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wintrbears · 2 days ago

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Cradle Robbers: The Second Trimester | JJK

Summary: You're too busy attending baby prep classes and shopping for furniture together to focus on the significant changes living together and regularly hooking up has introduced into your relationship with Jungkook, although, it doesn't seem like either of you mind all that much.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Pregnancy AU, Childhood Friends to FWB to Lovers, Slow-Burn, Smut, Fluff, Crack, Angst (barely, you have to squint to see it)

Word Count: 20.2k+

Warnings: pregnancy, crying, anxiety, panic attack, cursing, blood, swelling, talks of miscarriage, ultrasound, medical tests, doctor's office, mention of childbirth, mention of vaginal tearing, speeding, drinking, bowling, jacuzzi, parental expectations, IKEA, shopping, stealing, lying, jealousy, brief mention of death, video games, cats, dogs, pet names (baby, babygirl, bambi/bams), baby prep classes, Lamaze class, mild skin burn. SMUT: kissing, cuddling, titty sucking, dry humping, big dick jk (you already know), unprotected sex, oral sex (both receiving), titty fucking, coming on boobs/skin, cream pie, coming untouched, missionary, mention of vibrator, ANAL!!, rim job, ass eating, anal plug, face fucking, cum eating, fingering, ok I think that's it!

Author's Note: chapter two is here lovelies! I am so incredibly thankful for all the love and support part one got and I'm so excited for everyone to see how their story continues in this chapter. we've got some wonderful sweet scenes, a couple of my favorites out of the whole fic, and also some filthy smut scenes. the end of this chapter is the angstiest part of the whole fic but it’s also a catalyst for what comes next, so I hope you enjoy the second trimester as much as I do and please lmk your thoughts :)

FOUR

Jungkook must’ve made a deal with the devil, because the way his tongue moves isn’t something a mere mortal should be able to accomplish. The precision with which he alternates between licking your slit and fucking his tongue into your hole is otherworldly, and you worry your best friend may secretly be an incubus.

At the present moment, his tongue is curling inside you to drink every last drop of essence leaking from your pussy while you struggle to breath on the kitchen counter.

It’s only eight in the morning and you’re certain your day has already reached its peak. It’s unfathomable to believe anything you experience within the next twenty four hours will be better than the feeling of him eating you out like you’re his favorite meal.

Jungkook moans into your cunt as he swallows your juices before moving upwards to tease your clit with the tip of his tongue. It’s brutal how little friction he gives you while circling the spot you need him most. When he finally sucks the nerve endings into his mouth and hums, it sends the most jaw dropping pleasure through your core. It forces a shuddering moan out of you and your hands reactively tug at his hair. His fingertips have a bruising hold on your thighs and the pressure on his scalp only makes him grip you tighter and shove his face deeper into your pussy.

“Taste so fucking good,” he grunts between licks. “Never wanna fucking stop.”

You whine and buck your hips at his praises, causing his nose to catch on your sensitive clit. Jungkook realizes the effect his button nose has on you when you moan enthusiastically and he begins moving his head of his own accord to keep the friction there. The combination of that along with his inhuman tongue makes your head spin like a carousel on the fritz.

“Koo, I’m gonna come,” you warn him breathlessly.

An affirmative growl comes from below and Jungkook moves away to spit on your hole and fuck his saliva into you. You gasp and yank his hair hard enough for him to grunt against your folds as he moves his tongue in and out of your cunt like a man on a mission.

He’s borderline ravenous when he changes tactics and repeatedly flattens his tongue over your clit to force you into a climax. It works wonders, and soon enough you’re screaming and falling back onto the counter as you come in his mouth.

Like the demon he clearly is, Jungkook doesn't cease his behavior even as he hears you crying softly above him from the overstimulation. He just continues to abuse your pearl with his mouth, sucking and biting on the sensitive skin as tears roll down the sides of your face and you whimper something that sounds reminiscent of his name. Eventually, his wet muscle leaves your clit to lap up your cum instead, making your hand clutch weakly onto the strands of hair still in their grasp.

“You're fucking delicious, Bambi,” Jungkook whispers on your wet skin. “God fucking damn.”

“Jungkook.”

“One more, please.”

Jungkook is begging you even though he's the one in control, and you both know damn well you're not going to stop him.

He makes out with your cunt like a highschooler at prom, as if his parents are going to catch him any moment and he has to do everything he can before they do. Your pussy is weeping essence into his mouth and you wish you had to strength to lift your head and watch him work.

Your second orgasm ramps up at the speed of light, riding the coattails of your first and making your legs convulse and clamp around Jungkook's head. The man below you doesn't care in the slightest, in fact, it sounds like he enjoys the suffocation when he moans endlessly into your folds.

Jungkook slows down dramatically post orgasm number two, gently slurping the cum along your slit until you finally push him away due to oversensitivity. He whines pathetically when you do so, and it’s so fucking sexy your desire nearly returns with a vengeance.

Allowing your soul to slowly return to your body, you keep your eyes closed and inhale as deeply as possible. The feeling of Jungkook over you makes you open them, and it’s just in time to see him leaning down to kiss you. You clutch his jaw as you return his kiss and happily allow him to push his tongue into your mouth to taste yourself.

He helps you upright, holding your lower back and bringing you into his chest. You rest your head on his shoulder while you continue to settle from the high.

“You alright?”

“Mmhmm,” you assure him.

You feel his lips on your cheek before his presence moves away from you. Hoping off the counter, you take a large swig of the orange juice still on the table from breakfast.

“I gotta get going, Bams,” Jungkook tells you as he runs his hands through his hair to make it presentable again. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

You briefly hug him goodbye and hand him his phone from the counter. He thanks you with a succinct bow before heading towards the door while Bam follows him eagerly, hoping to join his dad on his adventure. Jungkook bends down and gives him a quick head pat, and repeats the gesture for Usagi who’s asleep on the couch.

He leaves with a final wave that you happily return as his figure disappears from your field of vision and the door shuts with a soft click.

Throwing your head back with a groan knowing you need to leave for work, too, you pour yourself some tea and collect your bag by the door. Today should be easier since your insatiable hormones are quelled, but you’re also going to spend the entire day thinking about Jungkook’s mouth on you.

You’ve been repeatedly hooking up since the night you joined him in bed, but there hasn’t been a single conversation between you about it.

To be fair, it only occurs if you initiate something or if Jungkook can tell you need sexual relief via your antsy behavior and the drool which collects on your chin when you so much as glance at him. He also never allows you to pleasure him in return, which means he only gets to come if it’s during intercourse and always after he’s successfully gotten you off first.

It isn’t what you want for your relationship. You despise him sending you deep into the throes of pleasure without being able to return the favor, but the whole point of you hooking up is to assist with your pregnancy-induced sex drive.

You don’t want things to stay the way they are.

A couple nights ago after he practically fucked you through his mattress, you unilaterally made the decision to become actual friends with benefits rather than whatever you are now. Singular, friend with benefits?

You’re planning to cook his favorite dishes tonight to celebrate his latest accomplishment at work and present the idea over dinner. You know it doesn’t need to be some grand announcement or proclamation, but it kills two birds with one stone.

Work serves as nothing more than a distraction from the ever growing to-do list in your head as you dutifully prepare for motherhood. The pregnancy is still under wraps at the office since your bump is concealable and you don’t feel close enough to anyone to share the news. Your belly is definitely bigger, especially upon entering your second trimester, but not enough for strangers or acquaintances like coworkers to notice. Only someone close to you would be able to clock the difference between this and your usual weight.

When you’re home free from your corporate imprisonment, both Usagi and Bami enthusiastically greet you at the door with meows and strong tail wags. You spend a solid ten minutes giving them all the love and affection they deserve before heading to the kitchen to start dinner.

Jungkook is an aggravatingly better cook than you, and he sometimes cooks dinner, but he always makes breakfast and lunch on the weekends, and since you normally get home before him on the weekdays, dinner is your forte.

While video calling your mothers as you cook, you update them on minor details like your morning sickness finally passing and how your cravings are only getting worse.

Three nights ago Jungkook made you a ham and peanut butter sandwich upon request. The poor thing gagged the entire time as he smeared peanut butter on top of the cold lunch meat.

They question whether or not your relationship status has changed nearly every time you communicate. Unfortunately, the eager women got their hopes up when you moved in and the pair of frowns which appear every time you answer in the negative are beginning to eat you up inside.

You always feel guilty because although your relationship hasn’t changed, you’re actively sleeping together. So, it tastes like a lie when you swear up and down you’re still just friends. You can’t speak openly to them about it because they wouldn’t understand how having sex changes nothing between you. Aside from the first time, you never sleep in the same bed or cuddle, and you don’t kiss outside of bedroom activities, either.

Alternatively, your friends are aware, and not a single one of them is surprised. Jimin said, quote, “You’re pregnant, you’re living together, and now you’re sleeping together. Fork found in kitchen.”

Jungkook comes home with impeccable timing, just as you’re plating the food and turning off the stove. His face lights up upon recognition of the familiar scents wafting through the air and your feet end up a couple inches off the ground before you even register it. You screech and brace yourself on his shoulders as he scoops you into his arms and spins you in a semi circle.

“Koo!” You scold him, despite secretly adoring it.

“Ah, I love you so much, Bambi,” he ignores your faux indignation.

“It's the least I could do.” He sets you down and you ruffle his styled hair as he giggles. “You work so hard, Koo. You deserve it.”

He smiles bashfully and steals the plates from the counter before you have the chance to bring them to the dining table yourself.

Between recapping your respective workdays and discussing upcoming plans, you eat alongside Jungkook’s happy food noises and his endless compliments of your cooking skills. You fail to broach the topic of becoming friends with benefits and instead wait until you’re across from one another on the couch.

The pair of you are sitting side by side horizontally so Jungkook can massage your feet, a routine he gladly partakes in due to them giving you immense grief from how swollen they are.

They’re not the only body part swelling exponentially, either. Per expectations, your literal mommy milkers have transformed you into a living, breathing anime character. Not only are they bigger, but they’re sore and oversensitive most days. Jungkook has repeatedly offered to add boob massages to his daily routine alongside the foot rubs, but you’re fairly certain that deal is more beneficial for him than you.

Humming gratefully as Jungkook digs his palm into your heel, you look up from your phone to begin the conversation you’re eager to have with him. He notices your attention shift and looks over at you expectantly.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” you state. He nods his head to show he’s listening, “I think we should be friends with benefits, like, officially.”

“Is that not what we are now?”

“No,” you respond. “You don’t get anything out of the current arrangement.”

“I can assure you, Bams, I get something out of it,” he argues.

“Sure, but I don’t want it to feel like you’re doing me a favor,” you explain. “I want it to be equal and for you to be able to fuck me whenever you want and not just whenever I want.”

The corner of Jungkook’s lip quirks up.

“Bambi, if you let me fuck you whenever I want you’re never leaving the goddamn bedroom.”

“Koo.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I hear you,” he says. “I think that’s a great idea. Happy to enter into an official friends with benefits arrangement with you.”

You clap excitedly at his approval and Jungkook chuckles before removing your legs from his lap.

“I actually have something for you, too,” he tells you.

Jungkook stands and your eyes track his movement towards the dresser against the wall. He pulls out a small, recognizable, turquoise bag from one of the drawers and your eyebrows dramatically shoot up your forehead.

“So, do you remember when we talked about why you were upset at your first gyno appointment?”

You nod at him, still thoroughly confused what that has to do with the gift in his hands.

A few weeks ago, Jungkook asked why you had such a sour expression in the waiting room that day and you explained the jealousy and imposter syndrome you felt in comparison to all the pregnant wives with their pretty wedding rings. Honestly, you never thought about it again after that conversation.

“Jungkook, what’s in that bag?”

He scratches his nape with a hesitant smile, a faint pink dusting his cheeks as he hands the bag over. You stare him down momentarily before slowly opening the gift. Once the tissue paper is gone, you see a velvet box nestled at the bottom of the bag. Biting your lip in anticipation, you reach in to pull it out before opening it to reveal what’s inside.

“Holy fuck, Koo!”

“Don’t worry, I’m not proposing!”

The most gorgeous ring you’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on sits between the cream fabric of the jewelry box. It’s got an oval shaped diamond in the middle, with smaller accent stones on the band made up of aquamarine and sapphire gemstones.

“Jungkook,” you look up at him with tears threatening your waterline.

His smile is undeniably charming as he approaches and sits beside you, wrapping his hands around yours which are still holding the jewelry box open.

“This isn’t supposed to be some pity gift or to make you blend in with all the other pregnant women around. I just thought that, you know, those spouses gave them a ring because they love each other and they want to spend their lives together. And well, I love you more than anything, and it’s already a given we’ll be together for the rest of our lives, even before the baby. So, why shouldn’t I give you a ring, too?” The tears break past their barrier and Jungkook reaches out to shoo them away. “I figured since the baby’s due date is in April there’s a good chance their birthstone will be a diamond, and then I added the aquamarine for your birthday and the sapphire for mine. If for some reason the baby is born in a different month, I can always get you another one with their actual gemstone.”

“Koo… I don’t know what to say,” you cry.

“You don’t have to say anything, Bams,” he assures you. “Can I put it on you?”

Upon your approval, Jungkook removes the ring from the jewelry box and delicately slides it onto your finger. Once it’s snug against your knuckle, he presses a chaste kiss to the back of your hand.

Your body moves without notifying your brain first, shoving the gift wrapping away from your lap and tugging Jungkook by his shirt until his lips crash into yours. The action produces a noise of surprise, but it only takes him a second to recover before he’s clutching your waist and pulling you into the seat of his lap.

You kiss him feverishly, tilting your head to gain more purchase over his mouth and force his lips apart. His fingertips dig into your sides as he responds in kind, kissing you with fervor and tracing your bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. A hand sinks into your hair and pulls your face down harder against his, making you hum amorously while your tongues dance together in the confines of your mouth.

It’s the first time you’ve kissed outside a sexual encounter, but you’re too busy devouring each other to worry about what that means.

Jungkook can’t seem to get enough, repeatedly pecking your lips even as you’re pulling away. You giggle at his attempts of chasing after your mouth, but soon enough he succeeds in getting you to kiss him again.

“Will you always kiss me like that if I buy you stuff?” He muses.

“Probably, yeah,” you respond.

“Then don’t be mad when I turn you into my sugar baby.”

Your forehead meets his when you laugh and he smiles at the sound.

It’s not certain why you kissed him rather than thanking him like normal friends do, but whether it’s gratitude or hormones or a secret third thing, you don’t care. The only thing that matters is the man in front of you and how much you utterly adore him.

“I love you so much, Jungkook. I’m so, so lucky to know you. You’re the most amazing person, man, friend, baby daddy, I don’t even know what else. I swear, you’re nothing short of a gift to this earth,” you tell him earnestly.

He pulls you closer for another kiss rather than replying right away.

“I’d do anything to make you happy, Bambi. I’m so glad you like it.”

“Like it? It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!”

“You should look in the mirror then.”

Jungkook smirks, his head tilting with pride over his flirtatious remark. You smack his arm playfully before pulling him in for a hug, inhaling his scent while you bury your face in his neck.

The next time you visit your childhood home, you hide your left hand and spend at least five minutes explaining that it’s not what they think, so there’s no reason to freak out. Even after your extensive lecture, both your moms jump around as though they won the lottery when you finally reveal your hand to them.

That weekend you show it off to your friends when wine night rolls around again. It’s at Jihyo’s house this time, which is always the best because she has a hot tub. The girls unanimously decide to drink virgin mocktails tonight in solidarity with you and you all find recipes online and spend the first half of the evening concocting and tasting the drinks.

Once the experimenting is over with, you change into your swimsuits for a dip in the jacuzzi. The girls squeal in delight when they see you in your black bikini with your small bump showing.

Nayeon is infectiously smiling and she places her palm on your abdomen after asking permission.

“I can’t believe your baby’s in here, I could cry!” She says.

“You sound like Jungkook,” you state. “He’s constantly caressing my baby bump so he can say hi to his little sweet potato.”

“Sweet potato?”

“That’s how big they are.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man more ready to be a dad than JK,” Jihyo says.

“No, definitely not. He’s so obsessed,” you concur.

“No shit. He made that plenty clear when he put a freaking ring on your finger,” Tzuyu says as she holds your left hand to admire the ring again.

“Also, can we take a minute to admire how hot you look in this? I mean, look at your tits, babe!” Mina says.

“Isn’t it insane? It’s like I walked out of a freaking hentai,” you reply.

“And that, is reason number two why you have a ring,” Tzuyu notes.

Rolling your eyes with a laugh, the five of you travel with drinks in hand to sink into the hot tub and begin your standard routine of catching up. All the girls are doing well, even Mina, who’s slowly getting back on her feet after the break up. When it’s your turn, you mentally prepare yourself for the slew of inquiries you already know are incoming.

“Okay, so explain this to me,” Jihyo starts. “You’re pregnant with his kid, you live in his house, you’re sleeping together, he gave you a diamond ring and told you it’s because he loves you and wants to spend the rest of his life with you, and yet you’re still just friends.”

“Don’t forget they made out afterwards,” Mina notes.

“Oh yeah, and then you made out afterwards!”

“We didn’t make out. We just kissed… a couple times,” you defend.

“Bitch!”

“Listen, I get it, alright? I know it seems bizarre from the outside, and honestly, it’s a little bizarre from the inside, too, but I don’t know, it just works.” You sigh and put your drink down. “I know that our friendship has all the aspects of an actual relationship, but it's like I've said before, I don't want to hold his hand, cuddle him, or go on dates. Maybe that's naive of me, but the things I felt in my past relationships, I don’t feel with Jungkook.”

“Maybe because you feel more?” Nayeon responds. “You've known each other all your lives, it only makes sense you don't feel all that early relationship giddiness. What would be the point of going on a date when you know him better than you know yourself?”

“Have you asked Jungkook how he feels?” Mina asks.

You shake your head.

“We don’t really need to talk about stuff like that,” you state.

“Don’t need to? Or don’t want to?” Tzuyu questions.

“What’s gonna happen when you want to date other people once the baby is born? Are you just gonna tell your partner you live with your best friend/baby daddy and when they’re ready, they can move in, too?” Jihyo asks.

“I honestly haven’t thought about that,” you admit.

“Yeah, because you already know deep down you’re never going to want anyone but him,” Nayeon tells you.

You grab your drink again and take a sip while their comments permeate your mind.

“You guys are probably right, I can admit that,” you say. “But right now, I have so many more important things to think about than romance. Jungkook and I are happy and that’s all that matters to me.”

“Just don’t put it so far in the back of your mind that you forget about it, okay? Especially because Jungkook might have it at the front of his mind, and I know you would never want to hurt him,” Jihyo responds.

Nodding as you absorb her advice, you offer her a grateful smile before sipping from your glass again.

When you arrive home afterwards, Jungkook is playing a video game on the couch, Bam lying comfortably on his left and Usagi curled up on the right. It brings a smile to your face as you remove your jacket and hang your keys on the hook by the door. Jungkook merely waves as you enter so he can focus on whatever final boss he’s fighting. Taking a seat in the armchair beside him, you curl your knees to your chest and rest your head in your hand.

“How was it?” He asks without looking away from the screen.

“It was really nice. I took a picture for you,” you tell him.

“A picture?”

“Yeah, the girls said I looked hot in my bikini and that you would be upset if you didn’t get to see it,” you explain.

“Well, they would be very correct.”

You admire him for a moment, chuckling when his tongue presses on the inside of his cheek as he focuses on his endeavor.

The conversation earlier tonight rustles around uncomfortably in your mind and eventually eats away at your resolve. There’s truly nothing you fear more than unintentionally hurting Jungkook, and if he does want more, you’ll give him your heart without hesitation, regardless of your own feelings. His happiness is the most important thing in the world to you.

“Koo?”

“Hmm.”

“Are you happy?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows pinch together, and he’s quick to pause his game and put the controller down so he can give you his full attention.

“What do you mean?”

You chew on your lip as you struggle to properly vocalize your feelings.

“Are you happy with our relationship, with what we are to each other?” You ask nervously.

Jungkook looks at you curiously and with slight concern coloring his features due to your line of questioning.

“Yeah, I am,” he answers. “I don’t know what the future has in store for us, and it would be a lie to say I’m not curious, but I’ve never been happier in my life, Bambi. Why do you ask?”

“We were talking about it tonight and I just… I don’t know. It seems obvious, doesn’t it? We should be a couple by anyone else’s standards, but my brain just doesn’t see it that way,” you explain.

Jungkook hums intuitively and sits back against the cushions, running his hands through his hair as he mulls over your explanation.

“Sure, maybe it’s obvious to others, but they’re not us. They weren't there while we stood by one another through thick and thin all these years. I don’t think other people can even begin to comprehend our bond.” He reaches his hand out for you and you join him on the couch. “I don’t need a label, Bams. Friends, fuck buddies, lovers, partners, I honestly don’t care. You’re here beside me and that’s all I care about.”

Your forehead meets his shoulder in relief. It’s precisely what you were expecting him to say, but it’s comforting nonetheless to hear the words from his own mouth.

"What about you?" He asks.

"Hmm, I think fuck buddies is pretty hot."

Jungkook pulls you into his lap before you can register it and attacks your waist with lively fingers. The tickling sensation makes you screech and laugh maniacally, your voice filtering inbetween the sounds as you beg him to cease his torment. It’s the normal, mundane behavior you always partake in and even though you’re genuinely suffering, you wouldn’t trade moments like this for the world.

Maybe one day things will change between you, but for now, you don’t need anything more than this.

The following morning, Jungkook's sitting on the edge of your bed when you remember to show him the photo taken of you last night. When you do, his head snaps back as he groans regretfully.

“You’re fucking joking, Bambi,” he grits through his teeth.

“What?” You ask innocently.

There's a sly grin on your face as pride swells in your chest because of his reaction.

“This is unfair. This is… cruel and unusual punishment!”

“How?”

“Because you looked like this and I didn’t see it!”

“Jungkook, you could see me naked right now if you wanted to,” you argue.

Jungkook’s pout disappears and his head twists like a confused puppy, as if that possibility hadn’t even occurred to him. Before you have the chance tease him for forgetting about your little arrangement, he’s pulling you down the bed by your ankles and crawling over you. You giggle as he bends down to kiss along your thighs and hips during his ascent. He pauses over your baby bump, pulling your shirt up and kissing your belly gingerly.

“Sorry, little one, Mommy and I have some important business to attend to,” he whispers against your skin.

An endeared smile appears on your lips, but Jungkook is kissing it away once he reaches you. You moan into his mouth as he slips his tongue between your teeth. His hands skim along your waist as pulls your shirt over your head before beginning to unbutton your jeans. After he’s successfully stripped you down, he goes to massage your tits and you whine at his touch.

“Sensitive, Bams?” Your only response is a whimper as he continues to fondle you. “Does this help or no?”

“Yes,” you sigh. “Please don’t stop, Koo.”

He obeys and continues to play with your boobs through your bra, pushing them together and squeezing them tactfully with his large hands. He admires your swollen mounds for a while before kissing across the tops of them, letting his tongue drag along your skin until you squirm beneath him.

“God, I’m really gonna miss these after the baby’s born,” he notes.

As if to prove his point, he gently bites down on the supple flesh.

“They’ll be bigger than normal afterwards, but not this big,” you tell him.

His thumb absentmindedly traces over one of your nipples until it pokes against the fabric of your bra as he hums in acknowledgment.

“Can I fuck them?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Can I fuck your tits, Bambi?”

He’s sporting the most hopeful look imaginable and you already know you’re going to allow it before your brain reaches that conclusion.

“Sure,” you reply, unhooking your bra and removing it from your body. “You gotta take your shirt off though. I need a good view while you do this.”

Jungkook smirks while rising to his knees to pull his shirt over his head with one hand. You genuinely despise how wet you get just from the one motion alone. He stands to remove his pants and boxers and you eye him hungrily when his cock comes into view. Jungkook goes to stroke himself, but you shake your head and beckon him to you with your pointer finger.

His eyes are alight as he hurries to join you on the bed, settling his knees next to your hips so you can reach him.

Spitting into your palm, you move your hand languidly along Jungkook’s shaft to get him hard. He moans softly, his head tipping back and giving you an ideal view of his throat.

“Shit, Bams,” he curses.

His hand descends to your head, holding himself steady between the strands of your hair. While you jack him off, he hovers over the valley of your breasts and allows drool to drop from his lips. You stare wide-eyed as he removes your hand from his cock before placing himself directly in the middle of your tits. Jungkook coats his searing hot skin in the saliva, slowly running his dick along your cleavage and making your mouth drop open in awe.

You squeeze your boobs together by pushing against them with your upper arms, creating a perfect tunnel just for his pleasure. He groans and kisses you in gratitude, the hand in your hair tugging to make you whimper.

Jungkook begins leisurely, pulling his hips back and staring with unbound intensity as his cock leaves the warmth of your tits before slowly returning again. The sight of his shaft disappearing into your swollen breasts forces his eyes to roll.

“Oh, fuck, Bams, you have no idea how good this feels,” he tells you.

His tempo gains speed, but not by much, he's still too mesmerized by the gorgeous vision of you beneath him, his cock stuffed between your plump breasts. The same ones which are only full because he fucked a baby into you. The possessiveness of the act has him growling under his breath.

"Yeah? If it feels so good, you should fuck 'em like you mean it," you taunt.

Jungkook’s doe eyes blink out of existence, turning him from prey to predator in a split second. He holds the wicked eye contact as his fingers scratch at your scalp and he readjusts his grip before thrusting into your cleavage with a fury.

You gasp at the change spurred on by your words, but automatically push harder on your flesh to suffocate his cock with your breasts. Jungkook groans at the tightness and you can't peel your eyes away from him as he throws his head back and the veins in his neck pulse.

“God, Jungkook, you’re so fucking sexy.”

Jungkook's moans are melodious as he pumps his cock back and forth and he looks to be experiencing pure bliss, but honestly, so are you. You weren’t prepared for the feeling of his dick sliding along your skin or his balls slapping against the underside of your breasts to feel this euphoric.

"Me? Fuck, Bambi, you have no fucking clue what you do to me," Jungkook responds breathlessly.

The brat inside in you awakens upon hearing his words, wanting to drive him even crazier in response.

You stick your tongue out while tilting your head down, and a monstrous growl comes from Jungkook’s throat when he realizes what you’re doing. You lick and suckle on his cockhead every time it greets you, and Jungkook makes sure to momentarily hold his position between thrusts to allow your lips to work their magic on him. The more efficient glide caused by the fusion of your combined drool makes everything so much more sensual.

Jungkook must grow restless, or at least hungry for more, because his cock disappears from your chest only for him to shove himself into your open mouth instead. You gladly accept the intrusion, moaning in ecstasy as your lips stretch to accommodate him.

“Fuck, good girl,” Jungkook grunts as his hips continue their pursuit.

His strokes force his cock deep into your throat while you lick the underside of his shaft and make the whole thing debilitatingly sloppy. You’re drooling only a few moments in, the liquid rolling down and soaking his balls which slap against your chin with every thrust. Jungkook is extremely appreciative of your efforts, yanking your hair and incoherently praising you with his head towards the ceiling.

To be quite frank, you would suck Jungkook off every second of the fucking day if he so allowed.

The sensation of our lips around his thick cock and his tip abusing your esophagus is hands down one of the best feelings to ever be discovered by the human race. Even as you violently gag and struggle to breathe, you’re borderline obsessed with sending Jungkook to his grave via your sweet mouth.

“Shit, babygirl, don’t fucking stop.”

Jungkook feeds more of his cock to you one thrust at a time until your nose is buried in his pubic hair. Once he’s entirely nestled in the confines of your throat, he halts and holds your head in its position. You force yourself to breathe through your nose and moan as loud as possible so he can feel your throat constrict around his shaft.

His movements reignite after he chokes on air at the feeling of your tight muscles clenching on his cock. You lick along his velvety skin as he fucks your mouth, wanting to provide the most pleasure to him as possible. After a particular loud gag when you deep throat his tip, Jungkook’s hips stutter and his grip on your hair turns deadly.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers, his eyes watching you like a wild animal. “Can I come on your tits, Bambi?”

You moan affirmatively and nod your head as best you can with his dick stuffed between your lips. He resumes his strokes and you grant him complete control, letting him use your mouth however he pleases.

When his abs clench before your eyes and you feel his balls tighten, you assist his fall from grace by suctioning your lips around him. As soon as you do, Jungkook cries out and removes himself from your warm mouth. You desperately inhale to replace the oxygen you lost while he fists his throbbing cock and aims at your tits.

The feeling of his warm cum splashing against your breasts brings your attention downward. Your gaze sharpens with hunger when you see Jungkook squeezing his cock to send his seed all over your fatty flesh. He paints the sexiest picture imaginable on your skin, the white liquid landing sporadically across your chest before he rubs the essence in with the head of his dick.

“Oh, Koo, holy shit,” you moan as your head falls back against the pillows.

Jungkook switches gears almost instantaneously once his cock is devoid of semen, clutching your boobs in his hands and kissing them so he can lick his cum away.

The vision of him eating his own seed off your shiny tits almost makes you climax yourself. His tongue works in circles to swallow every last drop, the warm muscle tracing over your skin diligently as he makes provocative eye contact with you.

“Jungkook, you’re gonna make me come, too, if you keep looking at me like that,” you tell him honestly.

“Really? Should we try it?”

The smirk appears in his eyes before ever gracing his lips, and he continues kissing your breasts without restraint as he moan into them. It's only when he rolls his hips and his semi-hard cock grinds against your pussy that you realize he's being serious. You whimper when his actions force your lace underwear to rub your clit and try grabbing his shoulders to cease the torment, but Jungkook just steals your hands and pushes them into the mattress on either side of your hips.

"Koo, please," you whine.

He's still making filthy eye contact with you while sucking on your spit soaked tits, and your cries only spur him on to dry hump you harder.

You want to say the reason you come entirely untouched in under two minutes is because of the pregnancy, but deep down you know he'd be able to pleasure you just as successfully without the baby in your womb.

Jungkook kisses you messily once you've come down from your high and your tongues dance together until you’re sharing in his taste.

“That was s’fucking hot,” he mumbles against your lips.

You nod in agreement and lace your hands in his hair, tilting your head to create a better angle so you can kiss him with more intensity. His lips mirror your movements while he caresses your outline and pulls you in by your waist.

Jungkook’s idea of an appropriate thank you for surrendering your body to his need is to pull four more orgasms from your battered pussy, the climaxes split equally between his tongue and his cock. Afterwards, when you genuinely believe you’ve become one with the mattress, he happily reminds you his original goal of giving you five orgasms has finally been achieved, and to prepare yourself to enter double digit territory very soon.

FIVE

When your pregnancy reaches the halfway point you and Jungkook decide it’s finally time to complete the necessary shopping and subsequent decoration of the nursery. Since the baby’s gender is a mystery, you plan to design their bedroom with gender neutral colors and you choose an animal theme to honor your existing children, Bam and Usagi.

Before actually heading to the store you lie in bed scrolling across endless websites looking for inspiration.

Throughout your years, whenever you imagined this moment with your future partner, you never thought they’d be so animated about tasks such as this. You assumed, like many men, they would let you make all the decisions and nod in approval at your choices. Jungkook is nothing of the sort, which you should’ve predicted given what you already know about him, but it still makes you swoon when his face lights up over a hanging mobile that looks identical to Bammie.

Once you’re physically present amongst the multitude of baby items, the labyrinth of aisles and example nurseries overwhelms you. The baby section of IKEA is like an expecting mother’s version of The Shining maze. It’s impossible to see everything even if you come back religiously to shop. Jungkook’s loose grip on your hand is doing nothing for your nerves, and even he seems to be dazed by the endless display of trinkets.

“How the fuck are we gonna do this?” He whispers beside you.

On one hand, he means perusing through the infinite options, but on the other, you know he’s also talking about resisting your unbridled desire to splurge on everything in sight.

There’s a list on your phone which becomes your saving grace so you can stay organized as you enter the labyrinth together and pray you exit unscathed and with money still in Jungkook’s bank account.

Honestly, you can’t take either of you anywhere, because despite the daunting shopping list, you fool around in nearly every section.

Jungkook decides the best way to choose a diaper table is to lift you onto them while you smack him as quietly as you can to bring you back to earth. He giggles incessantly every single time he does it, and eventually you allow him without retort to grab your waist and drop you on the tables one by one. For rugs, which hang down from the wall and can be flipped through like a book, Jungkook pulls you against him and wraps the thick fabric in a cocoon around you both while you screech about losing oxygen. When you get to the lamp aisle, you join in his antics as you reenact the Pixar intro together.

There are pillows thrown, blankets smushed into faces, toys juggled until they fall to the floor with a loud crash, and many more childish activities occurring between you. Hopefully, no one is watching you, because if anyone saw your immature behavior they’d probably call for eugenics.

At some point, you part ways because Jungkook remembers his need for some new kitchen utensils. While he heads towards the home and appliances section, you continue your search for the ideal bookshelf.

After about ten minutes, you begin meandering through IKEA to collect your best friend so he can help you decide between two pieces of furniture. When you find him, he’s staring with a crease in his brow at the shelves which contain various sizes of mixing bowls. Before you’re able to grab his attention, two women appear behind him, and you recognize the hungry gaze in their eyes immediately.

You’ve dealt with this behavior around Jungkook all your life, women flock to him as though he possesses some unseen force specifically designed to lure them in. This is different, though, because you’re no longer his wing woman, you’re the person bringing his kid into the world.

You aren’t scowling at them purposefully, but you’re rightfully possessive of the clueless man still debating on buying a glass or steel bowl while he’s being ogled like a piece of meat.

“Koo,” you call, reaching your left hand towards him.

You wiggle your fingers as you outstretch your limb, making sure your pretty ring catches the light and sparkles directly in their line of sight. Maybe you also slightly push your jacket away and rest your hand over your protruding womb, just maybe.

Jungkook glances your way and is at your side in a moment, his hand automatically clasping around your digits as he searches your face for the reason you’re beckoning him over.

Satisfaction fills your system when the women frown and roll their eyes as they leave the aisle. Jungkook never took notice of them the entire time, and something about that knowledge makes you feel prideful.

One by one your list dwindles until there’s only one final item remaining. The crib section is the largest one yet, with row upon row of baby cradles stretching at least a football field wide. There doesn’t seem to be any organization to them, either, with more advanced ones sitting beside basic pieces that have most likely been here since the eighties.

“What’s the difference between all these?” Jungkook asks in exasperation.

“I have no clue,” you respond.

When your eyes meet, there’s a silent agreement made to split up and cover more ground. Jungkook goes left while you go right, and slowly, but surely, you traverse the area with motherly determination.

Some are super simplistic, while others have built in baby monitors and teething rings. You didn’t realize it was possible to design so many variations of the same thing.

Approximately halfway through your half of the room, one of the cribs catches your attention. It’s uncertain why, because truthfully, it looks identical to at least twelve others, but something about it calls to you and you pause to analyze the furniture further.

It has a decent amount of bells and whistles, but not too many that you fear getting lost in its sauce. You can tell your little one is metaphorically nudging you to choose it for their bed and the longer you stare, the more it just screams “baby Jeon” at you. Jungkook notices your stance before a particular crib from across the room and makes his way towards you. His hand on your lower back alerts you he’s there and you look at him expectantly.

“Do you like it?” You nod enthusiastically, hope brimming in your eyes. “Let’s see how much it is.”

Jungkook’s face falls after leaning over to check the tag, and you follow his line of sight to examine it yourself.

You gawk at the obscenely large number.

“Ok, no, nevermind.”

“Wait.” Jungkook stops you by grabbing your hand. “Do you love this one, Bambi?”

“Not that much!”

“No, you shouldn’t love anything for this much.” Jungkook sighs and looks around for any fellow shoppers. “But do you love it enough to, ya know, nab it?”

You stare incredulously, because there’s no way your filthy rich baby daddy just suggested stealing from IKEA.

“You want us to steal our baby’s future bed?”

“It would make for a good story, wouldn’t it?”

“Koo, no!”

“Oh come on, Bams, it’ll be just like old times,” he argues.

“Old times? Just because we’ve knicked some stuff from restaurants and department stores over the years doesn’t make us kleptos, Jungkook.”

“It’s not like IKEA’s gonna miss it!”

“You’re a millionaire,” you remind him.

“So? Doesn’t mean I like spending my money,” he retorts.

Scoffing and crossing your arms over your chest, you eye Jungkook from your periphery, and unfortunately for your conscience, he looks adorably eager to get an adrenaline rush while saving loads of money. Your eyes shut and you slowly inhale before reluctantly turning towards him.

“Alright, how do we do this?”

Jungkook explains his master plan in a low whisper as he scopes your surroundings for anyone looking to foil it. Since larger purchases are collected at the same time as checkout, Jungkook’s brilliant idea is for you to take the crib and lure someone into loading the box in the car while he pays for the non-stolen items. That way, whoever assists you will believe you’re a paying customer.

So, now you’re standing with a dolly containing the crib beside your car which you pulled around to the entrance. Waving down an unsuspecting employee, you smile graciously at him and dramatically stick your baby bump out so he knows how helpless and frail you are.

“Hi, could you help me load this in my car? My husband is still at the checkout,” you lie with siren eyes and point to Jungkook where he’s conversing with the woman scanning your items.

The employee doesn’t even think twice, and agrees with a massive grin as he lifts the heavy box into your trunk. You thank him repeatedly, giving him a full ninety degree bow before hopping into the driver's seat to park the car and wait for your accomplice.

Your hands anxiously rap against the wheel while you wait for Jungkook to join you in your getaway car. When he finally emerges from behind the large automatic doors, you breathe a sigh of relief and move to the passenger seat while he travels across the parking lot to you. He doesn’t speak at first, but he’s grinning from ear to ear as you buckle your seatbelts and pull away from the store with your stolen treasure stashed beneath the rest of our haul in the trunk.

Jungkook giggles cheerfully and wiggles in his seat once you’ve successfully pulled off your heist and are driving down the main road again. You roll your eyes, but a small laugh escapes you when you glance at the large box containing the expensive cradle.

“I can’t believe we did that,” you state.

“Was that not fun? Your little acting gig was so cute,” he says adoringly. “I liked the husband part, too.”

He winks and all you can do to hide the evident blush appearing on your face is shake your head at his antics.

“I wanted to come off as pure and innocent as possible,” you explain.

The conversation shifts away from your morally questionable actions until you’re pulling back into the garage and Jungkook turns to you with a proud smirk.

“Bams, do you know what this makes us?” You shake your head. “Cradle robbers.”

You suffer a horrendous stomach cramp from how hard you laugh.

Jungkook recounts the events of your infamous shopping trip with full animation to your friends the following weekend when you gather at the bowling alley. You’ve reserved a large table and two lanes for the eleven of you, but haven’t started bowling yet since you’re waiting on the pizza and drinks to be delivered to the table.

The conversation circles around the entire table as everyone provides updates about their current situations. Of course, they’re all eager to hear baby updates, so you and Jungkook go last to keep them on their toes.

You explain how announcing the pregnancy at work went and about the little celebratory lunch your coworkers threw you. Honestly, the sole reason you told people at your office is because your bump is too conspicuous to hide anymore.

Which is precisely why Jungkook is so ecstatic to come down the stairs each morning. He absolutely adores your baby bump and will leap at any opportunity to caress or kiss your womb. After wishing you a good morning, he always bends down to greet your unborn child, too. On the couch together he’ll absentmindedly massage your skin and if he’s feeling rambunctious he’ll attack your belly with kisses and make you squeal with laughter. While cooking or washing dishes you often feel his hands holding your stomach from behind and then his voice will filter into your ears as he says hello to your little one.

The various moments of affection make your heart leap from your chest and you worry about your survival upon seeing him actually interact with your child once they’re born.

Jungkook tells the table about the newest game he’s designing and you watch with a gentle smile as his eyes light up while talking about his hard work.

“How’s Y/N coming along?” Taehyung asks him.

“Um, what?”

“He means the game version of you,” Jin answers you.

You glance at Jungkook expectantly, but he’s chugging his drink to avoid answering. When the beverage is entirely gone, he clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck.

“You guys weren’t supposed to say anything, you know,” he scolds his friends. “They’re talking about a character I’m designing in the game.”

“That you named after me?”

“Yeah.”

“Jungkook, I didn’t even know you knew my name,” you say.

He smiles and messes with your hair affectionately.

“Of course I know it, Bambi!” You shove his hand away with a giggle. “Every single game I’ve ever made has a character named after you, or at least, some variation of your name.” Your eyes turn into saucers. “This is the first time I’m using your actual name, though.”

“He gave you huge tits, Y/N,” Jimin tells you.

Jungkook slaps Jimin’s arm in retaliation.

“Clearly, it’s because Jungkook strives for accuracy,” Chaewon comments.

The pizza arrives and stalls your conversation, but the words remain at the forefront of your mind. The thought of Jungkook weaving you into his work all these years makes you feel infinitely warm and fuzzy, and you find yourself grabbing his hand without realizing. Placing a couple chaste kisses to his fingers, you hum contently before resting your cheek against his knuckles. He responds by leaning over to kiss your forehead, letting his lips linger there as he inhales the scent of your shampoo.

“Can you show me them when we get home?” You whisper so only he can hear.

“‘Course, Bambi,” he replies, his eyes disappearing from how broad his smile is.

Once the food is essentially demolished, you begin bowling, splitting your group in half per your usual rules. It’s always a five/five split with an even amount of girls and guys. Then, designated team captains play rock, paper, scissors over who gets Jungkook. It’s almost a guarantee the team he’s on will win, and one time he single-handedly beat all ten of you, so it’s paramount to have him as an ally.

Unfortunately, Jimin loses to Yoongi and Jungkook becomes public enemy number one. You, Eunchae, Jimin, Hoseok, and Namjoon bowl on one lane while the other team bowls on the twin lane beside it and you’ll compare the total scores of both teams at the end.

Bowling is already your villain origin story, but your pregnant belly, aching back, and swollen feet don’t aid you in the slightest. It’s a struggle to even hold the bowling ball correctly because your fingers are too swollen to use your regular size and the larger ball is too heavy for you.

After your third gutter ball in a row, Jungkook takes a sip of his drink and jogs across the lane to join you for your turn.

His entire team hollers in anger, but he’s quick to turn around and scold them.

“Nuh uh, mother of my kid here, I’m helping,” he tells them.

“You would help me even if I wasn’t pregnant, Koo,” you retort.

He pushes his pointer finger against his lips and you giggle in secret.

Jungkook grabs the bowling ball from the rack while you get into position. When you indicate you’re good to go, he holds it up so you can place your fingers in the holes. He keeps a loose grip on the ball just under your own hands and guides your movement of stepping back before underhand throwing it down the lane.

Your team cheers when the ball rolls precisely down the center of the lane and seamlessly knocks over every pin for a perfect strike. The friends on the opposing team all groan, even though they’re still miles ahead of you score wise. Your feet repeatedly leave the floor as you do a victory dance before turning around to thank Jungkook with a hug.

Even with Jungkook’s assistance, your team still loses by a landslide, but luckily, you don’t have to partake in the punishment fireball shot due to the little ear of corn growing inside you.

Jungkook was slightly less pleased with the size comparison this time around, arguing through a pout that it isn’t a cute enough shape to describe his little one.

There’s a second round with the same teams and you embarrassingly get your asses handed to you again. Once your teammates are done with their second fireball shot of the evening, everyone disperses to enjoy the arcade machines nearby. You and the girls head straight for the photobooth, but return to the table immediately following the impromptu photoshoot to talk instead of wasting your money on gotcha games like the men.

You catch up on the more feminine details of life while the guys are gone, covering all the topics you can’t amongst the full friend group. When the girls question you about your newfound sex life with Jungkook, you take a languid sip of your drink before leaning in to divulge all the details.

“It’s honestly been fucking insane, I genuinely think Jungkook is part demon,” you explain. “He can just go for like… hours.”

“God, I’m so jealous. The last guy I dated came in less than two minutes and I had to get myself off in the shower afterwards,” Yunjin complains.

“At least he let you do it yourself. I went on a date last month with a guy who was determined to make me come from oral and I had to literally beg him to get off me because he was so bad at it,” Eunchae counters.

Everyone grimaces at her story and Chaewon passes her a shot across the table.

“I’m glad you’re getting your shit rocked, though. You deserve it!”

“That’s honestly an understatement and oh! I almost forgot to tell you.” You scooch across the seats to whisper your next words to them. “We tried anal last week.”

The gasps from your friends are astonishingly loud and you have to shush the three of them before someone overhears your not-safe-for-the-bowling-alley conversation.

“Shut up!” Chaewon yells.

“Did you like it?” Yunjin wonders.

Rather than verbally responding, you allow the motion of your eyes rolling back into your head to be your answer.

The memory is still fresh in your mind as if it happened only ten minutes ago.

Jungkook’s facial expression is one of pure determination as he reads the instructions for assembling the changing table you bought. You watch the way his brow creases in confusion while Usagi purrs aggressively from her spot on your lap. Your best friend refuses to accept assistance because he believes he can build it all by himself, even though you can already see the screws coming loose in his brain.

After a long while of dissecting the instructions, Jungkook begins putting pieces of the white furniture together and it slowly takes shape.

In the meantime, you sort through the hand-me-down books from your parents and place them in alphabetical order on the bookshelf Jungkook built the day prior. About an hour later, you hear him sigh dramatically from behind you and look over your shoulder at him.

“Can we take a break, Bams?” He asks through a huff.

“Sure, what do you wanna do instead?”

An enticing smirk appears before you and you struggle to resist rolling your eyes. Even so, you stand to take his hand and lead him into his bedroom across the hall.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Jungkook is pressing you against the wood with your hands held hostage on either side of your head. His knee parts your legs as he pushes his muscular thigh against your cunt so you can feel it flexing. You whine for more and Jungkook obliges by grinding into you.

“You know, sometimes I worry we’re gonna hurt the baby from how often we do this,” he whispers.

You simply chuckle in response.

“We’re not gonna hurt the baby, Koo. They’re all the way up here,” you say while pointing to your womb.

“Yeah, but I am pretty big.” You teasingly slap his chest and he captures your lips with a smooch. “I was just thinking, maybe we should try something else.”

“Something else?”

You pull back and rest your head against the door.

“Mmhmm.” He cradles your cheek with one hand and you nuzzle your face in his palm. “Like, letting me hit it from the back.”

Your brow scrunches at his audacity, immediately removing your face from his grasp.

“Are you talking about you sticking your dick in my ass?” Jungkook nods with a boyish grin. “Jungkook, you just mentioned how big you are, and now you’re saying you want to stick that monster in the tightest hole on my body?”

“That’s right, yeah.”

“Get off me!”

“No, wait, Bambi.” He snatches your hands as you attempt to pry him away. “Listen, if you really don’t want to, that’s fine, but I have toys to get you ready and everything. I would never hurt you, you know that.”

“Have you ever done it before, do you even know what you’re doing?”

“I have, yeah, a few years ago.”

You theatrically cross your arms over your chest while you ponder the idea. Honestly, it’s something you’ve always wanted to try, but you never imagined doing it with someone as well endowed as Jungkook. Then again, there isn’t anyone you trust more than him.

“We’ll go slow, right?” Jungkook nods enthusiastically as he watches your mental fortitude crack. “Fuck it, let’s go.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Jungkook kisses you briefly before heading to his closet to rummage through his collection of sex toys, which you only found out existed when he pushed a vibrator against your clit while eating you out a couple weeks ago.

You swing your legs back and forth on his bed to distract from the raging anxiety pooling in your stomach. You know your nervousness is completely unfounded, because every intimate moment you’ve shared with Jungkook so far has been the most enjoyable sexual experience of your life.

When he returns to you, there’s a purple anal plug between his fingers which he wiggles to show off to you. Facing your palms up, you watch him drop it into the cradle of your hands for you to examine. It’s unironically cute. The toy is dark purple with a slight shimmer and the base is actually a big, faux diamond.

“You’ve never used this on anyone else, right?” You ask curiously.

“Nope,” he answers with a pop.

“Alright, so how does this work?”

“Get undressed and I’ll show you.”

You follow his instructions and strip naked before his eyes while he mirrors your movements. Once your clothes are strewn together in a pile on the floor, you sit so Jungkook can stand between your legs.

He grips your chin with two fingers and tugs. Your jaw drops open immediately upon his wordless command and you gaze up at him with big, innocent eyes. Jungkook’s stare turns dark and his eyes glaze over with lust while he analyzes the pretty features of your face. He slowly pushes the toy between your lips, letting you soak the material with your drool. You maintain eye contact with him as you suck on the silicone and swirl your tongue around it inside your mouth.

“Good girl,” Jungkook praises, grabbing your chin again and making you release the toy back into his other hand. “Now turn around.”

Scooting across the bed, you maneuver to all fours once you’re somewhere in the middle. You feel the mattress dip as Jungkook joins you and his warmth slowly closes in on you.

Without warning, you hear him spit and wetness instantly meets your puckered hole. The unfamiliar sensation causes a strained gasp, but it morphs into a moan when Jungkook presses his thumb against your rim and slowly works you open.

His other hand traces along your folds, making you shutter from the featherlight touch. Your essence begins to collect on his fingers before his hand disappears from your pussy entirely. Initially, you make a noise of confusion, but then you hear slurping from behind you and realize he’s sucking your juices off his digits. You arch your back to silently beg for more of his touch, and he chuckles around his fingers at your neediness, spanking you harshly with his other hand. You’re still moaning from the sting when his fingers return to circle your sensitive nub.

The dual sensations have your mind spinning in tumultuous circles.

“Fuck, Koo.”

“Feel good?”

“So fucking good,” you whimper.

“Just you wait,” he brags.

Jungkook pleasures you slowly, mirroring the pace with both hands. Eventually, the tip of his thumb sinks into your tight hole and you mewl, your head falling forward and meeting the mattress below. It takes time, but after a while of Jungkook playing with you like you’re his favorite toy, his thumb goes in past his knuckle and he starts fucking it into you.

The feeling makes you keen and grip desperately onto the sheets. Soon enough, both his hands leave you and you’re left wanting until you feel his tongue tracing your hole.

“Holy shit,” you gasp.

His hands spread your asscheeks apart and he squeezes them in his big hands while he eats your ass.

