#never be the same lockscreen

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

So he’s my lockscreen now.

[angels0fpride]

Spent the better half of an hour decorating my wallpaper and lockscreen and various photo widgets and 1) my god my collection of cinnamoroll grows and 2) my photos are all just women except the three (3) men (Iruma from welcome to demon school, jinshi from apothecary diaries and Dr House),, idk what this says about me

[luvcaleb]

ANYTHING FOR YOU.

bf!caleb headcanons with canon-typical caleb possessiveness levels.

bf!caleb who wears hair ties on his wrist and does your hair for you when you complain about feeling hot. he even adds a neat little braid because somehow, he's even better at it than you are.

bf!caleb who lets you steal all the clothes you want. he knows he's huge, and the way his oversized shirt drapes on you drives him a little crazier than he'd like to admit. if you say anything that remotely suggests you feel a bit cold, he's already shrugging out of his jacket.

bf!caleb who gives you a piggyback ride when your feet are sore from wearing heels. he doesn't let you get off until you've arrived at a clothing store and he picks out a new pair of comfortable shoes, kneeling down to slip them on your feet.

bf!caleb who holds his hand out whenever you go shopping for cosmetics so you can test the makeup on his skin. he gives comments on which color fits you better and slides out his card before you could pull out your wallet to pay.

bf!caleb who gives you a packed lunch whenever he has the time to cook. some pieces are cut into hearts, and every meal comes with a post-it note with a different message. “i cooked your favorite, pipsqueak. hope you won't be too full for dessert later ;)”

bf!caleb who wakes you up with kisses, gently cooing that breakfast is ready on the table. he picks you up when you whine about being too sleepy, carrying you all the way to the dining room.

bf!caleb who knows all of your favorite snacks and keeps stock of them at his apartment so you can eat whatever you want during movie nights.

bf!caleb who sends you pictures when he works out at the gym because he knows you have a thing about him flexing his arms.

bf!caleb who knows all your good angles and a good portion of the photos you post on social media are taken by him. “hm? i don't do anything special. i take good photos because you always look this pretty in my eyes, princess.”

bf!caleb who kisses every inch of your skin that another man touched. may it be a friendly pat on your shoulder or a tap on your waist, he erases all traces of them with his lips, watching the red marks bloom with deep satisfaction.

bf!caleb who's always touch-starved, no matter how much cuddling you do every night. he demands you to pat his head and shower his face with kisses, and even if you do as he requests, he says it'll never be enough and he needs a lifetime supply of affection.

bf!caleb who finds every opportunity to mention his cute girlfriend to his close peers to the point they're tired of his bragging. at the fleet, the colonel is normally freezing cold, but his eyes soften ever so slightly when he sees your picture set as his lockscreen. you're always his reason to go home early, too. “my partner is waiting at home. i'll be leaving now.”

bf!caleb who spoils you rotten so that you can't live without him anymore. he can't live without you, so it's only fair if the same goes for you, right?

bf!caleb who smiles when you say you're going out with a friend. he tells you to call him when you're done so he can pick you up, and he's always right on time so you don't have to wait. good thing he was nearby, huh?

bf!caleb who bought rings way too early into the relationship and is simply waiting for the perfect time to pop the question and make you truly his.

[emisluvr]

‎ 𝗨𝗡𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗 ★ 𝗟.𝗛𝗦

‎ ‎ ♡ 【 𝓫elle. 】 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖻𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖿𝗂𝗍𝗌 !

✿ 𓈒 𝒇.𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝟏𝟓𝟑𝟓. ─── 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 , 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 , 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 & 𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗌𝖾�� , 𝗍𝗈𝗑𝗂𝖼 𝖽𝗒𝗇𝖺𝗆𝗂𝖼 , 𝖽𝖾𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇

‎ ꒰◞ ˕ ◟୨୧꒱ REBLOG FOR CUDDLES !

for a while, you and heeseung had a friends with benefits situation going on. it was just like you guys had agreed—secret sessions where you would messily make out or fuck in either of your apartments. but under no circumstance were the two of you to catch feelings. you would only stay as friends, no strings attached. heeseung had initially agreed to that, until he didn't.

it's almost midnight, and you invited him over to your apartment. you leave your phone unlocked and unattended on your bed that he's lying down on while you wash your face in the bathroom.

a loud ding buzzes from your phone, catching heeseung offguard from his own scrolling. he sets his phone down on your nightstand and looks over to your still opened lockscreen, before a particular message caught his attention.

it was from a guy he'd never heard of before, but that's not what mattered, what he'd said made his mood switch. "can't wait to see you tomorrow, pretty girl, miss you" the text read.

his jaw clenched, and before he knew it, his finger tapped on the message to open the app. there were all your texts with him, open for heeseung to read. "when are you free? i could maybe take you out to that cafe you always wanted to see" one text read from him. "hmm.. i'm busy tomorrow since i'll be inviting a friend over, but does the day after sound good?" the next text from you read. "that works with me, i'll see you then, baby" the text from him read.

he turns off your phone, throwing his head back into the pillow, letting out the tense and pent-up breath of air as his hand runs through his hair in frustration. no, he wasn't supposed to care. and no, he wasn't supposed to be mad. he kept trying to remind himself that you both were only essentially to do things on the low, and ultimately, to not catch feelings. but it just didn't work.

something about the way he called you 'baby', 'pretty girl', and the way you addressed him as a 'friend' had him tense as an evident look of resentment was visible on his face. something about seeing your flirty texts with another guy, knowing he wasn't the only one who got to see this side of you, made something bitter coil in his chest. maybe it was jealousy, or something worse.

he didn't even think twice about confronting you, if he saw something he wasn't supposed to, then you'd have to deal with his reaction. "y/n." he says firmly, loud enough for you to hear from the bathroom.

when he calls you, you're already finished washing your face so you let your hair down, turn off the bathroom lights, and walk back into the bedroom. when you walk in, he's already stood up, your phone in his hand as you walk over to each other.

your brows furrow slightly, confused as to why he looks so annoyed and why your phone is in his damn hand. suddenly, he unlocks your phone, and pulls up the same messages he saw. "this is what you do when i'm not around? you get bored and start entertaining losers?" he speaks up, voice low as your eyes skim over the messages between you and the guy.

"you let him talk to you like this? you're fucking stupid.." he breathes out, tossing your phone on the bed as he runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

"heeseung.. i'm only going out with him, why are you so bothered.. aren't me and you just friends—" you can't even get your last few words out before he cuts you off, his large hand grabbing your jaw, forcing you to keep looking at him.

"do i not fuck you good enough? is that it?" he tuts, both of your eyes locked, his dark and heavy ones met with your doe ones. you stay quiet, you don't know how to respond. how were you supposed to? really, you didn't know why heeseung was overreacting, he wasn't supposed to see it, and even if he did, it wasn't supposed to stun him the way it did.

"answer me. do i not fuck you right?" he says, voice more firm and a bit louder. "y-you do but—" "then why the fuck is he calling you baby, huh?"

he takes it that you'll have nothing to say, and just stare down at the floor, which you did. he's fed up, picking you up by your legs and throwing you over his shoulders before sitting you down on the bed. he manhandles you onto all fours, back arched, ass perched up, face on the pillow as your hands lay under it.

your crop top stays in tact before he pulls your shorts down to your knees, tugging his sweatpants down before lining up his cock with your core, spitting on it before sliding in, the long string of spit falling onto his length. his hips buck forward, pushing his entire cock inside you.

the stretch feels unnatural and rushed, but so good, as opposed to the way he'd usually prep you before sex. you gasp, trying to move forward, but it's pointless.

he grabs your hips and slams you back onto his cock. "don't run from it, since you like playing around so much, yeah?" he mocks, his large palms still glued to your hips as he guides your hips back and fourth onto his pelvis, the pace deliberate and so deep.

your eyes roll back, his tip hitting your deepest spots as your tight walls desperately try to adjust to his thickness. the sound of your pussy squelches and skin slapping fill the room. "this pussy's mine, you hear me? not his. mine." he groans through gritted teeth, making sure his thrusts were especially deep on the last three words.

your face is smushed into the pillow, tears starting to slip down your fucked-out and pretty face as moans spill from your lips. "fuck, fuck, hee!" you cry out, the way his cock perfectly rams into the spots he knows so well making your head spin. he grabs a fistful of your hair, before pulling you up just enough so your face comes off the pillows.

his free hand grabs your phone that he'd previously tossed, and opens the message app. he taps on the contact name between you and the guy, and opens the camera icon.

he flips the camera and starts recording. your phone captures the way your ass recoils everytime it slaps down on his pelvis, his cock dissappearing in and out of you as his hand is still tugging at your hair. your pretty cries get louder.

you noticed him grab the phone before, and automatically knew where he was going with it. your soft and desperate moans continue to fall from your mouth, before he says, "say it for the camera, baby. say who this pussy belongs to."

"mmhh—fuck, you!" you sob, core tightening around him more as the knot in your stomach grows. his hand lets go out of your hair, your head falling back on the pillow as his hand grabs the flesh of your ass, gripping the plush as the other hand in your phone continues to record.

you try to silence and muffle your moans into the pillow beneath you. the minute he notices it, the hand that was once grabbing your ass came up only to slap it, leaving the cheek a rosy colour. "be loud, let him hear it. let him hear what i do to you."

a choked whimper left your mouth when you felt the stinging sensation on your cheek, causing your cries and moans to tumble out your mouth again. his cock twitches inside your slick walls, signaling he was close, and so were you.

he throws your phone beside you unlocked before he cums. he finishes inside you with a loud groan, throwing his head back as your pussy tightened around him, before spilling your fluids on him. he pulls out, your mixed releases seeping out of your core, only to drip down on the sheets beneath you.

his hand caresses the cheek he slapped as you breathe out, chest rising and falling before he grabs your phone again. you hear the 'sent' sound, your heart drops. he turns off your phone before his thumb runs through your soaked folds. "guess we’ll see how fast he blocks your number now."

he pulls up his sweatpants, hand letting completely go of your touch and body. you quickly check your phone, only to see that the video wasn't sent. either he deleted it, or didn't send it at all, but he obviously wouldn't tell you.

"and if you ever do it again.. i’ll send him the full video." he teases, staring down at your fallen body, your confused expression staring at the phone before he goes to the bathroom to clean himself up. 

you stay there, still on your stomach, legs shaking, brain all foggy. though you still didn’t want the video sent, you knew deep down that heeseung already owned you. and he knew it too.

💌 @murassl, @chuhees, @heebear, @kisuumei, @bangchanwifey, @hoonipies, @sourkiki, @highway-143, @kyanmeai, @nithxhoon, @fdzvie, @hyeinsveil, @curryyed, @heeseungsbm, @goldenmellow, @heesmiles, @hoonprksung, @cheriwonz, @wonberries

© emisluvr 2025. all rights reserved.

[starpens]

୨୧ㅤִㅤׄ COUGH SYRUP ― GOJO SATORU.

satoru is a bit of an idiot who will do anything to get you to speak to him after an argument.

𓈒 ݁ ₊ content ﾉ fem reader, clingy satoru, established relationship, mild argument, fluff, not proofread, randomly started missing my boy :( <3

satoru can’t function when you’re upset with him. 

he knows he should be an adult about it — he is an adult, after all. he should give you space, let you simmer down. most people do not do things such as send one hundred and fifty text messages (he counted each of ‘em; you left him on read one hundred and fifty two times. who does that?) to your phone while you’re in the middle of grocery shopping and they most definitely do not take a sick day because their significant other is mad at them. 

 but then again, satoru isn’t like most people. 

which is why he’s currently sprawled out on the sofa in the middle of the day, wrapped in your favorite throw blanket — one that still smells faintly of your perfume. tissues litter the coffee table and floor around him, an unconvincing movie set of misery. call him manipulative, but it’s the only thing he’s got left in the tank since, for the last seventy-two hours, you haven’t spoken more than five words in a sentence to him. 

you’re his main source of enrichment, his brain stimulated by your sweet kisses and good loving so when you take that away, you’re stripping away his heart and soul. he’s got nothing left. he might as well die.  

in satoru’s brain, he figures that surely, if he’s coughing up a lung, you’ll feel bad for him and start talking to him again. in sickness and in health, right? 

by the time you walk through the front door after making a quick run to the supermarket for groceries, he’s in full performance mode, clutching his stomach with a groan. 

the sound is so realistic that you feel a sudden stab of worry, wondering if he’s injured. rushing into the living room, you find all six foot three of your boyfriend balled up on the sofa, looking like walking death. 

or trying to, anyway. 

“satoru?” you ask, eyebrows arching as you set your grocery bags down on the floor, taking out your phone and glancing at the time on the lockscreen. “why are you home? it’s eleven am.” 

“baby,” he groans pitfully, looking up at you. his glacier blue eyes are red rimmed and shimmering suspiciously — like he squeezed them shut repeatedly until he got the desired effect. satoru sniffles for good measure, huddling into the blanket. “i’m sick,” he announces, his lower lip wobbling, dragging out the last syllable like it physically hurts him to say it. 

“sick? you seemed fine when i left this morning,” you say, taking a step forward. you reach out a hand, pushing back his wintery locks to check for a fever. his skin feels normal, cool to touch even. your eyes narrow. you’re dubious — satoru never gets sick, yet it is his favorite act whenever he’s in the doghouse and wants attention. that, and he’s a terrible actor. you purse your lips, irritated. this is what he does instead of just apologizing? 

“i wasn’t fine emotionally,” satoru whines back. “i’m heartbroken here. it’s debilitating my health rapidly.” 

your expression doesn’t budge and satoru’s pout deepens when he realizes you’re not buying it. he clutches the blanket tighter around his big body, exaggerating a shiver for good measure. “you’re my life force, angel. my happiness. my —”

“stop it,” you interrupt and hold up a hand, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. you’re mad at him — you are. “but let me get this straight. you called out of work because i wasn’t talking to you?” 

