#there's no rush to get a reply back though of course

[klausysworld]

Come Over

Summary: From an innocent text to a provocative photo to nights in my bed, it’s impossible to stay away but too hard to give in.

It was impossible not to want that man. His voice, his accent, his hair, his pretty face, the little moles on his skin, the stubble of his cheeks, the length of his body, the roughness of his hands...

And he fucking knew it.

I'd catch one glimpse of those eyes and I felt as though he'd already fucked me twice over. My cheeks would heat up, my heart pounding and It was even worse knowing that he could hear me, smell me, taste me with those stupid super senes of his.

It wasn't right, he was hurting people in my life, being a real threat to our lives and yet I was imagining being beneath him, on top of him, any fucking position he wants. But it's his fault. He was the one who stalked for my phone number and he was the one who sent the first photo.

Nothing too provocative to start off with just him in bed, clearly shirtless but nothing revealing. So I sent one back, just my face half hidden by my duvet. I wasn't sure where it was going.

~I don't even get to see your pretty face? The text was innocent enough so I sent a slightly pouty, faux annoyed snap of my face.

-Better? I questioned, tugging the covers back up and nervously watching the three dots.

~Much better, Love. Which was swiftly followed by another selfie, his whole naked chest on display with a slight peak at his abs. The shadows were perfectly placed. I could imagine my fingers tracing over him, my tongue trailing.

In response I tugged my top a little so my cleavage was just visible before fixing the angle and, with a shaky thumb, clicked send. He opened it immediately and within seconds a full view of his abdomen was sent, his adonis belt defines and pointing down to the teasing line of hair sneaking beneath the waist band of his sweatpants. I felt my stomach flutter, my thighs clench slightly as I sat up a little. My fingers curled into the bottom of my shirt, considering taking it off for him.

I must've spent too long contemplating because he was typing before I could even consider it.

~Too much? I wanted to say no and send him something worth his while but the nerves were too much. I didn't want him using anything against me and I knew that he wouldn't deep down but that underlying fear was there.

-I have to go to sleep, I'm sorry. I messaged before clicking my phone off and hiding beneath the covers as if he could still see me. I squeezed my eyes closed, digging my nails into my palms to ground myself.

By the time I woke up it was late morning and I hesitantly opened the unread texts.

~Don't be sorry. ~I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable ~Good night, love. ❤️

They made my stomach clench slightly as I read them.

-You made me nervous is all. Sorry for rushing off, it was childish of me.

I didn't expect a response so quick but it seemed he was already on his phone.

~You're not childish, I understand. ~Have a good day my love.

-You too

I got a photo later in the day of him with bloodied and bruised Damon making me suppress a small laugh at the pissed off expression on Damon's face.

-Is this what you do for fun? I asked with a smile on my lips.

~No, I talk to you for fun. I do this out of necessity.

-So I'm just a bit of fun then? It was a tease mostly but I wanted to push it.

~I enjoy talking to you. It's more than fun

-Mhm. If you say so.

Later in the evening I was sent a photo of his food with a blood bag on the side so I sent a photo of myself with my nose scrunched up as if disgusted.

-Yuck

~Perhaps it's just juice, can't hate it if you haven't tried it He replied making me roll my eyes.

-How would i have ever tried blood??

~You can try mine The answer made my stomach flip and I could almost hear the way the words would roll off his lips. It was teasing and yet somehow I knew he was completely serious at the same time.

~So long as I can try yours of course.

That made my mouth go dry. It was worse that I'd imagined, fantasised about what he was suggesting. Sometimes I wondered if he could see into my mind and knew exactly what to say to get me nervous.

-Kinky

I replied, suppressing a smile as it went through.

~Always.

Klaus proved to be completely shameless all of the time, confident beyond handling. It was undeniably attractive and it made my head spin daily. And the photos were killing me.

Once he knew I liked them that was the end for me.

His body was engraved into my mind, the soft shine to his skin, the happy trail that always dragged my attention south. The beautiful v-line showing me exactly where to look. Occasionally I got a glimpse of the bulge against his sweatpants, just the outline made my skin heat up. It wasn't long before I'd sent back photos of myself in my underwear, mostly in the mirror but sometimes if he knew I was in bed he'd tease me for it.

~Quit jumping up to get to that mirror, love. Show me how you are now.

So I did. Sat up against my pillows with my lace bra on display for him. He was always quick with a complement before a photo of his hand cupping himself through the fabric of his pants.

~You should come over, my love.

He'd tell me and I'd feel my thighs clench involuntarily.

-Why should I come to you?

~I'm more than happy to be invited into your home if you'd prefer that

I'd roll my eyes almost playfully as if he could see me and send another photo of my body, my panties the main focus and my fingers just touching the top of the lace.

~Quit teasing

He'd message before sending the photo that sent me over the end. His cock in hand, thick, veiny, just beautifully perfect and he knew it. I could just stare at it for hours.

~I want you baby.

And that did me in really.

-Come over?

And he did, he always did.

On the doorstep with a lone flower in his hand as if he hadn't charmed me enough. "Well I couldn't turn up empty handed now could I?" He'd murmur with that stupid grin on his face as his hands found my hips and guided me backwards. Sometimes it felt like he knew my house better than I did. He'd always let me knock into something whether it be the couch, a table or a countertop so that he could lift me up and have me in his grasp.

Too many times we ended up knocking a glass off the kitchen side, making me jump and him groan as my mouth left his.

"I'll tidy it in the morning." He'd mumble, trying to pull me back to him. "I'll carry you over it so your little toes don't get hurt."

"Klaus..." I'd sigh and he'd huff.

Maybe in some ways it was an excuse not to sleep with him. Not because I didn't want him, that wasn’t possible, but because I was just so anxious to. He was proud and confident and rightly so. He was...impressive from what I'd seen and I wasn't so sure what to do with him.

So we usually just ended up making out, a lot. It was like his tongue would fuck my mouth as if to encourage me to see what the rest of him could do.

Sometimes he'd get his hands between my thumbs, his thumb stroking the fabric of my underwear and making me gasp but he wouldn't let me leave the kiss. As soon as he managed to hood a finger round my panties I knew I wouldn't be moving, his fingers would be sliding through my folds, curling into me until I couldn't breathe.

"You're so sensitive..." He'd whisper, his words almost sharp like a tickle against my skin. I could feel my body struggling, my thighs shaking and my eyes watering.

"Klaus-" I whined and he kissed the side of my neck, everything he did was encouraging, pushing me to the point of no return.

"Don't beg me, love. Just come for me." And I just couldn't fucking help it.

By the time I got down from the counter my legs were useless and he was carrying me upstairs anyways. "See now, if you let me use something other than my fingers you'd be even more of a mess than you are right now." He's tease as I was tucked to his body, my head against his neck and my legs hanging from his arm as we got to my room. "What happened to all that confidence with those sexy little photos hm?" He questioned, his tone kept light but I knew he was getting frustrated, sexually that is.

"I'm sorry." I'd whisper as he led me down and his features would soften. A kiss would be pressed to my forehead instead of my lips and his hand would pet my hair.

"Don't be. I shouldn't push...nor complain, you're perfect."

Klaus had a way about him that always made me want him.

I was too nervous to do what we both wanted, what we needed, but I started using my hands beneath the covers. He'd lay on his back or facing me, his arm around me and his face resting against the top of my head as soft little breaths left him.

"That's it my love, you're doing it so well." He'd praise, his hands gripping at my skin, my sheets, anything he could grab.

"Like that?"

"Yes- just like that."

Just watching him fall a part, let alone feeling it and hearing it was enough to make me want more. His mouth would latch onto mine to muffle any sounds from him when his hips would move my their own command. It was when he pulled the covers back and I could see him in all his glory. Even when he was spent and soft again it made my stomach drop.

"You look as if you've seen a ghost, love." He'd tease, his voice rough but his gaze was soft. "I wouldn't hurt you." The words always sounded like a declaration.

"I know" I'd always whisper back, settling my head back down onto his chest.

It was strange how comfortable I was over the phone but how anxious I was in person. As soon as he was in reach I felt like my heart would jump out of my chest. But I knew he wouldn't let that happen.

Some nights he'd fall asleep listening to my heart beat, his fingers tapping to the rhythm as he drifted off. I was starting to feel more and more and it was getting scarier and scarier.

Klaus isn't someone I'm allowed, not someone I should yearn for. He'd hurt so many, killed and tortured and yet one text was all it took.

[the-haunted-office]

( @not-that-dillinger - Continued from here!)

The little Thursday icon makes an expression very similar - if not identical - to one that Doomsday often makes when she's kind of taken aback by something and doesn't know what to say for a few seconds. She presses her lips together and pushes them outwards in a vague resemblance of a duck's bill, and her eyes go a little wide as she just stares and blinks.

Malicious. He thinks she's... malicious. As in... malicious... computery... stuff? Like... as in... a virus?

While it's true she could probably mess around in his computer and cause a mess of things, she doesn't know that much about computers - not that much - not enough to make a targeted attack. The worst she could do is pick up a bunch of his files and drop them everywhere, make him have to do some of that good old fashioned defragmenting or whatever. Do people even do that even more? Defragment their computers? Hell if she knows, and that should be enough to say exactly what all she knows about computers these days, which is fuck-all.

As it is, after standing there on his desktop like that for a few seconds, lips pressed together, blinking and staring at him, she whirls into action. "Right! Sorry about that," she replies, and is gone in a little poof of pixels, taking the star icon on his desktop with her, and all traces of it so that it's as if it never was there in the first place.

Moments later, after he's gotten dressed, the icon reappears, this time in his room, the pixels all huge now, and out from that icon Thursday pops up, like a chipmunk popping up out of a hedge. She's still pixelated too, but as soon as she fully emerges, the star icon disappears and her resolution becomes sharper and sharper until she looks like a normal person standing there, a fully human version of the little desktop version of herself.

"Okay, hello! Is this better?" she asks, smiling as she brushes herself off needlessly. "And I didn't mean to imply that I was judging anything you were doing in the privacy of your own room. I was apologizing for the invasion of your privacy because it had just dawned on me that I could have like, accidentally set us up for some kind of really awkward moment, ahahaha. ....Not that this isn't some kind of really awkward moment, but you know what I mean. Anyway! Like I was saying, I just wanted to meet you and I wasn't sure how to go about doing it without causing a huge fuss, but I guess I went a messed that up anyway. I'm still trying to figure these things out. But yeah, hi! I'm Thursday. Just like the day of the week. And ah... yeah, sorry for the cybersecurity scare."

[kenmaspuddinghair]

Honorably discharged disabled Simon, who swears he is perfectly fine and capable of doing everything himself. But it doesn’t really matter what he thinks says because Price sees differently. He sees the way Simon’s hands shake and how he’s started fidgeting when he’s never done that in the past, he can see Simon’s right side, the side that was crushed under rubble during an attack, he sees it shake and almost falter every time Simon puts even a little bit to much weight on it, but what worry’s Price the most is when Simon zones out and stops paying attention to his surroundings or whatever he’s doing. Not to mention now Simon has to go back and live in civilization, when all he’s known is military life since he was still a teen.

So although Simon claims he’s fine, Price gets him live-in-help, you. You’ve been with him the past week and although he rarely talks you’ve learned a few things. The blinds always need to be fully open unless he’s sleeping, he needs to be able to see what’s happening but it’ll keep him up when he’s trying to sleep, so they close at night. He gets very tense when he can’t see your hands, it hurts you a little to know he doesn’t trust you but you understand. He can't cook at all, unless you prepare food for him he’ll only eat a prepackaged dinner nothing else, of course that isn't healthy so you've started fixing him both breakfast and lunch which he accepts with a grunt but he doesn’t eat till you’ve started. He never takes off his mask around you unless he's eating and even still only up to his nose. Lastly you've noticed something always sparked in his eyes when you called him Simon, you haven't been able to figure out what it is so instead of risking offending him or something, you've stuck to calling him Ghost.

Price chose you for two reasons, you were quite, something he thought Simon would like, he was very wrong. It’s probably the oddest thing about him, he doesn’t like when you're super quiet you've learned it cause he doesn’t know where you are or what you’re planning the other reason is Price hired you is because you were a military nurse for quite a bit so you would always be there for Simon. This was something Simon actually did like it meant he didn’t have to leave his flat just to see a doctor, what he didn’t think about though was the cut and bruise on his face that he would have to remove his balaclava for.

“Okay Ghost” you paused not sure how he would react to having to take his mask off “I-i need you to remove your mask for me please” almost immediately he grunted out a why “because you have a cut and bruise on your face and I need to make sure it’s healing properly” Simon stilled completely for a few seconds before he slowly pulled the balaclava completely off. You took a second looking over his entire face before you brought your hand up inspecting the area “your bruise is completely gone” you whispered slightly surprised it had only been a week, you went to write it down but the moment your hand left his face he spoke up “it’s still ere, jus can’t see it” carefully your brought you hand back to his face to carefully push on his check “does that hurt” “bit” was all he grunted out, you hummed to yourself as you removed your hand and started writing, but had you been looking at him you would have seen the almost pout gracing his face.

Once you finally looked back up, placing your hand on his face “okay let’s finish this quickly” you say looking over his scar “I know I’m not that pretty but you ain’t gotta rush” he said in the quietest voice. You looked up into his eyes quickly only to find them looking back at you with what you could only describe as curiosity mixed with need “Gh-Simon that’s not what I meant, your very beautiful I just thought you wouldn't want me touching or looking at your face any more since you always hide it behind that mask” he never replied to you, just kept staring with that look in his eyes. Finally you peeled your eyes away, finished writing whatever you needed to in your book then you got up and walked away “I’m gonna fix us some lunch, okay Simon?” you called from in the kitchen already, and that’s when Simon managed to place the feeling he had been having every time he saw you. He liked you, he had a crush, a crush! “Simon?” You called again “yeah okay” he called back, he wasn’t gonna fuck this up, not when he thinks he might have found a new purpose in life.

pt 2 here

[gf2bellamy]

surprise — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: garcia and derek go into spencer's apartment, while you're sleeping in his bed. the problem? no one knows you and spencer are dating content warnings: secret relationship , reader also works in the bau a/n: hiii !!! i'm back to my secret relationship roots and i hope you like this <3 bc i had so much fun writing this ( i've been writing it for ages and i'm finally happy with it)

"No, no," Spencer shook his head frantically, his voice almost pleading as Derek maneuvered the car into the parking spot at his apartment complex.

"Why not?" Garcia's voice was full of curiosity as she looked back at Spencer from the passenger seat.

The trio had spent the whole afternoon shopping for your birthday, which was just around the corner. Garcia, as usual, had already gotten everything ready, gifts, decorations, the whole nine yards. She even had a closet near her office packed with presents for you, waiting for the big reveal at the surprise party she was planning to throw.The whole mission was meant to be a fun, collaborative effort, the three of them picking out something special for you to celebrate.

But now, as Derek parked the car and they were all about to get out, Garcia’s sudden idea was making Spencer break into a cold sweat.

"I mean, we can just hang out at your place for a bit, right?" Garcia asked, her tone more like a suggestion than a question. She had already unbuckled her seatbelt, clearly excited about the idea.

Spencer swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the seatbelt. "I don’t know if that’s such a good idea," he said quickly, trying to sound casual, though the nerves were practically radiating off of him.

"I have… stuff to do." His words stumbled, but Derek caught on immediately.

"You've got a date or something?" Derek teased, raising an eyebrow. "Come on, Reid, live a little."

Spencer’s face turned a light shade of pink, but he quickly deflected with a nervous laugh. "No, no date," he replied, but the nervous energy in his tone was giving him away. "I just—uh—need to get inside."

Garcia didn't miss a beat. "Come on, Spencer," she insisted with that gleam of excitement in her eyes. "It’s been forever since we just hung out at your place. You know, a little downtime."

But Spencer’s mind was racing, heart pounding. The last thing he needed was for Derek and Garcia to come upstairs and see you there. He knew you were in his apartment right now, sound asleep in his bed, curled up in one of his sweaters. This morning, you had practically melted into him that morning, clinging to him as he reluctantly told you he had to go.You had been so warm, your face tucked into the side of his neck, holding him like you didn’t want him to leave. He’d rubbed soothing circles on your back, whispering that he’d be back soon, but you hadn't been ready to let go. Eventually, he had managed to peel himself away, promising to return as quickly as possible.

Now, his heart pounded as he watched Derek and Garcia hop out of the car without hesitation. "No, no, no—" Spencer muttered under his breath, scrambling to open his own door. He practically stumbled out, rushing after them, but they were already making their way toward his apartment building.

They didn’t even wait for him. "Of course," he thought bitterly as he hurried behind them. He knew he was too late. There was no way he could stop them now. His only hope was that you were still asleep. And there was a high chance that you were. Spencer knew your sleep schedule well. If he could just get inside before them and shut his bedroom door, everything would be fine.

As they reached the top floor, Spencer’s fingers fumbled in his pocket for his keys. His hands were practically shaking as he yanked them out, quickly jamming the correct one into the lock. Slowly, he pushed the door open just a crack, peeking inside, praying you weren’t—

"Dr. Reid. What are you doing?" Garcia’s voice was laced with amusement as she leaned against the doorframe, watching him with a smirk.Before Spencer could stop her, she pushed the door open wider, stepping inside.

Panic surged through him. His breath caught in his throat.But you were nowhere to be seen. His eyes darted toward the bedroom door. It was closed.

No sign of you.

Spencer swallowed hard, trying to compose himself as Garcia and Derek strolled inside, completely oblivious to the absolute terror he had just experienced. Spencer quickly shut the door behind them, tossing his jacket over the nearest chair, something he never did. Normally, he was meticulous about hanging it up properly, but right now, his priority was making sure nothing seemed off.

Slipping off his shoes, he warily watched as Garcia and Derek made a beeline for his kitchen. As they rummaged through his cabinets, Spencer seized the opportunity. He darted down the hallway toward the bedroom, his socked feet barely making a sound on the hardwood floor. He cracked the door open just enough to peek inside, and there you were, still fast asleep, curled up under the blankets with his sweater draped loosely over your shoulders. A small, involuntary smile tugged at his lips. He closed the door gently, careful not to make a sound, and hurried back to the kitchen before they could notice his absence.

Crisis averted.

He stopped in his tracks, however, when he saw the disaster unfolding before him.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked, exasperated, watching as Derek and Garcia rummaged through his cabinets like raccoons.

Garcia, mid-bite into a granola bar, waved a hand dismissively. “Relax, genius, we’re just looking for snacks. By the way—” she held up the granola bar with a raised brow, “—I thought you hated these?”

Spencer froze. He did. He never ate those granola bars.

But you did. You loved them, so he always kept some stocked just for you.

He scrambled for an excuse, clearing his throat. “Uh—I just wanted to give them another try,” he mumbled, avoiding Garcia’s sharp, suspicious gaze.

Derek, now chewing a piece of toast, barely looked up. “Yeah, okay,” he said, mouth full.

Spencer shot him an unamused glare. “Can the two of you stop eating my food?”

“No,” Derek replied, taking another bite, completely unbothered. 

Spencer sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You know, most people ask before raiding someone’s kitchen,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words. 

Garcia giggled, popping the last bite of granola bar into her mouth. “Oh, come on, Genius. You love us. Besides, you’re acting super weird today. What’s going on with you?” 

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, and he quickly looked away, busying himself with straightening a stack of papers on the counter

“Nothing’s going on,” he said, his voice a little too high-pitched. “I’m just… tired. It’s been a long day.” 

Garcia and Derek just exchanged a look.Spencer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He needed to get them out of here before they found something they weren’t supposed to. Like, say… you.

“Do you think she’ll like my gift?” Garcia asked, peeking at the bag on the counter, her fingers fidgeting with the ribbon.

“Most definitely, babygirl,” Derek answered without hesitation, dusting the crumbs off his hands after finishing his toast. “She’s been talking about it for weeks.”

Spencer, still trying to recover from his near heart attack, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she’ll love it,” he said, meeting Garcia’s eyes with a small, reassuring smile.

Garcia beamed, clearly pleased with herself. “Oh, she’ll love yours, boy genius,” she added, pointing at Spencer. “You know her so well.” Her voice carried a teasing lilt, her grin mischievous.

“Maybe too well,” Derek chimed in, eyebrows raised as he leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed. His grin was knowing, smug. Spencer stiffened.

“When are you finally gonna ask her out?” Derek asked, his grin widening.

Spencer felt his face heat up instantly. He blushed, but not for the reason they thought. He blushed because he remembered the day it happened. The way his heart had pounded in his chest, his palms sweaty as he rehearsed the words in his head over and over. He’d been so nervous, he’d almost convinced himself to back out.

But then he’d seen you, your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you noticed him approaching, and all his doubts had melted away. When he finally asked, his voice trembling slightly, your reaction had been everything he’d hoped for. Your face had lit up, and you’d nodded so quickly, it was almost comical.

“Yes!” you’d said, your voice filled with so much enthusiasm that it made him laugh. In that moment, all his anxiety had washed away, replaced by a giddy, almost overwhelming sense of relief and joy. 

“Aww, how cute!” Garcia practically vibrated with excitement, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she pointed an accusatory finger at Spencer. “He’s blushing,” she sang, her grin stretching impossibly wide. 

Spencer groaned, shaking his head in exasperation. “Did you two come into my apartment just to eat my food and make fun of me?” he asked, arms crossed.

“Pretty much,” Derek said, completely unfazed as he made his way back toward the fridge.

Spencer let out a sharp breath, trying to mask his anxiety. He knew you were still asleep, but that didn’t stop the lingering fear that their loud voices might wake you up.

But then, Derek stopped in front of the fridge.His eyes locked onto the calendar hanging there, and a slow, amused smirk spread across his face.

“Look at this, sweetheart,” Derek said, turning toward Garcia, his voice thick with amusement. Garcia leaned in, her eyes widening as she saw what Derek was pointing at. There, on the calendar, your birthday was circled in bold red marker, surrounded by a carefully drawn heart.

Garcia gasped, clapping her hands together in delight. “Oh. My. God,” she said, her voice rising with every word. “Spencer Reid, you are down bad!”

Spencer felt his face burn even hotter. He wished he could disappear into the floor, or maybe just teleport to another dimension entirely. Anything to escape this moment.Because the truth was, he hadn’t been the one to draw that heart on the calendar. It had been you.

He remembered the moment perfectly.

The day he hung the calendar up, you had been standing right there beside him, watching with an amused little smile. Then, without hesitation, you had grabbed the nearest marker, a red one, of course, and went straight to your birthday month, drawing a huge heart around the date. "So you don’t forget."

He had chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. Then, he had pressed a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring against your skin. "I don’t forget anything. Especially not something like that."

You had giggled. And Spencer had loved making you giggle.

Now, standing in his kitchen, faced with his coworkers’ relentless teasing, he was struck with the embarrassing realization that Derek and Garcia thought he was some hopelessly lovesick teenager who had scribbled hearts around his crush’s name in a notebook.

(Which, if he was being completely honest, wasn’t that far from the truth.)

But what was he supposed to say?Tell them the truth? Admit that the woman he’d been secretly dating for months, the same woman they were here shopping for, was currently asleep in his bed down the hall? Absolutely not.

But then the choice was taken away from him anyway.

Suddenly, the sound of running water echoed from down the hallway, causing both Garcia and Derek to freeze mid-sentence. Their heads snapped toward the source of the noise, their eyes widening as they stared at Spencer.

Spencer stared back, equally wide-eyed, his mind racing. You were in the bathroom, happily brushing your teeth, completely unaware that two of your and Spencer’s, coworkers were standing in the kitchen, mere feet away.

“Spencer Walter Reid,” Garcia gasped, her voice loud enough to carry through the apartment. She clutched Derek’s arm like she was about to faint. “Is there someone here?”

“No, no,” Spencer said quickly, shaking his head so vigorously that his curls bounced. “It’s probably just my washing machine turning on.”

As if on cue, the bathroom door creaked open, and then closed again. Spencer’s heart sank. “Oh no,” he mumbled under his breath, his stomach twisting into knots.

And then, there you were.

You padded into the kitchen, blissfully unaware of the chaos you were about to unleash. You were wearing Spencer’s boxers, which hung loosely around your hips, and one of his Star Wars shirts that was far too big for you, the hem brushing against your thighs. Your hair was slightly messy, and you were still rubbing sleep from your eyes. Then you stopped. Blinking, you finally seemed to register the two extra people in the room.

Garcia. Derek.

Standing there.

Staring.

At you.

In Spencer’s clothes.