You genuinely believe you’re going to have to be placed in an asylum. It feels like your very soul is on fire and Jungkook’s tongue on your puckered hole is straight gasoline.

Your eyes roll so deep into your skull you worry they’ll get stuck there.

Jungkook licks over your hole before fucking his tongue into you and the feeling of his wet muscle inside your ass is mind boggling. He works with expert tact, forcing his tongue inside and using the drool falling from his mouth to wet the area and then kitten licking you.

His tongue is warm and sopping wet on your rim and you never could’ve predicted it would feel this good.

He gives your right asscheek a hard smack only to bring his hand to your pussy so he can finger you, too. His fingertips tease along your slit without ever going where you really want him. You whine disapprovingly, but he pacifies you a moment later by rubbing your clit in tight circles and forcing a cry from your throat.

His movements on your clit are harsh in comparison to the languid strokes of his tongue. The stark contrast splits your mind in half and your body isn’t able to keep up with all the pleasure it’s receiving. Before you know it, hot tears are rolling down your face and wetting the sheets beneath you.

“Jungkook, oh my God,” you weep desperately.

You’re so overstimulated you can no longer comprehend what he’s doing to you. The combination of him pressing on your pearl and his tongue sinking into your ass is simply too obscene.

When his mouth leaves you with a single, sloppy kiss, you involuntarily whine at the loss of contact and Jungkook shushes you as he massages the flesh of your ass with one hand.

After a moment, you hear Jungkook spit and feel the wet tip of the anal plug pressing against your asshole. You chuckle when the realization hits you that he was always going to need to relubricate the toy, and coating it with your saliva was merely a display for his pleasure.

You tense as soon as the plug begins to sink further into you.

“Relax, babygirl,” he coos. “Take a deep breath.”

You listen attentively and fill your lungs with air just as he’s finishing pushing the toy into you. Rather than an exhale, it’s a strangled moan that exits your lungs.

“Holy fuck, Jungkook” you cry.

“You’re okay, Bambi. I’ve got you,” he reassures you. “Does that feel alright?”

You nod repeatedly, pushing your ass back against his hands in a silent plea for him to do something before you go crazy. The only reply you receive is a melodious, baritone chuckle.

Jungkook tilts your hips to give him better access to you. The movement makes the plug press deeper into your hole and you whine at the novel sensation. You feel his tongue lick all the way up your cunt a couple times before he starts making out with your leaking pussy from behind.

His lips move in sloppy circles while he eats you out and then he’s spitting on you so he can make it even messier. The feeling makes you delirious and if he wasn’t still firmly holding your hips you’d surely fall flat on your face.

As his tongue fucks into you, the muscle presses against the toy in your ass from within your velvet walls and you nearly rip his sheets as the fullness overwhelms you. You’re sobbing hysterically as he switches between kissing your cunt and flattening his tongue over your clit.

He moves his face back and forth on your nub before sucking and letting his teeth scrape the sensitive flesh. You scream bloody murder and cry his name into the linen.

“Jungkook, I can’t —”

“You gotta come, babygirl,” he tells you.

“Koo,” you sob as your forehead presses into the mattress.

“You can do it, Bams.” He places a wet kiss on your clit. “Come for me, baby.”

He licks you at an obscene pace, curling his tongue to lap up your essence before baby birding it onto your clit so he can massage your nerve endings with his tongue. Your orgasm is unbelievably powerful, forcing your hips forward as you wail incoherently into the bed. Jungkook continues to drink your cum until your cries settle into soft whimpers.

Once the high simmers and your body is shaking with aftershocks, Jungkook gently presses on the anal plug. You keen and arch your back as it sinks further inside you.

“You think you can keep going?” Jungkook moves your hair to one side so he can kiss your shoulder, his lips lingering there while he continues. “It’s alright if you can’t, Bambi.”

“I… I want to, Koo.”

He hums proudly in your ear.

“That’s my girl.”

Jungkook kisses your cheek before rising to his knees again. Your asscheeks are forced apart by his warm hands so he can drip more of his saliva around the toy. Then, he bends down to bite on your fatty flesh and you giggle at the comparably sweet affection.

“I’m gonna take the toy out and slowly push in, alright?”

“Mmhmm, I trust you.”

Just as he said, Jungkook holds onto the base and slowly removes the toy from your hole. The feeling makes your jaw drop as it spreads you open again upon its departure.

The emptiness only lasts a mere moment before you feel the head of Jungkook’s cock at your entrance as he guides the tip into your tight hole.

“Oh fuck,” you whine.

You bite on your hand to relieve the pressure building within your body. Even with all the preparation, the movement of Jungkook’s cock entering you inch by inch is heart stopping.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” Jungkook says.

You shake your head aggressively. No words will be passing through your lips for some time, every motor function in your body is focused solely on the pleasure of being stuffed full by Jungkook.

Every vein of his cock is pulsing against your impossibly tight walls and the further he travels inside of you, the better it feels. You’ve never felt so full in your life and even though he’s only in your ass, you swear you feel him everywhere.

There’s a cooling sensation which accompanies the slide of his shaft and the realization that he applied lube before pushing in makes you feel eternally grateful. You’ll have to thank him for being so considerate once you’re no longer non-verbal. When his hips meet your ass, you exhale the air trapped in your lungs from his descent into your tightest hole. He’s fully sheathed inside you and it’s exponentially better than you ever could’ve imagined.

Jungkook gives you a moment to adjust as he caresses your spine and kisses your shoulder blade a few times.

“How does it feel, Bams?”

“So, so fucking good, Koo,” you answer breathlessly. “I feel so fucking full.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook palms your asscheek before spanking you. “You want me to fuck your tight, little hole? Split you apart on my cock?”

“Please.”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice, and within a second he’s pulling back until only his tip is inside before thrusting his entire cock into you all at once.

The scream that rips from your throat isn’t a sound a human should make.

Hips slamming against your ass and balls slapping against your cunt, Jungkook fucks you like he’s trying to tear you to shreds. Your hole struggles to stretch around him as he continually leaves your warmth and returns again at a debilitating pace.

The feeling of his cock throbbing inside your ass is so euphoric you see a vision of the entire milky way at once. Jungkook and his insane body are the sole proprietors of your mind as you cry ceaselessly and drool all over yourself from how much you’re whining and panting. There’s an unrelenting blaze lighting up your veins and searing your bones, but you want them to just burn, and burn, until you can’t take the heat anymore.

“Fuck, Bams, this feels so fucking amazing,” Jungkook moans. “You’re so tight, babygirl.”

You mewl from the effect his praises have on your mind, your back arching automatically so you can meet each of his thrusts.

Jungkook turns his cadence absolutely deadly, the fierce clapping sounds reverberating off his walls and shaking the bed frame. With his increase in speed, he pushes your shoulder blades down and forces your face into the sheets, keeping his hand there to steady himself. It sends his cock even deeper into you and you mirror each other’s noises of ecstasy at the new angle.

“Jungkook, please don’t stop,” you beg.

“I wasn’t planning on it, Bambi.” He starts rolling his hips in time with his strokes and it makes his heavy balls smack perfectly against your pussy to bring you even more pleasure. “Gonna fuck you until my cum is leaking out of your hole.”

His words pierce your soul and make you whimper with wanton need. You have an insatiable urge to allow him to ruin you completely. Hold his cock within you long enough that your body can only remember the shape of him.

Jungkook’s moaning gorgeously from behind you, his hand now holding your hair like reins so he can keep you exactly where he wants you.

“I’m so close, Bams,” he warns.

You force your hips back against him to push him closer to the edge. He slaps your ass in return before gripping the soft flesh between his fingers.

“I’m gonna come,” you tell him.

“Fuck, please.”

He releases your hair so both hands can bruisingly grasp your hips and make his cock penetrate you like it’s his dying wish.

The pace is so lethal you worry he’s causing permanent damage, but you truly cannot bring yourself to care. His huge cock spearing you repeatedly is so jaw dropping you think he’s soiled you for any other partner. It’s impractical to believe another man’s dick could ever bring you this much pleasure. He stretches you apart like you were made for him and you know he feels it, too, with the way he tirelessly rams into you.

As Jungkook chases your highs, the moans meeting the fabric of his sheets sound nothing like you. Meanwhile, he’s growling and groaning inhumanly behind you and it only confirms your suspicions that he’s originally from the pits of hell.

Your climax simmers in your gut and spills over externally with only a few more pistons of Jungkook’s cock into your ass, having his length buried deep within you far too heavenly a sensation to hold back even a second longer. Voice cracking and body shaking in his hold, you scream his name in a prayer-like chant as your orgasm blinds you and shuts down your nervous system.

Jungkook whines and his rhythm falters as the pulsing of your cunt tightens your walls around him. He gasps crudely, his hand dropping to the bed next to your face as he comes, stuffing his seed into your ass and fucking you so full you fear you’ll burst. You feel absolutely filthy as his cum warms the tunnel of your ass and drizzles out around his cock. The essence pours out of you and down his balls as he continues to fuck you through both your orgasms.

You no longer have the wherewithal to hold onto anything, your energy sufficiently drained, making Jungkook’s movements force you further and further across the bed as though you’re just a lifeless husk wrapped around him.

“You alright, Bambi?” He asks through shaky breaths.

All you can muster is a nod as your upper body meets the mattress, your arms lying limp in front of you and ass still in the air where he’s holding you up.

There’s a loud squelch when he finally pulls out, his cum excessively dripping out and leaking all over your pussy and thighs. Once his grip is gone, your lower half falls and you groan at the soreness throughout your body.

“Bambi?”

“I’m alive,” you whisper. “I don’t know for how much longer, though.”

Jungkook chuckles and soothing rubs your back.

“How was it?”

“Fucking amazing. It’s a shame I won’t be able to walk for three days.”

“It’s okay, I’ll carry you,” Jungkook tells you.

You smile weakly, already halfway to dreamland as you acknowledge his promise.

Jungkook diligently wipes away the mixture of body fluids coating your skin before rolling you onto your back. When his handsome face enters your vision, your hands reach for him and he welcomes himself into your embrace to give you kisses along your jaw and neck. A hum of satisfaction comes from your throat as your eyes close and you fall asleep to the repetitive feeling of his lips on your skin.

Your friends’ jaws are practically through the floor by the time you finish reminiscing about your most recent sexual experiment with Jungkook, and you have to refrain from giggling at their expressions of awe.

The men return from their adventures not long after, with Jungkook notably missing. Just as your lips part to question where he is, the man himself appears in your line of sight.

“Bams, look at the stuffed animals I got for our little one!” He cheers happily as he lugs an entire haul of plushies between his arms.

“Koo, where are we gonna put all those?”

“In the nursery, duh.”

He drops the children’s toys unceremoniously onto the seat next to you before running his hands through his hair and scanning the area for an employee so he can ask for a large trash bag to take them home in.

“Jungkookie went a little crazy on the claw machine,” Hoseok informs you.

“Yeah,” you say as you pick up a little bunny plushie. “I can see that.”

Jungkook does, in fact, receive a trash bag from an employee so he can transport the goodies home after saying goodbye to your friends. Upon your arrival, he rushes upstairs to the nursery and meticulously places them around the half decorated room. Luckily, there’s a hanging storage hammock for the wall which will be arriving along with some other decorations in a few weeks.

After changing into comfier clothes and washing up for the night, you drag Jungkook by the hand to the living room so he can show you all the characters he’s named after you.

The next couple of hours are spent on the couch, your feet resting comfortably in his lap, while Jungkook plays through the games to present the animated versions of you he’s crafted over the years. They’re all equally adorable, some human and some not, but regardless of their design, every single one makes your heart thump faster in your chest.

SIX

Usagi is purring like the little engine that could in your lap, her head resting comfortably against your baby bump. You absentmindedly comb through her fur as your other hand holds a book between your fingers. Normally, you’re a fantasy girl, but with motherhood on the horizon you figure it’s about time you dive into the parental advice genre.

Jungkook descends the stairs in his gym attire, about to head to the garage for a workout because the pouring rain outside makes his trek to the actual gym less than ideal. Bam, who’s sleeping soundly in his bed across the room, feels the familiar rumble of his dad’s footsteps and instantly perks up. The Doberman quickly leaps up to greet Jungkook, who is positively elated to see him and bends down to scratch behind his floppy ears.

When Jungkook glances your way, his head tilts in confusion. He gives Bam a couple more rubs on his head before stealing the seat beside your legs on the couch.

“What are you doing, Bams?” He asks curiously.

“Reading,” you answer while shaking your book to show him.

“Yeah, I see that,” he laughs. “I meant, why are there headphones on your stomach?”

Peering down at your now well-rounded baby bump, your mouth forms an O in recognition of the action in question. You honestly forgot about the old school headphones you placed on your belly when you first laid down.

“Well, this book says babies can start hearing around this time and it helps their growth by listening to soothing sounds in the womb. They recommend reading to them, too, as the due date approaches,” you explain.

“What soothing sounds are you playing for our baby, then, huh?” Your teeth clamp around your lower lip as Jungkook brings the headphones to his ears. You watch with nerves pounding as his eyes shift through confusion to recognition before landing on sentiment. “Is this… is this my mixtape from college?”

You slowly nod your head, still anxious for his reaction.

“If our baby is going to listen to anything, I figure it should be daddy’s voice.”

Jungkook’s smile is utterly breathtaking when he hears your response, his eyes glossy with unspoken emotion. His hand caresses your bump reverently before he lowers his head to kiss all over your swollen skin. You giggle at the sensation and tousle his hair with your fingers.

“I should probably sing live for our little one, don’t you think?”

His eyes are sparkling beautifully when he asks from his position above your belly.

“Really?” Jungkook nods wholeheartedly. “But you don’t like singing anymore, besides karaoke.”

“It’s different when it’s for our baby,” he states.

Giggling excitedly, you place the book and headphones on the coffee table and recline into the couch as you wait patiently for the serenade.

Jungkook’s practically a vocal prodigy, and during your childhood his pretty voice was always surrounding you. In the car, across your backyard, escaping from the shower, anywhere and everywhere was his stage. His process for consoling you was to sing familiar tunes until your cries subsided. On sleepless nights, he would send you voice memos covering your favorite songs. He eventually made the mixtape in question which you stashed away for safekeeping over a decade ago.

The melodies ceased towards the end of your college careers, the final chapters of your time there being particularly tough on Jungkook and causing him to fall out of love with the craft. You haven’t heard him sing live other than into a karaoke microphone ever since.

You’d never say it outloud for fear of creating unnecessary guilt, but you desperately miss the sound of his voice and the comfort it brings.

“Alright, but you have to close your eyes, I’ll get too nervous with you looking at me,” he says.

Accepting his terms, you shut your eyes and place your hands atop his which remain on your belly. Jungkook clears his throat before humming to align his pitch, which is mostly for show given that he has perfect pitch.

A wondrous smile forms on your lips the very second his tender, buttery voice filters into your brain.

Jungkook sings as close to where your baby resides within you as possible, his warm breath tickling your skin as he sings an old, Korean lullaby to your little eggplant. Whether it’s hearing him sing acapella again or the gut wrenching display of love for his unborn child, you aren’t sure, but you’re positively beaming as you rest against the cushions.

You automatically frown when his beautiful tone disappears as the song ends, but before your eyes can blink open, Jungkooks is kissing the grimace away and eliciting a noise of surprise from your throat. Your recognition is quick, and within a moment your arms are pulling him on top of you so you can adequately return his affection.

Twin smiles peak through the kiss and cause your teeth to scrape together, but you recover the proper motions and your lips gradually mold together again. You moan happily while combing your fingers through his hair and he wraps you in his arms to caress your waist.

You lazily make out for some time without it leading anywhere, but neither of you question the act. Besides, you already know precisely what Jungkook is trying to tell you by allowing his tongue to dance endlessly with yours.

Sometimes you still rest the headphones on your tummy to play the mixtape for your baby, but it slowly becomes routine for Jungkook to sing to them whenever you’re lounging around the house.

Aside from the parenting books, you and Jungkook also register for two classes in preparation for the arrival of your newborn. First up is the infamous Lamaze class, the purpose of which is to practice breathing techniques meant to help ease the strain of childbirth. It’s supposed to be both relaxing and educational, and your two mothers swear it’s mandatory.

You arrive hand-in-hand ahead of schedule and the instructor introduces herself in a calm, lighthearted tone. She points you to a pair of yoga mats in the back corner and you weave your way around the already situated couples to take your seats.

Jungkook’s curious eyes survey his surroundings and he nods approvingly at the soothing atmosphere.

The room is filled to the brim with fellow expecting couples, some consisting of men and women and others of two women. Everyone’s bellies differ dramatically in size and some of them make you thankful you’re not carrying that much extra weight on your spine. It’s comforting to be among others in your situation even when they’re strangers, and you can tell Jungkook feels the same as he smiles and makes eye contact with the other future dads in the room.

The pregnant woman of the pair beside you leans over and grabs your attention.

“Hi, my name’s Suzy, this is Erica,” she introduces herself and her partner. “Is this your first time?” You nod in tandem and she giggles at your synchronization. “How long have you two been together?”

“Um —”

“A long time,” Jungkook saves the day. “I’m Jungkook, this is Bambi.”

“Koo,” you scold him. “My name is Y/N, he just calls me Bambi.”

“That’s so cute!”

“How long have you two been together?” You volley her question.

“10 months,” she replies warmly.

You refrain from saying yikes out loud. Judgment isn’t usually your forte, and truthfully, the two women look adorable together, but you cannot comprehend having a child with someone you’ve known for less than a singular rotation of the sun. It’s been just short of three decades for you and Jungkook and you still feel unprepared.

“That ring is gorgeous, by the way.”

“Oh! Thank you,” you say while wiggling your left hand. You receive compliments almost daily, and initially, you were worried about it not being an actual engagement ring, but the true meaning behind the piece of jewelry means exponentially more to you than a proposal ever could. “He’s definitely got great taste.”

Jungkook smiles graciously at the compliment, his hand rubbing along your back before catching around your waist.

“When’s the wedding?”

Your face pales at the inquiry, which you know is totally valid given the item she’s complimenting and the purpose of the class you’re in.

“You know, we haven’t really gotten around to planning it yet with the baby on the way and all,” you explain.

“Preach,” she cheers.

The instructor entering the room effectively cuts off your conversation with Suzy. As she moves towards the front of the room, you and Jungkook steal a glance, eyebrows rising identically in anticipation of how this will go.

It begins like any standard yoga class, except your legs remain crossed and you focus solely on the breathing aspect of the artform.

Jungkook makes it fairly difficult to focus on said breathing when he does everything in his willpower to force laughter out of you. Throughout each exercise, your best friend decides to ruin any chance of success by making the most ridiculous faces imaginable, causing you to constantly stifle your mouth with your hand to prevent from disturbing anyone else. Upon his third attempt at thwarting your education, you shove your elbow into his ribs and he acts like you fatally wounded him, falling completely over and dramatically grasping his side.

The man is astronomically lucky you’re well hidden in the back or you would be beating his ass right here in front of everyone.

After the warm up ends, the instructor goes over labor and delivery. It isn’t the first time you’re hearing the gruesome details, since your doctor explained the overall process to you both during your last appointment. Frankly, the ordeal terrifies you and you find yourself avoiding any and all conversations about it when you’re able.

“So, for those of you who don’t know, you’ll be pushing along with your contractions. The contractions are your body’s reaction to the dilating of your cervix so the baby can be pushed out. When you push with the contraction, it not only makes birthing easier, but also lessens the risk of tearing,” the instructor explains.

“Tearing?” Jungkook says in horror beside you. “What tearing?”

“My vagina can rip, Koo, and then they have to sew me back up,” you tell him.

He looks at you in absolute terror, his pupils shaking as his eyes observe your bump.

“I never would’ve put a baby in you if I knew that!”

“Well, you didn’t exactly plan on putting a baby in me, now did you?”

The instructor is continuing before you can speak further on the subject.

“The Lamaze breathing techniques help with both the pain of contractions and the effort it takes to push,” she states.

The woman stands to accommodate everyone’s viewpoint as she thoroughly explains each movement and posture.

It’s identical to the motions you’ve seen a million times in film, but when you actually do it yourself, it’s more difficult than you predicted. The technique is unnatural in comparison to your regular cadence of air intake and you only accomplish it after a couple attempts.

The instructor has everyone complete the exercise, even though technically only one of you requires the knowledge. She explains the purpose of both parents learning the technique is because it’s easy for the mother to forget while she’s bringing life into the world and her partner can remind her if they hone the skill as well.

Practicing the breathing style doesn’t go very well for you, because Jungkook does it so aggressively beside you that your laughter is blocking your airway. You make ample efforts, but everytime you only inhale three small puffs of air before you're bending over and cackling into your palm.

“Koo!” You angrily whisper as you slap his arm. He beams delightfully at your indignation, far too elated about making you laugh to worry about the consequences. “If my labor is hell because I didn’t get to learn this shit, I’ll kill you.”

“Alright, I’m sorry,” he whispers genuinely. “I’ll stop now.”

He complies immediately and you continue practicing uninterrupted for the remainder of class.

Upon the conclusion of the course, the two of you follow behind the herd of couples as the instructor comes to stand near you.

“You know, I usually don’t like disruptive couples, but you two are so adorable that I didn’t mind. It’s so obvious how much you love each other,” she tells you sincerely. You instantly go bright red and feel Jungkook squeeze your hand a couple times. “I can always tell when a couple is going to last a long time, and I hope to see you back again in a few years.”

The second class you attend is very different, but just as essential for you to learn. It’s meant to cover the basics of caring for a newborn and although you both have plenty of babysitting experience, it never hurts to have a refresher.

You're currently sitting side by side at a long table surrounded by other expecting couples. There’s two fake babies, diapers, bottles, and a couple other miscellaneous items lying haphazardly between you. Jungkook, whose very existence prevents him from staying still, is fiddling with the various trinkets and examining them as though he’s an alien encountering them for the very first time. When the instructor starts the lesson, you smack his arm to force the pacifier he’s holding out of his grasp.

The class begins with an overall introduction of the precise care required for newborns and infants. From there, it divulges into the appropriate expectations to have for the first few months of parenthood. After the overview, you’re told to pick up the baby dolls so the instructor can walk the class through each lesson.

Jungkook hands the fake baby to you by its leg, and you have to hold your breath to keep the giggle in your chest from escaping. You surely hope he doesn’t carry your actual child like a used rag.

The art of changing diapers is up first and the instructor begins by informing the class about the differences between changing a boy and girl’s diaper. Jungkook nods along as though he’s listening intently, but when you catch his eyes from your periphery, they’re completely blank. Not a single thought in that pretty head of his.

Nudging him with your elbow, you gesture towards the diaper with your eyes as a silent order for him to practice. Jungkook rolls his eyes, but proceeds to follow the written instructions on the board without verbal complaints.

When he finishes the process with utmost accuracy, resulting in a near perfect diaper, he leans back into his chair with a confident smirk, looking stupidly attractive as his tongue presses to the inside of his cheek. You have to stop yourself from wringing his neck.

The instructor continues with bottle feeding and explains the importance of milk temperature, the right bottle size, etc. Upon instruction, everyone rises to practice heating a bottle of milk so you understand the feeling of the proper temperature.

You and Jungkook stand in line behind all the other couples, which is convenient because he ends up tickling you while you wait and it would probably disturb your classmates to watch you elbow him in the stomach. He merely giggles in response to your irritation before squishing your cheeks with his fingers and mockingly cooing at you.

When you’re finally up to bat, Jungkook goes first and you immediately click your tongue as you watch him.

“That’s gonna be too hot, Koo,” you tell him.

“Nuh uh,” he argues.

He yelps only a second later when the milk squirts onto his forearm and it's scorching hot. Rolling your eyes, you move past him to heat some yourself. After completing the task, you squirt the liquid on your own arm before gently grabbing Jungkook’s uninjured limb to show him the example of the ideal temperature.

“You’re already such an amazing mother, Bams,” he sighs.

You fight against the smile threatening your lips, but it’s useless, and you end up showing your gratitude with a squeeze of his hand.

As you’re leaving, one of your heels is already outside the door frame when the sound of Jungkook’s name makes you both turn over your shoulder.

When you locate the source, you see a familiar redhead, although she looks vastly different from the last time you saw her, especially with the massive baby bump she’s sporting.

“Lisa?” Jungkook asks to clarify.

“Hi!” Lisa, one of Jungkook’s exes from the time immediately following college, steps forward and pulls him into a hug. When she sees you beside him, her eyes light up. “Oh my god! Y/N!”

“Hi, Lisa,” you greet her as you embrace.

You honestly loved Lisa, and was extremely sad to see her go. She treated Jungkook exactly how you always hoped he would be treated by a partner and he was never without a smile when she was near. Unfortunately, she accepted a job across the country and they inevitably decided to forgo long distance.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing you both here. I mean, I can believe it, but it’s just such a small world,” she states.

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks, his hand finding your lower back and pulling you into his side.

“Well, this was always bound to happen, right? You two are like a match made in heaven,” she answers honestly.

Jungkook’s ears go red while you hold your lower lip hostage to prevent a bashful smile from creeping in.

“Thanks, Lisa. I’m sure you’re excited,” Jungkook says as he gestures to her stomach.

She wears a huge toothy grin and nods ostentatiously.

“I’m so freaking happy, you have no idea,” she responds. “I’m so glad you two are finally together. I always had my suspicions, and it’s really nice to see. You both look so happy.”

“Thank you, it means a lot.” you say to her. “I hope the rest of your pregnancy and everything goes well!”

“Thanks, you too!”

She hugs you both again before waving and returning to her partner’s side.

It must be divine intervention that causes every interaction you have, stranger or otherwise, to somehow end in compliments of you and Jungkook as a couple. Just the other day, a woman at the store watched Jungkook grab an item for you from the top shelf and kiss your hair as he dropped it into the basket and she hollered from across the aisle that you’ll be together forever.

All you can do is hope they’re correct, because you have an underlying fear you refuse to discuss with anyone that somehow being parents will ruin your friendship beyond the point of recognition. People who’ve been together for far longer than you divorce over issues involving their children everyday, and even without romance on the table, you worry what parenthood will do to your bond.

That worry will have to dwell in your mind for another day, because at the moment, Jungkook is doing everything within the realm of possibility to make your pregnancy easier and bring a smile to your face.

Kicking the door open with your foot, you place the groceries in your arms onto the floor so you can remove your jacket and shoes. When you stand to your full height, you spot Jungkook behind the couch, his hands pressing on his lower back. Your eyebrows shoot up as you examine the scene, most notably, the foreign object on his body.

“Uh, Jungkook, if you got me pregnant, then who got you pregnant?”

There’s currently a skin colored, faux baby bump strapped to Jungkook’s chest, making him look like a mirror to your present state.

“Psst, I did this all by myself. Step it up, Bambi.” Eyes rolling on instinct, you walk further into the home and greet your fur babies on the way to Jungkook. “I got it from the animation department. I guess they’ve used it when doing stop motion before.”

“Right, but why?”

“Well, I read the more you can understand what your partner is going through, the easier it is to be helpful to them.”

“You’re pretending to be pregnant to learn empathy?” Jungkook scowls when his efforts go unappreciated by you. “You know what, you’re right. Thank you so much, Jungkook. It must be so eye opening to endure the weight of pregnancy for a minimal amount of time while I’m carrying your kid around day and night for the better part of a year.”

He sighs defeatedly and unstraps the fake bump, sending it to the ground with a heavy splat.

“I thought that would make you laugh, but it didn’t and now I’m sad,” he explains.

You frown and step forward to caress his jaw.

“I’m sorry, Koo, that was too harsh. It was funny, you look utterly ridiculous while wearing that,” you assure him. “I‘ve just had a long day, is all.”

“Can I do anything to make it better?”

“Well, I can think of one thing…”

Jungkook is lifting you onto the kitchen counter and using his body to spread your legs apart within an instant. He kisses the air right out of your lungs, grabbing your face with both hands and smashing his mouth on yours.

Your conflicting, hectic schedules have made it impossible to spend any real time together lately, and this is the first chance you’ve had to be intimate in days.

The kiss acts as a lighting rod down your spine awakening every single one of your nerve endings. Gripping his shirt to press his heart to yours, you hum blissfully when your sensitive nipples meet his hard chest. His lips force yours open so he can push his tongue into your mouth and it only serves to make you infinitely more needy for him. You capture his hips with your legs and lure him in until his hardening cock is throbbing against your cunt.

Jungkook groans at the contact and pushes his hands into your hair, taking control of the kiss so he can worship your mouth. His hips subtly buck against your crotch and the friction makes you whimper for more. He appeases you by repeating the motion with more force, and before you know it you’re dry humping each other in your freaking kitchen.

You whine when Jungkook’s lips depart from you to kiss your neck instead, but you forgo your disappointment a minute later when he unbuttons your jeans and tugs them off. His hand sneaks into your panties and you moan exuberantly as he starts playing with your pussy, his fingers traversing your folds and swirling around your clit.

“So wet, Bams,” he whimpers.

Jungkook works his tongue along your throat as he fucks his digits into your pussy. Your head falls back in ecstasy until you’re making eye contact with the ceiling fan, forcing Jungkook to kiss along your collarbones and shoulder. He sucks a pretty bruise into your skin and you gasp, your fingers twisting the fabric of his shirt as an anchor to keep you above water.

His lips finally return to where they belong, but he only kisses you for another moment before descending to his knees and pulling your soaked underwear down to join your pants on the floor.

You wait patiently for the feeling of his lips, but they never come. Instead, his fingers retreat from your core and his other hand sharply squeezes your thigh.

“Koo?”

“Bambi, you’re bleeding,” he states through shaky vocal chords.

“What?”

Looking down from your spot on the counter, you see Jungkook’s eyes blown wide while his pupils shake with fear. He holds his hand up so you can see his two middle fingers are covered in dark red blood.

The sight utterly paralyzes you, shutting down every system in your body like a sinking ship, your nerves, veins, and organs all screaming “mayday! mayday!”

Your panic manifests in the form of tears rolling down your face, your lungs struggling to intake air, and your mind racing at the speed of light. Jungkook’s terror spikes when he sees your eyes lose their luster from his place on the kitchen floor.

“Bams?” He stands up while wiping his fingers on a nearby towel. When you don’t respond, he delicately cradles your face. “Bams, look at me.”

Jungkook’s gentle command rights the ship, pulling your consciousness from the dark water and bringing you safely back to land.

His eyes survey you to interpret your mental state, but you feel his own hands shaking where they reside on your cheeks. You desperately clutch his wrists, both as a signal that you’re alright and because you know you both need something to ground you.

“Jungkook,” you whimper.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here,” he assures you as he pulls you in.

You start sobbing the very second his arms wrap around you, shoving your face into his shoulder and muffling your shrill cries in his shirt. Jungkook holds you to him with a hand on your head, shushing you and attempting to comfort you as best he can when his own emotions are nearly getting the better of him.

“I’m so scared, Koo,” you whisper.

Jungkook lifts your head again, wiping away your tears with his thumbs as he caresses your cheekbones. He kisses you softly, granting you a momentary reprieve from your racing heartbeat and constricted airway.

“I’m right here, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Your mind is propelled into the past, to all the times Jungkook’s uttered nearly identical words as a steadfast assurance. He said them when you first told him about the pregnancy, and there are countless times prior to that, whether on the playground, in your basement, the university library, or your old apartment. He’s always there for you, always holding you whenever you need him without a second thought or regard for his own wellbeing.

There aren’t any words left, and time is of the essence, so Jungkook lifts you from the counter and lets you get dressed while he grabs his keys and jacket. You meet him at the door where he’s holding your own coat open for you to slip into. You make momentary eye contact once you're both ready, an unspoken promise passing between you. Afterwards, the two of you run down the stairs holding hands to reach the garage.

Jungkook never once stops talking the entire car ride to your doctor’s office, already knowing exactly what you need to remain calm. He tells you about his day at work and the mods he’s building from scratch for an older game. That leads him into a monologue about the first game he designed and how long it took him to figure out some of the most simple elements.

You regretfully hear none of it, only the sound of his voice filtering in through your senses and not the actual content of his phrases.

When you arrive in record time because Jungkook nearly reaches maximum speed in his Mercedes, you bolt from the car and run into the building together. Jungkook called during the drive to alert them of the situation, and he’s the one speaking to the receptionist at the moment because you can’t bring yourself to produce sound.

The world feels as though it’s spinning in the wrong direction. If it wasn’t for Jungkook’s hand on your thigh as he drove, you wouldn’t even be aware of your surroundings enough to comprehend reality.

Everything is veiled by a thick fog of despair, and you can no longer tell which way is up and which is down.

You’re taken to an observation room almost immediately, where they draw your blood, take both the baby and your vitals, and give you an ultrasound. Jungkook holds one of your hands between his palms the entire time.

During the ultrasound, your nerves go haywire and you finally break, stray tears rolling down your cheeks as you weep into your free hand. The examination of your womb is silent this time because they don’t want to worry you, and not being able to hear the heartbeat you adore is unbearable.

It’s the only time Jungkook releases your hand, so he can brush the tears away before kissing your forehead and whispering sweet nothings into your hairline.

The doctor visits you after the most grueling fifteen minutes in existence. She’s smiling at you when she enters, which you pray is a positive sign, but you don’t allow yourself to relax just yet.

“Hi, you guys. Your baby is doing just fine.”

When the relief born exhale leaves your lungs, it’s accompanied by a harsh cry as the crippling weight of your emotions bears down on you. Jungkook brings your hand to his lips while rubbing his thumb along your knuckles to soothe you.

“I know this was really stressful for you both, and I’m so sorry you had to go through it.” She takes a seat before continuing. “Unfortunately, spotting like this can be totally normal. It’s why some women don’t realize they’re pregnant at first. I’m glad you came in, though. If for whatever reason this happens again, just keep an eye on it and if the bleeding doesn’t stop or is abnormally heavy, then come on in and we’ll make sure you’re all good.”

“So everything’s fine? Me and the baby?”

“You’re both perfect,” she declares.

Your eyes flit to Jungkook, who nods affirmatively and kisses your hand again as tears well up in his eyes.

“Thank you so much, Doctor,” Jungkook says quietly.

“Of course, is there anything else I can do for you two?”

You shake your heads in perfect sync and your doctor smiles warmly upon her exit.

There’s a moment of silence once the door closes, but then the sound of Jungkook gasping over a sob meets your ears.

“Fuck,” he cries, his head dropping to his hands. “Is this what being a parent is? Just constantly being terrified something is going to happen to them?”

You comb through his black hair as he releases all the emotions he was holding in so he could stay strong for you. You gently shush him and reaffirm that everything’s alright, and when he lifts his head you return his earlier favor by wiping his remaining tears away.

“I think the love we receive from them makes the fear worth it,” you state. “But fuck, if that wasn’t the worst hour and a half of my life.” You count your inhales and exhales to bring yourself back to earth. “I don’t even know what we would’ve done.”

Jungkook ponders for a moment before licking his lips.

“If something does happen, if we…” He shakes his head, not wanting to say the words aloud. “We’ll be alright, because no matter what we have each other. I’m always going to be here, Bambi, until the day I die.”

“Until the day I die. I’m going first, remember?”

“No,” Jungkook chuckles darkly. “God will not want me here on earth the day I lose you, Bams. It would be too dangerous for everyone inhabiting it.”

You smile and reach out to hold his face, running your thumb along his cheekbone.

“Together, then?”

“Together,” he affirms.

A beat passes, and then your lips meet like magnets, as if they themselves came together without either of your knowledge.

Jungkook holds your face with ardor, kissing you so tenderly it steals your breath away, and you return his affection with an equal amount of devotion, moving your lips in slow circles as you appreciate every push and pull of his mouth. As you passionately kiss, you place your hands over his and squeeze his fingers.

“I love you, Bambi,” Jungkook whispers to your lips.

You brush your nose against his with a smile.

“I love you,” you reply ardently.

Jungkook is kissing you again the very millisecond he hears the final syllable of your phrase, neither of you wanting to be apart for even a single moment more.

You let your mouths talk where words can’t express the severe emotional rollercoaster you just went through.

Eventually, you part with swollen lips and leave the medical building hand-in-hand. Jungkook drives slower with the ordeal behind you, but his hand returns to your thigh, his knuckles absentmindedly running up and down your leg throughout the trip home.

As soon as you cross the threshold, Jungkook is lifting you into his arms and carrying you to his bedroom. You don’t question him because you already know the reason, and if he hadn’t done so himself, you would’ve lept into his embrace.

Your world was crumbling into ashes less than an hour ago and the sole antidote is each other.

You bury your face in his neck as he carries you through the house, his hands gripping you inexplicably tight as if he’s worried you’ll vanish.

Jungkook kicks the door shut with his heel once you make it to his room before kneeling on his bed and gently resting you both on the mattress. His body is completely covering yours as he nuzzles his face in your neck, and his weight on you provides blissful comfort to your soul. In return, you trace nonsensical shapes along his spine and he hums into your skin appreciatively.

His lips brush your neck tentatively, but after you moan in approval he cradles your face in one hand and exposes more of your throat so he can venerate you. You moan softly again, your nails reactively digging into the fabric concealing his body from you.

“I need to feel you close, Bambi,” he whispers. “I just… fucking need you.”

The feeling is mutual, and you’re immediately turning your head to capture his lips. You both mewl as your tongues begin a well rehearsed routine, the room quickly filling up with the sounds of your pleasure.

Jungkook’s hips roll into you and your legs wrap around his waist so your crotches are perfectly in sync.

“You have me,” you speak directly to his lips. “I’m yours, Jungkook.”

You don’t know what you mean exactly, you could be referring purely to your body or maybe you just gave your heart away, but perhaps it doesn’t matter. The lines have been crossed so many times now you’re unsure they even exist anymore.

Jungkook seems to get a kickstart from your words, his hands suddenly working overtime to undress you as fast as he can. You match his intensity, skimming your knuckles along his waist as you rush to pull his shirt over his head. Your lips meet again on the other side of the process, kissing fiercely as you unbuckle Jungkook’s belt and he undoes the buttons of your jeans.

You swap tasks when your pants reach your thighs, finding it more efficient to shimmy both your own garments off in one go. When your naked bodies meet, you grab Jungkook’s cock to stroke him fervently. He groans into your neck and bites at the skin of your shoulder while his fingers sink between your folds. His hand begins coaxing essence out of your hole with its ministrations so you’re wet enough to take him.

He leaves searing hot, open mouth kisses all along your shoulder and collarbones as you jack each other off. It makes you keen and squirm as his mouth and hand work together to bring you unfathomable pleasure.

“Shit,” Jungkook whines. “Could come just from this.”

You acknowledge his words by tightening your grip and moving your hand faster along his shaft, making him whine even louder.

His free hand is massaging one of your breasts, and he descends to take your neglected nipple into his mouth. He coats the nub in drool and tugs on it with his teeth to make you gasp. Once it’s pebbled and hard, he licks over your swollen mound and gingerly bites into the flesh. His pursuit continues downwards as he kisses over the entire expanse of your torso, making sure to pause at your baby bump to kiss your unborn child for a lingering moment.

His lips hypnotize you completely as they dance across your skin. The simplicity of them mapping you forcing all the worries from earlier right out of your head.

You tug on his hair to communicate you need him, and he languidly kisses up your body so he can return to your lips. As his tongue messily licks into your mouth, it’s perfectly in time with him pulling his hand away from your pussy to rub his cock along your slit and lubricate himself.

“I fucking love this pussy, Bams. Never gonna get enough of it, of you,” he tells you.

It feels like there’s an electrical current linking you together and lighting you both up like fireworks. All of your senses are sizzling as though they’re about to blow a fuse.

Your pussy squelches when Jungkook thrusts inside its warm walls, the otherwise silent room overflowing with the erotic sound. The moans you exude are high and unrecognizable as he rolls his hips to pull his cock out before completing the motion to push himself back inside. The initial glide of his cock into your hole makes you gasp from sheer ecstasy and dig into his shoulder muscles with your fingertips.

Jungkook’s elbows rest beside your ears, his body hovering so close above you that your peaked nipples brush against his chest with each movement.

“You feel so fucking amazing,” he moans. “You’re just fucking amazing, baby.”

His deep, honey voice sends your mind entirely out of orbit.

In response, you take your time kissing his neck, licking over the large vein pulsing beneath his hot skin. He moans and you feel his biceps flex beside your head as he firmly clutches the sheets.

“You make me feel so fucking full, Koo, it drives me fucking crazy.”

He chuckles above you in response.

“Good, love driving you crazy.”

“Well, you’ve been doing it since day one, so I suppose so.”

He giggles at your comment and it makes your heart beat out of time.

His pace is uncharacteristically slow tonight, but he’s pushing his cock in so deep it’s hitting your g-spot with every stroke and you swear you feel him in your guts. He’s not technically even thrusting, just dutifully rolling his hips over you to bring himself in and out of your cunt.

The sensation of him fucking you so reverently is heart stopping and you would do just about anything to ensure it never ends. You truly can’t imagine any amount of time with him will ever satisfy you completely.

Needing to feel more of him, you grab his sharp jaw and pull his face down to your lips for a searing kiss, the feeling of his tongue inside you mouth downright addicting.

“I want you all the time, Jungkook. Everything about you… you have me hooked.”

He smiles against your lips.

“Yeah, like you haven’t had me wrapped around your finger since the second you were born,” he retorts.

You responsively smirk and continue kissing him until your oxygen is depleted. Your bodies greedily connect over and over and eventually your own hips grind upwards to match his andante rhythm.

The distortion of your emotional landscape only serves to make the sex feel phenomenal. Every nerve within you is oversensitive after forcing yourself through all five stages of grief earlier, only for your heightened emotions to come crashing back down.

It feels as though you’re the only two people in existence. Although you’re alone, the pure intensity of your intercourse leads you to believe the bedroom is the only place left standing after a flood washed everything else away.

The combination of your lips chasing each other while you fuck and your pussy clenching around his cock causes Jungkook to moan into your mouth, and just the same, the feeling of him repeatedly splitting you open makes you parrot the sensual noise.

“Feel s’good, baby,” Jungkook groans. His lips take a couple slow laps around your visage before finally coming home to your mouth. “Take my cock so fucking well, like you were fucking made for it.”

You mewl at his praises, the words making you even needier for him.

An orgasmic high has been looming since the very moment Jungkook’s thick cock sunk into your walls and spread you apart, and you're borderline desperate to feel his warm seed inside of you.

“Cream my cunt, Jungkook. Make it yours, baby.”

Jungkook takes your demand to heart, his hands grasping yours and shoving them up beside your head so he can grind into you unhindered. The feeling of his dick’s thick, pulsing veins and the ideal curve sending him straight into your cervix have you seeing stars.

Even with the tempo change, the way Jungkook is fucking you is still undeniably more passionate than your past encounters. He’s chasing his high and yet it feels as though he’s trying to pour his soul into you along with his semen.

You can tell he’s close from the delicious throbbing sensation within your cunt, and you fuck yourself on his cock at the beat of his strokes to make him come.

He grunts repeatedly, his fingers trapping yours to the bed as his pace grows erratic with his end nearing. The sound of him groaning earnestly in your ear sends your eyes to the back of your head as his cum shoots into you and paints your cunt white.

“Fuck, Bams,” he gasps, continuing to push into you as he comes in waves of hot fluid. “Fuck, it’s so good.”

His orgasm triggers your own, the feeling of his cum spreading through you and dripping down your thighs sending you right over the edge. You whimper like a wounded animal, holding onto his hands for dear life as your hips gyrate through the come down.

“Oh, Koo,” you mewl.

Jungkook never stops fucking you vehemently even as your orgasms come and go, his cock diligently stuffing his cum deep into your womb with a sloppy, wet sound.

He remains buried deep within you while your bodies return to their normal state, both of you needing a moment to settle your nerves before relinquishing the feeling of being connected.

“That was… so fucking needed,” you pant.

“Tell me about it,” Jungkook concurs.

He kisses you gently once more, his tongue ever so slightly entering your mouth to pull a sweet moan from you.

His warmth leaves you to hunt for something to clean up with, and although the sun has barely gone down, you’re exhausted from the mental wave pool today threw you into.

Jungkook wipes you down before bringing your body into his embrace. You cuddle closer to his bare chest, inhaling his scent and humming contently. Legs tangling together beneath the comforter, neither of you question the actions which don’t normally occur after you’re intimate.

There’s a kiss placed between your hair strands while Jungkook massages your back in large, soothing circles. The repetitive motion forces your eyes shut and within moments, you’re falling asleep in his arms.

Taglist: @lovingkoalaface @starcandybby @junniesoleilkth @keylime4eva @kissyfacekoo @rpwprpwprpwprw @spideyjimin @jjeonjjk7 @joonlover1207 @annpeachy @rexana19 @heartwith0uthe @kosmos1307 @minyoongi7016 @magicalnachocreator @misschelliejeon @bubblyi3 @bhonbhon @polnaraffsrack @amarawayne @majesticjung-97 @kmpj9 @upo1313 @songbyeonkim @kikikaaa @glowjuli @avawants2havefun @hyeinwluv85s @someonegoood @kyljjk @lalaren @dna2723 @tteokbokibyjk @tatyhend @kookienooki @ana-marais98 @gimeow @importantflowersblog43 @minghaosimp @belleilichil @neurospicynugget @missdumpling190811 @jungkooksnerniemilk @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @kayswatanabe @fancypeacepersona @jeonsgf-97 @star-my @neg-l3ct @kelsyx33

The Third Trimester coming on 7/4/25 at 7:00 pm EST

#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #army #jeon jungkook #bts jk #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts smut #ot7

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kxsagi · 10 hours ago

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HIIII sorry for literally flooding your inbox but I just remembered a convo I had with a classmate a few years ago. She posted like a photo and she was wearing men's boxers and she was like "Yeah it's pretty common for girls to wear guys boxers" and I was like ??? I learn something new everyday. Anyways! Can you imagine bllk boys (Or just isagi, or your other favs or anyone honestly I'm not picky 🫶🫶) that are dating you and then they come home to see you wearing their boxers and they're just like 😳😳??? Thank you! Love you and your works muah muah ♥️♥️

“𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐛𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐲 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 ��𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐬”

a/n: boys’ boxers are mad comfy for no reason

also thank you so much and i love you moreee, mwah mwah mwah!

(additionally, dear pretty readers, apologies for the lack of posts, i've been super busy lately so thank you for your patience! 🥹)

suggestive content inside!

ft. itoshi rin, kaiser michael, nagi seishiro, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi, mikage reo, bachira meguru

itoshi rin

he walks in post-training, dead tired and cranky, hoodie over his head and duffel bag hanging off his shoulder like he’s about to file a lawsuit against sunlight, but then he sees you.

you. in his boxers. just his boxers. oversized, hanging loose on your hips, cinched up where the elastic clings to your skin.

and you’re just standing in the kitchen like this is normal. like you’re not wearing the very same pair he had on two days ago.

he stops in his tracks like he just walked in on a crime scene. “... what the hell are you wearing?” you blink. “your boxers. why?” “where are your clothes?” you smirk. “laundry.”

rin looks like he’s buffering. he opens his mouth. nothing comes out. then finally: “you couldn’t just wear… pants?” “but these are yours,” you say sweetly. “they smell like you.”

he turns red all the way to his ears. turns away. mutters something like “don’t say weird stuff,” but trips over his own duffel bag because he’s too busy looking at your thighs in the reflection on the microwave.

he doesn’t say another word, just vanishes to the bathroom. (comes back five minutes later, dry-throated and slightly more disheveled.)

(he’ll be requesting you wear those boxers again next time he’s home.)

kaiser michael

kaiser walks in humming, coat slung over one shoulder, sunglasses still on because he’s him, obviously, and freezes when he sees you laying on the couch. in his boxers. legs sprawled, shirt half-riding up, scrolling on your phone like nothing is happening.

he literally drops his jacket.

"oh? ohhh? is this what we’re doing now?”

he walks over dramatically and grabs the waistband, snapping it lightly against your skin with a grin. “you know those are mine, right? ‘cause they look illegal on you.”

you look up innocently. “do they? i mean, they were just sitting in your drawer...”

he leans down until he’s hovering above you. “yeah. and now i’m sitting on you. fair game.”

kaiser’s brain is already in the gutter. fully immersed.

starts fake-scolding you, “you’re corrupting me. corrupting my poor boxers. they were innocent–” “they have skulls and roses on them.” “innocent.”

he keeps leaning closer and closer until you're giggling and shoving his face away.

convinces you to let him take pictures for “research purposes,” but ends up just staring at them in his gallery like a down bad man.

nagi seishiro

you didn’t expect nagi to come home early.

so you’re just chilling in bed, snacks beside you, phone in hand, and wearing his boxers like pajamas. his soft gray ones. the kind he always says are his favorite. he walks in. sees you. and just. collapses.

“... woah.”

drops face first onto the mattress like a weighted corpse. wraps an arm around your waist and mumbles, “you look so good like this… it’s kinda unfair.” you snort. “they’re just boxers.” “yeah, and you made them sexy. how’d you do that?”

he starts tracing his fingers over the waistband, tugging at it lazily. "they look better on you. keep ‘em."

until he wants them back. then he’s like: “wanna trade? i wear yours, you wear mine, and we just never wear our own clothes again.”

fully down to switch wardrobes.

you call him a perv. he goes “mmm. true.”

shidou ryusei

you wearing his boxers is equivalent to pressing the self-destruct button on shidou.

he walks in, sees you in them, and physically stumbles backward. like you hit him with a truck. "HO-LY SHIT." hands on his head. mouth open. eyes wide. “you’re wearing those? babe, those are my tight ones.”

he kneels like you’re some divine entity. "i am so blessed. i am so unworthy. oh my gosh–” you kick him lightly in the chest. he flops onto the floor like he’s been shot.

“is this foreplay?” he asks, starry-eyed. “it feels like foreplay.” “i was just cleaning the house.” “well now i need cleansing because i’m having unholy thoughts.”

he starts suggesting couples outfits made out of each other’s underwear.

you’re crying from laughter. he’s genuinely taking notes.

itoshi sae

you don’t think much of it, just slipped on his boxers after your shower and started folding laundry.

he walks in, drops his keys, and just stares. doesn’t say a word.

