise it tomorrow." you murmur. "after you let me take you out on a date—?" you nod and place a kiss on his lips in agreement.

"you know sunghoon.. i really didn't expect you'd have it in you.." you whisper, eyes half lidded. "what? you thought i was a whimpering virgin who's never felt the touch of a woman—?"

"that's exactly what i thought."

[nimomo-mo]

Vent

[craziestfangirl98]

Why does this sound like the Yuan enjoying Qian finding out about San Pang and Wei Lili being together from Unknown.

imagine when Toi Ting grows up and someone asks her out at school, and Jack’s reaction is just like w h a t meanwhile Joke is enjoying all of this

[caitlinbueckers]

told you so.

kate martin x reader

2.9k

woooooh this is a fucking doozy guys. literally received one (1) anon and then i blacked out for an hour and a half soooo here’s this ! realized during this journey that kate martin means an unfathomable amount to me and it’s like . Actually concerning 🔥🔥

ANYWAYS it’s giving Kate martin’s controversially hidden girlfriend that goes lowk public at the wnba draft like SHUT UP

18+ AS FUCK

“babe, quit looking at me like that.”

if there’s one thing you know, above the fact that you were certain there was gonna be an unsuspected draft tonight, was that kate martin could be such a bitch in the morning.

not that this was new for you, in any sense— you’d been more than used to it since the dawn of your relationship, learning all the little things about her that made her tick. whether that was her favorite to least favorite foods, or teams, even her obsession with fucking hot sauce.

you knew she still slept with her childhood blankie, the one currently curled under her chin atop the hotel comforter because she’s ridiculous, and because nobody has ever and would ever disrespect her blankie game.

and above all, you knew how much she wasn’t a morning person.

“you’re so dramatic,” you snort, pushing yourself up onto your elbows with a tired, but mocking voice as she emits a slow groan, turning to shove her face into the pillow, her body curling away from yours in an act of indignance that only makes you laugh.

you were far too used to her acting like a baby, so the action only made you sit up on your knees, slinging a leg over her so you could straddle her sides, leaning down to pepper kisses against the side of her face as she lets out a string of groans that turn into halfhearted chuckles, until her hands are planted firmly against your thighs, bare due to the oversized IOWA shirt that she insisted on you wearing.

‘for good luck,’ you remembered her snickering, something you knew was really just ‘easy access’.

her voice is still hoarse from sleep, quiet and raspy and tinged with that midwestern accent that you’ll never give up on bullying her for, when she whispers, “dude, you’re so annoying.”

of course, she proves it by hoisting you off of her, onto the bed, simulating something like a WWE smackdown moment as she rolls over onto you, mumbling something that you really can’t decipher due to her face in your neck, your chest, basically every place she knows will pull that hysterical, annoyingly high pitched laugh out of you, that for some reason, she loves.

“can’t believe you made it here.” she murmurs quietly against your cheek, lips moving lazily against the skin before she lays a smacking kiss there, and it’s almost gross, how much saliva she uses, but you snicker anyway, hand coming up to stroke through her blonde strands.

in all honesty, you couldn’t really believe it either. it had been soemthing close to hell trying to get it all straightened out, from clothes to hotels, to transportation and getting from des moines to brooklyn, not to mention just how fucking exclusive it had been to even get a seat open with all the hype surrounding women’s college basketball, the posterity that the final four teams had brought to the sport— not to mention, the fact that you and kate weren’t public in the fucking slightest, so having to account for that definitely sucked.

of course, it was a huge accomplishment, one that would definitely go down in the history of sports in general, so of course it was a huge fucking honor that your girlfriend was apart of it—

but also, you just thought it was hot.

in fact, the thought makes you smirk to yourself, corners of your mouth curling upwards in a self righteous grin as you turned your head, bumping noses with her to whisper, “can’t wait to see you all dressed up, baby,” she snickers at that, and you kiss her lips once, twice, three times before continuing, “and, i can’t wait to see where you get drafted so i can buy myself a plane ticket.”

the subsequent groan you receive is expected, but it doesn’t deter you even slightly, “and to watch you play on a professional fucking team, like, kate, i’m basically wet thinking about it right now.”

that makes her laugh out loud, and it warms you just a bit to hear it.

it’s not like kate has been super confident about it recently, usually choosing to not speak or avoid talking about how bad she wants it— especially considering the night being mainly for caitlin, an old teammate of yours from school and one of kate’s best friends on the squad, and arguably, one of the best players in the league (next to kate, of course).

still, it didn’t change your focus, or the unyielding hope you had for the possibility of kate getting drafted— no matter how late in the draft it could be.

“babe, quit selling yourself short, okay? you’re a legend. it would be literally, fucking stupid to pass you up, okay?” she doesn’t respond at first, her eyes closed and lashes brushing her cheeks, before she flutters them open just a crack, blue peeking through as you offer her a grin, one that she only rolls her eyes to, but kisses you regardless. you knew how much she hated to talk about it, but it didn’t matter.

you knew you were right, anyway.

“mmmiloveyou.” it comes out in one smushed whisper against your mouth, before you nip at her bottom lip, hand sneaking under the sports bra she wore to bed to brush your thumb across her ribcage, “get off of me and get ready, okay?”

—

caitlin was top draft pick, which was heavily speculated and yet still unexpected to a degree as you stood from your seat with a cacophony of shouts and hollers from around you, pride swelling thick in your chest. you’d known the girl since you two had been in middle school— seeing the same tall little girl that had hated losing in an elementary school gym turn into such an infamous champion was something alike to a parent watching their kid go off to college or something, you’d swear it.

but, to say it was nothing short of nervewracking would somehow be an understatement, and as much as you felt the impending pressure with each name called, you could only imagine how kate must’ve felt.

it wasn’t hard to tell— the way her molars steadily worked the inside of her cheek, the way her tongue would dart out to wet her lips again and again. her hand, jittering too much to be held stationary within your own, drumming along your bare thigh beside your dress— ‘self soothing’, she’d explained in a whisper, a halfhearted, almost weakened smile on her face when you’d given her a lifted eyebrow at the hand placement considering the amount of cameras that surrounded you, but somehow, despite the rush of adrenaline, decided you didn’t care either.

thankfully, you both weren’t anywhere too accessible, but it still made you wonder whether kate had been bullshitting just how anxious she actually had been the whole time for her to need your touch so badly, and for an aching moment of tenderness as you glance at her, you want to kiss her, hard, rub the tension between her eyebrows, relax the trouble in her eyes.

still, gabbie and jada were good eyes too, considering anytime the camera would so much as even pan past you two, jada would hit you with a solid elbow, one to remind you that your poker face was shit, and perhaps you’d have to try just a little harder to pretend you weren’t totally, irrevocably in love with the woman beside you.

but slowly, it was all starting to click into place.

the cameras began panning to kate more and more, your own eyes flickering to the set and noticing how everytime you’d look, there’d be an official looking right past you, right at kate. a surge of excitement rose within you, one that had the words bubbling from your mouth in an urgent whisper,

“baby, i think—“

until an official, dressed in black with a wireless pair of headphones in each ear and a smile, touched kate’s shoulder.

“ms. martin, we’re gonna go ahead and have you and your party move down the aisle just a bit— there’s been a slight seating issue, if that’s okay with you guys?”

jada elbows you extra hard this time, and for some reason it solidifies that feeling you get, one that makes your heart leap as you all nod, getting to your feet without argument, only as kate turns to give you a look that’s supposed to be scolding, but fuck, you can see the glimmer of hope in it that makes your chest constrict, your eyes burn in pride.

“you’re giving me eyes, and for what?” she hums, the teeth against her cheek working overtime as you all settle into the new seats, kate at the end of the aisle, and a fluttery feeling in your chest, “no reason.” you say it almost smugly, as if you know something she doesn’t, and you don’t, but god, you can feel it.

the names fly off, left and right, number 16, and kate’s knee starts bouncing slightly, number 17 and your heart feels like it’s going way too fucking fast, number 18, and jada peers around you to glance at kate, and then…

las vegas, aces— kate martin.

if watching caitlin win had felt like a parent watching their child, this must’ve been adjacent to winning the fucking lottery.

you’re on your feet in mere seconds, the tears that had built finally dripping down your cheeks, a fact you’d only come to find embarrassing once you realize how visible they are on the playback, but fuck it, your girl was going pro.

she wastes no time in wrapping you up, her face ducking into your shoulder as your arms twine around her middle, thinking subconsciously of how you know you shouldn’t risk it, but kate doesn’t seem to mind, only releasing you with a single arm to embrace jada, and then gabbie, before she’s back to you.

of course, it doesn’t occur to you in the moment, that it’s a hard launch— no, it doesn’t really sink in until she kisses you hard against the temple before she’s breezing down the aisle, the subsequent eruption in applause leaving you starstruck, in silent awe.

after that, it’s somewhat of a blur— she takes her picture and accepts her jersey, the newscasters going off on some spiel about your girlfriends work ethic, her attitude, her endurance, everything you already fucking knew, had known for so long, that she’d finally have a chance to prove.

the moment she’s back beside you, it also doesn’t register to you that she must’ve been just as accepting about the reveal, because it’s only a second that she’s in her seat before she plants a soft kiss to your mouth, the dark lipstick you’d been steadily biting off in anxiety sticking to hers and she’s grinning, bigger than she had all day, and for a moment, you think you might actually collapse because god,

you love her. so fucking much.

“told you so,” you make out between the tears, smiling through the tightness in your voice that makes you sound warbled, whimpering even as she just laughs at you, her thumb careful to wipe beneath your eyes, “guess you did.”

of course, it’s only customary that after such a good night, everyone must get fucked up— so, that’s exactly what happens.

you get to gush to caitlin— hugging her tight around the neck and congratulating her a million times, to which she reciprocates when it comes to you and kate, garnering a blush on your already alcohol flushed cheeks, rolling your eyes as you punch her arm.

“whatever, fever.”

“whatever, ‘ace’.”

you pretend you don’t notice the quotations she puts around it, and give her a friendly middle finger instead— if kate was an ace, that meant you basically were too, at least by proxy.

“hey money,” you call to kate affectionately, seeing only the back of her head as she talks to gabbie, your arms sliding around her waist to hold her tight from behind.

“my love,” she greets with a smile, looking over her shoulder to pucker her lips at you, expecting a kiss that you so easily return. it feels fucking terrifying, in all honesty, to be so open, but you can’t find it within you to care enough to give it up— not when she’s this happy.

“dude, you totally knew, didn’t you? there’s no way you would’ve started crying like that unless you knew.” she’s drunk, chattering at a volume level beyond what’s needed considering you were right behind her, hand sneaking beneath her blazer, but you can’t help the way you shrug, “i’m always right, huh?”

later that night, she shows you just how right you are.

it’s past a decent hour to still be tugging off clothes from the night prior— the clock read four in the morning, but the windows spoke of the twinkling lights that surrounded, the city not quite awake, but never asleep.

“you’re a pro,” you hum against her mouth as you tug off her blazer, hands making quick work of the belt that kept you from exploring, smirking at the look she gives you, daring and all too fucking sexy, “it’s so hot to think about.”

“yeah?” her fingers hook beneath the straps of the dress until she’s dragging them down your shoulders, “you want me to show you how professionals do it?”

the next thing you know she’s between your legs, nothing but a white top and her slacks on, unbuttoned, as she hikes a leg over her shoulder, kisses along the inside of your thigh with an intensity only comparable to how she is after a really good game.

“fuck—!” it leaves your mouth in a sound that’s almost unrecognizable, the realization that you’d been pleasantly and uncomfortably horny ever since the draft had ended making itself known considering just how much kate had been unrelenting during press— hands on your hips or on the inside of your thigh, toying with the hair on the back of your neck or grasping the inside of your elbow to lead you along.

she knew it drove you crazy, you knew she’d make it up to you later.

her mouth makes easy work on you, tongue long and flat as she laps against your cunt, rough in all the ways that she knew you could handle— thumbs pressing fingerprint bruises into your skin, breath hot and heavy against your clit, hips moving on their own accord as you gasp out a string of incoherent whimpers. “shit, baby- just… just like that.”

it wasn’t like kate had ever failed at getting you off, but tonight, she performed as if it was her last game, greedy almost as she drinks you in, making sure to not leave one bit of you unchecked. her tongue is almost sinful in the way it makes your voice careen, high and whining, your hand finding a permanent tangle into her already mussed hair.

but she’s cocky tonight, presumptuous right before you orgasm as she raises her head to kiss your thigh, biting the skin before she’s climbing onto the bed beside you, too tall to be graceful, but you’re too fucking horny to even spare her the laughs you usually give.

“up, c’mere.” she’s breathless still, but she doesn’t let you rest for even a second, leaning across you to curl her fingers around your thigh to tug you up from your laying position, rousing you from the hazy, almost delirious state of mind as you push yourself up, letting out a shaking breath when she’s sliding your leg over her chest, hands grazing up the back of your thighs until she’s pulling you, right over over her mouth.

“kate, wha- you’re so— fuck.”

any semblance of words or sense seem to leave you in one second, as she flattens her tongue against the wetness that’s collected, the friction almost unbearable when her head tilted upwards, nose brushing hard against your clit in a way that pulls a cry from your lips. she’s unfaltering, diligent, unabashed in the way she’s moving your hips, the way she pairs each grind against her nose with a curl of her tongue, and really, it’s over before it fucking starts.

her mouth is glossy, damp when she’s done, and she smiles and it’s arrogant as she’s sliding you back down to sit you against her hips, the mere control she had of your body making you bright red as you pant pathetically, reduced to fucking nothing by her mouth.

it makes you throw your head back with a whimpering sigh, “don’t fucking look at me like that.” you complain, legs still open, thighs still trembling as she races her hands along them, “tired already?”

funnily enough, you were far from fucking tired.

“actually… was thinking about showing you some celebrity treatment?” you muse softly, as she peels off her own top, eyebrows raising, her thumb swiping along the edge of her lip before she’s placing it on the bottom of yours, pressing until it dips into your mouth, the heady taste of what you knew was yourself finding a place on your tongue.

she smirks, tongue poking between her teeth as your stomach fucking turns almost, arousal prickling unforgivingly at you once again.

“ooh,” she muses under her breath, eyes laser focused on the thumb she’d placed between your lips, voice coming out in a whisper, “i like the sound of that.”

she’s smirking though, because sex between you two have never been anything completely serious— that’s just not how kate operates, “ace money martin’s got a ring to it, huh?”

“shut up.”

“make me.”

so, you do.

[solxamber]

I just think the tweels reaction to a short, stronger than one would assume magicless prefect reader being strong enough to be able to suplex or princess carry them would be funny, write this if you wanna or not, i just think it could be funny, have a good day!

Headcanons probably best for the thought i assume

Floyd Leech, Jade Leech with a strong reader

I'm not very good with headcanon format so I hope you like this

Floyd Leech

Floyd Leech is 100% not expecting it. One minute, he's towering over you, leaning in with that sharky grin of his, ready to mess with you as usual. Then, in the next moment, he’s upside down, staring at the ceiling as you effortlessly hoist him into the air like a sack of potatoes. The entire dorm goes silent, mouths hanging open.

“Shrimpy—WHOA?!”

You suplex him so smoothly that even Floyd, who usually loves chaos, is completely thrown off (literally and figuratively). He hits the ground with a thud, but instead of being upset, his eyes are sparkling like you’ve just given him the best gift in the world. He scrambles to his feet, laughing like a madman.

“Hahahaha! You suplexed me! That was amazing! Do it again, Shrimpy! Come on, come on, one more time!” He’s bouncing around you, more excited than a kid at a theme park, while you're just standing there, dusting your hands off like it’s no big deal.

It takes a minute before you realize that this was the worst thing you could have done, because now Floyd’s going to pester you non-stop. He’s hyped, literally begging for you to throw him around like some kind of wrestling toy.

“So strong! I wanna see how far you can toss me next time! Maybe over the pool, yeah?!"

Great. Now you’ve created a monster.

Jade Leech

Now, for Jade, it's a different kind of shock.

Jade is much more composed. At least, he tries to be.

You offer to carry him—he humors you, probably thinking you’ll struggle with it. But instead, you scoop him up into a perfect princess carry. Jade freezes. The usually poised and calm eelman, who’s used to having everything under control, suddenly finds himself being cradled in your arms.

His eyes widen ever so slightly, but he quickly tries to recover, though the surprise is still evident. “Oh my... this is certainly... unexpected.”

Jade, for once, is at a loss for words, blinking at you like he's processing a particularly strange specimen of mushroom. Meanwhile, you're just holding him like it’s no big deal.

“Comfortable up there?” you ask with a smirk.

Jade’s lips twitch into the smallest of smiles as he adjusts his glasses, trying to play it off coolly. “I must admit, I did not foresee this turn of events. You certainly are... stronger than you appear.”

But you can tell he’s internally screaming. The facade of calmness slips for just a second as his cheeks tinge ever so slightly pink—whether from the embarrassment or sheer amusement, you're not sure.