“it was a medical emergency. do you have any idea what it’s like to go hours without hearing you voice?! without seeing you smile at me? you wouldn’t even let me use your body wash last night so we could share the same scent. i barely survived the night. any longer and i’d be a goner,” he sighs dramatically, then remembers he’s supposed to be on his last leg and hacks, phlegm rattling in his throat. 

“you’re obsessed,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to hold firm. but your damned heart has selective memory and it is making an appearance again, rapidly forgetting why you’re still mad at him. oh, you had a right to be upset over what he did, but it seems insignificant now when he’s in front of you, groveling like a servant at a throne. 

“angel, come on,” he presses, sitting up on the sofa and reaching for your hand, hurt flashing bright across his eyes when you step out of range. if you let him pull you down on that sofa with him, he’ll sweet talk his way into you forgiving him without consequences. he’ll do that anyway, but you won’t make it easy for him. “i’ll do anything to make it right.” 

“don’t angel me. you can’t just manipulate me into forgiving you with your big pretty eyes,” you wag your finger at him. “i bet you don’t even know what you did.” 

“i know, but it’s working, ain’t it?” he grins, shamelessly dropping the congested tone in his voice. “and i know what i did,” he scoffs. “you’re mad at me about that thing.” 

yes, that thing.

two nights ago, your body pillow — your very expensive, weighted body pillow which happened to have a giant render of your boyfriend on it, went missing. you’d commissioned it to have something to cuddle with on those nights when satoru is away on business and you miss him in your shared bed an unhealthy amount. you’d become a little too attached to it, though, while satoru wanted nothing more than to burn it. 

“he has a name,” you hiss, swatting satoru’s knee as you struggle not to laugh. “don’t call mr. comf-toru-ble a thing! he’s sensitive.” 

“see?” satoru says, scrubbing a hand over his handsome face before gesturing around wildly. “you even named it.” 

you give him a sharp look. “he cost me an entire paycheck— an entire paycheck that three days ago, you gave to the garbage collectors because i was cuddling him instead of you!” 

“i was feeling neglected!” he defends, voice pitching higher in his affront, placing a hand on his chest. “you spent the whole night with it. meanwhile, i— your husband— was right there, cold and alone. i can’t let me steal my wife.”

“we’re not married, satoru,” you remind him, then pout. “unlike my husband, the pillow doesn’t hog the covers, snore, or throw out things that i really like.” 

“it’s not hogging the covers, it’s redistribution of them for my comfort,” he grins playfully, but upon seeing your serious expression, he concedes, sobering up. in truth, he knows he messed up and went too far. it was childish to throw out something that you bought because of his frequent bouts of absence. maybe if he was around more, you wouldn’t need to cuddle with body pillows that look like him. “look, baby. i’m sorry. it was a moment of weakness. it’s not everyday i gotta be in competition with myself, but i’ll make it up to you! i even ordered you another one.” 

“a moment of jealousy, you mean,” you counter, but there’s no real bite behind your tone now.

“hey, you gotta see it from my perspective though. it’s kind of crazy seeing you cuddle with a pillow that looks like me when the real thing is right here,” satoru gestures down the long line of his body, though it looks more comical than inviting when he’s wrapped like a overstuffed burrito in your throw blanket.

“mm,” you nod, “well, maybe if the ‘real thing’ is a good boy, i’ll cuddle him more often.” 

“deal,” he answers immediately and when his muscular arms shoot out from behind the blanket and reach for you this time, you let him. his arms circle around your waist, pulling you into his lap. it was just a few days of silent treatment, but satoru wastes no time tucking his face against the dip of your neck, breathing in your sweet scent like you’re something precious and rare he lost ages ago and is just discovering again after eons. 

he’s squishing you, he knows it, but god he hates it when you’re mad at him — and you, in return, hate being at odds with him too. you both make too much sense to each other to be apart, and there’s upset in the balance of the world when the two of you are in an argument. 

“worst seventy-two hours of my life,” satoru blows out a breath of relief, the air tickling the hair at the nape of your neck, drawing a shiver down your spine. “never do that to me again, angel. you hear?” 

“don’t throw out my customized satoru merch again and i won’t, baby,” you coo, smiling. 

“you’ll still choose me over the other guy though, right?” 

“we’ll see, ‘toru, we’ll see,” you answer playfully, yelping when he darts in to nip at your ear in retaliation.

getting comfortable in satoru’s lap, you lean in to put the both of you out of your miseries and forgive him with a kiss when you get a whiff of menthol and childhood memories wafting from his chest.

 “are you wearing vaporub?”

[joeyfromthetrack]

Take a Picture of Me - LN⁴

Lando Norris x model!reader

Summary: Lando being his girlfriend's self dubbed personal photographer

Contains: SMAU, little fluffy bits, Lando being down bad, short but cute

inspiration was drawn upon seeing the middle photo 😌

It started as a joke between them.

"You take more pictures of me than my PR team."

Lando looked up from the camera, lips quirking. "That’s because your PR team doesn't get to see you like this."

"Like what?"

He didn’t answer. Just raised the lens again. Click.

Liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 and others

landonorris: oh hey there

@/user576: the way she’s literally glowing?? he’s in LOVE your honor

@/girlfriendsofthegrid: no because he said "I study her like a Renaissance painting" with his whole chest

@/carlossainz55: that's not me?! 😟😒 >> @/landonorris: sorry baby 😉

@/user832: This is not photography. This is devotion.

@/user022: Just say “I’m obsessed with her” and go, Lando 😭😭

@/lnfans: this is not soft launching anymore. this is full poetic boyfriend era

Lando Norris had trophies. Entire cities that screamed his name.

But nothing compared to the quiet moments with her. No roar of the crowd could match the sound of her laugh when she thought he wasn’t listening.

He liked to capture those.

She’d catch him staring sometimes, half-embarrassed. “What?”

“You’re just really... you. And I don’t want to miss any of it.”

Liked by yourusername, keeganpalmer, maxfewtrell and others

landonorris: Every version of her is my favorite one

@/user429 he’s so IN LOVE it’s actually kind of rude

@/lanfanclub: the way he makes everyday moments look like cinematic masterpieces 🥲

@/user387: imagine being beautiful AND adored like this???

@/yourusername: not him posting me not even paying attention >>@/landonorris: it’s literally my lockscreen. deal with it. >>>@/user982: you're disgusting, keep doing it.

He called her his favorite subject.

Not just in front of the camera. But always. She could be talking about grocery lists and he’d look at her like she was reciting Shakespeare.

"Why do you look at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you’re composing a sonnet in your head."

"...That’s because I am."

He had a whole album labeled “Her, Just Being.”

That included:

Her squinting at parking meters

Her eating fruit out of a hotel mini fridge

Her brushing his hair out of his eyes without realizing

Everyday things. Mundane things. The kind of moments you miss if you blink.

He never wanted to blink.

Liked by yourusername, maxfewtrell, georgerussel63 and others

landonorris: This is my entire camera roll. And I wouldn’t change a thing.

@/yourusername: you forgot the pic where i accidentally elbowed you mid-dance >>@/landonorris: that one’s in the vault. it’s too iconic to waste

@/user983: this isn’t a love story this is THE love story

@/user103: he loves her like she’s magic and breath at the same time

@/user675: every photo feels like a little thank-you to the universe for giving her to him 😭

Sometimes he posted her just because she asked.

"Take a picture of me," she'd say, even when she knew he already was.

One time, she said it while sitting on their living room floor at 9:42 PM, messy hair, one sock on, holding a slice of pizza and a half drunk glass of wine.

He took five photos.

@/landonorris posted a story:

Caption: "Take a picture of me."

It wasn’t about the perfect composition.

It wasn’t about being a model or a race car driver or having followers who watched their every move.

It was about how she made even the quiet parts of life feel loud.

How he wanted to hold on to it all.

Frame it.

Freeze it.

─── ⋆⋅📸⋅⋆ ───

[mixolya]

omg God bless that anon who requested the kpop idol ! reader x sae bc the idea of wearing his jersey while performing during a show and sae watching you has been stuck in my head for a week

ᓚᘏᗢ — sae itoshi: number one fan !

synopsis: you're on stage in his jersey and he's watching.

sae itoshi x reader ⭑ fluff / secret relationship / drabble + likes & reblogs are appreciated <3

note: yayayaya

madrid was alive. cameras flashing, fans flooding cobblestone streets, scarves and lightsticks and noise that spilled past curfews. the city didn't sleep, not with the champions league final and your group's sold-out world tour colliding in the same golden-glow city.

sae itoshi had won the match yesterday evening. he should've been celebrating with the team but instead, he was sitting in the back of a blacked-out van, hoodie up, baseball cap low, while some of his teammates tagged along because "come on, it's yn's group, there's no way we're missing this."

he didn't answer them when they said that. just pulled up his mask up a little higher. because no one knew. no one knew that the leader of the most in-demand kpop girl group on the planet was his girlfriend. no one knew that between rehearsals and press junkets and european away games, you carved out slivers of time for each other like thieves. that your calls came past midnight. that your matching lockscreens were never posted online.

and now, he was here, in a sea of screaming fans, stage lights melting overhead, just for you. the opening notes of the next performance blared through the speakers, something upbeat and punchy. the crowd erupted as your group ran back onto stage in coordinated outfits: each one of you wearing a football jersey, sleek, fitted, stylized with your group#s logo embroidered above the club crest.

sae sat up straighter. his fingers froze around the water bottle. one teammate nudged another beside him.

"bro- look." and there you were. front and center, spotlight sweeping over you, sweat at your temples, eyes blazing, wearing his jersey.

re al, #10, itoshi.

and the crowd didn't know, they just screamed because it was cute, trendy and a nod to the football energy flooding madrid that week. they thought it was stylish and clever marketing. sae sat stiff in his seat. he hadn't blinked once since you walked out.

on stage, you were catching your breath between songs, chest rising with each inhale. the lights dimmed slightly for the next vcr transition, and the fans chanted your group's name in perfect harmony, an ocean of lightsticks swaying like waves.

you brought the mic to your lips, a mischievous smile curving as you stepped forward, tapping the badge on your chest. the screams hit another octave.

"this one's for madrid tonight!" you shouted in near-perfect spanish, breathless and radiant. "did you guys catch the game?"

the stadium erupted, flags flew and fans roared back. you laughed, biting your bottom lip, and added playfully, "do you guys want to know who i was rooting for?"

the crowd screamed, a thousand voices tangled in excitement and curiosity, chanting teams and names, some yelling "barcha!" just to stir the pot. you raised a hand with a coy smile, pretending to deliberate as your members giggled behind you.

"hmm.." you tapped your chin, still breathless from dancing, eyes glinting under the lights. "should i tell you?"

they screamed yes.

you turned slightly, letting the jersey on your body do the talking as you twisted enough to show the back - itoshi, 10. the cheers doubled, even louder now, and the camera zoomed in to project his name and the jersey number across the screen.

"it's a cute jersey, right?" you grinned, winking. "i think he's pretty good!"

somewhere high up in the stands, hidden beneath a cap, sae itoshi stared down at you. and even though no one knew of you two, it was more than enough.

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[pochaccoups]

the seven deadly sins — seventeen hyung line ver. (18+)

SEUNGCHEOL —; ENVY

Seungcheol can’t help how often the daggers of jealousy sink into his heart. You’re you, after all. The fucking hot love of his life. He think it’s a little justified that seeing other men make you smile brings out this possessive, protective urge in him, because it’s him that should be making you smile and laugh.

He’s not an asshole though. He’s not the type to punch a guy for checking you out, or even for hitting on you when he’s not by your side. He’s not even the type to intimidate, or humiliate. Your relationship is built upon a steady foundation of trust, and he knows before you even get to tell him that you’ve politely let whoever know that you’re taken.

That means it’s you who’s on the receiving end of his pent up envy.

Harsh, merciless snaps of his hips drive your face deeper into the pillow, make your muffled moans grow louder. Your poor pussy weeps around his cock as it drives in and out of you, as though Seungcheol won’t relent until he’s carved the shape of it into your guts. Until your mind can only think about him, him, him.

It’s his name you sob like you’re praying for forgiveness, his cock that finds a home in your greedy walls, his mouth that marks your skin and leaves a message upon you—you’re being taken care of.

JEONGHAN —; GREED

When Yoon Jeonghan wants something, he will stop at nothing to get it.

You were a smart girl, and he liked that. He wanted to play games with you, and you saw through him. Pretended to play along so you could play your own games and string him along, all in the name of fun. He wanted you—badly. Wanted to make you go dumb, put you in your place. How badly did you want the same thing.

What you quickly learn, however, is that it is not enough for Yoon Jeonghan to finally get what he wants. Even when he’s finally managed to slither his way between your legs, made you cry on his tongue and then his cock, in his eyes remains something akin to hunger.

He needs more.

Seeing you fall apart at his hands has altered something in his brain.

“One more, pretty?” he asks, soft and angelic, as though he hasn’t turned your bones into jelly and filled your head with cotton. He draws circles on your tummy; presses a kiss to your hair in a way that makes you melt for him.

“Can’t, Hannie, ‘s too much,” you mumble, your throat like sandpaper.

“It’ll feel good,” he says, sliding his hand between your legs to play with your poor puffy clit, grinning as you whimper at the contact. “Yeah?”

Your reply comes as a pitiful, broken moan. When he gets you to your high, it comes as a gentle, pulsing wave, but you’ve reached heaven now, and Jeonghan has guided you there. You’re floating, brainless, and as your eyes flutter shut and you drift away into slumber, he knows he has won.