"hey," you greet casually. “...” "what?" "... i’m just wondering if you're trying to kill me.”

he sounds bored. but he’s not.

he’s looking you up and down like he’s trying to analyze exactly how you made boxers look like lingerie.

you bend over to grab more laundry and he immediately looks away, like his own eyeballs betrayed him.

mutters under his breath: “do that again and i’m not gonna be responsible for what happens.”

he ends up walking around the apartment muttering curses and avoiding eye contact like he’s in catholic school. but the second you make a move toward the bedroom, he’s following. silently. with a mission.

isagi yoichi

isagi comes home after a long, sweaty day of practice and finds you in the hallway. wearing his boxers and one of his practice shirts. his brain immediately blue screens.

“h-hold on, uh… hi? wait, are those–” “your boxers? yeah.” he full-on chokes on his water bottle.

he tries to play it cool. he fails. the man is red from his ears to his collarbone.

"they look, uh, cute. no– you look cute. not that you don’t normally, but like, extra– not that i’m thinking weird stuff!!” (he is absolutely thinking weird stuff.)

sits down on the couch and folds a pillow over his lap. watches you walk around the apartment like you’re a walking temptation.

finally caves: “okay, but like… if you ever wanted to wear my jersey with them…”

he’s got ideas. and regrets. and a very large blushing problem.

mikage reo

reo does not handle it well.

you think he would. he’s usually cool. confident. smooth. but the moment he walks in and sees you in his favorite pair, he physically stumbles like he forgot how to use his legs.

he throws his keys. “OKAY??? MA’AM??”

“relax, reo. they’re just boxers.” “just boxers? those are silk. they’re top tier. imported. limited edition. they cost like– actually, i forgot, but a lot.” “and now they’re mine.”

he’s spiraling. spinning. taking mental photos. actual photos.

“you can’t just be hot in my things and walk around like it’s not a whole event.”

he’s pacing the room while ranting and complimenting you at the same time.

“you good?” “no. absolutely not. take responsibility for what you’ve done.”

next day, he buys you ten new pairs. all his size. all just for you. and he labels the drawer: “property of sugar baby (not up for debate)”

bachira meguru

bachira walks in, eyes already wide and bright, and when he sees you in his boxers, he howls. throws his arms in the air and yells, “I WINNNNN!!” “what???” “I WIN IN LIFEEE!!”

starts sprinting around the apartment, then dives onto the couch next to you.

“meguru, calm down–” “no. i refuse. you’re wearing my boxers. i’m gonna cry. you look so good i’m gonna EXPLODE.”

rubs his face into your thighs like a happy dog.

asks you if he can borrow your clothes so he can “match the vibe.”

comes out of the closet five minutes later wearing your shorts backwards and your crop top upside down. “do i look hot yet?” you laugh so hard you fall over. he falls with you.

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sturniololuvz · 23 hours ago

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helloooo. i have an idea for something u could write. i was thinking like the triplets are still hockey players and their little sister is an ice skater and she kinda has something going with one of their teammates. then one day she sneaks out to go to his house and the triplets see her location or something. your writing is awesome btw.

also can i be 🪼 anon

“Skates and Secrets ❄️”

The rink had always been your sanctuary. The cold air, the sound of skates carving through fresh ice, the way your breath came out in little clouds—it all felt like safety. Like home.

Growing up with three older brothers who played hockey meant you’d practically been raised in an ice arena. Chris, Nick, and Matt lived and breathed the game, and you? You danced across the ice instead of charging it. Where they slammed into opponents, you floated into spins. And for the most part, they respected that you weren’t just tagging along—you were good. Really good.

At seventeen, you were already skating at a semi-pro level, training almost every day at the same complex where your brothers practiced with their team. That meant lots of overlap. Lots of familiar faces. And one face in particular had started to matter more than the rest.

Luca.

He was one of their newer teammates, a forward with messy brown curls and way-too-pretty eyes. Confident in a quiet way, not loud like most of the guys. He noticed things—your new laces, your favorite training playlist when it came on over the speakers, the way you leaned on one skate when you were nervous. And slowly, without even meaning to, you started noticing him too.

It had started small. Shared water bottles. Warm-up laps together. Eye contact from across the rink that lingered too long. Then it was texts. Then sneaky coffees. Then, three weeks ago, it was his hand on your waist behind the rink, lips brushing yours in the dark.

⸻

Your phone buzzes under your pillow.

You’re already halfway out of bed before you’ve even looked at the screen. The quiet thrill of sneaking around shouldn’t make your heart race the way it does—but it does. And tonight? It’s worth it.

Luca 🥶: “Door’s open. Be careful.”

It’s 10:48 p.m. Your brothers—Matt, Nick, and Chris—are passed out after a long hockey practice. Your skates are still drying in the hallway near the garage, and your duffel bag’s zipped up and ready to go for tomorrow’s early morning session at the rink. You’ve timed this all too perfectly.

Sneaking out of the house isn’t easy when you live with three overprotective, nosy older brothers and they’re also your teammates’ best friends. Especially when Luca Romano is the guy you’ve been seeing in secret for the last month.

You slip on a hoodie, tug it over your head, and move like a shadow down the stairs, avoiding the creaky step near Chris’s room. The front door clicks softly behind you, and just like that, you’re outside, heart hammering, legs moving.

Luca lives a couple blocks over. The air is sharp and cold against your cheeks, Boston fall winds curling leaves at your feet as you rush down the street. You should feel guilty. You know that. But when you see his porch light on, when you catch a glimpse of him standing in the doorway waiting—your stomach flips in that dizzy, too-happy way that nothing else gives you.

“Hi,” he says, already grinning.

You’re in his arms in seconds. He smells like his cologne and fresh laundry and something warm, familiar. You’ve kissed him before—several times—but each time feels like something new.

“You really came,” he murmurs, voice low as he shuts the door behind you.

“I always do,” you say with a quiet smile, dropping your hoodie.

He reaches for you like he’s missed you all day, even though you saw him at the rink this morning. The kiss starts soft. Then his hand slides under the hem of your hoodie, fingers grazing your waist, and you melt into him. It’s addictive—the way his lips part for you, how he breathes your name when your fingers tangle in his hair. Every moment with Luca feels like it stretches into forever.

He leads you to the couch, kisses deepening between whispers and laughs, your legs tangled up in his. You forget about the time. About your brothers. About everything that could go wrong.

Until your phone buzzes again.

Chris 😐: “Yo why are you not home.”

Your breath catches.

Luca pulls away slowly, blinking at you. “Everything okay?”

You freeze, reading the notification twice. Then—

Matt 🧊: “Why does your location say you’re near Eastgate?”

And the one that really sends your stomach plummeting—

Nick (editor) 🤨: “You better not be doing something stupid rn.”

Luca’s eyebrows raise. “They know?”

“No… they suspect,” you mumble, standing way too fast. “Crap. Crap. Crap.”

You’re yanking your hoodie back on while Luca tries to calm you down. “It’s fine. Just tell them you were walking. Or got ice cream. Or—”

“I suck at lying!” you groan, heart pounding as you pace in a panic. “Oh my god. I’m gonna die.”

“You’re not gonna die,” he says, stepping close again. “I’ll walk you home.”

You turn toward him, cheeks flushed, hands still shaking. He cups your jaw gently and kisses you one more time—slow, grounding. You close your eyes and try to remember it, just in case this is the last peaceful moment you get for the night.

Minutes later, you’re standing in front of your house and you already see the kitchen light on. Matt’s standing at the window with his arms crossed. Nick is pacing behind him. Chris… is holding your phone in his hand.

“Ohhh my god.”

You wince and Luca gives your hand one last squeeze. “Hey,” he says softly. “For what it’s worth, I don’t regret any of it.”

“You better not,” you mutter, already climbing the porch steps.

Inside, the temperature shifts. So does the vibe.

Nick is the first to spot you. His eyes narrow. “Where the hell were you?”

“Walking,” you try, wincing immediately.

“Try again,” Chris deadpans, tossing your phone back to you.

“Don’t lie to us,” Matt adds, voice low but sharp. “You had your location on.”

You pause in the hallway. You could lie. You could make something up. But instead, you take a deep breath and let it out.

“I was at Luca’s.”

Dead silence.

Nick squints. “Luca… Romano?”

“The left wing?” Chris adds.

“Your teammate?” Matt asks last, voice rising.

You lift your chin. “Yes. That Luca.”

Nick’s mouth opens like he’s about to say something dramatic, but then shuts again. Matt looks genuinely stunned—like he’s just realized the earth is spinning in reverse. Chris rubs his temples.

“You’re seventeen,” Nick says finally, exasperated.

“I’m not twelve,” you fire back. “And it’s not like we were doing anything crazy.”

Chris gives you a look. “Define ‘not crazy.’”

You go quiet.

Matt throws his hands up. “Oh my god—you were making out.”

You groan and cover your face. “Okay, yes, we kissed. Like a normal human being. It’s not the end of the world.”

Nick shakes his head and mutters, “I’m gonna throw up.”

Chris looks like he’s holding in a laugh. “I just can’t believe Romano of all people—”

“He’s nice!” you defend. “He’s not like… gross or anything.”

“I know he’s not gross, I’ve passed him the puck like 200 times this season,” Matt mutters.

Nick narrows his eyes at you. “Did he pressure you into anything?”

Your face softens, a little touched. “No. God, no. Luca’s been… really sweet. He treats me like I matter. Like I’m not just your sister.”

The room falls quiet again. Chris sighs first, scratching the back of his neck.

“Look… we’re not mad,” he says eventually. “It’s just… weird. And we worry about you.”

Nick adds, “We see how guys talk about girls. Even the nice ones can suck sometimes.”

“And we’re literally teammates with the guy,” Matt finishes. “This is gonna mess with locker room dynamics.”

You shrug. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

They all look at you. You shift on your feet.

“…We haven’t told anyone.”

More silence.

Then Chris groans dramatically, walking toward the fridge. “I need a pepsi.”

Nick mutters, “What’s new?.”

Matt finally smiles. “Just… be careful, alright?”

You grin, tension finally leaving your body. “I will.”

Nick points at you before you leave the room. “And tell him if he breaks your heart, I will break his jaw.”

“Duly noted.”

You head back upstairs, your phone buzzing again in your hand.

Luca 🥶: Still alive?

You smile, flopping onto your bed.

You: Barely. But they didn’t kill me.

Luca 🥶: Can I see you tomorrow?

You: Try and stop me.

And in that moment, it doesn’t matter that the secret’s out. The fall air still smells like new beginnings. The rink is still yours. And maybe—just maybe—so is he.

⸻

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oddinary4bts · 2 days ago

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Be With You | ch 14

☆summary: who knew that the hot guy you've been paired with for a class project is also a kind soul? Certainly not you, and you feel yourself falling even though you know you shouldn't. Will it be your demise, or will it all work out in the end?

☆pairing: Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters contain mature content)

☆genre: slow burn strangers to lovers, college!au, smut, angst and fluff

☆warnings: cursing, minghao :(, alcohol, mentions of jungkook and anxiety

☆word count: 13.1k

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here

☆a/n: i love them in this one🥹 thank you to @moonleeai for your amazing work as my beta reader, I love you and am forever thankful for you <3

☆☆☆☆☆

Cold snowflakes Withered down Until you bloom As a spring flower I'll be with you

Be With You, Ateez (english translation)

☆☆☆☆☆

Friday, February 14th

The beginning of the semester has passed in a blur, and you can’t believe you’re sitting in front of your small, round mirror, applying your makeup for your Valentine’s Day date tonight.

You’re going on a date. You are going on a date. On a date!

You barely can believe it yourself. Yet here you are, getting ready, applying your makeup surgically, though you’re a little clumsy thanks to your nails. Indeed, you decided to get them done for the holiday, if only because you wanted to know what it’s like to have fake nails on.

Needless to say, you’ve been loving it, the sound your nails make whenever they click on the screen of your phone somehow addictive.

You finish with your eyeliner, and you lean in to closely look at yourself in the mirror, making sure it’s even. It is, so you pick up your lash curler, carefully curling your lashes. You add mascara to them next, making sure that your eyes are popping prettily, and then you move on to do your contour and highlights. That part of doing your makeup is quick, efficient, and you’re soon applying blush to your cheeks, blending the whole thing evenly before you finish with your makeup fixing spray.

Some lip tint later and you declare yourself ready for the date. The thought makes your heart race in your chest, and you wish you could go outside to talk to Yunho or Sydney, but they’re at Sydney’s place, most likely getting ready for their own date.

The rest of your single friends are all drinking at Wooyoung and Yeosang’s apartment tonight. Even Seonghwa and Hongjoong will be there, though that is only because they haven’t declared their feelings to each other yet.

If your hunch is right, that is. You think it has to be. Over the last few weeks, you’ve seen them on multiple occasions, and they’ve seemed even closer than they were that night you watched Squid Game with them, Sydney and your brother.

The only person you’ve told about that to is San, if only because you’d already mentioned it to him before Christmas break, when he’d walked you home from the bar.

The thought of San makes your heart flutter, and you swallow, your throat drying out. Much like it does whenever you think of him. Though you’ve been managing this friend thing a lot better than you were initially expecting, you’ve seen the way he looks at you whenever Minghao is mentioned around the two of you.

San doesn’t particularly like Minghao. At least you don’t believe he does, yet he’s never really said anything about it. So you try not to talk about Minghao in front of San too much - you’d never want to make San feel uncomfortable.

Or maybe you’re just imagining things. You don’t like thinking about it too much.

You’ve been going on dates with Minghao now. Tonight will be the fifth, yet all you’ve done with him so far is kiss him, and it didn’t even happen on all of your dates. It’s like there’s a slight discomfort with him, something not quite connecting, and you’ve been hoping that you just need time to get there with him.

After all, things ended sort of recently with San, and you probably still need time to move on. Minghao has been understanding, though he’s wary that San is part of your friend group. You’ve tried to convince him that he has nothing to worry about, but you’re not sure who you were trying to convince most of it: him, or you?

You take a deep breath to ease your nerves. Thinking about all of this is not doing you any good, so you instead check the time. It’s half past six, and Minghao will be picking you up around seven. You have thirty minutes to kill, and you end up doing so by watching some reality TV show you’ve started two weeks ago. You can’t really concentrate though - you keep fidgeting, your eyes darting to your phone every minute.

The second your phone lights up with a notification, you pick it up. Your heart slightly strains in your chest when you see that it’s a message from San, and you open it, you ache as you read it.

[6:43 pm] San: have a nice date tonight!

He’s never wished you that before. You wonder if it’s a good sign, yet it doesn’t really feel like it. Not when you get flashbacks of nights you spent with San, of his lips on yours and his body moving with yours. It happens regularly, yet you weren’t expecting it right now. Not when you’re about to go on a date with someone else.

[6:44 pm] You: thanks! have fun with everyone

[6:44 pm] San: i’ll try

You don’t blink as you read the words. You see the underlying meaning right away, and, for a second, you wonder if it’d be okay for you to cancel on Minghao. You feel horrible for even considering it just a heartbeat later, so you only turn off your phone, focusing on the television again.

San sounds… upset. And you reckon, he totally might be.

What the fuck are you doing?

You worry at your bottom lip, anxiety flashing through you, and you take a few steadying breaths, hoping that it will pass quickly. You don’t want to be a mess once Minghao gets here, and you’re definitely starting to be one.

You shoot up from the couch, jogging to the kitchen. You pour yourself a glass of ice cold water, chugging it as fast as you can despite the brain freeze that it causes you. It does help with the anxiety though - it’s a trick you’ve found with your therapist back when you were trying to get over Jungkook, and she’s reminded you of it during your last appointment.

It helps. The water helps, and you breathe a little easier once you’ve put the glass away. You make your way back to the living room, plopping down on the couch with a long sigh. And that’s where you still are when Minghao texts you that he’s there, ten minutes later.

Your anxiety spikes for a few seconds, thoughts of San lingering at the back of your head while you put your coat and shoes on before making your way downstairs. Minghao managed to park right outside your door, and he’s leaning against his car, holding a bouquet of roses.

He smiles when he notices you, pushing off his car. You mirror the smile, your eyes moving to the flowers, and you let out a nervous laugh.

“You didn’t need to buy me flowers.”

Minghao chuckles. “It’s Valentine’s Day, what do you mean?”

You stop in front of him, hugging him before grabbing the flowers. They look beautiful, and you take a moment to inhale their sweet fragrance.

“Thank you,” you whisper then, looking up to meet his gaze.

You don’t miss the way his eyes drop to your lips, and he leans in, pressing a chaste peck on your mouth. You don’t really reciprocate, not really having time to, and he doesn’t seem to realize. Indeed, he straightens, opening the door behind him.

You get in the car, watching him as he makes his way to the driver’s side. Soon, he’s sitting next to you, the car’s engine revving to life, the purr of the expensive car so unlike that of San’s car.

Indeed, Minghao owns a Porsche here despite only being here for his studies. His dad bought it for him, and you don’t blame him for not refusing the gift.

It’s a really nice car after all.

“How was your day?” Minghao asks as he’s driving down the street.

He glances at you, the light from a car passing by sliding on his features.

“It was nice!” you reply. “Class was not too bad for once.”

He smiles, resuming his attention on the road. “That’s good. The professor was not too much of an asshole?”

Indeed, your Friday morning class’ professor has been a dick since the very first week, barely giving you time for a break in the middle of class and screaming at anyone who dares touch their phone. But he seemed like he was having a good day today, and his usual aggressive demeanour didn’t come out, which was a relief.

You were texting with Sydney all class as she was bored in her own class after all.

“Nah, he was chill,” you reveal. “I assume he’s going to have a good time with his wife and he was excited for that.” You scowl as you finish your sentence, disgust swirling through you. “Ew, I can’t believe I said that.”

Minghao bursts out laughing. “I mean…” he trails off, and he glances at you with a corner smile. “It’s Valentine’s Day after all.”

You chuckle, and then you ask him about his own day. He’s lucky - he doesn’t have classes on Fridays, but his father has been making him intern at the branch of his company here, so Minghao tells you that he had to go in to help on some project, but that it went well.

“Do you see yourself working for your father in the future?” you ask him.

Minghao shrugs. “Yeah, I mean… I feel like it’s kind of a given that I will.”

You glance at him, studying his profile for a few seconds as he doesn’t sound too enthused about the idea.

“Is that what you want to do?” you ask him.

His Adam’s apple bobs on his throat as he swallows, and then he says, “Well… now that I’ve met you, I’m not sure if I want to go back to China, you know?”

For a few long seconds, you just sit there, looking at his profile as your gaze widens. You wonder, did you give him any indication that you were there yet with him?

Have you gotten to this point in the relationship without even realizing it? The thought is scary. Because you still don’t know if you want to commit to him, still don’t know where you see yourself in a month.

You’ve been taking it day by day when it comes to your relationship with him, but now you realize that you might have been the only one doing so.

Shit.

“Oh,” you let out. “I don’t want to stop you from pursuing your career, though.”

He shoots you a quick look. “I can always find work at the branch here. My dad wants me back in China, but I could manage something.”

“But you graduate in just a few months,” you point out.

Indeed, he’s the same age as your brother, who’s also going to be graduating at the end of the semester.

“Yeah?”

You worry at your bottom lip, looking at the street in front of you as you try to figure out what to say. “Didn’t you say you were going back to China after?”

There’s an awkward silence, only interrupted by a honk outside of the car - the car in front of you is honking at a delivery driver who parked in the middle of the street, which explains why you’ve been at a standstill for a few moments.

“Do you want me to go back?” he asks.

Your lips part on a word that doesn’t cross the boundaries of your mouth, and you close them again to swallow around it. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.” You search for the right words to speak, highly aware that he’s staring at you now. “I’m just surprised that you would change your life plans for me like this.”

“I mean…” he trails off, and then the car starts moving again. He doesn't say anything for a moment, turning left at the next intersection. “Isn’t that kind of… what we’ve been doing though?”

“Well, yeah,” you quickly reply. “Just, I didn’t think we were there yet.”

You think you hear him gulp. “Do you want us to be there?”

You hate this. You hate the loaded question, because just half an hour ago you were thinking about San and the way San makes you feel. Yet here you are, sitting next to someone that really isn’t San, someone that you now realize has likely been falling for you this whole time.

“Honestly, I’ve just been going with the flow,” you reply carefully. “You know I don’t really do relationships.”

He nods, and heavy silence settles on the car for a moment. You feel like you’ve ruined everything, and the flower bouquet in your hands seems like a dead weight now.

“That’s okay,” he eventually says. “I’m okay with that. But I do like you though, and it’d suck to go to China and not see you anymore.”

Something lifts in the atmosphere. You don’t know exactly what, but you’re able to meet Minghao’s gaze, a smile curving your mouth upwards. “Am I that great?”

He rolls his eyes, chuckling, but he forgoes an answer, instead focusing on parking his car in the parking lot on the side of the road. You both get out, and he goes to pay while you leave the flowers in the car. Two guys walk past, their gazes going round at the sight of Minghao’s car, and you politely nod to them.

Minghao is back a minute later, and he offers you his arm before guiding you to the restaurant he reserved for the occasion. And you feel bad. You feel bad the second you walk in, because the restaurant looks obviously very expensive, and you just know it’s out of your price range.

It’s confirmed when you’re sitting at the table, menu in hand, your eyes almost bulging out of your head at the prices next to the different - and very few - meals.

“Oh God, Hao,” you let out. You scan the room - the ambiance is lovely, rich wood panels decorating the walls and round tables placed at regular intervals around the floor - to make sure that no one is paying attention, and then you add, “I cannot afford this.”

“Good thing I’ve got you, mmh?” he says, meeting your gaze over the menu. He winks at you, and you worry at your bottom lip. “I’m serious,” he continues. “I’ll pay for you, please don’t worry about this.”

“But how am I supposed to repay you?”

He smiles softly, tilting his head to the side as he lowers the menu. “You really don’t have to. Just your company is plenty enough.”

You blush at that, and then you nod, looking at the menu. “Alright then. Let me order the most expensive thing here.”

It turns out to be beef Wellington and, never having eaten it before, you do end up ordering that, though Minghao starts by ordering a glass of wine for himself. You tell the waiter you’ll be okay with just water, and he ends up pouring you a glass of lemon water, with a hint of a strawberry taste to it that increases the fancy ambiance surrounding you.

The music contributes to it too. It’s jazz music, the kind of music you’ve always imagined rich people to enjoy, so you’re not surprised that it’s playing at a restaurant like this. You like it too - sometimes, you listen to jazz music without any lyrics when you’re studying. It helps you focus, and perhaps it makes you dream too.

But mostly, it helps you push through hours of excruciating studying, and allows you to get the results that you want and expect from yourself.

The conversation with Minghao is easy once the waiter leaves after bringing Minghao his glass of wine. You talk about college - Minghao is studying business - and it leads to you explaining what you think you’ll do when you’ll pass the bar in a couple of years. It still seems far down the line, but you already know you want to help victims of various crimes get the justice they deserve.

“I admire you for that,” Minghao says once you finish explaining the kind of things your dad does for work, and how you want to follow in his footsteps.

You blush. “You do?”

“Yeah,” he says with a nod. “I think it’s admirable to want to defend those that have suffered. A lot of lawyers would rather defend the defendant only because the pay is better.”

“Oh, that’s for sure,” you agree. “But I really am not into it for the money.”

“Another thing I admire you for.” He smiles softly before taking a sip of his white wine. “Most people usually are just in it for the money.”

That you definitely are aware of. Though it makes sense - you live in a capitalistic world after all.

“What about you?” you ask. “Are you in it for the money?”

You realize the question might be more loaded than you meant it to be once you hear it aloud, but Minghao shrugs his shoulders, like he doesn’t really mind it.

“Honestly?” He pauses, chuckling. “Yeah, a little bit. I think I would have pursued some art if it wasn’t for the company.”

That surprises you, as he’s never mentioned any interest in art before. “What!” you let out. “What art do you like?”

He blushes lightly, and he hides his gaze in the content of his glass so he doesn’t have to look you in the eye anymore. “I like singing,” he admits. “Producing too, but mostly singing.”

“You will totally have to sing for me one day,” you say, a smirk growing on your lips.

“I’m not a trained singer, your ears deserve better than that.”

You wave him off. “I still want to hear.” You both laugh, and then you say, “Wait, you’re a good dancer too. You could have totally been some K-pop idol or something.”

“As if my parents would have ever let me do that,” he says with a wince. “But yeah, I don’t know about K-pop, but I feel like something like that would have been fun.”

“I bet,” you agree.

Before you can speak more, the waiter comes back to refill your glass of water, and then informs you that the entrée - pumpkin soup - is on its way. It shifts the conversation to the different foods you like, and then time passes in a flash as you eat and talk.

It’s fun. Hanging out with Minghao is always fun, but you know something is different tonight. Perhaps because it’s Valentine’s Day, or because it’s your fifth date. But by the time you’re walking back to the car, hand in hand, you know something is different.

Minghao is acting jittery. A little bit like he’d been when you’d seen him at that party at the beginning of the semester. Like he’s shy, searching for his words, and you wonder where his bubbly self from inside of the restaurant disappeared.

“Everything okay?” you ask as you reach the car, and he opens the door for you.

“Yeah,” he says with a nod. “Yes, of course.”

Your brow creases, but he’s closing the door behind you before you can say anything. You still don’t know what to say once he’s sitting next to you, so you remain silent while he starts driving you home.

But your thoughts aren’t silent. Your thoughts start running around, searching for an explanation for the sudden shyness Minghao seems to be enshrouded with. Is it something you said?

Is it the conversation you had in the car before the restaurant?

It’s hard to tell, and it’s not like you want to ask. You’re afraid of what he’ll say, afraid he’ll ask to stay over tonight. You don’t know why. But suddenly, all you can think about is that he’ll likely want that, considering it’s Valentine’s Day, and your heart feels constricted in your chest.

“So,” Minghao lets out as he parks not too far from your apartment, unable to park out front this time around. “Thank you for the restaurant tonight.”

“Thank you,” you reply. “You paid for everything.”

He waves you off, like paying for you was nothing after all. Which, you don’t even know. He didn’t even let you check the bill, but he reassured you that his meal and drink were much more expensive, and that you had nothing to worry about.

It didn’t really help, considering you ordered something that was expensive, but he was the one that insisted on paying, wasn’t he?

“That was nothing,” he says. “Just wanted to treat you for Valentine’s Day.”

You look at the flowers in your lap. “These weren’t enough?”

“For you?” He shakes his head. “No, not nearly enough. As a matter of fact…” he trails off, his voice sounding strange, like he’s suddenly embarrassed. “There’s something in the glovebox for you.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Huh?”

He motions towards the glovebox, ending up opening it. You spy a red box in it, which he takes out, handing it to you.

You grab it, your eyes going wide at the sight of the paper on it.

“Minghao…” you whisper, reading the sentence over and over again.

Do you want to be my girlfriend?

“I know you said you don’t really date people,” he starts. “But I really like you, Y/n. I don’t want us to just be casual, and I promise I’ll treat you right.”

In the moment, all you can think about is that he doesn’t know about Jungkook. Doesn’t know where your reticence about being in a relationship comes from. Hell, he doesn’t know that your heart still longs for Choi San whenever you’re in the same room as him. Doesn’t know that you look for San everywhere you go, and that your dreams of him leave you to wake up with a smile on your lips.

You feel stupid. You feel stupid and guilty and everything in between, as you just sit there, looking at Minghao whose eyes are filled with so much hope your heart breaks for him.

“And… and if you need more time, that’s okay too…” He wets his lips, and he looks down at the box you’re holding. “I just… I don’t want to be led on, and it’s been a little while already and… and yeah, I like you, Y/n. I even think I could love you someday.”

You want to disappear. To be wiped off from the surface of this planet, to go with the wind like a whisper of smoke. But you remain seated in Minghao’s Porsche, right in front of him, and his awaiting gaze doesn’t budge from yours.

Could you love him one day? You know the answer. It’s blaring in your head right now like the shrill cry of an alarm, and you feel horrible. Oh so horrible.

“Hao… I wasn’t expecting this.”

The hope in his eyes slowly withers and dies, much like a flower when the autumnal cold hits it head on. He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and his gaze drops to the box.

“I…” His mouth closes and opens a few times, and then he curses - or at least you think the Mandarin word he said was a curse, though you’re not entirely sure. “It’s because of your friend, right?”

Your gaze widens. “My friend?”

“The one you were sleeping with last semester.”

And though it’s not entirely because of San, you know part of it is because your feelings for him haven’t left you yet. They still cling to your heart, still have their home in its beating depth, and you don’t know what to tell Minghao. So you say nothing, and pain flares in his gaze.

“Are you still sleeping with him?”

“No, I’m not,” you reply. “It’s not like that between us anymore.”

Minghao’s hand clenches in a fist, and red flags start waving in your head. Though he relaxes his fist almost immediately - he’s not Jungkook.

He’ll never be Jungkook.

“But you like him, right?” he asks. “I… I see the way you two look at each other.”

“Minghao, I do want to give us a chance,” you tell him, motioning between the two of you. “But I said I need to take things slow.”

“I get it,” he says, sighing deeply. “I get that.” He adds your name, and then says, “But you barely even want to kiss me. We’ve been seeing each other for almost a month and we haven’t even gotten close to being physical. Which is fine, I’m not saying it isn’t.” He shuts his eyes, leaning his head against his seat. “But it does make me feel like you’re not attracted to me.”

“Am I not?” you ask yourself.

Minghao is objectively an attractive guy. His hair looks nice, the length framing his features well, and it’s currently dyed a shade of blonde that emphasizes the honey tone of his skin. His eyes are dark, though they often shine from within whenever he smiles. And he does have a beautiful smile, one that makes his whole face light up.

But… but he’s thinner than San. His hair is so different from San’s. His smile, too, as is the shape of his eyes. Though the shade might be similar… Minghao will never compare to San.

And you fucking hate that he doesn’t.

“You are attractive, Hao,” you reassure him. “I guess…” Your gaze drops to the paper on the box, to Minghao’s nice calligraphy and to the small smiley face he put next to the question. “I guess I just am not there yet. And I don’t want to lead you on.”

“Why do you think you would lead me on?” he asks, his voice small and defeated.

He too has understood where this conversation is headed to.

“Because… because I’m just not ready at all for a relationship,” you admit. “It’s not you. I just… I guess I don’t see myself dating anyone at the moment.”

“So what have these last weeks been?”

He sounds bitter, more than you’ve ever wished to hear him be, but you understand. You’d be bitter too if you’d invested time in someone and they chose to end things with you instead of pursuing a relationship. You were, when San ghosted and left you hanging for weeks.

Yet today… today you barely even think about those weeks without San in your life. Perhaps because the thought of them still hurts to a certain extent, and revisiting the past doesn’t help. But also because it would make this friendship between you and him harder, and you think it’s already hard enough.

“I appreciate your company,” you carefully answer.

He scoffs. “That does not really sound like a compliment.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, almost by reflex. Because you don’t want to hurt him, yet you can tell by the look on his face that he’s hurting right now.

“Ah, it’s fine,” he says. “You know Seher? Mingyu’s girlfriend? She said that this would happen.”

You remember the pretty girl in a hijab you’ve seen around Mingyu a couple of times. You’ve never talked to her, not even once, but she’d always seemed like a nice person.

“She said that she and Mingyu started dating after three dates, and that anything more than that was a sign that it likely wouldn’t work.”

You don’t necessarily agree with the statement, but you understand where she’s coming from.

“Personally, I need a lot more than that,” you tell him. “I really don’t date, Hao. It’s something hard for me.”

“Why?”

The question is too loaded for an answer here tonight, so you shrug your shoulders. “I guess I just prefer focusing on myself and on my education.”

Minghao holds your gaze for a few seconds before looking away. He sighs deeply again, running his hand through his hair.

“I can’t even be mad at you for that, but I understand,” he says, catching you by surprise.

“You… understand?”

He nods. “Yeah. Honestly, this makes… everything easier.”

“It does?” He only nods once more, not saying anything. “How so?”

“Well now I can confirm to my dad that I’ll be going back to China. He, but mostly my mother, will be relieved.” He offers you a weak smile. “She wants me to meet this girl, and I really don’t feel like it.”

The confession makes you arch a brow. “What?”

“Yeah. There’s this rich family back in China? They have a girl around my age, and my parents have always wanted me to meet her.”

“You… never told me this.”

He laughs though it lacks joy, slightly shaking his head. “I was trying to date you. I would not have told you about that then. It usually scares people away.”

Understandably so, because… how can his parents like any of his girlfriends if they aren’t that girl they want him to meet?

“Yikes,” you let out.

He shrugs. “It’s okay,” he says softly. “I guess I’ll give it a try.”

“You don’t have to, you know?” you reply equally as soft. “You should be able to decide who you want to be with.”

“I know.” He meets your gaze again. “Don’t worry about that, I know. The girl seems nice, so… I am willing to give it a chance. And my mom is the sweetest. She’s not trying to be controlling or anything.”

You’re relieved to hear that, and so you offer him a small smile. “That’s good.”

He nods once, and then he looks ahead. “Well, in that case…” he trails off, and heaviness hangs from his words. “I guess this is it?”

You gulp, worrying at your bottom lip. “I guess so.”

He purses his lips. “Alright. I’m sorry this happened on Valentine’s Day.”

“Don’t be,” you gently say. “Please don’t be sorry.”

He offers you a poor excuse of a smile, but you know he’s just trying, so you don’t say anything about it. “Then I won’t be.”

You nod, and you glance at the box in your hand. It’s a box of chocolate, and you can tell it likely wasn’t a cheap one either. “Keep the chocolate,” you tell him, offering him the box.

“Why?” he asks. “It’s a gift.”

“Then take some of the chocolate now,” you suggest. “That way you can enjoy it too.”

He chuckles, and then he says, “Alright then.” He grabs the box, opening it, and he picks a small heart shaped chocolate that he pops in his mouth. He chews for a few seconds before swallowing. “Happy?”

The word is teasing, more than you expected him to be right now.

“Yes.” You smile, and then your hand moves to the handle of the door next to you. “Thank you for everything,” you tell him.

The ghost of a smile curves his lips, but you’re not quite sure it meets his eyes. “Thank you for everything. You’re really fun to be around.”

“I know,” you tease, and you wink at him.

He laughs, and this time it rings a little truer. “Have a good evening, Y/n.”

There’s dismissal in his tone, so you don’t linger in his car, opening the door and stepping out. “Drive safe,” you tell him, and he nods, offering you a thumbs-up. You close the door then, and you move to the sidewalk, waving him goodbye as he pulls out into the street.

And then you stand on the sidewalk for a few confused seconds, holding the gifts Xu Minghao gave you. You look at the empty spot his car was in just a moment ago, a thought occurring to you.

You sprint inside, barely stopping to drop the gifts in your room before you’re running outside again.

There’s someone you need to talk to tonight.

*****

It’s cold. It’s all you can think of as you stand outside Wooyoung and Yeosang’s building, your heart beating out of your chest. Perhaps because you almost ran all the way here, or perhaps because you’re anxious to see your friends.

To see him.

But tonight, you won’t let the anxiety stop you. No, you shove it away from you, and then you find your phone in your pocket, opening it and pressing call as soon as San’s contact appears.

You put the phone against your ear, looking at the door. You’ve tried it before, but it’s locked and you can’t for the life of you remember which apartment is your friends’. So you listen to the ringing on the phone, teeth worrying at your bottom lip, and your heart sinks when it goes to voicemail.

So you try Wooyoung’s phone number instead but, as soon as it starts ringing, you receive another call, this one from the person you want to be talking to. So you hang up on Wooyoung, accepting San’s call, and you press your phone to your ear.

“Hey,” you let out as the line connects.

“Are you okay?” San asks, and the worry in his voice is barely concealed.

“Yes, yes,” you reassure him. “It’s just freezing cold, and I can’t remember what number Wooyoung’s place is.”

“Huh?”

You laugh, and you feel like you might be floating. “I’m downstairs,” you reveal.

“You… what?” You can tell he’s walking away from the noise on his side of the line. “What about your date?”

“Ah.” You shrug, even though he can’t see you. “I figured that it isn’t really what I want.”

There’s a world of unsaid words hanging heavily at the end of the sentence. But you think San understands - after all, you’ve always understood each other.

“I’m on my way down,” he says after a few seconds. “The intercom doesn’t work anymore.”

You glance at the dark screen next to the door, nodding your head. “Okay. I’m right outside.”

He doesn’t hang up as he comes down, almost as if he doesn’t quite believe you’re really out there. But then he appears on the other side of the glass door, coming down the short staircase leading from the door to the ground floor, and his gaze widens.

He stops at the top of the stairs, his arm dropping at his side, and then he smiles softly, rushing down the stairs.

“You’re really here,” he says as he opens the door.

You walk in, looking up into his eyes.

And just like that, you know you’re right where you were meant to be tonight.

“Yeah, I am.”

His gaze darts between your two eyes. “Why?”

“I wanted to see everyone,” you answer with a small voice. “But I… I wanted to see you, too.”

He gulps, slightly nodding his head, and then he glances to the stairs. “Should we go up?”

He has goosebumps on his arms so, refusing to have him stay in the cold here, you grab his hand, pulling him behind you as you climb up. He follows you gingerly, his fingers tightening around yours almost imperceptibly. He leads the way once you’re inside the building proper, his hand not leaving yours.

You wouldn’t let it. Not anymore.

Turns out that Wooyoung and Yeosang live on the second floor, behind door six. San leads you in, and he meets your gaze, his cheeks a light shade of pink. And then he looks at your entwined hands, raising them in the space between you.

“Does this…” he trails off, gulping, and then he lets out a vulnerable laugh. “What’s going on?”

“I just wanted to-”

“Y/n!” Wooyoung yells, interrupting your sentence, and you let go of San’s hand as if you were caught doing something you shouldn’t be. “What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t work out with my date,” you say, meeting Wooyoung’s gaze as he wraps an arm around San’s shoulders, while San’s hand is still up in the space between the two of you. “So I came here instead.”

Wooyoung’s eyes trail to San’s profile, while the latter just stares at his hand. “RIP that guy.”

You wince. “At least I didn’t lead him on for too long.”

“How long was it? Like three weeks?” Wooyoung asks.

San’s hand falls, and he looks at you, his lips slightly curved upwards at the corners.

“Like four,” you reply. “It doesn’t really matter.”

Wooyoung smirks, and then rubs his hands together. “So does that mean you’re here to party with us?”

“Actually, yeah.” You smile mischievously. “Let’s do it.”

You take off your coat, dropping it on top of the pile that’s already on the small bench by the door. You take off your boots next, and then you follow behind San and Wooyoung, making your way to the living room where Seonghwa, Hongjoong and Yeosang are in the middle of playing a game of Smash on the television. Yeosang waves at you, and then he curses loudly as his character gets thrown out of the screen. The three guys are sitting on the floor, their backs against one of the couches, and you sit down on the other one, looking at the screen.

“What brings you here?” Hongjoong asks. He throws you a quick glance, but he’s quick to focus on the television again.

Your eyes trail to San, who’s just standing awkwardly next to the couch, his hands in the pockets of his grey sweatpants.

“Just wanted to chill with you guys,” you reply simply. “Wooyoung said it was a party, but Smash? Y’all are so lame.”

“How dare you!” Wooyoung bursts out as he sits next to you. “I bet you’re only saying that because you suck.”

You narrow your eyes at him, daggers shooting from your gaze. “Let’s 1v1, then. Pretty sure I can beat your ass.”

He smirks. “Game on.”

And that’s how you end up with a Switch controller in hand when the guys finish their game, pressing every button as you hope to land a hit. Wooyoung is a laughing mess next to you, clearly aware that you have no clue what you’re doing. San eventually decides to sit next to you, though he’s higher than you, as he had no choice but to sit on the armrest. You’re far too locked in to make room for him, but his proximity encourages you.

Or perhaps his proximity only makes your fight with Wooyoung all the more vicious, and you’re both screaming and shrieking far too loud for this apartment. Yeosang only tells Wooyoung to shut up, and you stick out your tongue at him.

“You really fucking suck,” he teases. “Don’t be a brat.”

“Nah, I’ll win this, just look at me.”

San chuckles next to you. “You know you can block his attacks, right?”

“I don’t even know how!”

He slides off the armrest, and now his thigh and the side of his body are pressing against yours, so much so that you entirely forget everything that you are currently supposed to be doing.

“Give me this,” San says, and you hand him the controller. “Let me show you how to play.”

You shift, giving him as much room as you can, though you remain close enough for your thighs to be touching, and for his arm to press against yours as he starts beating the shit out of Wooyoung. Unfortunately, you were already almost dead, and Wooyoung manages to win, celebrating by jumping up and down in front of you like the little kid he is.

Yet, even though there’s now the rest of the couch free for you to move away from San and to find that safe distance you’ve been sticking to since the beginning of the semester, you don’t move, staying right against him.

“Love how you don’t even know how to play yet you claimed you could beat me,” Wooyoung says sassily, his fists on his hips.

“San can beat you,” you declare.

Wooyoung winces, and you both burst out laughing. “Yeah, he definitely can.”

You end up watching the guys play a few more games, all of which San ends up winning, though Hongjoong is a close second. You notice Hongjoong and Yeosang throwing not so subtle looks your way as you remain cuddled up in San’s side, but you entirely ignore it, focusing on the TV and the TV only.

And perhaps on the man next to you, too.

“Fuck that,” Wooyoung curses when he dies first for what seems like the hundredth time. “Let’s just drink, this is getting boring.”

Though you can tell it’s because he’s getting upset about constantly losing, no one mentions it, agreeing to stop playing. Instead, Yeosang puts a chill beats playlist on the TV that he finds on Youtube, and then you all gather in a circle around the coffee table, with drinks that Wooyoung got from the kitchen. San is on your right, Hongjoong on your left, yet once again you just sit as close to San as you possibly can.

He’s been silent tonight. Barely even looking your way, though whenever he does you catch him looking. He blushes every time, and something melts in your chest each time, something you’d initially wanted gone after what happened last semester.

But not anymore and shit, it’s the most relieving feeling you’ve ever felt in your entire life.

“Let’s play Titanic!” Wooyoung suggests, and he grabs a spiked lemonade, pouring it into a glass. He then grabs an empty plastic shot glass, which he puts in the lemonade. The glass floats for now, but you know it won’t last long.

Especially not when Seonghwa, who’s the first to play, almost fills it to its half.

“You could have been a little nicer,” Hongjoong complains next to you.

Seonghwa shrugs, winking at him, and Hongjoong rolls his eyes, pink dusting his cheeks. He then pours what seems like a single drop of the tequila in the shot glass, and it wavers a tiny bit before stabilizing itself.

Hongjoong hands you the tequila bottle, and you slightly wince at the smell that hits your nose. “You guys really want to drink this?” you ask. “It smells foul.”

“You said you were ready to party,” Wooyoung lets out. “What’s a party without tequila?”

You fight the urge to remind him that you don’t drink, instead focusing on pouring tequila in the shot glass. It moves around in the lemonade, dipping lower in the liquid, but it doesn’t sink yet.

“Good luck,” you tell San as you hand him the tequila bottle.

“I feel like I’ll need it,” he jokes, and the second his fingers brush against yours, electricity shoots up your arm.

And despite your good luck wishes, the shot glass sinks the second San pours some tequila in it, causing San to curse loudly. You all laugh as the guys start chanting for him to chug the glass, which he does after throwing a quick look your way.

His throat moves as he swallows - you don’t know how, but the sight is attractive enough that it makes you look away, as if you’re ashamed of where your thoughts travelled as you looked at him.

“That tastes surprisingly good,” San says once he’s done drinking. “Tequila and lemonade work better together than I thought.”

“Not too much of a punishment then,” Wooyoung says with a pout. “I’ll grab beer instead.”

“Hey, nah, we’re keeping the lemonade,” Yeosang refusing as he grabs the open can, pouring some in the glass from which San already drank. “You’re not making me drink that piss poor excuse of a beer we have in the fridge.”

Yeosang’s words make you all laugh, though Wooyoung glares at him. “You said you liked it the other day.”

“I lied,” Yeosang says with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Motherfu-” Wooyoung’s words get lost in the way he throws himself at Yeosang, wrestling him like you’ve seen San and Wooyoung do before. Though this time, Wooyoung is in control, and he messes up Yeosang’s hair before pushing him away. “You deserved that.”

Despite his hair standing in all directions now, Yeosang looks pretty as ever. He just laughs, running a hand through his hair, and then he grabs the shot glass, putting it back into the lemonade.

“Let’s keep playing.”

You do a few more rounds like this, and you manage not to make the shot glass sink even once. San has to drink another time, but Hongjoong unfortunately ends up having to drink a couple of times, so much so that he begs to stop playing, if only so that he doesn’t get too plastered tonight. You all agree despite Wooyoung’s complaining, and then you move to the kitchen along with San, looking for more drinks.

“I’m really surprised you came tonight,” he admits as he digs in the fridge, pulling out the half empty box of spiked lemonade.

You shrug, though your cheeks burn. “I really just wanted to see you.”

He smiles. He smiles and it’s soft and it makes his eyes shine in a way you haven’t seen them shine in a while. “Me too. I’m sorry the date didn’t go well, though.”

“Oh, it’s not that.” You worry at your bottom lip, eyes never straying from his. “I just realized he wasn’t what I wanted.”

You’re aware that San could reject you. That he could tell you he doesn’t want you in his life like that anymore, yet his smile only widens, bringing out those dimples on his cheeks that you’ve come to love so much.

“That’s… good,” he says, and then he looks confused. “I mean, that you figured out what you want.”

Your heart starts racing as you nod. “I know.”

“Do you think-”

“What’s taking you guys so long?” Wooyoung asks as he strolls into the kitchen like he owns the place, which you reckon he sort of does considering he lives here. “We’re dry out there.”

“Sorry,” you say, cheeks flaming.

Wooyoung eyes you, his gaze then sliding towards San. Yours is downcast, as if you’re a child who just got caught doing something they shouldn’t do, but you’re pretty sure that San is glaring at Wooyoung.

“Whoops,” Wooyoung lets out, though he does not sound apologetic at all. Indeed, his tone is teasing, much like the smirk on his lips is, and you kind of want to push him out the window. “I’ll let you guys talk, but I’m grabbing this.” He motions at the box, and San gives it to him.

“Wait,” you say as Wooyoung starts retreating out of the kitchen.

His eyes widen. “What?”

“I’ll take one of these,” you tell him, and you dive into the box, pulling out a can. “Now, leave.”

“This is my apartment,” Wooyoung whines.

“Wooyoung.” San’s voice is stern, and Wooyoung just laughs, winking at San before finally leaving the kitchen.

“Gosh, he can be so annoying sometimes,” you mumble, and San chuckles, nodding his head in agreement.

“He definitely can,” he says. “You get used to it eventually.”

You want to say you doubt it, considering you’ve already been friends with Wooyoung for a couple of months now, but you keep it to yourself, knowing San’s sentence didn’t really need a reply.

“Why the drink?” San asks as a short silence stretches between the two of you.

You purse your lips. “You said you wanted us to drink together?” you say like a question. “Last semester.”

“Oh, we really don’t have to,” he reassures you.

“No.” You shake your head, and then you offer him a small smile. “I kind of really want to share a drink with you right now.”

His cheeks flush a hundred different shades of red, and then he nods, mirroring your smile. “Alright then, let me grab glasses.”

He does so, and you sit at the kitchen table as you wait for him to join you, the conversations from the living room forming a lively melody. San is quick to sit next to you, and you hand him the can so that he can pour it in the glasses.

He does his best at pouring it equally, and then he gives you your glass with a small, “Ta-dah!”

You chuckle, grabbing the glass, and butterflies swarm your chest as your fingers brush his. “Thank you.”

He just smiles, and then he clinks his glass with yours. “I hope you like it.”

You look at the liquid, watching the way small bubbles fizzle in it. “I love lemonade, so pretty sure it’ll be fine.”

“Hopefully.” San’s lips are stretched in a tiny hint of a smirk, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and then you clink your glasses again, bringing yours to your lips.

The first sip burns. Not because of the alcohol, but because the drink is more bubbly than you expected it to be, taking you by surprise. It tickles in your nose, yet you swallow easily, and the taste seems somehow sweeter than regular lemonade, which wouldn’t be a surprise if it was.

But it’s good. That much is obvious, and you raise your eyebrows as you meet San’s expectant gaze. “Oh, this is good!”

He laughs, almost like he’s relieved, and he nods his head. “It really is,” he agrees. “But it’s a little dangerous, you know?”

“Why?” you ask as you take another sip, a bigger one this time.

“Because it doesn’t taste like alcohol,” he answers. “It’s treacherous.”

That makes a whole lot of sense, especially as you already go for a third sip. “Right.”

“See, that’s what I mean,” he says as he too takes a drink. “You’re drinking too fast.”

You put down your glass, slightly pushing it away from you as you chuckle. “You’re right, I need to chill.”

San just looks at you with familiar warmth in his eyes, and you wonder if it’s alcohol already heating up your chest, or if it’s just that look on his face.

“What did you do today?” you ask, feeling stupid as you know you had a class together.

San seems to understand that you mean after that, because he says, “I went to the gym, and then went home to take a quick shower before coming here.”

You nod, feeling somehow awkward as you enquire, “What did you hit at the gym?”

“Back and shoulders,” he replies, and he makes a show of flexing his biceps, his shoulder muscles popping out despite the loose t-shirt he’s wearing.

Though it isn’t quite loose. It’s indeed tight around his chest, and you avert your gaze, refusing to be salivating over him so soon into… whatever this is.

“You know what?” he says before you say anything else. “You should come with me to the gym.”

And though it sounds like a lot of effort, you reply, “I’d love to. Only if you let me watch you squat.”

His gaze widens, and then he bursts out laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. It’s adorable, oh too adorable and fuck, you’re so happy you came here tonight.

“Deal,” he says, offering you his hand to shake, which you do with a grin on your lips.

He doesn’t let your hand go, and you don’t try to move away from him, not even when he puts your entwined fingers down on the table, his thumb drawing gentle lines on the back of your hand.

“You know…” he lets out, and his cheeks darken. He falls silent, and you cock an eyebrow. He slightly shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“Hey, that’s unfair!” you say, and you make to let go of his hand. He doesn’t allow it, and your heart beats wildly your chest. “Just say it,” you say with a slight pout of your lips.

