#me and the hand are in a competition and it’s winning

[satrs]

Wet Wars!

SYNOPSIS; Hope you like losing your mind– twice.

FEAT; caleb x Satoru Gojo x fem!reader

TAGS;MDNI! threesome. oral fixation. bestfriend!caleb and bestfriend!satoru. competitive. panty ripping. desperate and püssydrunk guys. overstim. cunnilingus. dirtytalk. petnames. cocky gojo. possessiveeee caleb. squirting. cum eating. cl!t smacking. püssy smacking. dacryphilia. spit and drool. messy. slighttt dumbification from satoru once. praise. begging. size k!nk. tummy buldge. satoru jerks himself off and is pathetic. 3.3k.

A/N; sighhhh ANOTHA ONE!!!!! they r both my fav bois so I rlly had my fun on this one hihi^^ THIS is my dream blunt rotation man.

Who can make you cum first?

It starts like a game— at least, that's what Satoru calls it.

You're sprawled out on silky sheets, thighs parted indulgently over a stack of plush pillows.

Caleb kneels at your left, grey sweats tight around his hard-on, eyes glowing with quiet hunger while Gojo lounges on the other side, shirt off, grey sweats hanging low, all-too-familiar cocky smirk plastered on his moist lips.

Seeing your two closest, bestest of friends like this is— well, not exactly something you're used to.

Yeah, sure you three goof around all the time, and sure Satoru sometimes comes up with dirty jokes about you that Caleb makes quick work to and sure there was one time they both taught you how to properly kiss guys— but this?

This is new.

“Aaaand? Watcha' sayin? Yer' in?” the white-haired drawls, that wicked glint lighting up his cerulean eyes as they slide from Caleb to your exposed, dripping center. He swears your panties are practically pasted to your folds. “Winner takes it all.”

Caleb just smirks, trailing the back of his fingers along your inner thigh. “Hell yeah. Buuuut,” his voice dips, husky and pointed, “you sure you can handle her? Bet you don’t even know where the clit is.”

Satoru whistles, clearly entertained. “Woah. Cocky-much.” Then he flashes you that wicked grin, muscles twitching from the possesive grip on your thigh. “Yer' lettin' him talk ta me like that?”

You roll your eyes at their banter, hips twitching into the empty space between them. “You guyssss, seriously, quit it and do.... something already.”

“Aight, aight,” Caleb murmurs, voice thick with amusement as he hooks his fingers into your panties, sliding them to the side. He’s just about to slip a finger through your slick folds when Satoru's hand swats! his away.

“I know where the damn clit is, starboy,” Satoru's grin is all teeth. “Riiiiiiiight—”

He presses down, finger circling with maddening precision until it hits your bundle of nerves dead-on. The pressure is just enough to make your thighs jerk, threatening to clamp shut around their heads. But both of them shoot out an arm without missing a beat, pushing your legs apart and holding them there with synchronized ease.

“—here,” he finishes, eyes glittering with smug satisfaction.

“That’s a no-brainer.”

Caleb snorts, unfazed. “Well duhhh. She’s soaked, Satoru. You could find it in your sleep.”

Satoru chuckles low in his throat, still teasing slow circles with his soft pad. “Then maybe ya oughta put in some effort before I win. Or not. Couldn't care less.”

Caleb's eyes narrow slightly, then he leans in without warning, tongue flicking out to replace the others hand, making your entire body jolt. “You talk too damn much." he murmurs, lips brushing your clit just barely, ripping your flimsy panties almost completely off with one strong pull, earning a shocked yelp from you. “Earn your keep.”

Then he licks, a slow, devastating stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring it like he’s been starving.

And suddenly, they're both on you at once, two hot tongues, slick mouths feisting upon you as if as if you were the last thing on earth they'd ever get to taste.

Satoru dips low again, mouth locking onto your clit with practiced ease, his tongue rolling and circling like he’s studied every nerve under a microscope. He hums against you, the vibration sending a ripple up your spine before he ends the barely holding on annoying strap of your cloth off you completely to further suckle at your buttony clit.

Caleb's grip tightens on your thigh as he kisses the soft skin, soft brown hair tickling your thigh as he moves up closer, his mouth dragging open kisses along the crease where your leg meets your needy core.

“Sweet fuck,” he mutters, dragging his tongue flat against your entrance now, slow and savoring, wanting to memorize your taste.

Satoru glances up, eyes gleaming. “Yer' takin’ your time down there, or just scared I’m gonna make her cum first?”

Caleb answers by sucking hard, just below your clit— just close enough for your hand to fly and latch onto the brown bush of hair while Satoru increases the pressure right on your swollen clit, tongue flicking in sharp, teasing pulses.

"Nghhhh! Y-yes r-right there!," you cry out, hips bucking, but their hands hold you down, keep you spread, keep you right there with nowhere to squirm or run to.

Caleb groans in response and fuck— he could cum by just listening to your sweet cries, hips deseraptly humbing deep into the matress.

You're sweet—so damn sweet. He can't breathe, can't be, except in the act of devouring you whole like you're the only thing he's ever wanted. He'd always imagined tasting you but this? This is heaven for him. And there's no way in hell anyone can take this honeyed cunny from him.

Only over his dead body.

And Satoru? God, he's an idiot.

An idiot for not dragging you into this sooner. A goddamn fool for letting this sappy bastard Caleb share in your sacred juices. And the biggest fool of all for grinding into the sheets like some needy, feral mutt, each spurting of your essence landing right on his tastebuds and he's sure he's addicted by now.

Because you are addictive.

You can't think.

And from the way your vision's already going white at the edges, legs desperatly shaking as the overwhelming sounds of slurp slurp slurp numbs your senses, and you're not sure who’s winning.

But you're definitely losing— in the best way possible.

You feel Caleb's tongue sliding lower ashe parts your folds gently, sucking one side into his mouth before dragging his tongue up the other. He's so gentle, so reverent, but there’s an edge to him now, a heat in his breath that promises he’s not going to let the cocky white-haired win.

Satoru's not having it.

He quickly flattens his tongue against your clit and starts flicking the bud so fast and devastating, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you still.

“Gonna make her cum first,” he says like it’s fact, “watch.”

Caleb only narrows his eyes, clicking his tongue in irritation before diving back between your legs, sliding his tongue deep into you. “Not if I get her gushing first.”

His words come out muffled, barely audible, vibrations of his voice adding onto his nasty tongue gliding through your hole, hitting your sweetspot with one swift roll of his tongue.

Bingo.

God, you would snap your thighs together if you could, but their strong hands make it impossible for you to escape from this overwhelming pleasure.

You're at your wits end at this point, tummy sucking in as Satoru pulls back just enough to smirk, placing a teasing smack! to your clit.

“Oh? Playing dirty already?”

Caleb doesn't care to answer. His tongue moves in slow, deep strokes, licking into your pussy while his lips seal around your entrance. You can hear it— the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth fucking you, tongue curling, nose brushing your clit.

The white-haired would love nothing more than to yank that jackass away from you and taste you himself, show you just how deep his tongue can bury itself inside you, how much better he can please you— but he holds back.

He wanted this game, after all.

“Fine. I can play dirty too.”

He reaches up, lifting your hips slightly before he sucks your clit into his mouth— hard. His tongue flicks fast, merciless almost, desperate to force your attention onto him.

You choke on a sob as your hips buck up into his mouth, hand tangling in the snowy hair while one of your legs hooks over Caleb's shoulder, heel digging into his back.

They're working together now, without even meaning to.

You're thrashing, hands now clutching the sheets, legs twitching as heat coils tight in your belly. You're—

“Close. She's close,” Caleb mumbles against you, thumb circling your inner thigh, "C'mon, baby. Cum for me."

“I'm still here, ya know,” Gojo purrs, then moans into your clit as you slightly yank at his hair. “Cum for me, cutie. Wanna taste ya.”

“M' gonna— gonna eat it up. Allll of it,” Caleb adds, breathless, lips gliding over your slit desperatly, selfish tongue draaaaging over your cunny, begging for you to just squirt right into his mouth. “You want that, pretty?”

With a nod and a quick glance at the cerulean eyes yearning for a reaction on your features and those lilac hues trying to suck your soul into his, you break.

“Thereee she is.”

Caleb's a madman now, fingers bruising into your thighs as if trying to keep you wide open, greedy for more. “So sweet, baby. Such a messy cunny— f-fuck.”

Your orgasm hits sudden and hard, whole body shuddering, thighs clamping around their heads. Voice cracking, cries and rambles of their names barely reaching their ears. Tears form at your lasline, toes curling at the massive wave of pleasure as your face contorts.

“Hahhh, ya should see yer face, pretty.”

Satoru's lips shine with your release, big fat beam plastered on his face as his tongue flicks one last teasing stroke over your clit just to make your body jolt.

They don't stop, keep going, mouths locked on you, dedicated as they suck and lick and pull every single drop you're offering out until you're twitching uncontrollably.

“Fuck,” Satoru breathes, pulling back to admire the mess. “Poor baby 's wrecked already."

He leans up to kiss you, slow and filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. It's so nasty but still adicting, him devouring your mouth like a man starved as Caleb glares up at you, placing a possesive kiss to your thigh followed by a jealous bite to your flesh.

His hands begin to slide up your sides, and then he's at your other ear. “Still hungry,” he growls so deep you can feel the wetness oozing out of you. “Want more— g-gonna cum for us again, you can do that for me, yeah? Be a good girl and cream alllllll over me? Hm? Pleaseeee, baby."

"Hmm? M-more?"

"Mhmmm," Satoru conters, fingers brushing your soaked folds as he stares daggers into the brunette, placing a quick kiss to your temple. “Gonna give me one now?” he teases. "Fair's fair, cutie. Can't let him be the one takin' the win.”

The snowy head dissapears between your legs now, attacking your pussy again, mouth latching onto your pussy like he’s got something to prove, because he does.

His tongue flicks and curls, lips sealing around your clit in a maddening rhythm. He moans into you, and the vibrations make your back arch, sparks racing up your spine.

Caleb tilts your face to his, claiming your mouth with a possessive, greedy kiss. His fingers trail upward to pinch your nipple, rolling it just right while his tongue tangles with yours.

You're gasping into him, breathless and overstimulated, caught in the push-pull between their mouths, thighs locking around Satoru's head, white locks peaking from the gap as your hands grasp for the brunettes biceps.

“Feel that?” Caleb pants against your lips, teeth nipping just enough to make you twitch. “He's working reaaal hard for that second one, huh? But I’m still your favourite, right?”

"You wish." Satoru's pace quickens now, two fingers slipping inside you now, curling right against your g-spot as his tongue keeps torturing your clit.

“God,” you sob through breathless kisses, “you're both—fuck!—both insane—”

They moan in sync.

"W-wanna have you i-inside."

Both sets of eyes snap to yours. Wide and starved, ridiculously pretty for two men who already pulled an orgasm out of you— more incoming.

“Who?”

They ask together, like some twisted choir of temptation.

"D-don't care, just wanna—”

Satoru is the first to move.

You barely register the shift of weight before he's positioning himself beside you, hard-on of his pressing through your side, threatening to break free from his grey joggers, warm hands sliding under your thighs, smacking your pussy hard before he muffles a moan between biten lips.

“Greedyyy,” he murmurs, voice dipped in silk and sin. “I love it.”

Caleb shoots Satoru a look that could kill, jaw clenched, fists tight, barely holding himself back. He's twitching with restraint, knuckles white, his teeth gritted. But he doesn't speak, not yet. Instead, his hands go to the waistband of his boxers, yanking them down with a rough, frustrated grunt. His cock springs free, hard, flushed and leaking from the torture of holding back for hours.

He leans over you, guiding himself to your soaked entrance, knuckles brushing your hip like a silent apology he doesn’t have the words to speak. “I-inside. Inside.” he pants, voice frayed at the edges, trembling with desperation. “Gonna— gonna let me fill you up?"

You nod, hips twitching upwards and his tip catches the hood of your clit— that’s all it takes.

He pounds his entire girth into you in one swith thrust, burying himself to the hilt with a groan that sounds damn near feral. His head drops to your shoulder, breath hot and uneven as he starts to move, hips grinding into you, deep and raw, like he can't stand another second without being inside you.

Meanwhile, Satoru slides down again, mouth back at your clit, tongue relentless, his hand now freeing his hard cock, wrapping around the base as he spits down onto it, spit and your juices mixed, serving as lube.

He's jerking his length, hand locking around his blushed tip, hips stuttering as he watches your stuffed cunny streeeetching around Caleb's cock with needy, desperate gushes of your juices.

"Oh f-fuck." He's stroking his cock in firm, hungry fists, pace matching every brutal thrust Caleb drives into you. His breath hits your thighs in hot bursts, and his tongue doesn’t quit, flicking, curling, lapping at your clit like it's the only thing keeping him alive.

“Shit, shitshitshit—fuck,” he whimpers, almost delirious, dragging his tongue up your swollen bundle of nerves, circling it with the flat of it, slow and mean. His voice cracks into a moan as he stares down, wide-eyed, at the taut swell forming just beneath your bellybutton, his jaw going slack, eyes rolling to his skull. “Look at that. Fuck, look at her. Stuffed full and still takin' it— like a champ, baby. Yer' made for this.”

Caleb can't even form a word.

He's gone, eyes glazed, lips parted as he watches your cunt suck him in over and over again, the obnoxious sound of your crying pussy causing goosebumps to arise on his skin. His control is snapping thread by thread, hips pounding into you with frantic need, every movement fueled by the way your walls grip him like they own him, like they don't want to ever let him go.

His brain's fried, lost, so goddamn lost in your vice-like grip, your delicious, honeyed moans and that gorgeous face of yours contorting into the cutest grimace. All he can do is fuck you harder, bullying his cock deeper into you, eyes glued to the bump at your tummy, hand pushing down onto it.

You're gasping, twitching, mind unraveling with every thrust, every hot, wet flick against your clit when both their faces lift at once, hovering over yours.

Then it happens.

They both go for your mouth, lips colliding—messy and hot, and you're caught between them. Caleb growls against your cheek as Satoru laughs into your mouth, and suddenly both of them are fighting for your kiss like lions would for their prey.

“Mine,” Caleb snarls, pulling your face toward his with delicate force, crashing his lips to yours, shoving your body higher against the headboard with every ragged snap of his hips. You're crying out into his mouth, helpless against the feral need behind every movement.

“Nahhh,” Satoru pants, laughing breathlessly as he licks along the edge of your lips, stealing kisses where he can between Caleb's frantic ones. His hand works faster on his cock, slick and twitching in his grip, precum smearing across his knuckles. “She knows where home is,” he growls, voice pitched low as his thumb swipes his tip, eyes locked on your teary, bliss-wrecked face.

Your vision is a blur of white hair, brown curls, sweat, and tears. You're full, stretched around Caleb's cock still pumping into you like it's the last thing he'll ever do, while Satoru's tongue slips between your parted lips, your neck, nipples— messy and open-mouthed everywhere as he drinks down your moans.

“Say it,” Caleb gasps, pulling away just enough to pant against your lips, his voice shattering with need. “She's mine, right, pips? Fuckkk, tell me your pussy 's mine—fuck, baby—t-tell me."

"Awww, think she's gone dumb", Satoru coos, jerking himself faster, watching your stomach bulge slightly with each desperate thrust Caleb drives in. “Look at her cryin' on ya.”

Caleb shoots him a warning glare, fighting the urge to punch him in the face before he leans in, knuckles brushing your side as his eyes meet yours. “Shh shhh, baby. It's alright, you're doin' sooo well baby. So perfect f' me, yeah?”

And you are.

Tears streaming, mouth open in a silent cry, trembling beneath them. And when your orgasm hits again, it wrecks you. No warning, no build—just a sudden snap that makes you seize around Caleb's cock, milking him so hard he shouts, hips stuttering.

Satoru watches the exact second you cum, and that's all it takes.

Caleb's thrusts get rougher and sloppier, like he's afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn't fuck you deep enough, hard enough. His hands dig into your waist, grounding you in place as he slams into you, panting brokenly against your jaw.

“Fuck, baby— so p-perfect—'m not gonna last—” he chokes out, voice cracking with the strain. “Wanna cum with you—i-inside you—please, pleasepleaseplease.”

Caleb's whole body tenses, and then he's spilling inside you with a deep, broken groan, hips grinding against you to stay buried as deep as possible, pushing his hot white seed further into your womb while your poor cunt flutters around him.

“Fuuuuck, that's hot— yer so— fuh-fuck! so damn sexy, baby.” Satoru desperatly tugs at his length, lips tugged between his lips has his eyes jump from your messy cunt to your blissful face.

You blink up just in time to see him stroking his cock, slicked in precum, veins bulging down his shaft. His face is flushed, lips swollen from kissing and licking you raw, saliva trailing down his lips before it drips down onto your flushed skin. His snowy bangs stick to his forehead, eyes glued to where Caleb's still inside you, cum dripping out of your stuffed, stuttering hole.

He's such a mess, drool leaking from his mouth like he's a helpless, lust-drunk addict, completely dumb on you, eyes vacant, every twitch of his body a desperate plea for release.

“'M gonna—shiiiit, I’m gonna— gonna paint your stuffed tummy like a canvas.” He groans as his dick twitches at the thought, and then—

Thick ropes of cum spill across your stomach, hot and heavy, painting your skin in messy streaks. Satoru curses through gritted teeth, milking himself with sharp jerks, never looking away.

When he finally lets go of his cock, his chest is heaving, grin half-drunk. “Goddamn,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a filthy kiss to your cum-slicked stomach. “You’re a walking wet dream.”

There's a beat of silence, your breathing shaky, brain half-melted into the sheets until Caleb, still nestled deep inside you, strokes your thigh soothingly, littering kisses to your jaw.

“Sooo,” he begins, voice low and smug against your ear, “who rocked your world harder?

You groan. “Oh my god. Really?”

He grins, biting lightly at your shoulder. “Dead serious.”

Satoru shifts to your other side with a dramatic sigh, propping himself up on one elbow. His fingers trail up your stomach, lazily circling the mess he left there, before he leans down to whisper near your lips, eyes gleaming.

“I mean, we could settle a rematch,” he murmurs, tongue swiping the corner of your mouth. “But 'm pretty sure ya screamed my name when ya came just now.”

“Delusional,” Caleb mutters into your neck, but his hips twitch forward just slightly, like the challenge is already baiting him.

Gojo smirks, dipping to kiss your collarbone. “Hey, sweetie, still got one more round in ya'?” His hand slides between your thighs, teasing. “'Cause I'd really like to win this time. Fair and square.”

Caleb's mouth curls into a grin against your skin, grip tightening around your hips.

“You're on.”

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 2025.

Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[nympheagain]

Kiss me like you hate me, fuck me with love

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Reader x Rex Sloan

Warnings: Smut, Mark likes his hair pulled, they’re so repressed, Rex is kinda bratty and also takes photos of you half naked, cunnilingus, blowjobs, p in v sex, they hit it raw.

