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mschimdt · 5 months

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The Stripper

mike schmidt x f!reader

warnings: so much things man, m recieving, breeding kink? dom reader, stripping bro litteraly idk just read at your own risk

2.5k words

---------------------MINORS DNI-------------------

mikes been stressed out lately, his job as freddys going awfully, hes been working there for just over a week and the weird shit thats happened to him there is fucking insane

he caught the animatronics moving on the cameras once, blood stains everywhere (which he cleaned up) and then he met vanessa, she told him what type of shit goes down in this placr and now hes terrified, he only goes there to prove to his aunt that he can keep a job

today was jist an ordinary night, mike was doing a night shift as a security guard at freddys, he usually just slept through his shift because who the fuck wants to break into an old abandoned pizzarea?

apparently someone did, a loud smash woke him up, when he looked at the cameras, it was a group of teenagers exploring but one of them got the attention of the animatronics and is now throwing things at it trying to stop it from chasing him, he got cornered in a room, mike watched him get his upper body get bit off on thr cameras "oh shit" he whispered to himself he realized he had to leave, or he was next after those teenagers he checked the cameras once again, to see where the animatronics are not giving a shit about the people that broke in, when he made sure the animatronics were distracted, he made a run for it, towards the exit

thats where he saw vanessa, holding her gun "the fuck happened mike?" she said, aiming her gun at the hallway infront of them "s-some kids broke in- one of thems dead i sae him on the cameras!"

"shit, we need to get out of here" he was looking at her confused on why her eyes widened, he looked behind him, there was an animatronic rushing their way, "HOLY SHIT" he yelled, running for his life throigh the exit door, up the stairs, and into his car where he was struggling to put the keys in

once he managed to get them in, he quickly drove away, once he was far enough he picked up his phone and called vanessa to make sure she was okay

she picked up "hey vanessa u good?"

"yeah im fine, i dont think those kids are tho"

he spoke to her for a bit before ending the call, parking in some random area he didnt recognise , he sat there for a bit, head against the steering wheel as he processed what happens

'if i keep working there thag might happen to me' he thought

he was abut to leave the unknown area before he noticed a sign above him 'strip club huh' he thought to himself, it was still 3 am, after arguing with himself for a while, he convinved himself to go in.

he took out the car keys, leaving his car, as he walked in purple lights blinded his vision, as he adjusted, he realized the security guy at the door was asking for his ID, "may i have your ID sir?"

"yeah- yeah sure" he handed him his ID, the man read it and gave it back to him and noded, as mike walked in. there were men recieving blowjobs and lap dances

he seated himself on a couch facing the stage, where a woman was dancing, as she finished her preformance your name was called, your stage name 'play kitty' he thought to himself, what a weird choice , as you walked on, mike stared at you, not believing his eyes.

you were the most beautiful thing hes ever seen he stared at you dancing on the pole mesmerised by you

you looked at him, all the guys here were the regulars, exept him. you've never seen him here before, he had his arms crossed across his chest while he watched you

you made eye contact with him- quite a few times on accident, he was an attractive looking guy

you finally finishrd your preformance, walking off the stage, where alot of guys followed you begging you to get a room with them, but you replied "i dont do private bookings!" the guys were still pooling around youx a few leaving after they heard what u said, but a few stayed still begging.

mike got bavk to his senses 'why would a woman as beautiful as her want me when she has all these guys anyways' he said to himself, going to walk around the club to look around, he caught you walking somwhere in the corner of his eye, but he iust ignored you, he couldnt stop his breathing speeding up though, your clothes were really revealing. g string, with a string bra

he walked somewhere, and sat down. opening his phone to check with max and to make sure that abby was okay

he felt a tap on his shoulder, he turned his head around, eyes meeting your beautiful ones

"u-uh hi-?" hr said, nervousness in his voice, "can i sit down with you for a bit? never seen you here." you said "yeah- yeah sure"

you sat down next to him "so what brings you here" you said making eye contact with him, or trying to, because his eyes would meet yours for a few seconds then he'd just look away

"i dont really know honestly" his voice deep, sadness showing on it

"rough day?" you asked

"yeah kinda"

"what happened?" you asked "never mind- sorry i shouldnt be asking"

"no no its okay i needed someone to talk to anyways, uh something happened at work- something really shitty, you dont happen to know that one abandoned pizzarea? freddy fazzbears or something"

"no way! you work there? i used to go there as a kid, you said smiling "what happened there?"

"well, the animatronics are haunted or some shit, some kids broke in while i was on my night shift and they all got absolutley obliterated by the animatronics- weird shit"

"i heard they were haunted, never thought it was real, yeah right whats your name?"

"mike" he replied "whats yours?"

"my stage names play kitty- weird i know, my actual names (Y/N)"

you had a little conversation, exchanged numbers, and mike left, he was definetley coming back here

it was 5 am now, mike drove home, as usual, doing his usual things

the day after, he went to work, he couldnt stop thinking about you, thats when you texted him

"hey mike its (y/n)!"

he picked yp his phone and read the message, then he replied

"hey y/n whats up"

"u coming today ;) ?"

"probably, not sure yet gotta finish work first"

"ill take that as a maybe, see you there"

you said, it was 3am again, "fuck this" mike abandoned his shift, locking up the outside of the pizzarea

he drove back to the club, walking in again the man standing at the door let him in, recognising him from yesterday

he walked in, you were on stage, when you saw him walk in, you eyes brightened, a smirk growing across your face

you continued your preformance, having collected a little bit over a thousand dollars from the guys there

you walked off, heading straight to mike, "you came!" you said with a smile

"why wouldnt i come back? couldnt resist a girl as beautiful as you-" he just said that- 'what the fucks wrong with me' he thought to himself "shit sorry"

u smirked "whyre you apologising? ur pretty cute mike" you said, chuckling afterwards

'she just said that? what?' he thought as you both made your way to a table to sit down

"what made you become a stripper- dont answer if you dont want to its fine" mike asked

"nah its alright, i just needed a but of extra money, i live alone and one job wasnt enough, plus i couldnt bare always staying alone at night- now im never alone im just followed around by desperate guys, theyre annoying but theyre the source of my income" you said

"my shifts almost over, if you want you can come to my place and we can continue talking there? id like to get to know you mike"

"yea- yeah sure why not" he said, shocked at your question, youve barely known him for a day and youre already inviting him to come over

you packed your things up, "mike u got a car with you? my friend drove me here today and im pretty sure she left aa bit ago- she told me"

"yeah sure, gimme ur house adress ill drive us there" he said

u got into mikes car, u told him the adress. he drove yoy both there , parking outside your house

you ooened the door, letting him in, as he walkes through the enterance, he noticed the house displayed your personality very well, clean and organised " alright gimme a second lemme set this stuff up in my room, you can come if you want to" mike nodded, following you into your room, he realized you were just a normal girl, trying to get some extra money to keep things running

" so mike, you got any siblings" mike froze for a second, remembering garret "you okay"

"yeah sorry, i have 2, or 1 techinaccly" "oh! im sorry for asking-"

"no its okay, it was a while ago, he was kidnapped infront of me i was 13, he was 8"

"im sorry mike.. what about your other sibling"

"yeah abby, shes 9, im doing the security gig to keep her, i beat up a guy at a mall last year and i lost my job, and i was going to lose guardianshio over her due to my aunt, so i have to work this shitty job now to prove i can keep a job"

you put your hand on mikes thigh, mike took a deep breath, looking down at your hand on his dark blue jeans, "are you okay mike"

"yeah im fine just somethings on my mind" he said, looking down onto his lap, where your hand rested, you pretended to not notice his growing erection, -shit shit shit' mike panicked he tried to cover it eirh his hands butyou grabbed him gently by the chin, turning his face to look at you, "you need some help with that?" you said, a smirk wide across your face "w-what do you mean?" mike tried to act confused, his face turning red "with this?" you placed your hand onto the growing tent in his pants

the moment your hand touched his erection, he threw his head back, letting out a soft moan "looks like you do" you said, climbing onto his lap, he rested his arms on your hips as you grinded your clothes cunt on his clothed erection

he let out soft moans, his head thrown back, his hands squeezing your hips you leaned down to his ear "whats wrong mikey? feels good?" you said, kissing his earlobe, making your way down his neck

you reached a hand under his shirt, exploring his torso, your hand wandering up and down it

"take it off" you said, mike obeyed, pulling his shirt over his head, revealing his bare chest, light abs across his stomache, you continued kissing his neck, reaching his colar bone where you sucked and nipped making him release liw whimpers, creating a hickey, "gosh mike keep making those sounds and i wont spare you" you said, smirking across his chest, taking in his scent

he smelled like cologne, mixed with the smell of sweat

mikes strong arms wrapped aroundd your waist as you make your way down his chest , and stomache, without hesitation, you slipped your shirt off

mikes facial expression changed, he looked at your tits, then he looked away again "you can look mike its okay"

you made your way, kissing down his stomache, once you finally reached his v line you said "lay down mike, let me make you feel good"

he listened, once he layed down, you unbuckled his belt, and pulled off his pants, leaving his boxers on

you started palming his dick through his boxers, you could tell he was trying his best to keep quiet.

"dont hold back your noises baby, i wanna hear you" you said as you slipped your finger under the waist band of his boxers, slowly pulling them down, his cock sprung out free, he was big, so big, 7 inches minimum

you wrapped your hand around the top of his dick, placing your thumb on the tip wiping away the precum, "mmph" you slowly leaned down, parting your lips, wrapping then around his erect cock, you took as much of his dick as you could in your mouth, you could feel your wetness through your panties

you bobbed your head up and down, making mike release the most lewd noises youve heard a man make. and you quite enjoyed it, "o-oh my go- mph-d im close! im close!"

you just kept going at the same speed, bobbing your head up and down, you felt mikes dick twitch in your mouth, you knew he was close

he looked down at you

you let his dick out of your mouth, stroking it with your hands till he came

streaks of white painted your face and his stomache

"holy shit" was all he said, he rested his arms next to him looking down at you

"one more time? in my pussy this time?"

"yes please" as soona s you whard those words, your pants were already off , panties slipping off with them, mike stared at you completely bare "goddamn" he whispered to himself, you positioned yourself above himx slowly lowering yourself onto his dick, his strong arms held you as his length slid down inside of you

you adjusted, and soon enoughc you were bouncing uo and down his dick, the only sound in the rokm was the slapping noisea from both your bodys and the moans you both let out , your hands supporting you on mikes chest

mikes hand reached down to your pussy. fingers making contact with your slick clit, rubbing circles onto it

"shit mike im close-" "me too" he said throwing his head back to let our another moan

you came first, the knot in your stomache coming undone.

mike remembered he wasnt wearing a condom, "im not we-wearing- shit. a condom." he said oanting between each word

"cum inside me" you said, leaning down and kissing his lips, swallowing all his moans and he came close to releasing his load

he moaned into your mouth, before releasing the warm whiye liquid into your used cunt, you bounced up and down his dick for a bit morw helping him ride out his high, before you collapsed onto him.

after a few minutes, you both cooled down, he pulled himself out, watchinf the cum drip from your cum

he looked at you and all he said was "we should do this again sometime"

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

part 2?

#mike schmidt fnaf #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #mike x reader #mike schmidt #mike #fnaf #fnaf smut #william afton #josh michael afton #michael afton #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hungergames #smut #mike schimdt smut #mike schimdt x reader #mike sc #mike schimdt

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heliads · 9 months

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there's things i want to say to you

No one on this earth can get under your skin quite like Lando Norris. It would take something insane for you to be able to move past that. Maybe realizing that Lando's crazy for you would do the trick.

masterlistT

You have one mission for this particular race weekend, one mission alone, and that is to not mess up. On the track, off the track. Don’t fuck it up. This isn’t unusual by any means– flying around corners and down straights at such tumultuous speeds typically means you aren’t angling to make any mistakes anyway, but this weekend in particular needs to be perfect.

Everyone’s on edge right now, not just you. This is the time of year when contracts start expiring, when what had seemed like a decent season might end up being your last. It’s all on the wire, and at last it’s occurring to you, and everyone else for that matter, that their entire career is up to whatever they do on the track.

You’ve already sat down with your PR manager several times to discuss how you should handle this weekend, as well as the next few weekends until you can get a contract renewal locked in. You have no reason to doubt your current team, you’ve been delivering the results as asked, but there’s always the small voice in the back of your head wondering if you haven’t been picking up on the warning signs. You’ve heard of drivers getting blindsided before. Why couldn’t it happen to you?

So yes, although you’ve been just fine since your last contract signing, drivers have been let go for smaller offenses. That’s why you need to be damn near perfect this weekend. If you get through this latest race with no mistakes and some good points, you’ll be just fine. Once you’ve signed to your team again, you can relax. Up until that time, though, your behavior needs to be as proper as you can make it.

You’ve been managing such a task pretty well this whole weekend. Thursday you were nervous but in control all throughout the interviews, Friday landed you some good practices, and you did well enough in Saturday’s qualifying that you have nothing to lose sleep over yet, at least. You just need to get through today, and then luck will be on your side even more than before.

The race will start in less than an hour; you’re wandering the grid in the throngs of other drivers and team principles and spectators. At some point soon, you’ll have to head over to listen to the usual bungling of the host country’s national anthem, but until then, you’re putting on a good face. Your PR manager is flashing you discreet thumbs up whenever you see her. Life is good.

You weave around the various cars, not so close that you’ll be accused of spying but just close enough that you could, you know, if you wanted to. No one minds getting a better idea of their opponents’ sidepod designs anyway. Above all else, you keep an eye out for camera crews; Martin Brundle’s here somewhere, interviewing some poor sap, and you’d like to keep out of his way lest he turn to questioning you instead. The guy’s got a knack for getting under anyone’s skin, you don’t much feel like an interrogation today.

In fact, you can see him right now, eagerly thrusting his microphone towards some hapless driver. You see the papaya cap first, then hear the grating voice, and– well, maybe you’ll drift a little closer than before, because watching Lando Norris get picked to pieces by Martin won’t be the worst start to your race morning after all.

In single-seater racing, everyone is your enemy. At the end of the day, it’s you versus all nineteen other drivers on the grid. This means that you should have no particular arch rival, but if you were going to hate someone more than anyone else like that, it would be Lando by a long shot.

He’s just infuriating, that’s all. It’s like racing with a kid, he never learned to grow up, and every time you have to talk to him, you walk away wishing you could throttle him. Lando annoys you to death, and worst of all, he’s quite aware of it and proud of it, too. Usually, you go out of your way to avoid being near him, but you can make out the displeased look on his face from here, and if Martin Brundle is tearing him to shreds, well, you’d like to hear that more than anything.

You casually adjust course so you’ll be passing behind Lando. It looks like nothing at all, just you trying to navigate the packed grid, but you can hear every word of the conversation happening between Martin and Lando now.

You can’t help but smile as you hear Martin questioning Lando. “McLaren hasn’t had as good of a weekend so far as they’d like, I think,” Martin is saying, “What’s your strategy to turn that bit of bad luck around?”

Lando’s grin is frozen on his face like plastic. “Uh, we’ll definitely be gunning for whoever’s in front of us with everything we’ve got. Best strategy is to just go for it.”

Martin nods. You’re close enough now that you’re about to walk straight behind Lando, close enough that you swear Martin sees you just before he asks, “Anyone in particular that you’ll be going for?”

“Yeah,” Lando says, scratching his head absentmindedly, “Y/N L/N.”