“You’d laugh at me.” He chuckles, sounding embarrassed. “It really isn’t important.”

“Now I want to know even more.” You take a sip of lemonade, tilting your head to the side. “What secret are you hiding from me, Choi San?”

The pink tint on his face that was left from when his cheeks darkened earlier slowly becomes red, and he shrugs. “Nothing. I just…” He meets your gaze, lips curved upwards. “I’m really happy I get to spend some time with you tonight.”

You melt. You melt like snow in the spring sun, and you want to kiss him. You almost do, but you resist at the last second, not wanting to move too fast.

No, despite figuring out that you do want him still, he did break your heart last semester. You don’t want to rush into something new, not when the raw pain is still too recent.

“I’m much better company than those idiots in the living room,” you tease and, as if to give emphasis to your words, someone screams in the living room.

It seems like Seonghwa, and you snort at the sound, surprised that he’d scream like that as he’s usually more of the reserved kind.

“Oh,” San let out, and his fingers momentarily tighten around yours. “I just remembered something.”

You meet his gaze. “You’re going to tell me what this is, right? You’re not going to try and go all mysterious.”

“No, no,” he reassures you, and then he glances at the doorway to the kitchen, as if Wooyoung might come back. When he seems sure that you have your privacy, he leans closer to you, and whispers, “I saw Hongjoong and Seonghwa kissing earlier. You were right.”

Your mouth falls open. “No way.”

“Yes!” San insists. “When I went out to let you in? They were kissing right here,” he says, pointing to the general spot next to you. “I don’t think they saw me but… something is totally going on between them.”

“Yeah, they were cuddling at mine the other day,” you admit. “While we were watching Squid Game.”

It’s been weeks now, yet San still nods. “I’m not surprised. I wonder if they’ll ever like, come out to us.”

“Maybe?” you let out. “I feel like they both are secretive in general, and they’re probably trying to figure their shit out first, you know?”

Wooyoung’s laugh comes from the living room, and you both glance in that direction before meeting each other’s gaze again. “I understand that,” San says in a soft tone, and you become keenly aware of your hand still in his, and of the circles he’s now drawing on your skin. “I think they might not be the only ones needing to figure their shit out.”

His gaze widens as if he didn’t mean to say the words aloud. Yet you take it in stride, nodding your head and, though your heart is once more beating too fast in your chest, you prepare yourself for what you’ll say next.

For words you repeated to yourself during all those sleepless nights since the beginning of the semester. For words you didn’t think you’d ever say, yet words you know by heart.

“That’s true,” you say, and you offer him a small smile. “San, I know last semester was a lot for both of us, but you still mean a lot to me.”

“You mean a lot to me, too,” he whispers.

You’re warm. Warm and smiling and fuck, is this what happiness is?

“I realized tonight that I want to give us a chance,” you admit, heart racing in your chest. “Though last semester really hurt, I think we might be able to push through all of that and… and be for each other what we were trying to be last semester. But doing it right this time around.”

You think San might cry. His eyes are swimming with emotion, silver on his waterline, and he gulps as he looks at you. He’s looking at you like he’s been dreaming of hearing those words, and you reckon he might have.

“But,” you say, and you swallow around the lump in your throat. “Let’s take this slow. I… I don’t think I’m fully over what happened.”

And you aren’t. But for the first time, you realize maybe you don’t have to be. Maybe it can be a lesson learned, for both of you.

Learned but not lost.

“I think I can do that,” San says softly, softer than a feather. “I… am not sure I deserve this, but I’ll do everything I can to earn it.”

“San…”

“I’m serious,” he insists. “I want to prove to you that you are not making a mistake. I don’t want it to ever be a mistake between us. I…” A tear spills on his cheek. “I really care for you.” He adds your name like the gentlest plea. “And it killed me to see how much I hurt you, and how much that… that dickhead hurt you, too.”

He pauses, long enough for you to say, “But I hurt you too. I lied to you.”

“You didn’t.”

You frown, not quite understanding.

“He didn’t count. He never fucking did. And you didn’t cheat on him, either. He deserved that.”

You didn’t realize how much you needed to hear the words until San says them, and then tears spill on your cheeks, and he’s pulling you on his lap. You hide your face in his neck, clutching him tightly, and he rests his forehead on the side of your head as he gently runs a hand on your back.

You will be okay. For the first time ever since you met Choi San, ever since Jungkook crashed and burned you, you realize that you will be okay.

With San at your side, how could you not be?

You don’t cry for long. Not when you’re exactly where you’ve wanted to be all this time.

“San,” you whisper. You pull away, just enough to be able to see his features. His eyes remain closed, but he hums, waiting for you to say more.

But you don’t say anything. Instead, you act in a sudden impulse, and you gently press your lips on his. And the second your mouths touch, even though it’s the softest touch, a star implodes in your chest, turning your insides into a supernova that destroys the you from before, giving space for the new you.

For the one that will forgive Choi San. For the one that will forgive yourself, too, for lying to Choi San. For the one that will try and spend the rest of her life learning how to love the man next to you properly.

If he allows.

And you think he will. You’re almost certain he will as he kisses you back like you’re fragile at first, like you might be porcelain a second from breaking, and then kisses you like you’re a volcano erupting, like passion is the driving force of your lives.

And it might be. There’s always been a lot of passion between you and Choi San, and you reckon there likely always will be.

You doubt there’s anything more beautiful than that in the universe.

You kiss for what seems like forever. Barely even breathing, just getting lost in him until you find your home again, until his arms tighten around you and yours snake around his neck. Your hands get lost in his soft hair, while his remain strong and steady on your back, and though the passion burns you up, you don’t let it take control.

It would be too soon, way too soon.

And you’re in Wooyoung and Yeosang’s kitchen, too. As if you’d want this to happen here.

The kiss naturally ends what feels like a thousand years later. And maybe it truly has been a thousand years. Maybe the world outside has had time to die and be reborn by the time you part from Choi San’s lips. And it doesn’t matter.

All that matters is you and him. You with him.

“Wow,” he breathes out with a disbelieved chuckle as he leans his forehead against yours. “This is the best Valentine’s Day ever.”

You laugh, and you can’t resist from pecking his lips once more. “It is.”

His gaze drops to your neck, his forehead resting on your shoulder. You breathe in the scent of his shampoo, the scent of him, and you peck his head.

“I just do want to say that…” you trail off.

“What?” he mumbles against you.

“I don’t think I’ll be ready to go further than this for… for a while.”

“That’s okay.” His words are barely a whisper, yet you hear them nonetheless. “I don’t need that at all.”

You know. You know he doesn’t, yet…

“No, I mean…” you trail off. You peck his head again. “I’m not ready for dates, and to hang out with just the two of us yet.”

He slightly stiffens, yet he doesn’t move away from you. “That’s okay, too. As long as… as long as you want us, I’ll wait for you.”

Your arms tighten around him. “I promise I won’t make you wait for too long.”

He pulls away, slightly fighting against your arms until you loosen your embrace. His eyes meet yours, and they shine from within, so beautiful that you feel the breath go out of your lungs.

“You let me know,” he whispers, and he leans his forehead against yours again. He cups your cheek. “You let me know whenever you’re ready.”

“I promise,” you whisper, and you kiss him again.

Slow and sweet.

Like the first rays of the sun.

“I promise,” you repeat when you pull away.

He nods. “You’re…”

He doesn’t say anything else, yet you understand the words better than if he’d screamed them at you. They settle in your chest, warm it from within, much like you think you’ve settled in his chest too.

And tonight, you welcome this possibility of a bright future with him, welcome it in like a long lost friend.

Though it was never really lost, was it?

Wednesday, February 19th

The idea to rent a house down south by the beach for Spring Break comes a few days later, when you’re studying at the library along with your brother, Sydney, San, Hongjoong and Wooyoung. You’ve reserved a large study room for almost the whole day to study for your midterms and, during one of the many breaks you’ve been taking, Hongjoong throws the idea out there.

Everyone agrees, the thought of going down south where summer will likely already be showing itself in early April an exciting one.

It leads to planning more than studying, as Hongjoong texts the whole friend group to see who wants to go. Only Yeosang seems reticent, but you all know that he will still follow, his fear of missing out winning on his will to take Spring Break easy.

You’re grinning from ear to ear as Wooyoung plugs his computer into the TV that’s in the study room, projecting to all of you different houses to rent. San’s sitting next to you, and he too grins as he watches the houses. All you see is the dimple on his cheek when you glance at him, and warmth spreads through you.

Things have been… calm with him, since last weekend. You’ve been texting a lot, and he even video called you last night under the pretense that Byeol was looking cute. But other than that, he’s letting you lead the dance between the two of you. You’re taking it slow - you haven’t kissed since last Friday, but you’ve been holding hands a lot, sitting next to each other whenever you can.

You like it like this. Your friends have also been respectful of this, not asking questions, but you’ve noticed how Wooyoung’s been smiling at the two of you, and teasing San whenever you turn your back. It makes you happy - you know Wooyoung only does it because he’s happy for the two of you, and you love him for it.

“What about this one?” Wooyoung says as he clicks on a link, and the house appears. “It has… twelve places to sleep and three bathrooms.”

“That’s not a lot of bathrooms for eleven people,” Hongjoong points out.

“Make it twelve,” Yunho says as he looks up from his phone. “Mingi’s coming.”

Your heart quite literally drops to your ass, your gaze widening. “Why is Mingi coming?”

“He wanted to link up for Spring Break, so I invited him.” Yunho shrugs his shoulders, glancing at Hongjoong. “Remember Mingi? You met him last summer.”

“Tall, buff guy that’s always laughing?” Hongjoong says.

Yunho chuckles. “That’s the one.”

“Yeah, he’s chill, he can come.”

You tense, and you glance at San. His grin has vanished, and he’s instead just looking down at the table, like he suddenly wants to disappear. Hongjoong doesn’t notice your or San’s unease, and Sydney mouths an apology as you meet her gaze. You shrug your shoulders because…

Why would it matter if Mingi’s there? You saw him during the holidays and nothing happened. This won’t be different… right?

“Will his girlfriend be there?” you ask, suddenly remembering the shy girl he’d brought home for the holidays.

“Nah.” Yunho winces. “They broke up.”

Fuck.

There’s an awkward silence, and Wooyoung’s the one that interrupts it by squealing as he sees that there is a hot tub and a small pool at that house. It piques everyone’s curiosity, and San asks how close it is to the sea.

“It seems like it’s on the beach, sort of,” Wooyoung says as he scans the lines of text under the pictures of the nice looking house. “Why is there a hot tub and a pool, then?”

“Why not?” Sydney lets out. “It’s probably going to be too cold for the ocean anyway.”

“Is it?” Hongjoong asks. “If we go down south, it’ll probably be fine.”

It leads to a small argument - or more of a debate - whether the weather will be hot or cool, and you tune it out, instead focusing on San who’s on his phone now, almost looking subdued.

You tap his forearm, attracting his attention. He looks at you, offering you a small smile that fortunately reaches his eyes.

“You okay?” you ask.

He nods. “You?”

You mirror his nod, and then glance down at your fingers still on his arm. He doesn’t make to move away, so you just rest your hand on him, meeting his gaze again.

“I’m sorry Mingi will be there,” you gently say.

San’s gaze trails to your other friends, then returns to you. “It really is okay, please don’t apologize for that.”

“Yunho’s a little dumb,” you complain. “He should’ve known it’d be awkward.”

“It’ll only be awkward if you let it be awkward,” San reassures you, and his large hand covers yours. “I really don’t care if he’s there.”

A wave of relief washes through you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am. Besides, he’s your friend, no? You’re allowed to have friends.”

You realize… San is right. Mingi is just a friend - a childhood friend at that. Yes, you once had sex with him, but it’s not like it’s something you ever want to do again. Especially not now that you have San in your life.

“Right.” You give a quick nod, and then you pull your chair a little closer to him, if only because you want to feel the warmth of his body.

It’s healing. Soothing, healing and one of your favourite things about him lately.

“What time do you want to go home?” San asks you, and you glance at your phone.

It’s already half past ten, and you’ve been here for hours. So you don’t hesitate when you say, “Do you want to go now?”

His gaze widens. “Wait, are you…” He pauses, cheeks turning red. “Are you inviting me?”

“Oh.” You chuckle awkwardly, your blood rushing up to your face. “That’s not what I meant. I huh… I don’t think we’re there yet. I just meant that like, if you want to leave, I’ll leave now too.”

You’re rambling, embarrassingly so, but San doesn’t seem to care. “Yeah, we can go,” he agrees. “I’ll walk you home.”

“You don’t have to, I’m sure…” you trail off as you glance at Sydney and your brother, who also seem to be lost in their own little world. Refusing to interrupt them, you set your attention on San again. “Never mind. Yes, let’s go.”

You’re awkward. Both of you. It’s been like that since last Friday, but it’s comfortable. Reassuring, that you can be a mess like that when it comes to him knowing that he doesn’t care. That he’s equally as much a mess as you, and that you’ll figure it out together.

You will. You know you will, and it’s a beautiful feeling.

“I think we’ll go,” you say to no one in particular. “But this last house seems like the best we’ve checked, so I say we go with that one.”

“I’ll send it in the group chat to make sure everyone else agrees,” Hongjoong says, and he takes a screenshot of the TV while you and San get up.

Sydney makes to get up too, but the second she notices that San is going with you, she sits back down, offering you a wink.

She’s told you to be careful with San. To take your time, and to not be afraid to not pursue things if he does something like he did last semester. You know he won’t, and you’ve told her so, but she claimed she’s just looking out for you.

And you know she is. She’s your best friend after all. But then, once she finished with that little speech, she also encouraged you to try and make things work with San, and she’s been highly supportive.

Even though she has to listen to you talking about him almost all the time, which you reckon might be annoying. But it’s not your fault - he’s your favourite conversation subject at the moment after all.

Soon, you’ve packed your bag and put your coat on, and you wish good night to your friends before leaving the study room. You’re surprised to see just how cool the library is compared to the study room, though you don’t linger long, heading towards the entrance.

You stop by the door to wrap your scarf around your neck properly, San patiently waiting for you, and then you step out into the winter night.

It’s not too cold. Earlier today, the weather was warm enough for snow to be melting, and it created an icy ground for you to walk on tonight. So you waddle more than you walk, carefully putting one step in front of the other as San follows behind you. To your relief, it doesn’t last too long, and the second you’re on the sidewalk next to the boulevard, the ice gives way to concrete.

“It’s going to be fun,” San says, his breath clouding in front of his mouth. It raises towards the cloudless sky, and you notice stars winking down at the two of you.

“Spring Break?” you ask just to confirm, and he nods. “Yeah, it will be.”

“I’ve never really done a trip like that,” he admits. “Not after my dad left.”

Your heart aches at the sudden reminder of his father, and you immediately reach for his hand. His skin is warm, chasing away the cold of the night, and you step just a little closer to him.

“I’m glad you’ll get to do one with us, then,” you gently say, offering him a soft smile.

His lips curve upwards, but he still looks chagrined, like there’s a weight on his shoulders. “With you,” he whispers. “I’m happy I’ll get to go on this trip with you.”

You melt much like the snow earlier, heart doing somersaults in your chest. “Me too.”

You don’t talk for a moment as you reach the red light where you have to cross the street, and you wait for the pedestrian sign to turn on, shivering in the night. San notices, and he pulls you closer, putting your joined hands in the pocket of his coat.

“You should have worn a warmer coat,” he scolds.

You can’t help but roll your eyes, though you chuckle playfully. “You sound like Yunho.”

San laughs, too, slightly shaking his head. “Well, maybe your brother is onto something.”

You narrow your eyes, and then you’re crossing the street, your hand safely tucked in San’s pocket. It’s romantic - the stars above, the cold that pushes you closer, your hands together…

And you’re falling. You’re falling and this time, you know he’ll catch you.

“In a month it’ll be a lot warmer,” you point out.

Indeed, even starting next week the winter weather will start giving way to spring, and you’re looking forward to it.

“It will be,” San agrees. “But not quite yet, and you shouldn’t catch a cold during midterms.”

You wince. “Yeah, that would suck big time.”

There’s another silence as you keep walking, hand in hand, the peaceful night only interrupted by the occasional car driving down the street.

“Do you feel ready for Friday’s exam?” you ask.

You definitely aren’t, especially not when you barely ended up studying tonight.

“Sort of,” San says, chuckling. “I’ll study some more at home.”

“It’ll be easier to focus,” you agree. “I’ll do that before bed too.”

“You’re going to ace the exam,” San says. “You got a perfect grade on all the mini quizzes.”

Somehow, you did, but you only think it’s because the subject is interesting, the professor passionate enough for it to be easy to learn from her.

“We’ll see.” You shrug your shoulders. “The midterm is not even worth a lot, so it’s not like it matters too much.”

“Which is good for Wooyoung.”

You laugh, nodding your head. Indeed, Wooyoung failed one of the quizzes, despite you explaining everything to him in the hall before the class. “True. But I’m sure he’s got it now.” A thought occurs to you, chasing university out of your mind, and you glance at San’s profile. “By the way, this is going to be random, but do you know if he’s seeing anyone now?”

San snorts, clearly not expecting the question, but then he grows somber. “I don’t think he is. He’s kind of sworn off relationships for now.”

You purse your lips, inadvertently feeling guilty. Because you know why he’s sworn off relationships. No matter what he’s told you, he did care a lot about Park Jimin.

“We need to find him a date,” you say. “I feel bad for him.”

San’s hand tightens around yours. “You don’t have to feel bad.”

“I mean…” You worry at your bottom lip, trying to figure out the right way to say the words on your mind. “If I hadn’t been there, he would have still been with Jimin.”

“Maybe.” San glances at you. “But you didn’t ask him to not date Jimin. He made that decision himself, and you really shouldn’t feel responsible for it.”

A firetruck blares its alarm in the distance, the shrill sound disrupting the peace of the night for a few heartbeats.

“I know,” you say. “I guess I still do.”

San stops walking, and you’re forced to stop too as he still holds your hand in his pocket. “Please don’t,” he gently says, and he raises his free hand to gently grip your chin so that you can’t look away. “It just shows how much he cares about your friendship.”

You’d cry. You’d cry if you weren’t so damn lost in San’s striking gaze, his eyes so familiar yet so new whenever you look into them. His fingers don’t stray from your chin, his gaze doesn’t budge an inch, and you feel yourself falling forward while simultaneously being anchored to the ground, to this moment in time.

“He’s a good friend,” you murmur.

San nods, and he glances down at your lips. You think he’ll kiss you - hell, you want him to kiss you. But he straightens, his hand letting go of you, and then he turns towards your apartment again.

“He really is,” he agrees, and then he pulls on your hand still in his pocket as he starts walking, forcing you to follow behind him.

Your heart is beating wildly in your chest for the rest of the walk, and you don’t find anything else to say. Not when your throat feels strangely dry, and you wish you’d go back to just a few moments ago so that you could tug him down for the kiss he so clearly wanted.

For the one you wanted, too.

Alas, you make it home without returning back in time, and San faces you, your hand unfortunately falling out of his pocket. Luckily enough for you, his eyes find yours again, and it’s like the moment is resumed.

“Thank you for walking me home,” you tell him.

He offers you the tiniest smile, one that does not reveal the dimples on his cheeks, yet does a myriad of things to your insides that you barely understand.

“Of course,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

To your surprise, he raises his hand between the two of you, and then he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheeks before falling to his side.

You remember a familiar scene, months ago. He’d walked you home from the dumpling restaurant, and he’d stood right in this spot, looking at you like there was nothing else in the universe. Tonight, he looks at you the exact same way.

Isn’t there beauty in that?

“I guess I should go in,” you say, your eyes darting to the door before finding his again.

“Yes, go take a warm shower.” He reaches forward, grabbing your hand. He squeezes it once, and then takes a step back.

But you take a step forward, and he doesn’t move. He stays rooted in his spot as you tentatively wrap your arms around his neck, leaning your head against his chest. But then he’s melting, his arms closing around you to hold you tightly, and he presses the softest kiss on the top of your head.

“Good night, San,” you say while you’re still in his embrace.

“Good night, princess.”

The pet name comes unexpectedly, yet it feels so right. You pull away, just enough to meet his gaze. He looks between your two eyes, his own shining with more light than this world could ever hold, and then he bends down, just enough to press a featherlight peck on your forehead.

When you’re in bed later that night, cradling your own Mr Snake to your chest, the warmth of his lips on your forehead still lingers, dragging you to the sweetest land of dreams.

Prev | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

please i really love them😭 let me know what you think of this chapter!

#be with you ch 14 #be with you #san smut #san angst #san fluff #san x you #san x reader #san fic #san #choi san #choi san smut #choi san fluff #choi san angst #choi san x you #choi san x reader #choi san fic #be with you series

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cheriafreya · 3 months ago

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I'm still thinking about whether if I should pull for any of the 3.2 characters or if I'm better off saving for Phainon... I'm so indecisive

#abbey plays honkai star rail #like #I think saving up is the better option #as it's for a future character I really REALLY want #but also... this game is already dry as it is you know?#like if I don't pull for any character until JUNE what am I even supposed to do #I can't try new team comps or strategies #but also I don't really *want* Castorice or Anaxa as of right now #I thought I would enjoy Casto's dragon but it looks kind of boring gameplay-wise #and I read that Sunday needs to be played at hyperspeed to work with Casto #which I'm sorry but I ain't changing my Sunday build 😭#farming in this game is hell I'm not changing my build to fit a specific character #and Anaxa well he's cool and most probably the better option as in more future-proof #but ehh I don't know...#anyways... we'll see once the patch drops and I go through the story #but I really should be strong enough to save tbh #it'll be more satisfying in the long run #it's just that I don't want to be bored for THAT long...

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masterskywalkers · 1 year ago

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Prince has fully evolved into their namesake's aesthetic and I love them.

#i want to make them a bard themed playlist but i know 99% of it will be 80's era Prince songs #also i already have two playlists in the works for other BG3 things do i really need a third for my non binary bard? the answer is yes.#thank you astarion for your sacrifice in trading shirts with prince. they needed it more for the aesthetic.#((plus also you owe them for drinking them dry they died. poor shadowheart was not happy about her future love being used as a caprisun))#ch: prince #gaming: baldur's gate 3 #misc: gaming #my graphics

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penny-anna · 1 year ago

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my dentist thinks my chronic dry mouth might be due to sleeping w my mouth open and recommended an anti-snoring device and im like ok im game to try that but i do need to tell you that i already wear dry-eye goggles at night. this has no bearing on whether or not i can also use the anti-snoring device i just need you to know how ridiculous im gonna look

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theonottsbxtch · 29 days ago

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NO BABYSITTER NEEDED | LN4

an: i have this delusion that i could 100% change his bad habits because i work as a personal assistant and have experience in childcare. so enjoy this. also if you struggle with mental health, always know im here to talk <3

summary: lando norris, f1 golden boy who hasn’t slept properly in months and lives off protein bars gets assigned a carer by max who reminds him to eat, sleep, and maybe feel something other than anger or guilt. she brings flowers into his sterile flat and hides his gym clothes so he’ll actually rest and he lets her. and somewhere between her gummy vitamins and his races, he realises he doesn’t just need her, he wants her too.

wc: 10k

“ABSOLUTLEY NOT.”

Lando stood in the middle of his sparsely furnished flat, arms folded, jaw tight. The overhead light flickered once, as if in protest too. Max, seated on the battered grey sofa with a cup of tea he’d made himself, simply raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve not eaten today, have you?”

“I had a protein bar.”

“That doesn’t count, mate.”

Lando’s eyes flicked to the side. He knew Max was right. The protein bar had been from the stash he kept in his gym bag, a dry, tasteless thing that barely passed as food. Still, admitting that would mean giving ground, and he wasn’t in the mood.

“I don’t need a bloody babysitter,” he muttered, tugging at the hem of his hoodie. “I’m not eighty-five.”

Max sighed, setting down his tea with the sort of calm that only long-suffering best mates could master. “She’s not a babysitter. She’s… a carer. Technically.”

“Oh, brilliant. Even worse.”

The silence that settled wasn’t comfortable. Outside, the steady hum of Monaco traffic drifted through the slightly ajar window. Somewhere below, someone shouted about bin day. Lando raked a hand through his curly brown hair and paced towards the kitchen. Max didn’t need to follow him to know what he’d find.

The fridge opened with a creak. Lando grimaced. A carton of milk two weeks out of date. Half a wilted bag of spinach. One lonely caprisun.

“See?” Max called from the living room. “You need someone to help.”

Lando shut the fridge, harder than he needed to. “I’m not broken.”

“I didn’t say you were. But you’re not exactly in one piece either.”

That one landed. He leaned against the counter, exhaling slowly. His eyes were tired, darker than usual, with the tell-tale puffiness that came from pushing through sleepless nights. After a bad race, it was always the same: the silence, the self-punishment, the long hours in the gym until his arms shook, or the empty buzz of late-night gaming until sunrise blurred into morning.

Lando wasn’t cruel, not to others. But he was brutal to himself.

Max stepped into the kitchen, soft-footed. He opened the cupboard, plucked a cereal bar, and tossed it to Lando. “Just give her a week. One week. If it’s hell, I’ll back off. You can go back to forgetting to eat and dying slowly. Deal?”

Lando caught the bar, didn’t unwrap it. He stared at it like it might explode. After a long moment, he gave a non-committal grunt.

“Fine,” he said at last, eyes flicking up. “But just a week.”

The doorbell rang at exactly ten o'clock.

Lando was on the sofa, one leg slung over the other, arms crossed, face unreadable. He hadn't shaved that morning. Or the one before, probably. Max, already halfway to the door, shot him a look.

“Try to smile, yeah?” he muttered.

Lando didn't answer. Max opened the door.

“Hiya,” came a warm, bright voice. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure which buzzer it was. I guessed.”

“You guessed right.” Max smiled, stepping aside. “Come in.”

She stepped over the threshold with a kind of lightness Lando noticed but didn’t comment on. Trainers, jeans, a canvas bag slung over one shoulder. She didn’t look like a carer, whatever that meant. But then again, what did he expect? A clipboard and scrubs?

Her eyes flicked to him on the sofa and lit up with a friendly smile.

“You must be Lando.”

“I must be,” he said, dryly.

Max shot him a warning look. She didn’t seem fazed, though. Just walked in like it wasn’t a battlefield.

“I’m here for the trial week,” she said cheerfully, pulling out a small notebook. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to take over your life. Just nudge it in a slightly healthier direction.”

Lando snorted. “Great. Can’t wait to be nudged.”

Max coughed to hide a laugh.

She sat on the armchair across from him, perching rather than settling, like she didn’t want to assume too much. Lando appreciated that. A bit.

“So,” she said, flipping open the notebook. “What’s your usual routine, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Train. Race. Gym. Repeat.”

“And food?”

He shrugged. “When I remember.”

“Sleep?”

Another shrug. “When I can.”

She smiled, scribbling something down. “Right. Noted.”

Lando tilted his head. “You’re very… upbeat.”

“Would you rather I was miserable?”

“No, just…” He waved a vague hand. “You’re in a flat with a stranger who clearly doesn’t want you here. I’d be a bit put off.”

“Well,” she said, closing the notebook, “I’m not easily put off. And you don’t scare me.”

That surprised a breath of laughter out of him, more exhale than anything, but it was the closest he’d come to smiling in days. Max looked between them, pleased.

“She’s good,” he said to Lando. “Give her a day. You’ll be grateful by tonight.”

Lando leaned his head back on the sofa, eyes half-closing. “We’ll see.”

She stood up. “I’ll pop to the shop, then. I’m sure the fridge is crying for help.”

Max dug into his pocket, handed her twenty euros. “Get whatever you think he won’t argue about eating.”

“Right,” she grinned. “Crisps and biscuits, got it.”

She left with a wink. Lando opened one eye, watching her go. Max gave him a look that was both smug and fond.

“You like her.”

Lando didn’t reply.

But he didn’t protest, either.

He didn’t last long after Max left.

He didn’t announce it, didn’t say goodbye, just grabbed his keys, mumbled something about “needing air” and left her alone in the flat. It wasn’t meant to be rude, not really. He just didn’t know what to do with her being there, so full of smiles and softness and trying. It made his skin itch in a way he couldn’t explain.

So, he went to the gym. Again. Even though his arms still ached from last night. Even though he’d barely slept. He didn’t care. Pushing himself until the edges blurred was easier than sitting in silence with a stranger who was supposed to fix what he wouldn’t admit was broken.

He stayed out longer than he planned. Took the long way home. Wandered a bit, hoodie pulled up, sunglasses on despite the fading light. He even stopped off at the corner shop and bought a bottle of water he didn’t want, just to delay the inevitable.

But eventually, the sun started dipping below the Monegasque skyline, and he had no more excuses.

When he opened the door, he paused.

The flat looked different.

Not massively, not like she’d moved furniture or painted walls, but nicer. The blinds had been tugged all the way open, letting the warm orange light of evening spill in. The windows had been cracked open too, letting out the stuffy, lived-in gym-sweat air he’d become nose-blind to. On the kitchen counter sat a small bunch of flowers in an old pint glass, cheap daffodils, probably from the shop down the road, bright yellow and unapologetically cheerful.

And she was cooking.

He blinked.

She hadn’t heard him come in. She had music playing quietly from her phone and she was humming under her breath as she stirred something on the hob. She’d tied her hair up, sleeves rolled, apron on that definitely wasn’t his.

He hovered at the doorway like a ghost.

“I won’t eat fish,” he said, voice flat.

She jumped slightly, then turned to him with a grin, unbothered. “Good thing I’m not making fish then.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“I know,” she added, casually flipping something in the pan. “And you don’t like raw tomatoes. Or coconut. Or mushrooms unless they’re chopped so small you can’t see them. I did my homework.”

He folded his arms, suspicious despite himself. “Homework?”

“Max told me what he could, and the rest I found in old interviews. You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

He had no idea what to do with that. “Right.”

She nodded towards the side counter. “There are some vitamins over there if you fancy. They’re the gummy ones, so they’re fun to eat.”

Lando turned his head slightly. Sure enough, there was a bottle of multivitamin gummies sitting next to a clean glass of water. He squinted at it like it might bite.

“You think that’s going to fix me?”

“Nope,” she said, flipping off the hob and plating something. “But you’ll taste strawberry and get a vitamin boost, and that’s two good things. Two’s better than none.”

He watched her carry the plate to the table, proper food, he realised. Real stuff. A bit of grilled chicken, roasted potatoes, some sort of green that didn’t look like it came from a packet. She’d even set out cutlery.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he muttered, but his voice had less edge than before.

“No, but your fridge did. Loudly.” She smiled. “Sit down, Lando.”

It was the first time she’d said his name. It startled him, how easily it came out of her mouth, no weight, no judgement, just lightness.

He didn’t move right away. But the flat smelled warm for the first time in… he didn’t know how long. It smelled like food, and flowers, and something gentle he couldn’t place.

Eventually, he sat.

And he took the bloody vitamin.

He started eating without saying much, though to be fair, the food shut him up quickly. It was annoyingly good. Not fancy, not trying too hard, just cooked well. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was until the first bite, and now his fork barely paused between mouthfuls.

While he ate, she moved around the kitchen, wiping down surfaces that were already pretty clean, rinsing the chopping board, putting away the little packet of daffodils that had come with the flowers. She was humming again, soft and almost tuneless, like it was more for her than anything else.

He watched her from the corner of his eye.

After a few minutes, he frowned.

“What about you?” he said, voice low. “Are you not going to eat?”

She looked up from where she was drying a mug. “I eat after work.”

He stopped chewing. “That’s weird.”

She laughed, not offended. “Not really. I’m used to it. I don’t like eating in other people’s homes unless I’m invited to.”

“Well… I’m inviting you now.”

Her eyes softened a little. “Thanks. But I’m alright, honestly.”

He stabbed a bit of potato. “Can you at least sit? You’re making me feel like I’m in a restaurant.”

That seemed to surprise her. She blinked, then nodded, pulling out the chair opposite him.

“You’re on edge,” she said gently, not like she was accusing him, just stating it.

He didn’t deny it.

She leaned back in the chair, folding her hands on the table, not trying to fill the silence with too much. Just being there. He hated how much of a relief that was.

After a beat, she tilted her head. “So… do you actually enjoy racing? Or is it just something you’re brilliant at?”

He looked up, fork halfway to his mouth.

“No one’s ever asked it like that before.”

She smiled. “Well, everyone knows you’re brilliant at it. But enjoying it that’s something else.”

He chewed, swallowed, shrugged. “I used to. When I was a kid. I’d sit in front of the telly with my dad and pretend I could hear the engines. I used to think the drivers were invincible.”

Her smile didn’t fade, but it did soften into something more thoughtful. “And now?”

“Now I know they’re not,” he said simply. “Now I know I’m not.”

She didn’t say anything to that. Didn’t rush to fix it or tell him he was, in fact, invincible. Just let it sit there.

He liked that more than he expected.

“You know,” she said after a quiet moment, “I watched last year's Brazil race before I came. The one where it rained.”

Lando rolled his eyes. “That bloody race.”

He didn't think of it fondly, until she spoke again.

“You made that turn like it was nothing. Everyone else looked like they were wrestling their cars, and you just… glided.”

He looked at her properly for the first time that evening. “You watched it for research?”

She nodded. “Had to see what I was dealing with.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re very strange.”

“Thank you,” she grinned. “I take that as a compliment.”

He picked up the glass of water next to his empty plate, holding it in both hands. He didn’t know how to name the feeling in his chest, tight and loose at once. Like something had shifted half a centimetre to the right.

He didn’t say thank you.

But he didn’t ask her to leave, either.

The flat had gone quiet again and before he knew it, he’d finished his food and she’d taken the plate.

Lando sat there a while after she’d gone to tidy up again, not quite ready to move. His limbs were warm and heavy with food, his stomach full for the first time in, God, he couldn’t remember. The corner of his eye still caught the flash of yellow from the daffodils. Even the clutter on the coffee table had been gently rearranged, like someone had lived here instead of just existed in it.

He stood eventually, dragging a hand through his hair.

He didn’t say goodnight. But as he passed her, kneeling to organise something ridiculous like the cereal cupboard, he gave her a small nod.

“Night,” she said softly, like she knew he wouldn’t say it first.

By the time he got to his room, he felt it creeping in, the kind of sleep that didn’t come with punishment. Not exhaustion, not collapse. Just rest.

He changed half-heartedly, dropped into bed without bothering to pull the duvet straight.

And for the first time in what felt like months, he didn’t lie there for hours staring at the ceiling.

He didn’t toss or turn or drag himself back up to check his phone, or throw on joggers and go for another run he didn’t need.

He just closed his eyes.

And slept.

Deep. Still. Undisturbed.

He was that comfortable with his sleep he hadn’t even heard her leave.

The trial week came and went, and with that came his little scheduled meeting with Max.

“So,” Max said, leaning back in the café chair, hands wrapped around his coffee. “How’s life with Mary Poppins?”

Lando rolled his eyes, sipping slowly from a mug of hot chocolate that was somehow still hot.

“She doesn’t float in with a brolly, if that’s what you mean.”

“But she’s working, isn’t she?”

Lando didn’t answer straight away. He watched a dog trot past outside the window, nose down, tail wagging. The streets of Monte Carlo were busy with the usual Sunday bustle, people with tote bags full of veg, couples bickering gently over directions, someone playing guitar near the kerb.

He shrugged. “It’s less shit.”

Max smirked. “That’s the highest praise I’ve ever heard you give anyone.”

Lando looked down into his tea. “She’s just easy to be around. Doesn’t treat me like I’m a problem. Or fragile. She just makes dinner and talks about stupid things and leaves vitamins on the counter like it’s no big deal.”

“And you like that?”

“I don’t not like it.”

Max grinned. “So you’re keeping her?”

Lando huffed. “She’s not a goldfish.”

“You know what I mean.”

He didn’t answer at first, and Max let him have the space. There was something behind Lando’s eyes, quieter than before, but still guarded. Except now, the edges weren’t quite so sharp. He looked a little less hollowed out. A little more present.

Lando stirred the drink absently, then said, “I think she’s staying another week.”

Max didn’t say I told you so, but he smiled like he’d already said it a hundred times.

Over the next week, a rhythm began to form.

It wasn’t a schedule, exactly, Lando hated those, but there were now patterns. Gentle ones. He’d wake up to the faint clatter of pans and the smell of food. She never made him breakfast outright, but there was always a plate of something on the side, covered with a tea towel, like it had just happened to be left there.

He’d find his gym gear washed and folded in the same place on the sofa each morning. Not spoken about, just done. Vitamins still by the sink. Her music always low. The flowers in the pint glass had been swapped out for fresh tulips.

He didn’t say thank you. But he noticed.

And he started sleeping better.

Not every night, but more than before. Enough that the dark under his eyes wasn’t as heavy. Enough that the fridge had actual food in it now, and it wasn’t all hers.

By Monday night, she was packing up her bag to go home like usual when he spoke up.

“I leave for Barcelona tomorrow.”

She looked up, bright as ever. “Yup, I know. Made you an airport snack.”

She reached into the fridge and pulled out a tupperware container, sliding it across the counter towards him. The lid was already labelled in biro, ‘Do not open until bored at terminal gate’.

He raised an eyebrow. “You know I fly private, right? They’ve got catering.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “And what are the odds you didn’t reply to the email asking about your dietary preferences?”

He paused.

She grinned.

“Thought so. It’s just a wrap and some fruit. No tomatoes, no weird mayo, no drama.”

He huffed, but he didn’t push it. He picked it up and tucked it under one arm.

“Oh, and,” she added, wiping her hands on a tea towel, “I put a few things on your bed. Clothes you might consider packing. You don’t have to. Just thought I’d save you standing in your pants tomorrow morning wondering what the weather in Barcelona will be, and yes I know you like to dress warm.”

He let out a proper laugh, low and unexpected.

“You’ve done two of my most hated tasks in one night,” he said, eyes warm for a moment. “That’s impressive.”

She shrugged, light as always. “It’s what I’m here for.”

He stood in the doorway, still holding the tupperware, gaze lingering on her longer than he meant to. She didn’t make anything of it, just smiled and went back to packing her bag.

Race weekends were always a blur.

Even after years of doing it, Lando never really adjusted. The heat, the noise, the cameras, the pressure. Spain in May was dry and heavy, the kind of heat that sat on your shoulders and made your helmet feel three sizes too small. Qualifying had been a disaster, traffic, a lock-up, something just off with the rear grip. He was starting further back than he liked. Further back than the car deserved.

He hadn’t spoken to anyone on the cool-down lap.

His engineer had been cautious over the radio, Max had texted a brief ‘rough one. you’ll fix it.’ and that was about it. Lando stayed in his suit too long, helmet off but gloves still on, sitting at the back of the garage with his jaw clenched and a bottle of water sweating in his hand.

Later, after media duties and a cold shower and a half-hearted poke at some pasta, he was lying on the hotel bed, one leg still on the floor, staring at the ceiling when his phone buzzed.

He glanced at it out of habit.

It was a photo.

She was in a little French bar somewhere, low lights, strings of flags, telly mounted high on the wall with the F1 coverage paused mid-graphic. He recognised his own face in the corner, frozen mid-interview. She was holding up a pint of something cloudy, face half in frame, smiling like she’d just bumped into an old mate. A bowl of crisps sat in front of her.

The caption followed a second later:

That quali looked tough. Make sure to have enough electrolytes or a banana.

Lando stared at it for longer than he meant to. Something tugged at the corner of his mouth.

She hadn’t asked how he was.

Hadn’t said you’ll get them tomorrow or you’re still the best or any of the usual platitudes.

Just, looked tough, take care of yourself.

Simple. Uncomplicated.

He let out a small breath of something that might have been a laugh. His thumb hovered over the screen for a second, then tapped out a reply.

They only gave us oranges.

A few seconds passed.

That’s alright. Oranges are just citrusy bananas in disguise.

He shook his head, grinning now, properly.

There was still noise in his chest, frustration, the echo of tyres locking up, but it didn’t feel quite so loud anymore.

And for the first time after a bad Saturday, Lando didn’t feel like running from it.

The flight back to Monaco was uneventful. He slept for half of it, sprawled inelegantly in the reclined seat, his cap pulled low and earphones in with no music playing. His body was tired in that hollow, post-race way, blood still buzzing faintly, muscles tight, but his brain was quieter than usual.

P2 wasn’t bad. Not a win, but solid points. Still, it ate at him.

He arrived home just after midnight. The flat was dark, blinds drawn, the sea outside nothing but soft black noise.

Lando dumped his bag by the door and kicked off his shoes. It should have felt like relief, home, bed, no media duties, but it didn’t. It felt still.

He flicked on the light in the kitchen, expecting nothing.

Instead, there it was on the counter.

A piece of white printer paper, creased slightly down the middle, folded like a school certificate. Hand-drawn, with glitter gel pen of all things.

P2 – WELL DONE, CHAMPION

Underneath, in all-caps block letters, it read:

REDEEM THIS FOR 1 (ONE) FAVOURITE CHOCOLATE BAR, TO BE EATEN IMMEDIATELY.

And there it was. His favourite. Not the obvious one either, the one he used to buy from the corner shop when he was fifteen and couldn’t afford imported Swiss stuff with his pocket money. He hadn’t had one in years.

He picked it up, staring at it like it might disappear.

Beside the certificate was a folded note, written in her loopy handwriting:

I figured you’d want some space after the weekend, so I’m giving you the night off from me.

BUT. Your favourite meal is in the fridge. I expect to see the container empty when I’m back at 7am. I will be checking the bins. I’ve taken the power cable for your PC and hidden your gym clothes, so don’t bother looking. Please sleep. Properly. You’ve earned it x

He read it twice, then once more for good measure.

There was no teasing smile in the room, no hum of music or smell of herbs in the air, but her presence was there, in every corner. Quietly looking after him without needing him to admit he needed it.

He opened the fridge. The meal was there, labelled, still warm enough to be reheated. He didn’t even question how she knew it was his favourite. He just took it out, turned on the oven, and sat at the counter with the chocolate bar already half-eaten.

The flat was silent.

Normally he hated the silence. It stretched and scratched at him until he had to fill it. TV, weights, anything. But tonight it was different.

Tonight, the silence felt... safe. Like something was waiting just out of frame.

And though he’d never say it aloud, not even to himself—

He missed her. Slightly.

Just enough that 7am didn’t feel all that far away.

The first light slipped through the half-open blinds, soft and pale against the dark wood floor.

Lando was already up.

He didn’t mean to be. He’d woken sometime in the small hours, restless, but then the smell of coffee brewing pulled him from the blur of sleep. He found himself in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, the warmth of the oven still humming softly nearby.

The meal was gone. The container clean.

He smiled a little to himself, small victory, at least.

The kettle clicked off, and she appeared in the doorway, hair tied back loosely, eyes bright but gentle.

“Morning,” she said quietly, like she was trying not to wake the flat.

He met her gaze, caught in the calm.

“Morning.”

She reached for the coffee pot and topped up his mug, then poured one for herself.

They stood there for a beat, just the two of them and the quiet hum of the morning.

“Did you sleep?” she asked.

Lando shrugged, but there was something different in his tone. “More than I usually do.”

“That’s good.”

He nodded, watching her move around the kitchen with that effortless ease, putting the chocolate wrapper in the bin, tidying the dishes.

He felt it again. That small, stubborn flicker of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel before: contentment.

She looked over her shoulder, catching his eye.

“Race weekend’s done,” she said softly. “You’re home now.”

He gave her a crooked smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes just yet, but was close.

“Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

She blew on her coffee, then glanced over at him with a curious tilt of her head.

“So what do you usually do on days like this? After a race?”

Lando paused, mug halfway to his lips.

“Usually?” he said. “Try not to think.”

She gave a small nod, like she understood exactly what he meant.

“Right,” she said lightly. “So why don’t we go to the beach?”

He blinked. “The beach?”

“Yeah. You know, sand, sea, a bit of fresh air. It’s 27 degrees, the water will be decent. You’ve done all the not thinking bit, now you can do the part where you feel like a person again.”

Lando looked at her like she’d just suggested skydiving. In the rain. Naked.

She met his stare head-on, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile.

“I’m not saying we have to go swimming,” she added. “Just sit. Maybe with a drink. Or ice cream. I’ll bring snacks if that helps.”

He huffed a small laugh. “You’re relentless.”

“I prefer the term optimistic.”

He glanced out the window. The sun was already climbing, a shimmer of gold across the buildings. Monaco in May didn’t waste time. It was exactly the kind of day he’d usually spend in a dark gym or glued to his screen with a headset on.

And yet.

“Okay,” he said at last, surprising even himself. “Yeah. Sure. Why not.”

Her smile lit up, bright and immediate. “Brilliant.” He turned to head for his room. “I’ll grab my stuff.”

“I’ll meet you back here in thirty,” she said, already halfway out the door. “Just need to pop home, get a few bits.” He nodded. “Alright.”

And then she was gone, the flat felt quieter without her, but not in the lonely way. More like a held breath, waiting.

Lando glanced around, bemused at himself.

The beach. On a Monday.

He shook his head and muttered under his breath, “What am I doing?”

But he was already reaching for his sunglasses.

When she came back, the sun was even higher in the sky and so was something in Lando’s chest. He’d opened all the windows while she was gone, and the breeze drifting through the flat was warm and salt-tinged.

He heard the door go and turned, halfway through stuffing a towel into a backpack.

She stepped into the kitchen in a light summer dress, sunglasses perched on her head, a bag slung over her shoulder. It was nothing dramatic, just something simple and floral, but it suited her. She looked soft, golden in the sunlight, like she belonged exactly in that moment.

Lando’s brain hiccuped. He didn’t say anything but he looked, really looked, and quietly thought to himself.

God, she’s pretty.

She caught his gaze, raised a brow. “What?”

He blinked. “Nothing.”

He slung the bag over his shoulder and nodded towards the door. “We’ve got to go somewhere that’s not Monaco, though.”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “People’ll see. Paparazzi, fans, someone’ll clock it. Me. Us”

Her smile curled. “Us?”

“I just mean—” he started, but she was already grinning wider.

“I know what you meant, so where then?” “We’ll have to drive into France,” he said, completely serious.

She laughed.

He looked at her. “What?”

“Nothing, sorry,” she said, still smiling. “Just the way you said it like it was just us popping down to the shops.” He gave her a look, lips twitching. “It sort of is.”

She shrugged, following him down into the garage. “Alright then, France it is.”

The garage was cool and dim after the heat of the morning. Rows of sleek cars sat like sleeping beasts under soft overhead lights. She slowed as they walked, eyes wide.

“Bloody hell,” she murmured. “Is this all you?” He chuckled, unlocking one of the quieter looking models. “Some are mine. Some are team perks. Some are just there.”

She ran a hand along the bonnet, clearly impressed. “Not bad for a day at the beach.” They set off, the coast unfurling beside them like a painting. The drive was easy, winding roads and open skies, her hair dancing in the breeze as music played low from the speakers. She sang along quietly to bits she knew. He didn’t join in, but he listened.

And he smiled.

The beach was quieter than expected, a little cove tucked away from the road, shaded by cliffs and speckled with driftwood. They laid their things on the warm sand, and she kicked off her sandals with a sigh.

Lando was laying out the towles when she pulled her dress over her head in one swift motion, revealing a bikini underneath.

He didn’t stare, or at least he told himself he didn’t.

But he did definitely notice.

Something in his stomach dipped for a second, caught between admiration and the very sudden awareness of who he was and who she was.

She stretched like she’d been waiting all day to do it, hair tied up now, skin kissed golden by the sun.

Lando barely had time to take off his own shirt before she looked over her shoulder, grinning wickedly.

“Race you!”

And before he could respond, she was already sprinting towards the sea, feet kicking up soft clouds of sand.

He blinked, startled, then swore under his breath, grinning.

“You little—”

He chased after her, heart thudding, not from the sun. Something lighter than adrenaline, freer than pressure. The breeze bit at his skin, the salt stung his eyes, and the sound of her laugh carried over the waves.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt light.

The sea was warmer than he expected, cool at first touch, then refreshing against his sun-warmed skin.

She was already thigh deep when he caught up, turning to glance over her shoulder with a grin that said you’re too slow.

Lando launched at her.

She yelped, laughing as he caught her around the waist and they both stumbled deeper into the water, waves breaking around them.

“Alright! Alright! Truce!” she shouted, breathless.

But he didn’t let go, just held her steady against the current for a second too long. She looked up at him, cheeks pink from the sun and smiling so wide it almost knocked the breath out of him.

Then, without warning, she dunked him.

His head went under with a surprised splash and he surfaced with a splutter, hair slicked to his forehead and eyes narrowed.

“Oh, you’re done for,” he said, grinning through the water dripping from his lashes.

They splashed and shoved and laughed like children, the kind of silly, harmless chaos that left his chest aching, but not in the bad way.

Eventually, soaked and smiling, they drifted into a quiet stretch of the cove, water up to their waists, the sun casting long golden streaks across the surface.

They talked a bit, nothing too heavy. Favourite ice creams. Embarrassing childhood stories. He learnt she hated the sound of polystyrene, and she learnt he once fell asleep in a bin lorry by mistake during a school trip (real story from me lol).

Time stretched in that slow, delicious way that only seemed to happen when he was with her.

The rest of the day passed in sun-drowsy contentment.

They dried off on the towels, eating snacks and reading bits from a tatty magazine she’d brought on how to impress your manager. She dozed for a while with her arm flopped across her eyes. He sat beside her, knees pulled up, watching the tide roll in and out, trying not to overthink how much peace he felt in that exact moment.

Later, on the drive back, they stopped for ice cream from a stand near the harbour. She ordered something fruity. He got mint choc chip, mostly so she’d stop teasing him for being too grown up and choosing something like coffee.

By the time they were halfway home, the sun had dipped below the hills and she was fast asleep in the passenger seat, head turned gently towards him, mouth parted slightly.

Lando glanced at her, then back at the road. His grip on the wheel softened.

When they got back to the flat, he didn’t wake her.

Instead, he slipped out of the driver’s seat, came round, and unbuckled her gently. She stirred slightly as he lifted her into his arms, warm and still faintly smelling of suncream.

Her head dropped to his shoulder. He didn't say a word, he didn't even breathe.

