#winking with both eyes u know

[uptownhags]

a couple years back at theatre job, i had the bestbest college volunteer who showed up every single saturday to help my kiddos in class. even after i left, he spent his whole summer as a counselor there and performed in their big showcase. i was thinkin recently, 'wonder what happened to that kid' and today i found out we may work together. the world is v small but the world is good sometimes!!

[suzakus-canon-wife]

Nooooo don't be a soft guy with beautiful eyes and fluffy hair but also so full of despair and insanity,,, im gonna want your huge meat so fucking bad haha,,

[yourstrulyrani]

biker!simon riley x reader

a/n: that second photo makes me so feral oh my days it just SCREAMS SIMON the tats the bicep the BALACLAVAUAHDF. also thank you all on 1k+ notes on my husband!simon riley post. I ADORE U GUYS and i'm so glad that you guys like my writing, it means a lot 🥲♥︎.

biker!simon riley who rides a bike as powerful as him: a gorgeous kawasaki ninja h2. he modded it so now it’s fully blacked out. he didn't bother upgrading bikes over time like most riders so they can get the hang of simply riding. he bought the h2 as his first one ever and kept it since (which is insane bc this man bought a liter bike for his first bike ever but he handles the bike flawlessly so it's okay).

biker!simon riley who definitely has a keychain for the bike that says something funny/stupid just for the giggles. something like “kawasexy” or “forget the bike, ride the biker.” he has even has one that has skulls on it in honor of his callsign.

biker!simon riley who before you rode with him, helps you put on your helmet. he tugs you closer by the straps, making your legs stumble closer to his body. he makes sure both his and your visors are up just so he can steal some eye contact with you, passing you a cheeky wink in the mix.

biker!simon riley who doesn't speed or do any tricks on the bike when you're riding with him. he knows you're trusting him with your life every time you're behind him on the bike, and that's an honor he can never sabotage with careless riding. although you constantly beg him for a wheelie, he never does it, saying “you're precious. i can't possibly risk it, doll.”

biker!simon riley who loves to reach behind and rub your thigh as he rides. on red lights he makes sure to look back and check up on you, lifting up his visor and looking into your eyes. his voice rumbles even with his helmet on, patting your thigh as he asks, "you okay back here, sweetheart?"

biker!simon riley who at the end of your riding session with him, takes off your helmet for you. as he smooths out your hair to fix the helmet hair, he tucks a strand behind you ear and whispers in it, "you ride well."

(like let me ride you next plea-- OMG WHO SAID THAT)

(the keychains in question):

~ yours truly, rani ♥︎

[wickedsmille]

oooooooh but this was fun so if you wanna join in~~~~ @ragnarokhound @trashforao3 @maya-custodios-dionach @strawberryjei @littleliabilities @sexyt-a-r-d-i-s11 @pinkcowzz @iliascorvus @cheetahleopard @rexisan

Saw someone doing a picrew christmas chain that looked like fun but was getting really long so I decided to make my own.

I'm not that into Christmas but I am into picrews so here we go:

@moonlube @yobirinn @ouugh @justalittlebitwitchy @knightlysoulsnatcher @wickedsmille @cindersapsecrets @krizariel @crownofstardustandbone

[cherriicou]

I just read both of your works on older bf! scoups and mingyu and I just want to say, that they are one of the best things that i have seen.

Could you do one with jeonghan? Thank you!!

older bf!/teacher jeonghan x college student! reader

a/n; thank u!! these are so fun to make :3 // word count; 1.2K

content; teacher/student relationship, age gap, fingering, jealousy/possessiveness, degradation, hair pulling, praise kink, oral sex (f), pet names, voyerism, exhibitionism, somnophilia, masturbating, dirty talk, classroom sex (srry :>), overstimulation, cock warming, smut with very little plot

MDNI 18+ under cut

OLDER BF! JEONGHAN who first met you in his class. it was his 5th year teaching, and he hadn't had any distractions until you came along. it was like you had a crush on him since the start. batting your eyelashes during lectures, giggling with your friends when he called on you, asking questions after class that he knew you didn't need help in. you were a smart girl, only a childish one who wanted to flirt with her older professor.

OLDER BF! JEONGHAN who decides to play into your little crush. winking at you secretly while walking past the aisles, bending farther down to get close to your face when you asked for help, brushing his hand across your fingers to pick up your pencil, all making you think he had an interest in you, too. all your friends fed into your delusions saying 'he wants you,' 'just go ask him out,' after seeing the way you two look at each other; eyes mirroring desire.

OLDER BF! JEONGHAN who was a bit shocked at your sudden boldness. you just asked him out after class when all the students left, staring at your hands that were trembling as you waited for his response. he let out a breathy laugh, 'thought i'd be the one to ask,' he lifts your head up with his finger. while your face was red and probably sweaty, he had a cocky smile on and you could just feel the sense of dominance he was taking over you.

OLDER BF! JEONGHAN who drives a crazy expensive car. he picks you up from your apartment and takes you to dinner at a rooftop restaurant. and god, a tease is a literal understatement of how many jokes this man has made about your shy behavior. 'wow, you must've really wanted me,' making fun of how eager you were to ask him out within the second week of classes. but he liked knowing the effect he had on you, knowing how easy it'll be to have you beg for him... and that's what he did that night.

OLDER BF! JEONGHAN who loves to hear you begging. 'hannie, m-more,' he smiles at you while barely adding in a second finger. you couldn't take it anymore, he had been messing with your pussy for a while. kissing your inner thighs and only cutely sucking on your clit. fuck, he had such long, slender fingers that were reaching spots that your own couldn't ever reach. ‘please, please,’ his eyes devouring the look of your body being in shambles, he knew you were so close. 'aw baby, look how much you're whining when i hit this spot,' and that's when you cum, moans spilling out of your mouth as he continues fucking you through it. you didn’t even realize how close your orgasm was until he added his mouth while continuing to ram his fingerings in your sensitive cunt :< your mind almost goes blank until you see him take his dick out that was leaking with pre-cum from torturing you, and you knew you needed more of him.

OLDER BF! JEONGHAN who makes you touch yourself in front of him. he’ll sit back on a chair across the bed near the wall, manspreading with his arms crossed. your body is sprawled on the bed, your knees bent while you shamelessly run your fingers against your folds. ‘come on, baby,’ your body shudders to his voice, ‘show me how slutty you can be,’ you can tell how turned on he is from this. the bulge in his pants growing while he hears your whimpers. your own fingers playing with your clit, inserting them into your hole to tease yourself. ‘jeonghannie, fuck,’ your hips start to rock on your own fingers, your other hand messing with your tits, grabbing them and moaning like a literal porn star. jeonghan loves it, it’s like his own movie. he doesn’t let you continue this for long though, before he’s already replacing your fingers with his to finish the job for you <3

OLDER BF! JEONGHAN needs you to cockwarm him while he works. come onnn, why can’t he have his pretty little gf help him let loose as he does a dozen of paperwork :< you hate it, for the obvious reason being you weren’t allowed to move. but, jeonghan saw it as a way to keep him company! he loved how you smelled, your voice, your playful hands in his hair, ‘you’re doing so good for me, princess,’ he pats your hair, sliding his hand down all the way toward your lower back. he couldn’t help messing with you a tiny bit, his playful nature taking over. you let out a breathy laugh while trying so hard to keep still for him. you couldn’t distract him, that would make you a bad student and a bad girlfriend..

OLDER BF! JEONGHAN who is a big fan of morning sex. he wakes up to a cute expression on your face… lips separated softly, hair messy, eyelashes fluttering at times like you were having a sweet dream <3 it was like you were made for him to admire. but then, oh he just loves to slip down beneath you. spreading your plush thighs so your pussy was exposed to him, smirking as he sees all the previous marks from before. he always leave kisses down your thighs, awake or not. then once he reaches your cunt, he dives straight in, first leaving tiny licks while his sharp nose brushes against your clit. he looks up at you to see your eyebrows scrunched up, mouth the slightest open. he sees it as a signal to keep going. his tongue continues to flick up and down; his head simultaneously nodding, shaking, and jerking in each direction, he fucking loved how you tasted. ‘a-ah,’ your hand latches onto your boyfriends hair instinctively, he lets out a groan as your sweet moans encouraging him to keep going. ‘good morning, princess,’ he detaches himself for a bit to give you a warm smile. you shiver at the sight, his mouth completely covered in your silk with sleepy, hungry eyes.

OLDER BF! JEONGHAN who has a hate/love relationship with your sense of style. he knows you choose the days you attended his class to wear the most shortest dresses, the most skimpiest tops. and he adored it, really, he found it adorable. however, that didn't stop other men from looking at you lustfully. and he hated that. he hated how they thought they had a single chance with you, his precious doll. and you, only having eyes for him, don’t even notice their disgusting stares. but he has to deal with it. deal with them tapping on your shoulder to ask for a pencil just to get a glimpse of your cleavage, making obnoxiously loud jokes in hopes to hear your giggle. that won’t do… so after class, he immediately tells you to stay. eyes glaring at the guys while he stood dangerously close to you, you completely unaware of what’s going to happen.

OLDER BF! JEONGHAN who as soon as everyone is gone, you're completely bent over the desk you were just sitting at. hair pulled into his fist, panties just pulled to the side as he rams into you from the back. 'my little whore, tell me,' his hand lands right on your ass, 'you liked the attention those guys gave you?' you can't even speak from how hard he's pushing into you, walls clenching on his cock making it almost impossible to make out words. his hand lands harder on your ass, a literal scream coming out of your throat. 'n-no, never,' you plead to him, but he only coos at you, flipping you so you're on your back, and he can see your pleasured face with his own eyes.

OLDER BF! JEONGHAN who locks eyes with one of the boys who was bothering you. he was peeking into the class from the door upstairs after hearing your lewd noises. ‘fuck, gripping on me like a slut, princess,’ making sure to speak extra loud for the guy to hear. you gasp as he starts to play with clit, still abusing your fragile body that was making a mess all over him and the floor. your moans only growing louder when you feel yourself close to cumming, satisfying his ego when he sees the boy gone. he doesn’t care if he completely traumatized him.. go ahead tell your friends! and they never bothered you again :3

[arminsumi]

tattoartist!suguru losing nonchalance when reader flirts with him?

im down bad for him holy hell

Oh, he's falling to pieces, got it bad for the girl he just met 'n he's gonna make a drunk little bet — y'think he's crazy enough to get your name tattooed on him? Or crazy enough to ink his name into your skin?

ㅤ★ wc; ~3k

ㅤ★ note; continuation of tattoo artist Suguru Geto!

ㅤ★ an; aaa!! you got my brain whirring like a laptop... tysm and i hope this makes u blush and kick ur feet as much as i did while writing!! 🍰✨

ㅤ★ tagz; @ohimsummer 💗@fairiesthrum💗 @heartofjasmina 💗 @kwonan 💗 @ghost-buddies 💗 @madamecorbie 💗 @mima0127 💗 @moggleatlife 💗 @natasaa13 💗 @yemmuishomeforthementallyunwell 💗 @wakashudou 💗 @khaothick 💗 @candy-s72 💗 @creamflix 💗 @starriesworlds

ㅤ★ warnings; sum alcohol/drunkenness

“So, was she joking, or am I your type?” Suguru asks, black eyes staring right into your soul.

“Mm, well…” you hum, giving his form a look-over – god, if only you could feel how hard his heart’s beating when you do this. “Maybe.” You reply teasingly.

“Aw, just ‘maybe’?” he groans, now leaning his hip against the edge of the display case that housed the studs and gauge earrings.

“Yeah, just ‘maybe’ – I’m teasing. No, she wasn’t joking; I’ve always had a thing for the black hair, black nails, bad boy look…”

“The ‘bad boy’ look…?” he questions, recalling what your friend had said earlier about bad boys being just your type.

“Yeah, the ‘bad boy’ look.” You giggle.

His heart beats even harder, muttering a naughty little “Well, lucky me.”

“Nah, not so fast – I’m a smart woman.” You warn.

“Oh, are you?” he clicks his tongue in defeat, “Damn, would you believe that my type is smart women? No, no I’m serious… I’ve got a thing for smart women.”

Your cheeks grow hot, the heat spreading to your ears.

“I can assure you that the ‘bad boy’ look is just an aesthetic; I’m really an artsy dork making a living off doodling on people’s bodies.” He shrugs.

“Hm… maybe, maybe not.”

You rub your lips together. He briefly licks his bottom lip. You look him up and down. He looks you up and down. Body language open and alive with attraction, the both of you stand in this air of electric tension that Shoko spies from the other end of the room.

She watches as the two of you giggle like little flirts, observing how totally absorbed the two of you are in each other’s company. When you catch her eye, Shoko gives you a wink and points at her wrist, mouthing “five more” – fair enough, the two of you have promised to get pizza.

Pizza first, boys later, right?

Five minutes more go by – adding to the total of four hours spent at the tattoo & piercing parlor. But despite her discomfort and need for a change of scenery, Shoko decides to linger around just a little longer so that the two of you can indulge in each other just a little more.

But now you're getting nervous – Suguru has you breathless, holding you in a battle of who can flirt harder? which you're starting to lose.

He's captivated by you. This 6’3, tattooed, goth-grunge, slightly dorky man chuckles and smiles like he hasn’t had this much fun talking flirting with someone in years.

It's going well, then your smile trips him up. I know, it’s always the smile, huh? If you see enough of it, you slip… and that’s exactly what's happened to Suguru. He quickly grows obsessed with the way your cheeks look when you smile – the image burns into his memory without him even realizing it in the moment.

No, in the moment he doesn't realize the magnitude of your effect on him. He's just thinking about himself, about you, about —

“I’ve gotta go,” you say goodbye finally, “I don’t want to keep my friend waiting. But you’ll probably see my face here again… she loves dragging me along for these kinds of things.”

He stutters, “Oh! Oh… yeah – yes. Of course. Looking forward to it… maybe next time, you’ll be the one getting ink in your skin.”

“Yeah right.” You smile.

It’s your French exit that makes his heart throb in need.

No, don’t leave yet… I like you – don’t you ever wonder how many acquaintances in your life have thought this when leaving your company? And you’ll never even know.

Oh, Suguru was thinking so hard about asking you to exchange numbers or to meet up for coffee, but he didn’t want to come off as too forward – no, no… he had to maintain his mysteriousness. Or at least, he had to cling to whatever was left of it after revealing his inner dorkiness to you.

*****

After you leave, he wanders in and out of his studio, has small interactions with his co-workers, and doodles ideas for tattoos down.

Throughout all of these things, your face is at the forefront of his mind. Your voice echoes in his head as he recalls every detail of the conversation you two shared. Then he starts smiling softly as he applauds himself for being so gutsily flirty with you… a stranger, just someone, who he probably won’t see again…

A girl with no name.

God, why was he so slow? He didn’t even ask for your name. Suguru groans.

Yes, he probably won’t see you again… not unless your friend brings you along for her next visit. How long does he have to wait? Weeks? Months? That’s insane.

Suguru stops doodling, stares at the scrap of paper, and then looks up at the wall displaying his works. He rubs his fingers back and forth across his mouth.

I gotta.

He looks over to his phone. He reaches for it, takes it into his veiny hand, unlocks it, and scrolls through his list of contacts.

And then he dials his client’s number. Shoko Ieri.

*****

Now, it’s been just under an hour since you and Shoko left the tattoo parlour. She’s complained three times about the pain because exactly three times she has leaned back on the seat – squishing the fresh ink wound against her chair. You just cruelly laugh at how her eyes twitch in pain and each time.

The two of you sit eating pizza.

“He liked you. Why don’t we go back and you ask him for his number?” she teases.

“No way… he’ll think I’m too forward.” You shake your head.

Then three minutes later, Shoko's phone goes off. She reaches into her backpack. She looks at the caller ID, then at you, then at the caller ID, then –

“… is that him?”

“It’s him.”

“What’s he calling for! Me?”

“Absolutely he’s calling for you – I can bet gold on that.”

It stops ringing. She tells you she’ll text him back but guess what? She doesn’t even need to, because he calls again.

“Relentless.” She giggles. “I’m answering.”

“Pretend I’m not here!”

She winks at you and answers, “Hey, Suguru, what’s up?”

The two of you lean in until your foreheads press together – it’s still hard to make out every word.

“Yo.” You hear his smooth voice coming from the other side, “Sorry to bother you… (muffled)… your friend (muffled)… so embarrassed, so don’t tell her that I’m calling… (muffled)… what was her name?”

You clap your hand over your mouth when you hear those snippets.

She gives you a devious look before saying, “Oh! Well, she’s right here with me, actually, so you can ask her yourself.”

Mouth full of pizza, you freak out and X your arms to signal a fat NO WAY SHOKO! and fall to pieces all with the taste of pepperoni on your tongue.

But she just hands the phone over to you anyways, then proceeds to silently laugh as you spit out your pizza before talking.

“Hehlooo?”

“H-hey.”

You get right to the point. “My name’s Yn…”

“Oh… I like that… I’m Suguru.”

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“Suguru. Suguru Geto.” He raises his voice.

Cheek hot against the screen of his phone, Suguru is silently freaking out at the tense silence. He can feel his stomach starting to flip. His mind blanks.

“Anyways! Um, that’s all.”

No. That’s not all. He has a novel’s length worth of things to talk about with you.

At this point, Shoko rolls her eyes at the two of you being so awkward on the phone and decides that she needs to take matters into her own hands.

So she snatches the phone from you.

