#stickers of your sneakers

[deedala]

"Danced too much, nearly fell off the stage.”

Beloved music nerd Ian from None The Wiser by @loftec

[roosterforme]

California Autumn | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley was drawn to you the minute you moved onto his street. You seemed to bump into one another everywhere, and each time he saw your smile or heard your laugh, he knew he had to ask you out. He wasn't expecting the answer you gave him, just as you weren't expecting to wish he could be the man for you.

Warnings: angst, fluff, adult language, mentions of accident/death, guardianship of child

Length: 3500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more

Early September was brutal in southern California. Each day seemed hotter than the one before it, and even the smallest bit of yard work was enough to leave Bradley sweaty and miserable. He stood in the middle of his front yard, eyes closed, thinking about how beautiful autumn was in Virginia when he was a kid. He leaned against the handle of the rake, picturing a pumpkin patch, a corn maze and all the things he would never find in San Diego.

The sound of something bigger than a car coming down his quiet side street had him cracking his eyes open against the Saturday afternoon sun. A U-Haul lumbered to a stop in front of the house across the street and one door down. The engine settled to silence, and he craned his neck to get a better look. The property had been sitting there with a red and white SOLD sticker over the realty sign for what seemed like months, and now it would appear as though he finally had a new neighbor.

Bradley dropped the rake and had to lunge to grab the handle before it clattered against his stone pathway. The woman who climbed out of the truck, hopping down onto the street in some beat up sneakers, was beautiful. The sun seemed to illuminate her from the inside, and now Bradley was setting the rake down softly as she walked around the truck and slid the back open. It was filled with furniture and boxes, and he watched as an avalanche nearly flowed out as she tried to move one item.

"Shit," he grunted, running across the street as he wiped his dirty hands on the hem of his undershirt. "It looks like you could use a hand," he called out, hoping he wouldn't scare you when he came up behind you just in time to catch a dining chair that was teetering above your head. Then the neatly stacked boxes started to give out as well, and his left hand went to steady them.

You were ducking slightly, preparing for the worst when Bradley realized your back was pressed against his chest. If he moved, there would be a lot of broken furniture to contend with. But then you glanced at him over your shoulder as you stood to your full height, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise.

If you looked beautiful from across the street, then you looked stunning up close, trapped between his body and the truck. "Welcome to the neighborhood," he mumbled like an idiot, but he was rewarded by the smile that curled along your lips.

"Hey, you're pretty good at being neighborly," you replied, gesturing to his right hand holding the chair and his left securing the stack of boxes. His heartbeat quickened at the sound of your voice and how close you were as you told him your name and asked which house was his.

"I'm Bradley. The white cottage across the street." He nodded toward his mess of a front yard with his chin. "I moved in about six months ago." 

What he didn't mention was the fact that he often still felt like a bit of an outsider in town, even though he attended all the neighborhood potlucks and still had some blond in his hair from hanging out on the local beaches all summer. At the moment, all he could do was fight the urge to tell you how pretty your eyes were.

"And you like the neighborhood?" you asked, fully facing him now with a smirk on your face.

He shrugged the best he could without moving too much. "I might like it better now."

Your eyes widened a bit before you ducked your head, looking up at him with a surprised smile like you couldn't quite believe what he'd just said. And that's when Bradley heard another vehicle pull up behind him. "That would be my friends. Here to help me unpack."

He wanted to joke that it looked like you needed all the help you could get with your furniture avalanche, but he heard several voices calling your name and rushing over to help. He was invited to stay, but when he was finally able to safely back away without anything falling, he realized four other people were there to help you out.

Your eyes were still focused on his as he started to back away. "I'll see you around?" you asked before chewing on your lip.

"I would count on it," he confirmed, turning back toward his house so you could get settled into yours.

But he did hear one of your friends ask, "Who is he?"

"Bradley," you replied, just barely loud enough for him to hear. "From the white cottage."

--------------------------------

After that first encounter, he saw you everywhere. You were pulling into the parking spot next to his Bronco when he came out of the grocery store. When he asked how you liked your new house, it sparked a conversation about hardwood versus porcelain tile flooring, and Bradley's ice cream was completely melted by the time he got home.

Then there was the day you bumped into him coming out of the salon next to his barber, and he complimented your colorful nails at the same time you told him his haircut looked nice. He blushed, and you smiled before turning toward your car, glancing back at him a little expectantly. 

Then he ran into you at the farmer's market where you were buying vegetables for the upcoming neighborhood potluck. You asked him what he thought you should make.

"Well, I'm the wrong person to ask," he replied, feeling a little lightheaded as his brain begged him to ask you out on a date.

"Why's that?" you asked, placing your hand on your hip while you held up a head of cabbage. "You're a picky eater?"

He shook his head and took a step closer to you. "The exact opposite. I love food. I will eat literally anything that is edible."

Your bright laughter cascaded across his skin as your head tipped back. The expanse of your neck looked smooth and perfect, and Bradley wanted to have your permission to put his lips there. And that was a startling thought since nobody had really caught his attention like this since he was first stationed in San Diego. Nobody made him feel like he was at home in his house before you started waving to him whenever you saw him outside.

"I guess it makes sense that you love food," you told him with a smile. "You're a big boy." Your gaze drifted down along his shoulders and chest before you started to look a little embarrassed. "I... yeah... I think I'll just grab whatever looks good and take it from there. See you on Friday night?"

"Yeah," he grunted as you walked toward an eggplant display. He would see you on Friday night. And he would be prepared ahead of time to ask you out.

----------------------------

"No," you gasped. Bradley recognized your voice and turned around to face you in Mrs. Diaz's kitchen. "That's what you brought to the potluck?" You sounded appalled, but you were clearly smiling as you looked at what he was holding.

"I told you I liked to eat food, not that I knew how to cook anything."

"Bradley," you groaned, shaking your head at the bag of chips and jar of salsa in his hands. "This is bad. Next time, I'll prepare two dishes so you can pretend you made one."

His heart skipped a beat at the idea of handing you things in his kitchen and watching you make something as nice as the lasagna you were holding. "It's useless," he replied with a frown. "After six months of bringing restaurant style tortilla chips and medium salsa, nobody would believe I cooked anything."

Once again, your laughter had him ready to drop what he was holding and reach for you. He had to ask you out tonight. It had been weeks already since you moved in, and you were definitely giving him a green light. He could think of a dozen different restaurants he wanted to take you to, and maybe you'd like the artsy little movie theater.

But he watched you get swept up in conversation after conversation, and then the opportunity slipped away when you ducked away from everyone to answer a call. You had a concerned look on your face with your phone pressed to your cheek, and then you were rushing out of Mrs. Diaz's house and along her front path before you disappeared from view.

Suddenly it was well into October, and he'd barely seen you at all. There were a few mornings that felt cool enough to coax him to buy some pumpkins for his front porch. He thought about taking one over to your house as an excuse to finally ask you out, but he figured you must be pretty busy right now. Maybe work got a little crazy. He tried not to imagine that someone else had asked you out and that was the reason why you were so scarce.

"Damn," he grunted when he drove his Bronco past your house on his way to get some takeout for dinner on a Saturday night. He just couldn't stop thinking about you. Why didn't he ask you out that first day when he saved you from your dining chair? He ran his hand over his face and groaned, parking in front of the restaurant and yanking his keys from the ignition. If he'd just asked you out that day, maybe he'd be picking up twice as much food and sharing it with you tonight.

A minute later, when he turned to leave the restaurant with his bag, he could not believe his luck. You were walking inside. "Hey."

You glanced up, and for the briefest second, you smiled at him like you always used to. "Bradley." But then your smile started to fade away slowly, and he would do anything to bring it back.

His heart was pounding, and his brain was screaming at him, so he squared his shoulders and did the only thing he could do. "Hey, if you're free tomorrow night, I was thinking maybe you and I could get dinner? Or hit up the movie theater on Pomona? The seats are uncomfortable, but they show some indie stuff which could be fun. Or maybe another night might work?"

The air was silent except for the muffled sound of food being prepared in the kitchen behind him. Your eyes looked so sad as you shook your head and pressed your lips together. "No. No, I'm sorry, Bradley."

Well, fuck.

He backed away from you until he bumped into the wall, and then he focused on getting to the door. "Right," he replied after he had a few more feet between your body and his. "Well, I'll see you around the neighborhood."

For the first time since he moved to California, the air outside was too cold. There was an uncomfortable knot in his stomach as he glanced over at your car. He shivered miserably as he saw the shadow of someone waiting in your passenger seat. Then he drove home and ate alone in his kitchen before going to bed.

---------------------------------

Bradley tried his best not to think about you. One day last week, when he saw your front door swing open, he waited to step down from his porch so you wouldn't have to wave awkwardly to him. And yesterday, for lack of anything better to do, he bought more pumpkins, and he waited in his driveway to unload them until you carried all of your groceries inside your house. 

Today was Halloween, and he spent over an hour carving some of the pumpkins to look like soccer balls before dressing in his usual costume. Handing candy out to the neighborhood kids and trying to guess what they were dressed as sounded like fun. He was determined to have a good night, even if he did have to angle the folding chair on his porch so he was facing slightly away from your house. He would enjoy himself no matter what.

Bradley lit the candles inside his pumpkins and dropped down into the chair with a bowl of candy as the afternoon sky turned dusky. It didn't take long until a toddler dressed as a witch made an appearance with her dad, and Bradley had a good laugh when she reached for three pieces of candy.

"Trick or treat!" shouted three kids dressed as the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

"Where's Raphael?" he asked as they collected their candy. 

Leonardo laughed and said, "Nobody wants to be Raphael. He's the lamest one."

"I would have to agree," Bradley replied, about to help himself to a piece of candy as they started to run to the next house.

But then he saw you. And you weren't alone. You were dressed as a soccer player, complete with knee socks and a soccer ball, and you were accompanied by an approximately ten year old kid who looked a lot like you. He was also dressed as a soccer player, and he smiled at Bradley as he said, "Trick or treat."

Bradley stood up, still holding onto the bowl of candy so the child could make his selection while he got a better look at you. "Hey."

"Hi," you replied immediately, looking from his mustache to the whistle around his neck and back up to his visor. "Are you seriously dressed as Ted Lasso?"

"I always dress as Ted Lasso," he told you, and he was rewarded with a smile that made him want to follow you around the neighborhood like a lost puppy. 

"Of course you do," you said, letting your gaze drift toward the child who was currently looking closely at the soccer ball pumpkins while holding onto a Snickers bar. "Somehow you match with us."

The boy looked up at Bradley and asked, "Did you carve these yourself? They look pretty good."

"Yeah," he replied, wishing he actually had taken the time to drop a pumpkin or two off on your porch. "I have perfected the soccer ball technique, kiddo."

The kid nodded but said, "You need to call it a football."

Bradley found himself agreeing. "You're completely right. It's only proper."

When the kid turned back to explore the rest of the pumpkin display a little more, Bradley took a step closer to you. "I didn't know you had a son," he said softly.

Your eyes were alert, scrutinizing his expression as you said, "His name is Max. He's almost ten."

"He looks like you."

You went silent for a few seconds, fiddling with the soccer ball in your hands. When you finally spoke, you were looking at Bradley's feet. "I knew you didn't know about him. I mean, you did ask me out after all." You laughed even though nothing was funny and finally looked up at his face. Then Max started to walk back the way you and he came, and you followed him. 

Bradley called your name. When you turned back, he said, "To be clear, I would have still asked you out if I'd known."

And then you looked so sad again.

------------------------------

To Bradley's amazement, the weather finally cooled to the perfect temperature in November, but he found he didn't want to be outside as much. It was a shame, because if he stood in the middle of his yard and closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was in Virginia. 

One Friday after work, he cleaned the slightly rotten pumpkins from his porch and dragged his trash bin to the curb. Your front door was open, and he paused to see if you or Max happened to walk past it before heading back inside his empty house.

There was another potluck tonight, but he just didn't even feel like going. He had the usual chips and salsa on his kitchen counter, but he had no desire to socialize with the neighbors. He was about to change into gym shorts and surrender to a cold beer and a basketball game on TV when there was a knock on his door.

When he glanced through the front window, he saw that it was you, and his heart seemed to drag him toward the door. He was turning the knob before he thought better of it, and he was met with your wide eyes and a crock pot in your hands.

"Hi. Bradley."

"Hey." He swallowed hard before he said your name, and your lips turned up into a soft smile. "Is that for the potluck?"

"Yeah," you said, reaching out to hand the crock pot to him. "Well, I actually made it for you to take. Max and I will be bringing lasagna again."

Whatever Bradley was holding smelled so good, his stomach started to growl. "I can't take this. Nobody will believe I made it," he murmured, nudging at the lid with his thumb.

"It's a spicy buffalo dip," you replied, smile growing. "I literally made it with chicken from a can. I'm pretty sure you could trick them into thinking it came from your kitchen. You can even take your tortilla chips, too."

His fingers tightened on the handles when you took a small step closer to him. This was agony, being so close to you when he really wanted to touch you, but knew he couldn't. He whispered your name at the same time you looked up at him and started talking. 

"Max isn't my son. He's my nephew. But I'm his legal guardian now." Bradley's lips parted, but you shook your head and quickly added. "The night of the last potluck, I got a phone call that my brother and his wife were in a car accident. They both died before they reached the hospital. I had to pick Max up from soccer practice that night, and he's been with me ever since."

Tears were welling up in your eyes as Bradley tried to shuffle your crock pot to one hand. He knew how badly this kind of thing hurt from his own childhood. "Shit. I'm really sorry the two of you are going through this. But Max is lucky he has you." When you nodded and shrugged, you looked resigned to the way things were. "I'm also pretty sure Max prefers it when you call it football. Not soccer."

You laughed, maybe in spite of yourself, but Bradley still loved how it sounded. You briefly glanced over your shoulder toward your house and swiped at your tears as you said, "He absolutely does. He also keeps asking me about Ted Lasso across the street and his football pumpkins. I told him you're nice."

Bradley's heart had him dragging his feet closer to you, holding onto the warm pot of buffalo chicken dip for dear life. "Is that so?"

You nodded and stared at Bradley's chest for a few seconds before meeting his eyes again. Your lips parted several times before you whispered his name, and he leaned in a bit closer. After a few seconds, he started to step back, but your hand settled lightly on his shoulder, stopping him. Before he could react, you closed the remaining space, pressing your lips to his in a tentative kiss.

It was over almost as quickly as it started, and Bradley was ready to drop to his knees and beg you for more. But you were rambling now, and he was trying his best to focus. "I wanted you to ask me out so badly. But then everything changed, and I had to tell you no. Max has a lot he still needs to process, and I don't really have time to date someone who just wants to mess around with me."

For the first time in many weeks, Bradley felt lighter than air. He reached out with his free hand and let his knuckles trail gently along your cheek and down to your softly parted lips. "I'm forty years old. I'm kind of over the messing around stage," he promised. And then you were kissing him again.

The three of you walked to Mrs. Diaz's house together that evening. Bradley carried the crock pot, you carried the lasagna, and Max carried the tortilla chips. The conversation was mainly focused on how badly Max wanted to learn how to carve a football pumpkin.

Almost a year later, Bradley was standing in his front yard, smiling at the SOLD sticker placed on a realty sign in front of your house. It made sense to have you and Max move into the white cottage with him, because the porch was bigger. It was the perfect size for an elaborate Halloween display.

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Thanks for reading this angsty yet fuzzy little fic. I hope your Halloween is sweeter than Bradley Bradshaw. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @thedroneranger

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[prael]

Day 2: Covered

IVE An Yujin x male reader smut

words: 6,374 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

They said you could have been special; you would argue that you are.

Destined for greatness. A bright future. Whichever other way they wanted to express it.

The thing is, not everyone is cut out for the centre stage, and that's okay. You still get to do what you love, surrounded by people who share the same passion and work just as hard. Sometimes in life, you are the backup dancer in someone else's story. Sometimes, you literally are the backup dancer.

Yujin however, Yujin is the star. The one the world adores. The one that everyone around her seems to orbit.

You're just another face in her gravitational pull. You're on the stages and you're in the videos but no one remembers your name. There's probably an edit on Weverse somewhere with a sticker on your face. It's fine though. You've long made your peace with it.