JOSHUA —; PRIDE

Joshua Hong. The man who’s got it all. The face, the body, the voice, the girl.

Every conversation he has is about you, you, you. You’re his phone lockscreen. His social media pages are made up of pictures of you. It’s almost insufferable, the way he doesn’t shut up about how perfect of a partner you are.

He buys you a one-of-a-kind engagement ring. He doesn’t tell you how much it’s worth, but secretly he’ll leak it to the press—a quarter of a million dollars and a two year wait for it to be crafted.

It should come as no surprise that he likes to film you taking his cock. It’s not enough for him to slide his cock into your heat, to bury it snug between your velvety walls—he needs a way of remembering the tight, slippery grip of your pretty cunt pulsing around him, and the shameless, debauched noises you make when he fucks you good. Work means he can be far from you sometimes, and timezones mean you can’t just call, so tapes it is.

They’re strictly for your and his eyes only—of course. However, what crosses his mind too often is a devilish little voice in the back of his head telling him to post it. Just make a burner account. She’ll never know. But he can’t bring himself to do it when the ring on your finger is a promise of his trust.

Instead he’ll leave his phone unlocked, opened on his camera roll where the videos haven’t been tucked away into the hidden folder ‘yet’, or ‘accidentally’ clicking the wrong thing when sending his friends photos and ‘not realising’ until an hour later that he’d exposed to them a short dim clip of him covering your tits with his cum.

He knows they want you. It’s not like they hide their wolfish stares, their drooling mouths, their licked lips. They’ll never have you, though, and he sleeps well at night knowing that. With you in his arms, too.

JUN —; LUST

Junhui is quite a wildcard— a mix of a little bit of every sin. Above all, however, he is just so full of desire. He’s got an unquenchable libido that is heightened when he’s in love. And you are his lucky victim.

It’s the littlest things you do that make him hard. It’s even things you don’t do. It’s the way your tits sit in a low cut top on a blistering summer’s day. It’s the way you like to run your hands through his hair when you’re lounging on the couch together, or sitting at the dinner table. It’s the way you call his name from another room with the sweetest lilt to your voice: “Junieee?”

It’s the way you take him so good, whether you’re bent over the kitchen counter or pressed up against the wall or rolled onto your side first thing in the morning. He’s so greedy for you, for the warm embrace of your wet, fluttering pussy and for the sound of your soft, blissful moans.

It doesn’t help that you’re always so wet, so open and ready for him. Knowing that does terrible things to his sanity. You’re so pliable when he gets his hands on you, so welcoming, letting him play with you as he pleases. You try to play it off as he kisses along your neck and gropes at your nipples through your shirt, pretend like he’s bothering you, but you’re not fooling anyone.

He’ll try to make things quick sometimes, make you cum on his fingers while he kisses you hard, or let you take him down your throat, but then it’s you who’s whining, batting your eyelashes because you want more. He’s ruined you. You’re perfect for him.

HOSHI —; GLUTTONY

Oh, he can’t get enough of you. When he gets his hands (or, well, his mouth) on you, it’s over.

Kwon Soonyoung would spend weeks on end between your legs if he only could. He’d give up food and water and shelter and money if it meant he could survive on your pussy alone. It’s enough sustenance, he swears it.

“Taste so sweet, baby,” he tells you, smeared and glistening with you all down his chin and neck. He's the image of debauchery, indulgence, shamelessness all at once. You look even worse for wear. Sweaty, lips puffy from being bitten, skin burning, hair tousled. Both of you look like sin.

It always starts so innocent. Well, as innocent as your boyfriend using your stomach or tits as a pillow can be. “Just taking a nap,” he’ll insist. Then his fingers start wandering, and his hand is down your pants, and his head is between your thighs.

“Just… Just a lil’ sip, yeah?” he’ll promise, and you never believe him as his tongue dives into your cunt. It’s never been ‘just a sip’. He makes you sob, makes you spill your nectar all over his tongue and drinks it like it’s the blood of the Lord until he’s intoxicated by it, hooked on it, his life depends on it. He’ll keep eating even though he’s full and you’re a quivering, writhing mess, and even then it still won’t be enough.

WONWOO —; WRATH

Wonwoo is not mean. He doesn’t have much of a temper. He’s calm. Patient. Soft-spoken. His best friends of ten years have only seen him yell once. Really, he’s the last person to be described as wrathful.

Somehow, though, you’ve figured out how to get on every last one of his nerves. He’s smitten with you, but fuck if you don’t raise his heart rate sometimes.

“Are you really wearing that out, baby?” he asks, eyes dropping to the where you tug at your miniskirt, only for it to ride back up to just beneath your ass the second you move again.

“Yeah, why?” you reply, tilting your head at yourself in the mirror. “You don’t think I look hot?”

“You do, but—”

“You think I look like a slut?”

“No, love. It’s two degrees out. I don’t want you to freeze.”

“You just don’t want other men looking at me, I get it. God, you’re so controlling.”

You don’t mean it. His jaw still clenches.

Then it’s a never-ending back and forth until you’ve managed to wear out every last thread of his patience, and he’s putting you on your knees and stuffing your mouth full of his cock in return for you putting words in his. He’ll fuck your throat until it’s raw and your mascara bleeds down your face, until his release spills on your tongue and he’s cooing at you to swallow it like a good girl.

Then he’ll ruin your pussy. Flip that stupid little miniskirt up over your ass and give you something to complain about.

WOOZI —; SLOTH

It’s a well-known fact that Jihoon is a laid-back man. Not quite lazy—when it comes to his work he’s very much the opposite. It's just that doesn’t put any more effort into things than he needs to.

His slothful sex habits don’t come from the fact that he thinks you should be doing all the work because he has an ego. It’s nothing like that. It’s that he likes to let you take what you want from him, what you need. Which is why, most of the time, he’ll sit back and let you do exactly that.

With his arms behind his head, he watches with his bottom lip snagged between his teeth as you ride his cock into tomorrow. He’s in no rush to cum. So long as you’re not done with him, he doesn’t feel the need.

You’re a vision, anyway; and him, a sort of voyeur. His head spins only from the sound of your soft, broken moans, your disheveled appearance, the spit and cum and the marks that run down your chest. Your tight pussy is heavenly too, fluttering so temptingly around him, so needy, and he's not even doing anything.

Eventually comes your soft whining. Like clockwork, your hips start to slow, your words edged with exhaustion. “Jihoonie, my thighs hurt…”

"Ah, poor thing," he coos, but even in your fucked-out state you can hear the faux-concern in his words. He reaches for your face, warm and damp with sweat, and cups your cheek, running his thumb over your spit-slicked lips. "You wanted my cock so bad, didn't you? Then take it yourself."

Your thighs burn, and walking will hurt in the morning, but the only way you will get an orgasm and a load from your boyfriend is if you do as he says, so you brace yourself against his chest, and you ride him hard.

[girlsoutlate]

the lead up to price sharing his birdie with his men, and badly hidden curiousity on their behalf

part two

fem reader described as having hair that can be tied up, slight age gap (older price) THE BOYS ARE NOSYYY

the 141 can be considered nosy by nature, but have the excuse of it being their job. some are more open than others about their home life. ghost seemed to live quite a solitary life whereas gaz and soap had shared family pictures. nevertheless, there was some idea of each others lives outside of the military. but one person stayed an enigma: captain john price. maybe because it felt strange to know so much about their superior as well as role model. price had never shown an aversion to talking about his life, but the 141 had never asked- shocking to say the least. they all had their own theories. gaz thought he used to be married but it ended in a disastrous divorce- yet there was no trace of any mrs price. soap guessed he liked the company of pretty women, if you catch his drift. but never heard any boasting from his captain. ghost concluded he was similar to him, perhaps with a few more friends and a family, there was no reason to think otherwise. yet none of them guessed there was gorgeous thing like you john was all to eager to return home to each night, until now.

the 141 had been seeing signs of a woman close to their captain for about a month now. it started with a faint hint of fruity perfume under his cigar musk and aftershave, that was out of place on such a man. gaz pointed it out, making the rest of the 141 laugh. however it was forgotten about by the next hour, no one thought anymore of it. then the next day a hairband around prices wrist. he must have forgotten to take it off after you taught him how to plait your hair the night before. it was a work in progress. the simple black band was noticed by ghost while exchanging paperwork. he brushed it off despite finding it a little odd. the first piece of solid evidence they find of the captains mystery woman was his lockscreen.

they were in their common room, taking a break from the never ending pile of paperwork. squashed on the small couches they were joking about the new recruits, which was one of their many favourite topics to complain about. the hum of fluorescent lights was drowned out by their banter. mugs with dregs of coffee in them and a half empty pack of fags sat on the table. while talking, prices phone lit up with a notification. soap, the nosy shite, immediately noticed his lockscreen. a picture of a woman with her back to the camera: gossamer hair and skin that glowed in the sunny view she was admiring. with an eyebrow quirked, soap turned to his captain and asked too casually "whose tha'?". without missing a beat price replied smugly "the missus". for once soap shut up, and looked at the others with his mouth slightly agape, checking if they heard the same thing. ghost let out a grunt which they now knew to be a laugh. gaz's eyes were growing wider by the second. price seemed done and returned to whatever the previous subject was, which had quickly become forgotten. at that point gaz, soap and ghost were a pack of dogs with a bone. who was prices pretty birdie?

over the next month or so the boys had heightened interest on their captains home life. of course they cared about the details of the captains weekend plans, did he fancy going to that quite pricey restaurant that had opened up? it was necessary for them to ask the source of his dinner that evening, did he know the recipe? the competitive streak in them was made apparent sooner rather than later, all fighting to get more important information than the others. even though, if anything was discovered it was immediately shared. one day gaz stumbled upon gold.

he was in prices office, relatively spacious with a small couch in the corner and a bookcase in another. whilst chatting about an upcoming meeting, a buzz emanated from prices phone. before gaz could read the caller id price snatched it up and grumbled "won't be a minute". thinking it was a work call, gaz was surprised to hear his captains voice suddenly becoming as soft as it could. turning to face the window johns small smile wasn't missed as he murmured "hi love, how are ya?". staying still and quiet as to not get kicked out, gaz listened to the chirpy voice that could be faintly heard through the tinny phone. with a content sigh john replied "steak for dinner? tha's perfect". a wide grin crept on to gaz's face. a giggle and another sentence could be heard before price replied "of course i'll pick tha' up for dessert" both of you let out a small laugh when john continued "are ya tryna kill me?". just when gaz thought this couldn't get any better, price fondly said to you "i'll see ya at home sweet'eart". as he hung up and turned back around the sergeant found it near impossible to dampen his grin.

john had told you of his boys' detective work, which he considered shoddy at best. as you were flitting around the kitchen that evening, you were bemused at your boyfriends recount of the day. when he described his sergeants face after the phonecall you let out a loud laugh, bouncing off the tiles of your cosy kitchen. john sat by the table watching you busy yourself by the counter, as he nursed his beer he couldn't help but take in your appearance. tendrils of loose hair curled around your ears, escaping from your loose ponytail. although hidden by one of his tops and comfy jogging bottoms, he could make out the slopes and peaks of your body that he was all too familiar with. as you turned to face him, he was drawn closer to the twinkling reflection of light in your eyes. before he realised it he was towering over you, eyes raking over your form with the beer abandoned on the table. you looked up at him, hand on your hip. "john are you even listening to me?" you asked, face comically blank. "sorry doll, what was that?" he huskily replied, slightly dazed. "pass me a can. please?" you asked, adding a awfully fake cheesy smile at the end.

pressing a kiss to your lips as an apology, he was about to pull away before you deepened it. pulling his barrel of a body against yours, his mouth slightly opened. the bitter taste of beer and cigars mingled with sweet cider from yours. pulling back, slightly breathless, johns blown pupils met yours. "yer so gorgeous, don't know wha' i did to deserve ya" he muttered, the closeness of his voice making you slightly weak. as his calloused thumb brushed over your warm cheek you coyly commented "what would your men think if they saw you like this?". for a moment john faltered, thinking about how they would feel if they saw him being intimate with someone like you- let alone how he would feel. his flushed cheeks were the subject of your teasing for the rest of that night.

while eating your dinner you brought up the 141 since you were already talking about them. you knew your boyfriend felt a responsibility to look after his girl, despite you being more than capable. whenever his deployment was brought up it was usually by him. telling you where he went and anything that he thought might interest you, from an aspect of their culture to a cute cat he saw. sometimes he brought trinkets back. but never about what he had done, or what he had ordered to be done. so the members of the 141 were more characters in your head than real people. you knew their names and basic personality but that was all. so when you asked "how much do they know about me?" it was rather tentative. john paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, thinking. shaking his head he replied decidedly "not much, besides y' mine. they're nosy fuckers, practically begged me to show them a proper picture of you". you hummed in response, finishing your mouthful of food. quietly you muttered "maybe it wouldn't be so bad if they knew more". letting the question hang in the air, you picked up the last forkful of food which went down your throat in a lump. john was silent, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

he considered your proposal, if his girl was concerned then it was worth thinking about. plainly he asked "why?", trusting you to be open. "well, you spend a lot of time with them- i'm not jealous. its just that.. you trust these men with your life, i don't even know what they look like." pausing for a second you continued "its more for my sake than theirs. if i knew them past their names it would make it, well, easier to be apart from you for so long. i know you can look after yourself, but i- i'm always gonna worry about you." with that said, the air in the kitchen grew heavier. you kept your eyes glued on to your plate as johns gaze from across the table burned in to you.

the captain realised that you wanted to know more, for your wellbeing rather than the 141's. now, he realised it was quite a simple conclusion. he imagined his girl cold and alone in an empty house, no idea where he was or who he was with, for weeks at a time. five minute phone calls spent trying to find better service than speaking to each other. no idea who john was fighting or how difficult it was. no clue about who he was trusting his life with in your absence. how on earth could he not expect you to have an issue with it? he kicked himself, he made his sweetheart worry. he could have prevented it and he didn't, too focused on a successful mission than the only thing he wanted to return home for. price knew this had to change, or risk isolating you even more than he does because of his job.

john stood up, chair screeching on the kitchen tiles while he sighed "fuckin 'ell i'm an idiot". gathering both plates and putting them on the counter, he ran a hand across his face and turned to you. just as you took a breath to take it all back, john interrupted you: "you should meet 'em". you cocked your head to the side, looking at him with slightly narrowed eyes. "whats changed your mind?" you enquired, curious about the sudden change. replying half-heartedly, still deep in thought "just thinkin' about you here on your own, worryin'". taking a deep breath he stated "i'll talk to them about it. you". walking up to him with a small smile on your face you leant up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, beard tickling your chin. "thankyou john" you whispered. reaching up to get the plates the rumble of his voice deep in his chest saying "anythin' for you doll" reverberated against your back.

as he turned to get the dessert out of the fridge the most pressing question yet entered his mind: how would he ask the 141 to meet his birdie- without them going mad?

thankyou for reading :))) each like, comment and reblog is greatly appreciated. this is more for context to the main meeting that has been stuck in my head for ages. if you liked this keep an eyes out!!!

heyyy guys long time no see. had a crazy two weeks, found out my boyfriend was practically cheating on me for the last month of our relationship and he already has a new girlfriend after two weeks. apart from that im grand. sorry it took so long for me to post properly again, thankyou for being patient

[moondustbaby]

Best Friend Rafe Cameron Headcanons

bsf!rafe x bsf!reader headcanons nobody asked for but i’m unwell so here we go 🙃

✿ Reader’s lockscreen is a photo of them when they were kids—Rafe’s got a black eye from a fight he got into for her, and she’s hugging him like he won a medal. He pretends to hate it but uses the same photo as his contact pic for her. It’s the first thing that pops up whenever she calls and he always, always answers.

