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leriexoxo · 2 days ago

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Angel’s SKZ Birthday Bash 🎂

Dont Let Me Love You

Bestfriend! Hyunjin x Reader

Tags: Angst, best friends to lovers, unrequited love, stubbornness, smut, feelings realization, slow burn, drunken confession, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, lots of kissing, sexual tension.

Word count: 6.7k

Summary: You were never supposed to fall for him. Not your best friend, the boy who swore he didn’t believe in love anymore. But he touched you like he forgot, looked at you like he remembered, and held you like he wished he could stay. You told yourself it was nothing. That you’d imagined it. Until one night, the truth slipped past your lips, thick with wine and want. And suddenly, he wasn’t pretending anymore. He begged you not to love him. You did it anyway. Now, there’s no going back.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

🎊: Happy Birthday to an amazing writer @angel-writes-skz-here , I hope you have a good one 🤍

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You couldn’t name the exact moment it started.

Maybe it was the first time he pulled you into his hoodie on a rainy night, both of you soaked and breathless, laughing like fools under the yellow haze of a streetlight. Or maybe it was the way he always looked for you in a crowded room with that quiet glance, like the world only made sense if you were in it.

You’d been friends for years. That kind of closeness that lived in the small things — sharing earbuds in public, finishing each other’s snacks without asking, sleeping back-to-back during long movie marathons. No boundaries. No questions. It was never weird. Never talked about.

You told people you were best friends. They never believed you.

“Are you sure you’re not dating?”

“You two act like an old married couple.”

You’d laugh it off. So would he. Because it wasn’t like that. Not really.

Except, it kind of was. Wasn’t it?

You never flirted — not outright. But he’d rest his head in your lap when he was tired. You’d trace shapes into the fabric of his sleeve when you were bored. He’d call you at 2 a.m. just to ask what you thought happened to the dinosaurs. You’d pick up every time.

You didn’t think anything of it. Until one night, you did.

You were both lying on his floor, backs against the carpet, the ceiling spinning just a little from too much soda and too much sugar. He was telling you about his latest sketch — how he couldn’t get the shading right on this one figure, how the shoulders kept coming out wrong.

“I should just scrap the whole thing,” he murmured, one hand behind his head, the other gesturing vaguely. “Start over.”

You looked over at him. His hair was sticking out at different angles from him running his fingers through it repeatedly. His voice was low, softer than usual. You noticed the curve of his mouth when he was lost in thought.

And for some reason, your chest ached.

It came fast, like a breath you weren’t ready to take. Like something you’d been holding back for a long time without realizing.

You didn’t say anything. Just turned your head away and stared at the ceiling again, willing the feeling to pass. It didn’t.

That was the moment.

That was when everything shifted — quietly, almost cruelly. No fireworks. No drama. Just a slow, unbearable awareness that you wanted more than he was willing to give. That you’d fallen in love with the one person who would never love you back.

Because Hyunjin didn’t believe in love. Not anymore.

“Love’s a mess,” he’d told you once. “It makes people selfish. Desperate. I don’t want that again.”

You’d nodded. Agreed. Back then, it was easy. Back then, you believed him.

But now? Now you were lying awake at night, wondering if the way he held your wrist a little too long meant anything. If the way he leaned his head on your shoulder when he was tired was just a habit, or something more. If you were imagining it all.

Because the truth was, he still looked at you like you were his favorite person in the world. He just didn’t look at you like someone he could fall in love with.

And that hurt more than anything.

You told yourself it was still the same. That the late-night phone calls didn’t mean more. That the way he let his head fall against your shoulder when he was tired was just muscle memory. That the things he said, “No one gets me like you do”, “You’re the only person I can be like this with”, weren’t confessions. Just friendship.

You lied to yourself a lot these days. Because Hyunjin was still Hyunjin. Thoughtless in the way he touched, soft in the way he lingered. He didn’t think twice before pulling you into a hug that lasted too long. Didn’t hesitate to rest his chin on your shoulder while brushing his teeth beside you in the mirror. You were just his person. The one who knew his favorite ramen flavor, the only one he let read his notebooks when he got too deep in his head. The one he curled around like a cat on cold mornings, blanket tangled between your legs.

It was never meant to be anything else.

Except now, every time his fingers brushed your skin, it felt like a match struck against your nerves.

You’d flinch — not outwardly, but inside, something always jumped. And he never noticed. Never looked twice.

You got good at pretending. That was your new talent. Smiling through the heat that bloomed in your chest. Holding your breath when he leaned in too close. Laughing like you weren’t falling in love with every little thing he didn’t realize he was doing.

Like now.

You were in the passenger seat of his car, driving home from some late-night errand getting snacks and candles and that moisturizer he liked but could never find. The sky outside was ink-black, the city glowing in fragments through the windshield. Music played low, something dreamy, ambient. A D4VD song you didn’t know the name of.

He was humming under his breath, his voice soft, almost boyish in the quiet.

You had your legs crossed loosely, skirt riding a little high on your thighs, but you didn’t think much of it. Not until Hyunjin’s hand left the gear shift, moved lazily to rest on your leg — light, like it always was. Familiar. Careless.

Except this time, it was your bare thigh.

Warm skin against warm skin. His fingertips just resting there, unconscious and unbothered. A touch he’d done a hundred times before.

But never like this.

You froze.

Not visibly. You kept your face turned toward the window, your mouth pulling into a soft smile at something he said, something you didn’t even hear.

The movement of the car made it worse. Every bump in the road sent a subtle shift through your body, the light drag of his hand against your skin, knuckles grazing higher, then settling again. Not intentionally. He wasn’t even aware.

But it lit something low in your stomach. That terrible, quiet ache.

You stared out the window like it was the most fascinating view in the world. Said nothing. Didn’t breathe too deeply.

Because the moment you acknowledged it, you knew the spell would break. Or worse — you’d say something you couldn’t take back.

And Hyunjin? He just kept driving, humming softly. Like his touch didn’t burn you alive.

He didn’t move his hand from your thigh until his phone buzzed in the console.

He shifted just enough to check it, eyes flicking down, the glow of the screen lighting up his face in the dark. His hand left your skin. You exhaled silently.

“Jisung’s throwing a party tomorrow night,” he said, like nothing strange had happened. “Wants us to come.”

You blinked, still trying to breathe like a normal person. “Yeah,” you said quickly. “Let’s go.”

And just like that, the moment was gone.

But it stayed with you long after you went home. Long after you’d changed into pajamas and buried yourself beneath your sheets and stared up at the ceiling, your skin still tingling where his hand had been. You tried not to read into it. Failed spectacularly.

Because no matter how many times you told yourself it was meaningless — just Hyunjin being Hyunjin — it never felt that way to you.

—

The next night, you dressed slowly.

You didn’t mean to try so hard. You didn’t. But your hands lingered over the soft hem of your dress, your eyes scanning your reflection for anything he might notice. Anything that might make him look twice. Foolish, you told yourself. You knew better. But the hope was a quiet thing, and it didn’t ask permission to bloom.

Hyunjin picked you up just past nine. Same lazy smile. “You look nice,” he said, like it was routine.

You tried not to die inside.

Jisung’s place was already full when you arrived, warm lights, loud music, the living room packed with bodies and laughter. Familiar faces from old parties, new people you didn’t care to know. You stuck close to Hyunjin at first, the way you always did. It wasn’t even a choice anymore, he was your orbit.

There were games going on. Stupid things. Seven minutes in heaven, truth or dare, couples kissing in the middle of dares they barely flinched at. It was messy and loud and full of things you tried not to want.

Hyunjin settled next to you on the couch, thigh pressed to yours. His arm draped along the back, fingers grazing your shoulder every now and then. He smelled like cedarwood and clean laundry. You tried not to lean in.

“Couples are so annoying,” Jisung said from across the room, groaning theatrically as two people fawned all over each other. “Get a room, Jesus.”

Hyunjin snorted beside you. “Seriously. They look insane.”

The words stabbed a little harder than they should’ve.

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Your chest felt tight. Maybe it was the noise, or the room, or just him — sitting there beside you like he wasn’t everything you wanted. Like he hadn’t just reminded you, again, that you’d never be it for him.

Because Hyunjin didn’t do love. He didn’t want it. Not from anyone.

And especially not from you.

You looked away. Reached for a cup you hadn’t planned on drinking from.

The first shot burned your throat.

The second made you laugh too loud at something that wasn’t funny.

The third — well, you didn’t remember pouring it.

By the time the music blurred into static and the room tipped slightly when you stood, your head was full of him. His hand on your leg. His voice saying “They look insane.” The way he smiled like nothing between you had ever been dangerous.

You drank because it was easier than feeling.

Hyunjin had stopped drinking long ago. You saw him watching you. Concern flickered in his eyes every time you reached for another glass. You ignored him. You were good at that, too.

“Okay, that’s enough,” he said finally, coming over and gently prying the cup from your fingers. “Let’s go home.”

You blinked up at him, a little dazed. “What?”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

His hand slipped around your wrist firmly. His touch was always gentle when it came to you. It hurt more that way.

You didn’t protest when he guided you out, his hand never leaving yours. Not until you stepped into the night and the air bit at your skin and your head started to clear just enough to feel everything again.

The ache. The longing. The quiet devastation of wanting someone who would never want you back.

—

You sat slumped against the passenger window, forehead pressed to the cool glass, trying not to think about the way his hand brushed yours when he helped you into the car. How it had lingered — warm, steady, a little too close to deliberate. Like he’d meant to pull you in and then remembered who you were.

Almost.

Outside, the city passed in slow, sleepy streaks. Warm golds. Faded greys. The world felt quieter than it should’ve, your heartbeat too loud against the hush of his playlist humming in the background. Neither of you spoke.

You didn’t trust your voice not to crack if you did.

When he pulled up outside your building, the engine ticked into silence, and for a beat too long, neither of you moved.

You shifted. “You don’t have to walk me up.”

“I know.” But he came anyway.

The elevator was a closed box of silence. Your floor blinked past in soft dings, but you barely registered them. You were too aware of him, the heat of his body beside you, the clean scent of his cologne, the way his hand brushed the small of your back when you stepped out, so light you almost convinced yourself you imagined it.

Your fingers fumbled with the keys. Wine still in your blood. Nerves screaming under your skin. The key missed the lock once — twice — before Hyunjin reached forward, curling his hand around your wrist.

“Hey,” he murmured. “I got it.”

It wasn’t the touch that undid you. It was how long he held it. How gentle. How it felt like he wanted to stay close.

Like maybe he didn’t hate how your skin felt, even if he didn’t want to need it.

The door clicked open. You stepped inside. He followed without asking. Like always.

And maybe it was the way the light fell soft against his jaw, or the fact that your mouth still tasted like longing, or the weight of his hand still echoing against your wrist — but suddenly you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Do you really think love is a mistake?”

He turned toward you. Brow faintly drawn. “What?”

You swallowed. Closed the door behind you. “At the party. When Jisung was making fun of couples. You said they looked stupid. You meant it, didn’t you?”

He stared at you for a long moment. Long enough to make the air feel heavy.

Then he crossed the room, leaned against your kitchen counter, arms folding across his chest like armor. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I meant it.”

You waited. He didn’t elaborate.

“Why?” you asked.

His jaw tightened. He rubbed the back of his neck — a nervous habit — like he was trying to chase something out of his own skin. “Because love ruins things,” he said, low and bitter. “Because people say forever and leave the second it gets hard. Because I’ve already been that idiot once and it fucking broke me.”

The words were sharp. Not at you but still, they cut.

“I’m not people, Hyunjin.”

That made him pause.

His gaze lifted. Locked on yours. And for the first time that night, he looked at you. Not past you. Not through you. At you — like he was seeing something he hadn’t let himself see before.

His voice came out rough. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That thing where you make it sound like you could be different.”

“Maybe I could be.”

His shoulders tensed. You took a step closer.

“I’ve been here,” you said softly. “Every time. No matter what mood you’re in. No matter how much you push.”

“Because you’re my best friend.”

“I know.” Your voice cracked a little. “But still, you let me in. You always do.”

He didn’t speak.

You took another step.

“You touch me like it means something,” you whispered. “And maybe it doesn’t. Maybe I’m just reading into things I shouldn’t. But I wish—”

You stopped. Bit back the words.

“I wish you didn’t make it so easy to love you.”

That hit.

You saw it. The way his eyes flickered. The way his lips parted like he was about to say something he’d regret.

The space between you throbbed.

He stepped toward you — slow, hesitant — until he was close enough to reach. Close enough that you felt the warmth of his breath. His gaze dropped, lingered on your mouth.

He didn’t kiss you. But he didn’t walk away either.

Your name left his lips, soft and broken. A whisper edged in something dangerous.

You blinked, swallowed hard, then stepped back. Too fast.

“Forget it,” you murmured. “I’m tired.”

“Wait—”

But you were already turning, already walking toward your bedroom, away from the crash you almost let happen.

And Hyunjin stood in your kitchen hands clenched, jaw tight, chest heaving like he’d just realized something he wasn’t ready to admit. Still he didn’t follow.

—

You woke up with the taste of regret clinging to your tongue.

Your head pounded, the dull throb blooming behind your eyes as sunlight bled through your curtains too brightly. Your throat was dry, your limbs a little heavy, like your body was punishing you for last night’s stupidity.

And then it hit you.

Not the headache. Not the dehydration.

The memory.

Your breath stalled. You shot upright, the sheets tangling around your legs like they were trying to drag you back under. You’d said it. You actually said it. Out loud. To him. In your kitchen. With your hair a mess and wine swimming in your veins.

“I wish you didn’t make it so easy to love you.”

You groaned — loud and pathetic — and shoved your face into your hands. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

Your chest tightened. Your stomach churned. You pulled at your hair like it might jolt the moment out of your skull, erase the words, roll back the clock. But they were still there, echoing through your skull like a song you couldn’t shut off.

You checked your phone. Nothing from him. Not a single text. No call. Not even a stupid meme, which he always sent after parties, something about how hard he’d regretted leaving the house, or how gross drunk people were.

But this time? Radio silence.

You paced. You spiraled. You considered deleting your entire existence and moving to another continent. Maybe start a new life with a new name. Somewhere snowy. Somewhere far from boys with lazy grins and hands that rest too casually on your thigh.

God, his hand.

You let out a strangled sound, turned on your heel, and marched toward the kitchen. You needed water. Or coffee. Or a time machine.

You rounded the corner—and screamed.

Hyunjin was standing by your counter.

Barefoot. Hair a mess. Same hoodie from last night slouched off one shoulder, like he’d never left.

Because he hadn’t.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He didn’t flinch. “I couldn’t leave.”

You blinked. Words stuttering behind your lips. “You—? What?”

“I tried. I got as far as the door.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, jaw tight. “But I couldn’t go.”

You stared at him, throat closing around a dozen questions you were too afraid to ask.

His voice was quieter now. “We need to talk.”

And just like that, the hangover didn’t matter anymore.

You swallowed. The air between you shifted, dense and sharp like a wire pulled too tight. “Right. Um. Okay.”

You backed toward the fridge like the moment might forget you existed if you just kept moving. Pulled open the door. Grabbed the water bottle. Avoided his eyes.

He didn’t speak. Just watched you — heavy, unmoving, arms folded across his chest like a barricade.

You unscrewed the cap. Took a long drink. Cleared your throat. “About last night…”

His gaze didn’t waver.

You smiled shaky and rehearsed. “I was so drunk. I barely remember anything.”

A beat passed.

He blinked once. Slowly. “You don’t remember.”

“Not really, no.”

“Nothing at all?”

You gave a small, helpless laugh. “I mean, bits and pieces. I was clearly talking nonsense—”

“Right,” he cut in. “Nonsense.”

He turned his head then, jaw flexing. Something sharp flashed through his expression, not hurt or disbelief but something closer to anger.

Your stomach dipped and you shifted on your feet. “I just didn’t want to make things weird between us.”

“Well, too late for that,” he said, voice tight.

You blinked. “Hyunjin—”

He took a step toward you.

Your breath caught.

He tilted his head slightly, dark eyes narrowing. “So let me get this straight. You weren’t confessing anything. You didn’t mean any of it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, you said you don’t remember.” He moved again. Another step. “You’re saying I made it up?”

“That’s not—”

“You’re saying I imagined the way your voice shook when you said you loved me?”

You froze.

He kept going. Low. Dangerous. Closer.

“You’re saying my touch doesn’t affect you?”

You flinched.

“Doesn’t make you forget what you’re saying, what you’re doing, who you’re trying so hard to be?”

His hand lifted slowly and deliberately brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. Just the pads of his fingers, soft and reverent, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to touch you or punish you with it.

You didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe.

His voice was barely a whisper now. “Tell me I made it up.”

You couldn’t. Because you didn’t.

And he knew that. Every inch of him — from the tight line of his shoulders to the way his mouth hovered just shy of yours — was daring you to keep lying.

And you couldn’t do it. Not when your whole body was already leaning into the gravity of him.

Not when every second of silence stretched the ache between you like a fuse begging to be lit.

You didn’t mean to touch him. Your hand just moved on its own — curled gently over his chest like it could quiet the tremble beneath your skin. He was so close now, heat radiating off him like a fever, like fire, and you were drowning in it.

And then he pulled you in.

A sharp inhale caught in your throat as his hands slid around your waist. His grip wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t soft either, it was firm. Steady. Like he wasn’t letting go, even if he should.

He stared down at you, the weight of his gaze unbearable. Like he could read every word you hadn’t said. Like your silence was loud.

You didn’t know what to do with the way he looked at you.

You didn’t know what to do with the way your body ached to close the last inch.

His mouth was right there, full and parted, breath fanning across your cheek like a dare. You felt the heat blooming in your chest, your stomach, the place between your thighs. You weren’t breathing. Couldn’t.

“Are you ready to talk now?” he asked, voice thick, jaw tight.

The spell shattered like glass between you.

You pulled back. Just barely. Not enough to escape, only to feel the sudden absence of the moment you were about to break into.

