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littlelamy · 24 days ago

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“what is up daddy gang—it’s your founding father Alex Cooper with Call. Her. Daddy. and today…” she leans into the mic, grin wild like she’s about to spill government secrets, “we’ve got the it-girl of the fashion world, THE queen of ‘oh that’s just my friend,’ and apparently—allegedly—the woman giving drew starkey something to smile about. y/n l/n, welcome to call her daddy .”

you giggle smiling, eyes sliding to the side where drew sits behind the camera, legs spread wide in dark-washed jeans, thumb playing with his bottom lip, pretending like he’s not listening to every word.

“hi,” you say, dragging it out slow, lashes batting. “before we start..i’m not saying anything incriminating.”

alex laughs, leaning back. “okay, but you slid into his dms, right? or was this like, a ‘we met at a bar and he begged to buy you a drink while sweating through his shirt’ vibe?”

you snort. “he was sweating,” you confirm. “but he didn’t beg me, just kinda stared. really intensely, like, you’re gonna let me hit eventually kind of stare..it was a little cocky actually.”

behind the camera, drew lifts his brows and smirks, cocky bastard. alex notices, points. “oh my god, he’s smiling! that’s a ‘yeah, i hit it in the trailer’ smile. babe, did he give a good trailer?”

you hum. stretch one leg over the other, slow. “the trailer was very memorable. full mirrors....little couch. we tested the noise insulation. but, before anyone says anything i did make him wait....after two dates.”

“girl, stop,” alex groans, shaking the question cards in her hand. “don’t you dare tease the daddy gang like that. we need details...okay. here’s the real question....drew starkey—giver or receiver?”

your lips twitch as your gaze flicks to the side again, locking with his. he raises a brow, daring you. you bite your bottom lip, slow, then tilt your chin with faux innocence. “he’s a giver....big time.”

alex’s eyes go wide. “like….eat you till you cry type?”

“eat me like a dying man at a buffet,” you reply, voice low. “like, i’ve had to tap out. that man doesn’t quit....it’s a problem.”

“stoppp,” she hisses, fanning herself. “you’re telling me drew starkey is down there with a mission statement?”

“mm-hmm,” you nod. “very passionate about the job...lotta eye contact....makes a mess, and doesn’t care. sometimes i wonder if he’s doing it for me or for a performance review.”

alex clutches her mic like she’s about to explode. “does he, like, talk while he does it? whisper dirty shit?”

“oh yeah,” you grin. “he’s a talker. likes to ask questions he knows the answer to. ‘you like that? that what you needed?’”

“fuck,” she gasps. “he gives boyfriend who’s secretly feral energy.”

“he is—looks like he’d help your grandma with groceries but actually wants to bend you over the hood of your car in a 7/11 parking lot.”

“dead..i’m dead.” alex is crying-laughing. “okay, okay. scale of 1 to broke the headboard?”

you laugh looking at her and then the camera. “we've had to buy a new bed frame, twice.”

alex slaps the desk, next to her, holding her mic closer to her mouth. “DADDY GANG—THIS IS NOT A DRILL.”

“also a wall mirror,” you add casually, sipping your drink.

“he broke a mirror?!”

“well,” you shrug. “technically i did....with my foot. it's a long story.”

drew, behind the camera, drags a hand down his face, hiding a laugh. you wink at him. alex leans in, feral-eyed. “you ever, like..film it?”

you blink and smile slowly. “that’s..not for the free content.”

“i knew it! oh my god! tell me—do you rewatch?” you tilt your head, teasing. “when i miss him on location, yeah. keeps me company.”

alex gasps like it’s pornographic scripture. “he’s gonna make a whole generation of girls delusional.”

you just smile, slow, catlike. “yeah..well..they can dream.”

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pankowcrumbs · 22 days ago

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Over the Radio X Lando Norris

18+

Plot: You are Lando's new race engineer and the flirting is everything even though it's forbidden.

MasterList

F1 Masterlist

The headset felt heavier than usual.

It wasn’t the weight, obviously. It was the pressure. I’d just been promoted me, Y/N, twenty-five, notoriously chatty and chronically single to the role of Lando Norris’s race engineer. A job I’d secretly daydreamed about since joining McLaren as a junior engineer three years ago. Not just because I loved strategy or thrived in high-stakes environments.

But because Lando made work… dangerous in the best way.

We’d always had this flirty, electric thing between us laced through teasing in the paddock, lingering glances after debriefs, and him playfully tapping his pen against my shoulder when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. But I’d never let it go further. Too complicated. Too public. Too… risky.

And now?

Now I had a mic strapped to my head and a driver... that driver relying on my voice to guide him through every sector.

“Alright,” came his voice through the comms during FP1, low and casual, “I’m just going to say it I like hearing you in my ears.”

I rolled my eyes, cheeks already heating. “You’re supposed to like hearing me, Norris. I’m your engineer now.”

“I liked hearing you before you got the promotion.”

“Focus.”

He chuckled, the sound crackling slightly over the radio. “Can’t help it when you sound like that.”

“Like what?”

“Bossy.”

Jesus Christ.

I muted myself for a second just to let out a laugh. He was testing me already, barely ten minutes into the first session. I should’ve expected nothing less.

Back on comms, I cleared my throat. “Alright, let’s try the medium tyre run, please. Box now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I swear he said it just to get a rise out of me.

By qualifying, he was in full performance mode razor-sharp on track, but his mouth still didn’t switch off completely.

“Tyres feel great,” he said mid-run. “Or maybe it’s your voice lulling me into a false sense of security.”

“Glad I can soothe your inner chaos.”

“Oh, you do. Might ask you to record bedtime stories next.”

“Eyes on the apex, Norris.”

“Yes, boss.”

I caught one of the mechanics chuckling nearby.

It didn’t help that we were the same age. Didn’t help that he looked at me like I wasn’t just a voice in his ear, but something he wanted and maybe always had.

Didn’t help that part of me… wanted it back.

Race day.

This was it.

Lando was starting P4, and I was trying not to throw up from nerves. We stood by the car before the formation lap, the crew swarming around us in a flurry of final checks and tyre warmers and last-second whispers.

He walked over to me, helmet in hand, curls slightly damp under his cap.

“You good?” he asked.

I nodded. “You?”

He grinned. “You’re in my ear today. I’ll be great.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re not allowed to flirt with me mid-race. We’ve got a championship to chase.”

“No promises,” he said, leaning in just enough for no one else to hear. “You make strategy sound sexy.”

He winked and walked off before I could swat him with my clipboard.

God help me.

“Radio check.”

“Loud and clear.”

The lights blinked off and the race began.

For the first few laps, everything was clinical. Tyre temps. Fuel delta. Turn eight oversteer.

But by lap twenty, he was settled and cocky again.

“Okay, love, talk to me.”

“Your pace is solid. Holding strong at P3.”

“Love that. Love you, too, but we’ll unpack that later.”

I flushed despite myself. “Lando”

“You sound flustered.”

“You sound overconfident.”

“I’ve got the world’s prettiest engineer in my ear. Hard not to be.”

I bit back a smile. “Focus on Leclerc. You’re gaining three-tenths in Sector 2.”

“Yes, boss. I like when you take charge.”

He was impossible.

And brilliant.

And absolutely relentless.

By lap 37, he was chasing P2, and we were in the thick of strategy calls. I tried to keep my voice even, professional, despite the sweat on my palms.

“Box this lap, confirm?”

“Confirmed.”

He flew into the pit lane. Tyres off, tyres on, and gone again textbook.

Back on track, I checked data. He was flying. We were flying.

Then came his voice, smug and smooth.

“You’re amazing at this.”

“Just doing my job.”

“I meant being sexy and strategic at the same time, but sure.”

I laughed couldn’t help it. He was unreal.

“And you’re dangerously close to being muted.”

“You’d miss me.”

“I really wouldn’t.”

“Liar.”

I was. A little.

Maybe more than a little.

By the final ten laps, he was in P2, battling for the lead. My heart was pounding as hard as his engine.

“Push now, Lando. You’ve got the grip. He’s vulnerable.”

“Copy. For you, I’ll push.”

“You’d better. Don’t make me come down there.”

“Oh, please do. You threatening me in person? Hot.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly gave myself whiplash.

He overtook on Lap 59. Clean. Bold. Beautiful.

P1.

“YES!” I yelled, forgetting to mute. “You’ve done it!”

He was laughing in my ear. “Sounded like you just...”

“Don’t.”

“I’m just saying...”

“Drive the bloody car, Norris!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He won.

He bloody won.

I barely remembered the cooldown lap, too overwhelmed with numbers, data, and his smug little voice in my ear.

“You were perfect,” he said, a bit breathless. “I don’t just mean the car.”