You refuse to let that take away from the fact you spend so much time with An fucking Yujin. You've seen her in every single state, every emotion. She likes her 5 am coffee black and her mid-day one with ice. Yujin loves it when you massage her shoulders after practice and hates it when you play the same song twice in a row. However, the thing she loves above all else (and this can never go public) is having you on your knees—serving her like the queen you know her to be.

That's her secret. It's one you bear—one you're fine with keeping.

The final shoot is tomorrow, and today's practice is over but you know better than to follow everyone else out of the studio. You wait and you linger, and when the room clears out and you're sure everyone has left, you kneel and you wait. Sure enough, she notices and a smile creeps onto her face.

You don't bother to look up. Instead, you stay kneeling, waiting, knowing she's going to make her way over to you.

She does.

You hear her soft footsteps approaching and see the shadow fall over you as she stands there, looking down at you. You look up, slowly, eyes trailing up the length of her legs, over the expanse of her bare thighs and then just as you reach her hips, her fingers slip into your hair. She tightens her grip and yanks your head back so she can stare directly into your eyes.

"Did I say you could look at my legs?"

You gulp, feeling the tug on your hair and the way it makes your scalp burn. Your throat is dry, mouth parted and eyes wide. "No," you respond.

"Then what are you looking at?"

"I'm sorry," you quickly apologise, your hands clenching into fists and relaxing again as she tugs harder, her grip unrelenting.

"Sorry isn't good enough," she scoffs. "Why do I always have to teach you a lesson?"

You open your mouth to speak but the words die in your throat when she shoves you to the ground and kicks her leg out, planting her foot on your chest.

"Take off my shoes, don't talk."

You rush to comply, untying the laces of her sneaker before slipping it off. Yujin switches foot and you obediently repeat the action, putting the shoe beside the first one. You know that you can't allow your eyes to linger, but her bare legs are right over you and it takes all your self-control to look away.

"Socks," Yujin mutters.

You take a deep breath, knowing exactly what she wants you to do. You're slow to reach out, placing a hand on her ankle. She lets you, allowing you to gently lift her leg and slide her sock off, dropping it to the ground beside her. Your hand slides higher, caressing the soft skin of her calf, tracing the contours of her muscles. You're almost distracted until Yujin clears her throat, glaring down at you.

You nod, sliding the second sock off her foot and letting that join the first. You don't know where to look, her skin is right in front of you, begging to be kissed. Her eyes are boring into you, demanding all your attention.

"I don't know if you deserve it," she hums, lifting her foot. She drags her toes over your chest, the ball of her foot pressing down just beneath your collarbone.

"Deserve what?"

"To taste me," she laughs. "Don't think I didn't notice how distracted you were today. Don't think I didn't notice you staring at me."

"I wasn't—"

"Don't lie," she interrupts. "It's a bad habit."

You're so hopelessly disarmed. Lying underneath her on the hardwood floor of the studio with your body burning. She's so beautiful, and it's not fair. It's not fair how the universe created someone who can ruin you so easily and look so effortless doing it.

"You're lucky it's recording today tomorrow. You know what that means."

Like any other day before a big something, Yujin has a need for a release. It's a tradition at this point. The days leading up to something are so full of stress and excitement that it all gets too much and the only way for her to relieve herself is to use you.

You nod. You know exactly what it means.

She lowers her foot, and you feel her toes brush against the crotch of your shorts. You suck in a breath as she rubs up and down the fabric, pressing into you. She's watching your reaction, watching the way you bite your lip and clench your fists.

"You've been bad today. Distracted. Not focusing. Do you think you deserve this?"

"No," you shake your head.

"I don't think you do either." She removes her foot, stepping back.

It's torture. You clench your eyes as hard as your fists, desperate not to act out of turn.

"But you know what I want," she continues as you dare to open your eyes and look up. She's staring at you, hands on her hips. "You know what to do to get back on my good side."

You nod. Of course, you know. It's not the first time you've found yourself on the floor beneath her. You sit up on your knees and shuffle forwards. Her shorts are black and loose. Your fingers slip into the waistband and you tug them down slowly, sliding them over the curve of her ass, past the smooth, glowing skin of her thighs and down to her ankles.

You take a breath. You're so desperate. So hungry. She's wearing the laced panties you like. The ones you bought for her and left in her bag. They hug her so tightly that she seems to be straining against them. Her ass looks perfect, her thighs thick and inviting and her cunt...you can see the outline of her folds. The thin material barely covers her. She knows how much it affects you.

"You're staring again," she huffs, pushing her hand into your hair once more and tugging roughly.

"I can't help it," you whimper.

Her fingers twist and you feel the burn in your scalp once more as you wince in pain. Yujin's hand moves from your hair, dragging down the length of your neck and around to the front of your throat. Her hand squeezes gently, thumb and index finger digging in just below your jaw.

"You can. You will."

You gasp, her grip is tight and you can't breathe, your eyes watering with the pain and the pleasure that it brings. She leans forward, her breath hot against the shell of your ear, her grip tight. You're trembling, shaking with the effort of holding back.

"Beg me," she whispers.

"Let me taste you. Let me kiss you. Please, please let me—"

Her grip on your neck tightens, cutting you off. Your words dissolve into a whimpering mess and your eyes roll back in their sockets as your body melts into her. Her touch, her words, her everything has such an effect on you that it takes you to another world. The only thing that exists is the two of you.

"Pathetic," she scoffs, her lips brushing your ear. "You'll do anything, won't you?"

"Yes," you moan, and you mean it.

"Good," she says as she pushes you away and you collapse back against the ground. "Now make me feel good, will you? I'm sick of waiting."

Yujin steps over you, her legs on either side of you and she pulls the laced underwear to the side, lowering herself down until she's hovering just over your mouth.

She looks ethereal like this, the lights shining down on her. The goddess of your dreams, the star of your story.

"Please, let me—" You don't even need to finish your sentence, Yujin sinks down, pressing her pussy onto your lips and you open your mouth to lick at her. A mouth full of pussy, the taste of her arousal hitting your tongue. She grinds down, the soft skin of her thighs pressing in on either side of your face, trapping you. You lick again, tongue flat against her, licking up from her entrance and over her clit. She grunts and her hips buck forward, grinding her pussy down harder on your lips.

"More," she pants.

And you give it to her. Your tongue laps at her, teasing her clit. Her hips roll and you feel the slickness between her legs growing and it's all over you, coating your face as you desperately reach for her thighs. She slaps your hand away.

"Did I say you can touch?"

You struggle to shake your head between her legs.

"So keep them down."

Your hands go back to your side and she groans in approval, grinding harder and faster, using you like she knows she can. This is so Yujin, to use you like she's nothing but a toy for her to play with. You don't care, you'll do whatever she wants.

You're lost in the moment, your tongue licking, tasting and teasing as you desperately try and find the rhythm she's moving in. Her thighs tighten around your head, trapping you there. You cut shapes across her clit with your tongue and you feel the shuddering of her legs as she whines. She loves it when you write her name with your tongue. The letters spelling out An Yujin.

It's all it takes for you to be consumed by her. She's in your system and all you want to do is make her feel good.

Even the powerful, composed, elegant, Yujin has to succumb in some form to the pleasure. She's been riding you with so much poise and posture. Her back is slightly arched, so above you is just the beautiful expanse of her upper body—clung to by a sweat-soaked white shirt. She's running her hand across her chest, her fingers twisting a nipple as she works herself into a frenzy on you. Her head rolls, her hand moves to the base of her neck and she moans.

She basks in the light shining down on her, and it's a sight to behold. The way it glistens on her skin. The sweat runs down her chest. Her hair, her face. The way she looks when she's so completely in the moment.

"Fuck—" she gasps and her thighs tense around your head.

You're trapped and you're struggling. Your face is covered in slick and your mouth is filled with her taste. You feel like you're suffocating and all you can think is that this is how you want to die, with Yujin all over you. Yet you know there's more to come. She starts to crumble. The poise fades and she leans forward, slamming the palm of her hand against the floor.

She hunches as she rides harder. She's fucking down onto your face. Grinding her pussy on your lips and your chin, chasing the ecstasy that she needs. She's so close you can feel it in the way she trembles. You hear it in her moaning, her whines. She's there. Right there, on the cusp. 

And how you wish you could take hold of her. Grip her juicy ass in your hands and push your mouth against her cunt and fuck her with your tongue. You'd do it. You would. Your hands twitch at the thought. Your fingers curl into the floor instead. There will be no marks on Yujin's perfect skin from your fingers right now. You keep them clenched and do as you're told.

"Fuck—" She grunts, her thighs trembling. You can't move and you can barely breathe. All you can do is lick at her and let her ride you like a toy.

It's enough. Yujin cries out and her back arches, her head falling backwards. She comes and it's the most glorious sight, watching her body tense as her thighs tremble, clenching around your face. She grinds, rubbing against your tongue as she draws it out. It's messy and loud. She's panting, her chest heaving and she moans, rocking her hips and gasping.

It's like the tension washes out of her body and she sinks down, relaxing against you. She sits on your chest, looking down at you, a satisfied smirk on her face. You try to smile back but all you can manage is a dopey grin as you struggle to catch your breath. She's beautiful like this. Her eyes shine bright, the light behind them twinkling. Her skin glows and she looks like a work of art. A masterpiece.

"You did well," she praises, reaching out to touch your face, stroking her fingers across your cheeks, "you always do well for me, don't you?"

You nod. "I'd do anything for you," you say, and you mean it.

"I know you will." She shifts her hips, her thighs clamping down around your face again, restricting your air. Yujin laughs. "You'd let me suffocate you if I told you to."

And you would. You really would.

"But, I still have use for you," she tells you as she dismounts. Yujin relaxes on the floor next to you, her head propped up on her elbow.

You take a breath and roll over to look at her, still gasping for air. She smiles, reaching out and cupping your face with her hand, thumbing the wetness of her from your cheeks. You're a mess, covered in her, and her eyes tell you how much she loves that sight. How much she enjoys the power of having you like that.

Yujin leans over, her lips grazing over yours. The kiss is so light it makes you shiver. A complete contrast to what you've just experienced. She walks this balance so perfectly. The rough and the gentle, the affection and the torment. She's the best at both and she plays with them like an instrument.

"Do you like me?" Yujin blinks innocent eyes and it's a trap that you fall right into.

"Yes. You know that I do. I like you a lot."

Yujin grins. "Do you like my body?" She shuffles closer, looking down at you a little more. "Do you want to fuck me?"

You gulp, your mouth watering as your eyes wander over the curves of her figure, the way her nipples press against her shirt, the way the hem of it has risen, exposing her midriff and how she plays with the lace of her panties on her hip. You're so hard that you're aching and she knows that. You want her, you need her, you'd give anything to feel her.

"Yujin," you whimper. "Please."

"Do you deserve to fuck me? After being so bad today?"

"I can make up for it. I'll do anything—"

"I bet you would," she hums. Her hand reaches out, sliding over your shorts, her fingers grazing over the obvious bulge. "You want it that badly?"

You nod and you're desperate.

"You want to be inside me?"

"Please, Yujin," you whimper.

She grins, tugging at the waist of your shorts and slipping her fingers under the waist. "You want to grab my ass while I ride you like the toy that you are? Do you want me to bounce on your dick, hm? The one that belongs to me?"

You bite your lip as you nod fervently, watching the way her eyes shine and the corners of her lips twist. Yujin lets out a soft laugh at your desperation.

"Then worship me." She pulls her hand away from your crotch and places it on her hip to pose. "Show me how much you like my body."

Yujin rolls onto her back, throws her hands above her head and bends a knee as her other leg stretches out. She looks so perfect, so inviting. So you climb to your knees, looking over her as she relaxes. There's a natural arch to her body between her shoulders and her ass that leaves a sliver of light between the small of her back and the floor. She's an art piece. Like a statue carved from stone, sculpted and designed to be admired. A creation so beautiful and elegant.

And you're on your knees for her, kissing up her outstretched leg. Your hand traces over her thigh. You're slow, taking your time. The skin beneath your lips is so soft, so smooth, so delicate. You don't deserve her. Your lips press into the path your hand paves up her body. Gentle kisses of appreciation on the thigh you adore so much.

"Yujin—" you breathe the words hot onto her skin. A lick, to taste the sweat from her body, a kiss, to mark the spot. A honey-laced laugh rings in the air. "You're so beautiful," you murmur.

Your mouth presses against her hip, tongue trailing over her skin. Your fingers lip up under her tight-fitted shirt. She's so warm. Her body feels like it's burning and her breaths are heavy.

She looks down the length of her body to watch you as your hand slides up, pushing her shirt with it. Your lips graze over your stomach, tongue teasing and tracing over the defined lines. You're in awe of her. She's perfect, and she knows it, but you still want her to know that she's appreciated. That she's worshipped, admired, adored, lusted for, and wanted.

"I know I am," she laughs, "but tell me more."

"An Yujin," you breathe the name into her skin as you kiss your way to her chest, your hand sliding further up her body until the palm of your hand rests on the softness of her breast. "No one is like you," you whisper as you squeeze the mound in your hand, feeling her body beneath you, feeling the way it moves when your hand does. "You're so flawless."

She moans softly when your fingers pinch her nipple. "Keep going," Yujin hums.

"You're stunning," you continue, looking up at her face as you kiss across her chest to the other breast, your hand still fondling. Your mouth hovers over her nipple and your eyes flicker up to meet hers as you lick over it. She gasps and you lick again, teasing and flicking over it. "You're the most decadent, alluring thing I have ever laid eyes on."

"I'm your fantasy?" Her hands move to the top of your head, her fingers twisting into the strands of your hair as you lick, sucking her into your mouth again, teasing her with the flat of your tongue. You suck and she lets out a sharp hiss of a moan.

"My fantasy," you breathe the words against her chest. "You're my dream."

Her hips lift, pushing against you and the growing ache of your erection. The friction, the heat, the feeling of her—it's so good. She grinds, rolling her hips and rubbing against your cock, smirking at the way you whine, your eyes fluttering.

"You want to cum," she taunts. "Don't you?"

"Yujin," you moan her name again as her fingers twist tighter in your hair. Your hips roll down to meet the grind of her body and your mouth finds the crook of her neck. You inhale the scent of her. You're surrounded by Yujin. It's dizzying. She's everywhere. The smell of her, the taste of her on your tongue and lips, the feeling of her skin on your hands, under your body, the sight of her, the sound of her voice. Everything is Yujin, and you can't think of a better world to live in. "I want you," you tell her. "I want to be inside you, I need you."

"I know what you need," she hums. Yujin's hands tug on your shirt and you sit back and pull it off. Her palms press against your chest, pushing you to lie back on the floor. You watch her and the grace with which she moves, kneeling over your waist as she peels her own shirt over her head and tosses it to the side.

Your eyes are all over her body. Yujin's hands run over the softness of her skin, and she cups her tits in her hands, rolling her thumbs over her nipples, her eyes locked on yours as you watch. Her body is a wonderland. There's no part of it that you haven't seen. No inch of her skin you haven't touched or tasted. You know every crevice of it, every mark and blemish, every imperfection. You know them all and you love them. They're the most perfect imperfections you've ever seen.

She knows the power that her body has over you, the control it gives her. Yujin knows how to wield that weapon, how to make it into the sharpest sword, and how to cut you with it.

"Fuck me," you plead, the words escaping your lips in desperation. "Yujin, please."

"You beg so beautifully for me," she smiles, her fingers sliding under the waistband of your shorts. "Lift your hips."

And you obey, lifting them from the floor. Yujin's fingers tug at the fabric, pulling them down your thighs. She smiles at the sight of you, hard and leaking. Yujin's hands slide over your bare thighs. You're exposed, and the feeling of the cool air hitting your skin sends a chill up your spine. Her palms slide up until she wraps one around the base of your cock and her touch sends a shiver through your body. Yujin strokes up, slowly, twisting her hand on the upstroke. Your hips buck at her touch and she grins at the way your cock twitches, the precum leaking across the back of her hand as she reaches the top.

"You're so needy," she says as her hand glides back down. Your eyes are wide, watching every move she makes as if your life depended on it. "I like it," she tells you.

"I'd do anything—"

"I know you would," Yujin laughs, cutting you off. She shuffles forward on her knees until her thighs press on either side of your waist, caging you between her. The way she towers over you, with that look in her eyes that says you belong to her. "You're my toy, aren't you?"