Your throat burned. “Do we have to?”

He didn’t smile. “Yes.”

You stepped back, just enough for air, for distance, even if it felt like a wound. He let you go. Slowly. Like it hurt him too.

You moved to the couch, legs folding under you like your bones forgot how to hold your weight. Hyunjin stayed standing for a moment, then sat beside you but far enough to be polite and close enough to make your chest ache.

He spoke first.

“I don’t do love,” he said, low and flat. “Not anymore.”

You stared at your hands. “I know.”

“I’m not built for it. I ruin people. I ruin things that matter.”

“You don’t ruin—”

He cut you off. “I can’t lose you.”

Your breath caught.

He looked at you then — really looked. Like he was begging you to understand the truth behind the cruelty. “If we cross that line and it goes wrong, we don’t come back from it. And I’d rather die than lose what we have.”

You swallowed hard. “Hyunjin—”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you’re serious.” Your voice cracked. “That’s the problem.”

He went quiet.

You stared at the floor, eyes glassy, throat burning. “Do you think I wanted this?”

He flinched.

“I didn’t plan to fall for you. I wasn’t sitting around plotting the day I’d mess up our friendship and destroy every ounce of peace I have with you.”

He looked at you then, expression unreadable.

“If I hadn’t been drunk last night, you would’ve never even known. I would’ve buried it like I’ve been doing for months. I would’ve pretended I was fine.”

He said nothing.

“And now I wish I had. I wish I could take it back. Not the feelings—” your voice broke, “but the part where you know.”

Silence pressed down like a weight.

You thought maybe, maybe he’d soften now. Maybe he’d say it was okay, that he understood.

But his jaw clenched. His fists tightened.

“Right,” he said, voice sharp. “So the part you regret is that I know. That’s what’s unbearable.”

You blinked. “That’s not what I meant—”

He stood suddenly, pacing now. Anger clinging to every movement. “You think I wanted to know that last night? You think I haven’t spent months trying to unsee the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching?”

You went still.

He continued, voice low, rough with something too bitter to name. “Do you think I haven’t wanted you?”

Silence. Heavy. Deadly.

“Because I have,” he whispered. “And it scared the shit out of me.”

Hyunjin didn’t look at you when he had started talking. He stood in the center of your living room, hands restless at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. Like if he looked at you, really looked, the whole damn thing would collapse.

“I didn’t want it to get this far,” he said quietly. “Not because I didn’t feel it. God, that’s the problem. I did.”

You froze.

“I thought I could control it,” he went on, still not meeting your eyes. “That if I ignored it long enough, if I kept the lines blurry but just on the edge, I could trick myself out of wanting more.”

You couldn’t breathe.

“I used to tell myself you didn’t feel it back. That it was just me being stupid. Needy. Fucking reckless.” He exhaled like the words had been clawing at his throat. “But it was easier when I could lie to myself. When I thought you didn’t want me.”

Your heart cracked open.

“I’ve ruined things before,” he said. “I’ve crossed lines and lost people and ended up with nothing but memories I can’t even look at without feeling sick. And this—” His voice caught. “You’re not just anyone. You’re you. If I lose you—”

He broke off. Finally looked at you.

“And now I know you feel it too,” he said, softer this time. “And that makes it worse. Because now I don’t have an excuse. Now it’s not just me risking everything, it’s you, and if this goes sideways, I don’t know if I can survive it.”

You didn’t speak. You just watched him, the slope of his shoulders, the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyes gave him away even when his mouth tried to bury the truth.

He still thought he was protecting you.

But it was too late for that. You were already in it, knee-deep in the ache of wanting him, the mess of loving him when you weren’t supposed to. And now you knew he’d been there too, quietly drowning beside you.

You stepped toward him.

His breath hitched.

Another step.

He went quiet, eyes tracking your every move like he couldn’t believe it was happening.

“I just—” he started, but the words faltered. His gaze dropped to your mouth. “I’m trying to explain—”

You didn’t let him. You reached for him, hands slipping up his chest and then, without giving him time to overthink it, you leaned in and pressed your mouth to his.

Softly.

His whole body went still.

Then, slowly, like gravity was always going to win, his hands found your waist and pulled you in.

The moment your lips touched his again, something broke. Not like a door creaking open — no, it splintered, cracked wide with the force of everything you both had kept buried. All the pretending. All the tension. All the times his hand lingered too long or his eyes dropped to your lips before he looked away. All of it, gone.

Hyunjin kissed you back like he’d been starving for it. His hands gripped your waist like they didn’t trust you to stay. His mouth slanted over yours, greedy, all tongue and heat and breath. He backed you into the wall without thinking, your spine pressing into it as he kissed you harder, deeper, like you were something he’d gone too long without and wasn’t sure he’d ever get again.

You moaned into his mouth and felt him shudder.

It wasn’t gentle. Nothing about it was. His hands moved — down, around, up again — like he couldn’t figure out where he needed to touch you first. Like he wanted to touch all of you at once. And when you tugged at his shirt, he gasped against your lips, forehead dropping to yours for just a second before he dragged you right back in.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispered, the words barely making it out between kisses. “Fuck— I shouldn’t be doing this.”

But his mouth didn’t stop. Neither did yours.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugged — and he groaned, low and wrecked, and kissed you like the world was ending. Like this was the last chance he’d ever get and he had to make it count. Your thigh brushed his hip, and his hand dropped low, pulling you closer, flush against him. You felt all of it. The tension, the heat, the way his body trembled like he was about to fall apart.

And maybe he was.

Because this wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t safe or careful or quiet.

This was everything.

You didn’t care. You didn’t want safe. You wanted him. Wanted every part of him he tried to hide, every buried glance and stolen moment and terrified truth. And now that you had it — had him — there was no pretending anymore.

He kissed you like he finally understood that. And still, it wasn’t enough

His lips dragged down your jaw, bruising kisses pressed beneath your ear, and you felt the words before you heard them — breathless and shaken.

“Tell me to stop.”

His voice cracked as he said it. Like it cost him everything just to get the words out.

“Tell me to walk away right now, and I will.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

“I’m serious,” he said again, softer now, forehead pressed to your neck like he couldn’t bear to look at you. His hands trembled where they gripped your waist. “Just say the word. Please. Before we—before I ruin everything.”

And maybe in another life, you would’ve. Maybe if his touch didn’t feel like home and every kiss didn’t feel like a promise he’d been aching to keep, you would’ve saved him. Saved yourself.

But you didn’t want saving.

You wanted him.

So you reached for his face, made him look at you — really look at you — and you said it like a vow.

“I want you, Hyunjin.”

He flinched like it hurt to hear.

You stepped closer anyway, your voice a whisper against his lips.

“We won’t ruin anything,” you promised, fingers threading into his hair. “Not if you just let me love you. Not if you just let it happen.”

Something snapped in him and then he was on you. Mouth claiming yours, teeth catching your bottom lip before he groaned deep in his throat and kissed you like he’d been waiting. Like this was a secret he’d never meant to let slip, and now that he had, he needed every part of you to make sense of it.

You didn’t stand a chance. His hands were under your shirt before you could blink, fingers mapping your skin like he was desperate to learn it by heart. Clothes tugged off, your top discarded, his shirt thrown to the floor. Every inch of newly bared skin ignited under his touch. Your skirt bunched at your hips, and the moment his hand slid between your thighs, you nearly sobbed.

“Fuck—” he hissed, mouth dragging down your neck. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You did. You felt it. Pressed up against you, hard and pulsing through the thin fabric of his sweats. He rocked into you once, and your knees buckled. His arms caught you before you fell.

He carried you like you weighed nothing.

You didn’t remember how you got to the couch. Just his mouth, hot and everywhere, and the way he settled you beneath him, eyes dark with something between reverence and hunger. You weren’t trembling — you were shaking.

“Are you sure?” he asked, hovering above you, voice wrecked. “Tell me now, and I’ll stop. I swear.”

You cupped his cheek. Pulled him down until your lips were brushing his.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

You felt the way that shattered him.

A ragged breath left his lips, and something raw crossed his face — awe, hunger, need. And then he kissed you. Deep and dizzying. No more hesitation. No more holding back. Just Hyunjin tasting your mouth like he’d starved for it, like he was finally allowed to be greedy.

His hands were everywhere, cradling your jaw, skimming down your ribs, tugging your skirt up your thighs until it bunched around your waist. When his fingers slipped beneath your panties, finding you slick and already throbbing, he moaned like it physically hurt him to touch you.

“Fuck… you’re already so wet,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours. “Did I do that?”

You nodded, barely able to form words.

“Hyun…”

“Say it again,” he murmured, fingers parting your folds, dragging over your clit in slow, teasing circles. “Say my name like that.”

You gasped, hips arching into his touch. “Hyunjin—”

He groaned. “God, you’re gonna kill me.”

Then he was trailing down your body, kissing a path from your chest to your stomach, his hands anchoring your thighs as he sank to his knees on the floor. You propped yourself up on your elbows, breath caught in your throat.

He hooked your panties to the side and just… looked. Like you were art. Like he’d dreamed of this exact moment and couldn’t believe it was real.

And then his mouth was on you. Hot. Wet. Relentless. His tongue lapped through your folds, slow and sinful, before wrapping around your clit and sucking hard. Your head fell back with a cry, fingers flying to his hair, but he just groaned against you, the vibration making you choke on a moan.

“Shit—Hyunjin, oh my god—”

He didn’t stop. If anything, he got hungrier. Dipping his tongue into your entrance, fucking you with it, then dragging it back up to flick over your clit until your thighs were shaking.

When your hips bucked up too hard, he gripped your thighs tighter and held you down, his shoulders braced against your legs to keep you from moving.

“You’re gonna cum for me,” he muttered against you, voice thick and dark. “On my tongue. I’ve wanted this for so fucking long—”

You were already there.

Your back arched, mouth falling open in a silent scream as the orgasm hit you like a wave crashing down. He kept licking through it, eyes locked on your face like he needed to see you fall apart.

When you finally collapsed back against the couch, breathless and wrecked, he crawled back up your body and kissed you, slow and filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You good?” he asked, voice a rasp in your ear.

You blinked at him. “Are you?”

He gave a breathless laugh and looked down between you. “Not even close.”

You hadn’t even realized he’d stripped out of his sweats. His cock was flushed, thick, and straining with need — and he was still trying to hold back.

That wouldn’t do.

You reached for him, but he caught your hand and kissed your fingers before pushing them away. Then he grabbed your thighs, spreading you wider, and hooked your legs over his shoulders. The position left you bare and open and trembling.

His eyes burned into yours.

“I need you to look at me when I fuck you.”

Then he pressed forward. The first inch made your breath catch , too much, too deep, but you didn’t look away. Neither did he.

“Fuck—” he gritted out, his hips pushing forward in slow, agonizing inches until he was fully inside, stretching you open, filling you to the hilt. “You feel like heaven. Like you were made for me.”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Just him, inside you, looking at you like this was his last wish granted.

And then he moved. He pulled out and sank back in, hard and deep, your legs folded up on his shoulders, the angle hitting something devastating. Your moan broke halfway out as he picked up a rhythm, hips snapping forward, each thrust driving the air from your lungs.

“Tell me you want this,” he said, voice tight. “Tell me this isn’t just in my head.”

“I want you,” you gasped. “As real as it can get—always.”

That undid him. His hand slid between your bodies, thumb finding your clit again as he fucked you deeper, harder. The couch creaked under you, the heat between your bodies suffocating. You could barely hold on, could barely keep your eyes open.

And then you came again, harder this time. Shaking, crying out his name, nails raking down his back as you clung to him. He followed seconds later, hips jerking, his face buried in your neck as he came with a broken groan, body tense and shuddering above you.

For a long time, there was nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing and the soft, desperate way he kissed your shoulder.

Then his voice, hoarse in your ear.

“We’re so fucked.”

And you smiled, wrecked and radiant.

“I know.”

—

You didn’t know how long you stayed tangled like that. Your legs still draped over his hips, his chest rising and falling against yours, sweat cooling between your bodies. The air was heavy with the scent of sex and everything unspoken.

Hyunjin’s fingers trailed gently over your hip, then your stomach, then the side of your throat like he was relearning every inch of you now that he didn’t have to pretend he hadn’t imagined this a thousand times before.

Then he kissed you, not with hunger this time, but like he’d been waiting years to kiss you soft.

“You okay?” he murmured against your lips.

You nodded, brushing your nose against his.

“More than okay.”

His eyes searched your face, like he was trying to commit you to memory all over again.

“We should get you cleaned up,” he whispered. “You’re all sticky.”

You let him carry you to the bathroom.

He set you on the counter first and helped you undress fully, stealing kisses as he did, his hands so gentle now, like he didn’t want to miss a moment of touching you like this. He peeled your underwear down slowly, kissed your thighs. His eyes flicked down between your legs — red, sensitive, swollen from what they’d done.

A blush climbed your neck.

But he just smiled, warm and a little dazed.

“I like seeing you like this,” he said quietly. “All wrecked from me.”

The shower was hot and full of steam. He let you step in first, then wrapped his arms around you from behind, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder as the water ran over both of you.

Neither of you talked much. Just small sounds. Little laughs. The soft lather of his hands running over your arms, your back, your chest.

When you turned to face him, water dripping down your hair and cheeks, he stared at you like you were made of gold.

“I still feel like I’m dreaming,” he said. “I’ve wanted this for so long, I don’t know how to believe it’s real.”

You touched his face. “It’s real.”

He leaned into your palm.

“Then say it again.”

You blinked. “Say what?”

“Those three words.” His voice cracked a little. “Just once more. Please.”

Your heart stuttered.

You stood on your toes and kissed him, slow and tender, water slipping between your mouths. When you pulled back, you looked him straight in the eyes.

“I love you.”

Hyunjin exhaled like you’d knocked the wind out of him. His arms wrapped tighter around your waist, like if he didn’t hold you closer he might fall apart.

“I love you too,” he whispered. “God, I love you so much it fucking hurts.”

And then he was kissing you again. Not frantic — not this time. Just deep, adoring, like he finally knew what home tasted like.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Authors note: Everyone please say happy birthday to Angel @angel-writes-skz-here ! Thanks for organizing this fun event, I need you guys to check the Event Masterlist for the other stories! Mine was based on the song DLMLU, i hope i captured it well 🥹❤️

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000 @sammhisphere @nebugalaxy @cutecucumberkimberly @chancloud8

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emmanation · 3 days ago

Text

what do you do between the affirmation and the outcome?

part one — linked here — not required to read, but heavily recommended by yours truly.

so, you said it.

you affirmed. maybe in your head, maybe out loud, maybe barely whispering it into something such as your pillow.

"i'm in my dr" / "i have what i want" / "it's already done."

however it came out, you did it, you chose. and now.... what? what do you do after? alright, you said it, maybe you even meant it, you felt kind of good about it, maybe even a little proud or relaxed or still, but now you're just sitting there.

blinking. wondering if something's supposed to happen.

maybe wondering if the air is about to shift (ha), or if your bed is going to turn into your own specialised limousine or if someone is going to come knock on the door and hand you your desire wrapped in one big red bow.

and, let's in this case and scenario say that nothing happens, or at least it doesn't look like it does.

let me discuss the space AFTER the assumption, aka the in between aka the what now. because ! maybe people don't talk about it, but everyone did feel it at once:

you said it – why is nothing occurring?

let me be the first one, or maybe even not, god knows, to say it. there is nothing wrong with that little in between space, simply because it's not a test or a delay. what i would call it, is the specific moment where you decide not to switch back to your previous assumption.

you're staying. staying rooted in your assumption.

you already moved the needle when you said it, right? the moment you affirmed, the shift happened, because attention moves fast.

you now, in this in between space, are letting your awareness stay where you already told it to go.

your desire, your desire, wherever, doesn't matter. but you're telling it where to go.

so between the staying and the seeing, what you do is ........ nothing. or at least, in more simplistic, not - overcomplicated terms, you keep acting as if it has happened.

you stop checking, and you stop entertaining the idea that you might NOT be there.

when, maybe, you see the world not shifting around you in a way that's instant or impressive or movie worthy, you do not take that as a sign that it doesn't work, or that you now have to scream at a cloud calling yourself a failure.

what i believe happens between the affirmation and the occurance is that you give yourself no reason to look back, and so......you don't wait, and you don't hunt for proof, and you don't poke at it to make sure that it's alive.

not babysitting your manifestation to maturity as if it's going to wander off and die if you don't keep it in your sightline.

it won't. your subconscious is that powerful.

you, simply, because it is simple like that, assume that it is handled.

you said it, so now it is.

yes, sometimes, perhaps, your brain will flicked and sometimes you'll want to double check, and sometimes your eyes - they will land on something in your physical world and immediately start categorising it, declaring that as real and your assumption as failure.

and you know what? that's fine.

don't fight that thought, and don't crash out into immediately damage control.

just go.

" regardless, i'm already in my dr. " // " regardless, i already have my desire. "

during that space between the affirmation and the shift is not an active zone, and therefore you don't have to do anything there except not contradict what you've already decided. which is actually easier than it sounds, if you simply stop trying to prove something to yourself every other five minutes.

your mind is used to earning, to fixing, to checking. and you can let it be loud if it wants to be loud.

but, remember, your awareness goes only where you dictate it to.

you've already done the one thing that matters, you affirmed, and you chose.

so maybe you make breakfast, dinner, lunch, whatever. maybe you text someone back, maybe you go for a walk, or rewatch a show, or sit on the floor, or do absolutely nothing.

but whatever you're doing, you don't start playing detective again, and you don't search the room for clues, glimpses, to see if it's working.

what you do between the affirmation and the occurrence is exactly what you'd do AFTER the occurrence, if you really assumed it happened.

meaning?

you live and you move and you think whatever you think, and you don't attach meaning to every flicker of doubt or slowness or quiet.

now let me pivot a bit, and go back to what my entire account is focused on anyway. choice.

you get to decide what the in between is like. you could assume i'm doubting, i'm feeling normal, and i'm still there, and that will become the truth.

you don't have to built up enough capital of faith and only then you're allowed to pass through the door.

the moment one decides their destiny, they're on the track. so, if you say i'm there, even if i feel unsure, you're still there, why? simply because you're the one writing, producing, and airing the terms.

because, if you're the operating power, which you are, by the way, then you're also the one who decides whether this part, this middle part, counts or not.

whether this is a build up or a a simple backdrop.

whether you're seated in a waiting room or the actual place.

and you're allowed to pick. always.

if you choose that this is what living there feels like, then that's what it is.

you don't have to keep apologising to yourself every time you slip or wobble or 'get thrown off' your path.

a simple this is what living there looks like today will be the truth. because as awareness goes, it will follow your word.

so if you say, even this counts, then it does.

so actually, maybe even throw this whole post away. what you do between the decision and the manifestation is ..... entirely up to you. you can let it doubt, and you can let it be certainty, and you can let it be whatever. but you can still be there.

you can live with the questions and still be living in the answer.

