#She's down bad for the curator | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

beargyu313 · 1 month ago

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We be outside 𓇼 𓂃 𓈒𓏸

Untie my leash, take off my mask, This world flips, turned into a bad love

⋆⭒˚.⋆Summary: what better way to meet your boyfriend’s friends than going on a trip with them, right?

Pairings: Sunghoon x you (couple), Niki x you (side piece),

⋆˚꩜｡WC: 17.2k (guess this is my new norm…) ⋆⭒˚｡CW: this story includes CHEATING/homie hopping, if this is something you don’t like then simply don’t read the story. Obviously, I don’t condone cheating irl and am hence using fiction to explore a fantasy…

𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪ Tags: Cheating, cockwarming, sexual tension, semi-public sex (Niki fucks you in the living room while everyone’s watching a movie), fingering (m!giving, f!receiving), sneaking around, heavy petting, teasing, talk of anal,, dick size comparison, marking, light choking, hair-pulling, size kink, praise kink, jealousy (from both lol), pussy licking, crying during sex

𓆉⋆.˚𓆟A/N: apologizes for not posting sooner, just been in a weird funk, reblogs and likes are as always appreciated<3 also next in the making is Jake with the trope of friends to lovers (After a tipsy kiss, you both agree to "see what happens" with strictly no feelings. (Spoiler: There are so many feelings.))

🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

You watch Sunghoon wrestle a large silver suitcase out from under his bed, the corners bumping against the frame with a dull thud. His brows are drawn in concentration as he unzips it and starts mentally organizing stuff—socks, chargers, skin care.

You sit cross-legged on the floor beside him, back resting against the edge of the mattress, your phone glowing in your lap. You scroll idly until a notification catches your eye.

“Who’s ‘h1seungsgirl’?” you ask, squinting. “She just sent me a follow request.”

“Hmm?” Sunghoon doesn’t look up. He’s busy tucking his cologne into a small pouch. “Oh. That’s Heeseung’s girlfriend. She just joined the group chat.”

You tap into her profile, skimming. Her feed is warm-toned, curated, clean. Sun-kissed selfies, gym mirror shots, a laugh caught mid-frame. She’s pretty. Like... really pretty.

“Is she the one he met on twitch?” you ask, glancing over the phone at him.

“I think so.” He shrugs, casually. “She’s cool. You’ll probably like her.”

“Yeah, she seems sweet… Wait- Jay just added me too.” Your thumb flicks upward. “That’s…?”

“Jungwon’s boyfriend.” This time, he does glance at you, briefly. “You met him at that rooftop thing, right?”

“Oh, yeah. With the guitar,” you say, smiling faintly at the memory. “He was nice.”

“Mm. They’re inseparable. They’ll be in the other bungalow.”

“So it’s them, Heeseung and his girl... and us?”

Sunghoon pauses just long enough for you to notice. “Technically. Niki’s with us.”

You try to sound casual, try to keep your pulse steady.

“Right. Of course.” As if you hadn’t spent the last few nights spiraling down his Instagram, heart hammering at every pic he’s in, every grin, every blurry photo of him at a club (yes you also went through his tagged photos). (It’s not a big deal – you just like his aesthetic)

Sunghoon pauses, glances at you like he’s trying to remember something.

“You’ve met him before, haven’t you?” Sunghoon asks offhandedly, now folding a hoodie into a tight square.

“Once or twice,” you murmur. “Very briefly.”

A silence settles. It’s not tense, just familiar. You start to wonder if you’ve run through your daily word limit with him when he speaks again.

“He can be kinda weird with people he doesn’t know,” Sunghoon says, not looking at you. “Just ignore it if he’s awkward.”

You tilt your head. “Weird how?”

Another shrug. “I don’t know. He’s just... Niki.”

Your phone buzzes again, and this time it’s from the group chat — the one you were only added to yesterday. Seven unread messages. You scroll past a selfie from Heeseung’s girlfriend and some chaotic voice notes from Jungwon until you reach the newest one.

ki005__ ok but who’s driving with who tmr lol i’m not tryna get squeezed into jay’s clown car again

You snort softly, thumb hovering over your screen.

“Group chat’s already getting spammed” you say, glancing up at Sunghoon. “Niki just asked who’s riding with who.”

Sunghoon doesn’t pause in his packing. “He should just go with us.”

You tilt your head. “Do we have space?”

He zips the suitcase halfway and nods. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” you say, a beat too quickly. Then you add, more casually, “Honestly, we might as well. Makes sense.”

You type out a reply: you can ride with us if that’s easier,, plenty of room

Sunghoon, kneeling by the suitcase again, barely glances over. “I thought you said you didn’t like long drives with other people.”

You scroll, pretending not to hear that. On the screen, Niki’s typing…

ki005__ bless ur soul 🙏 see u two losers at 10?

You feel the corners of your mouth pull upward, slow and involuntary. “Ten okay with you?” you ask, not looking up.

“Sure,” Sunghoon says, then stands to stretch, like the conversation's already over.

Your screen lights up again.

ki005__ shotgun btw don’t fight me

You laugh under your breath. Sunghoon doesn’t ask what’s funny. You don’t tell him.

The next morning, Sunghoon’s alarm blares, slicing through the silence of his dim bedroom. You blink awake slowly, watching him stretch one arm toward the phone. He shuts off the sound, sighs, and sits on the edge of the bed.

For a moment, you think he might turn toward you, maybe brush your hair out of your face like he used to. But he doesn’t. He just stands, yawns, and walks into the bathroom without a word.

“Morning to you too,” you mutter under your breath.

You both get ready in now-familiar silence, trading only the essentials, such as

“You packed your swimsuits?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

By the time you’re lugging your bags to the car, you feel like you’re with a roommate rather than with your boyfriend. Everything is just too… habitual, stale almost.

You help Sunghoon fit the luggage into the trunk, neither of you offering much more than grunts of effort. Once seated, with Sunghoon in the driver’s seat and you in the passenger, you unlock your phone and connect it to the car’s Bluetooth.

You scroll for something upbeat. Maybe something to lift the mood. But just as the opening bars of the song start playing, Sunghoon taps the steering wheel screen and changes it to something else. A playlist of low-effort indie tracks he listens to when he’s zoning out.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t explain. Just... switches it. You sigh, long and quiet, and turn to the window. Pull out your phone again.

A notification lights up your screen: @ki005__ liked your photo.

And then — a second later — unliked it.

You bite back a smile, heart kicking up a notch against your will. You try not to read too much into it. You fail.

Turns out, Niki only lives three minutes away. As you pull up outside his building, you automatically sit up straighter in your seat, fixing your hair in the rearview mirror without really thinking.

He’s already outside, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, earbuds in, matching sweat set hanging off his tall and lean frame. Messy blonde hair covering his face. Sleepy-eyed with pouty lips. Effortlessly attractive.

He opens the back door and climbs in, pushing his platinum hair out of his face with one hand. The scent of his cologne filters through the car as he settles in.

“Yo,” he says easily to Sunghoon and you.

Sunghoon glances at him through the rearview. “Right on time. Proud of you.”

“Only because I didn’t sleep,” Niki replies, voice even deeper than you remember. His eyes flick to you briefly, and for a second just a second you swear his gaze lingers before he looks away.

About forty minutes into the drive, Sunghoon pulls off at a gas station. The three of you had just settled into a comfortable silence, the quiet hum of the radio filling the car. You were almost asleep as the car stills with a gentle jolt and Sunghoon parks. He yawns mid-sentence.

“I’ll go pump and pay. You two good?”

You nod, already checking your phone. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Niki’s voice comes from the backseat. “I’m good.”

The door thuds shut behind Sunghoon, and the hum of the engine is replaced by a quiet kind of stillness. The type that immediately makes you aware of every movement, every breath.

You feel Niki shift in the backseat, the soft rustle of fabric as he stretches his legs out. “You always sit that still?” he says after a beat.

You glance at him through the rearview mirror. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You just got all… proper. Like you’re waiting for roll call or something.”

You roll your eyes, a small smile threatening. “I’m literally just sitting.”

“Yeah, but it’s very... formal,” he teases. “I feel like I should be speaking in full sentences or something.”

You huff a laugh. “Sorry I don’t slouch dramatically the second I sit down.”

“Oh, this is dramatic?” he leans his head back against the seat, totally relaxed, baring his long neck. “This is me conserving energy.”

You give him a sidelong look. “Sure. You’re the picture of restraint.”

He hums, smile still tugging. “So you’ve noticed.”

You don’t answer right away. The inside of the car suddenly feels smaller.

Before either of you can say more, you spot Sunghoon heading back. You shift slightly in your seat, eyes flicking to the window. The moment passes. Light and forgettable, except for how it settles somewhere under your belly.

“Let’s go,” Sunghoon says, his mood noticeably uplifted now that he’s returned. The car hums to life and you guys spend another hour or so driving on the highway, the sun setting high in the sky.

Sunghoon’s hand rests on your thigh as the car crawls to a stop, fingers warm and absent-minded, more of a habit than a gesture. You barely notice—you’re too busy staring out the window.

The afternoon sun streaks gold across the sky, bleeding into the ocean just visible beyond the trees. The air is warm and thick with salt, the kind of coastal humidity that makes your clothes stick and your skin feel sun-kissed even before hitting the beach.

Ahead of you, two bungalows sit side by side, like mismatched siblings. The one on the left is signed as B2 and is clearly the nicer of the two, it’s slightly raised on stilts, white wooden siding faded just enough to look effortlessly aesthetic. There's a wide patio lined with string lights and a grill already set up near the steps.

B1, the one you’re pulling into, is smaller. Cozier. A single narrow porch leads to the front door, and you can already tell from here there isn’t a lot of space. You imagine the living room will barely hold three people, let alone host them.

Sunghoon shifts into park.

“Welcome to paradise,” he says, removing his hand from your thigh as he leans over to turn off the engine. You don’t answer, your eyes are already on the two cars in the driveway, the figures moving around them.

The second the doors open, chaos spills out.

“I swear if someone forgot the speaker—” Jungwon’s voice rings across the driveway before you’ve even unbuckled your seatbelt. He’s halfway out of his car, waving a pair of flip-flops in one hand like a flag.

Jay hops out after him, laughing. “Why are you yelling like we’re not all within three feet of you?”

Heeseung leans against his trunk, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. His girlfriend stands beside him, cool and quiet, scrolling on her phone. She barely glances up as people start unloading bags, her vibe unreadable but somehow calm amidst the noise.

You open your door and stretch your legs. The drive wasn’t long, but sitting between Sunghoon’s silence and Ni-ki’s quiet energy in the backseat had left you buzzing.

You glance around just in time to see Niki hop out of the back. He pulls his duffel bag over one shoulder and pushes a hand through his hair. His hoodie’s half-unzipped, sleeves pushed up. You try not to stare at the way the tank top underneath the hoodie hugs his waist, as he blinks into the sun, the breeze catching his platinum hair.

“Yo! You finally made it,” Heeseung calls out to the three of you.

“Traffic was ass,” Sunghoon replies, grabbing both your suitcases from the trunk before you can even protest.

Jay points to B1. “That’s yours, right? The little one? Y’all better cuddle tight.”

You force a laugh. “Guess we’re the cozier bungalow.”

Niki gives the house a once-over, then squints. “Damn. Tiny thing.” His voice is light, but there’s a subtle lilt of irony and when his eyes flick to yours briefly, you feel your stomach flutter.

You pretend not to notice.

The group starts dragging bags toward the houses, voices overlapping again as flip-flops slap against the pavement and someone cranks the volume down on the speaker.

“Okay” Heeseung holds up his phone, squinting at the Airbnb confirmation as everyone crowds loosely around him. “Let’s figure out who’s sleeping where before someone tries to claim the grill as a bed.”

“If I snore, me and Won should get the master as a courtesy to the rest of you,” Jay says, tossing his bag over his shoulder and leaning into Heeseung’s space. “It’s a kindness, really. You don’t wanna hear what happens when I hit REM.”

Heeseung’s girlfriend lifts her head from her phone just long enough to give Jay a side-eye.

“Dream on, man.” Heeseung scrolls with his thumb, then looks up. “Me and my girl have the master in B2. Y’all can fight over whatever’s left.”

Jungwon groans. “If I end up on the floor I’m spooning someone, no discussion.”

“As long as it’s not me,” Jay mutters, already heading up the steps.

“Yeah right,” Jungwon says, playfully slapping Jay’s ass, a soft fondness in his eyes as he does so.

You trail after Sunghoon, letting the rest of them peel off toward B2 in a wave of teasing and mock complaints. You can hear Jungwon’s voice bouncing off the side, something about who packed the best snacks and whether or not cold brew counts as hydration.

Sunghoon stops just short of the door to B1 and turns toward Niki, who’s lingering a few steps behind you, hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“Bedroom’s ours. You’ve got the couch.”

Niki lifts a brow, clearly unfazed. “As long as it pulls out. Or doesn’t.” He glances at you, just for a second.

Jungwon snorts loudly from the other porch. “Niki, you’re disgusting.”

You pretend not to catch the innuendo, but your face feels warm.

Niki just grins and kicks at a loose pebble by the steps. “I’m easy, anyway. You could toss me a towel and I’d make it work.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, turning the key in the lock. “You say that like you didn’t once refuse to sleep in a tent because it ‘smelled like nylon.’”

“Okay, first of all, it reeked like wet socks and shame,” Niki shoots back, following him up the porch. “Second, you promised there’d be a cabin.”

“I lied,” Sunghoon shrugs simply.

You trail behind them, amused. “Didn’t you also say he whined the whole hike up Mount Seorak?”

“That was different,” Niki says quickly. “I had altitude-induced existential dread. You can’t control that.”

You lag behind as the door swings open and your eyes scan the inside. The bungalow’s exactly as expected. Modest and slightly cramped. The living room couch is a muted beige, already half-unfolded, and the small hallway beyond it leads to a single bathroom and a closed bedroom door. A window unit hums quietly, cutting the humidity.

You step inside last.

There’s something about the space. How close everything feels. How there’s no room to hide if anything starts to unravel.

Sunghoon snorts as he pushes the bedroom door open. “You had blisters.”

“Blisters and dread,” Niki corrects, glancing over his shoulder at you with a lazy smile. “She gets it.”

You raise your brows. “I’m not taking sides until I see who actually makes the best barbecue.”

“Oh, it’s on,” Niki grins, brushing past you, “I hope you like your chicken emotionally charred.”

Sunghoon mutters under his breath as he steps in behind you, “That’s rich coming from the guy who once set noodles on fire.”

“I was experimenting,” Niki defends. “Creativity can’t be contained.”

You spend the afternoon like that, bantering with each other. The sun is starting to set as you change into a pastel linen set compromised of shorts and a crop top. You felt pretty as you brushed your hair, spritzing light perfume on before joining the rest of the group outside, by the grill.

The patio of B2 was bathed in golden hour light, the grill heating up and a portable speaker was playing something upbeat. Laughter and beach air are thick in the atmosphere. There are coolers, soda bottles and bags of half-opened chips.

As you step out you already hear Jungwon. Jay is already holding a spatula he definitely wasn’t asked to touch.

“I swear if someone forgot the buns again!” you hear Jungwon shouting.

Jay is grinning as he waves the bun bag around, “Your savior has arrived.”

Heeseung’s girlfriend is leaning against the railing, sipping from a can and listening quietly as Heeseung frowns at the grill knobs like he’s diffusing a bomb.

“Why is this one hissing?” Heesung asks her.

“Because you turned the wrong burner,” she deadpans, moving to show him how to do it right.

“It’s gonna be a long weekend,” you hear Jay mutter as he huffs over to Sunghoon. Who you’re sitting next to at the edge of the patio bench. As soon as you stepped out Jay handed you a cold can of probably beer, that you’re nursing in your lap.

Even as you’re sitting next to Sunghoon he’s mid-conversation with Jay and doesn’t notice when your knee touches his. Just as you were starting to feel awkward only listening in to their conversation Niki slides onto the other side of you.

He was close enough for you to smell his cologne, but not close enough to touch. He took his hoodie off now, sporting a black tank top that hugged his frame – leaving nothing to the imagination. His skin golden under the last of the sun looked inviting and you do your best to gather yourself.

A moment passes.

Your thigh brushes his. He doesn’t move away.

He’s talking to Jungwon about some movie, but you swear you feel the pressure shift. It’s like he leans into the touch just a little more deliberately. Or maybe you’re imagining it. Your drink suddenly feels warmer in your hand.

Sunghoon laughs at something Jay says — something about their shared gym horror stories — and you smile faintly, eyes drifting as Heeseung fiddles with the grill knobs again, one hand shielding his eyes from the low sun.

Heeseung calls out, increasignly more annoyed, “Who said they were good at grilling and lied?”

“I never said I was good. I said I was confident,” Jay tells him with full mouth.

A small gust of sea breeze picks up, carrying the scent of salt and charcoal. The sky’s starting to stain dark red at the edges.

Niki shifts beside you to grab a paper plate from the stack in the center of the table. His knee bumps yours, firmer this time. And again, no apology. Just a tiny glance your way, unreadable. Then he returns to his casual lean, resting his forearm along the edge of the bench, figertips grazing your shoulder.

Just then, Jungwon loudly appears with a bag of ice in his hands, “We need drinks, or I’ll start chewing on these hot dog buns out of boredom.”

“You say that like you haven’t done it before,” Niki deadpans.

Jungwon shrugs, “A man’s gotta survive.”

Everyone laughs. Sunghoon stands and takes the plate from your lap without saying anything, walking over to help Heeseung. You’re left sitting with Niki, who doesn’t move.

“He usually like that?” Niki playfully asks, as he leans a bit into you, his voice low so only you hear him.

You glance at him, confused. “Like what?”

Niki shrugs, his lips spread into a half-grin “A little… married already.”

You snort, it slips out before you can catch it.

“I guess he’s just focused.”

Niki hums, “Mm.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “You don’t seem very focused.”

Your brows lift. “Excuse me?”

Niki fully grins now, staring forward, “Just saying. You keep…” he pauses and looks down at your joined legs, “…accidentally touching me.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you glance down and gulp as your eyes trace over his legs, noticing how much bigger Niki seemed to be than you. It gave him the effortless ability to make you feel small. And horny, you wonder what else-

“You always this quiet in groups?” he casually asks, almost crowding your smaller frame with his much bigger stature.

You shrug, noncommittal. “Depends on the group, I guess.”

You glance at him. Hold it a little too long. He smiles, just a little. You unknowingly lean your head to the side, admiring the slight blush covering his cheeks.

Jungwon across the table from you two, loudly laughs at something unrelated, but still he notices the moment between you and Niki, “Damn, she’s studying him like she’s about to write a dissertation.”

You immediately look away, biting back a smile. It’s a joke light and harmless but it makes Niki huff out a laugh.

“Better get my citations ready, then,” Niki quietly huffs, just loud enough for only you to hear.

You don’t answer. But your thigh presses just a little closer to his under the table. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to feel his warmth seep into you.

At the cooler, Sunghoon tosses a cold can toward Niki. Niki catches it with one hand.

“You still drink this crap?” Sunghoon grins.

“Only when I’m pretending I’m happy to be here,” Niki fires back.

They grin at each other, an old rhythm. Laughter hums around the table. Bottles clink. You're halfway through your drink, Sunghoon’s angled toward Jay and Heeseung, deep in some debate about gas prices or whatever. You’re not really listening.

Niki shifts beside you to reach for the last can in the cooler. His fingers brush over yours deliberate or not, you can’t tell. He pops the can, leans back with a low sigh.

Just then Jungwon from across the table proclaims, “I call not washing dishes tonight.”

“You didn’t even cook anything,” Jay points out, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.

“Yeah, because I bring vibes.”

“You bring crumbs, bro,” says Heeseung with tongs in his hands. He’s by the grill flipping the last few pieces of meat left over, “These aren’t cooking fast enough.”

“That’s cause you’re sober, bro,” says Jay, holding up a can of beer.

Once you’re all sat down Heeseung declares “I did the meat,” arms crossed like a judge.

“And I chopped stuff,” says Sunghoon, leaning back in his chair.

“I set up the table,” Jay chimes in, reaching lazily for another chip even though dinner is clearly over.

“I brought vibes,” Jungwon adds with a grin, mouth half-full.

You raise an eyebrow. “You literally showed up with a bag of ice.”

“Exactly,” Jungwon says, smug. “Essential.”

You glance at the pile of dishes accumulating on the patio table. Bowls of melted ice cream, skewers, empty soda cans and beer bottles.

“So, who’s cleaning?” you ask, even though you already know where this is going.

Jay waves a lazy hand. “Not it.”

Heeseung’s girlfriend stands, already brushing off her shorts. “I helped cook. I’m off-duty.”

Jungwon taps at his phone. “I’m on aux. Very important.”

There’s a pause. Then everyone looks at you.

And then at Niki.

“Fine,” you mutter, pushing your chair back. “I’ll start rinsing.”

Niki’s already gathering plates with one hand, sipping from a half-empty can with the other. “I’ll help,” he says, eyes flicking toward you — casual, like he’s not secretly delighted.

Sunghoon doesn’t comment.

In the small bungalow kitchen of B2, you pile dishes beside the sink while Niki turns on the tap. He nudges your elbow as you reach for a bowl. “You dry. I’ll rinse.”

“So bossy,” you mutter, grabbing the towel anyway.

You fall into a quiet rhythm. Steam curls from the hot water. The only sounds are dishes clinking and the faint bass of music still playing outside.

He hands you a plate, fingertips brushing yours.

Then the next.

Then—

“You’re kind of… small, huh?”

You blink, caught off guard, still holding the bowl he passed you. “Excuse me?”

Niki doesn’t look at you. He’s smirking at the faucet. “Not in a bad way. Just—” he shrugs, “Everything about you’s tiny.”

Your jaw drops slightly, face burning. “That’s not— You can’t just say that.”

“You can’t tell me I’m bossy and then act offended when I observe facts,” he says, playfully bumping his shoulder into yours. You sway at the contact, Niki smiles.

You roll your eyes, but your stomach flips. He sets the next plate in the drying rack, then finally turns to look at you.

“Your hands are small too,” he adds, like it’s an afterthought. “Here—” He holds his palm up. “Let me see something.”

You hesitate, heartbeat quickening, then lift your hand to his.

Your fingers meet. His are thicker, longer, they swallow yours easily.

Niki tilts his head, watching the contrast. “Thought so.”

You say nothing, but you’re very aware of how warm his palm is against yours. And how long he lets it linger before pulling away. Aware of the way he has to look down, and the way you have to crane your neck to look up at him when he’s this close.

You take a deep breath, a familiar heat spreading through your lower belly. Your mind is in overdrive, dizzy with a growing need and you wonder if Niki can feel it too, can feel the electricity between you two.

Outside, a burst of laughter is heard. Jay probably dropped something.

Niki gives you one more plate. “Last one,” he murmurs. Your fingers brush again. Neither of you moves when your shoulders touch, standing just a bit too close to each other to be considered platonic.

After the kitchen is finally cleared, the two of you now also joined with Sunghoon, drift back toward B1 with the sort of wordless quiet that only comes after hours in the sun. Flip-flops slap softly against the concrete path. You trail a little behind, watching Sunghoon and Niki.

Thoughts of comparison sneak into your mind before you can stop them. They’re both very tall, but Sunghoon never made you feel tiny and you couldn’t understand why Niki, who’s at most 5cm taller than your own boyfriend continuously made you feel this way.

It wasn’t just the height, Sunghoon was a good boyfriend, but you couldn’t deny that recently your relationship started to feel a little stale, too familiar. Niki on the other hand intrigued you, he was quiet but not shy. Reserved, but not apathetic. Filled with endless oxymorons that you wanted to pick apart until you understood him fully.

You glance at their backs. Same broad shoulders, same lazy stride. But when Niki walks, it feels like the air shifts. Like you’re meant to follow.

Sunghoon is the first to speak again, voice low as he thumbs through his phone. “Jungwon’s making me download some old movie for movie night. Like, black and white old.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Said it’s ‘actual cinema.’”

Niki lets out a snort. “Bet it’s boring as hell.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Sunghoon mutters, fiddling with the door key.

“He probably already knows,” you say with a small laugh.

Inside, the bungalow is darker and cooler than outside. You click on the hallway light and a soft glow spills across the small space. The couch is still pulled out halfway, pillow already set up, and a folded blanket rests on top. Someone probably Sunghoon tossed it there earlier without comment.

Niki toes off his slides and heads straight for it, dragging the blanket to one side as he drops onto the cushions.

“I got couch,” he says, almost too casually, pulling the pillow under his arm. “You two go pretend you’re dating.”

You roll your eyes, but Sunghoon just stretches. “Not pretending,” he mumbles, already heading to the bedroom. “She steals all the covers.”

“You snore,” you call after him.

He doesn’t deny it.

The bathroom door creaks open and closed as Sunghoon steps in to brush his teeth. You hover by the small hallway shelf, fidgeting with your toiletry bag, but your eyes drift back toward the couch.

Niki’s tossed his phone on the edge and is flipping through the TV menu, blanket over his lap like he’s done this a thousand times before. He doesn’t look tired. Just… calm. Settled.