Perfect timing. The cameraman quickly pans his camera between Lando’s deliverance of this answer to you, right over his shoulder like a devil. The worst part is that you genuinely don’t even think Lando knew you were there or planned it like that. He just likes throwing you under the bus for fun.

Martin chuckles– this must be the best thing for him all morning, really, drama like this gets him talked about like nothing else– and addresses his next question to you. “So, Y/N, what do you think about that?”

Lando turns around, evidently startled, but you just plaster on a smile. “He can try his best, but I won’t be letting anyone through today,” you tell Martin, and leave as soon as you can.

You can sense the cameras following you no matter how far away you go. Damn. And, as you walk further towards a group of your race engineers, you remember the most important part of your PR manager’s advice for this weekend: avoiding trouble, not just putting on a good face. That hasn’t worked out so well for you now. You do very well in that race, but what the Internet focuses on the most in the days to come isn’t your result but endless gifs of your irritated face in the background of Lando’s interview when he says he’ll be targeting you.

It’s not the greatest, to say the least. So much for playing it cool before a contract is signed. Oh, PR’s going to have a holiday over this one. You’d almost be surprised with the speed at which they suggest a media activity to wipe the slate clean, except for the fact that they’ve probably been counting on you messing something up this weekend so they had to have backup plans. Always nice to be trusted, isn’t it?

The event actually isn’t that bad. They’ve gotten a good amount of you together for some manner of charity work/awareness raising/well intentioned propaganda nonsense. They love putting F1 drivers together on a program outside race week, like it’s some kind of proof they can point to when the press conferences seem more awkward than usual. See, they hang out all the time! Of course they like each other!

(They do not like each other. Not at all. Some do, but. Most are not some. You are not some.)

Today, drivers will be in pairs, volunteering with children so motorsport can accrue a younger fanbase. Normally, you love events like this, the kids get so excited to talk to an actual live Formula One driver as if they’re typically just in display cases or something. Things will go wrong, fun times will be had, and your PR manager will ease off for a day or two provided that you do a good job. Not the worst thing in the world.

Usually, the organizers of such image-boosting nonsense at least try to put friends together. Quick camera cuts and a good deal of B-roll can only do so much to cover up the missed jokes, the cruel laughs. You’re with your teammate more often than not, a unified front, or else with one of the drivers you’re closer to. It’s easier that way. The smiles come more quickly.

That’s what you expect when you show up. Instead, you glance at the email telling you the place and the name and the time, and you see that you’ll be stationed with– no, no please– Lando. Lando Norris. Lando, the one boy you can’t stand more than anyone.

They know that. Of course they do. It is physically impossible to avoid that fact. As if you haven’t seen the YouTube compilations of terrible moments between the two of you, the Instagram posts with the hateful stares, the TikToks with captivating audios of every time you’ve slighted each other in the paddock or during interviews. You’re a bitch, he’s an ass, and neither of you get to be the good one coming out of those fights, but more often than not, it’s him.

There’s nothing you can do about it now. Causing a kerfuffle will only turn the organizers against you, and you refuse to show weakness in the face of British children, drivers or otherwise, so you keep your smile fake and your mouth shut. This is a good cause. You can hold your tongue for a few hours. The kids will, at least, appreciate it. Hopefully.

Lando’s already at your assigned station when you get there. He’s spinning aimlessly in one of the chairs they’ve given him, and you have to fight to hide your laugh at his rotation speed.

“Trying to train for G-Force, are you? I’m almost impressed with your dedication to the sport, Norris.”

Lando looks up with a start when you speak, and he hurriedly puts his feet down to stop his frenzied spinning. “You’re impressed with me? Glad to hear it.”

You roll your eyes, taking a seat on the chair next to him. “Oh, always. Do you know who put the two of us together on this activity? I want to have words with them.”

Lando snorts. “Not me, definitely. Whoever it is, they’re probably in witness protection at the moment. You look like you’re going to murder someone.”

“It might be you,” you tell him.

He groans. “Come off it. What have I even done to you? Can we not go without fighting for, like, five minutes?”

You scoff. “You’re the one who went after me on live television not three days ago.”

“Oh, you mean the interview with Brundle? That was so not my fault. He tries to trick you into going after other drivers, you know that.” Lando argues.

You arch a brow. “So he specifically tricked you into naming me as your first target? I didn’t know he operated at that level of mental warfare.”

Lando has the grace to look somewhat ashamed. “No. Uh. That may have been me.”

Thankfully, you’re interrupted by one of the event organizers coming in to tell you that the kids are arriving shortly. They pour in soon enough, about dozen children all thrilled to death about the fact that they actually get to talk to you and Lando. You’re soon distracted by the flood of questions directed towards you, ranging from kids wanting to know which drivers you’re best friends with to what superhero is your favorite.

You answer each question with equal solemnity, and before long you’re laughing with ease. You’re meant to be doing crafts and questions, so you help the kids make plastic beaded bracelets while you talk about the different colors of the flags and tyres. All in a day’s work.

Surprisingly, the fact that you have to do all of this with Lando right there beside you isn’t the worst thing in the world. He seems content to just watch you have fun with the kids with this weird, quiet smile on his face, and when everyone’s making their crafts, he’s bent over a project of his own, one that he refuses to let you so much as peek at.

At last, Lando straightens up and presents the finished product with a flourish. “It’s for you,” he says proudly, “Consider it a peace offering.”

You stare at it. He’s made a bracelet for you, complete with the same brightly colored beads that the other kids are using. Except, in the center, he’s spelled out a message—

You frown at him, confused. “This just says ‘driver.’”

“You are one,” Lando points out helpfully.

There is a fight to not roll your eyes, and you are on the losing side. “Incredible.”

“I also made it in your team colors,” he says. He’s smiling at it. At you. Fondly.

It’s not an expression you usually associate with him, but you’re smiling too, aren’t you? You can’t seem to stop. It’s just— you’re here with him, and instead of fighting, he’s gone to the trouble of making you this. Your colors, your message. Fuck.

You slip it onto your wrist before you can stop yourself. “Thank you.”

Lando’s grin broadens. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

You let out a frustrated huff. “You’ve ruined the moment. Stop having an agenda.”

“You’re still smiling despite my agenda,” Lando mentions.

He’s unreal. It’s not as bad as before, though. Not that you’d tell him that much.

Just in case he actually has ruined the brief moment of peace, Lando raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, then,” he says, “I’ll be better. Name one thing I can do to make this easier on you and I’ll get it done in a heartbeat.”

He’s expecting you to tell him there’s nothing he can do to improve himself in your eyes. It’ll make him seem like the bigger person and he’ll have the upper hand, then. Instead, you tilt your head to the side, considering him, and then at last point your finger at the offense on his chin.

“Shave the half-beard,” you say, “Please. It’s an eyesore.”

“Will that get you to stop complaining?” He asks, mouth twisting up in an amused grin.

“Nothing can,” you argue back, “I thought you knew that.”

If anything, Lando only seems more pleased by your response. “I’m starting to learn.”

He’s stubbornly unwilling to argue with you. It would be infuriating, but for some reason, it still makes you smile thinking about it hours after you get back home, rubbing your thumb over the beads on the bracelet he strung for you.

And, when you see him at the paddock for the next race, he’s fucking clean shaven. Not a whisper of a beard in sight. He spots you looking and winks. What the hell.

It makes no sense. None at all. He doesn’t say a thing about it, and if he won’t, then you can’t either, because you’re not entirely sure that this isn’t just all in your head. Maybe he felt like shaving anyway. Maybe a girlfriend put him up to it or something. This prompts a frantic research session, and after perusing many F1 WAGs Instagram accounts, you’re certain that Lando isn’t dating anyone at the moment. This isn’t important information, of course. You’re just, you know, curious.

You keep the bracelet on. Tucked under a sleeve, always, no one needs to know and least of all Lando, but it stays on. You’re not entirely sure why. Luxury brands have offered you diamonds, but Lando made this for you, and for some reason, that makes it far more valuable in your opinion than anything else. It’s silly, but it’s yours. That’s all.

No one has picked up on the war waging in your head. Your PR manager mentioned once that she was glad you and Lando weren’t actively fighting anymore, and it took you a few moments before you realized she was right. Not only have you stopped sniping at each other in interviews, but a couple races now, he’s actually approached you in the paddock to talk, and what’s more, you’ve let him.

It’s stupid, and unreasonable, and definitely not something you should be devoting so much of your life to thinking about, but now that the seed has been planted in your head, it’s kind of impossible to ignore. Lando gets you water on hot weekends. He helps you avoid Martin Brundle when the commentator is out doing his grid walks. You seek him out to talk through race results. You laugh at each other’s misfortune, but it doesn’t sting like it did before.

He’s insufferable. You love him.

You love him.

It’s the first time you’ve admitted as much to yourself. You have a feeling that it won’t be the last. There is much more to you, to him, than just the fighting, so much more that you want to explore and express and linger over, but—

But Lando doesn’t want that, does he? Lando is a spoiled brat, a young Prince Charming who is very used to getting what he wants and not at all acquainted with people contradicting that. It’s why the two of you clashed for the first time. If he had wanted you in any sense of the word other than as an enemy, he would have done something about it at the start.

Even now, the two of you have been drunk in clubs before, have walked back to hotels alone in the middle of the night. If Lando wanted something from you, something more, he could have taken it. He hasn’t, so the awful truth you must admit to yourself if this: he doesn’t want it at all. He’s studiously neutral, but nothing more than that.

It’s starting to gnaw away at you. Lando isn’t the only one who likes getting what he wants. Now that you’ve stopped hating each other, he’s closer to you than he ever has been, but yet it still isn’t enough. You can stand right next to him, can even lean against his shoulder, but it all means nothing.

It’s infuriating. It makes you act up, act out. Your shared friends on the grid invite you out to some gala, and you go because you know Lando will be there, and you leave early because you want him to follow you out. He does, and you two argue the whole way back, because if you can’t have him as you want, maybe you should push him away. It’ll certainly make things easier.

The two of you are squabbling in the back of the taxi about something unnecessary. Probably something he said and you escalated, if not the other way around. At last, you can’t take the weight of his disapproval anymore, and you ask the driver to let you out. It’s close enough to your hotel that you can walk, anyway. Lando can stay in the car and go back to his place. Problem solved.

It is, at least, until he chases you out of the car as well. He’s saying something about how you need to get back in the car, something about an approaching storm. You look up at the darkening sky and realize what he’s talking about. You had half thought that the distant thunder had been in your own head instead of across the city, but storm clouds are descending upon you now.

Lando shakes his head exasperatedly, hurrying you towards the door of the hotel. It really isn’t that far, but he still threatens to carry you there at least twice. His temper only grows more taut when he starts seeing lightning in the distance. It isn’t even raining here yet, but he doesn’t relax until you’re both through the door and out of harm’s way.

You, on the other hand, only freeze up when the roof is at last over your head. It occurs to you, not three steps into the shelter of the lobby, that your wrist is bare. Underneath your jacket, you reach over to scratch absentmindedly just beneath your other palm, but instead of hitting plastic beads, they touch only blank skin. You freeze in place, gaze swinging wildly to your forearm, but it’s true, the bracelet is gone. You don’t remember it coming off, but it’s gone now.

A frantic search of your pockets reveals nothing; as if they’re deep enough to hold anything, anyway, least of all this all-important thing. The bracelet was on your wrist when you left the cab, so it must have been lost while you were outside. It wouldn’t have been that long ago now. You could still find it.

Lando groans in irritation when you immediately make for the doors once more. “Y/N, come on–”

You’re ignoring him, though. Lando’s going to think the worst of you anyway, and you want your bracelet more than you want his incensed remarks about how it’s such a bad idea to stay out in this weather. The storm is hurriedly dawning upon you, and the trees lining the walkways shake as if with fright or chill, but that doesn’t stop you from retracing your steps, silently praying that you’ll find the one thing you cannot bear to lose. You can buy an awful lot back, misplacing jackets or other jewelry isn’t that big of a deal, but that bracelet– well, Lando only made one of those, and it was yours.

You didn’t walk that far when you were out here, all things considered, so you’re able to pinpoint the possible bracelet locations quickly. Either here, behind the flowering tree, or there, along the stone walkway—

Lando has followed you out, raising his arm over his face to protect from the spattering of raindrops now starting to fall from the sky. “Y/N, come on, I’m serious, we have to go in.”

You hold up a finger, still looking only at the ground. “Just give me a second.”

Lando heaves another tremendous sigh. “What are you even doing?”

“Trying to find something I lost.” You have to raise your voice to be heard over a clap of thunder which, although isn’t necessarily nearby, still makes Lando flinch as if the ominous sound came from overhead.

“It isn’t worth it,” he says, “we can find it later, I promise. Just get inside, will you?”

“No!” You shout back.

Lando casts a frantic look up at the approaching storm, then rushes over to stand in front of you, blocking you from moving any further. “Y/N, please. What could possibly be important enough to stay out here? You’re going to get struck by lightning.”

You try to escape past him, but Lando stays firm, refusing to budge until you tell him what the matter is. At last, you give in. “Fine. It’s your bracelet, the one you made me. You made it for me, I’m not losing it. You may not like me, not like– Not like I like you, but at least I can have that. That’s what I want.”

Lando’s face goes blank. Whatever he was expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. The naked surprise in his expression makes your stomach twist with shame, and you turn away, headed back to your search once more. Lando was caught off guard by your answer, so he isn’t able to stop you.

You hurry away from him. You don’t know what he’s thinking, or, hell, why he even made you the bracelet in the first place. Maybe it was for a specific reason, but it was probably just supposed to be a joke, something to be used against you, but you kept it anyway. You kept it, and you treasured it like gold.

You run further into the storm, away from him. The rain starts to fall even more than before. Maybe it’s okay, though. If the storm carries you away, if it drowns you in the flood, at least you won’t have to face him again. You look from side to side, searching for any pocket of plastic colors, but nothing, nothing.

Nothing, and then Lando’s voice, faint because of the storm, but still there somehow. Still there, despite everything you’ve said to him.

“I wanted you,” he calls back, shouting to be heard over the ever quickening wind. “I wanted you, but you hated me, and I thought it was better if we were enemies than nothing. At last then I could still talk to you.”

You feel as if you’ve been struck by lightning. The shock of it freezes you in place, even as the rain pounds down in sheets around you, chilling you through skin to bone and blood. It is only now, once your frenzy has been replaced by sheer immobilizing surprise, that you stand still long enough to spot the bracelet at last, tucked inside the cup of a stone on the walkway.

You reach out to pick it up, but your hand meets someone else’s before your fingers can close around the beads. When you look up, it’s him, it’s Lando, just as soaked from the rain as you, but here. Still here. Still here, for you.

He slides the bracelet over your wrist, then leans closer, just enough that you can feel the reverberations of his whispered hurry as he whispers it to you before urging you back towards the hotel once more. He’s pulled off his jacket and holds it above the two of you to protect from the wind and rain. It forces you to run so close to him that you can feel the heat radiating between the slim space from his ribs to yours.

You feel it still, even after you make it past the threshold of the hotel and stand there, shivering, just behind the glass doors. You can see the storm wild outside– so crazy to think that you’d just been out there, with the wind tearing at the trees and the rain so devastating– but in here, it’s calm, completely still.

Lando remains just a breath away, slowly lowering his dripping jacket away from your head. “It’s you,” he repeats, “It’s always been you.”