Two pairs of eyes stared at you. And you stared back, your own eyes wide, your brain struggling to process the scene in front of you. Spencer, meanwhile, was staring at the ground like it might suddenly open up and swallow him whole. Garcia broke the silence, her voice low and uncharacteristically quiet, something almost more shocking than if she’d screamed.

“Am I… dreaming?” she whispered, clutching Derek’s arm like a lifeline. She looked pale, her usual vibrant energy replaced by sheer disbelief as she took in your disheveled state.

Derek, for once, seemed just as stunned. “I… no, I don’t think so,” he said hesitantly, his usual confidence replaced by uncharacteristic uncertainty. He blinked at you, then at Spencer, then back at you, as if trying to piece together what exactly was happening.

“Spencer,” you hissed, your voice low but urgent. “What the hell is happening?” You tugged self-consciously at the hem of his Star Wars shirt, trying to pull it down further.

Normally, you were the picture of professionalism at work, always impeccably dressed and composed. But here you were, standing in Spencer’s kitchen in his boxers and an oversized shirt, your hair a mess and your face still flushed from sleep.

It was beyond awkward, it was mortifying.

Spencer finally looked up, his expression a mix of guilt and panic. “I, uh… this isn’t—” he started, but Garcia cut him off.

“Oh no, no, no,” Garcia said, her voice rising with every word, her hands flailing dramatically. “You do not get to ‘this isn’t’ us right now. This is happening. This is definitely happening.” She pointed a finger at you, then at Spencer, her eyes wide. “You two. Together. In his apartment. Wearing his clothes. Oh my gosh, this is the best day of my life.”

You froze, your cheeks burning as you tugged self-consciously at the hem of Spencer’s shirt. “Penelope, it’s not—” you started, but she cut you off with a wave of her hand.

“Nope, nope, nope,” she said, shaking her head so vigorously that her curls bounced. “No explanations, no excuses. This is happening. I have been waiting for this moment for years.”

Spencer groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Garcia, please—”

“No,” she interrupted again, her voice rising an octave. “You don’t get to ‘Garcia, please’ me right now. This is huge. This is monumental. This is—”

“A disaster,” Spencer muttered under his breath, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Derek, who had been quietly observing the scene with an amused grin, finally chimed in. “Man, Reid, I gotta hand it to you. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “This is so embarrassing,” you muttered, though there was a hint of laughter in your voice.

Garcia, meanwhile, was practically bouncing on her toes, her excitement palpable. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun. I can’t wait to tell—”

“No!” Spencer and you said in unison, your voices sharp enough to make Garcia freeze mid-sentence.

“You are not telling anyone,” Spencer said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Garcia pouted, but there was a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Fine, fine. But only because I’m feeling generous. For now.”

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “Man, this is going to be the best office drama ever.”

You groaned again, burying your face in your hands. “I’m going back to bed,” you muttered, turning on your heel and heading back down the hallway. As you disappeared into the bedroom, Garcia and Derek turned to Spencer. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Pretty Boy,” Derek said, his grin widening.

Spencer sighed, knowing there was no escaping this. “Yeah,” he said, his voice resigned. “I know.”

[ilovolderman]

The Secret Notes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Bucky leaves little notes for you.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, cute doodles

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". It doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

It all started one afternoon when you fell asleep on the couch, a book slipping from your hand. Bucky passed by and found you there, peaceful and unaware. Smiling to himself, he gently picked up the book and noticed the page you’d been reading.

With a quiet laugh, he scribbled a note on a scrap of paper:

“You stopped here. Heroine’s rule: naps first, saving the world later. - B”

He slid the note inside the book, marking the page, and placed it on the table beside you. As he left, he couldn’t help but smile at the idea of you finding it when you woke up.

The next day, you found the note in your book, and you couldn’t help but smile. It was silly, but it made your heart warm. You had to reply, of course.

Taking a fresh piece of paper, you wrote:

“A nap is a hero’s secret weapon, Bucky. Thanks for the reminder. If I do end up saving the world today, I’ll be sure to credit you. - Y/N”

You tucked the note inside his jacket pocket, hoping he’d get a good laugh when he found it. It felt so simple, so small, but the thought of sharing little moments like this with him made everything else seem a little brighter.

It wasn’t long before the notes became a daily exchange. They started off funny—sometimes quoting ridiculous lines from movies, or making playful jokes about the Avengers’ absurdly weird missions. You would find them in your locker, under your coffee mug, or tucked inside your boots. They never failed to make you smile.

Even now, after months together, he still took the time to leave you notes and little reminders.

After a particularly brutal mission, you found another note tucked into the pocket of your jacket. You nearly missed it in the rush to get ready for a debriefing. But when you unfolded it, you found it written on a torn piece of notebook paper, and a doodle of a sleeping cat at the bottom.

“You’re allowed to rest, you know. I’ll guard your coffee while you nap.”

You smiled before you could stop yourself, warmth blooming in your chest. It had been a rough couple of days—bruised ribs, no sleep. The note felt like a soft exhale in the middle of chaos.

Unfortunately, you weren’t the only one in the hallway.

“Whatcha got there?”

You spun around to see Sam squinting at the piece of paper now very obviously in your hand. And before you could shove it back into your pocket, the man had already snatched it like he was intercepting a rogue football.

“Sam, come on—”

He blinked and read it once. Then again. Then a third time.

 ““You’re allowed to rest, you know. I’ll guard your coffee while you nap”...and there’s a little cat at the bottom. Why is there a cat?! WHO DRAWS CATS?!”

You stared at him, trying very hard not to look like someone caught hiding a secret. “You done?”

“Oh, I’m so not done,” Sam said, holding the note like it was radioactive. “This is a nap-themed love letter, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just a...friendly reminder.”

“With a doodle,” he said, as if that was damning evidence in a court of law. “Who writes you sweet notes about coffee and naps after a mission? That’s like—domestic.”

“Maybe I wrote it to myself,” you tried.

“You’re not a cat doodler. I know your vibe. You don’t doodle.”

You grabbed for the note. He dodged you.

“Sam—give it.”

“I will not. I’m onto something here.”

Just then, Bucky strolled around the corner with a cup of coffee in hand and a granola bar between his teeth, looking way too casual.

Sam froze.

You froze.

Bucky stopped mid-chew, immediately sensing the chaos in the air. “…Did I miss something?”

Sam, eyes narrowed like a detective in a sitcom, turned slowly toward him.

“Barnes.”

Bucky blinked. “Wilson.”

Sam raised the note like it was a badge. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”

Bucky looked at the paper. Then at you. Then back to Sam.

There was a half-second pause.

And then Bucky shrugged. “Cute cat.”

You choked on a laugh and immediately turned it into a cough.

Sam squinted. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? ‘Cute cat’?”

Bucky popped the last of the granola bar into his mouth, completely unfazed. “You’re getting worked up over a doodle.”

Sam pointed at both of you, eyes wide with dramatic betrayal. “Okay, I don’t know what is going on, but something is going on. I feel it in my soul.”

You patted him on the shoulder. “Maybe you just need a nap.”

“I—NO! No, you don’t get to use the nap line on me! That’s part of the conspiracy!”

Sam was already walking away. “I’ll guard your coffee, Wilson,” Bucky called over his shoulder, deadpan.

The hallway finally settled into silence after Sam’s echoing footsteps disappeared around the corner. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

Bucky lingered beside you, coffee in hand. His eyes flicked toward you, and the smallest smile curved at the corner of his lips.

“So… cat doodles are suspicious now?”

You laughed under your breath. “Apparently. Next time, maybe draw a dragon or something. Keep him guessing.”

“Well,” he said, voice low and amused. “That could’ve gone worse.”

You glanced down at the note in your hand, then back at him. “I mean... he didn’t accuse you of writing love sonnets. So, yeah—definitely could’ve been worse.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, leaning casually against the wall. “Should I stop? The notes, I mean. I didn’t mean to... cause a scene.”

You looked up at him, warmth already blooming in your chest. “No. Don’t stop.”

His brow quirked slightly, curious. “No?”

“They’re one of the best parts of my day,” you said honestly, your voice soft. “They make the hard days easier, and the quiet ones feel full. I’d rather risk a hundred Sam-level interrogations than miss even one of them.”

A grin pulled at Bucky’s mouth, slow and sweet. “Yeah?”

You gave him a playful nudge. “Even if Sam tries to launch a full-scale investigation.”

Bucky let out a quiet laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Let him. He doesn’t scare me.”

Then, softer, with that familiar gentleness he always saved just for you, he added, “I’ll keep leaving them, then. Every note, every doodle... they’re little pieces of me. And you’re the only one I want finding them.”

Your smile widened, heart fluttering in that helpless, happy kind of way.

“I guess that makes you my favorite mystery author,” you said lightly.

Bucky leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours. “Only for you, doll.”

You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a folded note—you’d planned to tuck it under his pillow later, but something made you decide to give it to him right now. You held it out to him, your smile a little shy.

He opened it slowly. Inside, your handwriting was a little messier than usual, but still clearly yours.

“You’ve got a way of making everything seem a little brighter, even when it’s a rough day. I’m lucky for it.”

Bucky looked up at you, lips parted just slightly. For a long second, he said nothing.

And then he stepped closer, closing the small space between you. His hand brushed yours, slow and warm, and he laced your fingers together.

“You’re gonna destroy me with these notes,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

You leaned into him, heart full and beating a little too fast. “Guess we’re even.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to your forehead—gentle, lingering, like a promise he never needed to say out loud. Then he tucked your note carefully into the inside pocket of his jacket, where all the best ones lived.

“Don’t tell Sam,” you whispered with a smile.

Meanwhile in the kitchen...

Sam sat at the table, muttering to himself with a pen tucked behind his ear and a spiral notebook open in front of him. On the top of the page in large, underlined letters:

Case #109: WHO THE HELL IS Y/N DATING???

Underneath it were four bullet points:

suspicious nap note

Bucky is too chill

cat doodle = code??

is Steve somehow involved???

This was war now.

And you and Bucky? You were winning.

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd @poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust

next part

[undyingdecay]

can’t stop thinking of Bob and having him in the shower 🤧

he didn’t mean to get hard.

that’s what he tells you—muffled, half-mortified—his voice barely audible over the hiss of the water pounding against tile and skin. you feel him behind you, slick with heat and soap and shame, chest pressed to your back, face buried in the crook of your neck. and lower—lower, his hips betray him, rutting slow and helpless against the swell of your ass. his cock is thick, flushed, leaving smears of precome against your lower back every time he grinds in again with a needy whimper.

“‘m sorry,” he breathes, like he’s trying to talk himself down from something he’s long since lost control of. “didn’t mean to—fuck, it’s just—feels good. you feel good.”

you call it out. of course you do. maybe it’s the seventh time now—maybe more—his soft whines of accident every time he ruts forward, every time he tries to pull back only to shiver and roll his hips right into you again.

but you can feel it. he’s not just hard. he’s gone. the heat of the shower, the scent of your soap, the way you’re all dewy skin and bare shoulders and soft curves right in front of him—it’s short-circuited his brain.

“you’re doin’ it on purpose,” he pants, lips ghosting your neck, your shoulder. he sounds wounded. like you’ve cast some ancient spell on him and now he’s the poor fool tangled in it. “s’like—like you want me to. want me to—god—you’re gonna make me come just like this—”

and when he grinds into you again, the desperation’s palpable—his cock hot and throbbing through the lazy slick of water and soap between your bodies, like it’s begging for friction, for something more.

you sigh. turn your head just enough to look at him, and he flinches like he’s been caught red-handed.

“bob,” you say, amused and exasperated and maybe just a little too fond.

he lets out a quiet, broken sound—almost a whine—and tenses when you reach back, slow and deliberate, and wrap your hand around him.

it’s obscene, how wet he is. it’s not just the shower—he’s been drooling precome for so long, the entire head of his cock is slick and shiny, the fluid running down his shaft like it’s been aching for release this whole time. you give him one slow stroke and he chokes on your name, forehead thudding weakly to your shoulder.

“w-we can’t,” he manages, though his hips are already rolling into your hand, shallow, greedy thrusts. “we’re—we’re supposed to be—fuck, we’re getting dirty—”

“in the shower?” you reply flatly, and he whines like it’s not fair, like he knows he’s lost and you’re just being mean now.

“i c-can’t think,” he stammers, voice dissolving into a gasp when your thumb brushes the head of his cock, spreading precome down the length. “you’re—soap and skin and—i can’t—”

you turn to face him, the water rushing between you both. his curls are plastered to his forehead, his cheeks pink, his eyes blown wide with need and guilt and the kind of helpless worship that makes your chest ache. his mouth is parted, lips bitten red, and he looks like he’s right on the edge already—like he’s been edged by the shape of your body and the scent of you and the warmth of your back against his chest for what feels like hours.

when you take him fully in hand, his knees buckle a little.

“please,” he breathes. one hand clutches your waist like it’s a lifeline; the other flails for purchase on the slick tile behind you, failing miserably. “please don’t stop—feels too good—wanna be good—can’t hold it—”

he sounds wrecked.

he sounds perfect.

you stroke him slowly, the slick of the water only enhancing the mess—your hand gliding along his shaft, milking more and more from the head, smearing it down until it’s impossible to tell where the shower ends and his need begins. he keens when you grip him tighter, when your pace picks up just a little. he’s panting, mouth open, watching your hand like he’s hypnotized by it, like you’ve got gravity in your palm.

“look at you,” you murmur, thumb brushing his slit again just to make him twitch. “such a mess, baby. this from just humping my ass?”

he nods, utterly shame-faced but unable to lie. “wasn’t trying to—promise—just needed—you—”

you back him slowly into the tile, never letting go of him, never letting him fall. he makes little noises—whimpers, gasps, broken apologies that turn into helpless praise.

“so good—your hands, fuck, your hands feel so good—i’m gonna—i’m gonna—”

and when he comes, it’s loud. a full-body tremor as he gasps your name, thighs trembling, cock jerking in your grip as he spills over your fingers, onto your stomach, into the spray of the shower. he clutches at you like he’s scared he’ll float away without you, his head buried in your shoulder, hips still twitching forward like he’s not done.

you keep stroking him through it, gentle now. soothing. he sobs quietly, overwhelmed, mouth brushing your collarbone as he mutters, 'thank you, thank you, fuck, i’m sorry, you’re so good to me—'

you kiss his temple. let him come down soft and slow, water washing away everything except the weight of his need and the warmth of your touch.

he didn’t mean to get hard.

but god, you’re glad he did.

[emocheol]

seventeen when you call them by their name

instead of a pet name

a/n: i forgot how long writing 13 different scenarios takes T-T

seungcheol

after a long day of practice cheol entered your shared apartment late at night.

even though he was trying to be quiet you still heard the click of the front door and his fumbling around in the entryway. so you decided to get up and greet him.

“seungcheol?” you asked sleepily, rubbing your eyes as you walked out of your bedroom.

he was so taken aback by his name that he didn't even reply for a good 30 seconds.

“i'm sorry for being home late,” he frowned, “don't be mad.” he whined softly, thinking you were upset with him. why else would you use his full name?

you looked at him quizzically and slotted yourself in his arms, he seemed to relax significantly at your touch.

“i'm not mad, what makes you think that?” you questioned, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

“you called me seungcheol,” he pouted, “what happened to baby?” his pout intensified, his lip jutting out further.

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his antics, “i’m sorry, baby,” you teased, emphasizing the pet name, “i didn't know you liked it that much,” you cooed, putting your hands on his cheeks and smushing his face.

“don't tease me,” he grumbled, pretending to be upset, which just elicited another laugh from your end.

“fine, fine,” you said with your hands raised, mocking a surrender, “let's go to bed, baby, you've had a long day,” you suggested, pecking his lips and taking his hand to lead him to the bedroom.

jeonghan

you had been basking in jeonghan's company all day. it was a rare off-day for the idol and you spent every second possible with your boyfriend.

you were currently in one of your lulls of conversation, just sitting in comfortable silence on two different ends the couch while you both scrolled on your phones.

you saw a funny video while scrolling and knew your boyfriend would love it so you looked over at him and called his name.

“hey, jeonghan? look at this video,” you giggled, holding your phone screen in his direction.

but your boyfriend didn't pay you any mind. thinking he didn't hear you, you called for him a little louder.

“jeonghan? hello?” you scooted closer to him on the couch when you went unanswered again.

you poked his cheek and turned his head to make him look at you when he still didn’t answer.

“hello?” you questioned, noticing his nonchalant expression.

“oh? were you talking to me?”he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“yes? i said your name twice!” you whined, knowing he heard you but he was clearly ignoring you.

“no, you said ‘jeonghan,’” he said, making air quotes with his fingers, "and that's not my name," he pouted finally, showing a side of him that you didn't often see.

you realized what he was talking about and tried to hide a grin at his demeanor, “aww, i'm sorry, let me try again,” you cooed, going back to your previous side of the couch to reset.

“hannie... my angel, my sweetheart, my precious?” you tried, “come look at this video,” you laughed, his attention already on you as you listed your names for him.

“of course, my love,” he smiled, getting up from his spot and cuddling up to your side, “look at how easy that was,” he whispered, plucking your phone from your hands and watching the video that you had pulled up.

he pulled you into his arms and nuzzled his cheek against your head, scrolling and looking at more videos with you. “you're crazy,” you said with a laugh, pressing a kiss against his cheek, but you wouldn't want it any other way.

joshua

“joshua?” you called out from the kitchen while you were making dinner. he had been playing video games in the living room ever since his practice was over.

hearing his full name from you made his ears perk up and he quickly shut off his game, rushing to the kitchen.

“love?” he asked softly, putting his hand on your shoulder, already thinking he had upset you he didn't want to anger you further. “is everything okay?” he asked tentatively, testing the waters.

“huh? yeah, joshua, everything's fine can you just-”you said as you stirred the pot on the stove, not looking up at him while you were focused on perfecting the food.

but, when he heard his full name again and the classic 'everything's fine' line he quickly jumped to conclusions and deduced that everything was not fine.

he cut you off before you could finish talking and immediately went into apologizing.

“i’m sorry, love, i don't know what i did to make you upset but i'll fix it, okay?” he said with a weary smile, still with his hand on your shoulder, “was i on the game for too long? did you want me to help you cook? was i too loud?” he rambled, facepalming as he thought he had messed something up and made you mad.

as he rambled you slowly started to look over at him, his words confusing you to no end.

“why would i be upset?” you asked, looking at him as if he was crazy, which he was.

“what?” he questioned back, “you called me joshua and you haven't looked at me and you said everything was ‘fine’, that's like textbook upset partner.” he said, as if it was totally obvious.

you blinked at him a few times before you burst out laughing, “god, babe, you're hilarious!” you exclaimed, slapping his shoulder as you laughed. now it was joshua's turn to be confused since he was positive that you were upset.

“you’re not upset?” he questioned, you shook your head as your answer while you were still doubled over laughing, “why did you call me over then?” he asked.

you pointed to the glass jar on the counter next to you after you had composed yourself, “i was going to ask you to open that jar, dummy,” you teased.

joshua blew out a breath and quickly opened the jar with ease, “that's... it?” he questioned.

“yeah, that's it, you can go play your game some more,” you smiled, pressing a kiss against his cheek.

“but you called me joshua...” he grumbled, you never called him joshua!

“which is your name, if i’m not mistaken,” you pointed out, pinching his cheek. he swatted at your hand and groaned.

he opened his mouth to start complaining more before you quickly stopped him. “okay, okay, i’m sorry babe, you can go play your game again.”

joshua gave you a firm nod, as if he was finally satisfied with your name for him. “okay. let me know if you need anything.” he grinned, kissing your head and then strolling back to the living room.

“you’re a child,” you whispered to yourself, continuing dinner with a smile on your face.

“but you love me!” he called back, somehow hearing you. well, he’s not wrong.

jun

‘thanks, junhui!’

that was the text that you had sent your boyfriend after he told you he bought you a book from the town he was currently in on tour.

he loved gift giving and he knew you loved books so he scoured every bookshop in the town to find the perfect book for you. he excitedly sent you a picture of the book he bought and that was your reply to it.

it made his head spin with reasons of why you could be mad at him.

calling him ‘jun’ was already a rarity in your relationship, but ‘junhui’? he wasn’t sure you’d ever called him that.

‘are you mad at me?’ he texted back, getting straight to the point.

you took nearly 10 minutes to reply, 10 agonizing minutes for jun.

‘not at all, i’ll see you when you get home’ was your response.

now this reply made him absolutely spiral, good thing he was returning home today. but because of your replies to him he made a few extra stops before hopping on the plane.

when you finally arrived back home from work you opened the door and was met with your sheepish looking boyfriend and what looked like a mountain of books behind him.

“babe! what are you doing here? and what is with all the books?” you exclaimed, jumping into his arms and hugging him tight.

jun was taken aback by your reaction, his mind stuck on the thought that you were mad at him. “i thought you were upset with the book i got you… so i kind of bought as many as i could fit in my luggage to make up for it,” he said, his cheeks slowly turning red when he realized you really weren’t mad at him.

you pulled your head back and gave him a look, “what made you think i was mad?” you asked, pulling away and starting to pick up the different books that were piling up on your coffee table.

“you called me junhui…” he whispered, saying it out loud made him feel stupid, it was just a name, his name in fact.

“are you saying that you bought me a hundred books because i called you by your first name?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow at him.

he nodded his head sheepishly.

“you are too cute!” you exclaimed, giving him another tight hug, “for the record, i’d tell you if i was mad at you,” you made sure to clarify.

“okay…” he said softly, looking at the absurd amount of books, “should i return all of these now, or-” he began to speak before you cut him off.

“absolutely not,” you said quickly, snatching a book and sitting on the couch beginning to read.

jun slowly made his way next to you and laid his head in your lap, getting comfy while you read aloud to him.

hoshi

“honey?” you called out in your apartment, waiting for hoshi to reply to you. you needed help folding the laundry and hoshi was always eager to help you do whatever you needed.

you heard a distant, “give me a minute!” come from your shared bedroom where your boyfriend was no doubt playing video games again.

you rolled your eyes at his response and started folding the laundry on your own, giving him a few minutes before calling for him again. “honey? i need your help out here,” you called again, waiting to hear his footsteps.

but instead you got another, “just a sec!” which made you pull out the big guns. hoshi hated you calling him by his name, he said he sounded like you were scolding him. but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“kwon soonyoung! i said i need your help!” you called out even louder than before, knowing that would get him.

once his name left your mouth you heard fumbling coming from the room and the door opening quickly, his feet slapped against the floor as he ran over to you.

he already had the expression of a kicked puppy, “i told you not to call me that!” he pouted, standing in front of you.

you gave him a look and pointed at the spot on the couch next to you, “sit,” you said simply. of course, he followed with no question.

“‘m sorry!” he whined when you wouldn’t talk to him, “i was doing really well! you know how hard that game is, and we were winning!” he tried to explain, sloppily folding clothes next to you as he rambled.

“soonyoung?” you said, cutting him off with his name again.

“what,” he said with a frown.

“just fold the damn laundry,” you said with a sigh, grabbing the clothes that he had folded and redoing it properly.

“you’re scary when you’re mad…” he whispered, starting to fold every item of clothing meticulously so you didn’t have anything to be upset with.

he spent the rest of the day giving you his undivided attention and trying to make up for making you upset.

when you finally called him ‘honey’ at the end of the night his face lit up and you forgot why you were even mad with him in the first place.

wonwoo

you were out shopping with wonwoo when something caught your eye from the window of a store. you tugged on your boyfriends coat sleeve.

“wonwoo-” you started, but you were quickly cut off.

“try again.” he said simply, making you furrow your eyebrows.

“wonwoo?” you questioned, tugging his arm again and making him stop walking.

“try again.” he repeated, pulling his phone out of his pocket and pretending to scroll on it.

“wonwoo, what are you-” he cut you off once again with a look.

“one more time, sweetheart,” he said, pointing you in the right direction. this made it click in your head and you just scoffed.

“babe?” you tried, finally his attention turned towards you and he showed off his award winning smile.

“yes, sweetheart? what do you need?” he asked, his voice sweet as honey.

“you're impossible,” you laughed, “i want to go into that store,” you pointed at the clothing store next to where you were stopped.

“then let's go,” he grinned, pulling your hand and leading you into the store, “you know if you call me by my name people might not think we're together,” he said as if it was an obvious fact.

“we're literally holding hands and wearing matching outfits,” you pointed out, which just earned a shrug from your boyfriend as he started grabbing different pieces of clothing that he thought would look good on you.

sure, he was a subtle guy, but he wanted everyone to know that you were his.

woozi

“jihoon, i'm home,” you called out into the apartment. you had a meeting that lasted much longer than usual and it was already dark out when you returned.

your boyfriend had been home all day and by the smell of fresh food you could tell that he had been cooking.

you slipped off your shoes in the entry way and tossed your bag on the couch before slipping into the kitchen and coming up behind your boyfriend. you wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your chin on his shoulder while he stirred the pot in front of him.

