izzy

if you ever catch a post of mine looking wildly different that’s because it probably isׂׂૢ 18!

[penguinsravioli]

⁺ ︵ ⸝⸝🦷 ：❝Oh, because I wanted us to fail! Obviously, I didnt know..❝⁺ ₊ ✦⋆ ｡ ˚

━━❝I go by Izzy, I'm in so many fandoms I might have to make a new masterlists lol ❞

⁺ ︵

I am black, I go by she/her pronouns, aspiring tattoo artist but i'm majoring in psychology

i've been told i'm a square a numerous amount of times and i'm sure you can see it in my writing.

This acc is for the "weird" black girls that didn't have the type of fic they were looking for growing up. ⋆ ｡ ˚

⁺ ︵♪I'm super inconsistent with my writing, I apologize if you wanted some consistency lmao I will highkey try to fix that

⁺ ︵♪I try to keep my xreaders as neutral as possible, but if you have a specfic request i'm not opposed to it.

━━━━━━━❝accounts❝

♪ my art acc (insta); penguinthatlikeswater

♪my main account (insta); penguinsravioli

♪ my pinterest; penguinsravioli

━━━━━━━❝masterlist❝

❝penguins are underrated, love those guys.❞━━⁺ ₊ ✦⋆ ｡ ˚

[vampyrfangz]

[penguinsravioli]

so essentially I needa be smushed in between both Quen and Tyriq like bad. Like I need them at the SAME TIME CAUSE IM GREEDY

[penguinsravioli]

Hi Izzy! I stumbled upon your Ant x reader story, and I was a little curious, but are you Australian? As I was reading, I noticed you said middle school WHIXH is something we don’t have in Australia

Love your writing! It’s very good!!

I am not from Australia! I try to make my stories feel as close and authentic as I can, so I kid u not I’ve been researching a bunch to make sure it’s as accurate as possible. Also which chapter was that because I know nothinnnnn about the school system out there as much as I attempt to keep it close to home😅

[penguinsravioli]

Do you still write for heartbreak high

Yes yes! School has gotten me hella wrapped up, sorry for the lack of updates 😓

[penguinsravioli]

https://www.tumblr.com/penguinsravioli/808392309694709760/get-the-fuck-outttt-oh-my-goodness-he-bout-to-be

Where did you get this pic?

On Instagram! both Tyriq and Quen posted photos of them at a modeling show today 😛

[penguinsravioli]

GET THE FUCK OUTTTT OH MY GOODNESS

He bout to be in cookin with Quen?!?

[nostalgic-teddyy]

i’m so happy I’m black like it’s so fun over here

[penguinsravioli]

Cameron Cade x reader; Glasses

a/n: short lil fluff thingy. Semi-inspired by that scene in heated rivalry when ilya calls Shane and he got them glasses on.

I type away on my computer, sipping my overly honeyed tea whilst I scroll through the rest of my math assignment. Ignoring the stinging feeling on my tongue from the drink being too hot, I bite my bottom lip. Eyes focused on the instructions given on the homework. I push my glasses back up my nose, mindlessly scrunching the bridge of my nose to make sure they were secure.

RING RING RING

I squeak, rolling my eyes at my action. “I thought I turned you on do not disturb.” Lifting my phone up to see the caller ID, of course, it’s Cameron. I check the time on my laptop.

10:05 P.M. I scoff, a playful grin flying on my face when I ignore his call. My phone rings again a second later and I give in, irritated at the jingle being looped. “What do you want Cam.”

“What’s up with all the hostility Ma? I jus wanted to hear your voice for real.”

“Yeah yeah whatever. I’m trying to study and you interrupting.” I hold back a snicker, my smile deepening as the corners of my lips curve. I hear him smack his lips in his phone microphone. “I’m just playin’ with you, big baby.” I laugh, going back to doing my assignment whilst I wait for him to respond. “Answer my FaceTime, I wanna see you to matter fact.” I roll my eyes for the third time tonight, clicking the end button and joining his new call. “Woah? You wear glasses?”

I pay no mind, continuing to write in my notebook, “Only when I need em, just for assignments n’ things.” Cameron is silent on the other end, “Wear those more often for me, you look sexy.” I set my pen down, giving him my full attention now. “Oh for real?”

“For real. You lucky I’m not there with yo’ pretty ass now.” I chuckle, scratching my neck bashfully. “Got you blushing and I’m not even there.”

“Oh hush Cam.” Cameron snickers on the other side of the line. I’m on my knees in a cat like position, akin to when they loaf up for their evening naps. I bite my bottom lip, squinting my eyes slightly at the equation on my screen. “This equation pissin me off. I don’t know what the fuck I’m looking at.”

I groan, head slumping forward in defeat. “You jus need a break, pretty. When is it due?” Cameron pauses the show he was wrapped up in, now looking at his MacBook screen to face me. “Like, in 5 days but I wanna do it early because I have 4 more assignments due soon as well.”

Cam blows out air from his mouth, “we got fuckin’ brainiac over here.”

“Yeah and you love this brainiac.” I bark back, my pointer finger and thumb snapping together when he has nothing to combat with. “Seriously though Ma, don’t stress yourself too much aight?” I sigh, scratching the corner of my eye and slipping off my glasses completely with a nod. “I can be there in an hour tops, then maybe we can work on some stuff together.” He goes quiet for a second, prompting me to look up again. “In the mean time though, rest up.”

“Sir yes Sir!” I throw up my arm as if I were a soldier obeying their officer, the waggish reply flying from my lips with a grin. Cameron rolls his eyes before snapping his fingers together, one last thought rolling off his tongue.

“Oh, and keep them glasses on fa’ me.”

[penguinsravioli]

if I’m slow on my writing my bad guys I’m facing a block, however… I will try to put out at LEAST 4 more fanfics or oneshots before my semester starts up because I know imma be busy. So have faith I swear I’m not leaving the people hanging lol.

[cellophanejpeg]

✶⋆.˚ take my hand, wreck my plans | s. hanta

s. Running an event for heroes means managing chaos, egos, and impossible schedules, so feelings are not part of the job description. Unfortunately, neither is falling for your boss. w. personal assistant reader, slow burn, mutual pininng, suggestive at the end, reader is implied to be overweight w.c. 12k

read on ao3 | m. list

February

This isn’t how you thought you’d be living your adult life.

When you quit your last job, you swore to yourself you wouldn’t be a personal assistant ever again. You were done with condescending bosses who spoke to you like you were their maid, done with the fake smiles and the way they’d forget your name until they needed coffee. You meant it when you said it, too. You were so sure of it back then.

Then your boyfriend broke up with you. On Valentine’s Day.

Now your rent is double what it used to be, and every time you look at your bank app your stomach tightens. If you don’t find a job soon, you’re going to get evicted, and you try not to think too hard about where that leaves you, because the answer keeps dissolving into panic.

That’s why you’re sitting at a small table in the most expensive café in the neighborhood, fingers wrapped around a cup you haven’t touched in minutes, waiting for your soon-to-be boss to arrive.

Last night, in a drunken stupor you’re still paying for, your friend had hooked you up with her cousin’s friend – someone who allegedly needed a personal assistant.

“A pro-hero?” you’d hissed, cheeks warm from the alcohol, the room tilting just slightly. “Those guys are the worst.”

“It’d only be for a year!” Your friend had argued, just as drunk, waving her hand like that solved everything. “He needs someone to help organize an event or whatever. I can hook you up.”

“Okay, I am not sleeping with a pro-hero,” you’d snorted, gulping down more of your now-warm beer.

“Not that type of hook up!”

“Well,” you’d slurred, squinting at her, “it depends, actually. Is he hot?”

She had sighed, long-suffering. “I don’t know. He’s that tape guy who’s always hanging around my cousin.”

“I always forget your cousin is, like, a famous hero or whatever.”

So now, not only are you hungover as hell, but you also made the deeply questionable decision to cyberstalk your ex this morning and discovered he’s already with someone new.

It’s fine, you tell yourself, jaw tight. It’s not like it’s only been a week since the breakup. That piece of shit–

A voice calling your name cuts through your thoughts, and you jolt, looking up too fast.

Tape Guy.

“I’m Sero,” he says, smiling. It’s an easy smile, the kind that looks like it comes naturally, like he’s always finding something mildly amusing about the world.

He’s dressed casually – an oversized T-shirt, comfortable pants – and you don’t know why you half-expected him to show up in full hero gear. Yeah. Maybe because you’d also cyberstalked him and noticed exactly how tight that orange-and-black suit looked on him.

“You can call me Hanta, though.” He pulls out the chair across from you and sits.

“Hi,” you say, introducing yourself, suddenly very aware of your posture, of your hands resting on the table like they don’t know what to do.

“So you’re Kaminari’s cousin’s friend, right?”

“Yeah, um–” You swallow, reaching for your folder like it’s a lifeline. “I brought a copy of my résumé, if you want to take a look.”

You slide the crisp paper toward him. You might be hungover, but if there’s one thing you’re not, it’s unprepared.

“Oh!” he says, blinking. “You didn’t have to, but– okay.”

You watch him skim the page, eyes moving quickly, his expression shifting in small ways you try not to read into.

“Wow,” he says after a moment, sounding genuinely impressed. “You have… experience.”

“Yeah, I’ve always worked as an assistant–”

“No, I mean,” he cuts in, tapping the paper lightly, “you planned a wedding?”

“Yeah,” you say, a little sheepish. “It was a small one, back in my village…”

You still remember how stressful it was – the chaos, the late nights, the way everything felt like it might fall apart at any second – but you also remember your friend’s smile on her wedding day. And honestly? That part had made it worth it.

“Still.” He shrugs. “Weddings are intense.”

Hanta leans back slightly, eyebrows lifting as he looks at you over the edge of the paper. You roll back your shoulder as if you could physically shake off the memory.

“That’s one way to put it,” you mumble. “Everyone’s stressed, everyone’s crying, and somehow everything is your fault.”

He laughs, short and genuine, the sound pulling a reluctant smile out of you. He glances down at your résumé again, tapping it once with his finger like he’s mentally ticking off boxes. You watch the motion, your leg bouncing under the table before you realize you’re doing it and force it still.

“So.” He neatly folds the paper and sets it aside, and you decide it’s a good thing. “Your friend mentioned you’re organized. Like, scary organized.”

“I prefer ‘prepared’, but sure.”

“That’s exactly what I need,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck. The smile fades into something more thoughtful. “Things have been kind of… chaotic lately. I’m good at the hero stuff. The rest? Not so much.”

You nod, slowly. That, at least, feels honest. “What exactly would the job involve?”

“Well,” he starts, then hesitates, eyes drifting to the window like he’s trying to line his thoughts up. “Scheduling, emails, keeping me from double-booking myself. I’ve got a charity event coming up in a few months, and I’m already behind.” He glances back at you, sheepish. “I may or may not have agreed to it without checking my calendar.”

“A charity event.” You repeat, attention peeking. You love a challenge.

“Yeah,” he sighs, already sounding tired of it. “It’s a fundraising event for the quirk counseling project my friend Uraraka created. You know, dinner, speeches, getting rich people to donate their money and stuff.”

You hum thoughtfully. “What kind of timeline are we talking about?”

“Ten months or so. We wanted to do it on New Year’s Eve, have the whole fireworks at midnight gig.”

“That’s doable. Tight in some areas, but doable if we start early.”

Relief flickers across his face. “See? That’s exactly what I need. Someone who doesn’t immediately tell me I’m doomed.”

“I didn’t say that,” you point out. “I just said it’d take work.”

“I can live with that.” He shifts in his chair, leaning forward now, elbows on the table. “Helping me organize the charity event would be a big part of the job. Vendors, scheduling, coordinating with other heroes, making sure nothing catches fire– metaphorically. Hopefully.”

“And it’s temporary?” you ask, careful to keep your tone neutral.

“Yeah. A year, tops,” he says quickly, like he knows that’s the part that matters. “Or– at least until this charity thing is over.”

You take a deep breath and finally take a sip of your coffee. The caffeine is welcome in your hungover system.

A year isn’t long, you think to yourself. Just enough time to figure out what’s the next step for your professional life.

“I should be honest with you,” you say, sighing. “I quit my last personal assistant job because I didn’t like the way I was being treated.”

“Okay.” He tilts his head.

“I’m not interested in being anyone’s maid,” you continue, the words coming easier once they’re out. “I do my job well, but I expect basic respect.”

“That’s fair. More than fair.” He smiles again, softer this time. “For what it’s worth, I’m terrible at being intimidating. And I make my own coffee.”

That gets a laugh out of you, quiet but real. Your shoulders loosen just a bit.

He checks his phone, then looks back up.

“I’ve got patrol in an hour, but–” he gestures between the two of you, “I feel pretty good about this. If you are.”

“Yeah,” you say after a second, nodding once. “I think… I think I am.”

Hanta’s grin widens. “Then welcome aboard.”

…

March

Since Sero is an independent hero, he doesn’t have a permanent office of his own. Most days, you work from home, laptop open on your kitchen table, calendar spread across tabs and sticky notes. On the days you have to meet up with him, you head to one of his friends’ agencies, borrowing empty rooms and trying not to feel like you’re in the way.

This week’s chosen location is Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight’s agency.

You’re in the middle of answering an email when another scream echoes through the building. Your fingers falter over the keyboard. If you’d known the number five pro hero would be like this, you would’ve never set foot in this place to begin with.

You snap your laptop shut, shoving it into your bag as you stand a little too fast. The chair scrapes softly against the floor. You barely make it into the hallway before you collide with someone solid.

“Who the fuck are you?!” he snaps.

Your eyes widen, mouth opening on instinct, words tangling somewhere between your throat and your brain. Your grip tightens on your bag strap, knuckles going white.

Before you can answer, Sero’s beside you, presence familiar enough that your breath finally comes back.

“Will you stop scaring my assistant?” he says, stepping slightly in front of you. “She’s helping us with the event.”