"I'm your toy."

"That's right." Her hand squeezes tighter around the base of your cock as she lifts her hips, hovering just over you. You don't know how long she's going to keep you waiting, you never do. It could be seconds, it could be minutes. She has a sadistic streak that you've never understood and it's always a game of how desperate can she make you before giving in to your begging. "And who does this belong to?" she asks.

"You. Yujin. It belongs to you," you breathe the words, your fingers curling into the palms of your hands.

"That's right, it belongs to me. This cock," she strokes up again. "It's mine. Isn't it?" Yujin's fingers trace up, circling your tip.

"It's yours," you whimper. The desperation has you whining.

"It is," she laughs, and it's a sound that makes your stomach twist into knots. She squeezes you and lifts her hips just a little, enough for you to feel the heat of her body. You feel her thighs squeeze against you as she grinds her pussy on the underside of your cock, dragging the length of you through her folds and over her clit.

Instinct dictates that you bring your hand to her hip, but you know you can't just take hold of her, not unless she's given the go-ahead. You clench your hands tighter, biting your lip to hold in your frustration, your desperation.

Yujin's hips rock against you again, grinding down and using your cock to get herself off. You can feel the slickness between her legs. You can hear the wet sound it makes. She's using you, and she's loving every second. It's the sound you know too well. She's getting herself off. The feeling of her is intoxicating, and your cock is throbbing, twitching as it slides against her pussy, hitting her clit. The moans from Yujin's lips tell you exactly what it's doing to her. How much she loves the way it makes her feel.

You can't touch. You can't take control. All you can do is lie back, your head tipped back against the floor as your fingers grip in vain at the floor, struggling to keep them from reaching out for her. Yujin's body moves like silk in the wind, and you know she's so close. The sound of her, the feeling of her. She's riding the edge, grinding down, the tip of your cock catching on her entrance as she teases you with every move.

"Yujin—" you beg her name as your head falls to the side, eyes clenched closed.

"What?" Her voice is thick with lust and you feel her hand on your chin, gripping your jaw, her nails biting into your cheeks. She turns your face and forces your eyes open to watch the way she moves. "You want to be inside me?"

You can only nod in reply, feeling her fingers tighten around you, squeezing. She grins, leaning over and you feel the breath of her laughter on your neck. Her lips brush your skin. Her teeth nip, biting down on your shoulder, making you wince. Yujin's hips roll forward, and the tip of your cock catches on her entrance. She holds there for a moment, a silent torment of anticipation as your mind swirls and your stomach flips. And then you feel the heat, her warmth as she slowly pushes herself onto your cock. You watch with a hitched breath, your heart hammering in your chest. You feel her. She feels you.

The breath you'd held rushes out, a gasping moan, the feeling of being enveloped by her body. The tight warmth as Yujin sinks all the way down. Her pussy grips your length, squeezing tight and you can feel the way it flutters, the way it grips, the way it clenches around you. Your eyes meet hers, and you can see how much she enjoys having this effect on you. How she loves the way you react, the sounds she forces you to make, the way you squirm and gasp beneath her. She owns you. Completely. Utterly. Irrevocably.

Her hands press down on your chest, and she starts to move, rolling her hips, circling, lifting up just enough that she can feel you slide in and out of her. You can feel it all, you're aware of every movement she makes. How she grinds her clit against your body on the downstroke, the way her hips tilt to find the right spot, the way she moans when she hits the perfect angle. The way she moves when she finds the right pace, the perfect rhythm. It's everything and all at once.

"You feel so good inside me," Yujin purrs. She leans back, placing a hand on the top of your thigh. Her body is open to you. She's exposed. The panties she still wears are pulled to the side, her breasts bouncing with every move of her body, her stomach tightening, the soft skin pulled taut as her abs clench. She's a sight, a beauty to behold and a treasure to worship.

"Yujin, please," you breathe the word into the space between the two of you. It's not enough, you need to touch. You have to. But you're trapped and she's in charge. "Let me touch you."

"No." It's simple, the way she says it. It's like she's not even thinking about the effect she's having on you like she doesn't even realise what she's doing to your sanity. She rides you like a toy, her hips moving, grinding down, her thighs squeezing and relaxing as she works. You can only whine, lying back against the ground. You watch as she takes what she needs from you, her hand slipping down her stomach and to her clit, circling quickly as her moans fill the room. "This is my cock," she breathes, "and I'll do what I like with it."

"Yes," you hiss as your hips push upwards, your hands balled into fists at your sides. You're so hard it hurts. It aches and it throbs, and all you can do is lie back, trapped beneath Yujin and her powerful thighs. "Yujin—" you breathe, but the words stick in your throat.

Her eyes are dark, the lust-filled pools staring down at you as you lie back, completely helpless and at her mercy. Your cock twitches and she gasps, her hand on her clit, rubbing furiously, chasing her release. She's getting closer and closer with each passing second and it shows in her face. Her brow creasing, lips parted and eyes fluttering.

She's fucking herself on your dick. Yujin is using you to get herself off and you love every second of it. The feeling of her walls gripping you tight, squeezing, her body clenching around you. The way her thighs tense and shake as she moves. Her moans, her gasps. Her eyes are on you, watching you watch her.

Yujin gasps and her body shudders, her pace quickening, her fingers circling faster, rubbing frantically at her clit as she chases her orgasm. You know how close she is, and all you can do is watch her face as she gets closer and closer. Her body is shaking, trembling as the wave builds inside her. Her moans get louder, and more intense. Her fingers work harder, and you feel her tightening, the walls of her pussy squeezing down, and then she cries out, her head tipping back, her body arching, her chest pushing out as she rides the waves of her orgasm.

It's beautiful. The way her body reacts to it all, the way she looks when she comes undone. Yujin moans your name and it sends shivers up and down your spine. She looks ethereal like this. A deity to be admired. A queen on her throne.

She's beautiful. She's breathtaking. She's Yujin.

When the waves stop crashing, Yujin collapses onto you, her body limp and spent. The warmth of her body pressed against you feels like heaven and your cock is still inside her, pulsing, aching, begging for its own release.

"I don't know if I should let you cum," Yujin pants in a whisper, her face pressed against your shoulder, the hot breath on your skin sending shivers down your spine. "Could just leave you here like this. All hard and frustrated. Aching. You'd probably go home and get yourself off thinking about me."

She's right. Of course, she's right. You would.

"Or maybe you can show me just how much you appreciate me," she breathes, pushing herself up, hands on either side of your head. "Would you like that?"

"Anything," you tell her. Your hands twitch, desperate to reach up to her. "You know I would."

"I know." She smirks and sits up. Her hips lift until you feel your cock slipping out of her, her wetness dripping onto you. Yujin's fingers trace over the mess she's left, smearing it on her fingertips before bringing it to your lips. You know what she wants. She doesn't even need to ask.

Your mouth opens and she pushes her fingers between your parted lips, letting you lick them clean. You suck her fingers and her eyes watch you, a glint of something dangerous shining. She pulls them out slowly, dragging the tips over your bottom lip. "Good," Yujin breathes the word as she climbs off of you and turns around.

The curve of her ass is a beautiful thing to see. It's soft, smooth, plump. She catches a glance at you staring, a smirk tugging on her lips. She plants her hand against her ass (a harsh reminder that feeling it yourself requires her permission) and squeezes the flesh before letting out a laugh. It's all a game to her.

"You're going to show me, by cumming for me. Cumming on me." She settles back onto the floor, gracefully lying back into a pose. "You have two minutes. Two minutes to show me how much you love my body." She runs a hand from her chest all the way to her hips and you watch, entranced by every movement she makes. Yujin laughs again. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

The words kick you into action and you scramble to your knees and shuffle towards her. She laughs at the sweet, sweet honey sound that makes you melt. Your hand wraps around the base of your cock, the wetness from Yujin's pussy coating it, slick and smooth as you slowly stroke your length. You stare at her, watching the way her chest rises and falls with each breath, the way her fingers trace up and down the skin of her thigh, the way her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

It's intoxicating. You're drunk on Yujin, high off of her beauty, and you're addicted. There's no going back. You're hers, completely. Your fist tightens around your length and your strokes quicken. The feeling of it is so good and your cock is still throbbing from being trapped inside her. You can feel the lingering heat of her body on your skin. The scent of her, the taste, the sound. It's everywhere. Surrounding you. Enveloping you. Engulfing you. Consuming you.

"Two minutes," she hums the reminder, her fingers sliding between her thighs. Yujin's fingers slide over the panties she still wears. "Two minutes to make yourself cum for me. To make a mess of my body."

"Yujin," you whimper her name like it's a prayer. The sound of her voice, the sight of her body. The knowledge of what you've done, of what you've experienced. You've been inside her. You've had the taste of her on your tongue, the sound of her in your ears. Her pussy is still dripping and her thighs glistening. You're still so hard that you're aching, and all you can do is stroke yourself. All you can do is pump your hand and feel your fingers glide up and down your shaft.

Your eyes flicker from the smooth, warm, inviting skin of her chest to her pussy and back. You've tasted her. You've felt her. You've felt the way she grips and clenches, the way she feels. The sound of her when she cums.

"I don't know if you can do it. I don't know if you can cum." Yujin teases and she knows how to play you. "One minute."

"Yujin," you moan her name again and again as you feel it building. The pressure. The heat. Your cock twitches in your hand as you stroke. The sensation of the wet heat, the friction, the knowledge that Yujin is beneath you, but you're hers to command, to control. It's too much and it's everything. You feel it in your core, a twisting, coiling, winding tension that's threatening to snap.

"Do you want to cum on me?" Her voice breaks through the fog. "Do you want to mark my body with your cum? Make a mess of me?"

She throws her hands above her head, stretching out her body and presenting herself for your load. "Thirty seconds," Yujin warns, the hint of danger on the tip of her tongue.

"Yujin—" You can only whisper her name as you stroke. Hard and fast, gripping and twisting. You're so close. Right there, standing on the precipice.

"That's it. Be a good boy for me," she praises. "Show me how much you adore me."

"I—I—" Your words die in your throat, a gasping, breathless moan. You're cumming, the tension snaps and it's all too much. The pleasure rushes over you like a wave. You're drowning in it. You're suffocating. Your hips stutter, thrusting into your fist, pumping your length as you feel the hot spurts of your cum painting over Yujin's perfect, beautiful skin. The first spurt splashes across her breasts, the second spattering across her stomach and chest. Her laughter fills the room. She loves this, seeing the way she's ruined you.

Your body shakes, your hand slowing as the final drops fall from your cock to the expanse of Yujin's body. Your mind swims as you struggle to breathe. Your head spins and your vision is blurry. She's laughing, her fingers swiping through the cum, rubbing it into her skin. Her hands roam all over her body and you're entranced. Your body feels like jelly as you collapse, slumped onto your side on the floor beside her.

"Good boy," Yujin purrs, her hand sliding over her stomach and down between her legs, rubbing at her clit with your cum. She's smearing it everywhere, all over her pussy, her fingers slipping between her folds and then back to her clit. It runs over her chest, dripping down the side of her tit. Her breath hitches and you watch, mesmerised by her. "Such a good boy."

"Yujin," her name falls from your lips as if you've lost all other words, the way a prayer is uttered, reverently and devotedly. "I—"

She laughs again. It's light and playful. "I know. I'm the best, right? You're so lucky."

"Yes." It's the only thing you can think of to say. You are lucky. So unbelievably lucky.

[hoseoksluna]

CENTURY | myg

pairing: boyfriend!idol!yoongi x f. reader 

genre: smut

word count: 3.6k

summary: when yoongi needs inspiration for the song he's been working on, you're not hesitant to help him.

taglist: join | cp: wattpad, ao3

warnings: idol yoongi working in his studio being all stressed out is a warning on its own, he's also immensely hot and calls himself oppa (god help me i am a weak girl), mentions of a nasty punishment, yoongi is kinda mean, and a little bit horny, clit spanking *heart eyes*, oral sex (f. receiving), praise kink—usage of stickers, raw sex.

note: my god, this was a drag at first but because i feel sm better today, i finally finished this and i feel myself returning to the hoseoksluna that i was before i got sick. :( this was fun to write today omg. yoongi is absolutely delicious in this and i can't wait to start writing smoke 3 after this. my babies, enjoy this smutty one shot. i love you. spam my inbox, i miss you! give me a warm welcome, please. MWAH.

Habitually, singing for him was your escapism. You’d close yourself up in a bubble, withdrawing from the surrounding gray world, and you’d slink away to a realm brimming with vivid colors. In his songs, you could be anyone. A figment of his imagination that had more life in its veins than you ever had the taste of. You’d forget, for hours upon hours, about the anguish of your daily life and mental issues that would trouble you and, taking his hand, he would take you to Neverland, watch over you, then take you home. 

This time, however, he didn’t take you to that fantasy land. 

He took you somewhere darker. 

The energy in his lab was potent with something that tickled you ever so gently when you stepped inside. A dusky room with an even heftier, crepuscular layer of vexation. You could feel it thumping beneath your skin after it grazed you with its fingertips, weaseling its way in, settling, stilling. Your boyfriend didn’t turn around when he heard you shut the door, nor when your tights-clad feet paddled on the floor, as absorbed as he was in his work. No shoes inside the Genius Lab—that was the first rule, one you were disciplined enough from him to remember, even if someone woke you up in the middle of the night. 

You paid a great price, once upon a time. 

You had walked in with your Nike’s when he called you over, wet and smeared with the snow from the winter’s artwork outside. Despite the fact you rubbed the soles on the mat in the building of his workplace long before you strutted all the way to his studio, there were still little snowflakes that clung to your sneakers. It was your first time there and Yoongi seemed to have forgotten to let you in on the rules. And once he saw the mess you made, he told you off. 

Kissed you quite roughly. 

Made you promise to never do that again, playfully. 

Sank you to your knees and bent you over those melting snowflakes. Spanked you so hard that he engraved the first rule of the Genius Lab into your system. 

No shoes inside. 

Then, he patted your head. 

Gave you a silver star sticker, resembling the snowflake, for being such a good girl that learns well. 

You had stuck it on the table right beside his laptop, an etched memory that you recollected every time he’d invite you over. 

It’s what he’s mindlessly rubbing with his fingertip as you walk over to him, another winter later, embedding your digits into the ebony night of his hair, the long strands so satiny and sleek. Yoongi gazes up at you from his computer, pale violet flecks adorning the skin beneath his weary, yet ever so trenchant eyes, and you pout at the sight of him. There must be something wrong with the process of his album-making and he’s determined to fix it. 

Yoongi takes off his headphones, wraps an arm around your waist. You’re wearing a little black dress for him with a low neckline that uncovers everything private as he leads you to sit down on his lap, greeting you with a raspy hello and a kiss that tells you he needs you more than his own countenance lets on. 

You linger in the close proximity, peppering his mouth with tiny kisses that make him visibly relax—his shoulders slump against his chair and he lifts your knees, placing them in the snug crook between his side and his arm, his hand spreading forest fire down your calf, stopping at your ankle, swathing it with those flames. 

You cease your kisses, overcome with his body heat, and butterflies zap you in your tummy when he continues to kiss your mouth with those sweet little pecks. 

Prolonging the last kiss, he peers down at you with the world’s most affectionate adoration and you blush. You’ve tasted the dulciness of all the seasons with him, and yet it feels as though you’ve just started dating. His love has long made its home within you, but you can still sense its freshness in your bones. 

It will never get old. 

“I love these, baby,” he husks, his eyes growing more lidded in the heated, cozy atmosphere guarded by the fire of his body, and he drags a hand up and down your leg, spreading his admiration on the nylon of your tights that he speaks of. “You came just at the right time.” 

He nuzzles his face in your neck while he paws at your feet and you soften, brushing your fingers through his hair. You think he needs to get out of this place and breathe in some fresh air for his brain to recuperate and be filled with the flimsy, ivory sparks of inspiration. 

It’s snowing outside. 

It always seems to be when he invites you to his secret spot during the winter months. 

“What’s wrong, hm?” you ask, requiring the specifics in order to help him as much as you can. “What is it this time?” 

Yoongi grumbles nonsense in your neck, the sound muffled and indecipherable, and you laugh, softly, lifting his head. 

“I literally didn’t catch a word you said,” you whine, squishing his cheeks, and Yoongi feignedly sobs, scrunching his eyes shut. You laugh, wiggling his head, encouraging him to tell you what made him darken the energy of his studio so devastatingly. 