“jihoon?” he questioned, scrunching up his face at the mention of his full name. he didn't hate when you said his name, you just never did. “what're you calling me that for?” he asked directly, not assuming anything.

“i realized i don't call you by name, do you not like it?”you asked, lifting your head up and looking over at him, your arms still around him.

“i don't mind, i'm just used to baby,” he said, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “or babe,” another kiss, “love, sweetheart, honey, my one and only,” he listed, pressing a kiss to your face in between each pet name.

you couldn't help but smile at the affection you were receiving from your boyfriend, you pressed a few kisses to his cheek in return and let him resume his cooking while you watched from a seat at the island.

“but you're okay with jihoon?” you asked, wanting to make sure.

“i’m okay with you calling me jihoon,” he said, turning over his shoulder to look at you, “but don't use it too much.” he said, giving you a pointed look.

he wouldn't say it out loud but he loved the sweet pet names you gave him, even the ridiculous ones.

minghao

“what did i do?” was the first words your boyfriend uttered when he walked into your shared home.

you looked up from your spot on the couch and tilted your head at him. “what do you mean?” you questioned, not understanding him.

“i mean, i can tell you're mad so i give you permission to yell at me, just tell me what i did first.” minghao said, bracing himself for whatever you would say to him. by no means did you fight often but whenever you got angry at him he would take it.

“i’m not mad at you,” you said, opening your arms, waiting for your boyfriend to join you on the couch. when he didn't come over you deadpanned, “well now i'm mad that you're not cuddling me.” you joked, waiting for him to come over.

he slowly walked over to you and pulled you against his chest, giving you a cautious look.

“then what was up with that text?” he questioned, pulling out his phone, “you said, and i quote, just wait until you get home, minghao,” he recited, “when have you ever called me by my first name?” he said like it was obvious.

“oh! i made your favorite dessert!” you said with a happy smile, pointing to the kitchen where his treat was freshly made and waiting on the counter.

his face went soft at your happy mood and he gave you a short kiss, “thanks, love,“ he said softly, “but your text did not make it sound like that.” he chuckled.

“oh right, i didn't want to give anything away so i called you minghao, was that too mean?” you asked, hoping you didn't make him worry.

he sighed with a smile and shook his head, “just a bit,” he said honestly, “you never call me minghao,” he pouted, half jokingly but also half seriously.

“i’m sorry, love,” you said, kissing his cheek, “i won't scare you like that again,” you teased, jumping up from the couch and pulling him up with you.

“come eat! i made it all for you,” you said with a smile, leading him to the kitchen and plating his dessert with a smile.

mingyu

mingyu had a cold. and when mingyu got sick he got dramatic. he was currently cuddled up in bed while you took care of him.

you would take his temperature, give him medicine, cook him some soup, and keep him as comfortable as possible while you worked from home.

“mingyu, do you want some soup?” you asked softly, pushing his hair off of his forehead and feeling for a temperature.

his eyes shot open and his lip jutted out. “mingyu?” he questioned softly, “why are you calling me mingyu?” his voice wobbled a bit. but can you blame him? he’s a sensitive man.

“because that’s your name, baby, you don’t like it?” you asked, holding his hand, your voice softened at your boyfriend.

he shook his head at your question, he was always ‘baby’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘gyu’.

“sorry, baby,” you cooed, “but do you want any soup?” you asked again, hoping it would fix his mood.

“don’t want soup, i want a kiss,” he said with a little mischievous smile, then puckering his lips.

you rolled your eyes, he knew you couldn’t say no to him, especially since he was sick and was on the verge of tears after you called him his first name. “you’re such a baby,” you groaned, “if i get sick it’s your fault,” you reminded him.

“then it’ll be my turn to take care of you,” he said as if it was obvious, leaning up a bit and catching your lips with his.

sure, mingyu was a big baby. but he was your big baby.

dk

dk had been stuck in practice all day while you had a free day. so, being the loving and doting partner that you were you decided to make your boyfriend some dinner. which also included making dinner for his 12 bandmates, but you didn’t mind. you were like a big family.

you were let into the building and made your way to their practice room, hands full of bags carrying multiple different containers full of food.

the boys were all sitting around the room during a break and you popped your head inside, leaving the bags in the hallway.

a few people looked over at you when you opened the door, but every head snapped your way when you opened your mouth.

“seokmin?” you asked, which caused some murmurs among the group.

dk couldn’t remember the last time he was called that name.

‘you better fix whatever you did wrong’ ‘why is she mad at you?’ ‘what did you do?’ different members began to ask all at once to your boyfriend, sending him into even deeper of a panic.

he jumped to his feet and made his way over to you. you didn’t look mad at him, but now he was worried. he grabbed your hand and gently pulled you into the hallway and closed the door to the practice room behind you.

“is everything okay? did i leave something on at home? did i forget to take out the trash?” he asked seriously, thinking of what he could’ve possibly done to elicit you calling him his first name.

you gave him a look in response, furrowing your eyebrows at his rambling. “no… i made you guys food,” you explained, pointing to all the bags on the floor by the two of you, “was just asking you to help me bring it in.”

“huh?” your boyfriend questioned, looking at the bags and then back up to you. “why’d you call me seokmin, then? i haven’t heard that name in ages!” he whined, tugging at your hand.

“oh? i texted jeonghan and told him i was coming over, he told me to call you seokmin,” you laughed, not thinking that he was going to take it that much to heart.

dk sighed and grabbed the bags, pecking your cheek, “thank you for dinner,” he said softly, opening the door to go back into the practice room with you trailing behind him.

his members all looked over and started laughing, apparently they were in on it too.

“you guys suck!” he groaned, “i’m keeping all this food to myself now,” he said childishly, hoarding all the bags by the two of you and trying to keep everyone else away.

eventually he caved and you all ate together, everyone thanking you and still poking fun at your boyfriend.

seungkwan

“seungkwan,” you tried to get your boyfriends attention, standing across the kitchen island from him.

his eyes left his phone and found yours, narrowing in the process. he didn’t say anything so you frowned.

“seungkwan?” he continued to stare at you and you grew slightly agitated since he was seemingly ignoring you.

“can you reply?” you asked with an attitude, crossing your arms.

“i’m just waiting for you to get it right,” he said, mirroring your body language and the amount of sass.

his words only confused you more. “get what right? you’re crazy,” you mumbled, basically having a staring contest with him.

seungkwan just scoffed and rolled his eyes, “my name! i’m waiting for you to get my name right,” he said as if it was obvious. “i am not ‘seungkwan’ to you.” he explained, putting his name in quotations with his fingers.

“are you waiting for me to call you sweetie?” you asked finally, a smile slowly starting to spread on your face. your boyfriend may be a little sassy but he was truly a sweetheart.

“maybe,” he replied simply, his arms still crossed as he waited.

you hummed at his response and then made your way around the island to hug him. “alright, sweetie, i was just going to ask where you wanted to eat tonight,” you grinned, pressing a few sweet kisses on his cheek.

his attitude instantly melted away at the pet name and he pulled you closer to him, “wherever you want, angel,” he replied simply.

it was that easy.

vernon

vernon isn't phased by much. but he does get a little salty when you use his first name on him. he says it sounds too much like a mother scolding him. so, of course, you tease him with it sometimes.

“hansol! can you come to the living room?” you called out in your home, not sure which room he was in.

soon you heard his footsteps and he walked into the room with a scrunched up face.

“yes, darling?” he exaggerated his pet name for you, hoping you'd get the hint.

you spun around in a circle and posed, showing off your new outfit to your boyfriend.

“what do you think? you like my new outfit?” you asked with a blinding smile, posing in a few different ways as your boyfriend watched.

“i think it looks lovely, babe,” he exaggerated again.

“thank you, hansol,” you replied with a sweet smile.

“you look gorgeous, sweetheart,” he tried again.

“thank you, hansol,” you repeated, trying to keep your laugh at bay.

“positively perfect, my love.”

“i appreciate it, hansol.”

“absolutely stunning, angel.”

“you’re too kind, hansol.”

“that’s it, i’m ignoring you for the rest of the day.” he finally said after surveying you for a few minutes. he turned on his heel and walked back to your shared bedroom.

“no!” you called after him, “i’m just joking,” you said in between laughs as you walked fast behind him to catch up.

he shrugged his shoulders and sat back down at his desk, continuing his previous task before you had called him to the living room.

“don’t be sulky now, i was teasing,” you pouted, putting your hands on his shoulders and turning his chair to face you.

“it’s fine, y/n,” he said with a grin, now using your own name back as revenge.

“hey! you can’t call me that!” you whined in response.

“watch me.” he smirked, flicking your forehead gently.

oh how the tables have turned.

dino

this man rarely hears his name from anyone. it’s always ‘dino’ from his friends and ‘honey’ from you.

so when you started calling for ‘chan’ while you were asleep it made his heart break.

‘who is chan?’ he thought to himself, you couldn’t be cheating on him with another guy. right? you wouldn’t do that, he knows you.

but still, once the thought got placed into his head (by no one but himself) he couldn’t help but shake it.

the next morning he was nervous, he didn’t know how to confront you, or what he would do if his suspicions were correct. so while you were making breakfast for the two of you he mustered up the courage to go into the kitchen and talk to you.

“good morning, honey,” you said with a cheery smile, noticing him right away as he made his way next to you. you caught his lips with a quick peck but noticed that he seemed a little tense. “something wrong?” you asked, concern lacing your voice.

dino just wrung his hands together and frowned. “do you have something to tell me?” he asked softly, already feeling on the verge of tears as he looked down at his feet, not making eye contact with you.

“no? what’s this about?” you asked, turning the heat down on the stove so you could give him more of your attention.

“i just,” he started, “well um…” he tried again, “i heard you talking in your sleep and you were calling out for some guy named ‘chan’ and i know wouldn’t cheat on me or anything but who is chan?” his words spilled out of him and he was talking a mile a minute while you looked at him, your eyes widening.

he was bracing himself for the answer to his question, ready for the worst.

“honey…” you said gently, taking both of his hands in yours and making him look at you, “you are chan.” you explained, trying to hide your smile since he was clearly so distraught.

“huh?” he asked, not understanding what you were getting at.

“honey, your name is lee chan,” you reminded him.

you could see the gears shifting in his head before his cheeks immediately heated up. he snatched his hands from yours and slapped his face. he was chan. and he couldn’t feel any stupider.

he was so used to being honey that he forgot his literal name.

“forget this happened…” he mumbled, walking away as you stifled your laughs.

[ohimsummer]

PUCKER UP! ft. NERDJO

— minors dni, nerdjo x meangirl! reader, college! au, pegging, ass-eating, this started getting sloppy nasty lmao reader is a freak fr, hints of stsg, pet names (pretty boy, princess), kind of proofread

wc 3k….😭

it's easy to get satoru to do anything for you.

he's caught off guard when he opens the door to his dorm and you’re shoving yet another homework assignment in his hands, backing him into the room. he's easily victim to honeyed words from your glossy lips, the flutter of your eyelashes. though, if that isn't enough, a firm palm to his already-hardening bulge is sure to get you whatever you want. the gesture is topped off with a promised reward of sucking him dry, however, you're both painfully aware that you would have done so anyway.

satoru settles beside you on his bed, where you lay browsing through social media. he works dutifully, though still listening and responding to the mindless school gossip that no one else would ever let him know about. you keep him well-informed.

twenty minutes have passed, and you spare the papers a glance. it astounds you that satoru is already halfway finished in less than thirty minutes with what would have taken you at least an hour. it's easy for him...maybe a little too easy. maybe a little unfair.

"you're working too fast.", you huff, wrinkling your nose.

satoru pauses, pen hovering over the paper. he looks between you and your homework. "... is that a problem...?"

you sit up on his bed, staring in disdain at the half-finished work in his lap. "if it was? you're not just rushing, are you?"

here he comes with the pouting. satoru is extremely confident in his work, and he knows you know he'd never let you get a bad grade. "don't critique me, i know what i'm doing–“

"bend over, i'm bored."

his jaw falls slack as you tug open the drawer next to his bed, and pull out the lengthy, baby-blue toy hidden away.

"you–, now–?", he sputters. "i'm in the middle of–"

"oh, shut it, shut it.", you wave off his complaints with a manicured hand. "can't you multitask?"

satoru opens his mouth to give a snarky reply, but his words fall short when you slip the tip of the dildo between your lips. he can feel your eyes on him, but his gaze won't leave the way the toy disappears into your mouth, and blood goes rushing to fill the half-erect hard-on he's been sporting since you got here.

you pull the dildo from your mouth with a 'pop!'. "so? be a good boy and bend over for me?"

it's kind of funny, how you don't even have to touch him or bat a lash or use that one flirty tone that makes his head spin, yet satoru still tugs his own shirt off and pants down. he faces away to lower his head and present his round ass to you. a finger traces over the hem of his boxers, embedded with two bold sets of initials on them: yours and an S.G. not satoru's own name, of course.

with a quick kiss to his thigh, you're pulling the white boxers down his legs and tossing them inside. satoru's asshole sits bare and on display for you, puckered and twitching as you admire him.

as if reading your thoughts, he mumbles, "don't stare so much..."

you break gaze with the hole inches from your face to raise a brow at your boyfriend. "shouldn't you be doing my homework?"

"uh–“, he scrambles to form a sentence."yeah, but–"

"pass me the lube and the harness, too."

satoru obeys your command, reaching into the still-open drawer to pull out a bottle of strawberry-flavoured lubricant and a light blue, leather harness. he reaches back a hand to give it to you, where you snatch both items from his grasp and satoru immediately hears the sound of the tube cap clicking open.

not wanting to be chastised again, satoru tries his hardest to steer his focus back to the papers beside him. the pencil trembles in his hand, but he manages to write all of three words before feeling your finger circling his hole.

he jolts, his face flushes at your mischievous giggle behind him, and satoru coerces his body to relaxation once more. it's a feat which is basically impossible when his mind is fixed on the way your finger traces the rim of his entrance, and the more subtle, wet sounds of you massaging lube into the dildo.

"i don't see you doing any work.", you scold him, and satoru yelps when you pluck a harsh finger against his hole. despite the surprise, his dick twitches at the mild discomfort.

pushing himself again to focus on the blurry words and math problems in front of him, satoru mashes the lead a little harder than he should into the paper, clenching the pencil tightly in his fist. he blocks out the movements and sounds going on behind him: the slick pumping of the dildo strapped to your waist, your other hand clutching and gripping either ass cheek in your palm, sinking nails into the skin for a quick lesson in pain before the pad of your thumb pokes and prods at his puckered hole again.

this lasts for what seems like an eternity before a new sensation sends a shiver up his spine, something that forces a gasp from his lips and raises the thin hairs on his neck. it's warm, wet, and familiar—the overwhelming feel of your tongue bullying its way into his insides.

"hey, hey, i–i won't be able to focus if you're doing that–!", satoru whines, but you pay him no mind. his fists wrench the fabric of the comforter as the slimy, pink muscle worms inside.

behind him, you moan at the flavor, slipping your tongue from his orifice to flatten it against his pale skin, running it from satoru's balls to the top of his ass crack. satoru flinches when you spit on his hole, and whines like a mutt in heat at the sloppy way you make out with his asshole. every kiss and bite to his cheeks has him tightening around your tongue, but you wriggle it with a driven intent to get him nice and loose for the absolute pounding you're about to bestow upon him. it's disgusting, and satoru fucking loves it.

he's so lost in you and your heavenly tongue that he almost doesn't register the warmth spreading in his lower body. it's at the last second that satoru lets out a strangled moan and his first orgasm comes washing over him. ropes of cum shoot out to coat his bare thighs and chiseled abdomen as satoru squirms from the sheer pleasure. he's so fidgety, he almost lets your assignment go slipping off the edge of the bed. it’s grabbed just in time, and he shoves it a little further away to avoid any more of the wet spots his drool has already stained into them.

you let him have his fun, come down from his little high, and then satoru feels your touch retreat from his sensitive behind. "did you still plan on getting that done today, or...?"

satoru shivers, and cranes his neck to give you a puppy-eyed gaze, tears having built up on his lash line. "...it's hard."

his poor, pathetic, puppy-dog tone and the deep pink tint across his cheeks and up to his ears yank at your heartstrings. it's times like this where you feel bad for being mean to him, even if it's all an act. satoru's just so fucking cute, he reminds you that can't keep up the cruel demeanor towards him forever.

"ohh.", you coo at your nerdy, loser boyfriend and peck short kisses onto his ass cheeks. "you want me to go slower, baby?"

"yes. yes, please.", he whines. "i can't focus to finish your work."

so adorable. truthfully you couldn't give less of a fuck about the papers anymore, but it's still a little endearing that even in such a position, satoru is still determined to get you the passing grade you don't deserve.

as promised, you take it down a notch, just to give him more control of his thoughts. and satoru figured taking things a step back would do wonders when you weren't absolutely ravishing his hole, but this...this may be significantly worse.

the once intense fervor of your movements has been replaced with a skillful precision. every stroke and flick of your tongue around his rim feels more pleasurable than the last, and satoru's cock jerks and aches at the slow, sensual sucks to his ass. you replace the dig of your nails with the occasional, unforgiving smack!, only to layer on top a coat of soothing kisses. the drawn-out movements make him even more conscious of every single thing you're doing.

but still, your plan was to grace him with some mercy, and satoru won't allow you to say he didn't at least try. so, with newfound strength, he squeezes the pen in his hand, and he gets to work.

his body remains painfully aware of the thrills and pleasure you shower him with, and satoru struggles to keep those feelings at bay from distracting his mind. it's a challenge, but satoru does likes a challenge, and he finds he's managed to complete the remaining bottom half of the current page. this is it. he's on the final paper, so close to the finish line, before he can stop having to worry about it. and then he feels your gentle tap on his thigh.

it takes him out of the space he's forced himself into. satoru turns until he just sees you in his peripherals. "huh? what's wrong?"

"nothing.", you reassure him. "do you want to pack that up before i start?"

'start?', he thinks, and then he feels the slap of the rubber dildo between his ass cheeks. "ah, um–“

his throat goes dry, and you gliding the heavy length back-and-forth along his asshole doesn't help in the slightest.

"just do your best, okay? i'm happy with a B."

satoru isn't happy with anything below an A-, but the complaint is stripped from his tongue as he feels the thick tip of your cock sinking into his hole. even with your slow movements, it knocks the wind from his lungs, and all he can let out is a choked moan. stuck gripping the sheets, his cheek is smushed against the bed and his mouth agape, until satoru finally feels you flush against the back of his thighs.

there’s a beat, then your encouraging voice in his ear: “breath, satoru.”

a second later and you can see the tension leaving his larger, toned body. your hands make a delicate path up the curve of his back, massaging his sensitive nape which leaves him gasping, before one of them trails back up his spine. you apply pressure as you go, further pronouncing the arch in satoru’s pliant body, and the wandering hand ends at his hip.

slowly, you unsheathe the girthy, faux length from his ass, revealing more and more and more until only the tip remains. his hole tightens, and you don’t think you’ve ever been so jealous of both a man or a piece of fucking silicone in your entire life. you’d kill to have a real one right now, to feel satoru’s moist insides and the way he’d clench around you, sucking you in further and further until you were stuck balls deep in him. it’s fucking unfair.

“m–move, please.”, he begs in such a soft mewl. so needy, so impatient. so spoiled as you plunge your cock into him again.

a sharp gasp flees his lips, followed by satoru's strangled moan as you bury yourself to the hilt. there’s a prominent vein on the back of his hand from how tightly he grips the sheets, pillow, anything satoru can get his hands on.

though you move languidly, satoru quickly dissolves into an utter wreck. your hands hold tight onto his waist with initial intent to keep him steady, but his moans bring out a crazed animal in you. soon you're manhandling him back-and-forth to meet the ever-growing roughness of your thrusts. the sound of you pounding into him can't even be heard over the slutty noises tumbling out into the open air, hitting all four walls to fill the dorm room. it makes you ache, yearning for some relief other than the occasional friction of the harness against your clit.

"fuck, you're so hot.", you lean down and pant against his ear. satoru babbles something you can’t understand, and it makes you laugh. you can't help mock him a little.

"so loud, too.", comes the bratty taunt, and satoru whimpers out a barely coherent 'sorry'. god, he's so cute and pathetic. you feel like you're bullying him, corrupting your little nerd boyfriend, and it turns you on tenfold.

"aren't people living in the dorm next to you? they’re gonna be pissed.", you tease further, though never letting up on your thrusts and in fact picking up the pace. "these walls are pretty thin. suguru was here yesterday, did you get a noise complaint?"

"mhm."

that response catches you off guard—his audible confirmation along with a weak nod of the head.

"are you serious?" satoru nods again, and you let out an incredulous scoff. "damn, i was just kidding. i may have to go harder, then, i want them to know how well i treat you, too!"

it’s all gibberish in satoru's mind. with such scrambled thoughts, he can barely hold on to a thing you're saying, let alone worry about maintaining his now continuously waning status as a considerate neighbor.

"c'mere." your words sound muffled amongst the fog in his head. satoru strains his eyes and barely sees your blurry figure hovering over him. "pass me the pillow, babe."

he flails a feeble hand in the general direction of said object, finally landing on the soft cushion and using what—in his current state—feels like an absurd amount of strength in order to hand it back to you. a second later, he feels you tugging at his waist. “lift your hips up.” and, ever the helpful boyfriend, satoru uses every bit of remaining energy in his bones to raise his body.

"look at you, my good little loser." he feels you squeeze the pillow between him and the bed, and then goes limp again beneath you. his cock twitches at the soft pressure surrounding his length. it reminds him of a fleshlight, something you and suguru make sure he's extremely familiar with.

there's a 'smack!', and satoru whimpers at the sharp slap to one of his ass cheeks. you knead at the fat flesh in your hands, dulling the pain, and pull satoru’s ass apart to stare at the way his hole quivers and tightens around you.

"do you like being lazy?”, you tease. "letting me do most of the work?" he nods. "say it. tell me you’re my pretty little pillow princess.”

"i’m y–your pretty–, pretty pillow princess.", satoru moans with a cheek against the mattress, and lets out a feeble cry when you give his ass another loud smack.

"mmm, yeah." a sinister grin paints itself across your lips. your hands continue squeezing satoru’s sore ass in your palms, and your boyfriend groans in pleasure as you begin fucking into him again. "fuck, such a good toy for me."

you say something else, something he doesn’t hear, if not for satoru’s bedframe thudding against the wall, or the lewd slapping of skin on skin, then definitely because of his own moans echoing in his ears. there’s a short pause. satoru registers the dip of the mattress on each side of his head, and the blurry details of your manicure. the ticklish touch of your fingers brush against his forehead, moving locks of stark white hair to reveal more of his gorgeous face.

"my pretty boy.”

satoru whines at the praise before feeling the length of your cock rubbing against his prostate. it's calm at first, a frustratingly slow grind against his ass where he can feel the silicone balls of your strap up against his own. but soon you're picking up pace, slamming into him with each thrust, thrusts that send satoru flying forward every time you plunge deep into him again. every rock of your hips against his brushes satoru’s leaking cock harder and faster along the pillow under his body. it feels out of this world, and all too much to endure.

the heat and pleasure overrunning satoru has steadily evolved from a slow trickle, to growing waves, to a huge tsunami bearing down on him. his entire body is searing; he releases a particularly loud cry of your name as cum shoots straight into the fluff of the pillow, soaking deep inside the fabric as waves of pleasure flood over him. tears burn at his hazy, blue eyes, making it impossible to see clearly, but that doesn't matter when satoru's eyes are wrenched shut anyway as you slow to another grind against his ass, fucking him through his final orgasm.

satoru lies there, trembling and taking in heaving breathes of air. he lets out one last pathetic whimper when you pull out, leaving his hole tragically empty, but still accepts the press of a few soft kisses to his pink, tear-stained cheeks.

"satoru?", you whisper softly against his ear. “all good?” and you give him another kiss on the forehead when he gives a weak nod. "atta boy, you did so well. i'm going to get you a towel, 'kay?"

your boyfriend only makes a weak effort to grasp your hand, but you understand what he’s asking for, regardless. “fine, pretty boy. i’m right here, just relax and catch your breath for me.”

and, as usual, satoru follows your instructions without question. he is comforted by the gentle squeeze of your hand, the caress of your fingers through his hair, and the doting kisses you place on his shoulders, neck, and face. eventually, his brain is empty, drained. satoru begins dozing off to sleep in a far-away land—away from his room and away from homework, yet still surrounded by your soft, lingering presence.