“ – Suguru? Say, you wouldn’t be free on Saturday, would ya? Yeah, I’m going on a date with this guy… and I’d love to make it a double date with you and Yn if you’d like to –”

You hear him stutter out a yes, absolutely before Shoko can even finish her sentence. She grins.

Suguru can sense that the two of you are smiling and giggling. He can predict that the two of you are probably going to gossip about him being the 'dork from the tattoo parlor that called not once, but twice for the name of a girl he just met' – but he doesn’t care. He’s been presented an opportunity and taken it.

To hell with seeming too eager.

When the call ends, Suguru blows out a breath through his lips. Then he promptly texts his best friend. Dark strands of hair slip out of his sloppy bun as he puts his face over the screen, thumbs swift and eager.

Toru 🤞😜 lol bravo... but i thought u said she was out of ur league??

Sugu i mean... yes. she's way too pretty and smart for me. but i'm not gonna pass up this opportunity

Toru 🤞😜 still can't believe u called ur client just to get her friend’s name... lol

Sugu you would understand if you met her ok

Toru 🤞😜 damn she must be something else

Yes, yes you are something else — Suguru can’t even begin to describe why. Translating his thoughts into words isn’t his thing; he translates them into art.

****

It's later in the day. You're lazing around Shoko's apartment.

She confirms the time and place of the double date, and cackles on her couch while kicking her feet, teasing you for being so crazy about a guy you just met – her tattoo artist.

You just couldn’t stop talking about Geto Suguru.

“Shiiit, should I even let you and a bad boy like him be alone in a room together?”

“I can control myself.” you assure her.

She slowly shakes her head at you.

“Yeah right… but can he? I don't trust neither of you... miss crazy and mister crazy... you might just wake up with his name in your skin.”

You giggle to yourself, biting your thumb. “Maybe…”

“Oh girl…” she groans, causing you to giggle into yourself, “You’re gonna be licking the tail of his dragon tattoo by the end of the date tomorrow.”

“H-h-he has a what? And where?” you stuttered, lashes quivering.

She shakes her head at you. “God, you’re screwed…”

*****

It's Saturday night. The bar's more alive than ever.

You've learned that Geto Suguru does, in fact, have a dragon tattoo inked up his toned arm – and a tight-fitting black tank top that shows it off along with his martial artist’s physique, too.

He’s got a glint of the devil in his black eyes. Softly-delivered dirty jokes ready to roll off his pierced tongue. A habit of tilting his head and looking hungrily at your lips and neck.

“Martial arts, huh?” you ask with stars in your eyes.

“Mhm, I could teach you a few things.” He purrs in reply.

Your stomach starts squeezing and flipping – that’s got to be the flirtiest 'mhm' that you’ve ever heard in your whole life.

“You think so?” you purr back.

Now it’s his turn to feel that squeezy, flippy feeling in his stomach.

Fuckfuckfuck is all he could think when he looks into your eyes.

I’m gonna fall to pieces. You’re gonna be the death of me.

“Uh…  do you two need some privacy?” Shoko teases.

Oh. It’s a double date. How could you forget? Shoko is literally sitting beside you at the bar with her date. But for a second there, it really felt like it was just you 'n this deliciously tattooed bad boy.

“Maybe.” Suguru chuckles coyly.

“There’s a hotel just next door…”

“Shoko!” you scold, playfully shoving her arm.

She giggles into herself, sipping down her cocktail innocently as if she didn’t just electrify the air between you and Suguru. His throat’s tensing, foot’s tapping up and down on the bar stool – boy’s got long spider-legs, huh?

Now after that, Suguru grins wider – showing off his pretty canines – his posture assuming something self-soothing; he holds his elbows, arms squished against his ribcage, which just makes his biceps more pronounced. Oh why, why did he have to wear a tank top like that? Surely he’s aware of the effect it has on girls. Or maybe he’s oblivious…

Nah. He's not.

*****

“Did it hurt?” you ask, trying to blink out the tipsiness from your love-drunk eyes but you’ve got three cosmopolitans surging through your veins.

“Not really… I’ve got great pain tolerance.” Suguru replies.

“Oh really?” you blink up at him again and his mind goes blank.

“Look at that...” He murmurs softly, not breaking eye contact with you. Where’s your friend and her date? Who knows. It’s just you and him now – and that’s all he wanted.

“Hm?”

“Not every day I see eyes like that…”

You widen your lips into a smile, “You’re laying it on thick.”

“Am I? Sorry – see, this is what happens after you feed Suguru too much rum. I just can’t keep my mouth shut.”

“That’s terrible… need someone to shut ya up?” you flirt.

He tilts his head at you, loose strands of hair shifting across his cheek. His left brow quirks up – he’s so taken aback by your forwardness but he falls right into it.

You just giggle flirtatiously after making that comment and pull the straw of your drink between your lips, sucking the remnants of a cosmopolitan into your mouth as sensually as you dare to in front of a bad boy who’s got bedroom eyes on you.

“I think I could do with some shutting up…” he admits.

“Mm,” you hum, “y’think by our third date you’re gonna snap and kiss me hard like we’re in a movie?”

Suguru smiles bashfully and looks down into his drink, swirling the melting ice cubes with a straw – slowly, round and round, they clink. Then he draws his gaze back to you, catching you with a sultry side-eye, and now it’s not just the ice cubes that are melting.

“Nah-uh…”

“Nah-uh?” you question.

“… I think it’s you who’s gonna snap first.” He says.

“Wanna bet?” you tease.

“Sure. What’ll be at stake?” he asks.

He keeps his sultry gaze on you as you look off to the side in thought for a moment. Your friend’s joke echoes in your mind.

“… you might just wake up with his name in your skin.”

Then you look back to him – his heart throbs but he’s trying to keep it together here, pulling his straw to his lips to get a sip of whatever rum still exists in his glass.

“Loser gets a regrettable tattoo?” you suggest.

He looks at you with a little bit of disbelief at your boldness.

“How regrettable?” he questions, one eye squinting shut in suspicion. He's wondering just how wild you actually are.

“Like my name on you? Or vice versa.”

He covers his mouth and lets out a chuckle hearing this. “You want me to tattoo my name on ya skin?” he teases. “Sure, I’ll bet on that.”

You can’t believe that he’s matching your crazy.

You stutter, replying only after a lingering moment of hot eye contact, “… there’s no way I’m gonna snap first…” you say boldly, proceeding to pop the cherry of your drink into your mouth and eating it right in front of the poor boy’s eyes. “ ‘m gonna have you walkin’ around with my name on you.”

Eyes glued on your lips, his breath catches in his throat.

“Yeah?”

Ooh, there it was. That feeling. That body singing electric songs feeling… that tummy-tightening, blood-rushing, skin-flushing feeling – it hit him all at once. He knows that if he were standing, his knees would have buckled now for sure, or at least he would have felt the tremor of your words under his feet.

He’s unsteady – smiling uncontrollably, looking dishevelled and softly drunk. Those rouge lips are begging to be kissed.

The bar grows quieter and quieter.

You’re hardly able to call each other anything more than strangers, and yet you’re leaning into him, closing the distance.

The tips of your noses are just inches apart now. You’re in each other’s air. He eyes out your lips, feels your hot, liquor-scented breath tickle his face.

But when you try and close the distance, he raises his hand and presses his thumb against your soft lips, stopping you.

“What happened to that bold statement, huh? Keep it together, baby; the bet’s on.” He feathers against your face.

*****

Tumbling into Shoko’s apartment after a night out drinking, you smile and giggle into the pillows of her bed.

She’s letting her hair down and swapping out her tight dress for jammies when she looks at you in your gleeful state.

“Someone’s in love.” She teases, coming over to tickle you.

“I’m not in love!”

“Oh, quit the act; I saw how the two of you said goodbye – you could barely hold yourself together. Drunk or not, I ain’t seen two adults giggling like that before.”

“Sh!” you swat her, “Not! In! Love!”

She takes a look into your eyes and observes your smile, then shakes her head. You're drowsy, so you make a dive into her bed and fall asleep almost instantly.

Shoko pulls a blanket over you, affectionately ruffling your hair.

“Madly in love, at the very least.”

[traveler-at-heart]

Sharing is caring

Summary: Natasha doesn't like to share.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

A/N: Thank you to @jujuu23 for reading this before I posted :)

Natasha wanted to have a good day.

But then recruits were stupid, Steve was being annoying about paperwork. And now, this.

Her favorite mug. Gone.

“Did you do this?” is the first thing she says to Sam as he enters the kitchen.

“No, I like the idea of keeping all my fingers”

And precisely then, you walk in.

Newest addition to the team, top of your SHIELD class, expert in weapons, languages and the most delicious desserts. Steve had to enforce a rigurous meal plan when even Bucky gained a good five pounds.

Natasha likes your easy smile, beautiful eyes, and those full lips that can be both alluring and mysterious.

That perfect mouth that is now sipping from none other than Natasha’s mug.

Sam crosses his arms, expecting the Russian to say something. But she stays glued to her spot.

As you enter the room, you feel two sets of eyes on you. The attention makes you falter, but you push through. There’s no place for shyness when you’re an Avenger.

“Hey. How’s it going?”

“Real nice” Sam says, and you nod, considering if it’s a good idea to address Natasha directly. You still haven’t quiet figured her out. 

“Do I have something on my face? You’re staring”

“No” Natasha rushes to say, before Sam can tell you that you’re holding her mug, the one that made her rip Barnes’ arm off when she saw him using it.  

“You sure? Dirt? Chocolate?”

“Your face is perfect” she hurries to say, and Sam has to cough to hide his laughter 

“Smooth, Romanoff”

“Ok, then. I made coffee and added a little nutmeg. Wanna try it?”

You offer her your mug and she takes it, smiling. 

“This is really good!”

“Finish it. I have to train. I don’t mind sharing” you wink at her, and Natasha has to keep from smiling. She doesn’t like new people knowing she can go soft.

“Can I have some?” Sam steps in.

“No” Natasha cuts him off and you laugh, waving goodbye. 

—

Heroes can save the day, but forget to bring out an extra chair when doing mission debriefings. 

This is the first time the entire team has been on a mission together since you joined, and now the conference room is crowded. There’s no place to sit, except for a small sofa in the back of the room.

That’s where Natasha usually sits, because it gives her a view of everyone. She can read their expressions, guess what they think, take that information to asses what needs to be refined in their team dynamic. 

Right now, though, she’s one of the last people in. The minute she looks at her spot, she sees you, leaning against the sofa, your hand discreetly holding your side.

“Rookie, you’re in Red’s spot” Tony says, walkign right after Natasha. 

She shoots him a murderous glare, but all you do is laugh, trying to stand up without anyone noticing you’re injured.

But Natasha notices.

“We can both sit here” she rushes to say, and you nod, knowing your voice would be strained if you thanked her out loud.

Mission debriefing goes by in a blur, your breathing heavy. 

Natasha is ready to tell Steve to can it, but Tony steps in, and everyone leaves the room.

Everyone except you. 

Natasha can’t leave either, worried about your condition.

“It’s nothing major” you say, knowing why she’s still sitting next to you.

“What is?” she tries to play dumb, but that makes you laugh. You wince after a second, though. “You should go to the Medbay”

“Cracked ribs, that’s all. The doctors won’t be able to fix that either way” you smile at her, but make no effort to move. Natasha stays put too, and you know she’s patient enough to wait it out. “Fine. I’m going”

You expect Natasha to leave for her room once you promise to get checked out. But instead, she follows you.

“Just in case you need something”

The doctors confirm what you already know. Rest, painkillers, no training for a couple of days. What you had missed were a couple of cuts, since you didn’t even change out of your suit until now. A nurse cleans them up and patches you up, but you’re left in nothing but a tank top and your tactical pants. 

Why is the Medbay so damn cold?

When you open the door, Natasha is already waiting, a hoodie in her hands.

“I’ve told them to fix the damn AC a thousand times” is all she says, and you smile, grateful. You struggle when you have to slide the hoodie down your body, and Natasha’s hands are quick to pull the fabric down gently.

“Thank you, Nat”

“Come on, you need your rest” 

Walking back to the living quarters, you can’t help but wonder if she’s being nice out of pity or something else. Whatever it is, you just hope she doesn’t see you as the rookie that screws up during their first group mission.

“You know where to find me, if you need anything” 

You nod, waiting until she walks into her own room to get inside.

The first thing you do in the privacy of your room is enjoy the fact her hoodie is soft, and smells just like Natasha.

You might not give it back to her.

—

Tony’s idea of a party is shut down the next morning. You can guess that Steve is aware of your injuries, as the doctors are required to submit a report.

Still, Stark insists on some team bonding activity and by a miracle, Natasha gets him to agree to movie night.

That’s how you end up in the entertainment room. There’s popcorn, soda, pizza and chocolate. 

Once again, and unbenknowst to you, you end up sitting on the couch Natasha takes up for herself.

“Hey” she walks up to you, vaguely aware that the rest of the team is waiting to see if Natasha asks you to move. “Mind if we share?”

“Not at all!” you say, moving to the side so she can sit. It’s hard to pretend you’re not excited about Natasha’s request. 

Considering she’s always keeping her distance, sharing the couch during movie night seems like a big deal.

“Everyone settled?” Tony asks, his gaze lingering on you two. Natasha glares, so he turns around and starts the movie.

After a couple of minutes, you reach forward to open the pack of M&M’s that no one seems to want. You can’t help the laugh when Natasha reaches for them at the same time.

“We can share these too” you say, handing them to her.

Natasha is trying to pay attention to the movie, but you’re shifting in the couch, sometimes your knee brushing against hers. 

“You’re not eating the green ones” she notices, leaning close to you to not interrupt the movie.

“Oh, shit” you laugh, somehow sensing that Natasha wants to know why. “My brother and I would agree to leave those for last, and then split them. Stupid”

“Wouldn’t want to mess with tradition” she says, separating them. You watch her, holding back a smile.

—

“Y/N’s all packed up and ready to go, right?” Steve says, reading over a file. 

“Yeah, she walked by like five minutes ago. Medics gave clearance” Sam says. “It’s just a recon mission, either way”

They’re going back to reviewing the team’s schedule when Natasha sprints past them.

“Yo, what’s going on?” Sam says, hoping there’s no threat to deal with. Steve is about to walk out as well, when he hears Natasha’s words.

“I’m going with Y/N! How could you be so irresponsible to send her away when she just recovered?”

Captain Rogers decides to hide behind the door, Natasha’s anger making him feel small.

“Alright, have a good one” Sam gives her a thumb up, and the redhead just rolls her eyes. He sighs, going back inside.

Steve stays silent for a second.

“The safe house only has one bed” he says, considering if it’s worth telling Natasha that. "Should we tell her?"

“No, thank you”

—

Recon missions suck. 

There, you said it. Unfortunately, those are the most frequent ones for you, as the newest member of the team and being practically unknown to the general population.

You’re walking to your car, hoping the mission can be done quickly. It’s a day and a half and being alone makes it specially boring. As soon as you open the driver’s door, you find Natasha sitting, smiling up at you.

“Jeez! What are you doing here?”

“Backup. Cap asked me to come last minute” 

“Oh” you get quiet, nodding.

Natasha tries to stay neutral when she notices how your face falls. Did she read into the situation? A part of her thought you liked being around her.

Either way, she can’t back out now. Once you’re settled in the car, Natasha drives out of the Compound, to the small office you’re meant to infiltrate.

“Is… did…?” you mumble a couple of times. Natasha keeps a poker face, waiting for you to speak again. With a sigh, you finally let it out. “Did Steve send you to babysit me? He thinks I screwed up because I got injured, doesn’t he?”

“No, it’s nothing like that” Natasha says, mentally kicking herself for rushing to join you. She didn’t even consider your feelings, too eager to spend time together. “I just didn’t like the idea of you going alone”

“Oh” you say again, this time blushing. Natasha can sense something shifts from your tone alone, so she turns to look at you. Your eyes meet hers and you smile. “Yeah, I was actually thinking how boring it was going to be. So, I’m glad you tagged along” 

“I’m glad too” she says, trying not to smile.

“Let’s see if you keep saying that after I put on my roadtrip playlist”

“Bring it”

Natasha tries to enjoy the songs, though she’ll never tell you that pop music isn’t really her thing. What she does enjoy are the gummies you offer. In your words, road snacks are key to the trip.

As you park close to the safe house, you leave your bag in the living room and then go down to around the corner, checking you have everything you need in your jacket pockets. 

“Wanna go over the plan?” Natasha says, trying to keep calm. It’s just a recon mission. You’ll be fine.

“Bug the conference room for the meeting happening tomorrow. Hack into Russo’s computer and download everything. In and out, easy peasy” 

Natasha nods, and you wink at her.

“If I finish in under 10 minutes you buy me dinner”

“Deal” Natasha says, and she wishes she could tell you she’ll buy you dinner no matter what happens.

You finally go, walking up to the building, strolling casually. As you’re about to reach the doors, a man leaves the office and you snatch his ID to get past the gates.

That’s the easy part. Unfortunately, there’s a lot of people in the hallways still, and the office you’re supposed to infiltrate is at the end of the long corridor.

The conference room should be close to the elevator, so you decide to take a look around. As you approach, you hear voices inside.

It will be difficult to bug a room with other people in it.

Looking around, aware that you’ll be suspicious if you just stand there, you think of a way out.

And then you spot the distraction you need.

Well, whatever it takes to get the mission done.