He inhales a deep breath in and takes his hand to your bum, fondling it. “I miss your pussy.” 

You burst out into obscene laughter, wiping a hand down his face. “Be fucking serious.” 

Yoongi chuckles, but then breaks into false little sobs all over again. “The melodies aren’t working together, I can’t transform the ideas in my head into this song and I just miss your pussy so bad. I wanna eat it.” 

So that’s the source of that dark energy in the lab. 

He’s horny. 

He wails into your bosom, deepening your laughter that melts into an endearing coo. One that lifts his head and makes a grin blossom on his pale face, a dab of color rushing to the surface. 

A pretty lotus flower, opening for you. 

You poke a finger into his cheek, your heart constricting at the cute way your nail makes a round dent in that flourishing flesh. “I thought you called me over because you wanted my vocals.” 

Yoongi squeezes your bum, sucking in a breath. “I did. I wanted to finish the melodies so I could record your voice, but shit fucking happens. I thought we could write the lyrics together.” 

You bite your lip, finding the idea mesmerizing, and your chest clenches, a certain longing for it forming inside. A light flickers in Yoongi’s abysmal eyes at your reaction—and you wish you could fix this situation for him, remove the block and replace it with a creativity of your own. 

An idea pops into your mind, abruptly. 

You widen your eyes, your smile growing, little by little. Yoongi straightens, his features mirroring yours, and the picture hope paints upon his countenance only drives your idea forward. 

“What?” 

“Oh my god, Yoongi.” You clasp a hand over your mouth. “What if we write the lyrics first and just hum random melodies, see what fits best?” 

He thinks about it, tilting his head. And then destroys the realm that your little idea created. 

“I’m sorry, baby, but that never works with me. I know artists that do that, but whenever I tried, I just reached a dead end,” he mutters and you pout, furrowing your brows. He lets you soak in it for a little while before he shakes his head. “I have a better idea.” 

Yoongi pushes his laptop to the side and lifts you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing, setting you down in place of it. He moves his chair forward. Spreads your legs. Kisses the inner of your thigh and you fall back, your palms landing on the ivory keys of his keyboard and creating a soft music that raises his brows. 

“Do that again.” 

You smile and lift your hand, dropping it on the same notes that you did by accident. He looks over to see which ones you played and he kisses the front of your thigh before he reaches over for his notepad and pen, writing it down. 

“You’re my little angel, I swear,” he says without taking his eyes off of his writing, then he extends an arm behind you and finishes the melody with a certain ease that causes him to relax even more—and your smile to deepen in your face. 

You blush, feeling like that winged creature—assigned to his side to help him. 

“I brainstormed some lyrics the other day,” Yoongi mumbles and begins to stare you down with an intention that coils in your gut, your heart quickening its rhythm. “How about you bounce off of it, make up some lyrics while I eat you out? I can play the melody for you that we just made.” 

Your mouth parts, your throat drying. Warmth pools in your core, the idea of Yoongi playing on the keyboard while he does something so intimate to you bringing you down to an abyss of madness. He hands you his notepad after he flips to the page with the lyrics he mentioned. Your eyes skim over his neat, black handwriting, the random words that could string together a sentence if there was a little work put in it. 

But how are you supposed to focus in those circumstances? It’s not just his dick that makes you braindead—it’s his tongue that does it in the first place. 

“What do you say, baby?” he persists, dipping down and scattering kisses along that sensitive part of your thigh, his breath wafting over your core as he switches to the other one, spoiling it with those same wet kisses. 

You catch a glance of his shining tongue and that does it for you. 

Your heart thumps, violently—and your pussy drools. 

“Fuck, Yoongi.” 

That does it for him, too. 

He goes to rip your tights right in the middle, but you yelp, stopping him. 

“No, don’t rip them. They were expensive and they’re my only pair for the winter.” 

Yoongi gives you a look, cocks his brow. “Why didn’t you say? I could buy you some.” 

You clamp your mouth shut. You don’t like to use his money to buy yourself personal stuff because you have a job of your own and you’re able to take care of yourself, but lately, with prices rising and the rent growing more expensive, there’s little from your paycheck that you could spend on things like these. And you still need to save up for way tougher times. 

“I could never ask you to do that, are you kidding?” 

Yoongi’s gaze darkens. “Who said you couldn’t?” 

You open your mouth to argue with him, but only a yelp comes through when he swiftly tugs the waistband of your tights over your bum and up your legs, lifting them in the process and folding you in half. 

You’re sure he’s ripped them. 

You’re fucked. 

You lean back, landing once again on his keys and at this point he laughs, darkly, telling you which notes to write down and with a shaky hand—you do. 

“You’re getting so many fucking stickers today.” 

Your heart stops its feral beats and you gaze down at him with a tormented look, your brows furrowed, eyes lidded and cheeks flushed. Yoongi bites his lip and gets his sheet of silver little stars. 

He peels one out. “This one's for you coming at the right time.” He sticks it to that one side of your inner thigh that he left unkissed, the sticky part latching to your skin without a hint of a problem. “And this one’s for your smart little brain.”

He sticks it to the bone right across your cunt, smoothing it out with his thumb that then begins to travel and crosses the distance to the soaked center of your panties. Yoongi sucks in a breath as he peers down at the outline of your flesh, parting your thighs a little to gaze up at you through his lashes. “You have two tasks,” he rasps, brushing his lips across your clothed, dampened flesh. 

You grip the table beneath you, letting out a whiny sigh, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“Pay attention.” 

A simple, low order and you pop them open, breathing out in staccatos. He runs that thumb over your clit, puts a little pressure over it. You bite your lip, straining your ears, but the faint pleasure makes it a little bit difficult for you. 

“I’m gonna rub this clit and you don’t get my tongue unless you tell me the name of the store, where you’re getting new pairs of tights from today.” He focuses on your nub, circling it with soft grazes that he knows they get you riled up nice and fast, needy and drenched. It’s what he does when you’re watching a movie together and wind up not knowing how it ends. “And once you come for me, you get another sticker for being such a good girl. Is that clear?” 

Your lungs heave and your mind spins, your brain cells shrinking with your arousal. You lick your lips. Wetness stains your panties even more. “And the other task?” 

He slaps the side of your thigh, making you jump. “I asked you a question, did I not?” 

Such abrupt meanness. Other times, it would get you going, but today it’s not something that you’re really feeling. Maybe it’s due to the fact that you’re ovulating and you need the gentleness that he’s more than capable of giving you. 

You drift a hand down his face, stopping with your thumb at his lips, tracing the upper line. So soft, so puffy. “Be nice to me, Yoongi.” 

His eyes round and a glint perches itself on the top of his chocolate irises. Yoongi sets your feet on both of his armrests. Leans his head against your thigh, looking up at you with a tender half smile. 

“Is that an order?” he asks, flattening his fingers across your clit and strumming it, the pleasure heightening and you sink your teeth into the bottom pillow of your mouth, your body following the wave of the delight he provides you, rolling. 

“Yes. Be nice or no pussy.” 

He gasps, lowly, his smile transforming into that smirk of his that has the tendency to weaken you through and through. “You wouldn’t do that to me.” 

Your heart throbs and you love it. “Yes, I would.” 

You go to close your legs and sit up, but he stops you. “Okay, fair enough.” 

Oh, that solid calmness of his, perfumed with his horniness. You grin, pleased. “Will you be nice?” 

Yoongi licks over the bare skin of your thigh, rubbing his face in it. “I’ll be an angel like you if you do the tasks.” 

You roll your eyes. A quid pro quo. Fair enough. 

“Okay, be an angel to me then and come here,” you purr, aware of the fact that he got you into this mirrored maze of his horniness and you love it, delight in it, which is the sole, unabashed reason why you tug the back of his head down to your cunt, holding him to you. 

Yoongi opens his mouth just at the right time, licking over your clothed clit and moaning. But then he fights against your hold and spanks your pussy, smiling playfully up at you while biting his lip. 

You jump, whimpering. 

“I didn’t hear you say the name of the store,” he retorts, rubbing, properly, your bedewed nub with slow, agonizing circles. 

Fuck. 

Your breathing quickens and you scramble your blank brain to remember any store that has the least expensive tights. You say the name of the first one that pops up. 

Yoongi doesn’t like your answer, though. 

He spanks your clit, gently. 

“Think again. I’m not buying you anything that will last you for a day. Don’t play me.” 

You can’t help the heavy smile rising on your face, your cheeks heating up so much that they ache. And it helps you, his bull-headedness on buying you high-quality garments that are worth the money, to fight—like he did against your hold—your deeply imprinted independence and utter, shyly, with little hiccups, the name of the store that will keep your legs warm throughout the unforgiving Korean wintertime. 

“That’s it, baby. Good girl. Let Oppa take these off now.” 

Your stomach flips at the title. You’ve always been obsessed with it—as it, without fail, provoked your independence and slowly transformed you into the mindset of a little girl, taken care of by someone stronger, smarter and older than her. All while keeping it intact. 

Yoongi knows you can do everything on your own. And he supports it. But it doesn’t mean he’s not willing to give you a hand. 

The same hand he now uses to bring your panties to the waistband of your thighs near the back of your knees, dragging it down that skin. He spreads your cunt with both of his hands, gasping lowly at the sheen that greets him and magnetically pulls him in. 

He kitten licks your clit and your elbows tremble, giving out on you—another melodies wafting through the air that make him chuckle into your pussy, engraving vibrations that encourage you to lean back all the way and take what he gives you. 

“Write that down, can you do that?” he asks, and when he hears you clicking his pen, he tells you which notes those were. You scribble it down, messily, your hand quivering and painting an obscure picture in his notepad as he begins to suck on your clit in intense waves. You shudder, terribly, the lines of his own pen dark, long and disordered like you. 

You give in, moaning so loud that he intones with you. 

And what you never expected—the tones of your noises provide him with an inspiration he cannot miss. Withdrawing with a wet chin and stealing his pen from you, he jots it down, propping the notepad on your thighs, smiling at the picture you painted. 

Writes something else down, too, while you quiver for him, waiting for his tongue. 

He kisses your thigh, ravagedly. “Sing these lyrics.” 

Taking it from him, the words blur on the paper because he sinks a finger inside your heat, curling it to that spot that he favors, fucking you with a fast motion that unables you, completely, to let out a sound colored by his geniality. 

“Come on, baby. Sing for Oppa.” 

You cry out, clenching your muscles—scream as he latches his mouth to your clit, flicking it with the tip of his equally genius tongue. 

The lab spins, not just your mind. 

“I can’t—I can’t. Oh my God, Yoongi, fuck,” you drag out the curse word, the notepad falling out of your hand and plopping onto the ground. 

Yoongi hums, delighted, sucking on your nub so vivaciously that your orgasm nears. As if sensing it, he adds another finger in. Validates the incoming of your splendid explosion by making quick, little, deep sounds that lead you to that peak. 

You grasp his hair, tightly, humping his mouth. From your own spill screams that fade into soft moans, resplendent of the notes he liked so much and he fucks your hole faster. Pulls out his mouth just a little, flicking your clit from side to side—and you realize he did it so he can watch you come for him. 

Come for your Oppa. 

And you do. With a squeak, one that fades to a legato, tender moan of his title. With an eye contact that freezes time for a century. And, suddenly, just like that—it’s just you, him and the winter. 

Snowflakes that ache to seep into yours and his cheeks. 

Yoongi growls. His male pheromones spill out of him like liquid that washes over you and you get a sticker. 

Right in the center of your mound. 

And he fucks you into wintry oblivion, a snowstorm that swaddles you closer and closer to him. The table rattles, key notes sound out, the slapping of skin conjures ideas in the magnificence of his brain. And then he comes. 

With a final stroke and a rope of his cum all over the sticker near your pleasured cunt, he resumes the time. 

But both you and him are newly constituted by that winter-kissed century, chiseled by it and irrevocably changed by it. 

Yoongi cleans you up and dresses you. You find out he didn’t rip your tights and you give him such a soft, endeared look for it that he coos, chuckling, and pats your disheveled hair, smoothing it down. He kisses you once he fixes you up and, grabbing his keys, phone and wallet, he drives you to the mall, to that exact store you mentioned, to buy you a myriad of tights to last you for a half of a century, grazed and fondled by winter. 

And he leads you back to the studio, besprinkled with the snow’s affection, where you watch him create a song out of your pleasured voice, sampling one of your favorite oldie’s tunes that you end up yanking him up to his feet to dance with him to it. The raspy voice of Ray Charles envelops Yoongi’s hands as he guides your hips and he kisses you until the late night hours. 

And in those late night hours, he watches you, like the angel you are, as you sing the poetry he wrote with your help. 

Neverland doesn’t exist anymore. Not for you at least. 

The darker place he took you to is one breathing with the gesture of helping your lover. Warm, moody and timbered. The licks of flames and the earnestness of a love that depends, without fear, on the other person. 

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ divider by kthice ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[vigilante-3073]

Pretty In Pink

James Wilson x Female Reader

Summary: House is curious about Wilson's newly formed relationship with the head of the Pediatrics Department.

TW: Mentions of infidelity, questioning.

House sat in the clinic, loud music and sound effects echoing from the speaker of his Gameboy as he played his video game. A young boy sat on the examination table, kicking his scuffed up sneakers boredly as his mother stood beside him. The boy had an ear infection. It was a rather nasty case, but a treatment of antibiotics would resolve it pretty quickly.

The diagnosis was definitely not something House needed assistance with, but he had some questions for the head of Pediatrics.

Doctor L/N had been hired just over two years ago and had recently started seeing Wilson romantically. Wilson refused to give House any details about their relationship and he decided that he would find out for himself.

"What exactly are we waiting for, Doctor?" The patient's mother asked, crossing her arms as she shifted on her feet.

"A consult," House replied without looking up from his screen.

"But I thought it was just an ear infection, is it something worse?" The mother asked.

"Maybe... That's why we're waiting for the consult," House said.

A gentle knock sounded on the door before it opened and Doctor L/N stepped into the room, "Ah, Doctor L/N, how nice of you to join us," House said, tucking his Gameboy into his pocket.

"Hello, I'm Doctor L/N. What seems to be the problem?" She asked, using some hand sanitizer before making her way over to the boy and his mother.

"How was your date? Wilson was stingy with the details," House questioned.

"I don't think this is the most appropriate place to be discussing this, House," She said, sending the young boy and his mother a reassuring smile.

"Oh, don't worry about them, they're fine," House assured.

"We can talk later, House," She said, turning her attention to the young boy, "What seems to be the problem?" L/N questioned.

"Oh, he has an ear infection," House stated, "Just needs some antibiotics," He continued.

"You called me to consult on an ear infection?" Y/N asked incredulously.

"No, I wanted you to tell me about your date with Wilson," House said.

Y/N sighed, pulling her prescription pad from the pocket of her lab coat. She removed a sparkly pink pen from her pocket and wrote out an order on the script.

"I wrote you a prescription for antibiotic ear drops. You pull the earlobe up and back before putting the drops in. The ear should be kept upwards for five minutes after giving each dose," Doctor L/N said, tearing off the slip and passing it to the mother.

"Thank you so much," The woman said.

"It's my pleasure. Oh, and I have some stickers that you can pick from for being so brave today," L/N said, pulling out a variety of brightly colored stickers from her pocket and holding them out in front of the boy.

The boy smiled widely, eyes scanning the stickers before taking a superhero one, "Mom, look," He said proudly, holding up the sticker.

"Come to my office when you're done your clinic hours," Doctor L/N said softly to House.

"But you already made the trip down, it would be cruel to make a cripple travel all that way," House argued.

"You have more patients to see and I'm not helping you weasel your way out of clinic duty. Come and see me later if you want to talk," L/N smiled, making her way out of the room and closing the door.

...

House made his way through the halls of Princeton-Plainsboro on his way to L/N's office. Doctor L/N was an incredibly kind woman who was amazing with her patients, which is probably what drew Wilson to her in the first place.

But House didn't like to share his toys, especially when it was unclear who he was sharing them with.

House banged the handle of his cane on the door to her office, "Come in," She called from inside.

House opened the door and stepped into her office, "Miss me?" House asked, closing the door behind himself before making his way over.

"How was the clinic?" L/N asked without looking up from her patient file.