You pause for a second longer than you mean to.

He glances up, catching your gaze. His voice is quieter than before, almost lazy. “Don’t worry. I won’t snore.”

“I know where to come then, if Sunghoon gets too loud.” You mean it as a joke but it comes out more suggestive than you intend.

Your face burns as Niki raises his eyebrows, a slight smirk stretching across his lips.

“You might regret that. I’m not great at sharing space.” He lets it sit for a beat, then adds with a half-smile, “I do like to cuddle though.”

Your mouth opens. Then closes. You laugh a little too quickly.

“Just as long as you're not a blanket thief…” it slips out before you think, and now it’s your words hanging between you like smoke.

His eyes flick up. The moment stretches.

You scramble to fill it.

“I— I mean, not that I’d actually, like… come over. That’d be— weird.” You’re already backing up a step, fingers twitching at your hair.

“Right?”

He doesn’t say anything, he just watches you, unreadable, lips still curled.

Heat creeps up your neck.

You turn before he can answer. Practically flee into the bedroom.

Behind you, you hear his soft laugh low and amused, followed by the gentle click of the TV remote, the hum of something starting to play.

Not much later, after you’ve both freshened up in the bathroom, you slip beneath the covers beside Sunghoon. Your thighs ache annoyingly and betrayingly. You replay the memories of Niki, all the teasing, all the quiet touching. You shuffle closer into Sunghoon, hoping he can eradicate any thoughts of other men. You cuddle into his side and nuzzle your face into his neck.

He lets you, wrapping an arm around you. As you kiss his neck he stiffens, “babe, Niki’s right next door.”

“So?” you ask, moving to straddle him as he continues laying down.

“It’s fine, we closed the door,” you say, reaching for the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head. It lands somewhere behind you.

Sunghoon rests his hands on your hips, satiated with your excuse. You can feel him getting hard under you and you smirk.

You lean down, enveloping his lips in a passionate kiss as your hands move under his shirt, softly scratching at his plush skin.

“You’re really needy tonight, huh?” Sunghoon comments, more to himself than you.

“Can’t help it when I have such a hot boyfriend,” you say, rocking your hips against him. Willing yourself to stay grounded in the moment and not let your thoughts escape to a taller man, a man who was in the next room.

Sunghoon groans softly, the sound caught in his throat as you roll your hips again. “Fuck… babe…”

“Did you bring condoms?” you ask, as you already move to his suitcase.

“Yep, left corner at the bottom,” he tells you, and when you’re back on him you’re both naked. You rip the wrapper open with your mouth before rolling it onto his hard length.

You watch as his eyebrows pinch together and squeeze him a bit, just the way he likes.

Sunghoon softly groans as he throws his head back, allowing you to essentially play with his dick. And you do, gripping it and jerking it as you please.

Your hand can just barely envelop his girth, he was big but since Niki was bigger in all other aspects would that also mean he’s… you shake the thought away, and rock your wet folds against Sunghoon’s dick, almost laying down on him.

He watches you, flexing his abs in quiet restraint.

You knew your boyfriend and you knew if Niki wasn’t behind closed doors Sunghoon would’ve already had you the way he likes it. Passionately, deeply and roughly.

Which was why you wanted to tease him more, not getting this opportunity often, but alas your impatience drives you into sinking on him too quickly. You both groan, trying to stifle any noise as you adjust – you to the stretch of his dick, and Sunghoon to how tightly your little pussy wrapped around his dick.

The mattress creaks beneath you, old springs giving way with every motion. It’s subtle at first, but soon it starts sounding unmistakable. Rhythmic. Inescapable.

From the other side of the wall, the TV volume suddenly clicks louder.

You freeze for half a second, not stopping entirely, just… aware that Niki definitely knew what the two of you were doing behind closed doors. Your breath catches.

Sunghoon notices. He laughs a little, low and amused, his hands squeezing at your hips. “What, getting shy now?” he murmurs, his voice brushing warm against your collarbone.

You don’t answer but your eyes flick toward the wall.

Sunghoon’s grin is slow. He’s misreading it. “C’mon,” he says, lifting his hips to meet yours again. “I’m sure Niki doesn’t mind hearing your pretty little moans.”

Your body jerks involuntarily. Your thighs clench tighter around him. He feels it.

His voice drops, half teasing, half turned on. “Oh… you like that?”

You try to play it off, but your face is already hot. You look down, lips parted.

Sunghoon sits up slightly, flipping you two, so he’s on top of you.

His mouth brushes your jaw possessively, like he’s a predator guarding his prey and it turns you on, thoughts of Niki eradicated. For now.

“You want him to hear us? Want him to know how soaked you get just from riding me?”

Your breath shudders out, lashes fluttering, “Yes” you dreamily sigh.

He groans, voice rougher now, “Dirty girl…”

You moan into his mouth as he kisses you again, this time rougher, his hands gripping harder as you move together, it’s messy and heated. The bedframe knocks softly against the wall.

The TV volume clicks up again.

Your eyes squeeze shut. You imagine Niki with his hands down his pants, listening to you. Playing with his hard dick and wishing you were in the living room with him instead.

You moan loudly. Sunghoon growls in a possessive warning to be less loud. But it does nothing to stop your mind from picturing Niki on top of you.

Ater all is done and you sloppily clean up together Sunghoon dozes off, spooning you from behind.

You on the other hand can’t sleep. The ache between your thighs is still present, even more intense now. You can’t stop thinking about Niki, his bigger frame, his dark eyes, the way he always seemed to be close to you or watching you…

After more tossing and turning around in the bed you finally manage to fall asleep to Sunghoon’s soft snores, the even and familiar rhythm lulling you to sleep.

You wake to a soft rustle of sheets and the sun warming the back of your neck.

Sunghoon is curled around you, one arm snug at your waist, his chest rising and falling against your spine. His breathing is steady, calm. He smells like salt and warmth and the lingering sharpness of last night.

Your body aches, pleasantly sore from last night but something inside still gnaws. That deep, low ache hasn’t gone away. If anything, it’s worse now.

You squeeze your thighs together, as if that’ll ease it. It doesn’t. It’s not Sunghoon’s fault. He was good, sweet, and familiar. The kind of rhythm you knew by heart. But it still wasn’t enough. Because someone else is in your head.

Still.

You finally slip out of bed once you’re sure Sunghoon’s breathing has evened again, brushing your teeth in the tiny bathroom and rinsing your face with cold water in hope it clears your thoughts. It doesn’t.

You step out into the main room only to stop short. Niki is already up. Sitting sideways on the couch, long legs stretched out in front of him, one arm draped over the backrest. His hair’s a mess. A thin silver chain around his neck. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. He looks like he didn’t sleep or like he hasn’t been to bed at all.

You hesitate, but he doesn't look at you. Doesn’t even flinch.

You go to the kitchenette, grab a mug, pour some coffee from the thermos left out by Heeseung when they made the first pot before heading to B2. The silence stretches long. Too long.

You glance over again.

He still hasn’t looked at you. Just staring blankly at something on his phone. His expression is unreadable, still and blank in that way he always is, like there’s something going on inside and he just won’t let you see it.

The coffee’s hot against your tongue. Too hot. You burn your mouth slightly but don’t react.

He speaks just as you’re lifting your mug again.

“Sleep okay?”

You nearly drop it.

You nod too fast. “Yeah. You?”

Niki hums. Barely.

“Not really, t’was kinda noisy, I heard you.”

The mug clinks against the counter. You choke a little. “Heard…?”

Niki finally looks at you.

His eyes are dark not sleepy, not soft. Just focused. Direct.

“Sunghoon,” he says simply. “He snores.”

You exhale too loudly. Your laugh is brittle, cut at the edges. “Oh. Yeah, he does that sometimes. I’m used to it.”

He nods once, looking away again. But not before his gaze drops just briefly to your legs, bare beneath your oversized tee. His mouth twitches like he was going to say something else but thought better of it. You pretend to busy yourself with stirring sugar into your cup. Your hands are shaking. You tell yourself it’s the caffeine.

But you can’t stop thinking. Did he hear more than snoring? Did he hear you moan? Did he want to? His voice was unreadable. But his eyes… There was something there.

You go back to the room after that, crawl back into bed where Sunghoon sleepily tugs you close again. You let him. You even kiss his cheek, nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck.

But your pulse is still skipping. Your body is still awake. Your mind is already elsewhere. And you know exactly who it’s with.

When you step into the kitchen for the second time today, it’s already a little warm from the early sun. Sunghoon’s already poured your coffee. You sit beside him, trying not to look like you didn’t sleep or like your brain has been replaying someone else’s face since 2AM.

Niki walks in a moment later. His hair’s damp from a shower. He’s shirtless again, wearing only swim trunks, towel over one shoulder, phone in his hand. You don’t look directly. You can’t. But your pulse stutters when he brushes past you, reaching for a mug.

"Groupchat says beach by eleven," he says casually. “Jay and Jungwon are already down there. Heeseung’s girlfriend brought one of those fold-up coolers.”

Sunghoon leans forward to check his phone. “Sick. We can just bring drinks and chips or something.”

Niki nods, noncommittal. He sits across from you, sipping quietly. You feel his eyes once. Just once. Why does he sound so casual, but look like—

No. Stop. You exhale. You’re imagining things again.

...Aren’t you?

After breakfast is finished, you dig through your suitcase for your black one-piece swimming suit. The safe one. The covered one. The one Sunghoon likes and specifically asked you to take. But your hand hits string. Ribbed fabric. Triangle cups. Your stomach drops.

“Shit…”

You’re still holding it up dumbly when the bedroom door creaks open behind you.

“You almost ready?”

You turn. Sunghoon’s leaning against the doorframe, rubbing sunscreen between his hands. You hold the bikini by the strap, like it might explain itself. “I thought I packed the one-piece.”

He pauses. Then frowns. “That’s not it?”

You nod. “They’re both black. I grabbed the wrong ones.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, pointedly he asks “…You’re really gonna wear that?”

Your brow lifts. “I mean… yeah? I only brought one swimsuit with me.”

“I just—” he laughs under his breath, rubbing his neck. “I didn’t think you’d bring the tiny one.”

“It’s not that tiny,” you huff.

He raises an eyebrow.

You cross your arms. “It’s just a bikini, Sunghoon.”

“Yeah, but—” He sighs. “Come on, baby, like—the guy’s are gonna see you in that.”

That catches you. Sharp and immediate. Your eyes narrow. “So? It’s not like I took them on purpose.”

Sunghoon’s tone shifts, it’s still soft, but strained. “I just don’t like the idea of them seeing you like that.”

You pause.

“Then don’t look,” you say, turning away.

You walk to the bathroom with the bikini still in hand. Behind you, Sunghoon exhales but doesn’t further comment.

From the couch in the next room, Niki doesn’t say anything. But you’re sure he heard.

You glance at him just once and catch him watching the TV, expression unreadable, remote still in hand. Too focused for it to be natural.

His eyes flick to you as you pass, just for a second. Just long enough to make you heat up, shyly speed up your step. But neither of you speak. You feel his gaze on you as you enter the bathroom, heartbeat spiking and you can’t deny it. You’re secretly looking forward to him seeing you in this set.

By the time you’re walking down to the beach, the sand is still cool beneath your feet. It’s an easy silence. Or at least it would be, if not for the way Sunghoon keeps close to your side, hand occasionally brushing yours, like he’s reminding everyone who you belong to.

You feel Niki fall into a step behind you. Not quite trailing. Just… not rushing. You don’t turn around. Not at first. But then, a whisper of fingertips grazes the small of your back. Just one second. Maybe less. A ghost of touch, light as air.

You jolt barely and glance back, pulse ticking up.

Niki is looking straight ahead, board tucked beneath one arm, mouth unreadable. Not a smirk. Not even a glance. He could’ve brushed past you by accident. You could pretend it was nothing.

But your skin is burning where he touched. You bite the inside of your cheek. Keep your face neutral. Force your eyes back to the ocean in the distance. But your heart is hammering.

Sunghoon doesn’t notice a thing. “Did you remember sunscreen?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re gonna need a lot in this tiny thing…” he dryly comments, still sulking that you’re wearing it.

You glance down at yourself. Black, tiny, sure, but everything was covered. Even if you could feel the bottoms digging into your asscheeks, even if you had to keep adjusting your top so you wouldn’t flash anyone by accident.

“I already told you thought I grabbed the other one,” you sigh, annoyed. “They’re both black. I got confused.”

Sunghoon clicks his tongue. “Well, now every guy here is gonna get confused too.”

He drapes a towel over your shoulders, tugs the ends together at your chest like it’ll hide anything. It’s not that you don’t appreciate the sweetness. But the tension in his jaw makes it feel... like a leash. You let the towel fall back open.

Just then, Jungwon whistles as you approach.

“Damn girl,” he grins, lounging on a towel next to Jay, “you’re making the beach jealous.”

Niki snorts. “Don’t start.”

You barely have time to laugh before Sunghoon throws a look that could slice steel. Jungwon lifts his hands innocently, grinning wider.

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything just steps closer, wraps an arm low around your waist. You stiffen a little. Smile for show. And feel Niki’s eyes before you see them.

When you finally glance his way he’s not subtle. His eyes are already sliding back up your legs, past your hips, then lingering just long enough on the line of your chest to make heat spark beneath your skin.

And when your eyes meet, he doesn’t glance away. He just looks at you like he’s thinking about something. Something he shouldn’t be.

Your stomach dips.

You force your attention forward. Pretend the air isn’t suddenly warmer. Pretend your thighs aren’t pressing a little tighter together beneath the towel slung around your waist.

So, when you all move to the water, you angle yourself away from him. Playfully splash at Jay. Duck behind Sunghoon. Anything to stay far, far from him.

It’s working.

Until it’s not. Jay lunges at someone — Jungwon shrieks — a huge wave rolls toward you, foam curling at the top. You brace, but your foot slips, and in the brief chaos, something catches you.

No—someone.

Hands, firm at your waist, steadying you.

You freeze. You know who it is before he speaks.

“Careful,” Niki says, voice low. You feel it in your core. His breath brushes your ear. His grip firms for just a second, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you how much larger he is. How easily he could move you if he wanted to.

You’re painfully aware of the way your body fits against his. Your head barely at his shoulder, your waist swallowed in his palms.

You turn to look but he’s already gone. Already stepped away, drifting toward the others like nothing happened.

Your heart pounds. Your pulse thrums between your legs. You’re not imagining it. Not anymore. Later, when you’re drying off, you catch him watching again. And this time, you don’t look away.

Everyone’s sitting around on the beach towels, casually snacking on fruit and sandwiches. The group’s easy laughter fills the air, but your eyes keep drifting to Niki, who sits a little apart, fiddling with a seashell. Heeseung leans over Jungwon, nodding toward you and Niki. “You notice how these two barely talk? Like, they’re around each other but kind of distant?”

Jungwon shrugs. “Yeah, it’s weird. You guys don’t really vibe with each other, huh?” He tells you and Niki. But before either one of you can say something in response, Jungwon continues.

He turns to Heeseung, “but I figure they’re just not that close or maybe still getting to know each other?”

Jay chimes in, grinning, “Definitely not like the rest of the gang. They’re like… polite strangers.”

Heeseung’s girlfriend laughs softly. “Maybe they’re just on different wavelengths or something.”

Sunghoon catches the comment and smirks. “Probably. You know how some people just don’t click right away.”

You nod, chewing your sandwich, feeling a strange mix of relief and frustration. It’s true you and Niki do act different around each other. Not quite awkward, but definitely not easy either.

Niki glances over briefly, and you quickly look away. The group moves on to another topic, unaware how loaded that quiet distance really is between you two.

You clear your throat and stand up, forcing a smile. “I’m just gonna grab some more snacks and water for everyone.” You grab your bag and head toward B1.

A minute later, you’re pulling out some bottled water out of the fridge and a bag of gummy worms. You’re rifling through the small plastic bag of snacks when you hear footsteps behind you.

Niki’s voice follows a second later, low and casual. “So… we’re polite strangers now?”

You nearly jump, hand still buried in the bag. “I didn’t hear you come in,” you say, turning your head over your shoulder. “And they’re just being dramatic. We’re not strangers.”

Niki leans against the counter beside you, arms crossed. “Polite, though?”

You huff a small laugh, plucking out a gummy worm and popping it into your mouth. “Only to keep the peace.”

He nods slowly, watching you chew. “Mm. What flavor was that?”

You hold up the bag. “The best one. I only like the red ones, so I’m picking them out before the others get to them.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re hoarding gummy worms?”

“I’m curating an experience.”

“Uh huh,” he murmurs, slipping a hand into the bag before you can stop him.

“Wait—!” you lunge for it, but it’s too late. He’s already fished out a red one with unholy accuracy, grinning like he planned it.

“This one?” he asks, holding it just out of reach. You reach again, but he easily steps back, long arm lifting the candy above your head like it’s a game. Because for him, it is.

You scowl. “That’s mine.”

“Then come get it,” he murmurs, voice dipping low, teasing. “Come on, pretty. You want it, don’t you?”

You poorly try to snatch it again. His height makes it a joke. One hand to your shoulder, one holding the worm, he keeps you at bay like you weigh nothing.

“You’re so tiny,” he teases, smirking. “It’s cute. Like watching a kitten try to climb a cabinet.”

You glare, lunging again, and he just shifts his arm higher with obnoxious ease.

“Oh no,” he adds mockingly, eyes gleaming. “The ground-level threat is back.”

You huff, stepping in closer, pretending to try again but this time you shift the game. Your hand slides along his side, just below his belly button, fingers grazing the skin just above his waistband. You feel it immediately. His sharp inhale, the flinch in his posture. His muscles tense under your touch like you flipped a switch.

His smirk drops. His whole body stills. You look up at him through your lashes, playing innocent. “Problem?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares down at you, eyes dark and unreadable.

Then he moves.

In one step he’s crowding you back against the counter, towering over you, voice a low scrape of gravel. “Fine, you want it? Then open your mouth.”

You freeze. The tone is different now. Serious. Darker. Your lips part instinctively.

He slides the gummy worm between them, slow, deliberate. His fingers brush your tongue.

You close around them. Suck just faintly. Purposefully.

His jaw tightens. His breath catches. His hand curls tight around the counter behind you. “Good girl,” he mutters, low and rough, like the words cost him something.

Your mouth pulls into a slow smile as you chew. “You shouldn’t have teased me,” you murmur, voice light but your eyes say something else entirely.

He exhales hard.

“You drive me crazy,” he mutters to himself, thinking you wouldn’t hear it (but you do), already turning to leave. He grabs the big water bottle from the counter and walks off, shoulders tense.

When you join the group outside a few minutes later, with cheeks flushed and heart pounding, you settle beside Sunghoon. But you feel Niki’s eyes on you. You’re on edge for the rest of the day, jumpy, too observant. The restlessness follows you into nighttime.

One again you’re tossing and turning in the bed, unable to sleep. Sunghoon’s snores don’t help lull you to sleep this time. Instead, they act as a bigger distraction to your lack of sleep. You sigh and grumble to yourself before sitting up.

You contemplate for a moment and then you’re off. Wrapping your silk summer robe over your naked body you quietly shuffle out of the bedroom. The purpose? Getting water. Water that’s located in the kitchenette, but to get there you have no choice but to pass through the living room. Where Niki was.

You just had to open the bedroom door and you’d be in the living room. A small hallway that could barely classify as that was where you’d have to pass to see him. A door and 5 steps. That’s all that separated the two of you. You’ve been avoiding him ever since the incident today. Constantly reminding yourself that you have a boyfriend, like it’s a mantra.

You walk painfully slow past him, padding softly on your tippy toes and slightly hunched over. At any other time you’d look hilarious, but you’re too nervous tonight to think about that. You don’t want to wake him up. You don’t even dare glance at him, knowing that knowing what he looked like while he was sleeping would consume your mind, the image etching itself deep into your brain.

Which was why you don’t notice that he’s awake, scrolling on his phone, only wearing his boxers, also unable to sleep. His eyes follow your figure all the way into the kitchen, watching, calculating… The fridge hums behind you as you fill a glass with water, your silk robe barely clinging to your skin. The quiet should be peaceful.

It isn’t.

“You really weren’t gonna say anything to me all night?”

Your hand freezes. You don’t turn around. You don’t need to.

Niki’s voice is low. Hoarse. Just behind you in the dark.

You whisper, “I didn’t know you were awake.”

“I was.”

Silence stretches.

“I watched you walk past. Slow. Quiet. Pretending you didn’t feel me watching.”

Your pulse kicks up. You clutch the glass tighter. “Please don’t start—”

“Start?” he cuts in, voice soft but deadly. “Sweetheart, you started this. Every time you run, you’re the one starting it all over again.”

You finally turn to face him.

Niki’s leaned against the counter now, towering over you. His hair is messy from sleep. His eyes stormy. Wild. “You think I don’t notice?” he murmurs. “The way you react whenever I touch you. Your body doesn’t lie.”

“Niki—”

He steps forward. Just one slow, measured step. “Do you have any idea what it’s doing to me?” Another step. You’re backed up to the wall now, between the fridge and hallway, cold tile against your calves.

“I can’t sleep. I can’t fucking breathe around you. And you know what makes it worse?”

He leans down, lips near your cheek. “It’s that you want me just as bad. And yet you still go back to him.”

You whisper, “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But he’s not me,” Niki says like a sin, like a prayer.

You open your mouth to reply, but he beats you to it.

“Tell me you haven’t thought about it. How good it felt when I touched you. When I put that candy in your mouth and you sucked on my fingers.”

He exhales hard. “Fuck—You looked up at me like you’d let me ruin you right there.”

Goosebumps raise on your skin. His voice, even deeper than usually, was finding home somewhere deep in your belly. “I shouldn’t be here,” you whisper, trying to escape but Niki’s bigger frame has you caged in place.

“But you are.”

He slips one naked thigh between yours. “You’re not wearing anything underneath this robe? Don’t act like this was innocent.”

His voice drops lower, slight growl to his words, the desperation slipping through his nonchalant facade. “You still wanna be a good girl for me, right?”

He cups your jaw, tilts your head up to meet his gaze. “You wanna be my good girl so bad it’s killing you.”

You nod once, barely breathing.

His lips brush yours in a not-quite a kiss. Not yet, even though you chase his lips. But he stops you, speaking. “Then be good for me.” His hand slips under your robe, up your thigh, to your soaked center. “But you don’t get to cum.”

Your breath stutters. He’s already pressing his middle finger into you slow, hard, firm. “Not here. Not yet.”

You let out a soft sigh, spreading your legs in silent consent for him to continue. He bites your earlobe gently. “You’ll cum when you admit who you really want.”

You shake your head, your eyes squeezed shut, lips trembling. You grab onto his forearm that’s between your legs, grinding onto his finger. But he doesn’t move.

“Say it,” Niki whispers, grinding you into the wall. “Say my name. Say it and I’ll let you fall apart on my cock right here outside his door.”

His body is so close now, it’s all you can feel. His thigh between yours, his hand under your robe, the heat of his mouth against your ear.

“Niki,” you silently cry out in a desperate plea. You feel him slipping another finger into you. Your wet velvet walls sucking him. Fuck. If his fingers felt so thick in you, then you couldn’t wait for his dick. You clench around his fingers at the thought and Niki’s towering frame leans down, close to your ear.

“Still pretending this means nothing?”

“It doesn’t—” you moan out, barely controlling your volume. His thumb grazes your clit. Your eyes shut as you cover your mouth with your hands to prevent any noises from escaping.

“Bullshit,” Niki hisses, he pinches your clit, pressing it with his thumb into the side of his palm in punishment. It makes your walls tighten even more. A sob escapes you when he presses his hips against yours.

“You don’t even believe that. You’re dripping. And your boyfriend is nowhere near, you thinking of him or me right now?”

You flinch. Shame and need twist in your gut. But they’re squashed by an overpowering and ever growing need for Niki.

“I shouldn’t—”

“But you are. You came out here wearing nothing under this robe. You walked right past me, like you wanted me to stop you.”

You close your eyes, head tilting back as he curls his fingers, finally pushing them in and out. “Niki…” you choke out in a broken whimper, hands curling around his biceps to steady yourself.

His mouth is at your neck now, kissing, claiming you. “There it is.” He rasps, biting you just under your throat softly. You squeeze his bicep in warning. He just licks over the bitten spot.

“Say my name again,” he says, sounding utterly destroyed already.

“Niki—” you whimper, quietly. Too quietly.

Through gritted teeth, “louder.”

You hesitate. He drags his fingers along your slit, barely there. Not enough. It’s maddening.

“Niki,” you quietly whimper, squeezing your walls when Niki changes the current rhythm. The speed picking up with your growing desperation.

“Fuck—say it like you mean it,” he breathes, sharp and strained.

You whimper as starts rubbing circles over your clit as he’s still fingering you. Your hands claw at his chest.

“Please…”

“No.” He stills his hand. “Not until you say it.”

You’re walking on the edge of tears and pleasure, too dumb to think about anything, anyone other than Niki,“Say what?”