Bakugo stares at you like you’re a problem he hasn’t decided how to deal with yet, even though you were introduced just that morning. His jaw flexes.

“Tch.”

“I’m gonna go get some coffee,” you tell Sero, already shifting your weight back. “Care to join?”

You don’t wait for an answer. You turn and walk away, fully aware it’s probably rude – but you’re so overstimulated from the noise, the shouting, the constant tension buzzing through the agency that you honestly don’t care.

The glass doors slide open, and cold air hits your face, sharp and grounding. You suck in a breath like you’ve been holding it all morning.

“I’m sorry about Bakugo,” Sero says, jogging to catch up with you. “I didn’t think he’d be so… triggered today.”

“It’s okay,” you reply, pushing the door closed behind you. Your shoulders finally drop a fraction. “We need to talk about venues anyway.”

He blinks, then lets out a small laugh. “Right. Of course we do.”

You start walking toward the café down the block, already pulling your phone out of your pocket. March might be about adjustment, but it’s also about control – and if you can’t control the heroes, you can at least control the plan.

“I’ve narrowed it down to three options,” you say once you’re seated across from him, laptop already open between your hands. “There’s the hotel downtown, the waterfront space near the marina, and a penthouse a few blocks from the financial district.”

Sero leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes flicking between you and the screen.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Those all sound… expensive.”

“They are,” you admit, lips quirking. “But they’re also the only ones that can handle the guest count, security requirements, and last-minute hero arrivals without everything collapsing.” You scroll, turning the laptop slightly so he can see. “The hotel’s the safest option. Reliable staff, built-in catering, less room for chaos.”

“And the downside?”

“Boring,” you say honestly. “It’ll feel more like a corporate fundraiser than a community event.”

He hums, nodding like that matters more to him than the price tag. “What about the waterfront?”

“Great atmosphere,” you say. “Terrible weather backup. If it rains, we’re scrambling.” You glance up at him. “And December doesn’t exactly scream ‘predictable.’”

“Yeah,” he winces. “Fair.”

“And the penthouse,” you continue, tapping the screen, “is a nightmare logistically. Elevators, parking, crowd flow – all of it would need military-level coordination.” You hesitate for half a second, then add, “But it’s intimate. It feels… intentional.”

You scroll to the last image, the city spread out beneath glass walls. “And if we time it right, guests would be able to see the fireworks at midnight. New Year’s Eve, from above.”

He watches you for a second longer than necessary, something thoughtful settling into his expression. “You’ve really thought this through.”

You shrug, though your shoulders lift a little with the quiet pride of it. “That’s the job.”

A server stops by, and you order coffee without even asking him. He blinks at that, then smiles.

“Thanks,” he says.

You glance up. “You were going to get the same thing.”

He laughs, soft, almost fond. “You’re scary in a different way than Bakugo.”

“Good,” you say dryly. “That means I’m doing it right.”

The coffee arrives, steam curling between you, and for the first time since stepping into the agency that morning, the noise in your head settles. 

“So which one would you choose?” Sero asks, catching  you off guard.

“What?”

“If money wasn’t a problem. Which one would you go to, if invited?”

You pause. You want to say neither. Fundraisers aren’t your thing, you don’t have the income for it. But, in another life, maybe if you were a prohero…

“The penthouse,” you say. “The fireworks would sell me.”

He smiles, contagious and easy.

“Then it’s decided.”

You blink. “Decided?”

Sero shrugs, like it’s obvious. “If I wouldn’t want to be there, why would I ask other people to?”

“That’s not how budgets work,” you point out, though you’re already mentally rearranging numbers, timelines shifting into place.

“I know,” he says easily. “That’s how trust works.”

The word lands heavier than it should. You glance down at your screen, pretending to scroll, even though you’ve already memorized every line item.

“Okay,” you say after a moment. “Then we’ll need to start earlier than planned. Elevators alone are going to be a nightmare, and we’ll have to coordinate security so guests aren’t stuck waiting while heroes jump rooftops.”

He grins. “See? That tone right there? That’s why I hired you.”

You huff, but there’s something warm under it. “You didn’t hire me so I could panic in advance.”

“No,” he says. “I hired you so I wouldn’t.”

The server drops the bill at the edge of the table. You reach for it automatically, then pause when his hand covers it, gentle but firm.

“I’ve got it,” he says.

You hesitate – just long enough for it to feel like a choice – then let your hand fall back. “Fine. But next time it’s on me.”

“Deal.”

…

April

It’s safe to say Chargebolt’s agency is way quieter than Dynamight’s. You’re seated in a glass-walled conference room, notebook open in front of you, pages crowded with your own handwriting. Flyers spill across the table alongside business cards from catering companies, AV rental services, décor suppliers – a paper trail of just how real this event has become.

You’ve been sending emails all morning, chasing follow-ups and clarifying details, trying to piece together a coherent estimate of what everything will actually cost. Guest counts, service fees, equipment rentals – the numbers blur together faster than you’d like. With a tired sigh, you pinch the bridge of your nose, already overwhelmed by catering services that seem to think finger food translates to a twelve-course tasting menu the moment heroes are involved.

A soft knock against the glass interrupts your near-spiral. You look up just as Sero pushes the door open with his shoulder, two cups of coffee balanced carefully in his hands.

“I come bearing nourishment,” he announces, tone light, like he can tell you’re about two overpriced quotes away from losing it.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. 

“You’re an angel,” you say, taking the cup from him and wrapping your fingers around the warmth. One sip later and the caffeine hits your system like a small miracle, clarity creeping back into your thoughts.

Sero smiles at that, settling into the chair across from you, and for the first time all morning, the task in front of you feels manageable again.

“That bad, huh?” He says, glancing at the mess on the table.

“I swear, if I read one more email about elevated hors d’oeuvres I’m going to lose it.” You sip more of the coffee. “I asked for finger food, not a culinary experience.”

He laughs, quiet but genuine, leaning forward to glance at your notes.

“They see heroes and assume unlimited budget. ” He sighs. “Why do we have to ruin everything?”

You chuckle, glancing at him.

“It’s a talent.” you add, mild but pointed. 

He presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I like to think I’m at least budget-conscious.”

You hum, flipping a page in your notebook. “You tried to approve a quote without reading the service fees.”

“That was one time.”

“It was three,” you say, not even looking up.

That earns another quiet laugh from him, and this one pulls a genuine laugh from you. You stop short of reacting to it, just let it pass, fingers tightening slightly around your coffee cup as you refocus on the page in front of you.

“Okay,” he says. “So what’s the damage?”

You angle the notebook toward him, tapping the numbers with your pen. “If we go with any of these, we blow the budget before we even get to décor.”

He winces. “That bad?”

“Mm-hm. But I’ve asked for revised quotes. Smaller menu, simpler presentation. Less… ambition.” You glance up at him. “If anyone pushes back, I’ll handle it.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he says easily. “You’ve been terrifyingly efficient.”

“High praise,” you deadpan.

He shrugs. “I mean it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many people respond to emails so fast.”

“Oh, I almost forgot about the DJ,” you say, pen pausing mid-page before scribbling it down. “If you have any recommendations, feel free to suggest something.”

Sero presses a finger to his chin, thinking. Your gaze drifts to him without meaning to, the way his eyes flick briefly to the clock on the wall as he considers it.

“Present Mic could do it,” he says finally. “If we ask.”

You blink. “You mean the guy that screams?”

He barks out a laugh, head tipping back like he finds the image genuinely delightful. You can’t help it – you smile at the sight, warmth curling low in your chest.

“You know,” he adds, still amused, “he was my high school teacher.”

You laugh. “How are you not deaf?”

He shrugs, grin still in place. “When you hang out with Bakugo long enough, you build an immunity.”

“Oh, that’s fair,” you say easily. “He’s so angry.”

“All the time,” Sero agrees, shaking his head fondly.

The moment settles into a comfortable pause, the kind that doesn’t demand to be filled. You clear your throat eventually, eyes returning to your laptop, grounding yourself back in the list.

“So,” you say, keeping your tone practical, “do you think he’d fit in our budget?”

“Oh, he’d do it for free,” Sero answers without hesitation.

“Really?” Your eyes widen as you look up at him.

“I’m pretty sure,” he says. “The guy loves a party.”

You smile, checking DJ off your list, the small victory lighting something up inside you. One less thing to worry about.

One more piece falling into place.

…

May

Dinner sits warm on the kitchen counter as you stare at your laptop screen for the thousandth time tonight. You know you’re supposed to be in bed by now, but now you’re in party organizer mode and keep checking the spreadsheet a million times. You’re used to it by now, you don’t need to double-check every column the way you did in March, don’t need to hover over each number like it might jump at you. You know this spreadsheet like the back of your hand.

Which is how you notice the problem immediately.

It’s small, technically. One line item buried halfway down the budget – a sponsor contribution marked pending for weeks longer than it should be. You frown, fingers stilling over the trackpad, and pull up the email thread. No reply. Not since April.

“Shit,” you mutter, rubbing at your temple, forcing yourself not to spiral.

Instead, you make a list. You adjust the numbers twice, flag two alternatives, and draft three emails that sound calm, reasonable, and absolutely not desperate. By the time you hit send, the tight knot in your chest has loosened into something manageable.

You only realize how late it’s gotten when a soft knock at your door pulls you out of your head.

You’re not expecting anyone. Frowning, you pad over and peer through the peephole, blinking in surprise when you spot Hanta standing in the hallway. You open the door quickly – a little too quickly – and he nearly stumbles forward, catching himself on the frame.

“Sorry,” he says immediately. “I know this is late. I just–” He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. His hair is damp with sweat, curls sticking to his forehead, jacket half on like he gave up midway through putting it on. “Can I sit for a minute?”

“Uh…” You glance back into your apartment, suddenly hyperaware of the state of it, then remember you don’t actually have anything to hide. Before you can say more, he’s already stepping inside.

He looks around once. Then pauses.

“You don’t have a couch,” he says, stating it like an observation, not a judgment.

Your face warms as his gaze lands on the green bean bag in the corner – the one piece of furniture your ex didn’t bother taking.

“No,” you say, closing the door behind you. “My ex took half the furniture when he broke up with me.”

Hanta looks at you, genuinely stunned. “And you let him?”

You shrug, helpless and a little tired of explaining your past choices. “I picked my battles.”

He studies the bean bag for a second, then drops onto it with a groan, sinking down like he’s been carrying the weight of the day in his bones. “It’ll do.”

You grab a glass of water and crouch on the floor beside him, resting your forearms on your knees. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just… long day.” He leans his head back against the wall. “Back-to-back interviews, a training session that ran way over, and then a last-minute meeting about sponsorship optics.” He snorts quietly. “Turns out everyone has opinions when heroes are involved.”

You hum in understanding. “That sucks.”

He glances at you, tired smile flickering. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump that on you.”

“It’s fine,” you say, and it is. “You’re allowed to be human.”

He laughs softly at that, tension easing just a little. The words settle between you, heavier than he probably intends. You don’t comment on it, just shift a little closer, grounding the moment.

“Oh,” he adds, like it just occurred to him. “I meant to ask earlier– how’s the budget looking?”

You don’t hesitate. “It’s handled.”

He blinks. “Handled?”

“One sponsor went quiet,” you say casually. “I reworked a few things, renegotiated catering, moved some funds around. We’re still on track.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

“That’s it.”

He stares at you for a second, something like relief washing over his face. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he says, quiet and sincere, like it’s just a fact.

Your chest tightens a little.

You smile anyway, easy and practiced. “Good thing you hired me.”

He laughs softly, eyes closing for a moment as he sinks deeper into the bean bag. You watch him, heart steady, mind already moving on to the next thing that needs solving.

“Have you eaten?” You ask, suddenly, stretching your legs. “I ordered Italian, wanna share?”

Hanta looks at you, the tiredness in his face easing into something warmer. His smile is slow, contagious.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.”

…

June

It was Sero’s idea, really. Moving was the last thing in your mind until he mentioned it. But it was a good idea. He suggested you’d move somewhere closer to downtown, closer to him.

In between juggling the guest list for the event and looking for new apartments, you found a nice little flat just twenty minutes away from the train station and Chargebolt’s agency – which is where you’ve been meeting Hanta anyway.

The move itself happens on a Tuesday night, because of course it does. Your schedule doesn’t allow for weekends anymore, and neither does his. By the time he shows up at your old apartment, sleeves rolled up and hair tied back, you’re already surrounded by half-packed boxes and second-guessing everything you own.

“You know,” he says, taking it in with an amused hum. “most people plan this part.”

“I did plan,” you reply, sealing a box with a decisive strip of tape. “I planned to panic later.”

He grins, then flexes his elbow. A thin ribbon of tape snaps out, clean and precise, sealing the next box before you can stop him.

You stare at it for half a second, then laugh. “Show-off.”

“Efficient,” he corrects, already moving for another box.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you.” You kneel on the floor as you wrap another mug in newspaper. “How does it work, exactly?”

“What?” He blinks.

“Your quirk.” You explain. “Does your body produce the tape? If it does, does it have your DNA? How do you cut the tape so easily?”

Sero smiles at you, helping you with the mug.

“That’s a lot of questions.”

“Sorry.” You chuckle. “I’m just– curious.”

He looks at you for a moment, like he’s deciding how honest to be, then shrugs lightly.

“Okay, science version or dumbed-down hero version?”

“You underestimate me,” you say, smiling. “But probably both.”

He snorts and settles back on his heels, elbows resting on his knees.

“Alright. The tape is produced by special glands in my body, mostly concentrated in my elbows. It’s organic, technically, but once it leaves my body it doesn’t really… count as me anymore.”

You tilt your head. “So it doesn’t have your DNA?”

“Not in any useful way,” he says. “Otherwise villains could do some real creepy stuff with it, and trust me, that question came up early in my career.”

“I regret asking.” You grimace.

He laughs, shaking his head.

