#they can't keep their hands off each other

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt3 of the Danny is the 99th attempted clone Tim made of Kon. Kon learns about Danny.

Relevant info: Kon was dead closer to a year and a half in this au, and this happens a few months after his revival.

[Pt2: here] [Pt4: here]

So Tim has admittedly been putting off meeting up with the Titans. Everyone has settled back into the new normal. Too much has happened for it to look anything like before, but the other 3 Titans have been hanging out semi-regularly, and Tim turns down their invites 3 of 4 times. He knows it's starting to hurt their feelings, and he hates that.

But... he's scared to admit he's a father now. A father to a clone of one of them. He's not sure how to bring it up. Cassie never asked if he was successful, probably just assumed he failed because there isn't a third Superboy flying around. Jokes on her. Danny isn't going to be a Superboy. He's not allowed to even think about being a hero or vigilante until he's 14 at the earliest, and Tim is going to help him find his own name if he chooses that path. He won't be a Robin or Superboy. He won't live in the shadow of those legacies if Tim can help it.

None of that is relevant for the here and now, though. Tim got Jason to babysit Danny and finally agreed to a hang out with the Titans. He asked Danny for his opinion first before making his decision and got the go ahead. So, Tim is finally going to come clean.

Tim barely makes it into the tower when he's tackled by his friends.

"Tim! You're here!" Bart cheers.

"Yeah, it's good to see you guys too. Sorry I haven't been very present." Tim fidgets. "I've been busy... I also haven't been honest..."

"Tim?" Cassie sounds concerned. And Tim just can't. He extracts himself from the puppy pile. He can't make himself give eye contact. He's sure his guilt and shame are written all over his body language.

"Tim, you can tell us anything." Kon sounds super genuine. Tim takes a deep grounding breath.

"Okay, let's do this like a bandaid." Tim finally looks at them, focusing mostly on Kon. "I have a son. He's technically Kon's, too."

He gets the dubious pleasure of watching his three idiots look at his abdomen, as if he gave birth.

"Why-? Kon, we never fucked!? What the fuck guys??" He sputters, waving his hands in front of him.

"Then how-" Cassie realizes. "Oh!"

"Oh?? What do you mean??" Bart is looking between them and vibrating in confusion. Kon is just looking like a confused and concerned puppy.

"Okay, so, I may have had a breakdown with everyone dying or going missing." Tim grimaces. "And while I was fully aware that even if I succeeded, it wouldn't be Kon, I still tried to clone him. And, um, I did manage to succeed in the end."

"Fuck, Tim.." Kon starts.

"Look, I was in a really fucking dark place and needed even just a piece of good I lost." Tim hugs himself, self loathing burning him from the inside out. "Everyone was turning their back on me, I just needed something, anything, to keep going."

"Fuck, I should have helped..." Cassie bites her lip, chewing on her guilty conscious.

"It's fine. No one was listening. Don't beat yourself up over it. You were in a bad spot, too." Tim gives a humorless laugh. "Danny was my 99th attempt. And my last attempt, if I'm honest. I could feel myself breaking more with each failure. On a fucking whim, I decided to make the 99th attempt a baby instead of trying for a teenager, and it worked. I fucked up a bit, I forgot to adjust the knowledge download to that of a 1 year old, but he was alive. He's the best thing to ever happen to me. I was scared to tell you. I'm sorry-"

"Tim.." Kon cuts him off, and Tim snaps his mouth shut. "I.. I'm honestly not sure how to feel about you cloning me, but I'd like to meet him. What's his name?"

Tim rapidly blinks back tears. "Aedan Drake, he prefers being called Danny. I.. I didn't add Kent because I don't trust Clark with him or give him an El name, I wanted him to understand kryptonian language and culture first. I... I also wanted Danny to be old enough to make the decision over his name himself. I don't want him to be treated like you were. The house of El were so awful to you."

"I understand, Tim." Kon steps towards Tim, "Can.. Can I hug you?"

Tim nods and is swept into a tight hug. He feels something give emotionally, and he sobs into his shoulder. "I fucking love him so much."

"Tell me about him." Kon says softly. He can feel Bart and Cassie hoving, unsure what to do, but unwilling to leave.

"He's physically around 3 now. He loves ghosts and space and named the wolf plushy I bought him on his first day alive Wulf." There's some chuckles over that. "He's sassy and petty, but insanely sweet and tries to help out with any and all tasks. I see so much of both of us in him. Nature vs Nurture is a messy bitch. You remember what I said my start as Robin was like?"

"How you had to babysit a grown ass man and force him into better habits?" Cassie snarks.

"Karma's a funny bitch. Danny started doing the same shit to me as soon as he figured out how to walk." Tim giggles. "Anytime we weren't in danger, he'd force me to take care of injuries and to eat and sleep. And I'd do it because what kind of monster denies a baby trying to be helpful... plus he gets really stressed and depressed if he can't help."

Tim grips the back of Kon's shirt. "I don't understand how he developed my people pleaser tendencies so early on. We were stuck on LoA bases when he first started doing everything in his power to help me. I was purposely being a little shit to our "hosts" at the time. So it wasn't a surprise that he developed a Robin's need to troll, but he only saw me be nice to him."

"The LoA??" Kon asks in alarm.

"It was a rough year..." Tim scowls. "And if I see Ra's again, I'm gutting him. B's rules be damned."

"What happened?" Cassie asks, suddenly a lot closer.

"He's a creep, a pedo, and a child abuser." Kon rubs Tim's suddenly very stiff back and shoulders. "I could handle him being creepy towards me. While gross and awful to have a disgusting 300 or something year old man trying to wife me-"

"Excuse me???"

"He WHAT?"

"-I'm more pissed I couldn't protect Danny. I don't know what that piece of shit did when I couldn't take Danny with me, but Danny is linked to the pit now. He luckily doesn't have pit rage like Jason, but he can calm Jason's pit and apparently glows according to Duke." Tim sobs. "I should have killed the man when I had a chance. I don't know what he did to Danny!"

"It's not your fault, Tim." Kon hugs Tim tightly, it's almost painful. "You were in a tough spot and doing your best to keep you both alive."

"Just focus on healing and moving on." Bart says while running a hand through Tim's hair. Cassie rubs both Tim and Kon's backs as Tim gets himself under control.

"Can.. can I meet him?" Kon whispers.

"I'd love for you to meet him." Tim sniffles. "He was nervous you'd hate him for existing. I apparently passed on my stupid anxiety. I couldn't quite get him to believe me when I told him he wouldn't be who you'd be mad at if you got mad. He wants to meet you, but I accidentally made the most jaded baby in the world."

"A Super raised by a Bat is going to be terrifying." Bart giggles. "We'll have to make sure he doesn't become a supervillain."

"Meh. He's too cute. If he goes evil, all he has to do is pout and he'll instantly win." Tim jokes, wiggling out of the hug. "Want to see pictures?"

There's a very strong positive response. The next 3 hours finds Tim showing off pictures and explaining the stories behind them, his team melting at how cute his son is. Tim feels the lightest he's felt in a while. He does have to promise Bart and Cassie to bring Danny over once Kon and Danny meet one on one first.

What Tim doesn't know is Kon is absolutely obsessed with and slightly horny over this parental side of Tim. He's fully daydreaming of the 3 of them living together and being disgustingly domestic the whole time Tim is showing off Danny. Cassie can tell what Kon is thinking about and is amused.

Once Tim leaves, the Titans go to the training room and fuck up some bots because of the rage they feel on Tim and Danny's behalf. They all agree to be as petty as possible to any LoA members they come across and to murder Ra's the moment there's an opportunity to do so without the JL knowing. Tim isn't the only unhinged one on this team. That's why they work so well together.

[myntrose]

12:11 am - sylus can't keep his hands off you (slightly suggestive, Sylus yearning lmao)

We all know how Sylus, despite his experience in guns and other weapons, still chooses to use his bare hands to fight? That's still crazy to me. We're not just talking about fighting normal people. He's throwing hands at people who definitely handle heavy artillery, wanders, machines and mechs that can gun anything down in seconds- despite all that he's still prefer a good beatdown instead.

Despite all of that, plus his workouts that consist of a lot of boxing, his hands are still pretty. It's unfair. Despite how rough and callous they are, he still takes great care of them, like a sculpture does with their own.

See, Sylus has always enjoys teasing and messing with you with his words. He likes the fact that all he needs to do is speak, and he can get a rise out of you. He even maintains his distance from you, ever so slightly, early on with your relationship.

But one day, when you both were walking around the city at night, you reach out for his hand. It's almost natural, an instinct, the way his hands wrap around yours so perfectly. You carry on with your walk, talking about whatever topic you had been chatting to him about. But you don't realize that at some point, all Sylus can think about is the way your hand feels so soft, so delicate compared to his- he thinks that if he was a piece of art he would be made of marble, and you of porcelain compared to him.

It doesn't matter if your hands are on the smaller or bigger side. His compared to yours are still huge, and it makes Sylus go crazy. He loves the way that his scarred and broad hands feel against yours. It's a rush he absurdly needs.

He thought that he would only feel like this with your hands. But the closer, physically and within your relationship, that you both get with each other, the more he realizes that no, it's not just yours hands that he's obsessed with, it's just you.

At night, when he's got you sleeping on top of him, he loves running his hands on any and every inch of your exposed skin. Running his fingers up and down your arms, rubbing your back, and going lower and lower until he physically has to stop himself- he realizes that just touching you alone is a bette drug than anything else the world has to offer.

On days that you offer to do his skincare, he pretends to not want it, but is secretly screaming for you to do so. He loves the way your hands massage his skin. The proximity between you two. He'll pull you closer and closer, his hands gripping your waist, until you're practically on top of him. Not like he ever minded that before.

He thinks that all these light touches were enough. That's what he thought for the longest time, until you both start to become more intimate with each other. The barrier of your clothes no longer prevent him from touching you, actually touching you.

Sylus would run his hands over every patch of skin, be there scars, stretch marks, moles, bumps, or freckles- he's committing everything to memory.

It's gone to the point where he subconsciously will reach out for you. He doesn't realize that all his stress and fatigue instantly go away the moment he makes contact with you.

God forbid you try to avoid his touch. One time, you've decided to prank him by avoiding his hugs. You swear you've never seen Sylus so moody. He looked so offended and borderline hurt, and it wasn't until you moved him to touch you that he bounced right back to his usual behavior.

Yeah, Sylus just yearns for you. Like how a dragon hordes his treasure, Sylus has the need to hold and keep you close too.

god I need this man rn. need him to use his hands on me WHO SAID THAT 🧏‍♀️🧏‍♀️🧏‍♀️🧏‍♀️

[oceantornadoo]

stunted dove, broken wings

slightly dark simon riley x sergeant medic f!reader

misunderstood crushes to enemies to lovers, toxic masculinity, dubcon, somno, smut

When Simon Riley finally gets you in his bed, you go kicking and screaming.

Your captain forces you to take leave after Johnny's scrape with death, and you pointedly refuse to tell anyone on the team where you're going. Too shaken to go home, you don't tell your family that you found a hotel to camp out in in London, paid for courtesy of a well-timed SAS Combat Medical Technician credit card. You spring for a nice one, hoping the room charges will piss off anyone reading them on the back end.

The first two nights you can't sleep, stuck with the image of the bullet in Johnny's torso when you tried to push him out of the way. Your hands, covered in his blood, slippery as you tried to maintain pressure against the wound. Screaming for your captain, your Sergeant, so desperate as to call out for Simon with a pained "Ghost". You wake panting, sweat dripping down your back, and watch the sun rise from your window.

The third night, you decide a drink is needed.

It's the shittiest dive bar in London, you think. The music speaker is tinny, your alcoholic cider is definitely watered down and the bar seat is a little sticky. Perfect to drown your sorrows, and potentially find some asshole you'll never see again to drown in as well.

The footie on the TV drones low, a never-ending stream of consciousness you focus on. You let it drown out the sound of Johnny wheezing under you. The beeping of medical machines when you got to the field hospital, the pale tone of his blood-drained skin. The rasping of his intubation tube, his throat bulging because of the plastic intrusion. The rabid look in his eyes when he finally woke, irrevocably changed because of you.

The game cuts to commercial. When you drag your eyes away and to your left, the empty seat is newly occupied by a man.

Prey for the night, hopefully.

"You watchin'?" He gestures to the screen with a beer bottle in his hands. You take in his buzzcut, the way his muscles don't fully fill out his t-shirt, his worn jeans. Good enough, though when you're surrounded by military men all the time, civilians seem to pale in comparison.

You shrug. "Men yelling at each other is background noise at this point." He raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised you didn't follow some unforeseen script. "That so?" He asks. You smile, thin and feline. "In one ear and out the other." You answer, turning so you face him instead of the bar. "That why you're talking to me? 'Cause I'm not yellin'." He leans closer, one elbow on the bar. You cringe to think of him putting his bare skin against the sticky faux-wood, completely unaware of his surroundings.

"I'm talking to you because I think you have something to offer me." You let your gaze fall down to his lap and trail up to his face, ending with a smirk. When he leans forward, the staleness of his Axe cologne hits you. You wrinkle your nose at the sliver of disgust in your stomach, but when you think of the empty room waiting, you decide to push through.

"I-"

A figure appears in the empty space on your left. Foreboding, like he should be wearing a dark robe and holding a scythe. You ignore it completely.

"Hey, man, we're talking. Can we get some space?" The brave, or stupid, stranger ventures, scanning your lieutenant up and down. "No." Simon grunts. You keep your head straight, refusing to engage. His presence is all-consuming, heat rolling off him like a furnace while his anger seems to heighten by the minute. "Thoughts on an offer?" You murmur, taking care to keep your voice steady. You turn your shoulder slightly towards the bartop so you don't have to keep seeing Simon in your periphery. The stranger copies you with hunched shoulders and disgust at his meekness rolls through your veins.

"You know this dude?" The stranger whispers, nodding over his shoulder. You follow his gaze, looking at Simon for the first time since he's arrived. You start at the top of his head, out in the open as he switched out his usual skullface for a black medical mask. The short blonde strands look like honey in the bar light. His eyes have remnants of eyeblack, giving the illusion that he just finished mining in a cave somewhere sinister. He's in his usual outfit of a black sweatshirt and dark jeans, but it fits him so unlike the stranger next to you. His shoulders stretch the sweatshirt impossibly thin while his thighs do the same against their denim confines. That cologne of his, a spicy scent usually mixed with gunpower or blood, is for once just that -- no heady mix of warfare to be found. You can still sense war on him though, in the hands that flex at his sides.

"Never seen him before in my life." You lie, biting down a smirk before it appears on your face. "Move." Simon orders and you sigh, turning so that you can leave the chair. Instead, a hand clamps down on your shoulder, keeping you rooted to the spot. The stranger takes the hint, scampering away back to whatever rat hole he came from. Simon takes his seat, dwarfing it with his sizeable mass of muscles and tension.

"Shouldn't lie, Sergeant. Bad look." He suggests, a mocking tone in his voice. You refrain from rolling your eyes, reminding yourself you're still in the presence of a superior, though technically as a medic, the lines are blurry. "I wasn't lying. I've never seen you as a civilian, Simon." You hum the syllables of his name, ones you've never let roll off your tongue. You've said them in your head thousands of times, ever since you peeked at his confidential medical file for some reason or another. Si-mon, haunting you with his arrogance on and off the field.

He tenses at the sounds of his name, one hand fisting against his thigh. You watch the veins pop and release as he tightens the leash he has on himself, a soldier to the very core. He breathes in then out, and suddenly it's like nothing ever happened. Simon scans the bar, the creaking of the lights and the debauchery of the clientele, before landing back on you. "Didn't expect you to be drinkin' in a shithole." He remarks. He fishes out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, some black battered thing with a skullface. "Think that's a little on the nose, Lieutenant?" You nod to the ghostface, holding back a snort. He looks down at the lighter like it's the first time he's seeing it. "Johnny gave it to me few years ago; Christmas gift." Your heart sinks at the mention of him. The brother-in-arms that you let get shot, didn't pull out of the way fast enough. The one who's currently sentenced to six months of PT and will probably be discharged after, forced into civilian life like a square peg into a circular hole. On that note, you check your pockets for your hotel key and phone. Once you've confirmed you have your stuff, you slap down some cash for the cider and get up out of your seat.

"See you later, Lieutenant." You walk past him, your knuckles brushing his knee as you fail to control your fast-paced walk. It's a bolt of lightning, Zeus laughing from somewhere above as you're unable to control the shiver down your spine. You keep your head up, continuing past him until you exit onto the backstreets of London. Cars honk and pedestrians yell and lights blare as you remind yourself that you're in regular society and not the battlefield. You turn left towards your hotel, walking briskly so you can speed up the inevitable.

Heavy footsteps follow you the entire time.

-

You don't try to push him out of the elevator when he gets in, only trailing by a few seconds. There's no point in making a scene and you definitely don't want Price hearing about this, his subordinates getting into yet another squabble about something inane. Instead, you stand there, resisting the urge to shift back and forth on your feet like you used to do before the SAS trained it out of you. Simon stands silently on your right, having to be the one to press the button of the floor. You don't tell him your floor number and he doesn't ask.

You've learned not to question these things.

He crowds your back at the door of your room, barely giving your arm room to fish your keycard out of your jean pocket. It beeps green and you push through, toeing off your shoes. He follows and you hear the audible click of the lock, all three available. "Shoes off," you snap when you hear him try to step on your carpet with god-knows-what on his boots. They thump loudly and suddenly it's quiet.

"I'll take first shift." He declares, shouldering past you to explore the room. You can sense when he takes in the extravagance you've allowed yourself: room service menus scattered, goodies from the spa service you had yesterday, bra and underwear draped over the chair in the corner. The only other place to sit, with all your outfits spread out, is the couch.

Simon approaches the chair without caution, grunting dispassionately as he gathers lacy items in one large paw. He scrunches them in his fist, as if to feel their weight, then tosses them on the couch. "It's a hotel, Simon, not a campout." You bite out. He's still standing in front of the chair, blocking your path to the couch where your pajamas lay. He's just so big -- taking up every aspect of your life and your room, the one week he wasn't even supposed to be here. Instead of asking him to move, which he clearly won't do, you shoulder past him. It's your shoulder and arm and leg against his own, burning with awareness that this is the most you've touched in a non-medical setting. He doesn't stop you, but he doesn't move either, simply watching as you grab the t-shirt and shorts you've been wearing to bed. Alone, they made a perfect pajama set. With how the sleeve of your shirt falls off one shoulder and the tiny barely-there size of your shorts, you could almost pretend you're a regular woman with a regular job, who didn't send her coworker to the hospital.

You wash the bar grime off you quickly in the bathroom, distinctly aware of being naked while your lieutenant waits outside. Towel, lotion, change, then it's time to brush your teeth. As you stick your bright pink toothbrush in your mouth, you remember how Simon seems to be here with no supplies. The drawer contains an extra white disposable toothbrush, and you snatch it and exit the bathroom without thinking.

He's practically naked.

Well, the most you've ever willingly seen. Only wearing a t-shirt and boxers, it feels illegal to see him like this. You've seen him naked, once: a bullet graze on his outer thigh. It was medical and fast and adrenaline-driven, no time to clock the tattoos that start on his arm and the scars that make themselves known everywhere else. The mask is off and you've seen his face too, but coupled with all this skin it's like a new man. And then you remember what he said and did and you hate him all over again.

"Here." You throw the toothbrush square at his chest, your words muffled by the toothbrush in your mouth. He doesn't say thank you, just looks down like you've thrown him a live grenade. You go back to the bathroom and finish up, ready to sleep this stupid day away. The lack of sleep has finally caught up with you and it's making you delirious, imagining that Simon's eyes were locked on your thighs when in reality, he was probably just caught off-guard.