#shifting #reality shifting #loa tumblr #shifting blog #loassumption #manifesting #self concept #abridged #manifestation #law of assumption #law of attraction

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zzzsunghoon · 2 days ago

Text

DO OUR HEARTS STILL BEAT IN TWO?

ex!ni-ki x f!reader smut (18+ minors dni), college/university au, second chances wc 10.7k

blurb! you haven’t seen NISHIMURA RIKI since the messy breakup that tore you apart months ago. he couldn’t commit, couldn’t give what you needed, so you left, empty and heartbroken. then one night, at a house party, you spot him. your friends warned you. you swore you were done. but what happens when a game shoves you into a dark closet, alone together?

warnings! unprotected sex (p in v), creampie, argument, 7 minutes in heaven, making out, grinding, dry humping, oral sex (f), ni-ki rib tattoo, petnames (baby, good/filthy girl), exhibitionism, poor jake lol

a/n! i was listening to the song ‘12 to 12’ and somehow conjured up this plot, it doesn’t really follow the song's actual story, but it made me think of this scenario, so here we are hehe (≧◡≦). kinda got carried away LOL HOW'D THIS GET TO 10K WC... aaa this is my first time writing, hope you enjoy!

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction, and does not reflect how the characters actually are irl, nor does it represent my views of them. side characters from other groups may not be accurately written. not proofread.

The bass is thumping through the walls of the house like a second heartbeat. Someone has spilled beer on the couch already, while someone else is screaming the lyrics to a song they don’t even know. Minju is clutching your hand, the two of you on the lookout for the rest of your friends, who seem to have already wandered off the second that some alcohol got into their systems. The warm and dim mood light that filled the space made it more difficult to find anyone. All bodies blending into one from a distance. Her grip on you is firm, like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You kind of already have.

You’re physically here. In this house that has quickly become far too hot with the number of people shoved into it, the crowded living room you were in is surrounded by faces you don’t even recognize half of. Your mind however, is somewhere else. Stuck somewhere twenty minutes ago. Caught in the moment you bumped into him.

You had just arrived and were weaving your way through the crowd, barely missing the splatter of drinks being thrown around by swaying, half-drunk bodies. You were pulled away from Minju and the others the second that you stepped foot in the rented house, attempting to regroup with your friends while also making a short detour to the table with the punch.

‘Pure fuel’

You had absolutely no idea what was in it but at this point you didn’t really care, just wanting to let loose for a night.

Your friends had dragged you out of your dorm because you had been cooped up in there for nights on end, far too focused on studying and trying not to think too hard about a certain someone. You thought you may as well have a little fun now that you’re here.

After pushing past some strangers, the large glass punch bowl came into view and you immediately held onto the kitchen counter to steady yourself, the amount of people in this house was no joke. Without looking, you reached for a red solo cup, ready to get buzzed, when you felt the soft brush of fingers against yours. You jolt. Someone from behind you had reached out at the exact same time you did.

“Oh, sorry” You mumbled softly, pulling back to allow the stranger to go first.

But as the stranger moved to pour himself a drink, pressed up against your side, your body began to remember. A specific scent of strong cologne. A familiar warmth. Your heart instantly knew but your brain was still catching up. You turned.

Nishimura Riki.

Aside from his freshly bleached hair and broader shoulders. Damn he’s been working out. Everything else about him was still the same. The sharpness in his features. The calm arrogance in the way he carries himself. The way people stop and stare when he walks through a room, not because he wants them to, but because his presence demands it. The boy you once loved.

Your stomach folded inwards, hands tightened around the counter. You didn’t realize you were staring until he looked down at you.

Upon meeting your gaze his eyebrows raised ever so slightly, only noticeable to you, who was looking right back at him. He’s surprised, you can tell, not expecting to see you here. A flicker of emotion ran behind his eyes, something almost like hurt flashed, so fast you hardly register it before he quickly regained his composure.

You felt your cheeks heat up sligthly at being caught staring. He just finishes pouring his drink before smirking at you in that naturally flirty way he does, placing the ladle of the punch bowl down as he disappeared into the crowd. Gone, again. As if he was never there.

You swallowed hard, trying to bury the ache he reignited within you.

Which leads to now, you found him again, across the room with his friends. In between Heeseung and Jungwon, laughing at something that Sunghoon said across from them, but his eyes are focused on something else. Someone else.

You.

Every time you look up, his eyes are already on you. Watching. Before he turns away like it means nothing. Which is probably true, right?

“You okay?” Minju asks, pressing a cold drink into your hand. Her worried eyes flick toward the other end of the room like she already knows.

“I’m fine,” you lie.

You haven’t seen him in 6 months. Not since that night.

Screams were let out. Doors were slammed. Your voice cracked while tears spilled out as you told him it was over. You couldn’t do it anymore. You couldn’t be the only one trying. He was always late. Always cold and distant. Always too much and not enough all at the same time.

Constant miscommunication, obsession, and jealousy. Too many nights spent crying alone in your room because Riki had a habit of flirting with anything that breathed. Even if he never acted on it, even if he always came back to you, it stung.

And he did come back. Every time. With those hands and that mouth and that damn voice like sin. Until you couldn’t breathe without him.

Until you felt so suffocated, you had to leave.

So why the hell is your heart doing backflips just because he looked at you?

“Don’t,” Minju warns softly, catching on to the reason for your spacing out. “You promised.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you murmur as your eyes flick back to her, sipping your drink. It was true, technically.

“Exactly,” she says. “You’re just standing here, waiting for him to come to you. Like you always did.”

You flinch, because she’s right; a little harsh, but right. Because part of you still wants him to. You hate it.

Yunjin and Intak are arguing over what music to put on next, and Keeho’s already found the secret liquor stash. Your friends are loud and chaotic, and usually you’d love that, egging them on, but tonight it all feels like background noise.

Because the room is pulsing with something else taking over your senses. Something low and slow and heavy. Something that tastes like nostalgia, heartbreak and the sickening sweetness of still wanting what once ruined you all at once.

Riki.

Your eyes meet again across the room, and this time he doesn’t look away.

He tilts his head slightly, gaze dragging down your body and back up with an unhurried arrogance that makes your skin burn. His lips part just enough to show the hint of a smirk before taking a sip of his drink. For a second, you remember how you two used to be.

His mouth on your neck. His hands gripping your thighs. The way he used to kiss you as if he was starving and you were all he needed to recover.

You tear your gaze away, swallowing hard.

No. Stop thinking about him.

But you can still feel him looking, as if his eyes naturally gravitate towards you.

You don’t approach him. You won’t.

Because the passion between you two was nuclear, but it scorched everything around it. He ruined you, and you let him. He doesn’t deserve to see how much you still want him.

But then the music changes.

That song comes on.

Your song.

The one that played when you first met, at a party similar to this one. The one he used to hum under his breath when he’d tug you into his lap and kiss you slow. The one that played when he said that he loved you for the first time, in between moans and tangled sheets.

You freeze, and out of the corner of your eye, you notice he does too.

Minju tenses beside you, sensing the shift in your mood. “We should go.”

Now, the room is spinning slower. Everyone around you has faded into a blur. Just you and him, breathing the same air, held hostage by the same memory. Two strangers who once shared a story.

Snapping out of it briefly, you glance toward where he was standing again, and he’s gone.

Your heart jumps into your throat. Until-

“Hey!” someone calls. “Seven Minutes in Heaven! Let’s go!”

You groan. “Oh, absolutely not-” What are we? High schoolers?

But surprisingly, small crowds begin piling into a circle in the next room over, pulling you along with them in the process. Jungwon’s dragging Riki out from wherever he disappeared to. Yunjin’s already pushing people together. The bottle spins, over and over again as laughter echoes. The closet door creaks open and closed each time a new coupled up pair is selected. Until suddenly, the sequence of players has rotated enough to end up with you.

“Your turn,” Minju whispers, eyes widening in warning, before mumbling, “Literally anyone else, please.” unsure if she's trying to calm your nerves or her own.

Your fingers tremble as you reach for the bottle. You don’t even fully know how you ended up here, as if some uncontrollable wave had swept you into your spot on the floor. Chatter and laughter buzz around you like static as you brace yourself for whatever storm you’re about to get yourself in.

You glance at Riki. Just for a second.

Then you spin.

It’s the longest few seconds of your life. Since when do bottles spin so fucking slow? The bottle goes around in circles for far too long and not long enough at the same time. Your heart is pounding in your throat, a cold sweat creeping down your back, your eyes laser-focused on the bottle.

And finally, like some sick joke, it stops.

Landing dead center on none other than Nishimura Riki. Of-fucking-course it does. It’s like the universe could sense your lingering eyes the whole night and decided to punish you for even thinking about him.

The room erupts. A mixture of cheers, laughter, and gasps. You feel your stomach plummet to the floor.

Riki doesn’t say a word. He just lifts his chin, jaw set, and holds out his hand. Waiting for your cue.

You don’t want to take it. You shouldn’t take it.

But you always were a little self-destructive, weren’t you?

Your hand slides into his with a slight tremble as you both stand from your spots on the floor.

He leads you into the closet, you hesitantly get in after him. The door shuts behind you both with a finality that sounds louder than it should. Engulfed in total darkness. Your skin buzzes as you and Riki stand in the tiny space. Your bodies face one another, but your eyes linger elsewhere.

Neither of you speak, suffocating in a mix of the silence and his strong cologne.

You have never wanted to fade out of existence more than right now.

Your breath catches in your throat before you can stop it. It’s impossible to ignore how small the space is. Narrow. Cramped. The heat of his body just inches away from yours.

You try to focus on the distant pulse of the music, the faint murmur of voices beyond the door, but your mind is clouded.

By him.

His quiet and controlled breathing ringing in your ears.

“Still wearing my perfume,” he suddenly says, breaking the silence, voice dipped in something dangerous.

You stiffen, looking down. “It’s not yours.”

“You used to steal it from my bathroom.”

Your fingers curl at your sides as you glance at him, brows furrowed in slight annoyance. “That was forever ago.”

“It was March.”

A pause. Heavy.

You swallow, voice smaller now. “Still not yours.”

“It smells good on you,” he says softly. “Still drives me insane.”

You press your back tighter against the wall, as if you can disappear into it. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Start with that again.”

“I’m not starting anything,” he says, tone too casual. “Just… remembering.”

You hear the faint sound of him shifting, a shoe scuffing on the closet floor. His voice is closer now, by half a step. His body heat radiates toward you like gravity.

Your jaw tightens. “Why are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“You know exactly what.”

He hums. “You always said I was good at it.”

“Right.” You exclaim, “You’re a natural at it! Pretending nothing affects you, nothing touches you, like you’re-”

“Untouchable?” he finishes, amused. You can hear the small smirk on his face as he speaks. “You used to like that.”

“I used to like a lot of things about you,” you snap.

He laughs low and breathy, no bite. “Not anymore?”

You hesitate a moment too long.

He clocks it instantly.

“Thought so.”

You grit your teeth, fists beginning to clench at your sides. “You think you’re so charming.”

“Not really.” He moves again, the sound of his body brushing the wall opposite yours, inching closer. You swear you can feel his breath now. “I just remember how your legs used to shake when I kissed you.”

Your breath hitches.

Silence stretches between you like elastic. Something fragile and tense in the air.

You whisper, “You were such a goddamn liar.”

He pauses for a moment, words caught in his throat for a second.

“What did I lie about?”

Your head turns toward the sound of his voice in the dark. “You made me feel like I was the only thing you ever wanted, you told me I was, and then you started acting like I didn’t exist unless it was convenient for you. You were never there, Riki. Not when it mattered.”

There’s a shift. His armor cracks ever so subtly, but he doesn’t speak. You wait.

“I didn’t know how,” he admits quietly.

You blink.

“You were always too good,” he says, gaze shifting to the side. “Too good at loving me. It scared the shit out of me.”

There’s a long pause. The air between you turns heavy.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, looking back in your direction in the dark.

You let out a breathless laugh. “Well, mission failed.”

“I know.”

Silence returns once again, now changed. Thicker. Full of so much left unsaid that you can almost taste them. You press your palms against the wall behind you, an attempt at grounding yourself.

He’s not touching you, but the heat of his body from the close proximity makes it feel like he is. His presence, the smell of his cologne, the way his voice crawls under your skin and makes a home in your bloodstream, it’s killing you inside.

“I missed you Y/N.”

Your eyes widen, just a fraction, but you don’t answer. You physically can’t.

Your chest aches. Your stomach is in knots. Everything inside you is screaming, begging you to just stay still and ride this out. It’s only seven minutes. That’s it. It shouldn’t be this hard.

But in a moment of weakness, you whisper, “Do you still think about me?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “More than I’d like to admit.”

You suck in a sharp breath, and then finally, the moment breaks.

He takes a step forward, and you feel it more than you see it. The energy in the closet shifts completely. Air crackling. Tension climbing.

You whisper, “Don’t.” but your voice isn’t convincing. It’s soft, weak.

“I won’t touch you,” he says, so close now that his voice rumbles through your chest. “Not unless you ask me to.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“You loved that about me.”

You hate how true that is.

He edges closer again, his breath hits your cheek. Your body jolts like it’s been electrified in response.

“I shouldn’t have come in here,” you manage to get out.

“Probably not.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I want to,” you whisper.

Suddenly, his fingers gently brush against yours, barely there. A ghost of contact, and yet it unravels something within you so fast it makes your head spin.

You grip the hem of your skirt, fists tight. “Riki…”

“Still love the way you say my name,” he murmurs.

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Because I’ll forget why I left.”

Riki lets that sit before taking another step closer, until there’s no space left between you. His hand finds the wall beside your head, chest brushing lightly against yours, testing.

The darkness in the closet, his body pressed against yours, his breath against your neck as he leans down, it’s becoming all too much. You feel dizzy.

“You left,” he says softly. “But you didn’t stop loving me.”

Your breath catches at his words. His face inches closer, the soft air from his nose just brushing your own. His forehead presses against yours, the heat from the contact making you lightheaded. He’s so close.

Without another word, the gap closes. He kisses you, lips soft and filled with intent as they move against yours. Slow and deep.

Like nothing’s changed. Like he never stopped being yours.

And, god. You kiss him back.

Your back hits the wall with a quiet thud as his other hand lands gently on your hip. His lips still feel the same, your breathing is uneven, and the heat of him pressed to your skin burns like a bruise. The kiss, devastating and familiar, fizzes through every nerve in your body. Your brain quickly catches up to what you’re doing, and suddenly your hands are moving to shove against his chest, pushing him backwards.

“Stop,” you gasp. “Just stop.”

Riki stumbles back half a step, lips parted, chest heaving. You can’t see him properly in the dark, but you feel his presence, something radiating and suffocating, like smoke filling your lungs.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “You don’t get to do that.”

“You kissed me back.”

“Of course I did. That’s the problem.”

Silence took over the closet once again, the kind that made you want to evaporate out of thin air just to be able to escape the situation. Then he broke it, voice quiet yet sharp all at once. “You think I haven’t missed you every fucking day since?”

You inhale too quickly. “You didn’t act like it.”

“I was trying to let you go!” he snaps, a hint of desperation evident in the way he spoke. “Because I thought it’s what you needed.”

“What I needed was for you to try! For once.” Your voice cracks, low and bitter. “I needed you to choose me. Not just when it was easy. Not just when you were lonely.”

His breath shudders. “You were the only thing I ever wanted,” he whispers, your heart claws its way up your throat. “I just didn’t know how to keep you.”

You freeze. The world stills.

At this point you barely notice the music thumping beyond the closet anymore, just the sound of his voice, ragged and raw and painfully real.

You whisper, “Don’t say things like that if you don’t mean them.”

“I do mean them.”

And before you can properly think, before your lungs can work on taking your next breath, you find yourself leaning in just a little, and he’s kissing you again.

Harder this time.

Hungrier.

It’s not sweet. It’s not gentle. It’s not even angry. It’s desperate. It crashes into you like a wave that’s been building for far too long, held back by dam after dam of unspoken words and trembling restraint.

He swallows your breath like it’s oxygen, like he needs you to be able to stay alive. Hands threading into your hair, tilting your chin just the way he always used to. His lips drag yours open, tongue sliding deep with a mastery that should be illegal, elliciting a small noise close to a whimper out of you. He kisses you like he remembered it all, which he did. Every sigh, every weak spot, every way you liked to be taken apart. You gasp into his mouth as his hand ghosts down your side, fingers skating the edge of your waist, not quite touching enough; teasing.

In this moment, you can’t think of anything that isn’t him. That isn’t Riki. The boy you once poured all of your heart into.

You’re too busy falling.

You feel his lips slowly drag to your jaw, kissing a hot path downwards, then trailing to your neck. You gasp softly, your head tipping back against the wall like instinct as warm, gentle licks are marked onto you in between kisses. His grip on your hips tightens with every movement of his mouth. His teeth graze your throat and the sound you make in response is obscene.

“You’re dangerous,” you whisper breathless, like it’s something he doesn’t already know.