After all of that, all of those revelations and discoveries, he still has it in himself to surprise you. The kiss is unexpected, but not unwelcome, and warms you head to toe despite the cold of the rain still pressed deep within your bones. It’s welcoming, inviting, and it tells you that despite everything, every fight, every reason not to stay– it will only get better from here.

f1 taglist: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

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angsthology · 5 months

Text

random roo stuff

i do a lot of thinking (slash neg)

people (usually new fans) thinks roo and daisy-mae are dating

in the 2023 intro, roo winks at the camera

as seen in the screenshot roo is usually very active on twitter (not the surprise) and she follows some fans and often interact with them

sometimes people call her and charles (when seen together) sally and mcqueen due to her driving for porsche and charles — well, he is mcqueen. that didnt need further explanation

shes secretly very close with zhou considering they were rookies together

during her karting days her number was 35 idk why just is

she lieks to watch f1 academy races and support her girls

girl has many side quests goin on

shes also very private so when she casually drops something personal people write it down in their notes titled “roolore”

we all know max calls his rocket ship rocky, to which roo also has one of her own. she calls hers: backbiter after the first season that brought her glory

(inspired by luke castellan’s sword, his sword kan k word both humans and monsters, her car can beat rocket ships and tractors alike)

she gets shocked about the same thing more than once (memory of a goldfish this girl i tell u (mecore))

one time at a press conference they just gave her an electric guitar and that was the only topic for the entire half of that press conference

(some people say its their roman empire idk tho 🤷🏻)

she sang stockholm syndrome by 1d at charles’ birthday surprise just cause she thought shes funny (she is)

sometimes when she sees logan she goes “walk my way mr all american”

same with nando when she sees him its like her mouth goes on abbapilot (autopilot but... yknow abba) and full on start singing “there was something in the air that night”

okay yknow what at this point im just gonna tell u she has a song that she associates with every driver

which brings us to this fact: her spotify wrapped every year is always above 100,000 minutes

girlie lives in breathes music people often thinks she should’ve entered the music industry instead of racing

went missing one night and gave her entire team a heart attack until the morning when social media was littered with pictures and videos of her at a pitbull concert that night

she almost died that weekend in the hands of her manager

during RACE WEEKEND TOO

somehow still managed podium in free practice

while everyone likes to joke that lando is a literal child, a 4 year old, roo on the other hand often gets called the grid’s teenager

and by teenager i mean teenage dirtbag. thats what she is. being 23 didnt really stop her from leaving that era

the epitome of the word “worse” not worst but worse.

thats honestly all i got for now but hey u can always knock on my brain through my inbox (im bored and lonely exams are k wording me i need to be entertained like a 5 year old)

taglist; @treehouse-mouse @disneyprincemuke @yansbolobao @leilanixx @judespoision @vellicora @bborra there are still some people thatcant be tagged im sorry ☹️☹️

#tine’s roo vs the world

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syrikif · 6 months

Text

Gamer Etiquette

Kodzuken x Streamer!Y/N

Pairing: Kenma Kozume x Fem!Reader

Genre: SMAU, Written Elements, Strangers to Lovers, Romance, Fluff, Humor, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Streamer/Youtuber AU

Upcoming content creator/streamer, Y/N, has gone viral for lots of things. Her infamous dumb moments, her blended cookie recipe (which tastes better than it sounds), the way she rages at her friends during games, and about a hundred more.

But her most recent viral moment? Accidentally knocking famous streamer, Kodzuken, off the Bedwars map and making him lose his two year winning streak.

Now with more attention (and hate) than she ever asked for, her only option left is to go to the source: the man himself, Kenma Kozume.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Chapter 8 (b): Little Things

Word Count: 2243

It’s past three in the morning.

Kenma ended his stream only minutes ago, having spent the past seven hours playing a hardcore Pokémon Nuzlocke (as decided by his viewers).

And he’s not even tired.

He sighs as he relaxes back into his gaming chair, his fingers idly messing with the strings of his hoody as he watches all the messages coming through on his discord server.

He frees one hand and leans forward just enough to grab his mouse, opening a clip that one of his fans sent in the chat. Kenma realizes shortly into the video that it’s from one of his own streams, an older VOD that’s most likely still up on his neglected YouTube channel.

He makes a mental reminder to start posting on the website more often; his fans clearly like watching the videos after all, regardless of the lack of uploads.

Kenma watches his past self yell almost incompehnsibly at the game he’d been playing, a soft smile coming across his features as he picks up on Kuroo’s voice quietly taunting him underneath all the screaming.

“Some things never change,” he mumbles to himself as the clip ends with the two roommates arguing over each other.

And suddenly it all feels so bittersweet, a sense of nostalgia filling his chest and leaving a sour taste in his mouth. Because while things may not have been easy then, they were simpler somehow; less demanding of Kenma despite the fact that he’d had so many more pressing responsibilites.

He hears himself sigh and briefly wonders when exactly he’d started getting so old.

It’s almost laughable - Kenma reminiscing over his college years at the age of twenty-four.

He releases a low breath, his gaze straying from the chat to the list of active users on the side of the screen. Unsurprisingly, there aren’t as many people online as there usually is and one name manages to catch his eye.

Kenma rarely ever cares to check on things like roles and ranks in his server, he has moderators for that very task after all. But there is a role that he personally made himself when the server was first created, strictly for the purpose of having his friends in one place.

No one has been added into that level in years.

Until now.

Now there’s Y/N.

Kenma isn’t the person who placed her there (he didn’t even know she’d joined his server before this very moment) and the only other people with the ability to do so are his mods.

With this realization he remembers the message he’d recieved from Moe, one of his very first moderators, from earlier that day.

“You can thank me later.”

Kenma had been confused at the time, even assuming that she’d texted the wrong person and not bothering to respond.

Now he understands.

There’s only a moment of hesitation, his cursor hovering above that unmistable gray symbol, before he finally just clicks.

He isn’t sure how long he waits, long enough to feel a sense of dread beginning to sink in but too short to dwell on the feeling.

And it’s futile really, the way Kenma tries to hide his grin from the camera when Y/N finally answers the call wearing cat ears and a blanket that seems to swallow her whole.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she suddenly says, her gaze deepening into a glare.

Kenma wants to laugh because she probably knows exactly what he’s thinking right now. “Like what?” He does his best to appear nonchalant, leaning back into his seat and running a hand through his hair as he stares at her through the screen.

She looks different like this.

Or maybe he just isn’t used to seeing her on video.

“Like I’m some little kid or something,” Y/N huffs, her eyes rolling back as her blanket falls to her lap.

“More like a little cat,” he mutters almost unthinkingly. He watches her eyebrows furrow, her head tilting as his words reach her ears.

“Huh?”

Kenma shouldn’t tease her. He really really shouldn’t. “It’s fitting,” and yet he’s completely incable of resisting, “Kitten.”

Y/N’s jaw quite literally drops, her eyes widening as her face turns a satisfyingly bright shade of red.

And Kenma can’t help but think that she looks so- so- (what was the word?) something.

“Wh- what did you just?” She shakes her head, “You- why would you- ugh!”

Cute.

Yes. That’s the term.

Kenma thinks she looks cute right now.

The realization is slow to hit, his mind even slower to catch on as he watches Y/N fan her face and cup the skin of her cheeks.

It isn’t even the right word, honestly - to kenma - she looks adorable, cute was just the first thing that came to mind.

Why did it come to mind?

“You’re the one wearing cat ears,” he defends. He’s not sure what he’s defending at this point (himself? his thoughts? his weird obsession with cats?); he just doesn’t want her to take it the wrong way.

What would be the wrong way? Flirtaitiously?

But, if she were to flirt back, Kenma doesn’t think he’ll care.

“You piss me off,” Y/N suddenly announces, her voice full of exagerated annoyance, but there’s no doubt that she’s smiling at him - because of him.