“Perhaps... we should keep this between us, yes?” he suggests with a laugh, clearly amused but not entirely keen on Floyd—or worse, Azul—finding out that he was princess-carried across the room.

But deep down? Oh, he’s impressed. And probably already thinking of how to use your newfound strength to his advantage.

Masterlist

[gf2bellamy]

Hello! Would you be able to write a fic about spencerXreader where they’re talking about their favorite tv shows. Reader LOVES soaps but Reid doesn’t understand the hype but gets sucked in when they leave a show on in the background. EEEE I think it would be so cute!

tv — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship a/n: hiii !! hope you like this <3

“Spencer?” 

You called his name from the kitchen, waiting for a response.

Nothing. 

Frowning, you glanced toward the doorway. Maybe he didn’t hear you? But that didn’t make sense—you had already called him twice before this. 

“Spencer?” you tried again, voice slightly louder. Still, no answer. 

You sighed, setting down the cups of tea on the counter. You had been asking him if he wanted a cookie with his tea—simple enough, right? But for some reason, he wasn’t responding. 

Curiosity, and maybe the slightest tinge of concern, pulled you away from the kitchen as you padded toward the living room. 

There he was, standing perfectly still in front of the television, his back to you, his attention completely locked onto whatever was playing. His posture was tense—his arms hanging at his sides, fingers faintly twitching, as if whatever he was watching had him completely engrossed. 

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes flickering from him to the screen.

“Spencer?” you called once more, softer this time, stepping closer. Still, no reaction. 

Brows knitting together, you finally reached out and lightly touched his arm. 

Spencer’s head snapped toward you immediately, his eyes wide, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

“Welcome back to reality,” you teased, a playful smile tugging at your lips. 

Spencer blinked, clearly disoriented, like he was still half-lost in whatever trance the TV had put him in. 

“You know…” you started, stepping around him to grab the remote. With an exaggerated pause, you hit the button to freeze the screen. “Someone”—you gave him a pointed look, making it very clear exactly who that someone was—“told me just a few days ago that he didn’t understand the appeal of this show.” 

Spencer shifted, scratching the back of his neck in that adorably awkward way he always did when he was caught. 

You took a step in front of him, reaching up to fix his slightly rumpled sweater, smoothing it down over his chest. His hands twitched at his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. 

“It was just one scene,” he finally mumbled. 

You scoffed lightly, leaving your hands resting against his chest as you looked up at him with a knowing expression. 

“Spencer Reid,” you said, drawing out his name like a gentle scolding. “I’ve been calling your name from the kitchen for almost ten minutes now.” 

Spencer blinked again, then finally glanced down at your hands on his chest. He hesitated for a split second before, very gently, placing his hands over yours, his touch warm against your skin. 

“Oh,” he said, almost like he was just now realizing how long he had been standing there. 

You snorted, shaking your head. “Yeah, exactly—oh.” 

A small, sheepish smile curled at the corner of his lips. “I, uh… got distracted.” 

“No kidding, professor.” 

For a second, you just stood there, your hands still resting against him, his hands still lightly touching yours. His cheeks were slightly pink, and you had to bite your lip to keep from smiling too wide because, honestly? He was ridiculously cute when he got all flustered like this. 

“Well,” you finally said, stepping back, much to his visible disappointment. “Since you’re back with us now—do you still want your tea? Or should I just leave you here to bond with your new favorite show?” 

Spencer let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Tea. Definitely tea.” 

“Good choice.” You grinned, grabbing his wrist lightly to tug him toward the kitchen. “Because I want to talk to you about the show over tea.”

[rootedinrevisions]

Lost in the Crowd

Summary: Glen surprises his Swiftie girlfriend with VIP tickets to The Eras Tour. The night is supposed to be magical. But due to some missteps with Glen’s security team the night doesn’t quite go as planned.

Warnings: Unwanted Physical Contact (being grabbed without consent)

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: This is a mix of a one-shot I started sometime last year, paired with a request from @hunterthecharmer. Hope you guys like it! ♡♡

The city starts to fade as the black SUV pulls onto the final stretch of road leading to SoFi Stadium. Even with the windows up, you can feel the electricity in the air. The distant pulse of music, the collective thrill of thousands of voices buzzing with anticipation, and rows of cars all heading to the same place. Neon lights flash against the night sky, illuminating the massive stadium in shades of pink and purple. 

The moment you spot the giant screens displaying Taylor Swift | The Eras Tour, your breath catches. You turn to Glen, eyes wide with disbelief, but he’s already watching you, a slow, satisfied grin stretching across his face. 

“Surprise, sweetheart.”

Your heart pounds. “Glen—are you serious?”

He chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Figured I’d finally see what all the hype is about. And what better way than to experience it with my favorite Swiftie?”

The reality hits you all at once. You’re here. At The Eras Tour. With Glen, your sweet, kind, loving, caring, amazing boyfriend.  In a matter of minutes, you’ll be inside, singing at the top of your lungs with thousands of others. 

Outside the car fans flood the sidewalks in sequins, fringe, and rhinestones, friendship bracelets stacked up their arms. The sheer joy radiating from the crowd is contagious. People are laughing, posing for pictures, trading bracelets. All completely wrapped up in the magic of the night. The moment the SUV slows near the VIP entrance, screams erupt. Phones flash, cameras lift, and suddenly, the excitement is tinged with a new kind of energy.

Glen is used to this. He shifts effortlessly into his easygoing charm, offering waves and quick smiles through the tinted window. But before he even reaches for the door handle, his security team is already in motion. Four men, dressed in black, move in sync, positioning themselves around the vehicle. The second Glen steps out, the crowd surges closer.

Then he turns back to you. Reaching for your hand, he helps you out of the car, his touch warm and steady. The stadium looms behind him, massive and glowing, but for a second, all you see is him. The way his eyes search yours, making sure you’re just as excited as he hoped you’d be.

He leans in, voice low. “Ready?”

You squeeze his hand back, heart racing. “More than ready.”

As you and Glen make your way into the building, all around you Swifties in dazzling outfits move in excited clusters. Sparkling dresses inspired by every era catch the light—Fearless gold fringe, Red heart-shaped sunglasses, Reputation black sequins, Lover pastel dreamscapes.

Girls pass by wearing cowboy hats and "Not a Lot Going on at the Moment" T-shirts, some wrapped in bedazzled denim jackets with lyrics hand-painted on the back. A group of fans nearby are trading friendship bracelets, their wrists stacked with colorful beads spelling out inside jokes and song titles.

A girl in a sparkly pink corset and white boots gasps when she sees Glen. “Oh my God, it’s Top Gun Ken!” she squeals, immediately grabbing her friend’s arm.

Glen lets out a breathy chuckle, flashing them a quick wink. The moment is pure joy, electric and contagious.

He turns to you, his hand still wrapped around yours, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Worth the surprise?”

Your heart swells. “Are you kidding? This is—”

A sudden shift in movement cuts your sentence short. The security team moves into position. Four guards subtly adjust their positions, closing in around you and Glen as the crowd thickens. They move in sync, fluid and professional, one stepping ahead, another flanking Glen’s right, the last two just a step behind.

You know they’re here for protection. For Glen’s safety. You understand the need for it. But as they shift, you are pulled away from Glen’s side.  

You feel the shift before you fully process it. One second, you’re right at Glen’s side, his hand warm and steady in yours. The next, a strong grip clamps down on your arm. Before you can react, you’re being yanked backward.

A sharp breath catches in your throat as you stumble, your free hand instinctively pushing against the solid chest of the security guard hauling you away. The force of it wrenches your arm, almost painfully, as he moves you further from Glen.

"Hey wait, what the—" You try to pull away, but his grip is unrelenting.

Then, just as suddenly, the guard seems to recognize you. His gaze flickers to your face, registering who you are. His expression doesn’t shift, no recognition beyond simple protocol, but he reaches out anyway and grips your upper arm with firm pressure as he guides you closer to Glen.

Your breath catches as you pull away, brushing it off, but the action doesn’t go unnoticed. Glen catches it. All of it. In an instant, the easy warmth in his expression shifts. 

His jaw tightens and he looks at the security guard. "No need to grab her like that, man."

The guard hesitates, the weight of Glen’s gaze pinning him in place. A beat passes, thick with unspoken tension.

Then a clipped, muttered apology. "I thought she was a fan. I was just-."

“Grabbing her?” Glen’s jaw tightens further. He slides his hand down to rest protectively on your lower back as you lean into his side. “Touch my girlfriend like that again and we’ll have problems.”

“Yes, sir.” The body guard quickly says. 

Glen pauses for a second, his gaze still fixed on the security guard. Finally he takes a breath and continues walking. His arm sliding to fully wrap around you, pulling you against his side so that you can’t get separated or pushed away again.

The bodyguard keeps his eyes forward, saying nothing else. But there’s an unmistakable tension now, a sharp edge between him and Glen that wasn’t there before.

Glen doesn’t say anything else either. He doesn’t have to. But as he leads you forward, his hold on you doesn’t loosen. Not once. Glen keeps you close. His arm, still wrapped around you, slides down until his fingers find yours again. This time, his grip is firmer. Secure.

"You good?" he asks, leaning in so only you can hear. His voice is warm, low enough to cut through the noise.

You nod, squeezing his hand in return. "Perfect."

But then the crowd surges. The packed mass of people pushes forward, shoulder to shoulder, making space impossibly tight. Security tenses, adjusting their positions in sync. They form a tight perimeter - solid, unyielding, hyper-focused.

On Glen. Not You. 

At first, you don’t think much of it. You stick close, trying to keep your footing as the wave of movement shifts.

But then someone bumps into you hard. Your fingers slip from Glen’s. You stumble just a step, and for just a second. But it’s enough. Another push from behind. You lose more ground. 

And then suddenly he’s gone. Glen is gone. The wall of security closes around him, moving forward without you. None of them notice. Your heart slams into your ribs as you lurch forward, trying to squeeze between bodies.

"Glen!" Your voice is swallowed by the sheer deafening roar of the crowd. Music thumps from inside the stadium, laughter and conversation layering over it. 

The movement of the crowd shoves you back again, and again. No one is looking for you. Glen’s security, his highly trained, ever-vigilant security, hasn’t even realized they lost you.

Your breath quickens, a flicker of panic starting to rise. You stand on your toes, straining to see over the crush of bodies, but Glen’s nowhere in sight.

Another shove. A sharp elbow clips your side. You stumble back, blinking rapidly as the flashing arena lights blur in your vision.

Meanwhile Glen glances at his side, and it hits him. You’re not there. He looks down at his hand that you had been holding and it’s empty. Glen stops in his tracks, scanning the faces around him, expecting to see you just a half step behind.

But you’re not there. His brows knit together as he realizes he doesn’t see you anymore. His usually easygoing demeanor evaporates, replaced by a rush of controlled panic. His chest tightens, his heartbeat thudding too loudly in his ears.

“Where is she?” The words are sharp. 

His voice is low and even, but something about his tone makes all four security guards freeze. They turn to look at him, confused.

“Where’s my girlfriend?” Glen says again, voice raising slightly.

One of them glances around and then says, “she was just-” He then stops, realizing he doesn’t actually know where you are.

“You lost her?” His tone doesn’t change, but the air around them does. The guards who are all trained professionals, hired to keep him safe, all begin to realize they’ve messed up badly.

Glen exhales sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening as he doesn’t wait for them to figure it out. You’re lost in an arena filling up with seventy-thousand people. He doesn’t have time to waste.

He’s now moving through the crowd. His movements are fluid but frantic, but he’s not stopping. People shove and push, but nothing can slow him down now. His pulse is racing. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. The security guards struggle to keep up with his hurried pace.

With every step, that familiar flicker of dread takes root in his stomach. He can’t see you. He can’t feel your hand in his. You’re gone.

Meanwhile panic starts to seep into your chest. Where is Glen? He was just right there with you. He couldn’t have gotten very far, you think to yourself as you continue to scan the crowd for him. You try to hold yourself steady, taking deep breaths. This isn’t the end of the world. He’s nearby, he has to be nearby.

But then, it hits you—you don’t have your phone. Your outfit doesn’t have pockets, so Glen had your phone tucked into his jacket pocket, just in case you needed it.

You try to glance around, but the crowd of people are pressing in. There’s too much noise, too much movement. You can’t even tell if he’s near. You wish you could signal him, but you can’t even raise your arms without someone else bumping into you.

The world feels like it’s shrinking around you. You also can’t just meet him in the VIP area because you can’t get into the VIP area without him because he has your tickets too.

It’s then that your breath catches. There’s no way out of this. The sick feeling in your stomach twists tighter. You’re completely on your own in a crowd of thousands, no way to contact him, no way to find him.

Tears well up in your eyes, unbidden, but you blink them away. You can’t break down, not here, not now.

And just as you’re about to lose it, you hear it. “Sweetheart! Hey!” Followed by your name. The sound of your name rings through the chaos. 

You whip your head around, trying to catch a glimpse. And there just a few rows of people away is Glen, his face a mix of relief and worry.

"Glen!" You say in relief

His feet are already moving, quick steps, weaving through the crowd toward you. He reaches you in seconds, grabbing your hand to pull you toward him.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re okay,” he mutters, his voice low, soothing, but with an undertone of tension that you can’t ignore. The words are a relief—a promise that you’re safe again—but the intensity behind them makes your heart race just a little faster.

You can feel his quickened pulse and the tension that’s been building in his body ever since he realized you were gone as you wrap your arms around him. His relief is palpable as he tightens his hold on you, his movements steady but almost protective too.

The noise of the crowd begins to fade as the two of you make your way into the VIP area. It’s quieter here, more secluded, and Glen’s focus never wavers as he keeps you close to his side the whole way. 

But there’s a stillness to him now, as though something inside him is trying to process what just happened. The security team trails behind, but they don’t speak. Or they don’t dare to speak is more likely.

Once the door shuts behind them sealing off the noise of the crowd, Glen finally turns to face his security team. 

His voice is low, calm, but there’s no mistaking the anger simmering beneath. “How did you lose her?”

The lead security guard stammers, his face paling. “It was crowded, sir. We were keeping you secure—”

Glen shakes his head, cutting him off with a look that speaks volumes. “And you didn’t think to watch her, too? She’s with me which means you’re here to keep her safe too.”

Silence. No one answers, and the tension in the room becomes suffocating. It’s not just the quiet. It’s the weight of a mistake that shouldn’t have happened, and the reality of how much you mean to Glen.

Then, the same guard who had overstepped earlier—the one who grabbed you—mutters something under his breath.

Glen doesn’t let it slide. His eyes flick to the man, his posture rigid but controlled. “What was that?”

The guard, not picking up on the severity of the situation, shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s not our job to watch her. Our job is to protect you. That’s what you pay us for, right? She can handle herself.”

A cold silence follows. The air thickens. The weight of the words hangs between them, and even the other three guards shift uncomfortably as they sense the shift in the room.

Glen doesn’t move or react immediately, but something in his eyes darkens, a flicker of anger that’s carefully contained. He steps forward just enough to close the distance. It’s not a step that threatens violence, but one that exudes dominance.

“Let me get this straight,” Glen’s voice is deceptively calm and measured, but beneath it there’s a razor-sharp edge. “First you grab my girlfriend and try to jerk her around. Then you let her get separated from me in a crowd of thousands. You didn’t notice. You didn’t look for her. And now, instead of owning that mistake, you’re telling me it’s not your job?”

The guard opens his mouth to say something, but Glen doesn’t let him finish.

“You’re done.”

The words are cold, and they settle like ice in the air. The guard blinks, eyes widening. “Excuse me?”

Glen’s gaze never wavers. His voice never rises. It’s smooth, calm, like a glacier moving at its own pace, unstoppable. 

“You’re fired.”

The rest of the security team exchanges nervous glances, but no one dares speak up. The tension in the room is almost suffocating, and even the man who’s been dismissed doesn’t argue. He looks to his colleagues for support, but no one moves to help him. There’s nothing left for him here. He sighs and turns to leave.

Glen stands still, his focus now on the man in front of him, the lead security guard. Glen’s  eyes narrow, and the silence between them stretches on, like a silent promise that this mistake will never happen again. And it’s clear to the other three men that it will be unacceptable if something like this happens again.

Finally Glen turns back to you, his expression softening as his gaze meets yours. His jaw loosens slightly, and the hard lines in his face relax just enough for you to see the concern beneath.

He steps closer, cupping your face gently in his hands. His touch is tender, a contrast to the cold tension that still hangs in the air. 

“You okay?” His voice is quieter now, softer, but the intensity is still there.

You nod, and for a moment it feels like he’s not convinced. His brow furrows as he examines you.

“That should’ve never happened.” His tone is firmer now, more resolute, the promise in his voice unmistakable. “And it won’t happen again.”

His words are a reassurance. And you know deep down he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure nothing like this ever comes close to happening again.