I didn’t reply.

I couldn’t. Not when my heart was beating that loud.

In parc fermé, I waited on the pit wall, still breathless as the crew jumped and cheered around me. He leapt out of the car, helmet off, curls damp with sweat, eyes scanning until he found me.

And then he ran.

Straight to me.

Lando didn’t hesitate just wrapped his arms around my waist, lifted me clean off the ground, and spun me like we were in some bloody film. I was laughing, flushed, and fully aware the world was watching.

“Lando!” I hissed, “Cameras!”

“Don’t care.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

I didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

He looked at me all mischief and heat and said, “You realise this means I get to flirt every race now, right?”

I grinned despite myself.

“Only if you keep winning.”

“Deal.”

He pressed his forehead to mine.

“Guess we’re going to be unstoppable, then.”

It didn’t take long for the world to catch on.

The radio clips the ones where Lando called me love, where he shamelessly flirted mid-race, where I threatened to mute him while trying not to laugh went viral before we even packed up the garage.

The fans were obsessed.

I saw the edits first little videos stitched together on TikTok, set to romantic pop songs, captioned things like “find someone who talks to you the way Lando talks to Y/N” or “she’s his soft spot, I’m in tears”. There were screenshots of me on the pit wall, flushed and grinning like an idiot, side by side with photos of him beaming in the car.

#LandYN was trending by morning.

I nearly dropped my phone when I saw it.

“Bloody hell,” I muttered, scrolling through endless fan theories. They’re secretly dating. They’re in love. She’s his lucky charm.

One clip had already reached a million views it was a montage of our comms from the race, ending with Lando yelling “You were perfect!” over the radio.

My cheeks ached from smiling.

Still, I knew better than to get too carried away. It was fun, sure, but it was dangerous too. Teams didn’t love distractions. And even if part of me burned for him always had, if I was honest I wasn’t going to risk my career over a few flirty radio messages.

Or so I told myself.

That afternoon, we were ushered into the press tent for post-race interviews.

Lando was his usual charming, grinning self, hair still messy from the helmet, race suit tied around his waist, white McLaren tee clinging to him in all the right places.

I tried not to stare.

Tried harder not to think about how he’d lifted me off the ground in front of half the paddock hours earlier.

The reporters, of course, pounced almost immediately.

“So, Lando,” one of them called, “incredible win today. Do you think the new race engineer had anything to do with your performance?”

He smirked and flicked a glance at me where I was standing just off-camera.

“I mean…” He shrugged dramatically. “Have you heard her voice?”

The whole room laughed.

I buried my face in my clipboard.

“She keeps me calm,” he went on, grinning like the devil. “Keeps me focused. Also keeps me on my toes. Sometimes I listen just to hear her yell at me.”

Another ripple of laughter.

I shot him a glare over the top of my clipboard. He winked.

Another reporter jumped in, voice eager. “There’s a lot of talk online about how much chemistry you two have. Any truth to that?”

My stomach dropped.

This was it. This was the moment where he’d laugh it off, make a joke, move on.

But Lando paused.

His smile softened.

“I mean, it’s not fake,” he said simply. “We’re close. We trust each other a lot. Makes a difference when you’ve got someone you… y’know. Care about.”

I felt the heat climb up my neck, all the way to my ears.

The reporters caught it instantly, shouting follow-up questions, but Lando just grinned and gave a playful two-finger salute before ducking out of the interview area.

I didn’t breathe until he was gone.

Later, tucked away in the back of the motorhome, I cornered him.

“Are you insane?” I hissed, grabbing his wrist before he could escape. “Did you hear yourself?”

He looked at me, all wide eyes and fake innocence. “What?”

“‘Someone you care about’? Lando, they’re going to eat that up! The fans are already....!”

He cut me off by tugging me closer, voice low and teasing. “Why are you so panicked, love?”

“Because...” I sputtered. “Because it’s my job, and people are already making bloody fan fiction about us!”

His hand slid lazily down my arm, fingers brushing the inside of my wrist. It was maddening how casual he was, like my heart wasn’t currently trying to punch a hole through my ribs.

“Let them,” he murmured. “I’m not scared.”

“You should be. It’s a media circus out there.”

He leaned in, so close I could smell the lingering leather and soap on his skin.

“Y/N,” he said, smiling faintly, “I meant it.”

I blinked up at him. “Meant what?”

“That I care about you.” His hand tightened slightly around my wrist, grounding me. “I don’t care who knows.”

My stomach flipped so hard I nearly stumbled.

“Lando…”

He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, fingers grazing my cheek. “You think I’ve been flirting with you all this time just for fun?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“No one else gets under my skin like you do,” he said, laughing under his breath. “No one else makes me want to win more, just to hear you call me perfect again.”

I didn’t mean to. Honestly, I didn’t.

But I surged up onto my toes and kissed him.

It was clumsy at first too fast, too desperate but then his hands were cupping my jaw, anchoring me, and he kissed me back like he’d been waiting for it forever.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and dizzy, he rested his forehead against mine.

“‘Bout bloody time,” he whispered.

I laughed, shaky and giddy.

“I’m still going to yell at you over the radio,” I warned.

He grinned. “Good. Gets me going.”

I smacked his chest, and he caught my hand, threading our fingers together like he had no intention of letting go.

The motorhome door rattled somewhere behind us. Someone calling for him, for debriefs or photos or something equally less important than this.

He didn’t move.

Neither did I.

“C’mon, love,” he said softly. “Let’s give them something real to ship.”

We didn’t even make it a full twenty-four hours before the team called us in.

It was Zak who asked for the meeting polite but firm and as soon as I walked into the glass-walled conference room and saw Lando slouched in a chair with that sheepish, boyish grin, I knew we were in trouble.

My stomach twisted.

Zak didn’t exactly tell us off he’s too clever for that but the message was clear.

"You two have great chemistry," he said, steepling his fingers under his chin, "and it's good for morale. Good for the fans too. We're not here to kill the vibe."

Lando nodded along, looking for all the world like a naughty schoolboy.

"But," Zak continued, voice harder now, "there's a line. Banter’s fine. Flirting, fine. It stays on the radio. That’s it. No relationships. No... fraternising. You know how it looks otherwise conflicts of interest. Favouritism."

I felt my heart sink to the soles of my shoes.

"If anything beyond the job happens," Zak said, tone grave, "I'm sorry, Y/N, but you'd have to go. We can't have that. It's non-negotiable."

The words hung between us like a guillotine.

I swallowed, forcing myself to nod. "Understood."

"Understood," Lando echoed, though his voice was quieter.

Zak smiled, all business again. "Good. We trust you. Carry on."

The meeting ended without further fuss, but I felt hollow as I followed Lando out into the corridor, the fluorescent lights buzzing above us like a wasp.

I was two steps from escaping when he grabbed my hand and dragged me, fast and urgent, into his driver's room.

The door shut with a soft thud.

"Lando" I started, but he spun to face me, blue eyes bright and burning.

"We just have to be careful," he said quickly, crowding into my space, voice low. "That's all. We can work this out."

I stared at him like he'd gone mad. "Are you insane?" My voice cracked. "I can't risk my job. I love this job, Lando."

"I know," he said, hands finding my hips like magnets, grounding me. "I know, love, I swear. I’d never let anything happen to you."

I shook my head, heart hammering. "One wrong move, and they’ll sack me. I’m not risking my career for..."

"For us?" he finished, smile tilted, heartbreakingly soft. "Not even a little?"

I glared at him, but it had no heat. God, he was dangerous when he wanted something. Sweet talker. Charming bastard.

He took my silence as an opportunity, nosing gently along my temple, voice a whisper against my hair.

"Secret meetings," he murmured. "After long race days. Hotel rooms. Locked doors."

I shivered.

"No one has to know," he coaxed. "We'll be smart. We'll be so bloody careful, they'll never suspect a thing."

I bit my lip, torn between every instinct screaming be sensible and the way his hands curved around me like I was already his.

"You’re asking a lot," I whispered.

"I’m asking for a chance," he said simply. "For us."

He pressed his forehead to mine, and for a long second, we just breathed each other in. Him and me and the impossible thing growing wild between us.

I was so tired of fighting it.

Of pretending.

One night. One chance. Maybe that was all it would be maybe it would end in heartbreak but right then, with his thumb stroking slow circles into my hip, I didn’t care.

"Fine," I breathed, caving, heart racing. "But careful, Norris. I mean it."

His grin was a flash of sunshine.

"Careful's my middle name," he teased, then leaned in and kissed me, slow and sweet and reverent, like we had all the time in the world.

God help me, I was already addicted.

Another race day. Another chance to push the boundary without crossing it.