He pulls back just enough to speak, lips still brushing your skin.

“I’m only like this with you.”

Your body arches into his, heat blooming between you like fire on gasoline, you can feel his small smirk blooming against your neck. Your legs feel shaky, your fingertips tremble as they slide up his chest.

“You’re so full of shit,” you whisper, but your voice breaks, betrays you.

“I could ruin you,” he says lowly, mouth brushing the shell of your ear, breath hot. “But you already let me.”

You groan, a low and real groan, and it sounds like a secret. Like something you shouldn’t be doing with him, your ex boyfriend. Especially not here. You can feel the beginning of a heat blooming deep in between your thighs.

His lips meet yours in a passionate kiss once more, and this time it destroys you. His hand slips to the back of your thigh, tugging it up against his hip, pressing you flush against him. You can now feel him pressed against your core as he pushes you backwards into the closet wall, a growing hardness underneath his pants. He grinds into you slowly, as if testing the waters, and your knees buckle instantly.

His grip on you tightens, holding you steady. One arm now snaking around your waist as his tongue brushes against yours in a wet kiss.

You moan softly, right into his mouth.

“Shhh,” he breathes deep with a subtle tease in his tone, pulling away slightly. “You want them to hear?”

You freeze and melt all at once.

You’re in a closet. There are people literal feet away from you. Friends, yours and his. Laughing. Drinking. Unaware of what is going on between the two of you, or maybe not so much.

The risk makes your head spin.

“Riki…” you pant.

His lips don’t leave yours. “Say it again.”

You do, unintentionally whinier than the first.

He groans this time, and the sound vibrates into your mouth like a promise. His hips buck into yours.

“You have no idea what that does to me,” he mutters, grinding into you slowly as his grip on you tightens, dangerously. “No idea how many nights I thought about this. About you.”

You clutch his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Your mouths break apart only to find each other again seconds later like gravity, thirst. His tongue slides roughly against yours in a kiss so hot and sinful that your whole body aches for more. He knows how to ruin you, to devour you slow, unraveling every thread, every barrier you put up trying to get over him, with the way his hands frame your hips, the way his fingers dig into your skin like he never forgot how you fit.

Your skirt rides up as his thigh slots between yours. Your breath hitches when you feel him press up, grinding again, his growing hard-on slotting perfectly against your clothed warmth. Your body jerks in response, whimpering into his mouth like you’re drunk on him.

You kind of are.

His mouth meets yours in a deep kiss again. It’s dangerous. You clutch at the back of his neck, fingers slowly dragging up into his hair, nails digging in as you tug hesitantly on his blond strands. He lets out a deep groan into your mouth, your hips aching in the best way as his grip tightens even more.

“I hate that you still feel like this,” you whisper, shaky.

He smirks against your lips. “You mean perfect?”

You shove him playfully. He grabs your wrist and presses your hand to his chest, right over his racing heart. He rests his forehead against yours, never breaking eye contact

“I never stopped wanting you,” he says, almost reverent. “Even when I was trying to.”

Your eyes sting.

You lean in, kissing him again, like you can’t spend more than two seconds without his lips moving against yours, in the intoxicating way they do.

It’s spiraling, fast.

Riki’s is on you leaving wet, desperate and consuming open mouthed kisses wherever he can. His tongue sliding deep into your mouth, like he can taste how wrecked you already are. His hands have stopped pretending to behave, one edging from your waist to your backside, pulling you against the thick line of his body, the other now tangled deep in your hair, tilting your head to kiss you harder. Deeper. As if he wants to fuse with you into one being, until your hearts beat as one. It had always driven you crazy how he’d take control in situations like this.

You’re panting against his lips, high on him and chasing his touch, just as desperate. He groans into your mouth and it vibrates straight through your chest, making you shiver. His hand slips lower, over your thigh, gripping it. Lifting, no, dragging your leg up high around his waist until your core is pressed hard against him. The only thing keeping his cock from rubbing right up against your heat being the thin layers of clothing between you.

You whimper, eyes squeezing shut at the friction.

“This is insane,” you breathe into the corner of his mouth.

He kisses you instead of answering. Open and hungry.

“Don’t care,” he growls, voice hoarse. “You feel too fucking good.”

His hips roll into you harder, and it shatters you. His bulge straining through his pants, fully hard now.

A gasp escapes your lips before you can catch it, your fingers clawing at the fabric of his shirt like it’ll save you from drowning in him. One hand slowly finds its way under, feeling a hint of his bare and toned stomach against your fingertips. Your other hand finds his jaw, sharp and familiar, and pulls him even closer.

He smiles against your mouth, cocky and dangerous. He loves that you’re already coming undone, all over again. He loves the effect he has on you. How your body reacts so well to his.

His lips trail down your neck, slow and sinful, his hand pressing harder against your thigh you’re sure it’ll leave a bruise, keeping your legs open for him. You can feel him, hard, hot, pressed right where you’re aching, and it makes you dizzy.

“I missed this,” he murmurs, tongue sliding devastatingly slow against your skin making your head lean back against the closet wall. “Missed the way you sound.”

“I hate you,” you whisper, shivering as his hand slips beneath your skirt. Your hands traveling across his abs underneath his shirt. His teeth graze against the skin just under your ear and you shiver as you feel him suck hard, a mark sure to form.

“No, you don’t.” His fingers skim your inner thigh. “You just wish you did.”

He’s infuriating, and yet he’s right.

Your hands catch his face again, hands cupping his cheeks as you press your lips back on his, mouths crashing together with a breathless need that makes the whole world disappear. The kiss deepens, slick and frantic, teeth grazing lips, hands sliding further under clothing.

You can barely think.

You’re just noise and heat and hands. Moans muffled into mouths. Fingertips clutching skin. His hips grinding into yours with such need like it’s killing him right now not to be inside you.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice strained, forehead pressed to yours as you both try to breathe. Hot breaths fanning against one another as you both try to navigate the daze you’re in. “You’re driving me fucking insane. Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”

“Same thing you’re doing to me,” you gasp.

Both of his hands wrap fully around your thigh and waist and drag you higher, lifting you slightly off the floor, so your weight is pressed hard between him and the wall, so he can rut up against you. So he can feel you. You yelp softly at the sudden change in position, your arms snaking their way around his neck. You are now being carried by him with ease, his body pressing yours against the wall. The reminder of his insane body strength drives you crazy.

The increased access and friction from this position has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“You wanna let me take care of you?” he breathes with desperation, mouth dragging hotly against your cheek, leaving small licks and nips here and there. “Wanna feel me again?”

His words make you weak in the knees. If you weren’t being lifted up by him right now, you’re sure they would’ve buckled at that. “Yes!” you whisper, before you can think better.

He groans like the word alone undoes him, dragging you down once more against his clothed hard-on. “God, you’re so-”

But he’s cut off.

Knock knock.

“Time’s almost up!” a voice calls through the door, bright and oblivious.

You freeze. So does he. Both your heads now turned towards the closet door. You suddenly remember where you are, having gotten too caught up in each other.

The music is still blaring outside. People are still laughing, shouting. The real world is still moving on, and you’re here in the dark, shoved against a wall, on the edge of making every mistake you swore you’d never repeat.

You can hardly breathe.

Your chest is rising and falling too fast, and you try to steady yourself, arms tightening a little around Riki’s neck. You try to blink back the haze, but then he shifts, still pressed up between your legs, and your body reacts, eliciting a sudden sound.

A broken, breathy, desperate little whimper.

You slap your hand over your mouth like it’ll fix it. Like it’ll hide the fact that your entire body is still on fire. Burning for him.

Riki turns to you the second the noise leaves your lips and grins. Slow and feral.

“You’re so not done with me,” he murmurs just inches away from your lips, voice wrecked.

You look at him. Eyes wide, lips swollen, heat still building inside you like it never paused, just growing.

He leans in one last time, lips grazing your ear.

“Come home with me.”

You nod before you even register it, and before you know it, Riki is gently placing you back on the floor as his lips place an open mouthed kiss against your neck, and the door cracks open, just as you two break apart.

Light floods in. Your friends are nowhere in view yet.

Riki doesn’t give you a second to think. His hand wraps around yours, grip tight, possessive, and deadly all at once.

He pulls you out fast, guiding you through the bodies with ease, through the bass-heavy air, down the hallway.

No words. No explanations. No goodbyes.

You move past the living room, the kitchen, the crush of people. The moment the front door is within reach, Heeseung suddenly looks up from where he’s standing, seemingly taking a breather in one of the less crowded areas of the house. He’s leaning against the wall by the front door, red cup in hand, one brow raised like he saw this coming a mile away. At least he’s alone…

He whistles low and teasing.

You don’t dare look, blushing profusely. Riki doesn’t flinch. His hand stays locked around yours as he yanks the door open and you step out into the night.

The car ride is silent, but the air is anything but calm.

Your thigh is burning beneath his hand. His palm rests heavy over your skin, thumb stroking slow and possessive circles just above your knee. He doesn’t look at you once, but you can feel the heat rolling off of him in waves. His jaw clenched, lip caught between his teeth, fingers tapping at the steering wheel, restless. The tension is a third presence in the car, thick and suffocating, like something is alive, pacing, waiting to explode.

You’re still breathing hard from what just happened in the closet. You haven’t come down from the high you felt, not even close. You don’t think you can come down from it without him.

The second the key turns in the lock of his shared dorm and the door creaks open, Riki is on you. Luckily his roommate, Jake, is still at the party.

Mouths colliding, wrecked and hungry.

Teeth, tongues, breathless gasps. You stumble backward into the dark room as you’re tasting each other, hands fumbling all over bodies. He slams the door shut behind you with a kick, it clicks. Then he grabs you, both hands firm on the backside of your thighs, lifting you clean off the floor like you weigh nothing for the second time that night.

Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, arms around his shoulders, and he pins you to the wall so hard the frames rattle.

“You don’t leave tonight,” he growls into your ear, breathing heavily, “not until I’ve ruined you all over again.”

You moan before you can stop it.

He kisses you like he’s trying to take your breath away. Like your mouth is the only thing he’ll ever need again. His hands slide up, under your skirt, along the backs of your thighs. He gives your ass a testing squeeze and you let out a whimper just muffled by a kiss, you can feel him smirking against your lips.

“God…” he groans.

Riki holds your hips to the thick press of him, his cock aching beneath his jeans, begging to be freed. He grinds down into you slow and deep between your legs. You cry out into his mouth, legs squeezing tighter together around his hips as he holds you.

“Fuck,” he hisses, head dropping to your shoulder. “I missed this. Missed how fucking loud you get for me.”

Your hips roll into his, chasing the friction, the tension that’s been building all night, for months, and he grunts, low and rough, dragging his teeth along your collarbone. By now you two are dry humping right by the front door of his dorm, and it’s absolutely filthy. The mixture of grunts and moans echo off the walls.

“You want it so bad, don’t you?”

You nod, eyebrows furrowed in quiet need. You’re clutching his shirt like you’ll fall without it. But he doesn’t give in, not fully. And you swear you’re about to cry with how fucking horny you are.

He grinds into you again, slow, the angle making his clothed buldge graze just right against your covered clit, your eyes rolling in pleasure. The friction is too much and yet still not enough.

Riki pulls his head back just enough to look at you, the eye contact making you dizzy.

“You think I’m just gonna fuck you against this wall?” he murmurs. “Let you come once and send you home?”

His smile is dangerous.

“No,” he says, pressing a kiss just under your jaw, “I’m gonna take my time.” Another kiss, lower. “Make sure it lasts.” His hand slides beneath your top, palm splayed hot against your stomach. “Make sure you never forget what this feels like.”

You moan again, body arching into his touch, your fingers tugging his hair as he sucks bruises into your neck.

“Say you want it,” he whispers, teeth grazing your skin. “Say you want me to ruin you.”

“I want it,” you manage to get out, panting. “R-Riki, please…”

That’s all he needs. “Good girl.” He growls.

He holds onto you again, pulling you off the wall, and carries you towards his bedroom. The dorm is dark and quiet, roommate nowhere in sight. Not that you’d care if he was. You were too focused on wishing Riki was fucking you already.

You can barely breathe by the time he kicks his door shut.

He throws you onto the bed and climbs over you, mouth already back on yours. You meet him halfway, kissing back just as hungrily, your fingers dragging through his hair, nails scratching lightly down his clothed back, needing more.

It’s like you’re starving for each other. Like if you stop touching, you’ll stop breathing. At this point you think you actually might.

He kisses you deep, biting your lower lip, groaning when your hips lift to meet his. His body fits against you perfectly. You can feel every part of him hard and aching, pressed tight against you.

His hands explore you like he forgot nothing. He rediscovers every curve, every spot that makes you gasp. He memorized your body once, and now he’s reacquainting himself. Slowly. Thoroughly.

“Still so fucking perfect, baby” he murmurs, trailing kisses down your neck. “Still mine.”

You don’t correct him. You can’t.

Because a part of you deep down wants to be his.

In the middle of your tongues brushing against each other amidst kisses, he grinds into you again, making you moan so loud you have to slap your hand over your mouth, he grins against your chest.

“Don’t be quiet now,” he says, breathless. “I wanna hear you.”

He presses harder. His hands toying with the hem of your top, dragging it upwards so slow that it physically hurts, just enough to reveal your belly button.

“Wanna hear every single sound you make when I fuck you open again.”

Your eyes roll back.

You dig your nails into his shoulder, his shirt already riding up from the constant movement, and he kisses you again. Sloppier this time, more tongue, more teeth.

It’s filthy yet beautiful.

You’re sure you’re absolutely soaked by this point, feeling the mess made in your panties seeping through.

Your body arches into him, grinding back and meeting his hard-on with growing eagerness. You claw at his shirt, yanking it upwards until he rips it off himself and tosses it across the room.

What you see takes your breath away.

His abs, glistening with sweat, are visibly more toned. An obvious sign of hitting the gym more frequently ever since your break up. Though most shocking of all, he has a tattoo.

A big one.

One that stretches from his upper rib just until where his jeans hung low on his hips. Big, dark and new. You almost moan at the sight. Holy shit…

He must’ve realized what caught your attention, after following your gaze he just grins and leans down to whisper seductively against your cheek, breath hot. “You like it?”

You shiver. “Fuck…” You reach for him like instinct, reflex almost. He presses a kiss on your cheek.

The way he’s looking at you now, like he’s starving, makes your mouth go dry. His eyes drag over your body like he’s trying to memorize the exact way you’re spread out on his bed: skirt pushed halfway up your thighs, panties just barely peeking out; lips, red and kiss-swollen; cheeks flushed; top pushed up revealing your stomach; your breath still catching in small, desperate gasps.

“You’re in my room now, baby. No one’s saving you.”

You don’t want to be saved.

You want him.

The look in his eyes, a mix of danger and the certainty, makes something deep inside you clench so hard you nearly let out a soft moan.

“You think I forgot how to touch you?” he murmurs, pressing his palm to your bare thigh again, slowly trailing upwards as he hovers above you. “Think I forgot what your body does when I kiss you here?”

His lips press to your jaw, soft at first, then wetter. Lower. Your pulse thunders.

His hands are moving like they have all night. He pushes your top up even more, inch by inch. Riki watches as the skin of your chest begins to appear like it’s some sacred thing. His fingers trace the edges of your ribs, your waist, the faint dip of your stomach. He finally removes your top, leaving you spread out in your bra. Every touch burns.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this again,” he whispers, and his lips drag just below your collarbone. “How many times I thought about your mouth. Your thighs. The way you sound when I make you fall apart, whether on my hands, my tongue,” he licks a stripe just under your ear. “or my cock.”

You’re gasping now, hands tangled in his hair as he sucks another bruise into your skin, marks that you’ll definitely have to hide tomorrow, right above your chest.

“And you,” he says, lifting his head again. “You came into that closet acting like you didn’t miss me. Like you could handle me being that close.”

He smirks, wicked and smug.

“But you couldn’t. Could you?”

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. In any other situation you would be irritated, embarrassed by his words, but right now hearing him speak in such a teasing way just makes the heat between pooling between your thighs burn even hotter.

He leans down again, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then your throat. He mouths down your chest, pausing just above your bra.

“You couldn’t even last two minutes before you were grinding on me again like you never left.”

“Riki-”

That name. His name, low and breathy from your lips, drives him insane. He groans, like it short-circuits his brain. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

His lips meet yours again, rushed, hot, possessive. He swallows the gasp you let out when his hand slips beneath the waistband of your skirt. Palming against your panties, heat seeping through against your clothed pussy.

Just resting there. Right where you want him. It’s maddening.

Your whole body pulses with need.

“You’re this wet already?” he mutters, breathless. “Fuck.”

You grind up with a whimper, cursing your panties in your mind for getting in the way of having his hands on your pussy again.

He pulls back.

“No,” he says, voice low and firm. “Let me take my time.”

His mouth returns to your stomach, your chest, dragging up further. His hand reaches behind your back and you arch just enough to allow him to unclasp your bra. He does so in one swift motion, your breasts now on full display.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He mumbles before quickly leaning down to trail kisses around one of your tits while he squeezes the other with his free hand.

“Fuck- Riki!” You moan out, when you feel his tongue flick against your nipple in between sucks. He alternates between your tits, making sure both of them get equal treatment. Your hand fists the sheets.

His mouth leaves your chest with a pop and you moan. Riki inches down slowly, painfully so, peeling your skirt off of you. All you can do is look down and watch.

He looks up at you from between your legs. His eyes are blown wide, dark with lust, and his voice is hoarse when he speaks.

“I want you to remember every fucking second of this.”

You whimper, head tilting back, and he leans in, close to your most sensitive spot. He peppers kisses down your inner thighs, maintaining eye contact the whole time. You’re soaked.

He’s groaning, teeth gritted, like he’s holding himself back by a thread.

Then after leaving small kisses and bites just under the area where your thigh meets your underwear, his head perks up, and his thumb rubs small circles on your leg.

“Tell me you want it. Say it. Say you want me to ruin you.”