“Say you want me,” he says, lips against yours, not kissing you yet.

He strokes deeper. Your knees buckle. He catches you, arm wrapping around your waist.

“I want you,” you pant, grinding on his hands. Your eyes burn and you can feel a tear slip down your cheek.

“Not enough.”

He stops again. Cruel. Controlled.

You pout up at him, he bites his lip, eyelids dropping slightly. He leans into you. “I want you, Niki. I want you,” you breathe your voice breaking and cheeks wet with your tears.

His breath leaves him like a punch. He back-walks you gently into the hallway against the wall. The wall that separates the bedroom from the rest of the house. Where Sunghoon is sleeping.

No hesitation now. The robe slips open just enough. “That’s all I needed.” He pushes down his boxers, his cock springing free. He doesn’t give you any time to look at it, sliding his cock inside you. He’s slow, thick, unbearable.

Your robe bunches up at your waist, you feel his cock dragging between your folds, veiny and heavy. Thicker than you expected. The kind of thick that makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Shit—” you whisper, body trembling.

Niki chuckles low behind you. It sounds dark, satisfied, already flushed. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs, guiding his cock to your entrance. “You haven’t even felt the whole thing yet.”

You brace yourself, hand gripping his shoulders. “You’re not small.”

That gets a sharp exhale out of him. He leans forward, his chest brushing your back, his voice dipping into your ear like a secret. “You’ll take it. You’re already soaking for it.”

“God—” you half sob, your walls continuously clenching down on him as you try to adjust to his thick length, splitting you apart.

Niki’s voice cracks with restraint, “don’t move.” His hand clamps over your hip. His forehead presses to yours. “Just stay like this.”

“Why?”

Niki’s barely breathing, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat as he tries to calm his ragged breathing down, “Because if I fuck you the way I want to… we’re gonna wake your boyfriend up.”

You gasp. He smiles. Dark, unhinged, wrecked.

“So be good. Take it. Feel me.” He rolls his hips once. Slow, still not fully in you. Deep. “You’ll cum when you admit I’m the only one who gets to have you.”

Your head falls back. Eyes flutter. His thumb catches a tear tracing your cheek.

“Fuck,” he mutters, kissing the corner of your eye. “So pretty when you cry for me.”

He cups your jaw, then your breast roughly, wordlessly claiming. You hiss as he squeezes hard, too hard but he’s already pulling you forward, sliding out.

You make a strangled noise, empty without him. Niki doesn’t pause.

He shoves your robe up, pushes you over the couch. Your knees dig into the cushions. One hand braced on the backrest.

You hear the sound of him spitting in his palm. The slick stroke of him lining up again.

A moan, low and raw, as he grinds the head of his cock between your folds. “Every fucking night,” he mutters. “I think about this. About bending you over like this. Filling you up so deep you forget how to lie.”

You whimper. He grabs your hips, hard enough to bruise.

“You were made for this,” Niki breathes, more to himself than you. “Made for me.”

He pushes in, slow at first, the stretch near unbearable. You’re choking on your own gasp, trying to breathe through it, but your walls spasm around him, trying to force him out.

Niki groans, it’s a sound full of restraint and disbelief. “Fuck. You feel like this for him?” He starts to push deeper, jaw clenched. “No… you don’t. You can’t.”

You moan but it sounds more like a sob. His size splits you open, the burn meeting something deeper, something you don’t want to name yet.

He sinks in all the way. Your hips jerk forward, eyes fluttering shut. “Such a good girl for me,” he pants. “That’s it. Let me fill you.”

His hands spread across your waist, holding you steady like you might run. But you’re not running. You’re melting.

“God—Niki—” you whisper, your fingers clenching the cushion.

“Too much?” he asks but the smirk in his voice is already smug.

“No—just… just big,” you confess, voice cracking.

That shatters something in him.

“Say that again.”

“You’re… big,” you stammer, heat crawling up your neck. “I can feel it in my stomach.”

He snarls softly behind you, one hand sliding up your spine, pressing you deeper into the couch as he starts to move. Slow, dragging strokes that scrape along every nerve ending inside you.

“This pussy’s mine already,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “You moan like you’ve been waiting for this.”

“I haven’t—” You’re cut off by a sharp thrust that knocks the breath out of you.

“No? Then why’d you keep looking at me every time he touched you?”

His voice is venom and honey, seething and smug. “You’d kiss him, and still look at me like you wanted more.”

Your whole body tenses. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“You meant it,” Niki snaps, grinding deeper into you. “You wanted me to notice. You wanted me to get jealous.”

He yanks your hair back just enough to turn your face, so he can see your lips parting in a moan you’re desperate to hide. “And I did. I noticed everything.”

He slams into you harder, rougher now. You whimper it’s too much, too deep, and somehow still not enough.

“I see the way he touches you. All careful. Like you’ll break.”

He bites the shell of your ear. “I won’t be careful.”

Your orgasm builds fast, overwhelming the stretch, the fullness, the jealousy behind his words. You’re panting, desperate.

“I can’t—Niki, I’m gonna—”

He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush to him as he fucks you through it murmuring filth into your ear while you shatter.

“That’s it. Come for me.” His voice breaks. “Show me this pussy is mine.”

You cry out, body convulsing as you clench down on him. His pace stutters, cock throbbing inside you.

He follows with a low groan, spilling inside you, hands gripping your hips like he’s trying to burn the shape of you into his palms.

For a long moment, neither of you move. Just heavy breathing. Sweat-damp skin. Your body pulsing around his.

Then, quieter Niki presses his forehead to your spine. “You ruined me,” he breathes.

You don’t answer. You can’t. But your hand reaches back trembling to find his. And he laces your fingers together. You stay like that for a while. Folded over the couch, skin damp, heart pounding.

Niki doesn’t move. He’s barely still inside you, his chest pressed to your back, both of you trembling with the aftershocks. His hand is still locked in yours. His breath hits the curve of your shoulder, ragged and hot.

No words.

Slowly, silently, Niki pulls out and you both gasp like it hurts. You don’t dare look at him as you pull your robe down and sink onto the couch, legs tucked under you. You feel stretched, sore, leaking.

You feel ruined.

Niki leans against the wall across from you. His hair is a mess, sweat shining on his chest, and his eyes they’re not smug anymore. They’re starved.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod.

But your eyes don’t meet his.

You fix your robe. Run fingers through your hair. Like if you’re fast enough, no one will know what just happened.

“I should go,” you whisper. “Sunghoon might wake up.”

His jaw ticks. He hesitates. For a second, it looks like he might say something else, something too real. But then he exhales, pushes a hand through his hair, and doesn’t say anything as he watches you leave.

Your body is warm. Too warm.

It takes a second before you remember where you are, who you’re with and why your thighs ache. Sunghoon shifts beside you, arm slung lazily over your waist, his chest rising and falling in slow, peaceful rhythm.

He mumbles your name. It should be comforting. And it is. But it also feels like being caught. You stare at the ceiling.

You did it. You crossed the line. And it wasn’t a mistake. And you have a feeling it wouldn’t be a one time thing either.

Your fingers twitch. You can still feel Niki’s breath in your ear. The rough press of his palms all over you. Sunghoon sighs again and pulls you closer, nuzzling the back of your neck like instinct.

You feel different now. Like you’re split in two halves. The girl who touches her boyfriend like nothing happened... and the girl who can still feel Niki’s fingers between her thighs.

You tie your robe tighter and pad out, barefoot on cold tile. Your hair’s a mess. You haven’t even washed your face. The kitchen’s quiet but not empty.

Niki stands near the counter, tousled bedhead, glass of juice in one hand, phone in the other. He looks up.

“Morning,” he says low, unreadable.

You swallow.

“Sleep well?” he asks.

“Like a rock,” you say, forcing a brittle smile, reaching for a glass of water.

There’s a slight pause.

“Yeah,” Niki murmurs, gaze flicking to your mouth. “You looked wrecked when you left.”

The glass nearly slips from your fingers.

But Niki doesn’t move. Doesn’t smirk. Just sips his juice and scrolls casually, like he didn’t just ruin your nervous system in three words. Sunghoon joins you two just then. And the three of you have breakfast, the two guys seem to be in a good mood, bantering and teasing each other.

The sun’s high already when you three join the others on the beach.

Your bikini feels too small the minute you leave the house — or maybe it’s the way Niki looked at you when you stepped out. Not directly. Not for long. Just… long enough to know he noticed.

You hold Sunghoon’s hand like it anchors you to the right version of yourself. You laugh too loud at his joke. Kiss his cheek too quickly. You’re trying.

Maybe if you play the part well enough, you’ll forget what you did. Who you became.

Sunghoon’s still talking, half-focused, half-scanning the crowd. “Okay, so we rotate after every point, right? Heeseung always forgets that. Also, snacks. We need more of those sour gummies—”

He pauses, eyes flicking toward where Niki’s lounging in the sand, shirtless, arms behind his head.

Then he grins and nudges you lightly. “And someone better remind her to reapply. Last time she turned into a tomato.”

You roll your eyes, faking a yawn. “I’m fine.”

But Sunghoon’s still looking at Niki as he adds, teasing, “If she burns, it’s your fault too.”

Your stomach flips.

Niki grins slow, deliberate but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

You almost choke on your water at the implication. Sunghoon just laughs, oblivious.

As you all lay your towels down, Sunghoon starts rubbing sunscreen over your shoulders, he’s sweet, focused, unbothered. Niki watches briefly, jaw tight, before tossing him a comment.

“You missed a spot,” he says, touching the place he means, the dip just below your bikini bottoms. “That’ll definitely burn.”

He says it like nothing. But you know. He knows you know. You meet his gaze over your shoulder for just a second. And something sharp passes between you, an unspoken possession.

Like a warning.

The volleyball net is up by the time the two guys deem you protected enough from the sun. Jungwon’s already flinging a ball into the air like a golden retriever with caffeine in his system. Everyone’s loosening up, laughing, yelling across the sand.

You’re standing with Sunghoon, sipping from his can of soda, and trying very hard to subtly adjust your bikini top like it’s not deliberate. But it is.

It keeps slipping a little, well not off, just… shifting. The fabric is damp from ocean water, clinging to the peaks of your nipples. You tug it up again.

Sunghoon notices. But so does Niki.

You catch both of them watching you at different times. You feel their eyes burn as they trail over your chest, down your waist, over your thighs. It’s hard to breathe, but you smile anyway.

You lean into Sunghoon. Kiss his cheek. He grins, tapping your nose. But Niki’s sunglasses tilt up slightly from where he’s standing. You feel his gaze rake your body like a challenge.

Just then Jay starts calling out teams.

“Alright, me, you” he points to you, “Niki, and Jungwon. Let’s go.”

You pause for half a second, not enough to be noticed, but just enough to feel it in your spine. Niki steps forward, tugging his shirt off in one fluid motion. He spins the volleyball once in his hand and smirks faintly.

Jay tosses him the ball. “We good?”

Niki shrugs. “Yeah.”

No snide comment. No suggestive grin. Just calm. Unbothered.

But when you brush past him to join your side of the net, your shoulder grazes his chest and you swear you feel him inhale.

It’s subtle, but he doesn’t look away.

The court's uneven, half-sand, half-sunbaked grass. The net’s a little crooked. No one cares. Jay serves first; sharp and fast. You barely get your hands up in time, but the ball pops cleanly into the air. Jungwon tips it up. Niki lunges, spikes.

Cheers erupt. “Nice!” Jay claps him on the back.

Niki smiles, his eyebrows subconsciously quirking up, but his eyes flick to you lightning-quick.

Across the net, Heeseung groans. “Alright. No mercy.”

His girlfriend laughs, nudging him.

Sunghoon wipes sweat from his jaw and grins. “Let’s go.”

The game rolls out in bursts sand kicking up, laughter breaking through competitive yells. You’re too aware of everything.

Niki’s footsteps behind you.

The way he moves to cover your side, even when he doesn’t have to. The sharp grunts when he jumps, muscles flexing under sun-warmed skin. How he murmurs “mine” when the ball arcs high, and every time, it hits harder than it should.

You almost trip once trying to pivot.

Niki’s hand touches your back, steadying you, it’s fleeting but firm. You flinch like you’ve been burned.

He says nothing.

But later, when you call out a ball and dive for it, squatting before bending over as you serve the ball lowly, Niki swears low and hard not at the game.

At you. Or maybe for you.

You need water. Not just to drink but to cool down. Everything is hot. Your cheeks, your chest, the way Niki’s eyes follow your movements even when he’s pretending not to.

You step toward the cooler, reach down to grab a bottle.

That’s when you feel it. A whisper of heat. His fingers graze your lower back. Barely. You freeze. He’s behind you now, one arm resting on the lid of the cooler. Not blocking you. Not touching you again. Just close.

His voice is low “Avoiding me again?”

You suck in a breath. Fumble slightly with the cap.

You want to say something biting. Sharp. Dismissive. But your voice comes out too soft, too unsteady.

“I’m not.”

Niki leans in, just an inch closer. “Mm, you always shake this much when you’re not avoiding someone?”

You grip the bottle too tight. “I have a boyfriend.”

His smirk returns slow, almost cruel. “That didn’t stop you from moaning into my mouth last night.”

Your eyes snap up to his, but he’s already walking away. You stand there, holding the water bottle like it might explode.

After the game of volleyball ends (with Sunghoon’s team winning), everyone’s collapsed on the beach towels, salt-streaked and lazy. Jay’s half-asleep. Jungwon’s playing something on his phone. Sunghoon lies beside you, propped up on an elbow.

You’re restless. Overcompensating again. You reach over and thread your fingers into his hair. Lean down to kiss him a bit longer than necessary.

Your tongue just barely traces his bottom lip.

Sunghoon flinches back, blinking.

“Babe,” he says, confused but sweet, “not in front of everyone.”

You smile, trying to play it off. But your mouth is dry.

“Sorry. I just…” You shrug. “Felt like kissing you.”

Sunghoon grins and kisses your cheek instead. Harmless. Soft.

But behind your back, across the circle of towels, Niki’s watching again. Still shirtless. Still silent. His jaw tight, his fingers curled loosely in the sand. He sees everything. And you feel everything.

The sky begins to shift then, almost too fast. What was golden and hazy becomes gray and heavy. You glance up. Thick clouds roll in over the water, veiling the sun. Thunder grumbles low in the distance. A breeze lifts the ends of your hair.

Someone groans.

“Seriously? This early?” Jay complains.

“Guess the ocean playlist’ll have to wait,” Jungwon pouts.

A sudden gust sends sand flies into your shin. You wince, brushing it off.

Sunghoon nudges your side, “movie night?”

You nod automatically, but your eyes flick again to Niki.

Within minutes the group’s scattering, grabbing towels, speakers, empty bottles.

“B2, thirty minutes. Everyone shower unless you wanna smell like death,” Jungwon says, a comically large towel wrapped around his waist as he tries fit five different things in his arms. Heeseung groans but agrees, already hoisting up a cooler.

The mood lightens. Laughter, teasing, towel snaps echoing around you as people head back toward the bungalows.

You stay quiet. Let Sunghoon lace your fingers with his, pull you toward the path. But you can feel the shift in the air. It isn’t just the weather. It’s something heavier. Louder. Waiting to break.

By the time you’re all piled into B2, the rain’s already started. Soft and steady, threading down the windows like something cinematic. This bungalow’s a little bigger than yours, meant for hosting, maybe. The open-plan living room spills into a small kitchen, sleek and sunlit even with the storm outside. At the center of it all is a small burgundy couch. It’s deep enough to sink into, angled so one side stretches toward the kitchen, and the other points toward the mounted flatscreen.

A shaggy rug softens the wood floor. Throw blankets are everywhere, tangled and half-folded. Someone’s dumped a few pillows in the corner. A string of fairy lights buzz faintly over the windows, casting a soft gold haze now that the lamps are off.

It’s cozy. Safe. Or it should be.

Just before the movie starts, you’re rinsing strawberries in the kitchen when Heeseung catches your wrist. Not harsh just enough to pause you.

“You good?” he asks you.

You blink, startled. “Yeah. Why?”

He tilts his head slightly. That familiar half-grin on his lips but his tone’s changed. He’s watching you.

“You and Ni-ki aren’t… weird, right?” he asks, eyes full of sympathy.

You laugh. Too fast. Too thin. “What? No. Why would we be?”

His gaze lingers. Not unkind. But not letting go, either. Heeseung carefully explains, “I noticed he keeps trying to talk to you. You keep slipping away. And honestly?”

He shrugs, “You’re being weird with Sunghoon too. If we’re being real.”

You stare at the cabinet. Like it might open up and swallow you whole.

“I don’t care what’s going on. Just don’t let it get messy. Especially not here.” He softens it with a small smile. Like he’s giving you room to save face.

You nod too quickly. Your palms sweaty. And then you join the rest in the living room, plopping in the center of the couch.

By the time the movie starts, the seating’s already sorted. Jay and Jungwon are curled up on the floor with a blanket pulled over their legs, sitting cross-legged with a bowl of popcorn between them. Heeseung and his girlfriend are on the smaller love seat, arms tucked around each other, their view of the TV clear, but not the couch behind them.

And then there’s the main couch. It’s closest to the kitchen, and furthest from the screen. You, Sunghoon, and Niki end up there.

It’s kind of crowded.

Sunghoon claims the far side, legs kicked out. His arm stretches behind your back, lazily. You squeeze into the center cushion. Niki takes the end.

He doesn’t say much. Just sits there. One arm draped along the top of the couch, the other curled into his lap. Eyes half-lidded. Calm.

Rain lashes against the windows as the movie starts, some pretentious black-and-white thing Jungwon begged for. Everyone’s piled into the main room of B2, wrapped in throw blankets, half-limp from sun and salt and too many chips.

You hear a few groans as the movie opens up in a black and white picture and Nosferatu – the oldest version, starts playing.

There’s barely space. The couch is too small. You’re wedged between Sunghoon and Niki. Sunghoon tuggs you into his side, his arm around your shoulders. Niki shifts closer, silent. The blanket from the back of the couch gets pulled over your legs, accidentally shared.

You should say something.

But you don’t. The movie drones on and on. Someone snores lightly. A bowl clinks from the kitchen.

You feel the blanket shift. Niki’s hand brushes yours under the fabric. You flinch but don’t pull away. He pauses, but when you don’t pull back, he takes your hand. Guides it down, slow and steady, until your palm is cupping him through his shorts.

He’s already hard.

Your breath hitches. You glance once toward Sunghoon. He’s half-asleep, lips parted, breath warm on your neck .

Niki leans in, mouth near your ear. “Go ahead. Pretend you’re not dying for it,” He whispers, his breath tickling you neck, goosebumps rise.

His fingers slip beneath your waistband. Push inside.

You gasp, barely. Bite your lip so hard it hurts.

“So wet already,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck. “Are you this soaked from playing the perfect girlfriend? Or because you know I’m going to fuck you right here?”

Niki’s fingers on your clit are slow. Cruel. Tiny circles, teasing, not giving you enough. Just reminding you who can make you this way. Turned into a puddle through simple touch.

The room is dark, except for the flickering light of the movie and the occasional flash of lightning outside. Thunder rumbles low and slow, like it’s warning you. Across from you Heeseung and his girlfriend, curled on a love seat, half-asleep. Jungwon and Jay are tangled together on the floor under a mountain of blankets. And beside you, too close is Sunghoon, with his arm still lazily slung over your shoulder.

Your head is spinning.

You grasp Niki through his shorts, fondle him. A smile tugs on your lips when you feel him twitch under your touch.

He presses down on your clit more firmly now, finger sliding down your slit to your hole. You subtly scooch closer to him. Sunghoon’s arm around your shoulders slides off, but before he can say something you angle your body towards him and slightly lay your head on his shoulder/bicep. It’s somewhat awkward since you’re’ still in an upright sitting position but you don’t notice any discomfort.

Because Niki’s starts pushing your panties aside. Then, he slowly, forcefully bullies his dick into you. No prep. No fingering.

You nuzzle your head into Sunghoon to prevent yourself from making any noise. He thinks you’re scared of the movie, patting your head while whispering a small ‘cute.’

Meanwhile Niki sheaths himself into you so deep you’re shaking from the stretch. From the silence. From how still he is.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t need to. One arm’s casually thrown over the back of the couch. The other is under the blanket. Hidden, anchored around your hip like he owns it.

Owns you.

And in a way he does, because he starts pulling you closer to him. So much bigger than you, it’s easy for him to do that. You couldn’t stop him now even if you wanted to, your brain turned into mush because of the dizzying and pleasurable stretch of Niki’s dick deep inside you.

“Feel that?” he murmurs near your ear, low enough only you can hear. “No one has a clue. You’re so tiny, I can get away with anything.”

You clamp down unintentionally. He feels it.

His breath stutters. “God. You’re so fucking tight.” He bites down on your shoulder to stop himself from moaning.

You gasp and squeeze your eyes shut. But the tension in your body gives you away. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

His lips graze your ear again, words like smoke and sin “They’re all right here. Sunghoon. Jay. Heeseung. If one of them turns around…”

He shifts inside you, just a little. Grinding his hips frustratingly slow into you “…they’d see the way I’ve got you stuffed full. Dripping. Shaking.”

You dig your nails into his thigh under the blanket. He doesn’t stop.

“I could make you come like this,” Niki breathes, voice darker now. “Without moving. Without touching anything but this.” He squeezes your hip possessively. “You’d fall apart, right in front of your boyfriend. And he’d never know.”

You want to scream. Instead, your breath comes in shallow, silent waves.

“Ignored me all day,” Niki murmurs, his tone bitter now, jagged. “But now you’re letting me fuck you inches from his face?”

The weight of it presses down on you, the reality. The risk. If Sunghoon moved just a little… leaned forward even slightly… They’d all know.

Niki’s hand slides up past your stomach, under your shirt, palming your breast. Rough. Familiar. His fingers pinch your nipple hard and you twitch.

“Say his name,” Niki growls into your neck.

You whisper it. Quiet. Shaky. Like you’re afraid it’ll break the spell.

His grip tightens. “Now say mine.”

You don’t. So he thrusts once. Deep. Sharp.

Your breath hitches, eyes fluttering. A quiet noise escapes before his hand slaps gently over your mouth.

“Say it.”

You do. “Niki.”

His head drops to your shoulder and you feel it in the way he exhales against your skin. Like your voice undid him. Like hearing his name on your lips makes it all worth it. His dick feels even stiffer in you, you push back against his strong frame.

Outside, the rain’s gotten louder, wind pushing against the glass. Inside, the couch creaks once. But no one stirs.

And that’s when he starts to move. Tiny thrusts. Barely-there movements. But you feel all of it. The stretch. The pervertedness. The weight of him claiming you in the same room as everyone else.

He fucks you like it’s punishment. And it kind of is, for running, for pretending, for not saying his name sooner. One hand over your mouth. The other wrapped firmly around your throat, fingers curled just under your jaw like a tether.

And you. You’re falling apart. Silently. Desperately. Completely. Because this isn’t just sex. You’re his. Even here. Even now.

Especially now.

He spills inside of you, biting on your shoulder as he does so. You squeeze your eyes shut so hard the room spins when you open them again. You stay connected like that for the rest of the movie. Niki’s length has gone flaccid, but his girth, his thickness… you still felt too full of him.

By the end of the movie, the room is nearly silent. The credits flicker across the screen in eerie black and white, accompanied by soft thunder outside. Niki slips out, fixing your panties and his boxers. You feel cum ooze out of you, sticking to your panties. Jay’s asleep on the floor. Jungwon’s curled under a blanket, half-awake. Heeseung and his girlfriend are whispering something to each other, focused completely on one another.

But on the couch you, Sunghoon, and Niki have somehow ended up tangled together.

Sunghoon’s arm is back around you, head heavy against your shoulder. Niki’s hand rests loosely on your thigh, like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t just ruin you in the shadows of this very couch. You’re stiff between them. Smiling. Laughing at something dumb Jungwon muttered as the lights come back on.

You play your part. You always do.

Everyone stands. Stretches. Groggy and full of popcorn, ready to go to bed and collapse. You follow them, grabbing your phone off the counter. Just before you head out, it vibrates.

[seungie 🌀]:

hey glad you and niki are good now things feel less weird hoon looks happy too proud of you 🫶🏽

You stare at the screen. Three words echo in your head like a curse ‘proud of you’. Your heart sinks. Your stomach flips. Niki brushes past behind you as you freeze and you feel the smallest tap of his fingers against your back.

A reminder. A thank-you. A secret. You smile. You type back.

[You]:

yeah. all good now :)

And you follow Sunghoon outside.

You feel different in the morning. You wait for the guilt to hit you, wait for the sense of responsibility to weigh down on you. But it never does.

You feel happy, Sunghoon sees it too, as you eat breakfast with the boys like your body doesn’t still ache from what happened on the couch hours before.

Sunghoon nudges your arm with his and grins around a mouthful of toast.

“Damn, baby. This vacation’s been good to you. You look all… glowy and relaxed.”

You glance at him, hiding a smile in your coffee.

He leans in, peering at your face.

“Like, really pretty. I don’t know — it’s cute.”