I was clipped into my headset, the familiar weight of it comforting as I stood on the pit wall, heart thundering in rhythm with the engines.

Lando’s voice crackled over the radio.

"You miss me yet?" he teased during formation lap, the lightness in his voice making me smile against the back of my hand.

"Focus, Norris," I said, keeping my tone prim, but the smile was audible, and we both knew it.

"Hard to focus when you sound that pretty," he quipped back, low enough that only I would catch the meaning behind the words.

I heard the collective swoon of the fans in my mind. They’d catch the exchange they always did snipping, editing, posting. #LandoYN was trending every bloody week.

The race itself was chaos late rain, tight corners, pit strategy coming down to seconds but God, he drove like a man possessed.

Each time I gave him a call, he responded instantly, trusting me, trusting us.

On the final lap, I told him, "Bring her home, Lando."

His laughter was breathless over the comms. "Anything for you, love."

And when he crossed the line first, victorious, the roar from the team around me was deafening.

I barely remembered throwing my arms up, screaming with the others, heart exploding with pride until I caught sight of him in parc fermé, helmet off, curls wild, grinning like the sun itself.

He found my eyes across the chaos and winked a quick, cocky, secret little thing that made my stomach swoop.

The media circus after was worse than ever.

"So, Lando," one of the interviewers said slyly, mic shoved in his face. "Your radio with your race engineer... getting pretty famous. Fans are shipping it, mate."

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks pink.

"Yeah, well..." His eyes flicked to me, lingering a second too long. "Some people just... bring out the best in you, don’t they?"

The crowd erupted.

My whole face burned.

Bloody hell, Lando.

Zak would have kittens.

But secretly, deep down, it thrilled me how he didn’t hide it. How he let it show.

Later that night, long after the champagne showers and the debriefs, after the media had cleared out and the garage was dark and still, I found myself outside his hotel room door, heart hammering.

I hesitated for a full thirty seconds before knocking.

It swung open almost immediately.

He stood there, hair still damp from a shower, barefoot, wearing nothing but grey joggers slung indecently low on his hips.

"Hi," he said, voice rough from the day, from the screaming, from the adrenaline.

"Hi," I whispered.

Before I could lose my nerve, he reached out, grabbed my hand, and tugged me inside.

The door shut with a soft click behind me, cutting us off from the world.

We barely made it two steps before he had me pressed up against the wall, mouth on mine.

There was nothing polite about it.

It was hungry.

Months of tension, stolen glances, secret touches it all snapped free like an elastic band stretched too far.

His hands skimmed up my thighs, grabbing beneath the hem of my dress, squeezing like he couldn’t get enough.

I gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed it greedily, pressing closer until I could feel the hard line of him against my belly.

"God, I’ve wanted this," he groaned, lips trailing along my jaw, my throat. "Wanted you."

His hands were everywhere sliding under my dress, dragging the zipper down with one quick, impatient tug.

I wriggled out of it, letting it puddle at my feet, standing there in nothing but a scrap of lace and my heels, breathing hard.

Lando stepped back, eyes dark, devouring the sight of me.

"Fucking beautiful," he muttered, voice wrecked.

He dipped down, kissing my shoulder, my collarbone, trailing lower.

I tangled my fingers in his hair, gasping when he mouthed at the tops of my breasts, teasing with slow, maddening patience.

When he dropped to his knees, I thought I might collapse.

"Lando" I choked out, but he only grinned up at me, wicked.

"Let me take care of you, love," he murmured.

And then his mouth was on me hot, clever, relentless.

He hooked my leg over his shoulder, hands gripping my hips like a lifeline, holding me steady as he licked into me with devastating skill.

I buried my fingers in his curls, tugging helplessly as pleasure coiled tight and hot in my belly.

It didn’t take long I was wound too tight, too desperate and when I came, it was with a cry muffled against the back of my hand, thighs trembling around his head.

He kissed his way back up my body, nipping and soothing, whispering praises against my skin.

When he finally lifted me arms strong, careful and carried me to the bed, I didn’t resist.

I didn’t even think.

I just held onto him, heart racing, trusting him to catch me.

And he did.

All night long.

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hellinistical · 2 months ago

Text

10:21

*taps mic* dilf rafayel would be overly accommodating to a pregnant you.

The scent of paint and canvas filled the air, but Rafayel wasn’t paying attention to his work. No, his real masterpiece—his priority—was currently sitting on the studio couch, trying (and failing) to avoid his relentless fussing.

“Here, drink this.” He shoved a glass of water into your hands before you could protest.

You sighed, taking it. “I literally just had water.”

“Drink again,” he insisted, crossing his arms like that alone would make you comply. “Hydration is important.”

Rolling your eyes, you took a sip just to appease him. Apparently, that wasn’t enough, because the second you tried to set the glass down, Rafayel was already adjusting the pillows behind your back, muttering to himself.

“This couch is terrible, I should’ve brought the one from the living room in here.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, flopping back. “Sit down, Rafayel.”

“I am sitting.”

“You’re pacing.”

“…I’m sitting in spirit.”

You shot him a look, and he huffed, finally perching on the edge of the couch. Not even a second later, his hands were on you—checking your shoulders, adjusting your shirt, rubbing absent circles over your belly like some kind of overworked nurse.

“Did you eat enough?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“Yes.”

“Enough protein?”

“Yes.”

“Enough iron?”

You groaned. “I swear to the gods, if you don’t—”

“Wait. Are you too warm?” He suddenly frowned, feeling your forehead. “You look warm. Maybe I should open a window—”

“Rafayel.”

He froze, eyes wide like a guilty child caught mid-act.

“…Yes?”

“I’m fine.”

He squinted, clearly not convinced. “I could grab a fan—”

“I will throw this water at you.”

That earned a dramatic sigh, but finally, finally, he leaned back, folding his arms like he was physically restraining himself from doting on you any further.

“…I’m just saying,” he muttered, “it wouldn’t kill you to let me take care of you properly.”

You smirked. “Oh, properly? Because clearly, you’re holding back.”

Rafayel narrowed his eyes. “Don’t test me. I will start timing your bathroom breaks.”

“You wouldn't.”

His silence was answer enough.

#hellinistical #pandoras box writing #x y/n #love and deepspace #drabble #afab reader #rafayel x reader #lads rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x you #rafayel fluff #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x mc

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sparklykaminarii · 1 year ago

Note

HIIIIIIII!!! I was wondering if you could do Aizawa x student!reader?? Ik you don't normally write anything but JJK but i rlly like ur writing and would js love to see you make this. 💐TYSM BABESSS ^^

DARLING CAN I BE YOUR FAVORITE?

[•~teacher!aizawa x student!reader SMUT !! (COLLEGE AU!)~•]

[•~synopsis: aw man you failed another test, guess you'll have to fuck your hot teacher.~•]

[•~a/n: i tried my best anon !! js for you, and keep sending in request ppl :D ~•]

"heeey eraser!!" present mic squeals, rushing into the classroom. aizawa looks back at the yellow haired male, obviously fed up with all his bullshit. "whatcha doin?-" eraser mic asks, dragging a chair next to aizawa, not noticing the students were taking a test.

"grading papers"aizawa replies, not paying any attention to the yellow haired individual who was interrupting his class.. present mic looks across the room, admiring all the students and just taking on the sight of the future generation of heroes. "shouldn't you be-" aizawa begins, soon cut off by present mics loud and obnoxious voice "Ooo, this class looks promising shouta, whose ya favorite?"

aizawa rolls his eyes, "don't have any. I don't like picking favorites." he says firmly. present mic is slightly baffled at his response, "really? if I could pick a favorite, I think id pick that red haired kid- actually no wait maybe the green haired one but-" present mic continues to babble on and on to aizawa. who was very obviously tuning him out.

as the bell rings, you watch all the other kids leave the classroom. all giggling and chattering about their plans for the weekend. they all seemed so busy in their conversations, so busy that they didn't notice you were staying back, which was perfect.

as soon as the last person exits the room you walk over towards aizawa. a sly smirk creeping up on your lips. "you said you needed to talk to me?" aizawa places the stack of papers he was grading down, on the table, he leans back in his chair. eyes fixed on you and your figure. "you failed another test, y/n." he says coldly, "and I hope you remember our little deal, hm?" he asks, tapping on his desk, signaling you to come sit.