—

Natasha finds a cafeteria that is across the office, and she gets to sit by the window, looking out as you skilfully snatch the ID from someone who’s leaving.

Standard time for a mission like that should be under fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, the man whose ID you stole is coming back exactly five minutes later. 

Natasha’s not sure if he forgot something, or if he noticed he was missing his ID and decided to return for it. The fact of the matter is that if someone notices you used it to get inside, you’ll be in trouble.

She suddenly wishes you had a comm with you so she could help out. Hell, if the man keeps talking to security, Natasha will find a way to make a scene and distract them long enough to get you out.

Just as she’s about to stand up, one of the cleaning staff walks out and hands over the ID. Did you notice what happened and dropped it? Were you still inside? You didn’t need the ID to exit the building, but still.

The man takes his ID, and walks back inside. 

It’s been nine minutes. Natasha will give you five more before she intervenes.

She’s so focused on looking out the window that she misses the moment you step inside the restaurant, and sit in front of her.

“What…? “ the redhead does a doble take, and you take great pride in that.

“Janitor’s closet, grabbed one of their uniforms. Nobody questions cleaning staff”

You pass her the USB, smiling at her shocked expression.

“And you gave him back his ID, as if you weren’t the one who took it”

“All under ten minutes. You know what that means?”

“Of course. Let’s check the menu” Natasha says, smiling at you.

After ordering a couple of cheeseburgers, you read over the desserts.

“We could share a brownie” you say, holding back a smile. You’ve noticed Natasha has a sweet tooth, and is less than inclined to share her food, especially if it’s a dessert.

“Sure” she says after a beat, and you clear your throat, speaking after the waitress leaves.

“You know, I can handle rejection”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m the youngest of three. I’m used to people telling me to leave their things alone” you say, smiling at her. “If I’m bothering you…”

“I don’t mind sharing” she cuts you off, her shoulders tense. It’s a bit uncomfortable for her to be vulnerable like this. “Not when I’m sharing with you” 

“Oh” you blush, biting your lip. The way her words affect you make Natasha regain some of her confidence. 

“How come you didn’t want to do a recon?”

“I don’t know. I like group missions. Or at least going with someone else. Like I said, I have siblings and I guess being around the team makes me feel like at home”

“Well, I like them because I can take a break from everyone. But that’s just because I’ve been dealing with those boys for years now” she laughs.

“Yeah, I get it. It can feel like a frat house sometimes. Let’s have girls night, no boys allowed” you joke, but perk up a second later. “Wait! That actually sounds fun. Oh my Gosh, we could go to the movies, or a museum, or dinner…”

“Sounds like a date to me” Natasha interrupts your rambling, pleased when you play with your hands.

“Yeah. That could be a date” 

Once the food arrives, you eat and chat. Natasha does agree to sharing dessert, which makes your heart melt a little at the gesture.

The last part of the mission is supposed to happen tomorrow, when a couple of shady businessmen meet at the building you infiltrated. All you have to do is sit and take pictures of whoever walks in, so intelligence can run background checks.

After dinner, you head back to the small apartment. For the first time since you arrived, you walk past the entrance to check the space.

“What’s wrong?” Natasha asks when you come back, fiddling with your hands.

“There’s only one bed”

“Oh”

“You can totally take it, the couch looks fine…”

“No, you’re still recovering, I’ll sleep on the couch”

Natasha and you speak over the other for a few minutes until your voices die down and you stare at each other.

“We could share?” you suggest.

“Ok” Natasha nods, trying to pretend it’s not a big deal.

But when you change into an oversized t-shirt (no shorts because you truly thought you’d be alone here), and lie down in the small bed, your heart is practically beating out of your chest. 

“You ok?” Natasha says, trying not to move.

You give up with a sigh, turning on your side and moving closer, until you’re inches apart.

“Just need to sleep on my side. And I usually hug a pillow. Don’t ask me why, I just do”

“Well… here” Natasha moves even closer, taking your arm. She places it around her waist, and pulls you closer. Your breath hitches for a second, but Natasha smiles reassuringly. “Is this better?”

“Yes”

As a matter of fact, it’s the best sleep either one of you has gotten in years.

—

You’re not in the mood for parties.

But that’s never stopped Tony before.

After waking up cuddling Natasha, (and barely completing the mission because you didn’t want to leave bed) you were eager to ask her out, or have her ask you out. Whichever was fine by you.

But as soon as you parked the car, Cap was waiting with a frown and a big file.

“We leave in an hour” he said, only to Natasha.

Apparently, this was going to be a very demanding mission, and Cap didn’t want you pushing yourself.

So, Natasha, Sam and Steve had been gone for a few days now.

Tony was mildly disappointed, but this was Pepper’s birthday party and he wasn’t about to call it off for a few working Avengers.

Still, you try to cheer up and put on a good face, mainly for Pepper. You’re not sure she really wanted this big of a party, but she seems happy enough.

Most of the people attending are from Stark Industries, so you try to blend in and speak to some of them.

“Hey, do you work in legal?” a young blonde asks when you go get another drink.

“Oh, no, definitely not”

“Thought I knew you. I’m in HR”

“Fun” you say, but the tone you use makes her laugh. Before you can do anything, she changes seats and moves closer to you.

“I’m Sasha”

Reluctantly, you give your name. Even after the bartender hands over another glass of Chardonnay, Sasha keeps talking to you, though she doesn’t really care if you work at Stark Industries or not. After your third glass of wine, you begin to relax, and say a couple of jokes that make her laugh a little too loud.

She’s definitely flirting.

“Wanna take this conversation somewhere else?” she asks and you look around.

“I think I need some air…”

“We could…”

But she doesn’t get to finish her sentence, because Natasha is by your side in an instant. Little drops of water wet your shoulder as she approaches you, having rushed from the shower to see you.

“Hey, detka. Having fun without me?”

“You’re home!” you shout, excited at seeing her again.

“I am. Come on, let’s go to the balcony” she says, taking your hand. You’re halfway there when you remember Sasha, and try to turn back to say goodbye.

“I don’t want to be rude”

“And I said I like to share with you, not share you” 

“Oh” you blush at that, and stay silent as Natasha drags you out of the party. 

“Was that too much?” she asks when you finally get to the balcony.

“No. I just drank too fast and I’m happy to see you” you say, your hands going around her shoulders. 

As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, Natasha holds your waist and pulls you closer to her.

“I’m happy to see you too” she leans her forehead against yours. “And about that date…”

“Yeah, I’m up for it” you confirm with a nod. Your faces are inches apart, and Natasha  can tell you’re sneaking small glances at her lips.

“As for other stuff…” 

“Mhm” you hum, aware that she’s leaning forward. You let her lips meet yours, and the kiss is short but tender. “Will this date have more of these?”

“Hell, yeah” she nods, making you laugh.

“Tomorrow, then?”

“Can’t wait” she nods, kissing you again.

Unfortunately, you’re interrupted by Sam, who is sporting a shit eating grin.

“Anything you two wanna share with the team?”

“No” you answer at the same time.

Some things, are meant to stay between you two. 

[purinfelix]

Franco Colapinto, where his girlfriend gets jealous of his interviews, so she does everything to make him jealous in return.

a taste of his own medicine ⋆.ೃ࿔*･- franco colapinto

summary: you've had enough of your boyfriend's shameless flirting during interviews, and hatch a plan to get back at him for it w/c : 1.3k

a/n: AAAA this is such a cute idea anon - i wrote a good chunk of this a while ago but only just finished the last bit today, thank u for the req and i hope u enjoy !! <333

You wondered if your boyfriend could feel the stone-cold glare you were giving the back of his head from your spot in the VIP lounge - though if he could, he surely wasn't doing anything about it.

Initially, there hadn't been any problems with keeping your relationship secret - in fact, it had been your idea for a number of reasons. You just didn't consider yourself ready to be swarmed and scrutinised by the media or have the title of 'F1 wag' bestowed upon you. It didn't feel right, if anything it felt like a disservice to boil down your relationship with Franco to something so sensationalized. Keeping it private seemed the best decision, at least for the time being. But now, the longer you watched your boyfriend shamelessly flirt with anyone who crossed his path, the more you grew to regret this decision.

You weren't by any means a jealous person by nature, but something about the fact that no one but you had any problem with this situation - and only because they didn't know about your relationship - irritated you. If only you could figure out a way to make Franco feel the same way you were. Just at that moment, as if by fate, you spotted a young-looking boy in a race suit walking casually past the lounge. His carefree walk, curly brown hair and boyish smile - bingo.

"Hey there," you called out, hopping up from the chair you were sitting in and walking over to the boy.

"Oh, hello," he replied, seemingly taken aback by being addressed by you.

"Sorry, it's just that I'm a little new to all of this and," you look him up and down, "you look like you know what you're doing, do you think you could show me around?"

He laughs shyly, hand rubbing the back of his nape. "Well, I mean, alright then, I'm Ollie by the way."

"Lovely to meet you, Ollie." You offer a girly giggle which you try your best not to cringe at as you follow the boy, who begins to walk around the nearest garage.

He begins to explain things, the process of getting ready to drive, the roles of different team members and the physics of the car itself - all of which you could care less about, but you nod earnestly regardless. Along the way, you even offer any mechanic or engineer who seems your age a friendly smile, and even a wink if they're particularly good-looking.

It's just your luck too that all of this is happening just close enough to the media hubs where your boyfriend has been stuck all afternoon. You try your best not to look too often over at him, not wanting to give away the true intentions of this mini tour you're scored for yourself. He doesn't seem to share the same sentiment though, based off of how many times you've caught him stealing glances at you, his eye following watchfully as you laugh and tease your impromptu tour guide.

"And so every element of car design has the purpose of making it as fast as possible, either through aerodynamics or by making everything lightweight," he continues to explain excitedly, and even though you're starting to feel dizzy from all the nodding you give him a quick one.

"Oh, wow!" You say, and before you know it you've landed yourself in the perfect position - within both earshot and line of vision of your boyfriend who seems to be wrapping up one of his last interviews for the night. Now, for the cherry on top.

You watch as Franco finishes saying his goodbyes to the last of the media crew, his eyes now searching the paddock for you. Knowing that he's looking at you, you throw your head back in laughter at nothing in particular and bring a hand up to graze Ollie's upper arm. Though you have his back to him you know your boyfriend well enough that when you feel a hand on your own shoulder mere seconds later, you aren't too shocked.

"Oh, hello Franco," you hum, feigning innocence. "Ollie here was just showing me around and keeping me company, isn't he the sweetest?"

"Very sweet." He grins through gritted teeth, though his strengthening grip on your shoulder says otherwise.

"No problem, oh but hey I forgot to show you just one more th-"

"Thanks, kid, but my girlfriend and I have got to get going."

Trying not to make it too obvious on your face how pleased you were that your plan had worked, you thanked Ollie once more before you felt Franco's grip sliding down your arm and intertwining his fingers with yours. Desperately, he dragged you off and away from your tour guide - who had a slightly confused expression painted on his face as he watched the two of you disappear into the Williams garage. You were amazed by how quickly your boyfriend was walking as he pulled you into his driver's room, shutting the door behind you quickly.

"What was that?" he huffed immediately, not giving you a second to say anything. You only smiled in response, watching his normally calm expression morph into one of frustrated confusion.

"I told you, Ollie was showing me around, you were busy with your interviews anyways," you decide to keep up the act of innocence, though you can tell he's not buying it.

"Bullshit, what sort of showing around involves touching him."

"I didn't think you were watching, those reporters seemed to keep you pretty occupied," you say in a sing-songy tone, throwing yourself down on the couch in his room. You wait for him to respond - something equally sarcastic or quippy, but when you turn to look at him you see him staring at the wall in front of him, eyes furrowed in confusion. Slowly, the cogs in his mind seem to start working as his expression slowly changes into one of realisation.

"You were jealous," he breathes out, turning to you with eyes wide and brows raised.

"Oh pfft- I wouldn't say jealous, bored now that might be more accurate but-" You're interrupted by him taking a seat on the couch next to you, face now painted with a smug look.

"You didn't like that I was talking to so many reporters, did you?" His teasing tone is enough to make your heart race a little, though you try your best to keep calm.

"I'm pretty sure you were doing a little more than talking babe, you were flirting!"

He looks at you with a slightly offended expression, "flirting?" It's almost as if he's just realising what he was doing.

"Uhm, duh."

"Did it really look like that?" His brows curve up into a pleading expression, "I didn't mean to, I swear!" You let out a soft chuckle watching his apologetic expression.

"It's fine baby, just try to be a little less friendly next time - I think your PR team would appreciate it anyway." He nods, scooting a little closer so that he can lay his head on your shoulder. There's a beat of silence before he speaks again.

"You were jealous," he hums, almost as if he's talking to himself.

"Wh- so were you! Poor Ollie is probably terrified of you now!"

"Whatever, he's a big boy, he'll live," he sighs, reaching for your hand and intertwining it in his "Plus, don't act like you're any better using that kid to get back at me."

"Hey, I had to do something before you walked out of that media room with a second girlfriend," you crossed your arms in annoyance, refusing to even look at him.

"You're cute when you're jealous," he laughs, before turning to peck at your jawline. Before you can stop you're melting into his touch, bringing a hand up to brush his curly hair away from his face. It might be a weak apology to some, but to you - to be here with him, in the privacy of his driver's room, away from Ollie, the reporters, and the rest of the world - it's more than enough.

taglist: (reply/send me an ask if you'd like to be added!)

@spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @alelo23 @scill-a @multifan-idk

[clandestineloki]

firefighter miguel ohara x reader (VERY NSFW)

A/N: ang sabi ko december matatapos hindi ko sinabi anong year 😇

cw: smut, creampie, rough sex, things get 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂

when you first moved into your tiny home, you had gotten most of your stuff into the house by yourself

and the last thing you needed to unload from ur dad's car was your night stand so you carried it since it wasnt so heavy

only you accidentally hit the doorknob with your elbow and it flew off 😭

so you're standing there pacing nervously because you just locked yourself out of your own house LMAO DUMBASS

but to your rescue comes none other than miguel

having just returned from a minor save in his whole firefighter getup (somebody's stove caught on fire in an apartment somewhere but nothing fatal thankfully)

miguel looks to the house on his left

and suddenly believes in angels.

aren't you the cutest lil damsel in distress :}

u're pacing back nd forth and he's trying so hard not to stare at your cute lil ass in those pretty peach shorts 😙

you see him and wave, "pls help, sir!! my door- like- uh- i dont know what happened please help me i have to get this inside huhu"

who is he to say no??

he cracks his knuckles and squares up, making you blush as he grunts and flexes his muscles.

BUT YOU DONT EXPECT HIM TO BREAK DOWN UR DOOR

KICKED IT RIGHT OFF THE HINGES

and strategically kicked it too bc both the door and the hinges were intact, the screws just came off

he brushes his hair back and raises an eyebrow at your wide eyes

too shocked to contradict, you take the nightstand into ur new bedroom and come back to ur porch with a glass of lemonade for him

he thanks you, smirking when you blush and look away.

fixes your door that quickly too like wow

a handyman! maybe u can switch that up and manhandl- *GUNSHOTS*

anyways

for the next week and a half you're out on your porch with ur fat little cat mochi, working on a crochet thing, it's a hobby you recently got into since you're waiting for your cable and internet to get hooked up

and the firetruck drives by and the firetruck guys are blasting music, having a laugh

but miguel oh he always makes it a point to subtly wave at you and wink

it always leaves you flustered bc a very attractive man is giving you attention??

but what if he does it to other girls?? but if he does it to other girls why did one of the truckies ruffle miguel's hair when he caught miguel doing that??

but you just leave it at that, maybe he just wants ur attention and when he has it he'll get fed up and find some other pretty girl :((

until mochi gets the genius idea to chase a screeching squirrel up the tree right between your house and miguel's

"OH MY GOD MOCHI!!!!" you yell. "mochi, please dont move!!"

miguel just got back from a boring day at work, wearing half the firefighter getup and a grey shirt.

his definition of fun is getting to show off why his nickname is "the spider". it's because he almost never uses ladders and climbs the houses with just some rope and his bare hands.

and today was just some fire drill at a high school nearby, and he's a little pissed that nobody was listening because the mic had terrible feedback.

"MOCHI BABY OH MY GOD STAY RIGHT THERE!!"

miguel's head perks up from his phone, brows furrowing when he hears you screaming. he rushes to the 3½ ft fence between your house and his to see you running to the large tree in your backyard.

"leave em', peaches," he sighed and leaned against the fence with his arms crossed. "cats naturally land on their feet, he'll come down in a second."

"NO YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!!" you turn to him, panic clear in your voice. "HE'S BLIND!!"

"oh SHIT" miguel jumps over the fence and runs over to you. "where's the bastard?!"

you gasp at him. "ONLY I GET TO CALL HIM A BASTARD!" 

"fine, where is... it?"

"up there, MOCHI PLEASE DONT MOVE!! I'LL GET YOU BABY!"

"i wouldn't do that if i w-"

before miguel can stop you, you're already climbing the tree yourself. smirking, he lifts you off the trunk and into his arms, as if you were a cat yourself.

"peaches, you might wanna leave that to me," he chuckles riiiight up against your sensitive ear. "don't want your pretty little body getting all scratched up, mm?"

you whimper.

"miguel," you mumble, "p-put me down."

you squirm against him, but he growls and holds you closer.

"oh? and what if you're just going to do it again, mm? you gonna be a bad girl?" he asks, tracing his tongue over your earlobe, making you shiver and sink into his arms.