✿ Rafe won’t admit it, but his entire driving playlist is carefully curated based on her moods. There’s a “she’s sad but won’t say it” playlist, a “we’re not talking about our feelings so here’s some Cigarettes After Sex” mix, and a chaotic “she’s drunk in the passenger seat and singing to me like we’re in a movie” rotation.

✿ They’ve “fake dated” so many times it doesn’t even register as a bit anymore. Rafe will casually wrap his arm around her at a party when a guy stares too long, and she’ll just say, “jealous much?” without realizing he actually is.

✿ Every single one of his passwords is some variation of her name and a number only he understands—she once tried to guess his phone passcode and he looked personally offended like, “You don’t remember the mile marker we broke down at on the way to Bonnaroo? Wow.”

✿ You can always tell when something’s wrong with Rafe by how he touches you—if he’s quiet, he’ll just fiddle with your rings or twist the strings on your hoodie instead of actually saying what’s bothering him. You never call him out on it. You just nudge your hand closer.

✿ Rafe once bought her period products without flinching and included her favorite candy, a heating pad, and a note that just said “u still suck at texting back. feel better tho.” It made her cry so hard she called him sobbing. He thought something was wrong and showed up ten minutes later.

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

requests are open, scream in my inbox tell me which one needs a fic 💌 or ask for a part two i have an embarrassing amount of these lmao

♥️ lani

Masterlist

[sheepispink]

Hurt

super soldier!reader x lt ghost (and technically tf141 too)

cw: angst, gunshot wound, mention of needle pricks and piercing the skin

Part one Series Masterlist

a/n: phew this was a long chapter and i sped run the last two thousand words.. again. hope you all enjoy 💓

PREV NEXT

——————————

Ghost was enjoying the game; he always did. All he had to do was turn his thoughts off and stare at the screen and cheer with the others when his team finally kicked the stupid ball into the goal. That’s what it was supposed to be, so was his head still running? He couldn't shake it off, the unnerving familiarity that he couldn't quite place, all because of that damn soldier who looked at him with widened eyes. He had just brushed it off and carried the food and drinks back to the room with the few other operators who gathered.

“Soap! Damnit, how did you..” Gaz groans, although it was actually both of their faults that the drink had splashed onto them in the first place. Soap only scoffs, nudging him with his elbow as the soda starts to drip onto the floor too.

“Oi, ye know damn well yer the one who grabbed me.”

The two huff as they have to get up and head down to the bathroom just a little way down the corridor, washing their hands and wiping down their shirts from the splash.

“Hm? Wha’ ye lookin at?”

“Ghost’s rookie, or whatever. The super soldier– why’s the room door open?”

The pair give each other puzzled yet concerned looks, opting to go inform Ghost rather than try and investigate themselves. In Johnny’s opinion, he did not want to end up on the bad end of that kid–especially from the stories he’s heard–and Gaz couldn't disagree.

“The room door’s open?” As always, Price immediately fills with concern when the two report the news, thinking over the possibilities. You weren’t the type to be reckless like that; though if you were in a rush, it may have been possible. Still, it wouldn't be without a good reason and he couldn’t find a singular one for why you may have done that. Today’s just a regular day, that’s all.

“Ghost said the kid was celebrating their birthday. Maybe they went with whoever came to go out for a bit?” Soap offers, shrugging as he sticks another cheesy nacho inside his mouth. “What’s wrong Cap’?”

Price has gone deadly still, concern spreading across his features along with something akin to guilt. He was supposed to use the budget allocated for you to buy you what you wanted, to give you even an ounce of what you actually deserved, and he had completely forgotten despite the reminder now stuck on his lockscreen. Of course, he did warn you that he was a busy man and may not be able to make it, but dammit he was sitting here watching a football match. “That soldier.. I was supposed to be there, bringing all their party stuff. Yknow, snacks, cake..”

“They’ll understand, Price; probably don't even mind all that much.” Gaz offers, trying to console the obvious guilt seeping from the Captain’s tone. “They’ll just hang with their fellow soldiers. Y'know how the rookies like to mess around.”

“It’s not like that, Garrick.” His expression grows heavier, his hand rubbing the bridge of his nose almost the same way when a mission begins to run off track. “No one speaks to them apart from Ghost and me. They’re on their own.”

——

Ghost pushes the room door open, slightly confused on why Price has ordered him to go check, but he supposes having something go wrong with someone as strong as you was a reason for concern. Though, he really is convinced that it likely isn't a big deal in the slightest; maybe you, and whatever rookies idolised you, had decided to celebrate in the grounds–who bloody knows. He’s a bit surprised by how neat your room is, considering he’s never been in here before, but he had at least thought there’d be some snacks out or something for your supposed guests. He did find it a little weird if he was being honest, how you invited him to your birthday party. You were a young soldier and rookies loved to mess around; surely they’d come join in on the fun or at least take the opportunity to watch a good movie. And him? He was a gruff lieutenant who only wanted to push you to your limits. His hand brushes over the paper thin sheets, curious as to why they’re just as rough as the infirmary beds, not to mention the countless pill bottles on the nightstand. You may be trained by him, but he didn’t bother to look further than what the file typically specified.

His eyes catch on the wardrobe, spotting the uniform that you were wearing this morning hung up already. That was weird, and now that he looked at the contents better, your hiking boots and jacket were gone, only your combat trousers left behind. Just when he was about to check where you kept your knives, his eyes caught on the colourful wrapping of a present, instantly turning his head towards your dresser.

A box lies there, the lid half off. So you did receive a present, huh? He checks for a sender but no indication is left on the box–maybe they didn't bother since they gave it to you on purpose. Out of curiosity, he decides to peek inside, his stomach feeling strangely sick when he sees the gun laid inside the box. He was right to some degree then, that you were abnormal in the way you think, but was he ever so sane? He’s about to head back when he notices the paper beneath, folded over, and picks it up. His heart felt like it broke through his ribs when he read the first line, but the second? He was running back to the others, the box gripped tightly in his hand.

“Gaz, go check the cameras now; try to figure out where they headed.” Price’s voice is loud and authoritative, wasting no time in getting to the root of this matter, especially after seeing that note. Meanwhile, he’s got Laswell on dial, waiting for her to pick up. “John? What’s wrong?”

“Kate, I need the tracker on that super soldier now.”

———————

Ghost had wasted no time, Johnny in tow as they both headed towards the mess hall. It was on the second week you came; you had been late for training. When you eventually arrived, your clothes were wet, having just doused yourself in the shower. But what he did not forget was the remnants of crappy mess hall food stuck in your hair and the ridges of your boots, the sight not particularly one you donned often. Though what should’ve raised alarm bells in his head was passed off as nothing, and even when you attempted to explain, he cut you off, already demanding you to start with no warmups.

His boots thump heavily against the floor, purpose and vengeance written into every step as he searches for your pursuers. If that situation wasn’t enough of a clue, he was damn sure that the chef would’ve seen something that could relate to the matter. “You.” His voice is sharp, instantly catching the man behind the counter, who doesn't waste a second in giving him his full attention; it was almost as if he knew something. Of course he did; everyone knew that wherever Ghost went on a mission, you followed behind, and so vice versa. “Don’t waste my time now. You saw a soldier get food dumped on them. Who did it?”

“Sir..I dont know; there’s always arguments in here-“

Ghost’s hand slams down onto the counter, not oblivious to the flicker of fear in the man’s eyes, like someone who knew they were in the wrong. He wasn’t stupid; the lies were seeping through every stammer in his sentences. “I said, do not waste my time.”

“I-it was three male soldiers–” The chef spills all the information out to him, including their name and the troops they belonged to. Those soldiers would be lucky if they even saw his mask before they felt the blow.

“Lt! Laswell tracked them; they’re in the training cabins up the hills. Capt and Garrick are waiting by the front.” Soap rushes over and Ghost firmly nods, following quickly after him as he leads him outside the building with the others. Price mans the wheel as they drive through the forestry, bumping over branches occasionally; it’s dark out so eventually they have to climb out and walk the rest of the way, torches in hand. They’re drawing closer now, the tracker in Gaz’s hand beeping relentlessly. “Almost there-”

A loud bang echoes across the grounds, startling crows as they scream and caw all around. The four SAS look at eachother with widened eyes before running towards the cabin that is faintly in view. Three soldiers stand outside trembling at the sight of John Price himself and the man with the skull mask, a duo no one ever wants to cross, approaching them, rapidly.

—------------------------

You can hear murmurs outside, or perhaps it’s yells; you can't really tell after the gunshot. Ringing echoes in your head, bouncing off every corner of your skull and repetitively attacking your brain. Every sound has been slowed and muffled as your brain tries to catch up to speed with what's happening, except you’re not the average person, and your brain catches up too fast, too soon, making every feeling crash into you. Soft fur is held between your fingers, clutched desperately as a sickening smell fills your senses. You realise the yells are from yourself, twisting into screams as you clutch the furry creature held tightly against your chest. It’s You’re whimpering pathetically, the bullet that had sounded out from your enemy’s—no, comrade’s?—gun digging deep somewhere. The fox attempts to soothe you, nuzzling its dirty face against your neck, attempting absolutely anything to get you to stop the screams that make your eyes ache and your fingers tremble.

“Kid? Kid!” Two warm hands settle on your shoulders, snapping you back into reality. Men were shouting outside; your throat was dry, and there were no screams apart from the howls of the fox you tightly clutched. Your mouth was open, but no sound echoed, screams playing on repeat in your head like you’d been taught to when they stuck those needles in you. “Someone get a damn medic here now!” A stern voice shouts, but you don't understand until the fox nudges your arm, making a newfound pain sear through you as you look at the blood soaking the fur of the animal. You panic, beginning to squirm only to get soothed by deep brown eyes.

“Y-you—“

The words don't find your mouth, the man staring back at you as he strokes your hair, the blue eyed scot already looking intently at your arm before grabbing what supplies he usually keeps on hand.

“Gaz, Sergeant Garrick, I'm here to help. Stay awake for us now, okay? C’mon, tell me your name, soldier.”

You manage to murmur it out, but your attention is more focused on the way the fox snaps at Gaz’s fingers, stopping him from comforting you. “Kid, you’re gonna have to let go of the fox-“

You shake your head frantically, holding it tighter and it equally follows, staring at Gaz with menacing eyes. “No—It’s hurt! I can't— it got shot!” You exclaim, tears streaming down your face that you didn't know were there before.

“I can help him then, can’t i? I’ll treat him.” Only then do you release your hold, letting Gaz lead the fox away with outstretched hands and a spare piece of food as bait. But you don’t understand. The fox is fine, there’s blood soaking the fur sure, but it’s not in an ounce of pain? So then.. where was the blood coming from? You look down at Soap as he crouches before your arm, and only now do you actually notice the pain stinging your arm, the tremble in your hands and the way your lips hurt from how hard you’ve bitten down. You’re bleeding, badly.

The next half an hour is a blur, between silent sobs that wrack your body, Soap managing to wrap up your arm as best as he possibly can with the gauze he keeps in his attire and Gaz repetitively trying to keep you awake. Still, you’re nowhere near being actually awake, heart thumping behind your eyes as you move in a daze, your super soldier capabilities stopping any sort of pain processing— an emergency response only you survived the experiments to produce. You’ve never been shot at before, contrary to popular belief, but it means that your mind can't keep up with all the emotional surges that come with pain and stressful situations. You’ve barely comprehend that Ghost was outside, too focused on the fact Soap had wrapped you up in his embrace, letting your face rest against his neck whilst he made sure to ease the pressure on your arm. You were still, way too still for someone who had felt every emotion as far as your dulled mind could feel only moments before, breaths so quiet as your eyes glaze over. One hand rests beneath your thighs, keeping you upright whilst the other rubs your back,holding you tight as possible as you try to understand in the slightest what is happening.