“I want it,” you breathe, choking on it. “Riki, please-”

“Please what?”

“Please touch me.”

He moans. Actually moans. Like it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever heard.

His hand finally moves. His fingers now dragging your soaked panties down and off of you before placing them gently aside. The cold air hits you and you shiver under his gaze, fully bare and spread out. All for him.

His head hovers just above your glistening pussy, strong hands holding your legs apart, placing them so that they go over his shoulders, giving him full access to your cunt.

“You want it now?” he says, you can feel his breath fanning over you. “Right here?”

God, he’s still such a tease.

You nod. Mouth parted and breathless, and he leans in.

Riki gives one long, slow lick up your slit, tongue flat and pressure hard, immediately making you arch with a soft moan. He holds on your legs with more force to keep you from squirming too much as he works kitten licks upon your aching pussy.

“I missed tasting you,” he pants in between licks. His tongue worked hard on your slit, his head now moving with small bobs which cause his nose to brush against your sensitive clit every single time. The feeling is overwhelming, moans escaping your lips while eats you out like he’s been starving.

Riki then starts pushing his tongue into your slick hole. “Ahh, oh my god!” You groan, your fingers tugging on his blond locks. The feeling makes him groan, creating a wave of vibration right against your pussy. Your eyes roll back in pleasure.

His tongue swipes up and down along your wet folds, making sure to explore every part of you. You twitch beneath him, a breathy moan resonates through the room before you can even stop it.

“Still so sensitive,” he murmurs against your skin. “Like your body never forgot me.”

You try to respond, to sass back, to say something, but then his mouth latches on you again, tongue flat and unrelenting.

Your head hits the pillow with a whimper.

“Fuck- Riki-”

That only makes him groan harder.

“I told you what that name does to me,” he growls, voice muffled between your thighs. “Say it again.”

“Riki!”

He sucks at your clit, hard, and your hips shoot off the bed.

He pins them down immediately, strong hands curling around your waist, holding you there like he owns every inch of you. Lapping at your soaking pussy.

And fuck, maybe he does.

No one else has ever made you feel like this. None of your past boyfriends; and none of your hook ups from after you broke up with Riki, desperately trying to get over him.

You barely even notice the sound of the front door opening from the main space of the dorm.

Not until you hear a faint laugh. A voice.

Jake.

Riki’s roommate.

Your eyes go wide. Riki doesn’t stop.

“Riki- Ah! Jake’s back-” you whisper, voice shaking as he fuck you open with his mouth.

He doesn’t stop.

In fact, he smirks.

“Yeah,” he says, lifting his head, lips and chin glistening. “I know.”

“Riki…”

He leans up, mouth ghosting over your ear.

“I want him to hear,” he whispers, teeth grazing your skin. “Want him to know who you belong to.”

The way he says it, low, confident, possessive, makes your entire body seize with heat.

And then he’s kissing you again. Hard, desperate. He makes you taste yourself, your own juices, as he works his tongue deep into your mouth, pushing against your own. The filthiness of the whole situation makes you lightheaded in the best way.

He grabs your wrist, lifts it over your head, and pins it there against the mattress. Then the other. He hovers above you with a dangerous look in his eye. His lips all swollen and his eyes dazed from eating you out. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand, shiny with your slick, and makes you watch as he licks it all up. Eye contact never wavers. A chill runs through you.

“You’re not holding back tonight,” he says leaning down, breath hot against your neck. “Not anymore.”

“Riki please, fuck me already…” you whimper, squirming under him. Your need grows with every passing second. “Want your cock inside me please-”

Riki grins, his eyes darkening at the sight of you, horny underneath him. “Shh, good girls are patient.” he whispers, voice deep. You whine.

His lips meet yours. It’s messy. He’s undoing his jeans and your hands immediately reach out to join his to help him. Once unzipped and pulled down, he kicks them off, jeans falling to the ground as your thumbs dips beneath the waistband of his boxers. You look up at him for approval, chest heaving. He gives you a small nod, need evident in his expression. You pull the fabric down and his cock springs out. Long, hard, and twitching. Precum forming on his pink tip.

“Good girl,” He groans, “see what you do to me? Hm?”

You don’t respond, instead you reach out and wrap a hand around his sensitive cock, your thumb smearing the precum across his tip. Your touch sends his head tilting back with a drawn out moan as you stroke firm but slow.

“Fuck… baby, let me take care of it”

Finally, Riki grabs his length, stroking a few times, before he drags it across your wet folds. Your slick drips onto his cock with every drag. You feel his tip nudge against your clit a few times, making you jolt underneath him. After deciding it’s coated enough, he positions himself comfortably above you, lining his thick cock up against your aching hole, and slowly pushes in.

You gasp. Loud.

Riki watches your expression as he sinks into you. His hips lower against yours until his cock is fully wrapped around your warm, gummy walls. The intrusion makes your head spin, it’s too much. Too good. God, did you miss how he filled you up.

“Fuck!” you cry out, head thrown back as your eyebrows furrow. His hand finds it’s place at the curve where your hip meets your thigh, holding you for maximum leverage as he braces to begin thrusting, waiting for you to make that expression, the one that you always made when you had adjusted to his size and were ready. One he never forgot and had been hoping to see again.

“That’s it,” he groans, teeth gritted. “Let me fucking hear you. Let everyone hear you.”

He starts to move, slow at first, grinding deep with every thrust. It’s like he’s trying to etch the shape of you back into his memory. Your legs wrap around his waist without thinking and he sinks even deeper. His thrusts increase in speed by a fraction, eliciting soft moans out of you everytime his hips made contact with yours, cock buried deep within you.

“Oh my god- Riki!”

“You missed this?” he hisses. “You missed my cock, didn’t you? You’re so tight.” He readjusts his grip on your hip as he essentially drags you up and down on his length, helping him reach deeper into you. Your hands run down his bare chest, feeling the soft dips where his abs are, defined and displayed perfectly above you. Your fingers slow when they meet his large rib tattoo, moving over inked skin.

You nod, breathless.

“You missed the way I ruin you?”

His pace picks up and Riki growls. His calculated thrusts turning into something rougher. He pounds into you, the sound of skin on skin resonating through the room as his balls slam hard against your backside at the speed he’s fucking you dumb.

The headboard bumps the wall, rhythmic and obvious. A hand of his reaches down to grab one of your tits, which at this point were bouncing along with his movement, squeezing and twisting your nipple. “Ngh… fuck!” Every breath you take is mixed with a groan at how good he’s making you feel.

You attempt to bite your lip to muffle the sounds you’re releasing, concerned about how loud you’re getting alongside the knowledge that you two were no longer the only ones in the dorm. Riki notices and grabs your face, firm but not harsh.

“No,” he says, voice sharp. “Don’t do that. Let it out.”

You’re panting now, sobbing moans, your legs starting to shake. Your hands grip Riki’s back, trying to hold onto him as he continues to ram his cock into your wet pussy. Your nails lightly digging into the skin of his back.

“Let Jake hear you fall apart for me. F-Fuck… You couldn’t stay away from me, huh?” He angles his hips upwards, allowing him to fuck you open so much deeper. The new angle makes you see stars, you yelp out in pleasure.

“I love your noises, fuck… No one makes you feel the way I do, hm?”

You moan again, the loudest you think you’ve ever been. He lets out a groan in response, guttural, slamming into you harder. “Your pussy got so soaked for me baby, just from kissing too. Filthy girl.”

That nickname does something to you. You instinctively clench around him, he grunts. “Ah, don’t squeeze like that-”

It’s insane. The heat, the friction, the way he holds you down like you’re his to break.

“Louder, baby,” he grits. “Be good for me.”

Your whole body tightens, you’re now writhing beneath him, trembling.

Riki just watches everything. The way your face contorts with every thrust. The way your tits sway below him, chest rising and falling rapidly. The way his cock disappears within you with every drag.

You’re close.

He knows.

So he slows down.

You whimper. “No- please- don’t stop-”

“I said I’d take my time,” he growls, leaning down to leave kisses down your throat. “You don’t get to come until I say.”

“Riki!”

His mouth moves and he crashes his lips onto yours. Hot and wet, dragging his tongue over them before pulling back and whispering. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you breathe. “I’ve always been yours.”

Riki lets out a shaky breath. His hands adjusting on your sides for maximum grip, holding you so tight you wonder if it’s beginning to bruise.

He looks into your eyes, expression filled with desire, and he drives into you with a new kind of urgency.

You scream.

Riki’s pace never falters even as your body begins to fall apart under him. He fucks you through it all, hard. His lips latch on your neck, voice in your ear, low and ragged and full of things he never used to say.

“I missed this. Missed you.” The filthy sounds of your skin slapping against one another echoed through the room that now smelled of pure sex. “You were always the only one, Y/N. F-fuck…”

“Ahh harder! Harder, Riki please-” You whine, embarrassingly loud but in this moment, you don’t really care.

“Look at me Y/N. Keep your eyes on me.” Riki pants, his thrusts strong but growing sloppy, a sign he too was getting close. He slams into you with hunger, cock piercing through you. “Wanna watch you when you come.”

The sound of the headboard slamming harshly against the wall rings out. You make sure to look up at Riki the whole time. With every shattering slam of his cock into your core, you hold onto him a little tighter. His back, biceps, whatever is in reach. His hand reaches down and starts to rub your clit frantically, in sync with his movements. The sensations quickly become overwhelming.

You can feel the coil winding tighter, threatening to snap at any second. “Oh my god- Fuck! Riki im gonna- Ah!”

“Come on my cock baby.”

He drives into you with such precision and force, his fingers working overtime on your swollen clit. Soon, you feel your release come over you, and you’re shaking in his arms, completely drenching the sheets beneath you. Your mouth opens in ecstasy with a scream of his name, “Riki!” and your eyes roll to the back of your head. He fucks you through it.

“Fuck baby, look at you” Riki admires your flushed state beneath him as his movements grow even sloppier than before. “I’m gonna fill you so good.”

Suddenly you feel his warm juices spilling into your fucked out pussy, his hips pressed up against you. He groans, long and drawn out, right by your ear. His head bows down into your shoulder as he rides out his high, thrusts slowing before stopping completely, cock milked dry.

You can feel his chest heaving atop your own, and before you can register it, you’re wrapping your arms around his warm body, pulling him closer. Both of you in a fucked out daze.

Riki pants, pressing a soft and slow kiss against your cheek, bodies still interlinked. “You’re unreal. I missed you so fucking much Y/N.” It comes out breathless, but his words ignite something warm in your chest. You know, deep down, that this isn’t just a one-night mistake. This is you, unraveling all over again.

For him, only him.

And maybe, you’re okay with it.

You lose track of how many times he makes you come.

Some with his fingers, others with his mouth.

Another when he has you on your knees on the bed, hands braced against the wall, his voice rasping filth in your ear as he rams into you from behind.

That one nearly ends you.

Because that’s the wall that connects his bedroom to his roommates’.

To Jake’s bedroom.

Of course, Riki was well aware of that fact, and he is absolutely insane.

He presses you hard against the wall, one hand’s long fingers curled firmly around your throat just enough to make your breath hitch, his other hand on your hips as he guided you back onto his length from behind.

“Think he can hear you?” he whispers against your ear, cock buried so deep it makes your vision blur. “The way you’re moaning for me?”

You gasp, clenching around him involuntarily. Your sounds are smaller than usual due to the nerve-wracking situation that was being fucked right up against Riki’s roomates’ wall. He would definitely hear if he wasn’t dead asleep or something similar. “Ngh- Riki!”

“Oh? She’s shy now?” he taunts, grinning against your shoulder that had now been plastered with bruises and bites. “You weren’t shy when I had my tongue in you twenty minutes ago.”

He thrusts again, deliberately. Deep and slow, drawing a long moan out of you that makes heat seep to your cheeks. The kind of thrust that makes your whole body jerk forward and thump lightly against the wall. You attempt to choke on your moans. Try to stifle them against your arm.

Riki did not like that. He rams into you harder.

“Tsk. None of that.”

You shake your head, whining. “I can’t- he’ll hear-”

He continues to wreck your fucked hole with precision. The knowledge that you two might be heard did turn you on, but the tinge of embarrassment was still there, hence you trying to silence yourself. A hard task when Riki is just too damn good at fucking you.

“I want him to hear, baby” He breathes lowly, voice wrecked. “Let him know that you missed me too.”

When you cry out; high and breathless and creaming on his cock once again, both your slicks mixing and dripping down your thighs and his balls; he smiles.

It goes on for hours.

Different positions, different angles, even different parts of the bed. Your legs shake with the effort of keeping up. You love it.

You can’t stop moaning, gasping his name like a lifeline. Like it’s the only word you know. Every time you think he’s finally done, he kisses you again before pushing your legs apart.

“Just one more,” he whispers. “You can do it. I haven’t ruined you enough yet.”

It’s not just about sex.

It’s about claiming. About making sure you never forget what it’s like to be his.

Now, you never want to forget.

By the time he finally presses you into the mattress for the last time, with a low and desperate groan, filling you up with his seed that seeps out the moment he pulls out, you’re gone.

Sweaty? Yes.

Fucked out in every way? Yes.

But are you smiling? God, yes.

You’re so high on him that you feel like you could float.

He disappears to the bathroom for a moment and comes back with a damp cloth, cleaning you up, his hands gentle around your swollen pussy, utmost care laced in how he navigates his hands. Your comfort is his priority. Riki brushes your hair off your forehead like he didn’t just completely destroy you for the past three hours.

Afterwards, you collapse on top of him. Both still naked, skin to skin, but neither of you minded. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek.

He holds you, and doesn’t let go.

Soon, you’re overcome with sleep, lips swollen, legs sore, every inch of you aching; but in the best way possible.

You don’t know how long you were out for. Could be anywhere from ten minutes to two hours, but when you open your eyes slightly, it’s still dark, still quiet.

Riki is still awake, one arm propped up under his head on the pillow, the other still wrapped around you.

He hasn’t noticed you’ve woken up, fingers running through your hair, slow and thoughtful. You keep your breathing steady, trying to drift back to sleep, when he says something that you don’t expect.

“I’ll do anything to keep you like this.” he mumbles, barely above a whisper.

His words are so raw that it splinters something inside you, the edge of hurt evident in the soft way he spoke.

You open your eyes discreetly, looking up at him. His brows are furrowed, jaw clenched as his hands mindlessly play with your hair, eyes on the ceiling.

You didn’t leave because you wanted to. You left because you had to. Because loving Riki felt like drowning.

But now? It was clear that he had changed.

You weren’t finding yourself falling once again because of the sex, though admittedly that was the best you’d ever been fucked, it was because of him.

How now his touch, no matter innocent or filthy, was always laced with absolute care.

How he now looked at you with a spark in his eye, like you meant the world to him.

How his words now came out more genuine and natural than they used to.

You two had fucked many times before, but this time was different, he was different.

You don’t respond. You don’t let him know that you had woken up. Instead, you simply wrap your arms around him just a little tighter, face buried a little deeper in the crook of his neck.

He tenses for a second, you feel it, before he relaxes against you, pulling you close.

The ache in your chest has never felt more like home.

You two wake intertwined the next morning, surprisingly early considering the time you had stayed up until, pressed all over one another.

After a slow morning of soft kisses in bed, you agreed to talk about where you stood after getting some nutrition in your systems.

So now, you’re sat on the kitchen counter, wearing one of Riki’s old hoodies as he attempted to put togehter a very healthy breakfast of pancakes. You watched his every move, he was trying so hard not to mess up after a failed flip led to pancake batter all over the floor just a few minutes prior. Lots of laughs were let out when that happened.

Then suddenly,

A slow clap.

You both freeze.

Jake’s leaning in the doorway of his bedroom, which led right into the kitchen area of the main space of the dorm. His arms crossed and expression blank, except for the shit-eating grin playing at his lips. Oh god…

“Well, well, well,” he drawls.

Riki groans under his breath.

You turn beet red.

“You two are disgusting.”

All you can do is smile apologetically.

THANK YOU FOR READING! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

#zzzsunghoon fic #ni ki smut #ni ki x reader #ni ki enhypen #ni ki #enhypen #nishimura riki #fanfic #enha x reader #enha smut #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #ni-ki #ni-ki smut #ni-ki x reader

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miley1442111 · 2 days ago

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admitting- j.abbot

summary: a fight leads to a confession, and jack abbot finally admits something he wants.

pairing: jack abbot x fem! doctor! wife! reader

warnings: lowkey just fluff and jack being really traumatised

banners from my good friend @no-144444 !

Jack usually operated under the assumption that you were asleep when he got home on a Saturday morning. Last night had been a fucking mess, a fight with you (if you could call it that) and then straight into work with a cop and a kid dead in the first 3 hours. The rest of the shift evened out, just regular flu victims, or stupid scrapes and cuts. It weighed on him though, made his entire body ache, made his head hurt like his skull was squeezing his brain too hard. He debated getting it checked out at neuro, but ultimately decided a bit of time in bed with you would probably fix it. That was if you let him into bed. Last night had been awful, he’d been called in at the last minute, a terrible crash would be flying in and Shen was already down a nurse and two doctors. He couldn't let him go at it alone, even if he desperately wanted to finally get his long dreamt-of Friday night date.

You added the finishing touches to your makeup as you tried to hide your smile. God, how long had it been since you and Jack had gone out, just you two? 3 months probably, and even then it was your sister’s wedding. You were excited, excited to just have one night where he wasn’t Dr. Abbot and you weren’t Dr. Y/l/n.

He turned the corner into your bedroom, and his crispy white shirt was nowhere to be seen, replaced entirely by the black scrubs he frequented. Your face fell, and a hand cupped your chin as he rested his forehead against yours. “I know,” he breathed out before you could even protest. “I’m sorry.” And that was it, he wasn’t going to say no and stay with you. He was going to go to work like he always did. You knew he was a workaholic, anyone with eyes did, but you hadn’t expected this. You hadn’t expected this to be so far down on his list of priorities, for you to be so far down.