“Anyway, it’s strong as hell when it comes out, but I can control the thickness, length, and adhesive strength. As for cutting it–” He flicks his wrist, and the tape snaps cleanly at the end. “I can retract it or sever it at will. Muscle control thing.”

You blink. “That’s… actually really cool.”

He smiles at that, softer this time, like the compliment landed somewhere personal. “Yeah. Guess I got lucky.”

You go back to wrapping the mug, more carefully now, like you’re processing something bigger than tape mechanics. “Does it hurt?”

“What? No,” he says quickly. “Well. Not unless I overdo it. Then it feels like muscle fatigue. Same as using any part of your body too much.”

You nod, already turning back to the half-wrapped mugs, newspaper crinkling softly between your fingers. For a moment, the room settles into a quiet rhythm – tape snapping, cardboard shifting, porcelain clinking carefully into place.

Then he speaks again, casual, like the thought just occurred to him.

“Hey. You never told me about your quirk.”

Your hands still. You glance up at him, cheeks warming despite yourself.

“It’s stupid,” you say with a small laugh. “I never use it anyway.”

“Try me.”

You catch the challenge in his eyes, playful but sincere, and for a second you consider brushing it off. Instead, you exhale.

“Alright.” You stand, bare feet cool against the tile. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” He leans back on his hands, watching you intently.

You take a deep breath. One second it’s just the two of you in a half-packed apartment. The next, there are three.

You gesture toward your clone like you’re presenting a prize. “Ta-da.”

“That’s not stupid,” he repeats, more firmly this time, eyes flicking between you and the second you like he’s afraid one of you might disappear if he blinks too hard. Your clone shifts, mirroring your posture with eerie precision.

“It kinda is,” you say, dropping back to your knees in front of the boxes. “My clones are dumb. Watch this–” You glance up. “Go jump out the window.”

Your clone turns immediately, walking toward the nearest window.

Hanta’s breath catches. “Hey–”

“Stop.”

The clone freezes mid-step.

“Start packing those mugs.”

It pivots without complaint, kneeling beside the box and carefully wrapping porcelain in newspaper. You can’t help the small, smug smile that tugs at your mouth.

Hanta watches, stunned, then laughs under his breath.

“That’s… incredible. You could do anything with your quirk.”

You shake your head, already feeling the familiar pull behind your eyes. The clone flickers, edges blurring like heat over asphalt.

“Only for sixty seconds.”

Right on cue, it fades – dissolving into nothing like it was never really there at all.

Hanta exhales slowly, gaze returning to you. “Still doesn’t sound stupid.”

You shrug, though it costs more energy than it should. “It’s useful sometimes. Just not for long.”

He studies you for a beat, then reaches for another mug, movements gentler now.

“Guess that means you don’t waste it,” he says. “You save it for when it counts.”

The words land softer than you expect. You don’t look at him as you sit back down, but you feel the warmth of his presence.

Between his tape and your color-coded labels, the chaos becomes manageable. You fall into an easy rhythm: packing, lifting, joking about the things you definitely don’t need but can’t quite throw away. At some point, the guest list comes up again – work always does – and you sit on the floor together, backs against opposite walls, laptop balanced on your knees.

“Final count,” you murmur, typing fast. “If I move the last two undecided donors to standby… yeah.” You pause, then smile to yourself. “That’s it. Guest list finalized.”

Hanta looks over at you, eyes soft with something like pride. “You did it.”

We did it, you almost say. The thought lands warm and dangerous in your chest, so you swallow it down and reach for your phone instead.

“We should probably get going if we want to finish this move before midnight,” you say, snapping your laptop shut and standing up.

The new apartment is smaller than the one you’re moving out of. Cozier, you’d thought when you signed the lease.

When you arrive, arms full of boxes, you barely make it past the hallway before you stop short. There’s a couch already set against the living room wall, fabric still pristine, like no one’s ever sat on it before. A rounded dining table sits nearby, fully assembled, catching the afternoon light.

Your stomach drops.

“What’s this?” you ask, eyes widening, a sudden spike of panic cutting through the quiet.

“A little gift for your new place,” he says, like it’s nothing. Like people do this sort of thing all the time.

The realization settles in slowly, heavy and unmistakable. Sero bought these for you. For here. Your grip tightens around the box in your arms.

“I can’t accept this,” you say quickly. “Take it out of my paycheck.”

“No.” He shakes his head without hesitation. “It’s a gift.”

You look at him, then at the couch, then back at him again. Your chest tightens in a way you don’t quite know what to do with.

“Why?” you ask quietly.

He shrugs, eyes flicking away for half a second. “Because.”

It’s not an explanation, but it’s honest. Somehow, that makes it worse.

You swallow. “Thank you.”

His ears go pink immediately. He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Sure.”

The silence stretches – not awkward, just careful. You step inside the apartment, setting the box down near the door. Outside, the city hums. Inside, the space already feels warmer than it should.

…

July

The coffee shop is packed when you and Sero step inside, every table claimed, conversations overlapping into a constant, buzzing hum. Cool air spills from the vents overhead, and you both sigh in relief as it cuts through the oppressive heat clinging to your skin. The past few weeks have been brutal – the kind of weather that makes tempers short and thoughts slower – and for a moment, just standing there feels like a small mercy.

You manage to squeeze into a narrow table by the window, laptop already open as you settle in. Sero shrugs off his jacket, rolling his shoulders like the humidity followed him indoors, then leans closer so you can hear him over the noise.

“Uravity’s PR team wants confirmation on the announcement schedule,” he says. “And Dynamight’s people are asking if we’re locking the guest list before the second press wave.”

You scroll through your notes, fingers moving automatically.

“After,” you reply. “Once the social posts go live, interest is going to spike. We need flexibility or we’ll be putting out fires we can’t control.”

He nods without hesitation. “Okay. I’ll tell them.”

You’re mid-explanation, already outlining contingency plans, when you glance up.

And freeze.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, ducking instinctively, lowering your head and angling the laptop like it might make you invisible.

Sero blinks. “You okay?”

“No, it’s just–”

Your name cuts through the café.

It’s casual. Familiar. The kind of voice you thought you’d trained yourself not to react to anymore.

You straighten slowly, heart pounding as you look up. Your ex stands there, one arm hooked around a girl’s waist. You recognize her immediately – the one from his social media, the one you told yourself you didn’t care about after the third glass of wine and a very convincing lie. She doesn’t look at you at first, gaze drifting around the café, uninterested, but you notice everything anyway. She’s fit, skinny, head full of long luscious hair, face full with makeup.

You stand, smile snapping into place like muscle memory, throat tight as you swallow. You force your shoulders not to slump, holding yourself from hugging your torso. Insecurity creeps on you like a crawling, sneaking beast.

“Hi,” you say, voice shaky.

“It’s been a while,” he replies easily.

The girl finally looks at you then, eyes flicking over you in a way that feels sharp and quick, before she looks away again, bored.

Something in you twists – not jealousy exactly, but humiliation, hot and sudden, pooling in your chest. Before you can think better of it, before you can stop yourself, you hear your own voice.

“This is Sero,” you say, placing a hand on his shoulder. “My fiancé.”

There’s a pause – long enough to register – before Sero stands smoothly, arm sliding around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His touch is warm, steady, unhesitating, and the ease of it only makes your face burn hotter. The girl snaps her gaze back at you, watching the tall man beside you.

“We’re getting married in December,” you add, pushing forward before anyone can question it. “He’s a pro hero, by the way.”

Her eyes drop immediately to your left hand.

“You’re not wearing a ring,” she says, as if catching you in a lie – which she is, actually.

“I got her one,” Sero says calmly, already taking your left hand. He lifts it gently, presses a kiss to your knuckles with practiced charm. “It was a size too big. You know how delicate her hands are, right? We just took it to adjust.”

Your heart stutters, stomach flipping unpleasantly as heat floods your face. He’s committing fully, selling it without effort, and the knowledge that he’s doing it for you makes the embarrassment sharper, more suffocating.

Deep in your stomach, something twists, not in a bad way, and you don’t know if you like it or not.

“R-right,” your ex says, voice faltering. “We should… go.”

They leave quickly after that, the bell over the door chiming softly as it swings shut behind them.

The café rushes back into focus all at once. The noise. The heat. The weight of your own pulse pounding in your ears.

You sit down too fast, chair scraping softly against the floor, hands trembling as you shove them into your lap. You can’t bring yourself to look at Sero, not yet. The embarrassment hits in waves – the lie, the spectacle, the way you dragged him into something so personal without warning. Your stomach churns.

“I’m so sorry,” you say finally, words spilling out faster than you can slow them. “That was inappropriate. And unprofessional. And– God, I shouldn’t have–”

“It’s okay,” Sero says immediately, tone even, unbothered. “You didn’t ask me to lie.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” you mutter, staring at the table like it might swallow you whole.

He studies you for a moment, then sits back, giving you space without pulling away entirely. “I meant it. You’re fine.”

You nod, but the reassurance doesn’t quite land. Something inside you has shifted – subtle but unmistakable. A line crossed. A boundary blurred in front of strangers, in front of someone who used to know you too well.

“I–I should go,” you say, snapping your laptop shut and shoving it into your bag a little too quickly.

You stand before he can respond, the chair scraping softly against the floor. Your movements feel rushed, clumsy, like staying any longer might make the embarrassment sink deeper.

“I’ll email you the updated timeline,” you add, already slinging the strap over your shoulder. “And the revised media approvals.”

Sero looks up at you, surprised but composed.

“Okay,” he says, careful. “We can talk later.”

“Yeah,” you reply, not meeting his eyes. “Later.”

You leave before he can say anything else, the café’s noise swallowing you whole as the door closes behind you. The summer heat hits immediately, heavy and relentless, and you welcome it – anything loud enough to drown out the knot tightening in your chest.

Avoidance settles in quietly, disguising itself as professionalism and you’re not sure which one you’re protecting – your boundaries, or your heart.

…

August

Your heart is beating so fast in your chest you’re half-convinced it’s going to give you away. Standing outside Chargebolt’s agency, you pause with your hand on the glass door, swallow hard, then push it open before you can talk yourself out of it.

“Hey!” Kaminari calls your name almost immediately, bright smile already in place as you step inside. The space feels familiar now in a way it didn’t a few months ago, it feels familiar now. Somewhere along the line, you stopped being Sero’s assistant and started being someone his friends recognize.

“Hi,” you say, voice a little shy despite yourself. “Is Hanta around?”

Before he can answer, the door behind you opens.

“Actually,” he says, glancing past you, “he just got here.”

You turn.

Sero stands a few steps away, helmet tucked under one arm as he walks inside the agency. His hair is damp and messy, curls flattened against his forehead with sweat, his suit tight in places it makes your heart flutter. Wide shoulders, narrow waist–

“You’re staring,” Kaminari stage-whispers, nudging your arm.

Heat rushes to your face. You tear your gaze away just as Sero looks up and beams when he sees you, like the last few weeks of polite emails and careful distance never happened. Like you never pulled away, like you haven’t been avoiding him.

“Can we talk?” you ask the moment he gets close, the words spilling out before your nerves can reorganize them into something safer.

“Yeah, sure,” he answers easily, like there was never a world where he’d say no. He gestures for you to follow and leads you into one of the common rooms, the kind meant for downtime – couches pushed together, a low table cluttered with half-empty mugs and forgotten gear. It’s quieter here, insulated from the constant movement of the agency.

You sit first, settling onto the couch, and Hanta takes the space beside you instead of across from you. Close enough that your thighs brush, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your clothes. He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, attention fully on you.

“I’m really sorry about last month,” you finally manage after a steadying breath. “That was– I don’t even know. I just–” You trail off, frustration tightening your chest as the words refuse to line up properly.

“Hey,” he says softly, cutting in before you can spiral. His hand settles on your knee, warm and grounding, a simple touch that stills the noise in your head almost immediately. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“But–”

“I mean it.” He gives your knee a light squeeze, reassuring rather than insistent. “I mean… he did take half of your furniture.”

The sound that escapes you is unguarded – a quick snort you don’t bother hiding. Some of the tension drains out of your shoulders.

“The truth is,” you admit, quieter now, “I was insecure. I wanted him to think I was better without him.”

“You are,” Hanta says without hesitation, like it isn’t even something that needs thinking about.

You look at him then, really look at him, and something warm blooms in your chest - gratitude, affection, something softer and more dangerous layered underneath. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you reach down and lift the bag you’ve been holding onto this whole time, offering it to him.

“Happy belated birthday.”

His eyebrows lift, surprise genuine as he takes it from you, fingers brushing yours for just a second too long.

“Wow,” he says, a grin already tugging at his mouth. “For me?”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” you tease lightly, though there’s a hint of nerves in it. “I didn’t know what to get you.”

He peers into the bag and pulls out the bottle of wine, turning it to read the label. It’s a good one – the kind you hesitated over, reread the little description card twice, and still weren’t entirely sure about.

Sero smiles at it, then looks back up at you, eyes bright with something mischievous.

“You know I don’t drink, right?”

Your face falls instantly, heat creeping up your neck as your brain scrambles for damage control. “I– I can take it back, I just thought–”

“I’m joking,” he interrupts, laughing outright when he sees your expression. “Wow, you should’ve seen your face.”

You groan, mortified. “You’re awful.”

“Adorable,” he corrects easily, still smiling. “But awful, too, yeah.”

He looks back at you with a softer expression.

“Seriously, though,” he adds. “This is really thoughtful. I don’t usually get… normal gifts. It’s always merch or agency stuff.”

“Well,” you shrug, trying to play it cool despite the way his attention makes your chest feel tight, “consider this my attempt at normal.”

“It worked,” he says, leaning back into the couch, shoulder brushing yours again. “Guess I owe you a drink now.”

“You just said you don’t drink.” You tease, jokingly.

“But I could make an exception. For you,” he grins. 

Your heart stutters at that, and you huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you look away.

“Careful,” you warn lightly. “You keep talking like that and I might start thinking this is a date.”