"Amazing, I'm saving the world one runny nose at a time," House replied sarcastically, sitting down in one of the black leather armchairs in front of her desk, "Comfy," He mused.

His eyes flickered around her office, the shelves were lined with photographs and a few pink trinkets. One corner of the room contained a variety of children's toys and craft supplies along with a small table.

The room was warm and inviting with pink items in every corner. Now that he thought about it, House had never seen the young woman wear anything other than various shades of pink.

The original tip-off to House about Wilson's new relationship with the head of the Pediatrics Department was a blush pink tie he had bought for himself.

People could be so easy to read sometimes.

House's eyes finally returned to her figure, not at all shocked to see the pale pink dress that she had been wearing underneath her lab coat.

"Big fan of pink?" House questioned rhetorically, tapping his cane on the floor in front of his chair.

L/N closed the patient file, setting her pink pen on the desktop as she looked up at him, "What can I help you with, Doctor House?" She asked.

"You and Wilson," He stated, bright blue eyes scrutinizing her from across the desk.

"We've been on six dates and there will most likely be more," L/N said.

House narrowed his eyes, "What do you like about him?" House asked.

"He is the kindest man I've ever known. He's smart, handsome and a complete gentleman. And he's devoted to his work," L/N replied.

"Do you see a future with him? Marriage? Kids?" House asked.

She smiled, "I'd like to think so, somewhere way down the road, but I can't speak for Wilson," Doctor L/N said. House nodded as he processed her reply, shifting his cane in his grasp.

"Do you have any other questions for me, Doctor House?" She asked.

"Did you know he's been unfaithful before?" He questioned, watching her facial expression closely.

"I did, yes," L/N nodded.

"But you're still with him? Most women your age would run the other way from a guy with a history of infidelity. You're young, pretty and smart. You have options... So, why settle for him?" House asked.

She huffed a laugh, "There's no settling when you care about someone, House. You take them for who they are and decide to love them anyway, faults and all," L/N said.

"Why are you answering my questions?" House asked, "You could have told me to kick rocks and avoided this altogether, but you didn't," He stated.

"You're his best friend, House. If I'm going to be a part of his life, I have to be okay with you being a part of it too," L/N said with a small smile.

House stared at her for a second, "I like you," He said.

A soft knock sounded on the door before it opened and Wilson poked his head into the office. His brow furrowed slightly in concern when he saw House sitting in front of her desk.

"Is everything okay?" Wilson asked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind himself.

"Yep, we were just having girl talk," House said, standing up from his seat and walking over to the door.

"She's all yours," House said, stepping out into the hallway and limping off in the direction of his office.

"Did he say anything I should be concerned about? Because I can easily arrange a date that is so amazing that you would be willing to forgive my awful choice in friends," Wilson said.

L/N smiled, shaking her head, "He was actually pretty sweet," She replied.

"I knew he must be sick, that doesn't sound like House at all," Wilson joked with a smile.

"He cares about you," Doctor L/N said, standing from her chair and making her way over to him.

"In his own messed up way? Yes," Wilson said, wrapping his arms around her waist when she was close enough.

L/N wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers toying with his hair, "I really like you, James," She said.

"Good, because I really like you too," Wilson replied, leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. He pulled away after a moment, staring down at her lovingly.

"Do you still have time for lunch?" L/N asked, hands sliding down to adjust his pale pink tie instinctively.

"For you? I have all the time in the world," Wilson replied.

[edward-munson]

Biker Boy - !biker Eddie Munson

As requested by my girlie anonymous friend, who gave such a great idea, here it is!! I used the details as an excuse to make this short story spicy 🥹

Summary: You and Eddie are friends with benefits. Whenever he has the chance, he always gives you a ride and everytime you hear the engine and him revving, your body goes crazy. You have a kink he doesn't know, so maybe it's time to finally get the word out.

Warnings: oral sex, fingering, cursing, fluffiness. +18 DNI

Word count: 2k.

His engine was revving in the distance as you heard the roar of his motorcycle approaching your neighborhood. As you're just finishing getting ready, the sound of his vehicle makes your heart do a flip, it's always automatic. The anticipation of watching him riding his machine always made its way in. You run to the front door as soon as he pulls over on your sidewalk.

You watch as he leans his bike to one side and dismounts gracefully, your stomach sinking from the view. Clad in his black leather jacket, Eddie was wearing ripped jeans - as always -, white sneakers and leather gloves. Oh, the leather gloves. They certainly did things to you.

You and your friend became closer over the past months, then you had the greatest idea of becoming friends with benefits. Something your friends didn't quite understand because you both decided you'd be exclusive to each other. Robin would always say it kinda gives away the term, because you wouldn't date other people.

The metalhead had his face hidden under the helmet, only showing the end of his hair and his big brown chocolate eyes. Everything just sends shivers down your spine. As soon as he got rid of the helmet, his hair flung revealing a mop of tousled curls. His dark green motorcycle had fat tires, decorated with a silly amount of stickers of every kind; bands, movies, games. 

He had a gin, although he wasn't the biggest fan of a party. He promised he would only go because it was Steve's, and because his friend got into college. 

"Hey sweet thing," he greeted you with a small kiss on your forehead. You gave him some space to get inside your house, leaving the helmet on the coffee table and taking his jacket off.

"It'll be a couple of minutes, just finishing my makeup". He only then noticed how pretty you were looking. You were wearing a tight black dress, brown boots and your hair was perfectly sat on a ponytail.

"You look too stunning to wear makeup," Eddie responded and you chuckled.

"Always such a gentleman". You took that opportunity to finally give him a proper kiss as he sat on the armrest of your couch. But then your eyes caught a glimpse of his hands still wearing the gloves.

Approaching him, you wrap your arms around his neck as he uses his right hand to tug on your waist while the other one goes to your face. The way the fabric sticks to your skin makes you immediately stiff your entire body and you've barely reached his lips, leaving only a few inches close to them.

When Eddie hears your light but recognizable moan, he looks at you lifting his eyebrows. You're almost making a fool of yourself but fuck that, you liked his hands in gloves. He didn't know that, because you never actually bothered telling him you had an actual kink. It's not like he never asked, he was always pretty curious to know your deepest secrets about your sex life.

"That was quick," he joked and you tried not to laugh at his taunting.

"Shut the fuck up". As you retorted him, you gave him a wet but already forwarded kiss, sliding your tongue inside his mouth. He tasted like cherry from the candy ball he usually eats after smoking. The tobacco smoke was lingering on his entire body, as well as his cheap perfume you love.

Eddie slid his hand down your body and gripped your hips before loosening his touch, threatening to remove his gloves. You desperately held his hands and shook your head. He tried to comprehend just what the hell you wanted.

"Keep the gloves," you begged. The man was barely existing and yet you were feeling like you were turning into jelly just at the thought of the leather touching your skin.

He smirked and raised his eyebrows, teasing you. "These? Huh". The way he reacted to it gave him an idea you haven't thought of yet, and still he was already light-years ahead of you. Eddie firmly grasped your waist and swung you, making you sit at the exact spot he was sitting.

He assaulted you with his feral tongue, liking yours and pulling your lower lip between his teeth. Boy, did he become another man after that. Using his left hand, Eddie started sliding it down your body, making sure to hold the curve under your breast, pressing his fingertips on your waist, reaching the hem of your dress.

The kiss became sloppy as soon as he slowly lifted it to your hip. Thank God you always chose a good lingerie. This time it was a thin, soft, lace pantie he was about to pull to the side. Before he did his main show, the curly haired metalhead squeezed your thigh and ripped a small mewl from your mouth against his.

His tone became husky and his cherry breath hit against your skin. "It's a shame I can't feel how wet you are right now. But I'm guessing you're soaking already". You whined by the feeling of his middle finger opening your folds, rubbing your wet skin with tenderness first. Eddie was always gentle, sometimes he rushed things, but you were headed to a party, so this one had to be fast.

Without warning, he made his way with his middle finger into you and you tightened your walls against his gloved digit. "Oh, fuck, Eddie". You cried out, your lips were parted. You were too busy to actually kiss him, but he was also focused on something else as well.

"Jesus, baby. You're so dirty," he breathed out against your ear. Eddie stuck his index finger to your cunt, along with the other, and the leather surely made it feel different from anything else.

His pace was calm, but the minute he felt you were used to the dressed fingers, he started to speed up, curling both, so they would hit your perfect spot. You're having a hard time breathing in and out, his thumb was rubbing against your swollen clit with so much desire.

Quickly, you unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans, facing his fat cock throbbing against his boxer. From your position, you could choose between just jerking him off or eating him whole.

You decided you would suck the life out of him. You started giving him wet kisses around his arousal, his tip, and his balls. It made him hiss, throwing his head back.

"Fuck, sweetie," he pleaded, working his fingers in a sweet, but fast motion. Eddie felt the back of your throat hit the tip and he almost stuttered, it was always hard for him to hold back his moans. He never actually lasted more than five minutes because you had the most fuckable mouth.

Bobbing your head up and down, you could still whine with his cock in your mouth, giving him a full lick as well. Your living room was quiet and the only sounds that could be heard was from his finger pumping and your moaning, along with the sucking.

Eddie was focusing on rubbing your clit ever so slowly, while his fingers worked harder and faster inside you. He used his plump lips to keep them on the top of your head, while pulling a handful of your hair with his free hand.

You didn't have boundaries at this point. You were both so close and so intimate, you would even fuck on a balcony, if you had one. Alone in a room, you were free to use your hands and your mouth deliberately. Just like now.

Almost gagging on his length, you made sure to grip on his cock, hollowing your cheeks making enough pressure for him to gasp so loud, he almost fainted. "Oh God, I'm gonna cum," he cried.

You never left the smirk on your face because you knew how good you were with your mouth, and he was always reassuring you. Eddie, on the other hand, was trying to not break down from your blowjob, keeping his fingers curled hitting your spot. It didn't take longer for your walls to start clenching around him.

He gripped your clit with his thumb, rubbing it faster, sloppy movements as he started to feel his own pleasure hitting the roof. You felt his cock twitch inside your mouth and you kept your pace, bobbing your head, until he released his juices down your throat.

Eddie loved seeing how you always swallowed him until the very last drop of it. He squinted his eyes closed, relishing every ounce of your saliva on his throbbing skin. "Fuck, you're so good," the metalhead whispered.

Not so much behind, you felt him pinching your clit while using only his middle finger inside you, watching as you bucked your hips, rocking them against his digits. "Ah, Munson". Using his last name as a resource to help you reach your own climax always worked and he knew that, he never complained.

As you throw your head back against the back of the couch, Eddie assaults your neck, nibbling on the skin, feeling your walls throb and clench around his gloved finger. "Yeah, cum for me baby girl". He always alternates his pet names towards you, so you would never know what would come next.

Your entire body squirmed around his fingers, your clit became too sensitive to the touch and your cunt closed tightly on his finger. You felt too weak on your knees and you were thankful for sitting on the couch, even though Eddie was still holding your neck.

You felt empty as soon as he removed his fingers from you and your stomach flipped. God, you felt so needy sometimes.

He zipped his pants back and pulled the belt. "You made such a mess on my glove, sweet thing".

"Good thing you have another one for us to use at the party". You respond as you fix your dress and walk to your bedroom.

You missed his reaction to your statement and he put on his glove back. It had your taste and your smell, he might as well use it as his accessory.

Ready and outside your house after a quick pornography, you stood at the side of his sleek vehicle, ensuring your safety before hopping on his bike. Next to his machine, he handed you the helmet, reaching out gently guiding you through the process.

Eddie always made sure to strap on it, so it wouldn't fall off your head during the ride, not too tight and not too loose either. "Thank you, handsome".

You swung your leg, hopping on the back of his bike, watching as the sky was casting a lavender hue over the quiet street of your neighborhood. You heard his revving and your heart jumps in, you loved it when he did that.

Just when he screeched the tires on the floor, you held your arms around his waist, placing both hands on his stomach. He loved driving too fast and he knew you hated it. Most of the time he would just speed up just a little to taunt you.

Approaching a red traffic light, Eddie slowed his vehicle, smoothly stopping as he supported both of you with one foot on the ground. As always, he turned his head slightly, resting his hands on your thighs, rubbing your knees with his gloved fingers.

You're thinking he didn't even bother to not wear the glove he used to fuck you, and you didn't know if you were actually more turned on or just feeling really repulsiveness. Either way, his endearment towards you always caught you off guard, he's too used to resting his hands on you at every fucking red light.

You smiled in return and just enjoyed his warm and steady touch, while you leaned your head against his back. As the light became green, he left his grip to hold the handlebars, speeding up the engine.

Eddie pulled up at Steve's house, the loud music was banging from a boombox inside his backyard. Before you both got inside, you reached for his wrist, gently squeezing his arm. He stopped by your side, brows furrowed.

"I'm not kidding about the glove, you better keep it clean", you pecked his lips quickly, before ringing the bell. You didn't expect him to be so close to you before responding.

"This time I'll use a special guest". You turned your head slightly, only to watch him licking his lips, teasing you. Eddie as a biker had you at his mercy, on your knees. 

[miirohs]

piercing [y.j.i]

pairing: Tattoo Artist!Yang Jeongin x Reader wc: 0.8k cw: n/a an: the choker pics bro.... the way these choker pics have a grip on my fucking psyche is insanity. yang jeongin stop please. for my sanity.

“You ready for this?” Jeongin asked, back to you as he rearranged his materials. 

The lights above you shone brightly, illuminating the surroundings of the little room, little stickers and doodles slapped all over the blue-gray and beige walls. 

You observed him from your seat on the examination table, eyes flitting over his neck, tracing the flowers down his back until they disappeared under his white tank top. 

The jacket he had been wearing sat abandoned next to you, shrugged off as soon as you were in the room alone. When he turned around, you averted your eyes, pretending to be looking at the worn fabric.

Watching you, he spoke again, slower this time as you hadn't responded to him the first time.

“Are you sure you wanna go through with this baby? I can’t promise it won’t hurt,” He warned, pulling his gloves on and ripping a packet open with his teeth, “and it’ll be pretty sore for the first couple hours.”

“It’ll be fine,” you answered, looking down at your scuffed up sneakers. You were already slightly regretting it, and you weren’t even 10 minutes in.

“Hey- hey look at me? You’re doing great, just hold still for me, yeah?” He deftly grabbed your chin with his hand, forcing you to make awkward eye contact with him as he moved your head side to side. You watched him, tapping his pen against his dimples.

“What kind of piercing did you want again babe?” Pen in hand, he paused to look at you, expectant.

“A- uh, a helix, I think?” 

He nodded in response, messing with his lip piercing as he tried to mark down the area on your right ear. He always did that. Fiddled with his lip ring when he was nervous.

“Did that hurt when you got it?” You pointed to the lip ring.

“A little. I’d say recovery was worse in my opinion,” he stated matter-of-factly, letting go and handing you a mirror. “Does the placement look okay to you?”

“Yeah, it looks great-“ You said, giving it a small glance before turning back to his ring, reaching out to run a finger over it. It wasn’t cold, surprisingly.

“You didn’t even look at it,” He groaned, flustered as he grabbed your face again to double check.

“Hey! I’m not the professional here,” You mumbled, trying to pull down his hand from your ear, “but I think it’s fine right where it is!”

“Okay then,” He said, a little flustered, turning away from you to grab whatever was on the cart, “if you’re sure, I can start right now.”

Your stomach dropped as he held a packet, inching closer to you. It was almost as if he was treating an injured animal.

“Can you please hurry up, you’re making me nervous,” you peeped, shaking slightly.

“Just stop moving,” he said nonchalantly, needle tip pressing against your helix.

As it pushed through, the pain flared, earning a whimper from you. It was very brief, fading into a dull yet prominent throbbing in your upper ear as he inserted the cool metal.

“Looks like you did it,” he whispered, running a finger over your knuckles as he held you, “good job.”

“Y-yeah,” you winced, watching as he discarded the needles, running you through basic procedures as you reached up to grab the piercing spot.

“and if anything happens- hey, are you even listening?” You blinked, finding him looking at you quizzically. His hand was wrapped around your wrist, pulling it down.

“I just told you no touch! You’re supposed to keep that area clean while it heals!” He whined, pinning your hand to the table as he brought something to your ear.

You grinned, pulling him in by his choker, lips smashing into each other.