————————————-

You wake up in a medical room, or at least you assume it to be by the mostly sterile walls. Drugs contaminate your mind, leaving you in a sleep-induced haze as you blink up at the ceiling. You can only turn your head to the side, noticing the bandages around your arm but there was a strange beeping now, echoing louder and louder. Two nurses enter, each grabbing your wrist and restraining you.

Everything comes back now, the needles the third nurse carries, the blank look in their eyes, the masks they wear over their faces and the scrubs always the same shade of blue. The beeping loudens, your legs kicking wildly as you panic, unable to control the fear.

“Stop- i didn't do anything wrong! I did what I was told!”

You yell, unable to sit there and watch it go in again; you can't bear to watch your own skin be pierced without a single feeling to go alongside it. They draw closer, their eyes gaping holes into nothingness. The intern nurse isn't here to save you, your parents are signing the papers beside your hospital bed and your legs are strapped down, chest so tight you can barely push another breath out until-

Calm, quiet even, a warm hand pats your head. “Hey.. hey..” Your eyes blink open again, Gaz standing before you. It was still late, around 8:30 or 9 pm based on the position of the moon outside the window. It was slightly open, a few bushes outside, and not the best for an easy escape considering it opened inwards. It would’ve been better if—

“Kid?”

You blink up at him again; his hand was steady on your hair and properly rubbing at it now, looking at you with soft eyes. Still, you can't manage a response, only nodding quietly. “You’re safe now, okay?”

Safe. What an odd concept; would you ever really be safe? Have you ever been safe before? The soft beeps of the heart rate monitor pull your view to the side, your bare arms rubbing against the paper-like sheets and making you instantly recoil. Just the mere thought of being on these infirmary beds made you want to throw up, and it didn't help that you could faintly see an old needle in the bin beside the bed, fresh pin pricks on your arms. You were never supposed to have one again.

“Is your heart always like that?” He asks, gesturing to the monitor that you now finally look at, despite it being the first thing that caught your eye. It’s beeping, steadily, in an almost eerie way.

“It hasn't changed once, always a steady beat even when we hadn't bandaged you properly yet.” It makes your gut twist, knowing he sees you as abnormal but you are abnormal so you can't exactly feel that bad about it all.

“Yeah, it is.” You murmur quietly, looking down at the bandage around your arm now, the flimsy outfit that barely covers a thing and the prickly uncomfortable feeling that comes with being so vulnerable. But then again, you’re always vulnerable, it just depends if the person decides to take advantage of it.“I was.. made to be that way. It only goes higher when I'm working out or uh fighting. No other times.”

Gaz blinks at you in a way that makes your throat clog, but his hand is still rubbing your head. Your brain still refuses to comprehend it, afraid he’ll stop if you even think about the matter.

“Kyle. Price wants to talk to ye, i’ll look after ‘em.”

Soap enters the room, as he had introduced himself as in your pained haze a while ago. When was that even? You knew them all anyway— of course you did, who did not know the youngest soldier to join the SAS?

“Aye, you feelin’ any better?” He comes to sit beside your bed as Gaz leaves, a black container held in his hands. You watch as he adjusts the iv drip you hadn’t even noticed before, making sure it’s good on you before sitting back again. “Price wants me to have a little talk with you.” He murmurs, cracking open the lid of the container to reveal steaming food, more specifically the best you’ve ever smelt. It’s no Gordon Ramsay but it’s enough to even make you perk up, the smell of the saucy chicken and the spiced rice—and salad too? It was likely bland anyway, but it sure made your empty stomach rumble.

Regardless, Your mind locks in almost immediately; the food never looks that good, you may aswell take any chance to get a taste. “Why isnt Price here?” You knew better than to question him, but you did anyway, feeling betrayed at the mere thought that he sent his soldier to talk to you rather than himself. Doesn’t he know you’d walk to the ends of the earth to earn his approval?

“Him and Ghost have been.. dealing with your pursuers. Don't worry, they’ll be back.” That eases your head a little bit, but for some strange reason you don't quite believe Ghost would do that at all. Yet still, you were sure to get corrected if you dared to act up and ask again.

“After the medics patched up your wound, they realised you’re well.. malnourished to say the least. You needed an emergency IV drip.” He begins, scooping up a heaped spoon of the food. “We want to know why you haven't been eating— it’s not like there isn't food available.” Your mouth waters at the sight of his spoon; he’s just glad at the fact you look willing to eat rather than forcefully starving yourself. “There’s.. never much food left when i come back..” You start, but he doesn't believe it, staring at you with a raised brow. Even so, he lifts the spoon to your mouth, and you dont argue, chewing it down quickly.

“Aye, y’know ye can just tell the truth righ’ ? If ye do, I'll get ya food like this for the next two weeks. Or perhaps you just prefer hospital food?”

Everyone knows that hospital food is far from appetising, even for you who barely cares about what food goes into your body. But you can’t deny that eating those bland foods brings back memories you absolutely cannot have return right now, because no matter how much they experimented on you, they most definitely couldn’t stop your brain's base function— to remember. Still, it feels strange to speak up now, especially with the way the Scot is staring at you, his eyes a piercing blue and you feel seen, but it’s raw and ugly rather than relief that tingles your nerves.

What good would it even do? It’s not like they’re actually doing something wrong, right? Super soldiers exist to be unbeatable, therefore the notion of them beating or bullying you cannot co-exist with that fact. Unless, you were beatable, unless you did have weaknesses, unless you weren’t actually the prime of human being—

Unless you weren’t a real super soldier.

Soap lets out a sigh, snapping you out of his trance and the disappointed look that's written over his face is enough to resurface every reason relating to why you haven't been eating. Your brain is like a database, and his disappointment is the energy that fuels you to search and retrieve each incident that relates, just like the supersoldier machine they’d made you into. But there’s too many things to say now, and not enough words to convey them. You look up again, realising you’ve been staring at your hands for too long now just to realise he isn't even staring at you in contempt. No, he’s waiting, patiently, and you know this for sure because you can actually read the emotions on his face. With Ghost, everything was a guessing game, pushing your brain so hard to figure out the absolute best way to approach things whilst addressing every emotion you didn't know he was feeling. Sometimes he felt like a super soldier rather than you did.

”Soap?” You say quietly, and he perks up immediately, not expecting you to actually give in it seems, or really talk to him for that matter. “Mhm? Thinking about havin’ some good food?” A small smile slips onto his lips, trying to ease the tension in your body by a smidgen with a teasing tone.

“What if they don’t let me have the food, Soap?.” You admit quietly, repeating his call sign like it strings you back to this reality, keeps you grounded in this scratchy hospital bed. “Whose they?” He asks, his hand reaching out to rest upon your leg, rubbing it over the covers.

“The chefs, the soldiers—I don't know their names. I walk into the mess hall, at the end of lunch, and they tell me that my ‘friends’ have already taken my plate for me.” The words fall out, recounting the daily experience for the past three months, the one you can never change the course of.

“They know that they aren't my friends. They watched as I went to ask them for my plate, and they knew they’d throw it on me.”

Soap’s lips part as he stares back at you, shocked by the audacity of some of these soldiers, but even the chefs? He can understand the first time, they might have actually thought they were, but why continue to give those soldiers your plate if not to torture you?

Hazing was normal in the military, too normal, but it never lasted this long and usually after a superior saw, it got shut down immediately with a firm warning for wasting food and messing around. So why hadn’t Ghost stopped it?

”Why didn't you say anything?!”

Except it came with a slam of the door, the roughness of a voice too familiar, and the heavy boots of a man you feared since you woke. That wasn’t Soap’s words, no. “Lt? I thought you were with Price—“

“Go with Gaz, Johnny.” Your gaze lifts again, the throbbing on your arm almost unbearable or maybe it’s the fear spilling a cold sweat across your body. “You could’ve ruined everything! What the hell are we supposed to tell the superiors, huh? That you almost died over some stupid hazing?!”

Soap glances between you two, taken aback by his Lt’s sharp reaction to the situation, the tone that he’s only used with enemies who have almost brought the country to its knees if not for their task force. It’s not right.

“Lt—“

He doesn't back down, stepping forward to the bed you lay in, walking closer to the point Soap has had to stand up and step back for a moment, confused.

“You better have a damn good reason. All you had to do was speak up once— just say anything! But no; you love to keep your reputation don't you? Is that it? Is that why you never bloody told us?!”

He’s pushed back by an arm across his chest, one that he breaks if not for Soap taking his momentary hesitation to block his path. “Johnny move—“

“Lord, Ghost! Why do you think they don’t want to speak up? Look at their face!”

Ghost’s eyes shift, listening to his sergeant despite the anger that courses through him. Though, when he looks at you he no longer sees the living weapon, the cocky rookie nor the monster the higher ups created. Your eyes are blown wide, just like the soldier that stopped him in his tracks earlier today, and he doesn’t find a hint of anything he used to describe you in your current state or ever to be honest.

No, you’re terrified, looking at him like he’s the monster himself.

—————-

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[astorianyxkings]

There's always people theorizing how the Batfamily hides Jason disappearance and reappearance, but I literally haven't seen anyone use the best explanation: Witness Protection.

Like this literally answers every question. The Death Certificate? They had to fake his death. The empty grave? Obviously it had to be believable. The time when Wayne Heir "Richie Wayne" refused to step foot in Gotham and talk to his father? He was pissed about Jason's (non) death. Brucie Wayne's very real depression after his death? Well he lost contact with his son and he was under immense stress from the government.

Like this literally answers every question I can come up with. Why has no one said he was in witness protection? And if people have done it, send me fics and prompts because I'm obsessed.

And the best part is, the Waynes are so stupidly rich that they could pull it off. Lex Luther could try and conduct his own investigation but somehow he can never find anything concrete. And if he gets too close either Babs hacks them or Tim just calls up Conner for a distraction.

One time Jason gets cornered and asked how he felt about returning to his life after being in Witness Protection. Unfortunately, him and Bruce weren't on the best terms to explain the whole story but he comes in clutch. He spins the tale about how heartbroken he was to see his brother, father and grandfather grieving and how honored he was when he learnt his new little brother idolized him. Tim got ahold of a copy of the interview and will never let Jason live it down.

The media doesn't ask Bruce questions about Jason's death because last time they did he broke down and a suddenly furious reporter chastised them and reminded them that while Jason may be alive Bruce still mourned his death. The picture of Bruce in tears at the interview is currently one of Jason's favourite lockscreens.

Same goes for Dick. Any questions of his brother's death results in (1) Richie Wayne ready to throw hands at any and everybody, (2) his wife (well one of them) Barbara Gordon threatening the reporters or (3) That same Metropolis reporter chastising the whole community again.

[bnhaobssesed]

Thinking about husband!Bakugo and wife!reader

Katsuki always pictured himself as a hero, yes. But when that became a reality, his life had no other purposes than to be the number one hero. Bear with me, he still wanted to be number one. But as he grew older he saw people around him settle and have a compromise between hero life and their private life. And by that I mean building a family. Kirishima was the first one to do so with Mina, soon followed by a lot of his friends. Even Deku at some point. And even if he sometimes loved being 'uncle Kats', he sometimes wishes he could hear that small laugh looking like his, or small eyes sparkling like yours.

For the first time ever, his wishes took another turn. He wanted to be father as much as he wanted to be the number one hero. If not even more.

And even if it took a while to get it off his chest, he wouldn't regret it for one second just to live this moment.

~

He was coming home after a long day of work, expecting to hear little screams and be met with the vivacity of his house. No, pure silence. It seemed strange to not hear small runnning footsteps towards the entryway and a little excited 'daddy !' coming from the living room.

He got his shoes off and started his investigation on where the people in his house was hidden. He first thought of one of their endless pranks which soon got denied by the sight next to the couch.

You were there, sleeping on the carpet with a little boy in your arms. His son, his first born of now three. And your hand rested on the edge of a rocking crib where his daughter of a little less than five months was sleeping peacefully too. She was sprawled out just like him when he sleeps and beneath her closed eyelids she shared the same red irises as him and her brother.

His son had his head nuzzled in your shoulder, being always so clingy to you in such a vulnerable state. And your cheek was smudged against the top of his spiky looking hair. You were drolling a little, your hair slightly messed up but right now you looked like the most beautiful creature that he got the whance to marry somehow. And that shimmering band on your finger was the proof of it.

He crouched down, carefully putting his gauntlets away. He studied you three for a very long time, never getting sick of it. He had build this... After years of only wanting to be a hero, he had build something greater. Something to go home to, to live for, to not be reckless for, to protect with all his strength. Because when he left in the morning, it was to those smiles and those faces he was fighting to come back to. He gently took out his phone, already filled to the brim with other frozen moments like this... of his family. He took a picture, his smile extending as he heard you mumbling his name in your sleep. He obviously put it as his new lockscreen, a new vision of his motiviation.

He'll bleed and fight for this and make all those streets sure for these three persons right in front of him. He kissed each of your faces carefully before silently going to cook dinner. Not without glancing at the baby photos hanging on the wall on his way out.

They were his copy, a fact you would often complain about. Being the one who "carried them for 9 months and got no credit on the appearence" as you liked to say. But he knew part of you adored to have little versions of him running around. And he was jealous of it, he wanted to have a mini you too running around.

But that would be for another day. Closer than you might know.