Heavily inspired by that one challengers scene

You were attending some gala, something about commemorating the new guardians of the galaxy, and you’d chosen this criminally short dress to prance about them in.

You’d caught them looking multiple times throughout the night, dark eyes peering through their lashes, hands not-so-secretly adjusting their pants.

And you loved it. All this fuss, just cause you wore a silly dress. God, they were pathetic.

You take a sip of wine, and follow their eyes as some of it drips down ur dress into the valley of your breasts. You whisper an “Oops,” and then tell them you’re going to go dance, grabbing the hand of some superhero standing on the sidelines.

You’re dancing with some nominee for the guardians, a strong guy, but not strong enough. His hands are wandering, and usually you’d hurt him for being so touchy, but you can also feel their eyes on you, and you want to get them heated.

You walked up to them towards the end of it, and they could barely contain themselves. But they had to. You were in public, after all, and no one knew about this little arrangement.

You stumble over each other back at the headquarters. Everyone else is at the after party, so it’s just you and your boys.

Warm breaths fan on either side of your face, before you’re feeling hot kisses and licks on each of your cheeks, Rex’s hands dragging your mouth to his. And he’s consuming you.

It’s almost dizzying the way Marks hands grab and grope at your tits. You’re pulling his hair, and he’s wearing a sinful look in his eyes, groaning into your ear. It’s languid, slow, searing your skin with every touch. It’s the best you’ve ever felt.

You can see their hands moving to each other, large calloused hands grabbing each others shirts, pants, like it’s a competition they have to win. They’re still kissing you like they want to ravage you, and you slowly move your face, letting the events take their natural course.

There’s not even a pause before they begin kissing each other. And you watch, closely, as their tongues twist and turn in their mouths. They kiss you like it’s an honour, and they kiss each other like it’s a battle, like they’re mad at each other. And you can feel yourself get wetter with each second that passes.

Rough hands are pulling at hair, eliciting grunts and groans. It’s almost comical to you, the way they make out. With you, it’s all soft sighs and whimpers. And here they were about to fuck like they hated each other.

And maybe they did.

But you know they needed it. They needed to take it out on each other, their love, their hatred, their fucking need for each other. They needed this, lest they spontaneously combust.

And when they’ve had their fill, they turn to you. The two pairs of hands on you are soft and warm. You’re being caressed from all ends, being pulled and pushed.

Rex’s hands tickle you as they reach for the hem of your short dress. Mark’s hands get impatient and rip it off.

You gasp lightly, watching their expressions carefully. You had one more thing to tease them with, and that was the lacy number under your dress.

Mark is pushing you down onto the bed, the plush sheets soft against your half-bare skin. He’s moving your thighs apart, strong hands holding them in place. And then he’s kissing your cunt.

Your back arches off the mattress, and before you can even get used to the feeling of Mark mouthfucking you through your panties, you feel Rex leave lingering kisses up and down your neck, leaving marks that will definitely be visible the next day.

But you don’t care about tomorrow right now. All you care about is that very moment. The feeling of your first orgasm building up, and your boys feeling up every part of your body.

Your eyes are closed as you tilt your head back, relishing in the way Mark is sucking your clit when you hear a ‘Snap!’

The sight of Rex with his phone above you greets you when you open your eyes. “Fuck,” he’s groaning, and you can tell he’s gonna be using that in the future. His pants are tented, and you wanna help your sweet boy.

You palm him through his trousers, feeling him harden more under your touch, and the seductive look in your eyes tells him all he needs to know. He’s standing off the bed, kicking his pants and boxers off and kneeling in front of you.

You’re sucking his length into your warm mouth, moaning around it as Mark peels your panties off with his teeth, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you take in his taste.

He’s shuddering over you, one hand holding the headboard in a punishing grip, the other resting in your hair, not fucking you on his cock just yet, but you can feel his resolve slowly dissolving.

Mark is eating you out like a man starved now, and you’re sucking Rex harder, vibrations from your moans travelling straight up his dick. And when you come, you’re pulling off him, thighs spasming as Mark is licking and sucking you through it.

Big brown eyes stare up at you through your thighs, and you wanna make Mark feel as good as he makes you feel, so you’re grabbing him, straddling him and pulling his cock out of his pants.

Rex is whining at the lack of attention, and you’re rolling your eyes, telling him to be a good boy and be patient. You sink onto Mark’s hard length, moaning at the feeling.

He looks like he’s about to sob, eyes glossy and staring at the ceiling. Rex huffs, but watches you intently nevertheless, eyes never leaving the area where your bodies connect.

And then Mark is sobbing, fat tears falling from his eyes, and you coo, kissing the tears away, telling him how good he was for you. How good he always is for you.

You can feel Rex’s hands from behind you, hands fondling your breasts, and you know he’s getting impatient, so you manoeuvre a hand behind you, grabbing him and tugging.

He’s spilling whimpers into your ear. Hips thrusting up into your grip, chasing the feeling. You scoff, but squeeze him anyway, hand moving up to his slit to collect the precum leaking out. “Wanna be fucking impatient, huh?” You’re muttering.

“Impatient boys get punished.” You can feel his cock hum at the thought of what punishments you have in mind. Last time you said that, you had edged him for hours, and only when he was crying did you let him come.

You know the prospect of suffering at your hands excited him. You know that’s why he liked to act so fuckin bratty.

You’re still bouncing on Mark, your other hand sprawled across his abs, and you can feel him get tense. You know he’s gonna come soon. And since he was so good for you, you’re going harder on him, telling him, “It’s okay Mark, you can come inside me.”

You both approach your end at the same time, and you go limp on Mark, feeling hot streaks of cum paint your walls, and Rex is still thrusting up into your hand, but he’s also grabbing your hips and moving you up and down on Mark, helping you both ride out your highs.

By the time Mark is done, you feel full. When you pull off of him, you feel his cum leak out of you, but Rex is thrusting into you immediately, plugging it all back. He’s insatiable, and you want to tell him to wait, to give you a minute cause you’re so overstimulated, but it feels so good.

So you let him manhandle you and flip you over onto your stomach, positioning you so that your back is arching for him perfectly, and he’s rutting into you, loud moans leaving his mouth as he takes what he needs from you.

And for the third time that night, you feel yourself get close, cunt fluttering around Rex’s cock, and he’s pulling your back to his chest, holding you by the neck as he finally comes in sync with you.

When you look over to the side, you see Mark, spent and fast asleep. You and Rex just giggle to each other, catching your breath and watching Mark snore lightly.

@pickledollsheshe

[angelsfat3]

꽃.ㅤㅤ( 𝓕𝑢𝔠𝒌 ) ／ㅤ𝔩𝓲𝒌𝑒ᆞᆞ 𝑨𝓷𝔦𝑚𝐚𝑙．

𝖢𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗇, 𝗅𝖾𝗍'𝗌 𝖻𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗍, 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗅 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗇 𝗏𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗈 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽? .. 𝗇𝗈? .. 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎? 𝖮𝗄𝖺𝗒. 𝖧𝗒𝗉𝗈𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗌.ㅤ／ㅤ 𝑜𝑓𝑓𝑖𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑒𝑟!𝐽𝑎𝑦, 𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑙𝑠/𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝒉 𝑏𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑓𝑖𝑡𝑠, 𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡.ㅤ٭ㅤ危险──R𝑜𝑢𝑔𝒉 𝑠𝑒𝑥 (𝐼 𝑔𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑠), 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑙 𝑎𝑡 𝑡𝒉𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑒𝑛𝑑, 𝑏𝑜𝑡𝒉 𝑓𝑖𝑔𝒉𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑎 𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑒, 𝐻𝑒𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡𝒉𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝒉𝑢𝑠𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑑, 𝑡𝑜𝑝 𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟.

Competing wasn't your favorite pastime. Or well, that's what you liked to believe... until Jay showed up in your life. With his shirt always perfectly fitted, his expensive watch gleaming under the white office lights, and that arrogant little smile that made your blood boil (and other things it was better not to mention).

And working next to him felt like walking on fire. Always two steps ahead of you, always with a comment ready to make you roll your eyes—or bite your tongue so you wouldn’t sound like an idiot, or worse, make you look like one.

Especially because you knew he didn’t play fair. No, Jay had a natural talent for getting too close, for whispering something in your ear when no one was looking, making you lose focus on what was actually important. Sometimes he’d leave papers on your desk… along with notes that said, "Good 'luck' today!" followed by a damn wink drawn by hand.

Yeah... Son of a bitch.

You weren't planning on losing. Not the position. Not the ridiculous war that, frankly, was starting to feel more like a game of "who humiliates the other more, wins" than a serious work competition.

So when you saw him approach that day, leaning on your desk like it was his, you could only raise an eyebrow, cross your arms, and say:

"Did you lose your cubicle, Jay? Or are you here to cry about being below me on the project consideration list?"

His deep laugh—damn attractive, of course—vibrated through the air as he shrugged.

"Below you?" he repeated, tilting his head slowly in a way that made you swallow. "Doesn’t sound too bad when you say it."

And you, instead of pushing him away, could only smile slyly, cursing internally at how much you were enjoying that absurd low voice, enjoying all the possible scenarios where your hands would be caressing his naked body.

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Sure, before all this chaos, you and Jay... well, you weren’t exactly mortal enemies.

In fact, when you first started working, there were moments when you could even call him "jayjay." You’d sit in the same meeting room, share stolen coffees from the kitchen machine, sometimes help each other out with the reports for the meetings, talk about the secretary and the boss, and laugh together at the accounting boss—Heeseung—who always forgot to mute his mic during video conferences and you could hear him eating ramen, etc.

Everything was tolerable. Fun, even.

But then, the announcement came.

A new position. Promotion. Raise. A private office with a window and all those things that felt like heaven after months (years, to be honest) of surviving in gray cubicles and chairs that squeaked just by breathing.

And the moment the boss uttered those magic words, something shifted in the air.

Jay glanced at you sideways, and you returned his gaze, both of you stopping your laughter, and in that moment, you both understood the same thing: neither of you was going to let the other win.

From that instant, the cold war began.

Jay started staying late, preparing presentations that looked like they were from a luxury ad agency. His watermark even looked that expensive.

You started adding visual details to your reports, using graphs, animations, even designing project covers like you were a frustrated graphic designer—some ideas stolen from Pinterest, but who the hell cares about that.

Mostly because Jay always had something more, something better.

Always.

If you arrived early, he was already there, with two coffees on the table, one for him and one (of course) for you, just to then say, "I don't want you to lose from lack of energy, we don’t know what could happen."

If you made a creative proposal, even if you’d asked “a little” help from chatgpt, he’d show up with something that looked like it was designed by Google.

It wasn’t personal. Of course not.

Until it started to be.

Because you couldn’t help but notice it. Every time your project was praised, Jay would smile... but then his eyes would darken, calculating and sharper.

Every time you laughed in a meeting at some useless comment, he’d look at you like you were the only loud one who wouldn’t hesitate to shut up by shouting.

Every time your boss said, "Well done, [...]! I’d like to see more of that proposal, come see me after the break," you could see Jay squeezing his pen, as if he were going to break it between his fingers.

Competing had never felt so... addictive.

It had never been so personally exciting.

Things finally exploded one Friday night when the entire building seemed to have fallen silent, except for the damn clacking of keys and the sound of frustrated, tired sighs with no real escape.

Your cubicle and his were barely separated by a thin wall, too thin not to hear him breathe, clear his throat, laugh quietly... or make some sharp remark.

"Need any help, [...]?"

Jay asked, with that voice full of false innocence.

"I mean, if you want me to check your project before you make a fool of yourself... you don’t have to beg me by torturing the poor keyboard with your fingers."

You rolled your eyes, not even turning to look at him. You already knew his expression.

"Help? From you?" you replied, letting the pen fall onto the desk with a small thud. "Ha. Don’t take offense, but I’d rather lose the opportunity than copy your... whatever the hell you call your style."

You heard him get up from the chair. The slight creak. The sound of his steps approaching and how he rolled up his sleeves.

“Don’t take offense?”

He shot, now right behind your cubicle, looking at you barely over the thin cardboard wall.

“Coming from someone who makes PowerPoint graphics like they're a starving designer... Well, I’m really flattered. At least mine isn’t complete fucking shit.”

“Complete shit?” You turned, glaring at him. “Don’t you have another place to vomit your nonsense, Park?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Jay let out a short laugh, but it was loaded with venom.

“Nonsense and me in one sentence?” He leaned slightly over the cubicle wall, too close, too arrogant.

“Come on [...], admit it... you're scared shitless. You couldn’t stand losing to me... though I think you already did. You’re just throwing desperate kicks with your boring presentations, you used to be good, but well, that was because I was the one helping you.”

That was the last straw.

Without thinking, you stood up, your hand gripping tightly at the collar of his t-shirt—that one which probably cost more than your rent—dragging him without warning into the empty meeting room.

He just let out a laugh, stumbling slightly, following you without resistance, like he was enjoying every second of seeing you angry.

You slammed the door behind you with a dull thud, not hesitating to lock it and lower the blinds.

Both of you were breathing heavily. The air in the small room became thick, charged with warm air in seconds.

Jay shook himself a little, adjusting his shirt, looking you up and down with those dark eyes that you couldn’t tell if they were challenging you or undressing you. The same ones you’d place on him when he was in a meeting or talking to another worker.

“What’s the matter, [...]?” he asked with a dangerous tone.

“Did you finally give up and are you going to ask me to be gentle when I fuck you and win that position?”

You smiled, stepping a step closer.

Or maybe it was him who closed the distance. It didn’t matter anymore.

“You have so much confidence for someone who only knows how to brag.” you whispered, so close that you could smell his cologne, a mix of wood, coffee, and something too overpowering to be fair.

Jay tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing the edge of a lopsided smile.

“Brag?” he whispered. “No, [...]. If I wanted to brag, I’d already have you pinned against this table.”

And honestly, at that moment, fighting was the last thing you wanted to do.

It was the last thing either of you did because the distance between you and Jay kept growing more tense, the words colliding in the air with each breath.

The small space of the meeting room became suffocating, and the brush of his body against yours felt like a constant reminder that, at this moment, neither of you was willing to yield, to show submission.

Until you made the first move.

With a swift motion, you pushed him back, forcing him against the table with a dull thud that echoed through the walls of the room. Jay, surprised by the sudden force, tried to regain control of himself, but his hands only grazed the edge of the table. The light in his eyes dimmed for a moment, but you didn’t mention it. Words weren’t necessary.

You took another step, pressing Jay’s face down against the table with a firm hand on his chest. He didn’t move, but his breathing became heavier, almost like a gasp, deeper, as if he had felt the shift of whatever this was.

“I’d rather see you against the table.” you said softly, not breaking eye contact. Your tone was different, deeper, more playful. The sarcasm you always carried as a shield faded away.

Jay couldn’t help but smile, but there was something nervous in his expression. He knew you had noticed. The control, the same control he always thought he had, was no longer in his hands.

“What are you... doing...?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, as if he was finally feeling the situation slip out of his hands.

You didn’t give him a chance to speak another word. With a quick motion, you placed your other hand on his neck, not applying too much pressure, but enough for him to feel that, at that moment, his freedom depended on you.

“What am I doing? What I’ve always wanted...” you said, your words sounding more like a warning than a sentence. “Shutting your dirty mouth for once.”

Jay swallowed, feeling the pressure on his neck increase, but not violently. It was subtle, gradual. You controlled each second, making it harder for him to breathe.

And that was when he saw you had made the first move. You had dropped that ‘mask’ you’d been wearing, showing a side of yourself he hadn’t expected, but deep down, he loved.

He wasn’t on the defensive anymore. He wasn’t the "arrogant" one you used to answer back to, the one you always kept at arm’s length.

Now, he was the one starting to panic.

“And you think it works?” he asked, his voice lower, almost whispered.

It wasn’t the same raised voice from before, nor that confident smile he always carried. Only a fragile line of a leader quickly fading.

“Mmh, maybe I’ll need other... resources.”

You responded with a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. You leaned in a little closer, noticing how his jaw tightened, how his hands gripped the table, searching for something to hold on to, but finding only cold.

The room was thick with tension.

You had already won. But what hurt Jay the most wasn’t losing the position at this stage of the game, but that he had been cornered by you. You, the one who had always kept a relaxed attitude, emotional distance, and those stupid, absurd ideas. Now, in that small space, he was the one losing control of everything he had planned.

It didn't take long for things to take a more... dangerous turn.

The sound of the fluorescent lights created a background melody, while the thickened air remained tense. Both of them knew something had shifted, and they knew it all too well.

Jay stayed there, leaning against the table, breathing heavily, his shirt slightly unbuttoned. The force with which you had pushed him, the way you had dominated him, left him speechless. And the most ironic thing was that, instead of feeling humiliated, something inside him twisted, yearning for more.

Each breath became faster, more erratic, and their heartbeats seemed to match the same rhythm, as if the universe had paused for a single moment, allowing the rivalry to transform into something more tangible, something more flexible.

Your hands were no longer a threat. They were a confession. Each touch on his skin became a mark, a reminder that he no longer controlled anything. Jay, who was once used to being the leader, now seemed to be desperately searching for a balance that had never existed.

One of your hands was squeezing his hips against yours, but you weren’t doing it with the violence you had before. No. Now there was a calm in your movements, a new patience. And, as you settled back into him slowly, the temptation was no longer just physical, but mental.

“I knew you’d sound so cute moaning my name, precious.” you told him as soon as you started moving, your voice so low and soft it was almost like a caress, though the words were empty. As you spoke, your face neared his, your lips just centimeters from his ear.

Jay’s breathing was ragged, his hands now trapped beneath the weight of your body. He tried to move, but his muscles seemed to fail him, and all he could do was feel. Feel how every part of you imposed itself on him, in him, how you stripped him of all the control he thought he had.

“Come on... Am I the loudmouth now? Is it too much for you?” you continued, never losing the rhythm. “Now is when I really need that mouth.”

Honestly, you didn’t expect a reply. Your body leaned into him, and the temperature in the room seemed to rise with each move you made. You felt him against you, noticing how his muscles tensed, as if, finally, he was acknowledging that the rules of this game had changed. You had taken control, finally.

It was funny, because as far as you can remember, you were standing in front of him, pulling down his pants, and all you could hear was his nails digging into the dark wooden table.

"I'm going to suck it until you're begging me to fuck your ass.. until you're sobbing and screaming for my goddamn cock.” You told him as soon as you pulled down his boxers, looking at the erect cock, dripping precum all over his shaft.

You had that perverted smile on your face, licking your lips before you wrapped your lips around the swollen head of Jay's cock, your tongue flicking out to lap at the leaking slit. You groaned at the way Jay's cock throbbed and jerked against your lips, it was pulsing with need, desperate for more of your touch.

What you clearly did by bobbing your head slowly, your tongue swirling around the sensitive underside of Jay's shaft. You could feel the thick vein running along it, could feel the way it throbbed and jumped with each beat of Jay's racing heart. It made you moan around his mouthful of cock, the vibrations traveling up Jay's shaft and making him gasp.