His smile lingers, unbothered, unhurried.

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Well, yes,” you say, half joking, half hiding behind the truth as you meet his eyes again. “You’re my boss.”

He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to understand what’s really behind that answer. “I don’t feel like your boss right now.”

“That’s the problem,” you murmur, then immediately regret saying it out loud.

His smile fades just enough to turn serious. “Hey. I didn’t mean–”

“I know,” you cut in softly, shaking your head. “I just… didn’t want to get it wrong.”

He looks down at the bottle again, thumb brushing over the label, then back at you. “You didn’t.”

There’s something careful in his voice, like he’s choosing each word on purpose. It makes your chest tighten.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he adds. “But I’m glad you did.”

You nod, swallowing. The room feels too quiet all of a sudden, like it’s narrowed down to just the two of you and the space between your knees on the couch.

“I should’ve said something sooner,” you admit. “About last month. About… disappearing.”

“You needed space,” he replies without hesitation. “I figured you’d come back when you were ready.”

That lands heavier than you expect. Trust, given without conditions.

You glance at him, surprised. “You weren’t mad?”

“Maybe a little,” he says honestly. Then, softer, “Mostly I was worried.”

Your fingers twist together in your lap. Happiness still feels dangerous, but right now it’s there anyway.

“I’m here now,” you say.

He meets your gaze and nods once. “Yeah. You are.”

And for the first time in months, you don’t even think about work.

…

September 

“Is this really what I look like?” you ask, eyes glued to your phone screen as you scroll. “I need to lose weight fucking immediately.”

Sero stares at you like you’ve just spoken a foreign language. 

“Shut up?” he says, disbelief bleeding into his tone. “Let me see.”

You hand him your phone, a blog page open on the fifth article dissecting you and him like a puzzle people are determined to solve. Ever since the event went public, the rumors haven’t stopped. Photos of you walking beside him. Screenshots of comments. Headlines that pretend to be neutral while clearly hoping for something messier. Even after Hanta posted – very clearly – that you were just his assistant, no one listened. You’ve started noticing cameras more easily now, the way they linger when you’re together.

“Stop it,” he says, handing the phone back and taking a sip of his coffee. “You look pretty.”

“Pretty fat, that’s what–”

“Hey.” The word cuts in sharp, firmer than you expect, and you blink at him in surprise. He’s never spoken to you like that before. His jaw tightens just slightly, like he’s biting back something else. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“S-sorry,” you stutter, still a little shocked. You turn your attention back to the laptop screen.

The agency is quiet tonight, ever quieter in the common room, where you and Sero have been splayed out on the couch, your laptop balanced on your thighs.

You suddenly become very aware of how close he’s been sitting next to you, shoulders almost brushing, warmth of his body seeping through your clothes.

You clear your throat.

“We still haven’t heard back from the private security firm,” you say, tone clipped, professional. “If they don’t confirm by Friday, we’ll need a backup. And the press walkthrough is still tentative.”

“I can ask around. A few agencies owe me favors,” Sero says lightly, like it’s no big deal, but you hear the weight underneath it. Like he’s already placing himself between you and every possible problem.

“That’s okay,” you say too quickly, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. You soften it immediately, because the last thing you want is for it to sound like rejection. “I mean– thank you. I just… I’ve got it handled.”

He looks back at you, searching your face, and the weight of his attention makes it hard to breathe. You force your eyes back to the laptop screen, fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard as if the spreadsheet might save you from the moment.

“You know it’s okay to let people help you, right?” he says, quieter now.

“Yeah,” you answer too fast again, already typing numbers you don’t actually need to adjust.

“I mean it.” His hand settles over yours, warm and steady, caging your fingers against the trackpad.

You stop typing.

Slowly, you look up at him and swallow hard. There’s a lump in your throat you hadn’t noticed forming, thick and stubborn, as you meet his eyes. Whatever you find there makes your chest ache – something raw, unguarded, and far too sincere to be brushed off as friendliness.

“Yeah,” you say again, this time softer, easing into the moment despite yourself. His hand is still over yours, thumbs brushing lightly against your skin, grounding and intimate all at once. “Okay.”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves.

Then his gaze drops to your lips for a second too long.

Your heart slams so hard you’re sure he can feel it. He leans in without even realizing he’s doing it, drawn by something neither of you has named, and you freeze, caught between wanting and fear in equal measure.

“Um–” you blurt, breaking the spell. “We should probably go.”

He jerks back like the thought has only just occurred to him.

“Y-yeah.” It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter, and the sound of it sends a sharp twist through your chest.

You pack your things too quickly, hands clumsy, pulse still racing. He walks you out anyway, quiet but attentive, staying close without touching, like he’s deliberately giving you space and hating every second of it.

The first camera flash goes off before you even register the voices.

“Cellophane! Over here!”

“Is that your assistant?”

Your stomach drops straight through the pavement. Paparazzi linger by the door, clustered just close enough that there’s no way to slip past them unnoticed.

Before you can react, Sero’s hand closes around your wrist, firm and urgent. 

“Hey,” he says under his breath, snaking an arm on your waist and pulling you close. “Hold on.”

“Hold on to what–”

The ground disappears beneath your feet.

You gasp, fingers spasming as he shoots tape and pulls you both into the air. The city drops away in a dizzying blur of lights and concrete, your breath punching out of your lungs as the swing arcs too high, too fast. You clutch his shoulder on instinct, nails digging in, legs wrapping around his waist, fear spiking sharp and immediate.

“Hanta!” Your voice comes out thin, panicked.

“I’ve got you,” he says instantly, tone steady, grounding. One arm tightens around your waist, anchoring you to him as if that alone can keep the world from spinning. “I swear. Just breathe.”

You try. You really do. But your heart is slamming against your ribs, the wind roaring in your ears, your stomach lurching every time the tape snaps and redirects you through open air. 

Your face presses briefly into the juncture of his neck and shoulder when another swing dips too sharply – eyes squeezed shut, knuckles white where you’re holding on. He adjusts immediately, trajectory smoother, slower, deliberate – every movement recalculated for you.

“Almost there,” he murmurs, close enough that you feel the words more than hear them. “Promise.”

When he finally lands, it’s soft and controlled – boots hitting solid ground with barely a jolt. You open your eyes.

Your balcony. Your potted plants, your sliding glass door, the faint glow of your living room light spilling out onto the concrete. Safe. Familiar. Grounded.

You look back at him and it takes you a second to realize you’re still clinging to him, koala-style. You let go immediately, stepping back as if the contact might burn if it lingers too long. Your feet hit the ground, but your knees buckle, and you have to grab onto him again to keep from falling.

“You okay?” he asks, hands settling on your elbows, steady and sure.

You nod, breath still uneven, eyes fixed on the floor as your hands linger on his shoulders.

“Yeah,” you manage. “Not a fan of swinging around the city.”

“Sorry,” he says quietly. “I should’ve warned you.”

“How do you do this every day?” you ask, finally looking up at him, adrenaline still buzzing through your veins as your eyes meet his.

“Been practicing since I was twelve,” he shrugs, smiling like it’s nothing.

You take a shaky breath and slowly let go of him. Your pulse hasn’t slowed yet. Your body still remembers the way he held you like letting go wasn’t an option.

You both stand there for a second too long, the night settling around you, the tension still humming between your ribs. He looks like he wants to say something but instead, he straightens.

“See you tomorrow, then.” He breaks the silence.

“Yeah.” You breathe.

And as you slide the door shut behind you, your heart is still racing – not just from the fall, but from everything that almost happened in midair and didn’t.

…

October

“We might have to hire more security,” you mumble to yourself, standing on the balcony of the penthouse. When you turn around, Sero is still inside, mid-conversation with someone you’ll definitely have to follow up with later.

He’s wearing his hero suit again – clearly coming straight from patrol for a quick stop at the venue. The event is in two months, and somehow everything is finally falling into place. You don’t let yourself think about what happens after your contract ends. Every time that thought sneaks in, your chest tightens and your stomach twists with a familiar, anxious knot.

Still, you can’t stop thinking about him.

That little stunt Sero pulled last month had people talking for weeks. The picture of his arm wrapped around your waist, caught just seconds before he dragged you into the night sky, was a headline everywhere. Eventually, you both stopped denying the rumors and went completely radio silent about your so-called relationship.

Which doesn’t help, considering you might actually be developing feelings for him. The realization makes your stomach churn.

You still remember how easily he picked you up, how he swung through the city with you in his arms like your weight didn’t even register. You’re not exactly small, and the memory of his strong arms locked around you, holding you steady while he flew… it makes your legs go a little weak.

Sero looks at you through the glass door and starts walking over. The fabric of his suit clings to his hips as he moves, and your brain does an extremely unhelpful little flip.

“Hey,” he says when he reaches you. “Pretty cool place.”

You smile despite yourself.

“I was thinking maybe we could let the flying heroes arrive through the balcony,” you say. “Less elevator clogging.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“But then we’d have to move PR and press over here.”

He leans his forearms against the railing beside you, gaze drifting out over the city. Close. Not touching, but close enough that you’re painfully aware of him anyway.

“We’re getting close,” he says after a moment, quieter. Not just about the event.

You nod, fingers tightening around your clipboard. “Final planning phase.”

“Mm.” He glances at you, and you pretend you don’t notice. Looking at him is idk. “So what are you going to do after all this is over?”

You sigh, the cold breeze cutting your cheeks.

“I have no idea.”

The words come out lighter than they feel. Like you didn’t just admit something that’s been clawing at your ribs for weeks.

Sero hums softly beside you, thoughtful. He doesn’t look at you this time, eyes fixed on the city instead, lights blinking lazily below like they don’t know how close everything feels to unraveling.

“You’re good at this,” he says. “Planning. Managing chaos.” A pause. “People.”

You let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s a very polite way of saying I’m professionally stressed.”

He smiles at that, just a little. You can hear it in the way he exhales.

“I mean it,” he adds. “Whoever snags you next is gonna be lucky.”

Whoever. Not him.

Your grip tightens on the clipboard again, knuckles whitening. “I haven’t even started looking.”

Another silence stretches between you. Not awkward. Just… heavy. The kind that presses against your chest, asking questions neither of you want to answer yet.

“Guess there’s still time,” he says finally, too casual.

“Yeah,” you agree, even though the word tastes wrong. “There is.”

He shifts beside you, shoulder brushing yours. It sends a spark straight down your spine. You both freeze for half a second, like maybe one of you will acknowledge it.

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat. “I should probably head out. Patrol doesn’t magically finish itself.”

“Of course,” you reply immediately, too fast. You step back, giving him space you don’t actually want to give. “Thanks for stopping by.”

He nods, hesitates, then looks at you again.

“Good work today,” he says.

Sero steps past you toward the balcony railing instead of the door. You frown before you can stop yourself.

“You know there is an elevator.”

He snorts, already climbing onto the ledge. “Where’s the fun in that?”

The city yawns open behind him – wind rushing, lights blinking, a sheer drop that makes your stomach flip just looking at it.

“Hanta–” You reach out without thinking, fingers touching his wrists as he puts his helmet on. He freezes and you stare at your reflection on the plastic cover of the helmet.

“You okay?” he asks, voice gentler now.

You nod, even though your heart is pounding. “Yeah. Just– don’t be stupid.”

A smile tugs at his mouth. “I’m offended.”

You pull away, even though every fiber of your body screams to touch him again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.

“Tomorrow,” you echo.

Then he leans back and lets himself fall.

Your breath catches hard as tape shoots out, anchoring him to a building across the street, and he swings smoothly into the night like gravity doesn’t apply to him the way it does to everyone else.

“Fuck,” you mumble to yourself, finally realizing you’ve fallen for him.

…

November

The night out doesn’t go the way it was supposed to. Your friend drags you to one of the clubs downtown, insisting you need loud music and bad decisions to reset your brain, but you get drunk too fast for any of that to work. You cry once in the bathroom, then again ten minutes later, mascara smudged and dignity slipping through your fingers, until she finally decides it’s time to take you home.

You’re fine. You just have to pretend you don’t have feelings for your boss until next month. That’s it. That’s the plan. And after–

After is a blur of your own voice, teary and soft and embarrassingly honest, echoing in your head as your friend asked what was really wrong.

“I just think about him all the time. And I miss him when he’s not around. And every time he looks at me like that, I forget how to breathe… And he’s so tall and strong and–” You sniffed, tears threatening to fall again. “And my contract ends in a few weeks, and I keep telling myself it’ll be easier once I’m gone, but somehow that makes it worse.”

Your contract ends in six weeks. Six weeks feels impossibly short when you say it out loud. The question you keep avoiding creeps back in anyway, relentless and sharp: What are you going to do after this?

It’s still hammering through your skull when you stumble home with your shoes in your hand and your pride somewhere back at the club. The apartment tilts when you kick the door shut and lean against it, breathing through the spin until it settles. You’re suddenly starving, which shouldn’t surprise you – getting drunk always does this to you.

You make it as far as the kitchen before your phone buzzes.

An email. Subject line in all caps. FINAL SECURITY CONFIRMATION – URGENT.

You laugh, sharp and humorless, sliding down into one of the chairs. Of course it’s urgent. Everything is urgent. Everything is on you. You open it, skim it, flag it, tell yourself you’ll deal with it in the morning like you’ve been telling yourself for weeks.

Your phone stays in your hand.

You don’t plan it. You don’t even really think about it. Your thumb just opens his contact like it’s muscle memory.

Hanta.

You press the call button before you can second guess yourself.

It rings once. Twice. You bite your thumbnail, already thinking this is a mistake.

“Hey,” his voice comes through the speaker, warm and familiar and way too real for how drunk you are. “Everything okay?”

You close your eyes, forehead dropping to the cool kitchen table as your grip tightens around the phone.

“Hi,” you say, breathless and already a little wrecked. “I’m– Sorry, I know it’s late– um. I’m drunk. Just so you know.”