"m-miguel, what are you-"

"y'know bebita... you're terrible at pretending you don't look at me like you wanna fuck me..."

"wh-what?!"

the way he's carrying you reminds you an awful lot of this position you saw in porn. the full nelson. the tiny girl, all flushed and pleasure-dizzy, thighs quivering as she's pounded over and over, trapped in the thick veiny arms of her man as he subjects his little fucktoy to the roughest pounding until her brain is just as liquid as the sticky sweet potent cum leaking out of her -

"oh, look," miguel whispers, snapping you out of your dirty thoughts. mochi, despite his lack of eyesight, somehow finds his way down and glares straight through the two of you as if he can actually see the lewd way you're compromised in the arms of your handsome, secretly obsessed with you neighbor.

"there he is, the little furball," he sets you down, his hand lingering on your inner thigh a second too long as he pets the snobby little cat on his head. "your poor mami can't always save ya, y'know. i think she needs me around a lot more, hm?"

he turns to your flustered figure and smirks at your wide-eyed look. "i think you owe me a thank you."

"r-right..." you mumble, scratching the back of your neck nervously, still out of it. "th-thank you..."

to your downright embarrassment, he laughs at your pathetic attempt of speaking, and corners you against the fence.

"i think i need more than just a whisper, peaches," he drawls against your ear, one hand wandering under your shorts as he grins at the way you melt with just a little teasing.

"i'm real thirsty, bebita, so why don't you be a good girl and make me something to drink?"

which leads to right now: you're avoiding eye contact with miguel as he sits on your couch, patting at his forehead with a towel.

you're also avoiding eye contact with the very prominent bulge in his cargo pants.

you hand him a glass of ice, before turning to the fridge and looking through it.

"i-i have some orange juice, water, uh, pepsi if you want-"

"water."

you gulp. "o-okay," you take the pitcher and sit down next to him, and pouring into his glass slowly, staring at his hands because you can't bring yourself to look him in the eyes.

"bebita."

you flinch as you realize you've been pouring too much. the glass is filled to the brim.

[what you don't know is that he wishes you were too]

"s-sorry..." you mumble, scooting away from him slowly. he grabs your wrist and leans into your ear.

"can't we stop dancing around each other like we don't know where this is going?" he growls.

"wait- let me put this down!" you gasp as he pulls you onto his lap roughly, the plastic pitcher in your hands slanting and getting droplets ice-cold water down your chest.

and you have no idea how much it sounds like a dirty little moan when you go, "ngh! miguel!"

before you can even blink, you find yourself pinned down on the couch, the pitcher clattering to the floor. but your heart stops as you come face-to-face with miguel's lustful expression, his dark eyes staring into yours.

"do you have any idea what i want to do to you?"

you whimper shyly, and he curses under his breath, instinctively grinding his hips up into yours, making your breath hitch at the feeling of that right up against your crotch.

"oh you're so fucking cute," he grumbles. "think i'm really gonna break you when i put it in here..."

he torturously drags his palms up and down your legs and grinning like a madman when you whine from the sensations.

"wanted to fuck you since the moment you got here," he whispers darkly, his long fingers hooking under the waistband of your shorts and underwear. "do a little housewarming n' give you a nice, big welcome all over the couch, the bed, the shower..."

his voice trails off into a breathy shit, baby as he sees your wet pussy clenching around nothin. he looks up at your doe-eyed expression and grins.

"you gotta use your voice, pretty," he teases. "as much as i like starin' at you i can't figure out what you want~"

"i want you..." you whisper. "i want you to fuck me, miguel."

and fuck you he does. he presses his lips to yours and pushes you into the meanest mating press. "dreamed about this for so long," he growled into the kiss as he pulled down his pants. "cute little thing like you got a guy like me jerking off every night--" he starts nipping at your jawline  "--ah, like a fuckin' teenager. why am i- fuck, y're so pretty- why am i so in love with you?"

he leans back to adore your flushed, needy state, and finally, finally pulls his dick out. you squeak as he rests over your bare stomach-- thick, veiny, and leaking all over you as if he can't wait a second longer.

when he pushes into you, god, the both of you feel heavenly. it takes all his strength to not plow into you like some ruthless beast. he just bites your neck, and rocks into you slowly as his thumb draws small circles on your clit, hoping to get you to adjust to his size.

it does way more than that, because within a few seconds, you're gasping and seizing under him, twitching helplessly as an orgasm washes over you, making your tight little pussy cream all over him sofucking good.

miguel's patience only lasts a few seconds after you come before his lust overrides him and he pounds you into the couch with every bit of his strength.

"miguel! miguel! oh, fuck- too much-"

you're screaming his name over and over, your walls clenching down on him as he hits the sweetest spots in you with every thrust of his hips. your nails run down his back as he fucks you like his life depends on it, and it hurts so good he can't bring himself to care about anything but you, you, you. cute, shy, innocent, cockdrunk little you.

he's addicted. and he's yours.

miguel feels himself getting close-- and knows you're getting close too, with the way your moans are getting breathier and your eyes are glossing over.

"fuck, i'm gonna fill you up so good, peaches," he groans. "cum with me, princess. make a mess for me~"

he swallows your moans of pleasure with a kiss, and fucks your through your orgasm as his tongue fucks your mouth. you whine and cry, and he spanks the side of your thigh, making you squeak and twitch under him. his thrusts get sloppy until his eyes roll back and he almost groans when he comes, thick, white cum filling you up like you're some kind of creamy pastry.

you shakily push at his chest, but he tsks at you, simply taking your wrists and pinning them to your side as he makes out sloppily, his hips moving slowly as he pushes more of his cum into you.

"take it all, peaches," he whispers hoarsely. "then i'm gonna clean it all out with my tongue~"

"miguel! that's nasty!" you whine, but he's got his mind set on it already, lifting you over his shoulder and heading to your bedroom.

he laughs, then sets you down on the bed, flipping you over with your ass sticking out. you gasp and shiver when you feel two of his thick fingers in your pussy.

"if you think that's nasty you'd faint if i told you what i wanna do with you on your kitchen counter, peaches."

[hotchnersangel]

BUT SHE’S LOOKING AT YOU.

Aaron Hotchner.

cw: It girl!reader x aaron, you’re just so hot everyone wants u tbh, alcohol, men.

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

You are aware that you were attractive, you never had any struggle getting attention from the public, not growing up, not in college and certainly not now. It was rare, apparently, to have both intelligence and beauty but you didn't believe it defined you and your capabilities. Though, it shocked people when you told them your job. They assumed you modelled or were a social media influencer or something of sorts, some guy even told you that your beauty was being wasted on working for the FBI. Yeah, saving people's lives is realllyyy unattractive.

The team was out in a celebratory drink for finishing a rough case, even Aaron had joined the team this time. He didn't often come out but he liked it when he did, he liked spending time with the team, with you, outside of working hours. Though, he disliked having to watch men goggle their eyes at you.

Rossi ordered drinks and a bar tender brought an extra one over.

"Sorry, I didn't order that." Rossi exclaimed and gestured to the drink in the bartenders hand.

"Oh, it was sent by the man at the bar for you." She eclaimed looking at you, you widened your eye and looked to the bar, seeing a man wink at you.

"Lovely..." you said sheepishly and pushed it away, back to her. "Am I okay to send it back?"

The bartender smiles and nods at you, as you watch her walk away and you look back to the team embarasssed.

"Hey pretty lady's on the radar." Morgan exclaimed and you shoot him a look, shifting in your seat and looking at Aaron who was already watching you.

"You act like it's not always like this," Emily shrugs and sips her drink as you protest, "honey, I don't blame them, I'd buy you a drink if you so much as breathed in my direction."

You laugh at her dramatic comment and shook your head. "I appreciate the praise but really I'm not interested."

"By him or by anyone because in the time we've known you, you've been hit on by all of us combined and tripled." JJ laughs and sips her drink, genuinely curious.

"You're dramatic," you say softly, "but, it doesn't mean that I don't want a relationship just... I don't like the men that hit on me I guess." You shrug, looking at Aaron.

"Some of the men are absolutely delicious sweetie, you can't deny that." Garcia argues excitedly.

Morgan seems to catch on. "Oh, oh."

"What?" you ask him curiously.

"Pretty lady over here has a crush." He smirks and the others gasp with excitement at the gossip.

"I'm getting another drink." You stand up and go to the bar, Aaron getting out to follow you. You both head to the bar and order your drinks, Aaron paying.

"You didn't have to pay," you smile at him, ignoring the glances being thrown in your direction from well... everywhere.

"No but I wanted to." He shrugs and looks at you as your drinks are getting prepared. "You look beautiful by the way."

You blush and look down them back up at him, grinning widely. "Thank you. So do you."

You thank the bartender but make no move to leave the bar to return to the table just yet, looking back at Aaron. "You're different with me, why?"

"What do you mean?" You smile as you look at him, you knew what he meant.

"You know what I mean. You don’t seem to be sending the drink I bought you back.” He smirks slightly and you laugh, looking into his eyes.

“I feel safe with you.” You shrug and sip your drink. “Plus, you’re double the man these are.”

He raises a brow at you. “How so?”

You sigh and look at him. “A girl wants to be considered more than ‘hot’, to be called more than ‘sexy’ in her lifetime.” You shrug and look up at him.

“While I appreciate the sentiment, you make me feel beautiful.” You say softly looking at him, tilting your head as you admire his face.

He smiles at you, a genuine smile as he places his hand on your lower back, guiding you back to the table. Sitting opposite you once more. You join in a conversation with Emily, Garcia, Spencer and JJ.

Aaron on the other hand id being smirked at by Morgan and Rossi. “Don’t.”

“Oh- we don’t have to say anything.” Rossi smirks, with a knowing look as he raises his glass to Aaron.

“You’re in the big L Hotch,” Morgan chuckles, shaking his head.

“Everybody watches her… she is probably the most wanted woman here tonight. I have no chance.” Hotch shakes his head.

“Everybody may be watching her, but she’s looking at you.”

——————

[freelancelobotomy]

౨ৎ˚₊𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐘 [𝐒.𝐑]

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

𐙚⋆.˚Summary: Spencer is smitten for the T.A. at Penelope’s art class. And he just might have a chance with her.  ⋆˙⟡♡WC: 2.3k

⊹܀˙CW: Suggestive language, Derek is half neked (for plot reasons of course), Spencer wants y/n so baddddd, Reader is described to have hips (the pic is to show the maxi skirt that I imagined), Reader has long hair.

♪‧₊˚A/N: hiiiiii I love this song + it came on my shuffle yesterday and it gave me an idea so yk I had to get to WORK. I hope u like. If this gets over 100 notes ill write Gravity pt 3. Okay bye bye

Spencer had agreed to take both Derek and Penelope to Penelope’s art class that night since her car wouldn’t start and Derek’s had gotten towed for being parked on the street too long while they were in Florida for a case. Derek wasn’t taking the class with Penelope—he was the model for it.

“It’s a life drawing class,” she had explained, giddily. “They saw Derek pick me up last week and the professor asked him to model for us today. And to bring baby oil.”

The art room was bright and beautifully decorated, with an abundance of ferns and vines and all sorts of greenery adorned onto the walls.

The professor had smiled as the three of them approached the stool that Derek was supposed to perch on during class.

“Penelope! Derek! Happy that you could make it. You can change in the supply closet on the left,” Professor Andi had gasped. “Did you bring some oil? I have linseed oil from my oil painting class earlier today that you can use if you didn’t.”

“I got some, don’t worry, Doc,” Derek had said with a wink before making his way to the supply closet and shutting the door behind him.

“Who is this? Are you here for the class?” Professor Andi had beamed.

“Oh… no. I’m Spencer. I was just dropping off—”

You had walked into the room, your hips swishing in your maxi skirt as you balanced a tower of sketchbooks in your arms.

“Y/N! Hi!” Penelope had smiled. “Do you need help?”

Spencer’s legs had started moving on their own toward you, taking four of the sketchbooks from your stack.

You had smiled politely at the tall man. “Thank you.” The both of you placed the sketchbooks on the table..

“You’re welcome,” he said, his gaze lingering on your face. Beautiful, he had thought, a warmth spreading through him. The first thing he had truly noticed were your lips—the way they curved into a smile as you spoke, their delicate movements as you formed each word. You wrapped Penelope in a hug.

“Oh,” you sighed, a faint blush gracing your cheeks. “How rude of me. I’m Y/N. Professor Andi’s TA. You must be Derek,” you had said, offering your hand.

Spencer, despite a fleeting thought about germs, had found himself wanting to hold it. Your touch was light, and your nails were a pretty pale pink. What would it feel like to have those hands explore…?

Spencer had cleared his throat, a nervous laugh escaping him. “I’m not Derek. I’m, uh… Doctor Spencer Reid—well, just Spencer. Please.” He had fumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets to resist the urge to reach for you again. “I’m Penelope and Derek’s ride.”

“My mistake, Spencer,” you had said, your eyes meeting his with a playful tilt of your head. “Will you be joining us today?”

Did you know the effect you had? It had felt almost cruel. He glanced at Penelope, who was practically begging with her eyes.

A subtle smile had played on his lips. “Looks like I will be,” he nodded, his attention already drawn back to you.

“Great! Come with me. Let’s get you a sketchbook,” you grinned, gesturing for him to follow, and he had found himself eagerly complying.

Your backside was just as pretty as your face. He watched you switch on the light in the supply room, the movement causing a soft sway of your hips that he couldn’t tear his gaze from.

You crouched down to the floor, rummaging through bins of pencils. The way your brow had furrowed in concentration was endearing.

“Have you ever taken art class before? Or just been creating independently?” you asked him, your voice a melodic murmur that had sent a shiver down his spine. Gravity had pulled your hair toward your face, showcasing the delicate slope of your neck—a sight that made his breath catch. He wanted to reach out, to feel the softness of those strands against his fingers.

“Neither. This is all sort of new to me,” he admitted, his chuckle betraying a hint of nervousness—a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. Especially not to someone who already held his attention so tightly.

“I see,” you said, picking up a large sketchbook and a brand new case of pencils and blending stubs. “Well, what do you like to do in your free time?” Your eyes met his for a fleeting moment, his stomach fluttering.

He had taken the supplies from you, his fingers brushing against yours—a brief touch that sent a jolt of electricity through him. He wished the exchange could have lasted longer, wanted to linger in that delicate contact. He spent too long just looking at you, memorizing the curve of your smile, the way your eyes sparkled. Words, he had reminded himself. He needed to say something meaningful, something that would capture your attention as completely as you had captured his.

“I like reading,” he managed, his voice slightly rougher than intended.

You waltzed past him to re-enter the art room, your perfume drifting toward his senses. Hmm… Fresh. Pear maybe? The scent was intoxicating—a promise of sweetness that he desperately wanted to explore. He would’ve followed that fragrance anywhere, even into the deepest ocean.

“Me too. Um… what’s your favorite book?” you asked.

He paused. You wanted to talk to him. The realization sent a thrill through him. What timeline was he in right now? This had felt like a dream.

“I enjoy everything that I read,” he replied. He had known it was a terrible answer, a deflection, but his mind was still reeling from your nearness.

“Okay, but there’s got to be a standout,” you chuckled, raising a brow. Cute. The simple gesture had made him swallow hard.

“Well, recently I’ve been re-reading Orwellian literature, so something of that nature. As of the moment I’ve been particularly enjoying 1984.” He wanted to impress you with his intellect, hoping to find some common ground, some way to bridge the distance between you.

“Ooh,” you sighed, “That’s a good one. Mine right now is probably…” You trailed off, thinking as you opened a fresh kneaded eraser for him. “Lord of the Flies,” you had decided. “Works that ask the question if evil is ingrained into our morality are some of my favorites. I find them the most stimulating,” you said, your eyes holding a captivating intensity.

It hadn’t been suggestive in the slightest the way you had said it, yet it had stirred something within him—a deep need to know you. To know where you came from and the places you'd been. He had managed a curt nod, his usual eloquence deserting him as he had found a seat next to Penelope, his gaze still drawn to your every movement.

After Professor Andi gave a quick review (or introduction, for Spencer) of value and shape, Derek had stepped out of the supply closet, glistening like a glazed donut. The women in the class had turned to each other, giddy and excited. He had taken his place on the stool in the middle of the circle of chairs. Derek smiled at Spencer and Penelope before striking a pose.

Spencer didn’t give a shit, though. He had been staring at you as you peeled a clementine at your desk, the delicate way your fingers manipulated the fruit utterly mesmerizing. You popped a slice into your mouth before wiping the residue from your hands and taking your sketchbook in hand. He imagined the sweetness lingering on your lips—a dangerous thought that made his chest ache. He’s never wanted someone so badly before.

Professor Andi had put on her Bossa Nova playlist. How fitting. Your hoop earrings, the faint flush on your cheeks—you had looked like how Bossa Nova sounded: pleasant and dreamy, an ethereal vision that he had felt he could only admire from afar.

You had begun sketching furiously, a small pout forming on your lips in concentration, your brow furrowed. The intensity of your focus had been incredibly alluring. He had found himself wanting to be the subject of that fierce gaze, to have you study him with such intent. He envied the loose leaf paper of your sketchbook and your 6B pencil that had the privilege of feeling your touch uninterrupted.

“Why haven’t you started yet?” Penelope whispered—not so subtly. It snapped Spencer from his haze, the spell you had cast momentarily broken.

“Huh—what?”

“Your page. It’s empty. Why?”