Your hands didn't torture themselves by sliding around to grip Jay's ass, squeezing the firm globes as you sucked him harder, faster.

You could feel the way Jay body trembled and shuddered, could hear the desperate, broken moans spilling from his lips. It spurred you on, made you suck even harder over his tip, take more of Jay into you greedy mouth.

A whimper escaped Jay's lips, that same sigh that made you smile, a subtle touch of triumph that made it clear and that made you turn back to reality. Where you were grabbing Jay's hips hard enough to bruise, yanking him back against the thick, throbbing length of your cock. You could feel it leaking, pulsing with a desperate need to be buried inside jay's tight, virgin ass once again.

“You think you can just taunt me like that, like the cocky little bitch you are, and not face the consequences?” you punctuated the words with a sharp smack to Jay's ass, watching the round cheek jiggle and redden under your palm.

You couldn't resist any longer, not when you had a round, perfect ass waiting to be filled. You pushed forward, the thick head of your cock popping past that tight ring of muscle, sinking into the scorching heat of Jay's ass.

You groaned at the feeling, your eyes rolling back in his head as Jay walls clenched and fluttered around you, trying to push you out.

"Fuck.. you're so goddamn tight even after putting three fingers in you." you panted, fighting the urge to just slam forward, to bury yourself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. You forced yourself to go slow, to push in inch by careful inch, letting Jay feel every throbbing, pulsing inch of the cock as it stretched him open.

"Ugh, shit... I want.. more.. fucking deep..." Jay groaned, his voice pitching higher with each word as your cock sank deeper into his tight heat. Jay's eyes squeezed shut, dark lashes fluttering against his angular cheeks as he fought to process the intense, overwhelming sensations.

Both of your clothes were slightly disheveled—belts loosened, zippers partially undone, pants around your ankles, the buttons of Jay’s shirt half unfastened, and his fingers clawing at the table as if that might give him something to hold onto, even though the real struggle was happening inside his mind. Every part of him wanted more, but his instincts betrayed him, keeping him exactly where you wanted him.

You didn't know how to stop anymore, as soon as you felt his insides get used to your size, your hips became pistons and your nails dug into his skin. Your balls were sticking against his, it was somewhat addictive as it filled the room with the sound, just like you used to imagine it would all those times when he would interrupt your chances to talk with your boss.

"S-stop! [...]! U-ugh... I can't.." Jay whimpered as he felt his cock rubbing itself against the edge of the dark wood. He turned his head sideways, letting you see him frown, biting his lower lip and looking at you with forgiveness. Damn, just like you dreamed.

Was it all too much for him? Of course. It wasn't normal for someone like him to be getting his dick like a prostitute on a Friday night. Although it seemed that way, judging by the way his tears were running down his face for every time you gave him a deep thrust, letting him feel a nice bulge against his tummy.

Your eyes darkened with a feral, possessive light as you watched Jay come undone beneath him, his beautiful and delicious hot liquid was between the wood, his stomach and his shirt. You watched him trembling, moaning and clenching down on your cock like the desperate slut he was.

You could feel the way Jay's body yielded to you, the way his tight, abused hole fluttered and squeezed around your shaft, trying to pull you in deeper, to keep you buried inside. This was better than using a egg toy.

"That's it... A-ahh.. fucking take it."

You growled with a voice a low, menacing rasp. You only gripped Jay's hips hard enough to bruise, slamming forward the last few inches that were outside his beautiful channel, burying yourself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. He could feel your heavy balls slap against his ass in a better way, you felt proud as you watched Jay's body jerked forward from the force of it, the desk creaking beneath.

"U-ugh... [...], p-please.."

“Shut up. You fucking needed this, didn't you, whore?" —you taunted, rolling your hips, grinding your cock against Jay's prostate.

You could feel it, that special spot deep inside Jay that made him see stars, that made him cry out and clench down on your shaft like his life depended on it.

"You needed to feel my cock splitting you open, claiming this tight little cunt.. fucking making it mine just to keep you quiet."

Jay did nothing but throw his head forward, moaning and silencing the screams that spelled your name. But was the sight of his ass bouncing, the way his ring swallowed your cock like a pro that make you feel your own release approaching, your balls tightening, your phallus pulsing and throbbing deep inside Jay's cheeks. You were close, so fucking close to filling this slutty hole with his seed, to claiming Jay in the most primal way possible.

Jay body was trembling beneath you, you could clearly hear the desperate, wanton moans spilling from his lips. That only turned you on more, made you fuck his tight heat with even more ferocity, determined to make this slut beg for your cum—although you only needed a little more to be as shaky as he was, to scream your name until it was the only thing he knew.

"Just... fucking... cum!"

Jay punctuated each word with a sharp, desperate buck of his hips, trying to impale himself even further on your throbbing cock. A needy gasp escaped him, the sound catching in his throat and morphing into an unhinged moan.

You groaned, gripping Jay's hips tighter, fingers sinking into the firm flesh of his ass, as you rutted into him with wild abandon. The desk beneath was shaking with each powerful thrust, the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin echoing obscenely in the room.

Your breathing grew even more erratic, your hands trembling slightly as you tried—vainly—to keep up the façade. But you couldn’t. You needed this. You’d been holding back only to watch that boy, the one who always bragged about being the best, being the leader, now begging you, begging you for your milk.

You leaned down, putting your chest against his back just to take his limp, sensitive cock, stroking it in time with your relentless thrusts. You could feel it pulsing in your grip, leaking cum all over your fingers.

"Yknow? I want to feel this greedy hole squeezing my cock... milking me for every last fucking drop."

Yeah.. It had been minutes fucked him through it, pounding Jay's prostate, forcing him to take every inch of your veiny meat as your spilled hot and hard into the tight clutch of his ass. You knew it was time, but damn, you had to use that ass no matter what.

"[...] I swear to God—if.. if you don't cum in me... I'll crush you at the conferen!..."

You roared, slamming into Jay—finally—one last time before burying yourself to the hilt. Your cock jerked and throbbed, painting Jay's inner walls with thick ropes of your seed, marking him, claiming him, owning him utterly.

You collapsed against Jay's back, your hips still twitching as the last spurts of your release pumped into the boy.

You could feel Jay's body shuddering, hear the choked sobs and gasps of ecstasy spilling from his lips, and you knew you had ruined him. Known that Jay would never be the same, that he would always be yours, no matter what.

"Mgh.. shit was good, but.. I'll still be better than you." You whispered into his ear, gently licking and biting it.

"Also... I was recording our... Lovely session. You dare to surpass me and you're dead, Park Jongseong."

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⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ݁⠀⠀،،⠀⠀메모 ! ㅤ⸻ㅤ Do you guys hate me? Yeah, I would too. Sorry for disappearing for so long, I was just focused on college stuff! Oh, and perfecting some stories. 🫠

Honestly, I was nervous writing this. It's been a while since I've written smut, not as 'explicit' as Sunghoon's! I still hope you like this one too.︐⠀📍

⠀𝒊. ⠀─⠀ All credits to @angelsfat3 / @foschiamara⠀𝄒

. . . ₍⠀아이디어 !ㅤ⸻ㅤfeel free to leave requests! <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>⠀₎⠀ ִֶָ

˖⠀⠀ ݁⠀©⠀،،⠀If you liked it you can like, follow me or reblog!!

[animeficsworld]

First to the Finish Line

Suo Hayato x Reader

Summary: A bet. A race. A cocky Hayato and the one person he wants to lose to.

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The challenge was stupid.

 You knew it.

 He knew it.

And yet there you were, standing across from Suo Hayato on the cracked sidewalk outside the convenience store, grinning up at him while he narrowed his sharp red eye at you.

"You're serious?" he asked, one brow twitching.

 "As a heart attack," you said, clapping your hands. "First one to the abandoned train station wins. No shortcuts. No pushing. Loser has to do whatever the winner says. No whining."

Suo laughed, tossing his head back, wild hair gleaming in the late afternoon sun.

 "You really think you can beat me?"

 "I know I can beat you," you teased, tapping the tip of his nose lightly before darting back. "Come on, Suo. Afraid of a little competition?"

"Afraid?" he echoed, snorting. "I'm gonna lap you."

But behind the cocky grin, you caught the tiniest flicker of something else, excitement. Amusement. Maybe... fondness.

Your heart kicked against your ribs.

 This was crazy.

He was crazy.

 And you were crazy for how much you liked him.

"Alright, alright. On three," you said, bouncing on your toes. "One... two..."

He grinned.

 You grinned harder.

 And the second you shouted "Three!" you took off.

You ran like hell, sneakers slapping the pavement, lungs burning as the world blurred around you.

Suo caught up instantly.

 Showoff.

He stayed just a step ahead, turning to glance back at you with that stupid, infuriatingly handsome smirk. "Told ya, slowpoke."

"Oh, shut up!" you panted, pushing harder.

 He laughed and it shouldn't have made your heart flutter, but it did.

You turned the corner, dodging a startled old man walking his dog, and Suo barked a laugh as he vaulted over a low fence instead of running around it.

"Show-off!" you shouted again.

"You're just mad 'cause you can't do this!" he called back, leaping onto a rail, balancing for a second like a cat.

But he underestimated the worn-down wood.

 The rail wobbled.

 Suo cursed, arms pinwheeling.

 And you zoomed past him, blowing a kiss over your shoulder as you raced toward the train station.

"You little-!" he choked, sprinting after you.

By the time you reached the abandoned platform, you were gasping for air, sweat dripping down your spine, legs on fire.

 But you made it.

 You won.

Suo stumbled in a few seconds later, bending over with his hands on his knees, his chest heaving.

 You flopped down dramatically on the station steps, grinning like an idiot.

"I... win," you wheezed. "You... lose. You... owe me."

Suo glared at you. "You cheated."

"Did not!"

"You knew that rail was gonna wobble."

"Maybe," you said sweetly, "but you still fell for it."

He scowled but the corner of his mouth twitched.

 God, he was so bad at hiding when he was impressed.

"Alright, fine," he grunted, coming over to loom above you. "What's your wish, champ?"

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Hmmm… I could make you buy me ramen for a week. Or clean my place. Or admit I'm faster than you-"

"Pick something already," he growled, cheeks suspiciously pink.

You bit your lip.

 Heart hammering.

 And then you stood up, brushing off your hands.

"I want a date," you said.

Suo blinked.

 "...What?"

"A date," you repeated, meeting his stunned gaze. "With you."

He stared at you like you'd just punched him in the gut.

Suo Hayato, the boy who feared nothing, was speechless.

You poked his chest lightly. "No whining. No arguing. Bet’s a bet."

His mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

And then, slowly, a smirk stretched across his face, but it was softer this time. Shyer. A little breathless.

"You're lucky you're cute," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"I'm very lucky," you said, grinning up at him. "You're gonna have so much fun losing tonight."

"Yeah," he said quietly, almost like he couldn't believe it.

"Yeah, I think I will."

Later that night, at a little hole-in-the-wall diner, Suo sat across from you, blushing furiously every time you caught him staring.

And for once, he didn't try to win.

He just let himself be happy.

With you.

The one person he wanted to lose to.

Forever, if he was lucky.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

"Have you heard?” one of the knights asked Adam.

“Heard of what?”

“Of your lady and the baker?”

He stops, turning to the younger man.

“My lady and the baker? What of them?”

The knight twists his mouth, glancing around.

“I heard that he made several visits on our expedition, all of them to see her. I think he is trying to court her, sir.”

His stomach drops.

Adam runs to find you, your quarters, the grounds, the kitchen. He finds you in the gardens, pulling up root vegetables with the ladies.

“Is it true?” he asks, breathless. You glance up at him, eyes squinting at the sun.

“Tis what true, sir?”

“That the town baker is courting you.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, going back to your work.

“He is not courting me, sir. He has merely brought me some things.”

“What has he brought you?” The ladies are exchanging glances and whispering.

“Some flowers and ingredients, sir.”

“And you accepted them?” You stare at him.

“What choice do I have, sir? It would be impolite if I refused. It would ruin the castle’s relationship with the baker, and the king would have my head.”

“You can bake many a fine thing without his help. You do not need him.”

You shake your head, continuing your work.

“What did you say to him when he gave you gifts?”

“I thanked him.”

“And did he propose?”

“He tried.”

“Did you accept?”

“I said that I would accept if he completed a task.”

“What?!” Adam kneels on the ground beside you, grabbing your hands. “Why would you do such a thing? I thought you were to be mine.”

“Tis an impossible task, sir.” You stand, picking up your basket of carrots. “He will never succeed, so I shall never marry him.”

“What task did you give him?” he asks hurriedly, standing as you walk away to the kitchen. “Tell me, so that I may complete it myself!”

You stop, tossing your head back with a sigh, turning toward him.

“I tasked him with bringing me my favorite flower, sir.”

“Favorite flower, favorite flower…”

“He has gone mad, I fear,” says one of the knights.

“I knew she would ruin him.”

“What do you whisper of, sir?” one of the knights yells to him.

“I am trying to think of lady Y/N’s favorite flower,” he says, still pacing.

“Why, sir?”

“So that she will accept my hand in marriage.”

“I am confused, sir. You have brought her many a flower before. Did she not like them?”

“I do not know. Perhaps I did not choose the correct one.”

“Wait,” says a knight, standing. “Is finding lady Y/N’s favorite flower all you need to do to marry her?”

“It would seem that way.”

The knight huffs out a laugh, glancing around the room.

“Perhaps I should take on this task myself.”

Adam stops, turning toward him.

“You will help me, sir?” The knight scoffs.

“No, no, no, not help you. I shall find the flower myself and win her hand.”

Adam’s face drops, fists clenching.

“What?”

“Tis an easy task, methinks. Merely finding a flower for a lady’s hand? I could do so in my sleep.” He places his hands on his hips and smirks. “I have been looking for a wife for many a season, and lady Y/N would be perfect.”

“I will kill you,” Adam growls.

“You may try. But I shall haunt you for the rest of your days.”

“Enough,” the captain cuts in, standing between the two men. “Do not fight over matters like these. We are brothers.”

“This man is no brother of mine,” Adam snarls, baring his teeth to the man. “My brother would never stab me in the back this way.”

“You are too sensitive, sir,” the knight teases. “Tis merely a competition. You’ve been in duels before, yes? Instead of fighting for your life, you fight for a lady’s hand. Instead of a sword, you shall use a flower. Tis simple and fair.”

“It is not fair,” Adam barks. “She is my lady, my love, my light.”

“If she were, you would already be wed.”

Adam stiffens and swallows.

“Let us make a game of it,” the knight suggests. “Whoever finds the lady’s favorite flower shall marry her, and the other shall leave as if they have been banished. What do you say?”

He can feel his blunt nails digging into his palm.

“I will not lose,” Adam says, standing tall.

“Lady Mary,” Adams calls as he walks to her on the grounds. “My lady, a moment, please.”

“We shall see, sir.”

“What is the matter, sir Adam?” she asks.

“I have a problem.”

“Ah. This is about the competition for lady Y/N’s hand, is it not?” He blinks.

“How did—”

“You know, more suitors have come forward to accept the challenge. The baker’s word has spread through the village, and more men have taken it upon themselves to find her favorite flower.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, growling loud. “Fuck!”

“Sir Adam, you forget yourself!” she scolds, holding a hand to her chest.

“I-I am sorry, my lady, I…” He rubs his hands over his face. “I feel as if I am ruined.”

“Do not say so, sir Adam.” She steps forward and pats his shoulder. “You are a wise fellow. You know lady Y/N like no other. You shall find the flower and give it to her, and she shall accept your hand.”

“What if I do not?” he worries. “What if I fail?”

“You shall not. Do not fret, good sir. You will be fine.”

“My lady,” he takes her hand, “if you could just give me a clue—”

“I shall do no such thing,” she says, taking her hand away. “I am a woman of morals. I shall not let you cheat to win.”

“Please, my lady. I love her with my entire being. I cannot let anyone else have her.”

For an entire week, he searches. He looks for every flower, high and low, trying to find the one you would like most. He explores the grounds every day, searching, searching.

“You are wise, sir Adam. You will find the answer without me.” She pats his cheek, giving a smile before walking away. “Good luck!”

The knight fighting for your hand has gone to the north for a rare flower, one of the solders tells him. There are rumors of more than a dozen men picking flowers throughout the village, all for you.

When he has chosen a flower, he goes to find you.

He feels sick. He searches harder.

To his dismay, so have all the other suitors.

There is a line leading to the outside of the kitchen. His heart drops when he sees men standing there, various flowers in hand. He goes to the window, peeking inside at you, watching you. You are kneading bread, as you often do, completely unbothered by the men surrounding you. He cannot hear what you are saying, but he sees you shaking your head at the kneeling man before you, and he feels his spirits lift.

One by one, each man in line approaches you with a flower in hand. Some kneel before you, some bow. For each one, you look at the flower, and shake your head. One man brings a lily, another a tulip, one a rose, the baker brings a sunflower. To each you refuse, causing the men to hang their head and leave.

He sees the knight approach, kneeling before you. He holds out a flower that Adam has never seen before. It is intricate, with many petals, and various colors, red and white and yellow. It is lovely indeed. A part of him would not blame you for choosing such a flower.

But you shake your head, going back to your work. The knight tries to push the flower towards you, but you wave him off, ignoring him.

Adam stands tall as the knight does, watching him exit the kitchen into the gardens. He throws the flower to the ground, glancing at Adam before turning away, stomping off.

Now was his chance.

Adam steps into the kitchen slowly, waiting for you to look up. When you do not, he clears his throat, making you look at him.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“Good afternoon, my lady.”

Silence fills the room. He swallows.

“I have brought you a flower, my lady.”

You hum, forming your dough into a ball. He watches you move the dough into a bowl, setting a towel over it, and putting it in the corner of the kitchen. You wipe your hands on your apron.

“May I give you my flower, my lady?” You pause, chewing your lip.

“You may.”

He steps towards you, kneeling once he is in front of you, your hands folded before you.

“I have brought you,” he holds the flower out, his hand wobbly, “chamomile.”

You blink, tilting your head.

“Chamomile?”

“Yes…” When you continue to stare at him, he clears his throat again. “I-I have seen you use it many times, in tea, desserts, even soup for the soldiers. You use it all the time. It must be your favorite flower.”

Your hands twist.

“You are very observant, sir.”

“I try to be, but it is hard not to notice you. You shine as bright as the sun.”

You stiffen, bunching your apron in your hands. He stares at you, searching your face.

“My lady… was I correct? Is… is chamomile your favorite flower?”

“I…” You voice hitches and you close your lips, clearing your throat. “Is… Is the flower from you, sir? Did you pick it yourself? You chose this flower thinking of me?”

“I—yes, of course, my lady. I searched the entire village looking for the best flower for you, and I decided on this one.”

You sniff, turning away from him. He furrows his brow, standing, moving in front of you.

“My lady, why do you cry?”

You try to turn away again, but he stops you, forcing you to face him.