You blink innocently. “Must be the ocean air.”

Across the table, Niki doesn’t look up from his plate. He spears a slice of mango, pops it into his mouth.

Then, effortlessly he says “Yeah, she looks good when she’s been taken care of.”

Your breath hitches.

But Sunghoon just nods in agreement, oblivious. “Right? I knew this trip would be good for her.”

Niki’s eyes flick up. Just for a second. Right at you.

And there’s nothing innocent about the smirk curling at the edge of his lips.

Your stomach flips. Not with guilt, not anymore. That’s the strange part. The guilt should be there. But it isn’t.

Maybe it burned off sometime in the night, in the warmth of Niki’s breath on your neck, the ache of him inside you while Sunghoon’s arm was draped over your shoulder. Maybe it’s because Sunghoon still smiles at you like nothing’s wrong. Maybe it’s because nothing feels wrong.

Niki’s just helping you scratch an itch you could never ask anyone else to touch. It’s only physical and you would make sure it would never be deeper than that. You were still Sunghoon’s. And Niki, he’s just helping you scratch an itch. A very deep and needy itch.

You take another sip of coffee and peek at Niki. He’s licking mango from his thumb. It’s ridiculous, how something so small makes your thighs press together under the table.

“You want the last one?” he asks casually, holding up the final piece.

You shake your head. “All yours.”

His smile is lazy. “Didn’t know you weren’t into sharing.”

Sunghoon, doesn’t look up from his plate. “She’s not. Don’t let her fool you — she’ll stab you over fries.”

“Only if they’re mine first,” you add sweetly, leaning toward Niki just slightly. His knee bumps yours under the table. You don’t pull away.

Eventually, Sunghoon pushes his plate back and stretches. “Alright, I’m gonna shower. You guys start packing, yeah?”

“Sure,” you chirp, too fast.

The moment the bathroom door clicks shut, you glance at Niki.

He’s still chewing, watching you with slow, cautious eyes. Like he doesn’t want to assume anything. Like he doesn’t believe this is real yet.

You stand. Don’t think. Just move.

You pad down the hallway. Leave the bedroom door open just long enough for him to see you slip inside. And you don’t wait.

You strip your shirt first. Then your shorts. By the time he reaches the doorframe, you’re sitting in your and Sunghoon’s bed in nothing but your panties.

He exhales something between a laugh and a curse. Steps in. Closes the door.

“You’re not serious.”

You cock your head. “I’m naked in his bed. What do you think?”

He walks to you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he moves too fast.

His voice is low. Rough. Almost reverent. “You really want this?”

You nod. “I want you.”

His gaze dips to the mattress beneath you. His mouth twists like he’s trying not to smile. “In his bed,” he mutters, half to himself.

You smile, slow and wicked. “Didn’t want you thinking I’d change my mind.”

Niki lets out a breath, close to shaking. Then he laughs, low and stunned.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he says, moving closer. But there’s something in his voice, something cracked open. Relieved, like he was afraid you would run away from him again. It’s like he’s finally sure. Like he finally believes he’s not just your secret, he’s your choice.

You go on all fours, angling your ass towards him. Niki steps closer, softly fondling your ass, as if he’s trying to memorize every curve, every dip.

“Fuck,” he breathes, climbing onto the bed like a man starving. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

He flips you so you’re laying on your back and you grab him by the shirt and pull him down to kiss you.

It’s filthy instantly all tongue, no hesitation, teeth clicking as you both try to taste too much too fast. He groans into your mouth and presses you back into the mattress, body already hard against you.

He bites at your jaw.

You grab his hand and shove it between your legs. “I’ve been wet for you since I woke up.”

His breath stutters.

Then he flips you fast, chest to the mattress, ass in the air. His palms spread your cheeks without hesitation. And he laughs. Dark. Disbelieving.

“Fucking perfect,” he mutters. You hear a ripping sound, your panties slipping off of you. And Niki doesn’t even apologize, he just bends down, your ass in his face.

You whimper as his mouth drops down, tongue sliding over your folds, teasing, tasting. Until he’s devouring you from behind. Tongue fucking your pussy, then higher, licking over your asshole like he’s lost all control.

“Niki—fuck—” you gasp, he pushes his middle and ring finger between your mushy walls.

“You let me do this in his bed,” he groans. “So filthy. You want me to fuck you here?”

“Yes—please—” you plead, in hurry now too, Niki scissors inside of you. Prepping you for his thick length.

When he pulls back, he’s stroking himself slowly.

“Bet you’d let me in your ass if I asked nicely.”

You whine, burying your face in the sheets.

His hand comes down on your ass, a soft slap. “Don’t hide now. Not after this.”

“Next time,” you manage. “Just—fuck me. Please.”

“Oh, baby,” he grins, lining up behind you. “I’ll make you beg for it next time.”

And then, he pushes in. All of him, all at once.

No fear of being caught, knowing Sunghoon needs at least 20 minutes to shower. No need to muffle the way your breath breaks. You moan into the mattress, and he just holds your hips tighter.

“So tight,” he growls. “Like your cunt knows who owns it.”

He fucks you hard, dragging your body back into each thrust, hair wrapped in his fist so your mouth brushes his ear when you moan.

“Say it again,” he pants. “Say you want me.”

“I want you.”

“Louder.”

“I want you.”

He flips you again. Your back hits the mattress. Your legs spread wide.

He thrusts in deep and holds.

“Look at me.”

You do.

Eyes locked, he fucks you like it’s the last time. Hard, slow, deep. Like he’s memorizing every sound, every clench, every twitch of your hips under his.

He doesn’t break eye contact. Not even when you come.

Not even when he does, pulling out and finishing across your chest with a grunt, panting above you, his name still wet on your lips.

You don’t wipe it off. You just pull him down. Kiss the corner of his mouth. And stay.

Because now?

Now you’re not pretending. Now you both know the truth. The sheets are still warm when you slip out of bed. Your legs ache. Your chest is sticky. And your heart is an echo chamber. Loud and quiet at once. You don't say anything to Niki as you wipe yourself clean. He doesn't try to stop you. You think he gets it. That you have to reassemble the version of you that belongs to someone else.

By the time Sunghoon comes out of the shower, towel slung low on his hips, you're in a hoodie. Hair damp. Smile practiced. Niki’s gone from the bedroom, like he never came at all.

The front of B2 buzzes with the quiet chaos of departure. Suitcases thud against gravel. The sky is overcast, the air heavy with leftover rain and that weird post-vacation stillness like everyone’s trying to delay the inevitable.

Jay and Jungwon are finishing their last photo op, laughing at the blurry selfie timer results. Heeseung’s girlfriend is squatting next to the trunk trying to zip her overstuffed duffel while muttering under her breath.

Niki is arguing with Sunghoon over who left the aux cord behind. Loudly.

“Bro, I swear I gave it to you yesterday.”

“No, you left it on the porch table. Like a dumbass.”

“You were literally DJing from my playlist.”

“Yeah, because your music’s decent for once.”

“You’re welcome.”

You smile into your hoodie, watching them shove each other lightly between loading bags. There’s no tension between them. No suspicion. If anything, they’re closer after this trip.

A hand on your shoulder pulls you out of the moment.

It’s Heeseung.

“You good?” he asks softly.

You nod, almost too quickly. “Yeah.”

His gaze holds steady. “You seem lighter.”

You blink.

“Whatever was going on before…” He glances toward Niki who’s now making a dumb face at Sunghoon behind the car, then back to you. “Glad you figured it out. You look better.”

There’s a beat of silence. A breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

You smile, soft and quiet. “Thanks, Heeseung.”

He just nods.

Eventually, the group breaks apart with lazy goodbyes. Jay hugs you like a big brother. Jungwon thanks you again for organizing everything. Heeseung’s girlfriend waves from the passenger seat, already applying lip balm.

And then it’s just the three of you left.

Sunghoon slaps the roof of the car like a dad and grins. “Alright, losers. Time to hit the road.”

You’re halfway to the front seat when Niki tugs the door handle ahead of you. “Shotgun.”

Sunghoon narrows his eyes. “You’re seriously calling it?”

“You drove my playlist into the ground,” Niki shrugs, already sliding in. “This is penance.”

Sunghoon groans but gives in, climbing into the driver’s side. “Unreal.”

You climb into the back, the leather still warm from the sun.

Niki glances back at you briefly. “You sure you don’t wanna swap?”

You smirk. “I’m good for now.”

Sunghoon starts the engine, windows cracked to let in the humid breeze. As he pulls onto the road, the bungalow shrinking behind you, Niki kicks his feet up.

“Try not to get carsick this time. I’m not cleaning anything,” Sunghoon tells him, teasingly.

“I’ll throw up on your playlist.”

Niki glances back at you, smirking. “Last chance, you sure you don’t wanna sit up front? Might get lonely back there.”

You smile lazily, stretching out. “I like the view from here.”

“Thought you get crancky in the back,” he says, twisting around in his seat just a little.

You tilt your head. “Only when I’m bored.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So basically whenever Sunghoon talks.”

“Hey,” Sunghoon says, starting the engine. “Disrespecting your driver? Bold move.”

“You’re not a driver,” Niki fires back. “You’re a menace with a license.”

“Keep talking and I’ll hit every pothole from here to Seoul.”

You laugh, light and unbothered, resting your head against the window.

Niki glances back at you again, conspiratorial. “If I end up puking, I’m aiming for your knees.”

You deadpan, “Joke’s on you. I brought wet wipes.”

He mock-gags. “You’re disgusting.”

“You started it.”

Sunghoon cuts in with a snort, shaking his head. “God, you two are so annoying.”

But there��s no edge to it, just fondness, worn-in and easy. You catch the way his reflection softens in the rearview mirror, eyes crinkling slightly. His shoulders relaxed.

He’s happy. They both are. And so are you.

The road curves out of the bungalow’s driveway, tires crunching over wet gravel. Trees blur past. It’s quiet, save for the faint hum of the engine and the soft playlist Sunghoon has playing. One of those moody acoustic mixes. Your throat tightens at the lyrics.

Niki shifts in the passenger seat beside Sunghoon, exhaling sharply. He leans his head back against the headrest, eyes squinting toward the window.

“Dude,” he says after a beat, voice low and a little strained. “I think I’m getting carsick again.”

Sunghoon turns briefly to glance at him, brows pinched. “Seriously? You were fine earlier.”

“Yeah, well,” Niki sighs. “Something about your tragic-ass music and winding roads. Not vibing.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Sunghoon mutters, but he’s already pulling over.

You stay quiet, curled against the side window in the back, pretending to be asleep.

“Is she out?” Niki asks, peeking behind the seat.

Sunghoon lowers his voice. “Looks like it. Just crash back there, it’s fine. But if you puke on my upholstery—”

“I won’t,” Niki says, already unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’ll aim for your sweater.”

Sunghoon groans as Niki climbs out and slides open the back door. You don’t open your eyes, just shift slightly, your legs curled up.

Niki settles in next to you without a word, sitting directly behind the passenger seat (you’re behind the driver’s seat). Carefully. Quietly. The door shuts, muffling the outside world again.

“Better?” Sunghoon calls back once they’re moving again.

“Yeah,” Niki answers, voice relaxed now. “Much.”

You don’t reach for Niki. Not at first. Not until twenty minutes pass and the silence gets thick again. You shift in your seat. Let your hand rest on his thigh.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.

You lean in anyway, close enough for your breath to brush his jaw. “You’re quiet.”

No answer. You squeeze gently. “Pretending to sleep?” A beat. “Or just sulking because I didn’t kiss you goodbye?”

You feel it, the slow inhale. The way his body tenses just slightly under your touch.

“You’re gonna drive me crazy,” he murmurs finally. Voice low. Rough. But quiet enough that Sunghoon, humming along to some song up front, doesn’t notice.

You smile. Let your fingers trace idle shapes over his thigh. “You knew what this was,” you whisper. “You knew I wasn’t done with him.”

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t argue. But after a second, he turns his head, eyes half-lidded and focused fully on you. “I didn’t think you’d do this.”

You just tilt your head. “Do what?”

“Pull me into his bed,” he says, voice like gravel, “then hold my hand in the car like nothing happened.”

You shrug, eyes sparkling. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

A dry laugh escapes him. No humor, just surrender. “I don’t even know what I am to you.”

You lean in. Closer. Your lips graze the edge of his jaw.

“You’re mine,” you say softly. “Even if I don’t belong to just you.”

His hand finds yours again, locking your fingers together, tighter this time. Not asking, just taking. Letting himself want, even if it’s not enough.

“You’re messed up,” he mutters, almost fondly. “You know that?”

You grin. “And you’re still here.”

He huffs a soft, bitter laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m still here.”

And he will be. Even if he’s just your secret. Even if it eats him alive. Because this time, he doesn’t let go. And neither do you.

2K notes · View notes

cressidagrey · 2 months ago

Text

In Denial

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: 5 Times Lando Norris probably should have realised that his teammate had a child, but never did and 1 time Oscar Piastri made very clear that he is a father.

Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

The most colourful beaded bracelet in existence

It was their first official McLaren shoot as teammates. Media day. Race suits. Matching smiles. More lights and cameras than either of them had patience for.

The studio was freezing.

Typical, Lando thought, shivering slightly as someone adjusted the collar of his race suit for the third time. Glossy black floor, high-power lights, white backdrop — the usual setup. All sleek, all clean, all perfectly curated for sponsor-ready content.

Across from him, Oscar Piastri was already mid-shoot.

He didn’t fidget. Didn’t blink too much. Just stood there with that absurdly steady posture and those deadpan, almost neutral expressions that somehow read as confident and composed on camera. Arms folded. Chin slightly tilted. That understated brand of cool that made McLaren’s marketing team positively froth at the mouth.

That was one of the first things Lando had noticed about Oscar — how quiet he was. Calm. Low-effort on the surface, but the kind of low-effort that made you realize it was actually hiding effort in a very specific, efficient way. Not cold, exactly. Just... still. A little private. And hard to read unless you really tried.

They weren’t close yet. But they weren’t strangers either. A few simulator sessions. Some preseason testing banter. Dinner once, in a group, where Oscar had said maybe twenty words total — but had watched everything. Not in a weird way. Just in that Piastri way. Calculated. Patient.

So Lando wasn’t surprised when Oscar handled media day like he handled everything else — with the expression of someone who had long ago accepted the chaos and decided to simply outlast it.

What did surprise Lando was the bracelet.

It caught his eye halfway through Oscar’s solo shoot.

Right wrist. Tucked just under the edge of the suit cuff. Beads.

Chunky plastic ones — definitely the homemade kind, with alphabet letters, random sparkly shapes, a few bright neons. The kind you’d make at a kids’ party. It clashed completely with the McLaren fireproofs, and absolutely no part of it matched the slick, brand-polished aesthetic of the shoot.

Lando narrowed his eyes. There was a glittery dinosaur bead. He was almost sure of it.

He leaned over to one of the stylists nearby, curiosity piqued. “Hey. Is he supposed to be wearing that?”

The stylist glanced at the screen, then rolled her eyes fondly. “Tried to take it off. He said, and I quote, ‘It stays.’”

Lando raised both eyebrows. Oscar, the human embodiment of “yeah, sure, whatever you need,” had refused to remove a beaded dinosaur bracelet?

“For real?”

“Dead serious. Wouldn’t even consider it. Said it was for ‘focus.’” She shrugged, like it wasn’t the weirdest thing she’d seen today — which, to be fair, it probably wasn’t.

Lando stared a second longer, then turned away, biting back a smirk. “That’s so weird.”

But not in a bad way. Just… unexpected.

It was his turn soon after.

They swapped spots in front of the camera. Oscar stepped down, took the bottle of water someone handed him, then wordlessly handed Lando one as well — like he’d read his mind.

“Cheers,” Lando muttered.

Oscar just nodded, sipping his own. Then:

“Nice accessory,” Lando said casually, nodding toward the bracelet as he took the water.

Oscar didn’t even glance down. “It’s for focus.”

Lando raised a brow. “Right. Because nothing says elite athlete like a kindergarten craft project.”

Oscar did glance at him this time. But not with offense. Just a kind of calm indifference.

“It helps me remember what actually matters,” Oscar said calmly.

F1 Driver and Snack Mule

Lando looked up from his phone when he heard the private jet door seal with a soft thunk, expecting to see Oscar stroll in like he always did: calm, quiet, annoyingly composed, maybe a hoodie half-zipped, headphones around his neck.

Instead, Oscar Piastri appeared in the aisle looking like the final boss of an airport convenience store.

It was almost comical. One over-the-shoulder canvas tote, handle fraying. One plastic bag from what looked like a 24-hour corner mart — already strained to breaking. One very full backpack that absolutely should not have been that heavy unless it was packed with bricks, hardcover physics textbooks, or illicit quantities of pineapple tarts. And dangling from his wrist: a second tote with a glass bottle poking out of the top like the flag of carbohydrate surrender.

Lando stared. Horrified. “…Why do you look like a snack-themed pack mule?”

Oscar dropped into his seat across the aisle, completely unfazed by his appearance. “Oh. I had a list.”

“A list?” Lando echoed, eyes darting between the bags like one of them might spontaneously explode. “Of what? Food to outlive the apocalypse? A year’s supply of… squid?!”

Oscar adjusted the seatbelt over his mountain of bags. “Some of this is hard to find in the UK. It’s just smart logistics.”

At that exact moment, one of the plastic bags betrayed him. It split with an unfortunate pop and dumped half its contents across the aisle carpet.

Lando leaned forward to get a better look and immediately recoiled.

Out spilled: —A large bag of sweet chili crab chips. —Two packs of pastel-wrapped milk candies. —A sealed glass jar of something brown and deeply alarming. —snacks with so many chili peppers printed on the bag it looked like a dare —Five types of instant noodles, all labeled in languages Lando didn’t speak. —Something that was either a sesame snack or a trap. —And, inexplicably, a box of Hello Kitty band-aids.

Lando blinked harder.

Oscar saw his face and added, like it helped, “Some of it’s not for me.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Lando muttered as Oscar started sorting the contents of the split bag into the other bags.“You opening a snack stall mid-flight?”

Oscar opened a shrimp chip bag and popped one in his mouth. “Want some?”

Lando took one sniff.

Gagged audibly.

“OH MY GOD,” he wheezed. “THAT SMELLS LIKE SEAFOOD DIED IN A TRASHCAN.”

Oscar shrugged, chewing peacefully. “You’re dramatic.”

Lando had fully recoiled into the corner of the seat. “That is not food. That’s a warning sign. I’m going to smell like a fish market by the time we land.”

Oscar opened a second bag. “This one’s milder.”

Lando peeked. “What’s that?”

“Dried squid.”

Lando gagged again. “You have layers, Piastri. None of them are good.”

Oscar reached for the closed glass jar, filled with some brown paste, checked the lid, nodded like he was mentally ticking off inventory. “Hard to find a good brand at home.”

Lando stared. “Who even eats this much weird stuff?”

Oscar’s eyes flicked up just slightly.

And that’s when it clicked.

Lando didn’t say anything. Not out loud. But his brain — finally — started piecing it together.

This wasn’t “Oscar the Snack Enthusiast.”

This was “Oscar the Supply Mule for Someone Else.”

Someone very particular. Someone who didn’t want the Tesco version. Someone who sent him out with a list that included: “the pink milk tea, not the yellow one” and “not that brand, the other brand, you know the one.”

Oscar crunched another chip, calm as ever.

Lando eyed him. “So. Just you doing some shopping, huh?”

Oscar nodded.

Lando didn’t ask again.

But he did silently move one seat over when the durian candy came out.

Oscar being shockingly competent with kids

Lando didn’t think much of it at first.

It was just another media day.

Some local promotional thing for McLaren — sponsor meet-and-greet, fan Q&A, a few demo laps in a two-seater. The kind of chaotic-but-managed event they’d both done a dozen times. A little exhausting. A little awkward. Mostly harmless.

There were fans, of course. Grown ones. Screaming ones. Cool ones. Weird ones. The whole buffet.

But this one was different. There were kids. Lots of kids.

Some had come with families. Others were part of a junior karting initiative McLaren was launching — a handful of lucky young fans picked to tour the paddock and meet the drivers. There were matching T-shirts, oversized hats, those little paper lanyards they always lost within fifteen minutes.

Lando was fine with kids. Ish. He’d gotten better at it.

He crouched for selfies, signed baseball caps, knelt to high-five a girl who asked if he liked unicorns, and almost let one small boy sit on his shoulders until PR made eye contact with him and shook their head like he was about to commit a legal crime.

“Next time, little man,” Lando had said cheerfully, patting the kid’s head.

Then he’d stepped back, reached for his water, and glanced down the row toward Oscar.

And paused.

Because Oscar Piastri was crouched on both knees, arms resting loosely on them, eye-level with a girl who couldn’t have been more than four.

She was talking. Earnestly. Tiny hands flailing, expression serious.

Oscar was holding something — a piece of paper, maybe. Crinkled. Bright markers. Stickers.

He wasn’t rushing her. He wasn’t giving the half-smile-and-nod routine that Lando had seen a hundred times from drivers and team staff alike.

He was listening.

Really listening.

He held her earmuffs in one hand — the glow-in-the-dark kind with a space pattern on them — and tilted his head as she explained the rocket car she’d drawn for him. He smiled at the picture. Asked if she’d used glitter glue. Told her she had a good sense of aerodynamics.

Then, completely seriously, he handed her his cap.

“Wanna sign it?” he asked. “So I can remember you.”

The girl beamed. Lit up like a Christmas tree. She took the offered marker with the solemnity of a royal decree and scribbled something right on the brim of his hat.

Oscar glanced at it. “Best handwriting I’ve ever seen.”

Lando blinked.

Alright.

That was... weirdly natural.

Still watching, he saw Oscar gently return her earmuffs and wave her off toward the line of handlers. The girl skipped away, ecstatic.

But Oscar’s attention had already shifted.

There was a boy now — maybe five or six — standing stiffly just behind her. His hands were pressed against his sides. He looked overwhelmed. Pale. Eyes darting around. The noise, the crowd, the lights — it was too much.

Oscar stepped out of the way. Smooth, instinctive. Like he’d already clocked the signs.

He knelt again, this time a little more to the side. Not directly in front of the kid. Just there. Present. Safe.

And then, as if by magic, Oscar pulled something from his jacket pocket.

A juice pouch.

A whole juice pouch. With a bendy straw already poked in.

He offered it without a word.

The boy hesitated. Then took it. Slowly. Clutched it like a lifeline.

Oscar said something Lando couldn’t hear. The boy nodded.

And the moment passed. Quiet. Undramatic. But… important.

Lando stared.

No one just had juice pouches on them.

Unless, you were Oscar Piastri apparently.

Redecorating

Lando was bored.

Which, to be fair, wasn’t unusual.

But this brand of boredom was especially aggressive. The kind that clawed at your brain and made you wander aimlessly until you accidentally annoyed every single person in the building.

They were in the middle of a weather delay and a telemetry glitch. The engineers were scrambling like caffeinated ants, and even the usually chill media team had gone slightly feral over a reshoot that got rained out. There was nothing to do. No one to annoy who hadn’t already threatened him with a torque wrench.

Which was how he ended up outside Oscar’s driver room.

Hovering.

Like a stray cat looking for food and attention.

The door was cracked. A faint tapping sound came from inside — someone scrolling. Or texting.

“Yo,” Lando called through the gap. “You in there?”

Oscar’s voice came back, muffled and flat. “Yeah. Come in.”

Lando shoved the door open with the dramatic flourish of someone who had absolutely nothing else to do and flopped down onto the tiny couch tucked along the back wall like he owned the place.

Oscar didn’t even glance up from his phone.

“No, you can’t have my last protein bar.”

Lando scoffed. “I didn’t come here to rob you.”

Oscar looked up. “You always come here to rob me.”

“Well, not this time.”

“Suspicious,” Oscar muttered, but he didn’t seem bothered. He just turned back to his phone, thumb moving slowly over the screen.

Lando let his head loll back against the wall, eyes scanning the room.

It was, predictably, the most Piastri-like space ever. Minimal. Tidy. Not much flair. A clean stack of team shirts in the corner. Spare gloves lined up in perfect pairs. Charger cables coiled like they’d been arranged by a computer.

But then something caught his eye.

Drawings.

Not many — maybe six or seven in total — but they stood out. Bright against the otherwise monochrome setup. Crayon. Marker. One done entirely in glitter gel pen, which sparkled faintly in the overhead lights.

They weren’t on display, exactly. More like… tucked in. Slipped into corners of the mirror. Taped carefully to the inside of the locker door. One pinned to the corkboard with a bright pink pushpin.

One had Oscar’s race number scribbled in purple and red, surrounded by stars and what might have been hearts or tire marks.

Another showed a very vague interpretation of a Formula One car — lopsided wheels, dramatic flames, one suspiciously smiley face on the helmet.

Another still featured a chicken driving a race car.

Lando leaned forward to squint at that one.

Definitely a chicken.

“GO FAST BUT NOT TOO FAST,” it said in glitter pen under the drawing. The O in “GO” had eyes. The "S" in "FAST" had a lightning bolt through it.