Though he never really gets caught off-guard. He's the Ghost, after all.

You exit the bathroom and immediately beeline for the bed, ignoring how he walks into it after you like that's normal. Communal showers on base aren't the same as this, him using the same aloe vera hotel soap you did.

You turn off the lights, not caring if he can't see. Then it's ten minutes of shifting around in bed until the bathroom door opens and you stiffen like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't have. The chair in the corner creaks with his weight. When you peek out behind the sheets, you can see him lean his head back on the headrest, jaw sharp in the moonlight shining through the curtained windows. You hide yourself in the mountain of blankets and pillows and by some miracle, sleep.

A ticking bomb. Johnny shouting, Price in your ear, Ghost and Gaz lost somewhere in the building. Footsteps and yelling and the click of a safety turning off and you jump out from the corner, hands grasping at Johnny's legs as you try to drag him out of the way. The thud of a bullet hitting skin and you're reaching for your gun, aiming steady like how Price taught you and not hesitating like how Ghost showed you. It fires and Makarov crumples but Johnny's in your arms, blood everywhere and you can't tell if the bullet hit his heart but he's murmuring something in a language you don't understand.

Other medics arrive and they have to pull you off him. You're apologizing to empty air and the lieutenant brushes past you. You try to grab his arm and say sorry but he shakes you off, fire in his eyes.

"It's your fault, tech." Tech, the derogatory name some less grateful soldiers call you when you get in their way. Ghost's eyes squint under his mask. "Get out of my way before you get me shot, too."

You wake up crying and thrashing, tangled in sweaty sheets.

"You're okay, you're okay. Deep breaths, dove." He's half-straddling you, one leg pinning your lap down while the other stands straight on the floor. Bare callused hands cup your face, holding you firmly in place. You blink the tears out of your eyes, vision blurry and light nowhere to be found. The clock blinks 2:08AM at you, red and oppressive. He jerks your head away from the clock to turn back to what you assume is his face, but it's hard for you to see in the dark.

"It's my fault he got shot." You admit. You shake his hands off your face so you can swipe at your tears, palms against the underside of your eyes to stave off more sadness. "'s not. Was a stupid move he made." He replies, voice low and raspy with sleep. He was sleeping and you woke him up with your stupid, stupid nightmare. "You said it's my fault." You whisper, the true root of your tears. The man you thought might like you, might do more than tolerate your existence, blaming you for the near-death of his best friend. The one he calls a brother.

"I did." It's not a question, but you nod to affirm his words anyway. "And you called me tech." You add as an afterthought, embarrassed at how much you care. "I'm sorry, dove. Was mad and not thinkin'." You might've accepted that answer years ago. But you won't take it in the dark like this, not when he didn't offer it without prompting. "I'm going to bed." You reply, ripping yourself out of his arms. As you turn, instead of going back to his chair, he lifts himself over you and to the other side of the king bed.

"What are you doing?" You whisper-yell, trying to ignore how his warmth seeps into your bones despite there being enough room between you to not touch. "Sleepin'." He asserts like he's daring you to say no. You huff and roll your eyes, turning so your back is towards him. Exhaustion washes over you and you sleep again.

-

You wake again to a heavy arm around your waist and fingers brushing against the waistband of your shorts. "What're you doing?" You slur, sleepy and comforted by the warmth of him against your back. "Thought you were fuckin' Johnny. Tha's why I was mad." He murmurs against your skin. Your shoulder is bare, shirt slipped down, and suddenly there's pressure against it. Simon mouths at your bare skin, tongue laving at the sweat that's accumulated the whole night. "I hate you," you sigh, not pushing him away but not arching into him either. His fingers slip under your shorts and find your cunt sopping. He has to pry your thighs apart slightly to have room and you find yourself unable to resist. Rough fingers slide up and down your folds, petting at the soft curls there. He runs them against the seam of you but doesn't dip down in between, content to just feel.

He kisses into the crook of your neck, running his tongue brazenly across your skin like he owns you. "No, you don't." He corrects you in his Lieutenant tone. You don't respond, neither confirming nor denying, and it's enough to make him slip down between your folds. The angle is awkward, but his thumb finds your clit anyway, rubbing small circles as you jerk under him. His middle finger teases your hole, and he chuckles as it flutters under his attentions. "I know, baby, I know. It hurts, doesn't it?" He jeers. It hurts to be so empty, his fingers right there but not going in. "Simon." You whine, giving in. You muffle the last syllable into the pillow underneath you, turning your face inward. He doesn't like that you're hiding from him, growling as he has to make out with your neck and not your lips, so you open your thighs wider to compensate.

His finger slips in and it's like heaven.

He's bigger than your own fingers, thick for you to clench around. Now that he has more room, he experiments with angles until he finds the right one. It's all-consuming, his mouth on your neck and his thumb on your clit and his finger pumping in and out like he knows what's better for your body than you do. Your nipples are hard and with every movement they brush against the soft fabric of your t-shirt, just the right amount of friction and heat.

"Turn." You refuse, mainly to punish yourself for giving in when you're just so mad. His fingers slip out and you're cursing and he's yanking off the comforter and pulling down your shorts. Simon settles himself on top of you, one hand on your jaw so you're no longer face-into-pillow. He slips in two fingers and his thumb is back on your clit and you keen, hips bucking in contentment at being filled. A streak of moonlight hits his face, giving you a glimpse of blown pupils and a set mouth. It's you who closes the difference, feeling his lips on yours for the very first time. You're not sure who's more angry but it's him who bites your upper lip a little too rough, leaving you to gasp openly into his mouth. He takes the chance to slip in a third finger.

"Fucking bastard." You breathe into his mouth, core tensing as you stretch around him. He smiles against you, feral. "Need you prepped, dove." You kiss him to shut him up, bruising as your noses brush unkindly. He rubs harder and you flutter around his fingers, orgasm creeping up unexpectedly. He leans his weight into the next kiss and you break, clenching hard as your release makes you boneless under him. A low moan rumbles through you and you sigh, forehead pressing into his collarbone. "Take my cock out, baby." You shake your head at his order, too tired to follow. His fingers slip out and you sigh discontentedly. "I can't." You complain, body not obeying his commands.

Powerful hands grip your hips and flip you so you're face down. One of the pillows smothering you disappears and slips under your hips, tilting them upwards. A massive weight presses into your back and his forearms bracket your head where your head is turned to the side for air. Some fabric shifts and he pushes in, stretching you so wide until you combust. "Simon, it hurts." He slides to the hilt and you gasp, so full you swear your insides won't ever be the same. He pulls back and pushes in again, the slide easier than the first. "Relax and it won't, dove." He grunts next to your air, warm breath rasping against your ear. You force your muscle to relax, taking a deep breath. The next thrust is good and the next one even better, stuffing you full of him further and further. It feels peculiar, that spot inside you being hit with every thrust, something that's only happened once or twice.

"Feels funny." You slur, almost drunk with the weight of him on you and in you and all around like you'll never be alone again. "So tight for me, baby. Didn't think you would be so fuckin' sweet." You moan together as he hits a particularly satisfying spot, your hips arching innately. That spot inside you pulses and you feel the crest of another orgasm gathering inside, a rush of endorphins waiting to be unleashed. Your arms are tucked under your chin and you pull one out, scrambling until you find his hand. He laces them together, sweaty and slippery and a perfect fit. One more rough thrust sends you over the edge, walls clenching around his cock as you sink into the mattress.

"Fuck." Simon swears. A moment later, you feel warm liquid between your thighs and hide your face in the mattress, embarrassed to be so fucking expressive. "So good, baby. There you are." He calms you with an easy tone, skin slapping as he increases his pace. A moment later he eases against you back as heated cum fills your cunt, dripping out around his cock and onto the mattress. He crushes you with his weight and all it does is make you clench your thighs.

He squeezes your hand. You squeeze back.

-

shoutout to the post i saw about prone bone i can't remember who wrote it but it was very #inspirational

yes reader is a medic bc im still obsessed w the pitt

[captain-huggy-bear]

“how fucking dare you- i am married.” with clayton pls!

also, can i have this emoji 🍸? thanks! congratulations on 1k lottie, big accomplishment and loads to be proud of!!!!

Loyal king who doesn't even look at another woman when he's with you. Of course you can! Thank you <3

1000 Followers Celly Currently ongoing 🥳🎉 (please read the rules) Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

Clayton's not entirely sure why he even agreed to this, he's 5 beers in, definitely a little drunk and he has practice in the morning, but somehow Kess, Cools and Doaner (young and terrible influences) had convinced him to go out drinking.

Clay isn't really concerned with anyone else around him; he's barely noticed the group of young women who keep glancing their way and giggling. Not his scene, not his style, not when he misses you and how normally at this time he'd be in bed, your hands running through his hair, maybe tugging on his chain as he makes out with you for one last time before you both decide to go to sleep like you're 90 years old.

"Oh, she's a dime." It's Kess that says it, sounding like some sort of 1950s greaser wannabe as he looks towards a blonde at the end of the bar. She's twirling her hair around her finger and looking at them, Clay barely glances at her before turning back to his phone to check if you've messaged him since you said goodnight. Not yet...and he sighs heavily, a drunken sort of neediness to see you coming over him. God he misses you.

"A dime? Who even calls a girl that anymore?" Cools and Doaner team up on the larger guy, taking the piss out of him.

"Are you from the 50s?" Clay groans as the three go at each other because he can't handle this right now, he misses you and they're arguing over stupid ass terminology like a bunch of five years. His fault for going out with a bunch of single guys. Besides, if anyone is a dime it's you. You're a dime...the dimey-est dime to ever exist actually.

"So you think I'm wrong? She's not hot?" At this point it's obvious that they're talking about her, Clay can already see her considering whether to sidle up and he hopes she doesn't. Her eyes are flitting between all of them like they're all an option...he is not.

"She's hot, sure, right, Kells?" It's Cools attempt to include him that has him offended, taken aback as he aggressively gestures with his beer, it sloshing nearly over the rim of his glass.

“How fucking dare you- I am married." It's obvious that Cools and Doaner don't understand. They're young. Unmarried. Single. They can't comprehend how offensive it is to ask Clay, a married man, whether another woman was hot or not.

"So you've turned blind?"

"Why the fuck would I look at any other woman when this" Clay picks up his phone, lighting up the screen as he shows off his lock screen, a picture of you smiling as you hold the scraggly cat you'd forced him to let you adopt, "is my wife?"

"But, you can still find other women attractive...you're not dead."

"Listen to me carefully," He throws an arm around Logan, breathing too close to his face in a way that has Cools' scrunching up his nose at the beer breath, "when you fall in love....when you fall in love no one else is attractive anymore. I don't even comprehend other women. I just want my wife." God, when was the last time he found another woman attractive? He actually can't remember, he's been obsessed with you since day one, uninterested in anyone else.

He's getting messy, sloppy, a little soppy and his eyes tear up and Cooley pats him awkwardly on the arm like he's worried Clayton might start crying.

"A...are you okay, man?"

"I just...i'm really missing her, look," He unlocks his phone clumsily, finding his gallery and going throw each photo of you and him, "Isn't she pretty?" God, you're so pretty to Clay. If he were a cartoon Kess is pretty sure Clay's eyes would be heart shaped. He's a little envious honestly.

"Are you going to hit me if I say yes? or if I say no?"

"No! Yes! W-" Clay really is confused, his head is fuzzy, he feels a little sick and all he wants is to see you. God, don't you look so pretty in this photo? Oh, and this one too.

"Okay, cap...let's take that away," Kess reaches over and plucks the beer from Clay's hands, "you wanna see your wife, buddy?"

"Yes!"

"Okay, let's get you home then, c'mon," Kess sighs like he's dealing with a toddler rather than his fully grow captain, still, he helps Clay from his seat at the bar and the three of them make their way to the door. The entire time Doaner and Cools complain about the fact they could have scored a few numbers if Clay wasn't so whiny about his wife.

All Clay can think is that he's so excited to see his wife again.

You are less excited when a very heavy, very drunk Clay flops on top of you during your sleep moaning about how hot you are and how you're such a 'dime'.

[levanterhaze]

── GAMEBOY, BANGCHAN

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader praise kink, protected sex, rough sex, fluff & angst.

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[12.3k words ]♡― here we are, at the last chapter of gameboy. writing this series has been so much fun and having the opportunity to tell the stories i love to write is a privilege. i hope i don't disappoint you with this ending, that you understand each choice made for the characters. i also hope you continue to support me, this has been so special and welcoming to me, i can't thank you enough for everything. thank you for embracing gameboy, for continuing to read and for all your support. from the bottom of my heart. PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS!!!! that said, have a good read.

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡ [part one] ♡[part two]♡ [part three] ♡[part four] ♡[part five] ♡[part six] ♡[part seven]

'Cause I'm right here waiting for us 때로는 두려웠어 다신 오지 않을 것 같아서 두 손 꼭 잡은 채 그 어떤 순간이 덮쳐 와도 널 놓지 않을게

After all the chaos, the only thing that made sense was leaving.

So you did.

You shot Hyunjin a text, practically begging him to take you to the bus stop. He didn’t ask questions—he was too pissed off about the whole thing, ranting the entire drive about how it was bullshit that you had to be the one to go. In his mind, Eunji and Mingyu should’ve been the ones packing their bags.

And maybe he was right. But you were exhausted. Your body ached from the tension, your head was a tangled mess of emotions, and honestly? You just didn’t have it in you to fight anymore.

By the time you got back to campus, you had a plan—or at least, a temporary bandage disguised as one. You marched straight to the admin office and spun some tragic, half-true sob story about needing to “regain focus” on your studies. A few forced tears later — maybe slightly real ones— they handed you the keys to a new dorm on the other side of campus.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. You packed what little you had and moved in before anyone even realized you were gone.

And then you disappeared.

One day after another, like clockwork. No calls, no texts, no explanations. Just silence.

Your life has shrunk down to a routine: rehearsals, studying, sleep, repeat.

Hyunjin and Seungmin still tried to pull you out of your self-imposed exile, inviting you to lunch, cracking jokes at rehearsals to get a reaction out of you—but you always politely refused. You weren’t rude, just... distant. Like a ghost of yourself.

Bangchan had tried. Over and over. Messages sent and then deleted, calls he never made, moments of hesitation that stretched into frustration. He wanted to give you space, wanted to respect whatever it was you needed, but that didn’t make it any easier. Every time he saw you, it felt like his chest was caving in.

He’d even asked Hyunjin about you, but the guy was like a vault. Hyunjin wasn’t about to betray you—not even for him. “She’s busy,” was all he ever got. “Leave her alone, man.”

But how could he, when you were right there? When you were always the last to show up at rehearsals and the first to leave, slipping away before he even had a chance to try? It was torture. Watching you go about your life like he wasn’t part of it anymore. Like he never had been.

And it was worse because he could still feel you.

In his bed, between the sheets. In his hands, aching for your touch. In his mind, where your laugh and your voice were stuck on a loop, growing more distant with every passing day—like a dream he was trapped in, running but never getting anywhere.

And you wouldn’t even look at him.

If your eyes ever landed on him in the theater, they flicked away like it physically hurt you to see him. If you spotted him on campus, walking with the boys, you immediately turned your head.

So you buried yourself in anything that wasn’t him. Anything that wasn’t Eunji. Because thinking about either of them was the only thing more unbearable than being alone.

And Eunji—who didn’t even look at you, let alone speak to you. Every time your paths crossed, she barely acknowledged your existence, like you were something rotten in her periphery. A stranger. No, worse—something beneath her.

And that hurt. Maybe even more than Bangchan.

Because you’d believed in her. In you two. In the kind of unspoken loyalty that came with late-night talks, inside jokes, and secrets exchanged under dim dorm room lights. You thought there was sisterhood in that. Something unshakable.

But in the end, it was nothing. A mirage. A mist that vanished the second you tried to hold on.

A few weeks had passed and you were enjoying your own company in the library, an iced coffee and your headphones. You were studying your lines for the next class, until someone took the seat in front of you and your eyes looked up in surprise to see Sohee sitting with her arms crossed.

“Sohee.” you murmured, almost not believing she was there.

Sohee arched her brow, unimpressed. “Oh, so you do remember me.”

You blinked, scrambling for words. “I—of course, I do. I just—”

“Disappeared?” she finished for you, leaning back in her chair. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Guilt twisted in your stomach, but you kept your expression neutral. “I’ve been busy.”

She let out a dry laugh. “Right. Busy. Too busy to text? Too busy to tell me why you packed up and moved to the other side of campus?” Her eyes narrowed. “Eunji won’t tell me what happened. Neither will Hyunjin. Which means something happened, and I need you to stop bullshitting me.”

Your mouth went dry, fingers tightening around your coffee cup. The truth sat heavy on your tongue, bitter and unspeakable. 

What if she looked at you the way Eunji did? 

Sohee exhaled, her sharpness softening just a fraction. “Look, I don’t know what went down, but I missed you, okay?”

Your heart clenched. She wasn’t angry. She was hurt. And that somehow made it worse.

You put your headphones aside and took a deep breath, gathering the courage to begin.

So you started from the very beginning. Bangchan, the secrets, then Mingyu, Eunji finding out, all your emotions, the fight between Bangchan and Mingyu, and how completely broken you’d been ever since.

Sohee listened, her expression shifting from shock to disbelief. “That’s... insane. I can’t believe Eunji would do something like that.”

“I know.” You gave a small, bitter smile. “That’s why it hurts.”

“And rightfully so. She had no right to interfere in your life or come at you like that.” Sohee leaned on the table, eyes searching yours. “But please, don’t let this kill your spark. Everyone misses you.”

And you missed them too. All of them. Without exception.

“If you must know,” Sohee drawled, cocking her head with a little smirk, “I’d already kind of guessed there was something going on with you and Bangchan.” 

You shot her a look, but she kept going, unbothered. 

“I just figured you’d spill when you were ready. No pressure. Not my circus.” She shrugged, then narrowed her eyes playfully. “But seriously… you do like him, right?”

Your chest tightened. Because the answer was obvious.

Sohee gave you a pointed look, like she could see right through you. “Oh, come on. Don’t give me that I guess it doesn’t matter bullshit.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “It doesn’t.”

“It does.” She leaned in, voice low but firm. “You’re miserable. He’s miserable. And all of this is because of what? Miscommunication and some high school level drama?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah, it kinda is.” She shrugged. “You like him. He clearly likes you. But instead of dealing with it, you ran.”

“That’s not fair—”

Sohee held up a hand. “I’m not saying you didn’t have your reasons. I’m saying that if you keep avoiding it, you’re just gonna hurt yourself more. Let things cool down, sure. But don’t wait until it’s too late.”

You stared at her, words caught in your throat. Because the truth was, you were terrified. Terrified that if you faced him, he’d look at you differently. That the damage was already done.

But another, quieter part of you—the part that still remembered the warmth of his touch, the way he looked at you like you were it for him—wondered if maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late at all.

You were alone in the theater, the crumpled sheets of your solo scattered around you like forgotten love letters. You were dead set on nailing that high note — the heartbreak one, the kind that’s supposed to rip your chest open and bleed on stage. Humming through the first verse, you air-strummed like your life depended on it, lost in the rhythm.

“Am I crashing a rockstar's private concert?” Changbin’s voice broke through your focus, making your head snap up so fast it almost hurt. He was in his basketball jacket, the team logo front and center, and that usual mischievous grin was pulling at his mouth. He stepped closer, then plopped down next to you on the edge of the stage like he belonged there. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You’re fine.” You flashed him a crooked little smile as you scooped up the sheets from the floor. “I’ll just pretend you weren’t suspiciously wandering the theater.”

“Busted.” He lifted both hands in mock surrender. “What can I say? If you hadn’t pulled a full-on undercover mission and vanished from campus, I wouldn’t have to play detective just to track you down.”