“Just thinking of how to approach this, is all,” he lied, his mind still replaying the way your hair had fallen across your neck. Penelope had narrowed her eyes but had chosen to let it go.

He had desperately wanted to impress you, to create something worthy of your attention. The thought of your opinion consumed him.

Spencer had somehow managed to find the control to start drawing a half-naked, oiled-up Derek, but his values had gotten a little muddy. He had needed to block out the highlights like Professor Andi had said in her brief lecture. But his kneaded eraser was stiff and wouldn’t warm up in his hands, no matter how long he had pressed it between his palms.

“Do you need help?” 

“Uh, yeah, my eraser won’t soften.”

“Y/N,” Penelope said, calling you over with a smile. You peered up from your sketchbook and smiled as you got up to approach her.

“How can I help?” you asked, bending over slightly with your palms on your thighs to be within earshot of Penelope.

“Spence needs help getting his kneaded eraser to knead,” she whispered, biting back a smile.

“No problem,” you smiled, dragging a stool next to him and sitting down. You had leaned in close to get a glance at the eraser. Pears, he had thought.

“Is it hard?” you asked. Ironic, he had thought.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I’ve never done this before. I don’t know how to.”

“You’re totally fine. It happens to me all the time. Here. I’ll help,” you had said, taking his hands into yours. “See this part of your thumb?”

Your long, delicate fingers had softly rubbed the joint below the pad of his thumb. Spencer had nodded, his mouth suddenly dry.

“You’re going to press it against this joint,” you had said, your fingertips now tracing the second joint of his index finger. “And rub the eraser between your fingers to warm it up.” You had placed the square, unkneaded eraser in the described position and guided Spencer’s hands to repeat that motion over and over until his fingerprint had appeared in the softened eraser. Spencer had hoped you wouldn’t notice how badly his hands were shaking as you held them.

“Okay, good job,” you had said, a soft warmth in your voice. Jesus. “Now stretch it with two hands like putty, then roll it into a ball.”

Your molasses gaze had flickered over his fingers, briefly meeting his. He had your complete attention in that moment and he literally had no idea what to do with himself. He had rolled the now-soft eraser into a ball.

“Perfect. Now you can use it.” You smiled at him—a genuine, captivating smile that had sent a jolt through him—before moving your stool away.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice a little rough. You nodded politely before returning to your sketchbook.

Spencer had made the decision that he was going to try his absolute hardest to impress you. He had known it was probably stupid, but it hadn’t seemed impossible, and he had thought he had a good shot at making it work.

By the end of the class, everyone had given their sketches to Derek for him to keep. Spencer had handed his to Derek. Derek’s brows had risen.

“You did this?”

“Yeah,” Spencer croaked dryly, his mind elsewhere. He had been watching you through the mirror near the door. You had ripped out two pages and then gotten up from your seat.

“It looks good, actually. Nice work, pretty boy,” Derek had said, clapping him hard on the shoulder.

“Hi Derek, nice to meet you,” you said nicely, smiling. You had handed him your portrait, which—of course—had put everyone else’s to shame, Spencer’s included. You made polite small talk with Penelope until they had eventually needed to leave.

Spencer lingered in the doorway. Ask for her number. Stop being awkward and aloof for five seconds of your life and ask her. But what if you never called him? Should he ask you to coffee instead? Or lunch? You seemed like a brunch type of girl—

“Doctor,” you whispered.

Spencer had turned around, his heart leaping. “I have something for you,” you had said, walking toward him.

“For me?” he asked, a hopeful tremor in his voice.

You handed him something—it was a portrait. Of him.

“I did it after I finished Derek’s.”

It was beautiful. He looked beautiful. The delicate lines of the shadows sketched by your hands, the slope of his nose, the shape of his lips… it had been him, and it had been wonderful. And it had been by you. You had observed his face and felt the need to put pencil to paper.

“Would you like, um—Y/N… Do you want to get coffee with me sometime next week?” he stammered, the question tumbling out in a rush. A slow, knowing smile had crept onto your lips, and you had nodded. Unbelievable.

“Yeah, I’d love to, Spencer,” you chuckled breathily, the sound like a melody to his ears.

“Really? Could I… get your number?” he had asked, his gaze fixed on yours.

“Flip it over,” you said, brushing past him, your scent lingering in the air again.

He had followed your directions. Your number had been scribbled on the back of the portrait. “Bye, Spencer.”

He watched you get into your car as Penelope and Derek laughed about something.

Your car had pulled out of the driveway, and you had honked the horn.

Penelope had smirked at Spencer. “Someone made a friend.”

“I saw her helping you ‘knead your eraser.’ I can tell she likes you.”

“You think?” Spencer had asked, biting back a grin.

He sure had hoped so—because he was already obsessed with you.

borders from: @muffiinss

I love jeff buckley

Tags:

[murdock-slvt]

𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐍𝐘 (j. storm x female! reader) ▄▀▄▀▄

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: johnny storm x female! reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: johnny doesn’t expect to be so turned on when he sees you be a mother figure towards sue and reed’s kid… but johnny isn’t one to ignore his desires

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 16+ CONTENT, rough sex, suppressed breeding kink? breeding kink, praise kink, vaginal sex, hair pulling (johnny receiving), lots of flirting, usage of ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’, edging, unprotected sex (wrap it!), erection fondling, aftercare, lowercase! intended

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: joseph quinn as johnny storm, I will forever love u. i never particularly liked chris evan’s performance, just never felt like johnny johnny, but so far, quinn seems like he got johnny down 🥹 so excited for fantastic 4! also, if u don’t like the ‘daddy’ kink, don’t read this!

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

you were always so grateful that sue and reed trusted you enough around franklin when he was born— if reed and sue could trust johnny, they could trust you.

sue and reed had entrusted you and johnny to take care of the one year old franklin as the super couple went on a date night that was definitely needed and definitely earned. ben was out doing some charity event stuff which made you and johnny stuck on babysitting duties— but neither of you could care; johnny wanted to prove to his sister (and reed) that he is a damn good uncle, and you didn’t mind spending the night with johnny.

the thing about johnny though, is that he always knew what type of man he was; he was the sexy playboy of the group. the hot shot who knew everything and winked at every camera he saw. he saved people, absolutely, but he also did it with a sexy smile on his face and with the playboy aesthetic comes the idea of settling down. seeing you take care of franklin in such a good way, it’s awakening a feeling he’s never had before.

does he want to be a daddy?

it doesn’t seem that bad; you make it seem pretty damn fun.

seeing you take care of franklin gave johnny an unfamiliar yet warm and welcomed feeling in his chest; you looked perfect taking care of the new member of the family, finding his thoughts imagining you with your own kid, from his dna too, parents. it made johnny spiral in all the best ways.

his thoughts were a mile a minute, seeing you with the one year old, acting as a place in mom for the kid. johnny thought of a baby that was both of yours, that was configured by both your guy’s sperm and dna… his own baby, with their own features— fuck. he was supposed to be the womanizer of the group, not this shitty sappy romantic.

his thoughts drifted into the dirtier crevices of his mind… imagining how he’d get you pregnant, how stuffed you’d look, with your beautiful eyes filled with tears as he fucked a baby into you… oh god it seemed too good.

he watches from the baxter building’s kitchen, seeing the slight arch in your back as you sat with franklin. the boy had a thing plushie in his hand, throwing it around and doing whatever one year olds do with things they don’t know anything about but are learning how to be a human being.

the back arch wasn’t even that sexual… it wasn’t… but the way your back was, bent slightly with your ass perched perfectly, it’s an innocent position that johnny’s mind can’t help but make dirty.

he couldn’t stop looking, he couldn’t stop his eyes. it felt perverted, but he couldn’t help it. he blinked, forcing his eyes to advert to the stars as they shined outside, through the curtains of the baxter building. he tried his fucking hardest to not go back to seeing you, back arched slightly with the perfect amount of ass out, and he cursed himself when he felt his pants begin to tighten.

snap out of that johnny— you’re better than this.

his feet quickly move his body, excusing himself and putting on a front that he wasn’t absolutely hard as a rock watching you be a great aunt to franklin. going into the closest bathroom, he leaves the door open but the light off, turning on the faucet and splashing ice cold water onto his face. he needed these thoughts gone, or at least under some semblance of control.

he shook his head, water droplets flying as he tried to calm his nerves. he held onto the sink as his cheeks flushed. why was this thought causing him this much trouble… and the hard cock throbbing in his pants certainly didn’t help. fuck.

“you look like a hot mess, baby.”

your words echo to his head as he turns around, seeing you standing in the doorway of the bathroom, hands on your hips as you stare at your boyfriend. you know exactly what got him worked up, it’s funny really.

johnny looks at you with furrowed brows before turning off the faucet, straightening his back and crossing his arms. “aren’t you supposed to be with frankie, my love? y’know he’ll tear some shit up if you’re not in there.” he asks you, hiding it (not very well) that he just discovered he had a secret kink of you pregnant—

you smile at his words, shrugging lightly as you look at your nails, then back up at the blonde. “franklin’s a little tired. ‘m letting him get his energy out right now before putting him to bed… but looks like he’s already knocking out…” you say as you look at franklin, drool slightly leaving his mouth and landing on the thing’s thick plush fist, he was an adorable baby that’s for damn sure.

“besides, even if he wasn’t tired, it’s not like he’s going to burn the house down… he’s not you.” you joke, pulling johnny out of the dark bathroom by his belt.

chuckling at your words and the way you tease him, johnny steps out the bathroom, trying to hard to not groan at your hand on his belt, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“I’m not that reckless!” he tries to defend himself. “only like, half the time, and that’s with reed here!” he puts his chin on your shoulder as you look at him over your shoulder, holding the belt. “besides… you left the kiddo to look for me, you sure has different priorities, princess…”

“shut up, hot shit.” you say, looking at franklin before you turn around to face johnny. “I care about little frankie, ‘cause clearly you sure other priorities than trying to help me take care of your nephew…” you shook back, the same playful grin as you place your left hand on his bulge.

“hey! i’m helping too.” he protested weakly, but the protest died when you touched his shaft through his pants, making him shiver.

“I’m just multitasking, princess...” he adds slyly, a smirk on his stupid face as his hand runs through his blonde hair, making it too sexy for his own good.

“multitasking, huh?” you ask, a smirk growing on your face as you hear his words. you step a bit closer to him, his hand still on his crotch, squeezing his shaft confined in his pants as your other hand moved to his face, stroking his strong jawline.

“hell yeah, multi-tasking baby… taking care of little franklin then imagining you fat with my own…” he says quietly— as if franklin the one year old who still calls sue ‘daddy’ and reed ‘mommy’ could hear his filthy words. it’s the first time he’s admitted the secret kink that’s slowly been harboring in his gut.

his mouth continues; “mmm, you have no clue what you’re doing right now…” he murmurs lowly, his hands beginning to roam your body, sliding up to the top three buttons on your sleep shirt.

“oh I think I’m doing everything you want me to do, johnny…” you say, your voice bordering on sultry. the way he talks about you being pregnant and just imagining his cock ramming into you— it sent a thrill through your body and to your pussy. “you’re such a pervert, y’know?”

he chuckles, unbuttoning the top two buttons of the shirt you’re wearing. “oh but you don’t even know the half of it, darling.” he says back to you, kissing your cheek. the way you’re talking and squeezing his cock is too much for him.

he could throw you against the wall and pound you into the wall and wouldn’t think twice.

but, johnny is able to stop himself, looking at franklin as the sleeping boy nearly falls over as he sleeps on the couch.

you look over your shoulder at the new addition to the richards-storm household, remembering what you were supposed to be doing. you pushed yourself off johnny. “c’mon, I’m going to put frankie in his crib… then we can do what we want…”

johnny pouts at being denied his prize for a bit. but the look at franklin stops him. he grumbles something about blue balls, something you can’t quite hear… but he could never be mad at his little nephew.

you bend over as you pick franklin up, grabbing the thing plushie as well as you walk over to the nursery reed and sue had for franklin, built by johnny, ben, and reed and supervised by sue. you place franklin in the crib, placing the thing plushie right next to the sleeping boy (who takes it back right away) and the boy has no trouble falling back asleep, watching the little rocket ship and solar system toy overhead of the crib slowly hum in circles.

you and johnny look over at the sleeping one year old. he’s already having features of his parents, johnny putting his chin on your shoulder, his hand on his lower back. “I think we make a pretty kickass aunt and uncle duo…”

“we do, don’t we?” you say back to him, placing your hand over johnny’s that sits on your hip, stroking his knuckles lightly. you watch little frankin for a moment, his eyes closed, a tiny smile on his little baby face. johnny swears he melts a little at the sight.

he then asks the question his dick was hard to thinking about; “you think we’d be a good mommy and daddy?”

you smile at his words, it’s rare to see johnny vulnerable, but when he is, he’s open and you appreciate that. your arms wrap themselves around his neck as you think. “I think we’d make good parents… maybe even great.” you say, a grin on your face still as you push a strand of blonde hair out his face.

you look into his big, blue eyes, making sure to not be too close to franklin so the baby can get his beauty sleep. “why do you ask?”

“just thinking, ‘bout how you looked so damn natural, taking care of the little guy.” johnny murmured, holding you just a bit closer to him. he liked this feeling. “and the way you bent over earlier didn’t help.” he added slyly, a smirk on his face as his hands started to slide down to your ass.

you roll your eyes, smacking his chest playfully. “you can’t keep your mind clean, can’t you, johnny?” for a moment you two are silent but with grins and flushed cheeks, you continue however, a low whisper in his ear. “is this your way of asking me to let you get me pregnant, storm?”

“i just want you to be the mother of my kids.” johnny tells you; he says it so casually as his hand groping your ass a bit rougher as he starts backing you out of the nursery. (while keeping his eye on little franklin)

you smile, hearing the soft clicking of the nursery door closing as franklin is put to bed. you bat your eyelashes at the fire-man before tilting your head, pretending to think. “I mean… it doesn’t hurt to try…”

johnny looks at you with a smile, you give him the same look; lust and love as you go into his bedroom…

▄▀▄▀▄

“ohhhhh! fuckkkk, johnny!” your moans echo throughout his room as the bed creaked loudly, the headboard pressing against the wall constantly.

johnny had you on your back, your legs on his shoulders with your hands free to do whatever they please, right now they’re pressed on johnny’s chest as he pushed his thick cock into you, his tip kissing your g-spot constantly.

his grunts are so sexy as he angles his hips perfectly. “yeah? that feels good, baby? like how I’m fucking you?” he asks, beads of sweet dropping down his forehead as he pounds into your sweet pussy. he holds your thighs, not leaving any room to even think about it, his pace quick and mean.

you nod with intense enthusiastic. “yes! oh fuck, johnny! feels so- so good.” you moan out, your words breaking as your walls are stretched by his dick. “s-so big, oh fuck…”

he smiles, kissing your right ankle as he drags his dick in and out, he’s leaving no space between his hips and your pussy, not wanting to waste any inches. “yeah? you think my dick’s big? that’s why you can barley take it, pretty girl?”

you grunt, digging your fingernails into his chest as he makes fun of you not being able to take him. you shake your head. “t-taking it pretty fuckin’ good… s-shit!”

he chuckles. “see, told you you’re a smart girl… knowing exactly how to take daddy’s dick.”

oh fuck. that’s when you rip out a sob. it shouldn’t feel so good when he calls himself that… it really shouldn’t but it does.

you can’t respond, your eyes rolling back as he fucks into you harder with the pet name he gave himself. your mouth can only let out his name in broken whimpers and moans. your hands moving up to the back of his head as he leans forward, forcing your legs to bend, your knees pressing into your own breasts.

“cant even respond, can you? just so dumbed down because of my dick.” johnny says, it’s not cruel, just cocky. he knows the effects he has on you

you look at him, one hand going into his blonde locks and the other going to his bicep, digging into both, his blonde strands go in between your fingers. “p-please… ‘m close— so close…” you brokenly whimper.

johnny kisses your ankle again, your walls clenching as he thrusts deeper. “oh yeah? my pretty girl wants to cum all over me?”

you nod your head quickly, too busy whining, moaning and feeling all sorts of ways as his cock pistons into you. the way he looks as he fucks you is too much… you can barely form any coherent words. “please… oh… oh fuck…”

“poor girl, you can’t even form a sentence right now…” he coo’s, rubbing your thighs again as he stops his cock from moving.

your eyes look at him frantically, feeling him stop his cock. you need to finish so bad, you’re right on the edge, your orgasm right on its tail and you need it so fucking bad. almost like it’s going to be ruined if you don’t get it right now.