"how could I forget..." you mumble sitting down on the table, watching as the black haired man approaches you. he was emotionless and rough looking. but you knew deep down he was just as excited for this as you were.

he stands in front of you, in between your legs, and he lifts your chin up with his hands. he stares down into your eyes, "bet you failed on purpose too... didn't you? fucking slut" he mumbles before crashing his lips on yours, you feed back into the kiss, the intensity and passion increasing. aizawa's hands sneakily begin to grope your tits through the fabric of your uniform, caressing them with his rough hands. making you let out breathy moans.

aizawa continues to sloppily kiss you as he begins to unbutton your top, your moans only making his cock harder. you could feel his bulge against your thighs. aizawa pulls away from the kiss, looking down at you with hazy eyes, he places your uniform top on his chair, leaving you in your bra.

he gives your breasts a tight squeeze, admiring the way they bounced. you let out a sharp cry from the sensation. "so pretty f'me aren't you sweetheart?" he coos, hands reaching to your bra's clasp, quickly unclasping it. he throws your bra across the room and leans you back slowly, making sure not to hurt you.

as you lay back down you can feel aizawa playing with your nipples, his finger grazing the surface. he watched as you would squirm more and more whenever he went harsher. aizawa then places one of them in his mouth, tongue swirling all over your nipple. you gasp at the sensation and place a hand in his hair. you can feel the wet patch in your panties grow as he continues to play with you.

his hand reaches towards your other nipple, making sure to give it attention too. he squeezes it lightly as he sucks on your other tit. you let out soft moans as you feel the sensations overtake you. "thought you didn't like pickin favorites?" you mutter, voice shaky and hoarse. aizawa responds by squeezing your nipple harshly, a muffled mumble leaving his lips which sounded like a "shut up..."

soon enough aizawa also gets your skirt off, leaving you in your panties. he lifts both of you legs onto his shoulders, pressing his bulge against the wet patch on your panties. you let out a mewl at the feeling of his clothed cock pushed up on you. "see what ya do to me pretty girl? fuck- I could do this all day..." he groans, grinding against the wetness seeping through your panties.

aizawa hastily unbuckles his belt, and slides his pants and boxers off. freeing his long dick. a soft sigh leaves your lips at the sight. you had fucked aizawa a couple times before but still, his long shaft always surprised him and made you crave him even more. "look at m'pretty girl, so mesmerized by my cock, it's okay sweetheart you'll get it soon..." he pushes your panties to the side, aligning himself with your hole.

"c'mon sweetheart y'know what you gotta do now..." he hums, tucking hair behind your ears. "aizawa... pleaseee" you whine, hands reaching for his hips. aizawa slaps your clit, making you jolt back "y'know damn well that isn't good enough, beg for it like the dirty bitch you are." he demands sharply.

"p-please daddy, need your cock so badly..." you mewl, you didn't care how stupid you sounded, you had one thing on your mind right now. and you needed him badly. aizawa smirks slyly and whispers "anything for my girl..." and he pushes his cock in. you both let out content moans and groans as you feel each other.

he lets you adjust to his size before ramming himself in and out of you, your slick coating his cock fully. "so fuckin wet f'me, baby..." he groans, hands gripping on your hips. his pace was so quick and rough, just the way you liked it. his hips bucked into you without any mercy.

"you're so slutty for this, fuckin ya teacher just to raise your grades? dirtyass slut." he mocks, pushing your thighs closer to your chest, his shaft abusing your cunt even deeper now. you let out sobs and cries from all the pressure, the feeling of his leaky tip constantly hitting your cervix. you were in pure bliss.

aizawa admires the sweet noises, both your mouth and cunt makes. he could feel the way your walls would tighten around him with each thrust he gave, signaling you were close. he looks back up at your face, you looked so dazy and lost. babbling about how good you felt, so cock drunk you couldn't even speak correctly. aizawa chuckles at the state you were beneath him. "we just started pretty girl, don't tell me yer already too fucked out-" he teased.

his calloused fingers start trailing down to your clit, rubbing soft circles on it, as aizawa begins to feel his own orgasm creeping up on him. the pressure on your clit makes you yelp out with pleasure, the familiar knot in your stomach tightening at a hasty pace.

your walls sucked in his cock snuggly, aizawa knew you were on the brink of your orgasm. "c'mon baby, tell me who fucks you the best..." he grunts, his voice hoarse and raspy. his words simply didn't register in your brain, all you could focus on was the release that was building up in you. aizawa slaps your clit again, his voice harsh and demanding "answer m'fuckin question slut. who fuck you the best?"

you jolt up at his words, "y-you do daddy!! you do!!" you mewl, a sob leaving your lips as you cry out from the harsh orgasm you just endured. aizawa felt your liquid wash all over his shaft, which was enough to bring him to the brink of an orgasm. he pulls out of you quickly. and begins jerking himself off quickly, hot strings of semen decorating your stomach. you both let out heavy pants of satisfaction. "made such a big mess pretty girl, let's clean up okay?" he affirms, helping you back up.

#mha x reader #my hero academia #anon ask #send anons #aizawa x reader #eraserhead #aizawa #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa smut #mha smut #bnha #bnha smut

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jwonsite · 2 years ago

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“just sit on my lap, it’ll be fine” - lee heeseung

part 1 of e(nnn)- (a nnn series)

pairing: dom!heeseung x sub!fem!reader

warnings: p in v, cockwarming, oral (f receiving), hickeys, grinding, exhibitionism (? the boys hear them over the mic😭), unprotected sex (wrap before u tap!!), lmk if there’s anymore!

synopsis: your video game obsessed boyfriend is determined to win a bet made with his friends for a new gaming console, all while depriving you of sex for an entire month. luckily for you, your boyfriend lacks any amount of self control

masterlist! | next!

“i’m sorry, you what?”

“it’s only a month, babe, come on you can’t last that long without sex?”

“it’s not that i can’t, it’s that i don’t want to!”

you sighed and crossed your arms as your boyfriend walked over to you, hands moving to your waist

“i mean, just because i can’t cum doesn’t mean you can’t” he says with a smirk, leaning his head down to kiss your neck

you giggled at his actions, but stopped him before he got too far. you know your boyfriend, once he starts, he won’t be able to stop. he lifts his head up from your neck and you wrap your arms around his neck

“lee heeseung, you owe me the best fuck of my life on december 1st. i hope you know that” you say, pointing your finger accusingly into his chest

“yes ma’am” he says, putting his hand to his forehead to salute you

you laughed as you moved out of his embrace, walking to the bathroom to go take a shower

“but just know,” you say teasingly over your shoulder, “i’m gonna make this the hardest month of your life,” you finish off, peeking your head out of the almost closed bathroom door, sending him a wink before you shut it

__________________________________________

a week has passed since your boyfriend agreed to this bet, and so far he was going strong. even through all of your teasing he managed to control his urges, distracting himself with dance practice or video games. but today, you were really testing him…

his eyes couldn’t help but wander as you reached up to grab something from the top shelf, your (his) shirt rising to show your ass peeking out from the pink underwear you wore as you stood on your tip toes, still trying to get the object you wanted

feeling his gaze on you, you smiled to yourself as you got exactly the reaction you set out for, but you wanted to test him a little more

“baby, i can’t reach that cup on the top shelf, can you get it for me?” you said as you turned to face him, catching him blatantly staring at your ass. he had no shame, meeting your eyes with a smile. as he got up, you didn’t move out of the way, instead staying right in front of the cabinet you needed him to retrieve the item from

he walked up behind you, putting a hand on your hip and making sure to press his hips right against your ass, as he reached with the other hand to grab the cup you asked him for

“here you go princess,” he whispers into your ear, placing the cup on the counter in front of you. he places a quick kiss on your temple before walking to your shared room, you assumed to go play video games with his friends

fuck

how did that affect you more than him? now you’re horny and in desperate need for your boyfriend’s dick, while still having 3 weeks left of his stupid bet

taking a deep breath in, you try to distract yourself, continuing with mundane tasks around the house

laundry, dishes, vacuum, mop, dust, cook… the list goes on as you continued to busy yourself with chores around your apartment, determined to not let your urges win. your boyfriend needed to win, he wanted that gaming console so bad. plus, you too, had to prove to him that you can last a month without sex

after finishing up almost every chore that could be done in the small apartment, you went into your bedroom, finding your boyfriend doing exactly what you thought he was doing, playing video games

you rolled your eyes playfully, smiling to yourself as you walked over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, and then continued to go lay down in your bed

you busied yourself on your phone, scrolling on tiktok while patiently waiting for your boyfriend to finish up whatever game it is he’s playing tonight. you were used to waiting, as he played these games pretty often. you didn’t mind it, you knew he was busy and this was one of the only times where he truly had time to himself, so you never bothered him, letting him play for as long as his heart desires

after about a half an hour, your boyfriend turns his chair around to look at you

you peek up from your phone, looking at him with a smile while he stares at you with such love in his eyes

“miss you baby” he says, pouting a little bit

“i miss you too pretty boy, wanna come cuddle?” you ask, putting your phone down on the bed to turn your full attention to your needy boyfriend

he shakes his head, instead opening his arms and gesturing for you to come sit on his lap