You shot him a look. “Busted.”

His smile softened a bit, but it didn’t reach his usual brand of easy humor. Changbin had always been the steady one — loyal to Bangchan, to the whole group really. But right now, there was something quieter in him, like he’d pocketed the jokes for later.

And even though you kept your expression cool, you felt it too — the weight of whatever he wasn’t saying yet. “The guys miss you, you know that, right?”

His voice was casual, but it landed heavier than he probably meant it to. You dragged in a breath, sharp like it might actually clear out the guilt clogging your chest. 

Spoiler: it didn’t. You’d gone ghost on them, the second life got messy, and there was no pretending otherwise.

Before you could open your mouth, probably to spit out some lame excuse, Changbin raised a hand like he could see it coming from a mile away. “And no, before you even ask, he didn’t send me,” he said, shooting you a knowing look. “Didn’t even bring you up. But it wasn’t rocket science, you know? Mingyu stormed off, then Chan showed up looking like he lost a bar or something.”

You winced. “Bin… I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” He shook his head, like that wasn’t what he came here for. “This isn’t a guilt trip, alright? Whatever Mingyu pulled, he had it coming. Trust me, no one’s crying over him.”

A pause. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

You straightened up, catching the shift in his tone. Less playful, more real. The kind of real that you couldn’t dodge even if you wanted to.

“I’m just—look, I’m just trying to knock some sense into both of you,” Changbin went on, like he’d been carrying this around too long. “I don’t know all the details, and honestly? I don’t need to. But I do know my best friend’s been walking around like the lights are on, but nobody’s home.”

Your chest tightened, the words slipping past your guard way too easily.

“And I’m not saying this to dump it on you, okay? I swear,” he added, catching your expression before you could speak. “It’s just... he’s a mess. And it’s not just the basketball thing, or the usual stress — it’s you. He misses you. Bad.”

The way he said it — simple, no drama, no exaggeration — hit you harder than any speech could’ve.

And you hated it. You hated that part of you wanted to hear it. You hated that it hurt more than you expected. Because deep down, you already knew.

“I’m only doing this because he’s my guy,” Changbin started, running a hand through his hair like this whole conversation weighed more than he let on. “Chan’s always been the one to clean up after the rest of us, you know? First to show up with advice or some half-baked plan to save the day.”

You tilted your head, a small smile sneaking onto your lips despite yourself. Classic Chan.

Changbin caught it, and his own grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, softer this time. “Yeah, exactly. And when he met you? Man, it was like someone turned the lights on in his head. Swear to God, I’ve never seen him like that. He was just... lighter.”

The way he said it twisted something in your chest, but you held his gaze, letting him finish.

“What I’m saying is,” he went on, “even if you two don’t go back to being, like, whatever you were before—” he waved a vague hand between you, “—at least talk to him. He’s stuck in that ‘she hates me, so I better give her space’ spiral, and you know how Chan is. He’ll bury it to do what’s best for you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how much that stung. “Wait... so he doesn’t hate me?”

Changbin actually laughed at that, a real, rough-around-the-edges laugh. “Hate you? Please. I don’t think that man has it in him, even if he tried.”

Your fingers tangled together, fidgeting without you meaning to. The truth slipped out before you could stop it. “I care about him. I really do.”

“Yeah,” Changbin said simply, no teasing this time, just plain fact. “I know you do. And I know you’ll figure this out.”

After a beat of quiet, Changbin pushed himself up, casually brushing nonexistent dust off his jersey like he’d just wrapped up something way more dramatic than a heart-to-heart.

“Thanks, Binnie,” you said, flashing him a crooked smile as he gave you an overly formal little bow.

He started toward the door but paused right at the exit, glancing back over his shoulder with that familiar spark in his eye. “You know I love you, right? But if you mess with my best friend’s heart, I will write the nastiest diss track you’ve ever heard. Full production. No skips.”

That earned a laugh out of you, real and warm. “Gonna throw in choreography too?”

He smirked like you’d just dared him to. “Obviously. Backup dancers and everything."

And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall, his voice echoing back as he called out, “You’re not getting off that easy!”

And just like that, you were alone again—surrounded by a whole storm of thoughts you weren’t quite ready to untangle.

You’d swallowed that whole conversation with Changbin like it was a bad shot of cheap tequila — still burning in your chest, still impossible to forget. And yet, life rolled on, dragging you with it while you kept trying to figure out when the hell would be the right time to talk to Bangchan.

Problem was, the whole thing still felt like an open wound — not bleeding anymore, but definitely not ready for anyone to poke at it either.

Sohee was in your new room, fussing with the straps of her dress in front of the mirror. The place wasn’t as roomy as the one you used to share with her and Eunji, but it did the job.

“I talked to Eunji," Sohee said, swiping mascara on with laser focus. "Well — argued is probably the more accurate term. She wouldn’t even let me finish when I tried to tell her she was being a bitch."

You were sprawled across your bed, cozy in your oldest, softest pajamas, like this whole conversation wasn’t tying your stomach in knots.

"I didn’t want you two fighting because of me," you muttered, playing with the hem of your sleeve.

Sohee whipped around, one eye still missing eyeliner but her energy fully charged. “Please. I’m morally allergic to bullshit. What she did was a straight-up foul. And until she figures out how to act like a halfway decent human being, maybe it’s time we put that friendship on ice.”

You sighed, a tangled mess of guilt and low-key relief knotting in your chest. "Yeah, well... it still kinda sucks."

“Everyone’s gotta make their own choices…” Sohee went back to her makeup like it was no big deal, but then spun around again, narrowing her eyes at you. “Speaking of choices… you’re really not going to the game? It’s the final. Literally, everyone’s gonna be there.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh and flopped onto the pillows like your life depended on it.

“Yeah, hard pass. Not in the mood to humiliate myself in public, thanks.”

“Girl, come on,” Sohee groaned. “This is your perfect excuse to finally talk to Bangchan and fix things. I know he’d love to see you there, especially at his last game this semester.”

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know… Feels like showing up would just make it worse.”

Sohee snapped the mascara shut like it personally offended her. “Stubborn as hell, I swear. Fine. Just—promise me you won’t do something you’re gonna regret later, alright?”

“I know, I know,” you waved her off, a little smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll figure it out when the time’s right. Go have fun, kiss your boyfriend, and drink an unreasonable amount of beer in my honor.”

She grabbed her bag off the bed, but before heading out, she paused at the door and shot you a final look over her shoulder. “Last chance. Are you sure you’re staying?”

“Yeah. Have fun at the game,” you said, forcing a half-smile.

Sohee shrugged like she’d expected that answer. “Alright… I tried. Don’t say I didn’t.” She shot you a quick grin over her shoulder as she headed out. “Catch you later!”

As the minutes dragged on, boredom hit you like a brick. Your brain was way too wired to even think about running lines for the play. You tried putting on a movie, but you zoned out every five minutes and had to keep rewinding just to figure out what the hell was going on.

That’s when you decided: screw it. Time to hit the campus café and drown your existential crisis in hot chocolate and maybe the most sugar-loaded cupcake you could get your hands on. Comfort food therapy, top tier.

You threw on some cute but cozy clothes, something to shake off the emotional slump clinging to you like a bad ex. Skirt, sweater, your trusty boots — the holy trinity.

The second you stepped outside, it felt like the whole weather system had joined your pity party. What started as a light breeze had upgraded to full-blown dramatic gusts, and the sky was throwing major moody vibes with all those gloomy gray clouds.

The cafeteria was basically a ghost town. No surprise there — most people were off hyping up the basketball final, the very game everyone had been pushing you to go to. But showing up last-minute just to cause a scene was so not your style. If you were going to fix things, you’d do it on your own terms, not crash the party like some soap opera twist.

Inside, the café was warm but dead quiet. The staff looked just as miserable as you felt, probably counting down the seconds till they could ditch work and catch the game too. You kind of felt bad for bothering them. Kind of. But hey, desperate times. Your soul needed sugar before life threw another plot twist your way.

You went for the hot chocolate — obvious choice — and threw in a slice of strawberry sponge cake for good measure. Not exactly a gourmet pairing, but at this point, flavor combos were the least of your problems.

You slid into the table by the window, pulling out your phone like it could somehow save you from your own restless brain. 

Sohee had just posted a story: her, Minho, and Felix, all grins and mid-cheers. Typical. You kept scrolling, letting the endless stream of everyone else’s highlight reel wash over you. Felix, Jisung, and Hyunjin had apparently hit up a barbecue place recently, and yeah — that one stung. Hard. Like a punch right in the ribs, just above where you’d been keeping all your unresolved guilt.

Brilliant. Love that for me.

“Hey.”

The voice snapped you out of your spiral so fast you damn near fumbled your phone like it was evidence in a crime. Guiltily, you locked the screen and glanced up.

Mingyu stood there, iced coffee in hand, wearing that soft, easy smile.

“Hi…” you answered, a little awkward. He hadn’t exactly been on your recent contact list either.

"Can I sit?" He gestured at the chair across from you. "I won’t take up too much of your time, scout’s honor."

You nodded, curiosity getting the better of you. Might as well — it’s not like you were killing it at the whole “alone with your thoughts” thing anyway.

“You kinda vanished,” Mingyu said as he set his coffee down and folded his arms casually over the table. “Haven’t seen you around at all.”

You let out a humorless little laugh, more of a scoff really. “Didn’t exactly feel like I had a choice.”

“I see,” Mingyu exhaled, slow and steady, like he was gearing up to unload something heavy. “Look, I’m really sorry about everything. Honestly. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, coming out swinging at Bangchan like that.” He shook his head, as if still baffled by his own actions. “That’s not me. At all. And I’m sorry for dragging you into the mess.”

Well. That was... unexpectedly nice of him.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected — maybe some half-baked excuse or him brushing it off — but an actual, straight-up apology? Kind of refreshing.

“I should’ve seen it, you know?” He gave a small, hollow laugh. “The way he looked at you... yeah, it was pretty obvious. Can’t really blame the guy.”

There was a flicker of something in his smile, something resigned and maybe a little bit sad.

 “I’m sorry for hurting you,” you added, softer this time.

He shrugged, a wry twist to his lips. “No need. Things happen the way they’re supposed to, right? We had a good run. And well... I guess that’s it.”

“No hard feelings?” he asked, reaching his hand across the table like he was closing a deal.

You didn’t even hesitate — you took it, gave it a firm squeeze. “No hard feelings.”

“Right.” He nodded, like it was the final period of a sentence. Then he got up, grabbed his coffee, and shot you a parting smile. “I—I just hope you’re happy.”

And just like that, Mingyu walked out through the glass doors, disappearing across campus like he was just another passerby in your life. It wasn’t until the door swung shut behind him that his words really hit you, settling deep in your stomach like a lead weight.

I hope you’re happy.

And you weren’t happy. Not even close.

The brutal truth? You had no one to blame but yourself. Every twist, every wrong turn, it all traced back to your own fear, your own hesitation. If you’d been just a little braver — if you’d let people in instead of keeping them at arm’s length — maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe you’d be happy.

The cruel part? It took hearing it from Mingyu to finally see it for what it was. It was always you.

Your half-eaten cake sat abandoned on the table, the hot chocolate cooling into something sad and forgotten. Without thinking twice, you pushed back your chair and stormed out of the café, straight into the chaos waiting outside.

The wind hit you like a wall, and then, as if the universe was feeling especially theatrical today, fat, icy drops of rain began to fall — fast and merciless.

Karma? Maybe. Challenge accepted.

You didn’t slow down. You ran.

Your biker boots pounded against the slick grass, water splashing up your legs as the rain came down harder, so heavy it blurred the world into a messy watercolor. But you didn’t care. You weren’t stopping now — not when your heart was finally awake after pretending to sleep for so long.

The gym was all the way across campus, of course it was. Far enough that you were completely drenched by the time the courtyard came into view. Your chest heaved with every breath, burning like you’d sprinted through fire instead of rain. Your clothes clung to your skin, soaked to the bone, and your hair stuck to your forehead, your cheeks, your neck — like the rain wanted to wear you down.

But you kept going. You had to get there. No matter how soaked, no matter how late.

You had to.

You squared your shoulders, puffed out your chest like you had a whole army at your back, and stomped straight toward the gym doors. No hesitation. Okay — a little hesitation. Your heart was doing somersaults in your chest, adrenaline crashing into nerves like they were fighting for control.

But you pushed the doors open anyway.

Only to be greeted by... absolutely no one.

Just the janitor, casually mopping the far end of the court like this was any other boring Saturday.

Your pulse stumbled, like it tripped over itself. No way.

You yanked out your soaked phone, fingers slipping against the drenched screen, and checked the time. Way too late. The game had ended — you’d missed it. They were probably already at some bar downing cheap drinks and yelling over greasy plates of fries, and here you were, a walking raincloud with nothing to show for it.

Your thumb hovered over Sohee’s number, ready to call, beg, something — but before you could hit the dial, a voice cut through the empty court.

“Your plan is to flood the gym or what?”

Your heart flat-out stopped.

Slowly, you turned, every inch of you shivering from the rain and a healthy dose of panic.

Bangchan.

He was right there, leaning against the entrance like he hadn’t just flipped your entire internal system upside down. His hair was a mess of wet strands, some falling over his forehead in a way that should’ve been illegal.

Your mouth went dry, brain buffering like a bad connection.

"I'm... um... a little soaked," you managed, glancing down at yourself and the puddle spreading beneath your feet. A tremor ran through you, part chill, part nerves, leaving your words thin and shaky.

Bangchan gave a quiet, amused breath — almost a laugh, but softer — before he started walking toward you.

It was only then, as he drew closer, that you really saw him. His hair had grown longer, the damp curls now brushing the nape of his neck, framing his face in a way that felt painfully unfair. Draped over his shoulders was a black jacket, the kind that made him look like he’d stepped right off a movie scene.

"What are you doing here?" Bangchan’s voice cut through the hollow echo of the gym, roughened by surprise but threaded with something deeper.

With one simple movement, he removed the jacket from his shoulders and placed it over yours. You gulped, the words knotting in your throat. "I—I'm leaving," you managed, barely above a whisper.

"You're leaving?" His brows pulled together, like the thought alone caused him genuine pain.

Instinctively, you took a step back, clutching his jacket tighter around your soaked frame. Coward. Even now, even with him standing right in front of you, you were slipping into old habits, retreating when you should be reaching out.

Bangchan tilted his head, eyes flicking over your rain-soaked figure. "You really think I’m gonna buy that? After you ran through a damn storm to get here?" His voice was low, rough around the edges, but his gaze was soft.

Your throat felt like it was closing in on itself, your breath turning shallow and uneven. "I thought the game was still on," you confessed, your voice small, almost childlike.

"It ended early," he said, his tone softening. "Thunderstorm warning." He gestured toward the windows, where the rain continued to batter the glass in relentless sheets. "Most people cleared out fast. But I stayed behind."

Why? you wanted to ask. But maybe you didn’t need to — his eyes already told you everything you needed to know.

"You stayed," you echoed, almost in disbelief, as if saying it aloud would make it real.

He stepped closer, his gaze dipping to your hands, which clung to his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you afloat. When his eyes met yours again, something flickered in them — something deep and quiet, something that felt dangerously close to hope.

Bangchan’s gaze didn’t waver. "You came here for a reason," he said, his voice rough at the edges. "So stop pretending you didn’t."

Your heart twisted painfully, tangled in the unsaid. The truth clawed at your chest, desperate to surface. I wanted to see you. I wanted to stop running.

"I..." But your voice trembled, fragile as glass stretched too thin.

Bangchan’s expression softened, like he could see straight through the façade, like he saw every crack you were trying to hide. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached up and brushed a damp strand of hair from your cheek. His fingers were warm against your chilled skin, and despite yourself, you leaned into his touch.

"You’re freezing," he murmured.

"I'm fine," you lied, even as your body betrayed you with a violent shiver.

A faint, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Liar."

"I need to ask you something," you said, your voice tighter than you wanted. "That night on the beach… were you serious? About everything you said?"

His expression twisted, disbelief written all over him. “Really? Really? Don’t waste my time pretending you don’t know.”

You let out a breath, sharp through your nose. Fair enough. But you had to say it, get it off your chest before it ate you alive.

"I messed it all up," you admitted, the words tumbling out. "I kept telling myself I didn’t care what people thought, like I was above all that crap. But it turns out I care. Way more than I should. And that fear? It had me choking on my own feelings."

You risked a glance at him. He was watching you like you were the only thing left in the world worth looking at. No interruptions, no sarcastic quips — just quiet focus.

"I mean, you were— God, you were so good to me," you kept going, voice thick with regret. "And I think I freaked out because I’d already fallen for you way before I let myself admit it. Like, properly fallen. And that scared the hell out of me because I never thought I’d actually… like you. Not like this."

Your throat tightened, a painful lump that wouldn’t go away. "I liked everything. Being around you. Talking to you. Even the way you annoyed me." you smiled softly.

Your eyes stung, tears slipping free, but you kept going like you couldn’t stop. "I hate what I did to you. I hate that I messed this up beyond fixing it. And I know it’s too late... yeah. I get it. I understand."

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, words tumbling out too fast. "I just needed you to know, before I go — I’m sorry. For everything. You didn’t deserve any of it."

Your breath hitched, but you met his eyes anyway — full on, no flinching. "I’m so sorry."

Tears blurred your vision as you crossed the court toward the exit, not even bothering to shield yourself from the rain. What was the point? You were already soaked, inside and out.

You let out a choked sob, hating yourself for being such a coward — for always running when it mattered most.

“Wait—” Bangchan’s voice cut through the downpour, rough and almost swallowed by the storm.

You froze, eyes narrowing against the sheets of rain, blinking fast to see through the water streaming down your face.

“Wait," he called out again, sharper now, like the rain itself had finally lit a fuse. "What gives you the right to drop that on me and just walk away?” His anger was written all over him, carved deep into the lines of his face.

"What?" you shot back, breath catching, but the storm swallowed your voice, forcing you to yell just to be heard.

Bangchan raked a hand through his soaked hair, slicking it back as he stepped closer, chest rising fast, like he couldn’t breathe right with you this far away. "You’re running," he said, rough and tight. "Running from me. From us. Again."

And hell, he wasn’t wrong.

"Everything I’ve done," he said, the words rough-edged and raw, "since the second I met you — it’s been about you. Always you." He caught his breath, like saying it out loud made it real. "Because I wanted you. More than anything."

The confession hit like a punch to the ribs, sharp and breath-stealing.

"Since Hyunjin introduced us and you barely noticed I existed," he kept going, like he couldn’t stop now. "Since you breezed right past me without a second thought. Since you crashed into my life and wrecked every single thing I thought I had figured out."

Your heart was beating out of rhythm, too fast for your own body to keep up, like it was trying to outrun the storm — or maybe run straight to him.

"You don’t get to stand there and tell me it’s too late," Bangchan shouted over the rain, his voice tearing through the downpour like it had something to prove. His eyes burned so bright, it almost hurt to look at him. "Not when I’ve been standing here this whole time, heart wide open, just waiting for you to see me."

His chest heaved, rain sliding off him like he didn’t even notice, like all he could see was you. "I’ve been waiting for you," he said, softer this time, but it was the kind of softness that carried weight. Heavy. Unshakable. "So if you want me — really want me — you’ve got to say it. I need to hear you say it."

The storm raged around you, but it felt like the eye of it had landed right here, right between the two of you. Your pulse throbbed in your ears, every muscle strung so tight you could barely breathe.

This was terrifying. This was exhilarating. This was everything you had been too scared to want.

Your lips parted, but for a heartbeat, all you could do was try to swallow the lump in your throat. Then, steadying your breath, you let a small, shaky smile tug at the corner of your mouth. A flicker of defiance, maybe even a little hope.