“j-johnny please… please I need it, ‘m close, so close.” you beg, hating the cocky son of a bitch.

johnny looks at you, tilting his head, almost thinking. you deserve it, but for teasing him earlier? but you did it so good that he couldn’t really blame you. “you want it—“

“please please please, johnny, need it— need it.” your begs cut him off, he didn’t even get to finish his words before you’re already begging him again.

he could never say no to you, truly.

he leans forward, pushing his hips and beginning a deep pace all over again, almost like resuming your tumble towards your orgasm, collecting the pieces right back up again. his thick cock stretches your walls.

his left hand presses on your stomach, feeling himself push in and out while the right hand goes down to your puffy cunt, rubbing it in tight circles and making you go over the edge. “c’mon baby, give it to me, give it to daddy…”

a loud moan leaves your mouth as you successfully go over the edge. your eyes roll back as your mouth hangs open, nails dug deep into johnny’s hair and his shoulder, your toes curling as johnny’s name leaves your mouth over and over again, like a religious name.

johnny smirks watching you go over the edge, still moving his hips smoothly to soothe you through your high. “there you go, good girl, knew you were my good girl…”

it feels so damn good, and johnny’s words don’t help.

your eyebrows furrow as your eyes roll back to their normal spot, hazed and on a different cloud than nine. you look johnny in his eyes. “c’mon baby… give it to me… cum in me johnny.”

he looks at her with his eyes glistening, as if you just asked him for the world. “oh, you want me to give you a baby? you want me to stuff this tummy full and give you a little bundle of joy?” he asks, pressing down on your stomach a little. he groaned at the thought, imagining his little fantasy of seeing you get fat with his baby and being the best daddy possible.

you whine at his words, only nodding. “f-fuck yes, johnny, please… ‘need your baby, want it deep inside me, p-please.” you beg, not even having any shame. thinking about johnny baby’s inside you is making you go fucking crazy.

his balls squeezed as his dick twitches at your words. he tries to hold his smirk, but it’s hard when you feel so damn good. “oh yeah… gonna give you a baby, ‘make you a mommy…”

“y-yes, please, make me a mama!” you beg, pulling at his blonde locks. “l-let me make you a daddy.”

he smiles, those are all the words that make him finally break. his head throws back as he grunts one last time, thrusting as deep as he could as his tip itches closer to your womb. he finally breaks, his dick twitching as he empties himself within you.

in a slow but delicious span of ten seconds, you feel your pussy flutter and hot semen shoot into your womb, painting your walls with white.

“oohhhh, johnny… daddy… feels ‘so good.” you whimper out, completely satisfied and fucked stupid. his hot cum just adds to how good it feels.

johnny moves his head back down, his hair a mess from your hand and his back is aching from the nail marks made by your fingers. he has a stupid loopy smile on his face as he finds solace in your now cum-filled pussy.

he leans back, letting your legs drop back to the bed as he leans down, bringing his lips to your cheek. “so good for me, baby.” he mutters before looking at you, your lips, then back at you. “thank you… ‘not just for this pussy… for you.”

you smile back, cupping his jaw as you kiss his lips. it’s a soft one, it’s full of love and softness. “and thank you for being… you… my johnny, my boyfriend…”

he shakes his head. “don’t sell yourself short, sexy… if we keep this going, my ring finger might become yours.”

“oh baby, you’re just the best, aren’t you?” you chuckle at his insinuation, ruffling his hair and kissing his lips again…

and when the pregnancy test would come back negative in the next two weeks, it didn’t deter the younger storm sibling; in fact it gave johnny even more reasons to get you naked.

▄▀▄▀▄

johnny boy, oh johnny boy. I love him. next johnny smut will be more asshole! johnny because as much as I love making this bastard a perverted romantic, he’s so hot when he’s an asshole! hope u enjoyed!

✦ comments and reblogs are always appreciated! ✦

@murdock-slvt 2025!

[81pastrys]

Hiya 🏎️ here! I wanted to request a smut fic (when u have the time no pressure ik you've been bombarded by requests take ur time pls 😭🫶) where eye contact is readers biggest weakness and Lando knows it so when he puts her in missionary (or in front of a mirror if ur feeling extra spicy) she's dreading it cuz she knows he's gonna make her look at him and he loves it obviously cuz he loves looking into her eyes but to her it's such an intimidating and intimate thing that's hard to do (speaking from personal experience 😭 eye contact is so scary)

Please take ur time with requests and don't bother replying to anyone if they're rude about why it's taking long. Stay hydrated and healthy have a lovely day 🫶

Eyes On Me

Summary— Lando discovers his girlfriend is weak when it comes to eye contact so he uses it in the bedroom

Warnings— Eye Contact weakness ; teasing A LOT ; fingering ; mirror fingering ; slight degradation ; praising fs; aftercare

A/N— you make me feral with these requests 🏎️ anon, I love you 😭😭 also I’m doing amazing! I have like 11 requests rn so I am trying to write them the best I can in a short amount of time, but these one shot recs I just can’t not make them long and slutty

Lando One Shots

When Lando found out that simply making eye contact made his girlfriend weak in the knees, he would always do it. During breaks in racing, eyes on her until she noticed and blushed. On the podium, he’d look for her and wink as they made eye contact, seeing her flush and look away.

She hated that he knew now, he’d catch her staring and stare back in her eyes directly. She did think it was cute how when he did notice he would chuckle and hug her or kiss her while she was flushed.

Lando was curious, and when curiosity takes over, nothing can stop him from testing it. If eye contact made her blush and shy away, how would she react to it aroused in bed with him? Well, sitting on a plush round ottoman in front of the obnoxiously large mirror they had in their room.

It was quite a normal thing in the bedroom for them to go at it hours at a time, especially if he had been away. He tested a light bit of his curiosity the last time, making her look at him and her nearly orgasming at the eye contact.

This time he was going to make her cum from his eyes contact, he was determined. They had gotten the usual casualties done, stripping a bit of foreplay. When she thought he was going to put her on the bed, he kicked the ottoman dead center of the mirror. Her breath hitched. He sat down and he pat his lap.

“Sit.” He demanded, and she did. She always trusted him and it made her excited to try something new. He ran his hands over her body and rested his head on her shoulder. He admired how she looked in the mirror, on display for him.

Her head fell back on his shoulder as he twisted a nipple in between his fingers. She moaned as his hands did their exploring. She moaned at every touch, gentle or rough. His hands gripped her thighs and placed them opposite of his, spreading them open. Now both of them were equally on display.

“I have one rule, and one rule only.” He whispered, littering kisses over her upper body. She hummed and he smiled. “Eyes on me, the entire time.” She whined. He tapped her chin and she lifted her head to look in the mirror. He met her gaze through the glass.

She shivered at the feeling. He smiled devilishly. He kept his head rested on her shoulder and guided a hand down to gather her arousal. Her body twitched and her eyes instinctively closed and strangled moan came from her lips.

“Open your eyes or I’ll stop.” He warned. She opened her eyes and he felt her clench on air when they made eye contact again. He chuckled and slowly inserted one finger, teasing her now. “So wet for me, just from making eye contact?” He tutted and shook his head.

He added another finger and slowly pulled them in and out, the wet sound making her shiver in anticipation. Her body slightly leaned forward and he pulled her back with his free arm, resting his hand on her tummy as he made sure she was still looking.

“Look at how big my hand is compared to you baby, just to think my other one is splitting you open.” He teased. Her breath hitched watching his fingers move teasingly slow. His fingers curled ever so slightly at her walls tensing from his reflection.

They made eye contact again and she moaned loudly, catching him by surprise as her walls restricted any movement. “Lan, please-“ she choked out. Her breath hitching as he forced his fingers through the tightness.

“Ah, ah, look at me doll, or I’ll leave you like this.” He said, when her eyes shut forcefully at the pleasure he was causing. “Last warning, if you close them again it all stops.” She managed to keep her eyes open and on him. He sped up his movements, precise and deliberate to tease her towards an orgasm.

She moaned at the new set pace and he looked to her open eyes, pleas spilling from her mouth as she neared an orgasm. He watched his fingers as they worked her open and then looked back at her eyes. That was enough for her to shatter.

Her mouth dropping open as strangled moans and gasps are torn from her. “All from eye contact?” He said with a fakely disappointed face. “Such a dirty little girl you are, cumming on my fingers over something so simple.” He cooed as he kissed her neck and made sure her eyes didn’t close as she writhed in pleasure while he continued his torment.

“Fuck.” She groaned at him, breaking his ‘eyes on me rule’ to collapse her head back on him as the pleasure overwhelmed her. His hands were removed and he rested both hands on her thighs, keeping them open. The one that pleasured her had extra warmth to it, her leg twitching at the sensation.

He watched in the mirror as her juices dripped onto the ottoman and her soaked cunt clenching from the aftershocks. “So pretty for me baby.” He whispered in her ear as she calmed down.

He deemed her wrecked for the night and cleaned up, the ottoman probably being thrown out soon from the stains. He laid her in their plush bedding and she was out like a light. He didn’t think he overworked her, but apparently it took a toll on her.

Yeah, no, so apparently I’m really horny or ovulating bc these are coming so naturally and detailed 😃

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @pandabiiissh @kallanfiona @itznotsophia

[emmiesoverthemoon]

what's a little ink?

pairing: han jisung x reader

word count: 7.3k

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

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

requested by @burlesquerade hope u like it honey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you decided to go for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The text from Han came just before noon.

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

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

Still, you showed up. Of course you did.

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

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

And just like that, the air shifted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallowed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“Mhmm.”

“Tell me if it hurts too much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath caught.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The machine stilled. Your eyes snapped open.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

The tattoo needle remained idle, forgotten for the moment.

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

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

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

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

“Is it working?” he murmured.

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

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

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

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Finish.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You looked away first.

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

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

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

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

“I wanted something of mine on you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…I’m not usually like this.”

The words escaped before you could catch them.

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

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

A beat.

Then: “Me neither.”

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

But close.

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

“I should walk you out,” he offered.

“I don’t need—”

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

You nodded.

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

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

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

You turned, heart stuttering.

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

He didn’t.

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

Your breath hitched.

The world held its breath with you.

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

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

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

He smiled, slow and heavy with intent. “Then maybe I’ll wait until it really ruins me.”

Your throat went dry.

“Night,” he murmured, stepping back.

And just like that, the door closed between you.

But your heart stayed in his hands.

It was past midnight when your phone lit up.

"You still awake?"

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering, heart already answering before you could.

"i never really went to sleep"

Three dots appeared, then vanished. Then again.

"Me neither"

A beat of no incoming messages passed, then:

"I'm keeping myself up thinking about earlier''

Your breath caught.

"the tattoo?"

"Not exactly.."

You didn't respond right away. You didn’t have to. The air in your room had changed—thicker, tighter, like his voice might pour from the cracks in the wall's paint if you leaned in close enough.

And then the screen lit up again—this time, a call, to which you answered—not after panicking for a few seconds, of course.

“…Hey.” You whispered into the microphone.

His voice was low, rough from too many unsent words. “You looked good tonight.”

You swallowed the simmering embarrassment down. “You saw a lot of skin.”

“Not the part I meant.”

A silence stretched. Not awkward—intimate. It curled through the receiver like warm breath against your neck.

“Come by tomorrow,” he said finally. “I need to check your tattoo.”

“You just want to touch me again.”

“I'm not gonna sit here and lie to you by saying I didn't love every second of touching you. Come by tomorrow, please?”

Your skin flared at the bluntness. There was no smirk in his tone. No teasing this time. Just heat. Quiet and real.

You whispered, “Okay.”

The next day, you were back at his studio.

You told yourself it was just for aftercare, but the second you walked in, saw the way he looked up at you—eyes dark and steady—you knew you were both done pretending.

“Shirt,” he said softly, gesturing to the seat.

You sat. You peeled the fabric from your shoulder, the same stretch of skin that had sparked the night before and haunted his thoughts since. His hands were gloved, but his touch still felt like bare electricity.

He leaned in, inspecting the ink, but the space between you crackled. “Looks good,” he murmured. “You’ll heal fast.”

“So I can go?” you teased, voice thinner than usual.

He gave you no answer. Just peeled off the gloves, tossed them aside, and placed his bare hand against your back—palm flat, warm. Possessive.

“You came back,” he said. “That’s what I wanted.”

You turned your head, letting your cheek rest against your shoulder, watching him. “I did as I was told, Han. So what now?”

Han stepped around to face you. He reached up and touched your chin, tilting your face to his. The air between you shrank to nothing.

“Now I kiss you.”

And this time, he did.

His mouth was warm, unhurried, like he was tasting something he had waited weeks to touch. His fingers cradled your jaw, and you melted into it, into him, into the truth that had been aching beneath your skin for days.

He pulled back, just an inch.

“Still messing things up?” he asked, breath brushing your lips.

You smiled. “Only in the best way.”

The kiss tasted like every moment that came before it—charged, aching, sweet with restraint. His mouth moved against yours like a secret unraveling, like he had memorized the shape of your lips before ever daring to touch them.

You leaned into him, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer like instinct. Like gravity. Han followed the movement without hesitation, one hand sliding around your waist, the other brushing the side of your neck—soft, reverent, as if you might vanish if he held you too tightly.

When he pulled back, just enough to breathe, your foreheads touched. Your eyes stayed closed.

“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me,” he whispered.

You opened your eyes. “Then show me.”

The words cracked something open between you. Quickly, he sat beside you on the tattoo bed and pulled you onto his lap.

He kissed you again—deeper now, his hands no longer tentative. One slid under your shirt, fingers warm against the small of your back, the other braced at your hip like he needed the anchor. You shifted in his lap, and before you realized you had even moved, he groaned low in his throat at the feel of you straddling him, bodies pressed with no space between.

Still, he slowed. Just for a breath.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough.

You nodded, nose brushing his. “More than.”

His lips returned to the bare side of your throat—soft at first, then with the scrape of teeth. Your hands threaded into his hair as you tilted your head for him, shivering when he dragged his mouth down the slope of your shoulder.

“Han,” you breathed.

He stilled for a moment, forehead pressed against your skin.

“I’ve wanted this,” he said. “But not just this.”

You stilled, heart thudding.

“I want every version of you,” he continued. “The fire, the softness, the silence. I want the way you look at me when I'm not looking. I want the way you talk like you are not afraid but touch like you’re terrified.”

You exhaled, chest caving. “You noticed everything?"

“I tried not to.”

He leaned back to meet your gaze. His hands moved with more intent now, but still gentle—still you-first. His thumbs traced the curve of your hips beneath your shirt, and you shivered under the slow build of it.

And then, still holding your waist, he laid you back against the padded bench—carefully, gracefully—like you were something rare. Like he had dreamed of this exact moment in the quiet between days.

Your shirt came off slowly, inch by inch. His hands explored like a map he was finally allowed to touch. Every kiss was a promise: I will not rush this. I will learn you inch by inch. I will memorize every sigh.

When his mouth found yours again, the kiss burned hotter—teeth clashing gently, breath shared. You tugged at his shirt, and he pulled it over his head in one clean motion, your hands already seeking skin, already desperate to feel.

Still, even in the heat, he slowed now and then—traced your ribs with a single finger, kissed the inside of your wrist. Whispers scattered between kisses.

“I want you,” he said. “But I also want you.”

You arched into him, fingertips splayed across his back, heart wide open. “You have me.”

The second his shirt hit the floor, your hands were on him—tracing the taut muscle beneath warm skin, nails catching just enough to make him hiss. His mouth was back on yours before you could take your next breath, more forceful now, more needy. Tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that made your spine arch and your legs tighten around his hips.

Han groaned when he felt it—your thighs drawing him in like a vice, like you already knew exactly how this would end.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your mouth. “You feel too good.”

“You haven’t even felt me yet,” you whispered back.

His eyes darkened.

He pulled you up in one fluid motion, strong hands gripping your thighs as he laid you down atop the workbench, your back pressed against cool wood, your skin burning beneath his palms.

He kissed down your throat, not slow anymore. Messy, greedy, open-mouthed kisses that left your pulse stuttering. He bit lightly at the curve where your shoulder met your neck, and you gasped—head tipping back, legs spreading instinctively, begging for more contact, more friction, more.

His hands slipped beneath the band of your pants, thumbs dragging over the sensitive skin at your hips.

“These need to come off,” he growled, voice thick with want. “Right fucking now.”

You lifted your hips to help, letting him tug them down along with your underwear in one swift motion. The heat in his gaze when he looked at you—all of you—bare on his table, flushed and panting, legs spread for him like it was the most natural thing in the world—

It made your stomach flip, made your core throb.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said, like he was angry about it. “So fucking pretty and wet already, and I haven’t even touched you properly.”

“Then do it,” you whispered. “Touch me.”

And he did.

One hand pressed your thigh open, the other sliding between your legs, fingers stroking through your slick folds in a rhythm that was maddeningly light. He teased your clit with the pad of his thumb, watching the way your hips jerked, your mouth parted around soft gasps.

“You gonna let me make you come with just my fingers first?” he murmured, leaning close, breath hot against your ear. “Wanna feel you grip them before I fuck you. Want you so messy I can’t think straight.”

You whimpered, back arching. “Yes—please, Han—”

He slid one finger in, slow, letting you feel the stretch. Then two. Then a curl of his knuckles that had you crying out, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the edge of the table.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Grind on my fingers. Let me see how desperate you are.”

You did—hips rocking, thighs trembling, your core clenching around him as he worked you open with deliberate pressure, circling your clit with his thumb until the pressure built fast and dizzying.

“I can feel you getting close,” he said against your throat. “You gonna come for me, baby? Right here on the table where I ink people’s skin?”

“Fuck—Han—yes—”

You shattered with a cry, legs shaking, body arching against his mouth as he kissed you through it—murmuring things you could barely process, words lost in the white-hot rush.

And when you finally came down, breath heaving, he leaned back and licked his fingers clean with a satisfied smirk.

“Think you’re ready for my cock now?”

You nodded, dazed. “Please.”

He undid his belt with one hand, gaze locked to yours as he stroked himself—slow, thick, already slick from the sight of you. Then he lined up, ran the head through your folds once, twice, teasing your oversensitive clit just to watch you twitch—

And then he pushed in.

You both groaned—deep, guttural—like relief and hunger all at once. He filled you in one slow, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

You were soaked. Sore. Already wrecked.

But he did not stop.