There’s a pause on the other end, then a soft huff of a laugh. “Okay. Thanks for the warning.”

“I didn’t mean to call. I mean– I did. But I didn’t plan it. I never do this, actually, I’m a pretty behaved drunk.”

Hanta snorts on the other side of the line, and you smile to yourself, instantly picturing him throwing his head back, shoulders shaking.

“So what are you up to?” You ask, leaning your forearms on the kitchen counter, still smiling.

“Night patrol,” he replies once his laughter settles.

“Oh, shit– I’m so sorry–”

“It’s alright,” he cuts in easily. “The night was getting boring anyway. And it’s… nice to hear your voice.”

Your stomach flips, warm and treacherous.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Likewise.”

There’s a beat of quiet, filled only by your breathing and whatever city noise filters through his end of the call. You sway a little where you stand, grounding yourself against the counter.

“You home safe?” he asks, tone shifting – gentler, protective.

“Mhm. Shoes are off, dignity is gone, I’m alive,” you murmur. Then, without thinking, “Do you ever get lonely on patrol?”

Another pause. This one feels heavier.

“Sometimes,” he admits. “Why?”

You hesitate, thumb tracing the edge of your phone, drunk courage pressing at your ribs. “No reason. I just… didn’t want you to be alone.”

The words hang there between you, fragile and dangerously sincere. On the other end of the line, he exhales slowly.

“Well,” he says quietly, “I’m not anymore.”

And that makes your chest ache in a way that feels a lot like fear and a lot like hope tangled together.

He doesn’t say anything else right away, and neither do you. The silence stretches, soft instead of awkward, like the two of you are sharing the same pause even though you’re miles apart.

You slide into one of the kitchen chairs, legs feeling boneless.

“You’re being… very sweet,” you mumble, as if pointing it out might make it less dangerous.

“Am I?” There’s a smile in his voice. “I thought I was just being honest.”

That makes your chest tighten. You tilt your head back, staring up at the ceiling, the light above you a little too bright. 

“That’s worse,” you whisper.

He laughs quietly. “How so?”

“Because honesty is… slippery.” You frown at your own words, trying to focus. “And I’m drunk. And I say dumb things when I’m drunk.”

“Like what?”

You hesitate, heart thudding. “Like things I’ll pretend I don’t remember tomorrow.”

There’s a soft thump on his end, like he landed somewhere, boots hitting concrete. The city noise fades just a little.

“I won’t let you say anything you’ll regret,” he says, gentler now. “Promise.”

That comforts you a little.

“You’re a good boss,” you say, defaulting to the safest truth you have.

Another pause. Longer this time.

“Hm,” he hums. “Is that all I am to you?”

The question is quiet. It feels like he’s standing at the same edge you are, peering down, neither of you quite willing to jump.

“For now,” you say before you admit something you might regret.

There’s a quiet exhale on the other end of the line, the sound of the city bleeding faintly through his comms. Wind, distant sirens, the soft scrape of movement.

“You sound tired,” he says, gentle, like it’s an observation and not a concern.

You huff out a laugh, nose pressing briefly into your sleeve. “I am. Turns out pretending you don’t feel things is a full-time job.”

He’s quiet again. You can almost picture him perched somewhere high, elbows on his knees, staring out at the city while he listens.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he says finally. Your chest tightens again.

“I know,” you murmur. “That’s kind of the problem.”

Another pause. Then, softer–

“Get some rest, yeah?”

You nod even though he can’t see it, fingers curling around the phone like it might slip away. “Yeah. You be careful.”

He smiles into the line. You can hear it, warm and unmistakable.

“Always am.”

The call ends, but the quiet it leaves behind feels louder than the music in the club ever was.

…

December

The night of the event doesn’t give you a single second to breathe.

From the moment you step into the venue, it’s noise and movement and urgency layered on top of each other. Someone’s voice crackles in your earpiece with a catering mishap, security flags a blocked service elevator, a sponsor wants their speech moved up by ten minutes, and the lights in one of the halls flicker just long enough to make your heart drop before they stabilize again. 

Heroes arrive in waves, some through the elevators, some swooping in through the balcony just like you suggested, their entrances smooth and practiced. Cameras flash constantly now, a dull roar of attention that never really fades. You catch sight of familiar faces, check them off mentally, already scanning for the next problem.

You don’t see Sero, not right away. Not that you’ve been actively looking for him (you have).

After the last speech, people are supposed to move to the balcony for the fireworks. Uravity first. Then– you barely register the rest because the schedule in your head is already unraveling. Deku is supposed to close it. He’s ten minutes over.

Anxiety creeps in slow and sharp, tightening in your chest. If they aren’t brief, if he doesn’t wrap this up now, the whole timeline collapses. Fireworks don’t wait. Crowds get restless. Sponsors get irritated. You roll your shoulders back, forcing your breathing to steady as you reach up to murmur quick instructions into the microphone of your radio, even as your gaze stays fixed on the stage.

A warm, large hand settles on your lower back just as you’re about to panic.

You jolt slightly at the contact before you look up – and there he is. Sero, close enough that you can feel his body heat through the thin fabric of your dress, his hand firm and grounding like he’s anchoring you in place. Your heart does something inside your chest you can’t quite describe, a sharp flutter followed by something deeper and heavier.

It’s not like you haven’t talked since that drunken night – the one where you called him and almost confessed everything. You’ve talked. You’ve seen each other. You’ve pretended it was fine. But something about him stepping in right when you’re in need of support makes your stomach flip.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, leaning in just enough that his voice doesn’t carry.

You let out a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“No,” you admit, fingers tightening around the clipboard. “Deku was supposed to finish his speech ten minutes ago. If he doesn’t wrap it up now, we’re going to miss the fireworks.”

Sero’s thumb presses once, slow and reassuring, against your back as his hand moves in small circles, grounding you without even trying.

“Hey,” he murmurs, eyes already flicking toward the stage. “It’s okay.”

Then, softer, more certain: “Let me handle this.”

Before you can respond – before you can tell him anything at all – he’s pulling his hand away and stepping past you, leaving your lower back suddenly cold and your legs a little unsteady. You swallow, watching him go, annoyed at yourself for the way your pulse jumps at something so simple.

He climbs onto the stage with practiced ease, slipping into Deku’s peripheral vision and gesturing subtly, a hand slicing downward in a clear wrap it up motion. Deku blinks, startled, then nods, laughing nervously as he rushes toward a conclusion. Sero turns to the crowd next, microphone in hand, his voice easy and warm as he starts directing people toward the balcony, smoothing over the delay like it was all part of the plan.

And somehow – impossibly – it works.

You watch from the edge of the room, shoulders finally lowering as the tension drains from you inch by inch. The schedule clicks back into place. The crowd moves. The balcony doors open. Fireworks are back on track.

For the first time all night, you allow yourself to just stand there for a second.

Your earpiece crackles again, but this time it’s not a crisis – just confirmation that the countdown is starting. You smile despite yourself, eyes drifting back to the stage where Sero looks over at you, catching your gaze. He lifts two fingers in a small, casual salute.

Handled.

And damn it – you hate how much that simple look makes your chest feel tight all over again.

You smile softly as he approaches you. The countdown outside has started, but you’re too busy trying not to kiss your boss right now.

“Crisis averted,” he says, lifting his hand in a small okay sign.

You huff out a soft laugh, tension finally loosening in your shoulders. “You’re a lifesaver.”

His eyes flick over you then, not inappropriate, just enough to make you acutely aware of the black, off-the-shoulder dress, of the way you must look after hours of running on adrenaline. When his gaze meets yours again, there’s a pause.

“You look…” He hesitates, like he’s reconsidering. Then, quieter, more honest, “You look beautiful.”

Your stomach does that thing again. You smooth a hand over your dress more out of habit than necessity, heat creeping into your cheeks as you try not to overthink the way his eyes stay on you.

“You too,” you say, nodding toward the suit stretched across his shoulders.

Twenty seconds to midnight. Fireworks ready.

Someone’s voice crackles in your earpiece again, sharp and insistent, and you rip it away from your ear with an annoyed huff before it can ruin the moment entirely.

“Hanta–”

“Listen–”

You both speak at the same time, then stop, a short, breathless laugh breaking the tension between you.

“Go ahead,” he says, nodding for you to continue.

You exhale, brief and shaky, trying to gather the courage for what you’re about to say.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do after this, but– I just know– I just want–” The words tumble out wrong, slipping away from the neat little speech you’d practiced earlier today, leaving you grasping for something real.

Sero doesn’t let you finish.

His hand comes up to the back of your head, firm and certain, and then his lips are on yours just as the fireworks explode in the sky. The sound is thunderous, light blooming everywhere at once, and it feels exactly like what’s happening in your chest.

You melt into the kiss, letting him pull you closer, your hands sliding up to lace behind his neck as your fingers sink into his thick hair. Everything else fades until there’s only you two.

Fireworks keep bursting overhead as you finally pull apart for air, foreheads brushing, breaths uneven.

“Me too,” he whispers, voice low and rough, like the kiss has left him just as undone.

Fireworks bloom again overhead, reflected in the glass and in the way his hand stays steady at your waist, like he’s not going anywhere.

For once, there’s nothing left to manage, nothing to fix, nothing to plan – just the two of you standing there as the year turns, knowing this changes everything.

…

January

Your alarm clock drags you out of sleep and you groan at the sound, one arm slipping out from under the blankets to fumble for the button. You barely manage to turn it off before a pair of strong arms wraps around you, tugging you right back against a warm body.

Sero cages you from behind, his chest pressed to your back, his face nuzzling into the curve of your neck. You bite back a smile as he groans too, voice rough and heavy with sleep.

“Five more minutes,” he murmurs, tightening his hold on you like he can physically keep the morning away.

“I’m going to be late,” you say, just as sleepy, even as you make no real effort to escape. “My boss will be mad at me.”

He hums against your skin, lips brushing your neck in a way that makes your toes curl. “I’m sure he’ll understand,” he says, followed by a soft, amused laugh.

“I don’t know,” you mumble. “He might seem like a nice guy… but he gets very intense before coffee.”

Sero laughs into your skin, the sound vibrating through you as his hands slide to your hips, squeezing them lazily. You glance over your shoulder, catching him half-lidded and unfocused, hair a mess, eyes dark with sleep and something warmer underneath.

You shift, rolling onto your back to face him properly, taking in the relaxed lines of his face, the slow blink of his eyes as he looks down at you like this is exactly where he’s meant to be.

One of his hands parts your thighs without hurry, fingertips tracing your inner thighs and reaching your core, where you’re still slick from last night. You gasp at his touch as his other hand slips around your shoulder to pull you closer, fingers tracing idle, teasing patterns against your skin.

“Good morning to you too,” you tease softly.

“Can’t get enough of you,” he murmurs, burying his face back into your neck, lips and tongue warm against your skin. “Wanna stay in bed all day with you.”

You laugh, breath hitching as his attention makes it hard to think, much less move.

“This is very unprofessional of you,” you say, even as your hands curl into his hair, holding him there.

“This is very unprofessional of you,” you say, even as your hands curl into his hair, holding him there.

Sero huffs a quiet laugh against your skin. 

“Wow,” he murmurs, shifting just enough to look at you, eyes still heavy with sleep. “And here I thought I was being very committed to morale.”

“You’re abusing your position,” you reply, trying for stern and failing when his thumb presses lightly into your core. You bite your lips, closing your eyes. A few weeks together and he already knows which of your buttons to press.

“Mm,” he says thoughtfully, leaning in again, lips brushing your jaw. “You didn’t seem to object a second ago.”

You sigh, tipping your head back just enough to give him the space he clearly intends to take.

“I’m objecting in theory,” you say. “In practice, I’m extremely compromised.”

His smile curves warm and smug against your skin as he kisses you again, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world.

You’re glad you decided to stay with him.

Now he pays you in cash and in bed – and the thought makes you snort softly, because it sounds ridiculous when you put it like that. Like it’s missing the point entirely.

Because it’s more than that.

It’s the way he makes coffee while you’re still half-asleep, the way he listens when you talk about work like it actually matters, the way his hands always find you like this is home now. Somewhere along the line, you fell for your boss, and somehow it doesn’t feel messy or wrong.

It just feels… right.

Sero presses a lazy kiss to your mouth, smiling when you sigh into it, and for once, you don’t worry about schedules or titles or what comes next.

You’ll deal with all that later.

divider by @/saradika-graphics

[penguinsravioli]

this was so good oh my goodness

[penguinsravioli]

robbery by ASAP got me going insane right now oh my gosh. Doechii’s lil “mwah”s UGHHH

[penguinsravioli]

·˚ ༘West Savannah anthony vaughn x reader

: ̗̀➛⁺ chapter 9⁺ first - previous - next

a/n: SMUT WARNING. Also if it’s shit that’s because I don’t write smut fr lmao, also switch! Anthony, because in no world is he a Dom.

I wake up in the arms of Anthony, in his room, in his bed. I can feel the warmth of the sun on my face, peeking in through the blinds. I groan, flailing a hand over my eyes as I blink away sleep. I feel him move from behind me, his arms still tightly bound around my body. When my eyes finally open fully I look down at our legs. Noticing that my clothes were in a pile next to my bag. I squint my eyes before realizing that I had on one of his white shirts and a pair of his boxers.

—I lightly stumble through his front door, cursing at my clumsiness. “You remember where my room is?” He whispers, guiding me regardless if I did or not. “It’s- it’s  kinda next to the backyard right?” I whisper back. Eyes adjusting to the darkness.

Ant giggles, “No. But nice try.” I scoff, letting him lead me to his room as quietly as possible. When we finally reach it he shuts his door quickly and turns on his bedside lamp. I glance around at all of his souvenirs and posters. "Your room is heaps idyllic. Much more decorative than I remember.” I say whilst looking at the few Lego sets he has on his shelves. Ant laughs, kicking off his shoes before collapsing onto his bed. He stretches his limbs, exposing his chest and more of his waistline.