The lift ride up was quiet. His flat even quieter.

He nudged the door open, padded through the hall, and carried her straight into his bedroom. The sheets were still crisp from the morning, untouched.

He laid her down carefully, brushed a bit of hair from her face. She sighed softly, turning into the pillow like she belonged there.

Lando lingered for a moment.

Then he backed out, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

He crashed on the sofa, limbs heavy but heart oddly light. His damp curly hair pressed against the cushion, and for once, the silence didn’t bother him.

He could still hear her laugh echoing in the waves.

The following morning she woke with a start.

It took her a second to realise where she was, the unfamiliar softness of the duvet, the crisp linen, the faint scent of him on the pillow. Definitely not her flat. And definitely his bed.

“Shit.”

She sat up quickly, heart thudding, scanning the room for her jacket or bag or anything that proved that she hopefully hasn’t slept with him.

The flat was quiet except for the faint sound of something clattering in the kitchen. Not exactly a disaster, but not quite peace either.

She pulled a random hoodie over her head, ran a hand through her tangled hair, and padded out into the main room, bracing herself.

He was in the kitchen. Barefoot, curls a mess, concentration furrowed into his brow as he flipped a pancake that looked… questionably thick.

The pan hissed. The pancake landed mostly where it should’ve.

She crossed her arms, trying not to laugh. “Are you… cooking?”

Lando turned, startled. His cheeks were flushed, not from embarrassment, more from the warmth of the kitchen and the fact he hadn’t expected her to be awake.

“Sort of,” he muttered, glancing down at the half-stack on the plate. “They’re edible. Just about.”

She looked at him, messy-haired, in an old hoodie, trying to figure out if the one in the pan was burnt or just dark golden.

She couldn't help it. She smiled.

“I’m meant to be the one looking after you,” she said, shaking her head.

He rolled his eyes but there was no bite to it. “You fell asleep. I wasn’t going to wake you just to supervise me making average pancakes.”

“Below average.”

“They’re fine,” he defended, lifting one with the spatula. It folded in half on itself. “Okay, they’re character-building.”

She stepped closer, nudging him with her shoulder. “Look at that. First meal you’ve cooked yourself in how long?”

Lando scoffed, but the back of his neck went pink. “Dunno. Ages.”

She tilted her head, eyes soft with something he couldn’t name. “Domesticity looks good on you.”

He froze for a second but he felt the words settle somewhere in his chest.

Domesticity.

Her, here. His hoodie. Pancakes. Morning light.

He looked at her, really looked, and for once didn’t feel the urge to run from the quiet.

Instead, he flipped the final pancake with a slightly smug smirk. “Told you I didn’t need a carer.”

She raised an eyebrow. “One half-decent breakfast doesn’t mean you’re cured, sweetheart.”

He smiled despite himself. Sweetheart.

And just like that, he knew the rest of his day was going to be warm.

She grabbed a plate and scooped a pancake onto it, then passed it over with a cheeky grin.

“Here, try not to burn it.”

Lando took it, biting into the warm, slightly uneven stack. It wasn’t bad. Actually, it was pretty good. The kind of good that made you forget about the mess of your last few days.

He looked up at her, a slow smile tugging at his lips.

“Not bad for a carer’s breakfast, huh?”

She laughed, sitting down at the small kitchen table. “I might have to upgrade you to sous chef.”

He shook his head, but the smile stayed. “You sure you want to get stuck with a bloke who can barely boil water without a minor disaster?”

She reached across the table, nudging his hand lightly.

“I think I can manage.”

There was a pause, comfortable and easy. The sunlight caught her eyes, making them shine in a way that made Lando’s chest tighten just a little.

“So…” she said softly, “how are you, really?”

Lando swallowed, the question catching him off guard. Usually, he brushed it off or changed the subject.

But today, he let it hang in the air.

“I’m… better than I was,” he admitted, voice low. “Being with you, well, it’s different. Less noise upstairs.”

She smiled gently, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the table.

“That’s good,” she said quietly. “You deserve that.”

He met her gaze, a flicker of something like hope stirring beneath the usual mess.

Maybe this was the start of something, not just a routine or a distraction, but something real.

He didn’t know what it was yet.

But for the first time in a long time, he felt like he wanted to find out.

A few days passed in the way only good days do, quietly, comfortably, and all at once.

They fell back into their routine with ease. She was there every morning, bright and soft and organised, keeping him on track without ever making it feel like a chore. Meals appeared when he forgot he was hungry. She swapped out the expired yoghurt in the fridge without saying a word. She scribbled reminders onto post-it notes and stuck them in ridiculous places. On his phone, the bathroom mirror, his steering wheel.

And somehow, despite everything, he was sleeping again for more than 4 hours.

The flat no longer felt too quiet.

He met Max at their usual café down in the port the morning before he flew out to Austria.

Lando slumped into the chair opposite him, hoodie pulled up, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky.

Max gave him a look. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know. You dress like a celebrity in hiding but show up to the same café every time.”

Lando smirked, pulling down his glasses. “Creature of habit.”

Max took a sip of his coffee, eyeing him properly now. “You look better.”

Lando blinked. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean, you’re not half-dead,” Max said bluntly. “You’ve got colour in your face. You’ve shaved. I don’t see a Monster can fused to your hand.”

Lando huffed a laugh. “Thanks, mate. Proper confidence boost, that.”

Max grinned. “So she’s working, then.”

Lando paused. Thought about the pancakes. The post-its. The quiet sound of her humming in the kitchen. The way she made the flat feel like something more than just a place he slept in between breakdowns.

“She is,” he said, nodding. “More than I thought, actually.”

Max raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Told you. She’s got that stubborn kind of sunshine thing going on.”

Lando looked out at the boats bobbing gently on the water. “It’s weird. I don’t feel like she’s fixing me. It’s just… I want to keep up. For once.”

Max leaned back in his chair, smiling like he already knew.

“You’ve got someone in your corner now,” he said. “And you like it.”

Lando didn’t answer straight away.

But he didn’t deny it either.

Austria should’ve felt like business as usual.

The team was buzzing, the garage busy, the hotel sleek and sterile in that forgettable sort of way. He’d done this so many times he could go through the motions with his eyes shut, briefings, media, gym, sleep. Repeat.

But something was different this time.

His room was too quiet. His meals, though catered, tasted like cardboard. He’d forgotten to bring his vitamins, and the note she’d once stuck to the inside of his wash bag, remember to be a person, not just a machine, was no longer there.

He missed her. Not just her reminders and routines, but her. The way she’d talk at him while he made coffee, narrating her morning like it was the most important story on earth. The way she hummed while folding laundry. The way she looked at him, not like he was a driver, or a mess, but just… him.

The ache surprised him.

By Saturday night, he was holed up in his hotel room, lights dimmed, race prep done. But instead of watching footage or scrolling, he stared at his phone.

Then, almost on a whim, he opened their chat.

Would you ever come to a race?

Three dots appeared almost instantly. Then disappeared. Then came back.

That’s quite a question. Is this your subtle way of inviting me to Austria?

He smiled. Tapped back.

Austria’s a bit mad. But Silverstone’s next. Thought you might like it. Home race and all that.

The typing bubble came and went again. Then,

We can talk about it when you’re home.

And there it was, that word.

Home.

He stared at the screen longer than he meant to.

It did something to him. Knocked something loose. Not because she’d said it. But because she meant it. Like his flat wasn’t just a stopgap anymore. Like him being away wasn’t permanent.

They’d talk when he was home.

He stared at her last message a moment longer, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

I’d like you to be there when I get back Sunday night. If you’re free, I mean.

He regretted sending it immediately. Read it back twice. It looked desperate. Or worse, uncertain.

But a reply came a few minutes later.

I’ll be there.

That was it. Simple. Certain.

He smiled. Couldn’t help it.

And for the first time on a race weekend, he couldn’t wait for it to be over, not for the result, but because it meant he’d get to see her again.

Sunday night came fast.

The flight was smooth, the car from the airport quick, but Lando felt that weird tug of nerves all over again as the lift doors slid open to his flat. His bag thumped against his leg. The hallway smelt faintly of fresh linen and vanilla.

She was there.

He could feel it even before he saw her.

When he stepped inside, the lights were low, and something warm flickered in the corner of the living room, a couple of candles, set along the windowsill. The blinds were open, showing off the Monaco skyline in soft golden hues.

She looked up from the sofa, dressed in cosy joggers and a big jumper, her hair tied up, a bowl of popcorn balanced in her lap.

“There you are,” she said, smiling like he hadn’t just spent three days thinking about her.

Lando stepped in, shrugging off his jacket, suddenly very aware of the domesticity he'd walked into. A blanket was draped across the back of the sofa. Two mugs sat on the coffee table, one clearly his, already filled with hot chocolate.

“I wasn’t sure what kind of mood you’d be in,” she said, shifting slightly to make room, “so I picked three films. Comfort, distraction, or dramatic sobbing, dealer’s choice.”

He didn’t speak right away. Just looked around at the quiet little world she’d built for him in his absence.

His shoulders dropped.

“This is nice,” he said, finally. “Really nice.”

She grinned. “Well, I figured if I’m going to keep pretending to be your carer, I might as well offer full post-race recovery packages.”

He laughed, genuinely, the kind that shook a bit of the tension from his chest.

She patted the seat next to her. “Come on then. Sit down before your hot chocolate gets cold.”

And he did, just like that. Kicked off his shoes, slouched onto the sofa, and let his body fold into the warmth of it all. Her shoulder brushed his as she pressed play, and he didn’t move away.

He hadn’t realised how much he needed this.

Not just the quiet, but her quiet.

And as the film played and her head gently tipped onto his arm, Lando let himself enjoy it, just for a while.

Home.

It really did feel like that now.

The following morning he woke with a crick in his neck and the faint scent of her still clinging to the blanket draped over his chest.

The telly had switched itself off at some point in the night. His hot chocolate was long cold. And she was gone, left sometime after the credits had rolled, quietly, without waking him.

But the flat didn’t feel empty.

It felt like she’d just stepped out.

He pulled the blanket closer, burying his face in it for a second longer than necessary. Lavender and laundry powder. Familiar. Her.

Later that morning, she came by as usual, letting herself in with a chirpy “Morning!” and two coffees in hand.

He was already up for once, hair still rumpled from sleep, hoodie creased.

“Sleep on the sofa?” she asked, amused.

“Mm.” He took the coffee gratefully. “Didn’t make it very far after you left. Blanket was too warm.”

She gave him a knowing look but didn’t tease.

They settled at the kitchen table, a shared croissant between them, her notebook open to a new page.

“So,” she said, flicking the cap off her pen, “Silverstone. Talk to me.”

Lando took a slow sip of his coffee. “I meant what I said. I want you there.”

She glanced up, smile tucked in the corner of her mouth. “I know. I just didn’t want to assume.”

“You never do,” he said, honest and quick, before he even realised it.

That earned him a small look, soft, appreciative.

“So,” he continued, shifting slightly in his seat, “you’ve got two options. I can get you a pass for the paddock, proper team kit, blend in, pretend you belong.”

She raised a brow, amused. “Pretend?”

He smirked. “You’re bossy enough, you’d fit right in.”

She grinned. “Flattering.”

“Or,” he went on, “you can watch from the grandstands. Might be a bit calmer, but I’ll know you’re there either way.”

She looked at him properly now, pen stilled in her fingers. “And you want me there even if it’s chaos?”

He shrugged, suddenly a bit shy. “I don’t know. Just when you’re around, it feels like less of a mess.”

That quiet settled in again. Not awkward. Just true.

She nodded, scribbling something in her notebook. “Alright. I’ll come. You’ll have to get me a kit that doesn’t drown me, though. I’m not showing up looking like I borrowed it off a rugby player.”

Lando laughed. “Deal.”

And as she tucked her notebook away and moved to put the kettle on, he watched her like he was seeing the start of something he hadn’t quite had the words for yet.

But he knew this much.

He didn’t just want her there.

He needed her there.

They flew out on the Thursday morning.

Private jet, naturally, something Lando barely registered anymore, part of the machine that came with the job. But watching her take it all in was another story entirely.

“Wait,” she whispered as they pulled up onto the tarmac. “This is yours?”

He shrugged, smirking. “Well, not mine mine. But yeah. Team flight.”

She stared up at the sleek plane like it had dropped out of a film set. “Right. Okay. No big deal. Totally normal. Not freaking out.”

Lando chuckled as he grabbed her bag from the boot. “You’re allowed to be impressed, y’know. You don’t have to be cool all the time.”

“I am cool,” she insisted, following him up the steps with wide eyes. “Just also wildly unprepared for this level of luxury.”

Inside, she settled into one of the leather seats like she was afraid she’d break it, eyes darting around at the polished surfaces and perfectly folded blankets.

He sat opposite her, grinning like a fool.

“You alright there?”

She looked at him over the rim of her paper cup. “Lando, they offered me a mimosa and I said no because I panicked. I’m not alright.”

He burst out laughing, tipping his head back. “You’ll get used to it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

By the time they reached Silverstone, her nerves had settled into excitement.

The team garage was already buzzing, and when she stepped out in the McLaren kit he’d had waiting for her, a proper fit, not some oversized leftover, Lando had to look away for a moment just to get himself together.

She fit in effortlessly.

Wearing the colours, she didn’t look like someone tagging along. She looked like she belonged.

And it was oddly comforting, more than he’d expected.

She was laughing with one of the engineers before he’d even finished debrief. Swapping notes with his physio. Keeping a watchful eye on the water bottle in his hand like it was her full-time job.

And for once, when he walked through the paddock, he didn’t feel like he was floating above it all.

He felt anchored.

Between sessions, she found him sat outside the motorhome, cap pulled low, headphones around his neck.

She passed him a banana and a look. “Don’t roll your eyes. You skipped breakfast.”

Lando took it, peeling it slowly. “You just like bossing me around.”

“Absolutely,” she said brightly. “Now eat it, number four.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You calling me by my driver number now?”

She grinned. “Only if it motivates you.”

And as she sat beside him, cross-legged and chatting like they were just two mates at a park somewhere, Lando realised this didn’t feel like chaos.

It felt… right.

Later that day, the two of them found themselves in the motorhome again, half-drawn blinds, casting warm strips of light across the small lounge space. Lando had pulled off his boots and fireproofs, now in team joggers and a loose t-shirt, legs stretched across the sofa while she sat on the carpet in front of him, back resting against the edge of the seat, her hair still slightly windswept from being trackside.

His hand dangled loosely near her shoulder. Not touching. But close.

She was humming, some random tune from the playlist she’d put on while he cooled down, and carefully peeling the corner of a protein bar wrapper for him.

“Do you know you hum constantly?” he said, watching her with that quiet, lopsided sort of amusement.

She glanced up. “Do I?”

“Yeah. Like, properly. All the time.”

“Well, maybe you’re just always around now.”

He smiled, then laughed softly when she tossed the protein bar at him without looking.

They fell into that easy silence again, the kind that didn’t need filling. She reached up to tug a hairband from her wrist, redoing her ponytail absentmindedly. His gaze lingered.

“You alright?” she asked, craning her neck slightly to look at him.

He nodded. “Yeah. You just make all this feel

less mental.”

That earned her softest smile, the kind she didn’t even have to think about. “That’s the job, isn’t it?”

He didn’t say anything, just looked at her like he wanted to say more but couldn’t figure out how.

Then the door creaked open and Oscar stepped in with a knock-knock gesture and a raised brow. “Sorry, didn’t realise this was occupied.”

Lando blinked, quickly sitting up, hand retreating behind his head like he hadn’t been close to her at all. She turned slightly, offering Oscar a warm, unapologetic smile.

“Hi,” she said, chipper as ever. “Nice to meet you, I’m Lando’s carer.”

Oscar grinned, clearly amused. “Oh yeah?”

Lando shrugged, slumping back into the sofa like it was no big deal. “Yeah. She cares so I don’t have to.”

Oscar snorted. “Nice work if you can get it.”

She laughed, then added, “To be fair, he’s more work than a pensioner with a sugar addiction, so I earn every bit of it.”

Oscar shot Lando a mock-sympathetic look. “She’s got you nailed, mate.”

Lando just shook his head, lips tugging into the smallest of smiles as Oscar backed out of the room with a wink and a wave.

Once the door shut again, she turned and looked up at him from the floor.

“Too much?” she teased.

He leaned forward, still smiling. “Not at all.”

And for the rest of the hour, with her back pressed to his knee and the quiet buzzing of the paddock beyond the walls, everything felt settled.

Like maybe this was becoming the new normal.

Race day came with its usual noise and nerves. The low thrum of engines in the distance, the hiss of tyres on tarmac, the sting of adrenaline thick in the air.

Silverstone buzzed with the kind of energy only a home race could bring.

And Lando had never driven better.

Every lap was clean, calculated, ruthless. No mistakes. No self-doubt. Just grit and instinct and a car that, for once, felt like an extension of himself.

When he crossed the finish line in P1, the roar from the grandstands felt deafening. Team radio crackled with cheers, engineers shouting down his ear, someone nearly in tears.

He barely heard it.

All he could think, where is she?

Pulling into parc fermé, he yanked off his helmet and looked around like a man on a mission.

“Where is she?” he asked one of the mechanics, already half out of the car.

The guy blinked. “Who?”

“Uh” He gestured vaguely. “My uh carer, she’s in the team kit, she was in the garage earlier. Has anyone seen her?”

Shrugs. Shaking heads. No one knew.

His jaw tensed, nerves he hadn’t felt all race prickling in now like static. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. All of this meant less if she wasn’t here to see it.

Still, he went through the motions: hugs with the crew, the sweaty TV pen interviews, the slow walk down the corridor lined with monitors and back-slaps. The moment was his, but it felt a bit empty.

Then he stepped onto the podium.

The crowd was thunderous. British flags everywhere, people chanting his name, flashes going off like strobes.

And there, down below, tucked between a few McLaren pit crew, cap pulled low and grinning up at him like he’d just done the impossible, there she was.

Her face lit up when he spotted her, and the tension in his chest just dropped.

He grinned, grabbed the champagne bottle, and with precision honed from years of celebration, arced the spray right in her direction.

She squealed, laughing, trying to duck behind someone’s shoulder but getting caught in it anyway.

He laughed too, and when the moment calmed, he looked down again and caught her eyes.

She mouthed something at him, something small, like ‘well done’, and he mouthed back.

Go back to the motorhome.

She gave a little salute, still smiling, and disappeared into the crowd.

And suddenly, the day felt complete.

The moment the press duties were done, Lando didn’t waste a second.

Still damp from champagne, hair sticking to his forehead, race suit tied at the waist, he all but jogged back through the paddock. Past cameras, past well-wishers, barely nodding as people tried to offer congratulations.

He needed to see her.

The motorhome was quiet when he pushed open the door, the rest of the team still caught up in the chaos outside. But she was there, sat on the sofa, McLaren cap now off, holding a bottle of water and staring out the window like she was waiting for him too.

“Hey—” she started, but didn’t finish.

Because he was already across the room, already scooping her up into a hug that nearly knocked the breath out of both of them. She gave a soft little laugh of surprise, arms winding round his neck as he held her like he’d just won her.

Which, in a way, he had.

“You were incredible,” she said against his shoulder.

“I didn’t care about the win,” he murmured, voice muffled in her hair. “Not until I saw you.”

She pulled back slightly to look at him, eyebrows drawing in. “Lando…”

“No, I mean it,” he said, heart racing now for entirely different reasons. “When I crossed the line, I should’ve felt everything. But I couldn’t think about anything except the fact that you weren’t there. Not at first. It felt, empty.”

Her expression softened, smile faltering at the edges.

“That’s the adrenaline talking,” she said gently, fingers brushing the back of his neck. “You’re on a high, people say all sorts when their heart’s going.”

“No,” he said firmly, eyes locked on hers. “I know it’s not.”

She stilled.

Lando took a breath. “My heart’s been on fire before, after wins, crashes, everything in between. But it’s never felt as empty as it does when you’re not near me. I didn’t know it at first, I didn’t have the words for it, but I do now.”

She blinked up at him, wide-eyed.

“I don’t just want you here when I’m falling apart,” he said quietly. “I want you here when I’m winning. When I’m okay. When I’m tired. When I’m not.”

Silence fell like a held breath.

And then she smiled, soft, shaken, and real. The kind that said she’d been waiting to hear those words without even realising it.

“I was always going to stay,” she whispered.

He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes fluttering shut. “Good.”

They stood like that for a moment, bodies close, breath mingling, the silence between them full of everything that had been left unsaid for too long.

She tilted her chin ever so slightly, and his nose brushed against hers. Neither of them moved beyond that, like they were afraid to disturb something fragile.

Then she whispered, “You smell like champagne.”

He gave a quiet laugh, barely more than a breath. “You smell like bananas and home.”

She smiled at that, small and warm and a little bit shy.

And then, like gravity had finally caught up with them, he leant in.

Their lips met softly, tentative at first, the kind of kiss you give when you’ve been thinking about it for far too long and you want to get it right. It wasn’t hurried, or heavy, or anything like what the world outside might’ve expected from a Formula One driver fresh off a win.

It was slow. Careful. His way of saying he didn’t want this to be over too soon.

Her hands curled into the fabric of his t-shirt, and he held her like she might disappear if he let go. When they parted, barely an inch between them, neither moved away.

She blinked up at him, dazed in the gentlest way.

“That wasn’t adrenaline,” she said quietly, as if to confirm it for herself.

“No,” he murmured, thumb brushing her cheek. “That was me. Just me.”

Her nose scrunched in that familiar way, eyes glinting with something fond. “Good.”

He smiled again, this time slower, fuller. And in the soft hush of the motorhome, with the noise of Silverstone still echoing somewhere in the background, Lando finally felt what peace might look like.

It looked a lot like her.

the end.

taglist: @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @dragonfly047 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @sluttyharry30 @n0vazsq @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @geauxharry @hzstry @oikarma @chilling-seavey@the-holy-trinity-l @idc4987 @rayaskoalaland @elieanana@bookishnerd1132

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gumii-bearr · 6 months ago

Text

❝ you hitting on me? ❞

summary: megumi doesn't like clubs, but then he sees you.

featuring… megumi fushiguro

content warning: MDNI (18+), afab!reader, alt!megumi, piercings and tattoos, reader is a babe fr, pet names, car sex, rough sex, fingering, riding, dick piercing (what who said that??), teasing, edging, choking, crying (omg), spanking (a lil bit), unprotected sex (don’t do that!!!!!), bit of subspace??, alcohol mentioned, smoking mentioned (don’t smoke, it’s bad for you!), vaping mentioned, these two are so horny for each other like wtf

author’s note: this was a request by a lovely anon!!! ... also its 4k words

Megumi doesn’t like going out. It’s not his thing, really. He prefers to stay at home to play video games or be his own company, and if he has to be social he prefers a more intimate get together over… whatever the hell Yuji is dragging him along too.

“Trust, it’ll be fun,” Yuji nudges Megumi’s shoulder lightly. Megumi keeps his hands stuffed in the pockets of his black hoodie, a resting annoyed expression plastered across his face. He’s not sure how Yuji roped him into coming to this gig, maybe it was because Megumi kind of owed Yuji for turning down hanging out with him for the past… many times.

Megumi doesn’t respond, just wordlessly follows behind Yuji as he weaves through groups of people socialising, vaping and drinking outside the bar Megumi was conned into coming to.

Yuji mentioned something about his friend’s band playing at this bar tonight and there may have been mentions of meeting up with Nobara but Megumi kind of tuned him out after he started going on and on about how Megumi was being anti-social and bringing up the numerous times he cancelled on Yuji (it was a ploy to make him feel bad and it unfortunately worked).

The moment they walk down the graffitied hallway, Megumi is again reminded why he doesn’t like going out. The bar is packed with drunk people and it smells of alcohol and sweat. Megumi inwardly cringes at the whole atmosphere and nearly, nearly, spins on his heel and leaves when some drunk girl bumps into Megumi while giggling and slightly dry heaving.

Before Megumi can even make a comment, Yuji is grabbing his arm, “don’t be a party-pooper, Fushiguro, we haven’t even seen Nobara yet!”

“I didn’t say anything,” Megumi deadpans.

“Yeah, but your face said it all,” Yuji retorts, “come on!” Yuji tugs on his friend’s arm, dragging his friend toward the loud thumping music.

His head hurts already. The music is loud and the random LED lights flying over the crowd are bright and annoying. Megumi is annoyed, to be fair, he’s always slightly annoyed but right now it’s increased tenfold by the overstimulating nightmare that is this club.

Megumi doesn’t even know where Yuji is going. Yuji is staring at his phone, then looking around, then back at his phone again. He’s talking to Megumi but the music is so loud that Megumi doesn’t know what the hell he’s saying.

“There she is!” okay, he caught that.

Yuji walks a little faster, Megumi attempting to weave through the crowd of people without touching anyone (it’s not working, he’s very uncomfortable). The crowd seems to dissipate as they reach the back of the club by the bar, numerous tables dotting the back wall. Megumi spots Nobara as she leaps up from the table, waving her arm around obnoxiously.

“Itadori!” she’s yelling and if Megumi knows anything about Nobara, it’s that her voice really carries. “Fushiguro!”

Megumi raises his hand from his pocket as a slight wave, his lips forming a tight line. Nobara is already shoving a drink into Yuji’s hand then reaching over to give one to Megumi, “dunno what it is but it’s getting me drunk!”

Megumi tunes out whatever Nobara is saying the moment he sees you.

You’re chuckling as you watch Nobara and Yuji feed off of each other’s excitement. You’re holding a drink in your hand, absentmindedly swirling the ice around with your straw.

You’re also trying to remain super nonchalant at the fact you’re totally checking out Yuji’s friend.

He looks completely uninterested in what’s happening, his tired eyes glancing at anything other than the social situation in front of him. His hair is messy and framing his gorgeous face. His hoodie sleeves are rolled up and your eyes trace down his veiny arms adorned with pretty tattoos all the way to his hands. He’s got a couple of nose piercings and an eyebrow piercing, his whole vibe is dark and brooding and you’re so into it.

Where the fuck has this cutie been?

“Y/N, this is my friend Fushiguro,” you sit up a little straighter at the mention of your name. Nobara tugs on Megumi’s arm bringing him closer to the bar table, “say hi, you emo bitch.”

Megumi eyes you and you have no idea what he’s thinking. “Uh, hey,” he says awkwardly. Oh god, he’s a dork. You must have him.

He’s remaining as poker-faced as possible as his eyes glance over you, from the fishnet stocking adorning your legs to the subtle colour of your glossed lips. You’re smiling at him softly through mascaraed lashes and he finds himself peeking down at your lips.

Megumi thinks you’re really pretty.

He mostly just listens as you, Nobara and Yuji talk about college and work, opting for tapping his finger against the glass in front of him. He likes the way you talk, hand gestures accompanying your enthusiastic ramble about your college degree. He also likes the way you laugh, though he finds himself becoming slightly annoyed by the fact that Yuji’s the one making you laugh.

He decides he needs a smoke, his head is pounding from the loud music and the flashing lights; he needs a break.

Megumi gets up from his seat, nudging Yuji’s arm, “‘m just going out for a smoke.”

Yuji waves him off and Megumi sets off toward the smoking area outside the bar. It’s colder outside but god, it’s so much quieter, just the bustling of cars down the street and the occasional police siren. He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket, flicking his lighter and holding it to the end until the smoke fills his mouth.

He leans against the wall, cigarette perched between his lips as he scrolls on his phone. He debates it for a while, but eventually gives in and searches your name up on instagram. He finds your account, noticing you’re already friends with Itadori. He scrolls through your posts, feeling like a fucking teenager stalking your social media–

“Fuck.”

Megumi’s eyes snap to you, now with an oversized leather jacket pulled around your shoulders as you rifle through your purse. There’s an unlit cigarette pressed between your glossy lips and your brows are furrowed.

Megumi fishes his lighter back out of his pocket, he walks over to you and nudges your arm, holding the lighter out for you.

You look up at him with your pretty eyes, a smile pulling at your lips, “thanks, Fushiguro.”

You take the lighter from his hand, attempting to flick the lighter to life to light your cigarette. You try a couple more times before Megumi chuckles softly, taking it from your smaller hands and lighting it the first try.

He wordlessly cups the end of your cigarette, shielding it from the wind as he lights your cigarette for you, his darker eyes flickering up to yours briefly.

The two of you stand in silence for a moment before you speak.

“I like your tattoos,” you say sweetly.

“Hm?”

“Your tattoos, they’re cool,” you repeat with a soft chuckle.

“Oh, thank you,” Megumi replies, absentmindedly running a hand along his inked arm. He feels his heart race a little when you reach a manicured hand out and run your finger along the dragon twisting around his forearm.

“Nobara told me you weren’t much of a talker,” you say, your smaller hand still fiddling with his larger more angular hands as you admire his tattoos. It’s strangely intimate of you to touch him in such a way.

“You talked about me?” Megumi teases, taking another drag from his cigarette with a smirk tugging at his lips.

“All good things, don’t worry,” you retort, finally letting go of his arm to bring your cigarette back up to your lips.

“Didn’t take you for a smoker.”

“Trying to quit, just smoke when I drink,” you shrug. You sigh then turn your head to face him, you look him up and down, “you got a girlfriend?”

Megumi lets out a laugh, coughing slightly on the smoke still swirling around in his chest, “no, why?”

You grin, “‘m hitting on you.”

“Oh, you are, are you?” Megumi presses.

“You’re pretty cute,” you shrug.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Megumi asks, turning his head to blow the smoke away from you.

“No, no boyfriend… why? Are you hitting on me?” You ask curiously with a shit-eating grin plastered across your pretty glossy lips.

Megumi looks at you and the two of you hold eye contact for a moment. His eyes flicker to your lips briefly before he squashes out the rest of his cigarette, “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“So you are hitting on me,” you tease.

Megumi takes the cigarette from your fingers, stealing your last puff and inwardly beaming at the cherry flavour of your lip gloss before squashing it out for you, “I’m buying you a drink.”

Megumi does indeed buy you a drink, bringing it back to the table for you, even getting you a straw.

“Thank you, Fushiguro,” you smile sweetly.

“Megumi is fine,” he says, pulling his chair out to sit next to you.

You suppress a smile, “okay, Megumi.”

The both of you miss as Yuji reluctantly slips Nobara some cash.

The two of you talk all night. Megumi is a little more laid back after you manage to get two drinks into him. The time slips away from you and you find yourself not even interested in what Nobara and Yuji are talking about as you talk to Megumi.

Megumi lets you toy with his fingers, your nails dragging along his tattooed hand and up his arm. You suddenly grow curious, wondering if he’s got any other tattoos underneath his clothes, you feel like a bit of a perv coming onto this guy you just met, but you’re so drawn to him and he seems to be just as into you.

You catch Megumi’s eyes drifting down to your tits before he quickly clears his throat to answer whatever question you asked him. You think it’s cute and you decide to tease him a little by wriggling a little closer to him, your fishnet-clad thigh pressing against his.

He knows what you’re doing and he’s not even mad about it. He lets you laugh and hang off him, lets you toy with the hem of his hoodie sleeves and lets you bump shoulders with him. In all honesty, he lets you because you’re hot and you’re into him.

“God, it’s so late,” Nobara sighs, wincing at the brightness of her phone.

Megumi checks his own phone; 12:54am. God, it is late.

“Open your phone,” you mutter, your chin resting on his shoulder.

“Why?”

“Just open your phone,” you giggle.

He does as you say and he nearly has a fucking heart attack when his phone opens to your Instagram that he was totally not stalking just a few hours ago.

“Fuck,” he knows he’s caught red-handed when you start to laugh softly, his hand falling slack in his lap.

“Aw, you’re stalking me, Gumi?”

Megumi feels his chest tighten at the little nickname and he rolls his eyes but doesn’t offer any kind of explanation as he hands you his phone to do whatever it is you wanted to do.

You scroll to his contacts, quickly putting your name and number in his phone (you also make sure to follow your Instagram from his phone) before clicking it shut and handing it back to him.

“Don’t forget to call me, kay?” you give him the prettiest doe eyes and quickly stand up, grabbing your jacket to join Nobara as she leaves. “It was nice to meet you, Megumi.”

He sits there dumbfounded as you and Nobara leave, he watches your back, watching your little skirt ride up over your ass a bit as you walk away. Fucking hell.

“Dude!” Yuji nudges his arm, “you got her number!”

“Shut up,” Megumi retorts.

“Told you you’d have fun.”

“Shut up!”

Megumi shoves a laughing Yuji away as he reaches for his own stuff to leave. The club is mostly empty by now, Megumi not realising how much time they’d spent here because he was so fucking distracted by you.

He and Yuji go to leave when Megumi notices your purse is still hanging over your chair. He quickly grabs it, scanning the crowd with his tall frame in hopes you’re still hanging around. You’re not, so he quickly pulls on Yuji to catch you before you go. Not that you’ll get far without your keys.

“Fuck,” you stand by your car and realise you left your purse in the club. You’re almost two blocks away from said club and Nobara has already left, leaving you somewhat stranded. You sigh, pulling your phone out of your pocket to text Nobara and ask her to turn around and take you home because you’re too tired and your feet hurt too much to walk all the way back.

“Hey, Y/N,” you perk up at the sound of your name, spinning on your heel and watching as Megumi catches up to you, your purse slung over his shoulder.

“Oh fuck, thank you!” you sigh with relief as Megumi hands you back your purse. You fish through your purse for your keys, “did Yuji drive you?”

“Yeah, but he’s already left,” he says.

You give him a look, “he has, huh?”

“Thought I could drive you… since you’ve had a couple,” Megumi tilts his head at you and you grin knowingly.

“What a gentleman,” you tease. “My place or yours?” you joke.

Megumi just looks at you and there’s a thick tension hanging in the air. He suddenly surges forward, capturing your pretty glossy lips in a hard kiss.

You kiss him back almost instantly, lifting your arms to wrap around his neck. Even with heels on, Megumi is taller than you and you have to arch your back to catch his slightly chapped lips as he leans over you, his large hands landing on your waist to pull your hips against his.

“Here’s fine,” he mutters against your lips with a cheeky smirk, you can only laugh softly as one of his tattooed hands comes up to hold the back of your head, forcing you to deepen the kiss.

He forces his tongue into your mouth and you whine softly. He tastes of tobacco and spiced rum and it makes you fucking dizzy. You thread your fingers through his messy black hair, tugging on it as he moves you to press your back against the cold car window.

“You bring my purse all the way here just to kiss me?” You quirk a brow at him, panting slightly.

“Maybe,” he grins, trailing his lips down your jaw to your neck. “You leave your purse on purpose so I’d bring it to you?”

“Maybe.”

Megumi’s hands trail down your waist to your ass, gently kneading the soft flesh over your tiny skirt. Your pretty nails push up the hem of his hoodie, feeling up his toned as fuck abs that tense slightly under your touch.

He kisses you again, his thumb coming to rest on your throat as his fingers squeeze slightly, god you really want him to choke you while he fucks you–

“Unlock the car, Y/N,” he says against your ear, his voice low and sexy.

You pull your keys out of your purse and unlock your car (you’re lucky your car is parked in the dark at the back of the parking lot).

You clamber over each other in the backseat until you’re straddling Megumi’s lap, your fingers in his hair once again while he kisses and sucks on your neck. His hands knead your ass, his fingers slipping down to lift your tiny skirt over your ass.

“Mm, touch me, Gumi,” you whine against his ear.

Megumi smiles against your neck before pulling away from you. You whine a little at the loss of contact but he quickly kisses you again, one of his hands snaking up the bottom of your top to grope your tits. You hold his hand over your top, forcing him to squeeze your soft skin.

You let out a soft moan at the feeling of his cold rings nipping at your hot skin. You grind your hips down against his, feeling his bulge rub against your wet panties. He groans at the feeling, his free hand curling into the plush skin of your ass before he reels it back to deliver a smack! to your ass.

You moan at the slight sting, hands holding Megumi’s face to kiss him as he forces your hips to grind against his hard-on.

“You’ve been teasing me all night,” Megumi pants against your lips.

“I just wanted you t’fuck me,” you retort playfully.

“Such a slut,” he kneads your ass again before reaching his hand down further to run his middle finger across your slit over your panties. “Someone’s excited, hm?”

“Shut up,” you whine as he traces his finger over your clothed clit. You curl your fists into the fabric of his hoodie, moaning against his shoulder as he presses his finger a little harder against your clit.

He suddenly reaches both hands down, ripping apart your fishnets for better access. He pulls your pretty lacy panties aside, the pad of his finger prodding at your soaked hole. He traces his fingertip around the opening, chuckling as you whine and hump his lap looking for friction.

“Don’t tease me,” you grumble.

“You’re so cute when you’re needy,” he teases. You pout and he chuckles, pressing a wet kiss to your lips as he plunges his finger into your awaiting heat.

You moan at the feeling, pressing your face into his shoulder as he pumps his middle finger into your tight cunt. You’re so fucking tight and you’re only taking a finger– he can only imagine how heavenly you would feel wrapped around his cock.

Your little hand presses against the buckle of his belt and Megumi delivers another hard smack! to your reddened ass. You moan out again, your trembling hands clutching his hoodie.

“So fucking impatient,” Megumi presses a second finger into your cunt, peering over your shoulder and watching as your slick starts to coat his palm and probably his clothed thigh.

“Mm, hah–” you sigh, feeling as Megumi scissors your poor little cunt open, his fingers prodding and curling against the spongy spot inside you. Your pussy makes lewd squelches as Megumi fucks his fingers into you. You grind your hips against his hard cock in his boxers, the friction rubbing your poor neglected clit.

You feel your lower belly start to burn as you whine and hump against Megumi’s clothed cock, your hole beginning to tighten and spasm around his fingers.

Megumi suddenly pulls his fingers from your soaked little pussy. You let out a frustrated whine as the burn in your belly subsides and you pant against Megumi’s neck.

His fingers prod at your lips without warning and you open your mouth just slightly and he forces his fingers into your mouth, pressing down on your cute little tongue.

You suck on his fingers, your smaller hand curling around his wrist as you make cute little noises. Megumi kisses your temple before his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, “I want you to cum on my cock… can you do that f’me, baby?”

You nod your head quickly.

“Words, baby,” he coos, his hand kneading over the harsh red welt blooming on your ass.

“Mhm… I can do it,” you pant, a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin. “Please.”

Megumi’s hand reaches for his belt buckle, quickly undoing his belt and unzipping his pants. If he wasn’t so impatient, he would have taken you home and had you spread your legs for him to fuck you with his tongue and his fingers. Then he would have forced you onto your knees and fucked your face until you cried before he put his dick anywhere near your cunt.

But this is just as good.

Megumi pulls his cock from his boxers, groaning as he pumps himself a few times. Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head at the sheer size of him, but also the fact that underneath the pink head of his cock is a little silver barbell.

“You got a condom, baby?

“N-No,... you have your dick pierced?”

Megumi almost forgets he has it half the time, “yeah… feels good, don’t worry.”

You bite your lip, suddenly a little jealous of how he exactly figured out his piercing felt good. Megumi notices your flushed face and the way you chew on your lip. His large hand gently cups your face, forcing you to look at him so he can press a soft kiss to your lips.

He reaches for your hand, bringing it down to wrap around his hard cock. It’s heavy in your hand and you gently squeeze, jerking him off.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Megumi kisses at your skin, “promise ‘m gonna take you on a date tomorrow.”

You giggle at his attempt to make you feel better, “you better, cus if you’re gonna fuck me raw you better buy me dinner.”

Megumi chuckles through a low groan, grabbing your wrist and forcing you to stop squeezing and jerking him off because if you keep doing it he’s gonna cum like a teenager because you’re the prettiest fucking girl he’s ever seen and now you’re on top of him with your top pushed over your pretty tits and your pussy waiting for him.

Megumi kisses you again, his tongue pressing against yours as you lift yourself up a little, your hand wrapping around the base of Megumi’s big fucking cock to line him up with your sopping hole.

Megumi’s hands land on your hips, his dark eyes meeting yours as his tip prods as your hole. You feel his piercing catch on the outside of your hole and you tip your head back and moan as you sink down, Megumi peppering kisses across your tits as he helps you lower yourself down on his cock.

You’re so fucking tight around him when he finally bottoms out, your pussy wrapped so snug, pulsing slightly as you pant and moan.

“S’big, Gumi,” you whine.

“I’ll be gentle,” he says as he lifts your hips, slowly pulling you back down on his cock. “You gotta help me out, princess.”

You pant, only just noticing how foggy your windows are. The two of you are coated in a thin sheen of sweat and you lean back, planting your hands on the tops of Megumi’s knees so you can bounce on his cock.

You start off slow before you get lost in the feeling of his cock and the piercing dragging against your tight walls. Megumi’s hands bruise your hips as he helps you bounce on his cock, his eyes unable to look away from where your pussy sucks in his cock.

Your slick is forming a white ring around the base of his cock, your wetness dripping down the inside of your thighs and down onto his pants. You’re fucked stupid on his dick as you babble and moan incoherently, unable to stop bouncing as you chase your orgasm.

You pull almost all the way off his dick before forcing yourself back down, your eyes screwing shut at the feeling of his cock kissing your cervix. Megumi’s hand presses against the slight bulge in your tummy, the feeling making you fucking dizzy.

“Harder, please Gumi, fuck me harder,” you cry out, your finger sinking down between your thighs to rub circles on your clit.

Megumi feels like he gets harder at the nickname, “fuck, baby,” he coos, his hands bruising your hips as he bullies your cunt, the tip of his cock bruising your poor cervix. One of Megumi’s hands wraps around your throat, squeezing on your pretty neck. You choke on your own moans as your orgasm nears.

“I’m gonna– Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you cry, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, mixing with your mascara and slipping down your pretty cheeks.

You feel your belly start to burn and your nails scratch at Megumi’s forearms as he lets go of your neck to press his own thumb against your sensitive little clit, forcing your orgasm out of you.

You cry when you feel the coil in your belly snap, your cunt spasming around Megumi’s cock and gushing around him.

“That’s it, princess. Fuck, that’s a good girl,” he eggs you on, your legs shaking at the feeling of your orgasm crashing into you. “You’re so tight, baby.”

You don’t respond, your vision turning white as your cunt clamps down on him. Megumi groans and grunts at the feeling, bouncing your hips on his lap and using your fucked out body to chase his own orgasm.

Megumi’s cock twitches inside you and you just whine and cry as he pumps you full of his cum, thick white ropes painting your insides. He forces your hips down onto his cock, finally ceasing his movements and just panting, attempting to catch his breath.

Your body shakes and you mewl softly, babbling incoherently. Megumi coos, pulling you against his chest and running a hand down your back to bring you back to earth, “shh, shh, you’re okay.”

“Mhm,” you hum.

“Too much?” he asks, petting your hair and kissing the crown of your head.

You shake your head, “best sex of my life,” you sigh.

Megumi chuckles, his hand gently rubbing up and down your back, his other hand fixing your shirt back over your boobs. “I’ll take you home now, kay?”

“You gonna stay?” you ask, peering up at him with a fucked out expression and dried mascara stuck to your cheeks.

“You want me to?” he smiles.

You nod, “mhm… otherwise how will you make me breakfast?”

Megumi laughs, lifting your head to press kisses to your face.

After a moment longer, Megumi lifts you off of his softening dick, his cum leaking from your abused little hole. You sigh at the empty feeling, your thighs aching from the stretch. Megumi fixes your panties back into place, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

He manages to carry you and put you into the passenger seat, fastening your seatbelt for you before starting up your car and actually driving you home–

“Wait, where the hell am I going?”

You can only tiredly giggle from the passenger seat.

author's note: YEESH! i need a cold ass shower. dunno how i feel about it but!!! it’s here!!!

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #x reader #megumi x reader #jjk megumi x reader #jjk smut #megumi fushiguro #megumi fushiguro x reader #nobara kugisaki #yuji itadori #megumi fushiguro smut #megumi smut

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alinathinkstoomuch · 3 months ago

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GAME NIGHT, RUINED

18+ MDNI

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader (was supposed to be nanny!reader but lit rally no mentions of her being a nanny LOL) summary: one question you refuse to answer gives you the best sex of your life. warnings | an: p in v sex, choking, one bite, fingering, oral (f receiving), praise kink?? hotch profiling reader and its so sexy i want to kith him on the mouth, there is aftercare i just didn’t write it, oopsies, established relationship word count: 2.9k

✧ masterlist

In all fairness, you hadn't actually read the rules of the game before suggesting it tonight. But maybe Penelope had – and maybe that's exactly why she'd wrapped it in floral paper with a gingham ribbon, like it was some sweet little gift and not a trap in disguise.

Because now here you were, cheeks warm, pulse ticking too fast, staring down a question that made your soul want to leave your body.

Okay, maybe it wasn't that bad.

You liked being manhandled. Liked a little choking – nothing too wild, just enough to feel it. Worst things have happened. Honestly, it wasn't even that big a deal.

Until you looked up... and saw Aaron’s eyes on you.

You swallowed, looking back down at the card again just as a breathless little laugh slipped out.

Name a turn-on your partner doesn’t know about but should.

“Pretty sure we’ve already had this one,” you said, maybe a little too brightly, as you tucked the card neatly under the deck like it was nothing. “Next!”

You barely brushed the edge of a new card before Aaron’s hand closed over the stack, pulling it right out of reach.

“Oh, are we done playing?” you asked innocently, sitting up a little straighter as your hands slid to your thighs. “Good idea.” You were on your feet now. “Pretty sure there’s a pile of laundry upstairs with my name on it –”

“Sit.”

Your hands hovered for a second before landing on your hips, a half-formed protest catching in your throat, but you obeyed, lowering yourself back down onto the couch, trying to act unbothered. Trying to ignore the way your heart had picked up speed.

“We haven’t been playing this game long enough to get the same card twice,” he said calmly, a small smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“Really? Huh. Could’ve sworn we already had that one.”

He arched a brow. “What was it?”

“Aaron come on,” you deflected, waving a hand like it didn’t matter. “It was something silly.”

He didn’t say anything, just flipped the deck over in his hand, eyes scanning the top card.

“Name a turn-on your partner doesn’t know about but should,” he read aloud. “Hm. Definitely don’t recall hearing your answer to this.”

“You don’t?” you said weakly.

“Just because you keep repeating everything I say doesn’t mean you’re going to get out of answering.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

“You begged to play this game,” he continued calmly. “And now you’re skipping cards?” He gave you a dry look. “That hardly seems fair.”

You let out a quiet huff and leaned back into the couch, suddenly very interested in the ceiling. Your heart was beating faster than it should’ve been. Not because you didn’t trust him – you did. Completely. You knew he’d never shame you or make you feel small for wanting something.

But he’d also seen the worst of humanity. He’d spent his career staring into the darkest corners of people’s minds. You weren’t sure how he’d feel knowing his girlfriend got turned on by things like rough hands. The feeling of being pinned down and utterly helpless, even when she wasn’t.

It sounded a lot messier out loud than it did in your head.

“I just…” You hesitated. “It’s not a big deal. It’s probably not even your thing.”

“Well, if you’re unhappy in that department, I’d absolutely like to know what it is.”

“Oh my God – no, no. Not at all. I’m not – unhappy.” Your voice pitched as high as your hands flew up in protest, and now you were spiralling. “I’m very happy. I’m, like, obscenely happy. I think your ability to give me more orgasms in one night than I’ve had in my entire life before meeting you should be studied. Or patented. Or possibly banned in several states –”

He blinked once. Then bit back a smile.

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I do, unfortunately,” you muttered into your palms.

“Then tell me,” he said, voice dipping just a little. “Or am I going to have to profile it out of you?”

You peeked out from between your fingers. “You wouldn’t.”

He gave a mild shrug. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

Your heart thudded.

“You get flustered when you lose control of the conversation. Especially with me. You fidget more. You avoid eye contact like you’re doing right now.”

You shifted almost immediately.

“You like routine and structure. You’re organised to a fault, but the second I step into your space and do something unexpected, you melt.” He tilted his head. “You act like it annoys you, but I’ve watched you for long enough to know it doesn’t. When I back you against the counter. When I pull your hair back mid-sentence just to kiss your neck. When I don’t ask and take instead. You don’t stop me, you lean into it.”

Your mouth went dry.

“You like being told what to do,” he said simply. Like it was a fact. Like it was always obvious. “In little ways. Safe ways. And when you’re overwhelmed, your instinct isn’t to push back, it’s to submit.”

He watched as your throat worked around a hard swallow.

“You like it when I’m in control.”

Your legs pressed together tight. Too late to pretend it hadn’t happened.

He smiled. “You throw around sarcasm, roll yours eyes, push back, pretend to fuss when I get bossy. But the second I tell you what to do – really tell you – you listen.”

You stared at him, cheeks flushed, lips parted.

“And the truth is, you don’t want to say it out loud because you think it’ll sound messed up. But it doesn’t.” He paused for a second. “I understand you and I’m not judging you. I want to give you what you need.”

Another moment of silence passed before he added, “But if you keep pressing your thighs together like that, I’m going to start thinking we’re done playing this game.”

You let a breath out before speaking. “I…I think we’re done playing,” you managed, voice hoarse.

“Yeah? You sure?”

You nodded before your brain could catch up. “Yes.”

“Then get upstairs.”

You rose on shaky legs and turned towards the stairs, amazed you didn’t trip over yourself on the way up. You could hear him following behind unhurried, while your vision nearly swam from what he’d managed to do to you with just words.

Inside the bedroom, you stopped at the foot of the bed, unsure whether to turn around or stay still. But you didn’t have to ask.

“Turn around.”

You obeyed immediately.

He stepped in close, the heat of him pressing into you just as his hand gripped a firm handful of your hair giving it a tug.

“I can feel you shaking,” he murmured, his mouth brushing against your neck. “You’ve been so worked up since downstairs.” His lips trailed along your jaw slowly, down the curve of your neck, before you felt him bite down gently, his tongue smoothing over the sting.

“Clothes off, sweetheart.” He took a step back, giving you space.

You reached for the hem of your shirt and peeled it up over your head, letting it fall to the floor. His eyes tracked every inch of newly exposed skin, like he was cataloguing every place he intended to touch.

You pushed your pants down next, shimmied them over your hips, then stepped out, standing there in just your bra and panties, chest rising and falling.

“All of it.”