He fucked you—hard, deep, each thrust lifting your hips from the table, your hands clawing at his back, your moans turning to whimpers, then cries. His name over and over.

Your moans spilled out in sobs as your second climax hit you like a dam bursting. It was hot—blinding—your release painting his cock in pulsing waves, your entire body locking up beneath him. All the hunger, the want, the times of aching tension you had swallowed back whenever he so much as looked at you with those dark, unreadable eyes—it all came out in that moment. You clenched tight around him, and he groaned loud and low, his head dropping to your shoulder.

“God—look at you,” he rasped, voice wrecked, pride and awe tangled in every word. “So good for me. So perfect when you come.”

But then, his hips stopped to a jarring halt. He was still buried inside you, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. You could feel the tension in his body—every muscle taut, his hips stuttering in that way that told you he was right on the edge, right there—

But holding back. Just for you.

You cupped his jaw, breathless but steadying. “You didn’t come.”

He shook his head, eyes fluttering. “Wanted to feel you first. Wanted to see—fuck—how tight you get when you come around me.”

Your body gave a little twitch at the memory, still oversensitive, still full. But a flicker of something else lit behind your eyes.

You kissed him—slow and deep—and then, with a sly smile, clenched around him deliberately.

He choked on a moan, arms trembling where they braced beside your head.

“Baby—don’t—”

“You always so in control?” you whispered, brushing your lips along his jaw, down his throat. “Or are you just that good at hiding when you want to break?”

He groaned, head falling to your shoulder. “Please—fuck—”

You rolled your hips beneath him, just a little. Just enough.

“You’re still so hard,” you murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “Still deep inside me like you need to be. You want to come? Want to fill me up?”

“God—yes.”

“Then allow me.”

You pushed him gently, and he let you—collapsing back into the chair beside the bench, cock glistening and flushed as it slipped free, twitching with the aftershocks of restraint. He barely had time to breathe before you dropped to your knees between his legs and wrapped your hand around him—tight, slow strokes from base to tip that had him gasping and clenching the arms of the chair.

“You look so pretty like this,” you murmured, kissing the head of his cock, licking the slit just to taste the salt of him.

His hips bucked and he cursed—head thrown back, abs tensing.

“Sensitive already, aren’t you?” you purred.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come—”

You took him into your mouth before he could finish the sentence—deep and warm, tongue swirling as you bobbed your head, one hand cupping his balls, the other pressing down gently on his hip to keep him from thrusting.

He was loud now, whimpering, begging, gasping your name like prayer.

And when he came—god—

It was with a broken moan, back arching, thighs shaking under your palms. You swallowed everything, licked your lips, and looked up at him through your lashes as he tried to remember how to breathe.

His eyes were glassy, hair clinging to his forehead, chest rising in jagged waves.

You smiled. “Still in control?”

He laughed—wrecked, breathless. “Fuck no.”

You climbed into his lap again, your bare skin still warm, flushed and tingling, and curled against him with a quiet little hum.

He wrapped his arms around you like instinct. And then, softly:

“…Round two’s gonna ruin us both.”

You grinned against his neck. “Good.”

The studio held comfortable silence for a moment.

Only your breathing filled the space—shallow and warm, mingling with his where you straddled him on the tattoo bed again, skin flushed and shining in the low amber glow of the work light. The air smelled like sweat and sex, care, and ink—hot, heavy, and honest.

Han was still beneath you, arms slack, mouth parted. His chest heaved, his cock softening between your thighs.

You dragged your fingers along the lines of his jaw, smug and satisfied. “Speechless?”

He blinked once. Then again. Something shifted in his eyes.

“No,” he rasped. “Just… trying not to fuck you so hard this bed breaks.”

You laughed softly—until his hands shot to your hips and slammed you down onto his thigh.

You gasped, the sudden friction making your oversensitive body jolt.

“I let you ruin me once,” he growled, voice low and wrecked. “Your turn now.”

You barely had time to react before he stood, arms beneath your thighs, lifting you like nothing. Your back hit the nearest wall—your bare skin flush to cool concrete, legs wrapped around his waist, his cock already hardening between you again.

“What—Han—”

“You think you can just look at me like that,” he snarled against your neck, grinding up between your soaked folds. “Touch me like you own me. And then walk out of here? Nah.”

You shivered. His cock pressed right against your entrance.

“Han—”

“Look at me.”

You did.

He didn't give you a warning. Just a brutal promise, growled against your skin; “I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget your own name—but still remember mine when your hands are between your legs for weeks after.”

Then he was inside you again—deep—in one smooth, merciless thrust, hips snapping forward so hard your back hit the wall with a dull thud.

You gasped—high and breathless—arms clinging to his shoulders, nails biting into skin.

“Han—fuck—”

He caught your cry in a kiss that was anything but sweet. All tongue, teeth, and desperation, lips crushed to yours like he needed your breath to survive.

Your walls fluttered around him already—sensitive from the first round, still dripping wet and raw, but ready despite the ache. He filled you so completely, so perfectly, it stole the air from your lungs.

“I felt this pussy clench around my fingers,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to slam into you again. “But it’s nothing—nothing—compared to how you grip my cock. So fucking tight. So wet.”

You moaned—helpless—every part of your body trembling as he started to move.

Hard. Fast. Focused.

Your back scraped against the wall with every thrust, the studio echoing with the filthy slap of skin on skin, the sound of your choked gasps and his rough groans.

“You want control?” he hissed, fingers digging into the underside of your thighs, forcing them open wider. “Then take it.”

He pulled out.

You nearly cried from the loss.

Then he moved you back to the table, your knees hitting the workbench edge as he turned you, bent you forward, pressed your chest flat to the table.

You barely had time to breathe before he plunged back inside from behind, the new angle making you cry out, high and broken.

“Louder!” he commanded. “Let the whole damn building know how good I fuck you.”

And louder you were when he found that spot inside you—over and over again, the pace brutal and relentless.

He gripped your hips, pulling you back to meet every thrust, the obscene sound of your slick arousal growing louder with every stroke. Your legs started to buckle—nerves frayed, every inch of your skin alight.

“F-fuck—Han—I can’t—too much—”

“You can. You’re taking it like a fucking dream,” he rasped, reaching down, rubbing your clit in tight, wet circles that made your vision blur.

Your whole body tightened—shaking, clenching, desperate to come again, and again—

He leaned over you, lips to your ear, voice hoarse:

“Come on my cock again, baby. Milk it. Let me feel that pretty pussy worship me.”

And you did.

You shattered—body convulsing, mouth open in a silent scream as you came hard, squeezing him so tight he cursed and slammed into you with one final, brutal thrust.

He came with a shout—loud, raw, high—hips jerking as he spilled inside you, his hands fisting in your hair, his teeth grazing your shoulder.

You stayed like that for a moment.

Ruined. One tangled, sweaty, aching mess.

Then his hands softened—smoothed up your back, traced the curves of your hips like reverence.

He pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades.

“…Still remember your name?”

You laughed, wrecked and breathless.

“Remind me?" you whispered.

You did not remember collapsing—just that one moment he was still inside you, and the next, you were draped across the tattoo bed like laundry left out to dry. Your skin tingled, nerves alight, thighs sticky and trembling, your mind still floating somewhere just above your body.

And Han?

Han was slumped in the chair again, legs spread, one arm thrown dramatically over his face.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered into the crook of his elbow. “I think I blacked out. You short-circuited me.”

You snorted, face still pressed to the cool surface of the bench. “You short-circuited me. I’m literally leaking.”

He scooted the chair to get a full view of what you were talking about, eyes glassy but mischievous. “Good. I want it dripping down your thighs next time you show up in those little skirts you wear.”

You blinked. “Next time?”

Han grinned, wicked and lazy. “Oh, baby. This is so not a one-time thing. I’m gonna put a stamp on you like a repeat customer loyalty card.”

You rolled onto your side, raising a brow. “You’re gonna fuck me five times and give me a discount on a flash piece?”

He laughed—loudly. Like you caught him off guard. “God, you’re a menace.”

“You’re the menace. Who says that shit mid-stroke?” you shot back, mimicking his earlier line with mock dramatics: “‘Forget your own name but still remember mine?’ Who writes you?”

He leaned forward, dragging his fingers up your bare spine. “No one writes me. I just improvise.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So… you freestyled your way into making me cum thrice and see stars?”

He winked. “What can I say? I’ve got bars and stamina.”

You smacked him with a rolled-up paper towel, but he caught your wrist and pulled you into his lap, arms curling around your waist like he never wanted to let you go.

Then—softer, like he almost did not mean to say it aloud:

“…I really like you.”

You stilled, looked over to him and kissed him gently, pouring every single ounce of reciprocation your being had to offer him. Because maybe he was a cocky, ridiculous, and insatiable man—but he was your cocky, ridiculous, and insatiable man.

Even when he was a little bit of a menace.

The silence after pulling away was heavy—not the uncomfortable kind, more like an exhale. A shared, serene stillness, your heartbeat slowing while his lips ghosted along your jaw, your collarbone, the tender edge of your throat.

He had not moved far.

Still close. Still inside your gravity.

Then Han shifted, propping his head on one elbow which rested on the arm of the chair, eyes sweeping your face like he was memorizing something. His fingers moved before his mouth did—brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, thumb dragging down your cheek.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

You blinked up at him, still dazed. “Hey.”

He hesitated—not out of uncertainty, but because this, somehow, felt bigger than everything you both had already done.

“You don’t have to go home tonight.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

His voice stayed soft, careful, “I mean… you could stay. With me.”

You stared.

He rushed to fill the silence, eyes darting between yours.

“Not just for more of this—though God, don’t get me wrong, I want more of this—but like. We could crash at my place. Order food. You could steal my hoodie. Wake up and make terrible coffee together. You could see what I’m like in the morning. Spoiler: not sexy. Kind of grumpy. But you’re good with chaos, right?”

You laughed—but something in your chest ached, cracked just a little.

Because he meant it—this wasn’t just about lust anymore. Not even about proximity or chemistry.

It was a choice.

He was asking you to stay, to see him past the high, into the quiet.

You leaned up, kissed him once—slow and certain.

“I’ll stay,” you whispered.

And the way he looked at you then—hopeful and smug and so unmistakably fond—made you feel warmer than anything else that night.

Sunlight crept in like it was in on a secret, painting lazy gold across your bare shoulder.

You stirred, slowly, blinking awake to the smell of coffee and something warm—eggs?—cooking in the kitchen nook. Your body ached, in all the right places. Inner thighs sore. Lips swollen. A fingerprint or five pressed like stamps into your hips. You stretched, wincing slightly, and smiled.

And Han—God, Han—was nowhere in the bed, but his hoodie had been draped over your legs like a blanket, his scent wrapped around you like a sigh.

You slipped it on, oversized and soft, sleeves swallowing your hands, and padded barefoot across the polished concrete toward the sound of gentle humming and the clatter of a pan.

Han stood with his back to you—shirtless, hair wild and sticking up in twenty-seven different directions, tattoos flexing as he flipped something in a pan. There were two mugs of coffee already out. One black. The other just the way you liked it.

You leaned on the doorway, biting your smile.

He sensed you, because of course he did.

“You’re up,” he murmured, glancing over his shoulder. And then, softer, like he couldn’t help himself: “Fuck, you look good in my hoodie.”

You padded up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your face on his nape.

“You’re feeding me. You really trying to make me fall in love with you?”

He chuckled, flipping the egg once again with a practiced hand. “That was the plan, yeah. Ruin your body, then win your heart with food.”

You laughed against his skin. “Tactical.”

He turned the stove off and turned in your arms, resting his hands low on your hips, looking down at you with sleepy warmth in his eyes. You felt it then—not just the physical closeness, but the easiness of it. The comfort. The pull.

“You staying the whole day?” he asked, voice quiet now, vulnerable in that way he rarely let show.

You nodded, brushing your lips over his collarbone.

“Only if you kiss me like that again,” you teased.

He grinned.

And did just that—slow, sweet, a kiss with no agenda other than to keep you there.

Later, with your stomach full, your limbs loose and drowsy from the best kind of indulgence, you found yourself curled up on the couch—Han’s head in your lap, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the messy strands of his hair.

Some terrible movie was playing on his television. Neither of you was really watching it. The remote lay forgotten on the floor. His fingers traced idle patterns on the bare skin beneath your borrowed hoodie, the both of you half-clothed, half-tangled, fully comfortable.

“This is dangerous,” you murmured.

Han cracked one eye open. “What is?”

“This. Us. You looking at me like I hung the stars and made your coffee.”

He smirked without moving. “You did, though. Kind of. That coffee was perfect.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed anyway.

His expression softened, gaze dropping to where his hand rested just beneath your ribs. “You should let me tattoo you again,” he said after a long beat.

You looked down at him. “Now?”

“No,” he smiled, “not now. But someday. Something small. Just for me. Somewhere only I get to see.”

Your stomach flipped at the idea. You tried to play it off. “That’s a lot of trust, letting you draw on me permanently.”

His fingers slid a little lower, dangerously close to a place that still pulsed with the memory of last night.

“You already let me ruin you once,” he said with a grin. “What’s a little ink?”

You snorted, swatting at him half-heartedly. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And you’re still here,” he countered easily, nuzzling into your thigh like he belonged there. Like he always had.

You sighed contently as you carded your fingers through his hair again.

“Yeah,” you whispered, half to him, half to yourself.

“And I'm here to stay.”

drops this in your hands and runs off into the sunset

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[lastofdanny]

crossfire // manny alvarez x reader

summary: you're from jackson. he's a part of the wlf. everything about it was wrong, but an undeniable attraction keeps pulling both of you into a territory far more dangerous than everything you'd ever faced.

a/n: first of all tysm for all the love for under your skin pt 1 and 2 ♡ and YES another enemies to lovers with manny because i'm obsessed. of course none of those things from tlou happen in this scenario so let's just stick with this cutie version of manny. this is a one shot so its kinda long and english is not my first language !! hope u all enjoy it ♡

The first time you met Manny Alvarez, he had a gun pointed at your head. 

And he was smiling.

His dark eyes locked onto yours as if he could see straight through you, his tan skin under the dim light, contrasting with the wild curls that fell over his forehead.

“You’re way too pretty for someone who’s about to die,” he murmured, voice rich with mock sympathy. “What a shame.”

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your heart raced, and the rush of heat that had nothing to do with fear.

With a soft chuckle, he lowered the gun, his fingers brushing against your skin as he did.

“Lucky for you, I’m not done with you yet,” he said, his grin widening. 

Then, with a wink, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you standing there, caught somewhere between relief and something far more dangerous.

─────────────────────────

The second time, there was no hesitation.

You spotted him across the street as the WLF and Jackson’s forces clashed. The dust and smoke made the air hard to breathe, but your focus was on one thing: him, his dark curls damp with sweat, rifle slung while his dark eyes scanned the chaos. 

In one fluid motion, you darted forward, knife slicing his forehead as he quickly jerked back, blood starting to rush down all over his face. 

“Guess letting you live wasn’t such a great idea,” he teased, swiping the blood away, his eyes still sparkling.

The smirk was back within seconds.

"Not bad, mi reina," he called out, his voice carrying through the chaos, full of mocking admiration. “But you’re gonna need more than that to take me down.”

─────────────────────────

Months later, you’d been guarding the outskirts of Jackson, keeping an eye out when you saw Manny behind an old rusted car.

“Well, well,” he said, a slow, teasing smile curling at the corners of his lips. “I was wondering when I’d see you again. Been thinking a lot about you lately.” 

“Sure you want to finish that sentence?”

“It’s hard not to, you know,” he reached up, fingers lightly brushing over the scar you’d left on his face, his touch lingering as if he was savoring the memory. “Guess I’ll always have a piece of you with me now.”

You couldn’t help but notice how the scar had settled into his skin, and hated to admit it kind of made him look even more attractive –more tempting, even.

You tightened your grip on your rifle, aiming at him.

“You’re trespassing."

Manny ignored your words as he took a step closer, eyes never leaving yours. “It’s such a shame we’re on opposite sides. We could have a lot of fun together, don’t you think?”

“Maybe you should let me in,” he said, the familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“You’re not as clever as you think,” you said, and in one fluid motion, you fired a shot just past his ear, the crack of the bullet cutting through the tense air.  “Now get back. I won’t warn you again.”

Manny took another step back, his eyes gleaming with mischief, clearly enjoying the game. “I’m not the enemy you think I am, you know. But if you keep looking at me like that, I might just become one.” 

You narrowed your eyes, tightening your grip on the rifle. “Keep dreaming.”

“That a threat or you trying to seduce me?” he teased. “Either way, it’s working.”

His lips curled into a grin again, and without another word, he winked and disappeared into the shadows.

─────────────────────────

From that moment forward, the encounters became more frequent. Manny kept showing up no matter where you were, always with that smirk and those irritatingly charming words. And day after day, the attraction between you both grew. 

One day, his figure emerged from behind a crumbling wall and his eyes locked onto yours almost immediately. He was alone, no WLF backup, and he simply stood there, studying you like a puzzle he was trying to solve.

“You’re not very good at this, are you?”

“Don’t you have anything better to do than annoy me?” You couldn’t hide the frustration in your voice, though part of you knew, deep down, it wasn’t really what was getting to you.

Manny’s lips quivered, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe I’m just trying to get your attention.”

“You’ve got it. Now leave.”

There was no hiding it now. The tension between you two had grown to something impossible to ignore, and you weren’t sure if it was the way he always flirted with you, or how his presence seemed to make your skin tingle, but you knew it was becoming harder to pretend you didn’t feel it.