“what about your little bet with jay and them?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at his actions

“are you suggesting i have no self control and can’t have you sit in my lap without getting horny?” he shoots back, crossing his arms

“uh yeah that’s exactly what i’m saying” you answer completely serious

he rolls his eyes at you before uncrossing his arms from his chest

“babyyyy, just sit on my lap, it’ll be fine” he whines, reaching one of his arms out towards you

“fine you needy baby, jeez” you say as you get up from the bed, walking over to where your boyfriend was sitting. you sat down on his lap, immediately stuffing your face into the crook of his neck while wrapping your hands around the back of his neck, sighing in content as the familiar scent of your boyfriend intoxicates your senses

you rested you head in the crook of his neck as he continued to play his games, leaving a kiss on his neck every now and then. you noticed how he was extra gentle with you on his lap. usually when he played his games he would yell at whoever it was on the mic that messed up or shot the wrong person, but with you there he wasn’t like that. still speaking sternly into his mic whenever somebody did something wrong, but never raising his voice

after a few minutes of kissing his neck, you started making them more frequent, your lips almost never leaving his neck. you even sucked and bit a spot, leaving a red mark that will soon turn into a bruise later. you could feel him shifting in his seat a bit at the sudden change of tempo. he was getting horny, you could tell

even though this shouldve made you stop, and help your boyfriend to win his ps5, it only egged you on more to continue. you decided to become a bit bolder, rolling your hips into his crotch slightly. his hand flew down from his keyboard, grabbing your waist immediately to stop you

“yn, don’t do that” he says, sternly

“but babyyyy, i need you so badly, please” you say bringing your head up to look at him with the biggest puppy eyes. he never could resist you when you look at him like that, your big doe eyes staring up at him he let out a sigh of defeat

“fine, but you can’t move” he said, lifting you off his lap so he could pull his pants down to his thighs

“i can’t move? you just want me to cockwarm your dick basically?” you said with a tinge of disbelief in your voice as you stood up, crossing your arms over your chest

“yeah basically. maybe you should’ve thought about what you were doing before you got yourself all worked up” he fired back

you rolled your eyes as your hands moved to take off your shorts and underwear, leaving you in just his t shirt. you moved back over your boyfriends lap, lowering yourself down as heeseung wrapped his arms around your waist. you grabbed his semi-hard dick and put it inside of you, moaning at the stretch. you resisted every urge you had to just start bouncing on his dick right there and then. he brought one of his hands to your waist, grabbing your side

“don’t move, you begged for my dick and now you have it” he said looking down at you, before continuing to play his games like you’re not sitting on his cock right now

you sat there with your head buried in the crook of his neck, arms wrapped around his neck. you wanted to move so badly, but you knew if you tried he probably would edge you for hours anyways. so you sat there completely still, face buried in his neck

after another round or two of his game, you started to get impatient, slightly shifting in your seat on purpose so you had some friction. you could feel your boyfriend tense up a little, but he didn’t make any moves to stop you. becoming a little bolder, you decided to move your hips against his slightly, almost unnoticeable. again, he made no moves to stop you. taking this as a green light to continue, you kept on rolling your hips into his slowly and gently, moaning lowly into his neck. soon after, you heard the sound from his video game meaning he lost the round, as he said something to his friend who was on the mic

“guys imma get off for tonight, we can play tomorrow or something. i have something i need to take care of, i just remembered”

you smiled to yourself, knowing what was coming. without a word, he picked you up and carried you over to the bed, setting you down as he hovered over you

“you think your little games are funny? huh pretty? moving on my dick while my friends were on the mic, when i specifically told you not to?” he said into your ear, moving down to kiss your neck after he was done

“‘m sorry hee i just wanted you so bad” you whined, wrapping your legs around his waist to bring him closer to your exposed cunt

“you were being such a brat, teasing me all day with your cute little pink panties, sticking your ass out for me to see” he said against your skin, moving down your neck. he paused for a second to remove your shirt, and continued his descent down your body, sucking and licking your nipples before moving closer to your pussy

you moaned at his words, arching your back at the feeling of him sucking your boobs. you could feel him getting closer to where you’ve been craving him all day, the pit in your stomach beginning to grow with arousal and excitement

he started by kissing the insides of your thighs, almost causing you to close your legs instinctively, but he held them open with his hands. he slowly moved up your thighs before arriving at your pretty pussy. he loved it so much, it was always so pretty. the scent of it alone could make him cum in his pants. he licked his lips before leaving a gentle kiss on your clit, before diving into your pussy like a starved man. he was licking and sucking like he had been deprived of it for years

you were a moaning mess at this point, shoving your hand into his hair as his face was buried in your cunt. you arched your back at the feeling, not being able to contain how good he was making you feel. you hands pulled a little at his locks, making him moan into your pussy, sending vibrations that you swear almost pushed you off the edge

“oh fuck hee, i’m close, i’m gonna cum” you managed to get out in between your moans, bucking your hips up into his face for more friction

“come on baby, come all over my tongue” he said in between licks, beginning to suck harder, and sticking a finger into your cunt, fingering you hard and fast

you moaned loudly as this sent you over the edge, arching your back as your legs twitched under his hands. he didn’t stop eating you out, riding your through your orgasm

as you calmed down you saw him pulling his pants down and completely off his legs, pulling off his shirt as well

“what are you doing?” you said breathlessly

“i’m sorry baby fuck the ps5, you looked so gorgeous coming in my mouth just now i need to be inside of you” he said, hovering over you once again, giving you a quick kiss before lining himself up at your entrance. he slowly inserted himself into your pussy, both of you moaning at the stretch

“fuck baby, you’re so fucking tight. can’t believe i was gonna go a month without feeling you around me” heeseung said, hands grabbing your waist

you only moaned in response, the stimulation being too much for you right now. as he bottomed out, he pulled all the way out and slammed back into you, setting a relentless speed. you moaned and whined loudly, tits bouncing with every thrust. your boyfriend threw his head back in pleasure, groaning softly as he felt you suck in him so well

suddenly, you felt him pull out. you were confused but then felt him flipping you over on your stomach, immediately sliding right back in from the back. he started his relentless speed against, as the sounds of skin slapping and squelching echoed in the room

“fuck baby, i’m close” hee said, his thrusts getting sloppier

“oh fuck- me too” you moaned out, barely comprehensible

he continued to slam into you as your orgasm washed over you, his following soon after. his hips stuttered as he filled you up with his cum, continuing to thrust it back up into you

he pulled his dick out before wiping the cum dripping from your hole and pushing it back inside of you, making sure you don’t waste a single drop

you both collapsed back onto the bed, and you rolled over so you were laying on top of your boyfriend. he wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head on top of yours. you stayed in comfortable silence like that for a bit until you spoke up

“so… no ps5 huh? you must really love me”

“i really do, pretty girl. you’re worth not getting a ps5” he said, leaving a kiss on the top of your head

“you mean this pussy is worth not getting a ps5?” you said back, moving your head back to look at him, raising an eyebrow at him

he laughed at your comment, shaking his head at your unseriousness

“whatever you say pretty girl”

a/n: hi guys!!! ahhhh this is the first part of my series i am so excited it has gotten SO much love on only the masterlist and prologue! i was so scared to post this in fear of letting everybody down so i hope you all enjoy🫶🏼

taglist (closed!): @yannew @hanienie @beomgyusonlywife @akirakinimi @multifandomgurllll @boutyouwonu @kissmunalodz @5xiang @ibsysbsfsunsbs @guqsnfics @hellaboredd @wvnkoi @kpopslover @heerinnie @climbingmandevillas @rikisly @simeonswhore @lilriswife4life @daegutowns @harrietbarnesblog @wonniie3 @ariadores @yizhoutv @lilizinho @firstclassjaylee @olivehues @ikeusol @bunhoons @electrobutterfly @choijxn @baekxo07 @youronevia @eneiyri @soobery @heeseungshim @furious-eagle @nyxluvethn @jongseongslvr @wonniewonwon @sunsunl0ver @mixtape-racha @jakeslvt @lomlj4ke @neocockthotology @babyy-bambii @fluerz

(if your name is not tinted grey i cannot tag your account!)

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kubeesart · 3 months ago

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✎ | It’s still February 13 for me so Happy late Galentine’s/Palentine’s Day !! Here’s a doodle of some friends, Astro and Dandy from Dandy’s World :D

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✎ | And here’s my design for a simple Valentine inspired Dandy skin!! Dandy’s a rose for the month of love! And he’s Cupid! Or Stupid if you’re angry at him for his small business!