Your fingers trembled as you reached behind and undid your bra, letting it slide off your shoulders. Then finally, you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear and slid them down your legs, stepping out of them and standing bare in front of him.

He nodded toward the bed.

You turned and sat on the edge first, heart racing, then eased yourself down, your back meeting the cool sheets as you settled into place beneath his gaze.

It didn’t take long before he was hovering over you, one hand spreading your thighs as he settled between them, the other coming up to rest lightly – so lightly – around your throat.

You whimpered.

“There it is,” he whispered, kissing just beneath your ear. “That little sound you make when you’re starting to let go.”

Then his fingers found your clit, and you arched off the bed with a gasp, eyes fluttering shut as the pressure landed exactly where you needed it

“I can’t possibly imagine why you’d think this isn’t ‘my thing.’” His fingers kept working you. “Feel what you’ve done to me.”

Your hand moved down between you, palming him through his jeans – and Christ, was he hard. Straining against the fabric, so much so that it almost felt painful.

He groaned at the contact, his hips instinctively pressing into your touch.

“See?” he murmured, slipping a finger inside you without warning, drawing a moan from deep in your chest. “This is exactly my thing. And you—” he kissed the corner of your mouth, “you like this is my thing.”

You gasped, your back arching again, but his other hand was already moving, finding your neck again, pressing down just enough to hold you in place.

He leaned in close, brushing his nose along your cheek, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear as he added a second finger. “You don’t even realize how pretty you are when you’re desperate, do you?” he whispered. “The way you shake. The way you clench around me when I take my time.”

“Aaron…”

He smiled against your skin. “I could keep you like this all night.”

“Please –” was all you managed, the word falling out in a half-broken whimper.

His hand at your throat tightened just enough to make your breath hitch, the same time he curled his fingers inside you. You clenched around him so hard you thought your body might unravel right then and there.

“Fuck – I – I –”

“What is it? Tell me exactly what you need.”

You bucked against him, unable to stop it, hands flying to his forearms – not to push him away, but to hold on. He didn’t move, didn’t ease up either of his hands.

“Or… do you want me to decide for you, hm?”

You couldn’t answer, not in words. Your mind was a haze of heat and ache, your breath catching somewhere between a sob and a moan. Your nails dug into his forearms, desperate for some sort of release.

“Too overwhelmed to answer?”

And then he stilled.

Fingers deep inside you, his body caging yours, hand still resting at your throat but no movement. No friction. No relief. You whined, your hips shifting in an attempt to chase more.

“I’ll decide, then,” he said softly, like he was offering kindness. “You want release? Earn it.”

He withdrew his fingers slowly, achingly slow, and the loss had you nearly sobbing. But before you could even begin to beg, he brought his slick fingers up between you and pressed them to your lips.

“Taste it,” he murmured. “Taste how worked up you are. Taste what you do to me.”

Your lips parted without thought, wrapping around his fingers. You moaned as your tongue slid over them, tasting yourself on his skin. He pressed a little deeper, a little further down your throat, and you hollowed your cheeks, sucking greedily.

“Good girl,” he whispered, voice rough now. “So fucking good for me.”

He began making his way down your body, peppering kisses over your chest, you stomach, your hips. You could feel him everywhere, his breath fanning against your skin, his hands sliding down your thighs, spreading you open again.

He lowered himself between your thighs, and when his mouth finally met you again, it was everything.

His tongue lapped at you, circling your clit before dragging lower to taste all of you. He groaned into you, the sound deep, pushing you that much closer to the edge.

You couldn’t stop yourself from moving – hips bucking, thighs twitching, grinding against his face, desperate for more. But he only gripped your hips harder, strong arms pinning you down like it was nothing. Like your squirming didn’t even faze him. Like it didn’t make a damn bit of difference.

You whimpered, barely coherent and all you could think about was how badly you wanted those bruises. You wanted to see the outline of his fingers tomorrow. You wanted to remember exactly how they got there.

The pressure built low in your stomach, your thighs beginning to tremble, clenching around his face.

“S’okay baby,” he mumbled against you, voice muffled by your skin. “I’ve got you.”

And that was all it took.

Your thighs clamped around his head, your hips jolting up off the bed, and you cried out, high and breathless, one hand flying to your mouth, the other tangled in the sheets. You writhed beneath him, overstimulated and soaked, gasping through the aftershocks. Your whole body was twitching, lips parted, chest heaving.

He finally pulled back, mouth and chin glistening. “You should see yourself. You don’t even know how beautiful you look when you come.”

You were still catching your breath when you heard the sound of his zipper, the clink of his belt hitting the floor. You reached up to brush a strand of hair off your damp forehead, but your hand dropped the second you felt him between your thighs again, tip dragging slowly along your soaked slit.

Your entire body went still, mouth falling open and he hadn’t even pushed inside you yet.

“You okay?” he asked, pausing just long enough to check in.

“Yes,” you breathed, eyes wide. “More than okay. So okay.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “Now you want to talk?”

“I’m just –” you started, breath catching every time the head of his cock slid through your folds. “I’m just saying, I didn’t know it could feel like this, and I – God, Aaron –”

And then he thrusted into you.

One deep stroke that filled you completely, stealing the rest of the sentence right out of your mouth. Your eyes flew open, a strangled gasp caught in your throat as your head tipped back against the pillow, hands flying to his shoulders to hold on.

“Yeah,” he gritted out, his voice hot against your ear. “I thought that might shut you up.”

You could only whimper in response, nails digging into his skin as he stayed there, buried to the hilt, giving you no room to think.

“You feel that?” he murmured, rocking into you once, slow and deep. “You take me so fucking well.”

You nodded, mouth open, breathless. “I wasn’t done talking,” you managed to whisper.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to drag the tip out to your entrance and paused. “Go ahead,” he encouraged. “Try.”

“Fuck y–”

He slammed back in, cutting you off mid-word with a thrust somehow deeper than the last.

“Fuck you?” he echoed smugly. “Yeah. I think I will.”

And he did – hips rocking into yours, each thrust pushing you further into the mattress. Then his hand came up, wrapping around your throat again and you clenched around him, a moan escaping your lips. He let out a low tsk, like he’d caught you misbehaving.

He leaned in closer, his chest pressing against yours, his thrusts slowing. They were deeper now, rougher, grinding into you with so much intensity you weren’t even sure where your body ended and his began.

“This,” he murmured, squeezing just a little tighter, “this is what you were so scared to ask for?”

You opened your mouth to answer, to give him something, anything, but he slammed into you before the words could form, another deep, brutal thrust that knocked the breath out of you.

“I—Aaron, I—” you tried again, voice thin.

Another thrust. Harder.

You gasped, your back arching off the bed. “You’re not even letting me –”

He did it again, cut you off with a stroke that had your vision going white at the edges.

“Fuck—you’re doing this on purpose,” you whimpered, dazed and desperate.

“I sure am.” His hand tightened just a little more at your throat. “You want to know what my turn-on is?” he muttered, not waiting for an answer. “Seeing you fucked senseless.”

Another thrust hit that perfect spot, making your entire body jerk beneath him. You tried to speak, to respond, but he snapped his hips again and you mewled out whatever nonsense your uncooperative tongue could muster.

“You want to come?”

You nodded frantically, words useless now, tears brimming from the sheer overload.

“Good. Then do it.”

He reached down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, setting a pace in perfect sync with his thrusts. Your hips began to stutter as you screwed your eyes shut, the pressure building too fast to stop.

It took mere seconds before your body seized around him.

“Jesus – fuck, that’s it,” he groaned. “You’re so fucking tight when you come –”

His rhythm faltered, stammered and then he was slamming into you one last time, your name falling from his lips as he came.

He loosened his grip on your throat, both hands sliding to your ribcage, gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

Neither of you spoke. Both of you were too focused on catching your breath, sharing the same shallow air like it might not be enough.

Finally, after a minute, he leaned in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your jaw. “Think we should play card games more often.”

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic

dbf!bodyguard!hotch using food as foreplay coming up next to an alina-blog near you!🌟

dividers by cafekitsune

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds #ssa aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner imagine #mine🌟

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wonderlandwalker · 3 months ago

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Two can play (but three's more fun)

𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x reader x eddie munson 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.2k 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when Steve catches Eddie staring a little too long at his girlfriend, he doesn’t throw a punch—he extends an invitation. And as Eddie quickly learns, Steve doesn’t just share; he teaches, with slow, filthy demonstrations. 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, just pure filth really, posessive steve, desperate eddie, a lot of swearing, I couldn't help it, maybe some repetitive words but smut vocabulary just has it's limits

𝐚/𝐧: I got insanely stoned and wrote this so if it came out too horny i'm sorry, also im ovulating oops. I've prolly been very inconsistent with grammar tenses but I can't be bothered to check it. I usually correct my grammar after i've already posted so the masterlist link has significantly less errors than earlier versions

The living room was bathed in the flickering glow of the TV, some forgotten horror movie playing on low volume—The Thing, maybe, or was it Halloween?—its eerie soundtrack warping under the weight of the thick, sweet-smelling haze curling through the air.

Eddie had outdone himself with this new strain, something sticky and potent that left his limbs heavy and his usual sharp edges dulled into something languid and warm, his thoughts perhaps a bit too syrupy.

“—I know I talk a big game, man, but fuck. I have no clue what I’m doing when it actually comes down to it.”

His voice was a low mumble, words slipping out like he hadn’t meant to say them at all. He tipped his head back against the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling as if it might hold answers.

Steve blinks at him, slow and rhythmically, before snorting. “What, like… at all?”

“Yeah, man. Like—” Eddie waves a hand vaguely, the silver of his rings glinting as he moves. “How the fuck am I supposed to know what sounds are real and which ones are fake? It’s fucking Russian roulette.”

The next reaction from Steve is immediate, no hesitation. Just a lazy, knowing smirk as he stretches his arms behind his head. “Huh. Well, once you know the difference, it becomes pretty obvious.” He pauses, just long enough to take a quick glance over Eddie’s face. “If you really need some pointers, I can ask my girlfriend if she wants to help you out.”

Eddie nearly comes crashing to the fucking floor.

Because fuck. He’s had a crush on you for, like, forever. Not that he’s ever admitted it out loud — not when Steve Harrington has a reputation for rearranging the faces of guys who so much as look at you wrong. Eddie has seen it happen: some poor asshole at a party, fingers skimming your ass as you passed, and bam — Steve’s fist in his jaw before anyone could blink. There’s even a rumour some other idiot once stared just a little too long at the way your lips wrapped around the neck of your beer bottle and then slurred, “Wanna spin the bottle?” Word is, Steve dropped him in one hit. No warning. No theatrics. Just pure, primal instinct.

So yeah, Eddie’s kept his mouth shut.

But now? Now Steve is watching him with this lazy, half-lidded expression, like he hadn’t just detonated a goddamn bomb in Eddie’s head.

“You’re fucking with me.” Eddie pleads, his voice rough.

Steve just grins — slow, deliberate — his eyes dark with something Eddie can't name. “Nah, man. She’s actually really into that kinda stuff.” His voice drops, gravel scraping over each word, and Eddie’s stomach flips “And I’d do anything for her.”

The air feels thick as Eddie’s pulse roars in his ears, his throat suddenly bone-dry. Was this a test? A trap? Christ. Harrington was going to be the death of him, and worse—Eddie knew he’d fucking thank him for it.

His fingers twitch at his sides. “...Yeah?”

Steve’s smile only widens, but his eyes soften. “Yeah.”

When Eddie shows up at your place the next night, he’s strung tight enough to power Hawkins twice over, his pulse hammering in his throat. He’s spent the last twenty-four hours convincing himself he’d imagined the whole conversation, that there was no way Steve Harrington just offered—

And then you open the door.

Dressed in nothing but one of Steve’s old band tees, the fabric riding high on your thighs, you greet him with a smile that damn near stops his heart. “Hey, Eddie.”

His mouth goes dry. And before he can choke out a response, Steve is behind you, hands sliding possessively around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. And then — Jesus Christ.

The kiss Steve gives you isn’t just heated — it’s filthy. All tongue and teeth, your fingers twisting in his hair as he backs you against the doorframe, his hands already under your shirt like it’s a regular Tuesday afternoon.

Eddie’s knees nearly give out.

“Watch,” Steve murmurs against your lips when he finally breaks away, his gaze flicking to Eddie over your shoulder. His voice dark and commanding. “And pay attention.”

Then, right there in the doorway, Steve pulls the shirt over your head — meticulously slow, like he wants Eddie to memorise every second. And, well — Eddie does.

He memorises the way your breath hitches when Steve’s fingers brush over your ribs, the way you arch into his touch, the soft, real sounds spilling from your lips as Steve’s mouth finds the top of your breasts—

Eddie’s throat protests as he swallows, fingers twitching at his sides like he can’t decide whether to bolt or drop to his knees.

Steve notices —of course he does— and his lips curl into something dangerously close to a challenge. “You just going to stand there, Munson?” His hands slide down your hips, squeezing just hard enough to make you softly gasp. “Thought you wanted to learn.” Eddie manages to get control over his brain just long enough to answer “I— Yeah. Fuck. Yeah. I do.”

Steve hums, pleased, and spins you around to face Eddie fully, his palm splayed possessively over your stomach. “Then get over here.”

It’s not a request.

Eddie moves like a man in a trance, close enough now to feel the heat of your skin, to catch the intoxicating scent of your perfume. His gaze darts between your face and Steve’s fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles over your collarbone.

“First lesson,” Steve murmurs, leaning in to nip at your earlobe. “Don’t just touch. Listen.” His free hand reaches out, grabbing Eddie’s wrist and dragging it toward you. “Feel how she reacts.”

Eddie’s fingertips brush your waist—hesitant at first, then firmer when you shiver under his touch. His breath hitches as you lean into him, lashes fluttering when his thumb grazes the delicate curve of your ribs.

“Good.” Steve’s voice is low, eyes locked on Eddie’s every twitch. “Now kiss her.”

Eddie’s head jerks up. “What?”

Steve’s grin is all teeth. “Unless you don’t—”

“No, I—fuck.” He surges forward, crashing his mouth against yours like a man starved. It’s messy and desperate, and he barely gets a taste before Steve yanks you back by the waist, eyebrows furrowed in disapproval.

“Jesus Christ. Not like that.”

Eddie stumbles after you as Steve kicks the door shut behind them. “It’s like you were raised by wolves.”

Eddie opens his mouth to protest—then snaps it shut. Because Steve’s right. He’s a wreck.

“What are you waiting for, a written invitation?” Steve’s voice is rough with impatience. “Kiss her again.”

Eddie hesitates—just for a second—before lust wins the war. This time, when his lips find yours, it’s still hungry, but it’s also aware, his movements more controlled. For a heartbeat, he’s terrified Steve will deem him unworthy of you altogether and kick him back to the curb—until you moan into it, until your fists twist in his shirt and drag him closer.

Steve groans in approval against your shoulder. “That’s it,” he rasps, pressing you forward just enough that Eddie can feel your heartbeat against his chest. “Now slow down. Make her want it.”

Eddie whimpers, but obeys, pulling back just enough to tease your lower lip between his teeth before licking into your mouth like you’re water and he’s been dying of thirst.

The sound you make — the soft, wanting whine—it's the hottest thing he’s ever heard. Steve pulls you back again, but this time, there’s satisfaction in his grin. “See?” His thumb swipes over your kiss-swollen lips, smug. “She likes it when you take your time.”

Steve doesn’t let go of you—not really. Even as he nudges you toward the couch, his palm stays glued to the small of your back, steering you like he owns every inch of space you move through. Eddie doesn’t need to be told to follow; his pulse hammers in his throat, fingers flexing like he’s already imagining the weight of you beneath them.

“Sit.” Steve’s order cracks through the air, and Eddie drops onto an armchair like his strings have been cut.

You don’t get the chance to join him. Steve catches your wrist, yanking you back against his chest instead. His mouth brushes your ear, voice a low, possessive hum: “Nah, sweetheart. You’re staying right here.” His fingers trail down your arm before guiding your hand to Eddie’s jaw. “Let him earn it.”

Eddie’s breath stutters. Christ. Up close, you’re devastating. The way your eyes shimmer with pure lust, the way your lips part—just slightly—when Steve’s fingers skim over the lace of your bra. The syrupy moan you let out when he pinches your nipple over it, just enough to make your back arch—

“See that?” Steve’s voice is rough against your ear. “She gets loud when she’s turned on. You just have to know how to listen.” Eddie nods, swallowing hard. His hands hover over your hips like he’s afraid you’ll dissolve under his touch. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Jesus, Munson. You’re not going to break her.” He grabs Eddie’s wrist, pressing his palm flat against your stomach. “Feel how warm she is? How fucking desperate?”

Eddie’s fingers twitch. He can feel it—the rapid rise and fall of your breath, the way your skin burns under his touch.

“Now”, Steve murmurs, lips grazing your shoulder, “show me what you’ve learned.”

Eddie doesn’t need to be told twice.

This time, when he kisses you, it’s relaxed—calculated. He licks into your mouth like he’s savouring it, one hand sliding up your ribs while the other tangles in your hair. And when you moan, when your hips jerk forward like you just can’t help it, Eddie groans against your lips like he’s just discovered fucking religion.

Steve watches, eyes dark with approval. “Better,” he rasps. Then, with a smirk: “Now get on your knees.”

Eddie freezes, and Steve arches a brow,“got a problem?”

“No—fuck, no.” Eddie’s already sliding to the floor, knees hitting the carpet with a thud. His hands find your thighs, gripping just tight enough to feel the muscle tense under his fingers.

Steve’s smirk widens. “Good.”

The praise goes straight to Eddie’s dick.

You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp—and God, Eddie’s never been so hard in his life.

Steve’s voice is a murmur as he trails a path down your throat, bruises already blooming under his mouth. “Now, make her beg.”

Eddie’s breathing is ragged as he looks up at you—fuck, the way your pupils are blown wide, the way your chest rises with every shaky inhale. Steve’s fingers are still tangled in your hair, his thumb brushing a stray strand behind your ear with a tenderness that feels domestic. Your eyes meet Eddie’s just before they flutter shut, and it’s all the permission he needs. His mouth finds the inside of your knee first, lips dragging slow and hot up your skin, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm. Steve hums, tracing your ribs and sliding your bra strap down your shoulder. His palm cups your breast as it spills free, kneading with a lazy possessiveness that has your hips jerking forward — but Eddie holds you steady, determined.

His tongue traces past the waistband of your panties like he’s trying to memorise the shape of you, and when his eyes flick up to Steve, all he finds is lust, raw and unfiltered. So Eddie hooks his fingers into the fabric and pulls, dragging it down your legs as he kisses a trail after it, reverent even in his hunger. His fingers work you with surprising precision, his gaze desperate for approval — and when he curls them just right, you gasp, arching into his touch with a moan loud enough to make Steve’s smirk falter. He wasn’t expecting that.

The slip in Steve’s control sends a thrill through Eddie, and he murmurs against your thigh, voice rough: “You sound so fucking sweet — bet you taste even better.” Steve’s grip tightens on your hip, hard enough to bruise, but you don’t seem to mind.

He’d meant to teach. Now, he’s learning.

And the way you’re unravelling under Eddie’s touch stirs something awake inside of him. Eddie’s got a musician’s dexterity, his fingers able to coax sinful melodies from you with every twist. When you whimper Eddie’s name, Steve’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t stop him. Just watches with a gaze darker than the midnight sky itself as Eddie’s breath ghosts over you, your thighs trembling. “Please—”

The word barely leaves your lips before Eddie adds another finger, crooking them until your thighs squeeze around his wrist. He groans against your skin, resting his forehead against your leg as the vibration tears another broken sound from your throat. He fucks you with his fingers — slow and deep, then fast and relentless, like he can’t decide whether to savour you or ruin you.

Eddie, drunk on your praise, dares to glance up at Steve with a smirk. Steve’s nostrils flare, but instead of shutting him down, he drags a thumb over your cheek and growls, “You gonna cum for him?” You can’t even answer. Your back arches, toes curling, and Eddie drinks it in like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. The moment you shatter, he loses it. He’s not sure what destroys him more — the way you choke out his name, begging him not to stop, or the filthy, approving rumble of Steve’s voice as he speaks, “Good girl.”

Eddie finds himself at an impasse, torn between begging for more and staying silent as the two of you decide his fate. His fingers twitch where they grip your thighs, his breath ragged, his entire body coiled tight with anticipation—and fear. Steve detaches himself from nipping at your collarbone when Eddie wavers, his movements faltering. A reprimand flashes in Steve’s darkened gaze, sharp enough to make Eddie shudder again. “Didn’t you hear her, Munson?” Steve’s voice is a low, warning growl. “She told you not to stop.”

But Eddie freezes. The reality of where he is—what he’s doing—hits him like a freight train. He has no idea how to continue.

But Steve doesn’t tolerate hesitation. His hand fists in Eddie’s hair, yanking him forward with a rough, “Stop thinking.”

Eddie obeys like a man possessed, and the moment his tongue drags over you, his whole body jerks—holy shit. You taste even better than he could’ve dared to dream. Sweet, addictive, and the way you gasp when he flicks his tongue over your clit? He’s ruined. Forever.

Drunk on you—on the way your fingers tighten in his hair, the way you’re so wet it’s coating your thighs—he laps at you like his life depends on it. Steve watches with drowsy satisfaction, his palm sliding possessively up your stomach to cup your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple just to hear you whimper for him again.

“Listen to how she sounds when you do it right,” Steve murmurs, voice thick with contentment. “Isn’t it the most beautiful sound in the world?” He doesn’t wait for Eddie to answer. Instead, he tilts your jaw toward him, locking you in a searing kiss. You moan into Steve’s mouth as Eddie continues, his tongue relentless, his own desperate noises vibrating against you. Steve chuckles darkly when Eddie whimpers, his cock straining against his jeans just from tasting you. He hasn’t even touched himself, but he’s so close he’s shaking.

“Are you going to come just from this, Munson?” Steve drags him off you by his hair, grinning at the dazed, wrecked look on Eddie’s face. “Fuck, look at him, darling. He’s a mess.” Eddie’s lips are slick, his chest heaving, his pupils blown so wide his eyes look black. Steve doesn’t give him a chance to recover. He pushes Eddie back into the armchair, his grip firm, dominant. Then he guides you onto the couch with a smirk.

“You did good,” he tells Eddie, voice dripping with condescension. “Now let me show you great.”

Steve doesn’t waste time. In one smooth motion, he hooks his hands under your knees, spreading you wide —putting you on display— before dragging you to the edge of the couch. His gaze locks onto Eddie’s, making sure he’s watching as he leans down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, a shudder running through you at the sensation. “See how she shivers?” Steve murmurs, his breath hot against your skin, laced with something Eddie can only describe as devotion. “It’s because she knows what’s coming—” Then he devours you.

Unlike Eddie’s frantic, eager strokes, Steve’s tongue moves with precision — deliberate, decisive licks that have you arching off the couch within seconds. He teases you, circling your clit until you’re gasping, then he pulls back with a cruel smirk.

“Steve—” you whine, fingers scrambling at his hair. “Patience, sweetheart,” he muses — before sucking your clit between his lips, hard. Your cry echoes through the room, and Eddie’s hands clench into fists, his hips jerking helplessly as you overwhelm his senses without even touching him. Steve doesn’t let up; he works you with his mouth until your thighs tremble, until your moans grow longer and heavy, until you’re right there—, and he pulls away.

“No, no, baby, please—” you beg, but Steve just clicks his tongue, amused, sliding two fingers into you without warning. “Look at her, Munson,” he orders, curling his fingers just right, making you sob beneath him. “This is how you give her what she deserves.” His thrusts are ruthless, his palm grinding against your clit with every movement. You’re a writhing, whimpering mess, your nails digging into Steve’s shoulders as he fucks you on his fingers, his eyes locked onto Eddie’s the entire time.

“She’s close,” Steve taunts — he doesn’t even need to look at you to know, too busy watching the way Eddie’s jaw clenches. “You want to see what happens when she comes on my hand?” Eddie can’t even speak. He just nods, frantic. Steve smiles wickedly and makes do with the response. “Then watch closely.”

He crooks his fingers again, pressing deeper, and you don’t just shatter — you explode. Your back bows like you’re possessed, broken screams tearing from your throat as you squirt, and Eddie swears he’s seeing stars. Your hand finds Steve’s bicep, clinging desperately, like you’re afraid he’ll stop. Eddie can’t look away; he doesn’t dare blink — if he misses a single second of this, he’ll never forgive himself.

Steve works you through it, drawing out every last spasm until tears streak your face, until you’re oversensitive, trying to squirm away. Only then does he finally relent, licking his fingers with a satisfied hum before brushing featherlight kisses up to your neck. The moment you feel his proximity, you meet him in a kiss — not heated like before, but purposeful, delicate, like Steve is guiding you back to reality with it. He doesn’t rush you; he just lets your fingers weave through his hair until your breathing steadies. Then, he speaks again. “That”, he says, “is how it’s done.” He meets Eddie’s stunned gaze. “You shouldn’t even be thinking about getting your dick wet until she’s clenching around nothing.”

Eddie’s so hard it hurts. His cock throbs against his jeans, neglected and aching, precum soaking the fabric. He’s never been this turned on in his life—and the worst part? Steve knows it. The bastard smirks, dragging a thumb over your lower lip. You suck it in eagerly, tongue swirling, before he pulls away and stands. It’s a fucking performance. Steve undoes his belt like he’s savouring the way Eddie’s eyes cling to his hands, the leather slipping free with a final, damning shush. You whimper, still boneless from your orgasm, but your eyes flutter open when Steve’s palm slides up your thigh, squeezing. “Please, Steve?” you breathe, and his grin turns feral. “Not yet, love.” He glances at Eddie, whose throat bobs under the weight of his stare. “Munson hasn’t earned it yet.”

Eddie’s stomach drops. Fuck. He’s dripping in his pants, his hips twitching like a fucking teenager, and Steve’s going to make him wait? But then—

Steve grips Eddie’s chin, forcing his gaze up. “You want her?” he asks, voice rough. Eddie nods, greedy. “Then prove you can take care of her.” And just like that, Steve shoves him onto the couch with you. “Do it like I showed you.”

For a heartbeat, Eddie can only stare—at the way your breath hitches when he touches you, at the way your eyes lock on Steve, who’s sprawled in the armchair like it’s a fucking throne, lazily stroking his cock. Your lips part, and Eddie swears he sees your mouth water—fuck, it’s obscene. His hands tremble as he touches you—really touches you—this time. His mouth finds your thigh, kissing up the sensitive skin, trying to mimic the way Steve had worshipped you earlier. But when his tongue drags over you, your breath catches—wrong—and Steve’s low chuckle cuts through the room like a knife.

“Christ, Munson,” Steve sighs, his grip tightening around his cock. “You’re thinking too hard.”

Eddie grits his teeth. He is. He’s thinking about the way Steve had made you scream, the way your back arched off the couch like you were trying to fuse into him. He’s thinking about the fact that Steve’s watching, lazily stroking himself while Eddie fumbles like a virgin.

And the nail in the coffin? You’re watching Steve too. Your teeth sink into your lower lip, eyes heavy with desire—but not for Eddie.

“Fuck,” Eddie rasps, pulling back. His voice is wrecked.“I can’t—I don’t—” Steve leans forward, fingertips ghosting over your throat as you keen toward him. “You can,” he growls. “Stop trying to perform. Just feel her.”

Eddie’s breath comes in sharp bursts. This time, when his mouth finds your cunt, he doesn’t think. He listens. To the way your breath catches when he licks a slow, experimental stripe. To the way your hips jerk when he sucks just there. And when your fingers fist in his hair—finally—it’s not to guide him, but to hold on.

“There,” Steve murmurs, voice thick with approval. “Now you’re getting it.” Eddie moans against you, the vibration pulling a whimper from your throat. Fuck. He’s dizzy with it—the taste of you, the sounds you’re making, the way Steve’s gaze burns into him like a brand.

But then Steve stands. Eddie barely has time to register the loss before Steve’s dragging him up by the collar, spinning him around to face you—really face you. Your lips are swollen, your chest heaving, your thighs slick with Steve’s work.

"Look at her," Steve growls, his voice a dark scrape against Eddie’s ear. "Don’t just glance—really look."

And Eddie looks. He sees the damp flush between your breasts, the way your hips lift like you’re already chasing it, the way your pupils blow wide when Steve’s thumb swipes over your bottom lip. "She’s not yours," Steve breathes, dragging his teeth over Eddie’s earlobe. "But fuck, look how bad she wants you to try."

Eddie’s pulse races. Then Steve steps back, gesturing like a king permitting a subject to kneel. "Go on. Make her forget my fucking name."

So he closes his eyes, trying to drown out the noise in his head, to sync himself with the thrum of your heartbeat beneath him, to dissolve into every breath you take. He wants to belong here, in this moment, where Steve’s approval hangs heavy in the air and your pleasure is the only thing that matters — success. A satisfied hum from Steve when Eddie finally finds the right rhythm, a broken moan from your lips. But your eyes — your eyes stay locked on Steve, even as Eddie’s mouth works you over. It’s still him you want. Hunger battles with pride in Eddie’s chest. He hates how badly he craves this—how much he needs Steve’s approval—but god, he longs to pull those sounds from you himself, to unravel you with nothing but his touch. And so he moves like a man possessed, single-minded in his mission to play you like an instrument, to pluck every string until you snap.

Your taste is intoxicating, something he’s already addicted to, something he’s not sure he can live without anymore. Your eyes scrunch shut as pleasure blooms, so lost in it that you don’t even notice Steve speeding up his strokes, his grip tight on his cock. Eddie gets close—so close he can practically taste your climax—but you linger on the edge, just out of reach. He’s aware he’s missing something, some final piece to send you over, but he can’t find it. Then your eyes flicker open again, searching for Steve’s gaze like it’s the only thing that can save you. And Eddie knows—he’s pushed his luck too far. Steve’s patience snaps—not with his pleasure, but with Eddie’s failure to give you yours. Next thing he knows, he’s being dragged back, the warmth of you ripped away too soon. Steve looms over him, a predator in human skin, annoyance rolling off him in waves. “If you want to get a chance to fuck her,” Steve growls, voice dripping with challenge, “you’re going to have to do better than that.”

Eddie’s brain becomes the mental equivalent of a dropped Wi-Fi signal—because did Steve just imply—?

Every touch, every taste Steve has allowed him, Eddie has devoured with insatiable hunger. But now it hits him—this is more than just a demonstration. Steve might actually let him fuck you. Or he would have. Now, Eddie isn’t sure he’ll ever get the opportunity again. A sharp, breathy cry from you yanks him from his thoughts. Steve has already turned you over, guiding you onto your hands and knees, one foot perched on the armrest behind you like a damn king claiming his treasure. Eddie is so close to your face now, your slick still glistening on his chin as you blink up at him, dazed. Steve teases your entrance with his cock, just enough to have you pushing back, begging for it. And for one glorious, heart-stopping moment—you look at Eddie.

Not at back at Steve.

At him.

Your gaze is pure, primal desperation—like he’s the one you need. Steve drives into you in one brutal thrust, and your eyes screw shut in ecstasy. You sob Steve’s name, but your eyes flicker back open as you you look at him.

“Baby, please—” And it dawns on him—you are begging Steve, but not for Steve. No, you’re begging for permission, your gaze locked onto Eddie like he’s the only thing anchoring you to earth. He doesn’t know what you’re asking for, but Christ, he already knows he wants it just as much.

Steve, of course, does understand. He drags his cock into you agonisingly slow, pressing tender kisses along your spine even as his voice comes out harsh. “You think he deserves it, honey?” You whine, desperate, but Steve doesn’t need more than that. He leans over you, his thrusts deliberate, sinful. “How could I ever say no to you?”

And fuck, Eddie gets it now—gets why Steve turns possessive, gets why you love it. He’s watching the two of you move like a single entity, Steve’s hips rolling into you with a precision that rewrites Eddie’s entire understanding of sex. And the real tragedy? He’s pretty sure you’re only getting started. Your fingers fist in Eddie’s collar, yanking him down hard. His breath stutters as your lips take him in, hot and needy, and he doesn’t think—just reacts, his hands tangling in your hair as Steve’s thrusts rock you forward, forcing Eddie deeper into your mouth. You moan around him, the vibrations nearly undoing him right there, but then your hand tugs at his belt loop like it’s personally offended you, and Eddie’s thoughts fry into static. What do you want? He glances at Steve for answers, but the bastard just laughs, driving into you harder like he’s savouring Eddie’s confusion.

And God help him, Eddie looks. It’s downright pornographic. Steve’s cock glistens as he pulls out, your body clinging to him like it never wants to let go, and every time he sinks back in, you clench, a broken noise tearing from your throat.

As Eddie freezes, you take matters into your own hands, undoing Eddie’s belt with ruthless efficiency. The zipper’s barely down before his jeans pool at his knees. He looks at Steve again—helpless—but Steve just shakes his head, smirking. “Jesus, Munson. Keep up.”

Your fingers brush the straining outline of his cock through his boxers, and his hips jerk. Your mouth finds the spot beneath his ear, teeth scraping, and—fuck—it nearly sends him over the edge right then. You’re not gentle. You know exactly what you want. In seconds, his dick is in your hand, your grip perfect, and the first stroke has him grinding his teeth so hard his jaw hurts. He wants to keep his eyes open—to watch, to devour every detail of every second—but his body betrays him. A shudder wracks through him, his lashes fluttering helplessly before his head falls back, lost to the crushing wave of ecstasy."

“Fuck—!”

Steve’s voice cuts through the haze, dark with amusement. “That’s it, sweetheart. Show him how good you can be.” His hand tangles in your hair—not guiding, just holding—like he wants Eddie to see he’s the one in control. That every gasp you make, every shudder Eddie can’t suppress, is because Steve orchestrated it.

“Bet he’s never felt anything like you.” Eddie’s thighs tremble, his cock twitching against your tongue. He’s close, too close, and Steve knows it—fuck, he’s enjoying it. “Look at him,” Steve murmurs, dragging his cock out of you just to slam back in, punching a moan from your lips. “Already shaking for you. Bet he wishes it was him inside instead.” His thumb swipes over your clit, and you whimper, your rhythm on Eddie faltering. “But he’s got to earn that, doesn’t he?”

Earn it? Eddie’s vision blurs at the edges. He’d shamelessly beg if it meant— Then your tongue swirls over the head of his cock, and he chokes, almost falling forward into you.

“Steady,” Steve warns, though his voice is anything but calm. “You cum before she does, and I’ll make you watch while I fuck her twice as hard.”

Eddie’s groan is nothing short of pure agony. Steve fucks you more slowly then—cruel, like he’s savouring Eddie’s torment—dragging his cock almost all the way out before sinking back in, his grip on your hair tightening just enough to make your eyes water. But your dedication doesn’t waver; if anything, it burns hotter. “Shit—” Eddie’s hips jerk involuntarily, but you swallow him deeper, humming around the salt-bitter heat of him. His fingers scramble at the cushions, knuckles white. “Jesus, sweetheart, where the hell did you learn—?”

Steve’s laugh is a dark, knowing thing against your neck. His hands slide up your thighs, spreading you wider as he presses inside, slow, letting you feel every fucking inch. “She’s full of surprises,” he murmurs, lips grazing your ear. “But you’re not going to last long enough to find out, are you?”

Eddie’s groan disintegrates, the way you swirl your tongue around him, the slick pressure of your throat—it’s nothing like the groupies who’d thrown themselves at Corroded Coffin. This is ruination. This is worship. Your mouth works him with practiced greed, and Eddie’s vision blurs.

“Fuck, I’m not—I can’t—”

“Yes. You can.” Steve’s voice doesn’t leave room for argument—this isn’t a suggestion; it’s a command. His hand moves from your scalp to your nipple, pinching just shy of pain until you whine around Eddie’s cock. His other hand slips between your legs, circling your clit with filthy precision. “You going to come for us, sweetheart?” he rasps. You nod frantically, lips stretched lewdly around Eddie. “Good. Let him see.” You break with a cry, muffled around Eddie’s cock, and Steve growls as your body clenches around him. “That’s it,” he grits out, hips snapping harder, “that’s my girl—” Eddie’s spellbound.

Steve fucks you through it, your tears smearing Eddie’s thighs. His breath comes in punched-out gasps, cock twitching against your tongue—

Steve loses control first. A guttural groan tears from his throat as he spills inside you, forehead dropping between your shoulder blades.

Eddie’s hips stutter when you whimper, oversensitive, as Steve grinds into you one last time—claiming you like he wants to brand the feeling into your skin. And then— “Fuck!” Eddie’s back arches, his cock jerking as you pull off with a slick pop, begging Steve for mercy. He comes untouched, frustration and relief searing through him as he gasps your name like a prayer. Steve laughs, low and satisfied. Eddie’s too wrecked to care, chest heaving—until Steve’s next words send him tumbling straight back into want.

“Let me know if you’ve got any requests for the next lesson.”

2K notes · View notes

enhani-ki · 5 months ago

Text

fuckboy!ni-ki x reader

warnings : smut, nsfw, cursing, mentions of killing, etc.

read part two

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki likes to lie and waste time.

a game player, smooth talker, and a liar when it suited him.

ni-ki knew exactly what to say to get what he wanted. he'd tell a girl she was the only one, that she was special, that he couldn't stop thinking about her, only to turn around and send the same message to someone else.

when he got what he wanted? he gets bored.

it was always the same: a few weeks, maybe a month if they were lucky, then he'd just start pulling away. no more sweet words, no more playful texts, it's dry responses and distance until they finally took the hint.

girls will cry, get angry, some even tried to plot revenge... but ni-ki? he never felt guilty.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki doesn't believe in love.

he won't date and won't do relationships. he wasn't interested doing those late-night calls or good-morning texts, and the thought of commitment made him want to laugh.

he just likes a little flirting, a little fun, love songs, fucking then moving on before things got too serious.

they liked the chase, thinking they could be the one to change him, and the idea of being the exception.

but there are no exceptions. he'd rather catch a body than catch feelings for somebody he barely knows.

ni-ki was always clear about what he wanted, even if they refused to believe him.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki was impatient.

he's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, and tight jaw. his fuck buddy is late and he hates waiting. it's not his style to sit around for anyone.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. then, he spotted a familiar silhouette approaching.

finally.

and without hesitation, he reached out, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into the shadows.

"you took your sweet time." he muttered, his lips already brushing against your ear. "i should make you pay for making me wait, don't you think?" then ni-ki started talking dirty.

your body stiffened in his grasp.

ni-ki smirked. he loves it when someone gets shy because of him but something was off.

there's no giggle or eager hands slipping on his body... only silence.

ni-ki pulled back, his eyes locked on your wide, terrified eyes.

you're a face he had never seen before.

"who the fuck are you?!" he blurted out.

"i- i'm sorry!" you stammered, breathing heavily in shock.

ni-ki's mouth opened to say something but before he could, you ran away, you ran so fast that your belongings spilled onto the floor in your rush to escape.

ni-ki cursed under his breath, running a hand down his face.

fuck.

not only he's not gonna have sex but he also accidentally just harassed a complete stranger.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki got mad, completely ghosting and blocked his fuck buddy's number.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki wasn't the type to dwell on things. if he ever made a mistake, he moved on. he's that simple.

but what happened with you? that bothered him.

maybe it was the way your eyes looked at him, it was pure fear, like he was some kind of monster... or maybe it was because he had never been the kind of guy to force himself onto someone.

he's cocky, sure. shameless, absolutely. but he never needed to resort to shit like that and now, he just left a random girl traumatized.

great.

ni-ki took your abandoned things from his bag, staring at them in irritation. he could've just tossed this somewhere and let you deal with it but it's the least he could do, right?

he looked for you everywhere and when he finally spotted you walking down the hall, he didn't hesitate to approach.

"hey."

your body stiffened instantly when you saw him, you gulped and turned, ready to leave.

ni-ki rolled his eyes and reached out, catching your wrist before you could escape. "relax," he sighed. "i'm just here to give you these…"

you hesitated but quickly grabbed your things and muttered, "thanks."

he let go but he's also expecting you to run again and he's not letting you off easily.

his fingers wrapped around your wrist again, "i'm not done..." he said. "why are you in such a hurry?"

"i gotta go…"

"oh, really?" ni-ki scoffed but released his grip. "fine. look, i'm sorry about earlier. i thought you were someone else."

"your girlfriend?"

ni-ki chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "no, i don't do girlfriends." he teased but it wasn't meant to joke or seduce. "you forgive me?"

you smiled slightly before nodding but then you tilted your head, curious. "...but why would you say something like that to someone who isn't your girlfriend?"

he smirked and leaned in again, so close you could smell his cologne.

"mind your own business, won't you?" he said and walked away.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki found you at his playground.

parties were all the same. loud music, flashing lights, people pressed up against each other like they forgot what personal space was.

ni-ki was used to it, it's his playground.

he's sitting with his friends. there's a smirk on his face while some girl clung to his arm, twirling her hair and giggling at everything he said even though he wasn't even trying to be funny.

"so, ni-ki..." she purred, leaning in close, "when are we getting out of here?"

ni-ki exhaled, he's not in the mood yet and he's ready to give a half-assed answer until his eyes flickered to the entrance where you walked in.

"huh."

you walked in, looking... insanely good wearing a dress that hugged all the right places that it made ni-ki's fuck boy brain short-circuit for a second.

the girl beside him was still talking but he wasn't listening anymore, his interest became completely derailed.

"wait here..." ni-ki muttered, removing the girl's arms off of him without another word.

she sputtered in protest but ni-ki was already gone, slipping through the crowd, with eyes locked on you.

he "accidentally" bumped into you, almost knocking you off balance then his hands instinctively gripped your waist to steady you.

"wow… you're-"

you covered yourself quickly, you crossed your arms over your chest and sent him a glare before he could even think about finishing that sentence

"what do you want?" you asked, unimpressed.

he blinked, momentarily thrown off.

"nothing." he recovered quickly, slipping his hands into his pockets.

you sighed. "have you seen my friend, f/n?"

ni-ki shook his head. "i have no idea who that is," he replied, then quickly added, "i'll help you look."

his hand landed on your shoulder but you instantly shrugged it. ni-ki scoffed at your unfriendly action, "seriously?" he asked, rolling his eyes but followed anyway, trailing beside you like he's trying to find his friend too.

his eyes kept drifting back to you. the way your hips swayed slightly as you walked, the way your hair swung when you turned your head... it was so distracting and ni-ki found himself grinning.

he was enjoying himself, honestly and he wasn't even gonna try to flirt anymore, he was just already thrilled to be by your side.

you stopped in a less crowded part of the house, scanning the room then you were pulling at your dress subtly, adjusting the hem like you're clearly uncomfortable.

ni-ki clicked his tongue "w- why are you wearing that if you're uncomfortable?"

you turned to him sharply, eyes narrowing. "why do you care?!"

"why are you so mad at me?"

"'cause i don't know what you're trying to do."

"i'm not trying do do anything to you!"

you glared at him again, adjusting your dress.

"tch." ni-ki removed his jacket and threw it at your face.

"what the hell-"

ni-ki rolled his eyes, already regretting being nice. "wear that, idiot."

you hesitated.

he sighed and turned away, "do whatever you want."

you slipped the jacket over your shoulders then ni-ki peeked at you from the corner of his eyes where he saw you practically drowning in his jacket. you looked so tiny in it, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling.

you finally spotted your friend near the drinks table, "f/n!" you called out, relieved.

your friend turned with a smile then her eyes immediately widened when she saw who was standing beside you.

"oh. my. God." she gasped, barely even acknowledging you because she's looking at ni-ki.

ni-ki smirked at her reaction, clearly used to it. "hi. what's up?"

you friend actually looked starstruck for a second before shaking herself out of it.

"why are you with him?" she whisper-yelled at you, leaning in like you just brought home a stray cat but the dangerous kind.

"he just helped me find you." you replied and without another word, you grabbed her arm and dragged her towards the exit.

"bye, ni-ki!" your friend waved at him.

ni-ki chuckled, grinning while watching the two of you rush off.

as soon as you and your friend stepped outside, she immediately started her interrogation with gleaming eyes.

"okay," she breathed, grabbing your shoulders. "do you know how many girls would kill to be in your position?!"

you groaned. "it's not what you think!"

she gasped, dramatically covering her mouth. "wait… did you do it?"

you blinked. "what do you mean by it?"

she wiggled her eyebrows and giggled, playfully slapping your arm. "you know what I mean~"

you eyes widened in disgust. "i would never do it with anyone!"

she laughed as you pushed her lightly, still giggling like a schoolgirl.

"okay, okay, i believe you..." she teased. "but still, damn. ni-ki even gave you his jacket?"

she said, snatching the sleeve of the jacket and sniffed it.

you grabbed it back.

she gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "it smells expensive… sexy, actually."

you gave her a disgusted look again and tightened the jacket around you, trying to ignore the fact that, yeah, it did smell good.

"don't get so weird about this." you warned.

she only laughed, linking her arm through yours. "now tell me more about you and ni-ki."

"there is no me and ni-ki!"

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki suddenly wants to prove that he wasn't actually the asshole you thought he was but ended messing it up.

he told himself it was over. he gave back your stuff, apologized (which, honestly, he never did for anyone), even gave you his jacket, and that should've been the end of it.

he tried not to be pushy 'cause he knew better now, but he still found ways to be around you. if he saw you at school, he'd just give a casual nod. if you were in the cafeteria, he'd sit nearby, pretending it was a coincidence. and if you caught him looking, you'd glare and he would quickly look away.

he was used to people chasing him, used to girls who always wants something from him, not someone who wanted nothing to do with him. and when you made it clear, he said "you really think the worst of me, huh?"

you crossed your arms. "can you blame me?"

ni-ki huffed a laugh. "i don't even do shit to you."

but then, you might just be playing hard to get, right?

he smirked, grabbing your phone and held it high.

"ni-ki, i swear- give it back!"

you jumped, reaching for it, but he was way taller. he tilted his head, watching you struggle, and then...

fuck it.

because he's ni-ki, he's reckless, stupid and didn't think things through... he kissed you.

it was quick, barely even a brush of lips.

he pulled back, expecting a reaction, but not the one he got.

your face twisted in disbelief before you hit him.

you smacked his chest repeatedly, pushing him, "what is wrong with you?! that was my first kiss, stupid!"

ni-ki's eyes widened. "wait- what? seriously?"

you fought back your tears, shoving him one last time before storming off. "don't talk to me ever again!"

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki is doing something completely out of character.

he didn't plan to kiss you. it just happened like some dumb, impulsive thought he acted on before his brain could catch up.

he wanted to reach out but what the hell was he even supposed to say?

"hey, my bad for stealing your first kiss lol?"

"i didn't think it'd be that big of a deal."

"wait, you really never kissed anyone before?"

shit, no. that was all dumb as hell.

for the next few days, ni-ki is not being himself.

he forgot his usual girls, he hadn't even been with anyone ever since he met you.

"dude, what's up with you?" one of his friends asked.

ni-ki just shrugged, flipping his phone in his hands. "nothing."

you were avoiding him like he was some virus. you look the other way when he walked past or really refusing to even glance in his direction.

so, fine. he swallowed his pride and showed up at your house.

you opened the door, immediately frowning when you saw him. "what do you want?"

ni-ki exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"i'm sorry, alright?" he said quickly. "i was being an idiot, i didn't think, and..."

"you're apologizing?"

ni-ki groaned, shoving his hands in his pockets. "yeah..."

you crossed your arms, unimpressed. "took you long enough."

he sighed, stepping closer. "i didn't know it was your first kiss..."

you rolled your eyes, "whatever."

then ni-ki hugged you.

you gasped, trying to make him let go. "what- what are you doing?!"

ni-ki just chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder. "saying sorry?"

"by hugging me?!"

"would you rather i kiss you again?"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!"

he laughed again, pulling back slightly to look at your flustered expression.

you scowled. "you're such a pervert."

his smirk returned, teasing. "you liked being hugged though."

you smacked his chest hard. "GO HOME, NI-KI."

he grinned, backing away "but we're good now, right?"

you didn't answer, just slammed the door in his face.

ni-ki chuckled to himself, breathing in relief as he walked away.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki is trying his best to please you... and hold himself back from being a fuck boy.

ni-ki has a serious problem. these days, he found himself doing things that were completely out of character.

like waiting outside your classroom when he swore he was just going to pass by, remembering your usual order at the café near school and handing it to you in front of everyone like it was no big deal, then making sure you got home safe after study sessions.

he wasn't even trying to get anything out of it because for once in his life, he actually wanted to do things the right way. he wanted to get a girlfr- girl friend. a friend that's a girl. that's all.

totally normal. nothing weird.

but it's so frustrating because you weren't even making it easy for him.

you still roll your eyes at him when he tried to be nice. you still gave him unimpressed looks when he offered to carry your things. and the other day, when he casually said you looked cute, you hit him with a deadpan, "what do you want?"

like, damn. he was actually trying here.

then… you'll also do things that completely messed him up.

your cheeks puff out whenever you concentrate, making him desperately want to bite them.

or how we would notice your tits slightly jiggle and move whenever you're running or simply writing. suddenly, he would have to leave the room for fresh air.

when you got mad at him, all fiery and stubborn, he had the worst urge to just shut you up, not in a way that was appropriate for a friend.

ni-ki groaned, running a hand down his face.

his first thought?

"God, i wanna touch."

his second thought?

"i need help."

you left something at school. suddenly, he showed up at your door, handing your things back along with a bottle of your favorite drink.

you looked at him confused, ni-ki rolled his eyes, pushing the bag into your hands.

"you… bought this for me?"

"don't be weird!" he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "just take it."

you stared at him for a long moment before stepping aside. "you wanna come in?"

ni-ki shook his head, he knew himself. he knew that the second he got too comfortable, his usual instincts would kick in... he would start flirting, the way he always found a way to get what he wanted.

instead of smirking and stepping inside like he usually would, he just shoved his hands in his pockets, exhaling.

"nah," he said. "i'll just see you tomorrow, okay?"

a small smile formed at your lips. "thanks, ni-ki."

he turned away quickly, waving a hand over his shoulder while his heart raced so fast. "welcome."