[teenidlegirl]

. ˚ ꪆ　　. . .　　freaky with nerd!miguel in the bus　 ﹙⠀18+⠀﹚

college field trips are interesting.

a simple field trip for one of your classes. sure, it was nice to go somewhere and be out of your dorm but what you really liked was riding the bus with your cute nerdy boyfriend miguel.

poor thing can barely fit in the seat since they are a bit cramped and the man is literally made of pure muscle and is 6’9. you feel bad for him but try to cheer him up throughout the ride. babble about whatever gossip you have while playing with his big ass hands, tracing your fingers among his calloused palms, knowing it was giving him goosebumps. play with his hair, fingers twirling a soft brown curl. wear his thick black rimmed glasses sometimes and mimic him by acting nerdy, making him roll his eyes from embarrassment. take a few cute selfies, make goofy faces that will forever be saved on your phone and possibly a new lockscreen. cuddle with him, his strong muscular arms wrapped around you as your head lays on his broad chest, relishing your time together.

the field trip was pretty quick honestly. you and miguel are surprised to be the first ones done and to come back. the bus is entirely empty, including the driver. with his hand in yours, you lure miguel to the back of the bus and sit in furthest seat.

“that was so quick. were we too fast?” you ask with furrowed brows, resting your legs in his lap.

“no, people are too slow.” one of his hands caress your calf, sending shivers down your spine. his touch always ignites your body. you can’t help it, his hands are just so… big and veiny.

“or maybe my boyfriend is way too smart and was able to get through everything quick.” you tease by slightly tugging on the collar of his shirt. god, you love him in black.

miguel huffs, rolling his eyes as he feels slight heat in his cheeks. “cállete…” your praising never fails to have an effect on him, sends a shiver down his spine. a pleasant shiver.

a smug smirk graces your lips as your fingers lightly trace his jawline. “mi miguelito… so smart… and strong… qué guapo…”

you can’t help but salivate over your handsome nerdy boyfriend. how fucking sexy he looks in that tight black shirt. the outlines of his muscles are so prominent. so damn tight it’s almost a compression shirt. how the sleeves make his biceps bulge so deliciously that you wanna bite and squeeze them. those fucking gray sweatpants miguel knows you love because you can see the imprint of his dick. the motherfucker knew what he was doing by wearing them today for this field trip. miguel knows it drives you crazy. not to mention a little sneak peek of his happy trail.

yep, you’re ovulating.

the throbbing of your clit and the fucking pool in your panties are evidence. like mentioned before, you can’t help it that your boyfriend is the most handsome man ever. the heat radiating inside you was killing you because all you want is to pounce on him and make him take you right then and there.

miguel, on the other hand, is practically the same. that nickname you call him makes him weak. especially in that sweet, seductive voice that makes his cock twitch shamelessly in his sweats. despite being a fucking giant, he crumbles onto his knees for you.

the throbbing was becoming unbearable and you couldn’t take it anymore. you need him, you need him so fucking bad. so, fuck it. you swiftly straddle yourself in his lap, cup his cheeks, and smash your lips on his. miguel lets out a muffed groan of surprise but ultimately goes under your spell and reciprocates. those calloused hands instinctively grabbing your waist as his lips meet yours in a desperate kiss. hands roaming each other’s bodies. your fingers digging into those soft chocolate locks, earning a heavenly groan from him. you can feel his erection pressed against your clothed pussy and instinctively grind on it, earning another groan.

“w-wait- we shouldn’t-” miguel mutters in between kisses, brows furrowed. “s-someone could walk in.”

“we finished super early.” you kiss his worries away. “besides, people are too slow.” you recite his own words with a smirk.

miguel groans at that. he is worried someone could walk in on you both. the last thing he wants is getting caught for having sex in the back of the bus but seeing how needy you are for him makes him throw all that shit out the window. he can never resist you.

the makeout session grows more intensely hot. both your cores throbbing with want and desperation.

“i need you, miguel…”

his cock twitches at your neediness. “joder…”

you’re the death of him.

luckily and shockingly, miguel carried a condom in his pocket and you yank it out from it. the motherfucker was carrying it this whole time? oh the sneaky little shit. don’t worry, he’s about to lose all his brain cells in a second. miguel tears it open while your hands eagerly wip out his cock from the confinements of his sweats and slip on the condom over his thick length as his hands lifts the hem of your skirt and slide your panties to the side.

a shared moan mingles in the air as you slowly sink down his cock. no matter how many times you’ve taken him, the stretch always gets you. once you bottom out and have a few moments of adjustment, you start bouncing on him. unable to resist the desperation any longer. ovulation was really bad this time.

a symphony of moans fall from you lips as miguel’s cock pounds into your tight gushing pussy. the bulbous tip repeatedly kissing your cervix so perfectly. you can feel him in your womb. the little bulge in your belly was enough proof. his large hands guide your hips up and down his thick length as you grip onto his bulky shoulders for dear life and tip your head back.

“oh miguel~”

“i know, bebita…” he moans when you clench around him, causing his head to throw back and tighten his grip on your hips.

each clench of your tight pussy and those pretty sounds of yours drive miguel fucking crazy. pounding into that sweet tightness like there’s no tomorrow just hear more of those cute sounds, knowing he is the cause of them. it makes his mind go haywire.

the bus is filled with nasty ass sounds. skin slapping, the gushing of your wet pussy getting pounded by miguel’s cock, your pretty moans and his heavenly groans.

miguel’s cock continues plowing into you as you lean back against the seat behind you. gripping onto the edge and arching your spine, offering your tits to his hungry gaze. letting out a moan when miguel’s hands leave your hips to grope your tits through your top. playing and squeezing the squishy mounds in his calloused palms as he pounds into your tight heat.

“s-so fucking tight.”

“miguel~ ah, ah, right there~” your back aches when his tip hits that sweet spot inside so perfectly.

bringing down one hand from your tit, he places it on your lower abdomen. feeling the tiny bump through your clothes as his cock pumps into you before lightly pressing down on it, earning a gasp from you which makes him chuckle.

“there, bebita?~” a smirk forms on his lips as he moves his hand in small circles, chuckling at the way your body squirms and the cute whines falling from your lips. “so sensitive- fuck-”

his attention returns to your jiggling tits and leans forward to bury his face in your cleavage. instinctively, your fingers dig into those soft brown locks while moaning at the overwhelming pleasure miguel is providing with his cock and mouth. his lips leaving wet kisses on your soft skin before sliding his tongue among the round surface of your breasts. groaning when you tighten your grip on his hair. that familiar warm sensation in your lower abdomen develops and approaches quickly with each thrust of his cock. with a few more pumps and flicks to your clit, you both finally come. you gushing around him and miguel spurting his thick seed into the condom. a little disappointed he didn’t come inside you like you wanted but protection comes first.

with his hands, miguel guides you back to lay on his chest as you both recover from your highs. heavy breathing echoing in the small portion of the bus. his hands gently rubbing up and down your arms as comfort. softly humming at the sensation. after recovering from mind-blowing bus sex, miguel carefully lifts you off his softened cock and removes the used the condom.

“throw it out.”

miguel looks at you with wide confused eyes. “outside? estas loca? people are gonna see it!”

“would you rather let them see it in here?” you arch a brow.

his expression falls flat, grumbling before lowering down the window and tossing the gross ass used rubber outside.

“if people see it, it’s your fault.” he scowls.

you shrug nonchalantly while adjusting his glasses that were about to fall off his handsome face. “oh well.”

thankfully, the rest of the class returns. peter and mj, your closest friends and another couple, join you and miguel in the back sitting in the seat across from you guys. although you and miguel had some recovery time, they notice your still slightly flustered faces.

“you guys okay?” peter asks concerningly.

“yep, just hot from the bright ass sun.” you lie but play it off effortlessly. it was actually hot though.

“oh yeah. literally the worst day to go on a field trip. why the hell would they do that?” peter starts complaining and mj joins in, indulging in their own conversation.

while on the ride back to campus, you and miguel are cuddling in silence until he decides to speak.

“you were ovulating, weren’t you?” he whispers.

you let out a snort. “yep, couldn’t help it, especially with your handsome nerdy ass but i always want you.”

he scoffs, holding you tighter. “loca.”

“honestly, we could’ve made a baby if we didn’t use a condom.”

“oh por dios- can we get our degrees first?”

even though he fucked your brains out, mainly his own, you love making him shy with your unhinged demeanor.

just love your cute nerdy boyfriend.

©⠀TEENIDLEGIRL⠀♡⠀don’t plagiarize or repost my work

[svt-luna]

i NEED Luna’s clap back ig post to this https://www.tumblr.com/svt-luna/788134526458249216/its-my-birthday-and-i-need-drama-can-i-request

i need it like… YESTERDAY! (i also need it to be the most savage ig clap back your beautiful brain can come up with 🫡)

ʚིᵋ ⋆ INSTAGRAM UPDATE ࣪ ! ˓ ౨ৎ ࣪˖ ─── 250705: Clapback

here ya go, my love!! JeongNa is stronger than ever 🤭💞

╰ ౨ৎ 250704: Soompi Article

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰౨ৎ luna's instagram

Liked by jeonghaniyoo_n, sound_of_coups, pledis_boos and 9,872,672 others

lunabae still his lockscreen, thanks for asking ;)

View all comments

svtforever17_ THIS IS THE MOST DELICIOUS, NUTRITIOUS, FLAVORFUL F*CK YOU TO A RUMOR I’VE EVER SEEN.

↳ hoshistiger she fed us and dragged them in the same breath omg

yoonsoulmatez JeongNa together are terrifying like?? they are never predictable and always 3 steps ahead.

↳ lunalinesonly i fear them… respectfully

jihanchewystudio she said “let me walk you through our relationship”

officiallysebongs they’re literally soulmates building legos and laughing at us

caratrosegold Jiyeon’s love language is shutting down rumors with high-res pics and a passive-aggressive caption. queen.

svtsoftieera she’s the final boss of Instagram clapbacks

choiheartclub LUNA PLEASEEE 🤣🤣🤣

cloudykpopera she wrapped it up with a jeonghan meme and skipped away … I CANNOT WITH HER

↳ jeongnasince2019 the fact that he probably picked the meme himself 😭😭

caratroachcult no bc this is why no one should EVER mess with JeongNa. they don’t fight back—they embarrass you.

lunaringbling imagine starting a breakup rumor and she replies with a slideshow of her being kissed, hugged, LOVED, ENGAGED 😭

↳ unit17 she said “Exhibit A to Z. Thank you.”

jeonghaniyoo_n They’re writing fanfiction about us again.

liked by creator

↳ deluluforcoups HE KNOWS. EVERYBODY HIDE.

↳ junnielover delete the docs. delete the ao3. it’s OVER.

↳ caratdeluxefiles YOON JEONGHAN. SAID. FANFICTION. I’M NOT OKAY.

↳ dksoftcoreunit this is what public humiliation feels like huh

↳ vernonvibezonly logged in just to read us for filth

jeongnadaily jeongna are so unserious and chaotic i love them sm pls never change 😭😭😭

Liked by lunabae, sound_of_coups, pledis_boos, and 9,652,762 others

jeonghaniyoo_n she’s still wearing the ring. she’s still mad i used her toothbrush. still kissed me though 🤷‍♀️

View all comments

svtdoesdamage i simply cannot with them anymore 😀

↳ cheolscaretface they are so unserious it’s spiritual

minghaoslover this is why rumors don’t survive with them. too chaotic.

vernonvibes14 “used her toothbrush” is the most jeonghan strategy ever

↳ scoupsandco it’s how he marks his territory 😭

missbitch someone take their phones

legodatecentral “she’s still mad” had me giggling and kicking my feet

chaoticcarat14 so we went from “are they broken up?” to “he used her toothbrush and lived to tell it”

↳ pledissurvivorfiles nothing is ever peaceful in this fandom 😭

unit17 Translation of Luna’s text: From - ‘My Pretty Moon🌙’ “I left you a sticky note on the fridge. It says ‘I love you’ but also ‘DO NOT eat my pudding or I will bite you.” 🥹🥹🥹

↳ jeonghanscasualties he probably ate it anyway. and filmed her reaction.

↳ moonlightbae this is why they can’t be broken up. they’re busy doing this

ashonashonash THEY ARE SO FCKING DOMESTIC AND CUTE AND FLUFFYYYYYWBISHSUSHUSNS 😫

jeongnadaily Jeonghan casually soft-launching Jiyeon being spoiled AND supervised by him 🤭

↳ gyucheoliee i would give up oxygen to be her right now

jxjforever THE MATCHING LEGO KEYCHAIN ON THEIR BELT LOOP FROM NANA TOUR 😭😭😭

↳ sebongiess i remember them sneaking out their boarding gate to buy them with their cards they weren’t supposed to bring 🫡

lunaslocket The third picture is giving: “I got her everything, now I watch” energy

baebaeby luna in full spoiled princess mode and jeonghan just watching 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

↳ ot14forlife he was probably like “wait lemme add my leg so they KNOW”

lunabae 🤭

↳ jeonghaniyoo_n I ate your pudding 🏃

↳ jeonghanscasualties I FUCKING KNEW IT

↳ mrandmrsyoon they are actually deranged. i love them so much 🥹💞

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Taglist: @zhqvie @minminghao @angie-x3 @jennwonwoo @k13endall @heeseungthel0ml @chisskaa @megumi2020 @yoonzzziino @lllucere @smh-anon @yveclipse @randomworker @bunnystrm @iamawkwardandshy @gratefulbunny1 @bmo-bri @syren-ash @megseungmin @multiplums @unlikelysublimekryptonite @night-storm7 @cookiearmy @seokqt @btskzfav @billboard-singer @junhuisworld @caturdayvibe @coralbatlampzonk @sof1eya @lyraea @jihoonsbbygirl @cocopuff2424 @okoknotco @minvxq @soulphoenix1618 @whineywheeiny @rairaine @toplinehyunjin @ateez-atiny380 @cherrylovescheol @jiimtaee @blurr3db3rry @seomisaho @amanda08319 @peanutbutterslothsstuff @cheolsboo @allthings-fandoms @mystic-megumi @sherlockbye @tastyluvr @luperque @reignofraine @kpoplover-19 @star2013 @frankenstein852 @axleighkaize @jmkookie01 @shhh94 @gigglensnort @stupendouscookiehumanmug

[violetszn]

one

summary ✩ you found it hard to believe that it could actually be this hard finding a roommate. when you take up your boss’s offer and end up letting his daughter move in, you find it even harder believe that a match could be this perfect.

warnings ✩ 5.3k ✩ swearing and drinking but that’s pretty much it for this chapter. also one little innuendo towards the end.

notes ✩ so this one is around 5k words but i haven't decided yet if i wanna leave the rest of the chapters around this length or if they'd be better longer. definitely let me know what you're feeling about the length !! <3

chapters ⇨

The Last Drop hummed with its usual late-night energy, laughter and low conversations falling over the clink of glasses and the occasional small argument among friends. You wiped down the counter, only half listening to a group of regulars argue over a card game while keeping an eye on the random drunkard who always underestimated his tolerance.