━━━━━━━✦❘༻💐🌕💐༺❘✦━━━━━━━

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bettelaboure · 1 month ago

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⊹ Mile High ⊹ Kwon Ji-yong

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

⊹ Pairing: Kwon Ji-yong x Reader

⊹ Summary: Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon) and the reader—his tour manager's assistant—amid the chaos and intimacy of a world tour in 2025. Their teasing banter grows into deep affection, culminating in moments of vulnerability, connection, and a quietly powerful love that lingers long after the final encore.

⊹ Warnings: mature language and suggestive content, emotional vulnerability and themes of burnout, references to illness and exhaustion

⊹ Author's note: i'm trying to push myself out of my comforting smut and angst. what do we think about sweeties? 🤍

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

You never meant to get so close to him.

But cities bled into each other like watercolor on a hotel napkin—Lisbon to Prague to Tokyo—and somewhere in the blur of passport stamps, sleepless nights, and hastily ordered lattes, Kwon Ji-yong started slipping under your skin. What began as harmless proximity soon became a slow entanglement of glances, whispered jokes, and quiet, charged moments you didn’t know how to name.

You meet him for the first time in Berlin, two hours behind schedule and six minutes before the soundcheck meeting. The venue buzzes like a kicked beehive, everyone darting around with a job, a headset, or a minor crisis. The air is thick with urgency and sweat, stage lights blinking awake, sound techs testing mics like angry gods in the rafters.

Ji-yong strolls in with that careless kind of grace only rockstars and men with nothing to prove can manage. He's wearing sunglasses indoors—of course—and a vintage leather jacket with paint smears across the sleeve. He smells faintly of cedar and something more elusive: the kind of scent that lingers long after someone has left.

He calls you “assistant-nim” the first time. Mocking, lilting, like the title tastes wrong in his mouth but he's going to savor it anyway. He tugs his sunglasses down just enough to show the laughter in his eyes, the corners crinkling with amusement.

“Tour Manager’s assistant, right?” he says, voice dipped in that casual, velvet arrogance. "Big responsibility. Guess that means I should be nice to you."

You don’t flinch. You meet his gaze, arching a brow. "You could try being on time first."

He laughs. A low, rich sound, the kind that curls at the edges and stays with you long after he's walked away.

It begins with small things.

An inside joke here. A brush of hands when he passes you a pen. The way he calls you by your last name like it’s a dare, like he's always two seconds from smiling. You notice how often he ends up in your orbit, uninvited but never unwelcome. His presence becomes a background hum—persistent, teasing, intimate.

In Paris, during a chaotic prep for the arena's layout shift, he disappears for nearly an hour. You're about to start a very well-practiced rant when he saunters in, nonchalantly drops a pack of your favorite gum on your clipboard, and walks off without a word. Taped to it is a neon sticky note in loopy handwriting:

Still not as sharp as your tongue.

You read it five times before tucking it into your notebook.

In Seoul, the night before the show, you’re rechecking cue lists when he steals your sharpie from your hand mid-sentence. He draws a tiny, crooked heart on the back of your hand before handing it back.

"A souvenir," he murmurs, voice soft but certain. "In case you forget me."

You laugh like it means nothing. But you tuck your hand away like it means everything.

By Milan, it’s no longer just teasing. Ji-yong seeks you out. He hovers by your table during production meetings, tapping his foot to music only he can hear. He brings you coffee with your exact order scrawled in black marker on the lid. No one ever gets your order right.

“You work too much,” he tells you one night. It's after load-in, after most of the crew has vanished into their rooms or the city’s neon veins. You're hunched over lighting notes in a staff lounge when he appears, hoodie half-zipped, hair a tousled mess.

“They toss you around like a human paperclip,” he adds, settling beside you like he belongs there.

You shrug without looking up. "It’s the job."

He leans forward, elbows on knees. "No," he says, softer. "It’s not supposed to eat you."

You glance at him, surprised by the seriousness threading through his tone. He reaches out, brushes your wrist with the backs of his fingers. The touch is brief, almost clinical, but it sparks something low in your chest.

You forget the next line on your spreadsheet. You forget the spreadsheet altogether.

The night before Amsterdam, you catch a fever. It's nothing dramatic—just exhaustion with a little vengeance thrown in. But you wake up shivering in your hotel room, your voice gone raspy and your skin burning.

You’re wrapped in every spare blanket you can find, trying to type out an emergency email when there’s a knock. Groggy and unsure, you shuffle to the door and crack it open.

Ji-yong stands there, wearing an oversized hoodie, a pink beanie pulled low, and a plastic bag full of supplies.

"Someone told me you didn’t show up to call time," he says, stepping inside before you can protest. "You never skip."

You try to wave him off, mumble something about being fine, but he’s already unpacking the bag—vitamin drinks, oranges, some kind of throat tea, lozenges. He even brought tissues with little cartoon characters on them.

"I Googled what to get. Don’t laugh."

You don’t. You’re too busy watching the way his brow creases when he checks your temperature with the back of his hand. His touch is gentle, a contrast to his usual bravado. When he brushes damp hair from your forehead, you feel yourself lean into it like gravity’s shifted.

“I’ll find someone to cover for you,” he murmurs, sitting on the edge of your bed. "Stay. Rest. Let me take care of you."

You should say no. But when he adjusts your blanket and mutters something about making sure you eat, you close your eyes instead.

And for once, you let go.

Somewhere between Vienna and Vancouver, the space between you shifts.

He stands too close now. He doesn’t ask permission anymore to steal your pen—just lifts it with a wink, then gives it back with his fingers brushing yours. You start noticing the things you never let yourself think about before: the curve of his smile when he’s tired, the way he says your name when no one’s around.

The first kiss doesn’t happen in a dramatic place.

It’s backstage in Chicago, the night everything goes wrong. The printer eats the setlist, your crew chief is yelling, and Ji-yong’s been orbiting you all evening like a low, simmering star.

You whirl around, eyes blazing, voice teetering on the edge of something sharp and venom-laced. The words are already curling on your tongue—something about him always hovering, always poking at you when you're hanging on by threads—but the second your mouth opens, he steps into your space.

Your breath catches. His hand rises gently, fingertips brushing against your jaw—not firm, not forceful, just there, like a question you didn’t know you’d already answered. The chaos of the hallway fades into white noise, swallowed by the heat in his gaze.

He kisses you.

It’s not urgent, not hungry. It’s slow. Deliberate. A quiet invasion. The kind that demands nothing but takes everything. His lips move over yours like he’s memorizing a secret. His other hand finds your lower back, and you feel the steady pressure of it anchoring you to this moment, to him.

Your mind blanks. Every thought melts under the warmth of his mouth.

And when he pulls back, barely, your foreheads nearly touching, your breath mixing with his—he smirks.

"Still sharp, assistant-nim?"

You don’t answer. You grab his hoodie, tug him back in, and kiss him again—this time with everything you’ve been holding back.

There’s no warning. No preamble.

Just the press of his mouth on yours, warm and sure and devastating. His hand finds your lower back, grounding you. The hallway around you vanishes. The only thing real is the taste of him, the way he exhales through his nose like he's been holding it for weeks.

Now, he sits beside you on plane rides. His head tilts toward your shoulder when he naps. When he wakes, he offers you his water bottle without asking. You share earbuds. You share silences. You share things neither of you can quite name.

When the world tilts beneath you—from jet lag or impossible deadlines or the weight of always being needed—he’s an anchor. A tether. The only calm in the storm.

Sometimes, when the city outside blurs in neon and late-night noise, you’ll feel his fingers trace slow, lazy patterns along your arm. Like he’s writing something only you’re meant to read. Like he’s saying something he can’t quite voice.

He never says the words.

But he doesn’t have to.

You feel them in every shared glance, in every quiet smile he saves just for you, in the way he holds your hand when no one’s watching.

You’re the one thing on this tour he never wants to leave behind.

And maybe, just maybe, you won’t have to.

The flight to New York is an overnight haul, cabin lights dimmed to a quiet haze. Most of the crew is asleep or nodding off behind sleep masks and neck pillows. The hum of the engines becomes white noise, lulling, laced with secrets.

Ji-yong catches your eye from across the aisle. There's a subtle twitch of his mouth, that mischievous curve you’ve come to recognize as a question.

You tilt your head.

He mouths, “Come here.”

You glance around. Everyone's out cold or glued to earbuds. He slides a blanket over his lap, shifts slightly to the side in the wide first-class seat.

You hesitate for half a second before unbuckling your belt and slipping over quietly, your thigh brushing his. The armrest stays up. So does your pulse.

“I can’t sleep,” he murmurs, lips close to your ear.

You laugh softly. “So you decided to corrupt me instead?”

His hand finds your knee under the blanket, his thumb tracing a slow, dangerous circle.