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki can't figure out if you're just a damsel in distress or actually bossing him around

ni-ki likes to think he's a pretty capable guy. he's used to girls needing him for things... carrying their bags, opening their drinks, giving them rides home. he didn't mind. it boosted his ego.

but every time you asked for his help, he couldn't tell if you were actually helpless or if you're just treating him like some personal assistant.

you handed him your backpack without a word while texting on your phone.

ni-ki blinked. "uh… am i supposed to carry this?"

"yeah." you replied without even looking at him.

"…please?"

you gave him a look. "i could say please, but you're already holding it."

then later you stared at a vending machine like it had personally offended you.

"what, it didn't give you your snack?"

"no..." you huffed, crossing your arms. "it won't take my bill."

ni-ki sighed, pulling out his own money and sliding in a new bill. the machine beeped, and he pressed your selection.

then the snack dropped, you grabbed it, turned on your heel, and walked away.

the way you pouted when you struggled with something, how your brows furrowed in concentration, the tiny pleased smile you gave when things worked out in your favor... it pleased him too.

so when you showed up next to him one day, shaking your phone with an exaggerated sigh, ni-ki already knew what was coming.

"my phone is dead," you said.

he smiled "finally."

you glared, "give me your charger."

ni-ki scoffed in disbelief. "you don't even pretend to be polite anymore!"

you pouted. "please?"

his eye twitched. you're so annoying. cute but mostly annoying.

ni-ki pulled out his charger and handed it to you. "i swear, don't lose it."

"i never lose things." you said, already plugging it in.

"liar." he shook his head. "you lost your AirPods case last week."

you laughed and waved him off. "that was one time."

ni-ki smiled, he felt that stupid warmth creep up his neck again when he heard your laugh.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki asked you to work out with him.

you regret this.

you had never worked out before but when ni-ki said, "come on, i'll go easy on you." you refused to back down.

big mistake.

now, here you are, struggling to breathe properly while ni-ki, just finished another set of weights, stood there looking like some Greek god.

sweat clung to his skin, his black shirt sticking slightly to his toned torso. his hair was pushed back from his forehead and sharp jawline got even more defined.

you gulped.

then he caught you staring. his lips curled into a grin. "like what you see?"

you quickly looked away. "shut up."

he only laughed.

later, back in your room, you are dying.

your muscles ached in places you didn't even know existed. you lay on your bed, groaning while ni-ki sat next to you, arms crossed.

"you're overreacting." he said.

"you tricked me," you accused. "you said you'd go easy."

"i did!" he defended, snickering.

you groaned again, moving slightly only to wince at the soreness in your legs.

ni-ki smiled. "want a massage?"

you looked at him. "you give massages?"

he smirked. "i'm really good with my hands."

you squinted and he laughed. ni-ki began to straddle your back, hands pressing into your tense shoulders.

the moment he started kneading your muscles, your body melted.

"oh… that's so good…" you whispered, voice airy.

ni-ki chuckled. "i am good, huh?"

"ah, ye- yeah, it feels so good." you mumbled, already slipping into a relaxed haze.

ni-ki's hands stilled for a second.

your voice sounded… weirdly suggestive.

he bit back a laugh. he knew you were just tired, but hearing you say that in such a soft, breathy tone? hmm.

he kept massaging, feeling the tension slowly leave your body. it wasn't long before your breathing evened out.

"…did you just fall asleep?" he muttered.

silence.

ni-ki shook his head, you looked so peaceful, face slightly turned to the side, lips were slightly parted.

his eyes trailed to your exposed neck, heart pounding while reaching out to gently brush your hair aside.

and before he could stop himself, he leaned in, pressing soft, featherlight kisses along the curve of your nape up to your neck.

your body reacted on instinct, tilting slightly, like giving him more access.

a soft, sleepy moan escaped your lips.

ni-ki's eyes widened, heart slamming against his ribs.

"…a- are you awake?" he asked.

silence.

panic surged through him. he quickly grabbed the blanket and draped it over you, standing up so fast he nearly tripped.

ni-ki ran home and the second his front door swung open, he stumbled inside, slamming it shut behind him. his fingers went straight to the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging at it while his mind still clouded with you.

the soft moan you let out, the way your body naturally tilted into his touch, the warmth of your skin beneath his lips.

his jaw clenched as he glanced down at his cock, his sweatpants doing a poor job at hiding the evidence of just how badly he was losing control.

ni-ki groaned, balling his fists, fighting the instinct to just take care of it.

he grabbed his phone, scrolling through his contacts.

the phone barely rang before a familiar, flirty voice answered.

"hey, ni-"

"how fast can you get here?"

the girl on the other end giggled. "mhm, about 30, 40 minutes-"

click. that's too late.

ni-ki exhaled sharply, tossing his phone onto his bed. his hand ran through his hair, feeling the frustration throughout his body. he pulled his sweatpants back up, shaking off the temptation.

and even though he had just worked out, he grabbed another set of weights and dropped to the floor, blasting music at full volume.

push-ups. sit-ups. anything to burn the tension off.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki looked like shit the next day.

you burst out laughing the moment you saw him.

he looked rough. dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, slouched in his chair like he barely made it out of bed.

"what happened to you?" you grinned, poking his arm.

ni-ki groaned, brushing you off. "it's your fault."

"wha- my fault? what did i do?"

he turned his head away, eyes shutting like he couldn't even look at you right now. "just… drop it."

you leaned in, pushing him playfully. "come on, tell meee." you pouted. "fine, then at least let me make it up to you! what can I do?"

ni-ki scoffed, tilting his head back against the chair. "there's nothing you can do."

when class ended and you followed him towards the gym storage room.

"ni-ki!" you called, slipping inside right behind him.

he turned around just as the door slammed shut. the click of the lock echoed through the small space.

"…are you kidding me?" ni-ki muttered.

you tried the handle. locked.

ni-ki groaned, he sat and started rubbing his face. "i really don't have the energy for this right now."

you stepped in front of him, with hands on your hips. "you seriously won't tell me what's wrong?"

and instead of answering, ni-ki suddenly reached out, gripping your waist and pulling you close.

you froze as he rested his head against your stomach, arms wrapped around you.

"just shut up, will you?" he murmured, voice muffled against your shirt.

you brought your hand to his hair, your fingers brushing the strands. you began to comb through them slowly, your touch gentle and rhythmic.

his body relaxed against you, the tension in his grip softening. ni-ki hummed.

you began to smile while playing with his hair, twirling a few strands between your fingers before smoothing them out.

it's sweet... but your legs were starting to ache.

"okay... maybe just a little longer." you thought, shifting your weight slightly to ease the pressure on your feet.

ni-ki didn't move. if anything, his grip on your hips tightened, like a sleepy child clutching a favorite pillow.

your legs began to tremble faintly, you hoped ni-ki would notice.

but nothing, he was like a cat curled up in the perfect sunbeam.

you sighed quietly, glancing down at him. your hands still in his hair as you debated your options. "maybe if i lean a little, he'll..."

ni-ki let out a low hum, his grip loosening just slightly as he shifted his head. for a split second, you thought your prayer had been answered, until he wrapped his arms fully around your waist, pulling you down to his lap.

"ni-ki!" you hissed, barely catching yourself with your hands as you stumble forward.

his eyes cracked open, a sleepy smirk tugging at his lips. "why are you so tense?"

"because you're treating me like a body pillow!"

"you're comfy."

you groaned, glaring at the top of his head. ni-ki added "you should've leave me alone." the smirk of his returned as his arms tightened around you once more.

"you know..." he began, "let's just skip class, you wanna sleep with me?"

your eyes widened, your brain short-circuiting at his words. "wha-what do you mean sleep with you?" you stuttered, leaning back instinctively.

ni-ki flicked your forehead lightly, his smirk growing. "not like that, you idiot." he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "i meant just sleeping. me, you, sleeping here. eyes closed. that's it."

you laughed awkwardly. "right..."

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki realized that he doesn't want to be your friend.

ni-ki got annoyed the second you started talking about jungwon. he had just introduced him but he noticed the way your eyes stared at his friend.

ni-ki subtly stepped in front of your view, blocking jungwon from your sight.

"hey! move!" you hissed, trying to peer around him.

and instead of budging, ni-ki covered your eyes with his hands.

"what the?!" you immediately grabbed at his wrists, struggling.

he kept his hands firmly in place, waiting until his jungwon hyung was completely out of sight.

and when he finally let go, you blinked, looking around. "where is he?"

ni-ki smirked. "i killed him."

you smacked his arm.

later, he was sitting on his bed while you lounged across from him, "he was really nice," you said, kicking your feet. "and kinda cute too, like a cat don't you think?"

"who do you like better, me or him?"

you blinked, confused. "what kind of question is that?"

"just answer."

"i like you," you said casually. "as my friend."

ni-ki scoffed. maybe he did want to be your friend before but that isn't the case anymore.

"i'm not your friend."

"yes, you are."

ni-ki grabbed your face with both hands, tilting your head up before slamming his lips onto yours, aggressively like he was trying to erase every thought you had of jungwon. "friends don't do this."

rough and desperate, his fingers pressed into your cheeks as he devoured your mouth, refusing to let you breathe while angling your head exactly how he wanted..

you gripped his shoulders, a muffled gasp escaping your lips as he deepened the kiss.

but ni-ki wasn't just kissing you, he was already claiming you.

he groaned against your lips, hands sliding to the back of your neck. holding you in place like he didn't want you slipping away and the second your lips parted slightly, he will deepen the kiss even more, biting at your bottom lip like he wanted to ruin you.

and when ni-ki finally pulled away, his lips were already swollen.

"you were saying?" ni-ki muttered, still holding your face.

you stared at him, breathless, lips tingling.

"…huh?"

he smirked, wiping his thumb over your lower lip before leaning in again.

"that's what i thought."

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki can't keep his hands off you.

you used to slap his hands away.

his arm over your shoulder? gone.

sneaking his hands around your waist? not happening.

grabbing your wrist to pull you closer? absolutely not.

but after the kiss, you started letting him and ni-ki noticed... of course, he did.

the first time you didn't push him away when he rested an arm around your shoulders, he almost did a double take.

you also didn't immediately escape when he pulled you onto his lap and when he linked his fingers with yours? he was expecting you to smack his hands, but you didn't.

"you're getting too comfortable," you muttered, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours.

ni-ki only smirked, giving your hand a squeeze.

"you're spoiling me, you know." he murmured against your ear, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. "if you keep this up, i'll start thinking you actually like me."

you scoffed, pushing his face half-heartedly.

ni-ki chuckled, leaning in like he was about to kiss you again. you froze, expecting the warmth of his lips- but he only brushed his nose against yours.

he pulled back, satisfied at the way you reacted. "see?"

your cheeks burned, frustration bubbling in your chest. you freed yourself from his grip and walked away, annoyed.

ni-ki watched you go with amusement. "where are you going?"

"far away from you."

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki ready to be yours.

"go put on a nice dress." ni-ki said over the phone.

you raised a brow. "why?"

he grinned. "because we're going to a restaurant."

you narrowed your eyes. "we are?"

"yeah." replied. "i made a reservation."

you got ready anyway. and when you stepped out in your dress, ni-ki scanned you up and down, "pretty." he murmured, before grabbing your hand and leading you outside.

before you both enter the restaurant, he suddenly intertwined his fingers with yours, "this is a date, okay?" he said, watching your reaction.

you blinked, caught off guard. "a what?"

ni-ki just grinned and dragged you inside.

your eyes widened as you looked around the table. all your favorite foods were there, plated beautifully under the dim, warm lights.

you turned to him, speechless.

ni-ki simply pulled out a chair for you, nodding at the seat.

the dinner was nice. way more than nice. he talked, he listened, and laughed with you.

"is this real? are you actually asking me out?"

"yes," ni-ki said, nodding. "i'm serious."

your chest tightened. you wanted to believe him but a part of you was scared.

what if he change his mind? what if you let yourself fall, only for him to break your heart once you bit into it?

ni-ki noticed your hesitation. he hated that you had to doubt him but he can't also blame why, though he wasn't just playing around.

he reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips. "just a bit more of your trust, okay?" he whispered against your skin.

you stared at him for a moment before finally leaning in to hug him.

he held you close, his lips curving against your shoulder. "you were mine the first time i kissed you."

you pulled back and laughed, playfully slapping his arm as you remembered how he stole your first kiss.

at his house, ni-ki captured your lips in a slow, passionate kiss. his mouth moved against yours, savoring every moment. he then pressed soft kisses along your jaw and down the column of your neck.

he found that sensitive spot that made you moan, he latched on and sucked harder, relishing the sound of your pleasure.

ni-ki started guiding you towards his bedroom, never breaking the kiss. once inside, he gently laid you down the bed, his body still pressed against yours.

he looked up at you with intense desire in his eyes, he asked breathlessly, "can i?" his eyes flicked down to your heaving chest.

you nodded, granting him permission. ni-ki didn't hesitate, slipping his hands under your shirt to fondle and tease your sensitive nipples through the thin fabric of your bra.

you arched into his touch, panting softly. he swallowed down your needy moans as he devoured your lips again, his tongue delving deep to clash against yours.

"friends won't do this, right?" ni-ki gasped between heated kisses. he tugged your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside. his mouth moved, licking and sucking at your bare breasts.

your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him against you as he lavished all attention on your tits.

then ni-ki trailed kisses down to your stomach. hooking his fingers in your panties, he groaned at feeling soaked folds. "fuck, you're so wet for me already," he murmured, tracing his finger along your slit.

he buried his face between your thighs and began eating you out with your panties on. the fabric added delicious friction when his mouth sucked the sensitive bud, lapping at your clit.

you cried out, ni-ki removed your panties. the first swipe of his tongue directly on your pussy made you both moan. you taste even better than he imagined.

ni-ki growled. diving in for more like a starving man. his talented mouth had you writhing and gasping within moments.

he couldn't help but picture how tightly your virgin pussy would squeeze his cock when he finally got to slide inside you. he just know he wouldn't last long once he felt your walls gripping him.

his tongue darted in and out of your slick folds, making you to tug on his hair harshly.

ni-ki's fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs as he licked and sucked your clit with sloppy, desperate motions. sounds of your moans and gasps only served to fuel his own growing arousal with every passing second.

but he promised himself he could wait, for now, he was content to focus solely on pleasuring you, determined to make you feel as good as possible.

he sealed his lips around your clit and suckled hard, pressing two fingers inside as listened to the squelching sounds of your tight cunt.

you cried out, your back arching off the bed as he pumped them in and out. "ni-ki, i...i think I'm going to...ahhh!" your words dissolved into a wordless moan as he curled his fingers just right.

soon, your thighs clamped around his head as you came, your pussy clenching down on his fingers in rhythm.

ni-ki crawled up your trembling body to capture your lips in a deep kiss. "you taste so good," he murmured against your mouth. "i can't wait to be inside you." he said as he positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing the thick head of his cock at your wet folds "i'll be gentle, baby."

"tell me if it hurts too much." he added, slowly pushing forward when he felt your walls relaxed slightly.

you let out whimpers and sharp gasps, the sting of pain clouded your eyes with tears. ni-ki paused, giving you a moment to adjust to the new feeling of being filled inside completely.

the sensation of your pussy squeezing him was unlike anything else. he wanted to fuck the shit out of you, claim you so thoroughly that you'd never forget your first time but he loves you so he has to be patient and gentle with your innocent body.

your whimpers and moans filled the room, ni-ki's heart swelled seeing you like this, breathless, desperate... he can't believe that your body is his for the taking.

your cunt began to welcome him inch by inch.

"fuck, you feel amazing." he groaned, fighting the urge to hammer into you wildly.

starting with shallow thrusts, he gradually increased his pace, still mindful of your pain. and as ni-ki doing it deeper, he leaned down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. "you're taking my cock so well..." he praised. "so fucking sexy."

your eyes fluttered shut and you tilted your head back in bliss, lost to the new pleasure and pressure building inside you. ni-ki felt your walls fluttering around him erratically. "ni-ki, i think- i'm- again..."

he knew you were close.

he increased his pace, deep strokes hitting that special spot inside you with every thrust. his hands gripped your hips enough to bruise as he fucked his dick into you, grunting with the effort of holding himself back from his own release.

and with a strangled cry, you came undone beneath him. ni-ki followed soon after with a moan of your name, pulling out before spilling his cum all over your thighs.

after cleaning up, ni-ki crawled back into bed and pulled you to his chest, kissing your face and neck but you moved and positioned yourself in his hips, where his hardening cock already poking on your sensitive, beaten entrance. "ready again?" he chuckled, wrapping his arms on your waist, his face nuzzling on your neck.

you giggled and sank down on him with a gasp. ni-ki groaned at the slick heat enveloping him again, making love with more confidence this time around.

rounds later, you're all sweaty and tired. ni-ki wondered dazedly if he'd turned his sweet, innocent girl into a sex addict. "you're so good, ni-ki..." you said, kissing him. to ni-ki, you looked like a sex god, your lips kiss-swollen, chest full of hickeys, your hair is a mess...

completely wrecked by him.

he wrapped his arms around your limp form and rolled to the side, careful not to dislodge from where he was still buried inside you.

and you're there thinking about worshipping ni-ki's body for the rest of your life.

"i'm going to fuck you all over again in the shower." he declared with a wicked grin. you answered with a moan that tells him it sounds like the perfect plan.

never knew sex could hit this different when it was out of love.

a/n: this is too long lol! enjoy <3 read part two

similar: Nishimura Riki as your boyfriend & Nishimura Riki as your classmate

masterlist: マスターリストm.list

3K notes · View notes

lassiie · 14 days ago

Text

HACKER!STEPBRO HEESEUNG - TRAPPED.

The one where your antisocial stepbro pretends he's not obsessed—while secretly hacking you, jerking off to your secrets, and discovering about your desire. He’s obsessed… And you'll use it.

BEST TO READ IN DARK MODE FOR EFFECTS

CONTENT ↠ nsfw! mdni!, smut, angsty toxic Heeseung, obsessive, psychosexual dark vibes step bro Heeseung, stalker heeseung, if I can't have you no one can typpa heeseung, deep voyeurism kink, needy/pervy/manipulative reader, strong depiction of fantasies, sexual tension, consensual edging, p in the v, overstimulation, , light choking, public act, bad behavior's reader.

WORDCOUNT ↠ 9k (not proof read enough.. damn...)

Was literally obsessed with those two songs when writing this : https://open.spotify.com/intl-fr/album/4OFZVvqlg84Czl7td7XddK?si=rakigTTnSJyY8CnPyp8A7w

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Heeseung barely glanced up the first time you met.

Not when your mom introduced you, her laugh sharp and grating over the clink of designer glassware. Not when she called you her little angel, like she hadn’t spent the last decade ignoring your existence—like a piece of cloth begging to be brought back just because it’s trendy now. And definitely not when you smiled at him like you actually meant it.

He just slouched further into his hoodie—hood up, sleeves covering half his hands like armor. Said something that might’ve been “hey,” but it sounded more like: I don’t give a shit.

You smiled anyway. Quiet, composed. Like you didn’t notice he hadn’t met your eyes yet, hadn’t even registered the color of his irises. He had a good face, for sure. And a nice name. Heeseung. Hee—seung.

Let’s try not to forget it…

He’s Heeseung—the one who doesn't match the luxury flooring or manicured smiles. Heeseung, who looked more interested in his phone screen than the pricey piece of steak he’d just been served.

You—

You were different. And Heeseung noticed.

Because other girls—especially the daughters of his father’s revolving door of Stepford wives—always played the same game: almost flirty, too fake, self-obsessed, and excited to be part of the family.

You… you were calmer. Almost shy. Ashamed to even call your mom “Mom.” You were also interested in his presence—lightly tapping his foot with yours, giving him those apologetic doe eyes, like: Sorry that my shameless mom got a grip on your already-married dad just to milk him dry…

But it’s not like he divorced his mom for yours. And it’s not like you were the first one. Generally, the other step-siblings never asked about him. Never cared to know what lay beneath the hoodie-tortured-kid style he wore like armor.

You?

You looked at him like he was a person. Like you saw something he didn’t even believe was still there.

And with months—and then a year—maybe… you liked what you saw.

You asked questions. Not the fake kind. Real ones.

“You coded that game on your own?”

“You really won a national contest?”

“That glitch mechanic you added… did you write it from scratch?”

He wasn’t used to that kind of attention. Not anymore.

You leaned over his laptop one afternoon, wide-eyed, genuinely impressed. Your breath was warm on his shoulder, the scent of vanilla and soft detergent clinging to your hoodie—one he was almost sure used to be his.

“You’re kind of a genius,” you’d said, and smiled that smile. Soft. Easy. Like you weren’t afraid of him.

Because why would you be? You were always so nice and caring to him. You’d bring him a plate of food when his dad never cared to check even once. Leave Post-its with sweet pep talks before exams—ones that made him smile for the first time in a decade. Sit silently beside him after he got scolded for placing second on the honor board. Your hand, always soft and peach-scented, would stroke his hair like he wasn’t eight months older. And your eyes—so sweet when they met his.

You weren’t supposed to make him feel things.

And he wasn’t supposed to want someone like you.

But there you were. Not just prim—but infuriatingly so. You weaponized it. You made being stuck-up look like a goddamn virtue. All perfect posture and polite smiles. Still, something was off. Like how you made him open up to you, but never really talked about yourself—your life, your past. Always mysterious, always evasive when he got curious, always turning the tables on him.

You… you made him feel watched. Seen. Known.

And he didn’t like not knowing you back. Because he needed to know everything. It was pathological. Every variable that could disturb his life. Every secret.

And you—you were the unknown variable. The only one he couldn’t figure out.

And the worst part?

Heeseung couldn’t match you. He wasn’t good with people. Never had been. Getting you to open up? Never happening. He even got tense in crowds. Even if girls liked him, he couldn't maintain relationships beyond hookups. He could throw a punch, sure—but he'd rather let the other guy walk off with a smirk, too bored to bother.

But he was good at something: systems. Code. Surveillance.

So he broke the rules he’d promised himself he wouldn’t—with you.

He hacked your devices.

He shouldn’t have connected to them. Shouldn’t have hijacked your phone. Shouldn’t have hacked your webcam feed like it was just another game level to conquer.

It started innocent—ish. Really. Just some harmless digital snooping. New mother, new stepsister, weird vibes, potential threat to his peace and privacy—totally justifiable.

But your passwords were laughable. The kind of thing a middle schooler could crack.

Seriously. “Bookworm123”?

Please.

After all he was Mr. Cybersecurity Prodigy. Award-winning code monkey. VPN for his VPN, two-factor-auth god.

And he peeked. Just a little…

Your instagram private account, that your mom swore you didn’t have because “socials medias was too destructive for her future doctor of a child.”

Your spotify. Pinterest boards. You’re files.

like essays about behavioral neuroscience and a note named “journaling” : Plans. Rage. Angry rebellion written between textbook reviews. Your escape plan : college far away, control of your own life, zero influence from Barbie and her string of Stepdads. How you craved more. Your identity crisis, GPA fetishist, and how competitive you were to the point of mania. Basically, a mirror of Heeseung in the shape of someone who tried to play the hero of his narrative.

Then, it got worse.

Because curiosity became fixation. He was too deep for it not to be.

On sleepless nights, Heeseung discovered things he absolutely shouldn't.

That his straight A’s and volunteering hours stepsister — was actually sneaking off to frat party with her friends, just feel alive, get waisted and let some sophomore finger her.

The music you fall asleep to, your “fuck” playlist too — the one you wouldn’t admit to owning even under threat of death.

That habit of yours to flirt with strangers like you had a death wish or just want to be ruined so badly being jailed would be for your own good.

That you send cropped pics, no face — just enough tits and thighs, to creeps then ghost them when they beg to meet, just to feel seen.

And he knew the kind of porn you watched on school nights, after wishing him sweet dreams. Earphones on, lips between your t-shirt collar like you’re scared someone might hear you in that big mansion. And what killed him is how fucking rough it is. Spit. Hair-pulling. Throat-fucking. Girls like you weren’t supposed to want that. Girls like you were supposed to blush and look away, like when he got too close. You’re supposed to be horrified at things like that — not get off to it at 1:38 a.m.

He discovered your texts with that secret boyfriend of yours. How badly he treated you—and how you let him, just to feel owned, loved. He knew when you snuck in those late-night FaceTimes, shirt half-off, hand between your thighs, playing the loyal girlfriend for him and his pathetic dick.

And Heeseung? He was obsessed with that version of you—the one he didn’t even dare to fantasize about, yet you handed to him on a silver plate.

Your self-care sessions got him hard under his desk. Got him jerking off to the way your fingers curled around your own throat in the dim hue of your bedroom, playing at power, pretending you didn’t crave being broken open.

You were too good at pretending. Sitting across from him, blouse crisp, smiling like a poetry award was the climax of your week.

What a goddamn lie.

But at least he’d seen you now. Most of you. And he understood better. Understood your issues. But something in him snapped.

Because this wasn’t just about obsession anymore.

It wasn’t about lust.

Or even protection.

It was about you.

And how you made him feel real again.

How you gave him a purpose.

You didn’t flinch when he glared. Didn’t avoid him at dinner. You just smiled, slid him your extra fries, and asked about the AI competition like it mattered. You looked at him like he was a person.

Not a project. Not a problem.

Not a hacker. Not a delinquent.

Not some mistake his father regretted.

And that… made you dangerous.

Because now you were a necessity. Something—someone—he cared about.

He did want to protect you.

But he also wanted to own you.

To erase the line between your bedroom and his. Between your thoughts and his access. Between your gasps at night and his name.

You weren’t supposed to get close.

You weren’t supposed to care.

And he wasn’t supposed to fall for you.

Fall for you?

...

But now what ?

You were the virus in his system.

The girl who said “good job” when he didn’t ask for praise. Who laughed when no one else did. Who touched his shoulder once—just once—and left him with a twitch in his fingers he couldn’t debug.

But you were a line of code he couldn’t rewrite. A live feed he couldn’t turn off.

And maybe, if he watched long enough—if he memorized every breath, every sigh, every single unguarded look—you wouldn’t disappear like the others.

Maybe, if he learned your pattern…he could break you open before you broke him.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d want him to. Even if it meant losing something. Even if it meant pulling you into the dark with him… and never letting you go.

Now you were sitting across from him. You spare him a glance while structuring your salad like a freak, with those doe eyes and he’s hard. Hard at a family dinner while they talked business.

Suddenly his breath catches your feet touching under the table. Like questioning, you good ?

Yeah it’s me, Heeseung. That sweet voice of yours haunting his head.

His foot slides slower in between your legs mindlessly and when you almost jolt, he realizes.

“gotta go sleep.” he blurred, rushing off the table. “Tomorrow is exam day.”

Fuck, he wants more. More of your secrets.More of you—the real you.

So he turned on your webcam, night after night, and your phone’s, and tab. like you were his favorite streamer, his favorite radio mc, the best sound to sleep. Like you wanted him to fantasise, think of it every night…

You were stretched across your bed, laughing into your phone, wearing nothing but a tank and panties, circling your finger on your belly mindless. The way girls do when they forget they’re being watched.

You laid out your clothes for the next day like some little honor-roll princess—giggling when your friend called you a chaebol, and you shrug her off.

But the way you lingered on the lace you never wear… the silk you only sleep on alone… the sheer pieces he has never seen— holding them up to your chest, slow movements like the reflection was his to tell you what to wear. It was fucking foreplay. You were a fucking siren, with your fucking hair finally down, and those dumb big scare glasses off.

And him ?

Heeseung…

He was already crashing on the rocks. He was a black-hat addict no-full-blown cyber-pervert. rock hard, mindlessly stroking his bulge at the sheer form of you in unmatched underwears.

So innocent. So mine.

Some days later, you knocked on his door while your parents were off circling the globe, allergic to stillness and obligations. Your hair was tied up but messier than usual, cheeks sun-kissed, eyes almost red—like you’d cried.

God, if someone made you cry… I’d kill them.

You held two glasses of soda, dripping with condensation. No way you could deny you’d been pacing by his door for the last hour.

“What are you up to, genius? I’m bored,” you said, voice half-curious, half-something else.

Heeseung—fool, addict, liar—let you in. Let you get too close. Showed you things he shouldn’t because you asked with that look that made him feel like a god, not a glitch. But also made him wonder who had made you sad enough to want to change your mind.

Still, you smiled at his screens like they were art. Touched his keyboard like it was sacred. No step-sister had ever looked at him like that before—hell, no one actually had. Fuck, he needed to focus. Focus on you, not you.

“You really made all this?”

He nodded, trying not to smirk, trying not to shake. His fingers danced across the keys like a seduction.

“Wanna see something fun?”

A window blinked open. He typed some commands, and grainy footage appeared: the neighbor’s yard. Middle-aged man with hedge clippers, snipping bonsai like manicuring his soul.

He tapped more keys. Suddenly, sprinklers roared to life. The neighbor shrieked, dropped the shears, and bolted.

You burst out laughing, collapsing into him, palm against his chest. That sound—reckless, sweet—made something snap inside him. It wasn’t just pride. It was possession. You weren’t weirded out. You liked it. Liked him. Not the fake polite way. The way that made him want to caress your cheek and kiss those red eyes.

But he was a coward—or your strongest soldier, as he liked to call himself. One who wanted you close, for good, not some fling you’d regret like the others he barely tolerated. No, he wanted you for life—and he was in the perfect position, as long as your parents behaved.

Then your eyes met. Dangerous idea sparking. You dared him with your gaze, then dashed out of his room.

“Try it on my bedroom camera!” you shouted, disappearing down the hall, hoodie flapping like a flag.

Fuck. If only you knew he was already connected.

Moments later — Cam03: Her Bedroom Feed lit up.

You stood in front of the lens—he used to fuck himself to thoughts of you—starry-eyed as he purposefully reactivated the red dot, signaling it was on. Made a mental note to re-enable it later.

You waved. Smiled like sin. Mouthing: “See me?”

He choked. Because yes—he saw you. Always had. But now? Now you saw him.

Like you always knew.

You reached for your top, lifted the hem just enough to flash bare skin, then darted out of frame, laughing like it was a game.

His chest burned. Panic and arousal mixed in his bloodstream like a drug. Heeseung’s brain broke.

But he didn’t shut it down. He couldn’t. Instead, he gave in. His trembling fingers dimmed your room’s lights, shifting godspeed to soft pink. He knew it was your favorite. Knew too much.

Then he started your playlist—the one with soft beats, gentle melody, moonstruck, your favorite.

You paused in the doorway. Turned just enough for the camera to catch you again. Smiled with pure fascination, like a kid. You should’ve been afraid. But you weren’t.

You looked at the cam again, really looked, like he was the sweetest boy, and you didn’t care much what he was capable of—because it was him.

You walked back to his door, dripping sunlight and mischief.

“That was so cool,” you said, high-fiving him like your heart wasn’t thundering. Like you hadn’t just exposed the darkest part of him and come back wanting more. “Can you, like… track people? Their phones or whatever?”

Heeseung blinked. “I-if their GPS is on. Or if they ping the network.”

You tilted your head. Bit your lip. “…Wanna play hide and seek?”

He scoffed in disbelief, but there was a glint behind his eyes—half challenge, half thrill. Like he’d just been dared to play a game he already knew the rules to.

He grabbed his laptop. The mansion was too big. Too full of shadows, quiet corners. A maze of marble, high ceilings, inherited guilt.

Heeseung sat somewhere, a storm brewing behind his eyes.

You texted him: “find me.” One signal. One flare. Then silence.

He tracked you through your phone GPS—chose not to use the hallway cams, even though he easily could have. Something intimate, invasive, about watching your little red dot move on his map. Every time he walked to you was an ode to the game only you two could play.

Library.

“Checkmate. You’re here.”

“Wow! So you really can!”

West Wing.

“If I’m facing a mirror, it’s too easy… not even fun.”

“Fuck…”

Wine Cellar.

“If you’re trying to get drunk, pick the 2007 Bordeaux.”

You laughed.

The pool.

He stuck to the GPS. The red dot blinking. Stalling. Then disappearing.

You texted: “find me now.”

His screen dimmed like the whole house was holding its breath.

Heeseung’s pulse quickened. GPS cut out. No new pings. He tried again. Twice. Three times. Nothing.

Every nerve in his body was a wire of curiosity. The air heavy with chlorine and humidity as he stepped toward the pool deck, leaving his computer by the bar.

Then he found it—your phone, face down on the stone near the pool.

But you, where—

“Got you!” You leapt.

Laughter, bare legs, hoodie off. Heeseung didn’t have time to react before you crashed into him—both of you tumbling into the water with a splash that shattered the silence.

You surfaced first, grinning like a devil. “You can’t find me if I don’t want you to, huh?” you teased, flicking water at him.

Heeseung stared at you, laughing mid-cough. Clothes heavy. Hair plastered to his forehead. The water clung to your skin in a way that made his hands twitch under the surface. You floated closer then. Then reached out and hooked your fingers in his bangs, stroking them like you always did. Then tugging gently.

“How about I cut your hair?” you whispered, too close to him not to have his eyes linger on your lips. “We’re starting university soon. Can’t show up like some code-goblin, right?”

He snorted. But you two didn’t move. Just watched each other's souls for too long. Heart hammering. Skin burning. You were in his pool. In his arms now. In his system.

“Are you okay?”

He, with the most considering eyes a family member ever gave you. But you just nodded to his biggest displeasure. Something was wrong, yeah.

Actually, everything was wrong. And surely something was wrong with you. You felt trapped. In your studies, in your relationship, in these always-new families, in your boring unstable life. You wanted more. More attention, more love, more recognition, more freeness, just more…

You weren't special like Heeseung. You couldn’t clap your fingers and get that video back from your so-called boyfriend—he threatened to leak it if you ever thought of leaving him again. Couldn’t clap your fingers and make a scholarship appear on your forms for university, and couldn’t clap your fingers to make you go to your best choice without the biggest loan you can think about.

But it was better to tell him everything was okay. Because if you didn't fake it… you’d be dead by now.

And maybe it’s the weather, or his concerned look, or his trembling hands on your ribs—not too low, not too high. But it felt good being with Heeseung, even better seeing the way he looked at you—you really had a problem.

“Can you… like… if I ever asked you…”

“What?” He came closer, almost locking in his hands. “Tell me…”

“If someday I needed you, would you… like… help me if I have something very complicated to solve... like… you know, math.” You laughed it off like you weren't about to ask him to get that sextape back.

He nodded so obediently it hurt. Fuck, you had him in the palm of your hand without doing anything more than just letting him watch. Deny his ever-growing desire. Playing this game you caught him in.

Yeah… maybe you really were what your mom made out of you… sadly.

After that, Heeseung was like a man on a mission. He hacked every piece of info he could find on that deep shit. Until he found it… your complicated math exercise…

A tap of you and him. Filmed like you weren’t aware of it. Heeseung couldn’t find the courage to watch it…

Until he did.

And it was everything he ever fantasized doing with you.

I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him.

That guy needed to be out of your life.

Now.

He could frame him for anything he wanted. Crash his Tesla. His mind was spiraling as he bit on his nail, replaying that video again and again and again. Zooming on you.

I’ll protect you.

First, you needed an escape. Easy—that guy already cheated on you with so many girls, it was easy for you to catch him. So he wrote a fantasy he hoped you’d fall for. He drafted messages from your bf’s phone. A fake date. Something sweet, just enough like your boyfriend to pass.

“Meet me tonight baby girl. Just us. Let’s talk. 9PM. My room.”

“Baby girl…” you hated that name, but still couldn’t refuse him. And now Heeseung understood.

You saw it, and for a second, you believed. He watched you re-read it, then start getting ready—lip gloss, that fluttery dress, even that nervous little smile like it still meant something.

Meanwhile, your boyfriend was across campus, buried in someone else. Moaning her name. Careless, as always.

Heeseung watched it all—your hope fading when you opened that door, his betrayal, his choke. Your silence. Her grasp. One earbud in, one eye on every camera feed you both could offer.

You left the place in a rush, your phone starting to buzz as Heeseung watched every message your now-ex boyfriend sent you. You found yourself drifting in a club. You needed air, music, and drinks.

The music wasn’t even that good, your drink, not that strong. You didn’t plan to dance. And you didn’t plan for some no-brain guy with smooth hands to hit on you.

And you almost let him have his way near the bathrooms. Just to forget the sound of your phone. Forget that you had to go back to that guy until he decided he’d had enough or leaked the tape.

Almost.

Until Heeseung’s hand was on your wrist, showing up out of nowhere to pull you away.

“Heeseung?”

He got you out of the club, his hand digging into your wrist. The car ride was dead silent. Heeseung looked pissed. You were hollow, but not dumb. And you let him snap.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

You didn’t answer.

“... Don’t you have a bf?”

Still silent. Tears welled up before you could blink them back, and Heeseung was at a loss for words. Yeah, it was that easy to shush him—crocodile cries easy.

“Stop crying…” he muttered, but he looked panicked now. Like your tears were acid on his skin. “Tell me what’s going on?”

Like he didn’t know.

But you had to play it well. Make him do it tonight, and no other night.

“He cheated…”

“Then leave him…”

“I can’t…” Hee looked at you with fake wonder. “He filmed me once… and…”

He nodded, enough to tell you you didn’t need to keep going.

When you got home, Heeseung took your hand before you stormed into your room, and he watched you—really watched—and got in a hug. Caressing your hair, getting closer to your ear, “I'll help you.”

You almost feared he could feel your smile. You detached your head with the saddest questioning expression.

“I’ll protect you,” he said, the heaviest stare he ever gave you.

You just nodded like you weren’t expecting much. When you actually wanted exactly what he gave you.

Back in your room, you kept re-seeing Heeseung’s expression. Almost mad, almost dangerous.

And you. You wanted more. You wanted everything—not just protection, but revenge. Revenge for the time you lost on that guy, for your virginity you couldn’t bring back, for the stress… for everything.

So you opened your laptop. Placed your phone next to it like it’s part of the performance. You know he’s watching.

You know.

Heeseung, on his part, got in his room ready to execute the next part of his plan when the ping of your camera alerts him. But tonight is not the night. After seeing you like that, he doesn't want to do that.

So he started to undress. Until—

“Heeseung?”

His head snapped to his monitor. WTF.

“You’re here, no? I mean, you’re watching.”

He almost fell on the ground, unable to walk straight to his computer.

What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What?

The webcam light doesn’t flicker on right away when you open it.

You look at your reflection. This webcam is better than the last time you used it. Wide-angle. Pretty high-def. You can see almost your entire room. Bed. Closet. Console. The mirror angled just right to show the bathroom.

God. You made it so easy for him.

You let your fingers lazily drift to your dress straps. In a slow reveal. You watch yourself in the camera—legs tucked just right to keep mystery intact. Eyes locked on the return. You open your—

“You like it when I do that?” You looked almost innocent doing it. What the fuck were you doing, Heeseung’s mind screamed. “You want more?”

Heeseung was stunned. Too many questions. Too many desires.

He didn’t even respond, his hand mindlessly disconnecting your camera’s red dot and reconnecting again like Morse.

“Then ruin him for me. Make him as ashamed as I was.”

You were pulling his obsession like strings. A puppet master in silk cloth. The light on the webcam flickered once again.

You smiled, slowly nodding. “Good night, Heeseung.” Shut it all down.

By morning, half the campus was infected with a juicy little virus: dozens of very compromising photos of your now-ex, including a special feature of him being pegged by none other than his mom’s best friend.

Iconic.

The breakup text? Already sent. Blocked him before your brain even had a chance to process.

You didn’t see him all day. No dinner, no open door when you brought snacks. Nothing.

Maybe you really fucked up. Poor Heeseung, thinking you were innocent, only to find out you were just like everyone else—grey, messy, complicated.

But just before bed, your phone lit up. A note. Your password written clear on the screen.

You sat frozen, eyes flickering between the note that started typing on its own, and the webcam pointed right at you.

“I’ll always protect you.”

Then, an mp4 file popped up. Your lips curved into a shy smile.

You almost said something, but instead, you tapped beneath his words:

“Thank you, Heeseung. I don’t know what I’d have done if you weren’t there.”

The cursor blinked, paused—like he was thinking hard about what to say next.

“I protect what’s mine.”

Your eyes drifted to the webcam. “Am I?”

“Aren’t you?”

Your gaze dropped shyly, biting your lip to keep the smile from slipping out. Fuck, it was hot—this obsessive, protective boy who’d kill for you.

“I am…” you breathed, fingers playing with the thin straps of your dress.

“Maybe?”

Slowly, you peeled it off. No bra. No panties. Just you—bare, glowing in the soft light of your screen.

Heeseung’s side: panting mess. Trembling. Rock hard. Watching was always intense, but this? His brain shorted out. Every movement you made poured fuel on the fire in his chest—the way you loosened your hair, slid off your glasses, shy but teasing.

Your voice slipped through his headphones like a spell.

“Tell me what you want,” you breathed. “I’ll do it. As a thank you.”

He was nearly feral, watching you perched like a dream made just for him. But now you wanted him to take the lead. For once, you wanted control handed over.

And for a long, heavy moment, silence.

Then, a new line in your notes:

“Anything?”

You nodded, lips parting.

Another line.

“Touch yourself.”

“For me.”

You rose, heading for your bed.

Then:

“No. Here.”

You sat back down. Fully exposed. The chair never felt colder. The electricity on your skin was undeniable—the weight of someone watching, devouring every move.

You shivered. Something folded inside, vulnerable but not scared.

Then your screen flickered.

A video opened.

Porn.

But not just any porn. A girl like you—same frame, soft lighting. She was in a gaming chair, legs parted, cat headphones, a pink toy buzzing between her thighs. Moaning like she’d been waiting for eyes to watch.

You blinked. The message was loud and clear.

Your breath caught—not shocked, but challenged.

Back to the webcam—doe eyes, tempted. Your fingers traced lower, hips shifting, copying her exact position. Mimicry never felt so twisted.

You didn’t hesitate. Your fingers moved.

Heeseung watched like it was a live confession. Pupils dilated, chest heaving, gripping himself tight, trying not to explode too soon.

A message appeared:

“Slower.”

You obeyed, breath shaking, already slick with every stroke.

Another message:

“Fuck, you’re shaking.”

You were. Legs twitching, spine arching against the chair.

You never thought you’d go this far, but he was puppeteering you with his commands.

Then:

“I’ve never seen you like this. Fuck. I want to cum in you. In that chair. Just like that.”

You groaned, eyes fluttering shut, but forced them open—locking onto the lens like it was him.

Another message:

“I want you ruined. For anyone else. Say it.”

You moaned, fingers freezing.

“I’m yours,” you whispered.

“Say it again,” he typed.

“I’m yours, Heeseung.”

The pressure built—right at the edge—

Then:

“Stop.”

“Don’t cum.”

Your breath hitched. You froze mid-stroke, legs trembling.

Another line:

“I said stop. If anyone makes you cum tonight—it’s me.”

Your fingers hovered, shaking. The ache burned deep in your thighs, stomach taut.

But you stopped.

Because his word mattered more than your desire now.

Your screen blinked.

“Get your toy.”

You swallowed, nodded, reached into your drawer.

The vibrator was familiar—sleek, pink, faintly scented from your date-night oil. You rubbed it, coating it with your wetness, then slid it slowly inside, breath heavy.

Then the toy buzzed. Flickered. Came alive.

You gasped—he was controlling it.

Before you could say a word, it pulsed hard. Your body jerked, chair creaking beneath you. Your grip tightened on the arms as pleasure rolled through you like a whip.

“That’s it,” he typed. “Don’t touch it. Just take it.”

You moaned—too much, too fast—your body trembling, legs spreading without control. The sounds you made were filthy, desperate.

Heeseung’s fingers typed again.

“Grip the chair.”

You obeyed.

The toy buzzed harder, relentless and cruel.

“Look at the camera.”

Tears pricked, but you held his gaze—through that little glowing lens. Your thighs trembled, breath catching—

He knew.

He memorized every sound, every gasp, every twitch.

Your climax hit like an explosion—so fierce your back arched from the chair. Toes curled, lips parted in a silent cry.

If only you could hear it—the gasp, the groan, the shuddering moan from his room. Rooms apart, perfectly synced.

You collapsed back against the seat, chest heaving.

The toy powered down. The room fell silent but electric. Only the Notes app stayed open. One final line appears:

“I know your body better than anyone ever will.”

You smile, eyes rolling, calming yourself. You’re still catching your breath when your phone buzzes.

Unknown Caller.

You smirk. Answer it without hesitation.

Hee,” you whisper, lazy satisfaction dripping from your tone.

You hear him—shaky, panting, like the edge nearly broke him. “Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck… You’re so pretty. So fucking pretty. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

His voice is hoarse, frayed with restraint. You picture him—still burning from his climax, hand resting low, skin flushed.

“You drive me insane. Every breath you take, every moan...” He watches you lift your thighs, tucking yourself shyly behind them like a girl playing innocent. “It’s mine. You’re mine. Don’t you get it? I want you so bad I—fuck—I can’t even—”

You cut in softly.

“Heeseung,” you murmur, voice smooth like silk sliding over a blade. “I never said I was yours...”

Silence.

You lean in, sugar-sweet, doe eyes locked on the lens, like you don’t quite know what you’re doing.

“You think this makes me yours?”

He breathes hard. You swear you hear the tension in his throat—how he swallows that growl.

“Then what?” he whispers. “What do I have to do?”

You hum, hiding your face in your thighs, thoughtful. “I’ll know.”

Heeseung almost chokes. “You’re playing with me.”

You tilt your head.

“Of course I am, Hee. Isn’t that what you like? What we always did? Playing games.” Your voice softens, teasing, the tone that always breaks him. “You’re obsessed, Hee. But to own me?” you shake your head slowly. “You’ll have to do more than just watch me cum on camera.”

A pause. You let it hang, let it burn. Then, low and teasing:

“If you really want me,” you whisper. “Stop being a coward. Show me.”

His breath catches. You almost feel the stillness on his end.

Click.

You hang up.

Still smiling, you toss your phone aside.

“Good night, Heeseung,” you murmur to the camera before shutting everything down.

Heeseung hadn’t heard your voice in three days.

Not on the phone, not through the headphones, not even that little intake of breath when you tiptoe around your room late at night.

Three days.

Seventy-two hours of silence.

No webcam flickers. No Notes app replies. No little “good night, Hee” teasing him through pixels.

Nothing.

He tapped at your IP like a lunatic. Pinging dead signals. Checked your cloud for new files. Scraped your cache for cam logs, anything—anything—that might prove you were still playing.

But you weren’t. You’d shut him out completely. Blocked him, in every way that mattered—except the one that destroyed him the most: in person, you were still perfect.

Because in real life, you were still her.

Still the step-sister who sat next to him at dinner, nudging his arm, sipping from his glass like it meant nothing. Still in those stupid soft modest dresses that smelled like your vanilla lotion and innocence. Still saying his name in that sweet voice that didn’t match the girl who once whispered “I’m yours” for a night, while fingering herself in his favorite dress.

Still shy smilling in front of the parents, like he wasn’t slowly going fucking insane of you ghosting him in the cruelest way possible.

Heeseung clenched his jaw until it hurt. His fists, tighter. You were torturing him. Training him with your silence. Denying him touch, sound, ownership—making him feel like just another loser watching from a screen.

And worst of all? You liked it.

He could see it in the way you smiled at him when no one was looking. Like the devil behind a halo. Like the dom who knew her puppy would crawl the moment she said good boy.

You knew what you were doing. And you knew he was starving.

He watched you meet someone new through your messages—tracked him from his first DM. The second the guy sent a heart emoji, Heeseung had full access to his cloud, laptop, phone, and location history.

So when you showed up at that guy’s place in that same dress as that night, Heeseung went feral. watching you through the guy’s hacked MacBook camera. Front-row seat. 1080p. Wide angle. Clear sound. Perfect view.

You didn’t even try to hide untapping your phone camera, angling it for him. But he was already there.

He watched the way you swayed when you walked into the room. That skirt was short—barely legal. Hair done like you were on a mission to ruin him. Lip gloss like you were asking to be kissed. Or owned.

Heeseung’s fists dug into his thigh. You let the guy kiss you. Hands on your hips. Heeseung scoffed in fury. The guy went down on you and Heeseung leaned forward—eyes glued to your face smiling at him. Not for the man.

Only for him.

You mouthed his name, Heeseung, made that sound again—that sweet gasp that cracked every nerve in his body—and his hands were already down his pants before he even realized it. Stroking slowly. Angry.

Then the guy started fucking you. It was… pathetic.

You looked bored. Pretty. But not wrecked. Not how Heeseung would have done you—needed you. Not how you looked when he edged you, whispering commands through your notes.

He texted :

He’s not even close to making you cum.Why are you with him?Stop.

Now.

Please.

You didn’t stop. You got louder. Not for performance, because knowing hee was watching, unleashed you.

Heeseung’s hand stuttered. He bit down on his bottom lip so hard it bled. You were performing. For him, not the other guy. You had to be. And yet you didn’t stop when he begged you.

Heeseung didn’t drink. Didn’t smoke. Didn’t call a friend.

He texted one of the girls who’d been orbiting him since he entered university—some pretty, pouty girl with no idea what she was walking into.

She came fast. Obedient. Heeseung fucked her like punishment.

Shoved her onto his lap, dragged her skirt over her hips without a single word. Didn’t ask if she was ready. Didn’t even pretend to care. Just spread her thighs, lined himself up, and buried in—rough, silent, merciless.

She moaned his name, kissing his neck. Heeseung kept his eyes on the screen. Because on the monitor behind her?

You were still live. Fucking someone else. His airpods were in. And he was moaning your name under his breath.

The girl was clueless to much overwhelmed by his deep, rough trust. Riding him like she thought she was doing a good job for him to be so feral.

Heeseung touched her the way he would have to you, controlling. forcing her in position trying to reach her deepest part, as he watched your hips roll on screen. Your nails dig into someone else’s back.

“Grippe my back. leave marks.” he ordered her.

He hiss, mouthing along with your sounds like a prayer.

“Fuck—Louder. Just like that... Just like that—fuck.”

The girl on his lap whimpered, “does it feel good, Hee?”

Heeseung stared at your body—your lips, your tits, your sweat-shined thighs.

“You’re so perfect,” he muttered. “Fuck—you…”

His climax came hard, violent. He choked your name on the exhale and came inside the girl like she didn’t matter—because she didn’t.