"Bangchan," you said, your voice rough but sure, "there’s never been anyone else. It’s only ever been you."

There wasn’t a second of hesitation when your lips found his — only the wild, breathless certainty of two people who had run out of ways to pretend they didn’t need this.

The desperation between you felt electric, almost feverish, like your skin couldn’t decide if it was burning or freezing in the rain. You’d never felt anything like it — like the whole world had finally spun off its axis and was crashing headfirst into this moment. Into him.

When his hands, just as cold and trembling as yours, cupped your face like he was terrified you might slip away, you gasped, a sharp breath of shock and longing tangled together. Bangchan made you feel reckless. Young. Like you were caught in the middle of one of those ridiculous romance high-school movies you always scoffed at, the kind where the girl lifts her leg during the kiss — and for once, you understood why.

This kiss, soaked to the bone and laced with every scrap of resentment and longing, felt like proof. Proof that what you had wasn’t just real, but unstoppable.

You clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the earth, fingers fisting in his drenched shirt as the rain poured over you both, careless and wild. And still, beneath the chaos, something pure unfurled in your chest — something terrifyingly beautiful, raw and undeniable.

Bangchan kissed you like he was starving, like he had been starving for you. He deepened the kiss, tasting every inch of you like it had haunted him in dreams and in every quiet, aching moment you’d spent apart.

It wasn’t new, this hunger — you’d felt it before. But tonight, in this storm, in his arms, it felt entirely different. Like you’d finally let yourself give in to the fire you’d been dancing around for far too long.

How you ended up sprinting down the hallway with soaked shoes that squeaked like a bad joke didn’t even matter at this point. Thunder growled overhead like it was personally offended by your existence, and Bangchan was fumbling with the dorm keys like his life depended on it.

“Could you not kill the key while you’re at it?” you shot at him, half breathless, half laughing despite the anxiety twisting in your stomach.

“I'm trying, damn it,” he muttered, jamming the key into the lock with a speed that was both impressive and completely ridiculous.

The door finally gave in, and the two of you stumbled inside, drenched to the bone. The room was dim, only lit by the bruised grey daylight leaking through the window, and for a second, the world just... stopped spinning so fast.

You didn’t even think about it. Your hand found his face like it belonged there — like you were tracing something ancient and sacred, a statue carved by the gods, Apollo himself if Apollo wore wet hair and a breathless grin. Your thumb brushed his cheekbone, and you caught yourself smiling, then sinking your teeth into your lip to hold it back.

Bangchan swore under his breath, like your touch was enough to short-circuit his whole system. He closed his eyes for half a heartbeat, then caught your hand in his, holding it like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I missed you…” you admitted, your voice low and honest, like the words had been burning a hole in your lungs.

Bangchan’s breath hitched. He caught your hand gently, his fingers wrapping around yours like he was scared you might vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough. His eyes — god, his eyes — they searched your face like you were something holy, like every answer he’d ever wanted was written in the curve of your smile.

He kissed your knuckles, slow and passionate, and that tiny gesture nearly undid you. The way he was looking at you sent a shiver down your spine. Tears pricked behind your eyes, not from sadness, but from the insane, overwhelming relief of finally feeling. Like your chest had cracked open and light was pouring in, fierce and free.

And damn, it felt so, so good to finally breathe again.

The best part, freedom didn’t need an invitation — it just showed up, slipped right between you two like it belonged there all along.

And then, his lips found yours. No hesitation, no second-guessing, just there — warm and certain and carrying every shred of doubt far, far away. If those questions still existed, you sure as hell weren’t looking for them.

Bangchan kissed you like he knew. Like he knew exactly how long you’d been waiting for this, and he wasn’t about to ruin it with panic or rush. He was careful, but not shy — calculated without making it feel forced, a perfect balance of hunger and restraint that made your heart stutter in your chest.

This wasn’t reckless. No, this was something else entirely. This felt like he was handling something precious, like you were made of glass and he wasn’t sure if you’d shatter or melt in his hands. Maybe a bit of both.

Your arms looped around his neck, a familiar move, but now it felt charged. You’d always been secretly obsessed with how he towered over you, how his presence alone seemed to wrap around you like a second skin. Like gravity had picked favorites and he was yours.

Without even breaking the kiss, you found the hem of his drenched T-shirt, fingers brushing over cool skin as you tugged it upward. He caught the hint, helping you pull it over his head in one smooth motion before tossing it somewhere behind him like it didn’t matter — because it didn’t.

The jacket he’d draped over your shoulders slipped to the floor with a quiet thud. Your lips were still tangled in his, tasting rain and fire and something dangerously close to forever. Every brush of your mouth against his felt like a spark in a storm, friction building and building until you were certain you’d catch flame.

You didn’t know how long you’d been kissing him, and honestly? You didn’t care. All you knew was this moment — soaked skin, racing pulse, and the wild, breathless certainty that whatever this was between you, it was finally, finally real.

Before he even thought about sitting down, Bangchan stripped off every soaked, useless layer like it personally offended him. His shirt hit the floor with a wet splat, followed by the rest, and then he dropped onto the edge of the bed like he owned the damn place — which, technically, he did, but still.

You stood between his knees, and for a second, it felt like the air got thinner.

Slowly — painfully slowly, because he had to know exactly what he was doing to you — he tugged your skirt lower, knuckles grazing your skin like it was an accident. His fingers made quick work of your boots, then your sweater, all without breaking eye contact. His gaze had this impossible mix: soft but hungry, steady but burning with something you couldn’t quite name. Like you were some kind of inevitable he’d been waiting for without even realizing it.

Without a word, he curled his hand around the back of your thigh and coaxed you onto his lap, like you were gravity and he didn’t stand a chance. You went willingly — of course you did — knees bracketing his hips, your palms finding his shoulders, solid and warm beneath your hands.

He hovered at your mouth, maddeningly close but not quite there. A ghost of a smile played at the corners of his lips, easily teasing you.

His breath skimmed yours, electric and careful, until finally his lips brushed over yours, so light you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. His hands tightened at your waist, fingers sinking into your skin like he needed you closer. Like breathing wasn’t enough anymore.

The room fell into this heady, perfect silence, just the sound of your breathing, uneven and shallow, and the rain tapping against the window like it was keeping rhythm.

Your voice barely rose above a whisper, but it carried all the weight in the world. “Can we just freeze this?” you asked, your eyes tracing every line of his face like you were afraid it might vanish. “Right here, right now. Forever.”

You felt him shiver beneath your fingertips — or maybe it was you. Hard to tell anymore. His answer was the way he kissed you like yes. Like hell yes.

Bangchan let out a low, rough sound, like you’d just stolen the last ounce of self-control he had left. His mouth trailed along your jawline, barely-there kisses that felt like they were searing into your skin.

Normally, he was the one filling the space with words — teasing, coaxing, making you dizzy with how easily he could wreck you. But tonight, you wanted him to feel it. To really feel it. Not just in his head, but in his bones.

You cupped his face between your palms, your thumbs brushing the damp heat of his cheeks. God, he looked at you like you were the whole damn galaxy — like he’d waited light-years for this exact moment. And you traced your fingertip along his parted lips. He didn’t even hesitate; he kissed your fingerprint like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m yours,” you breathed, your voice barely louder than the rain tapping at the window — but it hit him like thunder all the same.

He froze, like your words had short-circuited every nerve in his body. His chest rose on a sharp inhale, his eyes drinking you in like you were the only thing keeping him alive. “I’ll always be,” you whispered, like a vow only he was meant to hear. 

His eyes softened, something raw flickering in them, right before you kissed him — full of every unspoken promise, fearless and certain, like you were stitching your heart straight into his mouth.

His hands found your waist, grounding you, as he shifted you effortlessly to the center of the bed. His lips brushed your neck, making you shiver all over again.

“My heart is yours,” he said softly, his lips brushing your skin like he was confessing a secret. “I’m all yours.” His words melted into kisses — first at your lips, then your cheek, and finally at that place beneath your ear that made your breath hitch.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed, breathless and a little reckless. He grinned against your throat, like he liked you like this — alive, teasing him back.

For a heartbeat, you just looked at him. At this man who somehow made the world quiet and loud all at once. Like maybe, just maybe, life could actually be this simple.

“God, you’re so beautiful…” he said, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, his fingers cradling your chin. His gaze dipped to your lips, dark with hunger. “Wanna touch you everywhere…”

His hand slid to the curve of your neck, making your eyes flick up in challenge.

“Make you feel so good,” he added, voice rough with intent.

You bit your lip, settled deeper into his lap, and gave him your signature smirk. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He didn’t need an invitation twice.

The kiss deepened, turned heady and hungry, but never rushed. Bangchan’s fingers toyed with the side of your panties, lazy and teasing, like he had all the time in the world to drive you insane. He hooked his finger under the edge, barely grazing your skin — just enough to send a sharp, electric pulse through your entire body.

There was heat, sure. A wildfire between you, no doubt. But underneath it, something steadier, something that felt terrifyingly like eternity. He wasn’t rushing it. He wasn’t just touching you to have you — he was memorizing you. Worshipping, almost.

“I want you,” you breathed in his mouth, voice rough around the edges, like it had been sanded down to the truth.

He didn’t waste a second. Quick, practiced, a little frantic but still smiling that lazy half-smile of his as he reached for protection, slipping it on in record time, like every second apart was unbearable.

You shifted your knees, adjusting for him — for both of you — and his eyes darkened like you’d just flipped a switch. He tugged the last stubborn scrap of fabric away, his hands lingering like he couldn’t quite let it go.

Without thinking, without hesitating, you sank down onto him, the movement natural, inevitable, like your bodies already knew this rhythm by heart. A gasp escaped you both, caught somewhere between surprise and relief.

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, not for balance, but because you needed to hold on to something real — and he was the only thing that felt like solid ground.

Bangchan buried his face in the crook of your neck, lips warm and wet against your skin, like he couldn’t get close enough. Like he wanted to taste every inch of you, commit you to memory, down to the last shiver.

You moved against him slowly at first, like you wanted to feel every single second of it — to let it burn through your nerves until it became too much to hold back. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him as if he couldn’t stand even a breath of distance.

Every shift of your hips dragged a sound from him, rough and raw, like he was barely holding on. His head fell back for a moment, jaw clenched tight, but then his gaze was back on you — dark, devouring, full of need that felt like it could swallow you whole.

You tried to swallow the sounds tearing out of you, sinking your teeth into your lip, into his shoulder, into whatever you could reach — but it was useless. Every slow thrust made you unravel a little more, made you feel like you were coming apart right around him. He filled you so deep, so perfectly, it felt obscene, like your body was made just to take him.

And he knew it too — the way he moved inside you was relentless, unhurried but devastating, like he wanted to make sure you felt every inch of him, every inch of what he was doing to you.

And he wasn’t any steadier.

He fought to hold himself together, but the moans kept breaking free, rough and desperate. He was lost in the delirium of being buried deep inside you, of feeling you stretch and clench around him like you were made to take him. The way you took him, so eager and tight, had his control fraying fast.

He was pulsing with need, every second of restraint twisting into something almost unbearable — too good, too much, almost painful in its pleasure.

His hand slid up to your hair, fingers threading through before he tugged it aside to expose your neck. His mouth found your skin without hesitation — warm, open kisses trailing along your pulse, his tongue tasting the sweat-slick heat of you. 

He worked his way down your neck, lips brushing teasingly over every inch of your sensitive skin. At your chest, he paused, let his tongue explore the soft skin there, coaxing a sharp gasp from you as your body reacted without thinking. He wanted to ruin you with his mouth, to taste every inch until you were dripping for him, until the only thing you could think about was how good he felt owning you like this.

You found your rhythm together, perfectly in sync, like you’d been built for this. Built for him. Each roll of your hips sent a fresh wave of need spiraling through your veins, building, tightening, pulling you both closer to the edge. His hands held you like he couldn’t bear to let go, his touch rough but reverent, worshipping every inch of you.

The room felt molten, the air thick with heat and desire. Moans tangled between you, breathless and desperate, until all you could hear was the storm outside and the sound of your bodies moving together.

"Can’t get enough of you—fuck—" Bangchan’s voice tore out of him, rough and wrecked, words slipping into broken sounds as his hips snapped into yours, chasing the high with a desperation that felt like it might kill him.

Sweat and rainwater dripped down his skin, slick between your bodies, his hair clinging damp to his forehead. He looked like sin, like every fantasy you’d ever had but filthier, messier, better.

You crashed your mouth to his, swallowing the ragged moan that escaped him, tasting the heat of it on his tongue.

“Please,” you begged, breath trembling as your lips brushed his. “God, please, just—”

"You feel—fuck," he choked, breath catching hard as you rolled your hips, grinding right where he needed you. His eyes fluttered shut, helpless to the way you squeezed around him.

"Say it," you demanded, your voice all heat and sin, lips brushing his ear like a spark to gasoline.

He groaned, wrecked. "So good, so fucking good, baby, you drive me insane."

Your lips parted on a shaky exhale, your entire body tightening around him. The knot low in your belly twisted, pulling you closer to that breaking point with every relentless thrust. The storm outside thrashed against the windows, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside you.

Your forehead pressed against his, breaths tangling, sweat-slicked skin sliding together as you moved in sync. His gaze burned into you, wild and wrecked, like he couldn’t get enough.

"That's it," he rasped, rough and hungry. His thumb worked your clit in tight, relentless circles, dragging you closer to the edge. "Cum for me, baby. Be my good girl and soak my cock. Let me feel you lose it all over me."

“Fuck, you were made for me,” he rasped, voice thick and raw, every word dripping hunger. His hips snapped into you, fast and relentless, hitting so deep it made your mind spin, had you gasping his name over and over like it was the only thing you knew how to say.

You felt impossibly full, stretched around him to the point of unbearable pleasure, and you craved it — you wanted more, wanted him to take you apart until you were nothing but his.

Bangchan’s hand slid up to your throat, not choking, just holding you there, steady and close, like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you. His other hand gripped your waist tight, dragging you harder onto his cock, like he was chasing something dangerous and beautiful all at once — like he needed to claim every part of you.

“Take every inch of me,” he growled against your skin, his lips hot at your neck as his teeth sank in, just sharp enough to make you shiver. “Fuck—yes, just like that, my perfect fucking girl.”

Your body clamped down on him, another violent wave of pleasure wracking through you as you moved together, desperate and wild. His breath stuttered, sharp and wrecked, his hips jolting hard when you clenched around him again, milking him, pulling a raw, broken moan from deep in his throat.

“Fuck, angel,—” His voice cracked, strangled on a gasp, and then he lost it completely. His hips slammed up into you, rough and frantic, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you with a helpless, guttural sound, like he was unraveling from the inside out.

The second you felt him pulse, you shattered, pleasure crashing through you in devastating waves. Your whole body jerked, trembling in his hold, your mouth falling open on a cry of his name that sounded like both worship and ruin. He groaned through his release, grinding up into you as he emptied himself fully, like he couldn’t stop, like he never wanted to stop.

Even when the aftershocks tore through you both, he kept you tight against him, breathing hard, lips brushing your skin in shaky, reverent kisses. He kissed you like he was trying to swallow your moans, like he was desperate to keep every last sound of you for himself.

Your breath was wrecked, your chest heaving against his as you clung to him, still pulsing around him like you never wanted to let him go.

“Such a perfect little thing for me,” he rasped, dark and tender all at once, “my pretty girl.”

And in his eyes, you swore you saw it — the words he didn’t say yet, thick and heavy and dangerous on the tip of his tongue.

After basically spending the entire weekend barricaded in Bangchan’s apartment — more specifically, in his bed — where you’d thoroughly explored every possible way to kill the mutual longing, you figured it was time to rejoin society. Preferably not looking like you’d just crawled out of a two-day sex coma, but well, damage done.

The perfect excuse arrived in the form of Changbin and the rest of the soccer guys throwing a victory party after their game. They won, obviously — and Bangchan had not let you forget it for even a second. He’d been strutting around the dorm like some smug MVP, dropping lines like, “You’re literally sleeping with the best basketball player, babe. Iconic behavior.”

You were so gone for him it was almost embarrassing. Almost.

It was Sunday night, and looming over you like an anxious little storm cloud was the fact that this was your last week. Final week. Curtain call was Friday, and you were already spiraling.

The panic over your performance felt like it had its own pulse — quick, sharp, and completely unnecessary, considering Hyunjin and Seungmin had basically held your hand and all but screamed, “You’re going to kill it. Stop overthinking.”

Still. Easier said than done.

Although, to be fair, the crippling anxiety had taken a temporary vacation over the last 48 hours — because Bangchan, bless him, had thoroughly, repeatedly, and almost heroically, fucked it right out of you.

Like a true gentleman.

He kept your hand in his the entire walk, fingers tangled like it was the most natural thing in the world. And you couldn't help but smile at the way he casually included you in every plan for the mid-year break. Like he couldn’t imagine doing any of it without you. You didn't even realize how much you needed that feeling until you had it.

When you got to the frat house, the party was already in full swing—music thumping, laughter spilling out into the yard. The moment you two stepped through the door, a few of the basketball guys waved, greeting Bangchan with their usual teasing banter. And, surprisingly, they were actually kind of polite to you. No eye rolls, no snickers. Just the usual ‘Hey, Bangchan’s girl’ vibes. But that was enough.

You’d chosen a dress that was a little daring—tight, short, and definitely not the kind of thing you’d wear to a casual party. But you didn’t mind it. Especially when Bangchan’s leather jacket was draped over your shoulders. It was a nice change, wearing something of his, and you kind of liked how it made you feel like you had a little piece of him with you.

And, of course, he didn’t complain about it. In fact, he was practically glowing, the way he looked at you, like he couldn’t wait to show you off. You could tell he was enjoying the attention, and somehow, that made you want to pull him in closer, just to remind him that yeah, you were his too.

The party was already in full swing when you and Bangchan walked in, fingers laced. When he squeezed your hand like a silent promise, you didn’t think twice about holding tighter.

The music was loud, people were already half-drunk on cheap beer and good vibes, but it was the way your friends froze mid-conversation that really caught your attention.

Changbin’s eyes went wide first, like he’d just seen his parents kissing. “Hold on. Hold on,” he said, pointing between you and Bangchan like he was trying to solve a crime scene. “My two pretty best friends are... doing this now?” He made a vague swirling motion with his finger that you hoped was meant to represent holding hands and not something filthier.

Hyunjin didn’t miss a beat. He scoffed and threw his arm over your shoulder, grinning like the devil himself. “Back off,” he shot back. “She’s my best friend.”

You raised a brow, looking between the two of them. “Okay, can we not make this weird?” you deadpanned, shrugging Hyunjin’s arm off with a smirk. 

Your friends were loving every second. You could see it on their faces — the shared glances, the knowing smirks, like they’d been waiting for this moment longer than you had.

"Honestly," Jisung chimed in from the couch, raising his drink dramatically, "about damn time."

Seungmin just gave you a slow, nodding approval, the corners of his lips barely twitching into a smile. “We had a pool going,” he said, as if that explained everything.

You shot him a playful, but suspicious look. "A pool? Seriously?"

"You're a very predictable couple," Seungmin replied with zero shame.

Bangchan chuckled under his breath, his smile tugging at the corners of his mouth in that way that made your knees go a little traitorous. "Told you they’d figure it out."

You nudged him with your shoulder, smiling but with a touch of sass. “I was kind of hoping for more mystery. You know, make them work for it.”

"Yeah, well," he said, leaning closer so only you could hear, his voice low and warm in your ear, "I’m not that good at pretending I don’t want you."

And just like that, you were the one who had to fight back the stupid, giddy grin threatening to take over your face.