You nodded solemnly and stepped back, turning back to your vanity and taking the carefully curated bracelet stack off your wrist. He wanted to reach out, promise you he would make it up to you, but you both knew he couldn’t. This happened too regularly to be made up for. “Wow,” there was venom on your tongue, he could hear it. He just hoped he wouldn’t make it worse. You swallowed it down, leveling out your voice. “Alright Jack. Alright.” It wasn’t alright, he knew it, but Shen needed him. Hurt people needed him.

“Shen needs me,” he started, taking another step towards you. You turned to the closet next, stepping out of your dress. He bit his lip, staring as he finally saw the lingerie you’d been hiding from him for this night specifically. Fuck, you were gorgeous. You pulled a hoodie over yourself, discarding your bra in the laundry hamper with the matching lace thong. You opened his drawer and pulled on a pair of his boxers. He thought you looked even more beautiful. “I’m sorry-”

“You’re going to be late,” you stated softly, sitting at your vanity and reaching for your makeup remover. “You’d better go.” He gritted his teeth. You were doing that thing, that thing where you just disconnected from him entirely, and he couldn’t even blame you. You had been so excited, hell, you’d ironed his shirt. You two were only going to dinner and a movie, but you were excited to have one night where you had all his attention, and he wished he could give you that.

“Don’t do that,” he pleaded but it fell on deaf ears as you kept rubbing your makeup off. “Don’t shut me out.” Selfishly, he was desperate for you to just let him go without a fight, let him leave without guilt, but he didn’t deserve that. He deserved to be shouted at, but you’d never do that. You were too sweet, too kind for something like that. Sometimes he wondered what he did in a past life to deserve someone so fucking understanding, especially in those moments when he couldn’t find it in himself to find that same patience for you.

You sighed, tears welling up. You stood and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Be safe,” you whispered, leaning into him. “I love you.” You were barely even whispering, but he heard it still, felt it still. His heart cracked a little, guilt gnawing at his insides as he pressed a kiss to your cheek and nodded. He didn’t deserve to have you, to love you, or have you care for him the way you did.

He left. You stayed. That was just the way it was.

He took one of the prepped meals you made out of the fridge and placed it in the microwave before stepping into the bathroom and stripping down. He left his scrubs in a pile in the corner, he could deal with it later. The water was scalding, just how he liked it. After going months at a time without a shower during his time in the military, there wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t thank Benjamin Waddy Maughan for creating hot water heaters. Yes, he’d looked up who’d created them.

His prosthetic was quickly discarded beside the shower. The phantom pain worsened as the weather changed outside. Summer was winding down and soon the cold months would come, it always made it worse. He stepped into the shower. He scrubbed himself down quickly, sitting on the handily built-in bench you’d insisted on. You were always looking out for him, always demanding he take care of himself. He pushed past those thoughts and continued scrubbing, trying to get the scent of the hospital off of himself, trying to get the stench of his guilt off his skin. He was out in the kitchen when the microwave beeped. He ate quickly, reading over the news on his phone as he stood in the kitchen, a towel hanging on his hips. He didn’t bother with the social media apps everyone else liked to busy themselves with, but he had an instagram, mostly to keep up with what you were posting. He checked it as he left his plate in the sink, a story from yesterday. A picture of you and your friend at a market from the day before. God, you looked stunning. He had no idea what you saw in him sometimes.

You walked into the house, looking more than exhausted. You didn’t even acknowledge him, not even noticing his figure, as you walked straight to the couch, and flopped down on it. He stared. Your eyes closed and you curled up into yourself as he’d seen you do a thousand times before, and he stepped closer. His hand ran over your cheek. “You alright?” he asked, voice hoarse and gruff. It’d been a tough shift, you could tell.

“Mhm,” you nodded, leaning into his touch. “Shitshow of a night. Jayden called me. Maggie was super sick, I had to rush her over to the emergency room,” You sighed. His brow creased, a silent question. I didn’t see you? You nodded. “She lives on the other side of town.” he nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he cradled your head like it was the most fragile thing he could ever hold. It was to him. “You’re a good friend.”

You nodded. “It was crazy,” you groaned. “Still didn’t get rid of my baby fever though.” You chuckled, reaching a hand up and running it through his wet curls. He stilled. Baby fever. He gulped down the panic rising in his chest and cleared his throat.

“You have baby fever?” he questioned, the tips of his ears going a pretty shade of crimson. You let out a soft chuckle and nodded, sitting up. He sat beside you, pulling you into his lap, straddling him. A thousand thoughts at once ran through his mind. He’d dreamed of wild mornings and spilled drinks, he’d dreamed of Saturday afternoon practice and sleepless nights with his very own bundle of light in his arms, but it never happened. It wasn’t in the cards for a man as broken as him, someone as… unworthy as he. Men like him didn’t have families. He’d been told when he was younger, a more fresh-faced Jack Abbot, less able to hold his liquor. He’d told some of his squad that he silently wished for a day where he’d have a family of his own, raise them better than he’d been raised. They’d laughed at him. No one would have a kid with you, let go of that. And army men don’t cry, so he didn’t. His soul wept for him, quietly setting the dream down and sweeping it under the rug, hoping that maybe one day he’d get that chance.

You cupped his jaw, watching him with careful eyes. “Jack? Are you alright?” You asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. He nodded softly and pressed his lips to yours gingerly. You kissed him back. He relaxed into it, his hands wrapped around your waist, yours in his hair, uncaring of how wet it was.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he admitted, pulling back from your lips. “I should’ve stayed.” He searched your face, landing on your eyes. He loved your eyes. He loved how he could make you nervous with just eye contact, something so simple. You nodded.

“Thank you for apologising, but the night would’ve been ruined anyway. I was busy playing mom to Maggie.” You shrugged, a finger drawing patterns between the freckles that adorned his chest. You’d admitted before that it was one of your favourite things about him. You just loved them. He couldn’t understand why, but who was he to yuck your yum?

There it was again. The idea that you two could have a kid. You with a little baby in your arms, his baby in your arms. A little human that was made from the two of you. His eyes welled up, but he kept his voice steady. You didn’t notice the tears, too busy drawing on his skin. “You want to have a kid?” he asked, just above a whisper. You smiled.

“You’re not helping my baby fever, y’know,” you finally looked at him again, and your face fell. “Jack, what’s wrong?” A hand cupped his cheek and he leaned into it, a stray tear falling down his cheek. You took his other hand in yours, squeezing.

He shook his head, biting his cheek to stop himself from falling apart. “I always wanted a family,” he admitted, pushing through it. Pushing through the fear of rejection, pushing through the voice in his head that told him to shut up. He’d been working with his therapist and you on verbalising what he wanted. He was hyper-independant, and he knew it strained you two a little, so this was a chance to actually let you know what he wanted. “I want that with you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Yeah?” you questioned, a surprised smile pulling the corners of your lips up. He nodded silently, anxiety and fear holding all his muscles taught. “I want that too,” you whispered before swallowing his lips with a kiss.

He had it. He had his wife. He had his job. Now, he’d finally get the chance to get what he wanted, a family. A family with you.

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yuyuyukiii · 1 day ago

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Adopt Me, Alonso! ⛐

Summary: Y/N Alonso is the paddock’s unofficial mum. She brings snacks, gives hugs, and somehow knows when you're sad before you do. Everyone loves her. But Lance Stroll? He gets pancakes, blankets, and kisses on the helmet. The rookies aren’t having it. Suddenly they're all sick, limping, and dramatically collapsing for her attention. Fernando sees through it. And Y/N? She just wants to know why six boys are fighting over soup.

Content: Fluff, weaponized clinginess, petty rookie drama, emotional fake illnesses, pancake favoritism, soup bribery, Fernando losing the will to live, Lance thriving, and six rookies auditioning for adoption like it’s The Bachelor: Grid Mum Edition.

Author’s Note 🏎️: This story was pure chaos from start to finish and honestly... I don’t even know what happened. I just had the image of Lance eating pancakes in fuzzy socks while six rookies fake-coughed for attention and it spiraled from there.

It’s dramatic, it’s ridiculous, it’s soft and unhinged at the same time. If you’ve ever felt violently jealous over someone getting the last pancake, this one’s for you.

Thanks for reading and enabling my nonsense 💚

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Formula 1 had accepted that Y/N Alonso was more than just Fernando’s wife.

She was the paddock’s comfort person. The one who brought snacks to debriefs. The one who carried spare tissues in her bag and always noticed when someone looked tired. She once hugged Ollie after a rough quali and accidentally made him cry into her shoulder for seven whole minutes. She gave Isack a cookie during a media day meltdown and he nearly proposed.

To the rookies? She was Mother. Capital M.

If you were sick, tired, sore, dramatic, hungry, overwhelmed, underwhelmed, or just needed a hug, Y/N was there. Always warm. Always smelling like jasmine and clean laundry. Always calling you sweetheart and making you feel like you hadn’t just knocked over a $25,000 front wing in FP2.

So naturally, they clung to her like ducklings.

She wasn’t a team principal. She wasn’t even a member of the pit crew. But because she was always around Fernando and Aston Martin, and because her smile made everything feel slightly less terrifying, the rookies started hovering near their garage like moths.

Until they noticed something strange.

Lance.

Lance Stroll, the actual driver for Aston Martin, was getting… extra attention.

“Did she just tuck a blanket around him?” Franco whispered from behind a stack of tires.

“She fed him a grape,” Gabriel replied, eyes wide.

“No. I swear. She just…she just told him he was ‘so brave’ for driving in the rain.”

Ollie, hiding behind a pit board, gasped. “She’s never called me brave.”

Kimi was silent. Which was suspicious in itself, because Kimi was only ever quiet when he was either deeply focused or deeply offended.

“…did she just ruffle his hair?” Kimi asked flatly, blinking like his whole world had been a lie.

The breaking point came when they accidentally overheard something behind the team motorhome.

Y/N was crouched in front of Lance, fixing his helmet with practiced hands. “Alright, baby, go out there and show them hell, okay Lancy poo?” she said sweetly, pressing a kiss to the top of his helmet.

The rookies collectively gasped.

“Did she just call him—”

“She kissed his helmet,” Franco hissed.

“Oh my god,” Ollie whispered, stunned.

Then, somewhere inside the motorhome, someone muttered under their breath, “I’m telling you, Lance has to be their son from another life. That’s why they’re so attached.”

The silence that followed was immediate and devastating.

“We’ve been replaced,” Liam muttered.

“Lance is the golden child,” Ollie said.

“Not on my watch,” Isack declared, eyes glinting with mischief. “We fake sick. All of us.”

———

Phase One: Operation Baby Duck

It started small. A sniffle here. A quiet “I think I’m running a fever” there. Y/N was immediately concerned.

“Oh sweetheart, sit down! You look flushed. Fernando, get the thermometer!”

Fernando, halfway through his espresso, stared at Isack.“You look fine.”

Isack let out a soft, tragic cough that sounded suspiciously like a fake cat hairball.

Y/N gasped. “Don’t be mean, Nando! He’s obviously struggling.”

Struggling to hold in laughter, maybe.

The next day, Liam showed up to the paddock wrapped in a scarf, hoodie, and blanket. In Singapore.

Y/N blinked. “Honey, you’re sweating.”

“I’m battling,” Liam whispered, eyes watery. “Let me hold your hand. It helps.”

By the end of the week, the rookies were limping, coughing, sneezing, and making dramatic groaning noises every time they stood up. One of them even requested homemade soup in the middle of a press conference.

Kimi took it a step further and made Fernando help him limp down the paddock hallway like he had a war injury. When asked what happened, he said “emotional fatigue.”

Fernando had had enough.

“They were literally playing football twenty minutes ago,” he muttered, watching the group pile onto Y/N’s lap like Victorian children dying of the plague.

“No they weren’t,” she said, gently stroking Isack’s hair.

“Yes. They were. I saw it. Isack was doing bicycle kicks. Kimi slide tackled Liam.”

Behind her back, the boys made faces at him. Stuck their tongues out.

Fernando pointed violently. “That! Did you see? They’re mocking me!”

She turned.

Instantly, all five looked like they were five seconds from fainting. Isack weakly held up a tissue. Ollie moaned. Franco blinked very slowly. Kimi closed his eyes like he was awaiting death.

Y/N turned back to her husband. “Fernando. They can barely stand.”

Fernando looked like he aged ten years. “I’m going to commit a crime.”

———

Phase Two: Lance Finds Out

Lance was slow to catch on. For a while, he just thought the rookies were weirdly into heating pads and asking for foot massages.

Then he walked into the driver’s lounge and saw Gabriel curled up under his team jacket, sipping tea with extra honey.

“What… are you doing?”

“Shhh,” Gabriel whispered. “Y/N said I need rest.”

“She knit me socks,” Franco announced proudly from the couch.

“They’re faking,” Lance said, backing away.

“You would say that,” Isack muttered, turning to cough delicately into Y/N’s scarf. “Golden child.”

———

Phase Three: Annoy the fck out of Fernando

Fernando eventually reached his breaking point. Again.

He walked in on five grown boys all dramatically collapsing onto Y/N’s lap like a litter of fainting goats.

“Not this again.” Fernando sighed “This is getting out of hand.”

“They’re sick, Nando!”

“They just ate six pizzas in catering.”

“They’re growing boys.”

“They were playing Mario Kart and screaming three minutes ago!”

Kimi peeked up from under a fuzzy blanket. “That was for morale.”

Isack raised a limp hand. “I need soup.”

Fernando pinched the bridge of his nose. “You said that yesterday.”

Y/N turned to him, concerned. “Do you think I should buy more tissues?”

Behind her back, Ollie dabbed his face with a napkin and whispered, “Bless me.”

Franco fake sneezed directly at Fernando.

Kimi reached out and grabbed Fernando’s pant leg. “Tell my story.”

Fernando stared at the ceiling like it personally offended him. “First it was Max and Charles. Then Lando. Then Pierre. Even Lewis did it once. I thought we were past this.”

“They were trailblazers,” Liam said weakly.

“I’m going to burn the entire hospitality unit down,” Fernando muttered, already turning to leave. “And salt the ashes.”

And yet, the next day, Y/N arrived with six fresh thermoses of homemade soup, custom fluffy socks with their names on it, and a giant blanket shaped like a duck.

“Because you’re my babies,” she smiled.

Fernando watched as six suddenly-healthy rookies fought over who got to hold her hand first.

Lance stood beside him, arms crossed.

“They’re faking.”

“I know.” Fernando hissed.

“They’re just jealous I’m the favorite.”

Fernando sipped his coffee. “You absolutely are.”

From the corner of the room, six boys screamed, “WE HEARD THAT!”

Y/N turned, startled. “Heard what?”

Immediately, Ollie gasped. “Nothing, nothing. My ears are just really sensitive from the fever. It’s probably the... wind.”

“We’re inside,” Fernando muttered.

“I need to sit down,” Liam added, dramatically lowering himself onto the floor like a dying Shakespeare character. “My legs are trembling.”

“You just jogged here.” Lance deadpanned.

“No. That was my twin.” Liam nodded gravely. “He’s much healthier.”

Y/N gently helped him up, worried. “Oh sweetheart, maybe you should lie down.”

“I love lying down,” Ollie chimed in, flopping backwards so dramatically he knocked over a chair.

“Jesus Christ,” Fernando hissed. “It’s like watching a low-budget play.”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

It started with a minor incident.

Just a casual Thursday morning at their home. Peaceful. Birds chirping. Coffee brewing. Fernando, just out of the shower, towel over his shoulder, walked into the kitchen to find…

“What is this?”

Y/N was standing at the stove. In a fluffy green robe. With her hair clipped up. Whisking pancake batter.

She looked up, cheerful. “Morning, love. I’m making Lance pancakes.”

Fernando blinked. “Lance… who is currently sleeping in our so-called guest room?” He air quoted guest room because, let’s be honest, it was basically Lance’s room at this point.

“Yes. He asked for banana chocolate chip with extra crispy edges. So I thought—”

“I thought we had a driver, not a 14-year-old on summer break.”

Y/N kissed his cheek. “He’s both.”

Just then, Lance walked in, wearing Fernando’s old shirt and Y/N’s fuzzy socks. Hair sticking up. Sleepy smile. “Mornin’.”

Fernando stared. “You’re still here?”

Lance yawned. “Yeah. I was too tired to drive after game night.”

Fernando narrowed his eyes. “You’re planning to stay here for race week again?”

“Let him,” Y/N said brightly. “He thrives here.”

Lance nodded solemnly. “Also, the Wi-Fi here’s better.”

Fernando sighed into his coffee mug.

———

It was supposed to be a quiet morning. A simple media debrief in the drivers’ room, nothing more.

And yet, here they all were: Max lounging with his feet up, Charles stealing Oscar’s coffee like it was a blood sport, Yuki arguing with Pierre over which hotel served better eggs, and Lewis humming something old-school under his breath while braiding friendship bracelets he swore weren’t for anyone specific.

All were present and accounted for.

Except one team.

“Where’s Aston Martin?” Oscar asked, looking around with a raised brow.

There was a collective shrug. The Aston Martin duo being late wasn’t new, but for some reason, this time, it had everyone's attention.

“Probably still at home,” Max said, sipping from his smoothie. “Wouldn't be surprised if Lance overslept again.”

“Or maybe,” Pierre smirked, “Lance begged for another game night. Or made them watch that weird documentary about mushrooms again.”

“Bet he asked for Y/N’s pancake recipe this morning,” Carlos added. “She always makes them for him when he’s stressed.”

“She made me chamomile tea once,” Charles sighed dreamily, completely derailing the original topic. “When I had that sore throat. Wrapped the mug in a little napkin like it was a gift.”

“I stubbed my toe before a race and she brought me an ice pack wrapped in a duck-shaped cloth,” Oscar mumbled. “I still have it. I call him Duckward.”

“She once patted my head,” Esteban said solemnly. “I had never felt peace like that.”

Lando nodded gravely. “It’s like… getting hugged by a warm Sunday.”