The metal was warm, tasting of something artificially sweet as you caught your teeth on it, tugging on it.

He hissed into the kiss, yet pressed even deeper.

“Yeah, I’ll just check to see if one of our piercers other than Felix is available- Oh!” Chan had the door wide open, foot halfway in as he stared at the both of you.

“What. Are. You. Doing?” Chan yelped, hands over his eyes as if you had done something offensive in front of him.

“Hey, I was just giving him the kiss i owed him!” You giggled, earning another whine from Jeongin as Chan stepped out, obviously embarrassed.

Through the crack of the door, you could make out him whispering: “please hurry up and finish if you will.”

“I think we have to go now,” You whispered, and he trapped you in between his arms, leaning against your ear.

“This isn’t over.”

“I doubt it is,” You smirked, tracing his arm as you let go, prancing out of his room, “I’ll see you later Innie.”

[amara555555]

The blonde man:

Warnings: Jaegyeon’s car.

Daniel park x reader:

Ah yes the country side.

“I don’t like this.”

You step over a slug as Daniel walks infront of you, resisting the urge to haul ass out of excitement. Chiang liang, if you had any words to describe it, they would be hot, eerie, and occasional nature smells of poop. You and Daniel walked side by side before he stops and dramatically looks back at the chiang liang station. You were about to speak before a few deeper voices interrupt you and turn to a horde of gangster pass by coming out a bus.

“……uh-“

Daniel pulled you close.

“They use jeong la do accents.”

You blink.

“They do-“

“Kids.”

A gravelly voice made you both jump and you turn to see a bald gangster with scars.

“Move it will ya?”

Both Daniel and you start spotting gangsters EVERYWHERE- coming out of buses and the ones out of cars where most likely higher in rank…….aw they care for traffic laws-

Daniel and you both remain close as the gangster all walked past you, occasionally bumping shoulders.

“Woa- what is the need for all this-“

You step back and do does Daniel before a car’s engine turned off behind you two.

You turn to see and what the fuck is that? The most tacky hot wheel, lightning McQueen stickers looking chocolate wrapper designed car parked behind you two.

Daniel held you closer out of instinct before the car door opened.

“I’m sor-“

“You scratched it.”

You blink after someone with a deep voice had the gall to interrupt Daniel.

“Uh- who scratched who?”

You ask confused.

“Sorry?” Daniel asked now also confused.

“I said you scratched it. You’re gonna have to buy this car now.”

“WHOSE BUYING WHAT NOW?!”

Were you going insane or was this guy having a hernia? You and Daniel exchange the most baffled faces before you blink owlishly. You both turn back to the talking ugly car.

“What kind of logic is….”

Daniel gets interrupted, AGAIN.

“Don’t try to wriggle your way out of this.”

The door open upwards, like that adds any value and you blink in confusion and annoyance. Who the hell was this Ken doll?

Expensive sneakers and some very nice pair of jeans you had saved on your asos basket.

“Kid I got everything recorded on my dash cam, you scratched it after I got a new wrapping.”

“It’s a ugly wrapping and we would’ve done you a fav-“

Daniel shook you to stop talking as he stepped backwards with you in tow. This pressure was overwhelming and overpowering. Oh shit. Was he also a gangster?

“So what’s it gonna be kids, will we stop by the police station, or will you two buy this car?”

……….

“I told you coming to country side was a bad idea.”

Daniel huffed.

“Well how was I supposed to know we’d get conned?!”

The blond man with his titties exposed and pearls dangling over his chest, his shirt collar open down to his mid chest like a man you’d find in a tropical resort drinking Angel shots, a gucci belt and g those cute jeans he wore. But you couldn’t deny, he was fucking cute.

He shook a wavy lock out his eye as he kept his sharp eyes on you two…. You fell into a 8 year old one direction stare as you dreamily stared at the older man infront of you……………..and then Daniel shrieked-

“L-LETS GO TO THE POLICE STATION! BECAUSE WE’VE DONE NOTHING WRONG!”

Daniel pulled you close again and you joined in.

“we were literally like 2 feet away!”

The blonde man blinked.

“Brats, what police station? I’m not the type of person who makes big issues out of small problems.”

“….HUH?!”

You were right. This beautiful man is having a hernia.

Daniel grew pissy.

“I SAID LETS GO! WHATS WITH THE CHANGE IN ATTITUDE?! YOU’RE NOT SURE EITHER ARE YOU???”

At this rate you just began laughing.

“Whats so funny? You laughing at me? Punk? Oi. Both of you, stop making a ruckus and just buy it, since we’re close I’ll sell to you two for cheap.”

You wipe a tear.

“With what? Universal credit?”

The blonde man almost agreed before Daniel interrupted.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN CLOSE?! WE JUST MET!”

The blond man put his hands in pocket and resumed the sass stance 101.

“Then what will you do about this scratch?”

You scoff and pull out your fake protective UV light glasses from Temu, Daniel joined in the search.

“WHERE EXACTLY IS THIS SCRATCH?!”

“Please just buy it-“

You glare and Daniel and huffs frustratedly.

“We’re not buying! Why would we buy such a childish car?!”

“Yeah?! I’d rather take that bus that smells like fe-“

Suddenly Daniel was 2 centimetres away from having his face smashed into the floor and you gasp. Pulling out your finished pepper spray.

“BACK, BACK I SAY-“

“What did you just say?Shitty car?”

His voice now cold. You shiver from the underlying ferocity in his voice and his cold eyes locked on Daniel. You put the spray away and grip his shirt, aiming to pull him off.

“Get off him! Why’re you harassing city kids?!”

The man’s eyes widened.

“Hold on. Your minors?”

You nod aggressively and Daniel answers.

“Yes.”

The man now blinked.

“19 years old?”

You both frustratedly whine in unison.

“18!!!!”

He drops Daniel and you push him out the way to get to your friend.

“Are you ok?!”

He nods vigorously.

“I can’t sell you both the car then.”

“WE DONT WANT IT!”

The blonde man began walking away.

“Relax I wasn’t gonna sell it to you two today anyways.”

You dead pan Daniel who just deflated before the blond spoke again.

“It’s just that kind of day. A sad day.”

“…….THAT DOESNT EXEMPT YOU FOR HARRASSING US?!”

He leaves and you pull out a sharpie.

“Y/N NO!”

“…….biscuits-“

[thesecretsofthedivine]

Pick a Pile Reading | Who’s Coming Into Your Life Soon? 🌠 🌸

Business Carrd 🍶🧺

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*Disclaimer: This is a collective reading — take what resonates and leave the rest. If this resonates with you, please show support by reposting (with credit), tipping, or booking with me! :)

*Exchanges with other intuitives/readers are available via dm’s

PILE 1 COLLECTIVE

This is a person who is a lover of the arts! You may meet them in an artistic environment (think art class, concert, museum, etc.) or they’ll just enjoy visiting those places and have a knack for creative talents. They also seem to be a people person who is a smooth talker and has a very strong aura. They like to entertain and make people feel relaxed, which could inspire them to host a lot of parties or be an active member of their community. For some, the person coming into your life will be a part of the LGBTQ+ community or advocate for such causes. This person will have a romantic purpose for most of you, but some may choose to keep this connection as a lighthearted friendship or FWB. You may feel slightly reluctant to take them seriously because of how carefree and popular they are. They will be comforting, but some of you could feel like you’re just another person under their spell and may become resistant to these romantic feelings as a result. It’s important to mention this person‘s energy feels very sincere. They want to cater to you and can often struggle with people pleasing tendencies.

~ miscellaneous: blueberries. the color blue. a coquette aesthetic. whicker baskets. white snocks + sneakers. aries, capricorn, taurus placements (tons of cardinal energy). piercings. hair parted to the side. ripped jeans. a laugh that sounds like a scoff/sarcastic humor.

PILE 2 COLLECTIVE

For most of pile 2, the person coming into your life soon is a platonic feminine around your age. Their personality is very peppy, organized, empathetic, hardworking, and sensual. You will meet this person through school, work, mutuals, or shared goals. They seem to be a lover of animals as well so they may have pets or easily connect with them. The two of you will bond over music and the type of people you aspire to become in the future. They’ll make you feel lighthearted and bring out a more extroverted side to you. You may have moments where you let them put stickers or makeup on you just to have something silly to do together. For the people who have a feminine energy coming in, they may also be skilled in things like speech & debate, reading long/foreign novels (especially russian), playing chess — something traditional and academic. This person is an avid lover of film, especially vintage or historical ones. They could be multilingual or come from a different culture than your own. It’s clear that the two of you will never run out of things to talk about, making it seem like you finally found your perfect mental match!

~ miscellaneous: blonde hair. teal/blue crystals or blue eyes. the letters c, e, i, s, n, a, l, and p. scarves. whimsigoth/hippie/70s aesthetic. winter time. romeo & juliet. film major. coffee hangouts. mercury or 3h synastry.

PILE 3 COLLECTIVE

Pile 3 has an entire friend group coming into your life (multiple individuals)! Psychically, there’s a lot of overlapping conversations I’m tuning into 😅 so the people coming into your life will be a big part of your life/daily schedule. You’ll stay quite busy because of their presence in your life and may notice yourself becoming more talkative or that you all can be quite loud and rambunctious together. Parties, social events, clubs, concerts, and any other crowded environment can be relevant to how you meet these people or where you’ll spend time with them. You may notice that the group’s energy becomes more alive at night so a lot of these people could be night owls and extroverts. It’s the kind of thing where you’ll always have thousands of notifications blowing up your phone or will always have something fun to do. There’s a huge blend of masculine and feminine energies here so some people may encounter a friend group of 2-4 people whereas others will find themselves with 6-8 new people in their lives. Some of the masculine energies in the group could like to wrestle so be wary of breakables/fragile furniture that’s in their vicinity 💀. I feel that these people coming into your life will all enjoy sharing food, secrets, tips, and so on. There’s a very open and excitable vibe here so some of them may even be slightly younger than you.

~ miscellaneous: matching tattoos. karaoke. late night escapades. musicians. fire sign placements. the book everything i know about love — dolly alderton. bars. pinterest boards/pinterest aesthetics (especially for those who use it to manifest). gaming/dart boards. bets/dares.

PILE 4 COLLECTIVE

A family member will either become a bigger part of your life or start a new relationship with you entirely. For some, this will relate to a grandmother figure and/or deceased relatives watching over you/being around your energy. For others, it’s more of a mentor vibe. Older, feminines with a lot of advice and maturity to offer you. At this stage in your life, you could be feeling anxious or uncertain about your future/career. This person coming in is meant to be a support system for you during this specific transition period. They will help you to broaden your horizons, believe in your dreams/capabilities, and strengthen your willingness to take risks. If your mental health has been low, you feel like you’ve stepped out of alignment with your desires, or you’ve just been processing some heavier topics lately, this person will come in to soften those experiences while helping you to work through them. They will teach you how to validate your emotions without feeling disempowered by the weight of them. “Your depth is beauty” and they will make you into a stronger person by honoring this part of yourself.

~ miscellaneous: the barbie movie scene where she meets her creator (ruth handler). what was i made for - billie eilish. holding hands. traditional baking. words of wisdom/words of affirmation. bridges. feeling at the end of your rope when they come in. disco music. the 60s - 70s as their birth year. gardening hats. flowers.

[jokersaciid]

hii, i was wondering if you write for Hobie Brown (spider-punk!!)? if you do, maybe just relationship hcs??

if not that totally okay!!

Spider-Punk Headcanons.

hobie brown x black!male reader.

warnings : swearing ,, mentions of fighting ,, horrible british slang bc im not british<3.

since he's quite rebellious ( and spiderman ) he definitely takes you to underground illegal concerts of his own as he knows he can protect you from danger.

tries to teach you how to play guitar whenever he can,, you're definitely no good at it but you enjoy his enthusiasm.

everyday you see him you're placing new pins on his jacket or stickers on his sneakers.

he wouldn't hesitate to beat the shit out of someone who tried to mess with you,, especially in a crowd of people.

has pretty foul language,, however tries his best to tone it down once he realized you didn't enjoy it.

" what a fucking wanker he is. "

" hobie.. "

" right, right.. i'm sorry, toots. he just really pis— upsets me. "

always stands up for you and you do the same.

the moment someone calls him names or berates his actions you're immediately there defending his name while he watches you with adoration and pride.

people call him a bit wacky,, and he is— but he's yours and that's all you care about.

he doesn't mind letting you wear the pants in the relationship if you desire.

probably holds your hand when he having a sweet moment, however when he's rambling,, walking down the street or escorting you to school or work,, his arm is wrapped around your shoulders.

keeps you significantly close to him subconsciously.

if you're not british he tries to copy your accent the best he can.

you in turn copy his accent as well,, it's easier than you thought.

he visits you at home in extra ways,, never knocking on your front door but swinging outside your window until you notice.

kisses you upside down every chance he gets.

allows you to wear his suit sometimes but never lets you wash it.

" your drier is stupid, it'll shrink my suit and i can't fight when my bollocks are being squeezed all to hell. "

since you're both black,, he's very helpful when it comes to wash day.

no matter your hair type,, hobie always has a way to detangle your hair in the most non painful way ever.

he doesn't exact do retwists but he does allow you to help him maintain his hair and keep his wicks (??) healthy.

haircare within its self is a date between you two.

is always nagging you about using cantu because he saw you pick it up one time at a hair shop.

almost had a heart attack when he learned you didn't know how to do your own hair.

from then on he's swung by every two weeks to help you maintain whatever hair style you got that month.

to conclude- he loves you very much and would probably become a villain if he lost you :D

[earlysunshines]

misty

kindergarden teacher!sana x fem!reader. (p1. 1)

summary: you take your niece to her first day of school and- shoot, you might have a crush on your nieces' teacher.

wc: 2k

warnings: none, pure fluff

pt2 pt3 pt4

a/n: hiii this is my first post, feel free to leave feedback or just ask, comment, or anything like that, hope u enjoy!!

also, credits to @soliarus for inspiring and encouraging me to post my take on this! I really liked their take on this prompt/idea, so please check it out!!! it's so cute :'-]

-

you and your niece Hana, approach the classroom, and you spot parents already bidding their goodbyes and waving to their children from the cheery, chat-filled classroom. 

Hana reaches for your hand, holding your large hand with her small one. you look down at your niece, and she wears a white shirt, denim overalls, and a beige backpack, you had dressed her up this morning. The young girl stands outside the door with you and looks into the classroom from the door nervously.

“y/n, auntie…” She begins, “What if no one wants to be my friend?” 

There’s a look of surprise on your face after hearing what she said. She looks down at her beige, velcro sneakers. You squat down to match the little girl’s level,

“Hana… Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know… I don’t want to be the only one alone.” She says, and her frown deepens,

“Hana, sweetheart,” you start, holding both her hands in between your palms, “Trust me, at least one person will talk to you. Even if it isn’t today, someone amazing like you will make a friend, I mean, who wouldn’t want to be your friend? I made a lot of friends when I was your age,” 

You pause and put your hands on her shoulders, making eye contact, and your tone softens,

“You and I, we’re alike, . your dad and grandma think so too.” you begin, “And, be glad. Your dad isn’t as cool as me, trust me. Be glad you got your auntie’s genes, and because you have my genes, you’ll be the coolest in the room.”

“You sure?” Hana questions,

“Of course I am.” You assure her. You stand up and encourage her, “Now, come on, let’s go inside, your dad said your teacher was nice!” you say, smiling at the little girl and standing up again, “You lead me, I might get lost and I’m a bit scared myself, this isn’t my classroom after all.”

Hana’s worried expression is replaced by a growing smile after hearing your last remark,  “You’re so silly y/n, you’re old and scared? I thought you said you were the coolest!” Hana giggles, teasing you slightly.

“Hey! I am the coolest! and I'm not old! you should see your dad!”

The little girl laughs and gains a sudden boost of confidence from the lighthearted teasing, holding, no, grabbing your hand and practically pulling you into the classroom with her as if you were Alice traveling into some wonderland.

You two enter the classroom, and the first thing you notice is the smell. The vanilla scent isn't overwhelming, and you can even smell the faint notes of peaches and pears. The scent matches the slightly chaotic classroom and its well-thought-out arrangement and reminds you of the cafe you work at in a way.