🩵: @staryukis @lxnarphase @anthoosies @deepenthevoid @bubblez-blop @luvvmae @risuola @bunnymacaron @snowsilver2000 @hellkaiserinphoenix @cinnamoneve @satoruxsc @starlightanyaaa @domainexpansionmypants @giasssslife @babytoshiii @kissesfrombelle @v0ctin @purplegemadventures @luvvforliaa @apatuaia @sataraxia @leilalilox @sugu-love @manyno @the-monster-under-the-bed @blindbabycadder @xinfvl @jianyuu4mii @sherb3t @sugoroo @hellokittyish @satorvs @notdwenby @mamshousehusband @rubiesoferebor @andyramblingstuff @gojosbabyma @ravenbc @superkoolartist @nillosgarden

[rvp32]

Falling for the Unknown

Karina x reader

length: 10K

Thank you so much msafterhours and kesujo for proofreading

The crowd surges with energy, the stadium shaking as Tottenham wins a corner kick. You shift in your seat, the weight of your brace tugging at your leg—a constant reminder that you should be out there on the football pitch, not watching from the stands. Your knee bounces restlessly, gripping them so tightly you're worried they'll snap. All you want is to be out there on the pitch. Not here, not like this, sidelined when every part of you is aching to play.

The seat next to you creaks, and someone slips into it. You glance over and see a woman wearing an oversized hoodie and a cap pulled low over her face. Despite her casual outfit, there’s an air about her—a presence that’s hard to miss. She offers a small nod and an even smaller smile, tucking herself in as though she hopes to disappear.

“Excuse me,” she murmurs, her voice soft but steady.

“No problem,” you reply, shifting slightly.

You try to refocus on the game, but something about her pulls at your attention, her quiet energy filling the space between you. When Son Heung Min takes possession and streaks down the pitch, she leans forward in her seat, her hands balling into excited fists.

“You’re rooting for Tottenham?” you ask, breaking the silence as a half-smile tugs at your lips.

Her focus flickers to you, and you catch the faint curve of a grin under the brim of her cap. “Not Tottenham. Heung Min Son. He’s from Korea. Same as me. Gotta cheer for my own.”

The way she says it—with pride, subtle but unmistakable—makes you smile. She feels familiar, though you can’t put your finger on why.

“Fair enough,” you say with a shrug. “Watching him is great and all, but I’d kill to be out there right now. Watching just isn’t the same when you know what it’s like to play.”

Her head tilts slightly as if she’s studying you. “You used to play?”

“Kind of,” you hedge, not wanting to make it a big deal. “I just... miss it, that’s all. The game. The rush. Being part of it.”

You glance back at her to find her watching you, curious but unreadable.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” she says, her tone casual but pointed.

"Oh, right," you reply, then tell her your name. She repeats it to you and offers a smile and a hand. Her grip is warm but firm, and her smile is understated, but you notice it all the same.

"I'm Jimin"

Her name rolls over you like a mystery, simple yet layered. You get the feeling there’s more to her than meets the eye. And maybe, just maybe, she’s thinking the same thing about you.

The match kicks into high gear, and with every near miss or botched pass, the tension grows. You're so focused on the play that you almost miss the low chuckle beside you.

“Are they trying to lose possession?” Jimin says, biting back a grin as one of United’s midfielders gets dispossessed in a sloppy tackle.

You lean back in mock offense, shaking your head. “Bold words for someone cheering for a team that’s about to concede.”

She gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “How dare you! Tottenham has been flawless today.”

“Flawless? Did we watch the same first half? Pretty sure Son had a one-on-one and managed to kick it straight at the keeper.”

“That was strategy,” she counters, narrowing her eyes playfully. “He was… throwing the keeper off for the next one.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Ah, of course. Miss on purpose to make him overconfident. Genius.”

She smirks, rolling her eyes but not bothering to defend her logic. You find yourself grinning despite yourself. For someone so discreet, she’s got a lively, quick wit that keeps you on your toes.

A few minutes later, one of your defenders attempts a clearance and shanks it straight up into the air. Tottenham pounces on the mistake, but the shot flies well over the bar.

Jimin lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh. “See, that’s what happens when you make fun of Son. Karma works fast.”

“Yeah?” you reply, gesturing at the field. “Looks to me like karma hit your team there. Did that shot even stay in the stadium?”

Her laugh is soft but genuine, bubbling out before she can stop herself. “Okay, that was bad,” she admits, still giggling. “Maybe they’re tired from carrying the match.”

“Carrying? You mean carrying the ball to their goal line?”

Her jaw drops, and for a second, you’re sure she’s trying to come up with a comeback. Instead, she lightly nudges your arm with her elbow, a mock scolding gesture. “You’re mean.”

“I’m honest.” You grin, glancing sideways at her. She’s not looking at the field now, but at you, her face slightly hidden beneath her cap, her expression amused but softer than before.

As the game heats up, you both start reacting in sync—wincing at close calls and groaning when your respective teams miss chances. But there’s a lightness in your shared frustrations, and the banter flows naturally.

When United fumbles an easy counterattack, you drop your head into your hands. “Are we playing with our shoelaces tied together?”

Jimin bursts out laughing, practically leaning into you. “At least they’re consistent! I feel like this could be a comedy show.”

Moments later, Tottenham fluffs a promising free kick, sending the ball soaring into the stands. You glance at her and deadpan, “Your turn. What was that, a field goal attempt?”

She stares at the pitch, lips pressed together in an attempt to look serious, but the edges of her mouth twitch. “I have no explanation,” she says, shaking her head. “Let’s just say they’re… being humble.”

“Humble?”

“Yes,” she nods confidently. “They’re giving United false hope before destroying them.”

“Destroying themselves, maybe.”

You nudge her with your elbow this time, and the spark of challenge in her eyes is enough to tell you she’s about to retort. Before she can, the crowd erupts as United forces a save from Tottenham’s keeper. Both of you pause, swept up in the thrill of the moment.

When the noise dies down, Jimin grins at you. “Okay, fine. Your team has their moments.”

“You mean ‘moment,’ singular,” you reply. “We’ve only had one good play.”

She tilts her head, lips pursed. “You’re more self-aware than I expected.”

“Why, thank you,” you shoot back.

The words hang there for a second, easy but charged. She laughs softly, looking back at the pitch. It’s not much, just a small moment shared between two people in a stadium full of thousands. But somehow, it feels significant.

The final whistle blows and the stadium erupts into a medley of cheers and groans, depending on which side the fans were on. You barely notice. The game could’ve ended an hour ago for all you care. Your thoughts are preoccupied with the woman sitting next to you, the one who somehow turned a frustrating day on the sidelines into something you’re reluctant to let go of.

Jimin stretches her arms lazily, a satisfied grin on her face as the players begin to shake hands on the pitch. “Well, that was fun,” she says, pulling her hoodie tighter. “Stressful, but fun.”

“Speak for yourself,” you tease, gesturing to your team trudging off the field. “I’ve aged ten years watching that mess.”

She laughs, the sound genuine, and you can’t help but smile back. For someone who made such an effort to stay inconspicuous, she’d become the center of your focus. Her easy banter, quick wit, and that occasional spark of mischief made the ninety minutes flash by faster than you thought possible.

People start to filter out of the stands, and you glance at the growing exodus with a sudden pang of panic. You don’t want to leave, at least not before figuring out how to see her again. But how do you ask without sounding like… well, a complete idiot?

“Thanks for keeping me entertained,” you say, testing the waters. “I was worried I’d spend the night sulking, but you made it bearable.”

“Bearable?” she repeats, pretending to be offended. “What a glowing compliment.”

“Fine, you made it… slightly enjoyable,” you say, grinning.

She narrows her eyes at you but lets it slide, standing and dusting imaginary lint off her hoodie. “Well, I’m glad I could brighten up your very exciting night of sitting still.”

You watch as she adjusts her cap, clearly preparing to leave, and the urgency spikes. Your chance is slipping away, and your tongue feels like it’s made of lead.

“Hey,” you blurt out awkwardly, and she pauses, looking at you expectantly. You scramble to keep your tone light. “So… do you, uh, give your number to people who survived watching their team crash and burn?”

Her eyebrows lift in surprise, and for a split second, you worry you’ve blown it. But then a small, amused smile plays at her lips.

“Survived, huh?” she echoes, reaching for her phone. “You make a compelling case.”

Your heart jumps as she taps her screen and then holds it out toward you. You quickly input your number and save it. “I’m putting myself down as ‘The Entertained.’ Just so you don’t forget,” you say, trying to hide your nerves with humor.

She laughs softly, tucking the phone back into her hoodie pocket. “I’ll make sure I remember.”

As she starts to step away, she pauses and turns back to you, her expression thoughtful. “By the way, there’s this bar at The Lowry Hotel. Quiet, discreet, nice atmosphere. If you’re free tonight…”

Her words hang in the air, the invitation surprising but undeniably deliberate.

You blink, processing her suggestion as quickly as you can without looking like a complete idiot. “I… yeah, I’d like that,” you manage, your voice betraying the excitement you’re trying to keep in check.

“Good,” she says, her smile small but somehow brighter than the stadium lights. “Meet me there around eight?”

You nod, trying to play it cool despite the fact your heart is doing somersaults. “I’ll be there.”

She gives you a quick wave before disappearing into the dispersing crowd, leaving you sitting there with a racing pulse, a saved number, and a strange feeling that maybe tonight isn’t over just yet.

The crowd thins, the noise of the stadium fading into the background, but your thoughts are anything but quiet. Jimin’s parting words linger in your mind, looping like a highlight reel: Meet me there around eight. You’ve been invited to a lot of things over the years—interviews, parties, sponsorship deals—but this? This felt different.

You finally make your way to the dressing room, joining your teammates. Their banter is loud and animated, dissecting the game’s highs and lows, but you’re barely tuned in. A couple of them throw curious glances your way, probably picking up on your distracted demeanor, but you brush it off with noncommittal smiles and nods. The injury already drew enough unwanted sympathy; you weren’t about to add, “Oh, by the way, I met someone incredible in the stands tonight” into the mix.

After a quick round of goodbyes, you head home, the familiar comfort of your flat both a relief and a source of frustration. Tonight’s meeting looms, and for the first time in ages, you’re genuinely nervous.

Standing in front of your wardrobe, you stare blankly at the options. Button-ups feel too formal, but a hoodie seems too casual. And then there’s the crutch—practical, necessary, and ruining the aesthetic of every potential outfit you try to piece together. You sigh, slumping onto the edge of your bed.

“This shouldn’t be this hard,” you mutter to yourself. But it is.

It’s not just about the clothes. The pressure comes from how rare this feels—how rare she feels. She didn’t look at you like everyone else does, with that glimmer of recognition that usually comes just before the questions, the assumptions, the offers to take a picture. She laughed at your jokes, called you out when you were being cheeky, and for a while, you forgot about the brace around your leg and the ache of not playing.

There’s no way she knew who you were, right? She didn’t talk about goals or rivalries or the usual clichés you’ve grown used to hearing. She felt really—interested in you, not your career or your reputation.

You rub your hands over your face, both excited and nervous. It had been years since anyone made you feel that way. Fame had a way of isolating you, creating a chasm between you and the rest of the world. But Jimin? She didn’t feel like the world—she felt like the bridge you didn’t know you needed.

You glance at the clock: 6:45 p.m. The thought of being late tightens your chest, but the idea of overthinking and over-dressing makes you groan. Standing again, you sift through the closet with a new goal in mind—keep it simple.

Finally, you settle on a clean, dark jacket over a simple shirt, jeans that fit just right, and comfortable shoes that won’t make your crutch feel more awkward than it already does. There’s no denying the crutch complicates things, but for the first time, it feels secondary. Your nerves don’t come from the injury or how people might stare—they come from the thought of seeing her again.

You glance in the mirror and adjust your jacket. It’s not perfect, but it’s good enough. And besides, she already liked you enough to invite you out. Maybe tonight, for once, it’s not about appearances but the connection you hadn’t dared to hope for.

The excitement bubbles under your skin, tempered by discomfort but impossible to ignore. As you grab your keys and head out the door, you can’t stop thinking about the moment she smiled at you and said Good. Tonight felt like it could be something more than just another night—and you couldn’t wait to see if that was true.

The Lowry’s bar hums with gentle, quiet energy as you settle into your seat at the counter, the clink of glassware and a low murmur of voices in the background blending in an almost soothing way. You take in the surroundings—a few scattered patrons, cozy lighting—and fiddle with the cocktail napkin beneath your old fashioned, trying to distract yourself from the small knot of nerves that keeps tightening in your stomach.

You hadn’t realized how tense you’d been until the moment you sat down here, waiting. The minutes crawl by and your mind begins to overthink everything. What if she changes her mind and doesn’t show up? What if she realized inviting you out was a mistake? The simple thought twists something deep inside you.

But just as you’re about to take your first sip, a hand grazes your shoulder—light and gentle, like an electric jolt that cuts through the sea of your anxious thoughts. You snap your head around, and there she is—standing before you, an effortless beauty.

She’s dressed in an emerald shirt dress, and the way the light hits it gives the fabric a liquid shine that you can’t help but notice. The rich green hue complements her fair skin, and the dress moves gracefully with her every motion. It fits perfectly, cinched just enough at the waist to highlight her figure. The sleeves fall delicately, and there’s a small slit along one side that catches your eye as she shifts her weight. Her long black hair tumbles over one shoulder in soft waves, framing her face in a way that somehow makes her seem even more striking than when you first met.

Her look is confident, but she doesn’t radiate the usual celebrity vibe—there's no over-the-top flair or pretense. She seems grounded, accessible, someone who isn’t caught up in her appearance, even though it’s clear she could make heads turn effortlessly. As she takes the seat beside you, there’s no sign of the usual guarded behavior of someone used to the spotlight. In that moment, she’s just another person you’re meeting—and it’s oddly refreshing.

“You didn’t have to wait this long,” she teases with a soft, playful smile, her eyes warm with that casual, no-pressure charm. “Were you worried I’d bail?”

You can’t help but feel a little more at ease. “Not at all,” you reply, brushing away the thought of being stood up. “I just got here early.”

She chuckles a sound that immediately sets you even more at ease. “You're definitely on time. I, on the other hand, maybe took my time getting ready.” She taps her fingers on the bar and grins, looking slightly sheepish, though the confidence never fully fades from her presence.

You look her up and down, no longer trying to ignore how stunning she looks in that dress. You take in the way she’s carrying herself without even trying too hard, and for the first time in what feels like a long while, you feel normal sitting beside someone.

“You look great,” you finally manage, your voice softer than you intend, surprised by how genuine your compliment comes across. She didn’t need any fanfare, no show of luxuries or grand gestures—she just is.

“Thanks,” she says, slightly flustered but masking it with a small shrug. “I figured this dress would be fine for a restaurant of this level.”

“I was trying to look decent, too,” you joke. “But I wasn’t sure what ‘decent’ meant in this situation.”

She laughs, her eyes crinkling at the edges. “That makes two of us,” she says, leaning against the bar a little more comfortably as she orders a drink, her tone laid-back and completely at ease.

“So,” she says after a moment, glancing at your drink. “What is it about an old-fashioned you like? Never had one before myself.”

You pause, surprised at the genuine curiosity in her voice—like she’s asking not because she’s trying to keep up with some conversation routine, but because she truly wants to know. “I don’t know, really,” you respond, grateful for the chance to dive into the simplicity of this interaction. “It’s reliable, you know? Like me—when it comes to drinks. Doesn’t need a bunch of flair. Just straight to the point.”

“Straight to the point?” she echoes, eyes gleaming in amusement. “Then I’m glad I’m not a ‘complicated cocktail.’” She laughs at her own joke, nudging you playfully.

It’s funny how quickly the conversation flows—how easily the weight of self-awareness seems to vanish. You’re talking to her just like you would any ordinary person, and she’s responding like you’re just an ordinary guy. For that moment, there’s nothing remarkable about either of you; there’s no fame, no headlines, just two people trying to have a quiet night out after a chance encounter. And for some reason, that makes everything feel all the more real.

As you settle into the rhythm of the conversation, the noise of the world around you fades into the background. And with each passing second, it’s harder and harder to picture the world that she could potentially live in—the one you don’t know about, where she could be someone completely different from the woman you’re laughing with right now.

The conversation flows effortlessly between you two as the night stretches on, each exchange between you both deeper than the last but still lighthearted enough to make you both chuckle without thinking too hard. There’s an ease to it—a sense of freedom in just talking, being completely unaffected by the distractions that life usually throws at you.

“You know, sometimes I think it would be nice to just… disappear,” Jimin says, taking a sip of her drink, her gaze distant for a brief moment. “Not permanently, just… vanish for a while and live somewhere where nobody knows your name. No expectations, no pressures. Just doing whatever you want, you know?”

You nod, feeling a strange sense of understanding. There’s something so undeniably human about the need for freedom. “I get that. It’s easy to get caught up in everything else, especially when people start treating you differently. It's almost like you can’t even exist for yourself anymore.”

She looks over at you, her eyes thoughtful, catching the light from the bar just enough for her long lashes to cast soft shadows against her cheeks. There’s an almost wistful look to her, but it doesn’t diminish the softness in her gaze. “Exactly! Like… you can’t be your real self, because you’re always someone else in their eyes. Whether it’s someone’s idea of who you should be, or the version of you they want you to be, you stop knowing who you are.”

You smile gently, admiring the way her eyes shift when she speaks, the way her voice seems to take on a dreamier, more intimate tone, revealing a side of her you’ve never seen on stage or through the screen. “Yeah,” you reply, “I get it more than you probably think. I’d love to just take a break, and escape for a bit. No cameras. Just… do whatever feels right.”

Her lips curl into a soft smile, and for a moment, it feels like the world stops. “Seems like we’re both yearning for the same thing,” she says. “Maybe we’ll just disappear together.”

The weight of her words sits between you, but before either of you can fully sink into it, she lets out a small laugh. “Can you imagine? You and me, in some random country, pretending to be regular tourists.”

“You think we’d blend in?” you tease, raising an eyebrow. “If people saw you, they’d probably think we were famous from the second we step out.”

“Not true,” she counters, leaning closer, her laugh becoming brighter. “I could wear sunglasses the whole time, and no one would know it’s me.”

“Ha, well I could walk around and claim I’m a professional soccer player for, like… a tiny club or something,” you lied, leaning back in your chair, resting your hand on your drink, you don’t want her entire view about your profession, you want her to genuinely get to know you.

Her eyes flash with mischief. “You? A soccer player? I’ve seen your crutch. Hard to pull that off.” Her words are teasing, but there’s a genuine lightness in her voice that you can’t help but smile at.

She shakes her head, her laughter twinkling like it’s a shared secret, and you catch yourself for a second, admiring how incredibly radiant she looks in this moment. It’s not just the way her face lights up or the way her dress catches the bar lights; it’s the sense of comfort she exudes as if you both get what the other needs.

Suddenly, the waiter comes over, breaking the mood entirely. He’s an older man, and you can see a certain tiredness in his eyes. “Excuse me, but we’ll be closing soon,” he says politely, his voice kind but firm. His words are almost apologetic as he gestures around the bar, indicating that the night is ending.

You glance at Jimin, and both of you are suddenly brought back to the reality of time. There's a momentary, almost imperceptible shift between you both—a small sigh, a quick look, and then that familiar weight of the outside world pressing in.

"Right," you say, laughing awkwardly, “Guess it’s already late, huh?”

Jimin seems to be calculating something, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought before meeting your gaze with a sudden gleam of mischief. “Actually,” she begins, her voice dropping to a playful murmur, “if you don’t mind… we could hang out in my room for a bit after. I always end up missing out on the fun when things get too busy. Plus… you don’t seem to be in any rush to go anywhere.”

You grin at her, finding it impossible not to tease. "Ah, so you’re trying to keep me around for more of your delightful company, huh?"

She raises an eyebrow in return, a smirk tugging at her lips. "What, are you saying I couldn’t get enough of you?"

You laugh lightly, the playfulness sparking once again between you two. “You’re right, I could see why you’d need some more of me.” You give her a cheeky wink, and even though you’re half-joking, the warmth from the playful exchange makes you feel suddenly at ease. In her presence, things just seem... lighter.

Jimin laughs again, a sound that sends a pleasant shiver through your chest. “Maybe just this once. You’d be surprised how often I’ve had to cancel plans or end up by myself. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my time alone, but… tonight’s been Amazing”

The sincerity of her words lingers with you for a moment before your grin returns. "Well, I guess I’ll take you up on your offer," you say, nodding toward the door. 

You both stand, the light atmosphere between you two still strong, keeping things easy and uncomplicated as you begin to walk toward the exit. You’re about to follow her when she turns and pauses, giving you a look that’s almost too soft to be fleeting but too playful to be serious.

“Well, come on then," she says, her voice low but excited, full of intent. “Are we going or not?”

The walk to Jimin’s room is lighthearted, with teasing remarks flying back and forth, keeping the mood buoyant. When the elevator doors open, she playfully gestures for you to follow her, her emerald dress swishing gently as she leads the way down the hallway.

“You didn’t expect a five-star suite, did you?” she says over her shoulder, unlocking the door.

“Of course not,” you tease. “But given the night’s events, I’m just glad you’re not leading me to the janitor’s closet.”

She bursts into laughter, shaking her head as she pushes the door open. Her room is modest yet elegant, with warm lighting and a cozy feel. It’s much less extravagant than you’d expect, which, in a way, fits perfectly with the down-to-earth side of her you’ve gotten to know.

As the door shuts behind you, she kicks off her shoes and flops onto the small sofa by the window. “Okay, we’ve discussed soccer and random dreams, but what about food? What’s your guilty pleasure?” she asks, patting the seat beside her.

You drop down onto the couch, leaning back comfortably. “Pizza,” you admit almost sheepishly. “The greasy, extra-cheese kind that’s probably got more calories than I need in a week.”

She gasps dramatically, clutching her chest. “Pizza? That’s so basic! I thought you’d be more creative. Aren’t athletes supposed to have fancy nutrition plans or something?”

“I do,” you retort, smirking. “But pizza is my cheat day savior. Don’t tell me you’re above a classic slice.”

She tilts her head, grinning. “Fine. But if we’re talking cheat foods, I win. Tteokbokki—spicy rice cakes, no competition. If there’s a heaven, it’s probably made of that.”

“Tteokbokki?” you repeat, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re telling me mushy rice cakes drenched in spicy sauce beat pizza?”

“First of all, mushy is the wrong word,” she says, jabbing her finger toward you in mock offense. “And second, tteokbokki is a cultural treasure. You don’t deserve it.”

You both crack up at each other’s exaggerated expressions, bantering back and forth about which food reigns supreme, each escalating into increasingly ridiculous arguments. When you both tire out, the mood has shifted to a calmer energy.

The conversation starts to fade naturally, and silence settles in like a comfortable blanket. You’re sitting closer than you realized, her arm resting just inches from yours. The soft glow of the lamp lights up her features—the gentle curve of her cheekbones, the glint of her eyes that seem to hold a secret only she knows.

And then, without even fully realizing it, you both move at the same time. You lean in, and so does she, the space between you evaporating in an instant.

When your lips meet, the world seems to fade into the background. The kiss is slow and unhurried, and yet it feels like time itself has stopped. Her lips are warm and soft, fitting perfectly against yours, and for those few seconds, it’s as if nothing else matters. Your heart pounds in your chest, loud enough that you’re sure she can hear it.

The kiss lasts only a moment, but it feels eternal, filled with a mix of tenderness and unspoken emotion that you hadn’t realized had built up between you both. When you finally pull back, your eyes meet hers. She’s looking at you, her expression unreadable but not unhappy.

And then it hits you—what just happened. Your stomach flips with a mixture of exhilaration and nerves.

“I… uh…” you begin, trying to find the words, but none come.

Jimin blinks, then lets out a soft laugh, the sound breaking the tension just enough. “Well… that happened,” she says, her voice warm, laced with the same kind of tension that you’re feeling.

“I wasn’t planning on…” you trail off, unsure of how to finish the thought.

“Neither was I,” she says, her lips curving into a small smile. Something is comforting in the way she’s looking at you, her hand unconsciously brushing against yours.

For a moment, you’re both silent, the gravity of what just happened settling in. But beneath the surface of the shock, you feel something else—a flicker of something new, something that feels undeniably right. 