“Why such big words right now?” His arm is over his eyes, shielding them from the lamp light. “I couldn't think of another word.” I start to shed my grimy clothing, taking my boots and socks off first. “So you chose i.. idyllic?” Anthony sits up now, rubbing the corners of his eyes. I shrug, not knowing how to respond to his question. I walk into the bathroom connected to his room, searching for a wash cloth and his soaps.

“Ugh, a 3 in 1? Anthony..” I whine, standing next to his shower in disbelief. “What? It works.” I shake my head, peeking my head out from the doorway. “This is absurd” I groan, rethinking my stay here.

“Come and help me turn on your shower, please.” I huff listening to him chuckle from the bed. “Yes ma'am”—

“Are you awake?” His morning voice greets me, rougher and deeper than I had expected. I choose to reply with. ‘Mm’, still adjusting to my surroundings. I feel his nose nudge my back, planting a kiss on the fabric of his t-shirt. Anthony works his way up, leaving a final peck on the crook of my neck. “How'd you sleep?” I ask, nudging his body to move so that I could face him.

“Good.. did you?” I grin with a nod of agreement, stretching my arms over my head. I place a hand in front of my mouth to yawn, my body obviously not ready to fully be awake. 

“You look cute in my shirt.” Ant compliments me. I chuckle, “Says you.” I ruffle his already messy hair, luring a sheepish laugh out of him. “I always thought my pecks were my best asset, guess not.” I roll my eyes. “I'd say it's a good addition.” I place my cold hands onto his bare chest. Ant shrieks, grabbing my wrist to remove my hand. “Why are your hands so cold?” He had jerked into a semi laying position, his left arm supporting his upper body weight currently. “I don't know, you tell me.” I laugh again, closing my eyes and nuzzling my head into his pillow. His face changes briefly, a smirk gracing the edges of his lips. Ant’s eyes widened a bit, a mischievous idea obviously in the forefront of his mind.

“I know a way I could heat them up.” He smirks, now sitting up directly straight. He grabs me by my waist to move me completely on top of his lower half. “And what’s that, pretty boy?” I look down at him, his tanned skin flushed while his breathing subtly speeds up. Excitement brewing in his puppy like eyes. 

“Can you guess?” Anthony almost whispers. I bask in his presence, chuckling at his sudden shyness. I lean in, closing the gap between us. Anthony moans into the kiss, faintly licking my bottom lip to make out. I open my mouth slightly to let him in, holding back a chuckle at his eagerness. I pull back to breathe, a string of spit keeping the two of us metaphorically connected. I make a slight disgusted face causing Anthony to chuckle. I roll my eyes, leaning down to kiss his jawline. I bring my hand up to caress his chest, making him exhale sharply underneath me. When I get to his neck I start sucking harshly, creating reddish increments to his freckled skin.

He begins to squirm underneath me, grabbing my hips to distract himself. I hold back a grin as I continue to nibble at his neck, slowly rocking my hips back and forth on his growing erection. Ant groans, wrapping his arms around my waist to ground himself. I peck the spots I made and move to his lips, slipping my hands on his face and  through his hair gently. 

“Let me get up handsome.” I leave a kiss on his lips one last time as he releases me. He places a hand over his mouth while the other runs through his hair. “Are you cool with this?” He nods frantically, searching my face with need. “Use your words.” I demand, kissing his perfectly sculpted abs. “Yes, yes I’m c-cool” he holds back a hiss, the back of his hand still over his mouth as he peers down at me. I leisurely roll down his basketball shorts, watching as the tent in his boxers seemingly get larger. I place my hand over his dick, teasing him through his underwear. Anthony outwardly moans now, his hips meeting my hand halfway to gain more friction. 

“So needy Ant, you don’t mazz in your free time?” I press down a bit rougher. Anthony moans again, grabbing my free hand. “Please- please no more teasing please.” I playfully grin at him, respecting his wishes as I remove my hand. I pull down his boxers swiftly, freeing his dick from its shackles. I wrap my hand around him and place my thumb in his tip. Spreading the pre-cum slowly over top of it.

The boy whimpers, his chest puffing with air before hissing it out. I lick the underside of his shaft, making eye contact with him as I do before I fit him into my mouth. I continue to suck him off, coming up for air rarely as he has his hand holding the top of my head. Bobbing my head from the base to his tip, and using my hand to take whatever I couldn’t.

His moans had gotten louder at this point, not being able to suppress them anymore. Thank goodness his mother wasn’t home. 

“Sh-shit I’m gonna cum” He bucks his hips into my mouth, gripping my scalp a little tighter, I then forcefully pull off of him. His hand untangled from the roots of my hair. I wipe the corners of my mouth with my thumb as he whines. “Wh-what— what did you do that for?” Anthony questions, eyebrows pinned upwards in a disappointed position. “Do I not deserve satisfaction as well?” I chuckle, throwing off his white shirt to reveal my bare chest. Anthony immediately shuts up, swallowing hard as he watches me shed my clothing. I slip off the boxers I was wearing and turn to him. “Rubbers?” He reaches for his bedside drawer, as his hands shakily retrieve the golden packaging. Anthony is sitting up now, placing it over his throbbing cock, groaning a bit at his own touch. I hurriedly sat above him again, lining his dick with me before I fully sank down. The both of us moan in unison, staying still for a moment to adjust to the new feeling.  

“You-u feel so good.” He whimpered into my shoulder, gripping the fat on my waist every time I clench around him. “I’m gonna start moving then okay?” Anthony lays back down against the mattress so I can stabilize myself, using his chest to keep myself from falling on him face first. I pull my bottom half off of him slowly, before slamming down in a rushed motion. I huff a large breath of air from my lips, gripping the freehand of Anthony’s that wasn’t preoccupied with my lower waist.

I gain speed once I finally get a good rhythm, rutting above him whilst I bite my lip in an attempt to keep some of my sounds at bay.

Anthony brought his hands up to my face to get my attention. “H-hey agh- n-no I want to hear yo-ou. Fuck-“ he groans again. I bite my lip harder, only letting a whine escape. Suppressing my noises in an attempt to focus on keeping both of us satisfied. 

Anthony scoffed before he eventually tapped the side of my thigh. I stop moving, breathing heavily with my eyes partially shut. “Are- are you okay what’s— ANT” I scream when he flips me over to where I’m on my back. 

“My turn.” He lifts my legs up causing me to squeal, sliding his dick into me quickly before bringing the original tempo back. I throw a hand over my face at his new found confidence, being turned on by the sudden assertiveness. “Fu-fuck Ant slow down—” I practically beg. He shakes his head no with a smirk on his face. “Y- shit- you feel too good” he groans again, wet sounds coming from between us starting to get louder. He throws both of my legs over his shoulders to get a new angle, groaning when he feels he’s reached deeper. No longer being able to hold my noises back I moan roughly, grabbing at the pillows behind me. 

“There she is.” He holds my ankles tightly causing me to squirm. Whining at the squelching sound between us when I see Anthony look down in awe. “Jeez ba-babes. And you said I was needy? Look at her practically drooling for me.” He presses a thumb on my clit, smiling snarkily when I clench around him again. I moan louder, grabbing at his arm as I begin to grind back.

“I’m almost the-there” I close my eyes, holding back tears from the pleasure I had been receiving. “M-me too— fuck fuck” he whimpers, his hips stuttering a bit as his speeds up to meet me halfway. “I’m cumming!” I yell, my fists paling as I silently orgasm. My hips stilling and my thighs shaking a bit, Anthony follows soon after, groaning as he thrusts into me a few times to ride our highs together. We breathe heavily for a few seconds, catching our breath after the intense rush. Ant sets my legs back down onto his bed softly, whining from overstimulation when he pulls out. I twitch at the empty feeling, missing the fullness I had started to get used to. “You good (nickname)?” He lays down beside me after discarding the soiled condom. I nod, still catching my breath.

“That took all the energy I originally had stored up.” I laugh, luring a giggle out of the boy beside me. 

 “Let me clean you up.” He remembers, hopping off the bed toward his bathroom. I sigh, messing with a loose thread on one of the pillow cases. There’s water running in his bathroom for some time before Anthony finally comes back with a warm towel. He taps my knee for me to shift on my back so he can clean me up. “We have the after care king over here.” I tease, pinching his wrist playfully. “Stop it, I’m trying to focus here.” Anthony laughs, wiping my inner thighs and my drenched genitalia. 

When he’s done I look at the state of his bed, watching him walk back off toward the bathroom. I sit up, looking around the floor before I finally spot my phone on the charger. I mentally applaud myself for even thinking to do that last night, quickly grabbing the device before settling back into Ants blankets.

He returns wearing a pair of basketball shorts low on his hips, stretching his arm over his head. “I’m a little hungry, you?” I look up from my phone and nod. “I wasn’t going to say anything until you did.” I shrug, playing off how hungry I actually was. Anthony scoffs, throwing what I had on this morning at me. “Don’t be shy now.” Anthony chuckles whilst I blush lightly. 

He had ordered the both of us food, deciding that breakfast food wouldn’t cut it so late in the day. “I don’t know how I didn’t need house music for that.” He munches on a chip, scrolling on his phone beside me. I cover my mouth as I’m about to talk with food in it. “What do you mean?”

He swallows his chip, blushing a bit as he flicks back and forth at me and his phone  through his peripheral. “I usually can only finish to house music…” I snort, setting my phone down on my stomach. “Are you so serious?” I laugh out loud now, watching as he slowly shakes his head yes. “What! It’s not like I hookup with people regularly, I gotta find some sort of remedy.” He bashfully explains, throwing a pillow in my general direction when I wipe a stray tear from my waterline. 

“I must have super powers then.” I chuckle, turning toward Anthony who scoffs with an adorable pout on his face. 

[andrew-garfielld]

TEYANA TAYLOR during her Golden Globes acceptance speech (Jan 11, 2026)

[yourleogf]

b.a.s. ❥ tyriq withers

PAIRING: tyriq withers as “cameron ‘cam’ cade” from “him (2025)” x black!fem!reader

SUMMARY: inspired by “B.A.S.” by Megan Thee Stallion & Kyle Richh + in which your boyfriend cheats on you with the captain of the cheerleading team, so you get back at him with Cameron, the star quarterback that just so happens to be his teammate. 🩷

AUTHOR’S NOTE: also inspired by “Plan B” by Megan Thee Stallion (“because dick don’t run me, i run dick, nigga. yeah, you’s a bitch.”) + “Medicine” by Queen Naija (“i’ma ride him crazy and you’ll never have a clue. give another guy everything that belongs to you.”) ✨

“fuck it, guess we both ain’t shit.” + “hoes ain’t spare me, why would i spare them?”

“the fuck you goin’ through my phone for, bro?”

“well, if you wasn’t fuckin’ that bitch, i wouldn’t have went through that shit!”

you and your so-called “boyfriend” Derrick were in a huge argument after his phone went off while he was in the shower and you walked over to see what the notification was, your face falling flat at the sight of a promiscuous text from Amaya Campbell — the captain of the cheerleading team. you didn’t know his password, but after guessing it few times, you got lucky and unlocked it, which prompted you to go through and search every app on his phone, even his Settings app.

after doing your thorough search, you found out that Derrick and Amaya had been fucking around behind your back for two whole months, and it made your stomach churn that all of it slid under your radar.

as soon as Derrick got out of the shower and walked out of bathroom now fully dressed, you threw his phone at him with all your strength and it hit him right in the center of his broad chest, his reflexes kicking in and catching the mobile device before it hit the ground. once he looked down at his screen and saw his messages with Amaya on display, he knew he had been caught, but it didn’t stop you from going off on him.

“Derrick, i swear to God, you got me fucked up,” you chuckled bitterly, crossing your arms, as your jaw clenched and you angrily tapped your foot against the floor, your shoe creating soft yet audible thudding sounds, “you mean to tell me you been fuckin’ this bitch for two damn months behind my back and thought i wasn’t gon’ find out about that shit?”

“see, i shouldn’t even be surprised. football players love fuckin’ on cheerleaders, that shit is common knowledge. but you? you a triflin’ ass nigga and i hope you know that shit,” you seethed, a furrow forming between your eyebrows, as your foot abruptly stopped and you raised your hands in angry surrender, “matter of fact… i want you to get whatever shit you got over here and get the fuck out my apartment.”

“baby, c’mon, you don’t mean that—”

“don’t— do not call me no damn ‘baby’, Derrick, i’m not fuckin’ playin’ with you, nigga!” you suddenly shouted, flailing your arms a little, as the furrow between your eyebrows deepened and you glared at him so hard that if looks could kill, he’d be dead as hell, “get whatever shit you have over here and get the fuck out, like i said! we through! you can have yo’ lil’ ho ass cheerleader now, ain’t that what the fuck you want?!”

you crossed your arms and your jaw clenched tightly, your jawline becoming emphasized from the action, as you and Derrick stared at each other and uncomfortable and tense silence filled the room, your eyes slightly narrowing at him. you weren’t about to stay with him after this. you’d be a fool to stay with a man who’d cheat on you, and you were far from that. you knew your worth and you weren’t about to diminish by staying with him, even if the two of you have been together for two years.

Derrick stared at you for a moment before letting out a quiet huff and tucking his phone in his pocket as he walked over to your closet and grabbed his gym bag from against its door frame, carrying it over to your dresser and pulling open a few drawers to take out the clothes he had stashed between yours.

you stood there silently as you watched him take his belongings, your jaw remaining clenched while your eyes trailed his every move. words couldn’t describe how angry you were. you were so pissed that if you were in a cartoon, there would be smoke coming out of your ears. the fact that he could throw everything the two of you had away for another girl was mind-boggling to you, but you weren’t going to question it. you weren’t about to on a whole “why her and not me?” rant, you weren’t better than that.

but this situation was far from over — very far.