George walked in right then and blinked. “Are we reminiscing about Y/N again?”

“She’s literally married,” Lewis muttered, sipping his tea. “To Fernando.”

“Yeah, but she’s like… the paddock’s mum,” Nico added. “Except to Lance. He gets the deluxe treatment.”

Max grunted. “I saw her fix his hair once before qualifying. I think she licked her thumb like a real mum.”

Lando burst out laughing. “One time, I saw her pull his hoodie strings tighter because ‘he might catch a chill.’”

Someone asked. “Wait. He sleeps over?”

“Sleep over?” Ocon scoffed. “That guy basically lives with them. He has his own room”

That was it.

A small gasp came from the far side of the room. Six rookies, previously flopped like tired cats on the couch, were now upright with laser focus.

“What do you mean he lives there?” Franco said sharply.

“I thought they just liked him best because of his sad little Canadian eyes,” Liam whispered.

Kimi narrowed his eyes. “Own room?! Has his own room?!?!?”

“Wait. They got heart pancakes?” Ollie whispered.

“Strawberries?” Kimi added with the kind of betrayal usually reserved for soap operas.

Gabriel clutched his chest. “They played board games together?”

Liam clutched the arm of the couch like it had betrayed him. Gabriel blinked at the floor like he’d just discovered the meaning of life. Kimi pouted so aggressively.

“Why do you all look like kicked puppies?”

“He’s the favorite child,” Ollie declared, pointing accusingly at a wall as if Lance might be eavesdropping from behind it.

Charles blinked. “He is their only child.”

“We are too,” Franco said indignantly, like this was a known fact.

Max laughed. “You guys are just getting the kindness treatment. Believe me, we all did what you’re doing now.”

The rookies turned, six heads snapping in unison.

“We all faked it,” Pierre said. “Once I claimed I had shin splints and she massaged my legs for twenty minutes while humming a lullaby.”

“I lied about a fever and got tucked in on the motorhome couch,” George said wistfully. “Two blankets. Cinnamon tea. She kissed my forehead.”

“Kissed your—” Liam choked.

Lando leaned back smugly. “One winter test, I coughed once. Got soup, a throat spray, and got to wear her scarf for the rest of the week.”

“I once pretended I forgot how to open a water bottle,” Pierre admitted.

“I claimed I couldn’t walk straight,” Oscar added.

“I was genuinely sick once,” Yuki muttered. “Didn’t even get a text. She was too busy wrapping Lance in three blankets and calling him her baby boy.”

“He is her baby boy,” Oscar deadpanned.

“Bro,” Franco whispered. “What if… what if we’ve only scratched the surface.”

Gabriel nodded slowly. “We need to go deeper.”

Kimi suddenly gasped. “We fake amnesia.”

“No,” Liam said, deadpan. “Too far. We start with fainting.”

“I want the duck towel,” Ollie declared.

“You can’t just ask for Duckward,” Oscar said, horrified. “Duckward chooses you.”

Fernando walked past the open door just then, paused, looked inside, and slowly narrowed his eyes. “You’re all planning something.”

“No, we’re not,” the rookies said in terrifying unison.

Fernando squinted at them. “Don’t even think about it.”

“They’re sick,” Max said mockingly, nudging Charles.

“They’ll be sick if they try to touch Duckward,” Oscar muttered.

At that moment, the door opened.

Y/N walked in first, carrying a bottle of syrup, a fork, and gently guiding someone behind her with a warm hand on their back, like a proud mum dropping her kid off at school.

Then came Lance, well-rested, smiling, holding a plate of pancakes she’d clearly made for him, and wearing a knitted beanie with Lancey stitched across it in cursive.

Complaints

“There’s the pancake,” Ollie hissed.

“He has a nickname beanie,” Kimi said, near tears.

Ollie, muffled under a blanket, muttered, “I want a nickname.”

“You can be Sicky Ollie,” Max offered.

Liam stared. “She made him pancakes.”

“She made him a custom beanie?” Gabriel whispered, scandalized.

“That’s it,” Franco hissed. “Life is really unfair.”

While staring at Y/N, Who handed him the fork first. Pancakes stacked neatly, syrup already drizzled in a perfect swirl.

He beamed at her and immediately scanned the room for a spot, clearly aiming for the floor, as usual.

And just before Y/N turned to head back out and return the syrup bottle to hospitality, she paused, looked over her shoulder, and said very casually, too casually…

“Sit at the table, Lance. I refuse to have my son act like he was raised in the woods.”

As soon as Y/N left the room, chaos erupted.

The room froze.

Fernando blinked slowly. “Oh no.”

“Son?! Son?! Soooooon?!?” Franco shouted.

“You’re not even the youngest!” Kimi pointed out.

Ollie, voice trembling, whispered, “So he really is the favorite…”

“We’re not even second best,” Gabriel mumbled.

“You’re stealing our sick points!” Isack accused

“I’m her son,” Lance said through a mouthful of pancake. “Cry about it.”

“Stop being dramatic,” Fernando sighed. “She’s literally… oh, for the love of… Franco, get off the floor.”

“No. This is my villain origin arc.”

Y/N returned to see six devastated rookies staring at her like she just announced she was disowning them. Kimi looked like he might cry. Ollie clutched Liam’s sleeve.

Fernando stood in the corner like a man who had seen war. When she turned to him with raised brows, he just gestured at the chaos.

“They heard that,” Fernando muttered. “You called him your son. Now look…back to fake coughs and tragic little expressions.”

“They are sick,” Y/N scolded lightly without looking.

“They were just running down the paddock ten minutes ago.”

“They’re pale now.”

“They’re making faces at me behind your back. Again.”

Y/N turned around. The rookies, with Oscar-worthy performances, had gone limp and lifeless. One gave a weak cough. Another moaned.

Fernando stared. “You’re all little demons.”

Kimi cracked an eye open. “We prefer emotionally neglected children.”

Y/N gasped. “Fernando! Look at them. They can barely sit up straight!”

“They’re lying.”

“They’re adorable.”

“Unbelievable,” Fernando muttered as six clingy “patients” clung tighter to his wife.

Max passed Fernando a protein bar without looking up. “Told you. It’s a phase.”

“I hate this phase,” Fernando muttered. “I want a refund.”

“You got a wife and seven sons,” Charles said. “Congratulations.”

“I’m going to burn that beanie,” Franco whispered to Isack.

“Right after I get my forehead kiss,” Isack muttered back, pulling the blanket tighter.

And Fernando, surrounded by his fake-sick adopted sons, pancake-eating favorite child, and far-too-kind wife, sighed.

He was never going to win.

And thus, the hierarchy was clear.

Lance was the son. The rest were pretending not to be auditioning for adoption.

And from that day on, the fake illnesses doubled in frequency, dramatically increased in flair, and Fernando started carrying a laminated “They’re Faking” sign that he held up every time someone groaned near Y/N.

END.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

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woso-dreamzzz · 3 days ago

Text

Grumpy

Grace Clinton x Sister!Reader

Summary: You're the most intimidating at camp

The strong silent type.

That's how your England teammates would describe you.

You were tall and bulky. You spent your spare time in the gym, somehow bulking up even further.

You were as quiet as a mouse but not in the cute way. You were more of a presence. The silence only served to unnerve people even more.

You were a rock between the sticks and your defenders could never quite tell if they preferred you silent or yelling instructions at them.

Either way, sometimes you looked like you would be more at home as a bouncer of a night club than a famous footballer.

Either that or in the ring.

Which isn't too far of a leap considering what you're looking like now.

Your presence is always known when you step into camp. The soft thud of your heavy boots alerts everyone in the lobby that you've arrived.

You're wearing the same thing as always. Black joggers and a Black t-shirt that has arm holes straining to contain your muscles. It's a wonder you're not wearing that retro motorcycle jacket you usually are but the weather has grown warmer and you probably don't want to overheat.

But that's not what has a few gasps of breath sucked in from the players and the staff.

Your lip is split. It's healing now, but it's still split and a black-purple bruise covers your jaw and part of your cheek.

You look like you've been in a street fight, not at all what you looked like a few days ago when you'd kept Liverpool's clean sheet against Chelsea.

You look like you had taken a glass bottle to the face and still won.

Briefly, Alessia wonders if you were actually in a fight but there's no bruising on your knuckles and you don't look like you're limping.

You nod in greeting to her before moving past to grab your room key, dragging your suitcase into the elevator behind you.

"She looks like she took a punch to the face," Ella whispers over dinner that night, glancing back towards you and immediately turning away when your gaze catches hers.

"The other person probably came off worse," Maya says back.

She also tries to glance at you but very quickly thinks better of it. It's not worth the chill down her spine if you meet her eyes.

"How do you think she did it?" Ella continues," One-two jab in the face? Or like just one massive knockout punch?"

"If it was a knockout," Alessia says," Then she wouldn't have been hit in the face too."

"Well maybe the knockout happened after the first punch," Ella corrects," Like she doesn't look the type to start fights. Only finish them. And I bet she finished that fight super quick."

"So the knockout punch then?" Maya twirls some spaghetti on her fork. "It was probably a knockout because she was probably pissed they got the first punch in."

"It does look nasty," Alessia says," Did you see how dark it was? I almost thought Sarina would send her home."

"Send her home? She's probably still the best goalkeeper in the world even if her eyes was swelled shut. Besides," Ella points her fork out her friend," You want to be the one telling her to go home?"

"Tell who to go home?"

Grace appears out of nowhere. It's her first camp and she'd taken her time in the dinner line, in awe of all of the choices.

She slides into the other seat next to Alessia.

Maya grins. "Old grumpy l/n over there?" She's careful not to make eye contact with you.

You sit alone at your own table in the corner like you normally do, glaring down at your food like it owes you money.

"Oh, y/n?"

Ella laughs. "You think you'll be close to her, Grace? Calling her by her first name?"

Grace frowns. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't I call her that?"

Ella and Maya are still laughing at Grace's confusion. Alessia seems to be the only that's noticed you've risen from your seat, the only one that's noticed that you're crossing the space, the only one that's noticed that you're standing behind Grace.

Your hand closes around Grace's shoulder.

She doesn't even flinch.

"Gracey-girl," You say in the same gruff voice that you always use.

The whole table freezes, spines straight and completely on edge.

"Mum was worried. You didn't text her to say you've arrived."

Grace lets out an awkward laugh. "But you did it for me?"

"Only after she called me all panicked and worried," You reply," You think you're grown-"

"I am grown."

"Then you need to do grown up things and not stress out Mum. You know she can't take much."

"It was an accident. I was just-"

"I know, Gracey-girl, but please, stop making my life even harder."

"That was an accident too. I was only-"

"No, no, wait!" Ella interrupts. Her mouth opens and closes wordlessly a few times as she points between you both. "I...What?"

You stare blankly at her for a moment and she wilts under your gaze until you turn to fix those disapproving eyes onto Grace.

"You haven't told them?" You ask.

"Told them what?"

"That we're sisters?"

"You're sisters?!" Ella's voice booms.

"I thought they already knew." Grace says.

"Why would we know? You don't have the same last name!"

"We're half-sisters technically," You say. Getting you to volunteer this information is usually like getting blood from a stone and even now your face is all twisted up like even saying this is painful to you. "Different dads which is why I have a different last name. Not that it's any of your business or that it makes me and Grace any less sisters."

"No, no," Ella hurries back quickly," Of course. Of course it doesn't."

You ignore her, turning back to Grace and your features soften a fraction. "Gracey-girl, it's fine. Just come to my room tonight, alright? We'll call Mum together and set her at ease. How about that?"

"Yeah, that would be good."

You nod once, a short bob of your head before you lean down to press a kiss to the top of your sister's head and walk away.

There's silence for a moment with all three of Grace's friends frozen in shock.

"You...She..." Maya takes a moment to regain her composure before speaking again," Do you know how she got that bruise and the split lip?!"

Grace's face grows red in embarrassment and she clears her throat.

"I tried to jump onto her back for a piggyback when we went to see our granny...And I accidentally knocked her into the corner of the dinner table."

#woso x reader #grace clinton x reader #grace clinton #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

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sajakissed · 2 days ago

Note

Hiii

Can I please request the saja boys (separately) with a reader who has a small chest?

Maybe the reader isn't necessarily insecure about it but sometimes she does wish they were a little bit bigger?

🙈 thank you !!

perfect fit

tags: fem!reader, small-chested reader, fluff, established relationship, light self-consciousness

typed this on my phone so that means possiblee typos and not proofread xp

Request | Rules | Masterlist

🎐 Mystery

You’re changing into one of Mystery’s shirts when he walks into the room, pauses, and tilts his head.

“Staring’s rude,” you say, half-playful, but with a slight frown as you pull your hoodie on quickly.

He shrugs. “You have a very nice ribcage.”

You snort. “Wow. Thank you for appreciating my sternum, babe.”

He walks over, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. “I like the way my shirts fall on you. Effortless. Soft. Like a poem.”

“That’s just code for ‘you have no boobs’,” you say.

He shrugs again. “So? Makes it easier to press you against walls.”

Heat creeps up your cheeks. His lips twitch at your reaction.

“I didn’t fall in love with your chest. I fell in love with how you make me feel. And how you kiss. And how you sigh when I do this—”

He nuzzles your neck and you melt.

Damn him.

🌀 Baby

You’re playing a video game with Baby when you casually bring it up. “Maybe I should buy those push-up bras. You know, give the illusion.”

He pauses mid-button-mash. “What illusion?”

You gesture at your chest. “That there’s more happening up here.”

He turns his head slowly and stares at you, deadpan. “You think I’m in this for your chest?”

“I hoped they played a small role.”

He puts the controller down, grabs a throw pillow, and shoves it under his shirt.

“Look! Now I have big boobs. Are you more attracted to me now?”

You start laughing. “You look like a pregnant goose.”

“Exactly. Not hot.” He removes the pillow and slings an arm on your shoulders. “You’re hot. All of you. Including the small chest that fits perfectly in my hands.”

You tease, “So it’s about the hand fit?”

He grins. “I’ve got good grip. Let me demonstrate.”

You smash the pillow to his face.

🌷 Romance

You are trying on a new outfit when you glance in the mirror and sigh. “Would look better with cleavage…”

Romance, half-asleep on the bed, cracks one eye open.

“Did you say something?”

You shrug. “Just wishing for bigger assets.”

He sits up. “Assets are fine. Why upgrade when the original is flawless?”

You smile wryly. “You barely even look.”

“Who says I don’t?” He says, a cheeky smile forming on his face as he saunters over.

He circles behind you, hands resting on your sides. “You’re the first person I’ve ever met who made me think ‘Yeah. This is it. This is the one I’d carve out of moonlight if I could’.”

Your cheeks turn bright pink. “That’s…poetic.”

He kisses your temple. “You’re my muse, and a small chest means less armor between me and your heartbeat.”

“…That was disgustingly sweet.”

“I know,” he smirks. “Now come back to bed and let me love on you.”

🍿 Abby

Abby catches you staring at a bra ad and immediately drapes himself dramatically across your lap. “No. Don’t do it. Don’t fall for Big Bra propaganda.”

You blink. “What?”

He points at the ad like it personally offended him. “They just want to sell you silicone and insecurities.”

“You don’t think I’d look good with more cleavage?”

He grins and puts a hand over your chest, comically solemn. “These are already premium. Custom made. High-end. Small batch. Organic. Limited edition.”

You giggle. “You sound like you’re describing a wine.”

“I am. And baby—” he leans in, tapping your nose, “—you’re my favorite vintage.”

You pause, squinting. “Was that a pun?”

He smirks. “It was a pairing. Like us.”

You push him off your lap. “Get out.”

🎶 Jinu

You sigh, flopping onto Jinu’s lap in your oversized hoodie. “I think my boobs got scared of puberty and ran the other way.”

He blinks down at you, lips twitching. “You think they…fled the scene?”

“Don’t laugh!”

“I’m not!” he says, laughing anyway. “I just think it’s cute that you think anything about you is lacking.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t be cheesy.”

“I’m serious.” He gently pulls you closer. “You’re delicate. Like butterfly wings. Like petals. Like—”

“Okay, poet.”

He grins. “Like divine whispers on a spring morning.”

“Okay, STOP.”

A soft smile plays on his lips. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you. You’re just the perfect fit for me to smother with affection.”

You sigh. “Why do you make it so hard for me to stay upset?”

He kisses your temple. “Because you make it so easy to love everything about you.”

#join the pride #kpdh #kpop demon hunters #saja boys #saja boys kpdh #baby x reader #saja boys x reader #abby x reader #jinu x reader #romance x reader #mystery x reader #kpdh imagine #saja boys imagine

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humanjarvis · 15 hours ago

Text

“can i talk to you about something?”

lads LIs: when you tell them a secret about yourself

zayne's hand freezes on the spine of the book he’s reading, and as he spots your nervous expression over the rim of his glasses, an unwelcome chill spreads throughout his body. he reaches out to you on instinct, but quickly stops himself when he realizes he doesn’t know if this is a good talk, or a bad talk. luckily, you decide for him, and when you step into his hold, you tell him something new. new information for him to memorize, to store away in his brain and use as a reference when he takes care of you. attentive green eyes buoy yours, refusing to let your gaze fall to the floor. “thank you for telling me. your secret’s safe with me.”

part of caleb is smug. there’s nothing about you that he doesn’t know, but it’s so endearing that you think there is. he sits before you with a patient smile, expecting to already know your confession, planning exactly how he’s going to feign surprise. but that’s only part of caleb. the other part is internally panicking. the walls are closing in. because—his heart stutters—what if there’s something about you that he doesn’t already know? after you tell him (and he either sighs quietly in relief or dissolves into identity crisis), he holds you close, patting your hair and kissing your temple. and while you’re vulnerable and clinging to him, he lures you into a promise: “no more secrets, alright, pip-squeak?”

unnervingly normal is how you’d describe sylus's reaction. no smirk, no teasing, no “i don’t know, can you?”—just patience and sincerity on his chiseled face. even still, he draws you in and lowers your guard with a skill so practiced, it’s almost innate. before you know it, you’re crawling in his lap and rambling until your throat hurts, unearthing memories long buried. all throughout, his mind whirs with solutions, and he presents them to you one by one once you’ve finished sharing. when you duck into his chest to murmur your gratitude, his warm hand covers the pane of your back. “there's nothing to thank me for. i only want to help you."