“My lady…”

He brushes a tear from your cheek.

“I… I may have deceived you, sir.”

“What? What do you speak of, my sweet?”

“I… I told the baker to get me my favorite flower, but I knew he could not.”

“Does chamomile not grow near the baker?”

You scoff, wiping your nose with your sleeve.

“I do not know. It does not matter if he had brought me chamomile or not.”

Adam tilts his head.

“I am confused, my lady.”

“I… He…” You sigh, wiping your tears away. “My favorite flower… is one that is given to me by you, sir.”

Adam blinks.

“You… my lady?”

“The baker would never have been able to give me my favorite flower because my favorite flower would always be given to me by you.”

“I…” He shakes his head. “What if I had brought you a rose?”

“Then that would have been my favorite.”

“If I had a brought a peony?”

“Then that would have—”

“A blade of grass?”

“Yes, Adam. Anything would have been perfect.”

He stares at you, his heart swelling into his throat.

“Then… no matter what I had brought you, you would have accepted me.”

“Yes! Good heavens, how many times do I—”

His arms wrap around you and he pulls you into a hug. He holds you tightly, squeezing you against him. He is crushing you against his chest, making it hard to breathe.

“My lady, my lady, my sweet sweet lady...”

[littleemissperfecttt]

The Youngest Sorrengail

About the story: Y/n is violets twin sister. Unlike violet y/n was trained to be a rider by her mother and to be a scribe by her father. The sisters have a strained relationship. Will y/n continue to resent violet because of the past or will she help her in surviving basgiath war college?

<<Previous Chapter Series Masterlist Next Chapter>>

Chapter 4

My brows furrow in confusion “Y/n Sorrengail” I said and shook his already outstretched hand. I think the confusion was evident on my face that he laughed “did you need anything?” I asked cautiously

“My squad had the Gauntlet training today morning” he said seriously “My time is five minutes thirty-seven seconds, I am the fastest in our year so far”

“You want me to clap for you?” I asked confused on why he’s giving me this information he laughed his seriousness melting away “No I wanted to tell you so I will have competition no one has beat me so far and you are the one I am counting on”

“So.. you want me to beat your ass? Is that what you are saying?” I asked amused by his comment

“I want you to try Sorrengail, we both are undefeated in sparr training and I am hoping to challenge you in the future” he said

“I will look forward to beating you in both Gauntlet and combat training Mairi” I said smiling at him

“I saw you, you know last night” he said “you beat Imogen’s ass in less than 5 seconds… no wonder Xaden talked highly of you”

“He talks about me?” I asked with an eyebrow raise, I was surprised to hear Xaden talks about me with his fellow marked ones

“Of course he does” Liam nodded “you are the talk among the marked ones because of last nights incidents, there are a few who don’t like that you are going to be helping us but there are a few who are praising you”

“Really? Can you tell me their names?” I asked curious to know who would praise me especially if they are marked

“Garrick, Xaden, Bhodi, Ryan, Imogen and now me” he said surprising me

“Imogen was praising me? I thought I bruised her ego with my kick last night!” I was so shocked that Imogen out of everyone would praise me especially after last night. ‘Maybe we can be friends after all Imogen’ I thought to myself as I smiled at Liam

“Oh you sure did bruise her ego” he said laughing “but you also made her come into her senses, that kick really got Imogen simping for you”

“What does that mean?” I asked confused

“Oh nothing~” he laughed and patted my shoulder “well all the best for your training and try your best in beating me Sorrengail” he gave me a quick smile before marching away

‘These interactions just keep getting interesting day after day’ I thought to myself as I stared at Liams retrieving back

-

After my strange conversation with Liam we are now in the gym. I am standing next to Ridoc watching Rhiannon fight someone. She is fighting with ease, she is going to win anyway so I don’t concentrate on her fight

“You think she will win?” Ridoc asked me “Obviously” I replied smiling

Ridoc and Sawyer had become brother like figures for me, they annoy the shit out of me but they care so much too. They make sure I don’t over exert or over work myself to a burn out. Always making sure if I had eaten or if I didn’t they would immediately get me something to eat. They were the first people I got comfortable with so easily. They made me feel welcomed in this hellhole

Rhiannon wins her match as Emetterio announced her as the winner. She walked toward us with a grin on her face which made me laugh “You did well Rhi” I smiled as Ridoc and Sawyer patted her back

“Thank you” she said smiling

I heard Emetterio clear his throat as he announced the next pair to combat one another “Y/n Sorrengail and Liam Mairi” I raised my eyebrows and smirked at Liam as I walked towards the mat

I heard Ridoc cheer for me “I am not losing my winning streak Mairi” I said as we circled one another on the mat “too bad I am not losing mine either” he said before lunging at me.

I ducked down and went to hit his abdomen but he was fast enough to catch my wrist ‘this is going to be fun’ I thought to myself as I encircled myself in his arm and hit his abdomen with my elbow

“Are they flirting or fighting?” I heard someone ask loudly as I rolled my eyes ‘its time to finish this’ I thought to myself as I grabbed him by the head and rolled over the mat. I held him onto a headlock position till he tapped the mat three times “Sorrengail wins this round” I heard Emetterio say as I left Liam

“That was a good match” I said and gave my hand to him to help him up “most definitely” he said smiling. We exchanged a few words about the match before going back to our squads

The next match was Violets but her partner was sick so Xaden volunteered to spar with her. I didn’t concentrate on the match as I didn’t want to see my sister at all. After the match Xaden approached me

“You know why I did it right?” he asked and I nodded

“Dain babys her a lot… this will teach her a lesson” I replied “Your match with Liam was great” he said smirking “well someone had to kick his ass” I said and smirked back “I have to go now… meet you later?” he asked as I nodded

-

A few hours later…

We are now practising for the Gauntlet the next challenge before the presentation and Threshing. I looked at the course where we have to go to survive till the threshing. I am very confident to know I am going to get the highest score among all the cadets including Liam

The Gauntlet is an obstacle course carved into a ridgeline, so steep that it resembles a cliff, separating the citadel from the flight field and the Vale. This cliff, which guards the Vale, features rugged terrain and zigzags across the ridgeline with distinct switchbacks of 180-degree turns. Each turn increasing in difficulty until the final ascent. The course is accessed through a bottleneck-prone gate, followed by a tunnel with a rocky path dimly lit by mage lights. The tunnel opens to a ten-foot-high archway leading to the base of the Gauntlet, perched thousands of feet above the valley. The greenery of the valley stretches endlessly to the south, dotted with clusters of squat trees and wildflower slopes.

A picture of Gaunlet from reddit

All the cadets have to finish this course before moving onto the presentation, presentation is where we are introduced to all the dragons. These are the dragons which will choose us during the Threshing

My turn was already over and I was sitting beside Ridoc as usual. I was trained for the whole course, this was like my Wednesday in the training I got when I was a kid. My time was 5.35 seconds 2 seconds less than Liam. I honestly did that to piss him off and take the challenge he made with me more seriously. I see Violet struggling but I won’t help her till she asks. I am not letting my pride go especially when it comes to my "family"

I was thinking about my life with my trainer. He had made me tough and ready for my life as a rider. He even tortured me for RSC, which will happen during my second year. I was molded into a soldier so I can be the sacrifice goat for the family or at least that’s what I think I am. My mother- Lilith Sorrengail- has never ever said she was proud of me for completing my training. It was just me and Brennan who cheered me on, till he left…

I shook my head away from the thoughts regarding my brother. It hurts a lot when it comes to thinking about him.

“What are you thinking about?” Ridoc asked nudging my shoulder, I could see the concern in his eyes as Sawyer also turned to look at me

“Nothing” I shook my head, they were not convinced with my answer so they gave me a pointed look “I was thinking of going to the Gym after dinner to train a little” I said which was not a lie I wanted to go to the Gym to train myself and some of the marked ones- Ryan

They nodded their head understanding as Violet came panting towards us and lay infront “its so difficult” she said breathless and looked at me

“You will get there Vi” Rhiannon cheered as Ridoc and Sawyer nodded their heads

“You know…” I started off looking at her “everything you carry from the parapet is a part of you right?”

She looked at me confused “Yeah… so?”

“Use this knowledge how you need” I said and stood up dusting my clothes

-

After dinner..

I trained Ryan a bit and taught him some of the techniques. He wasn’t an asshole like the last time I talked to him. He was kind and cooperative, I left him so he can continue practicing the technique I taught him for now

“He’s training hard” a voice came from behind me and I recognised it instantly

“Of course he is, who do you think is training him?” I asked teasingly as I turned to look at him

“You wanna train with me?” he asked and motioned for me to enter the mat and I did

“Where’s Xaden?” I asked not to sound obvious “I thought you both were joined by the hip” I took my fighting stance in front of Garrick as he laughed

“He had some wingleader stuff to do so I am here” he shrugged his shoulder

I glanced at Ryan to see if he was doing the technique right one last time before turning back to Garrick “You ready to get your ass kicked” I asked smirking

“I think you are talking to yourself in front of a mirror” he said matching my smirk

That smirk didn’t last long as I quickly punched him in the gut making him groan “playing dirty huh?” he went in to punch me and I did my famous side step and took him by the arm to flip him over but he was fast, very fast for my liking. “I have seen you do it too many times you can’t pull this shit on me” He said as he grabbed my waist and slammed me down on the ground pinning my hands above my head. I was about to kick him in the gut when we heard a shout of our names

“GARRICK! Y/N!!” and it was the devil himself- Xaden Riorsen

Masterlist Next Chapter>>

Tags: @lreadsstuff @lagrandeourse @littlepippilongstocking

[panerasbox]

—WRONG WAY, RIGHT GIRL; 11 Days To Go…

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x Reader.

Genre: fluff.

Word count: 1,162.

summary: get ready for the Abbott Elementary Thunderbowl!

a/n: this oneshot came to me while watching an episode of friends 🤷‍♀️

30 DAYS OF MELISSA SCHEMMENTI MASTERLIST

If there was one thing you knew about football, it was that the ball was supposed to go… somewhere.

Where? No clue.

Why? Even less clue.

But you had a girlfriend now. A girlfriend who looked absurdly good in a zip-up hoodie and jeans, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, giving you these sideways smiles like she was two seconds from tackling you — and maybe not just on the field.

Honestly? You were ready to perish out here.

Melissa slid her arm around your waist like she was briefing you for a heist.

“It’s simple. Get the ball to the end zone. Our end zone, not theirs. If you see Ava yelling at you, ignore it. If you see Gregory coming at you, run.”

You nodded.

You understood exactly none of that.

“End zone,” you repeated. “Right. Where… exactly… is that?”

Melissa blinked.

Then she leaned in and kissed your forehead, gentle and exasperated, like she’d just adopted the world’s cutest lost cause.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she muttered, patting your cheek.

Across the blacktop, Ava blew a whistle she definitely bought at Party City.

“LET’S GOOOO, TURKEYS!” she hollered. “THIS IS THE ABBOTT ELEMENTARY THUNDERBOWL!”

Janine was bouncing like this was the NFL Draft. Gregory was sketching plays in the dirt. Jacob was giving a TED Talk about teamwork.

You turned to Melissa, heart thudding harder than it had any right to.

“Just tell me one thing. When in doubt… tackle Ava?”

Melissa gave you a wicked little grin.

“Babe, you can tackle whoever you want.” (is that how that works? lmao 🤷‍♀️)

Oh, you were doomed.

But you were so in love.

Ava threw the football into the air like a bride tossing a bouquet. No one had any idea what to do. Gregory lunged. Jacob shrieked. Janine yelled “SYNERGY!” and ran the wrong way.

Somehow — against all odds, physics, and logic — the ball landed right in your arms.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Even you weren’t sure how it happened.

Then Melissa’s voice cut through the chaos, urgent and hoarse:

“RUN, BABE! THAT WAY!”

You panicked. You ran. You ran the wrong way.

“NO! OTHER WAY!” Melissa gasped, laughing so hard she was doubling over.

You spun around and tore off across the grass like a dog chasing a squirrel.

Ava was chasing you. Janine was chasing Ava. Jacob was chasing Janine. It was absolute war.

Melissa the competitive:

“LEFT! NO, YOUR OTHER LEFT!”

You crashed directly into Gregory, who grunted like he’d been hit by a bus.

The ball flew out of your hands and bounced gently into Barbara’s, who, without missing a beat, placed it firmly on the ground like she was washing her hands of this entire mess.

Everyone froze.

Everyone stared.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead, grinning like a fool, and jogged toward Melissa, arms wide.

“Did I do it?” you panted.

Melissa caught you around the waist, still wheezing with laughter.

“You did something, hon,” she said, kissing the side of your head. “You definitely did something.”

You beamed.

You might not know a damn thing about football,

But you knew you were winning where it mattered most.

Someone, probably Jacob, declared it halftime, mostly because everyone was out of breath and Barbara threatened to “pray for deliverance” if they didn’t stop.

You collapsed onto the grass, gulping down air like you’d just survived the Hunger Games.

A shadow fell over you.

Melissa.

One hand on her hip, the other offering you a water bottle, smirk in full effect.

“Here,” she said. “You earned it, hotshot.”

You grabbed the bottle and chugged like your life depended on it. Melissa crouched down beside you, steadying it with one hand.

“You know you ran about a hundred yards the wrong way, right?”

“I was doing a strategic misdirect,” you said proudly.

Melissa gave you a look — the I’m deciding if I’m gonna kiss you or body-slam you look.

She leaned in, her nose brushing yours, voice low and rough:

“Such a princess,” she murmured. “Lucky you’re so damn cute.”

Before you could even blink, she kissed you.

Quick. Sweet. Dizzying.

When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours for a beat longer, like she couldn’t quite let you go.

“You’re my MVP, you know that?” she whispered. “Even if you don’t know a damn thing about sports.”

You tried to come up with something cool to say but only managed a breathless:

“You’re my MVP too.”

Judging by the way Melissa’s eyes softened, it was exactly what she wanted to hear.

“YO, GET A ROOM!” Ava hollered from across the field.

“OR GET BACK IN THE GAME!”

Melissa rolled her eyes but didn’t move.

“You ready to get back out there, superstar?”

“Ready to lose so bad they name the game after me,” you said brightly.

Melissa chuckled and helped you up, her fingers lingering a little too long on yours.

And honestly? Even if you tanked the entire second half —

You’d still be winning.

The second half started with Ava yelling, “THIS IS FOR ALL THE MARBLES!” even though no one had any idea what “the marbles” were.

You were ready.

You had water. You had a plan (“run and hope”). You had Melissa watching you with that look again. the you’re the only thing that matters here look.

Ava tossed the ball back in with a dramatic flourish.

Instant chaos.

You bolted forward — full commitment, zero clue.

Somehow you ended up wide open, arms outstretched, eyes locked on Melissa like she was your end zone, your goal post, your whole game.

The ball — again, somehow — landed right in your arms.

You blinked down at it, stunned.

“GO, BABY, GO!” Melissa shouted, beaming like you’d just won the Super Bowl.

You ran, sneakers slapping the pavement—

—and WHAM!

You were body-slammed straight into the grass.

For a second you thought you’d been tackled by a linebacker.

Then you opened your eyes.

Melissa was grinning down at you, hands braced on either side of your head.

“Gotcha,” she said smugly.

“You—you tackled me?” you gasped, dazed.

“Told you,” she said, voice playful and low, “you can tackle whoever you want. Figured it was only fair.”

You stared up at her, ridiculous, breathless, so in love, and then grabbed the front of her hoodie and yanked her down into a kiss.

“FIVE-YARD PENALTY FOR BEING GAY ON THE FIELD!” Ava roared.

“NO, NEGATIVE FIVE YARDS — BLESS THEM!” Jacob corrected.

Melissa kissed you like she’d been planning this all day.

When she finally pulled back, she brushed your hair off your forehead and smirked:

“You’re still terrible at football, babe.”

“Yeah,” you panted, grinning. “But I’m amazing at dating you.”

Melissa laughed — that rough, real laugh you loved, and pulled you to your feet.

The game went on.

You tackled the wrong people. Melissa tackled you. Barbara quietly started praying again.

And somehow, it was the best game you ever played.

[babysubinnie]

racing for your... heart? (lee heeseung) - too close to hate, too hurt to love

🥚 pairing :: richboy!heeseung x richfem!reader, streetracer!heeseung x streetracer!reader, 🥚 genre :: emotional, fluff, angst (lowkey a lot) 🥚 warnings :: suggestive, lots of swearing, flirting from hee, tension!!!,, grabbing wrists,, confrontation, jealousy and past relationship tension, crying, reckless driving (brief), slight emotional miscommunication. 🥚 synopsis :: he may have been the heir to the Lux hotel empire, but that didn’t stop him from being a reckless, cocky asshat—fast cars, faster girls, and a reputation for never losing. but then there was you—the one girl who refused to fall at his feet, the only racer who could actually keep up. you were his biggest competition, his biggest frustration, and worst of all, his biggest distraction. no matter how many races you went head-to-head in, you never lost—especially not to him. but this time, the stakes were higher, and whether he admitted it or not, heeseung wasn’t just racing to win. he was racing for you.

masterlist!

a/n:: sorry loves it's been a while since i posted a chapter but i'm done school now so i should be able to post at a better time now but enjoy <3

——————————————————————————

"why, you don't wanna be seen with me?" he teases, but that was the actual reason. you didn't want anyone thinking that you were the new girl of the month right?

"uhm.." you struggle to find the words to speak, his eyes darkening realizing what you were trying to say. he wraps his arm around your waist pulling you closer towards him, your hands landing on his chest. "w-what are you doing?"

"you think I was playing with you? god, no. i just didn’t know how to ask you to stay without sounding like i'd fall apart if you didn’t."

"w-what?"

"you heard me. you think that i'm just using you? that's.. not.. at all what's happening." he leans down, pulling you even closer. you look up at him your breath hitching as you feel the heat of his body against yours. "that's exactly what i thought this was." you shake your head laughing.

"is that all you think of me as?" his expression becomes serious, and you drop your smile. he was actually being serious, it was weird to you that he was being so serious..

"well that and an annoying piece of sh- poo." you decided to lighten the mood, but he wasn't having it. he noticed you held back from swearing, but he broke, and smiled at you.

"yeah? i suppose i can't deny that." he smirked, leaning closer as he lowered his voice, unable to defend his self.

"oh god help me, you can't even go five minutes without flirting huh?" you scoff and roll your eyes still not realizing he was still holding you close. he lets his hands run down your back and rest on the small of it, chuckling, amused by your words.

"i really, really can't. flirting with cute girls is way too fun, and you're the most amusing person that i've flirted with in a long time." he raised an eyebrow at you, eyes flickering around your face for any type of reaction. you roll your eyes, laughing as you push him away.