The night rolled on with teasing jokes and too many toasts in the team’s honor, but somewhere between the crowded kitchen and the messy dance floor, you caught Bangchan watching you — like you were the only person in the room worth looking at.

And you looked at him the same way.

You were still breathless from Bangchan’s kiss, your smile stretching so wide it almost hurt. You two were dancing and kissing almost the whole night. When you felt someone step into your line of sight.

You turned, and there she was — Eunji.

Her gaze flicked between you and Bangchan, catching the way he still had his arm slung lazily around your waist like he belonged there (because he did). For a split second, something unreadable passed over her face, but then she forced a smile.

“Hey.” Eunji’s voice was quieter than usual, almost hesitant, as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Congrats on the game. You played really well.”

Bangchan blinked, caught off guard by how soft her tone was. “Uh… thanks,” he said, a little wary.

She shifted her weight, eyes flicking to you for a beat before landing back on him. “Do you think we could talk for a second?” she asked, nodding toward the hallway. “Just us?” Her gaze lingered on you, like she was asking permission. Or daring you to say no.

You shot Bangchan a quick glance. He met your eyes with quiet understanding and gave you a little nod, squeezing your hand before letting go.

Curiosity pulled you to follow her.

In the quieter corner of the frat, Eunji took a breath like she was gearing up for something heavy. 

“Look, I probably don’t have the right to even ask you to listen,” she began, voice tight. “But I need to say this.”

You didn’t move. Arms crossed, not hostile — just careful. “Okay. Say it.”

She nodded, like that tiny bit of permission gave her permission to fall apart.

"I was jealous," she admitted, the words tumbling out too fast, like they’d been bottled up for too long. "It’s stupid, I know. But it felt like you had everything — both of the hot guys," she gave a bitter, awkward laugh, "while I had no one. And it got in my head. Made me ugly inside. I hated how small I felt next to you."

Her honesty was disarming. You hadn’t expected her to just lay it out like that.

"I guess I thought," she went on, voice wobbling, "if I could tear you down, maybe I’d feel less... invisible. But it didn’t work. It only made me feel worse. And I am sorry. I’m sorry for how I treated you."

You searched her expression, looking for cracks, for any sign of performance — but what you saw was genuine. Flawed, but real.

You studied her face. No defenses. Just raw regret and maybe a little shame. For the first time, she looked like someone trying to unlearn the worst parts of herself.

You tilted your head. “Is this because of Sohee?”

Her head jerked up. “No,” she said quickly, eyes wide. “This isn’t damage control. This is me... finally being honest.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. Finally, you let out a breath.

"I can’t speak for everyone," you said honestly, thinking of your friends who had long since cut ties with her. "But for me... I need more time. You hurt me, Eunji. Really hurt me. And that’s not something I can forget overnight."

Eunji’s eyes shimmered, but she didn’t argue. She nodded slowly, lips pressed together like she was holding back a hundred other apologies. “That’s fair,” she whispered. “And... I’m happy for you. And Bangchan. You look really happy.”

You didn’t say thank you. But you didn’t walk away, either.

And maybe that was enough — for now.

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away, her figure disappearing back into the noise of the party. You stayed there for a beat, letting the moment settle in your chest, then spun on your heel and made a beeline for Bangchan.

He caught sight of you immediately, his whole face lighting up like you were the only thing that mattered in the room. "Hey," he said, pulling you back into his arms like you were gravity itself. "Everything okay?"

You slipped your arms around his neck, your heart finally settling. "Yeah."

His grin went lazy and warm, and he kissed you again, slow and certain, like you were home.

You were pretty sure your organs were about to revolt — heart somewhere in your throat, stomach twisted in knots, lungs forgetting how to breathe. Your hands trembled as you peeked through the velvet curtain, catching a glimpse of the packed house. First row, all family. Behind them, a blur of students, teachers, and more faces than you wanted to count.

Seungmin was adding the final touches to his makeup with clinical calm, while Hyunjin stretched dramatically in the corner like he was about to run a marathon instead of hitting the stage.

You were ready — or as ready as someone could be when standing on the edge of a dream. The makeup they had given you was soft, radiant. Perfect for Seulgi — the wild, bright, untamable girl you’d spent months breathing life into. A character made of longing and light, all wild heart and messy hope. You’d love her instantly.

And tonight, you were going to give her everything.

Then, right on cue, you felt him — warm arms sliding around your waist, steady and grounding, a kiss pressed to the top of your head like a silent anchor in the storm.

You leaned into him without thinking, soaking in the calm he carried like it was oxygen.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you, his grin wide and full of awe. “My girl’s a star.”

And for a moment, everything stilled — nerves, noise, the chaos behind the curtain — like the whole world was holding its breath just for you.

You felt your face flush, your cheeks burning in that dizzying, weightless way that only came when someone made you feel so properly, soul-deep loved that it scrambled your entire system.

“I’m so nervous, I think I might faint,” you whispered, pressing a trembling hand to your stomach. The silky fabric of your dress did nothing to calm the storm underneath.

You peeked through the curtain again, heart stuttering at the packed audience. It looked endless. A sea of eyes. A million possible failures.

Bangchan gently cupped your chin, coaxing your gaze away from the chaos and back to him — steady, warm, certain.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and fierce in that quiet way of his. “You’re gonna walk out there and blow their minds. There’s not a single universe where this doesn’t go amazing — because it’s you. And you’re the best.”

It was stupid, how quickly your throat tightened. How fast your chest got all shaky, like his words had knocked the air clean out of your lungs. You blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall and mess up the makeup Nahee had so carefully painted on you.

“Stop,” you whispered, biting back a wobbly smile. “You’re gonna make me cry and then everyone’s gonna think my character dies in act one.”

He laughed, quiet and warm, and you took a shaky breath. Because suddenly, you wanted to say something that had been burning at the edges of your mind for days.

You wanted to leap, to risk it all.

“Bangchan, I—”

“Guys! It’s time!” Miss Baek’s voice cut through the moment like a bell, bright and urgent as she clapped her hands, motioning everyone to gather backstage.

You stepped back, breath caught, the confession stuck in your throat. But you weren’t ready to let go of him just yet, so instead of finishing your sentence, you reached for his hand and pulled him into the small circle forming around the cast and crew.

Miss Baek stood in the center, her eyes gleaming with pride. “All right, everyone,” she said, voice a little breathless with excitement. “This is it. You’ve worked hard for this show. Now go out there and own it. I trust you — every single one of you. So... break a leg.”

You felt Bangchan’s thumb brush over your knuckles again, grounding you.

And even with your nerves still coiled tight in your chest, a flicker of something brighter pushed through — like maybe you could do this. Maybe you were ready.

Especially with him right there, holding your hand like he never planned to let go.

The curtain rose slowly and steady, gliding open with a faint hum that made your pulse spike. Lights warmed the stage with a golden hue, soft and rich, like the first rays of sun spilling through a window on a quiet morning. The theater was silent — not the heavy, awkward kind of quiet, but the kind that buzzed with anticipation. Like everyone was holding their breath at the same time.

And then Seungmin stepped into the light.

Dressed in his costume — something timeless and simple — he looked completely at ease, the softest confidence in his posture as he took his place center stage. No theatrics. No build-up. Just him. And then he opened his mouth to sing.

It was like the world paused.

His voice slipped into the room like silk — clear, effortless, pure in that heart-wrenching kind of way that doesn’t just touch you, but clutches at something deep inside your chest. Notes floated from his mouth like a secret he trusted the whole room to keep. 

Someone in the third row audibly gasped. Someone else sniffled. And no one even cared about hiding it.

You could feel it ripple across the room — the moment where everyone realized this wasn’t just a student play. This was something real. Something alive.

And a huge part of that was Bangchan. He made a real effort to help.

You could see him in the sound booth, lit only by the glow of his equipment. His headset was on, hands gliding over the controls like he was conducting his own invisible symphony. Every rise and fall in Seungmin’s voice was perfectly balanced, wrapped in a sound that felt warm and cinematic.

The reverb was subtle, giving Seungmin's voice the echo of a cathedral without drowning him in it. The background instrumental, faded in at just the right moment, swelled like a heartbeat — quiet and steady — then soared.

The lighting shifted with the rhythm, delicate hues melting from gold to soft blue, and you knew that was Bangchan too. Timing everything. Perfecting everything. Making the show feel bigger than the stage it stood on.

The audience didn’t move. No one dared. It was like they were afraid that even a single breath might break the spell.

And when Seungmin hit the last note — long and gentle, the kind of note that settled into your bones — the silence lingered for one suspended second before the applause burst like a wave, loud and relentless, crashing against the walls of the theater.

You clapped with everyone else, heart pounding, chest full, eyes shining.

And somewhere backstage, you caught Bangchan glancing up from his booth just long enough to shoot you a grin.

As if to say, Yeah. We did that.

It was Act Three.

Your act.

The final, sweeping moment you’d been rehearsing in front of mirrors, empty classes, and late-night voice notes. And now, standing just behind the curtain with the theater buzzing like a live wire around you, it hits you all at once — the weight of it. The lights dimmed, the overture swelled, and your pulse was racing so hard it felt like it might echo through your mic.

You smoothed your dress with slightly trembling hands, eyes darting through the curtain gap to catch a glimpse of the full house. Your chest rose with a shaky inhale. 

“Hey—hey, wait,” a voice said, breathless.

You turned, confused — and there he was.

Wild-eyed, flushed, a little out of breath like he’d just run across the building — and completely not where he was supposed to be. “What are you—? You need to go,” you whispered, eyes wide. “You’re supposed to be in the booth! I’m literally about to go on—”

He didn’t answer. He just grabbed your face and kissed you.

No warning. No hesitation. Just lips on yours like it was the most natural, necessary thing in the world. And everything else — the voices, the music, the sheer panic clawing at your ribcage — melted into static. It was just him. Warm and real and grounding you in a moment that didn’t feel like it could possibly exist in real life.

When he pulled away, he didn’t go far — his forehead pressed to yours, and his hands lingered like he didn’t want to let go just yet.

“Break a leg,” he whispered. Voice low. Serious.

You were about to respond, maybe something witty to cover how stunned you were “Thank—” but then he said it.

“I love you.” He mumbled.

Just like that. No build-up, no performance. Just soft and real and tossed at your feet like a match he was willing to watch burn.

Your breath caught.

You looked up at him, eyes gleaming, lips parted — something in your chest cracked wide open, but the words stayed stuck behind your teeth. Not because you didn’t feel the same. God, you did love him back. But the moment had too much weight, too much emotion, and not enough time.

Someone offstage hissed a frantic “Places!” but neither of you moved.

Instead, you smiled. A little too wide. A little breathless. Tears covering your eyes.

And he got it. He didn’t ask for anything else. 

His entwined fingers slid unhurriedly, inch by inch, until the last touch. Then he backed away like it hurt to leave and vanished into the shadows like he’d never been there at all. 

You wanted to cry — not from sadness, but from the overwhelming weight of it all. Being loved like this, so completely, felt like being wrapped in sunlight after a lifetime of gray. It was terrifying and beautiful and everything in between.

You never expected to fall for Bangchan. Not like this. Not so fully.

But somewhere between the late-night conversations, the lingering looks, and the quiet ways he held space for you, your heart cracked open — and he simply walked in.

And that was it. You were his. And he was already yours.

And then the curtain rose. The light hit your face. And you stepped into it like you were made for it.

And as the first line left your lips, steady and clear, you weren't just playing a part anymore.

You were living it — heart full, eyes bright, and finally, finally, not acting at all.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4 @chrizrizz @meerabmalik @gnabnahcsworld @gncbnahc @jinniejjam @skzworldx @itsacatastrophe-xo @soonie1010 @4ng3l-ch1ld @justwonder113 @tsunderelino @eastjonowhere @lyracarvahall @akindaflora @victoriaaf @ebnabi @wickedbutlovely @bitchysunflower11 @ravengxbss @letrascafeymar @letrascafeymar @twentytwofour @pacha02 @skzaddictsincedebut @strayk1ds143 @micr0c0soms @vixy-vix

[tarotbyjam24]

Pick a pile : Your spouse\lover's 18+ thoughts of you

[LGBTQ+ friendly]

This is a Collab w @delulutarot 🎀

masterlist\pick a piles feedbacks piggy bank

pile 1 pile 2 pile 3 pile 4

Hello, beautiful souls! If you've enjoyed my readings, consider supporting me on Kofi [add 🖤] or booking a personalized session – it truly makes a difference. Don't forget to check out offer free readings and I'm always excited about exchanges and collabs!

Your likes, reblogs, and feedback are so appreciated 🩷.

Choose the pile that speaks to your heart 🫶🏻 and let me know which you picked – I'm excited to connect with you!

Please remember, these are general readings, so trust your intuition and take what resonates.

pile 1

read by @tarotbyjam24

Close your eyes and feel my touch slow, deliberate, and maddening. I'll leave you on the edge, desperate for the release I'm not ready to give.

My mouth will always Be better than your hand.

guide your hands slowly down my waist and look me in the eyes and kiss me then i promise i will be quiet

guide my hands where you want them.

L.m.e.y.p.u.y.c.i.m.m

Respectfully I wanna makeout with you tillI can't breath

I want your hands everywhere they're not supposed to be.

You're in my head way too much I might as well give u some

I fucking need you every second of the day and its pissing me off.

I want your body against mine

I am like a rollercoaster. The faster I go, the louder you scream.

The way you react to my touch makes me want to push you even further, just to see how far you'll let me take you.

I'll let my hands wander, finding every place that makes you gasp.But I'll make you wait, drawing out the pleasure until you can't take it anymore."

Feel my touch ignite your skin, slow and deliberate. I'll tease you until you're trembling, then pull back just to watch you unravel.

Book your personalised session

pile 2

read by @delulutarot

Your hands feel like they were made to map every inch of me.

I'll start with gentle strokes, then press deeper where it makes you gasp. But I won't give you what you want until you're trembling beneath me.

Your smile melts me every time. It's the sweetest thing I've ever seen.

I fucking need you every second of the day

I'll start with gentle caresses, then press deeper where it makes you gasp. But I'll keep you waiting, teasing until you're desperate for more.

I love how your eyes lock on me, but what's really driving me crazy is the way you try to resist touching me.

You're craving my touch more than you let on, and trust me, when I finally give you what you've been dreaming of, it'll be a whole new kind of addiction.

You're my first thought in the morning and my last at night, I love you.

I wanna feel ur hand on every inch of my body.

I wishyou were touching me Inappropriately right now

physical touch is my love language so don't be scared to grab my neck and start kissing me, I kinda need it

I'LL TEASE YOU UNTIL YOU PIN ME DOWN AND FUCK ME HARD

kiss me in front of anyone you think wants me.

I wanna tease you until you get so sensitive your moans become whimpers

Book your personalised session

pile 3

read by @delulutarot

you mean the whole entire world to me .

If you move you're mine .

Bite my lips and call me princess .

The more I see you, the harder it is to keep my hands to myself.

Your voice brings me so much comfort

wanna cuddle and watch funny movies all night long till we fall asleep in each others arms?

Watch him\her gasp .

Leave a trail of hickeys up and down so everyone knows, wherever they look, I'm yours.

16 billion eyes but yours is my favourite.

Tonight, my hands will worship your body, but I'll make you wait. I'll tease you until you're begging for the release I'm not ready to give.

My hands will start at your neck, working their way down, leaving you trembling. But I'll stop just short of where you need me most.

Tease me until I can't take it anymore!

I can't stop imagining the way you'd feel pressed against me, your breath hot on my neck as you whisper all the things you'd do to me.

You think you know what I want, but trust me, when I'm in control, you'll be begging me to take you to the edge.

Book your personalised session

pile 4

read by @tarotbyjam24

i love talking to you so much, our silly jokes, all our conversations mean so much to me, i love that i can be myself with you, i really love spending time with you. i care, appreciate and love you so so much

horny for you .

Fuck. I wanna see you, hug you, kiss you, make you smile, make you laugh, and just lay in bed next to you.

The way you look at me should come with a warning label .

I like you more than I planned . Your lips look kinda lonely Maybe they wanna meet mine?

My biggest wish right now is us cuddling and me falling asleep in your arms

I'm like a drum. The harder you hit, the louder I resonate

I want you because of who you are, not just because you want me too

Take my hand, lead me to the bed, and show me the depths of your desire.

You're my first thought in the morning and my last at night, I love you.

You have no clue how bad I want to kiss you

I want to forget my name while I'm busy moaning yours.

you have beautiful eyes.

There's something magical about the way you make me feel-like i can be myself and still be loved unconditionally, with every flaw and every imperfection.

Cover my neck in hickeys

The softness of your touch is all I need to feel at home, no matter where we are.

I see the way your eyes follow me, how much you want to touch me, and let me tell you-when you finally do, it'll be nothing like you've ever imagined .

Can I fall asleep in your things ?

You can't stop thinking about me, can you? That's because I've got you hooked, and you don't even know how deep I'm willing to take you.

I'm starting to believe that you've made some sort of secret deal with the universe, because there's no way someone can be as charming and good-looking as you without some kind of cosmic help.

You've the cutest smile ever.

ngl..ur in my head way too much I might as well give u some

Tonight, I'm in charge. My fingers will trace your curves, teasing and tempting until you're arching toward me, desperate for what comes next.

You think I'm irresistible now?Wait until I let you explore every part of me -you won't be able to stop.

Book your personalised session

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for allowing me to be a part of your journey. Wishing you peace and joy!

With love, Jam"

[elysiality]

WOLF IN THE HEADLIGHTS —

natalie scatorccio and shauna shipman.

"How can a girl who couldn't even keep her title as queen keep a girlfriend?"

fuck this. onto rule five then.

rule 5— use violence to subdue the predator.

─────────── ౨ৎ ───────────

-> synopsis — your little foraging trip with your girlfriend and the dictator of your village quickly goes south when said dictator pulls a knife on you. lucky for you, you've dabbled in the art of self-defense before. (requested !)

-> content contains !! — fem! reader, spoilers for yellowjackets S3, yellowjackets typical antics, knife to throat bullshittery, flirting, mentions of blood, mild descriptions of cannibalism, shauna shipman, is it really infidelity if you're homoerotically pinning a girl to the floor of the canadian wilderness with a butcher knife in front of your girlfriend?