“of course, cutie. you can tell me anything,” is what rafayel says. on the inside, though, his stomach is flipping like a dolphin. he hates the waiting, the suspense—whatever your secret is, he needs to know now. so he masks the apprehension, trying to appear as open as possible so that, if nothing else, you hurry up and tell him already. once you do, he’s already working through the best way to lighten your mood. if appropriate, he’ll redirect the conversation to the positive, downplaying the situation to make you more comfortable: “you really got me for a second—i thought it was gonna be something, like, scary. we can handle this, though, no biggie. you’ll be fine.”

a slow blink and a soft smile. that’s how xavier tells you he’s listening. it’s kind of hard to, though, when something inside him is bristling at the thought of not knowing something important about you. does anyone else know? did they find out on their own, or did you tell them before him? he shakes his head. focus. what follows is the gentlest hunter interrogation in history. he asks you questions when you pause, trying to understand what’s happened, if he can help, and how it went on right under his nose. his voice is light, but his anxious blue eyes convey his true thoughts: please don’t leave me in the dark. “whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together.”

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to-the-beginning--the-end-waits · 2 days ago

Text

Till The Lease Do Us Part

Summary: After a drunken Vegas party you find yourself married with Jeong Yunho, who is completely hopeless with basic appliances, you deal with your now husbands intimidating Korean mafia family visiting to meet his new “wife.”

Fandom: ATEEZ

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x Reader

Genre: Mafia AU, Romance, Comedy

Warnings: Warnings: mafia/crime family themes, mentions of weapons, alcohol consumption (Vegas wedding backstory), brief mentions of violence (making people “disappear”), one kinda misogynistic comment(it comes from a grandmother) (comments about “birthing hips”), mild innuendo

====================================

The marriage certificate stared back at you mockingly from the coffee table, official Vegas seal and all. Next to it sat your phone, which had been buzzing nonstop with congratulatory messages from Yunho’s family back in Seoul ever since someone had posted that blurry photo of you two stumbling out of the Little White Chapel.

“This is a disaster,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

Yunho emerged from the kitchen of your shared apartment -another consequence of this mess- holding two cups of coffee. Even in sweatpants and a wrinkled t-shirt, he managed to look intimidating. It was deeply unfair.

“It’s not that bad,” he said, settling beside you on the couch. “My grandmother thinks you’re ‘a lovely girl with good birthing hips.’”

“She said WHAT?”

“I may have sent her that photo of us at the hotel buffet. You were really going to town on those pancakes.”

You stared at him in horror. Three weeks ago, you’d been a normal person living a normal life. Then your friend’s bachelorette party happened, Vegas happened, and somehow you’d woken up married to Jeong Yunho. Who, as it turned out, wasn’t just tall, handsome, and surprisingly good at karaoke. He was also the heir to one of Seoul’s most powerful crime families.

“Your family thinks we’re in love,” you said slowly. “Your very scary, very armed family.”

“They’re not that scary. Jongho cried watching Coco last week.”

“Yunho.”

“Okay, fine. They’re terrifying. But they love you! My mother already bought us matching rice cookers for when we move back to Seoul.”

The plan had seemed simple enough when you’d both sobered up. Yunho needed his crime family to think he was settling down and becoming “responsible.” (what you didn't knew at that time was that he just didn't wanted to divorce you) You needed to pay off your exchange student loans (studying abroad wasn't cheap at all), and his offer to clear your debt in exchange for playing house for a few months had been too good to refuse. Easy money, you’d thought.

You hadn’t counted on your fake husband being completely useless at basic human tasks.

A crash from the kitchen interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

“What did you break now?” you called out.

“Nothing!” came Yunho’s suspiciously high pitched reply.

You trudged to the kitchen to find him standing in front of the open dishwasher, which was now foaming like a rabid dog. Soap bubbles covered the floor, and Yunho held the dish soap bottle like it had personally offended him.

“I thought it needed more soap,” he said defensively.

“It’s a DISHWASHER, not a bubble bath!” You grabbed the bottle from him. “And this is dish soap, not dishwasher detergent! They’re different things!”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“It literally says ‘hand washing’ on the bottle!”

Yunho’s jaw tightened- the same look he got when his men reported problems with their operations. For a moment, you remembered exactly who you were yelling at. Then he deflated.

“My housekeeper always did this stuff,” he mumbled.

Right. Crime prince. You softened slightly as you turned off the dishwasher and started cleaning up the mess.

“Okay, new rule. You don’t touch any appliances without supervision.”

“I’m not a child.”

“You literally put aluminum foil in the microwave yesterday.”

“That was an accident!”

“You tried to wash clothes with fabric softener. Only fabric softener.”

Yunho crossed his arms. “The clothes were soft.”

“They were slimy, Yunho. Slimy.”

Your phone rang before he could argue further. The caller ID made your stomach drop.

“It’s your mother,” you hissed.

Yunho’s eyes widened. “Put it on speaker.”

You answered with your brightest fake voice. “Hello, Mrs. Jeong!”

“Y/N, sweetheart! How are you settling in? Yunho-ya told me you moved in together.”

You glanced at Yunho, who was gesturing frantically at himself and mouthing something that looked like “tell her I’m a good husband.”

“Oh, yes! We’re… adjusting well. Yunho is very… helpful around the house.”

Yunho beamed proudly.

“He’s learning to use the dishwasher,” you continued, watching his face fall. “And the laundry machine. And the microwave. Basic life skills, really.”

“Ah, good! A man should know how to take care of his wife. Speaking of which, we’re planning to visit next month to meet you properly!”

The color drained from both your faces.

“Visit?” you squeaked. “Here? To America?”

“Of course! We want to see how our son is treating his bride. Make sure he’s being a good husband.”

Yunho was making slashing motions across his throat, but his mother couldn’t see him.

“We’ll bring the whole family. Your brother-in-laws are very excited to meet you, Y/N. Seonghwa especially- he’s been wanting to have a ‘talk’ with Yunho about marriage responsibilities. It's a pity that you have school there, Seonghwa has already arranged a house here for you guys to move in after you graduate from university and move back here to Korea.”

You’d met Seonghwa in exactly one photo, where he’d been holding what looked suspiciously like a gun while smiling pleasantly at the camera.

“That sounds… wonderful,” you managed.

“Perfect! Oh, and Y/N? Make sure Yunho eats properly. He gets too skinny when he’s working. Force feed him if you have to.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind.”

After she hung up, you both sat in stunned silence, surrounded by soap bubbles.

“Your entire family is coming here,” you said faintly.

“Seonghwa once made a man disappear for disrespecting his wife,” Yunho said helpfully.

“Cool. Cool cool cool. And I’m supposed to convince them that I’ve domesticated you.”

“You kind of have. I know how to make coffee now.”

“You know how to press a button on a coffee machine. There’s a difference.”

Yunho stood up abruptly. “Okay, new plan. You teach me how to be a proper husband, and I’ll teach you how to handle my family.”

“What does that involve?”

“Smiling, nodding, and never letting them know you’re afraid.”

“I’m terrified.”

“Perfect. You’re halfway there.”

Over the next few days, your apartment became a domestic boot camp. You taught Yunho the difference between dish soap and dishwasher detergent (revolutionary), how to separate colors from whites (life changing), and that you can’t cook rice in the coffee maker (disappointing, apparently).

In return, he taught you important family facts: his grandmother collected porcelain cats and expected gifts, his father hated lateness more than he hated the police, and Wooyoung would definitely try to get you drunk to see if you’d spill family secrets.

“What family secrets?” you’d asked.

“That I can’t work the dishwasher,” Yunho had replied seriously.

====================================

The morning of his family’s arrival, you found Yunho standing in the kitchen at 6 AM, fully dressed and staring at the coffee machine like it held the secrets of the universe.

“Yunho? You okay?”

He turned to you with the most serious expression you’d ever seen on his face. “Y/N. How do I make coffee for eight people?”

“The same way you make coffee for two people, but… more.”

“More coffee? More water? More everything?”

You rubbed your temples. “Yes, Yunho. More everything. Proportionally.”

“What does proportionally mean?”

Two hours later, your apartment smelled like a coffee bomb had exploded. Yunho had somehow managed to brew what could generously be called “coffee soup” and had panic cleaned the already clean apartment three times.

“They’re going to know,” he paced frantically. “They’re going to take one look at me and know I can’t take care of you properly.”

“Yunho, breathe. You run a multimillion dollar criminal organization. You can handle your family.”

“That’s different! Crime makes sense. Families are chaos.”

The doorbell rang. You both froze.

“Show time,” you whispered, grabbing his hand. “Remember-”

“Smile, nod, don’t let them know I’m afraid,” he recited.

“And?”

“The dishwasher incident never happened.”

“Good boy.”

You opened the door to find a group of the most intimidating people you’d ever seen, all holding luggage and wearing identical pleasant smiles that somehow made them more terrifying.

“Y/N!” Yunho’s mother swept you into a hug that smelled like expensive perfume and underlying menace. “You’re even prettier in person!”

The next few hours were a blur of introductions, gift giving (you now owned seven porcelain cats, courtesy of grandmother Jeong), and the most polite interrogation of your life.

“So, Y/N,” Seonghwa smiled pleasantly while somehow making it sound like a threat, “how do you find married life?”

“It’s… educational,” you said carefully. “Yunho is teaching me a lot.”

“And what is our Yunho learning from you?”

You glanced at your fake husband, who was sweating despite the air conditioning.

“Domestic skills,” you said. “He’s becoming quite handy around the house.”

Grandmother Jeong perked up. “Oh, wonderful! Yunho-ya, make us some coffee. Show your wife how well you’ve learned.”

Yunho’s face went through several colors before settling on pale green. “I… coffee… yes.”

He disappeared into the kitchen. You heard what sounded like things falling over.

“He’s… still learning,” you said weakly.

Wooyoung grinned. “Learning is good. Shows character.”

A crash echoed from the kitchen, followed by Yunho’s voice: “Y/N! What’s the ratio again?”

The family exchanged looks.

“I should… help him,” you said, practically fleeing to the kitchen.

You found Yunho standing in a puddle of coffee grounds, holding the coffee maker like it had personally wronged him.

“I forgot everything,” he whispered frantically. “My brain is empty. There’s nothing there.”

“Okay, okay. Deep breaths.” You quickly started cleaning up the mess. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to go back out there and distract them while I make coffee. Tell them about… I don’t know, crime stuff. They like that.”

“I can’t talk about crime stuff! That’s work!”

“Then talk about me! Make something up!”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know! That I’m… that I make you happy or something.”

Yunho stared at you for a moment, something unreadable crossing his face. “That’s not making something up,” he said quietly.

Before you could process that, Jongho appeared in the doorway.

“Everything okay in here?”

You both jumped apart like guilty teenagers.

“Fine!” you chirped. “Just… coffee technical difficulties.”

Jongho looked at the chaos, then at Yunho’s panicked face, then at you standing protectively in front of the coffee maker. A slow grin spread across his face.

“Yunho-hyung,” he said innocently, “remember when you told us you were ‘completely domesticated’ now?”

Yunho’s eye twitched. “Jongho…”

“And how you said your wife had ‘whipped you into shape’?”

“Jongho, I swear-”

“Because this looks like Y/N is about to whip you into shape right now.”

You snorted, unable to help yourself. Yunho turned his betrayed look on you.

“Don’t laugh! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“I am on your side! But you did try to make coffee with orange juice yesterday.”

“That was experimental!”

Jongho was now openly cackling. “Oh, this is perfect. Wait until I tell everyone that the big scary boss can’t work a coffee machine.”

“You breathe a word of this and I’ll assign you to fish market duty for a month,” Yunho threatened.

“Deal. This is worth it.”

By the time you returned to the living room with actual coffee, the family had somehow figured out the entire situation without anyone saying a word. It was like they had some kind of collective mind reading ability.

“So,” Grandmother Jeong said pleasantly, “how long have you two been pretending to be married?”

You choked on your coffee. Yunho went perfectly still in that dangerous way that meant someone was about to have a very bad day.

“Grandmother-”

“Oh, please. You think I raised idiots?” She waved dismissively. “Yunho-ya, you’ve never done a load of laundry in your life. And Y/N, dear, you keep looking at him like you’re not sure if you want to strangle him or adopt him.”

“It’s mostly strangle,” you muttered.

“See? Honesty. I like her.” Seonghwa leaned forward. “The question is, what are you planning to do about it?”

“About what?” Yunho asked warily.

You and Yunho stared at each other, then back at the family.

“We’re not-” you started.

“It’s just business-” Yunho said simultaneously.

The entire family burst into laughter.

“Oh, children,” Yunho’s mother sighed fondly. “You’re both hopeless.”

Wooyoung grinned. “I haven’t seen Yunho this flustered since he was sixteen and had a crush on his math tutor.”

“That’s different!” Yunho protested. “This is a contractual arrangement!”

“Right,” Mingi nodded seriously. “A contract that involves you learning to do laundry and her teaching you basic life skills while you both live together and bicker like an old married couple.”

“We do not bicker like-”

“You spent ten minutes arguing about the proper way to load a dishwasher this morning,” you pointed out.

“Because you were doing it wrong!”

“There’s not a right way and a wrong way, Yunho!”

“See?” Grandmother Jeong looked pleased. “Perfect couple.”

The rest of the visit passed in a blur of family stories, photo albums (you learned that Yunho had gone through a regrettable bowl cut phase at age twelve), and cooking lessons from his mother that mainly involved her despairing over her son’s complete inability to function like a normal human being.

“How has he survived this long?” she wondered aloud as Yunho somehow managed to burn water.

“I honestly don’t know,” you replied, taking the pot away from him before he could cause more damage.

====================================

On their last night, you found yourself on the balcony with Grandmother Jeong while the rest of the family argued over karaoke song choices inside.

“You know,” she said quietly, “when Yunho called to tell us he was married, I thought he was lying.”

“He was lying.”

“No, dear. He was lying about why.” She patted your hand gently. “That boy has never cared about anyone the way he cares about you. And you… you look at him like he hung the moon, even when he’s being an idiot.”

“He’s always being an idiot.”

“Exactly. And you still look at him like that.” She smiled. “Real love isn’t about finding someone perfect. It’s about finding someone whose particular brand of disaster you can’t live without.”

Before you could respond, a crash echoed from inside, followed by Yunho’s voice: “I can fix it!”

“No!” came your immediate response, and you were moving before you’d consciously decided to, rushing inside to prevent whatever catastrophe he was about to cause.

Grandmother Jeong followed, chuckling. “See what I mean?”

The family left the next morning with promises to return soon and threats of bodily harm if Yunho didn’t “treat you right.” You and Yunho stood in your coffee smelly, slightly destroyed apartment, waving goodbye until the car disappeared.

“Well,” Yunho said finally. “That went better than expected.”

“Your brother gave me his phone number and told me to call if you ‘act up.’”

“Which one?”

“All of them.”

Yunho groaned. “Great. Now I’m going to get murdered by my own family if I mess this up.”

You looked around the apartment, at the coffee stains on the ceiling (still didn’t know how he’d managed that), the slightly crooked picture frames (from when he’d tried to “help” redecorate), the pile of instruction manuals on the counter (for appliances he’d broken and replaced).

“Yunho?”

“Yeah?”

“Since the gig is up... What do we do?”

He was quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know. I mean, we’d have to get divorced, I guess. Officially.”

“Right. Divorced.”

“Unless…”

“Unless what?”

He turned to face you, and for once, he looked completely serious. Not crime boss serious, not family meeting serious, but genuinely, vulnerably serious.

“Unless you wanted to try the real thing. With someone who can’t work a dishwasher and once tried to iron a shirt while wearing it.”

“You did what?”

“Not the point!” He ran a hand through his hair nervously. “Look, I know this is crazy, and I know I’m a walking disaster when it comes to normal human things, but… I think I’m falling in love with you. Actually falling in love, not fake marriage falling in love.”

You stared at him. “You tried to iron a shirt while wearing it?”

“Y/N.”

“Sorry. I’m processing.” You took a deep breath. “Okay, hypothetically, if I were to consider this insane proposal…”

“Hypothetically.”

“You’d have to learn to do your own laundry.”

“Deal.”

“And figure out the dishwasher.”

“I’ll take a class.”

“And stop trying to cook anything more complicated than toast without supervision.”

“Hey!”

“Yunho. You set off the fire alarm making cereal.”

“The milk was supposed to be warmed!”

“You put the bowl in the oven!”

“It worked!”

You looked at him; this ridiculous, dangerous, completely hopeless man who’d somehow become the best part of your day, and made your decision.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, let’s try the real thing. But I’m keeping Seonghwa’s number, just in case.”

Yunho’s face broke into the brightest smile you’d ever seen. He swept you up in a hug that lifted you off your feet, spinning you around the disaster zone that had somehow become home.

“I love you,” he said, setting you down but not letting go.

“I love you too,” you replied. “Even though you’re completely hopeless.”

“I prefer ‘charmingly incompetent.’”

“Yunho?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t ever change. But maybe... let me handle the appliances.”

“Deal.”

And if the dishwasher started foaming again the next morning, well… at least this time you were there to turn it off.

THE END

====================================

A/N: It feels a bit short but this fic just might be one of my favs from this series. Writing always-a-winner-good-at-everything Jeong Yunho as a person not being able to do basic chores right kinda gives me some sense of power ngl I wanna write him more pathetic ehe 🤭

#ateez fic #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #kpop fic #ateez scenarios #kpop x reader #ateez imagines #kpop imagines #ateez fluff #jeong yunho x reader #yunho x reader #mafia!ateez #ateez fanfiction #kpop scenarios #kpop fanfic

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