"speaking of which," you freeze when he speaks, not knowing what unexpected thing he was going to say. his eyes flick down to your lips, and you shake your head laughing it off. "can i-"

"no. whatever you're thinking, no." you smirk, turning on your heels to walk away. when you hear him walking up faster, you slowly start running. he laughs as he runs after you. you run to the parking lot, seeing a group of girls leaning on the hood of his car, your car sparkling next to his under the sun. you slow down, and he catches up to you putting his hand on the small of your back, "just stay here. i'll-"

just as he spoke, the famous ex-girlfriend, se-ri, walks up to us, with a big smile on her face. when she notices his hand on your back, her eyes narrow. she scoffs and rolls her eyes before putting her hand on his wrist, pulling him towards her. she glances at you, then up at him with batty eyelashes. you laugh in disbelief, walking towards your car, but she stops right in front of you.

"can i pass?" you try to step to the side, but she only moves in front of you while keeping her eyes up at heeseung.

"what are you going to do about it if i don't?" she moves her eyeline to you, shooting daggers out of her eyes. you scoff and reply, dripped with venom,

"don't fuck with me, se-ri."

her eyebrows raise, and she chuckles, "or what? you going to throw a tantrum?" and in the corner of your eye you see heeseung step forward. you hold out your hand stopping him, smirking at se-ri. then you remember the conversation she was having in the classroom with her friends and you step closer to her,

"oh like you when your dad didn't buy you that bag?" you smirk, knowing that she was itching to hit you. she grabs your uniform shirt in her hand pulling you close. "oh, i'm so scared of you." she pushes you away from her and lifts her arm to hit you, but heeseung was faster.

his hand wrapped around her wrist, voice lower than usual, "enough." her face drops, and clenches her fist before pulling out of his hold, and letting you go. you continue smirking at her, walking past her, stopping shoulder to shoulder to her.

"i told you not to fuck with me." you walk up to your car, and her minions run over to her, as you hear heeseung's footsteps running after you. "you okay?"

you turn around smiling leaning on the hood of your car. you tilt your head and cross your arms. "why did you do that?" he gets nervous, rubbing his neck, then looks up into your eyes.

"i- fuck." caught red handed.

"why hee? you care about me that much?" you smirk, stand up, meeting his eyes. your heart skips a beat, not knowing if this was a good idea, and it definitely wasn't. before he could do anything, you got into the car, and watched him run to the passenger side, got in quickly so you couldn't lock it. "what do you think you're doing?"

"getting in your car. you're driving me home." he smirks and nods at you. with a roll of your eyes you glance at his car, then back at him.

"you have-" he cuts you off, tapping on the gear shift. you shake your head but decide to listen when his eyes narrow. you change gears, starting to drive. the drive is somewhat silent, but he watches you drive the whole time.

"what?" you glance at him shaking your head laughing. you were taking the long way to his house, hoping he didn't notice. you had no idea why you even wanted to take the long way. he looks down when you look at him, then looked up seeing the street you were driving down.

"uh... y/n?" he starts, and poked your shoulder with his finger. "we're going the wrong way. you know that right?" he pokes you harder getting a sigh from you.

"i know. it's on purpose. stop poking me!" you roll your eyes continuing to drive, stepping your foot on the gas, speeding up before he could get in a word. you gripped on onto the steering wheel with one hand, and one hand on the gear shift. he put his hand on top of the hand on the gear shift,

"easy y/n.. you're going too fast." he says cautiously and you push his hand off, "you the police?" you scoff waiting for him to reply, and the heat in the car definitely went up. you take a deep breath, stopping to breath when he spoke, lowly, almost a growl.

"no, but i don't want you to get a ticket."

you place both hands onto the wheel, and you see an empty parking garage, speeding up to pull in, parking anywhere you wanted. his eyes widened as you sped up. you scoff at his response turning to look at him, pissed.

"what is your issue?" you broke. you needed to know why he was doing this, playing a push and pull game with you. you were getting sick of it, waiting for him to respond.

"nothing is with me. i just want to- i mean- i don't want you to see you do something stupid oka-" he starts fumbling over his words like you caught him doing something bad. you cut him off, completely going off at him.

"no. you’re so fucking confusing heeseung! one minute you’re all over me, next minute you’re making out with the whole school, and then by the next day you’re protecting me and being all.. like this!! what is with you? decide how you fucking feel for fucks sake!!" you raise your voice, throwing your head back against the headrest groaning as you try to calm yourself down. you needed to know the answer, no matter what it was. even if it was a rejection.

"y/n.. i-" you look up as he starts to talk, then you turn to look at him. his jaw was clenched, putting his hand through his hair and sighing. god he's pretty. you betrayed your thoughts scoffing,

"no. don't talk. i don't want to know anymore." you say with a shaky voice, changing the gear. you start driving, but he finally speaks.

"what the hell? you don't even want to hear what i have to say? even after screaming at me like that?" he frowned, halting you to stop the car again, switching it off completely. you get out of the car, taking in the fresh early evening air. you look back at him, and he's looking down at his lap. your heart aches as you get back into the car sighing.

"it's going to hurt, and i don't want to know. that's why i don't want to know." you held your breath the whole time you spoke, without looking at him once. his expression hardened,

"please just- just listen." he cleared his throat hoping you would listen to what he had to say. you took another deep breath, feeling your throat get dry, but you stayed quiet. "i'm just- i don't know.. i'm.. i knew i was messing around with your feelings, but i still did it, and that was.. wrong of me. i knew that i was hurting y- or even if i'm not, i knew that i was playing with your feelings, and i'm so-"

you laugh bitterly, "i don't want your sorry, and i'm also not hurt by you messing around with girls. i'm just confused why you're.. being so confusing because like i said, one day you’re all over me, not looking at any girl except me, then the next you won’t even look at me. maybe you're doing this because it's fun," you look up at him, he was listening so well that it seemed crazy that you were even in this situation in the first place.

"because you like seeing me get mad, and you like seeing me react to you, that’s why. but then you go around caring about me, coming to my races even when i don't invite you, protecting me from se-ri, telling me you don't want to see me do something stupid.. do I need to go on?" his eyes widened, meaning you hit the target exactly. you take a deep breath after you're finished talking, and he looks down at his lap from looking at you, then swallows.

"nothing to say right?" you waited for a second, his mouth opening to speak, but quickly closing again. "yeah.. i thought so." you smiled weakly, driving to his house.

the drive silent the whole way, you both not looking at each other the whole ride. you arrive at his house, and with not even a glance at him, you speak up, "goodnight."

his voice low and quiet, "don't be mad at me.. i can't fucking bare seeing you mad at me. please." he turns to look at you, placing his hand on your arm on the armrest. you look away from his house, turning to glance at him sighing. "i'm not."

before you knew it, tears fill your eyes, and you had no idea why. were you really falling this hard for him? it's just because you're frustrated. yeah. that's why... right?

"please don't cry.. i'm sorry." he places his hand under your chin, turning you to look at him, then moves his hands to cup your cheeks. "i'm so fucking sorry. i'll sto-"

"fuck i hate you so much." you take his hands off your face, then laugh bitterly again. you shake your head, biting your lip then looked down into your lap. he speaks again, voice sounding almost desperate. "y-you really hate me that much?"

you shake your head glancing at him then dropped your head.

"damn it, lee... no. I can't stop. no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I tell myself to walk away, I just-" you choke on your own words, the lump in your throat burning.

"I fucking hate it. I hate how much you get to me. I hate that I care this much."

[ichorai]

chiropterology — mother's day.

drabble synopsis ; mind the pretzel dips! warnings ; swearing, some good ol' sibling rivalry.

series masterlist.

“Ground rules!” Stephanie called out to the hoard of bats gathered together in the living room. It was the early hours of Mother’s Day—so early that the sun had yet to rise. Each year on this day they all had a not-so-friendly competition on who could successfully pamper you the most. It was undoubtedly one of your most favorite holidays of the year. “Only two people attend to Mom at once—we don’t want to overwhelm her. To ensure everyone gets a fair shot today, you can only stick to her for two hours at a time. You’re allowed to spend time with her again later, but you need at least an hour cooling period in between.”

“What if someone goes over the time limit?” Jason grumbled. “Some people apparently have really bad “internal clocks.”” He placed air quotes around the last term with a scoff. 

Everyone simultaneously glared at Tim, who blanched at the sudden attention. “What? I’ll stick to the time limit this year, I swear!” 

“Uh-huh,” Steph said, giving him a stink-eye. Last year, Tim had gone to the movies with you on Mother’s Day, hogging up many hours of your precious time, much to the rest of their fury—it was safe to say that he was disqualified from the competition.

“And what does the winner get this year?” Damian asked, foot tapping against the polished hardwood. 

Steph’s grin widened. “Winner gets first pick for movie nights for the next three months.”

“Oh, the horror!” gasped Jason in an exaggerated fashion. “You all have such terrible taste!”

“God, if I have to rewatch Pride and Prejudice one more time—” Tim moaned. 

Jason kicked at Tim’s shin with a fiery glare. “Shut your mouth. It’s a good movie—!”

“Loser?” Cass asked.

Duke wavered nervously. It was his first year competing, and he was more nervous than a baby bird about to take flight for the first time. “There’s a punishment for the loser?”

Tim shot his hand up. “To give our dear Alfred a break… Loser does everyone’s laundry for the next three months.”

“Ooh, evil,” said Jason, a sharp grin pulling his lips thin, recalling the many condiment-soiled uniforms he had tossed into the hamper. “I like it.”

“Alright. Rules aside, I want a clean competition this year. May the best man, boy, or woman win,” Dick declared. “Though, I’ve known her the longest, so I really do think you guys should be congratulating me on my victory beforehand.”

Damian stared up at him balefully. “Oh, please, Grayson. Do you even know what Mother’s favorite chocolate bar is?”

Dick scratched at the back of his neck. “Uhm… Kit-Kats?”

“Wrong,” Damian said, an edge of pride sharpening his voice. “And even if you were right, you are an idiot to inform the rest of us of such precious intel.”

Dick crossed his arms. His little brother got him there. “Rats.”

“All agree?” Cass asked. “No bribe.”

They all nodded at each other. This was a sacred holiday, and cheating was the last thing on anyone’s minds.

“Great!” Steph exclaimed. “Let Mother’s Day begin!”

The kids were being terribly attentive this year. You could hardly step in one direction without one of them appearing in front of you with wild, eager, almost manic eyes. All of them offered to give you a massage, or read one of your favorite books to you, or run a warm bath for you, or run to the store to grab you a tub of your preferred ice cream, or clean up your lab, or volunteer as a test subject for your newest experiments (which was very much appreciated).

Urgh. You loved Mother’s Day. 

Bruce watched the kids fret over you, sipping lukewarm coffee from a mug that said Okayest Dad of The Year. “Why don’t they ever do this on Father’s Day?” he muttered.

“Please,” you scoffed, kissing your husband’s cheek. “If the kids hovered over you like this, you would go into hiding for the next fortnight.”

Bruce grumbled some more, but didn’t disagree with you.

The hours drew on, and the kids grew increasingly frantic. You caught sight of Tim hurriedly scribbling in his notebook out of the corner of your eye more times than you could count—presumably trying to keep score, even though you weren’t at all keeping track of how many favors each person was doing for you.

However, there were still very notable, thoughtful things the kids did for you today that you would cherish for the rest of your life. Steph had made you a playlist of all your favorite songs, and a few of her own recommendations that she thought you would enjoy, and she was very much right. Cass had one of your favorite books translated to braille so you were able to read in the dark without worsening your eyesight. Damian sketched a large portrait of you and your beloved cake robot together, and signed your name in beautiful Arabic calligraphy. Jason and Tim both assisted you with clearing out the closet full of your old inventions in one of the upstairs rooms, even offering to help you test if any of them still worked. Both of them walked out of your lab two hours later sore, winded, and dizzy. Dick, with the help of Alfred, made you a photo-album with old pictures from his time as Robin. Afterwards, you and Dick went out for a short session of karaoke, and it was the most fun you ever had singing to depressing 90s music. 

But there was one thing that stood out to you the most. One thing that immediately made up your mind on who was going to be the winner.

Duke had come up to you an hour before The Reaping (AKA when you picked a winner and a loser), looking somewhat nauseous. He hadn’t gotten to spend much time with you today, so he was already quite nervous.

“Hey, bud!” you cheerfully greeted, holding a basket of broken car parts. There was grease smeared over your cheek, which Cassandra had stepped forward to wipe away with a warm, damp towel. “What can I do for you?”

“I actually…” Duke fiddled with the clasp of his bag. “I had something made for you. I asked Luke to help me out with all the mechanics, but… I’ve been working on it for the past few days.”

He pulled out a long column of metal, fitted with thick, tinted glass on either ends of the tube. It resembled a telescope of sorts. 

“Ooh, how neat!” you exclaimed, dropping the basket and taking the contraption from him, lifting it up to your eye-level to examine the handiwork. Your eyes sparkled with curiosity. “What is it?”

Duke placed a hand on your shoulder, and gestured up the stairs. “I think it’s best to explain it on the balcony.” As he led you up (with Cass silently trailing behind like a ghost), Duke said, “Remember when you told me how much you loved stargazing? But doing it in Gotham is almost impossible, considering—”

“The light pollution,” you said, tilting your head. “Don’t tell me this is…”

Duke pushed open a door to one of the many balconies of the manor. “Take a look.”

You blinked at the boy, shocked at his thoughtfulness, before hastily pressing the lens up to your eye and angling your face up to the sky. And there it was—a kaleidoscope of scintillating stars like shattered glass freckled all throughout the dark canvas of Gotham’s normally murky horizon. They winked at you knowingly. You made a garbled, shocked noise, stumbling back a few steps from the balcony in your urgency to tilt your head back and see more. Duke steadied you with two hands over your shoulders. 

Duke sounded sheepish as he said, “Luke had it specially designed to filter out certain wavelengths of light. It was really all him, but I was the one who thought of it.”

Finally, painfully, you tore your gaze away from the sky. And when they met Duke’s, he was surprised to find your expression overcome with emotion.

“Oh, Duke. I don’t even know how to begin to thank you. This is so thoughtful.” You enveloped him into a warm hug. “You win, by the way. Competition’s over.”

“I promise I didn’t just do it for the competition—!” Duke protested, but you shook your head anyway.

“I know, hon. But it doesn’t matter. You win anyway, hands down.”

The time had come for The Reaping. All the kids crowded around you in the library, begging to know who would be the winner this year—and movie-picker for the next few months. Cassandra and Duke, of course, already knew, but they stayed relatively silent in comparison to their rowdy brothers and sister.

“Alright,” you said, which immediately halted the argumentative chatter. “This has been an amazing day for me, truly. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I love you all so much, and I’m so touched that you guys go through all this trouble every year for me.”

“You deserve it,” Dick said, which earned a chorus of agreement. 

“Now, don’t butter me up just yet. I’ll start with announcing the loser,” you said, clearing your throat. You looked towards Jason. 

“Oh, no,” he said.

“I’m sorry, hon,” you told him, taking his hands. 

“No. Mom, no. How could you do this to me?” Jason appeared genuinely betrayed by your decision. The rest of the kids burst into raucous cheers at avoiding three months’ worth of stinky vigilante laundry. Alfred was also going to be very glad. 

Trying your best to stifle your laughter, you clutched his scarred hands closer to you and dramatically uttered the next few sentences as if you were giving a eulogy. “I love you so much. But when you called me from the amusement park asking what kind of pretzel I wanted, I told you I wanted a cinnamon pretzel with chocolate dip. You came back with a cinnamon pretzel… and a caramel dip. I’m so sorry Jason—I hereby declare you this year’s loser.”

“Shit,” Jason groaned, head falling back as he realized his mistake. One goddamned caramel dip cost him his victory!

“Hah!” Damian proclaimed. “So it is clear, then. I am obviously the winner this year, and you will all be watching—”

“Actually,” you interrupted, shooting Damian an apologetic wince, “this year’s winner is Duke!”

“What?” Damian barked. “Impossible! It is his first year. Nobody wins on their first try.”

Bashful, Duke awkwardly waved when everyone’s eyes fell on him. 

“He had a special telescope made for me,” you said, brandishing the gift from its protective case. Everyone clamored closer to get a good look at it. “One that lets me see Gotham’s stars through all the smog. You guys are not allowed to touch it without my explicit permission, by the way. I’m serious! I will suspend you from patrolling, and Bruce would be happy to see it through!”

They all gulped nervously.

“Wow—” Steph said once she got a better look, eyes widening as she whistled a low note. “No, yeah, I didn’t stand a chance against that. Way to go, Duke!”

The rest of the siblings clapped Duke on the back, congratulating him on the win. Tim handed him the sleek back remote to the theater room’s large monitor. “For you, my liege.”

You carefully put the telescope away, then ruffled Damian’s hair. “Better luck next year, kiddo.”

“Tch. It will be war next year, Mother.” He looked up at you, determination burning within his dark green eyes. “And I shall be the last one standing on the battlefield!”

“Okay, you little gargoyle,” Tim said, gently shoving Damian away, who angrily kicked at Tim’s shin (which was already bruised from Jason’s kick earlier that day). He pretended like it didn’t hurt, and gave you a warm, one-armed hug. “Happy Mother’s Day. We love you, Mom.”

[squirrelboxer]

Our Final Battle

Morticia Addams x Miss Piggy

No summary, just a shitpost.

Context: @sexypeople-contests-2025

Cw: doomed yuri, sesbian lex, nsfw, mdni, low-effort smut written by an asexual take it or leave it, vage description of battlefield, death, horribly ooc, pet name usage, characters kind of break the 4th wall, no beta this is too cursed for that, usage of c-word, usage of "muppet hole", badly patched plot hole using "laws of fiction"

This was written in like 3 hours, I did NOT go back and edit, and I just did this for the bit. 1,231 words of slop coming your way.

The battlefield was quiet. Finally. The battle that raged just days prior was finally coming to an end, but a winner was still yet to be named. In a free for all only one can remain, and right now there were two.

Morticia Addams stepped over the still-convulsing body of Jessie - her opponent from just the day prior. She reveled in the scene around her. Positively lovely she thought. If only Gomez were here to enjoy this with me…

She took a moment to let out a wistful sigh, and then turned around to face the foe that had quietly appeared behind her.

“Miss Piggy. Enjoying the atmosphere? I certainly am.” The easy smile on her face and chipper tone contrasted the gruesome sight around her in a way that infuriated Miss Piggy in a way she hadn't felt since…

It wasn't the time to think of old grievances now. Miss Piggy was here on a mission: serve cunt and win the tumblr sexywoman competition.

“Any last words, Mrs. Addams?” She raised her nail-riddled bat at the tall woman.

“Oh my, is it truly time already?” Morticia quipped. “I would have hoped to have spoken with you. You seem delightfully skilled in the homicidal arts.” She moves aside her shawl to grab a vial of cyanide hidden between her breasts - a motion that embarrassingly captures Miss Piggy's attention - “but it seems our date must be cut short.”

“Date?” Miss Piggy breathes. She had been enraptured by the effortless flowy movements of her supposed opponent, and only the insinuation of a romantic occasion could tear her attention away from Morticia’s breast.