No, he really wouldn’t mind at all.

~~~

“Favorite color?”

“Oh come on.” Kenma rolls his eyes, taking a small swig from the can of soda he’d grabbed from the mini-fridge just beside his desk. “You know my favorite color.”

Y/N gives him an incredulous look, “Um, since when?”

Kenma’s eyebrows raise, “Um, since the first day we met?”

“You’re literally lying,” she says with a mouth full of some sort of food. He doesn’t know what she’s eating at this point; first it was chips, then tomato soup, a thin slice of pie (Kenma’s sure that she was trying to rub it in his face), and now it seems to be a kind of fruit.

He’s never seen someone eat so many diverse snacks in one sitting.

Y/N’s eyes suddenly widen, “Shut the fuck up.”

Kenma’s at a loss for words, and he’s sure that Y/N can see the disbelief in his features as he sets the drink on his desk.

“No, like seriously shut up.” She lifts one hand, using her index finger to point at Kenma - or (more accurately) the camera of her webcam.

He blinks. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I’m trying to think here, okay? So shh,” she glares at him.

Kenma makes a show of pressing his lips together, mimicking the motion of zipping them up and tossing aside the key.

He can see Y/N trying to suppress a smile at his actions, a small huff of a giggle escaping her own lips when he pretends to struggle against the imaginary lock on his mouth.

Her face suddenly lights up with recognition, “Red!”

Kenma’s charade breaks. “That’s what you were trying to figure out this whole time?”

“I was right?” She suddenly looks confused, more confused than when she didn’t even know the correct answer.

“Obviously.” His head tilts, “Did you just guess or something?”

A sheepish smile, “Or something.”

“You just guessed, didn’t you?” It’s not really an actual question at this point, they’re both all too aware of what she did.

“Well I mean- kind of?” She shrugs, a clumsy movement that makes her appear so much younger than she probably is. “To be honest, I just happened to remember that Nekoma’s colors were red and black. So,” she hangs on to the word for a brief second, “Lucky guess?”

“Well what’s your favorite color?”

Y/N had suggested a scuffed form of twenty-one questions, a version with no drinking (not that either of them were against it, Kenma just doesn’t have any alcoholic beverages in the house) and no limit on how many questions they could ask.

It’s been years since Kenma had gotten to know someone like this.

She hums with consideration, “I’m not sure. I like all of them.”

“That’s such a cop-out answer,” he light-heartedly scoffs.

“Oh don’t even,” Y/N straightens in her seat, the black cat ears slipping further back on her head. “At least I didn’t make you play a ten minute guessing game,” she retorts.

Kenma tsks, “That was not ten minutes.”

“Well it felt like it. So hah!”

He laughs as he stretches out his legs, adjusting the waistband of his sweatpants when he notices that they’re off-center. He looks back up at the screen, eyes fixated on the way Y/N tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“How old are you?” Kenma asks out of mere curiosity, because he knows she must be at least close to his age, but he feels so much older in comparison to her cheerful nature.

She’s staring intently at something off to the side, scrutinizing whatever happens to be there. “Twenty three.”

Only a year younger, maybe even less depending on her date of birth.

But-, “Wait,” his eyebrows furrow. “Didn’t you date Sugawara in high school?”

He regrets bringing it up the moment he’s finished speaking, mentally cringing at the idea of talking about her ex’s.

Y/N groans, her face falling into her hands. “Don’t remind me.”

“That bad huh?” And if Kenma’s being honest with himself, he feels strangely . . . relieved.

“Like I love the guy,” Oh. “In like a totally platonic sort of way though,” she suddenly rushes to explain.

Kenma nods, “Right.” He pauses for only a brief second. “So you were a first year when you started dating then?”

Y/N’s head tilts with obvious bewilderment, “What? Oh,” she laughs. “No, I was a second year. I just have a really late birthday.”

“Oh okay,” he releases a small breath of relief. He isn’t sure what he would’ve done if he found out that one of Y/N’s boyfriends was a sick fuck that preyed on first-years.

That’s something he couldn’t let himself overlook, no matter who it was.

“Why’d it end then? Was he not,” he hesistates, “Good to you?”

They’re getting into dangerous territory now; it’s none of his business why their relationship didn’t last, but it feels like it should be. And he supposes that if they’re going to be friends and if he’s going to come into contact with said ex-boyfriend, then it would be better to know anyways.

Right?

Who is he kidding? That’s just an excuse.

He has no real reason for wanting to know, but that’s not going to stop him from asking.

Y/N shakes her head, a thoughtful expression painted across her features. “Nothing like that. It was almost like he was too good to me, you know? It was a good relationship but it was like so good that it was uneventful and boring. We just don’t mesh well romantically.”

Kenma nods as though he understands when really - the truth of the matter is that - his only relationship had ended on such bad terms that he hasn’t dated since.

“And you’re twenty-four right?”

“Yeah,” he confirms without thinking. Then his eyes narrow on her form, “How do you know that?”

She sighs deeply, as if even the mere thought of it is taxing. “Sho has not shut up about you since we met, it’d be more shocking if I didn’t know that at this point.”

Kenma smirks, “All good things I hope.”

“Please,” she rolls her eyes, “That man is practically singing your praises.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Despite the confusing choice of words, Kenma feels himself chuckle at the idea of one of his closest friends boasting about him to a complete stranger.

“He just like won’t stop talking about how cool you are, or how you’re so fun to be around. Or how you’re the most awesomest - yes he used that word - person he’s ever met.” Kenma’s disappointed when she unexpectedly stops, her hands raising to massage the skin of her temples. “It’s honestly starting to get annoying. Like you’d think he was trying to make me fall in love with you or something,” she snorts.

Is it working?

The words are on the tip of his tongue, his stomach turning at the possibility of her responses.

Kenma swallows thickly, “So what? He’s trying to set us up?”

Some questions are better left unasked.

“I guess so?”

“That’s a little weird.” Only a little bit though.

Y/N smiles then, but it’s mischevious and temptingly playful. “Really? You don’t think we’d look good together?”

His mind races at the implication behind her words, his body growing warm from her teasing tone of voice. And he abruptly feels so thirsty, his tongue brushing across his lips as he watches the way her lashes flutter when she blinks.

“Now I never said that,” he murmers in return and he can’t tell if his voice is as throaty he feels like it is.

Her gaze flickers down somewhere below his face, and Kenma silently berates himself for his choice of lazy clothing, before slowly trailing back up.

Her voice is soft when she speaks, her eyes never straying from his. “Neither did I.”

Kenma’s breath catches in his throat.

He forces a smirk, “I guess we can agree on one thing then.”

Her grin comes back in full force, wicked and full of invitation, “I suppose we can.”

Yeah, Kenma definitely doesn’t mind when she flirts.

Taglist: @crazy-people-are-here, @existential-traveller, @peachesncats, @royalz658, @musicluverr, @tamimemo, @leathernourishingshoepolish, @captaincyberqueen, @dellalyra

Any names in bold are unable to be tagged.

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currentfications · 6 months

Text

Reason | Part 1

Pairing: Bada Lee x Reader, Felix x Reader?

Warning: Swearing, angst, bi-struggles?¿ (definitely mentions of homophobia and internalised homophobia, I am going through some ~family issues~ at the moment and have decided to take it out on y/n, apologies in advance >_<), mention of alcohol, smoking, and unhealthy coping mechanisms

AN: This whole series is brought to you by that one post and this one song, fused together with some feverish deliriums. I sincerely apologise for the darker tone this series might have compared to my usual stuff, thank you for still reading it~

Previous | Next

“But why?” Y/n’s eyes welled with tears as she fought to keep them in, swallowing a hard lump in her throat as she feel herself getting sicker in the stomach.

Bada sighed despairingly, knowing that there’s no good answer to the dejected girl in front of her. “You know why,” the taller girl unintelligible, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n squinted her eyes shut, wiping away the tears that slid down her face - as if her closing her eyes will make this all go away, as if she can pretend this all never happened. But it’s happening, and the only thing left she can do is to pick up what’s left of her dignity and walk out those doors. She composed herself to the best she could. Mildly trembling but managing to keep her breathing somewhat steady, she looked up at the woman she adore with her whole heart with a forced smile. “I love you Bada, I always will,” y/n took a deep breath before planting a soft kiss on the taller girl’s cheeks. “I hope he will to.”

Bada watched as y/n left her apartment, unable to stop her from leaving behind, taking a half-hearted step towards the shutting door. The image of the girl’s watering eyes and quivering lips burned into her mind as the dancer landed her fist on the wall. “Fuck!” Bada screamed into the empty room, her voice cracking from the pent up, now overflowing, frustration.

If she hadn’t cared that much about her career, her image - or heck, what others are going to say about their relationship, would this have ended differently? The usually cool and unbothered choreographer is now in shambles on her living room floor, wishing she had the courage to be the girlfriend y/n deserves - or at the very least, not have the audacity to do the one thing that shattered y/n’s heart into a million pieces.

Y/n finally let her waterworks run free once she is shrouded by the darkness, hiding from the potential cameras around the corners. Finding a secluded corner, she broke down into tears, curling into a fetal position. It was hours before she ran out of tears, staring into the empty streets. She’s been heartbroken before, but this betrayal have left her feeling more hollow than ever. In a state of delirium, possibly from dehydration, y/n pulled out her phone and hovered above a contact.

Rationally, she knows she shouldn’t be calling him. She knows better than that, than this. It’s revenge than she wanted, and he’ll be collateral damage. But the rage boiling inside of her is almost blinding, jealousy overwhelming. A moment of insanity won over her usual levelheadedness and she dialled the number.

The boys have just gotten back to their shared dorm when Felix’s phone buzzed. Crossing his finger in hopes that the call is not from their manager, the brunette tentatively flipped the phone screen over. Albeit a little confused by y/n’s call this late into the night, he signed a breath of relief knowing he’s not getting into trouble with their stern manager again.

“Hello?”

Felix’s deep voice through the phone almost snapped y/n back into reality, almost. She know she should hang up, but she wanted her to feel the same pain. Taking a shaky breath and shutting her eyes, knowing she will regret this, “hey Felix.”

She can almost hear the first of many nails in the coffin as she uttered the two words, sealing what’s left of her heart. It’s unrequited love, she reminded herself, it’s inconsiderable love. She bit down on her lips, hard enough to taste blood, and continued the eulogy of her grievance. “How’d you feel about being a rebound for 72 hours?”

The boy band member’s brows knitted together with concern as he heard those words, delivered with bitterness he never thought he’d be at the receiving end of. Y/n has always been the most prudent friend he’s ever had, and even though she’s been known to be capable of making some ruthless decisions, this is very much so out of character for y/n.

“Bro, are you okay?” Felix excused himself from the group, closing the door behind him for some much needed privacy.

Y/n chuckled humourlessly, her dry lips cracking as she sneered at how pathetic she sounded. “Splendid. Hence why I’m calling for a rebound in the middle of the night.”

Recognising y/n’s signature coping mechanism (dripping sarcasm), the brunette rubbed his temple and checked in on the obviously-not-okay y/n. “Are you drunk?”

“No.”

“Are you high?”

“I wish.”

“Are you and Bada-”

“Not her. Not now.”

Felix’s eyes widen as he muttered an apology, realising the situation. There have been rumours floating around that y/n and Bada is an item; although never confirmed, he’d always took y/n’s silence over the past year as some form of confirmation. After all, she has never allowed baseless rumours to circulate - not even back in high school (someone spread a rumour about her being a ‘fake dyke to get attention’, in retaliation y/n finger-banged both the boy’s sisters during recess).

“Is that a no?” Y/n asked dryly, breaking the silence. She would’ve felt absolutely mortified by the awkward silence if she wasn’t so numb.

“W-wait are you sure?” Felix panicked, remembering the question on hand.

Y/n sighed for about the hundredth times tonight, “can you hand the phone to Chan?”

Felix tutted at the phone, “absolutely not.” It’s not like he’s not into her, in fact, he’s always fancied y/n since they shared a table during that one class. If not because of the fact that y/n has never even taken romantic interest in men, he would’ve asked her out during formal (y/n went with the reverend’s daughter that year, to Felix’s disappointment). “Happy to comply. In fact I’ll even throw in another 72 hours, no extra charge.”

“Thanks,” y/n muttered, grateful that at least one thing is going right for her tonight - only to immediately feel a wave of guilt and shame washing over her as she apprehended her actions. Her self reflection was cut short by some drivers racing down the quiet street, roaring as they past through.

“Dude are you still outside,” Felix glanced down at his watch, eyes widening, “at 3 in the morning?”

Has it been six hours since the fallout? Y/n has lost track. She can still hear Bada’s words echoing in the wind. ‘You know why’, she said - three simple words that cut deeper than it should have. She denounced y/n to the world, not because of anything she’s done, but simply because of the bigotry the general public has. She pushed away y/n time and time again, not because she didn’t loved her, but because she couldn’t face the repercussions of loving a woman. A grocery list of whys summarised into three little words.

For years, y/n have understood and gave her the privacy she needed to deal with all that; but when Bada pulled him to her lips in front of all their friends and family, officially announcing their relationship - y/n couldn’t understand why. Why Howl, and not her.

#Spotify #bada lee #bada lee x reader #fanfic #swf2 #swf2 x reader #felix x reader #stray kids felix #skz felix #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #angst #bada lee x fem reader #felix x y/n

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sydsaint · 6 months

Text

I'm so down bad for him it's despicable. 😩

Summary: The reader has a helpless crush on LA Knight and doesn't know what to do with herself. That is until her bff Samantha Irvinge steps in to help.

You are hanging out backstage for Smackdown with Samantha Irvinge before the show starts. Samantha is chatting with you about plans for after the show before she gets ready to head out to the timekeeper area for the evening.

"What are you doing after the show, Y/N?" Samantha asks you casually as she fixes her lipstick with her pocket mirror. "Y/N?" She asks again when you don't answer her.

After you once again don't provide her with an answer, Samantha sets down her mirror and turns to look at you. You're sat a few feet behind Samantha and looking across the room with a dreamy twinkle in your eyes.

"Y/N!" Samantha pokes at your arm, prompting you a bit louder this time.

"Hmm?" You finally snap out of your thoughts and turn to your friend. "Sorry, what was the question, Sam?" You ask her.

Samantha quirks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at you. "Girl, where were you just now?" She asks you.

"Umm, right here. Sitting with you, last time I checked." You reply with a scoff.

"Girl, no," Samantha replies. "You were definitely somewhere else just now." She insists. "What were you staring at that was so interesting anyway?"

You watch Samantha turn around in her chair and glance in the direction you were seemingly lost in. But by the time her gaze reaches the other side of the room, whatever, or rather, whoever you were staring at is long gone.

"I was just spacing out, okay?" You claim when Sam looks back at you.

"Mhm." Samantha doesn't buy your excuse one bit. "You've been acting all dreamy-eyed and distracted for a few weeks now." She claims. "And I am going to find out who's got you so smitten. Eventually."

You shake your head with a small smile. "It's no one, really, Sam." You insist. "Now come on, we've both got a busy night.."

Samantha sighs but drops the subject for the moment so she's not late for work. She heads out to the timekeepers area in the arena and you remain backstage to conduct interviews for the night.

The camera crew shows up a few minutes later and you mingle with them for a while until you're needed. You smooth out your dress when the crew signals that you've got an interview coming up and wait to see who shows up.

"Y/N! There's my favorite girl!" LA Knight comes striding into the room with his usual confident aura and your heart skips a beat.

"LA Knight, how are you feeling after your encounter with The Bloodline earlier tonight?" You ask, quickly reading from the teleprompter set up off-screen. "Specifically your altercation with Solo Sikoa just a week out from your title match against Roman Reigns?"

You move the microphone away from your mouth and toward Knight, as he towers above you. His electric gaze meets yours and butterflies explode in your stomach.

You've done thousands of interviews with the single and very attractive plethora of men that WWE has to offer. But not one of them has managed to make you as nervous and giddy as LA Knight does by simply making eye contact and smiling at you.

"Ah, you weren't worried about me, were you, sweetheart?" Knight teases you with a chuckle that makes your knees weak. "That bigheaded brute Solo Sikoa ain't no match for The Megastar! You should know that, darlin'." He winks at you playfully.

"Right, of course." You smile to yourself, unable to stop yourself from stroking Knight's ego. "I've just been informed that General Manager, Nick Aldis has pit you in a match tonight against Sikoa, in the main event. Thoughts on that?" You ask another question.

Knight chuckles again, licking his lips as he continues to look down at you with that undeniable charm and swagger of his. "It seems to me like Mr. Aldis knows exactly what he's doing as general manager of Smackdown. He's got the megastar in the main event! Solo doesn't stand a chance against me, sweetheart. And that, honey, is just a fact of life!" He adds his signature catchphrase at the end. "Because who's game is it? Come on, sweetheart, you know."

"LA Knight's?" You can't help but answer him with a wide smile.

"Yeah!" Knight grins. "I'll catch you later, darlin'." He adds before swaggering off to get ready for his match.

You laugh to yourself, adrenaline coursing through your body like it always does after you do interviews with Knight.

Later into the night, Smackdown has come to an end and everyone is waiting to pack up and leave. Samantha catches you backstage again and the two of you chat.

"Hey, Samantha? Can I ask you something?" You ask Sam while you're both packing up to leave.

"Yeah, sure. What's up, Y/N?" Samantha nods and stops what she's doing to listen to you.

You bite your bottom lip and stop packing up your bag as well. "When you and Ricochet first started chatting? What did it feel like for you?" You ask her.