“Corrupt?” he says, voice low and amused. “No. I just missed you.”

The warmth of him, the tension of proximity, the secret thrill of being hidden in plain sight—it coils inside you like a tightly wound thread.

His fingers trail higher, careful and slow, like a question. Like he’ll stop if you so much as flinch.

But you don’t.

Instead, you lean in, press your lips against his neck just below the jawline, where his cologne softens into skin and something uniquely him. He shudders.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” you whisper.

He exhales a soft laugh, but there's something reverent in the way he touches you. Not rushed. Not greedy. Just slow, deliberate devotion. Every movement a promise. Every breath between you thick with the kind of anticipation that only ever builds on flights like these—hours suspended above the world, rules blurred, gravity forgotten.

By the time you rest your head on his shoulder again, his hand still tangled gently with yours under the blanket, you're no longer wondering what this is.

But the moment stretches—longer, heavier.

His hand doesn’t stay still. His thumb slides over your wrist in slow, thoughtful circles, and the curve of your body leans closer into his. Your breaths sync, shallow and shared. His mouth grazes your temple, then the shell of your ear. The whisper of skin-on-skin sparks another slow shiver down your spine.

You glance up at him—just once—and his eyes are already on you, dark and unreadable, full of that quiet fire he only lets you see.

He leans in, and this kiss is different. This one is deeper, all tongue and heat and aching restraint. His fingers slide beneath the hem of your shirt, just barely skimming the soft skin at your waist, and you suck in a breath you can’t release.

The blanket shields you both in a cocoon of velvet silence and tension. Your body turns toward his under the cover, your thigh slipping over his lap. His hands grip your hips like he’s memorizing the feel of you—grounded, present, urgent.

And though you don’t say a word, your bodies speak clearly: this isn’t just longing anymore.

It’s need.

His lips return to your jaw, your neck, and your collarbone as you tip your head back just enough to let him. He moves like he knows exactly what he’s doing, like this isn’t the first time he’s imagined you like this—unraveling slowly in his hands, out of breath, out of excuses.

And when your hand slips under his hoodie, palms pressed to the bare skin of his chest, the way he exhales your name against your throat makes your knees weak even seated.

Your heart pounds with every inch gained under the hush of the flight, under the electric hush of what’s no longer unsaid.

You shift again beneath the blanket, breath catching when his fingers dip just beneath the waistband of your leggings—slow, cautious, and absolutely certain. He watches your face closely, your parted lips, the glaze in your eyes, before his hand moves further. A slow inhale trembles in your chest as his touch finally finds you—confident and unbearably tender.

Your body curls toward his instinctively, eyes fluttering shut as his fingertips work soft, deliberate circles against you, coaxing breathless little gasps from between your lips. You bury your face in his neck, one hand clenching in the front of his hoodie, the other tangled in his hair. His mouth grazes your jaw, your cheekbone, your ear, whispering your name like a secret, like a prayer.

He knows exactly what you need. And he gives it without rushing, every motion measured, every touch speaking volumes of all the things he's never said aloud. The tension builds between your thighs, molten and electric, pooling low until you arch into him, teeth biting back a sound you can’t afford to make.

He kisses you then—deep, slow, anchoring—as your body tightens around the sensation of his hand, your legs trembling beneath the shared cover. When it finally breaks, the wave crashes over you quietly but entirely, your breath catching in his mouth as your fingers grip his shoulder like lifeline.

You collapse into him, body limp, heart roaring.

Ji-yong wraps you close, as if to protect you from gravity, from everything.

When he pulls back just enough to look at you—flushed, eyes half-lidded, chest still heaving—he grins, all mischief and tenderness.

“Congrats on joining Mile High Club.” he whispers.

You let out a soft, shaky laugh and kiss him again, slower this time, sweeter.

You move together like a confession.

And when you finally settle back into him, limbs entangled, cheek resting against his chest, your heartbeat echoing his—

You don’t even have to look to know he’s smiling.

You know.

The tour ends in a blur of tears, champagne, and confetti.

New York is the last stop, and it feels both monumental and surreal. The final show is electric, a cathartic release of everything built up over months of movement, exhaustion, and adrenaline. Ji-yong’s voice cracks with emotion during the last encore. You see it, even if no one else does.

The afterparty stretches into morning—flashes of laughter, photo ops, drunken toasts slurred in three different languages. People cry in the arms of near-strangers who’ve become family. Someone dances on a table. Someone else cries into a speaker case. Crew members embrace like war veterans, promising to keep in touch but knowing most won’t.

You find yourself in a quiet corner of the hotel suite with Ji-yong, both of you barefoot and a little drunk, watching the city flicker beneath the balcony. The glass door is open just a crack, letting in the hum of New York night.

He leans against the frame. You’re curled into the couch with a glass of something golden in your hand, his hoodie drowning your frame.

“What now?” you ask, voice raw from laughter and champagne, from everything.

Ji-yong doesn’t answer right away. He steps toward you instead, crouches in front of the couch, and rests his elbows on your knees. His hands find your hips like he needs to ground himself. Like he’s afraid you’ll vanish when the sun comes up.

He studies you—really looks—and his thumb brushes the hollow beneath your lip, gentle and familiar.

“I don’t know,” he says, quiet. “I’ve never finished something and wanted to begin again this badly.”

You blink at him, heart skittering. Then, softly, you set your glass aside and lean down to kiss him—slow, with meaning. His fingers tighten slightly at your waist, and for a long moment, the room forgets the noise outside.

When you part, he stays close, resting his forehead against yours.

“Come with me,” he breathes.

You smile against his mouth. “Where?” you ask, but the question’s barely real.

“Anywhere,” he says. “Everywhere. Just… stay. Don’t let this be something we only remember when we hear a setlist.”

You draw in a long breath, studying the way his expression softens in the dim light. He’s not asking as G-Dragon the icon. He’s just Ji-yong now—tired and open and yours.

You nod. “Okay.”

His arms wrap around you like instinct, pulling you off the couch and into him, lifting you until you’re straddling his lap on the thick carpeted floor, legs tangled, noses brushing. His mouth finds yours again and again—like punctuation. Like promise.

Later, when the suite is dark and quiet and you’re curled up on the same hotel bed with his hand resting on your bare hip, you realize something.

When the tour disappears into memory—city by city collapsing behind you like folded maps—you don’t.

You stay.

Not because he asked.

Because he became the place you want to be.

Taglist: @redhoodedtoad @mirahyun @sherrayyyyy @sherxoo @dilfismz @breakmeoff @janie-osuih @forevervibezzzz1 @kuinnoa @juliskopf @maskedcrawford @szonyix6277

#fanfic #bigbang #big bang #kwon jiyong x reader #kwon jiyong scenario #kwon jiyong #gdragon x reader #gdragon scenario #gdragon #gdragon bigbang

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gps-yaps · 7 days ago

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okay i need to lock in if im back in under thirty minutes scold me

#Taps on mic multiple times and falls off stage (charmingly)#i havent had any time to work on this project because of state testing </3

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kxsagi · 2 months ago

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HEAR ME OUT

itoshi brothers playing a coop game with their girlfriend and they’re trying to kill the boss together but they always end up dying in the first second or accidentally getting you killed instead and you start slightly raging because it hasn’t even been 10 seconds before you’re dead again cause of him or the boss resets cause you gotta run away😭

or they start raging cause they keep dying and they’ve seen the loading screen more than the actual game 💀

keep up the good work, i love your writings!! 😌

“𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠”

a/n: thank you!!!

lol i love this request (i fear i brought out soft sae)

(art credits go to bm169_v2)

𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐫𝐢𝐧

you barely even get to pick your character before the first wave hits. you're trying to get your strategy together when – boom. rin’s already dead.

"rin!" you exclaim, unable to hide the frustration in your voice.

he sighs, not sounding remotely sorry. "i didn’t time my dodge right. get over it."

"you didn’t even dodge," you say, rolling your eyes. "you just stood there."

"i was assessing the situation," rin responds, his tone deadpan. "now you know where the attack is coming from."

you blink at the screen, speechless for a second. "rin, we’re not testing the boss, we’re supposed to be fighting it."

"well, it’s kind of hard to fight if you don’t know what’s coming next," rin says, not really apologizing but sounding a little more serious now.

you respawn, trying to focus. barely five seconds go by before rin dies again.

"seriously?!"

"yeah, i walked into it. i’m not perfect," rin replies, his voice flat. "don’t get mad at me, just focus on winning."

you can’t help but snort despite your frustration. "you’re the one dying constantly. how am i supposed to focus?"

"by not yelling," rin says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. "it’s a game. we’ll get it next time."

you look at him through the screen, trying to hold back your grin. "next time? i’m starting to think you’re trying to make this last longer just to annoy me."