There are kids in seats that are coloring, some looking or running around the room, and some with their parents taking pictures. Hana drags you to the colorful cubbies where she would put her finished work and lunchbox in. She shows you the sticker she put on the cubby with her dad from when they visited for the open house, and you smile at the sight. It’s a shark sticker, Hana and her dad love sharks.

“Hana, love, stand next to the cubby, I want to show your dad.” You tell her, pointing to the area where you want her to pose. She scoots over to the spot and smiles widely, her gums showing a bit as she smiles so brightly; it makes you smile too. you quickly snap a picture and send it to the group chat that your brother, mom, and dad are in.

You two wander around to where the backpacks are supposed to be hung, and your gaze wanders across the room to see a beautiful woman waving to a parent. The woman smiles at the other parent and crouches down to the little boy's level, then points to an empty seat before standing up and making eye contact with you. 

The woman is beautiful. Her dark brown hair flows effortlessly down to around where her ribs are. You find that it might be weird to think this, but her nose is perfect. The way it’s angled and the slope of it, and you surprise yourself at how much you like her nose, because you’ve never really thought about a nose like this. your gaze moves down to her peach-colored lips, and they look soft, lush, and really kissable-

you stop your thoughts on her lips there, because this is a woman you’ve just seen for the first time (and she’s making you all flustered and blushy like a stupid teenager in some romcom).

You look at her outfit, it’s cute and pretty, just like her. She wears a beige cardigan and white skirt that is loose on her thin figure, and the jewelry that completes her look is a small silver necklace sitting on her fair skin, just above her exposed collarbone, a small bracelet around her hand, and small gold earrings.

Hana feels the hand that holds hers slightly loosen up, and she looks up at you to see you staring across the room, ears tinted a shade of light pink. She looks over to what, or- who you’re looking at, which makes her tug at your sleeve, and it breaks you out of your trance.

“That’s my teacher, she’s really nice,” Hana says, smiling, “Last time, she gave me an extra sticker! Dad says she reminds him of you.”

“Me?”

“He says that she has the same warmth or something, I don’t know how people can be warm in the same way, that was kind of weird. He also said the way she talks to me reminds him of you.” Hana says. Your niece walks you over to the woman and she smiles at your niece,

“Y/n, this is Ms. Minatozaki.” Hana says shyly, tugging at your hand. 

“Hello, Hana. It’s nice to see you again.” The woman says, patting her head. Her voice is sweet and higher pitch, and the way she speaks is soft and welcoming, it even makes your cheeks warm up a bit. 

Her smile almost has you losing your balance, as if you were a weak tree getting hit by a gust of strong wind. The way her lips curved up to reflect her genuine joy in seeing your niece again made you weak in the knees. The woman’s gaze lands on you, and she makes eye contact. Her head is just barely angled when she looks up at you due to her being a couple of inches shorter, and you try not to fall into another trance from seeing her alluring features up close.

You try to compose yourself as you put your hand out to greet the beautiful woman, 

“Hello Ms, I’m y/n.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/n.” She replies. Sana is stunned by the woman in front of her, and it takes her a moment to really take in your presence. Your face is almost intimidating from how sharp your features are, and she’s trying not swoon over you in the moment seeing as you’re in the middle of introducing yourselves, and you’re (what she thinks,) Hana’s mother. 

her smaller hand fits yours perfectly as she shakes it. the world seems to pause for a bit as you realize this beautiful woman is shaking your hand, and it feels like you’re in a drama of some sort as everything slows down around you. She puts another hand on the outside of yours so that both hands are welcoming you into her precious workplace. 

Hana looks between the two women, a small smile tugging at her lips. She senses the spark that forms from the small interaction, and the way her aunt’s stoic and (usually) confident facade disappears at the moment.

You notice that your hands are still connected, and you pull away to run a hand through your hair, trying to play it off (you don’t, by the way, Hana reads right through you). 

You shift your look over to the little girl and squat down again to meet her level. A loose strand of hair that didn’t get braided is pushed behind your niece's ear by your slender fingers.

“Alright,” You say, placing a thumb on the girl's cheek, rubbing it lightly, “I’ll let you be off on your own, go have fun and be good okay? I’ll be here in the afternoon.”

“Yes y/n!” Hana beams, giving you a toothy grin. You laugh out softly and give her an almost identical grin back,

Your smile widens and there's a small feeling of worry that doesn’t go unnoticed. You really do hope everything goes well for your niece, after all, she’s your only niece and you just want the best for her. 

“If your teacher says you were good today, we can go to the cafe and I can make you your favorite hot chocolate, how about that? Ms. Dahyun also said she made a special croissant for you.”

“Please! Please! I’ll be good, I promise.” Hana says, practically jumping up and down. You smile at her enthusiasm and nod, 

“Alright, be good to Ms. Minatozaki lovely, I’ll see you later.” You say before you two exchange a nice, warm hug, and after you pull away, you push away her bangs and press a kiss to her forehead, lingering for a second.

You stand back up and watch the little girl run off on her own to an empty desk with coloring pages and markers, you smile at the sight.

“Hana is very enthusiastic, she’s a wonderful little girl from what I’ve seen so far. She’s so cute!” Ms. Minatozaki beams, and you turn your head to meet her gaze again, nodding.

“Yeah, she’s a curious little girl, and very bright.” You begin, then sigh, “I just hope she doesn’t cause any trouble. She’s pretty shy with new people, but she’s very energetic when she warms up and, well- you know how kids are.” You joke. 

Ms. Minatozaki lets out a giggle, and the way her nose scrunches makes you lose your cool a bit, it’s so cute that it has you laughing with her, and you don’t even bother to think about how pink your ears are right now.

“I’ll be going now Ms-”

“You can call me Sana, I mean, you’re not my student.” She says, laughing a little. 

“Definitely not.” You joke, and you want to joke on forever and make her laugh the whole day just to see how her face lights up and how adorable she looks when her nose scrunches slightly.

Sana watches you straighten out your dark brown jacket and her cheeks warm up a bit when you shoot her that cute smile of yours, but of course, you don’t notice due to how oblivious you are in the moment. The young teacher punches herself mentally for feeling a small flutter in her chest from who she thinks is her students’ mom, and she wonders how she’ll survive the year if she’ll see you more often.

“I’ll get going then, again, let me know if anything happens.” 

“Of course, I’ll make sure Hana has a great day,” Sana responds, nodding.

You and Sana exchange sweet smiles again, a similar warmth spreading through the two of you as you part. 

Before heading out the door, you wave to your niece again and the two of you smile at each other. You also take one more look at your niece's beautiful teacher, then head out to clock into your morning to afternoon shift.

Leaving the building, the sun seemed to shine a little brighter, and there was a new warmth in your chest knowing that Hana was in the hands and care of such a beautiful, sweet, and cute teacher: Ms. Minatozaki.

You were definitely going to convince your brother to let you take Hana to school more often, and pick her up regularly too.

… and little did you know, Sana would hope to see you often as well.

[i-miss-2013]

I feel so bad for the 13 year old girls of today

A long rant about “aesthetics”

I was once 13, and I participated in countless of trends, but I still felt like I had a little freedom and individuality at that age.

But it feels like 13 year olds now NEED to fit into a mold COMPLETELY to fit in???

Scrolling on TikTok is so scary. Seeing these teens just completely form themselves into an “aesthetic” is so sickening and bizarre! I feel so bad..

Where’s the personality? Their own identity?

Again, I was 13 too, and i understand the struggles of finding yourself, but there’s seriously no need to force yourself into a mold!

The “clean girl aesthetic” is what makes me the most sickest. Like a 13 year old girl revamping her closet to such plain clothes, getting rid of any childhood memories in her room, having the same ‘aura posters,’ a plain phone wallpaper, and the list goes on.

I’m tearing up on the fact of these girls getting rid of things from childhood and preferring just plain, blank, and white.

There’s nothing wrong with liking the “clean girl aesthetic.” It’s something these 13 year old’s like. Yay interests! But it’s the fact that they’re forcing themselves into a mold and forcing themselves to embody the aesthetic like their life depends on it.

To the 13 year old girls: There’s nothing wrong with liking multiple, different things!

I have a marvel calendar on my cork board that has a pink zebra print frame that I ducktaped myself, I have a disco ball pillow along with Sanrio and Justin Bieber pillows, I have white sheets, I like doing a full beat of makeup, I play Valorant, I have Y2K bags, I have Star Wars keychains on my college backpack, I have sailor moon manga, I have multiple Ariana Grande perfumes, I enjoy talking about mental health, I have uggs and hokas but I also have “emo” boots and wedge sneakers circa 2014, my playlist can go from Harry Styles, Sabrina Carpenter, Kali Uchis to Korn, Deftones, Loathe, my laptop stickers have Star Wars and “preppy” flowers to Sanrio to Gigi Hadid, I sip from my Stanley or pink Hydroflask whilst I talk about the new Deadpool movie and can’t wait to watch It Ends With Us.

I like what I like.

I’m turning 20 this year and I’ve gone through SO MANY identity crisis — and I’ll still have plenty of identity crisis in the future. So, there’s no need to “find yourself” at just 13 years old! Just enjoy your interests, like what you like, whenever you like, etc.

Don’t force yourself into a mold

(I hope what I said in this post made sense)

[drunk-on-dk]

[11:16 PM] | Yoon Jeonghan

pairing: bestfriend!Jeonghan x afab!reader tags/genre: angst, slow burn, friends to lovers (?), maybe fluff?, maybe suggestive? (minors DNI), college au, frat au, mentions of alcohol (drunk cheol appearance), the reader is a bit emotional, no specific pronouns but mentions wearing a skirt w/c: ~1.4 (a bit long for a timestamp I'm sorry) summary: Jeonghan has always been your Valentine, even if he's only been your best friend all these years. a/n: this is an excerpt that was taken out of my WIP Over the Country Club [teaser link here], which I didn't plan to include and sort of used to think of how I want to develop their dynamic a bit more. I still thought it would be fun to share! Happy Valentine's (and carat) day!

“There you are! Don’t you know I’ve been looking everywhere for you?” The shrill voice that rang from behind you was easily recognizable as your best friend’s. His tone was unfamiliar, a mix of disappointment and concern that made your eardrums trill in embarrassment knowing you must have worried him. Selfishly, you don’t bother to respond nor look in his direction, too embarrassed to face him and expose your likely swollen eyes.  

It’s not like he’s bothered to spend any time with you tonight anyway. You didn’t think he’d even notice you were gone. 

Jeonghan comes to a hesitant stop behind where you’re sat on the curb, sneakers smacking on the dewy pavement just inches away from you, definitely close enough to hear your sniffles. A quiet hiccup escapes you, pulling a sigh from Jeonghan who evaluates you carefully. 

Admittedly, if Jeonghan hadn’t spent the last thirty minutes running around the frat house in a frenzied search for you, he might have teased your slumped form that was dressed in a ridiculous Valentine’s Day get-up. The red tinsel headband with spring hearts was crooked on your head, your hair slightly frizzy from the humid air of the yearly Cupid’s Arrow party his frat held, and fingertips nervously tugging at your comically short miniskirt. 

Jeonghan advised you not to wear that skirt tonight, not that he ever intended to dictate what you wore, but just out of friendly concern. You know, since you might get cold, and definitely not because he had a hard time controlling his wandering eyes. No, friends don’t do that. 

As per usual, you were excited about this party; you had a plethora of festive accessories - including that silly headband you were presently wearing - that you’d dig through a bin for, fishing out an item for you and Jeonghan to wear. (Every year you’d beg Jeonghan to wear something festive, he’d typically settle for the fuzzy pink ‘xoxo’ socks you had, but this year he let you put little heart stickers on his cheeks). 

“Everything OK?” His voice is soft, deciding to set aside his frustration that you’ve been MIA. Jeonghan squats down behind you to place a gentle hand on your back, feeling you tense slightly at the contact, but you don’t pull away from him, which he takes as a good sign. “What’s wrong, Y/N?” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you mumble, your voice sounding a bit hoarse, revealing that something is in fact wrong. Jeonghan sighs again, this time you feel his breath fan out against the back of your neck, making your skin prickle at the warmth. 

There’s a pause as if Jeonghan is thinking deeply about what could have caused you to be upset. “You were with all the guys when I last saw you. Was it Cheol? Did he say something stupid?” 

“Jeonghan,” your voice is whiny, and it would almost be embarrassing if it wasn’t your best friend you were talking to. Seungcheol didn’t upset you. Well, maybe he inadvertently did, which is why you couldn’t admit to Jeonghan that he might be onto something. You forget that Jeonghan knows you better than anyone does. 

“It was, wasn’t it?” Jeonghan clicks his tongue, an incredulous laugh escaping his lips. “That bastard. Do you want me to go knock some sense into him? He’s on another level tonight, seriously can’t keep his mouth shut.”

You’re almost frantic, turning around to grab Jeonghan’s wrist when you feel him stand up to go confront his frat brother, who was also one of your closest confidants other than Jeonghan. 

Seungcheol who may have had too much to drink tonight and may have been a bit loose-lipped when he pointed out the fact that, slurring, “You know, Y/N. Jeonghan’s really messed up your game tonight. Won’t let anyone hit on you, even told the whole frat that you were off limits for Valentine’s, and he’s practically ditched you with me. What’s that all about? Kinda fucked up if you ask me, dude.” 

When Seungcheol made his comment, you had rolled your eyes and shoved some crackers his way, encouraging him to sober up. He was talking a load of bullshit. That was until you really sat back and thought about it, how no one has approached you tonight. Not even one soul, and at this point you settled on the fact you’d unceremoniously go home alone later tonight. It hadn’t bothered you at all, not until your eyes narrowed in on Jeonghan who was busy flirting in the corner, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach at the sight. 

God, was that a confusing feeling. Enough to send you into a panic, sending you stumbling outside in search of fresh air. Instead of finding solstice, it almost felt as if the cool breeze knocked some sense into you, tears welling in your eyes thinking ‘fuck, it is annoying that Jeonghan hasn’t spent any time with me tonight. It is annoying that I’ve been apparently branded with an invisible ‘off limits’ sign. And why is he there flirting with someone instead of hanging out with me?’ 

Not that you planned on leaving, but you needed to collect your thoughts a bit before heading back inside. You hadn’t realized you were gone for that long until Jeonghan came looking for you.

Hence, which is why Jeonghan feels his heart breaking when he sees your expression, a small hand wrapped around his wrist and red-rimmed eyes silently pleading as if to say ‘don’t leave.’

Like the softie he is for you, Jeonghan pauses, urging you to speak when he quietly utters, “Something’s wrong, and I can’t help you if I don’t know why.” 

“It’s seriously nothing,” you breathe, finally gathering the courage to stand up from the curb. You let go of his wrist to properly brush yourself off. You know Jeonghan doesn’t believe you, so you muster up your best lie. “Just a few tipsy tears over the fact it’s another year without a Valentine. Nothing to worry about.” 

It’s a big lie, you’re practically sober, and not once have you ever been bothered by the lack of a true Valentine. However, after seemingly contemplating your words for a moment, it must be convincing enough for Jeonghan, who pulls you into a comforting embrace, lips pressing against your forehead just like he usually does when you’re upset over something. 

“That’s not true,” he mumbles into your hair, a teasing smile evident when he squeezes you a bit too tightly, earning a discontent groan from you. “You know I’m always your Valentine. Forever and always your Valentine.”

To which your heart skips a beat, what is supposed to be an innocent comment evokes a foreign feeling in your tummy for the second time tonight. It was true, long ago you two had pinky promised in grade school that you’d always be each other’s Valentines, not knowing the true nature of the holiday at that time. It was a curse you clearly had to deal with for almost your entire life. 

As you attempt to push him away, his nimble fingers tickle your sides in an attempt to cheer you up. Jeonghan stumbles away from you when you successfully break away, loving the way you huff in frustration at his teasing, his impish laugh quelling the weird fluttering feeling through your body. 

“Shut up, Yoon Jeonghan,” you use his legal name, evoking an incredulous chuckle from him as you stomp towards the house. It’s a feeble attempt to get as far away as possible, trying to hide what you assume is an incriminating blush on your cheeks. 

“Slow down, Valentine,” he sing-songs behind you, following closely as you re-enter the house, and immediately pulling you in for a bone-crushing back hug, guiding you back towards your typical group of friends. 