The air in the VIP area is quieter and cooler. The crowd’s energy still pulses through the arena, but here  it feels like the world is just a little smaller. It’s easy to forget the chaos that just unfolded, especially with Glen standing there

He lets out a breath  like he’s finally exhaling the stress that had been building up in his chest over the past half hour. His eyes soften as he looks at you.

“I didn’t mean to overreact,” he says, his voice now warm, an undertone of apology in the way his lips pull. “But I can’t just let something like that go.”

You smile up at him, a small, knowing grin. “I know,” you reply softly, your fingers brushing across his hand in a gesture of reassurance.

As the lights dim and the crowd’s roar grows to a crescendo, the energy of the arena shifts. The first chords of Taylor Swift’s opening song crackle over the speakers, and you can feel the rush of excitement flood back. The tension fades into the background, leaving only the vibrant, pulsating rhythm of the concert ahead.

Glen leans in, his voice low in your ear as the music begins, “You ready for this?”

You laugh, unable to suppress the excitement bubbling inside of you. “I was born ready.”

He grins, his eyes lighting up with shared excitement. He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you from behind as he holds you against his chest, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder. The warmth of his body is a comforting contrast to the cool air around you.

For a moment, there’s nothing else but the two of you, surrounded by thousands of fans, but lost in your own little world. The excitement of the concert and the electric atmosphere sinks in deeper now, but it’s the quiet intimacy between you and Glen that makes this moment special.

You turn your head slightly to glance up at him, feeling his presence more than seeing it. He’s so calm, so steady, even now. He’s like an anchor that keeps you grounded no matter how chaotic everything else gets. His hand finds its way to your stomach, fingers splayed wide, holding you gently but firmly in place.

The music swells, and you can’t help but give in to the rhythm, moving with the crowd. But you stay connected to him, his grip on you never loosening.

As Taylor’s voice echoes through the stadium, the lyrics of the song perfectly mirror the way you’re feeling in this moment—alive, unburdened, and completely immersed in the experience.

Glen’s hand shifts, resting at your hips now, guiding you as you sway to the music. His touch is gentle as the crowd around you erupts in a chorus of voices singing along.

Every now and then his face dips closer to yours, lips brushing your ear as he sings softly along with the song, a private moment amid the sea of fans. His breath warm against your skin, creates an intimacy that only the two of you share.

With each song that passes you can feel the weight of the earlier tension lifting, swept away by the music, the crowd, and the ease between the two of you. The feeling of being protected and cherished is still fresh in your mind, but the electric pulse of the concert washes it away, leaving nothing but fun, laughter, and the joy of the shared experience.

You glance up at Glen, meeting his gaze, and for the first time all night, you feel an overwhelming sense of peace. No words are needed between you now. Just the rhythm of the music, the feel of his hand on you, and the shared joy of the experience.

[burrowdarling]

Avid Reader

Summary: what happens when a movie night turns into a book-to-life adaptation

Pairings: best friend!Joe x reader

Warnings: vague mentions of spice

Note: Hi everyone! Thank you for all of the love on my first fic, it means the absolute world to me. Things don't really get spicy in this one, but if that's something you all would be interested in I'm totally open to it. Feedback is welcome as always, enjoy!

Word Count: 1.4k

Check out my Masterlist here!

It was a chilly fall evening, curled up on your couch with your current read waiting for Joe to get out of practice. It was tradition that one of you held your weekly movie night, this week it happened to be you.

You’d been dying to get into the book since it came out a week prior, finally finding the time to devote to digging into it. It was romantasy with a good bit of spice, according to the reviews you’d seen from others, and so far, it’s lived up to the hype. The two main characters were finally going from enemies to lovers-literally. The male main character was saying all the right things to the female lead, your mind wandering into her shoes.

He had her pressed up against the wall, towering over her, whispering all of the unspeakable things he was about to do to her. You felt your cheeks heat and thighs press together as you continued to read on, things heating up between the two. It had been some time since you’d been with anyone, relying on your own means. You’d been so busy lately, not having much time to release any of your stress or frustrations.

Your mind continued to drift, thinking of Joe saying and doing those same things to you. You’d had the biggest crush on him since you were kids, only growing as you watched the amazing man Joe was growing to be. You felt that he had all of the qualities you could ever want in a guy, though you felt you’d always be stuck in the friendzone with him. There were times that you guys would playfully flirt back and forth, thinking nothing of it as Joe never made any other moves on you. You wondered what it would be like to really have him, all of him, for yourself. 

You heard your front door open and close, altering you that Joe had arrived from practice, pulling you out of your fantasy world. You felt a blush rise on your cheeks, aware that you were essentially reading what some would consider porn with your best friend in the other room. Not to mention the fact you were having the furthest from innocent thoughts about said best friend.

 Joe walked further in your apartment, looking a cozy as could be in his black sweatshirt and matching sweatpants. A smile crept up your face at happy you were to have Joe in your life, your longstanding friendship being something you cherished. You set your book upside down on the armrest of the couch as to not lose your spot to get up and greet him with a hug.

His hair was slightly damp from his post practice shower, a slight stubble on his cheeks and tinged a light pink from the crisp fall weather. His scent was intoxicating, something you would never get over. You could feel the firmness of his chest as Joe hugged you tight, wrapping his strong arms around you. You always loved Joe’s hugs, getting to feel how strong he was and how easily he could manhandle you if he wanted.

You released him, going to settle back on the couch. You needed a second to collect yourself after what you just read, thoughts of Joe in that position flooding your thoughts. You gently shook your head, trying to clear it as you felt the couch dip next to you, Joe claiming his usual spot. His presence felt closer than usual, chalking it up to your heightened senses, needing a second of space to clear your less than innocent thoughts of your best friend out of your mind.

“I’ll go get everything from the kitchen if you want to choose movie #1” you said as casually as you could. 

You hopped up off the couch to go grab the array of snacks you prepared in the kitchen, leaving Joe to pick the first movie. You took a second to 

As he went to reach for the remote to scroll through the options, he noticed your book resting propped open to save your place. 

Joe, figuring he would be a good friend, found your bookmark nearby and would properly mark your page. It was what he found on the page that stopped him in his track. You had left off on a particularly spicy scene between the two main characters, not thinking much of it when you got up. Joe, however, couldn’t stop thinking about you as he read.

You were Joe’s best friend since childhood, growing up together and forming a bond that could weather anything life threw at you two. Joe wouldn’t deny that he’s had a crush on you forever, only growing as you guys got older and emotions evolved. Joe also couldn’t deny that he felt you were the most gorgeous women he’s ever laid his eyes on.

Joe knew you liked to read, but he never imagined you read things like this. He always thought that they were romcoms like the movies. This was vastly different, not that he was complaining by any means. It gave him a glimpse into your mind and got him thinking about what you liked, what made your body tick. His arousal grew the more he thought about what you would look like in that position, your small frame towered by his taller one. Caging you in with his arms while he told you every dirty thing he’s ever wanted to do to you.

He heard your footsteps fast approaching from the kitchen, his heart rate quickening as he fumbled to grab your bookmark. At the sound of your voice, he turned to face you trying his best to compose himself.

“I got all of our favorites on deck. What movie did you decide on?” you asked while setting everything down on the coffee table. You looked up, eyes landing on your book in Joe’s hands. He held the bookmark in one hand, his fingertips marking your page in the other. You noticed a slight blush tinge his cheeks

“Oh I was just- I saw your bookmark on the table so I figured I’d put it in your book for you before we got ready for the movie” Joe stumbled over his words, his usually cool demeanor nowhere to be found. He felt completely flustered by the thoughts of the two of you as the main characters. Oh what he would give to be able to get out of the friendzone with you.

“Thanks, you do know you actually have to put it in the book to hold use it though, right?”

Joe looked down at his hands, realizing he never finished his task of putting it in and setting the book aside. His mind racing to figure out a way out of this situation. You were his best friend and that was a line Joe thought you’d never cross. How could you possibly like him like that? 

You smirked as you watched Joe trying to find the right thing to say, knowing he must’ve gotten curious about your current read. You took a brave step towards Joe, taking the book from his hands and settling your arms on Joe’s shoulders. You could hear his breath hitch in his throat at your contact. 

“What’d you think of the story?” you asked him, feeling his heart rate increase. “Did you imagine us in that scene too?”

Your question caught him off guard. Too? It felt too good to be true, figuring his hearing must have deceived him. You inched closer, Joe’s hands falling to your hips as you pressed up against him to reach his ear. 

“Wanna recreate the scene together?” you whispered in his ear, lips ghosting over the sensitive spot on Joe’s neck. 

Joe pushed all thoughts out of his mind about what would come after that, focusing in on the moment of your body and your words. He felt the shift from nervous to bold, catching your lips with his in a slow, passionate kiss. He could feel your breathing quicken as your hands latched into his hair, looking for something to ground yourself with.  

Your connection with each other was palpable with every touch and kiss you shared. When you finally broke apart, Joe rested his forehead on yours. Taking this moment for you both to catch your breath and wrap your minds around this moment. 

“God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that” Joe sighed in content as his hand drifted up and down your back. 

“What else have you wanted to do?” you asked innocently, your eyes telling a different story.

Instead of giving you a response, Joe picked you up and carried you off to your room the idea of movie night long forgotten.

[w1w2]

Can I request for Yn surprise Sana in last day of misamo concert promotion . Tnx

Encore of Love

Minatozaki Sana x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 4,5k

Synopsis: Reader surprises her girlfriend Sana during Misamo's final concert at Kyocera Dome.

Notes: My first request! *kicking my feet and giggling* I'm not completely satisfied with this, but I hope you’ll enjoy it!

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The grand Kyocera Dome hummed with electric anticipation, a living, breathing entity alive with the chatter of tens of thousands of ONCEs who had gathered for Misamo’s final concert of the HAUTE COUTURE promotions. The sprawling venue, renowned for its iconic architecture and exceptional acoustics, was transformed into a dazzling world of light and color, each corner meticulously designed to reflect the elegance and energy of Misamo.

Banners bearing images of Mina, Sana, and Momo adorned every available surface, their radiant smiles seemingly watching over the crowd. Outside, vendors sold exclusive merchandise, lightsticks, posters, and limited-edition concert wear, all of which fans clutched tightly as they shuffled into the arena. The faint sound of music seeped through the walls, further heightening the excitement.

Backstage, the mood was just as electric, albeit tinged with nervous energy. The members of Misamo were in the final stages of their preparation. Stylists fluttered around them, adding last-minute touches to their already impeccable hair and makeup. Mina reviewed her choreography with the precision of a seasoned professional, her calm demeanor a steadying force amidst the chaos. Momo bounced on the balls of her feet, her vibrant energy filling the room as she hyped herself up for the performance.

And then there was Sana, who was the heart of the group tonight. She stood near the mirror, adjusting the intricate details of her sparkling outfit, a mix of glittering silver and pastel hues. Her eyes shimmered with a mixture of excitement and focus as she practiced her warm-up routines. Yet, beneath her radiant smile, a hint of something softer lingered, a yearning.

Sana’s thoughts drifted momentarily to Y/N. It wasn’t unusual for her to miss Y/N before a big performance, but tonight felt different. The culmination of the Misamo second mini album promotions was a milestone, one she’d poured her heart into, and the absence of her partner left a subtle void. The phone call they’d shared earlier replayed in her mind.

“Baby, I wish I could be there…” Y/N’s voice had sounded warm but hurried, laced with a vague excuse that Sana couldn’t quite decipher.

“It’s okay,” Sana had replied, masking her disappointment. “I know you’re busy. Just… don’t forget to watch the stream, okay?”

“Of course,” Y/N had reassured her, her voice softening. “You’ll be amazing, I know it. I’ll call you right after.”

Back in the venue, Sana shook the thought away. There was no room for distractions now. She had to give her all for the fans who had supported them every step of the way. Yet, as she headed towards the stage, a small voice in her heart whispered, I wish you were here.

Meanwhile, in the audience, hidden among the crowd, a figure sat quietly in the shadows. Clad in a hoodie, a mask, and a baseball cap pulled low over their eyes, Y/N kept her head down, careful not to attract any attention. She gripped her lightstick tightly, heart pounding with anticipation and nerves.

Just a little bit longer, Y/N thought, stealing a glance at the stage where the preparations were in full swing. The plan she’d meticulously crafted over the past few weeks was set in motion. All she needed now was perfect timing.

In the distance, the roaring chants of the crowd swelled, echoing through the dome as the stage lights dimmed, signaling that the concert was about to begin. The countdown had started, not just for Misamo, but for the surprise that would light up Sana’s heart.

It hadn’t been easy, pulling off a gesture like this. There had been countless sleepless nights, a relentless travel schedule, and the constant fear of slipping up and giving herself away. But Y/N knew it would all be worth it when Sana finally saw what she had planned. As the lights danced across the stage, she allowed her thoughts to wander back to the whirlwind of planning that had led her to this very moment.

Few hours earlier Y/N paced back and forth in her hotel room, phone pressed to her ear. Her chest tightened with both guilt and excitement as Sana’s voice came through, soft and loving despite the distance between them.

“Baby, you sound exhausted,” Sana said, her tone tinged with concern. “Have you been eating properly? Sleeping enough?”

Y/N smiled despite herself, Sana’s caring nature always finding a way to melt her heart. She glanced at the clock, calculating the hours until she would see her girlfriend. Not long now, she thought, biting her lip to suppress the excitement bubbling inside her.

“I’m fine, love,” Y/N replied, her voice steady though her heart raced. “Work has been hectic, that’s all. I promise I’ll call you later tonight, okay? I have to go now.”

A faint pause came from the other end. “Oh… okay. Just don’t overwork yourself, alright? I’ll miss you tonight.”

Y/N’s throat tightened. She hated being vague with Sana, but the surprise was worth it. “I’ll miss you too. You’re going to be amazing tonight. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Sana said softly before the line disconnected.

With a sigh of relief, Y/N dropped onto the bed, her mind racing through the intricate plan she had spent weeks coordinating. This wasn’t just about showing up at the concert; it was about making a statement, proving to Sana just how much she meant to her.

Step One: Learning the Choreography

Y/N’s first challenge was mastering the choreography for the encore medley, a feat she had never attempted before. Dancing wasn’t her forte, but she was determined to nail every move.

Under the guidance of Misamo’s choreographer, she practiced tirelessly whenever her schedule allowed. Late nights in the dance studio became a ritual, her muscles sore and her body aching, but the thought of Sana’s smile kept her going.

“She’s going to freak out when she sees you up there,” Momo had teased during one of Y/N’s secret rehearsals.

“You think so?” Y/N asked, wiping sweat from her forehead.

“Absolutely,” Mina chimed in, offering Y/N a bottle of water. “But you’ll have to keep it a secret until then. Sana’s like a radar when it comes to you.”

Y/N grinned, her determination hardening. “I’ll make it worth it.”

Step Two: The Flowers and Letter

Next on the list was preparing Sana’s favorite bouquet, an arrangement of pastel pink and white peonies, accented with delicate sprigs of baby’s breath. Y/N had spent hours researching florists in Osaka to ensure the bouquet would be perfect. Alongside it, she penned a handwritten letter, pouring her heart into every word.

Dear Sana,

I’ve missed more than just your concerts. I’ve missed you. I’m so proud of everything you’ve accomplished, and I can’t wait to tell you just how much you mean to me tonight.

You’ve been my light, even when I’ve been far away. I hope this little surprise makes you feel as loved as you make me feel every single day.

Love, Y/N.

She folded the letter carefully, slipping it into an envelope adorned with a small heart sticker.

Step Three: Gaining Permission

Convincing the managers to allow her on stage had been a delicate process. Misamo’s schedule was packed, and every second of the concert was tightly planned. Thankfully, Mina and Momo had pulled a few strings, vouching for Y/N’s commitment and the sentimental significance of her gesture.

“We promise she won’t disrupt the flow,” Momo had assured the managers with her signature cheeky grin.

“Just think of it as an extra special encore for the fans,” Mina added diplomatically.

Reluctantly, the managers agreed, giving Y/N clearance to join the stage during the closing part.

Step Four: The Disguise

On the night of the concert, Y/N’s final task was to blend in with the crowd unnoticed. She donned a simple black hoodie, paired with jeans and sneakers. A baseball cap and mask completed her disguise. As she entered the arena, she felt a thrill of nervous energy.

Y/N pulled back from her thoughts as the fans around her were buzzing with excitement, waving lightsticks and chanting Misamo members names. Y/N sat near the back, where she could watch the first half of the show without drawing attention to herself. She clutched her lightstick tightly, her heart pounding as the lights dimmed and the concert began.

For now, she was just another fan in the crowd. But soon, she would take the stage, and Sana would know exactly how much she was loved.

The stage, an intricate masterpiece of dazzling LED panels and towering floral arrangements, pulsed with vivid colors as the opening notes of Misamo’s first song reverberated through the air.

Mina, Sana, and Momo emerged from behind the massive screens, their synchronized steps and radiant smiles igniting deafening cheers from the audience. Their outfits sparkled under the stage lights, sleek designs that exuded both elegance and charm.