The fluster doesn't go unnoticed by Morticia.

In one fluid motion she steps in to meet Miss Piggy, one hand wrapped around the silk glove grasping the bloody bat, and the other under Miss Piggy’s beautiful felted chin.

The grip on the bat loosens.

“Morticia…” the word comes out in a breathy near-moan. “What are you doing? You know the polls won’t let us have th-”

“Hush, ma chérie… Let’s embrace each other while we have our final battle.” She wants for Miss Piggy's slight nod and goes in for a passionate kiss. “You know I always did find doomed yuri quite ravishing.”

And ravish she did. Miss Piggy was used to being dominant and serving cunt, but under Morticia’s thumb she was the one getting her cunt served. Morticia was aggressive and persistent, much unlike her usual calm demeanor, but that did’t mean she wasn't sweet. The kisses she peppered up and down Miss Piggy’s neck were hot and passionate. They lingered on her puppet felt, and made her shiver in anticipation. This final battle was NOT going to plan. Usually there would be an opponent, a vicious (usually one-sided in Miss Piggy's case) battle that would only end once the polls did, then the next day another opponent. Today was different. She came to meet an enemy, but instead there was a lover.

“Miss Piggy, it seems you were too entranced to answer my question.”

Miss Piggy was snapped back to reality at Morticia’s sultry voice. She was so intoxicated by Morticia’s skillful mouth that she failed to realize the writer changed the scene and she was now pressed up against a bedroom wall. The laws of fiction were truly out of her hands.

Miss Piggy focused on Morticia’s deep black eyes. They were full of sincere worry and a hint of a mischievous spark. It seemed she was enjoying Miss Piggy's disheveled state at least a little bit.

“Are the polls getting to you already, Darling?” Morticia said with a smirk. “It’s only 50.9% to 49.1% in my favor. Don’t let me win too early~” she teased.

Miss Piggy scoffed at that. Yes, the polls did grant sexypeople power, but such a trivial difference would never weaken her substantially. Her sorry state right now was all Morticia’s doing…

“Are you too afraid you’ll break me, dear Mortie?” she taunted. “Why don't you battle me in bed like a real woman?” On some level Miss Piggy knew this taunt could lead to her undoing, but as a lifelong diva, she couldn't help but be a bit of a brat in the bedroom.

Either way, her words were effective. Morticia wasted no time in scooping up the Muppet and promptly tossing her on the bed. Miss Piggy's dress hem rode up, and Morticia locked onto her target, licking her fingers and going to work on Miss Piggy's quivering muppet hole.

The sudden entrance was surprisingly careful, and the intense back arch and moan that Miss Piggy released was a testament to how good Morticia’s fingers felt.

“M- Mortie- your fingernails- ngh~ are perfectly filed-” she said between increasingly intense gasps. “Were you- planning this?”

Morticia couldn't help but throw her head back in a hearty laugh at Miss Piggy's endearingly self-centered comment. “No, Darling. I wish I could say I planned our lovely encounter, but my dear Gomez and I are in an open marriage. How else would I know how to please your Muppet hole so well~” Morticia plunged her fingers deeper and spread them out to prove her point. Miss Piggy's grasp on the bedsheets tightened, and Morticia knew she had been successful at getting her point across.

To Morticia there was something heady about watching Miss Piggy squeal under her. As someone who Pulls Bitches™, even she was surprised at how breathless she had gotten while pleasing her piggy princess.

“Mortie~” Miss Piggy moaned, “I don't know if I can fight you to the death after this~” she said through tears of both despair and pleasure.

“Then let this be our battle, Darling. First to cum is the loser of the tumblr sexywoman contest.”

Morticia tried to keep her composure and maintain at least an illusion that her proposal was fully in her favor, but in truth, she was barely holding back her own arousal. The risk of death made their game of love even sweeter, and that didn't go unnoticed by Miss Piggy either.

“Mortie- n-no! I know you’re close too, and I can't let you lose! I can't lose you!” Tears welled in Miss Piggy's seductive half-lidded eyes, but Morticia cupped Miss Piggy’s cheek and wiped away the tears before they could fall.

“Queens like you shouldn't cry, ma chérie.” Morticia gently lifted the teary Miss Piggy into her lap. Miss Piggy hugged her lover’s neck tightly and held back her tears as she said “I’m ready. For my final battle with you, show me heaven.”

“We’ll see who waits for whom by the end of the hour.” Morticia then pulled Miss Piggy into a passionate kiss. Their tongues danced back and forth in time with the ebbs and flows of the polls. Their passion reached a crescendo; Miss Piggy riding Morticia's hand, and Morticia feeding her arousal on Miss Piggy grinding on her lap.

Finally, when their passion reached it’s peak, the wave of tension between them broke and the winner of the sexywoman polls stepped out into her lonely victory…

Wrote this to fuel the Miss Piggy agenda.

Felt cute, mught delete later.

[nvxzaa]

── .✦ Wow

Masterlist

Pairing : Han Jisung x reader

Word : 958

Genre : fluff

Warning : none

After a long day at work, the members of Stray Kids decided to get away from the city centre and meet up in a small, discreet restaurant, out of sight. There's nothing like a good dinner together to unwind, laugh and share a simple moment away from the hustle and bustle.

They sat down in a quiet corner of the room, pushing two tables together so that they could all eat side by side. The smell of barbecue was already wafting through the air, and voices were raised in laughter and bickering.

Chan had offered to order for everyone, while the others debated... on the best way to decide who was going to pay. The consensus was quickly reached: a good old-fashioned rock, paper and scissors, in three rounds.

- If you lose, you take the blame," said Hyunjin, arms folded, looking like an incorruptible judge.

- And you make the bet," added Lee Know with an already sadistic smile.

Han, confident - or too tired to think - had accepted.

He should have known better: with Hyunjin, you never win. Not without losing a bit of your dignity.

The third round proved fatal. Hyunjin pulled out his scissors with undisguised satisfaction, while Han, his hand still in the shape of a leaf, looked at him as if his world had just collapsed.

- It's a scam. This band is a scam," he muttered, dropping back against the back of his chair.

- You lose, wow boy," said Chan with a big mocking smile, while Changbin clapped his hands like a child at Christmas.

- Come on, pay up and make the bet. We're hungry and we want a show," added Lee Know, his tone perfectly neutral but his eyes shining with amusement.

- What's the pledge again?" asked Felix, even though he knew perfectly well.

I.N. took a deep, dramatic breath and leaned forward:

- You have to go and see the waitress, call her Noona... and ask her if she's got a boyfriend. Word for word.

Han threw up his arms in despair.

- Why am I still hanging around with you? I should have joined a trotting group...

But he got up anyway. Slowly. Like a condemned man.

- Yes? Do you need anything?

Han swallowed his saliva, then, launching into an exaggeratedly dramatic tone to give himself courage.

- Excuse me... Noona... do you have a boyfriend?

Yn stares at him. The silence is BRUTAL. Then she blinks, confused.

- What? Noona?

The Stray Kids table EXPLOSES with laughter. Hyunjin folds in half. Felix nearly falls off his chair. Lee Know raises his arms to the sky like a competition judge.

Yn looks Han up and down, eyebrow raised.

- I'm like... 22? How old are you?

Han looks as if he's going to liquefy, the words coming out of his mouth like a yawn, as he looks down at Yn, his cheeks slightly pink.

- It was a bet... I'm sorry... it's them over there, they're the guilty ones-

Yn looks at him amused but falsely offended.

- You're lucky I didn't take that as an insult.

She walks away, shaking her head, half-smiling, half-doubting. Han returns to the table, his soul in tatters. The guys applaud him as if he'd just run a marathon.

Chan grabs him by the shoulder.

- You did good, wow boy.

- I'm going to hide in the fridge. For ever.

Han replies, hiding his face in his hands.

A little later, at the end of the evening, when Han is getting ready to pay the full bill, he finds himself standing in front of her again, embarrassed.

Han hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck.

- Um... that was... a bit awkward earlier. Sorry about the noona, really. It's become a meme in our group.

Yn, with a smirk on his face, still looking slightly mocking.

- I get it. I'm not that fragile. But you're lucky I'm in a good mood.

Han relieved, then straightened up a bit with a false air of coolness.

- I survived your judgment... I deserve a medal. Or a cookie. Or maybe... your number?

- Yn looks up at him, surprised. He looks half serious, half playful, his hands in his pockets.

After a short silence, with her arms folded, Yn looks at him with a small, playful smile.

- Are you always like this with waitresses? Or is it just because you lost at rock, paper and scissors?

Han, smile nervously, losing all confidence.

- Honestly... I lost, yeah. But... it's more fun to lose when you win something back, isn't it?

Yn stares at him for another second. Then she sighs, grabs a little notebook from behind the counter, writes something down quickly and hands it to him.

- It's not because you're funny. It's because you had the guts to come back and talk to me after calling me 'noona'.

Han, wide-eyed, grabs the paper like a treasure, almost hesitantly.

- I... wow. I made that sound but... wow.

Yn laughs softly.

- Yeah, yeah. Get inside before your mates come and grab you by the scruff of the neck.

At the same moment, the door opens and Hyunjin shouts from the doorway

- JISUNG! Hurry up or I'll leave you here with the dishes!

Han turns back to his friend after giving Yn one last look, shouting euphonically.

- I'm coming, I'm coming! I'VE GOT HIS NUMBER!

The others shout in chorus, shocked and laughing their heads off.

- He shot a potential date? This guy is a monster.

Felix, with his hand over his heart, cheerfully joins in.

- This could be the biggest comeback of the year.

Han walks out of the restaurant, paper neatly tucked away in his pocket. He turns his head one last time to Yn, who gives him a knowing nod before returning to his work.

[emmiesoverthemoon]

what's a little ink?

pairing: han jisung x reader

word count: 7.3k

summary: you wanted the upper hand. you came for a tattoo. you also came for him. and somehow you ended up in his hoodie, eating his eggs, and wondering how a bet turned into this stupid, soft thing you just can’t resist wanting

tags: tattoo artist au, friends to lovers, fluff and smut. porn with plot. sweet, sappy, and gross romance. enjoy

requested by @burlesquerade hope u like it honey

It all started with a simple, completely ridiculous bet. You and Han had been hanging out for hours, as you often did, swapping old stories and making fun of each other’s quirky habits. Laughter echoed around the cozy living room, the kind of laughter that was easy and natural, the way it always was when the two of you were together.

"Okay," Han said, a sly grin spreading across his face. He leaned forward, eyes glinting with that playful spark you knew all too well. "If you can beat me at this stupid game one more time, I will get you whatever you want as a prize."

You raised an eyebrow, already suspecting he might be setting you up for something ridiculous. "Whatever I want? Really?"

"Yep. No holds barred. You name it, and it’s yours," Han assured you, his tone full of confident mischief. "But if I win…" He paused for dramatic effect, leaning in so close you could feel the heat of his breath on your cheek. “You have to let me tattoo you.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Tattoo me? Really? That’s your big gamble?”

Han’s smile grew wider. “I’m a tattoo artist, remember? It's a fair trade. I think you’re too scared to let me do it.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips, your fingers tapping idly on your cup. “Scared? Please. I’m not scared of a tattoo.”

His eyes narrowed, a challenge sparking in their depths. “Oh, so now you’re saying you can handle it? Alright then. You’re on. But we both know I’m going to win.”

You gave him a playful smirk. “Big talk for someone who has no idea what they’re up against.”

The game you were playing—a mix of cards, trivia, and guessing games—was silly, and it didn’t take long for the competition to become heated. But, much to your surprise, you did win. By a narrow margin, of course, but a win was a win.

Han’s mouth dropped open in disbelief, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from gloating too much. You had been expecting him to be smug, but now, as the reality of the situation sank in, you saw a flicker of something else cross his features.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, trying to hide his grin. “You won. So what do you want?”

You leaned back in the chair, considering your options. There were so many things you could ask for—something extravagant, maybe—but you had been thinking about this for a while. Han had been inking people for years now, and you had always wondered what it would feel like to have him work on you.

So, you decided to go for it.

“I want a tattoo,” you said with a straight face, barely able to hide the excitement in your voice.

He blinked at you. “Wait… you’re serious?”

“Totally,” you answered, your grin impossible to hide. “You’re going to ink me, Han. And you can’t back out.”

He stared at you for a long moment, as if trying to make sure you weren’t joking, but then the challenge returned in his eyes.

“Well, if I have to do this, I get to choose where,” he said, his tone slightly mischievous. “No complaints, okay?”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Fine. As long as I get to decide what the design is, I’ll leave the location to you.”

Han smirked and held out his hand. “Deal.”

The text from Han came just before noon.

“Hope you’re not chickening out. Studio at 3. Wear something loose. ;)”

You stared at your phone longer than you meant to, heat crawling up your neck. Chickening out? Hardly. But that stupid winking face was another story. He always knew how to push just the right buttons—just enough to make your pulse quicken, just enough to stir things that should probably stay buried.

Still, you showed up. Of course you did.

His studio was tucked into a quiet side street downtown, its glass windows fogged slightly from the early spring chill. You had been here before—countless times, really—but never like this. Never with your skin on the line. Never with your heart threatening to beat out of your chest for reasons that had very little to do with ink or needles.

The soft chime above the door rang as you stepped in. Han was already inside, hunched over a sketchpad, his brows knitted in concentration. A pencil twirled between his fingers as he tapped it against his lower lip, eyes flicking to you the moment you walked in.

And just like that, the air shifted.

He smiled, slow and crooked. “You came. I’m impressed.”

“You told me to. I don’t exactly think that counts as bravery,” you replied, trying to play it cool, even though you were already peeling off your jacket, already catching the way his eyes flicked to your collarbone with something unreadable.

Han rose from his chair, brushing his fingers through his soft brown hair. “I sketched some ideas. Wanna see?”

You nodded, joining him by the desk where several sheets were spread out. The designs were delicate—subtle, intricate things, clearly drawn with you in mind. One of them caught your eye: a minimalist crescent moon nestled inside a trail of tiny stars, the lines fine and whisper-soft.

“I like this one,” you murmured, fingers brushing the paper.

“I thought you might.” His voice had dropped a bit. He was watching you closely, as if your reaction meant something more than approval. “It’s gentle. Quiet. But it lingers.”

You swallowed.

“I’ve decided where to put it,” he added after a beat, stepping closer.

“Oh?” you asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Do I get a hint?”

Han smiled, tilting his head just slightly as his eyes traveled—unapologetically—over your exposed shoulder, down the dip of your neck. “Upper shoulder. Right where it curves into your neck. Here.” He reached out, fingers grazing the exact spot, the barest ghost of a touch. “It’s a place you never see, but everyone else does. Intimate. Subtle. Kind of like the moon.”

You froze. It was a good idea—too good, actually. Because now, your body was responding to more than just nerves. The closeness. The delicacy in his voice. The way his fingertips lingered, resting there a heartbeat longer than necessary.

“I trust you,” you whispered, hoping it would ground you.

Han met your gaze. For once, he looked serious. “Then lie down for me.”

The chair was cold at first, the studio quiet but for the low murmur of music and the faint clatter of his tools. You lay on your side, hair pulled up and shirt slightly off one shoulder, baring the space where he would work. The air kissed your skin, but it was Han’s presence—his warmth—that you felt most acutely.

He cleaned the area with methodical care, the scent of alcohol and antiseptic somehow comforting. But it was the way his hand curved around your shoulder, the way his thumb brushed the nape of your neck, that made you hyper aware of every inch of yourself.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“Mhmm.”

“Tell me if it hurts too much.”

You chose not to tell him that it already did—but not because of the needle.

As the machine buzzed to life, the first kiss of ink stung. You flinched, just slightly, and felt his other hand firm on your back in response. Steadying. Anchoring.

He worked in slow, precise strokes, the pressure rhythmic, hypnotic. But each time his fingers brushed your skin, each time his breath tickled your shoulder from how close he leaned—it lit something warm and aching inside you.

His voice broke through the quiet after a while, low and slightly hoarse. “You’re really still. Most people twitch like hell when it’s here.”

You exhaled, barely moving. “I think I just… don’t want to mess you up.”

“You couldn’t,” he murmured. And for a second, the machine paused. His hand stayed, resting lightly over the fresh lines. “You’re kind of perfect like this.”

Your breath caught.

You didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare ask what he meant. But in the pause between one stroke and the next, the silence pulsed—thick with something fragile, something not quite spoken yet.

He resumed working, but something had changed. His touches had always been skilled, steady, but now there was a new kind of deliberateness in the way his fingers slid across your skin—slower, more lingering, more aware. The buzz of the machine became background noise to the static dancing along your spine.

Your breath came shallow and controlled, each exhale purposeful, but no amount of focus could erase the way heat pooled low in your belly each time he adjusted your position, each time he leaned in just close enough that his breath grazed the shell of your ear.

"You’re warm," he said suddenly, voice barely audible over the low thrum of music.

You tilted your head, cheek brushing the leather of the chair. “Is that your way of saying I’m sweating too much?”

A quiet laugh. "No." He wiped the spot gently, fingers spread wide against your upper back. “Just saying... your skin feels alive.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, willing yourself not to shiver.

He paused to dip the needle again, but his other hand stayed pressed against you—thumb dragging absently along the edge of your spine. And then, as though the words slipped free without permission, he added, “It’s kind of driving me crazy.”

The machine stilled. Your eyes snapped open.

“What?”

Han blinked, as if he had not meant to say it aloud. But the corner of his mouth lifted anyway, a half-smile that was equal parts sheepish and satisfied. “Nothing. Just... hard to stay focused when you’re under my hands like this.”

Your pulse spiked. “You’re the one who insisted on choosing the placement.”

“Maybe I wanted an excuse to touch you like this. To drive you crazy”

The air between you crackled. He was close now—too close. His hand still rested against your skin, fingers slightly curled as if resisting the urge to grip tighter. You felt it in your bones: the shift from friendly banter to something heavier. Something hungry.

The tattoo needle remained idle, forgotten for the moment.

Your voice came soft, but steady. “Are you always this... handsy when you’re working?”

He leaned in slowly, slowly, until his mouth hovered just behind your ear. “Only when the canvas makes it impossible not to be.”

Your breath caught. You could feel the heat of him, the deliberate pause before he moved again—not toward his tools, but toward you. His hand slid from your shoulder, knuckles brushing the side of your throat in a line so featherlight it made your skin pebble.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “You said you wanted to drive me crazy, too.”

“Is it working?” he murmured.

You closed your eyes, exhaling. “I think you already know the answer.”

Han chuckled under his breath, but there was a tightness in it—like restraint stretched thin. Still, he didn’t kiss you. Didn’t push further. Instead, he pressed a hand to your waist and guided you gently back into place, the spell not broken, only deferred.

“I should finish,” he said, almost hoarse.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Finish.”

But every second after that was charged. Every brush of his hand, every hum of the machine, every stolen glance when you dared to peek up at him—all of it thrummed with the knowledge that something had shifted. And neither of you could pretend it hadn’t.