══════════════════════════

oh, for the love of the wilderness.

you're considering foraging for some of the poisonous mushrooms that you were warned to avoid and shoving them in your ears for earplugs.

the dreaded, painful sound of Shauna snarling an insult at Nat reaches your ears for the sixth time in an hour. they can't lay off of each other for ten minutes.

maybe you'd be a little bit more sympathetic towards Shauna in other situations. she's not taking her baby's death very well, as expected.

and yes, she would warrant empathy for that in usual situations, as expected.

that is, if she wouldn't go back to the village after this little trip of your trio was done and dusted and then order around everyone like some sort of fucked up, wilderness stalin. power really does get to one's head.

you feel some ounce of humanity surface in you when you think of the poor scientists. one dead, the other two trapped in the animal pen next to the carefully bred ducks and rabbits as well as their shit hole. and possibly remnants of coach's dead body.

but then it sinks back under the surface, along with the rest of your unimportant emotions. throughout this whole over-extended, impromptu camping trip with your soccer team, you've gained a reputation as the 'aloof' one. which, in wilderness terms, means being assigned hunting duty along with Nat.

you didn't have the same penchant for shooting with a hundred mile radius accuracy like she did, so your job was setting snares along paths where she found the most prey.

that was how you started talking. like— really talking.

pre-crash, your relationship was cordial and friendly— a wave in the hallway, informing each other on Jackie's constant practice time changes and then bitching about it for a little, sharing notes, making assists during games, etc etc, but it never went any further than that.

it was only during these hunting trips that you really started connecting. you were quiet and easy to talk to— a perfect listener to lend your ears to Nat's agitated rants. you told each other about your interests back home— you'd never have a chance to do them again, but it was nice to talk about them nonetheless.

one thing led to another, as it so often does, and you started up a secret relationship before you knew it was happening.

the reason for the secrecy wasn't for fear of homophobia— you were on an all-girls soccer team, for fucks sake, but more so because you started dating when Nat took on the leader role for the team.

building the huts, gathering animals to breed, all these different activities meant that a public relationship would cause quite the scandal, given that your 'community' was small enough to be surveyed from atop of a large rock.

so you kept it under wraps for the time being. the thrill only contributed to your excitement of being in this relationship— secret kisses on hunting trips, moving in with her on pretense of her needing moral support (which isn't even a lie), holding hands under the makeshift table during feasts.

things were about as great as they could be in the middle of nowhere— until they found Coach Scott. until Nat executed him via mercy killing and Shauna blew up on her.

your relationship with Shauna pre-crash was...strained, to say the least. you were friendly enough to each other— but the only reason for that was that Jackie was the bridge between you two.

you were close to her so by extension you were close to Shauna. she was like a second body attached to Jackie, immobile and rendered useless without her. your relationship was strained because it was hard to seperate her from Jackie— Shauna just did whatever Jackie wanted most of the time. you didn't know what her true colours were. you couldn't even imagine her without her other half.

it was only after Jackie's death and the posthumous cannibalisation of her body that Shauna truly started growing into her own person— and that person was not someone you liked at all.

to you, she was lukewarm— an extraordinary achievement, given her feeling blue all the damn time, but you were kind and sweet enough. helping her move around when she started showing, giving her some of your food to help with the unborn baby's growth, defusing the tension between her and Lottie when she started spouting weird shit about the baby— oh sorry, her baby.

you knew she appreciated it, given that she didn't lose her shit with you if you dared to breathe too loudly, so you were as genial to each other as you could muster.

it started to manifest post stillbirth when you realised that your portions of stew were increasing, that Shauna silently contributed to arguments between you and anyone else by glaring menacingly at the offending party, that she willingly helped you with your chores even though you pushed through it in complete silence.

these were jovial enough gestures and you were grateful to her. the only problem you had with her was her attitude towards everyone else— and more specifically, your girlfriend.

for whatever reason, she had it out for Nat, even before her crowning. she hated her with fervid intensity, which heightened your dislike for her.

then came the frog scientists. the poor things stumbled into your village just a few hours too late. they could've dealt with Nat, who would've been merciful. instead, they had to deal with Shauna 'the Butcher' Shipman who'd recently discovered that she liked the taste of blood. oh and of course, Lottie, the wilderness' divine prophet or whatever the fuck, who had kindly given Coach Ben a friend in heaven via axe-to-the-head.

you realised pretty quickly that these scientists could be useful to you. they knew the way back to civilization. they could help you get home. you dared to let yourself think about that word again. home. your friends. your family. school. a normal life.

but of course, life has a way of ripping your happiness out of your hands and landing a solid kick to the groin instead. Lottie chose to stay back. then Shauna. then Tai. Shauna hijacked the gun and took charge of the village, locking up your path to civilization in the animal pen (again). There goes all hopes and dreams of leading a boring, adventure-free life again.

even so, the world kept spinning. which meant another day of scavenging for food out in the wilderness— especially with winter so close by. you feel like quite the worker ant as you push through overgrown shrubs and bushes, two more pairs of footsteps behind you.

everyone felt a bit queasy at the thought of eating meat so soon after the whole Coach Scott fiasco, so you and Nat were told to go out and forage instead. you were more than happy to do this, since it meant you would have time together and you'd be able to pry Nat's thoughts open like a nutshell and let her rant to you.

she seemed to have the same idea, getting skittish and jittery as you got ready, exchanging agonised looks with you while grabbing the grass-woven baskets.

however, on brand with your shitty luck streak, your plans were rudely interrupted by Shauna, who clearly thought that maybe you'd attempt to poison her or something— a very likely possibility, given the Misty incident at the start of your stint in hell and how irritable she was becoming these days. she firmly declared that she was joining you— and of course you couldn't reject your queen. (heavy air quotes on that).

so now you have to go hunting for mushrooms and what not with a very antsy Nat and Shauna, who's always been a ticking time bomb. luckily, you'd remembered that you had strung up some nets around a couple of berry patches deep in the woods, which is where you're on route to right now.

the trip had been relatively peaceful so far, save for the occasional woodland creature sprinting across your path and the sound of dry leaves crunching under your feet— but of course that couldn't last.

you round on the two of them, halting in your tracks. they're arguing about the rescue thing again. good god.

"I've told you hundreds of times before— we can't leave yet because I say so." Shauna reiterates firmly, her grip on her knife tightening till her knuckles turn white.

Nat huffs, dropping her gun on the dirt, locking her eyes onto Shauna. "Then you're clearly a fucking psychopath. D'you think these people are just gonna be our fucking escape route whenever we want? Their fear is gonna dwindle soon and then they're gonna see us for what we really are— a bunch of scared, pathetic teenage girls who eat their friends to survive."

Shauna crosses her arms quietly, advancing on Nat with quiet footsteps. Nat steps back, just slightly, but a twig snaps under her heavy boots and it's enough to catch Shauna's attention. her lips curve upward into a canine-showing grin. like a wolf.

you, however reluctantly, take a step forward, ready to break up any potential fights. it reminds you of the basic rules you've set for yourself when going hunting with Nat— the rules on how to deal with another predator who has their eyes locked on your kill.

rule 1— be ready to intervene.

"No.", Shauna says softly, her intense gaze burning into Nat, "they won't. Because that's not who we are. We're so much more than that."

"Yeah?", Nat challenges, taking a shaky step forward. They're inches away now. "Then enlighten me. Who are we, if we're not the high school seniors who crashed into the middle of nowhere and have had to do horrible, fucked up things to survive?"

Shauna examines her for a moment, her eyes scanning Nat's gaunt, scar-streaked face. "We're predators.", she drawls out. she sounds each syllable out slowly, like she's explaining addition to a pre-schooler. "Yellowjackets, if you will." She grins like a shark.

"We kill to survive. We hunt, because we have to and because we want to. Our village is our nest— colony, pack, whatever you want to call it. We aren't just teenage girls and you know it." she pokes her finger into Nat's chest, rolling her eyes. "You're just too much of a wimp to admit it."

Nat gulps, that heavy, guilt filled gulp you've seen her do so many times— after devouring Jackie, when she found out that Lottie nearly froze to death during the hunting competition, after Javi died. you sigh internally. it's time to step up.

rule 2— create distance between the predator and the prey. DO NOT USE YOUR OWN BODY IF YOU DON'T FANCY BEING EATEN ALIVE.

okay, so you're only following half the rule. so what? you step in front of Nat, effectively shielding her from Shauna's gaze. the only problem? Shauna's attention is on you now.

two blazing brown eyes lock onto yours and you calmly hold her gaze, resisting the urge to drop it and run away squealing like a frightened rabbit.

her eyes are void of any emotion but morbid curiosity. like she's wondering what colour your blood would be. or perhaps how you would taste if she took a bite out of you. you wonder if this is what people mean when they say 'coming face-to-face with death'.

her mental deterioration was one of the most obvious, second to only Lottie's. when Jackie was alive, she was still somewhat tethered to the husk of her old self. the soft-talking, quiet smart girl who preferred to stay in her best friend's shadow. that persona froze to death with Jackie in the snow.

Shauna calls your name in a low voice. a taunting, almost playful tone— an echo of all the times she'd used it while reprimanding you during practice. "Move.", she almost croons, one hand tracing the sheath of her knife.

you stay rooted, raising your hands placatingly.

rule 3— attempt to calm the predator. diverge their attention. use bait if necessary. DO NOT USE YOUR OWN BODY.

"Listen. We have a job to do. I don't care what bullshit you two wanna argue about— don't do it now." you say, readjusting your basket over your shoulder for full mobility. "I get it. You're pissed that no one wants to turn our community into a dictatorship, she's pissed that you don't want us to be rescued and taken home." her eyes narrow dangerously— a sign that you should stop talking. you don't.

"But winter is coming. We need to stock up on food because what happened last time cannot happen again." her eyes flash with just the slightest hint of guilt before it melts into that corroded look that sits on her face all the time.

it haunts you, all of you. the first time you'd tasted human flesh. the hunger. the ravenous feasting. how you had learnt that day that human flesh tasted disturbingly like pork when cooked. how easy it was for civility and morality to leave when hope was lost.

"Come on." You plead with her, your voice dripping with honey. you can feel Nat's heavy breathing on your neck. she's torn between terror and rage. her hand finds yours and she squeezes, an action that does not go unnoticed by Shauna's trained eyes. "Let's go back to foraging. We survived a fucking plane crash. We'll get through this. Together."

oh. you wish you could've taken that last line back. you may have talked her down from the cliff if not for that last line.

something in Shauna's eyes splinters— like a mirror shattering into little shards of glass. her eyes flicker to Nat's neck, where Jackie's necklace sits on her collarbones, glinting gold in the sun.

Jackie. sweet, sweet Jackie, who always pointed out when your shoelaces were untied and redid them for you, who held your hair back when you threw up after a rough night out, who made sure everyone had snacks during halftime, who always let Nat stay over when things got rough at home even if they weren't all that close.

Jackie, who had died so easily, like she was born to die there, nestled under layers of snow shrouding her dead body after an argument with the girl she loved so much.

Jackie, who above all, wanted the group to stay together. who wanted to get through it together.

you tense up. you know what's coming. you can sense the storm brewing in Shauna, you can see it in her eyes. you've finally struck a chord.

"Yeah?", Shauna asks quietly, taking another step forward towards you. you're now mere inches away from each other. her breath is cold against your face.

"And where's she gonna go, even if I do agree to this stupid rescue plan?" it's Nat's turn to tense up. her family has always been a touchy subject for her and for good reason. you place your hand on hers, stepping closer to her body.

"Back home to her shitty trailer? With her alcoholic mom who waits for daddy dearest to come back from beyond the grave?" she's sneering at you. sneering.

you can't remember step four. your fists are clenching and unclenching desperately as you try to resist the urge to beat her into a pulp.

"But of course you'd defend her right?" Shauna taunts further. step four, step four— what was step four?

"You and your pathetic little girlfriend. What a perfect pair. I'm surprised you'd even want her, though."

Shauna directs her attention to Nat now, who's quivering behind you. a lesser woman than your girlfriend would've quailed under that gaze.

"How can a girl who couldn't even keep her title as queen keep a girlfriend?"

fuck this. onto rule five then.

rule 5— use violence to subdue the predator.

in one smooth motion, you vault over to Shauna, closing the gap between you two, tackling her to the ground. your nails, rough and jagged, dig into her wrists, knocking the knife right out of her hands as she hisses in pain.

your fingers close around the handle of the falling knife, already guiding it to her neck. just before you can cut her throat open into a pretty red smile, her hand comes up, gripping onto your wrist, shaking against the force you're using. just barely preventing her own death.

you lock eyes with her. those brown eyes, dark as the earth, once bright as stars, stare back at you. she's shaking under you, and panting, trying to regain her breath. the impact must've knocked the wind right out of her.

your legs are splayed out on either side of her waist, keeping her pinned down. one of your hands, the free one, is keeping her wrist pinned down. the other is holding the knife to her throat, where her other hand desperately struggles against it.

"Do you really think you're that important?", you ask her in a low voice. her eyebrows raise as you press the blade in your hand closer to her throat and she pushes back harder. she makes no move to get you off her even though she probably could— and easily, that too.

you're vaguely aware of Nat's laboured breaths behind you.

"Anyone can do what you do. You aren't our leader— you're just the butcher.", you spit out venomously. "Do you really think anyone would protest if I ended your shit right now?"

she tilts her head at you impassively, but her body trembles under you. you smirk. you know what she's actually feeling.

"You're shaking...", you sing-song gleefully, trailing the knife down her collarbone. she stiffens up as the cold metal scrapes against her bare skin, trailing along the fabric of her cloth.

"Yeah, people tend to do that when they're being threatened with a fucking knife." she grits out. you tut and tighten your grip on her other hand, pinning it forcefully to the ground.

"Come on now. Don't be a smartass..", you roll your eyes, dropping your voice to a low husk. "You look so much better when you shut your mouth."

it's her turn to smirk now. her gaze drops to your lips and she raises her head just enough to press her nose to yours, but you pull away just slightly. you still have a girlfriend, after all.

she snorts, her eyes pulling away from your plush lips to focus on the blade that's now resting against her throat. "I knew you weren't boring."

you raise an eyebrow, digging into her skin just a little— not enough to draw blood, but enough to elicit a delicious gasp out of her. "Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

Shauna shrugs, grinning. her body language betrays that she's loosening up now. her previously strained shoulders have now dropped, and her fingers are indolently intertwined with yours.

perfect.

you stare at each other in a quiet few seconds of silence. then, you brusquely press the knife into her throat, drawing a thin line of blood. the red drips out of the wound, vibrant on her pallid skin.

she chokes in surprise, a whimper of pain finding it's way out of her throat, her eyes widening. the element of surprise. always works.

you lean in a little closer so that your breath mingles with hers. your hair tickles her face, blocking you two from Nat's view.

"Listen to me.", you say genially, holding back a maniacal grin. "You need to drop this whole terrorist act of yours. It's not cute on you." your thoughts wander to Nat and you add, "— and stop targeting Nat to be your stress relief. It's not her fault that we were actually willing to let her lead us. That she was actually capable of doing it too."

Shauna's eyes flicker with a hint of something— admiration, maybe. Nobody has stood up to her like this since— well, since Jackie.

her breathing grows ragged— not in trepidation, but in anticipation. the sicko is enjoying this. she chews her bottom lip, almost agitated, squirming a bit under you. you remain firm as a statue on top of her.

"What if I don't want to?" the statement is almost petulant in nature, but you know what she wants. and if it'll get her to put a halt on her plans for wilderness domination then...

you carve another pretty line across her throat, just below the first one. Shauna groans, her eyes hooding in hunger.

"Then I'll give you want. Do you want to see Jackie again? I know you do. I'll help you. And I'll do it while you're wearing her necklace, so that you can give it back to her."

You tangle your fingers in dark, sunkissed hair, yanking it back so that more of her throat is exposed to you. her Adam's apple bobs tantalizingly, practically begging for you to draw a pretty pattern into it.

you don't. yet.

"Will you be good?" you ask her quietly. her eyes are completely clouded now, scanning your face as though she's seeing you for the first time.

they're still glistening with just the slightest hint of shock. like a deer in the headlights.

your eyes trail to the empty dagger sheath still hanging off her belt, the callouses on her hands from all the time she's spent gutting animals with that beloved knife of hers.

no.

a wolf in the headlights.

"Hey." you prod her throat again with the tip of the knife, glaring. "I asked you a question." you let go of her wrist to move your hand to her chin.

she immediately takes the opportunity to rest her now free hand on your waist where your shirt has ridden up, no doubt leaving dirty streak marks that you're too lazy to clean behind.

you tilt her chin up, forcing her eyes off your lips and back into charged eye contact. she scans your face, as though evaluating you and weighing her choices— before she cedes with a small, almost imperceptible nod.

you smile. "Good dog.", you coo in the most condescending tone you can muster. she bares her teeth at you before snapping her jaw shut, realising that she's only proving your point.

you stay on top of her for one beat— then two—

you roll off of her, dropping her knife to the ground. she immediately straightens up, leaning back on her arms and cracking her neck.

you rub at the crick in your own neck as you smile sweetly at a dumbfounded Nat, who had evidently been watching the whole thing with a wide open jaw.

you strut up to her, your gait eased and relaxed now that you can breathe freely and push her lips closed with a single finger.

"I'm gonna go see if that mushroom thatch we set up last week is still intact." you tell her. she stares at you like you just told her that you wanted to join Lottie's weird prayer circle cult.

you giggle, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips before skipping off. god knows you needed that little stint of open violence. saying that you wanted another hunt would be too crude— but you doubt that anyone would've protested against harming Shauna. except maybe for that little pet of hers, Mel.

Shauna, who had been preoccupied with twirling her knife over in her hands and wiping her own blood off of it, comes to stand next to Nat. she stares off at the spot where you vanished out of sight and into the bushes, her face identical to Nat's. the sight is almost comical.

then finally, after a long, extended pause—

"Hey. You up to sharing?"

Nat whips her head around to glare at Shauna so fast, she thinks she might have whiplash.

"Not a chance in hell, you little bitch."

══════════════════════════

a/n: holy moly this took foreverrr— I might go back and proof read this, idk. this also had a lot more shauna x reader than the anon who requested this prob had in mind. sorry anon !

anyways, reminder that requests are open for thoughts, drabbles, etc etc for all the Yellowjackets girls— dead or alive !

[stvrnioloslvt]

can i get 24 (ass) & 28 for the misc prompts w billie ?

absolutely you can!

24. “i can see you staring at my tits/thigh/ass”

28. “spank me”

busy days were the absolutely worst days for you. you didn't handle being far from billie too well, and she knew how much you suffered her absence, even for just a day.

usually you tried to busy yourself to kill time, and sometimes billie gave you some ideas as well. anything to keep you happy.

that's why she gave you her card, told you to go buy something nice for yourself and doll yourself up for her. and that's exactly what you did.

you spent most of your day trying clothes, deciding which ones you liked better before purchasing them. and now, almost four hours later, you were standing in front of the wall length mirror in your bedroom, covered only by your panties and bra. your playlist was put on shuffle, phone discarded somewhere in the room as you twirled and danced alone, the song playing making you feel so much confidence flowing through you.

reaching for the bag on the ground, you pulled out black short shorts, bending down to slip them on. just as you did so, the door clicked open, and billie stood in the entryway frozen. her eyebrows shot up in surprise, but soon she relaxed and leaned on the doorway, a mischievous smirk planted on her lips.

she hummed in delight, not even trying to hide the fact that she was shamelessly eye-fucking you.

-I can see you staring at my ass,- you teased her, eyes locking on hers through the mirror. she huffed, pushing herself off the door as she made her way to you. immediately her arms wrapped around your waist, fingers twitching as she held herself back.

-can't help it when it looks so nice in these,- she slipped a finger inside the fabric of the shorts, pulling a little before letting it slap against your skin.

you turned around, grabbing her face in your hands before kissing her, moaning into the kiss as her hands travelled lower, then fondled your ass. -so fucking soft,- she murmured, her voice raspy from the heated kiss.

-spank me,- you whispered, whimpering when she delivered a tentative slap to your flesh. -are you sure, love?- she asked, and even though her voice dripped in honest worry you could see in her eyes how much she actually enjoyed your request.

you nodded, breathing out a needy -yeah- before kissing her again, softly nibbling her bottom lip. she chuckled darkly, squeezing your bum before slapping it again.

-come lay on my lap,- she commanded, sitting on the edge of the bed. her hand wrapped gently around your wrist, her cold rings creating a nice contrast with your burning skin, and then she pulled you until you laid across her lap, your face smashed against the soft duvet.

-but first,- her fingers traced a featherlight pattern on your back, traveling to your bra. -this has to go,- and just like that, she snapped your bra open, helping you slip it off your arms. she hummed satisfied, rubbing her hand up and down your legs, enjoying the way you squirmed around each time she touched a sensitive point.

you felt her fingertips sneak between your legs, gasping when she pressed them softly to your clothed clit. she rubbed you in tight circles a couple times, enough to chuckle at the dampness that drenched through two layers of clothes, even if thin, and onto her fingers.