"What do you mean?" Samantha replies.

"Like...I don't know. There's this guy, you obviously know that much, Sam. I've flirted with plenty of guys before, sure. But with this one, it's different." You try and explain.

Samantha nods and scoots closer to you. "You feel like you're a mess around him? Like you're weak in the knees or have butterflies when he talks to you?" She suggests.

"Yes! Exactly!" You eagerly nod. "I've never felt like this with a guy before, Sam."

"That's how it was with Ricochet and I," Samantha explains further. "It always seemed like he knew just what to say or do. When we talked? He made me feel like the only girl in the world. And eventually, I just couldn't ignore the pull anymore." She adds.

You nod, sure that's how Knight is making you feel. And as fate would have it, Knight happens through the backstage area on his way out of the arena. You lock onto him as he walks by and that look is all Samantha needs to figure out who your mystery man is.

"LA Knight, huh, Y/N?" Samantha giggles as Knight passes by.

"What?" You reply, not realizing that you'd been staring.

Before you can get another word out to defend yourself, Knight turns around and saunters over to you and Samantha. "Well, what do we have here? A couple of Smackdown's finest ladies talking about one of my favorite subjects. Myself." He winks at you and Samantha.

"Yeah, Y/N and I were just discussing dinner plans," Samantha replies. "I had plans with my fiance tonight, so I was going to have to raincheck dinner with her. But now that you're here..." She drops a hint Knight's way.

"Well, I'd be a damn fool to leave a lady hanging when it comes to dinner." Knight chuckles. "Especially when it comes to my favorite girl. How about it, Y/N? My treat, of course."

You take a spare second to not shower Samantha with all your love and affection for being the ultimate wingwoman before you reply. "I'd love dinner, yeah." You agree to Knight's offer.

"Perfect!" Knight nods. "Well, you already look absolutely stunning. Just give me a minute to pull my car around and we'll head out." He explains.

You nod and Knight walks off. As soon as he's gone you turn to Samantha and let the beast loose. "I love you so freaking much!" You squeal in excitement.

"I know." Samantha grins as you crush her against you in a hug. "Now go have fun with the man of your dreams, girl! I want the details in the morning. If you can make it out of bed after he's done with you." She teases you.

"Samantha!" You laugh.

"What? You know I'm right." Sam continues to laugh.

#wrestling #wwe fanfiction #wwe wrestling #wwe fandom #la knight #la knight fanfic #wwe #wrestling fanfiction #syd's wrestling fics

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meowdarame · 2 years

Text

a celebration for two

pairing: kickboxer!mikasa ackerman x bimbo!fem!reader (afab!reader, she/her pronouns)

synopsis: after a monumental championship victory, you and your girlfriend decide to try something new to celebrate.

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI. slight angst to fluff, dom(ish)!reader, sub(ish)!mikasa, sex toys (double-ended dildo), fingering, nipple play, soft sex, one (1) tit slap, lots of petnames

word count: ~3.3k

notes: for kc’s pride month collab & atlas’s himbos and bimbos collab! this is my first time writing wlw and bimbo!reader, so please be gentle! (i definitely struggled with the latter, oops!) as always, reblogs and feedback are super appreciated!

Mikasa doesn’t like to bring outside squabbles into the ring.

Her matches are usually short and straightforward— step onto the mat, dodge a flurry of swift attacks, and patiently wait for an opening to deliver the final blow. It’s easier this way, ending her matches with an instant knockout; she doesn’t see the need to use flamboyant or fanciful tricks and moves to prove her fighting prowess.

But tonight’s match was different. As she stood in front of her opponent, some cocky, undefeated kickboxer who was quickly rising through the ranks, Mikasa couldn’t help but feel a rage bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Heat coursed through her veins and traveled to her flushed face and clenched fists as she recalled a sickening memory from the night before:

Lights flashed all around her and her opponent; journalists huddled them, snapping photos for news articles reporting on the monumental championship fight. Her opponent glared at her square in the face, her hot breath overwhelming Mikasa’s senses as she held still her menacing pose. But despite the commotion coming from the photographers and their obnoxiously noisy camera shutters, Mikasa could barely audibly make out something that her challenger whispered to her— an insult, a threat.

“You better win tomorrow, princess. Or else your dumb bimbo of a girlfriend might leave you— seems like all she cares about is the fame and money that she reaps from being with your sorry ass.”

The muscular woman snickered at her own comment while rage filled Mikasa’s chest. She continued on though, even though Mikasa’s fury was evident in how hard she was clenching her jaw.

“She’s really cute though, just my type. Hey, do you think if I win tomorrow, she’ll leave you for me?”

The match lasted no more than ten seconds— the quickest match in the history of their professional kickboxing league. Mikasa didn’t waste any time waiting for an opening, immediately rushing her opponent with a right hook to the face as soon as she heard the bell ring. Although she had managed to break a league record and uphold her title as defending champion— both of which were means for a joyous celebration— all she wanted to do was rush back to her hotel room, change into comfortable pajamas, and sleep off the infuriating memory from the night prior.

“Baby!” you whine, your voice trailing several paces behind Mikasa. Your stiletto heels click loudly against the hallway’s marble floors and echo off the pristinely painted walls. “Why are you walking so fast? Slow down!”

You finally catch up with your girlfriend when she stands in front of your shared hotel room. Mikasa mutters to herself as she fumbles with the keycard, a red light flashing and a beeping noise emitting from the door handle.

“Stupid piece of shit,” she whispers under her breath, followed by a string of expletives when she fails to open the door a second time. “Why couldn’t they just give us a normal key instead?”

“Honey, let me do it,” you insist, taking the card from an agitated Mikasa. She watches quietly as your brightly manicured acrylic nails— a cosmetic that she paid for— delicately swipes the keycard into the box that sits above the doorknob. Gears whir inside the machine before a green light flashes on the door handle; she sighs a quick breath of relief before twisting the doorknob and entering the empty hotel room.

Mikasa removes her shoes and plops onto the made bed while you gently shut the door. With her back slumped into the mattress, she covers her eyes with her arm, basking in the first moment of quiet that she’s been graced with all night. This moment is short lived, however, because soon she remembers her opponent’s slimy voice taunting her.

“All she cares about is the fame and money that she reaps from being with your sorry ass.”

If it were any other insult— a cheap jab at Mikasa’s appearance or a comment about her singular loss from last season— she would have gotten over it once the fight was over. She knows that her opponent’s words were meant to sting her, to distract her, but it all feels too real. It’s no secret how much you love the spotlight and the riches that come from being a professional athlete’s pretty girlfriend; your own Instagram is overflowing with photos of her, almost to the point that if your account weren’t verified, you could be easily mistaken for a fanpage. Mikasa rarely ever has doubts about the nature of your relationship, but in this instant, she can’t help but wonder if you really love her or if you just love the attention she gives you and brings to you.

These negative feelings don’t even subside when she feels your arm wrap around her, your face nestled in the crook of her neck. “So,” you start softly, “do you want to tell me what’s gotten you so angry that you couldn’t even open the door?”

Tensions rise in the silent room as she collects her thoughts and you await her response. “What if I lost?” Mikasa eventually breathes out, still covering her eyes to hide the tears creeping up on her waterline.

“But you didn’t, baby,” you chirp back, nuzzling your cheek against her soft, warm skin. “You won, like you always do!”

“But what if I did?” she snaps back in a tone that was uncharacteristic of your usually sweet-natured girlfriend. “If I did lose— if I lost the title and all the grandiosity that comes with it— would you still love me?”

Mikasa hears the covers rustling when you prop yourself up on your arm. “Baby, look at me,” you command, taking her wrist and lifting her arm off of her face. You stare down at Mikasa’s tired face, your expression ladled with concern; it breaks her heart to see you in such a worried state, and knowing that her question is the root cause of it makes her even more angry at herself.

“I’d still love you even if you lost a hundred matches,” you breathily whisper, tears now brimming your waterline. “I don’t care about the money or the fame. I mean, of course it’s a perk to dating a professional athlete, but I love you for you— not for the things that you do.”

Mikasa winces and shuts her eyes once more. She feels so stupid— of course you love her! You’ve been with her even during her underground fighting days, when she would join dangerous competitions just for a chance to put food on the table or have enough money to pay the electricity bill. You loved her even when she had nothing, so why would anything change now that she has everything? She feels like a fool for ever doubting you.

“I-I’m sorry, my love,” Mikasa sighs, cupping your cheek and pulling you down to lay on her chest. “It’s just that my opponent said something and it stuck with me. She said that you were going to leave me for her if I lost the match.”

You scoff as you trace your name on Mikasa’s stomach. Your finger dragging along her exposed skin brings her comfort, and she allows herself to melt into your embrace. “Well, she’s wrong for two reasons,” you assert, and it elicits a chuckle from your girlfriend. “First, I love you too much to leave you. And second, she’s ugly and it would be a major downgrade if I left you for her.”

“A downgrade, huh?” Mikasa giggles and shakes her head at your incredulous comment. “You said it, not me!”

It’s silent for a moment as you both bask in the warmth of your entangled bodies, contrasted by the air conditioner blasting cool air into the hotel room. Mikasa listens to your soft humming as you draw little hearts and stars all around her torso, but her breath hitches when she feels your fingertips gently ghost over her nipples through her t-shirt.

You deliver a harsh pinch to her perked bud immediately after, and Mikasa doesn't have enough time to react to the sudden stimulation. A choked moan slips past her rosy lips, and she watches a smirk creep up on your pretty features.

“Baby,” you coo, slowly lifting up the loose cotton material of Mikasa’s shirt, exposing her nipples to the chilly environment. “Are you tired? Or would you be down to have some fun tonight— a celebration, if you will?”

Mikasa can’t even think straight, because soon your lips encircle her nipple while your fingers tug and tweak at the other one, ensuring that both of them receive ample attention. She bites her bottom lip as you continue your ministrations, and a muffled “mhmm” is all she manages to get out.

She begins to push herself up on the bed, but you stop her before she’s able to fully sit up. “No, no,” you gently whisper as your hands caress her shoulders, easing her back into a comfortable position. “You’re always taking care of me! Tonight I want to return the favor.”

You waste no time in undressing yourself and Mikasa, your clothes nothing more than discarded piles of fabric on the floor. Your girlfriend lies back with her head resting beautifully against the plush pillow— her short hair frames her face with a few loose strands clinging to her warm cheeks; a muted red tint creeps up her neck and heats her face; and her pretty pink lips are wet and parted as she marvels at the sight of your naked body before her. Mikasa’s eyelids flutter when you bend down to kiss her forehead, then the tip of her nose, then her lips. Your breasts brush against one another as you deepen the kiss, sucking on her tongue and drawing the cutest whines from your girlfriend, who’s quickly growing impatient with all the light, fleeting touches.

You maneuver your body back so that you’re sitting in between her spread thighs. Mikasa watches in anticipation as she follows your wandering eyes down your body, until your gaze eventually lands on her glistening cunt. Her clit aches and yearns to be touched by you, and she exhales a sigh of relief when you spit on your fingertips and begin rubbing loose circles around the sensitive nub.

“We’re gonna try something new,” you admit, still toying with Mikasa’s clit. Your middle finger dips into her tight walls, pushing past the first ring of her pussy. Her back arches in response, and you giggle cutely at her body’s responsiveness to you.

“I think it’ll make both of us feel good! You trust me, right baby?” you ask, emphasizing your question by hooking your fingers and pushing forcefully against Mikasa’s g-spot.

She frantically nods her head, agreeing to anything that will bring her closer to her release. “Good, good,” you mutter as you pull your finger out from her drooling hole; her hips buck up off the bed at the sudden empty feeling, but you ease her jumpiness by leaning down and pressing a kiss to her clit.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be right back, and then we can have our fun.”

Mikasa’s eyes follow you as you make your way to the bathroom. She performs a mental tally, wondering what you could possibly be grabbing. There’s dry towels in there, your bullet vibrator hidden in a secret pocket in your makeup bag, some lube in a special compartment of her luggage, and—

“Ah, here it is!” you cheer, returning to the room and clutching a 15 inch double-ended dildo in one of your manicured hands. You hold a bottle of water-based lube in the other, and a devious smile is plastered on your face.

You excitedly plop yourself onto the bed, and Mikasa immediately reels back, intimidated by the sheer size of the sex toy. She begins to protest, arguing that it’s too big and that it’s not going to fit, but you quell her anxieties by placing a chaste kiss to her tummy.

“Baby,” you giggle, in awe of her cuteness and innocence. “It’s not all for you— it’s for both of us!”

She furrows her brows and crinkles her nose, still not understanding what you mean. “I take one end, and you take the other. That way we can both feel good!” you explain further, but Mikasa is still unconvinced.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I’m not usually on the receiving end of these things…” Her voice trails off and her gaze wanders, but her eyes meet yours once again when you clasp her hands.

“We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, but I’d really, really like to try it. I saw it in a video once and thought it was so hot,” you confess, sheepishly biting the corner of your lip. “I just wanted to know what you’d look like, all cock drunk and fucked out.”

Mikasa watches as you fiddle with your fingertips, anxiously waiting for her response. Her heart pangs upon seeing you like this— you, who’s usually so enthusiastic about sex, eagerly agreeing to any tryst or kink that she wants to try out. Nothing’s off the table with you, and you’re willing to try anything at least once even if you may not like it. And so, Mikasa decides to be like you for once, pushing aside her fear and unease and completely succumbing herself to you.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” Mikasa whispers, taking your wrist and pressing it to her lips. “There’s nothing wrong with seeing something in a porn video and wanting to try it with me. I do that with you all the time!”

You both giggle at her joke, but she continues, “You’re always so good to me and ready to please me, and I want to do the same for you. If you really want to try this, then let’s do it.”

Your worried expression turns into a sweet smile. “I love you, but you already know that.”

“I love you more,” Mikasa replies back. “Now,” she says as she grabs the silicone toy that’s lying next to her body, “you take the lead.”

You take the dildo from her calloused hands, rubbing the toy’s fat tip against her slicked up folds. Mikasa sighs when it rubs against her swollen clit, and you tap the sensitive nub twice to give her more pleasure.

You briskly open the bottle of lube and squirt some of the slippery substance onto your fingertips. Massaging the toy as if it were an actual dick, your fist drags along both ends of the dildo, making sure that it’s adequately coated with lube.

“I’m gonna put it in you first, okay?” you warn Mikasa, and she just responds with a shallow nod. “You’re gonna feel a bit of a stretch, but just stay relaxed for me.”

The toy’s cockhead prods at her entrance, before being pushed into her gummy walls. Mikasa feels like she’s being split apart, her chest heaving as he struggles to breathe. She begins to panic, but her pussy’s strong grip on the dildo begins to ease up when you swipe her clit back and forth.

“It’s okay; you’re okay. I’ll go slowly,” you reassure her, and only then does her heartbeat begin to steady. You give her time to adjust to the foreign feeling, and after a minute of slowly inching the thick member into her tight cunt, the toy gently kisses her cervix. Her head feels light and airy, and the only thing her hazy brain can register is how absolutely full she feels.

“I’m gonna put it in me now, too,” you tell her. You position yourself so that you’re scissoring her, with one thigh over hers while your other thigh rests under the other. You rub the toy’s tip along your folds, throwing your head back when the plastic catches your clit. The dildo slides in easier with you, and a couple seconds later, you’re both ready to begin grinding into one another.

“I’m gonna move, okay? And when you feel ready, you can grind against me too.”

Mikasa watches as you drop your hips and squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the toy’s cockhead slamming deliciously into your cervix. You do it again and again, until you work yourself up to a comfortable pace. Your tits bounce with every movement of your body, and she feels the sweat of your thighs dripping onto her legs and sticking onto her skin.

She bites her lip and experimentally rolls her hips; her eyes roll to the back of her head when she feels the dildo drag along her walls, massaging her g-spot with every swivel and swirl of her pelvis. The sensation feels so amazing, like nothing she’s ever felt before, but the view makes the experience ten times more pleasurable— your brows are knit and your lips are parted as soft mewls slip past your lips; you stare down at her with hooded eyelids and a damp lash line, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

Mikasa’s hands fly out and grab at your tits, kneading the flesh and tweaking your nipples between her fingers. You squeal at the increased pleasure, throwing your head back and speeding up the bouncing of your hips. Your hands, once resting on her stomach, travel up and down the expanse of her torso before settling on her clit. You swipe the bundle of nerves back and forth, coaxing her towards her high.

“Gonna cum soon,” you choke out between labored breaths. “Cum with me, yea? Wanna watch you cream all over this dick.”

Your orgasm crashes into you unexpectedly, making your legs kick out and your body thrash around as heat and pleasure sear across your skin. Your walls clamp down around the dildo, threatening to push it out with every pulse of your fluttering cunt. Once you finish riding out your high, you slide the toy out of your hole, focusing your attention on Mikasa; the soft ah’s tumbling past her lips are an indication of her looming orgasm.