“I don’t need to slow down, I can handle my alcohol — I’m a grown man alright? Back off!”

Vander leaned against the bar beside you, arms crossed, surveying the crowd like a guard dog. His presence was grounding and authoritative. The kind that made people behave without him ever having to say much.

“You look tired,” he noted, his voice carrying over the noise.

You exhaled, pressing your hands against the cool surface of the bar. “Yeah, I’ve been dealing with a headache of a situation. Trying to find a decent roommate is way harder than I thought it’d be. Way harder. The last guy that sent in an application actually asked if he could have a pet puma, for ‘future references’.”

Vander raised a brow. “Sounds… rough to say the least. You put up a flyer?”

You gestured toward the message board near the entrance. “Couple days ago. I’ve had some applications, but nothing promising. Another guy asked if he could keep his pet tortoise in the bathtub.”

Vander let out a deep chuckle. “That’s a new one.”

“Yeah, so unless you know someone who won’t bring in a wild animal or hog my bathroom, I think I’m out of luck.”

Vander tilted his head slightly, considering something. 

“Actually… I do know someone.”

You glanced at him, intrigued.

“Vi.”

You hesitated. The name was familiar. You’d heard plenty about her from Vander and Powder, seen quick glimpses of her on Vander’s lockscreen or when Powder was excitedly showing off pictures. And yet, despite how often she supposedly came to the Last Drop, you’d never actually run into her. Just bad timing, you guessed.

“Your… daughter?”

“Yeah. She’s looking for a place closer to campus,” Vander continued, reaching for a clean glass and absentmindedly polishing it. “She’s responsible, keeps to herself most of the time. She can be a bit of trouble sometimes but I promise she’s got a good heart. Knows how to throw a punch if you ever need backup.”

You furrow your brows in confusion. “Why would I need backup?”

Vander gives you a raised brow in return. In a place like Zaun, that was a rhetorical question. 

You mulled it over. Vi was somewhat of a mystery to you, but if Vander recommended her, that meant something. Plus, finding a roommate was proving to be a nightmare. At this point, you’d take a mystery over a guy who collects wild animals.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally said, tossing the rag over your shoulder. “but it sounds promising.” 

Vander smirked. “I’ll let her know.”

And with that, the conversation shifted, but something told you your search for a roommate might be over sooner than you thought.

The steady hum of the city outside your window was almost comforting, a distant reminder that the world kept moving even as you buried yourself in coursework. You sat at your desk, fingers hovering over your keyboard, eyes blurring slightly from staring at the same paragraph for too long.

With a sigh, you leaned back in your chair, rolling out the tension in your shoulders. Just as you were about to force yourself to focus, your phone buzzed beside you.

A new email.

You grabbed your phone and squinted at the screen. 

Subject: Roommate Application – Vi

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. That was fast. You hadn’t expected Vi to actually apply so soon — hell, you weren’t even sure she’d be interested. But Vander must have mentioned it to her right away. You couldn’t help but wonder if he talked you up the way he did her.

Curious, you opened the email.

The application itself was pretty straightforward. 

Name: Violet. Preferred Name: Vi. Occupation: Student. Side gigs: Boxing instructor, part-time fighter. Hobbies: Same as my side gigs. 

You huffed a quiet laugh. At least she was honest.

Scrolling further, you skimmed through the standard details; her budget, preferred move-in date, and emergency contact which, unsurprisingly, was Vander. But what really caught your attention was the attached photo.

It wasn’t anything posed, just a casual shot, probably something Powder had taken. Vi sat at a gym bench, hands wrapped, sweaty and mid-laugh, her pink hair a little messy. Even through the screen, there was an energy to her, something sharp but effortless.

You sat back, tapping your fingers against your desk.

So, this was Vi.

Technically, you’d seen her before, but this was the first time you were really looking at her. And now, she might be your new roommate.

“Well,” you muttered to yourself, “could be worse, I guess.”

You were just about to close the email when something at the bottom caught your eye.

Socials: @ CherrybombVi

Your eyes flickered back to your assignment, then back to the email. You hesitated, then scoffed at yourself. It wasn’t even a question, you were obviously going to look. If she included it, that meant she didn’t care if you saw. And honestly? You needed to know what kind of person you’d be living with.

Tapping the link, you landed on her Instagram profile. The username fit, CherrybombVi. Bold, confident, and straight to the point. Her bio was just as simple: 🥊

Most of her posts were fight clips, training footage, or gym shots, but even those had an effortless appeal. One video showed her in the ring, body fluid and sharp as she dodged a punch before delivering a brutal counter. Some seemed to be borderline thirst traps but something tells you it isn’t even intentional - she just looks like that.

Then there were the more casual posts; Vi leaning against the ropes, smirking at the camera, a candid of her laughing with Powder, a rare mirror selfie that showed off her tattoos, muscles, and sweat-slicked skin in a way that had your brain misfiring.

Your face felt hot.

This was your potential new roommate? You had only ever caught glimpses of her in photos before, never enough to form a real impression, and yet somehow you hadn’t expected… this. Before you could spiral too much, your finger moved on autopilot and hit Follow.

You set your phone down, exhaling sharply, only for it to buzz almost immediately.

New DM from CherrybombVi.

Your stomach flipped as you opened the message.

CherrybombVi so ur the one vander’s been hyping up?

Your breath hitched slightly. She followed you back that fast? Fingers hovering over the keyboard, you tried to come up with a response that didn’t make you sound completely unhinged.

You depends what exactly has he been saying?

A typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

CherrybombVi that ur looking for a roommate that ur not an asshole and that u can make a decent drink

You huffed a quiet laugh.

You i mean yeah he’s not wrong

CherrybombVi cool so when do we meet?

Your stomach did another stupid little flip.

You how’s tomorrow?

CherrybombVi works for me Last Drop?

You figured you’d say that

CherrybombVi best place in town. vander pays me to say that

You does he?

CherrybombVi nah, but he should

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself.

You alright, Last Drop tomorrow. we’ll talk, see if this’ll work

CherrybombVi sounds good hope ur not easily scared off ;)

You bit your lip.

You guess we’ll see.

As soon as you hit send, you set your phone down again and let your head fall back against the chair. Why did that make your heart race?

The Last Drop was busy tonight, the usual crowd packed into their favorite corners, drinks in hand, conversations rolling over the music playing from the old speakers overhead. You were behind the bar, moving on autopilot as you poured drinks and exchanged easy banter with the regulars.

Despite keeping yourself busy, there was a part of you that kept one eye on the door. You weren’t nervous exactly, just… anticipating. When the door finally swung open and she walked in, you knew immediately.

Even without the pink hair, Vi carried herself in a way that made her stand out. She was relaxed but sure-footed, like she belonged in every room she stepped into. She was dressed casually, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, eyes scanning the room until they landed on you.

Your stomach did something weird.

Vander, who had been stacking glasses nearby, glanced up and grinned. “Right on time.”

You barely had time to react before he clapped a hand on your shoulder. “Go on, take a break. I got the bar.”

You blinked. “You sure? It’s busy.”

“I’ve handled worse,” Vander said easily, already moving to take your spot. “Vi’s here to see you. Go talk.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. After drying your hands on a towel, you stepped out from behind the bar and made your way over to where Vi had already claimed a booth near the back.

Up close, she was... yeah. The photos hadn’t lied. Sharp jawline, freckled skin, toned arms resting on the table as she leaned back in her seat like she had all the time in the world.

“Hey,” she greeted, smirking just slightly. “Guess you’re real after all.”

You raised an eyebrow as you slid into the seat across from her. “Did you think I was fake?”

“Wouldn’t have been the weirdest thing I’ve seen on the internet,” she said, shrugging.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Fair enough.”

Vi leaned forward slightly, resting her arms on the table. “So. Roommates.”

“Roommates,” you echoed, feeling a little caught off guard by how direct she was. Not in a bad way, just… unexpected.

Vi tilted her head. “I’ll be real with you. I don’t make a mess, I always cover my share of the rent, and I don’t bring random women over. Schedule-wise, I’m out a lot for training and classes, but I’m usually home at night. I crash early when I can.”

That last part caught your attention. Not because it was weird, just that Vander made it sound like she was always busy.

“You sleep early?” you asked, more curious than anything.

Vi nodded easily. “Not super early. At a regular time, really. I get up early for workouts often. Kinda have to if I don’t wanna get my ass handed to me.” That made sense. If she was constantly training, she’d need the rest.

You nodded. “Vander did say you keep busy.”

Vi smirked. “That’s one way to put it.”

You leaned back in your seat, studying her. She was easy to talk to, even with how little you actually knew about her. It made the whole thing feel… simple. Like this might actually work.

“What about you?” Vi asked, tipping her head toward you. “Vander said you’re not an asshole, but that’s a pretty low bar.”

You huffed a laugh. “I’m clean, I don’t throw parties, and I pay on time. Only real downside is I have early mornings sometimes, so if you’re planning on sneaking in at sunrise, try not to slam the door.”

Vi grinned. “Deal.”

You looked at her for a moment, then exhaled. “This might actually work.”

Vi smirked. “Guess we’ll find out.”

And just like that, it was decided.

You and Vi shook on it, sealing the deal with a firm grip. Her handshake was just what you expected: strong, confident, and steady.

"Guess that makes it official," Vi said, smirking as she leaned back in her seat.

"Looks like it," you replied, mirroring her expression.

By the time your break was over, you had worked out the details; rent, move-in date, all the necessary logistics. Vi would be moving in the following week, giving you time to clear the spare room and make space for her things.

That night, you wasted no time. As soon as you got home, you started rearranging—cleaning out the closet, dusting off the shelves, and making sure everything was ready. You even sent her a quick message:

You room’s all set whenever ur ready

Vi’s reply came fast.

CherrybombVi damn ur quick i’ll be there next week

You stared at the message a little longer than necessary before shaking your head and setting your phone down. This could be good. It'll be nice sharing the burden of rent and livening up the quiet apartment a bit.

The knock at your door was solid, deliberate. You took a steadying breath before opening it, and there she was, duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a couple of boxes stacked neatly at her feet.

"Hey, roomie," Vi greeted, smirking slightly.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your stomach twisted at the casual way she said that. "Hey. You, uh… you travel light."

Vi glanced at her stuff and shrugged. "Don’t need much."

You nodded, stepping aside so she could come in. As Vi walked past, you could feel the presence she carried, like she was used to taking up space without trying.

Clearing your throat, you motioned down the hall. "Your room’s this way." Vi followed as you led her to the spare bedroom, pushing open the door to reveal the space you had cleared for her.

"It’s not much, but, uh…" You shifted slightly, tucking your hands into your pockets. "You can do whatever you want with it. Move stuff around, redecorate, it doesn’t really matter to me."

Vi stepped inside, scanning the room with a thoughtful nod. "Yeah, this works. Thanks."

You exhaled, relieved that she seemed satisfied. "Cool." For a beat, neither of you said anything. Then, remembering something, you added, "Oh, uh, Powder wants to come over for dinner later. Hope that’s okay."

Vi turned to look at you, eyebrows raised. "Powder?"

You nodded. "Yeah, she, um, she said she wants to throw you a welcome dinner where 'I do all the cooking and her presence is enough' or whatever it was she said."

Vi studied you for a moment, arms loosely crossed over her chest. "You and Powder are close?"

You hesitated, then shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so. We met a couple of years ago in an art class."

Vi’s brows lifted slightly in surprise. "She never mentioned that."

You smiled a little. "She probably doesn’t think it’s a big deal. She sat next to me the first day, and we just kinda clicked. She’s the one who told me about the job at the Last Drop, actually. Said Vander needed someone and that I should give it a shot."

Vi huffed a quiet laugh. "Figures. She always did like pulling people into her world."

You nodded, shifting on your feet. "So… dinner?"

Vi smirked. "Yeah, alright. Could be nice."

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. "Cool. I’ll start dinner in a little while."

Vi gave you a long look, something unreadable flickering in her eyes before she nodded. "Sounds like a plan, cupcake."

You tried not to think too hard about how that word made your heart do something weird.

The kitchen was warm, filled with the rich scent of garlic, tomatoes, and seared chicken as you finished up dinner. You’d gone with something comforting; pasta, creamy and packed with flavor, with garlic bread crisping up in the oven.

Powder arrived first, waltzing in like she lived there. "Damn, something smells amazing."

Vi followed behind, empty boxes in tow from her unpacking earlier. "Wait—you actually cooked?"

You glanced over your shoulder, stirring the sauce. "What, did you think I was bluffing?"

Vi smirked. "No, I just figured I was gonna be living off instant noodles and bar food."

"You still might, jury's not out yet," you teased. Powder snickered as she stole a piece of garlic bread straight off the pan.