When the girl left, he stared at the screen for an hour. Watched you dress. Watched you check your phone. Smiling.

Not once did you reply to his messages.

You were killing him. Starving him. Making him beg. He slammed the laptop shut, chest heaving, hatred and love boiling into the same sick ache.

You were right. He was a coward. But not for much longer.

You found it on your bed. No card. No note. No sender. Just a black box, wrapped in a ribbon you never heard arrive. Inside: lingerie. Lace. Sheer. Decadent. Your exact size. Your exact taste. Lightly soaked in a scent you could recognize in your sleep—his cologne.

Your fingers trembled when you held it up to the light. No message. But then again, he never needed words.

Heeseung didn’t ask. He tried to command.

So, you didn’t text. Didn’t thank him. You just wore it.

That night, when the webcam light blinked to life, you were already sitting pretty in front of your laptop. Sheer fabric draped over your body like a sin begging to be confessed.

You leaned into the camera, eyes soft, voice sweeter.

“Goodnight, Genius. Hope uni’s not eating you alive.”

And then—

You logged off. Just like that.

Left him starving. You knew he’d pretend it didn’t affect him. He tried, bless him.

He texted the next day, like it was nothing. Invited you to his university party. Like this wasn’t war. Like he wasn’t already losing.

Of course, you went. Dressed in red. Not the lingerie—something sharper. Something that made his friends stare a little too long.

Heeseung barely spoke to you that night. Slipped back into his old self—like he hadn’t spent the week watching you like a man possessed. But he was in his element, charming his nerdy circle, and you were happy just watching him thrive.

Then, it changed.

He didn’t introduce you as his stepsister. That alone cracked the air between you. His hand found your back, fingers tracing lazy nothings while he laughed with his friends, eyes on you like you were art.

You liked seeing him smile. Liked knowing you made it easier.

And then—he excused you both. His friends wished you luck with admissions. So polite. So clueless.

He walked you up a narrow hallway, like it was nothing. A quiet corridor, half-lit.

Then he locked you in a hug.

And kissed your neck.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, hands already exploring.

“You too,” you murmured, smiling. “New haircut? You kept it long in the back. Looks good.”

“You said I should, so...”

You smiled harder, went in for a kiss—your first. His lips were maddening. Soft, sure, and hungrier than you expected. He kissed like he’d waited for years. Like he’d decided waiting was over.

"Untie your dress," he whispered against your mouth, voice low.

You raised a brow, smirking. “Thought you liked watching from afar.”

His jaw flexed. “Not tonight.”

You let the ribbon fall, letting the dress slip open. Underneath—his gift. His breath caught.

“You like it?” you teased.

He didn’t answer. He spun you, pressed you into the wall, and his hand was already between your thighs—finding you soaked.

His mouth brushed your ear, voice cracking with restraint.

“Fuck. You’re so wet for me. I’ve waited so long.”

“Say it,” he growled.

“What?”

His thrust was sharp—two fingers deep.

“Say you want me to ruin you. Say you like it.”

You whimpered, arching into his hand. “I like it when you ruin me.”

“Say it right.”

You licked your lips. “I want to be yours, Heeseung. Ruin me.”

His exhale was jagged—like something inside him broke.

Then came silence. Just heat. Breathing. Fingers moving in and out of you as he grinded against your body, shameless and reckless in a hallway anyone could walk into.

And just before you came—he pulled away.

“No,” he said simply. “Let’s go.”

“Home?”

“No. My room.”

His dorm was massive, dark except for the red glow of a snoozed monitor. His roommate was nowhere. Probably never real to begin with. You practically jumped on him. Messy kisses. Wandering hands. He kissed your neck, your shoulder, your back—and then—

Your hand brushed his desk. The monitors flared to life. And there you were—your webcam feed, glowing on the screen.

Recording. Your name as the file.

“You always make me watch,” he whispered, stripping you down to the lingerie. “Now watch yourself.”

He pulled you onto the bed, body still facing the screen.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, spreading your legs for the camera. “I’ve owned you since the first time you stepped into this house.”

On screen—your reflection trembled. Moaned. Melted in real-time.

He eased fingers inside you again while holding you in his lap, pinching a nipple until you gasped, breath tangled.

“I know what you fantasize about when you’re bored,” he whispered.

He started humping you, slow and heavy.

“I know what kind of porn you scroll past—then go back to.”

Thrust.

“I know which songs you loop when you touch yourself. I synced your playlist.”

You choked on a gasp.

“I know you changed your passwords, just to make me mad.”

His hand curled lightly around your throat.

“But I like it. I like when you pretend.”

He never slowed—just kept pushing you higher, mean and relentless.

And when you moaned his name?

He broke.

“I’m going to give you every twisted thing you’ve ever typed,” he growled. “Every fantasy you deleted. Every filthy draft you couldn’t finish. I’m going to make them real.”

Your climax slammed into you, shuddering through your bones—but he didn’t stop.

“I’ll tie you up in the library when no one’s looking,” he said, voice wicked. “Bend you over your best friend’s bed and leave a bruise only I’ll recognize.”

He laughed.

“I’ll make you cry my name with someone else inside you—just to remind you no one will ever ruin you like I do.”

You turned and kissed him, wild and unhinged.

He kissed back like a claim. Like he was branding your soul.

Then he grabbed you and threw you onto the bed. Reached for a condom.

You stopped him.

“It’s safe today, Hee. Do me raw.”

His pupils darkened. Something dangerous sparked.

He freed himself and dragged his cock against your wetness, teasing your entrance. You moaned each time the head kissed you. His smile was smug. Addicted.

“Heeseung. Please.”

He nodded—and slid in all at once.

You gasped, overwhelmed, stretched so good it hurt in the most perfect way.

He rocked into you deep and slow, biting your neck, lips pressed against skin he couldn’t stop worshipping.

Then he pulled you upright—still inside you.

“You like this position, huh?”

You nodded, dizzy, undone. He studied you like he’d been preparing for a test. He always aced those.

Then—his thrusts changed. Not faster. Just deeper. Harder.

“Hee—”

“Like that, yeah?”

You nodded again, mouth open, breathless at every delicious, punishing thrust.

He looked so fucking good like this—hair sticking to his forehead, lips parted, eyes glazed with need. You went for another kiss and he gripped your neck, slid to your hair, pulling until your back arched.

“Like that?”

“Yeah—yeah—fuck—don’t stop—”

He sucked your tits, relentless now, chasing both your highs. You clenched down so hard his groans turned ragged. He bit your nipple, then folded you in half, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

And then—he lost it.

He didn’t slow.

Not even as your body bucked under him, shaking.

He buried himself deeper, fingers biting into your hips, sweat dripping from his jaw as he fucked you like he wanted to unmake you.

The monitors kept rolling. Your name flashing on screen, over your own moans.

You reached for him—some desperate grasp for balance—but he pinned your wrists above your head, fucked you harder. One of your legs slipped off his shoulder, and he yanked it back up with a grunt.

“Keep it there,” he snarled, breath ragged. “Don’t move unless I say.”

You didn’t.

You couldn’t.

You were already too far gone.

You felt yourself stretch around him again, again, again—your walls pulsing and fluttering with every brutal thrust. It was filthy, unrelenting, and it wasn’t enough.

Heeseung's voice was in your ear, low and wrecked.

“This how you like it?” he panted. “Getting used like this—getting ruined on camera for me?”

You sobbed a yes—high and gasping—and he growled. His hips snapped forward again, this time shoving you higher on the bed.

“Fucking take it.”

He leaned in, biting your lip, grinding deeper. The rhythm turned meaner—each thrust slamming into you with brutal precision.

“You like knowing I’ll replay this?” he whispered. “Jerk off to it when you’re not around?”

You moaned helplessly.

“Want you to. I want you obsessed.”

“Oh, I am,” he said. “You made me this.”

His rhythm stuttered—he was close. You could feel him twitch inside, groaning against your mouth.

Then—

He came.

Hard.

Buried deep.

His whole body went taut over yours, shuddering as he emptied himself, hips rolling slower, deeper. You felt the heat inside you, the stickiness, the way his cock throbbed even after the high.

And still—he didn't pull out.

He kissed your collarbone, your throat, lazily now. Worn out. Quiet.

The screen behind him kept glowing.

Your body was wrecked, your heart pounding against his chest.

He pulled you close, like he wasn’t finished. Like he never would be.

The next morning, the sun barely broke past his blackout curtains. You were still half-naked in his sheets when you heard his fingers tapping at his laptop. A fresh hoodie hung off his shoulder, hair a messy halo.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough with sleep.

You groaned into the pillow. “Already working?”

He smirked. “Coding clears my head. Better than coffee.”

You rolled over. He looked too good like this. Soft around the edges. Eyes warm.

“I wish you could come here,” he said. “To my university.”

You blinked, suddenly alert. He smiled, but it didn’t reach all the way. “You did apply, right?”

“…Yeah.”

He nodded like he already knew. “But you didn’t tell me…pfff.”

Your stomach turned, just a little, as you smirked. “I didn’t want you to be happy for something so unsure.”

“I know.”

Silence. He got back typing.

“You really think I wouldn’t find out?” he said. “You think I’d just… let you leave somewhere else?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What did you do?”

He smiled. Shrugged. “Nothing you’ll ever be able to prove.”

Your heartbeat slowed. Thick. Smiling unsure.

“Heeseung...”

He stood, walking over. Calm. Barefoot. Still smelling like last night and wanting more.

“I didn’t touch your application,” he said softly. “But I might’ve nudged the scholarship committee. You’re exceptional, after all.”

You froze. “Why?”

“Because you belong here, in that prestigious place and nowhere else.”

His fingers grazed your chin. Tender. Possessive.

“...With me.”

You swallowed. He tilted your face up to his, eyes half-lidded.

“You would've turned it down if you knew,” he murmured, getting his lips closer, smooching slowly. “You’re too proud for that kind of help. Too proud to admit you want to be kept.”

Your voice caught in your throat. “That’s not why I applied.”

“I know why you applied, just like me.”

His thumb ghosted over your lower lip.

“That’s why I made sure you’d stay. to be free.”

A flicker of something dangerous passed between you. Or maybe it had always been there. He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“You think you’re playing me right now, huh,” he whispered, “but—what if I like being used, if it means I get to keep you?”

Your breath hitched. And he smiled. Like he’d already won. Or maybe he was wrong. Maybe you’d just let him believe he had.

Author’s Note:

Babies~ here it is!! 💗 The second part of my enha stepbro AU (first one was HUNTED).

I really hope this one pleased you… did it??? 🥺

I worked so hard on this piece to match the exact vibe I had in mind. Like—why was I waking up at 3 AM with wild ideas for scene effects that were borderline impossible to execute?! 😭🌀

This one definitely has a different flavor! While HUNTED leaned into soft, needy sub!Jakey energy (bless him), I wanted TRAPPED to explore the more intoxicating side of obsession—but not so far that we start hating our sweet little Heeseung~ Just a touch of crazy, y’know?

I really hope the mood translated well, because after rereading it 500 times, I fully lost that "first read magic" feeling I’m not super proud of this draft yet—kinda wish I had more time to proofread and polish it up. I’ll probably update it later (perfectionist problems 😭).

Next up is Part 3, which is supposed to be Sunghoon’s! Let me know if you want anything special in it—I’m all ears... and pervy brain. Just know it’s gonna involve dacryphilia, so bring tissues… for various reasons

XOXO

@heejunluvr @choeryyxyz @hoonprksung @schniti-is-in-the-house @ii2sanrio @woniedoyouloveme @saeris-world @gonorrheaisme @soobiverse

#lassiie's #enhypen smut #enha hard hours #enhypen imagines #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x reader #heeseung x you #heeseung smut #heeseung drabbles #desire unleash #bad desire #heeseung #heeseung hard hours #heeseung x yn #heeseung x reader #stepbro!heeseung #stalking fantasy

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flwrstqr · 3 months ago

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﹙𝑓﹚ BABY, HOLD ON TIGHT ⟡ HOT THINGS THEY DO

𖹭 𝗠𝗢𝗡 𝗔𝗠𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗒

【 𝐋𝒪𝐕𝐄 】 ' 𝒏. boyfriend!enha & fem!rea ｡ 8OOwc ˊᯅˋ fluff established relationship 𓂃 skinship , petnames , hee checking you out ( click )

다니 ⠀⦂ hello,, i was suppose to post tomorrow.. but guess who's been neglecting writing a lot TT also a remake of my old fic

HEESEUNG ( when checking you out )

heeseung leans against the doorframe, eyes dragging over you slowly like he's trying to memorize every inch. “you tryna kill me or somethin’, baby?” he murmurs, biting his lip as he blatantly checks you out, no shame, no rush. “damn,” he breathes, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “how’d i get so lucky?” he pushes off the wall and saunters over, fingers hooking around your waist, pulling you close so your chest brushes his. “you look unreal tonight,” he whispers, voice low and thick, breath warm against your cheek. his hand slides up your back, and he dips his head, leaving a kiss on your cheek. he grins, all lovesick. and yeah, the date hasn’t even started yet.

JAY ( looking at your lips when you're talking )

you’re mid-sentence when you notice it again—the way jay’s eyes drop to your lips, lingering like he’s not even trying to hide it, and it makes your breath catch every time. “keep talking, baby,” he says, voice low, eyes flicking back up to yours for a second. “i like listening to you talk,” he adds, but you know he’s not listening to a damn word. he’s too focused on the way your mouth moves. when his gaze drops to your lips one more time, you give in. “just kiss me already,” you whisper, and he doesn’t hesitate—not even for a second.

JAKE ( calling you pretty girl )

jake’s always been affectionate, always calling you sweet things like “baby” and “princess,” and you love it, you do. but the first time he calls you “pretty girl”? oh you're weak on your knees. he knows it too, the way your breath catches. “what’s wrong, pretty girl?” his voice is all honey and warmth, teasing, and your heart does a full somersault in your chest. “nothing,” you mutter, but he just chuckles, thumb tracing circles into your hip, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “mm, you like that, don’t you?” he murmurs. oh god you do because when jake calls you pretty girl, it’s not just a pet name. it’s the way he says it like you’re the only one he ever wants to look at.

SUNGHOON ( pulling up his sleeves )

you’re sitting on the couch, half-listening to whatever sunghoon’s saying when he casually rolls up his sleeves, and it’s game over. his fingers tug at the fabric with ease, veins subtly flexing, silver rings glinting as he adjusts them without even looking. your mouth goes dry. “you good, baby?” he asks, glancing at you with that smirk, like he knows exactly what he’s doing—except he doesn’t, and that’s what makes it worse. or better. you can’t decide. “i—yeah,” you mumble, eyes glued to the way his forearm flexes when he runs a hand through his hair. not fair. he leans in, resting one arm on the back of the couch. “you’ve been staring for a while,” he teases. “want me to roll the other one up too, sweetheart?” your brain short circuits. yes. yes, you absolutely do.

SUNOO ( holding eye contact )

sunoo has this thing he does where he holds eye contact like he’s memorizing you. he rests his chin on his palm, eyes twinkling, lips curled in the tiniest smile. “you’re really pretty, you know that?” he says, voice light, almost absentminded, like he’s just stating a fact. his fingers trace lazy shapes on your wrist. when you tilt your head, raising a brow, he only grins, thumb brushing over your knuckles before intertwining your fingers. he doesn’t break eye contact. doesn’t even blink. “i like looking at you,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand once. and just like that, he wins—because how are you supposed to compete with kim sunoo looking at you like you’re the only thing worth seeing?

JUNGWON ( tucking your hair behind your ear )

you barely have time to admire your reflection before warm hands find your waist from behind, fingers grazing over the fabric of your dress. jungwon’s chin hovers near your shoulder, his smile evident in the way his breath fans against your skin. “you always do this,” he murmurs. “rush to get ready, forget the little things.” before you can ask what he means, he lifts a hand, fingertips brushing against your cheek as he gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. his eyes flicker over your face. then, with a grin so effortlessly charming it makes your stomach flip, he whispers, “there. now you’re perfect.” his thumb lingers just beneath your ear, tracing the skin there absentmindedly, like he’s memorizing you. and just like that, you’re gone.

RIKI ( leaning down to talk to you )

you're mid-sentence, drink in hand, barely listening to the noise around you when riki leans down, and god, it’s like the air shifts. you feel it before you even see him—his presence, brushing past your shoulder. “princess,” he murmurs, “you look bored outta your mind.” it’s that lean, the way he folds down just for you, one arm casually braced against the wall beside your head, the other resting low on your waist. his cologne is dizzying, cedar, and you have to tilt your head back just to meet his gaze. he grins, “wanna get outta here?” you almost forget the party even exists.

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evansbby · 4 months ago

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𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: mean jock!Steve Rogers x naive!reader

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 18+, minors dni, dark, noncon, dubcon, daddy kink, dry humping, thigh riding, fingering, controlling behaviour, cum play, jacking off, lingerie kink, dom/sub dynamic, frat party setting, asshole fratboys, ari levinson mentioned lmao.

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: you run into steve at another frat party. this time, it's in his territory. (alternate continuation of chapter two of wicked games, but this has ZERO impact on the wicked games story. again, this does not affect the plot of the original wicked games timeline, it's just a fun little detour, a completely separate story if you will. you can read this without having read wicked games).

“Can we leave? I’m not really in a party mood,” you frown, tugging at the hem of your dress and regretting how short it is. It’s deep purple and form fitted, with a hemline that sits right below your butt. You’d thought the sexiness of it would help you get more into the spirit of things since Wanda had insisted on dragging you here tonight, but clearly that hadn’t worked.

“Don’t do this right now, Y/N. We need to be seen at these events if we want to be popular.” Wanda smiles and waves into the distance as if she’s recognised a friend. Despite the fact that this is a St. Jude’s party and you know as well as she does that everyone here is a complete stranger to the both of you.

You wrinkle your nose, “Well, I don’t really care about being popular–”

“Of course you do. Everyone does.” Wanda’s eyes dart around the very crowded, dimly lit basement of the frat house as if looking for someone.

“But we don’t know anyone at St. Jude’s!” You tug at your dress again, feeling more insecure than ever.

Tonight was originally planned to be a girl’s night – and you’d already picked out a movie, laid out the facemasks and bowls of popcorn, and pulled on your comfiest pyjamas only for Wanda to show up to your dorm in a slink black dress and strappy heels, telling you there was a frat party at the rival college that the two of you just couldn’t miss, and that she was giving you fifteen minutes to get ready.

“Yeah, but this morning I overheard some cheerleaders, and they said Curtis might be here.”

Oh. Of course. Now it all made sense. Ever since the night of the last frat party the two of you had been to, the one where Wanda had slept with Curtis Everett… Well, ever since then she’d become a teensy bit obsessed with him. And that was also the same frat party where you and…

“Wanda! If Curtis is here then Ari will be here too! I don’t wanna see him!”

Your best friend rolls her eyes, “Relax. I also heard the cheerleaders say that Ari went back home for the weekend. Sharon Carter was all upset about it, because apparently he didn’t even bother inviting her and she hasn’t met his parents yet. But anyways, keep an eye out for Curtis, would you?”

“Okay…” Begrudgingly, you scan the room. A part of you is happy that Ari is out of town, because it makes it easier not to think about him, knowing he’s miles and miles away. Out of sight, out of mind - that was going to be your motto when it came to him moving forward.

“Looking for someone?”

The deep voice feels like velvet against your ear, and you inhale sharply at the familiarity of it. Your whole body starts to buzz when you feel a warm hand press against the small of your back, the stranger’s touch brimming with confidence as he easily turns you around.

You’re faced with a chest. A big, muscly, expansive chest covered in a grey shirt that’s deliciously tight against it. Slowly, you peek up at his face. Blue eyes. Cocky smile. Handsome. Angelic.

“Steve!” you breathe, relaxing at the familiar face, “You’re here!”

He chuckles, casually grabbing your hip and squeezing it, “Well, considering this is my frat house, it would be weird if I wasn’t.��

Your eyes widen, “It is?”

“Yep. Thanks for coming over, sweetheart. I had a feeling I hadn’t seen the last of you after that party.” He winks. And you have to admit - he looks good. All six foot six inches of him, looming above you with that charming smile on his face, that smile being one of the only things you remember from the night you’d last seen him, where he’d been such a gentleman and dropped you home after everything that had happened with Ari.

He’s got a backwards baseball cap on his head, but tufts of his blonde hair peek out from underneath, and his blue eyes sparkle as he watches you, as if he knows you’re checking him out. And unabashedly, he does the same, his pink tongue licking over his lips as he drinks in your body, his hold on your hip tightening.

“I…uh… yeah,” you feel self-conscious, tongue-tied after the embarrassingly long amount of time you’ve just spent checking him out. “Thanks for giving me a lift home, by the way. I was super drunk.”

He nods, the glint still in his eye, “I should be the one thanking you for that cab ride.”

You blink, “Thanking me? Why?”

For a moment, he just stares at you. And oh, he’s so intense! That’s another thing you remember about him. How his eyes felt like they were boring holes into your very soul.

Finally, he smiles. “Don’t mention it, sweetheart. You looked so cute and helpless, I knew I had to step in.”

“Hey! I wasn’t completely helpless…”

He laughs, “A damsel in distress if I’d ever seen one, and…” he pauses, bringing his thumb up to stroke your lip. Oh, he was so forward too! Considering you’d only ever met him once before and there’d been nothing sexual between the two of you. “Do you remember what I told you that night?”

You shake your head, half in a trance by how he’s just touching you so openly. Except you don’t really want him to stop.

“I told you that if you were my girl, you wouldn’t be allowed to step foot inside a party like that one. Or this one, for that matter.”

You purse your lips, “Fine. I’ll leave then.”

Steve chuckles, encircling both his arms around you as if he owns you, “Too late. I’m not letting you go for the rest of the night.”

“B-But I’m here with Wanda…”

“Who’s that?”

“My best friend. She brought me here, and–”

“Doesn’t matter. This is my house and you’re here with me now. Okay, baby?”

He strokes your cheek and says it so sweetly, that the controlling nature of his request doesn’t even sink in for you. No, you’re way too distracted by the unabashed hunger in his eyes, the confidence in his smile as he yanks you closer, till your chest is pressed up against his, and an embarrassing squeak escapes your lips.

“I…uh… Steve, I…”

“Say okay,” he commands you, “you don’t have to think so hard when you’re with me, sweet girl. I promise I’ll take care of you just like how I did last time.”

“Uh… I… o-okay…I ju–”

He smirks, “Cute little tongue-tied baby. C’mon, let’s go to my room.”

At that moment, Wanda reappears, a mildly annoyed look on her face.

“Y/N, didn’t I tell you to keep an eye out for Curtis? What do you think you’re doing–?”

She stops short, her eyes widening when she sees you’re not alone.

“Wanda, this is the guy I met the other night–”

“–Steve Rogers,” Wanda cuts you off, beaming up at him, “What are you doing with Y/N?”

Steve blinks, “Why would I not be with Y/N?”

She looks you up and down, and if you didn’t know any better, you could’ve sworn her eyes flash and narrow, “Uh, you know she’s with Ari Levinson, right?”

Your jaw drops - why would she say that? She knew you’d vowed never to speak to Ari again!

But Steve looks completely unperturbed, and he lazily throws his arm over your shoulders, yanking you into his hard chest. And you know it’s a display of ownership - he’s been doing it the moment he saw you tonight after all. And it should bother you, but it doesn’t! Oh, it doesn’t, it doesn’t, it doesn’t!

“You know what, Wilma? I think I saw Curtis outside by the pool.” He flashes her that charming smile that you thought was only reserved for you.

Your best friend’s eyes widen, “Really?”

“Yeah. He’s definitely there.”

“Thanks, Steve!” She sidles up closer to him, accidentally bumping you out of the way – well, you hope it’s accidental. She strokes his chest, her manicured nails scraping against his shirt, “Would you show me where the pool is please? This place is so big, I couldn’t possibly find it on my own.”

A sudden fire ignites inside you, burning its way up to the surface of your body alongside this weird feeling of… well, you don’t really know. But you stand there, crossing your arms over your chest as you watch their interaction unfold in front of you.

But Steve remains by your side, “Up the stairs and outside the sliding glass door on your first right. You won’t miss it.”

“I’ll come with you, Wanda,” you try to shake off Steve’s heavy arm. You don’t really want to leave him, but it’s only right that you go with your best friend.

“Don’t bother, Y/N. I can see you’re busy.” And she’s off without another glance at you, but she makes sure to brush past Steve as she goes, despite the fact that there’s enough room for her to not have to do that.

Steve snickers, “That’s your best friend?”

“She’s drunk, I think. Usually she’s a lot friendlier…” your voice trails off as you watch her leave the basement in a hurry. “Is…uh… is Curtis really up there? By the pool?”

Steve smirks as he grabs your hand and tugs you to the stairs, “If that bald-headed fuck was anywhere near here, I’d personally kick him out myself. Now come on, let’s go somewhere a bit more private.”

Steve’s room is neater than you’d assume a basketball player’s room in a frat house to be. Not that you have anything to compare it to since Ari had never invited you into his room. But this one is muted, grey, minimalistic with some basketball memorabilia scattered around.

He’d wasted no time in getting you alone up there, practically half-carrying you through the crowd of people and up the stairs, his grip on you tight and confident. As if you’d been his girl all your life, as if it was a concrete fact that you belonged to him tonight. And it’s like your body was too entranced to even put up a fight to stop him.

Oh, what had you gotten yourself into?

“Good thing I got you out of there before things got too rowdy,” Steve shuts his bedroom door behind him, and you hear the unmistakable click of a lock. And you know you should feel more alarmed than you actually do - but it’s Steve! He wasn’t like Ari Levinson - he was nice! He could’ve taken advantage of you at that last frat party, but he hadn’t! The only person who’d taken advantage of you that night was Ari.

You could trust Steve.

“Do your parties usually get super rowdy?”

“For babies like you, yes.” Again, he unabashedly stares at your body, at your bare legs accentuated by your high heels, your tight dress that hugs your curves, the dip of your cleavage and the way it rises up and down as you breathe shallowly. “As I said before, I don’t want you down there. Not where they can all see you.”

You wrinkle your nose, “No one was looking at me. I’m from a different college, no one here even knows me.”

His muscular arms wrap around your waist with that same charming confidence, as if he’s known you way longer than he actually has. As if he knows you won’t pull away. How does he know that?

“You’re more innocent than I thought, baby girl.” To your shock, his hands press flat against your thighs before moving upwards, straight up under your dress to cup your bare ass cheeks. You gulp, yet remain rooted in place as he gently squeezes the soft flesh. “Skipping into a frat house looking so fucking sexy, and thinking no one’s gonna notice you?”

“Well, I didn’t skip…”

“You may as well have,” He presses his hard crotch against your front, and he’s so much bigger than you that you can feel his boner digging against your midriff, and it sends jolts straight down to your core. There was just something so hot about him being so big, you being so much smaller, him calling you innocent, him being so forward and unpredictable… It actually reminds you a bit of… NO. No, don’t think about him!

“And guess what?” Steve whispers in your ear as he gently walks you backwards to his bed.

“Wh-What?”

“I’ve rescued you from not one, but two parties now. You owe me.”

You squeak as he sits down at the edge of his bed and pulls you on top of him. Till you’re perched on his lap like a baby, your butt on his knee and your legs draped across his beefy thighs.

Steve smirks, “Comfy?”

“I think so,” your mind’s frazzled, and your body is buzzing with heat. When did it get so hot? Now, he’s pressing his lips against the nape of your neck, his hands rubbing up and down your body in a way that has you shaking on his lap. Oh, it was too much, it was–

“Look, you have another varsity jacket!” You blurt out, pointing at the familiar blue and white jacket draped over his desk chair. Exactly the same as the one he’d given you the night of the other party. “I still have to return the one you gave me.”

He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear, “You keep it, baby girl. It looked cute on you.”

You duck your head, the compliment making you shy. Somehow, him calling you cute had a way bigger effect on you than him calling you hot, “Really?”

He pushes your chin up with his pointer finger, and it’s all these little touches that he’s administering so casually are getting you so hot and bothered, so worked up on the inside in a way that’s so unfamiliar to you. No one’s ever made you feel like this except for one other person…

He licks the shell of your ear, “Yes. I liked how big it was on you.”

“It wasn’t that big…”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Okay fine, it was pretty big. But that’s not my fault, you’re literally a giant!” You giggle when he runs his fingers up and down your arm. It’s ticklish but it also feels kind of good.

“You like that I’m so much bigger than you?” Nonchalantly, his finger dips down to hook the hem of your dress..

“Well, uh, I don’t not like it…”

“Answer properly.”

It’s crazy how casual he is, yet at the same time so quietly demanding, so dominating, so in control. How quickly he’s switching from charming and sweet to intensely serious. But it makes you want to do whatever he’s asking of you.

“Yes,” you squeak, too shy to look into his eyes except he has hold of your chin and is able to keep your gaze locked with his. “Yes, I like it.”

Steve relaxes, “Good girl.”

The compliment makes you feel nice, and you sit there in his lap basking in it for a while. You don’t even notice him hiking your dress up higher and higher, till he snaps the elastic band of your thong.

“Cute panties.”

“Hey!” Hastily, you push your dress back down, a part of you snapping out of whatever spell he’d cast on you since the moment he’d dragged you up here, and you shoot him your fiercest look. Which only serves to amuse him, the corner of his lip quirking up into a smile.

“Does the bra match?”

“You-You can’t just ask that!”

“I just did. Now answer.”

His brashness should get to you, but for some reason all it’s doing is getting you wet. He was being so inappropriate, and yet it’s like you’re being held prisoner by your own body, which seems to love how he’s touching and petting you right now. How he’s demanding you answer all his questions, how he’s essentially ordering you around.

“Actually, I have a better idea, baby girl. I think you should show me.” He twirls a piece of your hair around his finger, running his tongue over his lips. His skin is pale, but his cheeks are flushed a pretty pink. And oh, he’s so handsome! It makes you want to listen to whatever he says…

“Show you?”

“Yes. You’ll take your dress off and show me what you’ve got on underneath, won’t you?”

“I will?”

Steve smiles easily, smiles like he’s having the most normal conversation on Earth and you’ve just said something funny. “Of course you will. Because you like listening to me. It makes you feel all small and cute, having someone like me be in charge of you.”

Your jaw drops, and yet… Oh, why does him saying that make your core throb?! And you know you shouldn’t… but maybe it would be okay if you did what he asked just this once? After all, he just wanted to see if your underwear matched. There was nothing untoward about that, was there?

A part of you knows you’re being delusional, but you’re also pressing your thighs together subconsciously. As if just him talking like he’s so in charge is getting you so hot and bothered, so turned on. And a bigger part of you, the hornier part of you, can only focus on how big he is, how in control he is, how small you feel in his lap, like you’re his baby and he’s allowed to do whatever he wants with you, and you’ll just let him.

“Stand up,” Steve orders, “Let me see you properly.”

It’s comical how quickly you scramble to obey him. As if the you who’d arrived at this party feeling bored, irritated and out of place has been replaced by a girl controlled by lust and want, her body betraying her as Steve taps into your most submissive inner desires, and you can’t help but listen to him.

He nods in approval when you stand between his legs.

“Good. You’re so hot, baby girl.”

“I am?” You beam, despite the fact that you knew you looked good the moment you’d put this gorgeous purple dress on earlier tonight. Despite the time crunch Wanda had put you under, you’d still managed to look more than presentable. And now, a part of you wonders what Ari would think if he saw you—NO STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM. JUST STOP.

”Yes, you are. Now take your dress off.”

“B-But Steve…”

“Do it.”

Cheeks burning, yet pussy throbbing at the same time, you unzip your dress. Trying to make your breathing sound less laboured, you keep your eyes on his. Only because his gaze is so intense, and you’re afraid he’d object if you looked away.

The dress falls down to pool by your feet, and you stand in front of him in your lacy black set, with high heels to match. Steve inhales deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing as he looks you up and down. And oh, you feel so awkward yet at the same time so turned on when you see that dark look of lust in his eyes.

“Twirl. Slowly.” He grabs a bottle from the side of his bed, unscrewing it and taking a gulp. You catch a glimpse of the Grey Goose label, vaguely wondering why he has a bottle of vodka stored beside his bed, and how you didn’t know anyone to just drink it straight up like that - no mixers or anything.

You twirl for him, concentrating on not tripping in your heels. You haven’t had anything to drink tonight, and yet your movements feel sluggish out of nervousness. But you hear a low whistle behind you, before the feel of his large hand grabbing your ass and giving it a squeeze.

“Fuck, look at that cute little baby ass in those panties. Get back on my lap,” he growls. But before you can climb back on, he raises his hand to stop you, “Put my jacket on first.”

“Wh-What–”

He slaps your ass, pushing you in the direction of his desk chair with his varsity jacket draped over it. You gulp, slipping it on carefully. And it’s gigantic on you, the sleeves too long and the hem reaching down to mid-thigh. But Steve only licks his lips, beckoning you over once more.

“It’s a bit big,” you bite your lip.

Roughly, he yanks you back into his lap, catching your lips between his in a searing kiss. Kissing you like he’s obsessed with you, and your eyes widen as he deepens it, sinking his teeth against your bottom lip carnally. As if he wants to eat you up, and his hands are all over your body, slipping underneath his jacket to touch your bare skin.

“You’re so sexy, baby girl,” he breathes after he’s had his fill of kissing you. But even then, he pecks your lips between words, and you jolt in his lap when his thumb brushes against your erect nipple through the lace of your bra. He smirks against your mouth, “And you know it, don’t you?”

“No,” you lie, because the way he’s looking at you with such dark, almost carnivorous eyes… Oh, it makes you feel like the sexiest girl in the world!

“Of course you do. That’s why you wore this hot little lingerie set.” He snaps the strap of your bra against your skin and you yelp. “It looks so sexy on you, baby.”

“Thanks!” Most of the fancy lingerie you owned had been bought for you by Ari, but this was one you’d treated yourself with. Which was just as well, because there was something unspeakably awkward about sitting in the lap of one man wearing bra and panties bought by another man.

It was also funny how different Ari and Steve’s tastes were. Ari almost exclusively wanted you in pink or white sets, always something super girly and sweet and innocent. Steve seems to be the complete opposite, with how his eyes are glued to your black lingerie now.

Steve takes his baseball cap off, perching it backwards on your head. Another mark of his ownership, and yet your frazzled mind doesn’t have the capacity to think much into it.

He dips his head, licking a stripe down your cleavage. You gasp, automatically gripping a handful of his hair. He grabs your breasts, pushing them together against his face and nuzzling, licking and nipping as if he’s starved. Pushing the cups of your bra down, he latches on to your nipple, sucking on it roughly. You moan, and it eggs him on, he presses you forward, taking your whole breast in his mouth and sucking hard, covering it with his spit like he’s marking you as his property.

“Such pretty tits,” he mutters, flicking your nipple with his tongue, practically bullying it till it’s hard enough to cut glass, and you’re mewling because it’s so sensitive. But that only eggs him on, and he bites down on it like he’s starved. “Want me to fuck your tits, pretty girl?”

Your eyes widen, and he laughs devilishly. It was crazy how angelic he looked compared to how filthy he was being right now!

Again, he pushes your breasts together, licking down your cleavage like he’s obsessed, a wicked smile on is face when he finally comes up for air. “Every party I’ve seen you at, you’re always wearing some cute little dress that barely covers anything, like you’re some sort of goddamned tease. Tell me, baby. Are you gonna be a tease tonight?”

Meanly, he pinches your nipple, chuckling when you cry out. Your brain is too fried to answer his question properly, and so you just whimper.

Luckily, he doesn’t push it, doesn’t force an answer out of you like how he’s been doing all night. Perhaps too distracted by your chest, his head dips back down. His hands are ruthless, so big, rough and calloused from basketball. Squeezing your tits like they’re just toys to him, like your body is his to play with, and he knows exactly how to touch you, almost as if he’s done it before.

“S-Steve,” you feel lightheaded with pleasure, amped up at how carnal he’s being. How he’s not holding back at all, how he’s acting like he knows your body despite this being the first ever time the two of you have hooked up. How is he even doing that?

“Is that what you call me?” Steve comes up for air, flashing you a warning look before switching to your other breast, flicking your overly sensitive nipple with his tongue and making your breath hitch.

“Daddy,” you moan, finally letting go of any inhibitions you had left. You rut forward, rubbing your panty-covered crotch against his thigh. And oh, the denim of his jeans feels heavenly, and for a moment, you get a strong sense of dejavu that almost knocks you out of your lust-fuelled haze. Almost.

“That’s right, rub your little pussy against me. Don’t think I don’t notice what you’re doing. I noticed last time too.”

Huh? Last time?

“Fuck, didn’t expect you to fall into my lap again tonight, baby girl,” He kisses up your neck, holding his varsity jacket against you because it’s so big it’s slipping off. “Can’t believe you just showed up at my house looking like sex on legs with your cute little doe eyes in your tiny little dress. Did you really expect you were gonna walk out of here in one piece, baby?”

“I…uh…nngh!” You moan incoherently, hardly registering what he’s saying as his teeth clamp down on your neck, and he bites and sucks at the sensitive nape, making you squirm in his lap.

“You thought you could stumble into my party looking like a clueless little baby and not expect to end up in my bed?” He bounces you on his lap roughly, and you cry out in unexpected pleasure, the action sending thrills straight to your pussy. You rut against him in response, growing more desperate and delirious by the second.

“D-Didn’t know this was your house,” you pant, breathless from the way he’s kissing and fondling you, playing with your body like you’re just his toy and nothing more.

“Bullshit,” he breathes, “you wanted to see me again, didn’t you? After that night? You couldn’t forget, could you?”

“I–”

Your voice dies in your throat when Steve suddenly grabs your panties and yanks hard. They rip instantly, and you gape at the tattered lace in his hand. He brings it up to his nose, inhaling deeply.

“You smell like you want to get fucked,” he mutters, his voice deep and thick with lust, his eyes pitch black and intense as ever.

Sure enough, your panties are wet in his fist, and you can smell your own arousal on them even from a distance. Hell, you feel your wetness seeping down your bare thighs, staining his jeans and again you get a fleeting sense of dejavu, like this has happened before. And a hazy, dream-like memory flits through your mind, just for a moment before it’s gone, and you’re snapped back into the present.

Steve, without breaking eye contact for even a second, takes your panties into his mouth, sucking on them while you watch him with wide eyes. He grabs your hand, pressing it on his hard crotch. You squeak, it felt big and almost… alive under his jeans with how it was throbbing under your palm.

“So sweet, baby,” he breathes, “I missed out on tasting your little baby cunt last time. She tastes just as sweet as I imagined.”

Last time? You’ve barely wrapped your head around what he’s just said, but his face is so devastatingly handsome in that moment, so angelic and yet there’s a darkness in his eyes that cuts through it. Makes him look like an angel hell bent on playing his wicked game, and you’re more than happy to be his pawn.

“Steve–daddy, please. I need… I need–”

“Take daddy’s cock out,” he commands, his voice deep and guttural with raw lust. So gruff, so to the point, and it makes him even more attractive in your eyes. Powerful and in control. In charge of you. Using your body for his own pleasure. Fuck. You were so far gone down the haze of lust, there was really no coming back from here.

Steve takes your hand and pushes it past the waistband of his jeans, and presses it against his huge, hard cock. And oh fuck, it feels so fat and throbbing under your dainty palm, so big like it was capable of ripping you apart and you hadn’t even seen it yet. Just touching his hot, rock-hard flesh makes you rub your pussy against his thigh once more, pleasure jolting through your veins in anticipations.

You take it out, a low whimper escaping your throat because of how red and angry and big it looks. Oh fuck.

Steve pushes something into your hand, and it takes you a handful of seconds to register the lace of your black panties. Your pretty, tattered panties that he wraps around your hand before pressing it back on his fat dick.

“Jack me off, princess,” he orders you, his voice all velvety sweet and charming again, and it’s crazy how quickly he’s switched back to that now. “Show daddy what your pretty little hands can do.”

He hisses when you start pumping him, moving your hand up and down and the lace of your panties snagging against his smooth, rock hard cock. And he can’t keep his eyes off it, how your fingers don’t even wrap around half of his fat length.

“I-Is this okay, Stevie?”

SMACK.

“Daddy! Sorry, I meant daddy!” you cry out, your ass blooming with pain after his huge palm cracks down on it warningly.

“Mm, sweet sexy little baby girl,” Steve murmurs, watching intensely while you jack him off with your black lace panties in your hand, running them up and down his thick cock. “Jerking daddy off with your hot little panties that you wore just for me, right?”

“Didn’t-Didn’t know you were gonna be here!” You squeak out, regretting your decision to be truthful immediately when his hand cracks down on your bare thigh in another sharp slap.

“Say you wore your sexy little panties for me.” He bits down on your shoulder, tearing the skin with how hard he does it. As if he can’t help it, and you cry out in pain and yet you’re still feeling so much pleasure from rutting against him, chasing your own high while at the same time serving him and doing what he wants you to.

“Wore them for you,” you whine, bucking your hips with more frenzy now. The way he was speaking to you, oh it was getting you so fucking turned on and you couldn’t wrap your head around it. It was making your brain melt, only the submissive part of it reigning over every other rational side, and you pant when your clit catches against the denim of his jeans. “Daddy, please. F-Feels…feels…”

“I know, baby. I know,” he coos at you, voice dripping in condescension. And you feel so small, almost like a delicate little fairy in the domain of a literal God. That’s how powerful and big he looks to you in this very moment, like you’re at his mercy and you’d do anything for him. “You like jacking me off, baby?”

“Y-Yeah, I – I…”

You’re talking gibberish, and desperately chasing your own pleasure as you continue to rub against his leg. And yet you look down at his dick, how fat and thick it is, how it makes your hand look so tiny. How he’s got you jacking him off with your own lacy panties, how he’s watching it so intently and you can feel his cock hardening even more, if that’s even possible.

“You like my cock, princess? Like how big it is?”

“Yes!”

He grins devilishly, “You want it inside you, baby?”

Your jaw drops. He wouldn’t, would he? Oh, would you let him? Right now, your lust-crazed mind can’t find a single reason as to why not.

“I’d fuck you so good,” he whispers beguilingly into your ear, like he’s the devil himself persuading you to do something that you’re sure you shouldn’t be doing. But why not?! It wasn’t like you had a boyfriend! Ari had made that crystal clear! “Bounce your cute little pussy on my big daddy dick till you pass out on top of me. Would you like that?”

You whimper once more as his hand reaches down between your legs, and you gasp when he spreads your sopping folds. Now, you can feel the rough denim of his jeans even better, your engorged clit practically crying as it throbs uncontrollably. The rough pads of his fingers rub against it rhythmically, and you grind back up against his hand, humping it like you’re nothing more than a bitch in heat.

“Answer me,” he slaps your pussy hard, the squelching sound echoing across his bedroom, mingling with your scream of pleasure which only eggs him on. Again, he slaps you down there, and then another time. Till you’re quivering and crying and humping blindly against his palm, spreading your arousal all over him.

“I’d like it!” you cry out, a part of you ashamed with how easily you’ve given in to him.

“Mm, you know you’d have to be carried out of here after I’m through with you,” he says, manhandling you on his lap, dragging you back and forth on his thigh and creating the most delicious friction you’ve ever felt. “Not that I’d ever let you leave, baby girl. I’d keep you under my wing, in my bed because that’s where you belong.” He gives your ass another harsh slap that has you howling, “Say it. Tell daddy where you belong.”

“I-In your bed,” you manage to get out, feeling like you can hardly string a sentence together because all you can really focus on is the intense pleasure that’s building up inside you. “I…I belong in your bed, daddy, I don’t… I can’t… I…oh!”

Your release takes you by complete surprise. You squirt everywhere, on Steve’s cock, his shirt, and some even lands on his face. He smirks, swiping his finger over his cheek and sucking on it, his eyes glinting darkly. So dark and with such hunger, almost like he wants to eat you.

“Sweet little princess pussy,” he murmurs while you melt in his arms, unable to hold yourself up. Your legs are shaking like crazy, and he hugs you tightly against his chest, although one of his hands covers your own, ensuring it stays pumping his dick no matter what state you’re in. “She tastes so sweet, baby girl. How is she so sweet yet so naughty at the same time?”

Despite everything, his dirty talk has you feeling sparks down there again. Oh fuck.

“Steve, I–”

“Nobody told you to stop, princess,” he says darkly, bouncing his leg underneath you and causing you, in turn, to bounce on top of him. Your poor, sensitive pussy, still reeling from the remnants of your strong orgasm, “Get back to it. Hump your little pussy on daddy’s leg until I tell you to stop.”

Knowing you’re weak to the point of almost passing out, he’s got a firm hand clamped on your own, and he starts making you jack him off again. Rubbing your hand up and down his cock, your black lace panties rubbing alongside. The sight alone gets you going again, and once more you feel a spark of pleasure down there.

The party’s going on in full swing downstairs, heavy music blaring and yet all you can hear is the sound of both of you panting and moaning. His sweet voice uttering the dirtiest of things into your ear as you both masturbate each other. And it’s so raw, so primal, how you writhe on top of him like a goddamned animal, how he’s got the most carnal look in his eyes as if he’s a beast and you’re a lamb and he’s about to devour you.

He kisses you, and it’s so sloppy and animalistic, and you’re shocked at how desperately your lips work against his. How his hand wraps around your neck, how your fingers card through his hair. He spits into your mouth, biting and sucking at your lip till you taste the metallicity of your own blood. Or his. You’re not too sure.

The air is hot and thick with sex, and his dick twitches in your hand, so ready to blow and that’s when his fingers squeeze around your throat.

“You ever gonna walk into a party unattended ever again?” Steve grunts, pinching and bullying your throbbing clit like he owns it.

“N-No!”

“Damn right. Where do you belong, baby girl?”

“In-In your bed, daddy – oh-oh my!”

You squirt again, and this time, Steve follows suit. You watch, entranced, as he blows his load. Streaks of hot, white cum land on your hand, your black panties, your stomach, your face, everywhere. And you cum so hard, you can feel your pussy cramping with how intense the pleasure feels, waves of it radiating through your very being, egged on by Steve who keeps rocking you against him, muttering profanity under his breath as his thumb circles your poor, overwhelmed clit.

“Good girl,” he says after a few moments, looking like he’s barely broken a sweat as he pats your cheek. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl. I needed that.”

And you watch with wide, glassy, fucked out eyes as he takes your poor, tattered panties, the ones you’d used to jack him off, now drenched in his thick cum. He brings them to your mouth, prodding them against your lips.

“Open, baby,” he commands softly. And you do, and to your shock he places the panties in your mouth, a smirk on his face, “Suck.”

You suck Steve’s cum from your own panties, unable to get over how hot your poor, frazzled, cock-drunk mind is finding this debauchery to be. He tastes salty, manly, and you feel so submissive, so under his mercy as he watches you suck like a good, obedient little baby.

“That’s right, swallow it all,” he murmurs, “You like that, don’t you? You like being a little cumslut baby?”

You whimper out a quiet “y-yeah” and he nods in approval, finally taking the lacy fabric out of your mouth, holding it tight in his fist. “I’d make you put ‘em back on but…” His voice trails off, and he chuckles as he throws your poor, torn panties somewhere on his bed behind him.

All you’re able to do is sit on his lap like a little doll. And he’s not even done with you, still fondling and touching your body, squeezing and hugging you close like you’re a doll and you can’t get enough. He’s particularly enamoured by his cum staining your stomach and chest, and he gathers some of it with a swipe of his finger.

“Does your baby cunt want some?” Steve asks devilishly, and you gasp, again just watching as he puts his hand between your legs again, this time opening your folds and spreading his cum into your poor, sensitive pussy. “Look at that, baby. Your greedy little cunt swallowed it right up.”

“Steve, I…”

“Shhh, baby girl. You don’t need to say anything.”

You’re thankful for that, still reeling from everything that’s just happened. Oh, you hadn’t expected all of this! Hell, you’d been forced to come to this party against your will, and now… Oh gosh, how had things come to this? How did you even feel about it? How–

The bedroom door is thrown open. You yelp, holding the big varsity jacket around you as you turn around to see a burly basketball player standing by the entrance. Steve growls at the intrusion, holding you closer against his chest. “Bucky, what the fuck?”

“Sorry for interrupting, Cap, but they’re all here. The St. Andrews’ assholes. Everett, Drysdale, Levinson… He’s looking for her, I think he knows she’s here.”

What?! ARI WAS HERE?! Oh, how dare he?!

Steve picks you up and places you on his bed before getting to his feet, muttering profanities under his breath. “He knows better than to fucking come here.”

Shakily, you try to get to your feet but to no avail. Your legs are still shaking. “M-Maybe, I should–”

“Stay right here.” Steve says, an air of finality in his tone that indicates he means it as an order with zero objections. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.”

THE END! guys!! I'm literally so insecure about posting this. Idk, I just feel like lately I've lost my mojo, like my writing has lost it's spark? But I pushed on because I wanted to get something out for you guys. And honestly?? BRO I DIDN'T KNOW WHERE TO END IT bc I wanted this story to continue bc WDYM ARI IS HERE?!?! I wanna see the confrontation lmfao!

But anyways, just to be crystal clear - THIS IS JUST AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE DRABBLE! It has nothing to do with the original wicked games story! That's why I wrote Steve here like how he is in chapter two of wicked games, and NOT like how he is in chapter 3 and 4! He's gone through a lot of character change and development in the original fic, but I didn't want to show that here! THAT IS IT'S OWN STORY HEHE. i know yall get it but i'm still reiterating lmao.

ANYWAYS. what did you guys think??? PLEASE PLEASE let me know! feedback genuinely would mean the world to me. I'm so fucking insecure about this fic it's like I've forgotten how to write!!

BUTTT. as usual here are some questions (you don't have to answer them, you can write whatever feedback you want but just in case hehe)

1 - HOW WAS THE SMUTTT??

2 - Do you think they would've gone all the way and had sex had they not been interrupted??

3 - How did Ari even know she was at this party??

4 - Opinions on our fav gal Wanda in this chapter?

ANYWAYS i love you guys, thanks for sticking by me and supporting my writing especially lately when there hasn't been many updates. LOVE YOU. pls lmk what you think!

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #ari levinson #wicked games #chris evans

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