From the moment they stepped onto the stage, Misamo radiated effortless grace and energy, their performances honed to perfection. Mina’s moves were fluid and precise, every gesture executed with the poise of a professional. Momo’s energy lit up the stage, her sharp, dynamic dance style captivating the crowd. And Sana—

Sana shone brightest of all.

Her soft features were illuminated by the glow of the stage lights, her eyes shimmering as she sang and danced with effortless charm. Her radiant smile, the one that could light up even the darkest corners of a room, was ever-present, and yet… something was missing.

As Sana twirled across the stage during “Marshmallow”, the fans could see nothing but joy, but there was a subtle, fleeting shadow in her expression, a quiet longing. She gave her all to the performance, yet there was a small space in her heart that felt incomplete.

Hidden in the crowd, Y/N's eyes never leaving Sana. Her heart swelled with pride and affection as she watched her girlfriend perform with such grace and confidence. But she also noticed the faint longing in Sana’s gaze, and it only made her more determined to make her surprise unforgettable.

Y/N clutched her lightstick tightly, her fingers trembling slightly from the mixture of nerves and excitement. “You’re incredible, Sana,” she murmured under her breath, the words swallowed by the thunderous applause around her.

As Misamo transitioned seamlessly into “Identity”, the energy in the room reached a fever pitch. The camera operators expertly captured every moment, occasionally panning across the audience. On one such pan, the lens lingered briefly on a hooded figure seated discreetly near the back. Y/N froze for a split second but quickly turned her face away, pretending to adjust her cap.

The fans, blissfully unaware of the figure’s true identity, simply assumed she was another ONCE enjoying the show.

Y/N, however, felt the weight of the moment. Her chest tightened with anticipation as she waited for "New Look", her cue to slip backstage and put the next phase of her plan into action. Until then, she allowed herself to enjoy the performance, a proud smile tugging at her lips as she whispered to herself, “Just wait, Sana. I’ll make tonight unforgettable.”

The thunderous applause from “New Look” had barely subsided when the stage lights dimmed, casting the arena into a hushed anticipation. The opening notes of “Behind the Curtain” began to echo through the dome, a hauntingly beautiful melody that always left the audience spellbound.

This was Y/N’s moment.

While the crowd cheered in unison, Y/N slipped away from her seat and made her way through the staff entrance, her heart pounding. The plan was in motion, and there was no turning back now. A backstage crew member ushered her into a small dressing room where a coordinated outfit awaited her.

Y/N changed quickly, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she tightened the laces on her performance shoes. One last glance in the mirror revealed a nervous but determined woman. She took a deep breath, clutching the bouquet and letter she’d prepared.

“You’ve got this,” she whispered to herself before handing the bouquet to a staff member to bring to the stage later.

As the first song of the encore was ending Y/N joined the backup dancers lining up behind the screens for the encore medley.

Sana, alongside Mina and Momo, twirled across the stage with radiant energy, their synchronization flawless as they transitioned into the last part of the encore. Her playful expressions and smooth moves captivated the audience, drawing cheers so loud they vibrated through the air.

She was too immersed in the performance to notice at first.

When Y/N stepped onto the stage among the backup dancers, blending seamlessly into the choreography, she couldn’t help but smile at how surreal the moment felt. Each step she had rehearsed so many times now felt automatic, her focus entirely on Sana.

The crowd didn’t seem to recognize Y/N right away, though a few murmurs rippled through the audience as some fans noticed a new face on stage.

It wasn’t until the "Wah Wah Wah" part, when Sana turned to interact with the dancers, her gaze landed on Y/N.

For a split second, Sana froze mid-step, her eyes widening in disbelief. Her usual polished composure faltered as her radiant smile transformed into a look of pure shock.

“Y/N?” she mouthed silently, her voice drowned out by the music.

Y/N flashed her a small, playful wink before continuing the routine. Sana quickly recovered, her movements a little lighter now, as if she’d been infused with a burst of joy.

The audience, unaware of their connection, erupted into cheers at Sana’s visibly delighted reaction. Fans began speculating among themselves, sensing there's something more special then just friendship between two girls.

As the medley ended, the lights dimmed again, and the stage was briefly quiet. The members of Misamo moved toward the front of the stage to thank their fans, their microphones already in hand. But before they could begin, the spotlight shifted to Y/N, who stepped forward from the group of dancers, clutching the bouquet of flowers.

The crowd gasped in unison as Y/N pulled off a mic, lowered her head slightly, and began to speak into the arena’s microphone.

“Hi, everyone,” Y/N began, her voice steady despite the overwhelming mix of nerves and love. She turned her gaze to Sana, who stood frozen, her hand pressed to her chest as her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

“I wanted to take this moment to say how incredibly proud I am of you girls. Especially you, Sana. I’m so proud of everything you’ve done, everything you’ve achieved. Even though I couldn’t be there for most of this journey, I’ve been cheering for you every step of the way. You light up every room you walk into, and you’ve been my light too. I just wanted you to know how much you mean to me.”

Sana’s tears finally spilled over as she stepped closer, her radiant smile trembling with emotion. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, their phones lighting up the arena as they captured the heartfelt moment.

Y/N held out the bouquet, which Sana accepted with trembling hands. Pulling Y/N into a tight embrace, she whispered, just loud enough for Y/N to hear, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Y/N murmured back, her voice cracking slightly with emotion.

As the cheers grew louder, Sana and Y/N stepped back together, still holding hands, their smiles beaming brighter than any spotlight. Rest of the Misamo joined them moments later, Mina and Momo grinning mischievously as they teased Sana for tearing up on stage.

The group waved to the crowd one last time before disappearing backstage, the echoes of the audience’s applause following them as they left the stage together.

The backstage area buzzed with post-show energy. Crew members congratulated each other, Misamo’s managers offered heartfelt praise, and staff snapped photos to commemorate the final concert. In the midst of it all, Y/N found herself pulled into hugs from both Mina and Momo, their teasing smiles already giving away their plans to poke fun at her.

“You really pulled it off,” Momo said, grinning as she leaned against the dressing room doorframe. “I was a little worried you’d trip on stage during ‘Marshmallow,’ part but you nailed it!”

Mina nodded in agreement, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “We’ve been keeping this secret for weeks, and honestly? Watching Sana’s face when she realized it was you made it all worth it.”

“Her jaw practically hit the floor,” Momo added with a laugh, glancing at Sana, who was trying (and failing) not to blush. “The fans noticed too. You might’ve just become the most iconic backup dancer in Misamo history.”

“Stop it, you two,” Sana huffed, though the blush on her cheeks deepened. She turned to Y/N with a small pout, her tone softening. “You really had to involve these two in your grand scheme?”

Y/N shrugged, feigning innocence. “I needed backup for the backup plan. And I’d say it worked out pretty well, wouldn’t you?”

Sana rolled her eyes playfully but couldn’t hide the faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “Stop teasing me,” she whined, though her soft smile betrayed just how happy she was.

Y/N, emboldened by the lighthearted banter, chimed in, “Come on, it was worth it just to see you cry on stage.”

Sana narrowed her eyes, pretending to be offended. “I wasn’t crying. It was… emotional perspiration!”

“Right,” Y/N said with a laugh, reaching out to take Sana’s hand. The group dissolved into laughter, the camaraderie between them shining brighter than ever.

After a flurry of photos with the crew and staff, the four of them retreated to Misamo’s dressing room. Momo flopped dramatically onto the couch while Mina carefully began removing her stage accessories.

Sana and Y/N sat side by side, their fingers intertwined as if they couldn’t bear to let go. Despite the teasing, Mina and Momo exchanged knowing glances, quietly slipping out of the room to give the couple a rare moment of privacy.

As they left the venue later that night, the streets of Osaka were alive with fans lingering in the afterglow of the concert. Y/N and Sana walked hand in hand, their steps slow and unhurried as they basked in each other’s presence.

“You know,” Sana began, her voice soft, “I didn’t realize how much I needed you here tonight until I saw you on that stage. It felt like… everything was perfect.”

Y/N squeezed her hand gently. “I hated missing so much of your promotion. I felt like I wasn’t there for you, and I wanted to make up for that. You deserve to know how loved you are, not just by ONCEs, but by me.”

Sana leaned her head against Y/N’s shoulder as they continued walking. “You don’t have to make up for anything. Just being here tonight was more than enough.”

“Well, I’m glad I made you cry anyway,” Y/N teased, earning a light shove from Sana.

Later that night, the warm glow of the hotel room’s ambient lighting created an intimate cocoon around Y/N and Sana. They sat cross-legged on the plush carpet, a late-night dinner spread out between them. The faint hum of the city outside was the only sound beyond their laughter.

Sana picked at a piece of sushi, giggling as she recounted the encore’s highlights. “Did you see Momo trying to suppress her laugh when the confetti cannon misfired? She almost tripped over Mina during the turn.”

Y/N chuckled, leaning back on her hands as she watched Sana relive the moment, her face animated and glowing with happiness. “I did. But somehow you managed to keep it together and still look flawless. Seriously, how do you do that?”

Sana shrugged with mock modesty, a playful glint in her eyes. “Years of practice. You pick up a thing or two when the cameras are always on you.”

Their lighthearted conversation slowed as they finished their food, settling into a comfortable silence. Sana leaned against the edge of the bed, her head tilted slightly as she admired the skyline from the room’s window. Y/N, meanwhile, shifted nervously, her heart racing. She reached into her bag, her fingers brushing against the small velvet box she’d kept hidden all evening.

Clearing her throat, Y/N finally spoke. “Hey, um… I have something for you.”

Sana turned to her, curious. “What is it?”

Y/N hesitated, her cheeks tinged with the faintest blush. “Just… open it.” She handed Sana the box with a shy smile, her palms slightly sweaty despite the calm demeanor she tried to project.

Sana’s brows knit together in surprise as she took the box, her fingers gently traced Graff logo on the box, carefully lifting the lid. Her breath hitched when her eyes landed on the delicate diamond necklace nestled inside. The necklace sparkled even under the soft hotel lighting, its intricate floral design exuding timeless elegance.

“Y/N…” Sana’s voice wavered, her fingertips brushing lightly over the diamonds. “This is… it’s stunning. But… this is way too much. I can’t—”

“You can, and you will,” Y/N interrupted, her tone gentle yet firm. She shifted closer, taking Sana’s free hand in hers. “Because you’re worth everything to me. This necklace, it’s not just a gift. It’s a reminder that no matter how far apart we are, I’m always thinking of you. You mean more to me than I could ever put into words, and I want you to have something that shows just a fraction of that.”

Sana’s eyes brimmed with tears, her lips quivering as she tried to find the right words. She shook her head softly, a smile breaking through the emotion. “You’re so ridiculous sometimes, you know that?”

Y/N grinned, brushing her thumb across the back of Sana’s hand. “Ridiculous in the best way, I hope.”

“In every way,” Sana whispered, her voice barely audible as she leaned forward, pressing her forehead to Y/N’s.

Y/N gently took the necklace from the box and moved behind Sana, her fingers deftly clasping it around her neck. The cool weight of the diamonds settled against Sana’s collarbone, glinting softly in the light. Y/N adjusted it slightly, leaning back to admire how it looked.

“Perfect,” Y/N murmured, her voice filled with warmth.

Sana turned around slowly, her face inches from Y/N’s. “It’s beautiful,” she said, her voice hushed. “But you… you’re the one who makes me feel like the luckiest person in the world.”

Y/N’s cheeks warmed, but she couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped her. “I think that makes two of us.”

Without another word, Sana leaned in, capturing Y/N’s lips in a soft, lingering kiss. It was tender, unhurried, and filled with all the unspoken love between them. Y/N cupped Sana’s cheek gently, her thumb tracing the curve of her jaw as they shared the quiet moment.

When they finally pulled back, Sana rested her head on Y/N’s shoulder, her fingers tracing absent patterns on Y/N’s arm. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For tonight. For everything.”

Y/N pressed a kiss to the top of her head, her heart swelling with love. “Always.”

Later, as they lay curled up on the bed, Sana’s head resting on Y/N’s shoulder, the necklace caught the faint moonlight streaming through the window. 

The soft glow of Sana’s phone illuminated the room as she scrolled through the TWICE group chat, her head nestled comfortably against Y/N’s shoulder. The two of them were snuggled under the blankets, their legs tangled together, exhaustion from the long day settling into their bones. But neither seemed ready to fall asleep just yet.

“Look at this,” Sana murmured, tilting her phone so Y/N could see the screen. The chat was alive with messages, the names of TWICE’s members lighting up with playful banter.

Momo: The way Sana looked at Y/N… iconic. Mina: Her jaw literally dropped. I should’ve recorded it from the stage instead of waiting for fan cams. Nayeon: Sana, if you don’t marry her soon, I’m calling dibs. Jihyo: Nayeon, stop stealing people’s girlfriends! Chaeyoung: Sana, can you ask Y/N to teach us the choreography? She’s a natural. Dahyun: The fans are losing it! Y/N is officially a Twice bias now. Tzuyu: You mean Sana’s bias.

Sana giggled softly, hiding her face in Y/N’s neck. “They’re relentless.”

Y/N laughed, her hand gently running through Sana’s hair. “I think Nayeon unnie might actually be serious about that marriage comment.”

“Not a chance,” Sana said with a playful pout, shifting to look up at Y/N. “You’re mine.”

Y/N smiled down at her, their eyes meeting in the dim light. “Always.”

Sana’s phone buzzed again, but this time it wasn’t the group chat. It was a flood of notifications from social media. Curiosity piqued, she tapped into one of the trending hashtags. Sure enough, the internet was ablaze with clips and fan edits of Y/N’s surprise appearance at the concert.

Fans gushed about Y/N’s unexpected presence, praising her dedication and swooning over Sana’s emotional reaction. The hashtags #YNSanaSurprise and #BestFriendGoals trended worldwide, with tweets and videos pouring in by the second.

“Look at this one,” Sana said, pointing to a video compilation of their moment on stage, set to a romantic ballad.

The caption read: “Y/N and Sana’s friendship goals… or something more? Either way, we’re obsessed!”

Y/N chuckled. “I guess the secret’s out, huh?”

Sana locked her phone and placed it on the nightstand, turning her full attention back to Y/N. “Let them guess,” she said softly, her fingers tracing small circles on Y/N’s arm. “As long as we know the truth, that’s all that matters.”

Y/N leaned down to kiss her forehead. “And the truth is, I love you more than anything, Sana. Today, tomorrow, forever.”

Sana’s smile was radiant, even in the dark. “Forever sounds perfect.”

They lay there in comfortable silence, the steady rhythm of their breathing syncing together. Outside, the city lights sparkled, a reminder of the bustling world beyond their little sanctuary. But in that moment, there was only them.

As the first light of dawn peeked through the curtains, painting the room in soft hues of gold and pink, Y/N tightened her hold on Sana, their bodies wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and comfort. Their breaths intertwined, their hearts beating as one, creating a silent melody that spoke louder than any words ever could.

No matter what the future held, grueling schedules, endless flights, or the watchful eyes of the world, they knew their love would endure. It wasn’t just a fleeting moment of happiness, but a steady force that grounded them, a light they could always turn to even on the darkest days.

Y/N placed a gentle kiss on the top of Sana’s head, her voice a soft whisper in the stillness of the morning. “We’ll take on everything together, no matter what. You and me, always.”

Sana stirred slightly, her lips curving into a small, sleepy smile as she murmured back, “Always.”

[reiding-writing]

For the Christmas fic, how about bau!reader never celebrated Christmas properly cause she had like bad parents so Spencer decides to change that with the help of the team

RESTORATION — SPENCER REID!

you’re not a big fan of christmas. spencer enlists the help of the team to try and restore your festive spirit.

spencer reid x gn!reader | 1.5k | fluff | masterlist.

a/n — watch someone who doesn’t like Christmas, write about a group of people who do like christmas :)

You’re not sure how it happened, but suddenly, Christmas is everywhere.

Twinkling lights hang from every corner of the bullpen. Garlands wrap themselves around the stair railings like ivy. A Christmas tree towers near the kitchenette, its branches heavy with ornaments you suspect Morgan and Garcia argued over before agreeing on a theme. The air smells faintly of pine, cinnamon, and coffee, a warm combination that feels almost too comforting. Too safe.

You try not to let it bother you.

You never understood the hype around Christmas. Every year, you watched the world transform into a wonderland of twinkling lights and festivity, but for you, it was just another day. Another reminder of what you never had.

While other kids were unwrapping presents under the tree, you sat in your cold, quiet room, the sounds of your parents’ arguments drowning out the holiday cheer. Christmas wasn’t a celebration in your house—it was a chore, a duty, something to get through without breaking.

Even now, as an adult, you treat the holiday like it’s just another box to check. The gifts you give are practical and impersonal, and the ones you receive feel more like obligations than thoughtful gestures. You avoid the parties, the caroling, the incessant cheer. It’s easier that way.

At least, it was.

The BAU changed everything.