“so, what exactly did you find in that nigga’s phone, girl?” your best friend Janelle asked, her eyebrows raising, as she laid on her stomach on your bed and watched you thoroughly check your bedroom and bathroom to make sure Derrick had truly collected all of his things — if you found anything that belonged to him, it would never see the light of day again.

“a whole bunch of shit. them sextin’ in the early hours of the mornin’, pictures of them together, videos of them fuckin’ — shit, you name it, i found it,” you chuckled bitterly as you angrily rummaged through the drawers and cabinets in your bathroom, “she was all in that nigga’s phone talking ‘bout “ooh, i miss that big dick, daddy.” and he was eatin’ that shit up just like all thot ass niggas do when hoes boost they egos. both of them got no home trainin’ whatsoever.”

“eeeyuck!” Janelle yelped, making an exaggerated gagging sound, as you cracked a small smile and let out a laugh at her exclamation, her dramatics boosting your mood a little, “they had tapes?!”

“man, they had so many damn tapes you would’ve thought they were professional pornstars,” you chuckled, the bridge of your nose scrunching up a little, as Janelle made another gagging noise, this one louder than the last, and you snorted, shaking your head a little, “i can’t believe that shit flew by me for two whole months, ‘Nelle. like, i’m sick as fuck knowin’ that shit was happenin’ behind my back and i was blind to it.”

“uh-uh, don’t be blamin’ yourself for what that fuck nigga did, a’ight? you shouldn’t have had to worry about him cheatin’ on you because he wasn’t even supposed to be doin’ that shit in the first place, let alone with the most known ho on campus,” Janelle scolded, raising her eyebrows, as she pointed at you with her index finger, “this shit ain’t your fault just ‘cause you wasn’t aware that it was happenin’, boo. niggas cheat ‘cause they can’t resist temptation, it has absolutely nothin’ to do with you or anything about you, ‘kay?”

you paused and looked over at her, noticing the seriousness in her tone and the stern yet loving look in her eyes. cracking a smile, you walked out of the bathroom and over to your bed as you laid down on your stomach next to Janelle and rested your head against her shoulder, making her smile at you and press a soft kiss against your temple while her arm wrapped around your shoulders to pull you closer.

“thanks, ‘Nelley-Pooh. you always know what to say.” you smiled, earning a snort from Janelle, as she laughed loudly and rested her cheek against your head, making your smile widen.

“you know damn well i told you to stop callin’ me that shit a long time ago. nice to know you still hardheaded,” Janelle chuckled, making you laugh, as she rubbed your shoulder and raised her head from yours, causing you to raise your head from her shoulder to look over at her, “anyway, i hope you know we goin’ out tonight ‘cause i’m not leavin’ you here to sulk over a nigga that can’t keep his dick in his drawls.”

“where we goin’?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowing a little, as Janelle smiled mischievously and clasped her hands together, making you laugh at her antics.

“Murph’s havin’ a house party tonight — and i’m takin’ you with me,” Janelle smiled widely as she pointed at you with her index finger before pointing at herself with her thumb, “because i know the perfect fuckin’ way to get your lick back on that bitch ass nigga Derrick.”

your eyebrows raised in amusement mixed with anticipation and your eyes searched Janelle’s face, seeing nothing but eager mischief and devious joy, “‘Nelle, what the hell are you thinkin’ in that head of yours? ‘cause you startin’ to make me nervous.”

“you couuuld…” Janelle dramatically trailed off and made a drumroll by clapping her hands together as she leaned up from her stomach and sat back onto her knees, a wide sneaky smile creeping onto her face before she abruptly stopped clapping, “get your lick back by fuckin’ on the one and only Cameron Cade!”

your eyes widened and your eyebrows shot to the sky again as you looked at Janelle for a moment before bursting out into a fit of laughter — not necessarily laughing at her, but at the opportunity presented to you on a silver platter. Cameron Cade wasn’t just the golden boy on campus that every girl wanted, he was the star quarterback on the football team that every scout wanted to draft to their respective USFF teams — and him being on the football team meant one thing to you and Janelle: Derrick was his teammate.

you and Cameron had spoken a few times, but it wasn’t anything serious — just a greeting here and there or him telling you where Derrick was whenever you couldn’t find him. even though you remained faithful to Derrick, you couldn’t lie and say Cameron wasn’t attractive, especially since Janelle would purposefully go on and on about him behind closed doors just to get under your skin.

Cameron stood at 6’5” — three inches taller than Derrick — and had a body that was sculpted by the Gods, all toned and muscular in the right spots that could drive any woman crazy. his head was buzzed and his eyes were colored, his irises a blueish-green hue that intimated almost everyone he looked at. his jawline was sharp and his lips looked as soft as pillows, even though they were on the thinner side. he had a face that was so handsome that he had no lookalikes on campus like most of the other boys did, and it only garnered more attention to him.

Cameron Cade was truly something special, but tonight? tonight, he’d be more than that — he’d be yours.

“you know what? hell yeah!” you exclaimed through your laughter, leaning up and sitting back onto your knees, as Janelle joined into your laughter by giggling mischievously, “what time does the party start, ‘Nelle?”

“9 o’clock, boo! we not gon’ get there ‘til around 10 though ‘cause by then, all the fine shit gon’ be there.”

“i know you see that nigga over there eyeing you down.” you instigated, smirking knowingly, as you took a sip of your alcoholic beverage and gave Janelle a playful side-eye, making her snort softly before she turned her head to look at you.

“oh, i see him. we been playin’ eye-tag, boo, you gotta’ keep up,” Janelle smirked, raising her eyebrows, as you swallowed your sip and let out a laugh while you adjusted your hold on your red solo cup, “in other news though, how you gon’ approach Cam?”

“girl, i haven’t seen him all night,” you chuckled as you fixed the collar of your jacket and looked around the room for a moment before looking back at Janelle, “have you?”

“mm-mm,” Janelle hummed, shaking her head a little, as she took a quick sip of her drink and glanced over at the unknown man across the room who was staring her down before turning her attention back towards you, “i’m ‘bout to go see what this brown-skin talkin’ about though, so i’ma see you in a lil’ bit, ‘kay? go find that QB.”

Janelle gave you a wink and a quick pat on your shoulder before she disappeared off into the crowd, making you smile a little while you chuckled to yourself and shook your head. one thing about Janelle, she was bound to see something she liked when the two of you went to a party, but she’d always let you know where she’d be at before she left your side.

looking down at your cup, you swirled the last bit of liquid you had left around in it before leaning up from the wall and heading to the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder to make sure Janelle was safe with her brown-skinned mystery man before you disappeared off into kitchen to refill your cup.

however, before you could enter the kitchen, you somehow managed to roughly bump into a firm body, but before you could stumble over your own feet, their hands shot out to grab your waist and steady you, which ultimately caused your unoccupied hand to grab onto a part of the person’s clothing.

on the bright side, because your cup was almost empty, none of the liquid splashed out onto you or the mystery person, which you were extremely grateful for — other than the person catching you before you fell, of course.

“shit, my bad, Y/N, i ain’t see you,” the sound of a familiar voice made your head raise and you cracked a small grin at the sight of the man of the hour — Cameron Cade, “you good?”

your predicament settled in quicker than you expected it to — you had bumped into Cameron on your way to the kitchen and he was holding your waist to keep you upright while your unoccupied hand fisted his jacket to hold onto him.

“yeah, i’m good,” you reassured, loosening your grip on his jacket, as Cameron’s hands lingered on your waist for a moment before he gently removed them, making you do the same, “you just got here? i ain’t seen you all night.”

“nah, i been chillin’ with my niggas. ain’t feel like bein’ noticed tonight,” Cameron shrugged as he glanced around the room for a little before focusing his attention back on you, “if you lookin’ for Derrick, i ain’t seen him.”

“i ain’t lookin’ for him. i was lookin’ for you,” you professed, raising your eyebrows a little, as your lips curled up into a small smirk and a look of surprise crossed Cameron’s face, his eyebrows raising higher than yours, “that ain’t my nigga no more, Cam. i’m single.”

the moment those last two words came from your mouth, you noticed something shift in his eyes. it was subtle, but you saw it, and even though you couldn’t necessarily put your finger on it now, you knew you’d be able to figure it out sooner or later.

“mind if i ask what happened?” Cameron asked, his eyes searching yours, as you looked up at him silently for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle.

“he cheated with the biggest thot on campus,” you answered casually with a small shrug of your shoulders, “you know, your favorite cheer captain who be shakin’ her ass for you and your teammates.”

“favorite cheer captain?” Cameron repeated, obvious disdain in his voice, as his eyebrows furrowed and you snorted softly, “ain’t nothin’ about that girl appealing to me. she be tryna’ fuck on any player she can get her hands on.”

“oh, so, you ain’t goin’ for her?” you teased, smirking a little, as Cameron smacked his lips and straight-faced you, making you laugh.

“hell nah. damn near the whole team done had that, i ain’t goin’ for no sloppy thirty seconds.” Cameron grimaced, the bridge of his nose slightly scrunching up, as you quickly covered your mouth to hold back your laugh but failed miserably, laughing heartily into the palm of your hand.

you never knew Cameron had such a deep dislike for Amaya, but it felt good knowing you weren’t the only one who could see through her “sweet cheerleader” facade. in fact, it felt even better knowing he didn’t fuck her because it meant you wouldn’t have to compete with her again.

“i got a question for you, though,” Cameron suddenly announced, watching your laughter slowly cease, as you raised your eyebrows a little and let out a soft “hm?”, gesturing for him to continue, “why was you lookin’ for me?”

a sly smirk slowly spread across your face and you titled your head a little, your primary objective resurfacing to the front of your mind as quick as it had developed from Janelle’s suggestion.

“because i got a proposition for you,” you smirked mischievously as you gestured towards him with the rim of your almost-empty cup and your smirk converted into a wide grin, “wanna help me make Derrick mad?”

Cameron’s eyebrows raised in curiosity at the sound of your question and he looked down at you silently for a moment before cracking a small smirk and letting out a soft chuckle.

“what you need me to do?”

if you weren’t already grateful for Janelle’s suggestion, you definitely were now.

you were laid out on your back in your bed as Cameron fucked into you, his strokes deep and as passionate as they could be while one of his hands gripped your waist and the other held onto your neck. his hips moved with a steady rhythm that never faltered and his thumb gently pressed against your pulse point as his forehead rested against yours and his colored irises stared down at you, making you maintain eye contact with him while your legs snugly wrapped around his waist to pull him deeper than he already was.

“fuuuuck— just like t-that, baby,” you whined, a furrow forming between your eyebrows, as your hands clutched Cameron’s back and pulled him impossibly closer, his chest now flush against yours, “you feel s-soooo good, C-Cam…”

“and you takin’ it so good, mama. you so pretty when you takin’ this dick like a big girl,” Cameron cooed, a small smirk crossing his face, as he pressed his thumb against your chin and turned your head to the side, burying his face in the crook of your neck and gliding his tongue across your melanated skin, “can’t believe that stupid ass nigga had the nerve to cheat on you when you so damn gorgeous and got the best pussy in the fuckin’ world. you a gem, mama — the most precious one there is.”

you moaned in response to his words and your head tilted to the side to further expose your neck as one of your hands slid up his back to cradle the back of his head, your body arching into his touch as if you couldn’t get enough of it. your eyes rolled back and the furrow between your eyebrows deepened as you felt Cameron lift one of your legs from around his waist to the pit of his elbow and you gasped sharply, feeling his hips slightly shift and angle to fuck you deeper.

“shiiit! ooh, fuuuck— Caaameron!—”

before you could continue your cries out to the man pleasuring you, the sound of your phone ringing sliced through the intense sexual desire in the room and you groaned in annoyance, your face contorting to one of irritation while Cameron’s strokes slowed down and he raised his head to look down at you.

“want me to get that?” Cameron asked, raising his eyebrows a bit, as you turned your head to look up at him and he placed a soft brief kiss on your lips, “could be important.”

“not more important than me gettin’ to cum,” you mumbled, letting out a soft huff, as Cameron chuckled softly and grinned a little at you, “grab it and pass it to me, Cam.”

completely stopping his strokes, Cameron removed his hand from your neck and reached over to your bedside table as he grabbed your phone and handed it to you without looking at the caller ID, watching your hand leave the back of his head to grab onto it.

huffing softly, you adjusted your phone in your hand to properly see who was calling you, but once you did, a wide Grinch-like smile spread across your face and you snorted softly as your eyes flickered up to Cameron.

“it’s Derrick,” you announced in amusement, making Cameron raise his eyebrows in surprise, as you laughed and looked between your phone and Cameron’s face, “think i should answer it?”

“you said you wanted to make him mad, right?” Cameron smirked, lowering your leg from his arm, as he pulled out of you and suddenly flipped you over onto your stomach, making you squeal while your grip tightened on your phone, “let’s piss that nigga off then.”

Cameron’s hands grabbed your hips and he lifted them slightly as he pushed back inside you, making you moan out at the feeling of being stuffed to the brim again. once he bottomed out, he leaned down to you and rested his chest against your back as he pressed a soft kiss against your shoulder and pushed your hair out of the way.

“answer it and put it on speaker. let that nigga hear what i’m ‘bout to do to you.” Cameron murmured against your shoulder, slowly rolling his hips into yours, as you smirked widely and let out a soft giggle, adjusting your phone in your hand for a second time before you answered the call and placed it on speaker like he asked.

“fuck you callin’ me for, nigga?” the way your demeanor shifted from smitten to hostile would’ve been funny if there were different circumstances, but you were sure you and Janelle would have a big laugh once you gave her a recap of how your night went.

“can we talk about this shit, Y/N? like, fo’real? i’m not tryna’ lose you over somethin’ small like this, shawty.” Derrick’s words nearly sent you on another furiously disrespectful rant, but the moment you felt Cameron start deliberately thrusting into you instead of his previous hip rolls, you practically melted against the bed.