Your thumb continues to play with her clit, but your free hand wraps around the midpoint of the dildo. You push the shaft in and out of her pussy, fucking her harder than before. She squeals and tries to force her thighs closed, but you deliver a light slap to her tit.

“No, keep your legs spread for me,” you command, and even in her fucked out state, Mikasa still registers and obeys your command. “Feels good, right baby? There’s no need to hold back— just let go.”

Mikasa’s heels dig into the bed and her hips lift off the mattress, crying out loudly as her body convulses and her thighs shake. You fuck her through her orgasm, growing drunk off the way her cheeks flush pink when she’s cumming, or the way that her eyes squeeze shut and her lips jut into a pout, or the way that her abs ripple slightly from the intense pleasure that she feels in her core. She looks beautiful; she looks ethereal.

She looks perfect.

Mikasa’s hands push away at yours, quickly growing uncomfortable by the overstimulation. After slowly easing the toy out of her sensitive cunt, you wrap it up into a towel and place it on the dresser. She’s still in a daze when you return to the bed, extending her arms out to you so that you can fall into them.

And as you lie in her arms, your breath slowing down and growing softer, she realizes that she was a fool for ever questioning how you feel about each other.

You’ve built a house inside her heart, and you have no intention of ever leaving.

taglist will be in a separate reblog!!! thank you for your continued support (*≧∀≦*)

#aot x reader #aot smut #mikasa x reader #mikasa smut #aot x you #mikasa x you #aot oneshots #mikasa oneshot #himbos and bimbos 2022 #🎲.writes #🎲.oneshots

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sarcastic-positivity · 5 months

Note

It was the middle of July and despite Tim’s aspirations as a kid, he did not, in fact, have a job that gave him summers off. As such, it was a miserable affair, getting to and from work. Usually Tim would be in an airy t-shirt and shorts but Jon had caught sight of his Hawaiian themed top last week and it had been a close thing to avoid being forced to go home and change. It would be a few weeks before he could get away with such a ‘blatant display of disrespect for work procedures’, as Jon put it, so here he was: sweating his ass off on the tube and praying to whatever god would listen that they’d fixed the AC at the Institute.

God never did like Tim.

“Christ above, does Elias want us dead or something?” Tim cried to the room at large as he dropped heavily onto his spinny chair. It was stifling. “What did we ever do to him, huh?? Did someone submit a statement about Bigfoot again?” He immediately started popping buttons on his ‘work appropriate’ shirt.

Sasha popped her head up from her cubicle and grinned at him. Her waist-length braids had been piled sloppily on top of her head and she looked about ready to topple over from the imbalance. She’d already shed her top layer down to a simple purple tank top but she still had a sheen of sweat on her brow that had her large round glasses slipping down her nose.

“Pretty sure it’s cause Gerry called him an old codger and compared him to the statement giver from the McGregor case last week. He’s out for revenge now.”

Tim wrinkled his nose. “What, the stuffy one with the cane who wouldn’t shut up about how the Tories are implementing a surveillance state?”

“The very same,” Sash confirmed, pushing her glasses back up with a hand. “Though I personally think Elias would be very pro Big Brother. Did I tell you he asked after my aunt the other week?”

“You told Elias about Matilda’s lung cancer?”

“That’s just it! The only person I told about that was you, and I’m pretty sure you didn’t run off to tattle to Elias.” She leaned forward in her chair conspiratorial and Tim couldn’t help but do the same. Sash was magnetic when she was like this. It had led to more than one rendezvous in their first year at the Institute. “I think he has cameras down here.”

It wasn’t the most insane theory she’d come up with, somehow. Just two months ago she’d followed Jon home because she didn’t believe he actually had a home; she’d thought he’d been sleeping in the Institute of all places. Besides, there was that feeling of being watched that pervaded this place. Still, Tim couldn’t help but laugh.

“I think we’d know if he had cameras, Sash. Did I tell you what he-”

“What fresh hell is this?” The voice from the doorway was flat and scathing and Tim immediately spun in his chair to grin at the intruder.

“Gerry!” He called happily. “I didn’t know you were coming in today!” He was wearing his signature black trenchcoat and a scowl that did things to Tim. Luckily for both of them, Tim was well guarded against Gerry’s scary-sexy goth vibe by virtue of sharing a flat with him. There were only so many times you could get a chub from simply looking at your roommate before your prick just gave up on the enterprise entirely.

“There’s a statement I need but this is fucking ridiculous.” His voice was as deep and rough as it always was but the angry edge to it managed to send a little zing down Tim’s spine. The days that Gerry showed up at work are always so interesting. “It’s at least 10 degrees hotter in here than it is outside. The fuck is Elias thinking?”

“Gonna rough him up for us, Ger?” Tim asked with a grin and Sasha laughed. “Stomp on him a little with those boots of yours? 10 quid says he’s into it.” Gerard shot him a look but there was a smile playing around his lips, pulling slightly at the snakebite piercings there. His makeup that day was the same as it usually was, eyeliner and three exaggerated lower lashes that made his gaze all the more intense. Thank god for the aforementioned Roommate Protection. Especially when Gerry’s eyes swept over Tim before meeting his eyes again and giving a mocking little smile. His eyes were slate grey and impossible to look away from.

��“Projecting much, Stoker?” He asked in a low tone. It was teasing and Sasha cackled but Tim’s brain stuttered and properly died. What did one say when a hot goth implied that you maybe wanted him to stomp on you with his giant sexy boots? Especially when it was true.

“What, you wanna find out, Keay?” Tim shot back. That was good. Keep it light, let it plausibly pass for playful workplace banter – a little bit of light flirting to keep thoughts of the heat at bay. Gerry arched a brow at him, face betraying nothing but that same cool amusement. Sasha snorted and shook her head, turning back to her computer.

“You two are ridiculous,” she told them. Tim shrugged, eyes still on Gerry, and then Jon’s office door creaked open.

“Oh good, you’re here, Gerard.” Gerry’s eyes flicked away. “You said you needed the Anderson file?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Gerry said. He passed by Tim’s desk to take the file from Jon. Tim turned back to his desk. “By the way, your workplace is a HSE violation waiting to happen.”

“Yes, I am quite aware,” Jon said drily. “Make sure to get that one back to me by the end of the day. And not stinking of smoke this time, Gerard. I have more notes I plan to add to it.”

“No promises.”

・・・

Inevitably, it was Tim who had to go hunt Gerry down at a quarter to five to get the file back. Luckily the fire exit to the left of the stairs to the archives was conspicuously propped open by an unopened carton of cigarettes and Tim pushed outside into the slightly cooler summer air.

Gerard was lounged on the steps leading to the back alley, facing away from the door with the file open at his feet and a lit cigarette in hand. He’d tied his hair up sloppily, much like Sasha had hers, but it was so long that black sheets of it still cascaded down his bare shoulders. His trenchcoat had been completely abandoned, laid out on the step beside him, and he was left only in a crop top Tim had never seen before. It was made of a sheer grey material that matched his eyes and had no sleeves to speak of. Even worse, Gerry had a hand tucked under his shirt, shucking the top halfway up his chest. His alabaster skin shone in the dim light of the setting sun and Tim nearly took a tumble down the steps when Gerry tilted his head back to look back at him.

“What?” Gerry asked in a gravelly voice when he caught Tim staring. Tim opened his mouth to respond but he suddenly found himself incapable of speech. Gerry rolled his eyes and turned his head languidly back forward, lifting his cigarette to his lips. “AC’s broken inside but it’s barely any cooler out here. Don’t be a prude.”

That surprised a laugh out of Tim. “A- A prude?!” He choked out. Never in his life had he been accused of such a thing. And this, this was so far on the opposite side of the scale he wanted to laugh. Or cry. Gerry just blew a smoke ring.

“If you’re here for the file, it’s there.” He kicked at the manila folder at his feet and Tim could hear the wounded noise Jon would make if he were there. Right, Tim had actually come for a reason that wasn’t to ogle Gerry. Supposedly.

“Right.” Tim cleared his throat and picked his way down the steps so as to not step on Gerry. God, did his legs have to be so long? “This thing has gotta reek by now,” he said as he bent down for the file. “Pretty sure the boss man won’t be too happy with you about that one.” He turned back and around and Gerry quickly lifted his eyes. His eyes were a warm hazy grey, much like the smoke drifting around his head.

“Afraid of Sims then, are you?” He drawled. His piercings glinted as he grinned at Tim.

Tim rolled his eyes and made his way back up the steps. He very pointedly kept his gaze on the ground as he did so, enticingly bare torso be damned. “Everything’s a question with you,” he said. “‘Projecting much? Afraid of Sims?’ Just call me a bottom and get on with it.”

Gerry rasped out a chuckle right as Tim reached the top step. Tim hesitated but couldn’t help but glance back down behind him. Gerry’s head was tilted back, hair messy and top askew, and his eyes half lidded against the dying light behind Tim’s head.

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

He was sight to see, all stretched out and half clothed on the steps to the alley. Tim shook his head and turned back inside without another word. Gerry’s rapsing laugh followed him all the way into the archives.

Damn tease.

SPEECHLESS. SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP. THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I NEEDED AND MORE THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE HOLY SHIT IM LOSING MY MIND

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sn00pism · 1 year

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Baby I'm jealous!

Feeling insecure? Don't worry! The bllk boys are here to cheer you up!

Characters: Kunigami Rensuke x chubby reader, Reo Mikage x chubby reader, Bachira Meguru x chubby reader.

Kunigami Rensuke

Went from beautiful to ugly 'Cause insecurity told me you don't love me

You've been feeling kind of... Alone recently.

All your boyfriend does is come home from practice and then go to sleep, wake up in the morning and finally go to the gym. It's a tedious routine that has you feeling lonely and sad.

'maybe he doesn't love you enough...'

'maybe he's just faking it'

When you asked to join him in the gym and he accepted, those thoughts were placated for a while ..

Until you saw all the beautiful women in the gym.. women that lifted more than you did, their tiny waists and big hips, even bigger chest and how their face seemed to be always so slim...

Rensuke noticed that you looked off since you got there, often limiting your reps to only 8 since you were lifting more weight than you were used to, as well as how you seemed to pout each time he asked the women if they were using that machine.

You were visibly upset, why couldn't you look like them? Why did Rensuke choose you? What if.. what if he didn't like you anymore..?

You managed to keep those thoughts inside until you got home, when Rensuke interrogated you.

"baby? What's wrong? You've been off since we entered the gym.."

You fake a smile and answer that it's nothing just tiredness.

"don't give me that bullshit y/n... I know you and I know how you love to workout with me.. what's wrong?" His commanding tone makes you shiver as tears pool into your tired eyes

"it's just ... You've been distant lately and I feel so lonely and when we went to the gym every girl was so pretty and I didn't compare and I feel so ugly and upset-" you could've keep going, tears falling freely down your cheeks as you hiccupped between reasons.

But Rensuke thoughts it was enough of your thoughts and silenced you with a soft kiss to your lips.

"I love you.. more than anything, I'm sorry for having been so distant.." he caresses your cheeks tenderly and smiles, gaze softening as his thumbs wipe your tears away.

"let's order some takeout and watch a movie, yeah? I'll dedicate my whole day to you tomorrow, I promise"

Mikage Reo

All it takes is a girl above me On your timeline to make me nothing

As you scrolled on social media, you liked a photo of Reo and you, a photo he posted, both of you posing and smiling at the camera as a beautiful sunset shined on the distance.

As you scrolled down, the photo of one of those Instagram influencers, posing on the beach with their toned abs and curvy waist.

You looked down at your waist and frowned, you looked nothing like her.

As you clicked on her user, you were a little shocked to find out Reo was a follower of her.

'he likes toned up women'

Was the thought that entered you head, souring your mood

'maybe he doesn't really like my physique.. maybe that's why he hasn't been that touchy lately..'

The thoughts came pouring in like water on a broken barrel. They didn't seem to stop.

Reo came up from behind you, hugging your waist and kissing your neck softly, only then noticing the frown on your face.

"what's wrong princess?"

He then looks at your screen and chuckles

"her videos on pilates are pretty good, my mom loves those"

'thats it, he watches her and he stunning body'

"oh really? Guess her ass looks good in the workout clothes, right Reo?" You mumble angrily as you shut off you phone, prying his arms from your figure and trying to walk off.

However Reo pulls you back

"y/n? Baby? What the fuck was that?" He mumbles into your ear, nuzzling your neck affectionately.

"nothing Reo, nothing.."

"are you jealous? I only follow her cause my mom does her pilates videos... That's all"

You snort, trying to push him away again, making him hold you tighter.

"tell me what's wrong princess... You're not usually like this my love" he mumbles worriedly.

His worry shakes your resolve and anger and you sigh, spilling the beans..

"I just.. I don't look like that.. and I thought you might like me more if I did look like her..."

Reo laughs softly, kissing your neck softly and fondling your stomach, hands traveling all over you body, making you blush.

"Reo.. " you sigh contentedly, the thoughts that made you sour withering away with each of his touches.

"let me show you how beautiful you are to me"

Bachira Meguru

Waist trainer for a tinier waist But I can't help it if I like the way food taste (taste)

You looked at the ice cream for two in front of you, eyes dancing with hunger and food lust.

Bachira smiled at your face, you looked so happy, he couldn't help but be happy as well.

"woah! It's so big!!! Let's eat!!" He says cheerfully, handing you a spoon so you both can dig in, until a shrill voice calls out

"Meguru!!"

You both looked at the girl waving at Meguru, she had a black waist trainer on and he waist looked so tiny and she looked so skinny and her chest looked so big...

You stared down at your own figure, watching her as she laughed with your boyfriend, who unintentionally ignored you in favour of her.

'he probably prefers girls that look like her'

'shes way prettier'

'he deserves someone who takes care of herself..'

You stared at the ice cream and frowned, failing to notice how Meguru turned his attention back to you.

"What's wrong honey bee?" He asked you, while poking your cheek, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"nothing.. I'm just not hungry anymore.."

"you're gonna leave me all alone with this monstrosity?" He asks jokingly and pouts.

"yeah... Just not feeling it anymore Megu..." You sigh defeated.

He sighs, taking your hand and caressing it.

"bumblebee... Please tell me what's wrong...I don't like to see you upset"

You sigh, not really being able to hide anymore from your boyfriend "I just feel .. I don't know... I don't really take care of myself and I feel upset... Maybe you prefer someone like your friend just now"

With that Meguru shushed you, laughing loudly, "honey! I don't like her... I like you! If you wish to take care of yourself, then we can start doing that too!"

His smile was contagious and you smiled too, his cheerfulness melting away the darkness that had taken a hold on you.

"yeah.. let's start tomorrow.." you said smiling picking up your spoon

"but first! Let's eat this big thing first!" Bachira exclaimed picking up his spoon as well... His hand never leaving yours as you both dug in.

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mooodyblue · 1 year

Text

blue hour | 70s!elvis x afab!reader

summary: you get the opportunity of a lifetime to write an article on elvis for his first MSG appearance, but there's just something about that blue suit .

WC: 3.4k

warnings: NSFW, MINORS DNI one tiny mention of the colonel, smut, smut and more smut, oral(m.receiving), protected sex(because i finally remembered to write it in this time!), riding, idk im missing tags

notes: based on this, this is my favorite look on elvis like. Ever. he looks so good yall. i'm having like the worst week so i wrote this to cope lol also i know he had two shows that day but for my own purposes he only had a night show. may contain inaccuracies or mistakes as always. enjoy!

masterlist | send a request or say hi :)

»»————-　♡　————-««

although you loved working at your little newspaper job, it'd been a rough last few weeks. your boss only allowing you to write the most boring articles you'd ever written. local woman celebrates her 100th birthday, it rained yesterday, the price of milk went up by one cent, it wasn't enough. you needed more, a challenge. so when the awful, loud coworker that you hated oh so much got the piece for elvis presley's upcoming show at madison square garden, allowing her to attend the press conference, you were about 5 seconds away from quitting.

"oh, they're definitely fucking." another coworker whispered to you, leaning on your cubicle. you scoffed. "no way, i just think she's good at kissing his ass." you turned your head to the side, watching as she let out a squeal as she hugged your boss tightly. "yeah, if sucking dick counts as kissing ass. you deserved that piece." they said to you, walking away after giving you a slight pat on the back. it was true though, you deserved to write about it. that should have been you screaming and thanking your boss. you put in more effort into your work than she did, it wasn't fair. apparently your other coworkers thought the same, inviting you out to drinks after work. you raised your glass, "here's to hoping somethin' very very bad happens to her-" you slurred. "-so the article goes to me!" everyone laughed and raised their glasses along with you. obviously you didn't want her dead or anything that crazy, just something enough to let your boss hand it over to you.

it was almost as if the gods above you heard your prayers. you had the day of the press conference off and had slept in a few hours later than usual. the phone rang, waking you up from your deep sleep. you answered groggily to your boss who asked if you'd be able to attend in your coworkers place as she'd gotten the flu and could no longer go. you couldn't turn the offer down, it was a dream come true. not only would you be seeing elvis up close and in real life but this piece could have people taking you more seriously. now all you had to do was come up with questions to ask him. this was supposed to be his first large show in new york and you had the honor of being there, you needed to have good questions but you also needed to look good.