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The room feels heavy with unspoken emotions, the electricity between you both palpable. You wonder if you should say something, break the silence, or try to bring things back to the easygoing vibe you’d both been enjoying all night. But before you can even think of what to say, Jimin shifts slightly on the couch, her fingers brushing against your knee as if testing the waters.

You glance over at her, and there’s something in her eyes that wasn’t there before—a quiet intensity, a question, and an answer all at once. She’s still close, close enough that you can see the way her lips part slightly, close enough to catch the faint sweetness of her perfume mingled with the softness of something else—moisturizer, maybe, lingering on her skin.

Then, without a word, she leans in.

Her hands find your face first, delicate fingers framing your jaw as her lips crash against yours with a sudden fervor that takes your breath away. This time, there’s no hesitation, no lingering doubt. The kiss is deep and consuming. Her body presses against yours in a way that leaves no space between you, and her warmth is seared into you through the thin fabric of her dress.

You respond instinctively, your hands moving to her waist as if drawn there by some unseen force. Her dress feels silky beneath your fingers, cool to the touch compared to the heat radiating from her skin. The kiss grows more passionate with every second, her lips soft and full, tasting faintly of the wine she sipped earlier, mingled with something uniquely her.

Her hands slide to the back of your neck, her touch firm yet tender as she tilts her head, deepening the kiss further. Your senses are overloaded—her scent, her touch, the way her body seems to fit perfectly against yours. The world outside her room ceases to exist, and all that remains is her—her lips, her hands, the sweet and intoxicating press of her body against yours.

You’re acutely aware of everything in this moment: the way her hair brushes against your cheek, the subtle warmth of her breath as the kiss slows just slightly, becoming less urgent but no less intense. Her lips move against yours with a rhythm that feels both deliberate and effortless, each motion sending a shiver down your spine.

Her moisturizer leaves a faint taste of sweetness on her skin as you kiss her deeply, a detail that makes this moment feel impossibly more intimate. The air grows heavier between you, charged with an unspoken understanding that transcends words. Her hands slide downward, resting against your chest as she finally pulls back just a fraction, her lips hovering close to yours as if reluctant to let go entirely.

When her eyes meet yours again, they’re smoldering, and her cheeks flush in a way that only makes her more stunning. She lets out a soft, unsteady breath, and her lips curve into the faintest smile.

“Well…” she murmurs, her voice barely audible over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. “That should clear up any doubts, don’t you think?”

Her tone is teasing, but there’s an unmistakable vulnerability in her gaze that makes your chest tighten. You can’t help but laugh softly, the tension breaking just slightly as you rest your forehead lightly against hers.

“Yeah,” you manage to say, your voice husky and tinged with disbelief. “Message received loud and clear.”

She smiles again, her thumb brushing absently against your cheek as her gaze flickers down to your lips and back up to your eyes. It’s clear she’s not in a rush to move away, and you realize that, for the first time in a long while, you feel entirely at ease—no pretenses, no masks, just her and you, connected in a way that feels both new and somehow inevitable.

For a moment, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions. The glow of the soft lighting dances on Jimin's skin, accentuating the curve of her jaw, the delicate shape of her lips, and the faint blush blooming across her cheeks. She looks breathtaking—no, beyond breathtaking—and you can’t help but get lost in the surreal nature of the situation.

Here you are, sitting so intimately close to someone who seemed to fit perfectly with you as if the universe itself had aligned every star to bring you together in this moment. But the intensity of it all—the vulnerability, the yearning in her gaze—has your thoughts racing to places you shouldn’t linger.

Without even realizing it, you lean forward again, capturing her lips in a slower, more deliberate kiss that is still filled with the magnetic pull you feel toward her. Her hands, soft and unyielding, begin to explore your chest, tracing light circles over the fabric of your shirt, the warmth of her palms seeping through. A faint shiver courses through you, but a voice in the back of your head—one part reason, one part hesitation—makes you pull back.

You rest your forehead against hers for a lingering moment, your breath still catching up with the intensity of her kiss. “I don’t know if we should go any further,” you whisper, the words coming out almost reluctantly. “I don’t want us to do something we might regret tomorrow morning.”

The room is silent save for the faint sound of the city outside, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Jimin doesn’t respond immediately, and her silence feels louder than anything she could have said. It creates a sinking feeling in your chest, and for a split second, you wonder if you’ve completely misread her—or worse, let her down.

Taking her lack of response as a quiet agreement, you swallow hard and gently start to shift away from her. “I should probably go,” you murmur, rising to your feet. There’s a soft ache in your voice that even you can hear. This isn’t what you want, but the last thing you’d ever want to do is make her feel rushed into something.

As you head toward the door, a soft, almost imperceptible sound makes you pause—a faint rustling, followed by the light tug of fabric. You glance down, and your heart nearly stops when you see her slender hand gripping the edge of your shirt. Her touch is gentle yet firm enough to stop you in your tracks.

“What if I want this?” she asks softly, her voice trembling slightly but resolute. You turn to face her, and the raw emotion in her eyes catches you off guard. “What if I want you? What if this… is what I need?”

The vulnerability in her voice hits you like a wave. Her confession, so open, so unguarded, leaves you speechless for a moment. You can see the truth in her expression, the way her hands cling to your shirt as if letting go would shatter something fragile between you both. She’s not being impulsive—she’s being honest, and it terrifies you how much you want to believe her.

“Jimin,” you whisper, stepping closer and gently cupping her face with your hands, your thumbs brushing against her cheeks. “Are you sure about this?” Your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest, caught somewhere between hope and uncertainty.

Her gaze never wavers as she nods, biting her bottom lip. “I’ve never been more sure,” she murmurs, her hands sliding up to rest against your chest. “You’re not like anyone else. With you, I feel... free. I don’t want this night to end.”

Her words wash over you, and any lingering doubts crumble under the weight of the sincerity in her voice.

“Nor do I,” you whisper into her neck as your lips place gentle kisses all over them. Her skin was smooth and smelled like almond vanilla, you couldn’t get enough of her. 

Raw desire takes you over more and more, chipping away at your control as your hands caress and explore her body.

“Jimin, any more than this and I won’t stop, this is your last chance to run,” You warn.

There is no reply from her side, but her actions speak a hundred words. The dress she is wearing is now on the floor, exposing her well-sculpted body. The dress she wore earlier didn’t do enough justice to how perfect this woman is. 

Looking at her body in nothing but a bra and panties puts you in awe. How could something so perfect exist? The need to touch and feel her takes over and you rush to her. The kiss was a mess both of you longed for each other, there was a need to get closer to her that you couldn’t satisfy. Jimin’s legs now warped around your waist and her back slammed against the wall, the kiss was intoxicating but the need to worship every single inch of her body was more.

The kiss breaks when you pull away from Jimin much to her dismay but you are not going to let go of this chance to worship her body. You trail kisses from her cheeks to her collarbone. Her gentle moans and gasps are driving you crazy. You want this woman screaming and moaning your name. 

Your lips latch onto her neck, biting, and nibbling at her sensitive skin. It was going to leave a mark on her pale skin but you didn’t care at least not right now. While your lips were placing naughty little kisses all over her neck, Jimin’s legs let go of you and she is now with each leg around yours. Your hand slowly moves to her panties. 

Jimin soaked through her panties and she freezes up with a loud gasp when your hand grabs her inner thigh. Looking at how she reacts, you tease her a little, hands hovering over her thighs tracing her skin and pulling away just before it reaches the place she wants it at.

Jimin whines when your fingers move in the opposite direction. She can’t take much more teasing, and you finally give her the touch she needs. Jimin let out a loud gasp; you rub her clothed pussy for a few more seconds. The room is filled with the sound of Jimin’s sweet moans; her legs are giving in. 

“Just take off my panties. Please just stop teasing,” Jimin says, there is growing frustration in her voice, and you are not going to deny her any more pleasure. 

The very next moment, you tear away Jimin’s panties and are presented with a glisteningly wet pussy and you are mesmerized by it.

“D-don’t stare,” Jimin’s hands now cover up the very thing you so desperately want to taste.

“No need to be shy, Jimin; you are perfect. Let me worship this perfection, and I will give you a night that you won’t be able to forget,” You say as you place a kiss on the hands that are covering her crotch.

Jimin’s breath hitches at your words, her hands trembling slightly as they shield her from your hungry gaze. The tenderness in your voice, laced with raw desire, sends a shiver down her spine. She hesitates for a moment, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink, but then slowly—agonizingly slowly—she lets her hands fall away, revealing herself to you completely. Her vulnerability only makes her more breathtaking, and you feel your own heartbeat thundering in your chest, a perfect rhythm to match hers.

“God, you’re beautiful,” you whisper, your voice thick with awe as you lower yourself closer, your breath warm against her skin. Jimin squirms slightly, her thighs twitching under your touch, but there’s a flicker of trust in her eyes that tells you she’s ready—more than ready. You press a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh, eliciting a shaky whimper from her lips, and it’s like a spark igniting something primal between you both.

Your hands slide up her thighs, gentle yet firm, parting her legs just enough to give you access to her glistening core. The heat radiating from her is intoxicating, and when your lips finally brush against her, Jimin’s head falls back with a moan that’s equal parts relief and desperation. “Oh… oh God,” she gasps, her fingers instinctively threading through your hair, pulling you closer as if she’s afraid you’ll tease her again.

You don’t. Not this time. Your tongue traces her slowly at first, savoring the taste of her, the way she trembles beneath you. She’s sweet and addictive, and every little sound she makes—every hitch of her breath, every choked whimper—fuels the fire building inside you. You can feel how much she needs this, how much she needs you, and it’s like the world narrows down to just the two of you, locked in this perfect, electric moment.

Jimin’s hips buck slightly, chasing the sensation, and you respond by deepening your movements, your tongue circling her clit with a deliberate tenderness that has her crying out your name. “Yes—please, don’t stop,” she begs, her voice raw and unraveling. You glance up at her, and the sight nearly undoes you: her eyes half-lidded with lust, her lips parted as she pants, her chest heaving with every breath. She’s a vision of pure, unfiltered need, and you’re determined to give her everything she craves.

Your hands grip her hips, anchoring her as you lose yourself in her, the intimacy of it overwhelming. The way she responds to every flick of your tongue, every press of your lips—it’s like she was made for you, her body fitting against yours as if it’s always belonged there. You can feel the tension coiling tight inside her, her legs trembling as she teeters on the edge, and you want nothing more than to push her over it, to see her fall apart in your arms.

“I’m so close,” Jimin whimpers, her voice breaking as her fingers tighten in your hair. “You feel so good—I can’t—” Her words dissolve into a moan as you suck gently on her clit, your eyes locked on hers. The connection between you is palpable, a current of heat and trust and something deeper that neither of you needs to name. You can feel her unraveling, her body arching toward you, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever witnessed.

When she comes, it’s with a cry that echoes through the room, her entire body shuddering as waves of pleasure crash over her. You don’t stop, guiding her through it with slow, reverent strokes, tasting every pulse of her release. Her hands clutch at you desperately, grounding herself as she rides out the high, and you feel a surge of pride and adoration swelling in your chest. She’s yours at this moment—completely, utterly—and you’re hers just the same.

As her breathing steadies, Jimin looks down at you, her eyes glassy and soft, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. “You’re… incredible,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse but dripping with affection. She reaches for you, pulling you up to her, and when your lips meet hers, it’s a kiss that’s slow and deep, tasting of her and the intimacy you’ve just shared. You can feel her heartbeat against your chest, syncing with yours, and it’s like the two of you are one entity, fused by something beyond words.

“I’ve never felt like this,” you admit against her lips, your hand cupping her face as you gaze into her eyes.

“Neither have I,” Jimin whispers back, her voice a soft confession that sends a jolt of heat through you. Her hands roam your chest, tugging at your shirt with an urgency that mirrors the ache building inside you. You help her strip it off, and soon her fingers are tracing the lines of your body, her touch igniting every nerve. She pulls you closer, her lips brushing your ear as she murmurs, “I need you… all of you.”

Her voice undoes you. You shed the rest of your clothes in a frenzy, and when you’re finally bare before her, Jimin’s eyes darken with desire, her breath catching as she takes you in. You position yourself between her thighs, the heat of her core radiating against you, and for a moment, you just look at her—her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the way her chest rises and falls with anticipation. She’s perfect, and you’re about to lose yourself in her completely.

You guide yourself to her entrance, teasing her just for a second, and Jimin’s hips lift toward you, a silent plea. Then, slowly, you push inside her, and the sensation is overwhelming—tight, wet, and so warm that it steals the breath from your lungs. A groan escapes you, raw and unrestrained, as her walls clench around you, welcoming you in like you were always meant to be there. “Fuck, Jimin,” you rasp, your hands gripping her hips as you sink deeper. “You feel… incredible.”

Jimin’s response is a broken moan, her head tipping back as her nails dig into your shoulders. “Oh God, you’re—so deep,” she gasps, her voice trembling with the intensity of it. She’s stretched around you, her body molding to yours like it was crafted just for this moment, and the way she shudders beneath you tells you she’s feeling every inch as keenly as you are. Her eyes flutter shut, then open again, locking onto yours with a look that’s equal parts vulnerability and ecstasy. “It’s like… you’re perfect for me,” she breathes, and the words hit you like a tidal wave, amplifying the intimacy of being buried inside her.

You start to move, slow at first, savoring the way she pulses around you with every thrust. Each motion draws a whimper from her, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, deeper. “Don’t stop,” she pleads, her voice a sultry melody that drives you wild. You lean down to kiss her, your tongues tangling as your hips find a rhythm, steady and deep. The friction is exquisite, her slick heat enveloping you, and every thrust feels like a declaration of how seamlessly you fit together.

After a few minutes, you shift, gently guiding her onto her side. You lift one of her legs over your shoulder, and when you slide back into her from this new angle, Jimin’s cry is sharp and unrestrained. “Oh—yes,” she moans, her hands fisting the sheets as you hit a spot that makes her entire body quake. You can feel the difference too—the way her walls tighten even more, the way every thrust sends a jolt of pleasure through you both. “You’re so good,” she pants, her eyes glazed with lust as she reaches for you, needing to feel your skin against hers.

You oblige, leaning down to press your chest to hers, your breaths mingling as you pick up the pace. The position lets you grind against her clit with every thrust, and Jimin’s moans turn into desperate, breathless cries. “I can’t—I can’t get enough of you,” she gasps, her hands clutching your back, pulling you impossibly closer. The heat of her, the way she clenches around you, is driving you to the edge, but you hold on, wanting to see her unravel again.

You pull out briefly, earning a needy whimper from Jimin, but you’re quick to reposition her. “On your knees,” you murmur, your voice rough with desire, and she complies eagerly, her body trembling with anticipation. When you enter her from behind, the angle is devastating—for both of you. She’s tighter like this, her ass pressing against your hips as you thrust deep, and the sound she makes is pure bliss, a high-pitched moan that reverberates through the room. “Fuck, you’re—so big,” she groans, her head dropping forward as she pushes back against you, meeting every thrust with equal fervor.

You grip her hips, steadying her as you lose yourself in the rhythm, each movement drawing a symphony of gasps and moans from her. “You take me so well,” you growl, your own pleasure mounting as her walls flutter around you, signaling she’s close again. You reach around, your fingers finding her clit, and the moment you start rubbing tight circles, Jimin’s entire body tenses. “Yes—right there,” she cries, her voice breaking as she rocks against you, chasing that peak.

The sight of her like this—back arched, sweat glistening on her skin, her hair a mess from your hands—sends a surge of possessive pride through you. She’s yours, and you’re hers, and the way you move together feels like a dance you’ve known forever. You thrust harder, deeper, and she matches you, her moans growing louder, more desperate. “I’m gonna—” she starts, but the words dissolve into a scream as she comes undone, her body shaking as her orgasm rips through her.

You slow just enough to let her ride it out, but you’re not done—not by a long shot. You pull her up so her back is flush against your chest, your arms wrapping around her as you thrust up into her still-trembling body. “You’re amazing,” you whisper into her ear, your lips brushing the shell of it as you move slow and deliberate, savoring the aftershocks that ripple through her. Jimin turns her head, capturing your lips in a sloppy, heated kiss, and the way she clenches around you tells you she’s still lost in the haze of pleasure.

“You feel so good inside me,” she murmurs against your mouth, her voice soft but dripping with need. Her hands reach back, tangling in your hair as she grinds against you, urging you to keep going. And you do, shifting her again—this time onto her back, her legs spread wide as you settle between them. When you slide back in, the look in her eyes is pure adoration, and it fuels you as much as the physical sensation of being buried in her once more.

You gaze down at Jimin, her body spread out beneath you, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat. The connection between you feels unbreakable, a current of desire and intimacy that keeps pulling you both deeper. You thrust into her again, slow and deliberate, and her moan is soft but laden with need. “You’re driving me crazy,” she breathes, her hands sliding up your arms to grip your shoulders, pulling you down for a kiss that’s all heat and hunger.

The rhythm builds naturally, your hips rocking into hers as the bed creaks beneath you. Her legs tighten around your waist, urging you deeper, and the way she clenches around you sends a shiver up your spine. “Fuck, Jimin, you’re so tight,” you groan, your voice rough as the pleasure coils tighter inside you. She meets your thrusts with her own, her hips lifting off the mattress, and the friction is maddening. Her breath hitches, her nails digging into your skin, and you can feel her trembling on the edge again.

“I’m—oh God, I’m coming,” she gasps, her eyes fluttering shut as her body arches beneath you. Her orgasm hits hard, her walls pulsing around you in waves that nearly undo you. You grit your teeth, thrusting through it, and the sight of her—head thrown back, lips parted in a silent scream—pushes you over the brink. “Jimin—fuck,” you growl, spilling inside her, your release crashing through you with an intensity that leaves you dizzy. You collapse against her, both of you panting, your foreheads pressed together as you ride out the aftershocks.

But you’re not done—not even close. After a moment, you pull out, earning a whimper of protest from Jimin, but you’re already moving. “Come here,” you murmur, guiding her off the bed and toward the wall. She follows, her legs shaky but her eyes alight with anticipation. You press her back against the cool surface, lifting one of her legs to hook around your hip. “I want you right here,” you say, your voice low and possessive, and she nods eagerly, her hands gripping your shoulders.

You slide back into her, and the angle makes her gasp, her head tipping back against the wall. “Oh—yes,” she moans, her voice echoing faintly in the room. She’s still sensitive from before, and every thrust sends a jolt through her, her body trembling against yours. You brace one hand against the wall beside her head, the other holding her thigh as you move, deep and relentless. “You feel so fucking good,” you mutter, your lips brushing her neck as you nip at her skin. The heat of her, the way she grips you, it’s intoxicating, and you can feel the pressure building again.

Jimin’s hands slide down your back, her nails raking lightly as she clings to you. “Harder,” she pleads, her voice raw, and you oblige, slamming into her with a force that makes her cry out. “Right there—don’t stop,” she gasps, her body tensing as another orgasm builds. You reach between you, your fingers finding her clit, and that’s all it takes. She comes undone with a scream, her body shuddering against the wall, and the sight of her—wild and lost in pleasure—triggers your own release. You groan her name, your hips stuttering as you cum inside her again, the sensation overwhelming as you press yourself flush against her.

You’re both breathless, but the fire between you hasn’t dimmed. After a moment, you pull her away from the wall, her body pliant in your arms, and guide her toward the small desk in the corner of the room. “One more place,” you whisper, a grin tugging at your lips, and Jimin’s eyes sparkle with mischief despite her exhaustion. You turn her around, bending her over the desk, her hands bracing against the edge as she arches her back instinctively.

“God, you’re perfect,” you say, running your hands over her hips before sliding back into her from behind. She’s slick with arousal and your previous releases, and the sensation of entering her again is almost too much. “So wet for me,” you murmur, and she moans in agreement, pushing back against you. Your voice rough as you start to move, slow at first, then faster as her moans grow louder.

“Yes—fuck, yes,” Jimin pants, her voice breaking as you thrust deep, hitting that spot that makes her tremble. The desk rattles beneath her, papers sliding off as you pick up the pace, your hands gripping her hips to keep her steady. She’s a mess of gasps and whimpers, her body responding to every move you make, and you can feel her tightening around you again. “I’m gonna cum—again,” she warns, her voice desperate, and you lean forward, your chest pressed to her back as you drive into her harder.

“Do it,” you growl, your own climax building as her walls flutter around you. She cums with a cry, her body shaking beneath you, and the way she pulses around your cock sends you spiraling into your third release. “Jimin—shit,” you groan, spilling into her once more, your vision blurring as the pleasure crashes over you. You hold her close, both of you trembling as you ride out the high together, the desk creaking under your combined weight.

Finally, you pull out, your legs weak but your heart full. Jimin turns to face you, her face flushed and glowing, a tired but satisfied smile on her lips. “You’re insatiable,” she teases, her voice soft as she steps into your arms. You kiss her gently, tasting the salt of sweat on her lips, and guide her back to the bed.

You collapse onto the mattress together, limbs tangled as you pull her close. “You’re amazing,” you murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She nestles against your chest, her breathing slowing as exhaustion takes over.

“So are you,” she whispers, her voice fading as her eyes flutter shut. You feel the weight of her body relax against yours, her warmth seeping into you, and as your own eyelids grow heavy, you drift off, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat lulling you into a deep, contented sleep.

The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the tangled sheets. You stir awake, a faint smile tugging at your lips as memories of the night flood back—Jimin’s touch, her voice, the way you fit together so perfectly. You reach out, expecting to feel her warmth beside you, but your hand meets only cool, empty fabric. Your eyes snap open, and a jolt of confusion hits you. She’s not there.

“Jimin?” you call softly, sitting up, your voice hoarse from sleep. The room is silent, eerily still. You scan the space—the wall where you’d pinned her, the desk still askew from your passion—but there’s no sign of her. Panic creeps in as you stumble out of bed, your heart pounding. “She wouldn’t just leave,” you mutter to yourself, tearing through the room in a desperate search for something, anything—a phone number, a hint of where she’s gone.

You flip over pillows, rummage through the bedside drawer, even check under the bed, but there’s nothing. The clothes she’d worn are gone, her presence erased as if she’d never been there. Your chest tightens, a sinking dread replacing the warmth you’d felt just hours ago. Then, on the desk, beneath a shifted paper, you spot it—a small, folded note.

With trembling hands, you pick it up, unfolding it to reveal two simple words in her delicate handwriting: Thank you. That’s it. No explanation, no goodbye, just those two words staring back at you, cold and final. Your breath catches, and a sharp ache blooms in your chest, an icy chill permeating through your bones, leaving you cold and empty. You sink onto the edge of the bed, the note crumpling in your fist as your heart shatters. She’s gone, and all you’re left with is the ghost of her touch and a thank you that feels like a knife to the soul.

The days after Jimin’s disappearance stretch into weeks, then months, each one heavier than the last. You replay that night in your mind endlessly—her gasps, her laughter, the way she’d clung to you—searching for clues you might’ve missed. It’s as if she’d vanished into thin air, leaving only that crumpled thank you note, now worn from being unfolded and refolded in your pocket. Life drags on, hollow and incomplete, and though you try to move forward, a piece of you stays tethered to her, aching with unanswered questions.

Preseason arrives like a lifeline. You’re a midfielder for Manchester United, freshly recovered from a nagging ankle injury that sidelined you for months. The team’s trip to South Korea for a small tournament feels like a chance to shake off the rust—both physical and emotional. The first match is against a local club, and you start on the bench, easing back into the rhythm of the game. The whistle blows for halftime, and you’re jogging back to the pitch, mind focused on tactics, when the stadium erupts into cheers for the halftime performance.

You glance up at the Jumbotron out of habit, and your heart stops. It’s her—Jimin—moving across the stage with a group of dancers, her presence commanding the crowd. She’s radiant, her movements sharp yet fluid, every step a testament to her grace. You freeze mid-stride, the noise of the stadium fading into a dull roar as your eyes lock on her. It’s been months, but the sight of her cracks something open inside you, a flood of longing and disbelief. Then, as if drawn by some invisible thread, her gaze flicks toward the sideline—toward you.

For a split second, her mask slips. Her eyes widen, her step falters ever so slightly, a hiccup in her otherwise flawless performance. Most wouldn’t notice, but you do—you know her, even after all this time. The moment passes, and she recovers, finishing the routine with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. You’re left staring, breathless, as the crowd roars and your teammates nudge you back into motion. The second half begins, but your mind is elsewhere, lost in the shock of seeing her again. You play on autopilot, your body moving while your thoughts whirl—Why is she here? Why didn’t she stay? Manchester United wins, but the victory feels distant, overshadowed by the ghost of her on that stage.