You lost track of time. Moments bled into minutes, drawn out by the quiet rhythm of his work and the unspoken weight between you.

By the time he shut off the machine, your body felt like it had become a tuning fork—tight with tension, humming with everything unsaid.

“That’s it, you're done,” Han said quietly, voice thick.

He reached for a clean cloth, gently dabbing the inked area. The sting had dulled into a soft ache, but the way his hand moved over your skin—slow, deliberate, reverent—was what left you breathless.

He lingered there, thumb brushing just above the fresh lines. “You did good. Barely moved.”

You shifted onto your elbows slightly, twisting to catch his face. “Is that praise, or are you just surprised I didn’t faint?”

His gaze met yours. For a second, he said nothing. Then, a smile tugged at his lips—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’re a lot tougher than you let on.”

You sat up, pulling the collar of your shirt gently over one shoulder. “Maybe you just bring it out of me.”

Han stood there, still holding the cloth, still watching you with that unreadable expression. The tension between you was no longer subtle. It stretched between your bodies like a wire, thin and tight, vibrating with things neither of you had said out loud.

You looked away first.

“Let me pay you,” you said, reaching for your bag.

“Don’t,” he interrupted. “This wasn’t about that.”

Your fingers froze on the strap. You turned slowly. “Then what was it about?”

He hesitated, jaw tight. The weight in his gaze softened for a beat—something bare flickering through, like he wanted to say everything but chose instead to say:

“I wanted something of mine on you.”

The words landed in your chest like a drop of ink in water—sinking, blooming.

You didn’t respond right away. The silence folded around you again, but it was thick, pulsing, the air saturated with all the ways you almost touched.

Finally, you smiled, small but real. “Well... now you’ve got it.”

He laughed under his breath, but it was quieter this time. A little more careful. “Yeah. Guess I do.”

You moved toward the mirror, pulling your shirt slightly aside to see the finished piece that now lay protected by second skin. The crescent moon curved delicately against your skin, soft as a secret, sharp as a wish you hadn’t meant to speak aloud.

It was beautiful. It was everything you could have asked for.

You caught Han watching your reflection—eyes fixed not just on the ink, but the shape of you, the moment of you. Like he had never really allowed himself to look until now.

And still... he did nothing. And neither did you.

Just two bodies, standing too close, tied together by a single piece of ink and a silence that spoke louder than anything else.

You turned from the mirror, fingers brushing down the edge of your collar one last time. The skin was still tender beneath your touch, but not as tender as the weight in your chest.

“I should go,” you said, voice a little too light. A little too careful.

Han nodded once, but he did not move from where he stood. “Right. It’s late.”

You moved toward the door, bag slung over your shoulder, shoes forgotten under the bench. The silence followed you like smoke—slow and curling and hard to breathe through. You could feel his eyes on your back.

But just as your hand touched the knob, you paused.

“…I’m not usually like this.”

The words escaped before you could catch them.

Han’s voice came from behind you, lower now. “Like what?”

You didn’t turn to face him. “This affected.”

A beat.

Then: “Me neither.”

You turned then. Slowly. He was closer than he’d been a moment ago. Still not touching. Still not reaching.

But close.

The streetlights from outside filtered through the frosted windows, casting soft shadows over his face—his expression was unreadable again, but his eyes were not. They were dark and warm and searching. Like he wanted to speak with his hands instead of his mouth.

“I should walk you out,” he offered.

“I don’t need—”

“I know.” A pause. Then, his voice was gentler, “Let me anyway.”

You nodded.

He opened the door, and the cool air of the hallway hit your skin like a shock—like stepping out of a dream. The clack of your shoes echoed softly as you both walked, side by side, neither of you speaking.

You reached the door to the street. The city breathed on the other side. Stillness clung to the space between you like fog.

“Hey,” Han called, just as you stepped onto the threshold. His voice pulled you back. “Wait.”

You turned, heart stuttering.

He was standing close again. Too close. The kind of close that felt deliberate. His hand hovered near your waist, fingers flexing once, like he was debating whether to touch you again.

He didn’t.

Instead, his voice dropped. “If I kiss you right now… would that mess things up?”

Your breath hitched.

The world held its breath with you.

You let the silence stretch. Let the ache of it crawl up your spine. And then you said—quietly, honestly:

“I think not kissing me might mess things up more.”

And still—still—he did not kiss you. He only looked at you like he wanted to memorize the moment, the space between your mouths, the way you had just told him everything without saying it outright.

He smiled, slow and heavy with intent. “Then maybe I’ll wait until it really ruins me.”

Your throat went dry.

“Night,” he murmured, stepping back.

And just like that, the door closed between you.

But your heart stayed in his hands.

It was past midnight when your phone lit up.

"You still awake?"

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering, heart already answering before you could.

"i never really went to sleep"

Three dots appeared, then vanished. Then again.

"Me neither"

A beat of no incoming messages passed, then:

"I'm keeping myself up thinking about earlier''

Your breath caught.

"the tattoo?"

"Not exactly.."

You didn't respond right away. You didn’t have to. The air in your room had changed—thicker, tighter, like his voice might pour from the cracks in the wall's paint if you leaned in close enough.

And then the screen lit up again—this time, a call, to which you answered—not after panicking for a few seconds, of course.

“…Hey.” You whispered into the microphone.

His voice was low, rough from too many unsent words. “You looked good tonight.”

You swallowed the simmering embarrassment down. “You saw a lot of skin.”

“Not the part I meant.”

A silence stretched. Not awkward—intimate. It curled through the receiver like warm breath against your neck.

“Come by tomorrow,” he said finally. “I need to check your tattoo.”

“You just want to touch me again.”

“I'm not gonna sit here and lie to you by saying I didn't love every second of touching you. Come by tomorrow, please?”

Your skin flared at the bluntness. There was no smirk in his tone. No teasing this time. Just heat. Quiet and real.

You whispered, “Okay.”

The next day, you were back at his studio.

You told yourself it was just for aftercare, but the second you walked in, saw the way he looked up at you—eyes dark and steady—you knew you were both done pretending.

“Shirt,” he said softly, gesturing to the seat.

You sat. You peeled the fabric from your shoulder, the same stretch of skin that had sparked the night before and haunted his thoughts since. His hands were gloved, but his touch still felt like bare electricity.

He leaned in, inspecting the ink, but the space between you crackled. “Looks good,” he murmured. “You’ll heal fast.”

“So I can go?” you teased, voice thinner than usual.

He gave you no answer. Just peeled off the gloves, tossed them aside, and placed his bare hand against your back—palm flat, warm. Possessive.

“You came back,” he said. “That’s what I wanted.”

You turned your head, letting your cheek rest against your shoulder, watching him. “I did as I was told, Han. So what now?”

Han stepped around to face you. He reached up and touched your chin, tilting your face to his. The air between you shrank to nothing.

“Now I kiss you.”

And this time, he did.

His mouth was warm, unhurried, like he was tasting something he had waited weeks to touch. His fingers cradled your jaw, and you melted into it, into him, into the truth that had been aching beneath your skin for days.

He pulled back, just an inch.

“Still messing things up?” he asked, breath brushing your lips.

You smiled. “Only in the best way.”

The kiss tasted like every moment that came before it—charged, aching, sweet with restraint. His mouth moved against yours like a secret unraveling, like he had memorized the shape of your lips before ever daring to touch them.

You leaned into him, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer like instinct. Like gravity. Han followed the movement without hesitation, one hand sliding around your waist, the other brushing the side of your neck—soft, reverent, as if you might vanish if he held you too tightly.

When he pulled back, just enough to breathe, your foreheads touched. Your eyes stayed closed.

“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me,” he whispered.

You opened your eyes. “Then show me.”

The words cracked something open between you. Quickly, he sat beside you on the tattoo bed and pulled you onto his lap.

He kissed you again—deeper now, his hands no longer tentative. One slid under your shirt, fingers warm against the small of your back, the other braced at your hip like he needed the anchor. You shifted in his lap, and before you realized you had even moved, he groaned low in his throat at the feel of you straddling him, bodies pressed with no space between.

Still, he slowed. Just for a breath.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough.

You nodded, nose brushing his. “More than.”

His lips returned to the bare side of your throat—soft at first, then with the scrape of teeth. Your hands threaded into his hair as you tilted your head for him, shivering when he dragged his mouth down the slope of your shoulder.

“Han,” you breathed.

He stilled for a moment, forehead pressed against your skin.

“I’ve wanted this,” he said. “But not just this.”

You stilled, heart thudding.

“I want every version of you,” he continued. “The fire, the softness, the silence. I want the way you look at me when I'm not looking. I want the way you talk like you are not afraid but touch like you’re terrified.”

You exhaled, chest caving. “You noticed everything?"

“I tried not to.”

He leaned back to meet your gaze. His hands moved with more intent now, but still gentle—still you-first. His thumbs traced the curve of your hips beneath your shirt, and you shivered under the slow build of it.

And then, still holding your waist, he laid you back against the padded bench—carefully, gracefully—like you were something rare. Like he had dreamed of this exact moment in the quiet between days.

Your shirt came off slowly, inch by inch. His hands explored like a map he was finally allowed to touch. Every kiss was a promise: I will not rush this. I will learn you inch by inch. I will memorize every sigh.

When his mouth found yours again, the kiss burned hotter—teeth clashing gently, breath shared. You tugged at his shirt, and he pulled it over his head in one clean motion, your hands already seeking skin, already desperate to feel.

Still, even in the heat, he slowed now and then—traced your ribs with a single finger, kissed the inside of your wrist. Whispers scattered between kisses.

“I want you,” he said. “But I also want you.”

You arched into him, fingertips splayed across his back, heart wide open. “You have me.”

The second his shirt hit the floor, your hands were on him—tracing the taut muscle beneath warm skin, nails catching just enough to make him hiss. His mouth was back on yours before you could take your next breath, more forceful now, more needy. Tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that made your spine arch and your legs tighten around his hips.

Han groaned when he felt it—your thighs drawing him in like a vice, like you already knew exactly how this would end.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your mouth. “You feel too good.”

“You haven’t even felt me yet,” you whispered back.

His eyes darkened.

He pulled you up in one fluid motion, strong hands gripping your thighs as he laid you down atop the workbench, your back pressed against cool wood, your skin burning beneath his palms.

He kissed down your throat, not slow anymore. Messy, greedy, open-mouthed kisses that left your pulse stuttering. He bit lightly at the curve where your shoulder met your neck, and you gasped—head tipping back, legs spreading instinctively, begging for more contact, more friction, more.

His hands slipped beneath the band of your pants, thumbs dragging over the sensitive skin at your hips.

“These need to come off,” he growled, voice thick with want. “Right fucking now.”

You lifted your hips to help, letting him tug them down along with your underwear in one swift motion. The heat in his gaze when he looked at you—all of you—bare on his table, flushed and panting, legs spread for him like it was the most natural thing in the world—

It made your stomach flip, made your core throb.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said, like he was angry about it. “So fucking pretty and wet already, and I haven’t even touched you properly.”

“Then do it,” you whispered. “Touch me.”

And he did.

One hand pressed your thigh open, the other sliding between your legs, fingers stroking through your slick folds in a rhythm that was maddeningly light. He teased your clit with the pad of his thumb, watching the way your hips jerked, your mouth parted around soft gasps.

“You gonna let me make you come with just my fingers first?” he murmured, leaning close, breath hot against your ear. “Wanna feel you grip them before I fuck you. Want you so messy I can’t think straight.”

You whimpered, back arching. “Yes—please, Han—”

He slid one finger in, slow, letting you feel the stretch. Then two. Then a curl of his knuckles that had you crying out, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the edge of the table.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Grind on my fingers. Let me see how desperate you are.”

You did—hips rocking, thighs trembling, your core clenching around him as he worked you open with deliberate pressure, circling your clit with his thumb until the pressure built fast and dizzying.

“I can feel you getting close,” he said against your throat. “You gonna come for me, baby? Right here on the table where I ink people’s skin?”

“Fuck—Han—yes—”

You shattered with a cry, legs shaking, body arching against his mouth as he kissed you through it—murmuring things you could barely process, words lost in the white-hot rush.

And when you finally came down, breath heaving, he leaned back and licked his fingers clean with a satisfied smirk.

“Think you’re ready for my cock now?”

You nodded, dazed. “Please.”

He undid his belt with one hand, gaze locked to yours as he stroked himself—slow, thick, already slick from the sight of you. Then he lined up, ran the head through your folds once, twice, teasing your oversensitive clit just to watch you twitch—

And then he pushed in.

You both groaned—deep, guttural—like relief and hunger all at once. He filled you in one slow, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

You were soaked. Sore. Already wrecked.

But he did not stop.

He fucked you—hard, deep, each thrust lifting your hips from the table, your hands clawing at his back, your moans turning to whimpers, then cries. His name over and over.

Your moans spilled out in sobs as your second climax hit you like a dam bursting. It was hot—blinding—your release painting his cock in pulsing waves, your entire body locking up beneath him. All the hunger, the want, the times of aching tension you had swallowed back whenever he so much as looked at you with those dark, unreadable eyes—it all came out in that moment. You clenched tight around him, and he groaned loud and low, his head dropping to your shoulder.

“God—look at you,” he rasped, voice wrecked, pride and awe tangled in every word. “So good for me. So perfect when you come.”

But then, his hips stopped to a jarring halt. He was still buried inside you, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. You could feel the tension in his body—every muscle taut, his hips stuttering in that way that told you he was right on the edge, right there—

But holding back. Just for you.

You cupped his jaw, breathless but steadying. “You didn’t come.”

He shook his head, eyes fluttering. “Wanted to feel you first. Wanted to see—fuck—how tight you get when you come around me.”

Your body gave a little twitch at the memory, still oversensitive, still full. But a flicker of something else lit behind your eyes.

You kissed him—slow and deep—and then, with a sly smile, clenched around him deliberately.

He choked on a moan, arms trembling where they braced beside your head.

“Baby—don’t—”

“You always so in control?” you whispered, brushing your lips along his jaw, down his throat. “Or are you just that good at hiding when you want to break?”

He groaned, head falling to your shoulder. “Please—fuck—”

You rolled your hips beneath him, just a little. Just enough.

“You’re still so hard,” you murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “Still deep inside me like you need to be. You want to come? Want to fill me up?”

“God—yes.”

“Then allow me.”

You pushed him gently, and he let you—collapsing back into the chair beside the bench, cock glistening and flushed as it slipped free, twitching with the aftershocks of restraint. He barely had time to breathe before you dropped to your knees between his legs and wrapped your hand around him—tight, slow strokes from base to tip that had him gasping and clenching the arms of the chair.

“You look so pretty like this,” you murmured, kissing the head of his cock, licking the slit just to taste the salt of him.

His hips bucked and he cursed—head thrown back, abs tensing.

“Sensitive already, aren’t you?” you purred.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come—”

You took him into your mouth before he could finish the sentence—deep and warm, tongue swirling as you bobbed your head, one hand cupping his balls, the other pressing down gently on his hip to keep him from thrusting.

He was loud now, whimpering, begging, gasping your name like prayer.

And when he came—god—

It was with a broken moan, back arching, thighs shaking under your palms. You swallowed everything, licked your lips, and looked up at him through your lashes as he tried to remember how to breathe.

His eyes were glassy, hair clinging to his forehead, chest rising in jagged waves.

You smiled. “Still in control?”

He laughed—wrecked, breathless. “Fuck no.”

You climbed into his lap again, your bare skin still warm, flushed and tingling, and curled against him with a quiet little hum.

He wrapped his arms around you like instinct. And then, softly:

“…Round two’s gonna ruin us both.”

You grinned against his neck. “Good.”

The studio held comfortable silence for a moment.

Only your breathing filled the space—shallow and warm, mingling with his where you straddled him on the tattoo bed again, skin flushed and shining in the low amber glow of the work light. The air smelled like sweat and sex, care, and ink—hot, heavy, and honest.

Han was still beneath you, arms slack, mouth parted. His chest heaved, his cock softening between your thighs.

You dragged your fingers along the lines of his jaw, smug and satisfied. “Speechless?”

He blinked once. Then again. Something shifted in his eyes.

“No,” he rasped. “Just… trying not to fuck you so hard this bed breaks.”

You laughed softly—until his hands shot to your hips and slammed you down onto his thigh.

You gasped, the sudden friction making your oversensitive body jolt.

“I let you ruin me once,” he growled, voice low and wrecked. “Your turn now.”

You barely had time to react before he stood, arms beneath your thighs, lifting you like nothing. Your back hit the nearest wall—your bare skin flush to cool concrete, legs wrapped around his waist, his cock already hardening between you again.

“What—Han—”

“You think you can just look at me like that,” he snarled against your neck, grinding up between your soaked folds. “Touch me like you own me. And then walk out of here? Nah.”

You shivered. His cock pressed right against your entrance.

“Han—”

“Look at me.”

You did.

He didn't give you a warning. Just a brutal promise, growled against your skin; “I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget your own name—but still remember mine when your hands are between your legs for weeks after.”

Then he was inside you again—deep—in one smooth, merciless thrust, hips snapping forward so hard your back hit the wall with a dull thud.

You gasped—high and breathless—arms clinging to his shoulders, nails biting into skin.

“Han—fuck—”

He caught your cry in a kiss that was anything but sweet. All tongue, teeth, and desperation, lips crushed to yours like he needed your breath to survive.

Your walls fluttered around him already—sensitive from the first round, still dripping wet and raw, but ready despite the ache. He filled you so completely, so perfectly, it stole the air from your lungs.

“I felt this pussy clench around my fingers,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to slam into you again. “But it’s nothing—nothing—compared to how you grip my cock. So fucking tight. So wet.”

You moaned—helpless—every part of your body trembling as he started to move.

Hard. Fast. Focused.

Your back scraped against the wall with every thrust, the studio echoing with the filthy slap of skin on skin, the sound of your choked gasps and his rough groans.

“You want control?” he hissed, fingers digging into the underside of your thighs, forcing them open wider. “Then take it.”

He pulled out.

You nearly cried from the loss.

Then he moved you back to the table, your knees hitting the workbench edge as he turned you, bent you forward, pressed your chest flat to the table.

You barely had time to breathe before he plunged back inside from behind, the new angle making you cry out, high and broken.

“Louder!” he commanded. “Let the whole damn building know how good I fuck you.”

And louder you were when he found that spot inside you—over and over again, the pace brutal and relentless.

He gripped your hips, pulling you back to meet every thrust, the obscene sound of your slick arousal growing louder with every stroke. Your legs started to buckle—nerves frayed, every inch of your skin alight.

“F-fuck—Han—I can’t—too much—”

“You can. You’re taking it like a fucking dream,” he rasped, reaching down, rubbing your clit in tight, wet circles that made your vision blur.

Your whole body tightened—shaking, clenching, desperate to come again, and again—

He leaned over you, lips to your ear, voice hoarse:

“Come on my cock again, baby. Milk it. Let me feel that pretty pussy worship me.”