-fuck, we're gonna have so much fun together, babygirl.-

© stvrnioloslvt

I hope you enjoyed it! you can find other works under the tag # © stvrnioloslvt [pick&choose] or you can request in my asks following these instructions! thank you for reading ♡

divider credits to @saradika-graphics

[sturnioz]

mechanic!matt helps put something together for you, and you know the best way to thank him personally.

you're standing in the middle of your bedroom, surrounded by scattered pieces of wood and screws, holding the instruction booklet for your new dresser in your hands.

your brows furrow deeply as you squint at the tiny diagrams, each more confusing than the last as you try your hardest to make sense of where to even start as matt sets his handy toolbox down on the carpet, rolling up his already short sleeves.

you point to a step in the booklet with a hum, "i think it says here that—"

"don't worry 'bout it, i got it," matt cuts you off, not needing to spare a glance at the instructions as he crouches down, inspecting the parts sprawled out before him, and you can't help but raise your eyebrows in surprise.

well. that was... unexpectedly attractive.

he flicks open his tool box with a click, pulling out a screwdriver and biting down gently on the handle, holding it between his teeth as he rummages through for another tool.

the way his jaw tightens ever so slightly, the focus crease in his brow, and the serious look in his eyes makes you swallow thickly. you wanted to help—you truly did—but now you're just standing there, gawking at him like a fool, entirely useless as matt gets to work.

you try to snap yourself out of it, fearing that you're drooling, clearing your throat and clutching the instruction booklet tighter in your grasp as you ask, "are you sure you don't—"

"nope," he interrupts, his voice slightly muffled by the screwdriver still between his teeth. he doesn't even look up at you as his hands already sort through the screws and bolts, checking each one.

you let out a small huff, more out of embarrassment at your own useless contribution. yet, watching matt work is... very distracting, and honestly better than getting your clumsy self involved.

his hands—large and steady—move with ease, flipping one of the wooden panels over, his biceps flexing as he holds it in place with one hand and screws it in with the other, broad shoulders rising and falling with each steady breath.

matt straightens up, pushing his hair out of his face as he glances over at you, raising a brow with a crooked smirk, "you alright over there?"

you blink, realising you've been quiet this entire time. "wha—yeah. m'fine. totally fine. just, y'know... supervising."

matt's smirk widens, and he chuckles softly, licking his bottom lip. "supervisin', yeah? and how's that workin' out for you?"

"fine," you say quickly, attempting to look composed. "you're doing all the hard work, so like... makes my job easier."

he shakes his head, still smirking, and returns to the dresser, his focus shifting back to the task at hand. you watch as he leans forward, bracing one hand on the carpet while he adjusts the wood, the fabric of his white shirt stretching across his shoulders and riding up his back in a way that makes your mouth go completely dry.

you can't help but continue noticing all the little things that's starting to drive you wild—his jaw clenching, the sheen of sweat forming at his temples, his forearms flexing with every movement, the soft grunts he makes when twisting the screws or if he's hammering pieces down.

is this even fair? is this legal? what the fuck is this?

"y'know," matt says after a moment, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts. "if you keep starin' at me like that, i might start chargin' you."

"m'not staring..." you mumble defensively as you pretend to busy yourself with the instruction booklet again, flipping through the pages even though you're not reading a single word.

"uh-huh." he hums, not sounding convinced.

you hear the sound of a screw being tightened and you risk glancing back at him, almost drooling once again at how focussed he is. you like this. you like this too much. is it a problem? this is definitely a you problem.

"done."

you peer around him, realising that the dresser is fully assembled—perfectly assembled, actually. no faults or crooked shapes of wood. you stare at it for a moment, then back at him.

"already?" you ask, blinking.

matt pushes himself up to stand, brushing his hands on his jeans before crossing his arms over his chest. "told you i got it." he steps closer, leaning down just enough so his face is inches from yours, "so, miss supervisor, how'd i do?"

your breath gets caught in the back of your throat, and all you can do is stare up at him, your heart thudding in your chest. he's so close—so fucking close that the arousal pooling in the pit of your stomach causes your pussy to clench around literally nothing.

you press your thighs together to relieve the ache, and matt's eyebrow raises as his eyes drift down your body, catching the subtle shift before his gaze meets yours.

"i think..." you start, swallowing to moisten your throat. "you deserve a thank you."

soon, you're on your knees in front of him as he leans against your newly built dresser, his fingers gripping the wood as the metal belt on his jeans clank as it hits the floor, pooling around his ankles.

you stick your tongue out, lathering it across is already weeping slit, savouring the sweet and salty taste of his pre-cum before wrapping your lips around the tip, swirling the wet muscle around the ridges of his cock.

matt's body shudders above you, a grunt rumbling in his chest as he looks down at you with heavy lids, watching as your mouth stretches taunt around him, taking him deeper down your throat, your nose pressing against his pelvis as you swallow greedily around him.

you bob your head, feeling the heavy weight and the taste of him on your tongue as your hand wraps around the base, keeping him steady while he throws his head back, his neck strained, the wet heat of your mouth engulfing him making his thighs tremble.

he loosens his grip on the dresser to fist at your hair, tangling his fingers through it to guide your movements, "fuuuuck, jus' like that," he groans, his hips rocking subtly to meet your bobbing motions. "so fuckin' sweet—thankin' me with your pretty lil' throat."

you pull off with a pop, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his tip as you tilt your head back to look up at him, smiling. you nuzzle your cheek against cock, your tongue tracing the underside before you take one of his heavy balls into your mouth, sucking them gently.

matt hisses through his teeth sharply, tightening his hold on your hair, his hips stuttering against your face with a loud, rumbling groan.

"good girl—good fuckin' girl," his other hand finds its way to the back of your head, cradling it as you work, his chest heaving with ragged breathes. his stomach muscles clench and relax repeatedly with each suckle, the wet sounds of your mouth on his balls making his head spin.

you release one to immediately suck the other as your hand pumps his slick cock, your tongue rubbing against the textured skin, tracing the veins. you stare up at him, eyes blown out, pleased to see matt's face contort into so much pleasure that it almost has you cumming on the spot untouched.

you pull away once again to place open-mouth kisses along the underside of his cock, starting from the base and working all the way up to his tip to flick your tongue at the leaking slit, unable to stop that satisfied giggles at the amount of pre-cum that forms.

the flicks seem to tip matt over the edge as he moans loudly, thick ropes of cum painting your face. his hips jerk, spurting across your cheeks, chin, and lips, dripping messily as his eyes roll to the back of his head.

as the last drops dribble onto your tongue, your lap it up greedily, watching as his slumps back carefully against the dresser, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

© STURNIOZ

[theonottsbxtch]

LANDO NORRIS MASTERLIST

codes: ✦ angst ꔫ smut

ONE SHOTS

its ok im ok | ex!reader summary: lando broke up with her, she's supposed to be miserable isn't she. she's supposed to hate the new girl. but she isn't, if anything she pities her, because she's okay now. she wishes the best for the new one.

✦ casual | situationship!reader summary: with men like lando it's always going to be the same thing the half truths and empty promises, she's meant to feel like he loves her, but does he?

✦ set fire to the rain | toxic relationship summary: every man she had been with had hollowed her out, she'd sworn off of them completely. but lando looked like he wasn't those guys, until he proved her wrong. until he made he realise he's just like them.

two hands | bartender!reader summary: vegas. free bad. gorgeous bartender. is it really bad is lando wants her two hands on him at all time?

✦ the come down | druggie!lando summary: she'd been there for him through it all, the highs the lows. the dips in moods, the constant arguments. but there was only so much a girl can take.

✦ honest | ex girlfriend!reader summary: neither of them were every quite honest with each other, that was their problem. that was what led to their break up but never to their make up.

✦ given enough | toxic relationship summary: she had a perfect painted picture for them, one that felt like she was clawing at his skull, heart and bones. lando thought he had given her enough, but enough was never enough for her.

✦ hear me (purple laced bra) | gf!reader summary: dating a star is meant to be cool! exciting, he's meant to love you, show you off and see you. but that was the problem with lando, it was fun, he did show her off. but he never saw her. never truly saw her.

ꔫ low life | hockey player!lando summary: being one of the top prospects means you get everything, the money, the girls, the drugs. the addictive life style. but that's not enough, because the one thing he wants, he can't have. oscar's girlfriend. or can he?

✦ ghost of her | ex!reader summary: she'd walked out a long time ago, long enough that he should have gotten his shit together by then, moved on, started life anew, but he couldn't. everywhere he looked he could see her. and that was his problem. that's why he couldn't move on.

velvet & vice | mob boss!lando summary: an arranged marriage was never what lando wanted to do with his life, but he was aware that at some point it was in the cards. so he accepted it, he accepted the marriage as long as his promised wife followed the rules. the problem for lando though was that his wife didn't follow the rules, if anything she outsmarted him.

SMAU

cool for the summer | summer fling!reader summary: each summer. lando went to the same resort, and each summer he fell a little bit harder for the owner's daughter.

english love affair | piastri!reader summary: oscar's sister was everything he wasn't. she was in a band, reckless and cheeky and that seemed to draw lando in so quick. it wasn't his fault if he fell for her crazy charm.

private | singer!reader summary: the two them both had very successful careers, it made sense for them to keep everything private, until fans started to piece one and one together.

my kinda crazy | driver!reader summary: she was insane. like clinically insane, she had no problem taking a golf club to his prized car collection. and for some reason, he had no problem watching it happen. he knew exactly what she wanted.

SERIES

when the world goes quiet | flight lieutenant!lando summary: set during ww2 in london, this story follows the unlikely romance between a soulful jazz singer and a dashing flight lieutenant, lando norris. as the city endures the turmoil of the blitz, the pair find solace in smoky clubs and fleeting moments of peace. their bond deepens in the shadow of uncertainty, where every goodbye might be the last. a story of love, longing, and resilience, it captures the fragile beauty of connection in a world on the brink.

part one | part two - completed

redcoat | redcoat!lando summary: in the waning light of the american revolution, a spirited colonial shopkeeper crosses paths with lando norris, a sharp-tongued british redcoat whose loyalty to king and country begins to falter the moment their worlds collide. what begins as a clash of wit and will blossoms into a dangerous, forbidden love, hidden in shadows and silence. as the fires of rebellion burn hotter and allegiances are tested, their hearts wage a war of their own. disappearances, betrayal, and near-death draw them to the edge of heartbreak, until a desperate reunion under cover of night reminds them what they stand to lose. torn between duty and desire, loyalty and love, theirs is a romance born in war. delicate, defiant, and destined to change everything.

part one | part two - completed

[valeisaslut]

Hey I know you said your inbox is so full right now but I can't get this idea out of my head.

Imagine rockstar!ellie and popstar!reader going to the short and sweet tour and sabrina arresting reader for juno

Plus ellie definitely told reader they are trying the Juno pose later that night!

oh paris. PARIS. you’ve activated something ancient and unspeakable in me with this idea. i’m writing this like i’m on deadline and sabrina herself is standing behind me with a glitter gun. okay so—

IMAGINE COLLIDE'S ROCKSTAR!ELLIE AND POPSTAR!READER GOING TO THE SHORT N' SWEET TOUR!

the short n’ sweet tour. madison square garden. sold out. the air tastes like glitter and overpriced lip gloss. everyone is either wearing little bows or little nothings. sabrina’s deep in her pink glittery bodysuit, hair curled to oblivion, heels high enough to be a safety hazard, walking the stage like it owes her money.

you and ellie are in the VIP section, but it’s not chill. nothing about you two is ever chill. you’re center-left, full view, already clocked by all of the arena. ellie’s in her feral dyke uniform: worn leather jacket. white wife pleaser, low-rise jeans hanging on by a belt and a prayer. sunglasses indoors. gave a shit about the sn's tour dress code. chewing gum like it’s a personality. muttering, “this is gay propaganda” every few minutes.

you, meanwhile, showed up looking like a slutty disco ball. tiny rhinestone corset spelling out “SWEET?” in cursive, miniskirt that keeps riding up, platforms that technically qualify as a weapon. your hair’s perfect, your makeup’s evil. the fans know who you both are. everyone knows.

and sabrina knows who you are.

you’re friends. talk everytime you're in the same award show. follows each other on instagram. she reposted your “please stream short 'n sweet or i’ll cry” story. you reposted her "OMG I LOVED BETTER LIES GO STREAM RN" story. it’s borderline cinematic.

and then—then—the lights go gold. the stage fogs up like a dream. first few chords of “juno” hit like a religious event. sabrina does that slow dramatic hair flip she’s legally required to do before every slutty song, and every single girl in the arena dies at the exact same time. like cardiac arrest, mass gay fainting, someone in section 212 is literally sobbing into her cowboy hat.

and then sabrina starts scanning the crowd, doing her little “juno” hunt. she’s smirking. pacing. absolutely villain-coded. but the second she sees you—she breaks. stops mid-step. flicks her hair, nearly trips over her. looks directly at you.

"omg guys… i got really distracted… this girl is like–so hot i’m going actually insane right now."

the camera cuts to you and it’s over. the entire arena SCREAMS. and you’re mid-scream too, waving your arms, yelling “OMG WHAT THE HELL!! I LOVE YOU SAB!!” like it’s the fucking hunger games and your name just got drawn.

sabrina is cackling. fully turning red. “you guys i think i’ve never fallen in love but... you know... a popstar and popstar relationship goes hard.”

"oh my! my clothes are falling OFF!" then—her long pink glittery skirt drops. unprompted. sabrina just stands there in sparkly miniskirt and boots, shaking her head.

the crowd goes absolutely feral. ellie grabs your thigh like she’s about to restrain you physically. sabrina recovers, smirks at ellie’s direction, and goes:

"i’m sorry to do this in front of you, ellie williams—who is looking extremely hot too, by the way—but... y/n... you’re under arrest for being too hot."

YOU DIE. CROWD DIES. security splits like the red sea. sabrina has the crowd hand-deliver a set of fuzzy pink cuffs to you and winks. you are standing there visibly malfunctioning. like gay windows XP shutting down.

ellie, meanwhile, is recording the entire thing on her phone. she zooms in 800%. breathless. “oh my god. oh my god. my girl just got arrested for being too hot. i love live music. this is my woodstock.”

you take the cuffs and lift them like a trophy. the arena fucking erupts. someone faints. people are sobbing. someone on TikTok is already posting “when your fav popstar arrests your other fav popstar in front of your fav rockstar” with a Lana track in the background.

the camera pans back to Sabrina and ellie’s hands are IMMEDIATELY everywhere. whispering “you’re so hot when you’re legally apprehended.” you try to sip water and she full-on licks your shoulder. “ellie please.” “no. i’m in heat.”

backstage, you and sabrina take selfies with the cuffs, and she’s holding your face like she just discovered sapphic joy for the first time. ellie photobombs looking like the devil.

you post: “sabrina carpenter arrested me. ellie’s gonna finish the sentence.” ellie posts: “i support hot women’s rights and wrongs.”

and later, in her place, ellie has the video playing on a loop, full volume. she’s sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but her boxers and a chain around her neck, hair messy, looking like she just survived a riot (which, spiritually, she did). she’s gripping her phone like it’s sacred scripture, eyes locked on the part where sabrina does the pose—you know the one. all fours, ass arched, head tossed back in slow motion. the camera caught it in 4K.

"baby. baby, pause it. go back. right there. RIGHT THERE."

you’re standing at the foot of the bed, fully naked, hair wild, lipstick smudged. ellie looks up at you like she’s witnessing divinity. you roll your eyes and sigh dramatically, but you’re already dropping to your hands and knees on the mattress, arching your back, biting your lip.

"have you ever tried... this one?"

ellie groans so loud it echoes. drops her phone like it’s been made irrelevant by your existence. leans forward slowly, eyes dark, voice low:

"you know what comes next."

and what happens next that is technically classified, probably illegal in three states, and definitely a public safety hazard. but just know: the cuffs stay on.

and somewhere in New York, sabrina carpenter wakes up in a cold sweat, heart racing, with no idea why.

unhinged. legendary. historic queer moment. you win the internet for the night.

thank you paris for your contribution to global gay culture.

[moodient]

(nsfw!!) imagine!ambessa and reader were relaxing in their humble abode, cuddling in bed, enjoying each other's presence. it was a good day for the both of you, neither of you had work even though, ambessa has told you time and time again to quit your job and just let her take care of you. but you didn't feel justified doing so, you wanted to feel needed or important or at least feeling like you're contributing in some way. but ambessa has no problem telling you or showing you how much you mean to her.

but you both needed a break from the chaotic world, endless amounts of work, and just overall stress. and cuddling was the perfect way to do it. no phones, no tv, no doomscrolling, only a recorder that plays soft jazz and just enjoying each other's company.

of course, ambessa needed you as a little spoon, feeling your back pressed up against her chest and your ass against her crotch. she absolutely loves it. she also can't keep her hands to herself. her hands trail from your neck to your chest, softly groping your breasts and kissing on your neck leaving you hickeys.

"mmh, you're so perfect, princess.." she whispered in your ear, nibbling on your earlobe. she has such a way of making you melt and despite her turning you on, this is just how she gets "comfortable".

soft moans and whimpers escape your mouth, and you can't help but to place your hand in between your legs. rubbing your clothed bud, as she continues to leave her mark all over you. ambessa is absolutely enjoying herself, until she realized what you were doing.

"uh-uh, what do you think you're doing, darling?" she said, grabbing your hand and turning you to face her.

"i'm sorry, baby.. i just couldn't help it." you whimpered, feeling almost embarrassed that you got caught.. almost. she smirks and places you on your back, taking off your sleep shorts and your panties. and long and behold, a soaking pussy throbbing for her. she looveess your pussy. even curve, your blossoming bud, and your perfect lips. her mouth almost salivates, just by looking at it.

"don't apologize, baby. just let me take care of you." she said, lowering herself to taste you. she places her tongue on your clit, swirling it around slowly but fast enough for you to feel hot and bothered.

her tongue is sending you into cloud nine, you can't stop groaning and softly moaning. the pleasure is becoming too much for you, it's even overstimulating, and you haven't even cum yet. you're trying to keep your legs open, but you can't control and squeeze ambessa's head with your thighs. despite you being unable to keep your legs open, she's still eating you out. flicking her tongue on your clit more, slurping up your wet cunt.

ambessa's licks and sucks becomes faster and stronger, making you wince in pleasure. you even start grinding up against her face, holding her silvery curly locs. her eyes looking up at you, watching your fucked-out expression, teary eyes rolling back, mouth dry from keeping it open, face flushed from pleasure. and it absolutely fills her with determination, she wants to see more of it. taste more of it, feel more of it.

"ah~ ambessa, i-i'm getting close." you whimpered, looking down at her. and her eyes go completely dark.

she takes this as a challenge to make you cum as hard as possible, one hand, caressing your breast and squeezing your nipple. and other is fingering your perfect pussy, she started with one finger just to ease you into it and then she added another finger and another finger, thrusting into you fast and hard. she suckles and swirls her tongue around your bud, making you feel your climax closer and closer..

"a-ambessa!" you screamed out as you reach your climax, your eyes completely roll back, your back arched and toes curled. while you're still reaching your climax, she watches you, slowly thrusting while you're still cumming..

"that's good, baby.. good girl.." she says, cooing at you and kissing your head. your body finally relaxes and you're starting to feel sleepy.. ambessa slowly pulls her fingers out of you and swirls them around her tongue and pulls them out, making a 'pop' sound.

"delicious." she says, laying to the side of you. you giggled at her, and kissed her passionately. you loved days like this, and she always knew how to make it ten times better-

a//n: y'all this is my first time-ish making a smut fanfic and A GIRLIE IS HOT AND BOTHERED. hope you enjoyed, my ambessa fans.

[yallthemwitches]

Like a lot of other authors/content creators in the HP fandom, I am feeling a sense of heaviness over the rulings that happened in the UK and feel the need to speak on my (albeit very complicated) feelings.