The final whistle blows, and you’re off the pitch in an instant, sprinting toward the tunnel. You scan the shadows, heart hammering, hoping—praying—she’ll be there, waiting. But the tunnel is empty save for staff and lingering reporters. Disappointment crashes over you, sharp and familiar, and you trudge to the locker room, mechanically showering and changing. She’s slipped away again, and the realization stings deeper than before.

As you sling your bag over your shoulder, a teammate claps you on the back. “Oi, mate, someone’s waiting for you outside. Looked pretty anxious.” Your pulse spikes, and you don’t even respond—just bolt for the exit, shoving past curious glances. You step into the cool evening air, and there she is, standing by a barrier, her dancer’s outfit swapped for a simple hoodie and jeans. Her eyes meet yours, and the world narrows to just the two of you, the months apart dissolving in an instant.

You stop a few feet away, breath catching as you take her in—her nervous fidgeting, the way she bites her lip. She looks different, yet achingly familiar. Neither of you moves for a beat, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you. Then, almost in unison, you both speak, voices soft and tentative.

“Hello,” you say.

“Hello,” she echoes.

And in that single word, a fragile thread reconnects, trembling with possibility.

TBC

[yzzart]

WHEN I WAS LED TO YOU... ── KENJI SATO

── summary: Kenji could get used to his routine, but, only with you by his side.

── word count: 982!

── warnings: F!reader, nothing intense, mention of Emi and Mina, Kenji being a little needy.

“Come on…” — A voice, entering the melody with softness and familiarity, passed through the player’s ears. — “…i know you’re awake.” — The statement was accompanied by a laugh.

Kenji could easily — in fact, completely — conclude that that voice belonged to an angel; even though he doesn't admit to being so religious, openly. — By having his eyes closed, in satisfied tiredness and drowsiness, he was more likely to believe in his conclusion.

Even in unpleasant, unstable situations and, insanely, worries about his life — like worrying about his stats in games, trying not to destroy the city while fighting some monster, and teaching Emi something practical and not blunt — and not wanting to hear or see nothing in front of him, Kenji had his refuge; a place to feel safe and at peace, at home.

“Ken…” — You voice pleaded, with more sweetness and, trying, to mix a little seriousness. In addition to moving between the thin, silky sheets of your body, wanting to get even closer to the boy.

In fact, he could melt into the bed, right there, just to hear your voice crying out to him like that.

Releasing a brief sigh, and pulling a breathing line, inhaling your scent, which was stuck to the pillow, Kenji tried to communicate with a mumble; which even he himself had no chance of understanding. — Perhaps, his consciousness still remained trapped in his sleep.

Because you found his action funny, your laugh, a little more hoarse, enveloped Ken's ears again; automatically forming a placid smile on his lips. — Moving his head, the young boy, with his eyes sensitive to the light, comes across your image resting on the pillow and covered, just enough, with the white sheet.

Sato was mentally grateful for the privilege of waking up every day with this vision.

"Good morning, my love." — You said, without holding back your wide smile; something that captivated and welcomed Ken's chest. — Your orbs moved, without haste or greed, across the boy's face, memorizing, for countless times, every little dot that existed in the region.

"Morning..." — He replied, followed by a yawn and another grumble; a sudden and unexpected movement was caused in the bed, obviously, it was the player's body snuggling against your. — Like he wants to fit in with you. — "What time is it please…?"

“Hm…” — Your eyes crossed the clock next to the bed. — “Soon, it will be 9:30.” — With his head buried in your neck, Sato let out a whimper, causing a tickle.

“It’s not possible…” — He complained, almost whimpering; as a sign of caress, your hand entered your lover's soft black hair, causing affection and tenderness.

The oldest settled down, and, briefly, relieving a growl, memorizing a purr; feeling on your skin, a satisfied smile adored by the attention. — A true paradise for young Sato and he had no problem admitting it.

“I think someone forgot about the interview they promised for today, right?” — He definitely forgets; by the way his head moved from where it was, and how wide his eyes were, Ken had nowhere to run. — “Yeah, you forgot.” — You raised one of your eyebrows.

“Wasn’t it due tomorrow?” — He questioned, still not believing and with some messy black locks standing out on her forehead. — “I’m sure i had it scheduled for tomorrow.” — He rushed into words. — “Actually, i’m not so sure.”

End of the season, therefore, decisive games for the team and more efforts towards a high level of dedication; it also meant several interviews and moments of questioning about the games, his teammates and his personal life. — Sato understood that it was important, of course, it was part of being a baseball star, however, when trying to balance his life as an Ultraman, a player and, recently, the father of a giant baby lizard, it wasn't such a simple thing.

He wasn't alone, not to mention Mina, and, thankfully, he had you by his side. — Trying, as much as possible, and persisting in helping him; even when, thinking about your care and certain risks, he warned you that he didn't need it. — Evidently, the guidelines were not followed, for a pleasant reason. — And now, seeing you taking care of Emi, as if she were your child, lit up Sato's eyes.

“It really is today, Ken.” — You confirmed it and, unsurprisingly, another wave of mumbles and incomprehensible words and rolled eyes. — “At least, it will be the last one before they enter the rest period.” — Your hand moved along Sato's long, strong, bare arm, reinforcing his attention.

“At least there is a bright side.” — He murmured, shaking his head, prolonging his thoughts, at the same time, reusing the contact of your hand against his skin. — “I need to take a break.” — He said, turning towards you. — “Urgently.” — Like a somewhat defenseless creature, he returned to his comfort, now, with his head under your chin.

"I know, honey." — Your fingers stroked Kenji's hair, for the second time, while his arms wrapped around your waist, squeezing you, with the need to keep you close to him. — “And you will soon.” — Subtly, and delicately, your voice soothed him. — “Don’t worry about Emi, i’ll take care of her for today.” — Kenji thanked, once again and mentally. — “And maybe we’ll make a list of what we can do during these days off and she’ll go along with us.”

Your boyfriend's familiar, radiant laugh spread throughout the room, resounding in your chest. — For a short time, Kenji had understood his relationship with Emi and achieved a paternal image; visibly, it wasn't just him. — The small, and immense, baby witnessed you as a second mother.

“Yes, yes, of course.” — He pulled away, coming face to face with you, looking into your eyes, in pure ecstasy and passion. — “You’re the best, dear.” — Bringing his lips to your forehead, Kenji gave you a long, careful kiss.

[bananayuyu]

Lust is in the Air

Pairing: Hongjoong x f reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 6.4k

Summary: Your best friend drags you along to a family wedding, wanting to add some fun to your all too serious life. Turns out her uncle is the one who really provides the distraction.

Warnings: smut, MDNI, age gap (Hongjoong is 40 reader is 23), some talk during sex about the age gap so really don't read this if you don't like that, some dom/sub dynamics, throat fucking, degradation and praise, bratty y/n, use of pet names (baby, doll), ass eating, anal, unprotected sex

A/n: Sometimes I see a random video of him and I'm reminded all over again how hot I think a very mature Hongjoong would be. Especially if he was mocking me and making me feel pathetic. Yeah this was pure horny, quite filthy for me. This isn't as proofread as my normal stuff so apologies for any mistakes

Read it on ao3

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Well, maybe it was a good idea. You had been staying in every weekend since the breakup, and maybe being forced out of the house would be good for you. Force you to interact with a few people, to actually put some effort into your appearance. Maybe put on a little makeup, or actually brush your hair.

"Please don't say no," Beatrice says through the phone. "My family would love it if you came, and I'd love it if you came. And we haven't had a chance to spend a weekend like this in forever. There will be free food and free booze!"

"I know you're worried about me, Bea," you respond, sighing.

"I'm not inviting you out of pity," she says.

"I know, I know. Just, give me some time to think it over. I've got an assignment I need to finish for one of my classes, I think it's due this Sunday night. So if I can't finish it this week I'll need to do it this weekend," you reply.

"Okay, just text me. I'm not gonna invite anyone else as my plus one, if you don't end up coming. So no rush, take your time," she says.

"Thank you. You know I appreciate you so much," you say, sighing into the cushion of your couch.

"You know I feel the same," she says, sighing too. You'd both been through breakups recently. It seemed like your hardships always occurred on nearly the same timeline, making you both able to rely on each other for understanding. And she knew getting you out of the house, especially for a weekend wedding, would be good for you. Her cousin's family was rich and hadn't held back in their planning, booking the fanciest hotel in town for everyone. They were paying for everything; the food and drinks of course, and everyone's hotel expenses. You'd knew you'd go. You'd try to finish the assignment beforehand. But even if you didn't, you'd still go.

Driving up to the front of the hotel together felt surreal. Beatrice had asked to take your car, as it wasn't the bright purple color that her's was. This place was fancy, and though neither of your cars were deluxe, at least your's was black.

"Miss McArthur?" the valet asked once you rolled your window down.

"Yeah, that's me," Beatrice said from the passenger seat, reaching over you to hand him her ID. "This is my plus one, y/n. She should be on the list."

After a brief look at his clipboard the man gave you both a satisfied nod. "Do you ladies have any bags we can carry up for you?" he asked.

"Yes, in the trunk," Beatrice answered for you, which you were grateful for. You'd never interacted with a valet before, never been in such a fancy situation in your life. You stumbled out of the car a bit awkwardly, your jean shorts and t-shirt looking ridiculous next to the suit and tie of the man in front of you. He held out his hand to you and for a moment you paused, wondering if he was offering to take your hand. But then you realized he was actually offering to take your keys. Duh.

"Thank you," you said quickly, heading around the car to meet Bea as you walked behind the man carrying your bags.

On the sixth floor you entered your shared room, a spacious and beautifully decorated space with a huge window covering the far wall. It was a sliding glass door, that led out to a balcony overlooking the river below. In the afternoon sun the water glittered, but you knew the view at night would be the real show, absolutely magical.

"Everyone is meeting in the restaurant at 7," Bea tells you, glancing at her family's group chat.

"Well then I've got a little over two hours to make myself look at least a little bit nice. Like maybe I actually belong here," you laugh, opening your bag to grab the casual dress you'd packed.

"Oh dinner tonight won't be fancy, wear whatever," Bea replies, kicking off her sandals.

"Okay but, with your cousins family not fancy would still probably be a little fancy, right?" you ask.

"You don't need to worry about fitting in, dude. No one will care," Bea replies.

"I just don't want to look like an idiot," you say, eyeing her.

"Y/n, you really need to stop worrying. This weekend is about us having fun. I'm not even that close with my cousin Amana, to be honest. We'll probably barely interact with her family. But we get to attend this fancy wedding, all expenses paid. Just wear whatever you feel like, do whatever you want to. Just promise me you'll have some fun," she says.

"Okay, fine," you respond, rolling your eyes jokingly. "I guess I'll try to enjoy this super nice luxury hotel for the weekend."

Bea laughs in relief, at hearing you joke around. It was what you both needed more of; you both had serious work and school lives already to contend with. And seriously disappointing dating lives, too.

As seven approaches you both make your way to the elevator, pausing at you exit the door to inspect the slight amount of makeup you'd put on. You hadn't worn any in weeks and it made you feel really pretty, along with the flowly sundress and sandals you'd decided to wear. You weren't always one for such feminine clothing but today it felt right, and you both bounced down the hall, spirits high. Bea led the way through the lobby to a long hallway, past what looked like a bar and some other room that had a bouncer, to the large restaurant at the end. Immediately you saw the long tables lined up, clearly set up for the wedding party. This wasn't the dress rehearsal, just the welcome dinner. It was only Friday, and the wedding wasn't until Sunday. Immediately you spotted the wine and appetizers filling the table, scanning the tables to try to find your seats.

"I can't find us Bea," you laugh, awkwardly walking past family members you'd never met before.

"Y/n, you're at our table," you hear a familiar female voice say, and turn to see Bea's mom.

"Oh, hi! Thank you!" you say as you walk over to her, giving her a quick hug.

"So glad you could join us sweetie," she says, gesturing to your seats. "See, you and Beatrice are near the end there, across from Nathan. Oh and have you met Beatrice's uncle Hongjoong before?" she asks, gesturing down the table.

You look down to see Beatrice sitting, pulling her chair under her and smiling wide. Across from her, in a casual but fitted grey t-shirt, a man smiles back, handing her a glass of wine he's just poured. He is striking, with jet black hair and tattoos, piercings donning his right ear. His jaw is sharp, his teeth perfect when he smiles. He looks maybe 27, 28. He's wearing an expensive watch, or at least a watch that looks expensive to your eyes, and a small simple chain necklace. His hair is cropped short at the sides; he looks so put together, so professional. So mature. So fucking attractive.

"That's Bea's uncle?" you ask her. It's not just his age that makes you ask. It's the fact that he's basically your dream come true. You see the muscles in his arm flex as he pours Nathan a glass too, and it makes your eyes cross for a moment.

"Well technically I think he's a second cousin, once removed, or something like that. He's a part of Wooyoung's family." Wooyoung was her husband, Bea's dad. You'd met her parents, and her brother Nathan, but never anyone else in her extended family. And you struggled to recall ever hearing about a Hongjoong before. You stared at him a moment before he moved his eyes over to you, catching you off guard. His look was mischievous, like he wants to play or mess with you. It made it hard to believe this was someone Bea called 'uncle.'

"Do you want to sit?" Bea's mom asked you.

"Yeah, sorry," you smiled at her, making you way down.

"Y/n! This is my uncle Hongjoong, and Hongjoong, this is y/n," Beatrice says as you pull out your seat next to her.

"Very nice to meet you," he says with an outstretched hand, his handshake strong and confident in a way that makes your body tingle.

"You as well," you reply, with a bashful smile. Immediately Bea asks you a question and you respond on auto-pilot, not even really hearing. Because your head is swimming in water just from being in this man's presence, and you can't focus. You don't even notice the glass of wine he'd poured you until he sets it down by your appetizer plate, gently bumping the stem on the rim of the plate to make a gentle clink. The sound makes your eyes snap up, and for some reason he looks amused.

"Oh, thank you," you say to him, bowing your head slightly. That mischievous smirk is back on his face when you lock eyes again, like he's trying to tell you something, but you can't be sure what it is. You certainly hope he's thinking what you're thinking. God, he's fucking stunning.

Those are the only words you speak to each other for the entirety of dinner. With so many people in attendance the restaurant is loud, louder still as everyone becomes tipsy, and then outright drunk on the unlimited wine.

"Hey, my parents want me a Nathan to go take pictures with them on the golf course nearby. They booked a photo shoot or something," Bea tells you, rolling her eyes slightly. "I'm not sure when we'll be back but feel free to like, go to the hot tub or do whatever around the hotel," she says.

"Okay, sounds good. Thank you, seriously," you say as you hug her. "I hope it's fun."

"Oh, I'm sure it will be," she laughs. "My parents and their family photos," she shakes her head, making you giggle, as she slowly makes her way to meet her brother at the front door of the restaurant.

You take stock of yourself for a moment, making sure you have your phone and your wallet in your purse, making sure your room key is still in your wallet. You take the last swig of your second glass of wine, patting yourself on the back for not overdoing it this first night when basically everyone around you did. You start sipping on your nearly empty glass of water too, knowing you don't want to wake up hungover tomorrow. The table is basically empty, with everyone slowly clearing out or making their last requests at the bar. You decide you'll go explore in a moment, go scope out the pool and hot tub situation, and maybe see if you can figure out what room is behind that bouncer. But just as you start standing up, Hongjoong approaches the table.

"I got some more waters for the table, but it looks like they've all left," he chuckles, his arms full.

"They went to do a family photo, Bea said," you reply, stuck for a moment awkwardly between sitting and standing. Hongjoong nods, like he already knew.

"Oh, were you about to leave too? Don't let me keep you," he says, the glint back in his eye again.

"I was thinking I'd go take a look at the pool and hot tub, maybe explore a bit," you say. It sort of takes you by surprise that you're sharing this with a total stranger, given your usual instinct to not share anything with people you don't know. You easily could have excused yourself, and been exploring the hotel alone. But deep down you know why you're sharing it. You hope he picks up on that reason, too.

"That's a great idea," he says, gently setting the waters down. "Mind if I join you? I was thinking of exploring the hotel some myself."

Bingo. You smile, eyes fluttering at him for a second. You truly don't even mean to do it, but the way he looks at you has you feeling shameless.

"Sure, I wouldn't mind," you reply, stepping out from your chair and gently pushing it into the table.

"Want to take a water with you?" he asks, holding one out.

"I don't think we can just take the glass with us," you reply, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Oh, who cares," he says glancing over his shoulder, seeing all of the wait staff occupied at the bar with everyone's last minute orders. "I'll carry it out, if you're that worried," he says, cocking his head slightly to the side and eyeing you with what must be mock pity.

"Fine," you roll your eyes at him, trying to fight the smile forming on your face from betraying how much his tone and facial expression are affecting you. You turn around and start strolling out of the restaurant, not even waiting for him. Once you're exiting he's already caught up, two water glasses in hand. You turn to your right, heading for the lobby.

"Wrong way, y/n," Hongjoong says lowly from behind you, making you stop in your tracks. "The pool is out those doors at the end of the hall."

"The sign in the lobby says the door to the pool is by the front desk," you reply, looking over your shoulder at him. The hallway is dimly lit, and the shadows on his face make his jaw look even sharper.

"Well that door also leads to the pool," he says, gesturing to the end of the hall. You just stare at him a moment, not sure why you feel the instinct to argue. "You don't believe me?" he asks, chuckling and looking you dead in the eye, before obviously snaking his gaze down the entirety of your body. Now that he's standing you see the fitted black pants and black dress shoes he's wearing, making his outfit look even more professional. His thighs look strong, and his stance is one of confidence, his entire demeanor cool and collected. You want to come up with a witty retort but can't think of anything, so you just start walking the way he's said to, again passing him by without slowing down to meet him. You open the doors gently but don't stop to hold them for him, brattiness taking ahold of you. Maybe it's the fancy hotel, or the wine, but you feel like a princess who deserves whatever she wants. And right now that's to piss Hongjoong off a bit, and see the pool.

"I thought nice girls hold doors open for the elderly," he says once he's exited too, sidling up to you. You stand by the long edge of the pool, taking in the lights below the surface that dance through the water. You turn to him and roll your eyes, taking the water glass he offers you immediately. "So, what do you do?" he asks.

"I'm still in school, I'm in my senior year," you say, turning back to the water. "And I work part time as an administrative assistant in the Dean's office, to help cover some of my tuition."

"College senior," he says, like he's mulling it over. "So that makes you how old?"

"Guess," you say, turning to him again, this time with your whole body.

"22," he replies. His voice low, like he's hesitant to say it.

"Close, 23," you say, not lowering your voice to meet his.

"And how old do you think I am?" he asks you, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Mmm, like, 38?" you joke, squinting your eyes as you look intently at his face. The feeling of wanting to piss him off still hadn't left you.

"How astute," he replies, nodding. "People usually think I'm younger."

"You're actually 38?" you ask, bewildered.

"Actually, 40," Hongjoong replies, making your eyebrows shoot up.

"You're lying," you say, rolling your eyes and shaking your head at him.

"Wow, second time tonight you've thought that. I don't know what I've done to make you think so poorly of me," he replies, that mischievous look again painting his face.

"Oh, shut up," you say, rolling your eyes harder this time, wanting to reach out and playfully punch him. Or maybe not so playfully. He's looking more and more perfect by the second, and his attitude, the way he's just so confident and calm, is making you hot and bothered. You know it maybe it's wrong, but now that you know his real age you find this whole scenario even hotter. If you were honest with yourself you'd always dreamed of fucking an older man, but the few you'd gone on dates with or had the chance to talk to had always been so immature, insecure, and underwhelming. Just like all the other guys you'd dated. It was a massive disappointment to learn that age didn't often give people that self-assured demeanor that you so desired. But clearly it did sometimes; the proof was standing in front of you.

"That wasn't very nice," Hongjoong replies, fixing you with a look of disapproval that makes your thighs clench involuntarily, as the two of you stare each other down merely feet apart. You hold his gaze as long as you can before you look down at your feet, his stoic demeanor feeling like a brick wall you can't break through.

"You're very pretty, y/n," he says, stepping forward to lift your face up to his.

"Really?" you ask him, eyes wide. Playing it just the way he likes.

"I know you know how pretty you are, you've been giving me those eyes all night," he says, looking like he disapproves. "You're a bit of brat, too, aren't you?" he asks, his hand moving to the side of your cheek.

"No comment," you giggle, and he grabs your hand, bringing it to his upper arm. You grab onto his bicep as he moves his hand to your waist pulling you two closer.

"Dance with me," he says, pulling you slightly into his chest.

"There isn't any music playing," you say, laughing. And it's the way that he doesn't just automatically laugh at your little comments that really gets you going.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you didn't like me very much," he says seriously, pulling you in and starting to rock you back and forth. You dance together for a few minutes, no words being exchanged as your bodies get used to the proximity, as your mind begins to swim again, even more so now that his hands are on you. You want him to kiss you, do anything, now, but he keeps his hands where they are, still leading you around in slow circles. Fuck it, you think. You lift your hands to his face and pull him in, your lips meeting in a perfect kiss, his hand on your waist moving up your back as he holds you to him, leaning you back as he deepens it. You hold steadily onto his bicep for balance, your breathing fast as you stick your tongue in his mouth, not hiding your desperation. You don't care to, not when you've spent two months without this feeling, tortured over the idea that no one at your school would ever consider you an option after your last relationship ended the way it did.

And just when it seems like you're the only desperate one, Hongjoong moves his hands down, running them up your thighs and under your dress to find your panties. He finds none, much to his surprise, which makes his dick harden even further. He gropes your ass, deepening the kiss more, making you arch your back in neediness. And then he snakes his hand around, slowly moving to your core, before suddenly running a finger over your slit, making you gasp. You've forgotten where you are, totally engrossed in the feelings he's giving you. You buck your hips against his hand, moaning pathetically into his mouth, your legs feeling like they might give out on you. He starts circling your entrance, finally pushing one finger in maybe an inch, when you finally remember where you are.

"Wait, fuck, not out here," you say, pulling back from him. He pulls his hand away immediately, his fingers glistening in the lights of the night.

"You don't want everyone to see?" he asks, a smirk on his face.

"Not when the people paying for me to be here could see," you say. Your lips look swollen and wet from the kiss, and it makes him want to grab you again.

"You're the one who kissed me," he says, his voice low. And you know there's more he's implying, that you weren't just the one who kissed him but that you had rocked against his hand, had wanted his touch. That you'd kissed him desperately, making him unable to stop himself. The implication is inappropriate, the accusation he's laid on you not fair in the slightest. He has no way of knowing what you were trying to make him do, or what you wanted to happen. You hadn't said a word. And yet, he's totally right, making it hard for you to respond.

"That's-," you sigh, your pussy still throbbing from your proximity.

"My room is on the 7th floor," he says.

"Okay," you reply. It's all you can say. You stand completely still, stuck to the spot, waiting for him to move. Instead he puts his wet fingers in his mouth, sucking off your slick in one smooth motion, humming in satisfaction. Your mouth gapes at his lewdness, struck now by just how visible you both obviously are.

"Let's go," he says, motioning his head towards the door.

Your legs move automatically, your mind playing over and over the visual of him licking his fingers, the look of utter bliss on his face. As you walk the hallway he comes behind you, putting a hand on the small of your back, making your body melt into him slightly. It feels good but you gently remove his hand, not wanting anyone to see. You pray that neither Bea nor any of her family are in the lobby when you enter, and thankfully, your prayers are answered. Nor does anyone join you two on the elevator, which makes you willing to stand closer to Hongjoong than you would any other stranger. But still, you don't touch him. As you both exit you walk behind him, almost enough space between you that you could believably look like two total strangers, walking to separate rooms. Until he unlocks his door, holding it open as you slip inside, like you're really not supposed to be in here.

As soon as he closes the door he's pulled you to him, his back slamming into the wall as you nearly crash together, the air between you thick with lust.

"I'm almost twice as old as you, y/n," he whispers in your ear, feeling your pussy clench against his thigh that you're straddling, your mouth on his neck. "You like that," he states, not even asking you anymore. "You like that I'm way too old for you. Too old to be touching you like this."

It's wrong, so wrong and you know it, but the further he pushes it the more you're surrendering to what's happening, to what your body truly craves.

"You've never been fucked right by those stupid boys at your college, have you? You need me to fuck you right, to show you how good you can feel. That's why you were bratty with me, you wanted me to be riled up. Want me to fuck you hard, like I'm mad. Like I'm punishing you," he growls, his breathing heavy as you bite down on his neck, sending sparks of pain and pleasure through his head. "Fuck, you really want me mad, don't you?" he asks and you whine in response, your whole body tingly with anticipation.