You weren’t prepared for how much they’d come to mean to you. They weren’t just colleagues; they were family in a way you’d never truly known. And Spencer… Spencer Reid is something else entirely. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment your feelings for him shifted, but now they’re impossible to ignore. Every shy smile, every ramble about quantum physics, every thoughtful gesture—it all leaves you wondering how you got so lucky to have someone like him in your corner.

Still, when he asks you about your Christmas plans during lunch one day, your walls go up.

“Oh, you know,” you say casually, taking a sip of your coffee. “Probably just a quiet night at home.”

Spencer frowns, his brow furrowing in that endearing way that tells you he’s already analysing your words. “You’re not a Christmas person?”

You shrug, trying to seem indifferent. “Not really. Christmas wasn’t… something my parents did growing up,”

That’s the understatement of the century, but you don’t elaborate. Spencer’s gaze lingers on you, and you can practically see the wheels turning in his head.

“Well,” he says slowly, “maybe it’s something we can work on,”

You wave him off with a chuckle, but the idea takes root in his mind anyway.

—

A week later, you’re finishing up paperwork when Spencer approaches your desk, his face lit up with excitement.

“Are you free on Christmas Eve?” he asks, his voice tinged with nervousness.

You blink, caught off guard. “I guess so? Why?”

He grins, his hands fidgeting with the strap of his messenger bag. “It’s a surprise. Just… trust me?”

You don’t have the heart to say no.

—

When Christmas Eve arrives, you find yourself in front of Spencer’s apartment, a mix of curiosity and apprehension swirling in your chest. You’re not sure what to expect, but the last thing you anticipate is the sight that greets you when he opens the door.

“Surprise!”

The entire team is there, the living room transformed into a Christmas wonderland. There’s a fake tree in the corner, its branches laden with ornaments and lights. Garland and tinsel drape over every surface, and the scent of cinnamon and pine fills the air.

Hotch is standing by the fireplace, looking uncharacteristically relaxed with a drink in hand, JJ and Will are helping Henry hang a candy cane on the tree, Garcia flits around in a sequinned Santa hat, arranging plates of cookies and snacks, and even Rossi is there, holding a glass of wine and smirking like he knows exactly how overwhelmed you’re feeling.

And then there’s Spencer, standing in front of you with that nervous, hopeful look that makes your heart ache.

“You did this?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “We did. You’ve never had a proper Christmas, and we thought it was time to change that.”

You look around, your chest tightening as the weight of their thoughtfulness sinks in. For a moment, you can’t speak.

“You guys didn’t have to do all this,” you finally manage, though your voice trembles.

“We wanted to,” JJ says, stepping over to hug you. “You’re family, and family deserves to be celebrated.”

The word family hits you like a freight train.

—

The night unfolds like something out of a movie.

You start with decorating gingerbread houses, a task that quickly descends into chaos when Garcia insists on bedazzling her roof with edible glitter. Morgan competes with Henry to see who can build the tallest chimney, while Rossi critiques everyone’s technique like it’s a cooking competition.

Spencer sticks close to you, guiding you through the process with his usual patience and a surprising knack for icing details. At one point, he accidentally smudges frosting on his nose, and the way he blushes when you laugh makes your stomach flutter.

Next comes dinner, a feast that Rossi and JJ clearly poured their hearts into. You sit between Spencer and Garcia, listening to Rossi’s stories and laughing until your cheeks hurt. Every now and then, you catch Spencer sneaking glances at you, his expression soft and fond in a way that makes you feel seen in a way you’re not used to.

Afterward, Garcia insists on a gift exchange. You’re hesitant at first, but when you open your gift from her—a beautifully wrapped box of handmade bookmarks featuring your favorite literary quotes—you can’t help but smile.

“How did you…?”

“I have my ways,” she says with a wink.

You’re equally stunned when Spencer hands you a small, carefully wrapped package. Inside is an antique copy of *Pride and Prejudice*, its leather cover worn but lovingly preserved.

“Spencer,” you whisper, running your fingers over the embossed title. “This is… it’s perfect.”

He shrugs, looking almost shy. “I remember you mentioned it was your favorite. I thought it deserved a spot in your collection.”

Your throat tightens, and for a moment, you’re sure you’re going to cry.

—

The night ends with everyone gathered around the fireplace, mugs of hot cocoa in hand as Jack preforms his reading of The Night Before Christmas.

You sit beside Spencer on the couch, his arm brushing against yours as he leans in to whisper little facts about the poem’s history. Normally, you’d roll your eyes at his need to share trivia, but tonight, it feels comforting. Familiar.

When the others start to leave, bidding you Merry Christmas with hugs and warm smiles, you linger by the door, hesitant to let the night end.

“You okay?” Spencer asks, his voice soft.

You nod, but the lump in your throat betrays you. “I just… I don’t know how to thank you for this. All of you.”

“You don’t have to thank us,” he says, his gaze steady. “You deserve it.”

The words are simple, but they cut through you in a way you don’t expect. Before you can second-guess yourself, you step forward and wrap your arms around him.

He freezes for a moment, clearly surprised, but then he relaxes, his arms coming up to hold you in return.

His cheek smushes lovingly against the top of your head, and it’s only once he catches the glimpse of white and green above the doorway that he pulls away.

Mistletoe. How cliché.

Spencer lets out a breath of a laugh as you follow his gaze with curious eyes, cheeks warming at the fluster on your face.

“Garcia must’ve put that there…”

You press your lips together between your teeth, a wave of heat rising to the tips of your ears as you glance back in Spencer’s direction.

But you’re not nervous. It’s almost domestic, the soft crackle of the dying fire across the room, the way Spencer’s arms linger innocently at your waist.

You cup Spencer’s cheek to bring it to your face, lips pressing deftly against the corner of his mouth.

“Merry Christmas, Spencer,” you whisper like you’ve run out of oxygen.

He smiles with his whole face, his voice warm and full of meaning. “Merry Christmas,”

[formulakracing]

v. heat of the moment - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 2.9k

warnings: cursing, some mentions of misogyny, a physical altercation, slight physical injury, teasing, banter, YEARNING, there is lots of yearning, toto wanting to rail the absolute shit out of you, power imbalances, age gap, yadayadayada

prev. | next.

“you ready?” 

james peers down, towering over the car as the pit crew flurries around, prepping for the race. 

you shrug, flipping your visor, “is it too patriotic of me to say that i was born ready?” 

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“well i’ll do you one better,” the team principal leans over the car, slapping your helmet a couple of times, “go get ‘em tiger.” 

“way to hype me up.” 

“i think another podium is in the cards,” james’ face hardens, the intensity of the race setting in, “you think you could get us on the podium again?” 

“i don’t know about first. they don’t refer to max as the dutch assassin for nothing,” at least you were realistic, “but i think i could place second or third.” 

“i think we should aim for first.” 

underneath the helmet, the corners of your lips curl into a grin, “i think so too.” 

“i believe in you,” james’ hand finds yours, shaking it, “we all believe in you.” 

the authenticity of his statement sends a slight wave of distress washing over you. 

ever since the night in jeddah, your loyalty was beginning to shift. 

you were starting to seriously consider toto’s offer. 

although you made the verbal commitment to james that you would remain with williams until 2026, a certain team principal was starting to tug at your heartstrings. of course, this team principal didn’t have to try very hard. 

even the slightest smile was enough to send you spiraling. 

the turmoil was enough to keep you up at night, tossing and turning. there was really no legitimate reason you could give james on your departure, other than it was your teenage dream to drive for mercedes. 

you would have to lie through your teeth and attempt to put on this facade that you had always wanted to be with mercedes. you just happened to settle for williams. 

fuck, that really made you the asshole. 

now, here you were. 

day-dreaming about a certain team principal, completely on autopilot. 

yet, that quickly faded as you glance up, watching as the lights blink, that green hue gleaming in the sunlight. 

it was go time. 

now or never. 

the roar of the engines is nearly deafening as it fills the track, blood roaring in your ears as you step on the gas.

for the australian grand prix, you were fifth on the grid. it wasn’t a terrible spot, as you had the opportunity to overtake a few places, which would earn you a podium. 

behind you, was george russell from mercedes, lewis hamilton in seventh. ahead were max, sergio, charles, and carlos. 

overtaking the ferrari boys would be a challenge, but you were more than willing to accept it. if you were able to just overtake carlos, you would be content with fourth. 

even if you weren’t on the podium, those points would be significant. 

closing in on carlos, adrenaline pumped in your veins as your sucked in a breath, james voice flooding your ears on the radio. 

“you got this. go for it.” 

the moment you’re about to step on the gas, a horrendous scraping noise sounds to your left. 

george made contact with your car, sending the two of you flying towards the tarmac. you skid along, bracing for impact as you barrel towards the wall. 

although it was merely seconds, it felt like eternity. 

for a moment, your field of vision goes black. 

yet, you blink, the sun so vivid as it shines through your visor. shaking your head, you groan as you clamber out of the car, scrambling to your feet. 

swiveling your helmet, you make out george. 

that’s when everything started to become tinged with a crimson hue. 

“you bastard!” 

“oh?” george taunts you, “this was my fault?” 

“of course it fucking was!” you march over to the british driver, “learn how to fucking drive the damn car!” 

“learn how to overtake somebody else and we would have never had this fucking problem!” george retaliates, his voice raising with every word. 

you just scoff, deciding to let it go. 

accidents happen. unfortunately for you, it was just part of the job. it may have cost you a podium, gave your car significant damage, and ruined your day, but you had to let it go. it was just a bad day at the office. 

well, more like a fucking awful shit day at the office.

as you suck in a breath, strolling away from george, he decides to goad you on even further, giving one final retort. 

“you should have stuck to nascar! maybe then it would have been easier for you to navigate a bloody track!” 

you stop in your tracks, glancing over your shoulder. 

“what did you just fucking say?” 

“you heard me,” george folds his arms over his chest, “you should have stuck to fucking nascar. maybe then that thick skull of yours would have been able to navigate the track! it’s pretty bloody simple you know, just a few left turns!” 

that was the moment when everything truly went dark. 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“do you know how much today cost us?” 

james is to your right, massaging his temples. however, you can’t quite decipher the emotions plastered across his features.

was he disappointed? furious? you couldn’t tell. 

alex is across from you, chewing on a thumbnail, “i mean, things could have been worse.” 

“we literally had to pry her off of him,” james exhales, groaning slightly, “it’s a mess. that’s what it is. a fucking mess.” 

“i think you guys are forgetting he started it,” you mumble, pressing an ice pack to your jaw, “he told me i should’ve stuck to nascar. i mean, what would you have done in that moment?” 

“walked away? called him a twat or something?” james shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut, “you know i adore you, but you really fucked us over today. my driver getting into a physical altercation with another team was the last thing on my agenda today. yeah, the accident was bad, but that… that was awful.” 

“hey,” alex puts his hands up, “at least i didn’t crash my car.” 

“fuck off,” you shoot him a glare, “also, i wouldn’t call that an accident. it was more like a little skirmish.” 

“you beating his ass wasn’t,” alex points out, his tone laced with a tease, “i gotta admit, that was pretty entertaining to watch.” 

“i taught that bitch one thing today. and it’s that you don’t mess with texas,” a laugh bubbles up in your throat, earning a chuckle from alex in response. 

“what am i going to do with you two?” although he tries to remain stern, you can see a hint of a smile on james’ face. 

“i think i deserve some rest,” raising your arms above your head, you use your hands as a cushion, leaning backwards, “i put in a lot of work today.” 

“yeah,” alex nods, “a lot of work beating that brit’s ass.” 

“do you think he’s scared of me?” 

“i think everyone is,” alex rolls his eyes playfully, “if i was max verstappen, i would be shaking in my boots right now.” 

“okay, okay,” james interjects, “enough from you both. we can discuss this further tomorrow. i’m exhausted.” 

“you weren’t even the one throwing the punches!” alex tosses his hands up in the air, “if anyone if exhausted, it’s probably our wwe superstar over here!” 

“go,” james waves a hand at the two of you, “like i said, we’ll talk more tomorrow. i have to do damage control for the rest of the night. probably well into tomorrow too.” 

“i am sorry,” you clear your throat, rising to your feet. you make eye contact with alex, who is still bearing a mischievous grin, “i guess that australian heat just got to me.” 

“i cannot take you two seriously right now,” james sighs, “go. get some rest.” 

unlike james’ dismissal, you did not have to be told that twice. 

after george’s snide remarks, you caved under the heat of the moment. with emotions running high, you sprung forward at the british driver, shoving him a couple of times. he goaded you on, taunting you to “actually do something about it.” 

of course, you actually did something about it. 

what could you say? it was the american way. 

there was no way in hell you were going to let him off the hook. especially after he demanded that you “go back to nascar.” those comments were completely unnecessary and uncalled for. anyone could admit that. 

so, in response, you knocked him to the ground, throwing a few good punches in before a safety crew member pried you off of him. 

the little “skirmish” with the mercedes driver had taken the formula one world by storm. 

all over social media, there were mixed reactions. many of the comments praised you for not taking anyone’s shit. the others blasted your character, questioning if women truly belonged in formula one if they “let their emotions get the best of them.” 

numerous fans called for your resignation from williams driving, claiming that you had no right to be behind the wheel of a car. 

the fia claimed they would be launching an investigation to determine if there were to be punishments for both drivers. mercedes put out a statement that they would be “thoroughly addressing the incident that occurred with one of their drivers.” 

meanwhile, williams racing had yet to comment on the matter, remaining silent. 

personally, you felt that the sheer embarrassment from your outburst was enough. you would be the topic of discussion for weeks. your personality, likeness, and every somewhat terrible thing you had ever done would be dissected throughout reddit forums, through tik toks, and through instagram posts. 

surely the fia would remain merciful, but you had your doubts. 

pulling up the hood on your sweatshirt, you make your way in the direction of your motorhome. 

at least that would provide you a space away from all of the chaos that ensued after the race. 

in your pocket, your phone buzzes. 

reluctantly, you fish it out, anticipating your name to be headlining yet another article. instead, it’s a message from mr. wolff.

i’m on my way over. be there in five. 

oh fuck.

toto wolff was the last person you wanted to see. 

especially after today. 

flinging open the door, you trudge into the space, dumping your belongings on the counter. making your way to your room, you flop on the bed, resisting the urge to scream into your pillow. 

not even a minute later, you hear a familiar voice filling the motorhome. 

“don’t tell me you’re hiding from — oh, there you are.” 

“i don’t want to talk about it.” 

“i think we should.” 

his tone is far different than you anticipated. you expected him to be furious, dropping the offer entirely. 

rather, his words are quiet, laced with a softness as he sits on the edge of the bed, placing a tender hand on your back. 

“rough day, huh?” 

“rough is not even the word to describe the absolute shitshow that was today,” your head is still buried in the pillow, your voice muffled, “you have no idea how disappointed i am in myself.” 

“i’m sure,” toto inhales sharply, “i hope you know that what occurred today does not change anything. actually, it’s convinced me that you deserve that mercedes seat even more than i initially thought.” 

“toto,” you lift your head up, “i literally physically assaulted another driver. a driver who happens to belong on your team. i don’t deserve that seat.” 

“well it simply proved to me that you’re more than willing to stand up for what you believe in,” he counters, that gentleness dissolving into firmness, “you don’t take anyone’s shit. i need that energy brought into mercedes.”

“i think if you gave me that seat, george would actually shit himself.”

“don’t fret baby,” a hand finds your hair, fingers smoothing out some strands, “i would be your mediator.”

“are you sure you still want to offer me that seat? do you know how much the media is going to ridicule you?”

“i think i have been ridiculed enough in my time at mercedes,” he shrugs, “what’s a little bit more? if it means i have you, nothing else will matter.”

shifting your weight, you sit up, scooting over a little so that you could be next to toto. leaning your head on his shoulder, you nuzzled into his dress shirt, his arm instinctively wrapping around your frame, “today just fucking sucked.”

“i can only imagine baby,” light kisses pepper your temple, trailing all over the bridge of your nose and the apples of your cheeks, “i could help take your mind off things.”

“i’m sure you could,” your heart skips a beat as his hand squeezes your thigh, “i wish you could just make it all go away.”

“i could definitely do that, sweet girl,” his hand inches further and further up your thigh, fingers tracing circles, “you want me to take care of you?”

yet, as his mouth hovers around your ear, a flash of pain seeps into your skull, causing you to wince. 

“fuck.”

“what’s wrong?” 

“my head hurts,” you whimper, “after i hit the wall, i think i may have passed out for a second. everything went black, i couldn’t see anything.”

“and you didn’t have a medic clear you?” toto presses, and you can’t help but notice the inflections of worry, “baby, you should have had someone look at you.”

“i was more focused on other things,” you mumble, the pain beginning to increase, “fuck.”

“you’re probably just a little banged up from the crash. if your symptoms continue through the morning, we’ll get you checked out.”

“we?”