What JKR is doing is terrible. It will ruin lives. It will end lives.

If you feel like that is being hyperbolic, please go look up the suicide rates for the trans community. It's a staggering number and it only grows as people seeking information, comfort, and support are locked out of proper resources due to heinous legislations like the one passed yesterday.

It saddens me too because I know that so many in the LGBTIQA+ have found characters/stories in the HP universe that have spoken to them and helped to understand their personal journeys---only to have that comfort ripped away by the very person who created them.

If you can permit me to be personal for a second: My brother is trans and before/during his transition (this was early 2010s) he always cited Remus Lupin as one of the foundations for coming to terms with his trans identity because he saw some of his own internal struggle in Lupin's character. He even went so far as to write a letter to JKR (which, thank GOD he never sent...) thanking her for creating a character that aided him with the complicated feelings he had when there were no other resources for him.

My brother is now a psychologist specializing in the young trans community and speaking to him recently, he has said that he comes across this same story constantly and each one ends in tragedy because that little piece of solace and comfort was not just taken from them, but told them that no, actually. You thought wrong to see yourself in this character. You don't matter.

Watching what happened yesterday and knowing the long history of bigotry JKR has spouted for years now weighs heavy on my heart every time I step into this fandom and often I question if I should still contribute to it. I know it's not much, but I would like to share some of the things that keep me going--even when it all looks really fucking bleak:

Fanfiction and fanart are, at their foundation, anticapitalist works--and can be used to fight JKR's agenda. By consuming fanfic/fanart zero money goes towards JKR. None. And further, JKR has no say in how you use her characters in these spaces. So, if you want to use these creative outlets to uplift trans voices, please do! Support trans writers/artists and urge them to PERSIST--because I promise you nothing is going to tick off the ole' bitch more than trans bodies/ trans supporters writing her characters.

Just because the writer is the devil, doesn't mean the art has to be. I won't go into the concept of "death of the author" because I think it can be pockmarked to hell with various examples, but what I DO subscribe to is that once the art is out in the world, it is now owned by the person who consumes it. To put it simply: when I read HP I am POSITIVE I imagine characters/settings differently than the person next to me. It's the beauty of the imagination: the creator can give us the blocks but how it is built is contingent on how WE perceive it.

Did I mention money? DON'T GIVE IT TO HER. Buy the books/movies second hand. Pirate the media you wish to consume around the fandom. Don't give her any reason to give any more hate funding and instead send that money to trans communities and groups who need it (they REALLY need it.)

Maybe I'm naive to say this, but I don't think interacting with the story as an art form is bad. She invented it, sure, but she isn't in charge of what goes on in my brain. If anything, this fandom NEEDS the trans community and supporters within it because not only can they push back, but they can educate those who otherwise are listening to the author. Don't let her win the space even though she's the author. It's no longer hers to have.

If you are someone who wants to leave the fandom because you can't bear to watch her continue to destroy it--I completely understand. But, as someone who has been in this fandom for over 20 years, the one thing I've learned is: besides monetarily she doesn't own shit. Don't let her take what you love from you and don't let her get away with scaring people out of their community spaces. Support and love our trans brothers and sisters and enjoy your HP despite it all. The things you love are worth fighting for.

[bambisafe]

re4!leon / gender neutral!reader

cw : pure humor, kissing, established relationship, no violence but leon does give poor instructions.

word count : around 500

author's note : i'm a big fan of the em dash.

author's author's note : this work is mildly inspired by a fic by @/gtgbabie03 though i believe it's been deleted. still felt the need to disclose this information.

imagine leon teaching you self defense.

you two have just moved in together, into your first house, and you're both settling in, getting used to each other's routine and overall way of living.

naturally, since leon is away a lot— and sometimes for long periods of time —he worries for your safety and what better time to bring that up than right now?

“what’re y’gonna do if someone breaks in?” the unforeseen question is like a crackle of thunder between you, all traces of the previous conversation withering away.

your fork clinks against your plate, dinner momentarily forgotten. “what?”

the slightest of twitches above his right brow, forehead wrinkling with the movement. “you heard me.”

the question ultimately stumps you, lips parting in utter astonishment. how did small talk turn into this?

“i don't know— kick them?” now it's your turn to furrow a brow.

your boyfriend nods, expression unreadable, as he drags a folded napkin down over his lips. “not a bad start.”

and that's how you got here, standing in the middle of the living room underneath dim lamp light, with your hands curled into fists.

“no, honey, put your feet like this,” a foot of his own wedges between your legs, nudging yours farther apart. one slightly back, one slightly forward.

“there we go,” he praises, mirroring your stance. or the one he taught you, really. “now, hands in front of your face.”

you listen, fists crowding the front of your head.

“no, not like that,” he sighs, though he remains patient. “like this.”

you copy his demonstration; not perfectly but not horribly.

“good. now, when you punch put all your weight into it, alright?” he explains while applying a visual aid that is more comical than it is informative. “put your back into it.”

you can't hold back a chuckle from escaping no matter how hard you try not to.

“yeah, keep laughin’. see where that’ll get you against an intruder,” he sasses, completely stone-faced.

you snicker. “leon!”

this time, the corner of his lips tick upward. “alright, enough messin’ around,” he shrugs, shaking off the humor and replacing it with that same air of concentration from before.

“go, punch me.”

of course, you don't connect your fist with him full-force. it's light, just a tickle of fingers against a cheek.

“not bad,” leon affirms, unmoving. “again, but twist your hip.”

you take his advice and do exactly that, putting your back into it like your boyfriend graciously reminded you to.

a lopsided grin forms on the blond’s face, arms falling to his sides. “that was good,” one arm outstretches and you feel fingers grip onto your hip, effectively pulling you in snugly.

“now i can sleep easy knowing you can hold your own,” his smooth timbre washes over you, warm and familiar. “not that i doubted you before.”

your face blooms a smile, hand coming up to rest on his plush chest. “i have the best teacher,”

leon returns the sentiment with a quick kiss to the apple of your cheek. “i’m beat,” he sighs. “bed?”

consider reblogging if you enjoyed, it helps out writers a ton !

[tmnt-tychou]

In This Place

Bayverse AU It's an idea that's been rattling in my brain for a while and after I wrote this first part, I sat on it for a few months more. Thought I'd share. *********

Her scent preceded her. A clean, floral breeze that danced atop the stench of piss, blood and filth. She did not belong here. Her shoes and linens far too clean. Everything about her was too fresh and too white to be in a place like this.

“My Lady, you must be lost. This is no place for you,” said the beast master as he met her before the row. It was auction day. She wasn't the only human inspecting the mutants for sale. But she was the only one who clearly did not belong. The other humans were of dust and filth, just like this part of the market. Used to working with unruly beasts, both human and inhuman as they haggled out in the open, or sometimes, behind closed doors. They were used to the sale of live bodies and dangerous creatures. Shrewd in their dealings of buying and selling of souls until their usefulness ran out.

“If you are looking for a pet, you have found the wrong market,” the beast master continued. “These are all dangerous creatures. Too rough and wild for someone as fair as you.”

She regarded the beast master; a large man, scarred on his face and arms as evidence of his livelihood. A minute frown pursed her lips.

“I am not looking for a pet. I need something...more.” She slipped past him and walked along the row of chained mutants for sale. They were big with long claws and sharp fangs. Most were bigger than a human with haunted, wary eyes. Used to whips and violence, and the filth of the markets and other dark places where they were trafficked.

“Do they understand when I speak? Do they listen?” she continued.

The beast master followed her, still not convinced she was in the right place. “They understand. But listening, that I can't guarantee. These are wild, feral animals, My Lady. Whatever you are looking for, you will not find it here.”

She ignored him and continued up the row, eyeing each creature. “I need something big, scary, but something I can trust. Like a guard dog.” She stopped in front of a jackal mutant; dark furred and yellow-eyed. It looked at her calmly, but wary. She stepped forward and it snapped. It lunged, jaws out. She jerked back as spittle sprayed her. The chains held the mutant for a moment. But at the second lunge, the stake holding its chains loosened from the ground.

The woman of white linen and flower scent fell back as the first touch of fangs made contact with her arm. But a scrape was all they managed. Even as the beast master lunged forward with his whip, the jackal was already yanked back. The small hint of freedom seemed to have made the beast feral. It snarled and clawed and snapped its jaws, but a much larger mutant had a hold of its chain. Green; thick-skinned and shelled. Limbs big like tree trunks.

This turtle mutant made no sound as he hauled the jackal back. Pinned the leaner canine down with a big hand on its back, then the other on its head while it growled and snapped. He held the jackal down until the humans of the market managed to get it properly restrained once more.

“As I said, My Lady,” the beast master repeated as the woman stood and dusted herself off, “this is no place for you.”

She paid him no mind as she approached the turtle mutant, now standing back in his place, waiting to be sold. He was covered in scars from head to toe. Grizzled and tired. But there was nothing aggressive about him. She stepped up to the line, the one put in place to keep all potential buyers at a safe distance. When the turtle did nothing, she stepped closer.

“My Lady!” the beast master called. “Stay behind the line.”

He knew beasts, but so did she. She looked up at the turtle as he gazed down at her.

“You protected me,” she told him.

“That one is from the gladiator pits,” another of the merchants said, speaking mostly to the beast master. “Very aggressive. He was retired due to his leg. He is useless in a fight now.”

She glanced down at his leg. A crude bandage wrapped around his thigh and over his knee. The flesh was swollen and red, and stank with infection.

“My Lady,” the beast master tried again. There was slight aggravation in his tone now as he tried to guide her back across the line. “If you tell me what you are looking for, I will help you find something with a more agreeable temperament. This one...this one is worth more if it were cut up and sold in pieces than in the state it is now.”

She glanced over to address the beast master and then the turtle caught her attention. His hulking form lowered and knelt before her, though it clearly pained him to do so. She knew most of the mutants could at least voice a few words, but she was still startled when the turtle spoke. His voice was deep, but dry like leaves before the first snow. Like his voice was being used for the first time in years.

“I understand and I listen, My Lady,” he rasped. “Take me outta here and I'll serve you 'til my last breath.”

She reached to him. Paused slightly before her fingers brushed the top of his scarred head. Still in contact, she sucked in a breath, closed her eyes, then let it out.

“This one,” she announced and smartly turned to the beast master. “This one shall be delivered to my estate.”

“My Lady,” he tried once again to convince her. “This mutant...this one is not for you. He is for the butcher. He would be worth more to you if you sold his meat and his shell.”

She raised her head, determined. “Then his meat and shell will be mine, in one form or another. I will buy him.”

**************

Raphael was boxed up into a crate and wheeled through the city. It wasn't a new sensation to him to be bought and sold like property. The various brands of different owners on his body were a testament to that. But this was the first time he had ever been delivered to this part of town. The part with the big estates. Massive houses where everything was clean and white. Where it seemed like the dust and filth of his world couldn't reach.

He was in a new world now. As he stared at the estate through the bars of his cage, Raphael wondered if he would be saved here, or if this would be his final resting place.

The estate was huge. White marble and plush red rugs. The place had fucking house staff, which all looked beside themselves when his cage was delivered. There was an older woman that seemed to be in charge. She too looked a bit overwhelmed with this delivery, but had no problem facing off with the men who delivered him.

“Well, what am I supposed to do with this?” she motioned to Raphael in his cage.

“Not my problem,” replied one of the two men. “We just deliver. What you do with that thing is your business. Sign here for the creature.”

The woman signed, but she did so with a severe frown. And when the men began to open his cage, she balked.

“What...what are you doing? You can't just let that thing out!”

“Only the mutant was paid for, not the cage,” the other man responded as if he had heard it all before.

The cage door was open and Raphael knew the drill. Still adorned in chains, he limped out and into the sun. Even the sun felt cleaner here; more energizing instead of hot and brutal. His infected leg prevented him from moving too fast, but he was no stranger to pain. It was a dull, hot ache simmering in the background of everything else that had happened to him lately. An hour before, he thought he was for sure going to the meat market and now...he was in this place.

One of the men handed this woman the tail end of his chains and the key to his shackles. “He's all yours. Good luck.”

The woman, who was most likely the head of the house staff, held both items dumbly as the men packed up to leave. “Wait! You're just going? You're not going to do anything to make sure we're protected from this...creature?”

The men looked to her and then to Raphael who had done nothing else but stand there. “He's your problem now. He doesn't seem to be too much of a handful. Hell, with the state of him, he may be dead in a few days anyway. Good luck.”

They left the woman huffing with the chain in her hand. Now she nearly looked too angry to be scared of him. And in this moment, Raphael had a realization. He could easily tear himself away from the befuddled woman and lumber off to freedom. But he also knew it would be a short freedom. If he left the grounds, if he showed any sign of violence, it would be his death. This world of humans would not tolerate his life for long.

So he looked down calmly at the woman and her small cadre of house staff, all looking at him as if he would run rampant at any moment.

“I will go where ever you want me to,” Raphael spoke, causing them all to jump. “I won't hurt anyone.”

A few of the other staff members still looked unsure, but the older woman seemed satisfied enough. She still looked distrustful and not at all happy with the hand—or turtle—she had been dealt. But she kept his chain in her hand as she led him forward. “Come along, then. We'll see what we can do to get you presentable.”

Raphael obediently followed like a dog on a leash. Nothing here was dangerous. He didn't have to fight for food, he didn't have to keep an eye on his back. He was so tired of fighting off creatures more feral than himself. This was a nice change of pace. He would gladly walk around this whole estate for days instead of going back to the pits or the market.

He was taken to a large trough of water where he was told to strip out of what little of a loincloth he still had and to clean himself. They didn't unchain him and Raphael didn't care as he sat in the cool water and sighed. It was a hot summer day and this felt amazing to his turtle instincts. He could live here in this trough, chains or no chains. No one requested he leave the water, so Raphael stayed for some time. He had actually fallen asleep when a gruff voice cleared his throat. He opened his lids half way to find a large man standing over him with a leather bag in his hand. Raphael had seen this man before. He was one of the few mutant medics. He had often heard people refer to them has a type of veterinarian in jest. But maybe they were just that. After all, he was an animal.

“I was hired to patch up your leg.” The man was curt. His voice told he had no time for foolery. “Get out.”

Long used to obeying a rough voice, Raphael heaved himself out of the water. He sat on the concrete floor as the doctor poked and prodded at his wound with no care for his comfort. The turtle was used to pain and barely flinched. Not until the doctor began to squeeze the wound to clear out the bacteria and puss. He jerked a bit from the pain and growled, but the doctor had seen far moodier mutants in his time. It wasn't too long before Raphael's wound stung cleanly of antiseptic, wrapped in a tight bandage.

Afterward, Raphael was given a pair of linen trousers to wear and was escorted into a side part of the main house. Inside, there was a wood table and a sturdy chair, and food. Actual food. Not grainy slop, not dirty near-rotted items from the market that could no longer be sold for human consumption. Actual good food: fruits and vegetables, bread, meat.

Raphael hesitated. There was no way this was for him. He had to be dreaming. The head of the household motioned him to sit. “For you, from our mistress. Eat. And behave yourself.”

Raphael didn't need to be told twice. He tried to remember what little manners her knew and ate carefully, but hungrily. While he was fed regularly as a fighter in the pits, once he was determined too wounded to go back in the ring, all resources had been cut off. He hadn't eaten for two days.

This was all too good to be true. He ate, but cautiously. As if suspicious of making even a single wrong move and it would all be taken away.

No one came to take his food. However, the woman from the market, still smelling of a fresh breeze and flowers, came into the room. Raphael paused the shoveling of food into his face as she stepped forward with the key and unshackled him. The chains fell heavily to the floor and Raphael eyed the woman carefully as she sat herself in the chair opposite of him.

“I hope these accommodations have been to your liking,” she said politely.

Raphael chewed and swallowed. “Best I've ever been treated in a long time.”

“You can continue to have this and more, as long as you are loyal to me. Betray me, and you go back to the meat market and I'll hang your shell on my wall.”

He licked his teeth. “Seems fair. But I need you to tell me why I'm here. What do you want me to do for you?”

She shifted slightly, squaring her shoulders. “My husband was murdered two days ago. He had many enemies and now I fear for my life. I fear there may be eyes and ears within these walls. I needed someone from outside, someone without any ties who only has loyalty to me. Your job will be to protect me. As long as I am alive, you will never know hunger or cold. You will live in comfort for the rest of your days. Do we have a deal?”

“I already told ya,” Raphael said seriously. “I'd serve you until my dying breath for getting me out of there. I meant every word.”

His new mistress leveled her gaze at him, looking satisfied. “Then we part when one of us dies.”

@thelaundrybitch @leosgirl82 @dilucsflame33 @fluffytriceratops @thepinkpanther83 @yorshie @yamanekomono @androidships007 @silversunskyless @avery73

[thatguywrites]

Could you do driver + wags taking care of drunk driver!reader after first race win? :)

Drivers + Wags my beloved

A/N: Disappearing and remembering to post on a random day? More likely than you think :/ I'm on vacation, so I don't have much time to write, I'll be back home this weekend though so I hope to get back into the swing of things

Drivers + Wags with Race Winner Boyfriend

Oscar + Lily

Oscar, pretty recently had his first win, so he gets how it feels

He did not however, go as hard as you've gone in celebration

Both Oscar and Lily are pretty introverted, so they'll go to a bar with you, but only to stay in the corner keeping their eyes on you

Make sure you don't keep jumping off tables

Once you calm down a bit and seek them out, they just call a taxi to bring you home

Where they then have to wrestle you into bed, to prevent any injuries

The next morning they treat you to breakfast in bed, as another congratulations, and to help a hit with the hangover

Every ten seconds they'll remind you that the trophy, and the win was real

The smile on your face is identical to the smile on theirs

Max + Kelly

The celebration begins right there on the podium, where Max shoots almost all of his champagne into your throat

The fans question it, but you're too distracted to notice

The two of you instantly go to the bar, where you keep celebrating with your teams all night, before you're both calling Kelly to come pick you up

When she picks you up she can't help but poke fun at the race winner turned drunk

But your pout puts an end to that

In the end, she has to guide the two of you to bed, and make sure you stay there

Once she gets into bed with you though, there's no reason to get out

Charles + Alex

Charles lifts you on his shoulders in the club and has to pass your drinks up to you

The three of you turn in early for some... other... celebrations

After that Alex and Charles pamper you beyond belief

A bath with all of Alex's bath salts and candles

The finest chocolate and plenty of water

And the warmest cuddles to lure you to sleep

In the morning the three of you eat cereal in bed together, giggling about the day before's events

Eventually you'll have to get up, but not for now

Alex + Lily

Once you're off the podium, Lily is the first to hug you, and she doesn't let go for the rest of the night

Alex joins soon after, pushing any jealousy down (especially if you won with red bull) to celebrate with you

Ya'll club hard

Lily keeps convincing you to take shots

At some point you take a body shot off of Alex

It is a wild night

After the three of you somehow manage to stumble home, none of you are in the state to care for yourselves or each other

So you all collapse into bed without a shower

In the morning you take a bath together and nurse eachother back to health

But it is a long process considering how hungover all three of you are

Valtteri + Tiffany

Valtteri runs from the Mercedes garage to the podium ceremony faster than your car

After you get off he kisses you so hard you see stars

Whispers something in your ear about licking the champagne off of you later...

Before you go out Tiffany gives you hugs and kisses as well

But only you and Valtteri end up going to a club

You end up in a drinking contest, and after you win Valtteri has the sense to bring you home

Turns out Tiffany created a huge pile of blankets and pillows on the bed for their winner to relax

They hand feed you some fruit and crackers before passing out along side you

Taglist: (Comment or DM to be added)

@koalapastries @justaf1girl @spoonfulofmilo @lokisen @op-81-lvr-reblogs