"i’d never do such a thing," rin says, his voice so dry you almost can’t tell if he’s messing with you.

"uh huh, sure," you mutter, diving back into the fight.

you manage to get a few good hits in when rin dies again.

"rin!!!"

"you’re too loud," he says, still unfazed. "focus. seriously. the boss resets every time we screw up."

"and it’s always your screw-up!" you say, half laughing, half annoyed. "i’m starting to think i’m your personal babysitter in this fight."

"yeah, sure," rin says, unfazed. "if it helps you focus, go for it."

you take a deep breath. "i’m going to lose my mind."

rin’s calm as ever. "don’t worry. this time, I’ll nail it." (he doesn’t 💔)

𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐬𝐚𝐞

you and sae are supposed to be teaming up against this boss, but things aren’t exactly going as planned.

you haven’t even equipped your weapon before sae’s already dead.

"seriously?!" you groan, ready to respawn.

"eh," sae says casually, tapping the controller without a care. "it happens. not a big deal."

"you didn’t even try to dodge!" you exclaim, half-laughing.

"why would I?" he responds, his voice as chill as ever. "it’s just a game."

you shake your head, barely able to hold back a smile. "you’re impossible."

"what?" he says, completely unbothered. "you’re stressing too much. just chill."

you respawn, barely taking a step before sae dies again.

"sae, come on."

"what? i wasn’t even close to the attack," he shrugs. "guess it’s just bad luck."

"you have to be kidding me." you laugh, despite how done you are. "how is it bad luck when you’re not even trying to avoid the attacks?"

"because it’s funnier this way," he says with that same grin you can practically hear through the mic. "keeps things interesting."

"you’re the worst," you mutter, trying to fight the boss on your own. "you’re going to get us killed."

"nah, it’s more like you’re getting us killed," sae teases, his tone light. "I’m giving you a chance to shine. you know, so you can feel good about saving me."

you roll your eyes, feeling the familiar frustration creeping in. "if this is ‘giving me a chance,’ i’m seriously reconsidering this partnership."

"don’t worry, we’ll get it next time," sae says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "you’re just too competitive."

"i’m not competitive, i just want to win," you snap.

"same thing," sae replies, totally unbothered. "but seriously, we’ve seen the loading screen more than the actual game. I’m starting to feel like we should be playing that instead."

you laugh in spite of yourself. "you’ve got a point. we’ve died more times than i can count."

"told you," he says with a grin. "it’s not about winning. it’s about enjoying the ride. and by ‘ride,’ i mean the loading screen."

you shake your head, trying not to smile. "you’re so annoying."

"hey, you know you love it," he says smoothly. "we’ll win eventually. and when we do, I’ll take credit."

"you’ll take credit?" you laugh. "you’ve done nothing but die."

"exactly," sae replies casually. "I’m the backbone of this team. obviously."

you chuckle. "you’re the reason I’m losing my mind, is what you mean."

"same thing," he says with a small grin. "but don’t worry. i’m the secret weapon. you’ll see."

"if we die again, i’m soloing this boss," you joke.

"deal," he says, totally unbothered. "but if you want backup, just say the word."

"you’re a lot of help," you say, shaking your head as the boss resets yet again.

"hey, just keeping things interesting," sae replies. "you’re welcome."

#they would #do the itoshi brothers even play video games?#sae itoshi #itoshi sae #rin itoshi #itoshi rin #itoshi siblings #itoshi brothers #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae x reader #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #itoshi siblings: the art of dying

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saturnzlv · 4 months ago

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life makes echoes

— parings: todoroki touya x reader

— notes: mature language & like one sentence that’s suggestive. and i can’t write for shit IM SORRYYYYY. i haven’t written in eons, but bassist touya & making a switch city playlist has me hard.

— synopsis: when your boyfriend is a bassist, and you go to one of their practice sessions

♫ echoes by the rapture

“it’s nothing too bad,” touya tells you as he takes his bass guitar case out the backseat.

you’re too busy staring at the small family home in front of you to answer him—the attached garage is open with a drum setup visible as well as a few nicknacks. there’s two people inside, and you think you think you recognize one of them and vaguely remember the other.

touya shuts the car of his beat up ‘98 lexus es with his case in hand, then he gestures for you to walk up the driveway. “just think of it as your own private concert,” he says.

at that, you turn your head to look at him with an incredulous expression. “this is a pretty shitty first concert then,” you say.

he lets out an unamused and sarcastic laugh, rolling his eyes. “you’ll like it,” he affirms. lifting a hand, he points to a blond boy with eyeliner framing his amber irises then a light blue haired boy fiddling with his drumsticks and testing the sound of the symbols. “you’ve met keigo and tomura, yeah?”

keigo, the blond and the one you recognize, sits on the couch against the wall. he has a guitar propped up on his knee as his fingers pluck the strings and his left hand deftly fixes the pegs. as touya plugs his bass into a spare amp in tomura’s garage, keigo lifts his head to glance at touya.

“back in my first year of college, sure,” keigo says as he stands from the couch. “we were in the same modern japanese class.”

tomura eyes keigo with a slight furrow in his brows. “why do you remember that?” he asks, to which keigo shrugs.

cautiously taking a once over at the couch, you look over at tomura on the drums. you’ve heard his name and a few facts in passing from touya. “you must’ve been a second year, right?” you ask as you deem the couch clean enough to sit on. tomura nods in response, and he’s about to speak in reply when touya clicks the button to shut the garage door.

“what are you in the mood for?” touya asks, walking past the drums to stand in front of one of the two mic stands available, positioned a little in front and apart from the drums. he looks over his shoulder at tomura, his question directed to the youngest.

tomura taps the drumsticks against the symbols, getting a feel for some rhythm. you can sort of recognize the tune, and it gets more familiar when the bassline is added by touya. leaning back on the couch's surprisingly comfortable cushions, you await for your so-called “concert”.

however keigo doesn’t step up to the microphone. he instead lifts his hands in surrender. “wait, wait,” he calls, a hand settling on the mic stand as he turns to face his band members. the drummer and bassist cease their playing, and you’re pretty sure tomura’s already annoyed from keigo’s sudden pause. “we’ve already done dance, dance like seven times this week.”

“i thought you got off on singing and making out with the mic?” touya points with a slight glare. “this song is perfect for that shit.”

keigo waves touya off before he adjusts his hold on the guitar strapped around his neck. with a pick in hand, he strums a muted note in a fashioned rhythm. the drums pick up, and keigo steps up to the mic. his gaze shifts to touya as he sings the first drawn out ‘yeah’ of the song, giving him a glare with furrowed brows. he sings a second ‘yeah,’ and before he can continue singing, tomura quits the drums.

“are you just going to stand there?” tomura asks, and you have to stifle a laugh at his obviously annoyed tone.

“i wanna show off,” touya replies very pointedly. “you think i can show off to fuckin’ take me away? no. i can’t. play some better shit.”

with pursed lips and a steady glare, keigo presses his fingers to the fretboard once again and strums a few simple notes going low. tomura gently taps his sticks against the symbols as keigo plays the familiar beginning notes of echoes, and touya complies by adding the bassline.

“i hate this song,” keigo mutters, yet the mic picks up his words.

there’s a small, cocky grin on touya’s lips as his fingers dance down the fretboard of his bass, plucking the notes with ease. “too bad,” he tells his bandmate.

with your leg crossed over the other, you prop an elbow on the armrest and let your cheekbone rest against your fist. it’s the boys' first time showing off to a friend—that much is insanely obvious—and, despite having formed this shitty band just a few months ago, they play well together. tomura, only twenty, plays the percussion as if it were made for him. keigo’s voice sounds borderline angelic. touya’s damn well-versed with his fingers, you know that much.

your foot taps against the concrete flooring of the garage in tune with the drums. there’s no denying that the sound from the trio is pretty good, too. it’s probably good enough to put in your spotify playlist—not only as support for your boyfriend’s band, but because their sound is catchy.

once the song comes to an end, keigo steps away from the mic stand. there’s a small nod of approval from tomura after keigo shoots him a thumbs up.

touya sets his bass down on its stand in favor of walking up to you on the couch to gather your opinion. “so?” he asks, and he leans his hip against the couch’s armrest. his vibrant blue eyes peer down at you as you lift your head up to meet his gaze.

a hum of thought elicits from you, and you give him a small shrug. “not bad,” you say. touya gives you a disgruntled look, and you let out a soft laugh before lifting your head from your fist. “it was good,” you correct yourself.

that cocky grin returns to his lips, and he says, “not bad for a first concert, huh?”

if touya wasn’t the best at reading people, he would have missed that grimace that crossed your features. “let’s not go that far, babe,” you reply.

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