Thankfully, you find Seungcheol in a much more sober state, but you almost wish he was long gone, face-down in his bed instead. Especially when his sharp eyes narrow in on you and Jeonghan, curious and analyzing as Jeonghan clings to you. It wasn’t out of the usual, it was just that Seungcheol started paying closer attention, and you felt seen for the first time ever during your friendship with Jeonghan. 

“You sure you’re doing OK?” Jeonghan asks, his voice low as he leans closer to your ear, making sure you hear him over the booming music. 

It was then you knew you absolutely were not OK. Regardless, you twist your body as best as you can in Jeonghan’s grip, head craning so that you're face-to-face with your best friend. His worried eyes indicate that he’s still concerned, leaving you to breathlessly (nervously) respond, “Yeah, I swear I’m OK. Thanks for always being my Valentine, Hannie.”

[lesb0]

I feel like wearing logos/handbags can only be chic and coolgirl if it's fake. As in, a product that luxury doesn't do, like, burberrt laptop stickers or lv plastic airpods cases. there's something so effortlessly IN about bootleg fashion trends which are spiritual successors of dapper dan. it was insane how he was like, I'm going to print the luxury bag logos on leather and sew them into CLOTHES. illegally marketing these on the street, logo clothes became a visual lexicon of signaling hood rich, street savvy, luxury hiphop in NYC, akin to sneakers, braids, iced out bling, high top fades. it was a whole crazy iconic fashion history moment. But just going to the store and buying the shit LV stole from Dapper Dan...... Well that's just tacky trashy and offensively gaudy. There's no metonymic synecdoche to communicate your coolness and connectedness to the 'black' market and New Yorker street culture, it just says "hi yall I went to the store" LOL

[muzzlemouths]

Part 1 of a oneshot based on @juicyyyboxxx's Valentine's Day art because it's lived in my head for months. so if this breaks your heart you have them to blame 💕

WC: 1400

The rejection is familiar. It bites like teeth on flesh, a deep and aching bruise, unseen, it offers no catharsis without the bitter taste of crimson beneath. Circuits sting and spark under plates of cold metal and a heart that tick tick ticks to a pre-programmed pulse. Alive by electric veins, each breath is painfully artificial. That's why they always leave, isn't it?

How silly it is to think this time might be different. Yes, silly, that’s what they always tell him. What a silly robot, with silly little feelings he himself doesn’t understand and a silly heart that goes 01100010 01100101 01100001 01110100 (beat) 01100010 01100101 01100001 01110100 (beat) 01100010 01100101 01100001 01110100 (beat).

He is exhausted by its rhythm. Disheartened each time a scraped knee leaks oil and not blood. It didn’t use to be this way, of course. This dysphoria of sorts is recent — a development which stems from not one rejection, not two, but a number that can’t be contained when counting on both hands. He is made to watch, not to keep. The children come and go. Their parents, too. His coworkers find him endearing, charming, amusing, silly silly silly silly silly.

But not worth staying for.

He tries writing letters, assuming (hoping) that it is his voice or maybe his face which scares them away. Maybe he can’t find the right words, and his hesitance is too ugly to bear. Maybe it’s a matter of not saying the right things, or not saying enough of them. Writing it down will fix this, he thinks, and so he gets to work.

The first letter isn’t good. No, no, it isn’t good at all. He tries it again. This one isn’t much better. That’s okay! He has plenty of paper, see, and all the time in the world to get this right.

Time swims through scribbled ink, his hours punctuated with each shake of his head and the crunching of paper, forced into a ball and tossed over the shoulder to be discarded at a later time. It’s terribly messy and goes against his very coding, but then again, so does this beating heart of his. So do these feelings.

It’s a bug, he thinks. A sickness. There must be something wrong with him, surely. He can’t think of another reason for this madness. There are butterflies where his wires ought to be, a warmth in his chest that no amount of fans can reckon with. He feels so strongly about this. About you. And this time, the letter is perfect.

It has to be.

If it results in that familiar sting once more, well, he doesn’t think he will have the strength to try again.

He spots your orange sneakers from across the room and makes towards them like a bee, high on hope, catching you by your name just as you reach the exit doors. Your heel turns to question him, and your smile is thin. Polite. You want to clock out and be home, already.

The paper in Sun’s hands is folded neatly, basic printer white. The adhesive of a red heart sticker keeps the letter in place. His fingers tap-tap-tap against it for one anxious minute before he works up the courage to hand it over.

“Seeing as it’s Valentine’s Day, a-and everything,” he sputters, “I thought– well, why don’t you just give it a look?”

For all the opinions Moon had to share over the hours that the letter was being written, he is decidedly quiet now, of all times, when his voice and companionship is arguably needed most. There is a shared stillness to the room that is perfect as much as it is daunting as the letter is extended.

His gears tense like a held breath when you raise an eyebrow in his direction. You take it with the patience one might expect from any other retail worker; which is to say, too much. Your breezy attitude has him fidgeting with twice the enthusiasm, and the reasoning behind his restlessness is lost on you.

A confession lies between folded paper, unbeknownst to you, ready to be heard if you will humor him and listen. Your eyes return to the letter with an inquisitive hum.

Taking little care in preserving it, you break his heart.

Sun watches on with quiet resolve as the sticker is ripped in two, and the paper unfolded. He dares not move or utter a word as your eyes look over the small poem written in crayola purple. Short and sweet, with the intention of making his feelings for you known without it becoming too cheesy, he thinks it gets the job done well enough. His best letter yet! This assumption is further bolstered when your mouth upturns into a lopsided smile, but he can’t quite read your face.

Then comes the laughter.

Short, curt, a quick exhale through your nostrils more than anything else, as though he’s just told a joke that you found particularly–

“Oh, Sun…”

The letter is returned to him with that same humoring expression on your face, and it is here where he realizes that the look in your eyes isn’t returned affection at all. It’s pity.

“This is very sweet,” you insist, nudging the paper forward a second time when he doesn’t immediately take it back, “but it’s not like that between us, right? I mean, we’re friends, but…you didn’t seriously think this would work out, did you?” Another laugh, and this one stings. “Don’t be silly.”

There is an echo of understanding between his code. Your words don’t offer him the kindness of sinking in slow, rather, they cascade through his audio processors like a slap to the face, one after the other.

There it is again. Silly, silly, silly. Yes, indeed, how silly it was of him to think he could ever be anything more than a hunk of metal in human clothes, pretending to be something he’s not. At the end of it all, it’s not his face, or his voice, or the words he is too scared to say. It’s him. Silly, silly him.

And he is not something that can be fixed with crayon words and sticker hearts.

“…Sun?”

“Of course!” He abruptly straightens with a vocal tick of metal on metal, swiping the letter from your hands as if it burned you. “Of course I wasn’t being serious,” he continues, “it was a joke — a joke! You know me, silly ol’ Sunny. Just thought I’d give you a laugh before you went home for the night, is all!”

Printer paper white folds neatly over shaking hands. You might have questioned it were you not in so much of a hurry to get home, but as it stands you have more important things to get to, and a subtle tremor isn’t too out of the ordinary for the animatronic, anyway. Old wires, if you had to guess. The company really ought to get that fixed.

���Good one,” you say, a third and final laugh spilling between your grimace. “Well, I should get out of here. Thanks for helping out today.” Your eyes flicker towards the exit, then back, again, to where he waits like a statue, unmoving and with that same ever-constant expression staring back. “See you tomorrow?”

Something clicks and buffers in his voicebox as he realizes you’re waiting for an answer, a thousand responses readying themselves between the silence, questions he’s never dared to ask. How is any of this fair? Is it in vain, all these hours and days and years spent toiling with words that go no where, and feelings he isn’t allowed to have? To run his circuits ragged chasing after a heart he can’t keep? Am I better off alone, he wonders.

“See you tomorrow!” He says instead.

You can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt rising in your chest as the door clicks shut behind you. He sounded so genuine, you might have actually believed it if he were in any way built to host those kinds of emotions. You assume that he’s just mimicking them, instead. Putting on a show like he used to do before the daycare became his new objective. And yet, the idea of an animatronic truly feeling anything in the way of love makes you smile just a little as you head for the parking lot.

“…What a silly robot.”

[taffycandyqt]

I was rewatching 2003 TMNT and I was suddenly reminded about Mikey's Turtle Titan persona. Imagine him having a back and forth thing with a femme fatale thief!Reader. They see their little thing like batman and catwoman but everyone else sees it as what it really is; two comic dorks doing a flirty larp.

OH BOY THIS IS GOING TO BE SO FUN TO WRITE! (She said before realizing she has to write flirting and has no idea how to do that) Still, anon, you're a genius. This is beautiful.

Masterlist

Request Rules

Villain to my Hero

While Michelangelo prefers to stick normal turtle ninja self Turtle Titan still makes an appearance whenever boredom hits. What he didn't expect to encounter was a beautiful seductress of a thief while on one of these expeditions. His brothers regret seeing you two interact.

2003 Mikey x fem reader

Oneshot

Fluff, crack

After his excursion with Silver Century Mikey decided to retire his Turtle Titian persona.

...mostly.

Look sometimes his brothers are BOOOOOORING okay?

Today was one of those day. So Mikey decided to suit up and hit the town. Might as well make the most of his alone time right? Protecting the citizens and all. Passing a small convince store is when he noticed her. A black sleeveless hoodie, hood up to obscure the face, black fingerless gloves, black jeans, and black sneakers. Duffle bag in hand speed walking away from the establishment.

That... was suspicious. And as the city's protector it was his job to investigate. He followed her on rooftops to avoid detection while she scurried along the side walk trying to get to her next location.

She swiveled into an alleyway, form still hunched over the bag. Mikey decided this was the time to engage. Leaping downward he corners her in the alley.

"HAULT THEIF! THE TURTLE TITAN IS HERE TO SAVE THE CITY!" He shouts.

She flinches. Quickly switching from spooked to confident she turns around to face him. Rolling her shoulders back and switching to holding the bag with one arm.

"Hault? What is this 18th century Europe?" She teases with a smirk.

"HA! You'll be happy it's not when your behind bars!"

"Mmhm. You sure you're allowed to do that?"

"What? Yes! I'm a super hero!"

"You don't look like any hero I've ever seen."

"That's because I work in the shadows," he tells you using his hands to frame his eyes while emphasizing 'shadows' with a deep gravely voice.

She hmms before walking up to him and carefully inspecting this 'hero'.

Mikey takes a step back.

"I will not fall victim to any of your tricks!" Mikey blushed

"No tricks," she told him, "just... THIS!"

She immediately took his cape and wrapped it around his head before making a break for it. By the time Mikey had composed himself she was no where to be seen.

"You may have gotten away this time villain. But the Turtle Titian won't go so easy in you next time."

And with that he returned to the lair.

The rest of the night Mikey couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned but she stuck to his brain like one of those impossible to remove paper stickers. Her pretty eyes as they inspected him. Her soft voice floating in the air as she teased him. And oh how she teased him! It gave him butterflies. The confidence in her body language. The smirk playing on her lips.

Her lips...

AND THATS WHERE THAT TRAIN OF THOUGHT ENDS!

After that night Mikey continued to go out every night as Turtle Titan. And every night he failed to catch her. Right as he thought she was within his grasp she's slip away with a wink, and more recently, a kiss on the cheek.

The others were getting a bit confused by Mikey's behavior. The way he insisted to go out every night. The amount of times he'd been caught leaving or returning in his Turtle Titian outfit. How he would skip movie nights just to go out for a couple of hours.

Splinter tried to talk to him but Mikey deflected. If any of his brothers confronted him about it he'd just tell them it was for extra training. It was clear to them they weren't getting anything out of him. So they decided to follow him one night. Close enough to not lose him, but far enough he wouldn't be able to detect them.

"Do you really think we need to follow him? I mean, what if it's private?" Asked Donny.

"What's private about going out in public dressed like a dork?" Raph turned to him.

"I'm just saying what if there's a reason he doesn't want us to know?"

"And what if that reason is that he got himself in trouble and he can't get out of it?" Leo stated, turning away from Mikey to look at Donny and Raph.

"Mikey has never acted like this before. Leaving every night, keeping secrets, skipping movie nights. Something is up and I'm worried it's not good," Leo told them.

Raph and Don stayed quiet about that and turned to each other.

"Well... whatever it is it probably has something to do with that store. He's been staring at it for a while now," Don told them.

They both agreed and looked to the store, and then back at Mikey.

"Do you think you can get anything on it Don?" Leo asked him.

"Way ahead of you Leo," Donny told him turning his laptop around for Leo and Raph to see, "It's a food pantry. They get a bunch of volunteers to help donate, sort, and package food that they hand out to anyone in need.

"Anything sketchy about it?" Leo said.

"Nope. I searched everywhere, even on crazy theory websites. Nothing," he told them shutting the computer and putting it in his bag, "This places record is cleaner than April's kitchen."

"Wow! That clears everything right up!" Raph snarked.

"Do you think he comes here every night?" Leo asked them slightly concerned.

"By the fast pace, short cuts, and carefully calculated movements he took to get here, I'd say it's a plausible theory," Donny answered him.

"Hey, guys, someone's coming out!" Raph motioned for them to come look.

They all gathered to watch as a girl clad in all black exiting the building. Large duffle bag in hand.

"What do you thinks in the bag?" Raph turned to Leo.

"I don't know. Donny?"

"Couldn't say. On the one hand there isn't much to take. On the other there is a lot that could be brought in."

Before they could come up with a plan of action though they heard Mikey screech. Just for a moment but loud enough that anyone near by could hear. Somehow the girl had left the bad at the entrance disappeared and then snuck up on Mikey, who now had his back facing the establishment.

"Donny, go check what's in there before Mikey notices us," Leo instructed.

Donny nodded and headed to the streets for the duffle bag. Raph and Leo however, had found themselves witnesses to a very bizarre (and frankly uncomfortable) interaction.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Another night, another failed attempted at arrest," you sauntered over to him checking your nails, "it's getting quite sad you know."

"The only thing sad here is you when I finally put you behind bars!"

"Uh-huh. And whens that gonna happen?" you questioned with a smirk on your lips.

You moved closer invading his personal space and looking right in his eyes.

"T- tell me what you're planning and it can be tonight," his voice much softer then before.

The closet proximity was making him weak in the knees. It always did. And you knew it too. You would always toy with him to see just how far you could go to get the best reactions. He always thought of what he could do or say to make you just as flustered as you make him but he was always scared he'd make a fool of himself.

"Stuttering doesn't make you a very intimidating hero you know," you sang in his ear before dragging your hand along his chest and walking away from him.

His skin prickled at the motion but he used everything in him to not show it. you took a seat on the edge of the building, feet dangling just barely above the roof floor.

"Well you should be a little more intimidated regardless!"

"Oh?"

"Yeah! For a criminal you don't seem very concerned with the super hero literally watching your every move!"

"HA! Maybe I would be it you actually took a swing at me."

"Took a wha-"

You walk closer again. Invading his bubble again.

"Go on. Hit me. Hit me and arrest me like you would a real criminal."

He stared at you. Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Should he? That was his whole reason for coming out here every night. Wasn't it? He didn't want to hit you though. Not with the way you looked at him. He wasn't expecting you to say that! Now he doesn't know what to do!

"But you see I know that no matter what I do or say, you won't," you told him as you slid both hands around his neck interlacing your fingers behind his head.

"You're too much of a good boy," you told him before punctuating your sentence with a kiss on is cheek and disappearing into the night.

Mikey stared awe struck at where you once where.

"..."

"What a woman," was all Mikey could say.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

As the girl bolted to the roof entrance door to leave, Donny returned to his brother's.

"I checked the bag and there was nothing suspicious at all in it. Just a change of clothes, water bottle, wallet, and some snac- wow. What happened up here?"

Raph's face was nothing short of applaud and Leo looked like he wanted to poor bleach in his eyes.

"I don't know and I don't wanna talk about it," Raph told him, "What else did ya get from the bag?"

"Oh. Okay... well, I checked her wallet and found her id. Her name is F/N L/N. I did a background check on her and turns out her dad owns the place and she helps out regularly. She closes up most nights."

"Well that was a huge waste of our night," Raph sighs.

"Well at least we know Mikey's not getting into any trouble," Leo told him as he started leading the way back to the lair.

"What HAS Mikey been getting up to though?" Donny asks him.

"Flirting." Raph deadpanned.