“ain’t—mmh—shit about t-this small, fuck you mean?” you scoffed through your small moan, a furrow of pleasure mixed with annoyance forming between your eyebrows, as a soft gasp fell from your lips at feeling Cameron slightly angle his hips and your eyes rolled back, your unoccupied hand balling up your sheets, “y-you fucked that b-bitch behind my back and think that’s s-somethin’ small?— oh, f-fuuuuck…”

Cameron smirked wickedly against your shoulder and his colored eyes peered up at you to watch your face as his arms wrapped around your torso, one of them low on your hips and the other against your chest. his hand near your chest grabbed one of your breasts and kneaded the flesh in his palm as his fingers toyed with your nipple, causing it to harden against the pads of his digits.

“the fuck are you over there doin’?” ignoring Derrick’s obviously aggravated question, you adjusted your hips and pushed them up a little more, a sharp gasp falling from your lips once you felt Cameron thrust deeper and a different angle.

“s-shiiiit,” you whined, feeling Cameron tighten his arms around you, as your jaw dropped and your head slumped forward against the bed, your cheek pressed against it while your ass clapped against Cameron’s pelvis, “you s-soooo deep, Cameron…”

you called Cameron’s name on purpose and both of you knew it, wide identical smirks on both of your faces as Cameron raised his head from your shoulder to look down at you, your eyes meeting his with a mischievous glint in them.

“yeah? i’m deep in this good ass pussy, mama?” Cameron cooed, tilting his head a little, as his hand shifted from your chest to your neck and he latched onto it, lifting your head from the bed and slightly tilting it back while his thumb pressed against your jawbone.

“mmhmmmm! ooh, shiiit, you in my stomach, baby,” you whined, your eyebrows furrowing again, as your mouth hung open and Cameron dipped his head down, planting soft kisses against your cheek while simultaneously speeding up his strokes, “mmh, you fuck me so g-gooddd, Cam… best dick ever.”

“this what we doin’ now? you fuckin’ on my teammates and shit ‘cause you mad? that’s how you comin’?” truthfully, Derrick’s yelling went in one ear and came out the other — for you, at least. Cameron, on the other hand, heard him loud and clear, and it only made his smirk widen and increased his determination to piss him off further.

“say that shit again, baby. make me feel that shit,” Cameron smirked smugly, leaning up from you, as he leaned back onto his knees and grabbed your hips, hoisting them higher in the air and placing a deep arch into your back while he sped up his strokes, “best what? huh?”

a loud cry ripped through you before you could catch it and your eyes rolled back as your jaw went slack and your mouth hung open again, moans beginning to spill more profusely out of your mouth. your phone slipped out of your hand and landed near your open jaw as both of your hands balled up the sheets and you mewled loudly, your ass rippling with each of Cameron’s quick thrusts.

“b-beeest diiick everrrr!” you shrilly cried out, purposely dragging out your words, as your eyebrows furrowed and you thrusted your hips back to meet his thrusts halfway, which only made your ass clap louder against him to the point you knew Derrick could hear it as clear as day.

“yeah, there you go, baby. uh-huh. fuck me back just like that,” Cameron coached you through your actions as one of his hands left your hips to smack your ass twice, watching it recoil against his palm before he grabbed one of your cheeks to spread them apart, “look at how this pretty lil’ pussy huggin’ on me, mama. she drenchin’ the fuck outta’ me, too — shit damn near soakin’ the sheets. she needed to be fucked right, didn’t she, pretty?”

“uh-huuuuh,” you whined, vigorously nodding your head, as your fingers tightened in the sheets and you whimpered desperately, raw need and desire starting to creep up your spine and seep so deeply into your system that you were starting to forget that you were still on the phone with Derrick, “shiiit, baby, i’m s-sooo close… so fuckin’ c-close, Cam, pleaseee don’t s-stop.”

“i ain’t stoppin’, baby. want you gimme’ all that good shit so i can show you what it’s like to cum from bein’ fucked right, since it’s obvious that nigga can’t do it right.” as if on cue with Cameron’s words, Derrick ended the call and the ‘beep, beep, beep’ from your phone filled the air from his action, which went unnoticed by you but fully noticed by Cameron.

truth be told, you were too fucked-out and focused on your impending orgasm to really focus on Derrick anymore.

“f-fuuuuck— Cameroooon, i’m ‘bout to cuuum!” you cried out, your hip movements faltering, as Cameron grabbed your hips with both hands to steady you and continued at his rhythm, allowing you to melt in his grasp instead of working to fuck him back, “shitshitshit— ohhh, my Go— Cam! Caaam, i-i’m cummin’! fuck!”

“cum all on this dick, beautiful, c’mon. wet this shit up, baby, you deserve it. deserve to feel good and cum as much as you want. drench my shit, mama,” Cameron’s words sent you over the edge and your body seized in place as your eyes tightly squeezed shut and your hands balled up the sheets so tight that your knuckles were close to turning white, a loud broken sob falling from your lips while your orgasm roughly rocketed through you, “mhm, there you go. that’s it, keep cummin’, baby. keep wettin’ this shit up. this good pussy got my shit glistenin’, pretty girl.”

if you would’ve known Janelle’s suggestion would’ve worked out this well, you would’ve started taking her advice a long time ago.

[penguinsravioli]

Cameron Cade x reader; handle that

a/n: THIS IS A SHORT SMUT FIC, highkey no plot. I got the idea from that song Left Right by YG lol. Enjoy!

“But I can’t handle you right?”

Cameron’s hips snap deliciously against my ass, a whimper leaving my mouth at the sound of the two of us connecting. I had been running my mouth hours prior, joking that Cameron Cade of all people couldn’t handle me. “Not like how I want it anyway.”

Boy was that a fucking lie.

My back curved into a U shape, my chest pressed against his mattress sheets. I claw at the pillows as my pussy clenches around him. Cameron groans, gripping my hips tightly. A squeal exiting my chest at the change in angle, his large hand placed in the crevice between my shoulders, keeping my face mushed into the sheets.

“Fuckin’ playin.. nah quite running, where you going Ma?” He pulls me back toward him, I whine shaking my head from the overstimulation. “It-it’s too muc-ch.” My hands tangle in the sheets, gasping for air whilst I arch into him despite the slight pain threaded within the pleasure. Cameron chuckles, a huff puffing out of the muscular man’s lips. “So fuckin tight, taking me so good baby.” I peer behind me, my tear stained cheeks glistening underneath the dimmed light in his bedroom. He had his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, smirking with his eyes lidded. Cam leans his head back, his mouth falling open from the pleasure.

“C-cam! I don’t think I can handle another— ah- no-no no no I can’t I can’t.” I yell, biting the comforter harshly. “You can take me, been taking me. You can take another.” He laughs, hissing through his teeth when he hits that gummy spot. He speeds up, placing his leg onto the bed to push deeper inside me. “Aghh- Cam! F-fuck, fuuuck!” I cum around him, pussy clamping down whilst my legs twitch.

Cameron moans, hips stuttering at my sudden orgasm. “G-good girl. Fu-fuck.” His hands slide down to my waist, sliding out of me fully. My eyes flutter open at the emptiness, immediately closing again when he slips in me once I’m settled on my back. He grabs the back of my thighs, dragging me flush onto his hips again. I inhale deeply, eyes rolling to the back of my head when he places my legs onto his shoulders. “One more. I know you got one more in you baby...” I shake my head no, hands shoving his shoulders back with no power beneath them. He begins to pick up his pace again, face planted in the side of my neck, mumbling praises against my skin. I pull his face up from my neck to place my lips upon his, moaning into his mouth when he hits my g-spot. “Cam—“

“Shhh..I know baby, I know.” Cameron whispers into my ear, groaning loudly, his hand curling in my hair. He quickens his pace, gripping my ankles rougher now, features blissed out in ecstasy. I feel his dick twitch between my walls, he’s close. I gaze up at him as he presses down on the center of my stomach, making me let out a scream as I cum again “Fuck- fuck (name)— sh-shit.” Cam lets out a final gasp, exhaling from his gut as he releases into me. He moans out my name again, the vowels slipping off his tongue gorgeously as his vocals deepen slightly. His hips finally slow down after helping us ride out both our orgasms. Cameron lifts his head up, eyelashes prettily fluttered shut. When he opens his eyes he chuckles, setting my legs down and crashing beside me.

“But I can’t handle you though?”

He calls back to my previous statement again. Still recovering from the initial shock, I reply with a ‘mm’ sound. A firm shit-eating grin growing on Cameron’s lips, “oh shut up Cam.” I lift my hand up just enough to place my palm over his mouth. The muscular boy grabs my wrist, fully snickering whilst he presses kisses into my temple.

[penguinsravioli]

Henry Creel x reader; Nylons

: ̗̀➛⁺ fluff version

a/n: WARNING, THIS IS THE SMUT VERSION. The other fluff version is here if you’d rather that.

“Gosh! These stupid fucking nylons. They rip like paper”

The woman in front of me roars. We were stationed in the archive room looking for more files that she had needed before reviewing her next patient. In the middle of crouching to retrieve a file that had fallen, her tights had ripped 2 large holes. One in the center of her knee and the other on her inner thigh. “I wish they made them in larger sizes. It's like they refuse to expand past a small.”

I grinned at her frustration, It was humoring despite it being a rather rough moment for her. She slides off her flats and lifts up her long skirt to see the damage.

“To hell with the designers. You can obviously see they’re trying to push more women into having eating disorders!”

A faint rush of blood creeps over my face as I watch her slide off her under shorts to take off the shredded tights. “I am way past high school calorie counting, they are not indoctrinating me.” I ball my hands into fits harshly, staring at the red laced underwear that no longer were shielded by the sheen white coloring of the nylons.

She had nice legs, her hips were wide. Wide enough for me to squeeze, squeeze as I lean her against the cold white table she stood next to. (name) then bends over to collect the ripped up tights and throw them in the miniature trash can in the room.

Her skirt now rolled back down to its original length. Huffing she rubs her hands onto her skirt, then turns towards me.

From my angle I’m looking above at her, giving me a perfect view of her face. My hands unclench when she finally peers down toward me. “That was super unprofessional of me, my apologies Peter.” She makes a face of worry, biting her bottom lip in order to distract. “Don’t apologize. I didn’t mind.” She chuckles, “you’re only saying that because you enjoy my agony deep down.” Her bare feet rest upon the cold tile floor, she squats down to my level placing her arms on my legs.

Her pencil skirt drapes over her elegantly, outlining every detail of her shape. I swallow a bit harshly, caching her attention before she brushes it off. “Of course not. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. I think you bring up some great issues and I favor your rants.” “Aw shucks, thanks Peter. Maybe you’re saying that because you know you’re the only one that’ll truly listen.” She rises up, and I grab her arm. Pupils blown wide as I searched for the correct words deeply lodged in my brain.

“So, you don’t care that I just saw you practically bare in front of me? A bit bold isn’t it?” I question the woman.

Her face framed by the faulty lighting above us, allowing me to analyze each of her expressions. I chuckle at her lack of response, she then quickly wraps her other hand around the one keeping her from moving away from me. “I just don't have an issue with you seeing me. And yeah, it was a bit of a bold move on my end but when were you gonna take the hint.”

(name) removes her hand from her arm, sitting on my lap and placing her hands on my face. “For weeks you think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been eye fucking me?” Her left hand grazes my jawline, slowly moving down my neck. “What about the cameras?” I mumble, listening to her snort.

“They don’t work in here, you know that” She’s no longer fooled by my false naivety. I suppress a moan when my hands finally reach toward her waist. “I’ve been waiting, so long for you to do something to me…” (name) begins to kiss down my jawline to my neck, her right hand rubbing my chest softly. I run my fingers down from her waist toward her ass, planted right on my growing erection. I roll my hips and I hear her whine, her breath fanning my neck as I continue to tease her. I feel her head turn toward the clock on the wall, leaning back to check the time.

“We have to be quick, pretty boy.” (name) pulls off her now soaked underwear, letting them fall to the floor with a smirk on her face. She begins unbuttoning my shirt halfway, running her hands down my skin with a grin. I unbuckle my belt, groaning at the slight pressure release when (name) unzips my pants. She reaches into my pants, quickly looking at the clock again before turning toward me. The woman places her pointer finger over her lips.

Flickering down toward my cock as she slides it out of my boxers. I groan lowly, going to grab her wrist faintly. She contours her body around to hover above me, holding the back of the back of my neck for support. (name)’s head falls into the shallow area in between my neck and shoulder, whimpering at the stretch of me entering her. I suck in a harsh breath, inhaling deeply.

“Sh-shit.” My fingers curl into her sides causing her to whine again. After a minute of adjusting she begins rolling her hips, speeding up her movements when I started to guide her. I moan into her ear, biting the flesh on her neck with a guttural groan. “Y-youre so tight. Fu-fuck I wont last like this.”She giggles against me, clenching around me teasingly. “We don't have much time to drag t-this out anyway.” (name) breathlessly exclaims, bouncing on top of me now. n move up to meet her halfway, matching her pace effortlessly, knocking the air out of her lungs. “Oh fuc-ck. Peter--Shit–” She quietly cries, circling her arms around me. I leaned my head on her shoulder, moving quicker as we were running out of time. My pelvis slapping the bottom of her ass loudly, a gasp slips its way from her lips.

“i-im gonna cum, shit Peter!” She whimpers again, her hips stuttering in movement. She clenches around me harder. With one final thrust she releases on me, whining into my shoulder. I reach my end soon after her, pulling out and cumming on my bare chest. Silently whining similar to her.

The two of us catch our breath, (name) sits up from my shoulder. “Lets get you cleaned up pretty boy.”

She pulls on her shorts quickly and throws on her flats. “Anyways,” she begins to look at the clock on the wall. “I'll see you later right?” She asks, fixing the few ruffles created in her skirt. I press down on my now slightly wrinkled shirt, pupils flickering toward the clock.

I walk toward the archive rooms door, smirking slightly at the woman before me. “Of course.”