"Get on your knees," he says, pulling you back from him, your hair already a mess from his hands, the straps of your dress falling down your shoulders and nearly making your tits spill out. "Open your mouth," he commands, and you follow immediately, your wide eyes looking up at him in desire, his thumb running over your bottom lip. "I like when you do what I say," he says, pinching your cheek and making you blush, the praise making your insides turn to jelly. He unzips his pants smoothly, undoing the button and swiftly pulling out his hard cock, the tip a slight shade of red and already leaking slightly.

"Look what you did to me," he says, palming himself, your tongue nearly falling out of your mouth as you salivate over his beautiful cock. "I thought for a moment I'd have to come up here and deal with this all on my own, after you eye-fucked me all dinner," he continues, slowly stroking his length, moving closer to your open and waiting lips. "I should have known you weren't wearing any panties from the way you were acting," he says, gently running his tip along your outstretched tongue, spreading your spit around your face with it and making a mess of you. "No bra, no panties. You wanted to be fucked tonight." Slowly he enters your mouth, gently holding your head as he pushes further in, gently tapping the back of your throat and making you gag. You moan, your pussy clenching around nothing, wanting him to fill all of your holes at once. "That feels good, doesn't it. Gagging on my cock," he smirks, your eyes fluttering closed as he pushes in again, this time a little harder. "Eyes on me baby, don't look away," he says, slowly beginning to fuck your throat, gently enough not to choke you but deep enough to make you repeatedly gag, your spit covering his cock and running down your chin, your face a complete mess. "Fuck, your mouth feels good," he groans, his face scrunching up in pleasure for a moment, before he looks down to meet your eyes again, which are now glued to him, glued to every change in his expression, every flick of his tongue across his bottom lip. "I'm gonna go harder baby, I know you can take it," he warns you before picking up his pace, his cock nearly bottoming out in your mouth as he holds your head in place, repeatedly fucking into your throat. You're automatically swallowing around him, your body's reflexive actions taking over. "Fuck, so good," Hongjoong sighs, your head feeling light from the lack of oxygen and your body swimming in pleasure. You could let him use your throat all night if he wanted to, especially if he keeps talking to you like that. Like you're dumb and you don't even know what you want. Like he has to tell you or you'll never figure it out.

Finally you choke hard, your body instinctively pulling you back, and he pulls out of your mouth letting you catch you breath, stroking a hand through your hair. You run a hand across your mouth, trying in vain to clean yourself up a bit, wiping the saliva on your dress and staring up at him open mouthed, your entire body covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Hey, don't ruin this," he says pulling at your dress, moving behind you to help take it off. He slowly undoes the zipper, gently pulling the straps down and off your arms before helping you stand to step out of it. Completely bare, you stand in front of him, his hand coming up to spank you, grabbing your ass hungrily in his hand. You yelp at the impact, like you weren't expecting it. Like you hadn't been sticking your ass out ever so slightly, arching your back to add to the affect. "Don't write checks you can't cash, doll," he says, making you giggle and turn your head to face him, a look of utter delight on your face. "It really makes you happy when I scold you, doesn't it," he says, staring you down.

"Why are you so clothed?" you ask, finding your words.

"You want to see me naked?" he teases.

"Just seems like you're hiding something. Maybe under all that nice clothing you're really not that built," you laugh, knowing it would strike a nerve. It wasn't hard to tell that he cared about his figure.

"Go sit on your hands on the bed," he retorts, his eyes narrowing, as he starts taking off his watch, undoing the clasp on his chain. He sets both down on the table gently, pulling his shirt over his head next, revealing that most of his abdomen is also covered in tattoos, his broad shoulders and broad chest. Slowly he sits on the side of the bed to untie his shoes, periodically looking up at you to make sure you haven't moved, moving almost comically slow. You wriggle in anticipation, watching him slowly reveal himself, his muscular thighs finally on display to you as he pulls down his pants and boxers, his cock hard and a deeper shade of red now, still glistening from your spit.

"Lay on your stomach," he says, moving over you when you oblige, raking the hair out of your face so he can see you. "This is what you get for sticking your ass out," he says, swiftly moving down to lick over your hole, making you gasp at the coldness of his tongue. Immediately the feeling runs to your clit, your entire crotch alive with pleasure, your back arching instinctively to meet his movements. He spreads your cheeks to get better access, moving his tongue in quick circles around your tight entrance, your body slowly relaxing from the pleasure he's providing.

And suddenly he's off of you, reaching into his bedside drawer and pulling out a bottle, swiftly lubing the fingers of his right hand and moving them to your waiting hole, gently pushing one in. You groan, the tight muscles stretching already, your body arching even further to give him the perfect angle as he gently starts pumping in and out of you.

"You like getting your ass eaten, I knew you would. So dirty," he says, making you whine in agreement, your brows scrunched together in pleasure. Soon he adds another finger, the stretch again making you groan, your body instinctively tightening up at the intrusion. "I know you can take it," he says, not even attempting to comfort you. "Don't brats like getting their asses fucked?" he asks, his words making your clit ache, your body finally releasing again as he works you open with two fingers, taking the opportunity to quickly add another. "I knew it," he says, satisfied with how quickly he's stretched you open, how pliant your body is in his hands, how he's getting exactly what he wants from you. Still fucking you with his fingers, he opens the lube bottle again with his other hand, generously dousing his achingly hard cock. Gently he pulls his fingers out of you, frozen for a moment staring at the way your hole has opened up, nearly drooling from the visual.

"Spread you legs," he says, pushing your knees apart himself, pulling you ass up towards him, just where he wants you. Lining himself up, he slowly pushes in, the stretch even more severe this time, making you whine in pain, your breaths short and stifled with your head now shoved into his pillows. "What, you can't take it? Is it too big?" he asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "My little brat can't take my cock in her ass?"

Tears start forming in your eyes from how turned on you are, the pain a secondary feeling as it all starts to feel just right, as it starts morphing into only pleasure as your muscles finally relent. You feel like you're being split open, like you're opened up more than ever before, like he's gutting you from the inside. Finally he bottoms out, reaching into you further than you thought you could feel, your clit throbbing painfully with need.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans from above you, brushing a hand along your cheek in an almost sweet gesture, seeing the single tear stain on your cheek. He waits a moment, waiting to feel if your body is ready, and suddenly your hips are moving into his like your body is begging him to move. He slowly pulls out, almost all the way, then thrusts back in, making you gasp at the intense pleasure, your breath nearly getting caught in your throat. Grabbing your hips he starts forcefully thrusting, chasing his own pleasure as he's sucked into your ass, the tight muscles threatening to make him come in an instant. Desperate for some relief you move your hand to your clit, desperately trying to circle it as he rocks you hard with the force of his thrusts. His eyes are glued to your ass, glued to the way his cock looks buried inside you, and your face, the way your mouth hangs permanently open as you moan in earnest, clearly not controlling a single sound that is coming out. The raw sounds make him fuck into you even harder, the way you sound so pathetically fucked out, like you can't believe this feels so good. Eventually his eyes roam down again and spot your hand, swatting it away in an instant, his anger boiling up again.

"Is my cock not enough?" he scolds, his voice gravelly from breathing so raggedly, the air in the room stiflingly hot. In this position it's hard, but quickly he finds a good angle and lands a sharp smack on your clit, the pain lancing through your core like lightning, and suddenly your whole body is shaking, your nerves completely on fire. "Even with my cock buried in your ass you want to piss me off, don't you?" His voice is raised, nearly to the point of losing control, but still very calculated. He lands another sharp slap on your clit, this time not as hard, but in an instant your orgasm washes over you, your whole body shaking hard as you squeeze down around his cock making it hard for him to keep moving.

"Fuck, baby, shit," Hongjoong curses, his climax hitting him by surprise, his cock milked by your tight walls squeezing down on him, your body taught with just how hard you came. His orgasm crashes over him fast and hard, his body going limp just after yours does, as you both collapse in a pile on the bed, his cum coating the walls of your ass in silky wetness. Your legs are still shaking, tucked up underneath you, his cock still buried deep inside. The position is awkward but you don't even feel it, the pleasure still rippling through you as you breath hard into the soft pillow. Hongjoong crashes onto your back, his arms instinctively wrapping around you, his chest and stomach rapidly rising and falling from his heavy breathing. His skin feels sticky and hot against yours, his hot breath fanning over your cheek as he plants a kiss there, intently watching your face as you come down.

"I'm gonna pull out now, okay?" he asks, eliciting a hum of agreement from you. Slowly he pulls backwards, his cum spilling out of you the moment he's pulled out entirely, spilling down your ass cheek onto the bedsheets. Hongjoong makes his way to the bathroom, quickly cleaning himself up before grabbing a washcloth for you, dousing it in luke warm water. Coming back to the bed he gently moves you onto your back, to the side of the pool of cum. He gently wipes you down, making you moan when he brushes over your clit, making himself chuckle.

Glancing over at the clock beside his bed you see it's nearly 11pm, your mind spinning. Quickly you move to the ground to rummage through your purse, glancing at your phone to see a text from Beatrice reading 'I'm back now, don't stay out too late miss.'

Be back soon, you write back.

"I should be going," you say, trying to stand up, your wobbly legs making it difficult. Hongjoong is at your side in a moment, stabilizing you, helping you to sit down on the bed while he grabs your dress off the floor. You hastily pull it over your head, running your fingers through your hair and feeling the knots that have formed. Quickly you zip the back of your dress, shove your phone in your purse and stand to slip on your sandals, not wanting to keep her waiting. The sudden quietness of Hongjoong also has you feeling slightly on edge, and really your head is just spinning, from every unexpected thing that happened.

"I'm not still mad, you know," he says gently, grabbing your hand as you move to breeze past him.

"Yeah?" you ask, looking at him with confusion.

"You don't need to still be acting like a kid who is in trouble," he says, kissing your hand. "That was just, that. You can talk to me like anyone else, now."

You eye him, swallowing thickly. What does one even say, now? Could he tell how inexperienced you were with hookups?

"I'm not sure what's going on in that pretty head of yours. I hope it's happy thoughts."

You nod, a smirk playing on your lips. You're speechless, unable to think a complete thought. It all just plays in your head, his tongue on your ass, his fingers stretching you out, his cock pounding into you so hard. And the smack on your clit, the way it made you come so fast, the ghost of the feeling still present in your core.

"Not those thoughts. You're gonna jump me again," he laughs, and finally you smack him, punching his arm soon afterwards. Pushing past him you walk fast, opening his door and spinning around, your eyes piercing as you meet his.

"What, you can't take my teasing?" he asks, but suddenly his door swings shut, your face gone in a flash.

As you saunter down the hall to the elevator you feel fucking amazing, swinging your purse over your shoulder and flipping your hair to the side, your sleepy eyes boring holes into the metal doors.

Well, she did tell you to have some fun. You just hoped Beatrice wouldn't be too mad you fucked her uncle.

[pininghermit]

Wifed up on a tuesday

Request: If you are still doing the tropevenia event, can you please write a fic with secret marriage prompt for Adrian Tepes x female reader. ( =＾ω＾)

AN: get this dhampir a wife! Such a fun request

Genre: fluff + Secret Marriage

Pairing(s): Alucard x Wife Reader

Summary: "No one hurts my wife," he said, his voice steady and cold, without sparing a glance back.

"You have a wife?!" Sypha screamed, her voice echoing off the walls as Trevor stared blankly into the void, looking more lost than usual.

You winced at the shriek, gently setting her cup of coffee in front of her. "Nice to meet you," you offered with an awkward smile, unsure if she even heard you through her shock.

Next to you, Adrian cleared his throat, his golden eyes flickering away as a faint blush crept up his pale cheeks. "We have been betrothed for twenty years," he said evenly, though his voice wavered slightly. "It was... a matter of time."

That, of course, did not make things better.

Before you could fully process what happened next, a heavy pile of books toppled onto you, and the sharp sting of a whip lashed across your back.

"Not a curse then," Trevor murmured, standing over you with an expression that teetered between relief and annoyance. From the corner of your eye, you caught Adrian gawking, his face frozen in disbelief.

A bubbling shame welled up in your chest, hot and suffocating. You pushed yourself to your feet, glaring at Trevor. "Indeed, quite human," you snarled, and without hesitation, you swung your fist, landing a solid punch to the oaf’s jaw.

"I am human," you continued, your voice sharp with fury. "At least in part. Adrian and I were betrothed by our parents. And we are now wed."

You could see the dread settling on Sypha's face, her expression torn between shock and dawning understanding. Then you turned your blazing eyes back to Trevor. "You're not welcome in my home. Sleep in the barn tonight."

Adrian's friend or not, no one struck you and got away with it. And if they dared, you made damn sure they understood the cost of their actions.

The silence that followed was tense, broken only by the sound of Trevor groaning from where he had staggered back.

Snapping out of his stupor, Adrian ignored Trevor completely and rushed to your side. His golden eyes scanned you, his hands hovering just shy of your back, as though afraid to touch and cause more harm. "Are you hurt, my love?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with worry.

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, Adrian’s power rippled through the room like a sudden gust of wind. With a sharp crack, a mighty blast of air sent Trevor flying backward, slamming the doors shut with an echoing thud.

"No one hurts my wife," he said, his voice steady and cold, without sparing a glance back. The message was loud and clear to Sypha, who stood frozen, staring at her husband lying in the rubble outside. "And anyone who wishes her harm shall bear my wrath."

In the quiet stillness of your room, Adrian carefully peels the fabric of your dress away from your back, his movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid to hurt you further. His golden eyes scan your unmarred skin, but the frown on his face only deepens.

"I should have stopped him," he mutters, his voice low and filled with guilt. "I was too late... I'm sorry. I just... I didn’t expect it." He rambles, his words tangling together in frustration as his gaze flickers between your back and his own trembling hands.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, his voice achingly quiet, like the faintest whisper of wind.

He had failed again. To protect you. To care for you. Gods, he was lacking, and now he had allowed a Belmont, his own friend, to harm you.

His father, who burned the world for his mother, would never have allowed such a thing. Dracula had been many things, but in love, he was absolute. But Adrian knows he will never be his father, in both good and bad.

He will never be the husband you deserve.

But he is in love. Unforgiving love that clutches at his heart, that reminds him with every breath of all the ways he falls short.

His expression crumples, like paper crushed in a fist. Adrian, for all his power, for all his strength, is so terribly fragile when it comes to you.

“It doesn’t hurt,” you reassured him, turning to face him fully. Your hands rose to cup his face, tilting it gently so his eyes met yours. “You know it can’t hurt me. Trevor didn’t strike to harm, only to dislodge potential glamor.”

You could see the mild complaint brewing on his lips. Adrian worried too much. Fretting, after all, was his favorite pastime. His brow furrowed deeply, no doubt already replaying every moment in his mind and finding a thousand ways to blame himself.

“You did nothing wrong,” you said firmly, your thumbs stroking the sharp planes of his cheeks. “You did the right thing. Tomorrow morning, your friend will apologize, and we will forgive him because he is your friend. And then, you will no longer hold this against him.”

Adrian opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off with a stern look.

“Nope. Listen to me. Wife is right.”

His lips quirked upward, despite himself, and the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. His hands moved to rest on yours, cradling them against his face like a lifeline.

“You’re always right,” he murmured softly, leaning into your touch.

“And don’t you forget it,” you teased, smiling at him.

Adrian laughed, low and quiet, before pressing a kiss to your palm. “Never,” he promised.

Somehow, Adrian had found a wife. In the bleakest of times, when the world had turned its back on him, you had come to him. And now, you were here, standing in his castle, a presence that soothed even his most troubled thoughts.

When the next morning came, you were greeted by an unexpected sight.

A sizable tuft of brown hair lay at your feet, carefully placed by Sypha, who stood before you with her hands clasped. Outside, just beyond the castle doors, her husband knelt silently, his head bowed low in shame.

The tuft of hair. A Belmont tradition of repentance. An act of humiliation and an offering of guilt.

An act you had no use for.

Still, it would be of little use to ignore it.

"My husband is a dog," Sypha said with a weary sigh, though her tone softened with affection. "He lashes out carelessly. Please, forgive him." She bowed low, an act that clearly caused Adrian discomfort. His eyes flickered with unease as he watched his friends, who seemed more like chastised children than the bold warriors they usually were.

Gently stopping Sypha mid-bow, you reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder. "There’s no need for apologies," you said, your voice calm but light with humor. Sparing the kneeling Belmont a glance, you gestured toward the tuft of hair at your feet. "Though I reckon this," you said, pointing to it with a raised brow, "shall make for a very interesting wedding present."

Sypha’s head snapped up, her lips parting in surprise before a laugh bubbled out of her. The tension in her shoulders eased, the corners of her mouth lifting into a grin.

With that simple jest, the air shifted, the weight of guilt and harshness lifting from the room. Grudges were set aside, and forgiveness settled in their place like the morning sun breaking through heavy clouds.

"Bring your dog in for breakfast," you said, your grin widening as you met Sypha’s eyes. "Adrian’s the one cooking today."

The smile she returned was bright, her laughter lightening the room even more. "I’ll hold you to that," she said with a chuckle, turning toward the door to retrieve her sheepish husband.

Behind you, Adrian stepped closer, his expression softening as he gazed at you. "You handled that well," he murmured, his voice laced with quiet admiration.

You turned to him with a playful smile, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "It’s what wives are for, isn’t it darling?"

[tfwbluu]

PAIRING — ni-ki + f!reader + jungwon

WARNINGS — 8th member!reader, hints of reader having smth with all of them, some mentions of reader’s appearance but i tried to keep it friendly for everyone, heejay cameo, blindfolds and cuffs again, threesome, oral (f. rec), raw sex (stay safe!), squirting, cum eating(?), double penetration (mouth + hole), edging, pet names, praise/degradation.

WORDCOUNT — 3.3K

NOTE — this was long overdue but it’s here! not beta read so sorry if it’s a bit wonky (not intentional). lots of warnings on this one so lmk if i missed anything !

It was another day of recording, this time for one of your b-sides, Brought the Heat Back. The concept was intense, and all of you were adorned in scratches and faux blood to match the gritty, rebellious aesthetic. You were dressed in an off-shoulder dress shirt held up by thin white straps, a loosely draped tie wrapped around your neck, flared jeans, and black short heels—only for the shoot, of course.

Your hair had been left mostly untouched, styled as you usually wore it, with the addition of a few silver accessories glinting under the lights. Your look was completed with simple hoops in your ears and fake snakebite piercings on your lower lip, which you kept fiddling with absentmindedly as you waited for the next take.

“(Name) got some cool lip piercings over mine being scratched up,” Jay suddenly commented, drawing the camera’s attention to you.

“Hm?” You looked up before leaning toward the camera with a playful smile. “Look, everyone, I got these piercings recently!” you joked, puckering your lips for emphasis.

Jay snorted, playing along. “I got hurt while eating, so I couldn’t get those.” He gestured toward the fake scratches on his face. “And I banged my head on a door while rushing to not be late!” He nodded to himself, satisfied with his joke, while you giggled softly.

The day carried on as usual, taking shots here and there while filming for the behind-the-scenes content. The shoot wrapped up smoothly, with everyone exchanging the customary “Good jobs” and words of gratitude. You sank into the couch with a satisfied sigh, the exhaustion from the day settling in, while the others began scattering to do their own thing.

As you leaned back, you felt a lingering gaze on you. Looking up, your eyes locked with Jungwon’s. He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable but intense. Raising an eyebrow, you silently asked what he wanted.

“Meet me in my room later,” Jungwon murmured softly as he passed by, his voice low enough that only you could hear. His words sent a ripple of curiosity and nervousness through you, but you nodded in agreement without hesitation.

Later that evening, back at the dorms, Jungwon wasted no time. The moment you entered his room, he closed the door behind you and pressed you against it, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss.

“Mmph—Won, w-wait—” you tried to speak, your words muffled against his lips. But Jungwon simply grunted in response, his hands gripping your waist tightly as his body molded against yours.

“I can’t,” he whispered hoarsely, his lips trailing down to your jaw before returning to your mouth, his kisses growing more desperate. “I’ve been holding back for so long, watching you with those lip piercings of yours.”

His thumb brushed against your lips, as he took a moment to look at you. “Please,” he murmured, his voice soft yet pleading. His gaze was fixated on your lips, the intensity in his eyes making your heart race.

A knock on the door made both of you flinch.

“Hyung, is Noona with you in there?” Riki’s voice rang from behind the door.

“What’s up, Riki?” you responded quickly, pushing Jungwon away slightly as you tried to tidy up your appearance.

“Can I come in? Need to give you something,” Riki replied, waiting for permission.

“Go ahead, Ki,” Jungwon muttered reluctantly, turning his back to the door to hide the growing tension in his pants. His annoyance was clear, though he tried to mask it. Meanwhile, you did your best to make yourself look presentable.

Riki stepped inside, holding a handful of snacks. “Got you these, Noona. You said you’d been craving them, right?” he said, handing them to you with a small smile.

“Oh! Yeah, thanks, Riki,” you replied, beaming in gratitude.

“Also, Hyung,” Riki added with a smirk, “if you’re gonna make out with someone, at least move away from the door. It’s obvious.”

Both you and Jungwon froze, snapping your heads toward him.

“Ha-ha, don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jungwon muttered, feigning ignorance.

“Yes, you do,” Riki shot back. “It’s obvious you like Noona. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

Jungwon’s jaw tightened, but before he could retort, Riki continued, his voice tinged with playful defiance. “I know that because I like her too, Hyung.”

Your head darted between the two of them, the tension in the room so thick it was almost suffocating. You set down the snacks Riki had brought you, your hands slightly trembling.

“Well… what now?” you asked nervously, your voice barely above a whisper. Both of their heads snapped toward you at the same time, their intense gazes locking onto you, making your cheeks flush as you quickly averted your eyes.

Perhaps it was instinct or an unspoken agreement between the two because, within moments, Jungwon pulled you into his embrace and kissed you deeply, his hands gripping your waist with firm possessiveness. Before you could fully process it, you felt a warm chest press against your back—Riki’s.

“Stop being so greedy, Hyung,” Riki grumbled, pulling you away from Jungwon with a frown.

“Just say you’re jealous I got to her first,” Jungwon taunted, a smug smirk tugging at his lips.

“You wish. You’re delusional if you think you’ve won—Noona and I kissed long before you two did, which means I’m better,” Riki shot back, his pride shining through every word.

Jungwon’s smirk faltered briefly before he proposed, “Why don’t we let her decide?”

Both of their gazes locked onto you, making your cheeks burn as you tried to hide your face behind your hands.

“You two…” you mumbled, your voice small and flustered beyond belief.

“Can’t we show you who’s better at treating you, pretty?” Riki asked, his voice soft as he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to, Princess,” Jungwon murmured, pulling your hands from your face to press a tender kiss on your forehead. “Don’t feel pressured. Just say the word, and we’ll stop.”

“Yeah, Noona,” Riki added, his tone gentle. “We can wait. It’s your call.”

You stayed silent for a moment, your mind racing. Being the only woman in the group had its challenges—and its perks. This wasn’t the first time you’d kissed one of your members, but this situation was entirely different. As much as you wanted to deny the offer, the slick heat between your thighs betrayed you.

“Maybe… if you treat me well,” you finally said, your voice soft as you broke the tension, agreeing to their offer.

“Of course,” Jungwon replied smoothly, his tone gentle yet firm. “But first…”

Jungwon guided the three of you into a quiet discussion, his words careful and measured. He ensured everything was clear, setting boundaries and understanding your comfort level before anything else. The conversation was brief but reassuring, leaving you with a sense of ease.

It didn’t take long for things to escalate afterward. Now, you found yourself perched on Riki’s lap at the edge of the bed, his lips pressing against yours in a fiery, hungry kiss. Meanwhile, Jungwon’s soft shuffling filled the background as he rummaged through a drawer. “Just grabbing the necessities,” he muttered with a low chuckle, amusement lacing his tone.

Breaking the kiss, Riki’s lips moved down your body, leaving feather-light kisses on your neck. “Remember, you’re in control, angel. Just tell us if anything is too much,” Riki reassured, his lips now suckling on your neck.

When he found your sensitive spot, a small moan escaped your lips. “Oh, here?” Riki teased, sucking a bit harder on your skin.

“That tickles...” you muttered, squirming slightly away. Suddenly, your vision was obstructed—a blindfold covering your eyes.

“W-what’s this...?” you asked, your voice unsteady.