Lando snorted.

That was… incredibly specific.

“Wow,” he said, smirking. “You’ve got a lot of fan art in here.”

Oscar finally looked up. “Hm?”

Lando gestured around the room, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m just saying… this is the softest your room has ever looked. What, did a fan send you a care package?”

Oscar blinked once. Twice.

Then followed Lando’s gaze. Paused.

“Oh,” he said casually. “Yeah. It just felt kind of cold in here, you know? So I figured I’d redecorate.”

Lando blinked. “With chicken-themed fan art?”

Oscar shrugged. “Adds character.”

Lando couldn’t help but snort. Only Oscar would think that plastering fan art all over his drivers room would make it feel “warmer”.

A weird obsession with kid sized merch

Lando noticed it for the first time at the McLaren factory gift shop.

They were doing a casual walk-through after some filming, mostly killing time while someone printed updated media decks. Lando wandered toward the wall of merch — adult sizes, junior kits, baby onesies, even tiny McLaren teddy bears in miniature race suits.

He wasn’t really looking for anything.

Oscar, on the other hand, made a beeline straight for the kids’ section.

Again.

Lando leaned on the shelf. Watched.

Oscar stopped by the back racks — fully absorbed in comparing three different sizes of junior caps.

Children’s sizes. Bright colors. One of them had glitter.

Lando blinked.

Oscar picked one up, turned it in his hands, and squinted at the stitching like he was inspecting it for FIA approval.

Lando wandered over, casually sipping his drink. “Uh… you planning to wear that?”

Oscar barely glanced up. “No. This one’s too stiff. It’ll bug her ears.”

“…Her?”

“Yeah.” Oscar didn’t elaborate. Just picked up another and pressed the inside seam with his thumb. “The elastic on this one’s better, but the Velcro’s weak. It won’t survive more than a week.”

Lando squinted. “Mate, why do you know that?”

Oscar blinked at him like he’d just asked what 2 + 2 was. “Because I’ve bought five of them.”

“Why?”

Oscar’s voice was perfectly calm. “Because the glitter ones fall apart in the wash and the regular ones shrink in the dryer. The 2022 version held up best.”

Oscar was now holding up a toddler-sized hoodie like he was inspecting fabric for a bespoke suit. “Do you think this runs small?”

Lando blinked. “Mate, you’re not gonna fit into that.”

Oscar gave him a look. “It’s not for me.”

“...So you just spend your free time evaluating baby merch like it’s Pirelli compound data?”

Oscar shrugged. “They’ve upgraded the stitching. And the seams used to pill after a few washes.”

Lando stared at him.

Hard.

Because this wasn’t the first time. Oscar always stopped by the kids’ section. Asked weirdly specific questions about youth sizing and durability. Once, Lando had caught him muttering something about how the toddler cap’s brim was too short to be practical. A few months ago, he’d gotten into a five-minute debate with a merch rep about the brim angle on the toddler caps. Something about sun protection and ear coverage.

Back then, Lando figured Oscar just… liked miniature things. Or had a secret side hustle selling baby teamwear on eBay.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

“…You do know you’re twenty-two and not a kindergarten stylist, right?” Lando asked, watching Oscar inspect a youth t-shirt like it had secrets.

Oscar nodded. “I know.”

“And you’re over here comparing fabric blends like you’re prepping a McLaren baby line?”

Oscar tilted his head. “Wouldn’t be a bad idea, honestly. The old toddler polos had awful seams. They improved the 2024 batch.”

Lando just… stared.

Oscar wasn’t joking. Oscar was never joking about this stuff.

Finally, Lando said, slowly, “Mate. What is it with you and tiny clothes?”

Oscar shrugged. “They’re fun.”

+1: The one time Oscar made it very clear that he was a dad.

Lando heard them before he saw them.

He’d wandered out back looking for a charger and maybe a second espresso—just enough time to breathe between debriefs—when he caught the tail end of a conversation.

Four mechanics. Leaning against the pit wall crates. Talking louder than they probably should.

“Had to FaceTime during lunch again,” one was saying. “My kid wanted to show me his drawing. Looked like a bloody squid with legs. Had to pretend it was good.”

Another one snorted. “Mine locked himself in the pantry last week. Thought it was funny. I told my wife to deal with it—I was too tired.”

The others snorted.

“Mine’s worse,” another said. “Always clinging, always needing something. It’s like—I don’t get a break at work, and I don’t get one at home either. It’s exhausting.”

“Mine told me he missed me,” a third said, voice cold. “Like that’s my fault. What does he want, a medal? I’ve got a job. I pay for everything. That should be enough.”

The first mechanic groaned. “…I swear, every time I get home there’s some new passive-aggressive list on the fridge from the Mrs. As if I haven’t been working twelve-hour days in the heat.”

“Mine’s mad I missed her mum’s birthday. Sorry, forgot to pencil in emotional obligation between Bahrain and Jeddah.”

“Be glad your kid is still cute at least. Mine’s hit the talking-back phase. Thinks he’s a comedian. Little smartass. I swear, sometimes I look at him and just think—God, you ruined my sleep, my weekends, and my peace and quiet.”

Lando flinched.

He didn’t mean to listen.

He told himself to walk away.

But then—

Oscar’s voice. Low. Razor-sharp.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

It wasn’t loud.

But it cut through the air like a switchblade.

Lando stilled.

Oscar stood off to the side, arms folded, posture loose—but his face was hard. Cold. Not angry in the explosive way. Angry in the kind of way that stayed.

One of the mechanics laughed awkwardly. “Oh come on, mate. Wait until you’ve had kids for more than a week—”

“I have a three year-old,” Oscar said. Flat. Unapologetic. “And I’ve never once looked at her and thought she ruined anything.”

That shut them up.

Oscar stepped forward, voice soft, but lethal now. “You sit here and talk about your children like they’re inconveniences. Like they’re parasites who robbed you of something. But they’re kids. They didn’t ask to be born. They didn’t ask for your job or your exhaustion or your bitterness.”

One of the men tried to scoff. “It’s just venting—”

“No,” Oscar snapped. “It’s cruelty. Dressed up as banter.”

One of the mechanics snorted. “Alright, Piastri. Settle down.”

Oscar stepped forward from where he’d been leaning against a crate—quiet, composed, and lethal.

“No, I won’t,” he said. “Because I’ve heard this conversation three times this season. And every time it makes me want to be sick.”

Another mechanic scoffed. “You’re twenty-three, mate. What would you know? Come back and talk to us when you’ve had a toddler scream in your face for an hour straight.”

Oscar didn’t flinch.

“I have,” he said, voice steel-edged. “What do I know?” Oscar said, low and sharp. “I know more than you, apparently.”

The laughter died.

Oscar stepped closer, and when he spoke again, it was the kind of voice Lando had only ever heard on race comms—precise, icy, lethal.

“I know what it’s like to walk out the door while your kid clings to your leg crying and you still have to leave. I know what it’s like to miss first words and bedtime because your job doesn’t wait. I know what it’s like to hold my wife at night while she tries not to fall apart from doing everything alone.”

One of the mechanics muttered something under his breath—maybe “dramatic”—but Oscar cut him off.

“No,” he said, sharper now. “You don’t get to complain about your kid loving you. You don’t get to bitch about someone wanting your attention when they’re four years old and trying to understand the world. You don’t get to complain about your wives holding down the fort at home while you are gone.”

He stepped in fully now. Lando could just see the edge of him. Jaw tight. Hands still. Eyes like fire under ice.

“You think you’re tired? Your wives are tired. My wife holds our whole world together while I fly across time zones and come home with a smile and a suitcase. She handles everything—school, food, laundry, tears, scraped knees, nightmares. All the invisible things you think just… happen. You think your job is hard? Try explaining to a toddler why Papa’s never home.”

His voice dropped.

“And you sit here and talk about your kids like they’re weights around your neck instead of the best damn thing that ever happened to you?”

No one said a word.

“You think being exhausted means you’ve earned the right to resent your family? No. You want to know what makes someone a man? Showing up. Even when you’re tired. Especially when you’re tired. Because your family doesn’t stop needing you just because you had a long day.”

He looked around, eyes sharp enough to draw blood.

“You are not entitled to love. You’re lucky to receive it.”

Oscar’s face was set. Calm. Controlled. But there was fury simmering just beneath it—grief, too. And something bone-deep and unwavering.

“You think they slow you down? Maybe they’d be better off without you dragging them behind.”

There was a heavy pause.

Then, soft but with the impact of a sledgehammer:

“Being loved that hard is not a burden. It’s a gift. And if you’re too selfish to see that—then don’t be surprised when they stop waiting for you to come home.”

Silence.

Oscar didn’t wait for a response. He didn’t need one.

And then he turned.

Didn’t wait for a reply. Didn’t look back.

Just walked away—like he’d said everything that needed to be said.

Lando stood there a second longer, heart still thudding.

Then, quietly, he turned and followed Oscar.

Because that?

That was the most brutal, honest thing he’d heard all year.

And somehow, he knew—

Bee would never have to wonder how loved she was.

Not with a dad like that.

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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abbotsanatomy · 3 months ago

Note

heyyyyyyyyyyyyy are requests open by any chance 🥹 if yes i would love love love a chef!reader x jack and it’s a regular occurrence for her to visit and drop off food BUT but one day she comes in and she’s like i may have sliced something……. THANK YOU you’re my fave blog rn this jack hyperfixation needs to leave my body or else i’ll go crazy💋

⨳ TODAY'S SPECIAL

pairing: jack abbot x chef!reader warnings: depiction of injury and surgical procedure, intentional medical inaccuracies (for the plot :p). not beta'd! author's note: such a fun idea! so honored to be feeding the jack abbot craze

On today's dinner menu was supposed to be roasted rack of lamb, smothered in a rosemary-infused butter, with garlicky oven-baked potatoes. Key word: supposed.

Your carefully curated ritual of making dinner for Jack and bringing it to his work was interrupted by you accidentally slicing your thumb half off. It's what you get for not sharpening your knives when they needed to be sharpened, last week.

Now, you're on the way to the ER for an entirely different reason. You've got your good hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on your leg, with a towel that smells faintly of garlic wrapped around your injury. It only hurts a little, for now. You're sure that'll change when the adrenaline of it all wears off. Or at least that's what you've heard.

You're hoping you can get there and be administered some kind of pain-killer before that pain sets in. Morbidly, the rest of your thumb's in a plastic baggie, that's in another plastic baggie filled with ice, because that's what google told you to do. And in the absence of your doctor boyfriend, you listen to google.

Obviously, you use the back emergency entrance, like Jack's instructed you to do, if you ever happened to find yourself in need of actual medical assistance. You'd fought him on the principle, claiming the whole thing stinks of favoritism and some kind of medical malpractice. Now, with the pain slowly tingling up your entire arm, you can't find it in yourself to care.

The glass doors of the ER open automatically, as you walk in with a chunk of your left thumb in your right hand. You're escorted by one of the EMTs who was standing outside when you drove by. You'd seen her around a handful of times.

“Yeah, so I was making dinner for myself and my boyfriend. You know him,” you pause, as she takes the plastic bag from your hand and nods.

“It just sliced in half. It's partially my fault. I forgot to sharpen my cooking knives,” you go on, as she finds you a place to sit and calls a nurse to grab Jack.

She smiled empathetically at you, “Don't worry. We'll get you taken care of. Dr.Abbot should be here any minute. Just keep your hand elevated for me.”

Although you're about 99 percent sure the nurse walking in behind Jack already told him exactly what's going on, he still looks incredibly shocked to see you sitting there.

“Heeey,” you say, trying to wave the injured hand instinctively.

You quickly realize how bad of an idea that was, though, “Oh, ow. Ow.”

He gives you a once-over, and then quickly instructs the nurse to grab something. Presumably, hopefully, some pain meds. You realize you assumed correct, when she comes back with a few pills and a cup of water.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and swallow the pills in one go with the water.

Jack's just standing there, watching you. When you put the paper cup down onto the side table, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. It's almost like he's putting off looking at your wound, even though he probably knows it's inevitable.

“I had such a great dinner planned. You have no idea,” you boast.

It makes Jack crack a smile, as he walks over to wash his hands. He takes a seat in front of you, and then looks at the rag on your finger expectantly.

“Come on. Let's take a look,” he begins, pulling the towel off, “I heard you kept the rest of it in ice. Good thinking.”

You nod, smiling to yourself at the praise, “Mhm, I know right? Didn't even panic or anything.”

“Oh, I believe you,” he affirms, still inspecting the injury.

In that moment, John Shen pops his head into the room.

“Woah, hey. What's Gordon here in for?” he asks Jack.

The nickname makes you roll your eyes. You really don't even like Gordon Ramsay.

“Sliced my thumb. Unfortunately,” you sigh.

You can't help but ask the one question on your mind right now, “Think you can reattach it?”

“That's what I'm trying to find out, sweetheart.”

You all wait with bated breath. Chopping things up could become infinitely more difficult with half a thumb.

“Yup. Found a vein for anastomoses. We can proceed with replantation,” Jack announces.

“Perfect,” Shen adds, and then leaves the room.

You let out a long sigh, “Oh thank god! I've never been more nervous in my life, I think.”

Jack leans in to kiss the side of your face, “Yeah, I could tell. You have absolutely no confidence in me.”

“No! That's not it. Not at all. You try almost losing your thumb!” you defend.

He grins at you with a tilt of his head. Then he looks down at his prosthetic, and back up at you. His expressions reads, ‘Really?’

You grimace, “Yeah, alright. You win this one.”

Jack makes quick work out of gathering everything he needs and disinfecting your wound. He starts the reattachment process, after giving you a numbing shot that makes you feel nothing from your shoulder downward.

You don't really understand what's going on, but Jack tries to explain as he's going. Frankly, you're too busy intently watching his hands work and admiring how incredibly sexy the surgical loupes he's wearing make him look. It should be criminal for him to look that good, while reattaching your thumb.

“This, right here, might be the hottest you've ever been,” you blurt out.

It makes him pause for a moment. Not in shock, just contemplation.

“Wow. Really?” he questions, the soft curve of his brows furrowed in disbelief.

You can't help but giggle at his tone. Maybe it's the antibiotics making you a little loopy, but how he's looking at you is also incredibly funny.

“I mean, yeah,” you reason, “Sure, sex with you is great, but this might be better.”

Jack just smiles and gets back to work. Mostly because he knows it isn't true; nothing tops the sex you have together. That shit's spiritual. But also, because he doesn't fully get it. He's never understood the appeal that apparently comes with being in scrubs.

Although he's deciding to back down, you need a clean-cut victory. You want him to actually understand.

“Hey, it's totally like when you spend an hour staring at my ass while I make dinner. It's mostly just that, but it's also you appreciating my cooking and how well I do my job,” you explain. “It's attractive!”

“Yeah. Sure, I can see it,” he concedes. It's a win you'll take.

There's a long pause. Just the sounds of the surgical tools in his hands filling the space between you. He's busy taking care of your finger, obviously, but you can also tell he's pondering what you just said.

“You like taking care of people,” is all Jack comes up with. You're more than able to fill in the rest, though.

“It's what I love about you.”

He doesn't need to say it. The words are buried in his tone, in the reverence in his eyes, in the gentleness of his touch on your arm, even though he knows you can't even feel it right now.

So, you nod, and come up with one of your own, “And you are immune to panic. If I hadn't known any better, I'd say you haven't experienced a day of dread in your life.”

That earns you another smile. It takes him five minutes to come up with another thing to say.

The procedure takes much longer than you'd previously expected. Neither you nor Jack were too bothered by that. Anyone passing by with snacks or words of encouragement definitely found how you and Jack went back and forth, subtly trying to one-up each other with your compliments, incredibly cheesy.

The hours you spent in the ER recliner, with Jack hunched over your hand, meticulously gluing you back together, were a love letter to your long-lasting relationship. One you'll cherish for as long as you still have the tip of your left thumb attached to your hand.

#jack abbot #jack abbott #dr jack abbot #dr jack abbott #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #dr jack abbot x reader #jack abbott fanfic #dr jack abbott x reader #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot drabble #jack abbot fluff #jack abbot imagine #the pitt #the pitt max #the pitt hbo #the pitt 2025 #the pitt show #the pitt x reader

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mossangelll · 7 months ago

Text

stray cat rescue

vi x reader

i’m so down bad for vi i could write like 20 absolutely filthy fics about her I NEEEED HER… ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

tw: detailed smut, reader is fem - 18+ mdni!!

Strobe lights flashed in the dingy club as you sobbed hysterically into your watered down martini.

Life was going great! You got a new job, adopted a cat and were even looking for a house with your boyfriend - you hated to brag but you knew you had hit the jackpot.

And then you found out your boyfriend of two years cheated on you. Two long years down the drain in the blink of an eye.

That was that. Your perfectly curated life was crumbling before your eyes and there was nothing you could do to make the situation better. No matter how loudly you protested, your friends, bless them, decided to drag you out of your depression-induced hibernation in order to lift your spirits. Needless to say, the night was a major fail.

You down the rest of your drink and stand up from the booth, resigning yourself to another night of sobbing into your poor cat’s fur.

Before you could make your escape, you bumped into a charismatic, muscular, attractive, no, very attractive woman - Vi.

She had a wicked smile and cocky demeanour as she told you she’d been watching you for a while, that she hated to see a pretty woman cry, that she knew the best way to cure a broken heart.

Now your makeup was running for a whole other reason.

Vi’s strong arms had manoeuvred you into a mating press, ankles dangling precariously over her shoulders as she lay off the edge of the bed and you watched her tattooed biceps bulge under the low light. Shit, she was so hot that just watching her made you wetter by the second.

“Fuck, princess,” she groaned into your pussy, the vibrations forcing another wail from you, making your eyes roll back into your head, “you’re absolutely dripping wet. Think you can squirt for me again, cutie?”

Her own low pants grew louder as she lifted her head from between your legs to look up at you. Her chiseled face was flushed a deep red, eyes glazed over and, fuck, the lower half of her face was drenched in your juices. If you didn’t know any better, you would think she was the one getting ate out.

But you weren’t one to question a gift horse in the mouth so you settled for roughly tugging tufts of her cropped hair in your hands to guide her mouth back to where it belonged. She groaned at this and you felt another pang of arousal hit deep within your core.

Her mouth returned to your sopping cunt but instead of eating you out like you hoped, her scarred lips left teasing, feather light kisses on the insides of both your sensitive thighs before plunging two thick digits inside of you without warning.

“Shit, you’re so tight, cupcake.” She hissed as her wrist flexed from the force of pistoning inside and out, fingers curling up towards the spongy spot with a come-hither motion that had you drooling from the mind numbing pleasure.

“Right there! Please, please don’t stop!” You keened and writhed, unable to keep still which made Vi chuckle, dark and full of sensuality.

“Can’t believe your ex just gave this up. Sure as hell can’t complain though.”

A rough hand manhandled your left tit, squishing and squeezing it in the palm of her large hand before she flicked your pebbled nipples, making you squeal in surprise.

Her eyes shot up from where they were glued to your heaving chest and a devious smirk spread across her face. She quickly yanked out the hand that was finger fucking you, blue eyes rolling playfully at your noise of indignation, to give attention to your neglected tit.

“You’re such a slut for me, crying out for me like this and I barely had to touch you.”

Her wet fingers left behind a trail of your sticky arousal that she promptly licked up so she could lather wet, sloppy kisses all over your chest that turned into sharp nips when she reached your delicate neck - you moaned breathlessly at every kiss and the thought of the dark marks you would find blooming tomorrow, only having enough energy to stroke her silky hair.

Once she had her fill, she dove back down to continue lapping up your wetness like a man starved. The way her tongue flattened against your crying pussy to lick a wide trail up to your clit made you feel like you were on the verge of passing out, nothing could feel better than this. Mounting pleasure built up inside of you, snaking up from the tips of your toes all the way to the top of your head like a pressurised can under a flame - you’re all but ready to burst.

But then she pursed her lips around your swollen clit and sucked down so hard your vision went white and you were convinced you must be convulsing as you came so forcefully.

You knew you squirted again as Vi’s pleased chuckles and loud slurps were a good enough tell tale sign for you - where had Vi been your whole life?

Her gravelly voice called out to you from beyond the thick fog that smothered you, the only thing that tethered you to the waking world, borderline snarling in the throes of satisfaction, “Think your little boyfriend could’ve fucked your brains out like this? Bet he didn’t know the first thing about making you feel good, doll.”

You started to come down from your high, thighs trembling and so, so sticky. The world had finally stopped spinning and you think it must be over, that you can turn over and go to sleep content and happy for the first night in a very long time.

It seemed that Vi had other plans as in your haze, she had enough time to put on an impressive a strap-on. Well, know you had proof she definitely wasn’t overcompensating for anything.

You gawked at the sheer size of the strap but somehow your pussy had became slicker at the thought of being pounded by her huge dick. Her sharp teeth flashed ravenously in the dim room as her well defined and sweaty body loomed over you- it was clear she was proud at the cum-drunk reaction she elicited from you.

She leaned down and tapped the side of your cheek and you instinctively opened your mouth, watching in morbid curiosity as she spat inside and claimed another part of your body. You yelped as she easily flipped you over and positioned you in doggy with a warm hand on the small of your back to arch it further.

You felt hotter by the second and another gush of arousal leaked from your pulsating core as you felt her plush tits and hard body drape across your back. Her hair tickled the side of your love-stained neck and you could feel the faintest touch of her chapped lips against the shell of your ear.

There, she whispered so lowly you had to strain just to make out the words, “God, I love ruining innocent girls like you that don’t know the first thing about a good fuck.”

masterlist

#arcane fanfic #arcane #arcane violet #vi arcane #vi x reader #violet x reader #vi smut #vi league of legends #arcane smut #arcane vi #arcane vi x reader #smut #vi x reader smut #arcane oneshot

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cheftsunoda · 2 months ago

Note

okay we need more kimi x reader because maggie just adorable and everyone needs her as a little sister

it’s maggie’s world, we just live in it ♡

blurbs

kimi antonelli x reader

moments with maggie, kimi and yn ˚.🎀༘⋆

(this one finally got edited and made it out of the drafts)

—

!beach time ♡ ̆̈

If I could bottle this day up and keep it in my pocket forever, I would. The sun’s starting to melt into the horizon, spilling gold across the sand like someone up there knocked over a jar of light. The salty breeze whips little strands of hair into my face, and I don't even bother to fix them because Kimi’s laughing so hard next to me that I might cry from how much I love him.

We’ve been at the beach since noon. The three of us—Kimi, me, and Maggie, who insisted we pack “a real picnic” and not “just snacks like you weirdos always bring.”

Which is why our beach blanket looks like something out of an overly curated Instagram spread- fruits cut into little flowers (Maggie’s doing), three kinds of pasta (Kimi’s mom insisted), and the world’s most uneven sandwiches (mine—I got distracted halfway through because Kimi came in shirtless and asked if we had any grapes).

Now, Kimi is half-buried in sand, demanding we make him into a mermaid. Maggie is on her knees sculpting a seashell bikini top with a significant level of dedication.

“You are moving too much! It's lopsided!” Maggie shrieks, attempting to hold Kimi still.

I sit cross-legged beside them, laughing so hard I nearly choke on the lemonade I brought down from the cooler.

“Do not disrespect the ocean princess,” I warn, leaning over to adjust the ‘tail’ we built earlier, smoothing sand into elegant curves.

“I shall send you to the depths,” Maggie says in a dramatic, royal tone. Then she pauses, completely deadpan, and asks, “Is my hair still cute, though?”

“Very royal. Extremely majestic,” I say, brushing some of the sand out of her curls.

Kimi wiggles his way out of the sand and leans over and drops a kiss to my shoulder, quick and sun-warm. Maggie immediately sprints into the shallows, kicking up water and yelling something about being Poseidon's heir. I stay on the blanket, my head tilted back just enough to feel the sun on my face and the warmth still trapped in the fabric beneath me. Kimi flops down beside me a second later, his skin warm and damp from the sea.

“Should we be worried she’s building an army of crabs to overthrow us?” he murmurs, resting his chin on my shoulder.

“She already has. I saw her whispering to a hermit crab twenty minutes ago.”

Kimi laughs again—his real laugh, the unfiltered one that starts low in his chest and shakes his whole body. I love that sound more than I’ve ever loved anything. More than I can explain, even to myself. We lie there in silence for a bit, watching Maggie kick up water and chase a seagull like it personally offended her.

“She’s obsessed with you,” he says after a while, voice soft.

I glance over. His eyes are on me, not the sea.

“She’s my favorite girl in the world,” I reply honestly. “Well, second favorite.”

Kimi’s smile turns into something quieter, something that tugs on my chest like gravity.

“My mom said earlier this week that she thinks you’re more of an Antonelli than me.”

“She’s probably not wrong. I could out-cook you and beat you at Uno.”

“Okay, first of all—rude,” he says, nudging my knee with his. “Second of all… I hope you know how much it means. You being here. Always.”

I do. I feel it every time his mom texts me before races to ask if Kimi ate. Every time his dad saves the good corner seat for me at dinner. Every time Maggie crawls into bed with me at night when I sleep over because she had a bad dream and needs “her big sister.”