And you did.

You shattered—body convulsing, mouth open in a silent scream as you came hard, squeezing him so tight he cursed and slammed into you with one final, brutal thrust.

He came with a shout—loud, raw, high—hips jerking as he spilled inside you, his hands fisting in your hair, his teeth grazing your shoulder.

You stayed like that for a moment.

Ruined. One tangled, sweaty, aching mess.

Then his hands softened—smoothed up your back, traced the curves of your hips like reverence.

He pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades.

“…Still remember your name?”

You laughed, wrecked and breathless.

“Remind me?" you whispered.

You did not remember collapsing—just that one moment he was still inside you, and the next, you were draped across the tattoo bed like laundry left out to dry. Your skin tingled, nerves alight, thighs sticky and trembling, your mind still floating somewhere just above your body.

And Han?

Han was slumped in the chair again, legs spread, one arm thrown dramatically over his face.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered into the crook of his elbow. “I think I blacked out. You short-circuited me.”

You snorted, face still pressed to the cool surface of the bench. “You short-circuited me. I’m literally leaking.”

He scooted the chair to get a full view of what you were talking about, eyes glassy but mischievous. “Good. I want it dripping down your thighs next time you show up in those little skirts you wear.”

You blinked. “Next time?”

Han grinned, wicked and lazy. “Oh, baby. This is so not a one-time thing. I’m gonna put a stamp on you like a repeat customer loyalty card.”

You rolled onto your side, raising a brow. “You’re gonna fuck me five times and give me a discount on a flash piece?”

He laughed—loudly. Like you caught him off guard. “God, you’re a menace.”

“You’re the menace. Who says that shit mid-stroke?” you shot back, mimicking his earlier line with mock dramatics: “‘Forget your own name but still remember mine?’ Who writes you?”

He leaned forward, dragging his fingers up your bare spine. “No one writes me. I just improvise.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So… you freestyled your way into making me cum thrice and see stars?”

He winked. “What can I say? I’ve got bars and stamina.”

You smacked him with a rolled-up paper towel, but he caught your wrist and pulled you into his lap, arms curling around your waist like he never wanted to let you go.

Then—softer, like he almost did not mean to say it aloud:

“…I really like you.”

You stilled, looked over to him and kissed him gently, pouring every single ounce of reciprocation your being had to offer him. Because maybe he was a cocky, ridiculous, and insatiable man—but he was your cocky, ridiculous, and insatiable man.

Even when he was a little bit of a menace.

The silence after pulling away was heavy—not the uncomfortable kind, more like an exhale. A shared, serene stillness, your heartbeat slowing while his lips ghosted along your jaw, your collarbone, the tender edge of your throat.

He had not moved far.

Still close. Still inside your gravity.

Then Han shifted, propping his head on one elbow which rested on the arm of the chair, eyes sweeping your face like he was memorizing something. His fingers moved before his mouth did—brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, thumb dragging down your cheek.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

You blinked up at him, still dazed. “Hey.”

He hesitated—not out of uncertainty, but because this, somehow, felt bigger than everything you both had already done.

“You don’t have to go home tonight.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

His voice stayed soft, careful, “I mean… you could stay. With me.”

You stared.

He rushed to fill the silence, eyes darting between yours.

“Not just for more of this—though God, don’t get me wrong, I want more of this—but like. We could crash at my place. Order food. You could steal my hoodie. Wake up and make terrible coffee together. You could see what I’m like in the morning. Spoiler: not sexy. Kind of grumpy. But you’re good with chaos, right?”

You laughed—but something in your chest ached, cracked just a little.

Because he meant it—this wasn’t just about lust anymore. Not even about proximity or chemistry.

It was a choice.

He was asking you to stay, to see him past the high, into the quiet.

You leaned up, kissed him once—slow and certain.

“I’ll stay,” you whispered.

And the way he looked at you then—hopeful and smug and so unmistakably fond—made you feel warmer than anything else that night.

Sunlight crept in like it was in on a secret, painting lazy gold across your bare shoulder.

You stirred, slowly, blinking awake to the smell of coffee and something warm—eggs?—cooking in the kitchen nook. Your body ached, in all the right places. Inner thighs sore. Lips swollen. A fingerprint or five pressed like stamps into your hips. You stretched, wincing slightly, and smiled.

And Han—God, Han—was nowhere in the bed, but his hoodie had been draped over your legs like a blanket, his scent wrapped around you like a sigh.

You slipped it on, oversized and soft, sleeves swallowing your hands, and padded barefoot across the polished concrete toward the sound of gentle humming and the clatter of a pan.

Han stood with his back to you—shirtless, hair wild and sticking up in twenty-seven different directions, tattoos flexing as he flipped something in a pan. There were two mugs of coffee already out. One black. The other just the way you liked it.

You leaned on the doorway, biting your smile.

He sensed you, because of course he did.

“You’re up,” he murmured, glancing over his shoulder. And then, softer, like he couldn’t help himself: “Fuck, you look good in my hoodie.”

You padded up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your face on his nape.

“You’re feeding me. You really trying to make me fall in love with you?”

He chuckled, flipping the egg once again with a practiced hand. “That was the plan, yeah. Ruin your body, then win your heart with food.”

You laughed against his skin. “Tactical.”

He turned the stove off and turned in your arms, resting his hands low on your hips, looking down at you with sleepy warmth in his eyes. You felt it then—not just the physical closeness, but the easiness of it. The comfort. The pull.

“You staying the whole day?” he asked, voice quiet now, vulnerable in that way he rarely let show.

You nodded, brushing your lips over his collarbone.

“Only if you kiss me like that again,” you teased.

He grinned.

And did just that—slow, sweet, a kiss with no agenda other than to keep you there.

Later, with your stomach full, your limbs loose and drowsy from the best kind of indulgence, you found yourself curled up on the couch—Han’s head in your lap, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the messy strands of his hair.

Some terrible movie was playing on his television. Neither of you was really watching it. The remote lay forgotten on the floor. His fingers traced idle patterns on the bare skin beneath your borrowed hoodie, the both of you half-clothed, half-tangled, fully comfortable.

“This is dangerous,” you murmured.

Han cracked one eye open. “What is?”

“This. Us. You looking at me like I hung the stars and made your coffee.”

He smirked without moving. “You did, though. Kind of. That coffee was perfect.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed anyway.

His expression softened, gaze dropping to where his hand rested just beneath your ribs. “You should let me tattoo you again,” he said after a long beat.

You looked down at him. “Now?”

“No,” he smiled, “not now. But someday. Something small. Just for me. Somewhere only I get to see.”

Your stomach flipped at the idea. You tried to play it off. “That’s a lot of trust, letting you draw on me permanently.”

His fingers slid a little lower, dangerously close to a place that still pulsed with the memory of last night.

“You already let me ruin you once,” he said with a grin. “What’s a little ink?”

You snorted, swatting at him half-heartedly. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And you’re still here,” he countered easily, nuzzling into your thigh like he belonged there. Like he always had.

You sighed contently as you carded your fingers through his hair again.

“Yeah,” you whispered, half to him, half to yourself.

“And I'm here to stay.”

drops this in your hands and runs off into the sunset

taglist (ask to be added here): @petersasteria @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefound @burlesquerade @floofeh-purpi @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @ricecake9999 @leni111 @scream-queen-25 @spiritualgirly444 @fairyprincesslvr21 @loonybunny1 @uuchii @sherxoo @m-325

[butcheresshauna]

precrash shauna heacanons

shauna shipman x gn!reader

summary: just precrash shauna x reader. what else is needed

genre: fluff

wc: 1.2k

warnings: none really

a/n: pretty lengthy but i had a lot of fun making this, i cant not indulge in a good precrash shauna fic. i think its super cute writing for precrash yellowjackets since we dont get much info about them before the crash, it gives me more freedom to make her out to what i want. but anyway! this is pretty much how i think she is romantically before the crash.

precrash!shauna who'd make excuses to jackie to miss practice just to hang out with you. jackies never happy about it but she knows shauna doesn't ask for her approval and only 'asks' to let jackie know where she is, and it'll always be with you.

precrash!shauna who keeps a specific journal about you. she has filled a full journal up already, majority of it being her talking about you, so she decided on purchasing and dedicating one to you. you still dont know about it and she doesnt plan on letting you find out.

precrash!shauna who prefers to stay home and listen to music with you as a date. she's always been introverted, and after several days of soccer practice/games a week she needs a break, and whats better than spending it with you?

precrash!shauna whod discreetly sneak her hand onto your thigh as you watch a movie in the livingroom. youd both have a blanket wrapped around each other, already keeping close, but not close enough for her. she hasn't told her parents about you yet, so she secretly slides her hand on your upper thigh, rubbing it gently with her thumb as she continues to watch the movie in front of you intently.

precrash!shauna whod run up to you immediately after winning a game. shes competitive and agressive as she plays soccer, but that whole facade fades as you embrace her and painfully avoid kissing her in front of everyone. you resort to squeezing her three times, an action that you both have adapted into your own way of saying 'i love you'. she does it back immediately after.

precrash!shauna who steals your hoodies and hides them in her closet when you come over. it takes you a while to even realize they went missing, but once you do you immediately confront shauna about it. shes always acting innocent and clueless when you call her out, but shes horrible at lying and you can see right through her.

precrash!shauna who is unusually good at math. shes been taking all AP math courses since sophomore year, and you, being horrible at math, are always coming to her for help. you wont ever tell her if you understand a course. you always want her to help you anyway, mostly so you can steal innocent glances at her concentrated face. she caught onto this a while ago, but she wont tell you that.

precrash!shauna who insists on taking you on dates even on the most random days. her favorite dates are picnic dates. youll sit outside together and after eating the sandwiches she made for the both of you, you lay down side by side looking at the clouds, pointing out to each other what you could make of them. she always had the better imagination. this was her favorite time to steal innocent glances at you.

precrash!shauna who would read you to sleep as if you were her baby. shes always been a motherly type of lover and she loves to read, so she indulges in a bedtime story before bed whenever she can. you arent really listening to what shes saying, mostly just focusing on her voice, but you can tell when she takes a short glance over at you by listening to the way she pauses in between a sentence instead of just carrying on in her usual melodic reading voice.

precrash!shauna whod covertly kiss your cheek as she departs from your conversation to make her way to her next class. her hand lingering on your arm as she walks away, extending it as far as she could to cover as much distance she could in order to feel your touch last on her skin.

if it wasnt already obvious, precrash!shauna's love language is physical touch. she'd do anything to have her hands on you. you could be making out in her cozy room, the lights dim and music playing softly in the background, her hands running up and down your arms. she previously placed your hands on her thighs, making sure you kept them there before placing her own hands on your cheeks, cupping your face in her hands and deepening the kiss.

precrash!shauna whod pass notes in classes you share together, simply because she cant stop talking to you. ever. you couldn't tell if it was something she just did out of pure love or possessiveness, making sure she always held your attention and no one elses. if she sees you talking to someone she doesnt know, she'll be the first to butt in, acting like she's known the other person her whole life.

precrash!shauna who once accidentally let slip the fact you were dating to jackie and immediately covered her mouth with her hands. she is not good at keeping secrets and you questioned how she let it go this far without her letting it spill. you still arent informed of this incident though, so that streak is still growing. jackie looks at you differently now that she knows (in a 'ill kill you if you hurt her' way mixed with an 'i know what you are' stare).

precrash!shauna whod wake up early to make you breakfast. she's naturally an early riser so she feels compelled to feed you when you wake up (motherly love showing once again). she memorized all your favorite foods and feels the need to use that to her advantage, she hates having all this knowledge about you just to do nothing with it.

precrash!shauna whod literally lay on top of you if you arent giving her your attention while hanging out at her house. wether you were doing homework or reading, she'll find a way to have your attention diverted onto her no matter what.

precrash!shauna who sings karaoke after states, and being the best friends captain, urges jackie to join with her. shes a horrible singer but you'll never tell her that. she dedicates a romantic song to you and plays it off when the other girls ask why she chose that specific song. "cant two friends just be platonically in love with each other?" she'd say as she wraps an arm around your neck after she stands beside you, pulling you in and looking at you with a cheesy smile. jackie once again looks at you with a glare you cant decipher, shauna still hasnt told you about the incident.

precrash!shauna who, during arguments, will shut you out completely, scared she'll say something that will hurt you. she'll journal about it, not in the journal dedicated to you though. she keeps that for good memories, which, to be fair are most of your memories. thankfully, journaling calms her down more than the average person, and once she's done and has made sure she's gotten all her feelings out, she'll wait for school the next day to approach you. she would stuff a love letter in your locker and then apologize formally during lunch, dragging you out of the cafeteria and into the bathroom, kissing you and jokingly scolding you before you go back and rejoin your friends. the rest of the day is filled with reassuring glances before she drives you home to catch up on what happened at school that day.

[chiiyuuvv]

၊၊||၊ ⇄ ▶ ── ❌ try not to sing / dance ✶

ᛝ non-idol!&team

∿ notes! 1.1k words ⸝⸝ idk i just thought the idea was silly .

▸ 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺?

yudai (would lose)

“oh!” yudai yells over the boys' chatter in their dorm living room, gaining their attention. “try not to sing or dance..” he reads the youtube thumbnail from the tv screen before looking at the members. “do we want to try this one guys?” after hearing mutual agreement, yudai presses onto the video. it open up with the youtubers intro, explaining the rules to its viewers with a catchy song playing in the background. immediately, yudai can’t help but to sway in his chair, busting a little groove. and almost as fast, he’s being laughed at, popcorn thrown all over his body. he snaps out of his tiny dance to shoot everyone a questioning look. “what was that for?!” “the rules literally say don’t dance to the music!” harua giggles, pointing to the second bullet point on the screen. yudai is quick to defend himself, stammering, “but the challenge technically didn’t start yet, so I–” it was too late, yudai was booed out of the living room and into the kitchen with a pout. 

fuma (would win)

grandpa– I mean fuma seems to lose track of time again. anytime a familiar tune fills his ears, he leans forward in his seat, squinting his eyes at the screen as if it's supposed to jog his memory. he knows he’s heard it somewhere.. the mall? elevator? when he was a baby? wait a minute, he finally knows where he’s heard it from! sometimes he mumbles his findings to himself, “hey.. wait a minute.. I've heard this song before. that’s the title of the song? that’s who sang it? oh, haha I thought it was someone else. wait a minute.. this song is 5 years old? I could have sworn it was released last year.” he’s so wrapped in his thoughts that he forgets the challenge of the video. in a way, this gains him massive aura.

 

nicholas (would lose)

to nicholas, fun challenges like these felt like an impossible scratch in the middle of your back that you could barely reach, yet crazy difficult to ignore. whenever he hears one of his favorite songs, he can’t help himself from twitching in his seat, longing to sing along. “HEYY Y–” nicholas covers his mouth, refusing to continue. he feels strangely competitive during times like these, his hunger for winning higher than moving. luckily, he’s been able to get away with it a few times. that was, until 2013s classic watch me starts playing. instinctively, nicholas whips out his arm, stopping himself just in time to do the nae nae. unfortunately it sparks someone’s attention. euijoo’s. uh oh..

euijoo (would lose)

euijoo isn’t as dramatic as the others, but he must acknowledge a bop when he hears one. taking advantage of the others screams of horror, euijoo uses the opportunity to hum to himself. sometimes he taps his foot, but it’s way too out of sync for someone to accuse him of dancing. a song with high pitched lyrics comes on, and euijoo does his best to hum along, squeezing his eyes shut to reach the same pitch as the singers. it isn’t until nicholas looks over his shoulder with a smirk, happy to find vengeance for the boy's actions earlier. “juju lost!” the said boy’s eyes pop open, a small blush covering his face as he’s been caught red handed. 

yuma (would lose)

if you used a little bit of brainpower, you’d realize this could be a torture device used for people like yuma. jigsaw better be taking notes right now. “NOOO!!” the poor boy screams, his hand reaching out to the tv as if that will make the video change the song. The limitations make him go insane; fake, over exaggerated cry baby tears covering the sides of yuma's eyes. another one of his favorites plays over the speakers, the boy doing his hardest to resist but alas, it’s way too good for him to sit still. “AHHHHH!!” it sounds like he’s being possessed by the demons from the conjuring.. 

jo (would win)

personally, jo doesn’t understand the hype of silly challenges like these. why would one willingly agree to sit still when their favorite song is playing anyways? it felt stupid, a waste of time. besides, there were easy ways to overcome the game. for instance, you could just sing in your head, or close your eyes and envision yourself dancing. sure, it wasn’t as fun as actually doing the action itself, but it was better than nothing. yet when he sees yuma gasping for air and euijoo squeezing his eyes shut, he can’t help the giggle that escapes his mouth. okay.. maybe it wasn’t a tiny giggle but instead a loud bellow. whatever, just let the boy have fun teasing his peers. 

harua (would win)

harua always found try not to sing/dance videos a little boring as it forbade you from moving for such a long period of time. plus, he had no connection with the majority of the songs selected for the challenge, and he was too tired of watching the music videos that accompanied the game. he’s got to find something to do during those 20 minutes instead of rotting of boredom – his fingers dancing around the popcorn bag as he brings it to his mouth, crunching on the snack. he scrolls through his notifications on his phone, then through his important emails. until he gets a better idea: record the other members and use it as blackmail. what a good idea.

taki (would lose)

as cringy as it may sound, taki is a firm believer of the term yolo. you only have one life to live, and so you’re going to spend that time wailing like an idiot (cough cough yuma)? no! taki is a big boy who has free will that he will happily use. who's going to stop him from dancing anyways? he proudly gets off the couch and starts dancing to what does the fox say? using the rest of his brain cells to remember the dance moves used in the just dance. he looks (yikes).. wonderful. like a graceful swan getting its neck chopped off. it's safe to say he too was booed out of the living room. “they’ll never understand us.” - yudai

maki (would lose)

the final pop song blasts from the tv speakers, the boys groaning in exhaustion as another familiar tune fills the room. maki can’t help the grin that travels along his face, watching as nicholas and euijoo struggle from dancing once again. “this is so easy y’all,” the maknae declares in pride. harua looks up from his phone, sending maki a side eye. “but you’re dancing too,” harua is quick to point out. “I'm not??” maki cocks his neck out in disbelief like the meme. “then why is your head bobbing to the beat?” Oh, maki didn’t even realize.

︴bonus! whenever i play these games on yt, i resemble all the members ofcofc, but i feel like i'm yuma the most.

▸ taglist 📬 @wtfisgoingright , @lakoya , @lovelyjuju , @kehnarii , @enhacolor , @cherrycolaberry , @rizzkisworld , @luvnicho , @zarastrawberry (welcome!), @hyukabean (welcome!)

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@chiiyuuvv on tumblr . do not steal works/headers/line dividers

[shiqingxuanz]

here he is!

[hiccbae]

Hiccup and Astrid from the ‘Dreamworks All-Star Kart Racing’ game.