“well,” he pauses, biting his tongue, “i would say i would take you to our medic, but i think that would raise some eyebrows. make sure you see someone, okay?”

before you know it, toto is to his feet, towering over you on the edge of the bed, “where are your pajamas?”

“you don’t have to–”

"i want to,” he interrupts, “let me help, okay? you don’t have to do everything yourself, you know that?”

“but i’m used to–”

“and i need you to know that while i’m here, you do not have to worry about that anymore. i’m going to take care you. anything that you need, you’ll get,” he brushes a lock of hair away from your forehead. 

you melt, nearly collapsing under his touch as he caresses your cheek. wrapping your arms around his thigh, you nuzzle into his hip. 

meanwhile, the team principal is about to crumple to his knees at the sight of you. fuck, you were so cute. why were you so goddamn cute?

even after assaulting one of his drivers, you were still pretty damn cute. he was not lying when he said it made you more attractive. 

he needed someone to be that passionate about their team, their driving, and their beliefs. he needed someone who could take a stand against another driver without backing down. he needed someone who didn’t give a fuck. 

he needed you. 

fuck, he needed you. 

in the moments the two of you were apart, he could barely process his thoughts. you were consuming his mind whole. he clung to your words, your voice, so sweet and soft, flooding his ears when you weren’t around. he found himself checking his phone more frequently, in attempts to see if you had responded. 

lately, it seemed every time he thought about racing, his mind brought him to you. 

he was addicted to you. 

“how about some head?” 

your inquiry takes him by surprise, his jaw clenching, heart racing, “oh? does my baby need some?”

“it may help ease my headache,” you glance upwards, the team principal fighting back a groan as filthy fantasies begin to creep into his thoughts. 

the sight of you looking up at him like that? with those lashes framing those stunning eyes? with your lips looking oh so plush? 

fuck, toto felt his knees nearly buckle.

there was no denying he wanted you. he craved you. often.

he desperately ached to feel you, to know what you felt like as he made you his. he yearned to feel that perfect pussy on his tongue as you bucked your hips, crying out for more. he wanted more than anything, to hear you beg. you probably looked oh so pretty when you begged. 

that night in jeddah, you were so fucking wet. you had nearly coated his fingers with it all. and it was all for him? 

“toto,” the way his name fell from your lips was like heaven itself, “will you stay tonight?”

“of course,” he nods, his voice nearly faltering as your hand massages his thigh, “f-fuck.”

“what?” you coo, meeting his gaze once more, “what is it, baby?”

baby. 

he was going to fuck the shit out of you. 

the buzz of a phone in his pocket startles you, earning a flinch. as it rings, the team principal lets out a string of curses, and you infer it was more than likely german. bringing the phone to his ear, he takes a step back, strolling over to the corner of the room. 

sighing, you roll on your side, back facing the team principal. 

the call was only about a minute, yet felt like an eternity.

“don’t tell me you’re pouting over there.”

“maybe i am.”

the bed dips underneath his weight, your heart fluttering as you feel his presence. the team principal is on top of you now, pinning you to the bed. 

“well quit it.”

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taglist: @toldyouitwasamelodrama @nebarious @whoisss @kravitzwhore @prettiest-at-the-party

[kaleidoscopecth]

Too Bad You’re Married…

MDNI

pairing: ashton irwin x reader

summary: a dangerous meeting with a handsome stranger in a bar leads to the best sex of your life.

warnings: face fucking, unprotected sex, cream pie, squirting, face riding, semi public sex, rough sex, dom! ash, roleplay

word count: 6.6k

title: mascara by deftones.

a/n: BITCH GUESS WHOS BACKKKKK!! sorry for disappearing chat, it seems as though i had a bit of a writers block. the juice i was running on when i pumped out all of the previous fics seems to have run out, but alas here i am! i can’t promise ill be as active as i was before, but i hope you enjoy this little blurb because IT WAS SO FUCKING FUN TO WRITE. this was inspired by a certain line in the song Mascara by deftones. Stick around till the end, i promise the fluff is worth it.

also, thank u soup for being my other braincell when it comes to writing ashton. you hyping me up helped a ton. ALSO TY FOR CHOOSING THE ASH ERA AND PICTURE AHHHH !!!

anyways leave requests if u want.

Copyright © 2025 kaleidoscopecth. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The air in the bar was thick—saturated with the cloying scent of cheap perfume and lingering cigarette smoke, all underscored by the raucous echoes of drunken laughter. You tapped your carefully manicured nails against the sticky tabletop, eyes flitting nervously from face to face, cataloging each stranger with uneasy precision.

The thrill of the night buzzed beneath your skin—sharp, electric, almost unbearable. Your heart pounded erratically in your chest as your gaze remained fixed on the bar’s entrance, each passing moment stretching thin with anticipation. Maybe it was the taboo of it all—the unspoken danger, the uncharted territory you’d sworn never to touch—but the butterflies in your stomach had taken flight with dizzying urgency.

The bartender made eye contact with you again—for the third time in ten minutes. You offered nothing back, just lazily nursed your drink, tracing the rim of the glass with a fingertip. Condensation clung to the outside, slick and cool, and you found mild amusement in watching a droplet race downward, faster than the others.

“Must be some evenin’ if you’re entertaining yourself with a damn water droplet.” The voice—low, accented, tinged with amusement—slid into your senses just as he took the seat beside you.

Your eyes flicked to him. Sandy stubble framed a sharp jaw and hollow cheeks, his dark hair falling messily across his brow. And then—those eyes. Bright green, catlike, studying you with lazy precision.

The corner of your mouth curled into a smirk, slow and knowing. Your gaze dropped—right to the glint of a wedding band wrapped snug around his ring finger.

Instinctively, you twisted your own wedding band, the familiar pressure grounding you as a wave of anxiety surged—unwelcome, but far from unfamiliar. You straightened in your seat, spine stiffening, willing your features into something resembling calm.

“I find that the simplest things can be the most surprisingly amusing,” you hummed, voice dipping into something sweet and slow, almost syrupy. Then, you met his gaze head-on. “You’d probably know that if you didn’t strut around like you’re God’s gift to the Earth.”

His eyebrow arched, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face as his tongue dragged across his lower lip. He nodded slowly, accepting the barb with practiced ease. “Terrifying,” he murmured, raising a hand to flag down the bartender.

His emerald eyes flicked back to yours with a lazy sort of confidence, and a single dimple appeared as he smiled. “You want a refill? For a water droplet rematch?”

You took a breath, steady and deliberate, refusing to acknowledge the way his gaze swept over you like muscle memory—lazy, familiar, sure. Like he already knew the answer.

“Get me something stronger,” you murmured, stretching languidly in your seat.

His eyes followed the arch of your back with a quiet, hungry reverence—the kind of look that sent heat cascading through your limbs.

His smile could undo a person. “A woman after my own heart,” he mused, a pleased hum curling beneath his words. “I like that.”

You rolled your eyes as he turned toward the bartender, ordering two whiskeys neat. Presumptuous. But, annoyingly, spot-on.

“I’m sure your wife could agree,” you said, voice cool and edged.

His gaze flickered back to you, the smile still etched effortlessly into his features. “Let’s let bygones be bygones, shall we?”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes trailing down to your lips—lingering—before dropping to your hand.

“Unless you want to talk about that massive rock you’ve got on your finger, too.”

You didn’t reply.

He pressed on, tone light, teasing. “That really is quite the ring,” he said, amusement never fading. His gaze sharpened just slightly, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “You must be quite special, hmm?”

You narrowed your eyes, shifting in your seat. “I thought you wanted to let bygones be bygones?”

“You’re right,” he said with a nod, not even a flicker of shame. “My bad.”

Then he pivoted fully, turning to face you—his body leaning in like he’d known you forever. Like this wasn’t something dangerous.

“My name’s Ashton.”

You paused. Then, evenly, “Y/N.”

Ashton pursed his lips in thought before letting a slow grin curl across them. “Y/N,” he repeated, rolling the name across his tongue like he was testing its weight. The way he said it—deliberate, slow, far too familiar—sent a flash of heat cascading down your spine. “Pretty name.”

You shrugged, biting your lip as you toyed with your glass, carefully considering your next move. “For a pretty woman,” you purred, casting him a look from beneath your lashes. “It fits.”

“Damn right it does,” Ashton murmured, taking a slow sip of his drink—his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “So, enlighten me, Y/N… what’s a beautiful married woman doing in a hotel bar at—” He glanced at his watch. “One in the morning on a Saturday, wearing lipstick that screams bite me?”

You inhaled slowly, gaze drifting over him with a lazy, deliberate hunger.

“Maybe I’m looking for a victim,” you mused, voice laced with danger and promise. Then you tilted your head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “What about you? What’s a handsome, married man doing alone in a bar… buying drinks for someone else’s wife?”

Ashton raised his hands in mock surrender, though the easy smile on his lips didn’t so much as flicker. “Just being a good Samaritan,” he said with a casual shrug. “You never know what kind of people lurk around at this hour… or the intentions you might encounter.”

“Oh?” you purred, tilting your head as you blinked up at him with feigned innocence. You slowly rested your arm on the table, exposing the delicate inside of your wrist—the soft skin catching in the low light. His eyes tracked the motion instantly, just as you expected. “And what makes your intentions so different from theirs?”

Ashton’s gaze lingered for a beat too long before lifting back to yours, something darker now swimming beneath the surface of his smile.

“Just looking for a way to kill some time,” he said, tone sincere but low. “Something to help with the jet lag, ya know?”

You hummed softly, lifting your glass of whiskey to your lips. “Jet lag,” you echoed, taking a slow, deliberate sip—Ashton’s eyes tracking every movement with the kind of hunger that would put a starved man to shame. A single bead of amber clung to the corner of your mouth. You reached up, wiping it away with the tip of your finger, and let your lips curl just slightly. “And here I thought you were just bored of your wife.”

Ashton let out a quiet, amused laugh—open, easy, a sound that vibrated in your chest. “She does get a little repetitive at times,” he said with a mock sigh, lifting his glass to his lips.

“Excuse you,” you said, feigning offense, narrowing your eyes as you tilted your head. “I’m sure she’s a lovely woman.”

His smirk deepened, eyes flicking once again to your left hand—your very occupied ring finger. “She sure is. Just like I imagine your husband’s quite the catch.”

You rolled your eyes, resting your cheek against your hand. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

Another flash of those damn dimples, and your breath caught just slightly. “The funniest, love.”

You let out a quiet chuckle—soft, reserved, almost unsure. Another sip of whiskey gave you something to do, something to hide behind. “You must be a nightmare at any social event.”

Ashton raised a brow, amused, and leaned into your space without apology. The scent of citrus and musk clung to him—rich, clean, and heady. Your eyes fluttered shut for just a moment, involuntarily letting it sink into your senses.

“Only if the conversation’s dull,” he murmured, glancing down at his glass, swirling the amber liquid with lazy ease. “Or if the wives look… particularly restless.”

“Oh, yeah?” you challenged, leaning in just enough to mirror him. “So tell me, Ashton… what is it that you think I’m looking for?”

He moved slowly, deliberately—lifting one arm and dragging the pad of his index finger down the soft skin of your forearm. The touch was featherlight, but it left a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

“I think you’re looking for a thrill,” he whispered, voice dipped in heat. His breath brushed your ear. “Something dangerous. Something to remind you you’re not just someone’s well-kept prize.”

Your pulse spiked.

You turned your head toward him—lips dangerously close, eyes locked. There was no hesitation in your expression. You wanted this. You both knew it.

“Mm. That’s a tempting offer,” you murmured. “You are offering, aren’t you?”

Ashton’s grin was slow and wicked, his head tilting like he was insulted by the question. “Darling, I’m not here to talk about your husband’s diamond preferences—though credit where it’s due, the man’s got taste.”

“Hmm.” You let Ashton hang there, suspended in the tension you both had carefully spun, letting the silence tease him just a little longer. The anticipation only sharpened your craving. “Does your wife know you’re out here complimenting diamond cuts?”

Ashton leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice low and full of intent. “I’d much rather be doing more than admiring a ring on your finger,” he murmured, each word soaked in heat. You could feel the warmth of him, pulsing between you like a live wire.

Then he pulled back, slowly—reluctantly—and stood. He towered over your seated frame, casting you in shadow and possibility. His hand reached out, gentle yet firm, tilting your chin up until your eyes locked.

“You take control a lot in your life?” he asked softly, like he already knew the answer.

Your gaze held his, unwavering. “I’m looking for something that’ll let me give that up,” you replied, voice low, deliberate. “Is that what you’re here to compliment now? My willingness to obey? My need to surrender?”

His eyes darkened, hunger flickering across his features like a spark hitting gasoline. His jaw flexed, tightly restrained, and you could feel the war inside him—between restraint and abandon.

His eyes kept darting to your lips, and his tongue flicked out to wet his bottom one. For the first time, you saw something shift—surprise, almost awe—behind the heat.

“Do you want me to test just how compliant you are?” he rasped. “Or do you think your husb—”

“Let’s go,” you cut him off, the heat between your thighs finally boiling over. The game was over. “Take me.”

The air felt sucked from the room the moment your words left your lips. Ashton’s mouth parted slightly in surprise, but you knew there would be no hesitation. And there wasn’t.

His hand reached for you—delicate, yet firm—as his fingers wrapped around your wrist. The moment his skin touched yours, heat surged through your body, sealing your resolve.

The bar blurred into irrelevance as he led you past tables, past strangers who didn’t matter. His pace was confident, deliberate—like a man who already knew the outcome.

The hallways were quiet, save for the occasional couple stumbling toward their own late-night regrets, not sparing either of you a second glance.

When the elevator arrived, you tugged Ashton inside without a word, blindly slapping the correct floor button as he pushed you back against the mirror.

The door slid shut just as your spine hit the cold glass. He caged you there, body pressed against yours, hands gripping the railing behind you as if to anchor you. His eyes devoured your face—lips parted, breath shallow, pupils blown wide.

And then he kissed you.

No hesitation. No pause. Just heat.

His mouth crashed into yours, fierce and ravenous, like he’d been waiting all night to taste you. His tongue slid past your lips without resistance, drawing a soft gasp from your throat as he explored you—confident, controlled, hungry.

His hands wandered too—down the curve of your waist, to your thigh, lifting it slowly. One hand slipped beneath the hem of your dress, savoring the heat of your skin, rough fingers skimming delicate lace.

A quiet moan escaped as he bit down on your bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth. He groaned in return when your hips rolled against his, chasing friction like oxygen.

One hand came to your neck, strong fingers bracketing your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, feeling your pulse race beneath the skin. It made your head spin.

The elevator dinged.

You pushed him back—breathless, flushed—and grabbed his hand, fingers lacing tightly with his as you dragged him into the hallway.

“Jesus,” Ashton laughed, voice low and wrecked. “Impatient, are we?”

You stopped in front of the door, turned on your heel, and grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanking him down to meet your lips again.

“Just open the fucking door,” you murmured into his mouth, already losing yourself to the next kiss

Not surprisingly, one of Ashton’s hands came up to cup the back of your neck, keeping your lips locked with his as his other hand swiped the keycard and swung the door open.

The two of you backed into the room slowly, the door shutting behind you with a soft click that left no room for hesitation.

Ashton pulled away just enough to shed his jacket, letting it fall to the hotel floor. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the city lights seeping through the open blinds—just enough to see by, just enough to want more.

The green of Ashton’s eyes was almost entirely overtaken by the black of his pupils. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as his gaze dragged down your body, sharp and electric. This was different. This was new.

“Strip,” he said, voice eerily calm. Controlled. “And get on your knees.”

You turned, brow raised in a questioning glance. “What?”

“I said strip,” Ashton repeated, each word punctuated by a slow, deliberate step forward. There was no trace of the charming, cheeky man from the bar. This was something darker—something raw, unfiltered, and burning.

You bit your lip, fingers moving behind you to find the zipper of your dress. The seconds stretched, molasses-thick, as Ashton stood still—watching, waiting, hungering.

You slid the dress down your arms, letting the fabric whisper to the floor and pool at your feet.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, stepping closer. His eyes roamed your body like he couldn’t quite decide where to settle. “Keep going.”

Biting your lip, you reached behind your back and unhooked your bra, letting the straps fall slowly down your arms until the fabric slipped to the floor, joining your dress. Ashton had begun circling you like a predator stalking its prey, and the weight of his gaze alone made your thighs instinctively press together in a futile search for relief.

With deliberate slowness, you slid your panties down your legs, stepping out of the lace and nudging your discarded clothes aside. Ashton came to a stop in front of you, and wordlessly, you sank to your knees—eyes locked on his the entire time.

He licked his lips, head tilted slightly, savoring the way anticipation coiled tight in your body. His steps toward you were slow, deliberate, like he was drawing out your need on purpose.

His rough hand cupped your face, his pinky settling just under your jaw, tilting your gaze up to meet his.

“You look good like this, Y/N,” he murmured, voice low and gruff with want. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip, then pressed between them, slipping into your mouth without resistance.

“Your husband’s lucky,” he added, dark amusement laced in the words. “Let’s see just how lucky, though.”