after a shower and rushing the office to get your press pass, you finally made it to the hotel for the conference. you'd never been so nervous for anything in your life, you were practically shaking when you showed your pass to get in. there were people everywhere, cameras everywhere all over the floor. you still managed to get a spot near the front, right in front of the table where elvis would be seated. you pulled out your recorder and notepad from your bag. it was such a surreal moment for you. it got more real once his father was brought out , followed by vernon waving and taking a quick seat right as the same man who introduced him announced "mr.presley brought a friend with him!". the room filled with claps and cheers as elvis walked out, smiling and standing proud next to his father, hands on his hips and nodding towards everyone. he looked incredible, wearing the prettiest shade of blue you'd ever seen that goes well with his tan, the undershirt was gorgeous. a white and blue floral-dotted pattern with the collar up. not to mention the dark blue cape supported by his collar.

"first of all, i plead innocent of all charges!" he joked as he took a seat.

him and vernon took a second to adjust their seating. "we love you elvis!" a woman yelled from the back. "thank you dear, love you too. thank you" he said loud and proud, leaving you melting. elvis was so lovely, always cracking jokes and making everyone laugh but always giving everyone a real answer. you hadn't spoken up though, the nerves were getting to you, still starstruck by the fact elvis was right in front of you. you just couldn't get over how handsome he looked, that shade of blue against his tan skin was doing something to you. if you had been sitting down, you'd definitely have to cross your legs or keep your thighs tightly squeezed together. you made the mistake of wearing a skirt as well, everyone else was dressed casually while you were dressed like it was another day at the office. the way he stood up to unbutton his blazer and show off his gold belt definitely made those feelings of yours a lot worse.

a little later into the conference, elvis finally took a glance at you, giving you a soft smile. "you hadn't said a word this whole time, cat got your tongue?" you turned slightly red as his words, truth is, you didn't really know what to ask him. "a-ah-mr.presley, you'll have to excuse me.." you stuttered. "elvis." he corrected. "-elvis, i'm just a little starstruck that's all." he let out a small laugh. "um-so-how are you enjoying new york? has anything caught your eye? you must be very excited to play tonight."

elvis moved his eyes up and down on you, grinning. "oh, something has caught my eye, alright." your mouth dropped, leaving you speechless. "i've been enjoyin' new york, real excited for tonight. it's gonna be a good show."

there were a few more questions, a couple towards vernon along with a few photos being taken. the colonel finally came out, saying they had to wrap it up. you almost felt sad, only keeping your eyes glued to elvis and the suit he was in till he left the room. as you got up, you were quickly approached by someone on his team asking for you to stay behind. your nerves getting the best of you once again, were you in trouble? everyone cleared out, taking their cameras and such out of the room as you stayed behind, taking a seat on the edge of the stage.

"hey darlin', sorry to keep you waiting." if you had turned your head any faster, you could have easily broken your neck. there he was, the most beautiful man to ever walk on this earth, walking towards you with that famous lip curling grin on his face.

you got on your feet, pushing your skirt back down to an appropriate level. "oh my-mr.presley! it's an honor to meet you!" you held your hand out for him to shake, to which he took and placed his lips on the back of your hand. "thought i told you to call me elvis, hon."

"right! sorry, mr-ah-elvis." you replied awkwardly. "what can i do you for?" you asked, trying to not look down at the rest of him. you couldn't help but stare.

"i'm supposed to go back and rehearse for tonight, but i think there's somethin' better i'd like to do instead." he moved his face closer to yours, the smell of his cologne and aftershave filling the inside of your nose.

"and what would that be?"

"why don't you come with me and find out?" he said under his breath. he took your hand and scurried you to his room, trying to avoid more of the press and his manager.

clicking the lock behind him, he began to shimmy off his blazer before you stopped him. "can you leave that on? just for a minute?" he raised an eyebrow at you, pulling you closer to him. "you like the suit mama? saw you eyein' me down in there" he had you pressed against him with his arms around your waist.

"thought you looked so pretty up there," you ran your hand over the soft fabric of his bright blue blazer, adjusting his collar slightly. "matches your eyes."

a shiver went down his spine as you touched him, aching for you more and more. "well, aren't you sweet?" he chuckled, placing a hand on your cheek.

"here's what's gonna happen baby, you're gonna suck me off then you're come to my show tonight and let me fuck you afterwards, sound good?" he explained, your own arousal was growing more and more as you felt him against you.

"yessir." he pulled away from you, chucking the gold plated belt that he had shown off earlier onto the bed then untucking his shirt from his pants. you kneeled down, the rough carpet hard on your knees. you'd definitely be feeling that later. you ran your hand over the swell on his pants and scanned his eyes for permission as you reached for the zipper. "go on, baby."

you unzipped the bright blue pants and carefully dragged them down to his thighs, being met with with his leaking, hard cock. you almost wanted to comment on his choice of wearing no underwear, but the clock was ticking. you took him in your hand, pumping him a few times before licking along the angry, protruding vein on the underside of his cock. you slowly took him in to give your throat time to adjust. taking him all in, he let out a soft groan and placed a hand in your hair.

he watched as you took him in and out of your mouth, fingernails digging into his thighs. "gonna let me fuck that mouth of yours?"

you moaned in response, his cock twitching at the vibration from your noises. he moved his hand to the back of your head, gripping at your hair as he fully thrusted himself in you. you were pretty much swallowing him whole, gagging slightly causing tears to fall from the corners of your eyes. "you should look at yourself hon, lookin' so fucked out. goddamn, you're gorgeous."

your throat relaxed around him, glassy eyes locking into his lust-filled ones as he began to thrust in and out of your mouth slowly. "yea baby, just like that." he gasped, throwing his head back as his movements went faster.

"not gonna last--where do you want me?" he shakily asked.

you gave his thighs a squeeze, groaning around him as permission to cum down your throat. the last thing you wanted was for him to ruin and make a mess of that pretty blue suit of his. your noises sent him shooting right down your throat, the taste both salty and sweet, swallowing all of it right up and not missing a single drop.

he panted heavily as you slowly removed him from your mouth, licking his tip one last time before carefully pulling his pants up and shoving him back in. "wouldn't want to make a mess, would we?" you said hoarsely, zipping him back up.

he helped you stand back up, gently fixing your skirt for you. "oh, i'm gonna have some fun with you tonight." he teased. "hate to leave you like this but the colonel's gonna be knockin' on my door any minute." he brought his face close to yours, pulling you in again with a arm around your waist. "wanna see you front row, wait after the show and someone will bring you backstage." he said softly. "gonna treat you real good." he placed a gentle kiss on your lips, tasting himself on you. "leave five minutes after i leave, got it?"

"yes, mr.presley." you nodded, purposely not calling him elvis just to rile him up. he pulled away, growling slightly. "thought i told you to call me by my name, but i guess you don't wanna listen." he shook his head and opened the door. "brace yourself, little one. watch yourself." elvis warned before leaving and exiting his room, letting the door slam behind him.

you were front and center for his show that night, just as promised. it was hard going home and resisting the urge to touch yourself, to give yourself some sweet relief after the events from earlier. even during the show, you were practically dripping. it wouldn't be a surprise if you'd left the seat a mess. you had to remind yourself that you needed to pay attention to not just how elvis looked that night, but how his performance was. after all, you had an article to write and unfortunately, you can't exactly have 'i gave elvis head and he fucked me later after his concert!' as the headline, although it'd definitely be eye catching. doesn't really roll off the tongue though.

just as elvis said, someone came for you not long after the show, bringing you to elvis's dressing room where he was sitting on the couch in his white jumpsuit with gold stones decorated around it, zipped down past his chest. you muttered a quick thank you as the man shut the door behind you. "lock the door." he said straight away.

"no hello?" you scoffed, doing as he said then standing awkwardly.

"pft. sorry darlin' c'mere, take a seat next to me." he pat the empty side of the couch for you to sit, giving you a soft smile as you took a seat next to him. "enjoy the show?"

"oh, of course. you were amazing!" you replied quickly. "you really do know how to put on a show, mr.presley."

he tsk'ed at you, shaking his head once again at you not calling him by his name. "you really don't listen, do you?"

elvis pulled your legs over to his lap, causing you to slightly lay flat on the couch. "you know, i don't like when people don't listen to me." he lifted up your leg slightly, throwing your shoe off and trailing kisses from your ankle and down your leg then doing the same to the other.

"guess i need to be punished then?" you teased. "oh mr.presley, please don't punish me!"

elvis took in a sharp inhale at your obvious-fake tone, setting down your leg and crawling over you, one knee in between your thighs and touching slightly at the wetness under your skirt. "no underwear, huh? how dirty." he dug his knee deeper, smirking slightly at the small whine coming from you. "so goddamn wet, you're gonna make a mess of the whole couch."

you slowly pushed yourself onto his knee, begging for any sort of friction on your arching core. you pulled him down to you by his collar, kissing him deeply and opening your mouth slightly for him to slip his tongue inside. you ran your hands over his dark-haired chest up and down as you moaned into his mouth, his knee rubbing up and down your folds. "please-"

you felt yourself getting closer to your orgasm just by rubbing yourself against the fabric of his suit, breathing heavily under elvis. he removed his knee, sitting up slightly. "elvis!" you groaned.

"oh, now you wanna say my name?" he ripped your shirt off, buttons flying everywhere, running his hands under your bra and gripping your breasts, squeezing them as he placed kisses everywhere. you unhooked your bra, allowing elvis to toss it to the side and bite around your sensitive areas. "fuck!" you shouted. he was definitely leaving marks that you'd have to cover before returning to work tomorrow, there's no way you were going to be explaining how elvis gave you those marks in the first place.

elvis sat up again, pulling down your skirt and throwing it then bending back down, trailing kisses from your breasts to your dripping, wet pussy. he licked up the wetness, tasing your juices before using his fingers to tease at the bundle of nerves. "you touch yourself today?" he asked, giving your clit a slight pinch.

"n-no, saved myself for you." you stuttered, squeezing your thighs slightly around him.

"good." with no warning, he inserted two fingers inside you, the feeling of his long, calloused fingers you saw him use to play his guitar earlier sending you waves of pleasure. he curled them both, moving them in a fast pace before finally hitting deep enough to make you clench around him.

his eyes met yours, feeling his own cock twitch at the sight of you. "god, you're beautiful." he pulled his fingers out of you right as you were about to climax again.

you let out a soft whine at the emptiness, "elvis-" he unzipped his jumpsuit, shimmying out of it and allowing his fully-hard cock to slap against his stomach, red and dripping with precum. "i know, baby. hold on."

"need you so bad." you creeped a hand down to touch yourself as you watched elvis undress and tore open a small condom packet.

he slipped it on and swat your hand away. "sorry mamas, can't be too careful." you flashed him a quick smile. "unlike most men." you joked.

elvis laughed in response. "well, i ain't like most men am i?" you shook your head. "hell no."

he let out another throaty laugh, slowly pushing himself inside of you, groaning at the sudden tightness. "god, you feel so good." he let you adjust a moment, not hesitating to look into your eyes for approval to move.

it was a shame this would most likely be the only time you'd ever see him, you adored him. in love with how gentle he was with you. "elvis, fuck me. please."

"just because you said please." he purred, thrusting into you like there was no tomorrow. you loved the feeling, you felt so full. it had been so long since any man in your life had made you feel this way. he moved faster, pulling you up as you wrapped your arms around his neck. he kissed you again, breathing and taking you all in. his arms snaked around your waist, enjoying your warm embrace as he fucked you into oblivion. you let out loud moans into his mouth as you continued to kiss him. "oh elvis, elvis-" the position allowed hit against your g-spot again, the feeling more arousing than before. "oh my god, elvis."

his hips moved faster under yours, panting heavily into your ear. "yeah baby, say my name, wanna hear you scream it, c'mon." you pushed him slightly against the armrest of the couch, allowing yourself to bounce up and down on his lap. you were sure everyone outside his dressing room could hear the lewd noises coming from the both of you, but you could tell elvis didn't care. "takin' me so good." he groaned. you felt him suddenly twitch as his thighs tightened, he gripped your hips tightly as he came, sure enough to leave bruises later.

you came shortly after, screaming his name as you tilted your head back, moaning and making noises you never thought you could make. your legs shook as you rode him through your own orgasm, gripping onto elvis for dear life.

"good lord." he panted. you laid yourself on top of elvis to catch your breath, him still inside you. "i don't-" you breathed. "i don't think i've ever orgasmed like that in my whole life." you said in a breathy laugh.

"you and me both." he said, letting out a sigh. "think you can sit up for me?" you slowly got up, your body starting to slowly ache as you got off of him and winced at the emptiness. "think i might have to call off of work tomorrow." you threw yourself back on the couch as he stood up to throw the condom in the trash. "you gonna write a good article on me?" he tied a robe around himself and grabbed an extra one for you before walking to you to clean you up.

"no, i'm gonna write a piece on how terrible you are." he rolled his eyes at your sarcasm, tossing the robe beside you. "after all we've been through?" he fake-cried. you slipped the robe on, not bothering to tie it. "oh shut up, you big baby." elvis took a seat next to you, wrapping his arm around you and lighting a cigar in the other. "listen baby, you say what you wanna say. but if you're nice enough, maybe i'll let you see me again."

you did write a good piece of him, mentioning how great he was on stage and how everyone should see him live at least once. but it was the way you wrote about the press conference and the blue suit that had people swooning. and yes, he called you a few days after the article came out.

#part of me likes this but part of me doesn't #i just wanted to get something out this week #elvis #elvis x reader #elvis 2022 #elvis presley #elvis smut

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xieyaohuan · 7 months

Text

Public Relations

Cozy Corner Kinktober prompt: Voyeurism

Warnings: voyeurism. I feel like I should add more warnings, but I'm not sure what the right keywords are. So here is your warning for the general disturbingness of the way things are wired in Homelander's brain.

When the first complaints came in, they were considered a bit of a running joke inside the company. For almost three months, each time this came up in a PR meeting, someone would crack a joke along the lines of “Well, he’s just doing what any good hero should do: watching over the citizens of New York,” and everyone would chuckle and move on.

That, at least, was what Madelyn's sources told her later when she made her inquiries.

She had heard rumors that Homelander was doing something that people at the company found amusing, but it seemed harmless enough, no more than the usual gossip mill, really, so she didn't bother asking for details.

That was a mistake, of course. As always with these kinds of things, at some point, the right person picked up the phone, bumping it up the chain of command. By the time Stan Edgar decided to inform Madelyn that there was a problem, it had been escalated to the board.

At first, Madelyn didn't want to believe it. “He’s doing what?”

Mr. Edgar simply handed her a USB drive. “We’ve been tracking him for months now. He’s discreet enough 90% of the time, but he’s been spotted more than once.”

Madelyn stared at the flash disc in her hand. “How bad is it?”

“We’re sorting out social media as we speak, but I’m going to be honest with you, we barely managed to keep the footage off the 9 PM news. You’re going to have to take action, Madelyn, and fast. We can’t keep having these complaints or someone in this city is going to run on an anti-Vought platform next election cycle.”

That was almost certainly an exaggeration. Still, Madelyn sees his point when she watches the footage. It’s disturbing. It has to stop.

She brings it up the next time Homelander barges into her office unannounced. It’s a bad habit he’s picked up lately, and she hates it with a passion. If this will help discourage him, all the better.

“You’ve been outside the Tower a lot lately.”

“Mh-mhm,” he says. “Yeah. That's right. You told me to go out more. Make some friends. Right? I’ve been making friends. You were right. Having friends is great. Turns out I really like having friends.”

“I see.” She’s not offended he’s trying to spin this into a win, just that his attempt is so crude. But she also has to be careful how she phrases the next part. “Listen. I don’t want to pry. But it seems you’ve been doing some things that are… unsettling to people.”

“Mh-mhmm.” He nods, but the artificial smile has dropped off his face. “Like what?”

Wordlessly, Madelyn presses the remote control of her TV. The video is dark because it was taken during the middle of the night, but the camera has unmistakably captured a person hovering in the air. The number of supes who could do that for hours on end is already limited, but as if that wasn’t enough, the US flag cape floats into vision each time a gust of wind lifts it. It’s Homelander, fifty feet above the ground, his eyes glowing slightly every once in a while in an otherwise expressionless face, staring intently at the brick wall of someone's Upper Westside home. (It would be less disturbing if he was peeking through the window, she thinks.)

When he starts rubbing himself through his pants, Madelyn turns the TV off. It only gets worse from here; she really doesn't have to watch again. She has no clue who lives behind those walls and what they’re doing, though she can take a good guess.

“I think you get the picture.”

Homelander doesn’t say anything.

“This was sent to us anonymously,” she continues. That’s a lie. People did film him, that was what started this whole mess with the board. But this here is Vought’s very own footage, captured by one of its many panoramic cameras spread across the City. But their mere existence is on a need to know basis, and Homelander most certainly does not need to know the company has been using them to track him. “It goes on for 75 minutes.” Only because the full 8 hour footage the panorama camera captured didn’t fit on the drive, but Homelander doesn’t need to know that, either. “Do you have anything to say?”