I feel it now, as Kimi pulls me into his arms, our backs against the sun-warmed sand and the sea rolling in and out in the background like a lullaby. Maggie is somewhere in the water shrieking about jellyfish (I’ll go check in a minute), but for now, it’s just us. Eighteen years old. Four years together. A thousand more ahead. And all I can think, as I press my face into his shoulder and feel his hand slide into mine, is— This is home.

—

!the great jellycat hunt♡ ̆̈

It starts, as most important quests do, with Maggie kicking open Kimi's bedroom door and declaring, “Today is Jellycat Day!”

I barely look up from my phone. “Is it now?”

She nods solemnly, hugging her well-worn bunny against her chest. “I had a dream that the new one I want was calling to me. Calling, YN. Spiritually. Through the universe.”

“Did it leave a voicemail?” I tease, stretching.

“No,” she says seriously. “But I think it was pink.”

I laugh, rolling out of bed as she flops onto the mattress beside me. Her little legs kick in the air as she dramatically sprawls out, eyes wide like she’s already mentally preparing for the journey ahead. Kimi appears in the doorway a few seconds later, rubbing sleep from his eyes and already suspicious.

“Why do I feel like this is not going to be fun for me?"

“It probably won't be.” I say sweetly, tossing a his hoodie over my tank top.

“Put on your best shopping shoes, Kimi,” Maggie says, flipping onto her stomach. “The mission begins in thirty minutes.”

He groans, but twenty-nine minutes later, he’s in the driver seat of my car, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, and the deep sigh of a boyfriend and brother who knows he’s not getting out of this anytime soon.

We hit the Jellycat boutique first—one of those little shops tucked into the corner of the piazza that somehow smells like vanilla. Maggie practically sprints inside.

“Oh my God, look at the tiny shrimp!” I squeal, picking up the plushy pink prawn with little felt legs and beady eyes.

Kimi glances at it like it’s a threat. “I don’t trust it.”

Maggie, meanwhile, is holding what I think is a dragon wearing a tutu. Her face is reverent, like she just found the Holy Grail.

“Kimi,” she says, serious as ever, “feel this one’s ears.”

Kimi reaches out obediently, deadpan. “Yep. Very… ear-like.”

Maggie gasps. “You don’t respect the process.”

“It’s a stuffed animal,” he says. “I’m not supposed to.”

“Oh, you’re one of those,” I mutter dramatically, arms full of a watermelon slice, a raccoon, and something that might be a mushroom. “A Jellycat cynic.”

Maggie and I ignore him entirely as we dive into the rows, judging each plush on their cuddle-ability, aesthetic, and—most importantly—the vibe.

“Kimi,” Maggie says suddenly, holding up a tiny fuzzy croissant. “This is you.”

He looks at it. “Why?”

“Because you look like you’re done with the world, but you’re actually very soft inside.”

I absolutely lose it.

“That is so accurate,” I wheeze, almost dropping the watermelon.

Kimi just stares at both of us like he’s rethinking every decision that led to this moment. But five minutes later, I catch him gently adjusting a Jellycat octopus on the shelf like he doesn’t want it to be left out. He notices me watching and immediately frowns. “It was crooked. It bothered me.”

“Sure,” I say, smirking. “That’s all it was.”

We leave the store thirty minutes later with three new friends: Maggie’s tutu dragon, a Jellycat loaf of bread that I insisted on, and—surprisingly—an espresso cup plushie that Kimi picked up near the register.

He shrugs when I raise my eyebrow at him. “I named it. Don’t make it a thing.”

“Oh, it’s so a thing,” I grin.

—

!birthday activities ♡ ̆̈

Maggie turns ten today. Double digits. A whole decade.

She told me this morning—at 6:48 a.m. exactly—that it means she’s basically “a grown woman now” and should be allowed to drink espresso, drive a Vespa, and “maybe get a tiny tattoo of a butterfly if Papa says yes.”

I told her she could have a cappuccino and one of those temporary tattoos that smells like bubblegum. She agreed, but only because it was me asking.

Truth is, Maggie’s been stuck to me like Velcro all day. She hasn’t left my side since I walked into the kitchen this morning with her favorite birthday pancakes—strawberry banana with chocolate chips shaped like a smiley face. Kimi had been yawning next to me, watching with fond, sleepy eyes while I squirted whipped cream into a heart on top.

“You know she’s going to lose it,” he murmured.

“Isn’t that the goal?”

And now, six hours later, party in full swing, Maggie’s fingers are still wrapped tightly around mine as she pulls me through a whirlwind of chaos—half a dozen kids from her class, family friends, balloons, glitter, noise, presents, the works.

“I want you with me when I open gifts,” she whispers like it’s a secret, tugging me down to the living room floor.

“You got it, birthday queen,” I say, sitting cross-legged beside her.

Kimi walks by holding two juice boxes, one of which he hands me with a tiny smile. “Surviving?”

“Barely,” I laugh. “She’s my little limpet today.”

“I know,” he says, fond and amused. “She told me you were the only one who understood her ‘birthday energy.’”

And honestly? I do. She’s buzzing like a sugar rush and a dream come true, all wrapped in sparkly tulle and butterfly clips. I sneak away only once—while Maggie’s distracted by her aunt and a new pair of glitter rollerblades—to set up her surprise in the backyard.

Kimi helps me carry it out, grinning when he sees what it is. “She’s going to explode.”

“Good. That’s what we’re going for.”

We drape a blanket over it for dramatic flair and return inside like nothing happened. I barely sit down before Maggie’s crawling back into my lap like she’s six again, holding my arm.

“I don’t want to open the last one unless you’re with me,” she says.

“The last one?” I blink, playing dumb. “I thought you opened everything already.”

“Nope.” She points to a big pink envelope sticking out of a gift bag. “That one says ‘final surprise.’”

“Ohhh,” I say, grinning. “That one.”

I help her up and lead her outside, where the sun is golden and warm over the Antonelli backyard. Kimi is already there, lounging casually on a bench like he didn’t just help me stage a full birthday miracle. The rest of the family is gathering, watching as Maggie skips across the grass with me.

“Wait,” she says, stopping in front of the blanket-covered object. “What is this?”

“Your final surprise,” I say, kneeling next to her. “Want to open it?”

Her eyes are wide. “It’s big.”

“It’s special.”

She pulls off the blanket with a little gasp—and then freezes.

Because underneath it is the miniature pastel pink Jellycat claw machine.

It’s handmade, custom, and filled with her favorite little plushies. The kind she’s dreamed about ever since we saw a video of one on Instagram months ago. I’d saved every spare bit of money and scoured the internet for someone who could build it. It even has her name on it—“MAGGIE’S KINGDOM” in sparkly letters across the top. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just… stares. And then she bursts into tears.

“Mags?” I panic, dropping to my knees again. “Are you okay?! Did I mess up—”

“No!” she sobs, throwing her arms around my neck with such force we almost both topple over. “It’s perfect! You’re perfect! I love you!”

I melt. Right there in the middle of the backyard, surrounded by balloons and streamers and ten-year-old chaos, I hold Maggie in my arms while she cries happy tears into my shoulder.

“Now you can win every Jellycat you want,” I whisper.

“You’re my favorite person,” she sniffles. “Even more than Taylor Swift.”

I gasp. “That’s serious.”

“I know.”

Kimi chuckles behind us, but even he looks a little choked up. I glance over at him as Maggie pulls away and runs to try the claw machine—her fingers already reaching for the joystick, face glowing with joy.

He mouths- You’re amazing.

I shrug, blinking back my own tears. “She’s worth it.”

And it hits me, like it always does when I look at her—that this little girl, with her messy curls and her giant heart, changed everything for me. She made me part of this family. She made me hers. And on her tenth birthday, there’s nothing I’m more proud to be.

—

date night? ♡ ̆̈

Kimi and I were supposed to have a date night. And not just any date night. The date night. You know—the kind where you shave your legs, actually do your hair, and pick the fancy perfume. The kind where he shows up at the front door with flowers even though he’s been at your side for the past four hours. I had my dress picked. Kimi even made a reservation at that dreamy little rooftop spot in Modena, the one with string lights and lemon sorbet served in tiny glass cups. And then Maggie looked up from her coloring book.

She was cross-legged on the living room rug, wearing her dinosaur pajamas and her favorite bunny slippers, completely zoned out—until she heard me say, “We’ll be back by eleven, promise.”

That’s when she froze. Looked up. Blinked.

“Wait… you’re leaving?”

Kimi paused halfway through adjusting his jacket. “Just for dinner, Mags.”

“Without me?” she asked, like we’d just announced we were moving to Mars.

My heart did that annoying ping thing it always does when she sounds a little too small.

“You’ve got Nonna and a movie night,” I reminded her gently, kneeling in front of her. “And popcorn. And candy. And ‘High School Musical’—the one with the rooftop dance you like.”

“But I wanted to do movie night with you guys,” she said, her lip wobbling. “We were gonna make the popcorn shapes! Remember?”

Kimi and I locked eyes. One of those long, wordless stares we’ve perfected over the years. It was that are we really doing this look followed by the yep, we are kind of sigh.

He pulled out his phone, tapped something, and looked back at me.

“Reservation canceled.”

I smiled. “Dress code officially downgraded to dinosaur pajamas.”

Maggie gasped. “Are you serious?!”

Kimi ruffled her curls. “You better go grab the marshmallows."

Ten minutes later, we’re all in the kitchen like a tiny culinary tornado. Maggie stands on a stool next to me, wearing an apron that says Sous Chef Supreme, dunking handfuls of popcorn into a big bowl of melted white chocolate and sprinkles.

“Are these even legal?” Kimi asks, holding up one of the finished blobs. “They look like unicorns exploded.”

“That’s the point,” Maggie says, snatching it from his hand. “They’re pop-stars. Popcorn stars.”

“You’re raising a pun goblin,” Kimi mutters to me under his breath.

“You love it,” I say, handing him a warm cookie from the oven.

He kisses my cheek in response. “Unfortunately.”

We make a blanket fort in the living room big enough for a family of five. Maggie insists we bring in her entire Jellycat army. By the time she’s done arranging them, we’re surrounded by a croissant, two bunnies, a pineapple, a toast, and one very smug espresso plush named Beanie.

The movie starts, and Kimi lets Maggie use him as a pillow while she sprawls across both our laps. I stroke her hair without even thinking, and she hums, eyes already drooping after the first musical number.

“Can’t believe we ditched lemon sorbet for this,” I whisper to Kimi, smiling.

He glances over at me, arm stretched behind my shoulders, his thumb brushing lazy circles into my skin.

“I’d trade a hundred rooftop reservations for this,” he says quietly, looking down at Maggie.

“I know,” I say. “Me too.”

We fall into a soft silence. The TV glows, Maggie breathes slow and even between us, and for a moment, everything is still. This isn’t the night we planned. It’s messier. Stickier. Slightly more chaotic. But it’s also us.

Kimi nudges me gently, whispering, “Hey.”

I turn my head. He smiles.

“We’ve got the rest of our lives for date nights.”

I lean my head on his shoulder, hand still wrapped around Maggie’s tiny one.

“Exactly.”

—

surprise? ♡ ̆̈

The thing about Kimi Antonelli is—he doesn’t ask for much. Even on race weekends, when pressure bubbles beneath every moment and tension cuts sharp behind every smile, he never demands. He’s focused. Calm. Quietly confident. The kind of person who keeps his world small, not because he doesn’t love—but because he loves so deeply that he guards it. Which is why I noticed the second he started missing them. He didn’t say anything. Of course not. He never would.

But I saw the way his eyes lingered on FaceTime calls longer than usual, how his fingers hovered over pictures Maggie drew and taped to his helmet bag, how he didn’t even joke when he walked past the empty guest paddock passes on the desk.

“They’ll come next time,” he said with a shrug last night, sitting beside me on the hotel balcony, gaze fixed on the stars.

“I know,” I’d said, squeezing his hand.

What I didn’t say was- They’re already on their way.

I spent two weeks planning this.

His mom and dad took some convincing—between his sister’s school schedule and his dad’s work—but when I told them the truth, that he missed them more than he’d admit, they didn’t hesitate.

“Anything for our boy,” his mother had said with a smile in her voice.

Maggie, naturally, was all in from the second I mentioned it.

“I’ll bring the Jellycats, but only the important ones,” she’d whispered on the phone, like it was a top-secret mission. “Tell Kimi I’m going to teleport. But don’t really tell him.”

Today, race day morning, I watch Kimi stand in the middle of the motorhome garage area, completely unaware of what’s about to happen. He’s stretching absently, one headphone in, hair slightly mussed, focus locked on his schedule like he’s trying to keep his head in the zone.

I walk over and press a quick kiss to his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

He gives me a small smile. “Tired. Wish the race started already.”

“Still bummed about your parents?”

He shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “I mean, a little. But I get it. Maggie’s got school. Papà’s got that meeting. It’s fine. You’re here.”

My chest aches a little at that. Because I know exactly how much it means to him.

I glance at my watch. “Hey, will you come with me for a second?”

Kimi gives me a curious look but follows without question as I lead him out of the back garage area and into the small private team hospitality space. The early morning sunlight filters through the open doors, golden and soft.

And that’s when he hears it.

“KIMIIIIIIIIII!”

The sound is high-pitched, delighted, unmistakable. He freezes. Spins.

And Maggie barrels into view from behind the espresso bar, dressed in a mercedes shirt and wearing a sparkly pink hat with "Go Rocket Boy!" scrawled in glitter paint across the front.

Kimi stares for a second like his brain can't quite believe what he's seeing. Then he laughs—full-bodied, breathless, real—just as Maggie launches herself into his arms. He catches her easily, arms wrapping around her small frame, forehead resting against her hair.

“Maggie,” he breathes, still stunned. “What—? You’re here?”

“Duh. I teleported,” she says proudly. “With Mama and Papa.”

Kimi looks up, and sure enough, his parents are standing a few feet behind her, beaming like they’ve just won the lottery. His mom waves with a little mist in her eyes. His dad gives him a thumbs-up and says something in Italian that I don’t quite catch—but whatever it is, it makes Kimi laugh again. He turns to me next, eyes soft and warm, still holding Maggie like she’s something precious and rare.

“You did this?”

I shrug. “Well, I made the call. Maggie organized the operation.”

Maggie grins. “I’m the boss.”

Kimi sets her down gently and steps forward, pulling me into his arms before I can say another word. His hug is tight, strong, and full of something unspoken.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into my hair.

“For what?”

“For knowing,” he says. “And making it happen.”

Later, as he suits up and heads to the garage, Maggie walks beside him like a tiny bodyguard, proudly carrying his helmet in both arms.

“I’ll be on the radio in spirit,” she tells him.

“You better be,” he replies, ruffling her hair.

I watch from a few feet back, standing beside his parents, heart full. He walks toward the grid with his whole family behind him. He looks lighter. Brighter. Like someone who remembers exactly who he’s driving for.

—

#formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 x reader #ka12 fluff #ka12 #ka12 x reader #ka12 fic #ka12 imagine #mercedes f1 #andrea kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli x you #kimi antonelli x reader #kimi antonelli imagine

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kxsagi · 2 months ago

Note

hey!!! this is my first time requesting but recently i've been rewatching my fav show ever: gossip girl. and i thought it would be super fun to see the blue lock guys with someone like blair waldorf 🤭🤭 idk why but i just REALLY wanna see how the guys put up a rich popular mean girl. it can be with any guy: isagi, kaiser, nagi, etc. if you're unfamiliar with gossip girl or blair waldorf you can just ignore this. its cool 💕

“𝐱𝐨𝐱𝐨, 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤’𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥”

a/n: i watched a little bit of gossip girl so i tried my best and kinda improvised 😭

ft. isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito

isagi yoichi

bro had no idea what hit him. he was used to kind, down-to-earth girls from back home, so when you called his sneakers “tragic” on your first meeting, he literally blinked and thought you were joking. you weren’t.

“you’re cute. a little scruffy. i could work with this.” and just like that, isagi's entire world view shattered. he's now frantically googling "how to be hot enough for a girl who looks like she drinks champagne at 8 AM."

he’s the kind of guy who tries to compliment you like: “you’re really smart, you know?” “of course i am, i graduated valedictorian and made half the school cry at prom. stay in your lane, isagi.”

but you’re also his biggest fan. when he scores a goal, you're in the stands with your designer sunglasses, clapping politely like: “wonderful, baby. now make sure that benchwarmer doesn’t breathe on you next time, i don’t like his aura.”

he takes it so seriously. he tries to understand fashion, reads vogue once, and nearly buys a $600 scarf because you offhandedly said you liked hermès.

you’re basically his villain origin story and true love in one.

kaiser michael

oh he loves it. he sees your chanel bag, your passive-aggressive smile, and your confident walk like you own the stadium? man’s already 10 steps behind you, hooked.

“you’re the meanest girl i’ve ever met,” he says, practically swooning. “and yet here you are, following me like a lost poodle.” “i like it when you call me names.”

you guys flirt like you're in a war room. constant sarcasm. constant power plays. it’s like watching two CEOs fight over a hostile takeover, except it’s lowkey hot.

kaiser tries to outdo your insults: “those earrings are almost as shiny as your ego.” “and your brain’s almost as big as your mouth. almost.” everyone else is just quietly sipping water like it’s a live fire hazard.

you insulted ness ONCE and kaiser has never laughed harder in his life. he now purposely brings ness around just to watch the chaos. “he’s not that bad,” kaiser shrugs. “he gives beige. walking beige.” (i am so sorry to all ness fans for this)

power couple energy that scares people. he buys you diamonds, you buy him real estate in your heart and lease it monthly.

nagi seishiro

at first? he found you exhausting. like. why are you wearing heels on campus. why are you roasting people. why do you look expensive all the time.

“you stress me out,” he groans. “you need the stress. you dress like you’ve given up.”

despite that, he finds himself slowly addicted to your attitude. it’s probably the way you pat his head like a house cat or how you insult his posture while fixing his hair.

you’re dragging him to brunches he doesn’t wanna go to, throwing his hoodies in the trash (“this is not loungewear, it’s a cry for help”), and making him carry your shopping bags.

he complains the whole time. but he always shows up.

secretly loves how you baby him after being mean: “ugh, you’re so slow.” “wanna sit down? i’ll get us smoothies. only because you look pitiful.”

nagi would literally lie down and let you walk over him in 6-inch louboutins and go “worth it.”

mikage reo

he thought he knew rich girls. he thought he was the rich girl. but then you stepped in with your curated social calendar, custom hair appointments, and the social finesse of a lioness hunting gazelle.

“wow, i’m in love,” was his first thought when you said, “mikage group stock dipped. tell your father to stop embarrassing us.”

the two of you are like the new money vs old money clash. both rich, both hot, both evil. you’re his competition and his soulmate.

y’all host charity balls and ruin reputations. you show up at his games in full designer couture and call the press coverage “low-resolution peasant work.”

reo lives for your sass. sometimes he’ll start a fight just to hear you drag him: “you think you're better than me?” “of course i am. i'm prettier and my skincare routine could fund your backup soccer team.”

he's the only one who can keep up with your social chessboard. double dates? gala invites? preposterous vendettas against other power couples? he’s in.

someone once called you a gold digger and reo bought their house just to evict them. true love.

itoshi rin

the emotional whiplash he got from being into you? insane. he likes quiet girls, calm girls, and then there’s you, fashion goddess with an icy tongue and sharper eyeliner.

“you don’t like me,” rin said once. “i like your face. not your attitude. we can work on the second one.” and that’s how he became your confused, angry, emotionally constipated boyfriend.

you bring out his inner softie by force. you wrap a scarf around him and say, “you look like an art student. tragic, but fixable.” and he just… blushes. violently.

he gets mad when you flirt with the waiter for extra olives, but you always nudge him under the table like relax, baby, i only want you (and he does relax… eventually).

he lowkey likes when you boss people around. you're the only one who can order him to sleep and live to tell the tale.

once you told rin he couldn’t wear that dumb hoodie to your tea party brunch and he glared for 45 minutes, but showed up in a polo shirt anyway.

“do you even like me?” “if i didn’t, you’d know. i’d ruin you.”

itoshi sae

when you first met sae, you looked him up and down and said, “europe aged you well, you finally look like you can afford my attention.” he blinked once and knew he was in love.

he pretends you annoy him. he says you're dramatic, your voice gives him migraines, and your shoes are too loud. but he shows up every time you call.

he's obsessed with the way you carry yourself. so untouchable. so self-assured. you walk into a room and act like you're the main event, and he respects the hell out of it.

you once called a rival player “a discount model with bad bone structure” and sae couldn’t stop thinking about it for three days. it awakened something.

his phone is full of candid pics of you looking expensive. when he’s bored, he scrolls through them and smirks like, yeah. that’s my girlfriend. she could ruin a man’s career with one tweet.

“you’re a menace,” he says. “and you’re obsessed with me. now kiss me, loser.”

the sexual tension when you argue is vile. people think you’re about to break up, but actually you’re deciding where to go for dinner.

shidou ryusei

oh he’s feral for you. the moment you insulted his entire personality and told him he smells like axe body spray and prison energy? he fell to his knees spiritually.

“you’re like, pure evil,” he grinned. “i’d let you stab me. tongue first.”

he flirts with you like he’s asking to be slapped. purposely gets on your nerves so you’ll yell at him. calls you “babycakes” and “tiffany tantrum” just to see your eye twitch.

one time you said, “if you bark at me again, i will get you neutered.” he moaned. in public.

you let him walk one step behind you like a trained rottweiler. he loves it. you pull him by the chain necklace and he follows you like a delinquent on a leash.

but behind the chaos, he’s protective af. someone looked at you wrong once and shidou was like, “should i bite them or burn their house down? say the word.”

and you? you just sip your $17 latte and go, “no need. their outfit’s already embarrassing enough.”

karasu tabito

the minute you called his shirt “last season’s mistake,” karasu gasped like a real housewife. “excuse me???” he choked. and then immediately started flirting with you.

he lives for the drama. you say something savage and he clutches his heart like “damn girl, say it again, but slower.”

he tries to roast you back, but your comebacks are so polished and ruthless that he’s usually left standing there blinking like an iphone on 1%.

he’s a gossip. he’ll come up behind you like, “so what’s the tea today, queen of the upper east side?” and you’ll be like, “rumor has it bachira's dating someone with no fashion sense.” “NOOO. not our funky boy falling into the polyester trap 😭”

you guys are a power duo. you show up to events dressed like enemies-to-lovers characters. he holds your bag when your earrings are too heavy. you fix his collar when he’s trying to act cocky.

karasu thinks it's hot that you're high-maintenance. “demanding girls keep me on my toes,” he says. “besides, i like being bossed around by someone with nice legs.”

he once joked that you were scary. you looked him dead in the eye and went, “i’m not scary. i’m selective. and you’re lucky.” he hasn’t stopped thinking about it since.

570 notes · View notes

p0orbaby · 3 months ago

Text

Double Exposure

sunmary: you want to go topless, alexia isn’t too pleased

warnings: mentions of smut, some vulgar language

a/n: okay a bit of context; rich!alexia inspired by that pic she posted looking hot all in black. reader was her sugar baby before things got serious and they fell in love. sugar baby = bad for image so reader was kept secret up until now. this is their honeymoon. *and breathe*

word count: 2.2k

“You’re not seriously going out there like that?”

Her words flat. Almost bored. Which is rich, coming from a woman who—barely ten minutes ago—was on her knees between your legs, growling into your cunt like it owed her rent and a written apology. Her voice now is the exact opposite of how it sounded then: cool, clipped, almost affronted. Like you’ve just told her you prefer supermarket olive oil. Like she doesn’t still have your taste on her mouth, drying into the fine creases of her lips, sunk into the seam where her teeth pressed down too hard on your inner thigh. Like her face wasn’t, moments ago, framed by your knees.

There’s a bruise on your hip in the exact shape of her thumb, planted like a signature. Another on the inside of your arm—darker, more controlled. Intentional. Just about composed, like something framed and hung under a spotlight. Your ribs ache faintly from where her elbows braced, sharp and functional, digging in as if she was preparing to split you apart. You haven’t seen your reflection yet, but you don’t need to. You already know what you must look like: mouth swollen and slightly parted, ribs flushed with heat, nipples still tight from her teeth and the blast of the air conditioning you forgot to turn off. Hair tangled, skin glistening at the hollows. The kind of wreckage that suggests not just sex, but possession.

You wonder what someone might assume if they saw you now. Not what, but who.

As in—Who did this to her?

As in—Who owns her like that?

The answer, of course, is already stepping barefoot onto the polished teak.

Her presence is enormous—not in volume, but in precision. In density. She radiates this sense of curation, of something not just expensive but worth owning. She moves like something honed to a point. She exists the way a Cartier Crash watch does: violently elegant, disturbing in its fluid asymmetry, confusing in its intention but undeniable in value. She is the kind of woman who doesn’t tell the time; she is the time. You once asked her for it, just to see what she’d do. She didn’t answer. Just turned your chin with her knuckle and kissed you hard enough to erase the question mid-sentence.