Your breath hitched as his hand dropped to his belt, undoing it with the kind of practiced ease that made your pulse stutter. The other hand left your face to pop the button, then the zipper, his movements unhurried and confident as he pushed his jeans just low enough.

He was already hard—thick, glistening, beautiful.

Your mouth watered at the sight.

You looked up at him through your lashes, your breathing shallow as he stepped in closer. Slowly, he pressed the tip of his cock to your lips, the salty taste flooding your senses as his eyes met yours in a silent question.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your lips parted, and you took him in—slowly, deliberately—just the tip at first. Ashton let out a low moan, his head tipping back as he eased deeper into your mouth.

“That’s my good fucking girl,” he growled, voice rough with pleasure, one hand sliding into your hair to guide you as he hit the back of your throat.

You let your tongue swirl around him, your hand wrapping around the base to take care of what you couldn’t fit. The weight of him on your tongue was addictive, the stretch of your jaw delicious as you began to move—slow, steady, intentional.

“Oh, fuck,” Ashton groaned, his eyes dark and half-lidded as he watched you. “So fucking pretty… just like I knew you’d be.”

His encouragement only spurred you on. You bobbed your head faster, wrist moving in perfect time as your tongue traced the underside of his tip—right where you knew he was most sensitive.

“God, you look like a fuckin’ dream on your knees,” Ashton gasped, his voice coming out rough and breathless. One hand came to brace against the wall behind you, the other still tangled in your hair, keeping you close.

Your lips were stretched around him, swollen and slick. Spit coated your chin, your cheeks flushed with heat. You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, savoring the way his hips twitched slightly with every pass of your mouth.

Then you opened your eyes again—wide, glassy, unafraid—and met his with a look that dared him.

Take it. Take me.

Ashton recognized that look instantly. He smirked, a dark and pleased curve of his lips, and then his hips began to move—slow at first, then harder, faster, more demanding.

He fucked into your mouth with purpose, hitting the back of your throat again and again, and you let him. You gave yourself over to him completely.

“Pretty little thing,” he gritted out, breath ragged. “God, your mouth feels so fucking good.”

You moaned around him, and the vibration made him curse under his breath. It only made him go harder, faster, more desperate. Tears sprang to your eyes from the force, slipping down your cheeks without mercy—raw, messy, beautiful.

“Don’t cry, baby,” Ashton growled, fisting your hair tighter, the pace unrelenting. “You look so fucking pretty with my cock down your throat.”

You could imagine exactly what he saw—your body on your knees, mascara streaked like black lightning across your face, lips swollen and glistening, eyes wet and glassy, mouth full of him. Completely ruined, completely his.

And you loved it.

Without warning, Ashton pulled out of your mouth. You gasped, your throat raw, vision blurred as the world rushed back in too fast. The sudden loss made your body ache.

“You’re such a good little whore f’me,” Ashton panted, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up until your eyes met his. “But I need to come inside you.”

A whimper escaped before you could stop it. “Please, Ash,” you rasped, your voice hoarse and trembling from the effort of holding him so deep for so long.

“You did such a good job,” he murmured, thumb stroking along your jaw. “Such a good girl. And good girls get rewarded.”

You bit down on your lip, swallowing the moan building in your chest. The slick heat between your thighs was unbearable now, every shift of your body sparking friction you couldn’t ignore. You squirmed, desperate for more.

Ashton leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that stole what little breath you had left. His hand fisted in your hair, anchoring you there as your hands clutched at his shoulders. Your mouths moved together with practiced, hungry precision.

With trembling fingers, you began to unbutton his shirt, pushing his jean jacket off in the same motion. His skin burned under your touch, the heat of him making your own skin feel too tight. His hands found your waist, dragging you into him as the two of you collapsed to the floor in a messy tangle of limbs—your body falling on top of him.

His tongue slid into your mouth again, slow and sure, drawing out a moan that vibrated between your lips. One of his hands roamed your back, the other dropping to squeeze your ass, fingers digging in possessively. The press of his cock between your bodies was firm, heavy, demanding.

You shifted your hips to grind against him, seeking friction, and he groaned against your mouth.

“I want you,” he gasped, pulling back just enough to breathe, “to sit on my face.”

The words knocked the air out of your lungs.

“Ride my tongue,” he growled, eyes dark with want. “Until you fucking come. That’s your reward.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, but Ashton’s gaze was already locked on yours—wide, dark, and desperate. Your entire body buzzed like a live wire, and God, you’d dreamed of this. Of his mouth. Of that stubble dragging along the sensitive inside of your thighs.

“Fuck,” you breathed, voice trembling as you took in the sight of him sprawled beneath you—an absolute dream of a man, waiting to worship you.

One of his hands fell away from your back as he propped himself up on an elbow, his eyes burning into yours as he waited.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmured, voice low, rough, and sweet like sin. “You don’t get to be shy. Not after you choked on my cock like you were fucking made for it.”

You bit your lip as he leaned back against the floor, lifting a hand to gesture toward his face.

“Up here,” he ordered, voice firm. “Bring that pretty pussy to my mouth.”

There was no hesitation. You moved up his body, thighs bracketing his face as you settled above him. The sight of you—wet, glistening, need dripping from every inch—made Ashton groan like he was in pain.

“God,” he rasped, eyes fixed on you. One hand came up, his finger lightly trailing down your slit, making you hiss. “You’re fucking soaked, baby.”

You began to lower yourself slowly, but it wasn’t fast enough for him. Ashton gripped your hips and pulled you down against his mouth in one swift, hungry motion.

The second his tongue touched you, your moan echoed through the room—loud, helpless. He licked a long, deliberate stripe through your folds, savoring the taste, before circling your clit in slow, maddening motions.

“Oh my—fuck,” you gasped, the words dissolving into a strangled cry as your hands scrambled for purchase on the nearby nightstand.

Ashton’s lips wrapped around your clit, sucking gently, then with a little more pressure. Your hips jerked in response, grinding down instinctively, chasing the searing high he was building with every flick of his tongue.

His stubble burned deliciously against the soft skin of your thighs, only heightening the sensation. He alternated between languid, lazy licks and pulling your clit between his lips, suckling it like he had all the time in the world—and every intention of wrecking you slowly.

Your thighs trembled uncontrollably on either side of his head as you rode the delicious flicks of his tongue. When Ashton groaned into you, the deep vibration sent shockwaves straight through your core.

It felt so good—too good. Your free hand tangled in his dark curls, your head tipping back in pure ecstasy as a crescendo of moans spilled from your lips. He encouraged the slow grind of your hips against his mouth, both hands gripping your thighs as you chased your high.

The room was filled with the sound of wet, sinful pleasure—his mouth working you over with no mercy. You chased every swipe of his tongue, every deliberate kiss to your throbbing clit, your hips stuttering with every stroke.

A deep throb coiled low in your belly, tightening fast as your breathing grew uneven and your moans climbed in pitch.

“Oh God, Ash,” you whimpered, voice cracking on his name. “Your mouth feels so fucking good. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Ashton hummed in response, the sound rumbling against you as he squeezed your thighs tighter.

“Come for me,” he growled, voice muffled and rough. “Be a good girl and come all over my fucking face.”

That was all it took.

With one last flick of his tongue, your orgasm slammed into you, stealing your breath and darkening your vision. Your entire body shook, thighs quivering as a sob wrenched free from your throat—his name falling from your lips like a broken prayer.

Your spine arched, hips jerking as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Ashton didn’t stop—not for a second—his mouth working you through every pulse, every aftershock, until your cries blurred into whimpers of overstimulation.

By the time you came down, your arms gave out and you collapsed forward, catching yourself on trembling hands. Ashton eased you off his mouth gently, and you rolled off him until you were seated back on the floor, chest heaving.

“Fuck, your wife is lucky,” you muttered, pushing damp strands of hair out of your face as Ashton propped himself up on his elbows, wearing a thoroughly smug grin.

“She is,” he said, voice thick with satisfaction as he sat up and got to his feet. “But I’m here with you… and I’m not finished.”

You blinked up at him, still dazed, trying to piece your mind back together.

Fuck. He never came.

Ashton extended a hand, and you took it. With his help, you stood on shaky legs, and he placed a steadying hand at the small of your back.

“You can handle more, can’t you, sweetheart?” he growled into your ear, sending a fresh shiver down your spine.

He guided you toward the balcony, pushing the glass door open. Warm spring air hit your flushed, naked skin, and you gasped at the contrast—the city lights glowing just beyond the railing, the hum of the night surrounding you like a secret.

“Hands on the railing, babygirl,” Ashton instructed, voice firm as he stepped in behind you and bent you forward.

Your hands flew out to grip the railing, knuckles turning white with anticipation.

Ashton let a hand trail slowly down your spine, the light touch making you shiver. He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?” he murmured, voice low and dark. “And I need everyone in this goddamn city to know it. Got it?”

You bit your lip, nodding eagerly, the thrill of his words pulsing between your legs.

He moved your hair gently over your shoulder, exposing the curve of your neck. His lips followed, soft and deliberate, as he kissed the sensitive skin. You exhaled a content sigh, eyelids fluttering as he scraped his teeth along your pulse point.

Then he sucked—slow, deliberate—drawing a deep mark that made your knees nearly buckle.

You could feel the heat of him behind you, the weight of his cock as it was pressed against your ass. Gently, Ashton adjusted his grip on your hips, the warm night air doing nothing for the goosebumps that decorated your skin at every minor touch.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Ashton groaned, voice thick with lust. “You look so fucking good like this—bent over, gripping the railing, dripping for me like the cockwhore I know you are.”

His hands roamed slowly down your back, spreading you open with a deliberate touch that made your breath hitch. You were completely exposed, completely at his mercy—and he reveled in it.

“Keep those hands right where they are, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. His voice softened just enough to make you melt before his fingers teased your entrance.

You let out a stifled moan, your body already throbbing for him. When he pushed one finger inside, your eyes rolled back.

“So fucking tight still,” Ashton hummed, pleased, like he wasn’t already obsessed with how you felt. “Gonna feel so good wrapped around my cock.”

A second finger joined the first, stretching you out, filling you. The sensation was intense, especially with how sensitive you still were—your climax from his mouth barely in the rearview.

You clenched around his fingers, hips shaking, legs trembling from the effort to stay upright. His pace was unhurried, torturous, and you could feel the smirk on his face even without looking.

Then, without warning, he pulled them out, and you whimpered at the loss.

You heard the slick sound before you even saw it—the unmistakable sound of him sucking your arousal off his fingers.

“Taste like fucking candy,” he groaned.

“Ash, please—” you started, only to be cut off by the slow, maddening drag of his cock teasing your entrance. He rubbed against your clit deliberately, and your knees nearly buckled.

“Oh, fuck,” you cried, hips jerking.

He chuckled darkly behind you. “You like that, baby?” he asked, taunting. “Look at you—clenching around nothing. You’re so damn desperate.”

“Ashton, please,” you begged, voice wrecked. Your fingers tightened around the railing, white-knuckled, as your whole body cried out for him. “I need you.”

And finally, finally, he gave in.

The air left your lungs in a gasp as Ashton pushed inside—inch by inch—stretching you open in a way that made your mind go blank.

He bottomed out with a low, guttural moan. “Oh fuck, that pussy’s perfect,” he hissed. “So tight around me, so wet. You feel fucking amazing.”

His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises—marks you knew you’d wear proudly tomorrow.

Then he moved.

Without warning, Ashton pulled back and slammed into you, drawing a loud cry from your throat. The sound was lost in the buzz of the city below—but you knew you were only going to get louder.

His hips were relentless, slamming into yours with the kind of force that had your body jolting forward, the railing shaking beneath your grip. Your cries mixed with his breathy groans, the air between you thick with sweat, heat, and need.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Let them hear you. Let this fucking city know who owns this pretty pussy.”

Your head fell forward, resting against your arm as your body trembled with every deep, punishing thrust. The pleasure was blinding—overwhelming—consuming every thought until the only thing you could register was Ashton’s cock driving into you over and over again.

Your legs barely held you up as Ashton continued to pound into you, merciless and relentless. Your skin buzzed with electricity, every nerve ending alive, your moans dissolving into broken, choked-off cries as each thrust hit deeper than the last.

“Right there, Ash,” you gasped, voice echoing into the open night. Anyone could see you—if they stepped onto their balcony or even glanced out a window, they’d be greeted with the filthy, breathtaking sight of Ashton fucking you senseless.

And Ashton wasn’t faring much better. His composure had shattered, his strangled moans mixing with yours, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the night air.

You were gone—completely undone. Your body no longer felt like your own, just a desperate vessel for Ashton to use, to ruin, to worship with every precise snap of his hips. He kept hitting that spot inside you—over and over—that made your vision blur and stars explode behind your eyes.

Your thighs shook violently, every thrust knocking the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck, yes—right there,” you cried, the words barely intelligible, your mouth working around them between moans. But he understood. Oh, he understood.

His grip on your hips tightened like a vice. He knew from the way you were trembling, the way you clenched around him like a vice—you were close. So fucking close.

“You gonna come for me?” he growled into your ear, voice a low, filthy rasp. Each word was punctuated by a brutal thrust that had your hands gripping the railing like your life depended on it. “I can feel it. This tight little pussy’s begging for it. Begging for me to fuck it dumb.”

A choked sob ripped from your throat just as Ashton’s hand left your hip and slipped between your thighs. His fingers found your clit instantly, rubbing tight, ruthless circles that made your back arch and a scream claw its way from your chest.

The only sounds were your cries, the wet slap of your bodies, and Ashton’s ragged breathing at your neck.

“You’re gonna milk my cock dry, aren’t you?” he snarled. “Fucking wring every last drop out of me, you dirty little whore.”

You bit your lip, mustering just enough strength to nod—but even that felt impossible. The pleasure was overwhelming, consuming every thought, every breath, every nerve in your body. Words were out of the question.

“Come for me,” Ashton snarled, his fingers rubbing ruthless circles on your clit. “Fucking come for me. Make a mess, baby—I wanna feel you soak my cock.”

With one final, devastating snap of his hips, your body seized up and you screamed his name into the night. Hot, blinding, electric pleasure crashed over you like a wave, so intense it shattered every thought. You were reduced to nothing but a gasping, writhing mess—your back arching, toes curling, mouth open in a silent cry.

And then it hit.

Just as your orgasm peaked—when you thought there couldn’t possibly be more—your body let go completely. A powerful gush spilled from between your legs, soaking your thighs and Ashton’s hips, the force of it making you collapse against the railing with a broken moan.

“Holy fuck,” Ashton breathed, voice wrecked, completely stunned. “That’s it, baby—good fucking girl. Squirt all over me. Goddamn.”

But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

The sight of you losing control like that only pushed him further. His thrusts turned savage, unrelenting, and your legs gave out beneath you. Ashton didn’t falter—his hands clamped around your hips, holding you upright as your body went limp.

“Look at this pussy,” he panted, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses across your shoulder. “Fucking soaked for me. You’re a mess, Y/N—the hottest, filthiest fucking mess I’ve ever seen. And I’m not stopping till I’ve come so deep it drips out of you for days.”

You whimpered, exhausted and overstimulated, but fuck if his words didn’t light you up all over again.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, chest pressed to your back, one hand gripping the railing while the other snaked around to hold you still. “You drenched me, sweetheart. You’re mine. You hear me? This pussy—this sloppy, dripping, perfect fucking pussy—belongs to me.”

“Only to you,” you managed to breathe, voice raw as another moan tore from your throat. “It’s yours, Ash. No one else’s. Ever.”

He groaned like he was losing his mind, lips dragging across your skin as he chased his own release. “Fuck, you look like sin,” he growled. “Bent over like a perfect little slut, dripping down my cock, soaking my thighs—you love this, don’t you?”

After a particularly brutal thrust, you let out a strangled gasp.

“I fucking love it,” you sobbed. “I love how deep you are. I love how you ruin me.”

That was all he needed.

One hand fisted in your hair, yanking your back flush to his chest as his other hand slid up to grab your tits, fingers rolling your nipples between them as your head fell back against him.

“God, you’re so fucking filthy,” he hissed into your ear. “Still begging for my cock even though you can barely stand. You squirted all over me and you’re still taking it like a good little whore.”

You moaned loud and broken—speech long gone.

“You want it?” he growled, cock throbbing inside you. “You want me to fill up this tight little cunt? Pump you full until you’re leaking down your thighs?”

“Please, Ash,” you begged, vision swimming. “Come inside me. Fill me up—I want to feel it dripping out. I want your cum fucking everywhere.”

He snapped.

With a loud, guttural groan, Ashton slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his cock twitched deep inside. You could feel the heat of it—thick, hot spurts filling you, spilling into every inch.

“Fuck—fuck, take that,” he gasped, grinding into you through every last pulse. “Take my cum, baby. So fucking pretty when you’re stuffed full. This pussy was made to be ruined by me.”