“It’s not illegal!” He counters. It’s the latest line he’s been trying on her whenever she finds fault with something he’s doing, and it’s annoying Madelyn more than she cares to admit. But his face has turned red, and he knows he’s in trouble.

“It is, actually,” she says. “It is quite illegal to masturbate in public.” She puts the remote down. “But that’s not the point. What it is is damaging. It’s damaging to you, damaging to the Seven, and it’s very damaging to the company.”

He doesn’t try to talk back this time — dismiss her concern or argue about the definition of public and whether fifty feet up in the air counts, as she feared he might. Instead, he’s just standing there, biting his lip, avoiding her gaze.

“I thought we were over this,” Madelyn says, sitting down on the couch with a sigh. “You’d been so good lately. Listening to me, always. I thought I could trust you. And then you go and harm us like this.”

His arms are locked behind his back, his nose twitching as he’s struggling not to cry in front of her. She knows each word she’s saying stings like a lash would an ordinary person, the pain building, until finally, he bursts into tears. She could read him the comments under one of the videos Vought just managed to have removed from V-Tube, but she can tell that won’t be necessary.

“Come here.” She pats her lap, and after brief hesitation, he kneels down in front of her, resting his head on her knees. She runs her hand through his hair, tracing his ears with her fingertips before settling on softly scratching his scalp.

Earlier, she was afraid he would protest, maybe argue with her, deny what he did, but as long as she keeps scratching his head, he stays quiet, content, rubbing his face against her skirt, breathing in her scent.

“Promise me,” Madelyn says. “Promise me you won’t do this again. Whatever you want, whatever you need, I can get it for you. If you want a girlfriend, I’ll find you a nice, young woman your age. You don’t have to watch other people through the walls. I’ll make sure you have everything you need. I’ll take good care of you.”

As if to emphasize her words, she bends down to place a kiss on his cheek.

She can feel him shudder in her lap, but he knows it’s the end of their routine. He takes another deep, long breath as if he could somehow conserve the moment in his lungs.

“We’re issuing a statement,” she says as he gets to his feet. “Letting the public know you’ve been helping the FBI with a drug investigation.”

“Thank you, Madelyn. Thank you for always looking out for me.”

“We’re also telling the public that the investigation is over. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

He’s almost at her door when he turns around, a curious look on his face. “Did you know that babies don’t eat like we do?”

“Yes. Yes, Homelander.” Madelyn sighs. He’s been obsessed with babies lately. It’s an obsession she finds puzzling and irritating in equal parts. “Babies don’t eat solid food like us. They drink milk. They should have taught you that as part of your general curriculum in the lab.”

“Of course.” He waves his hand at her dismissively. There’s a smile, just for a fraction of a second. “What I mean is, they don’t eat three meals per day, like we do. They feed every hour or so. Some of them even stay latched on to their mother’s breasts all night long. They don’t really drink the whole time, you know. I guess they just like the feeling of having something in their mouth.”

“Yeah,” Madelyn says, impatient to get him out of her office. Now that this is settled, she can get back to work. “I suppose they do.”

He’s about to open his mouth again, but Madelyn knows how to shut him down. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” She smiles. He knows her impatient smile.

He hesitates for a second, then shakes his head.

Madelyn nods approvingly. “Alright. And remember, whatever you need, I can get it for you. All you have to do is ask.”

Madelyn sits back down behind her desk as he waves goodbye and stumbles out of her office.

Homelander is long gone by the time his last words fully sink in and she has to pause her typing because she’s suddenly feeling sick to her stomach. She can’t even say what exactly it is that she finds so disturbing about what she just realized. After all, it doesn’t really matter who’s behind that wall and what they are doing, whether they’re having sex or feeding a baby. All that matters is what gets caught on camera. Still. She's going to have to get ahead of this one this time.

She picks up the phone and calls 82.

#homelander x anonymous #homelander x madelyn stillwell #homewell #prompt: voyeurism #voyeurism tw #homelander's brain tw #cozy corner kinktober #the boys #my fic #disturbing stuff I wrote while stuck on a plane lol

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findmeinasunshower · 2 years

Text

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝑩𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒔: 𝑩𝒂𝒌𝒖𝒈𝒐 𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒔𝒖𝒌𝒊

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥-𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 : 2.7k

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 : prohero!bakugo x gender-neutral prohero!reader. get together fic, Halloween edition! 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 : “Fuck candy corn.”

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 : language (it’s bakugo), alcohol, gets a lil spicy at the end, but it’s sfw! :)

You walked into Bakugo’s life five years ago when he and Deku created Might Agency, and the nerd convinced him they needed to hire a sidekick. But not just any sidekick — no, as usual, the little asshole had a plan up his sleeve and gave him your resumé that same day. Upon one look, Bakugo immediately knew why Deku wanted to hire you.

“The Wonder Duo” had been involved in primarily high-profile crime since graduating from U.A. In order to expand, they needed someone who could work both in and out of the spotlight that comes along with the Pro Hero world.

You were fresh out of U.A., only a couple of years their junior, and had not only the perfect quirk for what they needed but the perfect skill set. You're basically a living battery — able to draw on the electricity around you and turn it into energy, where you then manipulate it and create glowing hot light. Not only that, but you took every business course U.A. had to offer on the side in case you ever had the chance to run an agency.

And so, fresh out of high school, you were stunned to be hired on to build the Undercover Unit at Might Agency.

Five years later, Bakugo knew you’d be the talk of the Halloween Gala before your glittering shoes even touched the red carpet.

The Halloween tradition started eight years ago as an excuse for Bakugo’s graduating class to dress up together and be assholes outside of the public eye. Ponytail hired a bunch of people to decorate her gigantic house, and their whole class got together to celebrate the holiday. But as they all rose to fame, so too did the event itself, until now it’s nearly at a Met Gala level of publicity in Japan.

Today’s dominating news story (masterfully planted by their agency’s manager) said it all: “After five years of groundbreaking undercover work, Pro Hero Celestial emerges to join the ranks above ground and train a new generation of underground heroes at Might Agency.”

You’re the elusive sidekick-turned-partner of Pro Heroes’ Deku and Dynamight. So he isn’t surprised when he’s halfway down the red carpet leading up to Ponytail’s house, avoiding as much of the press lined up behind the barrier as he can, and he sees every camera within his field of vision turn to the entrance of the carpet. And somehow he knows you’re there.

And later in the night, when he slips into one of Momo's million supply closets to see you standing in the corner, part of him isn't all that surprised that you had the same idea as him. Even if he does shout a loud "Fuck!" upon seeing you.

You simply take a deep breath to calm your heart rate after his explosive entrance, then casually hold out a small cup of candy corn you must have snagged from one of the snack tables. “Candy corn?” you offer.

“Fuck Candy corn,” Bakugo bites back. He shoves himself into the opposite wall and watches as you pop a piece of the nothing-flavored snack into your mouth. “The fuck are you doing in here?” he asks.

“Three ‘fucks’ in under a minute? That has to be a new record,” you joke dryly around a mouthful of your prize.

“Twinkles.” The only indication that the use of your nickname has an effect on you is a single blink before you go back to eating. Bakugo sighs and yanks off the stupid pirate hat and eyepatch his stylist had given him this year so he can focus on you better. “Why are you in here?” he tries again.

Candy corn now gone, you toss the cup dejectedly to the floor and cross your arms. “Hiding,” you respond vaguely.

“Hiding? From what?” he asks.

You roll your eyes and fix him with a glare, and Bakugo finds himself momentarily stunned by having your full attention on him for the first time especially when you look like that. “What do you think, Bakugo?”

He raises his eyebrows at the use of his last name. You haven’t used it since your first year as a sidekick, nearly six years ago. At that time, you called him solely “Dynamight out of respect, before eventually graduating to “Bakugo-san” a few months later when you got sick of his grumbling. But ever since you officially came on as a partner of the agency three years ago and the two of you got into your first screaming match, you’ve insisted on calling him solely “Katsuki” just to piss him off.

So, you calling him Bakugo sets off every friendship red flag Shitty Hair has drilled into him over the years.

He’s careful as he matches your position, propping his leg up on the wall behind him and crossing his arms. You look at him suspiciously as he settles in to wait, and Bakugo rolls his eyes, waving his hand impatiently. “Well?” he prompts.

You fix him with a glare, and he fights the shudder that threatens to quake through him. Apparently realizing that he’s not going to back down, you hug yourself and mumble: “I don’t want to be a publicity prize.”

Bakugo raises an eyebrow. “A ‘publicity prize?’” he prompts.

You gesture down at your costume, the diamonds along your sleeves glittering in the darkness from the slight movement. “Some tabloids are already calling me “Shining Seven,’” you complain. “I only hit seven in the rankings last week.”

“Only reason you didn’t earlier—”

“—Is because I was undercover, I know,” you finish with a sigh. “I’m just…I’m not like you and Midoriya. I’m not used to being in the spotlight, you know? And I was thrust in so quickly, and debuting dressed like this, everybody suddenly thinks…I don’t even know, but I swear if one more sidekick asks for a picture with me I’m—”

“Whoa whoa whoa, slow down.” Your friend finally steps forward and grasps your shoulders firmly. “How do you manage to talk about everything and nothing all at once?”

“Probably hanging out with Midoriya too much.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Bakugo growls, and he’s relieved when you chuckle under your breath. A pair of laughing voices passes outside your hiding spot and you both go quiet as you wait for them to pass.

Looking at you as you peer through the crack in the door to the party beyond, Bakugo realizes this is the first time he’s properly looked at you today. You’re draped from head to toe in robes of midnight blue velvet, the color imitating the night sky perfectly. Hundreds of glittering diamonds are embedded throughout the fabric, making it look like you’re glowing from within, the effect emphasized by the luminescent lotion your stylist gave you to put on.

To finish the look, your features were dusted with just the barest hint of makeup, simultaneously enhancing your natural features and accentuating your heavenly appearance. Finally, a halo diadem of jewels and stars is laid to rest atop your head.

You look astral. Eternal. Your stylist had dressed you as a Deity of Light.

Katsuki clears his throat, and you turn your bright eyes on him at the sound, eyes immediately furrowing in confusion when he won’t meet your eye. You blink in surprise as he mutters, “I’ll be right back,” and sweeps the curtain aside.

His fiery blush has faded into a frustrated scowl by the time he reaches the open bar set up in one of Ponytail’s dining rooms and orders “two of whatever the most popular drink is.” The bartender nervously shoves the drinks toward him less than a minute later, and the hero grunts in appreciation before heading back to you.

You’re still there when he yanks open the door and shoves a large, neon green cup in your hands. It sloshes over with the force of his handover, splashing your overlapped fingers with whatever the mixed drink is made up of. “For you,” he insists.

You startle a little bit and wrap both hands around the cup, looking down at the mysteriously foaming purple drink, then back up at him with those cosmic eyes. “Did you put anything in it?” you ask with faux gravity.

Bakugo scoffs, “fuck off,” and crosses his arms, and you giggle into your drink. The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional comment on the music or harmless tease at each other’s costumes. You finish your drinks together, simply enjoying each other’s company and listening to the party booming throughout the rest of the house.

Eventually, the two of you find yourselves seated shoulder to shoulder on the floor, and you ask: “Bakugo…why are you in here?”

He scowls and cocks an eyebrow as he looks at you. Your face is starting to get a lovely flush from the drink he brought you. “What, I can’t be in here?”

“I didn’t say that. I asked why you were here.” You lift your head off of his shoulder so you can look at him clearly, and tilt your head to the side with a small smile at whatever you see. “Though I’m not complaining,” you tack on.

Katsuki’s eyes widen at the meaning behind your words, face going hot as your gazes hold. A smile spreads slowly across your features at his stunned silence, and the last of Katsuki’s brain cells go out the window at the sight. Your smile quickly turns into laughter, and Bakugo assumes that he’s probably never looked more like Dunce Face than he does right now.

“Shut up,” he insists, still flushed red and lacking his usual vitriol. “I can’t believe you’re not embarrassed to say that out loud.”

“If anyone else were sitting next to me, I would be,” you admit, settling back into the wall with a smile. Your voice is quieter, more hesitant when you say: “I guess I’m just comfortable with you.”

He blinks in shock, pulling away from you at that last, quiet confession. With the way your voice got small, plus the mild flirtation not only earlier but in the past, plus the alcohol running through his veins, the realization hits him like a truck.

A part of him has known he’s had feelings of you for a good while now, but it’s a part of himself Katsuki never acknowledged. He was always too busy, whether it be with the responsibility that is building an agency from the ground up or just hero work in general. The two of you have orbited around each other ever since you met, working in the same place and tasked with the same end goal, but taking different routes to get there. Katsuki was your main supporter when you decided to put anonymity behind and work on training the new generation of underground heroes. He was the one to talk to Deku and convince him to implement the Underground Unit so that you could come on full-time.

You’ve been an integral part of Katsuki’s life for years — a star in his galaxy.

Only now is he finally realizing why.

The only thing he can find himself saying as he looks at you in that dusty closet is: “You’re comfortable with me,” with disbelief stark in his flat voice. Your eyes are still so bright when they lock with his in the dark, and they widen as he leans across you, bringing his face closer to yours. “Same,” he whispers.

“What?” you ask, eyes flitting all over his face.

“I mean same,” he repeats, and you gasp as Katsuki takes your hand in his. He’s practically laying across your lap now, and his face is oh-so-close to yours. “I mean,” Katsuki sighs and fights the instinct to scowl as he searches for the right words. “I’m also comfortable. Around you.”

Your gaze on him doesn’t falter as he looks away and reaches for his empty cup, wishing there were still something in it at least to have something to do other than look at your all-knowing face. But eventually the feel of your attention on him pulls him back to you, and Katsuki blinks when he sees you smiling shyly.

“Dynamight,” you say in a teasing tone. “Are you hitting on me right now?”

Katsuki scoffs again and leans back into the wall. “I’m not not hitting on you,” he grumbles.

“You’re not kidding?” you ask, leaning into his space so he’s forced to look at you.

Your proximity sends his heart into overdrive, and he suddenly finds himself dropping his cup so he can pull you into him, nose to nose, breath to nervous breath.

“I don’t kid when it comes to you,” he breathes against your mouth.

And then it’s you who throws your arms around Katsuki and pulls him into a messy, clumsy kiss. A faint whimper escapes you at the first touch of Katsuki’s tongue on yours, and the sound shakes him right to his toes. “Fuck,” he growls against your mouth, barely able to breathe from the force of your embrace. “Come here.”

Your whimper is needier this time as Bakugo wraps his arms around you and fully hauls you against his chest, kissing you like he’s drowning and you’re oxygen. The only thing you can do is hold on, arms draped around his neck like a western damsel in distress. He holds you just as tightly, and you feel him shudder against you as he breaks the kiss in favor of closing his mouth over your pulse point.

“Yesss,” you hiss between your teeth and arch into Katsuki, closing your eyes and reveling in the feel of his solid, solid shoulders underneath your grasping hands. “Katsuki—”

“Baku-bro? You in there?”

You shriek and jump away from Katsuki at the sound of Kirishima’s voice, covering your mouth with your hands. Bakugo is already on his feet and reaching for the door handle, grasping it just in time to pull it closed as his friend tries to open it. “Go away, Shitty Hair! I’m busy!”

“...In a closet?”

“A stupid sidekick spilled their fucking drink on me,” he lies smoothly, glancing at you as you get to your feet in the corner. “Needed a quiet place to clean up.”

“For an hour?” A snicker sounds from the other side of the door, and Katsuki glowers deeply at the realization it’s Kaminari.

“Fuck off, Dunce Face! I’m not going out there fucking shirtless!”

“Alright, alright,” Kirishima says, ever the peacekeeper. “We’ll be in the main hall when you’re ready.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Bakugo takes a deep, centering breath as he listens to his friends walk away before he turns back to you. Your arms are crossed, leaning against the back wall with a hesitant smile on your face. That won’t do.

“Well,” Bakugo says, harnessing his worked-up liquid/adrenal courage one last time. He steps forward and wraps his arms around you, bringing your hips together in a small bump. This time, he doesn’t stop the shudder that runs through him when your eyes meet his, and he revels in the sound of your small, stuttering gasp when he runs his hands down your arms. “Should we rejoin the party, Twinkles?”

You shake your head in disbelief and reach up to fiddle with the frayed ties of the open white shirt of his costume. “Shouldn’t we talk about this?” you whisper.

Bakugo shrugs. “I mean, we could talk about it now.” You relax into his arms when he leans down to kiss you again, and you find yourself swaying slightly and blinking bubbles out of your eyes when he pulls away. “Or we could talk about it later.”

You hesitate for only a moment before you’re rolling up onto your toes and hauling Bakugo down to your height so you can kiss him properly. “Definitely later,” you insist against his mouth.

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