“I’m warm,” you say.

Which, in your shared language, means: Don’t tell me what to do.

Which also means: I want to see if you’ll still claim me in public after I deliberately ignore you.

Which, if you’re being honest, means: I’m still hungry. Even now. Even after that.

She says nothing.

You can feel her looking at you—feel her stare like fingers, counting every inch, every blemish, every trace she’s left behind. You wonder what part of you she starts with: the notched line of your spine, still red where her nails dug in; the subtle knot at the base of your shoulder from how she’d gripped it, too tight and too long; the soft under-curve of your breast now exposed to an entire sea that doesn’t give a single fuck. A sea that couldn’t care less whether you’re clothed, naked, adored or completely destroyed.

You imagine a lens somewhere. A long one. A telephoto. Some French man called Henri crouched in a small dinghy, cradling a Canon 1DX with a greasy finger and a questionable sense of ethics. You picture the headline already drafted in someone’s inbox: PUTELLAS’ MYSTERY WIFE BARES ALL OFF THE COAST OF CORSICA.

In all-caps, of course. They always use all-caps when a woman’s tits are involved.

You smile.

She walks over now, slow and certain. Picks up your discarded bikini top from the side of the lounger. Holds it between two fingers like it offends her on a structural level.

“This is literally a shoelace,” she says.

“It’s Prada.”

“It’s two triangles of fabric and the audacity of youth.”

You bought it impulsively the same day she signed the closing papers on the London penthouse, high off real estate and champagne, off her hand on your thigh beneath a linen tablecloth at Scott’s. She’d said it was too revealing, and you’d laughed directly in her face—mostly because she said it while unzipping your dress in the boutique changing room, knuckles grazing the lace you’d worn just for her. You still have the tag, folded neatly into your drawer next to a crumpled Agent Provocateur receipt and the Hermès tissue paper she tore through with zero ceremony. She, meanwhile, keeps everything. You once found an envelope in her office drawer marked in her small, upright script:

Apology Gifts – Receipts (Honeymoon Series).

Inside: three separate invoices from Van Cleef & Arpels. Two dated the same week.

“You’re topless,” she says this time. Not angry. Just too the point. Aware. Like she’s updating you on the weather.

Cloudless sky. Northeasterly breeze. Wife’s tits out.

You reach up, twist your hair into a loose knot. The strands stick slightly, damp with sea mist and the residue of her breath on your neck. Your breasts lift and settle with the motion. You can feel the weight of them shift, the sore prickle of friction where she pulled and twisted and nipped. Her eyes follow the movement, a twitch of hunger barely there in the corner of her mouth.

“I know,” you say, voice neutral. Sweet. Dangerous.

Alexia sighs. Her hand moves through her hair—shorter now, though just enough off to rifle her off split ends. There’s a dent pressed into her hairline from the fabric headband she still wears to play, out of habit more than need. You touch it sometimes in bed, when her back is to you, when her breathing’s heavy but not quite asleep. A thumb against the divot, like a priest touching his rosary.

Her wrists are bare. No jewellery today except for the platinum wedding band you places there twelve days ago, and the thin gold chain at her throat. It holds a Charles X medallion, antique, slightly tarnished. She claims it means nothing. But she wears it every time she signs a deal. Every time she fucks you after one. You’ve seen her in diamonds, emerald-cut and cruel. But nothing sits on her body like that coin.

“There could be press,” she says.

“There could be sharks,” you say. You don’t even look at her. “But that didn’t bother you when you fingered me in sea yesterday.”

You recline against the lounger, the one with the pale linen cover you never sit on dry. Your spine still stings—fibres rubbing into your back while she pinned you there, muttering things too filthy to be translated. The fabric beneath you now is cool, slightly damp from condensation or the aftermath of a very physical forty plus minutes. You cross one ankle over the other, toes flexing idly. The sun toasts your chest. You let it. You want it to tan the shape of her mouth across your breasts.

She doesn’t respond. Not immediately. You know that silence. It means she’s choosing her words, trying not to sound like her mother. Or worse—like the managers, the press officers, the people who shadowed her for years with clipboards and crisis management emails. Alexia never speaks by accident. It’s one of the things that drove you insane when you first met her—this polished, endless restraint. The way she could dress down a boardroom of men, then turn to you and call you mi amor in the same tone.

Like both were contracts. Like both were binding.

Now, she says: “You’re not used to being wanted by people who don’t actually like you.”

And there it is.

It lands like a dare. Like a diagnosis. Like she’s giving you something to chew on, not swallow.

“Is that what this is about?” you say, head tilting. “You think someone’s going to look at me and decide I’m… what? A threat?”

“I think someone’s going to look at you and decide I’m careless,” she says.

You freeze. Not outwardly. Just a beat in your breathing. That’s the thing about her—she never needs to shout. She just drops the knife and waits to see who bleeds first.

Her shadow breaks across your thighs like ink. The sun hits the length of her left leg, slicing down from hip to shin like it’s auditioning for something. She’s all lean geometry and sin. A shape so precise you’d believe it was machine-cut.

You think she might kiss you. You want her not to. Not yet.

She leans in instead, low enough that her voice barely has to travel.

“You’re covered in bruises,” she says, almost admiringly. “I fucked you stupid. You’re wearing nothing but saltwater and lip balm. And you’re sitting here like you’re not my wife, and I didn’t make you like this.”

You swallow. Your throat is dry, like it always gets after she’s done with you—used up and dusted out. Your body throbs in memory. Your cunt still pulses when you shift.

“You did make me like this,” you murmur. Soft. Sincere.

And somewhere in her expression—just for a second—you see it: that twitch of pride she tries not to show. The quiet, sinful satisfaction of ownership.

“Exactly.”

She reaches for your sunglasses—her sunglasses, black Celine with amber lenses and an arm smudged with your thumbprint—and lifts them off your face in one smooth, silent movement. Her fingers graze your cheek, knuckle to jawline, and it’s enough to short-circuit your thoughts. Your brain hums white for a moment. She’s close enough that her breath ghosts across your lips, and you can still smell yourself on her skin—rich, musky, heady, obscene.

She looks at you like she’s weighing options. Like she’s standing in front of a vitrine and trying to decide whether to sell you, pawn you, or buy you back again just to prove she could. There’s a flicker in her eyes, something almost amused. You get the sense she’d fuck you right here on the deck if she thought it would end the conversation.

“You forget this is a game,” she murmurs, voice low and even, like silk slipping through her teeth. “And the thing about games is, someone always plays dirtier than you.”

You blink slowly. Her breath smells like lime and sea salt, fresh and sharp. Her bottom lip is still slightly swollen—faintly bitten, faintly red, with a drying sheen of you along the corner. You imagine licking it off.

“Let them play,” you whisper.

And you mean it. You’re reckless with it. Bare, skin hot and mouth parted, knowing she could undo you again just by slipping her fingers into your bikini bottoms—or worse, pulling them down and walking away.

She smiles, but it’s sharp around the edges. Not cruel, just resigned. As if she already knows how this ends. As if she’s already read tomorrow’s headline and memorised the photo credit.

“You say that now,” she says. “Until they’re in your face asking how much I paid for you. How long you’ve had your tits done. Whether the bruises mean I hit you. Whether I own you or rent you.”

You flinch, but barely. Not from her—never from her. It’s not the words that land. It’s the image of someone else using them. Of a voice you don’t know, speaking in contempt and press passes. Of a cheap hotel room and a slideshow of your body from twenty different angles, taken without permission, captioned without truth.

“I can handle it,” you say, but your voice lacks the usual gloss.

“Can you?” she asks, soft as cashmere. “Because I don’t think you’ve had to yet.”

You want to argue. You want to say you’re not naive. That you’re not a doll or a trophy or some wife-shaped ornament she found at a charity gala and forgot to put down. But the sun is too warm and your skin still buzzes from where she held you down. Your cunt still aches in the best possible way. And deep down, you know she’s right.

You’ve lived wrapped in her world like a pearl in velvet. You’ve been sheltered in her storm—hidden inside her yeses, her private flights, her curated little ecosystem where nothing touches you unless she allows it.

“I like the sun,” you say.

It’s not a counterpoint. It’s not even an argument. Just a truth. You like the heat on your skin. You like being watched. You like the idea that someone, somewhere, might see what she’s done to you and ache with the knowledge that it wasn’t them.

She nods. Stands. Her shadow slips away like an expensive afterthought.

“I’ll talk to Marc,” she says. “Have him revoke the crew’s electronics permissions.”

And then she’s gone. Back into the cool interior, where everything is silent and beige and expensive and untouched. Where the floors don’t creak. Where the cameras can’t follow. Where her phone is probably already ringing and her assistant is already listening.

You stay.

The sea is stupidly blue. Aggressively blue. The kind of rich that makes you feel poor just looking at it. Your nipples are tight. Your skin smells like sweat and sex and suncream. Your pulse is low and steady, like a cat in a warm window. Your lips still taste faintly of her—salt and spit and something deeper.

You don’t know where the camera is. But you’re certain there is one.

You sit perfectly still. Posed. Cinematic. The image already forming in the lens:

Topless. Ruined. Glowing. Defiant.

The kind of wife who knows exactly what she’s risking.

And exactly how good it looks when she does.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso community

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myloveer0 · 6 months ago

Text

My lovely darling

Girlfriend Ambessa Medarda X Fem!reader

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Summary: You were just trying to survive your family reunion when Ambessa Medarda—your girlfriend—showed up unannounced. Now, you have no choice but to introduce her to your entire clan. What’s got you nervous isn’t just introducing any partner—it’s the fact that you’re dating a woman who also happens to be twice your age.

💋 Enough with the smut we need sweet girlfriend Ambessa💋

All of the Ambessa's fic are mostly smut. Now i want write different this time ;)

Part I

The night of the gathering was full of noise, the endless chatter, catching up with your cousins which you hadn’t seen in ages, and men cheering at the current football game. It was so noisy and chaotic which was stressing you out.

But still, there was something comforting about seeing those familiar faces. Your aunties laughing out loud echoing from the kitchen, your uncle's bad jokes that somehow got worse every year, the kids running around and toddler crying the brain out.

Family gatherings were never your thing. Too many questions, too much noise, and way too many relatives. You just don't have a choice but to obey your mother since it only happens once a year. Everyone minding their own business. It was almost funny, though, how everyone acted like nothing ever happened. Just last year, there was that massive fight over your Grandpa’s inheritance and the land rights. You thought your family would never be the same again.

But here we were, gathered like old times—those heated arguments maybe forgotten. This is what families like. Everyone was busy bragging about their new cars, job promotions, or perfectly curated family vacations.

You were doing a decent job of blending into the background, sipping your martini and pretending to care as your aunt went on about her new Victoria’s Secret bag that definitely looked fake.

It was fake, but you weren’t rude enough to point it out. You just kept nodding, trying your best to look impressed.

“So, do you have a boyfriend yet?” Your auntie suddenly asked. Wine glass in hand, eyes sparkling with nosy curiosity. “Anyone special in your life?”

But of course, it wouldn't be a family gathering without that question.

You forced a polite smile, which lead to an awkward laugh the kind that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Your auntie's release a collective gasp, followed by the inevitable assumption. You wanna roll your eyes.

Not surprised… are they asking you because you’re the only adult in the family who still hasn’t brought a boyfriend this year? Just like every other year. Meanwhile, your cousins are busy introducing their partners to the family—even the one who’s still in high school. And there you are… all alone.

“You know, Y/n, your cousin Emily is already married and has a two-year-old son. She’s doing so well! You really should think about settling down, sweetheart. You’re not getting any younger, and it’s harder to have kids when you’re older.”

Ah, yes. Emily—the family’s golden child. Same age as you, but somehow light-years ahead in the game of life, according to everyone else. Married, a kid, probably a dog too, for good measure. It’s like she checked off every box on the ‘Perfect Life’ checklist, and here you are alone while everyone assuming you where still trying to find a pen.

You'd force a smile, nod along, and pretend like it didn’t bother you. But inside? You was screaming. If only they knew.

You were doing your best to avoid another round of those questions when your cousin tapped you on the shoulder.

“Hey, Y/n” he whispered, glancing around while a plate food in his hand. “Someone’s looking for you outside.”

You blinked. “Who?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Some lady. But, uh… she looks like someone important. She was kinda scary too..”

That made you pause. Someone important? You racked your brain, trying to think of who would show up here, of all places. But with no other choice, you set your martini down and asked to leave. As you made your way to the front door, a strange feeling settled in your chest.

And then you stepped outside the gate.

You froze.

There, standing by her sleek black car, was her.

Ambessa Medarda.

Your girlfriend.

She wore a sharp red and black suit, tailored to perfection, exuding power with every inch of her posture. The soft evening light glinted off her gold earrings, and her confident stance made it impossible to look anywhere else. Your heart did this weird little lurch, and your chest tightened with a mix of excitement and full-blown panic.

Because what the hell was she doing here?

Behind her—not far away—was another black car, more like an convoy. And there you saw Ricktus, Ambessa’s head security. He glanced in your direction, giving a slight bow when your eyes met. You returned a small smile before starting to walk toward Ambessa.

You barely had time to process before Ambessa large build crossed the distance between you, her hand sliding behind your neck as she pulled you in for a kiss—right there, in the open, in front of your parents house. Your brain screamed at you to stop her, to do something, but your body? Yeah, it had other plans. You melted into the kiss, your nerves buzzing under your skin, and when she finally pulled back, you were left breathless, trying to collect your thoughts.

“Ambessa,”You whispered, glancing nervously over your shoulder to make sure no one had seen. Thank goodness.. you didn't have a front yard party. “What… what are you doing here?”

Ambessa smiled, that infuriatingly calm, self-assured smile that always made you weak in the knees. “I missed you. little one ”

You blinked. “It’s been barely two weeks.”

“Too long,” Ambessa said without missing a beat, seriously? How can she be so clingy and possesive at the same time. Which was kinda cute to be honest. “So, I came to see you. little one. Why? You don’t look happy. I was hoping you’d jump at me out of pure rejoice.”

You swallowed hard, heart thudding in your chest. You would have jumped at her—hell, you would’ve run into her arms if she weren’t standing right in front of your parents’ house, of all places. The timing couldn’t have been worse. But God, seeing her again stirred something deep inside you. Yes, it been just two weeks but it felt like forever.

“I—” you started, but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you just stared at her, taking in the way she stood there like she owned the whole damn world, that familiar smirk playing on her lips, the glint of mischief in her eyes. You missed her. More than you’d let yourself admit.

Ambessa raised an eyebrow, stepping closer, her presence overwhelming as always. “What’s the matter, dear? Cat got your tongue?” she teased, her voice a low, velvety whisper that made your skin prickle. She glanced at the house behind you, then back at your face, reading you like an open book. “Ah… I see.” Her grin widened. “Didn’t realize you’d be home home.”

You shot her a look, trying to keep your cool, but it was impossible with her standing so close, with that look in her eyes.

“I missed you,” you finally blurted out, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Ambessa’s smirk softened, just a hint, and for a fleeting second, something warmer flickered in her gaze. But it was gone just as quickly as it came, replaced by that same cocky confidence.

“I know,” she said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I always know.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the chest, but before you could even process it, she stepped closer, her hand brushing your arm, her touch sending a jolt through your entire body.

“So,” she murmured, her voice low and dangerous, “Are you going to invite me in, or do I have to stand out here all day while your parents wonder who the hell their daughter’s been dreaming about?”

You blinked. Your eyes slowly widened as your stomach flipped. Reality snapped back into focus. This was bad.Very bad. How can you two flirting in this situation.

“Bess, you can’t just… show up like this,” you hissed, lowering your voice. “This isn’t the right time.”

This wasn’t at all how you pictured the family reunion going. They can't meet Ambessa. Not now.

She raised an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. “Why not?”

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat. “Because my parents don’t even know I have a lover. They’ve known me as single for the past five years. Let alone a woman who’s…”

Ambessa’s gaze locked onto yours, sharp and unwaverin like daring you “Continue your words, little one.”

You bit your lip, your cheeks warming as you dropped your eyes to the ground. You didn’t want to offend her.

“W-who’s… well, twice my age.”

Ambessa didn’t flinch. Not even a flicker of surprise crossed her face. Like she knew it was coming along. The gap—had always been the issue people latched onto. You told yourself you didn’t care what they thought. But sometimes… sometimes it stung.

But not Ambessa.

She just tilted her head, eyes sharp and unwavering, that usual confidence. “Then are you embarrassed?”

Your eyes widened, and you snapped your gaze up to meet hers, a frown pulling at your lips. Is that what she think of you? “Of course not! Don’t even think about it that way, Bess. You’re—” Your voice began to cracked, the emotion bubbling up before you could stop it. You were having a hard time sinking all of this. It was too sudden.

“You’re one of the greatest things that’s ever happened to me. I’m proud to be yours. Every time i'm with you i feel so whole and I'm not letting you go cause your mine. I’d stand on the highest rooftop and shout it to the whole damn world if I had to. I’d tell everyone you’re my girlfriend, that you mean everything to me—”

You didn’t even realize the tears had started falling until Ambessa’s thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping them away with surprising gentleness. That small gesture broke something in you—the floodgates opened, and you couldn’t hold it back anymore.

You hated when she thought like that. Like she wasn’t important to you. Like you didn’t value your relationship just because of that damn age gap everyone kept pointing out.

You didn’t want her to ever feel that way.

Ambessa didn’t say a word. She just pulled you into her arms, strong and steady, like nothing in the world could touch you when you were with her. Being wrapped in her embrace was your safe haven.

Her hand cradled the back of your head, and you felt her breath warm against your temple “Shh… Forgive me.. Let them talk. Let them think whatever the hell they want. You’re mine. And that’s all that matters.”

“I just…” you gasped between sobs, clinging to her suit. God! You just ruined her expensive suit. “I don’t care what they say, but it—it gets to me sometimes. Like we’re wrong. But we’re not. We’re not, right?”

Ambessa pulled back just enough to cup your face in her hands, forcing you to meet her gaze. Her eyes were fierce, unwavering, like they always were, but there was something softer beneath the surface now—a tenderness she rarely showed.

“We are never wrong,” she said, her voice firm, leaving no room for doubt. “Let them talk. Let them think whatever the hell they want. They don’t know us. They don’t know you.” She leaned in, her forehead resting gently against yours, her breath warm and steady. “And I don’t give a damn about anything but this—you and me. That’s all that matters.”

Her words wrapped around you, and for the first time, you felt the tension ease from your chest. You let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly, you buried your face against her chest, clutching her like she was the only solid thing in the world.

“I don’t care what they say,” you whispered through the tears. “I just… I love you so much, Bess.” voice raw but sure. “I love you so much.”

A rare, genuine smile tugged at Ambessa's lips—one of those smiles she only ever gave you. She pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment before pulling back just enough to look into your eyes.

“I know you do,” she murmured, her thumb brushing away the last of your tears. “And I love you more than all their words combined. They can’t touch what we have. I wouldn't let them. They have to get to me first”

A small smile tugged at your lips. You slowly wiped your tears before gently pulling away from her embrace.

“You know no one can get past you,” you chuckled, wrapping your arms around her waist and looking up into her eyes.

Who would even dare to challenge a figure like her—unless they had a death wish or wanted to live through hell itself.

A cocky smile graced Ambessa’s lips. “Precisely, little one.”

“I’m sorry for being so emotional,” you whispered, your voice still shaky. “It’s not that I’m embarrassed… It’s just—they’re so important to me. My family—they’re not exactly…” you trailed off, searching for the right word. Ready? Accepting? Prepared for the force of nature that is you? None of it felt right.

''i know.. that's why it’s time they found out.”

You stared at her. “Bess…i know but they’ll flip out. They’re not exactly… open-minded about this kind of thing. ”

Her gaze softened just a fraction, but there was still steel underneath. “I’m not here to hide. And neither are you.”

You ran a hand through your hair, heart pounding like it was trying to break free from your chest. “ My parents are a little homophobic. They’ll freak out.”

Ambessa stepped closer, her voice low but firm. “Then let them.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. Because deep down, you knew Ambessa wasn’t going to back down. She never did. And maybe, just maybe, a part of you didn’t want her to.

But that didn’t make this any less terrifying.

She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face, her touch surprisingly gentle. “I’m not leaving,” she whispered. “It’s time.”

You blinked at her, trying to gauge if she was really serious. “Bess… it’s just a family thing. You’d be bored.” one last convencing.

She raised an eyebrow, that signature smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “ You look so adorable with your puppy eyes. But it will not work this time. I think it’s time I met your family.''

You let out a shaky breath, your nerves coiling tighter with every second. Is there anything in this world this woman was afraid off? But as you looked into her eyes—steady, unwavering, hers—you knew there was no talking her out of this.

God help. This was happening.

You knew a moment like this would come. You just didn’t expect it to be today.

Ambessa’s sudden appearance—like she’d just pop out of thin air—sent your heart into overdrive. She always had a knack for catching you off guard, but this? This felt different. You weren’t prepared. You hadn’t braced yourself for the surge of tension crackling in the air between you.

And the worst part? The way she looked.

Standing there like she owned the damn place, dressed to perfection, like every single detail had been planned to the last thread. It made you wonder—had she planned this? You knew Ambessa had been eager to meet your parents. You did. But you always found a way to shift the topic..

Is that why she showed up today? But God—the way that outfit hugged her frame, you couldn’t help but ogle. It was distracting she look so smoking hot and gorgeous. And the subtle gleam in her eye? It told you she was fully aware of the effect she had on you.

Your palms felt clammy, your pulse thrumming in your ears. But as your eyes flicked down to your own outfit, a small wave of relief washed over you. Thank God you’d put some effort into how you looked today. If you’d been caught in something sloppy, standing next to her, you would’ve crumbled right there on the spot.

But still… even dressed your best, Ambessa had a way of making everyone else fade into the background. And you couldn’t help but wonder—how the hell were you supposed to keep your cool standing beside her?

“A-alright,” you whispered, your voice barely steady. “Let’s do this.”

#ambessa #ambessa medarda #ambessa x reader #ambessa x you #ambessa x y/n #arcane ambessa #ambessa league of legends #ambessa arcane #wlw #arcane #arcane s2 #arcane season 2 #lesbian

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ochacoca · 2 months ago

Note

hey could u write an angsty fic where the reader thinks akaashi is too good for them pls thank youuu

I WOULD GIVE YOU THE MOON

3rd year!akaashi x gn!reader

now playing ♫ moon song by phoebe bridgers

IN WHICH your boyfriend doesn't let the thought of you not being good enough for him haunt you.

word count: 1,286 words

content: angst, hurt/comfort, 3rd year!akaashi, 3rd year!reader, pre-established relationship, happy ending

Ever since you began dating, you never understood how someone like Keiji ended up with someone like you.

He was so attentive, so thoughtful, and so kind. He had his weird quirks that made him unique. Keiji remembered every small detail about you. How you liked your tea, how to calm you down, how to put you to sleep at night when your mind won't stop running laps. He was an amazing partner and you couldn't ask for more.

You'd consider yourself a good partner as well. But, you were just.. you. You were the one people approached to ask about your other friends, not you. The one who was always asked to take a picture of the group instead of being asked to be in the photo.

Anytime you tried, you couldn't find anything unique about yourself. Not your personality, not your looks, you were just average. That's what you thought of yourself and that was what you've grown up to think, even though Keiji insists otherwise.

But more recently, you've felt this weight on your shoulders. Anytime he'd bring you breakfast in bed, anytime he'd show you affection, or anything else he does on a regular basis, you would feel this churn in your stomach.

I don't deserve this.

The thought used to come and go before you even had time to acknowledge it. But now, it's all you think about.

And you become more fixated on your appearance. You couldn't blame it on the bright white lights in your bedroom or the warm yellow lights in your bathroom. Your hair was dry and frizzy, you had deep eyebags from the late nights you stayed up overthinking. You looked sick. But this never stopped his compliments.

“You look so pretty, my love.” He'd whispered in your ear when he sees you staring at yourself in the mirror for so long. He'd wrap his arms around your waist as he stood behind you, resting his chin against your shoulder.

You would always smile and thank him. But deep down, you always thought he was lying. Just trying to make you feel good about yourself, or trying to convince himself in the process.

You couldn't bring this up to him though. You wouldn't. All you could try to do was to try and be enough for him so he wouldn't find it in somebody else.

The hangout had been Bokuto's idea. After the third years graduated, there wasn't much time where the old volleyball team was able to see each other, so he curated a get-together where everyone was able to come. Even her.

You didn't hate Yukie Shirofuku. You could never. She was such a sweetheart, but you envied her with everything inside you.

She was so confident in herself without lifting a finger. So effortlessly gorgeous when you had to put hours into yourself to look at least a bit decent. When she laughed at something Keiji said, throwing her head back and holding her stomach, you felt your stomach twisting sickeningly. You hated getting jealous with every bone in your body. You wanted to brush it off, but it was hard. You didn't want to be that type of partner.

With her shine in the room, you felt invisible.