“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be the enemy, you’re kind of hard to resist,”  Manny said, taking another slow step toward you.

You pointed your gun at him. “Easy,” he said, grinning. “Just want to talk.”

“You sure? Might be your last conversation.”

He should’ve been pissed. Should have raised his own weapon. But he only laughed instead.

“You ever relax?”

“You ever shut up?”

“I could. If you kissed me.”

────────────────────────

You knew it was wrong to let him take up space in your mind. But every time Manny came across with that cocky grin and some ridiculous flirtation, you cracked a little more.

You’d found yourself thinking about him way too much, remembering the moments when his dark eyes sparkled with mischief, the way he moved just a little too close, as if he already knew exactly what his presence did to you. 

He was the enemy, and yet your patrols started drifting closer to the places you knew he’d be. You told yourself that keeping eyes on him was necessary, but the truth sat heavier each day: you weren't just looking for him anymore – you were hoping to see him, and started to feel disappointed when you didn’t.

You knew he was trouble, dangerous even, and that it was wrong to want him, to crave his attention. But every time you replayed the sound of his voice, low and teasing, or remembered the way his gaze lingered just long enough to leave you breathless, something twisted inside you.

You weren’t looking for him the next time you met, but still found him on a construction site, blood crusted at his temple, dragging a broken rifle and muttering in Spanish. You should have left him, but something pulled you forward.

Again.

“You look like shit,” you said, stepping into the open, gun aimed at him.

He turned toward your voice, too slow, too tired. And then he grinned.

“Well, well” Manny leaned like he had all the time in the world. “Didn’t think you’d miss me that much to come all the way here."

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t draw your gun. Not yet. “Why are you out here alone?”

He stepped forward, hands half-raised in a mock surrender.

“Scavenging. Or maybe just hoping I’d run into you.”

You didn't answer, and he stared at your gun.

“You gonna finish the job this time, cariño, or just keep admiring the view?”

“You’re lucky I haven’t ended this yet.”

“Well, you never do,” he says, smiling wider. “What does that say?”

“That I’m losing my fucking mind.”

“Or maybe,” he says, taking a slow step toward you, “You’re starting to see what I’ve seen this whole time.”

You didn’t answer. Because part of you already knew. You just didn’t want to face it.

─────────────────────────

Manny stepped out of the shadows again a month later, calm and cocky as ever, gun rested loosely in his hand, now more like an accessory than a threat.

You caught his movement and your rifle was up in an instant, aimed dead at his chest.

“Are you following me now, Alvarez?” you snapped, stepping into the open with your finger brushing the trigger. 

He stopped, hands out to his sides in a lazy show of innocence, the familiar smirk already in his face. “Well, you do make it hard to stay away.”

“Don’t you think it’s funny that I had plenty of chances to kill you, and never did?”

“I had the same chances,” you said. “You’re not special.”

Manny laughed, closing the distance between them with a few easy steps. 

“But I know why I haven’t pulled the trigger," He stopped just a breath away, his eyes locked onto yours, the smirk fading into something quieter. “What’s your excuse? What’s stopping you, cariño?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t, not when he was looking at you like he already knew everything.

He leaned in slowly until his lips hovered just a breath away from yours. His hand brushed lightly against your arm, barely there. Then he paused, lips twitching into a crooked smile.

“That’s what I thought,” he whispered.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. You knew exactly what he meant, but still couldn’t afford to acknowledge it. You were from Jackson. He was from the WLF. Everything about you two was wrong – everything about it was dangerous.

You stepped back, trying to maintain the distance between you, but Manny was quick. In one fluid motion, he was right back in front of you.

“I don’t know what you're talking about,"

“You’re a terrible liar,” he whispered, his breath warm against your face. “You think I don’t see the way you look at me?”

Your pulse quickened as his lips hovered near yours, his words sending a wave of heat through your body. The world around you seemed to disappear, and the WLF, Jackson, the fight – it all faded into the background.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

You didn’t.

The kiss was fierce, desperate, like both of you had been waiting for it far too long. Manny’s hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss as your body reacted before your mind could catch up.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you blinked, trying to clear your mind. What had you just done?

─────────────────────────

You didn’t see Manny for a while after that kiss, as you started avoiding the routes he used to show up and skipping outposts you knew he might be near. He was WLF, after all, and no matter how much that kiss haunted you, getting close again felt like crossing a line you couldn’t afford. 

But then you started finding the notes.

A bottle by the barn: “Miss me yet?” 

A note under a bike tire: “Bet you can’t stop thinking about it.”

And another one between the gate you used to patrol: “Can’t keep running forever, cariño."

Each one, signed only with an M, sent your heart into a familiar spin.

You were doing your best to brush them off, but then you found one that was impossible to ignore, a torn piece of a map with a red “X”:

“Midnight. I’ll be waiting.”

Still, curiosity, and something else you weren’t ready to name, got the better of you.

The place was far from the patrol routes. An isolated cabin you’d only ever hear whispers about – a risky spot, but you trusted him. Mostly. 

He was already there when you arrived, leaning casually against the weathered porch when he saw you.

“Well, well,” Manny drawled, hopping down. “Look who finally decided to show up.”

“You’ve been annoying me with those stupid messages for days. When are you going to stop?” you asked, crossing your arms. 

“Ouch. Didn’t like my love letters?”

“That’s what you call stalking now?”

“I prefer the term dedicated admirer.”

“What do you want, Manny?”

“Too see you," Manny smirked, stepping closer. “But I wasn’t sure you’d actually come, since you’ve been avoiding me lately and well, you do have a lot of reasons to stay away from me.”

“So do you,"

"You’re right," he said quietly, his voice taking on a seriousness you hadn’t heard before. “We both have reasons to stay away. But we can’t. And we don’t have to.”

“Don’t start, Manny. You know this can’t happen again.”

He stepped closer. “Why not? I mean, you sneaked out in the middle of the night just to see me," He paused, then added, voice low, teasing, “That’s something, right?”

You shoved him lightly, but didn’t step back when he caught you again.

“And you know what else I’ve figured out?” he asked, leaning in. “Every time I’m around, you act like it’s an accident. Like it just happens that we cross paths. But it’s not, is it? You're looking for me.”

You kept trying to think of an answer, a pushback, anything. But nothing came.

Manny smiled again, softer this time. “You don’t have to say it. I already know.”

“I shouldn’t be here,” you muttered.

“But you are. And you wouldn’t if you didn’t want it as much as I do.”

That night, every movement between you was slower. Deeper. There was no rush, just the quiet understanding that this was the only place either of you could be honest.

─────────────────────────

It didn't end there.

You started sneaking away at night, meeting Manny in quietest and abandoned places you knew no one would look at.

One day it was behind an old greenhouse, where vines had overtaken garden rows.

“Told you this place was romantic,” Manny said, holding up a wilted flower with a mock charm.

You snorted. “Trying to impress me, Alvarez?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

“Not really.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re already in love with me.”

─────────────────────────

Then near the river, where an old campfire pit sat unused. You found Manny drawing something in the dirt with a stick when he heard you approach.

“Planning something?” you asked.

“Mapping escape routes,” he teased. “In case you finally admit you want to run away with me.”

You snorted. “I’d get sick of you before we made it three miles.”

Manny’s smirk only deepened, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Three miles?” he challenged, taking a slow step toward you. “You know I can keep you entertained for way longer than that.”

─────────────────────────

Every time it became harder, riskier. The fear of getting caught got you both, but neither of you could stop. It was dangerous, reckless, but every touch, every glance, pulled you both deeper in. 

The risk was a part of the excitement at first. But as the days passed, the weight and meaning of what you were doing kept growing heavier.

It was the way Manny would ask you to stay a little longer, the way the time with him never seemed to be enough, and how you started wishing everything was different. That the rules that kept you apart didn't exist.

You almost didn't make it a rainy night, but managed to find him waiting beneath the half-collapsed roof of an old tower.

“You’re very late. I was starting to get worried," he said, his tone light but with an underlying edge of frustration. 

“Were you scared I wouldn’t come?” you shot back, but the teasing smile on your lips betrayed you.

“Nah. I knew you’d show," he murmured, lips touching your neck. “Can’t stay away from me.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you kissed him as if the rest of the world didn’t matter.

Later that night, you lay side by side, staring up at the sky through the broken roof.

“I did get scared you wouldn’t come,” Manny said, barely above a whisper. His hand tightened around you, but his eyes refused to meet yours.

“Why?”

He hesitated, still looking away, as if searching for the right words. “Thought maybe wouldn't want to risk being around me anymore. Keep doing this for real."

You leaned in, your hand gently cupping his cheek, making him finally look at you. “I’m all in, Manny. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“What if you change your mind?”

"I won't," you said firmly, your eyes locked with his. "I'm exactly where I want to be."

His lips pulled into a faint, almost relieved smile. “Yeah?” He leaned closer, the vulnerability in his eyes slowly giving way to something deeper. “Good. Because I don’t think I can walk away from this.”

“Neither can I.”

You smiled back, kissing him, letting the moment linger. As you pulled away, the question that had been hanging between you finally slipped out.

“You ever think about what happens if someone finds out?” you asked as your fingers touched the scar along his face, the same one you gave him the first time you met, which now seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Every time I see you,” he said. "But it’s always worth it.”

It was dangerous. Reckless. But in the darkness, when it was just the two of you, you didn’t care. All you wanted was him. And he felt the same.

The war might never end, but maybe you and Manny had found something that was worth fighting for, too.

[animeomegas]

Omega!Haku x Alpha!Reader - My Alpha

Congratulations to Haku, the winner of the second poll! It has been ages since that poll, but a lot happened in my life lmao I've been wanting to write some streamer!AU for a while though, so I hope you all enjoy!

Summary: It was equal parts flattering and embarrassing that you had apparently been named hottest alpha streamer by some weird, trashy gossip magazine. Your mate had his own thoughts on the matter, too.

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: None that I can think of, other than the fact that I didn't proof read this :D

"'How does it feel to officially be the hottest streamer?'" you read out from your chat, already feeling heat rush to your face. "Ugh, chat, seriously, so fast? That stupid listicle was bullshit by the way, there are so many alpha streamers hotter than me."

Nooo, you're super hot

True, but ur up there

I was most surprised by second place lol did he pay for that position?

one time my oma walked in while i was watching the stream and asked if i was chatting with a friend... i wish ☠️

You laughed awkwardly. It was still so weird to have parasocial relationships like this. Most of your friends had already filled the bullying quota when they'd found the article listing you as the number one 'hottest and most eligible' alpha streamer, but you would prefer bullying over people agreeing. It was so embarrassing!

"'What is your type then? For no particular reason 👀'," you read out this time, rolling your eyes. "That is privileged information! I'm a delicate alpha, you know, I can't go around letting such things slip. Think of my reputation!"

i bet ur into some weird shit lmaooo

I could see you with a super cute omega, like the type to give you cavities, just my opinion

oh no but how can i build my whole new personality in order to make you love me if i don't know what you like??? /hj

Speed dating stream pls!!

are you even single?

You looked at the last question and just answered with a wink and a finger to your lips. You and Haku had been together for over three years at this point, but he was still a secret. You hadn't wanted him to get any unwanted attention, nor have his career impacted by popping up on stream, and he seemed to agree.

Haku had actually just recently decided to quit his job now that you were making enough from streaming to support both of you, and was spending time tending to the house and working on projects. He had taken to full time domesticity with effortless enthusiasm, but he hadn't mentioned anything about his stance on popping up on stream having changed, so you continued on as you had been for years, happy to follow his lead.

You turned back to your chat to find a flood of thirsty messages.

i hope ur single because then i have a chance loooool

No way an omega hasn't mated you yet, you're so perfect!

i don't even know if you're mated but u deserve better regardless lol

anyone else notice how they always wear high collared clothes? 🤔

if you do have a mate i bet they aren't good or pretty enough for you, i swear

You were about to send a message to your mods to get some of the more toxic viewers timed out for a bit, when the click of the door to your office made you jump.

Was that Haku?! You startled and quickly muted your mic and pulled off your headphones. The door was behind your monitor and cameras, so no one could see him, but that didn't mean there wouldn't somehow be a reflection or rumours spawned by the sound of his voice. Didn't he know you were live?!

Sure enough, Haku glided into the room, long, brown hair loose and floating behind him, the strands brushing over the uncovered shoulder as the oversized t-shirt he was wearing fell off at one side. He was also wearing a little touch of make up, only noticeable because you knew his face better than you knew your own. Make up? But he was staying in all day, wasn't he?

You almost forgot that you were on stream for a moment until you stood up and the chair behind made a noise against the floorboards.

"I'm on stream right now," you said quickly shooting him a grin. "I'll be done in a few hours, okay?"

Haku only tilted his head and smiled, holding up a plate with a couple of savoury pastries on it.

"I made lunch." His voice was light as airy, but there was an undercurrent that made you pause. "I thought I could bring it in."

"Thank you, baby, I'm on stream right now though." You were blocking most of the camera and the microphone was off, but you were sure they could all tell that you were talking to someone, and there would be a barrage of questions as to who, especially just after the conversation you'd been having.

"I don't mind popping in to say hello," he said, that gentle smile still on his face. "Just for a second."

You blinked, mouth moving around nothing for a moment. He wanted to pop up on stream? It took a second to comprehend what he was dropping on you so suddenly, but you managed to boot up your brain with a slightly flustered smile.

"Oh! Yes, um, of course, if you want to." Haku started moving to your desk, putting your plate on the side. "Are you sure, darling, I don't want to open a door that can't be closed, you know?"

You sat back down, glancing at your chat briefly. Haku was still out of frame, but you could see him looking also.

Everything okay???

who're they talking to 👀👀

if that's their mate i bet our favourite streamer is way out of their league lol

Haku's eyes hardened.

"I'm sure."

"Okay, okay, right, I guess we're doing this!" You took a deep breath and turned the microphone back on. You were just going to play this cool, like it was no big deal. "Sorry guys! Funny timing actually, seeing as we were just talking about this, but my mate actually came in to bring me lunch! And he's the best cook ever, aren't I lucky?"

You lifted up the plate of mushroom tartlets towards the camera, careful to keep any from sliding off.

"He wanted to say hi, so you guys better be nice to him, okay?" You tried to keep your voice light and playful, but still serious enough that your mods would know what to do about anyone who said anything cruel.

Haku, understanding your introduction, poked his head into frame and gave a little wave, bashfully tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. You expected him to crouch beside you, but instead he gracefully slid straight onto your lap and leant his head against yours. One of your hands settled on his waist automatically.

"It's lovely to be formally introduced to you all. My name is Haku." A sweet smile pulled at his lips. "I've lurked in the chat before and you all seem so... friendly."

The chat went wild, moving so fast you could barely comprehend it.

UM????

Did they just summon a god live on stream???

👀👀👀ahhhhhhh

He is so pretty wtf

my self esteem is dead now lol i'm suing for damages

what is his name what is his name what is his name pls pls pls

is this a prank?

this reminds me of that meme about dating so far out of your league it makes it look like your partner is doing charity work lol

Your eyes narrowed on that last one. They didn't have to point it out so abruptly.

"That was mean," you pouted. "But admittedly true, Haku is well out of my league."

Haku giggled and the speed of the chat only increased.

wtf wtf wtf

he's laughing it's so pretty i feel like crying suddenly???

how did you two meet?

pretty boy pretty boy

this is literally the hottest omega i've ever seen

it feels like he's looking at me i'm embarrassed 😍😖

"Nonsense," Haku said, softly tucking his hair behind his ear. His shirt slipped a little more off his shoulder and you hurried to put it back. "I'm the lucky one here."

Your heart warmed, almost enough to drown out the immediately disagreeing of your chat.

Um lol

lies and slander

they wish!!

"Wha- you guys are supposed to be on my side, y'know?"

You immediately received about a hundred messaged along the lines of "not anymore".

Haku laughed again, kissing you on the cheek and silencing your complaints.

"I won't hijack your stream any longer." He turned to look at you, his eyes meeting yours for a second. Even after so many years, he took your breath away like no one else. "It's been fun though... It was lovely meeting you all. Don't hog my alpha too much though, okay?"

yes sir

whatever you say 🥴

if you get lonely you can have me as well!

How long have you been dating? Are you married?

nooooo don't go, haku stream when????

Haku stood, leaving your lap cold and empty. For a moment, he leant back down, lips to your ear but certainly speaking loud enough to be picked up by the microphone.

"Eat your food," he whispered. "I made it with love, after all."

Haku reached out with a finger and ran it around the side of your face. You could feel yourself getting warm. You were probably staring at him like a fool and everyone could see, but you couldn't find the power to stop.

With that, he left the view of the camera and exiting the room, but not before giving you a wink right as the door shut behind him. His scent lingered all around you, soft and alluring, and oh so tempting.

You swallowed harshly. You really didn't want to stream anymore. Thankfully the camera was waist up.

Chat wasn't showing any signs of slowly down.

if you don't eat his food and tell us how it tastes i will literally riot

did you sell your soul for him??

does he have any siblings?? cousins?? any dynamic or gender is fine, asking for a friend

their face lol honestly i don't blame them

🥴i thought I was watching a stream today not meeting an angel

couples onlyfans when? i'd pay for it

dude i'd pay so much for it i'd be homeless

You took a deep breath and pasted a smile back on your face.

"Alright, alright, that's enough everyone, don't be creepy! Let's get back into it."