You cried out, shaking as the warmth of his release spilled out of you, dripping instantly down your thighs. His hips jerked through the aftershocks, unwilling to let go of the moment.

He stayed there, pressed tight against your back, panting hard, fingers bruising your hips as he came down.

Finally, with a low groan, he pulled out—and the slick sound of his cum dripping out of you made him hiss through his teeth.

Before your legs had the chance to give out, Ashton scooped you up effortlessly, one arm behind your back, the other under your thighs. You sagged into him, boneless and ruined, as he carried you back inside.

He kicked the balcony door shut with his foot, his lips brushing your temple as he carried you through the room. Slowly, he walked you over to the bed and laid you down with care, then padded into the bathroom to grab a towel.

Your mind was still a haze of afterglow and overstimulation, but clarity gradually returned. The trembling in your legs faded, replaced by a deep, warm relaxation that spread through your entire body.

When Ashton returned, he wore a dopey, satisfied smile as he sat beside you. He gently spread your thighs, the towel in his hand already damp with warm water. With careful, tender motions, he began cleaning you up—wiping away the mix of arousal and cum with quiet focus.

You hissed when the fabric brushed over your still-sensitive skin, and Ashton’s head immediately shot up. A stray black curl fell over his eyes as he checked your face for any sign of discomfort.

You slowly sat up, your hand reaching for him. With a soft touch, you brushed the hair from his face. His expression softened as your fingertips skimmed his cheek.

“That was fun,” you murmured, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips.

Ashton grinned, setting the towel aside on the nightstand. “Yeah, it was.” He paused, eyes gleaming with mischief as he added, “Too bad you’re married…”

You arched a brow, already bracing for it.

“To me,” he finished with a shit-eating grin.

You let out a dramatic groan, dropping your head to his shoulder. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

He burst into laughter, clearly pleased with himself. “Oh, baby, come on!” he said, cupping your face with both hands and forcing you to meet his eyes. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t the hottest sex we’ve ever had.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into his touch, pressing a kiss to the center of his palm. “Maybe,” you grumbled. “But did you really have to keep bringing up the wedding band you picked out mid-fuck?”

Ashton grinned, entirely unashamed. “I really outdid myself, what can I say?”

Your glare was unimpressed. “I pity your wife.”

Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, his teasing fading into something tender. He tilted his head, studying you with the kind of reverence that could only come from someone completely, hopelessly in love.

“She loves me,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” you whispered, nuzzling deeper into his hand. “I do.”

Ashton smiled, flashing you a dimple. “I love you too, baby.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

[zeroseuniverse]

Things that make Nct 127's hearts melt in a relationship

Johnny – When You Fall Asleep on His Shoulder

You’re talking, mid-sentence, when your words start to slow—until you completely knock out against his shoulder. He freezes. Then, he smiles, resting his head lightly against yours. "Sweet dreams, baby," he whispers.

Taeyong – When You Call Him Home

"I love being with you," you murmur one night. "You feel like home." Taeyong’s breath catches. His eyes shine as he cups your face. "You are my home," he whispers back.

Yuta – When You Patch Him Up After a Tough Day

He gets home sore and exhausted from practice, but you’re already waiting with a heating pad and pain relief patches. "Sit," you say softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. Yuta stares at you for a long moment. "How did I get so lucky?"

Doyoung – When You Remember the Little Things

You hand him his coffee exactly the way he likes it, without him asking. Doyoung blinks. "Wait… how did you—" You shrug. "I just remember." His heart flips. He’s so in love.

Jaehyun – When You Wear His Clothes Without Thinking

You walk into the room wearing his hoodie, casually sipping your coffee. Jaehyun stares. His brain short-circuits. "You look better in that than I do," he murmurs, pulling you into his arms.

Jungwoo – When You Hype Him Up for No Reason

"Wow, my boyfriend is so handsome," you say randomly, staring at Jungwoo like he’s the most precious thing ever. He blushes. Hard. "Babe, stoppp," he whines. But later, when he thinks you’re not looking, he grins like an idiot.

Mark – When You Hold His Hand First

You slip your fingers between his without thinking, your grip warm and secure. Mark glances down, his heart doing somersaults. "You really like me, huh?" he teases, but his voice is soft—so, so full of affection.

Haechan – When You Laugh at His Jokes, Even the Bad Ones

He cracks a terrible pun, fully expecting you to groan. Instead, you burst into laughter. Haechan blinks. Then, his lips curl into the softest smile. "You actually think I’m funny?" he asks, voice tinged with awe.

[3igbootyl0ver]

who hurt you? [iii]

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: It's the day of the finals. Y/N finds out and confronts Amber over Tara's abuse, prioritizing her safety over the game.

word count: 2538

warnings: mentions of abuse, swearing, violence, angst

a/n: I'm bacccck muahaha. im already writing up the next part (which is also the last) and plan to upload it in a few days

part [i] | part [ii] | part [iv] | part [v]

It’s the day of the finals, and going up against your biggest rival in generations has your heart racing in anticipation. It’s also been a few days since you last approached Tara at school, and that was the last time you saw her. You can’t help but feel worried and concerned for her; she’s been barely attending classes or skipping school altogether this week.

“Let’s do this, guys! Let’s kick some fuckin’ ass!” Mindy shouted, hyping up the locker room as she smacked her fists together with a grin. The energy in the room was electric, with everyone feeding off the adrenaline coursing through their veins as upbeat music blared through the speakers. The roar of the crowd outside the locker room was muffled but unmistakable, a distant reminder of the stakes of today’s game. You glanced around at your teammates, their expressions ranging from determined to anxious. For a moment, you tried to shake off the nagging worry about Tara, but it clung to you like a shadow.

“Yo, you good?” Taylor, your closest teammate aside from Mindy, nudged your shoulder. She had that easygoing grin that usually put you at ease, but today, even her reassurance felt hollow.

“Yeah, just focused,” you replied quickly, though the lie felt heavy on your tongue. Your mind wandered again to Tara—how pale she had looked the last time you saw her, the distant look in her eyes. Something was wrong, and the fact that you hadn’t seen her since only made your chest tighten.

“All right, listen up!” Coach Melissa’s booming voice cut through the locker room chatter, bringing everyone to attention. “This is it. Everything we’ve worked for. Leave it all on the field. No excuses. Play for each other, play for the pride of this team, and play like you’ve got nothing to lose!”

The room erupted in cheers, but you could barely muster the same energy. The game was important, sure, but your mind was elsewhere. Tara’s absence was eating at you. Was she okay? Was there something you could’ve done earlier?

Just as the team surged forward, filing out of the locker room toward the field, you noticed a small figure leaving the bathroom near the lockers. You knew exactly who it was.

“Tara? Tara! Wait—wait!” you called out, watching her walk away as quickly as she could after seeing you approach. You managed to catch up to her, watching as she covered her face.

“Y/N, please—no, you can’t be here. Please don’t look at me,” she pleaded, her voice shaky as she began tearing up.

“Hey, hey, look at me. You’re all I ever want to look at. It’s me, Tara.” Gently, you pushed her hands away from her face, revealing a dark, purple blotch spreading beneath her eye, its edges tinged with hues of blue and red, like ink bleeding into paper. The smooth porcelain skin around it was swollen and tender.

Your heart ached at the sight. Who would do this? Who would hurt her? The thought alone fueled your anger, a fire rising in your chest, willing you to throw common sense aside and make whoever did this pay.

“Y/N, really, I’m fine. Can we please let this go—"

“Tara, who did this to you? Who hurt you? It was Amber, wasn’t it?”

Her pleading face failed to convince you. Her lips trembled, her eyes darting to the side as if searching for an escape.

“Y/N, please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but the desperation in it was unmistakable. “You don’t understand. It’s not what you think.”

Your chest tightened. “Not what I think? Tara, someone hurt you!” you said, your voice rising slightly, though you tried to keep it gentle. “You can’t just expect me to walk away from this. I care about you—I need to know.”

She bit her lip, her hands fidgeting at her sides as though holding back the weight of the world. “It was Amber, okay? Just... please don’t get involved. I’m handling it.”

“Handling it?” you echoed, disbelief lacing your words. “Tara, look at you! This is not okay. You don’t have to deal with this alone—and I swear I’ll—”

“Stop!” she snapped suddenly, her voice cracking under the pressure. Her hands clenched into fists, and tears began to spill down her cheeks. “Just stop, Y/N. I can’t... I can’t drag you into this. You don’t know what’s at stake.”

The raw pain in her voice made you freeze. For a moment, the words you wanted to say got caught in your throat. Instead, you reached out and gently cupped her face, your thumb brushing away a stray tear.

“Tara, I’m already in this. You’re my everything, and I’m not going to just walk away when you’re hurting like this.”

Her defenses crumbled, and she let out a shaky sob, leaning into your touch. “I’m scared, Y/N,” she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “If I tell you... if you get involved... she’ll come after you too.”

The weight of her confession hit you like a punch to the gut. Amber wasn’t just cruel—she was dangerous. But the fear in Tara’s eyes only solidified your resolve.

“Tara,” you said softly, firmly, “I don’t care what Amber thinks she can do. She’s not going to touch me, and she’s never going to hurt you again. I promise.”

For a moment, she stared at you, as if trying to decide whether she could believe your words. Then, slowly, she nodded, her fragile trust shining through her tear-streaked face.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll tell you.”

“Let’s move, Y/L/N! Time to make history!” Coach called, clapping her hands and disrupting the moment. You were forced to reunite with the team, leaving Tara alone—but not without promising to meet her afterward.

You lingered for a moment, watching Tara walk away. The image of her tear-streaked face and bruised skin burned into your mind. No part of you wanted to step onto that field—but you didn’t have a choice.

-

The roar of the crowd grew louder, and the cool evening air hit your face as you stepped outside. As the team huddled before kickoff, you stole a glance toward the stands. You scanned the crowd almost instinctively, hoping—no, needing—to see her. But Tara wasn’t there.

The whistle blew, signaling the start of the game. You shook your head, trying to focus. Not now. You couldn’t afford to let your team down. But as the game began, you couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight wasn’t just about the finals—it was about something much bigger.

Throughout the match, rage surged through your veins like wildfire whenever you catch a glimpse of Amber in the opposition. Your knuckles turned white as anger threatened to consume you. Every movement she made on the field felt like a taunt, a reminder of the bruise etched on Tara’s face. It wasn't just the sight of her—it was the smugness in her posture, the way she carried herself, as if she were untouchable.

Your jaw tightened with each passing second, the fire in your chest roaring louder. The game became a blur of red-tinted focus, your mind oscillating between the need to win and the burning desire for retribution. Every fiber of your being screamed to confront her, to demand answers, to make her feel even a fraction of the pain Tara must have endured.

You barely registered the roar of the crowd or the calls from your teammates. Every step Amber took felt like a trigger, each glance in her direction fanning the flames of your fury.

The ball came into play, bouncing toward Amber. She sprinted for it, and something inside you snapped. Your focus tunneled, everything else fading into the background except for her. With every ounce of strength, you charged forward, your speed fueled by fury. Amber barely saw it coming. 

Your body collided with hers with bone-crunching force, the sound of the impact reverberating through the field. She went down hard, her body twisting awkwardly as she hit the ground with a sickening thud. A sharp cry of pain escaped her lips, silencing the crowd for a moment before the referee's whistle blared, cutting through the air like a blade. You stood over her, your chest heaving as adrenaline coursed through you. Amber clutched at her ankle, her face contorted in agony as she writhed on the ground. 

The sight of her in pain should have brought you satisfaction, but instead, it left you feeling raw—unleashed and unrelenting, like a dam had burst and you couldn’t stop the flood. “Y/N!” a teammate shouted, grabbing your arm and trying to pull you back, but you didn’t move. Your eyes were locked on Amber as she looked up at you, her expression twisted with shock and fear.

“You think you can just get away with it?” you spat, your voice low and trembling with fury. “You think no one will stand up to you?” Amber groaned in pain, clutching her leg as the medics rushed onto the field. The referee approached, yelling something about a red card, but it didn’t matter. All you could think about was Tara—her pain, her tears, and how Amber deserved every second of this. You turned to walk away, your chest heaving, but her voice cut through the air like a knife.

As they dragged you away, Amber propped herself up on one elbow, wincing but managing a sharp smirk. Her voice was hoarse but dripping with malice. “You think you’re some kind of hero?” she sneered, her words slithering through the air like poison.

“Tara begged for me to stop, you know. Pathetic how easy she breaks.” Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, your breath catching in your throat. Amber’s smirk widened as she saw the fire reignite in your eyes. “Face it, Y/N. You’re too late. You couldn’t protect her then, and you sure as hell can’t protect her now.”

Before you could stop yourself, you were on her. Words no longer sufficed—your anger demanded action. Shouts erupted from every direction as teammates and officials rushed in, trying to pull you back. The chaos blurred around you, hands grabbing at your arms, voices yelling, but none of it mattered. All you saw was Amber’s smug, twisted grin and the dark shadow of what she’d done to Tara.

It wasn’t until someone physically hauled you back, dragging you away from the scene, that the red haze began to fade. Amber lay on the ground, her face pale but her smirk still lingering, her laughter echoing in your ears even as they pushed you toward the sidelines. 

The crowd at the bleachers was a mic of shock and thrill. Gasps rippled through the stands, mingling with scattered cheers from those who seemed more amused than appalled by the fight breaking out on the field.

“You’re out, Y/L/N!” the referee barked, his voice furious. But you didn’t care. Your only regret was stopping.

Moments afterward blurred together: Coach Melissa’s stern voice echoing in your ears, the sting of disappointment as you trudged off the field, and the heavy silence as you made your way to the changing room. None of it made sense. You despised Amber- she’d been your high school rival for years— but imagining her hurting someone, hurting Tara? That was unthinkable and something you couldn’t have comprehend.

The sharp snap of fingers jolted you back to reality. Your coach stood over you, frustration etched on her face, while your teammates exchanged concerned glances. Blinking, you realized you had been sitting in the locker room, lost in a haze, as the first half of the match passed you by.

“What the hell was that, Y/L/N?!” Coach’s voice cut through the air like a whip. “Do you realize what you just did? You might’ve jeopardized our entire chance of winning! The team needs their captain—now!”

Your chest tightened, but frustration burned brighter than guilt. “She hurt Tara,” you snapped. “I don’t care about some stupid championship anymore!” The locker room fell silent, your teammates exchanging uneasy glances—some filled with concern, others still bristling over your actions. You took a shaky breath, willing yourself to stay composed. “Coach, I’m sorry for what I did,” you said, your voice quieter now. “But I can’t lead this team right now. Mindy’s your best option to take us to a win.” You stood straighter, forcing yourself to meet Coach’s eyes, determined not to let your emotions spiral further.

Coach Melissa took a deep sigh, her gaze lingering on you for a moment before hesitantly nodding. “Alright,” she said quietly, then turned to lead the team back onto the field for the second half.

As the others filled out, Mindy paused by the door, her brow furrowed with worry. She hesitated, then glanced back at you. “Do what you have to do, Y/N,” she said softly, her voice steady despite concern in her eyes. “I’m always by your side.” She offered a small, reassuring smile before disappearing into the hallway.

-

You found Tara sitting on the bleachers behind the school, far from the noise of the game. She was curled into herself, her knees pulled to her chest as she stared at the ground. The sight of her made your heart ache all over again, but it also steeled your resolve.

“Tara,” you called softly, walking toward her. She looked up, startled, her tear-streaked face lighting up with a mixture of relief and confusion.

“Y/N? What are you doing here? The game—”

“It doesn’t matter,” you interrupted, sitting beside her. “You matter. Talk to me, Tara. Please. Tell me what’s going on.”

For a moment, she hesitated, her lip trembling as she tried to hold back more tears. Then, as if a dam broke, she began to speak. She told you everything—about Amber’s threats, the fear she lived with every day, and how she thought keeping you out of it would protect you.

By the time she finished, your fists were clenched, your anger boiling over. But you forced yourself to stay calm for her sake. “Tara,” you said, your voice low but determined, “she doesn’t control you. She doesn’t get to hurt you and walk away like it’s nothing. We’ll deal with this. Together.”

She shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t know her, Y/N. She’s dangerous. She told me to wait for her here, please leave before it’s too late-“

“And I’m not afraid of her,” you replied firmly. “I won’t let her hurt you again. I don’t care what it takes. You’re not meeting her anymore.”

Tara looked at you, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and hope. “Do you mean that?”

“Always,” you said, reaching out to take her hand. “You’re not alone in this. Not anymore.”

Tara gave a shaky nod, though the fear never fully left her eyes. You knew this wasn’t going to be easy—not by a long shot. Amber wasn’t someone you could just confront and expect to back down.

 But for Tara, you would face whatever came next.

A loud shout from the field echoed in the distance, reminding you of the game. But right now, nothing else mattered. Your focus was entirely on Tara.

----------

a/n: I hope this is enough lol i'm never writing this much angst anymore its sucking the happiness out of me. any feedback is well appreciated and requests are open as well :p

taglist: @natasha25052