You tried to be active all night. Engaging in different conversations and such so it wouldn't seem you were in a bad mood. You didn't want to ruin the atmosphere with your negativity. But Keiji being Keiji, he already knew something was up with you.

“Are you okay?” He whispered in your ear, placing his hand on your thigh and rubbing it softly.

You moved your head to face him, slapping on a fake smile in hopes he wouldn't notice how badly you wanted to leave. “Hm? Yeah, I'm fine.”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously but nodded, not wanting to push it any furthur incase you got uncomfortable. But after a few minutes passed, he could see it in your body language. The way you shifted in your seat, how you picked at your nails and cracked your knuckles.

“Do you want to go back home?” He whispered again in your ear. You sighed, you couldn't deny it anymore. You nodded and he nodded back before standing up and gathering your things.

“Okay, I'll drop you off.”

You stood up beside him and gently grabbed his hands. “But what about your friends?” You said. You didn't want to be the reason he didn't hang out with his friends.

But he only smiled at you and shook his head. “I have more opportunities to see them again. Let's go.”

You had been avoiding his gaze since you left Bokuto's house. You would see through your peripheral at every red stoplight in the car how he'd look at you, with his eyebrows furrowed and his lips slightly parted. However, you continued to look out the window. Now, you're standing in front of the door to your house, waiting to go inside. You unlock the door and twist the knob to step in, but Keiji's hand catches your wrist before you could open it wide enough.

“Wait.” He mumbled. He gently tugged you towards him, placing his hands on your shoulders and rubbing them softly. “Just wait for a minute.”

You finally met his eyes for the first time in an hour. He had concern etched all across his face. You could see it in the way he furrowed his eyebrows, the look in his eyes, his lips pursed. “You're not okay.”

The lump formed in your throat immediately. You swallowed it down, letting out a broken laugh before speaking. “I'm sorry.” Your voice broke slightly. “It's just.. I didn't like seeing her around you.”

“With who? With Yukie?” He asked with a tone of disbelief. There was a pause in the air, and he already knew with your silence that he was right.

“I'm sorry-” You started but he cut you off before you could finish your sentence.

“Stop,” He said quickly while shaking his head. “you don't have to apologize, darling.”

“It's just..” You trailed off.

“Just what?” He asked as he tried to coax out the answer from you, with the same softness he only showed for you. You took a shaky breath and exhaled.

“Sometimes I just think you can do better, you know?” You avoided his gaze as the lump in your throat grew stronger. “I feel like you’re wasting your time with me. I can't give you what you deserve.”

“What?” His expression softened. It looked like your words physically pained him to hear. “Stop it..”

“Keiji–”

“Stop.” He cut you off as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours while softly taking your head in his hands. “Y/n, I would give you the moon if I could.

He peppered soft kisses all over your face. On your forehead, your cheeks, your temple, before finally pressing them against your lips. “Why would you think you wouldn't be enough for me?” His voice cracked and it broke you.

You didn't have an answer. You could only shrug and try looking away from him as you fought off the tears that formed in your eyes, only for Keiji to gently direct your face to look in his eyes again.

“You are perfect for me.” He whispered softly to you, pressing his body even closer against yours as he embraced you. “All I want is you.”

#rea writes !#akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji #haikyuu akaashi #hq akaashi #akaashi x you #akaashi smut #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #hq x reader #hq fluff #hq

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nikixkoo · 4 months ago

Text

𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐓 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

pairing: jungkook x f!reader.

word count: 4.2k

content warnings: smut [MDNI], unprotected sex, make out, kind of public display, jungkook’s a bit (a lot) possessive, and lots of teasing.

a/n: hi! it’s niki here. 𐙚 this is my first time writing, but i hope u enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed doing it. english isn’t my first language, so please be kind if something isn’t right written! lots of love, muak. ≽^•⩊•^≼

She’s everything he hates to love. He’s everything she pretends not to need.

summary: In the world of wealth, secrets, and perfectly polished lies, you walk through the marble halls of the most prestigious university in the country like you own the place, because you practically do. Heiress of an empire. Flawless reputation. Everyone wants you. Everyone fears you.

Except him.

The only one who’s never looked at you like you were fragile. The only one who sees through the diamonds, the designer, the perfectly curated mask. Your favorite person, your first secret, and your biggest weakness.

You push his buttons. He tests your limits. You make him jealous on purpose. He pulls you into his bed like it’s nothing.

It’s not official. It’s not healthy.

But it’s yours.

The sun hits the field like a spotlight, casting golden light over expensive turf and even more expensive egos. Cleats scrape, whistles blow, and the boys of Rutherford’s lacrosse team move like they’re auditioning for the front page of some legacy magazine. At the center of it all, Jeon Jungkook.

Fast, lethal, and disgustingly good at everything. He runs drills like a general, yelling commands, barking orders, and still managing to look like a god dipped in sweat. The kind of boy that makes good grades and bad decisions.

Today’s practice? Open to the public.

Translation? It’s a flex. A show. A power move.

And of course, you’re there. You’re always there. Not for the game. Not for the sport. But for him.

You sit front row, sunglasses on, designer outfit hugging you like sin, legs crossed like a weapon.

You know he can see you. You know he wants to look. And he doesn’t, not once, until he scores the final shot, whips his helmet off, sweat in his hair, and finally lets his eyes land on you.

He doesn’t look away when he meets your eyes. He drags that gaze down your legs, up your figure, and settles on your mouth, like he’s remembering the last time he had you underneath him, begging. The way you moaned his name with your lip gloss smudged and your voice wrecked.

The crowd starts to thin after the final whistle, mostly girls pretending not to stare, and boys pretending not to envy.

You stay seated. You know he’ll come to you.

The crowd is gone, and Jungkook walks out of the changing rooms like he’s got the whole world in his back pocket.

Still damp from the shower, curls sticking to his forehead, gym bag slung low over his shoulder. He’s in his uniform pants, but the top is gone, replaced by a thin black t-shirt that clings to his chest in all the ways that make you want to bite something.

He sees you. And he doesn’t look away this time.

He slows as he reaches you, shadow falling over your seat. You’re still sitting like the spoiled goddess you are, legs crossed, lip gloss fresh, phone in hand like you weren’t just watching him like a movie you’ve seen a hundred times and still crave.

You don’t even look up. “Took you long enough.”

Jungkook snorts. “Didn’t know I had a timer.”

“You always do.” You finally glance at him, the corner of your mouth twitching. “You just pretend you don’t hear it ticking.”

There’s a pause. A beat of quiet so thick it feels heavy. His eyes roam your face like he’s searching for something, maybe your limit, maybe your weakness. But the truth is, you both know the answer already.

“You like pushing me, don’t you?” he murmurs.

You tilt your head. “Only when I know you’ll push back.”

The tension coils in the air, charged and dangerous.

“You wore that outfit for me?”

“You scored that goal for me?”

Touché.

He steps closer. Just a little. Close enough that your knees could brush if you shifted, but you don’t. Neither of you moves. You’re locked in that perfect space where tension thrives, just shy of something unforgivable.

“People are starting to talk,” he says quietly.

You hum. “They’ve always talked. They just don’t know what to say now.”

His gaze drops to your lips again. “They think you’re mine.”

You arch a brow. “Aren’t I?”

A beat passes. He doesn’t answer.

And maybe that’s your favorite thing about him, that he never says the things he feels. Not out loud. He says them in stares. In clenched fists. In the way he only kisses you when no one’s watching.

You stand, finally. And the shift is magnetic. Now you’re the one in his space. You fix the collar of his shirt like it bothers you, like touching him doesn’t set fire to your veins.

“Walk me to my car?” you ask sweetly, even though it’s not really a question.

He doesn’t respond. Just steps aside and lets you lead the way, like always.

You don’t talk.

Not until you’re leaning against the door, and he’s standing too close, eyes flickering from your lips to your neck to the space between you that’s already melting.

“You’re exhausting,” he mutters.

“And yet,” you smile, “you keep coming back.”

He leans in, nose brushing your cheek, mouth ghosting over your ear.

“I should let someone else deal with your attitude.”

You grin, unbothered. “You won’t.”

Tic tac, tic tac. He doesn’t answer.

Then his lips are on yours. Rough. Familiar. Dangerous.

Your lips move at the same pace as his, the tip of your tongue touching the piercing of his lower lip every time it enters his mouth, causing chills to run through your body.

It doesn’t last long. It never does when it’s this heated. He pulls away like he hates himself for it, and you fix your lipstick like nothing happened.

His breath is still warm on your lips, and his hand is still wrapped around your waist like he forgot how to let go. His gaze is locked on you. Dark, unreadable, burning.

You smirk, like none of it fazes you. Like your knees didn’t almost give out thirty seconds ago.

“Missed me?” you murmur.

Jungkook exhales a sharp breath. “You’re such a fucking brat.”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “And you like it.”

His jaw tightens, and for a second, just a second, his eyes flicker like he might kiss you again.

But instead, he drops his hand from your waist and takes a single step back, like space is the only thing keeping him sane.

“Do you even realize what you’re doing to me?” he mutters.

You blink, caught off guard by the shift in his tone.

“This game you play,” he goes on, voice low and dangerous. “Showing up, looking like that. Acting like I’m just some guy you can tease whenever you’re bored.”

“I don’t—”

“Yes, you do,” he cuts you off. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

You cross your arms, chin raised. “And what if I do?”

He laughs under his breath, bitter. “Then you’re more cruel than I thought.”

You take a step toward him. “And you’re more obsessed than you pretend to be.”

That gets him.

He looks at you like he wants to say something, something real. Something that would make this whole fake, undefined thing very real, very fast. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans in again, mouth brushing your ear.

“I could ruin every guy who looks at you the wrong way,” he whispers. “And the worst part? You’d love it.”

You swallow hard.

He’s right. You would.

But you can’t let him have the last word, not today.

So you turn your head slowly, lips ghosting over his, your voice just as quiet, “You won’t do it, though. Because you don’t want people to know you care.”

His eyes narrow. “I don’t.”

You smile. “Then why haven’t you left?”

A beat. He doesn’t answer.

He just watches you walk around the car, heels clicking like a countdown. Before you slide into the driver’s seat, you glance at him one last time.

“See you around.” You echo sweetly.

Then you shut the door and drive off, leaving him standing there. Alone, silent, and very, very messed up.

Your dorm is a war zone.

Shoes tossed across the floor. Perfume clouds lingering in the air. The faint bass of the party already vibrating through the walls from four floors down. And in the middle of the mess, you.

Dressed in baby pink, your favorite color. Tight, tiny, and just shy of dangerous. Glossy lips. Winged liner. Hair perfectly undone.

You look like heartbreak with a trust fund.

“I swear to God,” Val says, flopping onto your bed, “if Jungkook shows up with that skank again—”

“Valeria,” Mar warns from the bathroom, “we’re not calling her that.”

You grab your earrings, smirking. “We are if she shows up in that tacky rhinestone top again.”

Val snorts. “Queen behavior.”

Mar pops her head out, mascara wand in hand. “Are you even gonna talk to him tonight?”

You pause.

“No.”

The silence is loud.

Val lets out a dramatic sigh. “You two are exhausting. Just admit you’re in love, make out against the nearest wall, and let the rest of us live.”

You grab your purse, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. “We’re friends.”

“Yeah,” Mar mutters. “With benefits and unresolved trauma.”

You flip them both off with a perfectly manicured hand and head for the door.

The party is already on fire by the time you step in.

Music pulsing. Air thick with perfume, sweat, and secrets. Someone’s spilled tequila on the marble floor. There’s a fight brewing in the kitchen. And all of it fades the moment you see him.

Jungkook.

Center of the room like he owns it.

Black tee hugging his body like sin. Tattooed hand lazily holding a drink. And a girl, that girl, clinging to him like she’s got the right.

She laughs too loudly. Leans in too close. Touches his chest like she’s not two seconds away from being buried alive.

You freeze. Smile cracking.

Valeria steps beside you, looking bored. “Oh. He brought that one.”

Mar sips her drink. “Didn’t she throw up at the Halloween party?”

You glare. “Why the fuck is she touching him?”

Val raises a brow. “Better question, why do you care?”

You don’t answer. You’re too busy watching.

He hasn’t seen you yet. Or maybe he has, and he’s pretending he hasn’t.

Because that’s what he does, right?

Pushes. Pulls. Drives you crazy, then reels you back in.

You down half your drink in one go. You don’t storm off. That’s for girls who lose.

You walk. Chin high, back straight, smile razor-sharp.

He wants to play games? You wrote the damn rulebook.

And right on cue, there he is—Kim Jisung, legacy boy, wine-stained lips, and a crush on you so big he’d probably kill Jungkook for just breathing near you. You find him by the bar, bored and beautiful.

“Dance with me,” you purr into his ear.

He doesn’t hesitate.

You don’t look back, but you know Jungkook’s watching. And that’s the point.

The music gets louder. Lights blur. Jisung’s hand slides a little too low. His breath is a little too close.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because he’s not the one you’re thinking about.

Not the one you want.

He finds you in the hallway, half-drunk on power and tequila.

“You think he can touch you like I do?” Jungkook’s voice is low, dark, dangerous. “You think he knows what you like?”

You roll your eyes, leaning against the wall. “Are you seriously jealous right now?”

He laughs once, sharp and humorless. “You don’t get to play the victim, princess. Not after the way you looked at me all night. Like you wanted me to lose it.”

You tilt your head, lips curved. “Did you?”

He’s in front of you in a second. Hand against the wall next to your head. His scent all over you, soap, sweat and sin. His eyes drop to your lips.

“You don’t want him,” he says.

You hum. “Maybe I do.”

He grits his teeth. “Liar.”

“You’re not my boyfriend, Jungkook.”

His smile is slow. Infuriating. “No. But I’m the one who fucks you so good you forget your name.”

Your breath catches.

He sees it, how your fingers twitch, how your lips part.

And he leans in even closer, brushing his mouth over yours but not kissing you.

“I could take you right here,” he whispers. “Push that bratty attitude right out of you.”

You clench your jaw. “Then why don’t you?”

“Because you want me to,” he says, cruel and sweet. “And I like watching you beg.”

His body cages yours, eyes dark, jaw tense.

“You’re playing with fire,” you murmur, tilting your head, lashes fluttering like you’re not completely wrecked by the way he’s looking at you.

Jungkook’s breath is heavy. Controlled. But you know him. You know what’s under all that control. And it’s dangerous.

“You think you’re the only one who knows how to play?” His voice is low, lethal. “You think I didn’t see the way you looked at him?”

“Maybe I wanted you to see.” You smirk, brushing your fingers over his chest. “Maybe I wanted you pissed off.”

He leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“Congratulations, princess,” he growls. “You got what you wanted.”

Silence. Thick. Heavy. Tension so sharp it could slice you both open.

His hand slides up your waist, fingers splaying across silk and skin. He doesn’t kiss you yet, no, he’s crueler than that.

“I should leave you standing here,” he whispers. “Let you think about what you’ve done.”

Your breath catches, again.

“But I won’t.”

Because the thing is, Jungkook doesn’t do restraint where you’re concerned. Not when you look at him like that. Not when your lips are swollen from teasing, from smirking, from wanting.

He presses you back against the wall, one hand on your throat—not tight, just there. A warning.

“You want me angry?” he murmurs. “Then take it. Feel it.”

And finally, finally, his lips crash into yours.

It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s teeth, heat, and too many nights pretending you’re just friends.

You tug at his shirt. The hallway is too public. Too risky. Too perfect.

But just as it starts to blur, right when you think he’s going to lose it completely, he pulls away.

“I hope he saw that.”

And then he walks off. Leaving you against the wall. Pissed, panting, and ruined.

2:37 AM. You slam the door shut behind you.

Not loud enough to wake your roommates. Just loud enough to feel it. To feel something.

Your heels hit the floor first, followed by your jacket, then your body. Flat onto the designer duvet you bought out of boredom last fall.

Everything feels too much. Your skin still burns where he touched you. Your lips still tingle like they’re waiting for more.

And your heart? That traitorous thing is pounding like it doesn’t know the difference between lust and loathing anymore.

You press your fingers to your mouth, eyes fluttering shut.

He kissed you. No, he devoured you.

Like you were his punishment and his reward all at once.

And the worst part?

You let him. You loved it.

You told yourself you had the upper hand. That he’d be the one crawling back.

But now you’re the one lying on your bed, thinking about his hands, his voice, the way he said:

“I hope he saw that.”

God. He’s so annoying. So cocky. So hot when he’s mad.

You roll over, burying your face in your pillow.

You shouldn’t have gone with that guy. You shouldn’t have cared about Jungkook being with that girl.

But you did. You do.

And now you’re here, lying in your palace of silk and envy, trying to convince yourself this isn’t getting out of hand.

You’re not in love. You’re just obsessed. Right?

Right?

Your phone buzzes from the floor where you carelessly tossed it earlier.

You ignore it for a second, maybe out of pride. Maybe because you already know who it is.

But when it buzzes again, you glance over.

koo ♡ [2:47 AM]:

still thinking about me?

You blink.

Another message lands before you even finish rolling your eyes.

koo ♡ [2:48 AM]:

didn’t know you were into public displays. should’ve kissed you harder.

And then, as if he didn’t just detonate a bomb in your chest:

koo ♡ [2:49 AM]:

sweet dreams, princess.

You stare at the screen. Heart hammering. Skin flushed.

Pillow no longer enough to hide your grin, or your frustration.

God, you hate him. You want him. You hate that you want him.

You type something. Delete it. Type again.

You [2:52 AM]:

u’re so full of yourself.

His reply is instant.

koo ♡ [2:53 AM]:

🤥 you weren’t complaining when i had you against the wall.

You let out a strangled laugh, biting your lip so hard it stings.

He’s cocky. He’s smug. He’s impossible.

And he wins.

Because now you’re wide awake, cheeks hot, thighs pressed together, and you know—

This isn’t over. Not even close.

Saturday nights used to be chaos.

Drinks. Laughter. Parties you’d barely remember and dresses you’d only wear once.

But tonight?

Silence.

Your friends are out with their boyfriends—tragic, really. You stayed behind under the guise of needing rest, but mostly because you couldn’t stand the thought of pretending to care about some mediocre couple’s anniversary dinner.

Now it’s just you.

Satin robe. Hair up. Music low.

A glass of red wine you’re not even sipping anymore.

You’re sprawled across your bed, legs bare, mind racing with thoughts you shouldn’t have… of him.

Then, you hear three soft knocks. Your stomach flips.

You don’t need to check. You know it’s him. Of course it’s him.

You open the door, and there he is. Jeon Jungkook, dressed like a sin you’d commit twice, hoodie half-zipped, jaw sharp enough to hurt, that same smug glint in his eyes like he already knows you’ll let him in.

You lean against the frame. “Didn’t know we had plans tonight.”

He shrugs, stepping inside without waiting for permission. “You didn’t answer my texts.”

“Maybe I was busy.” You close the door behind him.

He turns to face you, eyes raking over your robe, your bare legs, the curve of your smirk.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low, “looks like it.”

You roll your eyes. “What do you want, Jungkook?”

He doesn’t answer at first. He just looks at you. Like he’s trying to decide if he wants to tease you or ruin you.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says finally. “Figured you might need company.”

“You figured wrong.”

He smirks. “That so? You always answer the door in lingerie when you’re not interested?”

You don’t respond.

You just turn and walk back to your bed, knowing he’s watching your every move.

He follows, he always does. The tension stretches, electric and maddening.

“You look comfortable,” he says, eyes still glued to your legs.

You tilt your head. “You look needy.”

He laughs under his breath, leaning back like he owns the room. “I am.”

You hate how that makes your heart race. Hate how your thighs clench. Hate how this game always ends the same.

But you love it, too. The way he looks at you like he’s starving. The way he speaks like he’s daring you to lose control first.

“You should leave,” you whisper.

He leans forward slowly, voice like smoke. “You should make me.”

His voice is low, cocky, soaked in heat. You should slam the door in his face. You should tell him to fuck off.

But your thighs press together. And you don’t move.

Jungkook steps closer, slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly how this ends. His eyes drop to your robe, the slip of skin peeking out, the hint of lace beneath. You don’t bother hiding it. You know what he came for.

“You’re not wearing anything under that, are you?”

You say nothing.

You just tug at the tie of your robe, slow and calculated, and let it fall open an inch, enough to show the soft dip of your waist, the lace of your panties, the fact that there’s not a bra in sight.

His jaw flexes.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

Then he’s on you.

The kiss is instant, hot and brutal, mouths colliding like magnets. His hands grab your waist, your ass, your everything, like he doesn’t know where to start. You let the robe slide off your shoulders, pooling onto the floor in a puddle of satin and sin.

He groans against your lips, breaking the kiss just to stare.

“Turn around,” he says, voice wrecked already.

You smirk, walking slowly to the bed, hips swaying, his eyes glued to every step.

You don’t even hear him undress, just the soft shuffle of fabric, the sound of his belt hitting the floor, the low curse under his breath when you bend over the edge of the bed.

He’s behind you a second later.

You feel him. Warm, solid, hard. His hands smooth over your hips, your thighs, spreading you open with a possessive grip.

“You like teasing me, huh?” he mutters, his voice thick, lips brushing your ear. “Walking around like that. Knowing I’d show up.”

You grind back against him just enough to make his breath hitch. “You always show up.”

His laugh is low, dark. “Because I know what this pussy tastes like.”

Then he drops to his knees.

You feel his mouth first. Warm, wet, and filthy. Dragging his tongue from your entrance up to your clit, slow and deliberate. You gasp, thighs trembling, fingers clenching the sheets.

He moans like he’s savoring every drop of you, his tongue lapping and sucking until you’re squirming, until your knees feel weak and your back arches without permission.

And then his fingers—two, thick and perfect, sliding inside you with ease. Curling just right. Pushing every button you forgot existed.

“Fuck, Jungkook…”

“That’s it,” he murmurs into your cunt. “Say my name.”

You do. Over and over.

Your moans fill the room, echoing off the walls like a song he knows by heart. You grind into his face, desperate, needy, shameless.

But he pulls back before you can finish.

You whimper, lifting your head to look back at him.

He wipes his mouth with his thumb, eyes dark with something dangerous. “You’re gonna take me so fucking well, baby.”

He strokes himself once, then twice, before grabbing your hips and lining up behind you.

“A spoiled little brat like you?” he groans, pushing inside, inch by inch. “You were made to be ruined.”

And god, he does.

He sinks in slow, deliberate, like he wants you to feel every inch of him stretching you open. And you do. Every fucking inch. Your hands grip the sheets, head falling forward as your mouth drops open in a soundless gasp.

“God, Jungkook…”

He groans, hips flush against your ass now, buried to the hilt. His hands grip your waist like he owns it, like he owns you.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he growls, dragging out slowly just to slam back in, making your legs jolt. “Missed this pussy.”

You can barely breathe.

He fucks you like he’s angry. Like you owe him. Like every roll of his hips is payback for every smirk, every tease, every time you walked past him like you didn’t need him.

Your body shakes with every thrust, skin clapping against skin, the room filled with the obscene sounds of sex and low curses.

“You wanna act like you don’t care?” he grits out, fingers digging into your hips. “Like I don’t fuck you better than anyone ever could?”

You cry out when he hits that spot, the one he always finds, like your body was made for him.

“You gonna walk away from me again?” he growls, voice wrecked, fucking into you harder now, unforgiving. “Let some other guy touch what’s mine?”

“N-no, fuck—”

You don’t even know what you’re saying anymore. You just shake your head, moaning, melting, unraveling under every filthy word, every punishing thrust.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, low in your ear now, his chest slick against your back. “Say it.”

You choke on a moan. “I’m yours.”

“Again.”

“I’m yours, fuck, I’m yours—”

He groans like he’s losing control, one hand sliding up to wrap around your throat, pulling your back to his chest. The angle makes you whimper, makes your toes curl, your eyes roll back.

“You feel that?” he whispers, grinding deeper, slower. “That’s how you beg without saying a word.”

You’re close.

So fucking close you’re shaking, nails clawing at the sheets, your body clenching around him so tight he swears under his breath.

“Cum for me,” he orders, voice rough, hand tightening on your throat just enough. “Be a good fucking girl and cum.”

And you do.

It hits you like a wave, loud, violent and blinding. Your legs tremble, your whole body shaking as the orgasm rips through you, soaking his cock, your moans turning shameless and broken.

“Fuck,” he grunts, hips stuttering, losing rhythm. “Gonna fill you up, baby. Take it—”

He throbs inside you, spilling deep, pulling your body back against his as he groans your name into your skin. His thrusts slow, messy, drawn-out until he’s spent and breathless.

Silence follows.

Just the sound of your panting, your bodies tangled, your skin flushed and marked.

And then his lips brush your shoulder.

“Still think I should’ve left?”

You laugh weakly, voice ruined. “Shut up.”

He pulls out slowly, and you wince, sensitive. You collapse on the bed, and he follows, arm thrown lazily over your waist, breathing steadying.

And in the quiet, with your body still buzzing and his cum dripping between your thighs, you hate how safe it feels.

How much you want him to stay.

How much he already knows he will.

Part 2? Probably yes.

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