Once everything was plated, the three of you gathered around the small dining table, Powder practically vibrating with excitement as she took her first bite.

"Okay, what the hell," she mumbled through a mouthful. "You made this? Like, from scratch?"

"That’s usually how cooking works, Pow." Vi grins, watching as you tease her sister in a similar fashion to the way she does.

Vi took a bite, pausing for a second before nodding approvingly. "Alright, yeah. I’m impressed."

You smirked as you grabbed the bottle of wine you’d set aside for you and Vi, pouring a glass for each of you. Powder gave you both a pointed look, crossing her arms.

"I feel like I’m missing out," she said.

"You are," Vi said, taking a sip.

Powder huffed dramatically before refocusing on her food.

The conversation flowed easily after that, mostly Powder bouncing between ridiculous stories from their childhood and Vi occasionally cutting in to correct the details.

"And then she—" Powder pointed at Vi with her fork, "—convinced Mylo that licking a frozen pipe wouldn’t actually make his tongue stick."

Vi grinned, unbothered. "To be fair, I thought he’d be fine."

"He had to drink hot water through a straw for a week!"

"Okay, but I was the one who got yelled at, so really, haven’t I suffered enough?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Sounds like you two were menaces."

"We were," Vi confirmed, smirking. "What about you? Chaotic too?"

You shook your head. "Not really. I was pretty quiet. Spent most of my time drawing, painting, reading, or writing."

Vi tilted her head. "Writing, huh? What kind of stuff?"

"Just little things," you said, suddenly self-conscious. "Short stories and stuff—whatever came to mind."

Vi nodded, looking genuinely interested. "That’s cool. And what do you read?"

"Mystery, horror, romance – stuff like that."

Vi’s brows lifted. "That’s a mix."

You smirked. "I like a little balance."

"So you’ll read about a guy getting murdered in one book and then flip to people making out in the next?"

"Pretty much."

Vi huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "Alright, yeah. You’re an interesting one."

The night stretched on like that — easy conversation, laughter, and shared stories over empty plates. By the time you realized how late it had gotten, the food was long gone, Powder was curled up on the couch half-asleep, and the wine bottle between you and Vi was completely empty.

Vi stretched, rolling her shoulders as she leaned back in her chair. "Alright, now it feels official. I’m moved in."

You exhaled, smiling. "Yeah. Guess so."

She glanced at you, something unreadable in her expression before she smirked. "Not bad, roomie."

"Not bad yourself," you said, and for the first time since you’d started looking for a roommate, you actually felt relieved.

Maybe this was going to work out after all.

The night wound down slowly, the energy in the apartment settling into something quieter, warmer. Powder stretched out with a yawn, rubbing at her eyes before glancing at her phone.

"Alright, Ekko’s on his way to pick me up," she announced, pushing herself up from the couch.

Vi smirked. "Finally getting rid of you? Thought we’d have to drag you out."

Powder scoffed. "Please, I’m leaving before you two start acting all old and responsible." She turned to you. "You better keep her in check."

You let out a soft laugh, the wine making everything feel pleasantly hazy. "I’ll do my best."

Powder slung her bag over her shoulder, then pointed at Vi. "Don’t scare off your new roommate yet."

Vi rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

The night had settled into a comfortable quiet after Powder left, leaving just you and Vi in the kitchen as you worked together to clean up. The occasional clatter of dishes and the sound of running water filled the space, but neither of you seemed in any hurry to finish.

Vi leaned casually against the counter, drying off the last plate as she watched you with an amused smirk. "Gotta say, didn’t expect my new roommate to be such a responsible drunk."

You huffed a laugh, placing the last dish in the drying rack. "Yeah, well… unfortunately, I have class pretty damn early tomorrow, so I should head to sleep. Hopefully, I can sleep off this wine."

Vi pushed off the counter, stepping into your space just enough to make you notice. "Shame. You’re kinda fun when you’re a little tipsy."

Your stomach did a weird little flip at that. "Oh, so I’m not fun when I’m sober?"

Vi smirked, tilting her head like she was sizing you up. "Didn’t say that. Just means I’ll have to stick around to find out."

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close she was. The buzz from the wine definitely wasn’t helping.

Vi’s smirk deepened like she could tell. "You should drink plenty of water before bed. Wouldn’t want you waking up miserable."

You cleared your throat, ignoring the warmth creeping up your neck. "Yeah. Good idea."

Vi stepped back, giving you an easy grin. "Goodnight, then."

You hesitated for a second before nodding. "Goodnight, Vi."

And with that, you slipped into your room, shutting the door behind you. You were so in trouble.

Sure enough, you wake up at six with a pounding headache and the overwhelming regret of past decisions. The wine from last night lingers unpleasantly, a dull throb at your temples that makes you groan as you drag yourself out of bed.

You quickly pop some Tylenol and chug a glass of water, wincing at the way your stomach protests. The apartment is quiet. Vi’s still asleep, and you do your best to move through the space as quietly as possible, getting ready with slow, deliberate motions.

By the time you step out the door, the worst of the headache has dulled, but you’re still exhausted. And with your schedule ahead of you, you don’t have time to recover.

Mondays are always brutal. Between the early morning classes, tutoring sessions, and art class, you barely have a second to breathe. The hangover becomes background noise, something you push through as you move from one thing to the next. By the time you finally head home, you feel like you’re running on fumes.

When you step into the apartment, Vi is in the living room, dropping effortlessly into a set of push-ups. She looks up as you shut the door behind you, barely even out of breath.

"Damn," she grins. "You just getting home? Thought you might’ve died out there."

You groan, dropping your bag by the door. "Yeah, my Mondays are usually packed. It’s when I have my earliest classes as well as my art class. On top of that, of course, I had tutoring scheduled for this afternoon. I’m beat."

You rub your hands over your face, feeling the exhaustion settle deep in your bones.

Vi pushes herself up to sit back on her heels, resting her forearms on her knees. "Sounds like a lot."

"You have no idea," you mumble, kicking off your shoes.

She watches you for a second, then smirks. "You survive the hangover at least?"

"Barely," you mutter. "Didn’t really have time to deal with it."

Vi chuckles, shaking her head. "Damn. And here I was thinking I was the overachiever."

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small, tired smile that creeps onto your lips.

Vi stands up from the floor, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. She’s dressed in just a sports bra and a pair of sweats, her toned muscles catching the dim afternoon light.

"You look beat," she remarks, stepping closer, her gaze flicking over you like she’s assessing just how exhausted you really are.

You let out a tired sigh, rubbing your temples. "Long day."

"Yeah, no kidding." Vi tilts her head. "Why don’t you sit down for a bit? I’ll make you some tea or coffee — whichever gets you back to life."

She steps closer still, reaching out to touch your arm. It’s just a light, fleeting thing, but it’s enough to make you pause. "Seriously," she says, her voice softer now, edged with something almost… considerate. "You should take it easy tonight."

You exhale slowly, your body already sinking into the pull of exhaustion. "Some tea sounds nice… thanks, Vi."

She just nods and heads to the kitchen. You collapse onto the couch, your limbs aching as you listen to the quiet, rhythmic sounds of her moving around. Soon enough, she’s pressing a warm mug into your hands before settling beside you. The tea is perfect — soothing, the heat seeping into your fingers as you take slow sips.

Vi doesn’t rush you. She just sits there, the hum of the television filling the silence as you drink. Her presence is steady, grounding in a way you wouldn’t have expected.

Once you set the empty mug down, Vi stretches, then stands, shaking her head with a smirk. "Alright, time for you to crash."

You groan but make no move to get up. "I should probably—"

"Not push yourself until you pass out on the couch?" Vi interrupts, nudging your arm. "Yeah. Let’s not do that."

You sigh, dragging yourself upright. "Fine, fine. You win."

"Damn right I do," she quips, watching as you shuffle toward your room. "Drink more water before you knock out."

You mumble something unintelligible as you push open the door, already peeling off your clothes in favor of pajamas. The second your head hits the pillow, I’m you’re out.

You don’t hear Vi moving around the apartment.

You don’t hear the quiet stretch of tape wrapping around her knuckles, the slight pop of her joints as she shakes out her limbs in preparation.

You don’t hear the door unlatch or the way it clicks shut behind her as she slips out into the night, her steps light and deliberate, leading her toward the only place that gets her heart pounding the way she craves.

The underground pit calls to her, as it always does. The roar of a nameless crowd, the thrill of a fight that doesn't come with rules or restraints. It’s a part of her she refuses to let go of.

By the time you wake up the next morning, groggy and still half-buried in sleep, Vi’s already at the kitchen table, scrolling through her phone like it’s just another normal day.

She looks the same. Same easy smirk when she glances up at you, same casual posture.

But when you step closer, you notice the fresh bruises on her knuckles, the faint swell of her lip. Injuries that definitely weren’t there yesterday.

And yet, she doesn’t say a word about them. And, for some reason, you don’t ask.

After about a month of living together you pick up on Vi’s… personality. She’s a flirt through and through and honestly? A fucking menace. Guess you see where Powder gets it from.

You’re trying to read. Really, you are. But in your defense, it’s incredibly difficult when Vi has decided that the living room is her personal gym and you have a front-row seat to the show.

She’s in the middle of her workout, wearing nothing but a sports bra and sweatpants that hang low on her hips. Her abs flex with every movement, her arms tense and defined as she pushes through another set of sit-ups. She’s completely in the zone, brow furrowed in concentration, jaw tight, strands of pink hair falling onto her face.

And you, despite trying your hardest not to, are watching.

It’s not your fault. Vi is just… really fucking distracting. It’s an effortless kind of attractive. Like she isn’t even trying, like she has no idea how good she looks. But she has to know, right? There’s no way she doesn’t know.

You drag your eyes back down to your book, determined to focus. It works for all of ten seconds before Vi shifts into a plank position, muscles taut, posture flawless.

Shit.

You must be staring harder than you thought because, without even looking at you, Vi smirks.

“See something you like?”

Your entire body tenses up.

“No,” you say immediately, forcing your gaze back to the page in front of you. “I’m reading.”

“Uh-huh.” Her tone is full of amusement. “Didn’t realize your book was in my direction.”

You clench your jaw, refusing to take the bait. “It’s not.”

She finishes her set, stretching her arms over her head as she sits back.

“Oh, come on,” she teases, rolling out her shoulders. “You’ve been staring for, like, five minutes. I’m flattered, really.”

You huff, sinking further into the couch, arms crossed over your chest. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And you’re a bad liar.” Vi grins, leaning back on her hands. “But hey, it’s fine. I like looking at you too.”

Your brain practically short-circuits. Vi says it so easily, so casually, like she’s not making your stomach do flips. She’s so smug about it. Meanwhile, your stomach does something inconvenient, and you have to force yourself to maintain an expression that doesn’t immediately give you away.

You clear your throat, trying not to sound as flustered as you feel. “You’re messing with me.”

She tilts her head, all innocence. “Am I?”

You narrow your eyes at her, but she just smirks. Desperate to change the mood, you pick up the nearest pillow and chuck it at her. She catches it effortlessly, laughing.

“Shut up.”

“No shame in it.” She tosses the pillow back onto the couch before stretching her arms over her head again, arching her back slightly as she groans from the stretch. You force yourself to look away, determined not to give her the satisfaction of catching you again.

But even as you turn back to your book, you can still feel her watching you, like she’s just as entertained by your reaction as she is by the workout itself.

“So,” she starts, casually leaning back on her hands, “since you were so obviously checking me out, what’s the verdict?”

You exhale sharply through your nose. “The verdict?”

“Yeah. On me.” She smirks, flexing her arm like some over-the-top gym bro. “Do I pass inspection?”

You roll your eyes, fighting the urge to smile. “Oh, absolutely. Five stars. Would ogle again.”

Vi laughs, tilting her head as if considering. “Only five?”

You shoot her a flat look. “Vi. I wasn’t checking you out, alright?”

“Come on… I feel like I deserve at least a six.”

You finally set your book aside, leaning forward with a feigned serious expression. “Sorry, but I don’t go higher than five. Gotta keep my ratings fair and unbiased.”

Vi grins, clearly enjoying herself. “Unbiased, huh?” She shifts forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “So if I were, say, a random dude at the gym, you’d still rate me the same?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Well, no, because if you were a random dude at the gym, I wouldn’t be—” You stop short, realizing too late where that sentence is going.

Vi’s smirk widens. “Wouldn’t be what?”

Your face burns. “Nothing.”

“Oh no, that sounded important.” She leans in, elbows on her knees, like she’s trying to coax the answer out of you. “You wouldn’t be… checking me out? So I am your type, hmm? Good to know.”

You groan, pushing your hands against your face. “Oh my god, I hate you.”

Vi chuckles, shifting to sit cross-legged on the mat. “You love me.”

You peek at her through your fingers. “Bold assumption.”

She winks. “I’m a bold girl.”

You shake your head with a dramatic sigh. “I’m moving out.”

Vi gasps in mock horror, pressing a hand to her chest. “No, don’t go! Who else will stare at me while I work out?”

That finally pulls a laugh from you, and Vi grins like she’s just won something.

“Alright, alright,” she says, pushing herself to her feet. “I’ll stop messing with you… for now.” She grabs her water bottle, taking a long sip before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and shooting you a lazy grin. “But hey, next time you wanna watch, you could always just join me.”

You scoff playfully. “In your dreams.”

She throws you a look as she walks past, heading toward the kitchen. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Your heart does something foreign in your chest. You turn back to your book, pretending to read, but the words are still a blur. How are you meant to put up with her if she acts like this?

tags ✩ @jupitism @fungalinfectionyeast @mk-a-1 @rhian88 @baylegend6 @lovely-wisteria @antobooh @arahiraaai @eriiwaii @elliesngirl @avalovesmus1c @pryncess123