Jungwon was quick to respond, his voice smooth and teasing. “Guessing game, princess. You’ll have to figure out who’s touching you, kissing you, and fucking you. Get it right, and you’ll be rewarded. Get it wrong...” he trailed off, his hands roaming slowly down your body before settling on your breasts, squeezing and kneading until a soft moan slipped from your lips. “And you don’t get to cum until you do.”

“We’ll take care of you, angel. Just relax,” Riki murmured near your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. His deft fingers began unbuttoning your shirt, and Jungwon, working in unison, slipped it off with ease before unhooking your bra. Within moments, you were left in just your bottoms. Jungwon’s hands quickly found your wrists, and before you could register what was happening, the soft click of cuffs secured your hands behind you.

“No touching, no seeing, baby. Just guess. You can do that, right?” Jungwon whispered, pulling you off Riki’s lap. He moved you to the couch in the middle of the room, propping your legs up. “Can I take them off?” his voice asked gently.

You nodded, letting out a soft, “Please.” He slid off your pants and panties in one motion, exposing your soaked core to the cool air.

The rustle of clothing in the background caught your attention as you breathed in anticipation. “Can one of you please just touch me alread—ah~!” you yelped as soft lips pressed against your folds, teasing your thighs as hands spread your legs. You couldn’t even tell who was doing it, but you were already moaning in need.

“Please, just do it already...” you whined, bucking your hips. A soft chuckle echoed before a tongue started leaving kitten licks on your wet folds. “Mhm, right there...” you sighed in relief.

They moved to suck on your clit, spreading your folds with their fingers before pushing them in. A loud scream escaped your lips, only to be muffled by a hand from behind you.

“Fuhhhghk...” you cursed against the hand, the one between your legs now curling their fingers inside your dripping pussy while teasing your clit with their tongue.

The man behind you toyed with your nipples, pinching and stroking them with one hand while keeping your sounds muffled with the other. Despite knowing the room was soundproof, you couldn’t help but wonder why he silenced you—until his fingers prodded your lips. Obediently, you opened your mouth, sucking on them as drool coated his fingers while he thrust them gently.

Wet lewd noises filled the room—the sound of your moans, your juices, and their synchronized movements blending together. The knot in your stomach tightened, making your hips buck against their tongue. The one behind you removed his fingers from your mouth, using your own drool to coat your nipples before playing with them softly.

Despite the blindfold obscuring your vision, you started piecing things together. The fingers working inside you felt slightly shorter than the ones that had been in your mouth. Leaning your head back slightly, you felt the firm outline of abs behind you, hinting at his height and build.

The sensations overwhelmed you, your moans growing louder as your release drew near. Desperate, you made a guess. “Please, Won… fuck… c-close!” you whimpered, his name falling from your lips in desperation.

“Good girl...” Jungwon’s voice confirmed your guess as he worked faster, his tongue and fingers driving you toward your peak.

“Jungwon…!” you cried out, trembling.

“I know, baby. Let go f’ me,” he murmured, watching intently as you finally let go, your body twitching uncontrollably before you squirted.

He immediately lapped up your juices, savoring the moment as he cleaned you up, leaving a soft kiss on your folds before pulling away with a satisfied hum.

“You can take a few more, right?” Riki said, his voice low and teasing as he pulled your head back for a heated kiss before slipping away from behind you, leaving you panting and trembling from the aftermath of your high.

The room was silent except for the rustling of movement and your ragged breathing. Your body trembled, overly sensitive, every nerve alight and begging for relief. Suddenly, your legs were lifted, propped against strong shoulders, the action sending a fresh wave of anticipation coursing through you.

A familiar pressure followed—a thick, hard tip tapping lightly against your clit, dragging along your slick folds in slow, teasing strokes before pausing at your entrance.

A whine escaped your lips at the unbearable sensitivity. Without warning, the head pushed in, stretching you inch by inch until they were fully seated inside. They started moving immediately, their thrusts slow and deliberate, dragging every nerve along your walls and leaving you gasping.

“Fuck… yes, yes, right there—hngh…” you babbled incoherently, the stretch filling you so perfectly it made your head spin. They weren’t especially long, but their girth was sinful, every stroke pulling you deeper into the haze.

The lack of sight amplified everything—every sound, every touch, every sensation. Your wrists strained against the cuffs, but there was no escape from the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. Their pace picked up, hips snapping into yours, the wet sounds of skin meeting skin echoing through the room, mingling with your cries. The knot in your stomach tightened, the pressure building rapidly, but just as you teetered on the edge of release, they pulled out abruptly.

“No—please!” you cried, your voice raw and desperate as the emptiness left you shaking.

Laughter, low and teasing, sounded on either side of you. Their voices followed, disorienting you further as they whispered in unison, one voice in your left ear, the other in your right.

“You have to guess, baby,” one murmured, his tone sultry and amused.

“Guess it right, and maybe we’ll both reward you,” the other added, his voice a breathy tease.

Hands roamed your body, stroking, squeezing, teasing, but their touches were indistinguishable. The anticipation was maddening, your body twitching with every featherlight caress.

“Who was it, angel?” one asked, the whisper brushing against your ear, the heat of his breath making you shiver.

“Think carefully,” the other teased, his voice dangerously soft as his lips ghosted over your neck.

Your head spun, the sensory overload leaving you utterly at their mercy. Before you could answer, another set of hands slid up your thighs, lifting them slightly before a cock pressed back inside you, filling you in one smooth stroke. You gasped, your back arching as the rhythm began again, this time faster, more deliberate, coaxing every reaction out of you.

“Who is it?” one of them whispered, their tone deep and commanding, their lips brushing against the shell of your ear. A hand tangled in your hair, tugging gently, just enough to send a sharp spark of pleasure through you.

You opened your mouth to answer, but another voice purred against your lips before you could speak. “Careful, baby. Get it wrong, and we might have to start over.”

The stretch, the pace, the way they claimed you—it was impossible to think straight. Every sound, every movement, every word blended together, leaving you guessing, your mind a haze of desire and need.

“Take your time, princess,” one murmured, his lips grazing your jaw as the thrusts continued.

“No rush,” the other whispered, his tone dripping with amusement. “We’ve got all night.”

The overwhelming sensations made it nearly impossible to think straight. Your body trembled, teetering on the edge of delirium. Their teasing whispers, so close to your ears, blurred together, sending shivers down your spine.

‘Shit…’ you thought, barely able to focus, the lingering edge of your denied release making everything feel magnified. It didn’t help that the way they alternated, the subtle differences in their movements, forced you to pay attention to every inch of their touch.

“Ah—fuck!” you cried out suddenly as the current one inside you hit your g-spot with precision, causing your back to arch off the couch.

“Ahh, it’s right here, huh, angel?” he teased, his voice a deep growl as his lips brushed against your ear, his hips snapping harder and faster into you.

“Feels so good, doesn’t it, pretty?” the other murmured from beside you, his hand gripping your neck firmly, holding you steady as you squirmed beneath them.

The combination of sensations left you on the brink of being completely cock-drunk, your mind fuzzy and your body responding instinctively. But you forced yourself to focus, trying to distinguish between them.

The one before was a decent length, thick and stretching you with every thrust. But the one in you now? He was longer, thinner, reaching places that left you gasping for breath. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to gather your thoughts despite the way your body was screaming for more.

“Have you decided?” one of them asked, their tone a mix of amusement and anticipation.

Taking a shaky breath, you finally spoke, your voice hoarse and trembling. Your lips parted, the answer teetering on the edge of your tongue, as another thrust sent sparks shooting through your nerves, nearly making you second-guess yourself.

“W-Won then, Ki…?” you gasped, breath hitching as his thrusts slowed before he pulled out again, leaving you whining in frustration.

“My, you seem to know us so well, angel,” Riki's voice rang clearer now, no longer whispering.

“Gonna have to treat her to something good, right, Ki?” Jungwon added, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Such a smart girl.”

“Mhm… please, ’m yours…” you murmured, breathless, as they carried you back onto the bed, your head hanging slightly over the edge.

“Blindfolds—on or off?” Jungwon asked softly, standing over you, his gaze intense as his hands stroked himself gently.

“O-on.. please,” you replied, causing Riki to comment, “What a dirty girl,” His body suddenly pushing back into you with a swift move, making you yelp. He moved quickly against you, his arms holding your knees tightly.

“Shh, you’re so loud, baby,” Jungwon said, tapping his tip near your lips, causing you to open them obediently. “Or you wanna show how much of a cockslut you are, hmm?” he teased, moving gently into your mouth, your moans muffled sending vibrations through him.

Jungwon groaned as you hummed on his dick, holding onto the back of your neck to balance you as he fucked your mouth. “Such a good cockslut for us, right Ki?”

“Mhm, such a good girl for us.” Riki replied, biting his lips as he watched himself going in and out of you.

Feeling their cocks filling you both ways had your head spinning, waves of pleasure surging through your sensitive body. Your muffled moans sent vibrations along Jungwon’s length, drawing a low groan from him as he bucked his hips, his restraint fraying with each passing moment.

Both of them began to pick up their pace, Riki’s hands gripping your hips firmly. “Your pussy’s taking me in so perfectly, angel” he growled, his hips snapping into you with a steady rhythm.

“Such a pretty girl taking us both so well,” Jungwon praised, his hand stroking your flushed cheek as his hips continued their relentless rhythm in your mouth. He gazed down at you, a hint of admiration in his voice. “Close?”

You hummed weakly, the vibration sent a shudder through him, and his voice grew more strained as his release teetered on the edge.

“Cum for us, angel.”

The next morning, it was safe to say they found themselves in a rather questionable situation. The boys assumed you were still peacefully resting in bed after the events of the previous day. But the same couldn't be said for the other two.

“I can’t believe you two,” Heeseung said, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration as the two youngest members sat awkwardly on the couch.

“Sorry—” Jungwon began, but you suddenly cut him off.

“Seung-ah, it’s fine,” you said, appearing in the doorway with a gentle smile. “Besides, I think you’re just jealous. If you want me, just say so, baby—but keep these two out of it.”

Heeseung froze for a moment, clearly trying to process your teasing words, before completely blowing a fuse. The two younger boys cried out in panic, while you giggled and walked off, ready to go back to sleep.

TAGLIST — @kikidoul @rikiives @contyynishimura @ziiao @lilmarsh-t @bxcndd @laylasbunbunny

[papayadays]

just one thing

a/n: a cute little friends to lovers for lando's birthday!

“shit, shit, shit,” you muttered, nearly dropping your phone as it vibrated with a call. the screen had a silly picture of your best friend, lando, thought it was the last thing you wanted to see right now. you pressed the green button, putting the phone on speaker as the light turned green.

“lan, what’s up?” you smiled. “how’s padel with everyone?” you listened as lando told you about the game with a few of his fellow drivers, though you weren’t truly paying attention. you got out of your car, two shopping bags in hand as you took out your spare key to lando’s house, opening the door and heading in.

it was lando’s birthday, and he wasn’t expecting you to see you in monaco today, but you wanted to surprise. so, you bought a plane ticket, rented a car, and drove to lando’s apartment with his presents in tow. you set your suitcase aside, taking out the gifts while also decorating the rooms a bit. you had also gotten a cake as well, wanting your best friend to have the best possible birthday to celebrate his twenty-fifth birthday.

“so what are you doing?” lando asked, bringing you out of your preparations.

your brain whirred, trying to come up with a plausible answer. “i’m, y’know, staying at home, reading a book.”

“right, of course you are,” lando snorted, and you could practically hear his eye roll. at least he bought the lie. “well, i’ll call you soon. i think we’re going to wrap up, so i’ll have some time once i get back home.”

“gotcha,” you replied, a giddy grin on your face as your plan was about to fall into place. “talk to you in a few, lan. and again, happy birthday!” you had called him first thing in the morning before your flight to wish him a happy birthday, though he just assumed you were waking up early for once.

after a short bit, you heard the door opening and footsteps walking in. “lando!” you exclaimed, rushing forward to tackle your best friend in a hug. “happy twenty-fifth birthday!”

at first, lando tensed up, having not expected you to be here. but his shock was replaced by incredulous disbelief, arms wrapping around you tightly. “how are you here?” he asked.

“i flew here, wanted to be here for your birthday,” you told him, eyes meeting his, which crinkled at the corners due to his wide smile. “now, i have some presents for you.”

you gestured to the kitchen island, and as lando followed your gaze, his jaw dropped. “you didn’t have do all of this,” he said. “i don’t need all these presents.”

“you don’t need them, but i wanted to give them to you,” you argued back playfully. “you do the same for me, let me spoil you a little as your best friend.”

after you nudged his shoulder, lando stepped forward and reached out to unwrap his first present, which was a new camera. he opened his mouth to say something, but you interrupted teasingly, telling him to open his other presents first.

one by one, lando opened his presents, revealing some clothes, a pair of shoes, a bracelet, a bottle of wine, and a small jellycat stuffed animal for fun. you also had a card that you had written a message in, and you watched lando’s smile widen as he read it.

you observed lando’s reaction as you showed him the custom cake you got with his face on it, making him snicker. “it better taste good,” he muttered good-humoredly.

“so you like everything?” you grinned, wanting to make sure you hadn’t messed anything up. lando chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into a tight hug.

“i love it, thank you so much,” lando murmured, head resting on your shoulder. you could feel the rise and fall of his chest and the warmth of his body against yours. glancing up, your eyes met his, a shy smile on your lips.

“you got everything you wanted, lan?” you joked, nudging his side.

lando’s gaze bore into yours, hands squeezing your hips ever so slightly. “no, not yet,” he said quietly, gazing at you. “there’s still one thing that i want, so badly.”

your breath hitched as he pulled you an inch closer, eyes never leaving his. “well, you need to tell me, so i can get it for you,” you said, attempting to be playful, though your breathless voice ruined it.

“do i need to spell it out for you?” lando chuckled, one hand reaching out to cup your cheek before sliding down to tilt your chin up. he looked into your eyes again- just to be sure- before asking. “can i?”

“yes.”

and that was all it took. lando’s lips met yours, stealing all the air from your lungs as your hands were pressed flat against his chest, fingertips brushing his shoulders. you would be lying if you said you hadn’t harbored feelings for lando beyond the surface, but never would you have imagined being here. kissing lando, your best friend. and although the thought seemed a bit nerve-inducing, everything about this felt natural.

you two pulled apart, both of you in need of oxygen after the kiss took up what seemed like eternity. “how long?” lando smirked.

“excuse me?” you asked, knowing exactly what he was referring to but deflecting.

“how long have you liked me?” lando clarified, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“for like a few years,” you admitted bashfully, cheeks the lightest shade of pink.

lando’s eyes widened, but not with the judgment you had thought; instead, his eyes were filled with delight and surprise. “so you’re saying if one of us had confessed, we could’ve been together for years?” he questioned, still in shock. you nodded, and lando’s hand reached out to squeeze yours.

“now did you get what you wanted?” you looked at him, wrapping your arms around neck. a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you pulled him closer.

“yeah, i did,” lando chuckled, leaning in to press his lips against yours again. your hands carded through his hair, tilting your head as you felt his soft lips on yours. your heart was practically palpitating, butterflies frenzied in your stomach.

as you parted, you leaned your forehead against his. “happy birthday, lan,” you grinned.

lando nodded, breath mingling with yours. “best birthday ever.”

[dannyriccsystem]

oscar would be such a girl dad, playing princess with his daughter and everything. taking her to the paddock and showing his little princess and his pretty wife around, 😔.

he would be so soft, i can't, i might die. 😭😭😭😭

btw how are you feeling? 🤞

— 🌱

UNICORNS AND CUPCAKES!

FORMULA ONE DRIVER X READER

SUMMARY: Oscar playing dress up with his daughter and wife, and then showing up to media day like that.

WORD COUNT: 800

WARNINGS: Dad!Osc, Mom!Reader, that’s it

FEATURING: Oscar Piastri x Reader

NOTE: HII! I’m doing good! Feeling a lot better now!

“OH DEAR, WHAT HAVE I WALKED IN ON?” YOU GIGGLE, politely covering your mouth as you admire the sight before you. Oscar is sitting at a table within the McLaren hospitality, your daughter sitting on a chair beside him. The young girl is messing around with the makeup you bought her for christmas. It had cars on it, and was designed for children.

The real kicker, though, was your husband, who was sitting there like an obedient dog while she painted his face in a rather bold look. Hot pink blush, bright red lips, and dark blue eyeshadow. He looked like he had a long night, to put it nicely. You didn’t mean to mock her skills, but there was definitely some room for improvement.

Despite your teasing, Oscar just smiled as a greeting. He was rather still as he allowed her to continue with her artistic ministrations, his heart melting at her joyous giggles. “I’m doing Daddy’s makeup so he looks good for the cameras!” She announced proudly, smearing purple eyeshadow on the inner corners of his eyes. “Doesn’t he look pretty?”

“He looks beautiful,” You said as you gently rubbed circles into her back, pressing a kiss to her scalp. “Wow, I’m falling in love all over again.” You tone was drenched in sarcasm, but there was some truth to your words. Seeing him allow your daughter to play, even if it meant sacrificing his own self image, was heart warming. You ruffled the younger girl’s hair before leaning in for a kiss from your husband.

“Ew!” She shrieked when you pulled back, your own lips now smeared in his bright red makeup. He laughed, which made your daughter pout. “Hold still!”

“Alright, I’m sorry,” He said in a jokingly exasperated tone. Your daughter rolled her eyes, sighing dramatically.

“He’s not a very good model,” She grumbled, making you laugh once again. “Mommy will you get my princess wardrobe out?”

“Oh, of course,” You replied eagerly as you rushed off to Oscar’s driver’s room, locating the small wooden chest. You dragged it out, opening it to where both your husband and daughter could see. The mounds of glittery, sparkly fabrics flowed free from the chest, spilling out onto the ground. You bit your lip to stifle a giggle at his face.

“I… Didn’t know your collection was so big, sweetheart,” He said, forcing a smile. Oh if only he knew what was coming for him.

“Wow, Oscar! That is quite the outfit,” A reporter remarks with a huge grin on her face, offering the microphone for his response. He sighed, and the sound faded into a chuckle.

“My daughter helped me prepare for media day.” His voice was monotone, but it was clear he just found the whole thing entertaining. If he didn’t want to do this, he could have said no, but he loved entertaining his little princess. Which is why he stood here now, a dress that was just a little too small for him slapped on top of his typical shorts and t-shirt. Atop his hair, which was pulled into two pigtails that were forming a headache, sat a pretty, sparkly tiara. “I gotta make this quick, though. I have a tea party to attend soon.”

“Did your wife put her up to this?” The reporter clearly found this whole situation very entertaining.

“No. You know, she’s pretty creative. Thought of all of this,” He gestured to himself head to toe, “all by herself.”

Oscar sighed playfully. “Oh, there are the suspects in question!”

He fully whipped around to look for you, immediately lighting up at the sight of you holding your daughter’s hand, pulling her through crowds of people as she giggled and chatted beside you. He had to pause to admire you, taking in your pretty glow with a fond expression.

He pulled you in for a hug and kiss when you got close, though you followed it by wiping your lips with a grossed out look. “There are my girls,” He mumbled before crouching down to kiss his daughter’s forehead.

“You’re gonna ruin your dress, Daddy!”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He stood back up, ruffling her hair. She huffed dramatically and fixed it, straightening out her matching tiara.

“Two princess in the paddock today,” The interviewer said as the camera panned down to your daughter, who grinned at the attention.

But Oscar’s eyes were on you. He couldn’t stop watching as you laughed with your child— His child, too. Under his breath he replied, “three,” with that lovesick grin of his.

Tired of the attention, he spoke again to divert the various eyes on him. “Sweetheart, why don’t we go see if uncle Lala wants a makeover too?”

“Yeah!”

With that being said, all three of you were off to torment Lando.

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

pillow talk - spencer reid x fem!reader

a night well spent fizzles out into soft words exchanged in pink sheets.

genre: fluff wc: 1019 warnings: mentioned sex, their first time together, casual nudity, inexperienced reader, insecurities, reassurance

It was soft, comforting even. Of course intense because how else could your first time together be? It was him, after all. As you lay, heavy pants finally returning to normal, steady breaths, a hand comes up to smooth down your hair and a kiss is gently pressed to your head.

"How do you feel?" Spencer asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

It proves to be a difficult question. A response seems counterintuitive, like it would demean the moment into something that has to be assessed. An answer has to come, nonetheless.

"I don't know." And it's the truth.

He hums thoughtfully and nods, running a hand down your shoulder. "Good or bad?"

"Good... like my brain's empty. If that makes sense," you answer.

Your head, on Spencer's bare chest, does, in fact, feel foggy. Before today, you were both too scared of the intimacy. Something changed the moment you felt him move his grip from your hip to your waist, like he was worried that he might make you uncomfortable. You didn't want that. It happened only after convincing him that you wanted to go further than the usual groping and hand stuff. Now you're unsure how you feel. Having someone you've been seeing for a while suddenly inside you is bizarre and always will be. You also can't seem to shake that voice that sounds a lot like your friends, telling you that he'll leave after he gets what he wants. Your mind is simply a flurry of everything that anyone has ever told you about intimacy. With Spencer, it was different, though.

Your hand finds his and you mindlessly toy with his fingers as you murmur, "you've done this more than me, correct?"

"Correct."

"How do people usually feel?" you ask softly.

"Everybody's different. You don't need to feel good." He takes a breath and explains in a matter-of-fact tone, his hand lifting above your shoulder to gesture while he talks, "the rush of serotonin and dopamine into our system can leave some people feeling sad or tired once those neurotransmitters decrease."

You nod, finding yourself understanding. It has been a while since you've engaged in any form of intimacy.

"That makes sense."

He nods as his fingers drop to continue the irregular patterns on your arm. His chin rests on your head. "So? How do you feel?"

Again, there's no correct answer to his question. It's a complicated experience with complicated feelings attached. But one thing is for sure, "I'm happy."

"I'm glad. I am, too," he hums.

A smile floats over your lips before a thought occurs and you have an inkling as to how he'll choose to reply to it. Your head lifts and you turn so you're now partly on your side, giving you a perfect view of his face in the soft glow of the afternoon. With the curtains closed, his skin was basked in pale yellow light, the pink of your sheets contrasting the pink of his cheeks.

"Did I do good?" you grin.

He finds you gorgeous, your sickeningly sweet smile making him gaze down at you in pure awe. It's the complete and utter truth when he responds with, "very."

You can't help but tease, "best you've ever had?"

"Yes. I don't think you could've fumbled that badge of honour if you tried," he smiles, his hand gently cupping your cheek, a rough thumb wiping away invisible tears.

Something about the sentiment gets to you. After all, you're nothing but a hopeful romantic. But you're also just a girl.

"So, even if I was bad, you'd still lie and say I wasn't?" you raise your eyebrows and bat your eyelashes.

His eyes narrow but the smile on his face shows you that he's not really upset. "No... I meant that I think I like you too much to not enjoy everything you do."

"Oh," you flush. Why does he have to be so perfect?

The hand on your cheek moves up to brush some of your hair back. "Yeah, oh."

Spencer's different than the guys you've interacted with. He's everything that little girls everywhere dream of. He's Prince Charming. That's why when your lips meet his and the sheet falls back, his eyes never once glance down. Perhaps he's an agent and an individual with three PhDs but he's a gentleman above all else. He never once wants to make you feel like he's not here for you.

When your lips break apart with happy smiles on both of your faces, you take in just how silly he looks. His hair is messy from your fingers, his cheeks are flushed and—your favourite of all—he's covered up to his stomach in pink sheets. The giggle that leaves you is unnecessary and unasked for.

He can't help the smile that comes from hearing your laugh. "What?" he mutters, brows furrowed.

"You just look... so very silly in my bed," you explain, a lovesick grin on your face.

"Oh. Well, I can't help what you choose as interior design."

You sigh dramatically, shaking your head like a disappointed teacher, "I suppose you can't."

The smile on his lips only grows as you act your ass off to seem sad by his comment.

"Perhaps I should also purchase pink sheets?" he suggests jokingly, tucking yet another stray strand behind your ear.

"I really think you should. It would complement your room and it would make you think of me so that's a bonus," you nod. You're unable to stay serious, though, the corners of your mouth lifting despite your efforts.

Spencer nods back, his bottom lip pushing up as he hums decisively. "I'm sold, let's go to the store," he says with an impressively straight face.

You laugh hard, beaming up at him with nothing but pure joy. You find his commitment to the bit amusing and, honestly, endearing. He points his thumb towards the bedroom door with his eyebrows raised in a silent question. Playfully, your eyes roll and rest your face in the crook of his neck.

"I'll get pink sheets if you want me to," Spencer softly mutters.